#Old Time Western Kitchen Towel

[shirohige-pirates]

Just Like Fire

CisFem Reader x Portgas D. Ace

CW: angst, language, erotic, violence, serial killer, stalking, poisoning, over-bearing controlling parents, attempted forced marriage, possible dub-con, Munchausen by proxy (aka Factitious Disorder), wildly cute and fluffy despite the warnings. 18+ only

Summary: You're Sabo's biological sister in this AU. After college you moved in with your dear brother and his two sworn brothers in order to avoid going back home. You and Sabo despise your family equally.

Chapter 2: Free

You lean back in your chair and stretch. Your hair’s pulled back enough to be out of the way, and you’re comfortable in a t-shirt and some sweats. It’s the fourth day of filling out applications, and you’re cursing your desire to go at your job hunting quite so hard. You’d taken a week off to get your room organized and get into a little bit of a groove with the boys.

You got added to the chores chart, and the cooking rotation – something you offered to do entirely, but Sabo insisted it was an equal opportunity house. Everyone did their fair share of chores and cooking. You had tried to argue that you weren’t doing your fair share of bill paying, but apparently the three of them had agreed on a three-month grace period. If you couldn’t find work by the end of your first ninety days, then you could start doing more chores and more cooking.

You were certain you’d find work before then, but since you weren’t working, you did your best to dedicate a full shift to filling out applications and sifting through job postings. In truth, you’d rather be doing a few extra chores than fill out another application.

Which seemed reason enough to throw in the proverbial towel for the day and at least relax. There were a few gaming consoles in the living room, and plenty of things to watch, you were sure you could find something to help you unwind.

Going downstairs to the common areas of the house, you heard the television already on. You hadn’t expected anyone to be home, but Ace and Luffy had variable schedules, so they came and went at odd hours sometimes.

You see Ace on the couch as you come into the living room, but his hat’s over his face and he’s already asleep. Soft snores come out from under the orange brim of his favorite hat. He wasn’t dressed too differently from you – t-shirt and jeans instead of sweats.

He was cute whether he was asleep or awake.

You smile a little at the thought, and look over to see what’s on the TV. Looks like an old western spaghetti kind of movie, and there’s an empty bento box nearby. He must’ve eaten lunch and fallen asleep. You take the bento box to the kitchen, and turn the TV down a couple ticks. Grabbing a small blanket from the den you lay it carefully over his chest, and then turn your attention to the selection of DVDs the boys had.

It was well-organized – by genre and then by title. You imagine that was Sabo’s work more than anyone else’s. Luffy didn’t strike you as someone who organized anything, and you imagine Ace could, but you couldn’t imagine he’d put forth the energy over something like DVDs.

Skimming over the titles you recognize quite a few and are surprised to see some more obscure ones. It’s not all blockbuster hits and action flicks. There’s some romance, comedy, dramas, cartoons and even a few foreign films. Most of those are from Wano and Momoiro. Documentaries from Ohara, and some educational films too.

This was the first time you’d had enough time to really look over all the titles, and since you were a bit overwhelmed, you decided to go with an older comedy who-dunnit movie with multiple endings. Clue never disappointed – it was a favorite of yours and Sabo’s.

Sitting down in the recliner you focus on the movie as it begins. You nearly had it memorized, and maybe that’s why your eyes kept wandering over to the sleeping firefighter on the couch. You hadn’t been able to get the time at the station out of your mind since it happened. It wasn’t all the people you met, or how comfortable the whole thing had felt, it was, well, him.

You feel a pang in your heart and pull your gaze away. You can’t fall for your roommate. You specifically, cannot fall for your older brother’s brother-in-life best friend who is also your roommate.

There was too much drama in that equation. Too much that could go wrong. If things didn’t work out, you’d strain the relationship Ace and Sabo had. Even if things worked out well enough, Sabo would be effectively caught in the middle. Even the best of relationships had bumps in them.

It was enough to be friends.

“Nakama.” You murmur softly. You liked the word. The weight and feel of it. Something more than friends. Not quite family, but not not family.

No. You needed to find a job. After that you needed to find your own place. Somewhere in there maybe you needed to find your own date. Marco was a bit older than you, but he was certainly worth looking at. Dating someone else from the station felt a little too… close, though.

Well, the internet was for finding people, and there were a lot of people in the New World. Statistically you would be able to find someone.

Job first though. No matter when or where you started looking for a date, you needed to make sure that your date didn’t work wherever you ended up. The best advice you ever got was to never get your honey where you make your money.

Too much drama.

You yawned. The movie was good, but without commentary from Sabo it wasn’t keeping you awake. Plus, the lazy afternoon sun was managing to get to you, even though you were inside the house. Another yawn got you, and you nuzzled into the recliner a little bit more.

You dozed off at some point. You weren’t sure when you had succumbed to sleep, but you weren’t out for too long. The movie wasn’t over yet, but you were plenty warm.

The blanket you had put over Ace was now draped over you. You felt your face heat up in embarrassment and looked around to see you were alone in the living room. You settled down a little, turning your focus back to the movie.

A voice from behind you a few minutes later nearly causes you to leap from the recliner entirely.

“Oh, you’re awake?” Ace questions, coming into the room. He’s carrying a tray table under one arm, and a bento in his free hand.

“Yeah, yes, ah… thank you.” You say, lifting the blanket up a little as you move to sit up a bit.

“Thank you.” He says in return, giving you a smile as he sets up the tray by the recliner. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to be hungry when you woke up, but Sabo forgot his lunch, so it’s yours now.”

“Oh no, did he -?”

“Someone brought him something. Has he talked to you about Koala?” Ace asks, lounging against the couch so he was facing you easily.

“Mm, I think so.” You begin to open the bento. “He insists it’s purely professional between him and a paralegal in the firm.” You take a bite and savor it. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you started eating. “I don’t buy it.”

Ace laughs. “Yeah, me and Lu don’t buy it either.”

“I’d be happy for him.” You say, digging in a little bit more. “Father’s less likely to try and decide for him, if he finds someone on his own.”

“Sabo’s been moved out for like a decade, would your dad really do that?” Ace looks upset and flabbergasted at the same time.

You nod. “After I get a job, I need to start trying to date too. I’m at a higher risk than Sabo. He has Stuffy accidentally shielding him, I don’t have a buffer.”

“… Neither of you are heirs, though, right? You and Sabo, right?”

You swallow what you’re eating, shaking your head. “We’re not, but we’re blood. Sterry’s not. They’re marrying him off to the princess back home, but Sabo and I could still be leveraged for political gain. To some supporting duke or marquis.”

“You’re… okay with that?”

“Hah?” You nearly drop the food in your mouth. “No way. I’d be fighting it tooth and nail if it came up.” Your face twists in indignation. “I might be weak physically but I’m not-.”

“You’re not weak.” Ace interjects and he almost looks irritated.

“I’m…” You stop, scrunching up your face. “I don’t know. It’s uncomfortable to think about.”

“… Sorry.” Ace’s eyes are on the movie, and despite the frown on his face you can see his cheeks are pink.

“It’s okay.” You sigh and set the bento box down. “It’s half a mess, but I’m doing the best I can. I think. I hope.” You give him a smile and see him relax. “I imagine if I get in a really tight spot you can pretend to be my fiancé or something.” You tease.

Ace smiles, but it fades a little. “I can’t imagine your dad would approve.”

“His approval isn’t what I need.” You nearly flinch as the words leave your mouth. You’re starting to talk about the letter of the law, and you don’t want to hide behind that. “Ah, but I should… get back to job hunting. Will you and Luffy be around for dinner tonight?” You ask as you start to get out of recliner.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Unless there’s an emergency or something, we’re both scheduled off tonight.”

“Alright, I’ll make sure that yours is spicy and I’ll sneak some extra meat into Luffy’s dish.” You promise with a smile, grabbing up the bento to return it to the kitchen, nearly running out of the living room.

You’re going to have to manage to stuff your attraction down into your feet if you’re going to be able to handle living here. Your crush is going to have to come and go if you want to keep your sanity. You had almost sat down next to him on the couch earlier, because you wanted to snuggle with him.

He was a dangerous man, and it had nothing to do with his curse.

Your brows furrowed, you wished there was a word for it that you could use that wasn’t curse. It seemed like a self-fulfilling prophecy to call it something so charged like that. You wanted to call it a gift, but that seemed like a slap in the face for the people who dealt with how society reacted to them.

“Some gift.” You grumble to yourself as you settle into your desk and return your focus to your job search.

You get a few more job applications completed before you head into the kitchen to begin making dinner. Ace is asleep on the couch again, but from the looks of things he’s cleaned up the kitchen and tidied up around the common areas a little before dozing back off.

Cooking was something you didn’t have to think about too much. You’d been cooking for yourself for some years, and you’d taken a few classes specifically to be good at it. The estate had servants, and you had barely even learned how to hold a knife properly before you moved out. Manual labor was below nobility, per your father and mother, so you had to catch up on a lot of skills when you moved out.

Fortunately, you and Sabo were quick learners, and he had spent a couple weeks helping you out when you first started college.

The downside to being a fast learner was the fact that your mind wandered while you worked on cooking dinner. Having to cook for several people instead of just yourself wasn’t enough of a challenge to keep your thoughts from wandering around.

Every time your thoughts turned toward that smile, you reminded yourself you needed to start dating.

. . . . .

“You guys hardly let me do anything.” You say it with a smile despite the admonishing tone. “Luffy set the table, Ace brought the food out, and Sabo got everyone’s drinks.”

“You went from cooking for yourself, to cooking for three of the biggest appetites in the New World.” Sabo says with a smile. “Of course, we’d help you adjust.”

You wanted to argue a little, but considering that you were certain Luffy had not only eaten lunch early, but probably second lunch, two snacks, certainly someone else’s lunch, and was likely to have a snack later on top of the pile of food on his plate that he was eating right now, Sabo’s statement was probably true.

It certainly wasn’t something specific to those who had curses. Sabo’s appetite was surprisingly close to Ace and Luffy’s. You weren’t entirely sure where all that food went, but you had a feeling you were going to slowly start to eat more and more as time went on. You were certain that no one in this house was going to even let you risk under-eating.

“How’s the job hunt going?” Sabo asks between bites.

“Well enough so far. I don’t expect to hear anything until next week as it is.” You answer.

“You could apply at the firm.” He prompts.

“Mm, we’ll see.”

“I know you wouldn’t want me to give you an unfair advantage.”

“I wouldn’t want to get in the way of you and Koala.” You say flatly and it takes Sabo a second to realize what you’ve said. Luffy seemed unaffected as Sabo’s cutlery clatters, and he stares at you. Ace is almost biting through his lip to keep from laughing.

“There is nothing-.”

“For me to worry about?” You interject, smiling at him as you wiggle your eyebrows. “That’s good to know, big brother.”

Sabo’s face goes an impressive shade of red, and he returns to his food.

“Koala’s the one that came over before, right?” Luffy asks. “She brought snacks for movie night.”

Your mouth goes wide in delight and you’re almost staring at Sabo, who is pointedly interested in his food. “She did, in fact, bring snacks for the evening. Even Ace was there.” He says as evenly as he can manage.

“Mm, and when Luffy ate everything, was your only snack …” you let the sentence hang and give your long-suffering brother a wolfish grin.

“There’s nothing I can say, is there?”

“No-ope.” You say, exaggerating the word and popping your lips as you return to your meal. “She’s a good person from what I’ve seen. If you don’t act I might steal her away.” You say it flatly, and notice Ace’s face go slack. He doesn’t look concerned or offended, just surprised to hear you say such a thing. You give him a wink before looking back at your brother.

Sabo is looking at the ceiling, muttering some sort of personal mantra to himself for a moment before he returns to eating.

“How’re you on medication?” He asks.

“I have another month.” You say, letting him change the subject. “If I don’t have any prospects next week I’ll reach out to mom.”

Ace tilts his head. “Not to be rude or whatever, but why ya gotta talk to your mom for a refill?”

“It’s expensive.” You reply. “Mom’s always taken care of it. Once I get a job it’ll be one less thing to need to reach out back home for.”

“She might try to keep control of it for that reason.” Sabo grumbles.

“I mean, once I’m making my own money, I can go see my own doctor.” You say with a smile. “It won’t matter much what she tries to do. Besides, I’ve tucked away a lot of what they’ve sent the last few years, I won’t have to wait for a first paycheck to start making appointments.”

“You should see Chopper!” Luffy adds, leaning back after he’s cleared his plate.

“Chopper?” You tilt your head.

“A friend of Luffy’s,” Sabo clarifies. “He has a family practice. He’s young, but he’s very skilled.”

“Chopper’s the best doctor there is.” Luffy asserts. “Even Marco agrees.”

You smile, you’re not sure where the connection’s coming from. “Is Marco – I mean, he’s a firefighter, right?”

“Yeah, but he’s a medic too. He was an army medic, and then got his degree. He does volunteer hours at a clinic and has been called into the ER to help with triage a few times.” Ace explains.

“You said you were in a good position in the city,” you say, side-eyeing Sabo. “You never said you were surrounded by so many talented people.”

“Ask him about Law.” Sabo prompts and you can see Luffy’s eyes light up before he even starts talking.

“Traffy is the best surgeon! He’s cursed, but no one cares cause he’s able to save so many lives. He cured his hometown and basically became a hero – oh, but don’t call him a hero, he doesn’t like that. I don’t either. I’m not a hero.” Luffy’s pouting by the end, and you mentally remind yourself to never call him your hero even if he helps you out with something.

“A side effect of the job, it seems.” You say, understanding. “If you’re not a hero, and I’m quite sure you’re not a villain, then what are you?”

“Free.” Luffy, Ace, and Sabo answer at the same time.

None of them said it with much energy. Aside from Luffy, none of them even looked up at you as they said it. It was so matter of fact. So indisputable.

The truth of it sinks into your bones and you barely realize you’re crying until the first tear falls.

“Oi, are you okay?” Luffy asks in concern, causing the other two to look up.

You wipe the tears hastily, smiling and putting your hand up. “Y-yeah, I am. Sorry, something about it just hit me. I’m alright.” You look to see three concerned faces looking back at you and smile the best smile you can. “I promise, I’m okay. I guess I just never… entertained such an idea.”

Sabo’s concern softens and he smiles back. “Chin up, little sister. We’ll get you there.”

#just like fire #portgas d ace #x reader #portgas d ace x reader #reader insert

[grumpy-zane]

(('Inventory' - ft Dareth and Ronin

If he wasn't at the bar, he was at his apartment.

And if he wasn't at his apartment, he was here, at the storage lot.

It was never that Ronin wasn't interested in watching Dareth play operator with his motorcycle, he just found the boxes and cases of stuff more catching to his general interests.

For a person with little to nothing of substance in his apartment, there certainly was a lot of loot in here.

"You know I never did get a good look at this place last time I was here." Ronin mused, stepping over the scattered wrenches and into the cramped cardboard maze. "Nothing's marked, how do you know what's what?"

"What?" Dareth huffed as he yanked on a bolt. The wrench fell from his hand and clanged on the concrete floor, followed but a few more disgruntled groans. "Ronin are you poking around back there? Come on you know I can't run through memory lane with you all covered in grease!"

The first box he pulled from a stack was heavy with loose contents. Inside was a number of odd kitchen appliances, mostly as-seen-on-TV items amongst more dated items. "Well, look at that-" he fished around and pulled out a weirdly-shaped whisk, "hey Dareth, you wouldn't miss something like this, would you?"

"Just a minute!" He slid the oil pan under and let the tank drain.

"Would you look at you," the previous box was long forgotten on the floor as this new box had just the kind of thing he was looking for: jewelery. Big, flashy, gold-plated and gem encrested jewelery.

He shuffled over, running a towel over his neck and hands, "that belonged to my mom. A lot of this stuff was my parents stuff. I've never gone through all of it yet, I didn't think it would happen today..." the sentence ended with an edge of annoyance.

Ronin smiled cheekily, "me neither, but here we are!- oh wow, real pearls!"

"That one was her favorite-"

"Oh a lot of rings too! Would you look at that!" His prosthetic delicately flicked around as the dollar signs continued to ring through his head. All he really had to do was convince Dareth that he didn't need all of this, but what if it all really was junk and he just got lucky thr first two boxes? He had to investigate further.

"Where are you going with that?" Dareth asked as Ronin meandered.

"Relax, I'm just holding it." He hopped over a power cord. Around the corner he finally found the back of the unit- and by all means it was the jackpot he was looking for. A phonograph sat beside an old torn chair with a stack of old records reaching as high as the table. A suit of armor hung from a hat rack, the symbol on its chestplates dating it to the serpentine war. Crates and boxes peppered the opening with proper labels; 'locomotion', 'childhood', 'paperwork', 'clothes', amongst other things.

Ronin hopped into the springy chair and admired the collection, as most kings do on their throne. "I could be in here for days! Why didn't you tell me you had all of this?"

He ran a hand over his neck, squeezing it, "because it belonged to my parents. Besides, everyone has random junk from their parents that they don't talk about- well maybe not you, but most other people."

"How many people you know have a suit of armor and swords?" He eyed the records.

"I just don't feel comfortable going through all of it, especially not my moms stuff." Dareth pointed to the box. "There's a lot of sentimental value."

The box clicked with every wind-up, but the sound produced through the cone was clean. Western swing rang through the air, "alright, I wont try to take it from under you. At least let me poke around?"

"Fine, but put everything back where you get it."

"You got it!"

--

He found himself reading a lot more than he expected. Quite a number of these documents held an interesting perspective, both financially and socially. He knew Dareths parents weren't together, Dareth had told him so during one of his idea tangents, but he didn't know it ran so much deeper. His dad was a traitor who lived out in Stiix, a person Ronin had saw fishing a lot back when he was a kid.

But Dareths mom was a movie star, and somehow the reseblance didn't click until now. He knew her as an actor who showed up as a love interest in many of the soaps he watched, playing the role as the fat loud mean woman with a lot of snark. She made the most money, but it still was only enough to keep them out of poverty.

How his two parents even crossed paths he couldn't begin to figure out, but the topic passed the instant he pulled open a box of lost relics. "The Dime of Returning, the Serpent's Fork, writings from Quanish the Fool?!" Ronin exclaimed as he piled the things into his arm. He *needed* to convince Dareth, these were things that people would die to have- museums would die to have, and the fortunes he could haggle- he too would *die to have*.

"Hey Dareth, I know you said that you didn't--" Ronin cut himself off and looked around. Dareth and his bike were nowhere to be found. The tools were put back in their normal mound against the wall, and the gate itself was closed with a note taped to it.

'Went to get a bite. -Dareth'

"He better bring some back for me," Ronin said to himself. Good, that would buy him some time to craft a well enough story.

#Ninjago #Ronin #Dareth

[evereinefaust]

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 ࿐ྂ

Pairing: China (Yao Wang) X afab!Reader

Sypnosis: MC always loved her teacher in a special way. However, ever since the day they first met, she wasn't sure whether he would reciprocate her feelings the same way. That's why, at this moment, she decided to take a chance.

Word Count: 1,453

"Thanks for the time training with me, Leon" You thanked the Cantonese as you bowed, he too then nodded. He exited the room as you remained inside, you sat on the mat while panting. "That was one intense training. I don't think that I can keep up with Leon" You said loudly to yourself as you stare at the door. "Are you sure about that, [Name]? I think that you were at Leon's level already" Your Taiwanese friend told you as she gave you your towel. "Yeah, but I still need to train hard. It still wasn't enough" You said as you grabbed the towel from her then wipe away sweat from your face. "Oh? Is that for Jiaoshi?" She asked as she kneel down and face you, you felt your cheeks heat up. "S-shut up!" You stammered.

Mei, your Taiwanese friend, knew that you had feelings for your Jiaoshi. But luckily that your other Asian friends didn't know about it, especially your Japanese friend, Kiku. He loves to snap pictures of some things, especially when he's with his Western friends. If he knows about your crush on your Jiaoshi, he will always snap pictures of you and him together. And that will make your crush on the Chinese known, and you don't want that.

After wiping sweat from your face, you and Mei stood up then the two of you exited the room. You went to the bathroom to change. Once you were inside, you locked the door and undressed yourself. You turned on the faucet to fill the tub, and while you were waiting, you hummed and sat on the chair inside the room. After the tub was filled, you turned the faucet off and then put on some [favorite flower]-scented bath soap inside the tub. You went inside the tub and then scrubbed your body thoroughly while humming. After bathing, you went out of the tub and wiped your body with a body towel, you dressed after that. You exited the bathroom while drying your hair with the towel.

"Hi [Name]!" The Korean suddenly groped you after you exited the room. You turned bright red as you slapped him lightly. "Yong Soo! You pervert!" You yelled at him as your face heat up. "Hehe... That doesn't even hurt, da-ze" He grinned at you as he touched his cheeks. "Of course, it isn't! I don't want to hurt you that much" You told him and looked at him. "That's because you liked me" He stated happily and grinned even wider. "I do not! I only like you as a friend!" You replied. "You still liked me!" He chuckled, you can't help to smile. "Come on Yong Soo, let's go," You told him and he walked beside you. The two of you went downstairs and then sat on the couch. You saw your Jiaoshi inside the kitchen, making some tea. Leon is sitting on the other couch, dim sum in his mouth. Kiku was inside the dining room, probably reading manga. And as for Mei, she was washing the dishes. You sighed.

One reason you can't like Yong Soo more than a friend is because there is someone you already like. He was the one who adopted you when you were still young. And he is the one who taught you kung fu. He is none other than your jiao shi, Yao Wang. The Chinese man loves cute things, especially pandas and Hello Kitty. You were 6 years old back then when he found you staring at the cute pandas displayed inside the shop by the window. He saw your figure and for an unknown reason, he adopted you. After, he would treat you like his own daughter, but it was more like a sister than a daughter. He taught you kung fu a month after he adopted you. And he also introduced you to his family and friends. He acts like a grown-up, but you can say that he also acts like a child. Like when he sees cute plush toys, he would even convince Kiku to buy him one.

You decided to go inside the kitchen to grab something to eat since you were very hungry after that extreme training. "Like some tea aru?" Your Jiaoshi suggested, he was leaning on the counter while taking a sip of his tea. "Sure thing, Jiaoshi" You smiled in reply. Yao began to make tea for you, he opened the cupboard and then took out his special nerve-relaxing tea. He is known for his talent for making tea and medicine. You went to the fridge to grab some biscuits.

