#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.

[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 !

[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.

[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

[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

[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 —

[ismyevilregal]

Tethered Shadows

Warnings: I have no idea what I'm doing.

Chapter One: Quiet Collisions

The insistent buzzing of my alarm dragged me from a dream where I was flying—weightless and free—over a city bathed in an ethereal, otherworldly light. Disappointment, sharp and sudden, pierced through the grogginess. 7:00 AM. Another day, another grind. I slapped the snooze button, the insistent buzzing replaced by a gentler hum.

Five minutes later, the alarm shrieked again, more insistent this time. I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. The scent of stale coffee and something vaguely metallic—the lingering odor of last night's takeout—assaulted my nostrils. Finally, I surrendered, throwing back the covers and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was a cold, unforgiving slab against my bare feet.

Morning light filtered through the blinds, painting thin stripes across the room. It wasn’t much—just a small studio apartment I’d been calling home for the past year—but it was mine. A safe little corner of the world. But at this particular moment, this studio apartment, once a source of pride and independence, now felt more like a prison cell. The peeling paint on the walls, the perpetually flickering fluorescent light above the kitchenette, the constant drone of traffic from the street below—it all seemed to conspire to dampen my spirits.

First, I stumbled toward the bathroom, the world a blurry kaleidoscope of colors. The mirror reflected a stranger—eyes bloodshot, hair a tangled mess, a faint shadow of a beard clinging to my jaw. I splashed cold water on my face, the shock momentarily invigorating.

Then I shuffled to the kitchen, bare feet padding against the cool floor. The coffee maker, a relic from a previous roommate, whirred to life as I poured water into the machine, the comforting hum filling the quiet. Something about the morning ritual was soothing, grounding me before the day's chaos. While waiting for the coffee to brew, I leaned against the counter, scrolling absentmindedly through my phone. A few unread messages from classmates about an upcoming group project. I made a mental note to respond later.

By 8:15, I was out the door, backpack slung over my shoulder and earbuds in, a playlist of lo-fi beats helping me navigate the crowded sidewalks. College was only a short bus ride away, and I used the time to skim over my notes for class. Balancing work, school, and what little social life I had was a juggling act, but I’d managed to make it work so far. Mostly.

My first lecture of the day was lively—a class on film theory that hooked me from the moment I walked in. The professor, an eccentric older woman with a penchant for dramatic hand gestures, paced the room as she deconstructed scenes from classic films. Today’s focus was on Hitchcock’s use of tension, and I found myself scribbling furiously in my notebook as she dissected a pivotal scene from Psycho. It was one of those rare moments where learning felt less like work and more like inspiration.

The grand entrance hall, usually filled with the hushed whispers of tourists, was eerily silent. The air was thick with anticipation, a palpable tension hanging in the air. I spotted Greg near the entrance, his face pale and drawn.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," I said, trying to lighten the mood.

Greg chuckled nervously. "Try surviving Professor Sharma's lectures. It's enough to make a grown man question his life choices."

After class, I grabbed a quick coffee and headed to my part-time job at the campus library. The familiar scent of old books greeted me as I walked in, and the quiet atmosphere was a stark contrast to the bustling campus outside. My shift was predictable: shelving books, assisting students who couldn’t figure out the catalog system, and occasionally sneaking a peek at my own assignments during the slower moments. I spent part of the afternoon helping a fellow film student locate obscure texts on 1970s cinematography, exchanging quick opinions about the underrated brilliance of The French Connection before returning to my duties.

It wasn’t glamorous, but I liked it. The library felt like a sanctuary, a place where time slowed down and the rest of the world melted away. Occasionally, I’d catch glimpses of students huddled over laptops, editing films for their projects, and it reminded me of why I loved what I did. Cinema wasn’t just a major—it was a lens through which I saw the world.

By the time my shift ended, the sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of orange and pink. I grabbed a quick bite at the cafeteria—a less-than-impressive turkey sandwich—before heading back to my apartment. The bus ride was quiet, the city lights flickering outside the window as I leaned my head against the cool glass. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I fished it out to see a text from Tara.

