#how to lock a helmet strap

[trashytracktales]

Inked | LN⁴

. ݁₊ ⊹ summary ──── While Lando is away for a triple-header, she decides to surprise him with something bold. The moment he catches sight of it as she gets ready for an exclusive event, he’s completely captivated and, what begins as surprise quickly ignites into passion, as Lando makes it clear just how much he appreciates every inch of her inked skin.

. ݁₊ ⊹ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ rating ──── explicit

. ݁₊ ⊹ category ──── F/M

. ݁₊ ⊹ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, swearing, detailed depictions of sex, public teasing & suggestive behavior, possessiveness & intense emotional intimacy, praising, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, fingering, overstimulation, continued intimacy after initial climax.

. ݁₊ ⊹ word count ──── 4.2k

. ݁₊ ⊹ date ──── Jan. 25, 2025

. ݁₊ ⊹ a/n ──── Inspired by anon & based on THIS ASK 🤍 I couldn’t get BackTattoo!Reader out of my head, so now I am subjecting all of you to my interests. I have nothing to say except that this is simply, pure filth hehe. Enjoy ^^

. ݁₊ ⊹ dedication ──── @landooscurls this one’s for you, sweetie. No, I won’t elaborate, you know why 💋

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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

IT’S EIGHT O’CLOCK when Lando adjusts the cuffs of his tailored suit. His tie is still untied around his neck, a clear indication of his second-guessing habits.

His focus has been elsewhere completely ever since he got back home. More specifically, his girlfriend. After a triple header, sponsorships are the last thing he wants to deal with being back in Monaco, but he is content with the fact that she can accompany him this time.

On the counter, his phone is constantly buzzing with messages about tonight’s event. It’s supposed to be a big deal, but for Lando, every contract is the same. More or less.

No tie, he decides in the end.

Across the hall, she’s still in the bedroom, standing in front of the floor-length mirror. She’s chosen a dress that perfectly fits the grandeur of the event — a sleek, midnight-black gown with an open back that dips low, revealing her shoulders, spine, and the ink she’s been keeping a secret for a couple of weeks now. She is a bit nervous about it, because she’s been planning this for a long time, and his reaction might make or break her heart.

She’s aware of Lando’s opinion on tattoos. For now, at least, he wouldn’t get one, but he designed most of his helmets, merch and has a pretty good taste in cars. Even though she’s not sure yet how, she’s convinced that his ability to recognize art is transferable.

As she adjusts the delicate straps of the dress, she catches sight of herself in the mirror. Her tattoo is intricate, sprawling across the lower part of her back. The design is abstract, a mix of delicate lines and bold shading, flowing with the natural contours of her back. It’s a piece she’s thought about for years, and it feels like a part of her now.

Lando, finally deciding to stop stalling, heads toward the bedroom, calling out, “Babe, have you seen my cufflinks? I’m not sure—” he steps into the doorway and freezes mid-sentence, while eyes widen, immediately locking onto her reflection in the mirror. “What is that?”

She startles slightly at his tone, meeting his gaze while deliberately holding back a smile.

“Surprise?” she asks a little unsure.

Lando’s jaw tightens as he takes a step closer. “Turn around,” he says, his voice a mix between demand and curiosity.

She arches an eyebrow but obliges, slowly spinning before turning her back again. “You like it?” she asks lightly, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“Like it?” he echoes, his hand already reaching out instinctively to touch her. His fingertips hover over the ink, tracing the air above it before gently sliding on her skin. “When the hell did you get this?” asks Lando, still questioning the authenticity of it, even though the proof is right in front of him.

“While you were away,” she answers, her smile widening. “I... please, be honest.”

“Well,” Lando begins, stepping closer until his chest nearly brushes her back. His hands slide to her waist, holding her firmly as he studies the tattoo, his breath warm against her neck. “It’s incredible,” he admits, the sincerity in his tone making her stomach flip.

Her laugh is soft, “Really?”

Lando’s eyes slide down her back, inhaling sharply, “Yeah. I think it’s fucking hot, baby. Let me see you.”

She closes her eyes for a short moment, her heart beating faster, but she’s more relaxed now.

“You’re supposed to be getting ready,” she says, turning around in his arms. “Come on, we’re already late.”

Lando scoffs, “I’m supposed to be doing a lot of things,” he agrees, his lips brushing against hers, while his eyes remain glued to her reflection in the mirror, “But I don’t think I can leave this apartment now.”

Her cheeks heat, stepping out of his hold. “Yes, you can. You can admire it later.”

“Later,” he repeats, sighing dramatically. “As if I’m not already obsessed with it.”

She moves back to the mirror, adjusting the delicate drop earrings she’s chosen, while Lando watches her with a mix of admiration and lingering distraction.

When she catches him staring, she smirks. “Where’s your tie?”

Lando puffs out a sigh, stepping back toward his side of the room. “I left it on the counter. Don’t feel like wearing one tonight,” he says, his gaze flickering back to her every few seconds, unable to help himself. “Just so you know,” he continues, his voice trailing off as he shakes his head, “I’m done for tonight.”

“Mission accomplished,” she quips, throwing him a wink.

THE VENUE IS screaming with opulence, a grand hotel perched high above the marina, its sprawling terraces and gilded architecture lit up against the night sky. Expensive cars line the valet entrance, and the air hums with a quiet kind of wealth — the kind that doesn’t need to flaunt itself because it’s simply understood.

Inside, every detail is curated to perfection, from the massive crystal chandeliers casting warm light onto marble floors, to the intricate floral arrangements placed at every corner.

Lando’s hand rests instinctively on her lower back as they walk in, the warmth of his palm sending a shiver down her spine. He’s polite and attentive as he nods to the occasional familiar face, but judging by the firm touch, his focus is clearly on her.

After chitchatting with various people, they stop at the bar to grab drinks, and as she leans slightly forward to give her order, the light catches the details of her tattoo again.

Lando exhales sharply, gripping his glass tighter than necessary.

“It’s gonna be a long night,” he says under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. “Can you at least stop doing that?”

She glances over her shoulder, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Doing what?”

“You know exactly what,” he counters, his voice low, but there’s a heat behind his words that makes her cheeks flush.

Before she can respond, another guest approaches to congratulate Lando on the sponsorship deal, and he’s forced to shift his attention momentarily. But even as he chats politely, his fingers find their way back to her lower back, tracing light circles against her skin, a silent claim, and a way to keep himself grounded.

A couple of hours later, Lando sits next to her at their table, his hand casually resting on the back of her chair. His smile is charming, seamlessly participating in the conversation that flies around the table. Yet, every so often, his eyes drift to her, taking in the way the delicate fabric of her dress.

She catches his gaze, raising an eyebrow in question, but he only grins and pulls out his phone. A few seconds later, a vibration hums against her thigh.

Lando: I’ve been thinking…

Reader: Not good.

L: We never did it in public, did we?

Her breath hitches, and she glances at him sharply, finding his expression impossibly casual as he sips from his glass.

She types back quickly.

R: No, we didn’t. Also, offended you had to ask.

L: Just making sure. So...?

R: NO. That’s illegal.

Another vibration follows almost immediately, his reply making her cheeks heat.

L: Only if we get caught 👀

She clenches her phone tightly, her flushed cheeks betraying her as she stares at the glass in her hand. Lando chuckles softly beside her, the sound silent enough for only her to hear.

His hand moves from the back of her chair to her bare back, his fingers brushing gently against her skin, the warmth of his touch giving her goosebumps.

L: ?

L: ??

L: You look so hot when you’re ignoring me.

L: Yeah, just like that 🥵🥵

Her grip tightens on her glass, and she dares a quick glance at him. He’s typing something else, his thumb moving lazily over his screen as if they weren’t in the middle of a packed room.

L: Turns me on almost as much as that tattoo.

She swallows hard, her cheeks catching fire. Her back straightens slightly as she tries to maintain composure, but his next text nearly makes her choke on air.

L: I’m thinking doggy tonight?? Wanna stare at it while you’re wrapped around me.

Her hands drop to her lap, pressing the phone down like it might combust. Lando’s fingers trace slow patterns along the edge of her tattoo now, his touch light but intentional.

Then, another vibration.

L: Non-negotiable.

She turns to him again, and he meets her gaze with a smirk so smug it nearly makes her gasp.

Lando leans in, brushing his lips close to her ear under the guise of conversation, and whispers, “Something wrong, love?”

Her only response is a roll of her eyes, and a desperate sip of her drink, which he watches with clear amusement.

While caught in their bubble, the room buzzes with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of glasses, but it all fades into background noise as she places her palm on Lando’s thigh under the table. Her fingers glide upward with deliberate slowness, inching closer to his already semi-hard length. The moment she palms him through his trousers, Lando’s breath stutters, and he shifts in his chair, pretending to adjust his posture.

“Something wrong, love?” she copies his tone from earlier, the corners of her mouth rising in triumph.

As a response, Lando places his hand over hers, and for a brief second, she thinks he’s going to push her away. But instead, his long fingers cover hers, guiding her movements, and her smile flatters. Her breath hitches at the boldness of it, and she turns her head slightly toward him, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and anticipation.

Lando flashes her a smile, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he whispers, “Seriously, baby. I don’t know why you’re acting like I’m not going to bend you over this table and fuck you in front of all these people.”

She swallows hard at his affirmation, her heart pounding wildly in her chest as she whispers back, “Maybe because I want you to.”

His smile turns into a wicked smirk, his eyes flashing with something dark under his long, thick eyelashes. Without another word, Lando removes her hand, intertwining their fingers and pulling her to her feet. She blinks in confusion, but follows his lead, her heels clicking against the polished floor as he guides her toward the exit.

THE DRIVE HOME is pure torture, the air in the car thick with tension. Lando grips the steering wheel with one hand, his other hand firmly holding hers. Every now and then, he brings her knuckles to his lips, pressing tender kisses to her skin as if trying to soothe the storm brewing inside both of them. Her chest rises and falls nervously, her thighs pressing together to quell the ache building between them.

When they finally reach the apartment, they barely make it through the door before their hands are on each other. Stumbling backward, they move toward the bedroom, Lando’s lips brushing hers in quick, heated kisses. His hand blindly fumbles for the light switches along the way, filling the space with bright light.

“I want to see everything,” comes his excuse, breathing heavily against her lips, his voice husky with desire.

“You look so handsome,” she says as a realization. “Should’ve told you earlier—”

“Technical details,” Lando cuts her off, his hands already slipping beneath the straps of her dress.

One by one, their clothes fall to the floor, leaving a trail of discarded fabric they’re bound to trip over in the morning.

When her dress slides off her shoulders and pools at her feet, Lando freezes for a moment, taking her in. Every inch of her seems like has be sculpted for his eyes only, making her blush intensely under the weight of his gaze, knowing what kind of thoughts run through his mind.

The lights casts soft shadows over her skin, accentuating every curve, forcing a low groan out of Lando, as he strokes himself, pumping his cock a few times in his hand while his eyes drink her in.

“On all fours,” he orders gently, his voice thick with need.

She shifts into position, her movements slightly rushed, yet sensual, and the sight of her like this nearly makes him lose it. As he positions himself behind her, his hands trail reverently over her hips and down her thighs, grounding himself in the reality of the moment.

Almost obsessively, Lando’s hand starts tracing her tattoo, his fingers skating over the inked lines like he needs to memorize every detail as quickly as possible. The sight of it beneath his touch makes him harder, his cock pressing insistently against her ass. He lets himself rest there for a moment, one hand gripping her hip to angle her just right while the other slides between her legs. Gently, he parts her folds, and the moment he feels her slick heat, his breath catches in his throat. She instinctively presses into his touch, a small whimper escaping her lips as her body responds to him like it always does — so ready and inviting.

“That’s my good girl,” his thumb circles her clit briefly, satisfied with her silent response before he removes his hand, and gripping her hip to steady her as he lines himself up.

When he pushes in, the tight warmth is making him suck in a sharp breath. Her sensitive walls clench lightly around him, and he can’t help but let out a shaky moan. Her slickness allows him to set a rhythm effortlessly, each thrust accompanied by the soft slap of skin on skin.

His hands guide her hips, ensuring her rhythm matches his, while his eyes remain glued to the ink on her back; it is hypnotic, his palm sweeping over the tattoo as if claiming it along with her.

“Lan…” her eyes close in pleasure, pushing back against his slow, agonizing thrusts.

“I know,” he rasps, his voice breaking as he goes deeper; she lets out another moan in response, her body arching to meet him with every stroke.

The connection between them feels ancient, profound, electric, her breaths mixing with his in the air around them.

As his speed increases, Lando needs to adjust himself, grounding his foot against the mattress and lifting one knee for better leverage. The new position gives him absolute control, his thrusts precise and devastatingly deep. She feels as if he’s splitting her in two in the best way possible, as he alternates between slow, teasing movements that leave her whimpering, and hard, purposeful thrusts that have her crying out his name. Again, and again, until her voice cracks under the weight of euphoria that circulates throughout her body.

The sight of her beneath him, trembling with pleasure, and that tattoo that taunts back at him sends Lando careening toward the edge. He feels his climax building, but before he allows himself to exhale in relief, be pulls out abruptly but just in time, leaving her gasping at the sudden emptiness and clenching hard around nothing.

“Lando!” she protests, her elbows giving out as she collapses into the pillows. “Fuck, I was so close!”

A deep growl rumbles from his chest, his jaw flexing as his eyes darken. “My bad,” he breathes heavily, his hand wrapping around his slick cock, stroking himself with urgency, his swollen tip brushing her lower back.

With a guttural moan, he comes, his release painting her tattoo in warm, sticky streaks. The thought alone is enough to make her whimper at the sensation, her body so close to collapsing, as she realizes that’s just how he wanted to leave his mark on her this time.

Not quite done, Lando leans down to press a kiss to her shoulder, his breathing uneven and deep. Then, pulling back, he watches intently, almost mesmerized as he presses the pads of his fingers into her skin, spreading his release over the lines of her tattoo. There’s something maddening in the way he admires it, the contrast of white against her ink drawing a low hum from his throat.

His hand slides lower, gripping her ass as he speaks in a raspy voice, “You did so good with this. Putting on such a show for me from now on, hm?”

Her breath catches, but before she can respond, his palm lands a light slap on her ass, his grin smug as her body jolts slightly under his sudden touch. His cock twitches at the sight, still hard and insistent, and without another word, he guides himself back inside her.

The sensation pulls a moan from both of them, and he thrusts a couple more times, savoring the way her warmth envelopes him again. But his body gives in to exhaustion, and he collapses onto the mattress, pulling her with him. At that, doggy evolves into reverse cowgirl effortlessly, her thighs bracketing his hips as she straddles him. His hands find home on her waist, steadying her as she adjusts to the new — and quite unexpected — position.

Lando’s voice is low, encouraging, as he tells her, “Your turn, love. Let me see how beautiful you are.”

It is a good thing, she tells herself, that Lando can’t see her blush right now.

With a newfound determination, she starts to move experimentally at first, before finding her own rhythm. Each motion is hypnotic, her body arching and curving as she bounces on him, her head tilted back in pleasure.

Lando’s eyes trail her every move, from the sway of her hips to the lines of her body, and finally to his release, still glistening and dripping faintly from her lower back.

The sight is almost too much for him.

“Fucking hell,” he swears, his hands tightening on her waist as his hips lift slightly to meet her movements; he is well aware that this is her moment, but he can’t help himself. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Her pace quickens, the control she has over her pleasure intoxicating. She rides him with confidence now, her movements purposeful and demanding.

Lando watches her in delirium, his gaze locked on the tattoo that started it all. Every bounce and every grind, pushes him closer to losing his mind, and he can’t help but let her see exactly what she’s done to him, his eyes burning with admiration and lust.

In the haze of pleasure, she glances over her shoulder, curious to see him. The sight makes her heart skip more than one beat. Lando looks completely undone — his lips parted, curls damp and clinging to his forehead, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. Every muscle in his body is tense, his hands gripping her like a lifeline as his eyes remain locked on her tattoo.

“Oh, fuck,” he exhales, voice hoarse and strained. “You look so good. Don’t stop, baby, please don’t stop.”

Her cheeks flush deeper at his praise, her own breathing ragged. Their bodies are slick with sweat and her wetness where they’re joined, the obscene sounds filling the room every time her hips meet his. The lewd rhythm of it only spurs her on, her movements growing more impatient.

“Yes,” she moans, the word drawn out as her head falls forward, overwhelmed by the intensity. “Can’t—shit, Lando.”

Her mind spins, every nerve alive with pleasure as she loses herself completely to him. Her body tightens around his cock, the pressure finally snapping as she falls over the edge, a cry of bliss leaving her lips in the form of his name.

The way her walls clench and pulse around him pulls a deep groan from Lando, and his grip on her waist tightens impossibly further.

“Fuck, that’s it. Fuck,” he repeats, his hips stuttering as he stills deep inside her, his release spilling into her this time. His head falls back against the pillow, jaw slack as he moans her name like a prayer, the pleasure washing over him in waves.

No one dares to move, but they’re both trembling from the intensity. The room feels warmer, the air heavy with the scent of sex and satisfaction as they catch their breath.

After she comes back to herself, she slowly rises to her knees, Lando’s cock slipping free, slapping against his lower abdomen, coated in the remnants of their shared pleasure. The slick mixture trails down her thighs, warm and unmistakable, and the oversensitivity makes her thighs press together instinctively as she falls beside him on the bed. Her breath still comes out in shallow pants, her body shaking with tiny replicas, completely spent.

Lando shifts beside her, reaching out to press a soft kiss to her temple, his lips lingering as he murmurs, “You’re a fucking masterpiece. I’ll never get enough of you.”

She lets out a soft moan, unexpected but undeniable, as his hand drapes her leg over his hip. Her body moves on autopilot, her hips rolling ever so slightly against his thigh, seeking a relief she doesn’t fully understand.

At that, Lando’s brows furrow in curiosity as he looks down at her, his voice gentle but slightly concerned. “Are you okay?”

Her answer is a shaky sigh, her body betraying her as her pussy presses harder against the solid muscle of his thigh. Lando’s gaze sharpens, his concern turning into realization, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

“Tell me what you need, baby,” he pushes her.

Shyness blooms across her face, and she shakes her head, her voice barely audible as she speaks, “Nothing, I’m fine.”

Lando leans in closer, his voice soft yet insistent. “Then why are you still squirming, hm?” his hand cups her cheek, tilting her face so their eyes meet. “Keep lying, and I’ll make you beg for it.”

Her breath hitches at his words, her body already responding as her hips move again, this time more deliberately.

Lando’s hand slides down to her waist, steadying her as his lips ghost over hers, his voice a whisper against her skin. “Such a needy little thing.”

The vulnerability in her eyes fades, replaced by desire, and with a small nod, she surrenders to him once more. Lando smiles, sitting up slowly, gazing down at her with a look that’s a mix of confidence that he knows her too well, and pure, unfiltered love.

She looks utterly radiant, sprawled out in his bed, with her skin glowing, her hair messy, and her lips slightly parted as she catches her breath. Moments like these always remind him of just how lucky he is to have her.

With a low grunt, Lando leans forward, positioning himself between her legs. His hands trail gently up her thighs, and as he hovers above her, he finally presses a soft kiss to her lips. It’s tender, an ephemeral moment to savor before his lips begin a journey down her body. He kisses her jaw, her neck, the soft swell of her chest, all while his hands roam, one cupping her breast while the other is tracing the curve of her waist.

As his lips descend, so does his hand, sliding between her thighs. His fingers part her folds gently, and he exhales deeply at how wet and warm she is. Without hesitation, he pushes a finger inside her, the slickness allowing him to glide with ease. He starts working with calculated moves, curling and pumping in and out, watching her reactions as her hips instinctively rock into his hand.

“There’s my pretty little liar,” he tells her in a low voice, filled with accusation. “Squeezing my finger so sweetly… Want more?”

She nods, making Lando smile just as his lips return to her skin, kissing her breasts, taking her nipple into his mouth and slides a second finger in, scissoring them to stretch her further. She whimpers, her body arching off the bed, fisting the sheets as the tension within her builds.

He doesn’t stop, his pace increasing, his fingers waving into her, hitting the perfect spot, again and again. The sound of her wetness grows louder, mixing with her soft moans and the whisper of his praises.

“So good for me, look at you,” says Lando, studying her face in admiration just as her body tenses, her head pressing back into the pillow as her orgasm washes over her. Her cries fill the room, and Lando continues stroking her, coaxing her through it, not stopping even as her thighs tremble around his hand.

Without warning, she gasps sharply, her body quivering as a sudden gush of liquid escapes her, soaking his hand and the sheets beneath them.

Lando freezes for a moment, his eyes wide as he realizes what just happened. “Holy shit,” he breathes, utterly amazed.