"How's your training with Leon?" The Chinese man asked. "It's fine Jiaoshi. It's intense but I can keep up with him" You replied then closed the fridge, a [f/b] in your hand. "He's a difficult opponent" You added as you shove a [f/b] into your mouth and chewed. "I see aru. Do you want to train with me later?" He suggested, looking at you for your reply. "U-uh... Sure..." You slightly blush as your heart beats faster, eyes show nervousness as you reply. Surely you trained with Yao when you were still a child, but that was years ago. You always train with Leon and Yao just give you tips and lesson for your improvement, he never trains with you. You just wonder what is going on inside his mind to suggest that. "Good, I will teach you new techniques that you can use in your next training with Leon aru" The ponytailed male smiled a close-eyed smile that made your heart melt.

"Sure thing Jiaoshi" You smiled. Yao finished making your tea, the two of you settled inside the dining room with Kiku and Mei. You guys talked about random things, about anime, Hello Kitties, pandas, and other stuff that leads to cuteness. After your little break, you rest a bit in the living room with Leon and Yong Soo. You, the Cantonese, and the Korean watched some movies during that time. When 5 strikes, you went upstairs to train with the Chinese man.

"Are you ready [Name] aru?" The brunette man asked. "Yes!" You responded and then closed the door. "Now then..." He got into position, and you also got into position. After a while, the training started. Even with your hard efforts, you still have difficulty defeating him. Yes, your goal is to defeat him, and if you can't, he will teach you while training. The training took 2 hours and a half, and your skills improved. You are able to knock your Jiaoshi down but you still cannot defeat him.

"Remember what I taught you aru!" Yao instructed you while in the middle of training. Sweats covered your body and his, and your heart beats faster every time you put effort into your attacks. There it is, an opening. It's finally your chance. You smirked then continued punching his arm, blocking your attacks. When he was too focused on your punches, you attacked his left rib with your leg. That attack surprised him as he lose his balance and stumbled on the floor, he was too late to stand up as you draw your fist near his face.

You panted as you stayed like that for a while. "Excellent [Name]. You really improved aru" Yao smiled and then complimented your improved skills. "Thank you Jiaoshi" You also smiled and then retreated your hand. Yao sat up and you sat next to him. "Jiaoshi..." You called in a low voice, your eyes trailed down to the mat as a blush crept on your face. "Hm?" He turned to you. "Uh...um... Thank you" You muttered. "What? I didn't quite hear that aru" The brunette came near you, now you were nervous at this sudden closeness, heart pounds very fast.

"Thank you. Thank you for everything" You repeated, a bit louder for him to hear. You look at him for his expression, he seems confused but a smile is there. "At this moment, I wanted to thank you for everything. For adopting me, for being such a great family and teacher, for the love and care. I am very grateful that you found me" You told him, a smile gracing your lips as you thank him wholeheartedly. "In other words... I love you Jiaoshi" You muttered the last part, your blush getting even redder and darker by the moment, and your heart feels like a bomb that's gonna explode from too much beating.

"[Name]..." Yao uttered, the smile never left his lips. After a while, he hugged you tightly, you were surprised by his sudden action. "I love you too..."

#fanfic #fanfiction #alternate universe #oneshot #one shot #reader insert #x reader #fluff #drabble #hetalia #aph hetalia #aph china #hetalia china

[shame-is-a-wasted-emotion]

Wake up babes, a new ask game just dropped!

Highlight your picks and (anonymously) pass it on to anyone you want to know better!

Submarine or spaceship?

The Nutcracker or The Snow Queen?

Soup or stir fry?

Rollerblading or ice skating?

Trains or planes?

Gloves or mittens?

Opera or death metal music?

Movies or TV shows?

Rice or pasta?

Fleece or flannel?

Tissues or handkerchiefs?

Piggy back or bridal style?

'Italian' or 'Chinese' food?

Flying or teleporting?

Adopted or biological children?

Dragon or unicorn?

Picnic in the park or movie night at home?

Thank you for asking anon🤗

1. Spaceship. I was always fascinated by space and sky. I always wanted to visit space once in my life. But that's nearly impossible to happen

2.Neither. I don't know what they are. But thanks for rec. I'll watch them.

3. Soup. Something warm and watery is always good for me. Makes me less messy and I can fish the solid ingredients if they have

4. I don't do either. No ice skating cause I'm living in tropical region. But Rollerblading sounds fun. I know a little skating in 4 wheeler basic skates.

5.Both are exciting. Trains are fun and can get many picturesque views. Planes are good for sleeping and movie watching. Food too. I'll pick planes. But they are expensive

6.Gloves seems fun. But there is no need of that here . Except for the latex gloves used in hospital set up. We don't use mittens. We just use a kitchen towel to take hot things.

7. Opera. I can't tolerate metal. Sensitive ears for metal.

8. Movies. Cause I can sit for 3 hours and watch it. I don't want to come back again. I have low attention span

9. Pasta. Living in India, I almost hate eating rice everyday. You can't even imagine how my I hate. But basmati holds a sift spot. Cause that's rare here.

10.None actually. Its not much cold here for a flannel or fleece. But if I wonna choose, fleece. Anything that's not choking

11.tissues. no hanky. I lose it or misplace. I can't see it dirty.

12. Bridal style seems romantic. Honestly bridal style. I like piggy back too. But I would break or sprain my hip from being carried or carrying. Not flexible.

13.Italian? I haven't had much of both. But Chinese sounds scary to me. No bland rice and just blast of extreme spice. I want everything mixed uniformly.

14. Teleporting. Flying seems fun but I may feel nauseous. And time consuming than Teleporting

15.Adopted children. I can't imagine bringing a little monster to the world like me. I won't be a good parent. I want to do justice. I promised myself when I was 17 years old that I would adopt kids when I am ready enough. But the society says otherwise. That's another talk for another day.

16. Unicorn. I can't deal a dragon. I will be scared shirtless. But if the dragon is friendly like a lizard,that's good

17.Movie night at home. I can lay down in the comfort of my sofa or even on floor or someone's lap and watch peacefully. Picnic seems fun only with a solo or duet sitting.

Thank you for asking. I know this framed for western world. But things are different in Eastern world. So I couldn't answer appropriately.

#fun game #ask anonymously #that was fun #not glee

[grannyandgrandpascreations]

Make My Day Kitchen Flour Sack Towel

Go Ahead Make My Day, an all time quote from the famous Clint Eastwood flour sack kitchen towel. A perfect gift for any Western Kitchen and/or Fan! Granny & Grandpa’s Custom Creations offers many “old time” western kitchen towels!

Flour sack dish towels are called “flour sack” because they are modeled after the thin cotton bags that flour and grain used to be packed in, which were re-used as towels. The thin cotton yarn and the looser weave make for a towel that’s extra absorbent. You can even air dry your salad greens; the super absorbent nature of flour sack towels makes them great for drying delicate greens. Also, flour sack towels are lint free! Which means no weir fuzzies on your wine glasses when you wipe them dry!

Flour sack towels are also softer and significantly larger than a standard kitchen towel….and more towel is always a good thing! You can use these towels for drying, wiping, cleaning, or dusting and they can be used for fun decorations.

Each flour sack kitchen towel measures 28 in. x 29 inches (Product dimensions L x W x H – 28 x 29 x 29 inches). They are 100% cotton, durable and absorbent.

These are flat woven towels; they are perfect for cooking or baking and can safely be used around food such as covering dough for rising or as a food strainer. These towels also double as a kind of strainer or cheese cloth; the fine weave means you can strain sauces and broths through a flour sack towel to clarify them. Flour sack kitchen towels are sturdy, highly absorbent, dry quickly, and are designed to stand up to most any cleaning job. The towels easily withstand frequent washings and are made for repeated daily use.

The flour sack kitchen towel is a quality item with versatility and utility, we offer everyday designs and special occasion designs. Our flour sack towels are a great gift idea and very inexpensive!

Care instructions: Machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low. Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

#grannygrandpascustomcreations - #goaheadmakemyday -#oldtimewestern

Go Ahead Make My Day, an all time quote from the famous Clint Eastwood flour sack kitchen towel. A perfect gift for any Western Kitchen and/or Fan! Granny & Grandpa’s Custom Creations offers many “old time” western kitchen towels! Make sure to check out our Clint Eastwood T-Shirts in our T-Shirt Shop!

Flour sack dish towels are called “flour sack” because they are modeled after the thin cotton bags that flour and grain used to be packed in, which were re-used as towels. The thin cotton yarn and the looser weave make for a towel that’s extra absorbent. You can even air dry your salad greens; the super absorbent nature of flour sack towels makes them great for drying delicate greens. Also, flour sack towels are lint free! Which means no weir fuzzies on your wine glasses when you wipe them dry!

Flour sack towels are also softer and significantly larger than a standard kitchen towel….and more towel is always a good thing! You can use these towels for drying, wiping, cleaning, or dusting and they can be used for fun decorations.

Each flour sack kitchen towel measures 28 in. x 29 inches (Product dimensions L x W x H – 28 x 29 x 29 inches). They are 100% cotton, durable and absorbent.

These are flat woven towels; they are perfect for cooking or baking and can safely be used around food such as covering dough for rising or as a food strainer. These towels also double as a kind of strainer or cheese cloth; the fine weave means you can strain sauces and broths through a flour sack towel to clarify them. Flour sack kitchen towels are sturdy, highly absorbent, dry quickly, and are designed to stand up to most any cleaning job. The towels easily withstand frequent washings and are made for repeated daily use.

The flour sack kitchen towel is a quality item with versatility and utility, we offer everyday designs and special occasion designs. Our flour sack towels are a great gift idea and very inexpensive!

Care instructions: Machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low. Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

#grannygrandpascustomcreations - #goaheadmakemyday -#oldtimewestern

#Go Ahead Make My Day #kitchen decoration #kitchen decor towel #Kitchen Towel for men #kitchen towel for brother #kitchen towel for husband #Kitchen flour sack towel #housewarming gift for house #housewarming gift for the kitchen #Go Ahead Make My Day Kitchen Towel #Go Ahead Make My Day Flour Sack Kitchen Towel #Old Time Western Kitchen Towel #Western Kitchen Décor #affordable western kitchen décor #white flour sack towels #White flour Sack Kitchen Towel #flour sack kitchen decor #Clint Eastwood Kitchen Towel #Clint Eastwood Go Ahead Make My Day Home Décor #home decor funny

[ofmermaidstories]

I love when you talk about jewelry! I was wondering what type of jewelry would bakugou gift surrender!reader, if any at all? What type of gifts do you think he’d be the type to give, and would they be spontaneously or just for special occasions. Your writing brings me so much joy, by the way. Just re reading Surrender made me tear up because I was so happy to have something to cushion my bad day. Also, the Pro hero x secretary reader was so amazing!!! No pressure, but would you ever spin that into a separate fic? Who would you pair reader with? I feel like in your brain rot, reader had special chemistry with bakugou, but I’m also biased for how you write him😭💗

Sorry for so many questions. Have a great day❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

The first gift Katsuki gives you after Christmas is a pocket knife.

It’s weighty; a proper, old-fashioned folding knife. You hold it in your hand and thumb over the brass handle as you glance to him, silently questioning.

“S’hand-forged,” is how he answers. He’s frowning at it, contemplatively—at the fit of it in your hand. It’s a good length—less wieldy than the knives you use in the shop. You can use it easily. “Sharp,” he adds, quiet and firm and you cannot ignore why he’s giving it to you now, in this gloomy twilight-hours winter, when your hours at the shop stretch into the dark and he cannot be with you all the time.

“It’s beautiful,” you say softly, because it is. You flip it close, careful, and then smile at him. “It’ll be handy with the roses.”

Katsuki grunts, and then goes back to eating his dinner and you let your new knife sit on the table, the brass handle shinning like dull yellow gold under the lights of Katsuki’s kitchen.

(‼️📍18+/cw: some very, very vague smut at the end, like, not even two sentences but idk let’s go)

Things keep finding their way to you, after that. Thick, heavy towels larger than you and made of fluffy cotton you can run your fingers through. A new wash stool and basin, both in dark Hinoki wood and copper, to match his—it’s mostly decorative, living in the dark luxury of his very modern, very western bathroom, but you like seeing it in there, sitting next to his. He buys you soap—hand-milled and smelling like rich, expensive green-tea, leaving it sitting on top of a bunch of muslin face towels.

They’re all practical objects. You’re not even sure Katsuki considers them gifts, as much as just him just thinking ahead to what you might need—a lot of the time these items just appear in his apartment, waiting for you to touch them, to use them, to treat them for granted as yours.

He leaves for a cross-country mission that takes a week to finish, explosively, the carnage on the news—and returns to you with new cooking knives for your apartment.

They have wild-wood handles, polished smooth, the kind of knives woodland spirits might hunt with. You admire them and their wave-like ripple, on the edges of the blades.

“Some old fart makes them,” Katsuki says from under his towel, where he’s trying to dry his hair aggressively. “They’re better than the cheap shit you have at yours.”

“I take care of my cheap shit,” you retort, slipping the one you’re holding back into it’s box. Your snob of a Pro Hero boyfriend has bought you the basics: a large chef’s knife, a hefty one for vegetables and a blade for bread.

(It’s only later when he’s asleep and you’re pressing your face against the relaxed, soft give of his arm that you get curious enough to wonder about them. A furtive search online will tell you more than you wanted to know—indeed made by some little old man who lived by the sea, a fifth-generation craftsman who sold his pieces for a cool 30,000 yen plus, each. They are now, officially, the most expensive piece of kitchenware you own).

When he gives you the kintsugi vase, without ceremony or fuss, you think: oh. This is it, this is how this man will show you you’re important to him—by giving you things you can use, in his home. Tangible proof he is trying to fit you into the secret heart of his life, in the tiny ways he knows how to, that are important to him. So you start mimicking him: you buy bigger towels for your own apartment—darker sheets for your bed, lighter in weight so they don’t trap him and make him sweat. You invest in a heavy, fat chopping board and learn how to diligently look after the knives he’s given you, though when he’s in your space he scrubs them with baking soda and oils them up anyway, carefully running his thumb along the edge of the blade. You learn he prefers his singlets at home, the dark cotton of them, and find good-quality basics for him, for when he’s at yours. He tries to grow you strawberries in his gleaming, intimidating kitchen—you in turn grow him pottles of herbs in your tinier one. It’s a small exchange of here’s-something-that-will-make-you-more-comfortable and I-saw-this-and-thought-of-you-and-wanted-it-in-my-space, over and over again, a constant promise to each other.

“Y’okay?” He asks one night, out of blue. He’s silent, lately—deep in his own head. Tonight’s been no different and as such you’re curled up opposite to him, on his wide couch—a new blanket across your lap. It’s wool; soft and heavy and in the blues and greens of the ocean, a map of the waves. It had just appeared today, draped over the back of the couch—waiting.

“We’re okay,” you promise him, smiling. His hand passes over your ankle—bared to him as it is—and you resist the urge to kick at him, instead making a game of trying to wedge your other foot under the warmth of his thigh, his ass, ignoring his grunt when you’re successful.

“Watch my damned nuts,” he says and you laugh silently, breathlessly; the kind you know he can feel the pull of, touching you like he is.

You think nothing of the moment, beyond how much you love him, how similar it is to others with him—but Katsuki keeps his habit, now, of reaching for your ankle if you’re at opposite ends of the couch. It’s only sometimes—only when he wants to touch you, have you closer. You start to press your feet up against whatever part of him you can reach in return, like that, just to be annoying—digging your toes into his rib cage, seeing how smoothly you can pet him with your foot. He swats at you, swears, wriggles away—but it’s how you play, how you poke and prod and annoy each other.

Your first birthday with him, when it comes, is marked by dinner at his—against the large windows of his living room, everything dimmed for the occasion as the city glimmers before you. On the table, amid tiny candles and the riot of orange flowers he managed to surprise you with is your birthday present: a thin, black velvet box.

You try to ignore it, scared despite yourself—scared of what, you don’t know, you can’t name. But Katsuki waits, not mentioning it even when you’re done with dinner, done with your lingering over dessert. It’s a patience that belies the molten fire under his skin; when you do finally open the little box—slow and shy under the weight of his gaze—you can almost warm your hands on it, the stir underneath him.

It’s a bracelet. Spider-thread thin gold glinting in the low light, dotted with diamonds, twinkling gently.

Katsuki tches as your fingers trace over it in wonder. “S’for your stupid foot,” he says, and you realise then and there that you’re looking at an anklet. One of your first significant pieces of fine jewellery, and it’s an anklet. It’s ridiculous. It’s your new favourite thing.

“I didn’t know you were such a pervert,” you tease. The answering scowl Katsuki gives you is ugly—and all show, your heart singing as he finds your fingers across the table to bump them with his knuckles.

(It’s later that night when you’re lolling your head back and breathing in as Katsuki moves above you, languid, that you realise—

It’s just like all the other things he’s given you. Tangible proof that you fit into the secret heart of his life, his hand circling your ankle; thumb brushing the dainty chains like reassurance.)

I hope a new day means a better day for you, Anon. 🥺 You bring me much joy by being here!!!! I probably will never write that Office Work AU out, mostly because I am very much a blue-collar girl LOL and have literally zero idea of what secretaries actually do, beyond… idk…. calling other secretaries on old rotary phones? Idk. Idk!!!

#ofmermaidstories-asks #bakugou is a taurus and i just KNOW our taurus king likes his home comforts so you’re gonna like them too #i hope your weekend is better anon 🌷 #you deserved to be held by all your favourite stories 📚💕 #surrender-fic verse #do i need a surrender masterlist? blergh #of mermaids and pearls and sea glass 🌊✨🪞 #bakugou x reader #prompts and drabbles and other things

[ryoskuna]

⭑ favor fire | joker (fire force).

pairing: joker x fem!reader

notes: I love the concept of the holy sol’s shadow, so uh, former assassin!reader but also fire soldier!reader, there’s some past history between joker and reader, and there’s mentions of friends to enemies between joker and reader very briefly. this came from a request of a word + character, in this instance the word was degradation +  joker. also, I’m super shocked that there isn’t more joker stuff on tumblr? also,the title comes from the robert frost poem: fire and ice. there’s also some allusions to through the fic, 

warnings: this is smut, baby. filth. degradation, some mild choking, kissing, biting, teasing with joker’s ignition ability, unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it, guys), mentions of a western style waterfall shower head, vague mentions of death, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, some slightly sadistic joker (it is in his personality after all), mentions of exhibitionism/voyeurism, denial play, begging, dry humping, marking, creampie(?), and some body worship.

word count: 5,148 words.

⭑

summary: joker doesn’t account for seeing the wild card he never planned to encounter again after he left the holy sol’s shadow — you, no longer an assassin for the holy sol’s shadow, but a fire soldier standing amongst the ranks and allies of company 8.So, he pays you a visit when you’re alone in your apartment.

⭑

You thought you were past getting caught. Past being snuck up on, and more importantly, past the shock of the way you looked in a fire soldier’s uniform instead of that of the Holy Sol’s Shadow. When you defected eight years ago, it took three years for you to shake of their training, of the way they made you feel worthless — nothing more than a killing machine. No more of that corrupt white that was secretly stained with so much red. But no matter how long you showered, it seemed like you couldn’t scrub all that red off. All that crimson that you could feel, long after you had freshened up in your shower. 

For the first time in what seemed like weeks (maybe even months), you were at home, showering. Your apartment wasn’t too far from the cathedral, but after the trip to the Nether, you felt uneasy in what had become your home. It was just five minutes away from Fire Company 8, but the distance didn’t do anything to ease the guilt you felt at having seen Shinra so crippled and broken. He was one of your own, one of the team — and inevitably, the family Obi had built out of Company 8, especially since it wasn’t shackled to anything— not the church, not Haijima Industries, not the Tokyo army, and not even to the Fire Defense Agency.  To see him like that made your chest hurt, and reflect on the loss of someone you had tried to forget. 

Five-two.  His desertion of the Holy Sol’s Shadow was unthought of, but not surprising. You remembered the way the captain treated him, tore him down, and took the only thing he had to remember of his past. You remembered the way the flames tried to eat him and then spit him out as a spear, a weapon to built to destroy, as if that were all he was good for.  As if that were all you were good for. And for the longest time, that was all you thought you were good for.  But you knew better now. The Holy Sol’s Shadow had taken you when you were young, just four years old, killed your family to ensure you wouldn’t be missed. They only took orphans. They didn’t need anyone to come after you all, looking for a lost child. You were not meant to be missed. 

You weren’t like the others though. You felt grievance when you killed an infernal or even a human being that threatened the church. No matter how much you tried, your consciousness ate at you and at the pit of your stomach like a hungry fire, never to be satiated. Finally, you couldn’t take it, there had to be a better way… you wanted to save lives, not take them. You couldn’t take any more of the way the infernals’ fire felt around your hand when striking their cores, and you couldn’t take anymore of the way that you felt when watching the light fade from a human’s eyes. It was too much. 

Your fingers work through your hair as you push it into a towel after shutting off the water spilling from the ceiling of your shower stall, shaking water from your ankle.  Your bare feet pad on the floor, eyes looking around before pushing your finger against your lip in thought. The hairs on your arms rose with goosebumps, and you froze in place. Your fingers push a towel around your chest, before you swallow, growing tense. 

Something was wrong.  As you slowly pull open your bathroom door, grabbing what you could use for a weapon (a metal bookend), your eyes land on the open window, letting a gust of air in as well as the smell of food from a few street vendors. Something smells like melting or burning sugar, and fresh fruit. But even closer is the smell of smoke, heavy and oddly sweet too. You step over to the window, but that isn’t the source of the smell of smoke.  No, the smell of smoke is coming from your home. You juggle the thought of being caught naked versus changing and being potentially attacked — and you think you rather be caught naked with the upper hand than be clothed and caught off-guard. 

You could call out to them, but that’s stupid. It wasn’t like they’d tell you, “I’m an intruder and I’m in your kitchen! Want a sandwich?”  You’re quick enough to slide on a black pair of panties, a bra, and the pair of leggings you set out on your bed before soundlessly walking over to the doorway where the smell of smoke strengthens. Walking down the hall with your bookend in hand, you freeze when you see the figure standing in between your dining room and kitchen, picking up a trinket laying on the table. You squint and raise the bookend, before the figure revolves around and the sight of his purple eyes causes you to hesitate. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” he remarks, putting out his cigarette in the palm of his hand before closing his hand into a fist, surrendering the cigarette to the ashes he created.  

