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obx-paradiseonearth · 3 years

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The Bet | Rafe Cameron

Hey lovelies, this is my first Rafe Cameron fic and I hope y’all like it! It’s set with him and y/n in university and he’s for sure a bit out of character- no murder in this house he didn’t deserve that shit- but that’s okay because this is fanfiction! Please enjoy loves and let me know what you think!

Description: Rafe Cameron and y/n go to University together and make a bet at the beginning of the year: who can make the other fall in love first. This is the climax of such.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female!Reader

Warnings: SMUT: basic things, oral (female), regular sex, dirty talk (mild?), might be important to note she’s a virgin in this

Word count: 4.9k

Tags: Fluff, Smut, tiny bit of angst at the beginning if you squint super hard

// If heaven and hell had equal say in creating one person, it would be the man with his head between her thighs //

She sighs, her toes burying themselves in the carpet as her arms reach well past her head in a much needed stretch. Her room is dark, the only light coming from her cheap desk lamp. The pounding in her head, for once, isn’t enough to drown out anything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. None of this was supposed to happen, it wasn’t supposed to get this far. It was always just a game, wasn’t it? She runs a shaky hand through her hair, her knees wobbling slightly at the thought. Get it together, y/n.

She pulls the scrunchie from her hair, her muscles coiled tightly, letting it fall around her shoulders wildly. Her skin is burning up under her jumper and she pulls it quickly over her head too, letting it land in a heap at her feet. Slipping her jeans off, and socks too, she reaches up again, only this time to turn the ceiling fan on. It whirls to life quickly and she’s left in nothing but her sticky skin and the black star lace set that he always adored.

Him.

All she can see is his face, and the way his blue eyes would dance up her body if he was here. She can hear the breath he would take. No she can feel it, in her own lungs, swirling cool peppermint in her chest like it’s his own. His touch, light at first, moving slowly downwards, over the hills of her breasts, against the curve of her waist, until finally over-

No.

She doesn't want to think about him anymore. She needs to move, do something other than stand here and feel bad for herself. What would her mother think? And her sister? Actually she knows what they would think. They would say, ‘Y/n what have you done?’ No, actually, just her mom would say that. Her face would scrunch up and her nose would do that crinkle thing it always does when she’s disappointed. Which is a lot. Her sister, though, would be firm. Her sister would say, ‘Pick yourself up y/n. Get it together, he is not going to win this one. You do not let a boy do this to you.’ Her sister would be right, like always.

The problem is she wants to scream. She wants to claw at her throat until all the sounds come pouring out. She wants to rip out her hair and scrub at her skin until she can’t smell anything but iron and fire. Anything but pine and sandalwood and him. She needs the memory of his hands to fade. Fast. But she can still feel his fingers tracing patterns on her back and the urge to scream gets so much stronger. It’s building in the pit of her stomach, the same way it used to, but this time it’s dangerous and angry. It makes an unfamiliar heat run through her veins. Visions of ripping her posters off the wall and smashing her laptop against her desk fill her head. She needs to calm down now.

This time she does move, towards her bed, and sits on the edge, gripping her sheets with all the strength she has left. Something soft brushes her thigh and she glances down to see a brown shirt. Of course it’s here he must have forgotten it. Despite everything she pulls it over her head and curls into a ball. Just as she thought, it smells like the forest.

Sleep comes easier than she thought it would, her eyes fluttering closed in a pine scented sedation. Maybe he’ll come to her in her dreams. At least she can still have that. She lets herself sink a little deeper into her comforter as the pine gets a little stronger.

“So this is just it, yeah?” His voice is as slow as honey in the darkness of her room. Great, now she’s hearing his voice in her head.

She pushes her head against her bed, ready to let the sleep handle this. Except now there are footsteps, and they get louder, like they’re coming towards her. What the hell is going on.

She rolls over in time to watch a blurry Rafe walk into her dorm room. Well, more like storm into her dorm room, in all his open-flannel, black-jean fury. It takes no time at all before she feels her feet touch the shag of her carpet again but this time her toes curl in order to keep her upright.

When his face comes into focus, he’s less than a foot away from her. “What are you doing here?”

Her voice is pure ice but it doesn’t faze him in the slightest. His ocean eyes are black in the darkness. She can feel the heat rolling off him in waves, beckoning her to reach out and touch his burning chest. She has to close her fingers around the hem of the shirt- his shirt- to avoid accidentally doing just that. He’s fuming.

“What the hell was that back there?” His voice is slightly louder than before.

She’s still staring at his chest. “Rafe get out of my room.”

“Y/n, I’m not asking again, what the fuck was that?”

His chest heaves as he takes a breath and her hands itch to reach up and feel his hot skin, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She takes a step back. His being so close is making her head spin in dizzying loops. He only follows though, closing the space between them more than it already is, if that’s even possible.

“You left. After everything I said you just fucking left!” His voice is strong but she doesn't miss the slight crack. It shoots a pain like she’s never felt before through her chest.

She can’t help the harshness in her words. “It was a game, Rafe.”

“We both know it wasn’t, y/n.”

At his words all the air gets sucked out of her lungs.

“You need to go.” It’s no more than a whisper, so quiet she’s not certain she actually said it.

She turns away from him, stumbling to lean against the posts of her bed, attempting to remain upright despite how weak her legs feel. She can hear his labored breaths from behind her and she screws her eyes shut, willing him to just walk away before either of them get even more hurt than they already are. Or at least more than she already is.

But of course, he wouldn’t be Rafe if he gave up that easily.

“Y/n you don’t mean that,” his breath is on the back of her neck and she shivers, trying not to squeeze her thighs together to make it last a little longer, “you can’t resist me and you know it. Just look at what you’re wearing.”

She spins around quickly, a new rage igniting in her stomach and overpowering everything else in its wake. He’s always so damn arrogant. It makes her want to punch him in the face and maybe split one of his full lips.

She throws her arms up in exasperation, not meaning to lift the shirt past her hips. “What the hell do you want from me, Rafe!”

His eyes lower and he sucks in a harsh breath, just the way she had imagined he would earlier. “Fuck.”

“Rafe this was your idea! You won. Isn’t that enough for you?” She pulls the material back down, crossing her arms over her chest.

He continues staring at her legs, greedily taking in every inch of bare skin. The heat between her legs roars to life again. She throws her hair back up, hoping to cool down even slightly. He makes her so damn mad all the time. This was never a good idea. She knew something like this was going to happen but, of course, she had to do it anyway. Stupid y/n.

She turns around again and steps away from him, praying he’ll leave. “Just go please.”

She almost expects it when his hands grab onto her waist but she can’t help the sharp inhale she takes. His hands are life giving, despite everything that’s happened. They could still bring the dead to life again.

“You don’t want that, do you?” His words are warm against her now-revealed neck.

“It was a game. It wasn’t real, Rafe.” She tries to make her words firm but they come out as soft mewls instead.

His nose skims her neck and she knows he can feel her trembling in his grip. “Who are you trying to convince here, y/n, me or yourself?”

He plants a burning kiss against her skin- one she knows he has to bend over significantly to do- as his hands move inward, resting on her abdomen in the dip between her hips. She barely stops the moan from tumbling out of her lips. There’s no way she can respond right now or she’ll be done for. She’s seconds away from caving in.

One of his hands begins sliding slowly towards her chest and it takes everything she has to not throw her head back against him as her breasts swell in anticipation. His other hand, though, is creeping dangerously close to breaking her resolve. His fingers dance over the top of her panties and ignite every inch of skin he touches. Her ears are ringing so loud they drown out her own panting breaths. She’s a complete and utter mess in his arms.

