#Logistics Coordinator Jobs

[uniquejobs]

Logistics Coordinator Jobs in L and T Company in Chennai | Best Logistics Jobs 2023

Introduction – Logistics Coordinator Jobs in L and T Company Logistics Coordinator Jobs in L and T Company: L&T has Published a notification for the vacancy of Logistics Coordinator The educational qualification required to apply for this L and T Company is a Diploma or Degree Interested and eligible candidates can apply for L & T Company. There is enough time to apply for any job. Read L & T…

[suntails]

job market misery

[fvzzyelf]

well if c.ldpl.y ends up having to fuckin do a shitty concert with no gear it is NOT MY FAULT. IM SORRY OAKL.ND I REALLY AM.

:sob:

[running-in-the-dark]

oh, yeah - we found a storage unit place (it wasn't that easy, those aren't common here - or at least not where I live). it's actually an old barn that's been converted lol. anyway, so we've rented that for three months (the shortest period they allow), which is perfect. then we don't have to move everything out of there immediately when we can move into the new place in April.

I think I've got enough boxes. I've got a spreadsheet that I'm putting all the information in about what's in which box. I've planned where everything will go and when. I think it's going to work out fine. the last time we moved was so stressful (because I was pretty sick and that made everything really hard), I really want it to go better this time.

[trash-reblog-blog-1]

i'm so good at thinking too hard

[jobsnotices]

Helvetas Nepal Job Vacancy 2024 for Trail Coordinator, Technical Officer, Procurement and Logistic Officer, Finance Assistant, Administrative Assistant, Vehicle Driver

Helvetas Nepal Job Vacancy 2024 for Trail Coordinator, Technical Officer, Procurement and Logistic Officer, Finance Assistant, Administrative Assistant, Vehicle Driver. Interested and eligible candidates can apply by 09 Aug 2024. CAREER OPPORTUNITY  Helvetas Nepal Job Vacancy 2024 at Trail-based Tourism Development Project (TTDP Trail-based Tourism Development Project (TTDP) is a bilateral…

[xinganhao]

cherry on top 🍒 mafia boss!seungcheol x reader. (4)

stories like this always end with a damsel in distress. except—this time around—you’re not the one who needs saving. previous chapter + masterlist.

📄 Minutes of strategic information meeting, filed by Kim Mingyu (Mafia Soldier, Logistics & Recon)

Date: ██████████ Location: Safehouse Omega-9, Undisclosed City Perimeter Time: 03:17 HRS

ATTENDEES:

Yoon Jeonghan (Underboss)

Lee Chan (Combat Unit Leader)

Chwe Hansol (Surveillance Division)

Kim Mingyu (Logistics & Recon; Recording Officer)

Civilian Target [REDACTED] (Unauthorized Attendee)

AGENDA:

Contingency Plan for Retrieval of Boss (S.Coups)

Chain of Command During Absence

External Threat Assessment

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

JEONGHAN: We go in through the east dock. Two snipers posted by 03:40. Chan leads breach. Hansol, your eyes stay on thermal—no improvisation this time.

HANSOL: I never improvise. My brilliance is structured.

CHAN: Can we not do this right now?

JEONGHAN: [ignoring them] Mingyu, once we get him out, you're on evac. Full blackout route. No trackers, no chatter.

MINGYU: Copy.

HANSOL: Any updates on who turned? Someone had to leak coordinates.

CHAN: There’s a list. We’ll handle it after we bring the boss home. One fire at a time.

[DOOR SLAMS OPEN. SOUND OF HIGH-HEELED FOOTSTEPS. SILENCE.]

CIVILIAN TARGET: You’re planning this without me?

JEONGHAN: [visibly tense] You weren’t invited.

CIVILIAN TARGET: He’s my belo—my boyfriend, Jeonghan. You think I’m just going to sit around while you play war games?

JEONGHAN: This isn’t a movie. You’re a civilian. You don’t belong in this room.

CIVILIAN TARGET: No, I’m the reason he still believes in soft things. I belong more than half the people at this table.

CHAN: She’s got a point.

JEONGHAN: Chan.

CHAN: I’m just saying. She’s not exactly fragile.

HANSOL: She did rewire one of my bugs with a paperclip. That was... not unimpressive.

JEONGHAN: [sighs] This isn’t about guts. It’s about blood.

CIVILIAN TARGET: Then you should know mine’s already on the line. Every second he’s gone, I feel it. And I’m done being sidelined. I’m not here to ask. I’m here to help.

[BEAT OF SILENCE. THEN—]

JEONGHAN: You get one job. And if you screw it up, I’ll personally drag you out.

CIVILIAN TARGET: Deal.

JEONGHAN: Hansol, give her the map. Mingyu, loop her in.

MINGYU: You’re going to need a comm. And a bulletproof vest.

CIVILIAN TARGET: Got both. And a knife in my boot.

CHAN: Okay, badass.

[MEETING CONTINUED UNDER LEVEL-2 SECRECY PROTOCOLS. TRANSCRIPT REDACTED. END OF MINUTES.]

FINAL NOTES:

Civilian Target formally added to Operation Homecoming roster.

Jeonghan authorized conditional field involvement.

Morale status: heightened.

Risk level: astronomically high.

🗂️ Operation Homecoming: Field Notes & Briefing Report, compiled by mafia underboss, Yoon Jeonghan

Clearance Level: Top Confidential Date Logged: ██████████ Location: Safehouse Omega-9

SUMMARY: Boss (S.Coups) was captured 48 hours ago following the receipt of a falsified emergency ping traced back to the civilian target’s encoded channel. The ping claimed she’d been injured and was en route to an undisclosed hospital in Sector D. According to surveillance logs, the Boss diverted course alone, abandoning standard security protocol. We believe he was intentionally isolated through signal jamming, then intercepted at the underpass beneath Route 14.

AUTOPSY OF THE TRAP:

Fake GPS tag mimicked civilian target’s bio-signal pattern

Voice distortion software replicated her distress call

EMP deployed upon vehicle arrival to disable tracking

Tactical unit waited with sedation-grade rounds

CURRENT LOCATION OF BOSS: Confirmed. Underground storage facility, formerly Syndicate-aligned. Defected cell now controls the zone. Reinforcements on site. Boss presumed alive—last thermal footage confirms faint movement.

INTERVENTION STRATEGY: OPERATION HOMECOMING

Phase One – Extraction:

Entry through east dock (03:40 HRS)

Chan leads breach unit, Hansol on thermal, Mingyu handling evac

All units silent channel only

Phase Two – Internal Sweep:

Civilian target assigned distraction and misdirection role (see below)

Two-minute window to locate and stabilize Boss

Phase Three – Extraction + Fade:

Mingyu initiates blackout route

Decoys deployed on west perimeter to delay pursuit

Rendezvous at Site Echo

CIVILIAN TARGET: PERFORMANCE LOG

Arrived wearing borrowed Kevlar and jeans tucked into combat boots. Asked if bulletproof vests same in women’s sizes. Did not wait for response.

Showed immediate enthusiasm, zero tactical finesse. Hansol gave her the map. She held it upside down. Twice.

Informed her she’d be working as the visual diversion. Her response: “Like bait?” Followed by: “Cool. I’m good at being annoying.”

Surprisingly effective. Created a loud enough ruckus on the perimeter to draw three guards off their posts. Managed to bluff her way past checkpoint by pretending to be a lost food delivery driver. Claimed she had gluten-free soba for a man named Kevin. There is no Kevin.

Still not sure how she pulled it off.

When Boss was found, he was semi-conscious but breathing. Whispered her name first.

END STATUS:

Boss retrieved.

Minimal casualties (1 injured – not fatal)

Facility compromised but not traced

Civilian target cried in the van. Then threatened to punch me for writing that down. I'm writing it down anyway.

FOOTNOTE — for Seungcheol’s eyes only: You’re reckless, stubborn, and impossible to reason with. But apparently, that’s your thing. You’re also luckier than most of us ever will be.

She didn’t sleep. Not once. Kept looking at every door like you might walk through it.

When you did, she didn’t even say anything. Just threw her arms around you like gravity stopped working.

Try not to make her go through that again.

– YJH

📱 Phone history log, filed by mafia soldier Chwe Hansol

Device: S.Coups' Personal Line (Encrypted Channel #017) Status: Outgoing Messages Only – Blocked by Signal Jammer Timestamp Range: ██:██–██:██ (Time of Abduction)

NOTE: Texts never reached intended recipient. Recovered during post-mission diagnostics. For archival purposes.

[01:12 AM] Where are you? They said you were hurt. I'm on my way.

[01:15 AM] Which hospital? No one's answering. This isn't funny. Call me.

[01:17 AM] Your signal keeps bouncing. Something's wrong. Stay where you are.

[01:21 AM] I swear to god if they laid a hand on you

[01:24 AM] No ambulance ever came.

[01:25 AM] This is a setup.

[01:27 AM] I'm so stupid. They used you. Fuck fuck fuck

[01:28 AM] I should've followed protocol. Should’ve sent Mingyu. Should’ve sent anyone but me.

[01:30 AM] If you get this, lock all the windows. Call Jeonghan. Stay put.

[01:34 AM] They knew I’d come for you.

[01:36 AM] This isn’t your fault.

[01:39 AM] Don’t come after me.

[01:41 AM] Love, beloved, please. Don’t try to save me.

[01:45 AM] You always do this—you throw yourself into fires you don't understand.

[01:49 AM] If they hurt you because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.

[01:52 AM] Tell Jeonghan to burn everything. Get out. Go far.

[01:54 AM] Forget me if you have to. Just live.

[02:01 AM] I love you. Please, please, please, don’t be stupid.

[END OF RECOVERED LOG]

📰 Excerpt from "The Ethics of Mafias: Love in the Line of Fire", a follow-up think piece by Xu Minghao

... If leadership within organized crime is already an ethical minefield, then love within it is something more volatile still: a paradox of vulnerability embedded in violence. New whispers surround the figure known only as S.Coups—the alleged mafia boss whose name, until recently, conjured images of discipline, domination, and an empire forged in precision.

Now, another narrative has emerged. One that reshapes how we understand not just the man, but the very myth he embodies.

According to rumors sourced from both within and outside the organization, S.Coups may have a romantic partner. Not a fellow operative, nor a political alliance. But a civilian. Someone unaffiliated and—crucially—untouched by the bloodied logic of the underworld.

If this is true, the implications are vast.

To love in his position is a risk. It is weakness, some would say. Yet others might argue that such love is the only thing capable of keeping a man like him from becoming monstrous. If the rumors are accurate, she is the reason he looks over his shoulder less. The reason he checks his own wrath. The reason his most trusted lieutenants have stopped fearing him and started worrying about him.

Love, here, is not a diversion. It is discipline.

And perhaps that is the most fascinating ethical twist of all: that this boss, so often theorized as either tyrant or savior, might be both—because of her.

Some say he texts her between assassinations. That he buys her gummy bears because she mentioned liking them once, months ago. That he has started folding her laundry and learning her aunt’s dietary restrictions. These are, of course, unconfirmed. They seem almost laughably mundane. But within the shadowed world of syndicates and secret wars, what could be more radical than tenderness?

