#my scars won’t stop hurting. my wounds keep stinging. I’m sorry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

extasiswings · 3 years

Note

“i’ll keep you warm” eddie has a nightmare post-shooting 👀 (or however you wanna write it!)

This was not supposed to be this long...rated M-ish for some mild smut at the end. On ao3 here.

The thing Eddie remembers most about the shooting isn’t the shot itself, or the pain, or even the fear—it’s the cold. The icy numbness of shock curling down his spine, twisting through his veins like tendrils of frost creeping across a windowpane in winter. Cold, as his pulse skyrocketed, his body’s signals all crossed and confused and trying to circulate blood, not seeming to grasp the fact that his blood was seeping out onto the asphalt beneath him, that trying to circulate it faster was just making it worse. Cold, like he was a stupid kid at camp diving into a frigid lake before dawn, except above him was blue sky and a bright sun beating down and the fact that it was Los Angeles in May didn’t do a damn thing to help.

He couldn’t feel it. He could only feel the cold.

Buck, though—Buck, he felt. Buck’s hands burned, on his chest, his neck, his face, so warm that Eddie almost wanted to flinch away, but he didn’t. He was aware enough to realize that if Buck was warm, he was probably telling the truth when he said he wasn’t hurt. And that was good. That was all he needed to know.

The cold—

Eddie’s been through enough in his life to know that his subconscious works in weird ways. After Afghanistan he dreamed more directly of burning helicopters and gunfire, blood in his mouth and smoke on his tongue. Shadows and screams and guilt. After the well his dreams were of Christopher, Shannon, waves crashing on a beach. And Buck. Sunlight.

This time...this time Eddie dreams of drowning. Trapped beneath ice, his hands slamming against it, eventually forced to inhale—water flooding his mouth, his throat, his lungs—cold, cold, cold—

Sometimes after he wakes he’ll spend hours shivering. Phantom chills that won’t go away even when he wraps himself in blankets.

The therapist he’s mandated to see before he can be cleared for work tells him that the brain doesn’t always process trauma by taking the most direct path. Eddie doesn’t know why his has fixated on this. The cold. Maybe it’s just easiest. Because the shooting—

His chest gets tight when he’s walking in open air. Sweat breaks out across his brow when the sunlight glints off of windows. His pulse races.

He can’t breathe.

It feels a little like drowning.

“Do you feel safe?” Dr. Kingston asks one session. And Eddie thinks about freezing in a grocery store parking lot, gripping the edge of a cart to keep his hands from shaking, thinks about Buck curving a hand around his shoulder, solid and warm—

“Sometimes,” Eddie admits. “It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

He tastes the lie on his tongue before it slips out.

“I don’t know.”

When the world shut down and Eddie had to leave Christopher with his abuela so that he could keep working without worrying constantly that he was putting his son at risk, Buck’s was the obvious place to go. And Eddie doesn’t know if things would have been different if it had been just the two of them but Hen and Chim deciding it was also the obvious place for them to go meant there weren’t a lot of options for sleeping arrangements.

So Eddie shared the bed with Buck. And it didn’t matter if either of them wound up wrapped around the other, the lines of their bodies pressed close enough to bleed together. If they curled into one another like plants twisting to find the light.

It was...instinct. To seek comfort. Warmth. Touch. Both of them alone for so long, and just needing—

Needing.

They never talked about it—there wasn’t anything to talk about. If it made Eddie’s heart race, if it made him ache for something he hadn’t expected and didn’t wholly understand, if when he returned home alone again his own bed felt too empty, that was his own problem.

Now, though—

Now, he knows. Because he stood frozen on the street and stared at Buck with Carla’s words in his head—make sure you’re following your heart—and realized oh. It hadn’t just been convenience, it had been love. Need and desire and love.

Now, he knows, but doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge, with the awareness he has suddenly. Buck is living in his house, in his space, helping him with Christopher and with his own recovery, making sure he takes his meds and gets to his appointments and does his exercises. Buck is there all the time and it’s a blessing and a curse because Eddie burns whenever Buck touches him.

And Buck touches him. A lot.

He hadn’t at first, right after Eddie came home from the hospital—Eddie would catch him sometimes looking like he wanted to, but holding back, reaching out but stopping himself, and Eddie never asked why. Even now he doesn’t think he ever needed to—he knows what it’s like to be afraid, to be unsteady, adrift, worrying that touching something you expect to be solid will reveal it’s just an illusion. Not wanting to find out if it is.

But Buck touches him now. And sometimes Eddie will wake up to find that Buck’s migrated from the couch in the living room to a chair by his bed, folded in and fitfully asleep. Buck never says, but Eddie’s pretty sure it’s so Buck can reassure himself that Eddie’s still breathing.

Eddie understands that need too. Sometimes he isn’t sure himself.

The first time it happens after Buck’s relationship with Taylor has flamed out—for himself, he and Ana have been over since just after he left the hospital—Eddie finally just gets up.

“Buck.” He curves a hand around the side of Buck’s neck and passes his thumb along the edge of his jaw.

Buck startles awake, looking somehow guilty.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I? Sorry, I know it’s—I can go back to the—”

“Will you just come to bed?” Eddie interrupts before Buck successfully talks himself into leaving the room. “Please?”

Buck’s eyes flick down to his shoulder. He swallows hard.

“I don’t want to—”

Oh.

“You won’t hurt me,” Eddie promises. “Okay?”

Buck searches his face in the dark, but if he sees anything, he clearly doesn’t mind because he nods and gets up from the chair. When they both resettle on the mattress, Buck only pauses for a moment before curving around him like a parenthesis, his arm falling across Eddie’s waist.

Eddie’s breath catches.

“Is this—?”

Eddie closes his eyes and sinks into the embrace. If it feels just a little bit like cheating because he hasn't told Buck how he feels, that’s between him and god.

“It’s fine,” he assures, then adds to make it a little more fair, “you aren’t the only one who needs—you aren’t the only one.”

Buck relaxes at that, his grip tightening a little with newfound certainty.

When Eddie dreams, he doesn’t drown.

“You look good,” Dr. Kingston acknowledges two weeks later. “You’ve been sleeping better?”

“Yeah,” Eddie replies. “I stopped having nightmares, so I haven’t been waking up as much.”

He catches the surprise that flickers across her face.

“They stopped completely?” She asks. “Have you been doing something different or—?”

Eddie shifts in his chair and clears his throat. What is he supposed to tell her? That he stopped having nightmares when he started sleeping with Buck every night? He’s not really ready to unpack that with his therapist—he’s barely ready to unpack it in his own head.

“Just lucky, I guess,” he says. Dr. Kingston puts down her pen and levels him with a long look that tells him she knows that’s bullshit and is trying to decide whether to push or let it go until another time.

She lets it go.

“Well,” she replies. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Eddie feels like he’s dodged another bullet.

Later, though, he wonders if he shouldn’t have said more. If he shouldn’t have asked questions. Because he goes to sleep and—

The water is pitch black and freezing. Eddie’s eyes sting, but it doesn’t matter whether he keeps them open or not—there’s nothing to see. He kicks his legs anyway, swims up, up, up, even though it hurts to make his limbs work when they’re so cold. There’s a faint light—the surface—and he kicks harder, desperate to reach—

Ice. Nothing but a sheet of ice, solid and thick. His lungs burn from lack of air, his palms beat against the ice—

He can’t keep moving. It’s too cold. He can’t—

“Eddie. Eddie.” Hands seize him from nowhere, almost too warm, and Eddie could have sworn the ice had no cracks, but he’s being lifted out—

“Eddie.”

He snaps awake, gasping. Buck’s face swims into view, worry painted across every line. His hands are on Eddie’s shoulders.

They’re so warm.

Eddie shivers.

“You were hyperventilating,” Buck says. “I thought—”

“Just a dream,” Eddie grits out, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. He still feels frozen. Stupid—it was a dream, it wasn’t real, so he shouldn’t—it shouldn’t be this difficult.

He shivers again.

Buck’s brow furrows deeper.

“You’re shaking—are you cold?”

Eddie sits up and scrubs his hands over his face. He swallows back the denial on his tongue, the urge to run away and hide in the bathroom until a scalding shower makes him feel somewhat human again. Maybe he can’t always be honest with his therapist, but he can be honest with Buck.

“Yes,” he admits. “But it’s not—it’s just in my head. When I got shot I—it’s hard to explain but, yes. I’m cold. Freezing. I don’t know how—”

He cuts off and Buck shifts on the mattress, reaches out slowly so Eddie has plenty of time to stop him if he doesn’t want to be touched, and finally wraps his arms around him, pulling Eddie firmly against his chest.

“I’ll keep you warm,” Buck says quietly. And Eddie—

Something in him cracks. Not like ice during a thaw, but resolve after too much time of being worn down, pressure applied in precisely the right spot. He’s raw and ragged and his scarred heart hardly feels like anything anyone should want, but he’s so tired of pretending he hasn’t been trying to press it into Buck’s hands for a year in different ways. He’s tired of not asking and being afraid and waiting. He’s tired—

Buck makes a soft sound of surprise when Eddie kisses him. But he doesn’t push him away. And Eddie can’t help himself from pressing closer, curling one hand into Buck’s shirt and the other around the back of his neck and kissing him again and again and again, feeling altogether too frantic. He’ll probably find it in himself to be embarrassed in the morning, but want and desperation have left very little room for shame at the moment.

Buck kisses him back. His hands drop to Eddie’s hips as Eddie does his best to climb into his lap.

“Eddie,” Buck pants between kisses. “Eddie—I—” His head falls back and Eddie takes the opportunity to continue his exploration down the exposed line of Buck’s neck.

“Should we talk about this?” Buck finally manages, even as his own hands flirt with the hem of Eddie’s shirt.

Eddie freezes. The answer, of course, is yes. But talking is the last thing he wants to do when part of him still feels chilled to the bone, not wholly alive. He wants to be touched, wants to be consumed, wants to fall into orbit around Buck’s sun and never leave.

And it’s late. Dark. The two of them, the bed, the very room caught in a liminal space where anything could happen, anything could be said, anything could be forgiven. Eddie can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a dangerous one.

His mouth drags along the edge of Buck’s jaw.

“This isn’t because I wanted someone and you happened to be here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He doesn’t look at Buck’s face. It’s easier to not, to focus on something else. He stopped going to confession a long time ago, but he never had to look directly at his priest either, always some curtain or other barrier obscuring things, lending the illusion of privacy, anonymity.

“I’m in love with you,” he admits, and Buck’s hands flex on his hips. “I’ve been in love with you. So we can talk about this if you want, but—”

In an instant, Eddie’s on his back, the rest of his sentence swallowed up by the tongue sliding into his mouth. Buck is a warm, solid weight on top of him, pinning him, anchoring him, and Eddie finds he doesn’t mind when it forces him to be in the moment, reminds him that he’s fully in his own body.

“I love you, too,” Buck whispers when the kiss breaks, and then he’s pushing Eddie’s shirt up and off and dispensing with his own—

Shannon was his first. Eddie wasn’t hers and he remembers being glad that at least one of them had some idea of what to do because the second she touched him he was so overwhelmed by sensation that he could hardly think.

This is…not dissimilar. Buck’s chest presses flush against his, all warm, bare skin, and Eddie feels like he could drown in a different way. He arches up, seeking Buck’s mouth again, and Buck obliges.

Eddie’s focus narrows to certain points—the slick slide of Buck’s tongue against his, Buck’s hand ghosting along his ribs, the careful space between their hips and the low burn of heat in his gut that makes him want to close the gap—

His hands slide up Buck’s back slowly, his fingers tracing the knobs of Buck’s spine, the sharp edges of his shoulder blades—they dance along the line of his shoulders too, sketching the breadth that he’s noticed but never allowed his thoughts to linger on. His touch is careful, reverent, as if Buck is a holy thing that his stained, sinner hands have no business touching. Perhaps, in a sense that’s true.

He’s never been a very good Catholic, but sex—sex, desire, love—sex has always been something…sacred to him. In high school, he shied away from the locker room-style conversations about who went how far with whom, kept out of any discussion involving lamentations about still being a virgin at graduation. For one thing, he thought they were usually crass and disrespectful. But mainly he just—he didn’t care about waiting until marriage or anything like that, but he always knew he wanted to be in love. Hence, Shannon. And why there hadn’t been anyone after her.

Until now.

Eddie kisses Buck until his lungs ache, but he’s not close enough, feels like he can’t get close enough. One of his hands slides into Buck’s hair, but the other trails back down, presses lightly on Buck’s lower back as his own hips rock up, seeking friction. Buck swears against his lips and closes the distance—Eddie can feel him hard in his sweatpants and flushes, dizzy at the thought of having made that happen, dizzy at the thought of more, dizzy—

He feels very much like a clumsy teenager again, fumbling his way through on instinct. At least this sort of thing is familiar, even if he hasn’t done it with a man before. Buck grinds their hips together, the friction sending sparks through every one of Eddie’s nerve endings, and kisses down his neck, teeth scraping over his pulse point. Eddie gasps and Buck hums, low and pleased, against his skin.

And then, just as he thinks he’s used to the slow burn of pleasure, Buck shifts his weight and slides a hand down to toy with Eddie’s waistband. Buck meets his eyes in the dark and swallows hard.

“Can I—?”

This time, when Eddie shivers it has nothing to do with the cold.

“Please,” he rasps, and Buck smiles before tugging Eddie’s pants down just enough to wrap his hand around Eddie’s cock.

Buck’s touch is a little tentative at first, clearly unused to the angle, and the part of Eddie that’s still capable of noticing that spends a brief moment feeling grateful that he’s not the only one lacking in experience here. But what Buck may lack in experience, he makes up for in enthusiasm, experimenting with grip and speed and pressure to figure out exactly what to do to make Eddie gasp again, to make him bite his lip, to make him hide his face in Buck’s shoulder to muffle any louder noises he can’t quite hold back.

It doesn’t take long. Even before the shooting, Eddie rarely bothered to touch himself with any sort of regularity, and during his recovery he had even less of a reason to do so, what little energy he had in the first few months better spent elsewhere. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed it. But clearly his body did because his orgasm hits him like a train when Buck spits into his hand for extra glide and twists his wrist on the upstroke. He bites Buck’s shoulder and Buck’s hips jerk and then he’s just floating—boneless, breathless, and utterly wrecked in the best possible way.

Buck collapses on the mattress next to him as Eddie’s catching his breath—Eddie reaches out, his hand skating over Buck’s stomach, and makes a questioning noise. Buck laughs quietly and catches his hand, bringing it to his lips.

“I, uh—I’m good,” Buck promises, and even in the dark Eddie can see his cheeks flush.

Eddie curls into his side. “Really?”

Buck kisses him. “I don’t think you realize how long I’ve wanted to do that. Or how good you look. So, yes, I already—yes. Really.”

Eddie’s lips curve up. He presses a kiss to the edge of Buck’s jaw. As the immediate aftermath wears off, his eyelids start to grow heavy, his limbs moving a little less easily.

“We should probably shower,” he acknowledges, although the strength of the statement is likely diminished by the yawn that interrupts him halfway through.

“Probably,” Buck agrees, but he too makes no move to actually get up.

Pressed against him as he is, Eddie is warm and sated and content. He drifts, skirting the edge of sleep.

“I love you,” he says again. Because it feels important.

Buck hums. If he says something else, it’s too low for Eddie to catch.

When he dreams again, he doesn’t dream of drowning. He doesn’t dream of the cold.

Instead, there’s just light. Just warmth.

Just Buck.

#chapel writes #buddie #buddie fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 fic

350 notes · View notes

hoe-imaginess · 4 years

Text

a helping hand (or two) | dabi

Dabi x fem!Reader

summary: Dabi is suffering from an aphrodisiac quirk. Now he’s got a dick that just won’t quit, and you have to take care of it.

word count: 10.4k

contains: almost dub-con, handies, bjs, dick riding, dirty talk, slight violence, a very stubborn Dabi who has to be restrained

a/n: self-indulgent & vaguely crack-ish. my idea of an aphrodisiac includes an overload of the five senses bc...idk I wanted to play w/ descriptive prose. my kink is describing Dabi’s horniness in paragraphs ok. meaty intro before the smut, hang in there

⤰⤰⤰

Dabi entertained the alley-dweller’s angry outbursts with sadistic patience. The man yelled at him, threatened him, boasted of all the ways in which he was going to make Dabi suffer for attacking and underestimating him—

Then, finally having decided that the fodder was no longer amusing him, the flame-user extended a glowing palm in preparation to finish the job.

When you read the intention in Dabi’s movement, you fidgeted where you stood and calculated the risk of opposing him.

“You can’t just keep burning everyone you don’t like,” you said, calculations made, deciding that you might as well attempt to be a voice of reason while you were paired up with him on this job.

It was a voice he happily ignored. The white-hot glare of his palm smoldered into the bursting blue of his flames as they lit up his fingers.

“Says who?”

Trash was trash. If you couldn’t see that, then oh well. Folly on your part for thinking the tedious task of recruiting didn’t require this sort of disposal; what better to do with underwhelming candidates than permanently remove them from the talent pool? You shouldn’t have tagged along if you weren’t prepared for his methods.

When the alley-villain realized that Dabi’s patience for his empty, arrogant threats had been spent, his dirt-stained face colored with fear, and his wild eyes darted in every direction of the alley to seek refuge from the imminent flames. He started to plead—which Dabi found grimly amusing given that the man had been spouting insults about his patchwork skin just moments before—then he shrank back against the alley wall, sinking to the ground in fear.

“The more bodies you leave the easier it will be for the police to track us.” You’d taken to your persuasions again, fruitless though you knew it was.

“And?”

“And you’ll be compromising the entire League.”

“If all you’re gonna do is complain then you don’t have to tag along, ya know.” He spared a glance your way, with that drolly exasperated look on his face he always gave when he felt you were speaking out of turn.

But his diverted attention proved costly: the alley-dweller suddenly went berserk, and was rushing at him with a final, rogue desperation to escape.

The charge, surprisingly swift as it was, was also uncalculated, and Dabi narrowly side-stepped to avoid a blow. With an indignant sneer, he rounded his hand and kindled his flames anew: no more games, it was time to kill. But before he could retaliate, the lunatic was on him again, barreling toward him.

Though fatally seared by the sudden discharge of flame that Dabi released, the derelict’s bulk was still sufficient to topple into Dabi and throw him off balance. He might have fallen from the impact if not for the way the man gave a wailing, pained shriek and threw himself away from the flames.

Torched and agonized as the man was, his mounted attack hadn’t been a complete failure: though Dabi’s flames had mostly protected him, there was an unmistakable sensation of damage in him which left him suddenly rigid with alarm.

Had he been wounded?

He looked down at himself, saw no injuries from which the bodily distress might have been roused. After a few moments the distress was gone, and he decided it was just adrenaline. Then, there returned the enervated frustration.

“Trash,” he muttered indignantly, glaring at the steaming heap of the man, who’d stumbled over a litter of aluminum trash bins and capsized with them onto the ground. He wasn’t moving. But he was still whole, and not the pile of burning ash he could have been, should have been, now, after that little effrontery—

Your arm was on him before he could pursue the murderous thoughts.

“Are you alright?” you asked, inspecting him carefully.

Instantly and fiercely, he shrugged away from your touch.

“Fine,” he grunted out, straightening and stiffening his limbs to convince himself of it. But that odd feeling was still there, burgeoning slowly at the sight of the man’s body fuming on the ground, at your own body standing so close to him. “If you hadn’t been running your damn mouth—”

“Sorry,” you conceded, more concerned with his demeanor than with defending yourself. In all likelihood he didn’t even realize how ruffled he looked. “Did he… are you hurt?”

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted firmly.

While you stared at him in doubtful concern, an energetic heat crept up his spine. Slow, like an insect bite bringing its stinging warmth to a crawl over his skin, skin both scarred and unscarred alike.

There was a smell, then, when he took his shallow breaths: something sweet, like lingering perfume, or fragrant incense—

Fairly quickly he realized the smell was coming from you, and glared at you in puzzled indignation, like the fact that this scent was yours and that he could smell it now—why could he smell it so profusely now, when he hadn’t before? What the hell?—was somehow offensive. Worst of all it smelled damn good. Had you always smelled that good?

“...What is it?” you asked carefully, not quite able to place the look on his face, but considerably unnerved by it, nonetheless. “Dabi…?”

Your voice—it held such particular tones that he hadn’t before noticed until now, as though he’d been deaf to what you really sounded like; how sleek and enticing your words were when they came out of your pretty mouth.

Oh, and your mouth: lips parted fretfully in preparation for another concerned inquiry on his well-being, objectively innocent but suddenly, and infuriatingly, looking very much like they were tempting him for a kiss.

Then when your pink tongue came to wet your lips in anxious trepidation, that too he saw as a maddeningly teasing gesture that made his hands feel hot. Then it was his feet; then his whole body.

He began to fidget where he stood.

Then, at the sudden onset of warmth in his head, he slid over to the alley wall, a splayed hand against the brick keeping his balance while he hung his dizzy head low.

“What the hell,” he muttered to himself woozily.

“Dabi?” You went to inspect him cautiously. You couldn’t see his expression through the curtain of black that had fallen over his face, but you knew something was amiss. “Are you okay?” you asked again.

“I’m fine,” he huffed out, and you’d been oblivious to his hoarse breathing up until the moment you stopped in front of him.

“Dabi,” you begged his attention now that his eyes had closed shut, his features pinched. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes, dizzied by the heat, began to play tricks on him. Even behind the closed lids he saw sparks flying, and swirls of white-hot passion dancing.

When the heat in him turned to a near-burning sensation, he opened his eyes and stared down at his body. Was his quirk activated? he thought confusedly. Or was the heat that licked his skin just a hallucination: flames that failed to consume him wholly? What the hell was happening? What was this—

The heat finally centered—mortifyingly—between his legs, and what had been confusion before was now full-blown bafflement.

“Dabi,” you were saying again.

The sound of your voice inflamed him not in aggravation, but something else.

“You don’t look good,” you said. The way his breath had thinned to long, rough pants put anxiety in you. “...I’ll call Kurogiri.” You fished your phone from your pocket with the intention of doing so.

A grunt was his response; he couldn’t coherently pick his words. Then, the anticipation of your voice again, on the phone, speaking in those tones and that sweet melody, made him shudder.

“No,” he muttered.

You looked at him, the phone to your ear, the line ringing. “What?”

“Don’t,” was all he could say, lower this time, almost in a growl.

“But Dabi, you—”

Suddenly, at the thought of hearing your voice for even another second, the fire overtook him.

First he slapped the phone from your grip. Its screen broke against the pavement and the voice that answered the call—too late, you thought fleetingly—stuttered on the line. Then he slammed you against the wall.

Winded and bewildered, it took you several seconds to find your bearings. In that time he’d pressed against you, his breath so hot and so angry that it flushed perspiration over your skin.

Gaping, your lips trembled. “Dabi, what—”

“Shut up,” he seethed quietly, teeth baring.

You recognized the wild look of violence on his face, but the lust in his hazy eyes wasn’t anticipated. Nor was the erection you felt pressing against your leg. You stared wide-eyed as the sinking realization came over you.

In desperation you pushed at him; he pushed back, corralling you against the wall even harder.

The air was knocked out of your lungs, and with it, a dying protest, “Wait—”

He clamped a too-warm hand over your mouth, and pressed his face against yours. His forehead on your own felt feverish and sweaty; his eyes, like blue-burned coals, pierced into yours. You could smell the heat smoldering off of him.

He loosed a shaky, unhinged breath. “Shut. Up.”

Unthinking, your hand tugged at the one on your mouth, inadvertently digging into his staples. But his wild passion lent him a worrisome insensitivity to the hurt, and his other hand was going for your waist, squeezing into your shirt and wrenching you impossibly closer against him.

The pain which erupted from his compromised staples only fanned the flames of his arousal. He didn’t know why. Of course he fucking didn’t. He didn’t even know why his body was moving the way it was: rutting against you, seeking friction for his aching dick.

His mouth went to your neck but applied no kisses or intimate caresses; he just pressed against the skin and breathed in pants. He put his free hand to your breast, the movement not a calculated one, more like he was seeking leverage to his imbalance. The stuttering beat of your heart was palpable under his palm.

"Fuck,” he sputtered out angrily, disoriented, and dug his fingers into your chest. You moaned behind his palm, both in shock and pleasure.

All he needed to hear was the latter.

The sound made him hiss a low and dangerous curse, and when he peeked his head back up, his pulsing eyes shone with something beyond just lust now: pure hunger.

Just as he moved his hand away from your mouth with the intent of crashing his own against you in a bruising kiss, there was a sound behind him.

In the back of his mind he recognized it: Warp Gate.

Kurogiri, and possibly someone else, had answered your call for aid.

Dabi utterly ignored it.

It had nothing to do with him.

He was only concerned with the heat. All he felt was the heat; all he saw was your lips: parted in dumbfoundment, dry, and begging to be wetted by his tongue–

There was a commotion, and then an angry voice that Dabi distantly recognized as Shigaraki’s.

Then a blow to the back of his head took everything away.

⤰

A subtle transformation had overtaken his body by the time he woke.

No longer was the heat excruciating, but it was still there, nevertheless: a curling medium beneath his skin which he felt the instant consciousness came back to him. With it, the dizzy ache in his head and the haze in his eyes. Then, finally: his limbs refusing to move when he tried to stretch them.

At once he realized he was back in the bar, confined in a chair, with people gawking at him from all sides.

He blinked his vision back to clarity, then scowled. “The hell?”

“Do you remember anything, Dabi?” That was Kurogiri somewhere to his left. Looking, Dabi confirmed his usual station behind the bar.

Delaying an answer, the flame-user glanced around. Not all of the League was there, he saw. Besides Kurogiri, only Shigaraki and you were audience to the spectacle.

You tried to avoid his harsh eyes when they landed on you, when they flitted across your features as if in an elaborate struggle to put pieces of a disoriented puzzle together. Solved, apparently, as his memory came back, his confused scowl worked into a realizing frown.

“Shit,” he muttered in annoyance.

Shuffling uncomfortably in the chair, he surmised it was rope binding his wrists behind his back, and his ankles to the chair legs. But the movement also brought attention to the hot pressure in his gut.

Or at the least, he thought that’s where it was—until he glanced down and realized that despite the abatement of the wild heat, his erection still peeked proudly underneath his jeans.

Now he was scowling again.

“What the hell,” he spat out, and suddenly, with his frustration flourishing, the heat was returning in slow order.

He cursed under his breath. He looked up and glared at the first onlooker he set his eyes upon: Kurogiri.

“Get me out of this shit.”

“I can’t do that,” the man replied regrettably. “When I came to retrieve you from the scene we had no choice except to put you down when you refused to listen. Given the nature of the quirk that you’ve been struck with, we have to take precautions until we know it’s out of your system.”

Dabi listened with steely suspicion. “What quirk?”

“An aphrodisiac—” You almost bit your tongue once you’d started, because the quick and fierce glance he gave you suggested he wasn’t entirely happy with you, and even less happy to hear your voice.

“It’s an aphrodisiac quirk,” you stated, more calmly now.

Dabi blinked, brows knotting in concentration. Spoken plainly that way, it seemed absurd, stupid.

He scoffed dryly. “You’re joking.”

“Really fucked up this time, didn’t you?” came Shigaraki from a spot at the bar, his arms crossed. “Serves you right, searching the alleys for trash. I told you to stop doing that shit.”

“Fuck off,” Dabi spat. “How was I supposed to know the guy’d have such a stupid fuckin’…”

Dabi tsked and shuffled uncomfortably in his chair again. The bitterness he felt for his confinement was quickly gaining, and so was the returning arousal. A sweltering, uncomfortable warmth on his skin made him hyperaware of his flushed face, and he could practically feel the sweat teeming on his unscarred flesh.

“I’m serious,” he muttered, glaring at Shigaraki. “Get me out of this.”

“So you can go ape shit again? No. It’s disgusting.”

“I’m not gonna do shit, relax.”

Dabi was aware then that focus was being pulled in the room, pulled directly to you: the victim of his unbidden arousal.

