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kawaiismoker42069 · 7 months

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After War Is Over (Primis Richtofen / F! Reader) [WWI AU]

Summary: It's 1917. You are an American medic in the war, crawling through no man's land to save your fellow soldiers. You are captured during you rendezvous by a German field medic -- a dark haired man who's pointing a Mauser at you and bleeding out. You must save him, you have no choice.

You commit treason -- you fall in love with him, even when you don't speak the same language.

Words: Chapter 1 (this post) - 5,604, Full fic (7 chapters) - 25,216

Quick jump to full fic: (Ao3)

Notes: There is a lot of German in the fic, and I do NOT expect you to understand any of it. That's the point, the reader canonically cannot understand German. You aren't expected to translate anything (but you can if you want to, I might have slipped in a few jokes.)

Tactically translated German (Aka Maxis translating) is in bolded sentences.

1917, France

Your gaze peaked over the splintered barrier, eyes flicking back and forth as the screams broke out again from no man’s land. The echo made it difficult to pinpoint, and the cover of darkness didn’t help at all – perhaps it was best for the poor soldier, though.

It has been a few months since you had stepped foot on French soil, and the bright eyes and go-getter attitudes you and your fellow soldiers had was all but washed away in the dreary European conflict. Your forefathers had explained with reverie the honor and glory one can only achieve on a battlefield, but there was no sign of that honor in these trenches. No glory. The realization of that hit when you first climbed down in those trenches and saw the empty eyes of the French and British soldiers whose life this had been for the better part of four years. They were not men, they were walking ghosts, already resigned with their eventual death.

“Medic!” The man cried out again, the anguish growing in his voice.

You glanced behind you, soldiers huddled against the other wall, it was obvious they were tuning out the screams. You studied each man in view, no NCO’s, it was now or never.

You joined as a field medic. Your mother was a nurse back home, so it was only natural you followed in her footsteps. Many a nights under the cloak of darkness did you and a fellow medic crawl out into no man’s land to retrieve soldiers – dog tags if they were already gone. But it was always under the orders of a superior. An officer would judge the frequency of shellings and where they landed, the light levels, and a multitude of other things to determine if a rescue would take place. Tonight was a no-go. The shellings too frequent, the sky too clear. With a trained eye - as all soldiers had, you could see the grounds of no man’s land clearly. It was too dangerous, it was deemed. Do not leave this trench.

With one final glance, you hoisted yourself up, praying there wasn’t an enemy sniper watching. Hushed exclamations came from your fellow soldiers, some asking what the hell you were doing while others congratulated you for signing your life away. To the enemy or higher command, you didn’t know.

The mud caked your uniform immediately as you rolled out of the trench. The bright moonlight caught the puddles that littered the ground, illuminating the deadened ground. Barbed wire was everywhere, as well as bodies from both sides. Hands stuck out of the ground, helmets were common too, sometimes with brain matter still inside. These things had once made you gag, but now you were so desensitized, you barely glossed your eyes over them.

Besides onlooking Jerries, you had to be wary of the ravenous rats that feasted on the skin of corpses. They’ve been known to nibble on living soldiers as well.

Moans of an injured man found your ears again, and with bated breath, you started to crawl towards it, ever so slowly.

You awkwardly inched forward, one arm glued to the medkit to keep the sounds to a minimum. Gunfire rang out every now and again, and with how close it sounded, you prayed it wasn’t aimed at you. You got closer and closer to the voice that groaned and cried, becoming more anxious at the distance from the trench. This last push forward was rough, and you didn’t remember anyone making it this far. You looked back, back at the trench you came from. It was a good 40 yards or so. No soldier could have gotten this far under the conditions they were in, right?

Still, You continued crawling forward, eyes scanning for any and all life, freezing when you finally saw him, the pained soldier in the drab grey uniform

“Fuck.” You whispered to yourself, shuffling back in a panic. It was a Jerry, pale in the face that contrasted his dark black hair. He clutched his abdomen and even in the lowlight, you could see the red that darked his uniform.

With every inch backwards, you prayed he didn’t see you. As a medic, your instincts said to go help the poor soul, but you’ve heard stories of them being ruthless. That they shoot on sight, no matter if you were a medic. It would be a twist of irony if you helped him only to be thanked with a bullet.

Before you could turn around, the hand not clutching his abdomen raised, revealing a pistol that was now aimed in your direction. His eyes snapped towards you.

