#pre owned benching

[articles-submission]

The Smart Choice: Why Pre-Owned Benching and Space-Saving Office Furniture Are Essential for Today's Offices

In the evolving landscape of modern workspaces, businesses are under increasing pressure to balance functionality, flexibility, and cost-efficiency. Gone are the days of bulky desks and sprawling office layouts. Today, smart businesses are embracing pre owned benching and space saving office furniture as practical, sustainable, and financially savvy solutions that meet the demands of the modern workforce.

Whether you're outfitting a startup office, redesigning a corporate space, or setting up a home office, choosing the right office furniture can dramatically impact productivity, collaboration, and your bottom line.

The Rise of the Agile Workspace

As remote and hybrid work models gain popularity, offices have shifted from static cubicles to flexible, open-plan layouts. This shift has sparked a surge in demand for space saving office furniture—pieces that promote efficiency without sacrificing comfort or style.

Benching systems, in particular, have become a popular alternative to traditional desks. These systems offer clean lines, shared surfaces, and modular configurations that support teamwork and openness. When sourced pre-owned, these systems offer all the benefits of new furniture at a fraction of the cost.

Why Choose Pre-Owned Benching?

Pre owned benching is an increasingly popular choice among budget-conscious and environmentally aware organizations. Here’s why:

1. Cost Efficiency

Purchasing new office furniture can be a major expense, especially when outfitting an entire office. Pre-owned benching allows businesses to acquire high-quality furniture—often from premium brands—at significantly reduced prices. This can result in thousands of dollars in savings, freeing up budget for other critical investments like technology or talent.

2. Environmental Responsibility

Sustainability is no longer optional; it’s an expectation. Buying pre-owned helps reduce landfill waste and extends the lifecycle of well-made furniture. It’s a smart way to reduce your company’s carbon footprint while still creating an attractive and functional workspace.

3. Quick Availability

Unlike new furniture, which may take weeks or even months to arrive due to production and shipping delays, pre owned benching is usually available for immediate delivery. This makes it ideal for companies looking to move quickly—whether expanding, downsizing, or relocating.

4. Quality Assurance

Many pre-owned furniture suppliers inspect and refurbish their inventory before resale, ensuring items are in excellent working condition. As a result, you can get durable, commercial-grade furniture that holds up over time—without the hefty price tag.

The Power of Space Saving Office Furniture

Office space is expensive, and every square foot counts. That's why more companies are turning to Space saving office furniture to maximize their layouts and enhance workflow. From compact desks and stackable chairs to wall-mounted storage and mobile partitions, this category of furniture is designed to do more with less.

Benefits of Space-Saving Designs:

Optimized Workflows: Create zones for focused work, collaboration, and relaxation—all in a limited footprint.

Improved Mobility: Many pieces are lightweight and modular, making it easier to reconfigure spaces on the fly.

Enhanced Aesthetics: Minimalist, streamlined designs contribute to a clean and modern look, which can boost morale and impress visitors.

Support for Hybrid Work: As offices adapt to fewer on-site employees, space-saving solutions help avoid underused space and support flexible scheduling.

Whether you're a small business looking to make the most of a shared co-working space or a larger enterprise optimizing for post-pandemic hybrid work, space saving office furniture offers real, tangible benefits.

Blending Style and Function

One of the myths about used or compact office furniture is that it compromises on style. On the contrary, many pre owned benching systems come from top brands known for design and quality. Pair these with carefully selected space saving office furniture, and you can create a cohesive and contemporary space that supports employee wellbeing and reflects your brand identity.

Choose neutral color palettes, sleek materials like metal and laminate, and modular pieces that can adapt as your needs change. With the right mix, even a modest space can feel modern, open, and inspiring.

Tips for Buying Pre-Owned and Space-Saving Furniture

If you’re considering making the switch, here are a few tips to get the most out of your investment:

Evaluate your space first. Measure accurately and identify how each area will be used.

Choose a reputable supplier. Look for sellers who offer warranties or refurbishing services.

Think long-term. Opt for modular pieces that can grow with your business.

Don’t sacrifice comfort. Ergonomics matter—look for chairs, desks, and benches designed for daily use.

Mix and match smartly. Combine pre owned benching with new, space saving office furniture to achieve both aesthetic consistency and budget flexibility.

Final Thoughts

In an age where flexibility, sustainability, and budget-consciousness define the workplace, pre owned benching and space saving Office furniture are the smart choice for businesses of all sizes. These solutions offer more than just savings—they deliver a modern, efficient, and environmentally friendly workspace that supports your team and your goals.

From tech startups in tight city offices to enterprise teams reimagining their floor plans, more professionals are realizing that great office design doesn’t have to come with a hefty price tag. Sometimes, the smartest investment is one that’s already proven its value.

So, if you're planning your next office upgrade, think beyond the traditional. Choose office furniture that makes a statement—about your brand, your values, and your vision for the future.

[espresso1patronum]

More boxer!gojo, pretty please 🙏 😊 such perfection

aha ofcourse my love, tysm<3 boxer!gojo is such a whore🤭 ⁠✧part one

boxer!gojo who fights dirty outside the ring, too. he’s got a match in an hour, but instead of warming up, he’s got you pressed against the lockers again, one hand gripping your jaw, the other shoving his shorts down just enough to free his cock.

"c’mon, baby," he murmurs, nudging your lips apart with his thumb. "help me relax a little."

boxer!gojo who fucks your mouth like he owns it. he starts slow, dragging his length over your tongue, watching the way your eyes flutter shut. "that’s it, just like that—always so good for me, huh?" but the patience never lasts. he grips your hair, pulling you down onto him, groaning when you gag.

"shit, sweetheart," he laughs breathlessly. "you tryin’ to knock me out before the fight?" his abs flex every time you swallow around him, hips twitching, trying not to lose control.

boxer!gojo who loves watching you struggle. your nails dig into his thighs, your throat burning, but he just strokes your cheek, all faux sympathy. "aw, poor thing—gettin’ all messy for me." he wipes a tear from the corner of your eye, then fucks your mouth even deeper.

"don’t tap out on me now, baby. you can take it."

boxer!gojo who makes you cum before he even fucks you. his hands are rough from years of fighting, and he knows exactly how to use them. two fingers, deep and slow, his palm grinding against your clit. "keep suckin’ if you wanna cum."

your legs shake, but he doesn’t stop until you’re gasping, thighs squeezing around his hand.

boxer!gojo who bends you over the training bench right after. his cock is still slick with your spit when he slides into you, slow at first, just to feel you stretch around him. "fuck, baby," he groans, head falling back. "you’re squeezin’ me so tight—missed this, huh?"

he fucks you hard enough to make the bench creak, hands gripping your hips, eyes locked on where you take him. "wish you could see yourself right now," he mutters. "takin’ me so good, like you were made for this."

boxer!gojo who cums deep, then makes you clean him up. "open up, sweetheart." he taps his cock against your lips, grinning when you obey. he groans, watching you swallow every drop, then kisses you, slow and filthy. "you’re my favorite pre-fight routine, y’know that?"

…and then he wins his match, and when the cameras catch him licking his lips, smirking like he just got the best fucking prize of his life—only you know exactly why.

[imagine-you]

If I Open the Door to Heaven or Hell [Wally/Reader]

Summary: You're there for Wally after he confronts his scar. Word Count: 1.8k Author's Note: Just a little thing I wrote after I watched the new episode this morning. Because what do you mean he went through all that alone and no one was there for him? He deserved better. If you liked this, letting me know would make my day! Read On AO3 // Fic Masterlist

When you noticed Wally grab his football, you knew that he was going to investigate his scar to see if Mr. Martin was there. He didn't tell anyone. Not even Maddie. But you saw it happen, so you followed him.  

He was so focused that he didn't even seem to realize you were following him. It shouldn't have hurt. You had spent your life treated like an outsider, so going unnoticed wasn’t a new feeling. You just hated that your death wasn’t shaping up to be any different.  

Even though you had been half in love with Wally for years, he never seemed to get the hint. He joked around with you and threw his arm around your shoulders to reel you in close to his side and gave you these ridiculous smiles that sent your stomach flipping over itself. He was so bright and thoughtful and beautiful. All you wanted was more time with him. You would take an eternity with him, even, but once Maddie showed up, everything changed.  

You were all dragged into the mystery of Maddie's death. But it turned out Maddie wasn't dead. Not really. Janet had been the one to steal her body and Mr. Martin, the guy you had all trusted with your deepest, darkest secrets had been using you all along.  

The betrayal hurt and now everyone was hiding something. But not Wally. He was the rock of the group, lending support and care to anyone who needed it. 

But now, you all had the items that linked you to your deaths and they opened up your own personal hells. Rhonda had been completely shaken by what she saw in hers and you weren't quite ready to face whatever waited for you once you stepped into the girl's bathroom on the second floor near the pre-cal classroom. 

The fact that Wally was skulking away to be tormented by his death just didn’t sit right with you.  

You wanted to stop Wally. But he was so determined to help Maddie that you knew you wouldn't be able to sway him.  

He got to the football field before you did and once he stepped onto the grass, football tucked securely under his arm, he disappeared.  

"Wally!" You called, glancing around for him, but realizing that he wouldn't be able to hear you. He had stepped through a door and you wouldn't be able to follow. All you could do was wait for him and hope that he made it out unscathed.  

You sat down on the bleachers, keeping your focus on the field. You waited for him to reappear, but when he didn't show, you just started talking to fill the empty space in front of you.  

"Wally, I hope you're doing okay in there. I don't know what's happening, but I want you to know you're not alone." You started tracing your fingers along the grooves in the bench beneath you. "You're really the best out of all of us, you know that? You're so kind. You take care of all of us. You have our backs. And I know you'd do anything for us. I guess that's why you're facing your own personal hell just to help out Maddie. But sometimes I wonder who’s there for you. Who’s going to hold you up when you need it?"  

You felt nervous. You trusted Wally and you loved him, but you had never revealed to him just how deep your feelings ran for him. Sometimes, you thought Charley or Rhonda might have an idea, but they never brought it up. Whether it was to save you dignity or they just didn't care all that much, you couldn't really tell.  

It was hard not to be stupid over Wally, though. He drew you in and you were helpless against the pull of him.  

"Sometimes, I get really scared," you admitted, digging your fingernails into the metal just to ground you. "I get scared that you'll leave. I don't think I can do this without you, Wally. Not anymore. You're too important to me. I need you." 

Wally still hadn't appeared, so you kept rambling. It felt freeing, in a way, finally confessing when Wally couldn't catch you.  

"I think the first time I knew that I was gone on you was when you found me in the library. I was upset because it was the anniversary of my death. And for three years, my friends and family showed up to hold some kind of vigil. They would meet on the front lawn and share stories and talk about how much they missed me. That first year, seeing my mom and dad there nearly broke me. My best friend and my little brother and all of them. They showed up for me. But then my friends graduated. And my parents moved. And then no one showed up."  

You felt tears gathering in your eyes and hastily swiped them away. If Wally managed to leave his scar now, you didn't want him seeing you so upset.  

"They always left flowers at the flagpole, because they didn’t want to go anywhere near where they found my body. And my friend wrote a letter about how much she missed me and my brother left his favorite stuffed animal. It’s that orange squid I have stashed away in my old locker. But by that fourth year, I didn't have anyone left around to care about me and I felt so alone. You found me in the library and you dragged me out to the flagpole and showed me the flowers you stole from the groundskeeper and you wrote a letter about how I still mattered even in death. I didn't tell you then, but I think that's when I finally started believing that I would be okay. Because I had you," you added with a shaky smile.  

"I don't know what's going to happen to us. But I just want you to know, Wally, that as long as you're around, I know I'll be okay. And I would do anything for you too. I want to be there for you like you’re there for me. For all of us. Because you're the best person I’ve ever met. And I...I lo--" you were cut off from declaring your feelings for Wally by the sight of him suddenly reappearing at the side of the field.  

He collapsed to the ground, clutching the football to his chest. He was breathing heavy and he flung the ball away, leaving him curled up on the grass. He put a hand to his chest and his breaths were coming fast and uncontrolled.  

"Wally!" You shouted, racing down the bleachers to reach him. You hesitated at his side before seeing the agony in his expression. You dropped down to your knees and wrapped your arms around him, fearing that he was drowning in his own fear.  

You weren't expecting the way he practically latched on to you. His arms wrapped tight around your waist and he hid his face in the crook of your neck.  

"Wally?" You tried, realizing that he was shaking. "Are you okay?" 

Wally didn't respond. He simply shook his head, and you held on tighter.  

"I'm here for you," you assured him. Wally was always so strong. So ready to fight and defend. But whatever he had witnessed in his scar had left him speechless and traumatized. "I'm right here. I’m not going anywhere." 

Wally held you close, his breaths eventually evening out from panicked to steady.  

"I heard you, you know," he muttered into your neck after what felt like forever. He still hadn't lifted his head and you got the idea he was trying to hide.  

You tried not to shiver at the feeling of his lips brushing against your skin.  

"Heard what?" You asked, worried that you knew where this was heading.  

"I couldn't get myself out of there on my own. My coach and my mom and everyone was just so disappointed in me. I didn't want to be there but I couldn't make myself move. When I died, I didn't know it happened. It was over in a second. Just boom. Instant lights out. But I saw it happen and it hurt so much," he got out on a shaky breath. "I was about to lose it, but then I heard you. And you were talking to me about how much I meant to you and all I could think was that you're not disappointed in me." He finally lifted his head, his eyes locking with yours and leaving you transfixed. "I followed your voice out of there. You saved me." 

"Wally, you saved yourself," you said, bringing up a hand to smooth it down over his shoulder in an effort to comfort him. "You're the strongest person I've ever met. You've never been a disappointment. That coach and your mom? They were wrong. You’re amazing." 

Wally watched you for one moment into the next, leaving you with the urge to fidget under his attention. Finally, you noticed a small smile pull at his mouth, his eyes glinting with a hint of life. "Don't hate me," he murmured before he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours.  

You felt yourself tense, unsure that this was actually happening, before you felt Wally begin to pull away.  

"Wait," you whispered before grabbing a fistful of his shirt and reeling him back in.  

This time, the kiss was less hesitant and more searching. You never thought for one second you would get this opportunity and you didn't want to waste it.  

Wally had pulled you closer, practically putting you in his lap, so when you broke the kiss, you leaned your forehead against his and smiled at him.  

"You really think I would hate you for that? Wally, it's what I've been wanting for years," you admitted, knowing that Wally had likely heard your aborted love confession. You might as well go for broke. "I've wanted you for years," you confessed.  

Wally's lips stretched into another smile. This one was radiant and relieved. He brought his hands up, framing your face in his palms, and held you close. "I think this is the first time I've been on this field since I died and felt anything good." He bit his lip, his eyes searching yours, before he nodded his head as if he had decided something. He moved to stand up, gripping your hand tight in his so you followed after him. He started leading you away from the field towards the bleachers, taking a moment to scoop up his football, before leading you away.  

"Where are we going?" You wondered, trusting Wally and knowing you would follow him anywhere.  

"I think I've earned something good," he told you, his gaze lingering on you letting you know that you were the something good he was talking about. The idea sent a little pleased thrill through you. "Want to go make out under the bleachers?" 

"God, yes," you agreed, delighted and exhilarated.  

You knew that the time would come to find the others. Wally would have to talk about his scar and you would eventually have to confront yours. But for now, you would push all the pain and fear aside and finally let yourself have something good with Wally. 

[ijustwannabecool]

Media Day Mayhem

Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader

Summary... What should’ve been a simple twenty-minute press conference turns into full-blown chaos when Charles brings the kids along—and then the kids get their own turn behind the mic.

Warnings: Pure fluff, kid chaos, dad!Charles, teasing, swearing mentioned by children (in French), banter, major secondhand embarrassment

A/N: you guys... the way I had too much fun writing this! I hope you guys enjoy this little story. I would love to actually see a moment like this in the future maybe. That would be iconic. I hope you guys enjoy it. Please let me know what you guys wanna see next!!

If you loved this story and want to support more F1 fics and soft chaos like this, feel free to buy me a matcha 🍵 or reblog/comment to share the love!

As always—happy reading, and have a beautiful day today

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy :)

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The press conference was supposed to last twenty minutes. Just a few pre-weekend questions before FP1, some sponsor shoutouts, and a bit of media fluff. Charles had done this a hundred times. Easy.

What he hadn’t done a hundred times was a press conference with all three of his children clinging to him like magnets to a fridge.

“Mila, baby, don’t twist that,” Charles says quietly into his mic, gently removing his daughter’s hand from the cord running down his chest. She’s seated sideways on his lap, twirling the cable like it’s spaghetti. His twin boys, Luca and Jules, are squished on either side of him on the small bench Ferrari provided — all three with messy chestnut curls identical to their father’s.

“Charles, you’ve had a strong start to the season. What would you attribute that to?” a reporter asks.

Charles smiles, glancing down quickly at Luca, who’s trying to sneakily remove one of his shoes.

“Uh—consistency, for sure. And a lot of work with the team during the off-season,” he answers, his voice smooth despite the circus unfolding around him.

“I want to talk!” Jules blurts out, grabbing at the microphone in front of his dad. “I’m fast too!”

“You are very fast,” Charles replies automatically, pressing a quick kiss to his son’s temple as reporters chuckle.

“I beat Mila in the hallway!” Jules announces proudly.

“You cheated!” Mila screeches.

Charles coughs to cover his laugh. “Okay, okay, let’s not yell, we are live on camera, darlings.”

Another journalist attempts to move things along. “Charles, what’s your mindset going into qualifying tomorrow?”

Before he can answer, Luca pipes up: “Papa said the car was ‘a pain in the—’”

Charles snaps his fingers in front of him. “Luca! What did we say about telling secrets?”

Jules leans toward the mic. “Mummy says we can’t say ‘merde’ either.”

Charles hides his face with his hand for a beat as the media room loses it with laughter.

From the wings, you — Y/N — shake your head, arms crossed but clearly amused. Charles glances over at you like please come rescue me, but you're already motioning for the boys to come to you.

“Alright, boys, go with Maman,” Charles says, ushering them off the bench.

“Can we get snacks now?” Mila asks, hopping down and walking backwards toward you.

“Only if you stop tattletelling,” Charles replies sternly.

Jules makes a face as you crouch and hold their hands on either side of you, whispering something that makes them all go quiet and pouty at the same time.

Charles watches for a second longer than he means to—how you always manage to calm them down like magic—before turning back to the mic.

“Apologies. Where were we?”

“Honestly?” one of the reporters grins. “This is better than Drive to Survive.”

Charles laughs. “Welcome to my real full-time job.”

As he tries to finish the final question, he feels a small tug at his pants. Mila has snuck back on stage with her stuffed bunny.

“I forgot Bun-Bun,” she whispers.

He grabs it quickly and hands it to her with a gentle ruffle to her hair. “Okay, allez, go sit with Maman now.”

She nods seriously, then skips off.

Charles clears his throat. “Anyway—thank you all. I think I’m going to go find a quiet corner to cry in now.”

The media room erupts into chuckles again as Charles walks off, applesauce pouch tucked in one hand, baby wipes in the other, and you waiting with a knowing smirk and two giggling little boys tugging at your sleeves.

