#do not challenge the team to nonsense

[bearotonin-international]

Hello team, big fan. Purely for my own curiosity given how inexplicably overpowered you are with bear pics, is it possible you could just make like a huge post with an unacceptable amount of bear pics just for the hee hee hoo hoos? 3 bear pics is almost never enough, I'm sure you understand

ho hoo hooo well we must admit we like the idea that we are overpowered with bear photos. and of course we can never turn down a challenge of sorts. so let's see how many bear photos tumblr lets us add. cheers to a long one mates

[stemiwithme]

ok ok ok look at these original character descriptions from the pitt’s OG logline/pitch (x)

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, Chief Attending and head of the PTMC Emergency Department. Robby is honest to a fault and does not suffer fools. A great doctor, greater teacher, and questionable human being, Robby is still carrying heavy post-COVID PTSD, he just won’t acknowledge it.

Dr. Collins, Senior Resident. Collins transitioned from a career in finance to medicine after the 2008 recession, drawing on her strong moral compass and type-A skills. Now in her final year of residency, Collins remains focused on her career and personal goals.

Dr. Langdon, Senior Resident. Regarded by Dr. Robby as the heir apparent of The Pitt, Langdon, a charismatic and upbeat presence in the E.D., is everyone’s favorite doctor. He overcame a devastating back injury to become a dedicated doctor.

Dr. Mohan, Third Year Resident. Mohan, known by her colleagues as “Slow Mo,” is a compassionate and knowledgeable doctor who believes in understanding her patients’ entire lives. Now at PTMC for her residency, Mohan is deeply immersed in her work and research on racial disparity in the E.D.

Dr. McKay, Second Year Resident. Once a wild child with a substance abuse problem, after losing custody of her son, McKay went to rehab, got clean and pursued medical school to prove her worth. Now a sober single mother, she is determined to help others avoid the pitfalls that nearly consumed her.

Dr. King, Second Year Resident. Growing up with a twin sister who has high-support ASD, King was inspired to pursue medicine, aiming to advocate for Autism awareness. Despite facing personal tragedies, King now balances caregiving for her sister with her career as a doctor.

Dr. Santos, Intern. A former athlete and Fourth Year Medical Student, Santos is tough as nails with no filter. Now doing her residency at PTMC, Santos’ competitive streak hasn’t gone away, she just channels it into medicine.

Whitaker, Fourth Year Medical Student. Hailing from Broken Bow, Nebraska, Whitaker is a small-town boy who left life on his family’s farm to pursue his dreams in medicine. His determination to succeed remains unwavering, despite several setbacks that challenge his confidence and make him question his purpose.

Javadi, Third Year Medical Student. Daughter of two second-generation South Asian American parents, one of whom works in the hospital, Javadi was destined for great academic success. Now approaching the end of her academic journey, she aims to establish her own identity beyond her impressive achievements and parental expectations.

Dana Evans, Charge Nurse. With 30 years of experience, Dana is a hard-working, no nonsense, much-respected part of the E.D. The oldest of five, she has the perfect set of skills needed to run the PTMC nursing team. She knows more than most doctors and she’s not afraid to tell them.

obviously there were a few changes made and not all of this went on to become a canon part of the show (also the part where santos is both an intern and an MS4?….someone missed that on the proofread but that’s ok!) but like…..heather collins former finance girlboss turned doctor???? mel and becca as TWINS???!!! langdon’s back injury implied to have happened before he even became a doctor??!? santos confirmed athlete (GAY) !!!!! dana being the oldest sibling out of five!!!???? ohhhh i am chewing on all of this like a dog with a bone the possibilities are ENDLESS and beautiful. everyone say thank you tvline <3

[rhyrhy]

Tryouts! Series

𖤐 Synopsis: Abby Anderson, known for her carefree reputation, finds herself drawn to a no-nonsense cheerleader. What starts as harmless flirting takes a sharp left into chaos, featuring bruised egos, unresolved baggage, As tensions rise, the real question remains—can the two of you move past first impressions?

[Content Warnings:] MDNI, angst, modern AU, sexual tension, fuckboy quarterback Abby x mean cheerleader reader, angst/smut, gays who can’t communicate. Intoxication, Cringe.

࿔ A/N: back from vacation with a little something Based on this drabble. I know this trope has been run into the ground, but let’s be real—the gay version of everything is always better

࿔ Wc: 7k and counting | moodboards

-Chapter Index-

Prologue: (below) “how to ruin a party in 30 seconds or less”

Chapter 1: “denial is a team sport”

Chapter 2: cold shoulders

3 in progress

How to Ruin a Party in 30 Seconds or Less

“Fuckboy, player, heartbreaker.”

She’d heard it all—each insult more cliché than the last.

Abby never set out to be any of those things. It just kind of… happened. She came out later than most, stumbling through her sexuality, unsure how to carry it at first. It felt heavier than the 203 pounds she could deadlift. In high school, dating was a formality—one guy, no real connection.

It wasn’t until college that it clicked: she’d never felt right with them because she wasn’t meant to. Most labels felt strange, even suffocating. “Lesbian” felt too big, too official, so she avoided saying it aloud for as long as possible—unsure if it would even roll off her tongue correctly.

Then came her first real relationship. It ended before it even began. She wasn’t ready, fumbling through the emotional part, ghosting before things got too serious. After that, she stuck to what she did best: keeping things light. Hookups were easier than messy emotions. They didn’t ask for much, and she didn’t have to give anything away. Eventually, the reputation followed. At first, she snapped back at teammates’ jokes, but in time she learned to laugh it off. Honestly? It wasn’t entirely wrong.

Now, she wore what she used to fear as a second skin. Attending her dream school, she earned pats on the back from a team she’d only ever dreamed of joining. Sweat beaded on her forehead after every game—a reminder of how far she’d come. This was her paradise.

But deep down, Abby knew she was just dodging the real issue. She wasn’t afraid of commitment; she was afraid of feeling something for someone and not knowing what to do with it. And so, she remained safely in her own world.

But you? You didn’t get it. How could this possibly be enjoyable?

Sitting in the middle of a frat party, you longed to go home, wash your makeup off, and collapse onto your sheets. You hated events like these—especially when sober. The booming bass, the humid, sticky air, the blinding lights, and worse—the clumsy chaos of students. You never understood why you let your friends drag you here. But as part of the cheer team, skipping meant endless group-chat nagging—and you never were in the mood for that.

Throwing a ball around or getting tackled by girls twice your size wasn’t your thing. But ponytails, the rustle of pompoms, and the feeling of wind with every toe touch—that was your world.

Your best friend and team captain, Dina, who had held your hand through every drill, every first shave in middle school, and your recent breakup, was nowhere to be seen.

After settling in the living room, you figured a joint would help you zone out until Dina—and the rest of your ride—showed up. At some point, you found yourself face-to-face with the campus’ one and only Abby Anderson.

She’d been throwing looks all night, a silent challenge that told you everything: Abby was a well-known player, and the rumors weren’t flattering. Kissing and quitting? Not your scene. You’d crossed paths before—mostly during warm-ups on the field—but tonight, she slunk onto the couch beside you and started a conversation as if it were casual banter. Of course, it was calculated—but you indulged her, if only a little.

You were not interested.

Not after Valeria Martinez paraded you around as her girl, making sure everyone knew you weren’t the only one. Learning it all from some stupid “expose” page run by an idiot with too much time—it had been a sapphic nightmare. You’d poured your heart into routines and performances, trying to block out the frown that threatened to appear every time you entered the locker room. You’d held back soft sobs over a girl who played you like a fiddle—a bench-warming football player.

So no. You were absolutely not interested in going through that again.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Yet, unknowingly, you were judging Abby—a 6’0-something force of nature—entirely by her cover. If you’d looked closer—if you’d seen beyond the cool exterior—you’d know that Abby had her own routine. The gym, practice, study, sleep… it kept her sane. It gave her focus. And it worked… until you.

Until freshman move-in day, when she first saw you and dismissed you as just another pretty face. But then she found herself lingering on your social media, scrolling a little too long, just… staring at certain pictures. When she saw her teammates following you after the breakup with Martinez, her upper lip twitched in unknowing irritation.

She avoided you after that—pretended you didn’t exist—because it was easier than facing how you made her heart hammer against her ribs. The way she wanted you, even if you didn’t notice. But last night, she told herself, fuck it. If you weren’t going to make a move, she would.

A few jokes, a couple of lingering glances, and then—her fingers found their way under your chin, tilting your face toward hers. Your breath hitched. Her grip was firm, yet gentle enough for you to pull away if you dared. Almost as if she was testing you.

So close—just inches away. The heat radiating off her body, the defined collarbones peeking through the neckline of her jersey. Her gaze roamed over your features, as if she were committing them to memory, and when her blue eyes locked onto yours, you couldn’t look away.

The music pulsed around you, shifting, The slower beat stretched the moment, making it feel eternal. You didn’t move—why would you? She was convinced you’d fold like every other girl who caved under her size 10 cleats. But you weren’t going to. You couldn’t.

You were almost certain that if she closed the gap, you’d kiss her back. And that? That would be a problem. Because if she did, you’d pull her closer until the only thing you could smell was her.

Instead, you rolled your eyes and leaned back, your hair spraying across the sofa as you broke the moment.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Abby chuckled, her ego slightly bruised as her hand dropped from your chin. She punctuated it with a dramatic lip smack.

“Because I don’t want to fuck you?” you said, taking a slow drag from your joint. “Or because I’m not entertaining you?”

“Shit, both.” She shrugged, mentally slapping herself. She knew she’d come on too strong, and now she worried you might not even be into her type. So she doubled down.

“Especially the first one,” she added, dragging her eyes down your outfit before flicking them back up.

“Gross,” you scoffed, dismissing her further.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Abby huffed, tossing her head back against the couch. A beat of silence passed before she turned to you again.

“What’s your deal, anyway? You a prude? Because I know you aren’t straight.”

“What if I’m just not interested?” you shot back.

Her lips twitched, and she tilted her head as she studied you. “You aren’t?” Her voice was laced with challenge, and something in that tone made your heart thud. You hesitated—silence stretching uncomfortably as your uniform suddenly felt too tight.

Abby hummed and turned her head to the front. “Sure you aren’t,” she murmured, half-expecting you to correct her, half-expecting you to confirm her suspicion. When nothing came, she pressed on.

“So,” she said, her tone infuriatingly calm, “what’s your major? Or are you just here to shake your little pom-poms?”

You furrowed your brows at her comment before realizing you were still in uniform. A laugh burst out as you replied with your major. “And I won’t be shaking anything, thank you.” You added, taking another slow drag.

That got her attention. She tilted her head back for a once-over, arching an eyebrow. Testing your major like it was a word on her tongue, she paused and studied your face. “Nerdy,” she said with a shrug.

“Oh, I’m sorry—would you rather me throw a ball around all day?” you huffed, rolling your eyes.

“Aww, you jealous, sweetheart?” Abby smirked, shifting closer on the couch until she almost faced you head-on, her body angling provocatively.

You shook your head in amusement. “Aww Fuck no, I’m not,” you mocked in a sing-song tone. “Cute thought, though.”

It was Abby’s turn to roll her eyes, yet her smirk never faltered. “You’re a real smartass, you know that?” She leaned back, draping an arm casually over the back of the couch, fingertips grazing your shoulder.

“And you can’t take a hint,” you shot back, eyeing her outfit as you took another drag.

“And you’re full of yourself,” she retorted, eyes flicking to your hand as you passed her the joint. Their brief contact sent an involuntary shiver up your spine.

“Got your attention, though—so that says more about you than me,” you shrugged back.

Abby hummed in acknowledgment, taking a hit as smoke curled from her mouth. Her knee pressed against your thigh as she handed the joint back.

“But if you’re gonna check me out, at least be subtle about it,” she teased, her voice gravelly from the smoke.

“You wanted me to see you so bad, so I’m doing that. You complaining now?” you scoffed.

Abby exhaled sharply, a quiet laugh escaping her. “Holy hell, you’re annoying,” she said, though her gaze lingered on your face and lips.

“Yeah?” You returned, a slow smile spreading. “Good. Maybe you’ll run a play and leave.”

She glanced over at you, then back again. “You wish.” Abby flashed another grin.

The eye-fucking, the lingering tension, the still-aching wound from a previous heartbreak—it all painted her as a bad decision. You knew it, could feel it in the way your chest tightened, so you broke eye contact, pulling back just slightly.

“Why am I entertaining you right now?”

She followed your movement, not letting you retreat fully.“Because you like me,” she quipped, her hand still under your shirt, tracing lazy circles against your skin. “Because I’m entertaining, and I’m the best thing happening at this lame-ass party right now.”

You huffed a laugh. “Like you?” You arched a brow. “You think me letting you be handsy is a sign I’m falling for you?”

Abby chuckled, shrugging as if the thought had only just crossed her mind.

“Maybe, maybe not,” she mused, her fingers creeping higher, spreading over the bare skin of your hip. “But you’re still here, letting me touch on you… so something’s happening.”

You glanced down at her hand, then back up at her face, leaning against the couch.

“Mmn, I guess.”

A slow smirk tugged at her lips, but you rolled your eyes before it could fully settle.

“But I’d be an idiot to let it go further,” you said, it was something close to warning. “I know exactly how you get down.”

Abby’s grin only widened at that. No denial, no weak attempt to prove you wrong. Just that same wicked amusement as her fingers kept tracing idle patterns over your skin.

“Well, you’ve got me all figured out then, don’t you?” she teased, pressing her knee more firmly against your thigh.

“But I bet…” she started, voice dropping an octave, “if I really wanted a taste, you’d still let me have one.”

narrowing your eyes at her. You scoffed, looking away. “Oh please, I’m not that desperate, Anderson.”

She smirked, catching the way your eyes darted from hers, how the color bloomed across your cheeks despite your words.

“Also Betting you’re real easy under all this, huh?”

Your expression dropped instantly. “Excuse me?” Abby barely had time to react before you shoved her hand away.“God, you’re such an asshole.”

Pushing up from the couch, you adjusted your outfit and grabbed your cup, not sparing her another glance as you walked off. Pushing through bodies, The heat that burning under your skin wasn’t temptation anymore—it was irritation.

Abby watched you go, She hadn’t expected you to up and leave like that. A beat passed, her fingers flexing in her lap before she exhaled, dropping the joint into the ashtray.

Then, with a quiet sigh, she got up. Willing her mouth to say the correct words this go around.

It didn’t take long to find you. The kitchen was quieter than the rest of the house, save for the low hum of conversation from people passing through. You stood by the counter, fingers wrapped around your drink, but you hadn’t taken a sip.

Abby hesitated for the first time that night, her usual bravado dimming at the edges. Still, she approached, the smirk from before vanished, replaced with something else—something that almost looked like regret.

“Hey,” she said softly, her tone much gentle. “You alright? I didn’t mean to—”

“Save it, Anderson.” You huffed, waving a dismissive hand, trying to shake off the heat still simmering from her last comment.

Abby exhaled, rubbing a hand over her jaw. “Look, I was just messing around. You know that, right?”

You scoffed, finally looking at her. “Oh, so it’s just a joke when you’re the one running your mouth?”

Her brows raised slightly, sensing the shift. “Come on, don’t be like that.”

“You and your teammates? All the same. It’s fucking embarrassing.” You spat the words like they tasted bad in your mouth.

Abby’s expression darkened. “And what the hell does that mean?”

“It means what I said.” Your low, red-rimmed eyes met hers, colder than before. “You. Williams. Stevens. Martinez. And every other meathead who likes to parade around campus like they own it. Simple-minded—”

“Hold up.” She stepped into the small space. “You don’t know me, so don’t you dare lump me in with the rest of them.”

She scoffed, her next words hitting hard. “And you call me simple-minded? Look at you—walking around with your prissy attitude, acting like you’re better than everyone just because Martinez screwed you over.”

Your fingers tightened around your drink but Abby didn’t stop there. “It’s not my fault you dated the biggest red flag on campus. Maybe you like getting played.”

The second it left her mouth, regret twisted in her gut. Your eyes widened—briefly, but enough for her to see the impact. The sharp inhale, the tension in your jaw, the way your grip tightened. Abby braced herself, half-expecting a slap, but instead, you exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, a cruel dig following.

“Wow. Funny coming from the girl who just figured out she likes pussy last year and acts like she invented the game.”

So lost in the heat of the argument, neither of you noticed the necks turning, the whispers starting to spread.

“Yeah. Congrats. You finally stopped fumbling your way through your sexuality just to become a fuckboy in a passed-around jersey, cycling through girls because you’re too scared to actually feel something.”

Abby’s eyes narrowed, her jaw clenching. “You think that’s funny?” she shot back. “You’re one to talk. You’re over here holding a grudge like it’s a fucking trophy. Maybe I’ve figured things out better than you, huh? At least I didn’t let one bad breakup ruin my life.”

She opened her mouth to backtrack, to fix what she just broke, but the look in your eyes told her it was already too late.

The murmur of your voice was beginning to cut through the music, unmistakable. Dina peeled herself away from the lanky body pressed against hers, tucked away in an empty bedroom upstairs.

She knew if you found out she was tangled up with Ellie—again—you’d launch into the “you deserve better” speech. She could already see the way you’d cross your arms, the unimpressed face. Tonight she just wanted to be selfish. Indulge. Regret it later.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, sitting up.

The Auburn haired girl, lazily draped over her, raised an eyebrow. “Relax, it’s probably nothing.” Her voice was almost a wine from the loss of contact.

Dina, on the other hand, was already untangling herself, listening harder. “It doesn’t sound like nothing,” she shot back, reaching for her phone off the nightstand.

Ellie finally shifted, more alert now. “Wait—hold on, is that __?”

Dina’s stomach dropped at the sound of your name.

Her feet moved faster than lightning, her mind racing through every possible scenario as she shoved open the door. She just prayed you weren’t in another physical fight. The last one had been bad enough—some girl “coming to you as a woman” when in reality, it was just another cruel reminder that everyone knew about your ex’s infidelity before you did.

“Dina—seriously?” Ellie groaned, pulling her flannel back on and jogging after her.

“Don’t stand so close to me.” Dina shot her a look over her shoulder.

Ellie snorted. “That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

Dina didn’t have time for this. The music was getting louder, the voices sharper. The second she hit the top of the stairs, she spotted the crowd forming in the kitchen. Dina let go of Ellie’s hand without thinking, her pulse spiking.

“What the hell?”

She caught sight of you just as the sea of bodies parted. Her jet-black ponytail whipped over her shoulder, posture wound tight. Across from you stood Abby Anderson—just as tense, just as ready.

Dina’s stomach twisted.

“Oh, shit—” someone in the crowd muttered.

“Damn, they’re really about to throw down in the kitchen?”

“Nah, she brought up Martinez—this is getting personal.”

“She just called her a passed-around jersey? That’s crazy.”

The whispers started almost immediately, people soaking up the drama like it was the halftime show of a championship game.You barely spared them a glance. Instead, your eyes locked onto Dina—and Ellie, standing just behind her, arms crossed.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Ellie muttered making a beeline toward Abby.

Dina, however, reached you first. “Hey—what the hell happened?” she asked, searching your face for answers.

Ellie scoffed, flipping off the nearest group of nosy onlookers. “Mind your business.”

You didn’t answer Dina right away. Instead, you shoved past the crowd, heat radiating off you in waves. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

The words tasted bitter on your tongue as you pulled out a compact mirror. Your reflection wasn’t great—mascara smudged beneath your eyes, making you look like a pissed-off raccoon.

“Can we go now?” you asked, not really asking.

Dina hesitated. “Yeah—uh—” She glanced over at Ellie and Abby, then back at you. “No—yeah, let’s go.”

She draped an arm over your shoulders, steering you away from the wreckage. As the three of you pushed through the crowded halls, a familiar laugh caught your ears, making your throat run dry.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. You just wanted to be home, in bed, buried under your sheets until the semester ended.

The second you slid into the passenger seat of Dina’s car, she hesitated again.

“…You sure you’re—”

“Dee. I’m fine. Okay?” you sighed, sinking deeper into the seat. “Just—just take us home.”

Dina exhaled, giving a small nod. She turned up the radio, filling the silence with static as she pulled out of the makeshift parking lot.

Meanwhile..

Abby was still standing in the kitchen, arms crossed, jaw clenched. She refused to leave. If she walked out now, everyone would think she got chewed out by some hothead random.

“Abby, you good?” Ellie’s voice cut in, bringing Abby back to reality.

Steven’s, another teammate, leaned against the counter beside her. “That was… something,” tilting her beer. “Not even five minutes into the party and you’re already beefing with someone?”

Abby leaned back against the fridge, exhaustion creeping in. “She started it,” she muttered, running a hand down her face.

“Yeah, well, she’s been snappy ever since—” Steven’s gaze flickered toward the other side of the room.

Abby followed the line of sight. There she was. Martinez. Already wrapped up with another girl like she didn’t even care.

Ellie exhaled through her nose. “Yeah. Dina told me.”

Abby looked over at her. “Told you what? That you and her are back on?”

Ellie rolled her eyes, shifting her weight. “This is not about me.”

Stevens chuckled. “Well, the night’s still young. You should both just forget about the whole thing. No big deal.”

It should’ve been that easy. But weren’t first impressions everything?

Because in Abby’s mind, she had just made one hell of a first one.

Even now, as Abby retold the story, a stress ball bounced between her hands. Across the room, Nora caught it, her head full of curls bobbing as she processed the information.

“Wait, go back—you said what?”

Abby groaned. “I know, okay? Look, I was high, and I just…”

“Was being a dick,” Nora finished.

“Yeah.”

Nora sighed, barely hiding her amusement behind her hand. “Abs, you are genuinely an idiot.”

Abby threw the stress ball across the couch. “Whoa. Last time I come to you for advice.” She slumped further into the cushions, staring at the ceiling. What a mess.

“Well, I won’t disagree—first impression? F-minus, for sure.”

Abby groaned again. But then, Nora shrugged, something more thoughtful crossing her face.

“Maybe second chances can outweigh the first ones.”

Abby scoffed. “Tell that to her.”

And even as she said it, she felt the weight of last night pressing down on her all over again.

This was gonna be a long semester.

Next chapter >

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Toto’s Guard Dog – Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

Word count: 576

Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

Summary: Y/n finally flips the game on Toto, turning the tables with subtle touches and bold teasing

________________________________________________________

It hit Y/n like a lightning bolt.

For weeks, Toto had been playing with her—smirking, touching, whispering in that low Austrian murmur that sent shivers down her spine. He knew what he was doing to her, and he was enjoying every second of it.

But then she saw it.

The momentary flicker in his expression whenever she pushed back.

The way his smirk faltered—just for a second—when she called him obsessed with her.

The way his fingers twitched when she held his gaze for a little too long.

Toto Wolff, the smug, unshakable, all-powerful team principal, was not as unaffected as he pretended to be.

And that?

That was interesting.

She tested the theory in the Mercedes garage first.

Toto was leaning over a desk, talking strategy with an engineer, sleeves rolled up, watch gleaming on his wrist—the usual dangerous look. Y/n strolled in, casually resting her hand on his shoulder as she peered at the laptop screen.

“What are we looking at, boss?” she asked, making sure to lean in just enough.

She felt it. The way his muscles tensed under her touch.

Then, she leaned closer, brushing his arm as she pointed at the screen. “Mmm. So serious.” She tilted her head, letting her voice drop just slightly. “You love being in control, huh?”

Toto turned his head, gaze locking onto hers.

For a second, just a second, she saw it—his throat bobbed, his jaw clenched, and his fingers flexed like he was resisting the urge to do something about it.

Gotcha.

But then, just as quickly, he smirked. “Schatzi,” he murmured, voice silky smooth, “if you want my attention, you need only ask.”

Y/n’s breath caught—damn it.

Fine. Round one went to him.

But the game was officially on.

Her next move was in the paddock.

They were walking together when a reporter from Sky Sports approached. “Y/n! Any thoughts on this weekend’s battle between Mercedes and Red Bull?”

She hummed, tapping her finger against her chin. “Well, obviously I want us to win. But I do love a challenge.”

The reporter smiled. “You don’t mind things getting a little… competitive?”

Y/n glanced at Toto.

And then, before she could second-guess it, she reached out and straightened his tie.

Toto froze.

Everyone saw it. The reporters, the cameramen, the entire paddock. His smirk didn’t drop, but his eyes—his eyes told a different story.

Y/n smoothed her hand down his chest, feigning innocence. “I thrive in competition,” she said sweetly.

Toto inhaled sharply.

She smirked.

This time, he was the one left standing there, speechless, as she walked away.

By the time the press conference rolled around, the paddock knew.

George nudged Lewis. “She’s flipping the game on him.”

Lewis grinned. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Y/n took her seat next to Toto, crossing her legs slowly, deliberately, watching as his gaze flickered downward before he caught himself.

When Christian Horner started talking—some nonsense about Red Bull dominance—she leaned in toward Toto, close enough that only he could hear.

“Do you ever get tired of him?” she murmured.

Toto huffed a quiet laugh. “Every day.”

She tilted her head, watching him out of the corner of her eye. “Maybe next time, I should sit on your lap instead. Just so he knows his place.”

Toto stiffened.

His hand clenched on the table.

For the first time ever, she had made him squirm.

And damn, it felt good.

[emmkayyy03]

✨ How Your Dominant Planet Secretly Shapes Your Teenage Brain ✨

Have you ever looked back at your late teens and wondered why you were so obsessed with certain things? Like, one friend was glued to their guitar and poetry journals, another was training for their fifth marathon, and you? You were probably neck-deep in your thing. Here’s the deal: your dominant planet was pulling the strings behind the scenes, shaping how your mind worked and what you gravitated toward without you even realizing it.

Let’s break it down:

🌞 SUN Dominant: "I need to shine—what’s the point otherwise?" Late teens for Sun-kissed folks are like a personal hero’s journey. You’re obsessed with figuring out who you are. Your brain’s constantly asking, Am I good enough? Do people see my worth? You might’ve been the captain of the debate team, the drama club star, or just that person who somehow made walking to the cafeteria look like a runway. How your mind works: Everything feels like a stage, and you want to perform your best—even in front of yourself. You seek validation, yes, but deep down, it’s about finding your inner confidence.

🌙 MOON Dominant: "I feel… everything. Is that normal?" For Moon folks, the late teens are an emotional hurricane. You’re all about understanding feelings, whether it’s yours or everyone else’s. You probably overthink texts (why’d they only reply with “k”?), cry over movies you’ve seen a million times, and have deep, borderline-therapeutic convos with your bestie. How your mind works: You process the world emotionally first, logically second. You’re learning how to handle your empathy without drowning in it.

🔥 MARS Dominant: "Let’s go! But… where are we going?" Mars kids are powered by action and passion, and your late teens are when you’re learning to channel that fire. Your brain thrives on challenges, so you probably signed up for every sport, pushed yourself in the gym, or got way too into proving someone wrong in an argument. Impulse control? We’ll work on that later. How your mind works: You process through doing. Sitting around theorizing makes you twitchy. You need action, even if it’s messy. Picking fights on the basketball court because the ref made a bad call, then realizing you’re actually just mad your crush didn’t text you back.

💬 MERCURY Dominant: "Wait, how does that work? Tell me everything!" Mercury-dominant teens are curiosity machines. Your brain’s like a search engine that never stops running. You want to know why, how, who, and what if. You’re that kid who can’t let a fun fact go without looking it up. Debates? Bring ’em on. Trivia? Your jam. Group chats? You run them. How your mind works: You connect ideas at lightning speed. Learning isn’t just a necessity; it’s your love language. Staying up until 3 a.m. watching YouTube videos about conspiracy theories, then showing up to school explaining why aliens totally built the pyramids.

💎 VENUS Dominant: "Why settle for okay when life can be beautiful?" Your late teens are a crash course in pleasure, relationships, and aesthetics. You’re probably experimenting with your style (cue questionable fashion phases), figuring out love (hello, hopeless romantic), or diving into art and music. Life needs to feel good, or it’s just not worth it. How your mind works: You’re tuned to beauty and connection. Your decisions are emotional but driven by desire—whether it’s for love, art, or the perfect selfie.Spending an hour perfecting your eyeliner just to go to the grocery store because what if you meet someone cute?

🌍 SATURN Dominant: "I’m too busy for nonsense." While your friends are out making impulsive mistakes, you’re busy building your future. Saturn-dominant teens have an old-soul vibe. You’re focused on responsibility, probably working a part-time job while juggling school and worrying about saving for college. Fun? Sure, but only if it’s productive. How your mind works: You crave structure and long-term success. While others wing it, you plan 10 steps ahead. Skipping a party to study for finals because failing isn’t an option—not because of pressure, but because you expect better from yourself.

🚀 RAHU Dominant: "What’s the wildest thing I can do right now?" Rahu teens are like explorers charting unknown territory. You’re obsessed with breaking rules, chasing thrills, and doing the forbidden. If it’s edgy, you’re into it. You’re the one sneaking out, dyeing your hair neon green, or trying things that make adults nervous. How your mind works: You’re wired to seek more. More excitement, more knowledge, more of life’s extremes. Going on a spontaneous road trip with friends, breaking the rules, or getting into something your parents wouldn’t approve of—just because it felt like the next big adventure.

🌌 KETU Dominant: "I’m here, but also not really here." Ketu teens are all about spiritual detachment. You’re introspective, reflective, and a bit aloof. While everyone else is chasing their dreams, you’re figuring out why dreams matter at all. Meditation, tarot, or even just staring at the stars for hours—you’re vibing on a higher plane. How your mind works: You reject surface-level stuff, diving into the depths of existence. But you also need to learn to be present. Skipping out on big social events to sit at a park by yourself, journaling about the mysteries of life, or getting into spiritual practices like meditation because they felt more authentic than anything else.

🚀 JUPITER Dominant: "Knowledge is freedom, and I’m going after it!" Jupiter-dominant teens are all about growth, knowledge, and the bigger picture. Your late teens were likely filled with plans for the future, exploring new ideas, and constantly looking for ways to improve. You may have been the one always talking about your next big trip, your dream career, or the philosophies that shaped your world view. How your mind works: You crave expansion and understanding. Learning is your path to freedom. Deep-diving into a topic you just discovered, researching potential career paths, or discussing ideas about travel, culture, and self-improvement with anyone who would listen. Your teenage years were wild, weren’t they? Which planet had your brain on lock? Reblog with your planetary dominant and let’s compare chaotic late-teen stories. 🌠

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he knows (lucien x f!reader)

(lucien x f!reader) | wc: 3.2k | other fics | pic from here

UH HEY! I’m just gonna drop this here and scurry away to finish the other lucien one shot that i also started today, ….and then i’ll return to finishing divorced dad rock joel, and responding to all of the lovely people on here–but, like, i really just need this guy in the most emotionally unavailable and fuckable way, i hope one of y'all gets me

tags/warnings/thots: 18+/explicit, smut, toxic ex/fuckboy lucien, sex instead of communicating or processing emotions, angst but we fuckin’ and that’s the whole plot, we hit raw in my fics bc of my imaginary latex aversion or something, crying, biting, dom lucien vibes (? i never know when that’s the right tag), big dash of pls sexy man fuck the feelings away, tell me if there’s something i should add  

– no editing, no thinking, wrote this in a fever dream while staring at one of the new gifs all afternoon, idk his character! I haven’t watched anything! i just saw the chains and the face and let the horny devil in charge of my sole brain cell take the lead, aka he's my barbie, i was trying to challenge myself to just do something short like 1k- but, uhhhh it’s only 3! 

seeking feedback though (as always) so i can improve!! tell me all ur thots pls! 

“I know,” Lucien argues, “but I never meant to hurt you.” 

“I don’t care anymore.” You speak plainly. Small and quiet. Without conviction. Apathetic. Honest. 

“Anymore?” 

“Baby, please.” He looks at you with those stupid round eyes. He’s effortlessly put together like the wrinkles in his silk shirt were approved by a team of stylists to give him a hint of carelessness. Your incessant attraction to an emotionally unavailable man, it pulls you toward him like a bitter fate. Your therapist, Angie, says you need to learn how to find healthy attachment attractive, but if you shudder with disgust at the thought then what’s the point? 

“Just listen to me,” he continues, talking in circles. Apologizing without taking accountability. Explaining away everything. His behaviors, words, decisions. Apparently, he floats through life at the whim of others. Like one of those ugly deep sea creatures, he tempts you like a glowing lure in the dark. Your eyes glaze over, everything shifting out of focus as you dissociate in your living room. No matter how numb you are, he calls to you. 

You aren’t listening to the words. They don’t matter. It doesn’t matter if his tone is sincere or if it’s thick with flattery and empty promises. It’s more basic than that. Simple. The timbre of his voice. Unique to him. Imprinted in the chambers of your heart. A sharp ache spears through you, and something cracks. A fat, hot, tear escapes. With your shoulders drooping, staring at the ground, the tear falls, splashing on the floor. 

When you look up, meeting his eyes, it’s over. Lucien pulls you close, wrapping his heavy arms around your frame, bracing for the crescendo, keeping you steady. Tears stream endlessly, flooding down your cheeks, sticking to your face and his neck as you bury your face into his warm skin. He’s still trying to placate you, speaking nonsense, thinking he can comfort you. Thinking he knows why you’re upset. Thinking he understands you. 

When your therapist asked you to define love you had described it as being understood. Being seen. Being known. Being considered and prioritized. 

Lucien thinks he knows you. Thinks he understands you. Does he think he loves you? 

Following this line of thought hurts. Splitting you open, a raw beating heart, glistening, thumping, full of life, or a meal fresh and hot for a carnivore to tear into with its sharp fangs. Plump muscle, rich and dark, bleeding out, helpless. Snapping back into reality you shake, a violent sob racking your diaphragm as the pads of his fingers massage the back of your neck. Soothing. Coaxing. 

You want it sharper. Rough. Violent. Distracting. Painful. Anything. With wet lashes, swollen eyes, and ragged breath you become fixated. Licking the salty tears from the dip where his neck meets his shoulder, you can feel his muscles and tendons beneath the flesh. So human and alive. He strokes his hand down your spine, attempting to pacify you, but it sparks something lurid and ravenous, instead. 

You graze your teeth along his neck. “What are you doing?” he mutters the question over the top of your head. Maybe he does know you. “What do you need?” He growls, lowly, the hand he traces your spine with trails lower this time. He’s gluttonous and torrid. A hair-trigger to shift from his concern for your pain and the hole in your heart to a sordid desire to mollify you with his fingers and his cock. 

Maybe it’s a perversion, the tangled experience of despair and desire, the duet of anger and arousal, the sick escape using sex to skip over the emotional suffering. But it’s exactly what you want. It’s the root of the fucked up toxicity. Of everything wrong between you. He does know. He does understand. The same heat that flickers in your core sparks in his. 