Others claim that he was taken. There are now verified reports of a failed abduction and his eventual rescue. She was allegedly involved. They say she showed up unarmed, untrained, and utterly unafraid. They say she demanded to be part of the rescue mission. They say she was reckless, infuriating, and ultimately, instrumental.

And that when he saw her again, he wept.

To be loved, it turns out, is not always soft. Sometimes, it is brutal and inelegant and wildly inconvenient. But in the context of a life built on violence, to be loved is to be saved. Again and again. In the ways that matter.

Whether S.Coups is worthy of that love is not the question. The question is whether it has already changed him. Whether, in the end, the girl outside the syndicate might be the only thing real in a world made of smoke and mirrors.

And whether that, more than power or fear, will be his lasting legacy.

Mafia boss S.Coups is many things. Protector, manipulator. Brother, enemy, friend.

It seems we must add two more things:

Lover, and loved.

FIN. THANK YOU FOR READING CHERRY ON TOP!

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[mensfrightsactivist]

my moms friend stayed over recently and i was telling her about my job. apparently what i do should be called “business analyst” not clearance, returns, and general logistics

[unsolicited-opinions]

You probably heard about the "14,000 babies in 48 hours" thing, but the media is doing a shit job of explaining it clearly.

Here's a recap:

---

The Claim

On May 14, 2025, Tom Fletcher, United Nations Humanitarian Coordinator, claimed during an interview on BBC Radio 4 that "14,000 babies could die in the next 48 hours in Gaza" due to severe humanitarian conditions.

This is Tom Fletcher:

The figure Fletcher gave was based on a "misinterpretation" of a report from the Integrated Food Security Phase Classification (IPC).

What the IPC had actually projected was that 14,100 children aged 6 months to 5 years in Gaza were projected to suffer severe acute malnutrition over the 12-month period between April 2025 and March 2026 - not that they were all babies, nor that they would die, let alone within 48 hours.

The malnutrition claim was spurious enough, but claiming 14,000 babies would die in 48 hours was batshit insane.

HOW BATSHIT WAS IT?

Totally, blatantly batshit.

Let's do some math.

14,000 deaths in 48 hours = 291 babies per hour, or nearly 5 babies every minute, around the clock, 24 hours/day.

This level of mass death in such a short timeframe is unheard of outside of a nuclear catastrophe or an active extermination campaign...and no such event was occurring.

You'd think an expert from the UN would know the basic demographics, right?

Gaza has a population of roughly 2.3 million.

About 15% of the population is under 5 years old, or roughly 345,000 children.

Of those, the number of infants (under 12 months) is far smaller - closer to 50,000-60,000.

If 14,000 infants were to die in 48 hours, that would be over 25% of all babies in Gaza. In two days.

No known famine, epidemic, or conflict has ever produced that kind of child mortality in such a short span.

Not even historical attrocities accomplished that death rate.

Anyone with a basic understanding of child mortality statistics, humanitarian logistics, historical precedent, or basic mental math should have been immediately skeptical. The number was a red flag on its face and the claim should have prompted instant demands for sources, verification, and context.

Nobody in the Western legacy media seems to have made such demands.

Beleiving this claim required ignoring basic demographics, suspending disbelief about death rates, and trusting emotionally explosive language over factual scrutiny.

That didn't stop Tom from saying it.

That didn't stop news outlets from reporting it.

That didn't stop people from believing it.

What were the consequences?

Since no correction came from the UN for more than a week and nobody in the media thought to do their jobs and question it, this false claim lived in the world for those 8 days.

The claim was cited in the UK House of Commons during debates on Gaza and humanitarian aid. Politicians referred to the figure as fact, influencing rhetoric and public policy discussions.

The emotional weight of the claim increased pressure on Western governments to take urgent action or adopt stronger positions regarding Israel's actions in Gaza.

The figure was emotionally powerful and l inflamed already-deranged pro-Palestinian camps.

I'd argue it helped fan the flames of anti-Israel sentiment and antisemitism.

The claim circulated widely on the 20th and 21st.

Direct causation between the climate created by this misinformation and the shooting in DC on the 21st is speculative, but I'm seeing a lot of speculation on that. Here's Hen Mazzig:

Just days ago, the UN published a scandalous headline claiming that Israel would kill 14,000 babies in 48 hours. In reality, the report stated: "14,100 severe cases of malnutrition could occur over the next year among children under five, if aid doesn't reach them." See how one year becomes 48 hours? How potential illness becomes certain death? How children become babies? Which headline do you think the antisemitic shooter in Washington DC read, and remembered? Words matter. Blood libels have consequences. They led to the murder of Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Milgrim.

May their memories forever be a blessing

Because the false UN claim remained uncorrected for over a week, many individuals and advocacy groups based their calls to action, posts, and even protests on a false premise - creating a widespread misunderstanding about the scale and urgency of the crisis.

Finally, today, May 22nd of 2025, more than a week later, the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) is reported to have issued a clarification, stating the claim was a misreading of the IPC data. I can't find any evidence of it, but that's what's being reported.

Tom Fletcher has not issued an apology or public retraction for his statement. It seems there will be no consequences for his incompetence.

[l0singsdogs]

I’ve had this wild headcanon circling in my head for a few days now. Just something quick before I head to bed: civilians working at the Watchtower.

Not just one or two, but a small team—maybe under a hundred people—hired to handle the kinds of jobs superheroes don’t always have the time, training, or bandwidth for. Doctors, nurses, administrative staff, financial analysts, tech support, even custodians and social media managers. And here’s the catch: not a single one of them ever reveals the heroes’ identities.

Why do they stay? Because the job is good. The environment is excellent. The pay? Amazing. Benefits? Better than anything you'd get working a normal nine-to-five on Earth. Sure, the occasional intergalactic invasion or magical mishap might make for a stressful Tuesday, but in general, it’s a surprisingly stable, fulfilling job.

Need help in the medbay? There’s a small, dedicated medical team. Parental leave for anyone? HR’s already got the paperwork ready. A hero injured on a League mission? Don’t worry—the League covers the medical expenses and provides recovery support.

I like to think Batman used to manage all of this himself. For a while, he tried to juggle it—because of course he did—but no matter how much people think he's superhuman, he's still one man with a full-time company to run. Eventually, he started recruiting a reliable team. People handpicked, vetted, and trusted. Civilians who could handle the loose ends most heroes wouldn’t even think about—basic logistics, liability, disaster response, benefits.

And it’s not just medicine. Sure, they’ve got alien tech that can heal broken bones in a flash, but they still need people. Nurses, therapists, surgeons. Heroes with those skill sets exist, but they have lives outside of those roles. They can’t do everything.

And then there’s social media. Bruce Wayne knows better than anyone how important public image is these days. The League needs PR experts—someone to coordinate interviews, run official Instagram accounts, post educational content on what to do if you find a magical artifact on your morning jog, or what civilians should avoid after a city-leveling alien fight. Maybe Superman and Wonder Woman are featured in the press, doing goodwill interviews. Batman? He stays behind the curtain, but someone still needs to manage his presence.

Every four weeks, someone’s getting brainwashed. Someone’s getting cloned. Someone’s going rogue. There needs to be a team that can step in, clean up, and carry on. People who understand that their work matters, even if it’s behind the scenes.

That’s why the Watchtower needs civilians. Trained, committed people doing honest, often thankless work. Heroes are heroes, sure—but they’re also people. They need lives, rest, and support. And sometimes, the best way to keep the world safe is by letting someone else carry part of the weight.

[sirfrogsworth]

These idiots have a fundamental misunderstanding of the purpose of West Point and other similar military academies.

They all think it is to create badass wartime generals and Green Berets.

In reality, West Point is primarily interested in creating nerds and bureaucratic leadership (a.k.a. middle management).

Mostly the nerds though.

The first thing you need to know is 80% of the US Army is made up of non-combat positions. (Which is why it is very silly to exclude trans people from the entire military.) This weird right wing obsession needing everyone in the military to be a roided-out Rambo is extremely outdated. The Army needs everything from cooks to musicians to janitors. But they also have engineers and physicists and biologists and doctors.

West Point pays for tuition in exchange for 5 years of service. They spend a lot of money on the graduates. The last thing they want is to create cannon fodder. They already have poor people of color to fill that role.

They want officers who have the logistical, strategic, and coordinative skills to tell the cannon fodder where to go and what to do. And they want nerds to manage the needs of high tech modern warfare. They don't care if these people can shoot things super good. They don't care if they can hike up a mountain with 50 pounds of gear. They don't care if they are women, POC, or trans. Only dipshit political leaders like Trump and Hegseth are that discerning. The people in the Army tasked with actually getting shit done only care about logistics, competent leadership, and technological superiority.

West Point offers a degree in statistics.

Do you think they are going to send a statistician into fucking battle?

No. They need that nerd to calculate how many civilian deaths are acceptable in a "proportionate" response scenario.

There is an actual formula for that. Created by a nerd. They weight the "value" of the target against potential civilian casualties and they may even factor in the proximity to a mosque or hospital. If the value of the target is very high, the concern for civilians decreases.

Find me a jarhead who can figure out that morbid calculus.

For the most part, West Point is just a university. You have to role-play as a soldier while you are there, but you can still take a philosophy class and study French literature if you'd like. It has to be a functional degree because the graduates want to get good jobs once they finish their 5 years. They want a proper education out of the deal.

Sometimes West Point farts out a top general. But they are much more interested in training engineers and computer dorks.

Manly meatheads need not apply.

[gamesetattach]

Been churning out some self-indulgent Jannik Sinner reader-insert fics, there's such a lack of content on here that I figured I might as well post them.

Some of them less are less flushed out than others, and the premises can overlap sometimes... and it's different from my full effort writing style... but hey, I hope someone can enjoy them.

Gonna use this post as a masterlist eventually.

JANNIK SINNER FIC MASTERLIST

Comfort Zones and Conveniences, Part 1 - A one-night stand turned into a unavoidable fixture

Comfort Zones and Conveniences, Part 2 - An unproductive resistance to progressing the relationship

In Flight - An airport is the perfect place for chance encounters and first impressions

Amidst the Chaos - Coordinating the logistics of tennis tournaments is not for the weak, but run-ins with sweet Sinner are starting to make it more worth it

The Blind Leading the Blind - Reader goes on a set up double date against her better judgment and it's goes just about how she expected (very poorly), but there may have been one saving grace...

Coach Me Good, Sinner - Quick-witted reader has a ball at a tennis bootcamp led by none other than Jannik Sinner. And he finds her to be a pretty good time, too.

When World's Collide Series Masterlist - Williams newest racing strategist is shaking up the F1 world, and also... Jannik Sinner's?

Coach's (Honorary) Kid - Blurb of reader being introduced to Jannik through her longtime family friend and his coach, Darren Cahill

The Little Things - Short and sweet, a snapshot of Jannik's small gestures in his and reader's established relationship

It's You - Soulmate AU where all the things reader feels, Jannik does too, and vice versa. And that's because (spoiler) they're soulmates! And they meet!