With a roll of his eyes, he huffed a frustrated breath and gave you what might have passed for an apology, if he’d even bothered looking at you. “My bad, and all that.”

Shigaraki’s arrogant snort derailed whatever amendment you might have transpired to make.

“You’re lucky the guy was still alive when we got there—barely,” your leader went on. “Told us a bit about what to expect from you in the next few hours though, once we promised we’d let him go.”

Dabi gave him a flat look of doubt.

Shigaraki scoffed. “Didn’t keep that promise, obviously.” Then he was scowling behind Father. “I don’t like having to clean up your messes. Shouldn’t have to finish off your fodder for you. You can’t even do that right, can you?”

Dabi’s frustration was in full bloom now, despite reason persuading him against it; he’d gathered enough at this point—at the expense of his own body—to know that agitation of any kind would feed the quirk’s effects.

Heat pooled low in his stomach when he demanded again, “Let me out of this shit right now or I’m gonna get mad.”

“Supposed to be a 24-hour thing unless you take care of it, to put it plainly,” Shigaraki responded.

“I assumed as much. So get me outta this shit and I’ll fuck off for a while.”

“Nah. Don’t need you going and causing a scene somewhere because you don’t know how to keep your pants on.”

You could feel the conflagration of tension in the room. Maybe it was Dabi’s quirk, maybe it was the alley-dweller’s mixing with it, making it dangerously palpable. Regardless, Shigaraki’s snark seemed to bring Dabi’s attention back to his body, to the insufferable bulge between his legs that demanded relief.

“This is stupid,” he declared bitterly, and tugged on the knots tied at his wrists, the throbbing heat in his lower-half lending itself to his quirk as it activated in licking flames along his arms. He was tired of this shit. He lost his temper all at once. “You’re damn crazy if you think I’m just gonna sit here—”

Then there was blue flame torching the back of the chair, blackening the rope which bound him and making the tethers frail enough to tear apart under a strong tug. He was freeing himself.

From there, it all happened relatively swiftly.

As he went to work on the binds at his feet with newly liberated arms, Shigaraki was in a conniption of angry protests, and Kurogiri fluttered nervously between taking action or remaining an onlooker.

Then there was you, probably the least equipped to do much of anything to alleviate the situation, but nevertheless skipping to your feet the moment the chaos ensued. There was arguing, cursing, insults—then your voice, attempting to wedge some conciliatory reason into the room.

It did the exact opposite.

Dabi had apparently forgotten of the trigger in your voice that sent his body into a frenzy. When you spoke up, your voice just loud enough to cut above the rest of the uproar, his aspiration to free himself tapered off as his sharp eyes honed in on you.

His arousal came back with a vengeance; in his pants, his dick twitched angrily for relief, and that frenzy took over his thought process again.

His flames burned the rope at his feet and he came at you, so close, so very close, not knowing why he was doing it but only that he needed to touch you—

You were frozen on the spot. But Shigaraki was reaching for something along the bar, and Dabi’s world went black again soon after.

⤰

When he woke this time, his rope bonds had been replaced for something cold and metallic, something stronger to withstand the vehemence of his flames. Even the chair to which he was bound had been swapped for something sturdier than wood.

“You fuckin’ serious?” he spat out, even before his vision had centered. He knew where he was, and why he was there. No need for context clues.

“You gave us no other choice,” Kurogiri amended carefully, the black vapors that composed him flitting about anxiously.

“Told you that you’d lose it,” Shigaraki said, anger having replaced all his snarky tones of condescension from before. “You’re like a damn animal.”

Dabi hissed and put his head back, feeling the soreness at his nape from consecutive blows. If he weren’t so presently occupied with the curl of heat welcoming him afresh, he might have simmered on the idea of burning his relatively recent—but entirely disagreeable—boss to a crisp when this was over.

Then for the first time Dabi realized you were absent, and glanced around as if in search of you. Good, he thought, when he confirmed that you were missing. You just... complicated things.

“I’m fine now,” he insisted, as placidly as possible as if to give stock to his lie. The respite had done nothing for the arousal harassing him; the longer it having gone unsatiated, even in unconsciousness, making it all the more demanding.

Mellowing his urgency to a non-existent degree was almost impossible, however. Dabi knew the way the soles of his shoes twisted and flattened restlessly into the ground below was anything but inconspicuous.

“Just warp me outta here, Kurogiri,” he implored.

“No,” Shigaraki answered. “Shut up. Consider this a lesson. No more rummaging for allies in shithole parts of town. This is what happens when you go dumpster-diving for recruits.”

“You want me to burn this place down?” Dabi threatened, testing the strength of his bonds. A flicker of blue teased along his jawline. “‘Cause I got no problem doing that.”

Shigaraki shrugged. “Sure. You’ll just burn up with it, since you’ve got no way out of that chair.”

He knew it was true, and worked his jaw. “For all you know the damn guy was lyin’,” he said as a final act of contempt, and gave his leader a leery, side-long glare. “And this shit might not go away on its own.”

“Guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

Dabi sneered. Foiled, but regardlessly frustrated by the truth of it, he put his head back with an angry sigh and resigned himself to an attempted calm.

⤰

You’d lingered in the bar’s back rooms for the better part of an hour before emerging.

Shigaraki had instructed you to make yourself scarce, but you were drafted to stay by some guilty—and admittedly curious—sentiment.

It was awfully unfair, you agreed, to keep Dabi chained up like he was—even in spite of the danger he posed under the quirk’s influence. But you must have overlooked that danger when you decided to slip into the main room where he was being held, long after you had been assured that Kurogiri and Shigaraki were gone.

His back to the door, Dabi didn’t glance over his shoulder at the sound of your footsteps. It seemed he was sour enough not to offer greeting, and preferred to be left alone in his turmoil.

He especially didn’t want your company, which he made clear by way of a harsh frown when you came into his peripheral.

He tsked and readjusted uncomfortably in his seat at your arrival. “The hell do you want?”

“How are you feeling?”

“Never been better,” he muttered.

You were aware of how he avoided your gaze, and couldn’t know whether it was in an effort to stave off the arousal your presence had so viciously wrought before, or because he simply didn’t appreciate your company. The latter seemed just as likely as the first, though neither stopped you from taking a seat in one of the room’s couches so you could sit across at him.

Your eyes were trained on his face, on the agitation creased into his expression. It was almost indecipherable under his otherwise cold demeanor. Clearly, the quirk was still in effect. If his tried composure wasn’t enough, there was a subtle tent in his pants that hadn’t gone away, not since its first appearance hours ago, you imagined.

You didn’t realize you were ogling until he noticed. He tsked.

“Take a picture,” he offered spitefully, immediately dissuading your eyes away from him.

“Sorry,” you let slip, embarrassment flushing your cheeks, and in response he only lulled his head back again and shut his eyes.

All was silent for a while, and might have remained thereby, if not for the way that the curt apology brought back the weight of guilt you’d felt to see his sorry state.

“And I’m sorry for bringing you back here,” you spoke up. “Or at least, sorry that I called the others. I didn’t realize you’d be held up like this–”

“Stop talking,” he muttered.

Mouth opening, then closing again, you almost swallowed down your next words. But again, they refused to stay unspoken.

“I wouldn’t have called them,” you insisted, “if you didn’t—if you didn’t come after me like that. I was confused.”

No response. Only another uncomfortable shuffle in the chair while his eyes remained shut and his mouth a thin line.

They’d put his hands in a sort of metallic sleeve since you last saw him, to discourage any more pyromania, you guessed. Though they weren’t visible, you could see how his arms shifted, how his tendons worked, and could imagine his fingers flitting anxiously inside the restraints.

“Is… me being here making it worse?” you chanced to ask.

He scoffed, and finally gave you his attention. “What?” Then, fully understanding your train of thought, rolled his eyes, and resigned them shut again while he relaxed into the chair. “Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but that dumb look you got on your face all the time isn’t exactly alluring.”

You frowned, and it was almost with cross touchiness that you argued, “But you came after me—”

“I’m guessin’ the point of the quirk is to make anything look fuckable. So don’t flatter yourself.”

Despite all your caution, you couldn’t help but give the man a sour look. “You’re rude.”

He shrugged, the movement impeded considerably by his restraints. “Whatever. Anyways, you just gonna sit there and watch me? I’m not exactly in the mood for company.” He moved in his seat again, fighting the heat between his legs the best he could. “Unless you’re gettin’ off on my suffering and what not. Kinda twisted of you, if you ask me. Didn’t peg you as the type.”

“That’s not it,” you insisted quickly. “I just wanted to…well—”

“To what? Check in on me? Nice of you. But you can fuck off now.”

A sudden twitch in his legs took the tension from the repartee. You looked down at the limb as he did.

The burning heat in his veins took away practically all control he had of his extremities, rallied them into unconscious servants of the damn quirk until they were twitching, then relaxing, then twitching again.

You noticed this, too, and though his efforts to conceal the struggle were commendable, they left you in a state of shame, as if it were you bound in the chair with your arousal on display. Seeing someone so normally composed as he was in such a state was distressing, and admittedly, absorbing.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and let your rampant thoughts form to words. “Will it go away if you…”

“If I what?” Then once understanding, the smallest of smirks twisted his scarred lips. “Rub one out? How the hell am I supposed to know?”

You ignored the heat that dropped down your spine to hear him say it so unabashedly. “I don’t have the key to your locks,” you explained. “So I couldn’t let you out even if I wanted to.”

He gave no response, just looked away from you again.

And here now was the adrenaline pulsing nonsense out of you, making you think crazy and debauched thoughts that would in any other situation be put down immediately by rationale.

“But…”

He glanced at you when you tapered off. “But?”

Your silence annoyed him, now that he was interested. Before he could hound you to continue, you sputtered out your proposal:

“Do you want me to do something about it?”

He looked at you, an eyebrow raised, as if demanding clarification. But you had a resolute feeling that he was toying with you by choosing silence.

“You know what I mean,” you asserted.

The blank, cold stare you received in kind made you wonder if he actually did know what you meant. Maybe he didn’t understand—

“No,” he then said.

The defeat you felt was utterly uncalled for, you knew. But you felt it anyways: a wash of humiliation plummeting down your body and swelling up again in frustration.

But you let it be, knowing anything more you had to say would probably earn you tenfold embarrassment.

Twenty minutes must have passed—though he wasn’t counting, and he wasn’t so sure that the affliction in his body wasn’t twisting his sense of time—each entailing another dredge of painful heat in his groin that worsened the longer his arousal went unattended to.

All the fail safes he’d practiced in his adolescence to ward off unwanted arousals were utterly useless now. He might as well have been on cloud nine when he filled his head with repulsive concepts: the smell of antiseptic, the smell of fish—fucking disgusting fish—even images of roadkill and dead bodies, putrefying and blackened.

The thoughts themselves were off-putting, as promised, but it wasn’t thoughts at all that fueled his libido: it was a completely physical and natural arousal.

Even shuffling his legs around, as meager of friction as it gave, made his hips inch forward in search of more when the fabric of his jeans teased his hard cock. It was fucking humiliating.

He looked at you. You were too occupied searching the floor for an answer to your anxieties to notice the way he studied you.

You weren’t bad looking, he decided. Not that he’d ever really thought of you that way before. Not thoroughly, anyways. In this little group of delinquents he’d surrounded himself with—a grand mistake on his part, he thought, especially during times like these—you were the only fuel he had for his imagination on nights he needed to let off some steam.

There was no intimacy behind it, no real passion for you that extended beyond the time from when he shoved a hand into his jeans, to when he was cleaning thick ropes of cum from his knuckles afterwards.

You were only ever given credence in his brain then, when he was giving his cock hard and angry tugs to the thought of you on your knees for him, or against a wall with his hand curled around your throat, and sometimes bent over his knee while he spanked your ass raw (a more recent daydream now, ever since that time a few weeks ago when you’d bent down in front of him to pick something up off the floor).

Suddenly aware of an alarming change in his body, he paused his thoughts to immerse himself back into his too-hot skin again.

He felt a wetness against his swollen cock, and after squirming covertly, frowned, realizing with loathing that the stickiness chafing his briefs was pre-cum.

He stubbornly decided that it was just an inevitable response to his body’s raging war with arousal, and not—not at all—because he’d been thinking of you.

Letting his body endure until his pants were dampened with pre-cum was an unwanted solution. Or even worse, until the sensitivity in his cock went haywire and even the tiniest of movements might make him cream his pants.

A frustrated breath whistled out from his nose and he grit his teeth. Goddamnit. This was fucking stupid.

“Fuck,” he said aloud, shaking his head as if to condemn the words he was about to say, knowing how they would haunt his ego later, “Fine. Come here.”

You glanced up, and, unable to fulfill the request with your mind suddenly racing, simply stared.

That insipid look of failed registry on your face irritated him, and he scowled. “Are you deaf?”

“You want me to—” A sweep of your eyes down to his crotch elucidated what you were too hesitant to say.

“You offered,” he reminded you, and decided that in order to make this even a fraction less humiliating, he’d need to emphasize your culpability. “Kinda been thinking it’s your fault, anyways. If you hadn’t been such a dumbass back there I would’ve finished the guy off like I wanted to. But you were too busy spouting your nitpicky bullshit.”

There was a guilty look on your face now, like you’d been considering the accusation in your own time. Now having it confirmed, you were more susceptible to the reasoning, and even more willing to rectify yourself.

Still, you struggled to swallow down hesitation. “You’re sure that you want me to—”

“You’re gonna start pissin’ me off if you get all shy,” he said, trying as hard as his dancing nerves would allow to keep the desperation out of his voice.

Since yielding to the ludicrous idea, his body had apparently taken up a premature celebration at the thought of your hands on him. His balls were tight and his dick was throbbing hard enough to make his legs tense with each pulse.

“I just want to make sure,” you insisted. “I mean, if you really–”

“I’ll make it easy for you then. Either get over here, or piss off.”

He was relieved, pleased, and somewhat amused when the hesitation left you and you obeyed. When you came to stand idly in front of him, he glanced up, watching your confusion.

Your eyes flicked from his face to his crotch, where the dim light of the room caught the curve of his hard dick pressing against his jeans.

“You gonna stare at it all day?” he asked.

You looked at him. “What do you want me to do?”

“When you offered to do something about it I assumed you already had some ideas. You need me to give you an instruction manual?”

Your silence frustrated him again, and he tsked, glancing away from you as the reality of what you two were doing finally set in.

“Take it out,” he muttered.

So you did, reaching numbly down and carefully undoing his pants. The bulge that awaited underneath his jeans gave you pause. You stared at it, and a shot of adrenaline pumped through you when it twitched in his briefs, as if feeling your eyes ogling it and begging you to give it attention.

You tried to clear your conscience. This was Dabi, Dabi who treated you with such disregard that you sometimes wondered if he even knew your name; Dabi, who was letting you even breathe next to him without trying to scorch you.

A trickling, somewhat fatally comedic thought entered your mind: was he going to light you ablaze the second you touched him? Or maybe after, once you’d relieved him, as a way to permanently silence you against ever speaking a word of this to anyone?

Shivering at the morbidity of your own creation, you reached for his briefs and pulled them down carefully until his cockhead showed itself, pink-hued and shiny with an excess amount of pre-cum.

You worked a hand underneath the briefs instead of exposing him completely, thinking he might want some semblance of modesty during this. Your convictions were rattled from their mounts when your fingers wrapped gently around the tip of his cock and gave a firm squeeze.

In response: silence.

You’d thought with how viciously his arousal had seemed to harangue him that he might give a stronger reaction: a moan, a sigh, a grunt, maybe even an audible breath.

He just stared at you, looking as utterly bored as he usually did.

Then your fingers decided to retreat, and the sound you’d been displeased to be robbed of came finally as a frustrated grunt when your grip left him.

“Seriously?” he huffed, staring at you. The irritation left its first but considerable split in his composure. The rest was quickly chipping away. He couldn’t pretend to be aloof about this for much longer. “You got cold feet now?”

“That’s not it.”

“What then? Never seen one before?”

“I don't know… how you want it,” you explained.

“The hell does that mean?”

“Do you want me to use my hands?” you clarified hesitantly. “Or…”

The little huff of derisive laughter that fell from his open lips made an eerie picture of his otherwise blank face.

“Or what?” he taunted. “You got something else in mind? You been dyin’ for a taste of it or something–”

“No,” you finished, and that flustered look of anger on your face was pissing him off again, instead of amusing him like it might have under another context.

“So then cut the shit and do whatever.”

With a frown you went to your knees, unwilling to get further embroiled.

When you started to stroke him, more pre-cum squeezed from the tip in generous pumps. You didn’t bother asking him how hard or fast he wanted it—you started hastily, hand gliding quickly over his cock, urgently enough that pre-cum eased the motion and made wet, sharp sounds with every stroke.

His knee twitched like he’d been checked for reflex, which you took as encouragement to keep going despite his loyalty to silence.

The veins along his dick pulsed needily and you swore you could feel the throb under your palm. The throb became more palpable as time went on. You thought you were doing well. But apparently not.

“Harder,” he muttered, not a minute after you’d started.

You glanced up at him. He wasn’t looking at you, but instead had shut his eyes in concentration. It looked to you as though he was trying to find the pleasure in your pace—which was apparently too soft for his likings.

You did as instructed, nevertheless: you tightened your grip a fraction, fingers curling and making your strokes face slightly more resistance as they worked more pre-cum from the red tip.

Another twitch in his leg, then a deep exhale that ended in a shiver; you saw his toned stomach shudder with the motion beneath his clothes, and fleetingly considered inching his shirt up a bit more out curiosity: how far did the burnt skin go down his body?

But then he was grunting, and breathing more stiffly than before. You thought that was another sign of a job well done, when his eyes peeled open and looked down upon you with such emphasized frustration that you realized you were not, in fact, meeting his standards.

“Harder,” he demanded again, more rigidly this time. Despite the command, your hand slowed. For that, he frowned at you. “Can barely feel that shit. You gotta do better than that. I like it rough.”

A flush of humiliation put purpose back into your rigid fingers, and you were moving your hand again, albeit slowly as you tested the new grip, this time with such purposeful pressure that you were tugging his dick now more than stroking it.

“I thought it might hurt,” you started meekly.

“It doesn’t. Keep going.”

You did, picking up speed again. The adrenaline put some more initiative into you, and you made a purposeful attempt to drag your thumb down hard on his swollen cock with every jerk of your hand.

A croaky hum from his throat brought your attention to his face; his eyes watched your hand stroking him with fuzzy scrutiny.

“Yeah,” he breathed thinly, his eyes fluttering closed again, finally satisfied. “Just like that.”

That made your chest tight with excitement and your legs fidget beneath you. Your own arousal was wetting the inside of your thighs by now, but you were able to ignore it momentarily in favor of serving his.

At some point his hips stuttered up to start meeting your hand, but in a much slower rhythm than you were stroking; lazy pumps up into your grip. Every synchronic motion when you jerked up and his hips rolled down, there was an amazing tightness on the head of his cock that made his breath catch every time.

You decided on using both hands (he was big, unexpectedly big, so much so that it was staggering and you decided you would think about that later when he wasn’t filling your palms so generously) and started twisting your grip in time with your strokes. It was then he finally loosed a low and breathy groan.

Then his hips were pumping into your hands roughly, fucking himself in slow but hard thrusts—so hard that you had to steel yourself and tighten your grip to keep from getting bucked off.

Another low moan from his throat. “Shit…” Then, when a surge of confidence urged you to quickly run your tongue along the head of his dick, his breath caught in a hard grunt.

“Shit,” he hissed out, and spread his thighs wider, pushing them up eagerly in demand that you give him more.

To the best of your ability you tried, spreading your tongue underneath the head and rapidly swiping it back and forth. That got his hips stuttering, and his body jolting in its confines.

“Fuck,” he bit out. “Yes, fuck.... Just like that.”

Without prompting your lips came into the fold, closing tightly around the tip and sucking in time with the hands that fisted his cock until you were lavishing every inch of him in some way.

The feeling alone was ridiculously good, but watching you made his jaw go slack and mouth open as he panted. Maybe it was just the stupid quirk making him delirious, but you looked a hell of a lot hotter doing this than what his fantasies had led him to believe. Fuck. You weren’t half bad.

A particularly hard thrust into your mouth had one of your hands slipping loose, and his next thrust, unimpeded by the length of one your fists around him, shoved his dick to the tight heat at the back of your throat.

He grunted hard, “Fucking shit—” Then arched up quickly, jumping at the opportunity to sink his cock deeper.

Without a pause to steady yourself you had little choice but to oblige, and his cockhead shoved in, cramming itself against your hot tongue, pumping farther back inch by inch.

The hand still jerking him off covered what your throat was too inexperienced to swallow down, and the rhythm of your tight mouth and vice-like hand made him moan deeply.

But it might have been too much, and a strength lent to him by the quirk’s desperation made his hips lift off the chair forcibly, driving his cockhead to the very back of your throat until you were sputtering and choking.

“Fuck.” It made him dizzy with pleasure, and he shut his eyes to keep them from rolling as he frantically pumped his hips upwards to get you gagging on him again. “Yeah, fuck, fuck, fuck–”

But then you were pulling off completely with a gasping breath.

His eyes opened, wild with exasperation. “The hell–”

You coughed wetly and started to plead, “Don’t choke me–”

“Fine—fine. Hurry the hell up.” His hips jutted up impatiently in search of your mouth again, his swelling cock bouncing and twitching urgently. “Put that fuckin’ mouth back on it right now—”

You obeyed, and his hips shuddered down into the chair, following the motion of your lips as they tightened over his length—only to start thrusting up into the hot and wet cavern again once his cockhead hit the roof of your mouth.

It was like a fire had been kindled underneath him and was rapidly boiling all his thoughts to a vapor. It was stupidly good, so damn hot and tight and wet he couldn’t remember a mouth on his cock ever feeling this amazing. He wished his hands were free so he could fist them into your hair, so he could push you down more, get you gagging and sputtering on his cock.

His eyes squeezed shut, face flexing with occasional twitches. His lips pulled back into a desperate grimace and long, shaky breaths whistled out through his clenched teeth.

With his vision released of the sight of you on your knees, his mind was free to give the hot wetness on his cock another name, and he instead imagined that it was your pussy he was shoving into, gripping him nice and tight.

He felt his quirk stirring underneath the pleasure; every vein in his body warmed at the mere thought of shoving into you raw, and until that very moment he hadn’t itched to break through his constraints like he did now, hadn’t wanted to be free of them so he could wrestle you to the floor and fuck you like he needed to.

You were doing something particularly creative with your tongue on the underside of his cock, and a full body shudder brought him back to present. He watched you in your task: your eyes were shut tight in concentration, your brows furrowed as you struggled to accept his dick while it rammed against the back of your throat. Even your hand’s grip on his cock was a little tighter, he noticed appreciatively.

It would have been fucking fantastic: a real goddamn sight to see that he might have honestly applauded you for later—if he wasn’t suddenly so absurdly enraptured with his fantasies.

Dabi wanted more. Something deeper and hotter, something to bury his cock into and relish the velvety grip, something he could ravage and fuck away the ache in his body—

The thought of pounding his dick inside of you suddenly encompassed all other thought; it wasn’t a notion his frenzied mind would let remain as a fantasy. He wanted nothing else. Your mouth on his cock, your throat curdling around him, choking on him in a way that made his legs shake...

It was all insufficient now. He needed to be inside of you. As soon as fucking possible.

“Shit,” he spat out. It was a curse different from the others, not breathed on arousal, but frustration.

You looked up at him, and read him to be just as disgruntled as he sounded.

“This ain’t doin’ it,” he said, and slowed his thrusting hips, which was a more hard-fought task to complete than he imagined; he may have been getting greedy with his fantasies, but his cock was still more than happy to use your mouth as a warm sleeve.

When you slipped off, you must have been giving him one of those dumb looks he hated, because he frowned.

“You hear me?”

You nodded, licking the wetness from your lips as you caught your breath. You were lightheaded. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, and you swore you would smell the smoky salt of his skin on you for days. But now there was more?

The heat pooling in your thighs demanded your attention again, and you fidgeted on your sore knees. “Well... what do you want me to do–”

“Sit on it.”

You gawked at him. “Sit on it?”

That got him smirking just a little, his tongue peeking out to wet dried lips as he slowly panted. He cocked his head.

“Worried it won’t fit?”

Your body surged with wild ambition. “That’s not it, but—”

“Bet you’re nice and tight, but you can work it in. I’d offer to stretch you open a little, but my hands are tied.” He flexed his fingers and arms in his binds for show, then grinned to see how flustered his words made you. “Besides, looked like you were enjoyin’ yourself. I’m sure you’re wet enough.”

God why couldn’t he shut up and let you think for a second? The teasing was horribly nauseating; his voice even worse, spoken with his smirk seeped into it. You realized the very sound of it would probably make you shiver now in all the wrong ways after this, even in casual conversation.

“I… don’t have condoms,” you said by way of reply.

He shrugged, the gesture lacking his usual languor now that he’d been worked up without release. “Me neither. They’re annoying.”

He noticed you were frowning at him, and scoffed. “What, not on the pill?” He didn’t wait for a response; maybe that was the heat making him forgo on better judgment. “Well, guess it’s a good thing they got me pinned down, then. You’re free to pull off when I’m about to bust.”

The way in which he spoke it made your stomach queasy, and the first true lick of doubt ruined your mood as you stood up. “Fine. Just… tell me before you’re about to.”

He grunted in response, inwardly absorbed with impatience.

You took off your bottoms and pushed your panties—yes, very wet, you confirmed—down, then hiked a leg over and climbed somewhat clumsily onto the chair.

Only when you’d awkwardly positioned yourself over him did you notice that his eyes were fixated down below, where your hands steadily worked his dick against you. A raspy sigh passed his lips, and it was then you noticed his body teeming with eager spasms.

Awkwardly, you sank down onto him, staring between you two the whole time and watching his thick length press tightly inside.

The binds on his feet jabbed sharply against his ankles as they shuffled for leverage, desperate to rut up into the tight heat that welcomed him—but your legs resting on his thighs kept the movement to nothing but shallow thrusts.

Whatever this fucking quirk was had a ridiculous effect on his sensitivity. You felt good—fucking amazing, even—though he couldn’t decide if that was just the quirk deluding him into thinking your cunt was the best he’d ever had, or if it really was: if you really were just that fucking incredible.

Normally he would have managed that with stilled hips and practiced control; just sat back and enjoyed the ride. But shit it took a monumental effort not to fuck up into you, especially with how damn... slow you were going.

Your pussy was gripping him so nicely, and that tight look on your face as you seated yourself onto his lap, accepting him fully and staggering from the size of him, was thrilling. But when you finally started to move your hips, you were going about it so cautiously, so boringly, that his patience all but thinned in a matter of seconds.

“Could you go any slower?” he muttered.

The words guilted you. “I thought it might… hurt?” you explained.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not in pain, dumbass. I need to cum. Which ain’t gonna happen if you keep this up.” He shuffled his legs, widening them so he could better press up into you. The pressure made him grunt, and you shiver. “C’mon, you were putting on a real good show before. Ride me like you mean it. I know you can.”

And there it was again, the words and the voice that threw repose out the window and made you all the more eager to see this through.

With arms linked around his neck you started to roll your hips. He didn’t seem to mind the contact, helpful as it was in balancing yourself on his lap.

You weren’t entirely surprised when the first sighs and grunts came from your own lips. Every time you thought a new angle of your hips or a quick thrust of his own had finally hit that one pleasurable spot inside, you would sink down harder on his cock and gasp when his thickness dragged over another.

It made you go faster, turned the fluid rolling of your hips into quick grinding, then finally when you’d adjusted to his size, a steady bouncing on his cock.

“Fuck yes...” he muttered, then moaned low, licking his lips; that was what he needed, feeling you sink down over and over, lifting yourself a little higher each time then dropping so hastily that his hips started jutting up to meet you.

“Shit.” Lolling his head back he breathed heavily, deeply. “Ah shit...”

It encouraged you to circle your hips with every motion, which garnered a throaty growl in response. A string of curses under his breath accompanied it, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, keeping careful of his staples, and moaned along with him.

