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[quickautoparts]

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[taevisionceo]

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[farfromstrange]

Thumb v Printer | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: Your clumsiness keeps Matt on edge at all times. Like when you cut your thumb on a printer.

Warnings: None. (Maybe slight description of injury for those of you who are squeamish). Tooth-rotting fluff.

Word Count: ~1k

A/n: This did happen to me. It's healed now, but a piece of my thumb was missing for like a week and it wasn't fun. All because I had to print my sources for an essay and the paper got stuck. Smh.

Read Me On AO3!

If a stranger came up to you and told you, “I smell blood,” it would be more than enough to make you run for the hills. Sharing a home with Matt Murdock though, you have heard stranger things. 

You turn from your spot on the sofa, putting your laptop aside for a moment to greet him. “Hello to you too,” you answer casually.

He tilts his head in your direction. His nostrils flare. You know better than to question it. He’s wearing the same suit he left your shared apartment with this morning, his tie only loosened slightly to allow him some air to breathe. The last streaks of sunlight filter through the window, enveloping him in an ethereal glow. He’s so beautiful, but he doesn’t allow you much time to admire him as he stands in the hallway, his hands propped up on his hips as though he is about to lecture you on criminal law before the Civil War.

“You opened the first-aid kit,” he states. “What happened?” 

It’s an astute observation, you have to give him that. “Oh. Yeah.” You chuckle. “I just cut my finger on the printer, that’s all.”

He stutters for a moment, almost like an old engine. “You… I’m sorry, what?”

His worried expression fades into something else entirely. You know that look all too well; he’s confused—so confused, in fact, that he forgets how concerned he was a minute ago.

“I cut my finger on the printer,” you repeat, shrugging. “Happens.”

“I’m gonna regret asking you this, but…how?”

“Well, I was printing some documents earlier, and the paper got stuck, so, I had to lift the top and get in there, right?”

He nods. “Right.” 

So far, it sounds plausible, but he knows you. Matt is well aware that your clumsiness manages to exceed his in many ways, and you have gotten yourself into predicaments in the past that he still hasn’t wrapped his head around. Sometimes, shit happens to and around you, and he has to accept that. He never fails to try though, which is kind of endearing, in a way. It’s something you have gotten used to over the years; he has to ensure you’re okay or he can’t find a moment to rest.

“I wasn’t wearing my glasses,” you confess, “so I had to put my face as close as possible to see what I was doing. Anyway, the paper ripped and since my position didn’t allow for any traction, I accidentally got my thumb caught on a sharp edge because if I’d pulled my hand out I would’ve hit myself in the face.”

A moment of silence passes. The wheels in Matt’s head visibly turn. He fidgets with the waistband of his pants, still processing. Eventually, he asks, “What?”

You sigh. “I’m sorry for not cleaning up. I was busy trying to fix my thumb and the printer.”

“I’m not… sweetheart, I’m not worried about the mess. I’m worried about you.” Matt slips the glasses off his nose and places them aside. 

“I’m okay,” you tell him. But are you, really?

“You sure?” He bridges the gap between you, tugging at your hand to run his fingers over the bandage; the cut underneath screams in protest. “Let me check.” His hazel eyes focus blankly at the space where your nose is, but it feels as though he is staring into your soul. 

“Matt…” You try to stop him, but he swiftly unpacks the injury. 

He sucks in a sharp breath when the scent hits him. You wonder what it smells like; blood, definitely, and maybe some of the ink you accidentally got into the wound before disinfecting it. His thumb gently inspects the area around it, trying not to hurt you. Matt can’t help but shake his head again; it doesn’t take much for him to realize that it isn’t just a tiny cut. 

“Jesus,” he curses under his breath. “Feels like you’re missing some skin there.”

You try to make light of the situation. “Maybe we’ll find it the next time one of us prints something.”

His jaw clenches. You’re not in pain anymore, and your fight with the printer did not lead to a life-threatening injury, but he can’t stand the thought of you being hurt, not even for a second. 

“I love you,” he says, “but you’re the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.” It’s not as endearing as it usually sounds.

“Huh.” You huff. “That’s saying a lot, considering you’re the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m blind,” he retorts, eyebrows raised to his hairline. He’s standing there, expression suggesting he thinks you have officially lost your mind, and it rubs you the wrong way.

You retract your hand, glaring at him with all you’ve got. “And I’m extremely short-sighted!” You don’t have to yell for him to feel the intended sting of your tone. 

His hands find their way back to his hips like a condescending mother. “Why weren’t you wearing your glasses?”

“Because,” you say, “I accidentally got coffee on them this morning and forgot to put them back on.” Your confidence falters halfway through though, realizing it doesn’t work well in your defense. Especially not in an argument with a skilled lawyer such as your boyfriend.

You love his caring nature more than life, but sometimes he treats you like a child who needs saving. Your heart is racing in your chest, and perhaps that is why he stops before you can make an argument out of a simple cut on your finger. It’s not worth it.

“I… you know what,” Matt caves, and his biceps relax, “I’m not even going to ask.”

You nod, albeit not triumphantly. You didn’t exactly win this battle of wits. “Yeah. Probably for the better,” you answer, chin held high, but it’s of no use.

You got defeated. By a printer. 

His lips curve into a soft smile. “C’mere.” He leans in, his nose brushing against yours. He smells of his cologne, paper, and coffee—like home. And he probably tastes like what he had for lunch or maybe the water he gozzled before heading home, but there is always a slight tinge of something indescribable when he kisses you. 

Before your lips can finally touch though, he halts. Matt sniffs, licking his lips and tasting the air. “You smell like ink,” he says. 

Your eyes narrow. Asshole. “Thank you. That’s…should I pour bleach into my mouth to accommodate you, Murdock?” you snap, pushing away from him.

Instead of begging on his knees for forgiveness—a dramatic notion you would not be opposed to—he laughs. Matt Murdock has the audacity to laugh. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out between giggles. “I’m sorry. Hey!” He tugs at your arm once more. “At least let me hug you. Please.”

You pout. “I’ll bite you.”

“Please don’t.”

“I might.”

He brings you into his arms with little resistance from your end, guiding your head just above his heart. So you can hear him. Feel him. Smell him. “I love you too,” he murmurs against your hair. 

You bury your face in his chest. It’s unfair how comfortable he is. “Hm. You’re lucky you’re irreplaceable,” you say, but it lacks conviction.

Matt clicks his tongue. “You’re so nice to me.” 

“You started it.”

“That’s fair.” Grabbing your chin, he tilts your head back up. “I still love you.”

You can’t bite back a smile this time, purring, “Oh, I know.” 

That’s never going to change, you know. And you love him. All of him, all the time, and unconditionally. 

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[oosa3x]

secret moments (rd3)

i. crowded room

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆.˚✮˚.⋆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

pairing: ruben dias x f! celebrity! reader word count: 15, 334 author’s note: i don’t want to butcher the portuguese language so the conversations between Bernardo and Rúben that are italicized are meant to be them speaking in portuguese

The soft hum of his alarm clock broke the stillness of the early morning in Rúben’s apartment. He silenced it swiftly, though he’d been awake well before it rang. Morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, gently outlining the familiar shapes of his bedroom.

Rúben slid out of bed, his movements precise. The air was cool against his skin as he made his way to the kitchen, where his breakfast was already laid out from the night before. Everything in his apartment had its place—meticulous, clean, always smelling faintly of fresh linens and his cologne.

After setting his breakfast aside, he retrieved the yoga mat he kept neatly tucked in a cabinet. As he began to stretch, he felt the familiar tension in his muscles, the lingering ache from yesterday’s training. It was a good ache, the kind that reminded him of the hard work he put in every day, pushing his body to its limits, knowing it was all moving him closer to his goals.

Routine was the foundation of his days. A light breakfast, a run to clear his mind, and then training—everything had its order. For Rúben, success on the pitch was built on the discipline off of it. There was comfort in knowing how his day would unfold, especially in the quiet hours before the city stirred.

His phone buzzed on the counter—a message from Pep, reminding the team about the tactical meeting. Rúben appreciated the attention to detail; it was part of why they thrived as a unit. Every action, no matter how small, contributed to their success. He downed a ginger shot, tossed the bottle in the recycling, and scrolled through his notifications. Among the usual fan messages and match updates was a photo from his mother—a picture of their dog, Simba, back home. It grounded him, a small but meaningful reminder of how much head sacrificed to be here, how much his family had sacrificed. A reminder of why he worked so hard despite his success.

He grabbed his gear and laced up his shoes, already mentally rehearsing the day’s drills and strategies. Training wasn’t just preparation—it was where the real work happened, where his mind and body sharpened for the match ahead. Every minute spent here was another layer of assurance that when he stepped onto the pitch, there would be no doubts.

The engine of his car hummed softly as he pulled out onto the mostly empty streets. He enjoyed the rare moments of solitude, away from the noise of fans and cameras. He didn’t mind the attention, but these quiet drives were a welcome break from the constant buzz of his life.

As he approached the training ground, his thoughts shifted to the upcoming game. It was still days away, but already, he could visualize the plays, the movement of his teammates, the precision of every pass. In his mind, everything was neatly ordered, just like the rest of his life.

He arrived at the facility, nodding at the familiar security guard as he pulled in. A few other early risers were already there, the floodlights casting long shadows across the pristine grass. Another day of preparation awaited him, and he was ready.

As he stepped out of the car, the fresh smell of the field greeted him. It was still damp from the morning dew, and the air held that crisp, earthy scent that only came from a freshly watered pitch. His pulse quickened slightly, a sense of anticipation building inside him. This was his space, where everything came together.

Inside the locker room, Rúben went through his pre-training ritual—changing into his kit, securing his shin pads, lacing up his boots with the same precision he approached everything else. There were a few words exchanged with his teammates as they trickled in, but mostly, the room was filled with the quiet buzz of focus. Everyone knew why they were there.

Pep’s tactical meeting was as detailed as ever, going over each phase of play, how they’d move the ball, the patterns they’d create. Rúben absorbed it all, visualizing each scenario, mentally placing himself in position, anticipating the flow of the game before it even happened. Pep spoke with purpose, his passion for the game evident in every word, and it was contagious.

When they finally stepped onto the pitch, Rúben could feel the energy shift. The drills began, muscle memory taking over as they worked through their warm-ups and exercises. Each movement was calculated, each pass sharp, each tackle precise. This was where he honed his craft, where every little detail mattered.

And as the sun climbed higher in the sky, bathing the training ground in light, Rúben felt the familiar rhythm of the day settle into place. It was just another training session, but to him, it was everything. Each moment, each drop of sweat, each burst of energy was a step toward something bigger. Toward the next match, the next victory, the next piece of silverware.

When training wrapped up, and the team headed back inside, Rúben stayed a little longer. He liked to take a few extra minutes to work on his own, refining the small details that only he noticed. It was part of what made him who he was, part of why he’d made it this far.

As he gathered his things and headed back toward the locker room, he heard footsteps behind him, "Hey, Rúben," Bernardo called out, his voice light with its usual upbeat tone, "You want to come over for dinner tonight? Ines is cooking, and she’s been wanting to try this new recipe. You know she’s gonna ask if you’re coming."

Rúben smiled as he adjusted the strap on his bag, "Sounds tempting," he replied, slowing down so Bernardo could catch up, "But I’ve actually got plans tonight. Heading to a concert."

"A concert?" Bernardo raised an eyebrow, clearly curious, "Since when do you have time for concerts? Who’s playing?"

"6lack," Rúben said with a shrug, "We connected on Instagram a while back and he messaged me the other day, and invited me and thought, why not? Haven’t been to one in a while, and I like his music.”

Bernardo’s eyes lit up in recognition, "6lack? Sounds fun. Alright, but you’re missing out on Ines’s cooking, just so you know. You better make up for it."

Rúben chuckled, "I’ll send my apologies to Inês. I’m sure I’ll hear about it next time. But yeah, I’m looking forward to it. Should be a good break from all of this."

Bernardo gave him a playful nudge, "Just don’t get too wild. We’ve got training tomorrow."

"Never," Rúben shot back, shaking his head, "You know me."

"Too well," Bernardo grinned, "Alright, man, enjoy the concert. I’ll tell Ines you’re off the hook—for now."

With that, Bernardo headed off, leaving Rúben to finish packing up. As he made his way out of the training ground, he couldn’t help but feel a little excitement building for the night ahead. Football might be his world, but sometimes, stepping out of it for a while felt just as important.

Rúben headed home, ready to switch gears for the night. The drive back to his apartment was smooth, the traffic not yet too thick. A concert would be a nice change of pace, and it wasn’t often that his schedule allowed him the chance to enjoy something like this.

The first thing he did when he got back to his apartment was head straight for the shower. The hot water hit his skin, easing the tension in his muscles from the day’s training. He closed his eyes, letting the steam rise around him, savoring the moment of peace. He had a routine for everything, and unwinding after a day on the pitch was no exception. The shower helped wash away the lingering intensity of the drills, the tactical sessions, the endless focus.

Once he was out, he wrapped a towel around his waist and padded to his bedroom, the scent of his shower gel lingering in the air. His wardrobe, like the rest of his apartment, was meticulously organized. He picked out a sleek black shirt and paired it with a camo green Louis Vuitton jacket—casual but sharp enough for the occasion. Concerts were low-key, but Rúben liked to look put together, even off the pitch. After slipping into a pair of well-fitted jeans and comfortable sneakers, he checked himself in the mirror.

Satisfied, he grabbed his phone, keys, and wallet, then headed for the door and made his way down to the garage. The city was more alive than it had been that morning, the streets buzzing with activity. As he drove toward the concert venue, he could already feel a different kind of energy building in him—a mix of anticipation and excitement. It wasn’t the same as the buzz he got before a match, but it was close.

The venue came into view, lights glowing against the backdrop of the darkening sky. People were already lined up outside, the hum of conversation filling the air as fans gathered, all of them there for the same reason. He parked his car and made his way toward the entrance. He adjusted his jacket, pulling it down just a little lower to shield himself from the cold, and made his way toward the VIP entrance. Security at the door checked his name off the list quickly, allowing him to bypass the crowd outside. Just as he was about to slip through the door, a voice called out from behind him.

"Rúben! Is that you?"

He turned slightly, spotting a young fan standing a few feet away, holding out her phone hopefully. She looked nervous, almost shy as she approached him.

"Can I—uh—can I get a photo? Please? I’m a huge fan.”

Rúben offered a warm smile, the kind he always gave when people recognized him, despite the effort he’d put into staying low-key tonight, "Sure, absolutely." he said, stepping over to her.

Her face lit up as she quickly held her phone out for a selfie. Rúben leaned in just enough, flashing a quick, polite smile as she snapped the picture, "Thank you so much," she gushed, her voice filled with excitement.

"No problem," he replied with a smile, "Enjoy the concert."

With a quick nod to the security at the VIP entrance, he was escorted through a maze of hallways behind the stage. The sound of the crowd’s distant cheers and the thrum of the bass grew fainter as he made his way toward the backstage area. He found a spot near the bar, ordering a bottle of water as he settled in, glancing out toward the stage.

As the lights dimmed even further and the crowd's excitement grew, a text lit up Rúben’s phone. He glanced down at the message—it was from one of 6lack’s team members, letting him know that he could come backstage before the show kicked off. Rúben hadn’t expected the opportunity to meet up before the performance, but the invitation was too good to pass up.

Rúben and 6lack—Ricardo— had been connected online for a while—liking each other’s posts, occasionally exchanging messages about football or music. It was the kind of casual friendship that felt normal in the digital age, though they had never actually met in person until now.