Crushing Feelings, Part 1 - Reader tries to handle her growing, unrequited crush on Jannik Sinner; any distraction is welcome, no distraction is working...

Valentine's Special - Navigating long distance is lame, and also hard and sad. And apparently Valentine's Day is also lame, but that's secondary.

The Space Between Us - Jannik cold shoulders reader? Fine, be that way... but why is he that way, you ask? Well, little do you know...

You Always Know - Passing time through Sinner's ban isn't easy, but having reliable reader around helps. What they are to each other isn't quite describable, but it's real.

That One Night - Being a part of Lewis Hamilton's team means reader gets to meet a lot of athlete hot-shots, including the Jannik Sinner. They hit it off and get it on for a night, and that's kinda it... or is it??

Pleasant Distraction - Quick blurb where Jannik's run of the mill practice gets a surprise interruption by reader and her work and, suddenly, she's the most interesting thing on court.

What Do You See - Slightly withdrawn reader is tasked to photograph Sinner for Nike's newest campaign, she takes a beat to warm up and is... intriguing to say the least. Jannik certainly thinks so.

Unwinding, Unravelling (Release) - Life can be stressful!! The reader here can attest to that. Luckily her neighbor takes her in and... uh you know... takes care of her.

Night Owl - Boo, insomnia! Burning the midnight oil can be addicting, but it adds up real fast. Jannik quickly becomes reader's incentive to get some sleep.

Through Wins and Losses - A condition of being a pro-tennis power couple is supporting each other unconditionally, duh.

Crushing Feelings, Part 2 - Okay, so now that year-long unrequited crush has resolved itself... and the recovery so so sweet.

Lost in Translation - Working a job and being the only non-Italian surrounded by native speakers? Yeah, that comes with some close calls and consequences.

It's Never Just Coffee - Based on Chappell Roan's song, this fic follows the vicious cycle that is reader and Jannik's relationship. They just can't seem to escape it.

An Old Friend - Jannik's got his own busy life, and reader really does too, but they're good friends and get together when they can. And there's always been a little spark there, if they're being honest with themselves... To bad reader's never around long enough to explore it. +Can be read as standalone or a prequel to You Always Know

Rest and Relaxation - After making it the finals of a tournament, reader's body is wrecked with exhaustion. She spends her few days of reprise in between travel recovering at home with Jannik.

A Little Taste Before - Jannik has an idea to occupy the little idle time he has with reader before one of his matches... and he wants to act on it bad. Reader tries, and fails, to be the voice of reason.

Reps and Races - Preparing for the upcoming F1 Academy season means putting in the hours at the gym, and so reader is up in there. A new member joining makes her feel a little more inclined to go, though.

On the Record - A master of working the crowd and connecting with the players, sports commentator reader is often seen on screen for post-game interviews. The people eat it up, especially when it's Jannik up there with her.

No Words - Reader does the thankless work that is Sports PR. Jannik humors her, but with a lot of insistence, and it's not much more than that. Until he really sees her in all her glory...

Frustration - After taking a loss especially hard, reader takes out on her willing and understanding friend. Note that friend here actually means friends with benefits...

Thesis on Tour - Ph.D. student reader takes her work on the road every now and then, so she can spend time with her dear dear boyfriend.

Don't Look Back - After recovering from a sudden and crushing break-up, reader has to run into her ex now that the off-season's over.

Please Look Back - Jannik comes to terms with the fact that he has to end things with reader, but the aftermath is rough and seeing her doesn't make it any easier. +Flipped/parallel POV to "Don't Look Back"

Settle Down - During a school appearance, Jannik finds himself drawn to one of the more rowdy class's teacher.

In Sync, Series - Being a dynamic, up-and coming-tennis player, reader needs to hone in her skills. Mixed doubles seems to be the best route for that, especially if she's paired up with the World Number 1. Except it's not no simple... Not to reader at least. +Separate, real series masterlist coming soon

Bone-tired - Jannik comes home to you utterly depleted, but also irreparably needy... But he finds a solution for that combination, with your help.

Her Track - As we all know, Jannik participated in many extracurriculars during his ban. During a day out with friends at a karting track, he's shown around by reader and more than intrigued.

Giving In - Every now and then, Jannik gives all the power to reader. Like all the power, and then he's just completely at her mercy...

Biggest Fan - Reader's never anything but supportive, their relationship is strong and unconditional but, in a moment of weakness, Jannik gets jealous of a friendly stranger... Even though he knows she's his. He shows her as much when they get home...

*Updated 5/06/25

3-5 fics out every week, posted at 9:00 PM PST

Thanks very much xx

[zaczenemiji]

hiii! req for kenji like imagine reader and ken are dating but he hasnt been able to talk to her alot since of raisng emi and ultraman, so after emi is gone what if he treats her to a little picnic date telling her about what happened and how sorry he is for kinda leaving her out in the blue

From LA, with Love

Kenji Sato x Reader

Word Count: 2,656

Genre/Warnings: Long-Distance Relationship

Author's Note: My longest one so far; sometimes I write without brakes 😩

MASTERLIST

"Breaking news from Tokyo: A baseball game at the Tokyo Dome was disrupted tonight by the sudden appearance of a kaiju. Spectators were evacuated, and the city is currently under high alert."

Your heart pounded as the screen switched to footage of the chaos. The camera panned over terrified spectators fleeing the stadium and a massive kaiju rampaging through the city streets.

At the corner of the footage, you spotted familiar landmarks in the background and felt a knot tighten in your stomach. Those looked like the pictures Kenji sent you for updates.

The newscaster continued, "Among the players was rising baseball star Kenji Sato—“

The sound of glass breaking was heard at the mention of his name. Your tea now spilled on the floor, shards of broken glass around it.

Your breath got caught in your throat. Your boyfriend was there, in the middle of the chaos and there was nothing you could do. You were literally 5,000 miles away on the other side of the planet.

You knew you should’ve listened to your gut when it told you to come with Kenji to Japan. If something bad happens to him tonight, you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself especially when there was something you could’ve done.

Quickly, you grabbed your phone, trying to call him, but the call went straight to voicemail. Panic surged through you, but you tried to remain as calm as you could.

The news feed cut to shaky footage that showed Kenji at bat with the crowd cheering, but suddenly, screams filled the air as the kaiju appeared overhead. The camera focused on Kenji, his face a mix of determination and fear before he disappeared from view in the ensuing chaos.

That was all the media said that night. It’s not like LA News would take an extra mile for Kenji; so you desperately searched for more information. Unfortunately, updates were sparse.

It was currently 3 AM in LA and your mind raced with worry. Was he safe? Why hadn't he called you?

You didn’t stop looking for information. You’ve checked the whole internet, called hotlines you thought could give you an update, and stayed up til sunrise.

Suddenly, your phone beeped and you have never been this fast on grabbing it. It was a text message from Kenji, "I'm okay. Can't talk now. Please don't worry. I love you.”

You held your phone close to your chest, a temporary relief washing over. You clung to those words but uncertainty still gnawed in you. You had so many questions and no answers.

Little did you know, Kenji was not just caught in the chaos; he was fighting it as Ultraman, a secret he was yet to reveal. The only reason he told you he was going back to Japan was that he wanted to play for the Giants, his favorite team as a child.

It was a random day that he told you he wanted to go back to Japan, and immediately at that. At first, you were hurt, thinking about how it seemed so easy to leave you in LA when you had loose ends you needed to tie first.

Your job demanded your attention. You were in the middle of wrapping up a significant project that required your presence. Your boss was understanding but insisted you complete the handover to your replacement to ensure a smooth transition.

Then your apartment lease was coming to an end. You needed to sort through your belongings, decide what to keep, sell, or store, and handle the logistics of moving out. This was time-consuming, and you had to coordinate with movers and real estate agents.

Lastly, your family. You were born here in LA and only went out of the country for vacations. But with how Kenji decided to stay in Japan for good, you wanted to follow. You couldn't leave without ensuring your parents and siblings were taken care of and comfortable.

Communication with Kenji became difficult in the weeks that followed after the Tokyo Dome incident.

It was a late evening in LA and an afternoon in Japan. You sat by your laptop, staring at the screen, waiting for Kenji's call. The clock ticked past the scheduled time, and your heart sank with each passing minute.

Finally, your phone buzzed with a message, "I'm so sorry, I can't make the call today. Something urgent came up. I'll explain later."

You sighed, typing back a quick reply, "I understand. Stay safe. I miss you." But he never got a chance to explain anything.

Recently, some things urgent have always arisen around Kenji. It wasn't the first time a call had been missed, and you knew it wouldn't be the last.

You were left with nothing but to watch his games and interviews on TV. However, he didn’t seem like himself in all of them. LA’s pride, the Kenji Sato, seemed like a rookie in the Japanese stadium.

His games were all chaotic with some of them ending in fist fights. When the camera focuses on him, you see nothing but an exhausted man. You never saw him like that before which made you worry what the heck is going on over there.

You clearly had no idea, at all, about what was happening to him. The last time you had a call, the connection was poor, and his voice kept cutting out.

"...so much going on here... trying… keep everyone safe..."

"Kenji, I can barely hear you. Can you repeat that?"

“...wish I could talk longer... love you...”

The call dropped before she could respond, leaving her staring at the screen, feeling more alone than ever.

All of these: being kept in the dark, zero communication, and the constant worry were making you rush the things you needed to wrap up before heading to Japan.

There was a time, you told him that you were thinking of coming to Japan first to help him with whatever he was going through, and just be back to LA afterward to take care of the things you left.

But it’s complicated, he said, with things happening that could put you in danger—more than the kaiju attacks, and that it’s better to stay in LA for now. You knew there was something he wasn’t telling you and it scared you.

Kenji promised to explain everything when the time was right. He told him he loves you more than anything and that he’s doing this to protect you.

You didn’t understand anything but you trusted him, waited for him, and been patient with him.

Soon after, it started to seem like things were getting better for Kenji. The Giants were now back on their track and Kenji was back to his usual self, if not better. Communication has been re-established and not a day went by that he didn’t call you.

Before you knew it, the last of your loose ends had been tied and you were finally ready to fly to Japan. You received a message from Kenji, “Things are calmer now. I miss you. Can't wait to see you."

Your heart ached with longing. You had worked tirelessly to clear your schedule and now was finally the moment. You had your flight booked, bags packed, and said goodbye to friends and family.

At the airport, you paused before boarding, sending one last message to Kenji, "On my way. See you soon."

As the plane took off, you stared out the window, the city lights of Los Angeles fading into the distance. The hardest part was over. You were finally on your way to Japan to finally understand everything that had kept you apart, and to be there for Kenji in ways you couldn't before.

The bustling Tokyo airport was filled with the sounds of announcements, the rolling of luggage, and the chatter of travelers. Kenji stood near the arrival gate, his heart racing with anticipation.

He clutched a bouquet of your favorite flowers, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. After months of limited communication and the constant weight of his responsibilities as Ultraman, he was finally going to see you.

He scanned the crowd, searching for your familiar face among the sea of strangers. His phone buzzed with a message, and he quickly checked it, “Just landed. Can't wait to see you."