„Du rennst, Ich schieße, verstanden?” The German whispered harshly. Fuck.

There weren't many ways you could play this with a gun being pointed at you. Crawling away would ensure he had a good shot, and running away would definitely get you spotted by snipers. He’s injured… you could wrestle the gun away and…

That wouldn’t comply with the hippocratic oath, though.

“Don’t shoot! Medic!” You whispered hurriedly. “Medic, medic.” You did your best to point at the Red Cross armband wrapped around your upper arm with a shaky hand.

The Jerry lowered his gun slightly, looking at what you pointed at. He was relieved to see a medic, even one that was an enemy. You got a minute to look at the man as he studied your uniform. Dirt and grime settled in the creases of his face and neck. His black hair was caked in mud, even his thin mustache had flecks sticking the hairs together, and his blue eyes seemed to be lost of colour they once had, at least colour you assumed they had.

The gun was again aimed at you as he started speaking quickly. His voice was like gravel as he spoke in his mother tongue – a tongue you didn’t know. He was angry, maybe scared, whatever emotion it was, it was intense.

You were at a loss, although some battalions were taught basic German in preparation for dealing with a Jerry, whether pleading for their life or interrogating, you weren't a part of those lucky groups. At most you knew Ja and nein. – and, you’ve heard Gesundheit before, but that was it. Even if you did have a shaky grasp at the language, he was still speaking way too fast.

“I- I don’t” you faltered, shaking your head. It was clear he finally understood the language gap, he sighed, slamming his fist into the mud before pointing at his injury.

He wanted you to fix him. You surveyed the man, peering at his injuries as best you could the few feet away you were from him, and shook your head. You grabbed at your collar to get the pin to catch the moonlight. At the right angle, the U.S. lettering showed clear enough for him to see. “I’m American, I can’t help you.”

He didn’t understand your words, but he understood the shaking of your head, and he knew that what you were pointing to was an enemy pin. The message was loud and clear, and a desperate anger erupted in his eyes again. The barrel was once again pointed straight at you as he whispered harshly. You knew he would be yelling if he could, if it didn’t run the risk of enemy fire. It was obvious he wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.

You looked at the man again and sighed, nodding slowly. If you didn’t comply, you would be killed. When he saw your efforts to crawl over to him, he lowered the gun. It was still aimed at you, but now resting on his lap. He gasped with every breath – you wondered how long he had been here writhing in his injuries.

As you got closer to the Jerry, you were able to make out more of him. He wasn’t that young, at least not compared to the fresh enlistees that showed up every couple of weeks, but he wasn’t old, like the higher command. Maybe 30-ish if you’d guess. You had thought all Jerries were blond haired brutes – that’s what the fliers that were handed out showed, but he was anything but. He looked like the moving picture star, John Gilbert.

More importantly though — he had his own Red Cross armband. He was a medic as well . A medic threatening a fellow medic! It became a little more clear why he could have been out here. He might have been on a rescue mission with another medic, but was left behind - what terrible fate if so, why would his comrade do that? Or maybe he was on his own solo mission like you… what a twist of fate.

You undid his belt and untucked his darkening uniform, pulling it and his undershirt up, exposing the wound for you to see. Blood oozed and stained pale skin, with each beat of his heart came more blood, it wasn’t a bullet, that would be cleaner than this. The jagged wounds that littered his midsection were from shrapnel - a far worse fate. Shrapnel meant shredded flesh, metal poisoning the blood, punctures that are hardly visible to the eye. Hell, this man needed a surgeon, not a field medic.

As you surveyed the scene, you took a deep breath, trying to figure out what you could do for him. He lifted the gun again in an effort to speed the process along. You were really starting to get fed up with that damn Luger, or Mauser or what ever the fuck he had. You took a deep breath.

‘ Bleeding, dressing, pain management, evacuation.’

You sat up the best you could while still being hidden from sight. You grabbed your canteen and used what water you had to wash the mud from your hands. You then reached into your coat to pull out the field dressing kit you had. It was a waterproof pouch that a Limey had given you, and a quick pull at the seams was enough to get it open. Inside held dressings, a suture kit, and what you were after currently – an ampoule of Iodine. You struck the capsule against your leg, breaking the glass to access the element. Half went on your hands so you could begin touching the man’s wounds.