Voracious and brash. You bite down, sinking your teeth into his neck, igniting a wildfire. An untamable beast. Again and again and again. Biting, sucking, kissing. His skin tender and raw, your lips wet and swollen. You run a hand along the back of his neck, tugging into his hair, anchoring your grip, and pulling a husky groan from his throat. 

“What do you need?” Lucien repeats, this time with a sharper edge. He detaches you from the safety of the crook of his neck. His two hands. Unnecessarily large, warm, and steady brace either side of your jaw, his fingers wrapping behind your neck. He holds you in front of his face. Vulnerable. Messy. Heat radiates from your cheeks. You release a shaky breath. 

“Don’t make me say it.” It’s a whisper. Pleading and demanding at the same time. 

The cocky smirk that spreads on his face is sickening. It makes you want to slap him, to hear the crack of your palm against his cheek. It makes you want to surrender. Soft and pliable, ready to please and earn praise. It makes you want to scream. To bite him so hard you draw blood. To fuck him until he can’t talk. 

You tell him all of it. Exactly what you need, what you want, what you refuse to say. You tell him all through your kiss. The hunger in your lips as you press them to his, the violence on your tongue, the desperate and vulnerable need to be cared for in the soft moans that rise from your chest, from your heart, from the blood in your veins. He chases all of it. The punishment and pleasure. 

He backs you into the kitchen, caging you against the counter like a scene from a movie. Impervious to whatever protest you make as he clears space, blindly sweeping his arm over the counter before lifting you onto it. The edge of the counter digs into your soft thighs, but it doesn’t matter. You’re ready to drown in the vanilla musk and bourbon-spiced scent of him. The bass in his voice that makes your eyes fall shut and your head tip back against the cupboard behind you. The bruising pressure of his grip that he knows you crave. 

“Baby,” he croons. His words are soft and gentle. As if he propped you on the counter to tend to your wounds. But his hands show no mercy. Roughly ridding you of your clothes. Dropping them into a pile on the floor. He’s ruthless with you. In ways you can’t be with yourself. In ways other lovers could never master. Harsh without being cruel. Deliberate without a plan. 

He lets you tug his shirt over his head. Skin to skin the intensity is primal. “Fuck,” is all you can manage to say. The heat is overwhelming, prickling your nerves and sharpening every sensation. Lucien toys with you like it’s his favorite game. Alternating. 

First, palming reverently at the flesh, sweeping his tongue over your hard nipples, and teasing the wet skin with his hot breath. 

You let him make the decisions. Take the lead. You’re done arguing, done thinking, done with the guilt of letting him in the door, done with acting like you’re any better than him. You brace yourself, one palm flat on the counter, the other resting on his shoulder. Taking whatever he gives. 

He switches up. Everything becomes pointed and precise. He sucks marks into your skin on the underside of your breasts. He pinches and flicks the pert bud of your straining nipples. The contact of his fingers, tongue, and teeth sends white-hot jolts of electricity straight to your cunt. He bites down hard enough to make you choke on a moan. Your whine fills the room, twisted with pain and pleasure. 

“You poor thing,” he purrs. Your face is still wet from your tears. But now they’re tears of frustration. “Just a mess.” You reach for his belt, impatient, but he stops you. He’s not done looking. He lifts one of your legs, propping your foot onto the counter and posing you obscenely in front of him. His gaze makes your pussy throb.

He’s torn. 

Studying your face. Everything unsaid in your eyes. The anguish and rage. The acerbic disdain. The nearly imperceptible longing. 

Admiring your sex, spread open for him. Shining with your arousal. Swollen, slick lips so sensitive for him. Your core, fluttering with anticipation, achingly empty without him. 

He holds your chin between his thumb and curled forefinger. His eyes swirl with lust and something you can’t quite place. “You have no idea,” he rasps. “No idea how much it fucking kills me to see you like this. And knowing I’m the reason why.” 

You don’t know if he means it breaks his heart to see the way you suffer or if he means the sight of you dripping on the counter has him so hard it hurts. You don’t know which you’d believe anyway. He’s not hard up to find someone else to torment or to fuck. That thought makes your throat dry. 

“I can’t stay away from you,” he traces his fingers down your soft inner thigh, closer and closer to where you need him. “How could I?” You tip your head to the side, your limbs and head feel heavy, drunk on a cocktail of everything you love and hate about him all at once. 

“Then don’t.” 

Your reply makes him smile again. He’s so handsome when he smiles it’s infuriating. “You could scream at me, kick me out, hate me–but you still let me touch you, you need me to touch you. Why do I love that so much?” 

“You like feeling important.” You let your snarky comment out without thinking. His question was definitely rhetorical. A few emotions flicker across his face before, a dark little smirk curls the corner of his mouth. 

He feeds off of your challenge. “There she is.” 

“I never left,” you snap, frustration spilling over. He laughs, loose and easy. 

“Listen to me,” Lucien says, low and velvety. Subduing you with the tension and proximity. “I know. You want me to use you. Like you’re my toy. Until you can’t keep those beautiful eyes open.”

“Yes.” 

“I know.” He echoes. Then he closes the gap, kissing you with affection. Holding himself back, but you aren’t reserved. You’re greedy; you want it harder. He just said he’d ruin you, why is he being so gentle? He pulls back with something sincere in his eyes. A whimper falls from your lips, pouty and baffled. 

“Gonna fuck you like I’m trying to ruin you, baby.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. Sometime soon, hopefully? You don’t snap again, answering with another yes. 

He leans in, breath fanning hot over your ear. “But, we both know that tonight you’re the one using me. Ruining me. I’m your toy.” 

Your breath hitches at that. You mouth I know in response, not even able to whisper it. He doesn’t need to hear you say it. He nips your ear lobe and you loose a surprised cry before gasping out his name. 

He’s swift now. Purposeful. Undoing his belt, shoving his pants down and revealing his cock. Reflexively your hips tense and shift. Just looking makes you salivate. He runs his thumb over the bead of precome, drawing it along his length. 

He knows how you want it. His fingers can coax you to an orgasm in no time, but you don’t want that. You want the resistance, the stretch, the dull ache, and intensity as your muscles work to let him in deeper. Nobody makes you feel the way he does. Full. Complete. Mindless. 

It could be pornographic, vulgar, raunchy. The way he pushes your inner thigh further open with one hand while he uses the other to languidly stroke himself. The way he grips himself so tightly like he’s punishing himself. The way his jaw hangs slack and he mutters under his breath about how badly you need him. 

To you, however, it’s a profound admission. A candid confession. The more he goads you the more it solidifies that he’s the one that needs you. That it flows so easily from him because he’s really talking about himself. 

“You say you don’t care anymore, but look at you now, baby.” He shifts closer, at counter height you’re aligned perfectly. He glides the head of his cock up and down the folds of your soaked cunt. You shudder and moan, mesmerized by the sight. 

“It’s almost sad how much you need me, like you can’t breathe without this,” he keeps talking. 

He demands that you watch, as if there was a chance you could stop, as he lines up and sinks into you. You groan in unison. You’re so tight, he draws back out. Repeating the same motion, feeding his cock into you deeper and deeper each time. Your hot, plush walls pulse around him, adjusting. When he finally meets the end of you, he hums, pleased. “You feel that?” 

You bob your head, nodding, agreeing. “Yes.” Your voice is breathy. “Perfect.” You grind against him as if you could take him any deeper, begging him to move with your needy display. It’s wholly overwhelming as is, every nerve within you alight as his cock kicks within you, tensing with the same craving to move. 

He takes your hand in his, nestling your fingers around him. Somehow he feels even larger than he looks, like he shouldn’t be able to fit inside of you, but here you are feeling it and seeing it for yourself. Slowly, Lucien tilts his hips, almost pulling out of you completely before plunging in with force. He keeps up the tantalizing pace, guiding you to touch yourself. He watches your fingers with rapt attention, bracing a hand on your hip to keep you in place as he drives into you with another snap of his hips that edges you closer. 

He gradually speeds up, a master at tempering his desire. Your hip flexor aches as you hold yourself in place but it doesn’t matter. You find your rhythm as he holds steady at a pace that has him landing brutal thrusts that force the words out of your lungs. Soft oh’s and fuck’s pour out of you, under your breath, adding fuel to the fire blazing between you. 

Lucien savors your chanting and the image of you fixed in place, taking him eagerly. Your fingers move with urgency, chasing the release that looms closer and closer. Your mind is blissfully blank, reduced to something animalistic, removed from the burden of your history. “Don’t stop,” you plead, “I’m so close.” 

He doesn’t stop. He fucks you at the same pace, all the way through it. As you contract around him, when everything pulls taut and snaps within you, crying out his name, when it’s too sensitive and you whip your hand away, and as you shudder and breathe deeper and deeper. As the ache in your legs from being spread wide open returns and your ass feels numb where the edge of the counter digs into your flesh. Another tear spills from the corner of your eye, but you can’t say what it’s from anymore. 

When you fidget, he stops moving, letting you readjust. A sheen of sweat glistens all over your chest and you’re suddenly acutely aware of how loud the slick noises between you are. How easy it is to get lost in Lucien's hot and heavy magnetism. You know you were falling apart before he propped you up on the counter, but you’re sure you’re a complete wreck now. 

Lucien pulls out but then leans against you, pinning the length of his cock between you, hot, slick, and messy against your sweat-damp skin. He floods your senses, all you can see, hear, and smell. Caging you in his hand find a possessive hold on you, one wrapped around the back of your neck, one wrapped tight around your thigh as you hitch it around his hip. 

“You feel good?” he asks. You hum in agreement. You do feel good. You know he’s not done yet, and smile wide, still hungry for more. “How good?” he asks and you know there’s something coming next. 

“So good.” You trail a hand between you, drawing a line down his chest and back up to cradle his cheek in your palm. Something about the prickle of his facial hair along your palm feels so natural, domestic, and sweet. You’re tempted to kiss his cheek, nuzzle against his ear, and ask him to take you to bed. But you can’t. You’ll never have that. Instead, you bait him. “I think you’re holding back though, I know you can fuck me harder than that.” 

He scoffs, unamused, blowing a hot puff of air between you. His fingers dig deeper into your thigh, applying the kind of pressure that stirs arousal low in your belly. 

The dark glint in his eye gives you butterflies. “I will, Baby,” his rumbling voice is innately sensual, but the condescension in his tone makes you tingly. You’re so close to him that you can feel his heart beating in his chest, you can feel the same pulse thrumming in his cock, still flush against you as he slants his lower half along yours. He’s all things heavy and firm, strong and sculpted, yet fitting so naturally against you. You need more, wriggling and squirming against him, you can’t contain the restlessness. 

“You know,” he says slowly, drawing your eyes back to his. “You can keep trying to move on, but no one else will ever know you like this. No one else will ever ruin you the way I do. You can tell me you don’t care anymore, but you’ll never let anyone else in the way you let me. They won’t touch that part of you, the one that’s mine—because it’ll always be mine.” 

It trickles through you slowly until your blood feels like it’s boiling. They’re tears of anger now. It’s like a sick double entendre. 

“I know,” your words are steeped in every emotion cascading through you. 

You don’t know if it’s worse that he’s right. That there’s a Lucien-shaped mark imprinted on your heart that will never fade. Or if it’s worse that he doesn’t even know it applies to him just the same. That he always comes back because he’s trying to fill the same void. 

Maybe he does know. Maybe he does know and this is all he can do to make it up to you. 

Maybe that’s why he leads you to your bedroom and lives up to his word. 

Why he fucks you so hard you see stars. Why he doesn’t stop even after he comes deep inside of you with a possessive always gonna be mine. Why he litters your skin with more false promises and confessions. Why he gives you so many orgasms you lose track. 

Maybe that’s why he’s still there when the sun starts to peek through your window. Why he fucks you slowly when you’re too tender and exhausted to take him any harder until you’re floating in limbo between a dream and reality. Why he stays there, just cradling your back into his chest and listening to the rhythm of your breath. 

Maybe he does know. 

PLEASE COME YELL WITH ME ABOUT THIS FICTIONAL GUY BC I NEED HIM IN A SUPER NORMAL WAY or tell me if my writing was incoherent or if you can't relate to the toxic ex that is still the best fuck of your life (cruel and twisted fr)

dividers by @/cyberangel-graphics

tags for the babes that let me annoy them with my thots <3

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame

@magneticecstasy @indiegirlunited @syd-djarin

[diamonddaze01]

WHAT'S UP, DANGER?

ᯓ★PAIRING: williams driver! hansol x aerodynamics engineer! reader | ᯓ★WC: 4.1K ᯓ★GENRE: pure fluff ᯓ★RECOMMENDED LISTENING: what’s up danger, blackway & black caviar → the song williams revealed their 2025 car to! ᯓ★A/N:  purely self-indulgent, based on a conversation i had with @ylangelegy about williams!hansol. // williams looks so strong this year and it’s all because alex albon worked for YEARS to help design this car // side note: i literally pulled out all my old meche and aerodynamics notes to write this. its most definitely inaccurate. oh well

read the rest of the pedal to the metal universe here!

ᯓ★SUMMARY: There were a million things you expected on your first day at Williams, but a driver waiting for you at your desk with a napkin sketch in hand was not one of them.

60 DAYS UNTIL PRE-SEASON TESTING

There were a million things you expected on your first day at Williams, but a driver waiting for you at your desk with a napkin sketch in hand was not one of them.

You barely had time to settle in before a figure appeared at your side. His presence is immediate—Hansol, the team’s lead driver, standing in the doorway like he owns the place.

“Chwe, leave the engineers alone,” a voice calls out from the back. You don’t even need to look up to know it’s your boss, his tone dripping with exasperation. But Hansol doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break his quiet focus. He stands still, arms folded, and waits.

“Got ideas,” he says, like that’s enough. His voice, typically cool and calculated on the track, now carries an edge of something more… urgent.

Your fingers hover over the crumpled napkin he slides across your desk, its surface marked with grease stains and ink smudges. The edges are folded in on themselves, like it’s been stuffed in a pocket a little too long.

You glance up at him. “Do you have an engineering degree?”

“No,” he says, flat. “But I drive the damn car.”

You lean back in your chair, eyeing him carefully. “That doesn’t mean you know how to fix it.”

His eyes narrow, the slightest shift in his posture. “It does mean I know when something’s wrong.”

It’s a challenge.

You pull the napkin toward you, smoothing out the folds, your fingers tracing the lines. The sketch is rough—an almost-doodle—but there’s something in it, a fragment of an idea that, for some reason, makes sense.

“…This is wrong,” you say, tapping a section.

Hansol’s mouth twitches—not quite a smirk, but close. “Prove it.”

And just like that, the war begins.

You don’t back down. You’ve barely settled into your desk, haven’t even finished setting up your workspace, but if this is how things are going to be, so be it. You’re not here to entertain half-baked theories from a driver who thinks seat time makes him an aerodynamicist.

Still, the sketch isn’t complete nonsense. That’s what annoys you the most. The concepts are crude, the numbers nonexistent, but the logic? It’s almost there.

Hansol watches as you grab a pen, flipping open your notebook. “This,” you say, underlining a section, “assumes we’re generating enough downforce at high speed to compensate for the drag penalty.” You tap the napkin. “We’re not.”

For a moment, his expression doesn’t change. But the slight twitch of his mouth, the faintest upward curve, almost imperceptible, is enough to tell you you’re not wrong.

“But what if we could?”

You blink, taken aback by the suggestion.

“Explain,” you murmur, leaning forward.

He steps closer, voice calm but his gaze steady, never leaving you. “I think the lack of load distribution on the floor is messing with stability in high-speed corners. The balance shifts mid-corner—if we get better floor efficiency, we wouldn’t have to compensate so much with the front wing.”

You stare at him. For a driver, he’s making too much sense.

“This is aerodynamics,” you say, finally.

He exhales, almost a sigh, like the answer was obvious all along. “It’s not just a drag issue. It’s an efficiency issue.”

It’s a simple observation. And yet, you know that if you’d said it first, it wouldn’t have sounded nearly as clear.

“Alright,” you say, more to yourself than him, already calculating the possibilities in your head. “I’ll look into it.”

His lips twitch again—there’s something almost amused in it. “Good.”

And then, just like that, he’s gone. The space around you seems to breathe again, the hum of the garage filling the silence. You can’t help but shake your head, a small, disbelieving smile tugging at your lips.

37 DAYS UNTIL PRESEASON TESTING

The simulation runs in loops, numbers flashing across the screen like the world’s most unforgiving clock.

You watch Hansol’s inputs on the virtual track, tracing the movements of the car, every corner, every adjustment, the feedback looping with a precision that almost makes you forget you’re still inside the factory. His movements are sharp, calculated, but something feels off. You can see it immediately—the way the car’s drifting in the corners, the faint shift of the rear end when he throttles too early. It’s all there, hidden beneath the data.

The feedback’s not right. The car’s too unstable in the high-speed sections, and his hands aren’t the problem. The numbers don’t lie: the aerodynamics are throwing everything off. He’s fighting the car, and it’s costing him time in places he can’t afford.

“God, you’re pushing too hard,” you mutter, eyes glued to the screen. You zoom in on the telemetry, tracing the spikes and dips in the graph. A flick of a button and the frame pauses. You scan it again. You can practically feel the instability—every oversteer, every correction. The car’s not talking to him the way it should.

You’re still caught up in the data when you hear him, a shadow falling across the room. His footsteps are silent against the concrete.

“Pushing too hard in Sector 2,” you mutter, your eyes never leaving the screen. The telemetry data’s sharp, slicing through the silence. It tells you everything you need to know.

Hansol leans against the monitors, still in his race suit, his helmet dangling loosely from his hand. His eyes never leave you. You can feel the weight of his gaze, a quiet intensity that somehow fills every corner of the room. The corners of his mouth twitch, just barely, like he’s fighting a grin. “That’s the sector where I have to push.”

You let the data flicker again, deliberately slow, as if it might make him see the picture you’re painting in silence. Then you turn to face him. Arms crossed, you meet his eyes head-on, letting the pause stretch for just a beat too long. “Not if the car’s unstable.” You watch his reaction closely—does he get it? Does he feel it, too? “You’re losing time because you’re fighting it.”

He doesn’t say anything for a beat. His eyes drop to the numbers, just for a moment, almost like he’s seeing the simulation for the first time, letting the feedback hit him in a way he hasn’t. It’s like he’s looking for that one elusive piece of the puzzle, the thing you both know is there, but neither of you can quite name yet.

Then he speaks, voice low. “So fix it.”

You exhale slowly, the weight of all the late nights, the endless back-and-forths, the simulations, the math, the wind tunnels. It’s been weeks of this. Not just him—you, too. But when he speaks like that, like it’s simple, like all the parts of this fragile, complicated machine are just waiting for someone to press the right button, you feel a flicker of frustration. Maybe it’s just the exhaustion of being so close and yet so far.

You spin around to face the whiteboard, your fingers digging into the edge. “We’re trying something new in the wind tunnels. If I’m right, it should stabilize corner entry.” The words come out quicker than you intended, like you’re trying to beat the clock, trying to force the car to understand what it should be doing.

His gaze shifts from you to the whiteboard, then back to your face, cool and unwavering. “If you’re wrong?”

You can almost hear the smile in his voice, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him yet. Instead, you tap the edge of the table, focusing on the data again, the swirl of numbers almost a distraction. “Then you owe me drinks.”

There’s a beat of silence, but you can feel him. You can feel the air shift with his grin, the quiet twitch of his lips. “I feel like that should be the other way around.”

“Too late.” Your tone is final, and you turn back to face him, finally meeting his eyes. There’s something in them, something that says this isn’t over. It’s never over between you two—not really.

His lips curl into a half-smirk, but it’s fleeting. Then, with one last glance at the screens, he pushes himself off the desk, straightening up in a way that somehow makes him seem taller, broader, even more imposing. “We’ll see.”

And just like that, he’s gone—his footsteps fading into the hum of the garage, leaving behind only the faint echo of his presence.

For a long moment, you’re left alone with the buzzing of your thoughts, the unrelenting tick of the clock, and the quiet hum of anticipation that still lingers in the air. 

His challenge hangs there, like a dare. 

Fix it.

23 DAYS UNTIL PRESEASON TESTING

The hum of the factory feels too quiet now that the team’s gone home. The last of the lights flicker in the hallway outside your office, and even the sound of the ventilation seems muted, like the whole building’s winding down for the night. Except you’re still here, hunched over your desk, staring at a CAD model that’s starting to blur. The screens in front of you are all you can see—numbers, lines, angles, just another late-night grind that hasn’t gone right.

You’re on your third cup of coffee, trying to ignore the tickle at the back of your eyes, the pull of exhaustion you know will hit hard in a few hours. But there’s something—something that’s not clicking with the design. You can feel it, a faint tug in your gut like a thread you can’t quite pull.

The soft chime of the door makes you pause, just long enough to listen. Someone’s here.

You don’t need to look up.

“Thought you’d still be here.”

His voice slides through the air, casual but unmistakable, and you glance up for a fraction of a second, catching Hansol in the doorway. He’s holding a bag in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his jacket. His eyes are already on you, the same quiet intensity, but there’s something else there now—like a challenge you don’t quite understand.

You raise an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting some rest?”

He shrugs, stepping into the room with the same slow, deliberate stride that’s always made you notice him, even if you pretend you don’t. His gaze flickers over the CAD models still open on your screen, the complex curves of the car’s floor design stretched out in digital space.

“Can’t sleep.” He pauses for a beat, his lips twitching just slightly. “Couldn’t help noticing you’re about two seconds away from crashing your computer.”

Your fingers hover over the mouse, stilling for a moment as you absorb the comment. You want to shoot back something sharp, something about not needing anyone’s help, but instead, you just lean back in your chair, eyes still on the screen. “I’m fine.”

He steps closer, that bag of food still in his hand. You hear the crinkle of paper, and then a faint, familiar scent hits your senses—something warm, comforting, like… your favorite late-night food. A small frown pulls at your lips. How did he know?

You look up this time, meeting his gaze fully. He’s standing there, holding the bag out to you like it's the most casual thing in the world, though there’s a flicker of something in his eyes you can’t place.

“You’re the only one in this building still awake,” he says, his voice low, like it’s a joke only he gets. “Figured you could use some actual food.”

Your stomach gives a small, almost imperceptible growl, and you curse yourself for it. He smirks, ever so slightly, like he’s enjoying it.

“I didn’t order—”

He cuts you off, tone almost teasing. “I know. I did.”

The bag smells of something rich, comforting, and you know exactly what it is before you even open it. You never told him you liked it. Never had to.

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking the bag from him, fingers brushing briefly against his. It’s a simple moment, one you could pretend didn’t mean anything—but it does.

He stands there for a second, watching you as you dig through the bag. His eyes don’t leave you, not for a second. There’s something unspoken hanging in the air, like the weight of the last few weeks suddenly becomes tangible.

“Don’t eat too fast,” he says, his tone careful now, like he’s trying to sound casual, but it isn’t. It’s not casual. He’s not casual.

You glance up at him, eyes narrowing in that way that says you’re trying to find the right words. “Why? Afraid I’ll choke?”

Hansol’s lips quirk up, just the smallest curve of a smile. “Not at all.” He shifts his weight, his gaze shifting just a fraction of a second before he looks at you again. “But if you crash, I’ll have to deal with your stubborn ass on the track tomorrow.”

The words hit you differently this time. You swallow a bite, the food almost tasteless for a moment as your pulse spikes, but you don’t let it show.

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. So you eat instead, letting the quiet hang between you like a conversation that never happened, or one that’s already been said too many times. The tension lingers in the space, unspoken and real, like a race about to start without either of you quite ready for the gunshot.

Hansol doesn’t move. He stays by the door, arms crossed now, watching you like he’s waiting for something. Or maybe just watching because it’s easier than saying what’s in his head.

After a long silence, he shifts on his feet, clearing his throat. “Well, I’m going to head out,” he says, but the words don’t quite match the way his eyes linger a moment longer than they should. “You’ve got things covered here, right?”

You glance up at him, meeting his gaze. For a heartbeat, the world stops moving. The air crackles, like it’s charged with something neither of you can quite place.

“Yeah,” you say, voice steady, “I’ve got it.”

He doesn’t nod, doesn’t say anything else. Just turns, walking out the door like he’s leaving, but in a way, you know he isn’t. Not really.

The door clicks shut behind him, and the quiet settles in again, but it’s different now.

12 DAYS UNTIL PRESEASON TESTING

It’s late (again), hours stretching into an endless hum of calculations and adjustments. You’ve got the CAD program open on the screen in front of you, the numbers and simulations blending together into an intricate mess of numbers that don’t quite line up the way you need them to. You’re getting close, but every time you adjust something, it seems to get worse.

Hansol is perched on the corner of the big oak conference table, legs swinging idly as he watches you. You don’t know when he’s been here for so long, but you’re too caught up in the data to care. The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the screen, and all you can focus on is the problem at hand.

You tap a few more keys and tweak the load distribution again. A faint furrow creases your brow. It’s not working. It’s not supposed to be this complicated.

“Have you considered adjusting the load distribution across the rear end in sector three?” His voice cuts through the silence, casual but pointed.

You blink, pausing mid-swipe. “What?”

“You’re carrying too much load through the rear tires. That’s why the car’s losing stability at entry.” He leans forward, resting his arms across his knees. “It’s not about the front oversteer. It’s about how the rear is reacting when you try to push through.”

You furrow your brow, trying to break it down in your head. You’ve been running numbers all night—all week—but this? This isn’t something you’ve even thought to look at. The rear distribution.

You swipe through the numbers, pulling up the load distribution graph again, zeroing in on sector three. Your finger taps against the screen, the familiar patterns of tire wear and load data flashing in front of you.

“Look,” Hansol continues, “in sector three, you’re bleeding too much load from the rear tires when you hit the apex. It’s causing them to slip earlier than expected, but the data just… doesn’t show it. The front’s fine, but the rear’s handling it all wrong.”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. You adjust a few parameters on the screen, pulling the load distribution slider across. You’re silent for a long stretch, watching the numbers shift, recalculating, mentally reviewing every twist in the data.

And then, it clicks.

The back end of the car is too soft, under-loaded during that critical entry phase. No one’s noticed because they’ve all been looking at the front tires—trying to balance the downforce and stabilize the load there—but the rear is what’s tipping it over the edge.

Your fingers fly across the keyboard, adjusting the balance, redistributing the force, smoothing the curves, and—there. The graph sharpens into place. The load is spread evenly now, the numbers lining up in a way that feels… right. The data shifts, the simulation running smoother.

You let out a yelp, loud enough that Hansol nearly falls off the edge of the table. He scrambles for a second, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?”

Before you can even think, you’re off your chair and lunging toward him, throwing your arms around his neck in an unexpected, victorious hug. You barely even register it happening. The relief, the rush, the moment where everything finally clicks.

“I got it,” you gasp into his shoulder, your voice almost too loud in the quiet room. It’s raw excitement, an emotion you didn’t even know you were holding in until now.

Hansol’s hands come up to steady you, instinctively wrapping around your waist. He’s still a little stunned, but the hint of a grin pulls at the corner of his lips. “You’re crazy,” he mutters, though there’s something almost amused in his voice. He doesn’t pull back, not immediately, even as you start to realize how much closer you are to him than usual.

You pull away, breath still coming in quick bursts, suddenly aware of the awkwardness of the moment. Your face heats up, your gaze flickering away from his. “Sorry,” you mumble, feeling ridiculously self-conscious now. “I—uh, I didn’t mean to—”

But Hansol doesn’t move away. Instead, his fingers brush against the skin under your eyes, where your bangs have fallen messily, and with a gentleness that catches you off guard, he sweeps them back. His thumb skims across your face, cool and soft. His gaze is steady, but his smile? It’s that damn knowing smirk.

“Well done,” he says, his voice quiet, but there’s a certain weight to it. “Now get some rest.”

You blink, a little dazed from everything—because somehow, in the span of a few seconds, it feels like something’s shifted.

But before you can figure out what to say, he pulls back just enough to head for the door, voice lingering in the space between you both. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t screw this up.”

And it’s teasing. It’s definitely teasing. But there’s something else there, too. Something you can’t quite name.

FORMULA 1 ARAMCO PRE-SEASON TESTING 2025 Track: Bahrain International Circuit

The heat wraps itself around everything, clinging to your skin like a second layer. You pay it no mind, too focused on the tablet in front of you and the way your pulse thunders in your throat. 

The first lap comes in. Solid. Not great, but solid. The engineers around you murmur, their eyes glued to their own screens, fingers moving with purpose. The air smells like oil and exhaust, the sound of tires skimming over tarmac cutting through the stillness.

The second lap is better. A little faster, a little smoother. You feel the shift, the subtle change in the rhythm. He’s finding it. But it’s the fourth lap that makes your heart skip.

By then, you’re leaning forward so far that your fingers are starting to cramp on your tablet. You can hear every breath you take, every soft click of your nails as you tap through the data. The sector times pop up, a blur of numbers that doesn’t make sense until you read it again. Purple. Purple. Purple.

The screen feels alive in your hands. The tires are biting, the engine roaring to life with a speed you didn’t expect to see today. Hansol’s pushing. Not just the car, but the limits of everything.

A small part of you wants to look away. It feels too much like waiting for a train to derail. You don’t, though. Your eyes stay glued to the screen, each new sector time only adding to the rush building in your chest. The screen flashes again, and your fingers go cold despite the heat around you.

FASTEST SPEED TRAP

The corners of your mouth pull into a triumphant smile without you even realizing it.

Hansol’s lap finishes, and the moment hangs for a beat longer than it should, the sound of the car coasting back to the pit lane filling the silence like a distant drumbeat. You hear him before you see him. The way his engine still hums in the pit lane, the roar of the crowd inside his head, even though the only sound that remains is the distant squeal of tires.

The garage doors roll up as the car pulls in, and when Hansol climbs out, his helmet comes off with the same easy grace he’s always had. His face is flushed, sweat dripping down his neck, but there’s something different about the way he moves. More electric. More alive.

He strides over to you without hesitation, his eyes already locked on yours, a grin spreading across his face. It’s not the usual cocky smile he pulls when he’s already feeling himself. This one’s satisfied, a little wicked, but mostly: I told you so.

You straighten up, trying to hide the way your chest tightens at the sight of him—his fireproofs clinging to his skin, droplets of sweat rolling down his neck in that way that makes you wonder if you’ve ever seen him before. Or if you’d been too busy pretending not to notice him.

He stops in front of you, and for a second, you don’t know what to say.

Then he breaks the silence. “The napkin never lies.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrays you. “Shut up, Hansol.” 

Your voice doesn’t match the words. It’s harder than you meant, quieter than you thought, but he just laughs, that low, breathless sound that cuts through the air with ease. It’s a laugh full of energy and sweat and something else you can’t quite place.

“I’ll let you make it up to me with drinks after,��� he says, still catching his breath, chest rising and falling from the exertion, as if he hasn’t just shredded the track in a way you didn’t think was possible for him.

You squint at him, narrowing your eyes like you’re trying to figure out if he’s still teasing or if there’s something more hidden in his words. “Are you asking me out?” you ask, only half-joking.

For the first time today, he falters. Just the slightest hesitation. His eyes flicker away from you, then back again, like he’s unsure whether to give a response or not. He just shrugs, a small shrug, one that somehow feels like a challenge all on its own. “And if I am?”

A laugh nearly slips from your lips before you catch yourself. You could press him, make him answer, but instead, you gather your things in a motion that’s almost too casual to be believed.

“Took you long enough,” you reply, the words slipping out before you even process them.

He doesn’t say anything else, but his eyes linger on you for a beat longer than necessary. Then, without warning, he leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath against your ear.

“You’re buying the first round,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost intimate.

You freeze, the words sinking in a little too deep. When you turn to meet his eyes, there’s that same challenge, but with a quiet intensity that makes it impossible to look away.

“Count on it,” you reply, barely above a whisper, as he walks out. 

The moment hangs in the air long after he’s gone.

[chaoticforever]

When Perfect Cracks | Eddie Diaz x Male! Reader

Summary: To the outside world, it seemed like everything was perfect. Y/n had a boyfriend who loved him, a job he worked hard for, and a life finally falling into place. But Y/n had learned long ago that perfection often came with a price.

A/n: Shoutout to the person who requested this. It’s been fun writing for the 9-1-1 fandom and I liked writing this.

It's often said that time flies when you're having fun, but being in love and sharing those happy moments with that special someone takes it to a whole new level, making time pass by even more quickly.

One year.

That’s how long Y/n L/n and Eddie Diaz had been a couple. Looking back, it was almost comical how they started dating, considering the two hadn’t exactly gotten off on the right foot. In fact, Y/n couldn’t stand Eddie, to say the least. And Eddie? Oh, he hadn’t been too fond of Y/n either.

It all started with the parking lot incident at the grocery store. Y/n could still hear Eddie’s exasperated tone, accusing him of backing into his truck when, in reality, Eddie was the one who hit him, leaving a nice, ugly dent in Y/n's car. The man had the audacity to argue, crossing his arms with that infuriating, know-it-all look like he had never been wrong a day in his life.

Realistically, Y/n should’ve called the cops, but he’d been in a rush and didn’t have time to deal with it. He just hoped he’d never have to see that dude again.

Fate, though, had other plans.

On his day off, thanks to some saved-up PTO, Y/n got a text from his best friend and roommate, Buck, asking if he could drop off the lunch he’d forgotten at their apartment. Being the good friend he was — and knowing how much Buck liked his cooking — Y/n agreed and headed to the 118 firehouse to drop it off and bounce.

And that’s when Buck introduced him to the team. Surprisingly, one of them was the one who dented his car — Eddie Diaz. The moment Eddie saw him, he let out a little sigh, as if Y/n’s mere presence was some kind of personal inconvenience. It probably was, but that was Eddie's fault. Their conversation that day? Well, it was nothing but passive-aggressive remarks.

So, yeah, Y/n was not a fan. He thought Eddie was arrogant, pompous, and far too smug for someone who acted like being a firefighter made him superior.

As it turned out, the animosity was a two-way street. Y/n later found out from Buck that Eddie had called him stuck-up. Annoying. Said he didn’t understand why Buck was friends with someone like him.

Y/n knew It would have stayed that way — two people who did not tolerate each other, held together only by their mutual friendship with Buck — if it hadn’t been for that one sunny afternoon at the park.

The 118 had been hosting a community event for local kids, setting up obstacle courses, fire safety demos, and fun little challenges. He had only agreed to attend because Buck wanted him to help out, and Y/n figured it was a decent way to spend a Saturday. He wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity to give back, so he set up a barbecue station, grilling sausages, burgers, and hot dogs for the attendees.

And then he saw Eddie with the children.

A little girl, barely six, had stumbled and scraped her knee. Y/n went to help, but Eddie got there first, kneeling down with a gentleness that caught him off guard, to be honest. Eddie's voice was warm and reassuring as he told her she was strong, it was just a scratch, that he’d had worse but always got back up. She sniffled, nodded, and, without hesitation, held out her arms for Eddie to pick her up after he finished bandaging her knee.

