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mrmonster459 · 3 months ago

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The Bloodbath

“Alright ladies, now we’re going to enter our cooldown.” I said. “We’re gonna do front kick-lunges. Starting with the right leg; kick, now lunge. Left leg; kick, lunge.”

This was my last class of the day; a bullshit cardio kickboxing class I was teaching to stay-at-home-moms at the Forever Fitness in the city. It wasn’t much, but it’s apparently all a forty-three year old with nothing but “former amateur boxer” on his resume can get hired to do.

“Alright, and time. Now, before we call it an evening, let’s do a quick cool down stretch.” I said, glad I was so close to being done with them (until the following Monday).

______

I got back to my apartment around 6 PM, with only an hour or so to spare before going to my other job.

“Hey honey.” My wife said, from the kitchen. “Dinner is almost done. You know, I heard that new movie you were talking about just hit Netflix, wanna watch it with me and Mikayla?”

“Jeanine, you know I have to go to…”

Her heart looked like it was about to stop. Before she could say anything, our ten year old daughter ran to greet me.

“Daddy!” she shouted.

“Princess.” I said as I picked her up. “Um, daddy has to get ready for his night shift, but mommy has a great dinner almost ready. Have fun and watch a movie with her, okay.”

“Um, okay.” My daughter said as she sat down at the table.

I went to the bedroom to get ready, and my wife came by (after turning on a cartoon for Mikayla, so she wouldn’t hear).

“Honey, we talked about this yesterday.” Jeanine said.

“Really, did we?” I asked. “Seemed more like you did most of the talking.”

“These fights, you’re too old and they’re too much for you.” My wife said. “Last month, you came home after The Bloodbath with a mild concussion. The winnings you got only barely covered your urgent care bill.”

“That was just bad luck. There was a really fast taekwondo guy, he got me with some crazy tornado kick I’d never seen before.”

“Well, what if you have more ‘bad luck?’” She asked using air quotes. “What if next time it’s your neck or your back that gets broken? How are we gonna pay for rent or groceries if that happens?”

“Honey, please, don’t worry. I’ve been training pretty hard. I know I have a real chance of winning first prize this time. I can feel it.”

“You said that last time.” She said.

“How about a deal?” I asked. “If I don’t win tonight, it’s over. If I don’t come back with the top prize tonight, my days of competing in The Bloodbath are over.”

“Deal.” She said, reluctantly.

______

The Bloodbath is the city’s top underground fighting tournament. It’s very difficult to even get a spot. They don’t just let in any idiot who calls himself a “street fighter,” it requires at least some amateur or pro fighting experience, as well as a pretty mean reputation on the streets, to even get a tryout (much less a callback).

The tournament was held in the last place anyone would expect or care to search; a high school gym. Whoever organized these fights (the identity of whoever organizes the tournament is a closely guarded secret) paid off the principal to let us use the gym, and any passersby noticing the cars in the parking lot would just assume that there was a basketball game or a volleyball game going on at the school that day.

I went straight to the training room, in the back. During normal school hours, it was the high school’s weight room, but on the night of The Bloodbath, it was the training gym for the fighters to warm up. They even brought in punching bags so we could get some reps before the tournament started.

“How’s it going?” Richie, my cornerman, said to me. Richie was my boxing coach back in the day, and still runs his old gym. Every Bloodbath, he’s my cornerman. He takes 10% of whatever I win, but it’s well worth it having him around to give me pointers. Not only is he a great coach, but he’s my eyes and ears on the streets; if a street fight happens anywhere in his corner of the city, he knows about it. He knows most of the regular fighters in The Bloodbath, and more importantly, knows their strengths & weaknesses.

“Have they put out the schedule yet?” I asked Richie, before I started warming up on the speed bag.

“Yep. First up, they’ve got you up against Tom. He’s a…”

“Yeah, I know Tom.” I said. Tom was a local self defense instructor, a master of krav maga and kali. He was infamous on the streets for challenging anyone who doubted his self defense to come to his school and try their luck (and so far, all ended up walking back their criticisms).

“He’ll be on the defensive.” Richie said. “He’s going to want you to go in recklessly, slip up, and end up in one of his traps. Do not let him. He has no offense, so this can be an easy fight for you, if you play it smart.”