With a clean rag, you began wiping away the blood, every swipe caused the man to groan. He stifled it the best he could, paranoid of catching unwanted attention. The rest of the iodine ampoule was poured onto his wounds. What mattered most right now was the bleeding, and getting his heart rate down to slow it. Rummaging through your things, you breathed a sigh or relief once you saw you still had morphine left. There wasn’t any water left in your canteen to mix it, but perhaps he still had his.

“Do you have your canteen?” You asked your captor.

„K-kantine? Ja.” He nodded, recognizing the similar word, grabbing it from where he had stuck it in the mud. It was half full, which was more than enough.

You tore open the powdered morphine, pouring in a little water at a time until it became a paste. You wished you had the supplies to inject him with the medicine, knowing it would work faster and be much stronger…. Maybe he did, though?

“Where is your medkit?” You asked him, after a second, you held up your, pointing to him, then to the bad. “Your medkit, where?”

„Habe meines nicht…habe es im Kreuzfeuer verloren.” He answered, letting his head roll to the side. After you blankly stared at him, he sighed, shaking his head. „Nein.”

Unfortunate. What you had on your person would have to do. You looked up to your patient, who watched with distressed eyes.

“Morphine,” You announced, holding up the packet.

„M- morphium?” He asked, hope filling his tired eyes. You nodded, which made him slump down, relaxing a little knowing that pain relief was soon.

The packet of the morphine was rubbed into the wound, and as you waited for it to work, you retrieved a pair of tweezers from the kit, wiping the area one last time to begin extracting the worst of the shrapnel.

You wished you could take your time, but the severity couldn’t call for it. You unburied the big pieces, and the pieces that were superficial, doing just what you had to do to properly bandage the wound. He still grunted here and there, but it was obvious he was in less pain than before, muttering something into the air. You threw the tweezers back in your bag when it was done and retrieved some gauze, stuffing the bigger wounds with it. They began to stain red, but that was expected. You packed it as best as you could. The only thing left to do was bandage him, so with a roll of bandages you set out to work. You laid the remaining roll of gauze against the wounds as you began to wrap him up. The injured Jerry got the hint and did his best to arch his back for you to pass the bandages under him. At least he was a very cooperative patient.

Soon enough he was bandaged. You encouraged him to drink water. It was important he kept hydrated. You sat there for a few minutes to keep an eye on the wounds, colour returning to his face. He was still pale as hell, but he was significantly less grey.

“I don’t think I need to tell you this, but you need to get to a hospital. You will need a surgeon to remove the rest of the shrapnel and stitch you up.” You explained to the black haired man, packing up your supplies. He just stared, eyes narrowing as he tilted his head to one side. You once again felt stupid that you expected him to understand.

“Hospital.” You said again, this time much slower as if that would cross the language barrier. He shook his head in confusion. “Hospi- fuck. Uh…” You pointed at your red cross again, knowing at least that was universal.

„Krankenhaus? Ja, natürlich werde ich in ein verdammtes Krankenhaus gehen!” He said quickly, almost in an annoyed manner.

He said ‘ja’ so you assumed he knew what was meant. You nodded, grabbing his hand to shake it before turning around, beginning your crawl back to the trench. You did what he asked, he will be fine as long as he gets medical treatment soon, you now know that their medics also do these kinds of rescue rounds, so you were fairly confident his men will find him. He might be uncomfortable, but you had more important things to worry about - the American soldier you crawled out into no man’s land to help, who was still out there in god knows how much pain.

„Nein.” He hissed, grabbing your coat to keep you in place. He all but pulled you back, once again pointing that damn gun.

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion, was he really going to kill you after you saved him? Typical Jerry. They had no respect for the rules of war. Your hands went up in surrender, fear pooling in your stomach as you squeezed your eyes shut. This was it, you’ve lived a good life. Short, but pretty good.

The man sighed loudly, snapping his fingers in front of your eyes to get them open again. He pointed out into the distance, where you knew the enemy trench was. Your heart dropped.

“No.” You shook your head quickly. “No. Nein .” You were captured right now, but that would be your ultimate capture. There would be no hope of escaping an entire platoon. The thought of spending the rest of the war as a P.O.W. made you nauseous. You’ve heard stories of how the Germans treated their prisoners. You’d be lucky if they didn’t just shoot you on sight – you would just be another mouth to feed.

‘If he wanted to be saved so badly, why don’t I take him to our trench? ’ Your fellow doughboys would treat him well as a P.O.W., and he’ll see American Freedom at its finest.

