#but how do you go about building a radio underwater? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sugarandspace · 4 years ago

Text

In Their Own Bubble (Buddie)

Summary: The well rescue left Eddie uncomfortable with small spaces and absolutely hating the idea of being stuck somewhere. Things go south when Buck and Eddie get trapped in a small elevator while they are working.

Warnings: claustrophobia, panicking, vague mentions of being buried alive and nearly drowning

A/N: I found this tiny elevator (picture if someone wants to see how tiny it is) while working, and now literally every time I use that elevator I think of this fic idea. Shoutout to my friend Em (thatnerdemryn/@thatnerdemryn) who took this fic to a whole new level by saying that Eddie could be claustrophobic!

AO3

“... I’m going to take the stairs.”

“Don’t be silly,” Buck says and pulls Eddie into the elevator with him. It’s a tight fit, especially with the bag of gear they have with them, but they both get crammed in. “It’s a short ride to the roof, we’ll manage.”

Then when the doors slide closed and they are alone, Buck adds with a quieter tone and a wiggle of his eyebrows, “Gives me an excuse to be close to you.”

And close they are. With Buck leaning on the wall opposite to the buttons, Eddie has to lean to the mirror at the back of the elevator so as not to accidentally touch them. Buck looks at the floor and wonders if their boots would touch if they tried to stand on opposite sides of the elevator. It’s very clear that the elevator was added after the building was built and they had to make do with the space they had. Buck is just glad they aren’t wearing their turnout gear, even in their regular uniforms their arms are touching despite them almost being at opposite corners.

“We’re at work,” Eddie says with a pointed look as if to remind Buck.

Their relationship is still fairly new, and they had agreed early on that they would give the department zero reasons to separate them. They both love the team they have and like being able to have each other’s backs while on call. They both know not to risk it for a few stolen kisses during a shift. They spent months pining after each other without knowing that the other felt the same, waiting until the shift is over to kiss the other might feel like torture sometimes, but it’s nothing compared to that. They can wait.

Plus, neither of them is really ready for all the teasing that would come if their team knew that they were together, so it’s better to keep it between them (and Christopher, of course) for now.

“Is this elevator even meant to carry this much weight?” Eddie asks, and Buck can see that his boyfriend looks visibly uncomfortable. He pushes away the joke that’s ready on his tongue and answers honestly.

“Even when we count both of us and the gear we’re carrying, there’s still a long way to the maximum weight this elevator allows,” he assures Eddie and leans towards him to affectionately bump shoulders. “It’s going to be fine.”

As if on cue, the elevator makes a loud noise and stops abruptly, making both of them jolt forward a little. Buck glances at the screen showing where they are and sees that they are currently stuck on the seventh floor.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says, a hundred percent sure his words combined with his shitty luck are the reason they are currently stuck in an elevator.

Eddie doesn’t respond, and Buck watches as he frantically tries to push the buttons on the elevator, trying to make it work.

“This can’t be happening,” he mutters to himself and moves to the doors, trying to pry them open with his hands, but the doors don’t move.

“Eds?” Buck asks, getting worried. Eddie doesn’t panic, like, ever, and seeing him like this is really making Buck worry.

“We have to get out,” Eddie says, and for the first time since the elevator stopped, he looks at Buck. Buck can see that he’s starting to sweat and his eyes don’t stay on Buck for long, desperately looking for another way out.

“We will,” Buck says. “It’s going to be okay.”

Buck presses on the button of his radio and speaks to it, “Hey Cap? Eddie and I won’t be able to make it to the roof. The elevator is stuck on the seventh floor.”

“Copy that,” Bobby replies. “We’ll get to you as soon as we’ve helped the victim.”

Bobby is talking about the man they were supposed to be helping, a man who had gotten his head stuck on a small window as he had tried to stick his head out of it to get some fresh air. The man was on a top floor where their ladder wasn’t going to reach, so Buck and Eddie were supposed to go to the roof where one of them could have been lowered down to help the man from the outside.

Their gear bag sits with them in the elevator, but Buck knows they have more in the truck. The team will be okay without them, it’s just going to take a while longer for them to help the man. Luckily the situation isn’t dire, the man isn’t in pain or in danger and he can wait a little longer.

Eddie, however? Buck’s not sure if he can wait.

“Copy that,” Buck replies to Bobby and then turns his attention to Eddie. His breathing is turning more panicked and he’s running his hand through his hair, obviously nervous. Buck’s been in an elevator with Eddie before, and the man has never expressed being afraid of them so it leaves Buck a little confused.

“Eddie?” He asks. “What’s going on?”

“We should be helping that man,” Eddie says, “Instead of being able to do our job we are stuck here.”

It’s not the real reason, but Buck doesn’t push.

“The team will help us,” Buck says and sits down. There’s not enough room for him to straighten his legs, so he sits cross-legged. It makes his knees hit the sides of the elevator and leaves Eddie even less room to stand.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, looking at Buck like he grew a second head.

“I’m sitting down,” Buck says. “There’s nothing we can do other than wait.”

Eddie doesn’t respond. He goes back to pressing the buttons and Buck can see that his hands are trembling. He reaches up to hold one of them, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“We’re safe here,” Buck says gently. “The elevators have a ton of safety measures that prevent them from falling. It’s not uncommon that they stop, but it’s very very rare that they fall. We’ll be okay until our team gets to us. After that, I’m sure they have a joke or two about having to save us but I think we’ll survive those too.”

Buck’s attempt at lightening the situation doesn’t help Eddie, it almost looks like he doesn’t even hear Buck’s words, and Buck wonders where his head has gone. He wants to help but he has no idea how.

“Talk to me Eddie,” he says, his voice gentle. He brushes his thumb across Eddie’s knuckles and squeezes, getting a strong grip in response.

“I don’t like being stuck,” Eddie says, and his voice comes out strained like he’s forcing the words out through gritted teeth. “When I was in the well I-”

Eddie’s words get cut off by a strangled gasp and suddenly Buck knows exactly why Eddie is reacting so strongly to this.

“Hey,” Buck says and pulls on Eddie’s hand, trying to urge him down with him. Because of the tight fit, Eddie ends up in Buck’s lap and Buck helps him get comfortable so that Eddie is straddling Buck and they are chest to chest, forehead to forehead

Buck knows that they wouldn’t want to be seen like this on the job, that if their coworkers were to see them now they would get exactly the type of teasing they are trying to avoid, but the need for comfort and the need to comfort override that. Buck can’t just stand there when Eddie is struggling, and if someone tries to make fun of them Buck will have a word or two to tell them. And their team are good people, Buck knows that they wouldn’t actually make fun of them if they saw how Eddie was feeling, and by now it would be clear to everyone, not just for Buck’s practiced eye.

“You are not there,” Buck says softly. He doesn’t need to talk loudly because Eddie has his face close, his forehead against Buck’s, and Buck wants Eddie to focus on his voice, wants to create a bubble around them that’s safe and calming. “You're not alone. We are getting out of here. The team knows that we’re here and they know exactly where we are. They are coming, all we need to do is wait.”

Buck has heard enough about how Eddie felt in the well - whispered conversations after a nightmare or on a particularly rainy day that makes Eddie space out in front of the window - to know exactly what boxes to tick while listing differences.

“It’s warm here,” Buck says and moves his hands up and down Eddie’s back, both to provide more warmth and to remind him that he’s not alone. “I’m here.”

Eddie’s hold on the back of Buck’s shirt gets tighter.

“I know that,” Eddie says, his voice scratchy. “Intellectually I know that I’m not there but-”

Eddie trails off and Buck finishes for him, “But sometimes it’s a little harder to make your brain believe it.”

He feels Eddie nod against his forehead.

Buck is familiar with the feeling. Gets that sometimes when they are spending time near the pier, or when they are on the street and there’s a sudden loud noise.

“Well, I’m going to remind it as many times as it needs,” Buck says. “But I need you to take a deep breath first.”

Eddie’s breaths are too shallow and too quick. Buck doesn’t know if it is because he’s panicking, or if he’s reminded of being underground in a hole that had a limited amount of oxygen, or underwater where all he had was what little he had in his lungs.

Buck leans up to kiss Eddie’s forehead before returning to their previous position, their foreheads against each other’s.

“Take a deep breath in,” Buck says and brushes his hand up Eddie’s back. When he feels the back move under his hand, he brushes it back down. “And breathe out.”

They follow the pattern until Eddie’s breaths get steadier and longer and when his breathing is calmer and he no longer seems to be panicking, Buck brushes his hand up into Eddie’s hair and guides his head to Buck’s shoulder so that they can share a proper hug. Eddie no longer has a death grip on the back of Buck’s uniform shirt, but his arms are sure around Buck’s back. Buck keeps his hand on the back of Eddie’s head while the other is around his waist, keeping him steady on his lap.

Eddie hides his face in the space between Buck’s neck and shoulder and Buck starts brushing his hand through the hair, hoping it brings Eddie comfort, that it reminds him that he’s not alone. For the same reason, Buck keeps talking.

“What do you want to have for dinner today?” Buck asks, his voice still gentle.

“You want to talk about dinner plans?” Eddie asks and Buck is happy to hear some lightness return to his voice, even if he stays hiding in the crook of Buck’s neck. “Now?”

“I want to give your brain something else to think about,” Buck says and turns his head a fraction to kiss the side of Eddie’s head. “So, what do you want for dinner?”

They stay like that, talking about dinner and Christopher and the plans they have for their next day off. Buck’s bad leg starts to ache at some point because it’s been in the same position for a while and Eddie is kind of heavy, but Buck doesn’t mention it. Eddie seems comfortable hiding like this, and Buck doesn’t want to disturb the calm bubble they have.

What does burst their bubble is the crackle of the radio, and Bobby’s voice that follows.

“We are at the elevator now,” he says. “We’re going to open the doors. The elevator is halfway to the seventh floor so you’ll have to climb out.”

“Copy that,” Buck replies. Then, to Eddie, “I guess that’s our sign to move.”

Eddie nods, pulling back from Buck, but only enough so he can leave a soft kiss on his lips.

“Thank you.”

Buck smiles in reply, “Anytime.”

Eddie gets up first, and Buck tries to follow. He can’t hide the grimace as he tries to put weight on his leg, and Eddie notices.

“Your leg,” he says as he helps Buck up. “It’s hurting?”

“It’s no big deal,” Buck says. “It was just in the same position for too long.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Eddie asks, his brows furrowed.

“I had more important things to focus on,” Buck says gently, to which Eddie replies with a fond look followed by a roll of eyes.

“Idiot,” he says lovingly.

Buck doesn’t have time to reply before there’s a loud noise and the doors are being pried open.

“The rescue is here,” Chimney says as soon as they can see him. “I thought you guys were supposed to be working, not give us more work?”

“We didn’t exactly plan this,” Buck replies.

“You sure?” Hen asks, and when Buck looks at her he notices that she’s looking between them, to where they are still holding hands. Buck looks up at Eddie and the first thing he pays attention to is Eddie’s messy hair.

He knows what this looks like and knows it’s not the truth, but he’s not going to tell them the actual truth either. It’s for Eddie to share if he wants to. He just gives Hen a shrug and pushes Eddie towards the doors, letting him get out first.

When Eddie is out, Buck lifts the gear bag out of the elevator and follows suit. Getting out is easy, it only requires a little upper body strength, but getting up to standing proves to be a little more difficult because of his leg. Eddie is by his side immediately, helping him up.

“You two okay?” Bobby asks. “Did you get hurt when the elevator stopped?”

“No,” Eddie says. “But Buck’s leg is hurting.”

Buck gives Eddie a betrayed look but Eddie replies with a raise of his eyebrows that either says ‘do you really think they didn’t notice’ or ‘do you really think I’d let you hide an injury’, Buck’s not sure which.

“It’s fine,” Buck says. “It was just a little tight fit in that elevator. It will be fine once I get to stretch it.”

“How awful to be stuck in such a tight space,” Hen says as they start walking to their truck, the others leading the way as Buck and Eddie walk behind them. “Having to be so close. How did you pass all that time?”

Buck knows what she’s trying to imply, but even though it feels tempting to tell them that they don’t need to speculate about when they will get together since they already are, it’s more rewarding to know it’s a secret. Something just for them.

Buck looks at Eddie where he’s walking beside him, biting his lip and looking troubled. He’s probably thinking about what actually happened in the elevator, and knowing Eddie he doesn’t like the vulnerability he showed while stuck there. He’s getting more comfortable with being more open with Buck, but the idea of the team finding out probably sounds awful to him.

Buck catches his eye and gives him a comforting smile and once he sees Eddie return the smile, he gives him a wink, a reminder of their not-so-little secret.

“Actually,” Buck starts. “We made plans for what to eat for dinner.”

Buck keeps talking all the way to the truck, telling the team about this new pasta recipe he tried over the weekend and how it was the best thing he’s ever eaten (not counting Bobby’s meals, of course), and it’s like any other call they’ve been to. Just before they get in the truck, Eddie reaches over to give his hand a quick squeeze, a silent thank you.

Buck smiles at him and gets to the truck, eagerly waiting for their shift to end.

Most days, keeping their relationship a secret at work is easy. On some, like today, it’s a little harder to keep the touches casual and to keep the affectionate words unsaid. But at the end of the day, it’s worth it so they get to be in their own bubble for a while longer.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #9-1-1 #my writing #guys that elevator!!#ah #what a wonderful little thing #anyways it's past 6am as i'm posting this so please be kind and ignore the mistakes

76 notes · View notes

waatermelon-sugaar · 4 years ago

Text

Drunk Calling

Pairing = Santiago x reader

Words = 1.7k

Summary = A drunk call to Santi ends the night less than ideal

Warnings = drinking, angsty ending? quite open

A/N = Prompt no.37 requested by @writefightandflightclub as part of my 300 follower celebration, thanks so much, hope you like it! Prompt was “You are too drunk to be speaking right now” w/santi and bolded in text. Also this is not that great, but writers block sucks and I hope you like it Luna!

