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musicforastylesrestaurant · 8 months

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Tremulous.

adjective ‘shaking or quivering slightly’

in which, your a patient of doctor styles, and even though he’s supposed to be a professional, his attraction towards you blooms when he can’t seem to get you out of his head, but there’s a few problems that seem to be in his way.

word count - 2.6k

authors note- i know that this could have been longer considering the wait, but the other parts are going to be much better, contain more of a story, and definitely be longer, im sorry if this is not what you all expected <3

warnings: mentions of domestic abuse, hospitals, swearing, and a man named corey.

January 27th, 2024.

Once, you fervently clung to the notion of happily ever afters, your worldview painted with the romantic brushstrokes of fairy tales. However, that unwavering belief underwent a profound transformation. Life's intricate narrative unraveled before your eyes, revealing the nuanced shades of reality that escape the simplistic tales.

About a year ago, the realisation struck you like a revelation. The fairy-tale endings you once sought seemed elusive, replaced by the complex tapestry of life's unpredictable twists. You navigated through disappointments, heartaches, and the ever-shifting sands of relationships, learning that happiness wasn't a static destination but a dynamic journey.

When you met Corey, you beloved that just everything was going to be perfect, that you were going to get married, start a family and then finally would live a happily ever after.

But now, sitting in a hospital waiting room, a black eye and some bruised ribs, you soon realised that a happily ever after was not on your cards, and you didn’t think it ever would be.

Seated in the desolate hush of the hospital waiting room, Corey is by your side, his hand resting on your knee. However, the once-comforting touch has turned into an unintended source of discomfort. His nails, instead of offering solace, are slowly digging into your skin, creating a painful undertone beneath the already strained atmosphere.

The black eye you wear becomes a visible testament to the turbulent storm that has swept through your life, a storm now reflected in Corey's furrowed brow and tightening grip.

Each breath brings a searing pain to your ribs, a constant reminder of the physical toll exacted by whatever led you to this sterile purgatory. Corey's scowl intensifies, mirroring the tension in the room, as if the shared discomfort has found a physical expression.

The minutes drag on, marked by the rhythmic ticking of the waiting room clock, and you find yourself caught between the silent agony of your injuries and the unspoken worry etched on Corey's face.

You've always harbored a deep-seated desire to work in a hospital, a passion that initially fueled your excitement to embark on the journey of medical school. Back when you first met Corey, the prospect of donning a white coat and making a difference in people's lives seemed like a tangible dream. Fresh out of college, you were poised to step into the world of academia, eager to pursue your lifelong aspiration.

However, the trajectory of your dreams shifted when Corey entered the scene. In a whirlwind of emotions, he managed to sway your mind away from the academic pursuit you'd envisioned. With promises of missing you and a shared future that seemed brighter together, you decided to forego university and chose a different path.

Now, in the painful silence of the waiting room, regrets echo through your thoughts, as the realization settles that the sacrifice made for love might have cost you the chance to pursue your professional calling.

You can’t help but wish that you had gained enough courage back then to abandon him, because now…now your too scared to even breath around him, let alone run.

A nurse emerges from one of the doors, a clipboard in hand, and calls your name, "Y/N Y/L/N."

The mention of your name cuts through the sterile air, and both you and Corey rise from the uneasy embrace of the waiting room chairs. Your hands tremble as you follow the nurse, her brisk steps leading you into a room. The corridor seems to stretch indefinitely, anxiety intensifying with every step.

Once inside the room, the nurse gestures towards the bed,

"Please, have a seat." The paper on the bed crinkles beneath you as you comply, Corey standing nearby, his eyes mirroring the concern etched on your face.

As you settle onto the crisp hospital bed, the nurse efficiently checks your vitals, the rhythmic beep of the monitor punctuating the tension in the room. Her practised hands move with precision, measuring your pulse and blood pressure.

After the thorough examination, the nurse glances at the readings and nods.

"Your vitals seem stable," she states, her professional demeanor carrying a hint of compassion. "A doctor will be in to see you shortly. In the meantime, if you need anything or if the pain intensifies, don't hesitate to press the call button."

The weight of the impending doctor's visit hangs in the air, and you exchange a glance with Corey, your unspoken worries echoing in the silence of the room.

As the nurse departs, Corey's demeanor shifts abruptly. He harshly grabs your face, turning it towards him, his grip uncomfortably tight. His words cut through the air, "Remember what we said you'd tell them, right?"

A cold shiver runs down your spine as you nod in agreement, the tremor in your voice betraying the underlying fear.

Corey's gaze remains intense as he adds, "If you say the wrong thing, you will regret it."

The ominous warning lingers in the room, leaving you with a sense of dread.

Before you can respond, the curtain is abruptly pulled back, revealing a doctor with brown curly hair and piercing green eyes. Tattoos peeking out from the top of his scrubs and doctor coat hint at a more casual side.

His entrance interrupts the charged moment between you and Corey, injecting a fresh wave of tension into the air. The doctor offers a professional smile, though his gaze holds a discerning curiosity.

"Good afternoon. M’Dr. Styles," he introduces himself, glancing between you and Corey. "Let's talk about what brought you in today."

The weight of Corey's warning still echoes in your mind as you navigate the delicate balance between truth and the narrative you've been instructed to follow.

With a hesitant gulp, you summon the courage to speak.

"Uh, I had a bit of an accident," you begin, your voice quivering. "I... I fell down the stairs."

The admission hangs in the air, and you avoid Dr. Styles' eyes, your gaze fixed on the sterile surroundings.

Dr. Styles, his expression unreadable, continues to observe you closely.

"Fell down the stairs?" he repeats, a note of scepticism in his tone.

You nod, trying to appear convincing while the weight of fear presses down on you. The room feels stifling as you navigate the delicate dance of half-truths, your primary concern not to incur Corey's wrath.

"It was just a clumsy misstep," you add, your words laced with anxiety.

Dr. Styles, a man of clinical composure, glanced at Corey's bruised knuckles without a word, documenting the silent evidence on his clipboard.

He then turned his attention back to you, a hint of professional detachment in his green eyes.

"Well, let's get started. Where is the pain located?" Dr. Styles asked, his voice measured.

Your response quivered with nerves, "It's in…my ribs, doctor…Been hurting quite… a bit."

The doctor nodded, scribbling down your words. His gaze flickered over Corey's hands, perhaps noting the story they told without needing verbal confirmation. The air hung heavy with unspoken tension.

"Now, I need to check y’heart rate. S’that okay?" Dr. Styles inquired, his eyes fixing on yours.

A nod escaped your body.

Looking directly at you, Dr. Styles sought more than a nod. "I need verbal confirmation, not just gestures. Can y’confirm verbally that I can proceed?"

A tense smile played on your lips as you stammered, "Yes, go…go ahead."

There was no denying that Dr.Styles wasn’t a good looking man, his green eyes looked captivating, and for some reason, you felt safe in his presence.

The same couldn’t be said for Corey.

As the stethoscope pressed against your chest, a rush of anxiety surged through you. Your eyes met Corey's, silently expressing the fear of unravelling under the doctor's scrutiny.

Guided through deep breaths, your heart raced under Dr. Styles' scrutiny. The doctor noticed the anxiety etched on your face but remained professionally silent. His expertise unfolded like a story, revealing only what needed to be seen.

"Alright, here we go. Deep breath in, and out," Dr. Styles directed, his actions dictating the pace of this clandestine tale.

"Heart rate seems stable. Anything else you'd like to share about how this happened?" Dr. Styles inquired, maintaining an air of curiosity without prying too deeply.

You shook your head, your story consistent, "No, just a…clumsy fall down… the stairs."

"M’need to run a few more tests," he explained. "Would y’mind if your friend steps outside and waits in the waiting room? It won't take long."

Corey, however, reacted strongly to the suggestion. "What? No way! I'm staying right here. I'm her boyfriend, and I have every right to be in the room!"

Dr. Styles, calmly, responded, "I understand y’concern, but there are aspects of the examination that are private. S’common for patients to have some privacy during certain parts of the examination unless they suggest otherwise."

Corey, not willing to back down, kicked off, insulting Dr. Styles. "I'm not leaving. This is ridiculous. I have a right to be here."

Dr. Styles, unyielding, reiterated, "It's standard procedure f’certain parts of the examination to be conducted in private, unless the patient suggests otherwise."

You shared a hesitant look with Corey, feeling the tension escalate. Finally, with a deep breath, you mustered the courage to speak up, "Corey, maybe it's….better if you wait…outside for this part. It won't take long…and I'll be fine."

Corey's expression hardened, but he reluctantly left the room, shooting a final glare at Dr. Styles.

With Corey outside the room, Dr. Styles spoke gently, "I need t’examine your abdomen to check f’any signs of internal bleeding. For a thorough examination, I'll need you to remove your shirt."

You hesitated, anxiety clouding your eyes.

"I... I don't want to take my shirt off," you admitted, your voice trembling.

Dr. Styles, his tone reassuring, explained, "I understand, but it's crucial to assess any potential internal injuries. I'll do my best to make you as comfortable as possible, and we can proceed at your pace."

Taking a deep breath, you nodded hesitantly, beginning to remove your shirt, leaving you in just a sports bra. Dr. Styles' eyes widened as he saw the bruises that marred your torso, a silent testimony to the pain you had endured.

Concern etched on his face, Dr. Styles gently inquired, "Are you okay with me touching you for the examination?"

“Yes Doctor.” With a hesitant nod, you allowed him to proceed.

“Please,” he caught your gaze and tilted his head to the side. “Call me Harry.”

Dr. Styles' cool hands glided across your body as he carefully examined your abdomen. The room felt silent, the only sound being the measured breaths you took to steady yourself.

Dr. Styles, noticing your discomfort, apologized, "M’sorry if this causes any pain. Please let me know if anything feels too much."

As his hands explored, you flinched when he pressed too hard on a sensitive spot.

You winced.

Dr. Styles immediately pulled back, concern evident in his eyes. "M’sorry for any pain. We'll take it slow, and I'll be as gentle as possible."

You nodded, appreciating his care, and he continued the examination with increased caution. The vulnerability of the moment hung in the air, yet there was a sense of trust developing between you and Dr. Styles,

Before proceeding with the examination, Dr. Styles decided to ask a few questions. "Let's start with something basic. How old are you?"

You replied, "I'm 25."

Nodding, Dr. Styles moved on to the next question. "How often do you exercise?"

You thought for a moment before responding, "I walk to work every day, so I'd say I get some exercise regularly."

Dr. Styles continued his inquiries, "Are you currently taking any medication?"

"No, I'm not on any medication right now," you assured him.

The next question touched on a different aspect, "Are you pregnant or currently trying to conceive?"

With a quick response, you answered, "No, not pregnant and not trying."

Dr. Styles, satisfied with the information gathered, prepared to proceed with the examination. "Thank you for providing those details.

Dr. Styles, with a cautious tone, expressed, "I have one more question, and I don't want you to take this the wrong way.”

You look up at him through thick eye lashes.

“Does Corey abuse you?"

The question hung in the air, and you felt a shock ripple through you. Corey had made it abundantly clear that uttering a word about what you went through was strictly forbidden.

In that moment, you hesitated, your mind racing, but you couldn't bring yourself to voice the truth.

