#How to mend a broken boxer

[skz-vla]

How to mend a broken boxer

How to mend a broken boxer

✦ Boxer Lee Minho, Dancer Lee Minho, SO Much Hurt/Comfort, Strangers to Lovers, Insecurities, Han Jisung is a Sweetheart, Making Out, Injuries, Convenience Stores, Falling in Love, Healing

✦ Written for the Minsung Ficathon on Twitter

✦ Finished, 38k

✦ Rated M

[sixpennydame]

Part One: The Feint

Pairing: Boxer!Choso Kamo x Fem!Reader [Jujutsu Kaisen]

Word count: 4.5k

Summary:

Choso's life is simple: eat, sleep, train, fight. But everything changes when a mysterious doctor comes into his life.

Author's notes: This is me, branching out and writing for something other than Attack on Titan! But I just love me a dark-haired, misunderstood man. Thank you to my beloved @littlerequiem for beta reading.

Series content/warnings: No curses AU, bare knuckle boxing, violence (in the boxing ring and out), mentions of blood and broken bones, eventual smut

Part 2 / Part 3 / Series Masterlist

AO3 | Playlist

Line dividers: @saradika-graphics

The first time you meet Choso, he’s covered in blood.

It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. You’re a doctor.

Or rather, you used to be. It was all taken away from you. Now you’re forced to treat fighters in an underground fighting ring, patching up broken bones and open wounds.

This was your life now, and you’d resigned yourself to that.

You hear your door slide open. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” you say, your back turned.

“Ok...” you hear a low voice respond, “but can I sit down? I’m feeling a little dizzy.”

You look over your shoulder to see a tall man, blood oozing from a wound to his head, the rag he has pressed against it drenched.

“Oh - yes, of course! Let me just...” 

You grab sterile gauze and your other instruments from the cabinet and run over to him as he sits down. He looks lethargic, and a little disoriented. You remove the soaked rag, assessing the large gash along his eyebrow.

“That’s deep,” you remark, “you must have been hit pretty hard.”

“Wasn’t too bad. I just bleed a lot,” he answers nonchalantly.

The blood from his head runs down and mingles with blood on his chest.

He notices your downward glance. “That isn’t all my blood.”

“Ah,” is all you can think to say.

You’d hate to see what the other guy looks like.

“Well, let’s get you stitched up then.”

He follows you to your examination table and sits down. You start by cleaning off the blood around the wound, gently dabbing the area while keeping pressure on it. His eyelid is already starting to swell, the deep purple bruising spreading under his eye and to his cheekbone. As you clean his face, you notice that he has a long, dark scar that goes across the bridge of his nose.

“Have you had any blurred vision? Vomiting?” you ask, going through the checklist of a concussion. 

He shakes his head. “Nope. I just need you to stitch me up and then I’ll be out of here.”

“There’s a bit more to it than that. I need to check that you’re ok.” You turn on your examination light and he squints, then you prepare a needle with local anesthesia.

“This might sting a bit,” you warn, and when the needle goes in, he winces for a moment, but his stoic expression soon returns.

You get right to work on the wound, silently putting in one stitch, then two, then another, concentrating on mending the skin together.

“I haven’t seen you before. You new?” His voice breaks the silence and your concentration.

“Yeah…I’m just here for a little while.”

He hums a response, and you can feel his eyes glance up at you. 

“That’s good. Nobody should stay around here for too long.”

“And how long have you been fighting here?”

He sighs. “Too damn long. But fighting is all I’ve ever known….I can’t really do anything else.”

There’s a tinge of sadness in his voice. You know what it feels like to be trapped, to not have any other recourse. It’s what got you here, afterall.

You make the final stitch, tie the knot, and cut the thread. 

He makes to stand up, but your hand on his shoulder stops him.

“I need to check for any signs of a concussion,” you say.

He sighs, but with a nod, he settles himself back down. You put your hands on each side of his head, turning it from side to side gently.

“Any pain?”

“N-no..” His dark brown eyes are looking everywhere but at you.

You go through the rest of the list, checking his vision, coordination, and balance—-he passes it all without a hitch.

This guy can really take a punch, you think to yourself.

“Am I good, Doc?”

“It would seem so, but you need to let that wound heal for a week or two before you fight again.”

“Nope, can’t do. I don’t get paid if I don’t fight.” 

He jumps down off the exam table and walks towards the door.

But you grab his arm, pulling the man towards you.

“Hey. You might not care what happens to your body, but I do. And if you’re going to be under my care then you’re going to follow my instructions. No fighting until you get the all-clear from me.” Your voice is forceful and authoritative, and the surprise in his eyes shows that it was not what he was expecting from you.

“Yes…ma’am…er, doctor…” His phrasing is suddenly polite. “I understand. No fighting.”

At that, you let go of his arm. “Good. Come by next week and I’ll see if I can take out those stitches.”

“Next week. Will do, Doc,” he says before walking out the door.

But the following evening, he’s back in your office, straddling one of your chairs and leaning on its back.

“I’m bored...” his low voice whines.

“And so you decided to come here,” you reply dryly while wiping down your examination area.

He doesn’t take the hint, merely watching you as you do your work. Last night, his hair was up in two pigtails that spiked at the top of his head; today, his black hair flows down, almost touching his shoulders. Cleaned up, he’s handsome, even with the swelling from the black eye.

You walk over to him with a small bag of ice. “Here. If you're gonna just hang around here, we might as well take care of that swelling.”

“Thanks, Doc.” He takes the bag, putting it on his still tender bruise. 

“I’m not a doctor.” 

He furrows his brow at your statement.

 “Not fully, anyway. I’m a doctor in residence.”

Was a doctor in residence, but you leave that part out. It’s better not to tell him too much.

Your words seem to be an acceptable explanation. He leans his arms on the back of the chair, then his head. “Well then…what’s your name?”

You tell him. There’s an awkward silence.

“And what’s yours?”

“Choso. Choso Kamo.”

Normally, you don’t bother learning the fighters’ names, or even asking. What would be the point? They’re either too punch drunk to answer you, or they’re in and out of your office without a backwards glance. 

But it wouldn’t hurt to get to know this guy a little more, right? The night’s been slow, and it doesn’t seem like he means to leave any time soon.

“And you said you’ve been fighting for a while?” you ask while attempting to grab a jar of cotton balls on a high shelf.

“Yeah. A couple years. I’m paying for my brothers to go to a boarding school outside the city. The public schools are shit here, and I want them to have better opportunities than I did.” He suddenly becomes quiet, contemplative. “I don’t want them to end up like me.”

That was not the answer you were expecting from him. You’d assumed all the fighters here were adrenaline junkies or extreme pain addicts, with overinflated egos to match. But Choso didn’t seem to fit any of your preconceived notions. He’s fighting for his family because he feels he has to.

So you’re not the only one who feels trapped in their circumstances.

He walks over to you, looking down and smiling. “Don’t feel sorry for me, though. I chose this life.”

There’s a silent energy between the both of you as you meet his gaze, but it’s gone in an instant when he looks away, reaching up and getting the jar.

“Did you need this?” he asks, his voice suddenly low and sweet.

“Yeah.... thanks.” 

Your fingers graze his as you take the jar and there’s a flutter in your stomach. For someone so beat up and bruised, there’s a gentleness about him; you can see it in his eyes.

The moment between the two of you, however, is cut short when the door is kicked open and a bloodied and bruised fighter is rushed into the room. 

By the time you get them bandaged and stitched, and your workspace clean, Choso is gone. 

Ah well, you think, better not to get too attached anyway.

But the next evening, he’s back in your office, just like clockwork, leaning in a chair or sitting on a counter, just ever so slightly in your personal space. You use it as an opportunity to check his wound, reprimanding him for not regularly putting on antiseptic ointment. 

Your leg brushes his as you dab the ointment on, attempting to ignore that he’s once again watching you silently. 

You clear your throat. “You need to take better care of your wounds, Choso, or the scar isn’t going to heal properly. Or worse, it’ll get infected.”

”I don’t really care about scars. I’ve always had them, it seems.”

You look into his eyes, then down at the scar across his nose.

”How’d you get that one?”

“That?” He points to his nose. “That was an unfortunate incident with my father and a metal baton.”

He then tells you about his life, about having an abusive father and an absent mother, and about raising his younger brothers practically on his own. As a teenager he’d given up on school but had found an aptitude for fighting, first in back alleys and parks, and  now, in his early twenties, in the underground bare knuckle boxing matches run by various shady gambling organizations. 

The gambling here was somewhat legal, but the matches were anything but, pitting fighter against fighter in a bloody free-for-all where the only rule was don’t hit them hard enough to kill them. The fact that Choso was still alive and fighting after all these years was impressive.

Slightly masochistic, but impressive. 

From here on, every evening, Choso would come like clockwork. He’d find his way to your office, where you’d assess his wound, put on more ointment (he would always forget), give him some ice for his bruising and just listen to him talk. The man was an open book to you, and after a few days, you felt you had a good idea of who Choso was and what made him tick.

Like how he hates confined spaces but has no problem with heights; that if he’d gone to college, he would have been a preschool teacher because he loves kids; how he likes board games but gets too competitive.

He was odd but sweet, carrying himself in an unassuming way that contrasted vastly from the other fighters that passed through your door. Even though he was part of such a cruel world, he seemed so… innocent, as if he was experiencing life for the first time. 

You, on the other hand, kept information about yourself general and brief during your talks with Choso. To tell him about yourself and your life would mean that you trusted him; that he was more than just another fighter coming through your door. 

Even moreso, you were afraid of what he’d think if you told him what got you here in the first place.

And so every question Choso asked was met with a quick answer or total silence; that didn’t seem to stop him from asking questions, however; the man was as relentless with curiosity as he was with fighting stamina.

And when seven evenings had passed, you could tell the man was aching to get back into the ring.

“It’s itchy,” he said, gently patting the healing wound with his fingers, just like you’d taught him to do when he felt the urge to scratch it.

The bruising and swelling around his eye and the side of his face had gone down considerably in the past week, faster than you were even expecting. 

Something else you didn’t expect was the fact that you really enjoyed his presence in your office every night, so much so that you felt a small pang of longing every time he left.

“Come here, then. Let’s have a look at it.” 

He walks toward you, reaching up to pull his hair back into a ponytail, his shirt raising just enough to show his toned stomach. You quickly turn away to reach for your glasses.

There’s a crinkling sound behind you as he sits on the tissue paper covering the examination table. You can feel his eyes on you and you take a few breaths before turning around, avoiding his gaze.

You’ve been this close to him countless times, but why does it suddenly feel different now?

There’s cheers coming from the arena down the hall, and that usually brings commentary from Choso about the fighters, but right now, he’s quiet. You wonder what he’s thinking about.

“You look cute in your glasses,” he says in a low voice that sends vibrations to your core. 

“Stop it. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“But it’s true.”

”Shhh...” you command, but his comment has you visibly flustered. You clear your throat as you assess Choso’s wound.

“I’m going to take out the sutures now. It shouldn’t hurt.”

Your examination light clicks on above the two of you and you tilt his head up slightly. He smiles boyishly before looking away.

Realizing it’s pointless to ignore whatever is happening between the two of you, you prod, “Was that your way of flirting?”

”I’ve never been very good at that,” he confesses. “Just stating the facts. One of my many observations of you this week.”

”Oh yeah? And what else have you observed?”

”You purse your lips when you concentrate.” 

You suddenly relax your lips as you start cutting the threads of his suture. “I don’t do that.”

 He smiles. “And you do this little throat clearing sound when you’re nervous.”

As if on cue, you clear your throat. He smirks triumphantly.

”See?”

”So you’ve discovered every one of my physical ticks. You have them too, you know.”

His eyes glance up to you. “And they are?”

”Well…you...” you snip a few sutures, pausing to pull them out and put on a tray, “...sigh loudly.”

”I… sigh loudly?”

”Yeah…as if you’re bored or tired or something.” Snip goes another suture. “And you have the most expressive face I’ve ever seen. I don’t think you’re physically capable of hiding any of your emotions.”

”Unlike you. You’re like a stone wall. You get defensive and distant every time I ask a personal question.”

“I do -” your words come out clipped and harsh, and he gives you a knowing look, “-not..”

Snip.

Silence.

“Ok, fine. What do you want to know?”

“You’re not wearing a ring, so you’re not married. Boyfriend?”

“No.” You want to leave it at that, but that would just prove him right. “I don’t really have time for…relationships.”

Desperately wanting to deflect, you ask, “What about you? I’m sure you have a hoard of fangirls.”

“Me? Fangirls?” He laughs at that and you give him a reprimanding look to keep still before you continue your work. “You clearly haven’t been to any of the matches. It’s mainly old men drunk off their asses. And I don’t really talk to…girls.”

You take out the last suture and dab at the slight bleeding. 

“I’m a girl.”

“Yeah, but you’re different.”

Your brow furrows at that, and so he adds, “I want to talk to you. And it’s a challenge.”

“A challenge? In what way?”

“No matter what I ask, you’ve barely told me a thing about you.  But there’s some things I can tell.” 

His hand reaches out and pauses for a moment, before his fingertips caress your face. 

“You seem sad,” he says gently, “and alone.”

“What does that mean, alone?” You back away from him. “I’m perfectly fine, and I don’t need you to pity me.”

“That’s not what I meant -” 

He walks toward you, but you turn away.

“Your wound is healed and your bruising has gone down. You should be fine to fight now, so there’s no more reason to come here.”  

You can feel his presence right behind you. He says your name but you don’t turn around.

It’s time to stop this. There’s no use in letting someone into your life.

There’s a loud sigh, and then you hear the door to your office open and close.

——

“Goddammit, Choso, why are your hands not taped? Where’s your head been lately?”

Choso stays silent. Was he really gonna tell his trainer that he’s been sidetracked all week because he was thinking about you every moment? 

That would get him a slap across the face, and he’d like to avoid that.

This is the first time he’s been back to the arena since that last night he saw you. And every day he’s thought about whether he’ll catch a glimpse of you walking to your office, or in the hallway. After things fell apart so terribly, he wonders if he’d even have the nerve to talk to you again.

Choso’s trainer pushes him out the door. ”Go to the doctor and ask to borrow their tape. Surely she has some.”

Shit. 

The cheers and boos of another fight echo against the brick and metal of the hallway as Choso makes his way to your office, each step making his heart beat just a little bit faster. 

Would you even want to talk to him? Maybe you’ll turn him away. 

(Of course, if he got injured tonight, you’d have no choice but to treat him, that thought had crossed his mind.)

Just as he makes it to your door, it flings open, nearly hitting him in the face. He stops it right as a man with long blue hair slinks out.

”Oh! Sorrrry man!” His voice is innocent, child-like. “You almost got knocked out before you could even fight.” He smirks while holding open the door ceremoniously. “The doctor will see you now.”

Confused, Choso watches as the man practically skips down the hall but his concern quickly changes when he sees you slumped over your counter.

”Doc…” 

He cautiously walks towards you.

”Go away.” The words are harsh but your voice is weak and defeated.

Choso gently puts a hand on your shoulder to turn you towards him, but you refuse to look him in the eyes. He lifts your chin up to look at him.”What happened?”

That’s when he sees it. Your bottom lip is split and bleeding.

Choso’s eye squint, studying the wound. “Who did this to you?”

You say nothing, but with the freshness of the wound, he puts it together. And suddenly, he’s seeing red.

He turns on his heels, ready to burst out the door and catch that blue haired bastard who hit you, but you grab his arm, pulling him back to your side.

”Don’t, Choso!” You plead. “Please...”

Your eyes well up with tears and Choso’s hand instantly cups your face.

“What happened?”

You hesitate, as usual, but then, “…I’m in trouble...”

”What kind of trouble?”

You look down, grabbing some gauze on the counter to put on your lip. Once again, Choso is met with silence to his questions.

”Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

”Why do you keep coming here, Choso? No matter what I do…you just keep coming back. I don’t get it.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I like you.” The words come out of his mouth so naturally, words he’s wanted to tell you for days.  “You are one of the only people here who is kind to me. I could tell that you really cared. I don’t get that often, if ever.”

He moves closer, placing his hand on top of yours. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

Outside the doors of the office, the voices of the gamblers in the arena raise to a crescendo. A muffled sound announces the next fighters.

But here, it feels as if time has stopped. Choso can’t hear anything but the pounding of his own heart in his ears getting louder and louder. His focus becomes completely on you, as if the rest of the world has melted away. It’s the same feeling he gets right before a fight, but this time he’s not looking to conquer anything.

Or maybe he is.

He brings your hand off your face and leans down, his lips mere millimeters from yours. 

“Let me in.”

Your breath is ragged and uneven and if he closed his eyes, he swears he’d be able to hear your heart beating as well. But after a few seconds, when neither of you move, he begins to doubt himself. 

Then your voice - your sad, soft voice - breaks the silence.

”Choso...”

That’s all he needs to hear to have his lips crashing into yours. It’s a desperate kiss, a hunger arising in him that he’s never felt before. Your arms wrap around his neck and he lifts you up and onto the counter, pressing himself between your legs. He can taste the blood from your lip and it seems to spur a deeper want of you inside of him. His hands roam under your shirt and you moan into his mouth. He wants to touch you, taste you, know everything about you - 

“Choso!” A loud voice resonates outside the office.

Both of you break away from the kiss, breathless.

“Shit. I’ve gotta go.” He looks at the door, expecting his coach to barge in any second; when he doesn’t, he looks back at you. You look so vulnerable right now, he doesn’t want to leave you. He wants to see how much further this can go, how much more you’ll open up to him, but he knows he can’t miss a fight.

“Wait for me. It’s not safe for you to leave by yourself tonight. I’ve just gotta.…go do this real quick.”