Masterlist

***

“Santiiiagoooo.” You stretch out his name as you hold onto the bar with one hand, speaking into your phone.

You can’t hear his voice so you pull the phone down, frowning in concentration as the black screen swims in front of you. You definitely called him, that’s his name on your phone.

You put the phone back to your ear, listening carefully, trying to block out the music playing in one corner. It’s still ringing, that’s good.

You can see your friends, a couple of them still dancing, the others smoking, visible through the window as they pretend that they’re not cold in the dark air.

And then you hear him. “Sweetheart?” His voice sounds slow, and muffled, like he’s underwater. “Are you alright?”

You grin. “Santi!” You wish he was here with you. “I wish you were here.”

There’s a mirror behind the bar, and you catch sight of your reflection, hair looser than when you left your house, a slight sheen of sweat on your skin from dancing.

You can’t hear him for a second, and you panic. “Santi?”

There’s a small grunt, and you can hear him moving. You sigh in response, waiting, and propping yourself up on the bar a little better. “Where are you?”

“I-,” you start, making a face at yourself in the mirror, “- am having fun. Where are you?”

You can hear him laugh, and you adjust the phone. “I’m in bed.”

“In bed?” You frown. “In boring land more like.”

“It’s 2am,” He reminds you, laughing. It’s scratchier than his normal laugh, deeper.

“Why do you sound different?”

There’s another pause, and it suddenly occurs to you that maybe 2am is a bad time to call, except you wish Santi were here and this is the next best thing, because really all you want is to give him a hug.

“This is what I sound like when I wake up sweetheart.” He clears his throat, and then his voice comes through, louder and clearer. “I’m in bed, remember?”

“I wish I was with you.”

You can practically hear his raised eyebrow. “Yeah? I thought I was in boring land?”

“Ahh, but it wouldn’t be boring if I was there.”

You register that the top of the bar is sticky so you try and stand a bit more independently.

“Careful, you’re starting to sound a bit like the fun police.” Santi’s voice is dry, and you suddenly can’t tell if he’s joking.

“I’m not the fun police,” you pout at your reflection. “I just… I bring the fun.”

Santi chuckles again, and your heart jumps. “I know-” the rest of his sentence is cut off when two of your friends suddenly appear at your side, whooping and laughing.

“Who are you on the phone too?” Silvia shouts as they wait for the bartender. She’s pulled her hair away from her face, curls now struggling to pull free from a ponytail, as she pulls the skirt of her dress further down her legs.

You twist the phone away so she can’t see, pushing into her side slightly. “Two, no sorry! Three jagerbombs please?” She hands her card over, even as you shake your head.

“I’m not drinking anymore.”

“No!” Silvia whines your name. Pulling on Mikki’s arm, she brings her into the debate. “Tell her she has to drink the jagerbomb, and then tell us who she’s on the phone too!”

Mikki nods, solemn. “You gotta do it.”

You sigh, even as the bartender returns with the three drinks, Silvia’s card, and a receipt.

“Come on, come on, come on.” Silvia’s handing you the shot, and you're holding the drink in your free hand, as the two of them start chanting. “Drink.”

“Drink.”

You roll your eyes, already knowing you’re going to do it. And then, with a fluid movement and a couple of swallows, the three of you are holding empty glasses.

You turn back to your phone, assuming they’re going to dance. “Santi?”

Unfortunately, that means you miss the knowing look they share between them.

“Silvia?” That’s Mikki’s voice.

“Yes Mikki?”

You turn back in mild horror, the phone now halfway to your face.

“How do you call your loverboy?”

“Come ‘ere, lover...boy!” The effect is ruined somewhat by Silvia’s attempt to control her laughter, hand covering her mouth.

“And if he doesn’t answer?” Mikki leans over as she talks, grasping the phone from you and pointing at the screen as she mouths the Santiago? eyes wide in excitement. You suddenly regret telling them about him.

Santi hasn’t hung up, the number under his name increasing steadily.

“Ohh loverboy!” Silvia’s talking dangerously close to your phone now, even as you try and take your phone back.

“And if he still doesn’t answer?”

There’s a glint in Mikki’s eye that you recognise and usually love, although you’re not normally on the receiving end.

“Santiago?” Mikki’s lifted the phone to her ear, and then she’s nodding. “Uh huh.” She looks at you. “Yeah she is.”

Oh no.

You grab Mikki’s wrist, trying to pull the phone away. “Yeah she is, what?” You hiss. “Mikki, yeah she is, what?”

Mikki ignores you, pushing your grabbing hands away. “You’re too drunk to be speaking right now.” She tells you happily, phone still to her ear and you groan, stomping your foot a little in frustration.

“She’s having fun, yeah.”

“Mikki!” You hiss again, unaware that Silvia’s phone is out and she’s recording the two of you.

“Kuckoo, do you know it?”

“Mikki!” You wail, collapsing dramatically onto the bar, grimacing when a coaster sticks to your cheek.

Mikki is still talking to him. “- and then you turn left, and it’s the one with the red light. You should come one day, they’ve got good music.”

You can only watch on in horror as she wraps up the call. “Bye Santiago!”

That’s her flirty voice, why is she using her flirty voice when she knows you li-

No.

She thinks you like him.

“Or should I say, bye Pope?” She asks, twirling a curl around her finger as though she’s stood in front of him.

She hangs up before you have a chance to tell her that he doesn’t like that nickname as a civi, that it’s only for the army, that he prefers Santi, he told you he likes Santi. Instead, you can only take your phone back with a huff.

“Ok, what?” Mikki’s arms are crossed now.

“Don't flirt with him,” you snap, irrationally annoyed. “He’s my friend and I don’t need you two…” you don’t find the words so you make a crude gesture.

“Jealous, much?” Mikki bites back. “If you fancy him, you just let me know, and I’ll step back. If you don’t, then as far as I’m concerned, I can flirt with him.”

You suddenly don’t know what’s happening to your stomach, something ugly roiling inside you. “But I wasn’t flirting,” Mikki continues, annoyed. “Look all he wanted to talk about was you and he’ll be here in a bit to take you home, ok?”

You don’t say anything, stunned. “Call me tomorrow when you’re sober, let’s have brunch or something?”

You nod, confused, but glad Mikki doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge, as she and Silvia make their way back to the dance floor.

10 minutes later, you’re waiting outside, shivering in the cold, admiring the stars, when Santi pulls up in his truck, window down, hat on.

When you climb in, he rolls the window up. The heater is on and you give another shiver, this time in delight.

And then, before you can stop yourself, you’re taking his hat, jamming it onto your head and admiring yourself in the mirror. Santi’s smiling, but he’s not looking at you. Good. You don’t think you could handle it if he smiled at you right now.

Neither of you talk, not even when you start fiddling with the radio, clumsy fingers pressing buttons until you find a song you like, humming under your breath as you twist the hat in your hands, suddenly nervous.

You don’t like Santi.

Do you?

No. You’re drunk, and gullible, and Mikki’s in your head.

Except he smells so good.

All the time. And he gives such good hugs. And he’s your best friend, your go to for… nearly everything.

You know you love him. That doesn’t mean you’re in love with him.

Does it?

You don’t realise at first when he’s parked outside your building, your swirling thoughts taking up your concentration until Santi turns the engine off. The sudden silence makes you stop, when Santi touches your leg.

“We’re here.”

It’s the first words he’s spoken to you in person, and suddenly, you’re tongue tied.

But he helps you in, pouring you a glass of water while you change, placing some paracetamol on your bedside table as you wipe your makeup off.

All in all, you manage, uttering small sentences as Santi tucks you into bed. And then he’s about to go when-

“I’m sorry for when my friends were on the phone.”

Santi turns to you, his figure shrouded in darkness, hat back on his head. He doesn’t say anything, and so you continue. “They, just… they think you’re good-looking or, I dunno, that I have a crush on you, and I just, I’m sorry, if that made you uncomfortable, or-“

Tears are beginning to pool in your eyes and you can’t be bothered to stop them, a deep sadness welling up in you, except you don’t know why. “-you’re just a really good friend to me Santi, and they know that and I do like you, but how can I tell you that-“

You sniff, and Santi moves towards you as your words slur together slightly. “-it’s not something you can tell your friend is it, I like what we have, I do, and I don’t want to ruin it.”

The bed dips and Santi’s there, pulling you into a hug as you sob into his shoulder. “You’re so nice Santiago.”

His arms are around your back. “You’ve always got me, and you make me laugh.” He just squeezes you tighter and you feel safe.

“Santi I think I-“

“You’re drunk.” He’s pulled back, and he’s not looking at you anymore. “You need to go to sleep.”

Weren’t you just crying into his shoulder? That man’s suddenly gone, and instead Santi’s twisting his hat in one hand, reaching up the other to mess with his curls as he stands.

“I don’t want you to say something you’re gonna regret.” You only dimly register the words, lying back onto your pillow, turning away from him.

Your sleep is fractured and teary, and when you wake, you can’t remember your dreams.

***

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

Tags: @fantasticcopeaglepasta

Send an ask to be tagged!

#Santiago x reader #Santiago Garcia x reader #Santiago pope x reader #Santiago pope Garcia x reader #pope x reader #Santiago garcia #Santiago pope #Santiago pope garcia #triple frontier #fanfic

65 notes · View notes

laypis · 4 years ago

Photo

rating: mature pairing: bakugou katsuki x gender-neutral reader word count: 8.2k warnings: swearing, violence, medical imagery note: crossposted to ao3 here

masterlist • next

summary:

A comet will only truly shine when passing by the Sun. After a mission for the Hero Public Safety Commission goes terribly wrong, you're taken in by Bakugou Katsuki, your former high school rival, to recover. However, when you’re forced to confront a brewing conflict between two sides of the Hero world head-on and fend off a criminal organization hellbent on slaughter, will you die out or burn bright? A Pro-Hero Bakugou x Pro-Hero Reader fic, featuring a reader with a slug Quirk. Reader is gender neutral/nonbinary but AFAB. All characters depicted are 18+.

Chapter One

It was raining.

It often rained on your missions. You've never been sure of why, but it did. That wasn’t a surprise to you.

Most of those missions didn’t involve you laying on the ground and bleeding out, that part was new. You can’t say this is how you foresaw your end to be. You’d hoped it’d be more peaceful, perhaps a bit warmer. You watched with bleary eyes as your bright, smashed phone screen next to your head blinked frantically with an onslaught of messages from your last known contact. A serene smile befell your face. You’d worried someone. You hoped he’d forgive you, in the end.

Your eyes closed.

You were surprised again to wake up not to the soothing, ethereal light of the afterlife, but to the obnoxious lights of a hospital room instead. You blinked several times, looking about in dull alarm. Was this a mistake? Was Heaven taunting you? Around the room, bundles of flowers and well-wishes spilled from every corner. Bouquets of all shapes and sizes, stuffed animals, and get-well-soon cards with words you couldn’t read from this distance. Your eyes settled on a figure sitting in an armchair towards the corner of your small room. The figure was slumped over like a ragdoll, a soft snore emanating from them.

You ached to call out to them, ask them if this was truly what the end looked like. You’d always thought it would be much more tranquil than the beeps of heart monitors and the gnawing pain in your side from where you’d been slashed.

“Where...?” you managed to rasp out. You heard the figure snort, then grunt before straightening up. After a pause, a low, masculine voice met your ears. It was astonishingly familiar.

“About damn time.”

⁠—

As it turns out, you hadn’t passed away and gone to the afterlife. According to Bakugou Katsuki, you’d almost died, and he’d carried your nearly lifeless and bleeding body to the closest hospital while you were unconscious. He’d explained all this once you’d awoken from what you understood to be several days of drug-induced slumber.

Now, the two of you sat in his fancy car, a carry-on bag at your side full of the meager toiletries you’d convinced the nurses to let you take. The orange and red glow of the underlights in his dashboard illuminated your feet as you stared downward at nothing.

“Oi, Snot-For-Brains, you alive over there?”

Bakugou’s brusque question brought your eyes up to meet his for the briefest of moments. You tilted your head, the medicine left in your system making it difficult to speak. You fought the all too familiar delay in time that seemed to grow by the second.

“Still here,” you offered softly, the corner of your lip quirking upwards into something akin to a smile.

“Good. I don’t need anyone dying on me in this car,” he answered before his eyes returned to the road ahead. "Just paid the damn thing off."

You smiled.

“I’ll try not... to.”

Besides the soft music from the radio, the car was quiet. It had turned dark before the hospital got all the paperwork finished in order to release you. You didn’t mind. The dark was where you thrived, after all. Where you’d almost died. The moon was peeking out from the clouds among the silhouettes of lighted buildings. It was barely noticeable past the streetlights that would pass, but you noticed it. Your eyes locked on the little semicircle, drawing strength from its willingness to shine. Bakugou broke your trance when he spoke again.

“What happened, slug?” was all he said.

“A lot. I’ll... tell you more when I... can,” you murmured. Bakugou accepted your answer more easily than you’d expected. He didn’t pry, his eyes turning back to the road after glancing at you a few times.

“Do you, uh, need anything special? A humidifier, or whatever?” he asked. The question made you chortle.

“No...” you smiled, lifting a hand to hide your mouth. “I’m not... that frail.”

“Tch, no kidding,” he agreed in a low voice. When he caught you looking at him oddly, he glared at the road. “I mean, you did just survive nearly getting cut in fucking half!” he sputtered. The smile behind your hand grew.

