#IOYK

[fiction-is-the-new-reality]

Pt 3: if only you knew

An Unfortunate Incident

word count: 5k

warnings: major violence, adult language, and angst

A/N: Ok sooooo. Thank everyone for all your support!! It means the world. Also I want to explain my inspiration for our main girl. I want her to be a bit darker than the other vigilantes. Someone that’s similar to Red Hoods vibe. I like to imagine her outfit similar to Azrael’s in AK, just without the full mask. I changed the name to Vulture instead of Phoenix because I felt like Phoenix was a little too cliche. As always please give feedback and love you guys!

Blinking a few times, you take in your surroundings. You’re on a cot in Panessa Studios. There’s a tightness in your side that tells you they stitched you up. Pushing yourself up on your elbows, you look around. There are other cells identical to the one you’re in, with people in them.

“Great, you’re up,” Tim pops into view, donned in his Robin suit. “Batman told me not to let you out.”

You look at him, opening your mouth to argue when he cuts you off. “Lucky for you, I know he needs help out there. You’re free to go, that is, if you’re feeling like it. I know it can be scary to get back out the–”

“This isn’t my first time getting my ass beat,” you remind him, “but that did sound like it was going to be a great pep talk, though.”

Placing your feet on the floor, you begin to stand. Your body aches from the beatings, and you can feel the itchiness of the stitching as you walk to the door. The door slides open to allow you out, and you finally see the other people in the cells.

Looking at them, you see they all have pale skin and green hair, and even their mouths look slightly deformed to an upturned smile. While you’re staring, they all begin to yell and taunt you. Seeing the confused look on your features, Tim quickly explains who they are and why they’re locked in the cells.

Turning away from the people, you begin walking toward the elevator. “How long was I out for?”

“Couple hours. It’s gotten worse out there.”

“Has Bats asked for any help?”

“If he has, he hasn’t asked me.” He frowns like a disappointed kid.

And as you stare at him, you remember that he is just a kid. He’s barely older than Jason was when he became Robin. Your heart clenches at the thought of Tim possibly meeting the same fate as Jason.

“Don’t take it personally. He’s just looking out for you in his own way.” You grab his shoulder and squeeze it. He smiles back.

He calls out to you as you get on the elevator to go up.

“Kick some ass for me!”

As you leave the studio, your ears are filled with static before a voice emerges.

“Hello, Miss, I wanted to let you know your suit is complete. I have the Batwing sending it, along with new devices for you. I hope it is to your liking.” Lucius sounds pleased with himself.

“Thank you, Lucius.” The Batwing comes around the corner, and you watch in awe as the pod rockets down, slamming into the ground.

It opens with a loud hiss. Inside, the light reveals a two-piece suit. The dark green and black colors contrast against the bright white light. Putting it on, you instantly notice the reinforced fabric and the extra padded areas. Lucius had included details you hadn’t even thought of, like attaching a cape to the hood of your top and new boots. You take a moment to get used to the new suit and place your new gadgets and weapons on so they adorn every inch of your body.

Pressing on your comms, you call out to Oracle, but there’s nothing. A chill runs down your spine. That’s unlike Barbara. You try again, but there’s still nothing. As a final attempt, you use the tempad on your wrist to call her but receive the same response - silence. Shooting out the grappling hook, you feel the tug as it latches onto the next building. With your legs moving at top speed, you leap from building to building, feeling the wind rush against your face.

The moment you get closer to the Clock Tower, the reverberating sound of multiple shots fills the air, echoing from the Batmobile and the militia tanks. The Tower itself has an overwhelming amount of militia presence. Jumping down, you make quick work of taking them out. Taking your chain whip, you wrap one end around your left hand and use your right to swing and deliver blows. Utilizing the chain, you swiftly neutralize several men, effortlessly reeling in the remaining ones and defeating them with your hands.

There’s a quick, almost too fast black mass out of the corner of your eye. As you glance in that direction, you notice Batman has entered the fray; his powerful presence gains the attention of the men. Most of them leave you to go deal with him. You and Bruce do good at avoiding each other, until the last second of the fight.

There’s only one man left, and you punch into his core as many times as possible, forcing him to move backward and toward Batman. Sweeping out his feet, you kick him back, letting Bruce deal the final hit that puts the guy to sleep.

The robotic voice of Arkham Knight comes over the comms of the fallen militia men. “I’m impressed. But your tricks don’t stay new for long, Batman. I see you’ve added another person that you’ll get killed.”

Your eyes widen as you look at Bruce. He looks back at you before grappling at the top of the Tower. You’re right after him.

You both land in the room, and while looking around, you notice only one thing out of the ordinary. There’s no sign of a struggle, just an empty turned-over wheelchair that lays in the middle of the floor.

“What the hell happened?” Bruce ignores your question. Turning to see what he’s doing, you notice a glossy look in his eyes as he stares at the wheelchair. Strange. He still doesn’t respond or acknowledge you’re there, even after you call his name multiple times. He finally snaps out of his daze and places the wheelchair back upright.

The elevator dings open to show Commissioner Gordon. As he enters the room, you push yourself into the shadows, hoping to become a fly on the wall as you watch what unfolds.

Jim’s foot lands on a picture frame of him and Barbara. While he kneels, he lightly runs his fingers across it. Bruce speaks up, “This isn’t your fault, Jim.”

“Of course it is. Crane’s done this to get to me. I should have been here.”

Your heart breaks as you watch him blame himself.

“There’s something I need to show you.” Bruce turns, walking to the retina scanner.

Jim stands back to full height, following him. “We haven’t got time. She’s not like us,” Jim frets.

“Batman?” You question him, making sure he wants to do this. He doesn’t seem to care about the consequences.

As the machine whirls to life, the room soon converts into Oracle’s domain. And before you can say another word, he reveals the secret that Barbara fought so hard to keep from her father. You watch as Jim digests what's happening, his eyes darting back and forth between the room and Batman. You know it’s clicked when his face goes from sadness to anger.

“She’s strong, Jim, stronger than you realize.”

Not only do you see the anger, but you can feel the anger radiating off of Jim as he turns back to Batman.

“She works for you?” He scoffs as he shakes his head, walking toward the elevator. “This is all your fault.”

“I will find her,” Batman’s stern voice was an unspoken promise.

You stare in surprise as Jim punches him. Batman takes the punch unfazed.

“She’s my family! MY DAUGHTER! She’s all I’ve got.” He gets on the elevator, turns around, and tells Bruce, “I never should have trusted you. Never!” His face was full of pain and betrayal as he threw down his communicator.

“I’ll do this on my own. Stay away from my family.” His voice wavers a little but remains stern. He slams shut the elevator door and leaves.

Once the elevator is gone, you turn back to Bruce, “What’s our next step? How do we plan on finding Barbara?”

“I’ll hack the municipal CCTV system. I should be able to monitor all access points in the building.” He filters through the footage from the last few hours.

“There!” You watch as two militia vehicles pull up. The Arkham Knight hops out of one, enters the Tower, and soon returns with what looks like an unconscious Barbara. He puts her in the back of the car and takes off with her.

“I’ll be able to program the Batmobile to track the tires, their AmerTek D60s.”

“Great, I’ll come with you.”

“No, you need to be out on the streets. There are militia checkpoints and riots that you can help with.”

“I don’t work for you, Bruce,” you remind him. “I’m in this for Barbara, and the best way for me to help is to get her back.”

“There’s no time to argue. If you want Barbara back faster, you’ll listen to me and stay back.” He insisted.

“You better find her.” You sneer at him,

You’re out of the tower, watching the streets from above. You can’t stop yourself from seething with rage towards Bruce. Who does he think he is to tell you what to do? And who are you to listen? You hate that you’re not helping find Barbara; you hate that you’re stuck doing busy work.

A flashing light catches your eye, causing you to turn and see Bat Burger in the distance. You and Jason had gone there before everything, and you wish your smile were genuine, but instead, a bittersweet feeling washes over you. Your smile is one of self-pity. Your last moments with each other were marked by faces red with anger, furrowed brows, and tear-filled eyes as you desperately pleaded for him to listen. Closing your eyes, you think back to that night.