This. As if his livelihood doesn’t depend on it. 

“Alright,” is your answer.

And with that, it feels like Choso has been hit with a shot of adrenaline. He kisses you again, maybe a little bit too enthusiastically, because he hears you suck in a breath. 

“I’ll be right back.” He looks down and sees some medical tape on the counter. “And I’ll return this.”

He runs out the door and down the hall, the tape in his mouth as he winds it around his palms and knuckles.

You’re gonna wait for him.

He’s never wanted a fight to finish so fast.

”Choso! Where the hell have you been? You’re up!”

He ignores his coach and starts warming up, jumping a bit and then throwing a few punches. Just outside the door beyond are the lights, the cheers, and his opponent.

But right now, all he wants is you.

”And weighing in at 187 pounds….the man who always brings a bloodbath…CHOOOOSOOOOO!!”

——

You hear the announcer scream Choso’s name and the cheers that follow. 

Let me in… he’d said.

You’re not sure if you’re shaking from being hit in the face or from the intense kisses that you shared with Choso just moments before. Maybe it’s a little of both. 

You wring your hands and pace the floor, your mind racing, trying to understand everything that just happened. Sooner or later, you knew the people you agreed to work for would come to collect - but no matter what you did, it never seemed to be enough. They take and take and take…

And that man with the blue hair - it seemed like he’d taken such joy in hitting you, seeing the fear in your eyes when he made his threats. 

Maybe you should just leave, right now. Pack up your stuff and get out of the city, leave everything behind. 

But it would be no use, you knew they’d eventually find you.

And Choso…he told you to wait for him. It felt so good to be in his arms, touching you, kissing you. He made you feel wanted and safe, something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You’ve never been interested in watching the matches before, but now you find yourself walking down the hall and into the dark and crowded arena. The crowd is lively, throwing out words of praise and curses at both the fighters. You stay in the back, and through the clouds of cigarette smoke, you see him. 

It’s only been a few minutes since the fight started, but Choso’s body is already coated in a layer of sweat. There’s a wild look in his eyes but his face is serious, almost calm. He weaves and bobs in between his opponent’s punches, getting his own punch across his cheek, then one to his chin. Choso takes a few steps back as the man ambles forward, shaking his head a few times while his trainer yells something to him from the ropes. 

The opponent lunges toward Choso but he puts him in a headlock and starts punching his face repeatedly. In an ordinary fight, a referee would break them up, but there are no referees that you can see. The man eventually works himself free from Choso’s grasp, his nose bloody and more than likely broken. He attempts a jab but Choso counters; he hits him hard across the cheek and the man falls to the ground.

”Finish him off!” “Beat him to a pulp!”

”Choso! Choso! Choso!”

The voices raise higher and higher, egging the victor on. But Choso merely walks to his corner, drinks some water, spits it out, and leaves the ring. 

In a matter of minutes, it’s all over, the loser in a pool of blood. 

You rush back to your office, knowing you’re going to have to set that man’s nose.

——

True to his word, Choso comes to your office at the end of the night. 

You’ve just finished treating his opponent and stitching up a cut on his right cheek before sending him away with his trainer and crew. You’d also noticed that the bruising on the man’s knuckles was deep purple and swelling fast; no broken bones, but it looked as if he’d hit something hard and immovable, not another human body.

When you look at Choso, who’s freshly showered and wearing a grey hoodie over a white t-shirt, leaning against your office door, he looks as if he’s just had a walk in the park.

You put on your jacket and grab your things before making your way toward him.

”Let’s go. I’ll take you home.” 

His hand, that just moments before had beaten someone to a bloody pulp, was now outstretched toward you.

An offering. And a surrender. 

You decide to accept.

Part 2 / Part 3 / Series Masterlist

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[pedgito]

Request idea for Eddie and reader where one day she gets him a few new things like band tees a new pair of jeans a pair of sweat pants and maybe a pack of socks, and Eddie is so confused like why did you do this? I can’t really give you anything in return and she’s just like I was just thinking of you, I love you. And he’s never really had a thoughtful gesture like that.

author’s note: crying at the thought of this, i hope this does your request justice, i was too invested in the storyline of this lol.

cw: 18+ (to be safe) mentions of sex/roleplaying, sad eddie headcanons, reader being the best partner, eddie doesn’t know how to accept gifts, established relationship, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 1.7k

Eddie wasn’t used to new things. Everything he owned was either hand-me downs or well-loved from a secondhand store—or stolen, because yeah, he’d never had the easiest life. He lived in a mess, compiling almost too much stuff at a certain point, too afraid to part with anything because every piece had some type of meaning to him and he was scared to lose things. Everything always left him, people included, and it was a constant fear that he lived with.

When he meets you, he latches on immediately. But, you start to recognize the patterns early, his obsessive nature with collecting and always taking what was offered to him without question, even if he didn’t really need it, even if didn’t really want it. Eddie had always been raised to appreciate everything, even the most mundane.

Wayne bought him his first guitar, used and always slightly out tune, but it was his first love. So, when he wanted more and couldn’t scrounge up the money, he improvised. He’s never been proud of his habits, even if he didn’t steal anymore—it was a reminder of where he came from, the obvious missing piece in his life that reminded him how unwanted he was. His father left him alone, his mother having been taken much too soon. Wayne was there to mend the broken state of that boy, but he was never well and truly fixed.

His jacket is the one thing he has that’s semi-new. He’d collected the pieces over time, a true creation of his own. There wasn’t a single thing like it in the world, that’s why it was considered new—even if it was falling apart at the seams and constantly having to be sewn back up.

He hates when you clean up his room, afraid he might lose something important—but the whole idea was that you wanted to make sure everything was organized, to relieve the panic he always felt when he couldn’t find something.

When he finally relents, it’s a mountain of discoveries that lead you to the final decision. Eddie needed something new, something untouched and untainted, all his own.

Holes in his socks, his boxers—rips in old shirts that clearly didn’t fit him anymore, jeans marked up in sharpie and shoes that were barely hanging on, worn down to the sole. Despite the obsessive amount of graphic shirts he owned, he always cycled through the same eight or nine, one for each of his favorite bands and a couple Hellfire shirts. His jeans were all black, accompanied with the same rips, though in unique places for each pair. He didn’t own a suit, nothing of the sort—not even a fancy jacket or nice dress shirt.

He always complained about wanting to dress up for you but feeling like it wasn’t worth it, knowing he’d ultimately look like a fool. It wasn’t true, Eddie just didn’t have the money to manage treating himself to something nice. Wayne worked long hours but the pay was horrible, only managing enough to pay bills and put food on the table—and Eddie’s dealing business wasn’t exactly booming, especially when half of his profits went back to Rick.

Luckily you were slightly better off, having never fallen on hardships as hard as Eddie. You didn’t have to work, didn’t have to worry, and Eddie envied you greatly. But, he always noted how you were different from the others at school—the ones who had money, showed it off. You were humble, you kept to yourself, and you never tried to shove it in Eddie’s face.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that you wanted so desperately to treat Eddie, even if he ended up hating you for it. Because if there was anyone he’d refuse to receive gifts from, it was you.

Unfortunately, you weren’t putting up with it this time.

Eddie comes home late on a Friday night, fresh off the adrenaline of his performance at The Hideout, practically bouncing with the lingering energy. He pounces onto you immediately, hands slipping up under your thighs to lift you up, a surprised squeal leaving your mouth.

“Eddie, put me down,” You beg through a weak laugh, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, feet hitting the floor soon after, “thank you.”

He smiles slightly, eyes darkening with excitement—you knew what he wanted, what he needed, but you needed to get out your surprise first and let him decide then. He doesn’t even notice how spotless the trailer is until he’s peeking into the fridge, the normal, mucky smell now gone.

“Don’t tell me Wayne started sleeping with that one lady again,” Eddie says offhandedly, because you knew just as much about that situation as he did, having lived through the chaos, “last thing we need is her stealing from my stash again, even if she does clean the place spotless.”

“Wayne would never,” You assure him, “not after that shit we gave him for it.”

Wayne was lonely—but it wasn’t lost on him that he had Eddie, and you by association. He’d retired from the dating life soon after a few bad run-ins, settling for nights in with both of you and home-cooked meals when Eddie was busy with his own stuff and you couldn’t keep your hands and feet out of the kitchen.

“It was me,” You shrug, “I got bored and this place reeked.”

“Yeah—and now it smells like a fuckin’ lemon cake.” Eddie grimaces slightly, nose scrunching up in minor disgust.

Your eyes narrow a little, threateningly as you approach him.

“I mean, not that I don’t appreciate it.” Eddie recovers, “fuckin’ love lemons, you know?”

“Uh huh,” You answer mockingly, draping your arms over his neck and forcing him to look at you, eyes gliding over your expression curiously, “—I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Eddie perks up at that, “Please tell me it involves sex.”

His fingers are crossed from where they rest at your waist, wishing and hoping.

“Not quite,” You tell him with a short laugh, “it’s not off the table, though.”

And Eddie doesn’t have any idea what it could be if not that, letting you drag him by his hand to his room, forcing his eyes closed as you cross the threshold.

You reach for the stack of clothes and new pair of shoes and place them into his waiting hands, his face turning up in confusion as he feels it out with his thumbs.

“Role playing, babe—“ Eddie smiles widely, “you really shouldn’t have.”

“No, it’s—“

But, Eddie continues on.

“I know I mentioned something about an elf princess and a knight but we need to, like, plan that out—I had a script planned and everything—“

“Eddie, it’s not clothes for role playing.” You tell him monotone, patting his cheek lightly until his eyes flutter open, glancing down at the clothes briefly before it clicks with him, eyes turning up to you wide and bereft.

“Hey, no—“ Eddie says immediately, voice soft, “I told you no gifts, I don't need them.”

“Shut it, Munson.” You warn lovingly, pushing the clothes back toward his chest that he extends to you, “You don’t get to treat me to things without at least getting something in return.”

“Eating in the parking lot of Benny’s is pretty lame, you know.”

You smile fondly, thinking of all the small, practical dinners you’d have after a long day at school—finding it best to unwind over a burger, feet propped up over Eddie’s lap, the wrapper of his burger resting over the top of your shins and sometimes he’d drop a topping on purpose just to find a reason to touch you. It never failed to make you laugh, watching his tongue swipe against your skin to wipe it clean.

“It’s not,” You tell him honestly, “it’s what I love about you.”

Eddie huffs slightly at that, looking down at the clothes with a tinge of sadness.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Eddie insists, “I have plenty of clothes.”

“But nothing new,” You point out, “fresh off the rack, tags attached—I even got you a new pair of Reebok’s.”

Eddie can’t deny how crisp they look, so drastically different from the shoes on his own feet—a half size to small now and ripping at the seams.

“They are nice,” He smirks slightly, “I just—I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say thank you,” You tell him, “I know it’s implied.”

Eddie drops the clothes abruptly on the bed, opting to grab your face with his hands, touching as gently as ever.

“I love you.” The words hit just as strong each time, his eyes watering slightly but not quite reaching the point of tears.

“I know,” You smile, bottom lip pulled between your teeth briefly, “they can be your dress up clothes, yeah?”

Eddie snorts, pressing his mouth against your forehead—not kissing, only touching, pulling you into a warm hug.

“It’s just some socks and underwear—a couple shirts and a pair of jeans, too. I can’t stand the holes, Eddie. I can’t.” Eddie nods knowingly, though the laugh he gives you is full of amusement at your obvious annoyance with the matter.

“I hope you weren’t trying to turn this into an opportunity for really sappy sex,” Eddie says, arms squeezing around your waist to lift you again, “I can’t do slow tonight, sweetheart.”

You nod slowly, “I hate slow,” You didn’t—it was actually nice, the tenderness Eddie showed when he took his time; soft touches, longing looks that made your face heat in embarrassment, knowing how badly he affected you, but the dirty sex was just as good, if not better, “you know that.”

Eddie kisses you quickly, fully, his hands squeezing at your thighs as he bounces you slightly, adjusting his hold on you.

“I meant what I said about the roleplay, by the way.” Eddie interjects, “I’ve got this vision and—“

If you didn’t stop him now, it would never end—so you kiss him quick, deeply, tongue dipping into his mouth and igniting a fire in the low pit of your belly that has Eddie moaning into your mouth.

“Shutting up, got it.” Eddie nods, finally taking the hint.

He doesn’t complain when you buy him new clothes anymore, accepting them with a soft smile and shy acknowledgement of appreciation—because he deserves it and he deserves you.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[when-life-gives-you-lemons-if]

Hiii hope you're doing well <3

I don't know if this is the right place to ask this, but now that you mentioned The Midnight Saga 👀 i asked this on another blog so i wanted to ask here too

What would it take for The Midnight Saga ROs to go heart eyes on the Mc? definitely not asking for some Mack crumbs cause i miss him no no no

For Ashley: Whenever MC gives her the slightest bit of attention.

For Lanie/Lani whenever MC compliments them.

For Kar: whenever MC engages in some PDA like holding their hands in public or hugging them.

For Zhan: Whenever MC tries to protect them or defend them. Zhan would find that cute knowing that they are more powerful than MC.

As for Mack: whenever MC shows them some love.

Added a Mack snippet below just for you. 🥰

It's the feeling of being alone in bed that jolts you awake. Instinctively, you reach out to the other side, but your hand meets only the cool, empty sheets. Panic surges through you, your heart pounding in your chest. Where could they have gone? The memory of last night's argument, the harsh words spoken in anger, they all come flooding back to haunt you. Your breathing quickens as you sit up in bed, your gaze darting around the empty room, searching for any sign of them.

You listen for any tell-tale signs of them still being in the apartment, and you breath a sigh of relief when you hear the soft sound of running water coming from the bathroom. The sink is on. You lean back, falling limp against the headboard. They're not gone. They didn't leave you, at least not yet.

The stupid argument you had about Lex, your ex, was senseless, and you might have said things that you regret. No wonder you thought that MC left you, but instead, they are in the bathroom, they didn't run when you gave them all the reason to.

You know you should use this time alone to collect your thoughts, to figure out what to say to mend the rift between you. But instead, you find yourself glued to the spot, your eyes transfixed on the bathroom door.

As if sensing your tormented thoughts, the bathroom door creaks open, and there stand MC, damp from the shower, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around themself. Sensual part of their body, usually hidden beneath clothes, are now on display, glistening with droplets of water. Having a mind of his own, your cock ignores your internal turmoil and hardens. It always does whenever MC is around, barely dressed with a towel. It's also a sight that fuels your desire, that reminds you of the passionate nights you've shared in the past. Nights that now seem like a lifetime ago.

Your hand creeps down your body, fingertips grazing the growing bulge in your boxers. You need a clear mind. You need to apologize, not lusting after the person you've without a doubt hurt with your word last night.

"I... I didn't mean what I said last night," you blurt out, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them. "I love you, I do. I'm just... I'm just so broken inside, and I don't know how to... how to..." your voice trails off, the realization dawning on you.

Could it be that despite your own issues, despite the darkness within you, MC still wants and loves you?

Well, they didn't leave. That's a sign isn't it?

"I'm sorry… for last night. I love you. I love you so much that…" you stop yourself.

In response, MC drops the towel, letting it pool at their feet. Naked, vulnerable in more ways than one, they take a shaky step forward and join you on the bed.

"I know," they whisper, their voice thick with emotion. "And I love you too. Broken fragments and all."

With strength you didn't know you had, you pull them into your arms, skin against skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. The tension that had filled the room moments ago dissipates, replaced by the overwhelming need to be one. To apologize for your harsh words and prove just how much they mean to you.

[roosterforme]

The Deployment Diaries Part 7 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: A new family member joins you and Bradley just in time for the next deployment. 

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, angst, adult banter, smut

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots! Check my masterlist for the reading order!

As the dreaded April deadline drew closer and closer, you and Bradley made the best of your time together. You started carpooling when you had to be at work at the same time. Bradley claimed it was to help reduce your carbon footprints, but then added that he also really wanted to spend fifteen extra minutes with you each day. The weather had been perfect for beach picnics, and you found yourselves there more often than not with sandwiches for dinner while watching the sun set.