When he reached the backstage area, he saw Ricardo standing near a table with a few members of his team, looking calm and focused as he prepared for the show. His signature laid-back demeanor was apparent, even as people bustled around him with last-minute adjustments and preparations.

“Rúben!” Ricardo called out when he saw him, a grin spreading across his face. He crossed the room with an easy swagger, extending a hand, "Good to finally meet in person, bro."

Rúben smiled, shaking his hand firmly, "Likewise. I’ve been looking forward to this."

"Man, I’m glad you could make it tonight. I know you’ve got a busy schedule, but I had to make sure you were here for this one," Ricardo said, his tone genuine.

Rúben nodded, taking in the relaxed vibe of the backstage crew, "I wasn’t gonna miss it. Been a fan of your music for a while. It’s a good break from the usual football grind."

Ricardo chuckled, "I hear that. I’ve seen you killing it out there, though. Respect for what you do on the field."

"I appreciate that so much, man." Rúben agreed, feeling a sense of mutual respect, "I’ve got to say, you’ve got the whole place buzzing. People are ready for this show."

Ricardo grinned, nodding toward the stage, "That’s what I like to hear. I’ve got some surprises for tonight, so it should be a good one. Maybe after the show, we’ll kick it a bit, yeah?"

"Definitely," Rúben replied, feeling more at ease. The conversation flowed naturally, as if they’d known each other for longer than just a few online exchanges.

Just then, one of the crew members signaled to Ricardo that it was almost time to go on stage. Ricardo gave Rúben a nod, "Alright, man, I’ve got to get out there and do my thing. I’ll catch you after?"

"Go kill it out there," Rúben said with a smile, "I’ll be watching."

With a final fist bump, Ricardo disappeared into the bustling chaos of the stage preparations, leaving Rúben to head back to his spot on the VIP balcony. As he made his way back, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement. Meeting Ricardo in person had felt easy, natural—like they were already on the same wavelength.

As 6lack’s intro music filled the arena and the lights dimmed even further, Rúben found himself fully immersed in the atmosphere. The view of the stage was incredible—he could see the entire audience, their hands raised, voices chanting. He glanced around the venue, soaking in the view. From the balcony, he had the perfect vantage point: a sea of swaying bodies, phone lights twinkling like stars, and the stage illuminated with flashes of neon and smoke.

Rúben was fully immersed in the music, his voice joining in with the crowd as he sang along to 6lack's opening track. It felt almost surreal—singing along to his favorite artist from such a prime spot. He was in his own world when a tap on his shoulder pulled him back to reality.

A member of Ricardo’s team stood there, leaning in close to be heard over the booming music, "Hey, Ricky asked for us to get you. He said wants you to watch from over there."

His crew member pointed down to where the side stage area was. Rúben blinked, surprised for a moment, before nodding with a smile. Watching from the side stage wasn’t something he’d expected, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. He gave a final glance at the crowd below, taking in the view one last time from the VIP balcony before following the staff member down a stairway.

As they moved through the backstage corridors, the distant roar of the crowd filled the air, but the atmosphere felt different now—more intimate, a behind-the-scenes glimpse of the magic.

As he got closer to the stage, Rúben could feel the bass thumping through his chest as Ricardo’s voice filled the room, effortlessly weaving between tracks that had become anthems for so many people in the audience. From his spot on the side, Rúben could see it all—the connection between the artist and the fans, the passion in Ricardo’s performance. He had a deep appreciation for the creativity that Ricardo put into his music, but witnessing it live, up close, was something else entirely. It reminded him of the way he approached football—the hours of work, the attention to detail, the desire to give his best every time.

The concert flowed seamlessly, and Rúben was glad he’d taken Ricardo up on his offer. The side-stage view felt intimate, like he was part of the performance itself, rather than just a spectator. It was the perfect balance of being in the thick of the action without the distraction of the crowd around him.

He was still immersed in the rhythm of the concert, but he could feel his pulse quicken when his eyes locked onto you—Y/N L/N. In that moment, the world around him seemed to slow down, the music fading slightly as his attention zeroed in on your presence.

You were otherworldly, like you didn’t quite belong to this reality but floated just above it. Your beauty wasn’t something that could be contained; it radiated from you like a soft, glowing aura. It was impossible for him to look away. You wore a sleek, body-hugging gray mini dress that contrasted beautifully with the black of your sheer tights and pointed heels. A long leather coat flowed behind you, adding an edge to the soft elegance of your look.

He noticed you casually handing your clutch to a man standing next to you, your fingers brushing against his arm with a brief familiarity. Then, with a slow, effortless movement, you shrugged off your jacket, letting it fall into the man’s hands. Your dress clung to your frame more visibly now, every curve and line accentuated in the soft lighting of the venue.

It was then that someone approached you from behind, efficiently securing a mic pack to the back of your dress and handing you a pair of in-ears. The transition was seamless, as if you had done this a thousand times before. No hesitation, no fuss—just an easy, practiced routine that hinted at your professionalism.

Rúben’s eyes widened as he realized you weren't just here to enjoy the show; you were about to take the stage. His heart skipped a beat, suddenly seeing you in a completely different light. As the tech stepped away, you rolled your shoulders slightly, adjusting the in-ears, and for a brief moment, your gaze seemed to lock on him—just for a heartbeat—and he swore the room tilted. His chest tightened, and he quickly looked away, feeling an odd mix of nerves and admiration rise within him. The casual ease with which you transitioned from guest to artist was captivating.

The lights in the venue dimmed, signaling the start of your surprise appearance, and the crowd began to buzz with excitement. The anticipation was palpable. Rúben could feel the energy shift in the room, every head turning toward the stage, every heartbeat seemingly in sync, waiting for you. He had watched countless performances before, but something about this moment felt different. Special.

The lights dimmed, and the familiar opening chords of your song with Ricardo began to pulse through the venue. The crowd's energy shifted, rising in anticipation. Then, Ricardo’s voice boomed through the speakers, introducing you with reverence, "Manchester, Y/N L/N!"

Rúben swore the crowd broke the sound barrier.

A sea of cheers erupted, vibrating through the air as every spotlight in the venue honed in on the center of the stage, creating a single, glowing path just for you. And then, as if the entire room held its breath, you appeared.

You strutted onto the stage, owning every inch of it, your body moving in perfect rhythm with the beat of the music. The lights danced around you, casting a radiant halo over your silhouette, and with each sway of your hips, you commanded the room. The sensuality of your movements was undeniable—each step deliberate, each shift in your body fluid, and the way the light caught you in motion felt almost like a performance in itself.

You moved like the music was part of you, like you were born for the stage. Every person in that room—Rúben included—was transfixed, lost in the hypnotic allure of your presence. There was something almost electric in the air, as if the entire venue had been waiting for this exact moment, for you.

Rúben couldn’t take his eyes off you. The stage lights flickered across you, illuminating you in soft, warm tones. Your presence on stage was nothing short of mesmerizing. You hadn’t even sung a single note yet, and still, you commanded every inch of the room. The ethereal glow that surrounded you only seemed to amplify under the stage lights, casting you in an almost celestial light.

And then, you began to sing and it sucked all the air out of his lungs.

Your voice was like velvet, rich and smooth, effortlessly drawing everyone in. Rúben’s heart raced as your voice flowed over the crowd, wrapping around him like a spell.

As the performance continued, he found himself unable to tear his gaze away. It wasn’t just the sound of your voice or the way you moved—it was the way you seemed to pour your soul into every note, as if each word held a piece of your story. There was a vulnerability in your performance, something deeply personal that you were sharing with everyone, yet somehow it felt like it was meant just for him.

He knew people talked about your beauty all the time, but seeing you, hearing you live... it was something else entirely.

He’d seen you on TV before, had heard your voice on the radio—who hadn’t? Y/N L/N was a household name, known across the world. There wasn’t a person who hadn’t come across your face on a magazine cover or heard your songs while flipping through stations. You were everywhere, larger than life, a global icon.

Yet seeing you so close, just a few steps away, made everything he thought he knew about you seem small. The screen, the photos—they hadn’t done you any justice. Your presence in the flesh, on that stage, was overwhelming. It wasn’t just your beauty, though that was undeniable—it was the way you held the room, the effortless way you commanded every ounce of attention. You were absolutely magnetic.

As the song reached its final notes, your voice soared effortlessly, filling the room with a richness that could only be appreciated fully in person. The crowd was completely under your spell, swaying with your every word, every beat. The way you moved on stage, so fluid and at ease, made it seem like the music itself was flowing through your veins.

With one final, powerful note, the song ended, and the entire venue erupted into applause and cheers. The sound was deafening. Rúben felt the vibration of it in his chest, as if the entire room had come alive in a collective wave of admiration for you.

Ricardo stepped forward, a broad smile on his face as he raised his microphone, "Give it up one more time for Y/N L/N!” His voice boomed over the crowd, but the audience was already screaming, unable to contain their excitement.

You glowed under the spotlight, gave a small, graceful bow, your smile wide and full of gratitude. You turned to Ricardo, hugging him tightly as he whispered something in your ear that made you laugh. Then you faced the crowd once more, your eyes shining as you lifted your hand to your lips and blew a kiss into the sea of fans.

“Thank you, Manchester!” Your voice rang out, as bright as the lights that framed you. The crowd roared in response, a few people calling out your name. You gave one final wave before stepping off the stage, leaving behind an electric energy that still buzzed in the air, as if the room hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that you were gone.

Rúben remained rooted to his spot, his heart still pounding. He kept his eyes on you as you reached the same side of the stage you had come out from, your figure still glowing from the energy of the performance. You were greeted by a few people waiting in the wings, who embraced you with wide smiles and excited exchanges. There was a warmth in your interactions, something genuine that caught Rúben off guard. Despite your otherworldly presence on stage, you were undeniably human in these small moments—laughing and hugging the crew like they were family.

He watched you brush your hand through your ponytail, still catching your breath from the performance, an easy grace radiating off of you. As you spoke to those around you, your body language was relaxed, your joy contagious, even from afar. Every now and then, you glanced back toward the crowd, waving one last time to the fans still cheering your name.

Rúben’s heart thudded harder in his chest. He had no reason to feel this way—he’d seen celebrities before, met people with immense fame, maybe not your level of fame, but close enough. Yet, something about you lingered with him, even now. You hadn’t just performed; you’d given a piece of yourself to the crowd, and in doing so, had taken a part of him with you. He tried to refocus on Ricardo’s performance, the deep bass of the music vibrating through the floor as the show seemed to be nearing its end. But no matter how hard he concentrated, his attention kept slipping. He couldn’t help it, his eyes kept drifting back to you.

You had settled back in on the side of the stage, casual and composed, your earlier energy from the performance still faintly lingering around you. In your hand, you held a drink that looked like a vodka cranberry, the deep red liquid catching the stage lights just enough to shimmer. You took a slow sip, as if you hadn’t just captivated an entire room minutes before.

Rúben suddenly felt an inexplicable urge to know more about you stirring within him. You were relaxed now, chatting with those around you, completely at ease. It was a stark contrast to the fierce presence you commanded on stage, yet equally captivating. He found himself wondering how you managed to effortlessly switch between those worlds—public and private—without missing a beat.

Rúben shook himself out of it, realizing he was staring. He chuckled softly, embarrassed at how easily he had been captivated by your presence. But then again, who wouldn’t be? This was Y/N L/N—the woman who made headlines just by walking down the street, who set trends without trying. He was just one person among many who couldn’t help but be drawn in by your charm.

As Rúben's eyes wandered over to you again, he noticed someone else—a familiar face standing beside you. It took him a second to place her, but then he remembered: it was Ricardo’s girlfriend, the one he’d met backstage for a brief moment. You were both laughing together, exchanging a few words between songs, your heads leaning in close as if sharing a private joke.

You both looked like you were having a great time, completely at ease in each other’s company. It was clear that you two were friends, and your bond seemed natural, like you’d known each other for years. Rúben watched as you sang along to another track. The sight of you two together like this made you seem that much more grounded, more human. You weren't just the unattainable star everyone knew; you were someone with friendships, someone who could relax and enjoy a night out like anyone else. It made you even more fascinating to him, seeing this side of you—the side that was rarely captured by the media.

As Rúben leaned against the side railing, letting the music thrum in the background, he caught a whisper from the group of people standing nearby.

“She really killed it tonight,” one of them said, admiration thick in their tone, "But honestly, she always does.”

“Yeah, but this one felt different, right? Like she was putting everything out there,” another added, their eyes following your movements, "She’s been through a lot lately.”

Rúben’s brow furrowed slightly. He knew the press had a habit of magnifying every part of your life, but he hadn’t paid close attention to the specifics. Now, hearing those words—"she’s been through a lot"—he felt a strange, protective instinct rise within him.

He let his eyes drift back to you. You were laughing now, tipping your head back as you clinked glasses with someone beside you. The media only ever showed pieces of you— the glamorous parts, the scandalous headlines. But standing here, watching you from the edge of the room, Rúben felt like he was seeing something more—something the world didn’t often get to witness.

As the final song echoed through the venue and Ricardo’s deep, melodic voice faded out, the crowd erupted into cheers. The energy in the room was electric, a palpable buzz of excitement from a performance that had exceeded expectations. Rúben glanced toward the side stage, where the crew was already preparing to draw the curtains. Ricardo and his band gave a wave and bow to the crowd as the curtains reached the bottom. His face lit up with a satisfied smile, before turning and heading offstage. Rúben could see him immediately spot his girlfriend and you, who were still standing on the opposite side, clearly enjoying the show until the very last moment.

Without hesitation, Ricardo made his way toward both of you, his pace relaxed but purposeful. He enveloped his girlfriend in a warm hug, exchanging a few quiet words with her, before turning to you with an easy grin. You greeted him with the kind of familiarity that spoke of years of friendship, giving him a playful punch on the arm before you all broke into laughter. Rúben couldn’t hear what you were saying, but the vibe between you was unmistakable—comfortable, close, and full of genuine affection.

As the stage crew dismantled equipment and the audience slowly filtered out of the venue, Ricardo motioned for you and his girlfriend to follow him backstage, clearly intent on keeping the night going. It seemed like an after-party of sorts was about to unfold, something more intimate, away from the chaos of the concert.

Rúben watched as the three of you disappeared behind the curtain, a small group of your close friends and team trailing behind. For a moment, he debated whether he should just head home, let the night end on a high note, but before he could decide, the same crew member who came to get him, appeared at his side.

"Yo, Ricardo wanted to make sure you come back and join us," the guy said with a friendly grin, "We’re all hanging out backstage for a bit, nothing too wild."

Rúben hesitated for just a second, but the idea of spending more time in that laid-back, off-the-clock vibe felt too good to pass up. He nodded, offering a quick smile, "Yeah, I’m in."

With that, he followed the crew member through the maze of corridors that led to the backstage lounge area. The atmosphere back there was completely different from the buzzing concert crowd outside. It was more intimate, the lights softer, and there was a relaxed, celebratory vibe in the air.

When he entered the lounge, Ricardo was already there with his arm slung casually around his girlfriend, deep in conversation with you, who was laughing at something one of their friends had said. Drinks were being passed around, and there was music playing at a low volume, enough to keep the energy up but not overpowering the conversation.

Rúben caught Ricardo’s eye as he stepped in, and the singer immediately waved him over, "Rúben, man! Glad you made it," he called out, his voice full of warmth.

As Rúben joined the group, he suddenly found himself standing just a few feet from you. Up close, you were even more striking, your smile infectious as you bantered effortlessly with the people around you. For the first time that night, Rúben felt a flicker of nerves.

You glanced over at him, your eyes bright and curious. For a second, your gazes locked, and though it was brief, it was enough to feel the weight of your presence, how naturally you commanded attention even when you weren't trying to.