Only when you started getting noisier did you think of anything except what you two were doing: what if Shigaraki or Kurogiri were to come back now? What if any of the others decided to waltz in?

You bit your lip to keep your next few moans low, but you swore Dabi must have had a sixth sense for your timidity, and didn’t at all appreciate the way you were holding back.

He shifted his hips on the chair in a precise motion, and suddenly his cockhead shoved against the right spot over and over again as you bounced on top of him. All your logical thoughts were fucked into the back burner immediately.

All you could hear was your own panting and the slap of your thighs against his. He would give his heedy approval in an occasional growl or moan, rasping it against your ear. It made you shiver uncontrollably.

You lost rhythm soon enough and took to grinding again, the chair scraping along the floor beneath you. His thick cock drove you crazy, until you were panting and moaning and whining. If that wasn’t enough to signal an orgasm, he could feel it, could feel your pussy gripping him in a desperate flutter.

“Oi,” he got your attention, turning his head, his breath thin at your cheek, “You serious? Are you actually gonna–”

And you did, legs stretching and contracting, tightening around his thighs as you came hard. He cursed and dipped his head low when you squeezed around him, panting through the ridiculously good pressure on his cock.

Your body jerked and shivered in any way it could, anything to expel the white-hot pleasure that shot up your spine and then back down again. You couldn’t breathe, shaking on top of him so violently he was sure you were going to keel over at any second and start convulsing on the floor.

“Hey shithead,” he snapped after he’d let your shivers die down. Using what little leverage his tied legs allowed him, he pushed his shoes off the floor, bouncing you impatiently in his lap and jarring you back to awareness. You gasped in hypersensitivity, his cock digging against you.

“I’m flattered you like my dick that much,” he went on, your body languid and slouched against him. The heat was nearing again; his cock twitched miserably inside of you, desperate for release and so damn close to getting it. “But you’re not the one in need of attention here, in case you forgot. Keep it up. I’m close.”

With a moan you pushed yourself up, sucking in breaths of renewal through parted lips. Legs tensing and aching, you tried your best to grind on him again, but the task left you oversensitive.

He needed to finish, you reminded yourself. He needed to cum, like he’d said. You were sure, so blissfully sure you might be rewarded with more of his unhinged reactions that you forced your muscles to be ignorant to their ache, and started to ride him in earnest.

That was when you noticed it: the heat wracking you wasn’t just your own, it was his. His skin too hot, too hot to be normal, furnace-warm to the touch.

You lifted your head from his shoulder and peered over at him. His eyes were screwed shut, his lips pulled back into a tense snarl. Perspiration dewed on the portions of his untainted skin, dampened his brows and fell in droplets along his temple.

You felt his body heating rapidly against yours—the clothes keeping your skin apart might as well have been paper-thin. His chest, rising desperately with heavy pants, was concerningly feverish. He felt it too.

Fuck, he thought. Not fucking now.

“Damn it—” he sputtered out, body going suddenly rigid, craning his neck away from you. “Move,” he warned you.

“What—”

“Move your damn head—”

Just as you did, your eyes stretched in shock as flames broke out from his jawline. Their angry blue reflected threateningly in your eyes, made you come to a shivering slow on his cock as the dry heat blistered out over your skin.

The fire was out in a second, forcefully extinguished with his frustrated grunt; smoke puttered out from beneath his staples instead. He breathed out an angry sigh from the effort of combating his own quirk.

You hesitated to put your hand out and touch him, hovering over his face. “Dabi, your skin—”

“Shut up it’s fine,” he breathed raggedly, turning his head away from you. When was the last time that had happened? Fuck. He made himself believe it was just the quirk. Just the quirk. And not you. Not because you felt so fucking good.

His legs jolted up in desperation to make you move on top of him. “Don’t you fuckin’ stop—shit—I’m almost there—”

You didn’t know whether to be frightened or exhilarated by the display of fire, but you were moving again regardless, bouncing on his lap for all you were worth until your legs were begging for mercy and your lungs ached.

He sucked in tight breaths through his teeth, then exhaled them as gravelly moans. You pressed against him, arms wrapped about his frame, ignoring his sweltering skin and abandoning any fear that his quirk might disobey his control again. You bit your lip and whined excitedly when you felt him bow his head against your shoulder and pant heavily against the clothed skin there.

The heat was fucking blinding now. And it was loud: a numbing and seductive beat in his chest that made his heart stutter to keep up. Every slam of your hips down onto him, and every one of his thrusts up into you in turn, made the heat louder, ache more, and burn.

“Now,” he grit out against your ear, body seizing in warning. In his enclosed binds, his fingers clenched into fists, so hard that the joints popped in protest.

A whine in your throat was the response. You were ignorant to much else except the wetness making a mess of your thighs, of his searing skin against you and his belt buckle digging harshly into your legs.

“Right now,” he sputtered hurriedly, hips rising from the seat. All he could do was shove up into you once, violent and hard, digging his way as deep as he could as his balls went tight and fiery pleasure raced up his body. “Right fuckin’ now move, I’m gonna—goddamnit… fuck!”

He wasn’t prepared for the way you slammed your hips down as you came again with a cry. He stiffened hard, body bowing down into yours as much as the restraints allowed, shoving his face into your neck.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped out, “fuck—” You shivered wildly around him and in an instant he was cumming hard, legs jolting in their restraints, shaking under your thighs.

“Fuck!” he shouted again, the exclamation muffled against your skin. “Motherfucker—fuck—” His voice puttered off into a series of strained, frantic groans. Unthinking and delirious on pleasure, he closed his mouth around the soft flesh of your neck and bit hard.

You gasped, tried to wriggle free, but his hips were desperately snapping up into you, effectively throwing off your balance.

Your hips hadn’t stopped their determination either. They had a mind of their own, rutting fast to squeeze him dry. All the while, he growled hotly against your skin, teeth leaving deep marks, sucking blemishes into the flesh despite all restraint that told him otherwise.

After the last, hard spurts inside of you, he sank back into the chair, utterly wasted. Little spasms harassed his body and made him shiver weakly. Only his mouth persevered, teeth still digging into the soft flesh of your shoulder.

The pleasure ebbed into raw sensation, and you could feel the marks his incisors left in you, the heated metal of his staples singeing you.

“Dabi,” you stuttered out, a shaky hand coming to push at his forehead in protest.

It shook him back to reality. He brought his dizzy head back to look at you through hooded eyes, then down at the wound he’d left on your neck.

Shit, he thought fleetingly, but not very regrettably. That was gonna bruise.

He put his head back against the chair and heaved, shutting his eyes to dispel the lightheadedness.

“Told you... to get off,” he muttered.

You knew it was a mistake you would dwell on later, but you could barely move now, let alone think.

When you shifted your legs, wanting to move and put some blood back into your limbs, it set off a chain reaction of oversensitive-pleasure; dwindling sparks went off inside you and you shuddered, making him jerk and grunt in tandem.

“Don’t move,” he chided, his head still bent to the ceiling. “Just gimme a minute... Fuck...” he breathed. “You fuckin’...” He shook his head, in disbelief of the pleasure, even more so that you’d been the one to give it to him.

Then he thought: he wouldn’t need to conjure up fantasies of you anymore when he was getting himself off. He could go by memory now.

Once he’d regained partial composure, he shifted, glad to find his dick was going limp—fucking finally—inside of you.

“You got a way to take care of that?” he asked, leaning back and looking down at the wet mess between both your thighs.

You blinked, hazy. “What?”

“I’m not tryna knock you up just ‘cause you’re too horny to listen,” he said disdainfully. “You on the pill? Gotta get one of those morning-afters otherwise–”

“It’s fine.” You nodded. “Don’t worry.”

It was easier said than done, he thought to himself sourly. But he was having trouble thinking of much else besides how fucking fantastic it was to feel the arousal leaving him in blissful waves.

He took a heavy breath. “Now get off and get me outta this shit.”

“But you might still be…” You wriggled a little on top of him, felt him soft inside of you. It was uncomfortable, but even if you’d wanted to move, your muscles were spent. “What if you’re still… ”

“Still what? Still horny? Bet you’d like that, wouldn't you?”

You wouldn’t let the comment fluster you, and obeyed as a way to prove him wrong, slowly lifting yourself off of him. The ache of your insides as he slipped out was raw and hot and wet, but unmistakably satisfying.

“Let me out,” he demanded again. “Now.”

“I told you I don’t have the key.”

He sighed in frustration, blinking sweat from his eyes. “Then go get Kurogiri. Go get someone. And at least be nice enough to cover me up. Don’t want my dick hanging out.”

It was shiny, wet, and red from stimulation. When you went to tuck it back in his pants, it twitched.

“Oi, clean it first,” he snapped.

You glanced around. “With?”

“Whatever the hell’s lying around. Shirt, rag, your mouth.” He scoffed when you put on a frown. “Don’t give me that look. This is your mess on my dick, ya know.”

With barely contained insolence you went down shakily on your knees, ready to go about the particularly humiliating task, when he laughed dryly under his breath.

“You’re a real slut,” he muttered, looking down on you with a cheeky smirk, “aren’t you?”

That guaranteed your spite, and you stood up just as quickly as you’d gone down, then nudged his still-messy dick into his pants and zipped them closed.

“Oi, oi—” The wetness squished uncomfortably underneath the fabric and he shifted awkwardly, glaring at you. “You fuckin’ serious?”

“You’ll be fine,” you muttered, turning away from him in search of your clothes, hiding an indulgent smile.

As you redressed, he sneered and pulled at his bindings. “Don’t get smart with me.”

“Or what?”

You were too exhausted to wrangle with his temper, or your own self-preservation; you knew it was a dangerous game to tease him. But you couldn’t help it. Your mind was foggy, your body teeming with giddy pleasure. Not to mention, you were free. He wasn’t. And that was remarkably funny.

Now he was scowling. “You little shit. Letting it all go to your head now, huh?” When you didn’t answer, when he caught a flash of your teasing smile, his frustration started to run rampant. “Not gonna be so funny when I’m out of this shit—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

In response, he just glowered, and despite the front you were trying to put up, it threw an excited shiver down your spine. You were perilously tempted to egg him on, but decided against it.

You pulled your shoes back on and breathed, looking at him with something that resembled soft smugness. “I’ll go find Kurogiri.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ better,” he muttered under his breath, keeping his critical eye-contact with you up until the very moment you disappeared out of his line of vision.

When he heard your footsteps finally dwindle down an adjacent hall, he let out a long-suffering sigh and tilted his head back. “Fuck.”

The quirk had gone, the heat and arousal with it.

But what hadn’t gone were the thoughts of you.

Angry thoughts, confusing thoughts, and most of all, intriguing thoughts.

#dabi x reader #dabi imagines #bnha x reader #dabi

3K notes · View notes

discocactusblogs · 3 years

Text

Heather- Jason Todd x Chubby Reader Pt.1

{Author's Note: _____ is a blank to put your name}

"Girl, just tell him!" Barbara whispered and nudged me towards my best friend, Jason Todd aka Robin, the boy wonder.

I had found out about him being Batman's sidekick when we were 13, shortly after he became Robin.

"Easy for you to say! Look at you! You're gorgeous! You're fit and thin and redheaded! Just look at me… I'm...not so fit... I'm chubby. I'm a plain bagel. I'm not ugly but I'm not exactly pretty either." I sighed and gestured to my chubby body.

" ______, I know what I'm telling you. Just tell him." She sighed. "Besides, you're gorgeous too! And very intelligent and mature for a fifteen-year-old!" Barbara smiled, holding up a banana like a wand.

"As if. What guy my age sees a girl and goes, 'What a lovely personality?' Get real Babs, no one wants a plain bagel." I shrugged.

"Welp, I gotta get going or I'll be late for work. But trust me, he won't turn you away." She turned away, obviously knowing something I didn't.

"Hey _____!" Jason spoke as he walked up to me from the curb of the grocery store, I had gone to buy some fruit my mom had told me to get.

"Hey Jay." I sighed with a slight blush on my cheeks.

"Are you okay? It's kinda cold today… Where's your jacket?" He asked, tilting his head to the side slightly.

"My jacket!" I gasped. "I forgot it at school!"

"School's closed now. They just locked the gate." He replied with a shrug.

"My mom's going to kill me. That's the only jacket I have!" My eyes watered, knowing my mother was going to be furious with me when I got home.

"Take mine then. I have others at home." He unzipped his hoodie.

"N-no. It's fine. I can get it Monday from school." I spoke softly while staring at the ground.

He draped his jacket over my shoulders. "I said, take it. Besides, it looks better on you than me. It goes well with your hair color. Here, let me hold your stuff so you can get it on." He smirked, knowing I wouldn't refuse if he spoke sternly with me. He took the bag from my hands and I looked at him. "Zip. It. Up." He frowned.

"Yes sir." I put my arms in the jacket and zipped it up. He was bigger and bulkier than I was, so the jacket fit me rather loosely and was down to my mid thighs but it was comfortable and warm. Much warmer than the jackets and sweaters I had before.

"Hm… keep it. I know your dad hasn't been working a lot lately. It gets pretty cold so you can keep that one. Bruce got me some others at home. Just don't tell anyone, got it? I only share with you because I've known you since we were kids. You took care of me so I'm taking care of you." He looked at me, handing back the bag of fruit. "Now, don't think I'm getting soft or being a gentleman. You're still carrying your stuff." He smirked.

I smiled and chuckled. "Thanks." I took the bag and walked down the street with him.

"Hi Jason!" An annoying voice called out from the ice cream shop.

"Hm? Oh, hey Heather." Jason turned around and seemed slightly irritated.

"Are you going to the pep rally tonight?" Heather asked with fluttering eyelashes. She was Jason's girlfriend.

Dark hair, slim figure, bright eyes, how could I compete with that?

"Uh, no." He replied flatly.

"Why not, I'm going to be performing!" She countered.

"I'm just not feeling it. I don't like pep rallies." He shrugged. "Not my thing."

"Okay then. Wanna get some ice cream?" She asked.

"Go ahead and go home ______, I'll catch up later." He looked apologetically at me and walked across the street.

I nodded and kept walking.

I watched as Heather smiled and hugged him.

It hurt.

He was dating her and she was so sweet. Everyone loved her so, I can see why he did too. She always had a smile on her face.

I kept walking, tears stinging my eyes. There's no way I could ever be like her. He liked her more and would run to her at the drop of a hat.

Arriving at home, I stepped inside. "Hey mom! I'm back!" I set the bag on the counter.

"Oh good! Make sure you do your homework!"

"Yes ma'am!" I sigh and go up to my room, closing the door.

Out of instinct, I called my friend, Valerie.

"A simple solution to your problem is to play spin the bottle or something." She teased.

"Why would he ever kiss me? I'm nowhere near as pretty as Heather!" I clutch the sleeves of the hoodie before taking it off and throwing it onto my bed.

"He gave her his sweater." My eyes watered as I told her what had happened at school that day.

"The black one or the fake polyester one?" Valerie asked.

"The black one."

"Oh dear. I'll be right over." She hung up.

"Is it wrong to wish she were dead?" I chuckled softly when Valerie came through my bedroom door.

"Yes. It's your jealousy and I'm gonna chop off your legs if you continue on this path, Anakin." Valerie smirked.

"Dude, I was kidding." I turn in my swivel chair.

"Yeah, it was a failed attempt at a joke. I'm sorry about Jason. If it makes you feel better, Bradley dumped me." She looked at the ground.

"Here's the plan, I drive the car and Jason shoves him into the road and we make it look like an accident." I spoke whilst drawing out the plan.

"Don't worry about it."

"Worry about what?" Jason walked in.

"Oh, you came!" Valerie smiled.

I looked at her, what a traitor.

"So, I heard you gave Heather your sweater!"

"This one?" He held up said object. "Eh, we broke up. She liked someone else and so did I." He sat on a beanbag chair.

"Wait what? But you really liked her and she's so nice!" I exclaim in shock.

"Relax ______, it was mutual." He chuckled. "There's actually something I came to talk to you about." He seemed nervous, his cheeks tinting red and so were the tips of his ears.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I'll go get water." Valerie got up, stretched and went downstairs.

"I don't know how to say this. This is difficult for me but… I'm sorry. I don't want to be your friend anymore." He sighed.

My eyes widened. "W-what?"

"Yeah. I'm...tired of it." He stood up.

"But Jason, you're my best friend!"

"I know. Hey, do you know what material this shirt is?" He checked his shirt.

"Jason, now's not the time-"

"Answer!"

"I don't know! Cotton, maybe?!" I was growing panicked and my eyes were stinging with tears.

"Wrong, it's boyfriend material. And so is that hoodie." He smirked.

I stood in silence.

"What?" He asked.

"Jason Peter Todd, are you...asking me to be your girlfriend????" I stood, mouth agape in shock.

He smirked and nodded. "Sure thing buttercup! I... love you." His face turned beet red.

"Why? I'm not pretty. I'm not slim or fit or anything-"

"Because you're smart, and cute, you're kind and brave. You're so cool too and geek out with me. We both nerd out over science stuff and books. What's not to love???" The look on his face was one of pure confusion, as if the answer was as clear as day.

"Jason, I love you too." I spoke in a hushed whispers as a few years fell from my eyes.

"Don't cry! Why are you crying???"

"I'm just happy! I've liked you for so long!"

"So have I but I'm not crying!"

"I didn't think you'd like me because I'm chubby!"

"What?! You think I'm that shallow? I'm offended!"

"Jay and ______ sitting in a tree~" Valerie teased from the doorway.

"Val!" We exclaimed in unison, Jay pulling me into a side hug.

"Fine! I'mma head out!" She grabbed her backpack and left.

A few days later, Jason was going to leave for a mission that I didn't want him to go on. I knew how dangerous it was for him to go alone.

"I'm leaving...for Bosnia. Bats needs my help." He looked at me sadly.

"Jay, please. Don't go. What if something happens?" I pleaded, clutching onto him tightly.

It was only a few days ago that he confessed to me and we were trying to figure out where to go with our relationship, which led to this argument.

"I'll come back. I promise." He kissed the top of my head. "Love ya." He smirked. His forest green eyes shone in the sunlight like an emerald.

He seemed so confident that he would be okay.

"Jason, no! I have a bad feeling you're not coming back!" I pleaded harshly, grabbing his wrist and asking him to stay.

"I'm just going to meet my birth mom, I'll be fine!" He assured me. "Here, hold onto my jacket for me." He took off his leather jacket and handed it to me.

I nodded with tears escaping the corners of my eyes. "I love you Jason…" I said as I watched him hop into the car and leave. Little did I know that would be the last time I ever saw him.

I kept that jacket with me at all times after that.

A few weeks went by without a word from Jason and the pit on my stomach only grew, the only thing keeping me sane was the scent of his cologne on his jacket that lingered still.

Finally, I mustered up the courage to go to Wayne Manor and ask if anyone's heard from Jason. It was then my heart shattered into pieces.

"Miss ______, I am so terribly sorry. I thought someone had already told you… Master Jason died last week." Alfred sat me down at the kitchen counter for tea.

My eyes widened and the porcelain teacup fell from my hand, shattering onto the tile floor. Tears flowed from my eyes like a cerulean waterfall. "No one told me!" I shouted, falling to my knees to clean up the mess with blurry eyes.

"Miss ______, I can get it." Alfred stopped me, only to realize I was bleeding from a deep cut from a glass shard on the top of my hand, a cut that would leave a scar for years to come.

"He can't be dead… he promised he would come back." I whispered, not even flinching from the cut.

"Here, allow me to tend to that." Alfred took out the first aid kit and cleaned the wound, giving it a few stitches.

"How…?" I asked, flinching from pain.

"... The Joker. Master Bruce didn't make it in time." He replied, the sorrow evident in his tone.

I nodded and thanked him for the help and the tea.

"Send a car to take her home." I heard Bruce from the doorway.

"Right away, Master Bruce." Alfred excused himself.

"His funeral is this Saturday if you'd like to come." Bruce turned away from me.

"I'll be there. Time?"

"Noon."

"See you then."

When the funeral finally took place, the reality of Jason's death set in. He wasn't coming back like he promised. I left a rose on his casket and bawled as I watched them lower the casket with my best friend and love of my life, into the dark, cold ground and with it, my heart.

"You promised." I whispered to myself, looking away from the scene. It was then I decided I wanted to be a nurse to help heal people.

Five years later, my dream of being a nurse was nearly achieved. I was two years away from graduating and I went to visit Jason every day on the way home from work. I still lived with my parents since I was a student at the local university, thanks to Bruce.

When I approached the door, that's when I saw it. A single rose on the bench outside the door along with a cryptic letter. 'Hang in there.' it said with a happy face at the end.

I was stumped but the notes and roses kept happening at least once a week and they soon came every day. At least, until the night that would change my life forever.

(Part Two)

(Masterlist)

#jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x reader #batfam #red hood #red hood x y/n #red hood x reader #batfam fanfic

106 notes · View notes

diofasolia · 3 years

Text

{Always}

{Shattered! Dream x Reader}

Shattered! Dream by @shattereddreamsau

Writings by me

Today (8/7) is Shattered! Dream's birthday and I decided to post a writing I did last year—which is also the reason why I eventually join in the tumblr

Because back when I wrote this story, I found Dark Cream comic, which made by amazing @zu-is-here

Her creations give me the inspiration for the writing

The story is long (it has like 2000 words in it) and may be a bit cheesy, but I'll be happy to know if you read the whole thing (◡ ω ◡)

******

Before the story start, I want to ask you a question.

Do you believe that the worst person can change?

Oh! How awkward, sorry, I ask the wrong question.

What I meant to ask is—

Do you believe that the best person, the kindest person in the world can change?

Maybe…all it needs is a tiny push?

The harsh whipping hits in my abdomen again. I kneel on the ground, thinking how deep the scar might be from that blow.

"What're you doing!? Look at your king when I'm talking to you! Such a piece of useless trash!!"

"I apologized, My Lord."

Raising my bruised neck, I gaze at the former guardian of positivity. Those eyes that used to hold the tenderness, now only fill up with hatred.

"Where're those fricking basters!? I told you to track down my brother and other Sanses!"

"I'm sorry, My Lord. They escaped. I can't find where their location is–"

Not even waiting for my sentence finished, another powerful punch land on my face. I watch as a tooth fall out of my mouth. Blood dripping down my chin.

"Worthless! Can't even do a little task like that!"

Multiple kicks and insults throw at me. The numb feeling slowly occurs in my torso as I curling up into a ball.

Closing my eyes, the memories from the past arises in my mind, bringing me back to the day that I seal my fate.

"Dream? Earth to Dream!"

"(Y/N)? What's wrong, love?"

"What's wrong? I've called your name for five times! But you didn't answer to me."

Dream scratches the back of his skull, looking a bit embarrassed.

"Is that so? I'm sorry, (Y/N)! It won't happen again, I swear!"

I cuddle Dream close, letting out a giggle.

"It's fine! I don't really mind it. But Dream, you tend to space out recently. Is there something on your mind? You can tell me everything, you know that, right?"

Giving me a kiss on the cheek, Dream smiles gently. He assures me that there's nothing to worry about. It’s just the task of guardian makes him a little exhausted.

"Well, if that's the case, go on and get some rest! I will inform you if something was up."

"Okay! Thanks, (Y/N), I'm glad I have you by my side."

"Me too, my dreams and hopes."

It's been quiet in Dream's room. He must be very tired. I knock on his bedroom door, telling him to wake up.

"Dream, I know you're tired. But you still need to eat."

"Dream? Are you awake yet?"

There's no answer.

Guess I’ll have to get into his room.

Yet no one is there, only an opening portal hanging in the air.

A portal leads to Dream's corrupted universe.

"I'll show you, brother. I know what you're feeling…I know what you're going through…"

"No! Dream, stop!! You don't know what you're doing!!"

Two vague voices shouting in the distance. I begin to run like my life is in danger.

What the heck is going on here?

What is this dreadful feeling?!

I'm too slow.

The half bitten black apple lay on the ground. I watch in horror as the small tendrils creeping out Dream's eye sockets. His painful screech rings in my ears.

"Dream!!!"

I reach out to him, hoping that I can comfort Dream in my arms. The positive energy…they gotta do something, right?

"What…? Nightmare! Let go of me!! I need to…to get Dream!!"

"No! You can't get near him now, (Y/N)! You'll…you'll get hurt!"

I thrash in Nightmare's hold, screaming at the top of my lungs.

"Dream!! No! Dream!!!"

"What's wrong, love?"

My teary eyes stare up, it's…Dream's voice.

But it sends an unknown coldness down my spine.

"Ahh, you're crying! Good, keep doing that."

A sadistic grin spreads on Dream's face.

"I love it."

Nightmare is already sobbing, begging for his beloved brother to come back. I walk step by step to Dream, putting on the best smile I can muster.

"My love…Dream…please, come back to me…! I love you. I know you're strong enough to resist those negative feelings…"

Dream cackles loudly. The tentacles wrap tightly around my neck, pulling me closer to him.

"Go back? To my weak self? (Y/N), when did you become stupid? Why would I do that?"

"I've already past the point of no return."

A bucket of freezing water splashes on me. I must have passed out during the abusing session.

"Wake up."

"Get clean up, we're leaving."

I pick up my sore body, stumbling across the lonely hall that me and Dream live in. There's no one here except the two of us.

"Make a choice, (Y/N). Will you join me? Or will you prefer to disobey me like my coward brother?"

"I'll go with you."

I want to weep, yet I can’t even shed a single tear. I shouldn't be upset. After all, it's me who decided to follow my corrupted lover.

Filling up the bathtub, I submerge myself in the steamy water.

"Why, (Y/N)!? Why are you side with him!? Open your eyes! Dream doesn't love you anymore. He's just using you!"

"It doesn't matter, Nightmare."

"Great job, (Y/N)! You make this AU full of despair and miseries! I always know you're my favorite soldier!"

"It's my pleasure to serve you, my lord."

I scrub my blood-stained skin, the wounds sting because of the soapy water. Some of the old gash reopened, making me yell in frustration.

"We can save Dream! Don't lose any hope, (Y/N)!"

"How? There are barely things we can do. It's over, Nightmare. Look at yourself! You transfer back because Dream shattered! How are you gonna turn him back? By let someone else eats a black apple again?!"

The white dirty bandages wrap around my mess up torso. Why am I even bother treating my injures? They sure are going to reopen soon anyway.

"No matter what you say to me, I won't change the path I've chosen, Nightmare."

"I've already gone far enough."

"I don't understand…he's hurting you, (Y/N). Are you still…in love with my brother?"

I hate it so much.

The smell won't disappear no matter how many times I wash it over and over.

I hate it.

My hair smells like those disgusting goop on Dream.

Why can't I get rid of this sickening stink!?!

Throwing the bottles at random direction, I tug my hair till I scream out.

"What's with all that noises in there!? You better finish your business soon, I'm losing my patience!"

I hate it.

"I deeply apologize for making you wait for such a long time, my lord."

I wish I can understand your pain sooner.

"Whatever, time to leave."

I'm sorry I couldn't save you.

"My lord, where are we going, may I ask?"

Dream's left eye glows in excitement.

"I find out where those sneaky scums are hiding."

With a wave of hand, Dream opens the portal leads to an unknown empty place.

No one is left out.

Nightmare, Ink, Blue, everyone's here.

"And I'm going to give them a pleasant encounter."

But today is a little different.

Then all hell breaks out.

Nightmare's starting to transform. The dark gooey substance covering up his body gradually.

The same routine as usual. Nightmare pleads Dream to stop his actions while the former guardian of positivity just laugh it off, a bit talks here and there.

"Miss me, dear brother?"

The crazy laughter of Dream rings in the air.

"Yes! Finally, things are getting interesting!"

While Dream focusing on battling with Nightmare, I have to handle the two other skeletons.

"I know deep down you don't want to fight us, (Y/N)! Let's just drop our weapons, okay?"

Ink creates a bunch of arrows, ready to launch them at Dream. I block his charge immediately, slashing Ink's arm with my sword.

My silence is always my only answer.

"No one's going to get near Dream."

I continue to attack Blue. We've already been through this conversation many times.

"How…how's this possible?!"

Dream can only defense himself from Nightmare as the latter one keeps on firing attacks. It looks like Nightmare gets more advantage of the battle.