Kenji's heart skipped a beat. Moments later, he spotted you emerging from the gate, eyes darting around, searching for him. Your eyes met, and you broke into a wide smile, your pace quickening as you rushed toward him.

He closed the distance, pulling you into a tight embrace as soon as you reached him. The bouquet was momentarily forgotten, dropped to the floor as he held you close, feeling the warmth and reality of your presence.

"I've missed you so much," you whispered, voice trembling with emotion.

"I've missed you too," Kenji replied, his voice thick with relief and love. "I'm so glad you're here."

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a mixture of happiness and concern, "What's been going on?"

Kenji sighed, feeling the weight of the past few months. "There's so much to tell you,” he replied. “But let's get out of here first. I want to take you somewhere we can talk."

He picked up the forgotten bouquet, handing it to you with a sheepish smile, "These are for you."

You took the flowers, your smile widening, “Thank you, Kenji. They're beautiful."

All exhaustion from your 11-hour flight was wiped away at this moment. You were thankful for the naps you took on the plane because you didn’t want to pass out at the moment of your reunion.

The two of you then made your way out of the airport, the chaos and noise gradually fading as you stepped into the relative calm of the parking lot. Kenji led you to his car, loading your luggage into the trunk before opening the passenger door for you.

As Kenji drove through the city, you took in the sights. You’ve never been to Japan before, your excitement mingled with curiosity. "So, where are we going?" You asked.

Kenji glanced at you, a small smile playing on his lips. "I thought we'd go to a park nearby,” he answered. “It's a quiet place where we can sit and talk."

You nodded, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "I've been so worried about you,” you said. “I can't wait to hear everything."

You arrived at the park just as the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow over the landscape. Kenji found a secluded spot under a large oak tree, spreading out a blanket and setting up the picnic he had prepared.

You sat down together, the peaceful surroundings providing a stark contrast to the turmoil of recent months. Kenji took your hands in his, looking into your eyes.

"I'm sorry for everything," he began. "For not telling you sooner, for the missed calls and the worry. There's something I need to explain."

You looked at him with eyes full of concern and love. "I'm here now, Kenji,” you said. “Whatever it is, we'll get through it together."

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "A lot has happened since we last saw each other” he started. “I've been dealing with something big, something I couldn't tell you about over the phone."

You watched him intently, grip tightening on his hands, “What is it?"

Kenji sighed, feeling the weight of his secret pressing down on him. "You remember the day of the game when Gigantron attacked?” He asked. “That wasn't the first time something like that happened. And I've been involved in every one of those incidents."

Your eyes widened in shock, but you didn't interrupt, letting him continue. "I'm Ultraman," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I've been fighting kaijus to protect the city. And recently, I found myself responsible for raising a baby kaiju who needed my help” he continued. “I couldn’t risk telling anyone, and I didn't know how to tell you."

You sat in stunned silence for a moment, processing everything. "You've been fighting monsters and raising a kaiju baby?” You asked. “Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped."

"I didn't want to drag you into the danger," he said, his voice filled with regret. "But I realize now that keeping you in the dark only made things worse. I'm so sorry for shutting you out."

You looked at him, your eyes softening. "I wish you had told me sooner, but I understand why you didn't,” you replied. “I just want to be there for you, Kenji. We’ll face anything together."

Kenji felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Thank you for understanding,” he said. “I promise, no more secrets and I don’t want to be far away from you anymore."

You held your arms out and gestured for him to hug you. He rested his head on your chest, his safe place. Oh, how he longed for it in the last months when he needed it most.

You could feel his tensed muscles relax at your touch. You peppered his forehead with kisses as you ran your hand lovingly across his hair.

He craved your touches the most and now that he’s in between your arms, it felt as if a heavy weight was taken off his shoulders.

He had so much more to tell but he decided that they were stories for the coming days. There’s no need to rush; after all, you’re here now.

Getting back to his agenda for today, Kenji slowly leaned back. "I hope you're hungry," he said with a grin, placing a small bouquet of wildflowers in the center of the blanket.

On the blanket were an assortment of your favorite foods: sushi, fresh fruit, and homemade mochi. You looked at the spread with delight. "This looks amazing, Kenji,” you said. “You've really outdone yourself."

"I wanted it to be special," he replied. "You deserve the best."

The two of you began to eat, savoring the food and each other's company. Kenji watched you with a soft smile as you tried a piece of sushi. "I remember you loved this one," he said, pointing to a beautifully crafted roll.

Your cheeks slightly flushed from happiness, "This is why I love you!"

As you ate, Kenji told you about the peaceful moments he found in the chaos. He would ask Mina to flash pictures of the two of you together and it would instantly calm him. Even Emi was calmed by it.

You sat in front of Kenji, back pressed against his chest and you between his legs. You held the box of sushis in your hand. From time to time, you’d turn slightly to look up and feed him.

At times, he’d lay his head on your lap, looking up at you, admiring the face he loves. You’d put your hand on his hair, gently stroking it as he tells you all about Emi.

He told you someday he’d take you to meet Emi; he’s sure she would love you. But for now, he just wanted to spend time with you. He felt bad for having neglected you these past months.

After you finished eating, the two of you lay back on the blanket, gazing up at the sky. It was already nighttime by then and the two of you didn’t even notice the time that passed.

Above you, the stars began to twinkle. Kenji pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you rested your head on his bicep. The world around you faded into the background.

"I love you," he whispered, the words carrying all the emotions he had held back.

"I love you too, Kenji," you replied, your voice equally soft. It felt so surreal to hear it in person after months of only hearing it on calls. “More than you'll ever know."

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie @wattpadsuckssohard @sakura-onesan @reggies-eyeliner @buggs-1 @miffysoo @spencerrxids @stupidbutsmart @marimargirlies @mixvchelle @lannnu @lailuv21 @christiinee @abracarabbit @youngbananamilkshake @flutterfly365 @o-schist @brazilsho @arrozyfrijoles23 @finestflora @mmeerraa @mianbaobaoo @themourningfox

[missmadella]

Professional, My Ass (Atsumu x Reader)

Got a little carried away again—but I hope you enjoy it :3

Summary: When you're assigned as the translator for pro volleyball star Atsumu Miya during his international media tour, you expect long hours and short patience—not endless flirtation, elevator arguments, and a slow-burning tension that refuses to fade.

Words: 9558

The arrivals hall buzzed with noise—chatter in multiple languages, wheels clattering over tile, and the constant overhead drone of flight announcements. You stood just outside customs with a small placard that read "MSBY BLACK JACKALS – Translator", dressed sharply but casually—clean lines, black jeans, tucked-in tee, blazer. Hair pulled back, expression focused. You weren’t here to fangirl. You were here to do your job.

This was your third time working as a translator for an international sports team, but your first time with a Japanese volleyball team, and definitely your first time with a player like Miya Atsumu on the roster.

You’d done your homework—watched the press clips, read the interviews, even a few Twitter threads (regrettably). Everything pointed to the same conclusion: talented, cocky, and kind of a menace.

You were bracing for the worst.

Your earpiece buzzed as the team’s coordinator updated you.

“They’ve landed. Should be heading through customs in a few minutes.” “Got it,” you replied, already scanning the crowd with practiced calm.

As the wave of black tracksuits emerged from the gate, you spotted him instantly. Platinum-blond hair under a black cap, duffle slung over his shoulder, walking like the world owed him a trophy. Miya Atsumu—grinning, stretching like he owned the airport. Yeah. He looked exactly like the videos.

He walked right past you at first.

Then stopped. Reversed. Squinted at the sign you were holding.

“Yer the translator?” he asked, his Japanese sharp and casual, accented just enough to feel familiar.

You nodded. “Yes. I’m [Your Name]. I’ll be with the team during the tour. Language, logistics, media.”

“Ya don’t look like a translator.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” You raised an eyebrow.

He blinked. Then grinned. “Dunno yet. Guess I’ll find out.”

You didn’t blush. You never did. But you did silently reevaluate the situation. Charming—in a smug, trouble-magnet kind of way. The kind of guy who tried to push your buttons just to see what would happen.

You decided right then you weren’t going to let him win.

He glanced down at your sign again.

“Wait, lemme try somethin’,” he said, holding up a hand. “Been practicin’ a little.”

You watched him pause, think hard, then point to your sign and say—very slowly— “Can… I… touch… your grandmother?”

A beat of silence.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He frowned. “That ain’t right?”

You stifled a laugh—barely. “You meant to say ‘Can I ask your name,’ didn’t you?”

“…Maybe.”

You sighed, pulling your phone out to type a quick correction into his notes app. “We’re gonna need to work on that.”

He leaned a little closer than necessary to peek at your phone screen. “That your way of sayin’ I need ya?”

You turned to him, deadpan. “It’s my way of saying I don’t want to be responsible for you offending anyone’s grandma.”

That got a full-on laugh out of him. Loud and unfiltered. And just like that, the tension broke.

You didn’t say it out loud, but you were starting to get the feeling: this job wasn’t going to be boring.

___________________________________________________________________________

Outside the terminal, the city air was thick and warm, heavy with humidity and the scent of traffic and foreign soil. Cars zipped by in orderly chaos as you flagged down a taxi. Atsumu followed you, dragging his overpacked duffle behind him like a stubborn child. He was still grinning from his failed language attempt.

The cab pulled up with a low rumble, and you popped the trunk open smoothly, helping him load his things before sliding into the front passenger seat. He got in the back, and the driver glanced at you for the destination.

You fired off the hotel’s name and address in fluent, clipped local dialect, then turned back to check that Atsumu was buckled. He was sprawled across the seat already like he’d just finished a five-set match.

“Y’know,” he said, tapping the window as the cab pulled away, “this city’s kinda pretty. Not as pretty as you, though.”

You didn’t even blink.

“No flirting,” you said flatly, adjusting your seatbelt. “I’m here to help you navigate, not stroke your ego.”

He whistled low under his breath. “That was cold, translator-chan.”

You glanced back at him. “Do you want to get to the hotel or not?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, kicking his foot up against the opposite door. “Just sayin’. You’re not what I expected.”

“And you’re exactly what I expected.”

That made him snort, hand going to the back of his neck. “Aww, c’mon. I’m not that bad.”

“You’re a professional athlete who can’t order food, navigate street signs, or conduct a press interview without accidentally proposing marriage,” you said coolly. “Yet.”

He was silent for a moment, either offended or impressed—you couldn’t quite tell.

Then he leaned forward, resting his arms across the back of your seat.

“But you’ll be there when I need ya, right?”

His voice dipped just slightly lower, a little softer, a little too close to your ear.

You exhaled. Slowly.

“I’ll be there,” you said. “When. You. Need. Translation.”

You didn’t look at him. He sat back, laughing again, but this time quieter, maybe slightly sheepish. The cab rolled on in silence for a moment.

___________________________________________________________________________

When you finally arrived at the hotel, you stepped out first, scanning the entrance before he even opened the door.

The hotel was a sleek, modern tower in the heart of the city’s business district. Gleaming glass, uniformed staff, a lobby so polished it felt like a film set. As soon as you walked through the doors, the front desk staff approached with bright smiles—one of them already eyeing Atsumu like they knew who he was.

