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bloodyfeverdreams · 2 months ago

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Caring for You [Even When You Don't Want It]

When Izuku and Kacchan are fighting a villain, Kacchan gets hurt. As horrible as that is, Izuku is a little glad he can finally take care of Kacchan the way he's always wanted to.

Getting paired up with Kacchan on disaster assistance was the highlight of his week. He didn’t like that there had been an earthquake near Musutafu, and he hated seeing all the people in peril who needed help, but Aizawa-sensei assigning him and Kacchan together was definitely a silver lining that he could appreciate. Any time he could spend with Kacchan was time well spent. Sure, Kacchan had loudly protested, and only conceded when Aizawa-sensei hadn’t allowed him to switch as he said that they’d been paired up for a reason, but that didn’t matter. He was pretty sure that Kacchan would’ve complained no matter who he was paired up with. He had always been so independent. It was one of the many reasons Izuki loved him. A-as a friend. Yes, definitely as a friend, and not anything else. Totally.

“You better fucking keep up with me, nerd, or I’m gonna leave your ass in the dust.” Kacchan growled as they started to run to their assigned area.

“Don’t worry about me, Kacchan, I’ll stay right by your side.” Izuku said with a bright smile.

Kacchan just glared at him. “There is nothing in this world that could make me worry about you, Deku.”

Izuku’s smile didn’t falter. He’d known Kacchan long enough to know when he was speaking seriously, and when he wasn’t. As serious as Kacchan was, he often spoke in hyperbole, always had ever since they were little.

They spent the first few minutes looking for any injured people in their area, they’d been given orders to clear three blocks of any civilians and/or get anyone injured to medical attention. The sound of smashing glass then caught their attention.

“The hell was that?” Kacchan muttered.

“It wasn’t an aftershock, we’d feel the ground shaking if it was, so it can’t be the result of anything having to do with the earthquake.” Izuku murmured.

“I know what the fuck it isn’t, Deku, we need to find out what it is, you idiot!” Kacchan snapped at him. Izuku didn’t take it personally, he knew Kacchan was really stressed about this. As much as he liked to portray that his only reason for becoming a hero was to be the best, to be even better than All Might, Izuku still knew that deep down Kacchan wanted to save people too. It was a part of who he was, even if it didn’t seem like it all the time.

Izuku’s eyes searched, and landed on a man climbing through a clearly broken window into what appeared to be a jewelry store. “There!”

Without waiting for him or anything else, Kacchan started running straight towards the man.

“Wait, Kacchan, no, we need a plan of attack!” Izuku said, tearing off after him anyways.

“I have a plan. Attack.” Kacchan growled back as he leapt through the broken window.

Izuku felt the familiar rush of power that accompanied activating One-for-All, his body beginning to crackle slightly with green lightning. He followed Kacchan inside the store to see the man he’d seen stuffing the necklaces into his jacket. Clearly, this was a crime of opportunity, and Izuku hated seeing people take advantage of others’ distress.

“Hands up, you dumb bastard!” Kacchan shouted, his hands already sparking off.

The man turned, obviously startled by their presence, as he’d most likely been expecting the heroes to focus on where the damage was rather than the side streets they’d been assigned.

“What the? Who the hell are you brats?”

“Dynamight and Deku, fuckwad!” Kacchan shouted back. Izuku’s heart secretly fluttered just a little as he heard his and Kacchan’s hero names sounding so wonderful together, especially in Kacchan’s gorgeous voice.

“We’re gonna take you down!” Izuku yelled.

“The hell you will!” The man shouted, and he extended his arm towards them.

The man’s quirk was easily revealed as spikes of all lengths started to shoot out of the man’s wrist. Almost seamlessly, they instinctively began to work together, just as they had done during the final exam, proving that they truly were two sides of the same coin. Izuku tried firing his snap wind attacks, trying to catch the man off balance, while Kacchan expertly put him on the defense to keep backing him into the wall. Together they flew, moving as one unit, when Kacchan dodged, Izuku fired his air pressure snaps, and when Izuku dove underneath a display case to shield himself, Kacchan got in close, trying to blow the man up. As much as Kacchan didn’t like working with him, it was easy to see that they did work ridiculously well together. While Izuku never lost focus on the man in front of him, he couldn’t help but stare a little at Kacchan as he moved in tandem with Izuku. Kacchan was a warrior, yet also a dancer who moved with beauty and grace, and Izuku loved being here to watch him move so expertly.

Suddenly, the world seemed to slow down as Kacchan jumped into the air, his arm outstretched, his hand ready to pull the pin out of his grenade. As he saw Kacchan move, Izuku saw a small spike protruding from the underside of Kacchan’s right gauntlet that Kacchan couldn’t see. Immediately, he started to reach for Kacchan, to scream at him to stop. But before Izuku could even get his voice to work, Kacchan had already pulled the pin.

BOOM!

A blast of hot air hit him in the chest and threw him off his feet. He flew through the air for a moment before he crashed into something hard behind him, his vision going spotty as he slid down to the ground. He wanted to get up, he wanted to run to Kacchan, but instead his eyes just closed and he passed out.

His ears rang painfully as Izuku managed to open his eyes. He groaned lightly without being able to hear it as his blurred vision tried to justify itself. Izuku wasn’t sure how long it took before his mind finally got the cobwebs out and he came back to himself. Everything about him hurt, and he could feel what must have been over a dozen bruises all over his body, but he’d had worse, so he forced himself up. He leaned against the wall to steady himself and looked around, seeing debris all around him. The jewelry store… the building must have come down around them from the force of the explosion from Kacchan’s gauntlet misfiring.

Oh god, Kacchan! Forcing himself forward despite the pain, Izuku stumbled to where he’d last seen Kacchan.

“Kacchan!” Izuku coughed as he shouted for his friend, dust trying to get down his throat as he walked. “Kacchan, where are you?”

Silence.

