#purchase professional training

[queers-gambit]

Perpetual L's and Overwhelming Dubs

prompt: slutty stranger bathroom sex on a train.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 3.7k+

note: are all our safe words pineapple? i need this man to rail me, you know, for science. yep, that's right, Cherry has a new fixation! aren't y'all so lucky?

warnings: author has brain rot, smut (public, strangers, unprotected), obviously cursing, PWP.

Japan was bright, you decided with a soft smile on your lips; looking around the train station glowing in neon lights; some blinking, some colored, all fluorescent. People milled around every inch of the place, all walks of life from school children to professionals with briefcases, talking on the phone, running to make their departure. Couples held hands, families took meals together, and a few meters away, a little girl screamed when her brother stole her Momonga plushie.

You must've been enraptured with all around you that your shoulder bullied into someone else's on the platform, making you gasp an instant apology in Japanese. However, the man you had collided with just offered you a stoic look up and down, letting his lips pull in a half-smirk, checking in English with a thick accent, "My apologies, love. You all right there?"

"Yeah, I-I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention," you bid with a small smile.

"'S all right, pretty ladies like you can run into me all day," he smirked, eyeing you up and down before following after his snazzy-dressed companion - who slapped his chest forcefully.

"Leave the girl alone, mate," the man reprimanded. "Sorry, miss, he gets it in his head he's God's gift to ladies."

"It's really okay, it was my fault for not watching where I was going," you assured the men, glancing at your watch. "I'm so sorry, but I really can't miss this train. Safe travels, gents!" You bid, offering a simple wave, then scurried off - trying not to double back for the man with a mustache.

God, was that man handsome! Like, illegally handsome. Hauntingly handsome.

You'd even go as far as to say he was devilishly handsome! Those eyes? Beautifully clear blue, alluring, drew you in and held you captive. His cologne? Absolutely heavenly, borderline intoxicating. And he was built like a fucking mountain - tall, broad, slender hips, bulging muscles that looked as if they would rip his button-up.

Shaking your head, you rid yourself of the body-heating thoughts about the stranger you had just barreled into. Being horny got you nowhere, but being perpetually horny... Was the biggest fucking L. Sure, you could rub one out; you knew where the clit was and how to stimulate to your own pleasure (unlike most men). But it was something about a man sweating over you, thrusting into you with abandon; creating a mess in your guts, mind, and chest.

Yeah... You needed to get laid, you were fucking drooling over some stranger you had a 23-second interaction with.

However, upon entering your train and locating a seat in the hopefully peaceful quiet car, you mindlessly downloaded Tinder to pursue at your leisure, but only a few swipes in and you were exiting the app and deleting it (again) from your phone. The train was ready to depart the station, you cracking a bottle of water, looking back on your two-week Japanese excursion your job had sent you on.

And now, you were finally heading to your last stretch of meetings, requiring you to purchase an overnight ticket on one of the available bullet trains. Seemed the fastest, simplest, and most affordable way to travel - skipping out on upgrading to first class. Economy was just fine, you decided, perhaps doubting yourself when your eyes widened when you caught sight of the two strangers you ran into on the platform finding their seats a few rows up. There was a third man with them now that was left slumped in a spare chair - probably drunk off his arse, based on the man's grungy, disheveled look.

You tried not to thinking about the handsome stranger, but he was just a few rows up from you! God, you could practically smell his cologne from here, letting your mouth water slightly.

Yeah, perpetually horny was the biggest L - like you said.

Your thighs squeezed together as you crossed them, hoping the pressure was enough to relieve the build-up of warmth in your belly and cunt. Your headphones were placed, your attention diverting out the window, and tried to imagine if nobody else was in this fucking carriage - he could take you here and now.

After a few stops, your empty water bottle sought revenge against your bladder and ushered you to the closest bathroom. It wasn't as tight a squeeze as airplane bathrooms, but it was still a small facility to use. When done, you washed your hands as a knock sounded at the door, calling in Japanese, "Just a second!"

After unlocking the door and opening it, you actually flinched back slightly when the man from early with the '70s pornstache was stood directly in front of you.

"Well, don't you look like hell," you mused slightly.

"All in a day's work, love," he answered, stepping out of your way to let you exit the bathroom. He looked you up and down, asking, "So, uh, where you headed?"

You told him your stop, asking him the same. He told you, your mind doing mental gymnastics to understand that you both had a good bit left on this train... Surely, anything could happen.

"I'll let you, yeah," you half-smiled awkwardly, moving out of his way fully to give him access to the restroom.

"You know..." He trailed, pointing at the empty lavatory, "Could fit two."

You chuckled, "Yes, but I'm finished now - you go on."

He hummed, glancing up and down the train car - spying through the windows of the conjoining connection each car had. When he faced you again, he took a slow, calculating step forward, "That's not exactly what I meant, sweetheart."

You feet took a slow, calculated step back to find the wall, his smirk broadening. "Then how about using your words like a big boy and tell me what you meant?"

"You look like a smart girl, sure you can figure it out, yeah?" He leered over you, either foot standing between yours, nearly pressed into you but far back enough that he could maintain eye contact.

You pouted at him, "I don't read minds."

"Not sure it's me mind yah gotta read," he perked a single brow, glancing out the window again. "Now, I'd love t'stand here and ravish you the way I've wanted since you bumped into me earlier, but maybe exhibition isn't your thing."

"Judging me now?"

Now, both his brows slowly rose. His teeth poked out from between his smirking lips, praising, "Naughty girl."

"Maybe you're the one a bit nervous, hmm?" You quipped, boldly reaching forward to palm his cock - already half-hard. "What's wrong, mister? Don't want people seeing you so, hm, submissive?" You gave a cheeky flex of your hand, his hips bucking involuntarily.

"You fuckin' minx," he chuckled, hands to your waist now. "Get in that fuckin' bathroom or I might just have to give this whole fuckin' train a show."

"Better start charging them all," you whispered, hearing his growl before pushing his chest back to give you a little space. "You do this often, then? Proposition strangers into dirty bathroom sex on public, moving trains? Hmm? In a foreign country? Seems terribly disrespectful, don't it?"

"Sweetheart, the thoughts in my head about what I want to do to this body - those are disrespectful," he smirked. "Wanna tell me I'm not truly tempting you? You would've left by now," he pointed out, making your chest feel warm from the embarrassment you felt suddenly. You smirked and twiddled your fingers at him in parting, turned, and just before you could step away, you felt his arms lock around your waist. "C'mon, darlin', don't be like that," he hissed in your ear, your visible smirk spurring him on. "Not about t'beg yah, princess, get this pretty li'l arse in this stall."

You folded.

Being perpetually horny was an L, sure, but being propositioned by a handsome, hulking, muscly stranger was for sure a Dub, right?

You turned in his arms, lips only centimeters apart; breathing the same air, hand on his chest to ease him back into the bathroom stall. He grinned in triumph, and the moment you were over the threshold, still maintaining eye contact, he reached around you to click the lock in place.

"C'mere," he growled, surging forward to bring his lips down to yours finally - and just like that, your panties were done for. You moaned instantly, feeling something akin to relief when his lips molded against yours; all but immediately sweeping his tongue against the seam of your mouth.

Letting him in was mind boggling; literally making static fill your brain as your hand lifted to hold the back of his neck, threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. His mustache was stiff, wriggling in an irritating fashion against your upper lip and nose, but you didn't notice - too engulfed in the way he domineered every rational thought. His hands both pressed tightly to your ribs, then waist, down your hips, around to your arse - like he couldn't make up his mind where he wanted to touch you. So, he chose to touch you everywhere.

He was intoxicating; feeling drunk on his taste, smell, touch. He was warm, his curls a bit greasy but still shocking soft, and his lips - plush, welcoming, anchoring. You didn't even know his name, but you didn't need to! All you needed was exactly what he was doing: holding complete control over your heart, mind, and cunt.

Your stranger pulled back suddenly, offering a skeptical look, "There's no boyfriend, fiancé, husband I'm gonna have to look over my shoulder for, right?"

"Not since about 6 months ago, no. Do I need to ask you the same?"

"'Course not," he mused with a grin, kissing you again - but just a degree softer. Now, both his hands rose to caress either cheek; his tongue wagging against yours in more controlled caresses. One hand dropped slowly to hold your neck, pulse quickening, and your stranger smirked, muttering against your lips, "Cheeky girl."

You pushed him back half a step, offering him a once over before confidently reaching down for the end of your shirt and pulling it off over your head. Your companions mouth fell open when you revealed yourself to him, smirking as you opened your jeans to show a hint of the lace panties you wore. You told him your name, earning a confused hum. "My name," you explained, "figured you need to know what to moan." His tongue swept over his lips. "Gonna just stand there?"

He chuckled, checking his watch, then started unbuttoning his waistcoat. "Tangerine," he spoke simply.

"That your safe word?" You asked, shucking your jean clean off after toeing out of your shoes. "Hm, mine's pineapple."

"'S my name, love," he chuckled, opening his button up to reveal exactly what you thought - plains of smooth skin over rigid, bulging muscles. "So you know what to scream," he smirked.

You paused, stood in your panties, bra, and socks, asking through a small chuckle, "You're telling me, your mother carried you all those months in her belly, pushed you screaming - bloodied - into the world, looked at yah, and said, 'yeah, he looks like his name should be Tangerine'?"

He peeled his top half naked, your throat swelling close; swallowing harshly to clear your mouth of the overflow of salvia. Slowly, he moved closer to you, once again leering over you. He reached out for your neck, not too tight or aggressive, but forceful enough to tilt your head back. "'S a codename, love," he explained.

"Ah, so can't reveal the government."

"Exactly."

"The fuck kinda job you got that requires codenames?"

"The dangerous kind," he smirked, "wanna keep running your mouth or put it to other use?"

You chuckled and reached for his trousers, holding his eyes with yours as you easily unfastened him and hooked your thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and suit pants. His mouth parted slightly when the cooler air hit his exposed cock, asking, "Safe word?"

He snickered, "Pineapple's fine, love," he sounded far too amused, watching you get on your knees in front of him, "but I doubt we'll need - Oh, holy, fuckin' good God," he seethed through clenched teeth when you eagerly took him in your mouth.

He was bigger than what you were used to - like a full double the size your previous partners had been. He was longer, thicker, and Goddamn, was he sweltering in your mouth. You wondered how long it had been for him, feeling your panties dampen as you felt exhilarated to show this man with a "dangerous job" exactly what your mouth could do - and why he'd never forget your name.

"Oh, there's a good fuckin' girl," he groaned, collecting whatever hair he could in a makeshift ponytail; looking down his nose to watch you. His cock was overwhelming, but you were determined to earn the pleasure he would surely bring; mouthing around his cockhead, using one hand to pump what didn't fit, the other alternating between holding his hairy thigh for balance and cradling his balls.

A few times, you held his eyes with yours as you removed his cock with a pop; licking his shaft up and down like it was a popsicle on the Fourth of July. His jaw would clench each time, sputtering his breath. His veins were pulsing, prominent under the skin; making your cunt contract as his throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly, groaning.

"Li'l too good at this, baby, Goddamn," he breathed, chuckling to himself as he retracted his hips while holding your jaw. "All right, all right," he chuckled, "made your point, love. Get up here 'fore I lose my bloody mind."

You pouted, "I quiet like it down here."

"Darlin', I'm about to bust - "

"Isn't that the point?"

He chuckled and reached down to help you up, instantly searing you in a wet, messy kiss as he backed you into the sink counter; tasting himself on your tongue. It was erotic, something you were vastly not used to - no man ever being okay with you kissing them after having their dicks in your mouth.

But no, this Tangerine fellow was obviously built different.

One hand anchored your waist, the other dropping to toy with your panties gently; petting the waistband before sinking his hand lower. You shuddered lightly when his finger swept through your wet folds, both groaning in pleasure when he sunk knuckle-deep. "Feels so good, love," he praised, your legs widening your stance to let him better access; hand fully disappeared into your panties. "So fuckin' warm, yeah," he breathed, increasing his speed so he pumped aggressively. He didn't need a second finger, he was chasing your orgasm - purely focused on the way you withered before him.

"Tan," you whimpered, gripping his assaulting arm as he found your g-spot and chuckled darkly.

"Got it, there, did I? Yeah, let's see what you've got, love, c'mon."

You whined in your throat, leaning into his chest as your legs began to quake. You didn't get a chance to warn him, feeling that overwhelming urge to urinate - gasping loudly and needing him to support your body as his finger jabbed your g-spot to the point you were gushing into his hand.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he encouraged, stimulating you further; loving the feeling of your squirt in his cupped hand, "keep goin', good girl, that's it, yeah? I got yah, good girl, there you go."

You grunted when he slowed his hand to the point the heel of his palm ground into your clit. Feeling overstimulated, your hand slapped to his meaty forearm, meeting his eyes with a glare, begging, "Okay, okay, okay, you made your fuckin' point."

He grinned, "Didn't know I had that affect on you, love. Huh?"

"You could've offered to fuck me when I ran into you earlier and I would've bent over - right there and then," you whispered against his lips, licking into his mouth right after; making his own mind go blank.

"Feelin's mutual, doll," he nodded, using both hands to shred your lace panties from your hips with a shrill gasp. "Keepsake," he teased, showing you the ruined fabric before dropping it.

You offered him a coy look before turning around for him, not needing the instruction; meeting his stare in the mirror. Bracing yourself against the sink, you slumped over it, making him groan.

"Fuck, doll," he whispered, admiring the view and smoothing a hand over one bare cheek. "Just look at yah, ready fa' me, just drippin'," he bit his lip, giving a few pumps to his length as he looked you over; other hand toying with your weeping hole. He growled and slid his cockhead up and down your slit, both shuddering lightly; moaning in union when he notched himself at your entrance. His eyes met yours in the mirror, his mouth parted, slowly sinking forward to the fucking hilt - making you feel impossibly full.

"Oh, Jesus fuck!"

He chuckled, shifting his hips, "Keep it down, love, don't need anyone bangin' on the door, interrupting us, huh?"

"I'll be quiet when you get a smaller dick."

This made Tangerine genuinely snicker, "Fair enough."

"Fuck's sake!" You yelped when he suddenly pulled back, surged in, and started his own rhythm. Through the mirror, you saw the concentrated, cocky expression he wore; looking purely focused, mesmerized by the way his cock would disappear within you, only to reappeared - soaking wet, glistening.

"Feel's divine," he hissed, the grip on your hips sure to leave bruises. "God, this pussy's made fa me - grippin' s'fuckin' tight. Who was the idiot who let this go, huh?"

"Really wanna talk about my ex now?" You panted.

"Nah, don't need to - 's mine now," he grit, one hand letting go of your hips to bring down on the meat of your bottom. "Hear me? Huh? Fuckin' mine now," he pommeled your arse a couple more times. "Like that, huh? Don't you? Feel you fuckin' squeezin' me each time."

"Yes," you moaned. "Fuck, yes, yes, God, you feel fucking amazing."

"Keep talkin'," another slap that made you squeak.

You were nervous 'cause you never considered yourself the best at dirty talk, but still tried, "So fuckin' good, makin' me so wet. Fuck - never had cock like this, so good - so deep, so big. Don't stop," you whimpered, his feet repositioning to allow himself a new angle and speed to drill into you. "Fuck, yes," you moaned loudly, encouraging, "harder, please, yes, yes, yes! Just like that!"

The motions cause ripples across the flesh of your bottom, thighs quaking. You pushed your hand down your front, your partner groaning at the sight as you found your clit and started massaging; the contractions squeezing Tangerine's cock tightly. His one hand traveled around the front of you, sliding up to yank your bra from your breasts; palming one with fever before tweaking your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger.

"Fuuuuck, Tan," you whined, moaning. "Don't stop, please, 's too fuckin' good!"

"I've got yah, darlin', almost there," he grunted, folded a little more over your back so he could fondle you roughly. "Naughty fuckin' girl, lettin' me bend yah over like this - don't even know me. Just knew you needed my cock, huh, love? Ain't that right?"

"Yes," you moaned, orgasm fast approaching.

"Probably let me do whatever I wanted t'you, huh?"

"Fuck yes, whatever you wanted, however you wanted me!"

"At's a good girl," he grit. "Takin' me so well, so fucking good. Need this pussy again, hear me? Fuck," he panted, increasing his speed to an erratic pace, "need a taste, need yah t'squirt on me again. Need this pussy in all positions." He bared his teeth, increasing his speed, hissing, "Lemme hear you scream, love. Wanna hear my name. from that pretty fuckin' mouth, c'mon."

"T-Tan, fuck, Tangerine, I-I'm right there, I'm so close - OH FUCK!" Your orgasm made you reel back into his chest, milking yourself on his impaling cock. You gasped, mouth left wide as his hand constricted around your throat, his mouth hot against your ear; biting and licking as he grunted forcefully.

He gasped in your ear, moaning your name on a short repeat, shuddering as he stilled himself; coating your wet interior with his thick ropes of hot, heavy cum. Your eyes were closed, head tilted back to his shoulder; his lips actually soft as he planted several kisses along your neck (that he released) and shoulder. "Holy fuck, doll," he whispered, chuckling in disbelief. "'S a li'l too good."

You smirked, "Yeah, I've heard that before, you're not the first t'tell me."

"Ah, way t'ruin it, doll," he joked, making you chuckle breathlessly. "All right?"

"Mhm," you sighed, eyes opening. "You?"