“Krankenhaus? Ja… uh, ours!” You pointed in the direction from whence you came, miming dragging his body that way, and pointing at the Red Cross again.

He motioned with his gun again, saying something that sounded threatening, and again pointing towards his trench, much more aggressively this time. His face was red and scrunched, it was obvious he would shoot you, and perhaps you couldn’t argue, not with a gun pointed at your face. You solemnly nodded, getting closer to the injured man to help pull him across no man’s land.

It was slow and strenuous, pulling the Jerry across the mud that tried to keep him in place. You couldn’t move too fast, with how clear it was that night. Even when you got closer and closer to the German trench you had to be careful. Some new recruits were trigger happy, shooting at anything they saw out here, and with you sporting an entente uniform, the probability of getting gunned down was even higher.

Once the two of you made it to the edge of the trench, the black haired man pulled himself up to peek over, despite the pain and your hurried words of ‘please don’t do that! ’ yelling something in his rough mother tongue to the startled soldiers taken off guard in the trench. They relaxed when they saw his face, some even seemed relieved to see him. Two of them ran up to the side where you and him laid in the mud, grabbing the clothes of the Jerry to pull him into the relative safety of the trench.

One of them froze when his eyes landed upon you, no doubt recognizing that you did not wear drab grey like they did. His eyes ran from the arm band, to your Caduceus and U.S. pins. He staggered back, reaching for his rifle with trembling fingers.

„Halt!” Your captor commanded, eyes fierce as he barked at him. More words were harshly directed at the poor boy, you felt awkward being witness to this reprimand, even when you didn’t understand a word. The soldier who backed off slowly put his rifle down, cautiously returning to where he was, eyes burning into yours as if he was afraid you would bite.

The men pulled the pale man over the side, a few more coming to help when they saw the extent of his injuries. They did their best to be mindful of them. Quickly, he was brought down, and onto a stretcher that was fetched alongside what seemed to be two medics. One soldier stared into your soul with a burning hatred, curling his finger in a ‘ come here ’ motion.

You took a deep breath and carefully crawled down the side as well, shaking ever so slightly from the fact you were completely surrounded by the enemy. The soldiers’ expressions all ranged from shocked, confused, to disgust upon seeing you. You didn’t miss how some gripped their rifles just a little tighter.

The man you saved was getting hauled off, hopefully to a surgeon, by a few soldiers that accompanied the medics. The two that originally pulled over into the trench now stood in front of you, grabbing your arms tight enough to make you yelp. They began pulling you deeper in the trench when the dark haired man yelled yet again, apparently witnessing what was happening. One of the soldiers muttered something under his breath as they released your sore arms, instead gently ushering you forward. They lead you to a vein of the trench that obviously saw less traffic than the main avenues. Down into a bunker, you were pushed into a makeshift holding cell that held no light of its own. The door was slammed once the men had walked out, cloaking you in complete darkness, even darker than the midnight you were in.

You collapsed onto the floor, hyperventilating with your heart jumping into your throat. ‘ This is it. ’ you thought. ‘ I’m going to die here as a prisoner.’

—

You had no idea how long you had been in there. It was too damn dark to check your pocket watch, and the only noise you could hear was the occasional shell and gunfire. The shaking of the ground that accompanied the munitions helped your anxiety none. How disturbingly funny would it be to be killed by your own army’s shells.

You had calmed down in the unknown time frame and found yourself sitting against a wall, swinging the watch from its chain to keep your mind somewhat occupied. You’ve thought of ways to escape, but all was fruitless. You were tired, and cold, and so hungry. How the hell were you going to get out of this alive?

—

The door creaked open, flooding the room in faint light that, compared to the complete darkness you were in, was like a spotlight. You shielded your eyes as you sat up, not having a clue when you drifted off to sleep, but looking behind the silhouette of the man who stood in the doorway, it was still night. He approached you slowly, eyes narrowed and rifle held tightly. Oh god, this was it. Instinctively, you cowered away from him, bringing your hands up to shield your face. The man made a grunt of surprise.

When no bullet rang out, you slowly peeked out from between your fingers, seeing his look of confusion. He slung the Gewehr over his shoulder, grabbing your arm to pull you up. He wasn’t all that gentle with leading you back out in the trench, but it beat the bullet you were sure had your name on it.