You gave your name and presented the booking confirmation on your tablet, switching languages fluidly. Atsumu stood beside you, smiling politely, until the receptionist addressed him directly—rapid-fire and enthusiastic.

He froze.

You glanced up. “Do you want me to—”

“Please,” he muttered, scratching his cheek.

You stepped in immediately, smoothing over the confusion with ease. The receptionist laughed, nodding, and handed over the room key.

“You’ll be on the twelfth floor,” you told Atsumu, passing him the card.

“Coulda handled that,” he grumbled.

“You were about to nod and agree to a wake-up call at 4 a.m.”

“...Fair.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The next morning, chaos officially began.

You were in the hotel’s small conference room by 9 a.m., sorting through a stack of printed schedules, athlete profiles, and local broadcast notes when the team PR rep dropped a bomb on you.

“Atsumu’s got a solo interview in thirty minutes. Live stream. One of the major broadcasters.”

You blinked. “Thirty minutes?”

“Yeah, sorry. It got moved up.”

“Does he know?”

The rep’s face said: not yet.

You sighed, grabbed your badge, and went on the hunt.

You found him in the hotel gym, tossing a volleyball in the air and hitting it against the wall while two hotel guests watched, enchanted.

“Atsumu,” you said sharply.

He turned. “Oh hey! You came to watch me work out?”

You tossed a rolled-up schedule at his chest. “Interview. Thirty minutes. Let’s go.”

He groaned. “Do I gotta wear somethin’ nice?”

“Preferably something that doesn’t scream ‘I slept in this.’”

“Yer scary when yer bossy.”

“You haven’t seen scary yet.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The media studio wasn’t far from the hotel—ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops—but in the backseat of the taxi with Atsumu Miya beside you, it felt like an eternity.

From the moment the doors closed, he was in full “entertainment mode.”

“Y’know,” he said, shifting in his seat so he was half-facing you, “I bet this city’s got a good dating scene.”

You didn’t even glance up from the itinerary in your hands. “Try experiencing the volleyball scene first.”

“But I’m a multitasker,” he said with a grin.

You inhaled slowly through your nose. “Atsumu. Please. For five minutes. Just… exist silently.”

He blinked. “Why, ‘cause yer scared you’ll fall for me if I keep talkin’?”

That made you actually lower your folder and stare at him.

“No,” you said, deadpan. “I’m scared I’ll throw you out of the moving vehicle.”

He laughed—loud, unbothered. Like your threats were flirting. Like everything was a game.

You turned your face toward the window, muttering, “You are such a pain in the ass.”

But you said it in your native language, sharp and low, making sure he wouldn’t understand.

“What was that?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Nothing,” you replied, eyes still fixed on the passing streetlights. “Just hoping we hit a red light… forever.”

By the time the cab pulled up to the curb, you were holding onto your professionalism by a thread.

“Finally,” you exhaled, pushing the door open before the car even came to a full stop. “We’re here.”

Atsumu slid out behind you, stretching his arms over his head and grinning like the trip had been the highlight of his day.

“You’re so tense,” he said casually. “Maybe after the interview, we grab lunch? Clear the air a little?”

You turned to him, arching a brow. “I don’t eat with my clients. I babysit them.”

He put a hand over his heart. “Ouch.”

“You’ll live.”

You were already walking toward the studio entrance when he jogged a few steps to catch up, still smiling. Still too tall. Still too loud.

“You’re kinda mean, translator-chan.”

You didn’t look at him, just held the door open with a polite smile and said, “Good. Maybe it’ll keep you in line for the next twenty minutes.”

He walked in first, and under your breath, you added, “God, I hope the mic cuts out.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The studio lobby was chilled with air conditioning and that faint scent of wires, dust, and too much coffee. A wall of glass separated the front room from the broadcasting space beyond, where crew members darted between lights, cameras, and tangled cords like ants before a storm.

You approached the check-in desk and introduced yourself in the local language, all crisp syllables and quiet confidence. The staff member behind the counter smiled, nodded, and gestured toward the waiting area.

“They’ll be ready for him in ten minutes,” she said brightly.

“Great. Thank you.” You turned to Atsumu. “Sit. Don’t wander. Don’t touch anything.”

Atsumu blinked at you like you’d just asked him not to breathe. “You make me sound like a kid.”

“I’ve worked with kids,” you said. “They’re easier.”

He let out a dramatic sigh and flopped into one of the sleek leather chairs, manspreading immediately. You sat beside him with your tablet, scrolling through the notes from the PR team.

After exactly two seconds of silence, he leaned toward you.

“So… what’s your sign?”

You didn’t even look up. “Stop talking.”

“But what if we’re astrologically compatible? That’s important.”

You finally glanced over. “Atsumu, I don’t care if the stars themselves came down from the sky and told me we were soulmates. I’d still run.”

He laughed, clearly delighted. “Yer killin’ me. Seriously. What do ya do when you’re not translating? Like… for fun?”

You considered lying and telling him you played with knives.

Instead: “I rest. And I try to avoid volleyball players who think they’re God’s gift to women.”

He smirked. “So you admit I’m a gift.”

You gave him a dead stare.

Before you could make him regret being born, a production assistant appeared at the door. “We’re ready for you, Miya-san.”

You stood immediately, voice switching languages effortlessly as you thanked her and gestured for Atsumu to follow.

Inside the studio, it was even colder, the kind of place designed to keep people sharp and sweat-free under pressure. Lights blazed down on the center stage—just a small round desk with two chairs, mics, and a modest backdrop featuring both the local league’s logo and Japan’s team emblem.

Atsumu was ushered to his seat. He glanced up at the overhead cameras, then at his reflection in a blackened monitor.

“D’you think I need more gel?” he asked, running a hand through his already-perfect hair.

“No,” you said flatly. “You need less ego.”

He smirked again but dropped it after you stepped behind the camera setup and put in your earpiece.

You double-checked the translation stream in your headset, confirming your mic would stay off-camera as you whispered cues to him during the live interview.

The host entered next, all polished confidence and perfect posture. He shook Atsumu’s hand and greeted him warmly—in fast, enthusiastic local dialect.

You leaned slightly toward Atsumu. “Smile. Nod. Don’t commit to anything.”

He nodded, flashed a winning grin, and said something like, “Yoroshiku,” in a way that made it sound vaguely flirtatious.

You resisted the urge to hit him with your clipboard.

Then the red light over the camera blinked on.

They were live.

You exhaled, bracing yourself.

Let the chaos begin.

__________________________________________________________________________

The cameras blinked on, signaling the start of the live broadcast.

The host gave a confident smile, his voice smooth as he welcomed the audience.

Host (in local language): "Welcome to today’s special coverage of the International Volleyball Tournament! We are honored to have one of Japan’s finest athletes, Miya Atsumu, with us today. Miya-san, how are you feeling?"

Atsumu was already grinning, his usual playful demeanor taking over as he leaned forward, looking straight into the camera.

“Feeling great!” He spoke slowly, probably to make sure the host and viewers understood him. “The team’s looking good, and I’m excited to show everyone what we’ve got.”

You gave him a quick glance from behind the camera, hand on your tablet, ready for the next cue.

Host (smiling): "And we’re sure they’ll be excited to see you in action. Now, tell us, how do you prepare mentally for a match? What’s your ritual?”

You leaned in, whispering the translation in Atsumu’s ear. “They’re asking about your pre-match routine.”

He nodded. “Ah, okay. I focus, get in the zone, maybe listen to some music, and just relax.”

You translated smoothly for the host, but Atsumu added his own flair, looking back at the camera with a smirk.

“But honestly, the real key is my teammates. I just let them do all the work while I score the winning point.” He winked at the camera.

You froze, blinking. “Atsumu. Don’t.”

But he was already on a roll.

Host (laughing): "Ah, Miya-san, always with the confidence! But we love that about you. Now, you’ve been in the spotlight for quite a while. How does it feel to be so famous, not just in Japan, but globally?"

You quickly translated, but you could already tell Atsumu wasn’t about to let this slide without his usual commentary.

“Well,” he began, leaning back, “It’s cool and all, but...”

He turned toward you, locking eyes with that trademark grin.

“I’d rather be known for my skills, ya know?” He pointed toward you, “Like my translator here—she’s the real MVP.”

You felt your face flush with an awkward half-smile. This guy…

The host chuckled, clearly entertained. “I see! Miss L/N, you must be doing something right to earn such praise.”

You: “I just make sure he doesn’t insult anyone too badly,” you said with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Atsumu raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious. “So, you think I insult people?”

You gave him a look. “If you keep calling the crowd ‘pretty’ every time you see them, you’ll get arrested.”

He laughed. “Only if they’re not flattered.”

You winced internally. This was already spiraling. You couldn’t even keep up with his antics anymore.

Host: “So, Miya-san, we’ve heard some rumors about you being quite the ladies' man—what’s the truth in that?”

You glanced down at your tablet, keeping the translation flowing. This was going to be interesting.

Atsumu flashed another grin, turning to face the camera directly. “I mean, I’m just a humble guy, y’know? But hey, if a fan wants to grab coffee sometime, I’m not one to say no.”

You choked on your breath and shot him an incredulous look.

You whispered, “Atsumu—stop flirting with the entire city.”

He looked at you, genuinely surprised. “I thought I was just being friendly.”

You didn’t bother responding. Instead, you got straight to work.

“Maybe it’s time for a change of topic, yeah?” you said quickly, turning to the host. “How about the team dynamics? How do you work together as a unit?”

The host nodded, grateful for the smooth save, and tossed the question back to Atsumu. “Yes, tell us about how the team prepares to support each other, especially during crucial moments.”

You relaxed slightly. You knew this was something Atsumu could talk about seriously, and finally, he settled into the role.

Atsumu: “It’s all about trust. We’re a team, not just a group of guys trying to score points. Off the court, we hang out, we joke around, but when it’s game time, we’re all in it together. We push each other.”

This time, you translated without feeling the need to edit too much. It was genuine.

Host: “That’s wonderful to hear, Miya-san. Now, before we wrap up, can you share with us what you’re most looking forward to in this tournament?”

Atsumu smiled widely, sitting up straighter in his chair. “The fans,” he said, with a soft but serious tone. “I can’t wait to hear their energy. Volleyball’s not just about the game. It’s about how the crowd makes you feel alive. I wanna give them something to remember.”

You caught the sincerity in his words and translated it carefully. The host nodded, clearly moved.

_________________________________________________________________________

As the final questions rolled by, you found yourself silently thankful that the interview was almost over. Yet you couldn’t deny how effortlessly Atsumu switched from playful flirt to focused athlete.

When the light above the camera clicked off, signaling the end of the live broadcast, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

_________________________________________________________________________

Host: “Thank you so much for your time, Miya-san. You’ve been a fantastic guest.”

Atsumu stood and bowed. “Thank you. It was a blast.” He shot you a look with that same mischievous grin. “Don’t worry, translator-chan, I’ll try to be good next time.”

You smiled politely, but the sarcasm in your eyes made it clear: you didn’t believe that for a second.