"Never better," he mused softly, sighing as you both tried to regain your breath. He let out a single grunt as he held your hips, pulling his cock free; releasing a gush of cum from you both to drip from your cunt. As you both redressed, he eyed you for a moment, then mentioned, "Listen, love, uh... Don't miss your stop."

"I wasn't planning on it?"

"Good... Just..." He sighed, closing up his shirt. "Make sure you get off this train."

You stared at him for a moment, pondering, "This have something t'do with that 'dangerous job' of yours?"

"A bit."

You hummed, zipping your jeans back up sans panties. "Why don't you get off, too?" You asked softly.

"Can't, darlin', got a job t'finish."

You nodded, "Then be careful, yeah?"

He nodded in return, reaching out to pull you in close. He took a second to look you over, smirking slightly, "Worried about me, are yah?"

"I don't even know you."

"We'll change that," he eased. "Your phone?" You offered a small look before sighing, reaching for your phone, unlocking it, and offering it to him. He typed for a moment, a distant buzz heard from his own phone, then handed it back to you. "I'll call you up sometime, love," he smirked, watching you reach back to unlock the door.

"You better," you mused, letting him press one more searing kiss to your lips. You hummed, pouting slightly and telling him, "Behave, or we'll go at round two."

"Don't threaten me with a good time, darlin'," he pocketed your shredded panties with a cheeky grin.

"You still owe me for those," you pointed.

"Send a bill, I'll make it up t'yah."

You smirked, "No bill, but I'd take dinner."

To your honest shock, a sort of... Contemplating, soft expression took over his face, nodding, promising quietly, "I'll call yah, darlin'. Just make sure you answer."

[ part two: Shower Shenanigans ]

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

[merthosus]

Don't kiss the cast members

Summary: You never had a problem with any of the cast members of the umbrella academy, except Aidan. You two couldn't stand each other since the first time you met. You were always good at ignoring him but the directors crashed the plan, by making you the love interest of the character Five Hargreeves. But as the day came you needed to train with him everything changed.

Here a sexy poster from Five I fell in love with! With every purchase you automatically support me :) https://amzn.to/3yGK6Fm

"This.. this wasn't wrote in the script"

Chicago, 9:20 am, you were walking outside the set with a coffee in your hands. It was cold, so the warmth of the cup made your heart flutter with happiness. It was always the smallest things that made you feel pride. You looked down at your chamber red nails while walking through the security guards. You didn't need to show them your ID; they knew you. After two years of being in the show, everyone knew everyone.

You loved attending the set, being surrounded by the most varied people, but today was different. Your stomach hurt, and your hands were slightly shaking. Knowing why your body reacted like that was easy. But your determination and the wish to earn money had driven you to attend the set today. You needed to remind yourself that this was a big part of your job... doing things you didn't want to do. You needed to swallow the pill, and you should be good to go.

Your thoughts went crazy as you said hello to the makeup artist. She was tugging at you here and there, putting little needles in the top you wore. You had been an actor for a few years now, so kissing in front of a camera was not that big of a deal for you, but kissing someone you didn't like was a little bit challenging.

The story of your character was pretty simple—not being that much in the limelight, operating in the shadows of the show. She was the daughter of the Handler, stalking Number Five and looking out for him as the Handler instructed her. The depth of the character was very interesting, so playing her was really an honor, especially because it was the biggest show you had ever been allowed to be on.

"You are ready, you like it?" she asked me. I nodded and smiled. "Thank you, this is very good work, as always," I told her. This was one of your rules: to appreciate the work people do for you, always trying to be nice to everyone. As you stepped out of the container, you saw Aidan walking by. He saw you too and headed in your direction. "Hi, you ready for the rehearsal?" he asked you. To be honest, this was the only thing you liked about him—he was always professional.

"Course, where you want to rehearse?" you asked him. He told you to follow him to Set 36. You knew the set from previous film scenes. Watching the others play was also a pretty big part of your job. You didn't need to, but you liked watching them, learning from their abilities. Robert Sheehan was one of the actors you looked up to; how he acted out his character was astonishing.

As you both walked to the empty set, neither of you even tried to make small talk. Your steps were loud as you walked with him, you read the script again and tried to memorize every little word. The set was very detailed; it was Five's room. You sat down on his bed and continued to read. "You ready?" he asked me. You nodded, laid the script aside, and positioned yourself better on the bed. The scene you needed to play was simple. You get into an argument, and then you kiss him. His part was to reject you and then walk out of the room. That's it—very simple. "Alright," you said while shaking your arms to prepare.

"Go on," you said, and Aidan got into his role. "STOP IT! Stop stalking me, you crazy little shit!" he screamed and walked around the room until he came to a halt at his desk. "I... I am not stalking you!" you yelled. He leaned himself onto the desk behind him. "I saw you following me several times!" he said angrily. Just now, you noticed how his jawline was nearly perfectly shaped—he could cut papers with that thing. You didn't answer him and just stared him down. Suddenly, he jumped away from the table and walked right in front of you.

He looked down at you. This was the moment. "I just... I can't explain," you said your last line. You could feel your heart pounding, like it demanded to get out of your torso. Your hands were shaking as if you had just drunk five espressos and two Red Bulls. "Explain, or I don't want to see you ever again," he whispered. You got up from the bed and stood before him. You felt like it was the first time you ever auditioned. You were as scared of this day as you were then. Without thinking and pushing your anxiety away, you grabbed his face and smashed your lips onto his.

Although you hated him with every muscle in your body, your whole stomach filled with butterflies as your lips landed on his. He tasted bittersweet, like he had just drunk coffee, and a little bit of woodsy cologne made him taste like that too. You waited for him to push you away, like it was written in the script. He was supposed to push you back onto the bed and leave, so you prepared for the fall. But he didn't.

He began to let his puffy lips roam over yours. It felt like you were flying straight to heaven. As you began to stroke his cheek with your thumb, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You let your hand travel around his neck, pushing your fingers into his dark hair. As your fingernails scratched his scalp, he opened his mouth wider, and you let your tongue sneak into his mouth. His lips felt like cushions pressing against yours.

You gasped as he let his hand fall, landing on your butt. But as soon as his lips connected with yours again, you couldn't think anymore. His other hand continued to travel up and down your waist, exploring every inch. He pushed your abdomen further into his, causing your head to tilt back slightly. He noticed and grabbed your neck harshly, pushing your head forward as he continued to let his tongue dance in your mouth, tasting you like ice cream.

You felt every last bit of oxygen leave your body, so you pushed your head away. The sudden feeling of leaving his lips made your whole body shudder with coldness. "This... this wasn't written in the script," you said, stuttering. "Then, unfortunately, we have to do this again," he said with a wide grin on his face. "Asshole."

Thank you for reading my love :) Here leading you to part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/merthosus/759274024052375552/dont-kiss-the-cast-members-summary-you-never?source=share

[wingsway01]

[maxknightley]

if elaine benes and george costanza ever decided to fight each other here's how I think it would go down.

george plans for a frontal assault, so he rents a bunch of bruce lee movies in the hopes that watching them will teach him how to fight. he ultimately gets bored halfway through the first one, decides "eh that's probably enough," and watches a bunch of old looney tunes shorts instead.

elaine, meanwhile, tries to play mind games. she starts hanging out with george's parents and gradually worms her way into their life, with the end goal of becoming a better son than he is. for obvious reasons, this backfires: frank and estelle start driving her insane, while george is thrilled to have them off his back.

"it's amazing, jerry! they never call, they never criticize me, they don't pressure me into coming over... it's like I don't even exist to them anymore! I've finally achieved my boyhood dream!"

unable to hang out with either of them alone lest the other accuse him of "picking a side," and unable to convince them to make peace, jerry finds himself spending time exclusively with his current girlfriend and kramer, usually both at once. at first he's worried that she'll either fall for kramer or grow sick of him, but miraculously, the previously-rocky relationship only grows stronger. jerry ultimately ends up paying kramer to be his professional wingman - though most of his "salary" comes in the form of the enormous meals kramer purchases whenever the trio goes out for dinner.

("you don't even eat half of it! you always have to get a box!" "I'm planning ahead, Jerry. this gravy train can't last forever, but in six months, I'll still be living large on leftover tiramisu and strip steak!")

ultimately, the appointed date arrives. george, realizing he's wasted the past two weeks and has no chance of victory, uses the only combat technique he can think of: convincing kramer to show up as well, and wearing a loud shirt, a cheap wig, and a bandolier of take-out boxes to try to confuse elaine. The gambit succeeds, ultimately culminating in elaine beating kramer to a pulp; once she's finished, her anger is quelled, and she and george make up.

jerry and his girlfriend, forced to eat dinner alone for the first time in several days, spend the night together in icy silence. ultimately, they decide on a mutual break-up; "the relationship just didn't make sense without kramer. where is he, anyway?"

kramer (hipsterii doofus) flees a stray dog (canis devourus), who has caught the scent of his vast assortment of take-out.

[femmefitz]

Rotating Mutual Aid Funds for Sudan and Gaza

DISCLAIMER IF YOU ARE MESSAGING ME ABOUT A CAMPAIGN:

I receive too many messages every day to personally respond to. I will reblog and queue your post as I receive your message, but I am unlikely to message back. This is not personal; it's just the only manageable way for me to deal with the volume of messages. Thank you for understanding.

(All links/descriptions were copied from this masterpost)

connecting humanity - securing internet access via donations of virtual sim cards (esims). if you can't afford a whole plan yourself, crips for esims is a communal pool that will use your donation to purchase and maintain esims

khartoum aid kitchen - currently running 12 community kitchen sites and supporting five others that collectively provide food for over 10,000 people

the sameer project - running various initiatives providing tents, medical care, and necessities. they have their own encampment project focused on sheltering families with children, sick and disabled members, or members in need of perinatal care

amal for women - currently focused on providing water, food, hygiene products, and shelter for displaced people. general projects include education programs for children, support and professional training for single mothers, and providing trauma care. also has a gofundme

I will reblog this post every week with an updated spotlight.

[vetteltea]

Max Verstappen and Secret Santa [no warnings]

Day 2 of the Vetteltea Advent Calendar

“Is this my one?” Your voice carries through the small barrage of producers and videographers, a camera transfixed onto your face as you lift the package, attempting to figure out what content was inside of the box.

You were exhausted; despite wrapping up the championship a month ago, simply focusing on obtaining more and more points for Red Bull Racing’s reputation, the tracks had been tough and jet lag increasingly aggravating. Abu Dhabi was the end of the road, one step closer to falling back home into your own bed. However, you could not hide the elation which fell onto your face as the Formula One media team had pulled you aside, letting you know it was time to film the reveal. 

You had been so excited to purchase your present this year; Yuki was always a fantastic pick, having selected him a set of chef knives and a hat, printed with a photo of himself and Pierre. Now, as the deep blue box was handed into your grasp, you couldn’t help but feel your heart race, gently shaking the box, determined to figure out the content.

“It sounds…heavy?” You try to give the best description possible to the woman standing behind the camera, urging you to unwrap the present in your hands. The temptation overrides, slipping your fingers through the silky bow and beginning to unwrap the formal packaging. “Whoever wrapped this…” you trail off. “Got it wrapped professionally. I don’t think any of us could wrap a present this good.” 

The paper eventually falls away, the camera adjusting as you place down the box upon the table, lifting the lid. Immediately, your eyes furrow together, and then soften in confusion, grasping around the item which you had been gifted. 

There, laid upon a pile of soft purple tissue paper, rested a Polaroid camera. It was small, coloured an off-white and was almost identical to the previous one you had owned. 

“What did you get?” The woman behind the camera had prompted, urging to get the content required for the Secret Santa video. Your trance upon the item is snapped away, blinking rapidly and looking up the lens trained on your reaction. 

“It’s a Polaroid camera and a bunch of film!” You lift the camera, showing it to the team, the smile on your face ever-present. “I bring a Polaroid to every race and take a photo but…someone broke it.” Your mind flickers back to your teammate, how he had insisted he could take a photo for Zandervoot; it was his home race after all. He had been nothing but apologetic, though that wouldn’t bring back your camera. 

“Who do you think got it for you? It must be someone who knows you well?” The woman prompts you to continue whilst your fingers trace over the device, elated that somebody must have understood the importance and value held to the memories you capture. 

“I mean…” you trail off. “A lot of us are close. It has to be someone who knows I do it…Daniel, maybe?” You think about the smiley Australian; how the two of you had bonded over your love of taking photos during global travels. The synchronized shake of the team signified you must have been wrong. It wasn’t Daniel. “Maybe Pierre?” He was almost always insistent on being in your photos, after all. 

“Think closer to home.” You misunderstand the woman for a moment, thinking of your neighbor in the city of Monte Carlo.

 “Valtteri?” Though, you’re almost certain he wouldn’t have got you this. You’re so certain it’s time to give up, lifting the camera out of its box, your attention being drawn immediately to the small Polaroid card being left underneath the device. 

There was a photo, a photo of a man holding up a white piece of card, his scrawling hand-writing undeniably recognisable. In lettering, he had spelt out one word, ‘date?’ 

There’s two more underneath, one with the driver holding a thumbs up, the other a thumbs down. You can’t help the grin returning to your face as you look up from the box, seeing his figure sitting a mere meter away from you, eyes trained on you, a smile on his face at the realization you had finally clocked. 

“Max.” You finally solve the problem, subtly slipping one of the Polaroids into your hand as the team take a few establishing shots, thanking you for being part of their marketing and turning their attention to your teammate, adamant on filming his segment next. 

Before they can, you subtly slide past his table, tracing his knuckles and resting the Polaroid in his lap, moving away before he can realize what has happened. Instead, he focused on the photograph in his hand, seeing his own figure staring back with a thumbs up. 

The last thing he sees is you turning the corner, still clad in Red Bull Uniform, a subtle wink thrown in his direction as you leave him to unwrap his own present, undeniably thinking of unwrapping something better later.

[clonerightsagenda]

Thank you for applying for a library card!

We are a large metropolitan library with twelve branches here in the city and a consortial agreement with ninety-seven different timelines (and counting). Your card is your ticket to our physical and digital collections, where we have something for everyone.

You’ve indicated that you are licensed for time travel and regularly travel in time or between timelines for work purposes, so you are eligible for our trans-timeline borrower’s card. Please read this document carefully to ensure you’re using your new card to its fullest potential and in compliance with library policy.

Our services:

The library has a floating collection, meaning items remain at the branch where they were returned rather than being sent back to the lending branch. However, we do return inter-timeline loans to their home universe to minimize temporal strain. If you’re browsing the shelves and see a book phasing in and out of existence, alert an employee. It’s probably misshelved.  

Our new online system allows you to keep the same login information in all timelines. No more keeping track of dozens of passwords! If you previously created multiple logins tied to one card, visit the circulation desk, and we’ll merge your accounts for you. No, this will not make you responsible for alternate selves’ outstanding fines, and any version of yourself telling you that is lying to you.

You asked, and we listened. Our new online catalog displays reviews from patrons from all relevant timelines on items exceeding a 90% similarity score. We request that patrons keep debates over the superiority of their timeline’s version to venues other than our catalog.

Although our staff members are not medical professionals, they have been trained to recognize signs of temporal instability. If you are experiencing characteristic symptoms (faintness, disorientation, physical and/or mental age changes, etc.), a staff member can administer grounding agents until emergency services arrive.

The library has a robust inter-timeline loan system. If you’re looking for a book or article not published in this timeline, fill out our online form or ask at the circulation desk. The average wait time for an ITL request is five business days. That’s shortened to three if you’re requesting an item stored at the James Patterson Interdimensional Warehouse. (Note: This estimate may change as the warehouse continues to expand under its own power, or if our courier gets lost there.)

Our policies:

We do not accept returns before the publication date (month and year). Cataloging books paradoxically created through stable time loops gets too complicated. You can check a book’s month of publication in a review journal like Booklist, which we make available online and in our non-circulating magazine collection.

We’ve recently gone fine-free in this timeline, meaning we no longer charge fees for overdue books. This policy varies between consortium timelines depending on whether certain people on the board of directors have retired yet.

If a book is damaged beyond repair, lost in a Time Hole, or overwritten out of existence by timeline changes, you will be responsible for the replacement cost or a flat fee of $30, whichever is lower. We do not recommend attempting to rewrite time to avoid losing or damaging the book, as we would prefer to purchase a new copy rather than tear a hole in the fabric of reality.

Patrons may use our computers for two hours. You can extend this time if there are no other patrons waiting. Show respect to other library users and do not abuse time travel to circumvent the policy when there is high demand. We will notice if there are two of you at our computing stations. Yes, even if one of you is wearing a funny hat.

The library values your privacy. We will not disclose account information or the content of reference transactions to anyone, including alternate versions of the account holder. The library also does not keep a record of the materials you check out. However, some of our databases do track user data. If you need to conceal your presence in this timeline to avoid paradoxes, the Time Cops, or your ex, we keep a collection of electronic resource licenses at the reference desk so you can judge which products to avoid.

Holder vs. Holder found that copyright protections extend across timelines and prior to publication, and copyright is exclusive to the iteration who created the work. Patrons attempting to copy library materials and publish them under their own name will have their cards revoked, even if they created the material in another timeline. This policy was adopted after consultation with our legal team. Trans-timeline copyright enforcement is very aggressive.

The library respects the personhood and autonomy of patrons no matter their timeline of origin. However, this respect is not always universal. If you need to know what the laws are for time travelers/alternate selves/dimension-hoppers/“timeclones”/etc. in this dimension (or the terminology used to refer to them), stop by the reference desk.