“I’ll... be okay,” you told him. “Look.” To make your point, you wiggled the two sets of antennae atop your head gifted to you by your Quirk. They were slower to respond than you’d like, but they moved to your command, with the smaller set twitching and the larger set pivoting like ears. Bakugou had glanced over in time to see you move each pair separately. You saw a shiver run up his spine.

“Creepy,” he muttered. The insult didn’t bother you much. You were used to hearing it. Having a slug Quirk wasn’t considered flashy or beautiful, but you knew the extent of your own capabilities. Your gaze lingered on his profile, outlined by the streetlights above. His jawline had filled out over the years, but there was still a hint of his former boyishness in his face.

You looked down at the broken phone in your lap. It barely maintained a charge, it was basically ruined, but you’d managed to message Mina Ashido. She was overjoyed to hear from you. You could tell she was holding in her questions about what had happened to reassure you. You’d asked a favor of her, and she’d obliged without any hesitation. You wondered if you’d ever be able to repay her for all her kindness over the years of your long friendship, the two of you had been attached at the hip since middle school. You loved her dearly, though had never said as much out loud. The lingering warmth the conversation brought you was enough for you to stay awake during the remainder of the car ride.

When you arrived at Bakugou’s apartment complex, you weren’t expecting squalor, but nor were you expecting the lavishness that assaulted you at every turn. The delicate organs peeking from your long hair were bombarded with new information. Your companion had earned his place in the hero world. Being the up-and-coming number 2 Pro was nothing to sneeze at. At the same time, you never pegged Bakugou for the rich living type. Some part of you was relieved when you came upon his actual apartment. A penthouse suite, but furnished sparsely and simply for a practical person. Much of the furnishings were black, but again, that could be expected considering who lived here.

As Bakugou swept you further into his place, you peered around. It was meticulously clean, of course, and the kitchen was weirdly enormous. Well, considering who it belonged to, maybe it wasn’t all that weird.

“You’re taking my bed. And I don’t wanna hear nothin’ smart about it,” he barked as he started moving around to pick up odds and ends. “You need more blankets, they're in the hallway closet. It's the second door to the left. Bathroom’s connected to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Now get your ass cleaned up and go to sleep. You’re a fuckin’ mess.”

Ah, so even his bedside manner was deplorable. Good to know you were in such capable hands.

You had to resist the overwhelming urge to roll your eyes. Though, you couldn’t deny you were weary. Your disastrous wound and the medicine they’d pumped you full of the past few days had taken an enormous toll on your body. Recovery hadn’t been easy. Not to mention the effect all the drugs had on your Gastropod Quirk.

The protective layer of mucus that normally covered your hair was watery, and threatening to stick to everything it touched. It felt as disgusting as it probably looked. Bakugou had already warned you back at the hospital not to get any of that “snot” on his things. The fact you felt like you were underwater didn’t help either. Your head hadn’t stopped swimming since you’d woken up properly for the first time in the hospital room. You usually liked the water, but not when it was all in your brain.

“Right,” you drawled, your dark eyes watching Bakugou in distant fascination as he swept some stray mail into a pile on the table next to the door. He either noticed your hesitation or got tired of it, because as soon as he finished, he took a hold of your shoulders and began to guide you toward his bedroom down the hallway.

“What the hell did I just say? You got more snot in your ears than usual or something?”

You shot him a glare that was promptly ignored.

“Look, just clean yourself up and if you’re hungry I’ll fuckin’ feed you, but then it’s bedtime. Got it?”

“Oh, is it... past your... bedtime?” you remarked. You were spun around with such force you thought you were going to pass out. Once the dizziness faded, your eyes locked with bright ruby hues.

“Listen here, slug. If I’m gonna play babysitter to your ass for who knows how long, then you go by my damn rules. Don’t make this more fucking difficult than it already is.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. You couldn't help but wonder what he meant by that, his choice of phrasing odd. However, even you knew when it was time to back down. You heaved a long-suffering sigh. You were too tired to pick his brain. Not only that, but you'd walk away with more questions than answers, that you were certain of.

“Your... flair for... drama... has not left you,” you mumbled. Bakugou’s grip on you tightened minutely, as if he were holding in the urge to blurt something obscene like he usually would. To your astonishment, he kept it together.

“Whatever. Go wash up, you smell like a wet dog that rolled in hell knows what.”

With that, his grip on you ceased. He sharply turned away from you, returning to the living room with a low huff. You tried shoving aside the strange feeling of missing those large, rough-hewn hands encompassing your lithe shoulders as you trudged to where he told you the bathroom would be.

Being alone in the bedroom of your former high school rival was an experience. Whether it was a good experience was up for debate, but at the moment all you could focus on was the door connected to the room that was slightly cracked open. Light was flooding out from it, signaling you to pull it open and reveal a spotlessly clean master bathroom. It had both a shower, and a tub.

How fortuitous for the man who can’t seem to get over calling you playground bully level insults. It was still a welcome sight, however, knowing you had private access to the entirety of the room until Bakugou would inevitably darken your door wanting to know if you’d finally passed on.

Without hesitation, you carefully peeled away your old clothing and bandages to reveal what you’d not been wanting to confront since you left the hospital. The whole reason you’d be holed up with your own personal nurse shark for the foreseeable future.

It was stitched with all the care in the world, an ugly blemish dyed with yellow iodine and old blood, staining your glossy tan skin with a sickly and unpleasant tinge. It split you from the top of your left hip upwards until the final end met the bottom of your sternum, spanning the whole width of your abdomen. You stared at it in the mirror for a long minute, absorbing every detail of it.

That criminal's blade had torn you asunder. Yet, here you stood in Katsuki Bakugou’s bathroom with breath still in your lungs.

By all rights, you shouldn’t be alive.

The thought echoed in your head, foggy and perpetual in the darkness of your mind. Onyx irises met each other in the mirror as you peered through pale bangs at yourself reflected inside the glass.

You looked like a ghost. And, truthfully, you should be one.

Eventually, your logic caught up with you to helpfully remind you that staring at your life-threatening injury in the mirror wouldn’t get you clean or fed.

Resigned, you padded toward the shower to start the water. It fell cold on the hand you held out to check the temperature. You had no doubts Bakugou probably liked his showers hotter than the devil’s teat, but you certainly did not. As soon as the water wasn’t cold enough to make you shiver, you shook the moisture from your hand to grab your bag. You plucked the sample-size shampoo bottle from the top of the pile inside and slithered under the waterfall.

You kept your mind empty as your body went through the motions of cleaning. You did, however, come back to reality long enough to watch the protective layer of mucus covering your hair slough off into the drain.

You hoped, somewhat bitterly, Bakugou had good plumbing. A new layer would form in its place, a stronger layer, protecting your hair properly instead of acting like a sticky hand fresh from the package at an arcade.

You sighed when you felt the appropriate amount of time had passed before your host would inevitably come looking for you. You were clean enough. You’d managed to wash away the sterile hospital scent and replace it with something lightly floral and refreshing. Your natural scent of wet leaves would make its return once you dried and rested, you imagined. A small comfort. The only good scent was your own.

Though, the strange sweetness permeating all of Bakugou’s home was becoming familiar to you. Albeit reluctantly.

I should give Bakugou more credit, you thought. He did save me from the clutches of death, and all.

Once you’d had enough of ogling your wound again in the mirror before wrapping it up, you came upon a dilemma. Dilemma being the mildest of words to describe the problem.

You had no clean clothes.

Mina had promised you in a text earlier in the day she’d drop by your apartment and grab you enough clothing to cover your, hopefully, short stay at Bakugou’s place and bring it to you. You’d agreed, stupidly perhaps, that she could do that tomorrow when she had a chance.

Your hand wiped over your face, a scowl affixed on your expression, and heaved a sigh. You’d have to borrow something from Bakugou.

Finding a towel big enough to wrap around your willowy figure wasn’t an issue at least. You steeled yourself for facing the owner of the house, taking in a deep, calming breath. Could things really get that much worse?

As it turned out, yes, because the moment you opened the door you were face-to-face with your gracious host who looked like he’d seen a ghost the minute he laid eyes on you.

“For fuck’s sake, where the hell are all your-!”

“Gone.”

He paused, his expression frozen in a contortion of both anger and ... embarrassment? You hadn’t seen that look on him very much in all your years of knowing each other, but he still wore it about as well as a fish wore pants. He reached up to run an agitated hand through the short, buzzed locks of his hair.

“Before you... lose your temper... be reminded I came with nothing but... the clothes the hospital so kindly let me... take. Mina... promised me she would bring more. Tomorrow,” you explained, painstakingly slow as you fought exhaustion, irritation, and pain to form coherent sentences. Bakugou stuttered out something under his breath that sounded strangely like an apology before shaking his head and tearing around his room to find something for you to wear.

“Right. Fine. Whatever. I’ll give you something of mine, but it’s mine, got it? I get it back whenever Racoon-Eyes brings you your own shit,” he grumbled as you watched him rifle through a drawer for something that was even close to small enough to fit you. “And try not to get any damn slime on it!”

An amused smile tugged at your lips. You leaned heavily on the door frame of the bathroom, eyes never leaving Bakugou as he finally pulled out a pair of shorts and an oversized black t-shirt from his dresser’s bottom drawer. As soon as he checked them over (for cleanliness, you assumed), he tossed them your way.

“Here. I don’t wanna hear any complaining about size. It ain’t my fault you’re a stick,” he said, pointing a finger at you with the usual scowl on his face. Compared to you, he’d beefed up in the time you’d spent apart. You noticed it whenever you caught the ripple of muscle through his toned arms.

“Me? Complain...?" You did your best to sound scandalized at the very idea. "You may... have bad manners... but I don’t,” you chided, clumsily catching the bundle in your arms.

You cursed the slip, because you heard Bakugou scoff instead of taking the bait. Were you so wrong for wanting some normalcy between the two of you? You’d traded barbs like cards back at U.A. but clearly Bakugou had other ideas at the moment. You didn’t catch the deepening of his scowl at the comment, too occupied with looking over the new clothing you held.

“Just get dressed, dammit,” he said before storming from the room. Well, at least some things never changed.

Once you were finally settled in fresh clothing, you sat at the edge of Bakugou’s huge bed, tying up your hair into a looping ponytail so that it would be out of your way. It would hopefully also prevent your hair’s natural slime coat from getting onto Bakugou’s clothing while it reformed.

How he slept in such a monstrosity was a mystery to you. The bed was easily three times the size of your own at home. Looking at it closer, it seemed it was fit more for someone like Hawks, whose quirk made it tough to fit in a normal bed. Not really an angry bachelor, as was Bakugou.

The thought of him sharing a bed with anyone but the covers was a funny thought to you. But it turned sour when you felt an odd pang of jealousy at the idea.

Had he shared a bed with anyone else in the five years you’d not seen each other? It would only be reasonable to expect as such. He may be gruff and have all the charm of a bulldog, but he had needs… or so you thought.

Right?

You shook the thought from your mind, bringing a hand up to hold onto your aching head. What had he mentioned earlier before marching you to his bedroom? Food? You hadn’t eaten a decent meal since before you were hospitalized, and that had been… Oh. That was several days ago, now. If your fuzzy memory served right, Bakugou was an... adequate cook. You hated admitting that much, but if he was offering to make you something, then you’d be a fool to turn it down.

Picking yourself up from the edge of the bed, you shuffled out of his bedroom and into the dim hallway leading out toward the main part of his penthouse.

“You ask... if I’m dead... yet you disappear like... a ghost?” you muttered to yourself as you saw not hide nor hair of him in the living room.

A cacophonous rattling of plates and a curse in the direction of the massive kitchen drew your attention. It seemed he was a step ahead of you on the matter of food.

You strolled to the kitchen’s ample island, sitting yourself in a bar seat as quietly as you could while you focused your gaze on Bakugou’s form hustling about the stove top. The drugs remaining inside your system were dulling your senses and your pain, so you hadn’t smelled the food before. However, now that you were close enough, the enticing scent of something light and hearty met you like an old friend. It reminded you again how long you had gone without food, evident by your stomach lightly rumbling.

At first, Bakugou didn’t acknowledge you directly. He must have realized you’d slipped in somewhere along the way though, because he addressed you as he stirred something on the stove without turning to you.

“Pinky told me you don’t eat meat,” he stated, his voice even and, surprisingly, calm. “I’m making vegetable curry. I’ll make sure your portion is up to your wimpy standards, so I don’t wanna hear nothin’ about how hot it is.”

You blinked. You hadn’t realized Bakugou had spoken with Mina at all, let alone about your diet.

When did that happen? While you were effectively dead to the world? How long had Bakugou been thinking about becoming your personal nurse? You suddenly had a lot of questions for your host.

Still, it was true, meat was near indigestible for you. Spicy food rarely agreed with you either, but you knew Bakugou liked everything as hot as his temper.

“I... see. That’s... uncharacteristically considerate... of you,” was all you could think to say.

"Hah?" Ah, there it was. "You really think I'd be such a selfish asshole after all this?" he growled, still not looking at you as he picked up fervor in beating the vegetable sauce in the pot instead.

"You do not... have a fantastic track record... of doing so, no," you pointed out. "You made... Kaminari cry... by giving him that... abominable ramen you enjoyed... in high school. And laughed."

Bakugou was quiet at that. When he did speak again, he stopped stirring.

"That shit was funny, and don't you try and act like you didn't laugh like the rest of the peanut gallery," he grunted. "And it wasn't 'abominable'," he mocked, "it was the only good, cheap ramen at that shitty school!"

The familiarity and comfort of his banter won a tiny smile from you as you rested your head against your arm. You watched as his movements slowed back to a more professional pace.

"Fair enough," you relented. Bakugou gave a hum of satisfaction.