You would know those eyes— well, eye, anywhere.  It’s too unique to be mistaken for anyone else. That sneaky smile that promises trouble and danger forms on his lips, but there’s a darkness that lurks in it, and you are all too familiar with it. “Five-two,” you breathe out, and as his name falls from your lips (the only name you knew him as), you think of nights spent whispering in the dark as children, whispering about the mysteries of your world and the truth — how the truth was the only tangible thing to be pursued. And like an idol, oh how you listened to him. How you looked up at him like his word was gospel, like his words were the only thing that mattered. And like a follower, eager to prove your worth, you patched him up after every beating from the captain.  But he still has that look in his eyes, the one that put people in categories of predator and prey, and from the way he tilts his head, looking at you… well, he hasn’t decided which one you are yet. 

He gestures wordlessly without a finger to put the bookend down before he sighs. “Three-eight, put the bookend down,” he orders when you hesitate, but at the usage of your title, you set it on the counter. “And Five-two isn’t my name. Not anymore.” He corrects in the same breath, and he looks at you with a tilt of his head as if to ask if you even remembered your own name. Of course you did. You whispered it to yourself in your sleep, practiced carving it in wood under your bed on the frame while in the custody of the Shadows. You never felt like three-eight, even though you felt like it more so when you were with Five-two.

You part your lips to ask what is he doing here, or what does he want from you, but he beats you to the punch as he moves closer to you and begins to circle you like a predator. So, you do the same — the two of you doing an untouching waltz, a tango, a dance for two. Between two partners with too much history and too many unanswered questions.  “I saw you with Company 8. First it was at the Rookie Games,” he grins, turning a card in between his fingers. You realize it’s his ignition ability, a card made of fire, that dances in between his fingers.  “Then I got word you were in the Nether.  So, I followed you today. Wanted to see what you were up to — but I was surprised to see you as a Fire Soldier, especially after being a Sha—”

“I was never meant to be a Shadow. That wasn’t my choice. Just like it wasn’t yours,” you sharply remind him, catching the card he throws before compressing it in your hands, smothering the fire before it could even touch your hand. In turn, it’s replaced by the sharp pop that comes from your fingers playing with lightning, dancing across your fingertips, pulsing like a heartbeat. “Now, what do you want?” Your voice is sharp and stern, unyielding and annoyed at having your time wasted as you speak. 

“Kusakabe. Where is he — how is he?”

Your eyes narrow in suspension as you clench your jaw. “If you think I’m going to tell you where Shinra is so you can kill him, you’re mistaken, Five-two.”

Before you can realize it or even stop it, your hand playing with lightning is pressed to the wall, and  you, yourself is pushed against the wall, his hand on your chest below your neck, his eyes growing dark.  “I told you that wasn’t my name anymore.” 

“You never told me what else to call you,” you remind him matter-of-factly, before he lets your hand go where it falls back to your side.  

“Joker,” he breathes out, looking away from you as he shuffles in place, loosening his grip on you, but only slightly.  “Call me Joker, y/n.” And the way his name falls from his lips is so quiet, you almost thought you hallucinated it.  Hearing it from his mouth sends a strange feeling into your stomach, both with familiarity and fondness as if he had never left you. It’s almost too much and makes you want to squirm away from him, but instead, you just look into his eye.  And all you see is the sixteen year old boy you loved, who left you  and who you watched the Shadows destroy to remind him that they could touch everything he cared about. That they could destroy everything he cared about. 

And it burns him. He wonders if you two could have survived had he brought you with him, instead of leaving you in the hands of the Shadows. He wonders if you would have even left with him. But seeing you, here, with the orange jumpsuit of the Fire Force laying on the chair of yours closest to the front door of your apartment, part of him thinks you would have. He regrets leaving you there, but his decision to leave had been an impulsive one, unplanned. And it had gone all downhill after he had left.  You were out of the Shadows’ reach, for now, that much he knew, and he could see.  He doesn’t mean to touch you softly on your face, and you don’t mean to lean into his palm, but you do, and that’s a language all of it’s own.  He had done it in you all’s youth to promise he was always there, to remind you he would never leave you — that if you didn’t have any comfort, you had him. 

You want to swat his hand away because you knew that was untrue, he had left you alone to fend for yourself for four years after he had left; he had left you alone to ruin.  But, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him for it, and you couldn’t bring yourself to curse his name or pull away — because even though he was on the outside, he had gone through hell of his own. You remember the way the Shadows came back after killing the family that had taken him in. The Shadows had corrupted him, burned him, scorned him, and left him to the harshness of the world to suffer.  You could see it in his eye, and you could see the way he longed to ask you for more as his lips give a wobble when he hesitates to ask the question that’s on his mind. He doesn’t want to speak for the fear of bringing everything down with you, but in place of words, tension grows, especially when he grows closer to you, and lets his hat drop to the floor at your feet. 

“You left me,” you mumble, and his eyes meet yours again, with sadness before he shakes his head.

“I know.” He makes a tsk noise with his tongue before he clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

He opens his mouth to ask what you mean, but instead, you pull his face forward with your hands, and your lips press to his. The kiss is hot, hungry, demanding; and somehow forgiving, as if being a representation of a trial by fire. It floods you with heat — or maybe that’s your ignition ability dancing around in your body, humming and begging to be released. Or thanking you for being fed, being reunited with the fire it learned how to dance with first. Joker feels it too, his hands moving to hold your hips and root you in place against him. A low growl rumbles in his chest as if to demand more, and he can taste both the sweet mint of your toothpaste and the underlying metallic feeling from your ignition ability. Likewise, you can taste the smoke from his mouth, and you practically inhale it into your lungs, begging it to consume you. Begging him to consume you. 

His cautious touches aren’t enough, and you tug on the front of his waistcoat to pull him closer as he reinforces your place against the wall, pulling away for air, and to see the haze in your eyes.  They were right to say fire was desire, or in desire laid fire — the sentiment was the same regardless of how you read it.  His thumb reaches up to brush over your cheek, his thumb following the line of your jaw down to your lips, which practically beg him to kiss them again. So he does — but this time, he tugs on your lips with his teeth, growling more as your fingers curl into the hair behind his ears.  His tongue parts in between your lips, and dances with yours, working it to submission with ease before he pulls away to leave you gasping for air. 

“I thought Fire Soldiers didn’t play with devils. I thought it was too sacrilegious,” he breathes out coolly, eyeing your flustered face. 

“Good thing I’m not religious, and if the sentiment bothers me, I guess I’ll ask our sister to pray for my forgiveness.” You reply, needy for more as you claw at his waistcoat.  “Now finish what you started.”

“Oh, I will. I just needed your permission.” 

“Permission granted.”

Joker chuckles as he moves to kiss the side of your neck at the exposed skin, humming as he lets his fingers trace the muscles of your back. “Is this what you meant by you didn’t want an apology?”

“Actions speak… louder… hgn,” You groan as he sucks on the delicate skin on your neck, his fingers tracing the skin around your waist. “than words.” 

He hums some kind of acknowledgement of the sentiment before you feel grabbing your hands and pulling you down the hall to your bedroom (and his point of entry), before he shuts the door with the heel of his shoe. He pushes you onto your bed where you fall back and lay, your chest rising and falling with dark, curious eyes, longing for more. When he looks at you, he sees the love you promised to give him, that you willingly gave him as a child, and that was what made him hold onto the Shadows so long.  It was you, and your love that acted like a form of righteousness so much so that it was holy.  He may have stopped believing in Sol, but he believed in you, and now he was believing in you again. He was believing in you like your love was religion, and he needed to beg for forgiveness. He could do that later, but he knew he was on a time limit as you’d soon go back to Company 8 and you would belong to the Fire Force again. 

His fingers unbutton his waistcoat, pulling his scarf off but leaving the bandana over his eye, as if you hadn’t seen the wound a hundred times before. As if you hadn’t dreamed of it, when you dreamed of him and thought of a better life for you and him — although those were the dreams of a child. Dreams in stereo, that played on repeat. He thinks of the last time he had touched another human, that wasn’t with murderous intent, or in a fight — something about the tension making his blood raise, in the same way it was pulsing in his ears right now, but it was all for you. 

And he needed more of it. There’s a hum coming from him as his hands dance with fire on his fingertips, but you can’t feel it — it doesn’t burn, it’s more of a tickle as it licks at you, greeting you back into its grasp. His fire is home — remembering you and the way you reached out to touch all 52 cards of his when you were young, and in the same way, how he would watch how the lightning  you made danced to the changing beats of your heart, pulsing and whispering I love you when you could never say the words where others would hear. But he knew, and you knew, as you all had come up with your own language filled with gestures and touches only meant for the two of you to see. His shoes tumble against the floor as he kicks them aside, making his way over to you and his gaze is hungry now. 

You lay back and watch as he pulls the buttons loose on his shirt before pulling it off and adding it to the growing pile on the floor. You can see the silvery scars on his body in various places and as he leans down to kiss you, your fingers trace them, apologetic as the ambiance from the open window fills your bedroom.  He looks as the daylight goes over your skin, turning you into something even more beautiful.  His ear goes over your chest as he hears your heartbeat, breathing fire and circulating it through your body.  

Time is not your friend, and you know it as you rest a hand on his cheek. “If we’re going to do this, you need to hurry. I’ve got to get back to—”

“I know,” He exhales as he shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. He’d be poetic later, at a more appropriate time. So, he kisses you again with the same fervent way he kissed you before, this time, his hands palming over your breasts, little mewls leaving your lips as he slides his hands under your bra, plucks at your nipples, feeling them harden under his fingers. He can feel you squirm under him while you feel that fire build in your belly, spreading through you.  He’s on a power trip, a power high, and you’re simply reinforcing it. 

You need more, need him to stroke it more and make it grow, and he plans on doing exactly that. His hips are rolling into yours through your clothes, your legs over on his thighs as he kneels in between your legs. As he kisses you, you’re hellbent on letting it consume you, and you’re just as desperate, rutting against him as he he pulls away, whispering against your lips. “You need it so bad, huh?” He grins as you whimper, desperate for touch. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been this intimate with anyone, and he’s working you like a harp, with delicate plucks and strokes, playing you to his own accord. You whine, as his hands tug your leggings down your legs and toss them to the floor, and he can see the growing wet spot on your panties, a smirk on his lips. “You don’t have to tell me,” he adds. “Your body tells me enough, little princess. Or do you prefer to be called my little slut, my wild card?”

You whine at the nickname, processing him pushing your bra up to expose your nipples to him before he’s pulling the right one into his lips and sucking ruthlessly, his tongue lapping at it, only to restart the cycle. He does show some mercy by putting his knee in between your legs, letting you grind down on it, much to his amusement. His lips let go of  your nipple as he chuckles darkly, his purple eye blazing with mischief and excitement. “Ah yeah! There’s my dirty baby,” he grins, “Yeah, so desperate. So needy, didn’t want anyone else to touch her. Only I can touch her,” he remarks and you repeat his words. 

“Only you!” 

His knee isn’t enough, but it’ll get you off for now, while you change the angle of your core coming down on his knee, changing your pace to get more friction that causes gasps to leave your lips. You’re so close, so close at the way you rock your hips, getting friction across your clit just like you need,  your wetness soaking into his pants.  His lips are kissing a trail down your chest and stomach, above your navel, and as he reaches the top of your core, he kisses it through the fabric, before pulling his knee away.  

“I hope my baby didn’t think I’d just let her cum from my knee,” he chuckles, his thumb dragging your bottom lip down as you suckle on his thumb before he pulls it away. “Now don’t move,” he warns, and all you see is a flash of a card — the Queen of Hearts — before it cuts through your panties, and he pulls them from your body, tossing the remains to the floor.  He brings the card to his lips as he blows it out, and then tilts his head to look at your expression.  Your eyes slowly open to look at him as you try to catch your breath and his thumb brushes over your pulsing clit, having felt the way your cunt pulsed for him on his knee. “Such a needy little thing, and all this over me?” He teases, parting your thighs more with his hands before he goes eyelevel with your cunt, blowing his breath out and watches you shudder. His lips suck and his tongue licks at your throbbing bud, humming at your taste. 

You whine and croon at the attention, your hips bucking and he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you down as he lets his tongue glide up and down  your cunt. “Such a sweet little cunt on my pretty little baby,” he hums before he sucks on your outer lips, then lets his tongue go back to flick your clit before he decides to add one finger, slowly pushing into you, letting his finger thrust in and out before he adds another, curling his fingers in a come-hither motion before returning his attention to sucking on your clit, and letting his thumb circle the bundle of nerves. 

You moan his name, hips arching again, and you’re close to unraveling underneath him as you babble, “I’m—”

“Go ahead,” he murmurs in between your legs. “Come for me, baby. I want to drink you up.” He gives a nip and a bite at the inside of your thigh before his tongue becomes merciless with determination to let you cum, his tongue spelling out his name over your throbbing nerves, and when you finally fall apart with a sweet moan of his name, he smirks against you before licking up your release. He pulls away once he’s gotten his fill, his chin coated in your release, and grins at you. He pulls his fingers out of you, and they’re coated in your juices, but he’ll get to those. 

“Did you want a taste, dirty girl?” He asked, and when you beckon, he leans down and kisses you, getting your release on on your chin that he wipes away with his thumb before licking his fingers clean. With one orgasm for you, he can concentrate on the bulge in his pants, aching and throbbing — begging for release as he unbuttons his pants and takes them off.  You can see the outline of his hard cock in his boxers, and you reach to palm it before he smacks your hand. “No,” he scolds, before chuckles. “Let me do this, dirty girl. Or are you too out of it to understand?” He chuckles as he looks into your eyes. 

“Need you, please,” You beg, and he stands up to slowly slide his boxers off before pressing his finger to his lip. 

“You’ve got to be a good girl. You don’t want those people on the street to hear you getting fucked like a needy little brat. But, make sure I hear how good I make you feel with my cock in that pretty little cunt. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” you nod, and you watch as his boxers free his cock which slaps against his abdomen, already leaking with pre from the tip, and he takes his hand, stroking his cock and pushing the pre-cum around it. Your eyes look at it, and look at him, all together — standing before him in the nude, holding his cock. 

“Good little whore,” Joker sighs as he kisses the inside of your thigh before biting down on the skin and leaving a matching mark to the previous one. “And another rule. You don’t cum until I let you.”

You process his words, but your head is already thinking, spinning and reeling at how you’re going to try and not cum just by him putting it in. You need it, you need him, your hole clenching around nothing as he hovers over you, pulling your legs over his shoulder. He lets his tip drag through your cunt, coating it in your sweet juices. Then, he lets it slap over your cunt, patting it as you whimper and groan and he chuckles. 

“Here we go, needy slut,” he hums as he kisses your neck before pushing the tip in. You bit into your lip as you can feel him slowly splitting you open, but it feels so good you can’t think — your walls already pulsing around him, trying to hungrily suck him in faster than he’s willing to give.  “Look at me,” he demands, and your eyes part to see him sinking into you, more and more, your groans getting louder before he bottoms into you all at once.  

“Fuck,” he groans. “Such a tight little cunt, and I can’t wait to fill you up with my cum. Gonna be so good.”

“Please,” you beg, even though you’re not exactly sure what you’re begging for. 

But it’s like Joker knows, and he’s willing to oblige. He begins to slowly thrust into you, with full thrusts to fill you each time. And the way you croon and mewl and wrap your arms around him encourages him to speed up, although it’s taking a lot of his control for him not to fuck you into next week. He does push your legs back into a mating press, his face hovering over yours as he looks into your eyes, watching your face scrunch up into an expression of sheer bliss. 

“Yeah, feels good when I fuck your pretty little cunt? Your tight little cunt? Is this mine? Tell me, little slut.”

“Yeah, yeah, nghh,” you pant, your nails digging into his shoulders as he works up to a quicker pace, and presses his hand right over your lower stomach, which makes a cry of pleasure leave you.  You can feel that fire in your belly return, especially as he strokes that spot in the midst of your gummy walls which suck him in, and he loves it — the way your cunt clings to him like a vice, refusing to let him go. He can feel the way you tighten, and he knows you’re getting closer.

“God, you take my cock so well, but I can’t hear you, baby,” Joker reminds you as he taps your cheek, stopping only to your dismay, causing you to whine. “I told you I’d stop if you I couldn’t hear you. So, now you’ve got to beg for me to let you cum. So, beg.” His eye is dark and his gaze is vicious. There’s no way he was letting you off easy, not with that look in his eye.

“Please, please, Joker, let me cum,” You start. “I want to come around your cock, I want to, please, please, please.” Your pleading sounds like a broken record as you repeat words over and over again, so he starts back with slow thrusts again before his other hand wraps around your neck, leaving you gasping for air. 

“Want to see my pretty little slut cream all over my cock so I can cum in you, fuck my cum into you and watch it leak out,” he groans, closing his eyes as his pace becomes more erratic.  His hand that’s on your lower stomach begins to rub at your clit, specifically his thumb going in circles, as his thrusts continue to hit that sweet spot inside of you, and you shudder around him, pulsing and massaging his cock before you unravel with a loud cry of his name — open window be damned. His eyes open, although half-lidded, and watch you come around his cock, your release coating his cock, and he grins, humping you through your orgasm as you begin to whine as he prolongs it and overstimulates you. 

He doesn’t care, chasing his own high, and you clench around him, and with a few more thrusts, he’s cumming inside of you, groaning as he can see the mix of your cum around his cock. He pants to catch his breath, and then slowly pulls out, watching as his cum seeps out of you, leaking onto your bed before he then lets his thumb trace your jaw.

“You did so good, y/n.” He smiles as he kisses your forehead. “My wild card.” He murmurs, pulling away to put his clothes back on. “I’ll see you around, Fire Soldier.”

Before you can say anything else, he’s clothed and gone, and you’re left half-dressed on your bed, his cum still leaking from you and unspoken words on your lips.  But he had to leave, or else he’d forget his mission, and he’d stay, even though he couldn’t offer you anything.  

And that felt like ice in his veins, but even he knew ice could consume you just as good as fire. However, he knew desire and his pursuit of the truth would ruin him. He wouldn’t bring you into that too.

#fire force smut #fire force imagines #fire force fanfiction #fire force hcs #joker x reader #five-two x reader #enn enn no shouboutai #joker fire force #fire force x reader #joker/52

[bluegarners]

“I have your loved one” with Dick and Jason?

heyyy, it's finally here haha! i'm slowly getting to each request lol

here it is on ao3

I Have Your Loved One

It’s Thursday.

Time: 23:47, or 11:47 p.m.

Bludhaven has hit a rough patch in its weather, a vicious storm battering against thin windows and overflowing gutters and drains. It’s one of those storms that brings in the water but no lightning, dark clouds blanketing the entire sky, remorseless and relentless in its pursuit of smothering any light from escaping. The clouds don’t muffle anything though, perhaps amplifying instead the downpour that floods through Bludhaven’s streets and alleyways. Its citizens like to think this is a New Jersey hurricane, freshly mutated and traveled from the east coast into their humble, mildew covered city.

Dick likes the rain. Likes the way it pounds against his apartment, screaming to be let in but just barely warded off by seven inches of concrete and steel. The blinds are closed against the windows, and he has towels pushed up against the sills just in case the sealing lets up. Even if they were open, Dick is sure all he would see is another wall of gray and black, dozens of delicate raindrops splattered against his windows.

Because of the storm currently wreaking havoc in his city, Dick has elected to stay indoors for the time being. Eventually, the rain will let up, its pattern being close to about 05:00, and then he’ll suit up and do a quick patrol before work. For now, he’s content with sitting on his couch and listening to the water smack against the old building and run rivers down the sides. He’d like to sleep through it, a free white noise service at the ready, but his mind simply refuses to allow him to rest just yet. In a few hours, he’s sure he’ll come to hate himself for not taking NyQuil or some other drug to help him fall asleep, but for now… Well, it’s nice. The rain is nice. It’s also very loud.

He misses the first call.

His phone is face down on the kitchen table, about eight feet away from where he lays on the couch, mindlessly staring up at the ceiling. It vibrates, buzzing for thirty seconds, before falling silent.

He misses the second call too.

Thunder rumbles through the black sky, its force shaking the windows and only encouraging the downpour. His phone buzzes again during it, quieting after another thirty seconds.

Dick hears the third call. Hears the tail-end of the buzzing, getting up from his position on the couch and padding over to pick up his phone only to miss the last few seconds. He unlocks his phone, checking the number, and feels something cold settle into his gut when he sees no caller ID. It’s the same person though, all three times, but no voicemail.

He’s about to call the number back, just in case it’s someone he knows and they’re ringing from a payphone or something else, when the no caller ID flashes across his screen for the fourth time.

Dick answers on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Is this Richard Grayson?”

“Yes, that’s me. Who is this?”

The voice is feminine, a slight, western accent, longer o’s and a faint drawl. Somewhere from Arizona most likely. Lower register too. Older woman, mid-to-late fifties. Smoker.

“That’s good. I was starting to think I had the wrong number, Richard.”

“Yeah, sorry, I just didn’t have my phone on me. You didn’t say earlier, but who is this?”

“That doesn’t matter too much right now. What does matter, though, is this.”

She pauses. There’s shuffling he can hear on the other side. A faint, second voice in the background. No, three voices. At least two others in the room with the woman. He can hear the sounds of an air condition unit rattling.

“I think you might’ve cut off there. What were—”

“I have your loved one, Richard.”

Lightning cracks through Bludhaven.

His stomach falls onto the floor, pooling around his ankles. The storm outside grinds to a halt, the quiet louder than any thunder it’s ever managed to produce, and there’s a high pitched ringing reverberating inside his skull. Dick thinks he might be sick.

“What?” he chokes, the air in the room suffocating and weighing down his lungs. “What did you say?”

“I have your loved one,” the woman repeats, calm and slow. “Your brother, actually. Then again, he tells me you aren’t related by name nor blood, so we’ll settle for a loved one.”

“What do you want?” Dick demands, already scrambling to get to his computer, find where they’ve taken Jason. Find his brother.

“He did say you weren’t one for small talk,” the woman carries on, unhurried and unconcerned. “Your brother isn’t either, hardly said a word all this time.”

“Can I speak to him?”

There’s a small huff on the other end of the call, exhalation and a sigh leaving the woman’s mouth. A cigarette. She’s smoking during this conversation, blowing the smoke into the receiver.

“I don’t know,” she finally answers. There. Dick has his general location. Still in Gotham. He needs the tracker to be more precise though. It’s taking time though. Too much. “Your brother here was pretty convinced you wouldn’t answer after his daddy didn’t pick up. Cried pretty hard about it too.”

“What are you talking about?” Dick grounds out, fearing his phone will crack with how tightly he’s gripping it.

“Well, you weren’t our first choice to call, Richard. I’m sure you understand.”

Dick says nothing, focused on the computer screen in front of him. He should contact Barbara. This would be faster with her. Faster to find Jason.