Violence is against library policy. If you are about to battle your alternate self from another timeline because you ran into each other in the cookbook section, take it to the parking lot.

In conclusion:

Libraries are committed to free access to information, and with the resources of dozens of timelines available to us, our mission has only gotten bigger. In fact, we’re hiring! If you’re looking for somewhere new to apply your time travel certification, we’re looking for team members in our inter-timeline loan department. Entry-level courier positions do not require an MLIS. Familiarity with James Patterson is a plus.

We can’t wait to see you in our library. (Maybe we already have.)  

[sugurouge]

— i feel my mind slowly fading : stripper au! togame jo, umemiya hajime, suo hayato x f!reader

summary: at your bachelorette party you are presented with a very special kind of surprise just for you. enjoy the show!

content warnings: nsfw, alcohol consumption in all three scenarios, handcuffs in umemiya's scenario, mentions of infidelity as well as sensory deprivation (blindfolding) in suo's scenario, pet names

a/n: i think, i wanted to add some dimension to these imagines and make them more unique. i hope you enjoy!! (i put full blame on seeing umemiya as a cop)

TOGAME JO — THE PROFESSIONAL

The neon lights of the strip club flicker above you; your head already feels dizzy from the sweet cocktails you have been fed all night long to keep the spirits high. Well, at this point they might be a little too high to keep you in check as you are set on the stage, part of a well-loved stripper's act.

The announcer welcomes you, asking the bride-to-be to take her spot for a very special surprise. And the surprise is handsome, through and through. Tall, very tall, extremely well-trained, his clothes fight to stay on his body. Those charming green eyes shine through despite the colourful lights, staring into yours with a silent invitation to lose yourself tonight.

You can’t help but giggle as he pushes you into the chair, the air being knocked out of your lungs upon the impact. The arousal pooling in your eyes is naughty, a dirty secret that will be kept between him and you once this show is over.

You’re allowed to touch, you just don’t dare to—afraid this moment will turn into a half-finished dream if you move. So, instead, Togame turns his back to you, his police cap sits deep on his face as he looks down, his hand running over his chest and abdomen to bask in the screams of the crowd.

They all watch him unbutton his shirt, hips dancing to the beat as he leans back. The neon lights move above his ripped body, every ab highlighted to perfection. Once the shirt lands on the ground, he grasps your hands with precision, luring you in to feel him, to explore his figure for all those hungry eyes watching from the crowd.

You might lose your sanity on the spot.

Meanwhile, his own hands stay busy with unbuckling his belt before throwing it aside and turning around, his hands finding purchase on the back of your chair as he grinds into the air, eyes boring into your own. How could you not give in to curiosity? How could you hold back now? No, not when his oiled body invites you so well to touch him again, to squeal like you never did in your entire life upon those chiselled abs, to forget about etiquette and your usually controlled self.

Decency? Lost at the threshold.

Replaced by confidence as the alcohol buzzes in your system and Togame frees himself from the tight pants, a well-trained tug and the buttons unpop for the item to be cast aside. He is on his knees for you in seconds, sliding forward for his face to ghost over your chest, your stomach, your throbbing pussy. You practically drool at the sight of his flexing back, your hands look pathetically small compared to his size. The strain this act causes brings sweat to trickle along the crevices of his skin as the flush under his pale skin deepens.

If you didn’t know any better you’d have your hands in his hair, thighs encasing his face to drown him in you.

But instead he pulls back, brings distance between your bodies as the show slowly comes to an end. The cheering of the crowd is almost as thrumming as the racing of your heart and pussy.

UMEMIYA HAJIME — THE AMBITIOUS

You never, never would have expected to spend the late hours of your bachelorette party at a strip club. Your friends had to swear not to plan anything odd, anything that could make your fiancé feel uncomfortable. You were more than just content in your relationship—absolutely thrilled to get married to the man of your dreams.

But now you’re seated on the horribly cheesy throne at the center of the stage, all the visitors of the club cheering for you. The sounds grow louder as you notice a figure coming from behind the curtains to take the spotlight. The first thing you notice is the tacky policeman getup, the handcuffs hanging from the cheap leather belt—you don’t dare to look up. You don’t dare to meet the stranger's face, praying your fiancé would come to pick you up on the spot.

Oh, but he feels good. Large hands ghost along your shoulders, lips brushing over your throbbing pulse point before the handcuffs click shut around your wrists. Yep, you’re stuck with this good cop, bad cop, whatever type of stripper.

And either one of your friends studied your fiancé’s touchy habits very closely and told the performer, or this guy is just very good at guessing your weaknesses.

The pads of his fingers feel so comforting as they tilt your chin up, encouraging you to open your eyes to fully appreciate the dashing man leaning above you.

You could die on the spot.

Your body jerks with shock, eyes widening as if they are about to roll out of their sockets as you’re met with the familiar blue eyes of your fiancé. “Haji!” you exclaim, but he shushes you, tutting once, twice, as a confident smirk forms on his lips. “Not now, princess,” he warns, quirking an eyebrow as his knee finds rest between your thighs on the chair. If he feels nervous, he’s damn good at covering it up. Eyes zeroed in on nobody and nothing but you as he makes a show of unbuttoning his shirt, every button causing you to feel more shameful, more needy.

You want to touch him. You want to touch what’s yours.

The rattling of the handcuffs makes him chuckle lowly—oh, you are so desperate. You stare at Ume’s tongue the moment it darts out to wet his lips before speaking. “No, no, not tonight; we’re not allowed to have sex tonight, darling.” There we go; your thighs press into his knee, teeth chewing on your bottom lip. He throws his shirt off, the crowd goes wild—and you go mad.

“You can look,” Ume continues, his own hands running over every spot you wish yours were, “but no touching,” his smug grin returns. Your eyes get lost in the flexing of his muscles, the bulging of his biceps as his hands unbuckle his belt to throw it aside, slowly grinding against your form, you feel his cock, your body yearning for the familiar stretch whenever Hajime fills you up. “I know it's hard, but you’re going to be a good girl.”

What you don’t know is that Umemiya only agreed to this because he doesn’t want any professional stripper on your lap. No, he’d rather grind against you, he’d rather make a show for everyone else to stare at, knowing that in a few hours he’s going to promise to respect and protect you for the rest of your life.

SUO HAYATO — THE PRETENDER

Nobody knows who he is. Possibly another newbie trying to get his career going, your friends assume. But not the big, brawny police officer they actually hired to strip for you tonight. They all swallow their thoughts of wonder down with more alcohol as Suo approaches your party, with only one goal in mind: you.

His hands lace around your neck, gently holding you in the chair as he whispers, “Congratulations to the bride-to-be,” into your ear, the familiar tassels of his earrings tickling your sensitive neck. Your stomach turns, eyes already fluttering shut upon the sensations that course through you. He must be good, your friends all conclude upon your reaction.

You left him behind years ago, scratched him from your life. You couldn’t be together, but you also couldn’t be apart. Every encounter ended in pure desire, a need for the familiarity of his love like none other. Suo accepted your move, tolerated that you needed to force distance. He couldn’t be the man you deserved, so someone else had to fill that spot—as difficult as it was to accept.

Difficult, more like impossible. He never moved on, never imagined letting you walk down the aisle for someone other than him. He spent years growing into a responsible man, perfecting the art of being a gentleman, only for you to fall into the pits of hell with him tonight.

A silky blindfold restricts your vision, inviting you to remember the nights spent with your ex-lover. The familiar scent fills your senses as Suo smoothly dances around you, fingertips tracing every inch of your exposed skin until you lean into his touch, chasing after the lost sensations once he pulls back.

Only to lean above your frame, to place his hands on the edge of the lounge chair, shamelessly leaning into your space, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember,” he starts. You could already moan. Instead, you chew on your lower lip, fighting yourself and your still evident desire for the man on top. “I had the chance to show up here tonight, or tomorrow at your wedding, giving an awful speech right before you would have given your life away to someone else…”

Your friends reel. You’re not sure why. Too afraid to reach out, to touch this fantasy you left behind. “Hayato…” nothing but a pleading whisper, followed by a whimper as he grabs your hands to help you unbutton his shirt. He feels good. Strong, solid. You miss the warmth of his chest. “I can’t remain silent. I can’t let you live a lie,” he continues, while your hands shrug open his shirt, nails grazing his abs and running along his well-trained thighs. “Run away with me, be mine again, forever.”

The idea makes you laugh. It sounds ridiculous. Who would throw their entire life aside to drown in the shadows of a past relationship? It doesn’t seem so bad anymore once soft hands crane your head back, once those familiar lips ghost over yours. “I can’t, Hayato,” you urge him, pushing against his chest in your final fight. “You can,” he promises you, “give into it, into me. Trust me.”

Your mind feels hazy. The sensations of alcohol and long-lost passion push the angel off your shoulder as the pretentious stripper performs his deceitful show for your friends.

What will you choose?

[f1daydreamers]

𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐬 [𝐓𝐀𝟔𝟔] 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

gif credits: @trenty

Pairing: Trent Alexander-Arnold x Fem!Reader

Summary: Arne, in hopes to focus on his team’s mental health as much as their physical, recruits a younger but just as educated psychologist to work one-to-one with the more reserved players. Trent is one of them.

A/N: This is me writing in hopes to distract myself from that abysmal final! Just to preface that Lee Richardson is the performance psychology consultant at LFC :) Also, I feel like Trent’s quite shy so I don’t think he’d be as rude as he is in this fanfic but for this to be a kinda enemies to lovers, I upped his rude boi energy by like 100% lol

There's no age gap btw! In the UK, it's doable to become a licensed sports psychologist in 6-10 years. If it took Reader 7/8, that would place her around 25 or 26 years of age. So, both Trent and Reader are of similar ages!

Warnings: psychology but nothing too in-depth, Trent’s rude in this :D, angst, very tense energy

Word Count: 1.9k words (6 mins reading time avg)

…

You checked your watch once, twice, then three times within a mere five minutes.

The sterile office, with its minimalist decor and muted lighting, seemed to magnify your impatience. Your eyes wandered to the vacant chair opposite you, and you sighed deeply.

Trent Alexander-Arnold was now fifteen minutes late for his first appointment.

“Not the best start,” you muttered under your breath.

Jotting a quick note on a pink Post-it to purchase a digital clock for your desk, you flipped the pen and clicked it shut, placing it down with a resigned finality. The email that landed in your inbox felt almost comically timed. It was from Lee, wishing you luck on your first official day.

You’d been in and out of the training center for the past week, organising your office, which had previously served as a spare room, often only used for the odd meetings.

Boxy and unfamiliar, it was a space you intended to transform into something warmer and more inviting with time. But any attempt to distract yourself proved futile; even the mental image of your office becoming a cozy haven couldn’t quell the unrest you felt inside.

Trent’s absence was more than a minor inconvenience; it felt like a deliberate message. After what Lee had disclosed about his rather aloof attitude, you couldn’t say you were entirely surprised.

Locking your office behind you, you ventured into the heart of the training facility. As you passed by groups of players and staff, your shoulders tensed imperceptibly. You adjusted your pace, trying to find a balance between caution and confidence.

Every corner turned, every nod exchanged with passing colleagues, felt like a small test of acceptance. Your mind raced with thoughts of proving yourself here. While a flicker of self-doubt danced across your features, you masked it beneath a veneer of professional composure.

You eventually found Trent tucked away in the far corner of a sparsely populated gym. A few exchanged ‘good mornings’ and ‘hellos’ momentarily eased your stress, but your tension returned as your gaze settled again on the man who had been purposefully late.

With a deep breath, you started heading towards him, weaving your way through the labyrinth of gym equipment.

You skirted around the treadmills, their rhythmic thudding echoing your own anxious heartbeat. Passing by the clanking weights, you dodged a few stray dumbbells left on the floor. The aroma of rubber mats and iron filled the air.

Finally, you rounded the weightlifting machines and found Trent on a mat, engrossed in his exercises. His headphones were still firmly in place, and his expression remained inscrutably focused, as though he was blocking out the world around him.

When you finally reached him, you hesitated, wanting to wait until he finished his set so as not to disturb his workout.

However, Trent spotted your reflection in the mirror in front of him as he came up. He stopped mid-crunch, the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. He looked down, knowing exactly what this would be in regard of. He’d seen you around the training grounds enough to be familiar.

His elbows rested on his knees as his arms folded inward. He exhaled deeply, trying to regulate his breathing.

He wiped the tip of his nose with the pad of his thumb, then pulled his headphones off and let them rest around his neck.

“What?” He looked at you with mild irritation, craning his neck to see you standing just a few steps behind him.

Your lips pressed together in a courteous and tight-lipped smile.

“Hi, Trent. I’m Y/N, the new psychologist. We had an appointment scheduled for twenty minutes ago.”

Turning back to face the mirror, he stretched his arms out in front of him before reaching for a hand towel to wipe the sweat from his brow and neck.

Then he shrugged, his indifference palpable.

“Yeah, I know.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his response as you studied his expression in the mirror. His face shifted subtly, but the changes were too fleeting to decipher.

“Then why didn’t you show up?” you asked, your tone calm but firm.

"I don't see the point," he responded flatly.

In one fluid motion, he planted one palm firmly on the ground before twisting his torso and hoisting himself up with a push, turning to face you as he rose gracefully to his feet.

Your eyes locked inevitably, the proximity of his body left you no choice but to gaze up at his face, your chin tilting ever so slightly upward.

Beads of sweat glistened from his forehead, and his mouth was slightly parted as he scrutinised you from head to toe. A scoff escaped him before he turned away, sliding off some weight plates and placing them methodically beside his mat.

"I don’t need some shrink telling me how to play football," he asserted dismissively, the hints of his accent colouring his defiant tone.

You took a moment to consider your response, your gaze tracing the broad shape of his shoulders. Despite the urge to react defensively, you couldn’t shake the awareness that someone might be listening in from behind you.

You cautiously approached him, aware of the tension hanging in the air, his eyes flicking to your reflection in the mirror.

"I'm not here to tell you how to play football," you began calmly, letting the weight of your words settle between you. "I'm here to help you navigate everything off the pitch that might impact your performance on it."

"Well, thanks, but no thanks," Trent said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I've managed fine so far."

“Have you?” you questioned, quickly scanning the room for any prying ears, relieved to find everyone engrossed in their own routines.

Trent rose up, clutching a 15-pound weight plate between his hands.

"Because from where I stand, the club thinks you could use some support. And honestly, there's no shame in that." That was a saying your professors had instilled in you from day one.

Trent's jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might ignore you. Instead, he pivoted to face you once more, his presence suddenly palpable.

"Look, I get that you're just doing your job, yeah? But don't expect me to pour my heart out to some stranger. Especially on someone else's schedule." He emphasised.

You blinked, but maintained eye contact, refusing to back down. "Fair enough. But I'm not going anywhere, Trent. Whether you like it or not, I'll keep trying to reach you."

He studied you for a moment, then shook his head slightly, leaning in just a bit closer.

"Good luck with that, psychologist."

…

"I think that's our time wrapped up, thank you so much, Conor." You hoisted yourself up with the armrests of your chair and gave a warm smile to the man opposite you.

"Yeah, no worries. I'll see you around." Conor said as he turned, rounding the chair he was just sitting on, giving you a final nod and smile before leaving and closing the door behind him.

You waited until it clicked shut before you sinked into your chair again. Your work was deeply important to you, one of few things in life you were immensely passionate about, but man, it took its toll on longer days.

You rubbed your temples in a poor attempt to alleviate the dull ache that had formed from hours of conversation. As you tried to gather your thoughts, the interruption in the form of a new email snapped you back to reality.

It was from Lee, asking you to come and see him when you were free.

Your head rolled back for a brief moment of respite. Trent had been on your mind ever since your confrontation earlier, lingering in the back of your thoughts throughout the day, despite the overall improvement as the hours ticked by.

Resigning yourself to more work, you pushed yourself up with a temporary surge of motivation. Straightening your blouse and combing your hair with your fingers, you headed towards Lee's office across the hall.

The door stood ajar, a silver name plaque bearing his name neatly affixed. Lee's office exuded an air of scholarly authority, with shelves lined with books, framed certificates adorning the walls, and strategically placed pieces of Liverpool memorabilia.

He glanced up from his desk as you knocked on the doorframe.

"You asked to see me?" you inquired, your head tilting slightly as he closed the folder he was reading, sliding it into the filing cabinet behind him.

"Yes, come in," Lee replied, gesturing toward the chair positioned across from him.

You smoothed down your skirt as you settled into the chair, intertwining your hands on your lap.

His demeanor exuded encouragement, warmth evident in the gentle lines of his smile. As he gathered his thoughts, your eyes fell upon a framed picture on his desk. Lee stood on the far left, flanked by several players including Trent and Curtis, their bright smiles frozen in time.

Your own smile deepened at the sight, noting how much younger they all appeared in the photograph. But as today's events replayed in your mind, your gaze momentarily lowered before returning to meet Lee's.

"A few years ago, that one," he pointed briskly at the photo, though he didn't give you time to respond before changing the topic - a relief, in your opinion.

"So," Lee clasped his hands together, "first official day? How'd it go?"

Pushing back thoughts of Trent deliberately, today had gone rather well.

"Good, honestly. Wataru and Conor were a little shy at first, but I think I was able to break through by the end of our sessions. Curtis was quite bubbly and a joy to talk to. We had some positive discussions too." You truthfully answered, giving a polite smile to round off your answer.

