that alone should be enough to send your imaginations spinning off to wild places, but that, my friends, is only where our story begins.
it is also something you should know, just in general, in case you happen to encounter darcy lewis.
she’s tazed a god twice, and she goes drinking with thor. on a regular basis.
the first time thor wanted to go drinking after i showed up, lewis was there too. and naturally, if thor was going out so was she. neither of them knew us newbie avengers well yet, but being sociable sort of people, they invited us to tag along. scott immediately agreed, but sam was caught up doing some beta testing in the labs with tony, and said he would catch up when they were done.
so darcy, thor, scott and i went out drinking.
fun fact about thor: it takes him approximately one million alcohols to get drunk, but once he’s there, he likes to sing. preferably epic ballads of victory in battle, but he’s pretty much game for any catchy song that will get a bar excited. that being the case, lewis and thor’s go-to midgardian bar is a karaoke joint.
im sure you begin to see where things are going wrong.
fun fact about darcy lewis? she can also hold her alcohol, but cannot carry at tune. like. at all.
that doesnt stop her from singing, mind you. gotta respect a lady who knows shes terrible but enjoys herself anyway.
scott apparently loves karaoke. i dont know why that surprised me, but it did. even more surprising? hes not actually that bad, although like 90% of his song choices were bruce springsteen. no clue why. anyway, thor was delighted by having a buddy who was not only willing but able to sing with him, and after scott got over his star-struck-ness they had a pretty great time.
it was a good thing that thor and lewis went to that bar on the regular, because im sure any place that hadnt been prepared for them would have kicked all of us out. as it was, they finally booted us out the door after a rousing rendition of ‘wrecking ball’ had most of the bar on their feet. and broke two tables.
(thor apparently settles his tab there in asgardian gold, so no hard feelings from the bartenders.)
the night was young and all of us had enough booze in our systems that we decided to catch a cab back to the tower and see if we could rope anyone else into some shennanigans. thor was buzzed at least, which for thor means his voice is even boomier and his gestures are more expansive–you gotta be ready to duck. scott was drunk, no question about it, and that was probably why theyd wound up singing wrecking ball in the first place. scott’s a cheerful if floppy, “ i love you, i love all of you guys, i love everyone in this bar ” kind of drunk, and was mostly travelling by merit of being wrapped around thors bicep. i was a little buzzed myself, and lewis had had nearly as much as i did. remarkably, she seemed to be chugging along pretty well, some weaving and slurring aside. the lady lives up to her god-tazing reputation.
anyway, we got out of the cab at the tower and started making our way to the doors. scott had partially detached from thors arm and needed extra support, so i was helping keep him from capsizing while lewis trailed a few steps behind the three of us, making color commentary of our three stooges act.
and then out of nowhere, she just…yelled.
all three of us whipped around as quickly as three drunk superpeople can, just in time to see darcy lewis dish out what looked to be a pretty dang textbook perfect roundhouse kick to the chest of some poor guy.
the guy went down. lewis went down too, because the kick had totally overbalanced her. thor and i dropped scott and ran over to help.
which was when sam sat up and said ‘that was a hell of a kick’
because apparently hed finished up his testing and gone out to catch up with us, made it partway down the block to call a cab, then saw us getting out of our taxi. he jogged back–not being particularly stealthy, but we were drunk–and put his hand on lewis’s shoulder to get her attention.
lewis, having pretty poor vision even sober, and worse vision when drunk and without her glasses, just saw some big male figure who’d popped up out of nowhere and grabbed her by the shoulder.
so naturally she kicked him in the chest.
she apologized profusely, but the rest of us thought it was pretty funny. and sam was impressed the next morning when he discovered that she’d left a visible footprint on his chest.
darcy insists she has no idea why she did it. or where she learned to kick like that.
the rest of us have just chalked it up to mysterious darcy lewis powers.