Izuku’s heart twisted in fear when Kacchan didn’t answer. What if something had happened when Izuku was unconscious? What if Kacchan had gotten kidnapped again? What if he’d gotten killed? God, Izuku couldn’t fathom it. Kacchan was just as much a part of him as his left arm was. He couldn’t lose Kacchan, he just couldn’t.

“Kacchan! Come on, answer me!” Izuku shouted, trying to search through the debris for any sign of his friend.

His blood ran cold when he saw lots of dots of red splattered over the floor. Izuku’s mind raced as he followed the red trail, his stomach twisting with dread as horrible images of Kacchan’s broken body flashed through his head. No, please, no, god, there was so much blood…

Izuku gasped as he came upon a pair of black boots lying still on the ground, and he immediately lurched forward, moving the body they were attached to to see who it was. A few tears ran down his cheeks as he realized that these belonged to the man who had been robbing the store. He ripped his glove off and felt at the man’s throat. He sighed heavily as he didn’t feel a pulse, and he saw some of the man’s own spikes embedded in his flesh. The force of the explosion must have sent the spikes back into him. It was a tragedy, and Izuku wished it hadn’t turned out like this, but his mind quickly drifted back to Kacchan. He needed to find his friend, he couldn’t waste any time. The potential for Kacchan to be injured was just too high.

He searched through the wreckage as carefully as he could, trying to determine any load bearing debris as he worked, using his quirk to help him dislodge what rubble he could. “Kacchan, come on, please answer me! Please! Anything! Just let me know you’re alive!”

His only answer was an eerie silence that terrified him. Kacchan never went that long without making noise.

Izuku’s heart pounded with fear in his chest, a vice twisting around his chest in the same way he’d felt that night at the training camp. “Please, Kacchan, please say something, don’t be gone, please let me find you, please!”

When he finally saw a glimpse of a green glove, he shrieked “Kacchan!”, and Izuku felt his instincts scream at him to get to Kacchan. His hands started shaking as he removed the rubble that was caging Kacchan in, and finally, after lifting a chunk of debris that must have been almost as big as Izuku himself, he finally saw the crumpled form of his dear friend. “Oh god, no, Kacchan!”

Kacchan lay upon a giant piece of rubble, slightly curled on his right side, lying in a pool of blood. Izuku immediately reached for Kacchan’s throat, and a shuddered sigh passed his lips as he felt a weak but steady pulse beating against his fingers. Izuku forced himself to calm down so he could properly triage Kacchan. Right now, his friend needed calm, and he needed support, and right now, Izuku was the only one who could give him that. Focus, Izuku, focus.

Izuku’s eyes were immediately drawn to Kacchan’s right arm, his silky skin embedded with horrible shrapnel. His right arm was soaked in blood, and took top priority. A quick glance showed that this was the most serious of the many wounds on Kacchan’s body, so he just slipped his hands underneath Kacchan’s chest and knees. He’d carry Kacchan to safety if it killed him.

A soft moan followed, and he realized that the movement must have woken Kacchan.

“Wha… de-deku?”

“Shh, you’re alright.” Izuku whispered, taking a moment to softly stroke Kacchan’s golden hair. Kacchan usually never let him get close enough to touch him, and he knew that Kacchan liked it even if he wouldn’t admit it. He’d seen Kirishima do it last week when Kacchan had a headache, and he’d seen that small smile on Kacchan’s face, even if he probably wasn’t meant to. Sure, Kacchan probably didn’t know that Izuku had been watching him, but he’d seen that Kacchan was clearly in pain, so he just wanted to check on his friend. It was nothing more, really. “Don’t move, Kacchan, I’ve got you.”

“What… happened?” Kacchan groaned, coughing a little. Probably from the dust, just as Izuku had.

“Your gauntlet misfired.” Izuku said simply. “You got hurt.”

Kacchan just made a pained noise in response.

“Shh, Kacchan, it’s alright, I’m going to take care of you.” Izuku said. He’d always wanted to do this, to be able to be close enough to take care of Kacchan, but he’d never been allowed before. “I’m going to get you to safety.”

Kacchan weakly shoved at him with his left arm. “I don’t need you, Deku.” Kacchan then tried to move and push himself up, but he didn’t even get off the ground before he shrieked in pain and collapsed again.

Izuku didn’t say anything for a moment. Kacchan glared at him. He tried again, trying to get up himself, but Kacchan just collapsed with another agonizing shout. It hurt Izuku’s heart to hear Kacchan’s beautiful voice exude such agony, but he knew his Kacchan. He had to try it himself before he let anyone even think about helping. As much as Izuku loved how independent Kacchan could be, sometimes, it was really frustrating to watch as Kacchan put himself through agony to prove a point Izuku already knew.

This time, Kacchan stayed down, panting heavily. Izuku knew that Kacchan would never verbally ask for help, especially not from him, but he knew that Kacchan not trying to stand again was his way of saying that he needed Izuku’s help. Izuku knew him better than anyone, he understood what Kacchan’s nonverbal behaviors meant, even if Kacchan himself didn’t know. Honestly, though, Kacchan had no choice but to accept Izuku’s help. He couldn’t even stand on his own. Izuku’d always wanted Kacchan to want him, to want him around, to want Izuku to take care of him, and he secretly hoped that maybe this would finally show to Kacchan that Izuku was the person who he would want when he was in trouble, when he needed someone to help him.

Gently, Izuku reached out and again stroked Kacchan’s satiny golden hair in an effort to be soothing. Kacchan swatted his hand away, but he could sense Kacchan’s strength waning. “Don’t… don’t touch me… Deku.”

“Kacchan, you’re badly hurt, and right now, I’m all you’ve got.” Izuku said, getting a little frustrated that Kacchan was acting like this even when he was so hurt. “I’m going to take care of you whether you like it or not.”

Kacchan just glared at him, but he could see the pain Kacchan was trying to keep hidden. Kacchan was so silly sometimes, trying to hide something that Izuku could so clearly see. But he knew that Kacchan had a really hard time being vulnerable, especially in front of Izuku, so he didn’t call Kacchan out on it. After all, it would just lead to another argument.