With a heavy heart, you shook your head and replied, "No, Corey would never do anything like that."

Dr. Styles, perceptive to the delicate nature of the situation, continued with a compassionate demeanor, "I understand that this might be a sensitive topic. It's crucial for me to ask because your well-being is my priority. If, at any point, you feel the need to talk or share, my role is to support you."

Feeling the weight of the unspoken truth, you nodded, your eyes reflecting the internal struggle. Dr. Styles respected the boundaries, recognizing the complexity of the situation.

He added, "I want you to know that your safety and comfort are paramount. If you ever need assistance or someone to talk to, there are resources available, and my team is here to help. It's essential that you feel supported in your journey to recovery."

The conversation concluded with an understanding silence, leaving an open door for you to seek help when you were ready

Dr. Styles cleared his throat, breaking the lingering eye contact between the two of you. He stood up, a professional shift in his demeanor.

"M’going to get you scheduled for an x-ray based on the nature of your injuries," he explained, offering a reassuring smile.

As he left the room, you couldn't help but notice a soft smile on his face when he looked back at you. The curtain was pulled gently behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the echoes of the examination.

A realization began to dawn on him – the inherent injustice of your circumstances and the courage you displayed in the face of adversity. Amidst these reflections, another thought surfaced: just how remarkably pretty you were.

As he considered the emotional and physical toll you endured, Dr. Styles found himself admiring not only your strength but also your undeniable beauty. The compassion he felt transcended the professional realm, stirring a personal acknowledgment of the unfairness life had dealt you.

In a quiet moment at the doctor's station, he couldn't help but entertain a fleeting fantasy – what if circumstances were different? Dr. Styles wondered, with a twinge of regret, how different things might be if you weren't with someone like Corey.

In his opinion, you were gorgeous.

Your eyes would forever be stuck in his mind, even if he was to never see you again, the way your hair framed your face, and your dimples appeared when you were talking to him.

If he was to ever see you again, he would get to know you more, and he couldn’t help but wonder what you would look like with your body not covered in bruises, and wondered what your body would look like bent over his—

‘Stop it, Harry.’

His inner conscience told himself, you were his patient, and he was your doctor.

He had to be professional.

The unspoken connection between you lingered in his mind, and he found himself contemplating a different narrative, one where he might have asked you out, free from the shadows that seemed to engulf your current relationship.

As you sat on the hospital bed and picked at your fingernails, trying to remove the dried blood from under neath, when the curtain getting pulled open made you stop your actions and for your breath to hitch on your throat.

Corey stormed back into the room, anger radiating from him like a palpable force, his eyes fixed on you with a cold, threatening glare. The tension in the room intensified as he made a menacing declaration,

"You're in for it when we get home."

Your heart sank at the ominous words, and fear flickered in your eyes as you braced for what awaited you.

Oh, how you wished you had told Dr. Styles the truth, but just like always, you were starting to regret it.

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fatkish · 4 months

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Can you do some headcanons of Fat Gum, Ryuukyu and Sir Nighteye taking custody of a teen reader who is a reformed villian/vigilante.

Fatgum, Ryukyu, and Sir Nighteye x. Reformed Villain/Vigilante Teen Reader

Fatgum:

You grew up among villains since your parents were villains, they never really taught you right from wrong and kinda neglected you

You mostly just stole in order to survive, taking only what you needed and nothing more

One day you stole but got cornered by none other than Suneater, with little to no choice, you used your quirk to phase through him but ran right into Fatgum, literally

You got stuck in his fat but after you passed out, he realized just how skinny you were

He took you to the hospital and was upset to find that not only were you severely underweight and slightly malnourished, but your parents had been arrested leaving you to fend for yourself

He decided that moment that he would take you under his wing, he’d teach you right from wrong and give you whatever you needed to get on the right path

When you woke up and he told you it was either go with him or juvenile detention, you happily chose him

The first thing he did was bring you food and help you get to a healthy weight

Once that was done, he began to help you with learning to live normally and even helped you learn how to make friends at your new school, Shiketsu Academy

As your life began to change and become more normalized, you thanked Fatgum who decided to adopt you since you needed an active and actual parental figure in your life

From that day on you happily accepted your new dad and the two of you became family

You would try to cook all kinds of different foods and you both would try them, sometimes you made a great dish and other times… well, you believed in not wasting food but that ended up with you in the hospital from having food poisoning so…

You began to have a passion for cooking and would become a great chef all thanks to your dad

Ryukyu:

You were an anti-hero. You did what was necessary to keep others safe and would even kill to protect the innocent

You were skilled in combat and were pretty decent with the use of your quirk

One day you cornered a particularly nasty villain and had nearly managed to take them out but suddenly you were both shot at

You saw a couple heroes and tried to escape only to be confronted by Ryukyu

You tried to escape but after Ryukyu decided to transform, your battle was over

Since you technically had yet to kill, but had incredible skill, the HPSC hoped that you could be reformed into a hero

So they decided that you would be placed in the care of Ryukyu

At first, you tried to sneak out only to get caught every time, you’d constantly argue with Ryukyu on morals and rules, saying that some were stupid and that others needed revision

When Ryukyu saw how you viewed society, she discovered that you weren’t necessarily wrong, but you could definitely go about things in a better way

She decided to help you find a better way to make the changes you wanted to make in society but in legal ways only

As you both grew to have a mutual understanding and respect for one another’s views and values, you decided that she wasn’t so bad and accepted her

As that happened, she too, accepted you and you both became extremely close, almost like family

After that, you would go on to become one of the best underground heroes ever

Sir Nighteye:

Reader was an Orphan and a vigilante who used their own gear that they designed to catch criminals

You never used your quirk on criminals since that would be breaking the law and you didn’t want to get in trouble for that

You had created small devices that were a disguised as bugs like dragonflies and butterflies/moths. You made them contain small cameras and have tracking devices in them

These devices would fly around and would be able to attach small trackers to people or things when they land on them

You used these spy flies to help you with your vigilante work, you’d track criminals to places and use your technology to apprehend them and then alert the police to come and get them

You made sure to wear a mask and hide your identity, you also didn’t leave your technology behind for heroes to find and repurpose or mess with since your creations were precious to you

The Nighteye agency had been investigating your work and were trying to apprehend you but you kept evading them

One day, Sir Nighteye used his quirk on a suspected criminal and foresaw you apprehending them and decided to set up a trap for you

You followed the suspect to an abandoned warehouse where he and his supposed associates were hiding. Only to be caught by the Nighteye agency

When Sir Nighteye saw how young you really were, he decided that your talents would be wasted in Juvenile Detention and that you had a bright future ahead of you, granted, that you stayed on the right path

When Nighteye found out that you had been rescued by All Might as a child when your parents had died in an apartment building’s collapse, he saw how much you admired All Might

When you told him that All Might is an older hero and that he’s bound to retire eventually and that you feared for that day and that’s why you became a vigilante, he knew that you were a good kid and just needed a helping hand to get you on the right path in life

So he decided to take you in and teach you how to become a hero and although he may be strict and seem like a scary and intimidating guy, you both bonded over your admiration for All Might

When you showed him and had explained to him all your technology and how it works, he was curious as to why you weren’t in a hero school in a support course, you explained to him that your orphanage didn’t have the funding to send you to a hero school, which is why you had no other choice but to become a vigilante

After that, he decided to use his connections to enroll you in UA’s support course, to which you thanked him endlessly and hugged him calling him your hero. After that, he also adopted you and became your legal guardian

In time, you and your new friend Mei Hastume would become partners and become two of that century’s greatest technological creators and you both would go to live on I-Island

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #fatgum x child reader #fatgum x reader #dragon hero ryukyu #ryukyu x reader #ryukyu #sir nighteye x child reader #sir Nighteye x reader #mha pro heroes #bnha pro heroes #pro heroes x reader

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charlottes-diary-entries · 5 months

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metamorphmagus!reader drabble <3

very, very long fluffy ass drabble approaching, just about 2k words. im actually deeply insanely obsessed with the concept of the metamorphmagus (my non-binary is showing, i know) and need more content of a metamorphmagus!reader + poly!marauders.

you officially meet the marauders during your later years at Hogwarts. they'd heard of you before, how could they not? beyond the small class sizes (which required you be aware of essentially everyone in your year, willingly or not), and the houses (which only further narrowed your chances of not knowing anyone), it was difficult for something as rare as a metamorphmagus to slip under anyone's noses.

james recalled seeing you at quidditch games, your hair vividly colored to match whichever team you were supporting. he was often proud to look through the crowd and find you sporting flaring red locks, cheering alongside his fellow gryffindors. he was proud, even if he knew you weren't there for him. very secretly, he often found himself wanting you to be there for him.

remus remembered the awkward instance of a professor dragging you to the front of the class and demanding you transform for him and your peers. it was a substitute for care of magical creatures, and he was determined to treat you like something to study. remus had cringed as you shifted, clearly uncomfortable and disjointed, before running off and skipping the rest of the day, upset. he wished he had gone to comfort you.

sirius often thought about when he spotted you shifting back to your true face while being dragged through the corridors by minnie. she was huffing and puffing about something you had done, some harmless prank scaring some first years with a strange face, but you only laughed. when he caught your eye, you winked, and he could feel his cheeks flush as he grinned. he'd suspected you'd be great fun for a while yet, but you were just beginning to prove yourself to him.

you had mostly slipped them all by up until their fifth year. by then, the boys had all been dating each other only for a short amount of time but it was becoming apparent to the rest of the school that the marauders were now strictly "look, but don't touch". they were really too fond of each other to consider anyone else now! (this was deeply upsetting information for the many young witches and wizards who had their hearts set upon a member of the famous group.)

however, as you had continued to find passion and joy in care of magical creatures despite your previous experience, you were studying to be a magizoologist. this meant, you were assisting kettleburn while james took the class. which of course meant, he finally had a clear opportunity to befriend you.

you and james caught on like wildfire, and it didn't take long for him to begin dragging the other marauders into your study sessions. hours would pass by, quiet jokes turning into loud laughter and getting shushed by the librarian. they found your ability endlessly fascinating and you were only too happy to oblige your new friends. (one time you transformed into sirius and the two of you acted out him falling in love with himself. the uproar it sent james and remus into actually got you kicked out of the library.)

it didn't take very long for you to become the newest unofficial member of the marauders. you were their beloved friend, and unfortunately in remus's eyes, all too smart. you had figured out his "furry little secret" just within the first month of knowing them all. the next month, they sat together in the hospital wing. sirius was holding remus's hand as james lay next to him on the bed, trying to bring him what comfort they had to offer when you stormed in. they were all aghast when you appeared in the hospital wing after the full moon with a full load of chocolate, several novels, and a promise that you'd do anything you could to help Remus through the lunar cycle. (remus thinks this very well may be when he fell in love with you. didn't help that you refused to leave his side for the rest of the day, reading to him and holding his hand in an entirely friendly way.)