Tara: Hey, can you meet me at the diner around 6? I have someone I want you to meet.

Y/N: Someone?

Tara: Just trust me. You’ll like her.

Y/N: …Should I be worried?

Tara: Nope. Promise.

I stared at the screen for a moment, debating. Tara’s matchmaking efforts weren’t exactly a secret, but she’d never been this cryptic about it before. Still, I trusted her. If she thought it was worth my time, it probably was. Plus, it was a good reason to go out and relax a bit after a long day.

Y/N: Fine. I’ll be there.

The remainder of my evening before the meeting passed in a blur of small tasks: drafting ideas for a screenplay assignment, organizing my cluttered desk, and watching clips from a documentary on the rise of independent cinema in the 90s. By the time 5:30 rolled around, I was shrugging into a hoodie and heading back out the door, the crisp evening air waking me up a little more with each step.

The diner buzzed with a low hum of conversation, punctuated by the occasional clink of cutlery against ceramic plates. I wasn’t sure why Tara insisted on meeting here, but then again, Tara always had a way of picking the most unassuming places for moments she swore were important. The chipped laminate table beneath my fingertips felt oddly grounding, even as a sliver of unease twisted in my chest.

“She’ll be here soon,” Tara said, glancing at her phone. Her tone was casual, but her eyes gave her away. There was an eagerness, a spark that told me this was more than just another introduction. “She’s just…” Tara hesitated, searching for the right word. “She’s not great with people. Don’t take it personally.”

“Noted,” I replied with a small smile, though I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to feel. Curiosity? Anxiety? The mixture of both left my coffee cooling in its mug, untouched.

The bell above the door jingled, and Tara’s head snapped up. I followed her gaze, and that’s when I saw her. Sam Carpenter wasn’t what I expected, though I couldn’t have said what I had been expecting. I turned my head quickly to glare at Tara for a moment, but it didn't last long before my attention was back on her bigger sister again. Her presence was immediate, sharp-edged, and deliberate like she carried the weight of her own gravity. Dark hair framed a face that might have been soft once, but the years had hardened it into something unreadable. Her eyes were the kind that didn’t just look at you but through you, as if she were cataloging every detail.

She paused just inside the doorway, scanning the room with a wariness that felt almost instinctual. When her gaze landed on Tara, some of the tension eased, but only just. Sam crossed the diner in a few strides, her boots scuffing against the tiled floor.

“Hey,” Sam said, her voice low and even, almost flat. She slid into the booth beside Tara, her movements economical, like she’d planned each one. For a moment, she didn’t even look at me, her attention fixed on her sister.

“Sam,” Tara said, her tone light and encouraging. “This is my friend, Y/N. The one I told you about.”

At last, Sam turned her head toward me, and I felt the full weight of her gaze. It wasn’t hostile, exactly, but it wasn’t welcoming either. It was searching, measuring. The kind of look that made me want to shift in my seat but refuse to out of sheer principle.

“Hi,” I said, offering a small, non-threatening smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, her eyes flicked to Tara, then back to me. I guess she was just as confused as I was. “You too,” she said finally, though it sounded more like a formality than anything genuine.

The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have. Tara, ever the fixer, jumped in to fill the void. “Sam just got back in town,” she said, her voice a little too bright. “It’s been… a lot, but she’s settling in. Right, Sam?”

Sam’s jaw tightened slightly, but she nodded. “Something like that.”

I didn’t miss the way her shoulders stiffened at the words. Whatever she’d come back from, it wasn’t something she was ready to talk about. The walls around her were practically visible, brick and mortar and steel, built to keep anyone from seeing too much. But it wasn’t my place to pry, not when I’d just met the woman.

“Well,” Tara said, leaning forward, “the two of you have a lot in common. I think you’ll get along great.”

Sam’s eyebrow arched slightly, as if she didn’t quite believe her sister. “Is that so?”

“Definitely,” Tara said, undeterred. “Just give it a chance.”

Sam’s gaze shifted back to me, and for a moment, there was something almost challenging in her eyes. “Guess we’ll see.”