And then Bradley surprised you by taking you home to see your parents for a long weekend. "Did you just say you got tickets for us to fly to Maryland?" you asked one night, completely surprised. "Yes," he replied, holding you against him in bed, kissing your forehead. "Fly out Friday, land Saturday morning and then fly back Sunday. I know it's not a lot of time for us to spend there, but I thought it would make you happy. Your parents already know about it." "What the fuck," you whined. Bradley froze. "We don't have to go if you don't want to, Sweetheart." You pressed your mouth to his in the dark bedroom. Your fingers threaded through his hair. You eased him over onto his back and straddled his waist. "God, Bradley. You just do things, and they're perfect. And maybe I don't do all the little details as well as you, but I love you so much." Bradley groaned as you crawled down the bed and pulled his length out of his boxer briefs. "You make me better," he told you as you sucked his cock. "You make me so much better." --------------------------------------------- After a fun, albeit short, weekend of hanging out with your parents and having silent sex in their guest bedroom, Bradley was still at a loss. His heart was going to break when he left again, and he would break yours too. It felt like you and he would be in an endless cycle of living alone with a broken heart, just to be reunited and given the opportunity to mend the hurt. Only to do it all over again. You were snuggled up against him on the flight back to San Diego, and once again he was dying to get that ring from storage. He told himself it was still too soon. But this upcoming deployment was so long, and he still occasionally thought you might tell him you wanted to call it quits. You were smart and self-sufficient. You were organized and lovely. You were beautiful and sweet. He offered you essentially nothing in return that you couldn't give yourself. Except for his heart. But you'd chosen him, and he had chosen you. It shouldn't still feel this hard, and he could not for the life of him figure out how to make it easier. When you started to stir next to him, stretched and smiled at him, he pulled you in for a soft kiss. "Baby Girl, you need to tell me how to make it easier," he whispered against your lips. "I don't know how to be deployed when I have you at home. It's too hard." You just smiled at him and rubbed your nose along his. "It's not too hard for me, Roo. I can keep doing it. You don't have to worry." So maybe he would have to rely on you to make it easier for him. ----------------------------------------------- Bradley knew he needed to ask you first. He also knew this was probably a terrible idea, especially since he was leaving for a two month deployment in about a week. But he couldn't say no to the sweet little snout and the sad little eyes looking up at him. "Come on, Rooster, you guys need to take him in," Phoenix said, thrusting the dog into his arms. "He looks like he's half starving and he has a bad limp. He needs someone to nurse him back to health, and your house would be perfect for him. He would have a daddy and a mommy to love him, plus you actually have a backyard." Bradley cradled the little bundle of black and brown fur against his chest. The dog licked his chin and placed his head on Bradley's shoulder. Bradley was screwed; he was already in love with this animal. "Nat, I don't know. You and I are leaving again soon. I need to check with Y/N first. She would end up having to do most of the work right now." The dog whimpered against him, and he felt his resolve melting. Phoenix had found the poor little thing on base when she'd been out for a run right after work. He was trapped down in a steep drainage ditch, unable to climb out. Bradley had scaled the sloped cement walls to retrieve him and carry him back up. "I'm sure she'll say yes if I send her a picture of you snuggling him in your massive arms," Phoenix replied with a smirk as she snapped a few photos of him with the dog. Bradley rolled his eyes. "Listen, if she says no, I'll take him home just for the night and feed him. But I'll have to drop him off at the shelter tomorrow if she says he can't stay." "She said he can stay!" Phoenix told him, holding up the text message thread she had with you. Oh my goodness, Nat! I can't say no to those puppy dog eyes! And the dog is irresistible, too. Bradley smiled down at the dog and scratched him behind the ears. "You wanna come home to my house? My girlfriend's really pretty, and she likes to snuggle, and she'll make you something yummy for dinner." The dog licked Bradley's chin again before barking in what Bradley assumed was delight. Phoenix helped get the dog strapped into the back seat of the Bronco. "If you pee in here, you'll be right back on the streets, okay buddy?" Bradley warned him before hopping in and driving him home. When he pulled into the driveway, you came running out to the Bronco. You were still dressed in your uniform and boots from work. "He's so cute!" you squealed, jumping up and down next to the door as Bradley opened it and gently pulled the dog out. Bradley leaned down and kissed your cheek. "He's basically skin and bones, and he's injured. And we need to make sure he doesn't have an ownership chip." You scoffed and took the dog into your arms. "Look at him! He's a mess, Bradley! Even if he has owners, I'm not sending him back to them! He's staying here, where he will be taken care of!" Then you looked down at the sweet little guy in your arms. "Hi! Aww, yes, you're so sweet! Are you hungry? I got you dog food on my way home from work. And I'll cut up some steak for you too." Bradley watched as you carried the dog inside, still talking to him and letting him lick your entire face. "She already ditched me for the dog." -------------------------------------- You sat on the floor and tried to hand feed him dry dog food. He was so dehydrated and hungry, he could barely keep the food down. Bradley had forfeited half of his steak from dinner, and you were finally getting the dog to take some bites of the meat from your hand. "What time does he need to go to the vet tomorrow?" you asked Bradley when he got off the phone with the emergency clinic. "5:30. I can take him right after work," Bradley said as he leaned against the kitchen counter. "And I guess he needs a name?" You smiled up at your boyfriend. "Oh, I already named him." Bradley tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. "Do I even want to know?" You ran your hand over the dog's matted fur and gently tousled his ears. "When you're done eating, Tramp, we'll give you a nice bath before bedtime." Bradley cracked up and smiled down at you. "The name is very fitting, Baby Girl. He's kind of pathetic, he's eating out of your hand, and he's already in love with you." You grinned back up at Bradley. "Yeah, Roo. He's just like you." Bradley nodded in agreement. ------------------------------------ Getting Tramp bathed took both of you a full hour to accomplish. He kept trying to climb out of the tub in the master bathroom, so Bradley ended up holding him gently in place while you used your fancy shampoos to clean his filthy fur. He would need to be taken for a haircut soon, but getting him to the vet was more important. "Oh no, now he's cold," you said as you drained the water from the tub. The dog was looking up at Bradley with the most pathetic face as he shivered. You jumped up and ran to get some fluffy towels out of the closet and bundled him in them. Then Bradley scooped him up and sat on the floor with his back against the tub, cradling Tramp while he dried off. You bit your lip and looked down at them. "Oh my God, this is literally the sweetest thing I have ever seen," you gushed before settling on the floor next to Bradley, turning his face toward yours and giving him a kiss. The first kiss turned into a deeper one as you ran your fingers through his hair. "He's so sweet," you whispered with a smile on your lips. "I think we should make Nat his godmother, since she's the one who actually found him," Bradley joked. He looked down to find Tramp was already asleep, breathing softly and snuggled against his damp tee shirt. You kissed Bradley one more time before you hopped up again. "I'm going to set up a little makeshift bed for him on our floor. Eventually we should buy him a crate, but he'll be okay for the night. I'll set an alarm for 2:30 and check if he needs to go outside again at that point, but let's let him sleep for now, yeah?" Bradley watched you walk back into the bedroom. He didn't think it was possible for him to keep falling more in love with you, but you defied all of his logic. A few minutes later, you poked your head back into the bathroom. "His little bed is ready," you whispered. Bradley stood and walked him over to the cushions and blankets you had set up at the foot of the bed, and carefully deposited him there. You threw your arms around Bradley's neck. "Thank you for bringing Tramp home. Now I'll have a buddy here with me when you're gone on deployment. I can take him for walks after work, and he can snuggle with me while I watch all of the shows you don't like." Bradley scooped you up into his arms and carried you to bed. "I had no idea I had the capacity to be jealous of an animal, but apparently I do." Your laugh rang out, making him smile. "And don't worry, I'll teach Tramp how to follow you around and give you puppy eyes. It'll be like I'm not even gone, Baby Girl." You giggled softly as he put you down in bed and climbed on top of you, and you pulled his damp shirt off for him. You had just adopted a pet together. And it was kind of giving him the same feeling he got every time he thought about getting you pregnant. Didn't people get dogs pre-kids to learn about responsibility or some shit? Bradley wasn't sure, but thinking about you taking care of something made him horny. "Oh, hey there," you whispered as Bradley pressed his hard dick against your thigh, and he laughed. "Don't act like you're surprised that I'm turned on right now. I'm in the same room as you, aren't I?" he rasped as you gently ran your fingers along his scalp. "My period is still kind of heavy and crampy. Are you okay with another blowjob?" Bradley rolled off of you, laughing hysterically. "Oh my God, that's the funniest thing I have ever heard you say!" He was literally gasping for air next to you and swiping tears from his eyes. "Yeah, Sweetheart, I'm pretty sure I can suffer through another amazing blowjob from you." He pulled you on top of him and saw that you were laughing now too. "Can you believe the audacity of me to assume you enjoy cumming in my mouth?" "Stop it, Baby Girl, please! I can't stop laughing!" You shook your head and leaned in next to his ear. "I'll bet I can get you to stop laughing and start moaning." Then you licked the side of his neck and reached your hand down inside the waistband of his underwear. Bradley grunted softly. He could feel his cock throbbing and jumping against your palm. "Oh, I already know you can do that. Been more than six months you've had me moaning your name, Y/N." And then you were the one moaning into his mouth as you stroked him slowly with your hand. "Okay, you can't say something that sexy to me and not expect a reward." Bradley watched in anticipation as you took your shirt off and removed your bra as well. Then a grin broke out across his face as he watched you grip his dick and lean down to rub your perky tits all over it. He also enjoyed the sight of the golden charms on your necklace swinging back and forth before coming to rest on his cock. "Oh, I love this," he groaned as you licked the bead of pre-cum from the tip of him, swirling your tongue to be sure you got it all. "Oh, fuck." You glanced up at him as you ran your hard nipples across his balls. He couldn't decide if he would rather look at your pretty face or your pretty tits, so he alternated between both. You worked yourself against him, occasionally pausing to kitten lick along his length. Then you sucked on him so well. When you pulled him out of your mouth with one last lick, he was panting for more. "You want to cum on my tits, don't you?" you asked softly as you played with your nipples from your spot between his legs. "You love my tits." Bradley groaned as he sat up, wrapped his arms around your waist and flipped you onto your back. "I do love your gorgeous tits, Sweetheart." He sucked on them softly and kissed them reverently before adding, "And I'd love to cum all over them." You leaned back against the pillows with your mouth open for him, and he straddled you while you sucked his cock until he was so close. Then as he pumped himself a few times and unloaded all over your chest, Bradley smiled the bright happy smile of a man who was very spoiled. He helped you get cleaned up and promised you that he would get up with Tramp and take him outside at 2:30 so you didn't have to. "Thanks, Roo. You always spoil me," you whispered as you were dozing off, draped across Bradley's chest. --------------------------------------- "I know I told you it's not hard for me, but I was lying," you said, crying softly against Bradley's chest. "I don't want you to leave again tomorrow." You were curled up in Bradley's lap on the couch, and Tramp was sitting at his feet playing with a squeaky toy. "Sweetheart, there is nothing I can say that will make this any easier. And I'm very sorry for that. But I love you, and I know you'll be okay without me, and I'll be okay without you. Not great, mind you, but okay enough to get through eight weeks." It killed you that you couldn't be strong for him right now. "Tramp is just getting used to us. He's going to think he comes from a broken home." "Don't say that! I'm coming back to both of you," Bradley whispered into your hair. "Tramp, mommy is being silly, I'm not leaving, buddy." You watched your adorable dog look up when Bradley called his name, before returning his attention to the toy. "At least I'll have Tramp. And you'll be with Nat. That does make me feel a bit better," you said, taking a deep breath. The tears were finally slowing down for now. "But I'm still going to worry," you whispered, and Bradley scooped you up and carried you to the bedroom. Tramp followed close behind and plopped down on his doggy bed in the corner. "I'm coming back, Baby Girl," Bradley whispered into your hair. "Always." When he climbed into bed with you, he just held you all night. He kissed you back when you kissed him. He whispered how much he loved you. And he held you against his comforting body. ------------------------------------------- Bradley's alarm woke him at 6:00. He needed to be at the docks in two hours, but he wanted to have enough time to give you a proper goodbye. He wanted to be able to spend a little more time with you, because he was going to miss your naked body draped across his all night and waking up to your hair tickling his face. When he set his phone down, you started to stir. "Baby Girl," he whispered, and you squeezed him so tight. He had never dreamed he could be loved like this. "Bradley, I have an idea," you told him in your soft morning voice. "Let's take Tramp and get in the Bronco and drive east and tell the US Navy to go fuck itself." You made him laugh, just like you always did. Even on this sad morning, he didn't have to force it. "You're so smart, Sweetheart. Let's do it," he told you before you mashed your lips against his. You stroked both of his cheeks with your thumbs as you kissed him until he was hard and moaning into your mouth. "I want you nice and slow," you whispered, and Bradley pushed you onto your back. "I need you to make me come." "I will, Baby Girl," he replied with certainty. Bradley pushed into you, your beautiful face soft and unguarded in the early morning light. He knew your body so well, and he had become exceptionally good at being patient when you needed him to be. So he took it slow and steady and told you how you were perfect and that he was going to love you forever. He wasn't surprised when you erupted into tears a minute after you both came. He just gathered you into his arms and held you until your breathing was steadier. His heart was breaking again. It was going to break every single time he did this to you. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry," he whispered, and he cried too. ------------------------------------------- You managed to change into some old sweats and put your hair up, but your attention was fixed on Bradley as he made you a mug of coffee and took Tramp outside before getting dressed in his uniform. And all the while, he kissed you at least twice per minute for an hour. It was getting late now, and you could barely look at him in his khaki. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he nuzzled his nose against your neck. He was holding Tramp who was getting in on the group hug. "You need to stop apologizing, Roo. I wouldn't be this upset if you were a shit boyfriend. It sucks so much because you're the best." He pulled you against him hard one last time before you led him out to your car. The drive to base was quiet, but Bradley held your hand while you cried silently. This was all too familiar from when you did this in January. As you walked across the dock, Bradley kept his arm securely wrapped around you with his duffle tossed over his other shoulder. But when you saw Phoenix, you completely lost it again as she pulled you into a hug. "It's going to be okay," she promised you. "I'll be around to look after him this time. I've got his back in the air, and I'll help him fend off other ladies. There's nothing to worry about." You just chuckled and nodded against her neck and said, "Both of you need to stay safe." Then he dropped his duffle, and you were back in Bradley's arms as he was being called aboard. "I love you so much, Baby Girl. And I'm gonna miss you every minute for the next eight weeks, you can count on that. And check your nightstand drawer when you get home." "I'll miss you too," you said as he scooped you up. You kissed him softly, arms around his neck and fingers in his hair. "I love you." He kissed you harder, tightening his grip on your thigh with one hand and messing up your hair with the other. He set you down gently, kissed you one more time, scooped up his bag, and walked onboard with Phoenix. 

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

I’m not crying, you’re crying! Okay, we all are!

Part 8

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[thethoughtsofhers]

Phoenix

Love yourz.

Seeking for advice, seeking for wisdom

Tired of love cause it hurts my cardiovascular system

Want a lover and a friend

Losing Andrew, fuck my life he was a godsend

Raised the bar too high up

Just like Usui treating Misaski, had my mind made up

Maybe at some point someone will show up into my life

Hoping at that point I’m living like a happy lil wife

And show me that love exists again

Impatiently waiting for it being when

Open up my heart to love, like Usui did with Misaki

Having a family one day playing field hockey

I know there’s more in life than love

But I’m a boxer of love and what’s a boxer without his glove

Mend my heart through words and actions

Baby I need time, patience, or distractions

Took a lot of losses, still healing from the grieving

Past exs and flings involved in deceiving

They say it’s never-ending

I just hope for some mending

Tryna not to let the past get to me

But the pain at this point feels like a whole lot of debris

Tryna heal and focus on transformation

But feeling like Sandy Cheeks when in hibernation

No place like home, but home has been broken from the start

Tryna put healing into words that come from the heart

History has a way of repeating itself

But know that Ima change that for myself

Listening to find answers during meditation when it’s quiet

Love is always the focus along with applying it

Tryna rebuild my home

By healing my thoughts in a form of a poem

The truth lies within the empty spaces

But each thought is different within its bases

Between the thoughts, it’s like the truth shines within the soul

Nothing like not having any sort of fucking control

Familiar feeling, I know it all too well

Seems like all I could do is cry and yell

I can’t teach how to heal but I hope to inspire

To keep the light in those eyes similar to fire

So that it never fades like a sweet musical that serenades

Asking for myself when will the tears end

Aqui estoy amore, awaiting to ascend

[byorder-fanfic]

How They Look After You When it Gets Bad: Bonnie

Preference Masterlist

Requested by anonymous

Word count: 1727

Warnings: Reader going through a hard time, suggestive comments, swearing, Bonnie gets hurt (emotionally), not favourable descriptions of Small Heath (apologies to any Brummie readers- it’s for the plot)

Author's Note: Hi! I’ve had some trouble with the Ada and Finn preferences so I’m mixing up the order a bit. Those who’ve requested, your fics will be out soon! If there’s any other characters you want me to write for, feel free to make any more requests. Hope you enjoy and I’m wishing you all my best

(Gif by @sophieshelby) 

The Golds were travellers. It's what you loved the most about their life, the life that you jumped into in the greatest leap of faith that came with loving Bonnie. Now, whilst watching him ditch button-ups in favour of short vests, giving you full view of his lean arms attacking bags and people with so much strength was fun, it was the wind in your hair as you sat behind him on his horse, arms wrapped around his middle, it was huddling up in your shared bed in the caravan and arguing as to whether or not you could fit another ugly knitted blanket on top of the rest of them, and the maps you kept in a drawer that was slowly becoming more crosses than roads with all the places you've visited- it was that which made you love this life all the more. Plus, living with you Bonnie and his family (who had welcomed you with open arms the second Bonnie introduced you) created a second home, a home that lived on wheels and trotted down dirt paths. You knew that Bonnie getting his boxing licence would make the travelling come to a halt, and Small Heath would have to be home for as long as there was a job to be done and a reward to be reaped. And you were okay with that. You really were. Maybe there were a few tears as you hugged Esmerelda, Naomie and especially little Floss (she was desperate to see Bonnie go head to head with the Peaky Blinders!) goodbye as they continued travelling, you knew Bonnie felt the absence of his sisters more than you would. So, you made sure he never felt lonely, and the bed never felt empty; well, it wasn't as if it was a particularly difficult task to keep him company.

Small Heath was not a particularly enthralling place. Although you were on friendly terms with the Shelbys and their clan (and that was no exaggeration, they multiplied like rabbits!) and, after many, many threats from both the elder and younger Gold, none of the younger Peakys were planning on making a move on you, it was the place itself that seemed to bore you. All those things that you'd learned to love from your life on the road- the fresh air, the constant movement, the friendly welcomes when you saw another caravan cross your path, and the freshly caught food cooked over an open fire- there was none of that here. The sky was full of fumes that burnt more than the dark char of over-exposed meat, there was no patches of grass or flowers and everything was so fucking grey. Grey streets, grey sky, and a very grey mood for you. Sometimes, when Bonnie and Aberama were busy with the Peaky business that they left you out of, you'd just go over to the Cut and sit by the water to get even the slightest feeling of being back amongst the rivers and streams where you and Bonnie would set a number of ugly knitted blankets down and spend the night besides. You always thought the sound of water, and the view of the stars was the best way to fall asleep. Bonnie said the best way was next to you. You loved him, you truly did, but things were getting hard. Bonnie was always so busy now, between boxing and whatever the hell Tommy bloody Shelby had him apart of. Wrapped up next to him under all the blankets was the most time you spent with him, and he was usually so spent from work that he was snoring after seconds of laying his head on the pillow. All you could do was hope he didn't wake as you breathed softly next to him, trying to ward off sleep as much as you can just to see him as much as you can. By the time the sun rose, he was already up and at it. In stinking Small Heath.