“If you can honestly tell me that this is all a game,” his fingers continue to lower at a tantalizingly slow pace, “then I’ll leave.”

She can’t help but lean further into his chest as his hand gently squeezes her breast and his thumb rolls over her nipple from over his shirt. She can hear her sigh over the ringing in her ears. The whole floor probably hears it. His other hand quickly finds her and he slides a lazy finger over her aching sex. She doesn't need to hear the moan to know it came out.

His voice is honey again, dripping down her spine with every sickly-sweet word. “Fuck, baby, if you can tell me that how wet you are for me right now is just a game then I will leave and you won’t have to see me ever again.”

His words are the final push it takes to give into him.

“Rafe.” His name falls from her lips like a praise.

As soon as he hears her he spins her around, lifting her with an arm under her butt and a hand gripping the back of her neck. His lips crash onto hers feverishly and she tastes peppermint with a hint of cigarettes, letting it consume the last remaining parts of her that want to deny him. Her legs wrap around his waist, warming from the bare skin of his abdomen. She can feel him against her as she tangles her fingers in his hair, pulling lightly at the roots.

“Baby,” he moans into her mouth, sending tingles racing to the pit of her stomach, “it was never a fucking game. You've always been mine.”

He walks her backwards with his mouth latched on her neck, no doubt leaving marks everywhere his tongue traces. He sets her on the edge of her bed, gently pushing her onto her back before shrugging off his flannel and kneeling between her legs on the floor. Even in the faint light she can see his eyes devouring every part of her. He takes his time running his hands up her legs, rubbing small circles wherever he wanders. She props herself up on her elbows, watching him take in all of her. He leans down to kiss the insides of her thighs.

If heaven and hell had equal say in creating one person, it would be the man with his head between her thighs.

“Rafe, please.” she falls back when he moves closer to her covered flesh.

“What do you want me to do baby,” he looks up at her as he places another kiss to the junction of her thigh, “I need you to tell me what you want.”

Another moan slips out when his fingers graze over her panties.

“Y/n, I need to hear you say it.” He sounds like he has all the time in the world. He slips his thumbs into her waistband and pulls ever so slightly.

“Rafe, fuck, I-” his lips press against her hip bone and her mind scrambles to think of any words that will make even the slightest bit of sense together- “kiss me, fuck, please kiss me Rafe!”

He looks up at her through his lashes, his hair falling in his face and a beautiful smirk carved on his lips. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

Before she can process what’s happening he’s pulled the lace fully off her legs and his mouth is over her, his tongue swirling around her sex in agonizingly slow circles. Every nerve in her body sings his praise all at once which is funny considering he’s the one on his knees for her. It takes everything in her to not squeeze her thighs tighter around him if only to make sure he never leaves her. She settles for once again gripping his hair between her fingers.

He slips a finger inside her and curls it, pulling another one of the endless moans from her. She raises her hips, trying to get as close to him as she possibly can. She doesn't think she’ll ever be close enough though. They could be the same person and she would still never be close enough to him. His tongue circles her clit and she almost loses it. She never used to know why they explained it like a ball of fire in the pit of your being- like a mini sun exploding within you- until him.

“Rafe.” His name tumbles from her mouth of its own accord.

His eyes look up to meet her and that’s when the little sun explodes, the most delicious flames consuming her body like they always seem to do when he’s around- only this time a thousand times stronger.

He doesn’t stop sucking on her flesh until she’s panting from the overstimulation- her bones nothing but mush- and pulling him from her thighs and on top of her. His bare shoulders are smooth and powerful as he holds himself over her, her fingers crawling over the taut muscles feverently, his hair falling in his face once again. He looks at her in awe, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed- like it was his greatest pleasure to bathe her in ecstacy. She can’t help but pull his face to hers and press her lips against his. That’s all it takes to start the mini sun forming and twisting inside her again. Her lips move to his neck as her hands trace over his panelled stomach and pop the button of his jeans.

“Fuck, y/n, baby are you sure?” He hisses slightly, sucking in some air as she wraps her hand around him, squeezing lightly.

She starts to nod before stopping herself, the words clawing at her throat, “yes Rafe, I’m sure. I need you.”

She’s ready to beg if she has to, her fingers squeezing again, her cheeks heating when he murmurs her name again. She’s never been one for drugs but the way he says her name? Oh, she’s hopelessly addicted.

He looks at her and for the first time tonight he looks a little unsure of himself. “I don’t want to hurt you, baby.”

Her heart flutters in her chest at his words. “You have to, please. I don’t want anyone else to do it. Only you.”

His eyes flash, his hand moving to grab her jaw. “No one else is ever going to fucking touch you, you hear me?”

She bites back the smile before it takes over her entire face, instead choosing to say the one thing she knows he needs to hear the most right now. Her hands slide over his chest, curling over his strained shoulders and squeezing. She can almost feel her blood running through her veins- thick and hot and determined- as she says it.

“Rafe I love you.”

The room is silent for the first time since he walked through the door. It’s nerve wracking, to say the least. His eyes search hers thoroughly- as if trying to decide whether or not she’s telling the truth. His chest heaves, brushing hers with each labored breath. She can honestly say this is the first time she’s ever seen a shocked expression on his face. It’s quite heartbreaking, to be completely honest.

“What did you say, baby?” His voice is barely a whisper.

“I said I love you, Rafe Cameron.”

He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers, “again.”

Her brows furrow, her heart pounding. Did he not hear her? No, that can’t be right. She hadn’t stuttered, hadn’t fumbled. She was quite clear. Her heart thunders painfully, her chest aching. Does he not want to say it back?

“Baby, please,” he opens his eyes and she gasps, the shine clear even through the darkness, “I need you to say it again. I need, fuck, I don’t know-”

Oh.

Oh no, no, no.

“I love you,” she pushes her hands up his chest and through his hair, tugging him closer to her, a wave of something fierce flooding her body, “I love you, Rafe. I love you so much it hurts.” She presses her lips against his, biting his lip hard before releasing him, her eyes searching his face desperately, “didn’t you hear me earlier? You won! You made me fall in love with you! I am in love with you, Cameron!”

His mouth falls open slightly and, for a moment, all she can hear again is his panting breaths, wild and hot, like an animal finally set free, “Rafe-”

He smashes his mouth against hers, cutting off her words and replacing them with her moan- so loud she’s certain it, too, like his lips, could wake the dead. Maybe in a way her moan does. Maybe it slams through Rafe’s ears and veins and bones and makes him feel alive- makes him feel like he has a purpose, even if it’s just to bring her the greatest pleasure of her life. She can’t be sure but if the way their teeth clash together and his hands rub across her skin- like he’s trying to start a fire with his bare hands- are any indication then she could die a happy woman knowing he’s finally alive.

“I love you.” His tongue slips into her mouth and she groans, the peppermint exploding over her senses again, “I’m in love with you.” His voice is husky- strained from something she knows she wouldn’t be able to understand- and she sighs, her chest welling with an aching longing on he can erase, “have been for way too long.”

She’s breathless, lost in the way he says the words. It’s like he plucked each word from the sky, fished each one from the sea and pressed each together with only his hands. Each word is special. Stars and pearls and diamonds. I’ve been in love with you for way too long. She’ll never ask him for a necklace or a ring- he just ruined her wanting anything material from him- she’ll only ask that he never stops saying he loves her like it’s the only thing that matters.

Hearing him say the words makes her light up, a passion burning through her veins that makes her crave an outlet of sinful proportions. She slips her fingers back into his jeans, this time tugging him free and pumping her fist slightly, her mind going fuzzy from how big he feels in her hands. Will this even fit? She swallows thickly, forcing her mind back to his velvety skin. He’s long and hot, searing into her hand as her thumb rolls over his tip, spreading the moisture and pulling a throaty groan from his lips.