It was then I realized just how much smaller I was next to her. Tara often joked about my height when she was feeling particularly mischievous, but we both knew we stood eye-to-eye. Sam, however, was a solid presence—a towering figure that only added to her intensity. The size difference was almost laughable, but I wasn’t about to let it shake me.

I wasn’t sure what Tara was trying to accomplish here, but one thing was clear: Sam Carpenter would be a puzzle. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to solve her or if she was better left a mystery. But before I could settle too much into my thoughts, Tara cleared her throat, bringing my focus back to the moment.

"So," she started, a little too enthusiastically, "what do you two think of… Hitchcock?"

The question felt forced, like Tara was trying to find the safest possible common ground to get the conversation rolling. My lips twitched into a smile, appreciating the effort, but I wasn't sure it would land.

"Hitchcock?" Sam asked, her tone flat. Her arms crossed as she leaned back against the booth. "Never really saw the appeal."

I blinked, momentarily thrown. Not because I couldn’t understand the opinion—plenty of people thought his style was overrated—but because the way she said it felt almost deliberately provocative, like she was daring me to disagree.

Tara winced. "Sam…"

"No, it’s fine," I said quickly, leaning forward. I could feel that challenge in her gaze again, and something in me itched to meet it. "I get it. Not everyone likes the classics. What’s your style, then?"

Sam’s brow furrowed, as if she hadn’t expected me to push back so easily. For a moment, she didn’t answer, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the table. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, less sharp. "I guess… I like stories that feel real. Messy. People making mistakes, doing stupid things… stuff that actually matters."

Her words hung in the air, heavier than I anticipated. Tara shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and I wondered just how much of that statement was tied to Sam’s personal history.

"That’s fair," I said softly, not wanting to press too hard. "Sometimes the most compelling stories are the ones where you don’t know how they’ll end."

Sam’s gaze flicked to me again, and this time, there was a flicker of something in her expression. Not quite warmth, but maybe a hint of curiosity. "Yeah. Exactly."

Tara exhaled dramatically, breaking the tension. "Okay, great. We’re talking. Progress!"

I laughed, shaking my head at her antics. "Subtle, Tara. Real subtle."

"I try," she said with a wink. "Anyway, I’m gonna grab some pie. You two want anything?"

I shook my head, and Sam muttered a quiet "No," as Tara slid out of the booth and made her way to the counter. The silence she left behind felt different now, less heavy and more… expectant.

"So," I said after a moment, "what’s your story?"

Sam’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if she were deciding whether or not to answer. "Not much to tell."

I raised an eyebrow. "Everyone’s got a story."

She huffed a quiet laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it. "Trust me, mine’s not the kind you’d want to hear."

For a second, I considered dropping it, letting her keep her walls intact. But something about her intrigued me and made me want to dig a little deeper. "Maybe. But how would I know unless you tell me?"

Sam studied me, her expression unreadable. Finally, she shrugged, leaning back in her seat. "I guess I’ll have to keep you guessing."

It wasn’t much, but it felt like a small victory. A crack in the armor.

For a moment, the conversation settled into a quiet lull, the din of the diner filling the space between me and Sam. I tapped my fingers lightly against the table, debating whether to push further or let the moment breathe.

"You always this mysterious, or is it just part of the charm?" I asked, a teasing edge creeping into my voice.

Sam exhaled a short chuckle, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "I think it’s more of a defense mechanism than anything else."

I nodded, sensing the weight behind her words, but before I could respond, she glanced at me with something close to curiosity. "What about you?"

I tilted my head. "What about me?"

"You don’t seem like someone who gives up easily," she noted. "Why bother trying to figure me out?"

There was something almost challenging in her tone, like she was testing me. Maybe even daring me to step back. But instead, I met her gaze and shrugged.

"Guess I like a good puzzle."

Before she could reply, Tara reappeared, carefully setting the plate of pie between us both. "Mission accomplished," she declared, sliding back into her seat with a satisfied grin. "And I even got extra whipped cream."

She shot a look between the two of us, picking up on the shift in atmosphere. "Did I miss something?"

