#weak or have a low pain tolerance but i feel like it’s a lot worse than it used to be + i get cramps at Other times too and it’s ummmm bad. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sierraraeck · 3 years

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Control

JJ x John B

Masterlist

Summary: JJ likes losing control, and there is no one safer he can do that with than his boyfriend, John B. But after a particularly awful week, JJ just needs something he can be in control of.

Category: Smut, angst

Warnings: Cussing/slurs, JJ’s home life so abuse and violence, allusion to sexual abuse, rough sex, choking, safe word used. Look, this gets dark, so this is your warning.

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: I agree with a lot of other people that in their relationship, John B is usually the dominant one because JJ likes losing control, but I’m convinced that after a really fucking bad week, he just loses it and needs something he can control. This is what I imagine that would look like.

•••

It had been a bad week. It felt never ending, getting roughed up by the Kooks, running from the cops, taking the fall for Pope, and now this.

If you keep going down this road, you’re going to end up just like your dad.

Maybe his best friend, and within the last year or so his boyfriend, was right. Maybe he, and everyone else on the island who constantly reminded him of his blood, was right. Maybe he was destined to be a complete fuck up with no future other than three cement walls and a grid of bars. Not like JJ’d ever imagined his life going any differently.

We’re sick of your shit.

Those were the words echoing in his head as his feet made the decision before his mind did.

You are a worthless piece of shit.

He remembered something Pope had told him once, that the brain can’t differentiate between the truth and something that has been repeated to you over and over.

You’ll be back here one day. You good for nothing piece of shit, that’s why your mamma left. Stay down, boy. I don’t care where you’ve been. Really living up to your name, Maybank. You’re just like your daddy. Fucking bastard. Worthless.

Must be true, right? If everyone is saying it, including the only people he’s ever really thought cared about him, it must be true.

As he opened the door to the run down shack, he already knew what he’d see, but a shutter of fear still raced down his spine. His dad was sitting on the couch, all kinds of beer and pill bottles scattered around him.

“What the hell you doing back here, boy?” the gruff voice of JJ’s nightmares asked.

“Dad, I-”

“The least your worthless ass could do is get me a beer.”

JJ complied, because, what else was he going to do? Weak.

As he walked over to his dad, the smell of beer was overwhelming. It always was, but the smell seemed stronger than he remembered. His dad's tolerance must be higher than it was a few weeks ago.

“Open it,” Luke demanded.

JJ tried, he really did, but his hands were shaking too damn much. Come on, don’t be such a pussy.

Apparently he couldn’t do it fast enough, so Luke ripped the bottle out of his hands, causing it to shatter on the floor. JJ flinched at the sound.

“What are you, retarded? Can’t even open one goddamned bottle!”

JJ didn’t even try to duck. He felt Luke’s knuckle make contact with his cheekbone, head whipping to the side. We’re sick of your shit, JJ.

“Dad-”

“Don’t fucking beg you weak, worthless piece of shit!”

Flames enveloped his gut, followed by another fire lit over his ribs. We don’t want you around.

The voice he was hearing sounded an awful lot like John B’s.

“Fucking pathetic! Just like your mother!” JJ was on the floor now, not completely able to remember how he got there. As his body screamed in pain with each new kick, his mind was getting farther and farther away from where he was.

Our lives would be better without you in it. I would be so much happier if I had a boyfriend who wasn’t such a burden, such a fuck up. Someone without so many fucking issues.

He could feel the blood dripping down his face and leg, but refused to make himself consciously aware of it.

This is what you deserve, JJ.

This is what you deserve.

•••

Twenty-eight hours. That’s how long it’d been since John B last saw JJ. The moment he walked out the door John B kicked himself for it.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually said that to JJ. ‘You’re going to end up just like your dad.’ He couldn’t think of a worse thing to say to JJ.

It’d overall been a shit week, and John B knew that he was sleep deprived and irritable from everything that’d gone on, not like that was any excuse for what he’d done.

As time ticked by, John B just kept going over everything he’d done wrong in the past week.

You’re going to end up just like your dad. We’re sick of your shit.

Not to mention the time he grabbed JJ by the collar of his shirt and shoved him up against the wall. The way JJ flinched and seemed to shrink into himself, immediately casting his eyes down, was an image John B couldn’t get out of his head. He knew better than to touch JJ without explicitly asking or giving him plenty of forewarning, let alone grab him out of nowhere while he was angry.

God, JJ looked so scared in that moment, and John B couldn’t even believe he’d just made the person he cared about most in the world feel threatened by him. And JJ didn’t even look like he’d fight back. He looked like he was bracing himself, ready to take whatever harm was to come to him.

JJ put so much trust in John B, letting him be in control of their most intimate time together. JJ once told him that he felt the most safe when he was around John B, and he heard all of the words not said in that one sentence. I trust you. I trust you to have power over me, emotionally and physically. I trust you enough to be vulnerable, knowing that I won’t get hurt. Knowing that you won’t hurt me.

And John B felt like within the span of a week, he’d destroyed all of that.

Just come home, just come home, just come home. Please, JJ, just come back to me.

The sun was starting to set, and John B was getting even more antsy. They’d never had a fight that kept JJ away for longer than a day or so, which meant that John B already knew where JJ was, even though he didn’t want to believe it.

Shit, shit, shit…

John B headed toward the door of the chateau, flinging it open on a mission to save JJ when he looked up.

Oh thank god.

JJ was standing on his porch, hand clutching his side and a couple butterfly bandages over his eyebrow and cheek. His shirt was torn, displaying the three developing bruises John B could see, meaning there were probably at least twice as many he couldn’t see.

John B’s mouth was hanging open, stopped dead in his tracks, unable to find the words to tell JJ how sorry he was and how much he wished he could’ve been better and how-

But his train of thought was cut off when JJ took two big strides towards him, smashing their lips together like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His hands were gripping onto John B’s sides, wadding up the cloth in his fists, and moved the pair of them back into the chateau, kicking the door shut with his foot.

JJ backed John B into the nearest wall, the intensity of the kiss momentarily distracting John B from the bigger situation at hand. JJ tugged John B’s shirt up, helping him out of it.

As they parted to remove the garment, John B tried to get JJ’s attention. “JJ-”

He didn’t let him get any more words out, though, pressing their lips back together the moment he could.

John B knew that JJ had a lot of pent up anger toward his father, toward the kooks, toward the world. He knew that JJ put on a show of being powerful, untouchable, even. JJ wanted others to think he was always in complete control, and while unhinged at times, a force to be reckoned with. JJ wanted others to think he was strong, and John B knew that was because of how frequently he was told he was weak.

John B thought JJ was as tough as they came. He was sure that if anyone else had been dealt the hand JJ had, they’d be doing a hell of a lot worse, and was impressed by his boyfriend on the daily.

But John B always thought JJ was the strongest when he was the most vulnerable, when he was with him, making this new dominant side of JJ concerning. JJ liked losing control and letting his guard down when he was with John B, letting John B take the lead. Right now, though, JJ was putting his walls back up, the tough act coming out. That’s how John B knew shit had really gotten bad, and he couldn’t help but blame himself for it.

John B tried again, “JJ.” He got the same reaction he did the first time, a non answer. John B delicately placed his hands on JJ’s shoulders, creating just a few inches of space between them as he finally got his attention. “JJ, JJ, slow down. I’ve been worried about you. What is going on, what hap-”

“John B,” JJ cut him off with a low, abnormally calm voice. John B stared in silence, growing even more concerned and confused by the look of intensity in his eyes. “Shut up.”

John B knew that at the end of the day, he’d do whatever JJ asked of him, but it didn’t stop him from trying to get more information. “JJ, I just-”

“Please,” JJ almost pleaded, gazing deep into his eyes. “Give me tonight.” John B stared at his boyfriend for a few more seconds before nodding his head. “Tell me if things get too-”

“I know,” John B assured, remembering the safe word they’d established early on in their relationship, South, and the one time JJ had to use it. He’d had a panic attack, mumbling something about a flashback, but John B had never gotten anything more than that.

With the green light, JJ slipped his tongue back into John B’s mouth, cool rings on his hand pressing into his neck, using his body to push John B back against the wall.

JJ was running his hands all over John B’s exposed chest, John B slowly moving his hands up to place on JJ’s waist. The moment he made the slightest contact though, JJ flinched away, grabbing both of his wrists and pinning them to the wall.

His grip was unfaltering, and stronger than usual, and JJ held his wrists there as he started kissing down John B’s body, pausing to suck and graze his teeth over a few spots.

Reaching the waistband of John B’s shorts, JJ moved his grip from John B’s wrists in order to yank his shorts and underwear down. John B’s hands started to tingle, unaware until just then that JJ had been gripping so tight it started cutting off blood flow.

JJ, now on his knees, started pumping his hand slowly up and down John B’s half-hard shaft, the contact sending a shiver down his spine.

At one point, John B couldn’t stop the small jerk of his hips toward JJ, which was the wrong thing to do, as JJ’s crushing grip was back, both hands holding onto his hips and slamming them back into the wall. JJ resorted to using his mouth instead, lips wrapping around the tip and hollowing his cheeks. John B tossed his head back, harder than he intended, making a somewhat painful contact with the wall. JJ started bobbing his head up and down at a faster pace, only breaking contact once to wet two of his fingers which he circled around John B’s hole.

John B could see the contractions of JJ’s biceps, and almost felt his fingers shaking against him. He was confused at first about what it meant, but soon figured out that he was holding back. JJ had always been the dominant one in his flings with girls, but had never been in this position with John B before. He could tell that JJ wasn’t going as far as he wanted to, that he was restraining himself from taking what he wanted.

John B wanted to know everything that JJ had to give, and acknowledged, in almost a challenge-like way, “You’re holding back on me.”

Within a flash, JJ stood up, threading his fingers through John B’s hair to yank his head back, his other hand keeping it’s harsh grip on his hip. John B whimpered at the sensations.

Looking down on him, JJ demanded, “Is that not what you want?”

John B thought it wasn’t, but seeing him now, and knowing how much darkness he has, there was a fraction of a second where he wanted to change his mind. But the second passed and John B still wanted to see all of JJ, every dark and twisted corner, everything he hadn’t seen before. And he could tell that it was taking a lot of effort for JJ to restrain himself, too much effort. John B wanted him to let go.

He shook his head, voice coming out as only a small whisper, “It’s not what you want either.”

It was like flipping a switch. With force, JJ dragged him by his hair to the bedroom, and once inside, threw John B onto the mattress.

It felt a little unfair, John B completely exposed in front of JJ while he still had his shorts and shirt on. It was getting dark now, the sun having completely set over the water, leaving only the light of twilight to illuminate JJ’s face as he climbed over John B.

He quickly coated his fingers with the lube from the bedside table before shoving them into John B. With his other hand, JJ was tugging his own shorts down and reached for a condom. He had to remove his fingers from John B to put it on, causing John B to squirm in his absence.

Without any forewarning, and barely any time to adjust, JJ was pushing into John B, drawing a small whine from his kiss-swollen lips.

JJ set a bruising pace, leaving John B gasping for air. “JJ-” he choked out.

“Is this what you wanted?” JJ hissed, hand snaking up to wrap around John B’s throat. “You wanted to see just how fucked up I am?”

JJ’s grip was getting tighter, his pace faster, as he kept talking. “Well, Maybanks are only good for one thing, so you’re right. I will end up just like him some day. I already am like him. A fucked up monster.”

“J, no, that’s not-” John B started to say, as he reached a hand up to grab JJ’s wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip.

“Don’t touch me!” JJ yelled. John B removed his hand like he’d been burned. “Don’t you get it? I ruin everything I touch!”

John B’s face was starting to flush, his head getting fuzzy. He could only concentrate on the cool rings digging into his neck and the words JJ was saying, sounding farther and farther away.

“Have you ever experienced death before?” JJ whispered like a threat next to his ear. “Because I have. I can show you.”

“Jayj-” John B pleaded, using his last reserve of breath. “S..so-south.”

And just like that, JJ was off him, backing himself against a wall as far away from John B as possible. John B took a deep, shuddering breath and swallowed, closing his eyes until the fuzziness in his head subsided.

When he felt like he could think again, he sat up and looked around the room for JJ. He was crouched in a dark corner of the room, head in his hands, knees trying to block his face.

“JJ,” John B said with a scruffy voice, standing up to walk over to his boyfriend. He slid down the wall until he was seated next to JJ, sure to leave enough room for him to move without touching him. JJ curled into himself even more, leaning away from John B. “JJ, please look at me.”

JJ did as he asked, alluring blue eyes shimmering with tears, a dramatic difference from the dark, intense orbs of only a few seconds before.

“I’m okay,” John B assured.

JJ shook his head, eyes roaming over his hands, and hiccupped, “I hurt you.”

“You didn’t, I promise. I’m okay, I’m right here,” John B told him.

JJ’s eyes were panicked as he scanned over John B’s body. John B followed his gaze, evaluating the already forming marks on his hips and wrists. He was sure that JJ’d left a handprint on his neck, too, which was where JJ’s gaze lingered the longest. “No. I hurt you. I need to leave.”

JJ stood up, making a noise of discomfort as he did so, and hurried toward the door. John B was behind him in an instant and put his hand on the door. JJ stopped in his tracks, taking a step back from John B and looked back at the ground.

JJ was shutting down, John B knew that, and he knew that he had to reach him fast before he went completely under. “JJ,” John B whispered, “Can I… Can I touch you?”

JJ didn’t answer, but he didn’t back away or say no. John B slowly raised his arm, hovering his hand before JJ. “Is this going to be okay?”

JJ nodded, and before John B could fully process it, JJ was throwing himself into his arms, clinging to him like he never had before. He started sobbing, forehead pressed against his chest, and John B couldn’t hold back the tears that slipped down his own cheeks.

“How can anyone ever trust me if I can’t even be trusted around you?” JJ choked out. John B wasn’t sure if he’d heard him right, because he was speaking so quietly, but he thought he heard him ask ‘how can I trust myself?’

John B walked the two of them backwards toward the bed, sitting down as gently as possible. He attempted to pull away from JJ, but JJ held onto him. Tilting JJ’s head up, he pressed a kiss to his forehead, then promised, “I’ll be right back.”

John B walked over to put on a new pair of boxers before grabbing the first aid kit, and returned to where JJ was on the corner of the mattress. He lifted JJ’s shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

It hadn’t been this bad in a while. There were four purple, fist-sized bruises littering JJ’s torso, a yellowish one on the back of one of his shoulder blades, and a cut along the top of JJ’s shoulder down his tricep, not to mention the cuts he’d already bandaged himself over his eyebrow and cheek. John B coaxed JJ out of his shorts, which displayed something even worse.

There was a giant stack of gauze covered by a poor wrap job below JJ’s hip, reaching down the side of his thigh. “J… what… what happened?”

“He uh… he um… uh,” JJ trailed off, swiping at his nose. John B stayed silent, giving JJ time to put the words together in his head. “He called me… he said I was a dirty fag and that anyone who wanted to be with me was lying and using me because who would ever actually want to be around me? And then he made me…” JJ shuddered out a sigh and shook his head. “And then he tore his beer can in half and jammed it into my leg.”

“And you tried to bandage this up by yourself?” John B asked, concern dripping from every word. They both heard the real question, ‘You didn’t come to me?’

JJ shrugged. “I don’t know, I thought… I thought you might be getting tired of having to deal with this.” Having to deal with me.

“I will never get tired of being around you,” John B guaranteed. To emphasize his point, John B placed a kiss on JJ’s lips, then both his cheeks, his closed eyelids, down his neck. “I love you, JJ. There will never be a moment when that is not true.” Kissing across JJ’s cut shoulder and down his shoulder blade, John B felt him start to relax. He brushed his lips as delicately as he could over the bruises he found there, then traveled down his torso to do the same. “I love every inch of you. Every corner of your mind.”

“That’s the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard,” JJ said with a small laugh.

John B smiled, looking up at JJ through his eyelashes. “I know. Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

JJ brought John B up to kiss him, a finger under his chin, pulling him as close as he could.

When they parted, JJ whispered, “I love you too.”

They stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at each other with small smiles for a while before John B said, “Let’s get you patched up.”

•••

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you thought, feedback is appreciated. :)

Find me on AO3 at the same username.

#jj outer banks #obx fanfiction #outer banks imagines #jj maybank imagine #jj x john b #outer banks #jj maybank x john b #john b routledge #outer banks imagine #obx #jj obx #john b obx #obx imagine #jj maybank #john booker routledge #john b outer banks #smut #angst

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cherryskyies · 3 years

Note

Hello! I love your writing ^-^! I’m not sure if your requests are open, but if they are, could you do hunter x hunter headcanons for how the adultrio (hisoka, illumi, and chrollo) would react to having (or I guess getting stuck with in hisoka’s case lmao) a soulmate that is weak and has a low pain tolerance? They/them pronouns if you can ^^. Maybe a universe in which killing or being apart/away from your soulmate weakens you? I completely understand if you don’t want to do this request for any reason!

Adult trio with a weak soulmate

This one was pretty fun to do! Thank you for the request and compliment, love <3!

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Chrollo

This man loves it, seriously. You’re like a little puppet for him to play with.

Even if you weren't weak, he would end up taking your nen and rendering you weak. So either way you’d be weak.

You make him feel powerful. There is just something about him being so much stronger than you that really gets him.

Chrollo does take really good care of you, though. You are his number 1 priority, and maybe not for the best reasons, but you’re still number 1 and that’s all that matters.

“Be careful, you wouldn’t want to hurt yourself,” Chrollo said, watching as you almost fell down some stairs.

Chrollo is also very protective over you, amd as long as you're with him, nobody will be able to harm you.

Hisoka

Straight denial. He refuses to believe that his soulmate is someone so weak. It takes him a while to come to terms with it, but once he does? Yikes.

"You're my little doll to break, aren't you?" Hisoka asked, gripping your jaw with his hand.

He would spend a lot of time away from you, seeing just how weak he'd become if he killed you. And, depending on how weak he becomes, he either kills you or locks you away in his home.

He will keep you locked up like an animal 90% of the time. You'd be lucky to see the sky ever again.

In Hisoka's eyes, he's been just fine all these years without you, so why does he need you now?

"Ah, look at you! My little toy."

Illumi

"Well, it could have been worse I suppose," is what Illumi said when he first met you.

Prepare for tons and tons of training. You may be weak now, but Illumi is going to fix that by any means necessary.

He will probably use the pins on you to try and fix you if you don't make dramatic progress in 3 months.

The only reason Illumi doesn't kill you is because you're his soulmate so you'll be useful at some point.

Seriously, it's eat, train, train some more, sleep, repeat. Your only breaks are sleep time and meal time.

He was very disappointed to end up with such a weak partner, but it's not all that bad.

Just like Chrollo, you give him a major power boost. Illumi likes that he could make you do anything he pleases.

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crescentsteel · 3 years

Text

Keeping a Secret - Part 3

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn warnings: lots of swear words, tsukki being a a closet softie wc: 7.3k (Ill just stop apologizing for this long chapter updates at this point)

[a/n]

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist uwu

AO3

Part 2 || Part 4 || masterlist

“Remind me again why are we here.” Tsukishima tells you as soon as he steps foot inside your room.

He scans the room and immediately notices the mess that it is, particularly the top bunk of the bed which he doesn’t doubt must be your share of it.

On the wall on the left side of the room are posters of seascapes and sea animals of different varieties while the desk bolted under it are framed photos of Sendai Frogs. He recognizes them all;, one was taken from the first win of the team on the first year you joined as the manager. The second is a photo of the team at the gym with the new members that year, including Kyoutani who had just recently joined. The last one is a selfie of you on the bus doing a peace sign and winking at the camera while everyone was sleeping.

He kinda feels bad for your roommate now. You’re practically hogging the whole room.

You put down your bag on the floor and shoot him a confused look. “To do our project?”