He nodded, impressed. Without a word, he turned to squint at his computer screen, his glasses perched atop his head. "And Trent?"

You cleared your throat, your tongue swiping over your bottom lip nervously. After a moment's hesitation, you shook your head once before answering.

"Trent didn't show up." You admitted with a wry smile. "I found him in the gym and brought it up but I wouldn't say that was a positive discussion."

Lee chuckled softly, his voice carrying a gentleness that belied his words. "Trent’s a tough nut. He’s got a lot on his shoulders and doesn't easily trust new people. But that's why you're here."

You nodded resolutely. "Absolutely. I don't intend on letting up."

"If you want me to step in-" He began but you shook your head again, halting him in the middle of his sentence.

"I respectfully don't think that's going to help. He's not exactly trusting of me right now, and I'm worried about the impression you stepping in might leave. I'm fortunate he's at least talking to me and sharing his feelings." You said with a measured tone, your words careful and tinged with a hint of apprehension.

"Well, you're the pro," you smiled at his joke, exhaling a sigh.

"I'm relying on your guidance, Lee. I can only hope he'll start working with me."

Lee nodded thoughtfully. "Trent respects effort and authenticity. He's introverted, sure, but once he's comfortable, he's a lovely lad."

"I'm sure," you blinked, fiddling nervously with your fingers.

Once he's comfortable.

That shouldn't take too long, you lied to yourself.

...

Part 2

Masterlist

Comment below if you want to be part of the taglist! Once you are part of it, you'll be reminded for every part of the series until its completion!

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Azul Ashengrotto - Apprentice Chef Voice Lines

Summon Line: I'll be learning to cook under the tutelage of a professional chef.... What a fantastic class this will be. I'll have to make the most of this opportunity.

Groooovy!!: To my taste, the dish seemed merely adequate... However, it seems I was still able to receive a fairly high evaluation.

Home: Proper health and safety is essential.

Home Idle 1: If the risotto used for the rice croquette is too hard, the texture will be wrong, and if it is too soft, it cannot be sculpted into balls. This is difficult to get just right...

Home Idle 2: According to Silver-san, taking in nutrition is also a form of his training. But he can't fool me with his flattery...

Home Idle 3: I've tried various recipe substitutions before, such as frying chicken without deep-frying, or using soy beans instead of meat... However both the flavor and texture would always fall short of what I was hoping.

Home Idle - Login: Even those in management should try to gain experience out on the floor sometimes. That way the employees can't possibly have anything to complain about, wouldn't you say?

Home Idle - Groovy: Fantastic, with this, I should receive top marks... Fufufu... You see!? Even I can create delicious meals if I put my mind to it!

Home Tap 1: I've been able to gain an understanding of ingredients and various meals thanks my interactions with the chefs who work at my mother's restaurant. I am using that knowledge as my foundation as I strive to learn even more.

Home Tap 2: For some time, I would eat mostly only health food, as it was an easy way to count calories... It was to the point that I began to utterly dislike it.

Home Tap 3: I must keep a careful watch on the oil's temperature. If it becomes too hot, it's possible that the croquettes will burst open mid-fry.

Home Tap 4: The Mostro Lounge offers a special rotating menu. Especially since costs can be reduced by purchasing seasonal ingredients.

Home Tap 5: Gurk...! I only paused stirring for the slightest moment and the rice started sticking to the frying pan... I need to quickly recover from this mistake.

Home Tap - Groovy: Did you enjoy that? How wonderful. Now then, what should I receive in return for this dish...? Fufu, I kid.

Requested by Anonymous.

[ereardon]

Homecoming [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter 2

Summary: Returning home to California after six years abroad in England, you found everything has changed. Jake Seresin, your father's former college roommate and lifelong best friend, is now a widower and has purchased a new vineyard in Montecito, only a few miles from your childhood home. Your parents’ marriage is on the rocks, your brother is struggling with what to do with his life, and you’ve grown up and are starting your own counseling practice. So what happens when you find yourself falling for the man your father calls his best friend? And worse, what happens when your parents find out he’s falling for you, too? 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader

Warnings: Age gap, eventual smut, cursing, alcohol

Word count: 2.2 K

Chapter overview: Y/N starts her first day at work at Jake's vineyard

Author's note: This fic references a significant age gap, as reader is the child of Jake's best friend. However, she's in her mid-twenties, and he's been only a small part of her life to this point as he spent the majority of his time traveling with his late wife. This fic does not depict grooming, but if you are concerned with any of the themes please read at your own risk.

Masterlist here

Colin, despite being eleven months and five days older than you, was your first patient. Although neither of you realized it at the time.

You remembered it clearly. The two of you sitting on the edge of the pool, toes swinging in the water, the sun glinting off the surface and bursting into a million shards of light across the tile bottom. 

“I’m mad,” he said. 

You looked over but his eyes were trained on his feet, thrashing in the chlorinated pool. “Why?” you asked. 

He shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

“Is it because of mom?” you asked. Another head shake. “Is it dad?” There was a pause. You sensed a shift in his demeanor, even at eight years old. You pushed. “He thinks you’ll like it. Make friends.” 

Colin turned to you, his shaggy hair covering one eye. “I have friends.” 

“I don’t count.” 

“You might like it,” you whispered. “Camp is fun.” 

“Cowboy camp,” he replied, frowning. 

“Horses are cool.” 

“You think that because you’re a girl.” 

Your eyebrows knitted together. “At least dad is letting you go to camp.” You pulled your legs out of the water. “He won’t even let me out of his sight.” 

Colin’s small shoulders sagged. “That’s because he loves you more.” 

Your mouth dropped open, but nothing came out. Just air, filling your lungs, mounting so much pressure in your chest you were scared to let it out, lest you collapse. Colin’s back stayed turned away from you. 

And then it was over. And you went inside, wet legs sticking to the edges of your capri pants. 

***

“What do I wear?” you asked your mom, standing in front of your open closet. Everything in it felt wrong. The dresses you wore to the nightclubs in Berlin, the jeans that spent nights at the pub, your old high school wardrobe that was seriously dated. God, you needed new clothes. Something that said young professional, but not in a sad way.

“I have no idea, dear.” Your mother picked up a lace thong that you had tossed on the bed and frowned. “I’ve never been to the vineyard.” 

“What?” You swiveled around. “You’re kidding.” 

“Your father is the one who goes,” she replied with a shrug. “He and Jake have always been closer.” 

It was true. Jake and your father had been college roommates at USC, randomly paired together freshman year. They couldn’t have been more different, but somehow they made it work. 

You grabbed a blue dress with a tie in the middle and turned back toward your mother. There was something about her gaze, the way she was looking out the window. “Mom?” you asked. “Everything OK?” 

“Of course,” she replied instantly, but her voice caught at the end, a small lift that set off a warning sign in the back of your brain. 

You frowned. “Alright. Well, I’ll see you guys tonight at dinner?” 

She stood up, smoothing her hands over her linen pants. “Have a good first day.” 

You turned toward the mirror, angling the dress over your body before tossing it on the bed. You couldn’t afford to fuck this up. It wasn’t just that you owed it to Jake. You owed it to yourself to show up and prove that you could be successful outside of an academic environment. 

***

Thirty minutes later, you stepped through the vineyard doors. The sound of your heeled boots echoed in the vast entryway. “Jake?” 

“Sparky.” Jake appeared from your left, wiping his hands on a towel that he then slung over his shoulder. You breathed a sigh of relief. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a loosely buttoned shirt, a pair of loafers rounding out the look. You sent up a silent prayer that you had also worn jeans, albeit a tight pair with a slight flare, and a silk sleeveless turtleneck. “Ready to meet the crew?” 

You nodded. Jake spent the next hour introducing you to everyone, from the waitstaff for the tasting room to the food engineers helping to bottle and test the wine, and the farmer he had on staff to cultivate the small garden where they grew fresh vegetables to include in charcuterie plates. 

“Your job is to be the puppet master,” Jake said as the two of you emerged back onto the main floor. “There’s two hostesses. If they’re both gone, you can man the front table. At the end of the day, you and I will sit down and look at the books and go over how things went and where we need to make changes.” 

A silent scream rose in your throat. This was too laissez faire for your taste. You needed rules, regime. 

Jake grinned, putting one hand on your upper arm. His touch was warm, inviting. Once again, you looked down at his bare ring finger and felt a longing for Jenny. “You’ll do great,” he said. “Trust me, you’ll know what to do. It’s intuitive.” 

“Where will you be?” you asked. “If I need you.” 

“You won’t need me,” Jake asserted. “But if you do, I’m around.” 

“Helpful.” 

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Is that how you talk to all your bosses?” 

You flushed. “Oh my God, I’m sorry, I didn’t even–”

He laughed. “It’s OK, Y/N. I know it’s a weird dynamic, because we know each other. I don’t expect you to call me Mr. Seresin or anything like that. I trust you, and that’s why I’m giving you free reign of the place.” 

The blush was still inching down your neck. You nodded, gulping. Jake reached out, squeezing your upper arm gently. “I’ll be in my office, alright?” 

Jake disappeared down the staircase and you swiveled around, nerves worming their way through your body. Just as you were about to flee into a corner, the doors swung open and a young couple stepped up to the podium. 

“Hi, we’re the Kellers,” the woman said. “We had a one o’clock reservation?” 

Jake and Amy, the host, had shown you how to use the tablet. Your fingers shook as you pressed buttons on the screen, pulling up the reservation, a sigh of relief bubbling in your throat as you found their names. Ethan and Whitney Keller. 

They sounded as white as they looked. 

You looked up, smiling. “Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Keller. If you’ll please follow me.” 

Jake had been right. A part of you cursed him a little. It came naturally. Floating around, asking people how they were, chatting lightly about the wine. All those years in Europe had done nothing if not given you a taste for alcohol. 

Plus, you liked talking to people. You always had. You listened and gave them thoughtful responses. You could read people – if there was tension, if someone in a group felt left out, if they wanted to be left alone. 

It was almost like therapy. With wine. For a split second you wondered if you could get a liquor license for your clinic before realizing that was an insane thought. 

At the end of the day, once all the tables were wiped and the floor was mopped, the wine was put away and the rest of the staff had gone home, you found yourself outside on the bench at the edge of the patio, overlooking the vineyards, a small tree above you gently blocking the setting sun. 

“Can I join you?” 

You turned just as Jake slid into the spot next to you on the bench. 

“You were amazing,” Jake said. 

A blush crept up around your cheeks. “Thank you.” 

He threaded one arm against the back of the bench, behind your head and shoulders. It was casual, not cloying or weird at all. His scent, that familiar crushed stone fruit smell, wafted over you as the soft breeze carried your scents together, melding them in the air. 

“Do you have dinner plans?” 

You thought about your parents, sitting at home in the Spanish Villa they had built when you were three. About Colin, who you still had barely seen since you returned from London. 

“I’m free.” 

“Good.” Jake stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. “I’ll make you dinner. Hugo will be excited to see you. And we can taste the new crop of wine.” 

As you watched Jake walk back up the hill toward the building, a strange sensation built in your stomach. For the first time ever, you realized that Jake Seresin was more than just a family friend. 

***

“It’s hot.” 

“Ow, ow, ow!” 

Jake laughed as you let your mouth hang open, pasta tumbling back onto the plate. You closed your mouth, wiping it with a napkin. “OK, ew, sorry you had to see that.” 

“I warned you,” he replied, twirling a fork in his bowl of creamy vodka pasta. “You just don’t listen. You never have.” 

“That’s not fair,” you said, breaking off a piece of bread and sliding your hand down to your thigh, feeding Hugo under the table. He greedily chomped at the bread, and you wiped your fingertips on your thigh. 

“I saw that,” Jake countered and you laughed. “Don’t spoil him too much or he’s going to stop liking me and he’ll only want you.” 

“That’s the plan,” you replied, patting the Golden’s head. 

Talking to Jake was easy. It wasn’t until the two of you sat down to dinner that you realized in all the years you had known him, Jake and Jenny flitting in and out of your life as they returned or started a new global trek, you had only limited interactions with Jake. 

Before taking the job at the vineyard, you had only one distinct memory of Jake Seresin. On your nineteenth birthday, right before you left for London after your gap year, Jake and Jenny had been staying at your parent’s house. After dinner, as everyone sat around with glasses of champagne, Jake handed you a gift, wrapped in silver paper. 

Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a pearl dangling off the edge. You looked up in surprise. 

He smiled. “I saw it when we were in Vietnam and had to get it for you.” 

After dinner, as Jake cleared the table and you sat on the floor playing with Hugo, you reached up and touched the pearl necklace underneath your turtleneck collar. It was hidden, but it was there. 

“Drink?” Jake asked, emerging with a bottle and two glasses. 

“Do you ever get tired of wine?” you asked, standing up and stretching, the hem of your shirt coming untucked for a moment and you reached back down, sticking it into the top of your jeans. 

“Never.” He grinned, pouring the dark red wine into a glass and handing it to you as you settled onto the couch. Jake poured himself a glass, sitting in a wingback chair near the fireplace. 

“How are you?” you asked quietly. On the mantle was a picture of Jenny. She had been beautiful. Dark hair, piercing green eyes. A laugh that could fill a room. 

Jake stilled. Hugo sensed it because he left his place at your feet and made his way to Jake, nudging his head against Jake’s thigh. “It’s quiet,” he replied after a moment. “Being alone.” 

“How so?” 

“Leaves you alone with your thoughts,” Jake said. “A good thing, and a bad thing.” 

“I understand,” you whispered. 

Jake cocked his head to one side. “Do I need to pay you for this?” he joked. 

You hid your face behind your wine glass. “Sorry, force of habit.” There was a pause. Then, “Have you, um, dated? Since?” 

“A few dates, yeah. But everyone I met, they just didn’t hold up to her.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“She loved you,” Jake said. “That time that we came to see you in London and the two of you went shopping at Harrods? She came back to the hotel practically giddy. Said that even though the two of you had an age difference, she felt like you were a friend she could count on.” 

“I loved her, too,” you replied, a tear forming in the corner of your eye. “I’m so sorry I didn’t make it back for the funeral.” 

Jake shook his head. “Really, don’t worry about it. Jenny wasn’t one for funerals. Neither am I, for the record. If it ever comes to that.” 

“It won’t,” you replied instantly. “Jake Seresin? You’re unstoppable.” 

“So was she,” he said softly. “Life happens, Y/N. You can’t predict it. You just have to keep going and hope that you find something else that makes you happy.” 

“Have you?” you asked. “Found something else that makes you happy?” 

“I’m working on it.” 

Tag list:

@lyn-js @seresinhangmanjake @bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @clancycucumber230 @dempy @allbark-no-bite @teacupsandtopgun @na-ta-sh-aa @katiedid-3 @bradshawburner @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @rosiahills22 2 @emo @horseshoegirl @eminyourjeans

[crackedpumpkin]

Okay how about Cole dating f!reader and one of her ways of showing affection is by making flower crowns for him

Flowers and nature in general being one of her favorite things in life

Hello lovely!! I'll be real, this is the fastest ask I've ever written, with a record-breaking one and a half hours lmao

I hope you enjoy this!!! And thank you for letting me know because I didn't receive the ask the first time (Thanks tumblr.)

|| ꜰʟᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴄʀᴏᴡɴꜱ || ᴄᴏʟᴇ ʙʀᴏᴏᴋᴇꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ||

“Another?” 

Cole wakes up to flower petals tickling his nose. He lets out a loud sneeze, startling Kai awake. The fire ninja groans, covering his head with his pillow in an attempt to escape the rising sun. 

The earth ninja takes the flower crown you had snuck onto his chest in his sleep, a soft smile gracing his lips when he realizes you had probably put it there before you left for work. 

His fingers gently brush against the soft pink freesia, now wide awake as he sits up.

You usually went to work at five a.m. on the weekdays, but you only needed to stay there till three p.m. since your job was mainly remote. However, your supervisor was in a different country at another timezone, and you needed to be at the office to look professional.

You despised it, and so did Cole. 

He’d notice when you slipped out from under the covers, your side of the bed gradually turning cold. His arms felt empty without you, with your head snug under his and tucked into the crook of his neck.

You hated it too, leaving the comfort of his arms and bed the last thing you wanted before he woke up. So you resorted to leaving little gifts for him before heading off for work. Flower crowns, to be exact.

The habit had started before you, and Cole even started dating. You used to come over to hang out with Jay, the bubbly ninja eager to beat you in every video game he possessed. You had met him in a games store, ready to purchase the latest fighting game. 

You noticed a crowd around a gaming machine set up for demos and went over to look. That’s when you spotted the ninja in his blue gi practically smashing the buttons on his controller, earning himself a new high score. 

You couldn’t let him take your place as the reigning champion of the game, so you stepped up, challenging him to a match where you utterly destroyed him.

That’s when he invited you for a rematch, a friendly rivalry that sparked your friendship. 

When you arrived at the monastery for the first time, you were intimidated by all the ninjas, including their sensei. Though he was kind, it was slightly unnerving how he looked at you with a sense of foreboding.

And then you met Cole.

— — — — — — — — 

“Jay, what’re you having for dinner?” 

A deep voice startles you out of your concentration, but you don’t dare look up, too engrossed in beating Jay. 

“Uh, I dunno, anything, I guess. What’re you getting?” Jay says, eyes trained on the screen. You gnaw on your bottom lip in thought, mentally narrowing down who you had already met and whose attractive voice it could be. 