“I know you don’t like being touched, Kacchan, but you’re really hurt, and I need to do this.” Izuku said softly but firmly, and he resumed his position of grabbing Kacchan under his knees and chest. He started to lift, but he froze when Kacchan shrieked loudly in his ear.

“Wha- Kacchan, what’s wrong?” Izuku asked frantically. Kacchan would never scream like that unless he couldn’t hold it back.

“Right… side.” Kacchan gasped quietly, pain evident in every syllable. “Something… shifted.”

Izuku immediately set Kacchan back down, and rolled Kacchan over a bit, making Kacchan make a soft whimpering sound in the back of his throat. Izuku gasped as he saw what Kacchan must have felt. It had been hidden by Kacchan’s first position, but there was a metal rod sticking into Kacchan’s body, right above his hip. That must have been why there was so much pooled blood. Ohh, not good, not good. He set Kacchan back down, causing another gasp of pain.

“Kacchan, you’ve- there’s a steel rod, it’s stabbed into you.” Izuku explained, trying to keep panic out of his voice. Kacchan met his eyes, and he saw a fear in Kacchan’s beautiful crimson eyes that he hadn’t seen in a long time. They both knew that if the rod was displaced before they reached medical assistance that Kacchan would bleed out. And Izuku wasn’t willing to risk trying to break the rod, because the probability of making the wound worse was too high. Which meant that Izuku couldn’t carry Kacchan to safety without the potential of killing him.

Oh, god.

Okay, focus, Izuku, Kacchan’s terrified and he needs you. You’re the only one who can help him right now. Just like a dark part of him secretly wanted, though he always pushed that part of him down as far as it could go.

“Okay, I need to stop the bleeding on your arm.” Izuku thought out loud, so he could let Kacchan know what he was about to do so he could prepare himself. He could hear the subtle hitches in Kacchan’s breathing, they both knew this was gonna be painful. Be strong, Izuku. For Kacchan.

“I-I’ll be right back, Kacchan.” Izuku stuttered a little, hating to leave his precious Kacchan like this, scared and in pain, but he had to do this to save his best friend. “I’m going to see if this place has a first aid kit. Just-just call me if you need me.”

Izuku felt like he was tearing his heart in half, having to leave Kacchan alone for even a second while he was hurting and scared, but he forced himself to stand up anyways. His head swam a little as he did, his own injuries screaming at him for attention, but he’d had worse so he forced himself to ignore it. His own set of bruises was nothing in comparison, his poor Kacchan was in agony and as long as Kacchan hurt, Izuku’s pain didn’t matter.

Thankfully, whoever had run this place was thinking logically, and when Izuku finally found the remnants of a register, he also found a small first aid kit tucked away along with some tape. Knowing this would be the best he got, he immediately returned to his Kacchan. He flipped open the kit, and examined its contents, looking for very specific equipment. His heart calmed a little when he found tweezers and a small spray bottle of isopropyl alcohol, the two things he needed most right now. Okay, he could do this. Kachhan would be okay. Kacchan would be okay.

First things first, Izuku found a couple of ibuprofen tablets, and popped them out of their blister packs. Before he could put these to Kachhan’s mouth, Kacchan’s left hand snatched them away from him, and he dry swallowed the pills. It wouldn’t be nearly enough to stop the pain he was in, but Izuku hoped it would help. After all, the only real reason Kacchan would’ve done that was because he was in so much pain he couldn’t wait for Izuku’s gentleness.

“Kacchan, I have to clean the blood off, pull the fragments out, and then disinfect the wounds.” Izuku said, his voice shaking a little. Kacchan glared up at him, and yet Izuku, knowing Kacchan as well as he did, could still see the fear hidden in those beautiful crimson eyes.

“Fuck, just- fucking do it already.” Kacchan muttered, pain so horribly evident in Kacchan’s gorgeous voice. “I can take it.”

That Izuku knew. After everything they’d gone through, Izuku knew just how far Kacchan could push himself. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier. He took the paper first aid guide and held it up to Kacchan’s mouth. “Here, bite down on this.”

At first it looked like Kacchan wasn’t going to, but after a moment of hesitation, Kacchan slowly moved to bite down on the booklet. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was the best they had. Izuku then maneuvered himself carefully to be slightly above, slightly next to Kacchan without him needing to move so Izuku could get at Kacchan’s whole arm. Even though Kacchan made a noise of protest, Izuku gently picked up Kacchan’s arm and placed it in his lap. Izuku knew the protest was just the pain, so he didn’t pay it any heed.

Izuku then pulled off his gloves, setting them aside. The kit didn’t have any rubber gloves to replace them, but his somewhat clean hands were better than his dirty gloves touching Kacchan’s silky, torn skin. All that was in the kit that Izuku could use was those little alcohol pads so he just tore one open. He carefully brought them to Kacchan’s shoulder, and took a deep breath.

Slowly, meticulously, Izuku then swiped the little pad down Kacchan’s bicep. It didn’t do much since it was so small, but he did his best. It was mere minutes before the pad was soaked with Kacchan’s blood, so he just tossed it aside and got another. As Izuku worked, Kacchan made little noises of pain when the pad hit an open wound, tiny lacerations that were hidden by the blood so thoroughly plastered to his skin, but Izuku kept going. He had to.

“It’s gonna be alright Kacchan, shh, I know it hurts, but you’re doing so well, I’ve got you.”

It felt like hours were passing as Izuku swiped at the blood on Kacchan’s arms, the little pads easily getting overwhelmed by the amount of blood. His heart was thundering in his chest as he saw every new cut, how deep some of the fragments were embedded into Kacchan’s touchable skin. He wished he could touch Kacchan like this when he wasn’t grievously wounded. As he wiped off the blood, he counted the lacerations as he found them, cataloging where it was and approximately how long it was. He didn’t think he’d ever been so grateful for his ability to pay so intense attention to detail.