you often joined them for the famous gryffindor parties, often getting sufficiently drunk and completely out of your mind. your appearance would shift constantly, struggling to find one stable face and body when your mind was so fuzzy. you would dance and laugh with them all, so when remus had squeezed sirius's hand and sent him to the corner you'd tucked away in, he knew something was wrong. you had been rather viciously rejected by a ravenclaw you liked, and now, very drunk, you were moaning to sirius about your appearance. could you have made your lips fuller? grown your hair? maybe cut your hair? what could have been different, more attractive, what could have made them like you? bigger eyes? sharper features? he had held your shifting face, helping you calm down and relax into your true complexion. (sirius had thought you looked completely gorgeous as yourself, because no matter how you looked, no matter what changed, he could always tell when you were comfortable in your own skin. he liked you best like that.)

and you always stood for what you believed in. once, james and remus had to not-so-gently drag you away from someone who had loudly claimed werewolves were "inhuman monsters". you continued to shout after them until you were dragged out of their sight, after which you gave remus possibly the longest hug he'd ever had. james gave him a soft kiss on the cheek after they sent you off to class, hoping you wouldn't attack any other students. unfortunately, later that same day, james caught you shouting at the very same student, defending a muggle-born slytherin. he didn't hear what they said, but something shifted in your eyes before you physically shifted, taking on a shit-ton of muscle and pouncing on them. he raced to pull you off as you bellowed at them, wordless and angry, before a professor raced over and helped him. you were dragged off to detention for a week and the slytherin dealt with a broken jaw and black eye as punishment for calling the student you had defended a mudblood. (james only felt immense appreciation for you afterwards. he'd never seen you spark like that before, and he'd never seen you look so undeniably hot.)

it was an incredibly comforting conversation between the three of them when sirius had audibly expressed just how attractive you were. james and remus were quick to agree, and it grew to them admitting to each other their collective feelings for you. but with it suddenly out in the open, none of them knew how to interact with you anymore. the previously friendly touches now felt charged, every glance your way was longing, and none of them knew how to manage it.

it didn't help that you seemed to be pulling away from them either, flushing and quickly making your way out of most of your conversations with them. they thought they were scaring you off. in reality, you were scaring yourself off.

you felt the exact same as them, but deeply feared ruining one of your few lasting friendships at the school. you began shifting into new faces, new bodies, ones they wouldn't recognize in order to avoid them in the halls. it stung to see them searching for you in class and around school, and it stung more when they gave up. maybe if you avoided them you'd begin to feel normal about them again. (you'd had enough weird for a life time, the few normal things you could have you desperately clung to.)

eventually, they caught onto you. again, there were only so many students at Hogwarts, so seeing a new one every other day during their classes with you? it was a painfully ineffective tactic.

remus caught you one day, lounging by the lake. well, sulking seemed a more accurate word, as you were incredibly glum, despite being relaxed enough to look like yourself. it felt like the first time he'd seen your actual face in years. he called out to you.

you jumped, and turned to run, but he cried out for you to stay. and well, you couldn't deny him. not when he sounded like that. not when he sounded so... abandoned. you cringed as you turned around and he rushed up, grabbing your face, turning you this way and that, filled with worry. he asked if you were okay, if you'd been hurt, if they'd hurt you somehow, and why in godric's name were you avoiding them so much-

and gently, you grabbed his wrists to still him, opening your mouth to... to what? comfort him? lie and say you were fine? no words escaped you as remus realized what he'd done and quickly pulled his touch away from you, a flush spreading across his cheeks. (he nearly didn't notice how you'd deflated as he stepped back.)

an awkward, pained grin crossed his face as he looked at you and whispered to you, "where'd you go? what happened to... to us?"

you very nearly broke down in tears right then and there, sucking in a sharp breath as you tried to prepare for losing them. that could be the only possible resolution to all this mess, and you'd be on your own. again. that was fine. you began to speak again, before a shout interrupted you.

james barreled past remus to give you a bear hug so forceful he actually tackled you to the ground. sirius was not far behind him, slipping a hand around remus's side and leaning into him, relaxed at finally seeing you.

a few tears slipped down your cheeks as you hugged james back, who only held you tighter, shouting that you could never leave them alone again. "we all love you too much to lose you ever again, so don't ever get lost, okay?"

you chuckled softly, more tears escaping as you buried your face into his neck. your laughter quickly boiled over into quiet sobs, shakily asking, "love, huh? that's- that's an awful big word, you- are you sure you love me?"

"love you? dove, we're plain obsessed with you-" james finally pulled back, shaking your shoulders then cupping your cheeks. "don't cry lovie, why are you crying?"

"because you don't- you don't love me the way i love you."

james tilted his head at you, deciphering your words, before your true meaning hit him like a truck. he grinned, whispering a quiet "fuck it" before shoving completely into your space and smashing his lips against yours. his glasses went crooked and you gasped into it, and there was some teeth clashing from how much james was smiling, but it was wonderful.

when he finally pulled back, panting and gleefully laughing, you could hear sirius's wolf-whistle and remus's shocked chuckles. you quickly looked between all of them, completely shocked before locking back onto james.

"you- you kissed me."

"sure did, dove."

"did," you glanced between all of them again, now keeping your eyes on sirius and remus as you leaned towards james and whispered, "do all of you want to do that?"

james somehow grinned even brighter. "sure do, dove."

"oh."

you felt your cheeks become ridiculously warm as sirius plopped beside you two, dragging remus down with him and smirking at you the entire time. you shyly smiled at him as he leaned over and smacked a kiss to your cheek.

"how- how long have you all been- how long have you felt this way?"

"long enough dove," remus said, leaning over and pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead before smiling down at you.

"certainly long enough."

i'm begging someone to request more metamorphmagus!reader, especially gender queer or otherwise. (i'll probably still write it even if you don't though, lol) i will also be writing more magizoologist!reader! just smth about a reckless partner that the marauders just can't keep track of... <3

#poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders x reader #marauders reader insert #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #james potter x reader

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pis3update · 22 days

Text

Retirement Home Career by MadiMods

"You will need Nraas Careers for this mod to work!

This is a rabbithole career with 10 levels, 8 opportunities, 10 tones and EA uniforms. You can find this career at the Hospital.

Job Offer Is caring for the elderly a passion of yours? The Retirement Home is in need of compassionate individuals to provide care for the elderly. As one of society's most vulnerable demographics the elderly require daily medical, emotional and physical support. This is where your compassion comes in to transform lives. Your ultimate goal is to provide exceptional care in a warm and engaging environment that fosters independence, dignity, and joy in the elderly residents.

...continued + more pictures on MTS."

More Info + Download @ MTS.

#MadiMods #ts3cc #mod #career

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octuscle · 9 months

Note

If a nerd in highschool suddenly gained muscular body, without an effect on his brains or mental state

How quickly would he actually, naturally change? Maybe the attention gives him an ego?

Or maybe the jocks want to be his friend

How much of a jock could the nerd become?

Project diary, entry 1 (Friday)

My name is Salomon Miller. I live in Providence, Connecticut and am a senior in high school. I wouldn't say I have any real hobbies, but I am interested in art history, architecture, astronomy and geology. And many other things. I read a lot and actually everything I can get my hands on. But my passion is sociology and political science. That's also one of the reasons why I'm writing this diary. Starting next semester, I will be studying at Stanford and have a full scholarship, which is linked to my participation in a project. The Department of Sociology will use my person to investigate the effects of serious physical changes on the psyche and behavior. I won't find out in advance what the physical changes are, but the changes were set in motion with the help of an injection that I received today.

My parents support me in the project. My father is a lawyer specializing in environmental law, my mother is a neurologist and psychiatrist. Neither of them understand why I chose to study sociology, but as they both studied at Stanford, they accept my plans. They don't have many options either, they are both in Europe for a long time. My mother has a research semester at the University Hospital of Heidelberg and my father is currently representing a client in a lengthy case at the European Court of Justice. I've known this situation since I was a child. I'm used to having our gardener or Consuela, our housekeeper, as my social contact. That's not meant in a negative way, I love my parents, even if our contact is often less intensive. This has taught me a certain independence, which I really appreciate.

Today is the Friday evening before the last weekend of the summer vacation. The date was chosen deliberately for the injection. This gives me until Monday morning to get used to the upcoming transformation. At the moment, I feel nothing more than a certain tiredness. Normally I would go for a long walk or read something. But I'm just exhausted and will go to bed early.

Project diary, entry 2 (Saturday)

I woke up at around 03:00 in the morning. I was scared to death. I was almost strangled by my pyjamas. I tried to rip the top off my body. I tore it completely to shreds. I was no longer wearing my pyjama bottoms, which were already lying in tatters in my bed. It was clear to me that the transformation had begun. And a look in the bathroom mirror gave me certainty. My whole body was twitching, just like I'd seen in a Hulk movie. Except I didn't turn green. But my muscles literally grew. In fact, little else has changed. I am still clearly me. Even though my neck was already wider than my head, which is why I almost suffocated in my pyjamas, this was still my face. My hairstyle unchanged. My eyesight was also the same. Fortunately, the head can't get any more muscular, the glasses still fit. My thoughts were running amok in my head, I can't describe the feeling, especially as the cramps didn't stop and the muscles continued to grow. I lay down on my bed and tried to relax. At around 04:30 the cramps subsided and I fell asleep again from exhaustion.

When I woke up at around 09:45, I was lying sticky and sweaty in a dried up puddle of semen. Obviously I had ejaculated once or several times. After getting up, I went to the bathroom to assess the change. According to the scales, I now weigh 120 kilograms (I assume that documentation in metric units is more scientific), my height is unchanged at 182 cm. What has actually changed is the length of my penis, which is now 18 cm when flaccid. I have not yet been able to measure the length when erect. In fact, I would have thought that the sight of a muscular man would somehow excite me. But my head has been working like crazy since I got up, I suppose my blood is needed in my brain and is not available for an erection. The shower was still an incredible experience. My body feels great. I had no idea what muscles felt like. However, I realized while showering that I had a problem: None of my clothes would fit me anymore. And my father is smaller than me and, like I was until yesterday, is also more of an ectomorph. My only hope was that José, our gardener, who is probably almost as muscular as me and about my height, had some of his clothes in the dirty laundry. He and Consuela both don't work at the weekend and I didn't want to invade his room.

I was actually lucky and managed to find a pair of jeans, a jockstrap, a T-shirt and a pair of tennis socks in the laundry. Everything smelled very unpleasant and at first I thought about washing it first and then putting it on, but then decided against it. Instead, I went to the mall as I was to buy something new to wear. There is an expense account from the project, which is presumably intended for exactly these cases. Shopping really was an ordeal. As usual, I went to Macy's at Providence Place Mall first, but I realized pretty quickly that I wasn't going to find anything in my size there besides clothes for gym class. Then I went to Abercrombie & Fitch for the first time. The sales assistants literally pounced on me. The XXL T-shirts fitted reasonably well, my thighs were too big for the jeans, but shorts were fine. Fortunately, the weather forecast for the next few days is still very good.

Even though I was extremely focused on quickly working through my shopping list and getting back home, I didn't miss the effect I had on my body. Not only did the sales clerks pay much more attention to me, people turned to me, nodded appreciatively at me and greeted me. It all made me extremely uncomfortable. I was glad when I got home again.