"Seems like you can't control your tentacles very well yet, little bro."

Nightmare mocks, resulting Dream to lose his temper. He strikes at Nightmare blindly, only to receive a powerful blow in the guts.

"Dream!!"

I rush to Dream, who’s looking more exhausted than usual. From the way how he’s panting heavily, I know he's already losing too much strength to fight.

"Get away from me! I don't need your help!!"

The attack is sloppy but I didn't dodge it. Dream can beat me all he wants after I get him to safety.

Even if it means I can possibly die.

"My lord, I apologize, but we have to move to another universe again."

Dream growls at me.

"It's you who are dragging me down!!"

They're still following us.

I'm whacking to the ground in a flash. A heavy boot stamps on my ribs harshly.

The nasty cracking sound and my piercing shirek fills in the air.

"You're no longer useful to me."

I watch as Dream disappears in a portal. He doesn't even spare a glance at me. Leaving me bleeding and slowly dying on the ground.

"I've told you."

Nightmare's lurking shadow towers above me.

"Oh no, Ink! We must save (Y/N)! She's…!"

Ink put a hand on Blue's shoulder, shaking his head solemnly.

"We can't, Blue. Remember, our priority is to capture Dream."

"Please, Night…"

I find myself pleading to Nightmare.

"Don't…kill Dream…"

"You and I both know that's an empty promise, (Y/N)."

Three skeletons begins to move towards the portal that opens by Ink. Before they leave, Nightmare whispers in a quiet voice but loud enough for me to catch.

"…he's in Dreamtale."

How much will you sacrifice for protecting your fallen love?

"You really are dumb. You know that?"

"Or you're just enjoy me breaking you apart bit by bit?"

"Don't you scare of your own nightmares?"

"I deserve it."

"I'm already living with it."

"You will always be my fading dreams."

"It's my own redemption."

"Surrender now, Dream. Then we can put an end to this whole mess."

My time is running out.

"Heh, I thought you know me well, dear brother. You should get the answer by yourself now."

"…goodbye, my poor little brother.

I pray to you, God. Let me see him one last time.

I can't save him the last time.

It's always a miracle how accurate the portal can lead to.

"(Y…Y/N)?"

This time, I'm going to save Dream.

There's no pain anymore.

"…at least…you……say my…name……one…last……time…"

Crimson blood drips down my penetrated torso. I think I see Dream's crying. But that might be just my own tears.

Forgive me, Dream.

My collapsing body falls forward, landing on the soft grass surface before me.

(3rd pov)

"Nightmare, I need your assistance."

"I thought we're enemies now."

"There's a method I want to try. It might succeed to bring Dream back."

"Well, I'm here to listen."

"She's just a tool."

"Nothing else."

"Because I know him well. The extreme emotion is the only possible way to get things right again."

Dream mutters to himself like a broken recorder. Staring the wrecking body of yours, his non-existent heart begins to hurt.

"I refuse! That's too dangerous! You surely will be dead in this terrible plan! Besides, how can you so sure he'll behave like you predict!?"

"It's worth it. I'm doing this for the whole alternate universes, and him."

"But…you…"

"Wake up! I demand you to wake up now! (Y/N)!!"

"It's not…worth for your own life."

"Don't pity me. Pity for the one who can't help himself in his own nightmare."

"Wake up."

"Don't leave me…alone, (Y/N)…please…my love…"

Ahh, it must be the time when he transfers into this horrible creature.

Nightmare, who’s now in his uncorrupted form, widening his eyes.

"…congratulations, (Y/N). Your suicidal plan…works."

Dream doesn't recall when’s the last time he breaks down.

No one dare to speak a word, except Dream drowning in his own pitiful cries.

"Always."

"I don't understand…he's hurting you, (Y/N). Are you still…in love with my brother?"

You look at Nightmare with a smile, replying to him like it's the only correct answer in your mind.

#my writings #solia's writing #shattered dream #shattered!dream #dream #shattered dream × reader #sans x reader #sans x y/n #ink #blue(underswap sans)#nightmare #fanfic #I think Shattered is kind of a special character me #hope you guys enjoy the reading uwu #tw violence #tw angst #tw death #tw a bit abuse mention

119 notes · View notes

sunaswife · 4 years

Text

𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖉 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖍𝖎𝖒

Shigaraki X f! Reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, brainwashed/ programmed reader, implied kidnapping, Dom/sub, use of the word ‘pet’ and ‘master’, first time sex, uh..does this count as yandere..? Idk lol

🔪: this is like my second time writing smut so I’m sorry if it’s bad 🙇‍♀️ plz don’t spank me. N E Wayz I dedicate this fic to @aoi-turtle 🖤 and Any other shiggy whores out there

Edit: I FORGOT TO TAG @dinablossom and @toworuu IM SO SORRY BSVAKAGSJA

Summary: Imagine being programmed to be the leagues healer but also Shigaraki’s little cum bucket

♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎♡︎☠︎︎

“Master what is the meaning of this.” Shigaraki looked at the television screen as he scratched his neck. “I took her quirk and made it a thousand times better.” He said simply. “Tomura shigaraki where should I place her?” Kurogiri asked. “Anywhere. I don’t care. I just don’t understand why you brought a stupid hero here.” He said annoyed.

“Now now—“ “Shut up and put her somewhere out of my sight!” Tomura demanded and Kurogiri sighed and carried your body to the spare room by shigaraki’s private quarters. You looked dead, you were exhausted, traumatized, in shock.

You were frozen. Your eyes stayed open, unblinking as you stared at the ceiling. It looked as if you were dead. But your body is warm and you were breathing, you’re alive and you’ll recover quick. Thanks to the quirk All for One fixed for you.

Dabi smirked at your ruined form. Spinner hid his rosy cheeks, you were a cute one. Toga was excited to have another girl in the league she talked with Twice about all the fun things you two could do together. Whether it be painting your nails, doing your hair, torturing someone, or making them bleed. She was excited.

“What’s so good about her quirk that you needed it.” Shigaraki asked. “It’s come to my attention that the league has been missing an important puzzle piece.” He started off. “Yeah? What’s that?” The light blue haired man asked. He was beyond ticked off to have a hero here. “She’s not a hero. She was training under UA’s school nurse. But she fell into the hero course for recovery and first aid training.” He said and everyone stayed silent and patiently listened to the brain behind the league.

“Her quirk is pyrokinetic regeneration. She manipulates fire with the energy of the person who needs healing and together she heals with so called fire. Her quirk was small, only a few cuts a bruises here and there could she heal. But I added cell regeneration so she can even fix up deep wounds that could need surgery in a matter of days instead of months.”

“Sounds amazing! No she could use her fire against us!” Twice said and Toga nodded. “She won’t. Her fire doesn’t burn unless you’re hurt.” Kurogiri returned. “But she’s still a hero brat so wouldn’t she try to resist?” Dabi asked. “I don’t know but let me try and see!” Toga giggled and pulled out a knife she easily slit her wrist and skipped her way to your new room.

Out of curiosity the other members followed suit. Shigaraki first, he wanted to see if you were truly useful if not then he’d disintegrate you right here and now. “Hi hi new friend! My name is Toga!” The psychotic girl giggle as her blood dripped all over the floor. You looked up slowly from your spot on the bed. “H-hi...T-toga..” your voice was low. “Kurogiri Can you bring her some water?” Toga asked and he left and came back in the blink of an eye.

Your hands were shaking for the cup of water but Toga held it back, away from you. “If you want the water then heal my wrist first.” She said sweetly with a giggle. “Heal your wrist?” You whispered and she nodded. “O-okay..” you stuttered and you slowly removed the blanket from your lap. You stood up with wobbly legs to go to the girl but you fell. The chain on your ankle pulled you back. You winced and looked at her, pleading for her to come to you. She asked if you were okay and when you responded she shoved her bloody arm to your face. “Take a deep breath. This may sting...” you started and a small green flame came upon your hand. You rubbed the flame over both of your hands like you were putting on lotion, finally when the flames covered both hands you pressed hard on her wrist. She winced, “ow ow ow.” She whimpered, you removed your hands and everyone stared at the flame around her whole wrist. “Give it thirty seconds....or not...” you said as you stared wide eyed at her already healed cut. It was barley a touch and it’s gone now. “Wow. No scar!” She giggled and turned to show the guys. “Wow stab me next, please don’t or else I’ll bite ya!” Twice said and you reached for the water. “Interesting.” Shigaraki mumbled with a small squint. Kurogiri looked over and hoped he wouldn’t do anything bad to you.

“Shows over. She needs her rest.” Kurogiri said and everyone left one by one. Toga gave her a hug and wished for you both to be the best of friends and she skipped away. “Tomura Shigaraki. What are you thinking?” Kurogiri asked as Shigaraki began to walk into your room. “Nothing that concerns you.” He spat and slammed the door. Kurogiri sighed but returned to the bar nonetheless.

“Do you know who I am?” Shigaraki asked, “Yes you’re the leader of the league of villains, You’re name is Tomura Shigaraki and your quirk is decay—“ “that’s enough!” He raised his voice and looked at you with wide eyes.

You looked so sad and you glanced down at your cup. “Mr. shigaraki I know I don’t usually talk this much. I’ve always been the quiet type. I think whoever kidnapped me gave me a huge sense of knowledge. I know the league is bad but I don’t care about the heroes anymore and I don’t know why. I know everything about you guys, your true identity, your quirks, your past. And when I see you I—“ you quickly stopped yourself.

Shigaraki raised a brow. “You what?” He asked curiously. “N-nothing. Just forget it.” You answered and he growled. “Answer me now before I kill you.” He said and your legs subconsciously clenched together. You stayed quiet and your chest rose and fell a little more quickly. Why was this feeling in your chest when this killer, this man child looked at you? What exactly did the man he calls master do to you?

Before you knew it he gripped your chin and lifted it harshly so you could look at his wrinkly red eyes. Even though he looks like a bum he smelled nice and clean. A hand was covering his face and you slowly lifted your hand to touch it and his other hand grabbed your wrist. “What the fuck are you doing? Do you have a death wish you fucking idiot?” He growled and you gulped. “C-can i see your face?” You asked and he tilted his head confused.

“No. Answer my question-“ before you both knew it, as if your body had a mind of its own you tackled shigaraki down and you snatched the hand off his face. His hand quickly wrapped around your neck and arm and you pressed your lips against his. He halted his finger from pressing against your neck. He was beyond confused.

“If only tomura finished listening to what i had to say.” All for one chuckled loudly. You both were able to faintly hear the television from down the hall. “He would know that I managed to change y/N’s desires and whole way of thinking. She’s now with the league of Villains and she’s in love with its leader, Tomura Shigaraki. Consider it a present and motivation for the future of the league.” You both heard and you pulled away from him. “I’m sorry. I should have asked.” You said lowly. He stood there stunned and silent.

He slowly sat up and looked at your figure. “So you were brainwashed like my Nomu.” He hummed and took a few steps back. He noticed how you crawled closer to him but the chain was keeping you away.

“Who do you love?”

“You.”

“Who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“Who’s your master?”

“Tomura Shigaraki.”

You said and he smirked. He was gonna have fun with you. “At least master was kind enough to give me a beauty.” He said as he held on to the chains. “Don’t freak out.” He warned and you nodded. He disintegrated the chain around your ankle and he pulled you by the arm. You were wearing an ugly hospital gown and you were barefoot. You couldn’t help but shiver. He went next door to his room and he shoved you in and slammed the door. You nearly tripped over the mess and you turned to look at shiggy. “Why are you just standing there?” He asked, “You haven’t given me orders.” You deadpanned. “You can’t think for yourself?” He questioned. “No i can but I Don’t want to upset you.” You replied.

“Fine then clean this shit up.” He referred to his very very messy room. You nodded and began to lift up a piece of trash but he pulled you away. “Change first.” He said and handed you a black hoodie. “Do you have a bathroom?” You asked. “No change here.” He said and you nodded. You turned so your back was facing him and carefully began to take off the gown, leaving you completely bare and Shigaraki couldn’t help but look.

Your skin was so beautiful and looked so soft. He saw as you carefully put on his hoodie and it completely engulfed you. It reached to your mid thigh. You slowly turned to look at him with rosy cheeks. The hoodie smelled just like him. “Tomura—“ “It’s master to you.” He Interrupted and you nodded, subconsciously squeezing your thighs together once more. “Sorry...m-master.” You said and played with the hem of his hoodie.

“Master..can I have some underwear too...? I feel weird, when I’m bare underneath..” you asked. “No, continue cleaning my room.” He answered coldly and sat on his gaming chair. He turned on his console and began playing whatever game he had.

You sighed and you couldn’t help but admire his gorgeous yet scarred face and his beautiful long fingers. In an instant he can kill you, but if you’re good..then he might even reward you. If you were to die, I’d rather be in the hands of your master than anyone else.

You quickly began you pick up the instant ramen bowls and bags of chips. You separated recycling and trash. You even managed to pick up all his dirty clothes and put it in the hamper in less than an hour. Tomura was stunned, one minute he can barley walk in, the next It’s almost spotless. He saw you from the corner of his eye, you were folding his clothes that practically had the same color scheme.

“Can i go through your drawers to put your clothes away..?” You finally spoke up. “Yeah it’s whatever. I don’t care.” He mumbled and returned to the screen. “Ugh stupid game!” He huffed and began pressing the controller more furiously. You chuckled and thought that it was so cute and adorable when he was frustrated.

You went to his California king sized bed and began to fix the sheets and make his bed. Since it was so huge, you had to climb on to properly fix it. You were completely in your own world when Shigaraki turned and saw your wet cunt on display in all it’s glory. Ever since he saw you he couldn’t help but feel that urge to take you. His resistance was getting to him and now he wanted to give in to his urges even more. He was too distracted that he lost the fucking game and he growled and disintegrated the controller. That was his own form of rage quitting.

You heard his sound of frustration so when you turned you expected him to be in the same chair uttering bullshit, but you were shocked when you felt your hips being pulled back. Your cunt was touching his pants, but you can feel his bulge. “Um..master..I—“

“Shut up.” He said and reached for your neck. He pulled you back to him and wrapped his other arm around your waist, hovering your aching clit. “This is whats gonna happen.” He started off and you nodded. “I’m going to fuck you. And you’re going to like it. Okay?”

“I understand.” You said softly, you felt his hands slowly lift up the hoodie just a bit to get a better view of your ass. You couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed. “I know I’m probably not your dream girl but I promise to be a good girl, master..” your voice shook. He tilted his head, were you getting insecure?

“No pet, you’re perfect to me.” He assured and you could hear his belt jingle as he took it off. “You seem pretty wet already, pet. Since how long have you been like this?” He asked as he got out of his jeans. He slowly open your cheeks to reveal your little pussy clenching around nothing, how cute. “Since I saw you..” you mumbled. He smirked and leaned down. He immediately began to eat out your cunt causing you to gasp in shock and grip the sheets. Your chest layed roughly against the bed as your ass stood proud in the air for the leader of the league of villains to enjoy.

“Fuck—“ you moaned and you felt a slap on your ass. You slightly jumped released a small yelp. “Watch your language.” He growled from your pussy. “Yes master.” You whimpered and he slowly began to rub his thumb on your other hole. Your small moans filled the room and he easily slipped his middle finger in you. You squeezed around him so deliciously, he couldn’t help but wished his cock was inside.

This has never happened to him before, this feeling in his chest. Someone that loves him and will obey his every command. You’re so beautiful as well, and your sounds. Your moans and whimpers, in all honesty he jut wanted to get himself off. But after hearing you and seeing you. He wants to make sure you have pleasure as well.

He continued pumping his finger in and out of your slick walls and your voice started getting slightly higher. “Master...I—I’m gonna cum...”you panted and your toes began to curl. “It’s okay, cum for me, pet. You’ve been a good girl.” He said softly and he felt you clench around his finger. When you came he slowly removed his finger and examined it. You must be new to is if you could get off with just one of his long fingers.

You layed on the bed a bit tired, not paying attention to your master who had tasted your cum on his finger. It was delicious and he wanted another taste. When you felt a lick on your cunt again you immediately shivered and clenched your thighs. “Hold still I just wanna taste some cum.” Shigaraki huffed and he pulled your thighs apart. You were pretty sensitive but you obeyed nonetheless.

You moans began to fill the room once more and before you could finish and cum again he pulled away. You automatically whimpered and turned to give your master puppy dog eyes. “I would let you cum again, but my cock is so fucking hard I don’t think I can wait another minute.” he said and began to pull down his boxers.

Before you could get back in position, which freaking hurt, he flipped you over on your back and you made a small oof noise. You looked up to See shigaraki focused on his cock, he was rubbing himself up and down your slit to use your cum as lube. “Alright I’m going in.” He announced and slowly pushed his rather large member inside your tint cunt. You immediately yelped and held on to his biceps. “M-master wait—it hurts..” you pleaded and Tomura finally looked up at your face.

He loves inflicting pain, he loves watching people’s painful expressions when they’re hurt or when they’re gonna die. Chisaki’s face was so amusing. But when he saw yours, his heart shattered and he didn’t want to hurt you at all. You’ve been nothing but good to him, he doesn’t want to hurt his little toy. “I’m sorry.” He apologized, “it’s okay..” you sniffled. After a minute of him being patient you gave him a nod and he continued to slowly bottom out.

You both released a moan when he was all the way in. You both have never felt anything like this before. “Can I start moving?” Shigaraki asked you as he brushed way the hair from your face. You nodded and he pulled almost all the way out and he slammed back in. Your little gasps and moans came back which made shigaraki feel at ease. You can clearly hear your slick with every thrust and it was music to his ears.

“I’ve been neglecting these.” He grunted and lifted his hoodie over your chest. Finally he was able to see your beautiful soft breasts bouncing with each thrust. “Fuck you’re so beautiful.” He moaned and immediately lowered his mouth to one of your nipples. You squealed and your back arched and he pushed you down. “Master...” you moaned softly. His tongue swirled around your hardened bud and your fingers tangled in his light blue hair. Two of his fingers pinched your other nipple and he lightly bit the nipple in his mouth.

“I think I-I’m close—“ you gasped and he removed his mouth. His thrusts decreased in speed but they became harder. He had a stupid smirk on his face and your eyes widened when he wrapped his hand around your throat. “Hold it until I say so.” He demanded and you muttered a weak yes. He felt how your gummy walls squeezed against his large dick, he was getting close too. “Fuck Fuck Fuck.” He groaned with his head tilted back and your mouth watered at the sight. Why is he so fucking handsome?

He could feel himself getting closer to his climax so he rubbed his thumb on you clit while increasing his pace once more, causing you to be even louder than before. Everyone in the bar could hear and a certain fire villian grumbled in annoyance. “Master I can’t hold it anymore!” You screamed. “Then cum my stupid little pet. Cum all over my cock like a good girl.” He grunted and bit his lip at the sight of your sweaty body. Your bouncing breasts, crazy hair, your adorable ahego face, your twitching legs and finally your grip on his biceps. You were so prefect and so good to him and only him.

When you came you felt his cum shoot inside you as well causing you to gasp at the delicious feeling. Tomura rested his head on your shoulder and tried catching his breath. You couldn’t help but smile and blush at the closeness. You slowly wrapped your arms around him and you gave his shoulder a kiss causing him to freeze. “I love you master, thank you for making me feel good.” You said softly. He chuckled and pulled you closer, “I love you too.”

I wanna write a part 2 of Shiggy finding out his little toy is being used by a certain fire boy 👀

#tomura shigaraki #shigaraki smut #league of villains #my hero academia #yandere shigaraki #smut #[🏌️‍♀️🔪.yandere]

395 notes · View notes

fairydollsteps · 3 years

Text

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒚𝒆𝒅 𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔

Anon ask: Can you do a Kanao angst to fluff imagine its up to you hehe

Sure! I am in a good mood today so I feel like making the whole start painful but don’t worry, there will be a happy ending (◕ᴗ◕✿). Enjoy Reading and I hope what I wrote is what you wanted! This will be cringy or have no feelings in it or makes no sense lol.(눈_눈)

Warning: Angst but to Fluff, Severe Injuries, Blood and Grammatical Errors.

Synopsis: Kanao has accidentally hurt you severely during a mission. Thus, she feels guilty and afraid to see you, not wanting to hurt you again.

Words: 1,225 words.

Kanao wants to take it all back. She really wanted to take back what she has done to you. The time when she has hurt you severely. It all happened when you and Kanao are sent on a mission together. You and Kanao decided to split up to track the demon down.

You finally found the demon and start attacking it. Kanao then finds you and rushes in to assist you. The demon is fast and quick so you are always changing your position so it won’t run away. While you distract the demon, Kanao comes in to slice its head off.

But the demon has changed its position and Kanao takes notice of it but is too late that she ended up slashing your arm instead. You shrieked in agony and your wounds start to bleed profusely.

Despite the excruciating pain, you are still determined to take the demon down. You grip your katana tightly and then behead the demon before it can run away. The demon’s head falls out with your single strike as you repress your aching pain.

Now that your adrenaline has stop rushing through your veins, you collapsed on the ground while holding your wound tightly to stops it's bleeding. Kanao was shaking out of guilt. She wants to aid you but is afraid that she would hurt you again. Guilts and thoughts keep rushing in her like crazy so she just stands there, sweating and shaking a lot.

Fortunately, her Kasugai crows saw what has happened and quickly call the Kakushi to send you to the Butterfly Estate for medical attention. The Kakushi has finally come and quickly rushes to you to aid you. They quickly treat your wounds with some medicine and bandage them up.

Then, they carry you on their back and sprint to take you to the Butterfly Estate for further treatment from Shinobu. One of the Kakushi has to pull Kanao out of her frozen state. Kanao looks at you from the front while sprinting with the others.

“Please be alright, I’m sorry,”

Kanao wanted to say it to you but she can’t utter those words to you like the back of her throat feels dry and it stings a lot. Kanao’s heart has always been filled with a void but she was pierced to the heart with guilt. How can she do that to you?

You are then treated by Shinobu once you have arrived. Shinobu mentions that your wound is quite severe and it makes takes a few days for you to be fully healed. Shinobu expected that you are wounded from the demon but it was actually Kanao that did it.

You further explain that it was an accident. After all, the demon was always changing its position with you to avoid getting grievous strikes from you. Therefore, it was understandable for Kanao to hurt you by mistake. Even so, you and Shinobu are worried about how Kanao is feeling now.

“Where is Kanao? She must be feeling guilt now,” Shinobu said, with a worried expression on her face.

“What can I do? I wanted to comfort her that is not her fault but I don’t want to worsen her by her knowing that my injuries are quite severe,” you said as you look at your treated wounds.

“Before I answer your question, I just want to ask if you are mad at her,” Shinobu asks you. “Of course not, it was just an accident. The demon was moving around a lot so is understandable,” you replied to her.

Shinobu smiles for how forgiving you are. Shinobu then answers your question that to give Kanao some time and she would try to comfort her. Now is your turn to smile and you thank Shinobu for her help. You then get up from her seat and walk towards the door.

“Tell Kanao that I still love her and I will be waiting for her,” you say as you close the door and left.

Shinobu was left shocked by how sincere and understanding you are. But she is glad that Kanao chooses the correct person for her heart.

Although Shinobu has reassured you that Kanao is feeling much better, you are still worried for Kanao. You did see her a few times but when you start to approach or talk to her, she just runs away from you.

Is clear that she is avoiding you out of pure guilt. You did see Shinobu tries to comfort Kanao but she still feels bitter about herself. So you start writing her letters through Shinobu in the hope to cheer her up.

Days have passed and Kanao is still avoiding you which makes you annoyed. Not that you are annoyed with Kanao being like that. Annoyed because the more Kanao avoids you, the more it worsens the issue you both are having.

That’s when you have met her at the Butterfly Estate after having a check-up of your wounded from Shinobu.

“Kanao?” you say in surprise to see Kanao in the hallway. She was carrying some package that looks heavy, most likely contains Shinobu’s medicine. “Y-Y/N?” Kanao said. Kanao is unable to run away now as she is cornered in the empty hallway. You notice how she starts to sweat and shake a bit and realized that she has taken notice of your wound.

“Ah! No worries, Kanao! Is not that serious! I have been feeling much better with the help of Shinobu!,” you say while putting a nervous smile on your face as your try to hide your treated injuries with your haori.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” “Kanao, “Is alright, I for-” “I am so sorry what I have done to you,” Kanao cuts you off. “ I hurt you and did not help with your injuries that I cause instead I just stand there and watch you. You have been so kind and understanding to me but I have been nothing to you,” Kanao says in her monotone tune but you know that she is breaking on the inside.

“Y/N, why do you even care-,” “Kanao, enough. If I have hated you, I would have not bothered to even care for you. It was an accident and is understandable for what you have done,” you say as you walk towards her.

“Kanao, the reason why I love is that, with you, I had the confidence and wit to share the parts of me that I have never shared with anyone, let alone share with myself, I love you for who you are Kanao. So would you stop running away from me?” you say as you caress her delicate cheek.

Kanao just stares at you for a while, absolutely in shock at your honesty. There is no sin or lies behind your words, Is just pure genuine which heals the scar of her heart.

“Come on, that thing looks heavy on your hand. Let me help you,” you say as you grab the package from her. “Wait! Your arm has not been fully healed-” “is alright, is no longer that serious,” you cut her off as you hold her hand.

“So where should I put this?” you ask. “I have been told to put it beside Master’s office,” Kanao replies back as she holds your hand back.

There is some silence as you and Kanao walk while holding hands. When you both are outside the room, Kanao grabs the package from you. “Kanao wait-

“Is alright, Y/N. Let me take care of you to return the favor,”

You both then plays soap bubbles after putting the package at the room. You both finally reconcile and just smilling and blowing soap bubbles together. Kanao keeps her words to take care of you until your wounds recovered.

Thank you for reading this rubbish! I wish you have a good day and healthy!

129 notes · View notes

not-me-simping-for-blasty · 4 years

Text

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 2:

You never end up getting a text from Kirishima.

The following night, when you return from your shift at the hospital, what you find waiting for you instead is a gift basket. It’s filled to the brim with boxes of food, and packets of tea, a few dishtowels, and, surprisingly enough? A job offer.

Thank you for saving one of our own. The attached note reads. Due to your impressive quirk and quick thinking, we’d like to offer you a spot on our medical team. The Hero Public Safety Commission would love to utilize your talents. Call at the number listed for more information. We’ll be waiting.

You think the note sounds a little ominous, if you’re being completely honest. While it’s a nice offer, and one you’ll probably at least ask a few questions about, was the ‘We’ll be waiting’ really a necessary addition to the note? It makes the whole message read as an order, not a suggestion, and that makes your stomach uneasy.

The knowledge that they know about your quirk sits a little heavy too. You’d always tried to keep a tight lid on your power; only using it when absolutely necessary for as long as you could remember. You didn’t like digging into people’s brains, and you knew that it was an easy power to exploit if left in the wrong hands.

People felt pain for a reason. You knew that better than anybody.

Still, you did end up calling the number, and you did end up accepting the offer. As uncomfortable a reason as it was, the money was undeniable. The local hospital’s salaries just couldn’t compete.

You were quickly reassigned to a hospital in the center of Musutafu, and it was a bit of a culture shock. You’d always lived on the outskirts, and the villian presence there was laughable in comparison to the inner city. Suddenly, you were extremely busy, nearly constantly drowning in work and people who needed your help, but you didn’t mind. You’d always been passionate about being a nurse, and now you felt fulfilled in ways you hadn’t before.

All in all, you considered Bakugou a strange blessing. He might’ve been rude, and violent, and just generally pretty unpleasant when you first met him, but you didn’t hold it against him. If you really thought about it, you were nothing but grateful- well, as grateful as you could be to a guy who bled all over your apartment and then never talked to you again.

Still, you always wondered if he was alright. As much as you tried to forget about it entirely, you couldn’t wipe that night from your mind. When you took his pain, you were nearly winded by the anger and terror he felt. It was more than just shock, more than just fear over his injuries- it was something lasting, developed, something he’d been struggling with for a long time. A feeling that intense was hard to forget.

It was nearly three months before you saw him again.

