#just like with the launch screen crash

[scatmaan]

wish me luck boys im going back in(to diablo)

[zyafics]

PLAY FAKE | 13

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs.

"Are you busy?"

The phone call came at the stroke of midnight. Rafe had just gotten away from a lengthy discussion with his father regarding the open properties around Kildare and wanted nothing more than to crash out. But he answered without hesitation when your name flashed across the screen.

"No," he pauses. "Do you need me?"

You do, but you're reluctant to confirm that piece of information. Flattening your lips on the other line, you rub the back of your hand over your tired eyes as a prolonged silence engulfs the call.

But Rafe understands. With a firm I'm coming over, he disconnects the call to pick up his keys.

You've been home for a couple days now, having stayed at Tannyhill for a little over a week. However, with Sarah's return, you felt you'd overstayed your welcome and needed to part ways. Despite Rafe's protests, you insisted, needing to find your own space in the aftermath of everything.

He had hated the way you phrased it. That you needed a place without him.

When he reaches your driveway, Rafe discerns two silhouettes on your porch. Adrenaline spikes, assuming it was Aaron—and that was the reason for your distress call—but upon closer inspection, with the headlights of his car glaring in that direction, the clarity hits.

Maybank and Heyward.

His stomach twists at the realization that he wasn't your first recipient. That you went back to your roots before coming to him. Now, more than ever, Rafe has a bleeding need for some security, to be your first choice.

He doesn't like to be set in the backseat to a pair of Pogues.

Turning off the ignition, Rafe exits the vehicle just as Heyward and Maybank launch from your porch steps with rigid defense. Their eyes narrow at him in suspicion as he stalks up the long pebbled pavement.

"What are you doing here, Rafe?" Pope interrogates in lieu of a greeting.

Rafe scoffs, stuffing his hands into his pocket. "How is that any of your business, Pogue?"

JJ jumps in. "If you're here for Aaron—"

"I'm not," Rafe snaps, not liking any association with the loan shark, before admitting, "She called me."

A moment of suspense punctures the air before JJ disrupts it, shaking his head with disbelief. "Bullshit. Why the fuck would she contact a Kook?"

It's an insult, the way Maybank's lips curled with the title and Rafe huffs. He doesn't owe him any explanation and certainly won't give one. Stepping forward, Rafe attempts to enter your house, only for the two boys to block his path.

"Move," Rafe commands lowly.

Pope tries to meditate. "Look, I don't know what you're doing here, but she's been through some things and we don't want any more problems—"

Rafe doesn't bother listening to whatever else he has to say. He knows. He knows what you've been through and he's here because of it, not to add to it. But the accusation is thick on Pope's tongue, fueling his irritation. He attempts to shove past both of them, only for JJ to push back.

Shouting stirs you awake. That's a lie. You've been staring at the ceiling for the past hour, hoping it'll lull you to sleep, only for the act to be unproductive. When you start to hear sounds coming from outside, you know Rafe arrived.

Pushing past the screen door, you step out onto the porch to witness JJ and Rafe in the middle of a standoff.

Charged words thrown back and forth, you recognize the dark look behind Rafe's gaze as JJ keeps pushing Rafe's chest—one full of deep agitation, seconds away from snapping.

Your stomach flips with nausea.

"Back off, JJ," you announce sharply to the open yard, causing the trio to direct their attention to you. You briefly connect your gaze with Rafe before turning to the younger blond. "I called him."

JJ's hands drop from Rafe's chest, taking a step back, but there's a look of unsteadiness behind his gaze. Confusion spreads across his hard features while his mouth twists into an ugly scowl. "For what?"

"Does it matter?" You refute, avoiding his question. JJ cocks his head, only for you to add, "You can go home now."

JJ frowns, turning to Pope as they exchange a silent debate. When all Pope could give is a casual shrug, knowing it's your decision at the end of the day, JJ turns back to you.

"You could've let us stay," JJ reasons, throwing a harsh glance over his shoulder at Rafe. "What could a Kook do for you?"

"It's fine. He's my…" You trail off, unable to find the right words to label Rafe. Your initial ideas are too compromising. And Rafe doesn't want your relationship to be seen as complicated to the Kook public, since your interactions could circulate back to Ward. But here, in the sanction of The Cut, you know there's no intersection. No need for security. You shake your head with a tired yet reassuring smile. "It's okay. I appreciate you guys' help."

Rafe hates how you didn't say it.

With a heavy sigh, JJ nods. "Alright," he says, clapping his hands and signaling Pope to descend off the porch. They pair off as they head home and, sparing one last glance at Rafe—who's ascending up the short steps to approach you—JJ bids a final farewell. "Call us if you need anything."

Rafe's arm wraps protectively around your waist. "She won't."

You roll your eyes, shoulders relaxing from their rigid stance, as you watch their departing figures. Once they're no longer in view, you take his arm and tug him into your house.

The short stroll to your bedroom is mostly silent and Rafe takes inventory of your home for any disturbance. Since he ordered that cleaning service, your house is significantly cleaner. You had initially refused his charity but he refused to take no for an answer and you ended up with a grade-A cleaning company that polished your home from all the broken debris and dangerous hazards.

But that wasn't the problem.

When Rafe steps into your bedroom, it's an absolute mess. Pillows are skewed across the floor, your sheets wrinkled and tangled upon each other, and piles of your clothes are thrown together into a pile next to your closet. It greatly contrasts the environment outside your door.

"Shit," you mumble, embarrassment flooding through your body. You move from his touch to do some quick cleaning—throwing your pillows back on the bed, picking up dirty clothes, and tossing them into the hamper.

Abashment increases with each of your frantic steps, to the point that Rafe has to grab your elbow to stop you in place. "Hey," he says softly, lifting your gaze to his, "I don't mind."

You don't say anything. Fatigue pours into the very crevices of your bones. But despite the urge to be presentable, Rafe is a comfort. A clutch. And it's getting dangerous seeing how much you lean on him.

It's on the tip of your tongue to push him away. To tell him to go back home. But he beats you to it, glancing at the door.

"Where's your sister?" Rafe asks. "Are they okay?"

"They're fine," you answer, "They're sleeping."

You assumed Amara and Leilani would deal with the same troubles as you, but when you checked up on them, they were out like a light.

Rafe examines you carefully: the way you shift your weight from one leg to the next, the way your hands slightly tremble, and the clear indication of sleep deprivation from the darkened shades ringed around your eyes.

He understands now.

"And you're not?"

Your jaw locks before unwinding. "I'm sorry."

He wants to eradicate that phrase from your vocabulary.

"Why are you apologizing?"

"It's stupid."

"It's not stupid," he argues. "You have a problem and you called me. I'm here to help."

Rafe's words are adamant and warms your chest but guilt presses like glass against your heart. "Were you busy?"

"Doesn't matter."

You frown. But the look in his eyes is genuine and honest. You take a step back to separate from him, needing your own air. As of late, everything you own is his. "I…" You exhale a large breath, voice shaky. "I don't know. I don't know what's wrong."

"Is it because of Aaron?"

You hesitate before nodding once.

"Have you seen him?"

"No, and I think that's the problem." You expel another breath. "I'm on edge all the time. My chest feels heavy and tight and my head hurts." You pause, before choking out. "I'm just so exhausted."

Rafe closes the distance and wraps his strong arms around you as you sink into his chest. You inhale, taking in the faded smell of his cologne.

"I hate this," you mumble, balling the fabric of his shirt into fists. "I hate that I can't sleep. I hate that I'm always stressed. I hate that—" You cut yourself off, not wanting to reveal too much. Swallowing hard, you attempt to salvage your words. "I just hate that I'm like this."

Frustration oozes out of you and Rafe hates to see you in this state. However, he'll admit, having you vulnerable and open is a welcoming change. You're allowing him a chance to see a side of you no one else has the privilege to and he deeply treasures your trust.

He'll do anything to preserve it.

Rafe massages delicate circles into the small of your back, soothing the aches in your bones as you melt into his arms. "It's okay," he reassures with a sweet mumble, "I'm here. What do you need from me?"

"I just want to sleep."

"Then we'll sleep."

"No sex." You withdraw enough for him to meet your solemn gaze, "No touching. I don't want to do anything other than sleep."

"Okay." He agrees slowly, his voice is unsteady because of your accusatory tone.

"I'm serious, Rafe," you proclaim. "I know we like to mess around, but I'm too tired. I don't want to fuck tonight."

Rafe's expression is unreadable, stonewalling his emotions the moment those words slipped from your lips. Did you think he only sees you as a fuck buddy?

"I said okay," he snaps, a little sharper than intended, but you pretend not to acknowledge it. You misunderstand it as him being upset over the celibacy rule imposed tonight, but that wasn't the case.

You swallow hard, not wanting his aggression to roll over into bed. "Rafe," you begin, feeling guilty, "if you don't want to, it's fine—"

"I never said that," he cuts you off, not wanting the implication to be read that he doesn't want you here. He does. It hurts him that you think he sees you as nothing—when that's far from the truth. He just can't seem to say it. "I just..." His jaw tightens. "Let's just go to bed."

Your lips pull together into a thin line, wanting to address the issue, but deciding you cannot handle an argument tonight. Nodding, you separate from him and move to one side of the bed. Rafe does the same.

You thought Rafe would take some precaution to add distance between you but he doesn't. You can feel the overwhelming radiation of his body heat, the indication of his proximity in close range, and it causes your breath to be still.

You can't handle it. You need distance. You need space. It's too intimate otherwise, and you can't afford that.

Pulling yourself to the ledge, with your back facing Rafe, you inhale a deep set of breaths to soothe the tension in your body. To pretend you don't feel the heat of his gaze. "Goodnight."

He doesn't answer at first, before he reciprocates with a night and you close your eyes to sleep.

Rafe watches you. The first few minutes are normal, but as time passes, you can't seem to relax in your position. Twisting and turning, your eyes remain closed throughout. The only sound is the soft breaths escaping you to indicate your sleepy state—or, at least, the closest attempt at it.

His mind still lingers on your earlier words. Do you think he doesn't care about you? Beyond intimacy? Is that why you called Maybank and Heyward first?

Rafe never thought you had an issue with it. That you were perfectly content with the arrangement. But the accusation on your tongue gave a different interpretation. Do you want more? Or, is he driving himself insane with the idea of you being his and only his?

Lost in the spiral of his own thoughts, Rafe didn't even realize that you moved closer. Your back now facing the wall as one of your arms extends outward, draped across his chest.

He freezes. Rafe assumes it's an accident, something you'll retract in a matter of seconds. But when your arm reaches out again, seeking the curve of his neck, he realizes it isn't.

You want him.

Taking it as a sign, Rafe lowers himself to grab the underside of your thigh, pulling your weight onto him. The moment you're in his embrace, chest resting against his, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. And, in return, Rafe nuzzles into the open crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

"No touching, huh?" He mumbles into the softness of your skin as a gentle taunt. But when there's nothing but the sound of shallow breaths and the emptiness of replies, Rafe realizes you truly fell asleep.

You reached for him unconsciously.

His heart races at the implication, before calming to a normal rate, matching the steady guided pace of your own breaths. His grip around your body tightens, squeezing the soft flesh because, at that moment, he doesn't ever want to let you go.

"You need me," Rafe murmurs the confirmation in the column of your throat, hoping the words would sink through. "And I need you too."

—

By morning, you're gone.

It shouldn't come as a surprise. Every time he spends the night, there's a brief hope that the outcome for the morning will be different. That you'll remain in his arms, sleeping soundly. It never happens. And despite the subtle ache in his bones from the weight of your body on top of his all night, it beats the ache in his heart.

Sighing, after washing up, Rafe exits your bedroom to discover you sitting on one of the stools. A leg propped on the flat seat, your chin rests on your kneecap while you're flipping through some old documents.

"Morning," Rafe says, falling into the space next to yours.

"Shit," you swear, nearly jumping out of your own skin, a hand covering your accelerated heart. You hadn't heard him coming. "You scared me."

"Sorry," he apologizes sincerely, his eyes scanning over your refreshed face. "You sleep okay?"

You nod, recalling the memory of this morning. Curled up on his arms, head buried in the curve of his neck, your body pressed against his. At first, you assumed Rafe had pulled you in, but that wasn't possible. He wouldn't go against your directive. It was all you.

The corner of his mouth rises at the recognition dawning on your face. Before he gets the chance to make some comment about your neediness, you cut him off. "Don't," you warn, feeling a rush of heat rising to your cheeks.

"I haven't said anything,"

"I see it on your face,"

He scoffs, but the smile remains. "You're right," he relents, leaning closer, shortening the distance between you until he's right before you. "I was thinking of it."

Your eyes catch him and the teasing glint behind his gaze, causing your breath to shorten. You expel a breath, trying to release some tension in your shoulders, before you clarify, "All we did was sleep."

"Yeah, but you slept on me," his voice drops a full octave, "Admit it, sweetheart, you want me. Why else would you want me here?"

You search his face, trying to figure out what he wants. What he's trying to get out of you. But you find nothing tangible. Refusing to put yourself in another position of vulnerability when Rafe has done nothing to balance the scale, you scale back, adding space. "I just—I needed someone I trust."

You don't acknowledge that his assertion is correct. That the one time you fell asleep peacefully was in his arms. Or, perhaps, it wasn't necessarily about trust but about him. Instead, you pretend it's something else, something vague and general, hoping one day it will.

"Someone," Rafe repeats. "Or me?"

You avoid the question.

And Rafe assumes the former.

Dropping your gaze to the files, the air stiffens into a palpable silence. Your fingers thread through the records, pretending to search for something, when all you can feel is the thumping of your heartbeat in your veins.

Rafe releases a sigh. The elation of his state quickly deflates after your rejection. Again. He doesn't know how much longer he can take before it truly destroys him. Deciding to shift the conversation elsewhere, he asks, "Do you want me to stay again?"

"No, it's fine," you shake your head, dismissing the proposition out of habit. Even though it would bring you peace, the rational side of your brain determines the distance necessary to protect yourself. Becoming too reliant on Rafe would add nothing but pain. "You can go home," you pause, considering how to lighten the mood, "I bet the mattress here sucks in comparison to your one-million thread counts, huh?"

There's a strain to your voice; a telltale sign. Rafe ignores your words and focuses on what he does best: reading your body language. With squared shoulders and an avoidant gaze, he knows your words are far from the truth. You just don't know how to ask for what you want.

So, he proposes a different question.

"But can you sleep?"

You don't answer.

"I'll stay then," he decides, as if he's reading an item off a menu. Before you get a chance to object, Rafe shifts closer, tugging the corner of a document. "What's this?"

Your mouth closes, shoulders slouching from how quickly he changes the topic. It almost makes you smile. Deciding it would be better than fighting it, you explain that you're reviewing your Sailor bank accounts to see what money you can spare without harming the business. However, the issue is that you can't seem to find any gaps.

Rafe's brows furrow together as he listens, asking permission to take a look at your statements himself. His eyes scan through the billing, before asking. "Why don't you sell the business and work elsewhere?"

"You're not funny," you declare, attempting to pull the document away, but his grip remains firm. His eyes are set on yours.

"I'm not joking," he declares. "It could help a lot. I mean, you'll earn more than what you're earning here."

He isn't wrong. At this point in time, you would profit more by working as a bartender than a business owner. But that's not the point.

"Sailor is my family's legacy," you explain, believing his question was not an attack on your qualification but rather from a strictly logical standpoint. "It and my sisters are the most important things in my life."

Rafe hums, and he doesn't add anything else. You don't know if he gets it. "Let me ask you something: why do you want Cameron Development so badly?"

He goes rigid. He's never been asked that question before. Never had to articulate his reasoning. It makes him uncomfortable to be interviewed—especially if it's to you of all people. "I don't know," he declares noncommittally, glancing at his lap, "I always assumed I would get it. I'm the oldest."

You shake your head. Not out of mistrust, but because you know him. Rafe isn't as simple-minded as the rest of Kildare likes to believe. There has to be more. "I don't believe that," you say gently, "Try again."

His expression morphs into a charming smile. A facade to hide. "Do I get something if I talk?"

You roll your eyes. "It's always sex with you, isn't it?"

His smile drops, but you don't pick it up. He shouldn't have said that, but it's too late. Your expression is easygoing and loose, a detachment to your words as if you truly believe and accept that perception of how he views you.

Instead of addressing his feelings, he tries to articulate what he meant before.

"I don't know," Rafe starts again, in a low mumble, his voice more vulnerable than it was moments prior. "Business was the one thing I got. I... I didn't excel in academics and I didn't like sports that much. But with Cameron Development, it was the one thing me and my dad could sit down and talk about and I didn't feel like a big disappointment to him."

He never said those words out loud before, and the confession sounds pathetic, but the way your eyes soften and your head nods along as you listen with no judgment, it gives him the confidence to continue forward.

"I... I get it, you know? The numbers don't scare me and the logic makes sense. It's the one thing I have going for me and to know that my dad is considering giving it to Sarah... It hurts. Like, she has everything and I can't even have the one thing I'm good at."

His voice cracks at the end, and his gaze has since dropped to the floor, hands messing and rubbing the calloused skin of the other.

You reach forward to cup the side of his face, and lift his head, meeting his sensitive gaze. "It isn't fair," you run the pad of your thumb over his cheekbone, trying to soothe the ache of his admission. "It truly isn't. I wish I could make it better for you."

Too gentle. Too loving. In the comfort of your touch, Rafe speaks before he can stop himself. "Sometimes I think if I have you, I'll be fine with the world."

Your breathing stills. Rafe did too. You don't know if you misheard him, or if he's implying something else, but before you can seek clarification, the doorbell rings.

"I'll get it." Rafe swiftly pulls away, moving to the exit. His hands clench by his side, teeth grinding, regret coursing through his veins at the mistake of letting his emotions overtake him back there.

He shouldn't have said that.

When he opens the door, without checking the peephole, JJ stands behind it.

"Oh, you're still here," JJ declares with a hint of bewilderment. "Didn't think she kept dogs past noon."

Rafe's already on edge from the previous conversation that he has little patience for the Pogue. Seconds away from slamming the door on Maybank's smug face, you appear by Rafe's side, stopping him and inviting JJ in. He steps into your living room, holding something in his hands.

"What's that?" You point to the crumpled note, before recognizing his nervous stance. JJ's bouncing on the heel of his feet, avoiding your gaze, and when you repeat your question, more firmly this time, he reluctantly holds the note out.

"Someone left this at your bar," JJ explains as you take it. Your eyes quickly scan the message, your heart sinking with every word you read. "It's a warning. If you don't... If you don't pay him back in full tomorrow, he'll do something to your bar."

Rafe's watching your reaction with a hardened look. His eyes keep sliding over to JJ, the Pogue being the messenger of the news—the one you sought help from before—and the blond feels the heat of his stare on him. Consequently, it forces JJ to grab your elbow and pull you off to the side, away from Rafe.

JJ begins. "Look, I know you don't wanna do it, but my dad knows a guy—"

"No."

"He's been through with Aaron before," he whispers back sharply, "It might be the only option you have."

"And get stuck in the same shit I had with Aaron? No," you declare firmly, reading the note again. It does nothing to soothe the heightened nerves in your body. The way panic is ricocheting inside your stomach like a ping-pong ball.

JJ says nothing, the absolute behind your tone quiets him. While you're preoccupied with another read-through, JJ glances back to where Rafe stands.

"I gotta ask," JJ starts again, lowering his voice so only you can hear. You lift your head from the note, meeting his curious gaze, with a raise of your brow. "Rafe? Seriously?"

While you're trying to figure out how to maintain your livelihood, JJ is concerned about your love life.

"Is this really the time and place?"

"I'm serious, what do you see in him?"

"Drop it, JJ."

"I just don't understand," he continues in a whisper, but his volume raises slightly, "I swear, you're a pretty girl. You can do 10x better than him—"

"JJ," you command sternly, all amusement vanishes. "Drop it."

"Fine," he stays, stepping back with both hands partially raised to his collar. He doesn't turn to catch another glimpse at Rafe, but instead, offers the same advice as he did before. "If you need my help, you know where to find me."

Rafe watches as the Pogue leaves, stepping out to your porch and closing the door behind him. But his breath remains ragged. He caught the last bit of JJ's hushed words, and as much as he wanted to be sensible, he didn't like it.

You're different than Rafe, he understands that. You have a support system, a list of other people, and sometimes—as much as he hates to admit—they are better than him. Less volatile. Less emotional.

But it feels like you're pushing him away. Placing him as a last line of defense for all your troubles. The insecure parts of him are roaring—louder than his rational thoughts can ever be—telling him that he's the last choice. The last option.

He can't help but wonder. If Leilani hadn't called him, would you have? Or would it be JJ or Pope?

Rafe rounds the couch to approach you, his hand circles your wrist holding the note. Your head lifts to meet his harsh gaze.

"You don't need his help," he declares gruffly, "I could've done it."

You blink. "What?"

"The note at the bar," he gestures to the crumpled paper in your hands, before dropping his to his side, clenching down to a fist. "I could've taken care of it."

"I... I didn't ask him. He did it himself."

Rafe isn't convinced. "And last night with Maybank and Heyward, that was all them too?"

His tone is sharp and accusatory, leaving you lightheaded as you stare at him. You're still wrapped up around the threatening note, but Rafe is somewhere else. A different topic. Another issue. You can't seem to gauge what type of response you need to have. And in turn, you give him silence.

His anger rises. "Am I just your second choice? Your fucking backup plan because those Pogues don't cut it?"

Your head is spinning, and you attempt to pull away from his grip but he tightens it. "Rafe," you start slowly, your breathing quickens, "What are you talking about?"

Are you being ignorant on purpose? Are you trying to drive him mad? His fury erupts, flooding all his senses.

"Them!" Rafe points to the door, where JJ left moments ago. "Last night. Everything. Did you ask them before you asked me?"

It's starting to catch up. "Are you serious?"

"I told you that we'll figure it out together."

"I—" Your throat burns. You can't believe he's letting his jealousy about your friends come at a perilous stage in your life. Exhaling a sharp breath, you meet his stare head-on. "They appointed themselves to that role. I never asked that of them."

After Pope discovered the break-in, JJ and him formed a pact to take it upon themselves to watch over you while you're home. They traded off shifts, entertaining themselves on the porch where they set up a makeshift couch and hammock to crash. You had tried to convince them you were fine, but they were stubborn. They wouldn't listen. And at the time, you appreciated the extra protection.