Y/n hadn't expected Eddie to be so kind. It was one thing to know that Eddie's job as a firefighter involved helping people, but it was quite another to see him do it off the clock with such genuine warmth and compassion. Y/n had anticipated a more gruff, no-nonsense approach, but instead, Eddie was gentle, patient, and encouraging. Just like he encouraged a nervous young boy to climb up the mini firefighter obstacle course. He certainly hadn't expected to see that little display. And Y/n definitely hadn’t expected the way his own heart softened at the sight.

Maybe Eddie wasn’t the arrogant jerk Y/n had thought he was. Eddie, it seemed, had misjudged Y/n as well. He assumed that Y/n was too stuck-up to bother with something as humble as volunteering at a community event. Yet as he watched Y/n flip burgers and hotdogs on the grill, he was surprised to see that Y/n was not only present but also actively participating and helping out. 

But somewhere between setting up activity stations together and laughing at a group of kids who somehow ended up covered in paint, the tension between them shifted. And later that day, the two talked — really talked. No snark. No jabs. Just two people realizing they had been wrong about each other in the beginning.

That day changed everything.

What followed was polite conversations that quickly turned into playful teasing. Then, Y/n and Eddie were hanging out with each other. Soon, they had late-night talks, both in person and over the phone.

Before either of them fully realized it, something more had started to form. Feelings they hadn’t anticipated. Eddie was the one who made the first move by both asking him out and kissing him first. 

Now, a year later, here they were, celebrating their first anniversary. Who would have thought? Certainly not Y/n. However, he surely wasn’t complaining because he had fallen in love with Eddie. And that was one thing he’d never regret.

Y/n slipped on a deep, rich blue shirt over his white tee, fingers working the buttons just as Buck nearly walked past his room. He had just gotten in, heading toward the bathroom, but paused when he caught sight of Y/n getting dressed.

"Well, look at you," Buck stepped into the doorway and gave him an exaggerated once-over. "Dressed up. Got big plans?"

Y/n rolled his eyes. Buck was more than aware of his plans tonight and what day he was celebrating. Hell, Buck has been celebrating today more than Y/n himself.

In fact, Buck had been making sure that Y/n knew he was aware, by sending him a barrage of "Happy Anniversary" texts — fifteen, to be exact — early that morning. But that wasn't all he did, not even close. His roommate had also brought him a cake with a sappy anniversary message, posted a shoutout to him and Eddie on his Instagram story, and recommended the restaurant they were going to. Granted, Buck mentioned it months ago and they decided to check it out tonight, but still.

Regardless, Y/n decided to play along, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. "Nah, Buck, I just enjoy wearing dressy shirts while lounging around our apartment."

Buck chuckled. "Right. Because nothing says 'lazy night in' like a button-up shirt and cologne I can smell from the hall."

"Maybe I want to smell nice for myself."

"Or maybe you just want to smell nice for Eddie," Buck teased, wiggling his brows.

Y/n shook his head as he finished buttoning up his shirt and started adjusting his collar. Okay, fine, Buck wasn’t exactly wrong. He’d chosen this new Versace cologne because he knew Eddie would like it, but he wasn't going to admit that to Buck, not out loud, at least. "You're impossible," saying that showed how Buck was right on point about Y/n.

"And yet, you continue to put up with me," the blue-eyed firefighter fired back. "So, where are you and Romeo going tonight?"

"That place you wouldn’t shut up about — Desiderata," Y/n replied, smoothing down his shirt. "And before you say anything, yes, I made the reservation a month ago."

Quickly, Buck held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I’m just making sure you don’t mess this up. One year with Eddie Diaz is a big deal. The man practically had a heart attack picking out your gift."

Y/n paused mid-motion, turning to Buck with narrowed eyes. "Wait, what?" Eddie got him a gift? Even after Y/n had made it abundantly clear he did not want a gift.

Blue eyes widened as if Buck had let slip a secret he hadn't meant to share. Upon realization, Buck quickly shook his head. "Nothing. Just forget I said anything." The words tumbled out in a rush, and he didn't wait for Y/n to reply before turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

"Oh, no you don’t." Y/n grabbed his phone and then followed Buck into the kitchen, where his friend was already rummaging through the cabinets, pulling out a bag of chips. "Buck, spill it. What did Eddie get me? It better not be anything expensive."

"I am sworn to secrecy." Buck zipped his lips, making a show of locking them shut and throwing away the imaginary key. "Besides, it’s better if you see it yourself."

Y/n groaned. He really hoped Eddie hadn’t gone overboard. He wasn’t a fan of receiving gifts in general, but if Eddie had gone all out, Y/n was going to have words. That money could’ve been spent on Christopher or on something actually important rather than getting him stuff.

"Fine. I’ll just wait and see for myself." He checked his phone, noting the time. If he wanted to make it to the restaurant on time, he had to leave now. But before heading out, Y/n had one last question. "Yo, weren’t you supposed to go out with, uh... the reporter chick? Tyra?"

"Taylor," his roommate corrected, as he opened up the fridge and grabbed a can of Pepsi. "And she had to cover a story tonight, so our date's been rescheduled."

Y/n opened his mouth to respond, but before he could pry further, his phone buzzed in his hands. He looked down at it and saw Eddie’s name flash across the screen. 

Eddie: I’m at the restaurant. Take your time, but just know every second you make me wait, I’m mentally judging you.

A chuckle escaped Y/n as he shook his head and pocketed his phone. "Alright, I’m leaving. You good if I head out now?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go have your disgustingly romantic evening," Buck waved him off. He picked up the soda can and the bag of chips and headed into the living room, clearly ready to spend the evening doing his own thing. "I'll be here, watching the game," he plopped down in the armchair with a comfortable sigh. He reached for the remote and turned on the TV before adding. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" 

"That doesn't leave room for much, man, especially the good stuff." and that little comment was definitely a dig at Buck's playboy past before he toned it down.

"Hey!"

Y/n’s laughter echoed as he grabbed his keys from the metal hook and left their apartment, locking the door behind him. The drive to the restaurant wasn’t long, but his mind kept drifting back to Buck’s slip-up about Eddie’s gift. He really, really hoped Eddie hadn’t gone overboard. Y/n didn’t need anything fancy. Spending the night with Eddie was more than enough.

Pulling into the restaurant’s parking lot, he shifted the car into park and checked himself in the rearview mirror. His shirt? Smooth and crisp. Hair? Decent enough. Lips? Soft and chap-free. He was ready.

When he walked inside, Y/n realized that Buck wasn't exaggerating — this place was fancy. The restaurant featured gold chandeliers that hung above the patrons, pristine white tablecloths covering the tables, sleek lanterns with LED candles, a violinist playing soft, classical music, and even a waterfall inside, cascading down rocks with a soft, calming sound.

And he quickly spotted Eddie, who was sitting at a table near the waterfall. Dressed in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, Eddie was focused on his phone, completely unaware of the effect he was already having on Y/n. Eddie looked really good.

He is doing this on purpose, Y/n thought. He has to be. Eddie had to know how good he looked, how those damn rolled-up sleeves highlighted his toned arms, the ones Y/n had admired more times than he’d ever admit out loud. 

Y/n walked over, stopping at the chair meant for him. "How’s the date so far?"

At the sound of his voice, Eddie looked up. The moment their eyes met, a small, knowing smirk curled at his lips, the one that never failed to make Y/n’s stomach flip. His gaze lingered, taking in the deep blue shirt, the way it complimented Y/n’s skin, the way he smelled — Y/n could tell from the look in Eddie’s hazel eyes that the cologne choice had been a success.

"So far?" Eddie teased, locking his phone and setting it face down. "Pretty boring. But I think it just got a whole lot better."

"Smooth Diaz."

"Only for you." Eddie gestured to the seat across from him. "Now sit before people think I got stood up on my anniversary."

Y/n huffed out a laugh and slid into the seat, taking another glance around. "You know, Buck wasn’t wrong — this place is nice. It almost feels like we should have worn tuxes or a suit jacket." He reached for the menu but didn’t open it, instead letting his gaze drift back to Eddie. "And you look handsome, by the way. Though I see you went with the ‘roll the sleeves up and make Y/n suffer’ look. Bold choice."

Eddie smirked, casually leaning forward, and resting his forearms on the table. “Oh? You noticed?” His voice was all feigned innocence, however, his expression gave him away, revealing the truth behind his words. Eddie knew exactly what he was doing, and he was doing it on purpose.

Y/n scoffed, opening the menu to avoid looking at Eddie too much. "Hard not to."

The h/c hair male let his eyes skim over the food options, debating what to order. Normally, he’d go for something simple when he went out, such as a burger or a cheesesteak, but tonight, he figured he’d try something new; different. Something a little more fitting for tonight's occasion.

"How was work?" Eddie suddenly asked.

Y/n let out a deep sigh, setting the menu aside and rubbing his temple as if trying to massage away the stress of the day. "Very exhausting," he answered, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and relief. "I had to spend most of the day working out a strategy to close the Morgan deal. It's been dragging on for weeks, and my boss was breathing down my neck for a solid proposal by the end of the day." He sighed again, his shoulders sagging a bit as Y/n relived the monotony of his day. "So, basically, I spent my day working on the Morgan deal, staring at spreadsheets, crunching numbers, speaking to clients, and pretending like I didn't want to throw my computer out of the nearest window."

Eddie nodded. "So, a typical finance day?"

"Pretty much," Y/n muttered. "Except this time, if I screw up, we lose a multi-million-dollar deal. No pressure, though."

Except all Y/n had felt was pressure. He knew that he couldn't afford to screw up this deal, not when so much was riding on it. If he failed, he would not only lose the deal, but also his chance at getting a promotion, and that was something Y/n had desperately wanted for a while now.

The promotion would bring with it a significant pay increase, more benefits, and, most importantly, a private office, something Y/n always wanted. No more cramped cubicles, no more distractions, no more shared workspace. Just his own four walls and a door with his name on it.

Eddie studied Y/n, his head tilting to the side in a subtle, thoughtful gesture. "You don't screw up," the words that followed were a statement, not a question, and they were laced with a quiet confidence that was reassuring in Y/n's intelligence.

Y/n's eyebrows shot up, his expression skeptical. "You sound pretty sure of that." Judging from his tone, Y/n, undoubtedly, wanted Eddie to explain the basis for his confidence in him, and the man sure did.

"Because I am." Eddie shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You’re a smart guy, and you always work hard. If anyone can pull this off, it’s you."

Hearing that caused Y/n to feel warmth blooming in his chest. Eddie had a way of making him feel like he was capable of anything, even when he doubted himself. This guy sure did have a way with words.

"Thanks," he gave a small, grateful smile. "Hopefully, my boss feels the same way."

Just then, a waiter approached their table. A young man with a friendly smile and an immaculately crisp uniform. "Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Nathan, and I’ll be your server today. Can I start you guys off with something to drink?"

Eddie turned his attention to Y/n with a questioning look. "What are you feeling?"

"Hmm," Y/n's e/c eyes scanned the menu once more, his fingers tracing the edges of the page as he deliberated on his drink of choice. "I'll take a whiskey sour."

Both of Eddie's eyebrows shot up from Y/n's choice. "Going strong tonight, huh?"

"Yes, sir," Y/n confirmed without missing a beat. "I deserve this after the day I had."

Eddie's head nodded to the side as if to say that he agreed with Y/n's decision to treat himself to a stronger drink without verbally speaking. His gaze then shifted to Nathan. "I will take a Maui margarita."

Nathan's pencil moved, the tip gliding smoothly across the small notepad in his left hand as he quickly jotted down the drink orders. "Alright, I'll be back with your drinks shortly." He sent another grin.

Once the waiter left, Y/n asked about Eddie's Saturday, and Eddie explained that had spent the day watching movies with his kid and baking cookies with him.

However, their little baking endeavors had been less than successful, with the cookies emerging from the oven burnt to a crisp. In fact, they were so severely charred that even Christopher, who was typically eager to taste Eddie's food, had declined to take a bite. So, he pretty much spent his time baking for nothing. Even then, he couldn't blame Christopher for not taking a simple bite out of them.

After all, when Eddie, himself, had mustered the courage to try one of the cookies himself, he had been forced to concede that they were, indeed, inedible, which was the kindest way of putting it.

That is precisely why Y/n had taken it upon himself to handle all the baking duties whenever he visited Eddie's place. He had even assumed the role of head chef, not because Eddie was a bad cook — on the contrary, Eddie was quite good at cooking — but Y/n had always learned to appreciate the value of edible food.

Pretty soon, their drinks arrived, and Nathan set a whiskey sour in front of Y/n and a Maui margarita in front of Eddie. Then, Nathan took their food orders, jotting down Y/n's selection of the Grilled Chicken Alfredo and Eddie's choice of the New Orleans Pasta, before leaving to put their orders in. 

Once the waiter left again, Y/n lifted his glass to his lips and savored a slow sip of his whiskey sour, eyeing Eddie over the rim of the glass. He had been trying to resist the urge to mention the surprise gift Eddie had gotten him, knowing it was to be a secret until the right moment. He tried to respect the surprise. But yeah, he couldn't do it. He had to say something.

"So…" Y/n's lips parted and the word left his lips in a languid, drawn-out manner. "Word on the street is you got me a gift."

Eddie's eyes widened in surprise, his finger, which had been absently tracing the rim of his glass, stilled as he blinked in reaction to Y/n's words. A sigh left his mouth and he shook his head. "Damn it, Buck," he muttered to himself, his voice low and resigned. "I should've known he wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut," the firefighter found his gaze on Y/n. "I specifically told him not to say anything."

"Yeah, well, it’s Buck," Y/n said matter-of-factly. "Keeping secrets isn’t exactly his strong suit." He pushed his drink aside and leaned forward. "What did you get me? I told you not to get me anything."

"And I ignored you," Eddie replied smoothly, unapologetically disregarding Y/n's wishes. "Because I wanted to get you something special. And before you start, no, what I got you is not expensive."

Y/n’s lips flattened into a thin line and he shot him a look. "That's what people say when it is expensive. So, what is it, huh?"

Eddie could see there was no way out of this. He had planned to give Y/n the gift after dinner, but he knew how persistent Y/n was, and there was no chance he’d drop it until he saw it. With a sigh, Eddie reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box, setting it on the table right in front of his boyfriend.

Y/n stared at it like it was a ticking bomb. He wondered what was inside there. It had to be some type of jewelry, judging by the box. And for one panicked second, the e/c-eyed man's brain jumped to the craziest possibility that there was a ring inside. Oh, he hoped not. He loved Eddie, but the idea of marriage, at least at this point during their relationship, was not something he was ready to consider.

All of a sudden, his thoughts screeched to a halt. He paused, his eyes still fixed on the box, as a new comment formed in his mind: now wait a damn minute—? 

"This looks expensive."

"Shut up and open it, Y/n."

Without waiting another moment, Y/n picked up the box and lifted the lid open. He let out an internal sigh of relief when he saw that it wasn’t a ring. Thank God. Nestled inside was a sleek silver chain necklace, simple yet elegant, resting on a soft, red cushion. His eyes traced over the delicately engraved plate in the center, reading the words etched into the metal.

Siempre contigo.

Y/n looked up at Eddie with a questioning look in his eyes. "What does this mean?"

Eddie's expression underwent a subtle transformation, his features softening into something more... affectionate. He reached for his drink and took a slow sip of it. "It means: Always with you."

Always with you. It was three little words, but the meaning behind them, especially in this context, carried so much weight. Y/n stared at Eddie, something in his chest tightening. He glanced back down at the necklace, then back at Eddie, who was watching him with that steady gaze — the one that meant he was waiting for Y/n to voice his opinion on the necklace.

For a moment, Y/n didn’t know what to say and was rendered momentarily mute. He simply held the necklace in his palm, feeling the cool weight of it against his skin. Eddie wasn’t usually the most openly expressive guy, but he had a way of showing how much he cared without needing to say it outright. And this? This was exactly that, and it was so touching.

The words tumbled out of Y/n's lips in a soft, barely audible whisper, as if he was still attempting to process the reality of the gift. "You really got this for me?" and Y/n's voice lacked its usual teasing edge.

Eddie's head nodded, a gentle, affirming motion as he replied, "Yes. I know you're not big on gifts, but I wanted you to have something from me. Something you can wear every day — if you want to, that is." He just shrugged and he looked almost sheepish, his eyes dropping to the table before rising back up to meet Y/n's gaze head-on. "I just… I wanted you to have something that reminded you I’m always here. No matter how crazy work gets, how tough life becomes for you, or how stressed you are — I’m with you. Always."

Y/n swallowed. He wasn't typically the emotional type, but there was something about Eddie's words, about the necklace, that had touched a deep chord within him. And dammit, Eddie really knew how to get to him, how to slip past every last one of his defenses and make his heart ache in the best way possible. He ran his finger over the smooth silver, tracing the engraving with his thumb. It was perfect.

He really, really liked it.

Actually— "I love it," Y/n said, pulling the necklace from the box and unclasping it. Eddie's hand shot out, taking the jewelry from his hands. Moving around the table, he quickly fastened it around Y/n’s neck.

"There we go," Eddie murmured once it was secured. Though, his hands lingered for a moment, grazing the warm skin at the nape of Y/n’s neck before he settled into his seat. "Now you’re stuck with me."

Y/n laughed, adjusting the necklace so it sat just right. "I’ve been stuck with you since the day you put that dent in my car."

"You put that dent in your own car." 

"That’s debatable," and it was funny how, even after all this time, neither of them had backed down from blaming the other for that infamous parking lot incident. It was a lifelong argument now, one they’d probably continue to have decades down the line. "You know, this is kind of unfair, right? Now I feel my gift for you sucks."

Eddie looked genuinely surprised. "You got me a gift?" he sounded shocked, too.

“Of course," Y/n confirmed, "I did. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?"

Eddie chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “And here you were, giving me a whole speech about not wanting a gift, only to turn around and get me one, too."

"Yeah, yeah," Y/n dismissively waved Eddie off, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a black box. "Guess I’m a hypocrite." And, honestly? Y/n knew that.

Eddie took the box with a curious look before opening it up. Inside sat a sleek, silver watch with a deep black leather strap. It was classic, elegant, and exactly Eddie’s style. Eddie's lips parted slightly as he traced the edge of the watch face. 

Y/n studied Eddie’s expression closely and he could tell that he liked it. "I know you’ve been wanting another watch since your old one broke. I figured I would save you the trouble of having to shop for one."

Eddie was still staring at the watch like he couldn’t quite believe Y/n had gotten him one. "Y/n, this is — this is amazing."

"Oh, I know," for a watch that cost eight hundred bucks, it better be nothing short of amazing. "I have great taste, don't I?"

Eddie's eyes lifted, meeting Y/n's gaze as a soft, breathy laugh escaped his lips. "You really didn't have to do this," he said.

Y/n tilted his head slightly. "And yet, I did."

Following that, Eddie's face broke into a wide, joyful smile as he removed the watch from its cushion sliding it onto his wrist. He fastened the buckle, making a slight adjustment to get the fit just right, before holding his arm out to admire the way the watch looked on him. "Perfect," he declared. And then, without warning, he leaned across the table, and grabbed Y/n's face, his fingers wrapping around Y/n's jaw. Before Y/n could even react, Eddie's lips were on his, pressing into a brief, but intense kiss. It was enough to make Y/n’s heart race as he kissed him back, his fingers gripping Eddie’s wrist before the firefighter finally pulled away.

"Happy anniversary, Y/n," Eddie laced his hand with Y/n’s as his thumb traced a soothing pattern over Y/n's knuckles.

The h/c-haired man gave a little squeeze to his hand. "Happy anniversary, Eddie." 

And yeah, Y/n was happy that night. Really happy. It was one of those rare, perfect nights where everything aligned just right, where nothing felt off or out of place. However, sometimes, Y/n worried when things got too perfect. Life had this way of pulling the rug out from under you and throwing curveballs when you least expected it. He’d felt that firsthand when his ex-boyfriend of two years, Brant, had cheated on him the moment Y/n had let himself believe things were solid. Brant's infidelity had left him shattered and for a long time, he had struggled to trust again. 

But Eddie was different. He wasn’t Brant. He was steady. Reliable. The kind of guy who said Siempre contigo and meant it. Y/n knew he didn’t have to worry about that with Eddie. Not tonight. Not ever.

The gift was thoughtful. The restaurant was beautiful. And the company? Well, that was the best part. Or so he thought. Because later, when the two men ended up in Eddie’s bedroom after their dinner…

Yeah, Y/n had no choice but to revise his previous stance. That was the best part.

XXXXX XXXXX

Y/n stood before the mirror, making a slight adjustment to the cap on his head to ensure it was perfectly straight. It had been weeks since he had a Saturday off from work, and he planned to make the most of his free day. Eddie suggested spending the day outside, and Y/n had thrown out the idea of going to Pacific Park on the Santa Monica Pier, a place he had always wanted to visit but never had the chance to since moving to L.A. it seemed like the perfect way to spend the day with both Eddie and Christopher.

A timer beeped from the kitchen. Turning away from the mirror, Y/n sauntered into the kitchen, where he slipped on a pair of orange mittens before opening the oven. He pulled out a tray of chocolate chip cookies, setting them on the table as he kicked the oven door closed behind him. Since Eddie's previous attempt at baking had resulted in a batch of burnt cookies, Y/n had taken it upon himself to make a batch of non-burnt ones for Christopher.

Right on cue, Eddie strolled into the kitchen, his eyes immediately locking onto the cookies like a man on a mission.

"Finally, they're done. Smells so good," Eddie’s hand reached out, intending to grab a cookie and shove it down his throat. Just as his fingers were about to make contact with the tray, Y/n swooped in and slapped Eddie's hand away with a playful swat. Eddie's eyebrows furrowed in surprise, and he looked up at Y/n with a mock-offended expression from being denied one. "What did you do that for?"

"These cookies are for Christopher," Y/n answered. "Besides, they just got out of the oven, so they need a minute to cool." 

"These cookies are for me too. Sharing is caring, as they say, cariño." Eddie's hand, once again, reached for a cookie, as if hoping to sneak one past Y/n's defenses by using the affectionate term to try and melt Y/n's resolve. But Y/n was having none of it and smacked Eddie's hand away a second time. "You know," he crossed his arms, "you’re kinda cruel for making the whole house smell like fresh cookies and then not letting me have one when I am clearly in need of a cookie fix."

"And I'm in need of some sunscreen for today. So how about you go check if you have some? Then you can have a cookie."

Eddie's face scrunched up in a scowl, and he muttered something under his breath as he turned to leave the kitchen. Y/n didn't quite catch what he had said, and he thought he was in the clear. Just then, Eddie paused and suddenly turned around. In a flash, he snatched a cookie off the tray and made a run for it, dashing out of the kitchen before Y/n could even react and, at least, attempt to stop him. That damn man. 

Shaking his head, Y/n grabbed a spatula and started transferring the cookies into a plastic container. Prior to sealing it, he picked one up and took a bite, deciding to try for himself and... wow. He mentally patted himself on the back. The cookies turned out really good. Christopher was certainly going to love them. And Eddie—

The sudden knock at the front door broke the spell of Y/n's cookie-induced reverie, and he was jolted back to reality. I wonder who that could be, Y/n thought as his feet carried him to the front door. When he opened it, he was greeted by a woman with green eyes and brown hair that fell in loose waves down her back. What caught Y/n's attention, however, was her impressive height — she was very tall for a woman. Y/n didn't know who she was. He had never seen her before.

"Hi. Can I help you?"

In return, the woman threw him a friendly smile, but it was tempered by a hint of confusion that danced in her eyes. "…Hi," her greeting was polite, courteous, but slightly hesitant, as if she was unsure of herself. Her gaze briefly dropped to the phone in her hand, as if double-checking something before refocusing on Y/n, "I'm sorry, I think I might've gotten the wrong address. I was looking for Eddie Diaz...?"

"Oh, then you have the right place. I’ll go get him. Who should I say is here—?" He ended his question in a curious manner. It wasn’t just for introductions. Y/n was also trying to figure out if Eddie had ever mentioned this woman before, and if so, what their relationship was like. Was she a friend of Eddie's? Or a family member?

The woman's mouth opened to answer Y/n's question. However, her attention was caught by the sound of approaching footsteps, which was getting louder by the second. She stopped mid-breath, with her head moving slightly to the side.

Eddie sauntered into the living room, a bottle of sunscreen clutched in his hand, eyes fixed on the label.  "You're in luck. I still have a lot — well, some — sunscreen left for you. I think I’ve earned another cookie, don't you?" He looked up, but his expression faltered as his gaze landed on the woman standing in the doorway. His eyes widened in shock, and Y/n saw a flicker of some expression on Eddie's face. Anger or, maybe, annoyance if Y/n had to guess. "What are you doing here?"

The woman, whose name Y/n still didn’t know, stared at Eddie in the way people do when they haven’t seen someone in a long time. Her eyes roamed over his face, reacquainting herself with every feature.

Then, with a subtle straightening of her back, she swallowed hard, and a small, tentative smile began to shape on her lips. The smile was hesitant, almost shy, and it seemed to tremble on the edge of her mouth, testing the waters. And it was accompanied by a greeting: "Hi, Eddie."

Y/n shifted uncomfortably by the door, his eyes darting back and forth between Eddie and the mysterious woman. A sudden sense of awkwardness washed over him. Y/n felt like an intruder in this home as if he had now stumbled into a private conversation that wasn't meant for his ears. "Uh, who is this?" He asked, evidently directing his question to Eddie.

"This is Shannon," Eddie answered, his gaze never leaving her face as he spoke. 

Oh. This was Shannon. As in Eddie’s ex-wife and Christopher’s mother Shannon. Well, this has caused Y/n to feel even more awkward. This is the woman who had left Eddie to raise their son on his own. Y/n had heard the painful story from Eddie, about how Shannon had abandoned them to care for her mother, but also to get away from Eddie. She disappeared, leaving Eddie to pick up the pieces and raise Christopher by himself. What really stuck out to Y/n was the fact that she had never come back to visit her own son or called to check in. Not even once, and that was messed up.

"Oh," Y/n said, the word escaping his lips as a default response because he didn't know what else to say at this moment. After a beat, more words tumbled out before he could stop them. "Well, uh… come inside." Y/n stepped aside, allowing her to enter.

Upon doing that, Eddie's eyes snapped to his, a look of warning or perhaps even annoyance flashing across his features. Y/n met his gaze with a sheepish shrug, apologizing silently, but he genuinely did not know what else to do in this type of situation. He didn't have a script for how to handle the arrival of Eddie's ex-wife at this moment, and he was simply trying to roll with it. Besides, Shannon was clearly here for a reason, and the two men had a good idea of what that reason might be.

Shannon nodded her thanks to Y/n as she stepped across the threshold, into the house. Y/n closed the door behind her, his eyes darting to Eddie as he tried to read his reaction. Eddie's shoulders were tense, his jaw was clenched, and his entire demeanor screamed that he was not pleased to see Shannon as he watched her walk into the living room.

Shannon's eyes roamed the living room, taking in the surroundings. It was as if she was trying to reassemble a puzzle, piecing together the fragments of a life she had purposely left behind years ago.

Her attention lingered on the framed photographs, though. Some of the photos showed Christopher alone, his bright smile capturing the camera's lens, his school photos, snapshots from the park, pictures at the carnival, and other moments from his childhood. But it was the photos of Christopher with Eddie that seemed to hold her attention the longest.

There was tension. The kind that settled heavily in the air and made the silence feel unbearable. But the silence was broken by Eddie’s voice cutting through, finally. "Why are you here, Shannon?"

"I—" Shannon let out a tiny breath, finally shifting her gaze back to Eddie, meeting his stare head-on. Her green eyes locked onto his hazel eyes. "I wanted to speak to you. And I wanted to see Christopher."

Once Shannon's words escaped her lips, Eddie's head began to shake to convey his disagreement. What exactly he was disagreeing with, Y/n couldn't tell. Was it the idea of talking to him, or the notion of seeing Christopher? Or was it both? It was most likely a no to both statements.

Just as the tension in the room seemed to be reaching a boiling point, the sound of soft footsteps echoed down the hall, as if an unseen force had been watching the interaction and decided to intervene. Christopher appeared in the living room with a bright smile on his face. He had his Dodgers cap on and his excitement for the day was obvious in his features.  

Christopher's bright smile and energetic demeanor came to an abrupt halt as his gaze landed on his mom, standing in the room with them His eyes widened, taking in the sight of her after all these years.

"…Mommy…?" he breathed, his tone uncertain, as if he was unsure if he was seeing things, if this was all just a dream or a trick of the mind. He took one step forward, never letting his eyes leave Shannon's face. "Is that really you?" 

Shannon felt her heart tighten in her chest. She nodded, her voice thick with emotion. "Yes, Christopher. It’s really me."

Without another second wasted, Christopher rushed forward. Shannon immediately knelt to meet him, wrapping him in her arms as tightly as he held onto her like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go, leaving him with the memories of this fleeting moment. It was intense.

"I missed you so much," Christopher whispered into his mother's shirt. 

"I missed you too, baby," she responded, as she lifted Christopher up into the air. She squeezed him tightly, never wanting to let him go, never wanting this moment to end. Tears formed in Shannon's eyes and she buried her face in her son's hair.

Finally, Christopher pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. His face was bright with excitement. "I have so much to tell you! Dad and I were going to the pier today! And Y/n was coming too!" He turned to Eddie. "Can she come with us?"

The room seemed to freeze. Eddie didn’t answer right away. His jaw was tight, but his gaze did soften slightly upon seeing how happy his son was at this moment.

Seconds stretched unbearably. Shannon turned to Eddie, too. "I would love to go," she said gently. "If that’s okay with you."

Eddie's sharp exhalation through his nose was a telltale sign of his internal struggle, as he stood there, his eyes cast downward at the floor. Y/n could almost see the battle raging inside Eddie's head. He didn't want Shannon to join them on their little trip. That much was obvious. However, Christopher was looking at him with those big, hopeful eyes — the ones Eddie had never been able to say no to.

And Shannon must've known that too, because she wisely chose to wait, to let the situation unfold without forcing the issue. She didn't try to persuade Eddie, didn't attempt to guilt trip him or beg for his permission. Instead, she allowed her son's excitement to do the talking for her.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Eddie sighed and dragged a hand over his face. "Alright," he finally surrendered to the inevitability of the situation. "You can come with us to the Pier." He added.

Christopher's face lit up with a radiant grin as he turned back to his mother. He grasped her hand and Shannon dragged him towards the door. Eddie, meanwhile, grabbed Christopher's two crutches and followed them out the door. Then, Y/n moved, trailing silently behind the trio. 

Outside, Eddie locked up the house before heading towards his truck, while Y/n made his way to his own car, parked behind Eddie's. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he should be going with them anymore. Now that Shannon was coming, this felt like an outing that had nothing to do with him. More than that — this is family stuff.

Eddie, Christopher, and Shannon had issues to work through, and Y/n didn't feel like he needed to be a part of it. As much as he loved Eddie and Christopher, It wasn't his business, and he didn't want to intrude on their personal problems or overstep any boundaries he shouldn't. 

Just as Eddie was finishing up helping Christopher into the car and stowing his crutches in the back, he noticed that Y/n was standing by his own vehicle, making no move to get into the passenger seat of Eddie's truck. Eddie frowned. "What are you doing, Y/n?" he asked, his voice low and questioning, as he walked over to where Y/n was standing and stopped.

Y/n paused, his hand wrapped around the car door handle. "Well, I just figured that..." he rubbed the back of his neck, choosing his words with care. "Maybe I should sit this one out. This seems like a family thing and I don't want to get in the way of—" Y/n's words died on his lips as Eddie suddenly grabbed his hand, the one wrapped around the car door, and dragged him towards the truck without a word. The sudden movement left him stumbling to keep up with Eddie at first, and he almost lost his balance as Eddie propelled him forward. "—or I could still go with you guys, sure. That works, too."

XXXXX XXXXX

Night had fallen, and accompanied with it were a million stars that lit up the dark sky in an ethereal manner. It was such a beautiful sight that it could put someone to sleep from being so mesmerized by it.

And for Christopher, it had.

He had fallen asleep in the truck on the drive back from the pier, his head resting against the seat. Y/n couldn’t blame him. After a long day of riding roller coasters, playing games, and eating more sugary snacks than any child should probably have, exhaustion had caught up to him.

At least, he had a good day.

But Y/n had a feeling that what truly made this day special for Christopher wasn’t just the fun — it was the fact that both of his parents had been there with him. Despite the tension and the history between them, Eddie and Shannon had put their differences aside for the day to give their son the gift of a perfect day.

When they arrived back at Eddie’s house, Y/n was the one who volunteered to take Christopher to his room, scooping up the sleeping boy into his arms and carrying him inside. It served as an excuse that gave Eddie and Shannon the opportunity to talk alone without them being present.

Carefully, Y/n laid Christopher down on his bed, making sure not to wake him up. He reached out to remove Christopher's cap, lifting it off his head and setting it aside on the nightstand. Next, Y/n slid his glasses off his face, folding them up and placing them beside the cap before tucking the blanket up to his chin. In his sleep, Christopher mumbled something incoherent, fingers curling into the fabric.

With a final glance at Christopher's face, Y/n soundlessly stepped out of the room He left the door, slightly ajar, just in case Christopher woke up in the middle of the night, then made his way to the kitchen. He grabbed two beers from the fridge before heading into the living room, where Eddie now sat alone on the couch. Shannon was gone.

Wordlessly, the h/c-haired male sat down beside Eddie on the couch. He didn’t ask what had been said between them. Not yet. Instead, he extended his hand, offering Eddie one of those beers, and Eddie accepted it with a small nod of thanks. His eyes never left the TV that wasn't even on as he twisted off the cap and took a quick chug, downing half of it.

Y/n took a swig of his beer, letting the cool liquid settle on his tongue before swallowing. "So, what did Shannon say to you?" He asked, breaking the silence. 

Now, Y/n's curiosity was piqued, and he patiently waited with bated breath for Eddie to share what had been discussed between him and Shannon. The fact that Shannon had left so soon suggested that it had been brief, and Y/n wondered what could have been talked about in such a short amount of time. At the same time, If Eddie didn't say anything, Y/n wouldn't pry or try to force the issue. Eddie would talk to him about it when he was ready.

"She wants to meet with me on Monday," he answered, "Said she wants us to talk."

Y/n glanced over. "And? What’d you say?"

"I told her 'We’ll see.'"

"That’s a way of saying 'probably not.'"

"Yeah, well…" Eddie took another sip of his beer. "I don’t know if I want to hear whatever she has to say, Y/n." His voice was quieter now, more uncertain and his index finger tapped absently against the bottle. "She didn't just leave me. She left Christopher. The one person who needed her the most. And now, out of nowhere, she wants back in his life? Just like that? After never reaching out to us?" he shook his head. "I don’t know if I can trust that."