Sam reached for her fork, her expression once again guarded but softer than before. "Nothing important," she said, but the way her gaze flickered to me told a different story.

Tara arched a brow, clearly not convinced but choosing not to push. "Alright, well, I’m eating before either of you try and steal a bite."

I laughed, reaching for my own fork. "No promises."

As the three of us settled in, the conversation drifted into something lighter, but the undercurrent of that moment with Sam lingered—unspoken but present, like a secret waiting to be unraveled.

------

The next morning unfolded in slow motion, sunlight creeping in through the blinds like it had all the time in the world. But something was different. I felt lighter, more awake than I had any right to be. Maybe it was the residual warmth of last night—the easy conversation, the feeling that I had nudged a door open just a little.

A buzz from my phone pulled me from my thoughts. For a brief second, my pulse skipped—Sam? But no. Tara.

Tara: Morning! You survived my sister’s brooding. Congrats. Wanna grab coffee?

A grin tugged at my lips. Even through text, Tara’s energy was infectious.

Me: Morning. I’ll take that as a badge of honor. Where and when?

Her reply was quick—café, mid-morning. Just like that, the day had direction.

As I got ready, I caught my reflection in the mirror, my gaze lingering longer than usual. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just another day. But for the first time in a while, something about it felt... new. Like the start of something. And I wasn’t sure if that excited or terrified me more.

The café was quiet, the air thick with the scent of fresh coffee and the low hum of early risers buried in their screens. I stepped inside, the soft chime of the door marking my arrival. I ordered a coffee to go, restless energy thrumming beneath my skin. My mind kept circling back to last night—Sam, the weight of her silence, the push and pull I couldn’t quite decipher.

Lost in thought, I barely noticed Tara until she breezed in, her presence a sharp contrast to my uncertainty.

"Hey, look who actually showed up!" she called, grinning as she made her way over.

I laughed, the tightness in my chest easing. "Wouldn’t miss it."

Tara pulled me into one of her signature hugs—warm, slightly suffocating, but somehow exactly what I needed.

"You ready for coffee? Or are you still in the ‘don’t talk to me yet’ phase?" she teased, eyes gleaming.

I exhaled, the tension unraveling bit by bit. "I think I’m awake now."

We settled into a table by the window, the city stretching beyond the glass, bathed in the soft glow of morning light. Tara had that effect—making even the most mundane moments feel like something worth being present for.

"So," she started, casual, but sharp. "How’s it feel surviving the Sam experience?"

I took a sip of my coffee, choosing my words carefully. "It’s... different. She’s complicated."

Tara smirked. "You don’t say. You’ve figured that out already? Impressive."

I hesitated before admitting, "I’m just trying to figure out where I stand with her. She’s got this wall up, but it doesn’t feel like she wants it there. I can’t tell if she’s just playing it cool or if she really doesn’t care."

Tara leaned back, tapping her fingers against her cup. "Sam doesn’t do anything unless it matters. She doesn’t waste her time. If she’s acknowledging you, that’s something." A flicker of something softer passed over her face. "She’s been through a lot. Letting people in isn’t easy for her. But if she’s letting you orbit, even a little? That’s progress."

I nodded, mulling over her words. "I just don’t know what she wants from me."

Tara’s grin widened. "Maybe she doesn’t know either. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to find out. Just... don’t let her push you away. She’s good at that."

The words settled deep. Sam was a puzzle I wasn’t sure I should be solving—but the curiosity wouldn’t let go.

"Thanks for the advice," I said, half-smiling. "Guess we’ll see where this goes."

Tara raised her cup in a mock toast. "That’s the fun part. The not knowing."

I sat there, watching the world move outside, feeling the quiet shift in the air. Sam, Tara, all of this—it was unfolding in ways I hadn’t expected. And maybe, just maybe, that was the point.

Tara, ever perceptive, tilted her head, a sly glint in her eyes. "You should text her."

I blinked. "What? Now?"

"Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?"

A lot, I wanted to say. But I didn’t.

Instead, I unlocked my phone, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Tara leaned in, smirking. "Be honest. Keep it simple. Something like, ‘Hey, I was thinking about our conversation yesterday. It was cool talking to you.’"