“Drinks are in the ‘fridge. Get whatever you want,” he told you. You slipped off your chair, moving to the large, double-door refrigerator. It was filled with clearly fresh groceries, vegetables of all kinds spilling out from various places, and packages of what seemed to be seafood, and tofu. A shelf in the door was full of nothing but a plethora of hot sauces of every label and brand. You wrinkled your nose at the sight, trying to focus on finding the drinks. They were located in a plastic drawer at the bottom, but you merely selected a bottle of water that’d caught your eye before closing the fridge.

You stood for a moment, watching Bakugou at the stove. From here, you could see the steam rising from the pot of rice. You also saw that he had set aside a pan of curry from the main portion. Was that for you, or him? You couldn’t quite tell. You had apparently stared too long, because Bakugou turned his usual glower on you.

“What?” he barked. You clutched your water bottle to your chest, the cool plastic bleeding through your shirt.

“Nothing,” you replied. “You just... look at home among all the... pots and pans.”

“The hell? You tryin’ to say I belong in the kitchen?” he pointed the large utensil in his hand at you accusingly, a vein popping in his neck at the insinuation.

“Of course... not.” You held up your hands in surrender. “You’re the one who... always brags... about your cooking. You seem... comfortable... when you’re making food.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed at you as he tried to think of a reply, but when something simmered in front of him, he turned back to it with a disgruntled sound. When it was clear he wasn’t going to answer with anything more than a scowl in your direction, you decided to make your way back to your former seat at the island with drink in hand.

The kitchen grew quiet after that, barring the sounds of Bakugou working and the gentle bubbling of the curry. You’d noted that he didn't use an automatic rice cooker, he did it all himself. Impressive, but likely just another detail of his skills to boast about.

In the silence, you remembered the manners you'd boasted about earlier. Specifically, being thankful to your temperamental host. Despite his bedside manner needing improvement, he'd truly done a lot for you. More than you'd thought him capable of. You hated owing people, but there's comfort in the way Bakugou made it so you couldn't protest his "kindness" as he knew you might.

After some thought, you finally eke out the phrase that had been on the tip of your tongue since Bakugou had offered to take you in until you were healed enough to return home.

“Bakugou?” you asked tentatively. He stopped stirring the rice to turn around, pinning you with his usual wrathful stare as he obviously expected another snarky comment.

“Thank you,” you bowed your head to him with your hands clutched in your lap, eyes downcast. A faint blush dusted your cheeks, and of course it would. Your sensitive antennae gave the smallest twitch. You hoped that he understood you meant more than just the food. You didn’t see him turn back around, nor did you see the slight softening of his expression in reply to your gratitude. A beat passed before he answered.

“Yeah.”

⁠—

A plate of fresh, steaming curry with a side of rice was placed in front of you on the counter, along with a spoon. You raised your head to look at the cook and thank him, but he was already moving to sit across from you as he pulled a barstool to the other side of the island.

He set his plate down, bombarding your senses with the frankly offensive amount of spice he liked in his food. His curry was much more red than your own, which, by all rights, looked to be a tolerable level. You both mumbled a quiet thanks for the meal, then you picked up your spoon to start eating.

It was hot, but only in temperature. He’d managed to keep the spices to himself, it seemed. You found yourself smiling a bit at that. The taste was nice, but you still ate slowly. Bakugou didn’t play with his food, but you noticed him hesitating in taking a bite. You’d felt his eyes on you since the first spoonful. You put down your silverware.

“If you’re... expecting a review...” you started, a gentle, teasing lilt to your voice.

“Shut up and eat!” he bellowed, then began to wolf down his curry like a starved man. It drew a soft chuckle from you.

The dinner continued in the silent way that dinners do, the clinking of spoons against porcelain being the only noise that cut through it. You had other things on your mind besides him, all of which were beginning to surface with more clarity as the food helped the medicine in your system recede. You were drifting when you heard Bakugou clear his throat.

“I know you said you’d tell me when you can, but what the hell happened?”

You shifted in your seat. That was sooner than you’d thought it’d be.

“I was... caught infiltrating a... criminal organization. One of the other... members... lured me out on a fake errand... and left me to die,” you explained. You didn’t want to go too far into details about your work for the Hero Public Safety Commission, not right now.

“You’re a stealth operative for the HC, right? Racoon-Eyes mentioned it once or twice.” You could hear the barely contained anger threatening to spill out in his voice. It was clear he wanted to know more, but he shoved a spoonful of curry into his mouth instead.

“Yes.”

“And still holdin’ number 7? Can’t imagine the public knows a whole lot about you, though,” he snorted. “You’re better off that way, trust me.”

You stopped eating to cock your head, fixing him with curious eyes.

“You’re... number 2, right? Is the public so... bad?”

Bakugou huffed.

“Nah, but they’re nosy fuckers. The media ain’t much better. Worse, if anything.” There was a pointed note of disdain in his voice. It reminded you of something.

“Yes... They make... quite a big deal... of the fact Endeavor is still... active,” you said, lifting a spoonful to your mouth. You’re startled by the sound of Bakugou’s own spoon clattering against his nearly empty plate.

“Yeah, I know. That stubborn old bastard says I ain’t ready for it yet and won't even tell me why! It’s bullshit,” he snarled, crossing his arms over his chest and staring you down. “I don’t know what the hell his problem is, but I’m gettin’ real tired of it. He’s gonna be pushin’ 60, what’s the damn point?”

You blinked a few times at him, then put the bite you were holding into your mouth. You chewed slowly. It’s a long enough pause that Bakugou raises a fine brow at you questioningly.

“People are... stuck in their... ways,” you replied. Your answer didn’t seem to satisfy him. If anything, it appeared to anger him further.

“What about you? I don’t see or hear shit from you for five damn years, and then you text me outta nowhere for help? The fuck is that about, slug?” You froze. The irritation at having the conversation turned on you once more was enough to make the delicate stalks on your head twitch.

“The HC is... hellbent... on keeping me a secret. In case... you hadn’t noticed,” you stated coldly. “Besides... I knew... your and Red Riot’s... agency... patrolled that area. You were... my first thought.” Your brows knit together behind your curtain of hair, and you were thankful he couldn’t see it. The reply made him bark out a cruel-sounding laugh.

“But me? Why not fuckin’ Pinky or, hell, even the Tape-face?” he growled as he angrily took a bite of his food. “Ain’t like they don’t work for me.”

You bid yourself to calm down as you racked your brain for an answer. Why did you text Bakugou of all people? You found yourself slightly regretting the decision.

“I knew... you would be... the one to know... what I meant in my message,” you finally said. He grunted.

“Texting someone the word help with coordinates attached ain’t exactly as mysterious as you think it is, slug,” he said, shaking his head. “Where the hell was the Hero Commission anyway? Didn’t they send you with any damn backup? Couldn’t you see that whatever dumb villain did that to you was gonna snap?”

“It was... too dangerous to send... more operatives,” you explained. “I was... a good fit.” You left it at that, his other questions hanging in the air. He noticed, because he stood up from his seat abruptly to lean over the island, braced on his palms, to glare at you from above.

“A good fit? That’s a fuckin’ laugh! You were bleeding out in a shitty alleyway, and no one would’ve found your corpse if I didn’t get there in time! What the hell were those higher-up idiots thinking, putting you in that kinda situation all by yourself?”

You gritted your teeth, temper boiling up through your veins. It felt like ice coursing through you. You calmly placed your spoon down on your plate, your half-finished food turning to ashes in your mouth. You rose slowly from your seat, and it seemed Bakugou had finally caught onto the fact he’d angered you. He withdrew a bit, but his glare was still just as piercing.

“I live in the shadows, and... that's where I'll die,” you clenched your fists at your sides. “It must be... so nice, to not have to... worry about that," you replied to him, voice low and frigid. "If... it's such a big deal to you, why... did you... come for me? Why... go through all this... trouble?" You gestured widely to the meal, the apartment, and yourself, clothed in his spare wardrobe.

Your questioning leaves Bakugou looking stunned. He gave an owlish blink, his scowl wiped away temporarily as his lips hang open without retort. You can practically see the hamster wheel turning inside his head, complete with a furious-looking rodent.

You fought an oncoming wave of stress-induced dizziness and nausea. You brought a hand up to your head to steady yourself and squeezed your eyes shut to block out the increasingly incessant lights, wrapping the other arm protectively around your middle. You give one last glance to Bakugou's deepening frown.

“Thank you for... the food, Bakugou, but I think... I need to... rest.”

"Oi⁠—!"

With that, you turn and stalk off to the dark reaches of his bedroom, leaving Bakugou with only his thoughts and the dirty dishes.

⁠—

You hadn’t left Bakugou’s bedroom since you closed the door behind you. Normally, you’d have been polite enough to at least help with the dishes, but the whole ordeal had upset you enough that you couldn’t think of anything more than your own spinning head. As the calm of the darkness settled over you, you felt yourself regretting your words to the man. After all, he had helped you. Yes, you were in pain. Yes, Bakugou had likely overstepped. At the same time, you’d practically thrown his kindness back into his face and spat on it.

You physically cringed at the thought. It wouldn’t surprise you if he threw you out the next day. Better enjoy this ridiculously huge bed while it lasted, you sighed.

You were sprawled out atop the bed, not even bothering to get under the covers. It'd been a few hours at least since the dinner. Once the nausea had passed and your head no longer ached, you were left only with echoes of your fraught conversation to plague you. Needless to say, you hadn't gotten any sleep since you'd laid down.

It certainly wasn’t as if you wanted to die the way you almost did. However, Bakugou made it hard to understand why he’d do all this for you. To his credit, he’d never been an easy person to understand. You knew his temper, you knew his bluntness, and you knew from your years together at U.A. what drove him, considering he never shut up about being the number one. The memories made you smile, the smallest quirk of your lips. At the same time, there was a part of him that he was good at obscuring. He was a straightforward person, that much was certain, but there was a piece of his puzzle you’d never quite understood.

You sighed miserably, rolling onto your uninjured side as you stared out into the darkness of his room. How did he sleep in this bed? It felt so incredibly empty. Perhaps he liked the space. Knowing what you did about him, it wouldn’t come as a surprise to you. He seemed the type to toss and turn until his body finally gave over to slumber. How he maintained a strict bedtime was a mystery to you with your chronic insomnia coupled with horrendous paranoia.

You buried your nose into his comforter, immediately breathing in that strange and sweet scent that lingered in the air throughout his penthouse. You’d finally figured out what it was.

His Quirk.

You’d read, somewhere, long ago, that nitroglycerin gave off a distinctly sweet scent. Some likened it to caramel, but his smell wasn't nearly that pure. Likely because whatever caused his sweat to be explosive wasn’t pure nitroglycerin. Still, the composition was similar, right? It would make sense. You closed your eyes. It wasn’t all that different from the damp foliage smell that your slime created, though you much preferred that smell over his at the moment. His was merely a reminder of whose house you were in.

You reached up to rub your temple. You’d have to apologize to him. You weren’t sure if that’d save you from being swiftly booted from his door in the morning, but you had some faith that Mina would be willing to take you in.

Lost in your drifting thoughts, you snuggled against one of his pillows and were assaulted by his scent. And a memory. A memory?

In your second year at U.A., you and Bakugou had formally faced each other during a mock battle at the Sports Festival. You’d lost by a hair, mostly because it was warm that day, and you’d dehydrated from both the fight and Bakugou’s fiery explosions. It was a pitiful defeat, in your mind, even if you’d placed 3rd in the end. It was also the first time you’d ever caught a glimmer of the side of himself Bakugou hid so expertly.

You looked at the scar on your arm. It was one of the few you had, now counting the one that would likely form across your abdomen from the villain attack.

In the dark, it wasn’t difficult to see. A faded, bright patch of skin over your tan complexion. In many ways, it resembled a star streaking over the night sky. It was long, stretching in ragged lines over the back of your forearm and ended in a distinct shape on the back of your hand. It was formed when you took a point-blank blast from Bakugou in a poor attempt to block the only way you knew how in the heat of the moment. You thought you could take the impact of the blast to throw that force back at him with your rubbery body. Instead, you were sent sprawling with a bloody arm onto the concrete stage.

You remembered trying to get up, struggling to get to your knees, not realizing the extent of your injuries. You were determined to let him see what you could really do. To let everyone see what you could really do. It was almost funny to look back on when your mere existence was so clandestine nowadays.

He’d stopped you by placing a firm, hot palm over your back and pressing you down into the hard stone. You were sure he was going to blast you into the ground, then and there. You’d watched with glassy eyes as the surrounding crowd was awash with jeers and calls for the referee, Mr. Cementoss.

Bakugou didn’t throw all his weight onto you, nor did he blast you. He only said three words that you barely heard before you finally passed out from the pain and exhaustion of the match.

“You did fine.”

After that, you’d woken up in Recovery Girl’s office with Mr. Aizawa at your side to tell you not to push yourself so hard next time. He’d drawn your attention to your now bandaged arm, pointing out that it was going to scar. You’d begrudgingly accepted his advice about understanding your limits. Sometimes, the best trick in a hustler’s arsenal, you knew, is when you should fold.

That being said, you never had been sure how you ended up in the nurse’s office. Your brows furrowed at the thought. Back then, you had asked Aizawa if he’d taken you, but he’d just scratched his neck and told you that he was watching from the stands without any indication of who had taken you. You’d later learn from Mina that she’d rushed to the stage to offer to take you. You assumed all these years later she was the one to haul you there. However, with your antennae surrounded by Bakugou’s scent, you were remembering a different version of events.

You hadn’t entirely passed out after Bakugou had claimed his victory. You were conscious in flashes, mostly from the pain in your arm. You do remember hearing Mina’s desperate voice, but she wasn’t yelling at you. She was saying something to someone else.

“Let me do it! Please Bakugou, you hurt them enough already!”

“Shut up, Racoon-Eyes, and get outta my way!”

