#HAVE ALL THE PRESENTS AND CAKE YOU WANT YOU POOR TRAUMATIZED BOY WHO WAS RAISED AS A CHILD SOLDIER!!!

[vizziefizzie]

The birthday boy!!! 12-24-22!!!

[mizunetzu]

can you do iwa chan with a male lover and how they’re always roughhousing and the one time reader gets hurt, iwachan gets so guilty 🥺

Ahhhh-sorry for not doing the Sakusa request (I can post the draft if you’d like) , I don’t know his character very well because I’ve watched and rewatched the 3 seasons multiple times and I’ve only seen s4 once !!

————

Iwaizumi x reader - broken pride

⚠️ warnings - ME MISSPELLING “IWAIZUMI” THE WHOLE FUCKING FIC AHAHAH I FORGOT THE “I” mentions of breaking a bone..?

Pronouns - male, he/him

——————

“Iwa-Chan, (n/n)-Chan, you’re gonna break the floorboards!”

Ignoring Oikawas pleads, Iwazumi shoved at (y/n) to receive a ball hurling at the both of them. (Y/n) kicked at Iwazumis shins and dived for the ball. His body slammed against the floor as the ball struck into his outstretched arm, flying back to the direction it came from. (Y/n) let out a guttural laugh, raising his middle finger up to the mad, but smiling, Iwazumi above him.

“Take that, stupid Iwazumi! Fuck you!”

“Fuck you too!”

Iwazumi extended a hand to (y/n) bringing him up to a hug and patting his back, after pulling him up. Iwazumi and (y/n) were, surprisingly, best friends.

“Jeez (y/n)-that’s gotta bruise,” Iwazumi chuckled, breaking the hug to examine his side. (Y/n) swatted at his hands, chuckling aswell and stretching.

“Ah-who cares? It’s just a bruise, it’s not like I won’t be able to play anymore.” (Y/n) rubbed his neck, down casting his eyes a bit. “Cause I’m gonna be the one to bring you all to nationals.”

“Yeah, if you left I’d kill you.”

(Y/n) gasped, feigning a hand up to his forehead. “Iwazumi! How rude! Plotting to murder a poor, innocent libero!” (Y/n) turned his head away dramatically. Iwazumi let out another hearty laugh and punched (y/n) in the shoulder.

“Jeez iwa-Chan, (n/n)-Chan, we have the spring inter high coming up, don’t break eachother!”

The two sent a glare and a smirk over to Oikawa, who just stuck out his tongue and went to set to someone else.

———

“Alright! We’re gonna play a little match, so form two teams for me!” Coach Irihata boomed from the side of the court, making several players stop and scramble to pick up the volleyballs they’ve been using for individual practice. Players sifted left and right, teaming up with people they got along better with. (Y/n) caught sight of his best bro Iwa-chan, and jabbed him in the ass.

“OI!” Iwazumi let out a yelp and covered his abused cheeks whilst turning to face the libero. (Y/n) smirked at Iwazumi.

“Oi.”

“Jesus...so which team do you wanna joi-“

“Actually, why don’t we play against eachother?”

Iwazumi blinked. Darn. He kind of wanted to play on (y/n’s) si-

“So I can beat your ass to the ground with a volleyball.” (Y/n) balled up his fist and dug it into Iwazumis shoulder blade.

Oh, it’s on bitch.

“We’ll see, (y/n). Your going down, idiot.” Iwazumi smiled irritably and clutched the arm balled into his shoulder. The two walked away to the opposite sides of the court, Iwazumi joining Oikawas side while (y/n) joined the other. They each held a competitive glare, staring eachother down from opposite sides of the net.

Coach Irihara sounded the startup whistle, looking at each of the players. Iwazumi would be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling strangely hyper and competitive right now. He watched the ball fly over his head, eagerly waiting for the ball to return to his side.

The ball once again flew over his head, this time in his direction. He made eye contact with oikawa, and all too fast, he giddily jumped up and slammed the ball as hard as he can, in (y/n’s) direction.

Damn, he thought. That spike could rival that stupid number 10 at karasuno.

