#went from experiencing the horrors of seeing people bleeding out and body horror to having a dopamine high that i never knew was possible

[allmightluver]

**bnha spoilers** I'm just sat here with renewed realisation of what All Might is going through. 40 years. /40 years/ he held and refined that power and dedicated his every waking (and sleeping if Vigilantes is anything to go by) moment towards the goal of defeating AfO and creating a society in which people could feel happy and safe. And now as it turns out AfO is still alive, society is broken and he has given a literal piece of his soul to this young boy leaving himself with only phantoms

Yes. I don’t think people quite grasp what all he’s going through.

It’s been shown recently to us that some, if not most, heroes have underlying ambitions in becoming a hero. Whether for money, glory, fame, popularity, doesn’t matter. They’re ultimately in it for themselves. Toshinori’s intentions from the beginning have been the most pure- he wanted to be a symbol that people can look to and know things will be ok. A symbol of hope. This boy was only around 14 years old when he decided this. What kind of 14 year old sees the world that clearly? Sees that people have no hope, that a veil of darkness covers them. The only thing I can think of is- Toshinori did not have a good childhood. Something had to have happened to a boy that young to stop seeing the joy in life so early, and see the world’s flaws. Truthfully, I believe he was an outcast- due to his quirklessness. Most likely an orphan, perhaps abandoned by his parents, as we’ve never seen him have any family. I do truly believe Toshinori has been alone all his life. I don’t doubt more could have happened to him as a child before he met Nana. 

Some may argue that Izuku is the same age, and therefore it shouldn’t be that hard to see why Toshinori wanted to be a hero at such a young age. BUT, Izuku had someone to look up to, ever since he was a child of four years old, to inspire him to be a hero his whole life *cough cough* All Might. Izuku also was quirkless, much like Toshinori, and an outcast because of it (hence where I assume Toshinori was much the same). But ultimately, Izuku wanted to save people because he saw his hero do it. It really wasn’t until Izuku was a bit older, has been in UA, has been on rescue missions, has seen what the heroes see, that I think he’s truly realized how dark the world really is. Toshinori didn’t have that. He didn’t have someone to inspire him as a child, someone to look up to, a hero to inspire him to help others. At that time, heroes hadn’t become as popular as they are in present times. Toshinori saw the world for what it was, on his own, at a tender age. I think that day Nana ran into this blonde hair kid, she eyed him up, noticed his scraggly form, looked into those captivating blue eyes, and saw a man who’s lived through the world’s horrors- experienced the worst it has to offer-, and wants to save everyone he can from the same fate, all in a 14 year old boy. 

Then after only a few short years with the woman he saw as his mother, she’s killed in front of him because of his own weakness- he wasn’t strong enough yet to protect her. The only other person his life, Gran Torino, literally abused him. He beat him to a pulp, taking his own emotions out on a teenager, and I doubt Toshinori said anything of it. He probably thought he deserved it. He’s still afraid of Gran Torino to this day, remembering the beatings and expecting more for his failures- even if he doesn’t know what they are surely he’s at fault for something, but he’s the only person who’s stood by his side for this long. Even while at a distance, and spouting nothing but criticisms along the way. But Toshinori had to put aside his own emotions to be that hope for everyone. He left everything he knew to go to a new country on his own, to learn how to be a hero, to be that hope for someone.

Vigilantes showed us just how hard he worked. Toshinori literally stayed awake with no sleep for days on end- 3 in the chapter I’m referencing- because people needed help, people needed saving, and no one else stepped up. He fought villains, rescued civilians, repaired damage, cleared rubble, (even accept and eat food that was against his dietary restrictions after his injury) whatever the public needed, all while draining himself further. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion because he had no help, once literally falling asleep while mid-leap across the city because he simply could go no further. 

^^These happen in succession of each other^^

No one stepped up to say “Hey, Mr. Number 1, you’ve been working hard lately. Let me help you!” No one tried to take over his position. Even the Number 2 hero, Endeavor, never tried to take some of his burden. His only goal was to try to be better than All Might in terms of power- he was never trying to be the hero that the people relied on All Might for. Everyone relied on him when things looked grim. He was the back up plan. And all of this happened before Toshinori’s injury. 

The only thing he ever wanted to do- help people- he can’t do (at least the way he’s always known how to). The ability to save people has been taken from him in the most gruesome way. He was finally able to fight the man that killed Nana, and in a rage that I’m sure echoed with all of the emotions of the previous users, he smashed that man’s head like a grape. But not without consequence. Several organs are gone. The pain is excruciating. He wears that man’s mark on his body for the rest of his life, never truly able to rid himself of the filth.

Then we have Nighteye’s betrayal. The man that helped him as a sidekick, the man that grew to be his only friend. Now some people may ask why Toshinori flipped like he did to Nighteye looking into his future when he was concerned about him making it through his injury. What I believe is Toshinori didn’t want to know when he would die (and really, who does). Now he knows he’s on a time limit, knows the clock is ticking. Time is running out to keep the world at peace, and with him as he is now, how long can this go on? 

I think the betrayal, doing something that Toshinori specifically asked him not to do, is what hurt the most. How can he trust Nighteye anymore? He already can only count on one hand the people he can trust, let alone befriend.

He’s wasted away into a skeleton, a shell of the man he used to be. He can’t over exert himself without his only lung bleeding in protest. It’s canon in the side books that he really doesn’t eat much, which isn’t good for his diet without a stomach now (he’s supposed to have several small meals a day). He is quite literally punishing himself by starving. (Granted, he doesn’t feel hunger anymore.) He’s a sick man, beyond medical help at this point. They can only stabilize him and hope for the best. For five years now he’s in constant pain, every day. He loses blood like sweat. Surely his veins are bruised and collapsed with how many times he would have needed to be hospitalized. Whether from losing too much blood, being too dehydrated or starved from “forgetting” to eat, or an organ failing as body continues to fall apart. “...even as my body rots and grows frail...” - Toshinori People are bound to stare at him as he walks down the street. A tall, willowy, skeleton with a grimace on his face and blood stains on his clothes as he coughs up more into his own hands. There would be the ones who outright ignore him when they walk by, the people who offer pitying smiles and sympathetic glances or just outright stare, and then ones who are afraid of his appearance- children screaming at the mere sight of him and running to their parents to hide from the monster. Each one is another knife in Toshinori’s side, an ache in his chest. If only they knew who I really am.

Losing Nighteye took a toll on his hero work as well. Mirai was a huge help in the past, and took care of all Toshinori’s paperwork, while also reminding him to take care of himself. Without him, Toshinori was even more buried beneath his responsibilities. Plus, now he was on a time limit. He even snapped briefly in his first meeting with Tsukauchi, accidentally revealing himself as All Might because he was under too much pressure, and telling the detective he literally couldn’t handle doing everything by himself (who graciously took over the paperwork side of things for him). 

He was living a double life now, having to lie to people left and right about who he was while in his small form, about how he became so sickly, why he was here in the first place who the heck is this skinny old guy. Surely he had multiple visits to the doctor while continuing to repair the damage done by AFO (there’s a limit to how much the body can handle at once. And things I’m sure continued to fail as time went on). Then he would be bedridden for as long as the doctors could keep him strapped to a bed, until he couldn’t take the people’s cries for help any longer, and would jump into action. (It’s also revealed he has something of a super hearing- able to hear danger- which may have been a form of danger sense of OFA that was never fully unlocked?. Either way, he surly could sense disasters happening while he could only lay and heal from his latest surgery. Those poor doctors must have had to re-stitch him several times). People blame him for not preparing society for his retirement, that he failed in passing on the torch so to speak, but in reality he did everything possible to keep society from falling for 40 years, doing all within his power just to keep things afloat. He is only one person. One human being, he can’t do everything despite trying to. Society failed All Might.

People blame him for not being a good teacher. He didn’t exactly have the greatest teacher himself to learn from. He’s never had to teach anyone anything, he just punches! He’s learning. And for his own credit, he’s an incredibly wise man, he has years of experience under his belt, and an intelligence score of 6/6, scoring up there with Nezu! He may not always have the right way to bring something up, but he’s doing his best. Yet even he blames himself for Izuku not being able to control his quirk better. Every time the boy hurts himself, it’s just another tally on the chalkboard of Toshinori’s failures. He himself knows the boy deserves better, better than him. Useless. Pathetic.

Then his friend from America, Dave, essentially became a villain trying to preserve Toshinori’s legacy after Toshinori told him about his injury. Dave went behind his back, threatened people, injured people (pretty sure people died), all for Toshinori’s sake. Something he didn’t want to begin with. Having to put your only other friend in jail for trying to help you surely couldn’t have been easy.

Oh, by the way? All For One isn’t dead. All Might will fight him again, publicly, have his weakened form exposed to the world, and have his own emotions toyed with as he finds out about his master’s grandson in the villain’s hands. Would Nana hate him for leaving her son alone like she’d asked, and dooming her grandchild to be raised by the greatest villain? Could he have done anything to save him? But Toshinori isn’t allowed to feel, he has to smile and push his own feelings aside once again, because there’s a villain to be fought, and only he can fight him. Despite coming out on top, he’ll have suffered severe head trauma, broken left arm, destroyed right arm, and several cuts and bruises that are sure to scar. And then, his quirk, the only thing that’s been allowing him to help people, the gift given to him that he carefully held for 40 years and molded into his own until his very consciousness was permanently carved into it, blows out like a match in the wind. And he’s done. Used up. Empty. Broken. Hollow. Alone, again.

He overhears his student, Bakugo, admit that he blames himself for All Might’s retirement. If he hadn’t been captured, All Might wouldn’t have had to save him, and he wouldn’t have had to fight AFO. Of course Toshinori knows that’s not true, his time was about to run out anyway. It would have happened one way or another. But how can he explain to this child that he wasn’t the cause of his hero, the world’s greatest hero, fighting for his sake, bleeding for his sake, being forced into retirement to keep him safe. Every time Bakugo sees the bandages covering Toshinori’s body is another reminder of the pain and sacrifice Toshinori willingly gave to keep him safe. Toshinori wasn’t held when his mentor died. He wasn’t told it was ok to be sad, that grief and mourning was a natural process, that it takes time to heal. He wasn’t told it was ok to cry. Instead his feelings were beaten out of him as he wondered if Gran Torino blamed him for Nana’s death. He already blamed himself How then, does he comfort a child mourning for him? For what he lost.

And then he gets the call to come to the hospital. Mirai, Nighteye, his old sidekick friend, has been gravely injured, much like he himself was only a few years ago, and most likely won’t survive the night. And to his horror, Nighteye is happy to see him, smiles at him, says he doesn’t hate him for what happened, only wants Toshinori to be happy. He can’t accept that, at least let him apologize, reconcile his sins before it’s too late! But it is. Another fractured piece of his heart gone.

Of course, seeing your students beat up and their arms completely destroyed must have hurt. Instead of being able to save these kids, they’re the ones that hurt themselves to save everyone else. And if Bakugo had kept OFA, things could have been very different (especially with what we know now of OFA and people with quirks). Toshinori wasn’t mad at Izuku for transferring it away, he’d never regret choosing Izuku, and I believe he still would have stayed by Izuku and Bakugo’s side should it have stayed in Bakugo, doing whatever he could to help.

As he tells Aizawa, “I’ve decided to live,” -that statement seems so melancholy, besides obvious reasons. It sounds more like another task he has to accomplish. He didn’t die he was supposed to die with the AFO fight, and now the whole life he lived is over. The world has no use for him anymore. If not for Izuku, he’d have nothing left keeping him here. But because his boy made him promise to live, he’ll do so. Though it almost seems like he says those words with regret. “I’ve decided to live.” Not, “I’m going to live!” “Nothing can kill me!” “I won’t go down without a fight!” No. “I’ll live if I have to, only because you asked me to.” The man is obviously and outwardly depressed. He has so many things against him. No doubt has severe PTSD, anxiety, among others. Not to mention his own physical health. Every day hurts. It’s painful to be alive. Why would he torture himself if he doesn’t have to? For you, my boy. You’re the only thing keeping me here. The only light in my dark world.

He tries to help Izuku find out the previous holder’s quirks, to help his boy in any way he can now that he’s worthless, and goes days on end without sleep, running his body into the ground. He even forgets Christmas. Only to find that by giving the boy the same gift he had received, he may have just doomed him to an early death, among psychological torture (danger detection). (Granted, he really doesn’t know how everything works, and he’s afraid to talk to anyone about it). His boy could live only half a life.

It’s only been a few months since he retired, and society has fallen into shambles. People are blaming him. People are dying. He watches helplessly as his colleague fight his fight for him, and end up battered, bruised, crippled, dead. He students, his boy, battle the monster he should have killed. Children are bleeding. This shouldn’t happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Is everything he worked for, everything he fought to protect, to build up, to inspire, is all for naught?! Did he live a foolish dream and doom the world? Was all the the friends he lost, tears he shed, the organs he destroyed, the pain he endures on a daily basis from the hole in his side, and the blood he continues to bleed every day, for nothing? The public, the ones he protected for so long, mourn his absence, but surely there are those among them who also blame him. The statue from his last fight in Kamino one that he never asked for was decimated in a mock of his catch phrase- the one that was supposed to give hope.