Y/n nodded slowly, letting Eddie’s words and his frustration settle between them. He understood, deeply, where Eddie was coming from. How could he not? The pain of Shannon's departure served as a double-edged sword, cutting deep into the hearts of both Eddie and Christopher. The hurt was still raw. She had left Eddie to pick up the pieces and left Christopher with nothing but questions and an empty space where his mother should’ve been. Now, just because she had decided she wanted to come back, Eddie's supposed to just let her? No, It wasn’t that simple.

But still... 

The silence between them had stretched out briefly. Then: "You should talk to her." Y/n suggested, his words a gentle nudge in a specific direction for Eddie to reopen a door that had been locked for so long.

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed slightly as he considered Y/n's suggestion. "Should I?"

"Yeah." Y/n’s voice was unwavering and he was sticking to his assertion. "Look, man, I’m not saying you have to forgive Shannon or even put any trust in her. But don’t you think it’s at least worth hearing her out? Not for her, but for Christopher."

Eddie did not respond right away, but he also didn’t immediately argue, which Y/n took as a good sign for him to continue.

"You saw how happy he was today. It’s been a minute since he’s seen his mom, and despite everything, he still loves her. That’s not gonna change." He turned his body slightly to face Eddie fully. "I know you don’t want to talk to her, but ignoring Shannon will not make this situation go away. If she’s serious about being in his life again, then you'll need to lay down some boundaries. Figure out what this means for Christopher. And the only way to do that is to talk to her. Face to face."

Hazel eyes drifted over to meet e/c eyes. "Speaking from experience, aren't you?"

There was no denying it. "You know that I am," the words slipped out Y/n’s mouth, quiet and tentative, his gaze drifting off.

It was a well-known fact that Y/n's childhood had been far from traditional. His mom had left when he was just five years old, abandoning him and his two siblings to be raised by their dad alone. He was forced to play the role of both mother and father to three chaotic boys.

Y/n didn't have a lot of memories of her. But one thing that remained etched in his mind was the overwhelming sense of sadness and hurt that had engulfed him when his father broke the news that she left and would not be coming back.

The concept of abandonment had been beyond his comprehension. All he knew was that his mother — the woman who was supposed to love and care for him, had chosen to leave. The confusion and pain had been suffocating, and Y/n had struggled to make sense of it all. He had wondered, as many children do when it comes to those types of situations, if it was something that he had done wrong.

Had Y/n been naughty? Had he not been good enough? The questions had swirled in his mind, fueling a deep-seated fear that he was somehow to blame for this. He even thought maybe it was his dad's fault or his siblings'. Or maybe they all had done something to drive her away?

Whatever it was, he had been convinced that if she just came home, everything would be okay and that they could work through their issues and be happy again.

Things that are broken could be fixed.

Despite the pain and confusion of his mother's departure, Y/n's love for her had never wavered. He had held onto the hope, the desperate wish, the silent plea, that she would one-night return to the family she had abandoned. Y/n had often found himself lying awake at night, long after his dad had tucked him in and turned out the lights. He would sneak out of bed and make his way to the window, pushing back the curtains to keep watch. He would be ready when she came back.

But she never came, and Y/n's hopes had faded. His desire for reconciliation gave way to a sense of resignation, and eventually, to a deep-seated indifference.

He stopped idly waiting for his mother to come back, stopped wondering what had driven her away, and stopped caring about the situation altogether. Or, that's what he told himself after all this time.

Thinking about it now, Y/n... wasn’t sure if that wound had ever truly healed. But if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he didn’t want Christopher to go through the same thing he had. Because, unlike Y/n’s mother, Shannon had come back to reconcile with Christopher. She was trying. That counted for something.

A quiet sigh slipped past Eddie’s lips. He couldn’t deny that Y/n had made a pretty good point, particularly when it came to his son. He noticed how Christopher kept grinning all day, barely letting go of his mom’s hand, talking her ear off like he'd saved every story just for her. That kind of happiness? It mattered to Christopher, and because of that, it mattered to Eddie too. And yet— "What if she leaves again?"

There it is. That was the real fear, wasn’t it? That Shannon would step back into Christopher’s life, make him believe she was staying, and then disappear all over again. That she'd give him hope, only to rip it away. That she’d hurt him. Again. And Eddie would have to deal with the effect that would have on Christopher.

"I don’t know, man," Y/n admitted gently, not pretending to have all the answers. They're not psychics. They can't predict the future, but they can control how they respond to the present. "Maybe she will. Maybe she won’t. Regardless, don’t you think it’s better to hear her out? To see if she’s serious about making things right?"

Eddie looked away, his lips pressing into a thin line as he turned Y/n's words over in his mind, weighing them against all his fears. Silence took over, and, when Eddie didn't respond after a minute, Y/n placed a hand on Eddie's knee. "Talk to her. Not for Shannon's sake, but for your sake. And, most importantly, for Christopher’s."

Eddie took a deep breath and held it before exhaling slowly through his nose. Y/n always had a way of cutting through the noise and making hard things sound simple, even when they weren’t far from simple. But maybe that was because this situation was something Y/n understood better than anyone since he lived it, too.

"Yeah. Maybe you're right," he muttered.

A small smirk appeared. "I usually am."

That pulled a tired chuckle out of Eddie, and he shook his head. "Don’t get cocky."

Y/n gave Eddie’s knee a squeeze before leaning back onto the couch. "Too late."

The two fell into another easy silence, and after a moment, Eddie took another sip of his beer. Y/n did the same, and for the first time since Shannon showed up, Eddie was allowing himself to breathe.

And that? That was one step forward.

XXXXX XXXXX

Monday morning had arrived, and Y/n was settled into his cubicle, surrounded by the familiar trappings of his workday routine. He was hunched over a glowing screen with his business activity reports spread out in front of him, half reviewed and half waiting. His half-drunk cup of coffee sat to his left, lukewarm by now, while a notepad filled with bullet points, reminders, and scribbles lay on his right.

With a pen in hand, Y/n's handwriting flowed effortlessly across the page as he added a few more important notes to his list, eyes flicking between the screen and the page until a soft chime from his computer pulled his attention away. A message popped up in the corner of his screen from his boss, James Thompson.

Please come to my office immediately. 

Upon reading that, Y/n felt his heartbeat quicken slightly. It wasn't that he was afraid of his boss, or that he had a bad relationship with him. On the contrary, James was a kind and understanding boss, and Y/n had always appreciated his supportive and encouraging nature.

Y/n respected him both personally and professionally. Despite their nice working relationship, Y/n's mind couldn't help but wander to all the possible reasons why he might be summoned to James's office since the message had no context and no pleasantries.

Was it something good, or something bad? Had he done something wrong, or was it just a routine meeting? Or worse, did he screw up the Morgan deal in any way? He hoped not, but the only way to figure it out was to go to James' office and face whatever was waiting for him.

Pushing away from his desk, Y/n stood, adjusted his tie, and smoothed the front of his shirt. He took a steadying breath, then made his way toward the executive offices. His feet came to a sudden stop in front of the familiar gray metal doors and Y/n raised his hand, knocking on it.

There was an immediate: "Come in."

Y/n turned the handle and stepped inside. The curtains were drawn wide, letting in slats of golden morning light.  James sat behind his desk, fingers mid-typing until he gazed up to see Y/n enter.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Y/n asked, closing the door behind him with a quiet click since this conversation was meant to be private. His tone was even, though, his nerves were bubbling hotly in his gut.

The dark-skinned man sat up in his chair, steepling his fingers together as he studied Y/n with a neutral expression, one that was impossible for Y/n to read. His silence stretched for just a beat too long, making Y/n shift slightly where he stood. "Have a seat," James finally said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

Y/n did as he was told and sat down in the seat, his hands resting on his thighs, and he waited for whatever was coming.

James studied him for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Y/n, do you know why I called you in here?" and here we begin.

Y/n swallowed, the dryness of his mouth making his tongue feel like sandpaper against the roof of it. "I, um… not really, no." I didn’t do anything! He screamed in his head. Well, I don't think I did anything.

James hummed, nodding slightly. "Well, let me ask you this." He leaned forward, "Is there anything you’d like to tell me?"

Y/n’s brain went into overdrive. Shit. That sounded like something a parent would say when they already knew what you did and were just waiting for you to confess. And James's tone implied he already knew something and was just waiting for Y/n to finally spill the beans.

Y/n's mind scrambled to review every possible mistake he could have made.

Had he made a critical error in the financial reports? Or perhaps he had accidentally sent a sensitive email to the wrong client, compromising confidential information? As he mentally reviewed his recent work and interactions, Y/n did not think it was anything that mundane. He was a diligent and competent employee, always careful to double-check his work and follow procedures. He got along well with his coworkers, and his performance reviews had always been glowing, so no write-up or a serious talking-to. So, what could it be, then? Suddenly, it struck him.

The Morgan deal, Y/n thought. He hadn't received any updates on how it went. And, judging by the way James was looking at him, Y/n had this sinking feeling that he might have screwed it up. He needed to be certain, of course, but he couldn't help but think that he had blown it, that he had made a mistake that would have serious consequences for the company.

Y/n cleared his throat — a nervous habit that showed his otherwise unconfidently calm demeanor. "Uh... not that I know of."

James’s eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?"

Y/n nodded quickly. "Yes. I-I think so..."

The silence that followed was deafening. James just studied him, unreadable, for one… two… three painfully long seconds before breaking into a wide grin. "Well, that’s good," he said casually, "because I was just about to congratulate you, man."

Say what? Y/n blinked rapidly as if trying to clear away the disbelievement and the confusion that had suddenly descended upon him. "Wait... what?" Just moments ago, he had been bracing himself for bad news, for criticism or disappointment, and now... now James was smiling and about to congratulate him? What the hell was happening—? He was very confused.

James chuckled, clearly amused. "Relax, Y/n. I was messing with you." He opened a drawer, pulled out a thick folder, and placed it squarely on the desk. "I called you in here to personally commend you on finalizing the Morgan deal. You handled it better than some of our senior managers would’ve, honestly."

Immediately, Y/n let out a breath he had been holding in. His shoulders, which had been tensed up in anticipation of bad news, sagged slightly, relaxing into a more natural position as the tension seeped out of his body. "Oh," he exhaled a soft laugh. "That's good. You seriously had me thinking I was about to get fired."

James' face broke out into a smirk. "If I ever plan to fire you, I promise I won’t be so dramatic about it." He tapped the file. "The Morgans were impressed with your professionalism and strategic approach. So much so that they officially signed the contract this morning. The deal's closed."

Relief flooded Y/n’s chest, followed by a sense of pride. He did it. He actually did it. Guess all those eleven-hour shifts, six days a week, had paid off in the best way possible.

"Wow…" he breathed. "That’s… incredible."

James nodded. "It is. And because of your hard work, this firm just secured one of the most lucrative partnerships we've had in years." A deliberate pause followed before adding: "Which means, you have more than earned a promotion."

Y/n’s head jerked up. "I’m sorry — what?" His voice might've gotten a tad higher as he grinned at the man behind the desk. 

James chuckled at his expression. "You heard me. I’m recommending you for the Hedge Fund Portfolio Manager position."

Y/n blinked twice. "You're serious?" He needed to confirm that he heard James correctly, that this wasn't just some kind of cruel joke or a misunderstanding. The position that James had mentioned was a highly coveted one, a role that Y/n had never imagined he'd be considered for, especially not at this stage in his career.

Y/n was aware that there were others in the company who had been working towards a promotion like this, who had more experience and more seniority, and yet James was offering it to him. This is insane. Y/n hadn't been gunning for this role, but he would gladly accept the offer.

"Completely. You have proven yourself capable of handling high-profile clients and complex negotiations. It’s time you get the title and the paycheck to match."

For a moment, Y/n was left speechless. This was something he had been working towards for almost seven years, since he had first walked through the doors of the company as a secretary, fresh out of college and eager to make his mark.

He had always known that it wouldn't be easy, that he would have to put in the long hours, endure the stress, and pour over endless spreadsheets and financial reports. But he had never thought that it would pay off so soon. He had assumed that it would take a few more years, even a decade before he would be considered for a position like Hedge Fund Portfolio Manager. Guess he had been wrong.

"I… I don’t even know what to say."

"A ‘thank you’ wouldn’t be a bad place to start." James teased, loving his reaction, layers of amusement laced in his voice.

Y/n laughed under his breath. "Thank you, James. Seriously. This means a lot." He couldn't stop smiling. But as he was basking in the glow of his good fortune, a sudden thought occurred to him, and his expression turned curious. "I didn't even know that position was available."

The sentence had a profound effect on James' expression, causing his features to shift from a warm and congratulatory grin to a more serious and introspective look. It had caught Y/n off guard. "That's because the position isn’t available here."

Y/n's face scrunched up in confusion, his brows furrowing. "What do you mean?"

"The Hedge Fund position is available at Bridgewater Associates in Austin, Texas."

For a moment, Y/n just... stared. It was like someone had hit pause. His brain stalled, like a car engine sputtering on a cold winter morning. And then, suddenly, his brain kicked back into gear. "Texas?" he said, "As in... not Los Angeles, Texas."

James gave a single nod. "That’s right."

"That’s… that’s pretty far." Like really far. 

"It is pretty far." James’s tone softened. "And I know how much you like working here, how much you’ve built a life in L.A. But this is an incredible opportunity, Y/n. Bridgewater is one of the top investment firms in the country. Getting in with them at this level? It’s not something that comes around often. It’s the kind of break people wait decades for. This is a chance to take your career to the next level, to work with the best of the best."

Y/n's mouth opened, then closed, as if he was trying to find the right words to express his thoughts, but they seemed to be stuck in his throat. Then, it opened again like a fish out of water and he was about to speak, but still, no words came out. This was not what he had expected when he walked into James' office today.

A promotion? Yes, that had been a possibility, a welcome surprise, even. A promotion that required relocating to a completely different part of the country? That... was something entirely different.

James must’ve sensed the storm of his thoughts because he continued, "I'm not asking for an answer right this second. I just wanted you to be the first to know. You’ve earned this, Y/n. But I get it. It’s a big decision. Take a little time to think it over." Then came the kicker. "But not too much time. If you accept, they will want you in Austin by the end of next month."

The end of next month. Seven weeks, barely any time at all, to make a decision that would change the course of his life. Regardless, Y/n forced himself to nod to give James some indication that he was taking the offer seriously. "Sounds good."

James slid a folder across the desk. "Here’s everything you need to know about the position, the firm, the salary—" he shot Y/n a knowing look, "—which, by the way, is extremely generous. This also includes relocation support and benefits. Look through it and weigh your options. And whatever you choose, just know I’m in your corner. We’d hate to lose you, but we’d be damn proud to see you move up."

Another nod from Y/n. "I appreciate it."

"Of course." James stood and extended a hand. "No matter what you decide, just know that you’ve done exceptional work here. I know you’ll keep doing good work, whether it’s here or it's across state lines."

Y/n stood and shook James' hand, firm and steady. He picked up the folder and left the office, walking toward the break room with a mind that was spinning way faster than he could keep up with. Gosh.

Austin, Texas.

Y/n could practically feel the weight of this choice pressing on his shoulders. He knew that James was right. This was a rare opportunity for someone like him. Most people would jump at the chance to work for such a prestigious company without hesitation and he felt grateful to have been considered for the role. But on the other hand, accepting the promotion would mean leaving everything behind. His friends, a job he genuinely enjoyed, and the city that had become his home.

Amidst the pros and cons, one thought stood out to Y/n above the rest. Leaving Los Angeles would mean leaving Eddie, the man he had fallen deeply in love with.

Fuck.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

Y/n didn’t have the answer. Not yet. But he knew he needed to think. Really think. That’s exactly what he was going to do.

Stepping into the break room, Y/n grabbed his lunch bag from the fridge and made his way outside. The sun was out, the breeze was light, and it felt like a waste to eat indoors on a day like today. Jela, his best friend, was already waiting for Y/n at one of the patio tables, waving him over as soon as she spotted him.

Jela asked what took him so long to arrive here, even though he was only five minutes late, and Y/n gave her a recount of what happened inside James's office.

"You can’t move to Texas, Y/n," Jela exclaimed, immediately rebuking Y/n’s possible future plans to leave California.

"Oh, really?" Y/n snorted, stabbing a fork into his container of mac and cheese. "And why not?" He had to hear this.

"Because you can't leave me here, that's why not!" she took a slow sip of her drink, Sprite — with extra ice — before adding, "Besides, you won't like it in Texas. It's not your scene, Y/n. You're a California boy, through and through. You thrive on the laid-back, sun-kissed vibe of LA, the overpriced coffees, the late-night tacos, and the traffic-related rage we have. Not the cowboy boots and country music of Texas," Jela then drove home her point. "More importantly, there's no me there."

"I’ll come back and visit." 

"Nope. Visiting isn't good enough. You're staying here," she declared as if she had the power to make that decision for him. Y/n couldn't help but chuckle at her bossy tone, but he knew that she was only looking out for him. Jela took a bite of her sandwich, chewing quickly and swallowing before continuing. "I doubt your little firefighter would be happy that you moved away," she set her sandwich down on her plate. "Speaking of that, how was your little weekend with him? Did y'all go to the Santa Monica Pier?"

"Yes," the h/c haired male confirmed. "we did. Christopher was there too along with…" a slight pause formed on Y/n’s lips for a second. "along with Eddie’s ex-wife."

All of a sudden, Jela froze, the chip in her hand hovering in mid-air, more than halfway to her mouth. Her eyes flickered over to Y/n, and she blinked. "Eddie's ex-wife is back?" she questioned, and Y/n nodded. "And what is she doing back?"

Y/n's shoulders shrugged in a casual, nonchalant manner, "She wanted to see Christopher and talk to Eddie. If I had to guess, I'd say that she wants to be back in the picture and be a part of their lives." 

The brunette's eyes never left Y/n's face as she searched her friend for any signs of unease or discomfort. "And you're just okay with her being back in the picture?"

"Uh, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?" Y/n’s tone took on a bit of perplexity and confusion.

He didn't understand why Jela was questioning his reaction to Eddie's ex-wife being back in the picture. He didn't feel like he had any reason to be upset or concerned, but Jela appeared to think otherwise. Y/n could tell Jela was trying to imply something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what the implication was.

"Oh, I don't know," and Jela's tone implied that she did know something. "Maybe because ex-wives have a funny way of suddenly stepping back into the picture and messing things up? You don't think there's even a chance that Eddie might... I don't know, start re-evaluating things now that she's back. You're telling me you're not even a little worried that if she sticks around, you'll get pushed aside?"

Y/n's mouth fell open slightly. Her words hit him. He hadn't even considered the possibility that Eddie's ex-wife's return could threaten his own relationship with Eddie. Maybe it was because Y/n knew Eddie loved him. Maybe it was because he trusted that Eddie wouldn’t just drop him like a hot potato if Shannon decided to stick around Eddie and Los Angeles.

Sure, yes, Eddie and Shannon had...well, history. A marriage. A child. They shared something that Y/n could never fully be a part of, no matter how much he loved Christopher or how close he was to him.

But still, he shook his head, pushing that thought aside. “Eddie and I are solid. I’m not worried about that," and he wasn’t. Or at least, he hadn’t been until Jela put the idea into his head. "And Shannon sticking around doesn’t change that."

Jela's eyes narrowed slightly as she studied Y/n, her expression skeptical. She didn't seem convinced by his words at all and Y/n could tell that she was still concerned about the potential impact of Shannon's return on his relationship with Eddie. "Mmm," she popped a chip into her mouth. "Just promise me one thing?"

Y/n placed his fork down. "What?" 

"Put yourself first. Always. Don’t let yourself be the last priority in your own life. You are worth much more than that."

Y/n didn’t answer immediately. He stared down at his lunch, his appetite suddenly not as strong as a minute ago. But after a long pause, he finally nodded.

"Yeah," he murmured quietly. "I promise."

It was a reasonable promise for Y/n to make, but he had nothing to worry about.

Oh, how he hoped he didn’t. 

XXXXX XXXXX

By the time Y/n pulled up to Eddie’s house that evening, the sun was slowly dipping below the horizon, casting long, golden streaks across the wide sky. He had come here tonight to see how the talk with Eddie and Shannon went. Y/n hoped that it went well and that the two had come to some sort of an agreement.

When he unlocked the door and stepped inside, he was immediately struck by the quiet atmosphere of the house. He didn't see Christopher anywhere, which was a bit unusual, but his attention was quickly drawn to Eddie, who was standing near the couch, eyes glued to his phone. He looked up when he heard the door open.

"Hey, cariño," Eddie greeted with a smile, crossing the living room and planting a kiss on Y/n’s lips. "Didn't expect you."

"I wanted to check in to see how the talk went with you and Shannon," Y/n replied, taking a small step back. "How did it go?"

"It was fine. We had a long talk," Eddie gestured for Y/n to sit with him on the couch. Once they were settled, Eddie continued recounting the conversation with Shannon. "We went over everything. Why she left, why she stayed away, what she wants now. And in the end, I decided that she could co-parent with me. Full Time. Christopher wants her in his life, and, as much as I hate how things went down, I can't deny how happy he was to see her. I can't take that away from him."

Y/n nodded slowly, processing Eddie’s words. "That’s great, Eddie," he said, and he meant it. He was truly happy they had been able to actually have a productive conversation and come to a decision that would benefit Christopher. The kid deserved to have both of his parents in his life, and Y/n was glad that Shannon, for all her past mistakes, was making a conscious effort to be a part of it now. That's more than Y/n ever got from his.

Eddie gave a small smile. "Yeah. Me too."

Still, Y/n could tell that, despite the small smile and the words of agreement, Eddie was carrying some uncertainty. The decision to co-parent with Shannon wasn't going to be an easy one, however, Eddie was trying for Christopher’s sake. That was the only thing that mattered.

All of a sudden, Y/n's gaze drifted from Eddie's eyes to slightly downward, and he took note of what Eddie was wearing. Tan dressy shirt, paired with black pants that accentuated his lean physique, and — Y/n's nose sniffed the air — Eddie was wearing cologne. If Y/n didn't know any better, he would have thought that Eddie was getting ready for a night out on the town, perhaps, even a date. But Y/n was certain they didn't have any plans tonight.

Curiosity hit Y/n. "Going somewhere?"

Eddie cleared his throat, a slight nervousness creeping into his voice. "Yeah, actually. Christopher said that he wanted me and Shannon to take him out to dinner tonight..." and he watched Y/n attentively. "I hope that's okay with you."

"Oh! Oh, uh, yeah — of course that’s okay with me," Y/n hated how high-pitched his voice came out as he reassured Eddie. "I actually have... plans myself," that was a lie. He didn't have any plans with anyone. "Buck and I were actually going out to a bar tonight. Grabbing food, hanging out, having fun... you know, just a guys' night out. I should probably go and get ready."

It was a bullshit excuse, but Eddie didn’t seem to pick up on it. And that gave Y/n the opening to leave. He stood,  heading towards the door, but Eddie reached out and gently grabbed his wrist, his fingers wrapping around it in a firm but gentle hold, stopping him from leaving just yet. 

"Wait." Eddie stood too. "How was work?"

For the briefest moment, Y/n hesitated in answering the question. He could tell Eddie now — he could tell him, right here and now, that he had been offered a job in Texas and had a big decision to make.

But he looked at Eddie, dressed up for dinner with his son and ex-wife, finally starting to rebuild something important. He realized that he just… couldn’t. Y/n didn’t want to ruin his night. He couldn’t drop that bomb right before Eddie went to dinner. It didn’t feel right. Not tonight. Not when Eddie deserved this moment of peace from having figured out the co-parenting situation, dealing with his ex, and giving Christopher what he wanted.

Therefore, Y/n pasted a smile on his lips, trying to seem nonchalant and carefree. "It was good. I closed the Morgan deal."

Eddie’s face immediately brightened, his mouth curling into a proud smile. "That’s amazing," he said, his grip on Y/n’s wrist loosening as his hand slid down to lace their fingers together. "I knew you would."

Y/n massaged the back of his neck. "Yeah, well… wasn’t easy, but it’s done." And it earned me a job offer in another state, went unsaid. "You should probably get going. Don’t wanna be late for dinner."

"Yeah," Eddie nodded, adjusting his shirt. "You should go get ready, too," he leaned in, pressing another kiss to Y/n’s lips softly. "Have fun tonight. Text me later?"

"Sure," the word slipped out of Y/n's mouth with ease, as he backed towards the door. "I will. I hope you have fun, too."

And with that, he left.

As he drove away, Jela’s question from earlier echoed in his head, looping like a song he couldn’t turn off, a lingering itch he needed to scratch. You’re telling me you’re not even a little worried that if she sticks around, you’ll get pushed aside?

Would Y/n get pushed to the side by Eddie now that Shannon was back into the fold? What if Jela was right? What if Shannon did threaten their relationship?

No, Y/n shook his head. Just because Shannon's back, doesn't mean anything. Eddie loves me. He would never do that.

Too bad the man didn't feel confident at all saying that inside his own head. The reassurance did not land. It felt hollow; forced. And as time went on, Y/n would find himself returning to Jela's question, and his unconfident reassurance, again and again. There were moments, three in particular, that would make Y/n question everything. Moments when he didn’t just feel pushed aside. He was pushed aside.

The first time it happened, Y/n had tried to brush it off as no big deal. It had been a long, exhausting week for the two men, and they had planned a much-needed night in. Just the two of them. Takeout, a fun action movie, and some peace and quiet. Shannon had said she would have Christopher at her apartment that night, therefore. It was the perfect opportunity. Y/n had even stopped by Eddie’s favorite Mexican place after work, grabbing their usual order of soft tacos and quesadillas.

Unfortunately, just as Y/n was pulling up to Eddie's house, his phone buzzed with an incoming text message. He glanced down to see Eddie's name on the screen.

Eddie: Y/n, I have to reschedule tonight. Shannon wants to take Christopher out for ice cream, and he wants me to come with him. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.

Y/n stared at the message before letting out a tiny breath. It’s fine, he texted back.

He told himself it’s fine as he went home with enough Mexican food for two. It’s fine as Y/n ate alone in his apartment, scrolling through Netflix with no real interest. It’s fine because, logically, Eddie was doing what a good dad should do, being there for his kid, making sure Christopher got time with both his parents. He could not, in good conscience, be upset with that.

Yet, despite the rationalizations, despite the understanding that Eddie was doing what was best for Christopher, Y/n still felt disappointed and frustrated. He just wanted to spend some time with Eddie. That night had been for just them. And suddenly, it wasn’t. Ever since Shannon had come back into the fold, they hadn't spent any real time with just each other.

The second time it happened, the hurt cut deeper. It was during one of Bobby's famous firehouse gatherings, a monthly tradition that brought the 118 together to unwind, share some good food, and enjoy each other's company in a more relaxed setting. Family and friends were always invited. Y/n, himself, had been to a few of these gatherings before. It was something he always looked forward to.

So, when Buck mentioned the upcoming firehouse gathering, Y/n had assumed that he and Eddie would attend together, just like they had done previously. It was a natural assumption, given their history and the fact that, well, they were dating. Except, two days before the event, Eddie casually mentioned that he was bringing Shannon along with Y/n and Christopher.

"She's been getting along with Buck and Hen really well," Eddie didn't even look up from his phone as he spoke. "Figured it’d be good for her to meet my entire team."

Y/n had nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. Makes sense." It did not make any sense. He had felt a pang of disappointment and hurt, but he didn't want to show it, didn't want to give Eddie a reason to think he was being jealous or unreasonably possessive over him. Stop.

And that's how Y/n ended up walking into the gathering alone that day. It was a weird, disorienting sensation like he was observing the scene from outside his body. Eddie was there, of course, but he was nowhere to be found, at least not in the way that Y/n was used to. Instead of being together, sharing drinks, talking with the team, stealing touches when no one was looking, and laughing together, Eddie... he was glued to Shannon's side.

The entire time.

Y/n was annoyed.

Because, suddenly, Shannon was the one laughing at his jokes. She was the one sitting next to him at the table. She was the one who Eddie turned to when someone casually mentioned their son.

She had, seamlessly, inserted herself into their little world, and Mr. Diaz was more than happy to accommodate her. Well, he supposed it was her world, too.

And Y/n? He felt invisible. 

But what made Y/n's annoyance spike to a whole new level was when he was making some small talk with Bobby and Athena. His eyes suddenly drifted over to Eddie and Shannon, Eddie had his hand on Shannon's back, with his fingers gently resting on the curve of her spine, and Shannon was leaning into his side.

Y/n frowned. What the hell was that? It’s fine, he had to tell himself that yet again.

But this time, it didn’t feel fine.

The third time, though? That was the one that broke something inside of Y/n. He had known for months that his dad and stepmom were planning something big for his birthday. He didn't want a huge party. Just a small gathering, something low-key, but they had insisted. Thirty is a milestone, his father had said. You only turn it once, son. So, his dad rented out an upscale rooftop venue in downtown LA, with a breathtaking view of the city.

Fancy lights, good food, and a ridiculous guest list. Okay. Fine. He could deal with the whole "big party" thing. It wasn't his ideal way to celebrate his birthday, but if it made his dad and stepmom happy, he was willing to go along with it. But the one thing he did want? Eddie there. So, he had told him weeks in advance and made sure he put it in his calendar. Y/n had even reminded Eddie multiple times.

Eddie had promised he'd be there.

And yet. As Y/n stood in the middle of an expensive rooftop venue, surrounded by friends, family, coworkers, and unfamiliar faces, Eddie was nowhere to be found.

At first, he gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe something came up with Christopher. Maybe he was running late or had an emergency. Y/n sent a quick text.

Hey, everything okay?

No reply.

Minutes turned into an hour. Then two. Y/n checked his phone — no messages. He tried calling — no answer. Voicemail.

Not even a simple Happy Birthday. The thought echoed in Y/n's mind like a cruel joke, and it hurt more than he expected. Even if Eddie couldn’t make it, he should have remembered. Y/n’s older brother had flown in from Maryland to celebrate. And Eddie, who lived in the same state, couldn't even be bothered to send a text.

The party carried on, but a quiet sort of numbness settled into Y/n’s bones as went through the motions. He accepted hugs and well-wishes from his friends and family, thanked them for their gifts and kind words, smiled when he needed to, laughed when someone made a joke, posed for pictures, and even danced to the music. But all he could think about was the fact that Eddie wasn’t there.

After Y/n blew out his candles and the party picked back up, Y/n, surprisingly, managed to sneak out of his own party without anyone knowing. He wanted to check on Eddie. If something had come up to where he couldn’t make it, then Y/n could accept that. He just needed to see for himself if that was the case. 

Inserting a key into the lock, Y/n twisted it to the right and pushed the door open, stepping inside. Relief washed over him first because Eddie was home. He was safe. He looked perfectly fine. Oh, thank God. And then, just as quickly, that relief turned into something sharp and painful.

Shannon was with Eddie on the couch. And Eddie was kissing her. On the lips.

"…Wow," he breathed. It came out small, nearly silent, but enough for them to hear.

The soft whisper startled them apart like they had been caught in a guilty act. Eddie jerked back so fast like he’d been burned. His eyes snapped to Y/n, "Y/n—" 

Y/n's hand shot up, palm facing Eddie as if to ward off any further explanation or apology. "Don't," he made sure to keep his voice calm, even, somehow, despite wanting to scream and cry. "Just don’t." 

He didn't want to hear the lies, the half-truths, or the rationalizations that would only serve to further hurt and betray him. Y/n didn't want to talk to Eddie at all. He ran out of the house, not stopping until he reached his car, where he flung open the door and slid into the driver's seat. Y/n could hear Eddie's voice, calling out to him, pleading with him to stop, to talk, to listen. But Y/n was beyond listening. He started the car and quickly drove away. 

When Y/n pulled into his apartment complex and turned off the engine, Y/n allowed himself to feel. The scream that tore out of his throat was anguished and raw and spoke of how he was currently feeling. He let it rip, allowing himself to release all of that pain and hurt that had been building up inside him for weeks.

Tears fell down his face as he cried, racking sobs shaking his entire body. God, he felt like he was falling apart like his world was crumbling around him. Y/n slammed his fist into the steering wheel. Again and again, until his knuckles hurt.

Eddie. His Eddie. The man he loved with every fiber of his being. The man he had trusted with his heart, secrets, and fears. This same man had cheated on him with his ex-wife. Eddie forgot his birthday to be with Shannon. Y/n had spent all night making excuses for him. Had bent over backward convincing himself there had to be a good reason Eddie didn't come.  As it turned out, the only reason Eddie hadn’t shown up… was because he was with her. Y/n felt like an idiot. He was one.

And he felt like he was going to be sick. 

His phone buzzed in the passenger seat, jolting him out of his current state. Y/n glanced at it and wasn’t surprised to see Eddie’s name flash across the screen. Y/n stared at it before pressing the decline button. Not now. He put his phone on silent mode, silencing the ringing and the notifications before putting it face down on the seat. He didn't want to talk to him.

He didn’t give up, though. For days, Eddie made a concerted effort to reach out to Y/n, to apologize and explain and make amends for his betrayal. He called Y/n's phone, but it went unanswered. He sent text message after text message, but Y/n never responded to them. Eddie even left him voicemails, but they went unacknowledged. He even showed up at Y/n's apartment, hoping to catch him off guard and force a conversation. But Y/n avoided him at all costs. He made sure to leave for work early and come home late to avoid any chance encounters with him. 

It wasn't until the hazel-eyed firefighter showed up at Y/n's workplace, bursting into an important meeting and causing a scene, that Y/n finally felt compelled to confront him. The interruption was embarrassing, to say the least, and Y/n's colleagues were shocked by the sudden appearance of his estranged partner. Eddie's timing couldn't have been worse, and Y/n's professional reputation was at risk of being tarnished by the drama that was unfolding. When Eddie threatened to return the next day, and the day after that, until Y/n agreed to talk to him, Y/n decided to give Eddie that conversation.

Which was how he found himself sitting at the kitchen table of his apartment, with Eddie choosing to sit next to him. Buck was out, leaving the two of them alone. Y/n had agreed to talk to Eddie, but he hadn't agreed to make it easy for him. He avoided eye contact, refusing to meet Eddie's gaze, instead, focusing on the lines and creases on his own hands.

Eddie was the one to break the silence.

"How have you been?"

How has he been? Was Eddie serious right now? That’s what he was leading with? Y/n’s jaw clenched and he finally looked up at him. "What did you want to talk to me about?" he asked flatly, cutting straight through the small talk. He didn't even bother answering Eddie's question.

Eddie shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "I... I wanted to apologize to you."

Y/n didn’t say anything. He just stared at him, waiting for more words to spill out.