There’s snow covering the ground, Jason’s complaining about Bruce treating him like a kid, and you just listen as you stare up at him while waiting in line to order.

You grab your food and sit in a secluded booth, far from the bustling crowd.

“I’m not a kid. I haven’t been one for a long time. He treats me like I’m still in the learning phase. Like, I haven’t been with him for almost two years! You know, after Dick had been with him for two years, he had joined the Titans!” He takes a massive bite of the burger in his hands, and with his mouth full of food, he speaks again. “I’m going to show him. Hell, I’ll go after Joker if it shows him to take me seriously.”

You giggle at him, “Yeah, great idea, Jay. I’ll take down Croc while we’re at it.” You look up from your meal when you don’t hear him laugh.

“I’m not kidding,” he had a stern look on his face.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” He stops mid-chew to look at you like you’re crazy.

“Look, Jay, I know how hard it is to deal with Bruce, but don’t you think that’s a little too much?” You shrug, trying to ease the uncomfortableness that’s fallen over the table.

“Actually, you don’t know how hard it is to deal with Bruce.” Great, you think. He’s putting up a wall. “You don’t think I can do it?” he accuses you.

“It’s not that, just…maybe wait a little longer.”

He scoffs, “I could do it. I could take any of them.”

“I’m sure you could, but wouldn’t it be better if you didn’t risk it? Wouldn’t it be better if you could confidently take them down in a couple of years?”

“The only ones not confident in me are you and Bruce.”

“Don’t lump me in with him. I just think there are other ways to show him you’re ready to move on from being the dynamic duo.”

“None of that will be as effective as this. If I show him, I can hold my own. He won’t be able to ignore it.” Jason’s being stubborn as always, and usually, you love that about him, but right now, it’s adding to your aggravation.

“Unless you get killed!” You toss your hands up, trying to make your point more clearly.

“I can’t believe this. You’re supposed to support me. Why don’t you see that I can do this?” His eyebrows furrow, his face getting slightly flushed as he grows angrier.

“Jason, it’s a stupid idea! There’s such a high chance of you getting injured or, worse, killed! Why do you not care about that?”

“I bet if Dick had told you this, you’d bat your eyelashes and tell him he’s so brave.” He jeered. Your eyes soften slightly, knowing how he constantly compares himself to others. He had a wicked jealous streak, not to mention his fear of not being good enough. You know he wants to impress Bruce, to show that he was better than Dick, that he was the best yet.

“Don’t be an ass, Jay. I’m trying to look out for you.”

“I don’t need you to look out for me. I can do that myself.” He stands from the table, and you lunge up after him. Following him outside.

“Just forget I said anything. No one trusts me. No one believes in me. I’m just Jason, the poor alley kid Bruce Wayne so generously took in. I’m just the second Robin, constantly compared to Boy Wonder.” He whips around to face you. “I’m so fucking tired of it! I want to be seen for who I am, not for where I came from. No one has faith in me, but I’ll prove it. I’ll show all of you that you’re wrong.”

You step back from him, your face twisting as you empathize with me. He notices immediately, and his anger just furthers.

“Don’t you fucking dare look at me like that. I don’t need your pity. I don’t need anything from you.” He turns back around and begins stalking toward the nearest alley. You chase after him, the cold air nipping at your burning face.

You feel your eyes welling up with tears but refuse to cry, “Jason, wait, please!”

His pace doesn’t decline. “Jay, I just want to keep you here for as long as possible! I don’t care about where you come from or who’s been here before you! I just care that you’re still here! You can’t do this.” You finally catch up and grab his arm.

Turning quickly, he grabs your arm and shoves you off him. His eyes are full of fire, and they’re glossy with tears. “Nothing you say can stop me. I was just hoping you’d be different and that you’d understand. I hoped you’d be a good friend and at least lie, but you didn’t because you’re just like them.”

“Please don’t do anything stupid, please, Jason.” You grab at him again, but he dodges your hand. You feel the tears overflowing, and your throat gets tight as your nose burns.

“Jason, please, just listen to me. Just think about this. Please don’t, Jason.” The tears have started to fall as you beg him.

The tears that roll down your face feel like knives slicing him open. He has to turn away. He can’t stand to see you cry, especially since he caused it. He doesn’t respond to your pleas as he makes his way up and out of the alley.

A huge booming noise towards Miagani pulls you back to the present. You can hear multiple rapid shots exchanged between tanks and the Batmobile. Pressing a button on the tempad on your wrist, you hear the low rumble of your motorcycle nearby. You jump off the building and press the button again. From around the corner, your bike appears. Positioning yourself on the bike, you grip the handlebars tightly, feeling the engine's vibration reverberate through your hands as you accelerate towards triple-digit speeds, racing towards Miagani Island.

Arriving at the scene, it is obvious you’re too late. Destroyed tanks fill the area, with some still burning. The thought of following Bruce crosses your mind, but it quickly vanishes once you see the tunnel. You’re very intrigued by the tunnel. The pull is irresistible, like a pirate under the spell of a siren's song.

As you slowly roll down, you’re stunned at the realization that there had been a massive militia presence under your feet this entire time. Your eyes dart from one direction to another, constantly scanning your surroundings. Despite the appearance of a complete evacuation, you remain on high alert, not lowering your guard. The tunnel opening fades from sight, leaving you with a pounding heart and a sense of unease. As you venture deeper, an unsettling feeling of being watched washes over you. You just blame it on nerves.

There’s a room on the left side of the tunnel. You wonder if there’s anything in there that could help find Barbara. You position your bike nearby in case you need a quick getaway. Walking around, you examine every piece of paper, nook, and cranny. Luckily, your search isn’t wholly void; you find some Batarangs.

As you stand from picking up the Batarangs, the feeling of being watched is so strong you quickly whip around to look at the door. Your blood runs cold as you come face to face with the Arkham Knight.

“It must be my lucky night, getting two of you little heroes in a row. Even better is that you brought yourself to me.” His modulated voice adds to echoes around the room.

Without meaning to, you’ve taken a step back. Arkham Knight matches by stepping forward.

“If we’re going to fight, let’s get on with it.” What sounds like a laugh comes through his helmet before he lunges at you.

His fist met your body quick and hard. Blocking as many as you could, you landed some of your own. Each punch from you lands with a resounding thud against his combat suit. You're doing well until he grips your shoulders, forcefully slamming you against his knee. The impact of his knee against your stitched-up side sends a lightning bolt of pain all over. As the pain rattles your body, you crumble to the ground, feeling the hard surface beneath you. His towering body seemed even more looming as he stared down at you.

He straddles your body, not even flinching as you thrash and punch him. He tightly grips your neck, his hands constricting like a vise. You know you’re going to be bruised. As he tries to suffocate you, you swiftly wrap your legs around his waist, desperately seeking leverage. You attempt to gain an advantage by extending your arms as far as possible, pushing against the front of his helmet, and contorting your body to move his head back. His grip on your neck relaxes ever so lightly as you twist his neck further to the side.

With his grip still on your neck, you brace your arms in a triangle-like shape under his. Slamming them against his, you break out of the lock he has on you. Following it with a kick to his chest. The impact is jarring, sending a shockwave of sensation up your legs. With a backward roll, he allows you to rise to your feet. When you turn to face him, you see the Knight back on his feet, ready for another round. Both of you stand there, eyes locked, the tension palpable. He waits for you to bolt out the door as you wait for him to lunge at you.

He jerks his head at the doorway, “Go ahead, run.” Even through the voice disruptor, you can hear the smirk he’s wearing.

You break the stand-off by slinging the batarangs at him. They take him by surprise, and he instinctively swipes at them in self-defense, giving you time to run towards your bike. You hear his footsteps thudding behind you as you approach your bike. Before you can swing your leg to get on, you’re being picked up and slammed down onto the dirt. Your brain rattles in your skull from the force, and you go blind with rage.

Going ballistic, you start punching and you don’t stop. Even as he blocks, you keep going, sidestepping his fist and his legs as he attempts to kick. You circle him so fast that he gets dizzy. Ducking down, you strike his midsection with jabs, then deliver an uppercut to his metal head. In a twisting motion, you aim to deliver a roundhouse kick, but he successfully catches your ankle as your foot comes close to him. You support him by propelling yourself towards him.