"Looks like we’ve got the whole crew here now," Ricardo said with a grin, clearly in good spirits as the group gathered closer, "Let’s keep the night going!"

As Rúben settled into the relaxed atmosphere of the backstage gathering, someone from the crew handed him a drink. He accepted it with a polite nod but quickly swapped it out for a glass of water garnished with a lime wedge instead, not really in the mood for alcohol. He took in a small sip, and glanced around at everyone mingling.

Despite all the movement around him, Rúben’s gaze kept flickering back to you, yet again. You were still deep in conversation with Ricardo’s girlfriend, your laughter filling the air every now and then. You looked so at ease, your eyes lighting up as you talked, you drink in hand as you leaned in closer to hear what someone was saying. He couldn’t help but be drawn to you again and again, fascinated by your energy and the way you seemed to move through the space like you belonged there, without trying to demand the attention that naturally gravitated toward you.

Rúben was mid-sip, his gaze once again flicking over to you, when he felt a presence beside him. He turned slightly and saw Ricardo approach with an easy smile on his face.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Ricardo asked, leaning against the small table nearby, his tone casual but friendly.

Rúben smiled, lowering his glass, "Yeah, man, it was incredible. You killed it out there,” he said honestly, "Your energy, the way you had the crowd—it was on another level.

Ricardo chuckled, nodding appreciatively, "Glad you had a good time. It was one of those nights where everything just felt right, you know?” He glanced around the room before looking back at Rúben, noticing how his eyes had flicked back to you a couple of times. With a knowing grin, he added, “Looks like you’ve got your attention elsewhere, though.”

Rúben blinked, caught a little off guard, but laughed it off with a shrug, "Nah, I was just… taking it all in,” he said, trying to play it cool.

Ricardo smirked, his eyes sparkling with amusement, "Taking it all in, huh? Sure.” He didn’t push it further, but there was a playful edge to his voice, "You know, Y/N’s good people. A lot more chill than the headlines make her out to be.”

Rúben’s brow lifted slightly, intrigued, "I’ve heard that,” he admitted, glancing over at you again, "But it’s different seeing her in person.”

Ricardo nodded, clearly understanding, "Yeah, I get that. She’s like family, honestly. Been through a lot, but she’s one of the real ones.” He gave Rúben a pat on the shoulder before straightening up, "Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you had a good time tonight. Stick around—we’re keeping it low-key, but there’s plenty of time to relax.”

Rúben smiled, feeling the genuine warmth from Ricardo, "Thanks, man. I’m glad I came out tonight.” The energy of the evening still buzzed in his veins, not just from the music but from witnessing something unforgettable. He hadn’t expected to feel this way, to be so pulled in by someone he’d only known through screens and sounds. There was a weight to the night that he hadn’t anticipated—a sense that something was shifting, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Ricardo noticed Rúben’s glances toward you once more and couldn’t help but grin. He nudged him slightly with a knowing look, "Want me to introduce you to her?”

Rúben’s heart skipped a beat, but he quickly masked it with a chuckle, shaking his head, "I don’t know, man. She’s probably busy… and it’s Y/N L/N,” he added under his breath. There was no hiding the fact that he was nervous. The truth was, you had been his first real celebrity crush when he was 15. Your posters had lined his cousins’ walls; you were someone he thought was completely untouchable. And now, he was standing in the same room, and Ricardo was offering an introduction like it was nothing.

Ricardo wasn’t having it, "Come on, she’s cool. Trust me,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. Before Rúben could protest further, Ricardo was already leading him toward her.

You were mid-conversation with Ricardo’s girlfriend, laughing at something she had just said, when they approached. Ricardo smoothly interrupted, "Y/N, this is my friend Rúben. Thought you two should meet.”

As you turned to face him, Rúben felt like the world paused for a moment. His breath hitched, his nerves immediately heightening as he took in the sight of you up close. He had seen you in magazines, on posters, in music videos — but none of that compared to this. Your beauty was effortless, natural, and completely disarming. It was in the way you smiled, the way your eyes sparkled with a warmth he wasn’t prepared for. His heart raced, and suddenly the room felt smaller, like there was just the two of you in it.

You extended your hand toward him, a friendly smile gracing your lips. “Hi, nice to meet you,” you said, your voice soft but confident, a blend of casualness and elegance that made his stomach flip.

As soon as Rúben’s hand touched yours, he felt a jolt rush through him. It was like electricity, a strange combination of excitement and disbelief that left his skin tingling. He forced himself to keep his grip firm but gentle, trying to steady his nerves, "Nice to meet you too,” he replied, keeping his cool despite the fact that he could hardly believe this was happening.

Before the conversation could go any further, Ricardo’s girlfriend tapped him on the arm, "Babe, we should go say hi to the event organizers,” she said.

Ricardo nodded, but not before throwing a glance at Rúben, "You two chat,” he said casually, "We’ll be back in a bit.”

Rúben shot him a look, knowing full well Ricardo was leaving them alone on purpose. As they walked off, he turned back to you, trying not to feel the weight of the moment.

“So…” Rúben began, “have you known Ricardo long?”

“Yeah, for a few years now,” you said with a smile, "I actually met him through Frank Ocean.”

Rúben’s eyes widened, "You know Frank Ocean?! What am I even asking? Of course you do.” He let out a laugh, shaking his head, "I’m a huge Frank fan.”

Your smile deepened, clearly pleased by his reaction, "Same here. His music is unreal, right? He’s one of the most genuine, talented people I’ve ever met. We became friends through some mutual contacts.”

“That’s incredible,” Rúben said, still slightly in awe, "Frank’s music—it just hits differently. He’s one of those artists who makes you stop and actually feel everything. It’s like each song pulls you into his world.”

He watched as you nodded, your eyes lighting up as you leaned in slightly, "Exactly. That’s why I love his work so much. It’s personal, raw, and makes you reflect in ways you didn’t expect.”

Rúben couldn’t help but smile, feeling more comfortable as your conversation flowed, "I’ve always admired people like that—artists who are unapologetically themselves and let their music speak for them.”

“Totally,” you agreed, "And I think that’s why Ricky and I became such good friends. We have similar vibes, and he’s always surrounded by people who are real, you know? It’s rare in this industry.”

Rúben nodded, his nerves fading as you two continued to talk. It wasn’t long before he realized that you were every bit as down-to-earth and genuine as Ricardo had said, and the more you talked, the more you seemed to connect.

As the conversation flowed, you looked at Rúben with genuine curiosity, "So, how do you know Ricardo?”

Rúben chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, "Funny enough, this is actually my first time meeting him in person. I messaged him online, told him I was a big fan of his music. And then he invited me to this show.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a teasing smile, "He just invited you like that? Because you’re a fan? What are you not telling me?” you teased, playfully narrowing your eyes, "Are you in the music industry here in England or something?”

Rúben grinned, playing along with your teasing tone, "No, no, not in the music industry. Though that would be kind of cool. Maybe I went into the wrong line of work,” he joked, keeping his response light and vague.

You laughed, clearly intrigued by his answer but not pushing any further, "Well, whatever line of work you’re in, it must be pretty interesting if Ricardo thought of inviting you out.”

Rúben smiled, relieved that you hadn’t pressed him on it, though he could tell from your expression that you were still curious, "Let’s just say it’s different. Maybe I’ll tell you more about it later,” he said, keeping the mystery alive.

You chuckled, shaking your head, "Alright, I’ll hold you to that. But you’re definitely keeping me guessing now.”

As you talked, Rúben noticed your glass was nearly empty. Trying to keep the conversation going, he offered casually, “Need a refill? I can grab one for you.”

Just as you smiled and were about to answer, a tall, well-built man appeared by your side, handing you a fresh drink, "Here you go,” the man said in a low, protective voice, before adding, “You good? Ready to head out soon?”

Rúben’s chest tightened for a second, his mind jumping to conclusions. The man seemed to move with the kind of ease and familiarity that made Rúben think, that’s got to be her boyfriend. He tried to play it cool, but a small wave of disappointment washed over him. He remembered hearing about your breakup a few months ago with your on-and-off boyfriend—not that he’d ever admit to following celebrity gossip.

He watched as you thanked the man with a quick nod and turned back to Rúben, "Not yet,” you said, glancing at the man with a casual smile before shifting your attention back to the conversation, "He’s just making sure I don’t wander off or get caught up in the crowd.”

Rúben blinked, realization settling in—oh, that’s her bodyguard, not her boyfriend. He chuckled internally at his own assumption, feeling a sense of relief he wouldn’t dare admit. Trying to keep things smooth, he nodded with a smile, “It’s good to have someone looking out for you in a crowd like this.”

For a moment, Rúben noticed a shift in your expression. Your eyes grew distant, your smile faltering just slightly as you quietly said, "I have to." It was almost as if you were caught up in a thought that pulled you away from the present, something more serious than your lighthearted conversation.

Rúben opened his mouth to say something, unsure of how to respond to that fleeting moment of vulnerability, but before he could, you seemed to snap yourself out of it. Your usual warmth and energy returned, and you smiled again, continuing your conversation as if nothing had happened.

“So,” you said, your tone light again, “you were saying something about going into the wrong line of work? What do you actually do?”

Rúben felt the moment pass but couldn’t shake the brief glimpse of something deeper behind your smile. He pushed the thought aside for now, leaning into the conversation, "Ah, well, let’s just say it’s nothing as exciting as music,” he replied, keeping the mystery alive with a grin.

You laughed, shaking your head, "Wow, you’re really not gonna tell me, huh?” You gave him a playful look, your smile teasing, "This isn’t fair—you know what I do!”

Rúben chuckled, feeling the playful tension between them, "Alright, alright, I’ll give you that,” he said, trying to keep things light, "But I feel like I have to keep a little mystery, right? Besides, if I just told you, where’s the fun in that?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms with an amused grin, "Oh, I see how it is. So you’re one of those guys, huh? All mysterious, keeping secrets,” you teased, your voice full of mock seriousness, "I bet you think it makes you more interesting.”

Rúben chuckled, shaking his head, "Maybe, a little mystery doesn’t hurt anybody,” he said, his eyes gleaming with humor, "Besides, it’s not going to be a secret forever... just for now.”

You leaned in slightly, closing the distance between you two, "For now? So you’re saying there’s a chance I’ll crack the code eventually?”

He tilted his head, unable to keep the smile off his face as he met your gaze, "Maybe. Depends on how curious you are.”

Your laugh was light, the kind that came from genuine enjoyment of the banter between you, "Oh, I’m very curious. You’ve made sure of that.” You playfully bumped his arm, and the tension between you shifted from lighthearted to something a bit more electric. There was a pull now, one that neither of you seemed inclined to break.

Rúben’s smile softened, the playful glint in his eyes still there but mixed with something else, "Good,” he said quietly, his voice lower now, "I think I like that.” He laughed, the banter between you flowing easily, but he could tell you were still curious. He liked the back-and-forth, and there was something fun about holding back just enough to keep you guessing.

He watched as you suddenly shifted, your tone apologetic, "I’m so sorry, but my feet are killing me," you said with a slight laugh, glancing down at your heels.

Rúben’s gaze followed instinctively, skimming down your long, elegant legs before landing on the heels that looked more fashionable than comfortable. He quickly composed himself, snapping his attention back up to your face, feeling a little embarrassed for having let his eyes linger.

You smiled, seemingly unaware of his momentary lapse, "I really want to keep talking to you, but can we take a seat over there?” you gestured toward a cozy seating area in the corner.

Rúben grinned, grateful for the more relaxed setting, "Of course,” he said, motioning for you to lead the way. As you made your way toward the seats, he couldn’t help but be impressed by how effortlessly you moved through the room, even while navigating uncomfortable shoes and a full conversation.

He also couldn’t help but notice two of your bodyguards discreetly following along, maintaining a close but respectful distance. Their presence was subtle, but it was clear that they were always watching, always making sure you were safe. He realized that, for someone like you, this was just a part of your everyday life—never being fully alone, always having someone keeping an eye out.

When you both reached the seating area, you gracefully settled into one of the plush chairs, letting out a small sigh of relief as you sat down for the first time in hours today.

Rúben took the seat beside you, glancing briefly at the bodyguards before turning his attention back to you, "Better?” he asked with a smile, keeping the mood light despite the ever-present security nearby.

“Much better,” you replied, your smile warm and genuine, "Thanks for not judging me for needing a break. These shoes were definitely not made for standing all night.”

Rúben chuckled, "No judgment here. You’re handling it better than most would.” He leaned back in his seat, finding himself more at ease as you settled into the quieter corner of the room.

You glanced over at your bodyguard, Eric, and motioned toward him, "Eric, can you get my friend Rúben here a drink, please?” you asked with a smile, noticing his glass was nearly empty.

You turned back to Rúben, and eyed his drink, "Gin?”

Rúben laughed softly and shook his head, "Oh, no, that’s okay. It’s actually just water.”

You smiled, clearly amused, "Water it is, then.” You leaned back in your chair, looking relaxed as Eric nodded and moved off to grab another drink, "Keeping it light tonight, huh?”

Rúben grinned, "Yeah, trying to keep it simple.”

You chuckled softly, clearly appreciating his easygoing approach, "I admire that. Most people wouldn’t say no to a drink, especially at an event like this."

Rúben shrugged, his smile easy, "I guess I’ve learned to pace myself. Especially when I’ve got a long day ahead tomorrow."

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piquing again, "You’ve really got me wondering what it is you do that’s got you thinking about tomorrow already."

Rúben smiled, his expression softening as he looked at you, "I guess I just prefer to let things unfold naturally,” he replied, his tone warm but playful, "Besides, the focus is on tonight, right? We’ll get to that part when it’s time.”

There was something about the way he said it—casual, but with an underlying confidence—that made you feel like you didn’t need all the answers just yet.

You laughed, leaning in a bit closer, "Alright, fine. I’ll play along for now. But, like I said, don’t think I won’t get it out of you eventually," you said, your tone playful but determined.

Rúben grinned, feeling more relaxed now that the conversation had found its rhythm, "I’m sure you will.”

You shot him a curious look, then changed the subject, "So, what did you think of the concert?"

"It was amazing," Rúben replied, nodding, "I’ve been a fan for a while, but this was next level. He has such a presence on stage—way different than just listening to his tracks."

You nodded in agreement, "Exactly. It’s like he brings something extra when he performs live. I’ve seen him a few times now, and it never gets old."

Rúben smiled, appreciating how easily the conversation was flowing between you, "It was my first time seeing you live too."

The comment caught you slightly off guard, but you couldn’t help but smile, "Oh yeah? What did you think?” You asked, leaning in a little, genuinely curious about his thoughts.

Rúben hesitated for a moment, not wanting to sound too over the top, but the truth was, the performance had left a lasting impression on him, "It was... incredible,” he said, meeting your eyes, "You have this presence on stage, like you’re giving a piece of yourself in every note. It’s something you don’t forget.”

Your smile deepened at his sincerity, warmth flooding your chest, "Thank you,” you said softly, genuinely touched by his words, "I’m glad you got to see it live, then. It means a lot when people get what I’m trying to put out there."

He gave you a quick smile. Eric returned with Rúben’s water, handing it to him with a nod before stepping back to his spot. Rúben took a sip, and you looked at him, your expression thoughtful, as if you were about to say something deeper. Instead, you smiled again, keeping things light, "So, what else do you do for fun, besides keeping secrets and attending concerts?" you teased.

Rúben laughed, feeling more comfortable than he had expected to, "Well, I do enjoy concerts when I can make it out to them. And keeping secrets? That’s just an added skill."

Your laugh was infectious, and you shook your head, "You’re a hard one to crack, Rúben."

Rúben couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth at the sound of your laughter, like he had unlocked something special. The way your eyes lit up made him feel like he’d done something right, like maybe he was getting closer to you without even trying.