You had already met Zane, Lloyd, and Nya. So that only left either Kai or Cole. It couldn’t be the fire ninja, though, you had seen him being interviewed a while back, and his voice had a slightly higher pitch. This one had more of a baritone quality, a slight rasp at the end that made your stomach do funny little flips. 

So this had to be Cole.

You risk a quick glance, doing a double take. Your eyes unashamedly rake over the stranger’s muscular build, catching yourself ogling his biceps. You shake your head, cheeks flushing and praying that neither has caught you staring.  

Jay was still focused on the game, and Cole (you assume) was chugging down a glass of water. You find it hard to swallow, noticing how his skin has a glowing sheen from all the sweat. He had probably come back from a workout.

You tear your gaze away before he notices, still feeling the heat in your cheeks. You hear him set down the glass with a soft sigh, your body tense. 

Is your hair okay? Did you look homeless? Did he notice you staring?

Your mind races with thoughts until the words ‘Game Over’ flashes on the screen, a victorious shout from Jay snapping you out of your thoughts. You groan, tossing the controller to your side.

“Who’s this?” You turn, willing the flush in your cheeks and neck to subside. 

“Oh, I forgot to introduce you guys. Y/n, this is Cole. Cole, this is Y/n, my newest rival!” 

“Is that really what I’m being introduced as?” You grin in a joking manner, eliciting a shrug from your friend. 

“Cool. Are you sticking around for dinner? Zane might be cooking tonight.” Cole looks straight at you, waiting for an answer. 

You’re speechless, managing a nod. 

Were you just invited to dinner? With the ninja, no less??

— — — — — — — — 

“Here.” You place a flower onto Jay’s head, and he blinks several times before pulling it out of his hair.

“Is this mine?” He asks innocently, and you nod in response. 

“HA! Suck it, Kai! You’re gonna be the last to get one!” He shouts across the ship, holding it up triumphantly as you roll your eyes with an amused smile.

You had started the habit of giving flowers and little trinkets you found in nature to the ninjas. Zane was the first to receive one, a tiny acorn you had picked up during your walks in the park to recharge your social battery.

He had cooked a marvelous dinner, and you had randomly given it to him to express your appreciation. He had taken it with a confused yet thankful smile and proudly showed it to the rest during dessert. 

The rest of the ninjas became more invested in seeing who was the next one to receive anything. You had triggered their curiosity and anticipation once you had given Nya a beautiful piece of sea glass you had picked up at the beach. She treasured it like it was a diamond, keeping it on her dresser along with her jewelry.

Now, Jay had his small trinket.

Kai was next. He had made the time to help you go grocery shopping when your other friends were busy, driving you there and back in his car. He helped you unload the groceries, thinking nothing of it until you returned to your room for a brief moment, returning with a preserved amber leaf paperweight. 

“This is mine?” He asks, wide-eyed. He takes it from your hands when you grin, admiring the flickers of orange in the paperweight, the colours resembling the sparks of a fire. He wraps you up in a brief hug, excited to go home and show it off to the rest.

“Looks like Lloyd and Cole are the last to receive anything.” Kai chuckles, reveling in the fact that he had received it before they did. 

Your sheepish grin gives it away. His eyes widened. “Just Lloyd?” 

You shake your head with an embarrassed flush.

“Just Cole??” 

— — — — — — — — 

Truth be told, it was challenging to decide what to give the earth ninja. He was the most put together, the most vigilant of them all. 

And the most attractive. 

You had briefly considered a smooth pebble, its midnight shade reminding you of his gi. But that wasn’t good enough. You could imagine the disappointment in his eyes, comparing his stone with the other gifts you had gotten the rest of them.

Besides, it was too cliche. A rock? For the Earth ninja? 

You’d rather bury yourself six feet under.

You were sitting on a mat near the pond in the monastery, having been invited on a small picnic in the sunny weather. You had gathered an assortment of flowers in front of you, starting to absentmindedly weave together the stems into a flower crown. 

The ninjas were chatting away, and their senseis were sitting on the wooden floor of the small pavilion nearby, sipping on tea and watching their students fondly. You were almost done, looping the last flower through the stems.

“Is that mine?” 

Your breath hitches when you glance up, the shy yet boyish smile on Cole’s lips making your heart flutter. He sits down beside you, peering over your shoulder to get a better look at the flower crown you hold loosely in your hands. 

“Y-yeah.” You hope he doesn’t catch the stutter, though a slight upwards quirk of his lips suggests otherwise. 

“That’s a relief,” he laughs, leaning back with his face tilted towards the sun, “I was starting to think you had forgotten about me.” 

Your cheeks fill with a familiar heat, shaking your head with wide eyes. “No! I’d never forget.” You suppress an embarrassed groan at how your words came out, but you’re left breathless when you notice the soft dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“That’s good then,” He murmurs, peeking an eye open with a small smile. 

You bite down on your bottom lip in thought, summoning up all your courage to reach upwards and place the completed flower crown on the top of his raven-black hair, fingers brushing against his bicep. (Definitely not on purpose, of course. A total accident.)

He grins, sitting upright. 

“Nice crown, Cole!” Jay giggles, drawing the attention of the other ninja. 

“Why thank you, it was a gift.” He pauses to send a wink your way, but you look down quickly, flustered by the sudden action though you can’t help the shy smile that spreads across your lips.

You look back up as he saunters to the rest of the group, showing off his present. You watch how he laughs at something Kai says, your gaze soft as he glances back at you. You start like a deer caught in headlights. However, he doesn’t look away, nodding absentmindedly at Jay’s remark that goes unheard. 

Your mind is blank, a single thought floating around inside.

Flower crowns look good on him. 

[spnhunter4life]

Familiar

Summary: Sam, Dean and Y/N are on a case, and it turns out Y/N is just the monster's type.

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: reference to nonconsensual sex, canon typical violence

A/N: I've had this one done for a couple of weeks, but things have been very busy and so I just finally got around to doing a reread/edit of it. I hope everyone enjoys it!

This one includes the writing prompt "character A flipping positions and shoving B against a wall 'now this seems more familiar doesn’t it?'"

I don't remember where I found this. I have a list of prompts I saved, but didn't include who posted them, so if you happen to know where this came from, let me know and I'll give credit to that person.

Also, I've had someone ask me to be tagged in new stories I post. I am happy to do this, so if anyone else is interested in being tagged, let me know!

Masterlist

I met the Winchesters for the first time five years ago when I was 22. I was in college and had just moved to a new dorm building that turned out to be haunted by a ghost. I had been the next intended target when Dean and his dad stepped in and saved me. That was the last time I would see either of them for a long time, but I never forgot the faces of the people who had saved my life.

After that experience, I was obsessed with the supernatural. Dean and I had talked a little bit before they left town, and he told me about how he and his dad traveled the country killing monsters. I wanted to do that too. I wanted to be able to save people’s lives the way they had saved mine.

So a couple months later I dropped out of school and started getting ready to hunt. I signed up for a gym membership and started going everyday as well as taking boxing and Krav Maga lessons. My life had given very little opportunity for me to build muscle or learn to fight. But I wasn’t stupid enough to go into a fight with a supernaturally strong creature completely unprepared.

I gave myself a year to get in shape and learn to defend myself. During this time, I put every spare minute I had into research. I looked into what kinds of monsters were out there, how to kill them, which ones were most common. While doing all this research, I ran into a man named Bobby Singer. He had all kinds of helpful information and taught me how to track them down. I started the process of purchasing weapons I would need and also saving up money.

Once I felt ready, I set off on my first hunt. The overwhelming satisfaction I felt at saving a person from the ghost that had been haunting them was too much to ignore. I knew without a doubt now that this is what I should be doing with my life. So I went on another hunt. And another. 

Things were a little rough going at first and I got more injuries than I cared to admit – fighting a trained professional in a controlled environment wasn’t the same as going up against an angry monster – but my fighting skills improved and things started going smoother soon enough. I didn’t regret my choices.

I ran into Dean a little over a year later. I was looking into what I suspected to be a witch and had stopped for lunch at a local burger joint when I saw him. I recognized him immediately and went to talk to him. It took a little bit for him to remember me, but he did. When he asked what I was doing so far from home, I told him what I’d been up to since the day he saved my life. He seemed surprised and impressed. Apparently the people he saved didn’t often take up hunting afterwards. 

When I asked after his dad, he told me that they were starting to work separate cases on occasion. They still hunted together too, but not as often. 

Since we were both in town for the same reason, we agreed to work the case together. It was difficult at times, learning to rely on another person and factor their thoughts and opinions into what we were doing. I’d never hunted with someone else before. In other ways, though, it was so much easier. I decided I kind of liked having a partner. Dean and I worked well together.

He must have thought so too, because the day after we finished that hunt, he asked if I wanted to come with him to look into a string of suspicious murders a couple states over. I’d been hunting with him – and occasionally his dad – ever since. 

About nine months into our new arrangement, his dad went missing and so we picked up his brother Sam from school to help find him. Adding him to the mix had been another adjustment. That was two years ago now though, and we’d all found an easy rhythm together.

“We should go check this out,” Dean said, sliding the newspaper he’d been looking at across the table to Sam and pointing at one of the articles.

We were at a diner waiting for our breakfast to be brought out. Sam scanned the article.

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam said, passing the newspaper to me when I motioned for it. I skimmed the article Dean had found. 

“Come on, Sam. Three murder suicides in under two weeks. That’s weird,” Dean insisted.

“It is weird. I just don’t see how it’s our kind of weird,” Sam answered. 

“Y/N? What do you think? You agree with me, don’t you?” Dean asked, confident I’d back him up. We typically saw things pretty eye to eye. Not always though.

“Well, actually I agree with Sam. There’s nothing here that really makes it sound like our kind of thing. But,” I continued, saying the word a little louder to stop Dean’s protest. “It’s only a few hours away and we have nothing else to do right now. So we might as well go check it out.”

“Alright, fine,” Sam agreed, sighing at the triumphant look on Dean’s face. “But I really think we’re wasting our time.”

“Right. Because we’ve got much more important, productive things going on here,” Dean said sarcastically.

“It’s never a waste of time,” I said. “Even if it ends up being nothing, making sure people aren’t being killed by something supernatural isn’t a waste. What if we decide it’s not worth checking out and it turns out it is our kind of thing? Then those deaths would be on us.”

“Ok, yes, you’re right. I already said we could go check it out,” Sam said.

“Well thanks for the permission, Sammy. I really don’t think we could’ve moved forward without it,” Dean snarked.

“Bite me,” Sam answered.

“Alright, cut it out you two,” I scolded.

The waiter brought our food out and we spent the meal trying to come up with ideas of what we could be dealing with. We didn’t come up with much since we had so little information to go off of. Dean paid our bill and we were just heading out the door when something occurred to me.

“Oh! What if it’s a siren?” I suggested.

“A siren? From Greek mythology? Like in The Odyssey?” Dean asked. 

“What?” Sam looked at his brother in surprise. 

“What?” Dean asked, a little smug and a little offended.

“What do you know about sirens?” Sam asked me, moving past his shock at Dean’s knowledge.

“Not much,” I admitted. We reached the car and I climbed into my usual spot behind Sam. “All the vics have been couples though, right?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed, turning in his seat to face me. “Is that important?”

“All I really know about sirens is that once they infect you they convince you to kill someone you love. The only siren case I’ve heard of had several husbands killing their wives before it was stopped. So maybe in this case once the men realize what they’ve done, they kill themselves.”

“Seems like the best theory we’ve come up with,” Dean said. He backed the Impala out of the parking spot and headed out of town towards the highway.

“Let’s get there and do some digging around before we settle on a theory,” Sam cautioned. “But say you’re right. How do we kill it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve already given you the extent of my knowledge on the subject.”

“Okay. Well at least we have a starting point. We can look into it more if that still seems like the most likely scenario after we’ve investigated things a little bit,” Sam said.

Apparently deeming the conversation finished, Dean turned up the music. I leaned my head against the window and watched the road blurring by.

~~~~~

The bar we were at was crowded, the music was loud, and the guy I was talking to was cute. Not stop and stare cute, but cute enough that when he came over to where I was standing at the bar and started flirting, I flirted back.

“So how long are you in town for?” Cute guy asked. I vaguely noted Dean in my peripheral vision, making his way to the bar. If I’d been paying attention, I would have noticed how irritated he looked. But I was trying not to notice him. He and I were just friends and would never be more. I’d accepted that. It meant I couldn’t let myself be distracted by him when there was a guy standing right in front of me who was interested.

“Don’t know yet,” I answered, giving him my best flirty smile. “I’m definitely here for the night though.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Dean interrupted. “Come on Y/N. Sam’s waiting for us.”

“Woah, hey, come on man,” cute guy protested. “You can’t just come in here and force her to leave. We were in the middle of a conversation.”

“You were, were you? Sorry pal, but we’ve got important things to do. Go find someone else to bother.” Dean grabbed my arm and pulled me with him, away from the bar and towards the exit.

“Dean!” I hissed as I was forced to follow along behind him. “What is your problem?” I asked when we made it outside.

“What’s my problem?” Dean echoed, letting go of my arm and turning to face me. “What’s your problem? You know what we’re after here. What made you think it was a good idea to offer to go home with some random guy who for all we know could be the siren?”

I scoffed and started to walk towards the car, but Dean grabbed me again and pushed me up against the building. He stepped in close and put an arm on either side of my head, effectively caging me in.

“What are you doing?” I asked. It didn’t sound quite as irritated as I wanted it to. His close proximity mixed with the few drinks I’d downed had me too overwhelmed to hold on to my anger.

“Next time you’re wanting to scratch an itch in the middle of a case where the monster we’re after seduces people into murder, just save us the trouble and come to me instead,” he instructed. Then before I knew what was happening, he leaned in and kissed me.

I gasped in surprise and he used the opportunity to lick into my mouth. Finally catching up to what was happening, I wrapped my arms around his neck, threading my fingers through his hair and eagerly kissing him back. I never could have predicted this, but I was so thrilled it was happening. 

He made his way to my neck. He kissed a couple of different spots before finding a spot he liked and starting to suck and nip-

I woke up with a jolt and a gasp. I quickly took in my surroundings and realized I’d fallen asleep in the back of the Impala. 

“You ok?” Dean asked, turning in his seat to look at me. I realized we were parked outside a motel. The engine turning off must have been what woke me. I briefly met his eyes and was immediately bombarded with the images from my dream. 

“Yeah,” I told him. I managed to successfully fight the blush that tried to rise in the presence of the very man I’d just been dreaming about. It wasn’t the first time I’d had this sort of dream about the older Winchester. I doubted it would be the last.

Dean went inside to get us a room. We unloaded our bags and made a plan. We decided the boys would drop me off at the police station to talk to the sheriff while they went to question the medical examiner. We would meet at a diner a few blocks away from the police station when we were done. 

“What’s the connection between all of these people?” I asked Sheriff Jones once I’d introduced myself and explained why I was there.

“Connection?” He asked.

“Yeah. This many murder suicides in this short of a time, there’s something going on here. Maybe you’re wrong about the suicide part and it’s just flat out murder. Maybe it’s some sort of messed up pact these people made. There has to be something that connects them though. So what is it?”

“As far as we can tell, there is no connection between any of them. Sometimes these things just happen,” he said.

“How long have you been sheriff?” I asked. He was starting to get up in age, probably in his mid to late 50s at a guess. I assumed he’d been a police officer for a long time.

“Almost 20 years,” he informed me proudly.

“And in those 20 years, how many times have you seen something like this? Three different couples killing each other and themselves. One after another.”

“Well… never,” he admitted.

“Right. So what’s the connection? Graduated from the same high school? Go to the same gym? In a bowling league together? There has to be something that connects them other than them all being married.”

“Actually, they weren’t all married,” Jones corrected.

“I was told they were,” I said. 

“The last couple wasn’t. They were roommates, but as far as I’m aware, that’s as far as the relationship went.”

Damn. Did this throw a wrench in my siren theory? Not necessarily. Just because they weren’t together doesn’t mean one of them wasn’t secretly in love with the other. Or maybe they were really close and loved each other in a non romantic way.

“Great. I’m gonna need a list of close family and friends of all the victims,” I requested.

“What for?” He asked.

“To find the connection. You figure out the pattern, you have a chance of stopping it from happening again,” I said frustratedly. How were these idiots not investigating this further? Did they really believe it was just all a coincidence? 

Jones gave me a list of names and I left. I scanned the list on my walk to the diner, trying to figure out where to start and how long it might take to talk to these people. I rounded a corner and ran into an extremely attractive man. 

“Sorry!” I apologized as he nearly spilled the coffee he was carrying.

“No worries,” he said, flashing a charming smile. “No harm done.”

Had I not spent every day of the past three years sharing close quarters with the most attractive man I’d ever seen in my life, I might have been caught off guard and turned into a mumbling mess. But my time with Dean mixed with the quick thinking and lying that was sometimes necessary for hunting meant I was able to keep it together.

“Still. I should have been watching where I was going.”

“Well in that case, I was just on my way to get some lunch. How about you make it up to me by coming with?” He offered. It only took me a few seconds of consideration to make a decision.

“Sorry, but I’m busy. I’m on my way to meet a couple of colleagues for a kind of work lunch,” I told him.

“Ah. Well, maybe next time,” he smiled.

“Maybe,” I agreed, knowing there wouldn’t be a next time. I sighed as I continued my walk to the diner. He was awfully good looking. Under different circumstances, I probably would have taken him up on his offer. 

I walked the last couple of blocks and noted that the familiar black car wasn’t in the parking lot. I went in, found an open table that would fit all three of us, and sat down. I had to wait about ten minutes before Sam and Dean walked in. 

“Hey. What did you find out?” I asked once they were seated.

“Not much. There wasn’t anything unusual about the bodies as far as anyone could tell. The ME did say that based on the most recent body, she wondered if the suicides weren’t actually suicides though. She’s looking over the other two bodies again to see if it could have been staged to look like a suicide,” Sam told me.

“That qualifies as not much to you?” I asked. “I mean, granted it doesn’t really up the weird factor. But what if they missed something else too? Something they wouldn’t know to look for?”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Dean said smugly.

“Whatever. I’m not having this discussion again,” Sam told his brother as the waiter came over. We rattled off our orders to him and waited for him to leave before continuing.

“Did you find anything?” Sam asked.

“No. I do have a list of people for us to talk to though,” I answered. I took the list out of the pocket I’d tucked it into after folding it up and handed it to Sam.

“What, the cops have a suspect list?” Dean asked.

“No,” I snorted. “Whether or not this ends up being our kind of case, I feel bad for the people in this town. Their idiot sheriff doesn’t even think it’s worth looking into. It’s an open and shut case as far as he’s concerned.”

“What’s your list then?” Dean questioned, leaning over to read over Sam’s shoulder.

“Close family and friends,” I answered. “I’m hoping we can figure out what connects them all.”

“Right,” Sam said. “It’s not like we can monitor every single married couple in this town on the off chance they might get murdered.”

“Actually, they weren’t all married,” I told him. “I guess the last two were just roommates.”

“There goes the siren theory,” Dean sighed.

“Not necessarily. It still could be,” I said.

“How?”

“Sirens don’t target married people specifically,” I explained. “They just make you kill someone you love.”

“So you’re saying they were living together as friends but secretly in love?” Dean asked.

“Maybe. Or maybe not. Love doesn’t have to be romantic.”

The waiter brought out our food and we made a plan as we ate. Dean wanted to check out the crime scenes first. Sam argued that we might get more information from talking to people. I wanted to side with Dean because I really wasn’t looking forward to interviewing ten different people, but I had to agree with Sam. Might as well get this part out of the way. We could look at the victims’ houses after.