Her moans grow louder, her face flushed with pleasure and embarrassment. “Fuck. Sorry, I can’t stop—”

He cuts her off, leaning down to kiss her. “God, look at the mess you made,” he adds while his fingers trace the wetness on her thighs, completely captivated. “The sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Lando’s eyes sparkle with excitement as he sits up quickly, his cock already hardening again at the sight of her, his pride evident in the way he bites his lower lip. Impatiently, he strokes himself once, then presses the head of his cock against her drenched folds, slapping it lightly against her clit, the wet sound echoing in the room.

The obscene noise sends a thrill through both of them, but he still finds the power to smirk down at her.

“You look so beautiful like this. I’m kinda offended you’ve never squirted for me before,” Lando’s voice trails off, mesmerized by her leaking hole. “You’re fucking dripping, baby,” he continues, his hand dipping back between her legs, unable to resist touching her again. “Come here, I’m not done with you yet.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

Do the task force genuinely care about free use medic reader or do they just use her for sex? Genuine question! I just found your account so i’m kinda stalking all your posts lol, love your writing!

thank you!!

it's complicated :)

...

79 / 1.1k / more free use medic reader

You strip off your heavy equipment—medical supply packs, a comm radio, extra ammo for the boys—and stretch your tired body with a groan. Tough mission. Holed up in an old laboratory for hours until extraction arrives. You know what that means.

You sit down on a dented countertop, spread your legs, and loosen your collar. “Who’s first?”

Soap, Gaz, and Ghost exchange glances. They’ve stripped off their visored helmets, but they’re still otherwise armored in urban camouflage. Soap steps forward to crowd you in anyway. Sweat and oil are smeared across his grin.

“Don’t know how you do it, love,” Ghost says. He wedges the knuckles of one broad hand into his lower back like he’s trying to pop something back into place. A click echoes from his spine and he muffles a groan. “Tough mission. Might be too tired.” That’s a lie.

Soap seems to think so, too. He grabs your legs under each knee and pulls you to rest on the edge of the table. “Mission’s only tough if I don’t get my dick wet.”

Gaz lets out a dismissive huff and looks at Ghost. “Want to take a look around the lab while MacTavish drools all over himself?”

Ghost grunts noncommittally, flipping a serrated knife and catching the tip in his fingers as he scans the room and sees a camera in one corner.

You ignore Gaz. You know jealousy when you hear it, and he tries to play his off by being a snarky ass. It’s even more pronounced when Price isn’t around to keep everyone accountable—like right now. It’s risky to offer your body up when the boys are wired with adrenaline and the Captain’s busy with other things. But you take your job seriously.

“Well, then.” You loosen the straps on Soap’s pack harness until he lets it fall off his shoulders and thump to the floor behind his bootheels. “That’s what you pay me for—keeping morale high.”

Soap’s grin widens. His gloved palm rests on the metal countertop next to your hip. “Aye, but your morale’s my fuckin’ specialty.”

Ghost’s gaze slides to you as you and Soap begin stripping you of your fatigues. Soap doesn’t bother waiting until you’re meaningfully exposed—as soon as he sees your bare shoulder, he stoops down to maul at the skin there like a rottweiler with the mind of an overeager high school boy. You’re left to work around his roaming hands and mouth to work yourself free of your clothes. His distraction, as always, makes your job more difficult.

Gaz watches shamelessly, and Ghost rubs his chin as he observes. “Someone oughta check the security feeds, make sure nobody’s watchin’.” Nobody moves to check jack shit.

You manage to unbutton your coat and wrest one arm free. When you shift, though, a sudden pain makes you hiss. You slip your fingers into the thin fabric of your undershirt and up to your ribs. They come out wet with blood. “Ah, fuck.”

Soap’s grin dies. His hand shoots out and grips your wrist, shoving the bloodied fingers back to your ribs to staunch the flow. “The fuck you think you’re doing, bleedin’ without permission?” His voice is a growl, but the way he fumbles for the supply pouches on his belt betrays him.

Gaz—who happens to function as a secondary medic if something happens to you—is there instantly. He pulls Soap’s shoulder hard, forcing him back a step, and peels your undershirt back with a steady hand. He prods the wound. His gloves smear red. “That’s no good,” he mutters. His thumb brushes over unbroken skin beside the gash. “All this pretty skin wasted if you croak before we get our share.”

“Quit eye-fucking the injury and stitch her up,” Ghost says.

Your breath hitches when Gaz’s fingers linger too low. Soap’s jaw locks. “Nobody’s allowed to croak this close to mission’s end, Garrick. Either get your ass in gear to stop the bleedin’ or I fry the hole shut myself.”

“Boys, please, one at a time.” You try to huff a laugh, but it comes out as a pained groan. Never one at a time with them. Your vision flickers. If you weren’t seated, you're sure your legs would be giving out right about now.

Gaz slots his still-armored knee between your legs, steadies your drifting frame with one hand, and tears an injector pack open with his teeth.

“Hold still.”

The needle jams into your thigh. Stims, maybe amphetamines. Hard to focus when he’s already rucking up your bloodied tank top to fully expose the torn flesh below.

The clicking shake of an antiseptic spray bottle makes you tense a half-second before he sprays the godawful mist all over your wound. Your body pulls back blindly to escape the burn, but with Gaz’s grip keeping you in place, your back hits the table and then arches up. A choked scream pushes up your throat. Ghost clamps his hand over your mouth to muffle the sound.

He leans in. “You’ll bring every tango in a klick radius down on us. Shut. It.”

He knows better than any of them how much that spray burns on an open wound.

Without looking away from you, he issues a firm order to Gaz in his lieutenant voice. “Pack the wound.”

“Rog’.”

Gaz takes gauze from your pack and shoves it against and into the gash. You let out another cry against Ghost’s hand, which clamps down tighter around your mouth until your breath runs out and turns the scream into a rasp. Then he keeps it there still until you go limp.

Numbness from the injection—fuck yes, painkillers—finally flood out the adrenaline in your blood. Your vision shutters again. “God, that’s good.”

Ghost’s gaze flicks down to the way your chest heaves under your torn tank top. “Ain’t cut out for field work. I keep saying it.”

Soap shoulders his way back between your legs. He spreads them wider and leans over your limp, blissed-out body on the table. He weaves his fingers through your hair, tugs your head back, taps your cheek until your eyes refocus on him. “Wakey wakey, sunshine,” he murmurs, eyes already traveling back down your body. “You’ve still got a job to do, and you don’t get to nap till we’re done.”

...

more Ghost / more Soap / more Gaz / more free use medic / masterlist

[sixeyesonathiel]

bet on blue — f1driver!gojo x gf!reader

fluff, meant to parallel free throws & figure drawings. there's just something so fine about gojo satoru going bonkers once the love of his life bets on him <3

you weren’t supposed to say it.

not like that.

not now—when the air still hums with anticipation, when the scent of engine oil and tire polish settles thick on the back of your tongue, when your heart’s already pounding like it knows what’s coming, trying to match the rhythm of countdowns and pit crew drills.

but you do.

because you can’t keep your mouth shut around him. because your skin still buzzes from watching him tear through the track like a man possessed. because there’s something so sharp and untouchable about the way he moves—fast, unrelenting, devastating—and it makes your chest ache with something too big to name.

because satoru gojo is the most terrifying and beautiful thing you’ve ever seen when he’s racing. and you were never any good at playing it safe.

“i bet on you.”

the words leave your mouth without ceremony, unpolished, tumbling clumsily into the space between you.

he's got his back to you, adjusting the straps on his helmet, his focus sharp as he readies himself for the race. the top of his fireproof suit is already unzipped, the fabric clinging to his torso as he shifts, every movement deliberate and calculated. the suit, darkened in spots where the sweat's started to settle, emphasizes the lean muscle of his frame. his hair is messy and damp, wild strands of white falling into his eyes, evidence of the heat and pressure he’s already been battling all morning.

his shoulders go still.

you don’t see his face at first, but you see the shift in him—like the gears in his head lock suddenly. like the whole world slams on the brakes. he turns slowly, glancing over one shoulder with narrowed eyes, the pale blue of them catching the light like fractured glass.

“what?”

you fold your arms, shifting your weight onto one leg, trying not to let your nerves show. your tongue presses hard against the inside of your cheek.

“like... sports betting,” you say, and your voice is too light, too nonchalant to be casual. “on today’s race. i put everything i had in savings on you.”

his jaw drops.

literally.

you watch the whole thing unfold like a slow-motion scene—the way his mouth opens slightly, the way his brows lift, how the color in his face flickers between confusion and horror. he looks like he just got slapped with a wet towel.

“you’re joking.”

you shake your head, biting down a grin. “nope.”

one beat. then another.

you can practically hear the static between you.

“you—are you insane?”

there’s genuine panic in his voice now, laced beneath the disbelief. he takes a step forward, then another—hands half-extended like he doesn’t know whether to shake you or pull you into his arms. finally, he grabs you by the shoulders, fingers curling into your jacket like he’s trying to keep you from evaporating.

his palms are hot. a little sweaty. a little trembling.

“you bet how much?”

you tilt your chin up, pride and nerves fighting for dominance. “ten thousand.”

his reaction is immediate and dramatic—his eyes widen, his lips part in shock, and he makes a noise that can only be described as a strangled gasp-scream hybrid. he spins away from you like he’s trying to physically escape the consequences of your words, dragging his hands through his hair until it’s sticking up in all directions.

“you WHAT—”

you dissolve into laughter. his horror is tangible, full-bodied, like it physically hurts him. he paces in frantic, looping circles, muttering to himself as if trying to rewrite the last thirty seconds.

“baby—do you have any idea how bad that is?” he finally exclaims, spinning back toward you with wild eyes. “what if i crash? what if the brakes lock up? what if some asshole takes me out on turn two again?”

you shrug. “then i go broke. and i sell feet pics.”

his face twists in agony. “NO!” he shouts, like you just proposed a blood ritual. “no, no, no—i’m going to win. i have to win now. i have to—i’m going to destroy everyone. i’m going to lap verstappen.”

“don’t think that’s possible on this circuit.”

he points a finger at you, accusatory. “i will make it possible.”

his eyes are blazing—like holy fire. and his hair, still spiked in wild directions, makes him look unhinged. like a beautiful lunatic.

you snort, watching the way his chest rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths. you reach up and touch his face, the pad of your thumb brushing just beneath his cheekbone. his skin is flushed and sticky, a thin sheen of sweat catching the light. he flinches slightly at your touch, like the gentleness startles him, then leans into it.

just for a second.

“you’re cute when you’re feral.” you murmur.

his eyes flutter shut briefly. like it grounds him. like you ground him.

you always do.

but he’s not cute on track.

he’s terrifying.

when the lights go out, he launches off the line like a missile.

you watch with your heart in your throat as he threads through corners with razor precision, faster than physics, faster than common sense. lap after lap, he pushes the car like it’s an extension of his will, shaving off milliseconds with each turn.

“manage pace.” his engineer warns.

he doesn’t even pretend to listen.

“you’re purple sectoring too aggressively.”

his voice crackles back, tight and low—“she bet ten thousand. i need more purple.”

the commentators laugh, but it’s a nervous kind of laughter. the kind that comes before something historic.

by lap fifteen, he’s broken the lap record. by twenty, the race record. by twenty-five, he’s leaving the field in the dust, overtaking cars like they insulted his ancestors.

he crosses the finish line thirty seconds ahead of p2.

the stands erupt. the commentators go breathless. the scoreboard lights up like a war won.

but none of that matters.

he’s already moving—yanking off gloves, hands shaking, helmet off and thrown somewhere onto the pit wall. his hair is soaked through with sweat now, sticking to his forehead and temples in wild strands.

the moment the car stops, he climbs out like it’s on fire. his boots hit the ground, and he’s running—ignoring the team, the cameras, the crowd.

you. he’s only looking at you.

amidst the roar of the crowd and the crackle of radio chatter, it’s like the rest of the world disappears. your eyes lock, and time stretches, the chaos around you fading into a blur. you’re still by the barrier, hands trembling against your mouth, eyes wide in disbelief. you can’t move, frozen in the instant. his gaze is all-consuming, like he's pulling you into his orbit.

he reaches you in four strides, swift and confident, the tension in his muscles unmistakable as he closes the distance between you.

“you—” he starts, voice hoarse from exertion, but then the words cut off, and without another word, he lifts you off the ground.

your feet leave the earth. your heart does too.

his grip is firm, his hands at your waist, and for a moment, you feel weightless. the adrenaline still vibrates through his body, and it sends a ripple of warmth through yours. his eyes, wide with disbelief, are only on you. there’s a mix of awe and frantic joy in his gaze as if he can’t quite believe this is real.

“ten thousand dollars!” he shouts, voice louder now, and then—without warning—he pulls you into him. his lips crash against yours, messy and desperate. it’s like a collision of everything—teeth, tongues, breathless gasps, and all the tension of the race exploding in a kiss. it’s uncoordinated, a beautiful chaos, and it tastes like victory. like danger. like home.

he pulls back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours, his hands still clutching you like he can’t let go, even if he wanted to. “you fucking gambled on me,” he murmurs, his voice ragged with emotion. “what kind of insane, gorgeous, genius idiot are you?”

you laugh, breathless and caught in the aftermath of his kiss. your fingers curl into the collar of his half-unzipped suit, your knuckles brushing against the damp skin on his neck, feeling the heat still radiating from him. his pulse thunders against your chest, the rhythm in sync with yours.

“the kind who knew you’d win.” you whisper, and the words feel like the truth. you always knew he would.

he stares at you for a beat, his mouth twitching into a crooked grin. “you’re not allowed to bet on anyone else ever again.”

you raise an eyebrow, trying to act like you’re considering his request, but you know it’s a losing battle. “what if i bet on you every race?”

his smirk is cocky, his eyes gleaming with mischief. he presses his forehead to yours, the contact grounding. his breath is still ragged, and his smile is utterly smug. “then i’ll win every race. world records be damned. i’ll win everything.”

there’s that unwavering confidence in his voice. and you know—he means it. he will win everything. but right now, all he cares about is you. and you can’t help the warmth blooming in your chest.

when he finally sets you down, it’s with reluctance, like he’s dragging himself away from something he doesn’t want to leave. but he doesn’t let go of your hand—no, he tangles his fingers with yours, his grip firm and possessive, pulling you along with him through the pit lane, through the chaos of the crowd.

his body language is effortless, his movements commanding, as if he’s always in control. but there’s something in the way he holds your hand, the way he keeps you close, that says more than any words could. he’s not just the fastest driver on the planet. right now, in this moment, he’s completely and utterly yours.

the media swarm as soon as you make it to the front. flashes of cameras blind you both, the noise overwhelming. satoru’s got you tucked under his arm like a prize, and he doesn’t seem to mind one bit. you’re still trying to steady your breathing, but all you can focus on is how he’s still wearing that grin, the one that makes him look like he owns the world. his hair is a mess, damp and wild from the race, and his fireproof suit is half-unzipped, barely clinging to his chest. he doesn’t care about any of it. all he cares about is you.

the flash of a camera catches you at just the wrong angle, and you wince when you feel the lipstick smudge along your lips. your heart skips when you catch sight of it—a small smear on the corner of his mouth, and a dark streak of color against his cheek from where you kissed him so urgently. it's messy, but the evidence of the kiss only makes him look even more alluring.

“this win’s for her,” he announces into the mic, all charm and teeth, like he’s not sweating, like he didn’t just push his body to the limit to win. “she believed in me. also, she bet her savings on me, so if i lost, i was gonna have to start an onlyfans.”

the press laughs, but you can’t find the strength to smile. you bury your face into his shoulder, mortified by the lipstick smudge on his face that you’re certain is going to become a headline. you feel the warmth of his skin against your cheek, and then, you feel his chuckle rumble in his chest. his fingers brush the edge of your face, gently adjusting your hair, before he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. it’s like he’s claiming you all over again. “don’t worry,” he says, voice teasing, “i’ll make sure no one notices.”

you’re still in a daze, trying to recover from the whirlwind, but the thought of everyone seeing the mark you left on him has you cringing. satoru, of course, doesn’t seem to mind at all. if anything, it seems to amuse him.

“anyway,” he grins, pulling back just enough to look at you. “guess it’s her turn to buy dinner now.”

the crowd erupts in cheer, but you’re barely aware of them. all you can hear is the sound of your heart thundering in your chest and the warmth of his lips still lingering on your skin. maybe this is it—maybe this is the moment when everything shifts. because as satoru’s hand tightens around yours, you realize that the win he’s really talking about isn’t the race.

it’s you.

and to satoru gojo, that’s the only victory that matters.

a/n : you then get banned to five betting sites for insider trading 💔 dont nitpick about the race pls i did my best😔 if u saw the wrong version of this earlier no u didn't🩷 did i ever mention transferring my works from my drafts to tumblr is hell?🤗 IT HAD TO ESCAPE MY DRAFTS WHILE I WAS STILL EDITING TOO. i feel like i would implode from embarassment every damn time this typa shit happens😭

anyways this my apology to satoru for reader only betting the minimum on his team at free throws and figure drawings LMAOOO.

[ggidolsmuts]

The Girl That's Out of This World - tripleS Yooyeon

"Liftoff in 3, 2, 1!"

You're slammed into your jump seat, the g-forces pressing against you, metaphorical straps against the literal straps around you. Your ears are filled with the loud roar of thruster explosions, your eyes only seeing blue, then white, then grey as your vessel strives to break through the atmosphere. It's a rough launch, there's lots of rattling, maybe this is the one time things go sideways—fuck why are you thinking like that, fuck fuck fuck—

Everything goes black, and you blink, finding yourself in the stars.

"You good?"

"Yeah, bit of a bumpy launch eh?"

"Eh, it was fine." That's Kim Yooyeon for you, your fellow astronaut on this trip, utterly unflappable she might as well be gliding through life, so unfazeable that she might as well be her own phase of matter. She's already unbuckling herself from the seat and floating to the back. The mission is long, 2 months to be exact, but there's lots to do. "Monitor the systems."

"Copy." You stay seated, coordinating with mission control until finally you call out to her.

"We're enroute to the space station."

"Copy, support systems are operational, no damage from the launch."

"Really? After all that rattling?"

"All bark and no bite, luckily." Yooyeon straps in again next to you. "Get some sleep, it'll be a few hours before we get to the station." You lean back, and allow yourself to fall asleep to the beeps of the systems and the silence of space.

A higher pitched beep jolts you out of your sleep, and you see the space station ahead.

"Beginning docking maneuvers," you announce, and Yooyeon has shaken herself awake, repeating your order back to you. Both of you hold your breath as you watch the station loom over your craft, and the screen shows your shuttle closing in on the docking port. You move the controls slightly, there's a rumble as contact is made, followed by the whirr of locking mechanisms, and finally—

"Docking complete." Both of you lean back in your seats as the most stressful part of the mission is done.

"Good job, let's get out of here." Yooyeon floats to the shuttle exit ahead of you, and after disengaging the door locks you're both drifting into the space station. "Ah, finally out of this suit."

As you step out of your spacesuit, the helmet catches on your head, giving you a proper smack. You had forgotten—no, not forgotten, gotten used to—how pretty Yooyeon looks. She was the belle of the space force, as pretty as she is sharp. Many of your colleagues were envious that you got to go on a space mission with her, to accompany the angel on her way back to heaven, so to speak. Over the multiple weeks of intense training and preparation though, Yooyeon became your colleague, your teammate, responsible for your life just as you are responsible for hers on this mission, with safety being the priority above all else.

So you stopped seeing Yooyeon superficially, and yet, a far way from the surface of the Earth, you catch yourself staring at her beauty—long black hair, round eyes, ruby lips, delicate as a flower. Yet she's up here in space with you, suffering through the grueling launch and coming out looking like that, while you just... look like you.

"Have you forgotten how to remove the jumpsuit already? We spent so much time training on that."

"Just adjusting to the low grav environment," you mutter as an excuse. The two of you tour the space station, floating through the various segments that make up the station. You arrive at the living quarters—they're small and claustrophobic, but as with anything when you're in space, ironically space is at a premium. Your sleeping cabin is effectively an open coffin, complete with straps to stop you from floating away, there's a curtain for privacy, but that's about it.

Then there's a small kitchen, which is basically just the area that has the "cooking" machine, reheating and rehydrating space food for human consumption. There's a bathroom, also small, and finally the main body of the station where you'll be conducting science experiments, observing the stars, and watching over Earth.

"Everything is operational," Yooyeon speaks into the microphone, communicating with mission control.

"Roger, please begin the experiments whenever you're ready."

The two of you throw yourselves into the work, working with the command center and logging experiment results. In between experiments there were a lot of maintenance to be done, and you two find yourselves in the little nooks and crannies of the space station, checking for cracks, leaks, and loose bolts. It put the two of you in close quarters, and with no perfect substitute for weightlessness there was no small amount of accidental touches and brushes—you didn't notice your hand drifting close to her chest, she didn't notice her leg drifting between yours. But things remained professional for Yooyeon—everything addressed without fluster or embarrassment. You are in space after all, there were much bigger things to be worried about.