“We called about seven times,” the woman continues, blowing another puff of smoke out into the phone. “Isn’t that right, boy? We called and called and called. His daddy didn’t pick up once, went straight to voicemail each time. A shame, really.”

There’s a sniffle on the other side of the call and Dick’s heart seizes when he realizes it’s probably Jason.

Batman was currently off-world, all communication with him being strictly between Justice League lines. Bruce Wayne was somewhere in the Bahamas, partying with Italian models and Spanish actresses.

Of course he wouldn’t pick up.

“Can I please talk to him?” Dick asks for the second time, fisting a hand into the couch cushions. “Please, I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

More smoke. “I’ll ask him.”

There’s a muffled thud, the phone most likely having been put down, and quiet voices filter through the line. He can’t hear much of what they’re saying, short bursts of comprehensible syllables before fading back to unintelligible noises. His computer dings with a response from Barbara. She’s going to use one of the J.L satellites to better pin-point Jason’s location. She’s also in communication with the police, reporting a child-abduction.

Keep them talking, she writes. Everything is going to be okay, Dick.

It feels like his heart is beating in his throat and his tongue has swollen to the size of a bowling ball. The storm outside is unrelenting. Lightning hasn’t struck again.

There’s more movement on the other side, clattering and scattered noises. The phone’s been picked up.

“Alright,” the woman says, raspy and uncaring. “The boy says he wants to talk to you, Richard.”

Dick holds his breath, waiting. There’s more noises, a transfer he thinks, and another sniffle interrupts it.

“Hello?” a shaky voice asks into the receiver. Dick feels like crying.

“Jason,” he breathes. “We’re going to get you out of there, alright? You’re going to be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” his brother rattles, a sob latching onto the end. “I’m so sorry, Dick. I-I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” Dick shushes, feeling himself get choked up at the fear in the younger boy’s voice. “I know you didn’t, bud. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“No, not really. I didn’t think you were gonna pick up,” he admits, voice cracking. “B-Bruce didn’t. He didn’t answer, Dick, and I-I thought you weren’t gonna either. I-I thought—”

“I’ll always answer, Jason, I promise. I’m coming for you, okay? I’m going to come get you and we’ll both go home together. Does that sound good, Jay? You’re going to be fine.”

“Okay,” the thirteen year old relents. “You promise though, right? You’re not gonna leave me here?”

“No, Jay, of course not. I’m not going to leave you there, I’m coming to get you. Right now. I promise, okay? Jason, I would never abandon you. You’re my kid-brother and I love you. I’m not going to-”

“As touching as this is,” the woman interrupts, “I think that’s enough.”

“Put Jason back on the phone,” Dick snarls. “I swear, if you lay a hand on him, if you even touch him, I will end you.”

“Sure, honey,” the woman drawls, puffing into the receiver. “Here’s what’s going to happen, so I want you to listen to me.”

His computer dings. It’s Barbara. She’s got the location. It’s close. Not even twenty minutes away. Border between Bludhaven and Gotham. Motel next to the gas station connecting the freeways. Room 13.

He’s out the door and revving up his motorcycle before the woman has even taken a second drag from her cigarette. The rain is beating against him, gloomy street lights flickering through the shrouded dark of the storm. Thank god for Bludhaven sewers, only slightly better than Gotham’s. The water level is only a few millimetres high.

“Now, I don’t want to keep this kid anymore than you want him to stay here with me,” the woman drones. The streets are empty. Dick blows through every red light he comes across. The tires are new, the grip is fine. “So, I think we can make this simple.”

“What do you want?” Dick growls, transferring the call into his helmet. He prays she can’t hear the rain battering against it. “Just tell me what you want already and I’ll give it to you.”

“Don’t rush me,” the woman snaps, and it is then that Dick realizes that this is all probably by chance. This isn’t some criminal mastermind who plotted to find and kidnap the son of a billionaire. This isn’t a case of a rogue villain piecing together vague details and figuring out Batman and company’s identities. It’s simply someone desperate. Someone who saw the opening and took it. The poor planning is evident, practically spelled out in bold print that these people have no real idea what they’re doing.

“Sorry,” Dick bites out, veering through a short-cut that says, in neon orange, Danger. Construction Zone. “Please continue.”

The woman on the line is vindictive though, choosing to remain quiet as the sound of a lighter clicking open tinnies through the call. She takes her time lighting a new cigarette, taking a long, slow drag and holding it in for a few seconds. Dick jerks his bike to the right, narrowly avoiding a large pothole. A passing car blares its horn at him. Finally, the woman exhales. He can hear Jason cough in the background.

“What I want,” she starts, a new color of intrigue hitting the back of her throat. He’s barely ten minutes away now. Could probably half it if he took more backstreets and increased his speed. “Is for my son to be released from prison.”

“Who is your son?” Dick asks, cursing silently as his back tire skids, hydro-planing for a moment. Thunder crashes above him and the rain continues to pelt at his body. It feels like getting hit with a paint-ball gun.

“Landon Jennings. I want you to get him released. I know you have the access to lawyers, probably have debts owed to you from people in high places. I want him released tonight.”

Time: 00:14.

01:14 a.m standard time.

“I can do that,” Dick says, heart beating faster as he sees the sign for the motel, dim in the gray, “but I’ll need a few hours. I need to contact my lawyers. Where is your son stationed?”

An icon appears in the front of his digitized visor. It’s Barbara. She sees him closing in. Police are on route. Seven minutes out. He has the option to wait on them and keep the kidnappers on the line.

“Same place they all go,” the woman barks. “Use that head of yours and figure it out. I want my son out by tonight, or you’re not going to see your brother again. And,” she rushes, “I don’t want the police involved. If you call them, I’ll know, you understand? I don’t want to hurt the kid, but I’m not scared to. My husband is here with me too, so if you try and—”

Okay, so waiting isn’t an option. He’s going in.

“No police,” Dick interrupts. “I understand. Please, don’t hurt him.”

“If you just do what you’re told, then I won’t have to.”

“Thank you,” Dick whispers, gently getting off of his bike and leaving it on the side of the road. He can’t chance them seeing him pulling into the motel lot. “You said your son’s name was Landon? If you don’t mind me asking, what is he charged with?”

“Why do you need to know?”

Dick jogs towards the motel, careful to stay out of direct light. The general office looks closed. Most of the windows facing the lot are shielded by salmon colored curtains. There’s only one floor, thankfully. Dick sees door 13. He’s shaking. His fingers are numb.

“My lawyers said they need to know in order to file for a judge to repeal his sentence.”

“Is that so?” the woman asks, suspicion tailing her voice. She takes a drag from her cigarette, contemplating. Dick’s clothes are soaking wet and he cringes every time his shoes squelch against the concrete. He decides crawling is best, ducking under windows and avoiding peepholes. “Fine then. Landon got falsely accused of statutory rape and breaking and entering. Is that what your damn lawyers are looking for?”

“Yes,” Dick breathes. He’s at door 10. He can see a faint glow coming from behind the curtains of room 13. He’s so close. “Thank you.”

He taps on the side of his helmet, sending a series of numbers that he’s sure Barbara will understand.

23-26-8-37

E-N-T-R

He can’t wait any longer.

While crawling, Dick made sure to get a good look at the motel’s doors and hinges. They’re standard, and though both Gotham and Bludhaven tend to have better locks than most other cities, Dick recognizes the model of the door and the wood it’s made out of. They’re thin enough for him to ram through. The hinges on the sides are rusted over as well, and Dick thinks they might just be weak enough to break. The windows however. The windows are his best bet. He doubts this kind of motel invests in bullet proof glass, and on some of the sills, he can see water damage. They leak. Poorly made. Meaning, if he ran at them, he could break through pretty easily.

But, if that doesn’t work. Or if he’s not fast enough to get on his feet once in. Or if the window is directly in front of Jason and the glass breaks all over him. Or if—

Stop. He can’t think about the what-ifs right now. Dick knows he can do this. Knows how to do this. There isn’t any more time to wait. He promised he would get Jason out of there, and goddamnit, he’s going to keep his promise.

“You’re being really quiet,” the woman mutters. “What’s going—”

Dick takes a deep breath and tenses. The light behind the curtain flickers. He needs to move. Now. Now.

Lightning splits across the sky and Dick can’t tell if it’s the glass shattering or the thunder that makes the other-worldly crack but it doesn’t matter because Dick lands feet first and is tucking and rolling before the occupants have a chance to react.

“Oh my god!” someone screams, but Dick isn’t paying attention to them because his gaze zeroes in on his brother, tiny, thirteen year old Jason, who’s tied up on one of the beds and staring right at him.

He can’t linger long though because he hears the words, “Get the gun!”, and he’s up on his feet again, rushing the closest person. It turns out to be the husband, a balding man with a patchy neck-beard, and Dick bunches up his fist and swings, socking the man in the stomach. He doubles over, wheezing, and Dick can see the small pistol in the man’s right hand, and Dick strikes down on his shoulder, kneeing him simultaneously. The pistol drops and so does the man, groaning, and Dick turns to the woman, who is staring at him like an animal cornered.

“Don’t come any closer!” she yells, pocket knife trembling in her grip as she shoves it in Jason’s face. “I’ll stab him, I will!”

Dick holds up his hands, sidestepping the groaning man. “Put the knife down.”

“No!” the woman argues, a strand of black hair falling into her mouth. “Now I told you- stay there! Don’t fucking move or I’ll kill this kid, you hear! I’ll fucking slice his throat open!”

With how scared the woman is, and how precarious she holds the pocket knife, which Dick can see is dull even from where he’s standing, he knows it’s not an idle threat. Scared people will do anything to get out of the situation they’re in. Scared people are unpredictable and dangerous.

But so is Dick.

So is Jason.

“I’m not going to move,” Dick reassures, eyes flickering towards his brother, “so, please, drop the knife. We can talk this out.”

“Talk?” the woman shrills, jerking the knife closer to Jason’s jawline. “You just killed my husband!”

“I didn’t kill him,” Dick corrects. “He’s just unconscious. Come on now. It’s just you and me. Let’s talk this over. I can still get Landon out if you give me back my brother. It’s as easy as that, alright? Just put down the knife, and we’ll talk. Does that sound okay?”

The woman looks like she’s considering it, the hand holding the knife still trembling, when the first sirens enter the lot. Red and blue light flash through the broken window as rain seeps into the curtains.

“You rat!” she screams, furious and terrified and desperate all at once. “You fucking called the cops! You broke—”

She doesn’t get a chance to finish before Jason snaps his head back, headbutting the woman directly in the nose. He falls to the side, getting out of range of the knife, and Dick takes his cue, leaping forwards and gripping the woman’s wrist and squeezing, weapon falling from her grasp. There’s blood spurting from her nose and Dick throws her to the floor, getting her on her stomach and hands behind her back. He sits on top of her, his weight overpowering any strength she has left, and in the next few seconds, police are banging on the door.

“This is the GCPD! Open up and put your weapons down!”

“You can come in!” Dick shouts, holding the squirming woman in place. “We’re unarmed!”

Things happen quickly after the door bangs open, several officers pouring in like the Bludhaven storm. As soon as an officer handcuffs the woman he’s on top of, Dick is rushing to Jason’s side, another officer cutting away his bindings. His younger brother turns to him, about to say something, but Dick cuts him off with a crushing hug, cradling the back of Jason’s head to rest against his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” Dick whispers, gathering his brother more fully into his arms. “I should’ve been there sooner. God, Jason, I’m so sorry.”

“I-I thought you weren’t going to come for me,” Jason confesses, hiccuping. “When Bruce didn’t pick up, I thought it was because he didn’t want me anymore. I-I told her that, I told her Bruce wasn’t coming but she wouldn’t listen and-and I—”

Dick wraps his arms more securely around the sobbing preteen in response, gently rocking back and forth as the mattress springs squealed under the pressure.

“I know I haven’t always been around,” he says, uncaring about the snot dribbling into his shirt, “and I’m sorry you thought you couldn’t rely on me to come and get you. You’re my brother, though, and I will always come running when you call. No matter what. I promise, Jay. Anywhere, anytime, I promise I’ll be there. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jason wheezes, the adrenaline from before slowly releasing its hold. “I trust you.”

Dick presses his face into his brother’s hair, relief washing over him as his heart slows. He’s never had a sibling before. Things were still tense with Bruce, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a big brother. There isn’t a thing in the world he wouldn’t do for this kid in his arms right now.

“What’re brothers for, right?” he mumbles.

The rain doesn’t stop and pours and pours and pours. Dick just holds Jason tighter.

The real storm was over.

Five months later

It’s Thursday.

Time: 11:47 a.m.

The stone is nice. White marble. Shiny. Expensive.

There are fresh flowers. Roses and yellow daisies. The dirt is still new too. Evidence of freshly upturned earth. Dick reaches down and pulls out a weed that’s sprung up at the corner of the stone. Tosses it away.

He doesn’t have flowers. He has a newspaper in his left hand. Reads: Mourning billionaire sets off on trip to Europe.

Jason died a month before he got back from across the universe.

Anywhere, he had said. Anytime. I promise I’ll be there.

He crumples the newspaper into a tight ball and shoves it into his pocket. Stares at the stone. The sun is out. There are no clouds in the sky. It’s nice.

It’s a nice day.

“Fuck,” Dick mutters, a familiar burn in the back of his eyes. “Fuck.”

Anywhere, anytime.

Dick Grayson is an only child once again.

#bad things happen bingo #i have your loved one #dick grayson #dick grayson is nightwing #nightwing #jason todd #jason todd is robin #robin #hurt/comfort #angst #kidnapping #well the hurt/comfort didn't really work out in the end but eh #my fic

[class1akids]

this is pretty random and you probably answered this already (if it's the case, feel free to ignore - or give me the links of your posts👀), but do you have any HCs about shouto? or bakugou? or tdbk's relationship/friendship? like, in general; it doesn't have to be specific about an arc or about the recent events in the manga. just like, idk "i hc bakugou as pansexual or demi" or "i think shouto's fave movie is some ghibli one" for example. ty and i hope you have a wonderful day!!💛💛

Bless you for this ask. 

I have done Todoroki HCs: happy angsty  and Bakugou: happy angsty

But I can’t believe that I’ve never really done Todobaku. I must correct this. 

I know a common fanon depiction of Shouto is “Shou the hoe” with a very active libido and unconventional interest, and it doesn’t ring false to me, but I have a very very soft spot for Shouto on the gray/ ace spectrum - being perpetually confused about his own feelings, struggling to understand and identify attraction. I HC Katsuki as demiromantic. So no wonder it takes them a long time to get their shit together and go from friends to a real relationship. 

They will never ever agree on who “initiated” their relationship, because it was a lot of push and pull. Katsuki claims that initiating their extracurricular sparring session in high school counts. Shouto thinks there is nothing remotely attractive about giving each other bloody noses. (All the very inconvenient hard-ons Katsuki experienced says otherwise). Shouto counts buying boba for Katsuki during a patrol as the first “relationship-related” gesture. Katsuki does not like boba (how was Shouto supposed to know that?). 

Moving in together is a spur-of-the-moment, high-on-sex decision, followed by months of stone-cold negotiation. Shouto feels comfortable only in Japanese-style rooms. Katsuki grew up in a Western-style house (and his parents are designers, which makes his opinion more correct). Several of their friends intervene to help hammer out a compromise. The living room is Japanese style with tatami and low-seating. The bedroom has a big Western style bed (it took them another 3 months to agree on the mattress). Their main dining table is Japanese, but there are bar stools in the kitchen which they use most of the time. 

The move is one of the most stressful days of Shouto’s life, including all the villain attacks of their first year. When Katsuki realigns the picture frames for the tenth time, he’s ready to throw in the towel. Katsuki’s pictures include high-quality photos of architecture and nature - he makes fun of Shouto for contributing with a drawing of pro-heroes Shouto and Dynamight rescuing cats that he received from a 9-year old fan. Deku gives them a rare collector-item All Might poster as house-warming present. 

Katsuki makes an unbreakable rule about Shouto’s cat not ever being allowed in the bedroom. It’s a fight he loses in the first two weeks. He makes fun of Shouto for spoiling her, until he’s caught red-handed cuddling with the fluffy monster in said bedroom while Shouto is away on a mission.

They are extremely cuddly. Touch-starved doesn’t even begin to cover it. While outside of their house, they don’t touch often, inside the house they are almost always glued to each other. Shouto likes to cuddle Katsuki as he cooks. Katsuki lays his legs over Shouto’s lap as he works on his laptop. Their knees touch as they eat. Shouto loves when Katsuki plays with his hair. In turn Katsuki loves Shouto absentmindedly rubbing his feet or hands, because he’s really really good at it. 

They don’t often travel on holiday, but they have a favourite spot in the mountains. It’s a private cabin with an onsen (which Shouto likes), and a perfect base for hikes - which is Katsuki’s thing. Shouto feels like marching for hours to stand on top of a peak is bit pointless, but he loves the way Katsuki becomes serene out in the nature - so in the end it’s worth the sore muscles (plus, there is the onsen). 

They remain ridiculously competitive in the gym, which on one occasion leads to injury (Katsuki slipping off the treadmill). After that, they prefer to train separately. Shouto meets up with Izuku and Katsuki prefers to go alone or with Kirishima. 

They don’t like to go out much, except to good restaurants, both of them preferring to spend time together at home. But they do host dinner parties - which become legendary because Katsuki is a perfectionist when it comes to cooking and constantly tries to outdo himself (and Fuyumi). 

While Katsuki is the undisputable king of the kitchen, Shouto is not completely useless either and picks up things from Katsuki, so he becomes a passable cook of simple dishes. However, he will never ever manage to chop vegetables to Katsuki’s satisfaction. (Katsuki will forever associate crookedly cut spring onions with the feeling of home).

Katsuki somehow (Deku is the best wingman) always find out when Shouto had a terrible day. On those days, he always cooks soba. 

Shouto’s favourite T-shirt is one of Katsuki’s black V-necks from high-school days. But it’s Katsuki who causes the first wild speculations on social media about their relationship when he’s spotted in one of Shouto’s signature wool turtlenecks (leaving Shouto’s apartment building). 

Since Sero got Shouto into manga, he’s become a bit of a nerd, so he makes Katsuki watch old anime series (including ones that Katsuki things are too girly). Katsuki on the other hand enjoys Western-style cook-off shows, where creating the perfect dish is like a deathmatch. More often than not, they fall asleep while watching TV though. 

Shouto has a weakness for Katsuki in a dress shirt. Katsuki thinks that Shouto looks ridiculously good in anything, but especially breathtaking in traditional Japanese garments (Katsuki was never fond of kimonos and hakamas, but Shouto can pull off absolutely anything)

#todobaku #bnha headcanons #todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #todobaku headcanons #c1a asks

[impalas-r-important]

Love of my Life - (2) New Guy

Summary: Bobby brings home an injured hunter. Dean's not so fond of him.

Warnings: None that I can think of.

Word Count: 3429

Series Masterlist

_____________________________________________________________

“Hello?” You could hear Sam answer his phone from the living room. You were in the kitchen cleaning up. You, Sam and Bobby had a deal that whoever didn’t cook meals had to clean up after. Sam had made the both of you grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for a warm lunch on a chilly January afternoon. “Oh, hey Bobby, how did your hunt go?” A few seconds passed and then you heard Sam mutter, “Yeah, sure. We’ll be ready when you get here. How far away are you?” He walked into the kitchen, still on the phone, with a concerned look on his face. You gave him the what’s going on look and he held up his finger and said his goodbyes to Bobby.

“What happened, is Bobby okay?” You pressed.

“Yeah, he’s fine. He said that he met another hunter who was working the case, so they teamed up. I guess the new guy saved Bobby’s bacon and got pretty beat up. Bobby’s bringing him back here to get him all healed up. He said it was the least he could do. He asked if we could get the spare room cleaned out and ready.”

After days of researching for Bobby’s case, you had discovered it was yet another Greek god with another vendetta or unfinished business or whatever. Blah, blah, blah. It was getting repetitive at this point, but gods were always tricky to deal with. You were just glad to hear Bobby was okay and that someone was there to help him out.

“What happened? Do we know if he’s badly hurt?” You wondered.

“All Bobby said was that he doctored him up as much as he could. They aren’t far from here now.”

“Okay, I’ll go get the room ready.” You wiped your hands off on a dish towel and headed upstairs. You stripped the sheets off the bed and threw them in the washer, putting a set of new ones on. The room hadn’t been used in a long time. You and Sam were crashing there in 2 of the other spare bedrooms, but this one was pretty dusty from sitting idle all this time. After clearing out boxes of old books from the closet, you grabbed a duster and went over everything.

“They’re here!” Sam yelled from downstairs. “I’m gonna go help him inside.”

You ungracefully shoved your cleaning stuff into a bucket, then quickly sprayed a little air freshener to try and mask the smell you could only describe as “old”. You could hear voices coming closer down the hall. You grabbed your supplies and walked them to the bathroom to put them away. Their conversation was easily heard through the thin walls.

“Alright, here’s where you can crash.” Sam said as he helped the new guy into the room and sat him down on a chair in the corner. “You really took a beating, huh?” Sam gave him a sympathetic smile. “I don’t think I caught your name, by the way.”

“I’m Nick.” He reached his hand out to shake Sam’s but didn’t make it all the way before he winced and grabbed his ribs.

“Well Nick, thanks for saving Bobby back there. He said he wouldn’t have made it out of that one if it weren’t for you. I’m Sam.”

“Sam, like as in Sam Winchester?” Nick raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you’ve heard of me?”

“Buddy, I wasn’t born yesterday. Every hunter who knows what they’re doing has heard of you and your brother.” You heard Nick say as you walked into the room and leaned against the door frame. He turned to look at you and straightened his posture in the chair as much as he could. He gave you a little half smile and blinked a few times as he managed to say, “Wow, uh, hey, hi…”

His stammering made you laugh a little. “I overheard you boys talking. You’re Nick, right?” He nodded. “Well, anyone who saves Bobby Singer is a friend of ours. I’m Y/N.”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” Nick winked and gave you a cheeky grin which quickly turned into a grimace. He was definitely in pain. He was covered in mud stains and blood. His ankle was bent the wrong way and he had bloodied bandages wrapped around his bicep and thigh. But through all that, you couldn’t help but notice that he was surprisingly handsome. He had sandy blonde hair and striking blue eyes. Most of the hunters you met looked like truckers or smelled like dumpsters.

“Don’t even try man, she could kick your ass 3 different ways before you knew what hit you.” Sam joked. “I’m going to let Y/N take it from here. She’s better at the doctor thing than I am. I’ll go grab your bags and bring them up.”