The feeling of being braced over a large, muscular shoulder as you were carried. The growl in his voice as you were berated for your damned recklessness.

The next time you heard anything, you were being laid out on a bed while Recovery Girl frantically worked in the background. She was scolding your carrier.

“I’m fine, old hag! Just take care of them.”

A door slammed, and all was quiet at last. You finally succumbed to fatigue at the sounds of bandages rustling and kissy noises. Mina hadn’t carried you to Recovery Girl that day.

Bakugou had.

You jolted up, letting out a seething hiss as your wound reminded you that it was very much still there. You slumped, looking out into the dark bedroom with a grimace. You glanced at the closed door leading out into the hallway.

Compelled, you scooted off the bed, coming to stand in front of the door. You opened it quietly and were greeted with nothing but darkness. The tentacles atop your head swiveled as they took in your environment, allowing you to navigate the pitch black with ease until the hall opened out into the living room.

The only sounds were the distant hum of the city, and a ticking from an analog clock somewhere in the background. The soft noise of someone breathing was coming from the large, leather sectional that Bakugou had, the dim light from his windows allowing you to make out a figure bundled in blankets atop it.

You approached on silent feet until you were standing next to your unconscious host. You felt your expression soften. He was far more peaceful at rest than any other time in his life, the angry lines in his face nonexistent as he snored quietly.

You hesitantly reached out, wondering if you should even bother until morning. You had no idea what time it was, you’d been laying in bed drifting in and out of consciousness but failing to fall asleep properly. Your hand hovered over his shoulder, but you pulled away when you heard him snort.

Red eyes fluttered open at the interrupted snore, unfocused, before they settled on you and grew wide. In an instant, Bakugou was on his feet, his hand wrapping around your slender wrist and crackling ominously. You braced, ready to accept your fate when he finally rasped out your name in question.

“Fucking Christ. You’re goddamn lucky I didn’t blow your hand off, Snot-for-Brains,” he growled, voice husky with sleep.

“I suppose... I would deserve it,” you countered softly.

“Hah? What the hell are you talking about?”

You tilted your head. Did he not remember your little tiff earlier? At the gesture, it clicked into place for him.

“Oh. The dinner thing,” he said. His eyes met yours for a brief moment, assessing. Then, he shook his head, his gaze drifting to the side. “Don’t fucking worry about it.”

This was when he noticed he was still holding onto your wrist. He withdrew his hand like he’d been burned, leaving you to rub the spot while checking for damage. Thankfully, the only thing that remained was a warm sensation. It was a remarkable bit of restraint on his part. Bakugou cleared his throat, but you spoke first.

“I’m sorry. About... all that. I really am... thankful for all you’re doing for me. I... also realize you’re not obligated to... do any of it,” you murmured, hanging your head as you set your eyes on the floor. You heard him huff.

“Well, duh. I wouldn’t be doin’ it if I didn’t want to,” he stated, his arms folding against his chest. “But from now on, try not to kill yourself. I’ve seen enough of your dumb, passed out ass to last me a damn lifetime.”

Again, another strange choice of words from him. You lifted your gaze, dark eyes narrowing at him in the dimness. He wasn’t looking at you, determined to keep his eyes on something to his right.

“I’ll try,” you replied, letting yourself relax. You could feel a wave of exhaustion washing over you. You were relieved. At least it didn’t seem like Bakugou was going to shove you out the door in the morning. “Did... you want your bed... back?”

Bakugou looked at you in disbelief.

“Hell no! Which one of us almost got gutted like a damn fish, huh? You take the bed, idiot,” he stated sternly.

“I hate it,” you said bluntly. “It’s far... too big... for one person.”

“Yeah, if that person weighs less than a paper sack soakin’ wet, like you,” he retorted. He let out a frustrated sigh, letting his arms drop to his sides. “I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this, but would it make your stupid ass feel better if I was there?” You were taken aback by the question. You stared at the ground, then him.

It wasn’t a stretch by any imagination to say you’d had less than a few purely friendly thoughts about Bakugou in the ensuing years you’ve known him. For as atrocious as his attitude was, he was attractive, well-built, and had a decently handsome face. In your mind, one would have to be blind not to see that much. The idea that he’d be in the same bed as you in the real world, however, was not one you’d ever thought you’d confront.

“I...” you stuttered, uncertain of exactly what to say. In the darkness, you thought you saw the beginnings of a flush in Bakugou’s neck and ears. You had to wipe away the immediate idea you had about how pretty it looked on him.

“Just answer the damn question!”

You swallowed.

“That... might help. Yes,” you managed. You fiddled with the hem of your borrowed shirt, not looking at Bakugou directly anymore. You tried to fight the heat rising to your cheeks, hoping the darkness would cover for you should you lose the battle.

“C’mon then, we ain’t got all night,” he commanded as he started making his way to the bedroom. You followed in a daze, unable to believe you were about to share a bed with Bakugou Katsuki. Sure, you’d had something of a crush on him in your later high school days despite the rivalry the two of you maintained, but that was years ago, for God’s sake. Some higher power was clearly getting a laugh from this, and you cursed their name in your head.

You hesitated at the doorway to the bedroom, watching as Bakugou turned over the covers.

“Did you even fucking sleep?” he grumbled, more to himself than you.

“Not... really,” you answered from the door frame. He whipped around to look at you, pinning you with ruby eyes of disbelief that nearly glowed in the darkness of the room.

“Shut up, and get in,” he pointed to the bed. You strolled past him, feeling his glower on you as you climbed into the plush cocoon of blankets with a creak of the mattress. This was indeed far more comfortable than laying atop all the covers, you’d give him that much.

As soon as you had arranged yourself on one side of the bed, Bakugou laid himself on the opposite side. You were forced to face him due to your injury. He didn’t cover himself completely with the sheets as he sprawled out on his back. He tucked his hand under the pillow beneath his head, eyes closing. You couldn’t help but notice it left an empty, enticing space against his side.

Before you realized what you were doing in the haze of your pain-addled and weary mind, you’d wormed your way closer to him. You tentatively reached out to place a hand on his chest. He was so warm beneath your palm, the feeling of his heartbeat against it reminded you he was very real.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growled without opening his eyes. You blinked your way back to reality, about to remove your hand when he let out a low huff.

“If you’re gonna do this shit, at least follow through,” he groused.

You had to hold back the incredulity in your expression, even if he wouldn't have seen it anyway. Too tired to argue, you could figure out the meaning of his words. You mustered your courage. Keeping your hand against his heart, you slid over until you were tucked against his side with your face buried to his black wife beater. He was practically a furnace, his warmth permeating from where the two of you met against each other. You fought the urge to peer up at him and gauge his expression, fearful of what you might find there. You focused your gaze on his chest instead.

“Relax, idiot. I don’t bite.”

You didn’t realize how tense you’d been. He let out a deep breath, and you could feel his body relaxing alongside yours.

“Are you finally good?” You could feel the rumble of his low voice against your cheek. You nod.

“Good, now go the fuck to sleep. Tomorrow, you're helping with the dishes."

"Fair... enough."

You yawned softly. With eyes closed, you focused on the sound of his breathing. You were all too aware of the rise and fall of his chest under your hand, the slight quickening of his heart when you’d sidled up to him. A tiny smile graced your lips. Feeling safer than you’d felt in a long time, you allowed the gift of slumber to claim you at last.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #pro hero bakugou #bakugou x gender neutral reader #dynamight #my hero x reader #my hero fanfic #my hero academia #boku no hero x reader #boku no hero academia #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #no y/n here tho sorry i hate that thing #finally the proper banner!!!#sorry for the repost :')

23 notes · View notes

morganaspendragonss · 4 years ago

Text

someday, i’ll breathe again

prompted by @mimierose, idea by @theworld-is-out-there. thanks guys, so sorry it took me so long to write! i hope you both like it!

A shout from above grabs their attention, followed by the pounding of feet coming down the stairs towards them. TK’s able to shove Mateo out of the way, but the guy forcefully collides with him as he goes past, his momentum knocking TK off balance and sending him tumbling down the stairs to the landing below.

He lands hard, stars exploding in his vision, the pain in his head masking the sharp sting in his arm.

ao3 | 2.1k | warning for references to needles and past addiction - this is not a relapse fic

The ambulance arrives at the scene just behind the truck, and TK grins when he climbs out, spotting Carlos already deep in conversation with his dad. Nancy hits him as she walks past, any initial reservations she’d had about him joining their team long since forgotten.

“Head out of the bedroom, Strand,” she says, rolling her eyes at his show of offence.

“I’ll have you know my head wasn’t even close to the bedroom,” he protests, following her to the back of the ambulance. It’s not even a lie; he’d actually just been thinking about how much he was looking forward to their movie night later. They haven’t spent much time together properly in a while, shifts rarely lining up, both of them too tired to do much more than sleep when they do.

Becoming a paramedic has meant that some of the danger has gone out of TK’s job, but the workload has increased more than he realised it would. Medical get far more calls than fire in a day, and much as TK loves it, he can’t deny the bone-deep exhaustion at the end of most shifts.

He wouldn’t trade it, though, not for the world.

Nancy sends him a withering look, but she doesn’t get a chance to respond before Tommy’s striding back over to them, having consulted with his dad.

“What are we looking at, Cap?” he asks.

“PD needs some help clearing the building,” she responds. “It’s due to be demolished in a couple of weeks, but there have been some reports of squatters, gangs, local kids, hanging around. They want to make sure everyone’s out, and they want medical on standby just in case. Ordinarily, we’d wait out here, as you know, but Captain Strand and I have agreed that it would be more efficient and useful to have you inside. There might be people in there who don’t have the time to wait to be carried out.”

TK grimaces, hearing Tommy’s implications loud and clear. Her gaze flicks over to him, but she doesn’t comment, and TK tries to pull himself together as she continues laying out the plan.

“We’ll be going in in teams of three - two firefighters, one paramedic. TK, you’re with Judd and Mateo; Nancy, you’re with Marjan and Paul. Captain Strand and I will be waiting out here - keep us updated.”

“Yes, Cap.”

He and Nancy nod, turning to gather supplies into their medical bags. They work silently and efficiently; TK had been surprised by how easy it was to fall into a natural rhythm with his new team, but it feels normal now, like he’s been doing it forever.

Tommy takes his arm before they join the others, pulling him to one side. “You good to do this, Strand?” she asks, voice firm but caring. TK appreciates the thought - he’d told her about his history during his interview in case she wanted to think twice about hiring him - but he knows that he can do this.

He nods, adjusting the strap on his bag. “Yes. I’m good, Cap.”

She smiles. “Good. Now, go, and both of you be safe.”

TK jogs over to the others, arriving just in time to hear Nancy bemoaning him and his distinct lack of driving skill to Marjan.

“That’s so rude, Gillian,” he protests. “I’ll have you know I used to navigate New York traffic and never once got in an accident.”

“And yet you can’t take the ambulance more than five yards without threatening to crash it.”

“I’m surprised he can get it that far,” Judd puts in, which TK thinks is wholly unnecessary. It’s not his fault that the firetruck is totally unmaneuverable, or that the ambulance is only barely better.

He opens his mouth to tell Judd this, but his dad chooses this moment to call them to attention, so he’s forced to settle for a glare directed at the back of Judd’s head.

“You’ll take alternating floors,” Owen tells them. “Judd, Mateo, TK - start on the ground, work your way up through the even numbered levels. Paul, Marjan, Nancy - the same, starting on one and doing the odd floors. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Cap.”

“Good.” Owen looks round at them all, eyes seeming to linger on TK for the briefest second longer. “The structure seems stable, but stay alert. We don’t know what you’re gonna find in there, and I’d like to avoid any injuries. Police will be around for back up if you need them. Good luck.”

They spring into action, heading towards the building as a unit, and TK has to admit that he’s missed this. Doing rescues with the team, adrenaline pumping through his veins, never quite sure what’s going to happen from one moment to the next.

He sticks to the back of their little group, letting Judd and Mateo go ahead of him as they sweep the ground floor. There’s no-one there so they move onto the next level, TK’s nose wrinkling as the smell gets worse the higher up they go. They work without speaking, for the most part, though judging by the numerous backward glances Mateo keeps sending him, TK suspects that it won’t last.

Sure enough, as they’re moving from the fourth floor to the sixth - their last but one target - Mateo falls into step with him.

“It’s been weird since you became a paramedic.”

Ahead of them, Judd groans. “Here we go again.”

“What?” Mateo protests. “It has.”

TK looks between them, curious. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just weird that you’re not on call with us anymore,” he says, shrugging.

“I am literally on call with you right now, Mateo.”

“Yeah, but not with us,” Mateo sighs. “And it’s not like you’re at every call, and you don’t do rescues, and you ride in the ambulance now. I know that this is what you want to do, and that’s really cool, seriously, but it’s just -”

“Weird,” TK finishes, laughing a little. He nudges Mateo with his shoulder. “I get it. It’s been weird for me, too.”

“Really?” He seems surprised, looking over at TK with wide eyes. TK sends him a wry smile.

“Really,” he says. “But -”

A shout from above grabs their attention, followed by the pounding of feet coming down the stairs towards them. The guy - a squatter, more than likely - freezes when he catches sight of them, but only briefly, before continuing to barrel down to them. TK’s able to shove Mateo out of the way, but the guy forcefully collides with him as he goes past, his momentum knocking TK off balance and sending him tumbling down the stairs to the landing below.

He groans, vision swimming as he attempts to push himself upright. His bag is lying a couple of feet away, contents spilling everywhere, and the thought crosses his mind that Captain Vega’s going to be pissed if he loses anything. He tries to get to his feet to collect it all, but the pounding in his head quickly informs him that’s not happening any time soon.

Judd and Mateo’s faces appear in front of him, their mouths moving but no words coming out. Or… That’s not right. TK focuses as best he can, trying to blink some of the haziness from his mind.