You wish you could say the same for yourself. You knew you would have to abstain as much as possible in space, as any cleanup would be quite hard when everything is quite literally floating about, but over time it became harder and harder to ignore Yooyeon. She dressed simply in a t-shirt and shorts most of the time, and even that was enough to distract you—when did her legs look so good, and her thighs muscled yet juicy, how did you not notice it before?

The breaking point came when Yooyeon pushed herself off a wall to get through the station quickly, only to collide with you coming out of the sleeping quarters and sending both of you spinning through the corridor.

"Ah! I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were awake— Ah!" After the collision her top had come loose and it had ridden up, floating well above her waist, giving you a peek at her midriff and simple bra underneath. Hastily she pulls it down, a light blush on her cheeks. "Sorry about that, I thought the coast was clear."

"Yeah, no problem, go ahead. I'll sleep in for a little longer." It was an excuse, as your morning wood had come back in full force—you're way too frustrated to function. As Yooyeon floats away you make the decision to get yourself off, to just get it out of the way. You pull out a foil packet—condoms that your colleagues had pushed on to you.

"Dude why would I need condoms in space?"

"You're up there with Yooyeon, just the two of you, literally no one else in the world there."

"But we're in space, nothing's going to happen, we're not going to have sex in space."

"Who said anything about sex? Sure she wouldn't have sex with you, but just looking at her might be enough after a few weeks up there! What if you just need to get one off, you want your cum floating around in the space station? If you don't take this, when I'm next on the space station I am bringing a black light."

"You guys are fucking ridiculous!" You stuff the foil-wrapped rubbers into a discreet pocket just to shut them up.

Annoyed at your colleagues being right you wrap your tip with the rubber and wrap your hand around your shaft. Your colleagues missed on something though, that it is fucking weird to masturbate in space, in weightlessness, while trying to make sure the condom doesn't slip; while you have no material to work with at all, just the memory of Yooyeon's midriff and bra and thighs; while Yooyeon's looking at you.

Wait what?

"Y-Yooyeon!" you choke out.

"Shh!" She glares at you, and you remember that the monitoring mics are live as work hours just started—two way communication with mission control is great, making you feel less lonely on the space station, but now is the worst time for that! "Do you need my help?" Yooyeon whispers. She's tying her hair up, your brain short-circuting as the ponytail floats in mid-air.

"What? Sorry I— Let me—" Your hands waves about frantically, trying to remove the condom, pull your boxers on, stuff your cock back in, pull your pants back on, and not float towards her while you do it all at the same time.

"Just let me help you." Her hand stops you from pulling up your boxers, and in the next moment Yooyeon's lips are wrapped around your shaft. Your mind is spinning, from the absolute shattering of the image you have of her, to the fact that both of you are floating in space. You grab on to a bar that's in reach, making sure that the sight of Yooyeon giving you a blowjob doesn't float through the space station for any cameras to catch. Your other hand is on Yooyeon's head, presumably to make sure she doesn't float away from you, but more because you never wanted to leave her mouth!

The two of you are near horizontal, lying in weightlessness as Yooyeon continues to push her gorgeous face on your cock. Her tongue swirls, her cheeks hollow, Yooyeon is doing everything to get you to cum.

"Yooyeon!" you whisper harshly, and she flicks her eyes up at you. You throb one last time, and Yooyeon devours you to the base, her nose bumping into your crotch as you begin spilling everything into her mouth. You're pent up after weeks without satisfaction, and now all you can do is keep yourself quiet, biting your t-shirt as you watch Yooyeon stay planted on your hips, your thick and salty load going straight down her throat. Your hips buck, and the motion moves Yooyeon with it as you spurt one more shot into her mouth.

When she finally gets off your cock, her eyes are a little watery, but other than a little swipe of her lips there's no indication that Kim Yooyeon just swallowed the biggest load of your life like it's just another Tuesday (or Wednesday, time gets funny in space).

"All good? Be sure to clean up," she mumbles, and floats away.

What the hell just happened?

Yooyeon leaves you to collect yourself, and she collects her own thoughts too—she had wanted to check in on you, make sure you weren't hurt from the collision earlier. Yet when she saw you in that state, she wanted to make sure things were safe—it wouldn't do to have globs of cum or a filled condom floating in space, an actual choking and biohazard. So she took it upon herself to swallow it all and—

"Mmgh!" Yooyeon can feel it inside her—digesting food is a little odd in space, and when she's swallowed an extra meal worth of seed it is more than a little off, and she suddenly feels full. She puts a hand over her midriff, but has to resist moving it lower. Just as you were pent up, Yooyeon was equally frustrated. She had wondered if you were able to sneak in a self-love session or two, but she never noticed any signs or traces of it, which is good. Now with your abundant load inside her she realizes why that was.

Sadly for her there's no way she could do it, and she shudders and tries to calm herself, to think about the work ahead and not what's in her... No, better to not think about anything being "inside" herself right now.

As the work day winds down on the space station you approach Yooyeon.

"Hey, I just wanted to say I'm sorry, I thought I was alone. You didn't have to, you know."

"I— Yeah, it was unprofessional of me, I just wanted to make sure there wouldn't be anything floating around, I'm sorry."

"N-No no, not at all." You can't believe your ears, Yooyeon's apologizing for blowing you! "Thanks for keeping us safe, I guess?"

"Yeah. Is there anything else?"

"No, please let me know if you ever need some privacy, so we can avoid something like this in the future. I can give you plenty of space."

"That won't be needed, it is infeasible for me to do it in space." You blink rapidly at Yooyeon admission—what does she even mean?

With your pent up frustration relieved you don't think too much of things, and nothing seems to have changed with how Yooyeon treats you, so it fades a little into the background for you as you are consumed by the work that needs to be done.

But for Yooyeon her frustration only builds, she catches herself looking at you below the waist on more than one occasion, wondering if you were hard, wondering if she could see it again. She had not planned on masturbating on this mission, but after what happened she's finding herself flush and warm often. Yet she can't take any more clothes off, taking off anything more would be because— No, she shouldn't think about sex, it doesn't help things! 

The breaking point comes quietly for Yooyeon, on another chance collision. The two of you are passing through the narrow corridors in opposite directions—Yooyeon has just washed up, and you're on the way to do as well. She slips when she tries to push herself through the narrow gap, sending her bumping into you.

"Yooyeon, are you okay? You feel really warm, is it a fever?" You're holding her close, a hand on her forehead. "You're burning, let me get a thermometer."

"No! I just need some rest, I'll turn in early tonight." The truth is Yooyeon's effectively in heat, the sudden close proximity and touch catching her off guard. She retreats to her "bed", strapping herself down and trying to calm herself. She presses her thighs together, hoping her shorts and underwear can absorb enough of her wetness, but it has the opposite effect, as the added friction makes her rub her legs together subconsciously.

When you finish cleaning yourself you return to the sleeping quarters and tie yourself down, but as you try to fall asleep you realize that the usual white noise of the space station is not as it usually is. You hear a continuous rustle, like someone tossing and turning. Yooyeon having trouble sleeping? You debate if you should call out, potentially disturbing her rest even more. Your attentive ears pick up on more detail—the rustle is persistent, less tossing and turning and more rubbing together of fabric. Every so often there is a deep exhale, and you realize what is going on.

"Yooyeon, do you need my help?"

Yooyeon freezes in her bed, like she's standing in front of a line. She knows what you are asking, and you know that she knows, which is why you asked; and she knows that you know that she knows, and so she answers...

"Yes."

She can hear you undo your straps, and soon you would be floating towards her, and then— You're here already, pulling open the curtains! In the dark Yooyeon prays that you don't see her blush, but everything else is showing—her thighs tightly pressed together, her hand down her own shorts, a fistful of absorbent sheets in the other.

"Tell me what you need."

"I need— Want to get off, but the sheets need to be there."

"I can umm, just swallow it all." Yooyeon's heat only grows, now she's thinking about you down there, eating her out and— oh god...

"No, I get really wet when it happens." There's little embarrassment left in Yooyeon, she needed to get off more than anything else! You pause for a moment, and Yooyeon gets even wetter, watching you watch her.

"Give me the sheets." You move in close to Yooyeon, taking them from her. You gently nudge her thighs open with your knee.

"Do you want to take off your shorts—" She pulls one leg out, enough to give you access to her over her underwear.

"No, just like this is good," is her immediate reply. You press the sheets against your thigh and then nudge up between her legs. Instantly Yooyeon traps you there, and so forceful is the shove of her hips downwards that you have to hold on to her to not be pushed away. When you steady yourself to look at Yooyeon the view is mesmerizing—from the neck up, Yooyeon might as well be asleep, eyes closed and breathing deeply. From the waist down however she's outright riding you, grinding herself on your thigh with hip gyrations you didn't even know she could make. She's grinding down on you so hard you have to push up against her, to counteract her strength in the weightless environment.

You're glued to Yooyeon's gorgeous face, even in the dark she looks like she's glowing. You watch her bite the inside of her cheek, her brow furrow slightly, and then she goes slack.

"I'm done," she says quietly. "Thank you."

"Hmm?" It was barely noticeable! Yooyeon was stoic but you never thought she would be this restrained even in climax. "Right."

"Do you need me to help you with that?" You look down at where she's looking—your stiffness poking into her thighs.

"N-No, I'm good, it'll go down. I'll dispose of these, you should rest."

"Okay, thank you." You realize you have to peel the absorbent sheets off your thigh—despite her lack of reaction to her orgasm, she's completely soaked through the multiple layers. As you hold it in your hand you squeeze it a little too hard, and some of it is released. "Oh there's—" Yooyeon can only blush as you catch them in your mouth, swallowing her juices. "You didn't have to do that."

"You did for me, I'm just making sure there are no choking hazards. Good night."

Yooyeon watches you drift away without another word, and her mind is a jumble. She's basking in the glow of her orgasm, oh how she needed that! But she's also conflicted—it was professionally inappropriate, she should never have agreed to your help! She probably should not have sucked you off before either, and it's all a big mess now. Disturbingly, after feeling your hardness poke against her, it's all she can think about even after getting herself off. 

Having disposed of the sheets you float back to bed, trying to calm yourself down and go to sleep. When you hear Yooyeon move in her bed, you clear your throat softly, reminding yourself to not treat every noise from her as sexual.

"Good night." Yooyeon's voice comes soft and clear across space.

You realize neither of you are going to get much sleep that night, and you take a deep breath, trying not to think too much about Yooyeon still being awake.

"G-Good night."

The last two weeks were borderline unbearable, and both of you were on edge. Far above earth, in your little space haven, you and Yooyeon felt like Adam and Eve, having sinfully tasting the sweetness of the forbidden fruit that one time. Yet you're unable to consume each other, to relive it over and over again. Yooyeon has tried to remain professional, but you know she feels the same way, as you've caught her staring just as she has caught you looking—not once has she said anything, reprimanded you for letting your desires get the better of you. Every time you have to slip past her in the corridors, your bodies close to touching, is when space has felt the most dangerous. Even when you had to go on a spacewalk, to fix something on the outside of the station, when all that keeps you from drifting into the void is Yooyeon making sure that you remain tethered, the most dangerous time was when you returned to the station, and Yooyeon was there to help you out of the spacesuit, stripping you, her face at eye level with your crotch. It was almost too much for either of you.

Almost. Somehow nothing happens, and you're strapped into the return capsule with Yooyeon, both of you ready to head home.

"Disengaging the locks."

"Triggering push-off mechanism."

It's almost imperceptible in space, but you're lightly nudged against your seat as the capsule pushes away from the space station. A few minutes later you trigger the thrusters to put you on a trajectory back to Earth. It begins to take up most of your view as you get closer, and you monitor the panels in front of you, watching the readings go down until...

"Entering atmosphere!" Yooyeon starts the return sequence, and all you can do is wait. It gradually gets louder in the capsule as you fall at terminal velocity, and the capsule rattles and shakes. You look out the capsule window, and all you see is red, the air now superheated as it rubs against the surface of your survival cell. A boom, intended of course, is heard as the heat shield around the capsule, having served its purpose, is blown off. Then a second explosion, and you're snapped back even harder against your seat as the parachutes deploy, slowing you down further. A loud continuous roar fills your ears as thrusters fire up, and you and Yooyeon brace for a hopefully survivable impact.

No training could prepare you for this, it still feels like you're going down too damn fast, and all you can do is close your eyes and hope it's enough. Your bones rattle when you finally hit the ground, but you breathe a sigh of relief when everything goes quiet.

"Yooyeon?"

"Yeah, I'm here." She gives you a thumbs up. "All in one piece." You fire one back at her. The capsule door opens up to a rush of people, and both of you are extracted. Quickly you are transported to a hotel, where the two of you are sat down and given a physical.

"Okay, so you two are in good physical condition it looks like, but we're going to keep you in this hotel under observation for another week."

"We can't leave?"

"Preferably not, there will be media hanging around, and we need to do the debrief before you speak with them. You're free to order room service or have food delivered, anything else you need, just let us know."

"Got it."

"Will we have clothes?" Yooyeon pipes up.

"Yes, we'll have a suitcase of your clothes brought up. If there's something missing your family is free to send stuff over." With no further questions you and Yooyeon are led to adjoining rooms. Although your body has no idea what time it is, as soon as you fall on the bed you moan at finally feeling a mattress on your back and a pillow under your head, and you quickly fall asleep.

Until a rude banging at your door wakes you.

"What the hell? I just got here!" you mutter as you pull the door open annoyed, only to see Yooyeon.

"It's been 5 hours." Yooyeon clarifies. You blink once for every hour you have apparently slept for.

"Has it? Damn, sorry. The bed felt so nice I must have just, yeah."

"Same, I just got up too. It's midnight though and nothing's open, do you want to order room service?"

"Sure but... You want to eat with me?"

"Well we ate every meal together on the space station so I thought—" Yooyeon drifts off, a little abashed. "Sorry, I got too used to the routine out there, have a good night!" You hold the door ajar before she can close it.

"No wait, you're right, let's get some food."

Neither of you order much—despite it being midnight, having just gotten up both of you eat only enough for a "breakfast". As soon as that's done, there's an awkward silence—in space there's jobs to do, experiments to check on, on Earth, right now there's nothing to do, only each other for company, and soon all the "non-work" stuff that happened on the space station floats up in your minds. Yooyeon's the first to breach it, and she does it in the only way she knows how.

"We should have sex."

"Yooyeon what?"

"After... that time, things changed slightly on the station, I know you felt it too. We couldn't get it out of our system then, but you know, we can now. I haven't had a chance to, you know, satisfy myself. Unless you have already, then I'll just—" Yooyeon's words speed up as she realizes what she's admitting to you, that sex has been on her mind since landing back on Earth, that she hasn't gotten herself off yet. With her words, you realize of course, that you haven't gotten yourself off either.

"We should do it, I want to do it too." You barely recognize your own husky voice. The two of you almost defy gravity, flying to the bedroom. There's no shame or shyness, Yooyeon's naked and you're nude in a flash—this was pure need, the tension that built way above Earth crashing down on your bed. No foreplay, no checking with Yooyeon, you needed to be in her. She's tighter and wetter than anything you could imagine in your frustrating fantasies, and you moan, enjoying the feeling of being able to sink into her.

You start with a few thrusts, groaning at how she grips you—she needed this as much as you do! But when you don't hear anything from her at all, you stop and check on Yooyeon—she has her eyes closed again, her chest lightly moving, like she was riding your thigh instead of your cock. You didn't expect a strong reaction from her, but you definitely expected some reaction.

"Yooyeon? You okay?"

"Yeah, it feels good. Why?"

"Just um, couldn't tell if you were enjoying it. I thought you would like it more than what we did on the space station."

"Oh, sorry, yeah it's good. I'm not... very fun in bed. You're my third and... The first two guys didn't go so great."

"How so?"

"The first guy, we broke up because I was too messy in bed." After seeing how wet Yooyeon got, and how she's already making a small wet spot on the bed, you disagree but his loss is arguably your gain.

"And the second guy?"

"Said I was like a dead fish in bed, I ditched him because I caught him with someone louder and more 'fun', his words."

"Damn, that's rough, I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be, but yes it's great for me, I'll try to be more responsive if I can."

"Just tell me what you're feeling." You start moving in and out of her again.

"It feels good." You hug her, whispering into her ear.

"Tell me more, more than good."

"You're stretching me, I haven't done this in a while, so it's really intense. You're also... wide? It's different." It's both hot and a bit disconcerting, hearing Yooyeon's version of dirty talk.

"What do you want from me? Should I go slower, faster, deeper, shallower?"

"I..." Yooyeon falls silent as she tries to process your words and feel you at the same time. She didn't lie when she said she felt good, and maybe it's because she's finally getting some after the tension in space, but Yooyeon knows she's wetter than usual, her walls extra sensitive. She's too tense, she should relax more, enjoy the sex and—

"More!" Yooyeon's yelp surprises both of you. As she consciously relaxes, her walls give a little, and when you thrust you end up just that little bit deeper in her. It hits her like a comet—Yooyeon's hand on her mouth, eyes wide open, but her pussy flutters around your shaft. You pull out slowly, and when you sink back in, making sure to get just as deep as you did before, Yooyeon whines—she wants this, this is different!

"Something tells me you're not wholly at fault for being a dead fish in bed."

"Deep! It feel so— Mmm!" Yooyeon tries to muffle herself with her hand, and you have to pull it away. "I'm sorry I can't—"

"Don't hold back, now you sound like you're having fun."

Yooyeon can feel her cheeks heating up—normally she's reserved, in control of herself. Even when she's horny she just gets wet, but she never makes a sound, not if she doesn't want to—feeling good is one thing, showing that she's feeling good is another thing altogether. And yet as she looks down her body, when she watches your slick covered shaft enter her and feels the immense pressure as you push in, like you're splitting her open; when she hears the squelch of her own pussy, and feels her thighs get wet when she leaks and squirts more juice; when her chest swells, and the moan she's holding back pushes its way out of her mouth, Yooyeon can't help but think that losing control of herself feels good, that feeling so much pleasure until she loses control is amazing.

"It feels so good, don't stop, don't stop!" Yooyeon cries out, like you've unblocked or unsealed something deep inside of her. Your own head is spinning, her sudden transformation shocking you and pushing you to go even harder, to hear more of her. You grab her thighs, squeezing them and pulling her towards you on every thrust. She's splattering against your hips on every thrust, your grip on her thighs is fucking slippery. You notice her thighs are around red around where you're grabbing her, but then no, the flush is spreading throughout Yooyeon's body.

"Oh!" It's a sharp yelp, one that gives you pause—Yooyeon's looking down her body at you, and you feel her legs shaking. She opens her mouth to say something, but it's too late.

"FUCK!" Yooyeon throws her head back and screams. Her hips buck strongly, causing you to slip out of her. You suddenly feel something warm on your stomach—thick and translucently white, sliding down your body.

Kim Yooyeon's girl cum, ejaculated, ejected, expelled! Splattered all over you.

The sound of Yooyeon swearing for the first time you can remember, the sight of Yooyeon's body twisted in ecstasy, and the warm, gooey sensation of Yooyeon so thoroughly losing it—everything combines to send you over the edge. You're cumming too, your cock throbbing with a mind of its own, leaking onto Yooyeon. You're just as pent up as her, and you let out a low moan as your hand moves automatically, stroking and firing your load all over Yooyeon's trembling body.

"Ah... Damn Yooyeon!" You manage to roll yourself on your back, not landing on Yooyeon and not getting too much of her cream on the bed. The two of you just lie there, breathing heavily, riding the high of finally getting to fuck.

"Mmm..." Yooyeon's mind is floating like she's back in space, and she has to curl her toes to remind herself she's still alive and conscious. She swears she can still feel you throbbing inside her, something more alive than her. When she opens her eyes again she finally sees the ceiling instead of stars, and she hears your rough breathing next to her. Yooyeon runs a hand down her body, finding herself sweaty and sticky—it really happened, you two just had sex, and it was the most intense pleasure she ever felt. "Wow."

"Yeah. You okay?"

"Yes, just, never felt quite like that before." She has to bite her lip to stop a whimper from coming out—just your touch on her body, the tissues you're rubbing on her to clean her up, is sending sparks flying in her head. An irresistible urge is building inside Yooyeon, a newly awakened need. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Can I kiss you?" You blink at her, confused, but you see her squirming under your gaze.

"I mean, we've done everything past kissing so, why not?"

Yooyeon climbs into your lap, resting her hands around your neck. Your eyes rove up her body, from her thighs straddling you, pussy lips still parted slightly, to her chest, nipples still stiff, at attention, yearning for more. Your gaze goes to her lips, and you can see the teeth mark, where she bit down on earlier, and you look to her—

Her lips are too close!