“Why don’t we see what we can do about some of that bleeding.” You grabbed the first aid kit from on top of the dresser and walked over to him. “Can I?” You motioned to the bandage on his arm, and he nodded. You peeled away the layers to find a nasty looking gash. “Geez…” You whispered. “So, I can stitch you up, but it’s going to hurt pretty bad.”

“I’m no wussy. Do what you gotta do.” Nick looked up at you and for half a second you caught yourself studying his ocean eyes, but you looked away quickly and grabbed the sanitizing alcohol. “This will probably hurt the most. Sorry.” You dumped some on his wound and he clenched in pain and closed his eyes, letting a big exhale escape through his nose. You threaded your needle and began to stitch his cut closed. You had done this many times before and with Sam and Dean and liked to think you were decent. But you knew the key was distraction.

“So, where are you from?” You asked.

“Not really from anywhere. I grew up like a lot of hunters did. On the road with my dad and uncle, learning tricks of the trade as we went. What about you?”

“Well, I was born in Arizona, but my family was killed when I was six. I spent my life bouncing between hunters until I could drive. Then I went out on my own.”

“I’m sorry about your family.” His sympathy caught you off guard. Most hunters couldn’t care less about others.

“Thank you, but we all have our sob story. No one chooses to be a hunter just for kicks and giggles”

“Man, I’ve heard some crazy stories about those Winchester brothers.” Nick gave a small laugh. “It’s weird to actually meet one of them in person. What happened to Dean? I thought he and Sam were inseparable.”

You sighed and your heart dropped like it always did when his name was mentioned. “He actually got out of the hunting life. He lives close to here, stops by to check on us every once in a while.”

“I’d love to meet him. All I’ve heard is how badass he is. Like the ultimate hunting machine.”

“Well, you call him badass, I call him dumbass.”

“Hah! You guys close?”

“Not as close as we used to be. Sam and I try to keep him out of the hunting life as much as we can. He helps with research every now and then but hasn’t been out on a case in a while.” You finished your last stitch. “Your arm is all done but looks like we need to take care of this one as well.” You pointed down to his leg. “Do you care if I just cut your pant leg off? This pair looks like a goner anyway.”

“You can take my pants off anytime you want.” Nick smirked at you.

“I’m going to chalk that up to the loss of blood and pretend you didn’t say that. Keep in mind, I’m the one with the needle here.” You held up the long needle as you threaded it with a clean suture and gave him your best don’t go there face.

Nick reminded you a strange amount of the Dean of old. Handsome, but in a different way, snarky, and seemed like the kind of guy who flirted with any and every girl he could find. You couldn’t lie to yourself and say you didn’t like the attention he was giving you. Part of you still wished it were Dean giving you that attention though.

You finished up and started to pick up the bloody bandages off the floor. “I’m going to go get Sam and he can help you get into the shower. I think we need to take you to the doctor for your ankle though. Looks broken to me.”

“Damn, I was hoping to avoid the hospital. I don’t suppose you know how to set a broken ankle?” He looked at you hopefully.

“You’re outta luck, sorry.” You shrugged and began to head out the door.

“Y/N?” Nick stopped you before you left, and you turned to face him. “Thank you.” You shot him a smile and a nod before heading downstairs to find Sam.

After Sam had helped Nick wash all the blood off of himself, you two had taken him to the hospital where they set his ankle and gave him some pain killers for the broken ribs. Sam had gotten him upstairs and into bed and you brought some food up for him.

“Here you go, a Singer specialty.” You placed a tray with Bobby’s chili on his lap and handed him the remote to the ancient box tv.

“What makes it so special?” Nick asked, stirring the chili skeptically.

“If you ask Bobby, he’ll say it’s a secret family recipe, but I’ve been around long enough to know that the real magic happens when he dumps it from the can into the pot.” Nick laughs as you get his food situated so it won’t spill. “I brought you in some movies if you want to watch them. Mostly Dean’s old western tapes. We’re in short supply of variety.”

“Thank you. But I do have to say, I feel a little uncomfortable having you guys help me this much. I’m usually a strictly independent person…”

“We all need a little help sometimes.” You were actually glad that Nick was here. It gave you something to keep your mind off of Dean. “I’m in the room next to yours, just bang on the wall if you need anything.”

“Goodnight, Y/N. I owe you one.” He flashed his tired smile at you, and you returned the gesture.

“Night, Nick.”

You woke the next morning to find Sam’s car gone. You figured he was at the gym or swung by Dean’s house for something. You headed into the kitchen and started on making breakfast. The cupboards were pretty empty, but you knew there was always pancake mix around somewhere. You whipped up a few cakes with a side of scrambled eggs. When you were done, you headed up to Nick’s room to see how he was doing. You knocked softly, careful not to wake him if he was still sleeping. A few seconds passed with no response, so you cracked the door open and saw him dead asleep with the half-eaten bowl of chili still on his lap and the tv crackling with black and white static. This made you chuckle a little. You tiptoed over to him and gently lifted the tray off his lap to take with you downstairs and turned off the television.

The rest of the morning was spent looking for cases in the papers and online, but you didn’t have much luck. You gave up after a while when you heard a boot clomping down the stairs, letting you know that Nick was on his way.

“Morning, sunshine!” Nick pronounced and winked at you as he walked in the room.

“It’s 2 in the afternoon, lazy bones.” He laughed a little and sat down in the chair across from you. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than I was yesterday, that’s for sure.”

“I bet you’re hungry.”

“Starved, actually.” He placed a hand on his stomach.

“Do you feel up for going out and grabbing a bite? We’re short on supplies here, but I know a great little diner just a few miles into town. Mel’s.”

“That sounds amazing! I could really go for a great big cheeseburger right now.” Look at that, yet another similarity to Dean. You could swear this was the universe playing a cruel joke on you.

“Sam’s not here and Bobby’s holed up in his room, so it’s just you and me. Hope that’s ok.”

“More than fine with me.” He flirted. “Our first date!”

“Whatever. Come on, gimpy.” You helped him up out of the chair and led him out the door and towards your car.

You had actually really enjoyed your late lunch with Nick. It was nice to get to know someone new and you were surprised at how well the two of you got along. You usually butted heads with other hunters, but Nick was pretty easy going and had a good sense of humor.

A little while later, you pulled back into the driveway of Bobby’s house to see both Sam and Dean’s cars in the driveway.

“Wow, that’s a beauty of a car.” Nick remarked as the two of you walked past the Impala.

“Don’t touch it. That’s Dean’s baby. He’ll kill you if you scratch it.” You warned as you walked into the house.

Dean quickly rushed at you as soon as you opened the door and pulled you into a bear hug. “Y/N where the hell have you been?! I’ve been calling you over and over! No one knew where you were! Don’t scare me like that!”

“What? We were just in town. We haven’t even been gone 2 hours…” You pulled out your phone to check for his missed calls but found it to be dead.

“We?” Dean interrogated. Nick walked in a few steps behind you and Dean glared at him. “Who the hell are you?” He instinctively pulled you behind him.

"Whoa, whoa easy there tiger." You put your hand on Dean's arm and he looked at you, with questioning eyes. "That's Nick. Didn’t Sam tell you? He saved Bobby's ass on their last hunt and got pretty beat up in the process. Bobby brought him back here to heal up a bit."

"And you're what, just hanging out with some hunter you barely know? He could be a psychopath! You know better than this!"

You couldn't help but roll your eyes and feel annoyed at Dean’s over-protectiveness. "He's got a broken ankle, bruised ribs, and massive gashes on his arm and leg. You really think I couldn't handle him if I needed to?"

Dean kept his eyes on Nick the whole time, looking him up and down, trying to get a read on him. Bobby slammed the door of his room and walked out to the commotion. "Would you idjits keep it down out here? I could hear every word of this stupid conversation!" Bobby looked to Dean who was clearly still in defense mode. "Oh, pull the stick out, Dean. The kid literally saved my life. He's harmless."

It took Nick a few seconds to process the situation. He walked over to Dean and reached his hand out. "It's an honor to meet you, Dean. I look up to you a lot. You’ve got some great people here; they’ve been nothing but nice to me and I’d never do anything to hurt them.”

Dean was clearly expecting him to say anything but that, and reluctantly shook his hand. You wished you had a camera to take a picture of look on Dean's face. Priceless.

"I hate to break up the fan fest, but what are you doing here, boy?" Bobby questioned Dean. "Not that I ain't happy to see you, but you haven't been around here much lately."

“I, uh, was going to see if Y/N wanted to hit up Mel’s. I’m starved.” Dean looked at you for an answer.

“Nick and I were actually just there…” You felt a bit guilty, but you didn’t know that Dean was even planning on coming over today. “I’m sure Sam would go with you. I haven’t seen him yet today, but it sounds like he’s up in his room.”

“Oh, okay.” Dean looked dejected but nodded and headed towards the staircase.

Dean kind of knocked on Sam’s door as he walked in.

“Uh, sure, come on in.” Sam gave Dean a glare as he folded clothes and organized them neatly on his bed.

“I knocked. You want to go grab some food, Sammy?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m almost done here.”

Dean walked further inside and over to the dresser to fiddle with some things sitting on top of it. “Why didn’t you tell me about the new guy?”

“I doubt he’s sticking around. I didn’t think there was anything to tell.” Sam shrugged.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t let Y/N just hang around some stranger all day. We don’t know anything about him.”

“Dean, he seems like a teddy bear. We’ve been doing this for long enough to know when someone is a piece of crap. Nick seems genuine.” Sam let out a small laugh. “You know, he’s actually a lot like you. I think you’d really get along with him if you were still hunting.”

“Yeah whatever.” Dean grumbled as he played with a knife he had picked up.

“What crawled up your butt?” Sam shot him a sideways glace. Dean didn’t respond. “Oh, I see. You just don’t like him hanging around Y/N.”

Dean clenched his jaw. “Well, I’m so sorry if I just want to make sure she’s safe. I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to look out for her. Someone’s gotta do it if you aren’t.”

Sam scoffed. “Hey, I am looking out for her, Dean. But she doesn’t need me to. She is way more than capable of handling herself and honestly, it’s none of your business who she decides to spend her time with. She’s not your girl anymore.” Sam knew it was a touchy subject, but he didn’t care. He hated to see how much Y/N was hurting because of Dean.

Dean slammed the knife into the top of the dresser. He shook his head and turned to leave. “I’m outta here.” He walked down the hall but stopped at the top of the stairs as he watched you grab a soda from the fridge and a bottle of pain pills which you then took over to Nick. He hated the way that Nick looked at you. He hated that you sat down next to him and smiled your perfect smile at someone other than himself. Dean ran his hand along the railing and subconsciously made his way back to his brother’s room.

“Does she like him?” Dean asked in a broken voice as he leaned against the doorframe, looking at the ground.

“I don’t know.” Sam could easily see that his brother was genuinely hurting. “But I meant what I said, Dean. She’s not your girl anymore. You chose Lisa over her.”

Dean didn’t have words to describe the heartache he was feeling. “I didn’t… I… I don’t know…” Was all he managed to get out.

“Dean, Y/N is still like a sister to me even though you two aren’t together anymore. We’ve gotten a lot closer since we both died and came back, and honestly, I’m happy to see that a guy is making her smile. She was really heartbroken over you. She still is. So maybe it sucks for you to see her with a guy that’s not you, but now you know how she feels every time she sees you with Lisa.”

Dean slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground, with his head hanging in his lap and his hands on the back of his neck. Sam sat down next to him.

“Dean, I’m not trying to be harsh on you.”

“I know. You’re right though.”

“Maybe it’s none of my business, but why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you move in with Lisa so soon after we died?”

Dean cleared his throat. “I don’t know Sam. I guess, she was there, and Y/N wasn’t. There’s just a lot to it and I don’t expect you to understand.” Dean got up, regained his composure and left swiftly. Making sure Y/N and Nick were out of sight before he left.

Chapter 3

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x y/n #spn

[sylvanfreckles]

Just Keep Swimming

By Grace Undone: Chapter Eleven

A devastating betrayal and an arcane ritual leave Castiel fighting for his life...his human life. When his grace is brutally torn out of his body and he's left to die on earth the only thing the Winchesters can do is try to pick up the pieces.

(I'm just doing one story for the entire month, so please enjoy the thirty-one chapter beginning of the flare 'verse. You can read other stories in the 'verse here, and you can read this fic on AO3 here.)

“Ooh, mail time!” Dean practically snatched the two boxes out of Sam’s hands, sending their other mail scattering to the floor.

“Dude!” Sam protested. They had the usual assortment of junk mail and the rare piece of personal mail, but he’d been a little curious about the two packages addressed to his brother. The things Dean usually ordered didn’t provoke a reaction like this, usually just a leer as he tucked a DVD-shaped box into the back of his waistband and a warning to Sam not to come into his room for an hour.

(The last time he’d peeked in it had been some old black and white westerns, but he let that slide.)

“What, exactly, did you order?” he demanded, following Dean to the kitchen.

Dean had already slit one box open and pulled out…a hot water bottle. Sam raised his eyebrows. They already had almost a dozen of those—one benefit to the era when the Men of Letters had last opened the bunker. “It’s insulated,” Dean explained. “Stays warmer longer.”

Sam leaned back on one foot and folded his arms across his chest, junk mail still clutched in one hand. “You know, I could have picked one of those up at the drug store if we needed a new one.”

“Yeah, but I had to make sure it was the right size for this,” Dean explained. He was tugging the other box open at this point and out came…a piece of blue fabric. Sam leaned in a little closer to see…it was a fish.

“Dory.” Not a question, not a judgement, but just…what was with his brother and that fish?

“This,” Dean said, waving the fabric In Sam’s direction, “is a hot water bottle cover. You know, instead of wrapping the damn thing in a towel, you just slip it in this.”

“Yeah, okay, I get that,” Sam shook his head. “But why Dory?”

“Movie night.” When Sam didn’t react, Dean huffed out a sigh and crossed over to a steaming kettle sitting on a folded towel. “Cas needed something a little more lighthearted, so we watched Finding Nemo.”

“You watched Finding Nemo for something lighthearted?” Sam knew his disbelief must have shown in his voice as Dean just shook his head as he started to fill the bottle.

“Whatever. Point is, the whole ‘just keep swimming’ thing kinda stuck with Cas.”

Sam was beginning to understand. “So you got him a Dory hot water bottle cover.”

“Dude’s always cold,” Dean shrugged. He closed the lid on the bottle and slipped it into the cover, which fastened on one side with a strip of Velcro. “Besides, about half of ours were starting to leak anyway.”

He followed his brother down the hall to Cas’s room, tucking the junk mail into his back pocket to be sorted through later. He was noticing other things, too, that he might not have noticed before Cas’s return. The ankle-height chill in the bunker’s corridors, for one thing. The way the bedrooms never heated evenly. The place was old and drafty, and they needed to do some work before winter really rolled in to make it more comfortable for Cas, if this cold intolerance thing was permanent.

Dean tapped on Cas’s door and pushed it open. “Cas?”

The room was dim and quiet, and for a moment Sam thought Cas might be asleep. Then the shape on the bed rustled beneath the blankets, and two blue eyes peered out at them.

“Jeez, man, I was only gone a few minutes,” Dean said gently. “You can tell me when you’re feeling like crap, you know.”

Cas’s face was creased with pain, and while the bruises under his eyes might be starting to look better that did nothing to disguise the exhaustion. “This is normal.”

Sam flinched back, and he saw Dean take a deep breath.

“Come on, you know that’s not true,” Dean coaxed. He tugged one of the uncomfortable leather armchairs close to the bed and sat on it, leaving the hot water bottle on the floor. “It’s only been two days. You’re already better than you were two days ago.”

Cas grunted and seemed to shuffle down into his blankets further. “I was an angel three days ago.”

“And two days ago you could barely say more than two words together,” Dean argued. “Give yourself time.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Dean’s right,” Sam added. He leaned on the back of his brother’s chair, ignoring his brother’s huff of irritation. “This is new territory for everyone, but I think you’re doing really well. All things considered.”

Dean bent down and grabbed the hot water bottle and held it out to Cas. “Just keep swimming?”

Cas stared at the bright blue fabric. One hand ventured out from under the blankets and traced over the side of the hot water bottle cover. Dean held it out a little further and Cas took it, considering it closely for a moment before tucking it against his chest. He gave a shiver and his face seemed to relax a little, like the heat from the hot water bottle was easing an ache deep in his chest.

“Just keep swimming,” he whispered.

Dean ruffled his hair and tugged the blankets back up to his shoulders. “Atta boy, Cas,” he replied, a little too heartily. “We’ll be right there with you.”

[Previous chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10)]

#whumptober2021 #whumptober 2021 #no.11 #just keep swimming #supernatural #fanfic #castiel #dean winchester #sam winchester #hurt castiel #human castiel #by grace undone #the flare 'verse

[softboywriting]

Fight For You | Part 1

Summary: Your whole adult life you’ve dated mixed martial arts fighters, it comes naturally with working and living in and around the fighting circuits. After a fallout with your now ex-boyfriend you find a new place to start a new life where you find someone who is willing to fight for you as much as you are for him. Will you be able to build something beautiful or will your past come back to haunt you? [fighting] [asshole ex]

Word Count: 13k

Authors Note:  None of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics on any platform.

|Masterlist In Bio|

Moving to a new town in a new state is a fresh start for you. After a rough year dealing with an asshole boyfriend, leaving said boyfriend and losing your job, you have to find a new place in life. The world is a clean slate for you and Red Lake is where you’re ready to put down some roots and start over. Your best friend Jodi and her wife live there and they’re the closest thing to a real family you have left so choosing Red Lake was a no brainer.

"So, how's the apartment?" Jodi asks as she unlocks the back door of the gym where she works. Her wife Harlow is the owner and a former female MMA fighter. "It's not too shitty I hope."

"Oh I didn't get the apartment. I got the house on Garden Plaza. The one Harlow said her friend was renting out."

"Oh yeah! Fuck, I totally forgot." Jodi holds the door open for you and you wander into the back storage room. It's full of old mats and various pieces of equipment in need of repair. "When does the truck arrive with your stuff?"

"This week. The drivers said tomorrow but I'm not counting on it."

Jodi pushes open the door to the main hallway to the gym floor and nearly smacks into someone. "Holy shit!" She leans on the door and you step forward to see who she hit or just got scared by.

"Are you okay?" A voice says from beyond the door and a head pops out. "Sorry Jodi."

"God! Why are you here so early!" Jodi asks, ushering you out into the hall. She closes the door and you see a guy in a fitted black shirt and a pair of grey sweats standing behind the door. He's oddly familiar.

"Harlow asked me to come in and...wipe down the mats." The guy stares at you and you stare back. You know him. Those chocolate curls, soft eyes, and sharp jawline are unmistakably familiar. You just can't put your finger on it.

Jodi waves her hand in front of his face. "Shawn? Earth to Shawnie boy!"

Shawn Pierce. Shit, yeah it's coming back to you. Tate trained with him about a year ago when he was trying to get into the western region MMA championship circuit. You were never properly introduced but you did talk a few times. Tate didn't bring you by the gym a lot, he claimed you distracted him.

"You're Tate Greyson's girlfriend right?"

"Ex." Jodi snorts and you shove her shoulder. Shawn raises his eyebrows.

"I was, yes. We're not together anymore." You chuckle and shake your head. "Not that we were ever that together in the first place."

Shawn narrows his eyes at you and you shift uncomfortably. "Did he hit you?"

"What?" Your eyes go wide.

"The bruise on your collarbone."

Jodi leans in and pulls your shirt aside a little bit. "Oh shit, what happened?"

Suddenly you remember the bruise in question. You had fallen off the step ladder in your apartment back home while taking down your plant hangers. "I fell while packing up my apartment." You pull your shirt back to show Jodi more of the yellowing bruise. "I swear Tate never hit me. It's been months since I've seen him."

"Oh thank God." Jodi sighs and pulls out her keys. "I'd kill him myself if he touched you."

Shawn steps back and rubs his neck awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed anything."

You lean against the wall as Jodi walks up the stairs to her office door. "No, it's fine. Tate is a bit of a loose cannon, but he never hit me."

"Yeah, he was a tough one." Shawn folds his arms, stretching the tee across his chest and you can't help but stare. He shakes his head. "He never did like to listen, always just wanted to swing hard and fast, no finesse."

"Should have seen him in bed. Same tactic."

Shawn's eyes widen and you realize you didn't really need to tell him that. You flush and he just laughs. "Man he must have pissed you off if you're out here dragging him like this."

"Yeah he did." You roll your eyes at the thought of Tate. Everything he did pissed you off. Silence falls between the two of you and you push off the wall. "I'll see you around?"

"I'm here just about every day." He puts his hand out for you awkwardly and you take it, giving an oddly formal shake. "Are you going to be here a lot?"

"Dunno. I got a job at Dixie's down the street but I work nights. So I might come around a bit."

Shawn drops your hand and runs his hand over his hair. "A waitress?"

"Bartender." You smirk and he grins. "You can stop by, I make a good gin and tonic. I'm allowed discounts for family and friends."

"I'm a friend then, eh?"

"Oh I'm sure you'll be a friend." You look him over and bite your lip. "Maybe more."

Shawn grins and you can't miss the pink that spreads across his cheeks. "You're bold. I like that." He steps back and turns to go out to the main floor. "I should get back to those mats now."

"Mmmhmm." You wave him off. "See ya."

Jodi clicks her tongue and you steps out of her office. "You are so predictable." She says from the top of the stairs.

You jog up to meet her and give her a look. "What? Because I think he's hot?"

"No, because he's a fighter." Jodi rolls her eyes and sinks into her chair as you follow her into the large room. "You only date fighters."

"Says the woman who married one!"

"Hey, I don't count. Harlow is the only fighter I ever dated and I didn't even know she was a fighter when we started going out."

You roll your eyes. "Whatever. So I got a type. Whoopty do."

"At least Shawn's a good one."

"You saying I have poor taste?"

Jodi picks up a few large envelopes and stares at you over them. "You're joking right? Tate? Remember that hot garbage of a few months ago?"

"Yeah but Chase before him wasn't garbage."

"Chase was a two month fling while you worked the circuit with me. Was he ever anything?"

You flop down onto the couch under the window that overlooks the gym. "I guess not. So what, Shawn's a fighter and I like fighters. Maybe he'll be a keeper."

"Ex fighter."

"Hmm?"

"Shawn's an ex fighter." Jodi types aways at her computer and you wait for her to continue. "He doesn't fight anymore. What?"