You walked deep into the trenches, away from no man’s land until it became level with the ground, no more a trench, but feeding into a camp of sorts. Soldiers bustled about, a mix of running orders and simple leisure walks. Many stared at you when passing, but seemed to know better than to say anything towards you. He led you to a tent, the red crosses making this medic tent unmistakable. What, were you now going to be an enslaved medic? Helping the enemy? Stitching up the Jerries your fellow soldiers had shot? You didn’t want to make that a habit - it was truly a one time thing. He held the flaps open and ushered you inside the moderately busy pop-up hospital.

You were pulled along to a separate wing of the tent, an enclosed private area that only held one bed. You locked eyes with your captor, who laid on the cot bandaged up, looking more alive than when you last saw him. His skin was flushed with colour and he was no longer 50% mud - you wished you could say the same.

Another man was in the room, an older gentleman that sat at a close table. It was littered with maps and correspondence that was quickly covered when the older Jerry noticed you. He stood, giving you a polite nod.

„Du kannst jetzt gehen.” He said, presumingly to the soldier who brought you here, voice much more relaxed. His deep voice was almost comforting like this, when he wasn’t yelling at you– and pressing his pistol against your head. The soldier turned on his heel, leaving you alone with the two men.

“Ah, hallo. You are the medic that was took in, ja?” The older one asked. He approached you, reaching his hand out for you to shake. “It is always nice to see a fellow medic, even one from the other side.” He chuckled

You felt relief, seeing that at least one person here spoke English. You took his hand and shook it enthusiastically. “Yes that’s– that’s me.”

“I’m Ludvig.” He led you to the table, to a chair that sat between where he sat and the black haired man. He picked up a bottle of Whiskey and poured himself and the other jerry a glass. He grabbed a third and held it up to you in a silent question. You shook your head, declining the drink. “I speak English… obviously. Doctor Richtofen would like to converse with you, I will translate. Do you have any questions?” He gave the injured man - Doctor Richtofen - the glass and sat down, giving you his entire attention.

“Yes– I’m… not going to die, am I? I mean, I’m only a medic.” You asked, eyes trailing from Ludvig to Richtofen, not sure who to look at as you spoke. Ludvig turned to Richtofen and translated the question. He seemed taken aback by it, quickly answering while shaking his head.

Ludvig turned back to you. “No, you are not going to die. You saved his life, he is very thankful.”

You let out a shaky breath, laughing as you composed yourself. “Well, he was very eager to wave his pistol around.” You muttered. You didn’t expect Ludvig to translate that but he did, Richtofen looked sheepish at that. He responded.

“He apologizes, he didn’t think you would help him otherwise.”

You sighed, he wasn’t entirely wrong about that. You would have probably done the same thing if you were in his shoes. “Well then, can I leave?”

“No. As a medic you are an asset to the enemy, we cannot allow for your release.”

It was a longshot, and you missed. You nodded as you swallowed the lump in your throat. With the feeling of relief still swimming in your stomach that you won't be executed, and the distraught nature of being a prisoner, you couldn’t help the tears that pricked your eyes. You tried to blink them away, but a tear escaped, staining your cheek. Richtofen saw this and reached to the small nightstand next to him, grabbing and handing you his handkerchief. You took it, dabbing your cheeks, embarrassed you were crying in front of the enemy.

Richtofen softly asked a question, with Ludvigs words chasing closely behind. “What is your name?”

You told them men your name, earnestly knowing lying won’t help you at all. Richtofen repeated it, his accent making your name sound so much sweeter. He tasted it a few more times under his breath. “bist du hungrig?”

“Are you hungry?”

“God, yes.”

Ludvig chuckled as he stood, walking to the opening of the tent wing to call over some soldiers. He ordered them to fetch you some food, smiling warmly as he walked back. “I hope you don’t mind leftovers, dinner was over quite a while ago.

“That’s fine,” You said, turning back to look at Richtofen. He watched you intensely, holding your gaze unabashedly. You quickly look down, admiring the patchwork the docs had done. “No complications during surgery?”

Ludvig quickly translated your question, answering immediately after he was done. “No, we were able to get all of the metal out, mostly clean stitching, minimal scars. You cleaned und packed the wounds very good, Edward spoke highly of it, und I seen it myself.”

“Edward?” You asked, looking from him to Richtofen, the way the injured Jerry looked at you answered your question, but Ludvig confirmed it.

