#while simultaneously being chaotic and stupid enough to just fucking say it with no warning

[fairytail-incorrectquotes]

Gajeel: Is letting someone win at chess sapiosexual bottoming

Carla: Does anyone in this godforsaken guild ever think before they speak

#hear me out #gajeel is the only one with both the intelligence understand and perversion to put a sentence like this together #while simultaneously being chaotic and stupid enough to just fucking say it with no warning #no 'hey guys wanna hear something cursed' #just straight into this horrible horrible thought #Gajeel Redfox #gajeel continues to be a mood #carla the exceed #carla continues to be a mood #fairy tail #source: tumblr #fairy tail incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #incorrect fairy tail quotes #incorrect quote #anime #manga #ask to tag

[sadomas0chist]

perfect strangers

MINORS DNI // 18+

part one; part two; part three

genre: nsfw

pairing: jean kirschtein x female reader

word count: 2.4k

tags/warnings: dom jean, simultaneous masturbation, penetrative sex, oral receiving (female), fingering, swearing, casual sex, partying, make-out session, brother’s best friend, breeding kink, belly bulge.

synopsis: despite being Connie's sister, you were never half the party animal he was. at the moment, getting good grades on your last semester took all your time which made one of your good friends, Hitch, drag you out of your room to the party your brother hosted. what could possibly happen, other than sleeping with your brother's best friend?

a.n. : i was thinking about turning this into a short series but i’m still debating whether i should go for it or not. anyway, enjoy!!!

update: i actually turned this into a series ;) part two is up!!

Being the sister of one of the most chaotic human beings on earth had its drops. I was supposed to be studying for my last semester which was pretty difficult and needed a full-time concentration.

Instead, I was getting dolled up by one of my best friends, Hitch, who was practically begging me to get out of my room and party. "Don't be so nerdy, it's not like you need the extra credit. Connie will be sad if you don't show up. He's been whining to Sasha all day long how his own sister didn't want to attend his own party." She applied some red lipstick to my lips and popped hers as a sign that she was done.

"Hitch, I really appreciate y'all getting worried about me going crazy, but I'm fine really. You know I'm only going because I missed you and the girls." I stood up from my bed and walked to my vanity, gasping at how sexy I looked.

Hitch smacked my ass in response. "Your ass looks good in this dress. Get some tonight." I raised my eyebrow at her. She knew I wasn't in the mood to mess around and get attached again. I shrugged it off and opened my bedroom door.

"Wait, why didn't he invite them to our house?" I stopped, watching her make her way in front of me.

"He needed more space. And a pool. Now come on we're going to be late." she reached out to grab my hand and dragged me out of my house.

***

"Oh goodness..." I mumbled to myself when I noticed how crowded the place was. Some people were already drunk and throwing up on the grass and in garbage cans, others were shamelessly rubbing on each other, while the rest was either in the pool or at the bar.

"Oh, there's Connie." She pointed at my brother who gave her a tight hug. "Look who's here!" she cheered shaking my shoulders.

"Hey," I smiled and hugged him. "All good?" he smiled down at me and pat my head. I nodded and threw him back a smile. "Aight then, I'm gonna get going. Take care." he pointed at me jogging backward and eventually turned around and disappeared into the crowd.

A pat on my shoulder made me turn around, a grin instantly forming on my lips when I noticed that this hand belonged to Sasha. She jumped in my arms, squeezing me tightly. "Jeez I thought you were dead, never isolate yourself like that again." I chuckled taking a bite of her hot dog. "Hey!" she smacked my arm almost making me choke on the meat.

We caught up on a few things, our conversation getting steamier as Hitch began to mention her sex life and how we should be taking notes.

“No, but really, all jokes aside. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re not getting laid. I don’t even think you know how to pull men anymore babe, full offense.” She took a swing of her beer and shrugged her shoulders. I scoffed, clearly offended.

“Working my ass off for college doesn’t change anything in my flirting techniques.” I scoffed “You know what? I’ll prove it to you right now. Your pick.” I raised my hands up, challenging her. Sasha jumped in excitement next to me while Hitch was inspecting our surroundings.

“Him.” she pointed at the bar. I scrunched my face when I saw a guy who looked musty and crusty. “Girl, not him. Him.” she held my jaw with her hand and tilted my head. My eyes landed on a tall male, manspreading on the stool as his back was leaning against the wooden bar, watching everyone’s move. His elbows were resting on the wood, his right hand holding his drink, swirling it around.

He looked delicious with his tight black shirt and chinos, squeezing him in all the right places. His hair was slicked back, almost dropping to his shoulders. His facial features weren’t clear enough due to the distance I was standing from, but his jawline looked good enough.

He didn’t look like he was expecting company or was here with someone. I smirked and shook her hand, accepting her challenge. “What do you want me to do?”