“To answer your question though, I like to stay active—running, hiking, anything that keeps me moving. But I also enjoy downtime with friends, whether it's playing card games or just hanging out, nothing too crazy. And when I get the chance, I love reading or catching up on a good film—helps clear my mind."

You leaned back in your seat, still smiling, but with a slightly more thoughtful expression now. “Well, I guess it’s good that you have hobbies outside of work. I feel like I’m always on the go. Between filming, recording, meetings… sometimes I forget what downtime even feels like.”

Rúben nodded, his smile softening. “I can imagine. You must have a pretty packed schedule.”

You chuckled lightly, “Yeah, it’s been nonstop lately. I barely have time for myself, let alone for stuff like this—just sitting, having a conversation, and not worrying about what comes next. It’s nice, though.”

He smiled as he took another sip of water, "I bet this venue is a change of pace for you?”

You tilted your head, your eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity, "What do you mean?”

“Well,” he said, setting his glass down, “you’re used to playing for huge crowds, no?”

A knowing smile crossed your face as you caught his meaning, "Ah. Yes, this is a little different, more intimate.” You leaned back in your seat, your expression softening as you reminisced, "I actually started my career playing venues like these. Small venues, little shows here and there. It seems like so long ago—my goodness.”

Rúben could see the nostalgia in your eyes, as if you were momentarily transported back to those early days of your career, "And how does it compare? The small venues versus the massive stadiums?”

You smiled, your eyes lighting up, "There’s no better feeling than the rush from performing, no matter the size of the venue. The energy from a massive crowd is incredible, but there’s something special about a smaller space. You can see everyone’s faces, feel their energy in a more personal way.”

Rúben nodded, understanding the appeal, "I can imagine. Must be surreal to have that kind of connection with your fans.”

“Yeah, it is,” you replied, your voice softening, "It reminds me why I started all of this in the first place. It’s easy to get caught up in the craziness, but those moments… they bring you back.”

Rúben smiled, appreciating how genuine you were, "Sounds like you’ve managed to stay grounded through it all."

You nodded, your expression thoughtful, "I try. But it helps when you have the right people around you."

“How are you liking Manchester? Are you just visiting?” Rúben asked, curious.

“I really like it,” you said, your eyes brightening a bit, "It’s different from what I’m used to—people are friendlier than I expected, and the vibe here is nice. It’s a bit more laid-back than the usual chaos of my life in LA or New York.” You smiled, "And no, I’m actually here for the next year—I’m filming a movie.”

Rúben raised his eyebrows in surprise, "A whole year? That’s exciting. What’s the movie about?”

You chuckled softly, leaning back, "Can’t give too much away just yet, but it’s a drama—something really close to my heart. It’s been intense, but I’m excited to be staying here for a while.”

Rúben grinned, leaning back in his chair, "Seems like we’re both keeping secrets, then.”

Your eyes sparkling with amusement, "I guess we are. Maybe we’ll have to trade secrets at some point.”

Rúben nodded, smirking, “Maybe. But for now, I think it’s more fun to keep the mystery going.”

You raise your glass playfully, "To secrets, then.”

Rúben clinked his glass with yours, "To secrets.”

You tilted your head, looking at him curiously, "How about you? You from around here? Your accent doesn’t sound like you are, but I can’t quite place it."

Rúben smiled, leaning in a little, "Good catch. No, I’m not from here—I’m Portuguese, actually."

Your eyes lit up with recognition, "Ah, that makes sense now! I knew it wasn’t an English accent. Portugal, huh? I loved my time in Lisbon. How long have you been here?"

Rúben shrugged lightly, "A couple of years now. Manchester’s become a bit of a second home, even if it’s very different from where I grew up—just outside of Lisbon, actually."

You nodded, your smile warm and understanding, "I can see why it would. Manchester has its own charm, doesn’t it? Maybe not the same sunshine as Lisbon, but there’s something about it that makes it feel like home after a while."

Rúben glanced around, the familiarity of the city settling over him, "Yeah, it grows on you," he admitted, "Even the rain."

You laughed softly, shaking your head, "I can imagine. I feel like I’ve barely seen the sun since I got here." you took a sip of your drink and leaned in slightly, your tone a little more curious now, "So what brought you here in the first place?"

Rúben hesitated for a moment, the familiar question hanging in the air, but he kept things light, "Work, mostly. I got an opportunity that I couldn’t turn down, so here I am."

You raised an eyebrow playfully, "You’re impossible."

Rúben grinned, enjoying the back-and-forth between the two of you, "I guess I am. It’s more fun this way—for me—at least.”

You let it go and instead say, “It’s funny how different places can feel like home, even when they’re not where you’re originally from."

Rúben glanced at you, sensing the depth in your words, "Exactly. It’s more about the people you’re surrounded by than the place itself, I think."

You smiled, your eyes reflecting that same thought, "You’re right. The people make all the difference." There was a brief pause before you added, “I’ve been lucky to meet some good people here already. Makes the whole being-away-from-home thing a lot easier.”

Rúben nodded, feeling the connection deepen between them, "Sounds like Manchester’s already making a good impression on you."

Your smile softened, "Yeah, it really is. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about staying here for so long, but the city’s kind of growing on me."

Ruben glanced at you, appreciating how genuine you were, "It’s funny how that works. Sometimes you don’t expect a place to feel like home until you really settle in, and suddenly it just clicks."

You took another sip of your drink, your eyes drifting to the crowd of Ricardo’s friends and team before you turned back to him, "So, what do you do when you’re not busy with this mysterious job of yours? Any favorite spots in the city?

Rúben chuckled, feeling the playful tension between you lighten again, "I’m pretty low-key. I like going for runs, exploring the quieter parts of the city when I can. There’s this park I go to, Fletcher Moss—it’s one of my favorite places to clear my head."

Your face lit up with interest, "That sounds nice! I love finding those hidden gems in new cities. Maybe you’ll have to show me around sometime."

Rúben’s heart skipped a beat, but he managed to play it cool, "I’d be happy to. There’s a lot of spots you’d probably like—depends on what you’re into."

You leaned forward slightly, your gaze locking with his, the connection deepening with every word. “I’m into a lot of things. But I’m always up for discovering something new.”

Rúben felt a spark of something more as he grinned, “Well, looks like you’ve got yourself a tour guide then.”

The conversation flowed easily between you, but after a while, Rúben excused himself with a smile. “I’ll be right back, just need to use the toilet.”

You nodded, watching him go with a curious smile. Taking a sip of your drink, you found yourself wondering who exactly Rúben was. Something about his easy charm and the way he’d dodged certain questions intrigued you. He seemed grounded—refreshingly so—but also slightly mysterious.

On his way back, as Rúben navigated through the crowd, someone stopped him. A man in his mid-30s approached, clearly excited but respectful. “Rúben, sorry to bother you, but… could I get your autograph? I’ve been following your career for a while. It would mean a lot.”

Rúben’s voice was quiet but kind as he quickly signed the fan’s hat. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for the support.”

As he looked up, he noticed you watching from your table, amusement and curiosity flickering across your face.

When he returned and sat down, you didn’t hesitate. Leaning in slightly, your eyes twinkled. “Alright, what was that about? You’ve officially lost your mystery card.” You laughed softly. “So, are you going to tell me now, or do I have to Google you?”

Rúben scratched the back of his neck, a bit shy under your playful scrutiny. “Well, looks like I can’t keep that secret anymore.” He smiled sheepishly. “You got me—I play football… or soccer, as you call it in the States.”

Your eyes widened, genuine curiosity in your expression. “Now I’m really curious—who do you play for?”

Rúben chuckled softly, realizing his attempt to keep things low-key had failed. “I play for Manchester City.”

You nodded slowly, taking it in, even though football wasn’t your world. But you didn’t downplay it. “Manchester City, huh? I think I’ve seen billboards of you guys around town… and I might’ve passed by where you play… something with an E, right?” You paused, trying to remember the name.

“Etihad Stadium,” Rúben said, amused by your effort.

“That’s it! I’ve definitely driven past it on my way to set,” you said with a smile. “I’ve seen the billboards, too.”

Despite not following the sport, you didn’t brush off his career, which Rúben appreciated. Your curiosity and respect were clear. “That’s pretty amazing. I know soccer’s huge here.”

Rúben leaned back, feeling more relaxed now that the truth was out. “It’s been a good journey so far.” He grinned. “I was having fun trying to keep you guessing.”

You smiled, your eyes playful. “Well, I’m glad you finally told me..” You teased him lightly. “But now I feel like I owe you an apology for all the games I haven’t been paying attention to since being here for the past month.”

Rúben laughed, the tension easing. “I think I can let that slide.”

There was a pause, and then you tilted your head, a grin tugging at your lips. “So… are you any good?”

He chuckled, downplaying it. “I get by.”

“Just ‘get by’?” You raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying his modesty. Grabbing your phone, you began typing with a smirk. “What’d you say your last name was?”

“I didn’t. It’s Dias—with an S,” he answered, trying not to laugh at your persistence.

A few seconds passed as you scanned the screen, and when you looked up, disbelief flashed in your eyes. “I don’t know what any of these awards mean,” you began, laughing, “but it says here you’re ‘one of the best defenders in the world.’”

Rúben couldn’t help but laugh, though he was visibly embarrassed. “I wouldn’t say all that,” he replied, his modesty endearing.

Reading aloud from your phone, you continued with a playful smirk. “‘Known for his tactical intelligence and physical presence… multiple titles with Manchester City… Defender of the Year.’” You leaned in, teasing him. “You’ve been holding out on me, Rúben.”

He rubbed the back of his neck again, his smile sheepish. “Yeah, well… I didn’t want to come off as full of myself.”

Your smile softened, clearly impressed but maintaining the light tone between you. “I get it. But that’s pretty amazing. You’re out here acting like it’s no big deal, and meanwhile, people are calling you one of the best in the world.” You crossed your arms, grinning. “You just went from mysterious to impressive real quick.”

Rúben laughed, feeling comfortable again. “Thanks, but honestly, I’m just trying to keep things normal. It’s all part of the job.”

You nodded, still smiling. “Well, you’re doing a good job of keeping it normal. But now I’m definitely curious about what it’s like being, you know… one of the best defenders in the world.”

Rúben smiled, leaning back a bit. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. A lot of hard work, a lot of discipline.”

“I can imagine,” you said, your voice softer now, genuinely intrigued. “But playing in front of all those fans… hearing them chant your name… that’s got to feel surreal.”

“It is,” Rúben admitted, his tone thoughtful. “The energy is something else. You don’t hear individual voices—it’s like this wall of sound that hits you. But at the end of the day, it’s about the game… being part of something bigger.”

You smiled at that, clearly drawing a parallel. “It’s like performing on stage, then. You connect with the crowd, but you also lose yourself in the moment.”

Rúben nodded, appreciating the comparison. “Exactly. It’s all about focus. When you’re in that flow, everything else just fades.”

“You make it sound almost meditative,” you said with a smile, your voice thoughtful.

“It kind of is,” Rúben replied, then paused. “But then there’s the other side. The pressure, the expectations… everyone’s got an opinion, and it’s hard to shake that sometimes.”

You understood that feeling all too well. “I get that. The spotlight can make people forget there’s a real person behind it all.”

Rúben nodded, grateful for your understanding. “Exactly. It’s like you’re always ‘on,’ even when you’re not on the pitch.”

“It sounds like we have more in common than I thought,” you said with a smile. “But I’d love to see you play sometime. Maybe now I’ll actually pay attention.”

Rúben grinned. “Well, if you ever come to a match, I’ll try not to disappoint.”

“I have a feeling you won’t,” you teased. “I’ll definitely check out a game now. You know… for research,” you winked.

Rúben chuckled, his voice softening as he replied, “I’d be happy to have you there.”

You sat for a moment, the conversation flowing naturally as you both seemed to relax more into each other’s company. Rúben glanced around, noticing how the crowd at the after-party had thinned out a bit. The buzz of the room had calmed, leaving the both of you in your own little corner, comfortably isolated from the rest of the event.

“So,” you started, your tone becoming a little more curious, “how do you handle it? The pressure? Does it ever get to you?”

Rúben thought for a moment, taking in the question, “It’s tough sometimes,” he admitted, his voice a little quieter, "I try not to let it get to me, but it’s always there—people’s expectations, the media, the fans. You want to do your best, but there are days when it can be a little overwhelming.”

“I get that. It’s kind of the same in my world. You start out just wanting to do what you love, and then suddenly, everyone’s watching, waiting for you to either succeed or fail.” You paused for a moment, your gaze softening, “But I guess you learn to find your balance.”

Rúben smiled, appreciating how easily you understood the weight of it, "Yeah, that’s the key—finding balance. Making sure you have a life outside of it all. I try to keep things as normal as possible, spend time with friends and family, stay grounded.”

A glimmer of admiration flashed in your eyes, “That’s a good way to look at it. It’s hard to remember sometimes, but you can’t let the spotlight define you.”

“Exactly,” Rúben said, nodding, "It’s important to have something outside of football, something that reminds you who you really are. For me, it’s family and friends. What about you? How do you stay grounded?”

Your gaze drifted, deep in thought, “I think it’s the same for me,” you say quietly, "Family, close friends. The people who knew me before all of this happened. They remind me of where I came from and what’s important.” You looked back at him, your smile returning, "And, of course, taking time to do normal things—like having random conversations at after-parties with guys who pretend not to be famous.”

Rúben laughed, "Yeah, well, you’ve got me figured out now.”

“Maybe,” you say, teasingly, your eyes twinkling again, “But I’m still learning.”

Rúben grinned, enjoying the ease of their conversation, "It’s good I’ve still got some mystery left, then.”

You smirked, raising an eyebrow, "It’s also a good thing I’m catching on quickly.” You took another sip of your drink, then set the glass down, leaning in slightly, "It’s funny, isn’t it? No matter how big life gets, we’re all just trying to stay connected to the simple things.”

Rúben nodded, his eyes softening as he spoke, "Exactly. All the attention—it’s great in some ways, but it’s the little moments, the real ones, that matter the most.”

Your smile grew a little more thoughtful, your gaze meeting his, “I think that’s why tonight’s been nice. It’s not about the big scene or the crowds—it’s just… talking.”

Rúben felt a warmth spread through him at your words. There was something about this connection, the easy back-and-forth, that made him forget about everything else.

You felt the same. For the first time in a long time, you weren't the celebrity in the room. You were just Y/N, having a conversation with someone who seemed to genuinely understand you.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice soft but sincere, "It’s been really nice.”

For a moment, the space between you seemed to shrink, the rest of the room fading into the background. There was an unspoken understanding passing between you, something that felt deeper than just casual conversation.

“You’re different from what I expected, you know,” you said, your tone playful but with a hint of something more, "Not that I had much to go on, but still.”

Rúben chuckled, feeling a bit of heat rise to his cheeks, "Different, huh? I’m hoping that’s a good thing.”

You laughed softly, your eyes sparkling, “It is. Definitely a good thing.”

He smiled, feeling a quiet sense of contentment settle over him, "You know, you’re different too. In a good way,” he added, his tone light but genuine.

“Oh yeah? How so?” You asked, tilting your head slightly.

Rúben thought for a moment, then shrugged with a smile, “I guess I expected you to be… I don’t know, larger than life, I suppose. But you’re real. Easy to talk to, grounded. It’s refreshing.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, “That means a lot.”

Rúben’s words hung in the air, and for a moment, you felt something shift. You had gotten used to people seeing you as an image, a brand, something beyond just a person. Fans and the media only ever saw the version of you on magazine covers, in interviews, or on stage. Larger than life, as Rúben had said. They admired the success, the fame, the polished perfection of it all. But it wasn’t often that someone saw past that, to the reality of who you were.