Now he can feel his own vestige speaking with Izuku in the OFA realm, even with out OFA in his own body anymore. His clock as nearly reached it’s limit, Nighteye’s prediction is due any day now. The only thing he wants is to see his boy smile at him, to give him some shred of hope. Yet the child remains unconscious, and Toshinori can’t even hold his hand from the bandages covering his arms. Will he still be able to fight? Is there any coming back from this now? Did I break him?

With all Toshinori has been through, I’m honestly surprised we haven’t seen him just outright break down. Anyone, anyone, else should have crumbled under the pressure of holding up the world for 40 years alone. And instead of being able to pass it on to someone when he can no longer bear its weight, it simply falls to into the abyss. People don’t credit All Might enough for everything he’s done. Most don’t realize the sacrifices he’s made. His character is so unbelievably profound and deep, it’s more than just the “I am here!” people focus on. He’s a deeply troubled, layered, complex character. And I can’t find fault within him.

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Aliit Be Cuur

Pairings: Mando x Reader

Summary: While waiting in the hospital in Mos Pelgo after you were inured in the attack on the Krayt Dragon, Mando accidentally learns some life changing information for the both of you. You’re pregnant. 

Warnings: Description of injuries, Pregnancy, Talk about miscarriage, Mando sees a sonogram-like image of reader’s uterus while she’s unconscious, general discussion of pregnancy while reader is unconscious and unaware, made up Star Wars level medical equipment

Word Count: 2800

Read Part 2 Here!

________________________________________

Watching you lay unconscious, body littered in cuts and burns, had to be the most terrifying thing Mando had ever experienced, and that was coming from a man that had seen some horrific things in his life. It was his fault you were hurt. If only his plan to kill the Krayt Dragon had gone as it was supposed to, you wouldn’t be in this position. This was supposed to be what he was good at. Killing. Sure, he killed the dragon, but at what cost? 

When the initial plan of luring out the dragon and detonating the explosive just at his weak spot under his belly had gone south, he knew he had to think of something else. He could not leave the Mandalorian armor with Cobb Vanth. He needed it back. 

The plan to use the bantha as bait had come to him quickly but he should have known better than to not tell you what he was doing. There was just no time. Everything had happened so fast. After months of travelling together, he’d hoped that maybe by some miracle, you could read his mind and know that everything was going to be okay when he allowed the dragon to swallow him with the bantha. 

You were with the villagers and Tusken Raiders, struggling to fix the devices you’d built to throw the harpoons so you’d have a fighting chance. Being so caught up in your own tasks, sweat beading on your forehead from the heat and pressure, you hadn’t known Mando had strapped explosives to the bantha and was using it as bait. A loud screeching roar from the dragon ripped your attention away from the trying to kick a piece of wood back into place just in time to see the dragon’s mouth open, massive teeth bared, as it plunged down, straight on top of Mando and the bantha. 

You screamed in horror, running towards the beast, “MANDO!” About halfway there from your post, you whipped out your blaster and shot at the beast as it dove back into the sand. The lasers were useless and you knew that but it was the only thing you could think of to do. Your legs fumbled to a halt, the realization that Mando was really gone actually hitting you. 

But then something else hit you. 

There was a loud explosion and a wave of fire, rocks, sand, and dragon flesh hit you, throwing your body back. The last thing you saw was the wave of orange and red coming at you before everything went black. 

Just as planned, Mando had managed to escape the beast’s clutches before the explosion but suddenly regretted every decision he’d ever made when he saw the little figure of your body running towards where you assumed Mando to be. Even from dozens of feet in the air, he knew it was you. He couldn’t imagine anyone else there willing to run straight at the monster to try and save him. The bombs were sure to detonate any second but by the time he’d noticed you, it was too late. The bomb detonated with a massive wave of heat and debris. 

He watched in horror as your body flew back at least twenty feet before sliding another fifteen across the sand after the impact. Time seemed to stop around him as he jetted to you in less than a few seconds. He couldn’t breathe, fear that he had caused your death choking his airways. “Y/N!” He yelled, landing harshly on his feet right beside you before falling to his knees. You were lying face down, eyes closed. “Y/N, talk to me.” Mando looked over your body and, by some miracle, there didn’t appear to be any broken bones, at least not any that looked immediately disfiguring. With a nearly effortless nudge, he rolled your body over. Your clothes had been ripped and/ or singed in many places. Multiple large holes in your pants revealed reddening burns and blood dripping from sand scraped skin. Your shirt was torn in multiple places, the left strap of your shirt torn so severely it could barely count as a sleeve. The side of your face that was on the sand was also scraped up, thankfully not too deep, but enough to cause bleeding. 

Now the two of you were in the little hospital in Mos Pelga, along with the rest of those who'd been injured in the attack. You slept now, bandages covering large portions of you body that was now largely exposed. They had had to strip you down to your underwear to reach all the wounds but had wrapped your chest in wrappings in place of a bra for the sake of your privacy. Mando had pulled his cape over the majority of your body, knowing you'd be upset if you were to wake up practically naked in front of everyone. 

He hadn't left your side since the explosion. He carried you to the infirmary. He laid you down on the cot. He watched as both human nurses and medic droids worked to patch you up and take blood for tests. They had told Mando that they wouldn’t know anything for sure until the tests came back. Even with the bacta that they’d lathered on you, it would take time for it to work and there was a possibility for further damage that they couldn’t see on the outside. 

The child had been sleeping in his little cot, sealed up safely inside the levitating metal object. Mando had just been sitting beside you on a crate, leaning forward on his knees. This was his fault. He should have known you’d run in. He should have known that something like this could happen. 

“Mandalorian.” A robotic voice gently called for Mando’s attention. 

He looked up at the awkwardly proportioned grey medic droid who stood on the opposite side of the bed. “Is she going to be okay?” 

The droid spoke again, its body shifting unnecessarily to emphasize some of its words, “Patient 728, also known as Y/N. Female. Age: (Y/A). 2nd degree burns on the abdomen, arms, and legs. Superficial graze abrasions on the face, neck, arms, hands, abdomen, and legs. Bruising on face, back, hips, and legs. Probability of death: 7%. No damage to the fetus. Probability of miscarriage: 19%.” 

Mando found a hard time finding any solace in the words of a droid. When a young male nurse walked up beside the droid, Mando immediately turned his attention to him.

“It’s a miracle the baby survived unharmed. I’ve seen much less cause a miscarriage.” The nurse mused, flipping through the clipboard in his hands. 

Mando stood up, brows furrowed beneath the helmet, “That must be someone else’s chart.” 

The nurse flipped back to the front page, “Patient 728? Y/N L/N?” The young man confirmed.

“Yes.” 

He shook his head, “Nope, this is hers.” 

Mando gestured to you, “There must have been a mistake. She’s not pregnant.” 

The young nurse looked at the beskar helmet that he was actually slightly taller than and swallowed hard, “I’m sorry. I assumed that you were the father. If not, this is confidential information that I can’t share with you.” It was obvious that the man was afraid to stand up to a Mandalorian, surely hundreds of stories of their superior killing ability running through his head. Nonetheless, he held fast to what was right. 

Mando’s head was reeling and all he wanted was to run and take off the helmet and take actual, non-filtered breaths. Instead, he was wide eyed and silent as thoughts ran through his head a million lightyears an hour. The beskar betrayed none of his emotions. To the rest of the world, he appeared frozen, standing strong and staring right at the nurse when in reality Mando had zoned out somewhere off to the side. 

If you were pregnant, the baby had to be his. For the last few months, the two of you had had an unofficial relationship of sorts. Nothing was ever said, no official labels, but the two of you behaved like any other couple, or at least a much less touchy-feely version of one. After a night of confessions brought on by an unrelated argument, it had become an unspoken truth that you were only taken by each other. You were his riduur, no doubt, and, as far as he knew, he was yours. You would never lay with another man as long as you and Mando were together, that much he was sure of.

“If she’s pregnant, I am the father.” His voice was calm as always but he thanked the modulator for the slight distortion. If it hadn’t been there, he would have sounded shaky. 

The nurse sighed, choosing to believe him because he really didn’t see much use in lying over something like this. He flipped to the next page on his chart and walked over to stand beside Mando, pointing at some numbers that meant nothing to him. “hCG is a hormone that’s created in the placenta and is only present in pregnant women. According to her levels, I’d say she’s about eight weeks.” He paused for a moment, allowing time for the new information to sink in. “You really didn’t know?” 

“If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have let her fight the Krayt Dragon.” Mando snapped, almost angry at the mere suggestion that he would put his own child in that sort of danger. 

The nurse put his hand up in defense before continuing, “Do you think she knows?” 

Mando shook his head. He believed that you still would have jumped into battle even if you had known, at least from a distance. It was just who you were. But he really didn’t think you had any idea that you were pregnant. Mando had been trained to read people his entire life and surely such news would have brought about some change in your demeanor. Mando hadn’t noticed any change in your behavior. Besides, he would like to believe that you would have told him if you knew.

He couldn’t believe this. How were you pregnant? Okay, well he knew how you could have possibly gotten pregnant but the two of you had always tried to be as safe as you could to avoid this exact scenario. Neither of you were in a position for children, the Child being a special circumstance. Your life was full of danger and violence. How could Mando protect you for an entire nine months while pregnant and then for the rest of forever, while also protecting the Child against what felt like an entire galaxy that wanted him at any cost? 

“Do you want to see?” The nurse’s voice brought Mando back to the present and his helmet tilted in curiosity. 

“See what?” 

“The baby. I need to do a scan to ensure that it's still doing alright. You can see the fetus on the screen while you scan.” He set the clipboard at the foot of your bed and procured a moderately sized glass panel with a metal border that he’d had pinned between his arm and side while he spoke to Mando. 

With a few taps on the glass, bright blue words and images appeared. He tapped on one selection and the middle of the screen cleared, aside from a thin column on the right hand side that had stats and vitals. “See, if you put anything under this, it will show you an interior view of the body. This mode shows organs and blood vessels and stuff like that. See?” The nurse put his hand under the glass panel. The screen showed a light blue version of his hand but instead of skin and nails, it clearly showed the lines of his muscles and the veins that overlapped them clearly. 

Politely as he could, he pulled the cape that had been draped over you down just enough to expose your lower belly, stopping just above the hemline of your underwear. The only thing indicating that you were even alive at this point was the deep inhale you took, drawing both Mando’s and the nurse’s attention. It was the only time Mando hoped that you weren’t waking up. He had no idea how to explain this new situation to you. Hell, he was still having a hard time understanding it for himself. Thankfully, a deep breath was all it was though. You were still asleep. 

The nurse moved the glass panel over your lower stomach, just about where your belly button was, and the image began to form on the screen as he adjusted a few things. Mando’s helmet tilted forward as he leaned over to see the image. 

A nearly perfect view of your reproductive system appeared as a blue digital image. Mando felt uncomfortable looking at the image, feeling like he was violating you in some way. He knew he shouldn’t be looking at this without your permission but then the nurse zoomed in on your uterus to the point where the only thing that could really be seen was a little being. 

Mando’s first thought was that it looked like a little alien. There was an identifiable head that appeared to be looking down and the cord that was attached to you through its belly. The rest of the body was curled into a fetal position. 

The nurse tapped something on the screen and there was a rapid thudding sound that emanated from the device. 

“Is that the heartbeat?” Mando asked, knowing that the answer was probably obvious. For someone who was used to working under pressure, he felt like his brain was only receiving radio static. 

“Mhm, nice and strong.” The nurse said with a warm smile. He tapped a few notes onto the board and then turned it off, the blue image disappearing and the amplified heartbeat ceasing. 

Mando couldn't believe this was happening. How could you not know you were pregnant? He was no expert on the female body, aside from the basics, but weren't you supposed to be throwing up or missing periods or something? He couldn't wrap his head around how you were eight weeks along with seemingly no clue of your condition. 

"Look, I can see that clearly this was something unexpected. I don't know if this is something you want to tell her or want me to, but either way, there are some conversations you two need to have." The nurse told Mando matter-of-factly while gathering the few things he’d brought over before leaving. 

Mando shifted on his feet and reached down to pull his cape back up over your torso so you wouldn’t be cold and exposed, though it was mostly for the second reason. It was next to impossible to be cold on Tatooine, at least during the day. That was when he noticed the small, barely there bump on your lower stomach. It was such a slight variation from its normal size that he never would have noticed it had he not just learned about the life now growing inside you. It was so slight that he imagined you probably would have just attributed it to bloating perhaps, since you were unaware as well, considering all the less-than-pleasant food you both came across in your work. 