Project diary, entry 3 (Sunday)

I'm not really a religious person, but I value the institution of the church as a culturally integrating entity. So I probably would have actually gone to church, but I would have been very uncomfortable in shorts and low-cut t-shirts that exposed my chest. So I spent the day making up my bed, doing the laundry and getting ready for the first day of school after the vacations. My story for teachers and classmates will be that I spent the summer in Europe with my parents and discovered my enthusiasm for the gym out of boredom. I have no idea whether this story will be accepted. As much as possible, I completed the course enrollment online. Because I really have no idea what I can do with this body, I signed up for boxing and wrestling. The alternative would have been football, but I have no experience at all with team and ball sports. Swimming used to be the sport I hated the least, but a few laps in our pool today have shown me that my body has become less streamlined. Although I have a lot more strength, my times are worse than usual.

I have signed up again for the astronomy and chess clubs. Apart from that, I thought it made sense to leave myself enough time to be able to react to unexpected events.

My first real test was my Sunday video conference with my parents. As I can't hide anything, I decided to take the offensive and had the conversation in nothing but my swimming trunks by the pool. Even though I had no real idea of my parents' reaction, I was actually taken aback. My mother scientifically dissected the situation and said that my body was probably more efficient now and therefore I would have a benefit gain. My father disagreed, as he assumed that a bulkier body had a worse ecological balance. In the beginning, I tried to approach this project as objectively as possible. But then I couldn't help but start crying. I was afraid of tomorrow. And my parents actually showed something like emotion and compassion.

Project diary, entry 4 (Monday)

I was expecting something like running the gauntlet. But the first day at school was actually relatively unproblematic. Most of my friends at least pretended to believe my story about my stay in Europe. The teachers were not surprised either and largely went straight back to business as usual. The only noticeable reaction came from the musclemen and jocks. I have the feeling that they never took their eyes off me. When there was eye contact, I received a respectful nod. Otherwise, I felt a bit like a foreign lion approaching a pride of lions. Every muscle of the alpha animals and their water carriers was tense and ready to strike if I got too close to their watering hole. I'm looking forward to my first PE lesson tomorrow.

Project diary, entry 6 (Tuesday)

While the morning was more of a triumph, the afternoon was a debacle. The subject matter in chemistry and physics suits me very well, everything is very interesting. There shouldn't be any significant challenges in Spanish lessons either. But the new Spanish teacher is also an advantage here. Based on her first impression, she probably thought I was a hollow nut. She didn't expect me to have already read Don Quixote in the original and in the contemporary Spanish transcription during the vacations.

I embarrassed myself to the bone in gym class. Of course, after my contrived lie, everyone assumed that I knew my way around the gym like the back of my hand. And I don't even know how to hold a barbell properly. Interestingly, no one laughed at me or anything. On the contrary, they all assumed that I'm extremely underchallenged and told me that I should just train for myself and that I should join them next week after I've learned the basics. But maybe that was just polite contempt.

In any case, I spent the whole afternoon and evening at home watching all the gym tutorials I could get hold of and reading everything I could find about bodybuilding, nutrition and supplements. That's why I skipped the first session of the chess club. But I had to prioritize.

Project diary, entry 7 (Wednesday)

Theory is good, practice is better. That's why I went straight to the gym this morning at 06:00. The school janitor who opened the door for me said appreciatively that my discipline was paying off. The big boys are always the first to arrive in the morning. If only he knew. But in fact I was lucky, I was alone on the training area until 07:00 and by then I had familiarized myself with most of the machines I had learned how they worked in theory and had also developed a feeling for the weights I was able to lift.

The second visitor to the gym after me was the quarterback of the football team. Stephen and I have been at the same school since first grade. Of course I know him. But of course he has no idea who I am. We've never had classes together and someone like me is of course a nobody to him. Or was a nobody to him. Now I was his biggest rival, the only classmate who had bigger biceps and a broader chest than him. And being the alpha male that he was, he sought conflict directly. As far as I know, the jocks and Himbo's call it "cock comparison". Wherever I trained, he did the same afterwards with more weight. After training, he waited for me in front of the shower and said that he had already heard about me. I was the Spanish exchange student. I looked at him questioningly. "Well, the one who had that book with the windmills and the crazy knight at school. The linebacker goes to your Spanish course. Clever to take Spanish as a Spaniard," he said. I shook his hand, introduced myself as Salomon and told him we were in the same kindergarten. He returned the offered hand with a fist bump and said that I must have mistaken him. He had never been to Spain. But I spoke very good English for a Spaniard.

I always prefer to spend my lunch break alone. I like to read or just relax. This time, however, Stephen waved me straight over to him and his boys. He introduced me as Sal and said I should tell him how I liked it in the USA. At first, I wanted to start comparing European democracies with the US, especially in light of the rise of populist tendencies. But then I didn't think that was a good idea and just said that I thought the USA was the greatest country in the world. Stephen gave me a fistbump and all his buddies followed suit. Before English class after lunch, my friend Frederick passed me and said somewhat reproachfully whether I would always eat with the football team now. I laughed and gave him a fist bump and said that I would only eat as long as my primate research project lasted.

Project diary, entry 8 (Friday)

Yesterday was a wild day! I went to wrestling practice. Everyone but me has taken wrestling as a sport since they were in high school. I'm the only one who had no experience at all. Sure, I looked at and read through everything I could find to prepare. But without any practical experience, I really made a fool of myself. Thank God the coach really understood me. He said that he was sorry that bodybuilding wasn't a school subject. And then he gave me tips on how to pose properly. Damn, when I stood in front of the mirror in just my underpants and he touched my muscles to get them in the right position, I got a boner. And he obviously noticed. He then hugged me from behind and massaged my nipples. It was a feeling I'd never experienced before. I started to moan. He pulled me close to him. I felt his hard-on against my ass. And then I had my first orgasm outside of my bathroom. I was so embarrassed. And it was so great! Since then, I've really just wanted to make my coach proud. I've spent every spare minute at the gym, signed up to the sports club to do more wrestling and spent a small fortune on sportswear. I'm afraid I have a real crush for the first time in my life.

Today I got a telling off from my friends from the astronomy club. I missed the meeting and no longer see them during school breaks. I admit it, I'm neglecting my old social environment. But I have to find my way in my new role. Or rather, I have to find this new role first. Tonight I have a date with a couple of guys from the sports club. We're going to the gym first and then want to watch football in the sports bar. I'm a bit excited because I've tended to spend my weekend evenings alone in front of the computer so far. Now I have to think about what I'm going to wear.

Project diary, entry 9 (Sunday)

Dude, I might be drunk. For the second night in a row. The weekend is one big party. Last night at the sports bar was great. It was a little hard at first to pretend I knew anything about football. But after one beer I didn't give a shit. At some point, someone bought me some booze. Because his team had won or something. I was completely out of it and had to puke at some point. I can't really remember, but I'm afraid I didn't hit the toilet bowl. One of the boys then took me home with him. I really wasn't able to find my way home. Apparently, at some point I invited the boys over for a pool party on Saturday. And it escalated a little bit. Fuck, I probably have to spend the rest of the day tidying and cleaning. But for now I'm going to bed. After I've thrown up.

Project diary, entry 10 (Monday)

I'm a bit embarrassed about my behavior at the weekend. When I woke up on Sunday, a few of the boys were still snoring by the pool. And a few of them were making breakfast on the barbecue. I didn't really get around to cleaning. And then I overslept today too. Consuela suddenly came into my room and asked if my parents knew what had happened here. I gave her 100 dollars from my emergency expense fund and asked her not to reveal anything. She and Raoul actually did a great job. When I got home from astronomy club late at night, everything was pretty tidy again. The two of them are real treasures!

Mondays are not sports days. History, English, math. I admit that math has never been my hobbyhorse. And my teacher has made no secret of the fact that he thinks I'm an overprivileged white boy. When I couldn't answer a question to his satisfaction today, he said something along the lines of "Muscleheads are just all airheads". The whole back row started throwing paper balls at the teacher and hooting in protest. I have never received such expressions of sympathy.

Between school and the astronomy club, I went to the optician and got some contact lenses. Glasses are just so annoying when you're doing sport. And then I went to the hairdresser. I like my haircut. My hair is longer at the nape of my neck than at the sides. I had a photo of Coach with me and said that I wanted to look like this. Hehehe, the hairdresser said that he couldn't take away my muscles. In fact, I'm bigger than Coach. The hairdresser also shaved my beard. I haven't even written that yet, I have the feeling that my beard and body hair are growing faster and thicker. A bush is growing under my armpits and in my pubic area...

The astronomy club was terribly exhausting. I wanted to concentrate on the Jupiter-Venus conjunction. We had the best conditions to observe it today. But the nerds were all just asking questions about what exactly it was like on vacation, how I trained, how I changed my diet. I prepared myself for these kinds of questions. But every one of my answers was scientifically dissected. If it goes on like this, I'd rather look at the stars alone.

Project diary, entry 11 (Thursday)

The last few days have been pretty exciting, which is why I didn't get around to writing the diary. After training on Tuesday I went to the showers. Not all the guys on the team do this, but I just don't feel comfortable in the sweat with a bit of Axe under my arms. I also urgently needed to clear my balls and cock of the hair that was growing and shave my chest. I still can't get used to how hairy I get. In any case, it all took longer than with the other boys and then I was alone with Chuck in the shower. And suddenly Chuck knelt in front of me and sucked my cock. Without warning. I had prepared myself for intercourse in theory and in practice.

In any case, I've been a bit confused ever since. I mean, I have a crush on Coach. And Coach also got a boner when he helped me pose. I mean, he must think I'm hot too. But Chuck says he's had a crush on me ever since he and I spent Friday night together. The night I don't remember. But I'm writing all mixed up...

The blowjob in the shower was definitely sooooo hot. Even though it didn't last long. Boy, I shot my load into Chuck's mouth like that. My cum was leaking out of both corners of his mouth. He French kissed me with my cum in his mouth. Dude, I'm getting hard just thinking about it. And then he grinned and said that edging wasn't really my thing. I had no idea what he meant. In any case, I kissed him again and started wanking his cock. I was far too excited to suck him off myself. Chuck moaned and started twitching. Then he pulled me against him and wedged his cock between our stomach muscles. And then blew his load. Bloody hell! I don't know how long we showered together and soaped each other up.

In any case, I then started to gain practical experience with sexual intercourse. Chuck spent the night with me the day before yesterday and yesterday. The first time we fucked was really awkward. Chuck also asked if I was still a virgin. I said no, of course. But I'm sure he realized that it was the first time I'd fucked someone. And also that I was being fucked. In bed and in the hot tub. The first time I blew him was Wednesday in the school bathroom. We both just had a lot of pressure on our balls before civics. Shit, I'd never thought about sex before, now I can't get sex out of my head.

Practice is coming up. I just jerked off to the idea of forming a sandwich with Coach and Chuck in the shower. That would be so hot!

Project diary, entry 12 (Sunday)

Shit, I love my life. The parties this weekend were so hot. I mean, sure I love Chuck, but my dick has too much energy for one man. And Chuck gets off on me fucking other men too. As long as he's the only one who gets to fuck me. It's a point of honor, of course!

Before I go to bed now, I went to the gym again. To burn off the alcohol. And prepare my muscles for a tough week. I have my first wrestling tournament next Friday. And I've promised Steph-bruh, the quarterback, that I'll drop by football training. The hollow nut still calls me wetback, but has now understood that I'm not Spanish or Latino. And then I have to chat with my mentor from Stanford again. I don't know if sociology is really my subject. Chuck wants to study business administration. He's hoping for an athletic scholarship. Maybe I'm up for that too.