But it didn't work. You couldn't sleep. You still needed him.

Does he not get that?

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head with contempt, "You never ask for anything."

"Are you really trying to start a fight right now?"

"Are you making it a fight?"

"They're my friends, Rafe," you emphasize, "I told you that."

"I'm not talking about that."

"Then what is it?"

His jaw is set, resistance churning through his system to shut the fuck up, but he can't hold it in. He finds himself asking, half in plead, half in confession, "What am I?"

You weren't expecting that. Your lips part, but no words follow through. His hard gaze is on you, waiting for an explanation, but you don't answer fast enough. It's killing him. His next words are a shimmering calm, in a deadly whisper, "Do you think I only want you for sex?"

Your heart squeezes in your chest, taking all your air alongside it. You think you lost your ability to speak, but when you do, it comes out small. "Don't you?"

You're turning the question back onto him, and he hates it. He's trying to get the words out of you, to see where he stands, but neither of you is willing to take that step. It reduces him to silence.

You can't believe it. He can ask, but he can't answer. Frustration fills you, searing hot and explosive. You don't stop yourself from saying, "Because last I remember, whenever you had a problem, you came over to fuck." You snap, your emotions rising to a crescendo, "And when I asked you what we are..." You trail off, losing your voice. The sting of his label still hasn't passed.

But he knows what you're referring to.

"That's different."

"How?"

Rafe doesn't speak. All he knows is it's different. He has feelings for you. Before he refused to acknowledge it, now, it's bleeding into everything he touches. Everything he does. He just can't seem to say it.

"That was before."

Your brows pull together, your anger pulsating through your veins. "Before what? Before Aaron broke into my house?"

"No," he declares, his response is a knee-jerk reaction, but it wasn't the right one. Attempting to rectify, Rafe stammers, "Well, yes, but it's just... It's..."

Why can't he fucking tell you?

He's afraid of being first.

"It's pity?" You supply, not bothering to conceal the hurt in your tone. "Everything is just pity?"

"No!" He exclaims, but it isn't right. It still isn't good enough.

"Then what is it?" You demand, trying to get a hold of your emotions. But you're seconds away from screaming, or crying, or both. You rip your hand from Rafe's grip, taking a step back to conserve yourself.

His gaze falls to his empty hands, his emotions choking him. Every attempt at saying the right words causes him to shrink, feeling small, feeling like a child reaching for their parent's love, only to be pushed aside and dismissed. His walls are for protection, but it destroys as much as it save him.

Rafe decides to settle on something easy. "I'm your boyfriend."

"Fake," you correct.

"Does this feel fucking fake to you?"

You reel back. All your anger dissipates. All your resentment, hurt, and frustration disappear once those words leave his lips. And you're left with a burning clarity. Your chest constricts, your heart hammering. But you can't seem to answer him. You want him to say it first. "You tell me."

Rafe can't. It took all of him to admit such a thing.

You watch him with bated breath, but only to be disappointed again. His dark blue eyes are piercing, rich with emotions, but none of them are vocalized. None are honest. You can’t do this. You can’t go through another second of this uncertainty. You’re tunneling towards heartbreaking misery. So, you turn to leave.

But Rafe catches your wrist and pulls you back. His lips slam into yours, knocking the wind from your lungs.

He pours everything into this kiss; all his desperation, vulnerability, and truth. His action demonstrates everything his words can’t. And while you reciprocate with the same passion, reality grounds you, and you draw back, shaking your head. “Rafe—“

He kisses you again. Hoping it’s enough. Begging it to be. He can’t say it. He doesn’t know why he can’t fucking say it. He wants this to be enough.

You push back again, and this time, his arm wraps around your waist, trapping you in his embrace. You’re breathing hard as Rafe stares down at you while you’re looking at his chest.

He says your name. You refuse to look up.

He says it again. More firmly. You don’t acknowledge.

“Sweetheart,” he finally says, softening his words, and you find yourself crying. Tears crowd your waterline as you shake your head, refusing to be persuaded by the sweet sound of your endearment.

“No,” you choke out, slamming a weak fist against his chest. “Let me go. I can’t—I don’t—I’m not doing this.”

You finally tilt your head up to look at him. The way he stares at you with such tenderness. You can’t seem to discern it from pity. “I can’t.” You sob, “If this is how you’re playing me, I can’t keep doing this anymore. You’re breaking my heart.“

Then it finally hits him.

All your resistance. It was never rejection. It was the complete opposite. Coupled with the same fears he had; the same emotions he didn’t know how to express. He’s been so blind to it.

He should’ve known. He should’ve read it the same way he’s been reading everything else.

It finally gave him the confidence nothing else has.

“I fucking love you.”

You are completely still. You think you're hearing him wrong, that this is just a way of your brain deluding you and calming your irrational state of mind, but it's real. Your lips part, breathing shallow, all while you're staring back into Rafe's eyes.

He's afraid. Rafe doesn't trust his own instincts. Everything about you makes him question himself. And while he gained a fleeting moment of courage, he doesn't know if it will follow through. On the off-chance that, despite all this, all the signs he read, he was wrong and it will be rejection.

"Say it back," Rafe whispers in a plea. It's pathetic, but he no longer cares. "Say it back or I'm going to lose my fucking mind."

"You love me?" You breathe in a whisper, unable to move on from this moment. Rafe squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing thickly, before nodding once.

“I think I loved you since I first met you,” he confesses. “I just didn’t know it yet.”

“You’re not just saying that?”

Rafe bristles, “You think I go around telling people I love them?” He declares, studying your expression, trying to gauge your reaction, but it’s hard when he’s blinded by the crippling fear that you don’t feel the same. “You think I do this for anyone?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, “I just don’t want you to say something you don’t mean.”

“I do mean it,” he declares, his voice suddenly dry, as he finds your gaze. “I… I’m sorry for before when I said things I didn’t mean. I don’t want you just for sex, I don’t see you as just a fuck buddy. I’m… I’m in love with you, and it’s fucking difficult to tell you that.”

Your lips purse together, but you still don’t answer him. Don’t confess your own side. Instead, you ask in a meek voice, “Since the beginning?”

He huffs. He can’t believe he’s admitting so much today. Revealing things he swore he’d keep hidden behind a locked box. But when he finds the light returning in your eyes, trying to gauge more of his reaction, read his true meaning, finding comfort in his words, he’ll rip out his own soul to keep it there. “Since the beginning. When you called me out, when you patched me up, when you slapped me—“ That bit makes you let out a small laugh, “I don’t think I was going to meet anyone who challenges and accepts me the way you do.”

You don’t say anything for the next few moments. And they were the longest seconds of his life. Rafe had to speak, “And if it’s just me, if I’m the only person who feels this way, I’ll find a way to be okay with that—“

You cut him off with a kiss.

“I love you,” you breathe into his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I love you,” you jump, curving your legs around his hips as Rafe catches you, steadying you with two hands tantalizing skimming the curve of your ass. “Fuck, Rafe, I love you so much.”

His heart fills with your words. Your desperation clinging to each puncture. He grins into the kiss, before he deepens it, tasting you, stealing your air. Everything feels right. Feels good. When Rafe separates to break the kiss, he catches the residue smile on your face and the little daze behind your eyes. He snaps a memory of it and saves it forever.

But, just as it came, it slowly faded away. Reality quickly dawns on you, and your arms tightens around Rafe’s neck, reminders and deadlines creeping up your skin. Your confession comes out small. “I… I’m scared. With Aaron and everything.”

“Sweetheart…”

“I don’t have the money, Rafe,” your eyes connect with his. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Rafe pulls you in, flushed against his chest as your head lays on his shoulders and his hand strokes your hair. It takes a moment for him to process, to remember the world outside of you. But, when he does, he whispers, “I’m going to take care of it,” his voice so low, it almost comes out as a threat. “I’ll take care of you.”

And he will.

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Navigation — Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14

[kammazi]

★ katsuki and yourself weren’t big drinkers. sure after you two had graduated, you had gone to a few parties here and there but you were never a fan of the whole spinning dizzy feeling that alcohol brought with it, especially since you two are heroes. patrolling while hungover under the heat of the hot summer sun was dreadful.

so when you get a call from katsuki one evening while you were on patrol saying how kirishimas and the rest of the guys were going out for a few, who were you to say no? even though you knew the invitation for yourself always stood, katsuki needed some time for himself and by the time you would get off patrol it would already be past midnight.

so after exchanging some ‘i love you’s’, you disconnected the call and got back to whatever strolling you were doing.

and as the night went on you got more and more notifications that buzzed in your back pocket from who you assumed was your boyfriend. you eventually had a quick break and chugged an energy drink while fishing for your phone.

you let out a snort of laughter and looked around to make sure no one heard you before looking back down at your screen. there you saw multiple pictures took by denki of him standing on what you assumed was a stool while taking 0.5 picture’s of katsuki. what made you laugh even more was his flushed face and droopy eyes that held no fight in them as he stood there with his hands by his sides.

you could tell that he had drank quite a bit and as your break came to an end you had a short two hours left of your shift before you were able to finally get home and most likely take care of your said boyfriend.

and you were correct because as soon as you even such as stepped in through the doors of your shared apartment your phone once again started buzzing, this time it was a call.

“hello?” there was a shuffling noise before shouting hit your eardrums along with the music that blasted in the background.

“HEYY LOOK, ARE YOU-” you grimaced as you hear a glass breaking alongside some yelling. “huh? hello?”

the phone was picked back up. “THIS IS KIRISHIMA, KATSUKI IS KINDA REALLY DRUNK AND-” you then heard a whooshing sound and another crash. you stood there looking at your phone and then brining it close to your ear again. “uhh..kiri..shima?”

you heard the phone being picked up and panting into the microphone. “SORRY I JUST LAUNCHED MY PHONE HALFWAY ACROSS THE DANCE FLOOR AND IT HIT SOMEONE IN THE FACE.” you had to physically distance yourself from the phone before answering.

“kiri you don’t have to yell i can hear you!” you felt as if it was a screaming competition at that point. you heard a cackle before kirishimas finally got to the point.

“sorry, sorry! it’s just that bakubro got hella drunk and he’s kinda unmovable right now. he keeps saying your name and won’t really listen to anyone, would it be alright if you could come and pick him up?”

you were already picking up your keys and sliding on your shoes. “of course, be there in five.”

and so here you were pulling into the parking spot outside of the front doors of the building.

as you stepped in, you already felt exhaustion hitting you as you strolled around to try and find your boyfriend and those goons.

and then you saw him, sitting in a corner seat, with a cute sleepy look on his face, arms still crossed as always. kneeling in front of him, you saw denki, sero and kiri sitting across as they helped gather his stuff. you placed a palm against his face and patted his knee with the other.

“kats, love?” he groaned and slightly opened his eyes. “hey i’m gonna take you home okay?” and then suddenly, he moves his face away from your hand as his face held something like a mix of disgust and offence.

“get those damn hands away from me. i’ve a girlfriend.” although his speech was slurred you blinked before letting out a chuckle as the guys behind you hollered and stumbled over eachother.

you raised a brow, amused to see him act that way. “oh really? sorry about that kats, i won’t do it again.” his face whipped around to face you as he grimaced again. “oi. don’t call me that. only she can and you ain’t her.. so back off...” his sentence held no malicious intent as his head slowly tipped back. “where is she. i miss her.”

kirishima then came up next to you and patted his back. “bro shes right here! see?” in response to his words, katsuki raised his head and squinted at you for a while before slowly smiling. “heyy it’s my girlfriend.” immediately his head landed on your shoulder. he started babbling as he wrapped his arms around your frame, almost knocking you to the floor from the sudden weight. in the meantime, you glanced at his red headed friend.

“i’m sorry how much did he drink?” in response he scratched the back of his neck before holding up three fingers. “JESUS KIRI THREE BOTTLES?” kirishimas shook his head before cackling. “three drinks.”

now you knew your boyfriend was a lightweight but this was a tad too funny to you, not that you would ever tell him.. obviously.

with the help of kirishima, you managed to walk out a stumbling katsuki and just about sat him in the passenger seat before strapping him in as he babbled on about how much he missed you. sero and denki handed over his wallet and phone to you and you thanked them before saying your goodbyes as you sat behind the wheel.

on the drive back katsuki acted like he hadn’t seen you in months by the way he held your hand and kissed it every two seconds. with him telling you how much he loved you and how beautiful you where. in that moment you could not only feel somewhat giddy but be thankful for having this man in your life. no matter how tough he looked or acted, it really was true that he was a softy, drunk or not.

after arriving, getting him into bed wasn’t even a problem. he listened to your every word as he clung to you like a koala. you helped him brush his teeth on the toilet seat as you sat on his lap. even while drunk, his grip was still firm but gentle.

you then got him changed, him getting stuck in his t-shirt a few times, and you both finally climbed into bed. there was pure silence other that his quiet snores as he rested on your chest. as expected, he ended up passing out the second he wrapped his arms around you.

as you pressed a kiss on his forehead, you could once again feel the wave of exhaustion crashing over you as the warm pressure of katsuki’s body lulled you to sleep.

and in the morning katsuki awoke with not only a headache but also a lovely picture of his drunken state as a 0.5 printed and framed photo hanging in the living room as a forever reminder of that night.

[bytemee]

NO DOUBT — KIM MINJEONG.

“i want you, it’s so painful, but, oh, i’d burn myself to prove it, baby, no doubt.”

synopsis. stuck in a boring office job, the only thing getting you through the day is sneaking off with winter. stolen kisses and locked doors make work a lot more interesting—especially when you’re pushing the limits of what you can get away with.

pairing. officeworker!winter x officeworker!gn!reader

warnings. 18+ (smut), public sex (in an office & breakroom), fingering, oral, reader wears a tie bc whats an office job w/o a tie???, bad writing & let me know if there's more!

words. 1.6k

authors note. winter has been bias wrecking recently ☹️ i also have to update my masterlist and link it on these works; lowkey forgot that was even a thing!

navigation. main masterlist. request.

you hated your job.

every day felt like an endless loop of emails, meetings, and deadlines that only seemed to multiply. the worst part? the clients. no matter how much effort you put in, someone always found something to complain about.

"can you believe this?" your coworker, jaehyun, groaned as he dropped into the chair beside your desk. running a frustrated hand through his hair, he glared at his laptop screen. "i spent two weeks on that pitch, and the client rejected it in five minutes. five. freaking. minutes."

you sighed, barely looking away from your own stack of unfinished work. "sounds about right. did they at least give you a reason?"

"oh, the usual: ‘not what we’re looking for,’ ‘we need something fresh,’ ‘we’ll get back to you.’" he mimicked their voices with a scoff. "they won’t."

"of course they won’t." you leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples. "i don’t even know why we try anymore."

jaehyun huffed in agreement, shaking his head. there was no point in trying to convince these people. they had already made up their minds, always chasing something better.

he was about to launch into another rant when movement across the office caught your eye.

winter.

she stood from her desk, stretching slightly before picking up her cup and making her way to the break room. a gray cardigan draped over a crisp white button-down, tucked neatly into a black skirt that ended just above her knees. her long, blonde hair framed her face perfectly; her smile was soft and sweet.

you could watch her all day.

"are you even listening?" jaehyun’s voice snapped you back to reality.

"what?" you turned to him, blinking.

he sighed. "never mind. i gotta get back to work anyway. this pitch isn't going to fix itself."

you barely heard him. pushing back from your desk, you stood up, your feet already moving in the direction winter had gone.

the break room was quiet when you stepped inside, the steady hum of the coffee machine filling the space. she was alone, stirring sugar into her tea, her eyes focused on the swirling liquid in her cup.

you glanced at her, humming out a tune to break the silence. winter glanced at you through her lashes, watching you reach for a mug, but before you could pour your coffee, winter’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, pulling you gently toward her. you stumbled, nearly crashing into her.

she steadied you with a quiet laugh, her eyes twinkling as she met your gaze. "we have ten minutes before anyone starts wondering where we are," she whispered.

"then we better make it count."

her lips met yours in a fleeting kiss—soft at first, then deeper, more urgent. her hands were everywhere—pulling at your tie, gripping your waist, threading into your hair. a quiet moan slipped past your lips as she kissed you harder, hungrier. it was too much and not nearly enough all at once.

"someone's impatient today," you teased, pulling back to catch your breath.

she giggled. "can you blame me? it's been three whole days."

your mind thought back on three days ago.

winter's hands were tangled in your hair, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, trying desperately to stay quiet. she glanced around the office before settling her gaze back on you. your head was deep into her lap, your mouth buried between her legs, your tongue teasing her clit underneath her desk.

her grip on your hair tightened, her eyes closing briefly as she fought to keep her composure. you couldn't help but feel a little bit pleased with yourself—you knew that she only got this impatient when she really, really wanted you. to risk you going down on her in the middle of the office, mid-workday, where anyone could walk in and catch the two of you.

a low moan escaped her lips, and you pulled back slightly, just enough so that your words wouldn't be muffled. "shhh, you have to be quiet."

"i'm trying," she whispered, her hips bucking against your face.

"trying" didn't seem like it was quite cutting it. she was squirming in her chair, her grip on your hair getting tighter with each passing second. "we really shouldn't be doing this here," you murmured, but you didn't give any sign of actually making a move to stop.

"you're just too tempting," she responded, her voice barely above a whisper, her legs trying in vain to close around your head.

"can't blame you for that," you murmured back. "doesn't mean we shouldn't be a little more careful, though…"

her eyes darted briefly around the office again, everyone too involved in their own work at their own cubicles to notice the illicit activity happening right under their noses. the risk of getting caught was still very real, and winter knew she should care, but she was way too far gone.

"it's hard to be careful when you're doing... that," she whined, her eyes fluttering shut as you went back to work.

winter's tongue pressed against yours, hot and insistent, and you felt a rush of desire course through you. it was so easy for her to push all the right buttons. "how much time do we have left?" you asked, pulling back slightly.

"six minutes," she breathed, guiding your hand to the waistband of her skirt.

six minutes. not a lot of time, but definitely enough.

you smiled wickedly, your fingers trailing along the edge of her skirt for a moment before sliding underneath it. she gasped softly, her eyes darkening with anticipation as you leaned in to kiss her again.

you could feel the heat radiating off her body as your fingers brushed against her bare skin. she was so responsive, so reactive, and you knew that you could make her come undone with just a few well-placed touches.

"i think i can make that work," you murmured, your hand creeping higher, higher, higher, until it was resting at the edge of her underwear.

her hips bucked involuntarily towards your hand, a desperate whine escaping her lips. you chuckled, your fingers tracing slow, teasing circles on her skin.

"someone's impatient," you teased, your mouth moving to her neck. you could feel her pulse racing under your lips, her breathing ragged and uneven.

"don't have all day, you know," she protested, her words at odds with the way her body was melting into yours. her hands clutched at your shirt, trying to pull you closer.

you pulled back from her, your fingers leaving her skin, and she let out a sharp gasp. before she could complain, you brought your middle and ring fingers to her mouth. she understood immediately, her lips parting and her tongue darting out to meet them.

you watched her suck on your fingers, her eyes locked on yours, and your heart skipped a beat. "fuck, you're gorgeous," you breathed, the way she was looking at you, like nothing else existed in the world except the two of you, was intoxicating.

she blushed at the praise but didn't stop. your fingers slid in and out of her mouth, and she sucked on them eagerly, her tongue swirling around them.

winter could feel herself getting wetter by the second, her thighs rubbing together impatiently.

once you were satisfied with her work, you pulled your fingers out of her mouth with an audible pop, a thin trail of saliva connecting them to her lips. she let out a disappointed sigh, her lips already swollen and parted, begging for more.

you leaned in, whispering in her ear, "i bet you're already dripping wet."

winter's breath hitched. she knew that you could always tell when she was turned on, and you were right—she was practically aching for you, desperate to feel your fingers inside her.

you didn't waste any time, bringing your hand back under her skirt and pushing aside the fabric of her panties. winter inhaled sharply as your fingers brushed over her clit, her eyes falling closed.

"so ready for me," you cooed, sliding your middle finger between her folds. "so wet."

she shuddered, her hips rolling forward involuntarily, seeking more friction. "please," she whimpered, her hands fisting in your shirt.

you loved how responsive she was, how easily you could make her fall apart. you leaned forward, capturing her lips in a heated kiss as you eased your finger inside her. winter moaned into your mouth, her walls clenching around you.

"quiet, baby," you reminded her, curling your finger and finding that spot deep inside her.

the possibility of getting caught in the break room was surprisingly low. tucked away in the farthest corner of the office, it was separated from the main workspace by a frosted glass wall and a door that locked from the inside.

wait…did you lock the door?

maybe. maybe not.

she nodded weakly, her nails dug into your shoulders as she struggled to keep her composure, her breath coming in shallow gasps. you added a second finger, pumping them in and out of her at a relentless pace, your thumb brushing against her clit.

"fuck, baby," you groaned, pressing her harder against the counter. you could feel her body shaking beneath yours, her orgasm approaching fast. "you're so close, aren't you?"

winter could only nod, her hips bucking against your hand, trying to get as much friction as possible. She was close, so fucking close, and you could tell. the way her breathing hitched, her nails digging into your shoulder, the way her thighs squeezed together, trying to relieve the tension.

"i can feel it, baby. come for me."

she cried out, her body going rigid, her walls clenching around your fingers as she came. her eyes rolled back, her mouth open in a silent scream, her legs threatening to give out. you kept stroking her through her orgasm, prolonging the pleasure as long as possible, until she was trembling and weak.

"f-fuck," she whimpered, her head resting against your shoulder.

You chuckled, removing your fingers from her and licking them clean. "you okay?"

"more than okay," she said, a satisfied grin spreading across her face.

you couldn't resist stealing one last kiss before pulling away. she looked completely fucked out, her hair disheveled and her cheeks flushed. "better get back to work before anyone misses us."

"i guess," she said, pouting a little.

"we can continue this later," you assured her, fixing her clothes and smoothing down her hair.

she grinned, reaching for your hand and giving it a squeeze. "it's a date."