Part of him wanted to place his hands over the ever-so-slight swell of your belly, just to see if by some chance he could feel anything. Mando decided against it, shaking his helmet at himself with a heavy sigh. He would wait until you woke up and the two of you had a chance to discuss everything before he did anything relating to the baby. 

Gently, he pulled the cape back up over your body and sat down on the crate again, leaning his elbows on his knees where he sat with his thoughts for several minutes in a zoned out daze. His attention was only broken by the cooing from the Child’s metal pram. Mando tapped on the controls on his arm, opening the pram, and removing the little green baby who was now wide awake. 

“Hey, buddy.” Mando breathed out, watching as the baby stretched his arms out to you, “I know, I know. She’ll wake up soon.” 

The Child looked up at Mando sadly before snuggling down onto his lap, sitting there comfortably. The weight of such a small being had become comfortable and normal for Mando now after all this time with him. He was, by Creed, his son now. Mando was already a father. You had stepped up as a mother for the young child. So why did this feel different? 

Mando imagined the new future, assuming you had decided to stay with him and care for the baby together. He had every intention of raising the baby with you and would do whatever it took to keep the two of you safe. He loved you more than he knew was possible to love another person and the last thing he wanted was to leave. Mando hoped that, one day, you would be officially bound by riduurok. Once the Alor approved it, Mando’s clan of two would become an aliit be cuur. Clan of four. 

[thefanficmonster]

Partner

Ethan Winters (Resident Evil Biohazard) x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Spoilers for Resident Evil 8:Village, Swearing, Mentions of injury

Genre: Angsty Fluff, Comfort

Summary: Following the final battle in the Dimitrescu Castle, Ethan is surprised to stumble upon a person who witnessed the whole debacle, offering him a safe place to patch up his wounds and rest for a little while.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request! So sorry you’ve had to wait so long but here it finally is! Hope you come across it and enjoy reading it! Love, Vy ❤

“That was...something else.“ Ethan Winters mutters to himself as he limps his way out of the Dimitrescu Castle which is now vacant in terms of residence - his doing. He killed Alcina Dimitrescu and her daughters, all arguably in self defense and with little guilt to follow. However, plenty of trauma’s definitely attached to him following the horrific events he had to go through and the things he had to see between the walls of those luxurious rooms hiding dark secrets of the vampires who took pleasure in torturing people, and wreaking havoc over the villagers who feared them.

“At least they won’t hurt anyone any longer.“ He tells himself, giving the monster of a structure one final look before he continues back towards the center of the village where he’s gonna rethink what he’s got to do next, gather his bearings, take a breath and keep going. He has no other option but to keep going, he won’t allow himself to quit no matter what danger he faces. In his mind, he’s convinced himself that he’s already seen the worst, it’s easier on him that way, it suppresses the fear he’d feel otherwise. The last thing he wants is to think what’s in store for him ahead, he’d rather focus on what’s up to him to do next.

“And we can’t thank you enough.“

The sudden presence of an unfamiliar voice startles him, causing him to whip out his gun and point it in the direction it came from. However, he quickly finds his deadly tight grip loosening ever so slightly because he realizes he’s pointing the barrel at a very human-looking and seemingly harmless person.

“Who are you? Who’s ‘we’?“ Ethan still refuses to let his guard down though, just cause it may not be a life or death situation, doesn’t mean this person won’t bring him trouble and Lord knows that’s the last thing he needs right now.

On instinct, the person takes a step back, “I speak on the behalf of all the remaining villagers. I mean, it was only a matter of time before we too became victims in the Dimitrescu Castle basement. I was next, actually, but the commotion you created allowed for me to escape. I owe you my life, foreigner.“ The speak hurriedly and in a hushed tone, as if the fear of their torturers overhearing them still lives within them despite the monsters being deceased.

“Glad I could help you.“ He nods curtly, remaining at the distance of seven feet between them, “My name’s Ethan Winters by the way.“

They give him the tiniest of smiles, “Y/N L/N, pleased to meet you.” Their gaze gives him a quick onceover, assessing the damage the horrors of the castle have inflicted on him. Their eyes widen in shock at the many bleeding wounds all over his body but what appears to rattle them most is the severe injury that’s causing his limp as well as the missing finger - a poorly wrapped would that has surprisingly not started getting infected yet. “Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I don’t trust you to take care of yourself either. I live in that windmill over there in the outskirts, come with me, I’ll help you with...well, with all that. You seem rather hopeless at medical care.”

While he could refuse their offer, he wouldn’t be able to deny the fact that they’re right - he knows the basics of first aid, but his injuries are far too gone for simple first aid, especially when taken into account that he doesn’t even have any supplies. How he’s not died from blood loss is a surprise to him as much as it is to them.

“What’s my guarantee you won’t turn on me?“ He finally asks after a decent amount of time contemplating it.

They shrug, “You have none. But, you have the guarantee that if I turn on you, you’ll be the one coming out of that altercation alive.” Their gaze sizes up the guns he’s got on him, emphasizing their point.

Suddenly, Ethan feels sorta ridiculous - after all, guns or no guns, he could probably take on them easily with just his knife. Regardless, no one can blame him for being cautious. “Fine.“ He mutters, “But please don’t turn on me, I’ve already had one hell of a day.“

Y/N nods, motioning for him to follow them, “I promise I won’t.”

                                                               *  *  *

“Wow, what a back-stabber! Some friends you have, Winters.“ Y/N comments as they set down a cup of tea on the small wooden table in front of the freshly patched up Ethan.

Turns out, he made the right move by trusting them - they used to be the village’s main nurse until it all went to hell and they went to hide in the shadows of their windmill where they, as evidenced, still are today. That being said, not only did they have all the necessary equipment to fix him up, but they also had the skills and knowledge needed to use that equipment.

“There are those friends who borrow money from you and never pay you back and there are those who shoot your wife randomly while you two are trying to have dinner. Two types of friends out there really.“ He sighs, his tired, a thousand yard stare following the path of the steam levitating from the cup that’s been placed in front of him. “I have no time to dwell on that right now though. My daughter is in grave danger and I have no idea where I should even start looking for her.“

Y/N sits down on a chair opposite his, “Well, you’ve already defeated one of the village Lords looking for Rose, process of elimination should reveal where she is - wherever she is, it has to be one of the Lords’ residence. Mother Miranda trusted Lady Dimitrescu most so it’s a wonder why she wasn’t there, but then again, Heisenberg’s factory is damn near impenetrable, one cannot enter unless he wants them to so she could have entrusted her precious cargo to him.”

“How do I get to that fucker?“ Ethan tightens his hand into a fist, squeezing so tightly his knuckles turn white. There’s so much within him, so much that’s happened to him, so much in such a short amount of time and he’s had no time to deal with any of it. He’s a volcano waiting to erupt, but he has to do so at the right time - in front of the right danger to show he’s not hopeless or weak as his opponent may think. “Where do I find him?“

“He’s in the outskirts too just on the other side of the village.“ They sigh, regretting every word they are saying since they know they are just feeding him information on how to get himself in the worst kind of danger he’s probably ever been in. “That key you have, it’s not complete to access his quarters yet. By the looks of it...“ they observe the key Ethan has placed on the table, “You can only get to Lord Donna Beneviento’s estate, and I wouldn’t suggest heading there before you heal at least a bit more. Her and her dolls are a real nightmare. Of course, I haven’t experienced it for myself, but the stories are enough to get an idea.“

“So you’re telling me I have to waste my time with the little fish before I can finally get to Rose? You know how long that’ll take? You know how long she’ll have to be at the mercy of a fucking lunatic until I can finally save her?!“ Ethan snaps, banging his fist against the table, bad idea considering his hand’s been just patched up. The impact sends a jolt of pain up his arm that makes him hiss.

“I get it, I understand, Ethan. But you are a lot less likely to get to your daughter if you’re dead, you know.“ Y/N cautiously explains, their eyes narrowing a bit as they wait for the pearl white bandages to soak crimson, sighing in relief when they don’t. “Speaking of how likely you may or may not be to get to her on time, I’d also have to mention your odds would be significantly higher if you were to receive help from someone else. You’d need someone to have your back throughout all the shit you’re about to go through, especially Heisenberg’s factory where two eyes are not enough to track each and every threat that might pounce at you.“

Calmer now, Ethan gives them a puzzled look, “What are you suggesting?“

“I’m suggesting - well, I’m offering you my partnership.“ They explain, watching his expression change to one of knowing and understanding. “Of course, you’d have to give up one of those guns and hand it down to me, but I think that’s a small price to pay in exchange for an extra pair of eyes and limbs to guard and help you.“

Ethan’s first instinct is to decline. He can’t afford to see another person dying around him or because of him, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. But then again, just like he had no guarantee they wouldn’t turn on him, he has none that they’ll die. Of course, he’ll do everything in his power to keep them and himself alive and they don’t seem like they are in it to half-ass it either. Quite the contrary, they seem perfectly determined and ready to face the same shit he’s about to.

“What do you get in return?“ He asks, his gaze suspiciously measuring each line on their face to gauge their true intentions. He’s a complete stranger to them, they’d have no reason to be this selfless for him, it’s obvious they are aiming at something bigger.

Y/N scoffs, leaning back in their chair with a small bitter smile on their face, their gaze resting on the tabletop and avoiding his, “You really wanna know? I want my revenge - revenge for what they did to this village, to me, to so many people I cared about and to those I didn’t even know. But...” they trail off, pausing to sigh out a heavy sigh before continuing, “But I also wanna redeem myself. I knew I should’ve done all in my power to stop them when their havoc was still on the rise, I knew I should’ve done more, but I didn’t. And now I’ll die trying.”

“You won’t die.“ He says sharply, barely a second after the last word left their lips, “I won’t allow it.“ He adds, taking a bit of the edge off his voice.

Their eyes come up to meet his, searching for what he means, “Does that mean...“

“It sure does, partner.“ Within the blink of an eye, his pistol is on the table, fully loaded and free for their taking, “You just give a green light and we’re off.“

Y/N lets out a sound between a laugh and a gasp as their hands quickly wrap around the gun, looking at it in disbelief before whispering a quick ‘thank you’. Ethan allows them to marvel at it for a bit longer but they don’t wait another second. “Get your ass up, Winters. We have monsters to kill.”

He needn’t be told twice

[jawllines]

He’s too far in thought, he realizes, when Ellie comes and waves her hand in his face, “Are you okay?” She asks quietly, eyes wide as saucers, “Maisey said you look like her aunt when she zones out and she’s depressed.” 

Harry huffs out a laugh, one that expels the air from his lungs as he nods, “Yes, Ellie, I’m okay. What’ve you painted, hm? Can I see it?” She grins, her cheeks pudgy and rosy as she runs back to her seat and picks up the canvas she’d been working on. It’s a sun and a moon, both with rather cryptic looking faces on them, and Harry had never so perfectly had to manage his poker face, “Whoa!” 

“I think that might just be the coolest thing I’ve seen in my entire life,” Y/N appears behind him, Oliver more or less clung to her pant leg as she’s reaching over his body to set a box of juice down on the oak table for him to disperse among his campers, while holding her hand out for the canvas, “May I see it, Miss. Ellie Bellie?” 

Ellie smiles shyly at her — she always got so shy around Y/N, but never in the way where you would think she’s nervous. No, she gets shy the way you might when meeting an older sibling’s friend and wanting to desperately try to impress them. Harry knew as much, considering he would attempt to perform for each and every single one of his sister’s friends growing up (and each time, Gemma would make a few colorful threats to deter him). No matter how quiet Ellie gets with her though, she’s always the first to ask if they got to play with Y/N that day. 

or

Harry still doesn’t like the other camp counsellors but Y/N’s an exception 

part 1

(tw: mentions of suicide) 

ii.

Psst. 

Harry was typically a heavy sleeper. When he was younger his mum used to joke that he could sleep through an earthquake-induced tsunami if someone allowed him to. An alarm would have to be pretty loud to stir him from his slumber, and unless he was on edge, a mere call of his name would not drag him from whatever dreamland he’d submerged himself within.

Psst. 

There had only been two things before that could notably wake him. His mum, who was the sweetest person on this planet yet managed to be the cruelest being on earth when he needed to be up for something, and his childhood cat Molly, who sits on his chest and makes it hard to breathe (which, from what he’s learned, encourages his brain to panic and wake him up so he could fix it). Other than that, he was blissfully unaware of the world for hours at a time. 

Yet, there was something stirring him now.  A low sound that puzzles him as he toes the line between consciousness and his dreams, aware of the blankets that cover him but still dancing on a stage with his limbs thrashing wildly and people shouting his name. 

Psst. 

Was it an insect? Maybe he was performing outside then -- a crowd of thousands in an outdoor field to see him for... .what was it that he did again?

Psst. 