“Make out with him. You’ve kissed strangers before. I’d like to see if you still have the balls to do it.” I shook my head with a grin. Frankly, I was expecting her to task me with something much worse.

“Done.” Sasha jumped in excitement and Hitch shook my hand. “Watch, and learn.” I turned on my heels and walked to the bar where he was sitting.

“Hey you,” I hissed, getting his attention. “Don’t move,” I whispered as I positioned myself between his legs and grabbed his jaw, placing my lips on his.

From here it could go two ways: he either pushes me off and tells me he’s into guys- yes it happened before, not a pleasant memory- or he kisses me back.

At first, he was shaken. However, it didn’t take him too long to snake his arm around my waist and pull me closer to him, deepening the kiss. He freed his hand from the glass he was holding and wrapped it around the back of my neck, pushing me closer.

I parted my lips, his tongue gently sliding in and toying with mine. When I finally decided it was enough, I let go of him and pulled away, a slight trail of saliva hanging from our lips.

Without adding any other word, I grinned at him and left. He didn’t say anything and sincerely I’m glad he didn’t. He clearly enjoyed it as well.

“Oh my God you actually did that.” she squeaked, shaking my shoulders.

“Hitch, it's not the first time. Also, he was a good kisser. Now, do you believe me?”

She sighed in defeat and nodded. Sasha was long gone, probably dragged to the dance floor by Connie and soon enough Marlo was here to drag Hitch too. I found this as an opportunity to go to the bathroom.

To my surprise, it was empty and clean. I checked if my mascara was still intact and if I needed to fix my lipstick. While I was applying some lipstick on, a group of girls came in, obviously tipsy, and started talking about the guys they wanted to fuck.

“There’s this tall dude with long hair, ugh girl I just want to hump him.” one of them giggled, leaning on her friend for support.

“Stephanie!! He was with a black-haired girl, don't be a slut.” her friend smacked her.

I cocked my eyebrow and added some mascara. I gathered my stuff and texted Hitch that I was going back home.

It was getting lame and my brother was in no way to be seen. I’m sure Hitch and Sasha would understand. I’ve been too focused on my studies and partying wasn’t what I needed right now.

I walked to the gates and waited for a taxi.

“Already leaving?” a voice echoed behind me, startling me. I jumped around to be met with the same dude I made out with, this time, a leather jacket resting on his shoulders.

Great.

“I’m not feeling it.” I shrugged.

“You can’t leave alone. Some dudes are total creeps.” He walked to me. His tall frame towering over me, the mixture of alcohol and perfume intoxicating me.

“You could easily be one of them. I don’t know you.”

“Well, if I were, you wouldn’t have made out with me for starters. You look mature enough to distinguish a gentleman from a douchebag.” He grinned, pushing my hair behind my shoulders.

“A gentleman?” I questioned, toying with the pockets of his jacket.

“Only if you want me to be,” he mumbled, raising my chin with his index finger.

We stared at each other for a while. I knew he was another stranger, but he made me feel aroused. Maybe Hitch was right. Maybe I needed some relief. So I did what I thought I’d never do.

“Come over. My brother is having fun at this stupid party and I doubt he’ll be back any time soon.”

I could tell he was hesitating, and to be honest, his silence made me question if I made the right decision asking him to come over. He looked like he didn’t want to take advantage of me. A true gentleman, I thought.

I didn’t really care though. We were both taking advantage of each other in this situation, knowing that we will probably never see each other again after this. It was a one-time thing.

I did have, however, a feeling that I’ve seen him before, but the booze wasn’t making me think straight and I shrugged it off. He didn’t seem to recognize me so there was nothing to be worried about.

“On one condition.” he spoke up. I tilted my head waiting for him to proceed. “Tonight, I’m in control.”

I chuckled and nodded. “If that’s what you want, cowboy then sure thing.”

“Jean.” he handed out his hand for me to shake.

“Y/n.”

***

It didn’t take us a lot of time to find his car and get to my place. As a matter of fact, our clothes dropped instantly on the floor as soon as we went through my bedroom door.

“You’re so hot,” he mumbled between kisses, his hand folding my breast. I giggled throwing my head back, my fingers playing with his hair.

His hands traveled down my body, parting ways as one pressed against my heat and the other squeezed my ass. He worked his digits between my folds, my fingers digging in his shoulders.

He gathered my slick before pushing it back with his middle and ring finger.

“Fuck Jean,” I moaned out. I pushed him closer, licking him from the base of his neck to his earlobe, and gently sucked it.

He sighed and backed me until I reached my bed. “Relax now,” He pushed me down on the mattress and spread my legs. I grabbed my pillow and placed it underneath my hips.

He sat on his knees and put my legs on his shoulders, my cunt a few inches away from him. Locking eyes with me, he gave my opening a long lick.

