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Goodbye Loneliness || Surprise! x Reader

{summary: like the love seen in all of those fairytales, the magic will cease once the clock strikes at midnight.}

warnings: none

word count: 2,600+

**don’t repost/plagiarize this story!!**

——

”James is already in love with someone as beautiful as Lily Evans, I know this, yet…why do I still want him so much?”

With your Herbology textbook open and resting against your lap, you sigh while running your fingers across its pages, still keeping your gaze facing the front. You knew that you were supposed to be studying, but you couldn’t seem to focus-

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Stray Dog 3/3

As fugitives from Soul Society, they don’t exactly have the chance to get out much. Which might be nice if Shinji was living with a harem of beautiful, busty, voracious women, but instead he’s stuck with seven of the weirdest, most aggravating morons this side of a mental ward.

Just one more thing to blame Aizen for, in the end.

Sometimes, when he cannot physically withstand another sandal to the head or another dirty manga abandoned on the couch or another bout of Rose humming or Kensei and Mashiro squabbling or anything without unleashing his inner Hollow on the lot of them, Shinji will have just enough of an attack of stupid not to give a shit anymore. Aizen or Soul Society or whatever—by that point he’ll freaking welcome them with open arms. So he’ll leave. Just up and walk out, and the first time he did it he freaked out the rest enough that they were on their best behavior for months afterwards, never mind that he’d never made it further than the nearest bar to get plastered.

Unfortunately, that effect seems to have degraded with time. Now he’s lucky if they even give him a few hours of peace when he gets back. But, well, sometimes an hour’s better than nothing.

Shinji always makes sure it’s fairly dramatic, too, his departure. Lots of screaming “good riddance!” and slamming doors with inhuman strength and such. This one’s no different, and he stalks away from their base with his long coat flaring out behind him, the memory of seven startled faces barely enough to begin wearing away at his murderous edges.

He ends up in a lounge a few hours later, like he always does once his temper cools enough that he can start to feel sorry for himself. It’s a tiny little hole in the wall, just enough upscale edge to make it a certain shade of gloomy that appeals to Shinji’s sense of aesthetics, and while it’s not the cheapest place in Karakura it’s definitely what he needs.

This time, when he walks in still mildly seething and halfway wishing for a Menos or something to brutally slaughter—which is an improvement to wanting to slaughter his fellow Vizards—the bar is practically empty, the tables scattered around the floor unfilled. There’s a woman seated at the far end of the bar, giving off such clear fuck-off vibes that Shinji doesn’t even bother giving her more than half a glance, but otherwise there are no customers.

There’s a new bartender, too, and Shinji wonders with faint amusement if that’s got something to do with the deadness.

Or maybe it’s the fact that it’s barely four o’clock on a Monday.

Still, the guy’s cute, though with the tattoos and scars he looks a little out of place in his neat bartender’s uniform—more like he should be in some back-alley joint with bouncers and regular fights and a baseball bat behind the counter, rather than a lounge like this. Spiky dark hair and tanned skin and lots of sleek muscles, and yeah, Shinji is more than appreciative of the eye candy, his bad mood quickly falling away in the face of it. Because chicks are great, and boobs will never get old, but there’s something to be said for pinning another guy down and making him scream.

“Good afternoon,” the guy says, putting down the glass he’s polishing and giving Shinji a faint smile. There are slight lines around his storm-grey eyes, almost wariness, but maybe Shinji’s reading too much into things. “What’s your poison?”

For half a second, Shinji debates ordering a Blow Job or a Screaming Orgasm just to see the man’s reaction, but regretfully decides he’s not in quite that sort of mood and instead offers, “You any good at a Lemon Drop Martini?”

That earns him a flash of teeth as the man grins and turns away. “You wearing socks? ‘Cause I guarantee I can knock ‘em off.”

I bet you can, Shinji thinks admiringly, studying the very, very nice curve of the man’s ass as he turns away. But it’s a bit too early to be scaring the guy away, so he goes with, “I’ll hold you to that. But you look new. Something happen to Hayato?”

The strong shoulders, barely hidden by the white shirt and vest, lift in a quick shrug as the man tilts the tumbler and deftly pours it into a glass, garnishing it with a twist of lemon before he slides it over to Shinji. “He got married and decided to get a real job. I’m Shuuhei.”

Shinji takes a sip, eyes closed to savor it. Sweet, sour, bite. Just the way he likes it. But that opening’s too good not to take, and he gives the man—Shuuhei—a quick grin. “An’ I’m Shinji. So this isn’t your real job, then? Got something on the side?”

A sideways glance from beneath dark lashes almost catches him by surprise, since the guy’s barely looked at him twice, but it’s strangely appealing when coupled with those sharp-stark scars and the blue stripe of that tattoo. “Yeah,” Shuuhei says dryly. “I try and save the world whenever I’m not mixing drinks for stuck-up assholes.”