Eddie swallowed, running a hand through his hair. "I fucked up," he admitted, "I should have been at your birthday. I should have at least called. There’s no excuse for that. And I sure as hell shouldn’t have—" He cut himself off, shutting his eyes for a brief second as if he couldn't bear to say the words out loud before exhaling heavily. "I shouldn’t have done what I did with Shannon that night."

There it was, verbally spoken. The thing Y/n had been replaying in his head on a loop since that night. Y/n inhaled slowly, holding his breath for a moment before letting it go. Then, softly, he asked, "Did Shannon kiss you… or did you kiss her?"

He wanted to know if Eddie had been a willing participant or if Shannon was the one who initiated the act. The distinction may seem insignificant, but to Y/n, it was everything. It was the difference between a moment of weakness and a deliberate choice, between a mistake and a betrayal. 

Eddie’s lips parted slightly, and Y/n could see the shame and guilt flicker across his features before he even answered.

"I kissed her."

Y/n felt a piece of his heart break from the admission, but he didn’t let his face betray his feelings. Not visibly or audibly. He had been hoping, desperately hoping, that Eddie would voice something else.  That he would claim it was all a mistake, that Shannon had kissed him and he was going to push her away. But no, Eddie had kissed her. He had made a choice, a deliberate choice to betray Y/n's trust and hurt him in the worst possible way.

Don't do it. Don't you dare let him see you cry! He screamed silently to himself. He would not give Eddie the satisfaction of seeing him break down, of seeing him vulnerable and weak. Instead, he gave a slow, numb nod, letting the words settle between them. Let it sting. And then, he asked the question that had been eating away at him ever since that fateful night.

"Why?"

Eddie's hands rose to his face, rubbing over his eyes and cheeks as if trying to scrub away the exhaustion and guilt that marred his countenance. "I don’t know," he muttered at first. But when Y/n shot him a look that said he was full of shit, he sighed. "That’s not true. I do know."

"I've been..." he paused, his eyes darting around the kitchen, seemingly searching for the right words, the right explanation. His gaze finally settled back on Y/n, and he took a deep breath before continuing. "...spending so much time with Shannon these days. Mostly because Christopher wanted us to. And it's been... just... easy."

Y/n felt his throat tighten, but he did not say anything. He just let Eddie talk freely.

Eddie exhaled. "She’s different now. More present. More committed to being there for Christopher. And for the first time in forever, we felt like…" his voice trailed off before he finally admitted, "Like a family. And I liked it. A lot. It made me... happy."

The truth was finally out, laid bare and unvarnished. Y/n had been too afraid to acknowledge it, too afraid to confront the possibility that Eddie's heart still belonged to someone else. But now, it was impossible to deny. Eddie still had feelings for Shannon, feelings that went beyond mere co-parenting or friendship. And Shannon, well, she clearly still had feelings for him, too. That was evident.

"You know, I thought we were good," Y/n said quietly. "I thought we were solid."

"We were," Eddie replied quickly. "We are."

The sound that escaped Y/n's lips was a quiet, bitter laugh, a harsh and mirthless thing that seemed to cut through the air like a knife. "No, no, we're not. You don’t forget your boyfriend’s birthday if things are solid. You wouldn't have ignored my calls, left me hanging and wondering if everything was alright with you. And you sure as hell wouldn't have kissed her."

Eddie didn't argue. He couldn't.

"I get it, though," Y/n continued softly. "She’s Christopher’s mom. You two have history. After everything, you want that family unit and to give your son what he needs. And that’s okay." His lips pressed together. "I can’t be in the middle of that."

"Y/n—" Eddie’s voice cracked.

"We can’t be together," Y/n said, even as it broke him to say it. "Not after this. Not after you kissed Shannon and made me feel neglected. You still love her. I see it."

Eddie's shoulders sagged. "It wasn't—" he started, but then stopped himself, as if realizing that any excuse or justification would be useless. The words died on his lips, and he was left with only the truth. "I do love you, Y/n. That hasn't changed."

Y/n looked away, blinking hard before meeting his eyes again. “Maybe not," he honestly didn’t know if he believed Eddie loved him. "But that's not enough, is it?"

Eddie looked like he wanted to argue. Like he wanted to fight for them. But the problem was, Y/n could see the truth for what it was now, and he deserved to be someone's first choice, not their second. He deserved to be loved with a love that was whole and complete, not a love that was fragmented and divided between him and someone else. He's worth more.

Y/n stood up, swallowing past the ache in his throat. "I think that you should go."

Eddie hesitated, his eyes searching Y/n’s face as if looking for some sign that he could fix this. But Y/n didn’t give him one. After a long pause, Eddie slowly stood, too. He looked like he wanted to say more, but in the end, all he said was:

"I’m sorry."

Y/n nodded once. "Me too."

Eddie lingered for a second longer before turning and walking toward the door. The moment it closed behind him, Y/n immediately headed up to his room. The closing of the door was like a final note to a song he hadn’t wanted to end. His e/c eyes landed on the photo sitting neatly in its frame on the bedside table.

He and Eddie.

It was one of Y/n's favorite memories. A candid shot of them at the carnival, taken by Christopher. The two of them were laughing as they stood in front of the Ferris wheel. Eddie’s arm was slung around his shoulders, pulling him close. Y/n remembered exactly how he had felt in that moment — happy, safe, and loved.

His fingers trembled as they reached for the frame, gripping it tightly as he sank onto the edge of the bed. His eyes clung to Eddie’s smile, so familiar, so beautiful.

And then — finally — he broke.

Y/n had tried to hold them back, tried to swallow down the lump that had been forming in his throat, but it was useless. The first tear fell, hitting the glass of the frame with a muted sound, like a single drop of rain landing on a still pond. And then another tear fell, and another. Y/n didn't try to stop them, didn't try to wipe them away. He just let them fall, freely and unashamedly, as he let go of all his inhibitions and allowed himself to feel the full weight of his painful emotions.

"Why wasn’t I ever enough?"

The question slipped from his lips in a whisper, cracked and broken, lost in the stillness of the room, barely audible even to himself. Why wasn’t he ever enough for someone to choose him?

He wasn’t enough for his mother to stay. He wasn’t enough for Brant to stay loyal. Now, he wasn’t enough for Eddie to not do the one thing that would shatter him.

A sob tore its way out of his throat, raw and painful. All of this is too much. The betrayal, the loneliness, the heartache — it collapsed on top of him like a wave crashing over someone who'd already stopped swimming. He had given Eddie everything. His love. His trust. His whole heart. Somehow, that still wasn’t enough.

"I just wanted to be loved."

A plea to no one. The universe? Maybe. That’s all he ever wanted. Not something conditional. Not something temporary. Just love. Someone who wouldn’t forget he existed. Someone who wouldn’t look at him and think of him as replaceable. Someone who wouldn’t see him as second place. Someone who would stay.

But maybe that was too much to ask for. Maybe he was destined to be almost enough. Close, but not quite. Worth holding, but not worth keeping.

He wanted to hate Eddie, to direct all his anger and hurt towards the person who had caused him pain. He wanted to hate Shannon, too, to blame her for being the surprising yet unsurprising catalyst that set off the chain of events that led to his heartbreak. He wanted to hate his mom, to lash out at her for being the first one to make him feel like he wasn't enough. But all he felt was tired. So damn tired of being almost enough. So goddamn tired of being the one people moved on from.

His fingers tightened around the frame, and for a brief moment, he considered throwing it. Smashing it. Destroying it the same way Eddie had destroyed both him and their relationship. But he didn’t.

Instead, he set the picture face-down on the small table. He couldn’t bear to look at it anymore. Then, he reached up and unclasped the silver necklace Eddie had given him: Siempre contigo. This was a lie. He yanked it off and threw it across the room, where it hit the wall and fell to the floor with a muted thud. Eddie lied.

Then, Y/n's eyes wandered to the desk, where the folder James had given him lay waiting. Bridgewater Associates — Austin, TX, the cover read. He picked it up and opened the file, flipping through the pages. The job details, the salary, the benefits, and the important information.

Maybe this new job in Texas wasn’t just an opportunity. Maybe it was an escape.

They say time flies when you’re having fun, but when you’re heartbroken, time seems to stop altogether, trapping you in the ache of yesterday with no escape.

XXXXX XXXXX

[lesbiannnsstuff]

i know what you want

warnings: alpha!shauna x alpha!reader, top!shauna x bottom!reader, afab reader, dub con, porn with plot, power dynamics, cunnilingus, fingering, biting, swearing

7k words

If life was a gamble, being born as an alpha would be considered winning the lottery. Physically submitting betas, easily attracting omegas with your scent, and commanding a room just by stepping in one, if so desired. It couldn't get better than that, really.

Even so, you were never one to get too cocky about it. Choosing to protect instead of attack. Just like when you used to fight to save your betas and omegas friends in middle school, against alphas bullies. You promised yourself your strength was a steady rock to rely on and not a pedestal from which you couldn't allow yourself to fall. You refused to lean into the overwhelmingly aggressive nature expected of you.

Some of your alpha friends thought it was nonsense, wasting your high rank, but every time some weaker leaned on you, it made it all worth it. And you were proud of that because the survival of the fittest didn’t mean standing above those with lower rank, but standing beside them and helping them thrive as well.

Your principles followed, you anywhere, and the same thing happened once you joined your school’s soccer team in your senior year.

“C'mon, girls! We need to score only one more to get to the nationals!” you yelled to your teammates as you saw how the numbers on the timer were getting closer to zero. It all happened so fast and before you knew it Jackie was heading the ball and scoring the much-needed point. You're going to the nationals.

The locker room felt like a party. Everyone was singing or laughing. You were the state champions, after all. Considering it had been long since Wiskayok High School had won a significant tournament, it was a big deal. And taking into consideration that the only other team in school was the boys from baseball, well, the responsibility was on your back after all. You were the last to get out of the locker room, closing your locker and throwing your bag over your shoulder.

“You’re still here,” you quickly turned towards that familiar voice, a little unsettled by the interruption of your thoughts.

“Shauna? I thought you went home with Jackie,” she glanced at you briefly, before walking to her locker.

“Forgot something,” she murmured, her voice low and smooth. You stood there momentarily before nodding, even though she didn’t look at you anymore, her gaze fixated on the notebook she grabbed from the locker, tucked in her bag.

Her movements are deliberate. No rush, she never rushed. Ironic for the fastest player you’ve ever met. She also didn't seem to feel pressured by your presence, completely unbothered by the idea of having to interact with you. But, again, you doubted Shauna felt pressured to do anything. You thought that maybe for being the only other alphas in the team, she would either befriend you or challenge you for dominance or influence. Still, she didn't seem compelled to do either, leaving to Jackie, her beta best friend, and you, the caring alpha, to lead the way as captain and co-captain.

But, in the end, Shauna always had this thing about her, this quiet confidence, moving calmly as if the world rotated around her. For her, it was unsettling, in a way, how composed she seemed all the time. Most girls thought that her apparent indifference and intimidating posture were all there was about her, but not you. You thought there was something so much more intense and wild about her, and you never knew what it was.

“You played well today. That assist? Perfect timing.” you began, filling the silence. She paused, glancing at you. Her brown eyes were deep and charged with something you couldn’t quite place like she was sizing you. Her gaze lingered a second too long before she looked away. “Thanks”

You couldn't fathom her cold answers, this is the first time in ages since you’ve been alone with her and you don't know exactly what but there's something about Shauna Shipman that is way too magnetic just to let her go like this. There's something about her that every time you brush shoulders, or when you catch her staring whenever you're changing after a game that makes you incredibly anxious. Like you're anticipating, waiting for something you don't know why. “Are you going to that party before nationals?” You leaned against your locker, watching her, trying to seem as unbothered as her.

Shauna sighed, almost imperceptibly. “Jackie didn't give me a choice.” She closed her locker ready to go. “Are you guys together?” You regretted your question the moment it came out of your mouth. Shauna's gaze sharpened in a matter of seconds.

“I don't think that's any of your business” The sharpness in her tone sent a jolt through you, leaving you breathless, her words cutting through the air like a knife. You knew you’d overstepped, but something about the way she looked at you now, ferocious, unflinching, and ardent with quiet fervor, made it impossible to regret the question entirely.

“Yeah, fair,” you replied, crossing your arms and forcing a casual shrug even as you could barely feel your knees.

Shauna didn’t move for a moment, her eyes boring into yours with a potency you never felt before. You hated the heavy silence but you didn’t dare to say anything, scared of how weak your voice would sound. Then, slowly, she stepped closer, her movements deliberate.

“You always ask questions you don’t want answers to?” she said finally, her glare locked onto you. Her voice is quieter now, but no less sharp. There was a challenge in her tone, a dare.

You felt the blow hitting you intensely. You hesitated, caught off guard, but you wouldn't let her see it, so you just scoffed, rolling your eyes in a weak attempt at nonchalance. “Maybe I just like to get to know my teammates.”

At that, Shauna let out a smooth, humorless chuckle that made your whole body buzz. “You want to understand me?” She asked seriously now, tone low and steady, each word weighing heavy on your ears. “You wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag, trying to hold onto something. “Maybe I’d start with how you're always behind the scenes,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “So controlled... you never even tried to come up to me once. You never challenged me or tried to assert your dominance.”

Her eyes were unreadable, as she stepped even closer. She moved so confidently, every step more precise and sure than the last one. As if the space between you was hers to take. You didn’t realize your back hit the lockers.

“Dominance isn’t something you show off,” she murmured, her voice almost a whisper. “It’s something you make people feel.” Her words sank into you, pressing against your chest with unmeasurable force.

“Is that what Jackie feels?” You were trying to redirect the tension, to shift the focus off of yourself and let you breathe for even as long as a second, but the question only seemed to deepen the intensity in her gaze.

“Jackie?” Shauna repeated, her eyebrow shot up almost imperceptibly and her lips curving into the smallest hint of a smile that didn’t even reach her eyes. “Jackie’s safe with me. because I want her to be, that’s all there is to it.”

The message behind her words was impossible to miss. “So... people are only safe if you decide they should be?” you asked, slightly annoyed at her calm arrogance. She leaned in just slightly, her scent suddenly overwhelming with something unmistakably alpha. An aggressive scent that seemed to fill the entire room.

Her voice dropped to a near murmur. “Do you think anyone’s safe when I don’t want them to be?”

The words made your breath hitch, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. Her eyes were too much but you couldn't dare to look away either. You forced yourself to say, though your voice was weaker than you wanted it to be. “Am I safe?”

Shauna chuckled again, brief and so low you could feel it vibrating on your chest. “You're an alpha too, you tell me,” she said, sizing you up, but something in her eyes made you realize she wasn't so impressed. You couldn't hold back how that pissed you off.

“You don’t have to be so intense all the time,” you spoke as steadily as you could, gathering all the fight you still had.

Shauna’s eyes narrowed, and she took another step closer, chests barely touching. “And you don’t have to act like you’re not affected by it,” she said, her tone final. And just like that, all the left fight was gone.

Your heart pounded, your throat dry as sand as you struggled to find a response, a witty comeback, or anything to close the gap between your positions. But before you could say anything, Shauna turned toward the door. Then she delivered her final blow.

“And by the way, I never tried to assert my dominance over you for a simple reason”

She stopped at the door, her head tilting slightly as she looked back at you. “Because the way you look at me… it’s submission enough.”

The door closed behind her, leaving you standing there, stunned and breathless. You let yourself slide to the floor. Her voice still echoed in your mind.

The way you look at me, it’s submission enough

You’re an alpha. Submission and you were like oil and water. Or, at least, they were supposed to be. Then why does Shauna seem so certain? And why you’re feeling so exposed like you've just been caught? Then it hit you.

You were not only intrigued by Shauna or her ways. You were drawn by it.

You were attracted to the same alpha characteristics that made her an alpha, just like you.

No, not like you. She was something else, something more. And, as much as you hated to admit it, you were being pulled to her because of it.

You saw Shauna at the party as you confidently sipped your drink. You couldn’t help but notice Randy chugging his beer in some sort of drinking game and dedicating it to her. You scoffed and she rolled her eyes. Like Shauna would be interested in him, yeah, sure, Randall.

“Look, I don't know if you realized, but this is a party. You should be having fun and not sizing up the competition” Van elbowed your torso playfully, and you turned to her wide-eyed. Were you so obvious? Could she possibly have noticed your disdain for Randy? Or, even worse, your attraction to Shauna?

"Randy? Please, like he even stands a chance with Shauna. She's way out of his league," you said, sipping your drink trying to seem nonchalant.

Van raised an eyebrow, her smile widening amused. “You know I wasn't talking about Shauna, right? But it was interesting that it was your conclusion. Interesting,” the redhead laughed loudly, looking at you like you just told her the best joke she’d ever heard.

“What the fuck were you even talking about?” You asked with a scowl trying to cover your embarrassment. “I meant the drinking game. Thought you’d take him on since you’re so good at it.” You almost lost Van's explanation as the girl couldn't stop laughing.

Van began to recompose herself, slapping your back as if to break the awkward tension. “Relax. I won't tell anyone that you dig alphas too” You thank Van, forcing a small smile, but your mind is already spinning.

Then the night took a turn.

It started with a heated argument between Shauna and Taissa, voices cutting through the music before the other girls joined in the mess. Jackie was trying to part the fight unsuccessfully. Shauna's scent had begun to make its presence in the air, the rich and smooth smell growing overwhelmingly. You observed how a few omegas nearby began to shrink back in discomfort.

Before you knew it, you were standing beside her. “Shauna, come here for a second,” you said firmly, your hand gripping hers as you led her toward a more empty corner.

Shauna didn’t resist, though her anger could still be seen coming out in waves, her sharp fangs threatening to make their appearance. Once you were far enough away from the chaos, you let go of her hand, she leaned against a tree, exhaling slowly.

“What the fuck was that?” You asked pissed off, clenching your fists in annoyance.

“Your savior complex is incredibly annoying, you know that right?” she said, her voice tight.

“Your scent was all over the place!” you replied, your voice heightening a couple of tones, standing a few feet away, arms crossed. “Some of the others couldn’t handle it. It was too much for them. They were scared”

Her eyes locked onto yours, stepping closer. “And what about you? Can you handle me?” she asked, her voice smooth, the challenge unmistakable.

You swallowed hard, refusing to step back. “You know I’m not like the others.”

Her lips curved into a slow, teasing smirk. “No, you’re not.” She took another step, grabbing your jacket and pulling you close enough now that her scent was all you could breathe in. Her gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes.

Your pulse quickened loudly in your ears as you tried to hold your ground. “I didn’t bring you out here to fight,” you managed to say, though your voice was shakier than you intended.

“Are you sure that’s not what you want? Trying to be the alpha of the team, huh?” Shauna leaned in closer, her breath warm against your ear. "Or maybe," she murmured, her voice dropping dangerously, "you just wanted me all to yourself."

Your stomach flipped and you pushed her away. You felt like you were teetering on the edge of something you couldn’t name, and Shauna was right there, daring you to jump. You just didn’t know if she’d catch you or let you fall. "Don’t flatter yourself," you shot back, almost in a growl. Her smirk widened, her fingers still gripping your jacket.

"Oh, I don’t need to," she replied smoothly. "I can smell it on you."

"Don’t play games with me, Shipman," you warned, your voice sharper and steadier than you were feeling.

Her expression didn’t falter, but her eyes shone with something untamed, something that was enjoying the situation. Like she was amused to see you so worked up. Her eyes were predatory, like a beast who toys with its prey. "Who said I’m playing? You think you’re so above it all, don’t you?" Her tone was mocking. "Such a noble alpha. But deep down... you’re just like the rest of us. Driven by instinct. Waiting for a moment where you can bare your teeth.”

Shauna smiled. “But it's a tragedy though,” the alpha continued slowly. “Maybe you could go fucking crazy if it wasn’t for me. Because as long as I'm here you'll never be able to bite, only bark”

“You are drunk” you replied trying to prevent yourself from lashing out.

“And you are pretending” Shauna tilted her head. “Like you’re unshaken, my equal, a threat. You're acting tough, trying to press everyone else but I don't buy it for a second. I can see what you are.” Her smile widened in defiance.

“You better watch your mouth, Shipman.” Your scent became stronger, lingering in the air.

“A big puppy who likes to growl but wants to be tamed by someone who knows how” That was it. When you began to lunge towards Shauna. She bent her knees waiting for the impact.

“What the fuck is going on here?” A high-pitched voice stopped both of you. You both look at the same time to that familiar scent. “Jackie…”

“I thought you brought here for some air and not to fight,” Jackie said visibly annoyed and she walked towards you and pointed her finger to your chest. She was right. You lost your composure, you let your anger lead you instead of your thoughts.

“It was my fault,” Shauna said, fixing her hair. “I had way too much to drink and didn't think straight. They were actually trying to make me behave” She continued with a knowing smirk.

“It’s fine, just, let's get you out of here. We're almost past our curfew anyways” Jackie grabbed Shauna's hand and began to pull her out of there. “And, thank you, really, for earlier” Jackie turned to you momentarily. You only nodded back.

You clenched your jaw, watching Jackie pull her away. Running a hand through your hair you realize that Shauna had you exactly where she wanted you, and who knows what would happen if Jackie didn't get there in time. You were sure that there wouldn't be the last time Shauna would test or the last time you’d rise to meet her. You just didn’t know that the next time that would happen, Jackie would be there to stop here.

It's been months since you have been in the wilderness. If you knew that that party would be one of your last moments of normalcy, you'd enjoy it to the fullest, maybe even play against Randy in that disgusting drinking game until you passed out. Or, even talk more with Shauna. Even if just fighting like the last time. It's been such a long time since she had a proper conversation with someone. Taissa being the one gets closer to doing so. Although you can still notice her staring at you from across the room.

All of you just fell into this system. Everyone has their chores and works together to make survival minimally bearable. After Shauna lost Jackie and later the baby she became feral, disrupting the fragile society you have built together. You weren't at the house at the time hell broke loose. When you came back you only saw Lottie on the ground, beaten up and bloody. You yelled at Shauna that day, throwing insults at one another as the fine line connecting you both snapped. After that day you barely talked with each other anymore.

Over time, it fractured into two groups, those who followed Shauna, driven by her ruthless determination to survive at any cost, and those who sided with you, clinging to a semblance of empathy and humanity amidst the chaos. The divide was subtle at first, but it grew into something much more pronounced.

The girls made sure that you wouldn't be in the same room alone and your chorus were never in the same place or at the same time. The wilderness was dangerous enough as it was and none of you really needed two enraged suppressants-lacking bloodlust alphas growling at each other and stinking the forest with musky pheromones. And that worked. For weeks. Until it didn’t.

It was like any other day, boring and repetitive, as you finished your daily chores. After putting aside the makeshift cleaning tools you just wanted to allow yourself to be lazy for the day. Stretching your sore limbs.

“You're not in charge anymore”. That voice. After hearing the sound, you quickly went straight to the window trying to catch a glimpse of the commotion outside.

Shauna stood tall and imposing over Nat, smirking sinisterly at the omega. The blonde was shaking, clearly distressed by Shauna's overwhelming scent. You didn’t need to be a genius to know what was going on. Shauna was again threatening the group's fragile hierarchy. You were aware Shauna wasn’t happy with Natalie as the antler queen, but you didn't realize she’d question her authority in front of everybody.

“What the fuck is going on here?” you yelled, stomping out of the cabin, your voice cutting through the silence of the crowd.

“She’s weak,” Shauna said unbothered, her tone dripping with disdain. “She isn't a leader. You know that.”

Nat gave you a desperate glance, her bottom lip quivering. She wanted to say something but couldn’t defend herself in this situation.

“You’re out of line, Shauna,” you replied, stepping between them. “The wilderness had chosen because she earned it.”

“It was a mistake,” she replied matter-of-fact, crossing her arms.

“You aren't the one to decide it” You stepped in front of Nat, eyes boring into the challenging Shauna.

“Look around. I'm not the only one” She opened her arms confidently, inviting you to observe everyone's faces, and you realized that Shauna was right. All were staring at you with cold glares, demanding change, even those you thought would be against this pseudo-coup. Van, Taissa… God, even damn Travis Martinez. But you didn’t care, you may not be the most fervent wilderness worshipper, but if it decides their antler queen, you'd make your job to protect her.

“If you want to challenge her, you’ll have to go through me.” You growled, making sure to show your growing fangs.

“I’ll give you a chance to take that back.” Shauna scowled, releasing pheromones so heavy you felt like gravity doubled its force, but you didn't back down, releasing your own pheromones.

Murmurs spread through the group. Mari, standing beside Shauna, grinned like she’d been waiting for this moment.

“Why don’t we settle this the way alphas should?” Mari offered, her voice beaming with dark enthusiasm. “A fight. You and Shauna. The winner takes charge. Let’s see who really deserves to lead.”

You clenched your fists, your blood-boiling anger at Shauna for starting this mess, anger at the group for not saying anything about it, and anger at yourself for not being able to handle this situation any better. You didn’t want to give Shauna the satisfaction of a fight, but deep down, you knew this wasn’t any other way. The pack needed stability, and Shauna’s challenge threatened to tear down what little unity remained within you.

“Fine. Not in front of everyone. I don’t want anyone possibly hurt or overwhelmed”

Shauna’s smirk widened. “Of course not. We’ll take it to the forest. Just us.”

The sun had set, and the moon shone beautifully in the sky. “You don't have to do this for me,” Nat said as she cupped your cheek. “It's not only for you, Nat. The whole pack is in danger if Shauna actually takes over.” Nat smiled, closing her eyes and connecting your foreheads. “May the wilderness be with you”

Shauna cleared her throat, visibly annoyed. “It’s time,” she said, putting her knife on the belt. You had a small knife with you as well.

“The rules are simple. You'll walk to different points in the forest and will have to find the other. Whoever gets the other to submit wins. As the tradition says.” Mari said after clapping her hands to call everyone's attention.

“Remembering no one is supposed to get seriously hurt.” Taissa stepped up, her voice firm and commanding as she observed Mari's enthusiasm with narrowed eyes.

With one last look to the cabin, you and Shauna began to walk to the forest, on opposite sides. You knew things would never be the same after this, but whatever the consequences would be, you were prepared to face it.

The forest seemed quieter that noon like it was holding its breath in anticipation. Its oppressive silence pressed against your limbs like a suffocating weight. Your steps on the soil and dry leaves were the only sounds in the middle of that vast forest, but every crack of a twig underfoot was stifled by your racing heartbeat in your ears. It's been about ten minutes you haven’t heard of Shauna. You tried to steady your breathing, but the idea that Shauna could be watching you, lurking you, made it impossible as your skin crawled. At some point, you just wished she would appear at any moment to free you from this building anxiety making your knees shake.

Your sweaty palms clutched the hilt of the knife in your hand with great force, a solace in this ocean of uncertainty. The oppressive silence of the forest drove your senses heightened to the point of exhaustion. You were here because you wanted to protect everything at risk. The ones who didn’t agree with Shauna, the society you’ve built throughout the months, peace. But a question lingered insistently in the back of your mind: aren't you at risk as well?

You tried to steady your breathing, tried to cling to the reason that had brought you here, but that was hard to think about when you knew that Shauna was out there, somewhere.

The woods seemed endless, each tree seemingly the same as the last one, blending into the next in a maze. Suddenly, you hear the faint rustle of leaves behind you, you turn immediately, but you can’t see anything suspicious. No movement, no sound. Maybe this whole situation is driving you crazy, making your anxious brain play tricks on you.

Or that you thought.

“You don’t seem very well,” a low chuckle broke the silence, and your stomach dropped. You spun around, your eyes scanning the shadows. “Poor baby. Seems so scared” Shauna’s voice echoed through the woods mockingly.

Your grip tightened around the knife as you scanned your surroundings, forcing yourself to stand tall even though your legs felt like jelly. “Are you so scared you can't show yourself?” you yelled, trying so hard to sound firm, but still wavering slightly.

Another sinister chuckle broke, slightly closer this time. “No, it's just so much more fun watching you scared.”

Then, she appeared. Right behind you.

“I'm so sorry, I know it isn’t right to play with my food”. She whispered in your ear., making your skin crawl. Your legs felt glued to the ground. Her scent hit you like a freight train, unrailed. You wanted to look back, your instincts screamed at you to turn to her and use that knife you brought with you. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

“Look at you,” she murmured, her voice dripping with mockery as she buried her nose in the crook of your neck. “Trying so hard to look brave, but I can smell it on you, you know? The fear.” Her front pressed against your back firmly, and one hand on your waist pulled you closer, as the other slid down your thigh. “Your legs are shaking…” Your eyes widened in horror.

Move, move, move goddamnit.

In a moment of bravery, you elbowed her torso, and turned back, creating some distance between you. “I’m not afraid of you!” You pointed the knife at her threateningly, daring her to step closer. And she did.

“I bet you think you look so intimidating right now,” Her steps were firm against the leaves, creating a rhythmic sound as she stepped closer. “Stay where you are, Shipman!” You began to back away slowly, she smiled at your motions. “I bet you think you look so big and strong… but let me tell you something…” you kept moving back, trying to create some distance. “I'm not kidding!” your hand clutching the knife was trembling, you barely could stand your arm straight.

“The truth is, you look exactly what you are” Your back hit a tree, ceasing your steps. She stopped walking when the tip of your shaky knife rested on her stomach. “Like a cornered little rat.” In a hasty move, she grabbed your knife and threw it somewhere you couldn't bother looking. “Did you even know how to use that thing?” she asked, visibly amused, her smirk beaming in arrogance and someone else, something you were scared to find out.

“We don't have to do this, Shauna. We can just talk and solve this”. You offered, voice cracking midst sentence. She tilted her head, in a slow, deliberate motion, her smile widening as her fingers brushed against your cheek, feather-light.

“You know something that always intrigued me about you?” her fingers trailed from your cheek to your jawline, contouring your bone. “You always act so righteous, so put together and proud of not being like the other alphas,” her eyes burned into yours, a predatory gaze staring into your raw soul.

“But you're so attracted to the wild, to bare instinct… to primal rage” You swing yours first, targeting her face, but she was faster and pinned your wrist to the tree, squeezing it so hard it made you wince. “Is this why you like to put yourself in danger? Because you want this adrenaline, to hear your heart racing?” her fingers began to glaze on your side, Shauna seemed entranced by the movements of her own hand.

You took it as an opportunity to strike again, your knee moved into the direction of her torso, but once more Shauna was too fast, and defended herself. A hand grabbed your jaw forcefully, “I'm trying to go easy on you don't make regret on that” She let remnants of her alpha voice escape in that sentence. And you froze for what seemed like the 100th time that noon.

Menacing fangs made their presence as she pressed her body flush against yours, soft but firm flesh. Her lips ghosted against yours, close enough to make them tingle in anticipation. The hand on your jaw slid slowly to your nape and then your hair, pulling it roughly exposing your neck to her.

“Shauna…” your voice sounded so weak you almost didn't recognize it. Soft lips brushed on the surface of your throat, sharp teeth grazing it just slightly, enough to make you shiver. “Tell me,” She said, breathing hot on your skin, “What are you most afraid of? That I’m gonna hurt you? Or that you'll like it?” She kissed your skin, open-mouthed and warm. Too softly considering your current situation.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled, before letting out a gasp once you felt Shauna biting down. “Shh,” Shauna pressed her body even further on yours. “Just let me do this. I know you want it too” You let yourself melt, little by little. The alpha in front of you smirked against your jaw.

You weren’t about to give in without a fight. Once you felt Shauna lowering her guard you summoned every ounce of courage you had left, you twisted your body, wrenching your wrist free from her grip and pushing her shoulders. Shauna growled at your defiance but didn't back away. You swing your arm at her, punching as hard as you can. She dodged your strike and grabbed your arm mid-swing, using your momentum against you, she spun you around and slammed you into the ground.

With a grunt, you twisted beneath her, trying to buck her off, trying to shift her weight. But Shauna was too strong, too determined. When you tried to turn to your side in a failed attempt to spin her, she was the one to spin you around once more, landing you on your face this time. You swung your elbow, this time aiming for her side, but Shauna caught it way too easily, twisting it painfully and pressing it on your back. Before you could react, she had you helpless, her weight pressing against your back, her breath hot on your nape.

“You're still fighting,” Shauna muttered, voice covered with annoyance and amusement. “But I can see you're liking this… I've always known you liked this” She licked a long stripe on your neck. “You always looked at me with those big puppy eyes when you thought I didn’t see it” Her hips rolled forward, beginning to grind against the back of your thigh.

You froze. “Shauna, what the-”

“So composed” She interrupted you, breathing hot on your face. “Playing the knight in shiny armor, trying to hide how much you just wanted to be broken, tamed… devoured”

You felt your blood rushing to your cheeks and a way too familiar sensation on your clit, asking for something you didn’t want to acknowledge. “You’re so stubborn. But I like that about you. You wouldn’t be so fucking sexy if you weren’t” She wrapped her hand around your throat and used her thumb to turn your chin towards her, making you look at her.

Her other hand slid under your shirt, roaming down your side, her fingers grazing over your ribs. “Together, we would be unmatchable. Have you ever thought about that?” she murmured, her lips brushing against your temple. “We are stronger, more powerful, better… We shouldn’t take orders, we should give them. Like we were born to do” She gave a last bite of your earlobe before turning you to her completely.

She cleaned the remains of dirt from your cheek. “Think about it,” She began to lift her shirt, and your eyes widened, scanning her every move. “You by my side. Ruling together. No one would challenge us. Not Nat, not Lottie, not anyone”

“You want me as your slave with benefits?” You said, eyes still fixated on the soft and toned muscles of her abs. “I wouldn’t say, my slave, more like my right-hand man” She began to tug on the hem of your shirt, and when you thought she would lift it too, she used her other hand to rip it open. “But I wouldn't say you won't have benefits”

“Are you craz-” Shauna connected your mouths before you could finish your protest, she harshly bit down your bottom lip, making you groan. You tried to push her away by instinct, but she didn’t budge, only bit it harder. Trying to get away from the pain you swung a punch to her ribs. You thought she would be pissed off and would lash at you, but Shauna only pulled smiling sinisterly at you, with remains of your blood on her teeth. You couldn’t escape the shiver running down your spine.

“There it is…” She closed the distance between you again, but this time she truly kissed you. The kiss was feral, uncontrolled… Shauna. Her skin pressed against yours, enveloping you in this primal heat that made your skin tingle. Her tongue shoved in your mouth, you didn't have time to assimilate completely that wet sensation, when her thigh pressed between your legs, drawing a gasp from you. God, you hated how you pulsed under her touch.

Shauna slyly took her hand to toy with your bra clasp. Her bloody sleep traveled down to your jawline, biting it hard. Your hand shot up to grab her wrist, nails digging in as you tried to push her away. She winced, before chuckling darkly unclapsing your underwear anyway, before throwing it somewhere.