"He doesn't? Why? He looked healthy."

"Personal choice. Harlow has been trying to book him on the circuit for years. He keeps in shape and trains other fighters for Harlow but he's not getting in that ring for anything. It's a shame, he was a two time champion."

You look out the window to where Shawn is running along the mats on the far side of the gym with a towel. You wonder what made him stop competing. A guy like him could take out anyone his weight. No doubt. You'd seen him spare with Tate once when he trained with him. Shawn has the skill, what would drive him to waste it?

_____________________

Dixie's is a hole in the wall kind of place. Definitely a local spot and everyone in town goes there. It's a bar and restaurant that serves your classic American staples, burgers, fries, steak and sandwiches. Nothing fancy, but the food is good and homemade. The day time crowd at Dixie's is mostly families, regular customers on their lunch breaks or afternoon meetups, occasionally a truck driver or two since it's on the edge of the town. The night time crowd at Dixie's is much different, very adult orientated. They didn't let kids in after eight since that's when most of the drunks and party goers start showing up. Most people know to avoid Dixie's for a late dinner lest you be caught up in a fight or have to listen to some guy babble on about the good ole days for four hours.

You work the night shift at the bar. You don't mind, you tended places much worse. Hell, you lived in Vegas for a year after graduation and that's where you learned to bartend. When you're raised in hell, the rest of the world doesn't seem so bad.

"Hey! You made it!" Carrie says from the door to the kitchen. "I was worried you wouldn't come back after last week."

"What? Greg? Please, I've dealt with a lot worse then having a drink thrown at me and being called a raging bitch." You place your purse under the counter behind the bar in a little safe. Carrie didn't fuck around when it came to safety and personal belongings in her bar.

"Oh thank God. Greg is an asshole but if you made it through the night with him I think you'll be alright."

"I worked in Vegas, Carrie." You grab your apron off the wall beside her. "I've seen shit. Greg, ain't shit."

Carrie looks incredibly relieved. "I've had four bartenders walk out because of him."

"Yeah, well, they weren't me." You wave to one of the waitresses, Sammy, coming in for her shift. The two of you hit it off really well last week so you're excited to work with her tonight."Besides, I'd like to stick around."

Carrie pushes open the kitchen door and you follow her in. "Oh yeah? Find a love interest?"

"I don't think I'd call him that yet. But I'm definitely interested." You grab a few plates off the warming table to help Carrie serve them. "We've met before."

"Oh wow, coincidence huh? You just moved here right?"

"Yeah. It's so weird, but he's a fighter who trained with my ex boyfriend a year ago. I guess I'm bound to meet people from the same circuit."

Carrie chuckles and leads the way with her arms full of plates. "You like those fighters huh? We got a lot of those type around here."

"I do." You fall silent as you help Carrie serve the large group of middle aged people at the front of the seating area. As soon as you're done Carrie walks with you to the bar.

"Anyway, those fighters are always coming in here. I don't mind the business of course, they eat a lot. But some of them also drink alot and bar fights between fighters is a nightmare."

"Don't worry, I can handle them." You wipe out some glasses on the drying station and Carrie starts going through the liquor stock to see what she needs to bring out of the back for the night. "I swear, I'm sticking around."

Carrie pauses and looks over at you. "You seem pretty set on it."

"Yeah, I am. Things are good here. I have my own place, I'm near my best friend, there's a hot fighter who I wanna get to know. It's good. A fresh start."

"I'm happy for you dear." Her hand comes down on your shoulder and you look over at her. She's smiling, her big round glasses sitting too low on her nose. She blows a stray curl out of her face and pats your shoulder a few times. "You're a good kid."

"I try to be." You chuckle. "Anyway, looks like it's kicking off early tonight." You point at a group of guys who have just walked in, some fighters by the looks of them. Out of circuit fighters, the kind who drink too much and let their bodies get weakened by alcohol. You scoff to yourself. Frat boys with too many muscles and big dreams but no dedication. A bunch of Tate Greysons'. It's gonna be a long night.

___________________

"Pierce! Focus!" Harlow yells from the office doorway at the top of the stairs. Shawn is standing in the ring with his client for the day but he keeps looking over at you where you're talking to Jodi near the bathrooms.

You look over and bite your lip, knowing you got him in trouble. "Anyways, as I was saying," you turn back to Jodi and she's grinning. "What?"

"Harlow is gonna kick his ass if he doesn't stop gawking at you." She looks up at her wife through the window and she's pacing the office, watching Shawn like a hawk. "You're quite a distraction."

"I don't mean to be. I'm just standing here for fucks sake." You gesture to your jeans and plain tee shirt. "I'm not even dressed up!"

Jodi laughs. "Shawn's just soft, he's got your attention and he doesn't want to lose it. I don't know the last time he had a girlfriend."

"Really?" You look back. "A guy like him has been single for-" Shawn gets clocked in the head. "Oh shit."

Jodi sighs. "Moron."

You jog over to the ring and hold onto the cage, staring at Shawn on the ground. "Are you okay?!"

"Dude, you went down like a sack of bricks." The other fighter says, kneeling on one knee beside Shawn. "Dude?"

"Is he knocked out?" You ask, walking along the ring to climb the stairs at the open entryway. "Shawn?"

"I haven't been hit that hard in years." Shawn groans, eyes closed. "Good left hook, Connor."

"Thanks, but for real are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Shawn sits up and holds his head. "Y'know no matter how many fights you're in, and how much training you do, getting hit hurts worse when you're not expecting it."

"Getting hit hurts in general." You laugh and help him up on his feet. "And you would have expected it if you weren't staring at me."  

Connor snickers.

"I was not staring." Shawn stretches his arms and shakes off the hit.

"Yeah? Why'd you get hit then?"

"We're sparing."

"Uh huh." You look to Connor. "Did he seem distracted?"

"Very."

"Mmm thought so." You turn and walk out of the cage with a glance back with a small smile.

Shawn calls out to you as you cross the gym floor. "Wait, what's that supposed to mean?!"

"Stop staring at me and actually talk to me is what it means!" You laugh and meet up with Jodi outside the office. "God he's ridiculous."

"He hasn't asked you out yet?"

"No! It's been a week since we met. He just stares at me when I'm here and occasionally says no more than four words to me." You glance over and Shawn and Connor have changed positions so Shawn is with his back to you. "I think he's shy."

"Shawn? Nah. He's sweet, always has been. I think he's just cautious because he knows you just got out of a relationship, and one with a former trainee of his too. I'd be cautious."

"Well light a fire under his ass for me will you?"

Jodi gives you a thumbs up. "I'll get right on that boss. Matchmaker Jodi Price is on the case!"

"Oh shut up. Just talk to him?"

"I will." Jodi grabs her keys from Harlow as she steps out of the office. "We'll be back later honey."

"I'll pick up dinner." Harlow looks out at Connor and Shawn. "If I'm late it's because I've got two man-children to deal with."

"Easy on him. He's got feelings for our girl here."

Harlow rolls her eyes. "I don't pay him to have feelings."

"You're such a hardass, Harlow." You laugh and she smirks. "I promise I'll try not to stop in too much when he's training Connor."

"Yeah yeah." Harlow waves you off. "Get out of here, go have fun."

"Picking up furniture at Ikea isn't fun." Jodi says in annoyance.

"Mmhmm. Sure its not. Bye bye." Harlow walks toward the window to the gym floor and you wave goodbye.

"Come on." You put your arm around Jodi's shoulders. "Let's go build some skeptical furniture and relive the good ole days."

Jodi laughs. "Yeah, the good ole days of duct taped chair legs and book balanced tables. God I hope these Ikea things will be better than our crap back then."

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

_____________________

Building furniture is a nightmare. You and Jodi spend an hour putting together a dresser that you end up abandoning in favor of Chinese take out and a rerun of Chopped you hadn't seen before while sitting on the boxes for your nightstand and kitchen cart. You still have both of those items plus your bed frame to build. You'll get to it eventually.

Eventually leads to three days later and you still have the boxes propped against the wall of your living room where you and Jodi abandoned them after dinner. Every day you walk past them and think, maybe that day, but then you keep going. It's not until today, Friday, your day off, that you might actually get them built.

"Hey, what're you doing tonight?" Shawn asks as he steps down out of the cage. You've been watching him spar with one of the other trainers for an hour now after stopping by to help Jodi read over some paperwork for the gyms lease.

"Me?"

He grins. "Yeah, you."

"Building furniture for my house."

He chuckles and sinks into the chair next to you, observing two fighters now sparing on the mats nearby. "Sounds like a wild time."

"Oh it will be. I'll probably decide to get drunk halfway through and just say fuck it again." You laugh to yourself. "Drunk lonely furniture building on a Friday night. I've reached my peak at age twenty four."

"Need some help?" Shawn looks over and you raise your eyebrows. He is really making a move. Finally.

"You sure you don't have some floors to clean or something?" You ask, referencing the last time he tried to get out of your attempt to instigate a date. He is a weird one, definitely interested but hesitant for some reason. You get what Jodi said, about him being cautious because of your past with Tate but it's been almost five months. You're ready to move the fuck on. You gotta make it clear to this man you're ready.

Shawn smiles and looks away. "Okay, fair enough. Just call me out why don't you?"

"Yeah? You realize you've been dragging this out?"

"Yeah yeah. So can I come over?"

You grin and cross your arms. "I guess. What do you drink?"

"Tequila?" He says with a smirk as he starts unwrapping his hands.

"I'm not buying tequila. I don't know about you but tequila fucks me up and I will make some bad decisions."

"Me too, maybe we should go for it then."

"Absolutely not." You reach over and grab Shawn's hand as he picks at a piece of the fabric that's tucked too tightly under another. "How about we just start with some hard lemonade or something?"

Shawn smiles and closes his big hand over yours. "It's a date then?"

"Is it a date?"

"Could be."

"Let's just call it hanging out for now." You place the coiled up wad of wrapping fabric in Shawn's hand. "Now, I'm going to get lunch at Dixie's. You want something?"

"Nah, I brought lunch." Shawn looks over at the sitting area where Harlow has set up a refrigerator, a stand with a microwave and a few little tables with chairs. "Leftover chicken and rice."

You stand and Shawn stands with you. He flexes his hand a few times to work out the stiffness of it being bound too tight in the wrapping. You head for the office stairs to see if the ladies want lunch too. "I'll let you know when I'm heading home so you can follow me."

"Works for me."

"Oh, and don't wrap your hand so tight next time." You point at his hand. "You should know better."

Shawn grins sheepishly. "Maybe someone else should wrap it for me?"

"Maybe." You smile and he just grins.

_____________________

"Hey Jodi have you seen- oh." Shawn leans against the door as he looks between you and Jodi on the couch in the office. It's almost seven and you had completely lost track of time.

"Yeah?"

"Whatcha doing?"

Jodi holds her half wrapped hand up to show Shawn. "Teaching her to wrap."

Shawn smirks. "Your ex never taught you?"

"Tate didn't like having me around too much when he was fighting. He said I distracted him. So I didn't get to wrap his hands but once or twice."

"What a dick. Well I'm done cleaning up for the day, are you ready to go?"

Jodi raises her eyebrows. "Y'all have a date? And you didn't tell me?"

"It's not a date." You roll your eyes. "He's just going to help me with the furniture."

"So he's gonna be at your house with you alone?"

"Yes." You stand and Jodi unwinds her hand. "Now don't say another word missy." Jodi just snickers and you grab your purse. "Let's go Shawn."

An hour into furniture building and you're sure you're going to combust. Shawn is so big and thick, and close. He's in a pair of tight black jeans and a black tank top, having forgone his shirt almost as soon as you started working. He is just...he's too much. You thought Tate was big, you thought Tate was ripped and he was but not like Shawn. The way Shawn is built and the way he moves so fluidly is just...it's enough to stop your heart.

"Hey, hello?" He waves his hand in your face. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine?"

"Did you hear me?"

"Yeah?"

Shawn chuckles and leans back on his forearms. "What'd I say?"

"Hello?"

"Nope. I asked you if you wanted to get dinner."

"Oh." You push your hair back out of your face and look up at the clock over your kitchen table. "It's almost eight. Shit."

"So? Do you work tomorrow?"

"Yeah in the evening, but I didn't mean to keep you this late."

"It's not late?" Shawn laughs. "It's no big deal. I'm off tomorrow. I'll order something and we'll keep putting together this bed frame, sleeping on a mattress on the floor is bad for your back."

"Mmmhmm. Sure you don't just want to stay late to get me on this bed after we put it together?"

Shawn sits up, leans forward onto his hands and knees, face close to yours as he pushes himself up off the floor. "Oh I'll be much more upfront when I wanna do that." He pulls out his phone and you flush hot. "What sounds good? Pizza? Wings? Chinese?"

"Don't you need to eat healthy?"

"I do." He smiles over at you. "It's alright to indulge now and then."

"Oh."

"None of this is going away because I eat some pizza now and then." He gestures up and down himself. "I know that sounds incredibly pretentious but I worked hard for this strength. I'm having pizza." He puts the phone up to his ear and walks around the room aimlessly as it rings.

"Tate never wanted to get dinner. He said it'd ruin his diet." You stand and look around at the scattered pieces of the bed frame and your stomach rumbles loudly.

"Yeah because he was an idiot." Shawn says softly before answering the phone and placing an order for a medium taco pizza.

You raise your eyebrows and he grins. How did he happen to know your favorite pizza? There was no way he could have known or guessed. Taco pizza was not an every day order.

"Thank you bye." He pockets his phone. "Anyway Tate was obsessed with his eating habits. I remember sitting him down and explaining that he actually needs to eat real food and not protein shakes and supplements for every meal. He didn't ever listen though."

"Yeah he was an idiot, okay, but how did you know I like taco pizza?"

"Wild guess."

"Uh uh. Who told you?"

Shawn holds his hands up. "Honest to God, you want the truth?"

"Yeah. Who was it?"

"No one. Seriously, it was a wild guess. I like taco pizza and I noticed you have little taco magnets on the fridge and a taco pillow on your couch so I figured maybe you like them too. Seriously, it was a shot in the dark."

You stare at him slack jawed. He had been in your house for an hour and he noticed your taco magnets? That was...just so...weird? What else did he notice? You look around your room suddenly very self conscious of everything you have sitting on the dresser and nightstand. "I...I don't know what to say about that."

"About what?"

"About how observant you are."

"Oh. Should I not be?"

"N-no, I mean, it's fine? I've just never had someone pay attention to my stuff I guess."

Shawn chuckles and gets down on his knees to start taking the rest of the bed frame pieces from the box. You definitely don't miss how his ass is perfectly accentuated by the dip of his jeans. "Well, I like your place, it's interesting and cozy. Sorry if that's weird, I don't mean it to be."

"It's fine." You get down next to him, eyes still on his butt and he hands you a bag of screws. "It's just different. You're different." He leans forward to grab a bar from the frame and the way his back curves makes you want to grab his ass so bad. It's perfectly round and you just want to feel it so badly.

He glances over with a smile as he sits back on his knees. "Is that good?"

"W-what?" You feel a flush on your cheeks. Was he talking about your staring? Was he good? Because yes, a thousand times yes he was.

"Is it good that I'm different?"

"Oh! Yeah, very good." You smile and look down with a chuckle as you dump the bag of screws into a little Tupperware bowl he hands you that you've been using for small parts so nothing gets lost. "I like different."

"Me too." He grins and you meet his eyes. "Let's get this bed together so we can relax when the pizza gets here."

"Sounds like a plan."

_____________________

"Busy night?"

You look up from the back of the bar and see Shawn sitting a few seats down from you. He's smiling, hair pushed back looking like a damn angel in his white tee. The bar has been crowded for two hours now, a huge bachelor party of some sort taking up most of the space in the building. You and Sammy have been working double time to get food and drinks out as quick as possible. Big parties of guys meant big tips, keep them happy, keep that tip growing.

"Yeah." You glance over to the loud crowd nearby. "Bachelor party."

"I see. Must be fun?"

"For me or them?"

"Both?"

You chuckle and walk down to stand in front of him. "Is it fun making drinks? Yes. Is it fun watching a bunch of twenty some year olds get hammered while getting hit on by every one of them? Not so much."

Shawn waves off a drink offer as you gesture to the bar behind you. "I just came by to see how you were doing. You haven't been by the gym in a few days."

"Oh, you noticed." You lean back and smile. "I've been working doubles. Carrie has had a cold and I didn't want her to push herself. I'm a lot younger, I can't handle a few days of work."

Shawn cracks open a peanut from the bucket on the counter for customers. "You're a sweetheart." He grins and pops the peanut in his mouth. "Glad you're alright though."

"Did you think I was avoiding you?"

"Nah. Well, a little?" He chuckles and hangs his head. "Honestly I thought I fucked up the night we put together your bed."

You step forward and fold your arms on the counter in front of him. "I'd tell you if you fucked up. Trust me, you haven't done anything to put me off."

"Good. What do you say to lunch Wednesday?"

"I'd say I hope you like Dixie's pulled pork special because that's where I'll be."

"You work dayshift again?" He shakes his head.

"Yep. My last double."

"Okay, alright. I'll stop by?"

"I'd love it."

Shawn looks over at the party of guys getting loud again. "I'm gonna head out before that gets too wild. Stay safe honey."

"Bye Shawn." You roll your eyes at his ridiculous pet name and he waves as he heads out.

____________________

"How's Connor doing?" You ask as you watch the young fighter spar with one of the other guys while Shawn is taking a break in the office.  

"The kid is insane. He's fast, strong, smart too. He reminds me of myself when I was nineteen."

You look over and Shawn is tossing a stress ball up at the ceiling casually. "Connor is nineteen?"

"Yeah." He looks over with a grin. "Why? Thought he was cute?"

"Shawn! God, no. I'm just surprised Harlow took on a guy that young."

"I was too. I remember when Connor walked into this gym. He was a short little sixteen year old with no intention of doing anything but bulking up a bit."

"He didn't wanna be a fighter?"

"Nope." Shawn chuckles. "He came to take some HIIT classes and some CrossFit bullshit Harlow had let a trainer do for a few months. I think once he saw me and Mike in the ring he caught the bug."

You watch as Connor takes down his opponent, pinning him to the mat. Shawn's right, he is fast and strong for his size. His practice opponent is easily twenty pounds heavier than him and he is taking him down like it's nothing. "You think he's gonna make it to championship finals?"

"He going to make it to nationals if I have any say in it. He has what it takes, he's got the heart and soul of a fighter. You don't see that everyday. I've trained a lot of guys in the last few years and they just don't have what Connor has."

"Has any of your trainees made it to the championship circuit?"

"No. Not yet." Shawn looks over and you chuckle. "What? You think I'm not good at training?"

"Not that. I'm just laughing because your last trainee was Tate right?"

"Yeah."

"He definitely didn't have what it takes."

"He didn't. He couldn't listen, just wanted to do what he thought was right. You'd think when a two time western champion and two time national finalist takes the time to train you, you might try and give a fuck." Shawn sits up and squeezes the shit out of his stress ball. "Tate honest to God pissed me off like no other."

You raise your eyebrows and giggle. How funny it was that the two of you shared the same distaste for Tate. "He was something."

"No. He's nothing and he's never going to be until he gets his head out of his ass."

"Harsh."

"You think so? I'm sure you've thought the same thing."

You smirk. "I've definitely thought worse."

"And I'm harsh?"

"I haven't said it out loud." You scoff and lean back in Jodi's chair. "But someone should."

Shawn stands and walks over to the desk. He leans forward and smirks. "I'd tell that sorry piece of shit every single thing you wish you could say to him. I'd hand deliver it to him right in his smug fuckin jaw."

"Easy tiger." You run your hand up his arm, fingers curling against bicep and he drops his head. "No need for the violence. Fighting is an art not a brawl."

"You-"

"I'm using your own words against you?" You smirk and stand up, checking a message on your phone from Sammy about stopping by for tips from last night.

Shawn straightens up with a grin and shakes his head. "You remember me telling Tate that?"

"It's the first thing I ever heard you say to him."

"Tate is a dumbass for losing a woman like you, y'know?"

"Yeah." You walk around and past Shawn toward the door. "But if he wasn't, I wouldn't have ever found a man worth fighting for."

_____________________

Wednesday afternoon is a shit show. For some reason there are a couple day drinkers in at the bar and they won't stop bugging Sammy. She's covering a shift for one of the other waitresses, Megan, since it's her birthday and she's seriously regretting it. Day shift is supposed to be easy. The worst part being an occasional kid throwing food around. Poor girl.

"I just can't do it," Sammy hisses as she stands beside you at the end of the bar at the wash station. "That guy over there has been harassing me non stop. I've tried everything to get him to fuck off."

You take a look over at the end of the bar and you know exactly which guy it is. He's in his thirties, probably an insurance broker or real estate agent by the looks of his tailored suit and gray temples. He looks older than he should. There's a glass of whiskey in his hand that you served him about ten minutes ago. He's the one you were about to cut off and send packing anyways.

"Want me to make him leave?"

"Do you have a bouncer?" Sammy glances over your shoulder. "Because I don't think he's going to leave so easily."

"Well, how about we make him realize you're not into him?"

"By doing what?"

You smirk and set down your dirty glasses into the sink. "I can stage kiss you. I used to do it all the time with my friends back in Vegas." You look down at the guy. He'd definitely fall for it, he was too drunk to see straight. "We'll make a show of it."

"I don't know." Sammy twists her hands in her apron. "Maybe he'll just leave?"

"Sammy. He's not gonna leave if he thinks he has even an inkling of a chance." You pull Sammy down the bar closer to where the creep is sitting. "It's up to you. He's watching us right now."

"Okay, okay." She shakes her hands out and puts her hand on your shoulder, going up to your neck. You can see her glance over at the guy. "It's working he's watching intently."

"Good." You cup her cheek and bring your other hand up to here jaw and cover her mouth with the side or your palm as you pretend to kiss her. "Is he looking?"

"Mmhyeah."

You pull back and give Sammy a hug before going down the bar to the creep. "Do you need a refill on that?" You ask, pointing to his nearly empty glass. You weren't really going to give him a refill, he'd had more than enough.

"No." He grumbles and stands up. "I'm going home." He passes you his credit card and you settle his tab. "Thanks."

Sammy beams from her spot by the liquor shelves. "I can't believe that worked!"

"Almost every time." You walk over and hand her the ones the creep had left as a tip under his cup. "For you dear."

"Thanks." Sammy pockets the bills and smiles. "I wish I had you years ago."

"Well I'm here now." You ruffle her hair and she ducks away. "Do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Keep an eye out for Shawn? He is supposed to be coming in for lunch."