When you told him to meet in your dorm, he agreed because he thought you meant the common area. After all, he had no reason to think you’d invite him to your room. You two may have disregarded the club incident, tucking it away as a sordid memory from a night of insanity, but that doesn’t mean it is forgotten. However, that doesn’t seem to be the case with you as you appear to genuinely find nothing wrong with the current situation.

You seat yourself at your table, taking out your laptop and notes from the trip last time.

“Go sit, Tsukishima,” you say without even looking at him as you spread out your notes on the table’s surface as your laptop boots up.

“We could’ve just done this in the library, or at least in the lobby,” he says as a matter-of-factly.

“True, but I also don’t see any problem with doing it here,” you answer passively, still occupied with arranging your papers.

He was right. It really does not bother you at all. So, he shouldn’t be bothered with it either. This way, at least, no one would see you and him together. You’re a person he doesn’t want to be associated with hanging around with anyways.

“Do you always invite your groupmates to your room?” He asks out of curiosity since it didn’t seem like anything for you to just invite him in, as if you didn’t care much about your privacy.

“Hmm. Depends,” you answer.

He takes out his own laptop, but still eyes you as he prods further. “On what?”

The curve of your lips tugs up slightly as you sit up straight and lift your gaze away from the notes you took out and finally turn your attention to him.

“I welcome those who won’t get handsy with me.”

“Even if you’re the one who’d get handsy with them?” he boldly counters.

You cock your head to the side with hints of amusement playing across your features, which vexes him. The question was supposed to tear your composure, not entertain you.

“Alright, let’s get the fucking elephant out of the room since it bothers you so much,” you announce with levity.

If you’re going to be honest, the kiss still finds its way to your mind sometimes. You just keep pushing it off so that you won’t get stressed out by it. What you find interesting is that he still keeps shoving that fact that you kissed him as if you wanted to do so.

Well, you literally did kiss him, but it’s not like you sought for it prior to the incident.

It just … happened.

“I’ll come clean, good sir, if you’ll allow me,” you declare sarcastically before setting a more serious tone. “I admit it. It was one hell of a mistake to kiss you. But I didn’t mean to. As ridiculous as it sounds, I really didn’t. It was just one of those stupid, off-the-cuff things people do.”

Your voice takes an accusatory note when you ask, “And why do you sound like I harassed you or something? Hmm? ‘Cause if I remember correctly.”

You cross your arms and look up, pretending to be deep in thought before facing him again with a fraudulent shock. “Oh right!” you exclaim exaggeratedly. “You kissed me back,” you add in almost a sing-song manner.

You put an elbow on the table and rest your cheek on your palm as you hold his glare with a snide grin. “How about that?”

He continues shooting daggers at you but you don’t falter. Quite soon enough, he lets up and returns to the passive, apathetic face he usually wears, which signals your victory for the argument. “Like you said, it was one of those dumb on the spot whims.”

You nod agreeably. “Alright, great. Now that that has been established, let me reassure you. It’s never ever gonna happen again. Ever.”

Your eyes are devoid of any humor while your words drip with firm resolve. Yet, he finds it off that you’re not asking him to do the same given that you both just agreed that you are equally accountable for that imprudent act. He is almost just as guilty.

“Aren’t you going to ask the same from me?”

Your somber expression breaks into a humored one as a laugh rumbles from your throat. You shake your head in comical delight while you look at him. “No, I won’t. Actually...” you drift off as you scoot closer to him until you’re right beside him. “Give it your best shot.”

You close your eyes and tilt your chin up. Did you really just dare him to kiss you? Kiss those stupid lips and have a repeat of that appalling night?

Should he?

He would do it just to erase the smug off your face, just to prove you wrong. But similar to that night, he can’t bring himself to do it. He hates the idea of instigating such a thing.

Even more so now that he’s already had a taste of those lips. Those lips that felt too exquisite that it infuriated him. Those lips that took away his logical thinking. With you offering those lips to him so generously, you make him hate them even more. That pretty face and that playful smile of yours do nothing but add to his fury.

“Can you get your face away from me?”

You peek one eye open before bursting into laughter, making his displeasure towards you skyrocket. Why the fuck is he always your laughing stock?

“See? This is why I don’t mind you coming over, Tsukishima. I bet if I strip naked right now, you’d walk out in a heartbeat.”

His scowl deepens. The mental image of your unclad body is very much unwelcome and unappreciated. “Bring that up again and I really will leave,” he snaps.

Even with your smile intact, your humored expression dissolves a bit and is replaced by a curious guise.

“You know, everyone likes me except you,” you say with no shred of diffidence.

You really are full of yourself. You might be ‘likeable’ for a lot of people, but that doesn’t mean every single person you meet actually likes you. He’s certain there are people who you rub off the wrong way -- people like him.

“Isn’t that a bit too conceited, even for you?”

You shrug your shoulders indifferently. “Maybe so. But you’re the only person who shoves your blatant dislike on my face.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it for the past three years,” he replies as he flips his laptop open and boots it up so he can turn his attention somewhere other than you.

“I didn’t need to work with you like this for the past three years.”

He doesn’t know where you’re going with the conversation so he doesn’t respond anymore. He’s certain you know why he finds you a pain in the neck. You constantly get on his grill with every opportunity you get. Maybe if you didn’t, he could actually tolerate your topsy turvy persona. But it’s as if it’s your personal mission to aggravate him.

“I’m putting the deal I offered during the trip,” you announce.

“What deal?” he asks as he starts typing bullet points of what should be done today so he can go home already.

“Forget I’m the annoying manager when it’s just us two. And I won’t deliberately piss you off.”

He types the last bullet point before returning his attention on you. “Then what? I suddenly become nice to you?”

“Hell no! I’m not asking for a fucking miracle. It’s not like you’re ever nice to anybody. Geez!” you explain derisively. “I just want us to have a conversation where you’re not giving me death glares.”

You give him a smile, one that lacks your usual haughtiness. Still, he can’t tell if you’re being serious or if you’ll actually manage to hold the deal you’re proposing. Truth be told, he wants it. He can’t handle you being your usual if you two have to meet beyond training hours and, even worse, in private.

If this keeps up, he might end up cursing this subject by the end of the semester, which would be a waste because likes this subject way too much for you to taint it with your idiocy.

“Deliver your end of the bargain. Then you’ll have mine.”

Your eyes twinkle with glee at his semi-approval. “We have a deal then.”

You go back to where you’re seated a while ago and proceed to start discussing at hand.

With the start of the game season, training has become more intense. Coach Mira had the team work on the weak points she identified with the help of the data you tallied from last season’s games.

“Kyoutani! Do not lower those arms just yet. Keep those elbows up when you block,” Coach yells at him, as Kogane spiked from the other side of the court.

She looks over at the other players practicing their jump serves. She furrows her brows at something. Following her line of sight, you see that it falls on Tsukishima.

On his next serve, the ball spins ferociously but is of low height that it hits the middle of the night.

“Y/n,” Coach calls out. She didn’t have to say anything else as she cocks her head to Tsukishima’s direction with a telling expression on her face. She’s asking you to handle him, and you know exactly why.

Before he can toss the ball for another jump serve, you yell out merrily which you know will definitely catch his ears, “ Tsukki!! ” and jog to where he is. His blank expression turns into a scowl when you reach him.

“Can you stop calling me that?”

“You’re so mean. Aren’t we close enough for me to call you ‘ Tsukki ’?.” You ask with a dramatic pout and exaggerated false woes that he visibly cringes after hearing it.

He doesn’t respond to your pretentious act. “Why are you here?”

You instantly lose the cheeky act and get to what Coach Mira wants to let him know. You’re just going to twist the words a bit to his ‘liking.’

This is the problem you noticed with Tsukishima, one worse than his rotten way of interacting with the team. He can be incredibly unmotivated at times, and when he is, he only gives the bare minimum amount of effort.

It’s the one thing you can say you truly dislike about him because he’s a professional athlete for crying out loud. It doesn’t matter if he’s unmotivated, uninspired, or doesn’t feel like trying. He should be disciplined enough to push himself to put as much work as he usually does when training.

“You’re not going to get those serves in with that half-assed attitude of yours,” you say sternly while you eye him with a threatening stare.

His face scrunches in utter displeasure. He’s well aware that he’s not feeling his best today and he’d rather do blocking drills for the whole raining than do ten consecutive jump serves.

“Since enthusiasm is the answer to everything else, why don’t you try it?” He bites back, which you obviously weren’t expecting. He’s always irritated when you point out his mistakes, but thus far he has always stayed silent.

Maybe the amount of time you’re spending together outside the gymnasium has made him reach the limit of his patience… which isn’t even a lot to begin with.

“Are you serious?” you ask incredulously.

Of course he wasn’t. You might have some sort of experience with volleyball (although he doesn’t know to which extent), but jump serves are difficult. The coordination of the toss and the run up to hit it at the right angle is aggravatingly hard to pull off, especially for him since jump serves need tons of practice.

He detests the practice for it; he needs to run, jump, and swing his arm over and over. It is boring and tiring for him because it is purely based on physical prowess, compared to practicing blocking where he’s actually thinking.

He thought you’d leave him alone when you stepped away. Instead, you come back with a ball in your hand. You dribble it off the floor with unbendable focus as if you’re trying to recall something.

“Are you serious?” he’s the one who asks this time. He was just fucking around. He didn’t expect you’d actually respond to his provocation.

“Yep,” you answer with your full concentration on the ball in your hand as you spin it vertically. Some of the players notice what you’re up to and briefly stop what they’re doing to watch.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You bat them open with burning determination before you toss the ball.

Instead of watching the ball, he watches your form. There’s no trace of awkwardness in your movements, almost like you’ve done this frequently before. The three-step approach is nearly perfect as you propel yourself up to jump.

The sharp sound of the ball hitting your hand causes the rest of the gym to look at you. The ball spins ferociously at a height he’s not sure is sufficient to get over the other side of the court. He wishes it won’t. That would be the second worst thing you could ever do to him, the first one being that certain occurrence he’d rather not think about again.

You falter on your feet when you descend from your leap but you immediately look up to see if your serve makes it. Everyone else, including him, is on the edge as they watch whether the ball will get in or not.

It roughly scrapes the edge of the net, effectively thwarting its velocity. Still, it bounces off and lands inside the opposing court, causing the rest of the team to cheer you on as the ball hits the floor.

You seem to forget for a short while that you did it to spite him as your face beams with inexplicable joy while his contorts with ire.

Even if the momentum of the ball was broken, you still managed to get it over - the one thing he hadn’t been able to do from his last eight attempts. Meanwhile, you did it on your first.

You definitely had a lot of experience in high school. No beginner can manage to do a jump serve like that, even if it was flawed.

‘Shit,’ he silently curses when you face him with a cocky grin disguised as a pleasant one.

“Who knew that my experience being an outside hitter and captain of my high school team would still be useful as your manager?” you ask as you slowly walk towards him.

He doesn’ expect that your knowledge about the sport came from first-hand experience. He thought you’re manager of another team previously or just a crazy volleyball enthusiast.

You pick up another ball and softly push it against his rib as you look up to him with contempt. “Don’t tell me I can do better than you,” you spur him on with squinted eyes.

He snatches the ball away from your hands and steps back from the serving line. He spins the ball one time and tosses it high. Instead of a three-step approach, he makes it a four to increase his vertical jump. He tosses it high enough and channels all his rage for you at the ball.

With how high he jumped, the ball easily goes over the net. Its trajectory curves when it crosses over and hits a spot a little bit just beyond the end line.

He clenches his fist at his another failed attempt despite exerting more than necessary effort for that shot. He avoids looking at you for he’d be put in an even worse mood if sees that taunting grin of yours.

But of course you had to make yourself seen and intentionally go in front of him with an impressed look in your face instead of a condescending one.

“That was great! Holy shit. It was just a smidge out. Wow.” You applaud him earnestly, and as much as he despises it, it makes him a little less bad about that missed shot.

“Can you leave me alone now?” He drives you away to fend off the stupid feeling. He’d rather you just walk away and don’t say anything. “Not like that serve mattered,” he mutters in annoyance.

“What are you talking about? It was awesome!” you yell out with your eyes shining with flagrant admiration, which annoyingly strokes his ego.

“Just a bit less and it would have been in a spot difficult to return,” you remark as you pat his shoulders approvingly before heeding his request to leave and go back to where Coach is.

“Sorry, Coach. I distracted everyone else,” you scratch your head with an apologetic smile when you return.

“I’d tell you off, but everyone seems more motivated now, so good work I guess,” she commends you with a satisfactory tone.

“He looks really pissed though,” Coach Mira adds as she glances at the blonde middle blocker.

“More than you know, Coach,” you reply with a wide smile as he serves another ball and gets it in this time.

Prior to your meeting with Tsukishima today, you proposed to finish the project as soon as possible so you can both focus on other other uni subjects on top of training hours. He immediately agreed, which didn’t surprise you because even though it’s not game season, you’re pretty sure he can’t wait to stop having to see you.

The project’s deadline is in three months, but you believe you can finish it in less than two if you meet up at least twice a week to work on it.

It should be okay, given that you both agreed to have a truce of some sort from the usual dynamic of your relationship. You actually think that it’s not going to work out smoothly, but you still suggested it with the hopes of decreasing his animosity towards you. Yes, it’s fun and amusing most of the time, but outside the gym where you’re just a classmate and not his manager, it’s kinda draining to deal with it.

“Won’t your roommate mind if there’s a stranger in your room?” he asks as he sits down and rummages through his bag.

“Oh.” You thought he already figured it out because he didn’t ask about it on his first visit. “Didn’t I tell you before? I don’t have a roommate.”

His eyes immediately go to your bunk bed that you didn’t bother getting replaced because it’s convenient when you’re too tired. You usually just mindlessly throw your stuff at the top bunk for a later clean-up.

“Wanted the whole room to myself,” you add.

“Spoiled, little rich brat, aren’t you?” He really doesn’t have much basis for his statement. He just wants to say something nasty and sneer at you because he wants to get back at how you called him out during training the other day.

When he meets your gaze, you raise an eyebrow at him, reminding him about your agreement while working on the project. He purses his lips to the side and returns to his passive expression without saying anything. You roll your eyes in response.

“Well if being a scholar while working as your manager is being a spoiled rich brat, then by all means. Do consider me one,” you answer before looking back on your screen.

He would have never thought you were a university scholar. You don’t look like the type. You’re way too carefree and all over the place. He would’ve thought it was a joke, if not for the tiny offended glint he caught when he said you’re a spoiled brat.

That’s exactly the reaction he wants to get from you, yet it didn’t feel satisfactory. On the contrary, it’s making him feel like a prick. He is being one, but he doesn’t expect to feel like one, especially towards you who does nothing but get on his skin.

Still, hell would freeze over before he apologizes. Instead, he prods on the topic.

“Why would you even work as a manager if you’re already a scholar?”

It doesn’t make sense to him. You don’t need the work if your university fees are already waived. It will just pile on to the academic requirements you will need to maintain.

Your hand stops scrolling on your mouse as your eyes soften, still remaining on your laptop. “Cause I love it,” you utter like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

The look in your eyes is instantly replaced by mockery when you lift them to meet his.

“Someone’s being inquisitive today.”

He gets his headphones out and plugs it to his laptop. He really is curious why you chose you to be their manager, but you just had to be an obnoxious bitch and break the agreement you offered to him just the other day.

He knows you’re too much of a chaos to actually pull it off, so instead of wasting his energy by being irritated by you for the day, he’d rather pretend you’re not there.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” you say loudly with a wide smile, yet he can see the sincerity of the apology through the slight panic in your orbs. You must have realized he’s had enough of your shit. “My bad. Old habits hard.” You laugh nervously.

You speak again when he puts down his headphones on the table. “I may have quit the sport, but I still love it. I love taking care of players like you guys who have the same passion for it.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’s worth it,” he comments with unheld honesty. You could have a lot of time off of your hands if you quit being their manager. You don’t even need the job.

You plant your hands on the floor and lean back as your gaze drifts to the photos of the team displayed on your desk.

“You might be right. A marine science student dedicating her time on sports even though she’s not an athlete? It does sound impractical. But,” you revert your eyes back to him as you continue on, “it makes me happy. That alone makes it worth it. Even if I don’t get paid, I’d still do it.”

Your face glows with pride and joy with your last statement, completely undeterred by his earlier cynicism. If anything, you look even more convinced that you’re doing the right thing.

He can’t tell if he finds it admirable or disturbing. Probably the latter.

“There’s more to life than just sleep, study, and survive, don’t you think?”

It was a rhetorical question that he would’ve still refuted if someone told him that years ago. Back in his freshman year in high school, he thought overzealous passion was stupid. Unless an individual is some sort of prodigy, it wouldn’t get them anywhere even if they keep trying to death.

Still, he put in a lot of work -- more than he should -- when he was playing in Karasuno. What was just a club became entirely something else for him, which, up until now, he still hasn’t put quite a finger on.

When he graduated from Karasuno, he wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to continue playing, but there was a nagging feeling behind his head that he shouldn’t. He thought that that part of his life was already over and while it was good while it lasted, it was time to move one.

Yet, when he was handed out an application form for the university’s college team, he found himself grabbing the sheet of paper.

He didn’t have any reason to pursue it beyond high school. He knows he’s good, but he’s not that good. He was at university already. It was time to focus on his future and ignore the itch to hold the ball with five other players on his side of the court.

What’s even more absurd was the next day, he submitted the application form and tried out for the team. He said to himself it wouldn’t hurt to go on playing until he has finally had enough. He’d just ride it out until he got tired of it.

In his sophomore year, he was scouted by Sendai Frogs and that’s when he knew that the unreasonable passion he has for volleyball is not going to go away. Even now in his graduating semester, he’s still not ready to give it up.

He won’t admit it in your face, but, in a way, he can agree with what you just said. Life is more than just getting by and surviving. That’s the only reason he can think of to justify his choice to continue volleyball: so that he wouldn’t have this constant dissonance that pursuing the sport is a vacuous path he’s treading on.

“Anyways, back to work now, yeah?”

You smile briefly at him and return to the research you’re tasked to do. He puts his headphones back in his bag and gets back to his own task as well.

He thought all is well and you won’t pester him until you both finish what you’re supposed to accomplish for the day. Unfortunately, he thought wrong.

You suddenly close your laptop and start whining.

“Tsukki.”

As usual, he does his best to not acknowledge your existence.

“Tsukkiii, ” you whine louder.

For the love of God, you sound the most annoying when you use his nickname. Even though you’ve used it several times now, he’s still not used to it. In fact, he does not believe he will ever get used to it. Shimizu and Yachi not even once called him that, and they were more respectable managers than you are. Sort of. It doesn’t matter that you’re more active and hands on when managing the team.

“Tsuuuk -”

“What?!” You successfully manage to get his eyes off the screen.

“I’m bored,” you pout.

He glares at you unbelievably. What are you, a five-year-old?

“And that is my problem, how?” he asks with disdain.

“Aren’t you getting tired?” you ask back, unfazed by his blatant irritation. But then again, you never are.

He is getting tired too, but he’d rather drag his brains and eyes out than rest and extend the time he’s going to spend with you.

“Let’s take a break, please, ” you cry out with pleading eyes.

“I don’t care what you do. Just leave me out of it.” He puts his attention back on his laptop and looks for the journal article he found significant among the other tabs he opened.

“I’ll feel guilty if I see you still at it while I goof around,” you admit.

He really couldn’t care any less. None of what you’re blabbering about is any of his concern. If you keep at it, he’ll just take out his headphones again to drown out your childish whining.

“I know!” You suddenly perk up. “Let’s review for our quiz,” you suggest eagerly. “We have one tomorrow, right?”

He almost smirks at your suggestion, but he manages to suppress it. He’d rather not let you see that he’s pleasantly amused with your suggestion.

He didn’t expect that that was your idea of taking a break. He thought you were going to propose something completely absurd like watch stupid videos online because that’s something he could totally see you doing on your free time.

But yeah, he can definitely use a review. It would be a productive break from the strenuous researching and writing you two have been doing.