He wobbles backward. You entwine your legs around his waist and thrust yourself towards his center of mass. He falls to the dirt with a thud. Your strength doesn’t waver, not even when you’re on top. Straddling him, you slam the front of his helmet with both hands. Despite repeating the process, the glass remains unbreakable. Yanking out one of your blades, you aim for his unarmoured neck. Just before the blade hits, he grabs your arms only centimeters away.

“I wonder how Batman will feel about this murder attempt?” He taunts you.

Determined to get the blade through his neck, you push as hard as you can. “I wonder how it’ll feel when I slice through your vocal cords.” You snarl back at him.

He chuckles, pretending he doesn’t feel the blade against his Adam’s apple.

You lean forward, using your body weight to press the blade down. It backfires and allows him to ram his helmet against your forehead. After you tumble off of you, you attempt to crawl toward your bike. The black spots in your vision make it almost impossible to see it.

Arkham Knight stands there, watching as you crawl to your motorcycle. He almost for half a second feels for you. For half a second, he thinks back to when he was Robin. He thinks of that little boy so full of red-hot rage, so stubborn to prove himself. He sees Jason Todd in you. Soon, images of himself crawling away from Joker derail his mind. The asylum’s grimy, moldy floors squeak as he moves away from Joker. The new Robin suit being caked with blood and the massive headache he had all the time.

He can’t breathe. He hates watching you crawl. He hates seeing you. He hates Batman. He wants him to pay, to feel how he feels. He needs to send a message.

He stalks over to you, and once he’s close enough, he kicks you in the side so hard you flip over. He places his boot on your chest, applying enough pressure to make you wheeze.

“Don’t blame me for this. Blame Batman. He wasn’t here to protect you. He left you all alone.” He says it like he’s pitying you. No teasing or taunting, just pity.

He takes a small gun and aims it at your chest. You double-click the button on your tempad that alerts your bike to come to your location. It roars to life and charges in your direction. The speed of the bike causes his instincts to kick in, and he swiftly leaps aside. With lightning speed, you mount the bike and zip away. As you emerge from the tunnel, the sight of the Gotham streets greets you, and in that moment, a wave of relief washes over you.

Standing there, the Knight watches you disappear into the distance, the sound of the motorcycle reverberating off the walls. He raises the gun, his finger hovering over the trigger, but then abruptly lowers it, a moment of hesitation flashing in his eyes. He’ll wait until the perfect moment. He wants Batman to witness your death. Nothing and no one is safe from the Arkham Knight, and he’s going to make sure that Bruce knows that.

taglist: @thegirlwiththeyarn @pank0w @geminizmoonz @emilia527 @elizamay @anime5005 @babypaperwitch @skypperlegacy @rwylm-things @mayo-0-o @ex-cla-ma-tion @pheonixfucu @not-herexo @g0atmansbridge182 @theg0ddesshera @redhoodedangel @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @marigiano @lyralibra @lilocapoca @misaki-kira8 @blackcanary130 @ykyouluvme @kiwi03 @xbonniepricexx @definitelynotanalien @ghostlyleech @pinkmaggit666 @0littlestwolf0 @stupid-ninja @reanie-xoxo @kittykatchicha @bunz-lover @justalittleb1tcrazy @gghoulpool @snackeyalleyjuice @deadplantluver @comealivedaya @thefandomdiaries07 @peter-parker-tony-stank-trash @awstrck @gemini-bichxx-blog @jennifermoyas @xdrin @harleycao @screamingsilence3 @ex-pinguina @kat-nee

[spicysagittarius]

At this ghastly hour of the night, the final chapter of IOYK will be uploaded in an hour at the latest. I hope you all enjoyed the ride as much as I have, and apologies for the delay in this last chapter xxxx

[mikrokyla]

if only you knew

CHAPTER ONE: INTRO

we have itachiyama kids and black jackals team ft. osamu 😌

y/n works at ongiri miya for a part-time job while she’s studying to be a chef 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

that’s about it, but take a close look at the link bokuto posted for some fun 😊

if only you knew • INTRO (1)

we’re not dating ->

ioyk masterlist

{taglist*: @kukki-tsukki @intoomuchfandoms @mkazuyuh @lilacshouko @samataswrld @elianetsantana @moon-and-me @heyitzwolf @nekoma-hoe @abrabee @obsessedwhxre @applekenm @hqsks @ozamusun @ssuna @anhphunnnn @mindofess @imkumichan @i-justlikewhales @hawkssnugget } *if your username is not grayed or highlighted, it means i cant tag you so please dm me so we can figure out how to fix it*

[kayteewritessteve]

Love and War - Introduction

SERIES IN PROGRESS.

This post is entirely to give a story summary and a small break down of this AU world.

In a distant and ancient world, much like our own but yet entirely different, where Gods rule the heavens and ferocious humans rule the mortal plain. Two women find themselves venturing into an unforgiving and forbidden land. One cloaked heavily in secrecy and stained with the blood of foolish and unfortunate lost souls.

One of those two woman being you. So why have you renounced commonsense and set out on this potentially deadly, or otherwise perilous quest? Well, to locate and rescue your foolish missing brother, that’s why. Because you owe it to him and you know that without him, both your sister and you don’t stand a chance in this harsh and cruel world.

However along the way you will learn a great many things. You will find yourself in a few very dangerous situations, making allies in very unlikely places. And maybe, just maybe, you will learn your true place in this world. Maybe you will finally learn who you are, where you came from and just how you ended up here.

But more importantly, maybe you will finally find the thing you’ve always been searching for. The one thing your mind keeps mercilessly reminding you is missing, but yet refuses to inform you of exactly what that thing is. Or where to even begin looking for it.

Though you can’t be sure what that missing thing is, or how all of this will turn out. What you do know is that you will forever be changed by this journey. You will never be the same after it is all said and done. And that thought is what truly terrifies you the most.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

This is a full Fantasy AU, set in medieval times in an alternate world where mythical creatures and beings exist.

This story is set around the 1500’s to 1700’s, so some things will be more modern and others won’t. And it will also not be following actual medieval speech or dialect, as that could become rather confusing on top of everything else in this story. As for the world, it is entirely made up by me and is much smaller than our own planet. Consisting entirely of two large continents, made up of a few large territories. Each of those being ruled by different King’s. Think of the world as only being made up of North and South America—Yeah, that’s basically this planet.

But anywho, hopefully that all makes sense, and if this is your sort of thing, or interests you in any way, then buckle up lovelies it’s gonna be a crazy, mysterious ride.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Tagging the people on my IOYK list. If you don’t want to be tagged in this story, please just message me and I’ll remove you from the list.

Or if you’d like to be tagged, leave a comment, send a message or an ask, and I can add you to the list!

@hopefulmoonobject @caps-lockdown @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @tessvillegas @boxofteenageideas @wangdeasang @giggleberts @casuallydarktiger @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @starrystellars @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @alwaysright4 @lilsthethrills @imdiegohargreeves @zombiepotterfour @mu-mu-rs @ledandan1244 @straightforwardly @badassbeckettswan @denzmallows @xremember-me-notx @gwynethjodie @lollipopdomination @capstopavenger @jemimah-b99 @rcvenqers @justkending @marvel13princess @alagalaska @silent-loucidity @sabertooth-potato @pies-wands-and-more

[wristprn]

Tudor GMT on a WB Original Two-Piece Nato Strap by @watchbandits #WRISTPORN by @tempusx www.wristporn.com (ad) #tudorblackbay #tudor #tudorwatch #watchesofinstagram #watchfam #watchporn #watchoftheday #watchaddict #watchgeek #blackbay #instawatch #watches #wristporn #watch #tudoraholics #borntodare #tudorwatches #watchuseek #watchnerd #dailywatch #horology #rolex #wristshot #womw #tudorheritageblackbay #tudorblackbayred #wristwatch (at Checoslovaquia) https://www.instagram.com/p/B9OF4P-IOyK/?igshid=1uuzsg68t130r

[katurrade]

200K WORDS!!!!