I hissed as he licked my slit, his thumb rubbing small circles to my clit. My hands gripped onto my sheets, my hips bucking. Damn, he was good.

“Shit, ahh, Jean,” I whimpered, his fingers now massaging my insides as his tongue played with my clit. He hummed against me, sending vibrations all over my heat.

I squealed as I felt myself get closer, my legs shakings on his shoulders.

“Be a good girl and come all over my face eh?” he seduced his fingers going faster inside me, occasionally curling to hit my sweet spot.

“I’m so close, fuck fuck fuck fuck.” I chanted gripping his hair, my head pushing down the mattress as my orgasm drove me over the edge.

He stood back up, his stubble coated with my wetness. He sucked his fingers before making them pop out of his mouth.

“Tastes as good as it looks.” He chuckled. “Spread them lips for me again baby let me see your mess”. he purred pushing his hair back.

Doing as I’m told, I spread my folds with my index and middle finger and bit my lip before running another finger between them, feeling my slick. He groaned as I touched myself, slightly playing with my swollen clit.

“You want me?” Jean stroked himself as I dipped my fingers inside me. I nodded biting harder on my lower lip, watching as he pumped himself, his vein now conspicuous.

He kneeled on my bed, pulling me closer to him. “Then take me.” And with that, he rammed himself in. I yelped at the painful stretch, his hands holding my hips. I grabbed his wrist with a hand and tried to reach my headboard with the other.

Once given the green light, he started moving slowly in and out, making sure I was comfortable. Gentleman alright.

His pace was steady, the moonlight lighting his side. He looked absolutely handsome. I wasn’t fragile, nor delicate whatsoever. Still, he didn’t fuck me just to please himself. He wanted to please me and feel me as much as I wanted to.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you okay?” I nodded with a smile. Jean’s thrusts became faster and harder. The deep long strokes were just appetizers for what he was keeping in store. He was big, but he felt incredibly nice.

My room soon was filled with the sounds of our bodies smacking against each other along with my moans and his grunts.

I was already feeling sensitive from my first orgasm, and his strokes were my g-spot almost perfectly. I was a panting mess beneath him, my makeup smudged across my face.

“Ah fuck, you’re choking me so fucking good.” he whimpered throwing his head back. Droplets of sweat trailed down from his toned chest to his abs. I stared at his tattoos and how they complimented him.

“Feel it y/n.” he grabbed my hand and placed it on my lower stomach. Shit.

“I’m gonna cum again, oh fuck, Jean.” I whimpered, his hips rocking my body. I squirmed under him, his thumb rubbing my pink bud, adding more friction.

I wailed as I felt my orgasm rip through my body, his thrusts getting sloppier. I knew he was close.

Fortunately, I’m always on the pill, so I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him down. “I want you to fill me up, please,” I begged, his face buried in my neck, leaving a love bite.

“I’m going to fill you up so good, so damn good.” He lifted my waist with his arms and pulled me closer. “Fuck, yes, oh fuck, yes.” he whimpered in my ear as he emptied himself in me, warming my walls with his semen.

We lead there for a while, motionless. His dick was limp inside me, his arms still holding me.

He feels warm. I don’t want to move. No, he has to move. I don’t do aftercare.

“That was good,” I said breaking the silence. Jean rolled to his side, his cum instantly leaking out of me as pulled out.

“Indeed. Thank you.” I chuckled at his silly response.

“You don’t thank someone for having sex with them dumbass.” A smile formed on his lips as he stood up to grab some tissues from my nightstand to clean me up.

“I’m a gentleman, remember?” he cleaned off our cum and tossed the tissues in my garbage can. “I should get going, we don’t want your brother to go nuts on you.” I nodded and pulled the sheets to cover my nude body. It was a shame that he was leaving, but as I said, I never did aftercare when it came to casual sex.

He put on his briefs and began pulling up his bottoms, however, the most unexpected thing happened, making him stop in his tracks.

“Hey, y/n I brought you some- Jean?!” Connie yelled dropping the bag of chips he was holding.

“Connie?!” Jean who was now half-clothed yelled back.

“Are you- oh my god- did I just sleep with your sister?” He panicked, holding his head with both hands.

I smacked my mouth, my eyes wide open. What the fuck was I supposed to do in a situation like that.

“You sure as hell did idiot!” my brother replied, now both of the males looking at me.

Well, that’s extremely awkward.

#aot fandom #aot x reader #jean kirschtein imagine #jean kirschtein scenarios #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein x you #jean kirstein #jean x reader #aot smut #jean kirschtein fanfiction #jean x reader smut #jean x you #jean kirschtein smut #jean smut #jean kirschtien

[kaiunkaiku]

Welp, I wrote a fic | Ao3

Summary: Bakugou has a shit morning. Kirishima is a ray of sunshine. Aizawa does his duty as the unofficial father figure of the class.