Even though he still hasn’t verbally agreed, you continue on. “To make it interesting, there’s a penalty for every wrong answer.”

He sits up straight, pushing his glasses closer to his face as you successfully gain his full attention. “What penalty?”

Your smile widens when you realize that he’s finally acknowledging your idea of taking a break.

“Okay, okay.” You rub your hands together in excitement before you clasp them together. “For every wrong answer you get, you need to say something nice about me. And of course vice versa.”

He scowls at the idea. “I prefer the opposite. Get the answer wrong and you get insulted. That sounds more of a punishment.”

You shake your head with your lips pressed into a thin line from disapproval. “Nope. If I get even one wrong answer. I’m sure you’ll get into a litany of rude shit you piled up against me over the years. And I’ll just sit here uncaringly receiving your fury. Does that excite you?”

Hell no. It will infuriate him even more if he throws something at you and you just take it apathetically. But he still doesn’t agree with your initial mechanics. It’s not fair to him.

“No, it doesn’t. But the consequence of a wrong answer is too easy for you.”

You place a palm on your chest and gape at him. “Me? Too easy for me ?”

You break into a boisterous laugh while still maintaining eye contact with him. He just stares back at you stupefied with no idea what you found so hilarious.

“Tsukishima,” you say after recovering from your disparaging hoots of laughter. “I can think of literally one nice thing about you. Maybe two if I tried hard enough,” you explain with your face still crinkled with the laughter you’re trying hard to contain.

If you’re trying to provok him to take on your challenge, you definitely succeeding. “Fine,” he hisses.

Your laughter is completely thwarted when your eyes widen with delight as he succumbs to your plan.

“Great! Okay, two more rules. One, objective questions only. Two, we can’t say anything that involves Volleyball. For example, you can’t tell me that I’m a great manager, because I’m very much aware of that already, okay?”

His frown only deepens from your conceitedness, only to realize that that’s the only aspect of you he’d consider complimenting you about.

“But there is nothing else nice about you other than that,” he says without any trace of sarcasm or ridicule, only stating what he considers the truth.

But you don’t take any offense in his statement. You’re expecting as much. That’s why you added two more rules to push the both of you to take the review seriously.

“Better not get anything wrong then,” you counter easily because it’s as simple as that. It’s a review just for a quiz after all. He shouldn’t be that worried.

“Thirty minutes to review. Then let’s start the quiz?”

You take that he’s fine with it since he closes his laptop and gets his set of notes from his bag.

You get your phone and set a thirty minute timer. You do just as he does and focus on your own notes, skimming over the last two chapters covered during lectures. You concentrate on your learning materials but the alarm sets off after what seemed like ten minutes to you.

You frantically check your phone to see if you put the wrong time, but you didn’t. Thirty minute have indeed passed.

When you glance at Tsukishima, he’s already looking at you with crossed arms and a self-satisfied smirk. He must have finished before the timer went off. He wouldn’t have that smug expression if not.

Even though you haven’t fully gone over the last parts of the lesson covered, you can’t help but be enlivened at how competitive he is. He must really hate losing.

You notice it too with the way he plays volleyball. He might look calm on the surface, but you know he wants to crush his opponents. And right now, that opponent is you.

His muted excitement affects you. Even though you’re not totally prepared, you’re confident with your own wits.

“Ladies first, so go ahead, Tsukishima.”

He clicks his tongue, his usual habit when he’s irked with something, but this one was forced to make it appear as if he didn’t like what you said. But you can tell that he doesn’t give a shit about that and he actually can’t wait to ask away just to so you can get it wrong.

Unfortunately for him though, you two are just exchanging questions when your mini game starts. He answers your questions without hesitation and you do just the same since most of his questions are in your own list that’s supposed to be for him.

“What’s the movable membrane found on the eyes of amphibians?” It’s his sixth question that has you racking your brain for the correct answer. When you don’t respond immediately, he sniggers like he’s already won.

But you do know the answer, or at least the first letter of it. It's the letter N. N-something membrane.

“Nictaling membrane,” you answer unsurely.

The spread of his wicked smile immediately tells you you’re wrong. “It’s nictating,” he corrects you.

“Oh come on! I’m just one letter off,” you strongly reason out.

“Yeah, and that would still be marked wrong in the actual quiz,” he refutes.

Damn it. He’s right. That one letter makes a whole lot of difference your professor will definitely not let go.

He places one elbow on the table and rests his chin at the back of his hand, keeping his eyes trained on you as he silently anticipates for you to pay the price of your penalty.

You bite your lip disquietly when you realize the rule you set was a double-edged sword for you can’t also think of anything nice to say about him. There’s that terrible attitude of his which is usually your source of fun, but not exactly something you can call nice.

You have something in your mind, but your pride won’t let you voice it out.

He starts tapping the table with his fingers. “You’re wasting both our time, y/n.”

You accept your defeat and tell him anyway. “Fine. I think you’re smarter than me,” you confess.

You expect him to agree unanimously, but instead he looks at you stupefied, blinking a few times without saying anything.

“But you’re a scholar,” he remarks. You’re not sure if he just disagreed with you or he’s just putting that fact out in the open.

“Well, yeah. But I’m just really good at studying and have good time management. You’re actually smart. You’re critical with stuff,” you explain.

You cheated a bit with your answer since most of your basis is from volleyball games. Although your trip last time is also proof of that. He provided really good input on how you should go about with the project.

“Okay! Moving on,” you proceed before he can comment further on what you just said and milk it to his benefit.

You ask another question, which he also knows that correct answer to. Originally, you just wanted a fun but effective way of reviewing, but now you kind of want him to get at least one question wrong so you can get even.

“What do you call the structure the lower vertebrae of anurans is fused into?” he asks another difficult question.

You rub your palms on your face, your frustration clouding your mind from recalling what it could possibly be. You push your hair back and sigh when you realize that you’re not getting this one either.

“I don’t know,” you surrender.

His current expression is the most lively one you’ve ever seen from him outside volleyball games, but it isn't a pleasant one. He looks like a villain whose evil master plan is coming to fruition.

Maybe you should’ve just agreed with his earlier suggestion to get insulted when you get it incorrectly. You would’ve just sit it out and brush it off afterwards, not make your brain hurt even more from thinking about non-existent good traits from the guy across your table.

You look around as you desperately try to think of something remotely nice about him.

“Oh,” your eyes meet his right the moment you recall that instance, and form a genuine smile as you remember it once more.

“It was real nice of you to let me lean on you on the way back to Miyagi last week.”

He removes his elbow from the table and fixes his posture, losing the lax and confident aura he had two questions ago.

“You would have woken up face down on the bus floor if I didn’t,” he says defensively as if what he did needs that explanation for it to be acceptable.

You honestly thought he’d rather let you fall flat on the floor. You’re about to ask him back then if he was sure, but you just accepted his angry, yet generous offer which you didn’t expect to come from him.

“I know. I just didn’t think you’d let me rest on your shoulder, so thanks,” you say earnestly, not a trace of your usual cheekiness present.

“It felt nice and comfortable” you add reservedly. You’ve been wanting to thank him but you didn’t know how to bring it up without being awkward for you’re only used to dealing with grouchy Tsukishima.

It’s only then you realize that despite his palpable dislike towards you, he’s not a complete asshole and still cared enough for your welfare that time.

He remains expressionless with his eyes drifting down to his notes, avoiding your gaze as he does so. “The answer is coccyx, also called urostyle,” he ushers back to the question you got wrong, dismissing what you just divulged, which you’re thankful for because you feel like fidgeting with what just dawned on you.

“My turn again then!” you said too loudly as you try to shake off the feeling and put your focus back on the review.

You read the only item left in your list, still hoping that he gets it wrong since this is the last.

“What part of the amphibian nervous system regulates heart and respiratory rates?”

Unlike previous questions, he doesn’t answer off the bat this time.

“You’re wasting both our time, Tsukishima,” you repeat what he said to you earlier even though it's only been seconds after you uttered your question.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I know the answer,” he declares with reassured confidence. “It’s the cerebrum.”

You decide to hold his gaze for two second before you burst his bubble. “Fucking finally!” you rejoice in his defeat.

“Close enough, Tsukishima. It’s the cerebellum,” you announce all too cheerfully.

He hurriedly gets his notes and cross checks if you’re actually telling the truth. You just watch him scramble with a very pleased smile on your face as he goes rigid.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. He must have seen that you were telling the truth.

You start squirming in your seat. Oh man, you’re way too excited to hear what he has to say about you. You want to egg him on, to tell him to hurry up but that might affect what he’s going to say so you force yourself to shut up.

He raises his gaze at you while you make sure you’re not smiling too wide to annoy him even though you’re reeling from anticipation.

He still doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s thinking based on the way he’s studying your face.

“You have a slightly above average face.”

You run that by again in your head, not understanding what he meant by it at first.

Above average face? Did he just say you’re pretty if translated from a socially incapacitated person’s language? Is that why he was staring so hard at you?

Of all the things he could choose to say something about, he decides to compliment your appearance? You know that you're a bit good-looking, but you don’t think he notices it. He doesn’t seem to be the type to care about that stuff.

Even when you first met, he just looked at you with a vacant expression and greeted you blandly out of courtesy while the rest of the team ogled at you. His apathetic eyes eventually turned scornful over time because of how often you pick on him, and despite that, he does acknowledge that you are pretty.

You’re used to being showered with admiration because of your face so you’ve developed a natural response to it: a gleeful smile with a spritely ‘aww, thanks!’

But with Tsukishima, it doesn’t kick in. Instead, you avert your gaze away from the unwanted fluttering in your chest. You can’t even look him in the eye as you try to collect yourself and think how you’ll respond to that without looking flustered.

What the heck is wrong with you? That could hardly be called a compliment. Now that you think about it, it actually sounded sort of like a product review with its lack of any fondness.

With that in mind, you manage to regain some of your composure and offer him a faint. “Um, thanks.”

Tsukishima looks at his two remaining questions he listed and even though he’s winning the game, he doesn’t feel victorious at all. Your confessions did nothing to make him feel good about himself. They were too sincere that they made him uneasy.

He also doesn’t like that he had to admit you’re pretty. He expected you’re gonna make a fuss about it. He actually would’ve preferred that than you being uncharacteristically embarrassed about it.

Something weird is definitely going on. You’re not acting like yourself and neither is he. There had been too many opportunities to badger you, but he just let them pass by. Same with you. You could have easily teased him about letting you know he finds you attractive.

“I’m out of questions,” he lies to end the damn review.

“Me too, actually,” you say with an apprehensive laugh.

So it’s not just him. You also feel the change in the atmosphere between you two. Your smile is uncertain and you look like you don't know what to do to remedy the situation -- that is, if you even know what’s wrong with it because he sure as hell doesn’t.

But even if he has no idea what’s going on, fortunately, he knows how to end it.

“I’m tired. I’m calling it a day,” he says as he starts packing up his stuff.

You seem to agree since you don’t say anything and just watch him collect his things. You only react when he stands up.

“Oh yeah. Sure!” You stand up as well.

“I can see my way out on my own,” he stops you when you start to head for the door.

You freeze on the spot then nod timidly. “Okay.”

As soon as he steps out and closes the door, you plop yourself back to where you were sitting. You grasp the edges of your table as you softly bang your head against it, gasping a heavy breath of relief when the air becomes undoubtedly lighter after he is gone.

“What the fuck was that?” you mumble with your cheek against the wooden surface.

Part 2 || Part 4 || masterlist

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai @babythotshq @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @geektastic84 @anaiss97 @berna-dette @just4readingfics @suteorra @xxekitten69xx @simp4tsukkii @music-is-all-i-need @keshinslittlegirl @raspberrysunshinebby @iminlovewhaikyuu @pdiddy11 @lightyagamami @sailorscout1902 @lovershaikyuu @expectonothinfromme @mitzuya @yamigoop

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima smut #tsukishima angst #haikyuu x reader #tags pls work

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Text

Title: Lasting Rivalries.

Word Count: 4.0k

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Synopsis: Izuku loves you, but he doesn’t like Katsuki very much. It’s just a shame he can’t separate one feeling from the other.

TW: Kidnapping, Imprisonment, Mentions of Past Assult, Violence, Non-Graphic Injury, Mentions of Drug Use, Implied Death, Unhealthy Relationships, and Delusional Mindsets.

[Part Two]

Within the day, Izuku’s base was abandoned.

It was a temporary measure, he’d explained, just a precaution to make sure Katsuki and all his nasty little friends couldn’t find their way back to his hide-out, which turned out to be a bunker tucked away underneath one of the many discarded office buildings on the edge of the city. It was almost impressive, how with only a wave of his hand, all of his lackeys uprooted themselves from the home they seemed so accustomed to with little more than an exasperated sigh or a remorseful shake of their head. If Izuku had been disappointed, you weren’t able to tell. Despite the rush, the anxiety that came with releasing a scorned hostage, he was all smiles, all gentle touches and soft tones and sentiments so patronizing, you began to think you’d almost prefer his anger.

He knew you were quirkless, now, and there wasn’t an observant civilian in the city who didn’t know about Izuku’s troubled past, of his fondness of those born without a gift. You couldn’t say you blamed him, not if you approached it objectively. It hadn’t been an easy burden to carry, growing up, but you weren’t growing up anymore, you weren’t a kid waiting for a quirk that’d never come or a teenager, balancing the embarrassment of daily life with the humiliation that came with being so undeniably different than your peers, and in such an unhidable way, too. You weren’t over it, but you were past it. You still remembered all those awful, disgusting things people said to you, but you didn’t let them keep you awake at night. You were dealing with it. You were moving forward.

Izuku wasn’t.

He wasn’t even trying to.

But, it wasn’t your place to call him out, not when it came to that, not when you were stuck inside your new prison - someplace just as confining, but only half as tolerable. Technically, it was an improvement. After abandoning his bunker, Izuku’s followers had dispersed, and along with a handful of his closest companions, you’d been taken to a seedy bar on the worse side of town, locked inside of a small, windowless room on the second story and forced to watch as Izuku threw away the key. There were no cards, this time, no unbais locks with a dozen different work-around, just a deadbolt on your door and four-digit code you’d never get the chance to guess at. He wasn’t taking any risks, this time, he wasn’t giving you the smallest opportunity to jump at. It was a new sense of determination that’d come in the form of a shackle around your ankle and a bottle of white, circular pills Izuku forced down your throat every time he took you beyond the confines beyond your four walls. Ones that made you dizzy, weak, sedated. A measure that couldn’t be for your own safety, despite Izuku’s attempts to insist otherwise.

He seemed busier, too, than he was before your abduction. It might just be because you didn’t have anything else to focus on. As far as you could tell, Izuku only let his inner circle know where you were being held, and they still seemed hesitant to do more than deliver your meals or offer a few passive niceties when they were forced to interact with you. Saying your company was limited would’ve been an understatement. He tried to make it up to you with books and gifts and outfits that were more for his enjoyment than yours, but you were lucky if his visits lasted longer than an hour. His wasn’t the face you’d prefer to see on a daily basis, but it was still worrying to have your captor be too preoccupied to serve as a real threat. And when he did make time for you…

Izuku liked to have something to hold on to. He liked to be able to squeeze, and pull, and bruise, even if the pain he caused was more of a byproduct than a goal. His intentions didn’t matter, though, not when his fingertips dug into your thighs, not when his teeth sank into your neck, not when he got a little too excited and only stopped because your complaints had gotten frantic enough to be annoying. You’d learned quickly that Izuku was an affectionate man, but you’d learned even faster that you never wanted to be the one that affection was directed towards. Having him go days at a time without checking in with you was concerning, but having him next to you was unbearable. You tried not to think about it, when you could help it.

Luckily, today was a case of the former, when Izuku had too much on his mind and too little time to sort it out to bother convincing you to love him back. He’d let himself into your room an hour ago, and yet, he hadn’t been able to do more than kiss your forehead and offer a muttered greeting before loosening his tie and setting to pacing, wandering back and forth through the cramped confines of your homey cage. It was starting to scare you. No, it was starting to terrify you. You’d passed the point of just being scared days ago.

You doubted he could say anything to comfort you, but you found yourself talking regardless. If only to fill the silence with something that wasn’t his constant, incoherent mumbling, really. “Something’s going on,” You started, trying to sound more confident than you’d ever be, around him. “Something’s going on, and you’re not telling me about it.”

His answer was automatic, the one he’d given you a thousand times over. “I’m taking care of it, darling.”

“Midoriya, please.” It was more of a plea than a request, an appeal to whatever love he might’ve had for you, whatever trust he might’ve had in you. You weren’t blind, you knew he didn’t think you were strong or capable or of any particular use beyond serving as a particularly high-maintenance ornament, but if he thought you were endearing enough to keep as a companion, he should’ve been able to treat you like a companion, too. “Right now, your safety is my safety. If someone’s going to break down that door and kill both of us…” You trailed off, forcing yourself to let out an airy, humorless laugh. “I should get to know who it’s going to be.”

For a moment, Izuku hesitated, but it was only for a moment. With a small sigh, the tension in his shoulder dissolved, and he took to rubbing the back of his neck, one in a never-ending line of nervous ticks. “It’s really nothing either of us can help,” He insisted, making a half-hearted attempt to break his concerned frown into a small smile. “A lot of my recruits were training to be heroes when I picked them up, did I ever tell you that? I got to most of them too early on for it to be useful, but a few have some experience. It makes it easier to tell with the other side’s planning something, not that they’d ever miss a chance to put on a good show.”

“And it’s been getting worse?” The sentiment left a bitter taste on your tongue. You never thought you’d speak a word against the hero industry, not so generally, but Izuku had a way of rubbing off on you, or the way you spoke, at least.

“It’s certainly busier than it should be,” He admitted, the words grumbled through grit teeth. “I’ve had to lie low, but that makes things difficult. There’s a hierarchy in this city, and people don’t tend to react well when the one on the throne goes into hiding. Weapon distributors aren’t getting their shipments on time, gangs aren’t keeping to their own territory, it’s all devolving into chaos, and all because those bastards can’t take a step back and let me tend to things.”

His hands were curling at his sides, now, his nails driving themselves into his bare palms with so much repressed ferocity, it almost looked painful. It was an impulsive thing to do, an act that’d play right into his delusional little fantasy, but that didn’t stop you from reaching out and taking him by the sleeve, pulling him towards your cot. Your chain rattled as you swung your legs over the side of your bed, but you tried to ignore it, biting the inside of your cheek and letting Izuku fall into place next to you. He didn’t try to resist, only going slack as his head lolled onto your shoulder.

Your next question came reluctantly, guiltily. You couldn’t be sure how long it’d been since you’d last seen Katsuki, but after a month came and went without the slightest hint of your boyfriend, your hopes had dampened, dimmed, turned into something much darker than you’d ever thought they would be. You still knew he’d come back for you. He had to come back, but you couldn’t know when he would. You couldn’t know how he might’ve changed, by the time he did.

You couldn’t know if he’d still be your Katsuki, by then.

“What about Bakugo?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Have you heard anything about him?”

With that, an almost sympathetic aire found its way to his tired expression. Somehow, he found just enough energy to reach up, running his finger through your hair as he drew you closer, his face soon buried in the crook of your neck. You went stiff, but you didn’t shove him away. You knew better than to reject Izuku so blatantly, by now. “You don’t have to worry about Kacchan. I let him get away, but I made sure he didn’t leave unscathed.” There was a pause, a hand finding its way to your hip. You fought not to recoil, and Izuku pretended not to notice. “He only picked up his patrol routes last week, and I’ve been keeping an eye on him. If he wants to get to you, he’ll have to pry you from my cold, dead hands.”