~~~~~

Several hours and too many interviews full of crying loved ones later, we stood in our motel room going over the information we’d gathered today. The ME had called an hour ago and confirmed that it was flat out murder, not murder suicide. We hadn’t gotten any useful information out of any of the people we talked to today though, and we were all a little frustrated. 

“Alright, well the roommate vics were extremely close,” Sam recapped, thinking out loud. “Which means Y/N’s theory on them loving each other pans out, leaving a siren as the most likely culprit. But how are we supposed to find it? We still don’t have anything that links these people together,” Sam grumbled.

“And why is it killing people?” I added. “Usually they leave the killing to their victims. Maybe we missed something.”

“Or,” Dean cut in, standing up from the chair he’d been in. “We'll find the answers we need at the crime scenes. Which I said we should look at four hours ago.”

“Yeah, Dean. We know,” Sam snapped.

“Let’s just figure out our next step,” I interjected. 

“Maybe we should do some research on sirens. It would be easier to track it if we can figure out where they live, how they make people do what they want, that sort of thing,” Sam suggested.

“C’mon Sam, we’ve spent all day doing research on the victims. Now you’re telling me you want to do more research?” Dean complained. “What we should do is go to their houses. I’m telling you, if we want answers, that’s where we’ll find them.”

“Maybe, but we still have to know what we’re up against,” Sam pointed out. “Why don’t you and Y/N go check out the houses. I’ll stay here and research,” he suggested. 

“Fine. Let’s go,” Dean said, satisfied with this compromise. He went outside and I heard the Impala’s engine roar to life a few seconds later. 

Sam grabbed his laptop and settled in to work while I grabbed my coat.

“Let us know if you find anything,” I said. Sam assured me he would and then I followed Dean out the door.

We decided to split up to cover ground faster. Dean would drop me off at the first house and head to the second house himself. When he was done there he would pick me up and we would look at the last place together.

Dean parked outside the first house, a small blue one with a row of flowers planted along the front of it.

“I’ll call you when I’m on my way back,” he told me as I was getting out of the car. He drove away and I walked into the house, ducking under the police tape strung up on the door.

The first room I walked through was the kitchen. Other than a few unwashed dishes in the sink, it was spotless. I knew the murders had happened in the bedroom, so I didn’t expect to see much in the rest of the house, but I was looking for any sort of clue that would lead us to the siren. I took a quick look at the pictures on the fridge but didn’t see anything that would help.

The next room was the living room which was also clean. A cursory scan of the room told me these two were huge movie fans. There were several movie posters hanging up on the walls, an entertainment center overflowing with DVDs, and a little box full of old movie tickets. I didn’t know how this could be a connection with the other couples, but it was clearly a big part of their lives, so it was worth making a mental note of. Other than that, I didn’t see much. A brochure for a yoga class stuck underneath a pile of magazines on the coffee table. A framed picture of the two skiing was hanging on the wall. I noticed a coffee mug with what I assumed was the name of a local bar printed on the side. I made another mental note of both the yoga class and the bar just in case.

Then I moved on to the bedroom. Even if I hadn’t known ahead of time what happened in here, it would have been pretty clear. There was a bloodstain on the bed and the blankets were rumpled, like there had been a struggle on top of them. One of the pillows was knocked on the floor. The nightstand on the left side of the bed had been knocked over, a picture frame shattered beside it. And there was a second blood stain on the cream carpet.

I braced myself, turning off the part of my brain that wanted to be horrified and turn away from the scene. I looked around the room for any sort of clue as to who the siren might be or where it might have gone. It would be a lot easier if I knew what exactly I was looking for. Sam was right. We should have done the research first. 

After thoroughly searching the bedroom and the bathroom and finding nothing, I made my way back out of the house. I wasn’t quite ready to give up yet, but I was getting more doubtful that this wasn’t something the real FBI should be handling. I stepped back outside and saw the cute guy from earlier walking past. He heard the door close behind me and looked over.

“Oh, it’s you,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he answered as I walked towards him. “I do believe that’s a crime scene you just walked out of. Not exactly legal.”

“It is when you’re FBI,” I told him, pulling out my badge. It identified me as agent Y/N Perry.

“That explains why I haven’t seen you around before,” he said, not seeming overly surprised by the news.

“What are you doing here?” I asked again. 

“I live next door,” he told me. “I didn’t really know them. Terrible what happened though.”

“It is,” I agreed. My phone rang and I took it out of my pocket, seeing Sam’s name on the screen. I excused myself to answer it.

“Hey, Sam. What did you find?” 

“Have you heard from Dean?” He asked urgently. 

“No, why?” I asked, immediately worried. Before he could answer, everything went dark.

~~~~~

Sam’s POV

“What do you got, Sam?” Dean asked immediately upon answering my call.

“Not much, but I think I’m starting to figure out more about this siren,” I told him. I hadn’t had time to gather much information yet, but what I had found mixed with a quick phone call to the ME was starting to clear things up.

“Like what?” 

“So get this. When sirens… put you under their spell or whatever, it leaves high levels of a hormone called oxytocin in your blood.”

“So?”

“So, I called the ME and asked her about it. There were high traces in three of the victims. The female victims. For whatever reason, this siren is going after the women, not the men.”

“Son of a bitch! Please tell me you called Y/N before you called me,” Dean said.

“Why? Aren’t you together?”

“No,” Dean growled out in a tone of voice that suggested stress and frustration. “We split up to move faster.”

“Alright. Well don’t worry. I’m sure she’s fine. I’ll call her now,” I said, trying to calm him.

“I’m going back to get her. I’ll call her on the way.”

Before I could argue that he was already worked up enough and should just focus on driving I heard a thump, Dean grunting, and then the sound of his phone clattering on the ground.

“Dean!” I yelled. No response. I hung up and headed outside. I needed to find a car. Once I had one ready to go, I started driving to the closest address on the list.

~~~~~

Y/N’s POV

The first thing that registered in my mind was the way my body was shaking. I heard a distant voice calling my name as consciousness slowly found me. It took a few seconds for me to fully wake up and process what was happening. The shaking was due to the hand on my shoulder, trying to jostle me into consciousness. The voice was Dean’s, and it wasn’t distant. It was right in front of me.

My head was pounding. I tried to remember what happened. I was outside waiting for Dean. Sam called. Then what?

“Y/N!” Dean said a little louder. I opened my eyes and immediately closed them again, hissing at the pain that shot through my skull from the bright light in the room. Someone must have hit me over the head. Who? No one else had even been around. Except for that guy I bumped into earlier. He must be the siren then.

I felt a surge of frustration at my stupidity. How did I miss it? I knew it was weird that he just happened to be outside that house.

“C’mon. We should get out of here,” Dean encouraged, pulling me to my feet.

“Just a minute,” I pleaded as a wave of dizziness rushed over me upon standing. I braced my hand on the wall beside me.

“What happened?” He asked. “You didn’t answer the phone.”

Once the dizziness passed, I slowly opened my eyes. The pounding in my head was intense, but it was more manageable when I took things slow.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“Who, the siren? Dead,” he told me. That was good news I guess. I didn’t know how much help I’d be in a fight right now. He was almost entirely supporting my weight. Then something occurred to me.

“How?” I asked, looking up at his face. “We don’t know how to kill them.”

“Well I had a machete with me. I couldn’t walk in here completely defenseless. When I saw him standing over you, I cut his head off. Apparently that’s all it takes,” he explained.

I looked around the room, searching for the body, and realized this was the house of the first murdered couple. We were in the living room.

“He brought me in here?” I asked.

“Well. It was close by. And there isn’t much chance of anyone walking in. Made it easy for me to find you, too. How are you feeling? Ready to go?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I told him. My head was still pounding, but the dizziness was gone.

“Good,” he said, carefully turning me to face him. “I was really worried about you.” Then he kissed me.

I so badly wanted to be able to enjoy this. I’d dreamed about it so many times but never imagined I’d ever build up the courage to tell him how I felt. Or that my feelings would be reciprocated. 

I placed one hand on the back of his neck and gave myself a couple of seconds to be sure my balance was good. Then in one quick motion I stepped to the side and used the hand around his neck to shove him face first into the wall.

“Ow! What the hell?!” He yelled, clutching a hand to his bleeding nose. 

“Where’s Dean?” I asked, watching closely for any indication he was about to run or attack.

“I am Dean!” He insisted. He held a hand out placatingly and took a step towards me.

“Stay back,” I warned him. I reached into my boot and grabbed the silver knife I kept there at all times. “I know a shapeshifter when I see one.”

He dropped his hands and stood up straighter, a cocky smile gracing his mouth. He started to walk in a slow circle around me.

“What gave me away?” He asked casually.

“A few things,” I answered, rotating my body to keep him directly in front of me at all times. 

“Like?” 

“Where’s Dean?” I asked again.

“Oh, he’s fine for now. Just a little tied up at the moment,” he smirked.

I lunged for him, hoping to catch him by surprise. He easily blocked the knife I had aimed directly at his heart and threw a punch that caught me in the stomach. The force of the blow knocked the breath out of me, but I recovered quickly and slashed out with the knife at the hand that was reaching for my hair. He hissed in pain and quickly withdrew his hand.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” the fake Dean growled. “You know you can’t win. Might as well save yourself some of the pain.”

My head was killing me and the dizziness was threatening to return and become a very serious problem. I waited for his next attack. I didn’t have to wait long. I saw his muscles tense to move and then he closed the distance between us quickly. 

He reached out for the hand that was holding the knife, trying to force it out of my grip without touching it. I took advantage of the way he focused on the knife to kick his knee as hard as I could. His knee buckled and I used all the strength I had to push him into the wall behind him. I pressed the knife to his throat.

“Where is Dean?” I demanded.

“What gave me away?” He asked again. I couldn’t believe the arrogance. Did he really not care about anything but the fact that I’d seen through him?

“I’m not going to ask again,” I threatened, pressing the knife just a little harder into his skin. “Where is he?”

“Quid pro quo,” he offered. “Answer my question, I’ll answer yours.”

I seriously debated just killing him, but decided to humor him just this once. He wasn’t going anywhere and I’d get the answer out of him one way or another.

“First of all, Dean wouldn’t just sit there waiting for me to wake up. He would have just carried me out. Secondly, he has a scratch on his jaw that hasn’t healed all the way yet. That particular scratch is missing from your face. Third, if he’s not sure which weapon to bring with, he always chooses his gun. Silver kills a lot of things, so it’s usually the safest bet. Also, where’s the body? You said you killed the siren, but there isn’t a body. And as far as that goes, you don’t have a machete either.”

“Hmm. You’re observant,” he said. “Not observant enough though. Otherwise you probably would have seen this coming.”

His hand shot up and grabbed my wrist, pushing the knife away from his neck. He pressed hard on the tendons there until I was forced to drop the knife. Then he spun us around, pressing me up against the wall. He pinned both of my wrists to the wall and leaned in close, his breath brushing my face.

“Now this seems more familiar, doesn’t it?” He smiled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I spat.

“No?” He mocked, pressing his cheek to mine and talking directly into my ear. “You’ve never dreamed about Dean pressing you into the nearest wall and kissing you breathless? I think you have. Many times. As recently as just a few hours ago.” 

I whipped my head to the side to look at him. He grinned triumphantly. 

“That’s right. I’ve been inside your head. I know exactly how you feel about this pretty boy of yours.” 

I bristled at the way he had stolen Dean’s face, tried to use it against me, and was now flaunting that fact.

“You don’t know anything,” I spat. He just continued as if I hadn’t said anything.

“That’s why I chose you. It was pure coincidence running into you, but you’re a very attractive woman, so I figured I’d give it a shot.”

“Give what a shot? Murder? News flash, you’ve already done that. I’d suggest branching out and finding a new hobby.” I pushed lightly against his hands, testing the possibility of breaking free. That wasn’t an option. He was holding on tight, and I wouldn’t be able to beat him in a battle of strength.

He smiled and kept ignoring me.

“You see, I had to turn into you first to get in your head and see if you fit what I was looking for. It was a shock, of course, to find out that you’re a hunter. But it turns out you did fit my needs, and you and your friends were so far off the mark, I knew I’d be safe enough.”

“What do you mean, I fit your needs?” I asked. I had a plan to escape his hold, but as long as he was content to talk, I wanted answers.

“Well you’re in love of course,” he said.

“So?” I didn’t bother denying it. Like he said, he’d already been in my head. 

“So,” he answered as if I was being extremely stupid. “Isn’t it so much better being with someone when you’re in love?”

I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. Being with someone? What was he talking about? What did it have to do with murder? 

I felt a wave of horror and disgust wash over me as I understood his meaning. He’d posed as the men the women were in love with and slept with them before murdering them both.

“If it’s any consolation, they died happy,” he told me. “Well,” he amended. “The women did, anyway.”

“So what?” I snarled. “You thought you’d come in here looking like Dean and I’d just take my clothes off for you? Just like that?”

“Well, not just like that. But I figured you’d be willing enough once I had some time to convince you.”

I remembered how he had kissed me before. I assume that was the kind of convincing he was referring to. 

“We still could, you know,” he offered. He brushed his lips gently against mine and I jerked away. “You can pretend I’m him and I’ll give you what you’ve always wanted.”

“Right before you kill me, you mean?”

“Well obviously I can’t let you live,” he said.

“I think I’ll pass,” I said. I drove my knee up as hard as I could into his crotch. He may not have been entirely human, but he still went down as hard as any human man.

I dropped down to pick up my knife, doing my best to ignore the pain the quick movement caused in my head. I didn’t give the shapeshifter time to recover. I immediately turned to him and drove the knife into his heart. He gasped in shock and pain and then collapsed, unmoving.

I rose to my feet and made my way – a little unsteadily – out of the house. I was pretty sure I had a concussion and that fight had taken all the strength and energy I could muster. As I stepped out of the house, a car came screeching down the road and parked next to the only other car on the street. I didn’t know if I could really handle it, but I prepared myself for another fight.

The driver door opened and a tall man stepped out. Sam, I realized when he called my name. And the car he was in was the Impala. How had he gotten it? Sam ran over to me and put a steadying hand on my shoulder.

“Are you ok? What happened?” He asked.

“Where’s Dean?” I asked, ignoring his questions.

“I don’t know. I’ve been looking for both of you,” Sam said. “I found Dean’s car at the second house, but no sign of him. I was hoping I’d find him here with you.”

Just then we heard a muffled banging noise coming from the other car on the street.

“Stay here,” Sam told me, drawing his gun as he walked towards it. I was in no position to argue seeing as the dizziness was returning and I was struggling to keep my balance. He stopped by the trunk of the car. “Dean?”

“Sam! Get me out of here,” I heard Dean say from inside.

“Just a second,” Sam breathed out in relief. He tucked his gun back into his jeans and went around to the front of the car in search of the keys. He pulled them out of the ignition and then opened the trunk. Dean jumped out, fuming. He was down to just jeans and a t-shirt, the shifter having stolen the rest of his usual layers.

“Where is it? I’m gonna kill it,” he seethed, marching towards the house. He paused momentarily when he saw me swaying on the sidewalk and then hurried over to me. He wrapped my arm around his shoulders and put his own around my waist to help me stay balanced.

“What happened? Did the siren do something to you? Where is it?” He asked.