I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head. But she wasn’t wrong.

Hey, I was thinking about our conversation yesterday. It was cool talking to you.

Before I could second-guess it, I hit send.

Tara watched me, satisfaction written all over her face. "There. Easy, right?"

I let out a slow breath. "Not sure if easy is the word, but... it’s done."

She lifted her cup in a knowing gesture. "Now, we wait."

And so I did. Through the rest of our conversation, through the rest of the morning, through every casual check of my phone, heartbeat spiking each time it buzzed. But it was never her.

By the time I got home, the weight of the day had settled in my bones. I tossed my bag onto the couch, my phone still in my pocket, untouched. I told myself not to check it. Not to let it matter so much.

I busied myself with the little things—sorting through the scattered notes on my desk, flipping through a book I had no real intention of reading, absentmindedly scrolling through social media before locking my phone again. The air in my apartment felt heavier somehow, like I was waiting for something I refused to admit.

Eventually, I sprawled out on the couch, arm draped over my face, willing my mind to focus on anything else. It wasn’t working.

And then—

My phone buzzed.

I sat up too quickly, pulse hammering as I fumbled to grab it, screen lighting up in the dim room.

Sam: You too.

Just two words. But they unraveled something tight in my chest.

I stared at the message, reading it once, twice, three times, as if deciphering some hidden meaning within it. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

And something was more than nothing. When it comes from Sam, as I'm learning, something is actually a lot.

A slow smile crept onto my face as I leaned back against the couch, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

[honeyinthesummer]

warden!reader and inmate!rafe cameron because i personally think he'd look good in orange (and he's bound to go down that road anyways).

LONG AS FUCK and not proofread. someone make a smut out of this please! MAKE IT NASTYYYYY

he'd be stuck in his cell with limited privileges. for the first few weeks he'd yell shit, rattle the bars and point a finger to anyone who passes by his cell that sometimes other wardens who weren't from obx would be petrified to do rounds in rafe's corner (shoupe is IMMUNE to this.)

inmate!rafe who, give or take three months, has slowly settled. his screams slowly die down, but he'd sulk in a corner and be incredibly stubborn.

inmate!rafe, sitting on his bed and occasionally banging his forehead to the wall, mutters "man up, man the fuck up!", seemingly in a dazed, in a spell. a poor attempt to put his shit together.

inmate!rafe, who's now silent. he probably thinks he's intimidating and calculated that way, but he saw his reflection one time, all lanky and tall, rough and ruined. this is not the look of a male cameron.

inmate!rafe, who now speaks gently instead of raising his voice, stands up in the first order, keeps in line in the first warning. compliant with no extra drama. but what they don't know is every time he's out of his cell for a test or government-issued activity, he scouts the place. the people. the system here. then he sights you.

your silky hair is arranged in a neatbun, your features soft and angelic, a simple blush and light lipstick accentuating your beauty. you normally speak in a delicate tone, but you're not against having a few laughs with anyone, inmate or warden.

you stand tall and move swiftly, and inmate!rafe swore he could tackle you down and escape promptly. but when you ended a fight in the yard between two men with no assistance, you had no problem inserting your authority and displaying your strength, showing who's the boss.

you would be his perfect escape.

you don't back away from an invite for conversation, but it's your ability to stay distant despite appearing to be an open book. you are smart.

but he doesn't miss the way you look at him in the yard. when inmate!rafe is playing ball against other inmates, you'd stay in the shade. just an officer doing her job — looking out for trouble.

a jab in the ribs, a punch in the face, a body collision with another. inmate!rafe notices the way you react or wince whenever he's hurt. you wear shades to appear stoic, but your stare just burns through him. it etches in his soul.

but most of all, he could blatantly and loudly laugh at your pathetic state when you see him soaking under the sun, grabbing the hem of his white wifebeater to wipe the sweat on his face, letting the sunrays hit his now toned body, glowing and all.

you're squirming. shifting. clenching then unclenching your fist. you could redirect everyone's attention from your personal life but this? you're fucking transparent. maybe you're just like any other woman. firm in the outside, but it takes one single touch from a man for your facade to crumble.