Charles barely made it three meters off the stage before Mila tugged on his sleeve and declared, “It’s our turn now.” He blinked, confused, until he spotted the row of miniature chairs being set up at the front of the room—and the Ferrari PR team, looking far too pleased with themselves as they waved the kids forward like VIP guests. Jules had already climbed onto one of the seats, Luca was dragging a juice box across the floor like it was part of his media kit, and Mila marched toward the microphone like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. Charles stared for a beat, caught between horror and awe.

This was not on the schedule, he thought, eyes narrowing. Whose idea was this? Did Y/N sign off on this? Is this revenge for the broken espresso machine?

He looked toward you for backup, but you were already leaning against the wall, arms crossed and smirking like you’d known this was coming all along. When you caught his eye, you shrugged playfully and whispered, “You survived your press conference. Good luck surviving theirs.”

Charles let out a breath, resigned, and folded his arms across his chest. “Mon Dieu,” he muttered under his breath, watching his children take the stage with terrifying confidence.

Ferrari may build the fastest cars in the world, but nothing moves quicker than my own kids when there’s a microphone involved.

The Ferrari media tent is buzzing with cameras, press badges, and a surprising amount of juice boxes.

——

A journalist clears their throat. “Alright… first question for Mila. What’s it like having a Formula One driver as a papa?”

Mila: “Loud.” Jules: “Fast.” Luca: “Sweaty.”

Everyone bursts into laughter. Mila shrugs. “He yells a lot on the radio. I don’t think he knows we can hear it sometimes.”

Charles covers his face with both hands.

Another reporter tries to keep a straight face. “Jules, if you were in charge of Ferrari, what would you change first?”

Jules (serious): “Make the cars green.”

Luca: “And add rocket launchers!”

Charles chokes.

Mila (disapproving): “That’s not safe. I’d make the suits pink and add glitter so they sparkle on TV.”

Reporter: “What do you think Papa says the most on race day?”

Jules: “Merde.”

Mila: “No! He says ‘focus.’ And ‘where’s my drink?’” Luca: “And ‘WHY ARE THE TYRES GONE?!’”

The room is losing it. Charles is whispering something to Y/N, who is fully crying from laughter.

A hand goes up from a British reporter. “Luca, if you won a race, what would be the first thing you'd do?”

Luca (without hesitation): “Call my mumma.”

Everyone collectively awws—until he adds:

Luca: “And then eat a chocolate croissant the size of my head.”

Mila (muttering): “That already happened.”

Reporter: “Jules, do you like watching the races?”

Jules: “Only the start. Then I get bored and play Hot Wheels.”

Mila: “I watch the whole thing. I have a clipboard and give Papa scores.”

Luca: “She gave him a 6 last time and he almost won.”

Mila: “He messed up the overtake.”

Charles looks wounded.

Final question from a German journalist: “Mila, what advice would you give your Papa before his next race?”

Mila leans into the mic like a pro.

Mila: “Be brave. Go fast. And don’t cuss if the tires fall off.”

Everyone in the room breaks into applause as Charles walks forward, scooping Luca into his arms while Mila and Jules are immediately surrounded by press taking photos and asking for high fives.

Y/N slips a hand into Charles’, her smile wide. “They handled that better than you did.”

Charles grins, eyes still on his little trio. “They’re natural born media drivers.”

——

Back at the hotel that evening, Charles was flat on his back on the couch, eyes closed, two juice box wrappers on his chest. You were sitting cross-legged beside him, flicking through the photos already going viral online—Mila adjusting her mic like a pro, Jules midair off the chair, Luca holding up fingers like he was flashing a gang sign.

“Next time,” Charles murmured, eyes still shut, “we tell them I only have one child. Maybe two, max.”

You smiled, brushing curls from his forehead. “Sure, baby. But admit it… they kind of stole the show.”

He cracked an eye open, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m not even mad.”

✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩

[holyblonded]

seeing red | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, barcelona femeni x teen!reader

summary: alexia gets injured on the pitch and you lash out

warnings: injuries

notes: finally shortening the request list. but keep them coming!

You never really got nervous before a match. It just wasn’t your thing, pre-game jitters weren’t in your blood. Pressure? You ate it. Big stadiums? You thrived in them. But something about this match… it sat weird in your stomach. Not in a way you could explain, just a dull, off-kilter buzz low in your gut that wouldn’t go away.

Still, like always, you pushed the feeling down. No way were you going to let a little unease get in your head. You threw on your headphones, blasting your favorite playlist, the one that always got you in the zone, and started your usual routine.

“Who’s ready to smoke them?” you shouted as you strolled into the locker room like you owned the place, already dancing, doing that exaggerated shuffle you knew would get laughs.

Jana rolled her eyes and tossed a sock at you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously good-looking,” you quipped, dodging the sock and doing finger guns in the mirror. Ona tried to suppress a grin, while Pina gave you a slow clap.

You moved around the room, checking on everyone, throwing a random arm around a shoulder, yanking someone into a hug. Just keeping the energy up. That was always your role, the little spark plug, keeping spirits high, shaking off tension before it could settle in anyone’s bones.

But even through the jokes, even while you were lacing your boots with flair and pretending they were cleats blessed by the football gods, your eyes kept drifting to one person. Alexia.

She sat on the bench beside you, quiet and focused, pulling her socks up with that same steady rhythm she always had. You didn’t say anything at first, you just shifted a little closer, bumping your knee against hers.

“Hair,” you said, spinning around on the bench to face her and tipping your head back.

She didn’t even hesitate. She just pulled your curls into her hands with practiced ease, smoothing them out and beginning to braid. It wasn’t tight, she knew you hated that before a game. Just secure enough to keep the flyaways out of your face for the first half. Her hands were gentle, but firm. Familiar. Comforting.

“I’ll protect you out there,” you mumbled, half-joking, half-dead serious.

Alexia let out a soft laugh, but you felt her pause, her hands still holding your hair. Then she resumed, finishing the braid and giving the end a quick tie before ruffling the top of your head.

“It’s me who protects you, bebita.”

You didn’t say anything to that. You just smiled. Because that’s what you believed.

Alexia was invincible to you. Steady and immovable, like a mountain. The leader. The strongest. She was the first one to have your back, the first one to ground you when your fire burned too hot. If you were a storm, she was the anchor. There was no version of the world where she didn’t hold you down.

Even now, as you jogged out onto the pitch, shoulder brushing hers in the tunnel, you felt that same old swell in your chest.

With Alexia out there, everything would be fine. Nothing could go wrong. She was untouchable. She was everything.

And you had no idea how much that belief was about to shatter.

The whistle blew, sharp and cutting through the early afternoon air, and you were off like a match struck to dry kindling. The ball kissed your cleats like it belonged there because it did. You were in the zone, slicing between Sevilla’s lines with practiced ease, your first touch velvet, your second touch fire. You didn’t have to think. You moved on instinct, hips low, arms loose, mouth running with quiet venom when you stole possession, when you drew defenders in and made them look stupid. You muttered insults under your breath, sharp and fluid like the movements of your body. You flicked the ball between the legs of a midfielder chasing you and called back over your shoulder with a grin on your face, “you’re too slow.”

Alexia held the center like gravity itself. Calm, steady, always in the right place. She didn’t have to shout to be heard. She just moved like the whole pitch belonged to her. She was the calm in your chaos, the control in your fire. When you pressed too high, she dropped. When you drifted wide to bait your mark, she filled the vacuum you left behind. You could feel her presence without even looking. But sometimes, when you glanced up mid-dribble and your eyes met hers, there was something in the flicker of that gaze that settled you. She had you. You had her.

You danced around tackles. You baited them too. You played with a grin on your face and a fire in your eyes. You were ruthless and clever and maybe a little too cocky, but it was working. You threw your shoulder into challenges with no fear, hit the ground when you needed to, rolled once for flair. You knew when to sell a foul and when to bounce right back up.

But late in the match, the tone changed. Everyone’s legs were heavier. There was sweat in your eyes, mud on your socks, and a buzz of adrenaline still charging through your veins. You were turning to track back, watching the play unfold, and that was when it happened. You didn’t see the tackle, not fully.

You just heard it. That sound. Cleats cracking against shin. That body hitting the ground with a hollow kind of thud. Your stomach dropped before your brain even caught up.

You whipped around. And you saw her. Alexia. On the ground. Not rolling. Not springing back up. Not waving off the ref with her usual calmness. No. She was still. Her hands clutched her knee, or maybe her side, you couldn’t tell. But she wasn’t moving. Her jaw was locked with pain and her eyes were squeezed shut and she was not moving.

You froze. Everything around you blurred.

The crowd had gone silent and the referee seemed distant. Your teammates calling out but you couldn’t hear anything. You couldn’t hear. You couldn’t think.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your chest felt like it was caving in. Panic hit like a truck. Not her. No. Not her.

Your body moved before your brain did. You ran. You ran like something was chasing you. Not for the ball, not for a goal. You ran to her. But halfway there, you saw the Sevilla player. The one who had taken her down. She was standing there like nothing happened. Just standing. Watching.

You saw red.

You veered before you even realized what you were doing. You slammed into her. Your hands hit her chest and she stumbled backward, crashing to the grass. The ref’s whistle blew again, high and shrill and angry. But you didn’t care. You didn’t even hear it.

You were on top of her in a flash, not throwing punches, just yelling. Just screaming. Not words. Not anything that made sense. Just rage. White-hot. Blinding. Wild. The kind that made your vision blur and your throat burn.

Then arms were around you. Big ones. Strong. Irene wrapped around your waist. Ingrid grabbed your flailing arm. They held you back as you thrashed. For a second, you fought them. You weren’t thinking. You were just trying to get to her. To the girl who hurt Ale. To Ale. To someone. You didn’t know. You just needed to do something.

Their voices broke through eventually.

“She’s getting help,” Irene said, voice low but firm. “Estrella. She’s okay. The medics are with her.”

You couldn’t hear over the roar in your ears. You couldn’t breathe right. Your lungs were locking up and your hands were shaking. You weren’t crying. Not yet. You were past crying. You were pacing, trapped in your own skin, snapping your neck toward where Alexia still lay on the ground.

She wasn’t moving. The medics were kneeling next to her. One of them had a hand on her knee. Another was waving someone over from the sideline. You couldn’t see her face anymore.

Someone touched your arm. You yanked it back.

“Let me see her,” you snapped. You didn’t even know who you were talking to. “Let me—she’s—she’s—”

Your voice cracked. The heat in your chest was collapsing into something colder now. The kind of cold that comes after a fire has burned too long. The kind of cold that felt like grief.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink.

You were shaking from the inside out and all you could think was one thing, repeating over and over again like a drumbeat, louder than the crowd, louder than the whistle, louder than your own breath.

The locker room is buzzing in the background, half celebration, half concern, but you sit still in the corner, your boots still laced, your kit damp and clinging to your skin. You haven’t moved since the final whistle. Haven’t laughed. Haven’t showered. Haven’t even looked at anyone except your phone, which rests in your hands like it might give you answers. Like it might bring her back to the bench.

You keep checking. Again. And again. No messages. No updates. Just silence.

The girls throw glances your way, subtle and not so subtle. Jana frowns, her celebration muted as she eyes you from across the room. Vicky whispers something to Ona, brows knit together in worry. Ingrid glances at the medical staff pacing in and out. You’re always loud. Always moving. Always chirping about something or clinging to someone. This silence from you… it feels wrong. It weighs down the air.

You don’t even notice the moment Irene steps forward. She crouches a little, putting herself in your line of sight, voice soft but firm. “Estrella… Ale’s in the medical room. She’s okay. Just a knock.”

Your head shoots up. Your phone slips from your fingers and clatters against the floor. In the same breath, you’re up.

“Excuse me,” you mutter as you push past shoulders and gear bags and open lockers. Your boots thud against the hallway floor, studs clacking with urgency. You move fast, faster than you did during the game. Like you’re chasing down a breakaway. Like everything in the world depends on you getting to that room.

You don’t stop until you’re standing in the doorway of the medical room. Your breath catches.

Alexia sits on the table, an ice pack held to her ribs, a bandage wrapped tightly around her thigh. Her jersey is bunched at the waist, her face pale, her expression tired. But when she looks up and sees you, her eyes immediately soften.

“Hey, Estrella—”

You don’t let her finish. You’re already across the room, throwing yourself into her arms, burying your face in her shoulder like if you squeeze hard enough, you can undo what happened on the pitch. Your arms wrap tightly around her middle like you’re afraid she might disappear.

“You scared me,” you whisper, voice trembling.

Alexia’s arms come around you, steady and warm, her hand immediately rubbing soft circles into your back. “I’m okay, Estrella. Just a knock.”

You shake your head, eyes clenched shut, voice cracking as you try to form words. “You didn’t get up. You always get up.”

Your breath hitches, and then the words pour out in a rush, raw, messy, tangled with fear.

“You can’t scare me like that. You’re my mami. You’re my everything. You always know what to say, you always fix things, you always hold me together when I fall apart. I don’t know how to be if something happens to you. I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready to lose you. You’re too strong to get hurt and I—I’m not strong enough if you break.”

Alexia exhales slowly, her fingers combing gently through your curls, her voice nothing but warmth. “I’m okay. I promise you, I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t say anything else. You just stay there, breathing her in, holding her like you’re trying to memorize the way her heart beats.

You finally start breathing normally again, the pressure in your chest releasing its grip, the ache between your ribs easing with every pass of her hand over your back. Your cheek stays pressed against her shoulder. Your arms locked around her like you’re keeping the whole world from shifting out of place.

You don’t see the door creak open, but Ale does. She lifts her gaze slightly.

Olga stands there, a water bottle in hand. She pauses in the doorway, takes in the sight, the way you’re curled into Ale like she’s your anchor, the way Ale’s eyes are closed like this is the only moment she needed to feel okay again.

Olga doesn’t interrupt. She just gives the softest smile, something flickering in her eyes, and closes the door quietly behind her before heading back down the hallway.

In the family room, Eli looks up as Olga returns. “How’s Estrella?”

Olga exhales, sliding into the seat beside her, the water bottle resting between her palms. “With Ale. Crying into her shoulder.”

Alba’s face softens. “Cute.”

Olga nods. The smallest smile pulls at her lips, even if her heart is still beating out of rhythm. “So cute.”

[sistertotheknowitall]

Some guy gets arrested

Inspired by @medium-sized-ghost addition to the Original Post.

Masterpost

“So sorry about this, Mr. Wayne.”

“No, I understand. I’m just glad to see the law doing their job so well.” Bruce continues pleasantly through the police station with Commissioner Gordon leading the way.

“We’ll get this sorted out as soon as possible, but in the meantime you will need to unfortunately be placed in holding.”

“Of course. It’s really no problem, it was my mistake missing my court date like that. Time just gets away from me sometimes, you know?” Nevermind the fact that Bruce hadn’t even known about said court date or the speeding ticket it was for. He couldn’t prove which child had taken his car for a joy ride, but his prime suspects were Jason or Dick. (He would later find out that it was Stephanie upon a dare from Duke. He already attempted to banned them from playing Truth or Dare after Tim convinced Dick to do a handstand on Jason’s bike going 95 down the freeway. Not that Dick really needed any convincing.)

“Well you’re in luck, one cell is mostly empty.” It was a small cell closer to the front. Bruce could see a teenager laying on the bench to the right. Gordon opened the door and stood to the side so Bruce could enter and locked the door behind him. “Would you like anything to drink? Water? Coffee?”

Bruce smiled, “No, thank you.” Gordon nodded and looked past Bruce at the only other occupant in the cell, “What about you kid? Anything?”

Bruce watched as the kid, one he unfortunately recognized, lifted his arm from where it was thrown over his eyes and waved it in the air at the commissioner, “I’m good.” The arm went back down. Gordon grunted, “alright Officer Mitchell is keeping watch, call out if either of you need anything.”

With that Bruce was left alone with the boy who had befuddled and befriended his many children. He sat on the opposite bench and thought about how best to approach the young man. Danny had never responded well to Batman and there was no telling how he would respond to Bruce. According to Tim, Danny actually had some respect for Bruce and the money he dumped into bettering Gotham. (When it was announced that the public library was being renovated Danny had interrogated Tim about it and then offered his own opinions on how to involve more of the general population.)

Bruce didn’t think the time called for his “Brucie” persona and he couldn’t be Batman at the moment. He could approach the boy in a “fatherly” manner but that approach rarely worked on his own kids, he didn’t think it would work on this one.

“Have you called anyone?”

Danny looked out from under his arm and stared at Bruce suspiciously. In hindsight it was a creepy question.

Bruce brought his hands up and breathed a laugh, “I’m sorry, I meant have you been given your one phone call?” Danny didn’t move. “Why? You a lawyer?” He eyed Bruce in his nice suit and watch.

Bruce smiled at the boy, “goodness no, I don’t have the attention span for law school. I actually did pre-med before dropping out.”

Danny seemed too curl a little more into himself. It was the most cautious Bruce had ever seen him. He was locked in a Gotham police cell with a man in an expensive suit who seemed completely unconcerned about being arrested, it was wise on Danny’s part to be wary.

Bruce stuck out his hand, “Bruce Wayne.” Slowly, Danny sat up and crossed his arm scoffing, “why would Bruce Wayne be in a holding cell?” Bruce continued to smile at the kid and shrugged, his hand still in the air, “speeding ticket I’m afraid, missed my court date. I do have to say, though, the updated traffic cameras are a good investment by the police department.” “Wayne Enterprises payed for them.” “We did?” Bruce asked, knowing full well it was to give Oracle better camera footage. “You were at the press release.” “Huh.” Bruce looked thoughtful for a minute, “mm no, not ringing any bells. I go to so many of those press conferences, they just bleed together after a while.” “Mhm.” Danny still didn’t take the offered hand. Bruce sighed and let it drop back to his lap, “I’d offer to show you my ID but I don’t exactly have it on me.”

They sat and watched each other for a minute. Danny shifted and seemed to make a decision, “I work at a coffee shop and one of your sons is a regular.” Bruce slapped his thigh as if a light bulb suddenly went off, “You’re Danny! Tim’s mentioned you! You know he’s the only one with a weakness for caffeine, the others like to tease him but I don’t think he has an addiction. However, he does seem to spend a lot of time at that shop.” Bruce leaned forward as if confiding a secret, “to be honest, I think he has a bit of a crush on you.”

Dropping his own arms, Danny sighed. “Yeah, he’s not really that subtle.”

“No, I’m afraid he’s never been good at that. At least not when he’s interested in someone.” Tim was great at subtlety when it came to the mission but never in his personal life. The funny part was he didn’t even draw that distinction on purpose.

“I called a family friend. To answer your question. He should be here soon.” Bruce nodded, “so you do have people you can rely on in town?” “I could have a whole family I can rely on in this city.” Danny said, catching the older man's slip. He shifts further in his seat and stared hard at Bruce.

Bruce knew Danny had no one in town. He did the background check, Danny's whole family lived in Ohio with the exception of his older sister who was in one of the top psychology programs in the country. They seemed to visit each other often but rarely their parents.