Your day had been hectic, as it nearly always was. There had been a villian attack near a residential subdivision, and while the casualties were few, there were innumerous injured civilians. The entire day had been spent rushing between rooms, splinting broken limbs, applying casts, and evaluating for concussions. You were exhausted, nearly dead on your feet, when one of your superiors pulled you away.

“We need your quirk.” She says, tapping her foot impatiently.

“Excuse me?”

“We need your quirk. We’ve got a special guest, and we need it as painless an experience for him as possible. It’s the least we could do for him.”

“Oh? Um, okay? Who is it?”

She doesn’t answer, just spins on her heels and motions for you to follow. Your superior walks fast, leading you down winding hallways and past operating rooms, all the way down to the small luxury wing. You know what you’re in for now- a hero.

Your hospital had treated a lot of injured pro-heroes in the past, but you’d never been chosen to help before. You mostly stayed in the general part, assisting with the civilians heroes saved instead of the pro’s themselves. You briefly wondered why you were chosen- you figured whoever it was had to be pretty important if they wanted you to take away his pain entirely.

“Take your time with him, he’s your last patient. I know your shift’s not over, but, trust me, all you’ll want to do is go home after treating him. So be grateful for the time off.” Is all your superior says, pushing you through a door. “ Alright. Good luck.”

Then she shuts the door behind her, leaving you with whatever problem-child she was mentioning- and what a problem-child he is.

One look at blonde hair and red eyes and you realize your earlier assumption was wrong. You weren’t chosen to make his experience as painless as possible- you were chosen to make the hospital’s experience as painless as possible.

Still, you’ll push through it. You’re tired, but that doesn’t mean Bakugou’s injuries should be ignored. Upon first look, you notice gauze around his forearm and one of his knees. When he turns his head, he’s got a shallow cut spanning across his temple, and of his fingers looks oddly blue and swollen. All things considered, at least it’ll be a quick visit. You’re fairly confident it’s not gonna be anything more than stitches and maybe a finger splint for him.

“Alright, first things first, any other injuries I should know about? Besides the obvious ones, I mean.” You say, pulling over a cart and taking the blood pressure cuff from it. You start taking his vitals, smiling up at him from where he’s sat on top the hospital bed. “Secondly, it’s nice to see you again. I’m glad you’re not unconscious this time.”

“Excuse me? The hell are you on about?”

“Wait, do you not remember me?”

“Nah, ‘m fuckin’ supposed to?” He bristles, his shoulders tensing up. “You a fan of mine or some shit?”

You roll your eyes- you’d always sort of naively hoped he was more pleasant when not gravely injured, but you’re quickly realizing that not’s the case. Bakugou is prickly. Prickly, prickly, prickly.

“No. Not exactly a fan.” You answer him coyly, moving to rinse your hands clean at the sink. You slip on a pair of latex gloves, gather some antiseptic, some gauze, and your stitching kit, and then you turn back to him. “You might not remember it, especially considering your head wound that night, but three months ago you crash landed on my balcony.”

Bakugou blinks, once, twice, and then he’s red in the face and screaming.

“You! Fuckin’ you!” He roars, lips pulled back over his sharp canines. “You were in my goddamn head! Fuckin’ witch.”

“Okay. Well, yeah, you’re technically correct- but that’s not a very nice way to thank me for saving you. And it’s a quirk, not witchcraft.” You reiterate, nearing him with the antiseptic wipes. Bakugou recoils back, slapping your hand away lightly. You’re entirely unimpressed at his actions. “Calm down, I’m not going to use my quirk on you; at least, not without your explicit permission. I’m just here to stitch you up.”

He just huffs, nostrils flaring as he glares down at you.

“Have you ever gotten stitches before?” You ask.

A part of you is aware the question is kind of dumb, especially considering his career, but you figure you should ask anyway. In your experience, patients generally receive treatment a lot better if you talk them through it.

“Yeah.” He answers. “Not while fuckin’ lucid though.”

“Alright, that’s fine. We can work with that. But, that means you must not get hurt a lot then, huh?”

“Nah. Never.”

Bakugou’s voice is proud, and when you look up at him, he’s smirking. You think that expression is only mildly less irritating then his grimace- but, maybe he’ll finally let you take a look at his arm now. You decide to try, your hands nearing the bandages around his forearm, but he smacks you away again.

“Bakugou. Stop. I need to take a look, alright? That’s what you’re here for, so let me do my job. I won’t use my quirk on you, I promise.” You tell him earnestly, holding his gaze steadfastly. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to, alright? I’ve got gloves on and it doesn’t work without skin-to-skin contact. So, could you please calm down for me?”

Bakugou’s eye twitches.

“Fine. But I’m fuckin’ watching you.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“I am.”

“I know. I’m not arguing with you.” You retort calmly.

You point at the cart, sighing in relief when he finally complies to your wishes. He sets his forearm flat on top of it, and you watch him wince slightly. There’s cloth and gauze wrapped around it, blood soaking through the makeshift bandage. You peel the material away gently, revealing a fairly large cut. The wound’s not very deep, thankfully, but it slices almost to the inside of his elbow. It is going to need a fair amount of stitches, but luckily most of the active bleeding seems to have stopped.

“Alright,” You start, catching his gaze. “This doesn’t look too bad, but it might scar.”

“No fuckin’ shit. Dumbass.”

“Bakugou, take a breath for me. I didn’t mean any harm by the comment, okay? I’m just doing my job and being honest with you.”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ honesty.”

“No, maybe not, but you do need me to stitch you up.” You try to keep your voice level, treat him delicately even as he fights you with every breath. It’s challenging work, but no more strenuous than any other difficult patient you’ve ever dealt with. “Alright, so I’m gonna clean around the wound, apply some local anesthetic, and then stitch you up. Sound good?”

“I don’t need the goddamn step by step, I’m not a fuckin’ kid. So just get on with it already.”

“I’m just trying to be accomodating.” You reply with a sigh. You take his forearm gently, working around the wound with an antiseptic wipe. You hear him suck in a breath. “Sorry. I’m sure it probably stings.”

“Don’t pity me.”

“It’s- I’m not.” You can’t help but sigh in slight frustration. It’s normally a reaction you’d try to cut short, but Bakugou’s being needlessly rude- you think he deserves to hear it. “Look, I was trying to be professional, and normally I’d never say this, but I’m- I’m not being paid to argue with you, alright? I’m just here to fix you up. So, if you’d rather me just stay silent while I do that, that’s perfectly fine. Just say so. I won’t be offended.”

“Good. Shut the fuck up then.”

Irritation flares in your chest, but you do your best to breathe through it. He’s far from the most difficult patient you’ve ever had, but something about his clipped words and guarded expression has you just as annoyed. You think it might be his eyes- the way they seem to always be tracking you, zeroing in on any and all possible flaws.

Still, you try to ignore his attitude anyways, and it becomes a little easier as you focus back on dressing the wound, finishing up with the antiseptic wipes and moving on to the anesthetic. You almost consider lathering the numbing gel on while it’s still freezing cold, but you quickly decide against letting his bad attitude interfere with your job performance. You don’t want to sink to his idiotic level.

You’re warming the gel packet in your palm, rubbing to create friction and heat, when he speaks again.

“You can skip that.”

“Yeah. I could. But I won’t- it generally makes the whole process a lot smoother if you can’t feel every stitch.” You say simply, tearing the gel packet open. “Sorry in advance if it’s still cold, I tried to warm it up a bit.”

“I’ll be fuckin’ fine.”

“I’m sure you will. Still though, most people flinch, so I figured I’d warn you anyways.”

Bakugou doesn’t say anything in response, just flares his nostrils as you spread the anesthetic over his arm. True to your words, he does flinch at first, and that only seems to piss him off more. You can’t really see his face from where you’re hunched over his forearm, but you’re sure he’s probably scowling. You wait a few moments for the gel to activate, and then you’re opening your kit and lacing thread through your needle. Thankfully your arm feels steady today, and it’s easy work as you begin stitching up his wound.

Bakugou’s a pretty good patient. Surprisingly. He breathes quietly through his teeth, fist clenched as he tries so very hard not to admit his discomfort. He actually reminds you a lot of the children you so often treat.

You find an easy rhythm sewing him up, your fingers gently prodding his arm as you work. You do your best to be delicate, treating him just as gently as you would any other patient- even if he irritated you. When you look up at him, Bakugou just traps his bottom lip between his teeth and creases his eyebrows. Those same red eyes study you again, almost looking right through you. You hold eye contact for as long as you can stand, but under his intense gaze it’s less than a few seconds.

“Alright. Almost done.” You mutter softly, dropping your eyes back down to his arm. You resume your stitching, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. “Thanks for keeping still for me.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” He grumbles, but his voice is a little softer now. He seems almost calmer, none of the bite from earlier coating his words. “Nothin’ special.”

“No, really. I mean it. You wouldn’t believe how much harder it is to treat somebody who’s panicking.”

“It wouldn’t be difficult if you weren’t such a shitty nurse.”

“If you didn’t want to be treated by me, you could’ve asked for somebody else. But you didn’t.” You comment easily, taking the kit’s scissors and cutting the thread. “You really missed your chance- could’ve caused a whole scene, Bakugou.”

“No thanks.”

“Wow, and here I thought you actively enjoyed making as big a scene as possible. Guess not.” You can’t help but tease, smiling slightly. “Or did you just want an excuse to come and bleed all over me again?”

“That’s- no. Shut up. You’re annoying.” Bakugou barks, blushing slightly as he turns his head away. “Fuckin’ witch.”

“You really shouldn’t call me names when I’m the one treating your wounds.”

“I’ll do whatever the hell I want. And you started it, fuckin’ pryin’ around in my head.”

“I wasn’t prying.” You tell him, turning away as you grab new gauze and bandages. “I was bringing you out of shock. I’m sure you don’t remember, but you were threatening to blow my entire apartment up.”

“No! I wasn’t! You just wanted to fuckin’-”

“Wanted to what? Help you? Stabilize your condition? Make sure you didn’t die out on my balcony?” You press the gauze carefully over his stitches, making sure none of the sutures catch on the cloth. “Yeah. Guess I did want to do that.”

“Still shouldn’t a fuckin’ done it.”

“Okay, well I did, and I’m still sorry if it felt invasive. Believe me, I wouldn’t have done it unless it was absolutely necessary.” You tell him honestly, trying to catch his gaze even as he avoids looking at you. “And, it was months ago, you know? So no point holding a grudge. Especially since I’ll probably be seeing a lot more of you from now on.”

“What, you think I’m gonna get myself killed again? Fat fuckin’ chance. I’m not that fucking weak.”

“Are you always this defensive?” You ask him, wrapping the bandages gently around his arm. “I meant, this hospital’s the main center for relief efforts, alright; so even if you try to avoid me, we’re bound to see each other if you ever end up back here for whatever reason. I wasn’t insinuating that you’d definitely get hurt again.”

“Fuckin’ sounded like it.”

“I didn’t mean for it to.”

“Yeah whatever. Pick up the goddamn pace.” He rolls his eyes, dramatically swinging his hurt leg up onto the table. You’re sure it has to hurt, but Bakugou keeps his pride. He doesn’t even wince. “My leg’s not gonna fix itself. Get the fuck to it already.”

“Okay, alright. You got it.”

Luckily, you don’t have to cut the material of his hero costume away just yet. His pants are already torn, thin, scattered slices exposing his leg all the way to the tops of his thighs. When you take a look at his knee, you’re not pleased with what you find.

Removing the gauze unearths a strange web of metal shards sticking out of his skin. They don’t seem to be stuck worryingly deep, but there’s a lot of them and some of them are quite large. You’re gonna need to pluck them all out, and give stitches for the big ones. Your short visit with Bakugou just got a lot longer.

“Alright. So this is gonna take some time, but the good news is, nothing is actively bleeding on your knee.” You tell him. “So, I’m thinking I’m gonna sew up the cut on your forehead first, alright? Head wounds bleed a lot more. That should be taken care of first.”

“Fuck are you tellin’ me, for? Your job, you do it.”

“Oh- yeah. Sorry.” You apologize. “Guess I’m used to treating kids. Lots of mom’s hanging around and asking questions, you know?”

“No. ‘m not a fuckin’ nurse.”

“No, you are not.” You breathe out, hardly able to keep the sarcastic tone out of your voice. “Okay, I’m gonna need you to lie back for me.”

He grumbles, but falls back anyways. You sigh in relief, grateful for his acquiescence. You honestly thought you’d have to fight with him about that.

You begin the process all over again- cleaning, applying gel, and then stitching the wound close. Bakugou doesn’t say anything while you work, but he does let his eyes flutter shut. He kept them open at first, staring you down relentlessly, but eventually he doesn’t seem to like all the unintentional eye-contact as you lean over him. You think it’s strange- the way he seems to melt into the hospital bed even as you’re sewing up his forehead. You begin to realize that his day was probably just as long as yours, if not longer.

You fall into an easy rhythm again, and time passes peacefully before you know it.

“You almost done?” He peeks an eye open, voice gravelly when he speaks.

“Yep. Almost. Just one more up here and then we can move on to your knee.”

“You can move on to my knee. I’m not doin’ shit.”

“Oh my,” You mutter under your breath, cutting the thread with your scissors. You clear your throat before speaking again. “So are you always this difficult with the other nurses?”

“No. Only the dipshits who go diggin’ around in my fuckin’ head.”

“Well, I only have to dig when people threaten to blow up my apartment.”

Bakugou doesn’t seem to have a response to that. He just closes his eyes and huffs through his nose, ending the conversation entirely.

That’s fine with you- if he wants to stay quiet, you’re not complaining.

It’s quiet as you begin working on his knee, nothing but the soft metallic clink of your tools and Bakugou’s own breaths. You think it’s a strange sort of calm, but also a little nice too. You’d been worked to the bone all day, rushing and scrambling and giving instructions- it was nice to just sit back and focus on one thing at a time.

You think Bakugou must feel it too, because when you look up at him he’s still lying back. He’s got his head pressed back into the pillow, his uninjured arm thrown over his eyes while the injured one lies across his stomach. His index finger is still blue, but not any more blue than it was when he walked in. You’re not sure how he’s managing to look so relaxed, despite being in what you guessed was a fair amount of pain.

You wonder what kind of day he had that made his hospital visit out to be the most relaxing part. You try not to think about it too long- try not to fit that anger and terror you felt into a make-believe narrative.

“Alright. That around does it for that.” You say softly, wrapping a bandage around his knee. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened? With the metal- it doesn’t look like any shrapnel I’ve ever seen before.”

“It’s not.” He drops his hand from across his face, voice deeper and slower than before. Groggy almost. “Fucker had a metal quirk. Shattered a car right next to me.”

“Oh. That really doesn’t sound fun. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Don’t apologize for stupid shit.”

You find that oddly ironic- pretty much your entire job was apologizing and showing understanding for things that weren’t your fault. You decide there and then, without a single shadow of a doubt, Bakugou would make the worst nurse in the world. Far shittier than you, no matter what he said.

“All that’s left now is your finger.” You say, grabbing at his hand gently. “Sorry if this hurts, but I’ve gotta feel and see if it’s broken. I’m fairly sure it’s sprained, but just in case.”

“Whatever.”

“Wow, no fight? None at all?” You joke, applying as gentle pressure as you could to his finger. “You tired or something?”

Bakugou just nods, letting his eyes shut once more.

Up close again, you notice the circles under his eyes, the paleness of his skin. His face doesn’t even contort as you prod at his finger, and it almost breaks your heart when you realize how high his pain tolerance must be. The only way he’d be able to be even half as calm as he currently was, was if he was getting hurt like that on the regular. Which, you figure, probably comes with the job description in his case- but the thought still flooded you with sympathy anyway.

“All good, just a pretty severe sprain.” You tell him. “Now, metal splint or dressings? Your choice.”

“Dressings.”

You squint a little bit, at him. You’re pretty sure a metal splint would be easier, and more convenient, but he looks pretty sure in his choice. You shrug, figuring that you did give him the choice for a reason. Maybe he just finds dressings more comfortable.

You dig out an ace bandage from your medical cart, setting it on the hospital bed as Bakugou sits up. He still looks a little tired, breaths slow and even as he looks at you through half-lidded eyes. You figure he must suffering a pretty serious adrenaline crash- if he’s not, then you’re not sure what the attitude change is about. He just looks so calm, so quiet that you almost can’t place him as the same angry guy you’d been faced with earlier.

You unwind the bandage, taking his hand into yours. His palms are strange, calloused and tough, unnatural heat radiating off of them. It’s a little hard to ignore, but you figure it’s just his quirk, so you press on without comment. You’re pressing his index and middle fingers together, half-way through wrapping the bandage around them when he speaks.

“Too lose. Do it again.”

“It’s not loose, I promise. I know what I’m doing.”

“It’s loose.” He says again, more insistently this time. “Do it again.”

“Okay.” You sigh, figuring that starting over entirely would still somehow take less time than fighting with him. “But just this once, alright? As an apology for ‘digging around’ in your head.”

Bakugou just nods tightly.

When you start again, you try a different approach. You’d been trying to avoid touching him earlier, to soothe his worries about your quirk, but you start to think that maybe it caused your splinting to suffer. You decide to just go about it normally this time, grabbing his wrist and flipping it upwards just like you usually would. Bakugou seems to stiffen for a moment, but then he’s huffing a breath and lolling his head forward to his chest. You watch his eyes flutter shut.

You think that’s a strange reaction. You really expected him to put up more of a fuss about your touching him- he doesn’t though, and you take the little win. Chalk it up to just how tired he seems to be.

“There- you’re all done now.” You say quietly, pressing the adhesive side of the bandage into place. “Everything feel good? Need anything else?”

He shakes his head, blinking his eyes open blearily. If you didn’t know any better, you really would’ve thought he’d fallen asleep while you were caring for him. Well, you figure, guess that makes twice now that’s nearly passed out beneath your fingers.

You think that’s pretty funny, but you keep it to yourself. Bakugou seems to be feeling relatively pleasant, and you don’t want to jinx it.

“Alright, so concerning the splint, wear it for at least a few weeks, and then take it from there, alright? And all the stitches are dissolvable except for the ones in your arm. Those ones will need to come out in about a week or so, but that’s a super simple procedure. You could probably get them removed in the med-wing at your complex. No need for a follow-up her-”

“No. I’ll be here.”

“You don’t have to. I can just write up some instructions and send you back, no problem. Really, it’s-’

“I said I’d be here, so I’ll fuckin’ be here.” He grumbles, clearing his throat. Bakugou averts his gaze, turning towards the window to avoid your eyes. “You did the stitches so you take them out. You’re not gonna fuckin’ get away with cuttin’ corners on me.”

“Yeah. Okay. Whatever you want, I guess.” You say, a bit unsurely. “So I’ll see you in a week or so, alright? Somebody’ll give you a call.”

“Whatever.”

Bakugou then hops down from the bed, and you wince at the sound of his impact. You’d seen his knee first-hand, and you imagined that it probably hurt a lot to walk on it. He seemed unaffected though, shouldering his weight without fuss and hardly even limping as he walks out. The only sign he’s even slightly in pain, is the grunt that leaves him when he accidentally tries the door handle with his injured hand.

He’s so quick that you can’t even ask him if he wants crutches or not. The thought hardly even enters your head before he slams the door shut behind him.

--/--

taglist: @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3

#bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x self insert #bakugou katsuki x y/n #bakugou imagine #bakugou series #bakugou fic #mha fic #bnha fic

243 notes · View notes

isis-astarte-diana · 3 years

Text

tooth and nail

Prompt: @koiwokatarushijin wanted cheetah!Missy with 16: “I won’t apologise for marking you up, everyone should know you’re taken.” and 64: “I don’t want anyone else. No one else can make me feel like you do.” and, as a bonus, 76: “You know I’m holding back from fucking you over this kitchen counter, don’t push your luck.”

Warnings: NSFW. MIHOW. Some blood. Painful penetration. Cheetah!Missy has a big barbed girlcock and I have no self restraint.

Word Count: 3986

NB: I started this, I liked it, it ran away from me, I stared at it a lot, I finished it. It’s longer than it should be. Significantly longer.

“Keep still.”

Missy’s voice is soft, but the arch of her brow leaves very little room for argument. In the simulated morning of the TARDIS kitchen she looks as beautiful as you’ve ever seen her. With the unbuttoned violet housecoat covering her thin chemise and her dark hair slowly wrestling its way out of last night’s braid, she somehow manages to embody a very human sort of domesticity, even while she inspects the wound on your shoulder with eyes shining a decidedly feline shade of amber. She traces the stinging indent of her teeth with the tip of one short, sharp fingernail, igniting the bite in scalding pain that makes you flinch. She tuts.

“Sorry,” you mumble shyly, at the sound of her displeasure. Your fingers tighten on the edge of the countertop you’re sitting on. “I just- it really hurts.”

She makes a sympathetic noise that sounds uncomfortably close to the chirrup of a hunting housecat. Alongside the elliptical slits of her pupils and the elongated threat of her canines, it turns the pitying look she gives you into something uncanny, something that hovers in that space between frightening and soothing and arousing. It’s a space over which Missy is the sole presider.

“It feels worse than it is,” she explains, as if that’s supposed to bring you comfort. “It probably won’t even scar.”

“Probably won’t,” you echo, sceptically. “So it might?”

“Well, we can always hope.” She leans in to nuzzle at your throat, her breath warm and quivering with a predator’s purr. The noise sends a shiver down your spine. Idly, you reach up to pet her hair, and her volume increases significantly. You can’t help but smile.

“I won’t apologise for marking you,” she murmurs, and runs the flat of her tongue across the wound. It burns exquisitely. You squirm, whimpering a little, only to feel her hands on your thighs, holding you still. “Everybody should know that you’re mine.”

Missy has always been possessive with her things, of which you take pride of place, but her recent relapse with the virus has only exacerbated that behaviour. She seldom leaves your side for more than a few minutes. Even the maintenance of her TARDIS, something she would usually dedicate entire sleepless days to, almost fell by the wayside until you’d insisted that you didn’t mind accompanying her while she did it. There are piles of blankets and pillows placed strategically throughout the ship, now, courtesy of her new nesting instinct, for you to settle in and watch her working, and she has a tendency to pause frequently in her tasks in order to cross the room and assess your wellbeing.

You can’t say you object.

She’s certainly never been neglectful of your needs, even at her most distracted or dastardly, but this development has come as a pleasant surprise. Typically, she has an almost pathologically long attention span, but the effects of the virus have given her a unique and incorruptible focus on you. She’ll put aside her latest endeavours to make sure you’re fed and watered, will accompany you to bed and stay while you sleep even if she herself stays awake to read. It probably should feel suffocating, but, somehow, it never does.

“I like being yours,” you confess, scratching lightly at her scalp. She kneads the soft flesh of your thighs, just below the hem of your pyjama shorts, her talon-sharp nails pricking you with every squeeze. It’s an affectionate sort of pain. “I wouldn’t mind a scar, it’s just- what if you change your mind?”

“About what?” She licks the bite wound again, gentler now, and shivers with satisfaction at the taste of blood. The sting weakens your voice.

“About me?”

Missy freezes. The purring and the kneading stop abruptly, her spine stiffening as she slowly extricates herself from your neck. The tenderness in her eyes makes your heart clench. You hadn’t meant for the question to sound so melancholy, and now that you’ve spoken you feel abashed for it, turning away as if to hide your face from her. She slips a hand under your jaw, coaxing you back with the careful threat of her fingernails scraping your cheek.

“I wouldn’t want anybody else.” She smiles, the curve of her lips too gentle for the fangs it exposes. “Nobody else could make me feel like you do.”

You flush with delight. “You’re just being nice,” you tease, raising an eyebrow so that she knows you’re not upset, and her answering laugh is like velvet.

“I’ve never been nice in my life, dear.” Her fingers trail down your neck, spiralling back to stroke over the bite. “This looks lovely on you.”

It looks a mess - or it did, earlier, when you saw it in the mirror while you were brushing your teeth. Her strong jaws have left a deep, livid bruise that spans wide across your shoulder, the bite mark itself half scabbed and half raw, beading lazily with fresh blood. Still, you can’t deny enjoying the thought of being branded as hers, or the way that her obvious appreciation of it laps at your belly with desire. “Do you really think so?”

Her eyes flick back to you, pupils blown, and she bares her teeth at the question. She squeezes your thigh hard enough to make you jolt. “I think I’m doing remarkably well to hold back from taking you here on the kitchen counter.”

This is another effect of the virus that you’re not about to object to.

Missy is hedonistic, by nature, and always has been, but there’s something compulsive about her libido now. The pursuit of pleasure is no longer a hobby for her but an obsession. You certainly had no complaints, before - she would take you with indulgence, your body and its workings a source of boundless fascination, your pleasure or your suffering a thing to be relished - but there is something to be said for being needed. This primal drive to claim and possess and breed is a delightful novelty. It thrills you to see her composure slip so far. Where tooth and nail had been a constant threat, they’re now something of an inevitability, something beyond her control. The depth of last night’s bite is a blazing testament to that.

Sheepishly, you whisper, “you don’t have to hold back. I mean- if you don’t want to.”

“I think perhaps I’d better.” Even as she speaks, you can hear her voice darkening, her fingers beginning to resume their rough kneading of your thigh. She drops her other hand between your legs to cup you through your shorts. The faintest pressure from her fingers against the lips of your cunt makes you wince at the ache there. Her eyes soften. “You’re still sore.”

“Well- yeah,” you admit, with a self-conscious bite of your lip. Hooking your leg around her, you pull her closer with a heel at the base of her spine. She makes no attempt to stop you. The change in position lets you grind into her palm, pleasure sweet and soothing to the swollen flesh. She purrs, squeezing down gently to increase the friction for you, and you can’t bite back a gasp. “I just- I thought, maybe…”

“You thought what?” Missy cocks her head, crooking her fingers to stroke over your clitoris through the fabric. Your whimper earns you another dagger-pointed smile. She ducks her head to kiss along your jaw, tightening her grip on your thigh. “Did you want mummy to kiss it better?”

The desperate noise you make must be answer enough.

Her strength is alarming when she forgets it; it seems to take her no effort at all to pull your hips right to the edge of the countertop, so suddenly that you let out a little yelp in surprise and pain and have to grab the counter to keep from falling hard onto your back. You can already feel a bruise blooming under her fingers from the force. Given her propensity for leaving marks - and the grin that wavers between smug and apologetic - you suspect that it’s not an accident, but when she catches your mouth in a hungry kiss you forgive her immediately.

Her insistent weight slowly presses you to lean back, offering up your throat for her lips. She wastes no time in working her way down it, nuzzling at the softness of your breasts and belly through your shirt until her nose brushes the ticklish skin above your waistband. You let yourself lie flat across the counter, mostly to free up a hand so that you can stroke her hair, and she rewards you by nipping at your hip bone.

“I can smell myself on you.” It’s almost a growl, her voice raw with desire. “I’m all over you. Inside you.” You jolt upright with a cry when she presses her open mouth to your shorts, her breath hot through the fabric. Your hand goes white knuckled on the edge of the countertop for support. She lifts her eyes to you, almost black with the dilation of her pupils, and scrapes you, gently, with her teeth. It doesn’t hurt - in fact, it feels wonderful, the shock of pleasure stealing your breath - but you recognise the warning and settle back down, closing your eyes against the lights on the ceiling. Her tongue drags flat and scalding over the seam once you do, and she purrs so aggressively that you can feel the dull vibration. Pulling off to ease your shorts down, she adds, “you taste of me, too.”

“I do?” You lift your hips to assist her, and she drags her fingernails down the lengths of your legs as she removes your pyjama bottoms, leaving thin lines of stinging heat in her wake. You quiver under her touch. “From- from last night?”

“From always.”

Her fingertips pass ticklish over your bare foot when she unhooks the fabric from around your ankles, and she lifts your heel to press a kiss to the sole. It makes you squeak. “Is that a good thing?”

Missy laughs, warmly, flicking her tongue across your arch so that you gasp. She all but slings your leg around her shoulder as she sinks to her knees. Her first breath against your naked cunt is a reverent sigh. “What do you think?”

You don’t think much of anything at all.