And yet, here was Rúben, someone who didn’t know you well—at least, not personally—and still, he was trying to see you. The real you. He hadn’t met the version of you that the world idolized, but the one sitting in front of him, sharing casual conversation and laughter. He didn’t treat you like the star everyone else seemed to see, and for the first time in a while, you felt like you weren’t under a microscope.

It was strange, almost liberating, to be with someone who didn’t make your fame the centerpiece of the interaction. He wasn’t in awe of your celebrity or caught up in the glitz of it all. Instead, he seemed intrigued by the person behind all of that. And that, more than anything, made you feel a sense of relief—a small but significant reminder that you were more than just a name or a face in the public eye.

Rúben, too, found himself reflecting on the fact that despite knowing you through your fame, sitting here with you felt remarkably natural. It was like the layers of who you were—superstar, singer, performer—had been peeled back, revealing someone far more real, far more grounded than he had expected.

The air between you felt charged, but not in an uncomfortable way. It was like you’d found a rhythm, an understanding that transcended the usual boundaries of your worlds. It was simple, easy, and real.

“I guess we’re both surprising each other tonight,” you said with a playful smile, your voice breaking the silence but keeping the warmth alive.

Rúben smiled, feeling more relaxed than he had all night, “I think that’s a good thing.”

You leaned in, your smile teasing, "So, you’re a fan of Frank and 6lack. Any chance you’re a fan of mine?”

Rúben smiled back, enjoying the playful energy between you, "Yeah, I might’ve seen a few of your music videos.”

That caught you by surprise, especially since your music was so different from the styles of Frank and 6lack. You raised an eyebrow, deciding to play along, "Posters on your wall too?”

He chuckled, shaking his head, "No, but my little cousins definitely had a few. I might’ve appreciated your beauty back then, though. Might have even said you were my celebrity crush when people asked.”

Now that really threw you off. You blinked, a teasing smile slowly forming on your lips, "Really?” you asked, though his words stuck with you, a little more genuine than you expected. He said it so casually, so sincerely. It wasn’t the usual exaggerated fan confession you’d grown used to—this felt different. More real.

As you sat there, you couldn’t help but take him in, noticing not just how calm and grounded he seemed, but how effortlessly handsome he was. Rúben had a quiet magnetism about him. His sharp features—the strong jawline, the slightly tousled dark hair, the way his eyes seemed to hold yours without wavering—made him striking in a way that was hard to ignore. His easy smile softened his intensity, giving him a boyish charm that contrasted with the strength in his build.

He had an athletic frame, broad shoulders that were dead giveaways of his profession, which you probably should have guessed, but there was something about the way he carried himself—relaxed, confident, yet without arrogance—that made him even more attractive. He wasn’t just handsome in the way people usually described. There was a depth to his presence, an authenticity that you hadn’t expected.

You’d realized it the moment you were introduced, but sitting here now, the conversation flowing so naturally, you found yourself noticing even more—how his eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled, how his laugh felt genuine, and how his warmth seemed to come effortlessly. In a world where everything in your life was curated and controlled, Rúben felt like the opposite—completely natural, unaffected by the whirlwind that usually surrounded you.

It wasn’t just his looks that drew you in, though those were undeniable. It was the way he listened, the way he engaged with you, not as the public figure everyone else saw but as someone real. That sincerity made him even more attractive, and you couldn’t help but feel a little flustered by how much he was affecting you.

So, you decided to tease him.

A playful spark lit in your eyes, “Ah, so you don’t appreciate my beauty now?”

For a moment, Rúben froze, completely caught off guard. Oh my God, is she flirting with me? He stammered, “No, I mean yes.”

Your soft giggle only made his flustered state worse, and you leaned in slightly, clearly enjoying his reaction, "Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you nervous.”

Rúben cleared his throat, attempting to regain some composure, "Me? Nervous? Psh, never,” he said, flashing a grin that was a little too playful, though the slight blush on his cheeks betrayed him.

You laughed again, the sound light and genuine, "Sure, whatever you say,” you teased, your eyes twinkling as the tension between you two grew playfully charged.

Rúben shook his head, trying to steady himself, "Okay, maybe a little nervous,” he admitted, still smiling, "But I wasn’t expecting you to just—well, you know—say that.”

Leaning back with a satisfied grin, you crossed your arms, "I like keeping people on their toes. Besides, aren’t you athletes supposed to be cool under pressure?”

Rúben smirked, feeling the energy shift, "On the pitch, yeah. Off the pitch? It’s a little different when you’re sitting next to your teenage celebrity crush.”

Your smile softened, and your eyes sparkled with curiosity and amusement, "Oh, so now I’m just the teenage celebrity crush?”

He laughed, running a hand through his hair, feeling bolder now, "Nah, you’ve held that title pretty well. I just didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to say it to you in person.”

You raised an eyebrow, a sly smile on your lips, "Are you saying I’m still your celebrity crush?”

Your question hit him harder than expected, and for a moment, Rúben felt that familiar nervousness creeping back in. He tried to find the right words without sounding completely flustered, but the teasing glint in your eyes only made him more nervous.

“Well,” he began, a little sheepishly, “Um, yeah, maybe.”

Your smile widened, clearly enjoying the moment, "Maybe?” you echoed, your tone playful, "You might need to be a little more sure about that, Rúben.”

He laughed, shaking his head, "Okay, fine. Yes,” he admitted, finally giving in, "You’re still my celebrity crush.”

Your laughter rang out softly, and you leaned back in your chair, clearly satisfied, "Good to know," you teased, your eyes sparkling as you met his gaze, "I’ve got to say, that’s pretty flattering."

Rúben felt the tension ease again, the conversation flowing naturally, "Well, you’ve earned it," he said with a grin, "It’s not just anyone who can hold onto that title for so long."

You smiled shyly, butterflies erupting in your stomach, "Thanks."

Rúben laughed, leaning back a little, a blush still on his cheeks “You’re welcome.”

You gave him a playful look, raising your glass slightly as if to toast, “No, seriously—‘Rúben Dias’s celebrity crush’ completely trumps ‘Grammy Award-winning artist.’ I should update my bio immediately.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, “Oh, yeah, because that’s what people are really interested in.”

You grinned, your eyes twinkling with amusement., “Obviously! Forget the Grammys—this is the real achievement,” you teased, leaning in a bit closer, “I should make a speech.”

Rúben shook his head, laughing softly, "I’d love to hear that one.”

You leaned in, your smile soft but teasing, “Alright, I’m done teasing you about this… for now. Also, for what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty cute.”

Rúben blinked, clearly stunned by the compliment. He ran a hand over his face, laughing under his breath, “Oh God, this is not my life. I think I’m going to wake up any moment now.”

You laughed, watching as the cool, confident man you’d first met seemed to disappear, replaced by someone more flustered, more genuine. It was endearing, seeing him like this—unprepared, caught off guard. You couldn’t help but smile, watching the way he fumbled with his thoughts, clearly trying to process everything. There was something incredibly charming about seeing this side of him—the one that wasn’t perfectly composed or poised like he probably was on the field.

“You’re seriously doubting this is real?” you tease, still grinning, "What, you don’t usually get compliments? I’m sure your DMs are full.”

Rúben shook his head, a playful look in his eyes now, "I mean, maybe, but that doesn’t mean I’m not caught off guard by compliments from someone like you.”

You raised an eyebrow, "Someone like me? Elaborate.”

He shrugged, his grin widening a bit, "You know… a global superstar, my celebrity crush, and apparently someone who thinks I’m cute.”

You laughed again, feeling the playful tension between you both rising, "Well, get used to it,” you replied with a wink, "You’re in my orbit now.”

Rúben shook his head again, still smiling but his voice softened slightly, "You have no idea how surreal this feels.”

You feel warmth spread through you again, but this time it wasn’t from the teasing or the banter. There was sincerity in his voice that caught you off guard, "Well,” you said softly, “I’m glad you’re here.”

For a moment, the teasing disappeared, replaced by something more real, something that made the connection between you both feel deeper. The air between you felt a little heavier, but in the best way, like you were both beginning to see each other clearly for the first time. You both sat in the comfortable silence that followed, the shared understanding between you deepening. Rúben could feel the connection growing, something more than just casual conversation or playful teasing.

“I’ve got to say,” you finally said, breaking the silence with a smile, “I’m glad Ricardo left us alone to talk. It’s been… fun.”

Rúben smiled back, feeling the same way, "Yeah, it has.”

He leaned back in his chair, letting the comfortable silence settle between you for another moment. He couldn’t help but feel how unexpectedly natural this all felt—talking to you, connecting over things beyond the surface. He hadn’t expected to feel so at ease with you, but there it was, undeniable.

“I guess we have to thank Ricardo for that,” he said with a small grin, "He knew what he was doing.”

You laughed softly, nodding, “Yeah, he’s sneaky like that. But in a good way.” You glanced around the room, "It’s kind of funny. I wasn’t even planning on staying this long, but…” You trailed off, your eyes meeting his again, "I’m glad I did.”

Rúben’s heart gave a slight jump at the way you said it, the openness in your voice, "Yeah, me too,” he said, his tone sincere.

Leaning in just a bit closer, your gaze lingering on his, you began, your voice quiet but playful “You know, I’ve spent all night figuring you out, but I still feel like there’s more to uncover.”

Rúben chuckled, feeling the subtle shift in the air between you, "I’m not that mysterious,” he said with a grin, though he knew you weren’t entirely wrong.

You smiled, tilting your head slightly, “Maybe not, but there’s definitely more to you than meets the eye.” you paused, then added with a teasing glint in your eyes, “And I don’t mean just on the field.”

Rúben laughed, shaking his head, "I’m starting to think you’re the one with all the layers.”

“You’re definitely right about that,” you said, your voice soft now, "I do have a few layers left myself.”

In this moment, as your eyes met his, you felt a familiar tug in your chest—a reminder of the walls you’d built over the years, the barriers fame had forced you to put in place. The persona the world saw, the carefully crafted version of you, had become second nature. It was protection, keeping people at a distance, even when they thought they were close. But here, sitting across from Rúben, with his easy smile and genuine warmth, you could feel those walls wavering, just a little.

It had always been easier to let people see what they wanted to see—the superstar, the performer. Not many had the patience or desire to dig deeper, to find the layers you’d hidden beneath the surface. And for the longest time, you were okay with that. Fame came with its own set of rules, its own boundaries, and you followed them.

But now, as Rúben leaned in slightly, his eyes filled with curiosity and something more, you wondered if maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let someone in. Even just a little. He didn’t seem intimidated by the version of you that everyone else saw. Instead, he was looking for something beyond it, and the way he said, "I think I’m up for the challenge," made you feel like maybe—just maybe—he could be.

Your smile softened as you met his gaze, feeling that unspoken connection settle between you. “I guess we’ll see,” you said quietly, the words holding more weight than just a playful response. Because a part of you wondered if you were ready to let someone like Rúben peel back those layers you’d kept hidden for so long.

Just as the moment between you deepened, your bodyguard, Eric, reappeared at your side. His presence was calm but firm, and he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so only you could hear, "Hey, sorry to interrupt, but we should probably head out soon. There’s a lot of paps waiting outside.”

You sighed softly, the weight of your public life settling in again. You glanced up at Eric, then back at Rúben with a small, apologetic smile, "I guess that’s my cue.”

Rúben nodded, understanding, "Yeah, I figured you’d have a bit of a crowd waiting for you.”

You stood up slowly, adjusting your jacket, "I knew it was too good to last,” you said lightly, though there was a hint of reluctance in your voice, "It was nice having a little break from all that, though.”

Rúben stood up too, his smile warm, "I get it. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.” He hesitated for a moment, not wanting the night to end just yet, "But I’ve really enjoyed tonight. I’m glad Ricardo pulled me over.”

Your eyes softened as you looked at him, "Me too.”

You smiled, and for a brief moment, it felt like there was something unspoken between you, a mutual understanding that this night hadn’t just been a random conversation—it had been the start of something more.

As Eric gave you a gentle nudge toward the exit, you looked back at Rúben one last time, "Goodnight, Rúben.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replied, his voice soft but genuine.

And with that, you turned to leave, your bodyguards following. Rúben stood there for a moment, watching you go, a quiet smile lingering on his face. The night had been unexpected, but as he watched you go, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something… something real. So, with a sudden rush of boldness surge through him, he decided to act on it. This wasn’t something that happened every day—his celebrity crush not only talking to him but connecting with him on a real level. Before he could overthink it, he called out, “Y/N!”

You stopped mid-step, turning slightly in his direction, your eyes meeting his with a curious look. The noise of the music and conversations, the bustle of the crew, and the buzz of the venue seemed to melt away as you focused on him. The way you tilted your head, your brows lifting slightly in question—it caught him completely off guard.

He didn’t know where this sudden burst of courage came from, but he wasn’t about to back down now. Rúben cleared his throat, taking a step toward you, the words forming before he could second-guess himself.

“Would you like to get dinner sometime?” His voice, though steady, held a slight edge of nervousness, like he was teetering between confidence and uncertainty.

For a split second, surprise flickered across your face. It wasn’t the kind of question you’d been expecting tonight, that much was clear. You blinked, your lips parting as if you weren’t sure what to say. But then, something shifted in your expression, a warmth replacing the initial shock, and you smiled—a real, genuine smile that softened your entire face.

“Dinner?” you asked, the word rolling off your tongue with a hint of amusement. You took a step closer to him, your gaze steady and playful as if considering his offer with more weight than you were letting on. “Are you asking me out on a date, Rúben?”

His heart thudded in his chest, but he managed to keep his voice calm as he replied, “Yeah, I am.”

You paused for a moment, glancing at your bodyguard Eric, who stood a few steps behind you, clearly waiting for a signal. You then looked back at Rúben, your eyes sparkling with a teasing edge. “You know what?” you said, taking another step closer, “I think I’d like that.”

Rúben’s heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirmed, your voice softer now, more sincere than playful. “Let’s make it happen.”

As you turned to follow Eric, you threw one last glance over your shoulder, your voice light and teasing. “I’ll have my people reach out to yours.”

Rúben couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah, I’ll keep an eye out for that,” he said, grinning.

You waved a final goodbye, your bodyguard stepping in to guide you through the thinning crowd. Rúben stood there for a moment, watching you disappear into the backstage area, his pulse still racing, his mind still replaying everything that had just happened.

He had actually done it. He had asked you out, and you had said yes. It felt crazy, like something out of a dream.

Before he could process any further, a familiar voice pulled him back to reality. “Yo,” Ricardo called out with a grin, striding over to him. “Looks like you two were hitting it off.”

Rúben chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, something like that.”

Ricardo smirked, clearly catching on. “You asked her out, didn’t you?”

Rúben shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I might have.”

Ricardo let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn, man. You’ve got balls. Good for you. I told you she was good people.”

Rúben nodded, still in a bit of a daze. “Yeah, she is.”

Ricardo clapped him on the shoulder, his grin widening. “Well, I guess you’re in now. She’s a lot of fun. Just keep it real with her.”

“I will,” Rúben said, his voice more serious now.

Ricardo gave him a final nod, clearly pleased with how the night had unfolded. “Good luck, man. I’m rooting for you.”

Rúben smiled, feeling a mix of excitement and disbelief wash over him. As Ricardo headed back to join the rest of his crew, Rúben couldn’t help but glance toward the backstage area one last time, his thoughts still on you and the unexpected connection you’d shared tonight.

The night had started as something ordinary—a concert, a chance to unwind—but it had turned into something far more significant. He had no idea what would happen next, but for now, he was content with the knowledge that you’d said yes.