[puckinghischier]

I can just imagine doing a “soft launch” with Nico and him not understanding the concept of it and posting just a picture that’s very much you and the teams gc blowing up giving him shit

when you opened the burst of notifications suddenly flooding your phone, you’re confused. sure, you had just posted a soft launch of nico on your account, but you didn’t expect this kind of reaction to it, most of your close friends and family already knowing about him.

when you open the instagram app, though, you see none other than a post from your oh so sweet boyfriend, your smiling face next to his looking right back at you. his comments are full of fans talking back and forth about who you are and where you came from. you noticed the sudden influx of followers to your account, quickly switching your profile to private before any more make their way through.

the two of you had discussed doing a soft launch last night, agreeing that now is the time to do it, seeing as you’re getting pretty serious. you thought nico understood the concept, but bless his heart, he didn’t.

he had posted one of the most recent pictures the two of you had taken together. you were standing nestled close to him in front of the large tree at rockefeller center just across the bridge, big, loving smiles on both of your faces. the icing on the cake, though? he tagged you in the picture.

you noticed a few of his teammates in the comments, cheering the new relationship on and congratulating him for making it social media official.

ones such as timo, jack, and jesper, however, were poking fun at him. the three of them were the first of nico’s teammates you ever met, so you feel a bit closer to them than some of the others. you had actually crashed their lunch yesterday, joining the four hockey players for a quick cafe meal in-between practices.

they were included in your conversation, asking them their opinion and if it was too soon. when they all gave you their approval you continued the conversation with nico later that night, setting the plan into motion.

jack’s comment read “wow cap, this launch was about as soft as a rock,” while timo’s was along the lines of “soft on the ice, but not on the launches.”

jesper’s was a bit more to the point, simply stating “you’re not supposed to tag her, dumbass.”

before you could read any further comments, your screen was taken over by an incoming call from none other than your new instagram official boyfriend.

“sweetheart, i fucked up. i’m so sorry. i should have asked what you meant last night, but i thought we were just posting about each other. i had no clue it was supposed to be secretive and clever. you should have just told me what to post, now-“

“nico, neeks, calm down. take a breath, it’s fine,” you laugh at his rambles, interrupting his spiral that started the second you answered the phone, not even getting to say hello.

“you’re…not mad?” he stops mid-sentence, confused at your lack of fury at his mistake.

“no, i’m not mad. even if it did cause my phone to nearly crash because of how many notifications were coming through, it was cute,” you smile through your sentence, even though he can’t see you.

“oh…well….i guess i didn’t need to leave practice early then, huh?” he tells you, right as you hear the door open to your apartment, nico standing there with the key you gave him in hand.

you hang up your phone, standing from your couch and walking over towards him.

“why in the world would you leave practice early for something as silly as this?” you stand with your hands on your hips, looking at him disapprovingly.

he doesn’t meet your eye, seeming bashful all of a sudden. “well…if you were going to yell at me i would rather have had you do it in person, that way i could kiss you and tell you i loved you in person instead of over the phone,” he tells you honestly, looking like a little boy getting scolded by his parents.

rolling your eyes at him, you walk over and run your hands through his hair, letting your hands stop at the nape of his neck, arms resting on his shoulders as he looks down at you.

“well i’m not mad, but you can still kiss me and tell me you love me, since the entire state of new jersey—well, the united states and most of switzerland, probably—knows now,” you poke fun at him, scratching the bottom of his scalp while his arms come to circle around your waist.

smirking down at you, he meets your lips in a sweet kiss, barely able to savor it before his phone starts buzzing like crazy in his pocket, distracting both of you.

“now listen, i know i don’t have that many followers to freak out about my new hockey star boyfriend, so who’s blowing your phone up?” you pull back from the kiss, looking down at where his phone rests in the pocket of his sweats.

he pulls the device out, bringing it over so both of you can look at it. you see the messages continue to come through, the same name being seen on all of them: “the handsome devils”.

“that’s your groupchat name? the handsome devils? how original” you laugh at the team’s lack of creativity.

“it was jack’s idea,” nico shrugs, the explanation making perfect sense.

you can hardly read the messages because they’re coming in so fast, but you catch a few.

“nico, do we need to host an instagram class in lieu of practice one day?” dougie offers his admin skills to his captain.

“cap, even i know that soft launch means partial, not a full face shot,” followed by “i didn’t mean that the way that sounded, jack, don’t laugh,” from curtis, and then a “HAHAHA” from jack.

“does this mean i have to start calling her mom?” from luke was the last one you saw before looking up at nico, his furrowed brow showing his annoyance with his teammates.

you reach up to smooth the wrinkle between his full brows, leading him to look up at you instead of his phone.

“nico, they’re just poking fun. they all mean well,” you assure him, taking the still buzzing phone from his hands.

he pouts at you anyways, huffing out a sigh. “i just…felt really bad about all of this and they were all laughing at me when i was rushing out of the locker room, worried you were about to break up with me.”

you can’t help but let out your own laugh, finding it comical he actually thinks you would break up with him. his pout deepens at your laugh, crossing his arms and tucking into himself, yet again looking like a child.

“nico, i’m sorry, i’m not laughing at you, it’s just funny you think i’d break up with you over being too excited to tell people we’re dating and posting one of my favorite pictures of us on your very public instagram,” you assure him, untucking his arms from themselves and placing them back around your waist.

he lets himself relax a bit, getting comfortable in his hold on you again. “it is a really good picture of us, isn’t it?” he asks, looking down at you.

you nod your head yes, humming out a “mhmmm” before standing on your tip toes and pressing a kiss to his nose.

“now, why don’t we go make ourselves comfortable on the couch, order food, and think of snarky comebacks to send to your teammates for making fun of you?” you suggest, causing his face to light up.

“i knew i loved you for a reason,” he says enthusiastically, taking your arm and dragging you over towards the couch.

[goldfades]

more crash out couple please, such a powerful duo I need more, like maybe her being mad Luka got traded or something 😭😭

hell yes!!! i missed this iconic duo<3 (me and the 100 ppl who read it, love yall)

You almost break your phone when you see the notification.

The screen lights up with the headline—Mavericks Trade Luka Dončić to Lakers in Blockbuster Deal—and suddenly, the entire world tilts.

The gym around you fades, the echoes of bouncing balls and sneakers squeaking on hardwood becoming white noise. You’re supposed to be getting shots up before practice, but instead, you’re gripping your phone so tight your fingers ache, reading and rereading the words like they might shift into something less catastrophic if you just glare hard enough.

They traded him.

They traded your Luka.

Your jaw clenches. Your fingers flex. You’re already mad, but then the push notification updates, and you see the trade details—Luka Dončić to the Lakers in exchange for draft picks and—nope. That’s it. That’s all it takes.

The ball in your other hand gets launched across the court.

It smacks against the padded wall with a thud, loud enough to make Sabrina stop mid-shot and stare. The assistant coach flinches. Even the rookies, who have already witnessed a fair share of your outbursts, hesitate before returning to their drills.

You don’t care.

“Yo.” Sabrina’s voice cuts through the tension, cautious but curious. “You good?”

You turn to her, expression thunderous, and shove your phone in her face. “They traded Luka.”

She blinks. “Oh, shit.”

“Oh, shit?” you repeat, voice rising. “That’s all you have to say?”

She exhales, lowering the ball in her hands. “Look, I get it, but—”

“No, you don’t get it,” you snap, shoving your phone into your pocket and pacing like a caged animal. “They traded him. They didn’t even—Luka is Dallas! You don’t just—” You stop, shaking your head violently, hands on your hips as you try to keep from combusting. “I swear to God, if I see Mark Cuban in public, it’s over for him.”

Sabrina mutters something about fines under her breath, but you’re already spiraling.

Because this isn’t just about basketball. This isn’t just about Luka having to swap jerseys or move to another city.

This is about the fact that they ripped him away from the team he built. The city that loved him. And worse—worse than anything—they did it without so much as a warning.

You know Luka. You know how much he gave to that franchise, how much he meant to it. And now he’s supposed to act like this is just part of the business? Like it’s fine?

The thought makes your blood boil.

And then, as if the universe is personally taunting you, your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a text from Luka.

“Babe.”

That’s it. That’s all he says, but you can already hear his voice, can already picture the way he’s probably sitting somewhere with his head in his hands, trying to act like this doesn’t hurt.

Oh, hell no.

You grab your bag and are halfway out the gym before anyone can stop you.

“Where are you—”

“To LA,” you call over your shoulder.

Sabrina sighs. “You don’t even have a flight booked.”

“I will by the time I get to the airport.”

You shove open the gym doors and step out into the cold New York air, pulling your phone back out and dialing before you’ve even fully caught your breath.

Luka picks up on the second ring.

“Baby, listen, I—”

“I’m furious.”

There’s a pause. Then, a tired chuckle. “Yeah, I figured.”

You clench your jaw. “Where are you?”

A beat. Then, softer, “Hotel.”

“Text me the address.”

Luka hesitates. “You don’t have to—”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Silence. Then a small exhale, almost like relief. “Okay.”

Your phone buzzes a second later with the location, and you’re already pulling up flights.

If the NBA thinks Luka is just going to smile and move on, they’re dead wrong.

The flight to LA was a blur. You didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, barely even blinked. Your thoughts ran too hot, looping over and over on Luka, on the Mavericks, on the absolute disrespect of it all. Every time the plane hit turbulence, you imagined it was Mark Cuban getting body-checked into the stands.

Now, at 5 AM, you stand outside Luka’s hotel room, heartbeat hammering.

You don’t knock. You don’t hesitate. You swipe the key card he sent you, shove the door open, and step inside.

The lights are dim, but Luka is awake. Of course he’s awake.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He’s still in the clothes he probably wore to whatever last-minute meeting the Lakers shoved him into yesterday—a hoodie, sweatpants, sneakers untied like he never bothered to take them off. There are unopened water bottles on the nightstand, a half-eaten protein bar beside them.

When the door clicks shut behind you, he looks up.

And the second he sees you, something in him breaks.

Before you can say anything, before you can even take a full breath, Luka is on you.

His arms wrap around you, tight, desperate. His body folds into yours like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His face buries in the crook of your neck, and you feel him exhale, long and shaky, like he’s been holding his breath for the past twenty-four hours.

You don’t hesitate. You grip him just as fiercely, fingers digging into his hoodie, grounding him, keeping him here. He smells like faint cologne and exhaustion, and under that, something more raw. Something unsteady.

Luka isn’t the type to crumble. He gets mad, gets loud, gets chaotic—but he doesn’t crumble.

Except now, in your arms, he does.

“I hate this,” he mutters against your skin. His voice is rough, thick with exhaustion and frustration and everything in between. “I hate all of it.”

You slide a hand up his back, fingers pressing into his shoulders, firm and steady. “I know.”

“I didn’t even—I didn’t get a say. They just—” His grip tightens. “Four years. Four years, I give them everything, and then—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. You feel the rage simmering beneath his skin, the betrayal laced into every word.

You shift slightly, just enough to pull back and look at him. His face is tired, jaw clenched, eyes rimmed with sleepless frustration. You reach up, brushing a thumb against his cheek, and his eyes flutter shut at the touch, like he’s been waiting for something—someone—to anchor him.

“I’m here,” you say, quiet but firm.

Luka’s eyes open, and for a second, he just looks at you. Then, he exhales again, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“You flew all the way here,” he murmurs.

“Of course I did.” Your tone is sharp, like the mere suggestion that you wouldn’t is offensive. “You think I was gonna let you go through this shit alone?”

Something flickers across his face—something raw, vulnerable, something he doesn’t let just anyone see.

Then, after a pause, he tugs you toward the bed.

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls you with him, and you let him. He flops back, dragging you down beside him, arms still wrapped around you, holding on like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

The room is quiet. The city outside is already waking up, but in here, time slows.

“You’re the only one I need right now,” he mutters, voice low, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud.

Your chest aches at the confession, but you don’t say anything. You just shift closer, pressing a kiss to his temple, letting your presence speak for itself.

Luka sighs, and for the first time in what feels like forever, his body fully relaxes.

You stay like that, tangled together in the quiet, until sleep finally claims him.

A couple of hours later, you’re sitting across from Luka in the dimly lit hotel dining area, watching him glare at a plate of eggs like they personally orchestrated his trade.

“You have to eat,” you say, prodding at your own food.

“I’m not hungry.” His voice is flat, mutinous. His hoodie is pulled up over his head, shadowing his tired face.

“You think I care?” You level him with a look. “Eat.”

Luka grumbles something under his breath in Slovenian, but he picks up his fork anyway, stabbing at a piece of toast like it offended him. You take that as a victory.

The only other people in the restaurant are a few early risers and some poor intern in a Lakers polo grabbing coffee-to-go. The news of Luka’s trade is still hot, and you know the media will be circling like vultures the second he steps outside, but right now, in this quiet pocket of time, it’s just you and him.

And, apparently, his rage.

“Four years,” he mutters, pushing eggs around his plate. “Four years, and they don’t even call me first. I wake up, check my phone, and boom—I’m a Laker.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Not even a fucking text from Mark. Not even a ‘thank you for carrying our franchise on your back, Luka, we really appreciate you.’”

You cross your arms, leaning back in your chair. “I told you. If I ever see Mark Cuban, it’s over for him.”

Luka huffs a laugh—short, but real. It makes your chest loosen just a little.

He takes a reluctant bite of toast, chewing like he’s being forced at gunpoint. “And now I have to do the whole welcome to LA bullshit,” he continues, words muffled. “Smile for the cameras. Shake hands. Act like I wanted this.”

Your fingers drum against the table. “You gonna be nice about it?”

He looks up at you, incredulous. “Have you met me?”

Fair point.

You exhale, shaking your head. “I swear, if they make you say some PR-scripted ‘I’m excited for this opportunity’ speech, I might actually throw up.”

“They already sent me a script.” Luka shoves his phone across the table, screen glowing with an email from Lakers PR. You skim the message, eyes narrowing at phrases like thrilled to join this legendary organization and I can’t wait to start this journey.

You push the phone back. “I hate it here.”

Luka leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, voice dropping lower. “And you know the worst part?”

“What?”

He gestures around vaguely. “It’s too fucking sunny here.”

You blink. “Luka.”

“No, seriously.” He gestures toward the windows, where the LA morning is already creeping in, golden and warm. “It’s February. There should be clouds. Wind. A little sadness in the air. But no, it’s all palm trees and sunshine like nothing happened.”

You stare at him for a long moment before snorting. “You’re mad at the weather?”

“Yes!” He throws his hands up. “It’s unnatural.”

That shouldn’t be funny. But with the way he says it—with all the intensity of someone who just lost a Game 7 at the buzzer—it is. You press your lips together, trying to keep a straight face.

Luka narrows his eyes. “You’re laughing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.” You take a sip of orange juice to hide your grin. “I just think it’s hilarious that out of all the shit you could be mad about, this is what broke you.”

Luka leans back in his chair, crossing his arms like a sulking teenager. “You don’t get it. I had seasonal depression in Dallas. I needed that.”

You roll your eyes, kicking him lightly under the table. “Eat your damn eggs, sunshine.”

He glares, but he takes another bite.

For a few minutes, you eat in relative silence, the weight of everything still heavy in the air but not suffocating like it was before. Luka looks exhausted—his face drawn, his usual sharp smirk replaced with something duller—but at least he’s eating. At least he’s here.

And at least he has you.

After a while, he exhales, poking at his plate with his fork. “I know it’s stupid, but…” He trails off, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “It just feels like I didn’t get a choice.”

Your heart clenches.

“It’s not stupid,” you say, firm. “They did you dirty, Luka. You’re allowed to be pissed.”

Luka tilts his head, studying you. “You’re more mad than I am.”

You scoff. “Of course I am. You know I fight harder for you than you fight for yourself.”

He shakes his head, a soft chuckle escaping. “My little menace.”

“Damn right.”

There’s a beat of silence before Luka stretches out his legs, nudging your foot under the table. “You’re staying, right?”

You raise a brow. “In LA?”

He nods, something unspoken behind his eyes.

You huff. “Where else would I be?”

Luka exhales, and just like that, you see some of the tension in his shoulders finally—finally—ease.

Yeah. You’re staying.

Even if LA is too sunny, even if the trade is bullshit, even if the next few months are going to be a mess. You’re not going anywhere.

--

A few weeks later, you find yourself sitting under the blinding lights of a New York Liberty press conference, fingers tapping rhythmically against the table as some PR rep drones on about preseason expectations.

You’re seated between Sabrina and one of the rookies, both of whom look way more at ease than you feel. Sabrina leans back in her chair, arms crossed, while the rookie—bright-eyed, still a little too eager—nods along like she actually cares about whatever corporate script is being read.

You, on the other hand?

You’re fighting for your life trying to keep your expression neutral.

Because you already know what’s coming.

It took all of a week after Luka’s trade for the media to start dragging you into it. At first, they tried to be subtle, slipping his name into post-game interviews like you wouldn’t notice. Then they got bolder—ESPN doing full Crash Out Couple: Will They Survive LA? segments, reporters cornering you in tunnels, even random fans asking if you were gonna pull a Brittney Griner and demand a trade to the Sparks just to be with Luka.

As if you’d ever leave New York.

Still, you handled it all like a pro. Gave the usual non-answers—"I support Luka no matter what," "We're both focused on our seasons," "No, I will not be elaborating on what I said about Mark Cuban at baggage claim."

But now? Sitting in front of a packed press conference, cameras rolling, microphones lined up in front of you like weapons of war? You can already tell today’s gonna be the day.

You barely register the first few questions—some fluff about team chemistry, how the offseason is treating you, the usual. You answer just enough to stay professional but keep it short, letting Sabrina and the others do the heavy lifting.

Then, just as you predicted, some reporter in the back clears his throat.

“Now, I know this is a Liberty press conference,” he starts, already trying to soften the blow, “but I have to ask—what are your thoughts on Luka Dončić’s trade to LA?”

There it is.

You feel Sabrina stiffen beside you. Someone exhales quietly, like they just know you’re about to start some shit.

And honestly?

They’re not wrong.

You take a slow breath, sitting up a little straighter. “You wanna know what I think?”

The reporter nods, already looking excited.

You fold your hands on the table, voice steady. “I think it’s the dumbest trade I’ve ever seen.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, the room erupts.

Cameras flash. Journalists start whispering, fingers flying over keyboards. Sabrina visibly bites back a smirk.

But you’re not done.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked.” You lean forward slightly, giving the reporters a pointed look. “You know it was stupid. Luka was the Mavericks. He carried that team, gave them everything, and they just—what? Dump him? Act like he’s replaceable? Like he wasn’t the best thing that franchise has had since Dirk?”

You shake your head, letting out a sharp, humorless laugh.

“They didn’t even warn him,” you continue, voice measured but laced with just enough bite. “Didn’t even have the decency to let him hear it from them first. He found out like everyone else—through the media. After four years.” You glance around, making sure every single person in the room is listening. “You tell me—does that sound like a team that knows what the hell they’re doing?”

Someone near the front stifles a laugh.

The rookie next to you is staring, wide-eyed, like she just realized you’re really like this in real life.

The PR rep off to the side looks like he’s actively considering quitting.

You give the reporters a moment to scramble over each other before adding, “And don’t get it twisted—I’m not mad at the Lakers. If they wanna benefit from Dallas’ stupidity, that’s their business.” You tilt your head. “But let’s not pretend this wasn’t one of the worst front office decisions we’ve seen in a long time.”

Sabrina clears her throat, barely suppressing a smirk. “So… you feel strongly about this.”

You shoot her a look. “Oh, we’re doing sarcasm now?”

She grins, leaning back. “Just making sure.”

A different reporter cuts in, notebook in hand. “Are you saying the Mavericks made a mistake?”

You blink, deadpan. “Do you think they made a mistake?”

He hesitates. “Well—”

“No, go ahead.” You gesture. “Say with your chest.”

He doesn’t respond.

Exactly. At this point, you can practically hear the headlines being written in real time.

Crash Out Couple Strikes Again: Liberty Star Calls Luka Trade ‘Dumbest Ever’ Luka’s Girlfriend Goes Scorched Earth on Mavericks Mark Cuban, Look Away—This One’s Gonna Hurt

You sigh, shaking your head. “Look, all I’m saying is—Luka deserved better. And he’s gonna be fine in LA, don’t get me wrong. He’s already killing it. But let’s not pretend the Mavericks didn’t fumble badly.”

A few reporters nod, some murmuring in agreement.

Then, a woman in the front row speaks up. “So, do you think Luka should be happy in LA? Do you think this trade was ultimately a good thing for him?”

You pause.

Because that’s the real question, isn’t it?

After everything—after the shock, the anger, the adjustment—after all the late-night phone calls, the exhausted rants over FaceTime, the too-silent hotel rooms when he was on the road—do you think he’s happy?

You tap your fingers against the table once. Twice.

Then, finally, you nod.

“I think he’s making the best of it.”

It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no either.

It’s just the truth.

Luka is still Luka—he’s still dropping triple-doubles, still making absurd off-balance threes like he was built for Hollywood. The fans love him, the Lakers are feeding him the ball, and the league is already hyping him up like he’s the second coming of Magic Johnson.

But you know him.

And you know that no matter how well he plays, no matter how many games they win—he’s still carrying that weight. That bitterness. That feeling of being discarded.

So yeah, he’s making the best of it.

But he shouldn’t have had to.

You clear your throat. “Next question.”

The room buzzes, journalists exchanging glances, already gearing up for more.

Sabrina leans over, voice low. “You do realize you just went viral in real-time, right?”

You sigh, grabbing your water bottle. “Good.”

Because if the Mavericks thought they were done hearing about this trade? They were dead wrong.

The press conference wraps up, and the energy in the room is palpable—reporters buzzing with excitement, scribbling down everything you just said like they’re gathering ammunition. You can already feel the headlines forming, but honestly? You don’t care.

You stay composed, answering a couple more questions before Sabrina nudges you, her lips twitching with that knowing smile. “You really went off.”

��Glad I got your approval,” you shoot back, but you’re already scanning the crowd, searching for the exit.

As soon as the conference ends, you slip out the side door, dodging any lingering press. Your phone vibrates in your pocket—likely some good job text from your manager or a PR person who’s already trying to figure out how to spin it.

But then you see the name.

Luka.

You swipe your phone open and quickly scan his message. It’s simple, but you can feel the weight behind it.

Luka 💙: You’re insane, but I love you.

Your heart flutters despite the chaos.

You lean against the wall of the hallway, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you read it again.

You remember—Luka is still Luka. He’s still your chaotic, brilliant, stubborn, sweet Luka. He’s still the guy who finds a way to smile even when everything around him feels like it’s falling apart. The guy who’s probably on the other side of the country trying to make sense of this new life in LA, but still, somehow, always makes time to text you something that makes your chest ache with warmth.