Whelp, as of yesterday (chapter 17 of IOYK) I hit 200,000 words posted on Tumblr in 10 months. That being between my 4 series and 3 one shots. And gooood lord, that’s a lot of words 🤣 and we all know there will be so many more words to come from my long winded self hahaha. But yeah, just figured I’d share my word count milestone with ya’ll! 🤣🙋🏻‍♀️

Also, I’m curious if anyone else keeps track of their full word counts or not?! If you do, what is your word count currently at?!

[nomadics-stuff]

Thank you @katurrade and @lolablackwrites for the great start to my morning with new chapters of IOYK and Guarded Hearts. Both fantastic reads!

[kayteewritessteve]

Oh gosh!!! Thank you so so much for recommending my story!! This made my whole entire day! I’ve been so MIA on this platform that I was sure most people forgot I was even here 🤣 plus IOYK is my all time favourite out of what I’ve written so far, so whenever it gets any love, it’s so dang niiiiice! 🥰

Thank you again for shouting me out on this! That story is blowing up right now and I’m gunna like cryyyyyyy. ❤️❤️😭😭

Any longer Steve works you’d suggest??

I haven’t read a ton of Steve series but these are two that come to mind! Highly recommend!

If you only knew - @kayteewritessteve

Slow like Honey - @heli0s-writes

[adanceforrain]

IOYK

When he looks at me I wonder, I always wonder, what he could want with me. It’s those shifty peeks where we hold eye contact a fraction of a moment longer than what’s socially permitted in day-to-day life – a fast fleeting moment where time is impossibly dilated and a roaring ocean of words unsaid is spoken in silence. Do you know I adore you?

If only you knew.

[fiction-is-the-new-reality]

if only you knew

Prologue 

warnings: slight cussing, and a little bit of angst.

word count: 2k

Next parts: part 1, part 2, part 3

You and Jason had been friends since back in the Robin days. Unlike him, you weren't a hero; you were just plain you. No secrets, no alter ego, just you. Jason thought the dynamic was perfect. He enjoyed that he could actually talk to you about things that didn’t involve debriefing or pointing out what he messed up on and how he could do better next time. It was a break from the chaos of his life as Robin, he could be an ordinary teenage boy that made stupid jokes. 

Then everything changed; Joker had killed Jason.

Bruce didn’t even call or stop by to break the news to you, but Dick did. He dropped by the night that Bruce had come back without Jason. He told you all that he knew. While he talked, your vision turned blurry, and your hearing became muffled. Your heart felt like it was going to leap through your chest. Your stomach felt so uneasy, like a boat on top of thunderous waves in the ocean. Dick held you while you both cried.  

For an entire week, you couldn’t function. Holding so much grief in your chest you stayed inside and shut out everyone around you. After Jason’s funeral, you had decided that you would start training. You needed to get stronger and better, you wanted to avenge Jason. You turned to Bruce for his help.

Walking into Wayne Manor had never been so glum. Stopping in the corridor, memories of you and Jason came rushing to you like a freight train. All you could hear was Jason's laughter. Alfred greeted you and took your coat. 

“Good evening Miss. It’s so good to see you.” His face looked long, his eyes tired. You had never seen Alfred this way.

“Hi Alfred, is Bruce here? I was wanting to speak to him.” You followed Alfred to the kitchen, where you were gifted a cup of tea, still steaming. 

“I believe Master Wayne is in the cave. I’ll guide you there.” He started walking out of the kitchen, arms behind his back and hands held together. You followed, sipping your tea and trying your hardest to keep the memories of you and Jason at bay while walking through the halls. Alfred led you to the elevator and pushed the buttons for it to go down, 

“I wish you luck, Miss. He’s barely spoken to anyone, he’s been terribly distraught over Master Jason. We all have.” He nodded his head and turned to walk back to the kitchen. You quietly thanked him and got into the metal box. As it began its descent down, you started rehearsing how you were going to ask Bruce. Obviously, you knew it was going to take some convincing. Once the elevator stopped, its doors creaked open. 

The cave was almost pitch black. The light of the computers was the only thing illuminating the area. You could see Batman’s ears poking from the chair, you almost giggled at the sight. You approached slowly, almost scared to speak. The computer had images of the Joker pulled up and different documents with words you didn’t understand, and Bruce was mumbling about something.

“Hey, Bruce, sorry to interrupt, but I needed to ask you a favor. I want you to train me, and I want to learn how to fight and everything that Jason knew. I know it hasn’t been long since he,” The words got stuck in your throat, and your eyes shut, willing yourself to go, but Bruce spoke before you could. 

“Absolutely not. I will not put you at risk like I did to Jason.” 

“I’m terrified. I don’t know the first thing about self-defense. I don’t want to be Robin. I want to feel safe. Bruce, please,”  What was a small lie in the grand scheme of things? Jason had taught you basic stuff like how to defend against small attacks, but you wanted more.

“Please, Bruce. I don’t want to go to some shitty self-defense class that's going to go easy on me and not give me proper techniques. You are the best person to teach me.” By now, he had gotten up from the chair. He moved closer to you, his shoulders folded in on themselves like he was trying to make himself look small as if not to intimidate you. He stared at you for half a second before shaking his head, your eyes were pleading, and Bruce could feel his guilt building. Maybe if he did this, it would make him feel better; perhaps if he could train you better than he did Jason, just maybe it would help ease his guilt of being a failure. He wondered what Jason would say about the matter. 

“Bruce-”

“I’ll do it, but there are rules. You will not be fighting, this is training purely for self-defense. I’m going to train you to be the best you can be, which will not be enjoyable. I’m not going to go easy. Lastly, if I say we’re done, then we are done. Understand?” He looked down at you, his eyes peering into yours.

“Yes”

“Good, we’ll start next week. On Monday, you’ll meet me here.” He gave you a nod and then turned, putting his full attention back on the computer. 

“Don’t make me regret this.” 

You knew Bruce was always serious, but this felt extra serious. There was no way you were going to disappoint him. 

After that first Monday, you continued your training. It had started with just Bruce, but after a few months, Dick began to fill in when Bruce was busy. You were steadily improving and always biting at the bit to learn more. You had a hunger for revenge, and you were going to fulfill that appetite. 

After a year or two, Tim joined the bunch. He was definitely smart, and you could see him being an excellent fit for the Batfamily. You two bonded quickly, you both being nerds and similar in behavior. Bruce got swept up in training him, and it was clear to everyone that he was the next Robin. You hated it. Hated seeing the suit being worn by another person. Hated that he was at the same risk Jason had been in. You feared for him. This just drove you to push yourself to be better. You wanted to be able to protect your found family. 

Walking home from the little corner store one night, you were witnessed to what you believed had been your calling. A group of teens getting followed and harassed by some lowlifes. You followed as they rushed the kids towards an alley. Using a fire escape, you jumped from one building to the next. This higher angle gave you the advantage of surprise. The kids emptied their pockets and huddled together, shaking harder than wet dogs. 

Rushing down the fire escape, you threw yourself out and grabbed onto an overhanging bar, your legs reaching around one of the guys. You rested on his shoulders while your thighs squeezed his neck, twisting your hips and throwing your torso, which took him to the ground. Rolling away quickly, you kicked out and broke another guy's ankle. His scream echoed through the alley. Getting to your feet, you kneed him in the face causing him to fall on the pavement. The last guy was huge compared to the others, not quite Bane size, but bigger than average. This was going to be a challenge luckily, you love challenges. 

He shook his shoulders out and charged you. You went low while he tried to grab you, his size causing his movements to be slightly delayed. Your elbow jabbed deep into his side. While this stunned him, it did nothing to bring him down. You frantically looked for something to help you take him down. Seeing a dumpster on the wall, you knew what your plan was. Unfortunately, by the time it took you to find something, he had gotten the chance to hit you square in the jaw. Your brain felt like it was sloshing against your skull. Your teeth ground into each other, causing the worse feeling and a god-awful sound. You were taking too long to regain your composure, and you knew that. The guy grabbed you with one arm and began wailing on your ribs. The air was gone from your lungs. You thought back to all the times Bruce and Dick had told you to try anything to escape the attacker, so you went limp; you decided to play the best game of possum ever. 