Her tongue sliding between your labia is enough to have you short-circuiting, conscious of very little besides the fluid, velvet heat of her. You retain just enough awareness to hold onto the counter beneath you in order to avoid pulling her hair. The briefest pass over your clitoris makes your hips jerk, and she loops her arms around your thighs to spread you wider and keep you in place. Firmer, now, the pressure glides back down, through a delicate furrow of flesh where you can feel both the rough of her taste buds and the impossibly smooth muscle underneath. When she takes this fold into her mouth and touches it - just touches it - with her teeth you have to clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the squeal.

The reverberation of her satisfied purring doesn’t help matters.

At first, you think she must be doing it on purpose, knowing how it would feel for you, but there are none of the smug chuckles or glances that usually accompany such behaviour. When her tongue strokes the lips of your cunt, still sore and swollen from last night’s activities, and her pitch increases sharply it dawns on you that the noise is involuntary. The realisation that she could derive such obvious pleasure from this renders you almost as weak as the sudden intrusion of her tongue.

Your back arches from the countertop immediately. Missy drags you back down, pressing herself deeper. Kissing you better may have been a misnomer - she’s hot, flexing muscle inside of you, serving mostly to remind you of how raw you are - but you can hardly bring yourself to be upset about the voracity with which she seeks out the taste of herself within you. Your muscles squeeze tight around her squirming tongue. Another escalation in her purrs, coupled with the way her fingers sink into the flesh of your thighs to knead at it, is proof enough that she appreciates her work.

Indeed, she seems content to stay like this for quite a while. Despite her earlier words, there’s nothing urgent about the way she devours you. You lose track of how long she spends working you over with her mouth, stroking unhurried pleasure into you, coaxing out whines and gasps and so much slick that you can feel it running down towards your tailbone. Her teeth catch you, now and then, and flood you with cold adrenaline each time, but never do you any harm.

Her nails are another matter entirely.

Every slow squeeze of your thighs comes with needling pain. It’s not vicious - far from it - but the insistent clawing always follows the same path, carving into you to mark where her fingers have passed. The scratches are blazing hot and stinging with blood. It hurts enough to bring tears to your eyes, but the steady rhythm of squeeze, claw, release is almost meditative, and you lose yourself in it with ease. Dragging your hips over the edge of the kitchen counter, she pulls you down into the lazy pattern of her hands and mouth and breath.

When, at last, Missy fastens her lips fully to your clitoris, the violence of your orgasm hits you like lightning; you’d forgotten that this could only ever end in flames.

By the time you’ve recovered from the trauma enough to lift your head she’s already released you. She laps at the slick that puddles in the dimples of your thighs. Breathless, still whimpering, twitching just above her tongue, you reach down to pet her hair. With a little chirrup of surprise she turns her attention to cleaning away your blood.

It can’t be sanitary - she’ll wash these cuts properly later, with damp cotton wool soaked in something that burns like salt, purring to comfort your cries - and it stings as much as it soothes. You flinch away from the liquid pain. She holds tighter to your hips, following your retreat even as you scrabble back along the counter, rising from her knees to pursue you. Her low snarl makes you fall still. You know better than to ignore a warning, verbal or otherwise; more importantly, you know better than to snatch meat from the jaws of a lion.

It’s easy to forget, in the calmer moments, quite how savage she can be.

The kitchen lights reflect neon in the vast, dark pits of her pupils when she looks up at you. Her face is wet from nose to chin and faintly smudged with copper. Your eyes lock, for a moment, and a particular kind of stillness settles over the both of you, like the heavy heat before a thunderstorm or the silent shock before a scream. You know full well that any movement now is a provocation. Your arms tremble from the effort of holding yourself still at this half-upright angle, your thighs quivering with the aftershocks of your orgasm, but you can’t stop yourself from squeaking like a captured mouse and, apparently, that’s all the invitation she needs.

Missy yanks you back to the edge of the countertop before you can draw breath to cry out. Naked, now, from the waist down, the pain is startling; friction burns red hot between marble and soft skin, her grip on your hips bruising right down to the bone. The sudden onslaught of her strength turns you cold with primal fright. Weakened by the shock, there’s nothing to do but cling to her for stability, wrapping your arms around her shoulders and your legs around her waist. Her chemise rucks up between your bellies. The heavy brocade of her housecoat irritates the cuts on your thighs, a stinging torment that threatens to loosen the tears clinging to your lashes, until her cock slides between your lips and your body comes alive with an altogether different sort of alarm.

Her barbed shaft slicking through your labia sets you alight. Every tiny spine is a fine point of delicious agony, countless of them clustered together like the bristles of a brush, raking over your delicate flesh. When the head of her cock strokes over your clitoris it feels like the prickle of a dozen needles. The jolt of pleasure makes you choke. It’s too much of everything - too sharp, too sweet, too soon after having come already. Your hips give a stuttering roll into hers, torn between the reflex to pull away and the maddening urge to rut against her.

Fortunately, the choice isn’t yours to make.

Broad, blunt pressure at the lips of your cunt has you stiffening in her arms. You’re wet enough to take her - you must be; you can feel your own slick puddling beneath you on the counter - but you know that it won’t be easy. However pliant the orgasm might have left you, however well she might have opened you with her tongue, nothing can ease the tight pinch of something too big slowly spreading you apart. You tuck your face against her shoulder to hide the trembling grimace of your mouth and draw a long, unsteady breath, willing yourself to relax.

It doesn’t help. It never does.

The first thrust is a hot knife in your belly. Your cunt burns in furious protest at being stretched so wide so quickly, and your whole body clenches in a futile attempt to force her out. Gasping, you flinch away, but she boxes you in with a hand braced behind you on the countertop.

"It's alright, it's alright." Missy rests her forehead against yours, the words a scalding rasp across your face. You taste your own blood and cunt on her breath. She rolls her hips, pulling you tight against her when you whine and try to squirm away. Her lips curl back from her teeth in warning. "Relax. Take it for me."

She's quivering with restraint. You can see it in her eyes, hear it in the low growls that tug at the end of every laboured breath. Under your shaking hands, the muscles in her shoulders are tight as coiled springs. Her taloned fingers dig into your back as she fights the instinct to hold you still, to pin you down and take as she pleases. Something like adoration swells in your chest.

You don’t want her to stop - you asked for this, needed this, would have gotten on your knees to beg for it if you’d had to - but you don’t have the strength that she does. You have no more control over your tears or your protests than you do the helpless, spasming muscles of your cunt. All you can do is trust her to know what you’re pleading for. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” The rough of her tongue drags over your cheek, tasting the salt there. Your eyes drift shut when she starts to purr again. You can feel yourself slackening, moving limp as a ragdoll as she hoists your leg higher over her hip to open you wider, and she slips deeper inside you with a slow, slick sting. Your face twists in pain, but you dig your heel into her back to welcome her. Her strained gasp cools the shell of your ear. “That’s it. Good girl.”

You mewl pitifully at the praise. Clinging to her, you shift your hips in an attempt to accommodate the stretch better, working fruitlessly to find a position that might make this feel more comfortable. You succeed only in pulling off far enough to ignite the tender walls of your cunt with friction as her barbed cock grasps at you from within. The burn leaves you blinking back a flood of fresh tears. “Missy-”

“I know. I know, dear.” From the tightness of her voice you can tell that she’s reaching her limit. Soon, soon, like it or not, her need will win out, and she’ll be as powerless as you are against it. You take some comfort from that; comfort, too, in the way she lets her head fall against your shoulder, loose curls of dark hair tickling your neck while she laps at the bite wound there.

It helps - it does help, a bit - to have some other hot wet pain to distract you when she finally starts to move.

Any further pleas die in your throat. No matter how familiar it is, you never seem to get used to the feeling of being rubbed raw by those tiny, needling spines. Missy snarls into the curve of your neck, some of the tension draining from her body as she gives herself over to the pleasure of taking you. You scrabble mindlessly at her shoulders, your every breath a sob.

“My sweet human.” Her claws rake over your thigh to stop your futile struggling. You sink into the pain, relaxing against her chest, letting yourself be torn apart in her grasp. She purrs with satisfaction. “You take me so well.”

The angle isn’t perfect, but it’s good enough. You can’t pretend it doesn’t come as a relief not to have her buried inside you to the hilt. Even so, you can feel her almost unpleasantly deep, pressure clenching beneath and behind your navel each time she fills you. The helpless, jerking motions of her hips push you higher, closer, but you won’t be able to come from this alone. The pleasure itself is an ordeal. Your cunt pulses with it, squeezing her barbed cock like a fistful of stinging nettles, turning every wave of bliss to hot ashes.

If you weren’t so exhausted already, you might slip a hand between your bodies to stroke yourself. If she weren’t so worked up from tasting you, Missy might do the same. As it is, neither of you can think far enough to loosen your arms from around the other, tied together tooth and nail in your own separate agonies.

Mercifully, she doesn’t last long.

“Come on,” you whisper, shakily, when you feel her grip tightening on your thigh. She shudders at the sound of your voice. Your fingers pluck at her hair, cradling her to you, legs locked around her to pull her deeper. You urge her on with tearful, choking desperation. “Come for me, Missy. Please, please. For me. Just for me. I want- I need-”

When she breaks, she snaps like a steel cable.

Her hips jolt forwards with force that steals your breath. She spills inside you, holding you still to make you take it, her teeth drawing fresh blood from the wound on your shoulder as she comes. Pain strangles your shriek into a silent cry. For a long, long moment you’re conscious of nothing but the roar of your own heartbeat in your ears and the twitching, spasming muscles where your bodies join.

The first slow stroke of her tongue across your shoulder makes you flinch. Missy coos, softly, and nuzzles at you, her unsteady breaths hot on your skin. “Might scar now.”

Your sniffles turn the words into a weak accusation. “You did that on purpose.”

“Naturally.” Slowly, so slowly, she loosens her grip on you, easing back until she can press her forehead to yours once more. Her eyes have brightened to their usual shade of yellow. “How could I resist, when you wear it so well?”

Your face flushes with delight. Sounding rather less disgruntled than you’d hoped, you mutter, “you know, most people just buy their girlfriends jewellery.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” She trails her fingers across your clavicle. You shiver at the touch, and at the sight of her licking your blood from her teeth. “I think you’d look rather fetching with a pearl necklace.”

#mine #nsfwork #request #cheetah!missy #Cheetah!Master #missy x reader #gomez!master x reader #Missy is a feral catgirl I am not taking questions at this time

106 notes · View notes

just2bubbly · 3 years

Note

Imagine Angsty Kaider about breakup their relationship bc E.C not accept Cinder as empress, i need that.,,,

Masterlist

Well anon firstly 'Thank You!' for sending the ask, I definitely enjoyed writing it- I might have also grown attached to seeing it in my ask box but it's about time I replied to this, I know I took forever but you had popped up the request when I had already written 'Sometimes Love Stays' and I wanted to write in a new light so I too a long time, but here it is without further ado!

Love Hurts, Love Heals!

Ship: Kaider

Words: 3k

Genre: Angst

A/N: Italics present in the further part of story is a flashback.

Cinder's Perspective:

"Kai! What were you thinking?" she barked.

"Your Majesty, are you hurt?" Torin enquired.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Your- "

"Gosh, Kai stop making shitty excuses!"

"It's nothing really, you both don't have to fuss over me."

"You don't get to tell us that after pulling that stunt!" she exclaimed.

"I did not know those people would backlash like that. Besides, I can't stay hidden in the palace forever!" he reasoned to his furious fiancee.

"Don't you go logistics on me right now. Get cleaned up I will bring the first aid box- Torin keep an eye on him for me!" she ordered.

"Sure You- Cinder." He replied breaking out of his habit to call her 'Your Majesty'.

As she left the room, they both exhaled, Kai, laid on the sofa and seemed to flinch as his arm hit the soft cotton inside.

"Kaito, you really should not have done it," he said preparing himself to give the young reckless and selfless Emperor quite an earful.

"Not you too, Torin!" he groaned.

"Why would you go out knowing that there is a public backlash over the prospect of you marrying Cinder- any person in their right mind would avoid a public event like the one you held- that too without prior notice to your own advisor! Why would you put yourself in a position of danger like that??"

"I can't hide forever just because I'm marrying Cinder, can I now Torin?"

"You can't- but you can choose to wait for things to calm down first. Honestly, I wasn't expecting such an extent of backlash over the prospect of your marriage."

"Same, I thought it would die down in a week or two, it's been going for months now with no signs of peace out and now I'm really doubting of what will really happen at the wedding. I'm afraid things are not going to turn out as I wanted them," he said, rubbing his forehead that was injured and looked red with the young man's dried blood.

"You should wash up Kai- at least before Cinder comes back, she is really worried."

He nodded grimly and asked, "Do- do you think- er, wonder if-"

"If the wedding would have to be called off?" Torin provided.

"Yes... I'm doubtful of what the future holds for us."

"Kai, whatever happens, happens for good and only good will happen with you both. Don't stress yourself over that," he urged.

Kai smiled bitterly and said, "The past doesn't seem to agree with that. "

They both shared a choking silence- one which reflected upon the uncertain and bleak future of the Emperor and his fiancee.

"She is going to be a handful today."

"I know."

"She was scared for you Kai, from what I know of her she will shut herself out rather than hurt you. I'm afraid she might be walking on eggshells right now."

"She is not sleeping well- we both are on the edge for a while now. The worst of her expectations are coming true," he confessed.

The shut of the door was enough indication of Cinder's arrival.

"Why haven't you cleaned yourself yet, Kai? Shoo, now- Torin thank you for looking after him. I hope you have yelled at him for his mistakes."

Torin grinned at her and said, "I will leave you to that, I just merely helped it start."

Looking at the sofa where Kai had been recently sitting she said, "We have avoided it too much- I'm just going to get over it for once and all."

"Don't give him a hard tonight," he requested.

"What are you two conjuring up behind my back?"

"How to kill you before you do it yourself," she criticised, saying that she was cross with him would be an understated lie.

"I will take your leave - don't want to be stuck in between the crossfire. Take care, Kai and Cinder, take it slow!"

"Good night Torin- thank you for today."

"Night Torin and sorry about it."

And as Torin left the room only for the remaining two to confront their problems- that they had been avoiding to talk about as long as possible.

"I'm sorry, Cinder."

"I don't care," she said and walked towards the plush green sofa.

"Come here," she required and Kai followed in her footsteps.

As she drew his hair back with her metal hand to analyse the damage, the cool metal helped ease the dreaded feeling he felt about the issue at hand.

"Where all are you hurt?"

"Besides the injury on the head, I have a small scratch on the elbow and I might have also sprained my leg in the hurry," he told.

She exhaled sharply and asked, "Why did you go?"

"Uh- I had postponed my meet with factory owners for a long time now and well, the common people learned about my arrivals and a mob was present when I reached- I could not control the situation so-"

"Stop underselling yourself- you could not have done anything before an angry crowd. Nothing! However, you should have at least told me or Torin about it. Torin- he has to know- he is your advisor!" she yelled, calmly if that was possible, her voice quiet and slow but a note higher than usual. It was a tone that would scare the listener and make him feel guilty.

"You would have denied me from going- it was necessary! After the announcement of the engagement, things are stagnant among the aristocrats- quite tense for a while."

"Are you blaming it on us now?"

"I never said that!" he retorted.

"You implied it."

"Can we not have this conversation tonight?"

"How long before you agree that we have to talk about the problems our engagement has caused?"

"It has not caused any problems, Cinder-"

"Keep telling yourself that."

"I have reached a point where I neglect my problems until it loses the essence."

"It's not going to work this time- not with us in question."

"Not today, Cinder," he requested.

"C'mon Kai- we need to-"

"Please," he said pleading with his eyes for her to let go of this topic.

"Fine but we are not talking about it first thing tomorrow," she declared.

"Okay."

They turned silent as Cinder looked at his wounds- applying antiseptic that stung slightly but he didn't complain.

"Remove your coat so I can check your arm."

"Uh- Cinder you might have to help me out-I'm unable to fold my elbow due to the stinging sensation."

She helped him out the coat and rolled up the sleeves of his dress to get a clear view of the cut. He hissed when her hand met near his elbow.

"Sorry."

And as she discarded his suit, dropping it on the floor and looked at her fiancee's arm, she gasped, "Kai."

"Ahh..," he cried through gritted teeth. It was a patch of a red and blue bruise along with a pinkish tissue scar and blood dried around it. The injury was by no way minimal.

"We are going to the medical wing now!" she exclaimed and tugged at his non-injured hand.

"Cinder it is 2 in the morning- I don't want to bother anyone."

"There is always someone in the medical wing who is awake to look after the Emperor if the need comes so ever!" He was truly testing her patience- was he always like this?

"I'm not going."

"Why can't you and I agree on something for once?"

"You are being adamant."

"I am but aren't you being reckless?"

"I have to run a nation."

"Exactly what I'm talking about. Running a country requires sacrifices, Kai- I know it."

"I'm not doing it."

"Why can't you just discuss the problem?"

"You promised we would not talk about it today."

"Let's not destroy our future over something as frivolous as love, Kai!"

"Fuck, Cinder but we are not 18 anymore to call it trivial- we are engaged."

"People call off their wedding all the time, Kai. Why make it a big deal?!"

"It's because I want to marry you. I'm the Emperor, I make the laws here and I want to marry the person I love. Ain't that acceptable terms to you or the citizens?" he yelled, loudly in her face.

"Kai aren't you understanding?! Y-you almost fainted because you are marrying me!!"

"It was a stone Cinder, NOT a bullet-"

"Are you waiting for a bullet to call off your wedding then?!"

"Are you so desperate to not marry me?"

"Yes," she said not thinking her words through and soon realizing the mistake she had committed. Hurriedly, she responded, "Kai I didn't mean it I'm-"

"Why say yes if you were so against the notion of marrying me then!" "I- it came out wrong. I just don't know what to do. My heart wants to marry you- my conscience tells me to disappear for the remaining of my life so I won't hurt you anymore."

"You are hurting me anyways, Cinder."

"I'm sorry, Kai," she murmured and sat in silence, her head hung low from embarrassment. The sudden silence followed by a lot of loud pitched yelling felt too harsh.

"I'm so sorry, Kai but-"

"Don't apologize and leave like you don't love me- just wait, hold on for me, for us. Stay with me. Don't leave me, please!" he said his voice wavering in the end. He was trying not to cry- he looked so vulnerable at that moment. Halting her inner turmoil and internal debate of convincing Kai to let her go, she enveloped him in a hug- a tight embrace to comfort him before a final blow. She drew circles on his back, it helped to calm him down while she prepared an argument.

"You have to understand, Kai," she said at last when he had calmed down. He sniffed for a minute before looking straight into her eyes- his chocolate brown eyes daring her to defy him.

"Promise me."

"I won't."

"Marry me."

"Kai, why don't you understand- what's the point of love that hurts more than it heals?"

"Our love is not hurting me."

"Then I am," she said sighing and looking away to the electronic portrait kept of them. Unlike their present, they looked so happy.

"I think we should let go."

"I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that."

"Kai," she breathed with a heavy heart and a painful head. At least one of them could cry their heart out. This was being more difficult than she had expected. She held his hand and calmly looked at their intertwined fingers, she looked at the matching bands they were wearing- a gold ring with two diamonds and their respective birthstones in the centre. A carving of wire cutters on the underside. She was going to miss wearing the ring, she was going to miss him.

"Sometimes love doesn't mean two people living under the same roof, it doesn't mean them getting married- I think we are that kind of people. We don't need a ring to prove our love. So let's not bind ourselves to the norms of society. We almost had it, Kai, that's what matters. We have come so far. Thank you for loving me, Kai!"

"I'm not calling off the wedding. No matter what you say, what I have to go through - I'm not going to do it. I know what I signed up for when I asked you to marry me. You know what you agreed to when you said 'yes, we expected this all along- I don't want to run from the first sign of danger."

There was no use convincing him so she left- she might as well catch up sleep before her meeting at 7 in the morning.

The silence stretched between them- there was no distance between but the gap that their love was feeling right now was immense- it divided them like the river divided two adjoining lands, a full stop dividing a sentence, like an axe chopping off the branches of the same trees. They were Kai and Cinder. They were two intertwined lives, separated by the same fate, separated by the same prejudice, the same stigma.

Lunars, Cyborgs and Earthens, just the boundaries created by the human mind. Weren't they all humans, living because of the same oxygen, dying because their hearts stopped, surviving as a society, hating each other as a society. That's what humans are best at- hating each other, never trying to stand united but pretending as they do. Cinder was angry- a burning passion of fury in her heart to the wretched people who had hurt Kai, who were protesting against their marriage, who had been the cause of all her problems for a while.

"Send the witch back-"

"Lunars don't deserve to-"

"She is controlling the Emperor-".

Those were the very words that had been spoken by the crowd of people while Kai was away- that was the tiny part she had heard before Torin had closed his device.

"I'm really sorry Cinder for what you are suffering. I can't believe they are protesting against you after all that you have done-"

"It's okay Torin, it's not like I can wipe out prejudices overnight. Is Kai okay?"

"The guards say that he is slightly injured but other than that he is safe."

"You sure he did not tell you before going?"

"He did not. I'm sure he had a reason but I have no idea for why he left before informing."

Kai did not join her for a long time. There were sounds- tearing the bandages, hissing at various times, clearing the mess left behind, dropping stuff, the noise of flowing water. She felt sorry to give him a hard time while he was suffering but he wasn't understanding the prejudice people had in their minds and hearts for cyborgs, irrespective of if they were marrying the Emperor or not. They did not care whether the Emperor loved them or not. He was destroying his future, his public image for her.

Swiftly she felt the mattress dip when Kai sat on the very corner, hunched on the foot of the bed trying to get a hold of his emotions. No one said anything.

"Cinder," he called.

"Hmm.." she replied.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm tired, Kai."

"Please Cinder- don't go."

"What's the use in waiting Kai?"

"We deserve happiness Cinder, believe me- please!"

"I want it too but-"

"No buts Cinder."

"I don't know, I'm so tired of all the shit we are going through. I want a break, just a minute to breathe."

"You don't have to leave for that."

"I can't do it by staying here as well."

She looked at him, his hair was dishevelled and wet from the recent shower. He had changed into his pyjamas. His body looked fresh but his face showed concern. She cast a glance at his elbow- the bandages were sloppy but they would hold for a night - at least until she took him to see Dr Chang herself.

"I'm afraid Kai- I just don't want to become an example of right people wrong time. We are both being two ahead of our times is what I'm feeling. I'm not sure I can handle this for the rest of my life," she confessed what had been eating her mind for a whole lot of days.

"You love me?"

"Obviously, I do."

"I love you."

"I know."

"That's the only thing that matters."

"It's not Kai- you don't want protests because of our wedding. I don't want headaches because of it. I don't even know what I want right now- a good night sleep, some calm, being a human, you- the list is so long and I have not achieved any of it," she rambled.

"Look at me, Cinder," he said, lifting her chin up to look into her eyes, "- we are going to make it. Even with all the troubles, we are going to be together."

"You don't say things that are not in your hands, Kai."

"I know- but I know you will be my wife, the love of life and my partner for the remaining of my days and no one's going to change it. Trust me on this one."

"I want to."

"Then do it- no one's stopping you, just hold my hand and I will be there for you through thick and thin, through pain and misery and joy and love- I will be there to rub your shoulders after a busy day, I will stay beside you when the world leaders keep complaining on a boring day, I will be there to make you breakfast on Sundays and to bring you to bed when you stay out late in the palace garage. I want to just be there for you. Allow me to do that."

She breathed his smell- fresh sheets, cedar and sharp mint, she remembered how she joked he smelled like 'freshness in a person'.

It would be easier to leave him than to be with him- the hardships, the guilt and the regret that would come with leaving him alone would be impossible to deal with. Even if she goes through all the trouble to keep it away from him, to keep herself away from him, she might wake up one day thinking that if she had only been a little more strong enough to hold on for them- she would have been married to him, she would be the one who knew the cause behind all his laugh lines and she would be the one to make him laugh on a bad day. She could be the one- that she could have been that person if she had just tried instead of letting go, and that thought was what made a difference. However, there would be no point fantasizing 10 years from now when the time to do the right thing had already slipped from her hands.

"I won't leave, Kai. I promise."

A sigh of relief, followed by a bone-breaking hug and some sniffling and weeping along the way and murmured 'thank yous' and 'I love yous' was all that they required.

Love hurts, love heals but the most important thing is staying in love. Forever and Always, that's what it needs. In the end, some people are worth the pain, they are worth the fighting you have to do for them.

A/N: We are done! I couldn't help myself- I just love to bring Torin in each and every fic I write, tbh he deserves more representation so sorry not sorry! ;)

It was angst with an happy ending so I guess I fulfill @cinderswrench latest wish as well!

I think it would be good to say that I don't have any angst lined up for a while unless you all are kind enough to make some angsty requests!!

Thanks for reading! and for the readers who read on WP I have not published there yet!

Tagging: @cinderswrench @gingerale2017 @shellyseashell @shelbylmkaider @kaider-is-my-otp @linhcinder686 @kaiderforever (Tell me if you wanted to be added/ removed!)

#anon asks #love ya anon #requests #just2bubbly writes #just2bubbly fics #kaider #the lunar chronicles #tlc #marissa meyer #emperor kaito #linh cinder #empress selene #selene blackburn #konn torin #angst #love hurts love heals #fanfiction

26 notes · View notes

winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

enough.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: here’s a little thing i put together to fill in some holes. it takes place the first week of aaron’s recovery at home, about halfway through his month-long medical leave following faceless, nameless.

words: 2.5k warnings: description of wound dressing, canon-typical injury, language, brief body image mention (scarring)

summary: “not taking your pain meds doesn’t make you captain america. it just makes you stupid, and in pain.” in other words: healing is annoying and certainly non-linear.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

You knock on his door, takeout in your hand. “It’s me!”

After a minute of silence on the other side of the door, you take your keys out of your pocket and start to open the door. “Don’t shoot me. I’m using my keys.” You move to open it, and the chain is in place.

Damn it, Aaron.

Then -

Is he okay?

“Aaron?” You call through the gap in the door. You leave the keys in the knob and pull your phone out of your pocket, hitting the first number on your speed dial.

You hear his phone ring, a smack, and both from down the hallway and through the speaker (with an echo): “Hotchner.”

“I’m here with dinner. Open the door.”

His voice is thick with sleep. “You have a key, right?”

“The chain is on. I’m surprised I didn’t trip the alarm.”

He makes a little dissatisfied noise and hangs up. You can hear him plant his feet and amble down the hallway.

You smile a little at him as he approaches the door, almost looking inconvenienced as he shuts it, removes the chain lock, and opens it again.

“Are you seriously upset that I brought you food?”

He shakes his head and steps back, letting you in before closing it. “No, sorry. I just didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

You take stock of him as he turns his back on you and sits on the couch, settling with a slowness that looks painful. You set the food down and then return to lock the door. It’s easier for him to answer your question when you’re not looking at him.

“How are you feeling?”

A sigh. “Alright.”

You look over your shoulder as you slide the chain lock back into place. “Don’t lie to me. It won’t work.”

His head is in the takeout bag as he answers, still avoiding your eyes. “I’m sore and I can’t sleep at night and everything is healing slower than I want.”

There we go.

You sit beside him. “Do your dressings need to be changed?”

“I got most of them earlier, and Jess came over to help me yesterday, but there are a few that need to wrap around and I can’t -” He stops with a huff. “I can’t reach without -”

You put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I got it.”

His jaw is tight, shaky. “Thanks.”

“First,” you say, grabbing one of the boxes, “food.”

There’s a grateful little pull of his lips as you dig in. The news is on, but you pick up the remote and change it to some ridiculous reality TV program.

“I was watching that.”

“No you weren’t.”

He wasn’t.

You avoid his exasperated eyes as you set the remote on your side of the couch - farther than he can reach without stretching.

You eat together in silence, the trainwreck on the television only marginally holding your attention. When you glance at him, you catch the side of his face twinge when he reaches for his glass of water.

“You know, not taking your pain meds doesn’t make you Captain America. It just makes you stupid, and in pain.”

He levels you with a glare.

+++

“Stop squirming.”