You didn't want to resent him for bringing you here. You wanted to be proud of him when he boasted about getting his boxing license. You wanted to be happy for him when he came back, completely sloshed, after a night out at the Garrison with the Peaky boys he'd gotten close to, and he smelt like bloody whiskey and cigarettes when he cuddled up to you, drunkenly nuzzling his nose into your neck. You hated whiskey and cigarettes. Well, at least you think you did. You hated everything right now. You had tried to distract yourself from this frustration that was slowly building up in you, especially after you 'accidentally' broke one of the cups Naomie had made. You would pay for that when you saw her again. You had gotten Charlie Strong and Curly's permission to help with the horses in the stables. Eventually, though, you just felt sorry for the poor buggers: trapped in a scrap yard in a place full of people and so little greenery. Of course, you refused to admit you were projecting your own feelings on them. After feeling lonely for too long, you decided to make friends with the Shelbys. The Peaky boys that Bonnie had become fast friends with were nice enough, and Bonnie was happy for the excuse to see you more. As for the Shelbys, you had to be honest, they were a bit bloody scary. Esmerelda had made sure you were prepared for them, and you kept a whittling knife on your person every time you left the isolating sanctuary of the caravan, so you knew full well you could keep yourself safe amongst the blood and gore of the gangsters.

Eventually though these feelings caught up with you. You didn't even bother leaving the caravan today, knowing the streets were only going to further sour your mood and, even the bright presence of Bonnie's sleepy, half-awake smile, couldn't stop your erratic scrubbing of the plates. Ever since the Naoime's-broken-pottery-you were-sure-to-pay-for incident, you had only been entrusted with the metal pots and pans that weren't so easy to shatter. Still, you managed to scrub the metal dish in such a way to rouse the weary boxer. He had the day off, as Arthur had told you the night before when you sat in the Garrison, and the rest of the boys gave such a cheer their whiskey splattered on your dress. Bonnie had blushed, but you could see the hints of mischief in his smirk. And, with Aberama taking last night and today back in Small Heath, there was no misunderstanding Bonnie's intentions. You heard his stumbling foot steps as you moved further out of the open caravan door, focusing far too much on the washcloth and the practically sparkling pot that you still scrubbed.

"Hey, dove," he said in  sing-song tone that usually made your heart melt. Now it made your blood boil.

"Mornin' Bon," you replied back, far too snappy for his soft voice. 

He was startled. You didn't have to see his face to know he had flinched, feeling the sudden twinge of pain in the air like a broken string.

"Are you alright?" He asked, kindly, reaching down to rest his hand over yours. Instantly, you dropped the pan and cloth on the floor, hearing it crash against the soft grass.

"Well, you'd know if you'd have been there!" Along with your swift movement to stand up, the fierceness in your voice made Bonnie back away into the caravan. He saw the frustration clear in your face, and his shoulders hung in shame. He knew he'd been busy- too busy- and it must've hurt you.

"I'm so sorry, dove, I swear I'm trying to do this for us." 

"For you! And all I fucking do is stay in this fucking city!"

"It's not for long- then we can have that life we planned, with the boxing licence and our own caravan and-"

"And I don't wanna be here!"

You screamed it so loud that you were sure the birds in the trees surrounding you had flapped away from your voice like a shot had been fired from one of the Golds' many, many guns. And Bonnie seemed like he wanted to flee too, face so smushed up and hurt.

"I hate this place! It's dirty and cold and it smells like fucking shit!" 

Bonnie felt his whole body crumble at the tightness in your face, the look of pure anger making your fists squeeze in so tight he knew your nails would be digging in. He was the boxer and it was of his opinion that you should never have to raise a fist like this. You must hate him. You must do, and he was feeling his broad shoulders dip at the wildness that flickered in your eyes.

"I don't want to be here!" It was the crack in your voice that revealed yourself. A crack that mended Bonnie's wounded expression into that of concern. You didn't hate him. You didn't. You probably didn't even mind stinking old Small Heath. 

"Then how about we get outta here?" He suggested, giving you that lopsided grin that always made you childishly giddy. Even now, with frustration embedding your palms, you felt a kinder warmth flood to your cheeks. With more confidence, he moved towards you, cupping your cheek as you felt yourself just drop a little without the weight of frustration on your shoulders.

"Please," you muttered, leaning forward to rest your forehead against yours. "I want fresh air and empty fields and a blanket next to a stream."

"Just you and me lying down and looking at the stars?"

"That's all, Bon."

"Then you'll get it. Let's get changed, pack some food and we can get on a horse and just keep on riding, ey?" You chuckled a little at his romantic proposition, burying yourself closing into his grasp. "And get out of smelly old Small Heath that's been keeping me away from my dove."

"You're gonna have a lot of time to make up for." A little bit of frustration still hung in your mind, but the sweet look of adoration on your Bonnie's face was enough to soothe it into a cheeky remark.

"Indeed I do," he whispered into your neck. His expression got sadder again. "I'm sorry."

"So am I."

[wlw-multi-fandom-imagines]

Hey, may i ask for a little scenario where Cheryl blossom falls for a new Femreader student who's a pro kick boxer and can kicke asses (but at first sight she doesn't seem like it) when reader intervens on day when Cheryl Veronica and Betty start an argument with some guys from the sport team who are quite violente. Thank you !

Before she signed you up for your first lesson, your mother had very solemnly laid out a few ground rules regarding your year-long campaign start kickboxing.

1.  No hanging out after hours at the gym

You were only 14 at the time, but your mom wasn’t naive and she noticed the intensity in your gaze as you’d pass the gym and the way your face reddened as you stammered out a few words to the older girls standing out front when they asked if you were interested (in kickboxing, of course).  If she was going to pay for lessons, you’d better be focused on your trainer and not securing a hookup for later.

2.  No hiding injuries

You had hated going to the doctor since childhood, and it became apparent early on that you would go to great lengths to avoid doing so.  From denying fevers to the time you had hidden two broken toes for a week, you always made every effort to mend yourself up before revealing anything was wrong.  If you were going to fight, you had to be honest and suck it up enough to see a doctor if you needed to.

3. No fights outside the ring.

That one had been hard to stick to at times.  Though not violent by any means, you were quick-tempered and needed to get a handle on it if you were going to get “punching lessons”.  

You had agreed to all of these rules, to your mother’s subtle surprise, and had been in the gym every afternoon after school since.  And, to her immense relief, you didn’t allow the other women at the gym to distract you.  It was easier than you had initially thought, especially considering most of them were hot-headed and honestly a little too similar to yourself to consider dating.  

Cheryl, on the other hand...Cheryl got you wrapped around her finger within weeks of your arrival to Riverdale.  Your official tour guide to the new school, Betty, had introduced the two of you during your lunch period.  One look at the subtle flex of your muscles beneath the shirt you were wearing was enough to catch her attention, and the game was on.  

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

“Hey, your girl and her little friends are starting a fight.”

You looked up from your phone, frowning in confusion at the unfamiliar person in front of you.  You hadn’t cared to get to know many others at the school once settling in with Cheryl and her friend group, but judging by the sweatshirt, this was clearly the girlfriend of one of the lacrosse players.

“What?”

“Cheryl, Betty, and Veronica are in the parking lot with some of the football-”

You didn’t bother staying to hear the rest, opting instead to zip up your backpack and sling it over your shoulder.  Standing up quickly, you brushed past a few fellow students just arriving in the student lounge and high-tailed it towards the front entrance.

As you neared the doors, you saw a small crowd gathering near the parking spots that were unofficially reserved for the football players (aka: if you parked there and weren’t on the team, your tires were going to be deflated by lunch) and quickened your pace.  

“You seriously don’t have anything better to do than fake an insurance claim against a sophomore?”

Veronica’s voice was the first one that you could make out clearly as you pushed your way through the spectators.  A knot tightened in your stomach as you finally broke into the center of the crowd and spotted her, Betty, and Cherly at a standoff with five douchebags in letterman jackets.  You glanced around the sea of unfamiliar faces, hoping to spot Archie or hell, even Jughead.  

Nope.  You were the only reinforcement so far.

“Look, the little freak clearly came whipping into the parking lot way too fast and smashed into me and I have a few witnesses here that will back me up.”

“As if.  You literally almost ran Jughead and me over the other morning,” Betty pipes up.  

“And for someone always flexing Daddy’s money, you’d think you’d be able to afford to get a little scratch fixed.  Actually, I bet your Daddy would just love to hear all about this and all about that time two summers ago when you-”

“Shut the fuck up, you bitch.”

The Lead Douchebag lunged forward, a sudden surge of anger and panic replacing the smug features that had painted his face before Cheryl began her remark.  Whatever happened two summers ago was clearly something he intended to take to his grave, and she had struck a nerve in the same way that watching him rush her like that struck a nerve with you.

“Oh!”

The crowd reacted to your swift punch with one unified sound of surprise and teenage exhilaration, but the ringing in your ears drowned out any further responses over the next few minutes.  Five against one wasn’t a fair match by a long shot and you took quite a few blows, but the football players didn’t have the form or the stamina that you had.  So, when you landed a solid hit to the face or a kick to the leg, it gave you enough time to move on to the next opponent. 

The scene soon descended into chaos, with more students arriving to add to the jeering, screaming sea of onlookers desperately trying to record every second of action on their phones.  Eventually, Archie and Jughead were among them and turned it into a 3v5 before a few administrators caught wind and rushed outside to break things up.

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

“My mom is gonna be so pissed.”

Cheryl’s head tilted to the side, expression soft and filled with subtle adoration as you pressed an icepack to your cheek and slumped against the back of the bench outside of the principal’s office.  Apart from your face, your left side and your knuckles are really the only things that hurt much right now.

“No she won’t; Principal Honey isn’t even calling home and we aren’t in trouble.”

“Yeah, but this will bruise,” you said, shifting the ice, “and I’m not great at lying to her.”

“God, your healthy relationship with your mother is constantly both surprising and refreshing.”  The redhead reached over to squeeze your leg and you looked away, a little bashful at how she always teased you over the difference in parenting styles your mothers had utilized.  “But is it really that big of a deal?  Surely she has to be used to this kind of thing by now.”

“Not exactly.  I’ve never actually been in a fight outside of, you know, the scheduled ones...” you admitted, once again feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment.  Cheryl looked surprised and like she didn’t fully believe your statement.

“Never?  And here I thought you spent your days before Riverdale saving many a damsel in distress.”

“Nope.”

“Well today you saved three, since I’m deciding to count Betty and Veronica as my fellow damsels.  And to say thank you, we’re treating you to dinner at Pop’s and then drinks and a little performance in the speakeasy.”

You arched an eyebrow, then grimaced at the flash of pain in your face.  

“Performance?”

“Just something we’re throwing together,” Cheryl winked mischeviously and just like that, any lingering concerns about your mother’s reaction to this disappeared.

[vander-affectionate]

masterlist

vander, viktor, who knows? i only write vander for now so i do know hehe

inked

you give vander a tattoo

spoils

you think you can one up the big man

illegal boxer!reader

what it'd be like if vander had a s/o that was an illegal fighter

late night longings [no longer accessible]

it's hard to sleep without vander

heavy burdens [no longer accessible]

you're the only one who can carry the load

bullheaded brawler

my take on young vander as a wide eyed and bushy tailed, underground street fighter

big headed brawn

you need to go keep your bullheaded brawler from getting into trouble

in a bar there lived a dilf [no longer accessible]

you take vander for a fifteen minute break

mend the broken

you show vi how to properly bandage your hands, vander approves

[talesofsonicasura]

Wonderful Hunter

Chapter 1: Awakening

Life was very odd when it came to the future. Sometimes souls are brought together in the most extreme circumstances...in a bang. Warning: Description of graphic injuries and swearing! Rating Estimate: Teen

I never wanted to be a hunter. Ever since I was little, there was a desire in me to perform. Dance on the stage to my own melody, to bring awe and in wonder for others to witness. A dream that I never had a chance to grab.

To perform in little free time, what wasn't taken by vigorous unwanted training. Nearly every piece of money made to buy materials with the purpose of crafting costumes was placed for ointment to mend any injury or ailment. A toy soldier who wished to no longer have a winding key.

Who would've thought that day where the key had broken was the day I died?

"What the hell did you do?!" The soft whir of electricity echoed through the void in a massive blur of distortion. Voices clear for all to hear but so jumbled that a possible identification of even a gender was impossible. Under all that chaos was a quiet heartbeat. "The machine is overloading! Everyone evacuate immediately!"

That soft whir grew into a high pitched whine as a formed cacophony alongside the harsh thuds from thousands of stomping feet. "___?! No, come back it's too dangerous! Leave that mongrel behind!" Growls of pain and concern from some unknown animal blend together with the crackle of electricity.

An explosion of bright white and velvet purple burst throughout the void with that heartbeat going silent and a small voice hidden amongst it all. Despite the darkness filling the abyss, sensations of phantom pain, muffled voices full of concern, and hands across the skin, that one voice overrides them all.

"We had a good run, pal. Misfits always stick together, ____."

Bright red eyes opened with a harsh start, their owner fully aware of the unfamiliar dimly lit room around them. These confused ruby orbs belonged to a young man around his mid 20s, and almost nude except for the black boxer briefs. Wild cherry blossom pink hair that ends halfway down the man's back, soft peach tan skin, 6'8 tall body sculpted with lithe but powerful muscle and covered in various scars.

Some of these healed wounds were mild such as scratches, bite marks, punctures but there were extreme ones from burns whether it be acid, electric or fire, 2 in deep lacerations to even a large bite mark on the jugular of his neck. Part of the man's body such as his chest and arms were covered in fresh gauze bandages paired with a crude makeshift splint on the right arm.

Raising an eyebrow, the young man removed the bandages whilst breaking the splint with a harsh pull before he took in his surroundings. The room seemed to belong to someone with a rich background from the decor alone. Pastel blue walls lined with beautiful expertly painted portraits, furnished dark oak dressers, a large vanity, double king sized bed complete with silk sheets, pillows, and hard oak frame, large oak wardrobe and three separate doors.

If anything, this made the man feel very out of place. He did catch what looked to be a pair of clothes folded by a table near him, a note on top of the stack. The pinkette delicately got out of the large bed and walked over to the table. 'Dear guest, sorry if I had to leave you a bit underdressed but your wounds needed to be addressed. Hope these would suit you until your wounds finally finish healing. The discussion about the armor would be a later dealing. Sincerely, Maestro of Wonderworld Theatre, Balan."

The man couldn't help the snort or raised eyebrow from the rhyme scheme of the note. His caretaker had left a plain white shirt and long black pants, the material being silk from spiders by the feel of it. Placing the clothes on, he noticed it was a perfect fit suspiciously as it wasn't too tight or loose.

Upon leaving the room, the young man fully understood where he was. It seemed to be a theatre, well, if a theatre was mixed with the dimensional size of a small mansion and aesthetics of a castle. The grand small staircases, rafters above a tall ceiling, fancy torches hanging through a few corridors and the various posters of different shows being some evidence.

As the pinkette walked down the halls, he couldn't ignore the feeling that he was either being watched or led somewhere. The corridors felt wrong, almost if the walls were alive and shuffling each other. He also can't forget the sensation of invisible eyes on his lone form. Whatever the case, the sound of someone talking or to be precise, two people grew louder.

"You are not touching my guest, Lance. Even if the man is odd, I will still hold a defensive stance./ That human isn't normal. Something you would easily notice if you drop being formal. Injuries on his flesh were those that can kill any human. You aren't blind to that weapon and armor made from materials that aren't of man."

Both voices were definitely male in tone and their owners' clearly arguing. The first voice was deep and had a texture similar to smooth chocolate, a type of sweetness paired with charisma. The second voice was softer just as it was light in pitch, however there was hidden animosity to the calm yet alluring tone, a siren luring their delusional prey.

All of it was coming behind a slightly opened door, perfect to peek through or eavesdrop. Quietly the pinkette tiptoed over to the oak frame, ruby eyes looking into the room on the other side. This particular door led to what appeared to be a bar from the kegs put on the side of the bar stand and the various liquor bottles stacked on the shelves behind it.

Sitting at a table adjacent to each other were two humanoids, both being significantly different from the other. The only traits these two oddities shared were their tall 10 maybe 11 ft tall forms, peculiarly thin waists, tendril-like hair, performer attire, spindly arms and spindly legs. Other than that, they could be considered Yin and Yang or opposites.

The one on the left had soft jellyfish-like pastel green hair similar to dreadlocks, pitch black skin, a large perpetual toothy smile, and amber yellow eyes that peered through his hat. A sparkling white hat bearing a red ribbon which acted like a mask for those odd eyes, red cravat, long sleeved short white coat with gold elegant rims, a black tuxedo vest, short red cape alongside fancy white gloves, long glittering white pants that were ruby red past the thigh with gold rims on the bottom, and white pointed shoes.

His opposed companion looked more human except for some glaring details. Deathly pale skin highlight by soft dark violet, long elven ears, blue eyes bearing slit pupils that dwelled in yellow iris, sharp clawed fingers, and long black tendrils with elegant markings in various colors such as green, pink, blue and yellow that sprung from the man's back but was also his hair.