You wanted to ask again. You wanted to ask again, and again, and again until you ran out of breath and Izuku had to decide whether to gag you, starve you, or find a way to combine the two. It was a common choice to get stuck on, whether to quell your paranoia or side with your common sense, but ultimately, Izuku was the one to make the decision for you. It was soft, at first, the feeling of his lips ghosting over your skin, but things with Izuku rarely stayed innocent. Your body was rigid by the time you felt his tongue run over your jugular, your hands on his shoulder as his teeth ghosted over your neck, but by the time you moved to shove him away, he was already clinging to you, snaking an arm around your waist as his teeth sunk in, as he drew blood.

“I don’t--” You tried to complain, but you were cut off by a low hum from Izuku, a half-hearted sign of dismissal as he moved on to his next target, just above the dip of your collarbone. “Midoriya,” You tried, trying to shove him away. “This really isn’t the time, I’m really not in the mood. You were just talking how screwed we’d be if--”

“I was worried about it, and then, my angel comforted me. That’s wonderful, isn’t it?” He pulled you closer, nuzzling into your chest. “I’m just repaying the favor. It’d be unfair if I didn’t show my (Y/n) how much I appreciate them.”

He moved to go on, but suddenly, his eyes opened, his posture going stiff before he could say something to make you squirm and do something to make you hate him even more. You heard it a moment after he did, and felt it a second after that - voices, louder than they should’ve been, coming from the floor below, and then a crash that couldn’t have been accidental. There was a subtle tremors, a reverberation that left you locking your jaw into place. Izuku didn’t let go of you, but his grip loosened, his attention suddenly elsewhere.

And then, without warning, the floor caved in.

It happened in the blink of an eye, in the space between one second and another. One moment, you were sitting on a cot, and the next, you were lying on your back, every part of your body aching, a dozen things sprained and another hundred bruised, or cut, or ripped open and left to bleed. You forced yourself to open your eyes, but it was pointless - the world around you was grey and brown and nothing. Dust and debris polluted the air, clouding it beyond recognition, and if there was anything salvageable left of the first floor, you wouldn’t have been able to tell, much less do something with whatever you found. The fall couldn’t have been very far, but the ground was unforgiving, and everything hurt. It was all you could do to push yourself to your feet, your legs threatening to buckle under your own weight. You pulled yourself through a step, then another before you realized what was wrong.

You could stand.

You could walk.

Blearily, you focused on the shackle around your ankle, the thing that should’ve been keeping you bound to the cot now buried under a pile of rubble twice as tall as you were. The metallic circlet was still there, only slightly scoffed, but when you followed the short chain, the only thing it led back to was a pole, one leg of the makeshift bed you’d become so acquainted with. You almost left it there. Right now, you were more focused on finding an exit and getting out than celebrating such a convenient victory, but a low moaning tore your attention towards another mangled form before you could stagger away. A mass of black fabric, a white shirt soaked through with something dark and rusty. Hair, darker than it should’ve been, and just as tangled as it usually was.

Izuku. Injured and beaten, but unquestionably Izuku. For a moment, you thought he was dead, but a guttural cough tore you away from that daydream. He didn’t move, but his eyes flickered open, finding you among the ruins. It almost seemed like he would smile, like he would laugh and call his henchmen and you’d be recaptured before you could get so much as a breath of fresh air. You could hear fighting in the distance, yelling from heroes and villains alike, but they weren’t here, not yet. Izuku could still do something crafty and clever and evil, and you’d have to pay for it.

You’d be the victim again, and he’d come out on top.

By the time you made up your mind, your hand was already closing around the pole, the metal heavy in your fist. Izuku watched you silently, only forcing something out as you came to stand over him.

“You’d be better off with me,” He spat, his voice raspy, feeble. “If you go running back into his arms, into his world, you’ll regret it.”

You were tempted to listen. You might’ve, but you couldn’t. You wouldn't be able to live with yourself, if you did.

It wasn’t like he’d ever stopped to listen to you, after all.

You were only returning the favor.

You didn’t remember passing out.

You didn’t remember it, but you must’ve, because the next time you woke up, you weren’t in the debris of Izuku’s hideout, anymore - you didn’t seem to be anywhere. The lights were blinding for a second, fospheresent and white and searing, but the onslaught retreated as quickly as it attacked, disappearing completely as you remembered how to blink. If your body hurt before, it was even worse now, but the pain was at a distance, forced back by a translucent liquid and a handful of needles pumping the substance into your bloodstream, one drop at a time. You were tempted to rip them out, if only as a learned instinct, but a glance around the room revealed that you were in a medical bed, not on a cot, that the walls around you were white and speckled with dark blues and greens, rather that the dull grey you’d grown used to. It was a silent relief, not unexpected but certainly not unappreciated, the type that made you want to fall into the stiff mattress and sleep until you got used to the feeling of being able to, but you had a reason to stay awake. You had a reason to want to be awake.

Because someone was holding your hand.

Because Katsuki was holding your hand.

He was slumped against the arm of a sterile, poorly cushioned chair, his eyes nearly closed. He must’ve been here for a while - he was still wearing the essentials of his costume, but his mask had been discarded, as had his belt and his gauntlets, anything he didn’t need to sit by your bedside and fret over you. He looked exhausted, but he perked up as your fingers intertwined with his, a small smile spreading across his lips as he scanned over you.

His voice was raspy, obscure by sleep, but his tone was light, affectionate. You were thankful. That was all you needed him to be. “You took your fucking time.”

“So did you.” You might hold it against him, later on, but right now, you just wanted to settle onto your side and grin as Katsuki’s expression softened into something apologetic. “How long was I--”

“A little more than a day.” He must’ve gone over that a thousand times before you woke up. He wasn’t eager, but the speech was rehearsed, practiced, just bordering on scripted. “It’s just a minor concussion and a few fractures. Taking out Deku’s hideout was riskier than it should’ve been, but we couldn’t think of another way to separate him from his lackeys without putting civilians at risk. By the time we handled his lap dogs, you’d already collapsed.”

You hesitated, but you forced yourself to ask. You needed to know he wouldn’t come crawling back. You needed to know you hadn’t fallen to his level for nothing. “And Midoriya?”

“Died in the crash, as far as anyone can tell.” Katsuki took a deep breath, just a hint of regret finding its way into his disposition. It didn’t last long, though, dispelled with an heavy sigh. “It’s for the best. The sooner that motherfucker’s wiped off the face of the planet, the better. I was just hoping it wouldn’t be so…” He trailed off, running his free hand through his hair. “Would you believe me if I said I still thought he might not be so… fucked up, once we got him back?”

You wouldn’t. You’d spent weeks under Izuku’s thumb, tripping over yourself to keep him happy with you, spending every waking moment trying to please a sociopath, but that didn’t change the fact that he used to be Katsuki’s friend, that they’d grown up together, and that it’d been Katsuki’s fault they grew apart. You couldn’t answer, not in a way that would soothe his lingering doubts, But, he didn’t seem to need you to. Before you could think of something to say, he was already shrugging it off, shaking his head as he turned towards you. “I can’t keep focusing on shit like that, though. You’re back, and you’re safe, and that’s all that matters to me.”

You let yourself relax, melting into your pillow as Katsuki bent over the side of your bed, pushing a light, delicate kiss into your temple. “I’m just glad I got out of there,” You admitted. Katsuki only nodded in acknowledgement, nimble fingers beginning to comb through your disheveled hair. “I can’t wait to see everyone again, it feels like years since I’ve talked to someone besides Midoriya. Mina’s going to smother me, and Denki -- Wait, do you think I still have a job? They can’t fire me for getting abducted, right?”

You felt Katsuki stiffen. It took him a second to respond, just long enough to let you know something was wrong. “I… I don’t think you should head back to work, just yet.”

“Well, yeah, I’m still in a hospital gown,” You laughed, attempting to ignore his sudden seriousness. “But eventually, I’ll have to--”

“I don’t think you should go back at all.” If he was reluctant before, he’d gotten over it. Reflexively, you pushed yourself up, your arms shaking under the strain, but Katsuki was quick to backtrack, to flinch away and curse under his breath, cupping your cheek as he urged you to hear him out. “I know you’re probably dyin’ for things to go back to the way they used to be, and I know I’m being selfish, but… You were kidnapped, (Y/n), by a villain. Deku was the worst ‘em, but he wasn’t the only one. There’s probably hundreds of-- thousands of people out there who’d be willing to rip your heart out, if it means getting back to me. I don’t know if it’d be able to take it, if you wanted to risk that. I don’t know if it’d be able to let you risk that. I...” He forced himself to stop, to take a steading breath. “I just want to keep you safe. I need you to let me keep you safe.”

Huh.

It hurt a lot less than you thought it would.

It was the numbing sort of shock, a cold wave of a scenario you’d imagined (albeit, one you’d never liked) plenty of times coming to fruition. Part of you thought Katsuki might burst out laughing, that he might be joking, but Katsuki didn’t move to back down, didn’t move to do anything but stare. It made sense. He hadn’t known if you were dead or alive for a month, and Katsuki was the type to get nervous when you went more than a day without seeing him in person. He’d probably been worried sick. He’d probably been pulling his own hair out. He’d probably been… What was it Izuku said, when he was first warning you about Katsuki?

He’d probably been ready to lock you away somewhere so deep and somewhere so dark, you’d be lucky to ever see sunlight again. As long as it meant you were protected.

That didn’t mean you wanted to be locked away, though.

It was all you could do to keep your voice from shaking. You didn’t want Katsuki to lie to you just because he thought you might start crying, if he didn’t. “What happens if I don’t let you?”

He could only frown, the calloused pad of his thumb rubbing over your cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you, angel.”

He didn’t want to. He’d never want to. Even if he did, even if he didn’t regret it, he’d never want to.

That already made him better than Izuku.

The slow, muted beat of the heart-monitor began to race as you leaped towards Katsuki, nearly falling off of your bed as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him against you burying your face in his chest, allowing Katsuki to tentatively pull you closer, too. You could’ve called for a nurse. You could’ve screamed. You could’ve done something to put yourself at arm’s length from anyone who wanted to keep you cornered and caged, but you didn’t want to do something, you couldn’t want that. You loved Katsuki. You loved him, and you’d missed him, and the only thing you wanted to do was fall into his arms and let him take care of you, regardless of how paranoid he’d gotten. You just wanted to know he’d be there, if someone like Izuku ever came after you again.

Everything else was a small price to pay, if he could just give you that.

“Please.” You didn’t try to hide your vulnerability, anymore, you didn’t try to hide anything. Tears were already clouding your vision, something jagged and tight burrowing into the back of your throat with every word, every painful thought. Katsuki moved to speak, to comfort you, but you didn’t let him. You didn’t want to be comforted.

You just wanted to feel safe.

"I just want to go home.”

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lubdubsworld · 3 years

Text

Silk and lace ( Sneak Peak )

He smiled, curling his fingers and beckoning me over. I moved to stand in front of him and he carefully grabbed my waist, drawing me closer.

“Alright. Let me make it sexy for you. How hard can I hit you?” He whispered, fingers curving around my waist a bit. I considered that question seriously.

When I was young, I had been clumsy. Always. I loved my brother, chased him all over the place eight year age gap notwithstanding. And that meant getting hurt. A lot. My pain tolerance was through the roof. As I grew older, delved into the world of sex, the line between pain and pleasure had begun to fade and blur. I found myself fascinated by the way my body reacted to getting hurt. Bruises that started out a deep blood red before turning blue and purple before finally fading to a pale yellow green.

There had been one very memorable time with an instructor in finishing school, the man not knowing his own strength and possibly a little terrified about getting caught banging the future queen of the country in a supply closet . He had pressed his palm over my mouth to keep my voice down as he fucked me from the back and his grip had toed the line of too much, leaving finger shaped bruises along my jaw.

I had spent weeks pressing my finger into the marks, thighs clenching at the dull ache of it. Had wanted those bruises else where. On my thighs. On the curve of my breasts,

Around my throat.

I stared at Jimin and gave him a bright smile.

“Hard. As hard as you like.” I whispered. He looked pleased at that.

“ My little slut, you like getting hurt, huh? Let’s see how much you regret that answer later.” He gave a cruelly impish smile and I felt my body thrum , wanted to ask him to hit me right there, grip me hard and put me in my place but I swallowed the urge.

“ Anywhere other than the face is fine , right?” He tilted his head in question.

I began nodding but then stopped.

It was terrible, the voice in my head was terrible and depraved and I wanted to ignore it. It crossed so many lines of propriety, crossed so many line of what society thought was right and wrong and I didn’t want to seem weak or disgusting. Didn’t want Jimin to think I was flawed, broken in someway to want something so awful and wrong........

“Kitten?” His voice broke through and i swallowed, glancing up at him with my lips caught between my teeth.

“I... yeah.” I said softly, scared to lose him. Scared to say the wrong thing and lose this thing with him.

He sighed deeply.

“What did I tell you about honesty, Nara?” He said softly.

I flushed.

“I...”

“ Anything you tell me, stays between us. I won’t judge you. But I will be very, very disappointed if you hide your thoughts. If you don’t tell me what you want, I can never fully give you what you deserve.” He whispered.

“Why not the face?” I mumbled under my breath. I was scared to look at him, scared to see what he thought of that. I felt arms wrap around me, pulling me closer, till my face was buried into his shoulder, my heart racing as I clung to his back.

“My apologies. I shouldn’t have assumed anything. But I have to ask, have you ever had anyone, hit you like that before?” He asked gently, stroking my back gently.

I hesitated.

“No.. but... I like the idea of it...I’m sorry. It’s so awful, I shouldn’t be turned on by getting hit but I...” I blabbered and he made soothing noises, gently hugging me closer and swiping the hair off my face to stare at me. He looked warm and accepting, not an ounce of judgement anywhere and the knot in my stomach loosened just a little.

“Hey... Nara ...none of that. Why should hitting one part of your body be worse than another. Your body is yours and as long as I have your consent, there’s no reason you should let societal ideas of what is right or wrong , shame you in any way....”

“You don’t think its weird?” I asked desperately. “ i don’t care about society , to hell with society. I just don’t want you to think I’m weird.”

Jimin’s gaze softened and he bent down , brushing his lips over mine before pulling back and exhaling sharply. .

“I think its fucking hot.” He said softly, voice dropping low. “But I want you to be sure. I don’t want to hurt you.”

I nodded.

“Okay?”

“You wanna try it now?” He asked gently.

I stared at him, shocked.

“Red to stop.. yellow to slow down.. green to go , okay baby?”

“I...yeah ,..okay...” anticipation made talking difficult.

“ Good girl...Thought you said something about earning it on your knees? ” He asked softly and i felt my skin heat up. i looked around at the glass walls, the garden outside and I couldn’t quite catch my breath at the implication of it. I wasn’t sure how I would react, wasn’t sure what he was going to do ......

“Don’t go all shy on me now, kitten. Whatever happened to the girl who wanted to fuck me in front of Irene?”

I flushed , biting my lips.

“I haven’t got all day, kitten. On your fucking knees. Now.” His voice came out gruff and demanding and I stood rooted on the spot , trying to listen but held back by own inhibitions.

We’re in public a voice kept whispering inside me, a voice that wasn’t really me because honestly, deep down, I didn’t really care... i wanted this ...wanted to get on my knees for him, would do it anywhere , in front of anyone, that’s how much i wanted him but-

Pain bloomed on my cheekbone, Jimin’s palm connecting with the soft curve of my cheek with enough force to make my eyes water, leaving behind pain that was sharp and stinging and practically unbearable..

But it was gone before I could even fully process it. In its wake came heat, fiery and hot licking its way over my skin and it felt so intense i nearly stumbled arousal pooling in my stomach so quick and with so much potency that I could feel myself getting wetter, my heart racing so fast I couldn’t catch my breath.

My knees buckled and I dropped down in front of him, fumbling to get a grip on his legs trying to steady myself but I couldn’t.

Jimin grabbed me by the hair, fingers gripping my hair hard and yanking me away from his legs. I whimpered, staring up at him as he grinned down at me, smile wide and bright.

“So, is that how you like to be brought to your knees, my little whore?” he drawled.

Oh fuck.

#tell me did that turn you on #if it did you are just like me

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ricinbach · 3 years

Text

mercy. | chapter 3 - reverie

waking up was never this different.

Sounds of water trailing down the pool waterfall echoed as drinks poured and barbecue was served.

Everything felt so good, so normal, almost mundane. It had been a cheerful, sunny day of summer, warmth seeping into your bones, making your skin shine as you lounged by the pool. Droplets of cool water splashed on your face, a crisp interlude to your reverie. Fingertips loosely wrapped around the ice cold drink, taking occasional sips from it. Kids laughed and cheered as they played, splashing you with water in the meantime. You did not mind. You had always been fond of them.

“Think she’ll walk again?”

“Hell, I’d be surprised if she lived.”

Children lured you to play with them in the pool. You could not be anywhere near bothered from your comfortable spot with the mango-flavored drink in your hand, cooling you. Their squeaky voices had been so excited that you gave it a second thought. Playing in the pool sounded like a lot of fun, certainly more fun you had in a while at your stressful job. You wanted to go back, at least for a little while, to the peaceful times when you were a little girl, how you would jump from floaties and giggle and spread happiness. Oh, how you loved summer, spent at the shore, without a single care in the world, enjoying everything the beautiful weather offered you.

"I'm jumping in!"

Drops of water from the cool rag placed on your forehead woke you up, in more ways than one. The dried blood and bruises on your face appreciated the feeling, sending a relaxing tingle over your skin. Your could feel, feel your fingertips, the humid air engulfing them against their dried texture. Consciously breathing, your lungs getting filled up with air once more. Your eyes took their sweet time in fluttering open, a blurred vision welcoming you into reality.

It would have been the epitome of a peaceful resurrection if it was not for the two strangers staring you dead in the eye from above.

It was ironic, really. A gruff, dark-haired guy and a much smaller, green-eyed, young little girl staring you down like you were the odd bunch in this scenario. You dealt with much worse, held captive by far more terrible, dark souls.

Were you at the mercy of this odd little survival gig now?

“Where -” your lips moved, with the pathetic excuse of a voice you have left. Your vocal cords didn’t want to co-operate either, apparently, as you spoke in a low, raspy tone. All of the limbs in your frail, undernourished body screamed at you not to move, as you laid on an old, dirtied mattress. “…where am I?” you managed to ask. Your lungs fought for air in a desperate inhale as you gasped uncontrollably, taking in the stuffiness mixed in with the linger of mold in the room. As your vision cleared out gradually, you find yourself trying to look around where you were holed up in.

Just how long had you been out?

Sweat was forming on your battered skin and the room felt stuffy, so your instincts told you it was late summer still. Another question to add to the growing list to ask these...hunters? Fireflies?

No, you would have recognized them if they were. There were not many left flying around.

Your conscience was beginning to come back into you, slowly but steadily with every single heartbeat and breath taken, like waves in a lazy ocean. You almost didn't want to be conscious - wanted to be left alone, just sleeping in a safe place, without a care in the world.

Yet, it looked like this cruel, relentless leftover of the universe had more in store for you.

It took a couple of moments of steadying your breathing - then it hit you. Pain, lots of it, invading your mid-thigh like a swarm of ants all over your skin. It was the kind of pain that almost-healed, sore wounds created, nevertheless, you hadn't been able to feel any sort of sense during the time you were asleep - God knows how long - and it was making itself known alright. You let out a hiss, your eyebrows furrowing as your gaze directed itself to your bandaged wound.

The lower half of your pants were missing, cut-off right below the bandages... how the hell? Last you remembered, you had a bullet in your thigh, almost dying of blood loss in a tenement high-rise on your way out of the state, and your pants covered your lower leg.

Why, on the damned scorched earth, would anyone help out someone like you?

"You're in safety," the gruff man spoke, a vague answer to your question, his voice sounding low and threatening beneath that peppered beard. "for now."

The two little words he added at the end with such a tone that you just knew he would shoot you on the spot if you tried to do anything stupid by his books. You could not do anything but nod, and gulp. Even that hurt.

Your worried expression seemed to go unnoticed as an exasperated voice intruded your thoughts. "Yeah, Joel, this is a terrible idea," the girl who was looking down on you earlier with bright, green eyes scoffed, shaking her head, her hand flying out to gesture at you. "The hell were you thinkin'? She cannot even walk - what are we gonna do with her?"