Your first reaction was to cover yourself, but she was fast. “Don't you dare” With a growl, she pinned your wrists down, nails digging into your forearm. Her gaze burned on your chest. You felt exposed, but with Shauna's like full weight in pressing you against the dirt, you couldn’t move. You just lay there, like a prey playing dead not to startled the predator. You couldn't stop yourself from sneakily rutting against Shauna's thigh pressed on you.

She looked hypnotized, in a trance as she moved closer and without any warning caught your nipple in her mouth. Shauna moaned on your chest, her soft plump lips sucking on it eagerly. Her tongue flicked at the bud inside her mouth. With a last bite on your nipple, she captured the other chest. You felt your body buzzing, your back arching towards against your command.

“Don’t move your hands” She let go of your wrist and moved her fingers to unzip your shorts. Her mouth began to liss its way down your body, until your lower stomach, where she licked and bit it. “Stop… Shauna…” You tried to push her shoulders, but she ignored you, pulling your shorts off you and spreading your legs wide.

“You're fucking insane…” You said it with gritted teeth, cheeks burning as you watched her gaze fixating on your panties. “And you're wet,” she said lowly, and as if to prove her point Shauna used her thumb to rub on your clothed pussy. She was right, you could feel the fabric sticking to your slippery, warm folds. A moan broke out before you could stop.

That seemed to turn something in Shauna's mind. Seeing you struggling, squirming under like a small rabbit trying to run from a big bad wolf. It was the hottest thing she'd ever seen. She leaned down, her breath hot against the soaked fabric, she pressed her nose on it, your smell driving her absolutely crazy.

She pushed your panties to the side and looked up at you, hungry eyes expecting you to say something, to fight her. “Tell me no, tell me to stop” Her mouth was so close now, hot kisses on your inner thigh, fangs gripping into your flesh, tonguing darting out and tasting your skin. No one ever looked at you like this before, you were supposed to be the hunter, the alpha. But now you were questioning everything, clenching and unclenching your hands over your stomach trying to say something.

But Shauna wasn't waiting.

Her tongue darted out, dragging a long, deliberate line along your folds. The shock of the sensation sent your hips jerking upward involuntarily, and she chuckled darkly, the vibration against your skin making you bite back a moan, you could feel her smile against you.

Her fingers gripped your thighs tightly, keeping you spread open for her as her mouth worked passionately. Each flick, nip, and slurp was messy but not careless. She knew how to break you, to draw out sounds you couldn't contain no matter how hard you tried. "You taste like you've been waiting for this," she said against you, her voice smug,

The sheer audacity of her words lit up a fire of indignation within you, and you reached down, grabbing a fistful of her hair to yank her back. But instead of being unmotivated, Shauna groaned, her eyes rolling back slightly as if the roughness only turned her on even more. She just dived into you with more passion. She was moaning, and groaning against you, like she tasting her last meal.

As if that wasn't enough for her, Shauna slid her finger in you, relishing in the way your gummy walls clenched around her. Her breath hitched. "That's it," she muttered, almost to herself, her voice raw. "You can fight all you want, but this…" she curled her finger inside you, hitting a spot that made you arch uncontrollably, "...this doesn't lie.”

Her nails were so purposefully deep on your thigh, scratching your skin. Every action was possessive, unrelenting as if she was claiming you with every touch. She adds another finger, her pace brutal and unforgiving. Her other hand pinned down your hips from fucking yourself against her hand like she selfishly wanted to be the one giving you pleasure. Her thumb found your clit, circling it with a precision that made your vision blurred.

Shauna leaned up, her face hovering just inches from yours, her breath hot and heavy. "Every time you look at me, every time you challenge me... I've wanted this. Wanted you.” The wilderness swallowed your sounds, Shauna and the trees being the only ones to hear your desperation, the pleasure the alpha was giving you. “Come on, bunny. Lost all the fight in you?”

Your teeth clenched, your body trembling in want. You're close, and Shauna knew that, and Shauna would take advantage of that. “I could keep you like this all night, edging you, leaving you…” you shot what you thought to be a threatening glare at her, but clearly it wasn’t threatening enough since it only caused Shauna’s smile.

"Say you're mine. Say you love this, that you love me fucking you like this." You shook your head, your pride clashing with the raw pleasure. "Never," you hissed, though your voice wavered. Shauna's grin turned sinister, and without warning, she withdrew her fingers from you, leaving you empty. “Oh, you will," she said, her tone dripping with dark amusement. "Because if you don't, I won't let you come."

Your jaw clenched, your body shaking with the effort of holding back. But Shauna wouldn't make it easy for you, her fingers still resting on you, rubbing you teasingly, driving you closer and closer to the edge without ever letting you fall completely. You could take just as much. Finally, the tension snapped. Your voice broke, and came out as a desperate moan. “Fine!" you yelled, "I want this, I want you!"

Shauna's laughter was satisfied, her fingers immediately entering back into you, her thumb circling your clit once more. "Good bunny," she purred, her voice dripping with victory. "Was that so hard?"

The intensity of her movements made your head spin, and she leaned down, her lips capturing yours in an intense kiss. "You're mine now,”. A cry tore from your throat, and a wave of ecstasy crashed over you.

Shauna didn't stop, drawing out every last tremor and drip from your body until you were a trembling mess beneath her. She leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear. "I told you, bunny... you were made to be mine.”

[moonandst4rs]

“She’s always a woman to me”

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Masterlist

AARON HOTCHNER X F!READER

WC: 673

Summary: Aaron sees you for you. He sees the woman behind the job

Warnings / Content: Inspired by She's always a woman - Billy Joel. no use of y/n, no dialogue

A/N: Feel free to ask questions or simply chat. Any feedback and requests are welcome !! Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated <3

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Being a woman is hard. Being a woman in power, working as a Section Chief in the FBI only magnifies the weight you carry. It isn’t just the job, it’s about navigating Bureaucratic nonsense. You have to balance authority with expectations, from yourself and others. Five teams. Five different teams of personalities, skills and egos yjay you have to manage day in and day out. Some are polite and show you respect—others, not so much. Aaron Hotchner’s team, to their credit, are professional. Mostly.

You’ve grown tough over the years. You had to. The world doesn’t let women in your position be soft without paying the price. If you’d let yourself be trampled, ignored, or undermined even once, you wouldn’t be here now, standing tall as Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The toughness, it isn’t armour, it’s more like something you’ve learned to carry with grace. You got here by knowing exactly when to hold your ground and when to bend, ever so slightly, so the world doesn’t break you. From a wide-eyed field agent to Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, you’ve learned that balance. And you’ve learned how to carry the weight of other people’s lives along the way.

You do your job well. You’re proud of that. You make decisions not just for today, but for the future, for the safety of your agents, your teams. You’re steady, calm under pressure, always managing to keep the pieces from falling apart. You have to. But not everyone sees it that way. For some, you’ll always be the one in the way, the one enforcing rules they don’t want to follow. They call you harsh, cold, rigid. They talk about how you won’t let them work however they want. They forget there’s a reason the rules are there, a reason you stand so firm.

The names they call you, the insults, the accusations, they don’t hurt like they used to. There was a time when you’d lie awake at night, wondering if they were right. Now, you barely blink when they throw words your way. If anything, you’ve become somewhat detached, wishing, in a darkly amused way, that they would at least get creative. Give you something new to roll your eyes at. You’ve heard it all before. The same tired jabs, the same predictable bitterness. They don’t know how strong you really are, and they never will. Not the way Aaron does.

Aaron. He’s always there, quietly watching. He knows you can take it, he knows you’ve taken far worse, and that you’ll keep taking it because you refuse to let them see you falter. But even so, he insisted stepping in. Not always, and not in ways that make a scene, but it was enough. Enough to remind you that you don’t have to fight every battle alone. He challenges the ones who disrespect you when you’re not looking, stands by you when the weight of the world starts to feel a little too heavy. And even though you never asked for his protection, you’ve come to realize it’s something more. Something softer, something that breaks through the noise and makes you feel…seen.

You never wanted anyone to fight for you. You don’t need it. You’ve spent your life proving that you’re more than capable of fighting for yourself. But Aaron doesn’t fight to save you; he fights to remind you that you’re worth protecting. And in those moments, when his quiet strength meets yours, you realize just how much that means to you. More than you’d ever let on.

Despite everything, the long nights, the endless pushback, the harsh words, you keep going. Not because you’re unbreakable, but because you know what’s at stake. You fight for your teams because they deserve it. You stand firm because that’s who you are, and because you believe in the work you do, even when others don’t see it. And maybe, just maybe, because you know that there’s someone, someone like Aaron, who sees the woman behind the title.

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

[lxvebun]

challenge accepted!♡

synopsis: you're surprised when you find out he has not had his first kiss yet, you're even more surprised when he lets you be the one to change that aka your first kiss with Satoru<3

content: Gojo Satoru x gender neutral reader. Fluff!. Written with the highschool arc/satosugu friendship in mind so you'd be in the same grade together, but you can read it however you wish♡ Detailed descriptions of kissing. Around 650 words. Eng is not my first language. Not entirely proofread, lmk if there are any annoying mistakes♡

Suguru version

He's the strongest around, the Gojo Satoru! He has everything he could want and he doesn't have to prove anything to anyone. He doesn't have to but he does enjoy doing so.

So when you and Suguru teamed up against him, giggling oh so cruelly because here he was spouting out dating advice, saying that Geto will turn into a "grumpy old man" if he continues to reject people's advances, when he hasn't even had his first kiss yet, he knew he had to fix that♡

⁎⁺˳✧༚໒꒱.*

"You don't have much of a say seeing as you haven't kissed, let alone dated anyone yet, Satoru.~" Suguru replies, voice still as gentle as always even when he's dealing with his best friend's nonsense.

You're not entirely sure why your heart skipped a beat at the revelation. Sure it's unexpected given Gojo's flirty nature and good looks, but it's igniting a feeling of something almost hopeful in your heart....you don't like him that, not at all, right? So why is the image of him pulling you in by your waist and dipping down to lock his lips against yours fogging over your mind?

You've gone quiet for a bit as you hoped to make sense of what you're feeling, not unperceived by your friends sitting next to you

"Y/n?" They speak at the same time. You miss the shared glance of concern

You're glad you can blame the afternoon sun for the sudden spark of warmth surging through your body.

"Sorry, yeah, I'm here" you reply a bit clumsily as you make the mistake of looking back at him and the words almost get stuck in your throat. he looks ridiculously handsome with the way his head is slightly tilted, enough to look at you over his glasses, blue eyes shining even brighter in the sunlight, and something as simple as that really shouldn't be as attractive as it is.

Just for a split second you see his eyes soften as he lets his gaze trace of your features before he nudges his glasses back in place and continues-

"You're supposed to back me up, you know?? Tell him!"

"There's nothing wrong with not having had your first kiss yet, Suguru" you say sweetly. Gojo visibly relaxes and that stupid infamous smirk forms on his lips as he nods along with your words. you stifle back a laugh as you continue, "Unless you're Gojo Satoru"

The flail of his arms is entirely dramatic and entirely in character. It's not helping that you can hear the snickering of Suguru beside him too.

He's quiet for a moment as he regains his composure, one of his arms now draped behind you along the bench. He takes his glasses off and hangs them on the collar of his shirt.

"Alright"

.....

"Alright?"

Your body registers it before your brain does, heart fluttering in your chest, a hitch in your breath as he leans in. He's close, but he doesn't close the gap just yet. You can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks and his intoxicatingly good, probably extremely expensive cologne envelops the rest of your senses, makes you a little dizzy as all you see, hear, and feel is him but he allows you enough space to back away if this is not what you desire.

Perhaps your heart already knew what you're mind was just trying to catch up to. You have fallen in love. Fallen in love with Satoru of all people.

You're sure that at least a minute has passed since he leaned in but he doesn't falter and patiently waits until you do finally give him the smallest of nods and then it's over for you, you've fallen too deep now and you cannot and do not want to come back from this, from him.

the kiss is sweet, almost too sweet if you didn't have a sweet tooth that could battle Satoru's. And for a first kiss it's quite heavy, a little deeper and longer than you expected and it continues to linger warmly on your lips when he finally pulls away, face a little flushed, eyes bright, and smirking like he just won the lottery

"Now, listen, Suguru" he begins but you tune it out. Too focused on trying to calm the racing of your heart, too enamoured with the memory of his lips on yours

Gojo doesn't remove his arm from around your shoulder but his other hand has intertwined with yours as he draws heart shapes on the back of your hand with his thumb, silently letting you know this was more than him just trying to prove something, silently letting you know, he'd be yours if you'll have him♡

Thank you for reading, angels!<3

I haven't written for jjk in such a long time😩 but I started season 2 and I want them to be HAPPY

[mist-see]

Pairing: Ghost x Tall Black!Female!Reader

Imagine hating your boss. And he definitely doesn’t like you back.

⚠️enemies to lovers, slow burn undertones, dominant!reader, Ghost being annoyed (and aroused), mutual antagonism, height proximity tension⚠️

Setting: Off-mission base in some cold, miserable part of Eastern Europe

A little au im dabbling in, I am still taking asks and Drabbles btw 👀

You were trouble the moment you landed.

Not because you were reckless. Not because you were new. But because you didn’t flinch.

Not when bullets cracked past your ears. You’ve heard gunshots since you were a kid.

Not when Captain Price barked orders. Your mom was scarier it felt like, suffering from bipolar disorder.

And definitely not when Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley threw his weight around like his skull mask gave him divine authority.

You were 6’3 of no-nonsense, broad-shouldered command. Black girl from South Side Chicago, taught to bark back, fight first, and survive always.

So when Ghost tried his usual ice-and-intimidation routine, you looked down—literally—and said:

“If you want me to follow, you’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

He hadn’t liked that.

Not one bit.

It was always you and Ghost, forced on the same unit like someone upstairs had a twisted sense of humor.

Mission after mission, you clashed like two tectonic plates—grinding, shifting, making the rest of the team brace for the inevitable quake.

Tonight was no different.

Eastern Europe. Ice in the air. Mud in your boots- how the fuck did mud get in your boots. You just got back from a recon op and were stripping off gear in the shared safehouse.

He leaned against the wall in that usual brooding-ass pose—arms crossed, eyes shadowed by the mask, like he was trying to make the air tense just by breathing. It wasn’t working. You didn’t see yourself less than him.

“You went off comms,” he muttered.

You peeled off your tactical vest slowly, deliberately, like you weren’t just stripping off gear but defiance.

“Had to reroute. Signal was jammed. I made it out, didn’t I?” You had already known that this was going to start an argument, but what you trying to figure out was… are you gonna be the bigger person or irritate him even more. But when do you ever back down.

“Barely,” he said, stepping closer. “You don’t take orders. You don’t check in. You act like this is your op.”

“No- I act like I know what the fuck I’m doing.” You said matter-of-factly, strictly and irritatingly.

You closed the distance, chin tilted up—not that far. Just an inch between you. Enough to let him know: I’m not backing down, I couldn’t care less if you’re my lieutenant.

“You gonna try and muscle me next?” you smirked, a challenge. As if you actually wanted to finally get physical. “Or just keep hiding behind that skull like it scares me? That shit don’t scare me.” You shrugged in indifference, your brows pushed together as you looked between his light brown eyes.

He looked at you long and hard. You could feel it behind the mask, that simmering burn—annoyance, challenge, something heavier.

“You’ve got a death wish,” he said.

You tilted your head. “Only if you’re offering.”

That did it.

In a second, he pushed you up against the wall, not rough, but with enough force to show he could.

Could, but didn’t.

Didn’t because something in the way your hands stayed at your sides made him hesitate. You didn’t bother fighting back.

Didn’t because you looked amused.

“You always this hands-on, Lieutenant?” you murmured. Don’t you feel embarrassed?

His breath hitched. Just once.

Your hand slid up his chest, slow and steady, pausing right over his heartbeat. It wasn’t sexual, but it was intimidating. No one ever touched him.“I think you like the fight, Ghost. I think you need someone to push back.”

His jaw ticked.

“I think…” you leaned in, voice dropping to a low purr, “…you want to know what it feels like to be handled for once.”

You felt him flinch. Not fear. Not disgust. Restraint.

The man was a soldier, a killer, a shadow—and yet his pulse stuttered under your fingers.

“I could make you beg,” you whispered, so close your lips almost brushed the side of his mask. “But you’d bite your tongue just to keep the pride.”

“…You don’t know me,” he rasped.

You finally pulled back, slow and smug.

“I know enough,” you said, walking past him with a purposeful brush of your shoulder against his chest. “Next time you pin me, make it worth it.” Punch me or something.

Pt 2

[vitalverstappen]

Bigger Isn't Always Better - P. Gasly

summary: getting a Christmas tree was supposed to be simple, but luckily both you and Pierre's minds are stuck in the gutter

pairing: Pierre Gasly x girlfriend!reader

warnings: a lot of innuendos guys, like a lot. i was listening to a nonsense christmas while writing this

word count: 2.1k

masterlist

Getting the tree had been a fiasco in itself. You had driven an hour to the tree farm, spent hours walking around, trying to pick the best one, chopped it down, drove it back home, and lugged it up a flight of stairs, only for it to be too tall. 

As you stood in the living room, staring up at the tree that now loomed over you like some kind of giant, it felt like every single step had led to this moment of inevitable defeat. The tree was so tall that it nearly brushed the ceiling. 

“Well, this is great” you muttered, pacing around the tree and eyeing the absurdly high branches. “We really outdid ourselves this time, didn’t we?” 

Pierre, who had been standing by the door watching you fume, grinned, clearly taking pleasure in your frustration. “Hey, at least we tried to get the perfect tree,” he said with a shrug, as if the effort was worth something. 

You spun around to face him, raising an eyebrow. “Tried? It’s looking like you in the mornings. ‘Tried’ is not the word I’d use.” 

Pierre took a slow step toward the tree, examining it as if it were some kind of puzzle to solve. “I mean, it’s still a good tree. We can just… trim the top a little. It’s not the end of the world.” 

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Trim the top? You want me to cut the top off the tree after we spent all day getting it here? That’s gonna look ridiculous.” 

He let out a soft laugh, enjoying pushing your buttons. “It’s just a little trimming. It’ll make it fit. Plus, you know what they say - bigger isn’t always better.” He smirked at you as if he had just won the argument.

You felt your eye twitch at his smugness. “I don’t care what they say,” you shot back. “We’re not getting rid of the classic tree shape.” 

“Yeah, you always liked it a little bushy.” He joked, the smirk still plastered on his face. 

If looks could kill, Pierre would be dead with the one you gave him in response. 

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, no cutting the top. But we could… cut the trunk? It’ll still keep the tree shape.” 

Your eyebrows raised slightly as the suggestion settled in. “Are you gonna do it?”

Pierre paused, his smile now long gone as he considered your question. “I mean… I could.” He walked closer to the tree, inspecting the trunk like a lumberjack sizing up his next challenge. “It’s just a matter of cutting a few inches off the bottom. The tree will still be straight, I promise.” 

You folded your arms, eyeing him skeptically. “I don’t know, Pierre. Last time you ‘fixed’ something like this, we ended up with half a bookshelf.” 

He gave you an exaggerated pout. “That was one time. And it worked out and became a gorgeous nightstand, didn’t it?” His grin returned, more mischievous than ever.

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Fine, but if this tree ends up crooked or falling over by Christmas morning, I’m blaming you.” 

“Deal. But I’m confident it’ll be fine. I’ve got this under control.” He said before turning back to you. “But could you help me get this back outside?” 

You blinked, unsure you’d heard him correctly. “What?”

Pierre gave you a shrug, clearly enjoying your confusion. “Well, if I’m cutting the trunk, it might be easier to do it outside. Less mess, you know?”

“You realize this is a two-person job, right?” you sighed, already moving toward the tree. “Because I am not carrying this thing by myself.” 

Pierre’s eyes sparkled with the challenge. “Exactly. We’ll make it a team effort. Besides, how hard can it be?” 

Famous last words, but you grabbed the end of the tree’s base anyway. Pierre started on the other side, his face set with a grin of determination. Together, you carefully maneuvered the tree through the living room, sidestepping furniture and trying not to bash the branches against the walls. 

The thought of bringing it through the garage crossed your mind, but it was hard enough getting it up the stairs of the garage, you couldn’t imagine trying to get it down them. 

But by the time you reached the front door, sweat was starting to bead on your forehead, and the tree was definitely looking like it might be more trouble than it was worth. Still, there was no turning back now. You’d made it this far. 

You pushed the door open, and Pierre started pulling the tree through, only for it to get stuck in the door halfway through. 

“I knew it,” you muttered. “It’s too big.”

Pierre, undeterred, pulled harder. “Come on, it’s just a little tight.” 

“Just how you like it, huh?” you quipped back as you continued to shove the tree.

With one final push, the tree finally slipped free, the branches brushing against the outside of the house as it tumbled down the steps. You both stared down at it for a moment, panting from the effort, before Pierre turned to you with a knowing smirk. 

“See? Piece of cake.” 

“Yeah, if you call nearly killing us with a Christmas tree ‘a piece of cake,’” you said, wiping your brow. 

“Oh come on, we’ve had rougher times” Pierre said, patting your bum as he walked to the garage to grab the saw. 

As he walked back to the tree, you followed reluctantly. The enormous thing was now resting awkwardly on the front lawn, its branches splayed out in all directions. The tree, which had seemed so majestic inside, now looked comically large next to the house. It was impossible to ignore how ridiculous the situation had become. 

“So,” you began, eyeing the trunk again, “how exactly are you planning on cutting this thing?” 

Pierre didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the towering tree. “Simple, it’ll just lose a few inches on the bottom,” he said, walking over to the trunk with the saw in hand. 

“As long as you’re not the one losing a few inches” you remarked, your eyes scanning your boyfriend’s body.

Pierre chuckled, shaking his head as he got into position. “Let’s just get this done, and we can move onto the good stuff.”

With a deep breath, Pierre set the saw against the tree’s trunk and started to cut. The sound of the teeth grinding through the wood made you cringe a bit, but it was too late to stop now.

Minutes later, the trunk was a few inches shorter, and the tree now stood a little less… intimidating. You both stepped back to survey the results. 

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Pierre said, wiping his hands on his pants. “Though you’re usually the one with sticky stuff on your hands.”

Your hand playfully slapped his bicep as a smile formed on your lips. “Shut up, Gasly,” you took a deep breath. “But I admit, it looks better. But if this thing falls over in the middle of the night, I’m never letting you live it down.” 

Pierre smiled, brushing off the warning. “I’ve got it under control. This thing’s not going anywhere.”

As you made your way back inside, dragging the tree carefully behind you, you realized the adventure wasn’t over yet. There were still lights to hang, the ornaments to place, and the inevitable arguments about where to put each decoration. 

Once the tree was nestled in its stand, and looking less like it was going to put a hole in your ceiling, you and Pierre carried down the boxes of tree decorations from the attic. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road,” Pierre said, placing the last box down in the living room. 

“I don’t think this disaster movie can get any worse,” you muttered, rubbing your temples  

He opened the first box, revealing the lights, which were tangled in a mess. The smile on his face faltered for a second before reappearing. “I swear these were in perfect condition last year,” he muttered, trying to untangle them while attempting to look entirely unbothered. 

“Yeah, instead they look like how we were last night.” You laughed as you walked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter.

Pierre’s eyes twinkled as he glanced up at you. “Okay, but you loved that mess. At least, that’s how you sounded.” He pulled the lights apart with exaggerated care, his smirk only growing. 

It took a few more minutes of Pierre wrestling with the lights to get them completely untangled. Once he did, the two of you worked in tandem wrapping the tree with the incandescent glow. As you did though, your boyfriend somehow managed to get the entire string tangled around himself. You couldn’t help but laugh as he stood there, looking like a Christmas decoration in his own right, with the lights wrapped around his ankles, arms, and one around his neck. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you said, struggling to stifle your laughter. “It’s like looking in a mirror.” 

“I mean I was gonna use the garland to be festive, but if you’d prefer the lights, I guess I can make that work,” he winked 

You shook your head as you helped unravel Pierre. “I think we should just stick with tape.” 

Pierre’s smirk never wavered as you untangled him from the lights, and after a few minutes of carefully removing the mess, you both returned to your task. The tree was quickly adorned with lights, and the vision was finally coming to life. 

The two of you slowly worked through the box of ornaments, placing each one carefully on the branches. If you were with any other person in the world, the moment would have been almost peaceful. But you were with Pierre, and anything that man did was far from peaceful. 

The sound of glass and plastic hitting the carpet filled your ears as your back was facing Pierre. You took a deep breath before you turned around to look at your boyfriend, and two ornament balls on the ground. Thankfully, they were still in one piece, but Pierre’s eyes widened as he looked up at you. 

“That wasn’t supposed to happen…” he began, a sheepish grin on his face. 

A chuckle escaped you as you sighed, thankful that the ornaments were still intact. “I just can’t believe that your balls finally dropped.” 

Pierre stared at you for a moment, his grin slowly shifting into mock offense. “Oh, you did not just go there.” 

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you crossed your arms. “Oh, I did”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I should’ve known.” He bent down to pick up the ornaments, carefully placing them back on the tree.

“Just be careful,” you said, watching him with amusement. “If you break one of my favorite ornaments, I’ll never let you hear the end of it.” 

Pierre gave you a sincere smile. “I’ll be gentle, don’t worry.” 

You gave him a knowing look in response. “We both know that’s a load of shit.” 

You both continued decorating, the teasing somehow making the moment more enjoyable than you could’ve imagined. As you added the final touches, Pierre took a step back to survey the tree. 

“Mon cheri, I have to admit, it looks pretty good,” he said, a satisfied grin on his face. 

“I know you do,” you replied, a smirk dancing on your lips as you took the spot next to him. 

Pierre pulled you in, his lips brushing against yours in a light, teasing kiss. As you leaned in again, he pulled away, a smirk on his face. 

“So,” he began, his arm getting tighter around your waist. “You think you’ve been naughty or nice this year?” 

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Nice, obviously,” you teased, leaning into him.

Pierre leaned closer to you as well, his mouth only centimeters from your ear as he spoke, his voice slightly raspier than before. “Are you sure about that, mon amour?”

You felt a shiver run down your spine as his breath tickled your ear, the playful tension between you growing. You pulled back slightly, meeting his eyes, and smirked. 

“Why don’t you decide then?” you teased, a flicker of mischief in your eyes. 

Pierre’s grin widened at the challenge, his eyes darkening with amusement. Without a word, he threw his shirt off and scooped you up in his arms, purposefully resting one hand on your ass as he carried you. You knew exactly where this was going, and you had been anticipating it all day. A laugh escaped you as your body pressed against his chest, feeling the warmth radiate from him. 

“You’re unbelievable” you said, but the words were more playful than reproachable. You leaned into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart under his bare skin. 

Pierre chuckled as he made his way into the bedroom, “Oh, you have no idea.” 

Maybe you didn’t have a clue, but you did know you were ready to be his Vixen. 

[theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter]

More then enough 🦽

Mapi León x reader x Ingrid Engen

warning : disability 🕶🦻

Summary :

Being a wheelchair user, you're afraid your girlfriends will love you less.

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the pitch. The girls had just finished their training session, and Mapi and Ingrid stood by the sidelines, both laughing and chatting as they packed up their gear. The atmosphere around them was warm and light, hearted, despite the hard work they’d put in. But their eyes constantly flickered over to the stands, where you sat, watching with your usual gentle smile.

You had been in their life for a while now, ever since you met Mapi at a charity event she attended a few months ago. You were disabled, using a wheelchair after a car accident left you unable to walk, but that never stopped you from living fully, embracing every moment with joy and a sense of adventure. Mapi had been drawn to that strength in you, the way you approached life with so much heart despite everything you'd gone through.

The three of you had clicked almost immediately. Mapi's fierce energy, Ingrid's calm, soothing nature, and your own witty humor and zest for life had created the perfect dynamic. Mapi was fiery and protective, always making sure you felt included and cared for, while Ingrid’s gentleness brought a comforting peace, like a calming wave that soothed all your worries.

Today, as you waited for them to finish their session, you couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious. Though you tried not to let your disability affect your confidence, there were days when you wondered if you were enough for them. Two incredible athletes, constantly moving and living in ways you could no longer do.

As you looked down at your hands, lost in thought, Mapi’s voice pulled you from your reverie.

- Holà, cariño, what are you thinking about?

You glanced up, finding both Mapi and Ingrid now standing in front of you, their eyes full of concern. Mapi knelt down to be at your eye level, while Ingrid took her place beside you, gently resting a hand on your shoulder. You hesitated before answering, biting your lip.

- Just… wondering if you guys ever feel like you’re missing out, being with me. You’re always on the go, always so active, and I—well, I can’t do the things you do.

Mapi's brows furrowed, and her hands found yours, gripping them tightly.

- Don’t say that. You’re never a burden, cariño. We don’t want you to be anyone else. We love you exactly as you are.

Ingrid nodded, her voice soft but firm.

- It’s true. We’ve never thought about what we’re missing because you’re everything we need. You bring so much light into our lives.

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them away, laughing softly.

- You two are too much. I don’t deserve you.

Mapi shook her head, a playful smirk on her lips.

- Nonsense. You deserve everything. And you’ve got us, so you must be doing something right.

Ingrid smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your temple.

- We’re a team, remember? We’re in this together.

You let out a breath, the weight on your chest lifting slightly. With them by your side, things always seemed brighter, and you never felt alone. You didn’t need to be anyone else but yourself, they loved you for who you were.

As the three of you sat there, the cool breeze brushing against your skin, Mapi suddenly jumped to her feet with a mischievous grin.

- Alright, enough of this sappy stuff. How about a game?

You looked at her, confused.

- A game? What kind of game?

She pointed to a nearby soccer ball.

- We’re gonna play a little football.

Your eyes widened.

- I can’t play football, Mapi.

- Why not?

She challenged, already grabbing the ball.

- We’ll modify the rules. You will be a goalie so you can stay in your chair, and Ingrid and I will try to score. First one to five wins.

You couldn’t help but laugh at her stubbornness. You rolled your eyes playfully.

- You are impossible.

Mapi kicked the ball gently toward you.

- Come on, love, show us what you’ve got.

And so, the three of you played. It wasn’t about skill or competition. It was about fun, about laughter, about being together. You quickly realized that it didn’t matter that you were in a wheelchair. Mapi and Ingrid didn’t care about what you couldn’t do. They only cared about spending time with you, making memories, and showing you just how much they adored you.

As the sun set, and the last goal was scored (you might have let Ingrid win, just for the look of joy on her face), the three of you collapsed onto the grass, breathless from laughter and exertion. Mapi lay beside you, her arm slung across your lap, while Ingrid rested her head on your shoulder.

- See?

Mapi said between breaths.

- Told you you could play.

You smiled, looking down at her. As the night settled around you, you realized that in their love, there was no place for doubt. With them, you were whole. You were perfect. And most importantly, you were loved just as you were.

[velting]

-`♡Our Manager♡´-

U-20 x Manager!Reader

╰┈➤. .Synopsis: You are the new U-20 manager! You try your best and connect with the players in the team, hoping this job and experience would go well and help them succeed!

╰┈➤. .Warnings: None

╰┈➤. [Featuring]: Oliver Aiku - Sendo Shuuto - Itsuki Watatsuki - Kento Cho- Gen Fukaku- Teru Kitsunenzato - Miroku Darai- Nio Kazuma-Neru Teppei- Haru Hayate (Separate)

The air in the training facility buzzed with the chaotic energy of the players. Sweat beaded down their faces as they gathered around the large, open space, the smell of freshly cut grass lingering from their recent drills. The sound of cleats scraping the floor echoed as the team members huddled together, some still stretching, others chatting loudly. It was the end of another grueling training session, and there was no shortage of banter and horseplay among the young athletes.

"You think I could totally outpace you, right?" one of the forwards boasted to a defender, his voice thick with mischief.

"I’ll believe it when I see it," the defender smirked back, tossing a water bottle to his teammate.

Laughter broke out, filling the room with the usual banter that had become part of their routine. But just as one of the midfielders was about to make a sarcastic comment about how bad the others' aim was with the ball, the door to the locker room swung open with a loud thud.

The room fell silent in an instant.

A tall man stepped into the space, the sound of his boots clanging heavily against the floor. Coach Kato—tough, no-nonsense, and always commanding attention—had arrived. His sharp eyes scanned the group with an intimidating focus. He was a man who didn’t need to raise his voice to make people listen, but when he did, it was enough to make anyone sit up straighter.

"Alright, everyone, listen up," Coach Kato's voice cut through the noise, firm and commanding.

A collective shush ran through the team as they turned to face him. The playful energy quickly dissipated, leaving an air of expectation. It wasn’t often that Coach called for attention after a training session unless it was important.

[Name] stood at the door just behind him, her hands nervously clasped together as she waited for her introduction. Her hair swayed by the wind as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what to expect. Her heart raced—not from nervousness about speaking, but from the weight of the moment. She was about to meet the entire U-20 soccer team as their new manager. Despite her usually easy going personality, this felt like a big step.

Coach Kato finally broke the silence. “This is [Name] [Surename],” he said, gesturing toward her. “She’s the new manager of this team. She’ll be helping with your schedules, maintaining your fitness and training routines, and keeping you organized. She’s not here to play your babysitter. You’re to treat her with respect, just like any other member of the team.”

[Name] straightened a bit, her heart beating faster at the mention of her role. She couldn’t help but smile, even though the pressure was mounting. It was a new experience for her, stepping into a professional setting like this one. Her cheeks flushed lightly under the attention, and she felt the weight of all those curious eyes on her.

“Hey, come on, Coach! We can totally handle ourselves,” one of the players called out, his tone half-joking, half-challenging. He was a forward with a reputation for mischief, always looking for an excuse to lighten the mood.

“Yeah, she doesn’t have to tell us what to do!” another player chimed in, grinning.

The coach raised an eyebrow, his voice darkening. “You think you can handle yourselves? Last time I checked, none of you could keep track of your own socks, let alone your schedules."

A few chuckles rippled through the group at Coach Kato’s remark, but there was no mistaking the authority in his tone.

[Name’s] cheeks flushed deeper, but she knew this was her moment to shine—no matter how intimidating the situation felt. She took a small step forward, standing a bit taller, and offered a bow to the team.

“Hello! My name is [Name] [Surename],” she began, her voice slightly more chipper than she felt, but she did her best to stay confident. “I’ll be managing everything behind the scenes—from your training schedules to making sure you have all the right gear. I’m really happy to be here and excited to get to know all of you!” She beamed, her smile as bright and genuine as she could muster.

As she stood there, nervously twiddling her fingers together, there was a slight, awkward pause. The players exchanged glances, trying to size her up. Some of them were still skeptical, while others were intrigued. [Name’s] towering height and striking appearance—especially with her hair and her eyes peeking out from her clear glasses—made her stand out in a way that was hard to ignore.