lance feels a soft pang in his chest whenever keith’s around (a good kind of soft pang) and he’s felt it since their days at the garrison
*lance is sitting at his desk, a little bummed because keith hasn’t shown up yet*
keith: (suddenly runs into the classroom, late, adjusting his uniform and nodding at the instructor) sorry. i, uh, got lost. (walks over to his desk right in front of lance and sits)
lance: (feels it) (tries not to smile as he absentmindedly taps his foot against the leg of keith’s chair)
*lance gets on a lift, on his way to the next class*
keith: (running up the corridor) hold the elevator please!
lance: (holds the door until keith gets on) (feels a gentle pain in his chest again as keith stands beside him) hey again
keith: (glancing at lance briefly, not seeming to recognize him) hi (runs a hand through his hair)
*lance is sitting in the commissary, waiting for hunk*
keith: (suddenly walking up to him with his lunch) is anyone sitting here
lance: (looks up) uh (his chest kicks) um, yeah. sorry. i’m just, waiting for my best friend.
keith: oh. okay. (sits a few tables down instead)
lance: (internally screaming)
*much later, after kerberos, when lance sees keith again, for the first time since keith dropped out*
hunk: are you sure?
lance: (running towards the crash site of shiro’s alien ship) oh, i’d recognize that mullet anywhere! (that old ache in his chest is back) (he doesn’t even hear pidge ask ‘who’s keith?’)
*much much later, when they’re fighting the cube on olkarion*
lance: (after keith un-freezes his lion with a heat ray) thanks keith!
keith: you got it!
lance, internally: …there’s that feeling again
*when keith purposely crashes his defense drone into lance’s just to provoke him, when keith pries open the elevator door and says he just so happens to be going to the castle pool at the same time as lance, and before all that when keith throws the soft asteroid at lance’s face, smiles at him, and asks “like that?”*
lance, internally: WHAT THE FUCKKSJD (the ache is there every time, and only seems to be getting worse)
you get the idea
lance will worry a lot about keith too, especially because the dude is such a hothead
sometimes he’ll even try to get keith to chill out before keith acts on impulse (keith rarely listens, but still)
ex. when keith is ready to run in and bayard his way into a hangar guarded by galra sentries (in ‘return to the balmera’) and lance tells him to ‘cool his jets’
ex. when keith says he’s gonna go check out those ‘giant containers’ at the galra base (in ‘collection & extraction’) and lance is like ‘how about you don’t blow our cover? keith, think about what you’re doing … don’t walk through that door!’
ex. when keith decides to try & take out zarkon head on (in the s1 finale) and lance is like ‘what? we’ve got to stick together!’
lance will also check in occasionally to make sure keith is okay, but he’ll do so mockingly (so he doesn’t come across as like, concerned or anything)
ex. when lance first flies the blue lion (in ‘the rise of voltron’) and he turns to keith and is like “oh, are you scared?” and keith is like “with you at the helm? terrified.”
ex. when they’re practicing on the training deck for the first time (in ‘some assembly required’) and lance is like “you keeping up over there keith?” and keith is like “just concentrate on keeping me safe”
ex. when coran has them flying blindly towards the ground in their lions (for training purposes) and lance is like “you still going keith?” and then asks “you gettin scared?” and keith is like “i’m not scared!!” *crash* (also in ‘some assembly required’)
sometimes (when pidge doesn’t let him borrow her headphones and he can’t fall asleep listening to music) lance will hear keith’s door open in the middle of the night (cause their rooms are right next to each other) and he knows keith is probably heading to the training deck again to blow off some steam
he’ll always consider walking out there to go check on keith, or maybe even talk to keith, or at least ask if he’s having a rough night
but he never does
keith’s the one who eventually knocks on his door and asks if he’s still awake
I think in a sense, you always love someone, I don’t believe that any amount of distance, silence or time can break the bond between two hearts. I believe that once you find love with someone, that stays with you - forever. But the hard truth of that is, forever is infinite and that means they can treasure your love and kiss your lips until their very last breath, or.. the version we’re most familiar with, they can rip your heart right out of your chest and kick it to the curb without even giving your eyes a second look. And that my darling, is the harsh reality of love, it’s infinite. Whether you want it to be or not, it never goes away once you find it.