The older man dawned an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, I assumed when you said ‘a family friend’.” Bruce leaned back against the wall behind him, “are you from Gotham?”

“No,” Danny shifted further back in his seat and didn’t take his eyes off Bruce.

It was different from how the boy interacted with Batman. To the billionaires alter ego Danny was defiant and outspoken. He always seemed to say what was on his mind, completely uncaring of the audience he had.

——-

“Mr. Fenton, your god-father is here for you.”

Danny never thought he’d feel this relieved to know Vlad was picking him up. While Mr. Wayne had been nothing but polite, something about the man felt off. Danny also didn’t appreciate the questions. What was it to this man if Danny had family near by or not?

One of the cops opens the door with Vlad in his nice suit and overly polished shoes right behind him.

“Daniel, let’s not make this a habit.”

“I was just feeding the homeless dogs!”

“Strays.” Vlad corrected, “while trespassing?”

Danny rolled his eyes and continued pass his “uncle”.

“How am I supposed to know an abandoned building is considered ‘private property’?”

Vlad just sighed.

——

Bonus:

Stephanie would continue to stick to her story, thank you very much. She had every right to punch the creep and she wasn’t backing down. Not even if “the creep” was apparently the son of a very influential prosecutor. A corrupt one, but he was influential nonetheless. Such is the justice system in Gotham.

Even if it landed her in a police station, handcuffed to a desk while said creep cried about the bloody nose she gave him.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she crossed her legs and continued to glare at the door way that led to the holding cells. It was her night off and she still had to deal with this godforsaken city’s degenerate citizens. God forbid she have a day off.

It was while glaring at said door that Steph noticed a familiar boy walking out with a gentleman she wasn’t familiar with. He was a little behind Danny but reached out and grabbed his shoulder, stopping him just before leaving the hallway. Steph slid her gaze away but kept her ears open, grateful she was close enough to hear.

“You need to be more careful, Daniel.”

Danny didn’t respond and Steph looked over to see him pull his shoulder away and start walking again.

“You didn’t have to come all this way to bail me out. I could have called Jazz or Sam.”

“Nonsense, it’s good to get out of Wisconsin.”

Steph wrinkled her nose, Wisconsin? The pair continued out of ear shot and shortly out of the station.

When Bruce was released a few minutes later, Stephanie smiled and took great joy in his obvious (to any member of his family) despair and exasperation at seeing her.

Part 8

[hughes-your-daddy]

secret

pairing: luke hughes x fem reader

summary: your relationship is a secret to everyone, even luke’s brothers. but for how long will it last?

you walk through the corridors of the rink, the cold breeze leaking into the office area. you pull your athletic jacket tighter around yourself, hearing the echoes of pucks being slammed against boards, the laughter of the teammates echoing the arena.

you make quick work of weaving your way through the maze of corridors to the rink, stepping into the players bench to observe the practice. the players whip around the rink, starting to cool down and finish their morning practice as you come to collect your injured players.

they start to skate off the rink each saying a quick hi to you before one stops beside you.

“morning.” luke states, not turning to look at you.

“morning hughes.” you smile, keeping the same stance as him, not looking. you wait for the rest of the players to clear off the ice noticing one missing.

“no jack today?” you ask, turning to head to the physio room.

luke follows behind his skates clicking against the hard surface of the floors.

“oh uh, he told me to tell you that he bashed his shoulder last night so he just stayed home.” luke recounts as you stop mid walk, the taller walking into the back of you.

you turn, quickly becoming fave to face with luke, him looming over you.

“well hello.” he smirks before you push him away.

“1) not here 2) i need to see him if he’s hurt his shoulder. it’s not been that long since his surgery.” you huff before continuing to walk, luke hurrying to catch up with you.

he hurries falling into stride next to you this time before you lead him into the physio room, as he hops up onto the bed.

“right, pass off.” you say, turning to slide some gloves on and grab your stool. you slide over seeing him sat there a pout on his face.

“pads off luke.” you instruct, eyebrow going up as you wait.

“back hurts too much.” he shrugs trying to hide the smirk on his face. you sigh, shaking your head and sliding back over to your computer.

“well if it hurts that much i’ll have to take you out the game.” you tease, hiding your own smile before you hear frantic movement and head hitting the floor.

“you know what, it’s feeling a bit better now.” luke huffs out, as you turn back around to see his torso exposed now.

“thank you.” you smile before moving over to check out his back, “now be honest, how is it?” you ask, knowing how hard a hit he took the other week.

“getting better, just the same as last night.” he mumbles, turning over onto his stomach so you can examine it.

you think back to last night. back at your apartment, roommate out for the night, tangled in each others limbs, scratching his back. absolute bliss.

“hey, your working the game tonight right?” he asks, as you shrug.

“i don’t know, depends if i can get my school work done or not.” you sigh, pressing down on areas around his spine.

“i want you there, to meet quinn.” he sighs, looking up at you from the bed, snaking an arm around your waist.

“luke.” you sigh, knowing you shouldn’t be doing this at work, before you relax letting your fingers take through his wet curls.

“what if we told people? just the ones we want to know, doesn’t have to be a public thing.” he asks, moving onto his back, resting on his elbow to lift himself up, arm still around your waist, now drawing circles on your hip.

“maybe, i just-“ you pause, looking down at like seeing his puppy dog eyes, “maybe privately ok? i don’t want all eyes on me, luke hughes’s girlfriend.” you sigh, cupping his cheek with your palm.

you see a smile break out on his face, as he leans back into the bed. you shake your head at his antics before sliding over to your desk, fishing your apartment keys out your bag.

“here, head over to mine,” you smile, dropping the keys into his hands, seeing him almost shake with excitement. he’s said countless of times how much of a comfier bed you have than him and how great a pre game nap would be in there.

“really?” he asks, smile growing.

“yeh, head over. i’ll probs be about half an hour behind you,” you nod as he starts to get back up, picking up his head off the floor, “oh and luke?” you call out before he leaves.

he turns around a small smirk growing on his face.

“let ollie out for a wee will you when you get there?” you ask, seeing his smile drop. you giggle at his face before finishing with what he anted to hear.

“i love you.” you say quietly, luke being up a hand to blow you a kiss.

“love you more.” he smiles before leaving, you shaking your head to get out of your daze after that meeting with luke.

you finish up some paper work, marking in your calendar to reschedule with jack before packing up your stuff and heading out to the car.

you throw your bag into the backseat, before getting in and driving home, letting the radio play in the silence of your drive.

you head home, using your spare key to unlock the door, peering in seeing luke’s shoes and back by the door. you slip off your own trainers and walk through to the living room seeing luke’s suit laid out over the back of the couch meaning he’s definitely here somewhere and since there’s no noise, he’s most likely asleep.

you pull your hair out of your pony tail, waking though to your bedroom, slowly opening the door seeing a lump tucked under the covers with a small tuft of hair peeking out. you walk in further seeing ollie cuddled up right next to him.

the sound of you moving must wake him, cause he’s up and running over to you, tail wagging.

“hiya sweet boy, is lukey asleep?” you ask in your dog voice, bending down to scratch his ears before standing back up, quickly stripping of your clothes before climbing under, ollie settling at the bottom of the bed, as you move up close next to luke.

your heat, wakes him up, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer as he buries his head in your neck.

“hiya.” you whisper, luke responding by pressing a few soft kisses on your neck, “have you had any food?” you ask, feeling him nod, hair tickling your face.

“i ate on the way back.” he mumbles still very much half asleep. you breathe in in scent letting your own eyes drop, embracing his warmth. he rolls you over, so your on your back, his body covering yours with his head resting between your breasts.

“i love you, but if you want me at the game tonight i gotta do school work.” you sigh, knowing you’d rather be here.

“do you have to?” he whines, tightening his arms around you.

“do you want me there tonight?” you ask, his head popping up eyes wide.

“promise? if you do work you’ll come tonight?” he asks, a pout almost forming.

“promise.” you smile, as he pushes up to kiss you, lips melting together.

“ok, i’ll cuddle with ollie.” he smiles, letting you go as you stand up, sliding on some sweats and one of luke’s hoodies that he left last night.

“i’ll be quick,” you smile leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his curls hearing him hum in delight before heading through to the kitchen where you set up your laptop and work.

as promised you are as quick as possible in doing you work, but when you head back into the bedroom, you hear the shower running from your en-suite with the bed empty.

you smile walking over to ollie, as he rolls over onto his back on the bed, giving him some nellie rubs before getting under the covers yourself feeling the leftover warmth from luke once again breathing in his scent. you just yourself on your phone scrolling through tiktok a few about luke actually popping up.

the bathroom door swings open, causing you to look up, seeing luke standing there, towel around his waist.

“hiya baby.” he smiles, quickly coming over, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“mmh,” you giggle pushing him away, “your all wet.” you smile, causing him to let out a little laugh.

“i hope you don’t mind me showering here, i didn’t really want to head home. all the family will be there and that just freaks me out abit before games.” he sighs, quickly slipping on some underwear before dropping his towel, using it to dry off his curls.

“it’s ok, i’m gonna quickly hop in myself.” you smile, brushing past him but not before he pulls you back by the wrist and pulling you close, arms around your waist.

“i’m excited for you to meet them though, you sure your ok with it?” he asks and you nod, resting your chest against his chest to look up at him.

“i’m excited too, but right now i need to shower.” you smile pressing one last kiss to his lips before unravelling yourself from his arms and heading into the bathroom, quickly showering but not bothering to wash your hair as it will be tied up anyway.

you step out, wrapping a towel around your body and heading through into your bedroom, the warm steam following you through. you slide on some panties and a bra before dropping your towel, turning to your closet where luke is stood staring.

“hiya.” you grin, a small smirk playing on your face as he forgets about the tie hanging around his neck. he walks over to you, grabbing you by the waist crashing his lips onto yours.

“mmh,” he groans pulling away, “god, you’re beautiful.” he smiles a lovestruck look upon his face.

“and you,” you start, moving to knot his tie, “might get lucky if you score tonight.” you smirk, finishing his tie, tightening it slightly.

“imma score a hat trick for you.” he mumbles, pressing kisses all across your face. he keeps going, making you break out into giggles before you push him away, moving to get ready.

you just slide on some workout leggings with your devils team gear and slide on some trainers before walking out to the living room, where luke’s waiting on the couch.

“i thought you’d be gone by now.” your brows furrow as you move to pack some things into your bag.

“yeh uh,” he stands, nervously stuffing his hands into his pockets, “thought i could drive you, tonight. instead of taking two cars?” he asks, hesitantly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink as he looks down at the floor.

“oh, um, yeh that’d be nice.” you smile, zipping up your bag to see him grinning ear to ear.

“yeh, ok, cool well, after you baby.” he says, grabbing his coffees d opening the front door, allowing you to walk through before he locks it with the same key you gave him from before.

“keep that yeh?” you say as he’s mid handing it over to you, his eyes go wide before softening with a soft smile as he slides it into his pocket, before taking your hand in his as yous head down to the parking lot.

you slide into his car, as he gets in to drive, the car ride to the arena not being too long. you let the radio play as you both sit in a comfortable silence, his hand on your thigh whilst yours tangles in his curls as he drives.

he pulls up to the arena, both of you flashing your passes for security before heading down into the parking lot, skipping any waiting fans for privacy.

“ok, give me your keys.” you say, holding a hand out as he looks over confused.

“why?” he asks, turning the car off once parked.

“we can’t walk in together and you need to go in now, i have time. i’ll lock the car.” you state simply as he complies dropping the keys into your hand before leaving over to kiss you.

“i love you, we’ll go out for some food after yeh? with the whole family.” he smiles about to he tout as you stop him.

“luke!” you shout, startling the boy, “i didn’t bring spare clothes.” you whine seeing him relax and laugh.

“baby, you look beautiful in anything ok? it’s nothing fancy. i’ll be in sweats probably ok? don’t worry.” he reassures you pressing one last kiss to your lips before leaving, sending you a quick wink over his shoulder before he enters the building.

you wait a few minutes ducking when any players walk past before getting out and locking the car, slipping his keys into your bag before heading inside, going straight to the office and dropping your stuff there before heading to the locker room to tape up the boys.

you enter, a few sending a quick hello your way before your going from boy to boy, taking up their bodies ready for the match tonight.

“ah y/n! how are you?” nico smiles as you make your way over, already turning to the side so you can tape his shoulder.

“i’m good nico, thanks. exciting game tonight huh?” you say, feeling the excitement radiate off of him.

“i can’t wait to play all the hughes, they’re a good bunch aren’t they?” he asks, as you finish the tale, turning to face you.

“yeh, they’re pretty good.” you smile before heading off, not before luke could send you a smile over his shoulder as he’s getting his pads and skates on.

you head back into the office grabbing your stuff ready for the game as you’re set on the bench tonight, meaning bring ready for any injuries that could appear.

you grab a few gauzes and a cloth, securing them in your small utility belt before heading out and surveying the crowd for tonight at the bench.

before you know it, the teams are heading out for warmups, each player having you a fist bump before hitting the ice. just as luke walks past you, you feel his hand linger on your shoulder a moment longer before stepping out onto the ice to begin his own warmups.

you smile at the gesture, not drawing too much attention to it as you were still in public.

warmup goes on for a hit before they finally come off and you prepare for the game.

they announce the starting lineup in the changing room before they’re back out, ready to play. you see jack up in a box, watching the game giving him a small wave which he returns before the puck drop.

the game starts quick, goals being scored by both the canucks and devils. you stand at the bench, arms cross focused on the game watching each player, making sure none of them were fighting an injury.

then it comes in the second half, luke racing down to his end trying to catch the puck with boeser and joshua on either side of him, sticks already getting tangled. joshua’s skate looses balance slightly, getting tangled with luke’s skate, sending him crashing down into the boards, followed by joshua and boeser.

a collective gasp comes from everyone in the stadium, players on the bench immediately standing up to see what’s happening.

you quickly move over to the door, waiting to see whether luke gets up or not. your heart pounds in your chest, breathing starting to pick up at the fact he could be hurt. you see boeser and joshua get up, while luke’s limp body stays on the ice.

you quickly rush over, game being stopped, kneeling next to luke where quinn already is.

you gently lean over him, seeing his eyes open meaning he’s awake thankfully.

“luke, what did you hit?” you ask, seeing his mouth move to open but nothing coming out.

“luke, you gotta speak.” you say more stern, while trying to move him into a better position.

“my back and neck, can’t feel my legs.” he gets out, teeth clenching in pain as you roll him onto his back. you move around to brace his neck with your hands as you signal to the bench for a stretcher.

“what’s happening?” quinn asks, face full of concern fr his youngest brother.

“he needs to go to the hospital and gets scan, we can’t risk anything with the spine and neck.” you say looking up to see quinn nodding his eyes slightly glossy.

“yeh ok, um,” he fumbles not knowing what to say, “hey luke, you gotta go to the hospital ok? but i’ll make sure everyone’s there ok?” quinn fumbles, gently patting luke’s stomach, taking a knee.

“i know, y/n just said.” luke mumbles, causing quinn to huff out a laugh, your cheeks reddening slightly.

a team rushed over with a stretcher. the team carefully roll him over, your hands still bracing his neck before they replace them with a proper brace.

they lift him onto the stretcher, your hand finding his shoulder as a small smile appears on his face, as you follow the team off the ice, quinn skating behind.

there’s stick taps and claps from around the arena, as the roll him off and into the corridors.

“which hospital is he going to?” quinn asks, following you.

“most likely st mary’s, do you want to ride in the ambumance with him?” you ask, being cut off by luke’s voice.

“no, y/n rides in the ambulance.” he says, hand gripping your wrist.

“yeh, ok, i will.” you say, reassuring him before turning to quinn.

“they’ll be grabbing your parents and jack now, so i’ll keep yous updated with what happens. i have jacks number.” you smile before quinn nods, heading off to which you assume is to find his parents.

they load him into the ambulance, you climbing in after him sitting in one of the seats, before the paramedic clicks him him place.

“hey y/n?” luke calls out, voice wavering.

“yeh like? i’m here.” you reassure him, leaning forward so he can see your face from where his head in braced in place.

“you’ll stay with me right?” he asks, and you see a small tear fall from his cheek, “i’m scared.” he admits, voice breaking slightly at the end.

you immediately reach forward grabbing his hand with yours the other moving to wipe his cheeks.

“i’ll stay with you the whole time i promise.” you send him a soft smile, hand lingering on his cheek as your fingers brushes it comfortingly.

“are my family coming?” he asks, grip tightening on your hand.

“yeh baby, they’ll be right behind us.” you say, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

the ride to the hospital is pretty quiet, the paramedic just moving around to check vitals and make sure luke is comfortable.

yous arrive, as they pull the stretcher into the hospital and you follow, hand on luke’s leg both of you needing that physical contact.

doctors crowd his bed as you lock eyes with one of your own friends.

“y/n? what are you doing here?” eden asks, moving around to check luke.

“he’s ones of the play-,” you start before looking to luke, rethinking your sentence. “he’s my boyfriend.” you smile at eden, as she looks up matching your smile.

“you know i love you y/n but your going to have to wait outside.” she says, a sad smile playing on her lips.

“please, please let her stay.” luke calls out, making eden stop her assessment. she looks between the two of you, before letting out a sigh.

“ok, you can stay. just don’t let anyone know.” she says to you, also warning the nurses.

you stand in the corner out the way as they carefully peel off his gear, allowing them to actually assess what’s going on. they take his vitals, check over his body ultimately deciding he needs some scans.

“ok, we’re gonna send him for an mri and an xray, it’s msg likely that any numbness is temporary as your getting that shoot to g pain up your leg,” she turns to luke as he nods. “we’re gonna keep the brace on for now just cause it will take around 10 minutes before we can get you through to get the scans done.” she smiles before the nurses start to leave the cubicle, leaving you and luke together.

you move over to stand next to him, taking his hand in me of yours the other pushing the curls off his forehead.

“you’re not allowed to look at me like that.” luke mumbles, eyes meeting yours as yo ur brows furrow.

@

“like what?” you ask, voice soft, fingers scratching his scalp.

“like your scared.” he whispers, moving his hand to wipe your cheek, as you hadn’t noticed a tear had fallen.

“i am scared luke, i feel like i’m totally responsible for this. like i sent you back on the ice too early.” you say, voice breaking slightly at the end.

“hey hey, no, don’t you dare say this is your fault,” his brows furrow as his grip tightens again in your hand.

“it’s was a nasty fall, skates got tangled, that’s all. it could have happened to anyone.” he says, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand, “but hey, at least i’ll see you every day for recovery plans.” he says, a soft smirk falling onto his lips as you drop his hand.

“if you weren’t injured right now, i’d push you.” you say, brows raised before they fall soft again, taking his hand in both of yours, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“i love you.” you whisper, lips brushing his skin.

“i love you too y/n.” he smiles before they take him way to get his scans.

you sit waiting in his cubicle lost in your own thoughts when your phone starts buzzing from your pocket. you quickly pull it out seeing jacks contact, quickly answering, knowing they’ll be waiting somewhere.

you quickly wipe your face and compose yourself a bit more before answering, pressing the phone to your ear.