A pitch black bodysuit with gold rims, torn long sleeved short violet cloak bearing elegant gold embroidery for a top, white mask shaped pauldrons on his bony hips and gold toed shoes made for nasty kicks. Wine glasses sat between these two eldritch like entities.

"Dragging others into darkness might be your role, but this one isn't taking a more grizzly toll. He is also greatly injured and like you said could've been dead if I didn't help instead." Spoke the top hatted male, that deep velvet voice belonging to him. It also meant that the darker counterpart had to be Lance from what the pinkette heard outside.

The young man scanned the room, ruby eyes looking for anything familiar to him. His focus immediately sharpened on the glint of darkish violet poking from a large wooden crate, belonging stripped off the pinkette. Carefully and quietly, the man opened the door then slipped inside.

He stuck close to the floor and moved about as the two slender giants were focused on their conversation. It was almost comical how the young man traveled on his hands and feet like a predatory cat, stealthily approaching the target without a sound.

The pinkette was about to reach for the box when the unexpected happened. The door he went through had slammed itself shut with a loud thud, both giants immediately pulled out of their conversation and watched as the chairs parted away from each other. An act that put the stunned human on full display, a deer in the headlights or hand in the cookie jar situation.

No one moved as it was a silent staredown, neither were expecting the chairs or door to come to life like that. It was the man who immediately broke out of his stupor first, the pinkette sidekicking the crate. The box shook as an object was flung out of it by the harsh force, a gun.

It was a double barrel shotgun that was an inky sinister violet in color, the barrels were that same violet but lightened to a red color by the end, the handle of the gun mimicked a dark violet scabbard bearing tannish gold spiral patterns on the side, bone like caparace similar to a segmented blade lined the bottom of the gun barrel and held the trigger within a bone like cage.

With very fluid movements, the pinkette grabbed the descending gun from the air by the handle and spun it until he was holding the trigger whilst the barrel was aimed at the two taller entities. Sapphire and amber could see the subtle cautious fear hidden in those steeled ruby orbs.

"Who the hell are you? And where am I?" The pinkette's voice was slightly rugged, fire within the husky baritone, and a bit of a growl in the pitch. You could hear how deadly serious the human male was at the moment from his voice alone. Lance and his unnamed companion carefully put their hands in the air, sudden movements would only spook the pinkette further.

"There is nothing to fear, you are completely safe here! Please put the gun down, such an item used in a theatre is a huge frown!" Even that giant smile remained despite the slight twitches that showed the top hatted male's nervousness, well, that plus the beads of sweat and now dot sized pupils.

Lance merely raised an eyebrow at the weapon. "You do know it is rude to destroy those bandages you were given? Balan had some difficulty but his will to help you was focused and driven." Those words made the pinkette lower his weapon but not drop it.

He contemplated the words then thought back to the note. Whatever conclusion that came to mind was enough for the smaller man to put the gun down on the table, something that eased the room's occupants. "That means you're Balan? Fucking hell. What the hell happened to me?" The pinkette questioned as he went to sit on the floor only for a chair to move in place instead.

An action that made the human jump back in shock, nearly kicking the chair. "Bloody hell! My day has already been Congalala shit so I really don't need all these magical shenanigans! Please tell me you have some liquor to spare." Balan and Lance could only look at each other completely aware of a very odd explanation.

Not even 5 minutes later, the pink haired man had down half a bottle of wine as he now sat with the taller odd men in the room. Massaging his head, the mortal man finally spoke up. "So I am in a magical sentient theatre that serves as a gateway to someone's heart. You two, mainly Balan, are tasked to use that magic to bring balance to anyone whose heart is out of place upon entering. Nearly godlike beings who performed this task for over 3000 years?"

The top hatted Maestro nodded his head in agreement while Lance took another swig of his wine glass. Both of them ignored the pinkette swearing under his breath, the guy was having a bad day so it was normal. Although none of them could deny that this particular person was anything normal at all.

"Alright. My name is Val'tah, Val'tah Choso and I'm a Monster Hunter." Val'tah quickly raised his hand up before Balan and Lance almost immediately shot out of their seats. "Whoa! Not that kind of hunter for Namielle's sake so don't have your knickers in a bunch. Do any of you have a pen and paper?"

Magically upon request, the mint green haired performer took out a pen and notepad from behind his cravat. Rolling his eyes, the hunter took the items and began to draw something on the paper. Val'tah then placed it on the table for both Maestros to see.

It was a sketch of what looked like a dragon made completely from stone. Stony humps that grew bits of moss protruding from the back, a tail that looked like large pebbles strung together, even flat wings to a wide meteor shaped body and narrowed rhinoceros-like face. "That is a Basarios, a Monster or species of monster."

Lance and Balan looked at the picture with curiosity. It definitely explained why the man had that sort of weapon or armor. "Hunters are sort of like mercenary peacekeepers. Whenever a monster starts a huge ruckus or someone has a job in monster infested territory, we get called to do it."

Taking a swig from the wine bottle, much to Balan's distaste, Val'tah continued. "We don't have to slay targets such as the Basarios if we want to. A Hunter has permission to capture and relocate any large monster to a better habitat, something that I usually do. Where I'm from, it's our duty to keep the balance of not only the ecosystem but between human and monster kind."

A hum of acknowledgment rumbled from Lance's throat, it was almost comical in a sense. Normal hunters have various goals in mind when it comes to hunting: glory or survival. This was the first time hearing about ones who bring balance amongst more dangerous fauna and humans. How very ironic.

"Very interesting, to imagine there is a world beyond the realm of our understanding. There is still a question, how did you end up in our sacred bastion?" Balan's question rang through Val'tah's head alongside a bit of pain. Memories flashing through the pinkette's mind as a look of solemn horror crossed his face.

"I'm remembering it now. I was assigned to an expedition to investigate some odd ruins located near Wyvern's End, a den of a very dangerous monster. Those ruins were actually a machine that accidentally turned on and… I think I was caught in an explosion. Dear Namielle, I think I died."

Silence washed over the room, it was so deafening that a pin drop could be considered a bomb going off. Balan's perpetual smile dropped into a neutral frown, horror crossing his eyes upon the hunter's visage earlier. Severe burns on the unprotected skin and his arm in a very unnatural angle...Wait.

Any other chance to say anything was stopped when a look of abstract terror and grief burned within Val'tah's eyes. "No…! Buena was with me. She must have got caught in the blast too! Where's Buena?!" The pinkette shot out of his chair, the piece of furniture hitting the floor with a loud thud.

Neither Lance or Balan could grab the hunter before he ran for the door, the hard oak opening into a gray expanse of rocky terrain than the actual hallway. Not that the change deterred the hunter as Val'tah ran in but surely took the two Maestros by surprise.

"The theatre opened its doors to a new world never seen before! Could this be the hunter's trauma born from his core or is it something more?" Balan was quick to pick out the growing intrigue within his darker counterpart's words. There was more going on with Val'tah but they couldn't figure it out without finding the man.

Both Maestros quickly ran through those doors to catch up with the hunter and his questionable head start. It appeared that the gray expanse was actually the part of a larger mountain, a steppe to be more accurate. Thick deciduous forests could be made out past some of the gray rocky cliffs other than the one the door led them there, vast yellow fields of grass and very rough uneven terrain laid alongside unknown fauna than just plants.

Or the terrifying large nest made from various sticks, broken logs, ivy, bones of different creatures; humans included, and large egg shell remains of whatever species made it. The only indication that this world was made by Val'tah's heart were the small floating islands and giant airborne accessories or props.

Ribbons woven through part of the forest, a showman's cane that hung by the cliff leading down to the grassy plain, masks hanging across the stone walls, and instruments disguised as plants or rocks playing beautiful music bearing a tribal origin by the beating drums, whistling flutes and sitar strings being strung.

"How very odd and peculiar. This place must be spawned from a memory very familiar. It will be harder to avoid any wrong, when the aura of this world is heavily strong." Balan spoke wearily, a feeling that they were being watched prickle the fuzz on his skin. There was also the strong sensation about splitting up being a very bad idea.

Using the cane to slide down to the forest below helped give both theatre dwellers a quick glimpse of the surrounding areas before they hit the ground. For a split second, Lance swore he saw something large moved through the trees. Whatever it was, it was too big to be Val'tah or any of his familiars.

Both Maestros landed on a reddish clay ridge, small ledges to an almost natural stone bridge connected the large ditch at the center, a small stream of water passing down the middle, various large mushrooms and beehives leaking honey from multiple branches. Or that they weren't exactly alone.

Grazing about the area were deer, their pelts were a dark green speckled by white dots that overlapped a soft peach underbelly, large grayish silver antlers for the males whilst the females had short black horns and azure eyes that stared at the duo. Some of the deer continued to munch on the flora while the others kept a wary gaze on Balan and Lance.

"Definitely inhabitants of Wonderworld but not quite. I think these deer were crafted by Val'tah's memories that hold powerful might." If these animals shared similar traits to their earthly counterparts, the Dark Maestro knew they were relatively harmless unless provoked.

Another thought then immediately crossed Balan's mind. "If these creatures are here, then we might have more to fear. These deer are prey…" Suddenly the various green pelted beasts rose their heads up, ears twitching as if they caught something the other two hadn't.

"Wouldn't a predator cause dismay?" The top hat wearing man really didn't like where things were going as the large herd began to scatter immediately when the sound of heavy thuds could be heard. One deer was running for the bridge, the thuds stopped and both Maestros only had time to blink when something large and purple snatched the scared fawn off the stone ground.

"Holy shit." Balan would've scolded Lance for foul language if they didn't have a bigger problem on their hands. The body of the snatched deer hung limply from the jaws of a giant purple monster. A 69 ft hulking dark violet draconic tiger, its body mostly covered in violet and yellow edged plates of caparace like armor bearing a ruby red underbelly, a short tigerine snout that held large sharp teeth and two large tusks at the ends of the mouth, giant jagged yellow horns that mimicked those on the helms of samurai which also covered long thin ears or the burning azure eyes.

Both front and back legs held four digit paws carrying razor sharp claws or what looked to be long yellow spikes on the forelegs, and the large reptilian tail that ended with a three pointed Spade spear. Balan and Lance watch the deer disappear into the beast's mouth, minced to pieces down its gullet and the feline smiled with blood tinted fangs.

Or that the draconic tiger let out a threatening roar right at the duo as bright blue fire burst from the edges of its mouth like a miasma. They barely had the chance to jump out of the way when the giant beast bounced at the two, sharp claws shredding through the dirt as if it were paper.

"This is a beast we'll have to fight or neither of us will come out alright!" Violence wasn't something Balan often indulged in but he knew there were times that he had no choice. Facing his hands forth, small spheres of yellow energy manifested on the maestro's fingertips before tossing them in the form of arrows.

With a wag of its tail, the draconic tiger brought forth burning blue will o' wisps and launched it back with a tail swipe. Both volleys of energy exploded into fireworks of their respective color, the armored beast leaping through the smoke with claws alight in blue fire.

Lance quickly dove under the beast while Balan flew over to the left side, the Dark Maestro flared out the tendrils on his back then slammed into the beast's unprotected belly alongside a vicious uppercut. The violet tiger felt the pain but took the opportunity to release a thin burst of glittering blue powder from its body before being launched into the air by Lance's attack.

Whatever the blue powder was irritated the raven haired male, the sensation being a mixture of itchy powder and bubbling hot grease. "Lance, look out!" Balan's shout made him look up at the airborne beast, the spade of its tail had opened into a trident as it swung the limb through the air.

The momentum being enough to correct the beast's position and trajectory so it could dive-bomb the Dark Maestro like a burning blue meteor. Neither of them expected for that particular powder to ignite upon contact as Balan watched his dark counterpart get flying by an azure explosion from his own body.

Creating a larger blast of yellow energy, the hat wearing man threw it at the violet tiger before heading over to his fallen ally. It let out a howl of annoyance upon the projectiles not only striking it's face but burst into a thick mustard smokescreen that made the feline gag.

Lance laid slanted by the tree he had hit, burn marks sprinkled over parts of his skin and clothing was singed too. "You okay, Lance?! This beast has more frightening power than just a ferocious stance!" Balan spoke, carefully helping his counterpart off the ground.

The movement made the elven male let out a mild hiss before shaking the greenette's hand off him. "As much as I like seeing you frown, this beast needs to be taken down. Balan, watch out for any powder from the skin of the hide, you'll lose more than just your pride."

Sharp claws of the draconic tiger swept away the hatted maestro's smokescreen. Bright blue fire burning burst the open jaws, the feline was absolutely pissed as even more azure fire spewed from the legs and tail or that the yellow ridges on the back and forelegs were now giant blades. It let out a furious roar forcing Balan and Lance to prepare for another attack.

That was until the entire world became silent, all of the instruments had oddly stopped playing. It was quiet until the sound of shamisen strings being plucked filled the still air with an orchestra of intimidating brass to follow in its wake. Sinister sounding melodies of violins and shinobue flutes were met with someone walking out from the brush.

It was Val'tah, a violet mask resembling the tiger donned on his face alongside dark violet coat with golden fur sleeves, dark violet hakama trousers decorated in elegant gold patterns reminiscent of fire and swords, two fake tails similar to the violet beast sewn on the back and without any shoes, only barefooted.

Balan and Lance stood speechless as the pinkette did something neither of them expected. The hunter had begun to dance in a style similar to those done by kabuki actors. His arms glided through the air, bits of glittering violet powder produced from the sleeves creating streaks in the air with an appearance mimicking purple misty fire.

Val'tah stomped his foot to the ground to spread out the mist like powder around him, the man spun into a short pirouette so he could stop in the Dragon Stance found in martial arts. It was like the hunter was manipulating magic to flow with his elegant and entrancing dance.

The sinister orchestra went perfectly with Val'tah's movements. Beating of hand drums, male chants with an ominous tone, shinobue flutes paired alongside the plucks of the shamisen and strung chords of the violin told a story on its own. A ritual performance of omens and cautionary tribulations.

Balan and Lance couldn't look away, neither could the beast who appeared to be calming down. The long yellow caparace blades lower themselves back into thin ridges, the trident tip of the tail collapses into its spade form and the eerie blue fire burning around the beast sputters out. Bright blue in its eyes dimming into a soft mellow teal.

Val'tah spun on the ball of his feet before transitioning into an aerial kick. The pinkette then used the momentum of the kick to position himself so he could bring down his arm in for a slash. He landed on the ground in a predatory stance, nails of his right hand dug into the soil, feet spread apart with knees bent for a crouch, left arm held out behind the man and the tiger mask facing the spectators.

The hunter then twirled himself into a backflip, all for the purpose of landing on his feet with his arms held and hands pressed together while the fingers were positioned to mimic fangs. Val'tah pulled his arms apart and let out a loud beastly roar with the final loud beats of the drum, the draconic tiger letting out its own roar in unison.

The pinkette took off his mask once the music returned to its more peaceful counterpart. "Glad I made it in time or Buena would've torn you to pieces. Luckily the Sonata of Omens can be played here or I would've been forced to do an acapella." Balan nearly choked upon the words Val'tah just said.

The giant hellish tiger that spews blue explosive fire was the hunter's friend?! Something Lance couldn't help but state the inquiry out loud. "You telling us the beast that nearly had us ravaged, is your companion that you ran off to scavenged?!"

Val'tah sheepishly scratched his head and let out a soft chuckle. The beast or Buena groomed their paws as if nothing happened. "She is a Magnamalo and they tend to be... tenacious predators. Buena is unique since she's friendlier than the regular 'malo, at least to me and any friend of mine."

Balan had a feeling there was more to this odd bond than just a story but… "At least your missing friend has been found, even if she treated us like a steak for a pound. Best to return back to the theatre, Lance got burnt bruises that need gauze by the meter." The top hatted Maestro then clapped his hands together as a giant door formed behind him.

It was big enough for the large Magnamalo to go through without any hindrance. Val'tah had a feeling there was going to be more magical convenience when it came to this odd theatre than just the taller duo living inside and a magical replica of the ritual clothing for the Sonata of Omens. Something to think about when he tries to figure out their situation.

And that's it! Yes this is a crossover between Balan Wonderworld and Monster Hunter but also my first Balan fic too! If you guys don't know, Balan Wonderworld is one of the games I've recently got and wholeheartedly. Sure it had problems but it was a delightful experience throughout my entire playthrough.

If you do decide to get the game, wait until it goes on sale. The full price isn't really suited considering the huge controversy involving it's development.

Our two star characters of this fic are an unlikely pair.

'The Hunter Who Wished To Dance' and owner of the mysterious 13th Door in Wonderworld: Val'tah Choso. A Monster Hunter who strived to become a performer but forsaken the goal partly for his ward, Buena.

Buena is a subspecies of Magnamalo called Will-O-Wisp Magnamalo. They expel blue fire often mistaken for spirit orbs and can engulf their body in an armor of azure fire for offensive defense. Only the Sonata of Omens, a mysterious ritualistic dance can calm a rampaging Magnamalo.

Until next time folks! I'll see you back in Wonderworld.

[supernatural-jackles]

The Man on the Side of the Road - Part 9

Title: The Man on the Side of the Road - Part 9

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 4,650

Warnings: Bit of Angst, Lots of Fluff, Mentions of Suicide and Suicidal Thoughts, Self Hate, Depression, Nudity, Flufffffff

Summary: Driving down the road, going well over the speed limit. You come across a man walking in the opposite direction with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. His head cast down as he walked. Your gut instinct is telling you to check on this man, no matter what your parents told you growing up. Little did you know just how much this would change your life.