Warnings: Implied PTSD, mentioned vomiting and nightmares, dissociation, chronic pain, my dialogue writing, also chaotic students. Some talk of trauma and therapy, reference to Todoroki’s bullshit family life

Enjoy!

Morning classes are no one’s favorites, except for perhaps Iida’s, but Aizawa, for all his hatred for the concept of doing anything before noon, doesn’t remember encountering this kind of a situation while teaching his current class. Mornings are, of course, in general quieter than the rowdy afternoons when the kids are fully awake, but he’s not quite used to the lack of annoyed grumbling, the occasional yell or the muffled, tired shushing that’s probably supposed to be discreet.

Instead, there’s only quiet whispering throughout the classroom, and a few glances thrown at the two empty desks. Aizawa is curious himself, and possibly a tad bit concerned, but maybe the kids are late.

The dorms being a five-minute walk away should have taken care of that problem, though. Of course he understands that sometimes students are late because of traffic or something he can conveniently put in the same category, but the dorms fixed even Kaminari’s perpetual lateness for the most part, and the majority of the class usually arrives in two or three groups.

If his memory serves him right, Aizawa doesn’t remember a single case of a student being absent and nobody bothering to notify him in the entirety of his teaching career. His students, especially in their first year, tend to be properly terrified of him at least enough not to skip class.

Then again, he still hasn’t expelled a single student from this class (although if it wasn’t for the current, inconvenient circumstances, Mineta would have been at least suspended a while ago for inappropriate behavior. He regrets not doing that at the beginning of the first year).

Right now, the empty seats of Kirishima and Bakugou seem to be glaring at him. It’s way too early for this, and maybe he could chalk it up to the boys being young and hormonal and in love, but Bakugou, despite his attitude and personality, is an exceptionally diligent student when compared to most of his peers.

But the possibility of them being late still stands, so Aizawa decides to give them a few more minutes to appear with a proper explanation and goes on to read Jirou’s argumentative essay on foreign language studying in elementary school.

He has three pages left, because this girl has opinions, when out of the corner of his eye he sees a shock of blonde hair approaching him with what looks suspiciously like a smartphone instead of a textbook or a notebook. Judging from the way Kaminari’s fingers fidget around the device and the slightly terrified look on his face, he’s well aware of the fact that phones are strictly banned in the classroom with the sole exception of searching information concerning an assignment, and this could very well end up with his phone in Aizawa’s desk drawer for the remainder of the day.

Aizawa does recall seeing Kaminari fiddling with his phone earlier, too – in fact, he can just as easily recall at least Sero, Ashido and Midoriya doing the same thing, with several of their classmates occasionally checking their phones. Maybe he should have done something fifteen minutes ago, but if no one falls asleep thanks to the blue light they keep staring at, he’ll forgive them before nine AM.

Looking at Kaminari’s anxious expression as he walks to the front of the class like he probably would to an executioner that hasn’t been given an order yet, Aizawa is starting to be fairly sure he won’t be seeing Kirishima or Bakugou in his classroom today. Behind Kaminari, a few other students are nervously glancing around and furiously tapping at their phones. Several phones vibrate simultaneously, telling Aizawa with certainty that they’re all screaming in their group chat. He briefly wonders what the thing is currently named, because he knows for a fact that at one point it was called Adopted by Aizawa and another Is nobody in this goddamn class straight (that one, Aizawa wonders himself, too, at times, but considering that he’s been in a relationship with a man for well over a decade, well, he supposes he doesn’t have much to say to that).

Kaminari’s phone buzzes, too, but he doesn’t even look at it, which leads to the logical conclusion that whatever the reason is for him to be bringing a phone to Aizawa instead of an exercise, it’s more important than what’s undoubtedly obnoxious, emoji-filled caps lock mess of “what the fuck are you doing” directed at Kaminari.

Deciding to give the kid a break, Aizawa sighs and looks up at Kaminari. He makes sure not to glare, because that would be counterproductive in this situation and just slow things down, and instead schools his expression into a neutral one.

“What is it?” he asks, not quite managing to keep the sleepiness from his voice. Kaminari glances down at his phone, the light of the screen briefly reflecting in his eyes, and then focuses his eyes on Aizawa’s face.

“Um,” Kaminari starts, already stuttering on the one syllable. “I, uh, well,” he mumbles, and his eyes wander somewhere behind Aizawa and then to the desk. Aizawa raises one eyebrow as Kaminari glances at his phone again. The rest of the classroom has gone silent – even the constant buzzing has stopped.

“Kirishima says Bakugou’s sick,” he then mumbles, words leaving his mouth fast and surprisingly quiet. “That’s pretty much all I can get out of him, but, I mean…” Kaminari drifts off, glancing nervously around again, and Aizawa is starting to suspect that he’s more afraid that Bakugou will blast through a window or a wall and continue on to blow up his head for even trying to suggest such a thing than he is of Aizawa confiscating his phone. “It’s gotta be pretty bad if he’s admitting it, right?”