“Understood.” I said as I stepped into the ring.

“Touch gloves.” The ref said, and we touched fists.

“FIGHT!”

Tom began circling around me, hoping for an opening. But I kept steady and focused. After he did a couple laps around me, with nothing to show for it, he stepped in a little closer. He was trying to egg me on; he wanted to tempt me to make a lazy, half assed strike that he could easily defend against.

But no, I wasn’t going to fall for his ploy. I began to feel him out by throwing jabs; he tried to block & trap me, but my hands were too quick. He then tried to go for a low front kick, right for my groin; but I checked his kick with my shin, stepped in, and knocked him out with an uppercut.

“WINNER!” The ref said as he came to certify my win (and help Tom off the mat).

As I walked back to my corner, Richie said “Do not let that victory go to your head. You got lucky having him as your warmup fight, Tom only barely qualified for this tournament to begin with. Things will be harder starting next round, I promise you that.”

_____

I had just ten minutes to rest and drink water before my next fight.

Next up was John, a Brazilian jiu-jitsu fighter, and a gold medalist in several regional tournaments.

“Don’t let him go for your legs.” Richie told me. “The second he gets a solid hold on your legs, he’s taking you to the ground, and it’s game over for you. Avoid that at all costs.”

“Got it.” I said as I stepped onto the mat.

“Fighters touch gloves.” The ref said, and right after we taped fists, the match began.

It was immediately clear he was playing defense; he stepped back, and kept his hands close to his head, ready to defend on a moment's notice if I went on the offensive.

He thought he was being smart, but I was going to be just a little bit smarter. I faked a jab to the body; as expected, he moved his arms down to his torso to block it, and then realized just a half second too late that it was only a feint.

I then got him with a fast cross, smack in the center of his nose. It hurt him, but before I could pull back my arm, he grabbed onto my wrist. From there, he put me in an armbar. I resisted as hard as I could, but his grip was like a vice, and the pain was excruciating. I seriously thought he was going to break my arm.

I realized I couldn’t force my way out of the armbar, so the best I could do was to just return the favor and dole out a little pain of my own. I used my free arm to hit him right in the stomach; it hurt him, but he still held on tight. So I aimed a little higher, and hit him in the ribcage; that one made him let go.

He dove in to try to grab my legs and take me down, but I stepped back, and threw a powerful right hook that knocked him out.

“WINNER!” the ref exclaimed before I walked back to my corner.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Richie said as he high fived me. “Your arm okay?”

“It’ll be fine.” I said. “Just give me an ice pack.”

______

Next, it was time for the semifinals. Luckily, I didn’t get hurt last round (just a bit tired and sore), so I walked onto the mat ready for a good, hard fight.

I was now up against Patrick; he’s a taekwondo fighter, the winner of several regional tournaments. And he was also the fighter that knocked me out last time. His kick sent me to the urgent care with a mild concussion.

“Any advice?” I asked Richie before stepping onto the mat.

“Be on the defensive.” He told me. “You’re stronger than him, but you’re not faster. Last time, you tried to go on the offensive only for him to dance around you. Do not let that happen again; keep your distance, and let him waste his energy until you have a good chance to strike.”

“Thanks.” I said.

I stepped into the ring, and the ref started the match. Just like last time, Patrick was fast; less than a second into the fight, he lifted up his leg and twisted his hips over for a repeat roundhouse kick. I blocked his first kick, but his second grazed the side of my head.

I backed up, and he followed up with a spinning side kick that nailed me right in the solar plexus

For a moment, I was really thinking I was about to lose; after all, what could I do against the flurry of feet he kept throwing at me? But he got cocky. He threw out a sloppy crescent kick that I easily blocked; before he could reset, I stepped in close and threw a powerful left hook that got him square in the jaw.

He tried to put some distance from us, so he could throw out more kicks, but I wasn’t letting him. I stepped in again, and tried to get him in the face, but he blocked it, and threw out a quick body punch. It landed, but only grazed me; it didn’t have the power to do any serious damage, only distract me.