The guy believed he had won and tossed you on the ground. He started to walk away, but you weren’t done. Despite all the pain, you felt so alive. You felt more alive than you had in a long time. You felt unstoppable. 

So you sprung up and began taunting.

“You suck, dude. I’ve seen old women with more energy than you.” You rocked back and forth on your feet, waiting for him to make his move. 

“Oh yeah? How about I kill you, you stupid bitch!” He charged at you, full speed, basically frothing at the mouth.

Right before he got his hands on you, you launched yourself off the dumpster and punched him as hard as possible. You followed up with a kick on his chest. He stumbled but managed to maintain his balance. So you pulled out your pepper spray and unleashed it on him. His hands shot up to his eyes as he cried out, and his knees hit the pavement next with a loud thud. You slammed his head against the dumpster until he became unconscious. 

Looking around the alley, you couldn’t help but feel badass. The rush of adrenaline from being in a dangerous situation was empowering. You felt more alive than ever before and wanted to capture and keep this feeling.

After that night, you found yourself looking for more fights while also trying to start out of the public eye. You kept your business small and in areas where you knew someone else had already been. The last thing you needed was Bruce scolding you. But of course, he already knew.

Arriving at the Batcave for your daily training, you were met with Bruce in his regular clothes. He leaned against the computer with his arms crossed. Oh fuck. 

“Sup B?” You stood there looking confused. Usually he would quickly get started with warmups, but he wasn’t moving. After standing there in silence for a minute, he finally started talking.

“I thought you would be interested in this surveillance footage I found.” He pressed a key on the keyboard and the screen lit up. The video shows an alleyway with Joker thugs harassing a family. A hooded figure runs from behind and takes them down. You stared at the video and knew there was no reason to play dumb, he knew it was you. His eyes were squinted as he watched your reaction. You didn’t know what to say, but Bruce did. 

“Don’t try to excuse it. I should have known,” he let out a deep sigh. “I did know that you were planning to ignore my warning and that you were going to fight. You lied to me and put yourself at risk.” He furrowed his brow while shaking his head. He glanced at you again, and you felt your chest tightened. You didn’t want to disappoint Bruce, and you felt horrible. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you and lying. I really didn’t mean to start fighting. I helped a group of people a few weeks ago and I couldn’t stop thinking about helping more.” You shrugged your shoulders. 

“I don’t want you fighting anymore. There are people out there who are stronger and have more experience than you. I can’t have you running into them.” He spoke like there was no room for argument and in his mind, there wasn’t. In yours, you’ve become more irritated. Who does he think he is bossing you around? You are not Robin; you don’t look to him for action. You can do what you want. 

“You should be proud of me. I helped stop a lot of crime. I took down guys twice my size!” Your emotions are getting in the way. “You can’t boss me around, Bruce. I’m not Robin.”

“You’re right, you’re not. There’s a reason for that.” His words hurt. You knew they shouldn’t have. They weren’t that mean, it’s just how he said it. The sentence was laced with disappointment and gave you a feeling of not being enough. 

“I’m not stopping, you can’t make me. You should be happy that I’m helping Gotham,” you paused before finishing. “Jason would be happy.” The comment hung thick in the air. The silence in the cave makes you feel icky. Bruce stands there thinking of his next sentence, he needs to deter you from being a vigilante. He needs to say something to hit you hard, and he finds the perfect fucked up thing to say.

“Jason would hate you being a vigilante. He never wanted you to do this. Using his name as a reason for risking your life is disgusting. His disappointment would be overflowing. Be grateful he’s not here to see you. Your training is over.” That stung.

Your chest, throat, nose, and eyes all burned with embarrassment and the hot tears you were trying so desperately to keep away. You felt the anger bubbling up inside of you. You needed to leave before you burned this bridge even further.

“Fuck you.” So much for not burning it even further.

And if looks could kill, Bruce would have been dead. 

[spicysagittarius]

if only you knew - FINALE

Peter and Michelle cope with the consequences of letting their emotions into the arrangement they'd created specifically NOT to involve their emotions. Spoiler alert: feelings can sneak up on you and slap you in the goddamn face. 

5k words: yeah I’m clingy with petermj and so what

When MJ wakes the next morning, she’s in his bed. 

 Peter’s arms are wrapped protectively around her in his sleep, and when she turns her head slightly to look at him, the air in the room feels like it’s vanished completely. She feels an aching pang in her chest, a shock right underneath her ribs upon taking in his beautiful form. 

 She won’t acknowledge that it’s her heart. 

 Michelle looks past him at the dingy, digital clock on his bedside table: quarter-to-seven. 

 He stirs against her, but remains fast asleep. I can’t be here when he wakes up, she thinks, and grants herself five more seconds to stare at Peter — at his curls, messy from sleep and sex; at his reverent eyelashes, at his figure that is masculine and strong and reckless by day yet so gentle and peaceful and safe as he dreams. 

 She allows herself those five seconds, allows her heart those five seconds, and then she’s moving carefully to get out of bed without waking him. It doesn’t take long to redress and get her things before she’s softly shutting the door behind her and going home. 

 Last night had felt so different to any other time they’d slept together. The passion was just as prominent but it had shifted from lust to something that should scare her a lot more than it does. 

 Michelle thinks back to last night’s conversation and recalls confessing that Peter was the only person she’d opened up to about her childhood. Nothing about that made sense. Rather than finding a close friend or a counsellor or a parental figure, she’d entrusted someone she’s despised for more than a year now. It should feel backwards. But it doesn’t — she trusts him and can’t convince herself not to. 

 What do they do now? 

 **

 Peter’s more disappointed than he’ll ever admit when he wakes up alone. His next thought is the sudden understanding he has of just how deep that disappointment feels. It’s not momentary or simple or light enough for him to brush off as he’s always done. In fact, it’s not disappointment that looms over him like a hurricane.

 It’s loss. 

 Peter misses her. He’s only been awake for a few minutes and he doesn’t feel groggy or any normal morning confusion. His head is clear and leaves room for her absence to sting. And she’s not even really gone. She lives five minutes away. 

 It is here that Peter Parker truly understands what May had meant when she’d described love to him years ago, and her words have stuck with him since — almost like they’ve been waiting for this moment to strike him across the face. 

 “You’ll hear lots of people describe loving somebody as the feeling of missing a piece of yourself whenever they’re not around” The words had been spoken with a wistful stare towards Ben’s picture on the console in front of them. They had lost him one year prior. “It didn’t matter if he was a thousand miles away or if he’d gone to pick up the groceries. I’d miss him all the same. The only thing that made it bearable was knowing that he felt the same way about me. And that,” she’d smiled sadly, “is why trying to describe the feeling of love is kind of impossible. You’ll hear so many people talk about it and think you know what it feels like, right? And then you find somebody that just— just turns your whole world upside down. Nothing prepares you for that.”

 Her words have never, ever hit him like they are now, seven years after he’d first heard them. 

 Peter can also recall what she’d added seconds later with the same sadness that had made him determined to avoid love at all costs. “And nothing prepares you to lose them.”

 And all of the sudden it doesn’t matter that he’s barely woken up. His heart pounds in his chest with fear and vulnerability and Michelle Jones. 

 He’s betrayed himself. He’s torn down the safety net he’d created for himself years ago: the one weaved in what he thought was protection but realises now it had been fear. Michelle has crept up on him and kicked down the walls around his heart and he’s done nothing to stop her. 

 He’s chosen his heart over his head and he’s been reckless and weak and indulgent because

 he loves her.

 He loves Michelle Jones. He loves the parts of her she’s kept hidden away, likely with the same guarded determination he’s always had. She’s been the biggest surprise of his entire life. There are parts of her he’s uncovered that he doubts she even understands. 

 He’d convinced himself that sex was all he cared about. And yet, his undoing has been her soul instead. 

 And then he realises that he can’t be in love with Michelle Jones. It isn’t about their petty disagreements or differences or annoyances. It’s about that gut-wrenching nightmare he has. Of losing his lover to the wickedness of his enemies. Of his lover losing him to the very same. 

 It’s the nightmare about the woman who his brain couldn’t visualise because there was no reference for her. He’d never seen her face, just her figure in flashes of misery. A couple weeks ago, though, that changed. 