“Fuck, I need you baby,” he mumbles, his hand dragging down her side, his fingers slipping back inside her.

He curls his digits again, twisting them hastily, as if desperate to hear her soft moans again. If that’s his goal then he succeeds indefinitely, her core clenching with the slip of his name from her lips. She squeezes her hand around him, breathless from the feeling of him throbbing between her fingers, mirroring the way her body responds to his ministrations.

“Rafe, please,” she doesn’t know exactly what she’s begging for but she’s compelled by the way he thrusts into the palm of her hand when she says his name, “fuck me. I need you to fuck me.”

Saying the words make her tingle, her skin flushed and yearning. They feel so wrong in her mouth- obscenely so- but she craves the way they make him buck against her, pulling her skin between his teeth and biting. She lifts her legs and pushes her heels against his hips, trying her best to convey how hungry she is to feel completely full- not just with his fingers. Come on, Rafe, please.

“Yeah, you want me to fuck you baby?” His mouth is on her ear now, his voice low but strong. Her belly squeezes at his words, his tone dripping with sweet torture. His thumb flicks over her clit slowly, his eyes watching every little movement she makes. It’s becoming explicitly clear just how long he’s been waiting for this moment. The thought alone makes her moan. “I can’t hear you baby. Should I fuck you right now?”

The coil in her belly tightens further and she moans as he removes his fingers, his hand latching on to her hip. Something tells her this is Rafe Cameron at his most restrained self.

Time for that to change.

“I want you to fuck me, Rafey,” the nickname slips from her without hesitation, her own way of proving she’s ready for him, her pride swelling when he squeezes her tighter, “right now.”

That’s all it takes for him to kick his jeans off, jostling her body closer to him. She groans when he runs his tip over her clit, teasing her entrance with the first true glimpses of electricity, her skin crackling and sparking wherever he meets her. By the time he finally lines himself up she feels like she’s seconds away from combusting. The flames licking at her- just barely contained under the surface of her skin- roar when he pushes in the first two inches.

She gasps, tasting metal in her mouth, “holy shit, Rafe.” He feels like fire inside her, like he’s burning himself into her, her body igniting from the inside out, “too big. You’re too big.”

He chuckles and the sound is like water. No, not like water. She’s pretty sure it is water, pouring over all the parts of her that roar when he pulls out and pushes back in a few more inches; soothing her like the ocean lapping at her body on an especially hot day. It’s a fitting notion; him being her ocean. She could drown in his presence.

“I promise I’ll fit, baby.”

Because you were made for me, she fills the rest in herself.

With a final push- one that makes her wonder if she’s supposed to taste the flames on her tongue- he bottoms out, stalling as she adjusts to him. She swallows a few times, her mouth going dry from fighting her groans of pain. She doesn’t know when her hands found his shoulders but she doesn’t think about it, she just digs her fingers into his skin, tipping her head back and squeezing her eyes shut.

“Rafey,” she whines, her voice hoarse in the sudden silence.

“I know, baby,” he coos back, his lips meeting her jaw and his hand massaging her side.

The ache subsides slowly- the fire fading from inferno to smolder- and she shifts her hips, trying to find a more comfortable position and- oh.

Oh holy shit!

“Oh my god,” she gasps, dragging her hand across his back, sinking her nails into his skin as a wave of white hot pleasure jolts up her spine.

She bucks her hips against his- she has to, it feels like magic- her thighs climbing around him, her ankles crossing behind him. He laughs again, his lips brushing over her neck. He pushes one arm under her back, the other hooking around her knee, pulling her closer to him. She moans when he slides slightly inside her, stretching her in a way that makes her see stars.

“Baby-” she clenches and he hisses- “fuck, I’m taking that as a go ahead,” he murmurs, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back into her heat, “god, you’re so tight baby. So fucking perfect.”

He pulls out again, pushing back in a touch harder. Her toes curl when he sets a steady rhythm, his shaft meeting depths she didn’t know were possible. Her room fills with the sound of his skin slapping against hers and the little moans she can’t contain, emphasized by his own, softer groans. Every time his hips meet hers she feels that ball of fire- the sun she didn’t know existed inside her- grow a fraction. Soon it’s humming, pulsing in the pit of her stomach and begging to explode.

Rafe pushes up on his arm, pulling her hips to stay aligned with him as his eyes devour her, his mouth falling open with a groan. The tiny sun squeezes at his hungry expression, the fire behind his eyes feeding the fire growing steadily within her.

“You look so pretty baby, wrapped around my cock like that,” she moans, the words fuel to her fire. “Do you like my cock, baby?” Her core squeezes and he bites his lip, his hand digging into her hip. “Someone clearly likes hearing what I have to say but can she speak?”

Her cheeks flare with heat but the ball of fire only grows once more, “I love your cock, Rafey. It’s-” she gasps he pulls out before slamming back into her, her eyes widening from the tangible pleasure rolling through her- “it’s so good.”

“That’s better baby. I want this whole building to hear you scream,” he growls out, snapping his hips, “to know you’re mine.” He shifts his thrusts, brushing a spot that makes her gasp, his eyes lighting up dangerously, “got it, baby.”

“Rafe, what, I don’t under-”

“Trust me baby.”

He pulls her leg up his chest, her ankle hanging from his shoulder as he picks up his thrusts. Her eyes widen as he somehow feels deeper, brushing a spot that makes her whine. He slams into her relentlessly, his fingers dancing down her leg until they find her clit, pressing down gently and circling. She moans- louder than all her other moans before- and shivers as the tiny sun pulses, the familiar feeling of ecstasy creeping over her bones again. She digs her heel into his shoulder, biting her lip and twisting her fingers in her sheets.

“Oh fuck,” she gasps, her voice strangled.

“That’s it baby,” Rafe encourages, his movements becoming sloppier, “louder.”

He presses his fingers harder, his hips jutting precisely into her and all of a sudden the mini sun enters supernova, the coil in her belly snapping as her muscles squeeze deliciously, “Rafe!”

He thrusts into her a few more times before tensing, his head thrown back with a choked moan. The sight alone is enough to make her want to do it all again but combined with the feeling of him twitching inside her, the warmth blossoming alongside his release, it’s dangerous- if she wasn’t before, she’s now painfully addicted to Rafe Cameron.

He falls beside her, pulling out with a final, shared hiss. She reaches for him automatically, craving the feeling of his arms around her and his pine tree scent, now marred with the aroma of their actions. Her whole body still buzzes slightly but her limbs are weighed down with sleep, the fatigue wrapping around her bones and tugging. He pulls her against his chest, his hands sliding up and down her back, his fingers pressing into her muscles.

“That feels nice,” she murmurs, her voice sounding far away from her as she tries hard to chase away the blackness nipping at her vision, “I’m so sleepy now.”

He presses his lips against her forehead, laughing lightly, “don’t fight it baby.” His voice is like a lullabye, soft and slow, pushing her closer to the brink of unconsciousness, “you’re about to have the best sleep of your damn life.”

She hums, her eyes now closed and her face pressed against his arm, her fingers curled around his bicep, “love you, Rafey.”

If her eyes were open she would see the way he smiles at her- the way he can’t wipe the grin off his face for fifteen minutes- and she would smile too. Her eyes aren’t open, though, so instead she has to make due with his words.

“I love you, y/n.”

It’s not a bad compromise.

The last thought the flits through her mind before she caves to the sweet call of post sex sleep is one that she tells herself she has to make sure to tell Rafe in the morning. It’s important.