“hey ja-“ you start, immediately being cut off

“y/n? what’s going on? where luke? is he ok? i saw it from the box he went down.” jack rambles, panic heard in his voice.

“jack, take a breath for me, can’t have two of you in the hospital,” you start hearing him take a shaky breath, “he’s doing fine. they’ve took him in for scans but they’re pretty sure any injury is just temporary so he’ll probably just need some recovery time maybe surgery.” you say hearing his breath doing more under control.

“yeh, ok. um, can we see him or?” he asks, hearing the others in the background.

“em, i’ll ask someone. i think once he’s back from the scans then they’ll put him in a room and then you’ll be able to see him. i’ll meet you guys though, don’t think i wanna be alone right now.” you say hearing him hesitate before speaking.

“yeh, we’re just in the waiting area.” he says before yous hang up, making your way through the corridors and following the signs to the waiting area, seeing his family and a few teammates, assuming the game had just finished by their wet hair.

“y/n!” jack calls out seeing you, coming straight over to give you a hug, one handed as the other is still in his sling, “hes ok right?” he whispers as you nod.

“doing fine.” you say, pulling away, seeing quinn and luke’s parents standing.

“mom, dad, quinn, this is y/n our team physician.” jack introduces you, each of them pulling you in for a hug, quinn lingering.

“your dating him aren’t you?” he whispers, as you pull away in shock, “i could tell by his reaction before about the ambulance.” he says sending a soft smile your way.

“wait, your dating luke?” jack asks, eyes wide as people’s attention starts to focus on you, “everything jake so much sense now.”

“yeh,i guess this isn’t how i wanted to officially meet the parents.” you say, looking down as you feel emotions come back up again.

“oh sweetie.” ellen smiles, pulling you back in for another hug, gently rubbing your back.

“no, i’m fine i promise. just overwhelmed.” you say taking a deep breath before pulling away, quickly wiping your face. she sits you down with the others as you explain everything.

yous wait a while before a nurse comes out, everyone straightening up slightly as she comes over.

“y/n l/n?” she calls out, everyone immediately looking at you, as your own brows furrow.

“oh, these are his parents.” you say gesturing over to ellen and jim.

“his emergency contact is listed as y/n l/n, i can only give information to you.” the nurse says, as you look to ellen and jim with an apologetic look, before ellen gently pats your back only a loving smile on her face.

“go, we’ll be there soon.” she smiles before you get up following the nurse.

“his scans have came back showing a herniated disc, which is good, but he’ll still need surgery to remove it, which is scheduled at 9pm, so you’re welcome to go see him now. he’s in room 304.” she smiles about to leave before your stop her.

“can his family come?” you ask and she nods.

“you can head up, i’ll bring them.” she smiles before you make your way to his room.

you peek inside seeing him now in a hospital gown, eyes fluttering open at the noise, a smile spreading across his face.

“hey baby.” he says, voice soft but a little raspy.

you linger by the door, struggling to take in the sight.

“baby, come here.” luke says, soft but stern, opening his arms. you move across the room, gently taking the hug, trying not to hurt him.

“talk to me.” luke whispers, hand gently stroking the back of your head.

“why am i your emergency contact?” you ask, feeling him tense slightly at the question.

“because i trust you with my life. eveyone else is either in the same profession as me or live in a different state. but mostly because i love you and you love me.” he finishes as you look up, his hand coming to caress your cheek.

“i do love you.” you mumble, a tear falling, as he wipes his kissing your forehead.

“i love you too baby.” he smiles before you pull away, sitting beside his bed and taking his hand in yours.

it’s a matter of minutes before there’s another knock, jack poking his head in as luke moves to pull his hand away, you stopping him.

“they know.” you mouth as he relaxes into the bed a soft smile spreading on his face as they filter in, taking a seat around his bed.

“you licked a good one luke.” jim smiles, gently patting him on the shoulder, as luke’s eyes travel over to yours, smile growing.

“i know dad.” he says, eyes never leaving yours.

teammates filter in and out checking up on him until it’s time for his surgery as he gets whisked away but not before you can give me one last kiss.

the surgery didn’t take too long but considering how late it was, his teammates headed home leaving you and his family in the waiting room, coffee in hand and small talk about how yous met and basically everything leading up to now.

soon enough he’s out and back in his room, where you find him very much still affected by the anaesthetic.

yous walk in, you at the back of the group like lighting up seeing his brothers and parents before sopping dead in his tracks at the sight of you.

“my baby!” he calls out, arms open, dramatically waiting for a hug, causing everyone to laugh.

“hiya luke.” you giggle accepting the hug, hearing him hum against your neck.

“you didn’t leave.” he mumbles and you nod.

“i promise you didn’t i?” you ask, pulling away seeing that goofy grin back in his face.

“yeh you did.”

[keferon]

Odds of Survival Part 4

Jazz thinks he’s starting to figure stuff out and finds entirely new ways to concern Prowl.

———————————————————————

The flashing visual feedback from the cracked visor felt like his brain was being used for target practice by a middle schooler with a BB gun and the school just canceled pizza day forever.

Jazz was feeling pretty grateful to Prowl right now. Between the glitching visual feed and the misshapen state of his feet, Jazz wasn’t totally confident he could get into the mecha cradle on his own.

At least not without stumbling around like he was completely plastered and trying to decipher a fancy ass hotels space age shower controls.

Seriously, seven different knobs and a touch screen.

Blurr. Dude. Why.

As Prowl walked him through the outpost, Jazz continually got snapshots of his surroundings. Doorway, hallway, door again, room. Another mecha was inside.

At a glance, they looked like the same class type as Prowl. Face, wing thingy’s, and wheels. All the same but with a slightly different color scheme of red and grey.

Jazz was slowly working out what class of mecha they were supposed to be. They couldn’t be Striker class. Not with attachments Prowl straight up specified were delicate.

What even were they? They weren’t thrusters. The wings took the place of where car doors were on a regular car. Which, holy shit, Prowls mecha can turn into a fucking car.

Prowl also flexed and twitched them around a bunch, kinda like how Jazz used his horns to emote. Not that Prowl needed wings to emote because holy FUCK that face. It had micro expressions!!

Okay. Prowl had three things that were cool as fuck going on. An expressive face, delicate wings and the ability to turn into a (fucking) car.

What does that mean? Why would someone build a mecha like that?

Ever since Jazz got spat out by the wormhole and woke up surrounded by aliens, he’s felt like his brain has been slowly circling the drain of a sink. There was some missing piece to all of this that he could feel himself just skirting by over and over again.

Oh fuck right. The other aliens. There was alien life other than tentacle monsters out there. They were dicks sure but at least you could share a train car without any murder attempts.

Ooooohhh. Jazz swayed backwards a little as the tilted his head back in realization. Prowl catching him.

Prowl’s mecha was built to work with other fighters in space. He clearly had a life support system to survive in a vacuum. He had a highly expressive face to help communicate with aliens. The wings must be satellites for communication. The car mode was for fast tracking across planet surfaces. Prowl was crazy smart, over and over again Jazz had watched him figure out exactly where they needed to go and how to get there. Of course there was a reason he was so easy to work with. It was his job.

Prowl wasn’t any kind of pre-existing class from Jazz’s mecha program. Prowl was every Strikers pipe dream that kept getting brought up and then thrown out for “not being cost effective”.

Prowl was a Support Class Mecha.

Live on the field, giving real time updates and backup.

Damn.

Whatever shadow government Prowl worked for must be insanely rich. Wonder if they’re taking applications.

Prowl unhooked Jazz’s remaining functional arm from over his shoulders. He maneuvered Jazz to sit on a bench height concrete extension from the floor.

The microphones in his horns were still working fine despite one of them sending many unhappy damage report messages.

“Sit here and don’t move.” From the glimpses Jazz could catch, Prowl looked concerned but focused. Jazz wanted to ask why they didn’t go to some kind of docking station but figured Prowl knew what was up and went along with it.

Jazz could hear the mystery mecha talking. A lot.

It was in that other language Prowl had initially tried talking to Jazz with, except speed up by a bajillion percent.

From the tone, the new mecha was asking Prowl a barrage of questions. Prowl, for his part, replied in short concise sentences or occasionally a silent glare. The other mecha didn’t seem put off by this and merrily continued talking as he lined up another shot through some kind of rail gun setup built into the slit window.

Eventually, the new mecha started directing his questions at him. Apparently stopping to breath wasn’t a thing with this guy.

Jazz did his best to shrug. “Sorry man. No idea what you’re saying.”

Prowl interceded in common, “Jazz, this is Bluestreak.” He waved in the direction of the sniper, who smiled and waved.

“Bluestreak, this is Jazz. He is only just learning Common.” Prowl turned to Bluestreak with a scolding look. “I need to focus on helping him while you focus on the remaining quintessons. Understood?”

“I got it! I got it. I can stop talking when I’m working you know.” Bluestreak nodded and turned back towards the view port, but not without calling over his shoulder, “So Jazz, my brothers face is emotion positive positive positive?”

Oh Jazz could hear the shit eating grin from the other side of the room.

“HAH!” Jazz accidentally knocked his head back against the wall and visor started glitching worse. “Eugh. Eh, worth it.”

“Both of you be quiet or I will separate you.” Prowl threatened.

Jazz, chuckled good naturally but otherwise quieted down. He watched the stop motion footage of Prowl opening some kind of crate and collecting what looked like a tube of glue, a pair of giant tweezers and some kind of mecha sized chrome-mesh duct tape.

His face was suddenly very close and Jazz did not startle. Nope. Who said that?

He felt the pressure of a hand settling on his good shoulder. Prowl was wearing that highly concentrated look again. And Jazz was so focused trying to work out what the internal mechanisms of his eyes were that he missed what Prowl was saying to him.

“Could you say that again? My…uh.”

M’kay, how to translate ‘I definitely have whiplash and maybe also sort of a Concussion’ into common. “Head function negative? Uh, too much motion. Broken but small negative?”

Yeaaaah Prowl did not seem reassured by Jazz’s attempt to downplay his condition. Which meant he nailed the translation! He was so getting at least a B+ in this language class.

Fuck his head hurt.

“I want to help you as much as I can. I am not a person-profession-help. Can I help you with what I have?” Prowl had a little furrow between his eyebrows.

“Sure, I won’t fight you.” Jazz stabilized himself best he could. The sentence must have translated weird, because Prowl looked kinda concerned before pulling out a strip of shiny duct tape.

The winged mecha paused, examining Jazz’s busted shoulder, and then doubled the length of tape.

When Prowl wrapped the mesh textured tape around and just above the breakage, something weird started happening to Jazz’s systems. The Severe Damage Warnings and big bright Error messages Jazz had been actively ignoring for the past half hour started to reduce in number. One by one they all quieted down. Checking his mechas systems, the arm was still marked as compromised, but the ai wasn’t actively screaming into his poor brain anymore.

The quiet was such an overwhelming balm Jazz audibly groaned in relief. “I owe you so, so, many drinks. What is that stuff?”

Prowl stilled, “It is-“ he paused, clearly trying to work out how to translate a complicated term into a common equivalent. “It is a kind of repair mesh. You…you don’t know what repair mesh is?”

Jazz got a snapshot of Prowl and even Bluestreak’s expressions. The sniper looking over his shoulder, eyes wide and mouth open in silent confusion. Prowl’s stare was boring into him, making Jazz squirm.

“Um. Yes? At least it’s not something I’ve ever seen before. I mean, I don’t actually need it if it’s too expensive.” Jazz turned owlishly between the two.

Jazz heard Bluestreak start to make a questioning noise before having his focus be pulled back to the winding down invasion outside. Prowl looked into the distance for a moment, then took up the tweezers. He schooled his expression like he was about to do brain surgery.

“I’m going to work on your helm and visor now. Please hold still.” Prowl placed his hand against the side of his head, stabilizing.

“M’kay. Go ahead.” And Jazz put his mecha into Maintenance Mode.

The lights inside the mecha dimmed down to a low glow. Like this, the engine dropped into an idle hum, and the mecha could only move very slowly. Jazz had to hold a position for a few seconds before anything would respond, giving plenty of time for engineers to move out of the way.

Jazz also shut off the incoming feed from the visor, since looking at a bright flashing screen was probably on the list of things you’re not supposed to do while concussed. As well as fall asleep. Or operate heavy machinery.

Two out of three ain’t bad. Call it another B+.

Jazz felt like he might be dropping a letter grade soon though. He usually associated Maintenance Mode with being bored out of his mind, but after the insane last few hour’s, the slow quiet was practically a spa session.

It didn’t hurt that Jazz could feel Prowls hand cradling the side of his head. Technically, the mechas could only sense pressure. No heat. No texture. Given a reference point though, the human brain was pretty fantastic at filling in the gaps.

It felt warm. And soft.

“Jazz?” Prowl stopped what he’d been doing.

Ah.

Jazz came back into full awareness from where he’d been drifting off. He was pressing into Prowls hand.

“Sorry, sorry.” He lethargically pulled away. How do you explain “Hey! Sorry about pushing against you like a stray cat! I’m just kinda super into piloting mecha and being held like that is kind of a novel experience.” in a completely foreign language you learned that morning?

Jazz dragged his ass back upright.

“I’m not, uh, familiar? With a hold like that. Touch-positive. Normally I only feel touch-fight or touch-medical.” Jazz meant to say touch-maintenance, but he was already rambling and for some reason the words were really similar in Common.

Prowl didn’t respond.

Jazz felt his chest tighten. “Prowl?”

“I’m here.” Prowl said quickly. There was an edge of static to his voice.

He didn’t remove his hand. “I’m still here.”

The rest of Jazz’s maintenance went by quietly. Prowl kept his hand where it was for the majority of it, only repositioning once to tilt his head back while working on the cracks of his visor.

Jazz wasn’t 100% sure why Prowl indulged him. Maybe got it? Or maybe he just thought Jazz was passing out and needed to be grounded. Okay yeah, that actually makes the most sense. Plus it was also what literally happened.

Eventually, the pilots heart finally slowed to a resting rate. Mostly. Jazz kept jerking awake.

If falling asleep with a concussion was bad, then falling asleep with a concussion while piloting a mecha would probably do very bad things to his lightly fried meatball of a brain.

He tried remembering what he could of his mandatory pilot safety course he took with Ratchet before the doctor left the program. He mostly remembered sneaking out.

It was fortunate then the pilot was just delirious enough that every time he almost conked out, the spiritual embodiment of Ratchet would scare the fuck out of him.

Thanks Ratchet.

See? I did learn something.

He heard a tarp rustling, and then his busted arm was being manipulated. Jazz brought his visor back online, pleased to see it wasn’t flashing anymore. His vision was a little distorted in the corner on the left side but he could deal with that.

When he looked around, Prowl was in the process of tying makeshift sling in place to keep his damaged bits from jostling around.

Jazz also got a good look at the emblem on his mecha’s chest. It kinda looked like an angular mecha face. Jazz didn’t recognize brand design though. Maybe he’d remember once he’d recovered from the bullshit of the day.

He was kinda too tired to think properly at the moment. That circling-the-sink-drain feeling hadn’t actually left, even with the Support Class revelation.

“That is the best I can do for now. Our ship should arrive in five breems.” Prowl hesitantly let go of Jazz.

“Thanks Prowler, you’re the best.” He wriggled now free horns at him. Incrementally, Jazz brought his systems back online, running through well practiced motions to ensure everything was working. Well, everything that was supposed to be working anyways.

He heard a raspberry being blown by Bluestreak, the mecha had his hands on his knees and he was looking from Jazz to Prowl.

“Prowler?”

Prowl frowned. “Yes?”

“Prow-ler.”

Prowl frowned harder, “I’m aware.”

Bluestreak straightened up, “Okay, you’ve delayed this long enough. I need to talk to this guy one on one. Go talk to the Big Boss and I’ll watch Jazz. Please mech. I gotta. I gotta talk to this guy or I’m going to explode. Like, where is he from? Why does he look like that? How’d he end up floating in space? What’s his native language? Does he know any other languages? Why has he never heard of Common before? Is he super young? How are the others gonna react? What are you going to say to Elita? Oh Elita says hi by the way. Or, not really, she said ‘contact me as soon as possible’ and then hung up on me. Which is fine. Oh but you should seriously respond to you-know-who first.”

Jazz was getting maybe every third word of that. Bluestreak was still going. Wow. Impressive breath control no lie.

Prowl visibly sighed, straightening his posture into something military grade. Immune to the conversation tornado.

“Jazz, I must speak with our factions leader. I will not mention you to him until you have a better understanding of our military structure and you are able to choose to engage.” Prowl kept his hands folded behind his back. The total shift in body language was jarring.

“Okay,” Jazz nodded slowly. “I’ll be here, thanks again.”

Prowl nodded curtly once before shooting a warning look at Bluestreak, and then left the room.

The loss was weird in a way Jazz couldn’t properly describe. Prowl was so easy to click with that once he was gone, Jazz remembered he was stranded in deep space surrounded by what were effectively perfect strangers.

He didn’t get to dwell on it long though, as Bluestreak sidled up to him, propping his chin on one hand.

“So! I’ll let you go first. Ask me anything and I’ll tell you all about it!”

Jazz had a lot of questions but figured he’d start with something basic to help along his language acquisition.

“What,” he poked Bluestreak in his purple badge, “Are your cuss words?”

———————————————————————

Prowl: What do you mean you are actually capable of experiencing pain?

Prowl: What do you mean you don’t know what local anesthetic is?

Prowl: What do you mean no one has ever touched you when it didn’t involve medical treatment??

Prowl: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’VE GONE THROUGH MEDICAL TREATMENT WITHOUT ANESTHETIC.

Man oh man, this is the end of this arc but there’s more I still want to write. Gonna start cataloguing and saving these as well.

-SSTP

OH MY GOD. OH NO. Oh my god

Yeah no that makes SO much sense khftugssujdsthdd. Without that one little important piece of information their understanding of each other. Oh man. It's not just bad. It's FANTASTICALLY wrong but somehow generally still in the vaguely right direction??

Like Jazz being regularly medically mistreated is kind of true BUT NOT IN THE WAY YOU THINK PROWL

And Prowl being that sweet sweet support class mecha?? FUKFDEY Y e ah.

Oh this is amazing. Oh thIS IS FUCKING GREAT SSTP I WILL DIE FOR YOU

[rebelssvy]

you x your fave MHA man

LABELS: fucking sex. fucking you in heat. pov you get hit with a quirk that makes you all hot and bothered.

-chat i ate this up!

here you were, getting undressed by your childhood crush in the comfort of an empty changing room at your agency. you had been shot with a random quirk during a raid. you passed out during all of it.

the last thing you remembered he had swept you up into his arms and got you here.

you didn’t know what was happening to you.

your back arched off the bench, you refused to let go of him. you felt how soaked you were through your suit.

you grabbed every part of him.

“fuck i’m soso so sorryyyy-! i don’t know what’s happening to me.” you moaned out to him. he stood above you, slicking down your hair that had poked up during the fight.

“it’s ok. are you hurt? how do you feel?” he said through concerned eyes. staring down at you.

“i feel like i need your cock.” you said with full confidence before slapping both your hands over your mouth.

he looked down at your with desire and an open mouth. he didn’t say anything before shaking his passion. he reminded himself, it’s just the quirk after effects making you say this.