The cool night air greeted him as he stepped out of the venue, the sounds of the city humming softly in the background. Rúben walked toward his car, his mind still buzzing with the events of the evening, the thought of seeing you again lingering in the back of his mind.

The drive home was quiet, the streets mostly empty as the city began to settle into the late hours. Rúben’s mind was still replaying the night, the conversation with you, the way you had smiled at him, the promise of seeing you again. He was lost in thought, but it was the kind of thought that made him feel light, almost weightless.

There was something about your beauty—effortless, captivating—that he couldn’t shake. It wasn’t just in the way you looked, but the way you made everything around you seem more alive. Meeting you had stirred something in him, and he knew this was only the beginning.

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rubendias The unexpected connection. Long time listener… special to finally hear it in person! Good to see you bro @.6lack ✊🏼

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6lack family 🙏🏾 🔒

━━━━━━☆━━━━━━━━☆━━━━━━━

well, chapter one is all yours! i hope you enjoyed it ◡̈

chapter two should be out soon 🤍

my ask box is always open! (another reminder: i am from California (PDT), so i’m 8 hours behind England so please forgive me if i answer really late 😩

-mars

[egrets-not-regrets]

My silly thoughts on Guesthouse of the (Lost) Astartes Series

Tagging: @kit-williams, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog,

@bispecsual, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts

Here are some of my own thoughts/headcanons/comments while writing this story:

Erriox loves Lenora very very much, and Lenora feels the same. Though it took them longer before their bond truly became a mate bond. Whereas Alcyon and Malaran has an intense bond with Amelia and Ben respectively, resulting in Malaran considering Ben, his child, and Alcyon considers Amelia his mate/wife within a very short period of time. It wasn't exactly difficult for Alcyon to take the role that Amelia's ex left behind, to be honest.

Potential number of Ben’s dads = - 1 + 2. Problem here would be that Malaran and Alcyon might start butting heads if Ben starts calling either of them 'dad'. Especially if Ben starts calling Alcyon 'dad'. As chaos space marines are rather possessive of their bonded humans.

The deeply religious consider chaos space marines as demons and of the devil. Any one who is bonded to one are either ousted or must be 'saved'. Since Ben is the firstborn (only) son, they were trying to 'save' him from Malaran's 'influence'. His mother (Amelia) already 'fell' (bonded with a chaos Iron Warrior), but since she's the wife and not truly family, ousting her was not a big issue. They can raise Ben themselves to make sure he walks the right path in life.

Erriox just wants to mack on Lenora. Malaran's a prick for calling him out.

Alcyon, despite being a chaos space marine, has some degree of propriety. Put it this way: say he has it in his head of wanting to bend Amelia over the admin desk of the medical wing and take her right there, he'll think it, but he ain't gonna say it out loud or at least not until when they're in private. Malaran doesn't have as much of a filter.

Lenora prefers that Amelia remember her as a responsible adult, and not take children for high-speed joyrides chases on winter roads. She is a decent driver, but even that was pushing her skills to the limit and she heavily relied on luck to get them through okay.

Erriox has seen Lenora drive, but never like the Tokyo Drift stunt she pulled. Poor man darn near had a heart attack. That was the first time he had to confront the fact that Lenora could've gotten seriously hurt or killed before his eyes and there was very little he could do to stop it as he was also dealing with the Black Templar at the time.

When Erriox and Malaran took a long time to get back to the base, that was the first time Lenora got scared that Erriox was going to die or was dead. To say the least, both of them had some reservations of this whole plan at some point, despite only outright saying so at the end.

Don’t leave a mess in Apothecary Osteron’s medbay. Medics are scary when angry. I picture him as a mix of Ratchet from Transformers and Unohana from Bleach. He has health and safety standards and it is important to keep his medbay clean. His poor staff JUST cleaned it, he's not about to make them do it again. Might as well get the three knuckleheads to do it since they were the ones who made the mess.

Alcyon once made children cry when he went to the medical ward to pick up Amelia, because he was so intimidating.

Also, Alcyon can’t purr like Malaran or Erriox. Man’s still learning. Amelia finds his attempts to purr cute and endearing despite sounding like something between a broken engine, snarl, and the lowing of needy tiger (or a lowing cow).

Warmaster be like “This bunch of chucklefucks just haaaaad to start shit with the goddamn Black Templar.” Now he has to do PR and negotiations to avoid too much bad blood with the Imperial Fists in the city. All he wanted was just one week without drama. His dang fault though. This wouldn't have happened if Amelia wasn't banned from contacting her son.

Amelia knows some Gothic. She knows enough, but not a lot. That's why she was blushing when Malaran made that comment.

Does she know that Alcyon pretty much considers her his mate/ wife? Yes, from his actions, but Alcyon had never outright told her. Sometimes he would call her by those names in Gothic as a term of endearment, but never told her what they mean. However, like she mentioned in the chapter, the wounds left by previous relationship is still pretty fresh. While she loves Alcyon deeply and returns his affections, at that point, Amelia's still pretty hesitant about calling Alcyon her lover.

Malaran can and will start shit, especially if it has anything to do with Ben. Also, he can be a little shit sometimes.

Meaning in floriography of the little bouquet of yarrow (Achillea millefolium) and dandelion on Alcyon’s desk. Dandelions symbolize hope, strength, resilience, and renewal. Yarrow has the double meaning of love and healing, and can also mean “I love you in spite of everything” or everlasting love. Like dandelions, it is also considered a tough hardy weed, which is representative of Alcyon’s physical character and th resilience of the bond itself.

Alcyon gifted the flowers to her as part of his apology for the fallout from his fight with the Black Templar at Ben's school. That was a massive fuck up on his part and he knew it. At first Alcyon didn't think much of it and thought that was in his right to challenge the Black Templar, with the intention of winning back Ben for Amelia, only to realize that it cost her the last chance to see her son. With Amelia not wanting to be near him nor see him for an extended period of time, and the bond backlashing onto him, it was causing Alcyon to start to lose his mind. Luckily, Osteron intervened and managed to convince Amelia to at least meet with him again. From there, Alcyon slowly made amends for his mistake. He fell hard for this woman and formed such an intense bond, so it was something he couldn't easily give up. His brothers advised him that human women loved flowers, so he ended up picking a bunch that was available at the time and gifting it to Amelia. It wasn't much and the way he presented them to her was kind of awkward and intimidating, but it was a start and his apology was genuine, and Amelia was touched by the gesture. To say the least, they spent that night making up for lost time in his room. She decided to the flowers left behind on his desk, to add "a pop of colour" to the grey utilitarian style of the room. Alcyon couldn't help but indulge her request. He later learned about the symbolic meanings of the flowers that he gave Amelia, and found it amusing and ironically fitting for what he was trying to say when he gifted them to her.

I think that bonds can be negatively affected and broken not just by death and distance, but also by major emotional trauma. Intense bonds, like between Alcyon and Amelia, are affected by the consequences of emotional trauma more harshly than normal bonds. How it could be saved just depends on how resilient the relationship is between the two parties and/or if they are lucky enough to have someone to intervene before that bond is broken. On the other hand, it is entirely possible that the affected space marine will hunt down his bonded human in an attempt to either save the bond from being broken or quell the psychic backlash. (Possibly becoming yandere in the process)

Love to know your thoughts as well!

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 41

Oilstripe and Weedfoot have whitecough. Oilstripe lets Fennelspot share his troubles with her, hoping he’ll feel better afterward.

[Image ID: Fennelspot and Oilstripe talk while Weedfoot rests behind them. Under both Weedfoot and Oilstripe, it says + CONDITION: WHITECOUGH. Under Fennelspot, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: THE STORM PROPHECY.]

Whitecough was never fun, but under a skilled paw like Fennelspot’s, it was easy enough to manage. Having both the deputy and one of the Clan’s few historians sick would cause some issues in routine, but Rustshade silently stepped up to fill Weedfoot’s paws as she rested, so the Clan wouldn’t fall apart. Despite the ample resources available to care for Weedfoot and Oilstripe, Fennelspot still had a few worries pulling on his pelt. 

One of the main complications was the half-conscious loner sleeping in the back of the den. Ever since Shadowdrop and Burdockcreek brought her to camp, she had been in and out while Fennelspot assessed her injuries. The horse had broken her back, Fennelspot could feel it, but when he nipped at the loner’s tail and back feet, she flinched. There was hope for the stranger, she just needed to wake up.

The other issue, however…

Fennelspot focused on preparing black cherry bark tea for Weedfoot and Oilstripe. He watched as the water in his small pot boiled and the bark danced inside. He had a leather wrap in his mouth and a leather apron wrapped around his neck and covering his chest; Rattlepelt had managed to reverse engineer SlugClan’s mouth covers many moons prior, bringing an end to pot burns and all the other issues that plagued caretakers and clerics at the oven just two years prior. 

As the tea reached its peak flavor, Fennelspot grabbed the pot’s tall handle and lifted it off the grillstone. The hot flat side of the pot rested against his apron. He carefully poured the hot tea over his special medicinal filter and into a fresh bowl. He put away the apron and cover and picked up the tea bowl. Walking slowly but surely, Fennelspot headed for the quarantine den.

RippleClan had Palepaw to thank for discovering the quarantine den. She had been going about her business in the dirt place when she saw a slim opening in the back of the shipwreck. That opening led into a part of the ship that Fennelspot and Downstar thought was forever locked to the Clan. Perhaps it opened due to the passage of time, or perhaps it had always gone unnoticed with its proximity to the dirt place. Regardless, Fennelspot and RippleClan’s future clerics could safely care for their contagious patients without infecting anyone else.

Weedfoot and Oilstripe slept on soft nests surrounded by the softest pelts Rattlepelt could craft. Both mollies wheezed slightly as they slept. As the steam of the black cherry tea filled the den, Oilstripe stirred from her dreams, sniffling.

“More tea?” she sighed.

“Drink as much as you can,” Fennelspot said, placing the pot between her and Weedfoot.

“Are you sure it’s working?” Oilstripe groaned, throwing a paw over her muzzle. “My throat’s on fire.”

“You’re just sensitive to the symptoms,” Fennelspot said. “They’ll be better once you drink this.”

“Where’s Troutkit? We were comparing our claws…”

“She helped put the bark in the tea. She wanted to make sure her mother was alright.”

“She’s a good kit…”

“That she is.” Fennelspot ran his tail over Oilstripe’s shoulder. With the tea ready for the sick mollies, he turned to leave.

“Wait.” Oilstripe sat up, clearing her throat. “Something’s wrong with you.”

“What do you mean?” Fennelspot asked, trying to keep his pelt relaxed.

“Duskkit was in here,” Oilstripe chuckled awkwardly. “Not in a ‘guide us to StarClan’ way, she was just wandering. She said my whitecough was ‘making it hard for Fennelspot to think’. Think about what?”

“You shouldn’t worry about it,” Fennelspot sighed, shaking his head. “It’s cleric’s business.”

“I have an ear to that world,” Oilstripe reminded him. “I don’t have anything else to do right now. If you need to work through it, I can offer some advice.” Fennelspot hesitated. Was it appropriate to discuss what he knew with a historian? He supposed Duskkit wouldn’t have said anything if he wasn’t meant to discuss it.

“I went to the half-moon meeting last night,” Fennelspot said, sitting with his back to the exit, “and Locustseeker spoke to me. They gave me a prophecy.” Oilstripe’s eyes sparkled. “A storm within a storm gives the dark a chance to shine. Look to the sky for the call to action. I can’t tell if the dark is good or bad.”

“This is the first prophecy you’ve gotten since we founded RippleClan, isn’t it?” Oilstripe muttered. “Whatever it means, it sounds important. You told me that prophecies come from the All-Seeing, right? So any of the StarClan cats I see around camp likely won’t know too much.”

“Keep an eye on strange weather patterns,” Fennelspot said. “If we see something in the clouds, that likely means this ‘storm within a storm’ is happening.”

“One of the storms is likely not a real storm,” Oilstripe said. “It could be emotional? I don’t know who would lose it in a thunderstorm, but the details of prophecies are historically blurry until they unfold. Did that help?”

“It did,” Fennelspot sighed. He placed his paw over Oilstripe’s. “Thank you, Oilstripe. I’m not sure what I’d do without you.”

“I feel the same,” Oilstripe promised him. “Now let’s see whether you’re poisoning me with this tea.” Fennelspot couldn’t help but laugh as Oilstripe trudged to the tea bowl and drank her medicine.

(Fennelspot: 98, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Oilstripe: 45, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

Fennelspot doesn’t notice the injured loner waking up.

[Image ID: Fennelspot faces away from the brown molly. Underneath the brown molly, it says LEVEL UP! ??? -> SPIKE.]

---

Fennelspot returned to the medicine den once Weedfoot woke up and drank some of the tea. Both she and Oilstripe would recover quickly, although neither could hunt until their whitecough was all gone. Fennelspot wasn’t the sort to feel confident in his skills, but he trusted that those two would be fine.

The stranger was still asleep when Fennelspot got back. A fresh basket of late autumn herbs sat in the middle of the den. Clammask must have collected some medicine for Fennelspot while he was caring for his patients! That would save him some time. 

He dragged the basket to his stores and began to sort. It was good to have someone else pondering the prophecy with him. Hopefully one of the kits in the nursery would want to be a cleric when they reached apprenticeship. Troutkit seemed interested in herbs. Perhaps—

A sharp growl rippled through the den. Fennelspot jumped, knocking over his basket. The stranger was awake! Fennelspot had placed her in a simple brace to keep her spine straight, but the loner shifted and groaned under the uncomfortable pressure of the stick on her back.

“You need to stay still,” Fennelspot stammered. He snatched a bundle of pain-killing herbs and set them at the stranger’s side. “My name is Fennelspot. You’re in RippleClan’s camp. You were trampled by a horse, do you remember?”

“It hurts,” the stranger whined.

“I’m sure it does,” Fennelspot said. “The horse broke your back. Our Clanmates brought you here. These herbs should help with the pain.”

“My back?” the stranger groaned.

“Yes, your back. Can you feel your tail? Your back legs?”

“That’s all I feel!”

“Please, eat this. I’m here to help you. You can trust me.” Fennelspot nudged the painkillers closer. The stranger moaned, but licked the plants up. “Don’t sit up. I’ve positioned you in a way that should ease pressure off your back and help your spine heal. You should be able to walk again, but it will be a while.” 

The stranger took deep, shaky breaths. She turned her head away from Fennelspot. The ginger cleric carefully scanned the stranger’s brace. He adjusted the soft leather straps keeping the stick in place.

“I’m sure this is a lot to take in, and I want to give you time to get balanced,” Fennelspot eventually said, “but it would be good to know your name.”

“Spike,” the stranger muttered. 

“Spike,” Fennelspot sighed. “It’s a good name. Let me know if your pain doesn’t settle. There’s a lot I can do to help you. And when you want to learn more about this place…” When Fennelspot looked back down, Spike’s eyes were shut. It wasn’t clear if the molly had actually fallen asleep again or if she was trying to ignore Fennelspot. He understood either way. 

“Rest well,” he sighed. With his patient settled, Fennelspot ran off to inform his leader of the newcomer’s name.

(Fennelspot: 98, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Spike: 16, female, loner, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

[bellygunnr]

Trueno Twitterpation

A commission piece for @lyndexv of their OC Geoff reviving a sentient AE86! It was an absolute blast to write.

----

The AE86 was a cowering, sorry mess when he first discovered her, wheels stuck fast in dry-wet-dry again mud ruts and strapped down by voracious forest overgrowth. How she got there evades Geoff still, as her previous handler had long since passed and the one before him just wanted her gone. He'd all too eagerly dragged her out of her mire and onto a tow truck. The sunlight'd been good for her on that trip, though. Under the muck, her paint had taken on a faint glow, which he kept an eye on until she was practically a fireball trailing him home.