Oh, he’s dreaming, isn’t he? How deep in his dream is he? He thinks this is the first time he’s ever been asleep and realized that he was asleep...he could probably conjure something up, right? Manifest something that he’s always wanted, try his hand in lucid dreaming. If only he could focus apart from the insect zipping past his eardrum. 

Harry, please wake up, we’re being haunted -- or murdered, or something. 

Harry’s eyelids flutter like swallowtail wings, his gaze blurry and unfocused as he comes to. He’s confused, piecing together the puzzle that always presents to him when he’s just woken up and has to readjust to the world around him. The whole process of it took nothing more than 10 seconds, maybe 15 if he’s really out of it, but that’s only because thoughts run through his mind at a hundred miles a minute. 

 What time is it? The room around him his pitch-black apart from a very small amount of light illuminating beneath the curtain covering the window he’s beneath, so it couldn’t be morning. Potentially early morning, but he would say that would be 3-4 AM. Did he need to be up? He didn’t think so, actually, because there’s no alarm buzzing him awake and as far as he’s concerned, he hadn’t signed up for any early morning shifts at the bookstore as of late. The last time he went in at 5 to open up shop while the owner was on vacation and Harry was more or less ran down by a mother raccoon when he’d stumbled upon her babies after getting out of his car -- Harry had been reluctant to go before sunrise since. 

Where was he? He knows he’s not at home, that’s for sure. The sheets smell like him but not him enough to be at his own place -- and the bedding isn’t as soft either. He knows he hasn’t passed out at someone’s house because he only does that if the person is close enough to him that he would recognize their scent, or if he was too drunk to get home, but that was usually accompanied by a wicked headache and a sour stomach. No, where he was smelled like wood and generic fabric softener. There was an air conditioning unit that rattled and rumbled from where it was fixed to the wall, he felt a tension in his neck that he only experienced at one place and, yeah, he was at the camp. 

He was at camp, in a cabin with Y/N, who slept with the lamp on because she hated the dark, was the owner of the voice that had woken him up in the inky black room. 

“Hm?” He hums, brows pinching as he lets his eyes shut again, only to open them a few seconds later, “Wha’s wrong? Why is your light off?” 

“I don’t know,” her voice is still just a bit over a whisper, and Harry wonders why she doesn’t just speak up now that she knows he’s awake, “I woke up a little bit ago and thought maybe there was a storm that knocked the power out or something, but I checked the weather and it’s been clear skies all night. I think our power line was cut which is like -- straight out of a horror film.” 

Harry sighs, a bit of him regretting the number of horror movies they’ve been watching once they finally got to watch Midsommar (in three days, they’d sifted through six different movies -- two movies a night and each one managed to horrify Y/N more than the last). He begins to press himself from the bed, his eyes adjusting to the dark around them, making out slivers of shadows, “I’ll go check --” 

“No! Are you crazy?” He hears her bed frameshift with her as she moves, “That’s just asking for a maniac to come for us. Plus I keep hearing noises and I can’t tell if it’s like...like little raccoon feet or a one-armed hook man.” 

“Alright, then go back to bed.” Harry begins to lower back down to the mattress but a sharp whine leaves her throat, “It’s dark when you close your eyes.” It’s silent for a moment, but then Harry feels a bead of guilt dribble through his body. He sighs, reaching up and wiping his hand down his face, “What do you want to do, yeah? If you don’t want me to go out there. Do you want to stay up?” 

She’s quiet, Harry is straying further and further from the state he would’ve been in to fall right back into his dreams but he tries to wipe away the irritation the best he could. What he reminds himself is that four days prior, Y/N had trekked out in the forest toward a lake despite her unremitting distaste for the woods in the dark and slapped Jack clean across the face because he was being rude to him. And he was going to ignore her? Fall asleep while she’s frightened? Harry could be a prick, but he wasn’t the bleeding antichrist. 

“I...um, well, I don’t want us to stay up, no, we’ll be so cranky tomorrow,” she shuffles in the sheets, “I dunno’, I’m sorry, you can go back to bed, I’ll be okay.” 

Harry isn’t sure what to do but in his half-awake state, the next few words that leave his mouth seem like just the temporary fix necessary for them to get the last few hours of sleep that they can, “Do you want me to read you a story or summat?” 

She giggles quietly, “No, it’s okay, really, go back to sleep, okay?” 

What Harry could have said was I can’t now, knowing that you’re awake and scared, but instead he utters a simple, “No.” He sits back up, patting blindly for his phone in his sheets, slipping his fingers around it, and tapping it awake. His screen blinds him with its brightness, so he lowers it before finding the flashlight. It lights up the floor at his feet and subsequently at its edges, he can make out Y/N’s shadowy figure. She’s sat up, curled in her blanket, wrapped around her head, and giving her a pseudo-nun appearance. She waves at him lamely and he struggles not to roll his eyes, “Maniac be damned, I’m gonna go out there and look for the breaker. Maybe the arseholes broke their vow of integrity.” 

He wouldn’t be surprised if Jack or one of the others came around and switched the breaker off, just to be inconvenient for the morning. They’d left them alone for four days sure, but Harry figures that it’s not so much four days of silent reflection and questioning why they feel the need to be such pricks to him, and more so four days for their anger to fester and brew. If not for the fact that Y/N slapped him then made him find laundry detergent and commanded the others to go get his clothes, then for the way she acted like nothing had happened the day prior. Jack’s cheek was still a stingy, red splotch, Oliver and Brandon were straight-faced looking irritated, and Y/N -- well, Y/N had never been more content with her day. She was having a blast with her kids playing bean bag toss, they did their little dance when one of them got it in the hole of the board, and when they were all getting drinks, Y/N offered to grab Harry his. He watched as she went to the cooler around the same time Jack did, they both reached for the last Dr. Pepper, and Y/N plucked it up and handed it to him before grabbing both her, Harry, and Mitch’s lemonades. 

He thinks it’s the sincerity that she holds, that would aggravate him had he been in their shoes. Y/N was completely unbothered by the night prior and Harry could tell, just like when he doesn’t reciprocate their maleficent tendencies towards them -- it was digging under their skin.

(She makes Harry laugh when she comes back with their lemonades, handing him one and uttering, “I let the prick have the last Dr. Pepper, and I’m regretting it.”) 

And while he’s hoping that they haven’t turned their target to her out of spite, he wouldn’t change what had happened for the world. It had made the two of them that much closer, and in the following day’s Harry had poked and prodded Y/N’s brain a bit more. Especially after what he’d seen on her page, he was intrigued by her. Intrigued by how she saw life, why she came at things the way she did, what built her up to be the person that she was in these very moments that he’s speaking to her. Harry hasn’t asked her about her old college roommate and he doesn’t plan on it either -- he doesn’t feel like he could, or he should. 

Harry has lost people before and he thinks the worst thing someone could do was to bring it up unprompted. He knows that it’s probably always on her mind but even then, maybe it isn’t at the forefront of it. Maybe she’s just trying to have a good few weeks, separate herself from the real world for a while, and he would be cruel to dig up something that she may not be ready to just up and chat about. No matter how curious he is about the whole situation, and no matter how much he wonders if she treats him the way she does because of what happened. If the topic was brought up by her he would openly and freely discuss it as long as she was comfortable, but he wouldn’t give her the third degree. 

So he minds his business and focuses on trying to get to know her better instead. 

He can’t say that it doesn’t change how he treats her a bit though. Harry is much. . .gentler, than he had been. He tries to be less critical of her unwavering optimism and seeks to understand where it was coming from instead. If he’s in the right mood he’ll attempt to match it, which makes for a good day with their groups, who he finds -- despite the small age gap -- have begun to kindle very close friendships. Mrs. Graham had even commented on it one of the days after they had a riveting game of balloon tennis. 

“You two make a good team -- putting all these other counselors to shame. And to think you were pouty about having to share a cabin.” 

It was true, they did make a good team. Harry thinks that them sparking a friendship had made the whole experience much more enjoyable for everyone involved. 

All of this together gives insight into why Harry is willing to stuff on his shoes at 3 AM and go out in the dark, muggy night to check and potentially fix a breaker. And no matter the number of times he assures her she does not have to come out there with him, she keeps hold of her ‘no man left behind’ mentality, pulls on a pair of flip flops, and pads out after him. 

Had they been in any other cabin, finding the breaker would have been much easier. They’re typically on the backside in the upper right corner, surrounded by a little cage with a lock similar to that of an animal crate. The struggle with their cabin was that the backside was basically in the woods, so he had to dodge low hanging branches and tangles of ivy to get even remotely near it. He hands Y/N his phone and she shines the light over the metal box, her hand steady despite how she looks back and forth and all around them like she’s making sure there are no red eyes glowing at them. The world around them is silent apart from the chirp and groan of insects, the scutter of an animal somewhere in the far distance makes Y/N huff a weary sigh but otherwise, nothing comes out to attack them. Harry restarts the breaker, they go back inside, and the lamp on its dimmest setting is switched on how they had fallen asleep with it. 

They both breath out in relief, Y/N dives back into her bed and Harry flops down atop of his covers, giving himself a second to feel the cool air from the conditioner fan over him. 

“Theoretically,” Y/N begins as Harry lets his eyes fall shut, “If there were some creature in the forest --”

“There’s no creature in the forest.” 

“I know, but theoretically --” She continues again, but Harry is quick to cut her off once more. 

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he tells her, “Go to sleep.”  

Once more, Y/N falls silent, but a quiet, “Thank you,” was the only thing to leave her mouth. 

                                                      .                               .                              .

A summer thunderstorm wasn’t abnormal during camp, which is why the recreation center and the art building are beneficial. It keeps everyone preoccupied and entertained with well-insulated walls to mute whatever carnage is taking place outside, which makes for less frightened children and an easier time for everyone involved. Harry liked being active and running around with his campers, sure, but he also really enjoyed a nice, calm, relaxing day trying his hand at DIY projects and abstract paintings. Plus it gave him the chance to wear the camp hoodie that he had spent a pretty penny purchasing, which was made of the softest fabric he’s ever felt and was far more comfortable than the t-shirts that they normally wear.

Y/N had also bought the hoodie, Harry saw as she stepped out in it after her shower this morning, and she seemed to be drowning in it but in the best way. The fabric pools off of her, but she looks cozy, and well-rested despite them waking in the middle of the night. He thinks she looks pretty cute, but he kept the thought to himself and instead asked her if she wanted his extra granola bar for breakfast. 

They alternate throughout the day, between the rec center and art building, and on the schedule, it appears that most the day he would be with Y/N’s group (which he prefers) and a few times he’s even with Mitch as well, which is nice. Mitch doesn’t grow to like many people, but he liked Y/N well enough -- he thought she was oddly entertaining (or so he’s told, Harry) and good for a chat. The only times he and Y/N were not with each other were when the activities were age-specific, but even then, it wasn’t like anyone was in a different room. They were all just at different stations within a big room in the art building and the recreation center was more or less free for all. 

Harry wondered when he started basing whether or not a day was going to be good by whether or not he and Y/N were able to be around each other, but he decided not to think about it too much. Lately, he’d been a little more on edge with whether they were together, simply because of Jack and the others. He didn’t want them fucking with her, and even though she’d proven that she was more than capable of taking care of herself, he still worried, especially knowing he would be the cause of it. 

Y/N doesn’t seem the least bit distressed about it, or as far as she was letting on -- she’d not expressed any thoughts or concerns that they would be spiteful towards her. Hell, the only thing she had told him the night after was that she hoped she didn’t make things worse for him. For him. Why was she so willing to defend him? What did she get out of being so kind? 

He’s too far in thought, he realizes, when Ellie comes and waves her hand in his face, “Are you okay?” She asks quietly, eyes wide as saucers, “Maisey said you look like her aunt when she zones out and she’s depressed.” 

Harry huffs out a laugh, one that expels the air from his lungs as he nods, “Yes, Ellie, I’m okay. What’ve you painted, hm? Can I see it?” She grins, her cheeks pudgy and rosy as she runs back to her seat and picks up the canvas she’d been working on. It’s a sun and a moon, both with rather cryptic looking faces on them, and Harry had never so perfectly had to manage his poker face, “Whoa!” 

“I think that might just be the coolest thing I’ve seen in my entire life,” Y/N appears behind him, Oliver more or less clung to her pant leg as she’s reaching over his body to set a box of juice down on the oak table for him to disperse among his campers, while holding her hand out for the canvas, “May I see it, Miss. Ellie Bellie?” 

Ellie smiles shyly at her — she always got so shy around Y/N, but never in the way where you would think she’s nervous. No, she gets shy the way you might when meeting an older sibling’s friend and wanting to desperately try to impress them. Harry knew as much, considering he would attempt to perform for each and every single one of his sister’s friends growing up (and each time, Gemma would make a few colorful threats to deter him). No matter how quiet Ellie gets with her though, she’s always the first to ask if they got to play with Y/N that day. 