Inclined to agree, Aizawa nods.

Kaminari is quiet for a moment, hands still fidgeting with his phone, and Aizawa looks at him expectantly. It’s still too early for this, and he’d like for Kaminari to continue if he’s going to. It takes way too long for Kaminari to take the hint before he clears his throat.

“So, uh, I figured I should probably tell you, since you’re the teacher and all, and, uh, yeah,” Kaminari continues, fidgeting. Aizawa almost feels sorry for the kid.

The rest of the class stares as Aizawa stands up from behind his desk. It’s unbelievably quiet, and while Aizawa appreciates them worrying for their classmates, he doesn’t really care for how obvious they are about it. They’re kids, of course, yes, but they’re also future pro heroes who should not look this concerned over what probably doesn’t warrant that level of concern.

It crosses his mind that he might not know something he probably should.

He straightens himself, taking note of his stiff arms – they’re always stiff, these days, and sore, and sometimes he can’t bend them properly – and sweeps his gaze across the classroom. Kaminari is still standing in front of him, fingers curled almost protectively around his phone.

“Iida,” he starts, and said boy snaps into attention immediately. “I’m stepping out for a second. You and Yaoyorozu are in charge.” Iida vocalizes his understanding and Aizawa knows he’s going to come back to absolute chaos because that’s what his class is. “Kaminari, back to your seat. If I see your phone again today, I’m confiscating it,” he remembers to say, and Kaminari scrambles back to his seat so quickly he almost trips over his own feet.

According to the security system in place at the Heights Alliance, the building is mostly empty, with the notable exception of two people in Bakugou’s room. The system is connected to his phone, as it is to the phones of all the staff members that deal with the students on a daily basis, and this is so much better than having the bots inform him of everything back when the dorms were still brand new. The bots are bitchy.

He sends a quick message to Hizashi to please go check on his class if he can find the time, and tells him to take every cell phone he sees even though he knows Hizashi won’t do it.

The walk is short, and Aizawa soon finds himself in front of Bakugou’s room. He knocks three times and hears footsteps from the other side, and then he’s facing messy red hair, wide, red eyes, and sharp teeth, making up one Kirishima Eijirou, who has no socks on and hasn’t styled his hair up.

The visible tension in Kirishima’s shoulders drains away as he recognizes who he just opened the door to, and his whole frame slumps in relief.

“Sensei,” he breathes out, before Aizawa has time to say anything. Then his eyes widen. “Oh, crap, I’m so sorry, I swear we didn’t mean to skip and we’re not doing anything stupid during school hours,” Kirishima starts, and suddenly he’s rambling in a slightly panicked way. Aizawa decides Kirishima isn’t in trouble for this.

“I just, I couldn’t just leave him here alone,” Kirishima continues, eyes flicking to where Aizawa knows the bathroom is. Then he freezes, and Aizawa cranes his neck to see what Kirishima is looking at.

There’s a digital clock on the nightstand, and Kirishima manages to whisper a soft “fuck” before he turns back to face Aizawa, eyes wider and now looking decidedly scared. “I swear I didn’t realize it was already almost nine,” he says in a meek voice, and Aizawa finally raises his hand between them to silence him. Kirishima’s mouth snaps shut.

“You’re not in trouble,” he says, and Kirishima relaxes. “Just tell me what’s going on. You told Kaminari that Bakugou was sick?”

Moving away from the doorway, Kirishima starts explaining as he lets Aizawa in. There’s a massive All Might poster staring at him.

“Yeah, uh, I don’t actually know what’s wrong.” Kirishima moves his hands helplessly. “He had a nightmare, which is nothing new, really, he has those, I have those, I’m pretty sure everyone has those," and oh, that's probably what Aizawa should have known but didn't, "but he was really out of it after, and now that I think about it he may have had a panic attack. And he was feeling sick, and so we’ve been camping in the bathroom since then. I think it was like five in the morning. He’s thrown up a few times,” he explains, hands fidgeting, as he nudges the bathroom door open with his foot.

Bakugou looks absolutely miserable.

He’s curled up to himself, hugging his knees to his chest, leaning on the wall next to the toilet, and he doesn’t even glance at the door when it opens, instead staring at a fixed spot in front of him. He’s wearing what looks like a Crimson Riot hoodie that’s a little too big on him, and his knuckles are white. The room reeks of sickness.

Kirishima sits down on the floor next to Bakugou, moving softly, and presses a kiss to his temple. “Hey there,” he murmurs. “I came back, you’re fine,” he continues, fingers settling to Bakugou’s hair, and on some level he reminds Aizawa of Hizashi. Bakugou doesn’t react.