Shinji barks out his first genuine laugh in what feels like a god-damned age, grinning widely as he takes a generous sip of martini. “Oh? I can see the spandex thing working for you, definitely, but I’ll admit you didn’t strike me as the type.”

Shuuhei grins back, a little wry but mostly amused. “Well,” he says easily, “not every superhero fights out in the open. I like to think I’m more of a back-alley-deals kind of guy. Stop the megalomaniac from the shadows and all that.”

Something twists in Shinji’s chest, bitter and bracing, and he tosses back the rest of his drink to cover his grimace. “Takes all types,” he agrees, and tries not to think how very much his situation fits that simple summary.

“Another?” Shuuhei asks, already snagging his glass.

By now, Shinji’s more than ready to throw caution to the wind. The guy seems open enough not to take a swing at him, at least. Summoning up his best flirtatious grin, he drops his elbows on the smooth wood of the bar and leans forward, like it’s a secret. “And if I asked for a Screaming Orgasm?” he questions, voice just above a purr.

Shuuhei meets his eyes for three long heartbeats, expression unreadable, and then one corner of his mouth curls up in amusement. “I’d say my shift’s over at six,” he answers, and that flare of heat in his eyes is somewhere between challenge and anticipation. An answering heat curls in Shinji’s stomach, and he wants.

Then Shuuhei gives him a full-on smile, bright and a little wicked, and lowers his voice to add, “Beyond that, I really hope you like to top. I think I could use a screaming orgasm of my own after today.”

Shinji’s mouth goes dry, a vision of acres of golden skin spread out beneath him flashing before his eyes, and he has to think of Hiyori’s screeching to keep from embarrassing himself.

“Yeah,” he says, and it’s a fucking miracle that his voice comes out steady. “I think we’ll be able to work something out.”


Shinji wakes up alone in the hotel room with bright sunlight falling over him, warm and well-rested and totally at peace with every damn thing in the universe. It’s been years since he last got laid, and every single bit of tension that’s been coiling through his body is gone, eased away by a really fucking awesome night.

And, yeah, it might be nicer if Shuuhei was still here, ready for a final round of morning sex, but Shinji can’t bring himself to mind the other man’s absence too much. It was a one-night thing, and both of them knew that going in. Shinji’s in no place to be making commitments, not to anything aside from tearing Aizen down and grinding him into the mud. And, regardless of looks that should be able to get him laid without effort, Shinji got the impression that Shuuhei was just as in need of a release of tension as Shinji himself.

He rolls over in the bed, enjoying the stretch and pull of muscles that haven’t been put to good use in far too long, and grins to himself. Yeah. No penny-dreadful romance novel plots here, but it was still one fucking awesome night, excuse the pun, and he’s content with that.

There’s a note on the nightstand beside him, a scrap of hotel stationary scrawled in a ridiculously neat, precise hand.

Sorry, had to go to my other job. I’ll buy you a drink next time you come in to make up for the lack of morning-after sex.

–Shuuhei

Great minds think alike, apparently. Shinji decides that a drink with a hot guy sounds very nice indeed, already planning a time to sneak out of the base to take Shuuhei up on it as he hauls himself into the shower. A quick scrub, a cup of fancy coffee from the upscale place down the street, and he saunters deeper into Karakura, deciding to let the other Vizards stew for a bit longer. The bastards can take it, after all, and Shinji’s going to milk this not-an-actual-clusterfuck of a day for all it’s worth before he has to go back to the loony bin.

Well, that particular loony bin, he acknowledges, seeing as his feet are headed towards Urahara’s store. But Urahara’s usually up for a spar at the very least, and Shinji could use some downtime. With the others, sparring is training for taking on Aizen, and Shinji doesn’t want to think about that bastard for at least another few hours.

With a peaceful sigh, he rounds the corner and strides into the courtyard in front of the store, waving a lazy greeting to the little girl sweeping. “Yo, Ururu-chan.”

“Hirako-san,” the girl mumbles, blushing. “Boss is inside, if you’re looking for him.”

Shinji nods and heads up the steps without hesitating, though he keeps his easy swagger. No point in rushing, after all. “Kisuke?” he calls, poking his head around shelves and stacks.

“Shinji,” the scientist responds cheerfully from about three and a half inches behind him, making him all but jump out of his skin. That earns him a fan-flutter and a very wide, badly hidden smirk. “Oh my. Jumpy, are we?”

Shinji scowls at him, but can’t force himself to hold it for long. In the end, he settles for rolling his eyes and reaching out, smacking that stupid bucket-hat down a little further over the younger man’s eyes. “Whatever, ya sneaky freak,” he huffs. “Any news?”

