Midnight Skies - A DabixReader Story

Fixing

"I think I'm gonna need you to lie down." You murmur as you look at the extent of his injuries. There were massive claw marks down his torso, running from his collarbone to his belly button. The damage had even taken out a couple of the staples that had held his two-toned skin together.
He goes, slowly and with a poorly hidden wince to lie on the floor.
"What are you doing?" You ask, gripping his arm, trying to stop him from moving any further. His skin is warm, feeling like a heated blanket underneath your fingertips.

"Lying down." He replies dully, looking at your hand on his arm for a split second before his blue eyes snap back up to yours again.
"On the sofa. Not the floor." You say, shaking your head. "It won't be funny if you get an infection."
He stares at you, that same look of eternal boredom written in his eyes despite his muddled thoughts. Reluctantly, he stands straight again, making his way over to the sofa and slowly lowering himself onto it, facing the ceiling as he swings his legs over the arm of the couch.

You lift his shirt up, taking in the extent of his injuries properly now he was laid in front of you with the light on.
"You should probably go to a hospital." You point out, fighting the urge to wince at the depth of the cuts that had torn through his flesh and muscle alike.
"Can't. So get to work, nurse." He grunts, his eyes remaining fixed to the ceiling.
'She has no idea.' He thinks to himself.
No idea of what? You look up at him, curious. What was he hiding? Why couldn't he go to a hospital? Had he come from the hospital? There was one nearby. He was incredibly scarred, it wouldn't surprise you if he was a regular there.

"Less staring, more fixing." He says, his eyes suddenly snapping to yours, a glint of offence hidden in those piercing blue orbs.
"You don't need to be rude." You whisper, rolling the bloodied shirt up as much as possible, revealing a second large patch of scarring on his stomach.
Before your hand is able to unzip the first aid bag that lay next to your thigh, his hand wraps itself around your wrist, drawing your attention back to his eyes.

"Don't try anything funny." He warns, his hand heating up considerably, the heat beginning to get more and more uncomfortable until you finally let out a yelp, trying to snatch your hand away.
He stares at you. "Take that as a warning."
You cradle your wrist, looking at him with a mixture of anger and pain clear to see in your eyes. It hadn't even crossed your mind to do something harmful to him, but you often forgot people couldn't hear the thoughts, the intentions of others like you could.
His thoughts don't speak, his head empty as he holds your eyes in his own.

You gulp back the pain that had formed as a lump in your throat, looking at the slight blistering as it formed around your wrist.
"I'm just trying to help." You say, still holding onto your wrist, the searing pain seeming to grow more and more the longer it was exposed to the air.
"Then help." He says, rolling his eyes up towards the ceiling again.
You try to ignore the blistering pain in your arm as you dip your hand into the first aid bag, retrieving a handful of alcohol wipes.

"You're lucky I'm doing anything for you after that stunt." You mutter, pressing the alcohol wipe against one of the scratches a little harder than you would have originally done.
He ignores you, not even giving a wince as you work over his chest, and you wonder to yourself if it has anything to do with the heavy scarring, wondering if maybe there was extensive nerve damage that stopped him from being able to feel what you were doing in those areas.
A hiss as you press as firmly as you had against his chest onto his stomach, against fresh skin, confirms that to you, his head jerking forward and anger flashing in his eyes.

"Whoops." You mutter with a half shrug.
You were prepared to go into this with an open mind and warm heart, but your wrist was stinging painfully, the blistering swelling uncomfortably from the hold he'd had on you earlier. If he was going to be an asshole, so were you.
"Watch it, doll face." He hisses. "Would hate to give you a matching bracelet."
Your yellow eyes flicker from the wound to meet his own gaze, searching for the truth in his head.

You weren't surprised to find out he was indeed being honest with those words, but you could have done without the images of you writing in pain underneath his touch, his brain seeming to enjoy how your eyes had looked when he'd grabbed you earlier.
A mixture of hurt, surprise and innocence.
You tap your earphone, trying to make it subtle, not wanting the two toned man to find a reason to kick up stink about it. You just needed to drown the thoughts out, he was getting more and more disturbing the closer you got to his belly button. 

You clear your throat as you have the flickering images of you panting and naked underneath him, your cheeks glowing red.
"What?" He asks, a little snappily.
"Nothing, nothing." You murmur, putting the third bloodied wipe in a bag beside you. "These are really bad. What happened?"
Ah, yes. Distraction. Maybe if you distracted him he'd stop thinking about lewd things.
He scoffs, resting his head back again. "Like I'd tell you."
You raise your eyebrows, unable to help the smirk that lifts as his thoughts tell you instead. Some guy with a blade Quirk had gotten a little displeased with him at a bar.

"You live here alone?" He asks, his arms folding behind his head, as though he was the most relaxed person in the world as you look at the torn flesh, wondering how best to deal with it now the excess blood had gone.
"Like I'd tell you." You murmur, using his own words against him despite knowing better. To your surprise though, he doesn't snatch your wrist, doesn't lose his temper, doesn't even raise his voice.
In fact, he chuckles.
"A sassy one huh? I like that." He says, his tongue running over his marred bottom lip, the pale pink of his tongue really highlights how dark the scarring is.

You decide just to dress the wounds, you didn't want to keep this man in your house for any longer than you needed to, especially not with the thoughts he was having, some ranging from consensual to non-consensual, and each one getting your cheeks to grow redder and redder.
You thank the gods for the fact he seems perfectly content staring up at the ceiling, his mind elsewhere entirely as you work on him.

"There." You say, a little breathlessly.
His eyes roll down to his chest and stomach, his blue irises seeming to dance over all of the dressings like it was to be judged for some kind of nursing competition.
He grunts, before looking up at the ceiling again.
You stay kneeling beside him, your eyes darting between him and the door.
"I said we're done." You say, a little clearer incase he hadn't heard you.
"Yeah, I know."
"You said-" You begin to say, only to be cut off mid-sentence.

"I said I'd let you live. I didn't say I'd leave."