She needs to tell him that she won.

334 notes · View notes

our-heroes-rise · 4 years

Text

light of my life

pairing: todoroki x reader

request: Hiya! I was wondering if I could get headcanons for Shoto and his gn/nonbinary s/o during the training camp attack. Like he finds his s/o injured and fighting/they help out with protecting Bakugou and almost get kidnapped? Also, if it isn’t too much trouble, could his s/o have a photo kinetic quirk? They can control and bend light, glow in the dark, and make solid objects out of light like swords, shields and stuff? Sorry if this is too much. Much love! 💛💛

hero name: vigilante!

warnings: angst + swearing + mentions of suffocation (nothing graphic!)

word count: 2,539

a/n: it’s never too much!!! detailed request are fun cause there’s more to work withhh, hehe. also super cool quirk bro i love it! i have an oc with a similar one! btw, i’ve been watching a lot of criminal minds lately so... well if you watched the show you’ll understand why it has the sort of tone it has lol. edit: this is me reading your request again a little later. YOU WANTED HCS? w e l p i wrote you a whole scenario instead because this idea was just too good lol. i still hope you enjoyed it though!

No one ever truly understands the fragility a life holds until it’s a hair’s breadth away from shattering into a million pieces before their eyes. Until it’s ripped from their grasp and dangled like a treat out in front of them. Strangled from their throats by an overwhelming poisonous fog that swirls like fire’s smoke in the depth of their lungs, greedily absorbing every ounce of oxygen with each inhale.

As humans, who stand at the top of the food chain, we often forget how terribly weak we can be against others of our kind. Each of us wants to believe that if it came down to it, if we were thrown into that last millisecond before life or death, that we would fight until our very last breath. But the ugly truth remains; not all of us have that ability. Not all of us are capable of staring down death as it comes hurtling towards us with our teeth bared and fists curled ready for a brawl.

Some of us are simply built to run and there is nothing we can do to change that.

Unless you are the few who choose to reject that belief. The ones who choose to veer their fleeing in the right direction, towards the impending danger and cries for help. The ones that evil should fear the most because those are the strongest and most resilient fighters of all. They turn their fear into heated, unyielding determination, ready to burn through any threat that stands in their path without hesitation because they will never stop running after the ones they are meant to save.

And yet, life has still never felt frailer than in this slow crawling moment of asphyxiation.

Get up.

Leaves cling to your clammy palms, soil caking the skin beneath your nails, fingers clawing at the ground for purchase, dragging your body across the forest floor towards Jiro’s purple shrouded figure still lying limp on the ground.

Get. Up.

Your vision swims, black creeping in from the corners, eyelids mimicking the weight of boulders.

Get up!

Fighting isn’t an option but running is. You can still reach her. You can still save her.

Your arms tremble horribly with the simple effort of lifting your torso off the ground. You grit your teeth, then pray that what little breath you have stored in your lungs is enough, and will your legs to move.

⊹⊹⊹

Shoto hears a rustling in the shrubs behind him, but the elongated teeth that come hurtling towards him don’t allow him the luxury of glancing over his shoulder to see what it was. A barrier of ice prevents any of the villain’s attacks from landing, though it doesn’t hold long before he’s forced to throw up another one, tightening his grip on the unconscious boy slung across his back. There’s an aggravated growl from Bakugou beside him.

He can’t imagine anything good emerging from the strangely colored fog looming behind them. Best case scenario it’s a forest critter fleeing the chaos, in the worst case it’s another villain coming to heard them closer to danger.

Please be safe. Please.

Your excited smiling face just before he entered the trial of courage runs through his mind like an endless loop, tightening the vice-like grip of anxiety around his heart. You had been behind him and Bakugou with Jiro as your partner. He wishes more than ever now that he had traded places with Jiro. Without knowing exactly how far apart each group was, he could only hope that it was far enough so the fog couldn’t reach you. No matter how unlikely the situation was.

The rustling movement comes again, the blade-tooth villain attacks once more, forcing Shoto and Bakugou back a step before Shoto’s able to protect shield them.

“You hear that too, right, half’n’half?” Shoto sees from the corner of his eye that Bakugou has cast his gaze to the trees bordering each side of them, searching.

“Yeah,” he grunts, shifting the unconscious boy’s weight. “I won’t be able to protect both of us if it’s another villain. And I can’t keep this up forever, his attacks are becoming stronger, more enraged.”

“I never needed your damn protection anyway.” Shoto withholds an eye roll. Leave it to the class hot head to remain stuck in his ways even when his own life is at risk. “If it’s another villain I’ll kill him.”

“They’re after you. You’ll have to be more mindful of your attacks.” Another barrage of ice to counter the villain's attack. “If you start another fire you’ll just -”

“Yeah, yeah I get it Icyhot, get off my fuckin’ -” A sharp intake of breath pulls Shoto’s attention away for just a millisecond, barely enough time to see the alarm flicker across Bakugou’s face, then he’s occupied with the villain again.

“What? What is it?” Shoto demands, words chopped through gritted teeth.

“The fuck happened to you?” Bakugou asks instead to presumably whatever has made its exit from the fog.

Shoto’s mind races with a million possibilities. Could the fog have more side effects than knocking its victims unconscious, like physical mutation? Was it another student or a new villain? The villain who created the fog or a different one? Was it -

“Shoto, look out!”

He was too late. His ice wasn’t fast enough but - but the glimmering white shield of moonlight was. The tooth-blade rattled against the hard exterior with four others before withdrawing for the following attack, which he was ready for this time. His next ice wall would be thick enough to hold the villain off for a few extra seconds, that way he could see, he had to make sure it was -

“Y/n.” His bout of relief lasts less than a second after taking in your ragged appearance. “What happened?”

Jiro is sprawled on top of a stretcher with the same moonlight shimmer of the barrier you had protected him with moments ago. She’s unconscious. You lower the floating slab of light holding your partner to the ground beside you, now well away from the poisonous cloud.

“The. . . The fog it just -” you sway heavily, and Bakugou catches you by the shoulder “- it just came out of nowhere. And then... Jiro she got - she took it the worst so I had to. . .”

You shake your head and Shoto can tell that you’re fighting to keep yourself upright. His heart aches, but he can’t go to you yet, the villain isn’t leaving any time for that.

“It doesn’t matter,” you huff, raking your fingers through your hair, bleary eyes focusing on the pillars of ice behind Shoto. “I think there were others behind us but we can’t count on them to take out the source of the fog so our only option is to keep going forward or find a way around. Either way, we’ll have to fight sooner or later.”

“Y/n, you can barely stand. If you try to fight -”

“I’m fine,” you bite out, eyes snapping to Shoto for the very first time. And it isn’t your tone of voice that snaps his mouth shut, it’s the weight of your stare. The stubborn resolve that burns like an untamed flame, roaring in the face of your exhaustion. “If I stop now there’s no getting back up. I won’t be another piece of dead weight for you guys.”

“What about Jiro?”

“Of course, I’ll protect her too. We’ll be okay.”

Bakugou has stopped paying attention to the two of you in favor of the villain, the sound of ice cracking and giving under the thrust of more bladed attacks registers in the back of Shoto’s mind, and he knows its only a matter of seconds before he’ll be needed again. As much as he wants to, he can’t force you back. He knows you too well, you wouldn’t let him get the next word out.

Shoto levels you with a stern look. “We’re only fighting to get away, not to take the villain out. Understand?”

Your lips pull up in a wide wobbly grin that still manages to flood his chest with warmth, reminding him of every reason why he had fallen for you in the first place.

“Got it.”