“It was a shapeshifter, not a siren,” I told both him and Sam who had followed close behind his brother.

“Was?” Sam questioned.

“It’s dead,” I said.

“That explains why my clothes are gone,” Dean said irritatedly. “Why is it that we seem to be leaving behind a trail of shapeshifter bodies wearing my face?”

“Well, you’re an objectively good looking guy. Maybe they just can’t resist all the girls they know they’ll get with a face like that,” I teased.

“Alright, well you’re obviously in even worse shape than I thought,” Dean said, half teasing half genuinely worried. I guess I haven’t ever said anything to him before about him being attractive. This concussion was loosening my tongue apparently. “Sam, you mind getting the body? I’m gonna get Wobbly here to the car.”

“Why can’t we just leave it?” Sam asked.

“Because I want my clothes back for one thing,” Dean replied. “And for another, I don’t want to be blamed for yet another set of murders.”

“Good point,” Sam agreed. He headed for the house.

Dean turned us towards the car and the movement caused me to trip a little on my own feet. The adrenaline was fading away, leaving me helpless to fight off the dizziness that I thought had disappeared.

Rather than let me stumble my way to the car, Dean moved the arm he had around my waist a little higher on my back and put his other arm under my knees, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me. I couldn’t be bothered to keep my head held up and rested it against his chest.

“What happened?” he asked, referring to my balance issues.

“He caught me by surprise and hit me over the head. I think I have a concussion.”

“You thought he was me, so you didn’t see it coming,” Dean said. He adjusted my weight so he was able to open the car door.

“No. He looked like someone else. I turned my back to take a call and he hit me. When I woke up he was pretending to be you,” I explained.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he sighed as he gently set me down, careful not to hit my head.

“Why?” I wondered.

“He took me out too. Only I didn’t even know he was there. If I’d been paying attention better, I could have stopped him before he got to you,” Dean said, ashamed.

“Not everything is your fault, you know,” I told him. I saw Sam step out of the house, a large body tossed over his shoulder. “This isn’t on you. And it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s over.”