"Mmph!" Yooyeon's short hair tickles your shoulders, but more importantly her lips are soft against yours, and she's leaving her marks on your lip, lightly nipping and tugging. Yooyeon pushes herself more insistently on to you, you have to take more of her weight until—

"Yooyeon!" You have to lie down, and Yooyeon's clinging to you on top, her arms wrapped around your neck and shoulders.

"Can we cuddle like this?

"If you want." To your surprise Yooyeon sighs, and she melts into you, face buried in your neck and completely relaxed.

"You okay?"

"Mm, let's just stay like this." Finally satisfied and happy Yooyeon lets her mind wander, her breath warm on your neck. She never felt like cuddling with her exes, but then again she's never felt this good sleeping with them. They would be out of bed by now, leaving Yooyeon alone in bed or worse, having to get herself off. "Why didn't we do this sooner?" she sighs, whispering to herself.

"We were in space." Yooyeon freezes—she didn't think you heard that! "The cleanup would have been impossible."

"I know, I meant, before that."

"Well, you were you, and I was I."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're not dumb, you know we do not look... good together." Yooyeon pushes herself up, and she looks annoyed, almost angry.

"So? What about now? We work well together, I know I can trust you with my life, we can rely on each other even in space, there's nothing more important than that."  Yooyeon's gaze is piercing through you, she's dead serious. "Don't you agree?"

"Yeah but, that's different—" Yooyeon kisses you again.

"I like you, I can't say I love you yet, but that comes with time right?" Her confession keeps you silent. "Besides, we're having sex, making love, as they call it. We just need to make more love."

"I don't think that's—" She nips on your earlobe, and you're finding yourself speechless more often than not around Yooyeon.

"I do think we feel good together, I don't think you dislike me, so I would like us to feel good, a lot." You never realized Yooyeon could switch on a dime like this, she's trying to seduce you.

"I don't dislike you, of course," you answer, throat dry, scarcely believing what's happening.

"Good, I'm happy. We just need to make lots of love then. Can you go again?" She's reaching down your body, finding your cock and stroking it, feeling it's firmness in her grasp.

"Yeah." You manage to confirm Yooyeon's findings, choking out a gasp at the end as she runs a finger over your tip.

"I'll be on top, I think I'm wet enough already." She most certainly is as your cock feels like it's being covered by the best "wet blanket" ever when she sinks down on to you. "You're getting really... Ah! Deep in me!" Her hand flies down to her flat tummy, right below her bellybutton, as if showing you just how far you're reaching into her. "I'm surprised you're not pushing a bulge out of me, it certainly feels like it."

"Yooyeon you can't just say that!" you murmur through gritted teeth. Yooyeon's weirdly technical interpretation of dirty talk is very effective, making you process what she means, and immediately allowing your imagination to show them to you in vivid detail.

"I'm just telling you what I feel. I'm sorry I'm getting you so wet, you remember how I was on the space station right? This is like ten, no, a hundred times more intense!" It certainly is true for you—you watched Yooyeon grind herself on your thigh to get off, and have replayed that scene in your head numerous times afterwards. Yet nothing prepares you for how Yooyeon's grinding down on you now, arguably even more strongly and demanding. With gravity and a bed to push against, Yooyeon's half bouncing and half grinding herself into you, and every time she sinks down on to your shaft, it's like she's pumping herself for juices, leaking her slick all over your crotch.

Except this time you can see her expression—her eyes are still closed, but her mouth is slightly open, letting out small moans. Her brow tenses and relaxes, as do her lips, the edges of her mouth curling into a smile every time she does so, like she's cumming again and again. It is as if Yooyeon has let all her guards down, and she looks utterly divine, like she does belong in heaven.

Oh, and her pussy has a velvet grip around your cock the whole time, trying to tug and suck and pull the cum right out of you.

"When we fall in love, I want us to procreatively fornicate like this."

"Pro-what?"

"Procreative fornication. You know, babymaking sex, breeding."

"You can't just say that, unless you want that to happen right now you should get off!"

"What? Why?"

"I can't hold on much longer, I'm going to cum in you!"

"Oh, you want to start right now? That's a little early but I don't mind..." You were going to stop her, trying to stop yourself, trying to clarify that she misunderstood, but Yooyeon leans in and whispers in your ear.

"You can fill me up."

With a rasp you draw a deep breath and grab Yooyeon by the hips, pulling her down fully. It is the best misunderstanding of your life as you unload deep inside her, with Yooyeon narrating dirtily into your ear the whole time.

"Ah! It's so warm inside me, you still have so much for me? You're really filling me up I— Nngh it's too much!" Yooyeon moans and buries her face in your shoulder. She shudders, and sighs, cumming again and prolonging your climax. You continue to weakly thrust up into her, and Yooyeon's body undulates with you, both of you trying to milk each other for all the pleasure you can get.

You're cuddling Yooyeon again right after, your load still freshly dripping between her legs—you wanted to clean her up, but she refuses to, insisting on cuddling first.

"Why did you let me cum in you?"

"I thought you wanted to."

"I do. No I mean, eventually, but not right now!"

"Are you worried about being safe?" You nod. "We're not in space anymore, we don't have to be safe on Earth." You can't tell if Yooyeon's messing with you, or if your point is orbiting Earth and has sailed over her head completely.

"No safe like, what if you get pregnant now?"

"Oh, I'm on pills, can you imagine ovulating in space? I'll go off it slowly so, it can't happen right now, but in the future." You breathe a sigh of relief.

"Good, we really shouldn't rush into things like that." You watch Yooyeon dip a hand between her legs, swiping up some of your seed before smearing it on her thigh.

"Of course, but for the time being, you can finish in me whenever you want, it felt really nice." You shake your head, and Yooyeon looks at you quizzically. "What?"

"How can you just say that so casually?"

"You told me to tell you how I feel. I just stated a fact, and then how I felt about it."

"You're impossible, say it again?"

"You can finish in me whenever you want, it feels really good?" You chuckle and kiss a nonplussed Yooyeon.

"You have no idea how hot you sound."

The first night Yooyeon returned to her room to sleep, but by Day 3 you're going to her bedroom to sleep, because you've discovered that Yooyeon was, for lack of a better term, a wet nympho, and she has completely ruined your sheets by coming over nightly.

That's not the only thing you've discovered about Yooyeon either—she's wet when she's on top, but when you're in charge Yooyeon can't help but get sticky, creaming around your cock instead of squirting on you. Yooyeon's discovering a lot about you too, encouraging you to find out more.

"I like grinding on your thigh, do you want to see if you like rubbing yourself on my thighs?" You do, and to her surprise Yooyeon finds the back of her thighs sticky and warm after giving you a thighjob.

"Do you want my hair up or down when I use my mouth? Oh, or you can decide!" That's how you find yourself holding on to Yooyeon's hair, tugging it as she sucks you off. There's no need to keep her from floating away, and you can't help but push her down on to you. She forgets about gravity, and your load spills out from her mouth, prompting an emergency cleanup for the both of you.

Yooyeon's discovering a lot about herself as well, and she tells you every single lurid detail.

"Oh, right there... you're pushing against my cervix there, it's so... nngh! You're so big!"

"Put your hand here, press down and— Ah! You feel even bigger like that, can you feel yourself? You're rubbing my g-spot so well. I think I like it more from behind, you seem to thrust harder from behind, is it because you like it more?"

"Yes," you growl out, answering Yooyeon's rambling dirty talk succinctly, thrusting into her harder.

"You're throbbing so hard, how are you getting bigger? Are you close? Can we finish together? I want us to finish together, and I'm so close I— Nnngh thank you!"

By Day 5 both of you are down to only one set of clothing left, which you wear only when the two of you have debriefs or checkups during the day. Yooyeon decides to completely forgo clothing around you otherwise, and right after that you make the same decision, the two of you going from forward-looking astronauts to Adam and Eve in about a week.

"I'm so tired, but I don't want to stop..." Yooyeon whines as you pound down into her prone form.

"We should, ugh, take a break soon."

"After this, maybe. Can you mating press me?" It's so completely casual now the way she asks for it, and you comply just as naturally, kissing her as you bend her knees all the way back to her shoulders.

"I'm so sore but it still feels so good!"

"Same, I'll cum with you, cum hard for me!" You pin her wrists with your hand, rendering her powerless to do anything, and she loses it.

"Ah! I will if you ask me to—" Yooyeon screams as you bend her knees back just that little bit more, thumping against her sweet spot, and she splatters you with sticky creamy girl cum right as you flood her womb with thick seed. Your arms give out and you collapse on top of her, utterly drained. Yooyeon giggles as she strokes your hair, knowing that you've spent yourself completely in her.

"My turn to cuddle you."

And on the seventh day you rested. The two of you come out of the observation period more ragged and drained than when you entered. You were able to explain it away as recovering from getting acclimated to Earth's gravity, but from the looks housekeeping gave you they definitely knew that you two were busy acclimating to each other instead, you just pray they don't tell anyone. 

"We should go out," you bring up to Yooyeon once people are out of earshot.

"We are outside," Yooyeon answers nonchalantly.

"No, like on a date."

"Sure, which day did you have in mind?"

"No Yooyeon, like—"

"Friday at 7?" She's smiling—she really does have the ability to render you speechless.

"I uh, yeah, that sounds good."

"Great, see you at 7 am!"

"I— Wait what?"

Regardless of her communication quirks you start dating Yooyeon and things progress quickly. A few months later she asks you an odd question.

"We've made a lot of love since our first week right?"

"Yes, during that week and after." You've gotten used to Yooyeon's phrasing, but you wonder where she's going with this.

"So how do you feel about us? Should we continue being together? Have we made enough love?"

"Yes." You quickly pick up on her choice of words. "Do you want me to say I love you?"

"Yes."

"I love you Yooyeon." She kisses you, and then proceeds to drop a bombshell on you.

"Good, I love you too. I quit the space force."

"What! Why?"

"They would never send us to space together, they know we're a couple now."

"Yeah but still, I thought you wanted to be in space!"

"I saw Earth from space, that was a lifelong dream of mine."

"I know, so why did you quit? I could have stepped back instead."

"No, that still keeps us apart. I don't need to go to space anymore, because I found someone on Earth I'd rather spend the rest of my life with." She produces a ring, a simple band with a bluish-green gem on top. "I won't get on my knees because I'm already shorter than you, but—" She fumbles the ring, as if trying to figure out which is the right orientation to present the ring before giving up.

"Will you stay on Earth with me?"

A/N: Bit of a random one, there was some discussion of sex in space I saw, and I wondered if it would work, then I wondered who would work in that context, and came up with smart and pretty Yooyeon lol. Also fits with the whole tripleS thing in my mind, I tried to work in a cosmos thing but eh, didn't try very hard lol. I tried to capture some of her...aloofness? Some of the stuff she says makes you do a double take or can be a little goofy so yeah. Thanks for reading!

[lyjen]

Connection | Eddie Diaz

Summary: After Eddie saves a woman named Lila from falling down a building, she keeps on stopping by the firehouse every time when he’s on shift. When Eddie tells her to stop doing it, she storms out. When (Y/n) leaves the firehouse from visiting her husband, she gets attacked by Lila, making Eddie pay for the things he said.

Request

Taglist: ( @oliviah-25 @shauna-carsley

9-1-1 Masterlist

______

With his eyes locked onto the giant white building, covering a large amount of blue sky, Eddie hopped out of the fire engine. A woman was dangling on a sign, hanging on the a side of the apartment building of twelve, maybe fourteen levels high.

“Yeah, what's the plan?” Buck’s voice brought Eddie back to reality as he quickly closed the door shut behind him and got a bag with a harness and rope out of the compartment. 

“Eddie, Chimney, I want you on the floor below. Kick out that window so we can bring her through there.” His captain was shouting orders as Eddie and Chimney waited for him to finish explaining their task. 

“Copy that, cap.” Eddie confirmed their task as he and Chimney made their way inside, getting to the eighth floor. 

Chimney and Eddie entered the apartment with the window on the Alpha side of the building. 

On calls like this, timing was incredibly important. The woman was already hanging some time, so how much longer can that woman hold her own weight? 

So keeping the team, and the captain updated about where you were, what you were doing, was necessary. 

“Just entered the unit cap.” Eddie said through the radio. “About to anchor off and remove the window.” He added as he let go of the speech button, while walking towards the Alpha side of the building.  

“Copy that” Their captain's voice sounded through the radio again to confirm that he knew what Eddie and Chimney were up to. 

“Okay so, you harness up and I’ll pop out the glass.” Chimney said as he pointed between the two of them. “Copy that” Eddie confirmed as he shrugged off the strap of the bag off his shoulder. 

Eddie got out a line and quickly scanned the room for the best suitable point to secure his line on. His eyes fall onto a large concrete pillar on the corner of the Alpha to Delta side of the building. 

That’ll have to do. 

He opens the black bag and fishes out the bright blue line. He quickly secures the line around the concrete pillar and tightens it, while Chimney tries to carefully pop out the window. 

“Just finished securing the lines, cap. I’m all harnessed up.” Buck's voice sounded through the radio as Eddie stepped into the harness, making sure he was safe and secured. 

“Coming down now.” Buck added. 

Eddie placed his helmet onto his head and clicked the two pieces together. 

Just as Bobby copied to Buck’s update, Hen’s slightly, yet also calm voice came through the radio. “Cap, we have a problem. We got to move now. That sign is not secure!” she said through the radio, while Eddie secured the rope to the anchor point.

There was something about these kinds of calls, the ones with time pressure, where Eddie could never get used to. He may look calm and all, but on the inside his stomach made a dozen kinds of backflips. 

“Alright thirty seconds, Buck’s coming down.” Bobby tries to keep calm through the radio. “Chimney, how is that window?” he asked as soon as he finished that last sentence. 

Chimney was holding both glass removal tools on the glass window, ready to move it, as he used one of his hands to speak through the radio again.

 “In progress” Chimney said, as he grabbed both tools again and carefully removed the glass from the window frame. 

While Eddie saw Chimney carrying the window towards the other side of the room, he put on his last glove and moved towards the window. Ready to guide the woman inside as soon as Buck got the rescue strap around the woman. 

Eddie walked towards the now glassless window, as he caught some screaming in combination with Buck's calm voice. 

What the hell was going on? Buck was within reach now he guessed, especially after Cap told Hen that he needed thirty seconds, and he already crossed those. 

He placed the palm of his hands on the window frame as he took a glance, to get a vision of what was happening a few floors above him. But just as he popped out his head through the window frame and stepped with his feet onto the window sill to get to even height, he could hear the woman screaming in agony. 

He could hear a loud scream coming closer, and closer. That’s when he realized. 

She was falling. 

Eddie immediately opened his arms, as he could see the woman coming closer towards him. Before he knew it, the woman had her arms locked around his neck, as his arms were locked underneath her armpits. For a split second it felt like he was playing god. 

His stomach was being crushed by the window frame he was hanging out. He could feel the woman starting to slip away as gravity was doing its job.

 “Chimney!” he groaned as he tried to keep himself and the woman from falling down. With one foot he was standing on his tiptoes on the windowsill, the other was trying desperately to find some kind of ground to be placed on.

“Geez!” Chimney’s voice shouted as he realized Eddie was holding the falling woman through the window. He quickly dropped whatever he was holding and ran towards the window to guide and assist Eddie and the woman inside. 

Eddie could feel Chimney pulling him back by the back of his harness. But as soon as Eddie felt that he was falling towards the inside of the window, he couldn’t find his balance. His legs gave in on the weight he was carrying and he fell down onto his side. 

“Oh my god, oh my god” the woman gasped through her cries, holding onto Eddie like she was the only thing that could save her. How did he pull this off? Chances like this are one in a million, maybe a billion. 

The woman finally let go of Eddie, trying to remember what the hell just had happened.  Eddie pushes himself up with the palms of his hands, trying to catch his breath.  “You saved me!” she gasped as she took another look at Eddie. She fell into his arms again, curling her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her body, nearly crushing him. “Thank you! Thank you!” she panted. 

Eddie awkwardly padded her back softly, “Just doing my job, ma’am” he says, trying to suppress the groan in his voice, her arms pushing all of the air out of his lungs. 

Her arms loosened around his neck, as she placed her hands onto both his shoulders firmly. “Please, call me Lila” she said with a smile on her face. “Thank you..” she said questioningly, as she waited for Eddie to tell her his name. “Eddie” he added. 

“Thank you Eddie” she sighed, pulling him into one last hug. 

______

“I swear, she shoved me at first, then pushed me and punched me in the chest when she saw me.” Eddie told Buck as he walked out the kitchen, towards the couch where Chimney and Hen were chilling in between shifts. 

”You’re kidding right?” Buck answered as he jumped over the back of the couch, taking place next to Hen as he grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the table. 

“I mean I get it, Karen would’ve done the exact same to me. It’s not everyday when your husband gets held hostage in an ambulance.” Hen said as she locked her eyes on Eddie. 

Eddie sat down on the armrest of the couch Chimney was chilling on. He could hear Bobby coming up the loft as Buck shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “But everything between the two of you is okay, right?” Buck asks, with a mouth full of popcorn. “Yes, I explained everything to her and now we’re good.” Eddie said, as he felt two eyes burning into his skin.

“Eddie, you have a visitor” Bobby’s voice sounded as he joined the group on the loft. Eddie’s brows furrowed in confusion, who was asking for him? It couldn’t be his wife, right? Normally (Y/n) would ask if she could come over, she would never pop up unannounced. 

But when Eddie read Bobby’s face, he knew immediately who it was. 

“Speaking of the devil..” Chimney laughed as he threw one piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Oh! Is it (Y/n)? I’ve been dying for that cheese cake she made us last time.” Buck asks Bobby. But he didn’t answer, Bobby’s eyes were locked onto Eddie.

Eddie’s expression morphed into an annoyed one as he thought about the woman who was downstairs. “No. It’s Lila.” Eddie’s voice sounded low as he ended the answer with a sigh. 

“You still didn’t tell her to stop coming here?” Hen asks as Eddie placed his hand on his chin, thinking about how he was going to handle this. He shook his head, “I hoped it would blow over.” he admitted. 

He hoped this was some kind of phase that would last two or three days. But right now they were on day six. Even someone from B-shift told Eddie that some woman was looking for him, and it turned out to be Lila. Somehow, she found out when he was working. Or maybe he was going insane, and it was pure coincidence. 

 “Wow, what chapter did I miss? Who’s Lila?” Buck asked as he looked around the room, waiting for someone to answer his question. “Lila, is the woman that Eddie saved through that window.” Chimney added as he kept his eyes on the news.

“Anyways, the shift after that call. She stopped by, thanked me and gave me a box of cupcakes. Last shift she was here too, but I told her to leave because we were ‘busy’.” He said as he quoted the word busy with his fingers. ”I heard she even came over by B-shift, looking for me. But I guess she figured out my schedule.” he added.

He stood up from the armrest, “This is the third time.” Eddie said as he folded his arms over each other. He didn’t want to be rude towards her, but this was getting weird and annoying. Everyone was welcome, walking in if they needed help, but she didn’t need help. Not anymore. He got that she wanted to thank him, but one time would be enough. 

“This has to stop. I need to end this” he said determinedly as he gave himself a nod and walked towards the stairs. 

As he walks down the steps of the stairs, he spots the woman standing between the fire engine and the fire truck. With a plastic container in her hands, looking around the firehouse, taking in the environment she was in right now. 

When she spotted Eddie walking towards her, a wide smile spread across her face as she sent him a small wave. 

Eddie didn’t want to be rude, so instead of doing nothing and completely ignoring her, he pressed his lips into a thin line and awkwardly pushed the corners of his mouth up. So he gave a kind but simple sort of smile. 

“Hi” she said softly when he was close enough, standing across from her. “Hi” he quietly greeted her back. “I made you some new snacks” she smiled as she held the Tupperware box filled with brownies a little higher for him to see. 

After the incident with the marijuana brownies a few years back, they decided to throw everything they’d get from strangers right into the trash bin. And since Lila was still practically a stranger, they’d do the same with her homemade products. You’ll never know what they’d put in it.  

Eddie tried his best to be polite, “Oh, that’s sweet of you” he said, as his eyes wandered from the box back to the woman’s face. “Um, can we talk?” he asked, Lila nodded and answered his question with a small “sure”. He motioned with his head to her as a sign to follow him. He held out his arm to guide her into the right direction, which was in front of the fire engine, out of the line of sight for his team to see them. He had nothing to hide towards them, but still, if he wanted to help this woman to get out of this dream she was having, he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

With his hand placed partly over his mouth, in some kind of thinking spot, he was figuring out what he wanted to say.

A sigh left his mouth as he dropped his hand and folded his arms over each other. “Lila, what are you doing here?” he asks, already knowing he was going to get some simple answer to his question. Her eyebrows narrowed, “Just stopping by to say hi, and dropping off some snacks” she said with an innocent smile, as she gave him a look like: duh. 