“i’m so so sooo sorry… i shouldn’t have said that.. but im just being honest i don’t know what to do” you moaned out again. your hands slowly making their way to your own body. grabbing at the fabric.

you felt hot. like you needed it all gone. you needed it off of you. asap.

“can u pleaseee help me.. oh my god.. fuck let me suck you off pleaseeee” you said up to him with puppy eyes.

it was truly a sight to see. and well, this was his dream. you begging to suck him off, your skin glowing with desire.

“if you think it’s gonna make you feel better…. i mean.. i guess you can-“ before he finished his sentence you were pulling his pants down. you wasted no time before licking his length with your tongue.

opening your mouth as much as you could you stuck his cock down your throat as much as you could.

“oh my god.. fuckkk y/n” he grabbed onto your hair bobbing your head back and forth.

you sucked as much as your could. you wanted all of him.

he pulled out. grabbing your jaw he tilted his head down to stare at you. you looked up at him with your mouth still wide open. you stuck your tongue out for him.

“let me fuck you.” he said before pulling you up to take off your suit.

“yes yes yes yes please fuck me that’s all i want!” you moaned out grabbing at the fabric he still had on his body.

he stopped all action, grabbing your face and pulling you in for a heated kiss.

pulling apart, “you getting hit with that quirk was the best thing that’s ever happened.. fuck” he said before making his way to suck on your neck.

you moaned at the contact, bringing your hands down to grab at his freed cock. squeezing the top of this length. pre-cum oozing out of it. he gasped at the touch.

“i’ve dreamed of this far longer then just today…” you said while your suit dropped off your body. you were now fully unclothed.

he stared at you with passion in his eyes. you broke the silence again.

“i dreamed about sucking you off under your desk in highschool.” you admitted.

before you knew it he picked you up. it was all happening to quickly. all you needed was relief.

twisting your body into a full nelson. your body pressed against his. he had both your legs, so you were spread full open.

you moaned out again.

“please please please put it in let me feel your cock” you mumbled out. flushed.

“whatever you say doll…” he said grabbing his cock, pressing it against your entrance.

it was filthy. him having you all wrapped up like this. but you were begging for it.

his cock plunged in and out of you. balls slapping your skin with each movement.

“oh yeah? you fucking like that?” he groaned at you spreading you as wide as you could.

you moaned out to him as a response. you couldn’t comprehend anything.

he hit all your deepest angles. you were on full display.

this was so naughty. and too think a quirk caused this? you would consider yourself blessed.

“fuck your so tight for me aren’t cha’?” he said to you in a condescending manner. making you clench around his length.

“mmm… i-i’m closeee”you warned him.

“cmon then…” he groaned softly, “cum around my cock.”

he demanded it. and so you did.

cumming around him, you moaned out ‘thanks you’’s and how your ‘all his’. your body spasming through your orgasm, as he fucked you through your high.

finally he set you down on the bench, you all fucked out like this, he couldn’t stop himself.

jerking himself off, to your face.

of course, he had to finish on your face.

even fucked out as you were you opened your mouth wide and stuck your tongue out. catching all the cum you could.

“thank fuck for that quirk” he said before wiping his own cum off your cheek.

“mmm… thank fuck for you” you said with a smile.

……………………………………………………………………………..

- i was personally thinking of katsuki. but that’s just me. LOLLLL comment who you thought about!!!

[puckinghischier]

Fallen

Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary: part 2 to falling

notes: hello!!! considering it’s after midnight, i’m giving you guys a gift for my birthday. this was very fun to write and i continue to just make myself sad that i don’t have a nico in my life. i hope you enjoy! happy reading! 🫶🏼

this is unedited!!

request: anon requested a part 2 to falling

[4.9k]

“I really wish you’d let me carry something, Neeks,” you whine out, pressing the button to call the elevator down to the parking garage.

“Nope. I’m perfectly capable of carrying your groceries on my own,” Nico dramatically swings the reusable shopping bags over his shoulder, walking a few feet away before turning and striking a pose.

Your laugh echoes around the concrete garage, amused at his theatrics.

It’s been about three weeks since your accident at the rink, and Nico hasn’t left your side since. As long as he’s in Jersey, that is.

After that first night he’s only really left your apartment to either go to practice and games, or to sleep. Sometimes even the latter not being true, considering there’s been a few nights he’s crashed on your couch after late-night movie sessions or particularly rough games.

During your follow up appointment your doctor told you to keep the sling on for a few more weeks, not wanting to add any unnecessary strain to the healing muscles in your shoulder. After you told Nico the sling was here to stay, he insisted he was going to, literally, be your right-hand man.

You were also told, as long as you and the sling are one, going to work is on your list of restricted activities. So is any form of strenuous activity, lifting anything over ten pounds, and whatever else Nico deems unsafe for you to do. Like carrying your groceries.

Nico has shown up at your apartment every morning with a cup of coffee, either bringing you breakfast or offering to cook for you. He takes his post-practice and pre-game naps on your couch in case you need him to do anything for you. After home games he shows up with takeout and candy, keeping you company while you’re stuck in your apartment day after day.

When he’s on the road he enlisted the help of Jesper’s girlfriend, Nicole, to come over and check on you at least once a day. Anytime he’s playing in a different state, no matter where he is, he always manages to have dinner delivered to your house, making sure you’re not stuck eating microwave meals and simple dinners, thanks to your limited cooking ability and lack of being able to drive at the moment.

Before he has to leave for stretch of away games, he always makes sure he takes you to the grocery store, stocking your pantry and fridge to make sure you have everything you need while he’s gone. He calls you every chance he has on the road, wanting to check on you and how you’re feeling while keeping you up on the team happenings, knowing how eager you are to get back to work.

Today is one of his ‘preparation’ days, as you’ve dubbed them. He showed up this morning with a coffee and a bagel, cut into quarters instead of in halves, so the insides wouldn’t slip out of the other side when you tried to take a one-handed bite. He did your dishes and folded your laundry for you while you showered, twisting your hair into one of his trademark braids after you were dressed before ushering you out of your apartment, claiming the two of you had errands to run.

The first errand on his list was taking you to the rink, a satisfied feeling settling over him when he saw the large smile on your face when he told you he asked if you could sit in on practice today. You were practically buzzing with excitement, not having been at the rink since the day of your fall. You had grown to love the sport of hockey during your time at your job. Missing the chill of the air, the sound of pucks sliding across the ice and the scrape of their skates as the players come to a stop.

Several of the players slide over to the bench where you sit, just as excited to see you as you are to see them.

Jack and Luke come over first, telling you how ready they are for you to be back, having given themselves the job of Puck Police, ensuring that all of the pucks are cleared out of the skate path leading towards the benches.

Jesper, Timo, and Holtzy tell you how much they miss the jokes you would tell them so they would quit mean mugging and actually smile during arrival pictures.

Dawson, Johnny, and Curtis joined the gathered group, bringing you a card that everyone from the team had signed. It was a giant novelty card, clearly custom made, considering there was a picture of the whole team on the front, the inside reading “Sorry you fell over our pucks. We feel really pucking bad about it.”

You were doubled over in laughter the entire time the team spent chatting with you before their practice officially started, fulling understanding the sentiment that laughter is the best medicine. You were even able to give the young girl filling in for you some pointers, helping her adjust the settings on the camera for different shots, happy you were able to sneak in a little bit of work to your visit.

After practice was over and Nico was showered and ready to go, the two of you went out for lunch at a small café just down the street from the rink, their large bakery selection immediately catching your eye. You ended up having cake for lunch, telling Nico to mind his own business when he asked if you wanted any ‘real’ food.

Once lunch was over, he took you to the grocery store, helping you pick out ready made meals and a few other essentials before bringing you back to your apartment, where you were currently witnessing Nico’s wannabe model moves.

Once the elevator lifts you to your floor, you walk over and unlock your door, leaving it open behind you for Nico to walk through, following you straight to your kitchen to put away your groceries.

You grab a box of cereal, setting it down on the counter before reaching up to open your cabinet door. Just as you’re reaching up to place the box on the shelf, you hear something fall, a bottle of water slipping off of one of the shelves in your fridge. You jump slightly, trying to turn your body at the same time, the sudden movement pinching one of the nerves in your shoulder, causing you to let out a hiss.

Nico immediately clocked the displeased noise, jerking his body into a standing position and walking over towards you.

“Are you okay? What happened? Did you try to lift this up with your bad arm?” he asks you, arms hovering around your frame, eyes glued your slinged shoulder.

You finish pushing the cardboard box onto the shelf, closing the wooden cabinet door.

Rolling your arm a bit, you turn to face Nico.

“I’m fine. Just jumped a little and it caught my shoulder in a funny way, I guess. No big deal, just more uncomfortable than anything,” you assure him.

He narrows his eyes at you, trying to gauge if you’re lying to him or not.

Narrowing your eyes back at him, you pull a face at him.

He backs up, laughing, seemingly convinced you’re fine.

Walking back over to finish placing the several salad kits you bought in the fridge, Nico starts talking with his head fully inside of your fridge.

“So, we leave out around six tonight and I won’t be back until late Friday night,” he tells you, meaning he’ll be gone almost four full days, considering today is Monday. “Nicole offered to stay over here if you wanted her to, incase you needed to go anywhere.”

You’ve gained a friend in Nicole through this whole process, enjoying her company. You didn’t have many girl friends in the city, your job taking up the majority of your time. Nico was the person you spent the most time with, even before these past few weeks, but you occasionally tagged along to outings with the team, growing close to Jack, Luke, Timo, and Jesper, too. You figure that’s why Nico chose to ask Nicole to help out, seeing as you’d spent some time with her during celebratory bar nights and get togethers at Nico’s apartment.

The two of you were friendly before, but now you would consider yourself good friends, going out to lunch together and watching bad reality tv during the day when she would come over. She even helped you do your skincare routine one night before bed, giving you different tips and tricks on the order of application. It felt like you were in middle school again having a sleepover with your best friend.

“I might take her up on that. I think there’s new episodes of The Circle on Netflix. We could binge them while eating ice cream!” your eyes light up with an idea.

Nico laughs and shakes his head at you while shutting your fridge door.

“I really don’t understand your obsession with these awful shows. Jesper and I were talking about how we wouldn’t be surprised if the two of you signed up for your own spot on one soon.”

The thought of Nico talking about you when Jesper is talking about Nicole makes your brain stutter for a moment.

You can’t deny that your new found feelings for Nico have continued to develop during the time he’s spent being your self-appointed helper. His insistence on being your personal chauffer, showing up every day like clockwork, even going as far to tell the media team the alternate captains are going to have to do post-game media for home games until you’re back to work causes your feelings to grow each day.

You haven’t told your mom about the arrangement with Nico, not wanting to get her hopes up, still not entirely convinced Nico isn’t just being nice. The two of you haven’t shared any intense moments like the first night he braided your hair, now the braiding sessions being filled with small talk and laughter.

Hearing that Nico is bringing you up when Jesper is talking about his own girlfriend, however, sparks a seed of hope in you.

“And if we do, you and Jesper can be our cheerleaders from the other side,” you tell him, sticking your tongue out.

When Nico finishes putting away the rest of your groceries, he takes the reusable bag and returns it to its hiding spot under the sink.

At this point, Nico knows your apartment as well as you do. He knows where all of your dishes go, because he unloads your dishwasher and washes anything by hand that won’t fit. He knows where all of your clothes go in your room, helping you wash, fold, and put away your laundry – with the exception of your underwear, he hasn’t earned access to that drawer yet. He knows where everything in your bathroom is, having to take a shower one morning after he crashed on the couch. He even knows which junk drawer has which random items in it.

You’ve become so comfortable with Nico being here, it’s like a tiny part of you doesn’t want your arm to heal, just so he has to continue coming over and playing roommate.

Nico walks over and leans against your stove, facing you.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine while I’m gone? It’s the longest stretch of away games we’ve had since your fall.”

He looks genuinely worried, the thought causing a familiar swirl in your belly.

“I’ll be fine, Neeks. This thing comes off next week anyways,” you lift the arm in your sling for emphasis. “I’m going to have to get used to you being gone again, anyways. This week will be like a practice run.”

You catch the way Nico’s eyes just slightly fall. If you weren’t always paying attention to his beautiful eyes, you would’ve missed it, perking up just as quickly as they fell.

“God, finally. Thought I’d have to be your maid forever,” he exaggerates his words, making a big show of rolling his eyes and throwing his arms up above his head.

“Oh shut it, you love hanging out with me,” you step towards him, wagging your finger in his face.

He tilts his head, pretending to think about your words. “Yeah, I guess you’re pretty good company,” he reaches out, grabbing the finger a few inches from his nose.

The two of you stand there, his hand not letting go of your finger, letting it drop in-between your bodies.

His lips fall from his wide smile, slightly separated as he stares at you.

Feeling the energy shift, you stare back at him, not knowing what exactly is happening. Neither one of you have spoken for a solid minute now, your finger still trapped in his hand.

Your eyes flick down to his pink lips, and back up to his eyes. He darts his tongue out to lick his dry lips, unable to move your gaze from them this time. Thinking about what his lips would feel like on yours, the alarm bells start going off in your head.

Clearing your throat and stepping back, you break the moment, not knowing what else to do.

Nico drops your finger, bringing a hand up to run through his long hair, looking away from your face.

Was he thinking about kissing you like you were thinking about kissing him? Would you have really let him? Why did you interrupt the moment? You like him you idiot!

When Nico pushes himself off of your stove, you start ignoring the voice in your head.

“I need to get going. Still need to stop by my place and grab a few things before heading to the rink,” he says, still refusing to meet your eye. “I’ll, uh, call you when we get there, like usual, okay?”

Nodding at him you reply with a “Yeah, sounds good.”

“Alright. Good. I’ll see you in a few days?” he walks over to you, hands twitching at his sides like he wants to give you a hug, but doesn’t know if he should.

You eliminate the space between you, wrapping him up in a hug. “Sounds perfect. Play safe.”

He hugs your body to his for a few more moments before letting go, a small “Bye” leaving his mouth before he grabs his keys off of your kitchen table and exits your apartment with a wave.

You stand in your kitchen thinking about your interaction, deciding a phone call to your mother was needed.

———————————————————————————

Grabbing the bowl of freshly popped popcorn, you walk back over to your living room and plop down next to Nicole.

Tonight was the night the boys are supposed to be getting back from their road trip. Since they weren’t supposed to be getting back until late tonight, you decided to spend the evening watching some of your favorite rom coms to pass the time.

Nicole always said waiting for Jesper to get home on the day of was the worst, because she knows its so close but the time always seems to drag. You surprisingly understood, the past week feeling like the longest of your life without Nico’s presence around your apartment.

After your phone call with your mom the other night, you allowed yourself to realize you want to be with Nico. Your confession to her that you did actually have feelings for the hockey player earned a squeal of joy and an extremely enthusiastic “I told you so!”

Talking with your mom about his actions throughout your whole accident and healing process really opened your eyes to how long you’ve really had feelings for him. You weren’t completely blind, finding Nico attractive from the very beginning, but you hadn’t really let yourself go all the way. Preventing yourself from getting your hopes up and embarrassing yourself, you kept using the excuse of him just being nice to justify why there were no feelings involved in your friendship.

You realized what a load of bullshit that was, though, considering how often you found yourself calling him to tell him good news whenever you received any. Or wanting to have a movie night anytime you were upset or sad, knowing your mood would improve the second Nico walked through your door. Or all the times at the bar when you would ignore men’s advances, wanting to just spend time talking with Nico the whole night.

Your mom recounted all the times she knew, once again marking that first time he helped you on the ice as the moment. She’s still not able to convince you that it was then, considering you and Nico didn’t even really know each other then.

Thinking back on your phone call with your mom made you think about how you hadn’t heard from Nico in a while, pulling your phone out to see if he had given you any update on where they were.

Nicole threw a handful of popcorn at you, fussing at you to pay attention to the movie and that they’ll be home when they’re home. You surrendered to her wishes and placed your phone face down on the coffee table in front of you.

Your third movie of the night was about halfway over when you heard a key turning in the lock on your door, knowing that only one other person had a key to your apartment.

You grab the remote and pause the movie, turning your body to face behind your couch, waiting for Nico to walk around the corner.

As he rounds the corner, suitcase in hand, you can’t help the grin that breaks out on your face.

“You’re back!” you exclaim, fighting the urge to leap off of the couch and crush him in a hug.

“I’m tired,” he responds, his smile bright but eyes tired.

The dark skin under his eyes confirm his words, assuming he had been asleep on the plane until they landed.

“Well, I guess that means I need to get home to Jesp,” Nicole says, sitting up and grabbing her shoes.

Nico looks over, mumbling out a “Good to see you Nicole, thanks for keeping her company this week,” before looking over at you, yawning as he told you he was going to take a quick shower then crash on your couch.

You give him a nod, telling him the stuff he bought last time was still in there.

Nicole gives the two of you a look, waiting until she hears the bathroom door shut to speak up.

“He keeps shower stuff here?”

Looking over at her you explain the time he fell asleep here and needed to shower that morning, stating you had too many expensive looking products to waste on himself, so he bought his own shower essentials and uses them anytime he decides to shower here after practice.

“So let me get this straight. He comes home to your apartment after a long road series, keeps his own products in your shower, has a key, and stays the night sometimes?” she watches you nod, her words not sinking in. “So, he does all of this, but the two of you still claim you’re just friends?”

Not knowing how to respond, you just stare at her. She keeps looking at you, waiting for your answer.

“Well…I mean…I don’t know,” you finally spit out.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” she questions.

“I mean, there’s little moments here and there that lets me think we could be more than friends, but I don’t want to bring it up because what if he’s just being nice? What if he agrees that we’re really just friends?” you open up to Nicole, the only other person you’re able to talk about this with being your mom.

She scoffs at you. “Are you kidding me? What kind of moments? Because from where Jesper and I are sitting, we keep expecting you guys to make it official any day now.”

Your cheeks heat at her words. “Well, like the fact I never even had to ask him to do all of this stuff for me, he just did. And he admitted that he drove all the way to the hospital the night I got hurt because no one had any updates, then drove here with no socks on when they told him I had already come home. He keeps getting all of these restaurants to cut my food up in weird ways so it’s easier for me to eat with one hand. And if they don’t do it, he will,” you keep rambling, not focusing on your surroundings enough to hear the shower shut off. “I mean, he offered me skating lessons when he saw me stumble on the ice once, then started coming over for dinner multiple times a week, unless they’re on the road.”

Nicole looks past you down the short hallway, noticing the light shining through the open bathroom door.

You keep talking. “The biggest one, though, is that I think we almost kissed before they left on Monday,” you tell her, causing Nicole’s eyebrows to shoot up.

“SPILL,” Nicole insists, her interest at an all time high.

“Well, we were standing in my kitchen just goofing off and I stuck my finger in his face. He grabbed it and wouldn’t let go, then we just kind of started staring at each other. Before I knew what was happening, I was staring at his lips and he was staring at mine, then I got nervous and stepped back before anything could happen,” you tell her with a shrug.