You bite your lip, your fingers hovering over the keys.

You: You knew what you signed up for when you went out with me 😒

You: I love you, too

You press send before you can second-guess it.

The reply is almost instant:

Luka 💙: I saw the press conference. Glad you’re making them feel stupid. I needed that.

You grin.

You: Good. You deserve to be pissed off. Just wish I could've done it myself.

Luka’s response is quick, but it’s the last part that makes your heart do a little flip.

Luka 💙: I’m still your man. No matter where I am.

You pause for a moment, your thumb resting over your phone screen.

Because, despite everything—the trade, the new city, the looming questions about what comes next—you know Luka’s right. He’s still yours.

You feel a sudden surge of warmth, your chest swelling with a mix of pride and possessiveness. Luka might be living in LA now, but he’s never going to truly belong to anyone else.

Not when he’s yours.

I know, you reply, your words simple but full of everything you feel in this moment. I got you. Always.

And as you hit send, you know that no matter where you are—no matter how much distance gets between you two in the future—Luka’s still going to be your home.

The trade? It might have put a dent in his world. But for you two?

You’re both still crashing out, together, no matter what.

[nadvs]

hard to ignore (two-shot) (part two)

pairing singledad! zach maclaren x nanny! female reader

summary when you’re offered a job as a nanny, you can tell right away that you’ll grow fond of the little girl you’re taking care of. things are easy to manage until you realize you’re falling for her dad.

content warning parental abandonment

» part one

» masterlist

Zach gets you and his daughter box seats for his next home game.

It happens to be on your first day back at work after his family leaves and he jokes that sooner is better than later, not only because his team might get knocked out of the playoffs, but also because Ella could change her mind about wanting to come.

The private space overlooking the stadium is small, only a handful of other people there, as the late afternoon sun shines over the rich green field.

You learned that Zach is a major league soccer player minutes into meeting him. You knew he had an unusual life and a certain level of notoriety as a professional athlete. But seeing the crowds filling the seats below you makes it real to you.

The music and the announcer’s voice boom through the stadium, fireworks going off as players rush the field. All this craziness doesn’t match the man you know. Zach is kind and humble and beneath his silly sense of humor, he has a gentleness to him that you’d never expect from someone whose last name is sprawled over fans’ jerseys, who’s getting cheered for so loudly that it’s deafening.

Ella excitedly claps when her father appears on the stadium screen, his face hard as he jogs under the bright lights. You gaze ahead in awe, unable to believe that this is the world he lives in when he’s not at the house, running around with his daughter, thanking you for everything you do.

After the game ends in a draw, you take Ella home in time for dinner. As you drive, wipers cleaning away the drizzle that just started to fall, she excitedly rambles about the experience from the backseat. You smile to yourself, glad that she enjoyed herself and proud that you’re the reason she went.

As usual, Ella slips out of her chair with a mouthful of food when she hears the front door open halfway into dinner. You watch her dart out of the dining room, listening to the huff Zach lets out every time his daughter roughly launches herself into his arms.

“That was so cool!” you overhear.

“Really?” he says. “You didn’t get bored?”

“Um, it was kind of too long,” she says, “but I had pictures to color.”

“Appreciate your honesty,” Zach replies with a laugh.

They round the corner to enter the dining room and when Zach���s eyes land on you, your heart does a somersault.

“Hey,” he says to you, nervous.

“Hi,” you reply. “Thanks for the fancy seats.”

“They were alright?”

“Good enough for two princesses,” you tease.

“Princess ballerinas,” Ella corrects you as she sits down again.

“Right,” you say. “Sorry. I keep forgetting that we’re princess ballerinas now.”

Zach mirrors your smile, loving the feeling of sharing a moment like this with you. You stand to clean your plate and it reminds him of what his mother said a couple of nights ago. That you look at him the same way he looks at you.

He hopes that it’s true, because he can’t take his eyes off of you. He’s a little embarrassed that you saw him in a match. He’s always loved soccer, but he never liked how much attention is on him as a major league player.

“Maybe you should wait out the rain,” Zach says to you. “It started coming down hard on my drive home.”

“Good idea,” you say, happy to spend more time with him.

The rest of dinner consists of Ella happily chattering with you and Zach. As she clears her plate, Zach’s phone buzzes on the table top. His lips purse in worry at the notification, and then he shows you the severe thunderstorm warning message on his screen.

“That looks bad,” you say. “How long is it supposed to go on for?”

“It says into the early morning,” Zach answers. “Do you want to crash here?”

“I’m sure I could make it home,” you say. “I’ll just drive slowly.”

Zach’s lips part, and then he closes his mouth, simply nodding.

“What?” you chuckle. His eyes dart away.

“Just worried about you,” he admits. You huff an endeared laugh.

“Fine. I’ll sleep here,” you decide.

He sighs a breath of relief and says, “Thanks.”

Zach takes Ella to bed and you settle on the couch, glad you already have everything you’ll need in your overnight bag in the guest room. You eventually hear his footsteps coming down the stairs over the sounds of the television and the rain hammering down on the roof.

He sits on the other end of the couch next to you, so far that a person could easily sit between you. It’s typical Zach, never getting too close to you. The only time he’s ever touched you is when he shook your hand before your interview half a year ago.

“She fell asleep while I was explaining what offside means,” he says with an adorably puzzled expression. “Trying not to be offended.”

“I can’t believe she’s actually interested in soccer,” you say.

“Ouch.” Zach puts his hand over his heart. “Okay, I’m offended now.”

“I mean because you said she never cared before,” you laugh.

“I asked her so many times if she’d want to come to a game,” he huffs. “But you suggest it once and she’s immediately in. She always listens to you.”

“Not when I’m trying to convince her to leave the park,” you say. He chuckles. “Can you believe she’s starting kindergarten soon?”

Admittedly, Zach’s concerned about it. In less than a month, Ella will be going to school and he never was one to have much anxiety before he became a father, but all he does now is worry. He doesn’t want any teachers or kids to be harsh with his little girl. She’s already been through enough.

“She’ll be okay,” you say.

“What?”

“You have that worried look on your face,” you tell him. “She’ll love school. I’m sure of it.”

“You can read me pretty well,” he says, smiling. You shrug timidly, thinking back to how quickly he’d noticed something was bothering you on the night of Ella’s birthday.

“What?” he asks.

“It goes both ways,” you admit. “You saw right through me after the party.”

Zach’s jaw tightens, the playfulness between you replaced by a fragile air. He takes a breath before speaking. He knows he needs to have this conversation with you.

“Do you feel better about what she said?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply. Now that you’ve had some time to process, you’re okay. “How about you?”

“Well,” he begins, nerves tightening in his stomach, “it wasn’t easy to hear. Ella shouldn’t have to wish she had a different mom. Jade should be here for her.”

He’s never said her name. He’s never looked like this before, his eyes avoiding yours, hand trembling a bit as he scratches his jaw. You can tell this is hard for him to talk about. But he’s choosing to do it with you.

“You said ex-wife that night, but she was never my wife,” Zach admits.

“Oh. Sorry. I just assumed.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I know I haven’t told you much. When we talked that night, it reminded me of just how much you don’t know about it. I just… I hope you know that you’re… you’re so much more than Ella’s nanny. You’re our friend. And you’re obviously a mother figure to her. And it feels weird that you don’t know what happened.”

His words sink into you, every syllable having an effect on your heartbeat.

“What happened?”

“Ella was a surprise,” he tells you. “Jade and I were dating in our senior year of college when we found out she was pregnant. And then I got scouted and we graduated and everything was happening so fast, but we were happy and… I stayed happy and she didn’t.”

You nibble on your bottom lip, looking at him as his eyes stay trained off of yours.

“We broke up a few months after Ella was born. But we were both sure we could handle co-parenting. She stayed at home while I worked. I could see she didn’t like it, though. She wasn’t a bad mother or anything. She just wasn’t very… affectionate with Ella.”

Your chest tightens. It’s painful to imagine Ella wanting love and not getting it.

“I don’t know. I thought she’d eventually feel how I feel about being a parent. I tried everything,” Zach says, remembering how he’d encouraged Jade to go to therapy or take time away or work while they hired help. It was like she was stuck in her unhappiness. “But then she left and… that was it.”

He finally looks at you and the tenderness in your eyes gives him a breath of fresh air. It’s what you do. Just by being you, you give him the push to stay hopeful that he and his daughter will be okay.

“We weren’t in a good place when you came. But you made things so much better,” he says. “You do an amazing job taking care of her. I really appreciate it.”

Your eyes light up, the smile on your face gentle.

“Thank you for saying that,” you say. “And thank you for telling me the full story. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

Zach sighs now that the weight of reliving it is gone.

“I really do love her. I meant it when I said it.” At this point, you’re sure you love him, too, but you wouldn’t dare say it out loud. “And I feel lucky to get to watch her grow up. This doesn’t even feel like a job to me anymore.”

“So, what I’m hearing is, you don’t want the pay?” he says. You find relief in his joke, tossing your head back with a laugh. “Seriously, though, let me know if you need me to keep things the same while you’re part-time during the school year. I don’t mind.”

“Wait, are you offering to pay me for hours I’m not even working?” you chuckle. “Zach, no. I’m good. I have other things lined up. But thank you.”

“What? Everyone knows you should always accept free money.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say. “How do you even have the energy to joke around right now? I just watched you run around for ninety minutes.”

Like always, Zach blushes when you bring up his job. He’s intense and focused on the pitch, but he’s different when he’s at ease at home.

“There’s a break in the middle,” he replies.

“I stand corrected,” you say. “So, how’d you get into soccer?”

Your conversation quickly and easily drifts into topics you hadn’t explored before, the storm raging outside as you learn more about him and he learns more about you. He’s still on the other end of the couch, but soon, his arm is resting against the back of it, his hand inches away from you as you sink into the soft cushions, beaming at each other as you talk.

You don’t want to stop, but eventually you can’t stifle your yawn, prompting Zach to check his watch.

“Jeez,” he says. “Ella went down three hours ago.”

“Are you serious?” You sit up. “That flew by.”

Zach knew that the more he learned about you, the more of a goner he’d be. It feels like he just went on the best date of his life and all he did was sit on his couch and talk.

There’s something between you and he hopes that it’s not just his infatuation misguiding him.

────୨ৎ────

You were right. He had nothing to worry about. Ella’s more than happy at school. It’s only a week into the year and she’s already naming all her new friends when Zach picks her up Friday afternoon.

Her first dance recital is tonight and he’s looking forward to seeing you and his family there. Ella had even mentioned that her other grandparents could come. They were elated to get the invitation.

And of course, when he arrives at the studio that evening, you’re already there, reliable and steady like you always are. You greet him and his family warmly and introduce yourself to Jade’s parents.

It feels wrong to hear you refer to yourself as Ella’s nanny. You’ve been in his life for eight months now and you’ve nestled your way into his soul so deeply that he knows you’ll stay with him forever.

He’s been grappling with this since he first realized he had feelings for you; this bothersome sense of wrong. He can’t pursue you. Technically, no matter how much it doesn’t feel like it, he is your boss. He pays you to take care of his child. If things went sideways, it could push you to leave.

Although he’s never felt this much love for a woman in his life, it’d be selfish. He can’t do it to Ella. He didn’t even want to date other women when Jade was still around simply because it could confuse his daughter.

But you’re different.

His thoughts are interrupted when you look at him, pulling him out of his haze.

“I saved us seats,” you tell him.

Zach’s sitting between you and his father when the recital starts. Eventually, Ella drifts across the middle of the floor between the other dancers.

“This is the part she’s nervous about,” you whisper to him, recalling how she’d told you that this part in the choreography makes her trip sometimes.

You watch her hop sideways, focused as the music grows faster. You’re so on edge that you don’t realize your hand slips into Zach’s, squeezing nervously. She lands her last skip and rejoins the group. You let out a sigh of relief. Then, you look down, seeing your fingers wrapped around Zach’s.

“Sorry,” you say, trying to laugh it off as you pull your hand back. “I think I’m taking a five-year-old’s dance recital a little too seriously.”

Zach can only offer a tight smile. His team’s inching closer to advancing to the championship semi-finals and the pressure has never been heavier, but even that hasn’t affected him like the tension he’s feeling right now. His whole body is on fire from your touch, and it won’t go away.

When the recital comes to an end, Zach leans closer to you to murmur over the applause surrounding you.

“You going out to dinner with us?” he asks.

“Do I have to?” you quip.

“What, you got a date or something?” He worries that the joke was too much. Too flirty.

But you laugh and say, “I haven’t had a date or something in forever. Yeah, I’ll come.” Although it’s hard to believe that a woman like you is single, he’s glad you are.

The eight of you sit in the busy restaurant, making conversation. As Zach expected, Ella insisted she sit next to you. You have endless patience for her, listening to her talk, answering her questions, letting her pick off your plate. He would move mountains for his child. He can tell you’d do the same.

Zach picks up the bill and you all say your goodbyes to Jade’s parents, who insisted they didn’t need to stay the night. Before you head out, you tell his family it was nice to see them again. He can tell you’re a little surprised when his mother pulls you in for a hug, but you kindly return it.

Connie obviously appreciates everything you’ve done for her son and granddaughter. Zach tries not to daydream too much, but he likes imagining being your boyfriend and telling you that his mom called that you’d become something one day.

When you say bye to Zach, your gazes meet like you’ve been waiting for a private moment for ages. Things changed on the night you stayed over. You went from friends to a gray area of something more, neither of you acting on it but knowing it’s there.

Only an hour after Ella falls asleep, Zach’s parents and sister turn in for the night, tired from their drive in. Zach is too wired, silently sitting in his living room, his tea not having its usual effect of soothing him.

He goes through his camera roll, wishing he could go for a drive to relax, but not wanting to leave his daughter in case she needs him. He stares at a photo his mother took of you and him and Ella earlier tonight after the recital, Ella’s hair frizzy from all the jumping around she did.

His smile is wide and so is yours and you look like more than just someone he hired to help take care of his daughter. You look like a family.

He opens your conversation and sends you the photo. It’s nearing 10 p.m. and he’s not sure if you’re already asleep, but you respond a minute later: Aw I love this. Thanks :) How’s your night going?

Zach responds: Good… but everyone’s asleep and I’m still wide awake. Yours?

You reply: Is your tea not working?

He smiles to himself and texts back: Not this time.

You text: I’m kind of wired, too.

How come?

Not sure.

He replies with a joke: Could be Ella’s fault. I saw her eat a lot of your dinner. It’s probably hunger keeping you awake.

Once again, his mind drifts to the way your palm felt against the back of his hand tonight. Then, he hears a door open upstairs. In case it’s Ella, he quietly rushes up the stairs to run into his mom, who’s leaving the bathroom.

“Sorry,” he whispers when he startles her. “I thought Ella woke up and I didn’t want her to think I was gone.”

“I’m sure she’ll be deep asleep until the morning,” Connie says. She notices he’s still in the clothes he wore to the recital. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” he chuckles. “I’d go for a drive, but I–”

“If she wakes up, I’m here and if she needs you, I’ll call. Go. You need to take care of yourself, too.”

“I’m fine.”

“Go for a drive,” his mother insists. “She’s okay. I promise.”

Zach considers it. With work and Ella and you, his mind has been sort of chaotic. A drive, even a short one, will give him some relief.

“Thanks,” he finally says, giving his mom a grateful smile.

The streetlights plunge him in and out of darkness as he drives through town. When he got in the car, the impulse to go see you seemed ridiculous. With every minute that passes, it feels less and less silly.

Zach eventually pulls over and looks at his phone, staring at the text message he sent you ten minutes ago. How could he even ask to come over without coming on too strong or crossing a boundary?

He’s not sure if he believed in signs from the universe before, but when you text him right when he’s considering if he should text you, he takes it as his answer.

Nothing is ever her fault. But now I’m having a midnight snack lol. Are you still awake?

He replies: Yes. Just driving around. Do you want company?

He’s nervous as he waits. But then you send him your address.

Minutes later, you open your door to gentle knocks, heart skipping when you see him. At this point, being apart from Zach is starting to hurt. You lied when you texted him. You know exactly why you’re wired. It’s because he won’t leave your mind.

“Hi,” he says, a pink hue on his cheeks. “Kind of crazy that you’ve been to my house a million times, but I have no idea what your place looks like.”

“Is that why you’re here?” you ask. “You need to see it that bad?”

“I think it’s what’s keeping me awake.”

You laugh, stepping back, inviting him in. Zach’s eyes travel over your apartment, taking in every little piece that you’ve put into it. Being here is more intimate than he expected. And then you shut the door behind him, thickening the tension, both of you now sharing complete privacy in a way you never have before.

“Is that an Ella original?” he says, pointing to a drawing stuck on your fridge.

“Yup. That’s me and her and the castle we live in,” you tell him. You lead him into the kitchen as you gaze at the bright crayon marking the paper. “And that’s her horse. She was very adamant about it being her horse. But I can pet it if I ask nicely.”

He laughs and gazes at the drawing, touched that you’d keep something his daughter made up on display. Even when you’re not at the house, you want to be reminded of her.

“Where am I?” he asks in mock offense.

“I’m sure she meant to include you, but the horse took up too much space,” you explain, looking over your shoulder up at him. He’s inches away from you, towering above you. You’re so close to him that you can see the stubble growing over his jaw.

“The tutus are a nice touch,” he says, pointing to the pink skirts drawn on both of you. You laugh and turn to face him all the way. You clear your throat, smitten that he’s really here.

“She was great tonight, huh?” you ask.

“She was.” Zach’s smile is bright, the same way it always is whenever he talks about her. “And she wanted all the grandparents there.”

“I think that’s progress.”

“Me, too.” He exhales. “It was an almost perfect night.”

“Almost?”

“My hand still hurts,” he mumbles, face pinching as he looks down at his hand.

“Listen…” you say with a bashful smile. “I’m sorry, okay? I was stressed.” Zach laughs and it takes everything in him not to hug you. “Was it really that bad?”

“So bad,” he teases, flexing his hand. “You’re too reckless.”

“Reckless? Is that what you think of me?”

Zach cocks his head, staring down at you with a look that burns through you, and soberly says, “No. It’s not.”

His gaze drifts over your face, taking you in slowly. You think back to the first time you saw those eyes, sad and distant. Comparing the way he looked that morning to how he’s gazing at you right now is like comparing black and white.

The light atmosphere has quickly been replaced by a somberness hanging over both of you. Your heart is thumping against your chest. Hard.

“What, then?” you ask.

How can he even find the words to describe how you make him feel? You fit perfectly in every way. You settled into his life like there was always a place waiting just for you. Even tonight, when you grabbed his hand for only a moment, it felt like he was born to be touched by you.

You’ve brought light to his life. He always looked forward to coming home to his daughter, and now he looks forward to coming home to you, too. And having to continue to live like this, acting like his heart isn’t completely yours, is torture.

“I think you’re…” Zach’s tone is low, lids dropping as he looks at your lips before he speaks again. “Perfect.”

Your breath catches. You’ve been able to keep yourself away from him for what feels like ages. You’re not sure you’ll have the strength for much longer. This is the moment where everything can change. You know you both feel it.

“Should I not be here?” he says quietly.

It’s his way of making sure you’re okay. That you want him to be here as badly as he wants to be here. That even though maybe this shouldn’t be happening, you have faith that it will only bring you both joy, and you don’t need to consider the risks because you’ll never have to face them.

He looks so painfully unsure that you long to comfort him. Your hand finds his and he laces his warm fingers between yours the instant he feels you. He exhales slowly, never having felt so vulnerable before.

Too much is on the line. He’s only thinking of himself right now. He shouldn’t have come here, he shouldn’t have given in, he shouldn’t have–

“Stay,” you whisper. Your simple word untangles the knot in his chest. You step closer to seal the distance that remains between you. His eyes finally drift back up to find yours.

“I can’t help how I feel about you,” Zach murmurs. “I don’t want to mess up how good things are, but I just…”

He trails off into silence, sighing shakily.

“I know,” you say. “Me, too.”

“Tell me to leave,” he says with a note of pity. You breathe a sad chuckle.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want you here.”

Zach’s grip on your hand tightens, his heart feeling like it’s just been put together after being fractured for years. His lips part and while he doesn’t know how to say how much your words mean to him, he knows how to show it.

He leans closer, cupping your face, capturing your lips with a soft and impatient kiss. You dissolve into bliss, eyelids fluttering closed as his hot mouth presses against yours, head swimming, body buzzing.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, eyelashes overlapping as you kiss deeply, hungrily tasting each other in adoration. His arms circle around you and surround you in warmth.

He lets out a short, almost silent moan against your lips, relieved and assured and grateful that you want him this badly, too. Everything about this feels right. He’s where he’s supposed to be, standing here, kissing you, baring his soul.

You’re breathless when you eventually pull away, eyes slowly opening as he tilts to plant a lazy kiss on your forehead, thumbs stroking your cheeks.

“I kept telling myself that I can’t like you,” he says against your skin. “Do you have any idea how impossible that is?”

You exhale a contented sigh, afraid that you did actually doze off and that this is all just a dream.

“I think I do,” you reply.

Zach’s laugh is breathy, leaning back just enough to look at you. He’s in awe, his lips tender from pressing against yours, his knees weak as he holds your face in his hands. Now that he doesn’t have to hide it or force himself not to stare, he lets himself drown in your eyes.

He brushes his lips against yours again and you smile under the kiss, placing your palm over his hand.

“Is this the hand I hurt?” you tease, gently squeezing.

“Ow,” he playfully winces, making you laugh. You nuzzle your cheek against his palm and smile up at him.

“You sure you like me?” you say. He’s sure he loves you, but it’s too much, too soon to say at this moment. “You know you can’t afford any injuries right now.”

“Worth it,” Zach plays along.

“I keep wanting to ask you about work,” you say. He hasn’t spoken much about playoffs, but you did a little research on his team’s standings. “How has it been? Are you stressed?”

“Pressure’s on, but I’m fine,” he says simply. Your words won’t find you at first. It’s sort of unbelievable how he doesn’t ever flaunt his success, not even a little bit.

“That’s it?” you laugh.

“What?”

“Your team could go to the finals and you’re just fine?” you say.

“How’d you know that?” he says, his heart warming.

“Had to look it up. Not like you’ll tell me,” you quip, pulling away, his hands falling off of you. Zach chuckles, following you into your living room.