“I especially like how multidimensional it is — purple and pink stars? Beautiful, I love those two colors together,” she places her hand on Oliver’s head, and it’s then that Harry notices he’s holding something, “Harry, Oliver here wanted you to see the flower he drew because I told him how much you like lilies.” As bashful as he always is, he holds out the paper toward Harry. It was cute — a singular, yellow lily and he could tell that Y/N helped him draw it, but the paint and crayon marks all over the page suggested she left the color duties up to him. 

“Oh my goodness,” Harry gasps, looking at the painting, flipping it to Oliver and pointing at it, “You did this?” Oliver nodded excitedly, “It’s gorgeous.” 

“I think our groups are the best artists,” Y/N motions to her table, only a meter away from them all working diligently on their projects, “Charlotte is over there doing an artistic interpretation of the both of us, we are not allowed to see it until she’s finished. Mikey is doing his own rendition of Disney world, I see Maisey is creating a beautiful tree  -- Noah is that a cowboy you’re drawing?” 

Noah barely looks up from his paper, very carefully dragging the tip of the marker in a circle, “Yes.” 

“And Noah is drawing a cowboy! Modern-day Van Gogh’s, all of them.” Harry smiles as Y/N drags a stool up beside him, positioning it in a way so that she could watch both her kids and speak with him, “I heard they’re having one of them party things tonight, I didn’t know if you wanted to go or not.” 

“Hm, I dunno,” his brows knit together as he lightly scratches a mosquito bite on the inside of his forearm, “Do you feel comfortable with going after what happened last time?” 

She suckles her bottom lip into her mouth, gnawing on it as she nods her head, “Mhm,” she looks around them for a second, making sure that none of the kids are paying attention to them before she lowers her voice, “Mitch said that you used to go to all of them last year, and would like -- have a good time. I hope that I’m not ruining that for you.” 

“How would you be ruining it for me?” It’s true, Harry hasn’t gone to any of the parties that they’ve been doing since the very first one he’d escorted Y/N away from. Not for any other reason apart from he was just spending time and hanging out with Y/N, or he’d be too knackered to even think about leaving the nice, cool setting of their cabin to be in the muggy heat with drunk college students. He had much more fun not attending, and other nights Mitch would come around and chill with them too. . .he had all he needed then. Didn’t need the booze for a good time. 

“I don’t know, I just didn’t know if you weren’t going ‘cos of what happened the first time and you felt like you couldn’t leave me out or. . or something like that.” 

Harry shook his head, “No,” he answers, “We can go tonight if you would like, but it’s unnecessary for me. I’m good either way.” 

Although Y/N appears unconvinced, they have little time to go further into the topic because Charlotte is running up to them, a big grin on her face, “I finished!” 

“Well give it here,” Harry holds out his hand, waving her over, “Let’s see it.” 

On the paper are stick figure versions of he and Y/N, with big grins and 12 other little stick figures surrounding them. Above Harry’s stick figure, there’s a pink arrow and a very five-year-old esque writing of HUSBAD (Harry presumes it’s supposed to be husband), and above Y/N’s in the same fashion, she’s written WYFE. It’s then Harry realizes that Y/N’s figure has a veil on and Harry’s has a bowtie, “This is for you twos wedding! So thens when they take pictures you can has this one.” Charlotte chirps brightly and Y/N and Harry both cast each other a disbelieving glance. 

“Whoaaaaa,” Y/N is the first to break their silence, a smile pulling at her lips, “This is really good Charlotte! I didn’t know Harry and I were getting married, though.” 

Charlotte nods quickly, still grinning at them, her bottom canine missing as she gleams, “Me n’ Mikey thinks you should!” 

Y/N turns toward him, nodding toward Charlotte, “Well, the god’s have spoken. Where’s my ring?”

Harry coughs on a laugh as he hands the paper back to Charlotte, “This is really good, Bug. Why don’t you and Oliver go help Josie finish her coloring pages, hm?” 

The both of them head the short way back to their table, hiking up on the small stools and Harry makes sure they’re all settled before he turned back to face Y/N, who was biting down on a grin, “Don’t start --” he began but she’s already started, shaking her head. 

“Listen, it’s okay to be in love with me, but you should really try to tone it down. . .the kids are starting to notice.” 

Harry scoffs before he proceeds to tease her,, “How d’ya know they aren’t basing it off your actions, huh? Giving me love eyes every couple minutes like nobody would see.” 

Y/N mocks offense to his words and he tries to keep up the facade, but his sheer delight for getting in a teasing match with her overcomes him and he can’t help his smile. Harry loved teasing people -- loved making them flustered or reducing them to a bashful mess by his words alone. Y/N, however, was much less into flustered gazes and sheepish tendencies, and more so ready and willing to give him it right back. He’d met his match -- if he teases her she’s teasing right back (if she hadn’t started it in the first place), and both of them found mutual pleasure in it. 

“You can’t use my love eyes against me, I can’t help but give them to everyone I’ve ever met” she tells him, feigning sincerity before an additional anecdote, “You know my college roomie always told me they’d get me in trouble one day, and she had never been more right, ‘cos they did once at a party. She wouldn’t shut up about it weeks after it’d happened.” 

Harry feels his body tense just a bit at the mention of her, and he tries not to let it show on his face that he’s surprised how she so casually brought her up, “Yeah? What’s the story?” 

“The little ears around us suggest that I tell that story later,” she checks her watch, before looking back up at him, “Oi, we’ve got five minutes until we’re in the rec center. You get to pick what we all do since I picked the last rotation.” 

                                                             .                           .                          .

This time when they’re on their way to the party, Harry lets Y/N walk in front of him as he directs where she was to go. Opposed to when they had first made this journey together, Harry feels far more protective of her than he originally had. Plus, he’d seen how clumsy she could be and after the earlier storm, the softened dirt and broken off tree branches from the billows of wind made for a much harder terrain to navigate, so he felt more comfortable being able to reach out to catch her if need be. 

Harry was wary of going to the party tonight but Y/N had been borderline insistent that they attend, “Mitch says he misses you at these things and Niall told me he could only stand Shaun theorizing about the universe and us not being the only life form so many times before he snaps. I say we’re needed.” Harry never minded free drinks, and a potential fuck at the end of the night, so he wasn’t all too worried that he would be having a good time. He just hoped that the others would allow Y/N to have a good time. And he knows he’s being paranoid, because they hadn’t necessarily targeted her for anything prior to or after the lake incident, but he still worries. . .he can’t help but worry.  

But he wouldn’t hover. Once they got to the clearing, he helped Y/N get her drink and she sought off after Niall while Harry went over to Mitch, the two of them promising to meet up again in a little bit. He didn’t hover, but he did watch semi-closely, eyeballing Jack and the others, making sure they were staying away from her. Apart from a few less than friendly looks thrown in his direction though, they seemed to be keeping to themselves which Harry was ultimately very thankful for. 

The night goes by as these nights usually do -- he and Mitch drank, had a laugh, gabbed about music for a while, some of the drama going on around the camp (Y/N had an ear for gossip and eyes that could make anyone tell her anything, so Harry’s had a door to all the melodramatic events happening throughout the counsellors). It was a bit weird when Stacey -- one of the counsellors he’d only ever briefly spoken to --  had come up to them, and a little weirder when she borderline propositioned him for something more than a chat in the woods, but Harry politely declined. Told her that he was pretty exhausted after a long day and was probably just going to have a few more beers and retreat back to his cabin. 

He passes it off as a fluke. . .maybe he’d been making eyes at her and hadn’t realized it. But then Mia makes her way toward him and Mitch, and this time Harry’s brows furrow when she starts chatting him up. This one he entertains for a little while before eventually ebbs away from the conversation, because he and Mia had a fling once, but Jack convinced her and the free world that he was a prick, so she called it off. He didn’t necessarily understand why she would want to start that up again, or what “little birdie” put a bug in her ear that he still thought about her (as she said one did). 

It was after Cara had finally left after coming around to chat with him, that Mitch began to chuckle lowly at his side, shaking his head slowly, “Jesus Christ,” he tilts the nozzle of his beer against his mouth, and when he pulls it away, his lips are shiny from the liquid, “She really is working hard.” 

“Huh?” Harry feels desperate for an explanation as to why three times he felt as if he were being propositioned for a romp in the woods when he was not actively pursuing one. He had a feeling that it was the others trying to get him alone so they could enact some sort of piss poor attempt at fucking with him without Y/N spotting and tearing them a new one over it, “Are you in on something that I’m not, ‘cos m’feeling pretty fucking lost here, man.” 

Mitch nods his head, and Harry follows his gaze to Y/N, who is speaking with her brows dipped inward to Cara, “A few days ago she’d been asking me and Niall what you were like last year, and we told her just the same, jus’ a lot more ‘fornication’ is how Niall put it,” he smirks softly with a shake of his head, “And she seemed all concerned, asking us if we thought she was holdin’ you back or something. Personally, I told her if you wanted to sleep with someone you would have whether she were around or not but she didn’t seem very convinced.” A snort leaves him as he motions towards her again, still as amused by her ideas as he had been when she’d first explained them,  “Guess she’s trying to set you up.” 

“Oh fuck me,”  he exhales so forcefully, it whips the delicate plumes of smoke from Mitch’s cigarette into a misshapen huff. Why was she so concerned with it? Harry hadn’t once expressed any avidity in needing to spend time with someone in that manner -- he could go without sex for three weeks. . .did she not think he could? Was he exuding nymphomaniac tendencies? He surely hadn’t thought he was -- a few quick handies in his nightly showers typically tide him over just nicely for a bit of a dry spell. And what was her business that he hadn’t slept with anyone since they’ve gotten here? Why was she speaking about him with the others what she could as easily ask him? What she had as easily spoken with him about, albeit leaving out a pretty large portion of it. 

For the first time since they had begun getting along, Harry was irritated with her. He’d never been one to brood, however. He liked things to be up front and honest as soon as possible if the situation allowed for it, to stop his mind from taking an idea and running away with it. He held little interest in playing mind games with people. 

Which is why he hands Mitch the rest of his drink, fixes his heavy cardigan around his shoulder, and sets off in her direction. He dodges many bodies, avoids an empty cup on the ground beside what he could only presume to be a sticky puddle of liquor, and narrowly makes it past a playful fight between Oliver and Brandon who were wrestling one another. Y/N doesn’t realize that he’s making his way to her until he’s just a meter or so away, when Niall catches a glimpse of him and attempts to be inconspicuous in the way he pinches her side. She gasps from the way his nails had accidentally bit into her skin, flinching from the pain before her gaze had settled on him, “Harry!” She cheered but his face doesn’t soften as it usually does when they see one another, which alerts her to his disapproving gaze, “Oh, what’s wrong?” 

“Can I speak with you for a moment?” He inquires, motioning out past the trees. Enough trust had been built into the foundation of their friendship for her to not question him. Instead, she passes her drink off to Niall and follows Harry into the woods -- he wouldn’t go so far that they wouldn’t be able to see one another from beneath the curtain of leaves shielding away the moon, but just far enough that nobody would be eavesdropping. In any other situation he might wait to bring this up until they’ve made it back to the cabin, but Y/N’s intentions had been clear that the person he was taking home tonight wasn't supposed to be her. 

She pauses with him at a particularly thick tree trunk, and places the arch of her foot against one of the jagged roots that carved its way through the earth, “Is everything okay?” She balances herself with a hand against the bark, wincing when it jabs into her skin, “I was keeping an eye on Jack n’ them I thought so they wouldn’t try messing with you, but did they say something?” 

That does melt him some, Harry was strong enough to admit that. Just as he had been concerned with her wellbeing, she was just as much concerned for him, and he appreciated that. And while it does threaten to soften him down to his core, he still had questions that needed answers, and he wouldn’t let up until she responded to them. 

“Why are you sending girls over to me?” 

Her brows raise, but less in shock of learning the information, and more so with wonder how he’d found out she was the one sending them their way. The surprise dissolves into embarrassment quickly, her shoulders slump and she casts her gaze deeper into the forest, “Dammit,” she doesn’t hide her disappointment from being caught, or even feign confusion to try and pass the blame off coincidence that every girl who had come up to him had subsequently talked to her prior, “I was hoping you would be less observant.” 

“Y/N.” He says her name sternly, and her shoulders drop dramatically further as she steps down from the tree root. 

“Listen, in my defense I just felt awful!” She admits, waving her hand toward the party, “Jack had tried telling me a few times about how you just fuck people and leave them, blah, blah, blah, right? And I wasn’t paying any attention to him, but it made me curious to what you were like last year, so I asked Mitch and Niall. You came to these things all the time and you had fun -- then I come ‘round, ruin the first one, and you’ve been hanging out with me since. I just. . . I wanted you to be able to have fun and not feel like you have to worry about me, y’know?” 

A ‘v’ sits between Harry’s brows, “What is it your business what I’m doing, hm?” He fixes his cardigan from where it slumps off his shoulder once more, “If I wanted to sleep with someone then I would. Do you think I can’t set something up myself?” 