NOTES: Well, ended up throwing this together for V-day after all, short and sweet.
It was laughable that he was upset, really. Victor even almost berated himself for it, for packing as close to what he would call a tantrum as what a grown adult who was heir to one of the biggest criminal groups in the world could be.
People steered well clear of him today, they did what he asked, they didn’t argue, they didn’t fight back. He’d woken up in a foul mood, eaten breakfast and done his work out in the freezing cold in an even worse mood, and it’d soured as the day wore on, it was only lunch time.
Summary: You’re a cold hearted, remorseless hunter who’s after a witch. When you unintentionally save Dean Winchester’s life, you shoot him. He finds out you’re staying at the same motel as him and Sam later that evening, and then you guys do..things.
wtf kind of summary is that
Request: hey! so i just saw the requests are open.. ive been thinking about some dean x reader smut/fluff stuff inspired by bad woman by motörhead, it just fits perfectly! if you find it inspiring aswell, id love to read a fic about it! youre amazing :) love!
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Warnings: SMUT, Oral (female and male receiving), over stimulation, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, language…I think that’s it?
“Sam?!” Dean whispered as he stalked around the old cabin. Sam and Dean had been separated outside by something, and Sam was out in the woods somewhere.
The cabin was dark, dank, and no one good had stayed there in years. This witch was supposedly here, but it was quiet, very quiet, and the witch was still nowhere to be found.
That was until Dean tripped a wire, and the witch burst through the doors, absolutely pissed that her home - if you could call it that - was being invaded. By a hunter nonetheless. The witch held out her arms, flinging Dean across the room. He hit the fireplace before hitting the floor.
“Bitch.” He groaned as he rolled around, trying to stand up. He held up his gun to shoot, but it wasn’t his gun that went off. He jumped at the sound of another gun shooting and the sight of the witch falling to the floor.
“Sam?” he stepped forward and looked around, thinking it must have been his brother that shot the witch. But as he rounded the corner, he was surprised to see you standing there.
“Hey, uh, thanks.” Dean said as he rubbed the back of his neck, taking you in. You were gorgeous. Long flowy y/h/c hair, striking y/e/c eyes, paired with skinny jeans, knee high boots, and a leather jacket zipped up just enough to give Dean a nice look at your cleavage.
“Don’t thank me,” you spat out, “I wasn’t trying to save you. That witch bitch just needed killing.”
Dean was taken aback at how cold your words were. He thought you must’ve been one of those mean, loner hunters him and Sam came across sometimes. But there was something different about you.
He looked you up and down, his eyes trailing across every curve on your body.
“Ugh, fuck you.” you spat out before you raised your gun and shot him, the bullet just grazing his arm and knocking him on his ass. You didn’t take well to being gawked at.
Request: i. need. s ome sports supportive reader x archie. like wearing jersey to school on game day, wearing his jacket, cheering him on from the sideline. yelling at his coach when he yells at archie. just owningit. being cute. being supportive.
“That’s my jersey.” You turned, a wide smile on your face as your eyes met Archie’s.
“Yeah!” He smiled right back.
“You look better in it than I do…” He teased, hands coming down on your shoulders.
“You said it.” You turned back to your locker, blowing your hair out of your face.
He leaned over to your ear. “You coming to my game tonight?”
“Am I coming to your game tonight?” You asked mockingly. “Of course I’m going to your game tonight.”
“Can you not yell at Coach this time?”
“Listen you made a great pass, and he had no right to yell at you for that,” you defended yourself. “It’s not your fault he couldn’t run it.” Closing your locker, your brow crinkled in anger. Archie laughed. “I’m still pressed.”