Inspiration found @redneckmusclehead

#male tf #muscle tf #jock tf #nerd to jock #nerd to hunk

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cemeteryspider · 7 months

Text

Ballet on the Bayou ~ Pt. 2

Alastor x Ballerina! Reader

Summary: The rise and the fall of an up and coming ballerina

Trigger Warnings: Graphic injury, bullying, physical pain, hospital setting

Word Count: 1516

Previous | Next

Ballet on the Bayou Masterlist

Practice had left you a tad sore and achy but that went away, as you peeked from the wings into the crowd. The place was practically packed with people. The speakers rang with static and announced the beginning of the show in a moment.

The lights in the crowd dimmed and you ran towards the backstage and allowed a deep breath to escape your lips, and you awaited your queue.

~~~

Earlier that same day...

"Ladies and Gentleman, Alastor signing off for the night but before I go, we have a truly special performance at Louisiana's favorite opera hall tonight, the Orpheum Theater, for a timeless classic. The Magnificent Swan Lake, starring up-and-coming ballerina Y/n L/n"

~~~

Alastor and his mother sat in the very middle of the audience. He hoped to never miss a moment of you. He had already called up a couple of friends and had a special gift sent to your dressing room after the performance.

They sat down before the lights dimmed, and his mother watched in awe as the curtains parted revealing a sparkling moonlit forest scene. Some dancers of the trope glided across the stage with the same grace as the swans they were dressed as.

Alastor looked carefully at every dancer, suddenly angry that he forgot to ask the beauty her part in the show. Then in a moment, the star of the show appeared onstage, and it was you.

You transform the scene and the other dancers gather round to create a captivating ensemble. The ensemble dances with such grace and unity it could be mistaken for a kaleidoscope of shapes.

You begin a graceful solo, dancing to the melancholic orchestra below. With a swift crescendo, the villain of the story jumps in, and Alastor could only assume, with his limited knowledge of the ballet, that turned you into a swan.

~~~

After the first act, you quickly rush into your dressing room to change into your Odile costume. This was the most stunning costume you had ever put on. You hoped that Alastor was in the audience to see it.

"Ah, while it isn't the perfect person to play to a two-faced bitch"

Louise said, barging into your private dressing room. Followed closely by her two friends whose names were never offered to you. You only knew Louise because her Daddy paid a fortune to have her be in the running for the two leads of the ballet. However, when the casting directors saw your performance they immediately put you on for both roles, as was tradition.

Trying to be civil you said, "Louise, it is a pleasure to see you as well".

"Yes well, I just wanted to stop by and tell you to break a leg this weekend" She giggled a little and stalked out of the room. Leaving your brows knitted together in confusion. The show must go on, however, and you finished getting ready for the rest of the show.

It didn't even come to your mind that Louise's jealousy could bubble so close to the surface.

~~~

Once again sitting in his seat after helping his mother to get a drink of water and stretch her legs, he quietly anticipated your return to the stage.

Again the lights dimmed and the curtains parted to reveal you dressed in black immersed in the blue lighting that surrounded you. With an air of mystery, you began your dance. Your legs were a symphony of strength and elegance, that wove a wonderful tapestry across the stage. The fluidity and grace you possessed were mesmerizing as you danced across the stage.

When you looked into the audience he could only hope you saw his awe in the darkness. Your eyes held so much passion yet an air of deceit from the character you portrayed. Every pirouette beckons the audience to come closer and experience the darkness and desire you emanated.

Then you made eye contact with the prince onstage, and your movements somehow became more intoxicating. The tempo quickened and when the music was at its loudest you started a series of dazzling turns that left not a single jaw dropped.

Your final pose was one of power and passion, and you held it as the last notes of the music lingered. The crowd left only a moment between the end of the number and a thunderous applause. Alastor happily joined in.

~~~

After bows, you ran into your dressing room quickly to touch up your makeup before going out and looking for Alastor. On the little vanity in the room was a dozen red roses with a little notecard, From Alastor. Your smile widened infinitely as you rushed out of the dressing room to go find him, forgetting completely about the makeup.

In the foyer, your eyes looked frantically around as other dancers looked to the more wealthy patrons of the opera house for a drink or two. You almost went to join them when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You were greeted with a wide smile and a hand held out for yours.

"You were just magnificent, mon cherie, just brilliant"

You let out a small embarrassed chuckle, as you turned to face him fully.

Once your hand was held in his, he kissed your knuckles just as he had the night before. A small blush crept up your cheeks and you began asking him all about the show, and his favorite parts of it.

~~~

Alastor did not miss a performance the whole week you were there, his mother sadly did not feel up to going to any more of your lovely performances.

Time after time, there would be a new dozen of red roses in your dressing room after your bows, but never at intermission. You would have to ask him how he was doing that. Each night you became more infatuated with the man coming to your shows.

With every bouquet Alastor sent you, something pulled on his heart strings. He knew you would not be in town forever, and he would need to discuss your plans for the future. He hoped he would be included in them.

However, during the last performance you had in New Orleans, something unexpected happened. One of the swans in the opening scene had stuck her leg out in front of one of your beautiful turns. She had a sly grin on her face as she watched you fall, her friends faces mirrors of her own.

Alastor heard the sickening crack as your ankle bent a way it should never bend. Alastor's eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat as he witnessed Y/n's fall. The gasp of the crowd drowned in the turmoil of his emotions. A sickening feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn't tear his gaze away.

Never in his many years did he think an injury would make him squirm, especially considering his hobby, but this made his insides thrash in his stomach.

