Ascension│Bluelock x male reader

3.20. This Shitty Game

"You fucker... what was that?!"

Y/N quivered. His nine year old eyes were wide, staring at the ball as it rolled away from the goal. He'd missed, the ball bouncing off the crossbar at the top. Sure, it was from a third of a pitch's length, but that didn't matter to the man standing in front of him.

He gulped, not daring to tear his eyes away from the ball. If he stared at it long enough, maybe the man would leave him alone. Maybe.

Other than him and the man, the room was completely empty. A full soccer field, hundreds of balls strewn over the ground, with only a small boy, and a uniformed man there to fill it. Leaning close to him, the man's voice was quiet. "Try again."

Y/N shivered. His entire body was trembling, water welling up behind his eyes. He leant away from the man like it would help him, his shoulders turning to one side. He didn't move, keeping his eyes fixed on the ball. Maybe if he just pretended if the other man didn't exist, he would be okay...

"Hey." A blur of motion. Y/N let a strangled gasp slip out as the man lunged for him, one large hand snatching hold of his chin. He squeezed both eyes shut as his face was wrenched away from the ball. He didn't wanna see the man. He just wanted to leave. "I'm talking to you."

Y/N's heart hammered in his chest, pounding at his ribcage. His ribs stretched, cracked under the pressure. Taking a deep breath, Y/N tried to steady himself.

"Open your eyes." Y/N's deep breath turned into a cough of fear. He hesitated, drawing another quiet command from the man. "Now."

Then he did.

Soulless grey eyes stared back at him. Y/N held his next breath.

"Try again." The man softly said. But it wasn't soft because it was gentle, or soft because he was concerned. It was soft because he was in control. He didn't need to yell. Just the quiet words were enough to make Y/N's eyes dilate with terror.

The man let his face go. Y/N staggered away, trying to put a few metres between them. He scooped up a ball with weak fingers, placing it at his feet. The man's voice echoed in his head.

Y/N returned his eyes to the goal. His mind was blank with nothing but panic. He swallowed. Took a few steps back.

When he ran forwards, foot colliding with the ball, he instinctively knew it wasn't right. Nothing was right. It wasn't far enough, it wasn't spinning enough, hell, it wasn't even on target. The ball flew by the goal on the right side, a soft thud echoing through the room as it hit the wall.

All the colour drained from Y/N's face.

His voice came out strained, on the verge of tears as he turned slowly to look at the man. "W-wait..." Struggling to breathe, Y/N took a step back. "It's just... one miss...!"

The man sighed. From his pocket, he pulled out a small wristband. It wasn't any normal band, but made entirely from metal, a strap on the side to tighten and untighten it. Y/N froze. The man spoke. "It was two misses. Come here."

Y/N hung his head, biting down on his lip. The man waited patiently as Y/N shuffled forwards, centimetre by centimetre, till he was in front of him. Y/N never looked up, terrified eyes fixed on the floor.

"Pull up your sleeve."

Y/N did as he was asked. Over the skin of his arm, red rings circled from his wrist all the way up to his shoulder. They weren't cuts, nor were they any lasting injury. In fact, they would fade the next day, like they never happened. But that was what made them so hellish - the fact that no matter how many times he was hurt, it never showed.