He swung his arm around your shoulders, pulling you to his side as you two walked next to each other down the hall towards your class. Grinning, Archie replied, “I know you are, babe.”
The game was typical. The Bulldogs were crushing, and you’d like to think it was solely because of your beautiful boyfriend. You’d catch his eyes every once in awhile from the sidelines, smiling widely to show support. “Go, Arch!” You’d yell whenever he had the ball, always finding his small grin under his helmet.
“Hey!” You turned, narrowing your eyes at Coach Clayton. “L/N, I’d tell you to get out, but you really help him play better. So, I’ll just ask you,” he leaned in close to your ear. “To stop! Screaming! In my ear!”
Eyes wide with surprise, you coughed slightly. “Strong lungs you got there.”
“See you two are getting along better today,” Jughead commented sarcastically over the fence. Raising a bright blue jacket, he pushed it over towards you. With it’s blue and gold color scheme, bold R on the breast, you knew exactly what it was. “Archie told me to go and grab it from his house for you. Said it would be cold.” You reached forward to grab it from him, tugging it over his shoulders. “Look at you two. So eighties coming of age movie.”
Out of nowhere, the crowd suddenly roared in disgruntled, surprised noises. They resembled a crowd booing, but less angry, more concerned. The three of you had been distracted from the field for a moment, however you didn’t have to see the field to know that something had happened.
You turned, seeing the ref angrily blowing his whistle. You noticed the letters on the scoreboard change. 34-31. While the Bulldogs were still winning, it was the fourth quarter, and this score was too tight for comfort.
“Time!” Clayton called angrily, waving his arms in the air and pulling the team into a huddle. You leaned against the fence next to Jughead.
“You think it’s because you weren’t watching him for two seconds?” He joked, elbow nudging your padded shoulder.
“I mean you’re kidding but… It means a lot to him.” You frowned.
Jughead sighed. “Never thought I’d be friends with a quarterback.”
“Never thought I’d wear a letterman’s jacket. Yet here we are.” Archie’s eyes lifted from the heads of his teammates to meet yours. “For that goofball.”
“One second, Coach,” he murmured, taking steps over to you.
“Hey, baby,” you said softly, “You alright?”
“Yeah, just stressed,” he sighed.
“You guys got this,” you assured him. “You need anything?”
“Just you, here,” he answered softly. “I like the jacket.”
“It’s warm,” you nodded. He smiled, pulling on the thick fabric to bring your lips to his. You pulled back, scrunching up your nose. “You stink.”
Archie lightly punched your shoulder. “Hey.”
“Hey, you know what. You go out there, you kick ass? I’ll cuddle you tonight regardless of whether or not you shower.” You leaned forward, kissing him one last time, before lightly pushing his chest. “Go kick some ass.”
Summary: You’re the one who is always picked on, almost every day, and you’re so sick and tired of it. Nobody helps you, until one fateful day.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (ALTERNATE UNIVERSE)
Word Count: 3,109 Words
Warnings: Bullying, fluff, angst, a bit of violence and gore, sappiness
A.N: I’m always one for women standing up for themselves, but this idea just came to me and some standing up happens in the end. I swear I normally don’t like ‘damsels in distress’ but this story just happens to have a reader character a bit like that. Sorry.
life. Specifically, you hate school. No, it isn’t all those tests and
assignments that teachers wanted you to do all the time, because despite those
being an absolute pain, it definitely isn’t the worst thing you endured. You’re
actually a reasonably smart person, and you find classes relatively easy.
However, outside of classes…things are pretty terrible.
“I was hoping you’d come find me,” he smirked as you peered your head into his bedroom.
“Yoongi… Why’d you disappear? Everyone is here to see YOU after all,” you scolded, shutting the door behind you.
“I’m bored with them. It’s you I want to see, baby”.
His signature ice cold, menacingly mysterious demeanor was in full swing as he sat on the edge of his bed, eyeing you up and down. He paid special attention to the way your dress hung drastically off your shoulders.