he doesn't touch you, though. not in the way you'd like. he'd brush up against you, purposefully volunteer in activities that require labor or put him under the scorching heat, because you noticed that's how you love him. huffing and hot. being a warden for women empowerment and all but really, you'd just want a strong man like any other woman.

you are unabashed and unashamed of what you're doing. he saw you take a quick look of up and down on him and let out an approving nod, where he's got his top totally abandon, the slacks of his uniform hanging real low on his waist, his skin dirty from working with some car parts for a program with the city.

inmate!rafe almost doubts himself when you didn't bother to strike a talk with him for the past seven months of his stay here. it annoys him, pisses him off that others find comfort and no problem in talking to you. you look at him, but you don't approach.

inmate!rafe was about to give up on you and devise a breakout plan with barry who's a couple cells down when he hears shoupe calling someone to take him out for an outside time today.

he stands at ready, bummed out, until he hears you say "i got him", personally fetching inmate!rafe. he stands surprised, his heartbeat thumping in his chest. fucking finally. he smirks to himself. maybe you're that easy to get with just a small display of his masculinity.

you stop by the door of his cell, and his smile to you his uncanny, because you swear it feels like nice and sweet, almost gentleman-like. you fumble with your keys and insert them to the lock.

"you're being transferred to a facility in charleston for a moment. i'll personally escort you there."

just you? he thought to himself, raising a brow. but when the door opens and you handcuff his wrists, your fast touch burns. and he likes it. but what got him the most is how your lipstick is not your usual shade, it's red. it captivates him.

who needs a blaring red lip for an escort ride to charleston?

certainly you for him, and his cock that will be kissed and worshipped by your lips, and his abs, which with no doubt you'll leave a trail of kisses on.

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 9/20

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 : SMAU, Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : SMUT (MDNI)

CHAPTER 9 :

Serie Masterlist

Texts messages  :  

Lando 

I’d really like to see you again. 

Just us. A proper dinner. A quiet place. 

You in? 

Ariana 

Yes. 

That sounds good. 

Pick the place. 

I’ll be there. 

Lando 

7PM. 

I’ll pick you up. 

And I promise not to talk about engines for once. 

Ariana 

Not even one metaphor? 

Lando 

Only if it’s a good one. 

And only if it makes you smile. 

The restaurant he chose was quiet, tucked between rows of old stone buildings and dimly lit galleries. The kind of place that still wrote the menu by hand. Where the wine list was spoken aloud and the music stayed low enough not to interrupt a thought. 

He pulled her chair out before sitting across from her, the candlelight between them softening the edges of everything. Her dress was understated and elegant. She wore no necklace, only a hint of lipstick and the weight of something unreadable in her eyes. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. 

“I’m glad you asked.” 

Conversation unfolded slowly, not playful, but personal. She told him about the quiet hours before a show, the meditative routine of stretching, braiding her hair, the way a certain silence meant the performance would go well. 

He told her about noise, how he was used to it. How he’d learned to find peace in the spaces between chaos. 

Their fingers brushed across the table once, accidentally, and neither of them pulled away. 

“I like the way you see things,” she said, over the first course. “ It feels… thoughtful.” 

He smiled softly. “You make me see things like this, meaningfull.” 

They talked about nothing and everything. Favorite authors. Old regrets. Places they hadn’t been. Her voice was low, steady. His was quiet, almost careful. She asked if he ever got lonely. He said sometimes. She said she understood. 

By the time dessert arrived, something had shifted. The air had grown heavier, not tense, just full. Like both of them were waiting for a moment neither wanted to name. 

And then he set his fork down. 

Ariana noticed the change in his face before he said anything. 

“What is it?” she asked, gently. 

He exhaled. “I didn’t want to tell you like this.” 

“Tell me what?” 

“I have to leave tomorrow.” 

She stilled. “Where?” 

“Brazil. It came together last-minute. Some of the drivers, their partners… someone planned a trip. There’s this pressure to be part of it. I didn’t want to go. But—” 

“You’re going,” she said, quietly. 