“Are we fighting already?” he asks.

“We won’t be if you tell me why you get all cute and shy whenever you talk about your job,” you say, settling on the couch.

He sits to face you, his knee bumping yours. You love that he’s as close as you want him to be, instead of keeping a distance like before. He finds your hands, holding them in his.

“Just a second,” Zach mumbles. “I need to process that you called me cute.”

You giggle, leaning forward to nuzzle against his chest.

“I’m serious,” you say, your voice muffled by his shirt. “We talk about my job all the time.”

“Oh, come on. Because we have to. That’s the whole deal.”

“Is it?”

Zach sighs, kissing the top of your head, loving the way your body slightly shakes with your laughter. You sit up again, looking down as you interlace your fingers with his, playing with his hands as you wait for him to speak.

“I love soccer,” he says, “but I never expected I’d be good enough to go pro. And somehow, I did and all the attention that comes with it is just… it’s not me. I’ve never been the loudest guy in the room. Never wanted to be.”

You nod. You could tell soon after meeting him that while he’s confident and loves to joke around, he’s not one to demand the spotlight.

“And now the more attention I get,” he continues, “the more people might want to know about me and I’d rather keep Ella safe and give her a normal life.”

He scratches his cheek, uncertainty flashing on his face.

“And… I’m not exactly proud that I’m not working a normal job. I’m always thinking that maybe it’d be better for Ella if I had a nine to five, but the pay is great and I can’t play forever, so I just want to save up as much as I can for her. Then I’ll find something more steady.”

You're sure you’ve never met a person this humble. It’s nice to know what goes on in his head after having wondered for so long.

“Will you still even need a nanny then?” you ask lightheartedly. Zach purses his lips as he nods.

“I will if she’s you.” You smile as he pulls you in, holding you as your cheek rests against his shoulder.

“I don’t think there’s anything that you shouldn’t be proud of,” you tell him. “You’re an amazing father.”

“You don’t know how nice it is to hear you say that,” he admits. The worries that he’s being selfish have been gnawing at him for a long time. He’s always concerned he’s making the wrong choices for his daughter.

“I think it every time I see you with her. I know you said she was a surprise, but you treat her like being her dad is all you’ve ever wanted.”

Zach leans to kiss your forehead over and over again, palm gently pressed on your cheek, like he’s making up for all the times he wanted to kiss you but couldn’t. You start to giggle under all the kisses, hugging him tighter.

“Speaking of,” you say, “I’m sure you’re thinking it, too, but we should keep acting like we’re just friends when we’re around our boss.”

He breathes a chuckle, nodding as he looks down at you lovingly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “We’ll take it slow. She’ll be so happy when we tell her.”

“You think so?” you say, your heart blooming from the certainty in his words, from the way he unabashedly intends on being with you and telling his daughter.

“She’s always asking me if I like you.” Truthfully, Ella asks if he loves you, but again, he doesn’t want to use that word until he’s sure you’re comfortable with it.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “She actually asks if I like you yet. It’s like she knows it’s inevitable.”

You realize that the way you’re wrapped up in each other does feel like it was always inevitable. You know that your heart would never have been able to resist him. You’re glad he feels the same way about you.

────୨ৎ────

A week after the night in your apartment is the semi-final. You’re sitting in the living room playing with Ella with the game on in the background. She’s partly interested, whereas you can’t ignore the ball of nerves sitting deep in your stomach.

Zach’s been opening up more about his job when you get time alone, admitting that the pressure can give him tunnel-vision sometimes. You’ve taken on the workload as much as you can so that he’s not too stressed.

You’ve kept things the same when you’re around Ella and you’ve already determined that if she asks why you’re so invested in what’s on tv, you’ll simply say you grew an interest in soccer after the home game you both attended. But she’s too busy playing with clay to care.

The first half ends with no goals scored. You set up an afternoon snack for Ella, letting her help, your mind elsewhere as you imagine Zach in the locker room, wondering what his coach is telling him and what he’s thinking about at this moment.

Five minutes after half-time, the opponents score. Your heart sinks. Twenty minutes later, Zach scores. You have to stifle how loudly you want to cheer.

Then, the game goes to penalty shoot-outs. Zach had told you how much he hates when a game comes down to that. It’s a nail-biting few minutes, but Zach’s team wins, securing their spot in the finals. In his next game, his team could take the cup.

Right before dinner, you and Ella change into the jerseys you’d secretly bought a few days ago. Zach already told you that even if his team wants to celebrate a win together, he’d prefer to see you two, so you know he’s coming straight home.

He steps through the front door to see you in his team’s jerseys, rushing to give him a hug. Your arms are around his shoulders while Ella’s are around his hips, both of you excitedly cheering. Zach’s heart has never felt so full.

“So, I take it you watched it?” he mumbles into your hair, reveling in the familiar aroma of your shampoo. It takes everything in you not to kiss him when you pull back.

“You did amazing,” you tell him.

“Daddy, do cats ever come to your games?” Ella asks.

Zach looks at you, puzzled.

“There was a commercial with clips of animals crashing soccer games,” you explain, laughing. “It’s a valid question.”

“I haven’t seen any,” he tells her, kneeling to meet her eyeline. “But I hope we get one so I can tell you all about it.”

“Could we keep it?” she asks.

“If a cat comes onto our field and it doesn’t have an owner, sure, we can keep it,” he says. She jumps excitedly, then runs off to play. Zach stands up again, grinning at you.

“Don’t let her watch any more matches,” he says. “If a cat shows up, I’m done for.” You laugh, crossing your arms simply to keep yourself from touching him.

“Congratulations,” you say. “I know you don’t like the attention, but you deserve it.”

“Thanks.” He looks down at your jersey. “It looks great on you.”

“Yeah?” you ask, turning to show him the back. It’s his last name and number. He almost can’t believe this is really happening, that he met someone like you who cares about him this much.

“Better on you, I think,” you say.

“Impossible.”

You face him and he gazes at your lips in the way you know means he wants to kiss you. In the few private moments you’ve had since you confessed your feelings for each other, you’ve shared warm hugs and sweet kisses. You can’t wait until you don’t have to hide your love for him anymore.

“Dinner in twenty,” you tell him. “I bet you worked up an appetite.”

Zach’s legs are heavy as he trudges up the stairs, partly from fatigue, but mostly because the last thing his body wants to do is be away from you.

────୨ৎ────

Zach’s family drives in to watch the championship game at the house. You weren’t all that nervous around them before, but now that you and Zach are privately dating, you’re eager to impress them.

He had mentioned to you that he hadn’t told them about you yet, but he’s hoping to the next time he sees them. He also told you how his mom had a suspicion about you two, which makes you hope you’re not too obvious.

It’s only been a couple of weeks since you decided to date, but every moment you get alone with Zach isn’t long enough. You knew he was kind-hearted, but now that he’s not holding back, he showers you with affection and compliments, reminding you of how much he appreciates you every day.

Just like it is with Zach, it’s easy with his family. You talk and snack and take turns playing with Ella while you watch the game. The game starts off as promising, but unfortunately, the final ends with a loss for his team.

“He did tell me they were kind of the underdogs,” you say to his family sadly, watching the screen. “I still think it’s great that he got this far.”

The stadium he’s playing in is hours away and he won’t be getting home until after midnight. You spend the rest of the evening with Zach’s family, wishing you could see him and give him a comforting hug.

When Zach gets to the locker room, dejected and disappointed, he checks his phone to see a text from you. I know it’s not how you wanted the season to end, but you played an amazing game. We’re all so proud of you, no matter what.

It’s ten minutes past midnight when you hear the front door open. You’ve been sitting in the kitchen, staying awake on your phone after everyone turned in for the night. You turn on the kettle you already filled with water and find Zach in the dim hallway, meeting his eyes with sympathy.

“You’re here,” he mumbles in surprise. You only close the distance, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and squeezing him tightly.

“Wanted to see you,” you whisper. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve had better days,” he admits, kissing your neck. “This feels good, though.”

“I’m making you some tea if you want it,” you tell him, “but if you’d rather go to bed, I get it.”

“Tea sounds good.” He pulls back, stroking your cheek. “You’re really proud of me? Even though I’m a total loser?”

You half-chuckle, nudging him.

“Never call yourself that again,” you say.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll stop ‘accidentally’ making too much food,” you joke, earning a chuckle from him.

You settle in the kitchen, reminded of the first time you sat together like this all those months ago to plan Ella’s birthday party. Now she’s halfway to six years old, growing faster than you could have ever anticipated.

After you put the steaming mug of tea in front of him, Zach puts his hand over yours, squeezing.

“I tried to be positive but I saw it coming,” he admits to you. “They were the stronger team. We’ll just train harder and hopefully get them next year.”

“And I’ll be with you every step of the way,” you say. “Just don’t beat yourself up over this, okay? You’re not a loser.”

“Baby…” Zach breathes a chuckle. “Being with you makes me feel like I’m always winning. It sucks to get this far and to put so much work in just to lose, but knowing you and Ella are waiting for me at home… That's what my life is really about.”

You stare at him, awestruck, heart beating so hard that you can hear it in your ears.

“I love you,” he says. “I’m sorry if it’s too soon to say, but I’ve loved you for a long time.”

You bite your lip, giving into the urge to lean closer and kiss him. When you pull back, palm resting on his cheek, you smile.

“I love you, too,” you say. “It’s not too soon.”

“Phew. I was more nervous about telling you than I was about the game,” he says. You laugh, pinching his cheek.

“Stop being so cute,” you whisper.

“I can’t help it,” he quips. “I didn’t forget how you said you haven’t been on a date in forever. What do you think about tomorrow night? Ella will stay with my family and you and I can go out for dinner.”

“That sounds perfect,” you tell him. You chat a little longer before you head home.

When Zach tells his mother he’s taking you out for dinner the next morning, she’s overjoyed to hear that you’re an item now and throws in a few ‘I told you so’s. When the evening rolls around, he tells Ella he’s running some errands and instead drives to pick you up from your place.

Sitting across from you at a restaurant on a real date feels like a dream. He holds your hand on the table and nudges your knee with his every so often, unable to keep his hands off of you like usual. It’s like talking with a best friend, the conversation flowing so naturally that he refuses to believe he’s only known you for just shy of a year.

When he drives you home after dinner, you lose track of time kissing him goodnight.

────୨ৎ────

You and Zach had discussed that today would be the day. Now that you’ve been together for over eight months, he’s ready to tell Ella.

It’s a Saturday and Zach’s making lunch while you and Ella set the table. Long gone are the days of spending just a few minutes together, one of you arriving at the house while the other one gets ready to leave. The three of you are almost always a unit now, settled into a routine.

After lunch, you leave as planned so he can talk to her one-on-one. Zach finds Ella drawing on her bedroom floor after he says his goodbyes to you and knocks on her door.

“What are you drawing?” he asks.

She holds up the paper, three figures under the shining sun. When he asks if that’s you, him, and her, she happily nods.

Zach settles on the floor, watching the way she colors in the yellow sun, her legs kicking in the air. He’s seen a change in his child. There’s no doubt about it.

While she was always a happy kid, she’s grown to be much more expressive and affectionate since you stepped into their lives. You bring out the best in her. The best in him, too.

He tries to force down the tears that come up every time he looks at his daughter and thinks about what happened a year ago. She’s too small to have to know the pain of abandonment and betrayal. He pushes away the thought.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Zach says, clearing his throat.

“Do you want another bracelet?” she says.

Zach smirks, looking down at the beaded bracelet on his wrist that she made for him a few days ago. She made you a matching one that you always wear, too.

“Yeah, if you’re not too busy,” he says. “But that’s not it.”

He says it exactly as he rehearsed, telling her how happy you make him and asking if she’s okay with you being his girlfriend. When she grins up at him and asks if that means that you can move in with them, he chuckles, tears pricking his eyes.

Zach always felt like he needed to make up for the love Ella’s mother wasn’t giving her. Now, there’s nothing to make up for, nothing missing. He wishes the circumstances had been different, but he knows he’s lucky that he met you.

He was sure soon after he got to know you that his daughter would grow to love you. Deep down, he was sure that he would grow to love you, too.

────୨ৎ────

It’s past nine p.m. when Zach gets home from training. Now that he’s in the midst of playoffs again, he doesn’t get as much time at home anymore, but he takes it in stride.

When he can’t find you on the main floor, he tiptoes upstairs in case you’ve fallen asleep putting Ella to bed. Sure enough, she’s snuggled up next to you, both of you snoozing.

It’s been a month since he told her about your relationship and somehow, she’s grown to love you even more now that she knows you love her dad. Zach wonders if Ella can see how much happier he is these days. He tried to hide how empty he felt before, but maybe she caught on.

He’d rather not know. He’s rather not think about the past at all, really. Because right now, as he gazes into his daughter’s bedroom to see you hugging each other in your sleep, he knows he’s looking at his future.

(the end) (continuation blurb)

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[woso-dreamzzz]

Bonding

Arsenal Women x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Bonding night with the Arsenal girls

You're dressed in your special Auntie Stina Arsenal jersey as she assures your Morsa that everything is going to be okay.

Momma and Morsa have a special awards night thing that they have to make an appearance at so Auntie Stina is babysitting you. Your usual babysitters in Zećira and Jessie are busy tonight too so Auntie Stina gets to take you to Arsenal bonding night.

You're very excited and it's all you've been thinking about all week.

Momma and Morsa say goodbye to you and you instantly run up to Stina's car so she can get you clipped in and you can get to Captain Kim's house faster.

"Look who it is!"

Katie's waiting for you both by the door and she swings you up easily onto her hip and tugs at your jersey teasingly.

"A true gunner in the making! You'll play for us when you're older, right?"

You nod. "Yes!"

"Even if your mams want you to play for Chelsea?"

You pull a face, sticking out your tongue. "Not-Wolfsburg sucks!"

Katie laughs, delighted, as she gives you a high five. "That sounds right." She lets you climb down and scarper inside, toeing off your shoes in the entrance hall before following the sounds of music and talking further inside the house.

"Hi, Captain Kim!" You say when you see her," What's happenin'?"

Captain Kim laughs, her hand coming to rest of your shoulder as Jen wrestles with Beth on the floor.

"They're just being silly," She tells you," And trying to knock all of my things on the floor."

As if to prove the point, Beth crashes into a little side table with an ornamental vase wobbles precariously as she launches herself straight back at Jen.

"You should tell them off," You say," That's what my Morsa does when Erin and Guro are being silly in a dangerous way. She's the Captain like you're the Captain so you can tell them off if you want."

Kim laughs slightly. "That's a good idea. Captains do get to tell people off. Do you want to help me?"

"I'm not a captain though."

"But you are the big boss. I think that means you've got some captain powers too."

"Really?"

She nods. "Really."

"Okay!"

Captain Kim leads you over to where Beth and Jen are still wrestling. She whistles, shrill and high pitched and exactly the one Morsa uses when she needs to get Erin and Guro's attention.

"Stop wrestling in my house!" She orders before lightly nudging you.

"Yeah!" You say," 'Cause you're going to break something and then Captain Kim is going to make you do laps!"

From behind you, Katie chuckles.

"Yeah, you two!" She teases," Listen to Kim and the big boss!"

"Yeah!" You agree, stamping your foot so they know you're serious.

"Sorry, y/n," Jen laughs," We'll stop."

"Good," You say," Or else you'll have to run laps tomorrow."

You shriek as you're lifted into someone's arms. You're flipped upside down as Leah's hands attack your sides.

"Look at you!" She laughs as you shriek and try to wiggle away. "Little captain in the making!"

"My mummies are captains!" You say when she finally puts you the right way up.

"You've got it in your blood!" Leah proclaims, tickling your sides again," Me and Kim'll make you into a proper captain though! Arsenal style, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

You think Arsenal bonding night is a lot of fun.

Katie helps you make a pizza where you put your pepperoni slices in a crude rendition of the Arsenal badge and she takes lots of pictures of you winning at Twister.

You end up sat between Auntie Stina and Beth for dinner as Auntie Lina selects a movie for you all to watch while you eat.

"Beth?" You ask.

"Yeah?"

"Can we call Daan? I miss her at Arsenal."

Beth laughs, already digging out her phone. "I think quite a few fans would agree with you."

The phone rings a few times before Daan's face fills the screen. Daan is a very happy person, you think, because she's always smiling when she sees you. You smile too.

"Hey, y/n!" She says," What're you doing on Beth's phone?"

"Callin' you!" You answer," Auntie Stina brought me to bonding because my mummies are busy!"

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I beat Leah and Captain Kim at Twister! I got chocolate as a prize!"

Daan laughs. "Good! Keep them humble!"

You giggle too. "Is Lyon fun like Arsenal?" You ask.

"It's fun," Daan replies," But I'm still learning the language. I'm sure it'll be more fun when I can speak French properly."

You nod wisely. "That's like when I came from Germany. I only knew a little English so I had to learn so I could have fun."

"It's exactly like that," Daan says," Hey, who knows, maybe you'll have to learn French too when you're older."

You think about that for a moment. You know when you're older, you really want to play for Wolfsburg. Arsenal too and maybe Barcelona as well but you'd never really thought about Lyon. You already know German and English so having fun at Wolfsburg and Arsenal should be easy.

If you went to Barcelona then you would have to learn Spanish. If you went to Lyon then you would have to learn French.

Your Momma tells you that you're very good at languages. She says she's always impressed by how easily you pick it up. Sometimes, she calls you a little chameleon because you speak your English like you were born here rather than with an accent like she and Morsa do.

You don't think it'll be too difficult to learn French if you went to Lyon.

Daan stays on the call for a bit longer before promising to send you her Lyon jersey and you migrate from Beth and Auntie Stina to the floor with Leah and Katie.

You drag a blanket with you, tucking it around both of them like you do when you have sleepytime with Jessie and Niamh. The movie is still playing but you're a little tired so you lean heavily into Leah and kick you feet up into Katie's lap.

You yawn.

"You tired, kid?" Katie asks and you nod.

"Gonna finish the movie though."

Leah chuckles, the force of it rocking your whole body as she softly cards her fingers through your hair. "I'm sure you will."

You're out like a light before the second act begins.

[diamonddaze01]

business 101

pairing: csc x f!reader | wc: 1.3k genre/au: rival ceos, fluff, humor | warnings: none | rating: pg a/n: prequel to the contractual obligations universe // based on an ask for my 101 drabble prompt game!

The lecture hall buzzed with the usual pre-class chatter. The faint hum of laptops, the rustle of notebooks, and the occasional murmur of stress about looming midterms filled the air. You sank into your chair, flipping open your laptop to the blank document titled Business 101 Project.

“Group assignments will be randomized,” the professor announced from the podium, his voice loud enough to silence most of the murmuring. “Your task: create a comprehensive business plan for a hypothetical company. It’s due at the end of the semester. Creativity is welcome, but analysis and execution will determine your grade. Teams will be four people each, and I expect professionalism.”

When the names appeared on the screen, your heart sank.

Group 8: Choi Seungcheol, Jeonghan Yoon, Joshua Hong, Y/N L/N

You glanced around, spotting Jeonghan waving lazily at you with an amused smirk, while Joshua offered a polite nod. Then your eyes landed on Seungcheol. His lips quirked into a lopsided grin, the kind that spoke volumes—mostly about how annoying he planned to be.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath, earning a chuckle from Jeonghan, who had slid into the seat next to you. Jeonghan and Joshua—reliable, at least. But Choi Seungcheol? He caught your gaze and offered a cocky smirk.

Fantastic.

By the end of the first meeting, it was clear how things were going to go.

“We need a solid foundation,” Joshua said, tapping his pen thoughtfully against the table. “Let’s start with a service idea and build from there.”

“Something scalable,” you agreed. “Like a subscription model—low entry cost, high potential for growth.”

“That’s boring,” Seungcheol cut in, his voice casual but gratingly dismissive. “Why not focus on a bold product launch? Something with impact.”

“Impact doesn’t pay the bills,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes. “We need a strategy that’s actually sustainable.”

“Sustainable,” he repeated, leaning back and folding his arms. “Sure. Let’s just settle for mediocre so we don’t have to take any risks.”

“And crash and burn if it flops?” you shot back, unable to hide your irritation. “That’s reckless.”

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a smirk. “No risk, no reward.”

“No risk, no grade either,” you retorted, your voice sharper than intended.

Jeonghan cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “I see this is going to be... fun.” He exchanged a glance with Joshua, who already looked like he regretted his life choices.

By the third meeting, the rivalry had reached critical mass. 

“Who made you the CEO of this group?” Seungcheol snapped after you vetoed one of his flashier ideas.

“I’m not the CEO,” you retorted, jabbing a finger at the project outline. “I’m just the one who doesn’t want us to fail.”

“Fail?” he repeated with a mock laugh. “Right, because your ideas are so revolutionary. Let’s hear it for our subscription box for socks or whatever you’re pitching.”

You glared. “Socks sell.”

“Not as much as actual creativity,” he shot back.

Jeonghan sighed dramatically. “I’m this close to quitting college,” he muttered to Joshua, who nodded solemnly.

 This was now less a project, and more a battlefield. You and Seungcheol clashed over every detail—budget projections, marketing angles, even the font choices for the presentation slides. Jeonghan coined the term “Wednesday Night War” after one particularly heated Zoom meeting, where the two of you had yelled over each other for a full ten minutes before Joshua muted you both.

Despite the arguments—or maybe because of them—the project came together. By some miracle, your calculated planning and Seungcheol’s riskier ideas balanced each other out. When the group received an A, Joshua and Jeonghan looked ready to celebrate.

You and Seungcheol, however, couldn’t even agree on that.

“I carried this project,” he said, smirking at you as the grades were handed back.

“Excuse me?” you said, turning to him. “If you carried it, then I was the one steering so you didn’t walk us off a cliff.”

“You’re welcome for my bold ideas,” he replied.

“And you’re welcome for my common sense,” you shot back, storming out of the classroom before you could strangle him.

A celebration was inevitable. After weeks of late nights and endless bickering, Jeonghan declared a house party to blow off steam. You weren’t in the mood for it, but Joshua’s pleading eyes and the promise of free drinks eventually won you over. The house was packed, the bass from the speakers thrumming through your chest. You spotted Jeonghan and Joshua near the makeshift bar, both nursing drinks and chatting with friends. 

Jeonghan greeted you with a sly grin. “And here I thought you were too good for us,” he teased, handing you a drink.