"Ohhh." Sammy smirks. "You got a little crush on the big boy?"

"Obviously." You toss your bar rag over your shoulder and head for a lady who's just walked up at the end of the bar. "How couldn't I?"

"He's a good one!" Sammy laughs and heads off to check on her tables while you get back to bartending.

_____________________

Shawn never showed up for lunch. You can't say you weren't a little disappointed since you had made plans, but you understand that he may have gotten busy at the gym. Things happen. It isn't a big deal.

You stop by the gym the next day to help Jodi with registration for the fall championship circuit for the western region. She had to have all of the fighters from Harlow's registered and ready to go by Monday. It is a ton of paperwork and you know what to do, so you volunteer to help out before work.

"Can you go get Jack for me? I need to talk to him about getting me a copy of his physical."

"Yep." You push away from her desk and head out the door. The locker rooms are to the right of the main floor of the gym and you head there first.

"Dude, I saw her kissing Sammy."

You freeze and listen to the conversation you've walked up on. It's clearly Shawn.

"So? What's the big deal?" It's Connor.

"I thought she was into me. We've been flirting and stuff and then I walk into Dixie's for lunch and she's kissing the waitress! I thought she was into guys!"

Connor laughs and sighs. "I dunno dude."

"I can be into both." You say, stepping into view and getting a good look at Shawn in nothing but a towel. He's dripping wet and it's so hard to focus on the conversation at hand, you have to look away. "Maybe if you wanted to know what was going on, you should ask me?"

Connor's eyes go wide and he looks between the two of you before ducking his head and squeezing around Shawn to make himself scarce.

"I know you can like whoever you want...I just thought..."

"Shawn." You walk over to him and lay your hand on his chest. He's warm and damp and oh Lord when he shifts you can feel the muscle flex. "Relax. I pretended to kiss Sammy so a guy at the bar would stop harassing her."

"Oh."

"Is that why you didn't show up for lunch?"

"Yeah." He rubs the back of his neck. "I walked in and saw that kiss and I didn't know what to think. I'm sorry, I should have asked you."

"It's fine. I probably would have been really confused too." You look him over and he smirks. "I swear I'm still very much into you."

"Yeah? Enough to go on a real date?"

"Mmm I think it's time we did. Any plans?"

Shawn grins. "I have a few. How's this Saturday night sound?"

"I'm off. What time?"

"Six? I'll pick you up. Wear something comfortable and not too fancy."

You raise your eyebrows and he just keeps smiling. "Alright. I'll see you then. In the meantime, have you seen Jack? We need a copy of his latest physical for the registration."

"He's probably out on the floor. If you didn't see him, check the backroom because he might be resting on the spare mats."

"In the storage area?"

"Yeah." He chuckles. "He likes to meditate and listen to his audio books back there to relax."

"Oh. Well thanks." You pat Shawn's chest and he traps your hand under his, curling his fingers around yours. "Yes?"

He bites his lip and shakes his head before releasing your hand. "Nothing. Go on."

"See you in a bit."

_____________________

"Do you still do photography?" Harlow asks you Friday day while you, her and Jodi sit in their living room while going over travel plans for the out of state fights in this year's competition.

"A little bit. I don't do anything professionally anymore."

"But you have your camera?"

"Yeah of course and my lenses. Why?"

Harlow grins. "If I hire you, will you do the photography for the website? I need pictures of all the guys for the brackets this year."

"Sure I can do that. I think I have a my backdrop stuff still as well."

"You'll probably get to photograph Shawn too." Jodi pipes up from where she's typing away at the laptop. "You could take a few just for yourself."

"Jodi!"

"What?"

Harlow groans and shoves her wife's shoulder. "I'm hiring her for a professional shoot, quit teasing her."

"Yeah yeah."

"What time do you want me to stop by? I'm free this weekend and next Thursday all day. Otherwise I work after six."

"Stop by whenever you want. I'm sure it'll take a few days to get all the fighters done and we have a few weeks before fights start. We'll start with Connor when you do get set up. He's my headliner. I'm banking on him hard so I want his photos to be really good."

"Yes ma'am."

_____________________

"So you're doing photos for Harlow?"

You look over at Shawn from the passenger side of his truck. He'd picked you up at a little after six and still wouldn't tell you where you're going. He did make you change into an old pair of jeans instead of the black skinnies you had on and promised you wouldn't regret it. You're almost convinced he's taking you mudding outside of town because you've been driving for twenty minutes and you're still not sure where the hell you are.

"Yeah, I'm doing photos for her? Why?"

"No reason, I was curious."

"You want me to take pictures of you too?"

"I'm not a fighter in the circuit."

"So?"

Shawn looks over and raises his eyebrows. "So why would you take pictures of me?"

"Because you're gorgeous." You look out the window away from him, heart racing at your admission. "I'd die to photograph you in action. You're a rarity, perfect from every angle. It'd be a treat."

"I had no idea you were so into photography. That's awesome." He bumps your leg and you look over. "I'd love to see what kind of photos you take at matches."

"I've taken some good ones. But like I said, I really want to photograph you."

He chuckles. "Sorry sweetheart. I'm retired." He turns the truck down a dirt road toward a big sign that says Pierce Ranch.

"You have a farm?"

"No, my uncle does."

"Why are we going to your uncle's farm?"

"Because I'm taking you horseback riding."

"What? You're serious?"

Shawn turns the truck into a long driveway in front of a big sprawling house. "Dead serious. My uncle is out of town for a few days and he said we could come out and spend some time out here."

You sit stunned in silence. Horseback riding as a first date. Who thought of that? It's so off the wall and incredibly romantic.

"Should we go back?"

You snap out of your thoughts and look over at Shawn as he kills the engine in front of a set of garages. He looks worried. "No, why?"

"You're really quiet. If you don't want to do this we can just go to dinner or something. I know it's kind of different and-"

"I want to go horseback riding."

"Oh." He smiles big and you can see the relief on his face. "Okay good. I'm really looking forward to having you meet my favorite horse."

You put your hand on the door to get out. "I can't wait."

An hour later and you're set up on a horse named Butters, his favorite, and you're strolling along side Shawn on a well worn path around some trees behind the barns. You were nervous at first, needing Shawn's help to stay on the horse but eventually you got the hang of it.

"So, you must really like horses then?" You giggle, looking over at Shawn during a lull in conversation.

"Yeah. I used to spend every summer here with my Uncle Carlos. I still come out here pretty often when I need to relax and get away from it all."

"Ahh, I can see why. It's nice." You bite your lip and glance over. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes?" He chuckles. "Usually that's how dates go."

"Why don't you fight anymore?"

Shawn is quiet. You know it's a sore subject, seeing as no one really wanted to get too in depth when they talked about Shawn's past. You're curious though. A man like him with his skills and experience could still be in the ring.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it."

"No, I-I knew you'd ask eventually." He sighs and guides the horses to a clearing in the trees. He slides off and hitches his horse and then yours to a tree before helping you down.

"Seriously, you seem uncomfortable to talk about it. We don't have to."

Shawn stuffs his hands into his pockets as the two of you head for a bunch of rocks. There's a stream nearby and you can hear the water trickling along the rocks you're walking toward. This place is incredibly serene and you feel bad for bringing up such a tense subject when the date has been going so well.

"So, three years ago I won my second championship." Shawn drops down onto a large flat boulder. "But, the fight was so intense I almost killed my opponent. Now I know, fights get rough and tension runs high in the ring when there's a lot of money and a title at stake. It wasn't about that though. I kicked my opponent so hard he dropped, he just went down, lights out. It wasn't until after everything was said and done I found out he had serious brain trauma from the fight, particularly from my kick."

You sit down next to Shawn and grab his hand. He rubs his thumbs over your fingers gently before continuing.

"I found out he had a newborn baby. I accidentally almost killed this man and took him away from his child because of a sport. I had to stop after that. I couldn't do it anymore."

"Oh Shawn." You squeeze his hand and he looks at you. "You didn't kill him though. He's fine, he's alive and with his child. It is part of the risks you take as fighters."

"I know. I just couldn't deal with that sort of thing happening again. I've made my peace with it and with fighting."

"I understand." You scoot a little closer and he runs his free hand over his hair. "You're a great trainer. Maybe being a fighter isn't for you anymore, but your skills aren't wasted this way. Do you want to fight?"

"To be completely honest, yes. I want to fight every single day, I itch to compete and I think that's why I push Connor so hard. I'm living vicariously."

"Maybe you could do some small time stuff? Not such high stakes?"

"I can't." He shakes his head. "When I'm in the ring I don't stop, I fight hard until I'm out or I win. It's all or nothing."

"Oh."

"Yeah. But anyways, I'm happy training." He smiles, soft and small but genuine nonetheless. "I'm proud to be training a fighter like Connor."

"Good. That's what matters." You bite your lip and giggle to yourself. "I much rather see you like this then all beat up anyway."

"Oh yeah? Not into the black eye and busted lip look?"

"Not on you." You reach out and tenderly turn his face to you. "You're too gorgeous to see damaged."

"I'm gorgeous?" Shawn smirks and runs his hand over your hair. "I think you're mistaken. You're the gorgeous one here." He cradles your face in his hand and just stares at you lovingly.

"No, definitely not." There's a moment where you're both staring at each other's lips and you both know that you want to make a move but it's too soon. Or is it?

Shawn's hand slides away from your face and he stands, offering to help you up. "Let's go back. I've got stuff to make dinner."

"You're making me dinner?"

He hauls you up against him. "Mmhmm. You can help if you'd like." He holds you steady by your hips. "How does spaghetti and meatballs sound?"

"Really good."

"Good." He puts his arm around your shoulders and starts walking back to the horses. "Because when we both have garlic breath the rest of the night won't matter."

You laugh and he just beams at you. "You're something else." You run your hand over his back and he leans his head on yours. "I like it, I like you."

"I like you too."

_____________________

Wednesday night comes around again quicker than ever and Dixie's is crawling with people. All the fighters from Harlow's have showed up to celebrate the announcement of the western circuit championship bracket. Shawn shows up a little after nine and you can't help the smile that spreads across your face. He smiles back and makes your heart beat faster. Things have been going incredibly well with him since the date at the ranch. You're falling hard and fast and you don't really want to stop.

"Hey darling," Shawn says over the loudness as he leans against an empty spot at the bar. "How's it going?"

"Packed! Harlow brought all the guys and their friends and families in! It's crazy."

"Good for business though."

"Very. Carrie is moving faster than I've ever seen her go. We've had to pull Dave from the kitchen twice to help me catch up with drinks. We're gonna need to restock." You laugh and point back at the bar. "My tips are racking up fast too."

Shawn looks you over in your required black tee and apron. It's nothing special, but you know it looks good on you and so does he. "You deserve every dollar you get tonight. You're working hard."

"I am. Can I get you something?"

"Just a diet coke is fine. I'm taking it easy in case anyone needs a ride home tonight."

You turn around and fill a glass from the soda guns attached to the counter. "Enjoy yourself, you got most of these guys to this competition after all."

Shawn raises his drink to that and smiles. "I'm going to go hang out with Connor and Jack. I'll check in later?"

"I'll be here."

Two hours later and you are pushing through the kitchen doors to find Carrie. There's a guy who's harassing you and he's way more wasted then he should be, you've only served him three drinks and they weren't that strong. You suspect he may be taking something along with his drinks and Carrie won't have that sort of activity in her establishment.

"We've got a problem." You state angrily, gripping the doorway to the walk in cooler. "It's that asshole who's been trying to get my number since he sat down."

"Yeah?" Carrie turns to look at you as she hauls out a box of burger patties for the cooks. "Is he tweaked out?"

"I think so. He just grabbed my chest when I leaned over to hand some drinks to a guy beside him."

Carrie is livid, her eyes look like she could kill a man with her bare hands and possible has before. "Oh he's gone, I'm gonna-"

A loud crash from beyond the kitchen stuns you both and not a second later Dave, the line prep cook, throws open the door to the backroom and says there's a fight in the front area. Carrie drops the box of burgers in the cooler and closes the door as she hightails it to the front with you on her heels.

The scene before you is not pretty and immediately you think that it's one of the fighters involved. You're right. It's a fighter. But not a current one. It's Shawn and he is standing in front of the bar squared up with the drunk grabby handed guy. There is an overturned table and chairs and you think Shawn's already knocked the asshole down once, or he stumbled into the table and fell.

"Shawn!" You try to yell over the crowd but it's way too loud.

Carrie pushes past you and shoves her tiny frame through the crowd. You decide to go around to get behind the bar and as soon as you do you see a mess of shattered glass and ice on the floor.

"Shawn!" You shout, hands cupped around your mouth. "Shawn stop!"

He isn't listening or he can't hear you. Either way he's swinging at the drunk guy again in defense and before anything can get worse, the cops show up. You watch as the crowd separates and drunk grabby hands gets cuffed while Shawn tries to talk to the cops. It's no use and you watch them walk Shawn out of the bar as well.

You lean on the counter with your back to the door as the two guys get escorted out. Great. You can't help but feel like this is your fault. Shawn must have seen the move grabby hands pulled and approached him. You run your hand over your hair and look to Carrie as she steps behind the bar.

"God damn fighters. This is such a mess!"

"Yeah it is." You chuckle dryly to yourself. "It sure is."

______________________

You didn't think you'd ever be waiting in the lobby of a police station at three in the morning but here you are. Harlow was going to come with, in fact she was going to go alone and bail Shawn out but Jodi was absolutely trashed and you know she needed to take care of her over Shawn, so you said you would go. Besides, you wanted to talk with him one on one about the fight and why it happened.

You hear Shawn before you see him. He's coming down the hall behind the check in desk. "What do you mean my girlfriend came and-"

"Hey," you wave and he walks over to you quickly and hugs you tight.

"Thank God you're okay."

"Of course I'm okay. What would have happened to me?"

Shawn pulls you back and holds your face. "I couldn't find you after that guy put his hands on you. I was worried you left Dixie's or he did something."

"Shawn, he was wasted. What was he going to do to me? He could hardly stand."

"I don't know. I approached him after I saw what happened and he was talking all this shit like what he wanted to do to you. God it was disgusting, and then I didn't see you around and I panicked."

You cup his face and he has a bruise blossoming on his left jaw. "So your instinct was to fight him?"

"He came at me. I was just going to get some of the guys to help me escort him out but he started swinging as soon as I said he needed to go."

"Well it's done and over with now." You turn and head for the doors. "I'll take you to get your truck at the bar."

The ride to Dixie's is quiet. The dark streets are empty, illuminated only by the soft yellow street lights that have been there for far longer than they should be. Seriously the light is so dim it hardly lights up the road. You turn down the street you live on to take a shortcut to Dixie's and as you pass your house you glance at it instinctively.

You slam on the breaks just past your driveway. "What the fuck?" You put the car in park and squint at your darkened front door, or lack thereof. The door is open, gone by the looks of it.

"Don't get out of the car." Shawn warns, flipping the lock button. "Someone could still be in there. Call the cops and back up out of sight."

You fumble with your phone and put it up to your ear. You report the break in and your street name. As soon as you're done you reverse down the street until you're a few houses away.

Shawn reaches over and lays his hand on your shoulder. "Do you know anyone who might have done this?"

"No. I have no idea. I don't even have anything worth stealing!" You lean your head on the steering wheel. "I don't understand. Could this night get any worse?"

"Don't say that." Shawn rubs up and down your back. "It's not the end of the world. We'll find out what's going on."

"What if I had gone home from Dixie's? What if I didn't come pick you up?" You look at the darkened house. "What if I was there?"

"You weren't. That's what matters. Look," he points to a police car coming down the street. "Here comes the cops."

"Will you go in with me?"

"Of course. You think I'm gonna just stay in the car?" Shawn grabs your hand and kisses it gently. "Come on, let's go talk to the cops."

An hour later and you've filed a full report with Officer Jones. There was nothing stolen as far as you can see. The house is fine, completely in order except for your room. Your dresser had been torn through and your closet emptied out, bed sheets and blankets torn apart too. You have absolutely no idea what someone was looking for and Officer Jones kept asking if you were completely sure you didn't know who could have done this.

It's nearly five in the morning and you are exhausted. The sun is coming up and the sky outside is getting brighter by the minute. You need to sleep and you don't feel safe in your house with the door broken and your bedroom torn apart.

"Grab some clothes, I'm gonna take you to my place." Shawn says, walking around your mess of a bedroom. "We'll take care of the broken door frame and stuff later."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. Come on. I know we're both exhausted so I'll drive and we'll pick up my truck tomorrow. We need to rest, it's been a long night."

You grab a tote bag from your closet and throw a few shirts and jeans in it with some underwear. "I could stay with Jodi."

"I really would feel better if you stayed with me." Shawn takes the bag from you as you grab a pair of shoes and socks by the dresser. "Are you okay with it?"

"Of course Shawn." You join him by the door and lay your hand on his shoulder. "I trust you. We'll go to your place. If you want to take that stuff to the car I'm going to grab my camera gear. I told Harlow I'd start doing photos tomo- today." You sigh. "Well, I'll try and get everything set up after we get a few hours of sleep."

"I'm sure she'll understand." He rubs your back and you lean your head on his shoulder. You're absolutely at your limit, body ready to collapse on the next available soft surface. "I'll be in the car. Don't take too long."

"I won't."

_____________________

When you wake up you have no idea what time it is. Shawn's room is bright and you look around for some hint that he is there. He had insisted you take his bed and he'd sleep on the couch. His bed smells so good, like fresh laundry and his cologne. Warm and spicy, it is absolutely perfect. You reach for your phone on the nightstand and see it's just after noon. There are three missed texts.

Harlow: are you coming by to do the shoot today?

Shawn: I'll be at the gym, take it easy and help yourself to the fridge.

Harlow: nvm please rest I talked to Shawn

You close your eyes and flop back onto the pillows. You promised Harlow you'd be by to take some photos, at least some of the ones for the gym website. You turn over and curl up with Shawn's spare pillow, pressing your face into while opening Shawn's text to reply.

You: is Harlow mad I didn't make it?

Shawn: no. I explained the situation and she's more worried about you than anything

You: tell her I can still make it in to set up at least

Shawn: okay. If u are coming by bring me an extra shirt? I forgot to bring one for post workout.

You: okay no prob.

You glance over at his dresser and then back to the window opposite you that over looks the tree line behind his house. It looks like a nice day, it'd be a shame to waste it but you aren't feeling like going out. You just want to stay curled up in his bed forever. Yesterday was so draining with everything that happened and you don't know how much you can handle without snapping at someone. Rest had definitely helped but you still feel uneasy about the break in. It just seemed so targeted like Officer Jones said, but you can't imagine what someone would want from you.

Eventually you get up and make your way down stairs to the kitchen. Shawn's place is beautiful, it truly is. It's very much like a modern cabin and you're not surprised since it's just outside of town in the woods. He's got a few neighbors but it's not like a usual neighborhood setting.

You grab a protein bar from what you assume was once a fruit basket. It looks good enough and you grab your purse from the living room, stuffing one of Shawn's tees into it before you head out. You pause, looking down at the white shirt hanging out of your purse. You go back into the bedroom and take a blue shirt from Shawn's dresser before stripping off your top and pulling the white tee on over your head. It's a little big but it fits well enough and you smile to yourself in his mirror. You grab your purse and head for the front door.

The drive into town is quiet, a little long, but it's nice. It's one long road that winds around the woods in a circle and then turns out on to Main St that you take all the way into town. It's basically a cul-de-sac but in the woods. The whole time you wonder if you should stop by the house and check on it, or if you should call Officer Jones and see if they have anything to go off of. You're really banking on one of your neighbor's having a security camera or something that spotted the intruder. Though your street is so dark at night it's hard to see anything anywhere.

You turn into the lot behind Harlow's and park beside Jodi's Jeep. You unload your backdrops and stands, carrying everything in the back door. You're met with Connor whos grabbing some tape for a mat from the storage room and he offers to help.

"Look who I found," Connor announces as you walk out onto the gym floor with all your stuff in hand.

Shawn walks over from boxing with a stand up bag. "Hey darling," he takes your camera bag and stand case. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yes." You smile softly. "Your bed is very comfortable."

"I'm glad." He rests his hand on your lower back. "Is this my shirt?"

"Maybe."

He grins and kisses your cheek. "It's all yours now. Looks good on you anyway. Any word from Officer Jones?"

"Not yet. I'm sure he'll call tonight or tomorrow."

"You can stay at my place as long as you need to."

You stand up on your toes a bit and kiss his cheek. "Thank you."

"Alright love birds break it up." Jodi says loudly, clapping at the two of you. "Before you start getting set up I wanna talk to you about what happened, I need to know who I'm going to skin alive."

"We don't know anything yet Jodi." Shawn says with an eye roll. "I told you that."

Jodi snorts. "I'm still going to kick someone's ass."

"I promise I'll let you know who to hunt when we hear back from the police." You say softly and Shawn gives you another kiss on the head before heading back over to the cage with Connor. Jodi puts her arm around you and the two of you head to the backroom that isn't full of old equipment to set up your camera.

_____________________

Photos go well, you manage to get all the guys done in a few hours. You'll go home later and look them over to decide if you need to reshoot anything. But for now you are finished and starting to pack up.

"Hey, you forgot one."

You turn and look at Shawn standing in the doorway to the backroom where you're set up. "I did?"  

"Yeah. Me." He grins and steps in, closing the door behind him. "I thought you couldn't wait to get photos of me."

"Well, I figured I could get them any time."

"Oh? You think I'll pose for you whenever you like?"

You smirk. "You might, but I want to take candids of you."

Shawn wraps his arms around you and you lean back into his chest. "Candids huh?" He noses against your ear, hand going over your stomach. "Like private candids of me in my bed, laid out on the sheets holding my-"

"Shawn!"

He chuckles deeply and you can feel your body get warm, heat pooling between your legs. "Is that not what you want?"

You turn around in his hold and run a hand over his hair. "I want so much more from you then a couple of photos."

"Yeah? Tell me what you want."

"Oh you know...all the good stuff."

"The good stuff?" He walks you back against the backdrop and you bring his head down, foreheads rolling together. "This kind of good stuff?" He asks lowly before he kisses you softly.

"I know why you came in here." You whisper between kisses, hands going up and down his back. "You're jealous."

He lets out a growl as he kisses along your jaw. "You think I'm jealous of my fighters?"

"Your fighters hmm?"

"Mmm. I'm partnered with Harlow." He pulls back to look down at you. "I own the gym with her. I thought you knew?"

"No, I had no idea. She seems so bossy and it's called Harlow's so..."