The ball zipped over in (y/n’s) direction, giving him little to no time to react. (Y/n) made the mistake of crouching down, hand outstretched against his kneecap, and bracing for impact. The ball plowed straight into his wrist, the remanence of Iwazumi’s powerful spike curving, and hitting his arm where it hung off his knee.

A loud cracking noise, followed by a piercing scream echoed across the gym. Each and every player fell silent, only gawking at the boy writhing in pain on the floor, clutching a mishapen wrist in his free hand while the ball tumbled away from him pitifully.

His wrist would’ve stood a chance if his knee wasn’t in the way, if the ball would’ve landed flatly against his arm, but given the power of the spike and so little reaction time, (y/n) was actually pretty lucky to even touch the ball in the first place.

It was like propping a frail wooden stick up against a rock, only to snap nimbly in half by stomping on it.

Iwazumi’s traumatic expression only deepened when he finally caught sight of (y/n’s) swelled up, deformed hand being swarmed by concerned teammates and a coach who was rubbing his back soothingly. His legs were rooted to the wooden floorboards, as he stared guiltily at his doing.

Iwazumi staggered slowly towards the body laying on the wooden floorboards, until he was ushered away by Kindaichi and Oikawa.

“He needs to get to a hospital, coach is calling his mom. Its best if you don’t...” Oikawa patting Iwazumi on the shoulder, contrasting his usual upbeat stupid attitude.

It wasn’t his fault, right?

It’s not, right...?

Right?

——————

The rest of the day flew by for everyone.

(Y/n’s) mother came and drove him to the hospital, where he got his wrist fixed. Since he needs time to heal, he wasn’t permitted to playing volleyball for a few months, or even applying any extreme pressure on it at all.

Meaning, he couldn’t participate in the spring inter high games.

(Y/n) seemed like he was in a daze most of the time, like he wasn’t really present when the teacher called his name, or when Iwazumi asked to hangout. A shell of the former glory he held in his broken wrist. (Y/n), for once in all 16 years of his life, was silent. And all that silence and guilt was eating Iwazumi alive.

(Y/n) was the most excited for the inter high games more than anyone. It made sense that he’d be at least a tad bit creastfallen, but it was even making the whole team depressed.

Another school day ended in seconds. Everyone packed up their stuff, conversing with their friends or just shuffling out of the classroom. (Y/n) numbly stood up, tentatively shoving books and papers into his bag with his good hand. Iwazumi watched him pitifully drag himself through the doors of the classroom.

Enough was enough, the wing spiker decided. He was tired of seeing him act so depressed. Or maybe that’s just what he told himself, to convince him, and the ugly guilt bubbling up inside the pit in his stomach, that it wasn’t his fault.

Because it wasn’t...

Iwazumi gently placed a hand on the liberos shoulder, more gentle than he’d been with (y/n) than they usually would greet eachother. It felt like ages than they last talked. It felt refreshing in a way.

“Hey.” No answer.

“Do you...do you want to come watch practice today...?” More silence.

(Y/n) stared at Iwazumi with cold, dead, unmotivated eyes. He bore a icy-hot gaze into Iwazumis face, while he tried so desperately to avoid his pitiful expression. The remaining sparks of the old (y/n) died in his cold eyes, while (y/n) shrugged his shoulder out from under Iwazumis hand. Wordlessly, he walked away, leaving the ace in the dust.

That hurt more than any other bruise or accidental cut they’ve ever given eachother, more than a cuss word thrown half heartedly at the other. Before he knew what was happening, he found himself bolting down the hallways, knocking past people, and sprinting to (y/n’s) house with no clear goal in front of him. He knocked on (y/n’s) house door. About 5 knocks later, a woman opened the door and greeted Iwazumi with a smile.

“Oh! Hello, Iwazumi! Is (y/n) with you?”

“Actually I-I was wondering if he was home-I need to talk to him.” And say what? Think these things though, Hajime. Damn. Iwazumi bit his lip.

(Y/n’s) mother cocked her head to the side. “No...he hasn’t come home yet. You can wait in his room for him if you’d like-“

“Thank you, Mrs (L/n)!” The boy flew past her, racing up the stairs. He stopped to a jog and eventually to a calm walk as he pushed open (y/n’s) door.