So #20 for andreil. I literally love angst but you can do whatever
okay so i know that i literally just did an “Andrew gets hurt during a game” and i also know that “Neil getting hurt at a game” is sooooooo overdone but like…… you don’t understand how much of a slut i am for Neil getting hurt at a game
that being said, i took a different approach to it. don’t be mad at me
#20 “Something’s clearly wrong.”
never been so quiet. Never mind the sounds of machines blurring into white noise in
the background. Never mind Andrew’s own heart rushing blood past his ears in a
rhythm Andrew would give anything not to hear.
number eighteen striker, Neil Josten, just took a hard hit against the wall.
He… he doesn’t appear to be moving. Something’s clearly wrong. Can we call… ah,
yes, the referees are taking an executive move and calling the game to a pause.”
Andrew starts to
count off Neil’s injuries – again – because it’s better than hearing that
announcer’s voice repeat in his head one more time. Broken ulna, dislocated and
then relocated shoulder, severe sprain of his left ankle, heavy bruising, and
brain swelling that led to an induced coma.
Each breath Neil
takes sounds like it might be his last, but each beat of his heart brings him back.
She hated for him to see her broken, raw and trembling and overwhelmed with inner demons, but part of her had been grateful for the one time she had let him. In her own apartment, during an unexpected panic attack a couple of weeks ago, he had touched the shaking bone of her shoulder, murmured comforting words, relatable words.
I know, Kate, I know. I have them too.
She hadn’t necessarily believed that, couldn’t picture Rick Castle enduring the torturous episode of a panic attack, but he hadn’t been lying to her.
The return of Jerry Tyson had rattled him, she knew that, and ever since the heartbreak she had caused him throughout the summer, their partnership had been a bit more tentative. Her shooting, those words she isn’t supposed to remember, still looming over them, she knew that too. Castle was under a lot of stress, probably dealing with a good dose of emotional turmoil, but that knowledge hadn’t prepared her for his mother to call her in quiet distress, worried over her son and unsure of what else to do.
“This has happened before, once not long after the divorce with Meredith, when he was under so much pressure,” Martha had babbled, her voice a contradiction of calm and factual, frantic and fearful. “And I know he doesn’t like for anyone to see him like this. But I could hear him when I went to let him know I was leaving and he just sounded so - so grief stricken, and I just can’t not-”
“I’m on my way,” Kate had promised his mother, already changing directions, turning away from the entrance of the subway that would take her home and towards the sidewalk instead, hailing a cab that would get her to his loft quicker. “Just ten minutes, I’ll be there.”
“I’ll leave the door unlocked for you, darling.”
Martha had stuck true to her word and after impatiently riding the elevator to the top floor of his building, Kate is able to stride inside the loft, take the path to his office without a second thought. Her fingers pause over the handle to his bedroom door, though, apprehension flaring in her stomach. She’s never been inside his bedroom and it isn’t her right to just barge in.
“I’ll be out in just a moment, Mother,” he calls out when she knocks, and he’s a skilled actor, talented in the roles he plays for those he doesn’t allow inside, but she can still hear the slight quiver in his voice.
“Not your mom, Castle,” she calls back, hearing nothing but silence on the other side of the door for a split second before his footsteps rush towards her.
The door swings open and despite the smile he musters for her, she can see the cracks in his exterior.
“Beckett, to what do I owe the pleasure of an unexpected visit?” he quips. “And how did you get in here?”
“Your mom let me in while she was on her way out.” Technically, it was true. “I thought after everything with this case and 3XK… I thought you could use some company.”
His eyes ripple with surprised delight, gentle appreciation, and she wishes she would have thought to come to him sooner, to care enough to check on him without his mother having to inform her of his current state.
“I - that’d be great. Have you eaten?”