You did not make a peep, you just allowed yourself to be gracefully carried off stage by the man who played the prince.

~~~

Once the backstage door closed behind you, you let out the bloodcurdling scream anyone in the hallway had ever heard.

Your foot dangled from your shattered ankle bone and you saw everything you worked so hard for disappear in front of your eyes. Tears rolled freely down your face and Charles set you down in a chair. He gave you a sad look as he ran back to the stage to see if the show would go on.

You knew that it was Louise's foot that caused your fall, and you knew it would be Louise who would go on in your stead. A wave of dizziness washed over you as Alastor came into your line of sight.

Alastor's voice, usually calm and composed, betrayed a hint of urgency as he spoke."Cher, they've already called an ambulance. It's on its way. Darling, I am so sorry" He knelt next to you and put a cold soft drink bottle against your ankle. You flinched slightly, but Alastor put his hand on your leg to keep you still.

"I shouldn't have shown her up, Alastor, otherwise I would still be on that stage, on any stage"

"What do you mean?"

"Louise, she did this, she wanted my part"

Louise was the bitch who tripped you and caused your "accident". He kept that name in mind for later, but now you were his only priority. He saw the wagon-looking car pull up outside. Gently he set the bottle down and hoisted you into his arms.

As you made your way to the ambulance with the help of Alastor you couldn't help but think of what you were leaving behind. The pain in your ankle mirrored the pain in your heart as you were carried outside. How could everything you've worked so hard for be gone before it could even really begin?

You tucked your teary face into his chest, and for some reason, he did not seem to mind it at all.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #littledolly2345 #hazbin #hazbin hotel 2024 #hazbinhotel

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fangirleaconmigo · 4 months

Text

In my mind palace/alternate history to the alternate history, Robin goes home with Ramy.

He travels with him all the way to India just to meet his family, to enjoy their hospitality, and to explore Ramy's home through his eyes. It is joy, because they never imagined that this luxury would be afforded them. Freedom. Solitude together.

Escape from Oxford doesn't exactly change their relationship, but it somehow magnifies it. For all that they know about each other, there are parts they can never quite see clearly, living in a city where Ramy is always performing, and Robin is always hiding.

Mischief, stubbornness, native tongues, old songs, memories, irreverence, childhood passions they laugh to remember, it all bubbles to the surface.

It is the first time Robin understands the word home in a very long time. The lightning and thunder between them rumbles. It transforms. It explodes into fireworks that Robin can hold in his hands, for just a moment.

In a quiet moment under a banyan tree, Robin scoots close to Ramy and says softly, without looking at him, "If I ever lost you, I don't think I could go on".

Ramy says gently, fondly, "There's no need to be morose, Birdie, we are young and free, which means that we are immortal," and he slings his arm around Robin's shoulders.

Robin wiggles closer, against his warmth, and insists that he means it. He can't say what he means, but inside he knows that he has lost so much, he truly thinks that his soul is too damaged, he wouldn't be able to weather it. Ramy is the embodiment of love, the very definition. He is home. He doesn't say it, though. He sits tongue tied. Ramy was always the brave one, not him.

Ramy looks at him quizzically for a moment. Then he promises with a gallant grin that even if he ever dies, he won't leave. He will haunt Robin in his dreams. They laugh, and somehow Robin is reassured. And then after a moment of peaceful silence, Ramy leans over and kisses him.

Brave Ramy.

Beautiful Ramy.

It is Robin's first kiss. Ramy's too. It doesn't matter that it is wobbly and awkward. It is soft and warm and it is love.

#babel #babel an arcane history #rf kuang #i finished the book #my heart is destroyed #i had to write this #for a little recovery #robin swift #ramy mirza

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nomadomar · 27 days

Text

The Office Transformation: Embracing the Arab Way

Chapter 2: The Influence of Amir

The subtle sound of footsteps approached Michael’s desk, but he was too engrossed in his work to notice until a familiar, warm voice broke his concentration.

“As-salamu alaykum, Michael,” Amir greeted, his tone as calm and reassuring as ever.

Michael looked up, momentarily caught off guard by the greeting. “Uh, hello, Amir,” he replied, stumbling over the words as he adjusted to the unfamiliar phrase. He had heard it countless times now, yet it still felt foreign on his tongue.

Amir smiled, a smile that reached his eyes, and it struck Michael again how effortlessly genuine he was. “Do you have a moment to grab some lunch? I’ve brought a few dishes from home, and I’d love to share them with you.”

There was something disarming about Amir’s invitation, a quiet sincerity that made it impossible to refuse. Michael hesitated, then nodded. “Sure, that sounds good.”

As they walked to the break room, Michael couldn’t help but notice the small changes that had started to creep into his own routine. He had begun greeting a few of his colleagues with "As-salamu alaykum," just as Amir did. At first, it felt awkward, as if he were trying on someone else’s skin, but gradually, it began to feel more natural. There was a warmth in the exchange that went beyond a simple “hello,” a recognition of shared humanity that he found increasingly appealing.

They settled at a table in the break room, where Amir laid out an array of food containers. The rich aroma of spices and herbs filled the air, making Michael’s mouth water. “What’s on the menu today?” he asked, trying to mask his curiosity with a casual tone.

“Just some home-cooked dishes,” Amir said with a modest shrug, though Michael could see the pride in his eyes. “We have lamb kofta, tabbouleh, and a little bit of hummus. It’s nothing fancy, but I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

Michael watched as Amir carefully served the food, each movement deliberate, almost reverent. There was a sense of ritual in the way Amir handled the dishes, as if each one carried a piece of his heritage, a link to something greater than the sum of its parts. Michael had always approached food as mere sustenance, but sitting across from Amir, he realized that it could be so much more.

As he took his first bite of the lamb kofta, the flavors exploded in his mouth—spicy, savory, with a hint of sweetness. It was unlike anything he had tasted before. “This is incredible,” he murmured, more to himself than to Amir.

Amir smiled, pleased. “I’m glad you like it. Food is very important in Arab culture—it’s not just about eating, but about sharing, about bringing people together. In many ways, it’s a form of communication, a way of expressing care and hospitality.”

Michael nodded, chewing thoughtfully. He had never considered food in such a light before. It was just one of many small revelations he had experienced since Amir’s arrival. He was beginning to see the world through a different lens, and it both intrigued and unsettled him.

Their lunch conversations became a regular occurrence, and with each meal, Michael found himself drawn deeper into Amir’s world. Amir spoke with passion about his family, about the traditions they upheld, and the faith that guided them. He talked about the importance of community, of looking out for one another, and how those values shaped his daily life.

“There’s a saying in my culture,” Amir explained one afternoon, “that you’re not truly alive until you live for others. It’s about finding meaning beyond yourself, in your relationships, in your contributions to the community. That’s where true fulfillment lies.”

Michael listened, captivated by the simplicity and depth of Amir’s words. In the corporate world he had inhabited for so long, success was measured by individual achievements—promotions, raises, personal accolades. But Amir’s perspective challenged that notion, forcing Michael to reconsider the values he had taken for granted.

He began to question the very foundation of his life—his career, his relationships, his sense of self. The ambition that had once driven him now felt hollow, the goals he had set for himself suddenly seemed shallow. He wondered if he had been chasing after something that would never truly satisfy him.

One day, as they were leaving the office, Michael found himself speaking aloud the thoughts that had been swirling in his mind. “Amir, do you ever feel like… like you’re searching for something more? Like there’s a deeper meaning to all of this that we’re missing?”

Amir paused, his expression thoughtful. “Yes, I do. And I think that’s a universal experience. We all have moments when we question our purpose, when we feel a disconnect between our actions and our deeper selves. But that’s also where growth happens. It’s in those moments of doubt and uncertainty that we can begin to search for something more meaningful.”

Michael absorbed Amir’s words, feeling a pang of recognition. He had been searching, though he hadn’t known it until now. His life had been a series of motions—work, eat, sleep, repeat—without any real sense of direction. But Amir’s presence had ignited a spark within him, a curiosity about a different way of being, one that was rooted in connection and purpose.

Their friendship grew stronger, built on a foundation of mutual respect and a shared desire for something more. Amir introduced Michael to new experiences—attending a cultural event at a local mosque, sharing stories from Arab history, teaching him the basics of Arabic. Michael found himself drawn to the language, the fluidity of the script, the way the words carried a weight that went beyond their literal meaning.

One evening, as they sat in a quiet café, Amir spoke of his faith, not as a set of rigid rules, but as a source of strength and guidance. “Faith isn’t just about belief,” he said, “it’s about how you live your life, how you treat others, how you find peace in the midst of chaos. It’s about knowing that you’re part of something greater, and that your actions matter.”

Michael listened, feeling a stirring in his chest. There was a quiet conviction in Amir’s voice, a certainty that came from living his beliefs every day. Michael couldn’t help but admire that, and he wondered if he could find a similar sense of purpose in his own life.

As the weeks passed, Michael’s transformation became more evident. He started incorporating small aspects of Arab culture into his daily routine—taking a few minutes each day to reflect, greeting his colleagues with “As-salamu alaykum,” and even experimenting with new recipes at home. His friends and family noticed the changes, some with curiosity, others with concern. But Michael felt a growing sense of clarity, as if the fog that had clouded his mind for so long was beginning to lift.

Yet, with this newfound clarity came a sense of unease. The more he embraced these new practices, the more he felt a distance growing between his old life and his new one. He could sense the tension at work, the way his colleagues seemed to watch him with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. His family, too, expressed their concerns, questioning why he was so interested in a culture that was not his own.

But Michael couldn’t turn back. Something deep within him had shifted, and he knew that this was the beginning of a journey he had to see through. It wasn’t just about adopting new habits or learning a new language; it was about redefining who he was, what he believed in, and what he wanted from life.

The influence of Amir was undeniable, but it was more than that. Michael was discovering parts of himself that he had long neglected, parts that craved connection, meaning, and authenticity. And while the path ahead was uncertain, he felt a growing resolve to continue down it, no matter where it might lead.

In the quiet moments of reflection, Michael realized that this transformation was about more than just cultural exchange. It was about finding a sense of belonging, not just in a community, but within himself. It was about the search for deeper meaning, for a life that resonated with purpose and fulfillment.

As he looked across the table at Amir, who was now more than just a colleague but a true friend, Michael felt a surge of gratitude. He knew that this journey was far from over, but with Amir by his side, he felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

The winds of change were no longer something to fear; they were a force of transformation, guiding him toward a new understanding of himself and the world around him. And for the first time in a long while, Michael felt a sense of peace, knowing that he was exactly where he needed to be.

The Office Transformation: Embracing the Arab Way Chapter 1: The Arrival Chapter 2: The Influence of Amir Chapter 3: Internal Struggles and Social Tension Chapter 4: Embracing the Transformation Chapter 5: The Complete Transformation

#arab superiority #arab master #Arabophile #gay #arabization #arabian #brainwash #assimilation #conformity #gay hypnosis #transformation #race change #arabophilia #arab men

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swifty-fox · 6 months

Text

What Comes After

blacked out. wrote 1.7k fic for @bcolfanfic's Young vets AU.

Fanfic/Sequel of

Tw for aftermath of a suicide attempt and all that may entail

Nobody tells you what to do in the hours after your husband tries to take his life. Nobody says you’re going to be angry.

Nobody tells Gale how much he’ll have to pay for gas to the only Hospital for miles, seven hours tailing the red ominous lights of an ambulance there seven hours back all alone for the first time in a long while (one-hundred-twenty-seven dollars and fifty-three cents).

There’s nobody to tell him how to smile at his husband as he’s led away in a stunned daze. Does he smile at all? Small and painful and fake?

And who can he ask what to do as he comes home to a now empty home, dawn well past finished and a hole the size of a man's life in the wall. A hole, no bigger than a nickel and just perfectly at eye level. The difference between a happy ending and a tragedy; the scales tipped kindly in his favor this time.

You never wrestle for a gun. That’s the easiest way to get your own damn self shot.

A coin flip. Heads for John, Tails for Gale.

“Guess the quarter got stuck in a crack.” he mutters. He knows his thought patterns aren’t quite clear, confused and weighed down by exhaustion and shock.

Somewhere an animal is in pain. It gasps raggedly; sharp and raw. Someone should put that animal out of its misery, nothing deserved to be driven to sounds like that. Gale knows he is that animal. He swipes at his suddenly-tear soaked cheeks with a rough palm and sits down on the floor hard.

His phone is in his hand, it’s first instinct to want to call John, hear his teasing voice (it hadn’t been teasing in a long time Gale Cleven don’t you lie). Bucky wouldn’t answer. He knew it would be a day or two before he would get an update on his husband. Not until observation was over, until paperwork was filed and permission was given. The nurse had explained it all through the ringing in Gale’s ears.

“Curt.” Buck says, shocked by the steadiness in his voice even as more tears trail their acidic way down his face.

“Hey Buck, y’just caught me on break what’s up?” The familiar voice, clipping all it’s ‘T’s away to nothingness devastates Gale. He lets out a sob with all the violence of vomiting.

“Gale?”

“Ah fuck Curt, John had a gun.” Gale moans, covering his eyes and trying to breathe. The gun, now tossed carelessly on their bed like a stray shirt.