⊹⊹⊹

He should have known better than to let you walk in the back with the other two. You should have been at the front of the group with him and the other three injured classmates. But the second Midoriya had asked you to be one of the few to walk with Bakugou you agreed without a second thought. Shoto knew there wasn’t any talking you out of it, not when you were aware of how important your role of protection was. If anything or anyone came at Bakugou one of your light shields would be more than enough to keep the threat at bay until the others were alerted.

Of course, you would have had to hear the threat coming in order to defend against it.

“I really would have left the light wielder alone,” Mr. Compress sighed, the sound of his feigned regret fueling the rage coursing through Shoto’s veins. “But after seeing their abilities in the sports festival, I knew they would just get in the way. And we can’t have any more setbacks, so, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off!”

No. No, no, no! Not them too. NO!

Shoto was the first to take off after Compress, sprinting down the path as fast as his legs would carry him, the others just a step behind him. Every fiber of his being buzzed with adrenaline, with the demand to bring you back to him, to reach the others. He was not giving up until every single one of you was safe back at camp. Especially you.

Especially you.

All he could see was your face. Your kind, beautiful face, smiling wide with adoration as he plants a quick tentative kiss on your cheek on one of the first dates he took you on. The way your nose scrunches cutely when he says something unknowingly funny. The way you look at him when you think he isn’t paying attention, how your eyes roam his face, caressing every feature of his with invisible loving hands. The way your cheeks flushed after the first time he kissed you.

The only time he’s ever kissed you.

Shit, he’s only kissed you one time, and he sure as hell won't let it be the last.

He would not let them take the only piece of solace he’s had since reconnecting with his mother. From the moment he understood his feelings for you he vowed to protect your smile, no matter what. It was what brought him comfort, made him feel loved, wanted, happy. He would be damned if he let them rip you away from him, strip you of that smile that breathes life into everyone else around you.

Sometimes it frightens him how quickly he fell for you. There had been no warnings, no road signs, no heads up, just a cliff that he had stepped right off the edge of. Shoto didn’t even know he was plummeting into an endless pit until he realized that there was a weightless feeling in his stomach every time he saw you, every time you spoke to him, every time you looked in his direction. And by then it was too late. He had no hope of rescue, already too far gone.

Sometimes it frightens him how easily you caught him, worried that he’ll do something to make you let go. To scare you away for good.

But then he remembers moments where you look at him with those eyes that could melt even the coldest heart, hold onto his hand as if the next second he might disappear, and remind him of the reasons you will always love him, no matter the differences that might come between you.

And he can’t help but feel safe.

He won’t lose you.

⊹⊹⊹

“Poor Todoroki Shoto,” the scarred villain whispers just as Shoto’s hand clasps around only one of the marble casings.

His heart sinks at the statement as hits the ground rolling, ignoring his spinning vision to stare down at the marble in his hand, trying to see who he was holding.

Did that bastard mean he had grabbed the wrong one? Were you still -

Before he can finish scrambling to his feet to chase back after the villain, there’s a flash of blinding light and a sudden limp weight in his arms. Blinking away the spots in his vision he quickly makes out your sleeping face.

The relief that floods his chest is selfish, he knows that, but in the moment he can’t bring himself to care as he crushes you to his chest, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. Weak fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt and he looks up in time to catch Bakugou vanish into the portal with the other villains.

He’s torn between a whirlwind of emotions, pushing and pulling him in all directions. Shame, regret, anger, devastation.

“Shoto?”

His gaze drops to you to see you staring up at him through tired, lidded eyes, worried, and confused. Then there’s terror in your moment of clarity, you go shooting upwards, head whipping around.

“No! Bakugou! Tokoyami!” You sob, fingers twisting further into his shirt. “Where are they, Shoto? What happened?! I was trying to - they were - oh god, no, I couldn’t -”

“Tokoyami is here. He’s here.”

“And Bakugou?”

When Shoto can’t bring himself to respond he watches your expression crumble with complete remorse.

Where was that smile he had sworn to protect now?

Shoto curls you back towards his chest, where you release the worst of your sobs, soaking through his shirt while he tries his best to comfort you without words. Because he knows there aren’t any to take away the pain you’re enduring, thinking that you could have done any more than you had. So, he holds you tight, tucks your head under his chin, presses a kiss to your hair.

It’s less than a minute later when your sobs subside and he realizes that you’ve likely fainted again. The pros arrive a few minutes after, followed by the police and paramedics, who usher you into an ambulance along with the other injured students. On the ride to the hospital, you drift in and out of consciousness, each time squeezing the hand he has wrapped around yours, reassuring him and the paramedics that you’re okay, you’re just tired, that it’s just a little hard to breathe.

Even half-alive you still try to keep people calm, make them feel at peace.

Moments before reaching the hospital you come too for one more minute, then turn to him, gaze hazy, but he recognizes that same look from before, from just after you emerged from the poisonous fog.

Voice thick with the painkillers that are pumping through your blood, you whisper to him, “We’re going to get him back, Sho.”

Shoto manages to give you a small smile, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “We will.”

#bnha #mha #bnha todoroki #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #fumikage tokoyami #jirou kyouka #bnha shoji #bnha season 3

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naturepointstheway · 4 years

Text

of joints, sleep paralysis, and australia

It’s fucking 3am and Chloe can’t fucking sleep again. She leans back on her elbows outside, her ashtray with its stubs of joints next to her. It’s the middle of the night, it’s still hot as balls, and she still sees the storm and the remains of Arcadia, ghost-like in the moonlight. In the middle of nowhere, somewhere between ruined Arcadia Bay and Seattle, somewhere between there and somewhere out there, and somewhere between then and future, she still sees the ruined diner like it’s right in front of her. Feels that stab of indignation like she should have died so her mother wouldn’t have died in a fucking diner, but then there’s that twinge of guilt, shame, like she knows she’s blaming Max for her mother’s death, for the ruins of Arcadia Bay. But what else did she know but to blame everyone for everything that went wrong in her life

But Max. Her Max, Max Caulfield, Super Max, Batmax, why-the-fuck-did-you-never-call-for-five-years Max, her otter in her water, ‘you are my number one priority, now Chloe’, Max. She is still here, and she gave up Arcadia Bay for her. Her number one priority.

God, Max. How can one goddamn woman give her so much when she, Chloe Price, school dropout, rebel, punk, didn’t deserve so much of it? Chloe might always have been Captain Bluebeard, but Max was always the captain of her heart and soul.

Chloe drags on her joint, thinks of Max still asleep in the back of the truck, wrapped up in an old blanket dug up from somewhere, her face younger and so much more peaceful in sleep than it had been since that whole godforsaken week. God, the girl was eighteen, what fucked up universe decided to put all of fucking hell on her shoulders? And then forced her to choose between Arcadia Bay and Chloe? Shit. Chloe marvelled that Max hadn’t been driven to booze or getting high to forget all that shit, at least for a while. Yet, when Chloe had offered her a drink one night, Supermax had recoiled with a ‘ugh, yuck.’

Never change, Maxine Caulfield.

Chloe draws her knees up to her chest, squinting up at the stars; she’s sure she sees a planet just above the horizon, unblinking and really bright. Probably Jupiter. She hates that universe, or whoever was up there among the stars, who thought an eighteen year old girl needed to have all that shit put on her shoulders, so that now, when Chloe catches Max’s eye, she sees not an eighteen year old on the verge of adulthood, of pursuing her one passion, but someone twice that age, who has seen more ills and fucked-up shit in life than many in all their lifetimes. What she wouldn’t give for her not to have the bags under her eyes, the faint lines that appear on her forehead, the way she looks at her like someone who has been through a lifetime of trials and tribulations. Fuck. It’s messed up, and what she wouldn’t give to be in Max’s place, just so she didn’t have to go through that.

