Wounded Lover - Tumblr Posts

I love it I love it I love it so much

I’m a sucker for wounded lover fics. Usually where reader is bandaging the other- where we get to read about touching them softly. Or in this (much worse) case it’s done matter of factory, just getting the job done

HELP !!!! I've been struck by the image of enemies to lovers w bkg where u get injured and he has to patch up the wound and to distract you from the pain he kisses you </3 OR THE OTHER WAY AROUND. this will be my before bed scenario

It's safe to say you don't get along.

You rarely do. Oil and water, fire and ice - all kinds of things. You bicker, constantly. And have the time Bakugou is holding something over your head, half the time you're screwing with each other. Arguing in elevators over patrol shifts and who's the best. Who'll be number one next week. It's a constant these days.

He can't stand you, he tells you at least once a week. A snarl in his throat as he has you close to the wall

"Y'know I fuckin' hate you right?"

Right. Of course he does. You know that. You hate each other and by now it's old news.

But you work well together and that's why you went on this misison. What was supposed to be a sting operation turned to a full out brawl and now you're here - in the back of a beat up van with a wound that has you dry-heaving. You're bleeding and light-headed, a crust of dried blood and bruised lips. You feel like you've been hit by something heavy.

Ah, you remember now. It was Bakugou who you jumped for, in front of the strike of a villain with a knife-like quirk. You remember but your heads still heavy and your eyelids are swollen from taking the fall. You don't know what happened after, or when they found you.

When you open them to look... he's right there above you.

He looks beat up, you think. You probably look worse but there's a cut on his lip and blood on his forehead. He looks bad and you wanna ask him if he's okay. You need to know if he's okay.

There's a hand on your skin, it's his. Big and strong, but gentle. You can feel all of his scars as he holds your cheek. Your body is laid over his lap and his thighs are underneath you like he's holding you with his whole body.

"Fuck.. fuck you're awake," and he sounds like he might cry. You wonder if he'd be sad if you died. You thought you hated each other. You're supposed to anyways.

"Y-yeah," ― you manage, voice weak ― "How long was I out?"

His voice is so soft when he speaks to you, you almost don't hear it.

"About 'n hour," he tells you. You want to close your eyes, they're tired. But you want to look at him more, a little longer like this. He's so pretty, have you told him that? You're so exhausted but you think you should.

"It hurts," ― you say first, like you should get it out of the way ― "You look pretty,"

He only frowns at you. He's not angry at you, you can tell. You always know when he is but his bottom lip quivers anyways like all the rage inside of him is in his mouth. Maybe he keeps his anger in his throat so he can always reach it just incase.

"Why did you.. why did you fuckin' do that," ― and he sobs. It's an ugly sound and it makes you smile ― "Why the hell would you do that for me?"

You're too tired to smile properly but you try for him. You're always trying for him.

"I dunno," ― you tell him, wincing at the pain when you move ― "Just felt like it, I guess,"

He sobs again and it's still ugly but this time it makes your heart race. This time he pulls you into his body and hugs you like he is trying to memorize the sound of your heartbeat. As if he's worried he'll forget the sound

"I fuckin' hate you," he says and he doesn't mean it but how else does he explain these feelings to you? How can he tell you he loves you like this?

You smile again.

"I know,"

"Y-you're still," ― he gasps like he's drowning ― "Still bleeding and I need to clean the wound. Need to wrap it but it's gonna hurt,"

You squint a little, confused.

"So?"

"I don't w-want to hurt you anymore, dammit,"

You think the weight of his words are so heavy they could sink to the bottom of the ocean. You think you love him and you hate him and you're not sure which one makes you ache less. You think that you don't want to ever hurt him either.

"I'll be fine," you try to assure but he shakes his head. He closes his eyes, brow furrowd and jaw feather and some of his tears drop onto your cheek when he presses his forehead against yours.

"No, fuck - I can't,"

You give him a look, then a gentle laugh.

"Kiss me then," ― you suggest half-hearted, as a joke more than anything ― "Distract me,"

You say it as a joke but he nods, swallows, and says okay. Your eyes widen but you can't protest, something cottony in your mouth. You watch as he reaches over and shuffles around in the first aid kit with gauze and a bottle of alcohol. You aren't worried about it hurting, your heart just happens to race.

He unscrews the alcohol and makes sure the gauze is easy to wrap. With an arm under your back and the bottle of your wound, he stares at you with eyes full of red. You blink at him.

"On the count of three,"

He looks at you like you make the world spin.

"Three,"

And you wonder what will happen when this is all over.

"Two,"

Why're you so nervous to kiss someone?

"One,"

Maybe it's because he's not just someone to you.

He crushes his lips to yours while he pours the alcohol over your wound. You can feel it clean, the way it runs down your clothes and bare torso and it hurts. It really does but you can't feel it at all because all you can feel is Bakugou.

All you can feel, and touch, and taste is Bakugou Katsuki right above you. He tastes like salty tears and lovesickness - something saccharine in how he kisses you so desperately. It's animal the way you crave it, that even with no strength in your body you kiss him like you're holding on for dear life. You don't think you've ever wanted something so badly so when he kisses you like he's crushing his lips with his, you let him.

And you let the little breathy moan escape your mouth when his hands shift and the hardest part of over but he still has to tape you up. You let him kiss you with tongue and teeth, over and over and over until your lips are sore from him and his saliva is mixed perfectly with yours. You kiss and kiss and kiss and you kiss some more when the wound is wrapped.

When you pull away, you're dazed, curling your fist weakly as you lay your hand on his chest.

"Again," ― he says, more seriously ― "Again, after all this over. I'll kiss you again. The right way,"

"I'll hold you to it, Dynamight,"

For the first time today, he smiles.

"I know you will,"