Just what was this little girl talking about? You could not help but look in between the two survivors, the man supposedly named Joel shooting the girl a side glance, his flannel-covered arms folded in front of him as he kept his gaze on you. He looked strong, very strong - the type of hardened survivor that could snap your dainty little neck in half if he wanted to. There had been just something about him, something that you could not quite place a finger on. It took you another look in his green eyes combined with the familiar crimson patterns of the flannel that stretched on his chest to finally come to your senses. Was this...

"Wait," you called out, trying to lean yourself on your forearms with a hiss. "You're the guy who saved me from the hunters," you continued, as if trying to make yourself believe rather than ask the guy, couple strands of hair falling onto your damp face as you propped yourself up. The scoffs and the little murmurs of you gotta be kidding me coming from the teen, ringing in your ears.

"Thank you. Not a whole lot showin' mercy these days."

"Damn right, y'hear that Joel? We've heard that before," the kid started talking again, this time in a little mocking tone as she crossed her arms and walked over to your figure, her eyebrows furrowed and her fiery green gaze focused on the gruff man.

If anything, this had to be a rather unusual dynamic between a father and a daughter you had ever seen - made you think that he had taught her well, not to trust strangers and all. Oh, she surely had to be his daughter, judging by your first impressions of her - fiery, headstrong. But what the hell was your fault? The man had helped you himself, carried you to safety and she sure as hell wasn't there when those damned hunters ambushed you in that high-rise right when you was about to escape Pittsburgh.

What were they going to do with you? You were surprised when the man had left you some supplies back in the city, you supposed he had cleared out the damned infected scraping at your door but compared to the level of surprise that you had looking at the little girl and her father, arguing about what they were to do about you - the former had been nothing. Even in your weakened state, it did not make sense in the survival mindset that you all had grown so accustomed to over the past twenty years, to take in a damsel in distress simply because you wanted to play the hero for a while.

It was a hard-learned truth that there had been no heroes left in this empty shell of the world - it was the survival of the most cruel, most resourceful and the most violent.

Hell, if you had been in his position when he found you, you would be quick to put a bullet into your head - without glancing at the dead look in your eyes.

You had done it many times before. You were damn sure he had as well, else he would not be surviving this far into the outbreak. Why was this one time different?

The man in front of you, standing all tall and broad, had a contrasting troubled expression in that rogue face of his. Just one look at him could tell you he had seen the worst of the outbreak, killed and tortured. That strength he seemingly possessed and that recluse surrounding his aura did not come from simple blind luck. His eyes assessed you, every single movement you made - almost as if he was judging whether to spare you or kill you right there on that ugly mattress based on what your next moves entailed.

It was not like you could even raise your hand to throw a punch - the strange pair knew you could not harm them even if you so wanted to. You had been down the road of recovery before, getting shot many times in the course of a pandemic, a couple days of rest would get you back on your feet. Before, you had always been alone or with people you somewhat trusted. Not with complete strangers who acted out of their sheer leftover notion of mercy to save you.

You were vulnerable, in such a state that you depended on them, on someone if you wanted to continue the little survival gig you had been on for two decades. Over at the corner of the room, you could spot your familiar backpack with your supplies staying intact in it, your trusted guns resting on the floor beside. Unarmed and weak, you slowly rose yourself up to sit on the edge of the bed, dragging your injured thigh along as your feet touched the ground, your jaw clenched all the while to avoid screaming out of pain. It was not the time to show weakness, to emit even the slightest grunt of misery - even a small sound, a little indication of you not being able to tolerate pain would decide whether they left you abandoned there or not if you were deemed useless in their eyes.

"Look," your voice would echo across the wooden panels of the room, making the little girl in front of you move her hand to the pistol tucked into the waistband of her jeans. Your hand rose up in defense, indicating that you meant no harm, your tired orbs moving back and forth between the pair as the stuffy air in the room felt even more stale with the added tension of the unknown.

"I don't know who you both are but I know you saved me from that mess," you would speak slowly, your tone softening ever so slightly as your gaze rested on the man. "If it wasn't for you, hell, I'd be long dead from blood loss. I'd like to repay you in some way."

To your surprise, the little girl's expression grew even more grim as her eyebrows furrowed in doubt and distrust, however, her hand left the revolver she had been holding onto earlier only for them to be placed on her hips as her green orbs bore daggers into you. If only you could look in the mirror then, you would see the helpless expression your delicate features harbored, an unusual feat by itself.

With the girl's watchful eyes over him, the gruff man crouched in front of you, couple feet away to match your gaze due to his towering height. Your eyes immediately focused into his amber green ones, with glints of doubt and fear in them, as well as determination. One of his large hands would stroke his peppered beard slightly, lost in thought yet his gaze never faltering from your orbs, his elbows resting on his bent knees.

"Think you can handle a gun once you're walkin'?" he asked, though he already had an inkling of an idea that you had been a decent marksman based on the body he had found on the first floor of the high-rise with a bullet lodged in his skull.

To which, you could only nod with a strong look in your eyes, making it clear you were not playing around.

Much to the little girl's dismay, Joel would nod pensively before getting up and breaking your gaze.

"We leave in a couple of days, and you're comin' along. If you want to pay what you owe me, you're gonna have to protect us. "

#mercy #val writes #fanfiction #chapter 3 #the last of us #tlou joel #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel is such a daddy

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angelic-serenade · 4 years

Text

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

request: 🌟 Hellou!! I love ur work!! ❤️❤️❤️ Is it possible tó ha e a Alastor and younger(like 4 years younger) reader who have nightmares of his death sonetimes, cause she saw itt Back then, and go to big bother Alastor for comfort? 🦌

requested by: anon

a/n: okay so this was supposed to be a quick one-shot but my hand slipped and I wrote 9500+ words instead. oops. anyway, I hope this meets your expectations, enjoy!

gif, original work and characters do not belong to me

pairing: Alastor x sister! reader

fandom: Hazbin Hotel

warnings: mentions of death, bit of angst, traumatic events, toxic relationship if you squint, Alastor being Alastor but softer for reader

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

It never rained down in Hell, no matter how ardently you had sometimes wished to feel the drops pouring down your robes. Even during your longest nights, the ones haunted by nightmares and long-forgotten memories resurfacing at your weakest, it would never rain like it did in those Gothic Novels your darling brother used to read you back in the day: you were no virtuous protagonist and never would the skies cry for your misery. It was probably one of the worst downsides of being stuck in Hell for all eternity: the equally eternal blood red sky forever looming over your head, serving as a reminder of your infernal punishment.

When you'd wake up in the middle of the night, after a particularly vivid nightmare, there was no pouring rain to muffle the sound of your hopeless wailings, no thunder to distract your spinning mind from its panic. Therefore, you found yourself continously seeking comfort from the only person you held dear to your now dead cold heart: Alastor, The Radio Demon, whom you had the privilege to refer to as your darling brother (at least in the privacy of your own bedchamber) - older brother to be precise, even if only by a few years. You had always been extremely fond of your sibiling, looking up to him as a role model - definitely not your wisest decision since it had landed you among the sinners of Hell. That's not to say you had any regrets, Heaven seemed like an awfully dreadful and boring place if you were to be completely honest.

Alastor, on his part, had affectionately doted on you back on the surface, taking his little sweetling under his protective wing as if his sole purpose in life had been to take care of you. As a consequence, on more occasions than you cared to remember, you had felt utterly asphixiated by your brother's undivided attention all your life, and quarrels had been a daily occurrence whenever his protective behavior clashed with your own desire for freedom. Your lovely mother had always been there to try and defuse your heated altercations, the poor woman; your dear brother and you, however, both shared the same stubbornness and desire to prevail on others, so that whenever your strong personalities came to oppose, trouble was always certain to follow suit.

You wished you'd appreciated his concerns more when you had been given the chance. Now in the afterlife, shows of affection were hard to come by. Mayhap that had been the worst punishment inflicted upon you after death: the privilege of having your dear brother by your side without actually being able to cherish and bask in his caring regards. Mayhap the illustrious Dante had been right in his musings all along: the law of retaliation had taken away from you the one thing you had never really appreciated in life, making you realize just how much you had taken for granted. Now that your brother had become Hell's greatest menace, an overlord to make things worse, weakness in any shape or form could and would not be tolerated under any circumstance, for both his and your sake.

Luckily, no demon in the seven circles suspected that the feared Radio Demon had any siblings to begin with, thanks to Alastor's foresight.

Your identity was to be kept secret at all costs in order to avoid undesired repercussions. If anyone were to even suspect you had any kind of connection to the Radio Demon - Alastor had told you - overlords and lesser demons alike would be at your throat in the span of a heartbeat. If given the chance, no enemy of his would ever hesitate to stoop as low as to attack him were it hurt the most, where he was most vulnerable. And that chance, he was not willing to give any time soon. You both had already died once and you were not keen on repeating the experience.

So you had followed his every order ever since your fall into the pits, leading a life death away from your darling brother and his chaotic ways - the one thing he hadn't been able to prevent in life -, keeping a low profile as a common denizen of Hell. Alastor would unsuspiciously check up on you every now and then, but his visits had been as rare as it was to see an angel in Hell - seeing him once a year was truly an unfair torture. Time went by and you grew more and more lonely as you mostly kept to yourself and wasted your days away in a nice apartment away from prying eyes. You were a nobody in Hell, and that was how things were meant to be.

Things changed when Alastor unexpectedly showed up at your doorstep for the second time in a year, blabbering about the newest project he'd involved himself with. His words betrayed unusual enthusiasm, a mood you had learned to be usually spurred on by the prospect of carnage and bloodshed or his precious radio broadcasts. Whenever he came to see you, he always showered you in gifts and praise, but it had been centuries since you had seen your brother so excited over... anything, really. Therefore, witnessing his cheeriness brought a genuine smile on your face. You were a little jealous you weren't the reason why he felt so giddy, but you couldn't complain as spending time with him was the greatest gift you could ever ask for these days. So when he told you you'd be moving into this phantomatic Hazbin Hotel, where he'd be staying for a while as well, you were impossibly ecstatic. Alastor had gently caressed your cheek and, in one of his rare moments of tenderness, softened his voice as if to lull you away:

“My dear, it has always pained me so to leave you here to your lonesome, but I am certain you understand that I always ever meant to protect you from harm.”

Unexpectedly, as most of his actions were, your dear brother spun you around into his arms as if he were coaxing you into a dance - which would probably be the case, knowing him. His words were impossibly haughty now, as if a switch had gone off in his mind:

“But now sweetling, now the time has come to finally put an end to this painful arrangement. You'll be joining me at this whimsical Hazbin Hotel our dear princess is so enthusiastic about!”

You knew better than to question Alastor and his ways, so you simply nodded your approval, glad to finally be able to leave that god forsaken apartment you had been locked in for far more than you cared to admit. And so you moved to the hotel - still keeping your true identity a secret, mind you. You were introduced as one of Alastor's acquantances, much like both Niffty and Husk were. Nobody questioned your unexpected presence and Charlie (much more than everybody else) welcomed you with opened arms into her precious hotel. When you offered to lend a hand with whatever she needed, she was utterly ecstatic. All in all, you were quick to adapt to the new situation.

The new accommodation, however, brought about quite a lot of new issues as well.

Spending so much time with Astor, for one, even if pretending not to be as close as siblings should be, awakened long forgotten memories about your life on Earth, most of which you would have preferred to keep locked away. During your very busy days, you were able to distract yourself from your scattered thoughts and memories; at night, however, your subconscious relentlessly haunted you in the form of nightmares and there was nothing you could really do to prevent it.

It was inevitable that you'd start losing sleep, as the only way to evade the cage that your mind had become was not to sleep at all. Astor had grown increasingly worried about your sleep-deprived state, even if he tried not to show it, masking his concern with his usual smile and charming talks:

“You will chase away any potential patrons looking so disheveled and shabby, my dear. Charlie will surely be heartbroken.”

You wouldn't have put it past him to manipulate you through guilt, but you knew that Alastor was truly worried about your health. His gaze, cryptic to most, felt all too familiar to you, just like the expressiveness of his smile held no secrets from you anymore. Needless to say, as fond of him as you were, you tried to sleep once again.

Then one night everything changed: it had been the worst night of your undead life, and the best one too.

The deafening sound of gunshots had echoed through your unconscious mind, increasingly loud footsteps and dogs barking so loud that you subconsciously jerked in your sleep. A call to your name, desperate, hopeless and scared. You saw him, his beautiful maroon eyes that had once only pooled in fondness for you, now dark and miserable. But they held promise too, a promise to fulfill maybe someday, in another life.

“I'm sorry (Y/N)”

His smile had dropped.

So had you.

You woke up screaming, trashing about in your bed. Sweat clung to your brow, your mind in a frenzied panic searched for something concrete and real to cling to. Was your brother alright? Satan, you hoped so. He had to be, he couldn't leave you again, you had to go to him, to see him, you didn't want to lose him again, you wouldn't bear the pain - you almost tripped in the bedsheets as you scrambled to the door.

When you arrived to Alastor's door, you had yet to calm down. You rapidly knocked on the hard wood, agitation evident in both your jerky movements and shivering hands.

“Alastor, Alastor, please. Open up. It's me” you desperately whispered.

As the door gently opened, your brother stepped into the darkness of the hallway and you unceremoniously flung yourself to him, clinging to his neck as if it were your lifeline. Your tears wet his robes, but you couldn't bring yourself to care enough to apologize. You felt like you had almost lost him again after all those years of seclusion.

But he was alive and he was with you. That's all you could hope for and far more than you thought you deserved.

Alastor uncharacteristically started to pat your head, as if trying to console you even though he had little to no experience in that area. His movements were uncertain, but as you lifted your head from his chest to gaze into his eyes, you realized no words would ever convey as much affection as Alastor's eyes did in that brief moment. His smile never faltered - even if it had become a bit strained - but you hadn't expected it to. It made you smile through your tears, despite yourself. You realized in that moment you'll forever be the only one allowed to touch Alastor without eliciting his wrath. That fact alone enough for you to truly appreciate the amount of control he'd give up in order to comfort you. He gently brought you to his bed and sat you down next to him.

“Are you quite alright sister dear? You know, those awful tears don't suit you at all! I rather much prefer your blinding smile!”

You smiled wider this time, for him, to let him know that you were indeed grateful.

“Oh, now that wasn't so difficult, was it?”

When he kissed your forehead, you almost broke up crying once again: it had been so long since you and your brother had been so close. The gesture warmed your long dead heart and you tried to return the favor by kissing his cheek. Nobody had ever been that intimate with the Radio Demon and lived to tell the tale, but in that moment he was no demon of hell: he was just Alastor, your dear brother who had doted on you in life and kept protecting you in death too - even though his ways weren't the most orthodox.

“I missed you Al. Please, don't ever leave me again.”

“I most certainly shall not, my sweet little darling. It's a promise.”

You were glad he let you stay with him for the rest of the night. No words were needed as he brought you close and took your hands into his. You both laid on the bed, in a rare moment of peace and quiet. It reminded you of your childhood on Earth and how you'd always sneak out of your room during the night to sleep next to him - you had always been afraid of the dark after all. Only in your adulthood had you learned that there are worse things than darkness one should fear.

After eons of suffering and terrible loneliness, everything finally fell into its rightful place.

Alastor was safe and so were you.

That was all that mattered.

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promptis-imagines · 3 years

Text

ficlet for @tropical-halo-stuff because she was sick and deserves love (I know I am late and you’re fine now but...free promptis?)

anyway love u here is some words

Noctis sneezed and wrapped the blanket further around him. "I don't want it," he whined.

"Aw, c'mon, Noct. Please? Iggy said it would help," pleaded Prompto, who was sat beside him on the couch with a container of warm soup. Vegetable soup, to be precise.

A deep pout formed on Noctis' lips, which he promptly buried under the blanket. "Lies. That stuff will just make me feel worse."

Prompto mirrored his pout. "You act like I'm trying to kill you."

"Maybe you are."

"Hey, I'm not going on trial for murdering a royal," Prompto responded. He set down the container and crossed his arms. "Besides, I'd like to keep my boyfriend alive, even if he is super stubborn. So, please?" Clasping his hands together, he tipped his head and gazed at Noctis with the biggest puppy eyes he'd been met with in a while.

Noctis was hardly convinced. "I dunno, Prom. What if I hate it so much I get more sick? That would just suck," he argued.

Prompto dropped the face and raised an eyebrow. "You know I'm not kissing you until your cold goes away, right?"

That got him to pause. Then, in a moment that was borderline painful for him, Noctis sighed. "I might be able to tolerate just the broth. Keep the actual veggies away from me," he conceded.

And then Prompto was up, a huge grin spread across his face. "Alright, good enough! I'll get it in a bowl for ya."

With a heavy sigh that ultimately turned into a sneeze, Noctis sank further into the couch. The things he did for love. Once he got better, he was going to kill Ignis for this.

Soon enough, there was a bowl nestled in his lap. A small rag was placed under it to keep the heat away, but Noctis was still considering pouring the hot liquid onto himself to avoid having to actually eat it. Of course, Prompto was bribing him with future kisses, which was a real low. Noctis didn't know why he agreed; he didn't even think that this stuff would make him better any faster.

"I change my mind," Noctis announced.

Prompto scrambled to reach for the bowl that Noctis was trying to unsteadily move away. "Aw, Nooooct," he whined. "That's no fair. I used up all of my skill heating that up, you know," he resisted, carefully guiding the bowl back.

Noctis groaned. "I'm sure you've got plenty of skill left over. How about we throw it out and don't tell Ignis?"

All of the playfulness seemed to dissipate from Prompto's posture. "I mean, I guess that's possible. But…" He trailed off with a deep sigh. "I guess I'm just worried. I really do want you to feel better, y'know? The more you avoid stuff that can help, the worse you might get. That scares me sometimes, Noct."

There was an almost tangible sadness in the air around Prompto. A pit of guilt formed heavily in Noctis' stomach, and he looked down at the soup.

When he glanced back up to make a weak argument, he was cut short by a sniffle from his boyfriend. "Whoa, Prom, I'm not gonna die or anything," he rushed to reassure. He reached out to place a hand on the other's shoulder while he rubbed at his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Prompto murmured. "Just got sad thinking about it for a second, there." Ah, shit.

Sighing, Noctis let his head fall back against the back of the couch, then picked up the spoon and took a sip of the soup with a grimace. He had to close his eyes to imagine it was something else as he took a few more spoonfulls of the stuff.

What got him to stop was not what he expected to hear. Not soft crying this time, but giggling.

The spoon hit the rim of the bowl with a clatter. "Wait, why are you laughing at me?" he demanded.

Prompto's light giggles turned into snorts of laughter. "Because I didn't think you'd take that seriously. Man, maybe I was born to be an actor," he joked.

Noctis' pout deepened. He would've considered tossing the bowl at Prompto if he didn't love him so much. Instead, he made a dramatic show of setting the bowl on the coffee table, shoving it as far away as he could reach, and curling back into the couch with the blanket cocooning him from head to toe.

"Noct, don't vanish on me!" He felt a heavy weight fall onto his side, and he grunted in annoyance.

"Nope, you lost boyfriend privileges," came Noctis' muffled reply.

The weight on him shifted into more of a comfortable hug, easily moving Noctis from upset to cozy. Damn Prompto's embrace for being so calming.

Peeking out ever so slightly, Noctis found that Prompto's cheek was rested on his shoulder. He sighed and stifled a sneeze, then turned his body so that Prompto could more easily lay on top of him. "You're so mean to me." The words held no malice, and Noctis even slid his arms around the other's middle. "The worst."

"I know," Prompto agreed with a grin. "And now I can tell Iggy that I got you to eat the soup."

Noctis gave him a little squeeze. "Can't believe you took advantage of me like that. I thought you were actually sad over me, you dork," he commented.