Agreeably, Kisuke readjusts his beloved hat and turns, leading the way towards the dining room. “Ah, not much, I’m afraid. Things have been rather quiet of late. There’ll be a new shinigami stationed here soon, but she’s unseated and nothing to worry about.”

About to respond, Shinji pauses. There's…reiatsu in the air, a reiatsu he’s not familiar with, and while he hardly thinks Kisuke is going to betray them after so much time—

“Urahara-san, where do you want these? Back in the storeroom?”

That voice is entirely familiar and just as wholly unexpected, making Shinji falter even as a head of spiky black hair appears around the corner, half-concealed by a precarious stack of boxes. The arms he can see are strong and corded, the skin honey-colored and smooth where it isn’t lightly scarred, and intimately familiar.

Shuuhei-kun?” Shinji blurts in absolute shock, because this is the man he fucked into a mattress last night, only with the addition of enough reiatsu to leave him at the lower end of captain-class and a katana slung diagonally across his back.

The man pauses, then carefully sets the boxes down and stands up, grey eyes meeting Shinji’s with muted surprise.

“…Oh,” Shuuhei says after a moment. “Shinji-san.”

“How interesting,” Kisuke coos, flitting around the two of them with a bright, knowing smile. “You’re acquainted with my new part-timer, Shinji?”

Biblically, Shinji wants to say, but he’s tactful enough to settle on a simple nod. No need to give Kisuke any more ammunition than he can dig up on his own, after all.

“Urahara-san,” Shuuhei says after a long moment of fairly awkward silence. He gives the shopkeeper a quick, meaningful glance and Kisuke’s eyes narrow beneath the shadow of his hat.

“Do you think that’s really such a good idea, Hisagi-kun?” he asks, and there’s very little that annoys Shinji more than being left out of the loop. He fixes both of them with a hard stare, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an expectant eyebrow.

Shuuhei, of course, meets his stare dead-on—even knowing him less than twenty-four hours, Shinji can tell he’s not the type to be easily cowed by anything. But the younger man inclines his head regardless, as though Shinji’s just won some sort of battle, and steps back. “I’m sure,” he tells the shopkeeper. “Sorry, Urahara-san. We’ll be using your training ground, if that’s all right.”

“Certainly, certainly. Take all the time you need, Hisagi-kun.” Sharp grey eyes stay on them as Shuuhei leads the way down the hall, and Shinji spares Kisuke one last glance—narrow, warning, because Shuuhei is obviously a shinigami or something very much like it, is obviously well-acquainted with the shopkeeper beyond just working for him, and Shinji’s going to be having words with Kisuke about keeping important things from him—before following him.

As soon as Shinji’s feet hit dirt, he turns to look at Shuuhei, and is almost startled to see the younger man dip into a deep bow, the kind of gesture that no one’s directed at Shinji since the whole disaster with Aizen. It’s…strange, seeing it again.

“Hisagi Shuuhei, former lieutenant of the Ninth Division, under Tousen Kaname,” Shuuhei says formally, straightening up and meeting Shinji’s eyes again, firm but faintly apologetic. “I’m sorry for misleading you, Captain Hirako.”

“…Ninth,” Shinji says after a beat, his gaze settling on the pair of numbers inked into Shuuhei’s skin. He’s seen them before, every time Kensei has taken his shirt off, but he’d dismissed it as coincidence. A mistake, obviously. “I should have realized.”

The brunet blinks, one hand rising to touch his cheek, and then he smiles a touch wryly. “Oh, right. Not my subtlest decision, I guess, but for the record I wasn’t drunk and I’ve yet to regret it. Captain Muguruma saved my life the same day he…disappeared. But he inspired me to join the Gotei 13 about fifty years ago, where I heard about what had happened. It was just…something I couldn’t let go of, especially since I started having suspicions about Tousen, Ichimaru, and Aizen. So I left, and eventually found Urahara. He filled me in.”

Shinji’s not a fool. He can tell there’s far more to the story than those five sentences let on. It’s been almost a hundred years since their exile, after all, and fifty years are a long time to spend alone and hunting. Shinji knows that better than most. And to leave the Gotei 13 on a hunch? To abandon everything so simply for the sake of a man Shuuhei only met once? That’s…

Shinji can’t tell if it’s absolutely flat-out moronic or the noblest damn thing he’s ever heard. Maybe a bit of both, honestly.

“I take it you’re in on Kisuke’s plans?” he asks with a faint sigh. Yet another life upended that he’s more than happy to blame on Aizen.