He threw out a front kick, right to my chest. It not only hurt like Hell, but it put some distance between us, distance he used to setup a tornado kick. If it had landed, it would’ve knocked me out cold.

But it didn’t, because I stepped back just in time, and before he could land & reset, I dove back in forward for a jab-cross combo that was powerful enough to end the fight.

“YES!” Richie exclaimed from my corner.

“WINNER!” the ref said, and I went back for a much needed rest.

____

I wasn’t feeling well after my fight against Patrick. Every spot that Patrick hit me, especially my head, was in pain. And worse, my final match would be against Paul, a former professional kickboxer, and winner of the last two Bloodbaths. I’d fought him once before; his punches felt like getting hit by a truck.

I made it far enough to have already guaranteed myself $2,000, and I

was tempted to just throw the next fight and take it. It would be so easy; I’d just take a jab, pretend it was a lot harder than it was, and no one would be the wiser. I could walk out of there with a nice payday and no injuries.

But no, I couldn’t; as much as I was tempted to, I knew I had to see this through to the end, no matter the cost.

_________

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the grand finale.” An announcer said, although who he was talking to was anyone’s guess. Maybe a digital audience watching the matches on hidden cameras; maybe no one at all. I don’t know, and I’ll probably never know.

To say I was nervous walking onto the mat, was a tremendous understatement. Finally, after several failed Bloodbaths, I had a real chance of going home with the grand prize. But I also had a real chance of going home with broken bones or a concussion.

“Touch gloves.” The referee said, as Paul and I tapped knuckles. We then stepped back, and the ref said “FIGHT!”

As expected, Paul immediately went on the offensive; he threw out a low roundhouse kick to try and knock my leg out from under me. If I hadn’t stepped back just in time, it would have been a fight ending move, maybe even a leg break.

The one bad part about those kinds of powerful low kicks, is that if you miss, it takes a second to regain your balance. And during that brief second in time where you reset yourself, it’s the perfect time for your opponent to land a quick shot; like say, a left hook that nailed him right in the side of his jaw.

My punch made him stumble back, but I wasn’t going to get cocky; if I dove in this soon, I’d be done for. He was much more powerful than me, I couldn’t make this a battle of strength. Instead, I had to play it smart, wait for him to give me opportunities.

He clearly got angry after my last hook, and wanted to return the favor. He began throwing out a barrage of punches, but I kept my hands & arms tight around my face & body, to absorb all the blows without getting hurt. After blocking the last of his strikes, I shot in real quick and got him with a jab, right in the center of his stomach. It wouldn’t do much, but I had to do anything I could to wear him down.

Paul teep kicked me; I tried to block it, but it still grazed my leg, and even that was enough to cause a lot of pain. Then, he stepped in for a devastating elbow strike that tore open my forehead.

In a normal boxing or MMA bout, a tear like that would’ve at minimum caused the ref to pause the fight for medical attention, if not just made him call the fight altogether. But this was The Bloodbath; nothing short of a knockout, a submission, or death would pause this bout.

My only saving grace was that the blood was only trickling into my left eye; my right eye (my dominant eye) could still see well enough. When he wound back his leg and launched a sidekick at me, I saw it coming and stepped to the side moments before his foot was about to knock my torso inside out.

Paul got frustrated, and threw more power punches at me, only for me to slip out of the way, and make his teeth clatter with a quick uppercut.

After my punch, he was disoriented, I could tell that just by the way he was standing; I had a short, but priceless opportunity to finally go on the offensive.

I threw a jab to the head, which I knew would make him put his hands up to protect, and when he did, I went low and got him right in the liver with a powerful body shot. After that, it just took one more hook to the side of his face to knock him out cold.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I PRESENT THIS MONTH’S WINNER OF THE BLOODBATH!” the announcer exclaimed.

________

After that night, I quit The Bloodbath. My wife is right, I was getting too old for it anyway. With the $10,00 I won, we were able to open our own boxing gym. It’s not easy (I greatly overestimated how much time I’d be in the training ring and underestimated how much time I’d be at my desk filling out Excel sheets), but at least it pays a lot better than my old job at Forever Fitness. Plus, it gives me something to do with Mikayla (not to brag, but she’s the best student in my kids class).