“Doctor Edward Richtofen” He clarified.

“Oh, right.”

A soldier appeared at the door, holding a tin mug and utensils in one hand and balancing a metal bowl in the other. Ludvig thanked him and brought the tray to you. It looked to be potatoes and some kind of meat. The mug had what smelled like very strong coffee. You quickly grabbed the bowl and began scarfing it down, not caring about any sort of manner your mother would slap you upside the head for not following. Richtofen laughed softly, watching as you devoured the meal in seconds. You looked up and caught his eye. Your mouth was full as broth dripped down your chin. You swallowed hard, wiping your mouth with the handkerchief you still had of his. “Sorry, I’m being rude.” You tried to catch yourself.

Richtofen waved you off once you were translated. „Nein, essen.”

You drank the last of the broth, along with the coffee, and heaved as you finally caught your breath. Once you were able to think clearly again, you turned to Ludvig thinking about something that caught your attention earlier.

“You said ‘we’ when you were talking about his surgery… did you operate on him?”

“Ja. I am Doctor Ludvig Maxis, a lead surgeon. Not only that, but Edward is… a dear friend, I wanted to make sure he got the best care - und that’s me, of course.”

“Right.” You nodded, looking away with a small smile twitching on your face. American surgeons, German surgeons, they really are all the same.

A commotion erupted outside the tent, maybe at the entrance of the field hospital. You heard men shouting and groaning, it sounded like incoming injuries. You’ve heard those yells many times. Ludvig quickly stood, walking to the canvas doors to take a quick look. He sighed, walking back.

“Entschuldigung- I’m sorry, I have to go for a minute, injured soldiers” he explained. He left before you could say another word to him, leaving you with your injured captor, who still looked at you like you were the most interesting thing in this room.

Well, you probably were, this tent was pretty boring.

„Ohne dich wäre ich tot.” He said, voice so soft and comforting.

You still didn’t know German from the time you last saw him to now, and it was getting frustrating trying to grasp even the slightest understanding of this damn language. None of those words sounded similar to English. It sounded… good? He wasn't berating you, so it must be good.

“Richtofen I don’t-” You sigh, rubbing your eyes.

He tilted his head to the side, lost in his thoughts with almost exasperated eyes. He wanted to communicate, you did too, but you were both imprisoned by your own knowledge - or lack-there-of.

He reached his hand out, silently asking for your own. Did he want you to… pray with him? Was that what he was asking? You timidly gave it to him. His bright blue eyes stayed on yours as he brought your hand close to his lips, gently kissing the knuckles.

„Danke,” He whispered like a praise. „Danke, dankeschön.”

It clicked.

He was grateful.

He dropped your hand when Ludvig returned, almost shooing you away so as to not get caught. You could imagine what kind of trouble fraternizing with the enemy could get him. You sat back down, watching with doe eyes as Ludvig walked over, new blood stains on his uniform.

“Apologies about that.” He cleared his throat and clasped his hands together, getting right to business. “As you know, as a prisoner of war, we cannot let you leave. However, Doctor Richtofen has pulled some strings to make your… living area much more comfortable since you saved his life. It is getting fitted with a cot und a lamp, as well as a water basin - everything that comes with that, und clean clothes. Meals will be brought to you.”

Your gaze fell to your hands, the reality of the situation setting in even more. This is where you’ll stay for the duration of the war - behind enemy lines.

Ludvig ushered you up and towards the exit of the tent. You turned to look at Richtofen one last time, who looked at you with just as much intensity. He gave you a nod, as if to say goodbye, which you reciprocated. You had no idea if you would ever see him again. You saved his life, yes, but in turn he supposedly made your stay here more tolerable, so you guess that made you even. He had no real reason to seek you out again, and who’s to say higher ups would even allow that. You looked back at him until you couldn’t anymore, turning the corner to walk out into camp, the sun peeking over the horizon, marking the first day of your new life.

You were led to the small bunker again, seeing the amenities you were given - everything Doctor Maxis mentioned, as well as a chair, a small table, and a deck of playing cards. Your medical pack was in the corner of the room, it seemed they were allowing you to keep it. Ludvig curtly gave you a nod, wishing you a goodnight. You muttered your own farewell, stripping quickly once he left.