Eventually, their voices reach him, as though underwater. “You with us, brother?” Judd asks, worry evident in his tone.

TK nods, then instantly regrets it as another wave of dizziness washes over him. Hands grasp his shoulders, pulling him up to rest against the wall, and it’s then that he notices a sharp sting in his right arm. He must have cut it on something, which isn’t ideal, given how dirty everything is here.

“Alright,” Judd says, his voice clearer this time. “I’m gonna need you to focus up for me, okay? You’re the paramedic here; you’ve gotta tell us what to do.”

TK huffs a small laugh, closing his eyes and taking a moment to clear the fuzz in his brain. “Definitely have a concussion,” he mutters. “Must have hit my head on the way down.”

He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but he can feel Judd’s eye roll. “Yeah, no shit. It don’t look too bad, though; you’ve got a bit of a scrape on your cheek, but it seems fine. Hurt anywhere else?”

TK hums, doing a mental check. His entire body aches in some capacity, and he’s probably going to be bruised as hell tomorrow, but his cut is the only other injury he can detect. “Arm,” he says. “Think I cut it on something. Glass, maybe?”

Judd pushes his sleeve up, then sucks in a sharp breath. “Aw, shit, kid,” he murmurs, and TK gets the distinct impression he wasn’t meant to hear that. “Probie, let the captains know? Then go join the others; tell them they’ll have to finish the rest of the building themselves.”

TK frowns, forcing his eyes open. Mateo’s moved too far away for him to hear whatever he’s radioing in, so he turns to Judd instead, panic flaring at the pained look in his eyes. “What? What’s going on?”

Judd hesitates. “That wasn’t, um. That wasn’t glass you landed on, kid.” He shifts, carefully picking something up from the floor, pursing his lips before holding it up for TK to see.

A needle.

All the air feels like it’s sucked out of the room, a band tightening around his chest as his eyes blow wide, fixating on the object in front of him. His heart is racing and his thoughts are scrambled in a way that has nothing to do with the concussion because he just landed on a needle, oh god.

And TK had never been one for any of that stuff, not like some of his friends at the time were, but sober is sober, and he can’t lose that, he can’t, he won’t -

“You haven’t, okay? Just breathe, brother, that’s it. Breathe.”

Judd’s words reach him from far away. TK wants to comply, but his body doesn’t feel like his own, and his shaking fingers scrabble frantically at his uniform collar, the choking sensation only getting worse. A distant noise lets him know that Judd is still talking, and TK tries to latch onto that, leaning into the solid and grounding presence at his side.

Slowly, the panic starts to subside. He still feels on edge, weak and shaky, but he can breathe again, which counts for something.

“Sorry,” he gasps out when he’s able.

Judd’s mouth twists into a grimace. “None of that, now. You okay?”

TK nods, though he doubts it’s very convincing. “I will be,” he amends. “Give me a minute.”

At that moment, Judd’s radio crackles to life. “Ryder, what’s your status?” his dad’s voice says, very carefully professional.

Judd looks over to him. “Think you can stand?”

At TK’s nod, he grasps his radio. “Me and TK are on our way out, Cap,” he reports. “Be with you in a few.”

“Copy that.”

TK groans, taking a shaking breath before planting his hands on the floor, attempting to heave himself upright. He makes it to a half-crouch before his balance gives out, and it’s only Judd’s reflexes that save him from face planting the ground again.

“Jesus, TK,” Judd sighs. “Let me help you.”

His tone leaves no room for argument - not that TK could put up much of a fight at the moment if he tried. He leans his weight on Judd, letting him do most of the work to get them down the stairs and out of the building.

“Sorry for freaking out on you,” he murmurs. “I just…”

“I know, kid,” Judd says softly. “You’re alright, though.”

TK doesn’t say anything, not entirely convinced that Judd is right, but comforted by the sentiment anyway. It’s not until they’re nearing the ground floor that he realises something else, and it’s almost enough to make him want to turn back.

“This is going to be so embarrassing.”

Judd frowns. “What?”

He points between his head and his arm with his good hand. “I’m going to have to go to hospital to get these checked out.” He sighs. “A paramedic needing a ride in his own ambulance. I’m never going to live this down.”

Judd laughs, long and loud, and it’s enough to make a smile tug at TK’s own lips. “You’re something else, kid,” he says, gently ruffling TK’s hair.

TK grumbles and bats him away, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s never been more thankful for Judd, truth be told, and he knows he can trust him to understand. And as they head outside, TK starts to believe that maybe Judd was right after all.

They’ll be alright, in the end.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #lone star #911ls #tk strand #judd ryder #mateo chavez #nancy gillian #tommy vega #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #userjillian #tuserjamie #userkimmy #tuserpaige #tuserjenny #reyeslonestartag

57 notes · View notes

thexam-union · 3 years ago

Photo

Woah, looks like a few files got lost in the upload! Introducing Wasat and Nembus, keepers for Stealth and Detonator, respectively! Both in Amity Cove, too! Come over to the speedway and you’ll find the least competitive racecar driver that ever was, along with a very problem-inclined photographer!!

Text under the cut!

Wasat :

Name : Wasat Attraction : Stealth Zone : Amity Cove Sector : Corvus Local Duty : Street Racer

Wasat is a rather dazed individual, at any given moment. She's a street racer, but tends to overdo things due to zoning out at the wheel. They're the opposite of competitive, and she just kind of... roams. They're very quick on the pulse when it comes to people's feelings, though! She is also helpful with Speedway upkeep, if not just because ":( I race there.... can't race if it's underwater!!!" She tends to do 'victory laps', or rather: not clock when the race ends and keep going. Also it should be noted that since the Speedway's basically only open for races, Wasat signs up for races to vibe on the Speedway. Not the other way around. They don't care about the race at all, which tends to surprise the more competitive people on the track. They love to go fast, not win.

Typical shenanigans include bothering anyone around about things that the just kind of know from vibes, but it's all with good intentions! If people are repressing their feelings, that's not good! Also it should be noted that since the Speedway's basically only open for races, Wasat signs up for races to vibe on the Speedway. Not the other way around.

Wasat loves listening to the local radio, and tends to know a lot of the jingles and adverts off by heart due to sheer exposure. She loves to just repeat odd words and phrases, helps them concentrate, and a few people think it's valid and cool of them to just do that. It's also a fun game to see how far it goes back, starting the jingle and seeing if Wasat absent-mindedly finishes the sentence. They're working backwards, but they know a surprising amount, actually. What they don't know is common idioms. It's been written down that they once said "My way or the highway" to invite someone to race, and got confused when they didn't get it.

Nembus :

Name : Nembus Attraction : Detonator Zone : Amity Cove Sector : Corvus Local Duty : Local Explorer & Photographer

Nembus loves to roam around and see what's going on. Specifically, they just like settling down in high-elevation places and see what's going on with other people from their perches. Specific haunts? The tower that they're actually meant to be on; the Volcano in the Jungle and the roof of the WWTP Radio Building. Especially since people sometimes come up to the roof to vent about all sorts of nonsense. Apparently there were worms in the photocopier at several points.

As far as direct influences go, Nembus tends to help Alphecca out with getting in scenes for 'chill rooms' - a service that you have to ask specifically for - that you can just vibe in. It helps that Nembus already had an interest in photography and knows the best spots around the island to get cute photos from. She's out and about, basically. Especially since sometimes you'll see her carrying Alphecca when they're asleep to a secondary location as a joke. They're fine with it, and they both see it like a game, so no harm done. Put together, both of them lose all their braincells, so really it's to be expected.

They also love to show up to places unannounced, especially if people are clearly not having a good time. It helps them get over themselves, actually! Plus, weighing in with a new answer helps diffuse the local argument, so they can thank them, actually. Places that they really aren't wanted in or around feels like District 199 and Old Town, if not just because the Buckwheats and residents of the District hating being anywhere near a camera.

#theme park ocs #theme park oc #thorpe park ocs #🎠 } Beltrame's Jesters #⛰️ } The Island Like No Other #🌊 } Amity Cove #🏁 } Stealth #🐦 } Detonator #🏎️ } Wasat #☁️ } Nembus #new boys just dropped!!#also trade offer: I'm canon-compliant with labyrinth in old town #but I won't shift on angry birds being in amity cove #it's just psychic damage #intro post #character intro #also 2 more left to do #swarm boy and lost city fool

9 notes · View notes

commonwealthoccurences · 4 years ago

Text

Stuck

CW: Claustrophobia, hints of a panic attack description

Word Count: 2,043 Prompt: Elevatorfic Day: 15/27 Sole reflected on their willingness to clear out Nuka World, almost singlehandedly, as blatantly stupid. Sure, they had encountered a lot during their time in the Commonwealth, and the raiders not protesting at them volunteering wasn’t suspicious at all, considering how lazy they could be despite their greed. However, Sole was regretting everything they had volunteered to do for the ungrateful bastards about the time the elevator screeched to a halt and what lighting they had shattered on the floor next to their boots.

They’d already felt sick from the heat that pressed against their skin, bringing forth a layer of sweat that caused everything to stick to their skin. Gage wasn’t much better off, considering he felt the need to complain every two seconds about how he was sweating his balls off, despite the fact that he and Sole and just about everyone in Nuka World were in the same weather. They’d lost count of the amount of times they’d glared at him, trying to get him to shut up to no avail.

The realization that they had to travel down into the depths of one of the buildings to get a necessary chip had Sole begging the universe to grant them some sort of freedom from the heat. They would be underground, so it would be cooler there, right? They had to hold onto that hope, otherwise they were going to end up strangling Gage before he could get out another word.

That hope halted just as quickly as the elevator did, complete with the terribly bright sparks of metal on metal and jarring drop that nearly had Sole falling back into the wall behind them. A lantern they’d found and set up on a hook in the corner went crashing down as well, spraying the floor of the elevator with hot oil, causing Sole to suck in a whistling breath as they jumped out of the way. It cooled somewhat rapidly against the lukewarm metal floor. With no light and no escape from the heat, they were stuck.

Gage burst into another round of loud cursing, kicking at the doors that were quite content to remain tightly shut, sending Sole flying to wrench him away from the doors with a furious and exasperated, “Gage! It’s a fucking elevator, that’s not how it works!”

He yanked himself out of their grip and pushed them away, pressing a hand to his face as he began to pace in the limited area of the elevator. Sole wanted to feel bad but the heat had gotten them both riled up and irritated with everything that dared to move that day, and this was just another wrench in well set plans that would’ve had Nuka World up and running sooner rather than later.

With another kick to the walls of the elevator, Gage dropped down to sit on the floor, seemingly having already forgotten about the spilled oil. His head remained in his hands, braced against his knees as he attempted to shut out the area around him. Sole pried their fingers into the crack where the doors were clamped shut even though they knew how poorly that would go, and sighed in frustration when, exactly as they thought, nothing happened. With a shake of their head they turned away, back towards Gage, just barely able to see the outline of his form in the darkness.

The image of him curled in on himself with his arms braced on either side of his head like he was trying to protect himself from something was enough to have Sole tilting their head in confusion. Gage wasn’t exactly someone they’d say had a lot of fears, and whether that made him a little reckless, or he came across somewhat cocky because of it, Sole couldn’t say. What they did know was this was concerning and they had no idea what was causing it.

Internally cursing the heat that was beginning to build in the tiny space, Sole kneeled next to him, grimacing at the way their knee dipped into the pooling oil. For a second, they raised a hand to rest on his shoulder, but swiftly thought better of it when they remembered what his reflexes were like. Instead, they simply placed it on their thigh and muttered a quiet, “Gage, you okay?”

He heaved a breath and tilted his head back, looking at them with his jaw clenched and eyebrows creased. “The hell was it called before the War? Claustrophobic?” He tried to fake a laugh for fail of anything better, but failed, instead letting out a suppressed groan of discomfort.

Sole didn’t know how to help. That was the first thing they thought. He needed help and they didn’t know how to make things easier, to relieve some of the pressure that was inevitably crushing down on his chest. Even they were uncomfortable with how boxed in they were, sweating even more as the heat trickled in with no escape, amplified by their body heat. Sole dropped down to sit next to him, resigning them to accepting their fate in the oil, and leaned their back against the wall, looking over at Gage.

His eyes were now squeezed shut, his hands trembling where they rested on his knees, knuckles white from how hard he was gripping his legs in terror. Sole ground their teeth together, thinking. They had a direct line back to the camp, thank God, and someone would be over to help them out relatively soon once they made contact. Sure, no one really liked them and Gage, but things wouldn’t run smoothly without them. First they would make contact, then they could focus on Gage.

With that, they brought their Pip-Boy up to their face and tapped it to turn the light on, flinching as the green beacon filled the room. Despite the initial scare, it seemed to help Gage as he looked around, committing his surroundings to memory for fear that the light would vanish as soon as he got comfortable. Just a few more minutes and then they’d figure it out together. With a couple more taps, Sole navigated their way to the radio section and tuned into the raider frequency that allowed them to communicate. A familiar, grating voice came through just moments later. “What’s going on, Boss?”

Sole had to sigh at the situation. “Old elevator decided to fuck us over. Any chance you can get down to Kiddie Kingdom to get us out of this shitshow?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Caps. And I won’t skin you alive when I inevitably get out of here.” They snapped back.

The voice over the radio let out a laugh. “Sure, Boss. We’ll get movin’.”

Thank God they hadn’t fucked one of the factions over when they were splitting things up. Gage didn’t care much about making people cranky, but they knew at the time it would’ve come back to bite them in the ass. Sole dropped the arm that held their pipboy and began unbuckling it with a resigned breath, ready to get the weight off their limb and get what little air they could filtering over their sweating skin.