Now she's clean. Physically, at least. Her tires are new and so is her paint. And she stares at him plaintively from his driveway, headlights popped up, drawing his full attention repeatedly until he can do nothing but give in to her call. It's nice outside, at least. A pleasant day with a breeze. His skin itches, like he imagines the Trueno's does, a restless buzzing that urges him to unlock her driver's door and drop inside, stretching out to fill the cabin with all the languidness of a cat in a sunbeam.

He runs his hands along the hard edge of her utilitarian dashboard, key pinned against his palm with his thumb. Dust floats up in fits and bursts as he does so, becoming a thin veneer that the low outside sun diffuses in. The restlessness becomes electric, then, and he hurries to turn the key in the ignition over.

The dashboard lights gradually warm to life. The engine, not so much. The AE86 trembles under his hands, her anxiety as acute as a storm's ozone, her shame a pulsing heat between his eyes, like tears. 

"Hey, hey," he says gently. "Don't be upset. I know it's hard. It's not your fault."

The Trueno's frame judders hard with the force of the engine cranking. Fuel sparks, but it's both too much and not enough, and he sees smoke filter pitifully from her backend through the rear view mirror while the engine sputters back out. He pats the top of her dash consolingly.

It's terrible. She's willing, he can feel it, but there's-- problems. Barriers. Age. Disuse. Abuse. And it's killing her.

"I'll be right back. Alright? I've got a couple ideas."

He runs his hand across her dash one more time. Heat bleeds between them, lingering all the way to the hardware store, which he bikes to. When he comes back, he's significantly poorer and weighed down by car parts.

But it's a nice day. They've got time to burn. He has the tools.

And she's willing.

--

Geoff pulls out spark plugs that are black and burnt. He swaps them out for new iridium-tipped ones. Then he pulls the air filter and the carburetor and that's a new round of problems-- running is to survival as driving is to living, can't have one if you're the other, so he's glad he bought a rebuild kit for the carb. 

"Guess we'll have to go for that drive tomorrow. Sorry, girl," he sighs. "But this won't take long. I'll get you put back together."

The wind blows. One of the headlights abruptly droops, as if the '86 is winking in acknowledgement. Geoff carefully lowers the hood down and clamps it shut.

"Just sit tight."

He ducks into his garage.

---

The carb body has to soak and dry, and be brushed through. He sits at his workshop bench with the flood light on and goes through the floater, the jet screws, all of it, until it is whole and hale. His back burns with the full attention of the AE86 (or maybe he's just imagining it). (It's getting hard to tell).

It's dark out by the time he's done and that's okay. He drags his light source out with him, making multiple runs for the tools, until the AE86 is open and waiting. She's cool to the touch now that the sun's gone. She patiently abides Geoff's fumbling around in her engine bay.

"That should help with some of it. New air filter. Rebuilt carburetor-- I changed the settings, too, just to keep up with things. That'll feel good in the morning."

He's numb with cold by the time he's done. She bounces on her suspension when he closes her hood one more time, finished for the night. His hands linger on the panel of her closed headlamp.

"Good night," Geoff says.

---

He ends up sleeping in too late the next day. The shrill beep of a horn-- not French, he thinks bizarrely-- wakes him up with a shout. He's halfway out the door in just a t-shirt and boxers before his brain catches up with his body and he stares hard at his driveway, confused.

Clouds skate across the sky. A bird lingers atop his mailbox.

The AE86 has not moved an inch. But--

"I'm gonna go get dressed," he tells her. 

And he does, in record time. The Trueno's key bites into his palm with a sort of nervous energy. He's still not fully awake, but he's jittery in a suppressed adrenaline, pre-interview, post-accident kind of way. It's usually not a good start to a day. But this feels alright.

The driver's door is ajar before he even pulls the handle. He pauses, but shrugs and slides into the seat, letting muscle memory guide him until the engine is cranking.

It hangs.

"Come on, girl," he urges quietly. 

He twists the key again.

With a pop, the four cylinders start to go, and everything buzzes to life.

"Brilliant!" Geoff cries. "I knew it! I hope that feels good!"

His face twinges from smiling so broadly. Experimentally, he revs the engine, watching the needle smoothly sail from idle to 2000, 3000, and drop back down. There's some rough bubbling-- but she's not quitting. Good. Fantastic, even.

He drops into first gear. Very gently, they work together, easing out of the driveway and onto the gravel road beyond. She snarls a little passing into second into third, but stays true.

Excitement suffuses him. He can't tell if it's all his emotions or something else. But it doesn't matter. Geoff cranks the windows down, waves at a passing motorist. They don't understand.

That's okay.

They end up driving to the coast. After some time, he feels the urge to pull off onto the side of the road, where a breeze has picked up and drags in the scent of the sea, mixing in with the tang of grass. It's picturesque. His heart is still beating fast.

The Trueno idles along. Geoff tenses suddenly.

Thank you, he hears.

"What?" He blurts out.

Thank you, is repeated. For saving me as you did.

The voice is entirely in his head. Yet he can hear it. Hear her. And he knows in his bones that he's hearing Her, the '86, her chassis trembling with the raucous motion of her engine. This adrenaline. This joy. His, but not his alone. Hers, too.

"I'd do it again," he says stiltedly. "And I'll keep fixing you up until there's nothing wrong with you."

He hears her wheels crunch in the gravel. The blunt curve of a fender presses up against his legs.

Of course. I have full faith in you.

Geoff scrubs at his face, trying to hide a rapidly rising blush. She can't just SAY that! He turns around, only to find the Trueno shaking on her rear-suspension, in a rather identifiable pattern. Of course. 

"The feeling's mutual," he gets out.

They're both glad it's such a nice day out.

[hirocimacruiser]

FD3S

Armed with combat aero, a beautiful form reminiscent of a shop demo car

Cowboy Wholesale Center 2-25-7 Nakakasai, Edogawa-ku, Tokyo 134 03-5658-5555

Sharp nose and wedge shape

Shaped body line. The domestic product

with elegant styling that stands out from the car.

Although the FD3S RX-7 is very popular, the price of used cars has become much more affordable due to the increase in the number of cars and the impact of new car pricing. There is also a wide selection of tuned used cars, many of which have been finished with aero parts to give them a more aggressive look, and are very popular.

The same goes for the FD introduced here. From the flashy, wide-open front bumper to the huge rear wing and wheels, everything is made of Veilside, and the hood also features a VeilSide decal. The finish is perfectly reminiscent of a shop's demo car. That's no wonder; in fact, the previous owner of this FD was a staff member from Veilside. It's a Veilside Special that can almost be called a demo car.

The engine is stock, with only the intake and exhaust system tuned and fuel control using the F-con V, but the exhaust system has been replaced, from the front pipe to the muffler, so it runs smoothly. The power at high revolutions is also increased. In addition, not only the parts themselves, but also the installation and finishing are done with great attention to detail and are of high quality.

The light-tuned specs tend to be considered unappealing in terms of driving performance when compared to more aggressively modified cars, but the completeness of the car, including the exterior, is such that it is truly a professionally finished car. . Although it is a tuned used car, it is one that you can buy with confidence.

PIC CAPTIONS

●The seat is a 4-point Recaro SP-G+ Willans made of fiberglass. Like the exterior, the interior is of high quality, and it is a machine with high cost performance.

●The suspension is equipped with Bilstein-based coilovers. The wide and low form created by the drastically lowered vehicle height and veil side aero is truly impressive.

●The engine is basically normal. Air cleaner + intercooler pipe kit, front pipe + muffler, intake and exhaust system, and F-con V light tune specification.

INFO BOX

Infini RX-7 Type R

1995 model inspected April 2010

Mileage 19,000km 2,980,000 yen

Tune data: HKS Super Filter

HKS Racing Plug

HKS Front Pipe

Knight Sports Catalyst Straight Pipe

HKS Inter Cooler PipingKit

VeilSide Sports Muffler

HKS/F ConV

Bilstein Vehicle Adjustment

VeilSide Full Aero

Veilside Andrews wheels

Recaro SP-G Seat

[of-a-chaotic-mind]

Glue (Part 2)

Summary: The Pogues go to the police for help getting (Y/N) back but JJ and John B end up taking matters into their own hands.

TW/CW: Routledge!Reader x JJ Maybank, More mentions of a gun and Reader being kidnapped, more JJ angst.

Requested?: No

Word Count: 1,053

A/N: Part 1 Here || Aww my poor baby... Requests are Open! Much love to all!

JJ's POV

A quick drive later, we’re pulling up at the Sheriff’s office, storming inside and demanding to speak to Shoop. Having created a commotion, Shoop exits his office to investigate, “What on earth is going on here?” Sarah places her phone on the counter and hits play. Luke’s voice once again permeates my senses as Shoop looks down at her phone and watches the entire video, “Get me anything you can on that number,” he commands to his officer before turning his attention back to us, “Last seen? What was she wearing?” 

John B nudges my side and I whip my head up to look at Shoop, “Bout 8:30. Grey muscle tank, denim shorts, and flip flops.” 

Shoop nods and motions to another officer, “Put out an amber. Make sure you make it sound like a runaway young teen. Throw him off as much as possible.” 

The officer nods and hurries off as John B glares at Shoop, “He said not to get the cops involved. If my sister dies- “ 

Shoop throws his hand out, “He’s gonna make sure it’s vague enough. Calm down and have a seat. JJ, my office.” I begrudgingly follow Shoop to his office and once inside he shuts the door and motions to a chair on the opposite side of his desk from the seat he takes. I take my offered seat and he says, “I need to know as much as possible. I don’t care how unrelated you think the detail is, I need it.” 

I nod, “We were outside working on the boat,” I show him the back of my hand, “I sliced my hand on the inside of the engine bay, so she went inside to get the first aid kit.” I pause trying to remember as much as possible. “She was in there about fifteen minutes, so I went in to check on her. All I found was the first aid kit on the floor. She was gone.” 

Shoop nods, taking notes, “Anything else? Any small detail. Anything you dismissed at the time?” 

Searching my memory, I realize and get flashed back to the many nights that I laid on the floor beaten and bruised, listening to his truck rumble out of the driveway and leave before calling (Y/N) to pick me up. “A truck. I heard a truck off in the distance, but I didn’t think anything of it. It had to have been his truck I swear, Shoop.” He nods and adds this to his notes. “Shoop, you gotta find her man. I- we can’t lose her. She’s our glue.” 

Shoop nods, “We will JJ. Just hang in there.” He motions for me to leave so I make my way to join the others. We’re waiting amongst chaos as the entire sheriff’s office hustles to filter through amber alert tips. Finally, my phone ringing breaks through the noise. I whip it out and recognize the number.  

I rush to Shoop’s office and put my phone on speaker, “Hello?” 

“Duckette’s Warf, midnight tonight. Don’t forget $200k, don’t call the cops,” Luke’s voice flows through the speaker. Shoop writes a note and shows it to me. I nod, “I-I need to know she’s alive. I don’t trust your ass.” 

Sounding braver than I feel, Luke chuckles, “We’ll you sure grew some balls. Here sweetheart, talk to your little boyfriend.” 

Her voice is steady and stern, “JJ… please…” 

Luke takes back over, “There. Now bring me my money boy.” He hangs up. 

I can’t do anything but worry over my best friend. I can’t lose her. She’s my best friend and now the worst person possible has her. And it’s all my fault. Shoop speaks before I can spiral down that path, “You kids just settle back in, in the waiting room. We’ll let you know when we need something.” 

“No, I want to know what you’re gonna do to save my sister,” John B demands. “I need to know that this is in good hands or I’m gonna go get her myself.” 

Shoop sighs, “You two will do the drop off with false bills. We’ll have a team nearby to take him down after you make the switch.” 

John B’s jaw clenches, “You swear to me that you won’t let her get hurt.” 

Before Shoop can promise, I speak up, “He won’t bring her to the drop. He’ll keep her somewhere and give us her location only after he gets the cash.” I pause as everyone looks at me, “I know how he thinks. He’s gonna use her as a distraction for his getaway.” 

Shoop sighs, “Plum!” Plum pokes her head in the office allowing Shoop to give his instructions, “Filter the amber tips for spottings near Duckette’s Warf.” She nods and leaves to do so. Shoop returns to us, “We’ll look for locations he may be hiding out. If we can get to her before the drop, we can save the hassle of a drop off.” 

We all nod as Shoop motions us back to more waiting. Finally, after hours of worrying myself shitless, Plum heads to Shoop’s office. We all jump up and race to the door, hoping to hear what she has to say. “There was a tip about a guy fitting Luke’s description at a marina right next door to Duckette’s. I checked and there was a houseboat rented a few weeks back under the name Mason Bank.” 

Shoop nods, “The oldest alias he has. Get some under covers out there to scope the area.” 

John B and I look at each other as Plum rushes off. A silent look passes between us.  

After a narrow escape from Sarah, Kie, Pope, and Cleo, John B and I sneak away to take matters into our own hands. We make our way to the marina, beating the under covers there. We’re scoping the boats docked when I see it. A houseboat sits at the very back of the marina. I drag John B with me, and we sneak around the side of the boat, peaking into windows and keeping an eye out for Luke. Finally, I spot her in a dark room on the other side of a small window. Luke is in the room with his back to the window. We watch as she struggles against the zips around her wrists. 

Part 3 Here

Masterlist

More JJ Maybank Imagines

[quickautoparts]

https://tradie4u.services/listing/quick-auto-parts/

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Once you use products from such a top brand, you will never get disappointed. It's challenging to get your car serviced every then and now. Thus, we ensure you do not compromise with the parts so that you are completely free of breakdown while driving and do not require to visit the garage anytime soon.

[blubushie]

List of shit done to my 1968 Ford F250 Camper Special Custom Cab

17/8/23

She went to a mechanic and was worked on extensively and was there for nearly a year. Work done/replaced parts included:

Carb kit

Engine rebuilt by Jasper — insured to 100,000mi

Gasket set

Exhaust flange gasket

Hi-temp paint

Spark plugs

Air filter

Engine oil

Oil filter

Thermostat

Radiator + cap + upper & lower radiator hoses

Heater hoses

Water pump

Coolant

38" battery cable ground (negative)

Front wheel seals

Front left & right brake wheel cylinders

Radius arm bushings

King pin set front suspensions

Front & rear shock absorbers

Transmission pan gasket

Lever shaft seal

Steering coupler

Transmission mount

"Repaired" horn wiring

When prev owner picked her up he noted that the rear indicators were no longer operational and that the horn no longer worked, when previously they had done so. Additionally the steering coupler was installed incorrectly and resulted in the steering wheel having much more play than it did before. Furthermore when the steering was altered, the wheel was seated improperly, resulting in a wheel that now sits sideways instead of right-side up.

For unknown reasons prev owner never had these issues fixed, likely because he didn't trust the previous mechanic do the work...

[republicsecurity]

Starter Kit

As the hum of the truck's engine reverberates through the metal frame, the seasoned tactical paramedic turns to the recruit, a glint of experience in his eyes. The visor, that ever-present companion, becomes the topic of their conversation in the confined space of the vehicle hurtling through the controlled expanse of the dystopian city.

"You see, kid," the seasoned paramedic begins, his voice carrying the weight of years spent navigating the intricacies of the paramedic force. "The visor is more than just a tool. It's a leash, a leash that keeps you tethered to the directives of the Corps. But don't mistake it for mere restraint; it's your shield against the unwanted distractions of the world."

He gestures toward the window, where the cityscape unfolds.