He nodded. “Just two weeks.” 

Her eyes dropped to the table. Her hands folded into her lap. She didn’t speak right away. 

“And then I’m going back in Paris,” she said finally. 

“I know, and I'm back at the races” 

The silence was brutal. 

The kind that swells in the chest and spreads into the throat. 

“I thought we’d have more time,” she said softly. 

“I thought so too.” 

They both stared at each other, not speaking, not touching, while the candle between them flickered, helpless against the weight of it. 

“It’s just two weeks,” he repeated, but even he didn’t sound convinced. 

“And then we’re in different countries.” 

He nodded. “Different routines. Different time zones.” 

They sat like that for what felt like forever. 

Neither of them said it, the thing they were both thinking. 

That this might be it. 

That this night might be the last night. 

That maybe fate had offered them only a single season, a few weeks, a few moments, a few kisses and now it was slipping through their fingers like smoke. 

They left the restaurant without speaking much more. 

Outside, the air was icy but clear, the kind of winter night where everything felt sharper. Their hands found each other instinctively as they walked. No umbrella. Just the sound of heels and boots and breath. 

At her door, he paused. 

She turned toward him, her keys in hand. 

And then he just said it. 

“I don’t want this to end.” 

She looked at him, eyes wide and shining. 

“Then don’t let it.” 

“Ari…” 

She stepped forward, pressing a hand to his chest. “We don’t know what’s going to happen. But tonight, I want you stay.” 

He didn’t answer. 

He just nodded. 

The door clicked shut behind them, shutting out the world, the cold, the noise, the gossip, leaving only the heavy, breathless space between them.

Ariana turned toward him, standing in the golden, muted light of her flat, her hands twisting slightly at her sides like she wasn't sure what to do next.

Lando didn’t say anything. He just crossed the small space between them in two strides, his hands lifting to frame her face, tentative at first, like he needed to make sure this was real and then he kissed her.

Slow. Gentle. Asking.

Her whole body softened into him at once, sighing against his lips, arms lifting to twine around his neck. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones, keeping her close, anchoring her there.

He kissed her again, deeper now, pouring everything into it, the nerves, the gratitude, the pure, aching need he had been trying to hold back all night.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads pressed together, Ariana’s fingers curled into the fabric of his coat.

“Can I?” he whispered against her lips, his hands brushing lightly along the curve of her waist, waiting.

She nodded, heart hammering, then whispered, “Yes. Please.”

Carefully, Lando slid his hands down her sides, letting the velvet of her dress slip from her shoulders. He moved slowly, giving her every chance to change her mind. She didn’t, she only arched closer, helping him, wanting this too much to stop.

She reached for him next, fingers fumbling a little with the buttons of his shirt. She popped them open one by one, her knuckles brushing his chest, his skin warm and firm under her touch.

When his shirt finally fell open, she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his bare chest, just under his collarbone, soft kisses that made his whole body shudder.

He groaned low in his throat, catching her waist to steady himself.

"You’re killing me," he murmured against her hair, voice rough with restraint.

She smiled, small, shy, devastating and pushed his shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Lando's hands slid over her body again, down her arms, around her back, following the curve of her ass. He found the zipper at her back, tugged it slowly down, and the dress pooled at her feet, leaving her only in delicate black lace panties.

He stepped back just enough to look at her, to really look and his breath caught.

"You're so beautiful," he said, voice breaking.

She flushed, shifting slightly under his gaze, but didn't try to cover herself.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, hungrier, his hands roaming, rediscovering every inch of skin he could reach.

He backed her up gently until her legs hit the couch. She dropped down onto the cushions, looking up at him with wide, trusting eyes.

Lando knelt between her legs, his hands sliding up her thighs, parting them carefully. He kissed the inside of her knee first, then higher, and higher, patient, deliberate, until she was squirming.

He hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and tugged them down her legs, slow enough to make her whimper.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he said, voice low and thick.

"I don't want you to stop," she whispered.

He kissed her hipbone, then down, nuzzling the soft skin at the apex of her thighs before finally, finally licking a slow, wet stripe through her folds.