I could tell he didn’t agree with me and he would beat himself up over this for a while. But he left to open the trunk for Sam and I was too exhausted to try and convince him otherwise.

~~~~~

An hour later Sam was watching over me while Dean went to take care of the body. I sat on the lumpy couch and held a bag of frozen peas to the back of my head in an attempt to bring down the swelling. I’d taken Ibuprofen as soon as we got to the motel and both the headache and the dizziness were slowly starting to fade. I’m sure finally sitting still helped the situation too.

“Why do you think it killed them?” Sam wondered aloud. “I mean, how did he choose his victims?”

“He chose women that he considered beautiful and that were in love. He turned into the man they loved and when he was done with them, he killed them,” I answered even though he hadn’t actually been expecting an explanation.

“He told you?” He asked, surprised.

“In way too much detail,” I said.

He was quiet for a moment.

“You know what I don’t get? If it wasn’t a siren then where did the oxytocin come from?” 

“The what?” I asked.

“Oxytocin. It’s a hormone that sirens infect you with,” he explained. “Actually, Dean was on his way to warn you when he got ambushed. I told him that all the women had high levels and so it looked like they were the ones being targeted.”

My face drained of blood at the reminder of what that thing had done to those women. Of what he’d tried to do to me.

“I know what it is,” I told him. “And it’s not specific to sirens. It’s a naturally occurring hormone in the body. Ever heard of the love hormone?” At his nod I continued. “It occurs during childbirth, breastfeeding… and sex. That’s why he wanted women that were in love. He said it’s so much better that way.” 

Understanding showed on his face alongside a mix of horror and protective anger.

“Y/N… he didn’t?”

“No,” I assured him quickly. “Not me anyway. I figured out what he was too quickly.”

Relief replaced the other emotions on his face and he stayed silent as he processed this new information. Then he wrinkled his brow in confusion.

“You said he chose women that were in love,” he said.

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

“So why did he go after you?”

I was practiced enough at hiding my feelings for the older Winchester from both brothers that I didn’t even have to hesitate to come up with an explanation.

“I guess he found me attractive. Per his usual pattern, he turned into me to see if I was in love with anyone and found out pretty quickly that I’m a hunter.”

“Then why did he turn into Dean?” He asked.

“He was pretending to rescue me,” I answered.

“Right, but why? What’s the point? If he wanted you dead, he had the chance. There was no reason for him to mess with you that way.”

I didn’t have a reasonable explanation for this, so I stayed quiet.

“He wasn’t just going after you because you’re a hunter. You fit the profile he was after and he wanted to-” he cut himself off and considered his wording. “He wanted to… complete his usual pattern. Because you’re in love with Dean,” he surmised, smiling a little bit at this conclusion. 

I decided silence was the best option here. I couldn’t possibly contradict his completely accurate deduction. I wouldn’t outright confirm it for him, but I wasn’t going to deny what we both knew to be true.

“Y/N.”

More silence.

“Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll drop it,” he promised. I sighed.

“You know you’re not,” I told him.

“Then why don’t you do something about it?” He asked.

“There’s nothing to do about it,” I answered. “He doesn’t see me that way. And that’s fine. I’ve accepted it.”

“How do you know he doesn’t feel the same if you don’t tell him?”

“Sam, I’m really not in any condition to do anything to you right now, but I swear if you say anything to him, there’s going to be hell to pay in a couple of days,” I warned.

“I’m not going to say anything,” he said, offended by my assumption. “But I really think you should tell him. You guys are so great together. I think you would be good for each other. And I would be very happy for you.”

“Thanks, I guess. My head hurts too much to even consider thinking about this right now,” I told him.

“Alright, fine. I’ll let it go,” he conceded. “For now.”

“That’s all I ask.”

After that we sat in companionable silence while we waited for Dean to get back. Sam turned the TV on. I closed my eyes to block out the light and just listened to it, finding it to be a suitable distraction from the day’s events.

Dean got back probably twenty minutes later by my estimation.

“Hey, how are you doing?” He asked as soon as the door was shut behind him.

“A little better,” I told him. 

“Good,” he said. He took the peas from my hand and gently felt the lump that had formed on the back of my head. “I think the swelling might actually be going down a little bit.”

He took the now room temperature peas to the freezer and switched them out for a fresh bag. He handed it to me and then sat down beside me, putting his arm around me. 

“Is this ok?” He asked. He didn’t know the details that Sam did about the shapeshifter’s intentions, but he knew that I had been attacked today by a guy wearing his face. 

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me,” I told him. “I know it wasn’t you. For the record, I knew the whole time it wasn’t you. I’m fine. I’m not traumatized and I’m not afraid of you.”

“A simple yes would have been fine,” he teased, pulling me closer into his side.

Movement from Sam’s direction had me glancing at him. He just smiled at me, looking meaningfully at Dean and then winking at me. I would have rolled my eyes if the action wouldn’t hurt my head. Instead I pointedly looked away from him. Things with me and Dean were fine the way they were. I wasn’t going to mess it up now just because Sam knew about my feelings.

A romantic relationship with Dean was something I wanted, but not something I needed. This right here – sitting together with my two best friends, knowing that even though I was temporarily unable to defend myself should it be necessary I was still safe and protected – this was all I needed. At least, that’s what I’d continue to tell myself.

Chapter 2

Tags:

@123passwort

[torahoes]

(IDOLiSH7) Nagi Rokuya - RabbiTube mini Rabbit Chat

Please note that I am not a professional translator. If you come across any mistakes, feel free to let me know and I will make the necessary corrections.

Nagi Rokuya: This is Rokuya. Currently taking a break in the green room. Report your status. Over.

Torao Mido: This is Mido. Currently in a car, on the move. Haruka looks sleepy and is nodding off. Over.

Nagi Rokuya: Iori, how's your situation? Ignoring me even though we made eye contact is not acceptable. Over.

Iori Izumi: This is Izumi. We're in the same green room so there's no need for a status report. Out.

Torao Mido: He just cut the transmission

Nagi Rokuya: Iori is a cool boy, so he might just be feeling a bit shy. X-D

Torao Mido: Hm. So he's still wet behind the ears, huh?

Iori Izumi: I'm neither wet behind the ears nor shy (angry)(angry)

Iori Izumi: Rather, Mido-san, seeing how you've managed to keep up with Rokuya-san's energy, you must've trained quite well over the past few days.

Torao Mido: Well, there's nothing I can't do. And I've watched enough movies to understand how this stuff works

Iori Izumi: Ugh, so I'm outnumbered....

Nagi Rokuya: Iori, come over to our side! ｷﾀ――(ﾟ∀ﾟ)――!! [1]

Iori Izumi: What's with that emoticon? Please don't assume I've joined your side.

Nagi Rokuya:

Iori Izumi:

Nagi Rokuya: Mido-shi, send a sticker too.

Torao Mido: Uh

Torao Mido:

Nagi Rokuya: Nice choice! It fits right in.

Torao Mido: I'm glad I got it right…

Iori Izumi: And this is how people get trained…

Iori Izumi: More importantly, Rokuya-san, aren't you forgetting the main topic? You contacted Mido-san to schedule the airsoft game, right?

Nagi Rokuya: OH! That's right! ;-P

Nagi Rokuya: About the airsoft game we discussed the other day, how does next month sound? If we do it early next month, I can adjust my schedule.

Torao Mido: Roger. I'll check my schedule as well

Torao Mido: Do you have a place in mind?

Nagi Rokuya: I'll start looking for one now 📝 It might be difficult, but if we're going to do it, I'd like a serious match, so a field of about 10,000 tsubo [2] would be ideal!

Torao Mido: 10,000 tsubo, huh. If that's all you need, there's a place on our property we could use.

Iori Izumi: Wai- wait a minute. Are we still talking about airsoft?

Torao Mido: In Japan, there should be more than ten such locations from Hokkaido to Okinawa.

Iori Izumi: More than ten!?

Torao Mido: Yeah. It's land we bought but haven't started construction on yet. Apparently, they've been putting it off.

Nagi Rokuya: Buying land in prime locations is like a game of musical chairs, so it's common for corporations to purchase it in advance. But if we consider taxes, it's quite scary.

Iori Izumi: You two are probably the only people who would discuss land on Rabbit Chat. This is very different from Yotsuba-san or Nanase-san's carefree chats.

Torao Mido: Oh yeah, we also own mountain land. Would that be better for airsoft?

Nagi Rokuya: OH! If it's in the mountains, playing with a large group would be better. Shall I summon Northmarea's elite force? 😉

Iori Izumi: Please don't say scary things like summoning Northmarea's elite force!

Nagi Rokuya: Fufu, it's just a joke 😉 Even I'm not crazy enough to do something like that 😎👍

Nagi Rokuya: Although I aimed high, realistically, a decently sized indoor field would be best!

Torao Mido: So indoor was fine all along?

Nagi Rokuya: Good question, Mido-shi.

Nagi Rokuya: What month is next month?

Torao Mido: Is this a riddle…?

Iori Izumi: It's July.

Nagi Rokuya: Yes. Basically, that's what it means.

Torao Mido: What does it mean!?

Iori Izumi: I'm sorry for the confusion, Mido-san. Rokuya-san is from Northern Europe, so he isn't accustomed to Japanese summers.

Torao Mido: I see. Japan does have high humidity.

Torao Mido: I thought so during the shoot too, but you're quite level-headed for a high schooler.

Nagi Rokuya: YES! He's my pride and my cute younger brother ;-)

Iori Izumi: Who are you calling your cute younger brother?

Iori Izumi: There is another level-headed high schooler in ŹOOĻ as well, isn't there?

Torao Mido: Yeah, Haruka is also ŹOOĻ's pride.

Nagi Rokuya:

Nagi Rokuya: Now that we're getting coordinated, let's assign roles for the airsoft game.

Torao Mido: Sure. This is getting fun.

Nagi Rokuya: I plan to assign Iori as the scout and Mido-shi as the attacker!

Iori Izumi: I see. So I will handle reconnaissance and Mido-san will be on the front lines.

Nagi Rokuya: Iori can calmly locate the enemy and relay the situation to allies, no matter the circumstances. He was calm even during today's chat.

Nagi Rokuya: Mido-shi has the physical strength to lead the charge and clear the way for his allies. The way he fearlessly challenged himself when using stickers shows he's perfect for the front lines.

Torao Mido: Were you analyzing us all along? No way... could it be that all our previous messages were setting the stage for this?

Iori Izumi: That's… wait, but knowing Rokuya-san, he actually might have been…

Nagi Rokuya: Fufufu. And I will be the commander, leading everyone to victory! X-D

Nagi Rokuya: It's time to put the tactics I've mastered — such as time management, optimal route planning from store to store, and winning various merchandise wars — to the test… (dark smile)

Torao Mido: What's with that last part?

Nagi Rokuya: OH, it's "darkness smiling." 😏

Nagi Rokuya: It's a slang term said to be reserved for use only by the chosen ones. But since you have the potential, Mido-shi, I shall impart it to you specially.

Torao Mido: Does that mean I'm one of the chosen ones? (dark smile)

Nagi Rokuya:

Nagi Rokuya: Wonderful!!! Mido-shi!!!! You have exceeded my expectations!!!!

Torao Mido: Thanks. (dark smile)

Iori Izumi: Mido-san...

Iori Izumi: Please don't teach Mido-san weird things!!!

Nagi Rokuya: Iori is also so moved that he's trembling with emotion right now!

Torao Mido: Really? Then you should use it too, Izumi.

Iori Izumi: !?

Torao Mido: You showed some great expressions during the shoot. You must be one of the chosen ones too.

Torao Mido: If you use what has been imparted to us, I feel like it would strengthen our bond.

Iori Izumi: Can a phrase like that really strengthen our bond…?

Nagi Rokuya: Mido-shi is right!!! Our bond is deepening!!!

Torao Mido: Right?

Iori Izumi: I'm not convinced at all though!?

Nagi Rokuya: But Iori, see how happy Mido-shi is. It's definitely important for our communication!!!

Iori Izumi: Ugh…

Iori Izumi: Dark

Iori Izumi: Smile

Iori Izumi: ↑ This is merely to ensure smooth communication moving forward, alright??!!!

Nagi Rokuya: ｷﾀ――(ﾟ∀ﾟ)――!!

Nagi Rokuya: ｷﾀ――(ﾟ∀ﾟ)――!!

Torao Mido: It's finally starting to feel like we're a team.

Iori Izumi: Just do whatever you want.

Nagi Rokuya: YES!! We are a wonderful team!!! I'm so excited I might not be able to sleep tonight!!!!

Torao Mido: Thanks. You guys made what was supposed to be a boring car ride enjoyable.

Iori Izumi: I might not to be able to sleep either but for different reasons.

Nagi Rokuya: Hoo!!!! I'll send you the details later. Be on standby until then. Out!!

The End.

--------------

[1] The "ｷﾀ" at the beginning of the emoticon literally means "it's here," as in "here it comes." This emoticon is used to express anticipation or excitement for something that's about to happen. Iori's reaction, "Don't assume I've joined your side," is because Nagi's use of "ｷﾀ" makes it sound like Iori has already come over to their side.

[2] Tsubo: A traditional Japanese unit of area measurement, commonly used in real estate and construction. One tsubo is equivalent to approximately 3.3 square meters or about 35.6 square feet.

[sunlightmurdock]

Blow by Blow | 1.3 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley’s washed up before his career has even really begun. He doesn’t want to fill his father’s shoes and he doesn’t want someone else to either. Stuck in limbo, living the same way he always has, the opportunity to step up wanders through the door of his gym in a mini dress and heels that are a size too big. Boxing au.

Warnings: unspecified age gap, violence, probs boxing inaccuracies somewhere along the line. Smut and other 18+ content, minors dni, insinuated grooming but nothing graphic smut, unprotected pinv, trauma for both parties

…

Three and a half weeks of waking up exactly like this. Bear-hugged, pulled halfway onto a hot chest. Bradley’s sleepovers are becoming increasingly common. He makes it hard to stretch, increasingly hard to pull away from, and not just because you like laying against his bare skin.

You’re a week out from his fight now, and it turns out that Bradley doesn’t drink when he trains. With that distraction out the window, he has poured all of his time and energy into being here. Training. Taking up obnoxious amounts of space on your couch. Filling up your fridge with groceries because he’s bulking. Having his hands on you every second that he can.

Even now, the second you start to stir his strong hands are skimming down your back. He’s floating somewhere between sleep and awake but he still finds it in his consciousness to squeeze at your ass and groan contentedly. Sunlight peeking through the curtains, he feels you smile against his cheek.

You lift your head and peck the bump in his nose, right on the constellation of freckles that sit there. He hums, flexing his palms around the soft flesh of your ass once again. Lowering your mouth just about an inch, you kiss softly at his lips. His jaw. His cheekbone. His temple.

“Mm, that’s nice,” He says softly, bringing his arms back up and squeezing them around your middle. His face presses into your neck, inhaling the soft scent of your body wash from your shower the night before. He loves that smell. “Good morning.”

Blinking tiredly, you catch sight of the red numbers on your alarm clock.

“You have a client in twenty minutes.” Your fingers scratch delicate patterns in the short hair at the nape of his neck as you press a gentle kiss to his messy hairline. Again, he turns his head and buries his face, groaning loudly.

“I hate my other clients.” He mumbles into your skin, half-playful.

“Does that make me your favourite?” You smile, pushing at his pecs until he lets you sit upright. He blinks a few times and looks up at you, sitting at his side, staring down at him. Rooster’s lips quirk upwards softly. He reaches up and curls a strand of your hair loosely around his finger.

“What do you think, baby?”

Your grin grows. He feels you shift and it takes him a second, just a second, since he’s still waking up, before he realizes where you’re going. His eyes widen briefly, a pleased exhale slipping his lips as you wriggle under your heart-patterned white sheets.

Parting his thighs, he hums softly as you settle between them, his hand finding purchase in your hair.

Rooster strolls into the gym whistling, three minutes after his first morning appointment had arrived. He doesn’t carry his gym bag when he arrives anymore. He’s been doing his laundry at your place for the past two weeks. So far, no one has noticed that his clothes smell like peonies or that his car is in the parking lot hours before he ‘arrives’.

“Morning, Bradshaw.”

“Floyd. Garcia.” Bradley shoots them a quick wink as he walks past, already late and too busy to stop. The pair standing behind the front desk give a simultaneous nod of acknowledgement, and then shoot a glance at each other.

It’s not unknown that Bradley has never liked being here. He makes that well known. He has consistently made that well-known. In his attitude towards clients, to the upkeep of this place, his professionalism in general. It’s not a good look when the guy who’s name is above the door is too hungover to open his eyes all the way during business hours.

But more recently, his attitude hasn’t been that bad.

“You know he held the door open for me the other day?” Mickey muses as he leans down to flick through the newly digitized booking system. He loves you for this. He had been complaining since he got hired that the sign in book was outdated and was ignored the entire time — you bring it up to Mav once and it’s up and running within two weeks.

Bob shoots a look at him as he flicks through the pages of his book. He set it down minutes ago and lost his page. “On purpose?”

“Yeah. Even smiled at me after I said thank you.” Mickey confirms with an eager nod of his head. Bob hums in surprise at his side. The door behind them clicks open and Tank rushes out, tail wagging as he presses his nose into Bob’s knee.

“Hey, buddy!” Bob’s already crouching and scratching behind the dog’s ears before you’ve even stepped out of the door behind him. You giggle softly as Mickey leans down to pat Tank’s stomach in tandem. They grin up at you.

“Morning guys,” You smile sweetly at them, your laptop tucked under one arm. “Is it cool if he hangs out? — I try to keep him out of the office because of Mav’s allergies.”

Bob scrunches his nose, balls his fist and makes a silent ‘yes!’ motion, which has both you and Mickey laughing at him. Both of them crouch in front of you, making a big fuss of the giant baby that is your dog.

“Hey, do you want to come over and play the new Resident Evil with us later?” Mickey asks, lifting his chin to look at you. Your heart soars. You’ve been kind of neglecting them recently, not on purpose, just because things have been so constant with Bradley.

One of the first things to happen when you started dating Jett was losing your friends. The ones that you have left are the ones that did their best to hang on to you. Being with Bradley is great, and you’re the one who asked for some privacy, but the thought of being cut off from the people that love you again is terrifying.

It’s a relief to know that they want you to stick around.

“I’m — I want to, but I’m not great at scary games.” You explain to them, leaning your palm against the counter. Mickey scoffs out a laugh.

“Neither is Bob.” He teases as he scratches behind Tank’s ears. You smile, turning your attention towards an extremely offended looking Bob Floyd.

“Excuse me? — You’re the one who cried—“

And just like that, your happy little bubble is burst by Bradley being Bradley.

“Real mature, Pete!” He yells out from somewhere within the gym. Something heavy follows, hitting the wall loud enough to make the mirrors rattle. Maverick’s office door slams louder than the aging speakers are able to muffle. “Keep fuckin’ hiding!”

The initial flinch passes quickly. You close your eyes for a moment, exhaling deeply. Things between those two have been especially strained recently. With Bradley’s fight just days away now, he has stopped drinking and the time he has spent here has practically tripled over the past few weeks.

Maybe it’s the proximity, maybe it’s the fight — but something has got Maverick rattled. He’s been especially short with Bradley recently, and as a result, Bradley has slammed a lot of doors in his face.

Bradley had wanted to cook for you tonight, you remember. Something about him trying to get better at this recipe his grandmother used to make. Looking down at the concern on Bob and Mickey’s faces — you decide quickly that you have no interest in being around Bradley or his temper tonight.

“What time should I come over?”

Bradley swings forwards and slams his glove hard into Jake’s cheekbone. Jake gives him no leeway, stepping swiftly forwards and catching Bradley in the ribs before either one of them has time to fix their guard.

This is more than just training. This is Bradley being angry at something that happened sixteen years ago, and taking that anger out on whoever would have happened to set foot in this ring.

Coyote watches from the ringside as you rush through the gym with your eyes on the ground, jogging up the steps and closing the door to Maverick’s office behind you. He glances up at the fight in the ring, then back in the direction of the closed door.

That ex-boyfriend of yours must have done a real number on you.

Glancing across at Natasha, they share a look as she coaches her client through a set of crunches. It’s the first time that either of them start to consider that maybe this isn’t the best place for you. Not with Bradley around — not when Maverick brings out the worst in him.

The second that the door closes, Maverick pushes away from his desk and rounds on you. He’s red in the face, nostrils flared, and he really isn’t that big of a guy but his presence is looming. The door’s already shut. Your hand scrambles for the handle as your back hits clumsily into the blinds, your laptop clattering noisily to the carpeted floor.

Instantly, his face pales. He takes a step back and looks down at the somehow still intact computer, then back up at you, dripping with guilt.

“Sorry, kid. I thought you were Bradley.”

Your face burns, hands trembling as you crouch down to collect your items from the ground.

“You two are driving this place into the ground.” You huff, all of it under your breath. After forty years of boxing, Maverick’s hearing isn’t what it once was, but somehow he hears you.

“It’s my fault that he’s dead set on getting himself killed?” Maverick accuses suddenly, taking another step towards you. Your heart thuds in your chest. You shoot a look to the door handle. The sound of someone hitting the canvas on the other side of it makes you wince. You don’t want to go back out there.

“No.” You whisper.

Maverick breathes in deeply. His shoulders rise and his chest heaves with an exhale. He takes a step back and leans against his desk, turning his head away from you quickly.

You set your things down on Jake’s desk, pushing your trembling hands into the pockets of your jeans.

“He promised me he was done. You know that? — When I took him in, he promised me that he was done.” Maverick growls, crossing around his desk and dropping down into the half-broken, leather office chair.

The cogs in your head start to turn. Through the dust-coated blinds, you can see Bradley glistening with sweat in the ring.

“You took him in?”

“Bradley lived with me for a year and a half. I didn’t tell you that?” Maverick sighs, resting his chin against his palm. You shouldn’t indulge him. If Rooster wanted you to know any of this, he would have told you. But Mav’s in the mood to rant, and you want to know.

“No.”

“After his mom got sick. After his —“ Maverick pauses and shakes his head, rubbing at his temples. “He got in trouble with the police when he was fifteen. Barely skipped out on going to juvy. His mom wasn’t in any shape to take care of him, he came to stay with me — the one fucking rule that I had was no more fighting.”

You blink, computing what Maverick is telling you. “Juvy?”

“He wasn’t a bad kid. He was mixed up in some bad stuff.” Maverick can’t seem to make up his own mind. He turns his head towards the window. Gray peppers his hairline now, lines creasing across his face. “I tried to keep him out of it. I gave him an out, and he threw it away.”

Your brows dip together, lips pressing into a soft frown. You already know too much. Bradley won’t be happy. Inhaling slowly, you try to think of an out for yourself.

But Maverick has only given you half a story, and you can’t stand the thought of all of those happy mornings with a man that you clearly don’t know.

“Mav… what?”

He tells you everything. Beyond willingly. It’s been sitting heavy on his chest for sixteen years.

Emilia. Her relationship with Bradley. Her manipulating him for well over a year — making her husband thousands while Bradley competed underage in illegal fights.

Tony De Luca. Almost everything when it comes to him. Maverick doesn’t mention Goose. Bradley doesn’t even know about Goose. Tony de Luca made his money on people betting on his fights.

When Bradley was almost seventeen, Tony was due to make a cool fifty thousand on one fight. On the condition that Bradley went down in the second round.

You flinch at the sound of your front door swinging shut, freezing with the knife in your hand as Bradley strolls towards you with a big grin on his face. As promised, you’re here waiting for him on his lunch break.

Your eyes land on the thick scar across his throat. The red, puckered skin on his shoulder. The patchy scar tissue littered along his ride side. Your hands tremble around the knife as he continues in your direction.

“Hey, Bambi.” He beams, crossing around the kitchen island and pressing his chest into your back. He wraps his arms securely around you and presses a soft kiss to your temple. “What are you making?”

“Just a salad.” You answer quietly.

He flips your phone over from beside the cutting board and checks the time, giving your waist a soft squeeze. “Feel like taking a quick shower with me?”

You exhale softly, leaning back into his touch. “Please.”

Minutes later, he has you crowded against the shower tile with his mouth on yours, your thigh hiked around his waist.

“Mickey said you’re hanging out at his place later.” Bradley mentions, stroking a hand softly over your cheek as he looks down to watch the water trailing over your naked body.

Your eyes widen, and you move to shake your head. After everything Mav told you, you want nothing more than to hold him close and cry for him. “I was thinking about it, but I think I want to stay with you.”

Bradley’s eyes search over your face. “Oh. I kind of made plans with Nat. I wanted to give you time to do your thing.”

Your heart lifts out of the pit in your stomach and you smile at him. Your fingertips trail over the puckered scar on the swell of his shoulder and you nod your head.

“Okay. That sounds good.” You decide.

“I’ll meet you back here after? — We can sleep together.” He offers, pressing his chest into yours, squishing you against the tile and kissing you softly. “Not sleep together like fuck. Unless you want to. But we don’t have to, that’s not what I meant.”

You smile against his mouth.

“You have time to fuck me right now?”

Bradley’s eyes widen with excitement. You glance down at his semi pressing against your stomach and back up at him, mischief toying at your lips. He may only get to see it rarely, but god he loves seeing this side of you.

“No,” He’s grinning at you as he shakes his head, grabbing at your hips and lifting you swiftly off of your feet. You yelp as he sandwiches you between his chest and the tile. “But Harry’s the worst boxer I’ve ever seen — he can wait.”

You giggle, grabbing onto his broad shoulders as his mouth traverses your neck, peppering your wet skin with experienced kisses. His hands squeeze at the soft flesh of your ass as he grinds himself against your exposed core.

Pulling back, Bradley’s lips quirk up into a soft smile.

“I love your smile.” He says outloud. Not even to you in particular. Just because he needs to say it. You grin at him, pushing your fingers into his curls, pulling him forwards for a deep, open-mouthed kiss.

He inhales sharply as you reach between your bodies and guide the tip of his dick between your legs. You gasp softly as the head pushes into you.

“Bambi, c’mon, let me—“

“Just go slow.” You tell him, hands braced on his shoulders, your eyes on his. Bradley glanced down between you, uncertain, but nods. He leans in once more and kisses you deeply.

Your fingers tangle in his wet hair and trail along the muscles in his shoulders as he holds you against him, barely seated inside of you. He wraps a thick arm around your back, his hand resting on the nape of your neck to keep you close as he inches his way deeper.

The stretch is there. It makes you squirm in his arms and tug softly at his auburn curls. His hand trails from your nape to the base of his skull as he pulls back slowly, not even all the way. He blinks at you as he starts to rock his hips experimentally, pushing back and forth, about an inch each way.

“That’s good,” You tell him, pushing a wet curl back off of his forehead. He closes his eyes as you kiss the freckles under his right eye, peppering gentle kisses across the bridge nose and across his left cheek. You hum softly as he pushes cautiously deeper. “You feel good.”

“You feel so fucking good, baby.” Bradley whispers, his lips brushing your cheek as he holds you close. “Wanna make you feel good too.”

It’s the truth. You can see it in his eyes. You feel it in the way he has touched you, now and in the past. He wants to know how your body works. If you had given him the time, he would have gotten you all worked up for him.

This is good too. It’s not even about coming. It’s just that you see something different when you look in his eyes now. You feel closer to him, without him even knowing. This is just about being close to him.

Your lips part, hanging open in a silent ‘oh’ as he fills you finally. He mouths at your jaw, moving along to your earlobe, puffing his chest into yours. You can’t hear anything but the water running and him moaning softly against your throat.

Bradley comes jogging back into the gym with wet hair, thirty minutes late from his lunch break. Mickey shoots a glance at Jake, who just smirks amusedly and turns his attention down towards the computer at the front desk.

That night, Mickey drives you over to his place with Tank. Bob meets you there — he had to stay late to close — and the three of you settle down into the old, inexplicably comfy couch.

You huddle together, wide-eyed, taking turns to play through the games. There are points where you’re practically playing in silence, too afraid to speak. Then, there are times where all three of you are talking over each other and scrambling for the controls.

It’s a good night. You’ve got good friends.

“So, what are we doing for your birthday?” Bob asks as he hauls all sixty pounds of Tank into his lap and kisses the top of his head. You turn to look at him, sipping on the Shirley Temple that Mickey had made you. “I saw it circled on your Calendar. It’s like three weeks away.”

You groan and lean your head back. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll rent a car and drive up to see my parents.”

“No! That’s lame, we want to celebrate with you.” Mickey complains at your side. You whine. Your girlfriends want to celebrate with you too.

“I don’t know. Maybe I could have you guys over.” You shrug again. Mickey leans back and shoots Bob a look over your shoulder. Bob shoots him back a wink. “Anyway, are we ever going to unpause?”

“Fuck no, if that guy chases me one more time, I think I’m going to pee my pants.” Bob rushes out, hugging the dog closer to him and kissing the top of his head.

It’s after midnight when you make it home. Bradley’s truck is in the parking lot again. You find yourself smiling as you walk up the steps with Tank at your side. Locking the door behind you, you walk through the apartment and round the corner into your room.

Bradley smiles as you stop in the doorway, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “What? — Why are you looking at me like that?”

It’s just the sight of him all cosied up in your cute white and pink checkered sheets. You grin as you kick your shoes off and cross through the room towards him. Bradley hums as you plant a chaste kiss on his lips and turn around to find some pyjamas.

“No reason. Did you have fun tonight?”

“Yeah. Wanna hear something crazy?” Bradley answers as Tank leaps up onto the bottom of the bed. He sticks to the empty side, still not entirely sure of the man in your bed.

“Sure.” You wriggle out of your jeans and put them away, not bothering with pyjama bottoms. Bradley takes a moment to answer. He’s too busy watching you undress.

“Natasha slept with Jake last night.”

“What?” You gasp, spinning towards him, halfway into a t-shirt. He winces as you lose your balance and start to topple, catching you right before you fall elbows first into his ribs. He smiles as he tugs the shirt onto your body. You exhale. “What?”

“Uh-huh. They were over at her place watching the big fight, one thing led to another. Awkward in work today.” Bradley tells you, pushing the shirt up just slightly so that he can get a glimpse at your underwear. He smiles as he squeezes at your hips.

“No way,” You huff, beyond shocked that Natasha would ever let any of the guys here touch her. She has told you many times that there’s not a chance in hell. “That’s crazy! Did you tell her about us?”

“No.” Bradley shrugs, his hands roaming freely along your torso. You bite back an amused smile as he cups your breasts, watching the way his hands cover them over the fabric of your shirt rather than looking at your face.

“How come?”

“You asked me not to.” Bradley answers calmly as you swing yourself off of his lap and down beside him. You each turn on your side to face each other.

Slowly, you edge forwards and kiss his lips.

“You can tell her. If you want to.”

…

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[booksinmythorax]

On Tyranny & Tumblr #1: Do not obey in advance

Like a lot of people, I've been reading Timothy Snyder's On Tyranny in the wake of the 2024 US election results. It's a good book, and a short book, and a book that's probably available in your library. I encourage you to read it for yourself.

There's a lot of panic happening and a lot of desire for action. I think if you're looking for ways to fight real-life tyranny, there's actually a little bit you can do online too.

Snyder's first lesson derived from the stories of 20th century authoritarian governments is "Do not obey in advance":

Most of the power of authoritarianism is freely given. In times like these, individuals think ahead about what a more repressive government will want, and then offer themselves without being asked. A citizen who adapts in this way is teaching power what it can do.

Some ways we can apply this in our online lives:

-If you create content - fan content or original, written works, visual art, cosplay, photos - and you're worried it might be targeted by the US government in the future, don't take it down yet. Don't orphan them on AO3 yet. Keep it up and keep creating.

-If you financially support sex workers, keep doing that. If you don't, consider starting now. They are going to be some of the most vulnerable people in the upcoming US administration.

-I'm a queer person. Because my immediate physical safety is not being threatened, I am choosing to stay out both in real life and online. I will not make myself invisible or palatable out of fear of possible future retribution.

-(this isn't necessarily just an online thing, but I'm going to suggest it anyway) Keep - or start - checking out books by and about queer people and people of color at your local library. Borrow erotica, too, and books on polyamory and kink, and books on liberation ideologies. Borrow the digital versions and the paper versions and return them on time and in good condition. If you're a librarian with any kind of control over this, keep purchasing and displaying these books in accordance with your professional training.

Feel free to list other options in comments or tags or on reblogs.

Other lessons from On Tyranny:

#2: Defend institutions

#3: Beware the one-party state

#4: Take responsibility for the face of the world

#5-7: Remember professional ethics, Be wary of paramilitaries, and Be reflective if you must be armed