"Look outside, and you'll see the chaos—the billboards screaming for attention, the faces of the populace, each one a potential source of distraction. Now, activate your visor."

The recruit complies, and as the visor descends, the world outside undergoes a transformation. The billboards, once glaring symbols of consumerism, dim into obscurity. Passersby are marked with health information, subtle markers of their well-being. A guide to their destination materializes in front of them, an augmented reality overlaying the tangible world.

"There you go," the seasoned paramedic continues, his tone filled with a blend of pride and caution. "The visor doesn't just keep out the noise; it shapes your perception of reality. It filters out the unnecessary, leaving only what's crucial for your mission."

In this controlled reality, the visor doesn't just obscure; it reveals. It transforms the mundane into the essential, sculpting a world where the paramedic's expertise is heightened, and distractions are filtered out like irrelevant static.

Activating the visor's analysis mode, the recruit directs their attention toward the paramedic. Digital overlays materialize, offering insights that transcend the exterior facade. Vital signs pulse subtly above the paramedic's head, a rhythmic dance of biometric data. Medical history unfolds in a cascade of digital glyphs, outlining past injuries, vaccinations, and augmentations.

The seasoned paramedic's dossier takes form, revealing a tapestry of experiences etched into the fabric of their existence. Training records, mission logs, and commendations flicker before the recruit's eyes, a testament to a journey marked by discipline and dedication.

In response to the recruit's exploration, the seasoned paramedic, without uttering a word, activates their own visor's analysis mode. Digital overlays unfold, mirroring the recruit's vital signs, training records, and mission logs. The visor becomes a conduit for the seasoned paramedic to glean insights into the recruit's journey within the paramedic force.

Yet, as the seasoned paramedic delves into the recruit's data, a seasoned wisdom guides their perception.

"Kid," the seasoned paramedic begins, their voice carrying the weight of experience, "what you just did, it goes both ways. In this Corps, we have access to each other's data—part of maintaining a cohesive and efficient force. It's a tool for understanding, for collaboration, and for ensuring everyone's on the same page."

Leaning in, the seasoned paramedic's tone takes on a more serious note. "The Corps controls this flow of information. It's a two-way street, and the AI, the same entity that shapes our training, also oversees this network. It's a balance, you see. We access each other, but we're also under the watchful eye of the system."

The seasoned paramedic gazes out at the cityscape beyond the truck's window, the controlled expanse that echoes the structure of their own existence. "The AI, it shapes us, guides us. It ensures conformity, adherence to the Corps' principles."

The seasoned paramedic's words echo in the augmented reality space—the interconnectedness, the balance of power, and the role of the AI as both guardian and manipulator within the paramedic corps.

"Getting inked with an alphanumeric serial on the chest," the seasoned paramedic's voice echoes, carrying a tinge of wry amusement, "is a conscript's equivalent of a birthday party. Except the cake is a chastity cage, and the presents come in the form of VR-based neuro conditioning."

The recruits, each adorned with their own unique alphanumeric markers on their chests, listen to the seasoned paramedic's commentary, their expressions hidden behind the opaque visors of their helmets. The dark humor permeates the atmosphere, a coping mechanism in a world where the unconventional has become the norm.

The reference to a birthday party, typically a celebration of life and individuality, takes a dystopian twist as it intertwines with the conscripts' initiation into the paramedic corps. The symbolism of the chastity cage, a stark reminder of control and conformity, adds a layer of irony to the metaphorical "cake" of conscript life.

"And here you are, conscripts," the seasoned paramedic continues, their tone a blend of camaraderie and somber reality. "Marked, conditioned, and ready to serve. The alphanumeric ink on your chest, a badge of initiation into a world where the boundaries between celebration and indoctrination blur."

The seasoned paramedic's voice carries through the encrypted audio link, unveiling the origins of the alphanumeric serial that now adorns the chests of conscripts.

"You know how the alphanumeric serial came about?" the seasoned paramedic begins, the tone reflective. "It used to be that paramedics used their names. Simple, right? But then the Trade Union and the Conscripts Rights Organization had their say. 'Security purposes,' they argued. 'We need designators, not names.'"

The narrative unfolds, revealing the bureaucratic dance that led to the transformation of personal identity into a string of letters and numbers. The recruits, perhaps contemplating their own alphanumeric markings, absorb the historical shift from individual names to standardized designators.

"The Corps," the seasoned paramedic continues, a hint of irony in their voice, "turned 'allowed' into 'have to.' Security, they said. Uniformity, control. Your name, your individuality, stripped away for the sake of the collective. Now, each of you bears a code—a designation, not a name."

The demand for security, the erosion of personal identity, and the relentless pursuit of uniformity become threads woven into the fabric of conscript life.

[retropopcult]

"I Think I'm Paranoid" is a song written and performed by American rock band Garbage, which they released as a single from their album Version 2.0 in 1998. It climbed to #9 in the UK and hit #6 on Billboard's Modern Rock chart in the US.

The band wanted the album, their second, to have a “post grunge industrial sound” and “Paranoid” was one of the first songs they worked on. Duke Erikson created the opening guitar riff and arranged the backing chords and Shirley Manson wrote most of the lyrics.  When laying down the track, her vocals were manipulated in various parts of the song by running the feed to the mixing console through a filter or a stomp box to provide distortion and by using Pro Tools to time-stretch the vocal take. Meanwhile, much of the percussion was recorded separately in an abandoned candy factory located in Madison, Wisconsin; Butch Vig, Steve Marker and sound engineer Billy Bush set up a drum kit within the empty building and recorded various fills, using the unique acoustics favorably. Forced to stop after local police responded to complaints about the noise, some of the percussion was later incorporated into other songs on the album. Finally, Garbage employed touring bassist Daniel Shulman to perform electric bass on the song, while Vig approached a DJ he met, Todd Malcolm Michelles, to provide a record scratching effect under the chorus.

The music video was directed by Matthew Rolston at Occidental Studios in Los Angeles.  The concept behind it was “simplicity”, contrasting with the band's  effects-heavy video for their previous single, "Push It".  Consequently, it was shot in black and white in order to appear "almost photographic". Rolston used mylar to create effects on-screen, and shot the band in close up, inspired by the cover of The Beatles' album With the Beatles.

[kybercrystals94]

The Common Cold

By KyberCrystals94

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2023|Day 13|Prompt 13: “I don’t feel so good.”

Rating: G

Words: 451

Summary: Tech catches the common cold.

The common cold should not - in theory – affect clones whose DNA has been specifically engineered to withstand against a multitude of hardships that would be of detriment to the average human; however, perhaps the demands of war and the need for new soldiers has had an impact on the Kaminoan’s quality control.

Which may explain why Tech wakes up in the middle of his sleep cycle with his throat raw and his head stuffed to the point he worries his skull might combust. His bones and joints ache beneath sore muscles and sensitive skin. Miserable feels too mild a term.

It takes some mental preparation, but he manages to roll out of his bunk to stagger over to the med kit and search for anti-inflammatory and decongestant.

Hunter catches him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, “Are you injured?”

“No. I don’t feel so good. I’m sick,” Tech bites out, voice nasally and hoarse.

“Sick,” Hunter echoes, deadpan, as though the word has never been introduced to his vocabulary until this very moment.

“It’s just a minor cold,” Tech clarifies. He rattles off his symptoms, “Aches, congestion, sore throat…”

Hunter takes a measured step back. “Why don’t you go back to bed, and I’ll bring you whatever medications you’re looking for.”

“I am perfectly capable...”

Hunter gives him a look that borders on concern and disgust. “It’s not about capability, Tech. It’s about you touching our medical supplies with your infected hands.”

While the words themselves feel a little...dramatic, the man has a point.

“Fine,” Tech relents, holding up his infected hands in surrender. “I just need an anti-inflammatory and decongestant.”

Hunter nods. “And where’s the disinfectant spray?”

Tech rolls his eyes, but he’s too tired and sore to think of a snarky remark. “You’ll find the cleaning supplies in the bottom drawer of the supply closet.”

Crosshair chooses this exact moment to make an appearance, catching Tech’s words with absolutely no context. “What sort of mess did you make, Hunter? Playing with the armor paint again?”

“It’s not for me. Tech is sick.”

The sniper casts Tech a dirty look. As if Tech chose to get sick. As if this were his idea of a good time. Tech tries his best to match the disdainful expression before announcing, “I’m going back to bed. You had better hope that the air filters are in working order. I would hate for anyone else to fall ill.” He makes sure to force every ounce of sarcasm he possesses into his tone.

Maybe his brothers would finally start to replace simple filters like he asked countless times.

And if they do get sick, maybe they will discover that a little sympathy goes a long way.

END

Author’s Note: I wrote the draft to this story way back when the prompts were released…then today came, and I am down for the count with a stomach bug. What are the odds?? 🥲

So here we are, a story based on true events with my own siblings growing up. I got you, Tech! 😂

Tag List: @isthereanechoinhere96 @followthepurrgil @amorfista

✨Let me know if you’d like to join my tag list✨

[possumsinpeoplesuits]

At long last, my Our Lady of the Passion cosplay is ready for cons!

Based on this picture from Pinterest (google is finding fuck all elsewhere, but if someone knows the source I'll add it.)

The tank top is from Lockedtombmemes' Redbubble store.

The jacket is here, though I've painted the back with some fabric paint. I used the non-heat treating kind and just sort of sketched out the letters with a dark pencil to make sure the placement wasn't too awful.

The dog tags I'm not quite satisfied with because I put too little information on them, and an updated one is still waiting in the mail (I wanted to put the Wing and Cell on it, and had to reread some chapters to verify) There's loads of places to get them, but I used these.

The machetes I don't have many pictures of (I don't have a full length mirror to show them properly strapped to the legs.), but I went a little overbudget to the point it would probably have been cheaper to buy real machetes (but not as welcomed at conventions!) Still, they were from here, in case anyone wants some big ol' 27 inch props instead of the dinky ones from Spirit Halloween.

Gloves were these ones, and they fit my big ol' butch hands just fine. Nothing special there.

For my TACTICAL BLOOD OF EDEN FANNY PACK (which I already wear all the time, but changed colors to match the costume anyways) is this.

The boots are fairly ubiquitous and seem to come from various online sellers, sometimes in men's sizes, sometimes in women's, but this store has them up to a women's size 12, which I needed because I'm lorge.

Now, the mask I'm most proud of! I don't have any experience making costume bits, but I found this one meant for airsoft, which has TWO FUCKING FANS?!?! hidden in the filters to cool my face in the sweltering 80 degree Texas winters.

But! You'll notice the goggles aren't tinted, so I had to figure out how to do them myself to hide my glasses, for REASONS, but this little kit was pretty simple. There's a gluey side, so you just spray the goggles with some water, then slap them down and spend like... a fucking hour or two squeezing out the air bubbles, but aside from a single wrinkle, I think they turned out great! The red also provides some good contrast.

Now, the pants were pretty simple. These come with knee pads, and the black camo looks really nice with the gray coat and black shirt. It did take two attempts to get some that fit (One seller had the XL listed as having a 44 inch waist, equivalent to a women's 18, but labeled elsewhere with the true size of 36 inches, the bastards.), but where I got silly was the straps.

I got this tactical belt, which seems to have tipped the number of tactical things I can search for before search engines decide you're a bootlicker, and intended to use a single bike strap on each leg to hold the other end, which, well... two problems.

The blades were now being bent by my massive fucking quads because I've been doing a shitload of exercise to get fit, because apparently all I needed to get into the gym five times a week was wanting to look like my specialist book blorbo.

I couldn't bend my fucking hips.

So! I ended up ordering a total of SIX STRAPS for my legs, pairing two up high to fit the wider part of my leg, and a single one down near the knee. The upper ones I later looped through the belt to hold them up, which also doubles for making the trousers into a fucking cod piece, which, hey, some people like that. The lower ones were led up by the knee pad, so I had a somewhat stable set of six straps and one belt, which is dangerously close to becoming a Nomura-era Final Fantasy character, but hey, I gave myself carpal tunnel marathoning all the Kingdom Hearts games last year, so that's not a problem.

All in all, it probably cost me... well, more money than it should have, but it's all pretty quality stuff that I'm sure will be very toasty if we ever happen to have another winter down south.

Also, last note... boots of any kind are so much more comfortable with insoles. They don't have to be expensive, but your feet and knees will thank you at conventions when they have a good cushion under your heels.

That's about all I've learned putting this together! I'm 5'9 and around 250 pounds, give or take, so most of this is men's garments, which means the pockets are DEEP AS FUCK. Perfect for collecting small rocks.

Just something to keep in mind.

(See y'all at the conventions. I promise my Yorkshire accent will be less goofy by then, but I can't promise I'll be as nasally as the audiobook.)

[inbalanceofpower]

tay's garage.

very(!) important note: all vehicles include an emergency first aid kit, bottled water and all cars include blankets. lots of them (space dependent). but like, probably, at least two. maybe three (space dependent).

cadillac ct4 sedan —

standard features: all-wheel drive, 2l turbo engine, automatic transmission. glossy, summit white exterior, beige interluxe leatherette interior. led headlights. 19" all season tyres; alloy wheels with a contrasted dark, polished finish.

paid extras: all weather floor mats, powered sunroof, clear tail lamps, surround sound 14 speaker audio system. fitted with a (boot area) collapsible organiser and premium, dual pocket back seat organisers (magnetic close).

air freshener scent of choice is cherry vanilla, very sweet and obviously artificial. additionally, the back-middle seat is decorated with a plush, fluffy white pillow. tay's sedan is for everyday use, and naturally, is her most used.

land rover x-dynamic hse defender 90 —

standard features: all wheel drive, 3l engine, automatic transmission. glossy fuji white exterior with a black, contrast roof (and extended black exterior detailing); ebony leather interior. matrix led headlights. 20" all season tyres; diamond turned wheels in a contrasted, glossy dark grey.

paid extras: sliding panoramic roof and rear side glass, solar attenuating windscreen (filters sunlight to reduce heat), 14-way heated/cooling front seats, three-zone climate control (different front/backseat aircon/heating system), gloss black exterior gear carrier, front centre console refrigerator compartment, backseat plug socket.

air freshener scent is clean linen, much easier on the nose for the car's intended use — long drives for holiday destinations in america, and road trips. pillows are available for all passengers, and their drink of choice can be found in the land rover's fridge compartment.

mini cooper s convertible —

standard features: front wheel drive, 2l turbocharged engine, manual transmission. metallic white exterior with a black trim, soft-top roof; carbon black leatherette interior. 17" all season tyres; scissor spoke 2-tone wheels.

paid extras: heated steering wheel (keeps her hands from getting cold).

no air freshener, since it's rare she drives her convertible with the roof up. there is no real reason as to why she owns the car, beyond it being used for fun and girly days out (with rebekah). like the others, the middle backseat has the same style pillow as her sedan, and is there purely as decoration since it's unlikely she'd carry more than one or two passengers.

harley davidson softail standard —

standard features: milwaukee-eight 107 v-twin engine, motorcycle transmission. vivid black exterior, with silver detailing; premium black vinyl seating. led forward headlights. 19" dunlop harley-davidson series tyres, silver wheels. anti-lock braking system installed.

paid extras: enhanced grip on handlebars, and rider and passenger foot pegs. upright sissy bar, with a premium black vinyl backrest. single-sided swingarm bag (storage purposes).

+ scorpion exo 520 evo air —

standard features: gloss white. overall visor lock, for security with a retractable sun visor, anti-fog lens. anti-microbial fabric inner liner (to keep warm, or cool down). breath box. inflatable cheek pad system, for comfort. vent system, to boost breathability.

tay's bike is primarily for extracurricular use, and applies to her hybrid verse exclusively. the same style of helmet is available in black for passengers.