The Man on the Side of the Road - Masterlist

Square Filled: Skinny Dipping for @spnkinkbingo​

A/N: This is one of my favourite parts! I really hope y’all enjoy it! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Happy reading! 

 “Hiya Sammy.”

 “W-what are you doing here, Dean?” he questioned, a half smile creeping up on his cheeks. He was happy to see his older brother. Sam took a step forward, pulling his older brother into a hug. It was a little awkward, but the feeling was there and that was all that mattered. The whole thing alone made you happy. All you wanted was for Sam to be happy to see his older brother. You wanted that for Dean.

 “Wanted to come see you,” he said softly. “It’s been awhile.”

 “Y-yeah,” he nodded. “Come on in.”

 Dean motioned for you to enter first, and he followed closely behind you. Sam’s apartment was much like the regular college students were. Books all over, homework open. There was a couch and a tv. It was small, but it felt warm. Homey.

 “I don’t exactly have a whole lot of room as you can see,” Sam pointed out. “The couch is too small for two and lumpy as hell.”

 “It’s okay. We’re going to stay in town,” Dean informed him. “Sam, this is my best friend, Y/N. Y/N, this is my little brother Sammy.”

 “It’s Sam,” he corrected him. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m sure you've heard stories about me.”

 “That I have,” you nodded. “It’s really nice to meet you too. Put a face to all the stories.”

 “Hey Sam, what’s going - oh,” a female voice called from the hall. A beautiful blonde peaked through the doorway. She was a little taller than you. Small figure, wearing a smurfs shirt with the front cut out a little. She was definitely his girlfriend. There was no doubt about it.

 “Jess, this is Dean, my older brother, and his friend Y/N. They came from Lawrence,” he told her. “This is my girlfriend Jess.”

 “It’s really nice to meet you guys. Sam’s told me about you, Dean,” she smiled.

 “Look, we’re actually in the middle of midterms right now. We’ve got a big one tomorrow that we’ve got to study for. Why don’t you guys come back tomorrow around five and we can catch up. We’ll show you around and grab some dinner.”

 “That sounds like a good idea,” you nodded. “We’ve been driving all day and I think we could use some rest, huh Dean?”

 “Yeah, that sounds good,” he smiled.

 “If you’re looking for a nice hotel, there is one about ten minutes from here. It’s four stars. Beds are comfortable. If the lady at the front desk is Cindy, tell her you know me and she’ll give you a discount. She’s my mom,” Jess told the two of you.

 “Perfect,” you smiled. “Thank you.”

 “We’ll see you tomorrow,” Sam half smiled.

 You slipped your arm around Dean’s waist as you headed down the stairs and out to the car. You knew this wasn’t the night he was expecting, but he had a chance tomorrow to spend some time with his brother. He could mend the broken pieces and start fresh. In the meantime, you were going to spend the night relaxing and enjoying the little vacation you were on.

 You hopped in the car, and drove to the hotel she was talking about. Ten minutes from Stanford, a four star hotel with everything you needed. Thank god you had money saved. It was going to be pricey staying here for a few days. It was all going to be worth it in the end. Quality time with your best friend.

 Much to your luck, Cindy was working the front desk and gave you a helpful discount for your stay. You practically got a whole night free which made the entire stay not bad at all. You and Dean were splitting the cost.  Dean carried your bag up for you, along with his own, and all the snack food that you packed. By the time you opened the door to the room, it was after ten.

 “Looks like we’re sharing again,” Dean chuckled. “At least this bed is bigger and probably a million times more comfortable than that motel.”

 “Don’t even complain that you’re sharing,” you pointed at him with a smirk. “Honestly, anything is more comfortable than the motel bed.”

 “Including me,” he grinned.

 “Whatever,” you rolled your eyes. You kneeled down, opening up the fridge. There was some water in there and of course, a couple of sandwiches at a cost.

 “We’re going to enjoy this time off.”

 “You bet we are” you nodded. “What time does the pool close?”

 “According to the little pamphlet, ten. And it is now ten thirty six,” he stated as he took a seat at the end of the bed. His eyes still dancing over the hotel details.

 “You wanna go for a swim?” You cocked your eyebrow.

 “But I just said it was closed. And we never brought any bathing suits,” he argued, furrowing his brows.

 “Exactly why we are going when it’s closed,” you winked.

 “Naked? We’re swimming naked? Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” He joked, laughing as he looked up at you.

 “Hey, we’re out here to do more than visit your brother aren’t we? We gotta live a little,” you shrugged, heading into the bathroom to grab a couple of towels. “Are you with me or am I swimming naked by myself?”

 “Oh I’m in,” he chuckled. “Just kind of shocked that you want to. You don’t strike me as the skinny dipping type.”

 “Gotta keep things interesting,” you winked. “You got the room key?”

 “In my wallet,” he nodded, getting up off the bed. You headed straight for the door, two towels in hand.

 The pool was on the eighth floor. One floor down from yours and Dean’s hotel room. The hallways were close to empty as you moved quickly through them. You didn’t want anyone walking in on either of you. It was risky enough sneaking in. It was really exciting at the same time and there was no one you would rather do this with than Dean. There was no one you trusted more than you did him. This was something you never thought you’d do. You liked this version of yourself.

 “It’s locked,” Dean pointed out as he tried to open the door.

 “There’s another way,” you wiggled your eyebrows. “There’s always another way. They have to for safety reasons.”

 You went around the corner, finding the entrance to the hotel’s gym and pool. Your easy way in. You slipped inside, turning to the right, the direction of the pool. It was all open. Shared change rooms for the gym and the pool. It was easy to cover up if you were to get caught.    

 “How did you know that you could get in this way?” he asked as you walked out to the pool. The pool was huge. Tons of room to swim around. No windows so you were safe from people seeing you. This was much different from the last time you swam together. This was going to be a lot more fun.

 “My aunt Kelly,” you chuckled. “She was a bit out there. One of my mom’s friends had a wedding at a hotel, and she snuck me and her son Jack into the pool late at night. She also knew how to pick locks and hustle pool. I think she grew up somewhere that she needed to know that.”

 “So do you know how to pick locks?” he questioned with a smile.

 “Uh- I can’t tell you that,” you let out a laugh.

 “So you do,” he said in almost shock.

 “Depends on the lock,” you confirmed.

 You walked over to the edge of the pool, looking in. The pool was deep at this end, and had a hot tub at the other end. Something you and Dean were looking forward to. You could easily climb over the wall and hop in. Truth was, you were a little nervous to swim naked with him. You could just stay in your bra and panties. You knew it was just him and you trusted him more than any one in the world. He thought you were beautiful and he told you regularly that you were. You had always wanted to go skinny dipping. This was you taking a risk. This was you getting out of your comfort zone. This was the start of you moving forward.

 “You’re sure about this?” Dean questioned, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. He looked a little nervous himself.

 “I am,” you nodded. “I don’t really care if you see me naked, or if you look. Not that much anyway.”

 “Same goes for you,” he half smiled.

 You grabbed the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, dropping it to the floor. You then worked on the button of your jeans, pushing them down your legs. Dean had removed his shirt, and was working on his jeans. You tried your hardest not to stare at him, no matter how tempted you were.

 Your socks joined the pile, leaving you in your bra and panties. You took a deep breath, reaching behind your back, unhooking your bra, allowing the straps to slide down your shoulders. The material fell to the ground, and your nerves began to spike a little. Your eyes cast downwards as you gripped the waistband of your panties, shoving the last remaining article of clothing down your legs. You were naked in front of him. It was terrifying but at the same time, exhilarating.

 You stood tall, trying to gain some confidence. Dean shoved his boxers down his legs. Your eyes cast up, not wanting to look at him naked. Not without permission anyways. It wasn’t going to help your feelings for him if you saw ‘little Dean’. If anything, it was going to make it harder to hide your feelings for him.

 “So umm, should we just look at each other and get the most awkward part of this over with?” he chuckled nervously.

 “Uh yeah,” you breathed out. “That’s probably the best way to do it. On the count of three?”

 “Yeah,” he replied.  “One.”

 “Two,” you sighed.

 “Three,” you said in unison. You glanced over in his direction, seeing every inch of skin on the front of his body. God, he was a fucking sight. He was gorgeous. You had already seen him shirtless, but seeing it all? He was perfect. He was absolutely perfect, and it wasn’t good for your feelings for him at all.

 “Crossing the friendship line here,” he swallowed hard. “You’re fucking beautiful.” You felt your cheeks grow warm at his words. Your heart fluttered in your chest. It meant a lot to you to know that he thought that. It was the first time someone had ever said those words to you when looking at you. For the first time in your entire life, you believed them.

 “Crossing the friendship line,” you smiled. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

 “I’m nothing compared to you, sweetheart,” he winked with a genuine smile playing in his lips. “Ready?”

 “Let’s skinny dip,” you called out.

 You were the first one in the pool, jumping in with enthusiasm. The water was much warmer than you expected. It was actually really nice to feel after a long day in the car. This was what you were looking for.  Dean was in right after you, jumping not far from you, creating a big splash as he did. For a second, you were reminded of the day you swam in your backyard together. You both had come so far from that day. More so, you were so much happier than you were then. You were finally content with the way your life was going now that you were here with Dean.

  You swam around for a little while. Just enjoying having the entire pool to yourselves. It was nice to have the room to swim, not that your pool at home was small. It was just different here. There was more risk here. You and Dean talked about how this trip was a fresh start for the two of you and this was definitely a good start for the both of you.

 Eventually you gravitated from the pool to the hot tub. There was a lot of room for you to sit, like it was made to fit a big family. Dean joined you not long after you climbed in.  The jets did wonders for your sore muscles from sitting in the car the entire day. You needed to invest in a hot tub for your place. He sat across from you, relaxing in the heat of the tub. You smiled, seeing just how content he was. He was actually allowing himself to relax and that was exactly what you wanted for him.

 “I’m glad we did this,” you breathed out, leaning against the back on the hot tub, a jet hitting one of your sore spots.

 “Me too,” he nodded. “Certainly a first for me.”

 “You and me both. Can cross this off my bucket list,” you grinned widely. “How are you doing, Dean?”

 “You mean with Sam?” he cocked his eyebrow. “Honestly, I can’t expect him to drop everything for me. I’m just happy he didn’t slam the door in my face. I’m looking forward to having the chance to catch up with him. He looks happier than he did the last time I saw him. He’s doing really good for himself and that’s all I can ask for. For the first time, it feels like my life is moving forward at a steady pace since that day.”

 “I know we don’t really talk about that day in gruesome detail. I guess there’s a part of me that avoids talking about it because I don’t want to bring it all back, you know? I don’t want to bring you back to that day before I came into it. But can I ask you about it?” you glanced at him, looking to see if there was an uncomfortable reaction from him.

 “Yeah,” he nodded.

 “What happened?” you whispered.

 “It wasn’t the same as yours. I’ll tell you that right now. I was planning it for awhile if I’m being honest with you. I had been planning it for about a month. I uh, I woke up with a pounding headache that morning. I was out late the night before, trying to clear my head. All I could think about was how my Dad died five years ago the next day and about how it was my fault. I was the one that was supposed to pick up the package for my Uncle. It was supposed to be me in that accident. Not him, and I’ve never been able to let that go. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let it go completely. I mean, I saw it happen. I wished it was me.  My landlord knocked at my door, and he told me that I had to leave. I was late on my rent for the month. My last job in construction didn’t need me anymore, so I was laid off. I had no money, and I had to pack my bags. I headed to the closest motel and paid with a credit card. I remember sitting on the bed, thinking that it can’t get any better from here. I had absolutely no one to go to. All my friends weren’t my friends. I called Sam and he never answered my call. I remember thinking that there was no one out there that would care if I was here or not. No one was going to miss me, or even notice that I was gone. My Uncle would have said that he predicted it with the way I spiraled. I just felt completely hopeless. I knew that it was time. I had nothing left to live for. I didn’t want to.” he shared. “So I decided right then that I was going to get some flowers, visit their grave and by the end of the night, I’d be gone.”

 “Were you scared?” you asked him.

 “No,” he shook his head. “The way I saw it, I was going somewhere that I had people that loved me. People that would be happy to see me for the first time. I didn’t get scared until I saw you. Until you pulled over, and came after me. You were the first person to talk to me in three weeks, besides my landlord to kick me out and the lady at the front desk of the motel. I had never felt so alone and that was one of the reasons why I wanted to. I wanted the pain to stop. I wanted to stop it all. Then you made me pinky promise not to. I figured you didn’t want a dead body in your house. But you told me that I could stay. You told me about Ketch. You told me you weren’t giving up on me. It was you that I fought for.”

 “Who would have thought that we’d be best friends,” you half smiled. “For the record, I’m never giving up on you. I’m never going to let a day go by that I don’t talk to you. I’m never going to let you feel like the world would be a better place without you.”

 “I know,” he nodded. “And I hope you know it’s the same the other way around. I’d take a bullet for you any day.”

 You were cut off by the sounds of someone trying to unlock the main doors to the pool. You swore your heart was going to beat out of your chest. You had to make a run for it before you got caught.

 Dean was out quicker than you were. His longer legs giving him the advantage. He held his hand out for you to take, helping you out quicker so you could grab all of your stuff. The person was banging loudly, trying to get it unlocked quickly, as if he thought someone was in there. You wrapped your towel around yourself first, then grabbed all of your clothes along with your shoes. Thankfully the change room wasn’t far from where you left them. Dean was hot on your tail as you made your way in. Whoever it was had just opened the door, and gotten into the pool area. Your heart was pounding in your chest. You knew you were safer if you were in the change rooms, but that wouldn’t stop whoever it was from coming in.

 Dean moved the two of you towards the individual change room stalls. You managed to get the biggest one, both of you getting in, shutting the curtain  behind you. Dean inched you back to the wall, away from the curtain just in case.

 “Who’s in here?” the gruff voice called out. You swallowed hard. You didn’t want to get kicked out of the hotel. Dean looked at you with wide eyes, unsure of what to do. You had to be quiet. He gave you a look that damn near made you laugh. How could he be so chill about this?

 Dean slipped his hands down to your hips. You licked your lips as you positioned yourself more comfortably against the wall. You prayed to god that whoever it was left soon. There was no way you could stand in the corner with a very naked Dean in front of you. It was hard enough not to stare at him now. You just wanted to get your clothes back on and head back to the room for the night. You heard the footsteps growing farther and farther away. It didn’t ease your heart rate in the slightest.

 The door shut with a click, meaning he was definitely gone. There was no way he stuck around after he found nothing. After all, this was open for people going to the gym. Maybe he realized that?

 “I think he’s gone,” he whispered, looking at you sheepishly. His body never moved from in front of yours. You swallowed hard, glancing up at him. His grip in your hip tightened for a moment.

 “Yeah, I think so,” you nodded. Dean’s body pressed closer against yours. You had no idea what was going on, but you certainly weren’t against it. Not in the slightest. Your hands reached for his waist, almost inviting him closer to you. He ducked down, pausing for a minute. You swore your heart was going to pound out of your chest. “Dean.”

 His lips grazed over yours in a hesitant kiss that had you melting into him. God, his lips were so soft and sweet. He was holding back, that was for sure. Your heart was fluttering in your chest. Nothing had felt more perfect. You damn near forgot to kiss him back you were so intoxicated. Your hands tugged him against you as your lips moved with his.

 Everything felt like it had fallen into place at that moment. You never wanted it to end. Unfortunately for you, the need for air became too much. Your lungs were burning, and as much as you wanted to keep going, you had to stop.

 “We should probably get out of here,” you muttered, opening your eyes to look up at him. “It’s the girls change room.”

 “You never told me that!” he said in shock.

 “You never asked,” you shrugged.

 “You know, I had a dream like this once,” he smirked. “Two people, little clothing-”

 “Dean, I swear to god,” you giggled. “Get your ass dressed.”

 “Fine,” he growled playfully.

 It took you a little bit to get dressed. Trying to put clothes on after swimming was one of the hardest things to do, especially in a small space. You were still a little wet, and the towels absorbed close to nothing. You swore, you could feel Dean’s eyes on you as you got dressed and that thought made you smile a little more than it should have. You didn’t want to overthink it as something more than what it was. You were a naked girl a few feet away from him. You couldn’t blame him for looking at you a little longer.

 You arrived back at the room ten minutes later. Your heart was still going a mile a minute. Between seeing him naked and kissing him, you were a puddle. He never said anything, and quite frankly, you didn’t want to talk about it right now and ruin the moment that it was.

  Dean gave you first shower, and offered to get some clothes out for you to wear while you were in there. It was sweet of him to offer, and it wasn’t like you didn’t trust him with your stuff. Going skinny dipping with him certainly changed something between the two of you. A good change, you thought to yourself.

 You rinsed out your hair, getting all the chlorine out of it from the pool. The shower in the hotel room was to die for. The water pressure was amazing and you actually had room to move. It got the job done much quicker than any other hotel shower ever had.

 The suds swirled around the drain as you rinsed yourself off. You cut the water off, reaching for the towel on the toilet. That’s when you saw it. The hotel robe. The robe that was supposed to dry you. You were tempted to use it, but then there was the thought of how many people had used it before, and you got creeped out. You knew everything was washed but you couldn’t. You wrapped the towel tightly around yourself, slipping out of the bathroom so Dean could shower.

 “Showers yours,” you smiled.

 “Thanks,” he smirked, looking at you. “Your pyjamas are on the bed.”

 “Thank you.”

 Dean headed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. You dried yourself off once more, making sure everywhere was dried before you pulled on your favourite pyjama pants. They had little coffee cups on them. They were your favourite because they were the most comfortable. The perfect amount of stretch and bagginess that you needed for bedtime.