Nobody tells him how to inform their friends of what has happened.

“What.” Curts voice is so strangled, so tiny that Gale realizes his fatal error immediately.

“He’s okay. He’s okay Curt the gun- it went into the wall. He’s at a hospital right now. He’s where he needs to be.”

Gale had heard that phrase a lot; spoken by people trying to reassure themselves that their loved ones would come home whole and healed. Now he was one of those people whispering the phrase with false confidence.

John needed to be Home.

Curt devolves into a mess of swearing, punctuated with a passionate “Fffffucking VA!”

“I woke up and he wasn’t next to me. I thought maybe he had gotten out somehow, past the alarms. I’d already gotten my gun out of the house Curt I didn’t think-”

There's muffled voices on the other line, Curt talking to someone else, “- No I’m sick can’t you see? Gotta go Sean sorry. Fuck the client pardon my fucking french I gotta family emergency.” A car door slams, the sound of keys in an ignition. “You didn’t know Buck. It’s not your fault you did exactly what ya should’ve.”

“He had the gun to his chin,” Gale says numbly.

Is there anyone to tell him how to get that single heart-stopping image out from behind his eyelids? He saw it every time he closed his eyes.

“Fuck, Gale.” Curt exhales. “He’s okay?” so vulnerable, so sad, needing to double check just in case.

“He’s in fucking psych ward. I can’t even call him.”

“Yeah dumb question.” A pause where Gale just tries to breathe, looks up at that hole in the wall. It could be a woodpecker's hole on any tree outside. It was in his home and smelled faintly of gunpowder and terror. “I’m looking up plane tickets right now.”

“Y’don’t have t-”

“G’fuck yourself, I’m coming.”

Gale has no strength to argue, he’s got nothing left, really.

“I almost lost him, Curt.”

“But you didn’t.” Curt still sounds stressed and Gale feels a twinge of guilt for ruining the guy's day just because he wasn’t able to help his own partner. “You did everything right. And you’re going to go to bed, then you’re going to wake up and I’mma be there. And we’ll deal with things together.”

“Together,” he echoes.

“Get some sleep Buck. I’ll send you a text when my flight lands.” Curt orders before hanging up.

The thought of going into the bedroom; to the bed he shared with John. To have to see that fucking gun again.

Nobody tells him how to handle that.

Gale falls asleep on the couch instead.

-*~*-

When he awakes it’s night again and he feels such a violent sense of deja-vu that he has to do a walk-through of the whole house just to make sure that saving John hadn’t actually been a dream. That his body wasn’t lying somewhere with horrifying finality.

Nobody tells you that maybe your husband's trauma-based decisions might cause a little trauma themselves.

Even though he knows there will be nothing - John's phone kept safely in a plastic bag along with the rest of his personal effects- Gale checks their messages first. Scans them for any sign, any slip that he may have missed that told him what Bucky was planning. ‘Love You’s’ and ‘Be Home Soons’ and ‘Get There Safes’. Bucky had been struggling, but he hadn’t seemed quite that bad yet.

Or maybe Gale just hadn’t wanted to see it.

There’s a text from Curt showing his seven hour direct flight was only a half hour from landing.

Exhaustion still claws at Gale as he shuffles out to the truck, clothes rumbled and sweaty from sleep, from stress; from wrestling a fucking firearm from a man determined to end his life and Gale’s in the same action. The truck is too silent. John usually sat to his right, hand on his thigh or the back of his neck; always touching Gale in a way the blonde allowed no other man to do.

He has to pull over to stop himself from hyperventilating.

When he pulls into the pick-up zone at the Airport it’s nearly deserted aside from a short familiar man in a windbreaker and military boots.

Curt takes one look at his pale face and walks around the nose of the car to the driver's side.

“Budge over.” He says, opening the door and waving an impatient hand at Gale.

Gale didn’t think he could, felt like his hands were glued to the smooth leather of the wheel. Just twenty-four hours ago he’d driven Bucky to the hospital in this car. He wondered at how quickly he’d gone from seeing the next steps so clearly in front of him to having to remember how to even speak. He was a puppet, his strings cut the moment John had entered the doors of the hospital. Through security guard checkpoints and metal detectors and locked doors. It was like being back in the desert with that level of protective diligence; or perhaps a prison

That can’t be very good for Bucky.

Nobody told him it might have been a good idea to inform the hospital why sometimes the glint of metal in the light made John do a double take.

When Gale still hasn’t moved, Curt lets out a tender sigh and unclips Gale’s seatbelt for him like the other man is a child.

“Come on Cleven, scoot on down the line.” He says gently, gives him a light push.

This is enough for him to move his wooden limbs, shuffle awkwardly over the center console and collapse gracelessly into the passenger seat. Curt hauls himself into the truck with an awkward grunt. He takes a second to maneuver his leg, move the seat upwards and the wheel down, and adjust the mirrors.

Gale sits there, opening and closing his hands. John had sat here last. Cried here not because he was alive and safe like Gale had cried; but for the opposite.

Nobody told him how to sit in a puddle of his husband’s shed grief.

“Here,” Curt tosses his phone into Gales lap. “Text Kenny for me will ya? Tell him I got y- got here safe”

“Does he know?”

Curt pulls out of the airport, opens a window and leans his arm out as if he could air out the stuffy melancholy of the truck. “He asked where I was going. I didn’t-”

“John’s gonna hate it.” Gale mumbles “He won’t want anyone to know.”

“Yeah, well, if he didn’t want people to know, maybe he shoulda woken you up. Shoulda called m-” Curt cuts himself off, presses sturdy boxer’s fingers to his mouth. “Fucking VA.” he curses again.

“Fucking VA.” Gale agrees. And it feels a little good.

-*~*-

When they arrive back at the house It’s Curt that leads them inside. Curt, who picks up the gun, carefully disassembles it and puts it safely in the lock-box to be gotten rid of later. Curt who makes them a simple dinner of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

They stand at the counter, eating silently. Gale feels wired and too awake, his sleep schedule beyond to fucked.

He’d have to call out of work tomorrow. Maybe take a short leave. How could he even pretend to be okay for the kids?

“This is- In here right?” Curt’s eyes are jumping around the dark room, searching searching.

Nobody tells you the shame that curls in one's belly when you have to show your best friend the bullet hole that nearly ruined all their lives.

Curt puts his hands on his hips, bread crumbs stuck to the corner of his mouth and brow furrowed. Neither of them say much for a long time. Curt surveying and Gale staring a little blankly and replaying the sound of the gunshot over and over in his head.

“Well,” Curt finally drawls, “That’s an easy fix. You got any spackle?” he turns and smiles at Gale, crooked and reassuring,

Gale thinks he’d like to tell someone about this part. The part where people show up for you.

#swiftywrites #buck x bucky #cleven #buck cleven #john egan #gale cleven #bucky egan #bitches have too many names #curt biddick #young vets au #suicide tw #mota

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growingstories · 8 months

Text

Big chef

Adrian was born into a family of food enthusiasts, he grew up with a passion for all things culinary. Determined to turn his dreams into reality, he enrolled in a prestigious hospitality school, immersing himself in the art of creating exquisite dishes and pursuing a fit and healthy lifestyle.

As Adrian excelled in his studies, he landed an apprenticeship at a renowned restaurant. However, it was here that he became addicted to the pleasure his own creations provided. The rich flavors, the indulgent textures, and the emotional satisfaction they brought overwhelmed his disciplined mindset. Slowly but surely, his once lean physique started to expand.

In his rise to fame, Adrian encountered numerous opportunities to explore his desires with the attractive waitstaff around him. Seductive glances, secret rendezvous, and passionate affairs became an addictive cocktail that clouded his judgment. His conquests fed his ego and expanded his ever-growing waistline.

With each new affair, Adrian's obsession with pleasure deepened. He discovered a newfound joy in indulgence, embracing the excesses that came with his growing fame and weight. As he physically expanded, so did his appetite for both food and pleasure, leading him down a path of gluttony and self-fatification.

Adrian reveled in his newfound size and dominance. His ballooning body became both his armor and his weapon, intimidating those around him. He proudly reveled in his abundance, using it to remind himself and others of his success. His employees, who were once his equals, became his servants, pampering him with gourmet meals and seeking his approval.

Adrian's relentless pursuit of pleasure began to take its toll. The constant overindulgence started to affect his health, causing him to battle with exhaustion and various weight-related challenges. Daily tasks became arduous, and his once vibrant personality dimmed under the weight of his own body.

Despite the mounting struggles that came with his excessive weight gain, Adrian found it difficult to break free from his addiction. The pleasure he found in food and his affairs continued to provide temporary relief from the emptiness within. The chef became a slave to his own cravings, trapped in a vicious cycle of overeating and fleeting satisfaction.

But deep within Adrian, a glimmer of self-awareness appeared. He realized that his love for life had been overshadowed by his obsession with excess. With a renewed determination, he sought help, surrounding himself with supportive individuals and enlisting professional guidance to embark on a journey of transformation.

#fictionalweightgain #maleweightgain #maleweightgainstories #fictionalstories #weightgainstories #wg fantasy #wg fiction #exjock #weightgain #aiweightgain

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yuri-is-online · 8 months

Note

Azul “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU SHOT PEOPLE INTO THE SKY TO A ROCK?!??!” Ashengrotto

I'd also like to bring up the point that while there's water breathing potions I doubt they have anything to protect from the crushing depth of the deep ocean so I think he'd as freak the fuck out over the fact that humans have been that deep underwater. Very much in a WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!? HUMANS CANT GO THERE!” kind of cay

YES

I think twisted wonderland might have something that would allow humans to transform into merfolk, which would allow them to go into the deep ocean depending on the type of mer they became, but the concept of humans going as they are in submersibles is just odd. Then again he supposes your world doesn't have magic or merfolk so they don't have to worry about bothering anyone. Same with going to space, Azul's hatred of flying cannot be understated the thought of going that far up willingly is just so beyond him.

Azul is a very profit minded person, but his specialty and passion lies in hospitality and fixing niche problems. Space and deep sea exploration don't seem like fields he would want to expand his business into. He might be interested in the logistics of investing in those sorts of things? But the actual mechanics would just mystify him. The moon in the fucking sky give him a break.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland #azul ashengrotto #twst theories #i think it can be very hard for people to understand the way a culture works unless they interact with it #you would be surprised how many things you just do not think about until you are forced to #and the way a lack of magic would effect the development of world history #right down to the types of technological advancements exist #isn't something i think most of the twst boys stop to think about #idia would probably be interested in learning about it just so he could think about ways to improve on things #and ortho just likes collecting new data #but yeah i don't think many of them have sat to have a think about what yuu's world is like

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joannasteez · 3 months

Text

tanks of blood (6) - the trouble was always here - part two

pairing: biker!roman reigns , biker!cody rhodes (mentioned) warning: mentions of violence and explicit descriptions of blood. dialogue and descriptions pertaining to guns. roman talk to someone without being a jerk challenge. slight non-con moment but turns consensual quickly (its a kiss)! authors note: if ya'll ever watch sons of anarchy... you’ll know, im stealing little pieces of plot lmaooooooooo. imma give yall a spicy little flashback after this, i promise. will also attempt to not make the following chapters as long. just so that they remain relatively digestible. i'm working on being more precise with words. all the medical stuff in this chapter is half done research and my own brain. this chapter picks up where i left off in chapter 5. ALSO… if you want or dont want tags on this fic let me know! word count: 3k tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @sortudademais @gg-trini @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce

-wednesday night. the first week in june-

that marriage of ignorance and bliss did not last long. having to suffer as a lone soldier amidst silent dinner table battles. displeasured dispositions and their eyes performing like the greatly sharpened edge of well smithed daggers. and then came compromise, toiling through the thick of it to wave it's white flag. a surrender of a promise. your mother and fathers union holding as much sanctity as a soon to die vehicle's tank, holding its last dregs of oil but whose fuel gauge reads empty. running still, a quick speed into the darkness, wheels tired and the road too coarse to bare. an abrupt end of the engine as it slips against the asphalt at full speed. a collision terribly par for the course. their rings fettered to their fingers, pretty diamond but a prison, making forever impressions upon the skin. that marriage of ignorance and bliss did not last long. dying with the useless wear of wedding rings, and redeclaring itself with the overwear of leather kuttes.

because there was more to the life than just that simple enthusiasm for motorcycles. your father transforming before the eyes. leather slipping over his shoulders, not so dissimilar to the tough metal, shrilly chime of chainmail. custom rings taking their homes over the marred skin of his knuckles. fingers worn and always just barely healed. scarred from one brutal splitting open after another. his eyes working to harden. the keys to his bike clutched in hand.

"should i be worried?", your mother asking right on time. examining his pace. the work in and change over of his demeanor.

and he never answered. never dignifying her question enough to speak to it. because then the trouble would be true, so much so that it would live, breathing well to make room in their home. no. KG, your father, only ever lingered by the door, a slip in of hesitation before he turned to kiss your mother gracefully. the small appearance of a forever ago passion. an i love you without the weight of words. and then he went, heavy steps leading out the door.

so its almost second nature. those faithful coming together of words. cody slipping on his leather near the door. shoulders squaring as the material adjusts to his body. demeanor unsoftened. the ease of the words as they leave you filling your stomach with a burdening weight. memory working tedious and so terribly true.