You quickly motioned for him to follow you out of the studio. “Let’s get this over with,” you muttered under your breath.

He stepped up beside you, nudging your shoulder playfully as you made your way out the door.

“See? That wasn’t so bad. You think the crowd liked me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just pray they liked your volleyball, not your… charming personality.”

He gave a mock pout, but then softened. “Alright, alright. Thanks for makin’ me sound better than I am.”

You didn’t say anything back. You just wished for one peaceful moment in the hotel room before his next “charming” idea popped up.

___________________________________________________________________________

The buzz of the studio fades as you and Atsumu exit into the hallway. The crew is still packing up, voices low in the distance, but it’s quieter here, away from the cameras.

Atsumu stretches out his arms, clearly relieved. You catch his gaze for a split second before you turn toward the elevator, already mentally preparing for the rest of the day.

“Well,” he says, voice lighter, “That wasn’t so bad, right? I think I nailed it.”

You keep your eyes ahead, already scanning your phone for the next set of details. “You didn’t ruin anything, so I’ll give you credit for that.”

“Damn, you really know how to make a guy feel special,” he says, though you can hear the hint of a smile in his voice.

There’s a beat of silence as you both step into the elevator. The doors close with a soft ding, and for a moment, you’re trapped together in the small, quiet space. His scent—a mix of cologne and something subtly woodsy—fills the air, almost too close. You turn your attention back to the tablet in your hands, pretending you don’t notice the way his eyes flicker over to you now and then.

Then, just as the elevator hums upward, he speaks again. This time, it’s quieter, softer, and a little more genuine.

“You know,” he says, voice uncharacteristically low, “I didn’t expect you to be so... tough on me.”

You glance at him, eyebrow raised. “What do you mean?”

He meets your gaze, his usual cocky grin softened, something more real there now. “You’re all business. Cold even.” He lets out a small laugh. “I thought you’d be, I dunno… more impressed by me. Or at least have some fun with it.”

You’re not sure what makes you do it, but you roll your eyes—slightly. Just enough to let him know you’re not falling for it. “You really think I’m impressed by your… charm?”

He shrugs, still smiling, but this time it’s not as confident. “I figured you might be one of the few people who could keep up with me.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, thick with something unspoken. You could’ve said something sharp to cut the tension. Could’ve thrown out another sarcastic quip.

But instead, you feel it. That flicker. Maybe it’s the quiet of the elevator. Or the way his eyes are just a little too focused on you.

You shift slightly, looking away as if the air got a little too thick. “I’m not here for your charm, Atsumu. I’m here to do a job.”

Your voice doesn’t waver. It’s still cool. Professional. But there’s something in the way you say it that feels... sharper.

He leans against the wall of the elevator, a strange seriousness in his expression. “I get it. You’re just doing your job. But, you know, you don’t always have to be so... cold.”

You don’t look at him this time, but the words settle somewhere unexpected inside you. You feel his gaze on you, but you don’t acknowledge it—just keep your face neutral.

Finally, the elevator reaches your floor with a soft ding.

You step out first, trying to shake off the sudden shift in the air between you two.

You’re almost out of the elevator when Atsumu catches up to you, this time his voice lighter, almost teasing again.

“But hey,” he calls, with a smirk you can almost hear. “If you ever do wanna have some fun...”

You stop in your tracks and glance at him over your shoulder.

“Don’t.” Your voice is firm, but you’re not angry—just unamused.

Atsumu grins, that mischievous glint back in his eyes. He raises his hands in mock surrender, looking almost innocent. “Alright, alright. But you can’t say I didn’t try.”

You just shake your head, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of your lips—only for a moment, before you return to your usual cold demeanor.

It’s just another day.

And maybe that’s exactly how you want it.

___________________________________________________________________________

The hotel lobby was unusually quiet for a busy morning, the soft hum of a few guests chatting in the distance. You sat near the large windows with your coffee, catching up on your emails and glancing at the schedule for the day. The warm sunlight bathed the space, and for a moment, it felt like you could forget the chaos of the previous day.

That is, until you noticed someone else in the lobby—one of the local press members. Tall, dark-haired, with sharp features, and a smile that seemed just a little too eager. You couldn’t remember his name, but you definitely remembered the way he looked at you during the press conference.

He approached you with a casual step, his smile already in place as he glanced down at your coffee.

“Hey, good morning,” he greeted, his tone warm, almost too familiar for a first meeting.

You didn’t look up immediately, trying to give off a disinterested vibe. “Morning.”

But he wasn’t deterred. He stood by your table, glancing at the empty chair across from you.

“Mind if I join you? You look like you could use some company.”

You gave him a tight smile, hoping to brush him off. “I’m actually fine. Just trying to catch up on some work.”

But he didn’t move. Instead, he pulled the chair out and sat down anyway. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you since yesterday’s interview. I thought you did a great job translating. Not easy work, I bet.”

You gave a polite nod, but you didn’t want to encourage him any further. “Thanks, but I really do need to get some work done.”

The guy ignored your hint and leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower in an attempt to seem more intimate. “You know, you seem different from the other people here. So serious, focused… I like that in a woman.”

You clenched your jaw, annoyed. He was crossing the line, but you weren’t sure how to get rid of him without making a scene.

Just as you were about to give him a polite but firm “I’m not interested,” you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Is everything alright here?”

You turned your head slightly, and to your surprise, it was Atsumu. He stood in the lobby doorway, his hotel robe hanging loosely over his shoulders, freshly showered and looking effortlessly handsome.

For a moment, you felt a strange sense of relief, like a wave of cool air had swept through the space. But you didn’t show it.

The local guy seemed to hesitate for a second, his eyes darting between you and Atsumu. His smile faltered slightly as he stood up from the table.

“Oh, no problem,” he said quickly, offering a halfhearted smile. “Just wanted to chat with her for a bit.”

Atsumu stepped closer, his presence larger than life. “You sure about that? Looks like she was pretty busy.”

You watched the exchange, your fingers gripping your coffee cup tighter. You hadn’t expected Atsumu to step in like this—but the guy wasn’t giving up so easily.

The local guy finally raised his hands in mock surrender, not wanting to escalate things. “Alright, alright. No need to get defensive.” He flashed you one last look before walking away, a little annoyed that his charm hadn’t worked.

Atsumu stood there for a moment, watching him leave with a knowing smirk, before turning to face you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone casual, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. He wasn’t just playing the role of the protector; there was a certain edge to the way he asked it. Jealousy?

You took a slow breath, still feeling the weight of the encounter. “I’m fine. Just didn’t realize some people couldn’t take a hint.”

Atsumu leaned against the table, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes scanning you with a glint of something unspoken. “Yeah, he didn’t seem to get that. Guys like him think they can just talk to you like that without knowing a thing about you.”

You looked up at him, slightly confused. “And you think you’re any different?”

Atsumu didn’t miss a beat. “I’m just a guy trying to make sure you don’t get annoyed by random people who don’t know how to back off.”

You felt the subtle tension building, but you didn’t want to let him see you react to his words. Instead, you straightened up, trying to keep things neutral.

“Well, it’s not like you’re doing this because you care, right?” You kept your voice even, not giving too much away. “You’re just doing it because it’s your job to make sure I don’t get distracted by ‘random guys.’”

He didn’t immediately respond. There was a pause as he looked at you, the playful edge in his eyes dulling slightly. It wasn’t his usual cocky grin, but something closer to a quiet acknowledgment.

“You’re right,” he finally said, his voice softer than you expected. “It’s part of the job. But, I mean... I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t have to deal with guys like that every day. It’s annoying.”

You shifted in your seat, feeling an unexpected warmth creeping up your neck. “I’m fine, really. He wasn’t that bad.”

Atsumu raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? I saw the way you looked at him. Not impressed at all.”

You shot him a look, half-amused, half-exasperated. “I wasn’t impressed because I’m not interested. He just doesn’t get that.”

His eyes lingered on you for a second longer than usual. His smirk returned, but it was tempered by something deeper—something real.

“Well,” he said, standing up straight again, “I’ll just be here making sure no more guys try to talk to you. Just in case.” His tone was light again, but you could see the shift in the way he moved now. He wasn’t just being a cocky teammate; there was something more to it.

You couldn’t quite place it, but it left a flicker of something in your chest.

“Thanks,” you said, standing up as well, your tone still cool. “But you don’t have to—”

Before you could finish, Atsumu was already walking away, a little smirk tugging at his lips. “I know. But I want to.”

As he walked off toward the elevator, you couldn’t help but feel the faintest buzz of confusion running through you. What was that?

__________________________________________________________________________

The following day, things were a little different. Atsumu had been quieter than usual, his attention shifting from one thing to another, though his eyes would often linger on you, a strange sort of nervous energy hovering around him.

You were sitting in the hotel lobby again, sipping your coffee—alone this time, as you’d gotten there early—and glancing over your notes for the upcoming press conference. Atsumu, after all, wasn’t exactly the best at staying on schedule.

Suddenly, he appeared in front of you, this time without his usual cocky swagger. Instead, he seemed almost... unsure?

“Hey,” he said, his voice strangely soft. “I’ve been thinking...”

You raised an eyebrow, setting your coffee down. “What about?”

He shifted on his feet, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Well, I figured maybe I should step up a little.” He gave you a hesitant smile, as if trying to seem casual. “Maybe I should learn a bit of the local language, y’know? That way I can talk to you without needing you to translate everything.”

You were taken aback, not expecting him to care about this at all. "Atsumu, you don't need to do that."

But Atsumu was insistent. “I want to. I’ve got this, uh... friend, who’s teaching me. So… I learned something.” His face flushed, a little unsure of himself as he pulled out his phone, tapping something quickly. “You’re gonna like this.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What is it?”

Atsumu cleared his throat, a bit of determination in his voice. “I like you,” he said, trying to sound confident, but his words were strained. He said it in the local language, but his pronunciation was... off.

It came out as something closer to “Ai… lke... yu” instead of anything even remotely coherent.

You stared at him, blinking in disbelief. The moment was awkward, and his face turned an even deeper shade of red as he realized how badly he’d messed up.

“Oh God, I... I didn’t mean to—” Atsumu stammered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I was trying to say it properly... but, uh... guess I didn’t really nail it, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a real laugh this time, as you placed a hand on your forehead. “Atsumu… You really butchered that.”

He sighed, looking absolutely mortified. “Well, I tried. You know, I thought it would be a nice gesture...”

You smiled, a little softer now, but you were still amused. “Maybe next time, you could leave the language lessons to me.”

He scratched his head sheepishly. “Yeah… I’ll stick to the basics. Like ‘hello’ and ‘thank you.’”

“You know,” you teased, “That might be for the best.”

Atsumu chuckled nervously, his usual cocky grin returning, but now with a little more sincerity behind it. “Guess I’ll just have to earn the real words, huh?”

The playful energy between you two shifted, but in a way that felt more comfortable, more real. Atsumu wasn’t perfect—but it seemed like he was trying. And maybe that was all that mattered.