“Sorry.”

With gentle fingers, you tape and tuck gauze around one of the wounds on his ribs. He flinches, a little pained noise leaving his throat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Your fingers flutter for a second before setting back to work. Reaching blindly behind you, you grab the roll of gauze wrapping. “Hang on for just a second - this isn’t going to feel good.”

He takes a deep breath (as deep as he can, anyway, considering his injuries), and you begin wrapping the dressing around his ribs, passing the roll from one hand to the other. He grits his teeth whenever it pulls the right amount, and your lower lip disappears between your teeth.

“I’m going to tuck it in front so you can reach it, okay?”

He nods, his eyes closed.

You’re sitting on his desk while he’s perched on the edge of his chair, his arm resting along the back - up and out of the way. This is the only place in the apartment he’s comfortable removing his shirt.

Every other room has a mirror or a big window.

“Okay, one more.”

You’ve saved the hardest one for last, but it has to go in that order. It’s the one just above his collarbone, right off the hollow of his throat, that needs the most attention and frequent changes.

You tip his chin with the tip of your finger, giving you more space to work.

Gingerly pulling at the tape, you remove the soiled dressing. Aaron’s breath comes as deep as he can through his teeth. When it quickens, you stop.

You readjust so he can keep his head where it is and you can sit in his eye line. He meets your eyes with a tight jaw.

“What can I do, Aaron?”

He closes his eyes again and tilts his head further to the side. “Just keep going.”

The tears come unbidden into your eyes as you continue your work, but your hands and breath are steady. You can hear him match his breath to yours and you’re thankful for your relative composure.

The wound still looks wretched - angry and red and black and blue and weeping - but it’s not infected.

You hold a towel up and he gingerly presses it to his chest while you reach for the wound wash, hiding your face from him.

“Thirty seconds, thirty seconds,” you assure him. “Do you want me to count?”

He shakes his head. “Just do it.”

You shoot a gentle stream of the solution across the open tissue, held together by more stitches than you want to count, both internal and external. Anguished noises leave his chest through his teeth and you know he’s trying to suppress them with unsteady breath. His eyes are shut impossibly tight, and you can see unauthorized tears gathering in the corners.

This is always the hardest part, and you’ve never gotten through it without crying. You hate how much he hurts. It’s like you can feel it yourself, the sting, the bone-deep ache, the throbbing.

Tears fall down your cheeks, some landing on your shirt and others wandering down your throat.

Even then, he knows you don’t pity him.

If he thought that, he wouldn’t let you anywhere near him.

You wash and dab, wash and dab, until the wound is clean and fluid-free, apologizing the whole time. You throw both the wash and gauze to the side and reach for fresh wrapping while swiping at your eyes.

Fuck.

“Just a second.”

You’ve touched your face, so now you have to wash your hands. Again. You leave him and go into the kitchen, wash and dry your hands, and return to him.

He catches your eyes before you settle back down. There’s something behind his eyes you can’t name, and it sends something flying around your body.

You always feel a little guilty for your tears, but he understands. He thought for a moment, in the beginning, about what he would do if the situation was reversed.

After scant seconds of consideration, he had decided he could never be as composed as you, as vulnerable and open as you. He could never offer to clean and dress your wounds - the thought of causing you pain of any sort, even helpful pain, was unbearable.

Besides that, he would be so angry that you were hurt at all and wouldn’t be able to keep his hands steady.

At the very least, he would probably scare you with the intensity of his fury. Anyone who ever laid a hand on you would be subject to a wrath comparable to that of God.

And Aaron’s mom is Catholic, so he would know.

There is not a moment where he takes your execution of this particular task for granted. He knows how difficult it is. He thinks, perhaps, that this is the bravest act of love he’s ever seen.

But could you love him?

Love?

No.

Too old. Too broken. Too divorced. Too married to work. Too poor a father. Too many other things that make me wholly undeserving.

He couldn’t, wouldn’t, subject you to himself.

He’s satisfied loving you in silence. He’d done it for a while now, he realized, after his conversation with Haley.

It would have to be enough.

It would have to be enough to watch you carry on with your joyful, vibrant life.

It would have to be enough to watch your face light up for someone who loves you, who puts a ring on your finger and makes you happy.

It would have to be enough to spoil your children if and when you became a parent, to hold the title ‘Uncle Aaron’ instead of ‘Dad.’

It would have to be enough to know you would outlive him and die loved.

It would have to be enough.

You pick up your tools again, using three fingertips this time to tip his head to the side at the temple. He almost smiles.

“What?”

He shakes his head the barest amount and raises his eyebrows. “Nothing.”

With a roll of your still-watery eyes, you get back to work, folding and pressing the gauze to the wound with a light, even pressure. You try to ignore Aaron’s hiss as the smile dissolves off his face, replaced by restraint and pain.

Holding the pad in place with one hand, you take the tape, hanging the roll on your thumb while you pull with your other hand. You tape all around the perimeter of it, gently warming the adhesive against his skin.

“Alright. Almost done.”

You have him hold the end right under the wound while you stand to better get around him. Once, like a sash, around his shoulder and across his back and under his other arm, once around his ribs, repeat.

Again, you tear and tuck it in front so he can reach, and gently pat it into place.

When it’s low-profile enough to disappear under his shirt -

“Finished.”

You turn and gather everything into the little bin that lives under his bathroom counter before he can say anything. He watches you, and you can feel his eyes at your back.

The first time you came to visit after he got home, he was worried you’d look at him differently, was worried you’d pity him.

He shouldn’t have.

You showed up at the door looking at him just the same way you always did. He wasn’t sure quite what way that was, exactly, but it was the same.

The first time you offered to help him with his dressings, he refused outright. It was only when you saw that a wound on his left side had ripped a little and bled through his shirt that you wrestled him down and took care of it.

Harder still than exposing his pain? Taking off his shirt. You’d reached for the top button the first time and he flinched like he’d been burned.

He refused to meet your eyes.

“What on earth are you so afraid of?”

He opened his mouth as if he was going to raise his voice at you, but then snapped it shut, his jaw working. His eyes were trained on the carpet.

“Hey.”

He looked at you somewhat reluctantly.

“It’s just me.”

I know, he thought, that’s the problem.

“This,” you gesture to his general torso area, “is not going to scare me or freak me out. What does freak me out, however -” You point at him with a packet of sterile gauze. “- is the thought of you trying to do this on your own, ripping your stitches, you not going back to the hospital, getting infected, going septic, and having a generally bad time.”

He finally speaks, the barest bit of sarcasm in his tone. “That’s quite a reach, isn’t it?”

You shoot him a withering look. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me you’d willingly go back to get your stitches fixed every time you ripped them, I’ll leave you alone.”

He won't meet your eyes again, looking like a guilty child as his eyes wander to the corner of the room with a bit of a squint.

You made your point rather elegantly.

You pass him his shirt over your shoulder and he takes it, slipping his arms into the sleeves.

His ridiculous number of button ups were coming in handy, especially considering the increased risk of stains. You’ve soaked more shirts in peroxide in the last week than you care to count.

Occupational hazard, I guess.

You pick up the little bin and take it back into the bathroom, your fingers tracing over the framed photos of Haley and Jack in the hall as you pass.

There’s one of you and Haley, too, at some sort of summer function where you were all together. If you aren’t mistaken, Jess took the photo as you and Haley lounged in lawn chairs, laughing.

Another one of the two of you sits on the dresser in Aaron’s bedroom. You’ve never seen it.

It’s another Jess-capture. Haley has Jack in her arms, kissing him on one cheek with a smile while you press a kiss to the other, eyes shut tight. One of your hands rests lightly on Haley’s arm, the other makes bunny ears over Jack’s head. The boy’s face is all crinkled like he hates it, but Aaron knows that photo was bookended by a screech of laughter and many, many giggles.

+++

You bounce into the office in the morning, looking no worse for wear even after spending the night on Aaron’s couch.

Hey, it’s a comfortable couch.

The pair of you stayed out on the couch watching bad movies far later than you meant to, but it’s alright.

Not the first time that’s happened.

You could neither confirm nor deny that Aaron slept, but you saw, through his open bedroom door, that he was still and quiet for most of the night.

“You look chipper this morning,” Penelope notes.

You shrug. “I slept well last night.”

“How’s Hotch?” Emily asks.

You make a little wavering noise. “About how you’d expect, but alright.”

It’s later in the day when Dave pulls you aside and thanks you, wrapping you in his arms.

You lean into him and you’re almost frustrated, but not surprised, when tears press at your eyes again. It seems you’re made of them, these days.

“We’re so lucky to have you.”

You shake your head, burrowing into his shoulder. “Other way around.”

He pulls back and kisses you on the cheek, patting your other one affectionately before offering his hand to you. “Agree to disagree?”

You roll your eyes and shake on it.

“Sure, Dave. Sure.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #aaron hotchner fanfiction #a joyful future #shut up tali #a joyful future fanfic

398 notes · View notes

ficklefics · 3 years

Text

Burden To Keep - Zemo x Reader ~ Chapter Four: Precision

Time to figure out how "real-life" your skills actually are.

CHAPTER THREE

SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

Taglist: @mochminnie @noavengers @alevelez01 @boubouinscarlet @viviace

Two men stood before you, dressed all in black. The gun was held by the taller one – you assumed he had spoken. “Critical te vrea înapoi. Nu încerca să lupți. Sau altceva.” Critical wants you back. Don’t try to fight. Or else. “Sau ce altceva? Eu nu mă duc.” Or else what? I’m not going. The ease with which the words fell off your tongue surprised you.

“You can speak Romanian?” Zemo tilted his head at you. “Apparently.” You couldn’t remember learning it. That scared you.

“You don’t get a choice.” The stranger switched to English, his accent strong. “Come, or I kill your friend.” His aim shifted to Zemo whose eyes widened.

“Wait,” You dropped the bag you were holding and raised your hands in surrender, “I’ll go. Just don’t hurt him.” “(Y/N)…” Silencing him with a shush you stepped past him. “Good. Bloodshed is not necessary.” He lowered the weapon. Only one thought ran through your mind: No one is getting hurt because of me.

And your instincts kicked in.

Grabbing the gun with one hand, you forced it down. Your leg hooked around his and yanked – he hit the cobbles hard. With him dazed and the element of surprise gone you launched yourself at the second man.

He was ready for you; he grabbed your arms, grappling you and pushing you against the wall. You immediately threw your leg up and kicked him in the stomach with enough for him to hit the opposite wall with a crunch. He slumped down to the ground unconscious, and your chest heaved for oxygen.

“(Y/N)!” Zemo’s voice called out in warning just before the shot rang through the alley. Pain seared through your upper arm. You grabbed at the graze, feeling the blood and the heat through the ripped fabric of your top. Like a whip, you lashed out, grabbing the assailant’s throat and falling to the ground with him. Holding his wrist away from him, gripping it tight until you felt a crunch and he released, you squeezed your other hand, watching his face grow red and his eyes widen in terror as he gasped for breath. You weren’t just choking him; you were draining his will to live, forcing him to experience the worst terror he had ever known. In only a few seconds his eyes rolled into the back of his head – but you kept going. It wasn’t until you felt Zemo’s hand on your shoulder and his voice telling you that you had to leave that you let go.

You let him guide you back through the streets, leaving the two bodies behind you. It was a haze. The only thing keeping you grounded was the ache and sting from the bullet wound.

The apartment was dark; clearly Sam and Bucky were still gone. At least there was that. “Sit.” Zemo gently but firmly placed you on the sofa before crossing to the kitchen and opening one of the cupboards. He pulled out a first aid kit and was immediately back at your right side. “I need to see it.” Shifting your hand, now sticky with blood, you exposed the wound. His fingers pulled the fabric away. You hissed as stray threads pulled at the flesh. He pulled out an antiseptic wipe and began to clean. It stung, but nothing like the feeling of the bullet tearing through you. And besides, something else was distracting you.

Zemo was close. So close. His rough hands surprisingly gentle against your tender skin. His brow furrowed as he concentrated. No words were exchanged. But your heart was racing. Each breath shaking, and not because of the pain.

There was something about him. Something that drew you in despite the danger. It might just be that you had gone so long without a kind touch – now the simplest action was like heaven to you. But that couldn’t explain the shivers that ran down your spine, the panic that swirled in your mind.

“This is going to hurt,” Zemo murmured, his eyes lifting to meet yours; something glimmered within them. He pulled out a needle and threaded it – his hand was steady. “May I ask you something? “Shouldn’t you be concentrating?” “I thought a distraction might help with the pain.” He shrugged. “And this is second nature.” You nodded, letting him continue. “You said that you have hyper-empathy?” “Yes-” The word cut off into a hiss of pain as he pressed the needle into your skin. “How do you handle that? Feeling everyone’s pain and sorrow? Especially in your… circumstance.” “I repressed it. Didn’t feel anything.” Your voice was quiet with the memories. “If I hadn’t, I think I’d have gone insane.” “It was better to become numb.” Exactly. “Now it’s like a tap – I can turn it on and off. But it’s a sacrifice.” As he tied the final thread, he lifted his head. His gaze ensnared you. “I can’t go through life feeling nothing.”

Right now, you’re feeling everything. Fear, doubt, hope. Desire. You can’t tell what feelings are yours and what are Zemo’s. You concentrated on keeping the two of you separate until it felt as though there was a knot in your stomach; you clung to it like a life raft - worse than not being able to distinguish your emotions, you were afraid that you might accidentally use your powers on him. And you couldn’t let that happen.

The door slammed, breaking the connection between the two of you as Sam and Bucky entered the apartment. You pulled away from Zemo and pressed yourself against the arm of the sofa. Seemingly unbothered, he didn’t move, instead beginning to bandage the freshly stitched wound.

“What happened?” Sam immediately asked upon seeing the first aid kit and the bloody wipes. “We went to get clothes,” You answered, “Capital’s men found us.” “Shit,” He groaned, “Did they follow you?” “No. They won’t be going anywhere for a while,” Zemo smirked. “I knocked them out.” The explanation seemed to be satisfactory. “How did they find you so quickly?”

“I think I may know.” Zemo had stopped bandaging and was now examining your upper arm. He turned it to expose the softer skin on the inside and ran his fingers over it. The sensation tickled. “Yes, here.” He pointed to a spot where there was a thin scar, slightly raised. “May I?” You looked back to Sam and Bucky, who seemed suspicious. “Go on.”

He pulled a small scalpel from the kit – your eyes widened and instinctively you tried to pull away. His hand tightened, holding you in place. The blade slid smoothly under the white line. Bucky and Sam watched on, ready to leap into action if he tried anything. It was replaced by tweezers – uncomfortable, they shifted underneath your skin before gripping onto something and pulling it out.

A small scrap of metal. Almost like…

“A tracker.” He raised it up so Sam and Bucky could see.

“Fuck.” Your jaw had dropped. “I… I’m so sorry. I should never have stay-” “It’s not your fault (Y/N). But we need to get rid of it.” Sam stepped forward and grabbed it from Zemo. “I saw a hotel we can dump it at,” Bucky said. “I’ll take it.” He stretched out his metal hand for Sam to drop the tracker into it. “Get back here quickly.”

He gave a half nod before heading back out the door. Sam turned to where you and Zemo were still sitting. “Are you okay?”

You nodded despite the pain – you’d felt worse.

“Here,” Zemo leaned over you, fully invading your personal space, and grabbed the bag sitting on the floor beside you, “You should get changed.” “Thanks.” He shifted away, letting you stand. Sam’s eyes locked with yours. They screamed a very clear message: What the fuck is he doing? You shrugged, heading for one of the spare bedrooms.

You switched out the ruined jumper for a tank top just in time for the knock on the door. “Yeah?”

Sam came in, shutting the door closed behind him, and folded his arms. “Is something going on with Zemo?” You shook your head. “Not on my side.” You wondered whether to share your concerns – Sam was still practically a complete stranger, despite his Avengers status, and it might be safer to keep things to yourself. Then again… “I think that he has a plan. And now that I’m here, now that he knows what I am, his plan is changing.” “Doesn’t surprise me.” He sighed, leaning against the door. “Look, just be careful. And don’t let him get in your head.” “Message received.” You gave a mock salute. “Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of practice ignoring criminals.” He chuckled. “So Zemo told you what he did?” Hesitation. “Not everything. Just that he thought the Avengers had too much power and used the Accords to tear them apart from the inside.”

Sam was clearly irritated by your words.

“Not exactly.”

CHAPTER FIVE

#zemo x reader #helmut zemo #tfatws #helmut zemo x reader #zemo/reader #tfatws x reader #tfatws/reader #helmut zemo/reader #sam wilson #bucky barnes #mcu

72 notes · View notes

peralta-guaranteed · 3 years

Text

Ao3 prompt by strwbrystars : my first is to do another chapter focusing on jake protecting amy in a similar situation as the closet one in this chapter pre-relationship or established.

This turned surprisingly long...

(thanks to @dolston17 for the mafioso names :D)

They’ve made all the wrong decisions right from the start, Amy thinks later, as she’s trying not to hyperventilate, with Jake’s breathing next to her not much slower than her own.

Well, maybe not the very first decision. When the radio crackled on in Jake’s car, asking for an EMT and back up for two beat cops a block down from them, there really was no other option but to turn and drive down to join them. But once they did find them, every decision made after that came straight from the ‘What Not To Do’ part of her training manuals.

_+_

Officer Rogers was sitting on the ground with his back to a wall, his partner Carols squatting in front of him, and he was obviously injured. Amy noticed the trail of blood leading back into the building behind them as they ran up towards the beat cops.

“Two guys. Possibly gang-related. They were fighting over a drug delivery or sale, we’re not sure, and we tried to separate them and question them when the taller guy pulled out a knife and went for Rogers.” Carols informs them straight away while putting pressure on the large wound in his partner’s thigh. “In the fight the other one, probably Italian background, short and stout, managed to unclip my gun - he must’ve known how to work a holster - god, this so - unprofessional, I’m sorry -”

“S’all good.” Jake interrupts him, and Amy wants to interject that no, it’s obviously not good if a criminal manages to take a gun away from a uniformed officer, but the short relief washing over the young, newly instated beat cop at hearing a detective calm him stops her. “Any more info?”

“They ran deeper into this building. We’ve patrolled it before - this is the only exit, so they must still be holeing up inside. They probably thought I was going to follow them, but I carried Rogers out instead so we could radio-”

“Yes, that was absolutely the right decision.” Amy joins in to support him, and it works maybe half as good as Jake’s casual reaction had before. She squats down too, to inspect the wound that Carols is pressing his jacket onto. “The EMTs are on their way, and this doesn’t look like too deep a cut for any lasting damage, even if it hurts like hell, I’d guess. Good, quick reactions, from both of you.”

“Thank you, detective.” is the first thing Rogers says, but Amy barely hears him when she looks up at Jake. He’s staring straight into the building doors, and she definitely, absolutely doesn’t like the look on his face.

“Jake-” She says with both a questioning and warning tone to her voice.

“This is Mancini territory.” He says out of the blue, and she can see his deducting brain working. “If it’s drug-related, and the other guy looked Italian, must be… Chiellini.”

“Chiellini, like Mafia boss Chiellini?!” Carols asks with shock in his voice, and Rogers hisses as he lets the pressure on his wound go for a second. Amy can’t fault him for that moment of surprise.

Roberto Chiellini, one of the two guys Jake’s undercover sting with the Ianuccis hadn’t been able to pin to any crimes, had quickly worked to establish himself as the new family leader of some Brooklyn areas, focussing on heavy drug trafficking for easy profits. They’d had more and more cases and minor arrests coming across their desks lately that mentioned his name in hushed tones, but had still been unable to actually go after him for any of it. Amy knows it’s been costing Jake sleep, but she still hates to see the conclusion he seems to be coming to right now.

“Jake, even if it is, that goon is way to low-level to have any useful info-”

“Stealing a government-issued gun, and assaulting a police officer? We’d have some leverage-”

“We’ll have absolutely nothing if he decides to use that gun-”

Right at that moment, the sound of a gunshot rips through the air, as if she’d predicted it, and silence falls around them for barely a second before Jake unholsters his own gun and starts moving.

“I’m going in there.”

“Jake you are not- Jake- JAKE!”

_+_

She ran after him, of course. He was her partner - she had to be his backup. Backup that could hopefully talk him out of this entirely once she caught up, but still backup. Most of all, though, he was her partner - running gun-first into what was clearly unnecessary danger. She’d be an absolute fool not to go after him.

Even if it did go against the manual.

(She realised a lot of things she was willing to do for Jake went against any manual she’d ever read, but maybe it was too early in their relationship to admit that, even to herself.)

But she has no time to talk some sense into him, or scold him, or really say anything when she rounds the corner of the hallway he’d stopped behind with his gun up, freezing in point for the scenery before her - the ‘tall man’ Carols had described splayed on the floor, with about 70% of his brain blown all over the concrete behind him, the ‘stout Italian’ standing over him with Carol’s gun still smoking from the shot.

Jake’s hands in her periphery, holding his own gun straight up at him. Jake’s hands, shaking.

“Drop the gun, Riva.”

Gianluigi Riva, Amy’s brain supplies even in her frozen state. The other one of the two men that walked free after the Ianucci wedding. The one that very definitely could’ve been arrested for various things after, if he hadn’t been so perfectly elusive.

The one Jake had a picture of stuck to his computer screen at work ever since he came back from that undercover mission.

“Jakey the Jew.” she hears through her freeze in the most hateful, spite-dripping voice she’s ever heard. “Or should that be Detective Peralta, I guess?”

“Drop. The gun. Riva.” Jake repeats through gritted teeth.

“Wouldn’t you love that.”

She thinks she sees Jake’s finger actually move for the trigger, but that is before Riva’s attention turns towards her , and suddenly all bets are off. And Riva’s gun is on her.

“That your little bitch, Jakey? The one you whined about?”

“I’m not playing this game. Drop your gun.”

“What a shame if she got caught in the crossfires on your mission, huh?”

“One last warning-”

“Get fucked, pig.”

And then, one strong, big hand against her shoulder, pushing her backwards with force before another gunshot sound.

Another hand, pulling her up, pulling her forward, running, dodging, running, slamming into a wall as they round corners, more gunshots behind them, and shouting, curses, screaming, rage-

They dodge around several more corners as the noises trail further and further behind them, Jake running at a speed she didn’t think he was capable of and pulling her along. There’s a barely visible door she notices before him, and uses her full body weight to drag him towards, opening and slamming it closed behind them so quickly she can only hope that even if Riva had followed them close enough, he didn’t see it.

And then complete silence falls over them in the dark room they find themselves in, safe for their ragged, exhausted breathing. Amy can feel her pulse pumping in her ears, even as Jake nexts to her drops against the wall and slides down, not fully hitting the ground with a quiet ‘Fuck’.

“What the hell, Jake?!” Is the first thing she manages to whisper-shout through the heaving, and maybe she should pick her words more carefully right now.

“Riva.”

“Yeah, I know, but-”

“Ianucci’s torture guy.”

And that certainly shuts up whatever angry rant has been bubbling up in Amy’s throat about following procedure and not running in eyes closed, head first like he always does.

She knows barely anything about Jake’s time undercover, safe for the ‘funny’ stories he’s been willing to share at Shaw’s. Even now, as his girlfriend, there seem to be walls around the subject - for obvious reasons, if she thinks about the many little scars and marks on his skin that her fingers keep trailing over. Some that make his breath hitch when she kisses them. Some that he pulls her hands away from almost on instinct.

“Fuck.” She simply echoes him, and he nods before pressing the back of his hand to his lips, trying to keep from being sick - whether from the unbelievable running they’ve just gone through that is still wrecking his body, or from memories that Riva dredged up, she’s not sure.

She turns to inspect the too dark room instead, trying to gather her bearings as best as she can before her brain can switch into panic mode completely. It’s not as small as other places she’s had to hide in, luckily, so her claustrophobia is yet to rear its ugly head, but it’s not exactly spacious either. She can’t make out much that could be of help, a few shelves that have seen better days, an empty barrel or two in the far corner. A lot of darkness. She can’t exactly retrace their steps through the building, but they must have ended up in a half-basement level, the only light coming from a small set of windows a few metres up the wall.

“Okay.” She manages to level her voice to a normal whisper. “Carols and Rogers must have heard the shots. They definitely called in more back up. All we need to do is stay hidden and wait-”

“They don’t know it’s him. They won’t send much backup.”

“They know two detectives went into a building with an armed criminal and did not come out yet so yes, they will send heavy backup, Jake.”

His voice is still muffled through his hand near his mouth, strained but for something else.

“He was gonna shoot you.”

She doesn’t have much to say to that.

“Because of me.”

She has even less to say to that. Yes, is pretty much all she can think of. Yes, because you ran into a building without backup, without a vest on, without so much as a plan. Yes, because you didn’t think . But given the wavering of his voice, the way he’s still breathing like they’d only just stopped running, the way she could see his hands shake even in the darkness, she’s not going to say any of that, ever. There’s something else on her mind, anyway.

“He recognised me?” She asks as she sinks down to Jake’s level, squat-sitting against the wall. The one you whined about is stuck in her memory, but Jake only shakes his head before dropping it to stare at the ground.

“They- the guys- they kept pushing me to gossip and trash talk about the ‘pigs I left behind’.” He coughs as quietly as he can, and she tenses for a moment trying to listen to any sounds from outside of their room. “I tried with the others but- I just couldn’t say anything bad about you.”

Her hand finds its way into his hair, sweat-sticky on his forehead.

“They picked up on that and kept teasing me about it. Then they started finding hook-ups for me to ‘forget’. I think I got too drunk once and told them to fuck off, or something.”

She scratches over his scalp down to his ear, rubs a soothing circle into his cheek as best as she can.

“I know it was stupid and I put you in danger and we weren’t even- you were with Teddy and I-”

“Hey.” She drops her hand to his upper arm and squeezes for support, wants to say something calming before he spirals, but is met with a quiet hiss and - a wet patch on her hand, the feeling of ripped fabric and skin and blood.

“You were hit?!” She gasps before easing the pressure she was unwittingly putting on his wound.

“Grazed. It’s okay.”

“It’s not, it-it’s-” Her fingers are shaking as she pats around her suit to find something to wrap around his arm to stop the bleeding and comes up empty until she shrugs off her jacket. She won’t ever get the stain out of the light fabric, she thinks for a second as she bandages his arm as best as she can in the dark, but who cares?

Who the fuck cares when he got hit by a bullet that was aimed at her? When he pushed her out of harm's way instead of following protocol and shooting the attacker instead? He could’ve had Riva down and out for the count, he was in perfect position for it, and even gave him ample warning. But he might’ve had her on the ground as well if that’s the option he’d picked.

Something tells her that simply because of that, it was never even an option for him.

Their eyes meet, close enough in the dark to really see each other, and they’re swimming with emotions before Jake’s flinch shut as a distant “Jakeeey~" echoes through the halls they’ve just run through.

“We need to get out of here. We- you don’t know what he’s willing- if he finds us-” Jake is up, all of a sudden, the motion making her sway and almost topple over. He’s scanning the room just like she did earlier when she stands up next to him, and his eyes lock onto the barrels and windows.

“I can give you a leg up high enough to reach the window if we climb that barrel. You’ll fit through it, and get over to Rogers and Carols and see if the backup-”

“And you stay here?” She finally scolds him with a look. “With the man who wants you dead? The one you called ‘torture guy’?”

He’s quiet at that, but she can see on his face that the decision was clearly made in his mind.

“You got any better ideas?”

“Like I said, we wait until backup gets here.”

Almost as if to prove the faults in her argument, another “Jakey boy! Get out here and face me, bitch!” drifts in from outside - closer than it was before, and Jake throws her the most panicked ‘told you’ look she’s ever seen.

“We’re still two against one. He’s emptied half his magazine earlier. If we corner him right, we get the element of surprise in the room as well-” her mind continues to work as her eyes settle on the door- “hug the wall next to the door, and we can disarm him or get him down before he’s even barged in completely.”

Jake seems to want to protest, even as the logical part of his brain is clearly telling him she’s right and that this is the best way to go at it, so he ends up simply nodding before gripping his gun and leaning against the wall next to the door, Amy following him suit on the other side.