 After you were dressed, you walked over to the window, taking in the view from above. Cars were moving below, and the city was still alive at close to midnight. You expected to feel far from home and everything you knew, but you didn’t. Not in the slightest. Here, you didn’t feel like you had to hide. You weren’t going to run into Ketch or Jo at any given second. It was a freeing feeling.

 “Okay, that is the best shower I’ve ever had at a hotel,” he admitted, walking out of the bathroom with his towel around his shoulders. He had his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Not that you noticed of course. Or could you stare openly at him now?

 “It is pretty good,” you nodded. “You about ready to head to bed?”

 “Yeah,” he said with a nod.

 You headed over to the bed, taking the usual side you slept on at home. Usually it was the middle, but you were going to give Dean a bit of space tonight. After all, you had just seen each other naked. Things were a little different. There was a tension in the air that wasn’t there before. Then there was the kiss that neither of you seemed to want to talk about. You didn’t want to be weird, but you didn’t want to read it wrong either.

 Dean climbed into the bed next to you, adjusting the covers over himself before shutting off the light. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling with his arms over his abdomen. You smiled softly at him, shifting to face him, and to make yourself comfortable. He turned and gave you a half smile, one that made your heart flutter just enough to be noticeable.

 “Thanks for skinny dipping with me,” you whispered.

 “Thanks for encouraging this trip, Y/N,” he muttered back. “You cuddling tonight?”

 “Is that an invitation?” You gasped playfully.

 “Get over here,” he let out a chuckle, opening his arms up for you to crawl in. You threw your arm around his waist, tugging in close to him. You rested your head on his chest, right above his heart. “Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

 “You too, De. Sweet dreams,” you yawned. You felt a pair of lips press against the crown of your head. They lingered for a few seconds longer than you anticipated.

 “Sweet dreams.”

 That was what changed. The way he was with you. You were closer than ever, and you knew that there was no turning back to the friendship path. You were far too deep in the more than friends trail that your feelings were growing stronger. It wasn’t even that you saw his entire body, and not to mention, his impressive package, shall you say. It was the conversations you could have with him, and the way you could make each other laugh. It was the trust you had in one another. You didn’t find that with everyone. It really made you wonder if Dean felt the same way towards you. If his lips lingering on the top of your head meant something more than a kiss goodnight. If him kissing you earlier tonight meant that you were the one he had feelings for.  Either way, it was something you’d never forget. The whole night was something you’d never forget.

 You shifted a little, leaning up, brushing your lips against his stubbly cheek. He melted against your touch this time, almost happy that you showed him the same amount of affection back.

 Maybe after this trip, you’d grow enough courage to tell Dean Winchester how you felt about him.