After five eternities, Izuku finally finished with Kacchan’s arm as clean as he could get it. There were still spots of dried blood, but he didn’t try getting them. He didn’t want the attempt to aggravate Kacchan’s existing cuts and add to his obvious agony.

Now for the hard part.

Izuku’s hands were shaking as he picked up the tweezers after using the last of the alcohol pads to do his best to sterilize his hands. He met Kacchan’s eyes, as if nonverbally preparing him for what was to come. Kacchan’s eyes were filled with a resignation he’d never seen before, one that made Izuku almost feel the agony Kacchan was feeling inside, and then, Kacchan nodded. Izuku took another deep breath, and nodded back, understanding.

As Izuku moved determinedly, the shakiness in his hands slowed to a stop. He couldn’t afford to have shaky hands right now. Again, he started at Kacchan’s shoulder, working his way down to his forearm. Izuku’s heart and stomach lurched as he pulled the tiny pieces of shrapnel from Kacchan’s perfect body. Kacchan couldn’t stop himself from crying out whenever Izuku found one that was resistant to his gentle pulls, and gasping when the pieces finally slid out. Izuku had to look away from Kacchan’s face, unable to take the tears streaming down his cheeks. Kacchan was hurting so bad, and while he knew this was for Kacchan’s own good, that Kacchan had given him permission, that didn’t make him feel any less terrible about the pain he was causing his poor, poor Kacchan.

“You’re doing great, Kacchan, you’re doing great.” Izuku murmured, almost unaware of the words he was saying as he was so focused on his task. “Just a few more, just a few more, you’re doing great, Kacchan, almost there, almost there.”

Izuku’s movements became repetitive, tweezing the next piece of shrapnel, pulling it out as gently as he could, putting the very end of the tweezers into his mouth, then grabbing a piece of gauze from the kit and covering the wound with it, and finally, using the tape he found to keep the gauze secured to Kacchan’s wounds. A small pile of shrapnel was forming beside them as Izuku carefully extracted the twisted metal. But as hard as he tried to keep himself focused on his only job, taking care of Kacchan, his ears couldn’t help but be tormented by Kacchan’s moans and whimpers of pain as Izuku worked. Izuku’s heart was tearing itself into pieces knowing he was the cause of Kacchan’s pain, regardless of circumstances. He just knew that Kacchan was hurting, Kacchan was scared, and that meant Izuku was hurting too.

Finally, the fourteen Izuku had originally counted was down to one, and Izuku pulled it out with a tug, tug, tug. Kacchan’s voice cracked on the last tug as the shrapnel finally came loose, and he quickly taped down the last piece of gauze.

“There we go, okay, Kacchan, that was the last one, you’re done, you’re so brave Kacchan, you’re done, you were amazing.” Izuku murmured, brushing his hand through Kacchan’s hair again. “I’ve got some bandages in my pocket, I’ll wrap your arm and then I’ll go for help okay?”

It took three heartbeats for Kacchan to nod weakly, his eyes only half open. His level of compliance terrified Izuku.

“We’re almost done, Kacchan, you just gotta stay with me, okay?” Izuku said, pulling the bandages out of his pocket. “You gotta stay awake. Just a few more minutes. Stay awake, Kacchan, come on, stay awake.”

Kacchan’s eyelids fluttered precariously.

Izuku gulped nervously. He grabbed Kacchan’s arm, and even though he’d tried to be gentle, the movement itself must have been too much for Kacchan’s loose grip on consciousness, and he watched in horror as Kacchan’s eyes closed and didn’t open again. Izuku’s fingers immediately went back to Kacchan’s throat, but when he found a weak but steady pulse that was going too fast for his liking, he took another deep breath, trying to calm down. Kacchan must have just passed out from the pain, which wasn’t ideal but it also wasn’t fatal, so he took what he got. As much as he wanted Kacchan to be giving him attention, any kind of attention, he didn’t bother trying to wake Kacchan up, thinking it would waste valuable time. The medics could do that when they were helping him once they got here.

Izuku’s fingers nimbly began to wrap Kacchan’s arm as quickly as he could without losing the efficacy. He just had to do this so the gauze would stay in place, just in case blood weakened the tape with its moisture, and then he could go run for help. Swathes of white soon covered Kacchan’s arm, Izuku making sure that the bandages were tight but not too tight, covering the gauze properly so it wouldn’t be disturbed. Class 1-A had been given basic first aid training after Aizawa-sensei had recovered from the USJ, so he just pulled up the instructions in his head and followed them. Thankfully, had just enough bandages to cover the important parts, his knot stopping just shy of Kacchan’s wrist. He put another couple pieces of tape over the bandages and then stood up.

“I’m going to go get help, Kacchan.” Izuku said, knowing that Kacchan couldn’t hear him, but he couldn’t just leave without saying goodbye. He walked out of the jewelry store, checking to see if there was anyone else. The street was just as empty as it had been before, and he went to step forward, wanting to do what he’d always wanted to do and help Kacchan.

But something stopped him. He took one more look at Kacchan, who was still lying unconscious on the ground. The dark part of his heart whispered in his head, whispered that there had been something else he’d always wanted to do… and right now he had a chance to do it. He doubted he’d ever get a chance again, at least not for years. So even though his logical mind told him to stop, his heart had him going back to Kacchan.

Izuku knelt in front of Kacchan, looking for any sign of consciousness. When there wasn’t any, calloused fingers cupped Kacchan’s cheek, brushing his thumb over Kacchan’s satin skin. Kacchan was so beautiful, even when injured. Izuku could touch Kacchan every day for the rest of their lives and he’d never get tired of it. He longed for a day when Kacchan realized that his show of independence wouldn’t be necessary for him, that Izuku understood him in a way that no one else ever could. That Izuku loved him more than his own life, that Kacchan’s happiness mattered so much to Izuku that he’d sacrifice anything just to see Kacchan smile. In the deepest, darkest part of his heart, Izuku knew that Kacchan would be with him eventually. Izuku just had to keep trying, he just had to keep getting Kacchan’s attention any way he knew how.