The Pip-Boy settled against the elevator floor with a few clangs of metal, not in the puddle of oil, the green light cast across the space hauntingly. It rested at an angle that perfectly accentuated Gage’s gaunt cheekbones and his hollow, tense expression that made Sole worry for him for the first time that they could remember. His breaths were coming much faster and shorter than they had been. He was panicking, and Sole needed to stop it before he really worked himself up. “Gage.” They spoke softly, but he jumped anyway. “I’m gonna put my hand on your arm, okay?”

Whether or not he had nodded in response or there was a shift of the light was up in the air, but Sole took it as a cue to move forward with their plan. They reached over and placed a hand on his arm, letting him get used to that for a moment, before sliding it down to his hand. Carefully, they worked their hand under his, turning it to grip him firmly in an attempt to ground him. After a moment of processing he grabbed onto them quite hard, like they were the only thing anchoring him. His breaths were getting even shorter. “Gage, breath. We’re just fine. Help’s on the way, you heard them, yeah? We’re gonna be okay, but we gotta be patient and wait for them to get here.”

“Hate it.”

“Hmm?”

“I fucking hate it. Feels like it’s gonna collapse on us.” He held onto them even tighter.

The metal shifting periodically in the building probably wasn’t helping him fight his fears. “These buildings have stood here for hundreds of years, they’ll last far longer after we leave. The elevators are built to last, too, Gage. Don’t let your brain trick you, okay?”

With that he turned and looked at them finally. His eyes were shiny, bordering teary, his jaw clenched so hard Sole felt their teeth begin to hurt in sympathy. They smoothed their thumb over the back of his hand, smiling softly in hopes it would be somewhat reassuring. Gage’s breaths were still ragged, far too uneven to be comfortable. Sole made sure he was paying attention when they shifted closer and turned towards him, bringing his hand that they were cradling towards their chest.

Gage rolled his eyes. “Now’s not exactly the time, Boss.”

Sole fought the urge to smack him across the back of the head, telling themself that he was only trying to cope with humor. They rested his hand flat against their chest and he watched warily, eyes curious. “You need to breathe with me. If you hyperventilate it’ll only make things worse, so let’s avoid that.”

Gage, surprisingly, agreed readily and nodded in response, swallowing harshly as he tested the position by adjusting the pressure of his fingertips against Sole’s skin. It was hot, far too hot, and they could feel how his skin felt like boiling water against theirs, but they told themself they didn’t mind and drew in a slow, long, even breath. Gage’s breath in return was much more ragged and choppy, but it was progress, and they’d take it.

With that Gage slowly brought his breathing closer to normal and was able to fight the lightheadedness that was making nausea rise in him. Neon danced along the walls, reflecting off the pool of oil and glass shards that had been scattered across the other side of the elevator, resembling some sort of radioactive underwater show. Sole watched the refractions with careful eyes, mentally crossing their fingers that someone would be around to free them sometime soon. They’d done all the dirty work, even got trapped in an elevator for it. All the raiders had to do was get there and find the external emergency release. God knows they’d complain about that too.

Gage’s posture slumped down, a contrast to the previous live-wire tension that had been running up and down his frame. He sighed and brushed a hand over his forehead, wiping sweat off his brow in a swift motion. His head was still bowed towards his lap, his hand on their chest as they looked over his shoulder at the bright display. With an exhausted breath blown between chapped lips, Gage simply leaned forward and rested his forehead against their crossed legs, hand coming down to land on their knee. Accepting the situation rather quickly, Sole picked up his hand again and worked their fingers between his, knuckles bumping uncomfortably and palms sticky. He squeezed their hand for reassurance. Checking to make sure they were still there in case he needed them. They squeezed back.

The pair let the silence creep by, simply accepting that they were in a short waiting game, whether they were to be rescued by the raiders or to pry their way out kicking and screaming if they had to. After a few beats, Gage spoke up in realization. “Aw, fuck! Of course the lantern broke.” He swore, realizing what he was sitting in. Sole had to sigh and looked to the ceiling to summon their patience.

#Fallout 4 #Fo4 #Fo4f #Fallout 4 February #Oneshot #Imagine #Fluff #Comfortfic #Elevatorfic #Stuck in an elevator #Fanfiction #Gage #Fanfic #FF

43 notes · View notes

beardycarrot · 4 years ago

Text

I, lying awake in bed because that’s how it always is the day before you have something important to do... am going to try to guess what the plot of Bioshock Infinite is, based on what I’ve seen in the first few hours and with knowledge of the other two (and a half?) games. Spoilers for the entire Bioshock series, except maybe Infinite, but I intend to knock it out of the park.

So. The first Bioshock is set in a futuristic (by 1950’s standards) city at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, created by a hardcore libertarian named Andrew Ryan as a way to once and for all live in a society free of government regulation. I won’t get into all the “sea slugs that produce a gene-altering wonder drug” and “child slaves brainwashed to drink corpse blood” stuff; very interesting, very important to the plot, but if I tried to explain the world of Bioshock I’d be lying here typing on my phone until the sun comes up. That stuff aside, the major plot points are that you’re not actually a guy who just happened to crash-land near the entrance to the city but are, in fact, Andrew Ryan’s son, and the guy who’s been guiding you through the city was actually using a Manchurian Candidate-style activation phrase to manipulate you into doing whatever he wanted. It’s a big, mind-blowing reveal (as is the realization that your character is actually about four years old... science fiction, man).

Bioshock 2 didn’t really have any big plot twists... or plot, for that matter ...but it was developed by an entirely different team, while the original’s team also did Infinite, so I’m expecting a return to form. Just as an aside, Bioshock 2 had a short DLC campaign called Minerva’s Den, which had a fantastic story, and a twist that the player can figure out on their own if they’re paying attention. Your goal is to get a very smart computer (for 1968) out of the underwater city and back to the surface so you can use it to cure all the victims of the slug-borne gene manipulation, and you’re guided over radio by the computer’s creator. At the end, you learn that the one guiding you was actually the computer itself, and that you’re its creator, slowly recovering from brainwashing. For the record, the endings to all three of these have made me cry.

So! With those kinds of twists in mind, what am I expecting from Bioshock Infinite? Well, I went into the game only knowing the names of the protagonists, that rather than underwater it was set in a floating sky city, and that there was some kind of religious theming but also a lot of old-timey Americana. As it turns out, the people of this city worship— no, have DEIFIED the founding fathers, and are lead by a man called Father Comstock. I’m pretty sure that name is a reference to the Comstock Act, similar to Andrew Ryan being named after Ayn Rand... but he could actually be called Father Cornstalk and I just haven’t been paying attention.

Anyway. Just a few minutes into the game, I noticed that a statue of Comstock looked suspiciously similar to my character... before deciding that I didn’t actually have that clear of a mental image of my character, they wouldn’t pull the “secret son” thing twice, and as much as I love it there probably isn’t going to be any time travel. Le sigh.

UNTIL!

So, your goal is to get a girl named Elizabeth out of the city, and there is some legitimately weird stuff going on with her prison. Like, they have some of her personal possessions from various points in her life in containment: a teddy bear, a diary, and a bloody cloth labeled “menarche”. Gross. Why would you keep that. Well, when an electric current (or something visually similar) is applied, the bear and diary change color, and the blood disappears from the cloth. The reason I’m not sure if it’s electricity is that there’s some kind of siphon system set up, it looks like a bunch of subwoofers, and it’s absorbing... something? When she sings, maybe? Is the energy being siphoned what changed the quantum states of those objects, or whatever was happening? There was also a chart showing that when she hit puberty... something, really spiked, which is what forced them to build the siphon. I can’t claim to know what’s happening here, but when I finally saw her she was day dreaming about Paris, and.. I guess opened some kind of portal, TO Paris? But then a bus or something barreled towards her, so she quickly closed it. In the couple seconds that the portal was open, I saw the marquee on a movie theater that... well, was in French, but I’M PRETTY SURE said “Return of the Jedi”. I should probably mention that this game is set in 1912. That smells like time travel to me, baby!

So, this is where it gets interesting, and confusing, and complicated. I think Elizabeth is Comstock’s daughter, from various signs and posters about Comstock’s seed being their salvation, and The Lamb of God being locked in the tower, and such... and signs about a “false shepherd” who would try to take her away (again, lots of weird divergent Christian sect stuff). One sign showered the false shepherd’s hand as having the initials AD branded on the back, which the protagonist Booker does indeed have. Before rescuing Elizabeth, Comstock confronts you, and seems to know all about Booker’s past, including his wife Anna (who died in childbirth), and claims to know his future as well. Being a prophet and such. Thing is, the way it’s presented, that whole thing could’ve all been in Booker’s head...? Shortly after rescuing Elizabeth, you run into someone who mistakes her for someone named Annabelle. Hmm HMMM. I’ve also run into a diary by someone named Rosalind Lutece (I think she’s one of the creepy twins who keep popping up everywhere) talking about physics and what sounded like the concept of quantum superpositioning, as well as a little informational kiosk in which she claims quantum mechanics are what enable the city to float. There were also a couple diaries that seemed to imply Elizabeth came from... somewhere else, and a part of her might still be there, or something?

SO. Finally, we get to the part where I theorize on what’s going on. In short... iunno.

Okay, well, I feel like my idea should be obvious by now. I think Comstock might be a future, or ALTERNATE REALITY FUTURE, version of Booker, and Elizabeth is... either a past version of his wife, before she went back in time and married him, or an alternate-reality version of his daughter? But then who is the Annabelle that the girl thought Elizabeth was? Did Booker’s child not die along with his wife, and was secretly wisked away to skytown? Comstock’s wife is consistently referred to as Lady Comstock, but what if her name is Annabelle too? Maybe it’s the same concept as the Heinlein story By His Bootstraps, with the protagonist only realizing that he IS now the old man from the beginning, and has to get his younger self into this weird time loop in order to live the life he’s lead?

I might be going a little off the rails; I mean, I’m pretty sure that the statue of Comstock I saw earlier actually reminded me of Handsome Jack, a character from another game I haven’t played who happens to wear an outfit similar to Booker’s. That said, there’s DEFINITELY some kind of time travel or dimension-hopping shenanigans going on here. There are good writers on this game, and I refuse to believe the Annabelle/Anna thing is a Batman v Superman-level coincidence.

The weird part is that in the tower where they were keeping Elizabeth, they have documentation of her dating back to one year old, so she was clearly exhibiting... something, unusual, even as a baby. The game also has yet to explain Vigors, its versions of the Plasmids from the first two Bioshock games, which were basically superpowers granted by the substance produced by those sea slugs. If I had to guess, Vigors are... a result of some kind of quantum something-or-other, which they made from whatever it is they were siphoning off of Elizabeth? Maybe it’s a Scarlet Witch kind of thing... you don’t actually change yourself, you just find yourself in an alternate reality where everything else is 100% the same, except you’re a version of yourself who can shoot crows out of your hands.

Right, so. My... official theory is... that... I have no idea what’s going on. Yeah, sorry, something in that mess up there is bound to be close, but when you get into time travel and/or dimension-hopping, all bets are off the table. Or all bets, a literally infinite number of bets, are on the table. Which is a lot to try to comprehend.

#bioshock #bioshock infinite #bioshock spoilers

17 notes · View notes

actress4him · 4 years ago

Text

Whumptober 2020 - Day 18

We’ve got a pretty good mix of physical and emotional whump going on today, though I’d say it leans more toward emotional. A little bit of Shiro, yet another original alien race (how many does that make now this month? I feel like it’s a lot), and plenty of angst to go around. This is one of my favorite Keith headcanons, so I’m glad I got the chance to explore it.

Read on AO3

Read on FFN

Day 18 - Panic Attacks/Phobias

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: fire, panic attacks, flashbacks, referenced minor character death, disassociation, scars

The first time that Red shot out a long stream of fiery lava, obliterating a nearby Galra ship, Keith had gone stiff, images of flames flashing through his mind in rapid succession until everything went blank. He spent the rest of the battle with his body piloting by rote while his consciousness hid somewhere in the back corner of the cockpit, watching.

He wasn’t just the Red Paladin, he’d come to realize later. He was the Paladin of Fire.

Because of course he was. That was just how Keith’s life worked.

When Sendak attacked the Arusian’s village, the sight of the burning houses sent pain shooting through Keith’s hands and shoulder. He had wanted to disassociate then, too, so badly. His brain screamed at him to let it retreat, to not have to watch the flickering orange tongues that brought back so many painful memories. But he was a Paladin of Voltron. There was no way he could let himself be defeated by something as stupid as fire. Lance would never let him live it down if he froze where others could see, and Princess Allura was counting on him to do his job right. He had to prove himself. They needed to know they weren’t making a mistake in trusting him.

So he had plunged forward, going closer to the flames than he probably should have, shoving everything down, down, down until it was out of reach for the moment. And immediately after that it was constant activity, trying to get back into the Castle to defeat Sendak and save the others, so he didn’t have time to remember, to think about what he had done, until it was much later and he was lying in his bed, trying to sleep.

That’s when the nightmares came, as they so often did anyway. Having experienced the heat in real life so recently made them all the more realistic that night, though.

It was months later before he had to face his fear during waking hours again. They were in the middle of an intense air and ground battle with the Empire just outside a military base on the planet Nateya. Hunk and Pidge were in their Lions, shooting up the cruisers that hovered above, while Keith and Shiro fought hand to hand down below alongside Nateyan soldiers and Lance sniped from the top of a nearby building.

Without warning, one of the ships fired a laser cannon at the largest building on base, causing a small explosion that shook the ground. The place immediately went up in flames. Most of the Nateyans were already outside fighting, but those that weren’t soon started pouring out the front door.

For a moment Keith’s feet were glued in place, his mind stuck in the past. The image of the military building flickered in and out, juxtaposed with a much taller building with lots of dark, reflective windows.