 Michelle Jones plays the part of his lover in the horror movie containing his worst fears and he hasn’t just caught a glimpse. He’s been tortured with vivid illustrations of her that burn themselves into his subconscious as if they’re branding his mind permanently. He’s woken up in a cold sweat on more than one occasion, breathless and scared and confused by the panic he feels. The panic caused by the threat of losing her or causing her pain and it’s been plaguing his mind for weeks now. 

 His dreams had figured it out a fortnight ago and all he had to do was catch up. And he finally has, but instead of relief, all he knows is worry. 

 He can’t love Michelle because if he ever lets her in he will lose her. And he can’t love her in silence to avoid that because doing so, he knows, would be almost as painful.

 Peter decides, then, that he cannot love her at all.

 **

 Michelle texts Peter the next day but tries her best to sound casual. The last time they slept together had blown her mind and freaked her out and she knows that he’s probably in the same boat. 

 So obviously, she doesn’t say anything like ‘Hey, what the hell was that?’ or ‘So the other night was weird but I didn’t hate it. Should we do it again?’ 

 She keeps it light. 

 Want to meet somewhere to get ahead on the project before Tuesday? I’m free this afternoon. 

 MJ’s honestly proud of herself for not mentioning how much she wants him to come over, even if it is just for the project. 

 Usually, Peter responds in five minutes max unless he lets her know earlier that he’ll be busy. So when five minutes go by and she doesn’t get a response, she’s puzzled and a little anxious and reads her text over again to make sure she hadn’t said anything weird. 

 Like a thirteen-year-old with a crush, she curses at herself. Get a grip. He’s probably just busy and hey, if he hadn’t told her so, who cares? He’s not obligated to tell her anything and hey it’s only been five fucking minutes, Michelle. What is wrong with you?

 She goes about her day as usual, running a few errands and emailing with a few professors. First an hour goes by, then two and then five without a word from Peter. By six pm, she’s officially worried and gives up on playing it cool. 

 You alive, Parker?

 Michelle immediately distracts herself after sending the text, watching a past season of Love Island and forcefully investing herself in the petty arguments of Islanders she doesn’t care to recognise. Three more hours go by and her messages remain ignored. 

 He’s either dead, or avoiding her — it’s Peter Parker, so it’s one of the two. Neither is ideal. 

 And she doubts that he’s dead. 

 (Knock on wood.)

 By eleven p.m., she’s fully given up, but her stupid fucking anxiety kept Peter on her mind. Had she done something? She knows she hasn’t. Or she thinks she hasn’t. 

 I’m not gonna be that girl, Michelle scolds herself. Peter Parker has the ridiculous ability, she’s slowly realised, to make her feel like a shy teenager with a crush. It’s different than that, of course, but it’s the best analogy her mind can conjure whilst fighting through the fog of frustration. 

 Within that fog is a locked box containing sadness. She finds that even she can rarely find the key to let it out, and kept unchecked, it overflows against her will. Usually, the occurrence is rare. Maybe four times a year, or something, she’d have the occasional breakdown in her bedroom. Alone. 

 But in the last few weeks, it’s happened multiple times, and each time the it would overflow, Peter had something to do with it. 

 The box had flooded on the anniversary of her mom’s death. Peter had been there to hold her.

 It had flooded with tears that were hot with rage and confusion when she’d found that Ben and Peter were one and the same. 

 And now, against every curse word she internally shouts at the box, it begins to overflow with tears of vulnerability that she doesn’t understand. But she hasn’t understood herself for weeks now. New experiences aren’t comfortable for her and she’s had countless of those recently. Truly, it’s exhausted her. 

 The part of her that she still recognises — the one unfamiliar with warmth and trust and love — finally kicks in when she forces herself to her feet, trudging towards the bathroom. Wipe the tears off your face and get it together, Familiar Michelle snapped. She hadn’t even realised she’d been crying until her fingertips reach her cheeks.

 She needs a better box. 

 Michelle slowly tucks herself into bed for the night, determined to shut out anything Peter-related so that she’ll be able to sleep off all the exhaustion and emotion that life had bound to her like weights to her ankles that she feels with every step. 

 Enough. She’s had enough. Sleep. 

 All of the sudden, a frantic knocking at her bedroom window makes her heart stop completely and then beat a hundred miles a minute. What the fuck. What the fuck was that. What the fuck. 

 When she’d wished away the exhaustion and emotion, she’d meant for a well-earned sleep to do the honours, not a crazy noise on her window that for all she knew could be a home invasion or, like, even worse. 

 Because who the fuck is knocking on her window like that at 11:32 p.m.?

 And who the fuck even gets up to the fourth floor? 

 Every theory she creates is embarrassing but the only thing she can focus on is the window and she doesn’t want to open it but she doesn’t want to leave it either and oh shit she really does not want to end up on one of those crime podcasts with random white ladies telling the story of when an unimportant MIT student was murdered in her apartment and who cares about her because the story of her death is worth a bunch of other white ladies exchanging fabricated conspiracy theories and 

 “Michelle!” The frantic shout, muffled through the window, instantly identifies the alien-robber-murderer with a single word. 

 She jumps out of bed and can’t even think because what the actual fuck—

 (—she yanks open her curtains—)

 —is Peter fucking Parker doing outside her apartment?

 Wait a second. 

 It’s Peter but he’s wearing a Spider-Man suit and he’s fucking sticking to her fourth floor window and perhaps even more glaring than those striking details is the blood staining her window through his gloved hands. The source upon a single glance is his abdomen and there’s something lodged, something stabbed, through his skin and oh dear god Peter is bleeding. 

 MJ is quick to shove the window open as he struggles inside. Immediately he smells of smoke and she realises that he’s struggling because there’s a massive shard of glass beneath his ribcage and Peter is probably dying and also in a Spider-Man suit and I can’t even think about that because Peter is bleeding and probably dying. 

 “Peter?” She finally speaks as his feet finally land on her hardwood floor. It doesn’t sound like her voice. It’s hoarse and quiet and really fucking scared. 

 “Em,” he pants, stopping to groan before weakly pointing to her bathroom door. “I need to…I’m so sorry to wake you u—“

 He’s interrupted by her arm looping under his as she guides him to the rundown bathtub. 

 Peter collapses as soon as they make it there, his knees hitting the tile with a defeated thud. 

 “No, no, no, Peter, don’t do this to me. Don’t you dare. I need to get you into the tub and you’re two more steps away. I can’t…” she takes a deep breath, trying and failing to calm herself for the both of them. “I can’t carry you. I need you to take two more steps.”

 Half-conscious, he nods, likely mustering what little strength he can to follow her instruction. Any other day she’d be worried about the deafening noise his body makes when he collapses again into the tub, but she couldn’t give a single fuck about the neighbours right now. God, he’s so lucky no goddamn roommates are home. 

 Michelle quickly starts filling the bath about half-way and begging, pleading with her brain to function just a tiny bit better. She can’t fall apart right now because he’s got that covered and he’s relying on her to keep him awake. Alive. She doesn’t know. 

 “Kit,” he mutters through sharp grimaces of pain. 

 Thank god she understands him. And thank god the first-aid techniques her mother had taught her almost a decade ago have somehow clung to her memories as if they’d been waiting to help Peter Parker. The first aid kit is a mere two feet away, tucked underneath the bathroom sink, and she thanks the Michelle of September for placing it so conveniently. 

 Once she’s fumbled through the kit and grabbed items from memory (seriously, how on earth did she remember any of this?), Michelle carefully assesses the jagged piece lodged inside him that looks like it’d come from a shattered window. Thankfully, it’s not so deep that removing the intruding object would kill him immediately.

 “Peter, I have to take the glass out, okay?” Her voice wobbles as she searches his distant eyes, watching as they flutter shut. 

 “I‘ll be okay,” he staggers. “H-heal fast.”

 Spider-Man.

 No. She still doesn’t have time to process any of that. Carefully and whilst forcefully swallowing bile that puts up a good fight, Michelle removes the uneven shard and darts her eyes between his abdomen and his scrunched-up face. He’s feeling every movement, she knows, which is why she’s so fucking relieved when his battered torso is finally glass-free. 