Izuku’s free hand brushed through Kacchan’s golden hair again, savoring the feeling as he knew he wouldn’t get the chance for a while. When sunlight streamed through the windows in the dorms, Izuku could just stare at how Kacchan’s hair glowed in the light for hours as Kacchan sleepily made himself breakfast. It was his favorite part of the mornings, why he always tried to secretly align his schedule with Kacchan’s, so he could see it every chance he could.

But Izuku’s favorite thing to stare at was Kacchan’s lips. Secretly, whenever he was alone and no one could ever catch him, he’d imagine what it felt like to be kissed by those plump, full lips. Izuku could daydream for hours just imagining Kacchan’s lips pressed against his, his hands roving over Izuku’s body, their bodies pressed so closely together. And every time he’d tell himself that he just had to be patient, that he’d convince Kacchan how good they’d be together, that he was so sure that Kacchan actually really cared about him rather than the angry mask he put on. He just had to give Kacchan time. But right now, with Kacchan unconscious and left completely alone with him, Izuku didn’t have to be patient.

There was a spark of electricity within him as soon as Izuku pressed his lips against Kacchan’s, his heart singing with the thrill of being able to kiss Kacchan. Sure, he’d prefer that Kacchan was awake and willing, but this was more than enough for now. Izuku deepened the kiss against Kacchan’s slack lips, being selfish for once in his life. Kacchan’s lips were so much better than he’d imagined, soft and luscious and addictive. Izuku could happily spend a week just like this, kissing Kacchan’s perfect lips, even giving up food and water as much as he could just to spend more time with Kacchan loving him the way that Izuku knew he would, that he did.

Izuku pulled back immediately when Kacchan stirred, making a soft moan. Izuku scanned his face for any sign of waking, but Kacchan went still after that. Even though he was unconscious, Kacchan must have felt the same spark of electricity at their kiss that Izuku did.

“I love you too, Kacchan.” Izuku breathlessly whispered. “I’m going to save you.”

With his lips still tingling, Izuku stood up again, and took off to find the first paramedic he could. He was lightheaded and a little dizzy, but he was sure it had nothing to do with his own injuries (mostly), just feeling such an intense high of having fulfilled a lifelong dream of actually kissing Kacchan. And just as he promised he would, he would save Kacchan, no matter what. He’d save him from whatever threat ever came their way, no matter how vast or how cruel.

Nothing would ever keep him from Kacchan’s side again, not even Kacchan himself.

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partystoragechest · 8 months ago

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A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting invites four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Trevelyan has someone she'd like to impress.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 3,848. Rating: all audiences, bar a few swears.)

Chapter 42: The Ball

The Great Hall was adorned in its finest, the banners of the Inquisition unfurled. A quartet played upon the dais, the floor before them awaiting its dancers. Attendees of every strata—advisors, digintaries, mages, soldiers—exhibited their most exquisite attire, anticipating the arrival of their guests of honour.

The door thundered open. A herald announced their names:

“Presenting! Lady Erridge of West Coldon, Lady Samient of Samient, Baroness Touledy of Val Misrenne, and Lady Trevelyan, of Ostwick!”

The Ladies strode in, none finer than they. Lady Erridge wore her pinkest, most ruffliest dress yet; Lady Samient wore her tightest, of dark, snakish leather; the Baroness wore her most glamorous, a gown in deep and passionate red—with a mahogany cane to match, of course.

Trevelyan entered last of all. The ballgown she wore? Unrecognisable.

The black brocade was gone, the lace ripped from its seams with wicked delight. All that remained was perfect canvas of purest navy, onto which it could be painted—with shining, silvery thread.

Her mother would’ve fumed at the very idea. But what good was learning embroidery, if one did not use it in defiance? Each Lady had taken up a quadrant of her own, yet the stitches they had sewed were all the same: dozens upon dozens of tiny, shimmering, stars.

Trevelyan sparkled with every step. Diamonds glittered around her neck, lent eagerly by the Baroness. Every candle’s flame glistened upon her. Even the night sky could not compare.

Were it not for the musicians, the room would have been stunned to silence. Whispers of admiration made their circuit. Trevelyan drank in the praise, striding through the parting crowds. They led her to the foot of the dais, where the Ladies had gathered, and where an elegant figure—clothed in blue and gold—stood tall. With little more than a smile and a gesture, Lady Montilyet brought the room to a hush.

“Friends of the Inquisition!” she proclaimed. “Thank you for attending! If I may, I wish to propose a small toast, to some of our departing guests.”

She raised her glass. “A toast to Lady Erridge and Lady Orroat, to the union of your families and of Coldon! A toast to the Baroness Touledy, for victory in Val Misrenne! And a toast to Lady Samient, for her safe journey home!”

Glasses and steins clinked together, accompanied by a hearty cheer.

“But to Lady Trevelyan of Ostwick,” Montilyet continued, “we do not say farewell. Gathered friends, may I please introduce you, to our new Arcanist!”

Applause went up, echoing off the walls, and filling the room with joy. Trevelyan laughed in delight, and caught glimpses of her friends amongst the crowd. Varric clapped, Dorian hollered, and even Sera cheered—though none were as enthusiastic as Dagna herself!

Still, there was one face she could not quite find.

“Tonight, we celebrate!” Montilyet declared. “So please, enjoy!”

The band launched into triumphant fanfare; good humour and good company were the orders of the evening. The Ladies, all aflutter, went about these goals with giddiness and verve.

“Won’t you come dance?” asked Erridge, having already recruited Lady Orroat to her cause.

Trevelyan startled, her attention elsewhere. She stumbled and stammered over her excuses. “Oh! Later, perhaps? There’s something, I, um...”

Lady Samient picked up on her meaning, and picked up her slack. “Come, Lady Erridge! I’ll dance with you.”

Appeased, Lady Erridge escorted her away. Trevelyan withdrew from the dancefloor.

She could dance another time. She did not wish to muss her hair or catch her skirt. Her eyes scanned the party. Her fingers trembled. The moment he saw her had to be perfect.