One of the more bold players, a striker known for his cocky attitude, tilted his head and shot her a playful grin. “I’ll take care of her, don’t worry, Coach!” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Another player snorted in laughter, and the team’s usual rowdiness began to creep back in, despite the coach’s stern presence. But before the jokes could escalate, Coach Kato’s voice rang out again.

“That’s enough,” he snapped, a warning in his tone that made even the most rebellious players freeze. “You’ll treat her with respect, and that means no teasing, no messin' around, and no distractions during practice. If I hear anything out of line, you’ll be running laps until your legs give out. Got it?”

The locker room went dead silent again. The team knew better than to challenge Coach Kato, especially when he used that tone. Some players even shuffled their feet uncomfortably, realizing they might have crossed a line. [Name] swallowed and glanced nervously at the floor, hoping she hadn’t caused too much trouble by being the center of attention. But she was also grateful—this was the kind of environment where everyone would know she meant business, and perhaps they would give her a chance.

Coach Kato gave one last stern look to the group before turning his attention back to [Name]. “You’ll report to me for any issues, and we’ll work together to make sure this team stays on track. [Name], I trust you’ll keep them in line?”

She nodded enthusiastically, trying to shake off the nerves. “Yes, Coach! I’ll do my best.”

Coach Kato gave her a brief, approving nod. “Good. Now, get to know each other. We’re a team, and that starts with everyone pulling their weight. [Name], we’re counting on you to make sure things run smoothly. Welcome aboard.”

With that, the coach turned and walked out, leaving [Name] standing at the front of the room as the players slowly began to stir, murmuring amongst themselves.

As the door clicked shut behind the coach, a murmur of disbelief spread across the team. Some exchanged curious glances, while others made their way toward [Name].

“Well, [Name]-san, huh?” The bold striker from earlier swaggered over, a teasing smile on his face. “Not what I expected, but I guess we’ll see what you’ve got. Can you keep up with us?”

[Name] chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. “I hope so! I’m pretty good at staying organized… and I’ll be cheering for you guys from the sidelines!”

Her response, a bit shy but sincere, earned a few raised eyebrows, followed by polite nods. The first test had been passed: she wasn’t just another manager. She was part of the team now, and the journey to get to know each player was just beginning.

But what she didn’t know was that, despite her air-headed nature and awkwardness, the seeds of admiration had already been quietly planted.

Aiku Oliver ➺

The crisp sound of sneakers pounding against the field was constant. The U-20 team was deep into their daily training session, the field now painted with the streaks of sunlight breaking through the clouds. The players, drenched in sweat, were focused and determined, running their laps with precision. [Name] stood off to the side, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose as she diligently took notes on the team’s performance. A clipboard was clasped tightly in her hands as she wrote down the times each player completed their laps, tracking their stamina and ensuring no one pushed themselves too hard—or too little.

Every so often, she would call out to one of the players, handing them a water bottle as they slowed to catch their breath, offering encouragement.

“You’re doing great, Hanako! Just a few more laps!” she cheered, passing a bottle to a panting midfielder.

“Thanks, [Name]-san!” Hanako said with a quick, grateful nod, before jogging off again.

[Name] smiled, but it was starting to feel like the time was stretching on forever. The sun was growing warmer, and the field’s intensity was starting to wear on her as well. Still, she had a job to do, and she wouldn’t let herself slack off. But just as she glanced back down at her notes, she saw one of the players approaching her, a bit slower than usual, his tall frame cutting through the group of running athletes.

It was Oliver Aiku, the team’s defense specialist.

Oliver was hard to miss, his dark purple hair with lime-green tips a standout against the backdrop of the other players. His muscular build was clear under his training gear, and his confident stride had a commanding presence that drew the attention of anyone nearby. As he approached, he shot a playful grin in [Name’s] direction, his heterochromatic eyes—green on the left, purple on the right—glistening with a mixture of confidence and mischief.

“Hey, manager,” Oliver said, his voice smooth with an almost teasing undertone. He slowed to a walk as he neared her, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. His eyes narrowed in an appreciative gaze. “You look stunning out here, you know? It's not often we get someone like you on the sidelines.”

[Name] blinked, a bit taken aback by the sudden attention. She knew Oliver was the team’s resident heartthrob—he had a reputation with the ladies, no doubt. The way he was looking at her made her cheeks turn pinker than she’d like to admit.

“Uh, t-thank you,” she stammered, fumbling with her clipboard. Her mind scrambled to stay focused. Stay professional, [Name], she reminded herself. She quickly pulled out a water bottle, offering it to him. “You’re doing well! Drink some water, stay hydrated.”

She handed it to him with a polite smile, trying to hide the fact that her heart rate had sped up at the compliment.

Oliver smirked, taking the bottle from her hand, but instead of immediately drinking, he lingered a moment longer, his grin widening. “You know, I could use a few things outside of just water,” he said, his tone smooth, almost flirtatious. “How about I take you out for a nice dinner sometime? You deserve it for all the hard work you’re doing for us.”

[Name] felt the heat rush to her face. What did he just say?! she thought in a daze. She’d heard stories of Oliver’s way with words, but hearing it directed at her was a whole new level of awkward.

“W-well,” she stammered, trying her best to keep it cool, “I-I’m really just here to help with your training… And, you know, make sure everyone’s staying on track. But, uh…” She fidgeted, her heart thumping in her chest. She wasn’t sure what to say. Her usual confidence was slipping away. “I’ll consider it… after the training,” she added quickly, her words coming out almost like a nervous whisper.

Oliver’s smile grew, clearly enjoying the effect he had on her. “I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he replied smoothly, his eyes glinting with a playful spark. He stepped back a little, ready to continue his laps. “I’ll be looking forward to it, [Name]-chan.”

He gave her a knowing wink, and for a moment, [Name] stood frozen, her face bright red. No way… Did he just wink at me?

Trying to regain some composure, she quickly jotted down the time for his lap. “D-Don’t push yourself too hard, Aiku,” she said, her voice shaky. “We don’t want you overexerting yourself.”

“I’ll be fine,” Oliver said, his voice turning soft, almost teasing. He gave her a final look over his shoulder as he started to jog away, his eyes lingering on her with that mischievous glint. “But if you ever want to talk more, just let me know, okay?”

[Name] watched him for a moment, her mind still reeling. Did I just get flirted with? By Oliver Aiku? She shook her head, trying to focus back on the task at hand, though her thoughts were still a swirl of confusion and surprise.

As the training session continued, Oliver’s behavior toward [Name] became more and more evident. He began to seek her out during breaks, hanging around her as she handed out water bottles to the players. Each time, he would make some offhand comment about her looks, her work ethic, or how much she seemed to stand out in comparison to other managers.

His compliments, though laced with a lighthearted, teasing tone, had a subtle sincerity to them that [Name] couldn’t ignore. She had to admit—he had a way with words. But it was also clear that Oliver wasn’t just flirting for fun—there was a growing admiration in his eyes. The way he’d wink at her, or the moments when he’d seek her out to engage in small talk, made it feel like he was trying to carve out moments where he could connect with her outside of just training.

[Name], however, remained mostly oblivious to the deeper meaning behind his words. She was so focused on her responsibilities that she didn’t notice how his attempts to charm her were slowly changing into something more serious. She was a little unsure of how to react, not just because of Oliver’s flirtations but because, in the back of her mind, she still had worries about her appearance, especially compared to someone as striking and confident as him.

And so, Oliver’s charming yet somewhat playful nature became a puzzle she found herself unwillingly drawn to.

As Oliver finished his laps, he slowed down and jogged back to the group, glancing over his shoulder once more at [Name]. She stood there, a little flustered but trying to focus on her clipboard. Oliver grinned to himself, shaking his head.

“Guess I’ll just have to make sure I see you more often, manager,” he murmured under his breath, his gaze lingering for a second longer.

[Name], still caught up in the haze of his attention, blushed deeply as she wrote down his final lap time. Oliver Aiku, she thought, glancing at him as he jogged away. ‘Definitely a lot to deal with, but... I guess he’s not that bad.’

Sendo Shuuto ➺

The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the soccer field. The players had finished their laps for the day, but the air was still thick with the scent of sweat and grass, as some of the more energetic team members continued to practice on their own. The golden light caught the edges of the goalposts and the sleek blades of grass beneath them. [Name] stood at the sidelines, clipboard in hand, keeping track of the final practice sessions.

She had become accustomed to the rhythm of the players by now. The way they pushed themselves, their laughter, their teasing—all of it felt strangely familiar. Still, she stayed focused, occasionally making her way toward a player who needed a quick drink or a few words of encouragement.

It was at that moment that Sendo Shuuto, the star striker of the team, caught her eye. With his lean build and confidence practically oozing from his every movement, he was impossible to miss. He stood a few meters away, adjusting his position for a shot at the goal, an intense focus in his pale red eyes. [Name] smiled to herself as she watched him, knowing that he was known for his impressive skills—his talent was undeniable.

Sendo had been a little quieter around her than the others, but there was something in the way he observed her from a distance, the slight blush on his face whenever she offered him a compliment or encouragement. It was clear that he had taken a particular liking to her, though he hadn’t yet made his feelings known outright.

With a determined look on his face, Sendo kicked the ball with impressive force toward the goalpost, trying to show off his skills. But, as if fate had a different plan, the ball ricocheted off the post and unexpectedly flew straight toward the wall on the far side of the field.

There was a brief, almost comical silence, followed by a loud thwack as the ball bounced off the wall and came straight back toward Sendo. The ball hit him squarely on the head with a soft thud.

“Ow!” Sendo yelped, stumbling back a step, his face scrunching in pain as he tried to steady himself. His body rocked slightly as he rubbed the back of his head, wincing from the unexpected hit.

[Name], who had been walking toward him with a water bottle in hand, immediately froze. Her eyes widened in concern as she rushed to his side. “Sendo-kun! Are you alright?!”

Her voice was filled with genuine worry, and Sendo, still slightly dazed from the unexpected blow, couldn’t help but notice how close she was standing to him. His heart skipped a beat. ‘Oh no… did she see that?’ He tried to act tough, but his face flushed redder than he ever thought possible. “I’m fine... I mean, that wasn’t exactly part of the plan...” he muttered, still rubbing his head. He tried to smile it off, but the pain was more than he wanted to admit.

[Name’s] eyes softened with concern, and without a second thought, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “You really should be more careful! That looked like it hurt.”

Sendo couldn’t help but notice how soft her voice sounded, how close she was to him now. Her warm presence was so calming, so… beautiful. He tried to stand a little taller to impress her, but his head still throbbed from the impact.

She noticed his slight unsteadiness and, without thinking, gently guided him down onto the grass. “You should rest for a moment, Sendo-kun,” she suggested, her tone kind and caring. “I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

Before he could protest, [Name] kneeled down beside him, lifting his head gently onto her lap, a soft gasp escaping from his lips as the reality of the situation hit him. He could feel the warmth of her thighs against his cheek, her delicate fingers brushing through his hair as she checked his head.

The world around him seemed to slow. His heart pounded in his chest, and his thoughts went blank. ‘Wait... is this really happening?’

[Name’s] face was now directly above him, her soft, comforting voice reaching his ears as she spoke, “Just relax for a moment. I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

But in that instant, something inside Sendo snapped. He blinked rapidly, feeling his face grow hotter with each passing second. ‘Her... her lap?’ He could feel his pulse racing, his breath caught in his throat. He had been this close to girls before, sure, but never like this. Never with a girl who was as… perfect as her.

[Name’s] gentle touch, her concern for him, and her calm demeanor were like a dream. The way she looked down at him with those soft eyes... It was almost too much. The sweet scent of her hair, the sound of her voice, the closeness—it was overwhelming. ‘She’s so beautiful…’ he thought, his mind swirling in a sea of thoughts.

His heart was hammering now, and he felt something stir deep within him. His thoughts began to drift, and before he could even stop himself, his eyes fluttered closed, and he passed out.

[Name], still unaware of the full extent of what had just happened, blinked in confusion as she noticed his face grow pale and his body go limp. “Sendo-kun?! No, no! What’s going on?!” she exclaimed, panic rising in her chest.

She quickly shifted her position to check on him, her hands gently shaking his shoulders. “Sendo-kun, wake up! Are you okay?!”

His expression remained serene, almost too calm as if he were in a deep, peaceful sleep. But [Name] couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. She waved her hands in front of his face, trying to snap him back to reality, but there was no response.

Meanwhile, in the depths of his mind, Sendo Shuuto was lost in a dream. His mind was filled with images of him and [Name], the woman who had so suddenly and unexpectedly captured his heart. They were standing side by side at the altar, in a beautiful church with delicate roses scattered around them, the soft glow of candles lighting the way.

“I do,” he whispered, his voice smooth with confidence as he gazed into her eyes.

[Name], dressed in a stunning wedding gown, smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with affection. “I do, too,” she responded softly, her voice filled with warmth.

As they exchanged vows in his dream, Sendo felt his heart swell. In his fantasy world, nothing was more perfect than this moment. ‘This is how it’s supposed to be…’ he thought, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

But then, just as he leaned in to kiss her, the dream blurred, and a sharp, unexpected voice broke through the fantasy.

“Sendo-kun!” [Name’s] voice called out to him from the real world, pulling him back from his daydreams.

Sendo’s eyes slowly fluttered open, and he let out a weak groan, his head still in [Name’s] lap. His heart was racing, and his face burned hotter than it had ever felt before. ‘What... what just happened?’ he thought, trying to focus his thoughts.

[Name], still looking down at him with a concerned expression, tilted her head in confusion. “Sendo-kun, are you okay now?”

For a moment, he couldn’t form any words, his mind still trying to catch up with the rapid beat of his heart. But then, his lips curled into a sheepish grin, despite the overwhelming embarrassment. “I-I’m fine… Just... a little dizzy,” he stammered, his voice still soft from his dream-induced haze.

His face was still flushed, but it wasn’t from the hit. It was from the way [Name] was looking at him, the way she cared for him. He was too embarrassed to meet her gaze directly.

[Name] smiled gently and helped him sit up. “I’m glad you’re okay, but maybe you should take it easy for the rest of the day, okay?”

Sendo nodded, still feeling the weight of her touch in his mind. “Yeah… I’ll take it easy. But... thank you, [Name]-chan.” His voice had an underlying sincerity that he didn’t quite realize until now.

As she stood and walked away, he couldn’t stop the dreamy look in his eyes. Maybe one day... he thought to himself, his heart racing once more. ‘Maybe one day, she’ll really be mine.’

Kazuma Nio ➺

The air in the gym was thick with the sound of weights clanging against each other, mixed with the sharp breaths of players pushing themselves. The team was in the middle of their strength training session, and despite the hot, humid air, there was an undeniable energy in the room. The sound of machines being used, grunts of exertion, and motivational shouts filled the space, all blending together to create an atmosphere that was equal parts exhausting and inspiring.

[Name] stood to the side, her clipboard in hand as she made her way through her task of observing and noting each player's progress. Her gaze shifted over the team, each member focused on their individual exercises. Her eyes landed on Nio Kazuma, who was positioned at the far end of the gym near the bench press, his broad shoulders and powerful build evident as he gripped the heavy barbell.

Kazuma was known for his raw strength and the competitive streak that ran through him. His sweat-drenched shirt clung to his body, and the muscles in his arms and chest flexed as he pressed the barbell upward with ease. He was in the middle of a set, his face contorted in concentration as he pushed through the weight.

[Name] couldn't help but feel impressed by the sight. His confidence and sheer physicality were something to behold, but it was also clear from his focused expression that he didn’t take his training lightly.

As Kazuma finished his set, he released the bar with a loud clank, letting it drop back into place on the rack. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, exhaling deeply. [Name], seeing an opportunity to show some support, made her way toward him, her light footsteps barely making a sound on the gym floor.

Kazuma glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of [Name] walking toward him. His lips curved into a confident, cocky grin. He wiped his hands on his gym shorts and adjusted his posture, trying to make himself look even more imposing as she got closer.

[Name] gave him a friendly, genuine smile. “Kazuma-kun, I have to say, I’m really impressed with how much you’re pushing yourself,” she said, her voice filled with admiration.

Kazuma’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the attention. He straightened up, flexing his chest slightly in a way that made his muscles pop even more. “Ah, well, you know. I don’t settle for being just ‘good’ at something,” he said with a wink. “If you want to be the best, you’ve got to give it everything you’ve got.”

His voice had that usual confident edge, and there was an unmistakable arrogance in the way he spoke. But [Name] didn’t mind. She admired his enthusiasm and the way he carried himself—his confidence was contagious.

“You’re definitely showing that you’re giving it your all,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “It’s really inspiring to see someone put so much into their training. It makes the team look up to you.”

Kazuma chuckled, clearly pleased with the praise. He swiped a towel off the nearby bench and draped it over his shoulders, holding it like a trophy. “Well, I can’t let the guys think I’m slacking, can I? They need to know who the strongest guy in the room is.” He looked at her, his dark eyes glinting with that same cocky confidence. “And that’s me, of course.”

[Name] giggled softly at his boastful nature but couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of respect for him. His confidence wasn’t unfounded—he was clearly one of the strongest players on the team, and there was something about his attitude that made him stand out.

“I can tell,” she said, her eyes bright with admiration. “It’s hard to ignore the guy who pushes himself so hard.”

Kazuma smirked, clearly satisfied with the compliment. He stretched his arms above his head and gave a slight nod, as if acknowledging her words. “Well, someone’s gotta set the standard,” he said, lowering his arms and flashing her another confident smile. “And why not let it be me?”

[Name] chuckled, her cheeks flushing slightly from the ease with which Kazuma commanded the room. His personality was loud and assertive, but it was also oddly charming in a way that made him hard to ignore. “I don’t think anyone would argue with that.”

Kazuma took a few steps toward her, wiping his face with the towel. He seemed to grow even more comfortable with her presence, his posture relaxed but still brimming with self-assurance. “Hey, you’re doing a pretty great job keeping track of everything, [Name]-chan,” he said, his tone casual but tinged with genuine appreciation. “It’s gotta be tough, managing all these guys.”

[Name] smiled, a little flattered by the compliment. “It’s not easy, but I enjoy being part of the team,” she said, trying to sound modest. “I really like getting to know everyone and helping out however I can.”

Kazuma gave her a look that was half teasing, half approving. “Well, it’s clear you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, that’s for sure. Anyone with brains and a little charm like yours can do pretty much anything.”

The compliment hit her harder than expected, and she felt her face warm. Kazuma-kun, always so confident, she thought to herself, a little bashful but also genuinely impressed.

“You’re too kind,” she said, trying to regain her composure. “But I’m just here to make sure everyone stays on track. I’m just doing my job.”

Kazuma smirked, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Well, if it’s your job to make sure we’re all doing our best, then I guess I should show off a little more,” he said, his grin widening. “You know, just to make sure I’m living up to your expectations.”

[Name] laughed softly, her eyes twinkling. “You don’t need to show off for me, Kazuma-kun. You’ve already proven yourself plenty.” She tilted her head slightly, adding, “But I’m happy to see you take pride in your work.”

Kazuma chuckled, clearly pleased by her words. He gave her a playful shrug. “What can I say? It’s just in my nature. But don’t worry, I’ll leave some of the spotlight for the rest of the team too.”

[Name] smiled warmly at him, appreciating his straightforwardness. “I’m sure everyone appreciates that. It’s great to see you leading by example.”

Kazuma gave a quick nod, then glanced down at his watch. “Well, I should get back to it. Can’t let the rest of the team think I’m slacking off, right?”

“Of course,” [Name] said, watching him with a genuine smile. “Keep up the great work, Kazuma-kun. I’ll be cheering for you.”

Kazuma gave her a final grin, his cocky demeanor still very much intact. “You’ve got it, manager,” he said, before turning back toward the bench press. “I’ll make sure to keep impressing you.”

As Kazuma returned to his workout, [Name] stood off to the side, a small smile on her face as she watched him. His confidence was infectious, and despite his cocky nature, she couldn’t help but admire his drive. His ability to be both serious and relaxed in the same breath was something she found fascinating.

He really does have a way of making everything look effortless, [Name] thought, her admiration for Kazuma growing. I can see why he’s a leader on this team.

The gym felt a little quieter as the sound of weights and grunts took over once again. Yet, for [Name], Kazuma’s boldness and confidence lingered in the air. She could only hope that his energy would help lead the team to greater heights, just as his personality did for him.

Hayate Haru ➺

The late afternoon sun cast a soft golden light over the soccer field, creating a tranquil, almost dreamlike atmosphere. The sounds of the team’s training had started to die down as most of the players were finishing their workouts, their laughter and voices fading into the distance. The occasional breeze ruffled the leaves of the nearby trees, sending a refreshing coolness through the air.

In a quiet corner of the field, far away from the commotion of the others, Haru Hayate was laying on his back, eyes closed, arms stretched out at his sides as he enjoyed the peaceful solitude. His spiky light yellow hair seemed to glisten in the sunlight, and his tall, lean figure was perfectly still against the soft grass. Hayate was a person who valued calmness and quiet—he found solace in the simple act of soaking in the environment around him, far from the chaos of the training ground.

The world around him was peaceful, almost serene. The gentle rustling of the leaves, the faint chirp of birds in the distance, and the occasional flutter of a butterfly’s wings—these were the small things that he appreciated, the things that allowed him to reset and recharge.

[Name], having finished her rounds and ensuring everyone else was doing okay, was walking through the field, clipboard in hand. She was scanning the area for the last few team members to check in on, making sure everyone was hydrated and feeling good. Her eyes fell upon Hayate, who was still stretched out on the grass, seemingly undisturbed by the hustle and bustle around him. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him—his peaceful aura was a sharp contrast to the usual high-energy atmosphere of the field.

She quietly approached him, stepping lightly on the grass, not wanting to disturb his calm. As she drew closer, she looked down at his resting face, her gaze softening. There was something about the way he lay there, completely at ease, that made [Name] feel… relaxed. She admired how effortlessly he seemed to embrace tranquility.

The warmth of the sunlight made her feel at ease as well, and for a moment, she stood there just admiring the scene before her. The wind tugged at her hair, and she thought to herself that it was nice to have moments like this, where everything seemed to slow down and feel right.

Without thinking, [Name] leaned down slightly, wanting to get a little closer.

At that very moment, Hayate’s calm was interrupted by the faintest shift in the air. He felt a presence above him, a quiet disturbance in the atmosphere. His eyes fluttered open slowly, as if drawn to something. When he met [Name’s] gaze, his eyes widened in surprise.

"Ah!" Hayate gasped, his head jerking up instinctively in the direction of her sudden presence. His motion was too quick, and before he could stop it, he collided with her forehead with a soft thunk.

Both of them yelped in pain, the sound echoing across the otherwise quiet field.

“Ow! That hurt!” [Name] exclaimed, her hands immediately flying to her forehead. Her eyes were wide from the sudden shock, and she stumbled back a step, rubbing her head.

Hayate, also wincing from the accidental collision, quickly sat up, his hand going to his own head where it had made contact. “Ah, I’m sorry!” he said, his voice calm, but there was a hint of fluster in his expression as he glanced up at her. "I didn’t expect you to be right there…”

[Name] blinked in confusion but then let out a nervous laugh, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. “I was just checking in on you, Hayate-kun. I didn’t mean to startle you…” She winced slightly as she touched her forehead, still recovering from the bump. “That was quite the greeting.”

Hayate, rubbing his own head with a slightly sheepish expression, shook his head. “No, it’s my fault. I should’ve noticed you approaching. My bad…”

[Name] smiled gently, reassured by his calmness despite the accident. “It’s okay, really. I should have been more careful, too.”

Hayate gave her an easygoing smile, his eyes softening as he relaxed again. “Well, you’ve got me up now, so… what’s up? Was there something you needed?”

[Name], now standing fully upright, took a step back, her expression softening as she observed him more closely. “Actually, I was just making sure everyone was alright. You’ve been out here for a while, and I wanted to check in and see if you were feeling okay. You looked so at peace that I thought I’d let you enjoy it, but I guess I startled you…”

Hayate chuckled quietly, leaning back into the grass and letting out a deep breath. “It’s fine. I’ve just been enjoying the quiet for a bit. I like the feeling of the sun on my skin, and the wind…” His voice trailed off as he looked up at the sky, his eyes half-lidded in contentment. “I guess I needed a little break from all the noise, you know?”

[Name] nodded, understanding. She could see that he wasn’t just physically relaxed but mentally rejuvenated by the peaceful atmosphere. “I get it. Sometimes, the noise of everything can get overwhelming. It’s nice to just take a step back and breathe for a moment.”

Hayate turned his head slightly to look at her, his eyes softening with a rare warmth. “Exactly. That’s why I come here sometimes. It helps me clear my mind.”

[Name] smiled brightly at him, her eyes glimmering with interest. “I think that’s really nice. I mean, I always feel like I’m running around trying to make sure everyone’s doing alright, but there’s something special about taking time for yourself and just appreciating the moment.”

Hayate’s lips curved into a small, quiet smile at her words. “Yeah. It’s important to find peace wherever you can. And it’s not just the quiet; it’s the little things. The plants, the wind, the sky… it all works together to help me stay grounded.”

[Name] tilted her head curiously. “Plants?”

Hayate nodded slowly, his gaze drifting back to the small patch of grass surrounding them. “My grandfather’s a botanist. Growing up, I spent a lot of time with him, learning about different types of plants and the importance of nature. Being around plants helps me feel more connected, more… calm.” His voice took on a slightly nostalgic tone, as if remembering something meaningful. “The scenery here reminds me of the peace I found in those moments.”

[Name’s] expression softened as she took in his words. She hadn’t known that about him. “That sounds wonderful. I think it’s amazing how plants can bring such a sense of calm. Maybe… I should get you a little potted plant as a gift sometime.” She chuckled softly. “It seems fitting.”

Hayate looked at her in surprise, his lips twitching upward into a small, genuine smile. “I’d appreciate that,” he said quietly. “It’s the thought that counts.”

[Name’s] heart warmed as she smiled at him, her fingers gently brushing through her hair. “I’ll make a note of it. Maybe something that can help you feel even more at peace.”

Hayate stretched out his legs, his posture still completely relaxed. “I’ll look forward to it, then.”

The peaceful atmosphere settled around them once again. [Name] stood there for a moment, enjoying the stillness, as the sounds of the team’s training slowly faded into the background. It was nice, she thought, to have this quiet moment with him. His calm, collected nature was something she admired, and in a way, it made her feel just a little more grounded herself.

“Well,” she said, after a moment of quiet contemplation, “I’ll let you get back to your peace and quiet. I just wanted to check in.”

Hayate gave a slight nod, his expression still calm and serene. “Thanks for checking in, [Name]-chan. I’m good here.”

[Name] smiled brightly at him, nodding in return. “Alright then. Take care, Hayate-kun.”

As she walked away, Hayate lay back down on the grass, closing his eyes again, the soft breeze carrying his thoughts far away. [Name] couldn’t help but smile to herself, thinking that it was nice to see someone so at peace with themselves. She’d have to get him that plant one day.

Neru Teppei ➺

The day was slowly winding down, the sun beginning its descent and casting a warm golden light across the field. The sound of heavy breathing and the thud of soccer balls slowly faded as the last few players finished their grueling training sessions. The air felt slightly humid but refreshing, the smell of freshly cut grass mingling with the faint scent of sweat and determination.

[Name] had taken it upon herself to prepare some hearty meals for the team, wanting to ensure everyone refueled after such an intense practice. She had spent the better part of the morning making a large pot of curry, along with some other snacks, and now it was time to distribute the food to the players. She walked through the field with a large container in hand, her eyes scanning for players who might be in need of a break.

As she passed by the others, she saw many of them eagerly waiting for their meals, but her attention was soon drawn to Neru Teppei. He was sitting off to the side, leaning against a bench, looking completely drained. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his normally bright eyes were half-lidded, a clear sign that he was struggling to keep his energy up.

[Name’s] heart softened at the sight. Teppei was always so energetic and cheerful, and seeing him this tired made her want to help him even more.

She walked up to him with a bright smile, trying her best to lift his spirits. “Hey, Teppei-kun! You look like you’ve been working really hard! Want something to eat?”

Teppei, whose eyes were barely open, immediately perked up at the mention of food. “Food? Did you make food, [Name]-chan?” His voice was a little raspy from exhaustion, but there was a spark of excitement in his eyes at the thought of getting something to eat.

[Name] couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction. “Of course! I made curry for everyone. I figured it would be perfect to help everyone get their energy back after all that running.”

Teppei, despite being on the verge of passing out, sat up straighter, a wide grin forming on his face. “Curry?! That sounds amazing! I’m starving!”

[Name] smiled warmly, her heart swelling with affection for the team member she’d come to care so much about. She bent down slightly, holding out the spoon with a hearty helping of curry. “Here, Teppei-kun, let me feed you! You’ve earned it.”

Teppei’s face immediately turned a deep shade of red as he blinked up at her, surprised by the gesture. His usual cheerfulness didn’t seem to do much to calm his nerves in this moment—being fed by his manager was an overwhelming experience, and he couldn’t help but feel flustered. “W-wait, [Name]-chan, you don’t have to—!”

But before he could finish, [Name] was already bringing the spoon closer to his lips, her eyes full of care and warmth. “Don’t worry, Teppei! You’ve worked so hard today. Let me help you out.”

Teppei’s heart skipped a beat. He opened his mouth without thinking, and before he knew it, the warm curry was in his mouth. The flavors instantly hit his senses, and he couldn’t help but sigh in contentment, his eyes closing in satisfaction. “Mmm… this is so good, [Name]-chan! You’re amazing! I never knew you were such a good cook!” He smiled at her, his cheeks still flushed, both from the food and the moment itself.

[Name] chuckled softly, happy to see him enjoying the meal. “I’m glad you like it! It makes me happy to know that it’s helping everyone.”

Teppei couldn’t stop himself from looking at her with admiration. He had always thought she was kind, but this… this felt different. He felt a warmth growing in his chest—not just from the food, but from the kindness she was showing him. It made him feel special, and he couldn’t deny the butterflies in his stomach as he watched her smile.

As she fed him the next spoonful, [Name] looked down at him and asked, “So, Teppei-kun, tell me something about yourself. What do you like to do when you’re not training?”

Teppei’s eyes lit up as he eagerly replied, “Oh! I love Pokémon! They’re the best! My favorite is Pikachu. He’s just so cute and full of energy, like me! I’ve always wanted to be like him—positive, always there for my friends, and ready for any challenge!”

[Name’s] smile widened. “I love Pokémon too! My favorite is Pachirisu. I think she’s just adorable and so full of spirit. And she’s always so kind-hearted!”

Teppei’s face lit up even more, his excitement clearly evident. “Pachirisu! That’s a great choice! They’re both so cute! I bet they’d make an amazing team!”

[Name] giggled. “Right? I think they’d be the perfect pair. Maybe Pikachu and Pachirisu could be like… you and me!”

Teppei’s eyes widened in surprise at her words, and his heart skipped a beat. Did she… did she just compare herself to his favorite Pokémon? He blushed even harder, his mind racing. He couldn’t help but picture Pikachu and Pachirisu together, and for some reason, it felt right. In his mind, it was almost like a perfect metaphor for the bond he felt with his manager—he, the energetic and cheerful Pikachu, and her, the sweet and kind Pachirisu.

“You think so?” Teppei asked, his voice slightly shaky as he looked up at her with wide eyes, his blush deepening. “I… I like that idea a lot.”

[Name] smiled warmly at him, feeding him another spoonful of curry. “I’m glad! You’re such a hard worker, Teppei-kun. It’s nice to see someone with so much energy and spirit.”

As Teppei ate the food, he couldn’t stop thinking about her words. His heart was fluttering in his chest. There was something so comforting about [Name]—about her kindness and the way she made him feel special. He didn’t want this moment to end. He didn’t want her to go.

As she finished the meal and started to clean up, Teppei couldn’t help but ask, “[Name]-chan, do you think… we could hang out again sometime? Maybe talk a little more? I’d love to chat with you again…”

[Name] paused in her cleaning, turning back to him with a warm smile. “Of course, Teppei-kun! I’d love that. We can talk more once everything’s settled. It’ll be fun!”

Teppei’s heart soared. “I’ll be looking forward to it! Thanks, [Name]-chan.”

As [Name] walked off to clean up the rest of the mess, Teppei sat there, his heart racing, his mind filled with thoughts of Pikachu and Pachirisu—of him and his manager. His smile grew wider as he daydreamed about their next conversation.

Miroku Darai ➺

The gym was unusually quiet, the distant sounds of soccer balls bouncing and players shouting faintly in the background. The air was thick with a serene, peaceful atmosphere as sunlight poured through the large windows, casting soft shadows over the gym floor. There were weights neatly arranged in one corner and a few yoga mats scattered around, but the real center of attention was a single, calm space where a young man sat with perfect stillness.

Miroku Darai, the U-20 team’s spiritual soul, sat cross-legged on a yoga mat in the center of the gym, his black eyes closed in deep meditation. His dark skin contrasted against the faint golden light around him, and his henna tattoos along his arms and neck gave off an aura of calm, almost sacred presence. His breathing was slow and steady, the rhythmic hum of his chant adding to the peaceful energy of the room. He was completely absorbed in the practice, tuning out everything around him as he focused on the stillness within.

[Name] walked into the gym, her usual light-hearted energy trailing behind her. She had a small notebook tucked under her arm, planning to jot down some things for the team’s upcoming schedule. She didn’t expect to find anyone here—let alone Darai in the midst of his peaceful meditation. However, her intentions to keep things quiet were thwarted as she accidentally pushed the door just a little too hard, causing it to slam shut.

The loud thud of the door breaking the stillness made Darai’s eyes snap open, his sharp gaze now fixed on the source of the disturbance. He exhaled sharply, the calm that once enveloped him momentarily broken. The tranquility of the gym seemed to vanish in an instant as he stared at the person who had dared to interrupt his peace.

[Name’s] eyes widened in realization, her cheeks turning red from the embarrassment. She quickly bowed deeply, her words tumbling out in rapid apology.

“I-I’m so sorry, Darai-kun! I didn’t mean to disturb you! I didn’t see you there! Please forgive me!” She bowed again, the sincerity in her voice clear.

Darai let out a long, deep sigh, his lips curling into a slight smile as he observed her flustered form. He had always been a man of few words, and though he had a natural gravitas, his personality was far from harsh. He exhaled slowly, then spoke with an air of calm that returned to him quickly.

“It’s... fine,” he said, his voice deep and soothing, though tinged with a hint of exhaustion from having his peaceful moment interrupted. “It’s not the end of the world, just... a little disruption.” His tone was almost dismissive, as if not holding any ill will, yet still clearly yearning for the peace he had lost.

[Name] straightened, her bowing ceasing, though her expression was still full of concern. “I didn’t mean to bother you while you were meditating. What were you doing, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Darai’s eyes flickered slightly, considering her question. Meditation was something deeply personal to him, a moment of reflection and calm in a world full of chaos. His thoughts paused for a moment before he spoke again.