The room was always messy, but this just takes the cake. Papers and food wrappers littered the ground, the closet door hung open as clothes topped out of it, mixing itself into the mess called the ground, and his bed looked like a lazy excuse of a few sheets and pillows.

Iwazumi gulped. He normally would’ve laughed, or berated his friend for not cleaning his room, but he just felt a sense of guilt hit him like a spike to the wri-

The least he could do was clean up a bit. If (y/n) yelled at him for intruding, that was fine by him. It would just add on to the trouble he’d face for skipping practice today aswell.

Iwazumi picked up a trash bin and started swooping up pieces of trash.

It’s a process, Iwazumi. Do it for him.

————

“I’m home, mom.”

(Y/n) kicked off his shoes as carefully shook off his bag. (Y/n) caught sight of his mom in the kitchen, smiling and making her way towards the boy. She kissed him on the forehead, making him gag, and patted him on the head.

“How’s your wrist doing, dear?”

“It’s fine. It wasn’t hurting today.”

She clasped her hands together. “Oh that’s right! Your friend Iwazumi stopped by, I let him in-he’s in your room I believe.”

(Y/n’s) eyes widened. “Mom! Why would you do tha-“

“Honey, you need to talk to someone! I’m tired of seeing you so quiet and still! Where’s the rowdy volleyball player I know and love?”

They looked at eachother with a silent exchange. (Y/n) sighed and pressed his lips into a fine line. “One hour.”

“One hours all I need, dear.”

(Y/n) reluctantly trudged up the stairs, picking at the cast encasing his arm. The moment he swung his bedroom door open, he walked straight into the sight of a clean room, while Iwazumi folded his blanket. He whipped his head towards the door and dropped the blanket.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

No other words were spoken. You could hear a pin drop.

“...if your gonna say something, say it now, please.”

Iwazumi shifted his gaze away, uncomfortably. He never really had to deal with any other feeling than “fuck you, I spike harder” or “Get your ass over here, Oikawa”

(Y/n) quietly took a seat on his bed, not breaking contact with the person beside him.

“You’re...really bad at feelings aren’t you?”

“S-shut up! Shithead!” Iwazumi fumed, before covering his mouth. “I’m...im sorry I just-“

“God, I missed that. Makes me feel less ‘crippled’, yknow?” (Y/n) ran a finger across his dirty white cast. “Everyone was treating me like I was about to break, like-I’m sick of it! Insult me! Fuck me up! I’ll fuck you up too! Just because I broke my wrist doesn’t mean I’m some princess who needs saving, dude.”

Iwazumi met (y/n’s) eyes. For the first time in weeks, he saw the boy smiling, the same competitive, hardass glare he knew and loved. Seeing that calmed down his senses a bit.

“Jeez, if you had just told me that I would’ve broken your other wrist as well, fuckass”

“Hey hey, your supposed to be nice to me I’m hurting,” (y/n) chuckled, the sensation foreign on his lips.

The warm feeling of familiarity flooded the room as the two talked and joked around. It was the same, old (y/n) Iwazumi has known, but somehow it felt,..different. Like he was seeing his friend in a new light for the first time. Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen that smile he loved so much in was felt like centuries, or maybe it was something else.

Iwazumis eyes widened ever so slightly. “Ah-I should probably say...sorry...(y/n)..” Iwazumi said, finally addressing the elephant in the room. (Y/n) stopped laughing, and cocked his head to the side.

“What for...?”

“I’m the reason you can’t play anymore. Everyone knows not to aim for the libero, yet i did because I was stupid and I wanted to-“

“It’s fine, Hajime.” The boy looked at his friend. They almost never used first names unless it was something serious. He set his bandaged up wrist onto Iwazumi’s shoulder ever-so gently. “I don’t blame you. Even though you are pretty stupid. Even if I won’t be playing...ill still have fun cheering you on at the spring inter high games, I guess.”