“I’m here for Joshua,” you replied, taking a sip. “Not you or him.”

“You mean Seungcheol?” Jeonghan asked innocently, his grin widening when you glared at him.

Across the room, Seungcheol leaned against the counter, laughing at something someone had said. His dark shirt clung to his shoulders in a way that annoyed you—it was unfair how effortlessly attractive he looked, especially when you could practically feel him waiting to pick another fight.

When his eyes met yours, he smirked.

You should’ve walked away, but instead, you marched straight up to him.

“Are you stalking me now?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Stalking?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You’re in my space.”

“Your space?” you scoffed. “Pretty sure this is Jeonghan’s house.”

“Semantics.”

The two of you fell into your usual rhythm of bickering, the tension between you thick enough to draw the attention of Jeonghan and Joshua.

“They’re at it again,” Joshua remarked, taking a sip of his drink.

Jeonghan sighed dramatically. “Why don’t they just kiss already?”

Joshua smirked, nodding toward where you and Seungcheol stood toe-to-toe. “Wait for it.”

Back near the bar, the argument had reached new heights.

“You think you’re so much better because you play it safe?” Seungcheol taunted, his voice low but heated.

“And you think being reckless makes you a visionary?” you fired back, stepping closer. 

“You wouldn’t know a bold move if it slapped you in the face,” he shot back, his tone biting.

“Do you ever shut up?” you snapped, stepping closer.

“Do you?” he fired back, his smirk daring you to do something about it.

The crowd around you began to thin as people sensed the escalating tension. Seungcheol’s jaw tightened, his eyes locked on yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air between you crackling.

Then he grabbed your wrist.

“We’re settling this,” he growled, his voice quiet enough that only you could hear.

“Excuse me?” you sputtered, but he was already pulling you through the crowd, his grip firm but not rough.

From across the room, Jeonghan raised his glass to Joshua with a knowing smile. “Told you.”

“Bet you a round they don’t come back for hours,” Joshua added, and Jeonghan laughed, clinking his glass.

Seungcheol dragged you into an empty room, the noise of the party muffled by the closed door. He let go of your wrist, turning to face you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher.

“You can’t just—” you began, but the words died in your throat as he stepped closer.

“Can’t just what?” he challenged, his voice quieter now but no less intense.

Your breath hitched as the tension that had simmered for weeks finally reached its boiling point. “What do you want from me, Seungcheol?”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you. It wasn’t gentle or tentative—it was hungry, desperate, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long.

You froze for half a second before kissing him back just as fiercely, your hands tangling in his hair as the weeks of frustration and tension melted away into something electric.

The rest of the world disappeared. All that existed was the way his hands gripped your waist, the press of his body against yours, the taste of beer on his lips.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing hard, your foreheads resting against each other.

“This doesn’t mean I like you,” you whispered, your voice shaky but defiant.

Seungcheol smirked, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Yeah? Keep telling yourself that.”

[yona049]

𝚂𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚡 𝚐𝚗! 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Part 1? (maybe)

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Warning :

> lil blood

>cosmophobia

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

His pace was strong and exact as he walked through the ships shining white hallway. Hair cut to a precise straight line with pointed ears, a shining example of his Valcan linage.

His uniform was nothing short of excellent, no wrinkle or crease would dare disturb it's perfection. The tablet in his hand had many names of crew members across the screen.

Behind him, hundreds of cadets, Ensign's and officers ran through the hallway. Some carrying baggage or equipment for the long journey that lay ahead.

The blue, red, and yellow uniforms looked like smudged lines to Spock. No one daring to crash into him or hinder his way, as his intense focus on the tablet demanded his presence to be known.

Behind him came a red uniform, short skirted Lieutenant Commander Uhura runs closer. Her pace quickened to a jog to catch up to him. She dodged one of the Cadets carrying heavy boxes until she finally caught up to Spock.

"Spock!" she called to him but his attention never faltered from the tablet screen.

One name of the many pops up and he selects it. The profile of Ensign Y/n L/n appeared.

"What is it, Uhura?"

"I just needed to enquire on the specific time of launch."

Spock scrolls down to the information on the profile.

"There's no question, we leave O' eight hundred hours, current planet time. We've given everyone sufficient time to prepare for a life long expedition of exploration."

Uhura growls and dodges another Cadet carrying some equipment and engineering tools.

"Yes I understand! But some Cadets have questioned the captains choice to bring inexperienced Ensign's on board for this mission."

Spock finally stops once they've reached the back of the hallway with a large door at the end. His hands are placed behind his back delicately and without hesitation he answers.

"Uhura, I can see the unease that this may have caused. However our Captain has never put us in harms way before and he certainly won't now. I trust Kirk's decisions whole heartedly."

Uhura sighs and nods slowly. Her arms fold into a somewhat comforting hug.

"I guess I should too. It's just a really big decision for everyone to make. There's a chance we may never come home."

She slowly glances through the large window beside them at the spinning blue and green planet below.

Spock looks at earth and then back at her.

"The U.S.S Enterprise is our home now. And like earth. We must protect it."

She laughs a little through her nose at Spock.

"Yeah, you're right."

With a small hand, she pats on his shoulder and then makes her way back down the hallway.

"Oh! And Good luck with the new Ensign!" she calls back to him before disappearing into the corridor.

Finally, the hallway seemed a little quieter. Spock looks back down at his tablet and scrolls through the profile. The first thing he noticed is no picture of the Ensign. Odd.

The second thing he notices is the lack of specified species. The Enterprise was a decorated vessel with many mixed species staff. A proud ship of the The United Federation of Planets.

The doors at the end of the hallway finally slide open.

"Ensign L/n! You're-"

He looks up at the new Ensign but stops when he sees a short bodied, light blue skinned species. Not a harsh blue, but a pale skin tone similar to the planet Andoria.

The blue uniform perfectly hugging their figure and snow-white hair covering their ears.

"...-Late."

He finishes looking at their profile then back at them.

"Sir, I'm sorry. They had some trouble confirming my authentication due to my incomplete file."

They look down shyly. Holding a suitcase and a box of glass tubes and bottles.

"Then let's make an effort to complete it."

Spock walks a circle around them them with a raised eyebrow as he studied their species.

"Tell me, Ensign, what's your species? Your skin and hair would suggest Andorian. However, I see no antennae."

Y/n slowly scratches the bottom of their ear and clears their throat.

"I am Andorian, sir. I lost my antennas in a chemical accident."

Again, Spock looks down at his tablet. His face showing no visible confusion, but he was, in fact, a little confused. Yet also mesmerized.

"It says here you're a Medical Ensign."

They quickly nod watching Spock.

"Yes! Chemistry is my main practice. I can't have the Medical Officer mixing the wrong, atorvastatin with fluticasone and causing someone to come down with some disease!"

They finish their explication but quickly step back after.

"Apologies! I didn't mean to sound so accusatory."

Spock nods before turning on his heel and starting his walk.

"Not at all, I am Vulcan. We try to keep our emotions-"

"-Controlled." Y/n says, catching up to him.

"Yes, I'm aware." they confess, looking down.

Spock squints for a second before looking back at the tablet for some information.

"Now, your room is on deck 37. This deck is reserved for medical and research personnel. Med Bay is also on deck 37."

He explains as they walk to the turbolift, taking them both up to Deck 37. The lift is filled with a few seconds of awkward silence. Spock takes this time to study his blue skinned Ensign.

Their existence is shrouded in mystery. The story of their antennas being chemically detached is questionable, Andorian's antenna grow back after time. Their short stature compared to many of the tall built andorians. An incomplete file made Spock's curiosity spark.

Finally arriving at their room. Spock hands them a key card. He turns his back to them without a goodbye.

"Spock!" Y/n calls.

Spock turns back to them. A darkened blue color covered their cheeks like blush would a human's face.

"Yes, Ensign?"

Y/n takes a breath of confidence and looks at Spock.

"Thank you for accompanying me. You have other duties to see to. But I appreciate your time."

Spock only bows his head.

"It's my duty, Ensign. Now hurry to your medical checkups. We launch in 5 hours."

Y/n gives a happy nod, then entering their room with a little excited skip.

Spock couldn't tell why, but his heart gave a pleased thump when he saw the excitement from Y/n. A young new Ensign is unaware of the vastness of space that lays ahead.

The crew started settling into their bunks and rooms with quick paced ease. A fast five hour jump to the launch and Spock was confident in his preparation.

He was sat at his launch pad watching all systems make necessary calculations. As Head Commanding Science Officer and First Officer. He had to be sure the Enterprise was ready for Captain Kirk's arrival.

A sudden hand placed on Spock's shoulder pulls him from his thought process. Jim Kirk stood behind him. His close friend and captain. Even though he was human, Kirk knew what to say to let Spock know everything was ok.

"Well, Spock! How's she lookin?"

Kirk questions.

Spock straightens himself out and with a proud, non emotional face, then says.

"She is, in human terms, Spick and span!"

Kirk smiles giving Spock a good smack on the shoulder.

"Good! Because I'm about ready to head on a life long adventure. To explore strange new worlds!"

Kirk monologs while he strides over to the Captains chair. His palm slides over the arm rest and guides him to his seat.

"Yes, Captain. We're about ready for launch!"

Kirk smirks and turns to a button on his seat. Once he presses it the button starts broadcasting his voice though the entire ship.

"This is your Captain speaking."

Y/n was in a room with a scanner in their hand when they quickly look up at the speaker.

"We are preparing for Launch now. So to start off our journey. Here's a little quote from the very first Starship Captain. Captain Johnathan Archer."

Y/n smiled hearing the name of a big Historical hero. looking back at the Cadet they were doing a Medical check on. Y/n delicately pushes the Cadets head to the side and presses the scanner against their neck.

"He started the voyage by saying and I quote: 'We're going to stumble, make mistakes - I'm sure more than a few, before we find our footing. But we're going to learn From those mistakes. That's what being explorers is all about.'"

Captain Kirk smiles to himself hearing a few Crew members cheer down the hallway.

"This Voyage will be long. But it's purpose is to bring species together united. To Explore and to forge alliances. With that being said! Everyone hold tight!"

Cadets suddenly run off and hold steady to a rail or to anything nailed down. A brand new ship, Y/n stumbles past everyone while packing up the equipment. They look down at the list of Cadets to check but sees one name still open.

Spock had yet to be checked. With seconds before lift off, Y/n decides that the Bridge Control room isn't too far, and they might be able to make it there on time for launch.

With a little stumble, they make their way past the cadets and run for the lift to the Bridge.

Captain Kirk on the bridge looked at his pilot and smirked.

"Hit it!"

The ship yanks a little at the sudden force blasting them into hyperspace at warpspeed.

Y/n still in the turbo lift gets yanked forward suddenly and their hand slips from the rail with a heavy thud.

Spock holds carefully and waits till they get to an even pace. He watches everyone applaud as the ship steadied and they comfortably sat at hyperspeed.

The Captain pats the pilots on the back and Uhura gives Spock a smiling nod.

The lively energy circled though the bridge, even when Y/n fell through the door holding their head people surrounded them with cheers.

They smiled, clapping along and laughing a little before silence once again fell and everyone returned to their posts.

Uhura walks up to Y/n and shakes their hand. Brief conversation that Spock couldn't hear but he could tell Y/n was anxious.

Their hands clutching onto the medical case and their shoulders tightened into a straight, tense, posture.

"Y/n!" he called.

Y/n runs over to him with a thankful smile.

"Ensign, may I enquire as to your purpose on the bridge?"

Y/n sets their equipment down and stands straight at ease.

"Sir, I was on my way to take your vitals and complete medical check up's. But I was interrupted by launch! And I took the lift-"

During Y/n's anxious ramble, Spock studied her movements and noticed a light trickle of dark blue blood coming from beneath the white hair.

"Ensign."

"Yes sir! I know it was foolish! But I wanted to finish soon to get to other duties-"

"Y/n!" Spock's sudden voice brings Y/n's attention back to look up at him.

The chatter of crewmen in the background started fading out as Y/n's heartbeat took its place.

Spock delicately moves his fingertips to the side of their head and wipes the blood away bringing Y/n's attention to it.

"I.. Fell in the lift." they confess with their hand looking for the point of injury.

Spock looks down at the medical box and lifts it back off the ground.

"Ensign. I will report to Med bay for my medical check up in two hours. For the moment, see to your own medical care. Please."

A soft plea from Spock brought Y/n's heart back to a calm beating. They inhale and exhale slowly, focusing back on the problem at hand.

"Yes sir! I will be ready once you arrive!" Y/n says with a determined smile.

They take the bag with new found bravery but once again shyly smile at Spock before walking to the lift.

Uhura watches Y/n walk off and the doors slide shut as Uhura arrives at Spock's side.

"You saw it too?" Uhura questions still watching the lift doors.

"Yes. No Antenna scaring or any signs of growth. Andorian's antenna usually grow back in a matter of weeks."

Spock turns to Uhura and they start their deduction.

Spock continues :

"I considered the fact that it was a Chemical accident into my theory. However even a chemical wound wouldn't stop antennae from growth."

Uhura taps her finger on her folded arms while nodding in agreement.

"Y/n's accent has no clear signs of being raised in an andorian environment. No matter how faint the accent is. As the Communications officer I can hear it."

Spock takes a tablet off his desk and opens Y/n's profile once more.

"Y/n is not Andorian."

°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○

I had fun writing but I'm not sure If it'll become an ongoing series. 👀🖖If you enjoyed this and want a part two please let me know in the comments!

[transformers-nerd-13]

As promised, here's my analysis of Transformers G1; More Than Meets the Eye; Part 1. (I'm posting my episode analyses of the three episodes separately for the sake of not making this an insanely long post because look at how long this thing already is).

We open with a narration giving us a brief overview of who the Autobots and Decepticons are.

We're introduced to Bumblebee and Wheeljack who've found some conductors (presumably energy conductors). They head back to Iacon, but are interrupted by a "Decepticon Welcoming Committee" aka the Seekers who all had different voices than the ones they end up with later for reasons that will never be explained.

Bumblebee is wounded in the battle, but we're going to ignore that because it never gets brought up again and he’s perfectly fine later. The Seekers go to report to Megatron while Wheeljack and Bumblebee make it back to Iacon. We're introduced to Soundwave and Laserbeak who are spying on the Autobots--Soundwave almost gets caught but luckily because Jazz is blind as a bat, Soundwave doesn't get caught.

Jazz reports to Optimus about a lack of energy on the planet and Optimus tells Prowl that they'll start the search mission for energy whenever Prowl is ready to launch. Cut to the Decepticons where Starscream is standing with the sassiest pose of all time and Megatron is doing the classic villain rant about how the Decepticons must find an energy source before the Autobots.

Soundwave enters and reports that the Autobots are ready to launch and Megatron says that they are also ready (I guess they had the same plan to go search for energy??). Megatron tells Shockwave that he is to stay behind and keep watch over Cybertron in the absence of literally every other Decepticon, but Shockwave assures Megatron that Cybertron will remain as he leaves it.

Starscream then decides now is a good time to whine about not being the leader of the Decepticons to which Megatron tells him that only a select few ever lead. Starscream tells Megatron that his time will come, but Megatron tells him "NEVER!!" before changing gears remarkably fast and tells...someone to prepare to blast off. (I'm assuming he was talking to Soundwave but he was looking at Starscream).

The Autobots and Decepticons launch their respective ships. But two asteroids collide causing an asteroid shower (yeah that's definitely how that works) causing all sorts of chaos including the Decepticons somehow losing their power and Jazz falling out of his chair. They get through the now suddenly very still asteroid field by using the Ark's laser gun and the Decepticons follow them. Starscream says that they should just blow the Autobots away since they've seen them, but Megatron says that he "wants to know what they're after." Um...sir? They're after energy, just like you?? I thought you knew this???

Jazz--who has gotten back into the pilot's seat off screen--reports that the cons have made a magnetic junction to the Ark and that he can't shake them. They try to use their weapons but their power is somehow already used up. The cons board the Ark where a (simply put) chaotic battle takes place. Somehow they lose control of the Ark within less than ten seconds of the cons boarding and crash into the side of a volcano and die.

Yep, they were dead.

For Four Million years.

Mhm.

Somehow the volcano erupting woke up Teletraan One and it sent out the Sky Spy (a little probe thing) that scanned some earth vehicles while the Ark rebuilt the Decepticons first (for some reason—literally no idea why it did this). Skywarp is revived first, and he revives the other Decepticons. The cons leave the Ark and Megatron declares that much time has passed and they're on a planet far from Cybertron (oh y'think? Also, how do you know? You've been dead for 4 million years!! Not to mention it took less than two minutes for you to get into space and crash on this random planet so it can't be THAT far) but their mission hasn't changed.

Skywarp asks how they know Cybertron still exists (fair question but unprompted) and Megatron says that Cybertron must exist (Lot of faith you've got in Shockwave there bub, I mean, yes, this is Shockwave we're talking about but he's just one bot--you literally left ONE Decepticon on Cybertron dude and he doesn't even know you're still alive! And how do you know that he's still alive??) and that they would gather energy from this planet to conquer Cybertron followed by the universe.

Starscream (for some reason) shoots at the Ark. Megatron tells him to save his energy, but Starscream fires a few more shots anyway, this time hitting some rocks on the side of the cliff they've been standing on that fall onto the Ark. This jostles the ship and causes Optimus to finally be noticed by Teletraan One and Teletraan is like "Oh scrap I forgot to fix the Autobots, WHOOPS" and fixes Optimus who gives Teletraan a thumbs up and a quick "Thanks".

Dunno if I'd be that chipper after being revived from death, I mean, I'd be panicking, and then I'd see my dead friends and see that the cons were gone and consider myself in some seriously deep slag so, Idk props to you for being optimistic?--Pun intended.

The cons set up a base by some tall rocks in the desert that are literally RIGHT NEXT TO A ROAD. Robots in disguise my boron compressor! Soundwave prepares plans for a new space cruiser (I guess in addition to being the communications officer Soundwave is also an aerospace engineer??) while Starscream is told to convert the area for construction and is told to "use his imagination" when it came to materials.

Starscream does NOT however use his imagination, he uses Soundwave's. He asks Soundwave if he has any ideas, and Soundwave points out a conveniently placed...radio tower? Power station? Truly have no idea what this is. We're introduced to Rumble and Soundwave instructs him to activate his pile-drivers, but Rumble doesn't do that because Starscream takes off for the radio-power plant thing.

Cut back over to the Autobots who have all been revived off screen. Optimus tells them that this planet is rich with sources of energy but that the Decepticons must already know this because Teletraan One woke them up first (thanks a lot Teletraan), so they must find the cons and stop them. Prime sends Hound and CliffJumper to go find the cons even though Cliffjumper wants to "boot some Decepticon right in his turbocharger" (whatever that means; probably ‘kick some con’s butt’). Cut back over to the cons where we see Starscream, Rumble and Soundwave landing at the power-radio tower thing and Starscream (unprompted) tells Rumble that some day he'll be the one calling the shots, but Rumble basically says "ha ha yeah right" and Starscream tells him that he will find a way to beat Megatron but Rumble is doubtful of that. Rumble then finally activates his pile-drivers and splits the ground a bit causing some of the machinery at the plant to fall into it halfway and Starscream says that he's impressed by this. You must be very easily impressed sir.

Cut over to CliffJumper and Hound. Hound says that he smells something and that he thinks he's just found the Decepticons (so you weren't following a scent trail before this?? You were just driving around praying you found something?? Also do the Decepticons smell different than Autobots?? How do you know it's the Decepticons and not other Autobots???) and tells CliffJumper to follow him but they stop literally two seconds later (the "follow me" was unnecessary, you could've left it at "I think we've just found the cons" and it would've been completely fine lol) having stumbled upon the Decepticon's half constructed base? Space cruiser? Really not clear what this is meant to be here. CliffJumper wants to fight but Hound reminds him that Prime just told them to find the cons. Right now the cons think the bots are dead; it's better to have them think that they're dead at the moment for the sake of the element of surprise.

Hound uses a little satellite dish in his arm to listen in on the cons who are conveniently monologuing their whole evil plan about plundering earth's resources for energy and turning that energy into energon cubes (which were a Decepticon invention in G1) and the new space cruiser.

Off screen, Cliffjumper has assembled a giant gun (where the hell was he storing that?? I'm just gonna say it was in his subspace) and says that he's "Got Megatron dead center in his viewfinder." And fires. And misses.

Dead center huh?

The cons wonder who could be firing on them and Starscream immediately says that the Autobots could be the only ones firing on them. Starscream. Buddy. As far as you know, the bots are dead. How is this the first logical conclusion you come to??

Soundwave sends Laserbeak to investigate and Cliff and Hound make a run--or, more accurately, roll--for it. Good job Cliff. Apparently neither CliffJumper nor Hound have ever seen Laserbeak before?? Cliff asks Hound “What is that thing up there?” And Hound replies that he doesn’t know. I feel like they would've seen him at some point when the war was still on Cybertron? Idk.

Anyway, CliffJumper and Hound split up because Laserbeak can only follow one of them, right? WRONG. Apparently Laserbeak can detach his guns from his body and still be in control of them??? So he sends one of his blasters after Cliff, who defeats the blaster with some mockery and the fumes from his exhaust which make the blaster explode for some reason.

Laserbeak shoots Hound and causes him to tumble down a cliff in the most dramatic way possible.

During the commercial break, CliffJumper apparently found Hound at the bottom of the ravine/cliff and went back to the Ark to get help in the form of Ratchet and Grapple, who would never again be referred to as "Hauler". Cliff apologizes to Hound for firing on the cons and getting them caught, but Hound tells him "You shouldn't have missed you mean" with a good natured laugh which makes Cliff feel better about the situation.

Yes, this is a nice moment, but Hound is unknowingly supporting CliffJumper’s reckless nature in the future. Cliff directly disobeyed an order from Prime and one of his teammates got hurt because of it. This would've been a learning opportunity for Cliff if Hound hadn't laughed it off.

Cut over to Thundercracker and the Reflector triplets talking about how they couldn't believe the Autobots survived before Thundercracker spots something out in the desert which just looks like a dust cloud. Somehow Thundercracker changes positions to be on the ground almost right in front of the van/truck so that it’s driving directly at him when he's taking a picture of the van/truck using Reflector's camera Alt Mode (how three bots transform and combine to form ONE camera that fits in the palm of a Transformer I will never know; I guess mass shifting?) instead of on the cliff he was on seconds before when taking the picture of it and after he takes the picture he's suddenly back on the cliff?? Thundercracker reports the vehicle to Soundwave saying it might be an Autobot. Soundwave sends Ravage to investigate for some reason even though Thundercracker and the Reflector triplets are right there.