I doubt I’ll ever train the next heavyweight champion, but maybe someday, I’ll train the next Bloobath winner.

#short fiction #original fiction #short story #original story #original work #martial artist #martial arts #action story #action adventure #action #boxing #kickboxing #taekwondo #brazilian jiu jitsu #krav maga #kali

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streetlamp-amber · 8 months ago

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never ending night

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

word count: 1.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: pregnancy, pure fluff NOTES: hello hi i’m ailís and i’ve been meaning to start a blog where i can post some one shots that i’ve been thinking of as a way to motivate myself to finally write down my ideas so this is it. i’ll be double posting my stuff on ao3 (which you can find in my bio) and will eventually make a masterlist as well as a navigation post with a list of fandoms/characters i write for. also, english isn’t my first language.

It was close to three in the morning when Bruce finally joined you in bed after a long night of patrolling and fighting bottom of the barrel criminals all night. He showered in the bathroom on the first floor of the manor to avoid making too much noise and waking you up, but when he finally walked in your shared bedroom, you were already awake, sitting up against the headboard.

“Darling, what are you doing still up?” Bruce asked you as he reached his side of the bed.

The room was dark par for the moonlight filtering through the gap between the curtains, meaning your husband had yet to notice the state you were in.

“Dick had a nightmare,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper due to how tired you were. “It took me two hours to get him to fall back asleep and when I finally came back here, this little one started kickboxing me and keeping me awake for another hour,” you continued rubbing your round belly in hopes of soothing your baby to finally catch some sleep.

“I’m sorry I wasn't here to help,” Bruce apologised, planting a kiss on your temple as he held you close to his body.

“It’s alright, Gotham needs you,” you dismissed, not at all angry.

“Still, you’re six months pregnant. You’re growing our child inside your body, you need all the rest you can get,” he softly argued. “I would've come home earlier but all the amateur criminals came out tonight.”

“Bruce, it’s fine,” you brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned his head into your touch. “You’ve already been cutting your patrols shorter since we found out about the baby. As long as you keep coming back home to us, alive, then I’m not mad.”

Not knowing what to say – his gratefulness for having someone so accepting of his duty as Batman was almost overwhelming, even after all those years – Bruce kissed your palm while staring at you with the same look full of love that he has been sporting since the first time he met you six years ago.

“How’d I get so lucky to fall in love with the most understanding and selfless person I know?” He asked while grabbing your hand on his cheek, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing them gently.

“Now that’s a lie,” you rebutted, a loving smile on your lips, lowering your joined hands on the bed. “You’re more selfless than I am. You’re the most selfless man in the world.”

“Let’s not start this never ending argument again,” Bruce chuckled, now his turn to hold your face as he brought you in for a kiss.

You happily sighed against his lips, the feeling of home that overtook you every time you tasted them was a nice welcome in this interminable night. But the kiss was cut short as you felt your baby kick again and you let your head fall back as you groaned.

“She’s still kicking?” Bruce asked you, he couldn't see the movements under your skin due to the darkness of the room and your hand on your belly.

“We don't know it's a she,” you reminded him instead of answering. You had both decided to wait until the birth to know the gender.

“And I’m telling you, I know it's a girl,” your husband repeated for what could be the hundredth time.

You also secretly hoped it was a girl, but Dick really wanted a little brother. Bruce and you were still in the process of warming him up to the idea of a little sister and it was slowly starting to work.

“As long as she doesn't come in my room,” your eight year old son had said last week, with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips.

“I doubt she’ll be doing that for the first few years, chum,” Bruce reassured him, fighting off a slightly amused grin.

“And the baby will have its own room with its own toys,” you added.

“Will I still be able to play with the baby?” Dick asked after a moment, uncrossing his arms and a hopeful look filling up his blue eyes.

“Of course you will, bubs,” you said, your fingers threading through his black hair that fell over his forehead.

“But only with her toys at first, some of yours are not suited for a baby,” Bruce pointed out, ever the overprotective father.

Bruce had lowered himself down under the blanket so he could be laying head levelled with your belly, his hand now replacing yours over the bump.