After a few minutes, Chloe stubs out what remains of her joint in the ashtray, picking it up in her hand as she stands up, walking back to the truck with its still-open driver’s seat. Dumping the ashtray back on the dashboard, she lifts herself into the seat, leaning back as she shuts the door, shutting it louder than she had intended, and she quickly looks over her shoulder to check Max is still sleeping, and flinches to see her with eyes wide open, her mouth working as if in a silent plead.

Jesus.

Chloe turns in her seat, reaches over to shake Max’s shoulder, to draw her from whatever fucked up nightmare she is in now. Even in the faint light, Chloe can tell Max’s body is stiff as a board, unmoving as though paralysed by whatever terror swam through her brain right now. Max has woken up nearly every night at least once, eyes open, but unable to move her body. Sleep paralysis--Chloe’s heard about it before, but never actually seen anyone affected by it, and she’s glad she never experienced it.

‘Max! Max, wake up for God’s sake!’

And, by some miracle, Max’s body jolts sharply, her eyes clenching shut as her hands fly up to cover her face, her breathing loud and ragged in the confines of the truck. Chloe keeps her hand on Max’s shoulder, gripping it tight.

‘Hey, Super Max, I’m here, okay? I’m never leaving you.’

‘I saw him again, Chloe,’ Max rasps, her hands still over her face, ‘Felt his needle.’

Chloe’s other hand balls into a fist against the driver’s seat, her jaw clenching so hard she’s sure she’s going to strain a muscle. She should have killed Mr Jefferson herself. That son of a motherfucker better be burning in hell right now. She never believed in a hell--much less some magical, unicorn-fantasy heaven--but fuck, if hell exists, Mr Jefferson should be burning in its most fiery bowels.

‘He’s never touching you again. Never.’

‘Chloe...’ the hands drop, limp, back down to Max’s blanket. ‘That doesn’t stop...stop him in my dreams.’

‘He’s dead, Max.’

‘It doesn’t stop him okay?!’ Max snaps, and immediately follows it up with a little gasp, a wince of guilt. ‘I’m sorry, Chloe.’

‘Hey, you’re allowed your rage. You can scream and swear and rage in my face, you deserve to after all this fucked up bullshit. You’re fucked up, I’m fucked up, we’re gonna get through this together.’

‘I can’t stop feeling it on my neck. His needle...’ Max whispers, a hand moving to rub her neck, right over where the scab from the syringe in the dark room was still healing. Chloe has kissed that spot on Max’s neck many times, and it sickens her to know that not all the tenderest neck kisses in the world could take away the ghost of that sicko’s needle.

‘You want me to come in the backseat with you?’ Chloe’s used to having spent a night in an awkward position sitting up in the backseat being there for Max after a PTSD-ridden nightmare, and if it means a leg and possibly an arm having gone numb from a cramped position all night, so be it, as long as she was there for Max.

‘Yeah...’ Max’s voice is no more than a sigh, and Chloe immediately kicks the driver’s seat open, jumps out, and opens the backseat door, waiting as Max carefully sits upright, the blanket falling off her shoulders. Max’s bob is a tangled mess, and she looks paler than usual, and Chloe is sure she can see even darker bags under her eyes. Chloe doesn’t bother to ask if she’s alright, because the fuck she is. Dumb question to ask, when she knows full well the answer. And anyway, how the hell could either be ‘alright’ after all the shit that’s happened.

Chloe is no sooner settled in the backseat then Max leans into her body, her head on Chloe’s shoulder, her eyes closed. Chloe takes Max’s hands in hers, interlinks their fingers as she drops a kiss in Max’s hair, letting it linger as the brunette readjusts her legs into a slightly more comfortable position. Her breaths are still shallow, but seems to be calming down already. She lets a minute or so of silence pass as Max rests against her, fingers clinging on to hers, her breath tickling Chloe’s bare arm. Her lips move imperceptibly, as though reciting some silent mantra to try to pull together whatever remained of her mind, shattered forever from everything.

‘Max? How’re you feeling?’

‘Urrgh, fucked up as usual,’ she mumbles against Chloe, ‘but better now you’re here.’

‘Same,’ Chloe concurs, and she knows Max gets what she means. ‘Pretty fucked up.’

There’s a short silence, followed by a sigh from Max.

‘Chloe, do you ever get scared of falling asleep?’

‘All the time.’

‘Really?’ Chloe notes the tone of surprise in Max’s voice.

‘My brain thinks it’s a great idea making me dream of us finding Rachel over and over..’ Chloe shudders, feeling Maxs hands clutch tightly on to hers in response.

‘Shit.’ Max sounds like she might throw up. ‘That’s fucked up.’

‘Or being trapped in Nathan’s creepy drawing. You know the one.’

‘The one we saw in the principal’s office?’

‘That one.’

‘God, Chloe.’

‘Bleeding out on the floor of the bathroom as Nathan stands over me, and--Jesus, Max, I don’t want to start giving you even more nightmares than you already have.’

‘Like what we’ve been through wasn’t already a long endless nightmare?’

‘My nightmares never have you there with me, Max, and you were always there for me during all that shit.’

‘Mine too. That’s how I know I’m awake again, when I see you here.’

‘Ugh, we’re getting mushy again, Max.’

‘Love you too, Chloe.’

‘Stop it, I mean it. You know I hate getting all teary and mushy.’ Chloe feels Max shift around, moving her head back to meet Chloe’s smile with a weak one of her own, though her eyes stay dark and world-weary, many years beyond eighteen.

‘I think the last time I was scared of falling asleep was after we looked into your attic, Chloe, when we were ten and saw that huge spider. Isn’t it messed up that’s what kept me up all night not even ten years ago, and it seems laughable now?’

‘i ridiculed you for it. Shit move of me.’

‘That hurt, but...now it doesn’t seem like such a big deal to lose sleep over. Spiders are nothing compared to...I mean spiders don’t seem so bad after all of this shit.’ A pause. ‘Okay, maybe not the ones in Australia. I refuse to go there.’

‘Damn it, I was just about to suggest Australia as our next big trip.’

Max glares at her, but this only makes her look adorable rather than properly mad. ‘Shut up.’

Chloe can’t resist any longer and leans forward to kiss Max, but a quick one that is no less full of love for it. Even Chloe can tell that neither are in the mood for any frisky times in the back seat of the truck. To be honest, neither had been ever since they’d first driven out of the remains of Arcadia Bay. Shit only knew when they would feel mentally ready for moving on to that stage of their relationship.

‘You’re being chickenshit again, Maxine Caulfield. It’s not that bad over there.’

‘Australia terrifies me. You ever heard about cassowaries?’

‘It’s not that bad.’

‘How would you know, Steve Irwin.’

‘Stick to the big cities like Sydney. Don’t go hitch-hiking into the wilderness. Look before you sit on the loo. Watch out for dropbears in trees, and you’ll survive.’

Max sighs, leans her forehead in to the crook of Chloe’s neck, right where Chloe loves it best. ‘Sydney...a photographer’s dream.’

Never change.

‘Dream of Sydney, okay, and I better be there too.’

‘Chloe, I’m...’

‘Never leaving you,’ both finish the sentence in a whisper.

‘You sure you’re okay, Max?’ Chloe asks, even as drowsiness washes over her. ‘You recovered bloody quick.’

‘Helps when you’re here. I...love you.’

‘Hey, I’m no therapist, but don’t be afraid to scream at me about anything, got it?’