The vehicle belongs to two guys in matching outfits with yellow hard hats so what exactly their jobs are remain ambiguous. The two men go to the radio/power plant thing that Rumble wrecked earlier, and they comment on how it looks like a tornado hit the place and that something feels wrong.

That's when Ravage attacks them for seemingly no reason and sends them running, and we never see those two guys again.

Cut to the Ark where Hound has just finished reporting what he and Cliff found to Prime as Ratchet fixes him up. Jazz and Sideswipe are also in the scene for some reason. Optimus tells Jazz to organize a battle unit and Jazz takes that to mean 'get every Autobot'. This is the cartoon's way of introducing the other Autobots to the viewer as Jazz calls out their names as they Transform and Roll out. This is a good way to introduce the characters, but it would've been more effective if each bot got their own shot so that it’s clear that the name being called belonged to the autobot on screen. But it was the 80’s so I’m not gonna harp on this too much.

Cut over to the Decepticons where Soundwave is reporting to Megatron that Laserbeak found a source of energy (apparently he sent Laserbeak to go find energy sources off screen).

Cut over to an oil rig where we meet Spike, Sparkplug, and a handful of other unnamed humans who are all wearing the same outfit of a white button up, blue jeans and yellow hard hats that we won't see again until Dr. Archevil (no idea how you spell his name; that weird cyborg scientist) shows up. The Decepticons land on the oil rig and all the humans decide to start throwing random stuff at them which proves ineffective (like seriously what did they think throwing tiny pipes and wrenches at giant robots was going to do??) and Megatron calmly picks up a giant metal tube and tosses it at four of the unnamed humans, and all of those humans end up in the ocean below, never to be seen again.

Rumble pins Sparkplug to the wall (I had no other way to say that, get your minds out of the gutter) and Spike punches Rumble in the back which does nothing but annoy Rumble who shoves him away in response (I'm betting that hitting Rumble hurt Spike more than it hurt Rumble). I guess Sparkplug must have some super strength because he kicks Rumble off him and dives after Spike who apparently ended up in the ocean after Rumble hit him.

The Decepticons make some energon cubes that really look like folded towels out of some of the oil stored in the rig.

Starscream gets all excited saying that they can go back to Cybertron, but Megatron bursts his bubble by telling him that this is only a fraction of the energy they need. The Autobots (who could fly I guess) show up. The bots land and everyone is firing at each other with the aim of a Stormtrooper.

The bots and cons duke it out on the oil rig and I guess someone knocked out Ratchet at some point because he's just...on the ground?? The cons get away with their Energon cubes/towels, shooting the oil rig to send the Autobots into the ocean below, and Megatron shoots two of the oil containers on the sinking rig which blow up and now the ocean is on fire?? (If someone knows the science behind this please tell me in the comments because I don't know if this is actually plausible or not) as they make their getaway.

After the cons leave, Prime hears Spike and Sparplug calling for help because they got trapped behind some debris and goes to rescue them. 

And that was Episode One of the Transformers. Overall a very silly episode but it's an 80's cartoon so what're you gonna do? It’s definitely the episode of G1 that I’ve watched the most and while it doesn’t always make sense, it’s a very fun watch.

Anyways, I hope this was enjoyable! I’ll probably be posting my analysis on More Than Meets the Eye Part 2 sometime tomorrow. In the meantime, stay tuned!

[rootedinrevisions]

Hey girl can I request a Jey Uso x wrestler reader fic?

(Just imagine that the title match on RAW actually happened at Bad Blood)

Reader is backstage with Jey's family as they all watch his match against Bron Breakker for the Intercontinental Championship

Can you make it emotional too please.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks so much @miss-kuki-nz for requesting this! I hope you enjoy it!

WARNINGS: None. This is just pure FLUFF!

WORD COUNT: 1.2K

The atmosphere backstage was electric, the palpable tension mingling with the buzzing energy of the crowd echoing through the arena. You could hear the roar of the fans, your heart racing alongside the anticipation of Jey Uso’s monumental match.

Tonight was Bad Blood, where Jey was set to face Bron Breakker for the Intercontinental Championship. It was a night that could change everything for him—his first singles title after years of tag team glory with his brother, Jimmy.

You were surrounded by Jey’s family, each of them holding their breath as they watched the match unfold on the monitor. Jimmy stood to your left, a frown etched on his face, while their father, Rikishi, seemed cool and calm.

The energy shifted as the match began, with Jey taking control, rallying the crowd behind him. You leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen, heart pounding as Jey executed his signature moves with precision.

“Come on, Jey!” you whispered, barely able to contain your excitement. His charisma radiated from the screen, and the way he played to the crowd made you feel alive.

But then, the tide began to turn. You watched as Bron’s brute strength overpowered Jey, slamming him to the mat with bone-crushing force. Your stomach dropped.

“No, no, no…” you murmured, hands instinctively moving to cover your mouth as you winced at the impact. Every time Jey grimaced in pain, it felt like a dagger to your heart.

As the match progressed, Bron’s dominance became evident, and frustration boiled within you. You wanted to reach through the screen and shake Jey, tell him to get up, to fight back. The crowd cheered, and your family erupted with shouts of encouragement, but it felt like a distant echo amidst the chaos.

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, anger simmering at Bron’s showboating antics.

Just when it seemed like Bron had Jey on the ropes, the tide shifted again. Jey seized a fleeting opportunity, kicking Bron’s head and sending him staggering.

A renewed wave of hope washed over you, adrenaline surging through your veins as Jey charged across the ring, launching Bron over the ropes.

The crowd erupted, and you leaped to your feet, fists pumping in the air, sharing a triumphant glance with Jimmy.

“This is it! Let’s go, Jey!” you shouted, your voice mingling with the deafening roar of the fans. You could see the determination flicker back into Jey’s eyes, feeding off the energy of the crowd.

But just as victory seemed close, Bron retaliated, catching Jey off-guard with a brutal punch. Your heart sank as Bron slammed Jey against the announce table over and over.

The anguish in your chest felt heavy, a tight knot of worry. It was a fight for survival now, a back-and-forth that seemed endless, each near-fall tightening your throat in despair.

Finally, in a moment that felt like it spanned a lifetime, Jey found an opening, landing a devastating spear on Bron. The crowd roared, a wave of euphoria crashing over you. You watched as Jey ascended to the top rope, heart racing. This was it—the Uso Splash.

He soared through the air, crashing down onto Bron, and you held your breath.

One… Two… Just as the referee’s hand hovered above the mat for the third count, Bron kicked out.

The air left your lungs, a mixture of disbelief and despair washing over you as the realization sank in. Around you, Jey’s family mirrored your reaction, hands covering their faces, disbelief etched in every expression.

The match continued each moment a pulse of hope and despair until Jey executed an explosive spear through the barricade. The crowd erupted into a frenzy, your cheers mingling with their chants, your heart soaring with every movement.

As the match drew to a close, Jey delivered the Uso Splash once more. You felt a surge of energy radiate from your core.

The ref’s hand hit the mat once, twice, and then for the final time—three! The bell rang, signaling the victory, and the arena erupted.

Jey Uso was the new Intercontinental Champion!

You could hardly process the overwhelming joy and pride swelling in your chest as you turned to Jimmy, embracing him tightly. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, emotions pouring forth as Jey’s family surrounded you in a whirlwind of celebration.

“Let’s go see him!” Jimmy shouted, pulling you along as you followed the family towards the exit. Excitement bubbled inside you; you needed to congratulate Jey, to tell him how proud you were of him.

As you peered through the curtain, the sight before you was heartwarming. Jey was amidst a sea of fans, their energy radiating as they chanted his name. The sheer joy on his face was infectious.

The moment his eyes lock onto yours, everything else fades away. The noise of the crowd dims, the excitement around you blurs, and it feels like it’s just the two of you in that moment. A brilliant smile spreads across his face, lighting up his features, and for a brief second, all the struggles and pain of the match seem to melt away.

Before you even realize it, you’re moving toward him, your heart racing with a mixture of excitement and emotion. Jey closes the distance between you, his long strides quickening as he approaches. In one swift motion, he pulls you into an embrace, his strong arms wrapping tightly around you. You bury your face in his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of sweat and adrenaline, mixed with something distinctly Jey.

“Y/N!” he exclaims, his voice muffled against your hair. “I did it! I really did it!”

Tears prick at your eyes as the weight of the moment hits you. You pull back slightly to look at him, taking in the sparkle in his eyes—the victory, the joy, the sheer disbelief that he finally achieved this dream. “I’m so proud of you, Jey,” you say, your voice trembling with emotion. “You worked so hard for this. You deserve every bit of it.”

He shakes his head, a grin still plastered across his face. “Couldn’t have done it without you guys cheering me on,” he replies, his hand finding the back of your head. He holds you close again, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. You can feel the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart against your chest, and it grounds you in this whirlwind of emotions.

For a moment, you both linger in this embrace, surrounded by the chaos of his family and the fans outside, but none of that matters. In this bubble, it’s just the two of you—two wrestlers bound by shared passion, dreams, and the undeniable bond you’ve forged through the ups and downs of this crazy life.

When he finally pulls back, he keeps one arm securely around your waist, an anchor amid the excitement. You can see the glint of the championship belt catching the light, a reminder of the battle he fought, but more importantly, the victory he earned. As he turns to greet his family, you can’t help but feel that this moment—the pride, the joy, the love—is just the beginning of something even more special between you two.

[ukiiseikou]

you know i fade to grey without you.

kazuha kaedehara x gn! reader, figure skating au.

a/n: soooo y/n is kinda a flop in this one, and the pacing is kinda all over the place. this was my first ever piece i wrote (despite being published after the scara one) so please excuse everything wrong!! thank you! part of complementary figures, 2/? read wanderer's here.

you used to be good at figure skating. now? not so much. your body was taller and your limbs less under your control. a car crash sealed the deal, and your legs never really felt like your's anymore.

junior world champion used to be a title you had, but now? top ten at sectionals was often out of reach, much less any big international podiums. you settle with entering yourself into those small challenger cups, and if you're lucky, manage to snag a medal or two.

at least you never gave up on it.

your coach says its a good thing - your tenacity and grit, but even you can tell her hugs has become more fleeting and more like pats on the back over the years, dismayed at yet another two-footed or unlanded jump. you see how the skaters in the later groups looked at you - or more like, not looked at you. you were way under their league, an insignificant number on the scoreboard, a grey spot at the bottom.

you know figure skating. the feeling of ice against blade, the gliding, the wind in your face, the way the world around you blurs as you spin and launch yourself into the air. even the drowsy, orange tinted memories of watching mao asada's triple axel on repeat in the car at 5am, and the biting ice of the bath you have to lower yourself into at 1 in the morning, replaying your mistakes on the small screen you grasp between your hands. four years ago, you've said you wouldn't have it any other way. but those were bygone days, and now you were barely scraping by.

kazuha kaedehara, on the other hand, is figure skating's golden boy.

you remember how the commentators yelled over the broadcast as the last notes of his free skate sounded, the way your own teammates launched themselves out of the white plastic chairs crowded around the small TV and erupted into cheers and whoops. you swore you saw your coach wipe away a tear. the energy was electric, and even you felt your fingers tingle and your feet itch as you focus on his figure, his costume bright red against the white of the ice.

"oh my goodness, what even was that skating? spectacular! impeccable, just impeccable. why, i say we'll be seeing an olympic gold medal around his neck in three years. yes! kazuha kaedehara from inazuma, what a wonderful showing! a pure figure skater, the consistency, the artistry, the technical mastery, the interpretation. my friends, this is a one in a lifetime talent!"

praises like this echoed throughout the figure skating world for the next two years, and you heard it first-hand every single time. for some reason, despite being ranked number one around the entire world, kazuha kaedehara finds it in his heart to bless the smaller competitions you were at and take away the medal of some poor kid who only wanted to get some international recognition.

you've seen him so many times that he says hi to you in the hallways now (even though he probably doesn't even know your name). flashes that sweet smile that's captured the hearts of thousands across the globe in your direction as he tilts his head. you always settled for a nod and a smile as well, before brushing past him. this time, you faintly hear him call after you, shouting good luck, and you simply wave back in acknowledgement.

boys come later, first, you gotta pull yourself together.

you've been skating for your entire life now, but the chill of stage fright still gets to you. the feeling of your throat closing up as the speakers boom your name, you hop, gliding in a circle as you approach your starting position. you breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth.

the first few notes of your music start, and for a moment you panic as your foot roots itself to the ice. but your body moves on its own, your arms flying into the air as you push off your blade. the feeling melts away into pure adrenaline as you make your first round across the ice rink. this is it, your most difficult jump, the one you've never landed properly since the crash. you've done this before - four years ago, you can do it again.

you stare at the spot of ice you'll take off from, faintly, you think to yourself of how kazuha kaedehara probably does the triple axel in his sleep, but the thought is quickly swept away as your body twists forward. there's no time. your leg rises and the dark blue seats, dotted with spectators, blur into lines. you're in the air, wind whipping in your ears.

you make contact with the ice, but lurch forward. fuck. you desperately try to save it by bending your knees, but no luck. you pitch forward and your face nearly hits the ice as your arms and hands brace for impact. a wave of disappointment washes over you as you pick yourself up. you can't even hear the music anymore, relying purely on muscle memory as you skate through your program.

you can see and hear it all already: the wince in the commentators voice as he comments on your incorrect entry or off-centre axis; that one fan that's been following you forever probably just fell to his knees; the newspapers that only the people from your hometown reads - "y/n l/n cannot deliver anymore"; your coach who turns away with a hand over her eyes; your mother trying to contain the sigh that ultimately escapes from her lips.

a wave of disappointment washes over you, but you've got two minutes of program left, and at this point you're just happy you finished alive and with no broken bones, even with two falls and a downgraded spin. as you bow, you see him, bright red against the blue seats of the audience, clapping.

he's insane.

"y/n l/n, i just don't understand," your coach murmurs, after the quick squeeze she gives you as you step out of the rink, out of breath, "you hit it all in practice, it is just - the nerves, my dear? what is it? are your knees hurting again? we'll work on it, okay?"

it's always the same questions, the same disappointed look before she collects herself at the kiss and cry and pats you on the arm, handing you the jacket you've had for years now. the little girl behind you hands you a grey and white cat plushie that she picked up from the rink, and you smile at her, holding up the plushie to the camera as a pang of bitterness settles in your gut.

you and your coach exchange tight smiles before the camera. your coach's eyes turn to squint at the screen that displays your score. you settle instead for playing with the ears of the cat, waiting to be defined by a few set of numbers again. you finally hear your name announced, but you don't even look up to the display, you can only nod with finality as the speakers blare out your score for the whole venue to hear - not enough to qualify to the free skate. it feels like a guilty statement as it hangs over you like a dark cloud.

your coach pats you on the back absentmindedly, before standing up to fuss over your teammate, the one who will probably make it into the free skate.

you wave at the camera before it, too, turns away from you in urgency as the next skater takes to the ice. you tune out the polite applause as you stand from the seat, feet tired and head heavy.

it's always like this. you, washed out against the colours of the arena.

as you turn the corner in the hallways, you see him again.

"i just saw you - in the stands. how - how did you get down here so fast?"

"you were standing there for a really long time, got me worried a bit, actually," he smiles apologetically, "sorry, was that weird?"

"no - i mean, thanks for worrying," you do what you always do, angling your body to brush past him, but his words stop you.

"i liked it - your program."

you raise an eyebrow at him, and when you turn around you're startled by his bright red eyes.

"but i fell, like, twice," you break eye contact, averting your eyes.

you can see his arms move as he shrugs, "things happen. but i liked it. i really like the way you skated. did you choreograph it yourself? i think i saw that listed in your profile."

your eyes snap up to meet his, and he has the same smile that he shows everyone - sincere and charming.

"you read my bio?"

he lets out a gentle laugh, "sorry, i don't mean to be weird. i just - always liked your programs. i was wondering who choreographed them, then i saw it was you. it clicked! only someone who knew the music in and out could skate like you."

"i don't think anyone would want to skate like me," you give him a bitter smile, squeezing the cat between your arms, "but thanks."

he shook his head, "i was there at the junior championships, in the audience - when you won gold? i always wanted to skate like you."

you frown, "you're world number one."

"and i'm a terrible choreographer," he supplies helpfully.

"i don't think i should be your golden standard," you move to leave.

"wait! what i mean is - your skating, it’s... colourful. i can't put it into words, it's ethereal, fascinating, human, it changes people," words spill from his mouth and kazuha's hands suddenly grasp your's, eyes wide and shining, "can you show me? how you do it?"

"wait, wait," you blink, and he pulls out of your space, his eyes apologetic, "my skating does not change lives."

"it changed mine," he says quietly, and you laugh.

"sure, i changed the life of olympic favourite kazuha kaedehara! why not."

"no, really," he sounds out of breath, "didn't i say? i saw you. i actually wanted to leave the sport then, i wasn’t making much progress, but you made me want to skate. now that i’m here… i've been entering these competitions so that you could see me. i wanted to catch your attention."

your head feels like it's going to burst. he even looks slightly frustrated at the thought that you might have never noticed him.

your mouth open and closes like a fish, until you finally settle with: "everything you just said was true?"

"everything," he affirms.

you avert your gaze, "fine. this is me taking notice, alright? one lesson, that's all you get, kaedehara."

"hold your hand out more, you look like a flamingo, not a swan," you bark at kazuha, who laughs as he sits on the floor of the ice. you skate towards him, holding out a hand, "and i can't believe you fell on a double toe loop."

"things happen," he shrugs, grasping your hand as you pull him up.

"you asked me for an olympic level program, so put in some effort."

he laughs again, bending down to brush his nose against your cheek, but you push him away, huffing.

"do it again, this time properly."

"do i get a good job kiss afterwards?"

"i'll think about it," you grumble.

one lesson blossomed into something else, and now you've found yourself the partner of figure skating's golden boy, after he unceremoniously asked you one morning as the two of you walked together into the rink.

you finally quit, but not after several conversations from kazuha lamenting the loss of art from the world, but you've become a choreographer, and every new season he cuddles up to you, asking if you can choreograph a piece to his new favourite piece of music. you’ve also realised that kazuha kaedehara does not land triple axels in his sleep, if the sleepy mumblings of "don't fall!" and "ah, blast, i fell." was any indication.

people call his skating ethereal, colourful, life-changing, and all he does is smile at the camera and say "it's because of y/n, they inspire me."

you watch as he picks up speed from the far end of the rink. you're going to be busy this season, helping the younger ones with their programs. so, the next time you see him, he's at the olympics. his costume bright red against the white of the ice.

he points at you when he finishes, panting and out of breath. he laughs as he sees you clap, your dream blazing alongside his own. right now, even at the top, no other person matters, you're the one who brought colour into his life, after all.

guys... if shit sucks, hit the bricks!!! real winners quit! please ♡ and ⟳ if you enjoyed thank youuuu please support your authors!

[thebluemallet]

EARLY Predictions for Bridgerton Season 4

BENEDICT IS OFFICIALLY CONFIRMED TO BE THE LEAD FOR SEASON 4!

I've had this in my drafts for a couple of weeks. But now that Benophie is officially happening next season, I have some EARLY predictions for the next season. I'll have more predictions when we finally have a clip or a trailer, but for now I'm gonna cast a wide net for what I think will happen in season 4.

1- MASQUERADE!

They really name-dropped that masquerade ball like Tahani Al-Jamil name drops her celebrity friends. And they mentioned it in the promo with Luke T. The masquerade ball is happening! My guess is it'll happen somewhere in the first two episodes of season 4. This will be where Benedict meets his Cinderella/mysterious Lady In Silver/Sophie Beckett.

The code name for season 4 is supposed to be Vauxhall, where we saw Daphne and Simon launch their fake dating plot in season 1. That was a public ball, which means that anybody who could pay the fee could get into it. Perhaps we'll return there for the masquerade ball. Makes much more sense for Sophie to be able to crash that instead of a private ball at the Bridgerton house.

Let's just hope her carriage doesn't turn into a pumpkin before she can make her escape.

2- A Possible Time Jump

In Benedict's book, he meets Sophie at the masquerade, she runs away at midnight, and then he doesn't see her again for another two years. I think a time jump could happen again. Specifically for a few of my upcoming predictions.

Also, it would add to the drama.

Can you imagine the reaction from the fans with the screen fades to black and then some text fades in that reads TWO YEARS LATER?

3- Kate and Anthony Might Not Make An Appearance Next Season

Possibly an unpopular opinion, but I almost dont know why they bothered with having Kate and Anthony in season 3. It seemed like it boiled down to "We're here! We're hot! We're horny! And we're fucking off now! Bye!"

At least when Daphne showed up in Anthony's season she helped drive the plot forward and tried to help guide her brother on the bumpy road to matrimony. Anthony had one half-assed conversation with Colin about his engagement to Penelope. Kate did most of the heavy-lifting when it came to important talks with the family. She did most of the talking to Colin the night before his wedding to Penelope. (Not that it mattered because all of her work was undone the moment Charlotte showed up to the wedding.)

Kate also gets credit for speaking with Eloise to try and smooth things over between her and Colin. And then they left their family for a third time to go all the way to India, a journey that's going to take them six months one way.

But with a time jump, that would give enough time for Anthony and Kate to go to India, have their baby, spend some time there, and then make the long journey back to be present after the time jump with a toddler.

(With how pregnant Kate was looking at the wedding, I would not be surprised if she gave birth at sea. She and Anthony did not think that plan through at all. And why the hell did they leave without attending Francesca's wedding??? And when the Queen was certain that a Bridgerton was behind Lady Whistledown???)

Anthony and Kate being absent would also be a convenient way to keep the Bridgerton House set around for a little while longer.

Anyway, sending Kate and Anthony off to India felt like a way to let Jonny and Simone do other projects for a season instead. Jonny himself is probably gonna be busy with all of the press for the upcoming Wicked movie. So if the announcement comes that they won't be around, I wouldn't be surprised.

4- Last Season for Queen Charlotte Queen Charlotte Lives Forever!