Nicole groans. “Are you serious!? You could have kissed him and you chickened out? What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know! I was thinking ‘what if I just have something on my face and he doesn’t actually want to kiss me.’”

She shakes her head at you. Movement down the hallway catches her eye, watching Nico step out of the small bathroom, and idea forming.

“I mean, you do like him, right?” She watches Nico’s figure stop in his tracks.

You sigh at her, letting your head sag a bit.

“Of course I like Nico. He’s kind, funny, takes care of me,” you start, a dreamy tone making its way into your voice. “Not to mention he’s insanely attractive. I just…don’t want to mess things up.”

Nicole flits her eyes over to Nico while you’re not paying attention, watching his face morph into shock.

“Y/N, the only way you’re going to be able to know if he feels the same way or not is to tell him. Forget about making a fool of yourself. Nico won’t shun you if he doesn’t feel the same way, he’s not that kind of guy,” she assures you.

“I know, Nic. But how do I even bring it up? How do I find the right time to slide ‘hey, so I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, let me know if you feel the same!’” You pull a thumbs up at her, pulling a sarcastic face.

Nicole smirks at you, confusing you until she says “Just like that,” before pointing behind you to a freshly showered Nico standing in the hallway, having heard every word you just said.

You turn around, snapping your head back towards Nicole when you see Nico. You don’t move, too petrified with the fact he just heard you say you were in love with him.

“Y/N, is that true?” Nico calls out, cautiously walking towards your couch.

Nicole stands, claiming it was time for her to go before she hastily made her exit.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, trying to pull off the ‘if I can’t see them, they can’t see me,’ move.

“Is what you just told Nicole true? You’re in love with me?” you hear from in front of you now, feeling the couch dip.

You refuse to open your eyes, wanting to disappear into thin air. When Nico reaches his hand out, grabbing your non-slinged hand in his own, your eyes snap open.

He’s looking at you with an expression in his eyes you’ve only ever seen a few times before. Once when you wore his jersey for opposites day at work, handing him your camera to tote around all day as you, very poorly, skated around the ice, trying to scoot a puck around. The second was when you surprised him with a pan of brownies for his birthday, knowing how much he loves the chocolatey squares. The third was when he braided your hair for the first time, recognizing the softness of his eyes through the mirror. The most recent, aside from right now, was earlier this week, during the same moment you just described to Nicole.

“I…” you try to speak, but you’re still stuck in shock.

Nico chuckles and drops his head, looking at your hand in his.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, too?” he repeats your words, looking up and into your eyes as he says them.

Your mouth snaps shut, a new kind of shock entering your system.

“I think I have been since that first time Jack almost took you out on the ice,” he starts. “I had seen you before, but we only really spoke when you were telling me how to pose for pictures. Or making me smile for arrival pictures,” he reminisces, a fond smile on his face. “I always thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, but I knew I had to get you to talk to me somehow, the skating lessons being my perfect in,” he tells you, squeezing your hand.

You can’t believe your mother was right. The lessons were a calculated move for Nico to establish himself in your life.

Nico keeps talking, pulling you from the realization. “The more we spent time together, the more I realized I wanted you to be more than just my pretty coworker I taught how to ice skate. So, when you offered the dinners after lessons, I jumped. I was hoping it was your way of telling me you had feelings for me, too, but when you kept telling your mom we were just friends, I figured I could wait it out a little longer,” he references all the times you complained about your mom jumping to conclusions. “I kept lying in wait, trying to find the perfect moment to make my move, and then you got hurt. I was so worried when they told me you fell and they had to take you to the hospital. Got scared it was my fault, that I told you the wrong thing during a skating lesson, or I pushed you to skate on your own before you were ready,” he starts rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand.

“When I realized you would need major help while your arm was in that sling, not even being able to brush your hair by yourself, I knew this is where I could tell you. Maybe bring it up when I was braiding your hair, or slip a note in your bagel bag one morning. Hell, I even thought about spelling it out with sushi pieces that first night, but figured that might be a bit tacky,” you laughed at his words, remembering wondering what was taking him so long to bring your food to you. “But then, every time I thought about it, I chickened out. The closest I ever got was the moment in your kitchen, every muscle in my body screaming at me to just lean in and kiss you,” your laugh is cut short at his confession. “When you pulled back before I could, I assumed you didn’t feel the same way, so I left. I was embarrassed, not wanting to sit in the rejection any longer. But this week, being away for so long after spending nearly every day with you for the past three weeks, I knew I had to tell you.”

You’re glad he was as affected by not being around you this week as you were, not feeling as pathetic anymore.

“Was going to tell you when I walked through the door actually, but then I saw Nicole here and didn’t want to do it in front of her. That worked out great, didn’t it?” he laughs at the situation, Nicole clearly having different plans.

You scoff out a “Yeah, clearly, considering she railroaded me without me even knowing.”

“Well, I’m very glad she did, because now I can stop talking about you like a lovesick puppy to them,” Nico tells you, confirming your earlier feeling that Nico brings you up during ‘girlfriend talk’.

“My mom is so totally going to freak out when I tell her we’re actually together,” you tell him, stopping yourself. “We are together, right?”

Nico laughs as he brings his hands up to cup your face, pulling you in for a kiss, his lips as soft as you imagined they were. He keeps the kiss light and sweet before pulling back.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” your cheeks flush, earning another laugh from the man in front of you.

“C’mon, I’m tired and would love to sleep in an actual bed tonight. We can talk details tomorrow. Right now, I need cuddles and sleep,” he stands, holding his hand out for you to grab as you stand, leading you down the hallway towards your bedroom.

Thinking back to what lead you to this moment, you giggle quietly to yourself, finding it a little comical that it took you literally falling on the ice and injuring yourself to realize you’d already fallen there once before.

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Comradery

🇺🇸Pairing(s)🇺🇸→ Pre-Serum Steve Rogers x Buff male reader ⚠CW⚠→ Sub top Steve Rogers, dom bottom male reader, anal rimming, Steve worships your body, he tries not to trigger his asthma, size difference, nipple play, breeding kink, and Steve whines from overstimulation. 🇺🇸Rating🇺🇸→ Explicit 🇺🇸Request🇺🇸→ Yes

🇺🇸Word Count🇺🇸→ 1.5k

🇺🇸Summary🇺🇸→ Steve was depressed after being rejected again by the U.S. Army enlistment. He looked in envy at you, his secret boyfriend. You decided to calm Steve down and alleviate him with sex. 

Read before continuing: IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 18 OR ANY OF THE WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT CONTINUE READING! 

Steve was depressed after being rejected again. The rejections were chewing away at his sanity. He wanted to join the army desperately so he could be with his boyfriend– friend! He wanted to be with his friend while in service. He was mainly denied due to his numerous health complications. 

You were saddened by Steve’s mood and decided to visit him. You sneaked from the base in the middle of the night. It was risky because you could be caught and given severe consequences, such as being court-martialed for desertion. Only commanding officers can grant someone leave, but you decided to take matters into your own hands. 

It was important not to get caught sneaking or worse– being caught having sex with your boyfriend. The practice was heavily illegal across the country and it could have you kicked out of the military. However, that was the least of your concerns. 

That’s what led to the moment now. 

Steve was breathing raggedly as he looked at the sight before him. You were lying on his bed naked, and all the muscles you accumulated during training showed. Your pectorals were large and soft after all those bench presses, incline presses, and push-ups during the rigid training exercises. 

“They’re huge– In a good way! I like them.” Steve stutters as he tries to hide his embarrassment. He lays next to you, his hand reaching out and groping your pectorals. Your breath hitched as you felt him playing with the muscle. Steve was envious but marveled at the way it felt– it was firm yet soft to the touch. 

Steve continues his ministrations. He began groping both pectorals with his hands before moving down to play with your nipples, pinching the small nubs. “F-fuck, Steve…” you moaned as your cock was pointing upwards from your nipples being played with. The blonde man could feel his clothed cock straining against his pants,

You felt shivers going down your spine as Steve took one of your nipples into his mouth. His slick tongue swirled around the nub, his other hand tweaking the other nipple. Steve began rutting against your muscular thigh and you could feel the blonde-haired man’s erection. Despite the size difference, you being much larger than Steve, Steve had a bigger cock. 

“Please don’t stop.” You whimpered as you started thrusting into the air. Your throbbing cock bobbing as it oozes precum from the slit. Steve grinds as he is the only one who can make you like this. This feeling surged through him as he pulled back, a string of saliva connecting his mouth and your nipple. 

Steve was getting hasty as he then buried his head into your neck, sucking and nibbling on the rough skin. His hands returned to pinching and playing with your nipples. He was gently and roughly sucking on your neck. Your moans were music to Steve’s ears as his hands moved further down your chest. 

“You’re so bulky,” Steve says as one of his hands glazes over your chiseled abdominal muscles. He went as far as to knock on your stomach, feeling how rough and hard it felt. You gasped as the blonde-haired man was touching all the right places. His ministrations caused all the stimulation to rush to your brain. 

“H-Hey, calm down. You’re getting too hasty.” You said as you noticed Steve’s breathing was becoming more ragged and you could hear him wheezing. He was so caught up that he didn’t realize he was breathing heavily from going too fast. Steve pulls back as he tries to control his breathing, holding his chest and calming himself down.

“You’re good. Just calm down.” You said as you turned over onto your side with Steve lying on his back. The room was quiet besides the heavy breathing of Steve and your movements as you repositioned to face the blonde-haired man’s pants. 

“Fucking hell…” Steve moans as he restabilizes before looking down to see his pants along with his underwear being pulled off. He groans from the feeling of his aching cock making contact with your cold hands. His eyes roll back as your large and rough hands slowly stroke his cock. 

For someone of Steve’s stature, he had an impressive cock. Looks to be 6.5 inches (16.5 cm) with a good amount of girth. You looked down to see a heavy set of balls, Steve must be pent up. It made sense since you rarely see him due to your military training. 

The blonde-haired man’s chest heaves as he looks to his right, being met with the sight of your muscular ass. He couldn’t help himself, reaching out and touching it. Your buttocks felt similar to your pectorals, firm but soft. 

Steve takes a big gulp of air as he feels your soft mouth wrapped around his cock. His hand squeezes your muscular ass as you sucked on his cock. He starts whining and whimpering from the warm and wet sensation. The blonde-haired man even started thrusting into your mouth, grinning at the sounds of you gagging and wet slobbering.

You change positions again, 69 position. Steve’s big cock in your mouth with your ass in Steve’s face. Steve was shocked momentarily before he grabbed onto your hips and pulled you closer to him. Like the munch, the blonde-haired man is, he began worshipping your ass. You made sure to arch your back to let Steve get more. 

Steve began kneading the flesh of your ass with both hands. As he did that, he began licking stripes against your puckering hole. His wet appendage glides against the tight ring of muscle as he squeezes your fat ass. A trail of saliva coats your crack as Steve completely buries himself between the two mounds. 

The blonde-haired man’s ministrations motivated you to suck him faster, bobbing your head up and down Steve’s large cock and fondling the set of heavy balls. You pulled back with a loud pop, breathing heavily as you looked to see Steve’s throbbing cock coated with saliva. After recovering for a few moments, you went back to deepthroating. 

Both of your sounds were muffled by each other. Steve’s moans and whimpers were muffled by your ass while you were with his cock. You then felt the blonde-haired man wrapping his hand around your cock, stroking it while eating you out. 

Your moans sent a tingling feeling through Steve as his cock responded by gushing copious amounts of precum into your mouth. The blonde-haired man strokes your cock faster, his thumb smearing and lathering your cock with precum. Your balls tightened as it was ready to spurt its load, but you didn’t want that. 

“I want you inside me.” You said without shame in your voice. You repositioned for a final time, now face-to-face with Steve. The blonde-haired man groans as he feels your complete weight on his frail body. Your thick thighs were on both sides of his as you positioned his aching cock at your entrance. 

The room was filled with sounds of moans and groans as you ground yourself on Steve’s large cock. You bite your lips as Steve’s cock pushes to the hilt. The cockhead pressing directly against your prostate. “You feel so good inside me…” you moan, there were a few minutes of silence as you waited for Steve to control his breathing.

After a few minutes, you started moving. Bouncing on Steve’s cock, the sounds of skin-slapping echoed through the room. It has been forever since Steve has been inside you, the warmth and tightness of your ass hugging his cock was too much.

Steve lets out a loud groan as his balls tighten before spurting thick loads of cum into your ass. You were shocked and surprised by how much cum was flooding inside. It feels hot and thick as it paints your velvety walls. “S-sorry for cumming early…” Steve said as he was embarrassed for cumming early. 

“It's okay, baby,” you said, collapsing beside Steve and stroking your cock. It didn’t take long before your load spurted on your muscular chest. Breathing was heavy between you two, the room smelt like sweat, musk, and sex. You could feel Steve’s hot thick cum oozing out your hole.

“I love you, Steve.”... “I love you too.”

XXX

Steve woke up to you no longer being beside him. You returned to the base before he woke up. He sighs before falling back asleep. ‘Curse this… curse my fucking life.’ He had to get up though since he was going to the Stark Expo with Bucky later in the day. 

This one decision would change everything for him. 

THE END

A/n: Hello, my strawberries! I hope this was good! I need to watch the Marvel movies so I can better understand. Does this fic follow the timeline of the MCU? Probably not. Will there be a part two? I dont know…

Anyways, very special thanks to my proofreader, @sagethgaywitch

TAGLIST: @hiddens-eden @spnfanboy777 @meyocoko @buckyshusband0 @zamfam4272 @raspberryyuuki @maxxioislost @furiousflowercreation

[thatwhisperer]

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In the Lab…

Fic type-> NSFW + Drabble

Tags-> Sub Jayce, bottom jayce, degrading kink, kinda exhibitionism? both parties get off on getting caught, gn reader but they have smth to fuck him with whatever that might be lol, choking

Word count-> 705, about two pages of a book

AN-> I’m alive it’s a miracle! Anyways there’s not enough sub or bottom jayce fics just saying 🤷‍♀️. And as always, requests open!

Second Part! | AO3 | Masterlist

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It was Jayce’s idea. Not yours.

Honestly, blowing his back out in the lab wasn’t really what you had in mind when you said you wanted to try something new. It’s not like you hadn’t done it before- just this time it was in his lab, over his workbench, scarily close to the door. It didn’t help that Jayce didn’t know how to shut up during sex.

“Yes, yes- fuck!”

You apply more pressure against his wrists held behind his back, pressing him further into metal workbench- a silent warning.

“Jayce.” A hushed tone compared to his strained cries.

“‘m sorry, jus’ too good…”

You tug his trousers further down his ass since his loose belt buckle was clinking against the bench with every thrust.

You glance towards the door.

“Gah- god-“

You watch as his face distorts into one of pleasure as you’d just adjusted the angle of your movements.

“If you don’t know how to shut up-“

“Make me.”

His comment surprised you, he didn’t sound bratty when he said it. And no, he’s too good to disobey you. He sounded desperate for it. Like he needed you to keep him under control, even if he was perfectly capable of keeping quiet himself.

So you lean in, and let your breath caress his tanned shoulder blades.

“Oh, is that what this is all about then huh? Riling me up, teasing me?”

He hesitates before he answers,

“…no, please that’s… it’s not-“

You hook your hand over his mouth, only muffling his moans to your disappointment. He felt a jolt of electricity shoot down to his dick, smearing more pre against the underside of the workbench.

“This is what you wanted isn’t it? Getting me to slut you out in the lab in hopes of, what- getting caught?”

He could only moan into your hand as you pull him up so his head rests on your shoulder, his hair splaying out across it.

“You’re such a whore, who are you imagining walking through that door right now huh?”

You turn your head towards his ear letting your breath hit it, eyes flitting up briefly. You only grin.

“Is it Mel? Or perhaps Viktor?”

You let go of his mouth and instead opting for his neck to hold onto for leverage.

“Both-“

“Both? And what would they do if they saw you like this? Man Of Progress against his own workbench, taking dick like a bitch huh?”

Jayce can’t help but groan at the idea, someone so close to him walking in on such a scene.

“Come on, what would they do…”

You grip his hip harshly to re-adjust your position slightly, his mouth drops open and his now free hands flailing to try to bring you ever closer to him. You know you hit the spot with each thrust too when he stammers before he replies.

“I-I don’t know-“

“I think they’d like it, someone finally having the guts to fuck all that arrogance out of you.”

As you talk you sneak in kisses along his jawline and neck, even leaving one dark mark along the side of his neck.

He whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut, imagining Mel’s and Viktor’s sneering faces. Perhaps they’d be muttering between each other as they stare at him like he’s a common whore.

“Just- fuck- I’m gonna cum.”

“You gonna cum ‘round my cock and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Please, please let me cum- I’ll be-“

“Good? You gonna be good if I let you cum?”

“Mmhmmm…”

“Well… go on, be a good boy and cum for me.”

Like the flick of a switch he arches his back into you and cums across the underside of his workbench, your final few thrusts making it smear all along his dick afterwards.

You feel him go fairly pliant against you as his heavy breathing gets gradually slower, his eyelids slip closed.

You simply smile as you hold his jaw and tilt it away from you. He lets it loll to the side like you want as he pries his eyes open.

Of course Mel and Viktor are standing in the doorway, and of course they both look rather flustered.

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Part 2

[loveyhoneydovey]

Too Much

18+ MDNI

Summary: a tense situation with Robby brings out your deepest insecurities and possibly threatens your relationship.

Michael Robinavitch x reader

1.7K II Content warnings and tags: implied suicidal thoughts, mental health issues such as ADHD, PTSD and depression (reader has ADHD and is implied to suffer from depression), self hate, internalized ableism (related to reader's ADHD), Robby calls reader "sweetheart" and "kid", no physical descriptives for reader, written with an age gap in mind but no specific age are mentioned, open ending. Please let me know if I missed anything. AN: I suspect this story is the result of my Adderall finally improving my focus combined with my various hot girl mental illnesses (including anxiety induced by said Adderall). Big thank you to my hot, talented Greek mythology loving wife @butyoudidthis4what for coming up with the title, helping with the summary and beta reading this. I hope you'll recover from the mental damage you got from being friends with me.

“Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

Michael’s voice cracks as he moves to pull you in a bone crushing hug as you step into his apartment for the second time that night. He inhales deeply as his lips fall to your forehead to kiss it. The gesture grounds him, eases some of the worry he’d been carrying on his shoulders ever since you left.

Truth is, you’d spent the last four hours contemplating everything and nothing on a bench in a park you stumbled upon when you left earlier. It’s a miracle you weren’t mugged or attacked at this hour, not that you were particularly bothered by the thought of finally being put out of your misery once and for all in the state you were currently in.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sor-”

“Please don’t apologize Michael.” You sigh as you cut him off, eyes itching from all the crying you did earlier. It’s true he shouldn’t have spoken to you that way earlier, shouldn’t have been so sharp with his words, but in his defence, he’d tried to let you know a few times he needed to be alone. You assumed you knew better as you always did when persisting with your attempts to cheer him up. Turns out you didn’t. In the end, you didn’t respect his boundaries and he was bound to lash out, as any overwhelmed person would. He wasn’t the first person you’d gone through this almost exact situation with, so why did you always keep making the same mistake while somehow expecting a different outcome?