‘Gotcha, Chloe.’

Chloe marvels how fast Max can fall asleep, even after a nightmare, her face relaxing from its aged-beyond-years look, the kind that scares Chloe, all of nineteen years old. She studies Max’s face in sleep, noting how the lines between her eyebrows fades away, and the corners of her lips relax, her breathing deep and regular against Chloe, who herself falls into a slumber just as the bright planet sinks below the horizon, the stars moving overhead in a silent procession of ever-moving time.

#Life is Strange #fanfiction #Chloe Price #Max Caulfield #Pricefield

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turtle-steverogers · 5 years

Note

Ralbert for #20 please?

hi i asked for these requests like a week ago and then ignored them til now so yeah

anyway this sucks, sorry.

warnings: hospitals, implied suicide attempt, scars mentioned

ship: ralbert

word count: idk, a fair amount

20. ...On a scar

“Pull in there.”

Albert frowned, pressing on the brake briefly and putting on his turn signal.

“Into...that train station?” He asked, turning a questioning eye on Race.

“Yes,” Race was staring pointedly out the front windshield, his eyes flickering over the parking lot wildly. His hands were drawn in close to his body, nimble fingers fiddling anxiously with the buttons on his jacket.

Albert pursed his lips, easing the car into the train station and cruising around the empty parking lot for a moment before pulling into a space.

The train station itself was outdoors and held a strange sort of energy, the usually hectic vibe completely absent in the late hours of the night. It was peaceful and if it weren’t for the events of that afternoon, Albert would have turned on some music and enjoyed the atmosphere.

“I owe you an explanation for earlier,” Race was speaking firmly, as if it had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed to talk.

Albert swallowed, glancing at him, but Race’s gaze never met his. He was ashamed.

“If it’s too much…” Albert began.

Race shook his head, “No, I...I should.”

“Okay,” Albert nodded, “Yeah, what happened back there?”

Race took a deep breath, finally looking at him.

That Afternoon

“I think we need to get you to a hospital,” Albert murmured, kneeling in front of Race, who was sitting against a grimy brick wall, heading hanging low between his knees. Blood was dripping smoothly from his nose and a gash on his temple, where glass could still be seen poking from the wound.

His eyes were screwed shut, pained hums escaping his lips every few seconds. Apparently, picking fights with random assholes in bars wasn’t a good idea and might end up with one getting hit rather hard in the temple with a bottle, several times in a row. Race swore he hadn’t blacked out for a couple seconds, because really, he hadn’t, but Albert wasn’t convinced. Just like he wasn’t convinced that Race didn’t have a concussion.

Race’s state turned from barely conscious to wildly alert in a matter of seconds as his head whipped up at Albert’s words, eyes widening for a moment before scrunching up again. Albert’s eyebrows furrowed, Race’s sudden change in demeanor sending a shocked pang through his chest- as if warning bells were ringing resolutely.

“No,” Race slurred, resting his head against the wall, “M’fine, Albie.”

“You’re bleeding from several places and probably concussed, I wouldn’t call that fine,” Albert reasoned, grabbing Race’s forearms and hoisting him up, much to Race’s dismay, “C’mon, there’s one a few blocks away.”

Race struggled in his grip, pulling away clumsily. He opened his eyes completely, fixing Albert with an unsettling look, fear glistening just beneath the surface.

“No, Al, I don’t wanna,” he whined, taking another step back.

Albert frowned, shaking his head, “Race, it’s alright. I’m sure you’re okay, I just wanna- whoa,” Albert stepped forward to steady Race as he swayed, head lolling for a moment, “Okay, yeah, we’re definitely getting you to a hospital now.”

“Don’t need to,” Race said, “Don’t want to.”

“Well, you don’t have a choice,” Albert said, a certain authority taking over his tone.

Race seemed to weak to fight it any further, and Albert held him upright as he hailed a taxi, knowing they were too far from their own car to walk. Besides, the parking garage they’d parked in was in the opposite direction from the hospital.

After a few minutes, a taxi drove up and helped Race in. Race immediately rested his head against Albert’s shoulder and Albert watched as he covered his ears, no doubt to block out painful noise. He was definitely concussed.

When they arrived at the hospital, Albert tapped Race’s chin, reluctantly rousing him. Race blinked his eyes open and he looked around, confused.

“Where’re we?” He asked as Albert unbuckled him, helping him out of the car. Race’s head lifted and he winced when he took in the bright sign at the head of the hospital doors. Immediately, his grip on Albert’s bicep tightened, “No, no, no. I told you I’m fine,” he rushed out, turning to climb back into the taxi, but whimpering when he discovered it was no longer there.

He turned back to Albert, unadulterated panic in his unfocused eyes, “Please, Albie, don’t make me.”

Albert huffed, “Okay, but- shit,” he swooped forward to catch Race when his knees buckled, “Nope, okay. I’m once again convinced that this is strictly necessary.”

They made it as far as the waiting room before Race tried to run for it again, fighting as fiercely as he could against Albert’s hold around him.

“Race, stop,” Albert hissed, wrangling him into one of the crappy chairs and kneeling in front of him, “You need to- Race?”

Race wasn’t looking at him. Instead, his eyes were transfixed intensely on a spot over Albert’s shoulder. He was shaking violently, breaths coming out short and strangled and for a moment, Albert entertained the prospect of calling it a day and taking Race to urgent care in the morning. But one hurried glance at the abrasion on his head cancelled those thoughts.

“No, no, not again. I don’t wanna do this again, not here.” Race was mumbling hysterically to himself, hands finding their way to his forearms. He gripped them tightly, tears making their way down his cheeks as he began to cry.

“Jesus, what’s gotten into you?” Albert mumbled, lifting a hand to brush away some stray tears, but quickly withdrawing it when Race jerked away from him violently.

“Higgins?” Albert cursed to himself when the nurse who had checked them in called them back. Race was in no state to be looked at right now, but he was getting paler by the second. From pain or panic, Albert didn’t know.

Race looked dazedly from the nurse to Albert, shoulders sagging, “M’gonna throw up,” he mumbled, lurching forward.

“Shit,” Albert bit out, turning to look for a trash can and humming thankfully when the nurse, who had been hovering nearby, handed him a plastic bag.

Albert held it in front of Race, wincing when his sick piled into the bag. He retched for a few moments, sobbing uncontrollably as he did so. Albert forced himself to remain neutral, speaking absent-minded comforts to Race as he finished.

“Let’s get him back,” The nurse said, making to help Race up.

Race pulled back, ignoring the nurse and looking at Albert, “Don’t make me,” he gasped, “Please, don’t make me.”

Albert and the nurse exchanged confused glances, a silent question between them.

Albert shrugged, turning back to Race, “Why? Talk me through it, love.”

Race shook his head, “I- no. No, just- don’t.”

Albert sighed, refusing to lose this battle, “It’ll be super quick. In and out, right?”

The nurse nodded, “We just need to make sure there’s no serious damage.”

Race curled further in on himself, “Can we do it out here?” He asked, weakly, “don’t wanna go back.”

The nurse considered for a moment, “Alright.”

Present

“When I was in...tenth grade? Yeah. When I was in tenth grade, I, uh, fuck,” Race looked to the side, clenching his jaw. He open and closed his mouth a few times before swearing and turning his body to face Albert. He kept his eyes down as he tucked one leg underneath him and held out his left arm, palm facing upwards. He seemed to steel himself for a moment before sucking in a breath and slowly inching his shirt up.

Albert’s eyes traveled from Race’s face to his arm and he swallowed, the blood draining from his face. Starting at his wrist and traveling to the middle of Race’s forearm was a long, vertical white line. The skin was raised, and although the scar itself had faded, the outline was stark and jarring against Race’s smooth skin. Oh.