"Nah, I know you'll get better. Just wanted to hurry up the process a little."

The two settled into a comfortable hold, albeit with a blanket between them. Oh well, more cushion for Prompto.

With a hum and closed eyes, Noctis tipped his head to the side. "You owe me a cheek kiss for that one," he stated, like he was announcing a royal decree.

Prompto chuckled. "Alright, fair's fair." His warm lips found Noctis' skin in a brief kiss. "There you go, highness," he teased.

"Hm…one more?"

"One more."

As Noctis reveled in that soothing extra kiss, he knew he already forgave Prompto for tricking him. At least he was trying to help, he had to tell himself. Plus, who knew, maybe he'd get real kisses a lot sooner.

Noctis heaved a sigh. "Wanna watch a movie while I recover?"

Prompto lifted his head. "From the cold or from the soup?" he asked.

"Yeah," Noctis replied.

That got Prompto to snort. "Figured. But sure, we can watch a movie. Only if I can use you as a pillow the whole time, though." That was a pretty good condition, so Noctis nodded.

"Deal."

#I might do some more warmup stuff to try and...get back into writing #I will do it #and then I'm gonna work on chapter 2 of the fic I haven't posted yet #promptis #fanfiction #drabble #mine #trop I'm gonna bother you until you see this

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anna-justice · 4 years

Text

Lost or Found - 5

Summary: As Jay, Hailey, Kim, Adam and Kevin start their junior year in the wake of a tragic summer, the past year of their lives comes back to haunt them. If you enjoyed Pretty Little Liars, this is for you! *UPSTEAD/BURZEK High School AU

...

5 - Wicked Game

...

The following days after the bonfire, the group didn’t really see much of each other. They were focused on watching out for the people they loved most. Hailey called both of her brothers everyday, Jay never let his mom out of his sight and Kevin spent every waking moment playing with his sister. Adam checked up on Kim multiple times a day, while she let her world revolve around her sister. The rest of summer went by fast in their state of panic, which is how they found themselves all huddled around Jay’s truck.

They all had a false sense of security, they hadn’t gotten any more texts since the last one. Hailey thought that Nadia knew that they knew it was her, so she was laying low, but Jay, he wasn’t entirely convinced. Nadia was the perfect person to throw off the scent. But, they had all decided to have a normal first day of school, for their sanity.

Kim spotted Nadia across the courtyard, seated on a bench surrounded by lots of people. Nadia gave her a small smile and waved, Kim returned the favor. She wasn’t sure how much she believed Hailey’s theory, she was always so nice, she wasn’t capable of kidnapping someone. Kim turned back to her friends, hoping no one noticed their encounter, she was a big fan of “innocent until proven guilty.”

The life was sucked out of them all when Jay pulled Erin’s phone out of his pocket, they had a text. So much for a normal first day of school.

Blocked ID: Round 1, golden boy, time for you to lose a few flakes...tell everyone what really happened before Nadia left, and I mean everyone.

“What do they mean, Jay?” Kim asked. “What happened?”

Jay took a deep breath, the last thing he wanted to do was ruin Nadia’s life, but it came down to her or his mom. His mom wins everytime. He sees her sitting on a bench near the school, unfortunately in the middle of a crowd. He takes a few steps away before Hailey calls him back. “Jay! You don’t have to do this!”

“I can’t risk it, it’s my mom.” He stalks across the pavement towards her. “Hey Nadia.”

“Hi Jay!” She says excitedly, “It’s been a while-”

He cuts her off, “You know Mr. Sampson doesn’t work here anymore, right?”

Nadia’s jaw drops, “I’m not sure why that matters…”

“Yeah you are.” Jay fights the lump in his throat and stands his ground. “He’s the teacher that got fired, for sleeping with you.” Everyone around them gasps, and Nadia looks like she’s been stabbed in the chest.

“What-”

“Erin told me everything. And now everyone else knows too.” He turned on his heel and booked it towards the truck. It went just how he hoped, quick and painful, there was no avoiding the betrayal. The next text was sent before her first tear hit the pavement.

Blocked ID: Bravo, your mommy is safe, for now.

His friends all had the same exact look on their faces, utter shock. Jay grabbed his backpack from the bed and raced towards the school. “Jay,” Hailey sighed. She gave an apologetic look to the 3 stunned people in front of her and then hurried after him.

Hailey knew that he couldn’t escape her, they had first block together. They were the first two people in the classroom , she slid into the seat next to him. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It wasn’t my business to tell.” He responds quietly, the guilt clearly eating him up. Hailey just nodded, knowing he definitely didn’t want to talk about it. She was dealing with her own inner emotions, she realized now that no one's secret was safe, especially her own.

…

Third block rolled around and Hailey strolled into phycology, she looked around for Kevin but instead she found a seating chart taped to the whiteboard. She internally groaned, she was sixteen years old. No one needed to tell her where to sit. Unfortunately, Atwater and Upton were nowhere close to each other in the alphabet, so Hailey found herself all the way across the classroom from her only friend.

She slid in her seat next to a boy with very bright blue eyes. “I’m Kelly,” He said, “Severide, call me Severide.”

She gave him a small smile before introducing herself, “Hailey.”

“Nice to meet you Hailey.” He said, his smile lingering a little too long. Hailey felt a slight blush reach her cheeks and turned to face the front of the room.

As soon as the bell rang a voice came over the intercom. “Jay Halstead, report to the principal’s office. Jay Halstead, report to the principal’s office.”

Hailey put her head in her hands and took a deep breath. That definitely wasn’t good.

…

Jay found himself sitting across from Mr. Kelton, their principal, not five minutes later. He had a very unpleasant look on his face and Jay was prepared for the lecture of the century, which he deserved. “Well, Mr. Halstead, I never thought we would be in this position.” Jay didn’t either, he was always a good kid, he didn’t belong there. “The allegations you made against Ms. Decotis were very serious, would you care to explain yourself?”

Jay took a deep breath, he couldn’t exactly tell him that he was forced to expose Nadia by a crazy stalker/possible murderer who kidnapped his girlfriend and, might possibly be Nadia. “Sir, I want to sincerely apologize for my actions this morning. It’s been a rough few months, with the Erin stuff, and seeing Nadia was really hard for some reason. She wasn’t here to bear the pain with the rest of us and I just got so mad that she showed up now.” Jay gave him a weak smile, and continued to talk out of his ass. “Erin told that Mr. Sampson and Nadia had an affair, I don’t even know if it’s true.”

Mr. Kelton nodded, “Son, I understand that the past few months have been difficult, but we do not tolerate harassment in this building. You need to formally apologize to Ms. Decotis and I expect to see you in detention the next three Thursdays.”

Jay let out a breath of relief, he was expecting much worse. “Of course and it won’t happen again.”

“I will hold you to that young man, get back to class.” Jay hurried out of the office. He was mortified and felt terrible. There was no way that Nadia was threatening them, he refused to believe it. The rumor he started could ruin everything for her, no one would risk that.

…

Hailey found herself seated at a lab table with Adam and Kim AP Chem, her last class of the day. The teacher was going on and on about lab safety and she was pretty sure that Adam was currently looking up the ingredients of a molotov cocktail instead of taking notes.

She still hadn’t talked to Jay about his visit to Kelton’s office and it was eating her up inside. He was definitely in trouble, there was only so much having an assumed dead girlfriend could get you out of.

Hailey looked up from doodling on her paper to see a red headed boy staring at her, she avoided his gaze by whispering to Kim about it. Kim chuckled under her breath. “That’s Kevin Hadley, he's harmless.”

Adam looked up like he missed something, but Kim shrugged him off. It was obvious that he wasn’t paying attention to anything other than his stupid secret prank plan.

The class dragged on for forever, and when the final bell rang, Hailey felt like crying. She bid goodbye to Adam and Kim and leaned against a set of lockers to text Jay, since he was her ride home. Suddenly a figure appeared in front of her. “I’m Kevin.” He said, leaning against the metal next to her.

“Hi.” She said briefly, returning her focus to her phone.

“Listen,” He said, taking a step toward her. “My buddy is throwing a party tonight, kind of a back to school bash if you will, you should come with me.”

Hailey’s head popped up, for someone so harmless, he was very forward. “Sorry, I have plans.” She said and made a move to walk past him, but he stepped in front of her.

“Come on, it’ll be fun.” Hailey stepped backward, feeling very uncomfortable with how close he was to her.

Before she could respond she heard a voice come from behind her. “I’m pretty sure she already said no.” She turned around to find Severide standing his ground behind her.

“Mind your own business man, we were just talking.” Kevin spit back, taking another step forward. Hailey quickly removed herself from in between the two boys and stood behind her new friend.

Severide stepped up to face him, “Walk away Hadley.” Hailey froze, she would recognize that low growl anywhere. He turned to look at her, “You good Hailey?” He asked and Hailey feigned confidence, pretending she wasn’t completely terrified. The person that strangled her was no longer a figure in the dark, it was Kelly Severide.

…

A/N: I’m thinking there will be some confusion about their school day, I’m trying to make this story as realistic to real high school as possible (since it hasn’t been that long since I was there myself), so that includes homework, not skipping school and definitely no free periods. That being said, I’ve structured their day the same way mine was. Four classes a day, every other day, eight in total. So sometimes they will have one class in the morning and in another chapter it could be a different one, it’s called an A-B Schedule. Anyway, just wanted to clear that up! Thanks for reading!

#jay halstead #hailey upton #upstead #upstead au #kim burgess #adam ruzek #burzek #burzek au #kevin atwater #erin lindsay #nadia decotis #kelly severide #chicago pd #chicago pd au #one chicago #chicago fire

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jjtheangel · 4 years

Text

Unconditional love with a side of uncontrollable anger

JJ Maybank x y/n

A/N: Hey guys, so this is literally the first fictional thing I’ve ever written for any fandom I’ve ever been in. Of course I’ve written things in school, growing up, but never anything I actually wanted to write. I’m definitely not an English major. This was a hard thing to release to the public. Pretty please don’t judge me too harshly. I tried my best. Also, I wrote it on my phone on google docs and then when I posted it here on mobile, it seemed like it was all weirdly spaced and not indented correctly so sorry if it looks messed up 🤷🏻‍♀️

warnings: angst, fluff, bad language, barely edited

I am confused about mostly everything in my life. I have no idea what my future will be like, if I even have one. One thing I know for sure is, my four best friends will be by my side always. I say four best friends but one of them might be more than a best friend. John B and Pope are like the brothers I always wanted and Kie is the absolute best friend a girl could possibly ask for. I’m so beyond thankful for them. JJ is a whole other story. It’s just completely different when I look at him. It’s not even close to a brother vibe. When I look at him, all I can think about is how beautiful and perfect he is. To all the other pogues and kooks living on this island, he’s just another low-life like the rest of us. To me, he’s a gift from the universe, a total angel that deserves everything he could ever want and need. I’m not exactly sure what I did in my past life to deserve to be in his presence basically every day of my life but I’m so freaking thankful for him.

I mean of course I’ve been in a few relationships and I’ve maybe experienced what people call “love”. Real love to me though, is what I feel when I look at him and what I feel when I get distracted from a conversation with my friends because I’m too busy thinking about him and wondering what he’s thinking about. I have to admit I’m a little disappointed in myself remembering that every time I’ve been intimate with other guys, all I’ve thought about is JJ and how much more better it would be to be experiencing those things with him instead of any other guy in the world. To him I’m just another one of his best friends. Of course he hits on me and says sexual shit to me all the time just like he does with Kie but that’s just the type of guy he is. If only he wasn’t joking around when he winks at me and tells me how sexy I look in a new dress that he doesn’t know I bought just to look good for him.

I’ve shared pretty much everything with that boy, all my darkest secrets, and in return he does the same. One of those secrets includes how much of a terrible person his father is. He’s a total piece of shit and I’m pretty sure there’s no one in the entire world that I hate more than his dad. Just thinking about his dad hurting him physically and verbally makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry for days.

I didn’t know it when I woke up this morning but apparently today was going to be one of those days. I somehow forgot to put my phone on silent when I passed out last night and woke up to my phone ringing loud as hell. John B was calling and it was still pretty early so that had me instantly worried. “Hey y/n, sorry it’s super early but I have some bad news. It’s not surprising but that piece of shit messed up our boy pretty bad again. I know for a fact he wants you here and your company would make him feel a lot better and definitely cheer him up. Get here as soon as you can.” John B said to me with a sad tone of voice. “Ok I’m on my way, thanks for calling dude.” I replied with a few tears rolling down my cheeks. That was the absolute worst news to wake up to but I didn’t really have time to process my feelings, I needed to get to him fast.

I walked in John B's house, the place that always made me feel at home and always made me instantly happy. Today wasn’t one of those days that I smiled while walking through the front door. John B and JJ had their backs to me and I smiled a little seeing John B holding JJ’s hand, trying to give him any bit of comfort he could. I then saw Pope and Kiara sitting on the couch with their arms crossed and a miserable look on their faces. Kie looked up at me with a sad face. While she wasn’t really aware of how totally in love I was with our beautiful blonde-haired friend, she definitely knew I had feelings for him. I was just so thankful that they got here even faster than I did to help comfort the boy we all loved so much. I slowly walked over to where JJ was sitting, not yet ready to see how sad and disappointed he was. I gently touched his shoulder and said “Hi angel, I’m here, here for you. I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. You know how shitty my Jeep is. How are you feeling?” “Definitely better now that you’re here y/n.” he said while pulling me into a hug. He winced a little when he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. I didn’t want to hurt him any more than he already was but I was glad to help him in any way that I could.

Pope looked over at us and realized that he was bleeding through his shirt and said “Hey J, how about we clean you up some and get you some new clothes.” JJ sighed but nodded his head anyways. He wasn’t the best at accepting help because he always wanted to look strong in front of us and be the one that was always here for us. I knew for a fact that he was the strongest person I know and he didn’t have to ever worry about looking weak in front of us. We all loved him no matter what. JJ reached down and pulled his shirt over his head and I gasped. He had bruises and cuts all over his abs and chest. It was worse than it’s ever been before. I felt a white hot rush of anger run through me. I couldn’t take it anymore, having the love of my life go through this pain. I abruptly stood up and everyone looked at me worried about what I was feeling. “You know what? Fuck this! I cannot stand to see our boy go through any more pain! I’m gonna go talk to that piece of shit right now and give him a piece of my mind!”

I rushed out to my car with everyone hot on my heels. They were worried about what I was going to do and what would happen after I confronted JJ’s dad. They knew I was the kind of person who was always sweet and kind to everyone, the kind of person you should watch out for. When I get angry, I don’t hold back at all, especially when someone hurts the people I love. I slammed the door to my Jeep and started it quickly. Everyone was yelling in protest but they knew I was going through too many emotions to listen to what they were saying. They jumped in John B’s van and followed after me. We all arrived at JJ’s house and I rushed to the front door. I faintly heard through my anger John B tell Kie and Pope to wait in the van and that him and JJ could handle me. I burst through the front door and started frantically searching for Luke Maybank with the boys right behind me. I found him on the couch with empty beer bottles all around him and a full one in his hand. “Hey fuckface”, I yelled “ I’m gonna tell you this only one time and you’re going to listen to me god dammit!”

“And who might you be sweetheart?” his disgusting voice slurred. John B and JJ cut in right after. “Y/n I don’t think this is the best idea, don’t make it any worse-“John B said to me, extremely worried. “I promise everything is going to be okay baby girl. I will be okay.” JJ interrupted him.

“No no, let her speak boy. She seems like she can handle herself.” Luke said to all of us.

“I will not tolerate you putting your hands on him anymore! You’re going to keep your hands off of him and keep your mouth shut around him! He does not deserve your bullshit! The things you say to him are not true and the things you put him through, no one deserves!especially not him.” I yelled

“Oh, I see..you’ve got yourself a little crush on my worthless son. Well sweetness, you’ll get over that eventually, he can’t give you anything you need. He’s just a sack of shit.” his father responded to me.

“Actually, you’re a horrible human being and he deserves a father who sees how perfect he is and appreciates him for everything he is! And actually stupid, I’m in love with him, not a stupid crush. He’s the most amazing, most perfect human being that has ever been on this planet and you don’t deserve to even be around him! He’s an extremely loyal best friend and would do absolutely anything for the people he cares about! If I find out one more time that you put him in any pain, physical or emotional, I will come here and make you regret it, I can promise you that!” I was out of breath with tears rolling down my face but I still managed to tell him what I needed to.

“Hey y/n, let's just get out of here. You got your point across, I promise.” John B begged me, ready to get us all out of this situation. JJ just stared at me in awe.

“Yeah I think that would be a good idea for y’all to get the hell out of my house! I’ll think about what you said sweet cheeks.” Luke's shitty voice said to us, with a mean smile on his face.

John B grabbed my arm gently and pulled me towards the door. JJ just quickly followed behind us, still speechless. We all got back in the van and John B took a deep breath and started driving away. Kie and Pope carefully looked at us in the back of the van, waiting for an explanation of what happened. I wasn’t ready to give any kind of explanation. I realized that I had accidentally said my feelings for JJ out loud. I gave her one look and she knew I needed her and reached out to hug me. Before I could get to her, JJ touched my shoulder and looked at me intently. I looked back at his sad eyes and put my hands on his cheeks gently. He then put his hands over top of mine. “Did I just hear you correctly, you said that you are in love with me or am I just dreaming?” He quietly said to me. “You’re not dreaming angel, I meant what I said and I’m sorry I blew up on your dad. I really really hope that he doesn’t punish you for it. No matter what happens, I will always be here for you.” I replied to him.

“You’re in love with me?? How is this possible? You’re freaking perfect and I’m me..” JJ said in surprise.

“You’re the perfect one J and you’re everything I’ve ever wanted, I couldn’t possibly love anyone more than I love you. I know-“ He suddenly interrupted me by putting his lips on mine. Now I thought I was the one dreaming. Was this finally happening? He actually wanted me back? How? He started off kissing me gently then more passionately as the seconds went by. We were both desperate to be closer to one another.

“So..now that we all finally know you guys both are madly in love with each other, can y’all stop doing that in front of the rest of us right now? Please and thanks.” Pope said while laughing.

The two of us broke apart and looked at our best friends in the van, smiling and laughing with us. “So, just so I’m clear, I’m yours and you’re mine babygirl?” JJ said sweetly.

“Yes, I will always be yours angel.” I replied

“Finallyyyy!” Kie and John B said at the exact same time. “Jinks!” they said again while laughing hysterically.

I was just so thankful that my friends wanted us to be together as much we wanted each other. Plus, they all still loved me even when I let my anger get the best of me. No one will ever stop me from defending the four people I love most in this world, especially my darling JJ.

@spilledtee @uwubonebabie @jjouterbanks

#jj maybank #jj outer banks #john b outer banks #obx #kiara x reader #john b routledge #john b x reader #kie obx #pope obx #rudy pankow x reader #casstriestowrite

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butmomilovepeter · 4 years

Text

first date

read on ao3?

imagine not posting for a year only to come back with this for no reason lmao hey guys

The mission was over and done within the hour, and that should have been the first sign that something was wrong. There was an ache in Tony’s chest; a mix of anticipation and anxiety, but he chose to ignore it. That was the second sign.

“Hey, Pete, come with me,” Tony said, motioning for Spiderman to follow. “I just want to do a quick sweep down that block.” He waved towards it absentmindedly.

“On it!”

He’s in a good mood today, and it makes Tony smirk. Peter’s a genuinely happy kid, but he’s also seventeen, and if Tony knows anything about seventeen year olds, it’s that their mood swings are unpredictable. So when Peter doesn’t give him any attitude, the ache in his chest dissipates, and a bit of relief replaces it. They made their way down through the street, fixing lampposts and flipping cars and helping pedestrians. (Why people still wanted to live in New York City he didn’t know. It was clearly one of the most susceptible cities for alien attacks.)

All the while, Peter was kind and quiet for the younger kid’s sake, and put on a more mature facade for the adults. It made Tony’s heart swell, though he would never admit it.