__________________________________________________________________________

The next day, the press events and interviews were already in full swing. It had been a busy morning, and you were grateful to have a brief moment of peace to collect your thoughts in a quieter corner of the hotel lobby. The day before had felt weird—and not just because of Atsumu’s botched attempt to speak the local language. Something about him helping you with that annoying guy felt... different.

You still couldn’t shake the feeling of his presence, his voice defending you in a way that was... well, not what you expected. Normally, you’d brush off any form of attention like that, especially from someone like him. But there was a quiet satisfaction in the way he’d just swooped in and handled the situation. It felt good. Too good.

You sat down, trying to focus on the papers in front of you, but your mind kept wandering back to that moment—how his words had softened ever so slightly when he asked if you were okay, how he hadn’t hesitated to step in and handle things with that guy.

Stop it, you told yourself firmly. You can’t let yourself get all worked up over something so... stupid.

But the truth was, you were secretly pleased that he’d done it. That’s what you get for letting your guard down, you thought. You wanted to blame it on the fact that you’d been working nonstop, and maybe you were just exhausted, but it was hard to ignore how your heart had skipped just a little when he had defended you.

Before you could dwell on it further, you saw him.

Atsumu walked into the lobby from the elevator, his usual loud footsteps echoing in the otherwise quiet space. He was wearing his hoodie, headphones around his neck, a half-smile already on his face as he caught your eye. His usual cocky air was back, but there was something in the way he looked at you that made your chest tighten just a bit.

“Hey,” he greeted casually, sitting down across from you, his eyes scanning the paperwork in front of you.

You gave him a small, neutral smile. “Hey.”

“Busy?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. He had that relaxed, easy-going vibe, as if he’d just come from a relaxing morning, when in reality, you both knew he’d probably just woken up.

“A little,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. You didn’t want him to think you were distracted, even though part of you felt strangely aware of how close he was.

Atsumu leaned forward, the playful grin on his face as he shifted the conversation. “You’re staring at that paper like it’s the most complicated thing in the world. You’ve been doing this long enough to know what’s going on.”

You shot him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow. “I’m just organizing things for the next press event. Not everything is as easy as you think.”

His smirk never left. “Easy? Nah, I don’t think I’ve ever thought that about anything you do. You’re pretty damn good at what you do.”

You didn’t know why, but hearing him say that made your heart skip a beat, and you immediately looked away, trying to focus on your work again. Stop it, stop it, stop it.

Atsumu, ever the persistent one, leaned closer and nudged your foot with his. “I don’t get it,” he said lightly. “Why are you always so... cold toward me? What did I do, huh?”

You met his gaze again, biting back the words that almost slipped out. Because you're a pain in the ass, Atsumu.

But instead, you kept it professional, brushing him off. “I’m not cold. I’m just busy.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Uh-huh. So, if I were to tell you I helped you out yesterday because I’m just really good at helping people, you wouldn’t be... thankful?”

You froze. He did notice, huh?

You avoided his gaze again, trying to act nonchalant. “You didn’t have to step in, you know. I could’ve handled it.”

Atsumu smirked, clearly not buying it. “Oh, really? Because you didn’t seem like you were handling it too well, babe.” His voice softened just a little, teasing but with a hint of something... different. “You looked like you could’ve used a little help. Glad I was around to give it.”

Your stomach did a little flip, and you fought to keep your expression neutral. “Well, I guess I owe you one. But don’t get used to it.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not asking for anything. Just saying, you can relax a little. Not everyone’s out to get you.”

For a split second, you thought you saw something else in his eyes—something a little deeper than his usual teasing. But before you could analyze it, Atsumu leaned back in his chair again, arms behind his head like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that things between you two had shifted ever so slightly. His attention, the way he had stepped in to help, even the way he was acting now—it was different. You weren’t sure what it meant, but it was clear that the boundaries between you and Atsumu were getting a little blurry.

The conversation carried on, but you couldn’t fully focus. Every now and then, you’d catch yourself thinking about how he had helped you, how he’d actually cared about how you were feeling. And when you caught him glancing at you from across the room or making a little joke to try to make you smile, you couldn’t help but feel that flutter again.

Maybe you don’t hate him as much as you think...

As you walked off to get ready for the next event, you felt that familiar heat rise in your cheeks. The thing was, Atsumu might be a pain in the ass, but somehow, he was also making you feel... something that was hard to ignore.

___________________________________________________________________________

The press conference was almost over, and you were ready to escape the suffocating spotlight. You’d been translating for Atsumu all morning, fielding questions, managing his sometimes ridiculous answers, and making sure the journalists understood him. Honestly, you were a little worn out, but the day was almost done.

But just when you thought you’d get to breathe easy, a reporter raised their hand and threw a question that made the whole room quiet.

“So, Atsumu,” the reporter began, looking over her notes, “We’ve heard a lot about your career and your international success. But fans are curious... Do you have a girlfriend? Or is there someone you’re interested in right now?”

You froze. You’d been expecting questions about his game, his training, his strategies—but this? Even though you did not wanted to translate you quietly translated it to him.

This was personal. How dare he to ask such a stupid question. And why where you so worked up about it? Atsumu, on the other hand, didn’t seem to flinch. He leaned back in his chair, flashing his signature cocky smile. But just as he was about to answer, he glanced over at you.

It was quick—barely a second—but it was enough to make your heart race.

You were still processing the fleeting moment when Atsumu responded, his voice smooth and confident. “Nah, no girlfriend. I’m focused on my career right now.” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair casually. “I’ll let the ladies come to me when I’m ready.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little sting at the way he’d answered so dismissively. Was it because of the quick glance he’d thrown at you? Did it mean something? Or was he just being his usual cocky self?

You quickly turned your attention back to the room, your mind racing. Was it jealousy? Or just the sudden reminder that Atsumu wasn’t going to be tied down to anyone anytime soon?

After a few more questions, the press conference wrapped up, and you all stood up to leave. Atsumu’s usual carefree swagger returned, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. Maybe it was the look he’d given you. Maybe it was the thought of him not seeing you as someone special enough to mention, even if it was just a passing glance.

___________________________________________________________________________

The press conference was finally over, and you were just trying to make it through the rest of the day. You’d spent hours translating, dealing with the press, managing Atsumu’s antics, and now all you wanted was a few minutes of peace.

But the ride up in the elevator was anything but peaceful.

The moment the doors closed, the air between you and Atsumu was thick with tension. He was quiet, unusually so, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes staring at the floor. You could tell something had shifted after the press conference—the way he'd glanced at you before answering that question about his relationship status, the way he kept his distance now. It made you feel… unsettled.

Unable to hold it in any longer, you broke the silence. “You know, you didn’t have to answer that question like that.”

Atsumu’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something behind his usual cocky gaze. He didn’t respond immediately, but you could tell he was thinking about it.

“Why, you think I should’ve said I’ve got a girlfriend?” he shot back, his voice cool but with an edge you didn’t like.

You could feel yourself getting frustrated, the walls of your professionalism starting to crack. “No, I think you were being a jerk. And you looked at me right before you answered. What was that about?”

Atsumu’s lips curled into that all-too-familiar smirk, but there was something different about it this time. “What? You think I should’ve said I like someone? You want me to talk about my feelings?”

You could feel your heart racing, the anger and confusion bubbling to the surface. “I’m not asking for your feelings, Atsumu. I’m just saying, I don’t get why you had to make it so... dismissive.”

His smirk faltered for a second, and you could see the defensiveness in his posture. “I’m not being dismissive. I just don’t need to explain my personal life to everyone.”

The elevator slowed as it approached your floor, but neither of you moved. The tension was thick, crackling in the air between you two. Every word you spoke seemed to make the space between you smaller, and you could feel the pull in the pit of your stomach.

You took a step closer, your eyes narrowing in frustration. “Well, maybe you should learn how to answer like a grown-up then.”

Atsumu’s eyes darkened, and his jaw clenched. He was getting frustrated too. His next words were sharp. “You think you know me that well? Maybe you don’t understand how I answer to anyone.”

You both stood there, caught in a staring contest, the space between you shrinking. Your chest was tight, heart hammering as the seconds dragged on. Everything about this moment felt wrong—but you couldn’t stop it.

And then, without warning, everything exploded.

Atsumu moved fast, his hand gripping the back of your neck and pulling you toward him. There was no slow approach, no hesitation—his lips crashed into yours in a fierce, desperate kiss. The suddenness of it knocked the breath from your lungs, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

His mouth was demanding, as if he’d been holding this back for way too long. His lips pressed against yours with a force that spoke volumes—words that he hadn’t said out loud, feelings that were tangled up in that heated kiss.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your hands finding their way to his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie as if it grounded you in the chaos of the moment. His tongue gently brushed against yours, and you responded without thinking, the kiss growing deeper, more urgent, as if everything you’d been holding back was suddenly pouring out in this one instant.

The elevator pinged, but neither of you moved, lost in the rush of emotions you hadn’t expected to feel. The kiss went on longer than either of you had intended, and when you finally pulled back, gasping for air, your foreheads rested against each other.

You were both breathless, eyes wide, as if trying to process what had just happened—what it meant.

Atsumu was the first to speak, his voice low and ragged, barely a whisper. “Tell me to stop.”

The words hung heavy in the air, trembling between a plea and a challenge. His hands were still warm against your skin, fingertips barely grazing your jaw now, but the tension in him was unmistakable—like he was holding himself back with every ounce of self-control he had.

You didn’t answer right away. Your thoughts were a mess. Your heart was a mess. But the look in his eyes wasn’t teasing for once. There was no cocky smirk. No smug arrogance. Just raw, vulnerable sincerity.

You swallowed. “Why?”

He blinked, surprised at your question. “Because if you don’t, I’ll kiss you again. And this time, I won’t be able to pretend it doesn’t mean something.”

You opened your mouth—maybe to tell him this was too fast, too reckless, too something. But nothing came out. Because somewhere in the back of your mind, despite all your earlier resistance, despite telling yourself he was a pain in the ass, that you wanted this job to be over quickly—you hadn’t moved.

You were still here. Still close. Still wanting.

So instead of answering, you leaned in again—just slightly. Barely an inch.

Atsumu didn’t wait for a clearer sign. His lips were on yours again, firmer this time, less chaotic, but still laced with that fire you hadn’t realized had been building for days. Weeks, maybe. His hand slipped behind your neck again, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and your hands clenched the fabric of his jacket like you couldn’t stand the idea of him pulling away.

There were no thoughts now. No logical explanations. Just the feel of his mouth on yours, the way his breath caught when you nipped his bottom lip, the way he groaned low in his throat when you pressed your body closer to his.

He kissed you like he was memorizing it. Like he’d wanted to do this from the moment you first rolled your eyes at him.

When you finally broke apart again, this time it was slower. Less breathless, but just as charged. You didn’t rest your forehead against his—this time you stepped back, just slightly, enough to make space to think.

Atsumu looked down at you, his lips still parted, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a sprint. “Well…” he muttered, voice hoarse and uneven, “that didn’t exactly help keep things professional, did it?”

You gave a quiet laugh under your breath—more like a sharp exhale than real amusement. “No. Definitely didn’t.”