They’re staring at each other while the noises outside the room seem to creep ever closer. ‘Come out and plaaay~' almost makes her snort for its ridiculousness if it wasn’t so terrifying, thinking about the things Jake has probably seen this man ‘play’ with.

She tries to calm her mind by focusing on him, instead. On his face in the hazy dark, the curls on his forehead she managed to jostle free earlier, the tense line of his neck, the glare of her beige suit jacket tied around his arm. The way he looks at her, even amidst the panic, amidst all the fear and worry stuck in the room with them.

He pushed her out of Riva’s aim. He dragged her close to him as he ran. He ignored his own injury, offering to lift her up to an escape he wouldn’t be able to make after her. It’s… it’s a lot. After barely two months of a relationship, it’s a lot to take in.

Except she knows - she knows deep down that he would’ve done all of this three months ago, too. Six months ago. Maybe years ago, even.

“We need to switch.” He whispers suddenly, pulling her out of her deep thoughts, and is already stepping over to her before she can ask. She feels his hand on her shoulder, nudging her back to where he’d been standing, and squeezing three times while doing so.

Sometimes she almost hates that squeeze. She knows what it means now, even though they haven’t said those three little words his squeezes represent yet, but in situations like these - it never forebodes anything good.

And she realises what it really means now, too, as she sees the hinges on the door on her side. The door that opens inwards. The door that will completely hide her behind it once it opens, and leave Jake alone in -

It opens before she can say anything, and then things happen way too quickly - there’s noise and shouting and she thinks she hears Jake’s “Down on the floor!” in between Riva’s angry screams and then there’s another gunshot. A single gunshot, and all she can see is the back of the door in front of her, frozen to the spot, unable to run around it and see if- see who-

“Fuck, Amy. Help me pin this fucker!” She hears the next moment and breathes out in relief. Her feet find themselves again as she runs over to where Jake is kneeling on Riva’s back, struggling to hold him down even with the gunshot wound in his thigh. He’s shouting obscenities, screaming and thrashing around, and Amy is so, so tempted to embed a bullet into his other thigh to get him quiet, but she joins Jake’s knees on his back instead, yanks his arms back in a way Jake couldn’t with his injury, and they click the handcuffs around him together at the very moment a team of heavily suited up officers rounds the corner.

_+_

He’s sitting on an uncomfortable chair in a brightly lit, wide open room of the hospital, squeezing her hand that is holding onto him while his other arm is propped up on a table and getting stitched up.

The EMTs that were taking care of Rogers checked him, too, but the injury wasn’t bad enough to warrant a ride in their ambulance with him, so Amy took over the keys for his Mustang and drove him after briefing the backup team and handing over a still cussing Riva to be brought into Holding. She put in a whispered request to be the one questioning him - with Rosa as secondary - to Terry, who was part of the backup team, and only gave her a quick look and then a nod after Riva screamed something about how he ‘shoulda offed that snitch when he had a chance’, watching Jake several feet away from them twitch and turn towards the EMT handling his arm.

The young doctor stitching him up seems suitably impressed by both his badge and his injury, remarking something about ‘bravery’ and ‘sacrifice’ he would usually eat up with glee, but all he’s doing is smile at Amy while his fingers intertwine with hers, squeeze only once before his thumb rubs circles across her hand.

They’re left alone soon enough while the doctor gets his painkillers subscription, and Jake takes the chance to lift Amy’s hand up to his lips and kiss it.

“Jake…” she begins when their hands drop again, and she can tell he’s getting ready for a lecture. “You risked too much back there.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone in without backup, and made a lot of wrong decisions, and-”

“No.” She interrupts him, much to his surprise. “I mean, yes, obviously, and I’m glad you see that now, but that’s not what I meant.”

She sighs, deeply, and stares at their still interlocked hands.

“You risked too much for me.”

“Not possible.”

“Jake!” Her eyes dart up again, want to level him with an angry stare, but can’t help but soften when met with the absolute shine in his. “Jake, you got hit because you pushed me, you wanted to bail me out of the room to leave you with even less backup, and then you manoeuvred me into a dead corner to face a Mafioso on your own-”

“Yeah.”

“Why?!”

“Because it would’ve kept you safe.”

“That’s not how police work is supposed to-”

“Am I not supposed to keep my partner safe?”

“Not when it puts you in danger instead!”

“Hm.” He hums and looks at the bandaged up stitches on his arm. “Gotta rework the manual for that, then. Because frankly I don’t give a shit about me when it means helping you.”

“But I do.” She almost whispers, but he still looks back at her immediately, balks at the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “I give a shit about you. You think I want to see you shot on the ground? You think I want to run away from a building when I know you’re stuck in there? You think I want to stand behind a door and only hear you get- get-” She bites back a sob and fixes him with a dedicated stare instead, a look on her face that makes his heart clench and dance at the same time. “We’re a team, Jake. In the field and off it. You can’t- you can’t play the hero and leave me behind.”

Her mind jumps back to an empty parking lot, the cold wind rushing over her flushed cheeks as she watches him walk away with his little box of things in his arms, not even waiting for her answer. Maybe not even hoping for one.

He sighs and nods back in the present, squeezes her hand again, twice.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles, and she squeezes back once.

She knows they’ll probably be talking about this again in the future. She knows it’ll come up repeatedly until he learns. But she also knows, with a certainty that should maybe scare her after their short time together, why it’ll happen again in the future - because he’ll still be by her side no matter the situation. Because she’ll still be the one thing on his mind, no matter how panicked he is. Because they’ll go through it all together, as a team. As partners.

And deep down, she knows with an equal certainty that if the roles were reversed - she would probably rework the manual herself in her mind, to keep him safe. Would do anything and everything she could, no matter how many protocols it went against, to help him, save him, protect him, make him feel safe and secure.

Right now, she’s glad all it takes for that is a little lean into his direction to kiss him before the doctor comes back, and squeeze his hand three times before letting go and holding onto his face instead to deepen the kiss.

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #my writing #ficlet #fic

24 notes · View notes

queenof-literature · 4 years

Note

Could you maybe do a story when Wild experiences a flashback near the other links?

Thank you for the request @dawn-wild-star !!!

To those who saw my WIP game tag, this isn’t the same fic I’m sorry this one just got done first.

This turned out with more Time & Twilight & Wild fluff and angst than I intended.

TW: Panic Attack

Blank

Time watched the various groups of Links from his place leaning against a tree. He was often the one who would need to keep the group moving, not that it was hard with no many antsy Spirits of Courage, but they had some leeway to camp early today. Time continued to play soft melodies through the ocarina at his lips. He couldn’t name the tune, he simply played whatever came to mind.

The Links had arrived somewhere on the surface of Sky's Hyrule, the young man hoped to make it to Skyloft in two days to see his Zelda once again. Time truly hoped whatever force opened the portals let Sky have time at his home with his Zelda and his friends. Hylia knows the young man deserves it, all the boys do.

Four, Hyrule, Sky and Wind were all sparring before it turned into an odd game of tag. Time didn’t really understand the rules, but he didn’t think the boys playing did either.

Twilight and Warriors were down by a small stream the group had found, washing Epona and chatting idly.

Legend sat near Wild as the younger flipped the variety of vegetables and rice within the simple pot on the campfire. Wild said he couldn’t do much without a larger pot found in his Hyrule, but even what he could do in his portable pot was always amazing.

Time didn’t know what the two were talking about, choosing not to eavesdrop, but the two looked content to just chat while Wild cooked. Time had to admit, he was always excited for dinner now that Wild was around. Not only was the hero amazing at cooking, it was a hobby he enjoyed as well.

Time took the lull in action to simply relax and observe the world around him.

“Uhhh… Time?” Legend called out, and it wasn’t the boy’s calling out that worried him, it was the hesitance hidden in his voice. “I think that… thing is happening again.” He gestured to Wild. Looking closer Time noticed Wild was staring at something. Glancing over, he could see the Master Sword, leaned carefully against a mossy rock.

“Wild?” Legend questioned. “You gonna keep staring and burn our food?” Legend hesitantly reached up to Wild’s shoulder and shook gently. Time quickly walked over to check on their cook, expecting Wild to flinch out of zoning out as he often did with a touch or shake.

For a moment, nothing happened. Time and Legend were so focused on the lack of response, they didn’t notice Wild’s right hand slip, right onto the edge of the pot. It only took a few seconds for them to notice, but those few seconds allowed for the side of Wild’s hand to smoulder and burn.

“Shit!” Legend cursed, swiftly pulling Wild’s hand away from the fire. The burn was already starting to blister. “I… I didn’t know moving him would…” Legend trailed off in an unusual sign of surprise and guilt.

“It’s not your fault.” Time assured as he gently took Wild’s hand. The boy hadn’t even flinched, still staring off. Time couldn’t see a hint of life in the boy’s eyes. Time didn’t want to admit how hard it was looking at Wild’s normally expressive face, now completely blank. “I didn’t notice either.” Time glanced up from Wild’s hurt hand, and into Legend’s icy eyes, not liking the guilt he saw swirling in them. “Legend, I’m serious.” Time stared into Legend’s eyes.

“Stop looking at me and take care of him.” Legend scoffed, and Time sighed.

“Pup!” Time called loud enough for the young man to hear from the creek. Carefully Time dragged Wild away slightly from the fire, making sure no stray limbs touched the flames.

Time heard rustling and fast approaching steps.

“Time?” Twilight called out, rushing over at Time’s urgent tone. Time assumed Warriors would bring back Epona. Time simply gestured to Wild, Twilight knew more about this. “Cub?” Twilight asked, kneeling down besides him. At first he thought the boy was upset or hurt, but this reaction, or lack thereof, spoke otherwise. “How long has he not been responding?” Twilight asked Time, eyes falling on Wild’s injured hand. “And did he burn himself?” Legend looked away at this.

“It was an accident.” Time replied, refusing to blame Legend when he had no malintent. “He hasn’t been responding for a few minutes now.”

“Is everything okay?” Four called as his group rushed in from the woods.

“Everything is fine.” Time called, loud enough for Warriors to hear down near the creek. “We think Wild is having another memory.” Time ended with a small question, receiving a nod from Twilight. The four Links all crowded around Wild to see for themselves.

“Don’t crowd him too much.” Twilight warned. “He could wake up anytime, and we don’t want him panicking.” The others backed up slightly, murmuring small apologies.

“What happened to his hand?” Hyrule asked, noticing the bright red skin that Time was cradling in his hands.

“It got burned, I was just about to ask you boys to get bandages and water.” Time gently held out Wild’s hand for Hyrule to look at.

“I got it!” Sky called as he ran off to their pile of supplies. Hyrule began healing Wild’s hand without any prompting, allowing a small amount of Life to filter itself into Wild. Twilight heard more rustling, and turned to see Warriors and a newly rinsed Epona coming up from the creek.

“Thanks for finishing washing her.” Twilight called as Warriors hitched Epona, giving her plenty of leeway to move around.

“No problem. What’s going on?” He asked the group gathered around their cook.

“Memory.” Legend grunted out.

“Rice is burning.” Warriors called out. As worried as he was for Wild, Warriors felt it his job to make sure everything else was alright so the others could tend to him. Carefully removing the rice from the fire, Warriors scrunched his nose. “There’s no saving that.” The captain said as he set the rice aside to cool.

“Wild’s gonna be pissed.” Wind joked, looking worriedly at Wild.

“He’ll be okay, we just need to treat the burn.” Twilight assured, noticing Warriors shift at the mention of a burn. Just then, Sky returned with the requested supplies, handing them to Time. Time opened the container of water, preparing to pour it and clean Wild’s burn.

“Heat up the water first.” Warriors snatched up the container, bringing it over to the fire.

“Won’t that hurt?” Wind tilted his head.

“It’ll take the sting out.” Warriors explained. “I won’t boil it or anything. Trust me, I’ve got plenty of burns.” Warriors held up his arm with his Volga burn scar and winked. The others looked at Hyrule.

“It’s not open or extreme, so we should be fine.” Hyrule shrugged, trusting the captain's knowledge.

“Try to hurry, I don’t really want him to snap out of it at the same time we’re pouring hot water on him.” Twilight spoke while placing his hand on Wild’s other shoulder.

“Do we know how long this will last?” Four asked Twilight, who shook his head.

“No, it could last from a few minutes to a few hours. I just hope it’s a pleasant one.” Twilight murmured that last part mostly to himself, but the others had heard. It set the group on edge that they truly had no idea what was going through Wild’s head, no matter what, his face remained blank.

Hyrule finished healing Wild’s hand as much as he could and put one finger under Wild’s nose.

“His breathing is completely normal.” Hyrule marveled, expecting some sort of stutter, or quickness, any sort of irregularity. But his breathing suggested he was merely asleep.

“The best way to describe it is he’s dreaming.” Twilight suggested, not quite sure how to explain what Wild was going through.

“More like a coma sitting up.” Hyrule mused.

“So… he can’t feel anything?” Legend asked, and Twilight noticed the careful hope in his voice.

“He’ll feel it when he wakes up.” Twilight looked down at Wild’s burn. “Which is why I want to hurry and treat it.

“Calm down cowboy, it’s almost hot enough.” Warriors rolled his eyes from where he was heating up the container of water by the fire. Although he too hoped Wild wouldn’t ‘wake up’ before they finished treating his burns.

Whatever Wild was going through, it scared Warriors, not that he would say it out loud. There was no reason to panic the others. He had seen his soldiers, his brothers in arms, have flashbacks similar to these, but they never lasted this long. They also had some sort of trigger, something that brought back memories. Sometimes they were loud noises, sometimes they were the sight of blood or a wound, sometimes a yell or a panicked order, but they always showed it. Their breath would quicken, they would panic, something. They could also feel what was going on around them to some extent. Wild though, Wild was just… gone. What triggered whatever Wild was going through? It was as if he wasn’t in his body. Perhaps he wasn’t.

Warriors lifted the bottle from the fire, feeling the side. Perfect. Hot, but not scalding.

“It’s ready.” Warriors called lowly, turning around to the group loosely surrounding Wild. “Can I see his hand?” Warriors asked Hyrule, who still held Wild’s partially healed burn. Hyrule nodded and gently passed it over.

“This will hurt.” Warriors looked over to Twilight, silently asking permission to continue. Warriors knew that in reality, he probably didn’t have to ask Twilight’s permission to do what would make WIld feel better in the long run, but it felt right. Especially when Twilight knew far more about the state Wild was in than the rest of them. Twilight nodded at him.

Carefully, Warriors poured a small amount of water on the burn. Really it would be better to do it all at once and get it over with, but he had to check. Could Wild even feel it? His thoughts were confirmed when Wild didn’t even twitch.

“Damn he’s really out of it.” Warriors mumbled, continuing to pour the hot water. The stunned silence he was met with confirmed his statement. After the water was poured, Sky handed him a cloth to dry it. Warriors gently padded the burn, just because Wild couldn’t feel it didn’t mean Warriors was going to be careless. Besides, what if he could feel it and he just couldn’t express it? Warriors steered his mind away from that.

“Bandage?” Warriors reached a hand out. Before Sky could place the bandage in his hand, Legend stopped him.

“Here.” Legend took the bandage, taking a potion out of his smaller bag. He poured a small amount of potion onto the bandage before handing it to Warriors, who nodded in thanks.

“There.” Warriors said as he finished carefully bandaging Wild’s hand. “It’ll be good as new in no time.”

“What do… What do we do now?” Wind glanced at Wild’s expressionless face. He looked so closed off, and yet so open at the same time. Usually the group would be thankful at Wild not hiding his expressions behind a hood or a placed emotion, but this was different. This was just wrong.

“We wait.” Twilight sighed. The rest of the Links deflated, none of them enjoying the idea of not doing anything to help. “But we should probably move him.” Twilight said, glancing towards the fire.

“Is that a good idea?” Four questioned, and Twilight nodded.

“I’ve gotten him to sit down before and it was alright.” Twilight stated, easily bending down and scooping up Wild. Still there was no reaction from the prone figure, still head rolling onto Twilight’s shoulder.

“He’d kill you if he knew you did that.” Warriors smirked.

“That’s why no one’s going to tell him.” Twilight threatened with a glare. He walked over to a log further from the fire. This really was the perfect camping place, logs spread everywhere and carefully placed trees.

Twilight slowly knelt down and leaned Wild against the log, ignoring the shuffling Links in the background who didn’t know what to do with themselves. To be honest, Twilight was grateful to have something to do for the time being. After adjusting Wild to stay against the log, Twilight adjusted the boy’s limbs, straightening his legs slightly so he wouldn’t be sore later. He had no idea how long this would last, but he had a feeling they would be in it for the long haul. He felt a presence behind him, glancing up he saw it was Time.

“Is there anything else we can do?” Time asked softly, trying not to look into Wild’s empty eyes. Twilight shook his head sadly.

“Not that I know of. Just be here when he comes back.”

“We can do that.” Time clapped his hand on Twilight’s back, sitting on another log a short distance away.

“There’s no saving dinner.” Legend glanced in disgust at the burnt meal.

“We can stick with rations tonight.” Time stated, hearing no complaints. Sure they were all used to great food on the road, but as long as WIld was alright they would go back to rations in an instant.

“He’s… really vulnerable.” Hyrule observed awkwardly, glancing at the prone form of his friend, still not even a twitch as afternoon began to turn to early evening.

“I was thinking that too.” Sky agreed.

“What if a Yiga, or a monster, or something just carried him off while he was like this. In his Hyrule how did he survive this?” Wind asked.

“There’s no point in focusing on what ifs.” Time chided. “He’s here now and that’s what’s important.”

“Well yeah. But what if he wanders off a trail and this happens?” Legend crossed his arms. “And some monster comes by and just gobbles him up-”

“Legend!” Sky interrupted.

“What? I’m not the only one thinking of it.” Legend defended.

“Now is not the time for this conversation.” Twilight spoke up. “Let’s get through this one first, it’s only fair for Wild to be aware of this conversation.”

“Shouldn’t he have been up by now?” Four too glanced at Wild, still not moving a muscle next to Twilight.

“Yeah, but I don’t know what else to do.” Twilight sighed.

“What happens when he comes back?” Warriors asked Twilight.

“He just kinda slowly comes to. He sometimes seems a little tired but that’s all.” Twilight answered all of their questions the best he could, although he himself didn’t know all the answers.

“So he doesn’t… panic?” Warriors asked again, and Twilight wondered what the captain was thinking about.

“Not usually, he sometimes seems sad.” The reason Wild was sad didn’t need to be explained. The others could imagine remembering your life from 100 years ago, a life you would never have again, would be painful. With no more questions the group fell into idle conversation once more. There were no grand stories or competitions or comparisons, just small exchanged words as they waited for Wild to wake up.

About 15 minutes later, their waiting ended.

With a heaving breath, as if escaping from the claws of a monster, Wild awoke.

“Wild? You back with us?” Twilight turned around to meet panicked blue eyes. Wild curled in on himself, bringing his knees up to his chest in self comfort, hands reaching to clutch his hair. His panic obviously overshadowed the pain he would feel in his hand.

“Wild, Link, it’s okay.” Twilight sprung up and placed himself in front of Wild. “Your name is Link, we call you Wild.” Twilight reminded gently. “You’re safe, you’re just sitting near a campfire.” Wild’s breaths began to slow.

“Twi…” Wild’s voice spoke up, rougher than it had been for a long time.

“Yeah Cub. You okay?” Twilight looked into Wild’s panicked eyes, and the answer was apparent.

“I-the M-Master Sword it chose me I-”, the entire group looked on, sadness in their eyes as Wild panicked.

“Cub, just breath for a minute. Don’t think about anything else, just focus on me.” Twilight told the boy gently, slowing down his breathing so Wild could copy. Whatever he had seen, they could sort it out in a minute. Right now he just needed to calm down. Twilight had never seen him so panicked after a memory.

“H-He… I don’t understand…” Wild breathed out heavily.

“Cub, shh, it’s okay.” Twilight leaned closer, carefully placing a hand on Wild’s shoulder, frowning and pulling his hand back when he shrunk away.

“I-I didn’t… w-want it… I don’t know why…” Wild was mostly mumbling to himself at this point, and none of the other Links knew what to do.

“Wild, please just breathe.” Twilight practically begged, glancing around for help no one knew how to give. Wild continued to mumble, hands tightening their grip in his hair despite the bandaging, desperate to ground to one of the realities he was currently between.

“Cub.” Twilight called softly, placing a hand on Wild’s shoulder again, hoping to help ground his protege. Wild tensed once again, but Twilight didn’t let go. “You’re here with me and the other Links. We’re in Sky’s Hyrule on the surface, it’s the evening and we’re sitting and talking.”

“Daytime…” Wild mumbled, confused.

“It was daytime.” Twilight confirmed. “But it’s evening now.” A shaky bandaged hand released strands of hair and gripped Twilight’s hand on his shoulder.

“Real?” Wild murmured, mostly to himself but Twilight answered.

“We’re real. That was just a memory, Cub.” Twilight soothed, scooting to sit beside Wild once again, letting the younger take in his surroundings. Wild looked at all the different Links faces, studying them closely. The rest of the Links tried to wipe their horrified expressions off their faces, Sky going as far as to awkwardly wave when Wild’s eyes met his. Twilight noticed Wild’s confused glance at the bandages on his right hand.

“You got burned, it was an accident. You’ll feel better soon.” Twilight promised. Wild only nodded slightly, putting all his trust in Twilight’s words.

“They took me away. I pulled the sword and-and they didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye.” Wild whispered shakily, eyes still far off, flashes of fighting against knights as they pulled him away. Twilight wrapped his arm fully around Wild, loose as to not trap him. After some silence, Wild latched onto Twilight, throwing one arm across the older’s back, and the other gripping his pelt. Both hands held on desperately, wanting more than anything to anchor himself. Wild felt Twilight’s body wrap around him, the familiar warmth and smell of pine grounding him further.

“Careful of your hand.” Twilight warned softly, but WIld either didn’t hear him or didn’t care.

“Zelda. In a memory she said my father was a knight. Was he there? Why would he let them… There was someone, someone important I never saw again. Why did they take me away?” Wild shivered. Later he would be embarrassed at how thoroughly shaken he was, but right now he was scared and confused and barely knew where he was. His world was crashing down on him and it felt like Twilight was the only one keeping him from tumbling down.

“Keep breathing, Cub. I’m here.” Twilight soothed again, looking up as Time approached carefully, obviously not sure if he should interject.

"Time?" Wild looked up slightly from Twilight's shoulder.

"Yeah Cub, we're all here. You're safe now."

"Why did he let them take me? Do fathers do that?” Wild sounded so lost, and Time froze. He wanted to say he didn’t know, he never had a father. But he saw Malon and Talon, and really him and Talon had grown closer over the years. If Malon was being taken away to a castle to ultimately save the world? Would Talon let them take her? Would he be able to fight off an entire army that would just keep coming? No, but he would try. The truth was, Time didn’t know Wild’s father… but neither did Wild.

“Wild.” Time softly gained the boy’s attention. “What happened to you wasn’t fair and I’m sorry. Even if the world needed saving, they shouldn't have sacrificed the wellbeing of a child to do it. None of it was your fault, and it shouldn't have happened." Wild buried his head into Twilight's neck once more.

"I didn't think I'd really pull it." Wild whispered. "I thought I could try it and go home. I never went home, Twi." Twilight felt his neck grow wet with tears, Wild wasn't outright sobbing, yet his tears ran freely. Twilight doubted he was entirely coherent after a memory like that.

"I'm sorry Wild." Twilight whispered, looking at the other Links, all clearly upset that they had nothing to do to help. Twilight hesitated, before speaking. "You're home now. It's not the same I know but you'll always have a home with us." The other Links nodded determinedly.

"Home…" Wild spoke from his neck.

"Yeah, Cub." Twilight finally felt Wild's grip lessen, he glanced up at Time, looking for confirmation.

"Yeah he's asleep." Time stated.

"He didn't fall asleep. He passed out." Legend pointed out.

"Hopefully he’ll be more aware when he wakes.” Time told the group.

“I knew you all were young when you pulled the sword but…” Twilight trailed off, not knowing what to say.

“We all were too young, no one is denying that.” Warriors spoke softly.

“They just… took him away? Forever?” Sky spoke in disbelief.

“Sounds like it.” Four nodded, eyes dazed and lost in thought.

“It’s too late to change the past.” Time spoke, voice rough and full of regret. “But Twilight is right. We have each other now.” The other Links looked a little comforted, but they still dwelled on what they just saw.

“Will he be like that again when he wakes up again?” Wind asked, sad at the thought of seeing his friend like that once more.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, I’m hoping some time asleep will help his mind reset.” Twilight said as he shifted Wild to be more comfortable for the both of them.

“Should we set up his bed roll?” Warriors offered.

“I don’t think he should wake up alone.” Twilight told him, trying to look down at the boy curled into him. Wild wouldn’t really be waking up alone per say, being surrounded by other heros and all, but Twilight didn’t want him to wake in a panic without Twilight knowing right away.

“I don’t think he’s gonna let go anyways.” Legend smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I know you all probably aren’t tired, but we should decide watches and think about getting to bed soon, or at least settle in.” Time made sure to look pointedly at Twilight.

“If he doesn’t feel up to travel, we shouldn’t make him.” Sky spoke up. WHile he was eager to get to his home, it wasn’t worth it if Wild would be miserable.

“We’ll have to see how he is tomorrow before we make plans.” Time agreed, before turning to Twilight. “You need help getting him settled?” Time offered.

“Nah, I got him.” Twilight told him, attempting to get up. But between Wild’s octorak limbs, the unsteady terrain, and the odd position, he barely got off the ground before plopping back down.

“Uhh maybe a little.”

By the time they got Twilight’s bedroll down, Wild was still clinging to him in his deep slumber.

“He really isn’t gonna let you go.” Four joked with a strained smile.

“When you don’t know what’s real, you look for something to cling to.” Legend spoke with an obvious air of experience, eyes distant.

“I just hope he’s alright.” Sky’s concerned frown hadn’t lifted.

“He will be. Perhaps a bit of misplaced embarrassment and guilt, but we can sort through everything in the morning.” Warriors stated confidently.

With Warriors as the first watch, and the sun long past set, the group settled in. Not many tried to sleep right away, some turned to their quieter hobbies like writing or carving. Many glancing at Wild often to ensure he was still alright. Time helped Twilight and Wild settle into the older’s bedroll.

“Do you need anything, Pup?” Time asked, covering both boys with a blanket and ignoring Twilight’s protests to ‘stop babying him’.

“I think we’re fine.” Twilight said back.

“I asked if you needed something.” Time squinted his eye.

“I’m okay, Time, really. Just worried.” Twilight replied, more convincing this time around.

“I know, Pup, but if Wild isn;t alone, you aren’t either. This isn’t all on you.” Time looked into Twilight’s eyes, seeing a mess of emotions swirling in his dark blue eyes.

“Thanks, Time.” This round the message got through better, and time was grateful.

“Anytime.” Instead of moving away, Time settled on a nearby log, keeping all the boys clear in his sight.

“Time?” Twilight called.

“Yes, Pup?” Time checked over the two once again.

“The same goes for you.” Twilight told him, referring to their previous conversation. “‘This isn’t all on you.’” Twilight smirked as he threw Time’s words back at him.

“Thanks, Pup.” Time smirked at Twilight’s sass.

He wondered where Twilight got that from.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Time: Wow. I finally have the chance to relax!

The Universe: Lol sike.

I know Wild being taken away doesn’t quite match with BOTW canon/AoC canon, but I thought it was an interesting idea to explore.

I enjoy how this turned out, so this may be a part of my Hero of Wild series one day, but this is pretty far ahead of where that series is right now.

I’m also probably going to have to rearrange my timeline and rewrite some stuff to make sense, but that will come later :)

Also I’m not saying to pour hot water on burns, that's just something my old fashioned cowboy family says, and something a lot of people in ye olden days did. It helps with sunburns and minor burns, not so much major burns.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #wild #warriors #time #legend #four #hyrule #sky #twilight #wind #wild centric #fluff #angst #panic attack #omg I forgot to tag this oh no #QoL Story

80 notes · View notes