“Why?” he instantly reacted, he felt this kind of storm inside of him. He needed this nonsense to stop, but with her acting so innocent, he was starting to lose his patience. He had his lips pressed into a thin line, once more, telling her that he wasn’t particularly happy with her visit. 

“I wanted to see you” she said, as slowly her smile disappeared from her face, at the sound of him sounding that serious. She didn’t expect him to be like this, she just wanted a small conversation just like the other two times she came here. 

Eddie shook his head as he placed his hands onto his hips now. “Lila..” he sighed as those words left his mouth. “You can’t come here.. I’m at work.” he continued his sentence as he tried to get through to this woman. 

“I just wanted to talk with you.” she said, with that same innocent look spread across her face. Maybe his point didn’t get through, or she didn’t want it to come through to her. The number of times she was visiting the 118 was becoming annoying and weird.

Another sigh rolled off Eddie’s lips, he looked at the ceiling, asking the gods why. Why was this woman becoming so obsessed with him? Why did it have to be him catching Lila? Why couldn’t she just leave him alone? Why…

“Look.” Eddie started as he clapped his hands together. He was going to break that dream she was in, and get her back to reality. “This is the typical hero story, I save you, you are so happy that I saved your life and now you think you’re developing feelings for me.” he continued as he pointed at himself and back at Lila. 

“But those feelings you’re experiencing, aren’t real Lila.” He added. It sounded harsh, cruel, maybe even vicious. But he needed her to understand what was going on, and being all nice wasn’t going to get her out of that reality she made up for herself. 

She was silent as she let those words come down on her. 

With her eyes locked on Eddie, he could see her eyes change. “I thought we had a connection..” she spoke as she found her voice again. 

Eddie shook his head instantly. “No, there’s not.” he said, as folded his arms over each other again. He just added a harsh refusement to her words. “I was only doing my job, that’s it.” He continued, as he watched her gaze locked on something or someone else that wasn’t him. 

It almost looked like she was zoning out, but he needed to keep going. Explaining that this was never, ever going to happen again. Otherwise she would just keep popping up. He moved his head so he was in her vision again, and he knew when her eyes moved back to him. “This whole, stopping by the station to see me, needs to stop. There’s no connection between us, and there never will be Lila.” he explained. 

With her lips pressed into a thin line, as she was thinking of a response, she nodded. “Well, that was straight to the point.” she said. Her voice sounded emotional, as if Eddie touched the right snare. 

She shook her head as her tongue was placed on the upper part of her teeth. “Here” she said bluntly, as she shoved the Tupperware box filled with the brownies into his hands, harshly. 

She started walking towards the garage doors of the station, but just as she passed Eddie she mumbled silently “You might regret this”. Words Eddie couldn’t catch, he just stood there, with the box in his hands, as he turned on his heels to watch her walk away, out of the firehouse. 

She was going to make sure he was going to regret this.

______

“Delivery for firefighter Buckley!” (Y/n) called through the firehouse as she walked through the garage doors of the 118.

Eddie told her that Buck had been begging for that cheesecake she made for the team the last time she came over. And it had been a while since she visited the firehouse and the team. Of course, she would see them at parties Bobby and Athena would throw at their house, or special occasions, but that was it.

She was a teacher, and whenever she had time over she loved to bake. It was kind of a hobby that’s gotten a little out of hand.

The last time (Y/n) came over at the firehouse had been, maybe like a month or two. She didn’t want to bother her husband when he was at work. She thought it may give the impression towards the other firefighters that she couldn’t be alone, and besides, Eddie would text her from time to time when he was on shift, or call whenever he could.

But since Christopher was now at a friend's place, having a sleepover, (Y/n) figured this was the best time to make a cheesecake and deliver it personally to the firehouse.

Her eyes found her husband who was placing items into the compartments of the firetruck. As Buck was cleaning the outside of the fire truck with a rag.

Eddie’s head shot up as the sound of his wife’s voice infiltrated his ears. His eyes started to sparkle as soon as he saw his wife walking in between the engine and the truck, with a plastic container in her hands.

“Mi amor, what are you doing here?” he asked as she stopped a few feet from the two firefighters. “Well, I had some time over so I thought, why not make a cheesecake and deliver it personally?” she said as a smile spread across her face.

“Ah yes! You’re the best!” Buck said as he got rid of the rag filled with dirty stains, which he placed on one of the compartment boxes. “That’s sweet of you” Eddie smiled as he walked over to his wife and he took place next to her, placing his arm over her shoulder, and pressed his lips onto hers.

Eddie rubbed his thumb lightly over her upper arm as he placed her chin between his index finger and thumb with his other hand.

Someone clears their throat. “Shall I take the box from you?” Buck’s voice asked as (Y/n) felt like she was getting lost, lingering into her husband’s eyes. Just like a snap of two fingers she came back to reality as her eyes wandered towards Eddie’s best friend. “Sure” she said, and Buck took the plastic box from her, and walked away to give the two of them some privacy.

“Estás preciosa” Eddie whispered into her ear, meaning: you look gorgeous. It was one of the little things of the Spanish words or sentences she knew, because of Eddie. His warm breath was tickling her skin, giving her goosebumps as her stomach filled itself with butterflies. The way those Spanish words rolled so easily from his lips, almost made her weak at the knees right on the spot.

He retrieved his arm and placed both his hands onto her waist as he took place in front of her. With a small smile projected on her face, she locked her arms around his neck. It almost looked like they were about to shamble on a dance floor.

“I needed to see you” Eddie mumbled as he looked into her eyes. A small laugh came from her mouth as she let one hand on his neck and with the other one she went through his hair on the back of his head. “Long shift?” she asked softly as she almost felt herself drowning into his deep brown eyes.

“Too long. It feels like this shift isn’t coming to an end” he said, as he pushed a lost strand of hair behind her ear. “But I’m happy you stopped by.” he continued as he planted a small kiss onto her forehead. Something he always did, the forehead kiss.

Eddie slid his hands off her waist as he took her hand. “You want to say hi to the others? Maybe get a slice of your cake?” He asked as he motioned his head towards the loft.

A small smile appeared on her face. “I was just stopping by to drop it off, I really have to get to my doctor's appointment. Which is in…” she stopped as she took a look at her smartwatch, “thirty minutes.” She finished her sentence.

He gently squeezed her hand, “Are you sure?” He double checked with her, looking at her with almost puppy eyes. She nodded, “I don’t think my doctor would be amused if I canceled my appointment because of a cheesecake.” she laughed.

She knew Eddie was just trying to keep her longer to his side. He was only on hour number seven of his twenty four hour shift, so he had a lot more hours to go.

“Call me when you’re done?” He asked her, on which she nodded. “Yes, I will.” she said softly, barely audible.

He smiled as he pulled her into his chest again, pulling her into a hug. With one of his arms wrapped around her neck, he placed a kiss on the back of her head. “And remember-“ he murmured against her hair.

She pulled her head away from his lips, breaking their connection, as she looked into his eyes. “Yes.. yes, if you don’t pick up, you’re on a call. I know, I’m not ten Eds.” She said, placing both her hands onto his chest, trying to create some distance between them.

“Are you sure?” Eddie asked, with a smirk and his eyebrows furrowed. She gasped, “Puto” she said as a laugh escaped from her mouth and she pushed him in his chest, breaking free from his hold.

Eddie laughs as he places his hands onto his chest pretending like he was hurt on the spot where his heart was. “Oh te amo," he grinned as he watched his wife stepping backwards, wanting to make her way out of the firehouse.

But just as she took one or two steps back, she quickly stepped back towards her husband, and planted a quick kiss onto her husband’s lips. Her hand was placed on his cheek, “Love you” she said, as she now for real turns around and walks towards the exit.

She lets out a sigh as she walks between those two giant trucks again, she needed to get the last groceries to make dinner. (Y/n) walked through the bright red station doors as she looked both ways to see if it was safe for her to cross the road.

(Y/n) quickly ran towards the other side of the street where her car was parked. But as she unlocked the car and grabbed the door lever, she noticed something was off.

Her eyebrows narrowed as she became a kind of FBI agent on the spot. She walked a little circle around her car, and noticed all four tires were flat like a pancake on the ground.

When (Y/n) crouched down on the sidewalk, she took a look at her tires. She placed her hand onto the rubber inspecting what made her tires flat. “You’ve got to be kidding me..” she mumbled as she could see and feel the large split in the rubber of her wheel.

It looked like someone had cut through the tire on purpose. This couldn’t just happen because she drove through glass or something. The split was on the side of the tire, the part that never even touched the asphalt.

“Fuck..” she whispered to her self as she grabbed her phone from her purse. She wasn’t going to ask her husband to help, even though he was just across the street. He was working and she didn’t want him to focus on anything but his work, which was already tough enough.

Still crouched down she scrolled through her phone, searching for the right contact. “Can I help?” a female voice suddenly asked. (Y/n)’s eyes wandered towards the female voice, the woman was standing just on the side of the sun, making her look like a silhouette.

The woman was wearing a beige cap, she had her dark coloured hair in a ponytail and she was wearing a set of sports clothes.

“Only if you have four spare tires..” she sighed and squinted her eyes closed to try and see through the bright light of the sun.

“You got a flat tire?” The woman asked immediately as soon as she had eye contact with (Y/n). She nodded, “Someone slashed them.” She concluded as she took one last glance at the tires and let her hand slide over the rubber.

“Looks like I pissed someone off really bad, unintendedly.” she sighed as she stood back up, and placed her free hand onto her hip. She was trying to figure out some kind of plan inside her head.

(Y/n) started scrolling through her phone as she tried to find the number of the garage she used to bring her car to. “No doubt about that” the woman mumbled, as she was just observing (Y/n).

“Excuse me?” Her eyes furrowed at the mumble of the woman she heard. She didn’t hear what she said, but there was something that didn’t add up. “I was just saying my cousin is a mechanic, if he knows how to fix this I can too.” She lied quickly.

“Mmm.. I’m sorry, who did you say you were? I didn’t quite catch your name.” (Y/n) asked, as she scanned the woman with her eyes. Maybe with a little bit of a judgemental expression over her face.

“Oh, I’m Luna” she said with a smile that almost seemed too happy. Maybe she was too enthusiastic, maybe that was her character. (Y/n) didn’t know.

“I’m going to take a look in my trunk. I think I still have a car jack and a wheel brace!” Luna said, as (Y/n) tapped on the phone number of her own mechanic from the garage.

“Oh, you really don’t have to do that, I’m about to call my garage.” (Y/n) said as her eyes wandered back to the slashed tires. Crouching down, she inspected the wheels once more. Who would do this to her? Who did she piss off?

With the phone ringing against her ear for the third time, her hopes were starting to get lower by the second. Why weren’t they answering? Should she just go back into the firehouse? Asking her husband for help?

“The number you’ve tried to call is not reach-” a sigh left her mouth as she clicked on the red button displayed on her phone. Just as she wanted to stand up again, a cold, hard object connected harshly with her eyebrow.

A small yelp fell off her lips as she lost her balance and fell onto her bum on the asphalt. The phone she was holding fell out of her hand. Her hand instantly reached out for the painful spot just above her eye.

She touched the painful spot around her eyebrow carefully with a finger tip, but as she looked at the finger she realized blood was coming off the wound. The wound stung, and was throbbing, which made her hiss at the feeling.

It felt like her eye was almost trying to come out of the socket. She tried to regain her vision back as she looked into the sun, where Luna was standing. “You have something that doesn’t belong to you.” she said.

What the hell did she mean? (Y/n) didn’t even know the woman? What could she possibly have that wasn’t hers but Luna’s? She should’ve listened to her gut feeling and just walked right back into that firehouse.

“What?” (Y/n) gasped as Luna crouched down grabbing a handful of (Y/n)’s shirt and pulling her roughly towards her. Lifting her upper body from the asphalt. Adrenaline was spreading itself throughout her body as she kept a cold face expression projected on her face.

“That little romance you’ve got. He’s mine.” she hissed dangerously close to her face. She could smell the woman’s breath, which made her squeeze her eyes closed out of fear.

Eddie? How did she know about him? Hell, how did she know about them? Even if she had never seen her before? There was this fire roaring inside of her as soon as (Y/n) realized who she was talking about.

(Y/n) had to get out of here.

She wanted to call out for her husband so badly, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t find her voice and the volume to yell.

She didn’t think this time and yanked her leg up, causing Luna to lose her balance and fall on top of her. Luna let go of (Y/n)’s body to try and catch her own body, but before she could react, (Y/n) already made her next move. She grabbed Luna by the shoulders as she pushed her weight onto her, making them switch places.

But before (Y/n) could hit Luna in the face, she got pushed off of her by Luna’s foot. She got kicked into her shoulder, making her tumble backwards.

She didn’t have a second to be hurt, she needed to get up and fight. Slow but steady (Y/n) got onto her feet again, as did Luna.

Luna’s eyes were looking like she was ready to drink (Y/n)’s blood. She was pissed. But had that terrifying smile on her face, the one you’d see in horror movies. She fished out a small black folded pocket knife as she yanked it open, popping out the knife part.

She didn’t have anything to protect herself. And besides she had never fought before, she didn’t know her own powers, her weaknesses. But everything to survive, right?

A sigh fell from her mouth as she placed both fists on both sides of her face. She just needed to get across the street. She could do that.

Luna gets closer towards (Y/n) as she quickly points the knife multiple times towards (Y/n), which she manages to avoid. Just as Luna walks towards (Y/n) again, making a slashing move towards (Y/n), she turns on her heel and kicks Luna just underneath her armpit, hitting one of her ribs she assumed.

Luna’s hand immediately reached out for her side, bent slightly forward. She gathers herself back together, “Oh you’re going down” she hissed.

Once more, (Y/n) got into the fighting position. Just when Luna lashed out with the hand including the knife, (Y/n) kicked high enough to hit her chest.

Luna fell down on one knee with both her hands resting next to the knee, trying to breathe.

This was her moment. She had to run, otherwise she’d end up the one who lost. She didn’t think twice as she ran past her. But just as she passed Luna, the pocket knife found her skin.

She pushed the knife into her stomach and pulled it out quickly, almost unnoticeable. But the stinging, sharp pain and the red stain through her white shirt was a dead ass give away.

(Y/n) couldn’t stop now. She whimpered and gasped as she just blindly crossed the street, hoping no one would run her over. She pushed her hands against the stab wound as she saw those oh so familiar red station doors came closer and closer into frame.

She stepped over the threshold as she walked between the fire engine and the fire truck. Trying to keep her legs from buckling, she held the engine as some kind of guide.

“Eddie!” She called out for her husband. Her voice sounded like she was being killed, it sounded terrifying, like a scream straight out of a horror movie.

As soon as Eddie heard his wife calling out his name in a way he’d never heard before, he felt something was wrong. She never screamed that way for her husband.

Eddie pushed open the door of the locker room as he stormed down the sound of (Y/n)’s voice. “(Y/n)?” he called out, hoping she’d answer him.

But as his eyes fell onto the space between the truck and the engine, his heart dropped down to the floor.

His wife was standing there with an arm locked around her shoulders and the blade of the knife pressed down on her throat.

“What the hell?” he mumbled as he stopped in his tracks, changing his direction towards the two women.

He scanned the situation with his eyes, but as he took a step forward, the woman yelled “Stay back!” As she pointed the knife out towards Eddie and after a few counts back on his wife’s throat.

Lila. It was Lila who was holding that knife to her throat.

There was an ugly wound just above (Y/n)’s eye, and a red blood stain was soaking into her shirt.

“Eddie.” Bobby warned him as Eddie put his hands up slightly, nonverbal telling her that he wasn’t armed, and didn’t mean any harm.

Eddie could see movement on the engine, Buck had moved from the compartments to the top of the fire engine to clean, since there were some ashes spread on top of it. He made quick eye contact with Buck, somehow with one look, his best friend knew what to do. It just took him one second of eye contact.

“Eddie, help” she cried softly, it sounded like she couldn’t breathe. (Y/n) had her hands slightly raised up in the air, and her head was pushed back due to the knife pressing into her skin as tears poured down her face.

“Shut up!” She hissed as he pushed the knife in her skin a little more, so to the pressure a red line would appear.

“Lila.. what is going on?” Eddie asked as he tried to start a conversation with the woman.

Lila? So her name wasn’t Luna, her gut feeling was right. How the hell did Eddie know this woman? Was he the reason she became a target?

“Lila, you need to let her go.” He said as he took a small step forward, hoping he’d get closer to his wife. Lila pressed her lips into a thin line as she shook her head. “No.” She said determined.

It stung. The wound that was made because of the knife she was stabbed with. It stung, it was like the wound was giving her micro shocks. With every breath she took, her breathing became more trembling.

Meanwhile Buck silently climbed off the truck, trying so hard to keep his boots silent and not squeaking in the ground of the firehouse.

He squeezed his eyes closed as he touched the lever of the compartment box where the medic bag was and tried to softly pull it open.

“She didn’t do anything, Lila.” He goes on, trying to get her free. Eddie could feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins. How was he going to get her as she was being held and threatened.

“You’re wrong!” Lila yelled back at Eddie, fire was burning in her eyes and her voice was filled with aggression. “She took something that isn’t hers” she added as she came dangerously close to (Y/n)’s face.

(Y/n) whimpered as she tried to turn away her face from Lila’s. “You’re upset.. I get it-“ Eddie spoke up as he took some more steps forward, as she was focussed completely on (Y/n).

Buck had opened the medic bag successfully, without making a sound, as he took out a needle, filled with Versed. A medication they used to sedate people who were a danger for themselves and for others.

“Shut the fuck up!” Lila snapped at Eddie as he tried to get inside of her head. “You don’t know what it’s like!” She continued as she grabbed a handful of (Y/n)’s hair, making her stand awkwardly with her back bended.

A yelp fell off (Y/n)’s mouth as she hissed at the pain that was spreading on her head. Eddie could feel the scream of his wife going through bone and marrow.

“When you feel a connection with someone and they come and take it away from you” she hissed as she kept her eyes on (Y/n).

“Lila, please. This isn’t you.” Eddie said. He needed to touch that one sensitive spot. “Listen.. sometimes you’ll feel something for someone..“ Eddie continued as he could see movement in the corner of his eye again.

Buck was crawling underneath the fire engine, with the prepped needle in his hand. When he finally reached the end of the engine, he waited for Eddie’s sign.

”And the feeling might not be mutual.. but there’s someone out there who feels the same way.” Eddie promised.

When the entire expression on Lila’s face went from thunder to a little more calmer, and she was clearly thinking about the words Eddie just told her.

Eddie nodded in the direction of Buck as Lila was unfocused again. Buck yanked himself a little further from underneath the truck and stabbed the needle into her ankle. Pushing the meds through her veins, she was startled by the sudden pain in her ankle, brought by Buck.

For safety Buck quickly pushed himself back underneath the truck as he got out underneath it on the other side.

“What did you do!” Lila screamed as she pushed (Y/n) onto the ground out of reflex. (Y/n) tries to break her fall with her hands, when her body was met with the floor.

“Just something that will help you calm down” Buck said as he walked around the truck. Lila’s eyes began to roll as she slowly was losing her balance and consciousness. She dropped her knife to the ground, as quickly the rest of the team ran towards Lila, catching her before she could hit the ground.

Eddie made his way towards (Y/n), sliding both his knees on the ground, he placed his hand on her back to silently tell her he was there. “I'm here mi amor” he said as he quickly scanned the situation.

He could hear her breathing heavily, with her hand she searched for his arm, when she found his forearm she placed her hand onto his skin. Small sobs falling from her mouth as she realized what was happening finally came to an end.

She tried to crawl her way into Eddie’s lap, placing her head onto his thighs. Eddie couldn’t do anything else than soothing her, telling her she was okay, that he was there for her, and rubbing his hand over her back and the other one over her arm.

“Can you stand up? I need to check you out” he asked as her breathing calmed down. “Can you do that for me?” he added as he didn’t receive an answer to his first question.

She slowly disconnected her head from his lap as she nodded just as slow. Eddie grabbed with both his hands, both her forearms to support her as she stood up. She hissed at the sharp pain in her stomach as she was on her feet again.

“Let’s sit you down okay?” he said as he helped her walk slow but steady towards one of the benches. The ambulance was out, since Hen and Chimney needed to drop Lila off at the hospital, where she’d be under supervision by the LAPD. Which meant Eddie had to use the medic bag from the ladder truck and maybe some first aid boxes from the firehouse.

He gently helped her sit down. Just as she was seated, he ran towards the truck and came back with the medic bag. He placed the medic bag onto the floor, with one knee connected to the floor and one leg in ninety degrees, he took place between her legs.

Eddie got some gloves from the bag and put them on. “Okay, let me see this” he said softly as he pulled the fabric that was clinging to the wound off, making (Y/n) groan at the pain. She took the fabric from Eddie, holding the t-shirt high enough so he could do his work.

“Eddie.” she groaned through the shots of pain, making him look up at her face, but she was looking at the ceiling, trying to keep strong. She was saying his name only because of the pain.