A hand caught her shoulder. The Baroness, apparently having already procured a drink, leant over, and tilted it forward.

“There,” she whispered.

The crowd parted, as if by her will. True to her word, at the other end of the room, there he stood. The man she’d been searching for.

The Commander.

Maker, he had only become more handsome the longer she had known him. That rough-hewn jaw of his, and the dishevelment of stubble upon it; the subtle waves in his hair, hints of his rebellious curls; those dimples upon his cheeks—the thumb-prints of the divine, left where the Maker’s scultping hand had gone astray.

And his weary eyes, whose gentle gaze found her, and drew her closer.

Trevelyan admired, as she approached, the coincidence of the navy blue doublet that Lady Montilyet had undoubtedly advised him to wear. Hm. She liked him better in red. Suited him more, perhaps—though it mattered little. There was nothing that could dull the shine of him; true gold, after all, did never rust.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, as he straightened to greet her. And he would have done so, perhaps warmly, perhaps sweetly—had a scout, uniformed and on duty, not appeared at his side.

Ah, fuck.

They whispered something to him beneath the hubbub of the ball, which sharpened back into focus. Though Trevelyan heard nothing of the Commander’s reply, when his attention returned to her, his smile was gone.

“Arcanist,” he said, with a bow. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. There is urgent business to which I must attend.”

Bloody typical.

“Of course,” she told him, magnanimously. “Duty calls.”

“At inconvenient times,” he muttered.

“No duty is ever convenient,” she commented. That seemed to amuse him, at least.

“I will return as soon as I am able, I assure you.”

“Yes, Commander.”

She curtsied to him, and allowed him to depart. The scout lingered by the rotunda door; the Commander followed them through.

Gone.

Trevelyan looked down at her pretty, sparkly skirt, and fluffed it up, pointlessly. Not quite the moment she’d been hoping for.

Oh, well. She would have ample opportunity for such moments with him in the coming days. If he didn’t get called away by something or other during those, too.

Stowing her frustration, Trevelyan returned to the party. There was plenty there to distract her, anyway. She watched the Ladies dance together; she enthused with Dagna about their work; she spoke to Lady Montilyet about her new quarters (ready tomorrow!); and she gossiped with Dorian about absolutely nothing of note—though he was, as always, terribly good conversation.

Yet still no Commander.

The noise of the music and the chatter and the stomps of the dancing were beginning to blur in her brain. Dorian noted her change in temperament, as she attempted to peer through the garden door from afar. Too many in attendance; the party had spilled out into it. It was no less busy out there than it was in here.

“Try up there,” Dorian suggested, indicating the mezzanine above. It seemed Sera had been banned from it today, as there was no skulking to be seen. “It has a balcony, if you need some air.”

“Thank you,” said Trevelyan. She’d had little cause to ever stray up there before—but this seemed as good a reason as any. She bid him farewell, and escaped up the stairs.

The moment she reached their peak, her troubled mind calmed. Mere feet above the chaos, the music came quieter, the conversation nothing more than ambience. Thank the Maker.

Besides, this mezzanine was well-furnished for a somewhat hidden space, with a luxurious chaise and portraits of figures Trevelyan did not quite recognise. The candelabrum here were not lit, leaving all illumination to that of the moons, whose glow trickled through a pair of glass doors—beyond which, as promised, was a balcony.

But Trevelyan felt enough at ease to stay inside—and she found the view of the party below to be quite of interest. The dancers weaved such wonderful patterns; outfits, in all colours, were arrayed like a painter’s palette. She could watch, as those she knew flitted from one group, to another. An enjoyable pict—

The rotunda door opened, drawing her eye. The Commander entered the hall. He strode into the party with such determination, it was as if it did not exist around him. Trevelyan traced his path as it led him, direct, to the Baroness.

They huddled against a wall. He whispered something. Urgent business? Oh, no.

But the Baroness smiled. Wider and wider. She asked him a question; he replied with nod. She placed a hand over her heart, and sighed. Trevelyan did the same.

If the news they shared was what she hoped, then she was rather glad she hadn’t kicked up a fuss at the Commander’s departure. Because if it was what she hoped, then he could have left all night, and still she would smile.

Maker, she had to see the Baroness—and she would have, if not for the feet hurrying up the stairs. The Baroness? No cane. Then—!

The Commander sprang onto the landing, startling himself as much as he startled her, determination abandoning him in an instant. “Arcanist!” he stammered, attempting to bow. “Forgive me—Dorian told me you were here.”

That crafty bastard. Trevelyan put his schemes aside, and asked, “Is everything all right, Commander? What was your urgent business?”

Before he’d even said a word, he smiled. That alone brought her relief. “There was a message from the Inquisitor,” he told her. “The battle is won. Val Misrenne is safe.”

Trevelyan could scarcely believe it. She clasped a hand over her mouth, a beaming smile beneath it. She shook her head, out of sheer incredulity. By Andraste. She could not fathom how dear Touledy felt.

“Thank the Maker,” she breathed. “Or, I suppose—thank you, Commander.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I think it is the Inquisitor’s party and the guard of Val Misrenne who ought to have the credit of it.”

“Of course, but you may take a little as well, Commander. Your handling of the situation was… impressive, to say the least.”

Such a compliment did not seem to sit well with him, for he stuttered as if he had not the words to form a reply. Awkwardness prevailed, until his fortunes changed, and his eyes chanced upon the balcony doors.

“Forgive me, I didn’t meant to disturb you. Were you… headed outside?”

Trevelyan smiled. She looked at them, then at him. “Preferably not alone.”

“Oh. I could...”

She backed into the doors, her eyes beckoning him to follow. He trailed after her as if in a trance, stepping through, to the tranquil night beyond.

The stars above shone in greeting, illuminating the finely-carved stone of the balcony balustrade. Trevelyan rested herself upon it, gazing out. The Commander’s presence, a warmth in the absence of the sun, settled beside her.

“It’s... a nice night,” he said.