Crouching down sends a twinge of pain from his knees to his hips, because today is apparently a shit day pain-wise, but Aizawa does it anyway. Being on eye-level with Bakugou, the kid looks even worse; his eyes are bloodshot and lips chapped, and he looks very pale. A quick check confirms that Bakugou isn’t wearing his hearing aids, so he digs his memory for sign language – he hasn’t seen Hizashi’s parents in a while, so he hasn’t  used  it in a while. He’s not exactly fluent in JSL, but Bakugou can hear something, so he’s going to make this work.

“Bakugou,” he starts, and fuck, the kid flinches. But the vacant look in his eyes clears, if just a bit, and Bakugou turns to look at him instead of the wall. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Bakugou stares at him for a moment, a considering look in his eyes as if he’s trying to figure out something, and then swallows thickly. Kirishima hasn’t stopped running his fingers through Bakugou’s hair, and his previously free hand has slipped to hold Bakugou’s.

“I feel like shit and I want it to stop,” Bakugou croaks, tone detached and emotionless.

“Okay,” Aizawa replies, even though that did not answer his question. But Bakugou is clearly not lying, either. “I want to check if you have a fever, which means I’m going to touch your forehead,” he explains, trying to emphasize the words with a few key signs he doesn’t think he botches. He reaches a hand forward, but Bakugou interrupts him.

“I’m not sick,” he says, still without any emotion, but he sounds surprisingly convinced of this considering the unhealthy pallor of his skin and the fact that he’s been throwing up. Aizawa quirks an eyebrow.

“I’m going through some bullshit trauma response,” Bakugou continues, clutching Kirishima’s hand, “and it won’t stop.”

Which, okay, Aizawa can understand, because he’s been there, right down to describing the post-nightmare haze as bullshit trauma response when reality didn’t feel like reality and his body didn’t feel like his body. He can’t even imagine what it must be like to go through that at seventeen, because at the very least Aizawa himself was a proper adult and an actual, full-fledged, licenced hero with several years of experience when that particular brand of bullshit trauma response first hit him. Bakugou, on the other hand, is still a teenager, a student, a kid, and so is Kirishima.

He’s throwing Bakugou back to therapy starting tomorrow.

After the incident last fall, Aizawa made sure to force every single one of his students to sit down with a counselor. That lead to a few of his students agreeing to start therapy, and Aizawa keeps careful tabs on who’s going and how the rest of them are doing mentally; Bakugou quit at the end of the school year, Iida, Midoriya, Asui and Kirishima all sat a few sessions, Todoroki is still going, and if Aizawa is being honest, he doesn’t think Todoroki will ever get out of therapy. In any case, he does not need a repeat of a student having a mental breakdown and trying to kill a fellow student.

Looking at Bakugou now, Aizawa doesn’t think he’ll resist the idea too much.

Somehow, standing up is even worse than crouching down was. His knees protest, his ankles protest, his hips, his back, everything. It doesn’t matter, not right now. He’s an adult, and a teacher, and on duty.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he starts once he’s straightened up. Kirishima’s eyes snap up to him, while Bakugou continues to stare where Aizawa’s face just was. “I’m going to call the nurse’s office, and they’re going to send someone here to give Bakugou something to calm down. You’re both excused for the day,” he adds, because he figures Kirishima wouldn’t be able to concentrate in class anyway.

“They’re gonna sedate me,” Bakugou states bluntly, and there’s still the detached tone to his voice.

“Not if you don’t want to– “

“I don’t.”

“– but they’re still going to check you up to see if there’s something else wrong. Do you still feel sick?”

Bakugou nods slowly, and Aizawa resists the urge to sigh. The poor kid is in for a long day.

 XxX

Aizawa stays with the boys until a nurse whose name he doesn’t remember determines that Bakugou is dehydrated, exhausted, and indeed going through some bullshit trauma response; he’s damn near tachycardic, and apparently he’s been dissociating for hours. He won’t talk, so Kirishima provides information where he can – Bakugou still doesn’t seem to have a full grasp on everything that’s going on around him, not to mention what has been going on for the past few hours besides feeling horrible and confused.

In the end, the nurse gives him something to help with the nausea, and convinces him that a mild sedative is a better idea than continuing to feel like shit because he’s too wound up. Getting Bakugou up from the floor turns out to be the most difficult task, because he’s stiff as all hell and shaky on his feet. He doesn’t want to be touched, which is understandable but inconvenient, and once upright he wobbles and almost crashes into Kirishima.

Bakugou seems to fall asleep the second his head hits the pillow, and the nurse gives Kirishima some general instructions like keeping him hydrated and trying to get him to eat something, and tells him to call immediately if Bakugou starts getting worse or if his condition doesn’t improve in a few hours.

Finally walking back to the main building after reassuring Kirishima that yes, taking today off is fine and no, they’re not in trouble for not showing up to class, Aizawa swallows two painkillers dry and prepares himself for the mess that his class is likely to be when he returns.