“No, of course not, I just thought --” 

“You didn’t think,” he cuts her off, and Y/N’s arms curl over herself instinctively when a cold brush of air rolls past them, “You should have just came to speak with me about it, I could have told you that I didn’t need anything like that, and that would have been that. Don’t go behind my back trying to orchestrate things for me, okay?” 

He wanted to say it -- he needed to say it, because Harry wasn’t some sex driven lecher that everyone at this camp tried to make him out as. He thought Y/N had known that too, but he guesses he was wrong. 

But he wasn’t expecting her to look so fucking defeated by it. A guilt weighs on his being when she nods, tipping her head down, “Okay, yes, I won’t anymore. I’m sorry,” her fingers dig into her bicep, as she breathes out, a shiver rattles through her that she tries to be inconspicuous about it, “I wasn’t thinking -- I wasn’t thinking how it would look.” 

Harry sighs, peeling his cardigan off of his arms, revealing his bare arms to the chill but he ignores it in favor of holding it out to her, “Put this on,” he wiggles it some, “I know you’re cold.” She takes it from him carefully, looking up, brows raised slightly as if to ask if he’s sure, “Go ahead.” 

“I really am sorry,” she tells him, pulling the patchwork cardigan over her arms, it hangs off of her, and Harry swallowed thickly. She’s. . .cute -- Harry had always been able to admit that. Her face is sweet, her eyes exudes nothing but understanding, kindness, and such a soft glow that Harry couldn’t quite explain. He finds that those eyes give him great comfort and warmth, because now when they’re tinged with the contrition she feels and Harry feels cold. 

“I know,” he murmurs, he holds out his hand for her, and very carefully Y/N slides her hand into his own, “Do you want to go get pudding?” 

A small smile pulls at her mouth. 

“Yes please.” 

                                                          .                          .                         .

Niall lets them use the key after a few dozen promises to be careful with it. They trek the familiar way, mindless chatter fills the air around them until they get to the cafeteria and their voices quiet in case the security guard is looping around. Y/N reveals her hand from the shield of his cardigan sleeve, Harry watches as the fabric pools around her arm, toward her elbow, and produces the key (that Niall only trusted her with). They creeped into the kitchen, pulled open the large refrigerator door, and the pudding sat in rows on the bottom shelf. 

They both choose vanilla this time, having tired themselves out on chocolate, and they sit at the spot they had last time, across from one another. He can tell, despite his peace offering, that Y/N still feels upset about what had happened earlier and it sullies his mood. She’s still chatting but not with as much heart as she typically has, and Harry couldn’t stand it. He just wanted her to giggle as she teases him again, without feeling like she’s tip toeing on eggshells around him. 

“Hey,” Harry starts, dragging her attention towards him where it had previously been scooping the sides of her pudding container, “Would you stop being so. . .tense? Is this about earlier?” 

Y/N clears her throat, opening her mouth and furrowing her brows like she was about to deny it, but she relents, shoulders dropping, “A little. I still feel bad about everything,” she shakes her head, dragging the edge of the spoon around the plastic, “About everything, not just that you aren’t able to sleep with someone. I came in late, ruined you having your own cabin, woke you up with my alarm, made you get out of bed ‘cos I’m afraid of the dark and -- I just feel like this massive burden. I feel like this massive burden on everyone.” 

Harry is alarmed by this sudden confession, but his body ultimately rejects the notion that she could ever be a bother, “How are you a burden to anyone?” He inquires, shaking his head, “You’re such a ball of light that just swarms through rooms. The thought of you being a burden is akin to the thought of Satan being a saint. . .it doesn’t sound right.” Harry sets his pudding down, though he keeps his hands fixed around the cup and the spoon, “Don’t know what gave you that idea, but the last thing you are is a burden. Who gave you the impression that you were?” 

She wipes tiredly at her eyes, “Nobody in particular, it's just,” she shakes her head, “Even now, I wanted to make your night good, and then I fucked it, and now you’re here with me instead of having fun at the party. I just feel silly.” 

“Don’t.” Harry tells her simply, “I like to spend time with you, and I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” 

The tension in her shoulder releases, “Thank you for this, I’m sorry m’just saying the same thing again and again. Back at home it feels like everyone is just. . .so hyper aware of me -- they’re always being so careful, or overly concerned and I always wonder if it feels like a heavy weight on their shoulders, like I’m forcing a piggyback ride.” She shrugs her own, reaching for the second pudding cup, “It’s just shit, so I overthink everything all the time to try not to be a burden, but I keep making it worse. Or at least that’s how it feels.” 

Harry tilts his head to the side some. He’s not usually someone who pries and probes people for information, but he’s never been more curious about Y/N than in this moment. When he thinks of Y/N at home, he thinks of sunshine pooling in the hallways through casement windows, her spinning around the kitchen in a dainty floral dress that billows around her as she stirs homemade jam. Harry imagines her amongst woodland creatures who coax her to the forest with songs, escorting her there as she gambols freely. 

He could not imagine her going home and feeling like a burden. Hell, he would have thought that she considered everyone else a burden -- that maybe it was draining to be the absolute light of everyone’s life. Yet here she stood, seeming worn, and broken. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, why is everyone hyper aware of you at home? You don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable.” He says it delicately -- he means it. . .if she didn’t want to share this with him, then he wouldn’t force her, but he wants to open up the possibility. He wants her to know that he’s an open ear if she so chose to utilize him. 

“Um,” her gaze does shift downward -- she suddenly appears so small, “Are you sure?” 

Harry nods. 

“I just -- it's not that I don’t like bringing it up, I just don’t want you to treat me any differently than you would knowing it, yeah? I think that’s what I hate the most.” She notes, “So do you promise that you won’t -- you won’t start tiptoeing around me?” 

“You’ve got my word.” Harry vows, but he has a feeling he knows what she is to say.

The sleeve of his cardigan covers her hand as she brushes the hair from her face, “In freshman year of UNI, my roommate was Mrs. Graham’s daughter, Penelope.” She straightens out in her seat, “We didn’t like each other much at first but we had grown very close -- um, once she threw away my fruit snacks and so I dunked her toothbrush in the toilet, but I felt guilty and went out to buy her a new toothbrush,” a laugh leaves her at the memory, as she rolls her eyes at herself, “That was what we had going for a while, but a late night heart to heart kind of made us closer. She told me things that. . .she’d been through a lot that nobody should have to go through, you know? She was bullied a lot growing up—in high school it was bad, people used to always gang up on her over stupid shit.” Harry hums, encouraging her to continue, and she stirs the pudding around mindlessly, “And we were just close after that. We had a flat together sophomore year and most of junior year, she’s my best friend,” she swallows thickly, “I didn’t realize how sad she was. . .I didn’t realize what she was still holding onto, and she -- we went home for Christmas break, and she never came back.” 

Harry feels his stomach sour as her eyes bead with unshed tears, “Oh, Y/N,” 

“It’s alright. I’m okay, I’m fine as I can be --  I’ve -- I’m mourning and I miss her, but I’m trying to be strong. Most days I am, but everyone at home just expects me to be this fragile thing, y’know? The days I’m happy, and chatty, they think I’m faking it. And some days I do, yeah, but. . .it’s just disheartening when everyone pretends to know what’s going on in my head.” She plants the pudding directly in the center, leaving it there and retreating her hands to her lap, “Mrs. Graham told me she felt the same. That’s why I came in last minute -- I’ve got all my volunteer hours settled and everything but she said it might be nice to get away.” A slow, easy sigh leaves her lips as she blinks the tears away, not one drop trickled down her cheek, “It is nice, but I still worry that I’m a strain on people around me, even if not for the reason I am at home. And I’m sorry to like, info dump all this on you,” she laughs a little in spite of herself, “You can’t ask me things, unless you want an hour long explanation.”

Harry reaches out his hand for her, for the second time that night, and once again she slowly slips their fingers together, “Thank you for sharing that with me, I know it must have been hard,” he squeezes her hand, “But I understand you a bit more now. I’ll keep my promise, I won’t treat you any differently, but before that --” she blinks at him, waiting, “I think you might just be one of the kindest, strongest, most caring people that I have ever meant. I know you would never do anything to intentionally hurt me or add stress onto my life, so you don’t have to worry about that. You don’t have to try with me. We can just exist together, yeah? We’ll exist without burdens and without worry.”

The look in her eyes, was one that Harry had never seen before. One that makes him melt in her touch. 

“I would like that.” 

                       ��                                     .                                    .                                  .

 “I can’t swim.” 

Harry was crouched down to Maisey’s height, fixing purple mermaid floaties around her arms. The day was not unusually muggy, but there was an additional itch to jump belly first into the cool watered lake. He had woken with a revitalized need to pry a star from the morning sky as it shifted from an inky purple to an early, dusky morning blue -- and give it to Y/N. He had decided after their conversation last night -- after they’d gone to bed and Y/N fell asleep cuddled in his cardigan -- he had an overwhelming, and an all encompassing want to hold her. 

Which made it hard to part ways this morning, but he managed. And maybe he played out an image in his head where he pressed a kiss to Y/N’s cheek before they went to wake their respective cabins, or maybe he didn’t (but if he did that’s his own problem). He is quick to convince himself it was because she’d shared a piece of herself with him that he doesn’t think she lets many people see, and Harry always develops a bit of a platonic crush on his friends at some point or another. He questioned whether or not he was in love with Mitch for a solid four days once. . .sometimes he just let his heart get carried away. 

He had been enmeshed in these thoughts as he got his campers ready for their time in the lake. At first glance, a ton of children in the lake seemed like a horrible, and faulty idea, but they took precautions so that everyone was safe. Every child wore floaties and/or life jackets no matter how proficient their swimming abilities. There was netting about ten meters out so that the children and counsellors couldn’t float out toward the middle, and they worked it so that only three children could be in per counsellor at a time, so that they could keep an eye on everyone. Harry wasn’t so nervous because he was a strong swimmer, and his kids were a little older, but he could tell Y/N had been a little jittery about it. It’s why Harry told her that while she was out in the lake with her little ones to let him know, he would come out with her to bring her some additional comfort that even the floaties could not provide. 

Harry had been pretty sure all of his kids were excited to go to the lake and he was grateful for that, until he looked up to see the nervous, large blue eyes of Jackson, downcast after he had spoken the words. The unprompted admittance confused him as he turned to face him, “That’s okay, buddy, we’ve got floaties for that.” 

Jackson did not seem convinced, shaking his head fiercely, “No, I -- I can’t swim.” 

“J.J. is afraid of the water,” Noah exposes the truth just as easy as he takes a sip from his juice box, equipped with his own blue arm floaties, “He didn’t want to say though ‘cos --” 

“Noah!” Jackson cuts him off, betrayal laced within his features. 

“--’cos he didn’t want to seem like a wimp, but he almost drowned when he was little.” 

Jackson looked as if he could cry, and Harry shook his head quickly, “Hey, hey, hey, c’mere buddy,” he motions him over, and he comes easily, stepping before Harry who had not bothered to leave his already crouched position, “Explain to me what’s going on, yeah?” 

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, a frown prevalent on his mouth, even as he speaks, “When I was little little, my big brother pushed me into the pool and I went under the water and my mom had to come in and get me because I can’t swim good.” 

Harry pulls his lips back, reaching out to squeeze Jackson’s shoulder, “I’m sorry to hear that buddy. I won’t force you to get in the water if you don’t want to, but I do want to tell you that if you feel more comfortable, we could try a life jacket instead of the floaties? It’ll keep you more buoyant -- more bouncy in the water.” 

“Aren’t those for little kids?” Jackson inquires, brows pinched, but Harry shakes his head and points toward Y/N, never more glad in that moment that she had the age group she did, along with her views on not making them do, wear, or say anything that she wouldn’t herself. She’s got the life jacket swung around her arm as she clips Oliver into his own. 

“Y/N’s going to wear one too, and she’s not a little kid. I’ll wear one as well if you’d like.” He promised him. Albeit looking reserved, Jackson nods softly with his hands in little fists, worrying his lip between his teeth. The poor thing, Harry thinks -- he used to be afraid of water too. Nobody wants to conquer that fear suddenly, let alone with a group of people that may or may not poke fun because they’re kids and kids are jerks sometimes. 

Harry finds him a life jacket -- a cute one with a shark on it, that he helps him clip on, and fits it to his body with the straps. Next, he needed to find one for himself, but he wasn’t entirely sure where they kept the counsellor life jackets, so he called for Y/N where she’d been a few meters away and she popped her head up from where she was like a meerkat. Her eyes softened when she realized who had called her, and a gentle smile pulled at her mouth, “Hey hubby,” she greets him, much to the delight of Charlotte, who claps giddily, “What d’ya need?” 