The weird feeling from before resurfaced itself in the wing spiker. His heart began pumping faster and faster and he started to sweat a little. This feeling made him nervous, but in a good way? He didn’t know himself.

“...Iwazumi?” He didn’t realize he was staring at him before he started waving his cast in front of his face. Immediately he flushed up and took a step back.

“Are you...flustered? Oh my god were you thinking about boobs or something? Ahaha!” (Y/n) began teasing the boy infront of him, but it all went in one ear and out the other. Iwazumi couldn’t help but look at (y/n) with a certain fondness he’d never felt before.

Slowly, but surely, he would ascertain his feelings about the boy, but for now, he was content with being beside his best friend for just a little while longer.

——————

Very Tiny Tag list:

@kenmas-consoles

[checkmate-cherik]

Y’all, I couldn’t help it. 80s AU snippet.

Charles was having too much fun to cut this off like Kurt kept telling him to. He was fairly sure he was in love with Erik, but since Erik was scared of love, Charles decided not to tell him.

Erik was dropping Charles off at the gates after a night moshing, and Charles felt giddy with the energy pouring off Erik’s mind. It had been a good night, and now that everyone knew Charles and Erik were Together, none of the other punks gave Charles shit for being so obviously Madonna and Cyndi Laupner. Charles made sure to only wear black when Erik took him moshing, but he couldn’t hide how he was not one of them.

Erik turned off the motorcycle and they both climbed off. Then Erik grabbed Charles around the waist and kissed him hard. Charles returned the kiss enthusiastically, wrapping his arms around Erik’s neck. Another thing he loved about being with Erik; the kisses, when they had them, were just the right amount of fierce and possessive. Charles hated being controlled, but melting in Erik’s arms felt safe, not suffocating.

Erik broke the kiss and whispered in Charles’ ear, “Sure you don’t want to stay the night with me?” The huskiness of his voice sent shivers of anticipation down Charles’ spine, and the lustful thoughts swirling on the surface of Erik’s mind were deliciously dangerous. Oh, how he wanted to go home with Erik…

But as it was, Kurt was going to be angry that he was home at 1AM when he’d promised to be back by 10. As much as he wanted to fool around with Erik, he’d rather Kurt didn’t punish him again. He didn’t want another scolding; not because he just didn’t like being yelled at, but because Kurt knew all the right things to say to reduce Charles to a shame-filled mess.

“Maybe this weekend,” Charles murmured, and bit Erik’s neck, gently, delighting in the shiver that ran through Erik. “Think of me tonight?”

“Every night,” Erik croaked, then sighed and tugged Charles’ hair to bring his face up again. Charles went willingly, and this kiss was more gentle. “Good night, babe.”

“Good night, handsome.” Charles smiled as Erik play-scowled, and kissed his cheek quickly, before pulling away and going to the gate. The lock disengaged, the right side opened just enough for Charles to slip through, and once he was through, the lock snicked shut again. Charles felt a wave of dull anger and fierce longing from Erik, so he turned and said, “Maybe you should leave. Kurt probably heard your motorcycle.”

Erik snorted contemptuously. “That old man doesn’t scare me,” he declared, then sighed. “See ya tomorrow.”

“See ya,” Charles replied, and watched with a tight chest as Erik rode away. Taking a deep breath, Charles turned to the mansion and began to trudge up the drive.

Kurt was waiting up, of course. He yelled at Charles, told him he was disgrace. Charles did not interrupt, but he glared, his hands fisted at his sides. The only reason Kurt had any authority over Charles was because Charles was only seventeen. As soon as he was eighteen, Charles was going to leave this cold, cheerless museum. And Kurt wouldn’t be able to get him when he was gone.

Then Kurt brought up Mother, how disappointed she would be to know her son had turned into a hooligan, and other things that cut Charles deeply. He held to the thought that he’d be free soon. He held so tightly to that thought that he didn’t have the concentration left to shut Kurt up.

So when Kurt stopped yelling and ordered Charles to his room, Charles went silently, head bowed. He would not let Kurt see the tears in his eyes.

The beautiful, fun night was ruined, and it was his own fault.