“You’re chipper today, young Skywalker,” Tony joked. “What’s up?”

“Chipper is a weird word,” Peter said, but there was a laugh in his words as well. “Does something have to be “up” for me to be in a good mood?”

“Yes, because last week you snapped at me for asking if you wanted pizza for dinner.”

“I was tired!” he argued.

“You were being moody.”

Peter thought about this for a moment. “Fair.”

“So, really, what’s going on?” Tony was genuinely curious. “Is it about MJ?”

“What? No,” he said, and Tony could hear the embarrassment in his voice. “No, it’s not about MJ.”

“I think you’re lying to me,” said Tony. “I can tell when you lie to me.”

“That’s creepy, Mr.Stark.”

“Maybe,” he said. “C’mon, spit it out.” He nudged Peter in the shoulder.

“I have a date tonight, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?” He whispered it as if she would hear him, which only made Tony laugh. “At seven. Right after this.”

“God, finally. I thought you’d never ask her out.”

They rounded the corner, finding themselves alone and away from the crowds. The alleyway was clear. (That really should have been sign number three.)

“Whatever.” Peter crossed his arms. “I don’t know. I’m excited.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Tony smiled. “What’s the plan? Dinner and a show? A little Lady and the Tramp action? Or maybe--”

“Stop talking.”

“There’s the attitude--”

“No, stop talking.” Peter was rigid. He was sensing something, and the ache in Tony’s chest bombarded him.

Tony blinks. He blinks, and it’s chaos.

Chaos because he just closed his eyes for a millisecond, a millisecond, and then there was the shout. The firing of the weapon. The cry as Peter went down, and the thud as he ungracefully hit the ground.

“Peter!”

He fired blindly at the source. Anger is a funny thing, in this case, because anger isn’t just anger at the moment. It’s protection, loyalty, and fear all wrapped up with anger slapped in front of it. Tony chases the alien-- a sickly grotesque vomit-green thing, with drooping skin and bones. No doubt sent by a Thanos wannabe, or even some other powerful entity, pushing the limits for the Avengers. Clearly, this was Tony’s limit, because he doesn’t even register how fast he flies at it, his ammunition being wasted and catastrophically used on the stringy green thing. It falls down dead a couple feet ahead of him.

“Tony, what the hell was that?” Steve commands through their coms, his voice edged with worry and annoyance.

Tony can’t even really hear him. “Peter.”

“What about the boy?” That’s Thor.

“There was one more. It got Peter.”

Tony clambered out of his suit, not caring about the dangers anymore. The others yelled in his ears, but he didn’t want to listen to them. He just wanted to get to Peter.

Peter had somehow army-crawled his way to the brick wall. His face was pale. He had taken his mask off, and now all Tony could see was the sweaty and ghostly way his face gleamed off the newly-lit lampposts.

From the front, there wasn’t anything wrong with him. From the front, he just just looked stressed, tired, and pained.

Tony exited his suit swiftly, knowing the dangers and not caring. He wanted human hands to help the kid. (Well, human hand. The other one was lost to Thanos. But it was Tony. He wanted to be Tony, not Ironman, when he approached Peter.)

He fell to his knees by his side, cupping his face with his good hand. “Look at me, Pete. Look at me. Where--?”

“My back,” Peter wheezed.

“Let me look at it, alright?”

Tony carefully leaned him into his shoulder so he could see the damage. He suppressed a gag first when he saw it. It’s the smell. Burning flesh. It’s not a normal wound. It’s like fire. It burned away the back of the spandex of Peter’s suit, his back now exposed. And his back...Tony could puke. Layers of skin were burnt--he couldn’t tell you what kind of burns he’d have. He didn’t know. He tried to touch it, but all Peter did was yelp into his shoulder and seize in on himself.

“Mr. Stark-- Tony--” and Peter doesn’t call Tony that often, so he knew his pain tolerance was being breached. He wouldn’t be able to handle it for much longer.

Tony pulled Peter back against the wall, watching as the poor kid winced and screwed his face up to deal with the pain. When he did open his eyes again, they were hazy and red, and they didn’t seem to really see anything at all.

“It’s gonna be alright, yeah? We’ll get the team and we’ll get Strange down here, and he’ll fix you up, huh? So just--so just stay with me.” Tony cupped Peter’s face with both hands. “Stay with me.”

Peter tried. He truly did, and Tony could tell. But still, his head lolled in Tony’s hands, and the grip he had been keeping on Tony’s sleeves weakend. “Can’t.”

“Well, you’re going to have to,” Tony chided, shaking him in a way he hoped didn’t hurt. “You’ve got a lot of people counting on you.”

He didn’t want to explain to Morgan why Peter wasn’t coming back. He didn’t want to have to tell May Parker that she had lost her whole world again, this time permanently. He didn’t want to add a Spiderman hologram to their Avengers memorial. He didn’t want to plan a funeral. He didn’t want to lose a child. He didn’t--he couldn’t.

“God, MJ is gonna kill me,” Peter said, his words playful, but his tone thin. “And don’t even get me started on May and Ned.”

“Kid?” Tony was scared. Very, very sacred. He pulled Peter into his arms, careful to avoid the growing wound on his back. “Don’t say stuff like that. You’ll give me more gray hairs.”

Peter hugged Tony back weakly. “If you have to, tell them, okay? Morgan, too.”

Tony knew what Peter meant, and somehow that made it worse. “Well, that’s just not happening, you know that, right?”

“Tony, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you,” he said between gasps. Peter was weak. He was strong, but he was very weak. He was nearly liquid in Tony’s arms.

Tony swallowed. “Fine. If.”

He could tell Peter was smiling, but when he finally went completely limp, Tony prayed that wasn’t the last time he’d see him do that.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Tony’s voice is shallow. There’s something caught in his throat. His demeanor is tight, his face is strict. He feels like if he moves an inch he might explode.

Strange, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically soft. His eyes have bags under them, and his shoulders droop forward. He looks mentally exhausted.

“Tony—”

“Tell me the truth, Strange.”

Strange’s eyes flicker towards the chart in his hands. “He’s been burned bad, Stark. He’s alive, but it’s painful.”

“I can deal with painful,” Tony responds.

Strange’s lips made a thin line. “Perhaps...but can he?”

This startles Tony, so much so that his demeanor cracks a bit, and his mouth drops open. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that this isn’t a normal kind of pain because this wasn’t a normal kind of weapon,” he responds, keeping his voice low. “This tech--there’s magic in it. My kind of magic.”

“But the stones are gone,” Tony says, anger veering on his voice.

“They are, but that doesn’t mean that magic like that isn’t still out there, Tony.”

“So...what's your plan, then?”

Strange didn’t respond for a second. He looks like he was weighing his options. “There’s a couple ways we could deal with it, and none of them are ideal.”

Tony gulps. “Lay it on me.”

“One, we could wait it out, but he’s either going to be in incredible amounts of pain or not conscious at all.” Strange starts leading him down the hallway to Peter’s room. Everything is white and clean and shiny, and Tony feels like a stark contrast to everything around him. “That’s...the simplest way.”

“I take it the other way isn’t like that?”

Strange shook his head. “It’ll be quicker, but it could also make it worse.” Strange continues to stare at him, like he was trying to find the best route to follow the conversation.

“Just spit it out, Strange, Jesus!” Tony completely crumbles. He’s worried. He wants to be able to go home with Peter by the end of the week, by the end of the day.

“Tony, I’m being cautious because you can’t make this decision in your state,” Strange responds sharply. “You want him better, we all do, but if we rush into anything, we could do more harm than good.”

“What’s option two?”

“Stark--”

“What’s option two?” he says more forcefully.

Strange stares at him again, his face hard to read. “There are spells. I know some that may help.”

“That sounds peachy,” Tony says, looking at the ground. “But there’s a price, right?”

“Yes.” Strange opens the door to the hospital room. “Even if it succeeds, it could cause new problems, ones that we might not be able to solve. Magic is a fickle thing, Stark. It’s almost its own entity. It doesn’t like to be controlled, it likes to be channeled. ”

“Would it kill him?”

“It might. Or it could paralyze him, void his mind of thought, make his burns move to a different place--there is a lot of risk.”

Tony stares at Peter’s bed. The kid was on his stomach, his wounded back prominent against the white linen sheets and pale skin. His head was turned to the side. His whole face was smooth and lineless and white. It makes Tony’s stomach turn.

“But if we don’t? If we don’t use magic?”

Strange sighs. “The sedatives Banner and you made will keep him under, and I can work on treatments now, but there are no guarantees. We don’t know when he’ll wake up.” He pauses, looking carefully between Tony and Peter. “... if he’ll wake up.”

Tony’s voice hitches in his throat. He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to think about that. He takes deep breaths and he tries to steady himself, because he cannot handle that. He holds his hands together; the smoothness of the right arm against the calloused and worked one of the left. His words are stuck in his throat.

“It’s your choice. I’ll back you up either way,” said Strange. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry too,” he says after a moment.

Strange grips his shoulder as he walks out, leaving Tony alone with the prone Peter. He finds himself making his way to sit in the armchair next to the bed.

His hand moves on it’s own towards his head. He pushes back Peter’s hair from his face, trying to stop his hands from shaking.

“Don’t let it be if, kid,” Tony says. “I’m begging you.”

May answers on the second ring. “Please tell me you’re calling to make lunch plans.”

“May…”

“This isn’t a lunch plan phone call, is it?”

“I wish I could say it was.”

He paces up and down the linoleum hallway of the medical wing, his footsteps echoing off the walls.

He hears May shudder a breath over the phone. “What’s wrong with him?” Of course she already has an idea.

He goes into his scripted explanation, being careful to keep his tone hopeful and light. He knows she didn’t buy it, but he knows she’s grateful anyway.

When he finishes, she doesn’t say anything. He just listens to her breath deeply, no doubt holding tears back. He doesn’t blame her. He kinda wants to cry too.

“Um, Happy can, uh, pick you up if you want to come up here,” he says, clearing his throat.

“Yeah, I would,” she responds, her voice thick. “Do you...do you think he needs anything?”

“I don’t know if he’d even notice,” and he regrets saying it as soon as he does.

May doesn’t seem to mind or care. “Tony?”

“Hmm?”

“What-what do you think? Do you think he’ll…” She can’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

“...That’s the other thing, May. We have some options. But neither are ideal.” He somehow has made it back to Peter’s room, much to his dismay. He wanted to be far away from there.

“Let me guess. Either way, it’s still up in the air.”

Tony nods. “Either we wait it out, see what Dr.Banner and Dr.Strange can do...or we take a more mystical approach.”

“Mystical?”

“The wound isn’t human, May. It’s, in the good doctor’s terms, magical.” He sat down at that same armchair. “And with him being a wizard and all, he says he might be able to do something about that.”

May is quiet. He assumes she’s thinking it over. “What’s your take?”

“Usually, I’d say we wait,” he says. “But...I trust Strange. And I feel like it’s worth a shot.”

“Then do it. I spent the last five years grieving over him, Tony. I can’t do that again.” There’s rustling on her hand, probably her gathering Peter’s things. “So if you’re saying we’ve got a shot at this, take it.”

Tony feels his heartbeat hammer in his chest with adrenaline. “I do. I have to believe we do.”

May’s voice was full of tears. “He had a date tonight. His first real date. Laid out his clothes and everything.”

Tony doesn’t respond. He if did, he wouldn't be able to make clear words.

At some point, May hangs up. Tony sends Happy to whisk her up to him.

Tony watches Peter’s mechanical breathing. The wound itself he tries to look away from. The skin around it is red like hell. The burns are bone deep, but there’s something unsettling and wrong about them, like they clung to his very existence and not just his back. Maybe that’s what Strange was talking about.

He walks in about fifteen minutes later. “Stark?”

“Let’s do it,” he says, getting to his feet. “Bring on the magic, Dumbledore.”

Lighter footsteps come running down the hallway. “Daddy!”

Morgan was dressed in her favorite overalls, which we rustled from playing and other such five-year-old activities.

“Hey, squirt.” Tony scoops her up into his arms and twirls her around, glad for the moment of solace after such a harrowing day. “What’re you doing here?”

Pepper, and May follow in suit, each wearing a matching solemn expression. May looks like she’s been crying.

Pepper lands a kiss on his cheek. “How is he?”

“Strange is testing some things out. Seeing what might work. He hasn’t started anything yet,” says Tony, placing Morgan on his hip. “But the gang’s all here.” He nudges Morgan’s cheek with his own.

“What’s wrong with Pete? Mommy won’t tell me,” Morgan says, gaining a few dry chuckles from the group.

“Oh, you know Peter. He always lands himself in trouble,” Tony supplies, hoping she’ll accept his answer.

But she’s his daughter, so of course she won’t. “What kind of trouble?”

He doesn’t answer right away, because explaining to a five-year-old that her pseudo older brother got shot with a magical alien gun isn’t easy.

Pepper takes May’s hand, leading her down the hallway. “Let’s go grab some coffee. You look like you could use it.”

That leaves Tony alone with his daughter. She tries to ask him again, but stops short when he gives her a quick look. He sits down on a bench outside Peter’s closed off room. “It’s a long story, kiddo.”

“I like stories,” she replies.

Tony gives her half a smile. “Not these kinds, baby.”

“What’s wrong with him, Daddy?” She pushes on his knee while he kneels in front of her.

“You remember when Mom and I went to that big fight? And everybody was there?” When she nods slowly, he continues. “I got pretty banged up, remember? So I had to get this?” He waved the metal hand around, flexing his fingers and pushing her hair back.

“You got your cool arm,” she says, trailing her fingers down it.

“Right,” Tony continues. “We had another fight today. And Peter got pretty banged up.”

“Will he get a cool arm, too?”

Tony kisses her forehead. “No, not that kind of banged up. It’s on his back, M.”

“Can I see him? He says I always make him feel better.”

Tony felt his eyes well up with tears. “Not yet, baby. You know Dr. Strange? He’s trying to fix Pete up. But it might take a long time.”

“I don’t like waiting, Daddy.”

“Yeah, me neither, babe. But we’re gonna have to if we want him to get better.”

She stares down at her sneakers, like she doesn’t know the right thing to say. Tony doesn’t know either, so they stay silent for a few minutes.

The girls return after a few more minutes.

“I told Ned to make something up for that MJ girl’s sake,” May says quietly, one hand in her pocket and the other holding her coffee. “He’s out of his mind worried.”

Secretly, Tony knows it’s kind of selfish of him to feel so hollow about losing Peter. It’s May who should be on the edge of a breakdown, not him, yet somehow she seems calm and collected. It took a whole year and a half before May and Tony spoke about anything, much less about Peter. She didn’t accept his invitations, and Tony didn’t blame her. She was angry at him for losing her nephew, her only living family. Tony blamed himself too. It wasn’t until Morgan’s second birthday that she brought him up, saying how when Peter was Morgan’s age, his favorite color was red, like Morgan’s was too.

For her, it was always something. The Parker’s, then Ben, then Peter.

Tony had lost people too, but he had Pepper and Morgan to help him through.

He’s about to say something to her, an apology or a condolence, but Strange busts out from Peter’s room, huffing. “I think I’ve figured it out.”

Tony watches Strange make strange symbols and movements, but he doesn’t interrupt. His worry clouds his curiosity. The orange glow of Strange’s powers hurt his eyes, but he keeps them trained on Peter, who was still stone-like in his sleep.

He made his wife and daughter wait in the hall, but he did ask May to join him. Should next to him, her jaw stiff upon seeing her nephew (her son ) lying so still. He grabs for her hand in a comforting way, which she gladly accepts. He knew why; she wanted to hold some tangible if she couldn’t hold Peter. She wanted to hold onto something real.

Strange’s eyes are closed and concentrated, breathing deeply as he conjures some sort of spell.

There’s a sudden blast of energy that ripples between them all, sending shivers down Tony’s spin and the brief scent of burning in his nose. Strange holds the energy (perhaps the spell? Magic still confuses Tony) in his hands, and then slowly dissolves it into Peter’s wound.

For a brief, cold, solid moment, Peter does not breathe. He does not move. He flatlines, and Tony is already to fall to his knees if it wasn’t for the equally distraught May holding him up.

And then, he gasps.

Strange immediately does something else, another spell or other such magical words, and Peter’s back seems to heal itself.

“Woah, what the hell--?” Peter says softly, shifting his arms underneath him to sit up a little.

“Peter!” May cries, letting go of Tony’s hand in favor of helping Peter turn around. “Jesus, baby, are you okay?”

Strange seems a bit put out, and he nearly falls back into the other armchair on the other side. Tony mouths him thank you before coming to Peter’s otherside, gaining him half a nod and a sigh from the other man.

“May? What happened?” Peter asks, flexing his fingers and stretching his shoulder. “Mr.Stark?”

“What do you remember, kid?” Tony asks, removing the tubes away from Peter’s face.

Peter raises his eyebrows. “We just finished the mission, and we were talking about my date, and then...oh God . Did I miss my date?”

Tony and May both bark out ridiculous laughs, causing a helpless look from Peter.

“I’m sorry, baby. Ned had to cover for you,” May replies, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

“She’s not going to be happy. She’s been waiting for me to ask her for, like, a month.”

“You can ask her again, Pete. I’m sure she’ll say yes,” Tony offers.

“I hope so. I don’t know what Ned could have possibly come up with. He cracks under pressure,” Peter says, letting May and Tony coddle him.

The door swung open. “Pete!”

Morgan came running at them, ready to jump right on Peter if it wasn’t for Tony catching her mid-air and dropping her down softly.

“Sorry. I could only keep her out there for so long,” Pepper says, a light smile on her lips.

Morgan clammers to squeeze herself between Peter and her father. “You’re awake!”

“Yeah, Morg, I am,” Peter says with a laugh. “No doubt because you’re here.”

She grins wildly at him, asking a million questions about why he didn’t get a metal back, why “Mr.Strange” was being so quiet, why Peter didn’t have a shirt on, why everyone looked like they were crying, and just about anything that came to her head.

Tony took mental snapshots. These were the moments to remember. These were the moments that made it worth it.

#peter parker #tony stark #tony and peter #irondad #spiderson #ironman #spiderman #may parker #pepper potts #morgan stark #pepperony #spideychelle #fanfiction #my writing #hey guys....#been a minutes hasnt it

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innittowinit · 4 years

Text

Can we agree that duels are dumb and immature? (CH. 2)

chapt. 1

AO3 LINK

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Language: English

Word count (including previous chapter): 3701

Summary:

Tubbo is still with Manburg and never became a spy He never wanted to be the villain, so why is he dueling his best friend?

“Is - there - anything - you’re - good - for!” The dictator punctuated his words by sharp kicks to the gut, his black steel-toed dress shoes making the perfect tool for the job; he always bought the pointed style, ‘they looked smarter’ he’d say, but right now it’s job was just to focus all the man's strength into his kicks.

“Y’know if you weren’t so smart I would have kicked you out along with those runts a long time ago. The only reason you aren’t out there, starving and foraging is because i wanted to help you!” Another kick was directed at him, this time it was his ribs. Poor Tubbo could already feel the bruise forming along his bone. “I help you! And this is the thanks I get! I give you a job! Provide you with food!..and you help the enemy. I’m disappointed in you Tubbo”

Schlatt crouched down, one knee on the floor as he watched the boy cower, too weak from both the duel and his beating to even raise a finger in protest. He knew he couldn't run, he was trapped. “Don’t you dare go against orders again. You hear that kid? This is my nation now, not your little playground”

A breath hitched in Tubbo’s throat at that; he was right. He had no power anymore. No matter how long he stayed, no matter how much he sucked up to JSchlatt, he would never rise in power, in the dictator’s eye’s he would always be a pawn, a disposable soldier in his game of chess. How could he have been so blind? Of course he should have left with Tommy, this was horrible, living here was horrible. He’d rather scamper around for food than live under the iron fist of their current ruler. He should have known he’d never be able to take him down from the inside.