“A life jacket, please. Where’d you get yours?” Harry tries to be decent -- tries desperately to keep his eyes to himself, but he finds that this is surprisingly difficult when Y/N is in her swimsuit. It wasn’t obscene in any sense of the word -- in the pamphlet they get when they sign up, it is very clear that speedos and bikinis were not appropriate, and therefore not allowed. If a child couldn’t wear it, then you shouldn’t bring it -- was the apothegm that they chose to live by in reference to dress code. 

This, however, doesn’t mean that Y/N’s swimsuit didn’t suit her well. It was fitted in a way that wasn’t too tight, yet wasn’t too loose -- like it might have just been made with her in mind. A simple one piece of nylon and lycra colored a powder blue, that barely showed off that much more of what she wears to bed, and yet his mind still flutters elsewhere. To unwise places, that he drags himself from before clearing his throat and forcing himself to look around the lake so it appeared his eyes were just scanning everything. 

“You’re in luck,” Y/N jogged the short way from where they stood, back to where her kids were all gathered, playing happily in the sand. Beneath what Harry had assumed was just a cluster of towels, another life jacket was hidden beneath the fabric. She hands it toward him with a triumphant grin, “This was the last one. I grabbed it for you in case you just wanted to float rather than keep your legs kicking -- you had a big lunch, didn’t want you to get a cramp.” 

Harry hates how his heart balloons in his chest. There was no reason to be a melt because she had thought of him -- that she had him in mind, so she snatched the last life jacket, and hid it beneath towels so nobody else could have it. No reason to feel all mushy from the way that she unfolds it for him, a silent prompt that she’s going to help him pull it on. And there was certainly, absolutely no good reason for how stupidly affectionate he feels when she strokes her finger along the heart tattoo on his forearm mindlessly, before murmuring, “You make me wanna get covered in them. Maybe I’ll just go and get all of yours.” She looks down at the ground, “Maybe not the toe, my feet are ticklish -- think I would kick the artist.” 

He recruits Y/N for the process of easing Jackson into the water -- Noah and Elinor are floating and bobbing about happily at their sides, while Charlotte and Mikey playfully kick and float close to their older counterparts (if not practically on top of them). There was a chill bite to the water when they had first stepped in, but as they walked out further and sunk a bit deeper, the cold eases up. The cool air soothes them from the sharp bite of the scorching sun, Jackson holds his hand so tightly Harry thinks his fingers may go numb, and he figures Y/N is feeling the same way, if her soft, “Loosen your grip up a bit, Sweetheart, you’re gonna take off my hand.” 

Eventually, Jackson relaxes. He finally understands that the life jacket will keep him afloat and holding onto Y/N and Harry wasn’t a necessity. Once the idea of this settles in his brain, he is more willing to let go and enjoy himself. It feels wonderful to see that he’s having fun, and even better when he sees the smile on Y/N’s face from this small victory. Last year, he hadn’t felt this parental over the children last summer, but something had changed. . .something that made him feel like he was a bit of a parent. 

It has to be Y/N. There was something about her that just oozes mother figure for these kids, even if she wasn’t intending to do so. She kissed the bandages over their wounds to take away the hurt, she praised the ground they walked on, picked them up if they asked, danced with them, encouraged them, treated every single child as if they were her own. Harry believes she’ll be a beautiful mother one day, if that’s what she’d like, and whoever the father or mother was she had chosen to spend her life with, they were unbelievably lucky. He just hoped they would understand that. 

Y/N floats into his line of sight, “Are you okay? Ellie said you look like Maisey’s aunt again, whatever that means.” 

Harry snorts, before nodding, “Yeah, I’m fine. A bit tired.” 

An understanding gleam overtakes her, “Y’know, I did think you seemed a bit snoozy,” she reaches out for him, squeezing his shoulder softly, “D’ya want to have a sneaky nap? I could watch the kids.” 

“But I like having you both,” Jackson whined, shaking his head quickly, finding their hands once more, reassuring that his grip was tight as ever, “Please stay.” 

“Yeah,” Noah splashes over to them, sliding his arms around Harry’s neck, wetting his hair with the water clinging to his life jacket, “You two are fun together! We always have so much fun -- Brittany said her counsellor always yells at them when they ask her to play with them.” 

Elinor was quick to add, “And Ro’s counsellor falls asleep during art days! He doesn’t even help them stay in the lines, and they’re little like Oli, and Charlotte.” 

Y/N’s bottom lip juts out in the prettiest little pout -- Harry finds himself wanting to pluck it with the pad of his thumb, “That’s silly, isn’t it? I have so much fun with you guys, I couldn’t imagine not playing. Right Harry?” 

Nodding his assent, he reaches up, settling his hands around Noah’s arms and bring him along with him as he kicks them closer to Y/N and the other three, “It is silly. Some people just aren’t as fun as Y/N and I, Bug, it’s proven fact. They did the scientific method and everything.” 

Oliver gleefully pushes himself up on Y/N’s shoulders, flopping back into the water and bobbing, “I love yous!” He chirped brightly, “Yous guys are my favorites! I love yous.” 

The sight is adorable, especially as Y/N wriggles around and holds her arms out so they could hug, which Oliver happily accepts, “I love yous too, button.” 

They have fun -- for hours, as they switch out which kids are in the water, spend time on the beach with all of them, making sandcastles, burying one another, chatting and playing. It was very freeing; Harry could easily tell that he and the others were having far more fun than any of the other groups were -- Mitch and Niall had gravitated their groups closer to them when Y/N and the kids began to pour sand over the top of him. Even Cassidy came around with her kids after they had heard them all giggling and laughing and wanted to know what was going on. Harry was having fun, and maybe he was just mushy, but he credited it to the joy Y/N was exuding. It was hard not to be in a good mood when he was around her. 

By the time the sun sat a little lower in the sky, casting the shadows of trees over the sand and cooling them to the point of chilling. The kids washed their feet and hands beneath the rush of water from a yard hydrant, wrapped up in towels, and headed toward the dining hall for their dinner. There was a taco bar today, and Harry found that Y/N and he had a mutual love of tacos as a whole. She showed him how she adds feta crumbles, even let him have a bite of hers to see if he would like it so he could decide whether or not to put it on his own (it was delicious, she was right). 

Once dinner was finished, everyone was exhausted. They all gathered around the campfire, one of the counsellors strummed a song on his guitar, they all had s'mores and then they dispersed. Not even the rush of sugar from the chocolate and marshmallow gave any of the children an umph in their step; they were all so sluggish and slow, dragging their feet through the dirt on their way to their cabins. Harry’s group barely kept their eyes open as they stalked to the showers, washing off the lake water and sand that had been clinging to their bodies. After they brushed their teeth, they all but face planted in their beds and snores soon filled the quiet air of the cabin. They only made him realize how exhausted he was from the day spent baking in the sun, floating and kicking in the water. 

He trudges back to his cabin, where he finds Y/N had already showered off. She was face down in her pillow, her back slowly rising and falling with each gentle breath she took. She hadn’t covered in her blankets -- no, instead she used his cardigan as a makeshift cover over her body, and Harry thinks it might just be the cutest thing he’s ever seen. The patchwork swallows a good portion of her body, the sleeve flopped limply by her head. . .he could imagine her crawling into bed. Could imagine her putting her knee up first, dragging the cardigan that had been lying limply over the post with her and just letting it drape over her body. She probably wasn’t thinking she would fall asleep. . .probably thought she would just lay there for a minute before gathering the strength to get beneath her covers. 

It’s adorable -- Harry hates how adorable he finds it, actually. If he could crawl in beside her he would, but instead he ambles to the bathroom, starts up the shower, and climbs in. 

The water his hot -- boiling drops pelt his skin, washing away the grime and sweat that felt as if it’d been caked onto his skin. It felt good; to cleanse and scrub himself free of the lake, massage shampoo into his scalp, soften his curls with the conditioner, and just allow himself to revel in the feeling. Showers feel wonderful - a renewal that he deemed necessary by the end of the day. And when he gets the temperature just right, it soothes the aches and soreness in his bones, turning his muscles to softened jello. By the time he slipped out of the shower, he was practically boneless and thought he’d be lucky if he made it to his bed before dropping to the floor and falling asleep. 

He expects Y/N to still be asleep when he leaves the bathroom, but he’s surprised to find her sat up in her bed, his cardigan pooled around her body and a deep frown on her face. 

“Oh!” He’s started some -- he really thought she was out for the night, “Good morning, sleepyhead.” 

“It’s morning?” Her face further turns to that of distress and Harry bites down hard on a chuckle. 

“No,” he responds, “It’s not morning. Only about 10PM, so you’ve got plenty of time to rest still.” She looks around groggily, rubbing at her cheek with one hand while she fisted his cardigan in the other, pulling it closer around her body, “Why don’t you get beneath the covers, Babe?” He asks her, and she’s quiet for a little while. The only inkling Harry receives that she even heard him was how she tries to shuffle and wriggle the covers down with her still stretched out on the bed, stuffing her legs into the blankets first, then sliding the rest of the way smoothly. All the while she clings to the cardigan, holding it tightly, resting her cheek on it. Harry doesn’t know if Y/N’s just far more affectionate than he had even thought prior, or if she was just half awake and doing things she wouldn’t do if she was fully conscious. Vaguely does he remember her saying something about typically cuddling with a teddy at night -- how she stuffs her face against it because it always smells like her fabric softener. 

He wonders if that’s why she snuggles with it -- he wonders if she likes the smell of him, so she buries her nose in the fabric and breathes it in as she rests. 

Harry hates this. He hates how inconceivably soft he’s been feeling, but he can’t help it. Y/N had found him worthy enough to poke inside her brain -- she opened up to him in a way she expressed she’d not been opening up to many people about.  It made him feel closer to her.

But he told her he wouldn’t treat her any differently after finding out. And if he suddenly started expressing more affection, he fears she would think he was only doing it because of what she told him. He just wants to be. . .he just wants to be gentle with her. Doesn’t want her to ever think that she’s a burden to him, because the anecdote had made him question and second guess how he’d been treating her their entire time here. Of course, he was never intentionally cruel, but some of the situations he thinks about the two of them in, and how he responded, makes him cringe. 

He switches off the overhead light, her dimmed bedside lamp and muscle memory guide him to his bed. Harry climbs in, shivers as he adjusts to the warmth beneath his covers, and breathes a soft sigh of relief to have finished with the day. 

“Harry?” Y/N’s voice startles his eyes open, which he’d not been aware he’d closed. 

“Hm?” He hums -- he had thought she’d fallen back asleep already. 

“You’re okay?” 

A soft smile plays at his mouth -- she asks him every night before bed, he’s noticed. 

“Yes, I’m okay. Are you okay?” 

She nods, “You did really good today,” her voice is muffled from her cheek mushed against his cardigan, “The kids had a lot of fun, they were telling me. I had a lot of fun too.” 

“Yeah? Me too,” he reaches to thumb the hairs of his eyebrow down, “And thank you. You always do really well with the kids.” 

She’s quiet for a minute, and once more, Harry thinks she must have fallen asleep, but the shift of the mattress tells him she’s changing position and Harry notices once more that his eyes have closed, “I’m glad you’re my roomie.” 

Harry utters the words, that two weeks ago he thinks he would have spit at. 

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re my roomie too.” 

                                                     .                                   .                              .

Harry was drunk. 

Typically, he didn’t allow himself to get very drunk at these little parties. He trusted the others so little, he had no doubt in his mind that any moment he was slightly impaired in some way they would take it upon themselves to prey on his weakness. This means he only ever gets mildly tipsy -- drinks enough to feel good but caps himself when he thinks he might start stumbling. 

But he just didn’t cap himself today. Not for any reason in particular -- their day hadn’t been difficult. They helped their kids through a mildly strenuous obstacle course throughout the morning, cooled down with them drinking juice boxes and eating popsicles and by 2PM they were inside doing little DIY projects. Harry burned his finger with some hot glue, but otherwise it was a pretty easy smooth kind of day that they didn’t get often. He and Y/N hadn’t gotten to spend much time together, which he wouldn’t admit loudly was a disappointment, but he and his kids had all agreed that they missed her. 

(And when they had seen her and her group walking into the art room, the lot of them had erupted in cheers, Noah, Eli, Maisey being the loudest of them.) 

They had a pasta dinner that was surprisingly filling, they told “spooky” campfire stories and ate s’mores, he got his kids ready for bed and he went off to the cabin. He and Y/N were going to one of the parties tonight, not because they had such spectacular luck with a good time before, but because they were coming up on some of their last nights here at camp. It was a bittersweet feeling -- Harry remembered being more than ready to flee last year, counting down each day, each hour dragging on longer than the last. This time, it felt like it was coming too quick. He would miss the kids, he would miss the busy days some. . .and sure, he was happy to go home and take a shower that stays hot longer than five minutes and rest on his soft, cozy bed, but he would miss not having Y/N right across from him. 