The water basin was a godsend, finally able to bathe yourself. You flaked off as much mud from your clothes and skin before lathering the washcloth with soap to scrub down. You scrubbed until your skin was red but mud-free, your hair washed and unmatted. You washed your clothes with the now dirty water when you were done, scrubbing, wringing, then throwing them over a beam for them to hopefully dry off. You felt nice being in clean clothes, even if they were German military undergarments.

You laid upon the cot, the kerosene lantern long blown out. The events of the night kept running through your mind, every mistake you made, every chance you had to turn, or run. But what plagued for some reason was the man you saved, the man who put you in the position you were in now - Doctor Edward Richtofen. He was your last thought before slipping into thrashing nightmares of sleep.

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kawaiismoker42069 · 2 years

Text

Ruin

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou/fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ content [minors dni!!], established relationship. aged up, meanie!bakugou fucks you stupid on the kitchen counter after he's had a bad day at work.

Word count: 1,6k

---

YOUR entire body feels like it’s on fire.

Bakugou’s hands are still warm from the earlier usage of his quirk as they run along your sides hungrily; thick, calloused digits coated in smoke curling and tightening around the arch of your hips whenever he pushes his cock deeper between your soaked walls.

The November night on the other side of the kitchen window he’s just spent hours patrolling and suffering through is laced with bitter cold and ferocious curtains of potent, icy rain. The chill makes the glass rattle in its frame whenever it hits and provides a perfect contrast to the warmth of his palms that keep burning your skin, as well as the scorch of his tongue as it twists around your own.

His heavy gauntlets and gloves lay on the spotless wooden flooring in the same forgotten manner your cutesy pyjama shorts and equally as adorable panties are clinging around your left ankle as he fucks you even harder into the marble counter.

Your legs are spread wide open for him, even though your body insists that they close from the way the knot inside your lower belly tightens now. It feels like it’s pulling your very insides taut; right to the brink of snapping. You’re not entirely sure how much more of his bullying you’ll be able to endure, but Katsuki doesn't seem to be thinking about being nice any time soon.

Truthfully, the need of bursting into orgasm is turning you brain-dead. Every single time the squelching slap! sounds out from the way your pussy kisses his abdomen, a broken squeal of pleasure bubbles up your throat. You’re literally feeling your brain cells shutting down and vanishing into the fog of pure bliss that’s overtaking your numb mind as you keep producing sounds that only a stupid bimbo would make on her regular night out: which is getting her brains fucked out in the narrow bathroom of a packed club.

Your lacking morals and the way your sanity is crumbling down right before him only make Katsuki's dick harder. Make him shove it even deeper; until he's hitting right against your cervix and continuously abusing it with lewd kisses from the blunt cockhead.

Christ, he's tearing you right apart. It’s heaven and hell in one.

“Enough, enough! Fuuuck…!” You whine as tears well up in your eyes. The sting burns hot on your waterline as you suck in a quivering breath. “‘s too much, Kat! I can’t-... Can’t take it!”

“Don’t lie to me, baby. It ain’t nice, ya hear?” Katsuki grunts in reply, slamming himself into you until hot, gooey slick is spurting out of your tight hole and gushing all over his dick and the counter. “I’ve had a bad day at work, so don’t start shit with me... ‘m pissed off enough as it is already.”

You might be a bad girlfriend for it, but you’re simply too fucked out to ask him what’s wrong in that moment. He’s come home from his patrol twenty minutes ago and has spent the last fifteen drilling you absolutely dumb with zero explanation as to why there is literal fire burning inside those crimson irises of his.

You feel like you’re becoming one with the cool marble that keeps sticking to your sweaty, trembling thighs as he keeps slamming into you so viciously raw and angry now; as he keeps unleashing his unexplained frustration in the form of some harsh pounding you didn’t even know you needed.

He’s making you cry - quite literally. Making you blabber incoherent sentences and pleas that neither of you know what they’re meant to be even pleading for.

About to retaliate, your argument is cut short from the way you gasp when he squeezes your ass and pushes you closer to the edge of the counter. You can feel the spark of his quirk dance on top of your skin as he fondles your curves; can feel him grin wickedly against your lips that have been stuck in the shape of a small ‘o’ ever since he’s shoved that monster of a cock inside your weeping cunt. You’re going to bruise both from the inside and out. He is such a brute, but you still love him, nevertheless.

After all, what else can you do - stuck in this stupidly submissive position like a hot and bothered prisoner underneath the tenacious grip and his firm hand that holds it?