Bridgerton is not known for being 100% historically accurate. And let's face it, even if it were, people would still be complaining about the historical inconsistencies. But one thing Bridgerton is creeping up on is the year 1818. And it's in November of that year that the real-life Queen Charlotte passed away.

Season 4 will, I assume, start in 1816. If they do a one-year time jump, we'll get the rest of the season in 1817 when the main events of Benedict's book take place. If they do a two-year time jump, like they did in the books, then we'll be in 1818 and we'll be in the year we say goodbye to Queen Charlotte.

BUT, the showrunners have pretty much said that they've decided the show exists in an "alternate universe" and they're just going to keep Queen Charlotte around for a while.

The Queen lives. Long live the Queen.

5- Eloise Meets Sir Phillip Crane (?)

While the masquerade references were heavy-handed, the references to Philoise were more subtle. In episode 3x02, Eloise wears a dress that is patterned with the same flower that was gifted to her by Sir Phillip in the books. And in 3x05, when trying to make herself feel better about her betrothal, Cressida tells Eloise that the two of them can "flirt with widowers." The showrunners are slowly setting up the Eloise/Phillip dynamic--they have been since season 1. I think they'll set more things into motion in season 4 and set them up for season 5.

Eloise already expressed to Kate how she felt as if everyone was pairing off and leaving her behind. Benedict's marriage will end up being the tipping point for Eloise.

Phillip would have lived the life of a botanist/academic if it weren't for his brother's tragic passing. Perhaps his academic connections could play a part in Eloise's desire to meet new people and change the world?

If they meet in season 4, it could be the catalyst for them to begin to exchange letters like they did in the books. Which will ultimately set them up for their story in season 5.

Of course, this also means that Marina is going to have to die offscreen at some point 😐

6- Cressida Redemption (?)

One of my major gripes with season 3 was that they gave so much time to the threesome subplot that two other subplots seemed to have no real conclusion or were dropped completely. One of the subplots that didn't get wrapped up as nicely as it could have was Cressida's. We didn't see her reaction to Penelope unmasking herself as Lady Whistledown. She just kind of...left.

There is a long-standing fan theory that Cressida will have a part to play in the Benedict/Sophie story based on a piece of script that named Cressida's mother "Araminta". If this is true, then I think we'll see Cressida in some way next season. And maybe she'll get a happier ending. I never thought at the beginning of the show that I'd want Cressida to end up happy somewhere, but boy season 3 did a great job of making me actually sympathetic to her character.

7- Another Offscreen Wedding

One thing that I know frustrated Kathony fans last season was not seeing an onscreen wedding for Kate and Anthony. I mean, we saw a wedding, and Kate and Anthony were there, but he almost got married to the wrong person. The closest we got was Anthony disassociating so hard that he astral projected himself into an alternate reality.

The only onscreen weddings to canonical spouses we've seen have been the Daphne/Simon, Colin/Penelope, and Francesca/John weddings. But if anybody was hoping to see an onscreen wedding with Benedict in season 4, think again.

I believe that the drama of Benedict and Sophie's story will keep up through all eight episodes of their season. And, like Kate and Anthony's season, we'll flash forward in time at the end of the episode to Benedict and Sophie several months into their marriage. But we won't get to see the actual wedding.

8- Crossdressing Sophie (?)

Admittedly, this is less of a prediction and more wishful thinking on my part. This is the route I would go down if I was writing for the show, anyway.

Show!Benedict now being canonically pansexual has opened up the possibility for him to have an LGBTQ+ partner. But I have a slightly different idea. One plot point of Benedict's book is that Sophie, after running away from her stepmother's house, cuts off all of her hair to sell when she's desperate for money.

I think Show!Sophie could still get her hair cut off like in the book, and then go around disguised as a man for safety/freedom of movement/job opportunities. Then Benedict gets confused when he discovers Sophie in "boy mode" because he hasn't felt this level of attraction to someone since his Lady In Silver.

Maybe we'll get a Victor/Victoria scenario out of it (woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman).

Like I said, this is less of a prediction and more of the route I would go down if I was writing for the show. It probably won't happen this way. But maybe I'll give fanfic writers some plot bunnies.

[adrealucia]

New Beginnings

tags: post Blood Brothers ending, Sean Diaz x Reader, might contain smut in future chapters, lots of fluff, romantic fluff, overall just fucking wholesome, obviously mentions Daniel quite often, sfw in the beginning, maybe nsfw in the future idk, definitely slow burn chapter summary: new ideas, a heavy storm, shadow puppets, and a slumber party. a little bit angsty but I balanced it out I promise.

Chapter three

After you and the Diaz Brothers finish up all of your Tamales and wrapped up the conversation, you return to your modest house, a cozy space with a view of the ocean. Settling down at your makeshift desk—a sturdy wooden table with a stack of papers and a laptop—you begin to structure the business plans for Diaz’s Garage. When you woke up this morning you couldn’t have thought that tonight you would be sitting at your desk returning to your role as a business manager especially not for Sean Diaz the local mechanic. 

The sound of waves crashing against the shore outside provides a soothing background as you spread out notes. Ideas for expanding the garage's services and enhancing its appeal to the community fill your mind. You envision new service packages, partnerships with local businesses, and sustainable practices that could set Diaz’s Garage apart. Sean has been talking about expanding the Garage, so that would be the first idea you will be working on. 

“So, regular maintenance packages…” you mutter aloud, jotting down notes and adjusting numbers on your laptop screen. The possibilities seem endless, fueled by Sean's vision and your own growing understanding of the local market. You work for hours and hours on these plans. Honestly, you totally forgot that you are a master in this field and the Diaz Garage, as well as Sean and Daniel, are so different from the workplace you had back home. It all feels so exciting and new and it makes you want to pull an all-nighter, but that wouldn’t be very smart so after a few hours and many good ideas and plans you decide to wrap things up and go to bed. Excitement bubbled within you as you drove through the familiar streets of Puerto Lobos once again, heading towards Diaz’s Garage. Today was the day you planned to present Sean with your refined business ideas, eager to discuss the future of the garage over breakfast. You sent him a text last night, asking if it would be okay to come over in the morning, and the gentleman that he is Sean answered that he would be preparing a nice breakfast and be waiting for you. The morning sun painted the town a golden hue, and the salty breeze from the ocean filled your senses with a sense of anticipation.

Pulling up to the garage, you found Sean already waiting outside, leaning casually against the wall with a charming smile on his face. His hair, tousled by the ocean breeze, only added to his relaxed demeanor.

"Hey there," Sean greeted you with a grin, his eyes lighting up as he approached your car. "You look like you've got big plans brewing today."

You stepped out of the car, returning his smile. "Big plans indeed. Can't wait to hear what you think."

Sean chuckled softly. "I’m all ears. But first, breakfast."

He gestured towards a small table set up with breakfast under a nearby awning. The spread included fresh fruit, pastries, and a pot of steaming coffee. The aroma of the coffee mixed with the salty air, created a perfect backdrop for serious business talk and playful banter.

As you sat down, Sean poured you a cup of coffee and sat across from you. "So, what’s the big idea?"

You took a sip of the coffee, savoring the moment before launching into your plans. "I’ve been thinking about expanding the garage’s services—regular maintenance packages and eco-friendly options. I’ve also found some potential partnerships with local businesses that could really boost our visibility." Daniel, who had just joined you and already started snacking on some of the fruits, perks up at the mention of new ideas. “Do you think we could start doing custom modifications? Like those cars you see in magazines?”

Sean nods, smiling at his younger brother’s enthusiasm. “Absolutely, Daniel. And I think with your creativity, we could really make a name for ourselves.”You glance at Sean, impressed by his vision and determination. “It sounds ambitious, but I think it could work. Especially with the right partnerships and marketing.”

Sean meets your gaze, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. “That’s what I like about having you around. You see the potential in things.” You feel a warmth spread through you at his words, grateful for the opportunity to contribute. “I believe in what you’re doing here, Sean. And I’m excited to see where we can take Diaz’s Garage.”

Sean nodded thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on you with genuine interest. "Sounds like you’ve been busy. I like where this is going. Sustainability is definitely a selling point around here. And custom mods? That could attract a whole new clientele."

Encouraged by his response, you leaned forward, the playful glint in your eye matching his. "I knew you'd see the potential. With your expertise and my ideas, Diaz’s Garage could become the talk of Puerto Lobos."

Sean chuckled a hint of flirtation in his voice. "Well, we already are the talk of the town, but I’m all for making a bigger splash."

The morning passed in a blur of productive discussion and shared laughter, each idea sparking new possibilities and strengthening the connection between you and Sean. His ability to blend professionalism with playful banter kept the atmosphere lively and engaging. “So, what’s next on our path to world domination?” Sean teased, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

You laughed, enjoying the easy camaraderie. "First, Puerto Lobos. Then, who knows? The world might not be ready for us yet."

Sean leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "Well, let’s start with Puerto Lobos then. We’ll take it one custom modification at a time."

As you and Sean continue to brainstorm and outline plans for the future of the garage, the sky outside begins to darken, signaling the approaching storm. “Looks like a storm’s coming,” Daniel says, worry creeping into his voice.

Sean glances out the window and nods. “A big one, by the looks of it. Maybe we should start securing the place.” Well you think to yourself, this took a quick turn. Nonetheless, you quickly get up from your seat and immediately begin to help.

You and Sean quickly begin preparing the garage for the impending storm. You help move the more valuable tools and parts to higher shelves, while Sean checks the drainage around the building. Daniel, sensing the urgency, pitches in without hesitation. For the whole time that you have been living here in Puerto Lobos, the weather has always been nice, of course, there were some rainy days but Daniel and Sean sure seem to be preparing for the end of the world. 

As the wind picks up and the first drops of rain begin to fall, you realize the storm is going to be worse than you all anticipated. The town’s streets quickly become rivers of muddy water, and the power flickers before finally going out. The Garage is pitch Black and you now really have to squint your eyes in order for you to see something. You wish you could at least grab some candles, but there is just not enough time, the rain is already pouring so heavily you are scared it might flood the whole place.

“We need to get the sandbags,” Sean says, his voice steady but urgent. “We keep them in the back for situations like this.”

Together, you and Daniel follow Sean to the back of the garage, where you haul out heavy sandbags and position them around the garage’s entrance to keep the water out. The rain pounds down harder, and the wind howls through the trees, but the three of you work in tandem, your efforts synchronized.

“Grab that side,” Sean instructs, pointing to a particularly heavy bag. You and Daniel lift it together, your muscles straining but your determination unwavering. The storm’s fury outside seems to strengthen your resolve.

As you work, you notice Daniel’s hands shaking slightly, his eyes darting nervously at the storm outside. You exchange a concerned glance with Sean, who gives you a reassuring nod. 

Inside the garage, the three of you take shelter as the storm rages outside. The power outage leaves you in near darkness, save for the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the room. You find a few candles and light them, their warm glow creating a small island of light in the otherwise dark and stormy night.

Daniel huddles close to you and Sean, his fear evident. “I really hate storms,” he admits, his voice small. Poor Daniel you think to yourself. When you were a little kid you also always were scared of these kinds of storms, especially thunder used to give you the heebie-jeebies. 

Sean wraps an arm around his brother, pulling him close. “Hey, we’re safe here. The garage is sturdy, and we’ve done everything we can to keep the water out.”

You reach out, placing a comforting hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Think of it as an adventure, it’s like we’re on a mission to save the garage from the storm! And we’re winning. We’re here together, and we’ll get through this.”

Daniel nods, trying to be brave. “Yeah, like a mission. We’ve got this.”

As the storm rages on, you all sit close, the howling wind and pounding rain a constant backdrop. To lighten the mood, you start sharing stories.

Trying to cheer Daniel up, you say, “I remember one time during a blackout, my friends and I made shadow puppets on the wall. It was silly, but it made us forget the storm outside.”

Daniel manages a small smile. “Maybe we should try that.”

Sean grins. “Why not? It might be fun.” He turns to you, a playful glint in his eye. “Got any good shadow puppet skills to show off?”

You laugh, glad for the distraction. “I might have a trick or two up my sleeve.”

As you and Sean make various shadow puppets on the wall, Daniel’s laughter gradually replaces his fear. The tension eases, and the storm outside becomes a distant worry. The living room feels less like a refuge from the storm and more like a sanctuary of shared strength. Hours pass in a blur of stories, games, and moments of quiet contemplation interrupted only by the storm’s relentless assault outside.

Eventually, exhaustion catches up with you all. Sean looks out the window, the storm still raging with no sign of letting up.

“I can’t let you drive back home in this storm,” he says, his voice carrying genuine concern. “It’s too dangerous out there right now.” You glance outside at the torrential rain and nod in agreement. “Yeah, it’s pretty wild out there. I don’t think I’d make it far.”

Sean nods thoughtfully, then stands up with determination. “I’ll set up the couch for you. It’s not much, but at least you’ll be dry and safe here.”

Grateful for his concern, you offer a faint smile. “Thanks, Sean. I appreciate it.”

He nods, his expression softening. “Of course. We’re all in this together.”

With careful steps to avoid the scattered tools and equipment, Sean clears a path to the couch in the living room. He pulls out a blanket and fluffs the pillows, creating a makeshift but comfortable spot for you to spend the night.

“There,” Sean says, gesturing toward the couch. “It’s not the four seasons, but it should do the job. Get some rest. We’ll figure things out in the morning.” As you settle onto the couch, Daniel stands nearby, looking a bit hesitant. “Are you going to be okay?” he asks, his voice tinged with concern.

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine, Daniel. Thanks for asking.”

Sean ruffles Daniel’s hair affectionately. “Alright, bud. Time for bed. We’ve all had a long day.” Daniel reluctantly heads to his room, and Sean lingers for a moment, his gaze meeting yours. “Goodnight,” he says softly. “If you need anything, my room’s just down the hall.”

“Goodnight, Sean. And thanks again.”

Sean gives you a warm smile before heading to his own room, leaving you in the quiet and comfort of the living room. As you drift off to sleep, the storm’s roar outside gradually fades into a distant rumble, replaced by a sense of safety and gratitude for the unexpected refuge found in the midst of the tempest. Hours later, you’re jolted awake by a loud crash of thunder. Disoriented and groggy, you struggle to get your bearings. The room is dim, lit only by the flickering light of a candle. The storm outside is relentless, the wind howling like a wild beast, and the rain pounding against the windows in a chaotic symphony.

Suddenly, you hear the unmistakable sound of Daniel’s voice, filled with fear. “Sean! Sean!” His voice is a high-pitched wail, cutting through the storm’s roar. You sit up, your heart racing, and see Daniel standing in the hallway, his small frame shaking visibly with fear.

Sean, ever vigilant, is instantly alert. He emerges from his room in a rush, his eyes wide with concern. “Daniel, it’s okay. It’s just a storm,” he says, wrapping his arms around Daniel in a protective hug. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

You rise from the couch, feeling a deep sense of empathy for the frightened boy. Moving to stand beside them, you gently place a hand on Daniel’s back. “Hey, Daniel,” you say softly, your voice calm and soothing. “We’re all here, and we’re all safe.”

The three of you move back to the living room, where the flickering candlelight casts long, comforting shadows on the walls. The storm’s rage seems slightly muted within the warm, dim glow. Sean guides Daniel to the couch, his arm still wrapped around his brother’s shoulders. You sit beside them, your presence a steadying force.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel whispers, his voice trembling as he looks up at you both. “I just… I got so scared.”

“It’s okay, buddy,” Sean murmurs, pulling him close and ruffling his hair gently. “Storms can be really scary. But we’re together, and that’s what matters.”

You nod in agreement, giving Daniel a reassuring smile. “Yeah, and we’re not going anywhere. We’ll stay right here until it’s over.”

Daniel looks up at you both, his fear slowly subsiding. “Can I stay with you guys?” he asks, his voice small but hopeful.

“Of course,” Sean says immediately, his voice firm and comforting. “We’ll all stay right here.”

The three of you huddle together on the couch, the storm’s fury raging outside but feeling less threatening with each passing minute. You start sharing stories again, trying to lighten the mood and distract Daniel from the storm. Sean tells a funny story about their old neighbor in Seattle who used to garden in his pajamas, making Daniel giggle despite himself.

You join in, sharing a silly memory from your own childhood, and soon the living room is filled with soft laughter. The candlelight dances across your faces, casting a warm glow that contrasts sharply with the storm’s cold, harsh presence outside. The howling wind and the thunder’s roar become background noise as you all focus on the stories and each other’s company.

As the night wears on, Daniel’s eyelids grow heavy, his fear slowly giving way to exhaustion. Sean wraps an arm around his brother, pulling him close, and you find yourself leaning against the armrest, feeling a sense of peace despite the storm outside.

“Remember that time we camped in the backyard, and the tent collapsed?” Sean asks, his voice soft and filled with nostalgia.

Daniel nods sleepily, a small smile on his face. “Yeah… you blamed it on a bear,” he mumbles, snuggling closer to Sean.

Sean chuckles. “It was probably just the wind. But you were so brave.”

You reach out and gently squeeze Daniel’s hand. “You’re brave now, too. Storms can be scary, but you’re handling it really well.”

Daniel looks up at you with sleepy eyes, his fear almost gone. “Thanks,” he whispers. “I feel better with you guys here.”

As the storm continues its relentless assault outside, exhaustion eventually overtakes you all. Sean, Daniel and you nestle together on the couch, finding warmth and safety in your closeness. The candle burns low, its light casting a gentle glow on your faces.

The last thing you hear before sleep claims you is the steady rhythm of rain against the windows, the wind’s howl gradually fading into the background. The warmth of the Diaz brothers by your side and the knowledge that you’re all in this together brings a deep sense of comfort and peace.

authors note: hihi i hope you guys liked this chapter, I mean whats a better way to get to know somebody than being locked up because of a huge storm right? anyway even though Daniel is already sixteen in this fic he will always be a little kid deep inside of my heart. I cant wait to continue this fic and I am excited to hear about your opinions.

[yourimagines]

Falling

* English is not my first language I apologise

* Gif is not mine

* Triggers: fluff

- Summary: you are falling for Lando Norris

Y/N POV

Lando and I were hanging out today. Because our mutual friend Max ditched us last minute. “It’s not fair, you’re a race driver.” I said while crashing again the f1 game. Lando laughs as he stands next to me. “You so bad at this.” I shook my head, pouting at the screen. “I don’t wanna play anymore.” I looked at Lando who was smiling like a idiot. “I’m just better, just say it.” I gently pushed him. “Your being mean now, of course you are, I don’t even finish one lap.” I threw my hands up in the air, as Lando laughs his ass off. “You need to practice more.” “I don’t have this fancy setup, I only have a steering wheel + pedals.” “Then you have to practice more here at my place.” He gave me a smile, I smiled back. “Okay, good plan.” I turned back to the screen and started a new round.

Lando POV

“You need to brake.” I said as I saw her crash again. “I stop now for real.” She climbed out of the seat. “You can if you want.” “No… do you wanna play party animals?” Her favourite game at the moment. Her eyes lit up. “Yeah of course.” We both sat down by my desk. Two computers where on. “We need to win tho.” “I’m good at this, don’t you worry.”

We won and we lose a lot. She was laughing at me. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was you.” She pushed me off an airplane. “We’ve could won this, but you pushed me off.” She laughs. “It’s was fun tho.”

Y/N POV

We both walked into the kitchen, trying to find some food. “Noodles?” He asked. “Yeah sure.” He warmed them up. “If you want you can stay here tonight. I have enough room for that.” “If your okay with that, then yes.” “Of course, you can stay here every night if you want.” I tried to hide my blush from him but I failed. “Are you blushing?” He said while grinning at me. “Shut up.” I gently pushed his arm. “You are!” He burst out laughing. I hide my face. “Lando, your the worst friend ever.” I laughed with him. “Yeah right, that blush on your face says something different.” I gasped and hit his arm playfully. “Aw.” He fake rubs his arm, pouting his lips. I laugh. He launched forward and tries to tickle me. I tried to run away but I failed, as a result he brought us down on the sofa. His hands trying to grab mine, locking them above my head. “Say sorry.” “No.” He held my hands with one hand, the other one starts to tickle me, causing me to wiggle and laugh. “Say your sorry and I’ll stop.” “No..!” He starts to laugh with me. “Lando.. please stop..” “say your sorry.” “Okay… I’m sorry!” My hips move around trying to get away from his hand. He stops releasing my hands. “I won.” He said with a smile on his face. I looked at him, his face looked beautiful, neon lights shined on the side off his face, looking like a god. “Your okay?” He looked a bit worried. “Yes, sorry zoomed out.” He nods and gets off me. “Our food.” I said while Lando sprinted to the kitchen.

“So wanna watch a movie or….” “No a movie is fine.” Lando picked the remote. “ I’ll pick something, you can change your clothes if you want, you can take whatever you want out of my closet.” “Thanks.” I jumped up and walked to his bedroom. I picked a hoodie and changed myself. I only wore underwear and his hoodie. Lando always wears a size bigger than he self is, so his hoodie is also bigger on mem covering my upper legs and my ass completely. I walked back and sat down next to him. He started the movie.

After the first half of the movie, Lando grabbed a blanket and threw it on us, covering our legs. I sat dangerously next to him, knees touching. I looked at him, he looked so peaceful. Then he looks at me, giving me a small smile. “Why are you looking?” “I’m sorry.” He chuckles. “I asked why, you muppet.” I shyly looked away. I felt him looking at me. “Hey, are you okay.” I looked back at him. “No..” “no?” I shook my head, butterflies flying around in my stomach, head feeling dizzy and heart beating fast. “What’s wrong then?” I couldn’t think straight anymore and just started to cry. He wrapped his hands around my shoulders pulling me in. “Hey.. what’s wrong, why you crying?” I mumbled against his chest. “Love, it’s okay……” I only registered the word he just called me, love. I looked at him in his eyes, so beautiful. “Did I do something.” “Yes.” He looked confused. “What did I do?” Panic was seen in his eyes. “I’m falling for you, that why.” He looked shocked. “Your falling for me?” I nodded. “Thank max he’s not here” he grabbed my face, carefully leaning closer. “Love, I’m already falling for you.” He whispered to me. I smiled. “Really?” I whispered back. “Yes, and it took you way to many time, to fall for me too.” I giggle as he rubs away my tears. “Can I kiss you?” He looked between my eyes and my lips. “Yes you can.” I whispered back at him. He closed our distance and kissed me softly, Holding me close.