She quite agreed. The entire courtyard was laid out before them, from the tavern—as lively as the party they’d left behind—to the stables—quiet, at this time of day. Moonlit stone, punctuated by glowing torchlight, encircled the fortress, and banished the darkness from its embrace.

“I, ah, have something for you,” he said, hand fumbling within his jacket. “I believe this is yours.”

He managed to locate this ‘something’, and freed it from its concealment. A white cloth, that flashed in the moonlight, embroidered with leaves Trevelyan recognised. It was far more pristine than the last time she’d seen it.

The napkin slipped pleasantly from the Commander’s fingers into her own. She noted the warmth of his proximity, still lingering within the weave, and the sweet, earthy scent that had been left by his possession.

“Technically,” she teased, “I believe it is Lady Montilyet’s.”

“I hardly think she’ll miss it.”

“I certainly hope so.” She tucked it away—safe. “Thank you, Commander.”

“Thank you for the use of it,” he said. “Though, speaking of Lady Montilyet—you, ah, took the offer. To become Arcanist.”

“I did.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

The Commander stammered, “For you—I mean. I mean, I am glad. That—despite how you came to be here—you have found enough reason to stay.”

Trevelyan shook her head, and smiled. “I know that I ought to have left, and truly have started my life afresh… but that would have been dishonest, to what I truly want.”

“May I ask… what is it?”

“What?”

The Commander met her eye. “That you… want?”

She bit back the smile that threatened to betray her. “Well… I suppose there is one thing—”

Feet clattered up the stairs. Trevelyan stopped herself. As if she were summoned by these precise circumstances, Lady Erridge stumbled out onto the mezzanine.

“Lady Trevelyan!” she called. “Oh, Commander, there you are! Sorry to disrupt, but I came to see if you should like to dance!”

The Commander shook his head. “No, thank you. I don’t dance.”

Erridge giggled. “I know! I wasn’t speaking to you, Commander! Come, Lady Trevelyan! The Commander shall have plenty of time to whisper with you when we are gone!”

Though the interruption was not exactly ideal, Trevelyan could not deny the sentiment. She curtsied to the Commander, somewhat apologetically.

“It seems I am summoned away. Urgent business, I believe they call it.”

His mouth tilted into a smirk; it made her skin tingle. “Another time, then.”

“Of course.”

Raucous music caught their ears, and Erridge perked. “Come along!” she said, snatching up Trevelyan’s hand. She threw a hasty farewell to the Commander over her shoulder, and whisked Trevelyan away. They tumbled down the stairs together, bursting onto the main floor of the hall—as the band cued a jig.

“Over here!” called Samient and Orroat, from the dancefloor. In the absence of Lady Erridge, they had partnered together—but saved a spot beside them, just in case.

Trevelyan and Erridge squeezed past the other dancers, and hurried to take it. They joined hands—properly, this time—and waited for the song to start, giggling all the while.

Strings and wind erupted into a prancing melody of alternating highs and lows, and caught them quite off-guard. But Lady Erridge sprang to action, and Trevelyan followed her lead. They bounced around the floor with zest and zeal, clapping their hands, kicking their legs into the air. Skirts clashed and flew, an explosion of fabric and colour.

It burst apart, into an exchange of dancers. Trevelyan sailed into the arms of Lady Orroat, who cut as fine a form as one could expect.

“So this is what you were all up to yesterday?” she said, of Trevelyan’s dress. “Maker, it’s beautiful!”

Though the compliment was quite routine, a look of panic struck the passing Lady Erridge. “Look, dear Orroat!” she called, loosing a hand from Samient’s, to jab her finger at some collection of stars. “I sewed those ones!”

Dancers parted again, to what must have been Erridge’s utmost relief. Trevelyan swapped Orroat for Samient, the latter of whom smiled as if amused.

“It seems dear Erridge has quite reversed her position on your knowing Lady Orroat,” she whispered.

Trevelyan giggled. “Good, for I could hardly say we should make such a handsome couple as they!”

Nor one so well-suited. It seemed the touch of her dear Orroat’s hand had quelled Lady Erridge’s worry in an instant, and the pair twirled and danced so pleasantly to the eye, it made Trevelyan miss a step. Samient ably accounted for the fumble. It was a wonder how she danced so well, in a dress so constricting. Then again, it was a wonder how this was Trevelyan’s first stumble, in a dress so grand.

Though their jig came to an end, another began—and Lady Erridge would not be satisfied with just the one! Trevelyan was made to dance the next three complete, until—quite exhausted—she formulated an excuse, and made her exit.

The sight of the Baroness at the edge of the dancefloor was quite welcome, as if safety and anchor in a storm. Trevelyan hurried towards her, and greeted her with a smile and an embrace—for which they both knew the reason.

“I’ve heard the news,” she said, as she recovered her breath. “How do you feel?”

The Baroness sighed. “Relieved. When I leave for my home tomorrow, I shall return to find it at peace—but that peace has not come without sacrifice. And yet, I know it could have been so much more. That Val Misrenne and its people still stand is worth celebrating.”

“It is. And I hope that it brings you peace, as well.”

Trevelyan hugged her again—but the music’s sudden and effervescent return caused her to jump. Laughing at herself, Trevelyan glanced back at the dancefloor.

“You know, I am surprised Lady Erridge has not called you up for a jig!”

The Baroness chuckled. “No, no, my leg is far too frail for that.”

“Really?” Trevelyan raised an eyebrow. “I remember you saying that you still dance.”

“I do.” She grinned. “But the leg is an excellent excuse.”

Trevelyan caught her meaning. “Lady Erridge’s enthusiasm is quite difficult to match.”

“Indeed. She has the stamina of a demon. Though I’m sure Lady Orroat could find some use for that.”

Trevelyan laughed. “Your Ladyship! Please, I feel so terrible teasing her!”

“Then you should not like to hear what we say about you and him.”

The Baroness winked, as if to point. Trevelyan, utterly confused by who ‘him’ was, heeded the suggestion. She turned, laid her eyes upon the man in question, and groaned. Weaving past the dancers was—she ought to have guessed it—the Commander.