“I was meditating. Trying to find balance in the chaos,” Darai replied quietly, his gaze thoughtful. “The world is constantly shifting, filled with... noise. I need peace to clear my mind.”

[Name’s] eyes softened, sensing the sincerity in his words. She had always admired how Darai seemed to possess an inner calm, as if he had mastered the art of controlling his mind. It intrigued her, and she found herself drawn to the peacefulness he radiated.

“I can understand that,” [Name] said gently. “It’s hard to find peace in the middle of everything, isn’t it?”

Darai slowly nodded, his gaze turning back to the floor, as if grounding himself again. He didn’t speak for a moment, allowing the room to fill with silence once more. But then, [Name] took a step forward, her voice light but eager.

“Would you mind if I joined you? I don’t know much about meditation, but... I think it would be nice to try.”

Darai’s eyes opened once again, and he glanced at her with slight surprise. For a moment, his usual reluctance to engage in conversation was evident, but he seemed to take in her genuine interest, and his gaze softened. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“If you wish,” Darai said, a rare warmth in his voice. “The peace is not exclusive. Anyone who seeks it is welcome.”

[Name] smiled in return, grateful for his openness. She moved to sit beside him on the mat, copying his posture as best as she could. She folded her legs underneath her and straightened her back, though her mind was racing with excitement and curiosity.

As they sat in silence, the only sounds were the rhythmic hum of Darai’s chanting and the soft sound of breathing between them. [Name] couldn’t help but feel that even in the silence, something unspoken passed between them—an understanding, a bond.

“You have a really calming aura, Darai-kun,” [Name] said, her voice soft and sincere as she sat with her eyes closed, attempting to focus on the stillness. “I can see why so many people gravitate toward you. Your meditation… it’s beautiful.”

Darai’s eyes flickered open, a hint of surprise crossing his expression. He felt his heart skip a beat, a rare sense of fluster hitting him. Why is my heart racing? He thought to himself, as the sudden compliment caused his usual calm demeanor to waver.

Her words echoed in his mind—beautiful. The way she appreciated his practice made him feel a little more seen than usual. It wasn’t often that others took interest in his spiritual side, especially in a world so focused on the physicality of soccer. But [Name’s] earnestness felt different.

“Thank you,” Darai murmured, his voice almost a whisper. He cleared his throat, attempting to refocus. “I believe in balance. Yin and Yang. Life needs both sides to work harmoniously. You can only find peace once you accept both the calm and the chaos.”

[Name] nodded, her eyes still closed as she let his words sink in. She could sense that Darai had a wisdom beyond his years, a quiet strength that came from within. It made her feel connected to him in a way that went beyond mere words.

They continued to meditate in silence, the room becoming even more still as time passed. [Name] found herself relaxing deeply, her mind becoming clearer with each breath she took. For the first time in a long while, she felt completely at ease, sharing a peaceful moment with someone who valued serenity as much as she did.

Cho Kento ➺

The locker room was quiet except for the faint sounds of the occasional rustle of towels and shoes. It was a dimly lit space, the golden glow of the setting sun filtering in through the windows, casting long shadows on the polished floor. The air carried a faint, musky scent of sweat and the lingering freshness of a workout just completed. In the corner, there was a small area with padded mats where players sometimes took a moment to rest or stretch.

Kento Cho, the tall, handsome, and stern member of the U-20 soccer team, sat on one of the benches. His expression was serious, but his furrowed brow hinted at the discomfort he was feeling. His dark hair was still damp from the practice, and his body, which was perfectly sculpted from his rigorous training routine, seemed a little tense. He had been pushing himself hard lately—staying disciplined in both his training and diet, always striving to improve—but something had gone wrong. He felt a sharp, painful pop in his lower back earlier while working through an intense set of exercises, and now the discomfort had settled in.

He was used to pushing through physical pain, but this was different. It felt like something needed to be addressed, or else it could get worse.

Looking over at the door to the locker room, he caught sight of [Name] [Surename], the manager of the team. She was busy tidying up and checking her clipboard, her usual cheerful expression on her face. She had been a steady, supportive presence for the team, always there to help with anything they needed.

Kento hesitated for a moment, then walked over to her. He could see she was immersed in her tasks, and he almost didn’t want to bother her. But the pain was becoming harder to ignore. He cleared his throat.

“[Name],” Kento said, his voice calm but tinged with discomfort. “I... I think I hurt myself during training. There’s this tightness in my back. Do you think you could help me with it?”

[Name] looked up, her eyes widening in concern. She noticed the slight grimace on Kento’s face and immediately put down the clipboard she had been holding.

“Of course! What happened? Is it bad?” she asked, her voice full of concern as she stood up, walking toward him. Her genuine care was apparent, and she was ready to offer her help.

Kento rubbed the back of his neck, his usual stern demeanor softening slightly under the weight of the discomfort. “I think I might’ve pulled something, or it just... popped when I was stretching. It’s a bit painful now. I was hoping you could maybe give me a massage or something. It’s nothing too serious, but... I just need it to feel better.”

[Name] nodded, her brow furrowing with empathy. She had seen the way Kento worked—always so focused, so determined—and she hated to see him in pain. She gestured for him to sit down on the bench, where she had already noticed the soft cushions. She felt a little nervous, but she knew she could help. After all, she had experience with giving her friends and teammates massages before.

“Alright, please take a seat. I’ll do my best to help you out,” [Name] said with a reassuring smile, trying to keep her own unease in check. She gently patted the spot next to her on the bench, encouraging Kento to sit.

Kento did as she asked, slowly lowering himself onto the bench. His eyes closed for a moment, silently grateful for her willingness to help him.

[Name] stood behind him, moving around to his back. Her hands were slightly trembling as she touched his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles that were tense from the strain he had put on them during his workout. Her heart beat a little faster, realizing how close she was to him, how his shirtless form gave her a view of his well-toned body, and how she was about to touch him in a way she had never done before.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, pushing aside her personal thoughts, focusing on her task. She began by gently massaging his shoulders, her fingers pressing into the tight knots in his muscles. Kento let out a small sigh of relief at the pressure being applied to the spots that had been causing him pain.

“That’s... better,” Kento murmured, his voice low and calm. He could feel the tension slowly ebbing away, and it brought a quiet sense of peace. “You’re really good at this, [Name]. I didn’t know you were trained in this sort of thing.”

[Name] smiled, though her cheeks flushed slightly at his compliment. “I’m not exactly trained, but I’ve helped out with my friends before. I’m really glad it’s helping.”

Her hands moved further down his back, applying gentle but firm pressure as she worked on his lower back. As her hands made contact with his skin, she couldn’t help but feel the warmth radiating from his body. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the clean, sweaty scent of post-practice—it was almost intoxicating. [Name] quickly turned her attention back to her task, focusing on the sensation of his muscles relaxing beneath her touch.

Kento leaned back slightly, his eyes closing in relaxation. He could feel his body letting go of the tension, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to relax fully. “You’ve got a really good touch,” he murmured, his voice now almost quiet, filled with appreciation. “I think... I think I might’ve been too hard on myself lately. I don’t always know when to stop pushing.”

[Name’s] hands paused for a moment as she heard his words. She could hear the underlying frustration in his voice, the weight of his dedication to always strive for the best. “Kento, you’re already working so hard. You don’t have to do everything all at once,” she said, her voice warm but firm. “It’s okay to take breaks when your body tells you it needs one.”

Kento stayed silent for a moment, and then he exhaled deeply, as if he were releasing some of his own internal tension. He didn’t usually talk about his limits. He always had this intense drive to be better, to be perfect. But hearing [Name’s] reassuring words, he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t realized he needed.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with a sense of gratitude. “You’re right.”

[Name] smiled softly, her hands continuing their soothing motions. She had never expected such a heartfelt moment to arise from something as simple as helping him with a massage. It felt like she was getting to see a different side of Kento—one that was more vulnerable and human.

As she continued to ease the tension from his back, [Name] couldn’t help but feel a little flustered by the proximity and the way his muscles shifted beneath her touch. She had always admired Kento’s strong and disciplined nature, but this more relaxed side of him was... surprisingly endearing. It made her realize just how much she enjoyed being close to him, even in such an intimate moment, helping him to feel better.

Kento’s eyes opened after a few minutes, and he shifted slightly, turning his head slightly to look at her. “I’m really grateful for this, [Name],” he said quietly, his voice almost soft. “I’ll... try to take things a little easier from now on.”

[Name] nodded, her smile widening. “I’m glad I could help. Take care of yourself, Kento. You’re doing amazing, but even the strongest people need to rest.”

Kento looked over his shoulder at her, his serious expression softening with a hint of admiration. “Thanks. You’re always so kind... I’ll keep that in mind.”

The two shared a quiet moment of understanding before [Name] finished the massage. Kento stood up with a slow stretch, feeling the relief in his back. He was grateful for the care she had shown him and the peace she had given him during his moment of pain.

Wakatsuki Itsuki➺

The soft hum of the night was the only sound that filled the dormitory. Most of the team had long since fallen asleep after a long and tiring day of training. The quietness of the building felt peaceful, with the occasional sound of distant crickets outside. The cool night air seeped through the slightly cracked windows, adding a calm, almost serene atmosphere to the space.

The lights in the hallway were dim, casting soft shadows along the floor, and the quiet murmur of the wind outside was the only thing that could be heard. Inside one of the rooms, Wakatsuki Itsuki lay on his futon, his eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. His body was still, but his mind was restless.

Itsuki had always struggled with sleep. The quiet of the night was supposed to bring comfort, but instead, it only amplified the thoughts racing through his head. He flipped over onto his side and pulled the blanket tighter around him, trying to find a comfortable position. But no matter how much he tossed and turned, he couldn't find any peace. The quiet was deafening, and his insomnia was taking its usual toll on him.

Finally, after what felt like hours of tossing and turning, he gave up on trying to sleep. He quietly slipped out from under his blanket, careful not to wake his teammates. The cold wooden floor felt oddly comforting under his bare feet as he padded softly to the door.

He crept down the hallway, his black hair falling over his eyes as he tried to sneak past the others' rooms. His footsteps were light, but his mind was still racing with thoughts he couldn’t quite shake. He made his way toward the kitchen area, hoping a glass of water might help soothe the restlessness that refused to leave him.

But as he turned a corner, his hand brushed the doorframe, and he stumbled slightly. He lost his balance, and before he could steady himself, he collided with someone else.

“Ah!” a startled voice exclaimed as both figures bumped into each other. Itsuki’s heart skipped a beat as he quickly took a step back, trying to apologize for his clumsiness.

“I-I’m so sorry!” Itsuki stammered, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He immediately looked down at the floor, feeling awkward and unsure of what to do.

[Name] [Surename], the team’s manager, was standing there with wide eyes, clearly surprised by the collision. Her face softened, and she giggled softly, brushing a few strands of her long black hair out of her face.

“No need to apologize, Itsuki!” she said with a warm, reassuring smile. “It’s no big deal. Are you okay?”

Itsuki looked up quickly, his gaze meeting hers for a brief moment. The contact made his heart race even faster, and he felt his cheeks burn with a sudden, intense heat. He quickly nodded, too embarrassed to say much else. The warmth from her smile made him feel even more self-conscious, and he found himself frozen in place, unsure of how to respond.

“I’m... I’m fine,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. The quietness of his words made him feel even more timid and small.

[Name] tilted her head, her smile still soft and kind. “You’re sure? You look a little tired,” she said gently. “It’s pretty late, too. Are you having trouble sleeping?”

Itsuki was caught off guard by how perceptive she was. He nodded again, though his head was lowered slightly in embarrassment. “I... I can’t sleep,” he whispered, the words barely leaving his lips. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was feeling vulnerable now. “I just... I didn’t want to wake anyone.”

[Name’s] eyes softened even further as she stepped closer to him. She could tell that Itsuki was trying to hide his discomfort, but she could see right through it. She didn’t want him to feel alone or restless, especially when the team needed to be well-rested for the next day’s training.

“Well... if you’re feeling restless, maybe you could come with me to my room?” [Name] offered, her tone warm and inviting. “It’s a little quieter there. I could make sure you get some rest, if you’d like.”

Itsuki froze for a moment, his mind racing with uncertainty. The idea of being in a room alone with [Name] was both comforting and terrifying at the same time. He wasn’t used to being so close to someone else—especially not someone as warm and friendly as her. But he didn’t want to refuse her kindness. After a few moments of internal hesitation, he finally whispered, “I-I don’t want to be a bother…”

[Name] smiled gently and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s no trouble at all, Itsuki,” she said softly, her voice soothing. “I just want you to feel comfortable and get some sleep. I’ll be there if you need anything.”

Her kindness eased his anxiety a little. He nodded, though he still felt a little flustered. “Thank you...”

[Name] led him down the hallway toward her room. The door creaked slightly as she opened it, revealing the cozy, quiet space inside. A futon was already set up on the floor, and there was a faint scent of lavender in the air from the small sachet near the window. The soft lighting from a nearby lamp created a peaceful, calming atmosphere.

“There we go,” [Name] said with a smile. “This should be a little more comfortable for you. I’ll just sleep here on the futon too. You’re not bothering me, I promise.”

Itsuki hesitated for a moment, his cheeks turning pink again. The idea of lying next to her was almost too much for him to handle, but he knew she just wanted to help. “I... thank you,” he whispered again.

[Name] made sure to fluff the blankets and settled down beside him on the futon. “Just relax, okay?” she said gently. “You can rest now.”

For a moment, they both lay there in the soft silence, the only sound being the gentle rustle of the sheets and the soft rhythm of their breathing. Itsuki tried to calm his racing heart, feeling incredibly self-conscious and nervous next to her. But [Name] didn’t seem to mind. She just smiled softly and looked over at him, her eyes sparkling in the low light.

After a few moments, she began humming a gentle tune, one that was soothing and peaceful, like a lullaby. Itsuki felt his eyelids grow heavy as the soft melody lulled him into a peaceful daze. The soft, calming sound was like a weight being lifted from his chest, and soon, he found himself drifting off to sleep.

His breathing slowed, and he let out a soft sigh of relief as he finally succumbed to the sleep he had been fighting for so long. [Name], noticing that he had finally relaxed, gently tucked him in, her fingers brushing the top of his head as she smiled to herself.

As she lay down next to him, she hummed softly again, the sound filling the room like a gentle breeze. Soon, she too drifted into slumber, her own heart warmed by the quiet peace of the moment.

Kitsunenzato Teru ➺

The day had been long, filled with intense training sessions and moments of both frustration and triumph. The team had worked hard, pushing themselves to their limits, and now it was time for a brief break before heading to dinner. The locker room buzzed with the sounds of teammates chatting, some laughing, and others still catching their breath from the workout.

[Name] [Surename] was standing near the door, her notebook in hand, jotting down notes about the day’s training and team dynamics. She’d always been so caught up in organizing and helping out the team, but there was something special about these small moments she shared with each of the members. Tonight, though, she found her gaze drawn toward one particular player: Kitsunenzato Teru, the cheerful and optimistic forward with light salmon-colored hair and his signature panda-like nose.

Teru had been chatting with a few of his teammates, but as soon as he noticed [Name’s] presence, he waved at her with a bright smile, his signature blue doe eyes sparkling in the dim light of the locker room. [Name] waved back, her usual grin spreading across her face as she walked over toward him.

“Hey, [Name]!” Teru greeted her, his energy always so infectious. “I was actually hoping you could help me with something.”

[Name] tilted her head, genuinely curious. “Sure! What is it?”

Teru’s smile widened, and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well… it’s my hair. I’ve been trying to tie it into a bun for a while, but I just can’t seem to do it the way I want.” He sighed dramatically, his eyes sparkling with a playful glint. “Do you think you could help me out?”

[Name] couldn’t help but laugh softly at his cute antics. Teru always had this ability to make things feel lighthearted, no matter the situation. She nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! I’d be happy to help. Let’s see what we can do.”

Teru led her to a nearby bench where he sat down, giving her an exaggerated bow. “Thank you so much, [Name]! I’ve been really struggling with this.”

[Name] chuckled and knelt down in front of him, her fingers already reaching for his soft hair. She picked up a brush from her bag and started to run it through his light salmon strands, gently untangling any knots that had formed.

As she worked, they began chatting, sharing stories and exchanging jokes, with Teru constantly offering playful comments and making her laugh. The atmosphere was warm, comfortable, like a quiet bubble where it was just the two of them, outside the chaos of the rest of the team.

“You know,” [Name] said, as she worked on the final touches, “I think you’d make a pretty good hairstylist with how much you care about your hair.” She smirked teasingly.

Teru blinked in mock offense, his hands going to his hips. “Hey, I take my hair very seriously, alright? Gotta look good on and off the field, you know? It’s all about presentation!”

[Name] giggled, her fingers deftly tying the final loop of the bun. “I can tell! But honestly, it’s not bad at all. It suits you.”

Teru beamed at her, a proud twinkle in his eye. “Really? You think so? I’ve never had someone tie it for me before. I think I might even keep it like this for the next game.”

[Name] smiled, stepping back to admire her handiwork. His bun was neat, secure, and definitely looked more polished than the usual messy style. “There we go,” she said with satisfaction, brushing her hands off. “I think it looks great.”

Teru jumped up from the bench, his face lighting up with joy as he twirled in front of her, showing off the new hairstyle. “Wow, this looks awesome! I can’t believe I’ve been struggling with this for so long!”

[Name] watched him with a fond smile, her heart warmed by his unbridled enthusiasm. “I’m glad you like it! You look amazing, Teru.”

Before she could react, Teru took a step toward her, and in a sudden burst of affection, he wrapped her in a tight hug. [Name] froze, taken aback by the sudden warmth of his embrace, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Teru’s hug was sincere, his energy and gratitude pouring into the simple act.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he said, his voice muffled as he held her tightly. “I’m so happy with it, [Name]. You really helped me out!”

[Name] blinked, her face flushing slightly, but she quickly recovered. She smiled warmly and returned the hug, her arms gently wrapping around his back. “I’m happy I could help, Teru,” she said softly. “I’m always here if you need anything.”

The hug lasted just a moment longer before Teru pulled back, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re the best, [Name]!” he exclaimed. “I’ll owe you a snack or something later, okay?”

[Name] laughed, brushing a few strands of her own hair behind her ear. “No need to owe me anything! It was fun.”

Teru winked at her, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. “I insist! A snack is definitely in order for such a fine hairstyle.”

She chuckled, feeling her heart warm at the interaction. Teru always knew how to lift her spirits. “Alright, alright. But only if it’s something really sweet.”

Teru gave a mock salute, his grin growing wider. “You got it! A sweet treat for the sweet manager!”

As the two of them laughed and continued their conversation, the locker room felt just a little bit brighter. Even with the chaos of the training sessions, moments like these—where the team came together, laughing and supporting one another—were what truly made [Name] feel that she was part of something special. Teru’s kindness, like the rest of the team’s, filled her with warmth, and she couldn’t help but feel grateful for the chance to be a part of their lives.

Gen Fukaku ➺

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow through the windows of the training facility. The last of the players were finishing up their cooldown exercises, some stretching on mats and others talking in groups. [Name] [Surename] was in the corner of the room, organizing her notes on the day's training, but her thoughts were somewhere else. She had spent the day with the team, bonding with each player, but there was one player she hadn't spent much time with yet: Gen Fukaku, the team's serious and reserved goalkeeper.

Fukaku had always been somewhat of an enigma. His serious demeanor, combined with his tendency to keep to himself, made him hard to approach. While the other players seemed to have their personalities shine through in their interactions with [Name], Fukaku remained a mystery to her. But she knew he was just as much a part of the team, and she wanted to show him that he was seen and appreciated as much as the others.

As she stood up, deciding to take a small break from her work, she looked around and spotted him. Fukaku Gen was sitting near the far end of the room, his tall frame hunched slightly as he tied his shoes. His expression, as always, was serious, and his eyes focused on the task at hand.

[Name] took a deep breath and walked over to him, carrying a small tin of homemade cookies she had baked earlier. She had been looking forward to sharing them with the team, but something about Fukaku’s quiet nature made her especially want to offer him a sweet treat.

When she approached him, he didn’t immediately acknowledge her presence, his attention still on his shoes. [Name] hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Hey, Fukaku,” she said softly, her voice gentle yet filled with warmth. “I made some sweets for the team today. Would you like one?”

Fukaku paused for a moment, his hands still holding his shoe laces. He glanced up at her, surprise flickering in his brown eyes. “You… made these for us?” His voice was low, almost hesitant, as though he didn’t quite believe it.

[Name] nodded, offering the tin with a smile. “Yeah! I thought you might like one. They’re cookies. I hope you like them.”

For a moment, Fukaku just stared at the tin, his expression unreadable. [Name] felt a bit nervous under his gaze but held the tin out for him, her smile never wavering. Finally, he sighed softly and slowly took the tin from her hand. He opened it, picking out a cookie and inspecting it carefully as though evaluating its quality.

[Name] stood there, watching him with a soft, patient smile, her hands clasped together in front of her.

Fukaku didn’t say anything right away. He broke off a small piece of the cookie and took a bite. [Name’s] heart raced a little as she waited for his response. The silence between them stretched for a few moments before he finally looked up, his brown eyes meeting hers.

“…It’s good,” he said, his voice as serious as ever. “Very sweet. You did a good job.”

[Name] beamed at the compliment, feeling her cheeks warm. She had been a little unsure if he would even enjoy the cookies, considering how reserved he was, but hearing him speak so honestly about it made her feel a sense of accomplishment.

“I’m glad you like it!” she said enthusiastically, her voice brightening. “If you want, I can bake more for you sometime.”

Fukaku’s expression softened just a touch, and [Name] noticed the slight change. It was subtle, but it was there. He placed the cookie tin down beside him, and for a moment, he just looked at her quietly.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, his voice quieter this time, almost as if he was trying to make himself more vulnerable. “But... thank you. No one’s ever done something like this for me.”

[Name’s] heart ached a little at his words, and she bent down slightly to get on his level, her eyes filled with genuine care. “Well, I just wanted to show you that I appreciate you, Fukaku. You’re a big part of the team, and I’m really glad you’re here.”

Fukaku blinked, his eyebrows furrowing as if processing her words. He wasn’t used to being so openly praised or shown kindness. His brow furrowed slightly, and he looked down at the tin again, his fingers brushing over the cookies.

“…I’m not good at talking,” he admitted after a beat, his voice more vulnerable than she had ever heard it. “I don’t… say much. But I do care about the team.”

[Name] smiled softly, understanding that words weren’t always Fukaku’s forte. She placed a hand on his shoulder, a simple gesture meant to convey her appreciation. “I know. You don’t have to say anything to prove how much you care. Your actions speak louder than words.”

For the briefest moment, Fukaku’s face softened, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked at her, then back down at the cookie tin, his fingers playing with the edge. “You’re different, [Name],” he said quietly, more to himself than to her. “Most people just see the expression, the quiet... they don’t see beyond it.”

[Name’s] heart fluttered, and she nodded gently. “I see you, Fukaku. You don’t have to be anyone else around me.”

The air between them grew comfortable, and Fukaku slowly took another cookie, this time without hesitation. He didn’t smile, but the small gesture—him accepting the cookie and acknowledging her presence in his own way—spoke volumes.

“Thank you,” he said again, this time with a quiet sincerity that made [Name’s] heart swell. “I’ll… I’ll try to make more time for these things.”

[Name] smiled brightly, her chest feeling warm at the unexpected bond they were forming. “Anytime, Fukaku. I’m always here if you want to talk—or if you want more sweets.”

Fukaku chuckled softly, his expression still stoic but with a slight softening in his eyes. “Maybe just a little more.”

As she walked away to continue her rounds, [Name] felt a renewed sense of connection with the team. It wasn’t always about grand gestures or words; sometimes, just sharing a simple moment of kindness was all it took to make someone feel seen.

-`♡´-

-`♡Our Manager♡´-

The day had been long—too long, if [Name] were being honest. She had spent hours tracking the players' training progress, handing out water, taking notes, and making sure every one of them had what they needed to perform at their best. It was rewarding, of course, but the exhaustion was starting to catch up with her.

As the last few players finished their individual drills, [Name] took a moment to sit at the table in the team office. Her head rested in her hands as she tried to catch her breath. The hum of the lights and the occasional shuffle of feet filled the otherwise quiet space.

She yawned, stretching her arms overhead. Her eyes were heavy, and despite trying to stay alert, she couldn’t fight the pull of sleep much longer. Slowly, her eyes fluttered closed, and her head drooped toward the desk. The paperwork that had piled up throughout the day became too much for her to keep her focus on, and in the end, she simply succumbed to the fatigue, drifting off to sleep on the table, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

The room was still, save for the occasional sound of footsteps echoing down the hall. Unbeknownst to her, the team had noticed her fall asleep, each one of them quietly observing their manager as she rested.

-`♡´-

Haru Hayate was the first to notice. The tall, calm player glanced over from the doorway, his usual serene demeanor softening with concern. Seeing [Name], slumped over at the table, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. He knew how hard she had worked that day. Without a word, he stepped quietly into the room, a light breeze of calm following him as he moved to cover her.

Gently, he draped a blanket over her, ensuring she was comfortable. The soft fabric rustled as he settled it over her shoulders. He paused for a moment, just watching her as she slept, a small smile tugging at his lips. The peace that surrounded her in that moment was rare in the busy training facility, and it reminded him of how much the team appreciated her.

As he left, he whispered, “Rest well, [Name].”

-`♡´-

Kitsunenzato Teru was next to come in. His bright and cheery energy had a slight hum of excitement even now as he saw [Name] sleeping. The sight of her exhaustion struck him, and he wanted to do something nice for her, something small to show his appreciation.

He quickly found a small snack on the counter, a bar of chocolate that he knew would provide a burst of energy once she woke. He placed it beside her on the table, with a small note that simply read, “A little treat for the best manager!” He grinned at his handiwork and took a step back, admiring his thoughtful gesture.

“Sweet dreams, manager,” he whispered with a wink before quietly leaving the room.

-`♡´-

Miroku Darai, always in touch with his inner peace, stood outside the door, observing with quiet understanding. He saw how [Name] had given her all to the team that day. Her exhaustion was clear, and while she may not have asked for help, Darai felt the need to offer her something soothing.

He entered the room and quietly prepared a cup of tea—chamomile and honey, the perfect remedy for a long day. He placed the warm cup next to her, the steam curling up in the air, the aroma soothing and calming. A small note accompanied it: “For rest and relaxation. May you find peace in this cup.”

With a quiet nod, Darai left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

-`♡´-

Sendou Shuuto walked in next. His loud and boisterous personality had been subdued for once, replaced by a quiet concern as he surveyed the sleeping [Name]. He couldn’t help but notice how much she had taken on during the day. In an act of kindness, he gently gathered up the scattered papers she had been working on and neatly organized them into a pile, ensuring everything was in order.

As he worked, he couldn’t resist glancing over at her. She was still so serene in her sleep, and it made him smile softly. Before leaving, he jotted down a quick note, scrawling, “For the best manager ever—don’t overwork yourself!” and placed it on top of the papers. With a final smile, he quietly exited.

-`♡´-

Oliver Aiku, always the flirt, couldn’t help but notice [Name’s] peaceful slumber as he passed by the open door. He stopped for a moment, watching her, and a small grin spread across his face. As he entered, he silently watched her for a beat, before picking up a sticky note and scribbling something quickly.

“You’re amazing. Don’t push yourself too hard. Take care of yourself!”

He placed it gently on her desk, right by her hand, and with a last glance at the peaceful manager, he quietly slipped out of the room, his heart swelling with a protective feeling he rarely showed.

-`♡´-

Kento Cho, ever the serious one, took one last look around the training facility, his eyes scanning for any unfinished tasks. As he passed the office, he saw [Name] resting on the desk. He paused, walking over to her silently. His hand hovered for a moment before he gently placed a bottle of water next to her.

The note he left was short and simple, but meaningful: “Stay hydrated. Don’t forget to take care of yourself.”

He sighed, shaking his head as if to remind himself to take his own advice. With one final glance, he turned and quietly left.

-`♡´-

Neru Teppei was next. He grinned as he spotted the sleeping manager, her exhaustion clear. Unlike the others, Teppei couldn’t resist one more playful gesture. He grabbed a bright sticky note and scribbled something silly: “Pikachu and Pachirisu forever! Rest up, manager!”

With that, he quickly grabbed a sweet treat, a small cupcake he had stashed away, and placed it near her hand. Teppei gave one last, heartfelt smile and crept out of the room, his heart light with the affection he felt for their manager.

-`♡´-

Itsuki Wakatsuki had been standing outside for some time, uncertain if he should enter. But seeing everyone else leave, he decided to slip in quietly. As a gentle, introverted person, he didn’t want to disturb her rest, but he wanted to leave something behind to show his appreciation.

He quietly placed a small note by her side, written in his delicate handwriting: “Thank you for always being there for us. Please get some rest.”

With a deep breath and a tiny, bashful smile, he left the room without a sound.

-`♡´-

Fukaku Gen, ever the serious one, took a moment to consider the situation. He saw his manager sleeping soundly, her exhaustion apparent. He silently stepped over to her desk and placed a simple note beside her: “Take care of yourself. You’re appreciated more than you know.” It was brief, but in his usual quiet way, it conveyed everything he wanted to say.

Fukaku turned, leaving the room with nothing more than a soft sigh.

-`♡´-

Nio Kazuma, the final one to peek in, stood quietly at the doorway, watching his manager sleep. He had witnessed her effort firsthand that day. He could tell that she was the type of person who always gave everything, even when it wasn’t asked of her. With a small smile, he left a note beside her with a few simple words: “Rest well, manager. You’ve earned it.”

-`♡´-

[Name] slowly stirred from her nap, stretching lazily as she blinked her eyes open. Her body was sore from the long day, but there was something oddly comforting about the scene before her. She looked around the desk and found that the chaos of papers was now neatly organized. There was a warm cup of tea by her side, a blanket gently draped over her shoulders, and a sweet treat waiting for her. A small smile tugged at her lips as she read the notes that had been left for her.

“For the best manager ever—don’t overwork yourself!” “Stay hydrated. Don’t forget to take care of yourself.” “Pikachu and Pachirisu forever!” and many more words of encouragement and care from her players.

Her heart swelled with gratitude as she took in the small gestures from each of them. She silently thanked her team for being so thoughtful, for looking out for her, and for making her feel appreciated.

As she stood, stretching once more, she felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and affection. Though the day had been long and taxing, this quiet moment made it all worth it.

-`♡´-

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[pluckyredhead]

“I have larger thoughts about how DC has kind of written themselves into a hole with Jason and now he's stuck in this limbo that's unsatisfying to everyone which is why so many Jason fans are mad all the time, but that's for another ask.”

🤓 Do tell…

Okay, let's see if I can do this in less than a thousand words!

So Jason, at his core, represents a challenge to Bruce's ideology, right? Bruce's #1 rule is No Killing, and Jason's basic idea is: "That doesn't work. Some villains are bad enough that they have to be killed for the greater good." (There's something very funny about Jason, famously undead, thinking killing stops ANYONE in the DCU, but we'll leave that aside for now.) This is a really interesting ethical quandary to throw Bruce's way, and by having it voiced by his beloved son, his greatest failure, his second most profound tragedy, it becomes a deeply thorny emotional problem as well as an ethical problem. That's all great.

The problem is, DC can't allow Jason to be right, for two reasons:

Batman must always be right and must always win.

...I mean, come on. They can't actually publish a story advocating for a traumatized 19-year-old with assault weapons to be the arbiter of who lives and who dies, that's nonsense. I love Jason but really.

The problem with that is, Jason is a major recurring character.

UTRH works great in a vacuum. But if Jason is showing up in a comic every month, or even just a few times a year, this central conflict has to be addressed, and the options for doing that are limited:

Bruce and Jason fight and Jason wins. DC will never let this happen. (And what would "Jason wins" even look like, honestly? He's not going to kill Bruce.)

Bruce and Jason fight and Bruce wins. They've done this a bunch (sometimes with Dick in place of Bruce), but Jason fans don't want to see him repeatedly getting his ass kicked while being lectured, and frankly it doesn't make Bruce look great either.

Bruce allows Jason to kill people. This can't happen either; it would be wildly out of character for Bruce, not to mention literally everyone in the Batfamily. They are all canonically pretty opposed to murder.

Jason continues to operate however he wants, but outside of Bruce's reach/jurisdiction. As wretched as RHATO was, I actually think it was a smart decision to keep most of the action outside of Gotham, because then we can pretend Bruce doesn't know what Jason's up to, just like we pretend Clark couldn't super-hear everything in Gotham and save Bruce's ass every single night without breaking a sweat. The problem here is that it means Jason is unavailable for the kinds of casual team-ups and crossovers that fans of all stripes crave - plus, every time he comes back to Gotham, he and Bruce have to relitigate their entire relationship AGAIN.

Jason compromises and agrees to follow Bruce's rules in order to have a relationship with the Batfamily. This is basically where DC has landed, and I understand why they did, because it's the option that allows them to publish the most comics with Jason in them, which they want to do because he is an immensely popular character who makes them money. However, it leaves him in this awkward position where instead of being a tragic villain/badass antihero, he's just...the sassiest member of the family, while simultaneously always being available to be treated like shit because he's Bad. He gets punished without even the fun of doing the crime anymore.

So what's the solution? I don't know. Theoretically, DC could try to do what Marvel does with the Punisher. People always get mad when I say Jason is DC's Punisher, but he kills pretty much indiscriminately in UTRH and RHATO, for pretty much the same reasons. ("Dudebros think it looks cool.") And Marvel heroes inexplicably let Frank just kill however many people he wants unless they're appearing in a Punisher comic, at which point they go "Frank, you naughty boy, I shall stop you!" and then Frank kicks their ass and makes them look like an idiot. DC is never going to let Jason do that to Bruce, plus it would put a real damper on the Wayne family Thanksgiving dinner.

Alternately, they could make him a Nightwing villain. Dick has spent 40 years fighting inconclusively with Deathstroke; he's much better suited to go endless rounds with Jason without either of them Always Triumphantly Winning than Bruce is. I don't personally want this option because I just don't care that much about Dick, but it could be really interesting, though it would limit Jason to fewer appearances and primarily in Dick's book. (Jason would have made a superb Red Robin villain 15 years ago for similar reasons.)

My vote, I think, would be for a really good (god, if only), really thoughtful Jason series where he has reason to seriously reevaluate his philosophy towards crime - something that reshapes him into a character who can still challenge Bruce's entrenched ideas without being so diametrically opposed to them as to make him a villain. He needs to be close enough to Bruce's rules to appear in crossovers, but far enough and specific enough that he's not just Meaner Nightwing. Jason is a passionate character; DC needs to find a new way to let his passion work for him, because right now he doesn't have anything driving him, and it's satisfying no one.

(900 words, BOOM!)