“Mikey, I’ve always been an overwhelming person to be around. I’m a lot, and while a lot of people like my high energy in small doses, it eventually becomes too much. I could see it in my mother’s eyes how frustrated she was when I wouldn’t stop talking after she’d had a long day. Or when my teachers would have to move me away from everyone else so I’d stop being so disruptive. At the time I didn’t understand why I was so different, so… much. And you know, now I don’t really care about how annoying strangers can find me, not anymore. But I always thought someday I’d be able to somehow fix my stupid brain because I’m tired of being a burden to those I love. Because everyone’s got their own shit to deal with and no matter what, they eventually realize they can’t deal with my presence on top of it. And tonight just feels like confirmation that there’s no one on this planet equipped to deal with me on a daily basis.” 

Michael’s face carried an expression of utter devastation at your hiccuped confession. As he pulled back to face you, you noticed his previously bloodshot eyes were now filled with tears and a pained grimace formed on his lips. You weren’t doing any better, you thought you’d dehydrated yourself to the point of not being able to produce tears anymore. You were wrong for a second time that night. As soon as you’d started your confession, your tears came back flooding. Your words hit you with the realization you were now feeling lonelier than ever, after you’d gotten so spoiled with Robby’s warmth and comforting presence. 

“I even tried medication, you know.” You inhaled shakily as you prepared to continue your speech. Robby didn’t interrupt you, no matter how shattered the way you spoke about yourself made him feel, he knew you needed to let this all out. “And you know what? It actually worked, I finally slowed down, because almost bearable, but I also spent my days feeling worried and numb like a zombie, like I was going to fucking die, Michael. And it felt like a fucking cruel joke from the universe. The only time people start to actually tolerate my presence and the small price I have to pay is to lose the last bit of sanity I have left? Fucking count me in.” You laugh humourlessly at your last statement. You sniffle before looking down and whispering your last sentence.

“The worst thing is, I was ready to do it, to keep taking those pills and keep living in perpetual anxiety just so I could feel fully accepted for once. But I wasn’t strong enough, it was too much, it was so overwhelming. And sometimes I wondered, is that how people feel about me? Is that the feeling I cause to those who stuck by me? Because shit, if I was them I’d also be running for the hills.” 

“I’m so sorry Michael, I didn’t mean to unload all of that on you, and you didn’t do anything wrong by telling me your limits. And the words you said did hurt, but I know you’re not a mean person, and I know you’ll try to convince me we can talk this through. But I won’t be able to handle the look on your face when you finally get up one day and realize you’re tired of me.” You broke completely toward the end, your decision making the loss you were about to experience feel too real, too tangible.

Michael’s eyes widened at the turn of events. This wasn’t where he’d assumed this was headed and he’d seen enough of his relationships to know what your words meant. That didn’t stop him from trying to prevent what seemed inevitable to you. Not this time, not with you. 

He knew your words were right to some extent, god only knows he had his fair share of mental anguish to process and deal with. His days at the Pitt more often than not tested every last bit of his patience with unending staffing issues and a dire lack of resources, and that’s on top of the ever increasing amount of violence his staff had been made to deal with. 

He was lying through his teeth when he said one must imagine Sisyphus happy. How could anyone be okay, let alone happy in this position? All he could do was stand there feeling utterly powerless and useless, knowing those counting on him to lead them, the colleagues he’s supposed to keep safe and protect, could at any moment lose their life to some idiot that’s too fucking grown to be lacking basic manners this badly, knowing all their legitimate fears were so easily preventable. Every rejected request for increased security and more staffing chipped away at his ability to keep doing this job. Every day he had to roll that boulder up an endless hill. 

The resulting fried nerves and undealt with grief from this situation meant he wouldn’t always be able to afford you his full patience and attention. But he was trying, and for you he would keep trying. Meeting you and getting to know you is what allowed him to examine to what extent any positivity in his personal life was sucked out by the echo chamber he felt trapped in. It made him face the fact that he didn’t want that anymore. Life was already so short and fragile, he knew that better than anyone, he was ready to open himself up to new and better things and learn how to nurture and keep them. Within a week of knowing you, he’d taken up Abbot on his advice to seek out a therapist. He’d picked a different one, one better suited to his specific needs and to help him confront his years of emotional neglect towards himself. 

He was finally starting to take care of himself, and he’s certain he wouldn’t have taken that first step if you two hadn’t crossed paths, if you hadn’t showered him with your love and extended him your kindness. He’ll be damned if he lets you leave without understanding your significance in his life, it’s not because he thinks he owes you, but because his love for you and your larger than life personality is the reason his heart’s still beating today. 

“You listen to me and listen to me well, kid. This isn’t happening, you don’t get to bare yourself to me and take the easy way out by leaving because you’re afraid you’ll be rejected again. You don’t get to take away from me the only happiness I’ve been allowed to feel for the first time in god only knows how long. Your smile and warmth and the joy you seem to somehow always be able to carry despite how hurt I know you are, those are the things I look the most forward to coming to after spending my days wondering if what I’m doing is even helping anymore. Listening to whatever unhinged stories as you call them or new hyper fixation you choose to share with me that day is a fucking privilege to me. Getting to hear your voice, knowing you’re still here, still alive and still loving me, and god I realize how selfish that sounds, but that’s the only thing that keeps me going some days. Did you know you’re what encouraged me to finally seek help with my depression and PTSD? To start therapy? Abbot’s still annoyed at that by the way.” He had to momentarily look away after his attempt to deflect with humour how this was the first time he’d ever called his mental health issues by their real name. A significant step taken in the middle of this chaos. He misses your astonished expression brought on by the importance of his admission.

“Do you know how fucking empty and blank I am on days I know I won’t be able to see you? You don’t get to decide for me and assume I’d be fucking okay if you disappeared from my life, because I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t.” His demeanour unraveled. His mind, having truly processed the scene in front of him, was panicking at the prospect of watching you walk out that door and never getting to see you come walk back in ever again. He cups your cheeks before making his final plea, imploring you to listen.

“We can find ways to talk to each other, better understand each other’s needs, but please kid, please don’t subject me to a life without you in it. I’m begging you.” 

You both stand there never having felt more naked in your lives despite the layers of clothing covering your bodies. But no amount of fabric could shield you two from the emotional heaviness of the situation, from how the next few seconds would irreversibly shape your futures.

And so with the weight of the world sitting on your shoulders, you look at the only man you’ve ever loved unconditionally and choose to…

[cece693]

I wanted to begin writing for twilight again, but didn't have any ideas for who. So this fic is mostly be just going with the flow.

Sparkling Awkwardness

pairing: jasper whitlock x male reader x edward cullen tags: you are a newborn, but even then you can't catch a break, tug of war between two vampires, comedic elements, pre-relationship, reader is not that old, newborn vampire

In Forks, Washington, the perpetual gray skies had always been your friend—before and after you became a vampire. But not even the cozy gloom of the Pacific Northwest could hide the shimmering tension stirring between Jasper and Edward over you, of all people.

You never asked to be so desirable; you certainly hadn’t been in your human life. But now, you were a shiny new vampire with a perfect complexion and a magnetic personality—at least, so you’d been told. You still felt like the same slightly clumsy, socially awkward guy, except you no longer tripped over your own feet unless you were actively trying to blend in. It was weird. Oh, and apparently, both Jasper and Edward thought you might be their “mate.” That word alone was enough to give you hives if your skin could still do that. It made everything feel predetermined—a cosmic real-estate deal on your afterlife.

No, thank you.

You plopped down on the gleaming white couch, adopting what you hoped was a casual position. Edward sat at the piano bench, absentmindedly letting his fingers hover over the keys, while Jasper paced near the staircase. They were doing that silent eye-contact thing—what you liked to call “vampire telepathy” (you knew it was actually Edward reading thoughts and Jasper sensing emotions, but still). Either way, you were definitely the topic, if the frequent side-eye glances were any indication.

You cleared your throat, forcing a grin. “So, are we going to continue the silent stare-off, or do I need to crack a few jokes to break this tension?”

Edward turned to you, lips curving into a tight, apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he murmured softly. “Old habits.”

“You guys have old habits? You’re basically the definition of ancient habits,” you teased. “I’m the new kid on the block. Cut me some slack. I’ve only been a vampire for—what—three months?”

Jasper stopped mid-pace, sending you a faint smirk. “If it helps, you’re doing a fine job adjusting. No unintentional biting incidents this week.”

“I appreciate the recognition. We can add it to my vampire résumé,” you said, only half-joking. “Next up: perfecting the sparkle. Do you think if I rub my cheek up against a disco ball, I’ll blind everyone within a two-mile radius?”

Edward’s eyes sparkled with suppressed amusement. “Might be a bit dramatic, even for us.”

Jasper shrugged. “No more dramatic than having two vampires fight over you, I reckon.”

You grimaced, nose scrunching. “Yeah, about that.” You cast them both a meaningful look. “Are you two really fighting over me? Because I’m not exactly used to…you know, this.”

“Yes,” Edward said at the exact same time Jasper said, “Of course.” Then they flicked irritated glances at each other, as if each wished the other had said anything else.

When Carlisle brought you home after that near-fatal accident, you had been delirious and bleeding out. Edward, in typical heroic fashion, had insisted on saving you. Next thing you knew, there you were: newly turned, hungry for blood, and fitted with a brand-new wardrobe courtesy of Alice.

You’d spent the early days stumbling through the house, flinching whenever someone shut a door too loudly. But from the get-go, you noticed two sets of molten gold eyes on you more than the others: Jasper’s and Edward’s.

You didn’t think much of it at first—maybe they were just protective. But it quickly escalated from polite overprotectiveness to…whatever this was. Tense stands in the living room. Soft arguments at midnight. That time Jasper accidentally crushed a chair arm because Edward “invaded your personal space.” Or the time Edward snarled under his breath for no apparent reason when you innocently asked Jasper for some sparring tips.

Needless to say, that’s when you began to suspect something was afoot. And apparently, that something was the so-called mate bond. You still didn’t buy it.

A creak on the polished floor made you realize you’d been tapping your foot anxiously—only to discover it was Jasper edging closer to you. He had that concerned older-brother-turned-smitten-face again. Meanwhile, Edward looked up from the piano, watching you like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to (besides maybe the antique piano itself).

You sighed, addressing them both. “So, as fun as it is being the center of your undead soap opera, can we talk about the whole ‘mate’ thing? I still don’t buy into it.”

Edward studied you, a hint of a frown creasing his perfect forehead. “I’ve heard your thoughts,” he began, “and I understand why you’re—”

“You heard my thoughts?” you cut in, eyes narrowing. “Hey, man, that’s private property up there. At least charge admission.”

A sheepish smile briefly pulled at his lips. “I try to respect your privacy, but strong emotions tend to overflow.”

Your cheeks heated (which was impossible, physically, but you felt it). You cleared your throat. “Well, guess I should keep my strong emotions dialed down—like that’s even possible. I’m brand-new at this vamp thing. I can’t walk across the room without rearranging furniture accidentally.”

Jasper let out a low laugh. It instantly relaxed some of the tension in the room—he couldn’t help broadcasting some of that relaxation to you, as was his empathetic gift. “I’ve got no intention of forcing you into anything,” he said gently. “It’s just…I feel how your emotions waver between us. It’s intense.”

You threw up your hands. “I can’t help it! You two are like walking advertisement campaigns for impossibly cool vampires. I mean, Edward, you’ve got that brooding poet vibe, and sometimes your hair looks like you walked off a shampoo commercial—”

He seemed surprised. “I—thank you?”

You went on. “Jasper, you’re the calm center in a raging storm, and plus, that Southern drawl is kinda hot. Sorry, is that weird to say out loud?”

Jasper blinked. “It’s— it’s not unwelcome.”

Edward’s lips twitched in a smile. “So, you do admit you feel…something?”

“Well, yeah!” you exclaimed. “But does that mean I have to pick and stamp a romantic label on it right now? Because that’s a lot of pressure.” You flopped back against the couch dramatically. “Especially when I’m trying to figure out why my sparkles look more like glitter glue than fancy vampire confetti in the sunlight.”

You heard a snicker and glanced to the side. Emmett was leaning in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, thoroughly entertained. Alice stood behind him, grinning like this was the funniest show on earth.

“You’re both about one push away from a territorial meltdown,” Emmett teased his brothers. “And I, for one, can’t wait to see who’s gonna punch whom first.”

Jasper shot him a warning look. “Not helpful, Emmett.”

Edward winced. “I’d prefer if we avoided violence.”

You rubbed your temples. “Yes, please, let’s not have that. It’s already complicated enough without fistfights.”

“Aw, come on,” Emmett drawled, “vampire fights are the best. It’ll be over in about two seconds and destroy half the house. Great entertainment, if you ask me.”

Alice laughed behind her hand. “I saw a vision of that once. Rosalie was not happy about the furniture repairs.”

In an effort to shift the mood, you sat up straight, cleared your throat, and pointed at Edward and Jasper in turn. “First, you.” You locked eyes with Edward. “Stop reading my cringe-worthy daydreams—I can’t handle that level of exposure.”

He pressed his lips together in a teasing way, then nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

“Second,” you said, turning to Jasper, “no more flooding me with calm vibes to manipulate me into hugging you for, like, five minutes at a time.”

Jasper put a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “I don’t do that on purpose. Usually,” he added under his breath.

“And third,” you said, scanning between them, “I don’t want either of you jumping to assumptions about being my ‘mate.’ I don’t even know what that truly means aside from it being the vampire version of destiny. Maybe I’m too new to see the big picture, but…” You shrugged, folding your arms. “I’m not ready to commit. I like you both. Deal with it.”

Edward’s eyes flickered with relief and a shade of disappointment simultaneously, as though he’d half-expected you to declare an immediate eternal bond. Jasper gave you a solemn nod, managing a small, humble smile.

“So you want to, what, keep this casual?” Edward asked.

“I want to keep living—uh, un-living—my new existence,” you corrected, “without strapping myself into an epic love saga just yet. Let me be a baby vampire who can’t even do a normal grocery run without wanting to pass out from the smell of raw hamburger.” Your voice dropped into a mock superhero tone: “Time to buy more steak sauce, but oh wait, I can’t eat human food anymore.”

A strained silence passed, then Edward sighed, letting the corners of his mouth lift. “Fair enough.”

Jasper stepped closer, just enough that he could have touched your arm, but he hesitated. “And if we…I don’t know, slip up? If one of us tries to edge the other one out?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You both have about a century of experience on me. I promise, if you slip up, I will find some comedic way to remind you. Maybe I’ll laminate a scoreboard.”

At that, Jasper chuckled quietly. Edward dipped his head, biting back a grin. It seemed the cold war between them was cooling off—somewhat.

Emmett broke into a broad smile. “Aw, man, a scoreboard. Please put me in charge of that. I’ll keep track of who gets the most time with you. Strictly for comedic purposes, of course.”

From across the house, Rosalie’s voice rang out, “Don’t encourage them!”

As the sun sank below Forks’ ever-present clouds, you rose from the couch, nearly tripping over the rug on your way to the door—reflexively, Jasper grabbed your elbow, steadying you. Edward hovered just behind you, poised to catch you if you stumbled further.

“Thanks,” you murmured to both of them, awkwardly aware of their closeness. Being flanked by two protective vampires had once seemed terrifying, but now it felt…comforting. Still weird, though.

“We’re not going to solve everything tonight,” you said, taking a purposeful step back so you could see them both—and so you didn’t spontaneously lean into someone’s chest. “Let’s just agree not to tear each other apart, yeah?”

Edward extended a hand toward Jasper, as if to form a truce. Jasper eyed it warily for a moment before accepting the gesture in a calm, if reluctant, handshake. “Alright,” Edward said. “No tearing each other apart.”

Jasper nodded. “Can do.”

Feeling a spark of mischief, you clapped your hands. “Great. That’s one less lawsuit for Dr. Cullen to worry about. In the meantime, Emmett—please start designing that scoreboard.”

“On it!” Emmett crowed from the doorway.

“Have a good night, you two,” you said to Jasper and Edward. Then, with a flash of a grin, you headed for the stairs, half-dreading, half-anticipating the comedic fiascos tomorrow was sure to bring. Behind you, you heard their faint conversation:

(Edward) “He’s definitely going to drive us insane, isn’t he?”

(Jasper) “Yep.”

(Edward) “… And you’re okay with that?”

(Jasper) “I think I am.”

Your lips quirked into a smile. Even if you didn’t believe in mates, you had to admit—it felt pretty good having not just one, but two admirers who thought you were worth fighting for. Sure, you still sparkled like a glitter bomb gone awry, and your vampiric existence remained confusing at best. But if that’s the price of comedic immortality… well, you could live—er, un-live—with that.

[gdinthehouseee]

Centre: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: right before he's supposed to go on stage, a panic attack hits ji-yong and there's only one person who can guide him through it.

word count: 1579

tags: hurt/comfort; fluff; descriptions of a panic attack - if you feel this is too much please click off. prioritise your mental health.

ao3 link

The backstage area was alive with chaos. Staff members darted around, their voices sharp and urgent as they finalized last-minute details. The countdown to showtime had begun, a robotic voice echoing through the arena:

"Five minutes until showtime."

Thousands of people were waiting. The intro video was already playing, flashing across the massive screens outside. The bass from the speakers rumbled through the floor, rattling in Jiyong’s chest like a second heartbeat.

Yet, he couldn’t breathe.

His hands trembled at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling, trying to grasp onto something—anything—that would keep him tethered. His heart slammed against his ribs, too fast, too loud. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, like he was suffocating in plain air. The walls of the dressing room felt too close, the noise outside too overwhelming, his own body betraying him.

He had done this a thousand times before. He had stood on stages just as big as this, faced crowds just as loud, carried entire shows on his back without breaking.

But tonight, something was different.

It was too much. The weight of the world tour, the endless expectations, the months of relentless preparation—it all crashed down on him at once, a tidal wave dragging him under.

His manager crouched beside him, panic flashing in their eyes. "Jiyong, talk to me. What's wrong?"

He couldn’t answer. His throat was too tight, his vision tunneling. The hands on his knees weren't steady anymore; they were shaking violently. The room around him blurred, voices turning to muffled static. He felt like he was floating, untethered, his body too light and too heavy all at once.

Chae-lin, who was standing nearby, scolded anyone who got too close. “Just give the man some space.” But when she took another glance at him, it was clear it would be difficult for him to calm down by himself. Immediately, she pulled out her phone.

"Should we delay the show?"

"We can't—he's supposed to go on now.”

"Someone get water!"

"Do we need a medic?"

“Where’s Y/N?”

You were seated in a private lounge room just down the hallway, close enough to feel the tremble of the bass rumbling under your feet, but far enough to stay out of the way during the final pre-show chaos.

You’d seen him earlier, dressed in full stage gear, his expression unreadable. You knew him well enough to recognize the tightness in his jaw, the way he rolled his shoulders as if trying to loosen something deeper than just tension. He hadn’t said much—but you didn’t press. You figured he just needed a minute to get in the zone.

Your phone buzzed on the couch beside you. A new text.

Chae-lin: “Get backstage as soon as you can.”

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t hesitate. Another message lit up the screen as you were already moving: “He’s panicking. Bad.”