“Oh, Maker! You all have far too much—” She halted, realising the Baroness’s mouth was half-open, her cane being raised in the air. “No, no—!”

“Commander!”

He heard the call. His head whipped round. No stopping it now—he was coming towards them.

“Baroness!” Trevelyan hissed.

Touledy smiled, gave a suggestive flick of her brow, and said nothing more. Though Trevelyan was almost glad of this—the Commander ought not hear anything she was thinking.

“Ladies,” he greeted, upon arrival. “Is there something you need?”

“Why, yes,” said Touledy, all too confidently. What was she up to? “Lady Trevelyan here wishes another dance, but I am afraid I am unable to”—she flashed her cane—“would you be able to dance with her Ladyship, in my stead?”

“Oh.” The Commander softened. "Are you all right?”

Trevelyan noted, rather indignantly, that the Commander asked this question with the same sort of gentle voice that he often put on for her. This was a concept which, she suddenly discovered, she did not like. Why, oh why, did she have to make him befriend the other Ladies? Fool.

“Yes, thank you,” the Baroness answered, “but her Ladyship must have a dance.”

Trevelyan rolled her eyes. “But Baroness, the Commander does not like to dance, and I—”

“I could try,” he said.

Trevelyan stared at him. She thought of a thousand questions in response to this. But somehow, the only one she could quite manage was:

“What?”

“If you would like to.”

Oh. Well, there was little chance of her saying anything other than, “Yes.”

The Baroness grinned, relishing in her triumph. “Go on, then,” she said, “enjoy.”

Easier said than done. At least Trevelyan had danced enough jigs with Lady Erridge to know what she was to do with them, now. In her mind, as they walked to the floor, she went over the steps. Left, left, kick, clap. Switch. Then to the right? But—

The music grew in volume. Yet it sounded like no jig she’d ever heard. Trevelyan realised that the musicians had betrayed her. Not a jig. Not at all.

Sweet, slow strings floated across the hall. A… romantic melody, that had couples approaching the floor. Dear Maker fucking Andraste shitting Void. People linked hands and put them on waists and Trevelyan realised that she was in the midst of it, surrounded, and there was no escape, and she would have to do those things herself.

She faced the Commander. Maker, why did he have to look so pretty and be so sweet? This sort of thing was far simpler with unimportant suitors that one could so easily discard after, even if one did step on their toes.

He offered a hand. Trevelyan’s shook.

But still, they met.

Her fingers slid into his palm, sensing the warmth that emanated from beneath the leather of his glove. The feeling of his skin, however rugged or tender, was cruelly left to the imagination. She savoured it regardless.

Her other hand gathered up her skirts, like the rest of the dress-wearers were doing. Almost in position. There was simply one last thing to emulate—

The Commander’s hand moved for her waist, hesitant in its approach. The first touches of his fingertips—gentler even than that of cotton or down—caused her body to tense. She did not know how she was to bear his entire hand.

But his hand stopped short. It instead hovered over the fabric of her dress, as if afraid to press any further. Disappointing.

Nevertheless, the gentle strings of anticipation harmonised into a symphony. Dancing commenced, and the Commander’s feet shifted. Trevelyan mirrored his steps. Her nerves hit a peak.

And then, began to fade.

Because dancing with him was unlike dancing with anyone she had danced with before. It felt different. Gentler. Warmer. Safer. No pressure for extravagance, or flourish. It almost did not matter if she was dancing well or not. It was only him that mattered.

“You should dance more often,” she whispered to him. “You do it well.”

He smiled, softly, and said, “All right.”

Her words must have emboldened him, for his grip around her hand firmed and strengthened, and he drew her closer by its pull. His other hand slipped around her back, fitting perfectly into the mold of her body. The gap between them was more indistinct than ever.

Yet in that closeness was comfort. Her head, laid on his shoulder. The warmth of his chest, felt within her own. That gentle, soothing sway they shared. She let her eyes fall shut, the dancers fall away, and listened only to the beat of his heart. Trevelyan could have stayed like that for an eternity.

But the music slowly, gradually, dulled to quiet. The other dancers reappeared around them, the party audible once more. It was over.

They came to a standstill. Trevelyan’s hand reluctantly left his grasp; his trailed away from her waist. Yet still, she smiled, for nothing could take it from her lips.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Of course,” he replied.

“I shan’t make you dance another.”

“That’s… all right.” He rubbed his neck. “Will you, ah, be stargazing tonight?”

She played with her dress. “Most likely.”

“Ah. Good.”

She curtsied, he bowed. He left, she stayed. Her feet still wobbled, a little.

But she would have to recover quickly. For she turned to her side, and saw complete what had, until now, been only a disruption in her periphery: the Ladies, huddled together, in keen observance.

Trevelyan shook her head, and, before they could open their mouths, told them firm:

“Not one word.”

#unwanted fic #unwanted #cullen rutherford #cullen x trevelyan #commander cullen #we're back in the tag baby!#hoping to have next chapter ready for tues-weds #and then the chapter after for fri-sat #this was the longest and hardest to edit of the three #when they take ages to edit i have to be able to step away for a while before i can enjoy the chapter as it is #because brain continues to be in editing mode #definitely one i feel like i'll come back to and be like 'wait no this slapped actually'#EDIT: 7/5 i've been continuing to tinker with this #CONT: i feel i may have released it a tad earlier than i should as it was good!! but it wasn't great #CONT: i have added some connective tissue and embellished some key moments that i felt were lacking #edit 23/10/24: i just hate chapters with a lot of transitions i like it to be one solid block of thing but so much went on in this #cont: i've got it to a point where i'm satisfied and i hope one day i return to it and go 'oh this slaps actually'#cont: LOL I WROTE THAT TAG WITHOUT READING MY PREVIOUS I ALREADY SAID THAT #cont: well i guess it didnt come true the first time but seconds the charm #edit 24/10/24: ahhahahahahahhahah

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