“Hey trouble,” he whispered to your child and the baby kicked again, making him smile lovingly at the movement he felt under his hand. “You shouldn't be awake this late at night, you know.”

“You're one to talk,” you commented, tone almost reprimanding.

“She doesn't know that,” Bruce looked up at you as he defended himself before his gaze fell back on your belly. “Mommy is really tired,” he continued talking to your baby, his hand now rubbing soothingly over your round stomach, “and she needs her rest to do all the work so you can come out all healthy and beautiful. Well, you're definitely gonna be the most beautiful baby if you end up looking like your mother, but that's not the point.”

You smiled at the cheesy comment and your fingers found their place in Bruce’s hair, brushing through it and nails occasionally scratching his scalp.

“Your brother Dick can't wait for you to come around,” he carried on. “Said he will teach you all sorts of acrobatic tricks once you know how to walk. And he asked Alfred if he could help paint the nursery when we finally decide on a colour.”

“And I keep telling you we should do soft green,” you argued.

“I’m not changing my mind from primrose pink,” he told you with a sly grin.

“The room won’t be pink, even if it’s a girl. And that’s final,” you firmly said. Your husband will not be winning this one argument, no sir.

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes before focusing back on your belly. “I hope you’re not as stubborn as your mother,” he whispered to the baby, as if he was having a private conversation with them and that you weren’t there. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with her, but I won’t be able to say no to you even when I have to, so it would save me a lot of reprimanding from Mommy if you’re not as tenacious as her.”

You smiled to yourself as you continued listening to your husband talk to your unborn child as you threaded your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness it had after a shower. Bruce usually gelled his hair to appear more professional when he was working in the day, and then it would get all mixed up with his sweat under his cowl when he was working as Batman. When he would come back to you after the day was over, you would refuse to touch his hair until he had showered, the texture of the gel and sweat too gross on your fingers for you to ignore.

As Bruce continued talking to your baby, his voice started lulling the two of you to sleep. The baby hadn’t kicked in over almost ten minutes now, and the peace you had waited for so long to arrive made you aware of how heavy your eyelids were. You slowly lowered yourself down the bed, getting in a comfortable position with Bruce’s help where you could finally lay your head on your pillow and it didn’t take long for sleep to catch up on you.

At the sound of your soft, barely audible snores, Bruce turned his head away from your bump to find you asleep with your free hand raised next to your head on your pillow, the other one still tangled in his hair.

He planted a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your belly, eyes closed as he took a moment to absorb the fact that a baby that was half you and half him would be joining your world in a little more than three months. Bruce wasn't known to cry, the only time you ever saw him cry was as you walked down the aisle at your wedding, but tonight, a lonesome tear rolled down his cheek and fell on your stomach, where your child was growing, because Bruce never believed he would ever get to experience again the amount of love he hadn't felt since he was eight years old.

As he observed you, sleeping soundly with his child coming to life inside you, after you comforted Dick back to sleep, Bruce, for a moment, felt overwhelmed by all the love in his life. When he became Batman, he crossed out the idea of ever having a family (other than Alfred), of settling down with someone he loved and who loved him back.

But somehow, the universe put you on his path, as a miracle or a guardian angel or simply as an anchor to life outside of Batman, he didn't know. You walked into his home, into his life, to remind him that he, Bruce Wayne, was also deserving of love, of family, of happiness. Then Dick came along, rather unexpectedly but still no less welcomed, and Bruce started entertaining the idea of having children with you. He definitely wasn't opposed to it, but it wasn't something he wanted to jump right into, especially with Dick having just entered your lives. You were both young, he in his early thirties and you in your late twenties, you could allow yourselves a couple of years just the three of you (four with Alfred) before expanding the family.

So it was rather shocking when two months after you and Bruce had officially adopted Dick that you found out you were pregnant. It both took you by surprise but after talking through it together, you couldn't be happier. And the two of you haven't stopped being happy about this new little addition ever since.

Bruce rose up from his position next to your belly, your limp hand fell from his head as he did so, and he laid on the bed next to you. He delicately kissed your forehead, then your nose before falling back on his pillow and whispered “I love you” as he curled around your body, his hand resting on your belly as he fell asleep.

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