Kogane! Don’t go back in there, it’s too late!

They’re still inside, I have to try to save them!

“I have to try to save them,” he whispered. Before his mind had caught up to what his body was doing, his feet had already carried him to the door.

Past all the people. Ignore them, they’re not who you’re looking for. Ignore the fact that you’re the only one moving in this direction. Ignore the smoke that’s starting to clog the air the further in you go. Ignore the voices crying in the back of your head.

Dad! No, Dad, come back!

The stream of aliens had thinned out. One lone male stumbled out of a back hallway that glowed orange, coughing. Keith grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Is anyone else back there?”

The Nateyan shook his head. “If they are, I doubt they survived.”

Somebody get the kid out of there!

Without another word, Keith pushed past him and into the hallway. The air was growing more and more stifling with each step. Around a corner, and suddenly he could hear the pops and crackles of the fire.

Searing pain in his hands, on his shoulder.

He began kicking open each door he passed, sticking his head inside to look for survivors before moving on. The heat was intense now, he could feel it even through his suit. The crackles had turned into a roar that grew in his ears until it was deafening.

No! No! I want my Dad! Give me my Dad!

It wasn’t until he was standing face to face with a wall of flame, struggling to breathe in a way that had nothing to do with the smoke, that he finally found someone. A young, female Nateyan, cowering in the corner of the last room before oblivion.

“Come on!” he shouted, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her up. “We’ve gotta get out of here!”

Come on, kid, you’re hurting yourself. You’ve gotta get away from there.

Back out into the hall. The fire had progressed, licking at his back as he shielded the young woman. A beam crashed to the floor just behind them, and both of them hit the floor, from fear rather than the actual impact.

It was the last straw for Keith’s tenuous hold on his sanity. When he scrambled back to his feet and pulled her up with him, he was actually floating several feet above his own head, following from behind near the ceiling as the two bodies below ran back through the long hallways. It was much more pleasant up there, honestly. The sound of the flames and the thick smoke that made the woman cough constantly didn’t bother him in the least.

When they burst out of the building and into the cool, fresh air, he watched as Shiro ran up to him, and watched himself fail to respond. Shiro seemed concerned, shaking his shoulders gently, calling his name over and over, but he couldn’t bother himself to go back down and into the nightmare that would be waiting for him. Finally the Black Paladin took him by the arm and led him away from the last strains of the battle. Keith followed along, into a quiet alleyway, where they both sat with their backs up against the wall.

It took a while. Shiro held his hand the whole time, though he couldn’t actually feel it. The transition came with no warning, his consciousness crashing back down into his body with a force that nearly knocked him over, and immediately he couldn’t breathe.

I want my Dad! Give me back my Dad!

A band was wrapped around his lungs. Squeezing, always squeezing, tighter and tighter until he thought his ribs would all crumble. Fumbling for his helmet, he managed to release the seal and threw it to the ground, then grabbed fistfuls of his hair and pulled. The pressure somehow eased some of the tension that had taken over his body, but it didn’t make pulling in air any easier.

We need an EMT over here!

Shiro was saying something in his ear. It sounded like a bumblebee droning, or like a radio playing underwater. A hand touched his arm and he jerked away, doubling over to dig his forehead into the dirt.

A deafening sound, a sound that he would never forget in all his years. The sound of a charred building collapsing in on itself.

Hands were on his face. He fought against them, but they held fast, pulling his head up so that he was eye to eye with Shiro. It took several long moments before Keith’s brain registered that he was emulating deep breathing for him to follow.

DAD!

“That’s it.” Shiro’s voice broke through the roar suddenly. “That’s great, Keith. Just keep breathing, just like that.”

Another breath. Two. They were getting easier, little by little. The pain in his chest was subsiding, though the scars on his palms and shoulder still burned beneath his armor. He suspected it would be a few days before they’d stop.

“There you go, bud. You’re gonna be okay.”

I’m sorry, kid. Your dad is gone.

51 notes · View notes

ponykidcurtis · 5 years ago

Note

BUCK + TRAPPED UNDER RUBBLE PLS 💕

love that you’re the first to send a prompt :) this is 100% designed to hurt you specifically. have fun!!

(we’re playing fanfic bingo if anybody wants to join in)

Buck really needs to stop jinxing things. It happens every time; the moment he lets himself think that things are going to work out for him, for the team, it all goes to shit immediately. It’s like the universe is listening, waiting to show him just how much bad luck a person can have in their life. He’s getting pretty tired of it. But, endlessly optimistic as he always tries to be, he lets himself hope things will work out anyway. Yeah, maybe it’s a little bit out of spite. Suck it, universe.

Of course, that just makes the universe hit him harder, because it doesn’t like being insulted, apparently. He’s out on a call with the team this time. They’d had a minor earthquake, much smaller than the one they’d had when Eddie was still a rookie, but it was enough to cause some structural damage and put a couple of people in need of rescuing. No big deal, right? That’s Buck’s specialty.

The house they pull up to is a nice one. Three stories, old and elegant; it’s one of the few Victorian-style mansions still left in this area of the city—which was designated as a historic preservation zone in 1983, Buck announces, even if Chim laughs and teases that they didn’t ask—but it doesn’t look like it’ll be standing much longer. The roof has caved in over the wrap-around porch, making it a bit of a challenge to reach the door, and Buck can tell the upper levels are beginning to strain. Dispatch had informed them that there were two people on the second floor, where a doorway had collapsed and trapped them in their bedroom.

Buck and Eddie head in, picking their way over the wreckage of the porch. Buck eyes the ceiling warily when they make it past the door, noting one of the larger cracks that’s opened up in a corner. The house might be mostly in one piece, but it’s definitely not stable. They’ll have to be quick.

“Looks like the stairs are still viable,” Eddie says, testing his weight on the lowest few steps. They hold.

“Convenient,” Buck says. He follows Eddie up, and they find the issue, clear as day. Just like dispatch had said, the doorway of the bedroom had collapsed, and parts of the third floor had come down on top of it, making the whole front section of the room impassable. Unless, of course, you’re a firefighter with heavy equipment designed specifically for this purpose.

Buck gets himself set up to start shifting debris while Eddie calls out to the couple, trying to gauge how far they are from the wreckage, or if there are any injuries. Thankfully, it seems like they’d managed to get themselves out of the way; they’re unhurt, and huddled in the corner of the room that still has a ceiling.

They get the couple out in record time, and Buck feels lucky for the first time in a while. Eddie leads the way back down the stairs while Buck follows, keeping the couple between them. It’s easy. No one’s hurt this time. They’ve had simple calls all day, and they’re nearing the end of their shift with nothing major having gone down at all. It’s probably the first time in months that they’ve had a relatively relaxed shift, and it’s almost nice.

Just then, the ground rumbles. Buck steadies himself on a wall as the aftershock ripples underneath them, setting the house trembling all over again. He can hear the old wood creaking ominously.

They’re so close to the door. Eddie is nearly there already, kicking out debris to make room to get the couple safely outside. Buck rights himself and moves, herding his charges towards the opening Eddie has just created. He can feel the aftershock fading, but they don’t want to waste any time, because that crack he’d spotted earlier is larger than before and no one wants to get caught when this building comes down.

It’s just as he helps the man they’d rescued through the doorway and gets ready to climb out himself that Buck realizes he’s done it again; the universe hates him, and he’d had the audacity to think this was going to be easy. The walls groan loudly, and he makes the mistake of looking up, just in time to see the fissure in the ceiling widening further. Oh, shit, he thinks.

Buck scrambles desperately for the doorway, but he only makes it far enough to catch Eddie’s wide eyed expression for a split second before the ground shifts, tilts, and the walls come tumbling inwards.

~~~

Buck comes back to himself in a haze of pain. It’s everywhere, a whole body ache that won’t let up. So this is what a house feels like, he muses, and then frowns when he realizes that doesn’t make any sense. His mind feels sluggish, like it hasn’t quite caught up to what’s happening, and he can’t bring himself to focus on anything past the fact that everything hurts.

He tries to shift, and the pain flares harshly, slamming him the rest of the way into consciousness as he tries to breathe through it. He blinks his eyes open to darkness, the faint shapes of wooden beams above him, and plaster dust coating everything in a fine layer of white. There’s noise coming from somewhere by his ear, and it takes him a moment too long to realize that it’s his radio, still clipped to his uniform. It clicks again and Buck’s head lolls to the right, trying to listen.

“Buckley!” Bobby’s voice crackles through, sounding like this isn’t the first time he’s tried to call for him. How long had Buck been out? His head aches too much to try to think, so he lets it go. It doesn’t matter anyway.

He feels like he should answer. His captain is calling for him, so he should respond, right? He can’t ignore Bobby. He doesn’t want to get fired again.

Buck tries to reach for his radio, only to pull up short when his left arm won’t move. Why won’t it move? He rolls his head over to his other side, blinking slowly, and—oh. It’s stuck. It’s stretched out past the little pocket of space he’s found himself in, meaning it wasn’t protected by the larger beams that are holding the rest of the debris up from crushing him completely.

Without thinking, Buck tugs on it, trying to get it free. His mind doesn’t register how bad that idea was until his vision nearly whites out, agony lancing up the limb all the way to his shoulder. He’s panting by the time it fades back to a slightly-less-debilitating ache, and he decides that he’s definitely not going to try that again. Instead, he reaches for his radio with his right arm, which seems mostly fine. His team is still calling for him, and he wants to respond, but the best he can manage when he fumbles for the button is a low whine. The clamoring voices all stop, briefly, and then—

“Buck?” Bobby again, more tentative than Buck has ever heard him.

“Bobby,” he groans, finally getting his voice to work.

“Oh, thank god,” Bobby says. “Just hold on, son, we’ll get you out of there.”

Buck feels himself drift for a second. Everything feels a little fuzzy, but he can’t find it in himself to worry, not when he knows his team is coming for him. They’ll get him out.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie’s voice from the radio brings him back, just barely. “You still with us, buddy?”

Buck hums affirmatively.

“Gotta give me more than that, man,” Eddie chastises. “You know the drill. Stay awake, keep talking. How about you tell me how you’re feeling, so we know what we’re lookin’ at when we get you out of there?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Buck murmurs. He blinks languidly. “Head hurts.”

“I’m sure it does,” Eddie says. “You were out for a bit.”

“Think I fucked up my ribs,” Buck continues, “an’ my arm. It’s stuck.”

Eddie lets out a low whistle, and he sounds sympathetic when he prompts, “Anything else?”

“Don’t think so,” Buck says. He blinks again, eyelids feeling heavier than before. Why is he so tired? “Gettin’ sleepy down here, Eds.”

“None of that, bud,” Eddie responds, “How about I tell you what Christopher is doing for his history project? He’s learning about dinosaurs.”

Buck knows Eddie is just trying to keep him awake, but he actually does want to know what Christopher is learning, so he agrees. Eddie launches into the dinosaur spiel easily. Buck just listens as he talks, letting his arm fall across his midsection now that he doesn’t need it to press the button on his radio.

Belatedly, he recognizes that his side is wetter than it should be. He hadn’t even registered it amidst all the pain from his arm, but now that he’s got his hand pressed up against it, he can feel the warmth seeping out against his fingers.

Huh, he thinks, bringing his hand up to look at it. He can’t make out much in the dark, but it’s definitely dripping with something.

“Eddie,” he calls into the radio, trying not to let it slip out of his slick fingers. Eddie stops in the middle of his sentence, but before he can ask, Buck mutters, “Think ‘m bleeding.”

“Fuck,” Eddie hisses, mostly to himself, it seems. Buck can hear him call out to Bobby, before he’s back again. “We’re almost there, Buck, don’t worry. We got you.”

“I jinxed it,” Buck says quietly. He thinks he should put pressure on the wound, or something, but his body feels heavy and he can’t bring himself to move his good hand. He wants to keep talking to Eddie.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“I jinxed it,” Buck repeats, his words coming out a little slurred. “Thought we were gonna make it. But th’ universe hates me. Made me fall.”

He thinks Eddie responds, but he can’t really be sure. He feels like he’s underwater. The sounds of shifting rubble are distorted and distant, and he’s losing his precarious grip on consciousness again.

“Buck luck,” he snorts, half out of it. His hand slips off the radio. He dimly registers someone calling to him, from somewhere close, but his energy is spent. He lets himself fade out, and hopes his team gets through to him in time.

~~~

Buck really needs to stop jinxing things. This is, what, the fifth time he’s ended up in the hospital? Sixth? That’s too many. He’s so tired of hospitals. At least this time, they’ve got him on the good painkillers, so he doesn’t feel quite as shitty as he did when he was stuck under two floors worth of rubble.

He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and gives himself a moment to focus, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmed lights of the room. He takes stock: left arm in a heavy cast from wrist to elbow. Side and chest wrapped up, head still aching like a bitch but better now that there’s a pillow under it rather than a pile of stone foundation. Right hand being held by someone else. What?

Buck frowns and looks down at his hand, where it’s grasped between both of Eddie’s, who is fast asleep and spread out across two hospital chairs. Buck stares at him for a moment, debating whether or not to wake him. Ultimately he decides not to, because he doesn’t really want him to wake up and decide to take his hand back. Near-death experiences call for a little hand-holding, right? So Buck is just going to let himself enjoy this for a minute. He sighs and settles back, still tired enough that he wants to fall straight back into sleep. After another moment of studying the way Eddie’s hands are clutching his, even in sleep, Buck closes his eyes again. His last thought as he drifts off is, maybe my luck isn't so bad, after all.

(posting the card again here so ppl know which prompts have been claimed!!)

#hurt/comfort bingo #911 fox #evan buckley #hurt evan buckley #fanfic bingo #my fic #911 fic #mutuals #karenwilson #b!writes

129 notes · View notes