 She’s shaking so much that the glass doesn’t reach the bin like she’d intended and instead shatters on the floor next to it. 

 But MJ doesn’t hear a thing. 

 Panicked, she grips both sides of Peter’s face and searches for a fraction of recovery. Ten seconds later, his eyes blink themselves open again and she sighs in complete relief and fucking sue her if a tear or two escapes her eyes in concern. She watches him as he cautiously moves a hand to tap something on his chest…something that causes his suit to suddenly billow open, to loosen, and free his injured form. 

 She sees lots of scratches and bruises and oh, god, the wound from the glass — which upon second glance, appears to be slowly fading in colour. The litter of minor cuts on his body do the same but far more rapidly, and after thirty seconds, most of them have completely disappeared. “Peter,” she gapes in awe. 

 “How deep was it?” He grunts breathlessly. By the looks of it, she can tell that particular cut isn’t going to heal remotely as fast as the others. 

 “You got really lucky, since I can’t see signs of critical damage, but it-it’s pretty bad.” Jesus, she’s shaking. 

 “Stitches,” he manages, pointing in the general direction of the first aid kit. “D’you…have stitches..?”

 Michelle nods, watching his brown eyes find hers, full of more consciousness and strength than she’d seen from him in the last ten minutes. Maybe it’s been an hour. Who the fuck cares. 

 She’s never stitched anyone up except her dolls back in elementary school, but the same method she’d used to patch up Mr. Squiggles the stuffed caterpillar appears to get the job done on the very real human being who remains bleeding helplessly down the bathtub drain. 

 **

 Peter feels himself gain more and more consciousness as she finishes the last few stitches. Everything in him hurts like hell, but just as any physical pain he feels, it dissipates into a dull, throbbing ache. That he can manage easily and he’s relieved when the ache dulls enough to clear enough space in his mind for coherent thought. 

 Of course the first thing to occupy it is her face. Peter watches her drop the first-aid tools she’d used into the sink and return to her spot next to the tub in a concerned rush. She’s scanning his torso for any other signs of major damage and wincing at even the smallest ones. 

 He watches her face through all of it, the flicker of a thousand different emotions. He yearns to be able to read them all perfectly and yet he can’t decipher a single one. Michelle is intriguing and mysterious and complex. 

 And perhaps his next thought is completely messed up because he’s stained her pyjama shorts with his blood and her brows are etched with anxiety and concern and he’s really, truly sorry. The thought is involuntary (but not necessarily unwelcome): God, she’s pretty. 

 Yes, okay, it’s definitely fucked up because the next thing he sees is her shaking hands, stained with his blood, grip the side of the tub to help her stand and go to wash her hands. 

 They’re still stained but not as badly when she returns to him again, draining the few inches of bathwater that have been, obviously, dyed an ugly shade of red. Michelle squeezes her eyes shut after the both of them notice just how much blood he’d lost merely ten minutes ago. 

 Once the water’s been successfully drained, she helps him stand to remove the suit completely. Luckily his super-healing has kicked in enough to allow him to do most of the work, and he sits on the toilet lid in guilt as she rinses out the traumatised tub. 

 Five minutes later, he’s within it once again after she fills it with warm water and her bath soap which creates a heap of bubbles they might’ve found cute or funny if they’d felt any lighter. All they find themselves capable of doing is sitting on either side of the old tub in silence. Peter can’t look away from her face and his heart aches like it did yesterday.

 And he’s finally willing to accept that he loves Michelle Jones so much that he can’t do anything to stop it. His eyes remain on her and the huffs of her panicked breath slowly returning to something sort of normal and the — oh, god — the timid reach of her unsteady hand over the edge of the bath, lacing her fingers through his when he meets her halfway. He was so, so naive even just yesterday to assume that her claim on his heart — one that truly crept up on him — could ever belong to him again. 

 Because it never will. The part of his heart that is hers will remain with her. If she’s by his side like she is now, nothing feels missing or wrong even with eleven messy stitches across his torso. 

 If she doesn’t feel the same way and they part ways, that piece of him will go with her because of course it will. It is hers. A part of him will feel missing and it will ache and he prays that she feels a fraction of what he does because he’ll do anything to feel complete like this every day. 

 But if she doesn’t love him, he’ll survive. It will hurt and he will grieve but all he wants is for her to know nothing but happiness and if that means he can’t be with her, he’ll be content. Loss and contentment can coexist because what is sacrifice without either of them. 

 Michelle is the first to speak, almost startling him since he’d been so deep in thought. In a trance. “Can we talk about it?”

 “About…” Peter’s genuinely not sure what she’s referring to. There are about nineteen possibilities. 

 She jerked a thumb behind her towards the torn red-and-black fabric on the tile floor.

 “Ahh.” He mumbles in recognition. “That. Yeah, we can talk about that.”

 “Cool.” She clears her throat. “How? Also, when? And why the fuck didn’t I figure it out myself? And, like…all those myths about Spider-Man…true or false?”

 He lifts the hand out of the tub that isn’t entwined with hers and raises a finger for each question he answers. “Radioactive spider. Seven years ago. I, too, have no idea how I’ve managed to avoid your suspicion. And as for the myths, erm, well, I definitely can’t hypnotise the entire female population. The enhanced strength and hearing are true. Obviously so is the enhanced healing. Everything else is pretty obvious.”

 “Cool, cool,” Michelle’s expression looks the opposite as she attempts to take in one surprise after another. But her most pressing question remains — they’d both been waiting to address it. She gives in first. “And also what the actual fuck happened tonight?”

 Peter nods, sighing. “Honestly, you’re probably expecting some crazy story about a supervillain, but I swear it wasn’t one of those nights. Did you hear about that fire down the street from Simpson’s?” She nods in recognition. “It wasn’t arson, or anything — apparently it was an electrical issue — and there was this couple who’d made it out in time but their daughter had gotten lost somewhere in the stairwell.” He doesn’t think to be embarrassed when the fresh memory triggers more than a few painful tears. 

 Michelle reaches her free hand to brush them away, cupping his face and silently asking him to continue. 

 “She couldn’t have been more than, like, six or seven. I couldn’t find her at first and it took me a few minutes…and god, when I did find her, she could barely breathe.” Michelle softly caresses his cheek with the tip of her thumb. “She- she’s okay, but just when we’d nearly made it out, one of the electrical sockets burst near the ground-floor window and I almost couldn’t get her behind me in time.” He’s well crying now but he’s not ashamed or anxious about her judgement as he once was. The genuine, soft gaze of care and concern in her eyes is enough to melt anything like that away ten times over. 

 “But she’s okay, right? She’s gonna be fine?”

 He nods. “Yeah, I checked in with the ambulance after they’d looked her over and she’s not critical, or anything, but she has a few second-degrees. They were headed to the ER to help regulate her lungs and they told me that they were fine but I haven’t been able to make sure she’s okay—“ 

 “Peter,” he’s surprised to watch her eyes mimic his in their sudden onset of tears. “Peter, you saved her life. You couldn’t have prevented the danger in the first place, so I can’t let you blame yourself for the mistakes you thought you made. That little girl is alive and it sounds like she’ll make a full recovery and that’s because you risked your life to keep her safe.”

 He can tell there’s likely a slight expression of self-doubt still etched on his face, because she grips his jaw again in fierce urgency. “I refuse to let the most selfless person I know tell himself that he’s anything less.”

 And before he can stop them, the words tumble from his mouth on their own accord. “I’m so fucking in love with you, Em.”

 As soon as her nickname leaves him, all the air in the whole world seems to follow it because suddenly he can’t breathe at he studies her closely for what had to be a mocking laugh or complete rage or something else terrible. 

 But he can’t find a single one of them in her eyes no matter how much he searches for them. She doesn’t say anything at first — she just sits still watching him with something that resembles relief and joy at the same time. 