"cody, should i be worried?"

he sighs. cold blue eyes hesitating enough to take the time to commit your face to memory. his palm warm as it cradles your cheek. kissing you firmly before he leaves.

-early friday morning. first week in june-

there was, is, and will never be a time too early or too late for violence. for blood and that faithful nerve warp of adrenaline. and maybe that's why the hospital is so easy. old, early moments in your youth, piercing your fathers skin with a needle, sewing together split skin as he washed his tongue with the burn of his favorite liquor. a warmth in his belly till the pain from the prick of your fixing turned numb. a simple pressure in the skin there at his arm, turning inevitably, to pressure in his leg, a slit at his thigh from a brawl with which he gave no further information. bruises and gashes and deep cuts to him, more by the day, by the year. near quiet grunts and the emptiness of the house loud enough to swallow you both whole. cleaning his marred skin and bandaging the area's as best you could. the slow to ease push and pull of his breaths. his hands smelling like iron as he cradled your face, mouth kissing your forehead. "thank you", but a whisper, before falling into sleep.

maybe that's why the hospital is so easy. the color of blood and caked earth, the silver of knuckle rings and the black of over worn leather more familiar than summer green trees.

text message | cody r: in an emergency. need your help.

it shouldn't come as a surprise, but the sudden rush takes you all the same. a deep plunge of the heart in your chest, something odd creeping beneath the skin and fevered steps. making to call cody quickly. a ring, and then a second, before he's answering. breaths labored some as he goes. "can't say much about it but it's medical. how soon can you get to the clubhouse?"

you assess the long hallway. the trauma unit, quiet. a squeak in your sneakers that makes you cringe as you move to collect things. only minutes from the end of your shift. "uhm, in like twenty minutes". a series of grunts and yells that indicate the messiness of a situation he's all to willing to abruptly rope you into. "cody what's going on?"

he sighs. his patience a thinning thread. "what did i say before about becoming an accessory?"

"you gotta give me something", you stress. continuing an awfully secretive journey to where you could gather some other helpful supplies. "i can't just show up not knowing what for".

"think the worst".

"that doesn't help-"

the call dropping on his end. the angst sticking to your skin making room for an easy to settle in frustration. like you were an early twenty something again. attempting too diligently to remedy that divorce of ignorance and bliss. a tedious washing away and stitching together, performing so well now that the pungent smell of iron threatens to stain your skin again. and here does the soldier pay the price for wielding a double edged sword. for pensacola was home, is home, and forever will be home, the desire to return running too wild beneath the skin not to act on it. but there are things here. vicious rumblings above sunburned asphalt and the bitter steeping of blood between the cracks. the dross and the dregs that stick so loyally to the air and the skin just after a brutish performance of chaos too commonplace to live without it.

trouble taking up permanent residence, riding in over the clouds and rolling in with the heat.

and the clubhouse looks haunted amidst the beginnings of the friday summer sunrise. the dark colored build of it dreary against the beauty of the sky. the heat yet to reach its full potential but your scrubs and the exhaustion of a twelve hour shift do all too well of making you live with that thin sheen of sweat breaking over your cheeks. your car parked not too far from the clubs neat line of stationed bikes. true in how they've always done well to remind you of the clubs presence. after so long, living here and far away, that grimy power behind the roar of an engine, ever inescapable.

the clubhouse doors swing open as you make to leave your car. a small bag of supplies in hand as you rush up. cody's hand slipping at the low end of your back to guide you in. a small "thank you", leaving him breathy as you make way to pass through the double doors of the "church". a room that never seems to lose its luster from the looks of it. the sanctity of their meetings as important as the shine of a new chrome fender finish. men and their worried eyes flitting over your entrance as you approach the church table. seth laid out face down, with his pants at his ankles. his skin wet with sweat and an awful paleness. bloody cloths surrounding him and randy's finger lodged in where all the blood could possibly be spewing from. a small metal tin cup resting in the corner, holding the whole of a bullet.

dean taps seth's cheek. waking him up a little less than tenderly. "look alive sweetheart, the doctor is here to see you".

"nurse", you correct, to which dean just winks.

cody and a host of club members file out through the double doors much to your pleasure.

initial shock of your current state of affairs rolling off your shoulders as you settle into the routine of caring for the wound. gloves slipping on before you're tossing the box to dean. his take up of them swift and unquestioning. because it was never unusual to spend a night—especially in their youth—caring for cuts and bruises and wounds, before turning to do the same for another. a task as regular as breathing air.

seth groans. the drawl of it stressing the pain in his leg. "i don't know if you've noticed but i went to some extreme lengths to see you", he jokes. his little laugh coarse and overworked by the weariness of getting shot.

you laugh. an attempt to break the over work of tension in the air. "what an interesting way of saying you love me seth". sliding up to stand next to randy. his demeanor as quiet now as it was during richie's funeral.

you look to dean. "once randy removes his finger, you're gonna help me pack the wound, and then i want you to keep pressure on it till i'm ready to wrap it".

"you know what you're doing?", randy asks. the dark color of his eyes disrupted with little slivers of worry.

"no randy, i just wear the scrubs for fun". peering up at the hard set of his face. older now but his visage still holding that silent menace to it.

"can we banter when seth isn't bleeding out by the pint?", dean asks. so obviously done with the whole situation.

"on my three", you start. the both of them coming to a shared focus. "one...two...three".

thick blood springs upward, randy's finger dislodging quick. dean rushes in with your guidance, packing the wound as instructed. your hand taking the reins of the procedure as you allow dean a moment of reprieve. the little levee of seth's composure rupturing as his body goes taut, his mouth loose and lax as he curses his fill into the shined up wood of the church table. groaning wearily as dean holds the pressure against his legs, randy lifting it casually, allowing you to wrap the middle of his leg with a fresh dressing. a dead silent relief settling the room then after, before you're moving again. running on the extra dose of adrenaline.

you discard your gloves, peeling them off your fingers. picking through your bag to give dean a bottle of pills. "vancomycin, it's an antibiotic", you start. "give him two now and another two later tonight. keep going with that dosage for no less than a week".

"our lovely little savior". dean's boots heavy as he closes the distance to kiss your forehead. "thank you. go get cleaned up".

randy gives a quieter acknowledgement. a simple nod of appreciation that does you just fine. the double doors of the church room creaky as they swing with your exit. all the worried faces you'd met upon your arrival, taking up every inch of the clubhouse. their bodies drowsy and torn through by the chaos of an oh so terrible possibility.

your feet mindless as they walk down the infamous hallway gallery of framed photos. your last walk through of the area filled with a particularly horrible play of strife. twisting the knob of one of many of the little dormitory rooms to access it's bathroom. a deep breath releasing as you make to wash your hands, a slow thorough trail up over your arms to rid your skin of seth's soon to dry blood. your scrubs somewhat ruined and your shoes showcasing nasty little streaks of red.

but it is only exhaustion that takes you so brazenly. a sleepy sinking feeling in the body and nothing else. hands used to providing all the remedy's it can.

well maybe not nothing else. a fast to slip in weariness amidst the quiet. because he couldn't be too far away, lurking to siphon what he could again of the air about you in a means of suffocation. that faithful ability once upon a time, a favorite of yours for how sweetly it sought to consume you, now possessing a quality that unfurls something disdainful in your belly. a prick of a man seemingly beyond reproach, what with his positioning among all the others. surely it was never your simple exit making him this mountain of hubris, that streak of his character impossible to climb and overcome for the sake of reasoning with him. or even for the lesser sake of some cordiality. it was so obviously everything else—the grime and the chaos—giving the once duller edge of his pride a sharper corner. enough to will him into an endless keep of a grudge.

heavy thudding steps strip you clean of wandering anymore into thought. it seems even thinking of the devil causes him to appear. his disposition reminiscent of some weeks ago. shoulders squared and seeming too tall for you now to bare without feeling small. and he says nothing, attempting to take his kutte off without the inconvenience of pain but he grunts regardless. grimacing as he rids himself of his shirt as well.

a gash running against his naked arm, almost like it's purposefully found a heap of muscle to tear into. wanting to humble the strength of him. blood caked and running down tawny skin.

"i got grazed".

voice tired but oddly delicate. like the weariness of it is making him just that more fragile.

you point to the bathroom, eyes never really having the courage to part from him. "sit over there".

and your feet rush. tunnel visioned as they make to gather whats left of your little collection of supplies. fingers feeling less sure, and your body teeming with something akin to an unworkable angst. a realization long ago understood, and buried for the sake of a then wanted peace, unearthing itself to bring about a renewed sense of understanding. for he has always been the manifestation of this double edged sword. of home and of violence. wielding itself always but never one without the other. the slip of his skin over familiar in its warmth. doing your resolve the greatest amounts of violence as you clean his wound tenderly. the double edge of him piercing so well that you feel the damning effects. his eyes sharp, cutting over your face in a silent means to examine. like the appraisal of a curious stranger attempting to settle within themselves the validity of your existence.

the soft tender pads of your fingers remember him well. gloves and all. slight throbs that liven the nerves.

"you came straight from work", more like a statement than a question.

"i did".

he flinches. his arm flexing as he bares the pain. "thank you for being here", he gives. “for seth", like a thankfulness that includes him would hurt his pride too much to be made known.

"i'm sure that took a lot to say", you joke. feeling light in your head. drained of the will to keep up a proper guard. "you’re welcome though".

a hum of an acknowledgment is the only thing he gives you. and in an effort to savor the easy going nature of the moment you keep yourself occupied with dressing the wound splitting his skin open. your work of caring for it doing well enough that the bleeding has stopped. memory faithful as it nags, the wound of a forever ago accident pulsing to life about your hand. the scars there still, though faded, serving as a reminder of the former things. the heat of him, then, different as it sought to consume. brazen in how it dared to bring about affection. not like now, this flame threatening to flare, to show the lengths and widths of its destruction.

you finish. gloves in the waste basket. making tedious work of washing your hands. to rid the skin of such an indicative sensation.

his body does well in blocking the bathroom door. the whole of him bigger than the last time you saw him. scrutiny set some in his gaze. trailing over the ink that lays permanent at your neck.

"you still have it"

"it's a tattoo". feigning nonchalance as you dry your hands. "you never really plan to get rid of them".

he smiles mirthless. "well y'know, i figured a cover up, for you, would be worth the pain".

as in, forgetting him would be worth the pain. which couldn't be more further from the truth.

"and here i am doing a nice thing", laughing tired. "still gettin hit with the bitterness", a slow easy step that leads you closer to him. the own brazen make of your actions suffering you to fall into the scent of him. the note of it strong even as it lives amidst the pungency of blood. "you got some audacity too though, considering i could've half assed that clean up enough for a little infection to settle in".

"but you didn't".

"and why do you think so?"

creaks against the floor. the weird pitch of it roughing up against your bones. his body closer, forcing your back against the wall. his thumb reaching to graze against the ink tattoo at your neck. pulse thrumming harshly at the play of his touch.

body outdone by history.

and the way he holds you here, cradling your neck just at your nape. keeping you where he wants you to be. his eyes falling over slowly—at your nose and your cheeks and your lips—lingering as if he's gone down the path of a deep remembering.

"for the same reason you still got the ink".

unable to ever let yourself part with it, with the history staining your skin. the prick of a needle and the pain of it made simple for a full and the most earnest performance of devotion. your breaths shallow, overwhelmed by the thought and the domineer of him.

his thumb running to sweep at your skin. hot with an intention you can't place.

you make to warn him. “roman-”

but his tongue is quick, works with a faraway familiar passion as it curls between the soft seam of your lips. exhaustion and adrenaline, an effortful pair as they go about the task of stripping away your resolve. a return of this sudden fever of a feeling as your tongue makes to snake against his. lapping lazily, a mindless seduction as you fall into old ways. his throat groaning, surely taken by his own bout of reminiscence. nails racking dull over his naked skin, over the taut muscle at his belly. his palms cradling your face to deepen his kiss in spite of the pain. leaving you little room to breathe, his body fastening you harshly to the bathroom wall. making to suffocate you with the flick of his tongue and the fire of his touch.

his teeth prick you mean, biting into the supple flesh of your lip. suckling the pain with the tender pull of his mouth.

the harshness of it causing a whimper to break. instinct taking hold. subdued in an instant.

and it is only when he breaks for breath that you remember where you are. pushing at his tired body enough for a full separation.

you leave saying nothing. out of the bedroom, down the hallway and through the clubhouse doors. letting the silence of it speak for you.

lol we might need a roman pov after this huh… smh

#tanks of blood #reminder #eventual poly v relationship #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #cody rhodes #cody rhodes fanfiction #cody rhodes x reader #biker au #randy orton featured #seth rollins featured #dean ambrose featured #joannasteez

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