The horned man grabbed forcefully at the back of Tubbo's hair, claw-like nails digging in to have a firm enough grasp, before slamming his head down against the cold, stone floor, built by none other than Fundy. A thin trickle of blood seeped down his forehead, only noticed once Tubbo had put his hand up to hold his pounding head and found it covered in blood, but there was no cracking noise. He wasn’t sure if he was lucky or unlucky for that, he’d love to pass out right now and just miss the pain of his torture but knowing Schlatt he’d find a way to make it worse for him once he had woken up.

It hurt. A lot.

Over all the wars he had taken part in, Tubbo had built up a pretty high pain tolerance, he’d been shot by dream countless times, stabbed by George, even his own teammates had unknowingly hurt him before. Nothing had ever felt like this though, he wasn’t sure what was hurting because he had been kicked and hit and what was hurting from the absolute anguish he was feeling mentally. Eyes wide and terrified, he watched Schlatt stand up, he seemed so confident in himself, despite the fact that Tubbo had absolutely no idea what he was planning, which is what scared him even more. He watched as he walked gracefully towards the door, locking the door behind him and leaving the boy in darkness.

To say he was stunned would be an understatement. He was so scared, so confused, was it safe to try an escape? He had to try. He didn’t know if he’d be welcomed into Pogtopia, he didn't even know where it was, but that seemed like the only option at the minute. He needed his friends. With aching, unsteady hands he pushed himself to sit up, getting lightheaded already as the cut in his scalp started to throb more significantly. Grabbing onto a desk, he dragged himself to his feet and was suddenly very unsure on whether he could even make it to the door, let alone find his friends. Apparently Eret and Bad had been to their base before, despite all their disagreements in the past, he trusted Eret a lot more than he trusted Bad. Bad had been on Dream’s side in the war the entire time, at least Eret had been with them a little, and now he was trying to prove he was trustworthy again! Tubbo needed to find him, he needed to find him and get directions to Pogtopia.

That was much easier said than done, unfortunately. Upon standing his head felt fair more dizzy, his vision was static and his knees felt like the bones had been pulled right out from them, Not to mention the way his stomach churned from all the kicks he had endured. He felt as though he might vomit.

Before daring to take a step, he took a deep breath, feeling his bruised rib shift inside of him from the sudden expansion in his lungs. ‘Well fuck’ he thought to himself ‘fuck fuck fuck’ What he absolutely didn't need right now was to have a broken rib, he had absolutely no potions on him and unless he wanted to damage his lungs too, he knew he’d have to stray away from taking big gulps of air, which meant he couldn’t exactly run.

Not like he could have anyways.

An arm gingerly cradles his side, wanting to provide support for his damaged bone without pressing too hard and causing more damage than before. One foot in front of the other, that’s what he tells himself, as he desperately tries to walk across the room. The pain is unbearable and with each step his vision grows more and more fuzzy. He needs to sit down, he needs a break but he knows he won't be able to get back up again if he lets himself have it. Stopping for a second, he grasps at the wall for balance, taking in deep breaths as he tries to level his head again, only to regret it when a hot pain explodes in his chest, causing him to grasp at it in agony as tears slipped out of his eyes.

So much pain. He’d be safe once he got to Eret, Eret would help him.

The boy's thoughts were cut off however by Schlatt returning, this time clad in netherite armour with an enchanted diamond sword in his right hand. After him followed George and Quackity, both holding iron axes.

Spirit crushed, Tubbo sank down to his knees, any hope of escape fleeting at the sight of the men in front of him. Schlatt crouched down in front of him for the second time that day, making a loud stomp on the cold stone flooring to get Tubbo’s attention, and when that didn’t work, he grabbed his jaw and forcefully pulled his head up to make eye contact with him.

Tubbo didn’t want Schlatt to see just how broken he had made him. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction of it.

Schlatt lifted the sword, but not as though it would strike down, no, rather he lined it up with Tubbo’s neck, positioning it perfectly and intricately. There was no denying that if he dared move a muscle there would be a large gash where the sword once was.

“Now kid,” A bitter laugh echoed around the dark room, was it day or night? He couldn't tell. The duel had been in the morning but he had no idea how long he’d been left in this damp room. “You know that here in Manburg we don’t exactly like traitors, in fact if you weren't so precious in your skills we’d have kicked you out months ago. You know that. But here’s the thing, Tubbo. We can’t have you running around, being best friends with the enemy. Really this punishment is for your own good, You’re just a kid, we know that. So we’re here to ‘teach’ you how to be a better worker”

The sword pulled away, just far enough for him to be able to nod without cutting himself, before pressing back up against his neck, keeping him from even daring to move. He didn’t want to find out what enchantments were on it, he was already dangerously low on health.

“Good boy.” The ram sneered, glancing back at George and Quackity for a second, mumbling instructions to them. Fight or flight responses kicking in, Tubbo started to kick his legs, the only part of himself that hadn't been damaged yet. He was scared of the sword but he knew he needed to pick up a fight. He kicked Schlatt square in the chest, the man tumbling back because of his height. Taking his only chance so far, he scampered towards the door, only to be yanked back by the arm by George. Yelping out in immense pain his spare hand went back to cradle his ribs, agony coursing through his body at the violent disruption to the already hurt body part.

Whoever was last in, Tubbo hadn’t been paying attention to that while he hurt so badly, had forgotten to lock the door apparently, not like Tubbo had noticed that either. His mind was so clouded he had absolutely been ready to just pound at the door. However, the constant yelling must have attracted someone because there, standing in the doorway, was Eret.

Maybe it was because he had been anticipating getting to him for so long but as he watched the man in the doorway, the sun seemed to glimmer off his crown in a way that made him look like an angel.

“Oh my god” He rushed inside, crouching down next to tubbo, picking him up onto his back.

“Our friend Tubbo here had a run in with some mobs, Isn’t that right, Kid?” The patronising tone making it evident that Schlatt would never see him as an equal.

He gave a weak nod, knowing the only way to get out now would be to play along. He wasn’t stupid, he knew how Schlatt worked.

“Kid trapped himself in here without any torches! Can you believe that?” He slapped Eret on the shoulder, far too hard for it to be friendly “We had just finished fighting them off when you arrived”

Eret gave a slow nod, feeling Tubbo curl up against his back, keeping a tight hold on him as he had noticed he was only holding on with one arm.

“Best thing to do might be to put him to bed, we can trust you with that job right Eret?” Another nod “I think he’s learnt his lesson now anyway, by the looks of those injuries he won't be making any mistakes like that ever again” And with that, Tubbos blood ran cold. He knew all too well that that wasn’t about his little made up story anymore. He knew it wasn’t a ploy to keep Eret under their control either.

It was directed at him. It was directed at him and it was a threat about what would happen if he ever dared to disobey orders again.

#tubbo #jschlatt #fanfic #whump #hurt/ no comfort #mcyt #dream smp

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cagestark · 4 years

Text

-Defender//6-

just a lil chapter. Next is the last.

Read here on AO3.

Tony’s hand isn’t as burned as he feared. Once the initial redness wears off, the skin is just tinted pink and a little raw. Still Rhodey supervises down in Tony’s lab while the younger man applies burn cream to the tender skin. On top of all the callouses and scars that his hands already bear, he’s surprised he even feels it at all.

“I’ve never heard you so quiet before,” Rhodey says from where’s he’s seated on a stool on the other side of the lab table, the surface strewn with first aid supplies. The man’s dark eyes track his every move, mouth in its characteristic frown. “I’ve never actually heard you be quiet at all. This must be serious.”

“It’s not, really,” Tony says. But as he says it, he loses his confidence. What happened upstairs seems pretty serious: seriously concerning, seriously unexpected. In a deep, vulnerable place, Tony was seriously grateful. “Peter is protective. I recruited him a few weeks ago when I found him scaling the side of the building.”

Rhodey’s eyebrows climb up his sloped forehead. “Mutant?”

“Enhanced,” says Tony, slowly refilling the first aid supply kit. “Bitten by a radioactive spider, believe it or not. He’s got super strength, agility, and scopulae that help him stick to nearly any surface like Velcro.”

“Goddamn.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“So why are you the surface he’s stuck himself to?” Rhodey asks.

Tony lets the question linger, pondering it. This is Rhodey, who has seen him in all manners of debauchery, who has seen every high and low of Tony’s up-close-and-personal for the last thirty years—but that doesn’t mean it gets any easier to see the disappointment in his face. It doesn’t mean that Tony doesn’t fear losing one of the last people who cares about him, who tolerates him at all.

At last Tony says, “I think he’s kind of in love with me.”

“Kid’s got a crush?”

“Yeah,” Tony admits. “And—he’s not the only one.”

Rhodey sighs, reaching up to rub at his forehead. “Jesus, Tones. How old is he?”

“Legal. Not that it makes it any better with more than twenty years between us. Steve doesn’t approve. He thinks I’m grooming the kid.”

“These people don’t know you at all,” Rhodey says. “Tony. Tony, look at me. That’s not the kind of guy you are.”

“He’s the most righteous man alive,” Tony says. His hands shake, weakness, like leftover DT’s from the day she stopped drinking an inordinate amount of alcohol and only indulged on occasion. Weakness. All he’s made from are a dozen different weaknesses stitched together into the shape of a man. “You know me. Obviously I’m not one for self-reflection. But when the man who used to kill Nazis for a living always thinks the worst of me, maybe it’s because there is worse in me.

“Peter treats me like the sun shines out of my ass, all because I treat him like a fucking human being, but he barely knows me. If there’s one thing history has taught me, it’s that there’s Captain America’s side, and then there’s the wrong side. I always end up on the other side. Always. If Peter isn’t careful, he’s going to end up there with me, and that’s not what I want for him. He’s good, I think. In his core.”

“So are you,” Rhodey says. “None of the Avengers know you, and you don’t even know yourself. If you did, you wouldn’t let yourself be treated like this. At least this kid seems to have some sense, even if he’s subtle as a brick wielding it. I feel a lot better about spending so much time in DC knowing that someone is here and in your corner.”

Peter rests his forehead against one of the glass floor-length window panes in his room, mouth full of sticky-sweet cherry flavored pastry. He can barely taste it. Up this high, Manhattan looks fake beneath him, a toy city that he should take care not to step on, like the lego structures he used to leave out around May’s apartment when he was a boy.

May. The pain of losing her never gets easier. There is no coping, there is just forgetting. Times when his mind is so full up with other things that there is no room for even her, when he’s working on a machine, when he’s training with Natasha in the gym. Then in moments like this, her memory comes rushing back in, and it’s like the grieving process starts over. She dies again to him, every day.

Are you ashamed of me? Peter wonders, looking into the cloudless sky. There is no answer.

May had never liked violence, but she was fierce in her own way. She believed in justice, she believed in compassion. Would she think he overreacted in the kitchen when he’d threatened to tear off another enhanced’s limb? Or would she think him justified, if she knew of the things Steve and the rest of the team had done to Tony? Just thinking about it makes his blood boil. People who had hurt Tony physically and emotionally, people who had no respect for him, people who still took advantage of every bit of his goodwill. Unremorseful people.

Glancing down, Peter sees that he’s crushed his other poptart to crumbs. Kneeling down to sweep them into the palm of his hand, his spine goes stiff, just a brief moment of warning—someone at the door, not Steve, not Tony, someone—before there is a firm knock. Abandoning the crumbs, Peter opens the door a crack, afraid of who might be on the other side.

A dark, serious complexion greets him.

“Hi,” Rhodey says. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Peter says, opening the door wide to let him past. He catches a brief glimpse of the other Avengers standing huddled together, eyeing Peter’s room with wariness before he shuts the door on the image.

It must look strange, a young man whose room is so empty. No photographs on the wall, no pile of clothes on the floor, no posters or game consoles. The bed is made (unslept in most nights, though Rhodey would have no way of knowing that sometimes Peter feels more comfortable in enclosed spaces, that he curls up inside the closet empty except for clothes hangers or that he crawls underneath the bed to sleep). Combined with his display in the kitchen, he can’t imagine what the older, distinguished man must think of him.

“Is Tony’s hand okay?” Peter asks. He can still hear the pained hiss the man made when the steaming coffee spilt onto his bare flesh. It makes that feeling come up in Peter all over again, that feeling like he has swallowed fire, fury like acid that eats at his stomach, fury that he wants to spit out at someone. At Steve Rogers. “I should have stayed to make sure.”

“It might blister,” Rhodey says. “But he gets worse down there in his lab on the daily. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Why are you here then?”

“Tony is important to me. The most important person in my life except for my own mother. I’ve been watching his back since he was a teenager, and short of dying, nothing’s ever going to change that. That’s either going to make us friends or enemies, Parker. Your choice.”

On the lengthy list of threats Peter’s received in his life, this is easily the most charming. Rhodey isn’t even enhanced. Peter could kill him without breaking a sweat, could tear his head from his body, could pull off his arms and legs the way other kids do to spiders, to smaller, weaker creatures. But there’s still something formidable about the other man. At the very least, there is something respectable.

“Anyone in Tony’s corner is someone I want to be friends with,” Peter admits.

Rhodey’s expression softens. He holds out a hand that Peter meets with his own. “Then you’re alright by me, kid. You could use a lesson in picking your battles, though. It doesn’t take enhanced powers of deduction to see that Rogers wants you off the team.”

“I’ll fight any battle that protects Tony.”

“And when you’re on the bench because Rogers has convinced the Powers that Be that you’re too unpredictable to be in the field? Who’s going to be protecting Tony then? Too many injuries have happened on missions because not a single one of them can be counted on to have Tony’s back. You could change that, if you’d get a grip on your temper,” Rhodey says. Peter’s shoulders sag—he hadn’t even thought of that.

“Sometimes I can’t help it,” Peter admits. “It feels like there’s this monster inside of me. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde or something. When they say something bad about Tony or when they hurt him, some flip inside me gets switched. How do I stop?”

“You’ve got to choose what’s more important to you,” Rhodey says. “Protecting Tony or avenging him.”

For a long time after Rhodey leaves, Peter stands at the wall of windows, staring out unseeing at the city below while he cycles through everything that Colonel Rhodes said, wondering again and again, Why can’t Peter do both?

“This is like, a foreign language to me,” Peter mutters, flipping through the textbook that Tony had retrieved for him. The cover reads FUNDAMENTALS OF ELECTRICAL ENGINEERING. The glossy margins are filled with Tony’s tiny scrawl, and Peter runs his fingers reverently over the writing trying to imagine a fifteen year old boy scribbling on each page. He’s seen pictures, newspapers archived on the New York City Public Library computers of a young, handsome boy crouched beside a robot he built, smiling into the camera. Fifteen years old, and this had been nothing to Tony. Peter is twenty and it takes him ages to get through a single paragraph, googling foreign terms on his phone and struggling to understand the abstract concepts.

Tony glances up from his StarkPad. He balks at the expression on Peter’s face and turns the tablet off, sitting it aside. “Come over. We can go through it together.”

“You’d explain it to me?” Peter asks, raking his eyes over the older man’s face. Fuck, Tony is so handsome. That look he’s giving Peter, too, the unbearably tender kind, the fond kind, it makes him all the more beautiful. He’s not above asking Tony for help. His pride was one of the first things he had to let go of when he began to live and sleep rough. “I feel like an idiot.”

“You’re far from an idiot,” Tony says. He pats the seat next to him and they sit shoulder to shoulder, close enough that Peter can soak up the man’s warmth, struggling not to sway ever closer. Tony has his own gravity, and Peter often feels helpless to it. “You’re self-taught. It’s no wonder that a lot of this technical jargon isn’t connecting.”

They make it through the first chapter together, and Tony was right—much of it Peter was familiar with, though it hadn’t been presented in terms he knew. Tony is an excellent teacher, too. Patient and insightful, witty. He soothes Peter’s fears that he isn’t smart enough, builds confidence in him that maybe he could learn to be an engineer the way he’d always dreamed.

“We should send you to school,” Tony says afterwards, handing Peter a chilled Coke from the refrigerator. “An Avengers Scholarship, maybe. Full ride, all the amenities, only the best schools and tutors.”

“You mean you won’t be my private tutor, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, letting his eyes get wide and sweet. Most older men find the guileless thing sexy, but Tony just laughs at him.

“I wouldn’t want to put your education in jeopardy. People will hardly be able to say I’m an unbiased educator,” Tony says. The warm, dark eyes drop to Peter’s mouth for just a moment before looking away, drinking deeply from his own Coke. “Though I’m sure we could come up with some incentive program for good grades.”

“Incentive program, oh,” Peter laughs. “I like the—”

An alarm begins to sound, loud enough that Peter feels it in his teeth and deeper. It’s louder, harsher than the sound of Tony’s doorbell. The reaction it evokes in the older man is visceral as well, eyes going wide, jaw going tight as he taps at his glasses. The sound cuts out of the penthouse, but Peter can hear it continuing on in the floors below.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asks. “Are we under attack?”

“Someone is. That’s the alarm for the Avengers to assemble.”

The people under attack are on the west coast. Some ‘half-rate magician’ (Dr. Stephen Strange’s words, not Peter’s) had accidentally conjured inter-dimensional creatures that they couldn’t control nor send packing. The Avengers are being sent to round them up and with the assistance of Dr. Strange, send them back to where they’ve come from.

For the first time, Peter meets Director Nick Fury, a black man with one eye and a direct way of speaking that Peter can appreciate. Around the table are seated seven other Avengers: Natasha, Steve, Clint, Sam, Wanda, Vision, and Tony himself. After Fury ends his briefing on the situation, Steve stands and begins to formulate the briefest bones of a game plan and—

Peter isn’t in it.

“Sorry, kid,” Steve says. “You’re not yet cleared for field work. Maybe next time.”

“I’ve been working with Natasha for weeks,” Peter says. Colonel Rhodes words play on a loop in Peter’s brain, and they’re his lifeboat in the sea of anxiety that threatens to drown him. Peter needs to stay calm and play it cool. It’s the only way he’ll be allowed to have Tony’s back, and he must have Tony’s back. “This seems like the perfect mission for me to get my feet wet.”

Tony sits beside Peter, silent and stiff. Director Fury watches all of them with a cool, knowing gaze when he says, “He’s got a point, Captain.”

“We’ve got protocols for a reason,” Steve says. “Putting you in the field before you’re ready is an easy way to get hurt, Pete. Sorry, but the answer is no.”

All eyes turn to Fury, who nods to Steve magnanimously. “Don’t look at me,” he tells them. “That’s your team leader. It’s his call.”

Peter listens to the rest of the plans with his hands clenched in his lap, knuckles turning white. He cycles through every stage of grief, and as soon as the team breaks to head to the room where the helicarrier will take them to California, Peter catches one of Tony’s wrists to keep him from filing out of the room, just another soldier under Captain Rogers’s command.

“Please don’t go,” Peter mutters. Director Fury watches them unabashedly, his arms crossed. Tony lifts a hand to ruffle Peter’s hair, but the expression on his face is downright grim.

“Don’t worry about me, kid,” Tony says softly. “I’ve been doing this gig for years now, and I haven’t died yet.”

That doesn’t comfort Peter at all. When Tony leaves, he takes all the warmth with him until Peter feels chilled to the bone.

“Parker. Nice to officially meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Director Fury says. He doesn’t offer his hand to shake, and neither does Peter.

“From who?” Peter wonders out loud. “Captain Rogers?”

Fury hums noncommittally. “Don’t worry about Stark. He is an asset to the Avengers, and I will do all I can to ensure his safety.”

“With all due respect Director Fury—he is not just an asset,” Peter says. Too afraid of what else might come from his mouth, come straight up from that dark place inside of him fueled by fear and anger and hurt, Peter lets his feet guide him back to the elevator. Without asking, FRIDAY takes him up to Tony’s penthouse. When Tony gets back, Peter plans to move back in (so long as the older man wants him to). He tells himself that again and again. When Tony gets back. When.

Peter sits and he waits.

#starker #not steve rogers friendly #defender #cagewrites

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