You were out the door in seconds, ignoring the startled looks of the crew as you jogged down the hall. The noise grew louder the closer you got to the stage—the crowd, the music, the chaos—but none of it mattered.

You turned the corner and immediately spotted them.

Chae-lin stood with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression hard but eyes anxious as hell. One of the stylists was holding a bottle of water, hands shaking. His manager was crouched in front of him, talking fast but getting nowhere.

Jiyong was seated on a low bench, hunched over, elbows on his knees, trembling. His breathing was all wrong. Shallow. Panicked. The panicked voices only made it worse. The pressure in his chest grew unbearable, his body locking up. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms as he gasped for air—

“Excuse me.”

Two simple words cut through the chaos like a blade. The staff turned, startled, but parted instantly as you strode forward. No hesitation. No panic. Just unwavering certainty as you dropped to your knees in front of him.

"Ji," you called softly, but he barely heard you over the roaring in his head. "Baby, look at me."

His head snapped up, glassy eyes locking onto yours. There it was—something solid, something real, something safe. His fingers twitched, instinctively reaching for you, grasping desperately at your wrists as if you were his lifeline.

"It's too much," he rasped, voice barely above a whisper. "I—I can't—"

"You can," you said, gentle but firm, your hands coming up to cup his face. His skin was cold despite the heat of the stage lights. His pulse thrummed wildly beneath your fingertips.

He shook his head, chest still rising and falling too fast. "No, I—"

"Yes, you can," you cut in, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. "You're just going too fast. Let’s slow down together, okay?"

Jiyong squeezed his eyes shut, his grip on you tightening like a lifeline. He could feel it—the pressure coiling in his chest like a vice, the air getting thinner despite your presence grounding him. The roar of the crowd beyond the curtain felt more like a wave about to crash over him than the welcome of his long-awaited return. Eight years. That number echoed in his head like a taunt. Nearly a decade of silence, of absence, of rebuilding himself quietly in the shadows while the world moved on. 

What if the fans had outgrown him? What if the ones who waited all this time were disappointed the second he opened his mouth? What if his voice cracked, his body gave out, his presence no longer carried the weight it once did? He wasn’t in his early twenties anymore, wrapped in invincibility and adrenaline. Now, every camera flash felt sharper, every silence heavier. 

And tonight—the first night—the expectations felt too big to carry. 

He’d spent months rehearsing every move, every note, obsessing over the smallest details, because it was the only way he could fight the fear. But now that it was here—now that the lights were moments away from finding him—his confidence had cracked. Yet, even in the spiral, even with his chest burning and his lungs failing him, his fingers clung to yours like you were the only thing left that's real. Because maybe, if he could hold onto you, he wouldn’t drown.

"Follow my breathing," you murmured, exaggerating the slow rise and fall of your chest. "Inhale… nice and slow."

He tried—but his breath hitched, too shallow, too unsteady. His fingers dug into your skin.

"Shh, baby," you soothed, shifting one hand to rest over his heart. It was pounding like a war drum. "You're not alone. Just listen to my voice."

You inhaled deeply again, this time guiding him with your touch, pressing just enough to ground him.

"Again," you encouraged.

His chest rose. A little too fast, but better.

"Good," you praised softly. "One more time."

A deeper inhale. A slower exhale. His shoulders twitched, some of the tension finally releasing. His grip on your wrists loosened—not letting go, but no longer desperate. His body, once rigid and locked up, began to ease. The voices in the room faded. The weight in his chest lightened. The world, once suffocating, started to feel real again.

His forehead dropped against yours, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "...You're really good at this."

You smiled, rubbing soothing circles into the back of his hand. "I've had practice."

A breathy chuckle escaped him, shaky but real. You could still feel the lingering tremor in his fingers, the aftermath of the storm, but he was back.

"You've got this," you murmured. "They’re all waiting for you."

He swallowed hard but nodded, lifting his head to meet your gaze fully. There was still hesitation in his eyes, but beneath it—determination. Just before he turned away, you caught his chin between your fingers, tilting his face back toward you.

His breath hitched. You leaned in. The kiss was soft, barely there, but it was everything. A silent promise. A reassurance. A tether anchoring him before he stepped into the blinding lights. When you pulled away, his lips lingered just a second longer, as if memorizing the feeling. His eyes held yours—grateful, steady, yours.

Then the final cue hit and Jiyong turned toward the stage.

You stood there frozen for a second, heart still hammering, barely realizing how hard you’d been shaking until you let out a breath. Beside you, a hand slipped onto your shoulder. You turned to find Chae-lin there—close enough to have seen the whole thing unfold from the shadows. Her jaw was tight, but her eyes were softer than usual, shining under the dim backstage lighting.

“Shit,” she whispered. “You really brought him back.”

You didn’t say anything at first, just swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded.

Her hand squeezed your shoulder. “Thank you. Seriously.”

You glanced at her. “I couldn’t let him fall apart out there.”

There was a pause, then she let her hand drop and smirked a little, because of course she did. “I’m buying you a week’s worth of coffee. Or wine. Whatever you want.”

“Both?”

“Done.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, side by side in the dim backstage light, watching him take a deep breath and lift the mic to his lips.

Chae-lin leaned in again, just before walking off.

“He’s gonna destroy that stage,” she said. “And that’s because of you.”

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @babyrvis @ldydeath @wcnderlands @eru-vande @breakmeoff @petersasteria @aizshallnotbefound @sevendaysummer @ttturnitup @mashtatosworld @allthoughtsmindfull 

[27spoons]

There's No Pleasure in Resisting | Natalie Scatorccio

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

request: could you write smut or fluff with wilderness nat and reader? they do not have an established relationship, but a bunch of girls stranded in the wilderness is bound to lead to lesbian stuff? (anon)

wc: 2800

warnings: smut (afab!reader), fingering (nat receiving), minor hair pulling and biting, canon-typical survival stuff (mentions of starvation/discomfort), banter as foreplay, technically fluff by my standards

a/n: set in mid s1, pre-doomcoming, travnat never happened. regretably, i made the ending fluffy instead of angsty. who am i and what have i done with spoons

ao3

Two months, three weeks, and four days since that stupid fucking plane went down.

Two months, two weeks, and six days since you were supposed to be back home. 

You weren't even supposed to be on the plane. You were Van's backup goalkeeper, the same person who had never missed a single game unless they were literally dying. You had played maybe two games the entire season. The only reason you even agreed to go was because it was free (thank you, Mr. Matthews), and you'd do anything to get out of Wiskayok.

Now you had an actual role to play. Survival. It's hardly the same as sitting on the bench and watching everyone else do the hard work while you cheer them on. You're no hunter. You don't have first aid training. You don't stitch pelts together or know what berries won't kill you. Mostly, you just do what you're told and try not to be a burden.

The cabin is loud, and you miss having your own sleeping space. Desperately. So, you slip away when the others start getting pissy about dinner again (namely Mari, who constantly whines about the lack of seasoning). They won't miss you.

You wander for a while before ending up at the lake. It's quiet, almost peaceful. True, it's hard to find peace out here, but you'll take the reprieve when you can. There's a stillness out here that sometimes you could find in the late nights behind the school after a soccer game—smoking a joint or sipping on warm beer with the rest of the team.

This isn't that. But it'll do. 

You stand on the shore for a beat or several, staring into the massive body of water as you idly skim stones across the surface. It's not that hot—nothing is out here—but it's warm enough. Warm enough that your sweat sticks to the pits of your shirt and makes you want to claw at your skin. At least in Jersey, you were close enough to the ocean that the heat was never totally intolerable. Here? Here, you sweat like you're in a sauna the moment it hits seventy.

Without even really considering it, you strip down to your bra and underwear and wade in. The water's colder than expected, but so worth it. You would have never disrobed so easily when you first crashed out here. But by now, you've seen just about everyone half-naked, if not fully nude.

You float on your back, eyes closed, letting the cool water lap at your skin and erase some of the noise rattling around inside you. It's the first time you feel even remotely clean in days—maybe weeks. If you were worried about the plane crashing, you would have brought more than just a travel bottle of shampoo and body wash.

Oh, well.

The sun is warm on your face, cool water prunes your skin the longer you remain in it, and the stillness suddenly doesn't feel as oppressive as it did mere moments ago.

You're almost asleep—just barely hovering in that place between consciousness and rest—when you hear a familiar dragging of boots across the rocky shore. You don't need to crack an eye open to see who it is—you've come to memorise the distinct gait that everyone walks with.

When the sound stops, you crack an eye open and see the familiar sight of Natalie Scatorccio standing on the shore. The hunting rifle is slung across her back, hands on her hips, and a smirk on her face.

"This is how horror movies start, y'know?" she hums idly, tossing the rifle onto a large rock before untying the laces on her combat boots. "You'd be the first to die, too."

You bark out a laugh at that, turning your head to look at her as you continue to float. "Yeah? You gonna be the one to kill me, then?"

Nat scoffs as she removes her right boot, "Nah, I'm not giving you the easy way out. I'll let a bear maul your ass before I shoot you."

Her second boot gets tossed beside the first, and she pulls her socks off with an overdramaticized grimace. "Jesus. I think my feet might be starting to rot."

A sound of disgust leaves your mouth before you can stop it, face contorting at the thought. "Oh, gross. That's your own fault for wearing the same socks and nasty-ass boots since the plane crashed."

"Yeah, well," Nat grumbles, kicking her socks away like they've personally wronged her. "Didn't exactly pack a summer wardrobe, so."

You shrug lazily, letting yourself drift a little farther out. "That's your own fault for failing to bring into the equation that we would crash…" You gesture to your surroundings vaguely, "somewhere. Should've planned ahead."

A dry laugh spills from her as she peels her sweat-stained shirt over her head, tossing it onto the pile with her boots. "My bad. Should have packed less booze and more… jackets, or whatever."

She doesn't hesitate much after the shirt comes off—you've seen it all before, anyway. Her red sports bra is a little damp with sweat, sticking awkwardly to her skin as she tugs it into place. Her hands, adorned with rings of various shapes and colours, move to her belt next, undoing it with a practiced flick of her fingers before pushing her pants down and off. She stands there for a beat in her stripped boxers, pausing long enough to glance at you floating just beyond reach.

"What? No comment on my hot new summer look?" she asks, cocking an eyebrow as her feet disappear under the waters surface. 

You crack a grin, letting the current push you back towards her. "If that's hot, I'd hate to see what you'd call tragic."

"Tragic is what I'd call your little… floaty starfish routine," she fires back, wading in until the water is just above her hips.

"Rude," you say dramatically, mimicking Jackie's voice. "Some of us like pretending to be at peace."

"Peace is a myth," Nat snorts, moving to float on her back. "Don't know who lied to you and said that it was."

"Oh, that's cynical Scatorccio, even for you."

She doesn't respond with anything more than a roll of her eyes, letting the water move her around as she lazes in the lake with you. 

It's nice, admittedly. There are no expectations right now, just two teenagers relaxing for what feels like the first time in years.

The corners of her mouth twitch, but she says nothing else. Just tilts her head and watches you. Her legs drift towards you as she floats around, casually brushing yours under the water—except not really. Because when you don't move, she does it again.

And whether it's the water or of her own volition, she's drifting closer. Her thigh bumps yours, slower this time, and then lingers. Not aggressive. Not even bold. Just enough to make you aware of every inch of space between you, or lack thereof.

You glance at her. She's staring at the setting sun, still pretending it's nothing.

You could say something. Crack a joke. Splash her. Look away.

You don't.

She doesn't look at you, but her body shifts just enough that her thigh presses flush against yours. Unmistakably intentional, but you don't comment on it yet.

Maybe it's because you haven't touched anyone in months, and you're starting to get an itch. Maybe it's because it's Nat and she's hot. Maybe because it's Nat and she's a decent fucking human that you've had a crush on for ages, but you find yourself licking your lips as your eyes trace the slope of her jaw.

Then, slowly—almost lazily—she turns to face you. Her eyes flick over your features as her brow creases, like she's taking mental note of how the setting sun reflects in your sclera, or how your damp hair sticks to your forehead. 

Without much thought to the action, she reaches a hand forward to brush some loose hair out of your eyes, then lets it linger on the side of your face.

"Y're quiet," she murmurs.

You blink once. Twice. "So are you."

Natalie snorts, and for a second, it's light again. Almost nothing. But then her thumb swipes across your cheekbone, and you know you're fucked.

She doesn't pull her hand away when you think she will.

Instead, her eyes flick down to your mouth and back up again, giving you an unreadable look that makes your stomach twist. Her fingers twitch slightly where they rest against your cheek, like she's fighting some internal debate.

Whatever it is, she loses.

You don't know who leans in first. Maybe it was mutual. Regardless, it doesn't matter. Not when her lips are on yours, warm and wanting. It isn't dramatic, like something out of a movie scene where the guy gets the girl. It's not hungry. No, it's tentative. Careful, like you're both exploring the other and ensuring this isn't a mistake.

There's a beat of that gentle exploration before Nat exhales hard through her nose, then starts kissing you for real. It's open-mouthed and desperate, like she's needed skin-on-skin contact as much as you have. Her hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair and pulling you towards her.

Your hands find her waist without thinking, thumbs brushing along the edge of her boxers as you draw her in. You don't know when you started treading the water or when she draped her free arm over your shoulder, but you do clock the moment she shifts in the water and begins to draw you deeper into her orbit.

The lake laps gently around you, cool against overheated skin. Natalie's legs bracket your hips now, water beading off her shoulders and rolling in small rivers down her torso. Her arms dangle loosely around your shoulders, like she's trying to play it casual, like this isn't about to turn into something else entirely. 

"Not gonna drown, are you?" she murmurs, eyes flicking to your mouth, still trying to keep up that facade of nonchalance she tries so hard to maintain. 

You scoff, "Not unless you hold me under."

"I can make that happen if you're into it, y'know?" Her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging on the wet strands. "I'm willing to work with you."

You huff a laugh, but it breaks halfway into a gasp when she rolls her hips forward. 

"Jesus, Nat," you whisper, breath catching as your fingers dig into the curve of her ass. "You always this charming?"

"Only when trying to get someone off," she says deadpan as her lips move to your jaw, tracing a bead of water with her tongue. 

You grunt at that, feet touching against the stony lake floor. "You trying to get me off, then?"

Nat laughs softly against your ear, sending warm puffs of air against your slick skin. "Was that not obvious?" She punctuates the words with a steady roll of her hips against yours, teeth catching on the lobe of your ear as she does. 

"You could make it more obvious, I think." Your hand slips around her front and beneath the waistband of her boxers, finding a warm heat that's slick from more than just the water. 

She sucks in a sharp breath at your touch, and her hips jerk forward reflexively, grinding against your hand. 

"Fuck," she hisses, voice shaky as her nails dig into your scalp. "God, shut up—"

And then her lips are on yours with a feverish desperation, kissing you as though the world were ending—maybe it is. Maybe it already has, given the plane crash and the hell you've since walked through.

Her lips are rough from sunburn and too many days without balm, but it doesn't stop her. Doesn't stop you from biting on her lower lip, either.

While your tongue runs along the seam of her lips, your fingers slide seamlessly through her folds to tease her aching cunt. Usually, you'd probably draw this out. Make her work for it. Maybe see if you could get Natalie Scatorccio to beg—but you're feeling kind today. 

Your middle finger slips into her around the same time you bite down on her lower lip, earning a soft hiss at the duelling sensations of pleasure and pain. A full-bodied shudder runs through her, her hips stuttering forward as her hands scramble for purchase—one clutching at your shoulder, the other so deeply wound up in your hair you worry she'll rip it out from the root.

"Jesus," she breathes against your mouth, eyes screwed shut as though the feeling is too much to look at.

You curl your finger inside her now, testing the waters before you add your ring finger to the mix, and start slowly pumping them in and out of her. She's tight, warm, and impossibly wet around your fingers, muscles clenching rhythmically around your digits as they tease her slowly, searching for that one spot that makes her whine and fall apart beneath your touch.

You find it on the third pass. All it takes is just the slightest shift of angle, a curl of your fingers upward—and her whole body goes taut.

"There—" she gasps, voice cracking like a snapped branch or sudden gust of wind through a warm summer's day. "Fuck, right there—" 

You keep the pressure steady, pressing up into that spot with every stroke, your palm grinding against her clit in time. Her thighs twitch around your waist, as though she's still trying to pull you in deeper. 

She's panting now, trying to bury her face in your shoulder, but the involuntary moans keep escaping despite her best efforts. Her nails scrape down your back the next time you crook your fingers, hips jerking helplessly against your hand as you work her open, coaxing her closer to the edge with every perfectly timed thrust.

"Yeah, that's it, c'mon." Your own breathing has picked up, coming out in sharp puffs against Nat's temple as she clings to you. "You're already so close, aren't you? I got you. I got you, Nat. C'mon. Come for me."

And, for once in her life, Nat listens the first time she's told to do something. Her orgasm washes over her like the water lapping against your bodies, her heels digging into the backs of your thighs as she tries to hold herself steady. She isn't loud—not that you expected her to be—but she doesn't need to be loud when you can feel her walls clamping around your fingers, her body unable to decide whether to keep your fingers inside or force them out. 

Nat slumps against you after the final tremors leave her body, forehead resting heavy on your shoulder. You don't rush her despite the constant need for movement out here. Instead, you press a gentle kiss to the crown of her head and hold her there, your fingers still curled lazily inside her.

Eventually, she lifts her head (with great effort) and meets your eyes with a lopsided smile. "C'mon. Your turn."

Before you can respond to that, she's already moving, untangling her limbs from around you and dragging you toward the rocky shore with a hunger in her eyes that has nothing to do with the minor starvation starting to set in.

The rocks dig into the backs of your knees as she pushes you gently down onto your back, but you barely register the sharp dig of stones against your skin as she hovers above you, hair wild and eyes wide.

"Y'gonna let me return the favour?" she murmurs, dragging her lips against the hollow of your throat as she speaks. "Or y'gonna be difficult about it?"

Usually, you'd fire back with some sort of fiery remark. Something about how she's being far too cocky for someone who literally just came on your hand—but then there's a loud rustle in the trees.

"—I'm just saying! You could be less of a bitch about it sometimes, Shauna!"

"You can't keep not pitching in! People are noticing, Jackie!"

Nat freezes.

So do you.

There's a beat of dead silence before Nat collapses sideways beside you with a frustrated groan, dragging her forearm over her eyes. "Un-fucking-believable. This goddamn uptight, prudish little bitch and her—"

You have to bite back laughter as you sit up, readjusting your soaked underwear. "You think they saw?"

"No," Nat scoffs, and you swear you can hear her rolling her eyes. "But they're going to. We've got about sixty seconds before they start acting like they invited skinny-dipping."

You lean over and press a quick kiss to her shoulder as she drops her arms from around her eyes, glaring at you heatlessly. "Rain check?"

Her lips twitch upward despite everything, and you wonder what kissing her on dry land would taste like.

"Yeah," she says quietly. "Rain check."

a/n: natalie scatorccio in boxers and a sports bra save me..... natalei scatorcio in a boxers and sports bra sav me........ nataliescatoriucopsaveme