“No,” she admits, biting her bottom lip when Castle steps out of his office, his hand rising to glance the small of her back before it quickly falls away. She misses the warmth of his palm without even having the chance to experience it. “Have you?”
“I was just about to,” he lies, the grin stretched across his lips charming but strained, enough for her to see through.
She doesn’t comment on it, doesn’t try to bring up what she knows is bothering him, but she does stick close to his side in the kitchen, helping him heat up leftover pasta that smells divine despite its time in the fridge. She sits beside him on the couch while they eat, engages in the comfortable small talk, the silence that falls between bites yet never becomes awkward. Not with him.
“How’re you holding up?” Kate finally asks after he’s set his bowl down on the coffee table in front of them, taken the last sip of the red wine he had poured in matching glasses for them. She still nurses hers between her palms.
Castle tilts his head at her in feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Rick,” she murmurs, watching him physically deflate, sighing out in defeat as his shoulders slump, his lips falling into a frown and his eyes going dull, and she stretches forward to deposit her wine glass on the table beside his.
“I’m okay,” he states with a shrug. “Not even sure why it bothers me so much. Ryan is the one who went through hell during this case.”
“What Tyson did to you both was equally traumatizing-“
“Trauma?” Castle scoffs, shaking his head at her. “I didn’t - there’s no trauma, Kate. I’m fine. I just - I guess this case had me afraid that Tyson would step up his game, come after us, people I care about.”
“We never would have let him come after Martha or Alexis,” she swears to him, hoping the knowledge that he had an entire precinct ready to protect his family if need be would provide him with comfort, but she watches his lips purse instead.
Kate shifts on the sofa to face him, her brow creasing with confusion. “Me?”
Castle scrapes a hand through his hair and averts his eyes, looks as if he’s about to rise, take a page from her book and make a run for it, so she drapes her hand atop his knee, effectively stays him.
“I can’t protect you,” he gets out without meeting her eyes. “Couldn’t protect you. I wouldn’t have been able to stop Tyson if he had-“
“Castle, stop,” she breathes, her fingers clenching hard over the bone of his knee.
“And I know you don’t need my protection, but I can’t - God, I can’t lose you again, Beckett,” he confesses, his head in his hands and his body curling in on itself, protecting himself. From her. “Not like that.”
“You’re not,” Kate chokes out, the terrible grief clogging her throat, knotting in her chest beneath the bullet scar that consumes her sternum, consumes everything.
She’s close enough to drop her forehead to the rounded bone of his shoulder, the scent of his aftershave drifting up to greet her, embrace her, and she inhales a deep breath of it, of him, and swallows down her own anguish, focuses on Castle’s.
His spine is stiff, his entire frame rigid beneath the foreign proximity she offers, and Kate reaches for one of the hands fisted in his hair. He lets her have it without resistance, his head turning towards her to watch as she cradles his fingers in her palm, strokes her thumb along his knuckles.
“You’re not,” she repeats, feeling the intensity of his gaze resting on her, searing through her. “I’m still here, Castle,” she whispers, drawing his palm to her chest, up to her heart.
The harsh intake of his breath shudders through them both, but he allows her to keep his hand flat against her sternum, her heart galloping to meet his palm, crashing against the cage of her ribs to feel the warmth of his skin seeping through her shirt.
She couldn’t return his confessions of love, not yet, not with words, but she could offer him this - reassurance in whatever form he needed. She could let him hold onto her heart before she gave it over completely.
“Kate,” he whispers back, but she doesn’t answer, her forehead still sealed to his shoulder, a new favorite place of rest, one where she’s content to remain.
And that’s what they do for a long while - remain. His hand cradled to her chest, her forehead to his shoulder, and his body beginning to lean into hers as time passes.
“Don’t go,” Castle sighs out, his hand going slack beneath hers, and she controls the descent of his fist to her side before she attempts to rise from the sofa. “Beckett-“
“Shh, let’s get you to bed, Castle,” she murmurs, squeezing his bicep before she stands, tugs him up with her. “I’ll stay a little while longer.”