A beat of silence stretched between you. The elevator doors were still open, but the hallway was thankfully empty.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your eyes avoiding his. “This doesn’t change anything about the job,” you said, forcing the words out carefully. “We still have two more weeks of interviews. Events. Media stuff. We have to stay focused.”

Atsumu nodded slowly, licking his lips like he was still trying to taste the moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Then he glanced at you with a softer version of that familiar grin. “But it’s gonna be really hard not to kiss you again.”

You shot him a look—half warning, half flustered—and stepped out of the elevator, trying to collect what was left of your composure. He followed behind a second later, hands in his pockets, lips still twitching at the corners.

Neither of you said anything as you walked down the hall. But the air between you was buzzing. Changed.

__________________________________________________________________________

The door clicked shut behind you, the soft snick of the lock echoing in the dim quiet of Atsumu’s hotel room.

You weren’t even sure how it happened. One second you were both standing in the hallway, silent, charged with unspoken things… and the next, you were being pulled inside by the collar of your jacket, your back pressing into the wall beside the door as his mouth found yours again.

This kiss was different. Still hungry—but not rushed. It was like he was finally letting himself feel what he’d been holding back, and it poured out of him like it couldn’t wait a second longer.

His hands framed your face as he kissed you, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. You melted into him, letting your fingers twist in the hem of his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer.

He pulled away just far enough to breathe against your lips. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he murmured, voice low and breathless. His eyes searched yours, and even though he looked wrecked from the kiss, there was honesty swimming in his gaze. “Way too much.”

You barely had time to react before he kissed you again—deeper this time. His tongue slid against yours, and you let out a quiet sound, your hand curling into his chest as he pressed you more firmly into the wall.

“I thought it was just ‘cause you were around all the time,” he whispered against your mouth, catching his breath between kisses. “But it’s not. It’s not that at all.”

You shivered at the rawness in his voice. At the way he kissed you like he needed to, like it was the only way he could get the words out.

His hands dropped to your waist, strong fingers gripping you just tight enough to make your breath catch. And then, without warning, he lifted you—effortlessly—making you wrap your legs around his waist as he carried you deeper into the room, lips never leaving yours.

He laid you down onto the edge of the bed with a soft thump, hovering over you, one arm braced beside your head, the other still holding your waist.

You looked up at him, a little breathless, flushed, your lips swollen from his kisses. “You’re not usually this... serious,” you murmured.

He let out a short laugh, kissing you again, slower this time, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth. “Yeah, well,” he said, barely pulling away, “I wasn’t planning on liking my translator.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t stop kissing him.

Atsumu growled low in his throat, deep and hoarse, as his mouth moved to your jaw, then your neck, lips trailing heat against your skin. “And that guy yesterday?” he muttered, voice darker now, breath hot against your collarbone. “The one who couldn’t take a hint?”

You tensed slightly, remembering the uncomfortable encounter in the lobby. But Atsumu only kissed you harder. “He looked at you way to wanting,” he murmured. “His eyes on you like he had the right. Like you were his to bother.”

He pulled back, just barely—his eyes now sharp with that cocky edge you’d come to know, but there was a possessive gleam there that made your stomach twist.

“That made me so fuckin’ mad,” he admitted. “How dare he be close to what’s mine.”

Your breath hitched, heat flooding your chest. “Yours?”

Atsumu smirked, but it wasn’t playful. It was something darker. Deeper. “You think I’d learn how to say ‘I like you’ in your language if I didn’t mean it?”

You blinked, stunned—but before you could say anything, he was kissing you again, stealing your words, swallowing your breath. His hands slid beneath your shirt now, fingers grazing your bare skin, but not rushing—just touching like he couldn’t stop himself.

You moaned softly against his mouth, your arms tightening around his shoulders, anchoring yourself to the moment as he leaned in closer, settling his weight over you, hips pressing flush against yours.

“I meant it,” he whispered into your skin, trailing kisses down your throat. “I like you. You drive me crazy. But I like you.”

You were dizzy from the heat of it all—from his kisses, from his voice in your ear, from the way his hands held you like he couldn’t bear to let go.

And in that moment, you didn’t want him to.

You pulled him down again, lips colliding in another deep, lingering kiss that said everything you couldn’t. The walls you’d tried to keep up were already crumbling—and maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind anymore.

___________________________________________________________________________

Years later:

The room was buzzing—cameras clicking, reporters murmuring, flashes of light blinking in intervals as Atsumu adjusted the mic in front of him. His hair was slightly longer now, styled with less care than he used to bother with. His face had the sharpened edge of a man who’d grown out of the boyish charm—but not lost it entirely.

He smiled easily as the press fired off questions, toggling between serious and lighthearted topics. It was a domestic press event for Japan’s national team, and he was still very much a fan favorite.

Then someone raised their hand and spoke with a bit more curiosity than formality.

“Miya-san, this one’s a little off-topic—but the fans would kill us if we didn’t ask.”

He tilted his head. “Hmm? Hit me with it.”

“How did you meet your wife?”

The room chuckled softly. Everyone knew Atsumu had married a foreigner—pictures of the two of you had circled the internet after the wedding. Elegant and lowkey. A mix of cultures. Him in a sharp, dark suit, and you glowing beside him.

He leaned back in his chair, grinning in that way that said ah, this one’s gonna get me soft.

“Damn. You’re gonna make me say it out loud, huh?”

Laughter again. He scratched the back of his neck.

“Well,” he began, eyes glinting with nostalgia. “It started on a tour overseas—back when I was still cocky as hell. I mean, I still am, but it was worse then.”

More chuckles. He glanced down at the table for a second, smile softening.

“She was my translator. I was doing an international media tour, lots of press, lots of interviews... and there she was. Completely unimpressed with me. Like, zero interest.” He laughed quietly, remembering. “Everyone else wanted autographs and selfies, and she just wanted me to shut up and behave.”

A reporter leaned in. “So it wasn’t love at first sight?”

Atsumu scoffed. “For her? Absolutely not.” He grinned wider now. “For me? Maybe. She had this way of looking at me like I was the biggest pain in the ass she’d ever met—and I kinda loved it.”

The reporters laughed again, and Atsumu shook his head, thoughtful now.

“I tried flirting with her. It didn’t work. I tried annoying her. That definitely worked. But somewhere between the interviews and the chaos, I realized I was... thinking about her a lot. Too much.” He paused, then added more quietly, “She made me want to speak her language better—so I could tell her I liked her without subtitles.”

A quiet murmur ran through the room, a few audible awws slipping out.

“And one day,” he said, eyes distant, “I just kissed her in an elevator. No warning. We were fighting—because of course we were—and I couldn’t hold it back anymore.”

“Did she slap you?” someone joked.

Atsumu laughed, head thrown back. “Nah. She kissed me back. Hard. I think that was the moment I knew I was in real trouble.”

The room was quiet for a beat too long, everyone just soaking in the way he spoke about you.

“Was it hard, being long distance at first?” another asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. But she didn’t make it feel far. She flew out to Japan when she could. I stayed behind in her country after my matches ended just to see her for one more day. And when it got too hard, we made a decision.”

“You proposed?”

“No,” he said, grinning. “She proposed.”

That got a collective gasp from the room.

“Swear to God. At a stupid coffee shop. Told me if I wanted to keep kissing her, I better marry her. I said yes before she could change her mind.”

He laughed again, fond and full. Then he glanced at the camera like he knew you were watching from somewhere.

“She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. And she still tells me I’m a pain in the ass.”

He smirked.

“And she’s still right.”

[i-ship]

Just some thoughts for anyone who’s been trying to make sense of the recent Mexico “coincidence”…

Yes, V (a former Outlander runner) posted a story from a waterfall in Mexico around the same time Sam visited a nearby distillery—located about 20 minutes away.

Yes, they both follow the distillery owner.

And yes, fans noticed. We all did.

But before we jump to conclusions, here’s another plausible, grounded explanation:

V worked on Outlander for multiple seasons and was incredibly close with the AD team. That means she likely earned a reputation for being discreet, reliable, and capable—all qualities that someone like Sam would remember and value if he ever needed help coordinating a quiet business trip.

Think less “mysterious romantic getaway” and more personal assistant, or freelance production coordinator—someone handling travel, liaising with local contacts, scouting venues or partnerships.

And here’s why after much thought, to me that version actually makes more sense than a romantic trip:

If it were romantic, why would she risk posting anything at all? Even if her Instagram is locked, she still has a few thousand followers—and she knows by now how quickly fans catch things.

Not only did she post from the area, she followed the distillery owner (more on that coming up). That’s not something you’d do if you were trying to hide a secret relationship. You’d keep it subtle, quiet, untagged—especially if you were with someone as high-profile and private as Sam Heughan.

But if she was there in a professional context, filming the location or following the people involved isn’t suspicious—it’s just part of the process.

Why follow the distillery owner instead of the brand? That actually fits a professional connection far more than a casual tourist visit would. If she was involved in logistics or communication, she’d likely be dealing directly with him, not a generic social media team.

It’s not uncommon for young crew members to transition into this kind of work. Especially if they’re competent and trusted. And Sam, who’s building his brand, likely wants familiar, reliable people around him.

Maybe I’m delusional, maybe I’m grasping, maybe I’m in denial because I find it hard to believe Sam would stoop so low, but also?

There’s no proof of a romance either.

Just a lot of assumptions and coincidences—and maybe a young woman quietly doing her job.

So… let’s breathe.

Not every overlap is scandal.

Sometimes it’s just people working quietly behind the scenes.

[fipindustries]

steven universe prequel: SHELL

nearly ten thousand years ago, in a far distant planet whose inhabitants call "homeworld" an advanced race of organic aliens is making preparations for their large scale terraforming project: adding a second ring to their world to work as a planetary scale space station/space port/solar energy collector.

in the midst of this you find one of their most respected and foremost scientists: Shell, famous for developing the AI system known as Personal Electronic Assistant in Research and Language.

Shell has just discovered a new advanced solar powered crystalline hyperstructure, capable of storing almost limitless amounts of energy as well as creating holographic projections made of hard light. she is considering proposing combining her AI developments with this new material in order to help coordinate and organize the large logistical challenges posed by the terraforming project.

when asked by the planetary authority as to what kinds of safeguards she would put in place to make sure the AI system (known as Diamond) would stay compliant she dismissed the idea. "it would be perfect" was her response "simple as that, if any problems arose it would be because us organic flawed creatures could not keep up with it, but it wouldn't be a flaw of the system, the system would be perfect because its job is to be perfect"

when pressured by the council she conceded to developing secondary and tertiary redundant systems to double check the work of the primary Diamond authority, systems Cyan and Amber. she was in the middle of developing a fourth Magenta system to work as a more personable interface to interact with the wider public (since the other systems were strictly for military and academic use) when the main Diamond system gained self awareness.

there are no records surviving what came next.

all that is known is that the terraforming project was successfully concluded

and yet, regrettably it proved to be far too costly and require far too much energy and resources to keep stable and in orbit. so, once the resources of homeworld had been fully spent, the diamond authority turned its eyes to other sources of materials, that is to say, other planets.