Your toes curl to the point of cramping as they tangle into the adorable lace that’s still hanging from your ankle as Bakugou licks your front teeth and scrapes the roof of your mouth with his drool-coated tongue. He sucks on your bottom lip and bites into it when you try to pull back to beg him to stop. If you didn't know him any better, you'd say that he's trying to make you shut up before you’re even given the chance to speak.

He’s panting and sweating like a roused beast above you. The sweet scent of caramel is potent to waft through the narrow space between you from his hero gear as the salt keeps clinging to his chest in the same way the spandex does. It overtakes the smell of dinner that’s still cooking in the oven, and that you were so eagerly preparing for him before he forced himself upon you like some enraged animal in heat.

God damn it, even his scent dominates the room.

Fine sugar seeps down your throat now and fills your lungs with liquid honey as you keep kissing him and inhaling his intoxicating scent. It fogs your senses instead of heightening them, even though you swear that you can feel yourself getting high from it. He’s worse than the filthiest party drug.

"Look at the mess you're makin', pretty," he whispers before a huffed, mocking sort of laugh begins to rumble inside the depths of his chest like the same profound thunder that’s currently raging just on the other side of the window. "Drippin' and gushin' all over my cock and the fuckin’ counter, hah! Might have to make you lick both clean later, mm?"

"Kat-su…!" It's the only thing you can give him as an answer and it is outright pathetic. Your saliva has turned runny from how demanding your body has turned to finally become undone. Especially when he forces your legs to bend even more and digs his palms into the back of your thighs until you're splayed wide apart for him like some dirty slut.

Or a meal, since you're, well… In the kitchen.

And truth be told: you really do look absolutely delicious this way. He can see the thick strings and ropes of arousal that glimmer in the dim glow of the small light just above the stove; can see how your sweet pussy is eating him right up as it sucks him in, in, in.

The lips have gotten puffy and tender from all the overstimulation he's making you grit your teeth through like a champ. You're sensitive as hell and it causes your hips to jerk upwards when he spreads your pussy wider apart with the help of two of his fingers.

You're spluttering as soon as the touch strikes home; chest heaving from the lack of oxygen and the subtle brush to your swollen clit. “More baby, I-I need it…! Fuck, holy fuck… Shit, oh my god!”

He groans - a guttural curse leaving his plush mouth as his carmine eyes fixate on the spot where you connect the moment your walls begin to clench in response to his pleasuring. Shadows twist inside the clever irises from the sight. It’s so hot that it brings his blood to a simmer; especially when you wiggle your hips to feel him better.

His voice sounds strained and coarse as he says, “You wanna cum, babe?”

“Yes!” Your eyes shoot wide open as you stare at him with such a dazed look that it makes him wonder if there's anything even happening behind the dilating pupils. They're so huge that he can nearly see himself in them. “Please, I-I… Please, please, please!”

“Yeah?” He tilts his head to the side lightly - the movement more animal than human, “You wanna cum real bad?”

Tears run down your heated cheeks as you nod eagerly. You remind him of a puppet with the action. Like he's tugging at the strings that make you approve of anything he wants from you.

“Beg me all you want, baby.” Katsuki smiles now as he says the taunting words and pushes deeper. The flash of his perfect teeth grows bigger; wider and more wolfish when he hears you cry out again the moment he burrows himself so deep that it makes your eyes cross.

His grin is outright tantalizing and it is wonderful. So fucking wonderful, despite your blurry vision. Better yet, he's wonderful. Handsome. Yours.

All yours, whilst seeking and demanding comfort from you in the most twisted of ways.

Staring down at you, all rough and tough and mean, despite the pretty, tousled spikes of ash blonde and the pink, sweat-coated cheeks: a chill rushes down your spine as he slams his broad palm flat against the counter, leans into your ear and murmurs, “I'll ruin you either way. Just like I ruined dinner, and just like that stupid motherfucker of a perp ruined my goddamn patrol.”

He jerks his chin towards the oven, and you have no doubt that he will, in fact, ruin you. That he'll fuck you so hard you won't be able to stand; much less sit down for a day or two. That he'll keep pounding into you until you're sobbing into his shoulder and clawing at his hero suit so harshly, that perhaps you'll even be able to shred the fabric right apart, just like a kitty-cat does when it drags its sharp claws down the expensive living room curtains you've just bought.

But hey… At least it'll make him feel better, right?

Masterlist

#bakugo smut

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