 XxX

As expected, Aizawa comes back to absolute chaos.

Kaminari is draped over Sero in a vaguely disturbing angle. Midoriya and Todoroki are hunched over the former’s desk in what decidedly does not look like studying. There seems to be a dance party at the back of the classroom, attended by Ashido, Aoyama and Hagakure, with Jirou providing music. Iida and Yaoyorozu are both sitting at their seats looking defeated.

There’s a nice couch in the teachers’ lounge. He can take a nap there. It’s fine. Hizashi can do something about his class.

#fanfiction #bakushima #kiribaku #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #sickfic #my writing

[succubused]

This is just some bullshit I wrote while considering my whole Shepard-with-a-malfunctioning-implant that reacts unpredictably and in an extreme manner to the physiological and neurological activity associated w emotional responses, it’s a great time and I live in a hell of my own creation

———————————————————————————————————

“…Shepard?”

“Yes?” she said without turning her head, a horrible kind of calm in her voice.

“You can’t…you can’t keep this up. You know you can’t do it.”

Shepard made a sound that could either have been a laugh or a grunt of pain. More likely it was a bit of both. She didn’t say anything, just kept staring straight ahead. She could see two of the bullets she had trapped in place from where she was strapped to the wall; the other three were edging their way closer to Garrus, slowly, but they were moving.

If it had only been one she could have just sent it shooting back into the forehead of the would-be executioner. And she had, with the first one. But she was tired. She’d missed, and it hit him in the chest, not placed correctly to kill him instantly—sloppy, I know, it was sloppy. Those five bullets that she was now focusing on were the last shots he’d gotten off before he choked on his own blood. There had been the suck-slap noise of a singularity, triggered by the neurological activity brought on by her panic.

And now here they were.

Stupid is what it was, to have killed the executioner, the only person set to enter the room for hours. Who knew if his absence would even be noted? She had only reacted. It was the only thing she’d had time to do.

“Where are they going to hit?” she said finally.

“What?”

He sounded frustrated. She resisted the urge to turn and look at him, see for herself, but she knew if she moved even an inch she could slip and this slip was one she couldn’t afford.

“The bullets. You have to, you tell me where they’re aimed at.”

Shepard had one hanging by her left shoulder. Her shooting arm. Would be bad to lose mobility there but wouldn’t kill her, unless not being able to fire killed her later. The other one was trickier. It was somewhere around the middle of her torso but she couldn’t remember or ascertain what angle it had been coming from. Could hit her in the side which would be painful but nonfatal, or it could be an upward angle that would send it straight into a lung.

“I’m going to let one of them at me,” she told him. “It’ll hit me in the shoulder.”

“No! No, Lace, stop, wait.”

“Lace?” She chuckled, the sound completely out of place. “Have you ever called me by my first name before? I don’t think I realized you even knew it.”

Garrus mumbled something unintelligible and she could practically hear him rolling his eyes. Stop making stupid jokes during life-threatening situations, he’d said once. What, so it’s only good when you do it? she’d replied.

Yeah, because mine are actually funny.

“There’s one by my leg. You could let that one go. I’ll be fine.”

“You won’t be able to walk.”

“I can limp,” he said with disdain.

“Tell me how you think we get out of here if you can’t move fast.”

“If it gets to be an issue then you leave me here.”

Shepard snorted derisively. “No. Next.”

“I think…collar. It’s by the collar.” He twisted slightly, trying to get a better view, but the width of his armored cowl along with the restraints made getting an angle on it difficult.

“Too close to the neck. That’s your most vulnerable area. No visibility on angle. Next.”

He considered arguing, briefly, but she was right. “I can’t really see where the last one is. Somewhere by the right hip. I’m sorry.”

“Then it’s out of the running too.” Shepard’s jaw went hard. “I’m hitting myself.”

“Shepard—you really think you not being able to shoot is any better than me not being able to run?”

“I can shoot with my other arm,” she muttered.

Garrus laughed hoarsely. “No, you can’t. Your aim on your off hand is terrible. You’ll shoot me by mistake, or yourself.”

“True, but the other one could punch a hole in my lung. Lesser of two evils, you know?”

“You have no way of knowing—you don’t even know what that’ll do. How do you know the pain won’t just kill the field immediately? Then we’re both dead.”

She blew air through clenched teeth, exasperated. “I can’t believe you’re trying to talk me into shooting you.”

“I’m not. I’m trying to talk you into letting me finish getting shot.”

“You’ve been shot enough times.”

“So have you!”

The worst part was that he made perfect sense. In the upper floors of her brain, the levels of her that weren’t affected by her emotions, she knew that. His leg would probably be fine (unless it hit an artery but she couldn’t think about that, she couldn’t think about it) and it was certainly more logical than the person holding the bullets in stasis being distracted by a shot in the shoulder; being able to run would help, but they could take all the time in the world if they just hunkered down in a corner and shot everything that moved. But she couldn’t stop thinking about Omega and the way his face had looked all twisted up in agony. The image had been seared into her eyelids for months. She couldn’t be responsible for causing him that kind of pain.