He grabbed an alcohol wipe from the bag as he started to clean the wound. Making her body shocked at the connection between the alcohol and her wound. With her free hand she grabbed Eddie’s shoulder, pinning her nails into his skin as he cleaned her wound. “Sorry” he said as he looked up with his big brown eyes.

“So, you know her?” she asked as she got used to the pain. Eddie placed the wipe next to her on the red bench. “Yeah, unfortunately I do.” he said as he got another wipe, and tried to clean the wound on her forehead. Gently he dabbed the wipe on the wound. “Lila, she’s the one I saved from falling off that billboard. With some dumb luck.” he continued as he got the wound on her forehead all cleaned too.

“And?” She knew there was more to the story. His eyes fluttered up from the wound he was focussed on. “No sign of internal bleeding, but you’ll still need to make a stop at the ER to get some stitches.” he concluded as he grabbed a piece of gauze from the bag.

(Y/n) looked at him with a face expression that said: really? He knew she was asking about Lila. When he heard her becoming quiet, his eyes fluttered up to her face again. He sighs as he places the piece of gauze on her skin, “She came here a few times when I was on shift. Last shift I told her to back off..” he sighed as he took four pieces of tape and pasted them on the sides of the gauze, to keep it in its place.

“I guess that explains all of this..” she said as Eddie cluttered through the bag, searching for a band aid. When he opened the packaging around the bandaid he held it between his fingers. With his elbows he leaned down on (Y/n)’s knees, “I’m sorry I let this come so far.. I should’ve told you” he said with his head down.

“Eddie..” she sighed as she let a hand go through his hair, making him look up again so their eyes met. “You did your job, it isn't your fault she turned out to be a psycho” she added. She wasn’t accepting an excuse from her husband, he didn’t do anything wrong.

“But she found you because of me.” he answered, looking like a little boy apologizing to his mother. She tried to smile through all the emotions she felt, and let her hand wander back to his cheek. “Hey.. don’t be so hard on yourself..” she said as she rubbed her thumb against his skin.

Eddie laid his hand onto the wrist of the hand she used to cup his cheek with. “I’m just.. disappointed in myself, for not telling you sooner.” he admitted, and placed a kiss into the palm of her hand.

“It’s okay..” she whispered, looking a few moments into her husband's eyes. Eddie let go of her hand as he pasted the bandaid onto the wound on her forehead, and placed a small kiss on it.

“Now.. get your el culo to the ER” he said, as he patted her thigh with his right hand. “Yeah, about that..” she awkwardly smiled, as Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed at the sudden change of her tone.

“You might want to call a tow truck.”

[coco-loco-nut]

High Flyer

pairing: charles x reader

summary: what happens when Ferrari wants you to go up in the air with a hot pilot

masterlist series masterlist requests open

——————————————

You didn’t know why you agreed to let the Ferrari PR team send you to an air force base, yet here you are, sitting in a briefing. Lucky Carlos got out of it, and you’ve never hated that Spaniard more than now. He got to go have fun at Ferrari World.

“Ready to meet the pilot taking you up tomorrow?” your guide says, trying not to scare you more. It isn’t that you don’t like flying, you love regular planes, and you love driving fast, you don’t like the idea of combining both of those things.

“Y/n, this is Perceval,” the guide says, motioning to a man who looks criminally good in a green jumpsuit. Meanwhile, you are roasting in the Abu Dhabi heat.

“Nice to meet you, Ma’am,” the man, Perceval, says, extending his hand for you to shake it.

“Y/n, please. Ma’am is to matronly,” you flush.

“Of course,” he is so put together and it’s hot, you don’t know why. It’s probably the uniform.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” and just like that you are left to your fate.

“So, um, is Perceval your actual name?” you awkwardly ask, looking at him with wide, curious eyes. He catches you by surprise by holding back a laugh - a crack in his initial stoic demeanor.

“No, well yes. It’s my call sign, but it’s my middle name,” he says as you nod along. “You have no idea what a call sign is, do you?” he smiles, amused that he will have to take you in a plane in less than 24 hours.

“No, but I am here to learn and fly apparently,” you try to focus on everything but him.

“Yes. It will be fun,”

“So if your name isn’t Perceval, what is it?” you let the curiosity win, asking the piece of information he hasn’t given you yet.

“Lieutenant Charles “Perceval” Leclerc,” he leads you to the tarmac, where his plane is parked. Charles, what a nice name.

“Charles,” you test his name out, and it sends his head reeling. “Nice to officially meet you,” you smile.

“Want to take a ride? We’ve been approved to take a short flight today,” Charles asks, locking down any romantic thoughts, regaining his poise. He’s on duty right now, he can’t act like a civilian.

“No,” you answer quickly. Charles looks confused, shouldn’t you be excited to do this. “Sorry, it’s just that I’m a little scared,” your voice grows quiet as you look away, trying to hide the last part.

“Don’t you drive fast for a living?” Charles asks.

“What about it?”

“Look, I promise it’s better to go up now, without any cameras, than tomorrow. You have to get fitted for a flight suit regardless,” Charles says, a little confused why you would even sign up to do this if you were scared. Plus, you are a top driver, you are used to fast cars.

“I’m not going to get out of this, am I?” you ask, he just shakes his head. “Fine,” you bite your lip, staring at the plane that has come into view.

“She doesn’t bite,” Charles says, patting the fuselage. You are promptly escorted to get changed as Charles does his checks on the plane.

You return fifteen minutes later with your own helmet in hand, Charles has to keep himself from staring. He saw pictures of you in your race suit when researching his guest, but you look stunning in the pilot gear.

“Destiny?” he asks, looking at your helmet. Your number, 16, and a call sign given to you adorning it.

“It’s kinda embarrassing, my nickname in Italian is La Predestina, or the predestined.” you blush.

“That’s a lofty expectation,” he hums, watching you put the helmet on.

“Well, the Tifosi are something else. Ferrari is a religion,” you shrug, following previous instructions on how to get in. Your stomach is doing flips.

Charles climbs up behind you, helping you strap in before climbing into his own seat. You listen as he gets clearance and brings the engine to life.

“Is it too late to back out?” you ask nervously.

“Yep,” you feel the plane jolt as it moves forward. You focus on your breathing, muting your radio.

The pause at the runway kills you, because the next thing you know, the plane is jolting and speeding fast down the runway, going as fast as your race car. You do everything you can not to scream, but you do squeak. You are deep breathing when Charles decides to speak again.

“See, this isn’t too bad,” you can almost hear his grin, meanwhile you are trying not to throw up.

“Says you. I drive fast on the ground for a reason,”

“So you want me to slow down?”

“Please.” Charles only goes faster. When he presses in the throttle, you actually do scream a little. You hear his laugh through the radio as the plane speeds up in air. “Ready?” He doesn’t give you the chance to reply before starting to do aerial tricks.

“PERCEVAL!” Your panic is clear in your voice, and that’s when he does slow.

“Relax, cherie, ten more minutes. Plus, I have to save some tricks for tomorrow,” Charles easily turns the plane back. When you finally reach the ground, you get out of the plane as quickly as possible, legs shaking like a newborn deer.

“Fucking hell, he’s a madman,” you murmur, focusing on your footing. Charles reaches to help you, but you brush him off.

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” he grins, you just stare at him. “You are a championship contender driver, you are used to this,” Charles continues, a small part of himself feeling bad.

“I don’t roll my car for fun, quite the opposite actually,” you say finally, legs still shaky as you walk.

“I’ll be better tomorrow then,” Charles lies, knowing what he’s been told to do in air tomorrow.

“I know you are lying,” you huff, heading to change out of the flight suit. You cannot get back to your Ferrari quick enough, needing to get off base. Charles watches in amusement as you drive slowly, the opposite of most people when driving a sports car. You are something else, and Charles is a little sad he only has one day left in your company.

You roll up to the base in your sleek Ferrari early in the morning. You had been awake for hours, needing to fit in your training. Sure, you will face strong Gs while flying, but you had to weight train and do cardio in the morning before.

“Good morning, Lieutenant. I believe that it is my turn first,” you smile, excited to get onto the track before it is too warm. Charles is dressed in a French military uniform, appropriate for a couple hot laps. He accompanies you to the Yas Marina circuit where the PR team is waiting. You help him scan into the paddock, it’s quiet before the race weekend starts.

“You must feel like a superstar,” he comments, spurring you to talk about racing in Italy as you easily find your way to the pit lane where a Ferrari is waiting with a camera crew. You slide your race helmet on as you get into the car.

“Ready Perceval?” you ask, flexing your gloved fingers. You look a little silly, wearing a Ferrari polo and jeans with a race helmet and gloves, but you choose safety.

“This will be easy,” he smiles from under his helmet. He rarely gets to play the passenger role, and he quite enjoys it as you come to as stop at the end of the pit lane, waiting for a green light. Your practice start is perfect, launching you onto the circuit. Charles has to admit that his heart was in his throat a little.

“Aren’t you taking the turns a bit fast?” he asks, not worried about being filmed.

“I’m not taking them fast enough, see?” you grin as you go into a high speed corner. Sector two gets him, the low speed corner into a long straight and speed trap.

“Break!” he yells far ahead of your breaking point, you grin as you continue going full throttle to the breaking point. Payback is a bitch.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” you repeat his words as you get out of the car a few laps later. Most of the footage from the hot laps won’t be used to protect his dignity, but you were promised a full copy for your private amusement.

You show Charles the garage where the team is assembling the car on your way out, offhandedly promising to show him more next time.

“Next time?” Charles asks, curious as to what you meant.

“Oh, I assumed that you had been invited to the race this weekend. Sorry,” you feel heat rise in your cheeks with embarrassment.

“No, I was. I just wasn’t sure I’d see you again after this,” Charles looks at you, feeling a little bold. Your blush is cute, and he notices.

“Oh,” you whisper, unsure how to reply.

“Mind if I drive this time?” Charles takes half a step closer to you, slightly towering over you.

“Haha, yes, I do mind. Company car and all. Not to mention that I won’t be driving back,” you laugh. Your driver is awaiting you.

“Then how are we getting back?”

“My driver. The team hired me one after the time I almost crashed after a race,” you admit without a second thought.

“Aren’t you a professional driver?” Charles laughs leaning towards you, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I was tired!” you shove him slightly, unable to keep yourself from laughing too.

“Mhmm, sure,” he grins.

“It’s true! Driving takes a lot out of you, I’m honestly surprised I wasn’t sent to medical after that one,” your smile falls back to a neutral state as you reach the outside of the paddock and the car. Charles notices the sleek, black Ferrari Purosangue waiting the both of you and opens the door for you to get in. You whisper thanks as you sit in the cool leather, a stark contrast from the warm Abu Dhabi air.

The ride back to the base is relatively quiet, music filling the void when the PR staff member isn’t explaining what you will do next. Charles sneaks glances at you, and you seem tired. Not just from being awake early, but tired of the season and doing media. A part of him wishes he could take you on a relaxing flight, let you rest, rather than terrorize you through his flying. Then again, your hot laps were terrorizing for him too.

“I think that driving in Formula One is much harder than flying,” Charles comments, you tiredly turn to look at him, humming.

“Harder? I wouldn’t even know where to start with flying, not to mention fighting in one. We balance each other out,” you smile softly before getting out of the car at the base. Before you know it, you are back in the plane with Charles at the controls.

“Ready?” you can hear the smile on Charles’ face. You take a deep breath as he prepares to take off. The go pro in front of you taunting you, and you just know that you will not receive the same courtesy that Charles will get in the video.

“I swear to god Perceval, if you roll again,” you think you may actually be green as you reach the right altitude.

“Like this?” you flip upside down, a scream escaping you lips as he dives down while inverted. Charles’ delightful laugh is like music, and you hate that you like it even though you are terrified. You spend the next thirty minutes trying not to cry, a little like Ruth Buscombe on a hot lap.

“Next time I take you on a hot lap I’m hitting more curbs,” you say when the plane stops.

“Deal,” Charles smiles as he gets out, assisting you in unbuckling and climbing out. You are shaking like a leaf. “You okay?” he asks quietly, genuinely worried.

“I’m alive,” your legs wobble on the ground.

“Here,” Charles effortlessly picks you up, carrying you back to the locker room so you can change. “Sometime I’ll take you in my private plane, a relaxing flight rather than a PR stunt like this,” he promises, holding you close. Anyone watching would swear you are dating, the way your head rests on his shoulder, the protective aura he is giving.

Charles eases you down and you stand close to him, neither of you moving. His scent is intoxicating, and with his messy hair you can’t help but to want to kiss him. You are 65% sure he likes you too. As he moves slightly closer, a voice rings through the hall.

“Perceval, meeting room, now,” a commanding tone says as Charles draws back.

“Yes, sir,” he replies, taking a step away from you. “I’m sorry, I have to go or I will be late for a training brief,” Charles apologizes, all you can do is nod before he leaves you alone. You don’t see him as you leave the base, a pang in your heart.

The paddock is swarmed with people, everyone on a different mission to complete before Qualifying starts. You pay them no mind, your Beats blasting music with noise cancellation on.

Charles watches you walk towards him, not really paying anyone any mind. Your race suit hangs low on your hips, a contrast to the tight red fireproofs underneath. You seem focused on getting to where you are going, in the zone. Charles’ eyes follow you as you walk past him, and he is smitten. He feels a tightness in his chest, a desire and longing, similar to how you felt when you saw him in his flight uniform.

You continue your stretches in the garage, the team knowing to leave you alone. The only person who bothers you when you have your headphones on is Carlos, but he’s basically your brother at this point. It isn’t that you are standoffish, you adore your team and they cannot get you to shut up half the time, you just get into your driving mode and need to stay focused.

You feel a tap on your shoulder as your eyes are closed, visualizing the circuit and things you noticed on the hot laps.

“Go away, Carlos,” you murmur, opening one eye.

“No can do, Hermosa, you are needed,” Carlos shakes his head. You narrow your eyes, turning off the headphones and slinging them around your neck.

“Lead the way,” your frown soon turns into a smile as you get to the front of your garage. “Perceval!” you hug the pilot, happy to see him again.

“Sorry to interrupt your flow, the photographers just wanted some pictures,” Charles blushes a little. You barely recognize him dressed casually, a white button up and jeans paired with a Ferrari cap that sports your number.

“Of course, I’m happy that you are here. Do you want to see the car?” you offer, practically dragging him to your car with you.

“They are together, no?” Carlos asks the media staff that followed your flight adventures, who inform him that the two of you are not dating. “Hmm, well they should be,”

Charles geeks out with you about some of the science behind the car, especially as you explain different set ups. He compares it to different aspects of the planes he flies. What intrigued him the most was your steering wheel and all the different controls. You explained some of the strategy and meanings, trying to relate it to his fighter jet.

“Y/n, time to get ready,” one of your engineers interrupts you and you nod, turning back to Charles.

“Well, enjoy qualifying,” you smile, about to head off to get your helmet and gloves on. You start pulling on your suit.

“Wait. If you take pole, will you let me take you out for dinner?” Charles asks in a moment of boldness. He’s been thinking about it since he left you standing there in the hallway.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you smile as you put in your earpieces. You are pulled away before Charles can say anything else. An intern takes him to hospitality to watch qualifying, and he feels like his heart is pounding out of his chest as you pass through Q1 and Q2 easily. You sit in your car, waiting to go out for Q3, chatting with your mechanics.

“Go out and ruin Max and Lando’s day,” the one pats your car as you get ready to be released.

“This doesn’t feel right,” you say over the radio, feeling too much oversteer as you drive.

“Copy,” you focus on the drive, crossing the line quickly. “Yellow flag, bring the car in,” you hear soon after you finish your flying lap. As you approach the pit entrance, you see a Williams in the barrier.

“What happened?” you ask as you get rolled back into the garage.

“Albon lost his rear and spun out. You are P3 as it stands. We should have time for one more lap,” your engineer says. You and the team adjust settings and you back out, your last qualifying lap of the season.

You give the lap everything, and if you make a mistake, you made it with every effort to be the best driver on the grid. There is less than a minute left as your start your final flying lap, meaning each second is crucial.

“P1! You have pole position!” your engineer cheers as you park the car. You climb out and raise your hands above you, encouraging the crowd to cheer. The interview passes quickly and you find your way back to the garage.

“Seems like you owe me a date,” Charles smiles, unbothered by your disheveled appearance.

“I’ll meet you at hospitality in twenty then,” you grin, ready to shower and get out of the paddock for the day.

Charles watches you walk down from your room, hair slightly damp, as you look around for him.

“Sorry, I don’t have anything more dressy than this,” you apologize, looking at your Ferrari polo and khaki pants. If someone didn’t who you were, they would easily assume that you were a fan or engineer.

“That’s fine, you look beautiful regardless,” Charles smiles, happy that you are accompanying him out. He spent the twenty minutes looking for a restaurant that was more secluded but wouldn’t give you food poisoning. It ended up being a small family run restaurant, and it was an amazing dinner. Charles drops you off at your hotel after, the epitome of a perfect gentleman.

“Thanks for tonight, I haven’t had that great of a night in a long time,” you smile, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Anytime. Will I see you tomorrow?” he asks, trying to build up the courage to kiss you. You are so close to him, all he would have to do is lean in. The air feels electric, something intrinsic pulls you two closer.

“Yes,” you whisper against his lips, eyes fluttering closed as his soft lips meet yours. It’s over all too soon, both of you pulling away with flushed cheeks. Charles watches you leave, glancing back to look at him once more with a smile.

He is disappointed when he doesn’t see you much before the race, besides a quick hug and chat. You are pulled away by your team, media, and other celebrity guests before you seclude yourself to get into your zone. He does get the benefit of stolen glances and blushes when your eyes meet. Small giggles when your engineers and mechanics tease you.

Charles watches from the garage, watching you get undercut and fight your way back from an unfortunate P3. He fits in with the team, sporting your team hat and a Ferrari tee. When you cross the line first, he finds himself swept up with the team and pulled along to watch you at the parc ferme after you get weighed. You lock eyes with him and share a large smile. You secured P2 in the drivers championship with this win, and it means a lot to you.

You make your way over to him, letting him pull you in a big hug. You nearly kiss Charles in front of everyone.

“What do I get for winning,” you say in his ear, just loud enough for him to hear.

“A second date and a kiss away from the crowds?”

“Deal.”

[starksweasley]

— Battle Wounds

(pairing) Percy Jackson x Reader

(summary) In which you and Percy are bone-deep in love, and too reckless to admit it until blood, monsters, and a near-death confession force your hands.

(word count) 1.7k+

You’re best friends. That’s all.

That’s what you tell yourself when Percy yanks you behind him during battle, his arm thrown out like a shield and his fingers gripping your wrist so tight they leave angry, red fingerprints in his wake. The kind that linger long after the monsters are gone. You try to shake him off—every time—and every time, he doesn’t budge. His stance stays rooted like a storm-hardened tree, broad shoulders squared, jaw clenched, eyes scanning for the next threat like he’s daring the world to try and get through him first.

And gods, does it piss you off.

Because you’re just as trained. Just as fast. Just as deadly. But to him, you might as well be a porcelain doll. It’s like he’s convinced you’ll shatter if someone so much as breathes wrong in your direction. But when the dust settles, when the adrenaline thins into a dull buzz beneath your skin and your limbs start to tremble with the sting of impact, he’s always there. His palm finds the back of your neck with the surety of a ritual, like he’s grounding himself just as much as he’s anchoring you. His thumb strokes small, steady circles into your skin, not saying a word as his sea-glass eyes flicker over every inch of your face.

“Hey,” he’ll say, too soft for a battlefield. “You okay?”

He always asks like he’s bracing for the worst, like your answer might gut him.

And you always lie and say, “Yeah, just a scratch.”

Then there’s the way he wipes the grime from your face. Not with a sleeve or a rag. With his fingers. He steps in close and brushes your cheek with his thumb, slow and deliberate. His gaze never leaves yours, and the silence that follows is always deafening. Sometimes he smiles afterward. Sometimes he just nods, solemn. But every time, your heart trips over itself in your chest like it’s forgotten how to beat.

You try to pretend you don’t notice when his hand grazes the small of your back as you walk, or when he steadies you with a warm touch at your elbow. Or when he tucks your hair behind your ear with that maddening gentleness because your helmet strap keeps snagging it. He doesn’t do that with anyone else. Just you.

But you’re best friends. That’s all.

So you ignore the goosebumps. You ignore the flutter in your ribs every time he says your name like it’s sacred.You ignore how he always leans toward you like he’s not quite done being close.

You ignore the fact that you’re completely, irrevocably in love with him.

And you think maybe you’re hiding it well.

Until today.

The mission was supposed to be simple. In and out. Track down a rogue dracaenae just past the border of Camp Half-Blood. Eliminate her. Return in time for dinner and maybe a few burnt s’mores around the campfire.

You should’ve known better.