 “And I’m sorry if this is, like, the worst time to admit that. I’m naked in your tub and you’ve got blood on your shorts and I know for a fact I still have a few bubbles in my hair.” They let out a simultaneous, amused huff. “I just…I can’t ignore the way you make me feel. It’s so much stronger than I ever thought and jesus christ, Michelle, that should terrify me but it doesn’t. At all. And I need you to know that if you don’t feel the same way, I’ll shut up about it forever and you can tell me to fuck off and I will, because I just want you to feel—“ 

 He’s interrupted by the abrupt touch of her lips against his. It feels like it did the other night when they’d made love to each other and it’s in this moment that he thinks she might feel the same way. Because she’s kissing him with every ounce of wonder and adoration and awe that fuels his lips on her. The position is awkward — he’s still in the damn bathtub, but he couldn’t give less of a fuck about that when the first thing she says after pulling away is:

 “I love you, too.”

 Michelle. Em. 

 Her tone is timid and shy and her nervousness makes complete sense to him because he knows what’s made her feel that way, They both have traumatic pasts and had written off love for differing reasons. 

 The funny thing about love is that you can’t comprehend what it truly is until you’re in love yourself. He’d thought that by protecting himself from caring that much about someone, he was avoiding loss. In reality, he had been experiencing it instead.

He is till terrified to lose her and for her to lsoe him and those things will never not scare him. But now he’s in love with her and he’d risk everything to have her by his side. 

 Loving her, instead of removing the fear of loss and grief, makes them worth it. 

 “You love me?” He whispers, grinning wide with delight. His heart and soul are light.

 Her curls bounce with a wild nod of her head, a matching smile on her face. “I’m just…really in love with you and it didn’t fully hit me until I had to take a piece of glass out of your stomach.” 

 Peter laughs, carefree. “Yeah, but I can’t even feel it now.”

 “So, like…you’re good to get out of my bathroom?”

 “Yep. Thank you for your service.”

 “Hush,” she mumbles in an adorably happy tone. Michelle hands him a towel from the rack to dry himself, and he laughs as he shows her the non-existent stitches that had been very present not too long ago. The second he’s dry, he wastes no time and kisses her again. Neither of them find his bare skin against her cotton pjs off-putting. 

 Then again, it takes Peter about two minutes to get the pjs off her, so they’re even soon enough. 

 **

 Michelle stutters a moan against Peter’s mouth as he slides home for the first time since he’d told her he loved her and she felt none of the hesitation she’d been expecting before saying it back. She adores Peter Parker and he adores her and a small part of her is scoffing at the Michelle Jones of three months ago who couldn’t stand him one bit. 

 She’ll figure it out, MJ muses with a smile, turning to kiss Peter again as he sped up his thrusts. She almost misses it, but the undeniable mutters of her name against her shoulder every couple of thrusts make her feel invincible. 

 The sex feels even better than the other night because neither of them have anything to hide. When he feels her getting close, he pushes himself up to watch her with a look of fervent desire and everything good is wrapped up in Peter Parker. She’s climaxing suddenly underneath him, and it’s all so intense she’s not sure she can bear it until she opens her eyes and he’s spilling into her with a wrecked “Em.” 

 They’d snuck up on each other, admiration having crept up beside growth, waiting to reveal themselves as long as they could.

 Except that doesn’t feel accurate to Michelle. Deep down, they both know that the good had been there from the beginning, only to be hidden in their denial. Not that she regrets all of it. 

 Because, honestly, what else would’ve urged them together besides Kathryn Crosby?

 She doesn’t realise she’s said this out loud until Peter breathlessly chuckles beside her. “Not to jump the gun or anything, but we’re absolutely inviting that woman to our wedding.”

[mikrokyla]

if only you knew

CHAPTER 2: we’re not dating

they gather to chill and eat ongiri

then atsumu finds out that y/n and sakusa aren’t dating

“my life was a lie” atsumu whines

if only you knew • we’re not dating (2)

<- INTRO • #operationgetomiandy/ntogether ->

ioyk masterlist

{taglist: @kukki-tsukki @intoomuchfandoms @mkazuyuh @lilacshouko @samataswrld @elianetsantana @moon-and-me @heyitzwolf @nekoma-hoe @abrabee @obsessedwhxre @applekenm @hqsks @ozamusun @ssuna @anhphunnnn @mindofess @imkumichan @i-justlikewhales @hawkssnugget @cherub-vivi @cloutberries @dinablossom @not-today-19 @alice-chan411 @heavenini @bloody-bella @amberisnotcrazy @ynjimenez @kac-chowsballs @deephumandragonperson @daijouboohoo @yorisama @simplesammyx @idiot-juice-enthusiast }

[kayteewritessteve]

I just read all of If Only You Knew and I can’t get over how beautiful it is. I couldn’t stop reading. Your writing is gorgeous and the story is so beautiful.. it left me speechless. I can’t wait to read your other pieces. Keep up the great work hun. You have a beautiful talent.

Hello lovely!

Oh yay!!! I get sooo excited when people read IOYK, it is my all time favourite story I’ve written to date. So when others read it, it just makes me so dang happy! And even more happy when they read it AND love it!! Aaaah, this was glorious to wake up to!

And you are just far too sweet! I suck at accepting compliments 🤣 I say like the same 3 or 4 lines every time and just change words to ‘mix it up’. But regardless of how many times I say them, I always mean them! So here goes me saying them one more time hahaha

I’m just so dang overjoyed to hear you loved this story! And thank you so much for not only taking the time to read it, but also to reach out and tell me what you thought! That just means the world to me! So thank you for that! ❤️❤️❤️

And there will hopefully be many more stories to come from me, as long as life allows me the time to write, I’ll keep writing lol

- Kaytee.

[sakurasbitch]

if you're going to be shipped with anyone it should be Dalia or Meg

eVFEYUJGKLVKUYQ&^IOYK*L%RHIKUFAGCT(P*#Y@OQIWM)PQO$H@VPW)hb4olhrvo(Bhfygbwaroay3cnpY*(noy*OVYBC@Q)WNOno BAHAHHAHHAHHHAHHAHA OH NO

[katurrade]

Update

Alright all you lovely peoples, I think it’s finally time I update ya’ll.

So to start off, I have been tagged in so many lovely, interesting and sweet chain posts over the last few weeks. Sooooo many and I feel so dang loved but there are just too many to respond to so I’ll just say this here

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO TAGGED ME IN ANY POSTS THE LAST FEW WEEKS. I SAW THEM ALL AND FEEL SO BLESSED THAT YOU ALL THOUGHT TO TAG ME IN THEM. You all know who you are and you all rock my world.

Seriously. So blessed for you lovely peoples.♥️

Okay, now onto my current WIP. If Only You Knew.

I am still working on this series, it hasn’t died. Still so much to come. Normally I do all my writing while my toddler naps during the day. However, he has recently decided that he is ‘grown’ and no longer needs day time naps. So my writing has taken a major hit thanks to that new development. Now the only time I can actually sit down and write is at night, but some nights i’m just too tired or my partner wants to spend time together so I’m not always able to write at night. Nap time writing was my JAM. I’m so heartbroken that it’s gone now. But 🤷🏻‍♀️ I’ll figure something out for that.

But basically, long story short. I am still writing IOYK, I just won’t be able to update it as much as before. I was hoping the lack of naps was just a phase but it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, anytime soon. So now it’s time to figure out a new game plan.

Chapter 13 is about half way done. I’m chugging coffee as we speak so when Moo goes to bed in a few hours, I’ll be hunkering down and hopefully getting 13 done and 14 at least started. 🤞🏻 then if all goes well I’ll post 13 tomorrow!

Thank you to everyone who reached out and checked in on me. Yes, I’m still alive and kicking, just don’t have as much free time as I used to. But i’m working on that!

Also, thank you all for sticking by me and my crazy, sporadic postings. 🤣🤦🏻‍♀️ you all rock.

Okay, okay, i’m done. This post got so wordy 🤣 I can never not be long winded. I swear. If you read all this then you are a champ.

- Kaytee ♥️

[demondean-for-kingofhell]

IM SO FUCKING GLAD YOU GUYS ARE UPDATIG IOYK AGAIN IVE FUCKING MISSSEEEEDDDDDD THIS STORRRYYY OH MY GOD PLEASE UPDATE AGAIN SOON IM FUCKJNG DYING

Please don't die! While it's true I've been gone for a while I'm trying to get back and this seemed like the perfect unfinished business for me. I'm so glad you're enjoying!