“Shepard, don’t be stupid about this,” he said, as though he’d heard her seeing reason and then immediately ignoring it.

Lace started to say something acerbic but was shut down by a wave of exhaustion that struck without warning, and the bullets nearly slipped out of her control. They began to scoot forward before she clamped down once more.

“Fuck,” she said conversationally.

“Just do it,” Garrus growled. “Or we’re both dead. You do realize that? You’re aware that that’s what happens if you keep this up?”

“I don’t want to.” She spoke so quietly he almost didn’t hear her. She may well have been talking to herself. “I don’t want to do it.”

“I know you don’t,” he said, his voice softening. “I know. But if you really want to save my life you have to shoot me.”

Things you’ve said that should never be taken out of context: an anthology.

“Because I might not be able to hold the field if I shoot myself,” she said slowly.

“Yes. Exactly that.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone sound so relieved to hear they might be shot before.”

“First time for everything.”

Shepard screwed her eyes shut. The fear billowing in the back of her throat at the thought of what if he’s right what if shooting myself makes me lose the field was beginning to make her chest thrum with energy as she simultaneously weakened by the moment. She was becoming unstable.

He was right.

She hated it, but he was right.

“Do it,” Garrus told her. He could tell from her silence that she knew.

“I’ll kill them,” she said, the awful calm back in her tone. “I’ll kill them for making me do this.”

She released the bullet. The others slipped a little, when she lifted, but as soon as she let go of her hold on the one she felt as though she had suddenly been allowed to inhale after having her lungs compressed for hours. They had time. It had bought them time.

She told herself this as though it excused the soft thud of the bullet tearing into his flesh and the hoarse grunt of pain he couldn’t choke back. Knowing she was responsible, however indirectly, it didn’t feel like she had expected. It felt worse.

“Garrus? You okay?”

“Fine,” he gasped. “I’m—oh, that’s—no, fine, I’m fine.”

“I guess now we’re even for the time you shot me on Omega,” she said, shaky, unable to do anything but stare straight ahead. But he still laughed, weakly. He always laughed when he knew it was what she needed.

“They were concussive rounds, Shepard.”

She was forced to release two more bullets: one into Garrus’ hip, the other into her own shoulder after all, because for all his reasoning he couldn’t convince her to take her chances on shooting him in the neck. The search-and-rescue team located them in the same room they’d been held, Shepard crouched protectively over the turian who had passed out from the blood loss, both covered in both each other’s blood and the blood from the broken bodies scattered around them. The remaining bullets were lodged in the ceiling where they appeared to haven been crushed by massive force. When asked how they’d gotten loose, how she’d killed those men with a dead arm, Shepard just shook her head, looked at Garrus, and said “Get him out of here.”

Upon further examination it was apparent the men had died from massive internal trauma and one from a broken neck. It was consistent with damage caused by a violently chaotic mass effect field, not unlike that produced by the manner in which Shepard’s biotics had been known to malfunction when she was deeply afraid, albeit of much higher caliber. When Liara asked Garrus what had happened, he said he didn’t know. “All I remember is those guys busting in and then it goes black.”

Finally he found her, standing by the port observation window with her arms crossed and her jaw set. She didn’t turn around when she spoke.

“You going to be all right?”

“No permanent damage.” He stood beside her, staring out into the dark. “Shepard…what did you do?”

Lace closed her eyes.

“They said they found us surrounded by corpses.”

“They did,” she said slowly, eyes still closed.

“Last thing I remember, we were still pretty firmly attached to that wall.”

“We were.”

“So what happened?”

She crossed her arms more tightly.

“Lace.” Her first name still sounded strange, felt foreign in his mouth.

“I…” She swallowed and glanced up at him quickly. “You just went limp. And I.”

Shepard rubbed her mouth and winced.

“Garrus, I thought I’d killed you.”

He was silent for a moment, not looking at her, long enough for her to start to be worried, should have just kept quiet about it he didn’t need to know that he didn’t—

“You were scared, then,” he said thoughtfully, quietly.

No. He did.

She spat the next words harshly, as if by doing so she could erase the memory of that feeling she was trying to communicate, that instant of a sick balled-up feeling in her chest that had erupted so violently it had crushed a human spine on impact.

“I have never been so afraid in my life.”

#shakarian #hey uh i've literally never written fanfiction or anything like this before in my life so #idk if that's even what it is i just needed this shit out of my system #i love to suffer #and i have a weird thing about people in love saving each others' lives #and various permutations thereof #my shepard is a badass trash bag of anxieté and repressed emotions and i love her