“Why are there three of them?” you shout, diving sideways as a spear rips through the air where your torso had been a second before. You roll behind a tree, heart hammering in your chest.

“I don’t know!” Percy’s voice cuts through the chaos, hoarse and annoyed. “Maybe they multiplied!”

“That’s not how dracaenae work, Seaweed Brain!”

“Well excuse me, Professor!”

Branches snap somewhere behind you. The hissing grows louder. You pop up from cover and hurl your dagger with practiced precision. It lodges deep into the shoulder of one of the snake-women. She barely flinches. Her glowing yellow eyes narrow, slitted pupils locking onto you with murderous intent.

“Percy,” you bark, backing up fast. “A little help?!”

“On it!”

He launches Riptide with a practiced flick, and it arcs through the air in a blur of celestial bronze, slicing clean through the monster’s neck. She crumples into golden ash before her body even hits the ground.

You barely have time to breathe. Another dracaenae lunges. Her forked tongue flicks. Her fangs gleam with venom. She’s fast. But Percy is faster.

You’re yanked off your feet and slammed into the grass as Percy tackles you down just as the spearhead whistles past the spot where your heart had been a heartbeat ago. You land hard, your spine jarred by impact, limbs tangled beneath his. He’s heavy against you and his breath comes out in pants at your temple. You can feel the frantic thud of his heart as if it's trying to jump out of his chest.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and trembling.

“No, you idiot,” you groan, shoving at his chest. “That was my fight!”

“You’re welcome for saving your life!”

“You’re not invincible, Jackson! What if she’d stabbed you instead?!”

“Then maybe you’d finally listen when I say stop charging into danger without thinking!”

“You do it all the time!”

“Yeah, for you!”

You both freeze. The air hums with tension. Neither of you says anything for a second too long.

Then the last monster snarls and barrels toward you, claws extended. The moment breaks like glass. You scramble to your feet, shoving at Percy’s shoulder to move faster. You both leap into the fray at once. Your blade slashes, his water blasts in a tidal wave. The dracaenae screeches.

She goes for you. Percy shoves you out of the way and takes the hit instead. You barely think as the monster’s teeth sink into the boy’s arm. 

“Percy!” you scream as he crumples, a spray of red blooming across his sleeve.

Something inside you ruptures. You don’t think. You just move.

You launch yourself at the monster with a scream that tears through your throat. You drive your dagger down into her again and again and again until all that remains is golden dust floating through the air.

The forest stills suddenly. Too quiet.

You stumble to Percy’s side, knees hitting the dirt as you grab at him with shaking hands.

“Why?” you whisper, barely able to speak. “Why do you do this?”

He winces as he props himself up on his uninjured arm. “Because I care about you!”

Your throat tightens. “Well, I care about you, too! But you don’t see me jumping in front of fangs like a damn idiot!”

His jaw flexes. “You do it all the time!” The same words you spit out earlier echo in your ears.

You glare at each other. The tension crackles like lightning between you, thick and suffocating. It’s not just anger. It’s something deeper. Something raw. You find a quiet patch of mossy ground beneath the trees and tell him to sit down before he keels over. He grumbles under his breath the whole time.

“Stupid monster… shouldn’t’ve let you out of my sight…”

“I’m not your responsibility,” you snap, dabbing at the gash with shaking fingers.

“You are,” he says, too fast. Then he flinches. “I mean—I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Then how did you mean it?” you ask, voice quiet, afraid to meet his eyes.

He doesn’t respond.

You press the bandage into place and sit back on your heels, throat thick with unshed words. “Are you mad at me?” you ask softly.

His head whips toward you. “What? No—”

“You keep looking at me like I did something wrong.”

“I’m just—” He exhales hard and drags a hand down his face. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at this whole stupid mission. And myself. And the monsters. And—” His voice cracks. “I thought I might lose you.”

Your heart stumbles.

“I’m fine,” you say, but your voice is barely audible.

“But you almost weren’t! You could’ve died. I saw that thing going for you and—gods, I couldn’t breathe.”

You look away, blinking fast. “You always act like you have to save me.”

“Because I want to save you!” His voice rises, rough with emotion. “Because every time you get hurt, it feels like something inside me shatters and I don’t know how to fix it!”

You blink.

And he stops.

Silence.

Then you say it.

“I love you.”

The words fall out before you can catch them. The forest holds its breath.

“What?” he breathes, stunned.

You swallow. “I love you, Percy. I think I’ve been in love with you since you first tackled me into the lake during training and apologized by giving me a friendship bracelet made of seaweed.”

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.

“You… you love me?”

“I do.”

And gods, your eyes sting. You think he’s going to laugh. Or say you’ve ruined everything. But instead, he reaches for you like it’s instinct, cradling your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheekbones like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“Look, all I’m trying to tell you i—oh god, no, please don’t cry.”

You laugh, watery and hiccupping. “I’m not crying because I’m sad.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because this is the worst confession scene in history. We’re covered in blood. You’re yelling. I think I’m having a breakdown.”

Percy snorts. “It is kind of a mess.”

You sniff. “Fits us though.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “It really does.”

Then he says it. It’s like a vow, soft and sacred.

“I love you too.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he admits, voice low. “I just… didn’t want to ruin us. I thought if I told you, you’d run.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

His lips hover a breath from yours. And when he kisses you, it’s like the whole forest exhales around you. Like even the trees were waiting.

Later, you sit nestled in the grass, his back against a tree, your head tucked into the crook of his shoulder. His fingers trace lazy circles into your knee. You’re twirling a frayed thread from his shirt around your index finger.

“Think the others will freak out?” you murmur, lips brushing his collarbone.

“Definitely,” he says. “Annabeth owes me five drachmas, by the way.”

“What?”

“She bet I’d never grow the courage to tell you.”

You laugh. “You didn’t. I told you.”

“Semantics,” he mutters, grinning against your hair.

You fall quiet. The wind rustles the canopy above. Birds chirp. His breathing evens out.

Then he says it again, like he wants to memorize how it feels on his tongue: “I love you.”

You close your eyes.

“I love you too.”

And for once, there are no monsters. No missions. No fear.

Just you and him. Together.

Exactly where you’ve always belonged.

[celestialprincesse]

Ex bf!Simon pt.2 - nsfw 🖤✬

Simon keeps a hand on you the whole way home, in a far grumpier mood than he was when he picked you up at the beginning of the evening, his grip that little bit tighter around you.

"You're mad." You observe, pouting up at him once you've removed your helmet, crossing your arms as you wait for him to prop his bike up on the stand. "M' not mad, poppet." Simon reassures you, fingers brushing yours when you hand back the helmet, making a conscious effort to soften his features when he catches your wide eyed gaze.

As always, he walks you to the door of your flat with a hand on the small of your back, withdrawing your keys from his pocket where you'd put them for safekeeping.

He doesn't even think when he walks in behind you, closing the door behind him and kicking off his shoes, just like he used to do back when you were still together.

"You look cold." He observes in that blunt way he always does, making you chuff. "Sorry?" You hum in response, turning to face him, rolling your eyes when you see his gaze locked unabashedly on your boobs, and the way your dress does a poor job of hiding the way your nipples have hardened on the windy trip home. "Perv." The insult rolls off your tongue easily, has him coming and grabbing you by the tops of your biceps, rubbing them with his own hands to warm you up. "Slut." He flings back just as easily. "You're making me horny." You deadpan, figuring you might as well make a joke of it. "You always were a little freak." Simon muses, distracting you as he noses at the base of your jaw, causing you to tip back your hear obediently.

You've barely even stumbled over the threshold of your bedroom when he's trying to navigate the complicated straps and clasps of your dress, grumbling to himself in the process. "You want some help there, Einstein?" You coo sarcastically as he practically herds you to your bed in the middle of the room. All it takes is a little taunting about how an experienced SAS Lieutenant can't work around some flimsy fabric and he's pushing you down under him, ripping it with his teeth. "Si!" You screech indignantly, all whilst he looks incredibly pleased with himself from where he's propped up on his forearms above you. "Y' look better with it off."

When he kisses down the dip between your boobs, one big hand coming up to knead at the doughey flesh, you're caught between a giggle and a moan, legs coming to wrap around his waist whilst he thumbs at the already damp crotch of your lacy underwear. "Already wet f'me?" He coos in that condescending way that has your thighs tightening around his broad hips. "Have been all night." You admit, feeling far less shame than you should at admitting that you still get horny from being in the same space as your ex. "Attagirl." He grunts lazily, giving you no warning when he slides a calloused hand into your panties, thumbing at your clit as though testing the waters. He can't help but grin as your back bows against the plushy mattress of your bed from the touch, the same as always.

You're already a whining mess from just his fingers alone, tummy coiled tight and face flushed in that way that he's missed so much. "Simon.." Your little needy mewls of his name have him kissing his way back up your stomach, loosely tangling his fingers with your own. "Want me to fuck you, baby?" He murmurs, genuinely wanting to make sure that you're comfortable.

He'd be perfectly happy to sit here for hours fingering and licking away at you without so much as freeing his painfully hard cock from the confines of his jeans.

"UhHuh." You babble pathetically, looking down at him with glassy eyes where he rests his chin on your hipbone, pressing appreciative little kisses there. "You sure?" He double checks, triple checks, even, just to be sure that you're happy, comfortable - always his priority. "Simon." You huff when he remains still at your waist. "Just checkin' poppet, don't want you getting all shy on me."

His dick is so hard it looks actually painful, and Simon smiles lazily as you gaze at him like the Adonis you've always seen him as. Beautiful in a way that you can't find the words to explain.

"I missed your dick." You mutter as he pumps his shaft a few times, not that he needs to considering how rock hard he is - just showing off, the cocky bastard. "Missed you too, baby." He teases back as he aligns his tip with your entrance, making you bite your lip in anticipation. He keeps one large hand at the curve of your waist as he pushes himself inside, stopping you from squirming away at the stretch, his thumb brushing soothing circles against the soft skin there. "Doin' so good. Look't you takin' me so well." He coos as you feel him bottom out, eyes squeezing shut, only opening after he sets a languorous pace with a few slow thrusts.

You only get whinier, more needy as he presses his nose below your ear, whispering praises of how perfect you are, how good you look under him.

He has you cumming at an almost embarrassing speed, needing no guidance when he hooks your knees over his shoulders, his tip rocking up against your g-spot repeatedly until he feels you squeeze around him with a little squeak that he remembers all too well.

He works you through it, getting closer to his own orgasm when you tighten around his length, gripping at the sheets and the hand he offers you as you tumble over the edge, missing the first time he asks you where you want him. "Need y' to tell me baby. Hm? Where'd you want it?" "Inside." You give a pathetically breathless whine, looking up at his furrowed brows and sweat glistened chest. "Y' sure? Need you to be sure." "M' on the pill." You murmur, eyes fluttering blissfully shut when he shoots ropes of thick cum up into you, watching adoringly as you take him.

He's oh so gentle when he pulls out, making his way to the bathroom to clean himself up, returning with a warm washcloth, peppering kisses on your thighs and lower belly as he wipes away the residue.

Simon sleeps with you tucked up against his chest that night, a hand settled protectively around your waist as he listens to the steady rise and fall of your breath, breathing in the smell of your shampoo.

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻♱༉‧₊˚.

1.1k of filth😚

Tagging those who wanted to be mentioned in a part 2, here u are my loves 💕

@whos-fran @mishaglass

[teaeodora]

I am on hiatus because of exams but @danijaci you have pulled me out of it for today thanks to your biker!Wriothesley drawing. 😭😭💫💕🦋

Please allow me to add some words to your scrumptious art because I am obsessed with this man.

biker!Wriothesely x 9 to 5 job!reader.

not proof read i wrote this in 30 minutes and put it in queue.

It was a wet day. The air was moist and puddles had formed around every corner. You walked with your files clutched under one arm, umbrella held in the other, sheltering you from the light drizzle that remained after the heavy downpour from a few hours ago.

Your clothes were recently washed and neatly ironed. Atleast they were till someone whizzed past you, splashing you with puddle water, soiling your clothes. You yelled curses at them, trying to brush away the water on your clothes which clearly was a futile attempt.

You turned around to walk home and get changed into a new pair of clothes till you noticed the biker who splashed water on you, was coming back. You came to halt as the biker parked their bike in front of you before pulling the visor of the helmet up.

You could see icy blue hues staring at you. The voice was muffled you could make out a 'sorry' in their sentence. "I can't understand what you are saying." You frowned, not pleased with the situation at all.

The biker removed their helmet to reveal a man, beautiful beyond comprehension. His hand reached up to fluff up his black locks which had been flattened by the helmet, while his other hand placed the helmet on the handle of the biker. He swiftly kicked the stand of his bike before making his way to you.

"I said I am sorry for splashing you with water. It was an accident and I should've been more careful." He sighed, assessing the damage caused by his recklessness.

"Oh it is fine, it will come off. The only problem is that I am late for work." You grimaced at the feeling of the clothes sticking against your skin. He seemed to have noticed that.

"How about I give you a ride back home and to your office? It'll save you time and in exchange of helping you, you'll forgive me. Sounds like a win-win." He offered. You hesitated since getting on a bike with a strange guy was complete violation of the stranger danger rul— screw it.

"I'll take you up on that offer."

"Great. One more thing.." he took off his jacket and leaned in to wrapped it around you. You took your time to admire the man while he was busy zipping the jacket up. After he was done he glanced up at you. There was an awkward silence, you could feel his body warmth radiate upon coming in proximity and—

"Let's go. The jacket will prevent you from feeling cold while riding on the bike." He walked over to his biker and mounted it. He gestured you to take a seat while strapping his helmet back on. He then handed you a spare and drove off.

Your life was usually dull. A boring 9 to 5 job, same old sceneries and same old people had made life monotonous, yet this moment of sitting on a bike with the cool air hitting your body, the vehicle effortlessly taking smooth twists and turns was an escape from all of that.

You had your arms wrapped around his waist. Part of your arm could feel his muscular built under the clothing. He was a gentleman, responsible, quick-witted and good looking. What more could a girl ask for—

"We are here." He dropped you off at your house. If only you knew that from that day, the strange man would become an inseparable part of your life.

biker!wriothesley who would drop you to your office and back everyday under the excuse that it will save you time and energy even though he simply wants to enjoy the warmth of your arms wrapped around him.

biker!wriothesley who would bring big bouquets of your favourite flower each week in hopes to impress you.

biker!wriothesley who steals you away from your friends to go on an impromptu outing with him.

biker!wriothesley who loves watching sunsets with you while sharing a pint of icecream.

biker!wriothesley who fell harder after you fell first.

biker!wriothesley who would feel happy even at the smallest biking related gift you get him. He is a strong believer of sincerity.

biker!wriothesley who always gives up his jacket whenever you feel cold and always puts your comfort first.

biker!wriothesley who was hesitant on confessing but eventually mustered the courage to do so.

"Hey big guy, why did you bring me here all of a sudden?" You enquired softly. Wriothesely was a man with many scars and a fragile heart. He only ever dragged you away when he was feeling upset.

"It's nothing. I am just- I have to come out clean about this.." he sighed, trying to face you. The sunset's beauty only made you look more captivating in his eyes than you already were.

Wriothesley had always been gentle with you. Ever since the day he splashed water on you, to the time where he accidentally hit you in the face with the helmet while tossing it to you, hoping you would catch it, uptill now.

He looked at you with endearment, sincerity and love. You were his solace in his adventurous life while he was your spark in your mundane one. You two were like puzzle pieces. Meant for eachother. Meant to complete one another.

"I like you. I find my thoughts drifting towards you all the time. I thought biking was my only passion, nothing could take my attention away from my love for bike riding but then you came and—" he cupped your face, his frost blue eyes spoke a thousand words which his mouth couldn't utter.

biker!wriothesley whose partner in crime (not literally) is you. He can confide in you about his problems and loves when you talk to him in biker terms.

biker!wriothesley who loves taking you on long drives. He loves exploring new places and seeing the smile that traveling brings to your face.

biker!wriothesley who flaunts you off to his biker buddies or 'gang' he named 'The Meropide' talking non stop about how amazing you are.

biker!wriothesley who teases you alot.

"Wriothesley- you have been cleaning your bike since the past 2 hours!" You complained, he treated that bike like royalty. Cleaning it, greasing it, getting air in the tires—

"You see sweetheart, I have to take care of my wife. I am simply spending quality time with her." He smirked at you.

"Oh yeah? Then what am I?" You asked, arms crossed across your chest.

"You are my mistress—"

You didn't let him touch you the entire day.

biker!wriothesley who gets all shy and clammy at physical intimacy, be it holding hands, hugging or stealing kisses.

biker!wriothesley who wouldn't trade you for the world. He holds you dear and the day he confessed to you, he had given a piece of his heart to you and vowed to always be by your side.

this is so scuffed- I haven't written in so long especially in this format.

but hell do I not love wriothesley.

don't copy, plagiarize, repost.

©definitelysel

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

There's a really lovely subtle detail in Under the Red Hood that I've never seen anyone point out before and it's about this guy:

That's not Jason, obviously, lol

That is someone that Jason convinced to fight for him, and to pretend to BE him for an extended period, and for a long while I kept wondering... Who the fuck was this guy?? How did Jason get someone to be that loyal to him??

And then it hit me.

His helmet is an explosive!

He didn't find a guy that loyal because there's no reason for anyone to be that loyal to him! Instead Jason strapped a bomb to some poor fucker's head and forced them to fight Black Mask to the death as his puppet or else he'd detonate!

Are ALL of Jason's helmets capable of being locked onto someone else's head like that?!How pre-meditated was this move, like- is this why his helmets explode?! Did he design the bomb-helmet in the first place specifically to do this? Did he ever use it on anyone else?? Or was it more an improvisation thing, where he just found a secondary use for this odd backup weapon?

Frankly, I'm not sure explosive helmets make all that much sense without this being their primary purpose and use - Unless Jason also thought for some reason he'd need to blow himself up???

And also just... What the fuck did this guy do to make Jason okay with doing that to him?

[theemporium]

hear me out: a blurb with reader who’s a pro athlete and nico comforting her after a tough loss (i think everyone needs a little nico comfort in their life) <3

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

based off this fic

.

It was the worst kind of loss, in your opinion.

The weekend had been a rollercoaster of emotions since you entered the paddock on Thursday morning. It was Zandvoort, the first race back after the summer break, and being the current lead in the championship meant a lot of eyes were on you coming into the weekend. It was supposed to be a weekend for you to secure your spot at the top, to make sure everyone knew you had every intention of staying at the top for the rest of the season. 

The media were relentless on Thursday, desperate for a quote or answer they could twist and manipulate into the next big headline. They were pitting you against your teammate, against any driver they could make you comment on, trying to get you to say a bad word about fan favourites. 

Then, Friday happened. The car wasn’t cooperating, the upgrades were doing the opposite of what the team intended and the sessions were left useless when your car spent more time in the garage than out on the track. 

Then Saturday followed a similar path, with a useless practice session and a disappointing qualifying that had you scraping into the top ten. 

But you kept pushing.

You had hoped that there was still something left in the weekend to redeem. And when Sunday came along, things were starting to look up for you. A great start from lights out and a risk taken on tire strategy had worked in your favour. By lap thirty, you were looking at a podium. By lap fifty, there was hope in your side of the garage for a possible win—a redemption for the weekend.

Then the rain came. And all it took was one stubborn driver making it difficult for you to lap them before your car headed straight to the wall and your race was over. 

It was fucking frustrating. The weekend had been bad from the start and just when you had hope of something more, it was ripped away from you. It was frustrating and annoying and so disappointing. It fucking hurt. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to take your helmet off, even after you climbed out the damaged car and followed the marshals back to the garage. You couldn’t bring yourself to take it off and let the camera that had been stuck on you since the crash to see the way your eyes were welling up with tears, for the world to see how fucking annoyed you were at yourself and the whole situation. You didn’t want to give them any reason to doubt your place in the sport. 

You moved deeper into the garage, fully intent on hiding away in the motorhome for as long as you could before you were dragged out to the media pen when you felt arms wind around you and pull you into a person.

It took less than a few seconds for you to recognise the person as Nico. 

“I’m proud of you, schatz,” he murmured, barely loud enough for you to hear through your helmet but it was enough for the last of that resolve to crumble. 

He led you back to your motorhome, a hand on your back guiding you through the garage and away from the cameras and the people and the pitying looks. And once you both were behind that locked door, he was lifting your head and slowly unbuckling the straps of your helmet, pulling it off with your balaclava following until he could see your face. 

“Oh, baby,” he murmured before dragging you back into a hug, letting you nuzzle your face into his chest and cling onto his shirt whilst the sobs racked through you.

And Nico got it. He probably got it better than anyone else. As a fellow athlete, he understood how frustrating and upsetting it was to be so close to the win before having it ripped away from you. He knew no words would make you feel better, not yet. 

So, he just held onto you until you finally felt you could breathe again.