Race heaved in a breath, “It didn’t work, obviously,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Albert watched him intently, waiting for him to continue, “And when it didn’t, of course I had to go to the ER…” he trailed off, lost in thought, “Worst night of my life. Ever. Swore to myself as they stitched me up that I’d never fucking go back.”

“Race I…” Albert felt numb, scared, unsure of what to do. In place of words, he reached down and carefully lifted Race’s arm, pressing his lips to the scar.

Race held his breath as Albert sat back up, “I’m so sorry you went through something like that and I’m sorry that I put you back there today.”

Race seemed as a loss for words, glistening eyes moving from his arm to Albert. Albert’s fingers skimmed down to clasp their hands together tightly.

“Today was scary for you, I know,” he said, gently, “But I promise to keep you safe,” he squeezed their hands together, “and if there’s anything I can keep, it’s my word, right?”

Race nodded, squeezing back, “Right.”

mmm yeah my writing ain’t the best in this lol

i’ll try and get the other requests that i abandoned done soon

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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reformedkingsmanagent · 6 years

Note

angsty tgc!charlie?? maybe an arguement goes very bad? (runaway with your imagination, boo!)

AN: super angsty. Slight bionic arm kink? Perhaps…

Pairing: TGC!Charlie x Reader

Word Count: 1397

Warnings: minor violence?

“You have no spine.”

You saw your words affect him even with his back turned to you. His shoulders tensed and he stopped his pacing. He glanced at you over his shoulder and you could see the anger in his features, but that was it. He was always so closed off, refusing to let you near him, physically and emotionally. “Maybe not,” was his annoyed reply.

You wanted to scream at him. Just react, do anything! He had allowed himself a moment of weakness a few days ago, kissing you senseless and then running off without a word. He had avoided you in the days since. He was toying with your emotions, but you couldn’t figure out why. You had to corner him here in his room in order to get him to acknowledge your existence. It seemed being angry was his permanent state.

“What the hell is your problem?” You asked. His eyes studied you for a moment longer before he looked away and you couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like for him to look at you without some negative emotion hiding just behind his eyes.

“You need to leave,” he said, not turning around this time. He could pretend he didn’t want anything to do with you, but you knew better. You had enough of his wishy-washy behavior.

“No.” You turned your chin up towards him in defiance, keeping your arms crossed over your chest. “You owe me an explanation.”

He whipped around and stalked over to you in less than a second, his footsteps heavy. He got right in your face and you couldn’t help but feel excitement as he cracked just a little, proved he could be impulsive again. “I owe you no such thing. Now get out.”

You weren’t intimidated by him. You laughed at him. “You can’t hide your feelings forever. You’ll turn into an insufferable grouch.” His eyes roamed your face in disbelief. “Maybe you already have.”

“I’ll give you one last chance to leave,” he growled.

“Why can’t you just admit it?” You asked. “You love me.” He clenched his jaw and you saw the muscles in his neck tense up. “Is that really such a bad thing?” He moved to turn around and leave you. It wouldn’t surprise you. You relaxed a little once it was clear you weren’t getting through to him. He surprised you by instead turning back to you, bringing up the bionic arm and closing the cold metal fingers around your throat.

He lifted you off your feet and pressed you into the wall, his fingers tightening. He moved his face closer, watching your eyes as you reached for the hand wrapped around your throat. He wasn’t going to hurt you. You got the feeling that he might have been trying to scare you off. “You provoke me,” he stated, his voice deep and unsteady. You reached up with your legs and wrapped them around his hips. You ignored his visible outrage as you pretty much immediately validated his point. You were more focused on trying to breathe now that your body weight was more evenly distributed. You couldn’t help but think how nice this might be if it were under other circumstances.

He tightened his grip and his hold on you became less alarming and more pleasurable. You were sure he hadn’t intended for his threat to arouse you but you felt your skin flush. He leaned back with a gasp. “Y-you…” he trailed off, unable to organize his thoughts. You couldn’t speak, though you wanted to tell him you needed more. He waited a moment before leaning in again, maybe even a little closer this time, eyes focused on yours. He gave your neck another slight squeeze, and you saw his cheeks turn pink. “Your eyes dilate each time I…” He squeezed you again, and you reacted again. If he kept this up, he’d leave you a mess. “Each time I…” He didn’t finish his sentence but his eyes moved down to the hand on your throat before returning to your face.

He closed the remaining distance between the two of you, to your complete surprise, his lips meeting yours. He leaned into you, his chest forcing you upright against the wall. His free hand gripped your thigh and he hoisted you up a little higher on his waist. You gasped into his mouth as he adjusted his grip on your throat-

He promptly dropped you, his hand leaving your neck. You leaned back against the wall while you caught your breath, coughing a little. You reached up and ran a hand across your reddened throat, missing his touch.

He ran his hands over his head and let out a roar of frustration. “Why do you do this to me?”

“Me? I’m not doing anything! Why can’t you just let yourself have what you obviously want so much?” You asked, your voice strained. “I’ve been here this whole time, Charlie, waiting for you to come to your senses.”

“No.” It was the most disappointing response he could have given. How many times did you have to prove his own feelings to himself? Only for him to outright deny it again and again? You felt you had been incredibly patient with him, but your patience couldn’t last forever.

You approached him and shoved him, both hands pushing hard against his chest. He hardly moved. “You tell me right now that you don’t want me and I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again.”

You watched him for any sign, any signal that might tell you what he was thinking. He was stone cold, his emotions always hidden. You knew he had been through great trauma, but he didn’t seem to want to heal. All you wanted to do was help. That was how it had started, but you fell for him and you could tell he felt something too. This had gone on for too long.

As time passed, you grew more uncertain. You regretted your ultimatum. You weren’t prepared to honor it. You felt sick at the thought of having to leave. You felt sick at the thought that you had so grossly misread him.

“Clearly I’ve been wasting my time.” You felt the tears start to accumulate as you blinked, moving past him to leave the room. You were already making plans, trying to figure out who you could stay with on such short notice without them slapping you with a huge “I told you so.”

“I’m sorry.” You didn’t turn around and ask what he was sorry for. You already knew. He was sorry for you, for your emotional investment in him which had paid off so poorly. Not for closing you out or forcing this argument in the first place. Not for letting you hope for his affection. You didn’t know what he would do without you there constantly looking after him, but if this was his send off, he deserved to be lonely.

You walked out of the room, heading across the hall to your own. You would gather the most essential things and come back for the rest later. You paused for a moment to wipe at your cheeks, angry at yourself for crying in the first place. You packed through your tears, trying to avoid sobbing loudly, trying to hide his effect on you.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated from your doorway. You turned to look at him over your shoulder, more annoyed with his presence than anything else.

“I heard you before.” You wiped at your cheeks and stood, throwing the bag over your shoulder. He didn’t move as you tried to pass through. “Can you move?”

Instead of him moving, he reached out and crushed you against his chest. He pulled the strap off of your shoulder and let the bag land at your feet. “I’m sorry.” He held you tightly despite your efforts to remain frozen, unaffected, a statue in his arms. “I’m just scared.” His voice sounded muted and you finally looked up at him, seeing the anger retake his features. “I’ll lose you just like I’ve lost everyone else. Maybe it’ll be my fault, maybe it’ll be an accident, but either way it’s going to happen.” His confession made your posture soften, made your arms move to wrap around his waist. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I won’t.”

#Charlie hesketh x reader #gif credit to whistler-king #kingsman #writing #charlie hesketh #the golden circle

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