 Maybe.

~~~~~~~~~~

Did you like it? What was your favourite part? Share your thoughts with me via reblog, reply, or send me an ask! Your response is what keeps me writing!

[sinner-as-saint]

Can we have some Boxer!Bucky? YMCA camp. He's big, dangerous and unbeatable. All sweat and blood. And reader on the other hand is soft and sensetive. Maybe a librarian. They're opposite poles and maybe that's make their relationship work. Whenever he comes back home with bruises she's always there to mend him with tears in her eyes but she's always proud and supportive. She's just worried that's why Bucky made love to her.Grounding her, showing her that he's with her,she'd still cry but in bliss

okay i love this!!

omg look at THAT BEEFCAKE OMFG I-

anyways…

so you and boxer!bucky have been dating for a while

yeah you were poles apart but somehow, it worked so well

while he spent his time training and getting strong, you worked as a librarian and spent most of your free time reading 

he was quite a famous name around town, and people would usually ask how a girl so delicate and shy like you is dating a man so mean and dangerous like Bucky.

you’d often smile and tell them the story of how you met;

long story short - you were walking home late one night, and you soon noticed that someone was following you

you picked up your pace and at some point started running, so did the person who had been following you

while running, you bumped into a very strong chest. You looked up and saw a familiar face - Bucky. 

He saw the scared look on your face and asked you what was wrong

you told him, and he took care of it. 

“Come on doll, I’ll walk you home.” he said after ‘dealing’ with the weirdo who was following you

and you let him walk you home

you made a small talk, and with him, your shyness was almost non-existent 

and since then, he’d walk you home each day, and finally asked you out a week later. 

you had been dating ever since. 

he was the best thing in your life; your mean, strong, beefy boyfriend, your cuddle buddy - yours. 

however, his job worried you often but you were still very supportive of everything he did and you were very proud of who he was

he’d come home after a fight, which he won because he won every fight, but he’d also come home with cuts and bruises

it broke your heart seeing him like that, so broken 

it hurt you more than it hurt him

“I’m fine, doll. Don’t worry about me.” he’d tell you often, while you tended to his wounds

“You’re all I have, I have to worry about you.” you’d tell him in return, trying your hardest to contain your emotions and tears. 

But there was this one time he came home with the usual cuts and bruises 

but this time, you couldn’t hold back your tears

“Hey doll, why are you crying?” he asked, wiping your tears away. 

“It hurts seeing you like this almost everyday.” You replied, sniffling and cleaning the cut on his lip. 

he’d look up at you; while you sat on his thigh and smile gently; wrapping his arms around you. 

“It’s just part of the job, baby. I’m used to it. I’m okay.” He’d reassure you but it was still hard to see the man you love so much come home each day in pain. 

“But you’re hurting.” your words made him laugh a little

to be honest, for a built, beefy man like him - all those cuts and bruises didn’t hurt that much. But he still let you tend to his wounds each time because it made him all warm inside knowing that his girl cares so much about him. 

“Come here,” he’d pull you closer and kiss you deeply.

and he wouldn’t hold back; he’d give you his all each time - slipping his hand under your shirt, or his shirt rather which you stole a few days ago, and pushing his tongue past your lips. 

he’d stand up and walk the two of you towards the bed, and he’d push you down on the bed, eagerly

and climb in right after you; getting rid of his jacket and his shirt then your shirt and your underwear. 

his muscular body would almost make you drool and so would that animalistic look in his eyes as he settles in between your legs. 

“I’ve missed you all day, babygirl.” he’d mumble, nibbling and kissing your inner thighs

and you’d throw your head back and moan as soon as you felt his warm mouth on your clit; teasing you with his tongue 

his beard would scratch your sensitive skin while you gently slide your hand in his hair and tug on it. 

okay but Bucky would be a freak, and he wouldn’t stop even after you’ve came; he’d pin you down with his strong arms and eat you out again until you’re shaking and squirming

“Stop moving doll, I’m not done with you yet.” 

he’d be relentless, and insatiable 

he’d kiss his way up your body and settle his hips in between your legs

“I love you.” 

he’d push into you; and hearing you mumble how you need a moment to adjust to his size drove him wild. 

he’d chuckle and would slow down the pace at which he gently pushes into you. 

and once you’re okay with it, he’d speed up into you 

okay but can you imagine beefy!Bucky being very loud and vocal in bed? 

he’d grunt and groan and growl right in your ear

“You feel so fucking good, baby.” he’d breathe in your ear, and that would send tingles down your back. 

his moans would be so obscene that they would make you blush when you thought about them the next day

the sounds of your skin slapping would fill the air, and so would your moans

he’d pin your hands down on the bed above your head while he pounds into you

which was one of the many, many reasons why you were in love with him; he could fuck you like an animal but also mumble about how much he loves you right in your ear

“I’m right here with you doll. And i’m okay, i’ll always be okay as long as you’re with me, baby.” 

he had this habit of pressing the palm of his hand on your lower abdomen, so he can feel himself inside of you each time he’d thrust into you

and he’d be shameless enough to thrust harder when he did that; making you lose your mind and forget each one of your worries. 

“You’re mine.” 

you’d have tears streaming down your face by the time you felt the pressure building in between your hips 

he’d wipe your tears away and fuck you harder, making you scream and hold on to his broad shoulders for dear life. 

you’d be a whimpering, tear-stained mess by the time he’d make you cum all around him

“I love you.” he’d say again, kissing your forehead and gently rolling to his side and pulling you along, tucking you safely beside him

you’d snuggle up to him and bask in his body heat. 

“I love you too.” 

a/n: i don’t even eat red meat but i want all of beefy!bucky

[chaoscalled]

New Stucky Fic

Steve looked around the hospital room through slits. Music played softly from a record player. Or whatever it was they were called these days. Hospitals were much nicer in the future. Cleaner. Maybe his mom wouldn’t have gotten sick working in a place like this. Or, if she had, they would have been able to fix her up.

He turned his head slightly to his right. Everything hurt. Pale in comparison to the pain he had felt with Bucky’s screams in his ears. Worse knowing he had caused them. He’d rather have every bone in his body broken over and over again every day for the rest of his life than to ever hear that sound again.

Sam Wilson sat reading a magazine. He hadn’t noticed Steve’s regained consciousness. He turned a page. Steve tried to swallow though his mouth felt like it was filled with sawdust.

“On your left.”

Sam lifted his head slowly. A wide smile splitting over his face as he looked back at Steve. Sam set the magazine down and turned toward Steve on the hospital bed.

“How you feeling?”

Steve flexed his fingers experimentally. He didn’t dare move any further. “Like I had a plane fall on me.”

Sam offered a light laugh and patted Steve’s forearm. “You were shot three times. Don’t forget that.”

Steve nodded. Bucky had shot him. Brainwashed and confused, he had shot him. But Bucky was still in there. He knew he was.

“Tell me you fired back. Or did you just let Barnes use you as target practice?”

“He wasn’t trying to kill me,” Steve explained.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “He shot you three times. Once in the back.”

Steve shook his head. He wasn’t feeling so stiff anymore. “He wasn’t aiming to kill me.”

“How do you figure?”

Steve looked dead into Sam’s brown eyes. “James Buchanan Barnes is the greatest sharpshooter in the world. He shot Fury through my apartment wall. He still holds the longest recorded head shot. If Bucky was shooting to kill, I’d be dead.”

“Okay, so he just beat you to a pulp and what?”

Steve sighed and stared up at the ceiling. Vaguely he remembered watching as Bucky’s terrified face slipped further and further away from him. This was different than his usual memories from the Alps. This time, he was the one falling. Bucky dangled above him just before he crashed into the water. Hitting the water had knocked the wind out of him. It was like landing on pavement without his shield to protect him.

Steve sat up. Sam was halfway out of his chair before he understood that Steve was fine. His wounds were closing quickly. Bones were mending.

“How did you find me in the river?”

Sam shrugged. “We found you on the bank. You must’ve swam.”

Steve shook his head. “I was out the minute I hit the water.”

Sam frowned. “Currents?”

Steve narrowed his eyes at his friend. Sam shrugged again.

“How long have I been here?”

Sam looked down at his phone. “Two days.”

Steve threw the blankets off of his legs and tried to stand, held back by the needles in his arm. Steve reached over to unhook himself from the machines.

“Hey, maybe you should let a professional do-”

Steve slipped the needle out of his arm. He’d had enough I.V.s in his arm to know how to get them out. Steve set the tube and needle on the metal tray next to his bed along with the pulse monitor. He stood out of bed in his undershirt and a pair of light blue boxers. He touched the back of his thigh just under his left butt cheek. His leg was still tender to stand on, but not unmanageable.

“Doctors had a lot of fun with that one. Only bullet they found in you and it was in your ass.”

Steve shut his eyes and rolled his head up to the ceiling. The wound was stitching itself up quickly. He likely wouldn’t even scar. Still, he found himself annoyed. Of all the schoolboy places to shoot him.

CONTINUE READING ON AO3

[sisterofoblivion]

For the Anon who asked if I had this thing finished (sadly, I do not; I fell out of it again because I'm boycotting Disney and they own Hulu.) There's some more of it laying around, and since it was all just a thing for me in the beginning, it was all over the place.

I swapped Renji for Izuru because the characterization I had for Renji in the beginning was just... way off. And it's been a while so I don't even recall what I posted.

Also this takes place before the meeting happens. Idk.

So, uh. Here you go!

__________________

Three towels and his comforter later, Ichigo is finally in bed on his side with a pillow at his back. He's not having his friend choke on his own vomit in his sleep.

He checks his watch, feeling blessed for the first time tonight that there isn't any moisture behind the glass. It's… only ten, which isn't late for him but it'd be rude to call Master Aizen. Maybe in the morning, and he's sure he won't forget, but just in case he pulls out his phone and sets an alarm.

He cannot handle this on his own. Now that he knows, sort of, why his best friend has been out of character recently, he recognizes how powerless he is to stop it.

He's so angry, and now, Ichigo is part of it. The idiot took a risk and thought with his dick. It isn't his fault, Izuru knows, but why can't his friend use his damn brain?!

He realizes after several minutes that he's been standing in place staring at his phone screen. Maybe Master Aizen will forgive him for sending a text.

Are you available for lunch tomorrow? He presses the send button and pockets his phone. A shower had been on his to-do list, but the water was cooling when he pulled his friend out. There's no way the water heater has had enough time to fill.

Hearing Ichigo's light snores over his fan, Izuru strips himself of his soggy pants and soaked socks. His boxers, luckily, weren't caught in the splash zone. He doesn't bother picking them up, kicking them over to his room and just inside the door to the right.

It's only when he's sat down and feels the weight of the world lessen that he realizes his phone is still in his pants. Damn it.

Try as he might, he can't reach the pile without standing. So he stands, bends, and grabs the soggy pile, fishing the phone out and pitching his clothes into the basket. Then he tosses his phone to the bed and strips his shirt and boxers. Soon, he's in his soft sleep pants, and takes a deep breath, holding it for several seconds and exhaling.

He's done with responsibility today. He's hungry, but it's a distant thought in the grand scheme. He can eat tomorrow. He just needs to sleep and be removed from this.

Sitting down on his bed with a groan, he slaps his hand around behind him until he finds his phone and feels the telltale bzzt of a waiting text. Oh, that was fast.

Sure enough, Master Aizen has already replied. Though it isn't exactly what he wants to read.

Booked solid in the afternoon. How does Thursday work for you? And are you all right?

Izuru sighs. Lying to the man, either outright or by omitting, isn't something he does often because he knows he'll find out sooner or later. But he also doesn't want to send a block of text or get worked up again.

Thursday works, thank you. I'm stressed, but safe.

Short and sweet and not a lie in sight. His conscience with the Dominant is clear.

With that, he turns the lights off with his phone and plugs it in. His back hits the pillow and he feels the exhaustion settle over him.

He can't keep his eyes closed.

Damn it all.

On the empty ceiling and behind his eyelids he sees faceless men beating his best friend with varying degrees of severity. He sees the marks on Ichigo's body, the still-mending broken skin and bile-colored bruises.

He doesn't realize how vulnerable he feels, how powerless, until his throat burns and eyes well with tears.

He's failed. He's failed his best friend. Izuru's a member of the local scene, damn it. Is he selfish for having denied Ichigo access to it? Is he selfish for not trusting the orange-haired kid to behave himself there?

He doesn't deny it. He worried more about his reputation than his friend's safety, and now– Ichigo is strong, incredibly so, but nobody knows how they're going to react when something like… like…

The ferocity of Izuru's sob splits his chest wide, and he turns into his pillow to stifle the several that follow.

Why? Why didn't Ichigo say something? Why didn't he trust Izuru? Why?!

But why didn't Izuru trust him enough to keep this situation from happening?

He gasps, pulls his face away only long enough to get air before diving back for the pillow and sobbing open-mouthed. His head feels like it's being constricted, and he welcomes the pain only because it feels like appropriate punishment.

He slams his fist into the bed twice, wishing instead it was the faces of those bastards and not the aging springs of his mattress.

When his thoughts start to clear, he can hear Jūshirō in the back of his mind being a mother hen. He wishes the softer man was there to comfort him, to stroke his back and tell him everything will be all right in the end. The switch of the Master trio, a good man, a compassionate soul.

But Izuru doesn't deserve that. And he isn't collared by anyone, nor does he have anyone collared, but he still feels the urge to repent, even if he's harder on himself than anyone else will be. His own tentative partner can't absolve him of this feeling, because that means explaining it to Master Aizen's closest confidant. The thought of relaying this to the Master alone feels daunting.

Izuru pulls his face from the damp pillow and breathes deeply through his shudders. Deep breaths through the mouth are better than nothing. Deep, steady breaths.

Thursday. Thursday. He'll see Master Aizen on Thursday. He's just… gotta make it a bit longer.

Plan in place and all cried out, Izuru finally drifts off to the sound of Ichigo's fan and snores in the other room.

Considering writing more to this lil idea of mine. Not sure what to title it. But it'd ultimately be Aizen/Ichigo and some kind of "club" AU type thing. Idk I read a fic from 2014 and was sad there wasn't more to it. And the account was orphaned so :(

Brats Don't Prosper

Aizen speaks first. "You're quiet, Renji." He doesn't push much, not with words, but his raised brow is more than enough.

Renji drinks his sparkling water, having uncharacteristically avoided his customary gin and tonic. He's also avoiding Aizen's eyes, more deliberately than usual.

"Share your mind," Aizen requests, giving Renji the full weight of his attention.

Renji is silent for a couple more moments, staring into his hissing water.

"Remember that… friend I mentioned?" Renji asks, glancing up to meet Aizen's eyes only briefly before looking back down and rubbing his arm.

"The orange-haired one with the mouth and bratty tendencies?" Aizen asks. Renji seldom talks about any other friends so anonymously, often using others’ names in conversation. He's kept this one to himself, though. “Is he why you reached out before tomorrow?”

Renji looks genuinely uncomfortable, and that's a red flag for the older Dominant. "Y-yeah. He was wasted, trying to shower last night. Which-" Renji furrows his brow, "isn't like him. I found him just…” Renji's eyes go distant, reliving the likely distressing memory, “messed up his shoulder and stuff on the way down. But..." Renji closes his eyes. "He had..." He shudders. "There's bruises on him. Like. Not..." He waves his hand, "y'know. But bad."

Aizen nods, looking off to the side for some seconds to make Renji more comfortable.

"He's a masochist, is he not? What about the marks seemed unusual?"

"See, I asked… or I tried to. Shouldn't have, but I did and he said that they, whoever they are, didn't stop. That it was fun, seemed legit, until it wasn't. They got rougher, ‘n’ didn't stop at his safe word."

Aizen briefly flares his nostrils, feeling annoyed at such blatant disrespect and disregard. Before Renji can see, he schools his features. These things happen, possibly even in his own space, but he has safeguards in place. Prevention is easier than picking up the pieces.

"He told me some details, but I couldn't understand much. He said it happened  last Friday. I found him Tuesday. Eleven days and he still looked like that."

It's Thursday mid-day. He's right. More than a week and his friend still looks so rough? Aizen's chest tightens, but he keeps his reactions to himself. He doesn't really get worked up, and Renji's fairly raw right now. Adding fuel to the fire and asking for information he doesn't have isn't going to be helpful.

"He's not usually... like... I don't know."

"Impulsive or reckless?"

"I guess? Like, not all the time. But he's been just..." Renji sits back and scratches his scalp vigorously.

Renji's getting worked up, and, frankly, looks exhausted. Aizen has no authority here, not technically, but as one of three hosting Masters in their area, it doesn't matter. His words still carry, as would Shunsui and Jūshirō's. 

"Renji." He makes his tone firm, but not any louder. He hasn't needed to raise his voice at the red haired man in several years. He isn't about to start.

"Sorry." He crosses his arms. "I warned him, sir-- sorry, I-- gah."

"It's all right. I know it's a habit; you're doing nothing wrong, Renji, just be mindful." Aizen sips at his cooling Oolong. "Continue."

"I know as good as anyone that this stuff isn't therapy. I know that. We all do, sorta. Ichigo's going to get himself into trouble."

"Likely, yes," Aizen agrees flatly, setting his tea down and lacing his fingers.

"What do I do? I brought him into this lifestyle. I..  showed him this. And he ran with it, but I'm not a top, Sōsuke. I can't--" He's getting heated again; if it's progressed this much, Aizen's surprised this is the first he's hearing about it.

"Renji, I understand why you're worked up, but I want you to listen to me. Okay?" Aizen waits until he has the other's eyes and gives him a soft smirk. "You are not responsible for any of this. None of it. Do you understand me?" When Renji's head starts to turn away, Aizen follows enough to bring him back. "Do you understand me, Renji?"

Renji nods, and Aizen lifts his brow. He knows better than that.

"Yes, I understand you." He doesn't sound happy about it, hunching his shoulders forward and making himself smaller.

It's a start, Aizen admits to himself. He knows when to pick and choose his battles, and small victories are still victories.

"Wondeful. Now, is there anything you want of me outside of a sympathetic ear and a firm talking to?" He can see it clearly on the tip of Renji's tongue, but the man knows Aizen isn't going to offer. Maybe a couple years ago, but he's witnessed Renji grow too much in his home events and at outside gatherings.

"You can say no..."

"I'm aware," Aizen says, trying to add some levity while proving a point.

"Can Ichigo be my plus one tomorrow night, Sōsuke?"

[marvelousstevetony]

Can you do 35. Why did you hide this from me? Maybe sick Tony? Loving all the content 😊

Thank you for this prompt, anon! This got a little more angsty and sappy than I originally planned, but sometimes Tony just needs to be assured that he’s cared for, especially when he’s sick. Luckily, Steve doesn’t mind reminding him :)

Hope you’ll like this small snippet of sick, insecure Tony and Steve who loves his boyfriend very much <3

Tony can hear Steve coming down the stairs, can hear him knocking on the glass door to the workshop, even over the music Tony has playing as background noise while he works. It’s at a much lower volume, Tony has to admit, because although he loves Back in Black, it doesn’t cure he throbbing in his head, and when he asked JARVIS to turn down the amplification, he had silently apologized to AC/DC.

Tony decides to act as if he simply hadn’t heard Steve, ignoring the way he kept knocking and calling his name. He really had to finish the new upgrade to the armour, and even before they started dating, Tony had discovered that he was involuntarily incapable of gravitating towards Steve if he was within arms reach. He is simply distracted whenever Steve is near, and right now he doesn’t have time to be distracted.

Add to it that he feels like shit, head pounding, nose running, eyes threatening to fall shut every few minutes. He and Steve haven’t been together for very long, and Tony definitely doesn’t want Steve fussing over him or looking at him like he’s this small, fragile thing that needs saving.

So Tony pretends to be unbothered and continues fidgeting with a small piece of metal, but it’s difficult, nearly impossible, to work when he’s hands are shaking like leaves and his vision is beginning to blur.

Steve stops knocking on the door, and Tony thinks it’s because he decided to give up and go back to bed. Tony doesn’t know what time it is, but he knows it’s late, and probably even quite a bit later than Steve’s usual bedtime. When he hears the sound of the door to the workshop sliding open though and a hushed thank you, Jarvis, Tony really should’ve figured. Steve never gives up, and he must’ve used the override code he was given in case of emergencies.

Tony frowns to himself. Nothing really seems emergency-esque.

“That’s for emergencies, you know,” Tony says, not looking at Steve, eyes focusing on the armour. “There an Earth-threatening alien invasion or something?”

“No aliens,” Steve clarifies. He’s closer now, Tony can tell. His voice is nearer, and sometimes, somehow, Tony thinks he’s developed a way to feel when Steve’s close to him. As a large, comforting hand rests on his shoulder, Tony resists every urge to lean into the contact, the warmth and electricity he feels run through his body when they touch. “But my boyfriend hasn’t been answering his phone all day, hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and when I come to check on him, he ignores me,” Steve explains, and though his voice is soft, he sounds a little upset as well. “And that made me worried. So, to me, this is an emergency,” he finishes.

“I’ve been busy,” Tony says dismissively. “Suit upgrades.” He gestures vaguely at the metal scraps and various tools that are sprawled all across the worktable.

“It’s late, Tony. Come to bed,” Steve murmurs and hugs Tony from behind, laying his cheek on Tony’s shoulder. “Upgrades can wait.”

Tony huffs a laugh. “If it’s so late then why aren’t you in bed, huh?” Tony teases and smiles to himself. He’s already diverted from his work, confirming the theory that he can’t be close to Steve without losing every inch of concentration from his body.

“Can’t sleep without you,” Steve whispers and presses a kiss to Tony’s neck. He makes a surprised noise when his lips graze Tony’s skin and draws back, bringing a hand to Tony’s cheek.

“You’re burning up,” Steve announces worriedly. “Hey, look at me.”

And Tony can’t hold off the inevitable any longer. He spins his chair around, facing Steve with as much energy as he can muster. Which… isn’t a lot. His eyes are droopy and watery, and his nose looks as if it had been assaulted with scratchy tissues all day. It probably had.

Steve’s face drops immediately when he surveys Tony. His eyebrows draw together, mouth twisting in a way it only does when he’s worried.

“You’re sick,” he states blankly.

Tony shakes his head, but a cough decides to rattle through his chest at that very moment. “I’m okay,” he rasps, knowing he can’t fool Steve and instead tries to brush if off.

“Tony…” he breathes, and Tony hates how defeated, how concerned he sounds. “Why did you hide this from me?” He asks quietly, and Tony can almost hear how Steve’s brain is overthinking, contemplating every scenario that could have caused Tony to keep this secret from him; didn’t Tony trust him? Had he done anything wrong? Had he not paid enough attention to notice how sick his boyfriend is?

Tony needs to set things straight, to assure Steve that whatever senseless and foolish thoughts running through that mind of his are definitely not true. “I didn’t… I’m not,” Tony sighs, unable to complete an adequate sentence. “I know you have a lot on your plate right now. I didn’t want you to worry,” Tony confesses. “I’m a grown man, I can’t take care of myself.”

“Tony,” he says again. God, Tony wishes Steve would stop saying his name so gently, with so much love in his voice that it makes Tony’s eyes misty. The fever is undoubtedly making him more emotional. That’s what he tells himself, anyways.

“I don’t need you to babysit me, Steve.” It comes out harsher than Tony had intended it to, and he immediately wants to retract it when he sees the wounded look on Steve’s face. He sighs again. “I’m sorry, I just— I don’t want you to look at me like I’m this helpless, broken thing that needs fixing. I’m the one who’s supposed to fix things.”

The words tumble out of Tony’s mouth before he has a chance to filter them. But they’re true, Tony realizes. They’re true, and Tony’s so honest right in that moment. He wonders if it’s because Steve’s there, and Steve has this weird effect on him that makes him incapable of hiding how he feels. It’s the same thing that made Tony confess his feelings for him — he simply couldn’t keep them in any longer, and suddenly they just bursted out of him with no warning.

And now, without thinking about it, Tony admits this to himself as much as he does to Steve: he doesn’t want to be fixed, to be cared for in this way. He doesn’t deserve to be cared for. He’s the mechanic, he fixes things, he mends them, he makes good. Ever since he shut down the weapons manufacture that has been his goal. To help. And now, in this state of exhaustion and vulnerability, he can’ do that.

Tony suddenly feels like he can’t breathe.

“Hey…” Steve cups Tony’s face and strokes a thumb over his cheekbone. “I know you think you’re… unworthy of being cared for in this way, which kills me, because you deserve every ounce of love I possess, and it will forever be my goal to make this known to you… but you are the most generous person I’ve ever met. You help everyone you can and destroy yourself over those you can’t. I just wish you’d let me help you sometimes…”

The tears are now trailing down Tony’s cheek, running over Steve’s hand. It’s definitely because he’s tired and sick and not because Steve has just dejected every insecurity Tony hadn’t said out loud but had unconsciously carried on his shoulders.

At some point between Steve entering the workshop and now, the music had been turned off and for a moment, there’s silence. Tony isn’t looking at Steve, but he can feel Steve’s eyes on him, can picture how earnest and sincere and blue they are.

“Come to bed,” Steve says and Tony just nods and lets himself be enveloped in Steve’s arms.

Steve carries Tony to their bedroom, the genius clinging to the soldier like his life depended on it. Laying him down on the bed with care, Steve draws back and smooths a hand over Tony’s head.

The brunette looks up at him with a bleary expression on his face. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. His voice is even raspier now that he actually lets himself resign to being sick, succumbing to the symptoms.

“Shh. Don’t be,” he murmurs and smiles softly. “Get comfortable, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Tony nods and shreds his clothes, stripping down to his boxers and a white t-shirt, then shuffles under the blankets and closes his eyes. He probably would’ve fallen asleep right then, had a tickle in his nose not started growing stronger and stronger. He pushes his nose up against his wrist, but it doesn’t stop the tickle from wanting out. After a few useless nose rubs, his nose gives a tell-tale twitch, and he presses his face into his shoulder.

“h’ngxxtt! HNgx!” Stifling the sneezes makes his sinuses twinge and sends a throb through his skull, so when the tickle returns, he lets himself give into a stronger, fuller uhhETCH’oo! that gives him more relief. For the moment, at least.

“Bless you!” Steve calls, and a few seconds later he pads into the bedroom with a tray stacked with what Tony can identify as Kleenex, tea, fever-reducers, decongestants, and a glass of water. “Here,” he says as he places the tray on the nightstand, pulling out few tissues from the box and hands them to Tony.

Tony nods and folds them over his nose, leaning into another two forceful sneezes.

“uhhCHUSh’oo! snffSNFF! huh— uh! uh’CHUSH!”

“God bless you, sweetheart,” Steve winces. “How did you get so sick, hm?”

Tony is still snuffling into the tissues and doesn’t give any reply other than ducking his head shyly and looking over the edge of the tissue with fond eyes.

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve decides and smiles sweetly. “I’ll get you feeling better.”

[runaway-train-works]

I'm happy to see you are possibly writing again, I love your fics! What WIPs do you have at the moment?

Oh Nonnie! This is so lovely, thank you! I’m really glad you enjoy my fics! 

I have had a lot going on this last year with pandemic fucking up my life in more ways than one, as well as suffering from a severe case of writer's block, so I’ve been annoyingly dabbling in lots of things but failing to actually get anything finished. However, I’m hoping the winds of change are finally going to give me a break and so I might actually complete something soonish!

In answer to your question about my WIPs, I fear you might regret asking this question because I have so many! I’ve had to put them under the cut but if you fancy reading more about them then you can check them out, and feel free to ask me any questions about any of them!

And All Because I’m Mad About The Boy

The 5th instalment of my Ad Au series. It’s going to be a long one I think, and will feature them going on their stag dos (bachelor parties) as well as a decent bit of angst! I’ve written the first section as well as some notes on later sections. 

Black Mirror

This is the fic I go on about but have never written more than the opening scene of. It’s kind of Black Mirror meets Total Recall - Harry goes to a company that downloads holiday experiences straight into your brain, and he has a holiday romance with ‘Louis’ A year later, he sees Louis in real life and it all unravels from there. 

Boxer ABO AU

Louis is a sassy omega who is quite snobby when it comes to ‘alpha thugs’ that box, but gets dragged along to a boxing event by Liam and meets boxer Harry. Harry asks him out, and Louis turns him down, however, he’s unreasonably miffed when Harry takes the turn down a little too well and precedes to do all the chasing, much to Harry’s amusement. 

Cursed Is The Fool Who’s Willing

My ABO fic I have already written 70K for. I need to get back to this, I’ve just come to a point where I’m so stuck with the plot that it’s a real struggle, even though I know how it’s going to end. Very frustrating, but I will finish this if it kills me. The general plot is Louis regularly offers himself up as an omega for alpha ruts, but has a strict no real names, no repeats policy. That is until he meets Harry who gets under his skin.

Dreams ABO

I actually wrote about 10k of this after my very first fic, but haven’t really returned to it. Harry is an alpha in his last year of high school, and Louis is a new omega who decides on his first day that Harry is his alpha and they’re meant to be together. Harry isn’t so sure. 

Gotta Blame It On My Juice

I started writing this for the ridic fic exchange but had to drop it and pinch-hit another fic at the time. I even have commissioned artwork for it! The prompt was ‘Louis is a registered sex therapist and he is pretty sure his new next-door neighbor, Harry, has a fetish for old women because he keeps having elderly women over and they always leave his house in a wheelchair (seriously where does he get all these wheelchairs?), turns out he's just a vampire who likes old lady blood the best (that is, until he tastes Louis) 

Grumpy Neighbour

This was meant to be a fest last year but never got it finished, based on Harry being Louis’ grumpy neighbour who Louis is pretty determined to win over, so when his shower breaks, he keeps going over to Harry and Niall’s flat to use theirs and walking around in just a towel. 

Harry/Troye

Haven’t got a title yet, but based on a Tik Tok of Troye’s where he gets flirted with by the receptionist when he’s getting his sexual health screening, 

Housesitter AU

I have a 4K outline of this and I’m pretty into the idea actually. Fake relationship AU based on the film with Goldie Hawn and Steve Martin but a few differences. Louis is high school hearts with Liam, and when he buys a house in the village they grew up as a surprise for them to live in, Liam tells him he’s actually been wanting to break up. Louis has a sort of rebound one night stand with Harry and tells him about the empty house. A few weeks later, he turns up to sell it to find Harry’s been living there and has told everyone he’s Louis’ fiancé as a cover. Cue a fake relationship to help mend Louis’ broken relationship with his parents as well as win Liam back by posing as the perfect husband material, but it doesn’t quite work out like that. 

I Was Just Tongue Tied

Gay disaster Harry meets Louis in a sushi restaurant and tells too many fish puns. 

If You Bring Your Blue Skies Back

Gay disaster Louis meets Harry on a plane and repeatedly embarrasses himself.

Let’s Get Into Physical

Liam meets Harry in a yoga class and is pretty oblivious to Harry’s advances. 

Lumberjack

I was writing this a while ago for a Christmas fest and wrote about 10K, but then other lumberjack fic came out and I gave it up. Based on writer Louis going to his usual remote Scottish getaway to finish his new book, but the new local maintenance/lumberjack type guy Harry is very good looking, very distracting and very NOT into Louis. 

Moments

Louis is a married man but goes to a gay speeding dating night with Liam for moral support but meets Harry and his world turns upside down. 

Pretences

My Big Bang from last year I never finished (sensing a theme yet?) Got to about 20k but it just got so big. I thought from my outline I had it all worked out but when I actually started writing it, it just seems like such a huge fic that I struggled. Based on Louis being a doppelgänger for the Prince and he’s asked to step in for the royal wedding day when the princess is getting married. Harry is the one that helps him through it all. 

Sad Songs Say So Much

Girl direction fic based on Louis knowing when Harry is upset because she always plays the same sad songs playlist so goes out her way to make her happy, and Harry has no idea. 

Sharry

Adore You/Lost In Japan canon fic about Harry and Shawn hooking up in Japan. 

Shiall

Fake Relationship AU based on Niall asking Shawn to go to a work dinner party as his fake boyfriend, but Shawn plays the role a little too well. 

This City’s Gonna Break My Heart

My Narry fic that I’ve been chipping away at, which is disgustingly overdue. Based on the song Heartbreak Weather, where Niall hooks up with Harry one night and it becomes a casual thing but Niall’s more into it than he would like to admit. 

Wouldn’t It Be Lovely

Based on My Fair Lady, Harry is an art curator that must turn Louis into a ‘respectable artist’ rather than the tracksuit wearing chav he is. I kind of gave up when I realised that it wasn’t the nicest storyline and Harry would have to be an insufferable dick for most of the fic.