“They won’t shut up about this,” you eventually spoke, your words muffled by the way your face was squished into his chest but Nico understood your words well enough. “God, they are gonna be on my ass next weekend and—” 

“And you’ll prove them wrong,” Nico said, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “It’s a weekend to learn and move on from. You’re still leading the championship regardless of who wins out there. You are going to do this, baby. You are going to win and show them all.”

You let out a small sigh. “You seem so sure.” 

“Because it’s you,” Nico answered with no hesitation. 

You leaned your head back to look up at him, a small smile working its way onto your face. “Thank you for being here.” 

“Always,” Nico smiled back, leaning down to press his lips against yours. “I make a really good WAG.” 

This time you let out a proper laugh, which just made his smile widen. “The hottest WAG in the paddock.” 

Nico beamed. “And I carry that title with pride.”

.

[osakanone]

Crew attire cosplay?

Lately I've been thinking a lot about "what would separate mecha crew equipment from that of a tank crew, or a fighter crew": A lot of military surplus stuff is already really close to what we're going for, and I realized "Motorcycle boots look a lot more like mech pilot stuff than military boots do", which got me thinking what other odd equivalences exist.

The one which really surprised me was how famous mecha live action SF Gunhed used a wetsuit as a stand-in for "generic scifi bodysuit", and that it worked weirdly well, actually?

"Why not latex?"

Latex rips too easily in contact with straps and hard elements, overheats far, far too easily despite having the looks. Thin neoprene works. really well.

So I kept exploring.

One thing I did seriously debate is other than rappelling equipment, would a pilot need something like a rigid knee-brace for hard landings to protect the ACL when they disembark from the robot which is common with high impact parachute equipment.

Some varieties also include counter-weighted springs which make it harder for you to close your knee, but make lifting heavy things on your back and climb much much easier during the ascent phase.

That led me towards Deck Crew helmets, which meet the hood requirement, and of all things, chin wraps which are really unobstructive and you can eat and drink while wearing one pretty comfortably (I say this as someone currently stuck wearing one)

So what we're looking at here is the HGU-24 and HGU-25, often worn by deck crews because it gets along just fine with the famous MCU-2/P AKA "Millenium" mask famous with drone communities as they're designed to be worn together.

Its literally the exact same mask with a minor paint adjustment.

"What's the difference between a drone and a pilot?" "One wears AXENT and latex, the other wears HGU-25 and neoprene." "Anything else?" "Drones have less sex and do as they're told"

Its got the bash-plates you want for an ejector-seat, but it also has the padded foam you want for an impact element, and if it latches properly and the jaw mechanism is well made enough, you could probably include a hans mechanism attached to the jacket which locks into a socket in the pilot's seat to stop a pilot from breaking their neck in a collision.

What do you guys think?

Any suggestions? What I'm really curious about is what you think pilots would remove, customize or alter for practical or decorative purposes.

This is basically the result of roughly a year of casual research into pilot attire, outfits and looks.

The helm and the hood seem to be where the most manual cosplay stitching and 3D printing work is likely going to be required, with the wrap and helmhood.

Addendum:

I've not gone into waste management systems (UCL/FCL human-factors engineering stuff with internal and external recovery systems), since I'm looking at this mainly as an attainable costume or ensemble.

Edit:

I am learning some of you use aquatic mecha and find this unsatisfactory.

And you won't shut up about how the coolant mass flow rate lets you do really wild shit with your weapons my "land-loving" platform even can't dream of

While I am jealous by your sheer tonnage and the output of your reactors, I've got you covered.

Behold: Immersion suits.

They also make surprisingly good sleeping bags, even if you're on water.

They're literally designed to keep you alive if you're forced to abandon an oil platform, and are known to include a radio and even rations and a water filter.

[pinnedmother]

Caring for The Impaler (3 short stories)

Showing our love for the snakey man through acts of service! 🐍ɞ

1/3: Brushing his hair

There’re hardly any real battles nowadays so Messmer keeps the straps of his helmet loose for convenience, despite your worries of it being unsafe. He brushes them off and leisurely assures you that the helm is only there as a symbol, an accessory akin to the red drapery on his shoulders: he has no real need for such protection. He’s a demigod, “thou dost oft forget it” – he says.

Once you’re alone, he takes the helmet off. His red hair flowing down his shoulders like wavy flames.

You tell him to sit in front of the mirror. Messmer regards you with a quizzical look and an arched brow, yet still complies. He’s effortlessly lifting a nearby chair with one arm like it’s weightless before placing it where you want it. Sitting down, he rests his hands on his thighs and waits. You can’t help but notice how his gaze avoids the reflection, finally looking at it only to meet your eyes.

Pacing closer, you gingerly brush one hand through his dense strands while reaching for a wooden comb with the other. It has an intricate carving of coiling serpents on it. “Of course” – you think. Everything belonging to Messmer has a snake imbedded somewhere on its surface. His winged companions curiously watch your every move, a contrast to Messmer’s seemingly indifferent demeanor. As you hover a comb near his hair, you wonder if he likes all the serpent imagery or if he’s silently sick of it.

Some of his hair is matted, just barely so. You work your way through every strand with a gentle and diligent approach. Messmer doesn’t move. His eye closed, his breathing steady.

Once you finish combing his hair, you take your time enjoying the smooth feel of his locks between your fingers, making sure everything is thoroughly brushed. A soft sheen is more prominent now that every individual hair is laying perfectly in its rightful place.

You’re not done, however. Going softly with a comb to separate a small strand on each side of his head, you divide them in three and start weaving braids, combining the two at the end. He breathes out with his nose and sneers. “What..?” – you ask, tilting your head. What could’ve made the man laugh all of a sudden? Have you tickled him, perhaps..?

“Tis nothing” – he responds, his voice low and serene. You know not to probe further. 

Still determent, you keep at your little task, and once it’s complete you sigh in content and reach for a golden decorative plate – its side so polished it would work perfectly as a handheld mirror. Messmer takes note of your actions and moves his head to the side to watch you closely.

“Look” – you speak, holding the plate up for him to see the reflection of the back of his head in the mirror before him. He does so and narrows his eye a little. “I noticed some of your family enjoys wearing braids. Thought it might look good on you as well”.

He looks at you through the mirror, his expression hard to read. Worrying you might have angered The Impaler you feel like you need to justify your action further. You look away and continue. “It’s not as sophisticated, of course. And I made the braids slightly loose so you could wear your helmet freely.” You make a soft gesture in the air emphasizing your words, while keeping the plate with one arm at his eye level.

After a moment of time, Messmer bows his head in gratitude. “I love it quite. Mine thanks are thine to savor”. You catch his adoring gaze through a reflection, a subtle smile on his lips.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Chibs with a reader around the same age as Juice and they do it on Chibs’s bike at the club house thinking nobody is there but they get caught by a few of the members

Teach Me How to Ride.

Synopsis - Chibs is teaching you how to ride (in more ways than one).

Pairing - Filip 'Chibs' Telford x Female Reader

Warnings - smut. cursing. age gap.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 1k

Author's Note - thank you SO much for this request, anon. it made me feral. that old man owns me and i'm not sorry about it. always open to SOA and chibs requests. <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

"Any weekend plans, darlin'?"

You smile at the blonde man sat on the other side of the bar you're wiping down.

"Nothing too exciting. I think I'm gonna try and get out on my bike."

His brows raise in curiosity.

"You have a bike now?"

"Yeah. Chibs is teaching me how to ride."

"I bet he is."

You roll your eyes at the snickers that come from the other guys who are dotted around the room.

"Real mature, Jax."

"Is he charging you for these lessons, or are you paying him in other ways?"

You put down your cloth and look up.

"I'll jump over this bar and beat your ass right now, Tig. Don't think I won't."

They all laugh, and you can't help but chuckle along with them. You know they mean well. They'd do anything for you, in a heartbeat.

Eventually, the sun sets, and all of the guys make their way home. You've been restocking the bar, not minding staying a little later if it means you get the job done.

You're crouched down filling the fridge when you hear a familiar Scottish accent echo though the clubhouse.

"You still here, sweetheart?"

You stand up and smile at him, grinning wider when he reciprocates.

"Still here. Trying to get my shit done."

"That's my girl. Always working ten times harder than the rest of us."

You laugh, throwing him a beer.

"You're here late. How did the run go?"

"All good, nothing to worry about," he winks.

You think back to Jax's comment earlier, and decide you've had enough of avoiding the truth. You want answers. You also just kind of want to know what he'll say.

"Why does everyone think we're fucking?"

Chibs practically chokes on his drink, taken aback by your sudden brashness.

"What?"

"You heard me."

He takes a moment to process, before a slow smile etches itself onto his face.

"Why do you ask that?"

"Just something Jax said earlier."

"Ignore that bastard. He doesn't think before he speaks."

You chuckle in agreement, finishing up your jobs for the day.

"You wan' a ride home?"

You nod gratefully, making sure to lock up before walking over to where Chibs is leaning against his bike. He's parked by the door, under the shelter, obscured from the yard. He slips a helmet onto your head, before standing in front of you to do up the buckle. His rough fingertips slide under your chin, clasping the straps in place. He swipes a thumb over your bottom lip gently, eyes never leaving your face.

"You're too good for me," he murmurs. "Pretty young thing like you."

"Everyone already thinks we're fucking anyway," you whisper, smirk on your face.

He chuckles lowly, before leaning in to capture your lips with his. He kisses you with need, unbuckling the helmet he just put on you and dropping it to the ground. He's grabbing at you - your hips, your ass, anywhere he can find. You've got your hands tangled in his hair, yanking roughly when he bites your lip.

The two of you waste no time. Chibs is shrugging his jacket off while unbuttoning your pants, pulling them down. You're fumbling with his belt, undoing his jeans with shaky hands. You're both high on adrenaline, desperate to feel the other person. He smashes his lips back to yours and you groan, reveling in the way he tastes like smoke and peppermint.

Chibs grabs your hips and walks you backwards, twirling you around so you're bent over his bike. You can't help but laugh, remembering what Jax had said.

"What?" he chuckles into your ear, hot and heavy against your back.

"Nothing," you giggle. "I'll tell you later. You gonna fuck me, old man, or just stand there?"

He growls under his breath and smacks your ass as punishment, smirking when you whine.

"You gonna ask me nicely, sweetheart?"

At this point, you're not above begging. Besides, you know it'll do wonders for his ego, and you don't entirely mind that.

"Please, Chibs," you whinge. "Waited so long for this."

"Oh, ya have?" he coos. "Better not keep you waitin' then."

In one smooth thrust he slides home, both of you groaning in unison. He plants a hand on the back of your neck, the other with a firm grip on your hip, providing him with leverage. He sets a steady, even pace, careful not to knock the bike over.

He tilts his hips upwards a little and you keen, seeing stars.

"Right there? Yeah? That's it, isn't it?"

You only nod in response, holding onto the motorcycle for dear life. You trust him, though. You know he won't let you fall.

"Fuck, darlin'. You feel so good."

"So close," you choke out.

"I know, I know. Can feel you squeezin' me. Come on, that's it. Good girl."

The lilt of his accent combined with the glide of his hips is lethal, sending you over the edge in no time. You see stars, heart racing and mind blank.

Your undoing is also Chibs'. He groans as he finds his release, leaning over to rest his head between your shoulders. You're both panting, chests heaving as you recover.

After a moment, the bike groans, and you both jump up, laughing as you do it. You're redressing, Chibs stealing kisses from you, when you hear a voice cut through the darkness.

"Well, shit. I was only kidding earlier."

You can hear Jax's teasing drawl before he comes into view, cocky smirk drawn across his face.

You groan as Chibs rolls his eyes and throws his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. Both of you know you're not going to hear the end of this for a long time.

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (BONUS)

Summary: A peak into the future.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 1,865

Warnings: None. Fun fluff!

A/N: Sorry, y'all. I had some more left in the tank.

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

As a bright sun began to set over the Fayetteville horizon to transform the bright cerulean sky to one glowing with orange and purple hues, 22 young men huddled at the 50-yard line of Francis High School’s freshly lined football field. The wind lightly blew around them for a welcomed cool breeze while they ran through yet another play before their first playoff game of the season. 

“Defense, we in man coverage. Offense, run a Go. We need to tighten up this late-game execution. How you gon’ react under pressure? Show me somethin’ boys!” 

While the head coach rattled off instructions to the team, Terry stood nearby with his arms folded and eyes intently focused on the two wide receivers occupying the field. Cam and CT Wilson were tall and lean twin boys who reminded him of how he looked by senior year except they were sophomores with room to grow. He told them on day one that they were physical specimens with unreal speed and high IQ made for a few semesters at Clemson if they could focus through the head-spinning four years that made up their high school experience. He promised their father that he’d be there to guide them through it all save for a few months during Spring practices.

“Cam, you goin’ inside on this one. You remember the count,” he hollered out from the sideline. 

“Locked in!” 

Terry answered with a thumbs up and adjusted his stance for optimal comfort. The child-sized weight on his shoulders was starting to get heavy but he knew the tongue-lashing that awaited him if he dared to make a false move. 

“He goes too slow. Make him count fast so he won’t drop, Daddy.” 

The small voice from above made him look up for confirmation to find her already looking down at him with a scrunched nose and missing teeth that resembled her mother when she was that age. 

“You sure?” 

“Just watch.” 

Together, they watched the play unfold. Terry counted along in his head to time when the ball should leave the quarterback’s hand in comparison to where Cameron should’ve been on the field. Sure enough, he was a step slow causing the quarterback to throw the ball slightly ahead of him for a bobbled pass. 

“Hm,” he grunted more to himself than anyone else. “I’ll be damned. Aye, Cam, come here for a second!” 

Above him, perched on her throne, Nyla Naomi Richmond rested a smart tablet on her father’s head to watch film from the previous game like she always did. Her mahogany skin was shiny under the bright white LED lights illuminating the field from her mother’s overzealous lotioning before they left home. Per her request, Terry had braided half of her hair back to give way to a collection of moisturized zigzag coils for first-grade picture day. Glasses rested at the tip of her nose with a bright yellow strap to keep them attached to her face. She kept her attention focused on the tablet’s screen, even as Cam jogged toward her and her father on the sideline. 

“Yeah, Coach? I do something wrong.” 

“Too slow,” Nyla answered without looking up. “Speed up. You’re like a turtle out there. We gotta win, man!” 

Terry and Cameron chuckled together as Terry tapped the top of Cam’s helmet. 

“A little quicker on the count, man. If you get there when you’re supposed to, that’s a catch all day. Make ‘em beat you. Don’t beat yourself.” 

“Type shit. I got you, Coach.” 

“Hey! Don’t say bad words.” 

“My fault, Coach Ny. Can I do my pushups later?” 

“Yeah yeah yeah.” 

Cam laughed at her dismissal before accepting a fist bump from Terry and rejoining the field. Terry couldn’t contain his smile as he reached up to tickle his firstborn's sides for that high-pitched giggle he loved so much. 

“Be nice, MiMi. Remember the rule?” He craned his neck to look up at her for the lesson he’d been struggling to get through her head since she began joining practice. 

She sighed dramatically and frowned. “Be hard on the work, not the person. I know, I know.” 

“Be better next time, champ. We’re here to help, not hurt.” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Yes sir,” he repeated to mock her childish grumble. “You’re so mean like your mama. Gimme a kiss.” 

Like she always did, Nyla lifted her daddy’s cap to kiss the crown of his head before placing the hat backward atop her own head. 

From the day she first showed herself in a routine sonogram, Terry knew she’d be a firecracker. She refused to show her face to him and Patrice. She carefully concealed her features during an expensive 3D scan and almost hid her gender had they not caught her during an in-utero nap. 

She came into the world kicking and screaming at a long 24 inches and a head clean as a whistle just like her pops. With Patrice, she was the perfect baby. She slept all night, cooed and babbled when spoken to, and grew into a little girl who loved to cuddle into her mommy while they watched Pixar movies on the weekends. With Terry, she was a hell-raiser. Loud and rambunctious with a love for NFL games on Sunday afternoons and playful wrestling on the living room rug. 

Their smart girl had her hand in everything imaginable and, when they’d listen to other parents complain about the difficulty of raising young ones during playdates and birthday parties, they always came away feeling like they’d lucked out with Nyla. 

Across the way, Patrice stepped onto the newly refinished running track with the cheerleading team for warm-ups. Under her school t-shirt, her belly protruded enough to tell anyone looking hard enough that she was expecting. Behind her, she pulled a cooler meant to supply the football team with cold water and snacks for the next day. 

“Mrs. Richmond, you want me to help you? You always be actin’ like you Superwoman or somethin’.” her captain called out from behind her, jogging to catch up with Patrice’s long stride. 

Patrice waved her off. “Nuh-uh. Y’all start stretching. I need to drop this off personally.” 

“Uh-huh. You going to your little boyfriend. Being fast!” 

“I learned from you, Z.” 

“Not you in my business!” 

Patrice’s loud laughter created an echo in the stadium, becoming a bat signal for Terry and Nyla’s attention. 

“Hey, Mommy!” 

Nyla rushed to hop off Terry’s shoulders like he was a jungle gym, unconcerned with any harm she inflicted with her long legs as she shimmied down his body. He winced in pain until she was safely on the ground before lightly trotting behind her to greet his wife. 

Seven years of marriage hadn’t changed much of their love. They’d navigated the growing pains of newlywed life and parenthood to come out stronger on the other side. So much stronger that they’d neglected to follow through on contraceptives to keep their family of three from growing to a family of four. Their parents called a second pregnancy a blessing. And though they mostly felt the same, they also knew that baby number two was the result of too much booze and ignoring the cycle tracker during a kid-free night in Charlotte. 

Patrice braced herself for impact once Nyla got closer and wrapped her body around her legs. 

“Hey, baby,” she greeted, rubbing circles at the center of her back. “You look so pretty. Did you finish your homework?” 

“Mhm! I got 100 on my math test, too!” 

“Alriiight! That’s my smart bestie. Now you gotta pick a place for dinner this weekend.” 

“Can we get piz-”

“A place that is not buffet pizza again. Pick something else.” Terry interjected, making Nyla groan. Dad’s word was final whether she liked it or not. His eyes flickered to Patrice’s still for extra confirmation. Mom’s word was final final. 

She offered a small smile while zhushing the back of Nyla’s hair. “Try something new, Naomi. Maybe chicken tenders this time?” 

Nyla accepted her parents’ redirection with another dramatic sigh that made Terry and Patrice stifle laughter. 

“I know, mama. It’s so hard being six years old. We can write a book about it tonight when we get home so you can help your little sister or brother when they get here.” 

“I hope it’s a girl. Boys are boring.”

Neither of them could muster a response before Nyla abandoned them to supervise the cheerleaders as they started to run through cheers. 

They waited in silence until she was out of earshot to face each other with equally broad smiles. 

Terry spoke up first as he reached down to take the cooler’s handle from Patrice’s hand. 

“Didn’t I tell you from the jump she’d be a second you?” 

“Oh no, she’s a second DeeDee. She might have my mom’s middle name but she is your mama through and through.”

“Touché.” Terry chuckled. That’s why the duo got along so well. They were twin flames in more ways than one. 

A lull in the conversation made Patrice subconsciously bring her hand up to her stomach for a soft rub. Terry looked on with a fond smile, proud of the way her wedding ring reflected the light back into the night sky like a star on the ground. 

He pushed the cooler to the side and grabbed her free hand to pull her into a side hug. He kissed her temple several times over, making Patrice giggle like a schoolgirl at the sensation. 

“We make a cute kid, don’t we?” 

Patrice hummed and closed her eyes for a brief second to feel the full press of his chest on her body and his arms squeezing a little tighter than before. “So cute. She talks too much, but that’s okay.” 

“Wonder where she gets that from?” 

“Her damn daddy.” 

The vibration from Terry’s deep baritone encased in laughter tingled against Patrice’s arm to cover her in warmth from head to toe. A whistle and call of his name from the field snapped both of them from their semi-private moment, making them reluctantly pull away. 

Terry leaned down to kiss the corner of her lips as a parting gift before slyly sneaking the tip of his tongue into her mouth. She playfully pushed him to save them from the embarrassment of taking it too far in public. 

“C’mon, MiMi, we not done yet.” Patrice watched Nylah quickly ditch her squad to meet her daddy’s outstretched arms for him to place her back on his shoulders and rejoin the team. He called back over his shoulder for her attention. “I love you, baby! Go get off your feet!” 

“Sit down, Mommy!” 

“Yeah, sit down, Mrs. Richmond!” 

Patrice wore a semi-serious scowl on her face and threw her hands up to stop the barrage of demands. 

“Woah, woah, woah! I am grown,” she hollered back to everyone in the area. She began the slow journey toward her team and clapped her hands. “Just for that, let me see that Hot To Go routine. If you mess up, you owe me a lap.” 

A collection of teenage girl groans made Patrice crack a smile.

Maybe Terry was right.

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