Shuuhei nods, grey eyes going sharp and hard, like honed steel. “I am. Shiba Kaien knows my location and what’s going on, and he’s been helping me sneak in and out of Soul Society when necessary. Urahara-san is to going to use that as a backup plan, and I’ve agreed.”

“Knowing Aizen, we’ll need a backup plan for that, too,” Shinji huffs. He eyes the former lieutenant, the easy way he carries himself, and remembers the sword callouses on his hands. For a moment he wavers, but then, with a faint sigh, he gives in to his curiosity. “Feel up to a spar? That’s what I was coming here for, but after a hundred years I’m tired of kickin’ Kisuke’s ass all the time. Want a turn?”

Shuuhei smiles. It’s definitely not a nice expression.

The sword comes out.

“Let’s see if I can’t kick yours first.”

Shinji grins right back, pops a soul pill, and steps out of his body as it falls away. “Now we’re talkin’, kid. How about you put your money where your mouth is?”

Shuuhei flips his zanpakuto around, catches it deftly, and growls, “Hado 58: Tenran.”

Sakanade comes to Shinji’s hand like an old friend, and he laughs even as the hurricane comes right for him. This will be fun.


When he wanders back to base some time in the early evening, it’s deathly silent within. Shinji steps through the barrier, brows rising when he sees all seven Vizards sprawled out in the main room. 

Almost instantly, Hiyori bolts to her feet, screeching, “You stupid baldy, where the hell have you been?!”

“Worried, Hiyori-chan?” Shinji asks blithely, pretending not to see the way seven pairs of eyes are studying him for any sign of injury as he hangs his coat up. “Sorry, got distracted over at Kisuke’s or I woulda been back a couple hours ago. Nothing happened.”

That doesn’t quite get a sigh of relief, but Lisa immediately gets up from the couch and wanders away, and Love isn’t far behind. Rose takes one more look at Shinji and heads for the kitchen, presumably to start dinner, and tows Hiyori—screeching and snarling, of course—along with him.

About to retreat to his room, Shinji pauses. Kensei is still on the couch, magazine propped open on one bent knee, and Shinji is…curious.

“Oi, Kensei,” he says, and the silver-haired man looks up, pierced brow rising. Shinji thinks about Shuuhei with his tattoos and has to smother a grin. They’re more alike than one would think, apparently.

“Yeah?” Kensei asks disinterestedly, attention still mostly on the magazine.

“You remember what happened the day before you disappeared? Back then?”

That gets him Kensei’s full attention instantly. After all, it’s an unspoken rule that they don’t talk about the past, especially not the past that close to their unwilling transformation. But apparently there’s still enough relief hanging around at Shinji not having abandoned their sorry asses to get him an answer, because Kensei snorts.

“Of course,” he scoffs. “Last time anything was even vaguely normal, wasn’t it? We had a patrol, me an’ Mashiro and some of the Ninth’s upper seats, looking into those disappearances. There was…” He pauses, eyes going faintly distant, and one side of his mouth quirks up. “A Hollow, outside of a little shit-hole town. Big and ugly. And a kid, this little brat who couldn’t stop crying. Big eyes, hair like a black porcupine got stuck to his head. I told him to quit crying and be happy he was still alive. Wonder if it worked.” Kensei pauses again, looking away, and then shakes his head. “Kid’s probably not even alive anymore, damn it,” he mutters, and there’s a regretful sort of anger in his voice—something Shinji’s more than familiar with.

Shinji wants to correct Kensei, tell him that he’s wrong and that crying kid is actually schlepping boxes for Kisuke right this minute, as powerful as a captain and able to give Shinji a workout in a spar. But Shuuhei already asked him to keep his presence a secret, so he holds his tongue. “Ah,” he says instead, and heads for his room, lifting a hand in a halfhearted wave. “Thanks, Kensei.”

Kensei says something, asks a question, but Shinji is out of hearing before he even gets halfway through, and closes his door firmly. With a tired sigh, he flops onto his bed, stretching out on his back and pressing his palms over his eyes.

One more thing Aizen ruined, he thinks, feeling that familiar, seething fury rise in his chest. Kensei coulda seen the kid grow up to be something great, if we’d stayed. Shuuhei coulda grown up with his hero pushing him to be even stronger. Hell, kid’s strong anyway. Maybe he woulda been a captain by now. Who knows what woulda happened if Aizen’d never crawled out from under his rock.

Who knows.

anonymous asked:

SAME. their love is just unreal. i'm was so moved i came straight out the cinema online to consume all the fandom for them! i would LOVE your fic recs for them. i need ALL the fic. i hope you write them more. i loved the snippet you posted already (: was grinning so wide whilst reading it (: the spark reminded me of them pre-ice age (laugh/sob). ah the nostalgia! (i shall think of coming off anon. i get really shy but i might work up the courage <3)

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