Shawn plays with the ends of your hair, twisting his finger around bits of it. "She already had the place, I just bought in with championship winnings to keep it open. She runs the business side with Jodi and I run the gym floor as you can tell."

"Wow. So Connor and the other guys in the circuit this season is a huge deal for you."

"Yeah. A win from one of them could mean we expand Harlow's, new equipment, more fighters. With four guys going this year we have a good chance, and with Connor, we have the odds in our favor, I think."

You grin and shake your head. "Our first kiss and here we are talking business. Y'know if you were anyone else I'd have left by now."

"But I'm not anyone else." He leans in and bumps his nose to yours. "I'm special huh?"

"Oh you're special alright."

Shawn gives you one more kiss before he laughs and pulls back. "Let me make it up to you. I told Connor I'd go to dinner with him at Dixie's to talk about his first fight and what to expect. We can go a little early and have some time to ourselves first. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a date."

"Oh it's not necessarily a date, but it could be."

You smile and he just holds your hips looking down at you. "Come on, enough staring like weirdos. I'm hungry."

____________________

Dixie's is packed when you arrive but you manage to get a table near the bar that's a small two seater. You see Carrie running around like a mad woman and two of the day time waitresses are running around behind her. The place is popular this time of year with fighters and their crews moving into town and nearby during the first part of the western circuit. That's what Carrie told you anyway during her briefing on what to expect and how she deals with the increased number of fights during this time of year.  

"Is that Connor?" Shawn asks, pointing to a table behind you. "What's he doing here so- oh I see."

You turn and look over at where Shawn is pointing to a corner table where Connor is and leaning on the table in her work clothes is Sammy. You smirk, it's about time they talked. Sammy has been eyeing Connor for weeks but she's hesitant because he's a fighter and she knows what the lifestyle entails.

“They’re kids, leave 'em be.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sammy is a good girl. I’m not worried about it.”

“She is. She also knows what it’s like to live with fighters. She told me her brother was a fighter.” You shake your head. “I think she said he went north to try for the canadian championship but he didn't win and ended up settling down up there”

“I knew her brother Devin, we fought a few times.” Shawn smiles over his drink. “The guy was really good, he gave me a run for my money.”

“Oh yeah? Did he train at Harlow’s?”

“No, no it was way before then. When I was nineteen he was twenty one, we went a few rounds in my first championship entry. I didn’t win that year, I got too cocky and big headed. He was a tough dude though, if Sammy is anything like him she’ll keep Connor in his place.”

You chuckle. “Sammy is very shy, I’m not sure she’s like her brother at all.”

“The shy ones are the ones you gotta watch out for.” Shawn smirks and you roll your eyes.

"Anyways, you said I could stay at your place again?"

"Mmhmm." Shawn smiles and chews on his straw. "I definitely don't mind."

"Good. I'm nervous about going home until we find out more from the police. It's feels like such a personal attack since they went through just my bedroom and didn't even take anything." You shake your head and lean you chin on your hand on the table. "They didn't even take jewelry. Someone wanted something from me."

"Maybe they thought it was someone else who lived there?"

"I don't know. I hope there is video footage from one of the neighbors that shows us something."

"They're gonna check with the neighbors for you?"

"Yeah, Officer Jones called while I was photographing Gauge. He said they're gonna canvas the area, ask for surveillance from anyone nearby and see if they can't get a suspect or even a car or something."

Shawn leans back and crosses his arms. "Y'know I was actually thinking, do you think it could be Tate? I didn't want to say something about him to the cops but is there something you have of his?"

You raise your eyebrows. You hadn't thought of Tate being a suspect. Hell, you were two states away from him now and it's been months since the break up. "I don't think I have anything. I gave him everything back, all his clothes and anything he ever bought me. I left it all in a box in our apartment."

"It was just a thought."

"No, it's a good one. He is crazy enough to do something like that." You roll your eyes and flag down Carrie to pay for your drinks. "Maybe I can call him, or I could try his sister Maggie."

"I'd try Maggie if you have a good relationship with her. If it was him he probably won't want to talk to you."

Carrie stops by the table and hands you your bill. "Have you seen Sammy?"

"She's over there with..." You look around for her and Connor but neither are at the table in the corner anymore. "Well she was here. Is she working tonight?"

"Yeah. Her shift starts in five minutes." Carrie takes your cash and you wave her off for change. "You say you seen her?"

Shawn chuckles. "She was with Connor."

"The fighter?"

"Yeah, my champ." Shawn stands and gives you a look and you nod, letting him know you don't mind if he goes looking for the two of them. "I think I know where they are."

Carrie raises her eyebrows. "Well if you find her, tell her to get her ass to work."

"Yes ma'am." Shawn smiles. "See you at the house." He squeezes your shoulder and heads for the front door.

A minute later Sammy comes walking in very flushed and you can't help but smile to yourself. She's got a flower tucked into her hair and you think her and Connor must have been sitting out on the patio since the flower is definitely from the pots out there.  

____________________

You get to Shawn's place a little after eight. His truck is in the driveway so you know he's there. The sun is starting to go down and you are tired from working on photos and stress from the break in. Your brain is absolutely taxed. All you want is some dinner and a soft bed. You turn the handle to the door and walk into music blasting from the kitchen. It's some eighties hair band and you chuckle to yourself as you walk across the living room to find Shawn around the corner shadow boxing at the stove shirtless.

"What's for dinner?" You laughs and he looks back around with a grin. "Smells good!"

Shawn turns and shuts off the music on his phone. "It's chili. I figured it's pretty easy to throw together since I got home just a few minutes ago."

"Why not order something?"

"Eh, I like homemade." He stirs the pot around. "I haven't had it in a while, I thought it'd be nice."

You walk around the island and take a look into the pot. It's not chili. Well, it is, but it's not what you were expecting. "What kind of chili is this?"

"Chili Verde. My dad's recipe. Wanna taste?" He spoons some out to cool in a little bowl on the counter.  "I promise it's good."

You smile. "I'm sure it's very good. What's in it?"

"Pork, onions, green chilies. I cheated and used a bottle of premade chili verde salsa for a starter since I don't have time to stew tomatillos and green chilies for hours." He spoons some up for you and you take a bite. "Good yeah?"

"Hot." You cover your mouth. "It's kinda spicy but I like it. It's good."

Shawn beams and scoops out two bowls to cool. "I'll finish getting dinner ready, go change and relax."

You lean up on your tiptoes and kiss his cheek. "Thank you for making me dinner."

"Of course." He kisses your nose and your heart skips. "Go on."

Post dinner you're sitting on the couch with Shawn watching some ghost hunter show. He's got his arm around your shoulders and you're tucked into his side snugly. It's comfortable, being with Shawn feels incredibly natural. He's warm and safe.

"What're you doing next Sunday?" Shawn asks as he tucks his feet against yours where your legs are outstretched on the ottoman. "I was thinking if you're available we could go out."

"I work the late shift but I can see if one of the guys can cover for me."

"I don't want you to miss work. We can go another day."

"No, I want to go. It'll be a nice escape from the stress around here." You run your hand down his forearm and slide your hand into his. "Are we going to go horseback riding again?"

Shawn squeezes your hand. "Nope. I have another idea."

"What is it?"

"I'm not telling." He grins at you and you narrow your eyes at him. "I can surprise you again can't I? It's more fun that way."

"I'd like to see what tops horseback riding."

"I have a few ideas. Don't worry." He glances at the clock on the wall in the kitchen. "I should go to bed, I have a seven o'clock session with Jack tomorrow." He scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. "Do you mind if I take the bed?"

"Nope. I don't mind sharing."

"Sharing? You're ready for that?"

You push off of him and stand up, putting your hand out to him. "I'm ready for anything with you."

He takes your hand and stands, pulling you against him. "Anything huh?" He runs a hand over your hair. "Falling a little fast aren't we?"

"I don't mind." You wrap your arms around his middle. "We work well together. I've never felt this comfortable and free around someone before."

He hums. "It feels natural. I completely understand."

You scratch at his back gently and he smiles down at you. "Let's go to bed. You need to be up early."

"Mmm I could always reschedule if we wanted to stay up late." He runs his hand down your back and over your butt. "I'm sure Jack won't mind."

You shake your head and laugh. "No, you're not cancelling work because of me. We can sleep together any time."

"Well don't make it sound like we're an old married couple, jeez."

You lean up on your tiptoes and kiss him quickly. "Maybe it's good practice for the future."

"Wh- oh." He grins. "First kiss and you're planning our future all in one day? Damn."

"Oh shut up." You pull away and head to his bedroom. "Come on, chop chop. The bed awaits."

_____________________

You wake up in the middle of the night and you're freezing. It doesn't even feel like there is a heater on in the house. You roll towards Shawn and slide your arm around his middle, spooning him from behind. He shifts. A soft grunt followed by a mumble of incoherent sleep laden words. He's like a furnace, body radiating into yours.

"You okay?"

"Mmhmm." You press a kiss to his hair. "All good now."

"I missed this." He places his hand over yours on his chest. His heart beats in time with yours, a cadence of comfort in the night. "I missed being held."

"It's been a while?" 

"A long while. I didn't like to date when I fought. I only wanted to focus on my work." He chuffs. "I'd deprive myself to be the best. Stupid huh?" 

"No. You thought it'd help. It must have, you did win." You flex your fingers against his skin, blunt nails scratching him lightly. "Do you like being the little spoon?" 

"Love it. There's something about having someone smaller than you curled up and wrapped around you that I just love. I do like being the big spoon too, but I really enjoy being held sometimes." 

"I'll hold you any time." You give him a squeeze and he tangles his legs with yours. "You're like a big teddy bear."

He chuckles and that's the last thing you hear before you fall asleep to the sound of his soft breathing and the beating of his heart under your fingertips. 

-------------------------

End Part 1

-----------------------

Thank you for reading! Part 2 will be out sometime in the future as I have to write the ending still, but it’ll be another 13k at least. Thank you all again.  - A

#stories #fighter trope

[miss-dr-reid]

This is calm, and it's, Doctor #6

A little something different for this one.

~Spencer's POV~

After I ordered the food to be delivered, I turned around to see y/n had disappeared from her perch on the stool. I walked around the bench, looked down the hall and saw no movement. I walked over to the lounge and found her resting, looking so peaceful.

Her face looked soft, lips parted slightly. Her arms cuddled the cushion tocher chest while her legs were called up, fitting into the lounge. Not wanting to disturb her peaceful slumber, I grabbed a book and sat at the table behind her. I sat on the side of the table that allowed me to see her face whenever I looked up from my book.

She was so beautiful in so many ways. In the week I've known her, I've noticed myself wanting to be around her as much as possible. She was so smart, but humble enough that she never really corrected anyone if that hadn't called her 'Doctor', so much so, that maybe people didn't even realise.

I looked up from my book as she stirred, taking in a deep breath, smacking her lips to get her quietly as she exhaled. My heart skipped a beat as I watched. After a while of reading, there was a knock on the door, 'Dinner', I thought as I walked over and opened the door.

Happy to see my dinner in the hands of the delivery man, I handed him a $10 tip and he went on his way. I closed the door and popped the bag onto the bench. I unpacked by he bag on the bench, ensuring everything was there b

"Vegetable omelette, fried rice, beef and black bean..." Quietly listing them to myself as I set them in the bench, followed by the complimentary prawn chips. I headed over for the lounge.

"Y/N," I kneeled next to her on the ground, "y/n, dinner is here." I tapped her hand which was wrapped around her wrist, holding her arms together.

One eye popped open slightly, looking at me.

"Dinner?" Her voice, a whisper.

"Yeah!" I confirmed. She grabbed my hand, surprising me. I hadn't realised that I had rested mine on hers after waking her. She used me to help herself up, throwing her feet to the ground, yawning and stretching.

I got up and walked back to the kitchen, grabbing plates and cutlery for each of us. Y/N took the stool where she had been before laying down. I took the one next to her, handing over the plate and cutlery I got for her. Her face screwed up as I handed over the cutlery.

"What?" I asked, thinking something was wrong. She picked up the fork I had given her,

"A fork? Do you have chopsticks?" She asking, faking offence.

I grabbed out the complimentary ones from the bottom of the bag and gave them to her. Satisfied with her utensils, she proceeded to pour some of each dish onto her plate.

"You gonna eat those?" She gestured toward the prawn chips. I shook my head, sliding them her way. She happily accepted them, opening the bag and diving right in. I watched as she pulled out chips, inspecting each one. After watching for a while, I reduced that she was looking for 'bowl-shaped' chips so she could pile as much food onto it as possible.

I let out a little laugh as I realised. I was so intrigued in how she chose to are, I couldn't help but watch. As much as it usually revolted me, I was too invested to stop. After picking the perfect chip, scooping as much food onto it as possible, she'd try eat it all in one go.

"You right?" She asked, snapping me out of my trance I hadn't realised I was in. Her eyes watched my face as I nodded, not knowing what to say.

"I- I've never seen anyone eat like that." was all I could manage.

"I'm not just anyone, Spence." She joked, wiggling her eyebrows and elbowing my arm. I faked an injury, grabbing my arm with an "Ow!". Even though 'Spence' was a nickname used my most people I know, the way Y/N says it makes it sound so good. And, when she calls me 'Doctor', something happens inside me, I can't even describe it. The thought of her saying my name makes my heart race.

We finished eating dinner and I wanted the few dishes we had messed, Y/N watched me Street I had declined her offer of help. I noticed her watching my hands, and looking up to my face every now and then, her own face resting on her propped up hand.

Once I was done, I dried my hands on the tea towel that was in the bench. I took the couple of steps over to the bench opposite Y/N. Leaning on my elbows, I looked over her face, her eyes slightly droopy, but not necessarily tired, I couldn't put my finger on it.

"Spence..." she said soft and slightly hoarse, "can we listen to some music?"

"Oh yeah. I have a Google Home, so, to for it." I told her.

"Hey Google," she started, "Play 'Moo' by Doja Cat." She called, a smirk filling her lips. I was confused, so I focused on Google.

"Bitch, I'm a cow." It started. I was taken aback and Y/N laughed, quickly changing the song.

"Hey Google, play 'Crazy Little thing called Love." She hopped off the stool and walked to the empty area between the bench and table.

The song started and she started dancing. Her voice filled the room, full of passion. I was enjoying watching her perform until she gestured for me to join her. I shook my head, stiffening at the idea of dancing.

"Please Spence, it'll loosen you up, and we all need to chill out." She almost begged, fluttering her eyelashes, while holding her arms out toward me, a grabbing motion played on her fingers.

Seeing this side of Y/N was strange, but comforting. The entire time I had known her, she was always serious. Happy to have a laugh, but never too much fun. I unwillingly obliged only because I wanted to see her smile again, and she did as I stated toward her.

She didn't get my hands like o thought she would, instead she swayed her body in time with the music causing me to follow along. I did enjoy this more than I was expecting to. I think, because of her. She was singing, dancing and almost performing a whole concert.

She stopped in her tracks, smirking at me as she called for Google to play another song.

#Where have all the good men gone

and where are all the gods?

Where's the streetwise Hercules

To fight the rising odds#

She sang along, hitting every note, I was in awe. After the song, she decided one okay change was necessary. The music changed to the artist 'Bruno Mars', her body language changed. She went from partying and jumping around, to smooth fluid, alluring moves.

"Got anything to drink?" Her voice, breaking my thoughts one more time, "Anything adult?" She emphasised.

Thinking for a second, I did have some whiskey that I was gifted and never drank. I grabbed the bottle bedroom the top shelf of an overhead cupboard. I collected a glass from another, scooped some ice from the freezer, and poured out a drink into the glass, sliding the glass over to her across the bench.

She took it, sniffed it, swirled it and took a sip. She swallowed it all up after getting a taste, tapping the glass on the counter and with her best western accent,

"Another, barkeep!" She mustered out. I poured another, and she downed it. She got up to resume her dancing. I put the lid on the bottle and left it on the bench.

I walked around and sat on the stool, enjoying watching her sing and dance, relaxing as the drinks styles in her system. She danced for a while, eventually joining me as I wandered over to the lounge. She brought the whiskey, her glass and one for me. Not being a big drinker, I declined. She didn't press but left the glass on the coffee table in front of us.

"I guess you're staying tonight?" I asked, watching her pour another drink.

"Oh, shit!" She stopped, looking up at me, "Spence, I'm sorry! I can go- I- I don't want to make you uncomfortable if you don't want me here!" Worry in her voice as she realised there had been no official invitation for her to stay. She didn't need one. I was over the moon to have company that wasn't my brain and numerous books.

"No, you're not going anywhere. I have some spare clothes that I'm sure will fit you if you feel like changing. Please, Y/N, you are more than welcome to stay tonight and whenever else you'd like to." I assured her, placing my hand on my shoulder, only removing it once she relaxed.

She let out a breathy sigh and laid back against the lounge, exhaling deeply. Her hands grabbed each side of her face and pulled down slowly until they teachers her chin.

"I would love to get changed." She whispered and rolled her head to look at me.

I tilted my head so it was same angle as hers,

"Come on." I reached for her hand, she smiled at me as she took it in hers. She trailed closely behind as I led her to my room. She sat down on the edge of the bed, her legs hanging off, and she kicked than back and forth.

I opened my wardrobe and rifled through the racks, finding an old plain grey tee. I took it out and laid it next to her on the bed. Y/N's hand ran over it as I dove back in to my wardrobe. I found a pair of darker grey tracks and laid them on top of the shirt.

"There's a spare towel hanging in the bathroom if you'd like to shower. I'll be in the loungeroom, reading most likely." I spoke, putting my hands in my pockets, shifting from heel to toe not wanting to leave.

Her looked me up and down, with raised eyebrows. When she got back to my face, she glanced between me and the door.

"Oh, right!" I spun on my heels and left, closing the door behind me. "Idiot. You work together. What do you even want from her!?" I asked myself once I was out of earshot.

Entering the loungeroom, music was still playing. A new song came on and I decided to listen to it, trying to get an idea of the music Y/N likes.

#I found a love, for me# I clicked on the lyrics tab of the Google Home screen.

#Darling, just dive right in

Follow my lead# I hadn't realised that I had started swaying to the song.

Arms wrapped around my waist, a face rested on my back. I stiffened at the sudden touch. I turned, Y/N only loosened her grip enough for me to spin around. She looked up at me, smiling contently. Her arms still wrapped around my waist, she rested her face on my chest. She started swaying, causing us both to sway. I rested my arms over her shoulders, one hand on top of her head, under my chin.

As we were swaying, she shifted her arms from my waist to my shoulders, my arms from her shoulders to her waist. Her fingers made their way up my neck and to the back of my head, playing with the curls that day there. My hands responded, rubbing her back slowly up and down.

I wanted to hold her there forever. To kiss the top of her head. To pick her up and just hold her.

But, we work together. We're friends, mates. It can't happen. She doesn't even like me like that.

His can't happen.... Right?

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader

[submissivekillers]

Frisky February Day 5 - Aftercare

my first entry for @slashthedice​‘s Frisky February event, featuring everyone’s favorite emotionally-stunted mechanic Bo Sinclair. wanted to get this out A Lot earlier but then my depression was like “what if we lay in the dark and don’t move for ten hours” and then i did that. very softe w/ not a lot of spice but enjoy 💖

It’s quiet, afterwards; just the sound of mingled, laboring breaths, Bo’s muffled by his position (facedown, head buried in the pillow, one arm tossed haphazardly across your chest at an awkward angle) and artificially steady despite the hours you’ve spent taking him apart. You’re used to this by now. Mostly. He’s predictable once you get past the slick Southern charm and the bravado and the knot of violence that’s made a home in his heart, and so you only give yourself a few moments to let your breathing even out before you wriggle out from under his arm and swing your legs out of bed, swearing low when your bare feet hit cold wood. 

He snatches your wrist when you stand, rolling his head so that one dark eye looks up at you through sweat-damp curls. “Where ya goin’?” 

“To grab some beers before you start bugging me about it,” you say, squeezing his hand fondly before you set about making yourself presentable. Bo grunts something vaguely pleased and pats your ass as you bend over to grab one of Bo’s shirts from the floor. 

The museum is quiet and dark, but you still check both ways as you wander towards the kitchen; the last time Vincent ran into you after a romp with Bo, it took a solid week before he could look you in the eye. You doubt he’s asleep - he’s a night owl by habit and it’s barely midnight - but he’s nowhere to be found as your eyes adjust, following the buzzing electric hum of the refrigerator; perhaps you’re predictable as well. 

You grab two beers in each hand, squinting slightly against the artificial light. Kicking the fridge door closed, you set three of them on the counter and raise one to your forehead, the cold refreshing against your flushed skin. You linger in the dark for a couple minutes, languidly rolling the cool can over your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, popping it open to take a long swig with only a small grimace - you’d never had much of a taste for beer before Bo. You still think you like the taste of it better on his lips. 

By the time you make your way back upstairs, a damp towel draped over your arm in addition to your offerings of Budweiser, you think he’ll have had enough time to catch his breath for real. You’d like to pamper him - hold him close and whisper praise in his ear, kiss the spots you know are sensitive enough to make him laugh - but the way you break him down in bed is already more vulnerability than he’s used to. You don’t push it. 

 He’s slightly more vertical when you get back to the room. The TV’s going - some old Western with who you think is probably Clint Eastwood, but you wouldn’t bet on it - and you watch his eyes slide from the screen to you with a studied casualness that can’t hide the way his eyes light up when you walk in. 

You clink cans, Bo resting his head on your shoulder almost as soon as you climb into bed. He complains when you start running the towel across his face, rolling his eyes, but settles when you skim it slowly down the length of his chest, soft touch offset by the fond annoyance in your voice when you sigh, “I’m not gonna cuddle when you’re gross and sweaty, Christ. It’ll take like five minutes.” You watch the tension seep out of him, pliant and warm in your arms as you take his hand in yours, cleaning the sheen of sweat from his skin in slow, methodic strokes. With careful, choreographed movements, you raise it to your lips, pressing kisses to his calloused knuckles, the lines of his palm, the raised lines of scar tissue that loop his wrist. 

Bo watches you with dark, half-lidded eyes, then flips his hand and pinches your cheek ruthlessly, laughing when you make an offended sound and bat at his arm. “Sap,” he calls you, something tender in his voice that makes it sound like the sweetest endearment you’ve ever heard. 

You kiss him, quick and chaste, not giving him the time to nip at your lips for entry. “Love you,” you murmur when you pull back. He hums, tugs you down so you’re laying on his chest, kisses the crown of your head when you turn to look at the movie. It’s comfortable. It’s good.

#frisky february #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #JAZZ HANDS