Ariana gasped, hips jerking, hands flying to tangle in his curls.

Lando groaned at the taste of her, sweet and sharp and addicting and licked again, slower, more thorough. He wrapped his arms around her thighs, holding her open, pressing his tongue flat against her clit and flicking lightly until she was trembling.

He worked her with devastating patience, circling her clit, dipping into her entrance with his tongue, teasing her until she was panting and begging under her breath.

Then he slid two fingers into her, slow and deep, curling them just right to find that spot that made her cry out, hips lifting off the couch.

"Lando," she gasped, voice breaking.

"That's it," he murmured against her, lips brushing her slick folds. "Let go for me."

He moved his fingers faster now, fucking her steadily while his mouth sucked and licked her clit, never giving her a chance to come down.

She shattered with a soft, keening cry, thighs clenching around his head, nails digging into his shoulders.

He kept going, coaxing every last tremor from her, until she was gasping his name like it was the only word she knew.

When he finally pulled away, his mouth was slick, his eyes dark with hunger.

He kissed her knee one more time, almost tenderly, before standing, fumbling in the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet.

He pulled out a condom, tearing it open with shaking hands.

Ariana sat up on the couch, watching him with flushed cheeks and wide, desperate eyes.

He knelt between her legs again, kissing her deeply as he rolled the condom on, her hands clumsy and eager on his shoulders.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, voice wrecked.

She nodded, pulling him closer. "I need you."

Lando groaned and lined himself up, brushing the thick head of his cock through her slick folds.

When he pushed inside her, they both moaned, loud, unrestrained, clinging to each other.

He went slow, giving her time to adjust to the stretch, kissing her face, her throat, her collarbone between every shallow thrust.

She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper, her hands scrambling over his back like she couldn't get enough of him.

"Fuck, Ari," he gasped against her skin. "You feel so good."

She whimpered in answer, rocking her hips up to meet his thrusts.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frenzied.

It was deep.

Slow.

Desperate in a way that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with needing : needing to connect, to anchor, to feel.

He thrust into her harder now, faster but still controlled, grinding against her just right to make her gasp every time he bottomed out.

"Look at me," he panted.

She opened her eyes and what he saw there, wild and open and full of him, nearly undid him.

He kissed her again, bruising and sweet, swallowing every sound she made.

Their bodies moved together like they'd done it a thousand times in dreams. The slap of skin against skin, the soft cries, the murmured names, it all blended into a symphony of need.

Her walls fluttered around him, and she sobbed his name into his mouth.

"That's it," he whispered. "Come for me, baby."

She shattered with a cry, nails raking down his back, thighs locking around him.

He wasn’t far behind, with a broken groan, he thrust once, twice more and then came, burying his face in her neck, holding her so tight it felt like he could imprint himself on her skin.

They lay tangled together afterward, breathing hard, bodies slick and spent, neither of them moving away.

Lando kissed her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, like he couldn't stop, like he didn't want to.

Ariana threaded her fingers through his curls, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched.

Neither of them spoke.

They didn’t need to.

They lay there for a long time afterward, tangled, quiet, skin slick with sweat and still pressed together. 

He kissed her again like it would never happen again as they both fall asleep against each other. 

The morning she woke to find him already dressed, jacket half-zipped, by the door. She padded out of the couch where they fall asleep, hair still messy, wearing his shirt that hung too low on her frame. He smiled when he saw her, but there was a weight behind it. The same weight sitting in her chest. 

They didn’t say much. 

Because what could they say? 

His flight to Brazil was in two hours. A house full of friends waiting for him. A vacation with laughter and heat and late nights. And yet all he could think about was the way her fingers clung to the hem of his sleeve, the way she leaned into his chest one last time, how their lips met, slowly, then suddenly, like neither wanted to let go. 

“I’ll see you again,” he whispered, forehead pressed to hers. 

She didn’t answer. 

Because maybe they both knew that even if they did… it wouldn’t be the same. 

He lingered in the doorway. 

Then left. 

And the silence that followed felt like a scream neither of them knew how to stop

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