~

The next day he was tired from a late night and his eyes were still a little red from crying, but he dressed as Pop Princess as he could without actually putting on a skirt (although he did have a kilt that his Scottish nanny had given him). He even borrowed Raven’s lip gloss, which made her roll her eyes, but since she’d stopped dating it had just been lingering in her vanity with Charles’ secret makeup collection, which made it fair game.

Cain was in juvie and Kurt was in his lab, so Charles and Raven took the Jag to school. It was a pretty high-income school, but it had what the students called a Pity Program, where it accepted students from poorer neighborhoods if they tested high enough and kept their grades up. That was how Erik had gotten in. His parents were poor as dirt, which wasn’t fair, because they were the nicest people Charles had ever met.

(And that had certainly been interesting, dating Erik for three days and then Erik’s father had stormed up to Charles after school and demanded he present himself at the Lehnsherr household later that night for dinner so Jakob and Edith could inspect their son’s choice. Erik had hid his face in his hands, mortified, and Raven had laughed. But Charles had complied, and dressed in his nicest preppy outfit, and at the end of the dinner Jakob had pronounced him “alright for a gentile” and Edith was lovingly piling honey cakes in Charles’ arms because he needed feeding up.)

Everyone at school knew what it meant when Charles went this wild. Hank whispered to Sean, who talked to Alex, who told Erik, and at lunch Erik dragged Charles into the bathroom and kissed him until he was dizzy and had forgotten how painful last night was.

Then they had to go back to class, Charles’ lipgloss smeared on Erik’s mouth and a dreamy look in Charles’ eyes. But that was fine.

They might have traumatized a freshman, too…

School was a drag, not because it was hard, but because Charles was so far ahead of everyone that the teachers made him help the other students. And the other kids, especially the football players, hated having to learn from a baby-faced billionaire who was dating another guy. Not that anyone was sure Charles was a guy. He was flat-chested, but so were some other girls, and he didn’t have curves, and he had other small characteristics that whispered “male”—but he also dressed like a pop princess and had feminine mannerisms and didn’t care when old people called him “miss”.

Charles liked that no one was sure. The question of what his gender might be kept the question of whether he was a mutant or not at bay.

By the time school ended, Charles just wanted to go hang out with his friends at the diner and unwind. He always bought the milkshakes for everyone, since none of his friends had allowances. Hank was an orphan living with a spinster aunt, Darwin was poor like Erik, Alex had only just been placed in a foster home where no one beat him, Angel’s parents were mildly prosperous but had instilled an almost fanatic devotion to saving money in her, and Sean’s parents were sure he would get into drugs if they gave him any freedom.

So Charles bought everyone their treats, and gently fielded Hank’s pathetic attempts to ascertain Raven’s whereabouts, and talked cheerfully with his friends. When Erik walked in and sauntered over, Alex stood and let Erik slide in next to Charles. A brief rearrangement of seats, and the conversations picked up again, with Erik added seamlessly.

Charles felt Erik’s mental prod, and opened his shields to hear Erik’s thoughts asking, Do you want to come over? My parents are working late.

YES, Charles replied eagerly, though his face and voice showed no sign of his and Erik’s communication.

They removed themselves gracefully, but everyone still gave them knowing looks, until Charles had to blush as they strolled out, holding hands.

The ride to Erik’s house was exhilarating, as usual, and Charles felt excitement stir in his chest and gut as he pressed tight to Erik’s leather-clad back. He’d been wanting Erik for a year, and he was sure Erik had wanted him for longer than that, and here was an opportunity—

—crushed by the sight of Erik’s mother’s little car in the driveway. Charles pouted. Erik heaved a sigh, and parked just inside the garage. The two of them walked over to the door to the house, and it opened before they could reach it.

Edith raised an eyebrow at their disappointed faces. “Now, boys, you know you’re not allowed to fool around until you’re both eighteen,” she reminded them dryly.

Erik, who was going to be eighteen in just a few weeks, flushed. Charles, who had to wait until after graduation, bit his lip. They both murmured, “Yes, Mama.”

Edith smiled. “I made cake,” she told them. “Come in and have some, and tell me about your days.”