That earns a surprised quirk of an eyebrow despite his drowsy state, the exhaustion from the panic attack that had caused his mother to dial her number, from the pasta and the wine that has even her eyes feeling heavy, from the thought of losing her - all of it overtaking.
He shuffles towards his bedroom with her at his side, his warmth like a magnet she fails to stray from, her body easing onto the edge of his bed even as he plops down. Her mind is in turmoil, red flags and alarm bells plaguing every inch of her skull, but her heart beats hard and fervent behind the walls that bind it, keep it from the man lying next to her on the bed.
“You really don’t have to stay,” he mumbles around a yawn, offering her a reassuring smile, the one he often uses to comfort her, calm her, and they may still be waiting, but that doesn’t mean she can’t stick around, take care of him a little longer, whether he needs her or not. God knows he would do the same for her without hesitation.
“Just for a few minutes,” she replies, easing down onto her side, facing him, and holding her breath as he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Kate,” he murmurs, his fingers traveling to stroke up and down her spine, eliciting shivers and streaks of heat all at once, sending her eyes fluttering shut. “Thank you.”
They peel open at that.
“Always,” she returns, watching the blue of his eyes burn so brightly in the darkness of his bedroom before his lashes fall shut to hide the need she recognizes coming to life.
She falls asleep mere moments after she watches his eyes close for a final time, after she trains the rise and fall of her chest to the steady rhythm of his breathing beside her.
The next time Kate wakes, it’s late in the night and her eyes are thick with sleep, her chest heavy with the weight atop the frame of her ribs, the press of his cheek to her sternum, his ear at her heart. It should hurt, her muddled brain muses, the pressure atop her gunshot wound, but the seal of his cheek to her sternum does the opposite.
He anchors her.
It should terrify her too, but she blinks through the grit of her slumber to catch a glimpse of his face, slack and at peace, innocent and untouched by the grief she had passed onto him. She’ll dislodge him before morning, probably be out of his loft before he even awakens, but for now, Kate combs her fingers through his hair, sighs quietly when he tightens the arm around her waist and nuzzles gently, his nose grazing her collarbone.
This is what she’s working so hard for, trying to be better for, what they’re both waiting for. But for tonight, she erases her shooting from her mind, dispels thoughts of Jerry Tyson and the ache in Castle’s eyes when he’d said he couldn’t protect her, and gives him the beat of her heart, the drum of reassurance beneath his ear. For tonight, she allows them both a much needed rest.
Akielos Gym is deceivingly spacious considering how tiny it looks from the outside. It’s located on the far edge of the city, a tiny crook in the wall beside two hardware stores. But once you’ve walked down the long corridor to the reception desk and up the stairs, it opens into a wide, open space that must cover at least four or five of the downstairs properties. The rent must be obscene, but considering the pretty little penny that Laurent is fishing out for his membership, he figures the owners can easily afford it.
The thing is, Laurent hates the gym. He really does. But his new boss recommended the place and he keeps asking about whether Laurent has been yet, and so here he is: stood in the middle of the gym with one tall, dark, handsome, and obscenely muscular man who calls himself Damen. He came in last week to sign up and fill out a ridiculous number of forms, but today is his first day with his personal trainer. Apparently, everyone that signs up gets a personal trainer free for six weeks. It sounds great in theory, a good deal, but that means that Laurent actually has to show up to the gym and that when he’s there he actually has to exercise.
“Laurent, right?” Damen asks, stopping them in front of a row of treadmills. He’s holding a clipboard flicking through all the forms Laurent had signed the week before. Laurent tries not to fidget.
“If you could tell me what you want to get most out of this, it’ll be easier for me to plan your sessions.”
“I don’t want to get anything out of it.” Laurent says with a sigh.
Damen looks down at him with a frown and an amused upturning of his lips. “Are you here under duress?”