That was what he was having the most trouble coming to terms with, he thinks. The idea of them not having to spend every moment of every day with one another after doing it for three weeks almost sounds wrong. It's the same feeling he gets when  he knew he and Mitch wouldn’t have such easy access to one another once they went back home. Being at this camp sort of felt like being stuck in a time loop where the outside world doesn’t exist, so it’s very easy to forget that they all have lives outside of here. They all go to class, go to work, go home, study, eat and sleep. 

He and Y/N live relatively close to one another -- only about a ten minute drive up the street with only one turn and it's into her apartment building -- but he wonders if they’ll utilize it. He wonders if their friendship is tied to this camp and if that’s where it will remain, or if she even wants to be friendly with him after. Harry hadn’t considered that maybe she was only putting up with him because they had to live together and she didn’t want it to be miserable. Had he questioned if he was even enjoyable to be around? How does he ask her that without sounding entirely too desperate or needy?                   

So partially, he drinks to ease some of the worry in his mind. Harry doesn’t think he would “break down” or something like it if they weren’t able to continue being friends -- like a forgotten summer love that he might think about throughout the fall, and message her to see how she was doing -- but he certainly wouldn’t be delighted if that’s how it ended up. Harry thinks there’s so much more to Y/N that he would like to see, and know, and hear. Three weeks isn’t enough time, Harry decided, but in the same breath he wondered if she had thought it was more than enough. 

Harry knows she cares for him, at least a little bit. He knows that he cares for her and her wellbeing; he was fond of her. From what he knew of who she was fundamentally, down to her core, Harry knew she was selfless and kind -- it was hard to find people like that, who were that, without it being cakey or clouded by something else. She was transparent in who she was and her feelings regarding most things, and Harry valued her honesty. 

And she was just so damn fun. Every moment with her he spent, the air filled with laughter; she brought a slice of sun in her pocket wherever she went and Harry was consistently being warmed beneath it. 

The fact of the matter is, Harry doesn’t know how he could meet someone like Y/N, and get used to the idea of her not being in his life after three weeks. If he could refuse it he would, but what was he going to do? Kidnap her and take her home with him? 

He’s sat on the tree root, opposed to standing beside it like he usually is, with his back pressed against the bark of the tree and he ignores the jagged, uneven trunk against his skin. Mitch was beside him, leaning lower than he was with his jacket bundled up and stuffed behind his head, his legs kicked out as far as they would go and because of this, his foot rested against Niall’s lap. Niall was pleasantly gone himself, a bit louder than normal but also zoning out every so often. 

He was a good guy, Niall -- he had good opinions, and he chatted him and Mitch up about guitars often (he was typically the camp’s go to for an acoustic guy if they ever wanted campfire songs). Harry thinks they could probably be really good friends, if not for the fact that Niall was so barefaced in his crush on Y/N. 

It was obvious, Harry thought. He’d thought it was obvious from the first moment he spent a prolonged period of time with both he and Y/N -- his cheeks got rosy when she touched him, he stuttered over his gratitude if she complimented him, and if she went out of her way to do something (like when she’d stuffed her hand into a thorn-bush for his guitar pick that had flung from his fingers, and subsequently got all scratched up), he would look at her how someone might stargaze. 

Harry doesn’t know why he doesn’t just ask her out, if he likes her so much. It almost irritates him how skittish Niall seems to get at the prospect of it; to run away from those warm, nice feelings that she provides is silly. It reminds him entirely too much of himself and he loathes it. 

Tonight had been no different, only Y/N was dancing back and forth between them and a few other counsellors (Harry only recognized one of them , who was called Rosie and had been in his first year maths). Harry watched her most of the night, in the least obnoxious and creepy way he could, just because. . .well, she was nice to look at. He liked how her body animated as she spoke, or how she nodded her head as someone was speaking to her -- it was an encouraging nod, and her eyes locked onto theirs like they might be telling her where the fountain of youth might be located, or the secrets to the universe. 

She was cozy today -- it was cooler out than most of the nights that they had experienced, with a chill breeze that had even stirred goosebumps on Harry’s arms (and he was all but swaddled in his hoodie). Y/N had a light fitted sweater that she sometimes slept in -- not heavy enough to shield her from the icy terrain that winter would provide, but enough to fight past the harsh summer night breeze that threatened to help a storm roll in within the next few hours. Loosely, he let the images of her cuddled close to him invade his brain. What it might feel like, how the knit would brush against his skin, if she would hide her face in his neck or spider around him as the big spoon and burrow against his hair. Y/N struck him as someone who liked to do more of the cuddling than being cuddled herself.

He would miss her when they had to leave. Harry worried who would just exist with her, like they had been doing. He worried about her going back to a place where she felt like a burden -- he would be around, wouldn’t he? If she allowed him to, he could be there for her, but he doesn’t want to seem pushy. By all definitions, they had really just met -- Harry had known Y/N for approximately 17 days, but it felt like so much longer. He wonders if he had known her in a past life, or if it was the fact that they spent almost every day all day with one another for at least 15 of those 17 day -- he finally understands how everyone in the Love Island villa always goes on about how a day in the outside world feels like a week where they are. 

It’s not like he’s professing his love to her, for fuck sake. He just likes her -- whether it be platonic or not, Harry thinks Y/N is just delightful. 

“Your little girlfriend’s not with you?” 

Harry had forgotten how Jack’s voice sounded how grating nails against iron pipes might make someone feel, mostly because they hadn’t spoken in quite a while. After Y/N had slapped him, he had kept to himself, resorting more to disgruntled glares and probably pissy comments he was murmuring to his mates about him. If someone asked Harry, he would say that him and his friends were afraid of Y/N -- she posed a good threat to them. Sure, they hadn’t understood the extent of her words that night (like how and why she knew Miss. Graham), but they were enough to rattle them. No matter being in university, or within the range of 20-23 years old, nobody wanted to be scolded by a woman in her 40s, nor did they want to be kicked out of a camp counsellor position, or to have their volunteer hours revoked. 

So they had left him alone, which Harry thinks may have been such a strain for them he would be surprised if they hadn’t popped a blood vessel. Even if they wanted to, he was always with Y/N -- they never really had the chance, and if they did, they didn’t really take it. 

Which is why he is both surprised and incredibly annoyed with Jack’s sudden appearance. 

“Piss off.” Harry responds, nursing his beer bottle closer to him. 

“You’re always so ill-tempered,” Jack leans up against the tree, “Just wanted to have a chat. Like why Cassidy suddenly wants to break things off after chatting with you and Y/N. Got any ideas?” 

Harry’s brows dipped in confusion, “What? What are you on about?” 

“Don’t act like you don’t fucking know,” Jack rolls his eyes, “Cassidy and I are doing just fucking fine for six months, but we come here, she starts chatting with you and now all the sudden she’s ready to break up. What the fuck did you say, hm?” He nudged Harry’s side with his foot, “Fucking Y/N wasn’t enough, you had to fuck Cassidy too?” He kicked him this time, harder than before.

Harry, who did not take too kindly to being kicked, rolled his eyes and pushed himself to a stand, “Dunno why you’re so fucking insecure that you think me being around has anything to do with Cassidy finally seeing what a prick you are, but this needs to stop,” he handed his bottle to Mitch who took it wordlessly, “I’m not fucking Cassidy, I’ve never fucked Cassidy, so if you could just grow the fuck up and recognize that maybe she broke up with you, because you’re awful to be around, that would be great.”            

Jack, which Harry had expected, took more of a physical approach, giving a shove to Harry’s shoulders, and Harry’s back slams against the tree behind him, “Fuck you,” he spit, “You all holier than thou ‘cos you’re dipping your dick in Miss. Rainbow Bright? What do you know about me, hm? You’re just a dumb fuck who has to be here because you’re a no good druggy fuck with anger issues. How does it feel knowing you’ll amount to nothing after UNI?” 

There isn’t a lot that could get under Harry’s skin. A lot of people could say a lot of shit that he brushes off and lets go, but there are two things that he really just can’t. One of them is when people try to speak poorly of his mum, and the other, was when someone pretends to know his situation when they don’t have a fucking clue. Who was this trust fund bastard to tell him he was a druggy fuck? That he would amount to nothing after UNI? Harry worked two jobs to set himself through school and keep himself fed, with a roof over his head, just so that he could live the life he wanted to after university. 

Maybe it was silly to punch him, but it felt good to. Harry reared back his fist and it collided with his jaw, making Jack stumble backward, his hand flying to his face, “You fucking --” he swung in return, only he catches Harry’s shoulder because Harry moved out of the way in anticipation. Niall narrowly dodged being caught in the crossfire as he rolled out of the way. 

The fight didn’t get too far, however, because when Jack was gearing up to swing again, Y/N appeared and easily wormed her way in between them, “Are you serious right now?” Her brows were furrowed -- she looked legitimately pissed off, and, well. . .it made Harry take a step back at least, “Thought we had a chat about this, hm? You were going to leave him the fuck alone -- no, look at me, not him,” she grabbed at his collar, giving a sharp tug when his angry gaze had flittered back toward Harry, “I’m not an angry person, Jack, I don’t like being mean, or cruel like you seem to be so fond of, but I can and will be if I need to and I promise you that. Don’t you ever speak to someone like that again, yeah? What you were saying was just awful.” She lets go of his collar, taking a step back and sighing in a sharp huff, “I can’t speak for Cassidy, but if I had to guess she probably cut things off because you’re a jealous bastard who questions every interaction with another person and try this alpha male persona to scare other people away. It must be exhausting.” 

Jack shook his head, “We were fine --”

“You thought you were fine. Things aren’t always what they look like, alright? The sooner you understand that, the easier your life will be.” She nods toward the center of the clearing they were in,  “Go get some ice from the cooler, and go the hell back to your cabin. You’re not a fun drunk.” 

Albeit reluctantly, Jack follows her orders and slinks his way to the cooler. The others around them had grown quiet as they had watched the confrontation unfold, but they soon all lost interest once they realized nothing more would happen. Y/N turned to face Harry, the anger on her face immediately dissolving, as she shakes her head, “What a dick. I’m so sorry he spoke to you like that,” she takes ahold of his wrist, the hand that he had punched Jack with, running her thumbs over his reddened knuckles, “I told him -- after the lake, I told him that he needed to leave you alone or I’d do something about it. Dunno what I was gonna do, but I was going to do something -- I will --” 

“Hey, hey,” he cuts her off, “It’s okay -- it’s okay, come on, let’s. . .let’s go to the cabin, yeah? Should we go back to the cabin?” 

Y/N looks at him like he was batty, “No shit we’re going back to the cabin! I’ve got to give you like a full medical look over. He slammed you into the tree, and honestly, you bruise like a peach.” 

They make the trek back to the cabin, relatively quiet, Harry still attempting to process what had happened and what Y/N had said. Had she really spoken to Jack after the fact and threatened him if he messed with Harry again? The softest, probably sweetest person he knows, had taken Jack off to the side and told him if he didn’t leave Harry alone she was going to do something about it. Not only that, she grabbed him by his collar and told him off in front of everyone. It made his heart race, the thought of it, and his cock twitches in his pants at the moment on repeat in his mind. 

Once they get back to the cabin, Y/N has him take his hoodie off with her in the bathroom so she could visualize his back and shoulder. Jack may be short-tempered and smaller than Harry, but his punches still packed a great deal, so a nice, reddening bruise was forming quickly around his shoulder. On his back there were scrapes from the tree bark, Y/N tells him, and a ton of little bruises that had begun to form as well. She makes him stay still as she retrieves the first aid kit from their medicine cabinet. 

“Y/N,” he started, and she hummed to encourage him to continue, “When did you speak with Jack privately?” 

She clears her throat, plopping the first aid kit down on the sink counter and unclipping it open, “The morning after the lake,” she answers without hesitation, “I wasn’t trying to like, fight your battles or anything, but I needed him to know I wasn’t bluffing when I told them I would rat them out, and worse if the situation allowed it. I hate bullies,” she pulls out a small tube of bacitracin, tutting her tongue as she squeezes it out on the tip of her finger, “And I hate how they treat you. I’m sorry if I overstepped.” 

“You didn’t at all,” Harry remarks softly, jolting when her fingers very carefully graze over one of the tender areas on his back, “Thank you, actually, for sticking up for me again.” 

“You don’t have to thank me. I think I’m pretty scrappy when I need to be,” she giggles to herself, “Like, if need be, I would take on the Queen for you. Might be an uneven match though, she’s pushing 100.” 

Harry spins around to face her though, “Y/N, I mean it,” he tells her seriously, their gazes locking, “Thank you for everything. For dealing with my attitude, for sticking up for me, for helping with the kids, for making this experience bearable, for being such a positive light,” he sighs, “You’re amazing, you deserve amazing things.” 

Y/N looks taken by his words -- he wonders if she’s as lost in his eyes as he is in hers. Her mouth falls open gently, like she may be searching for what to say back to him but can’t come up with anything. He worries that he’d said too much -- that he freaked her out or something. He wasn’t trying to, he was just so grateful for her, he didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to express it. 

He is about to apologize for being too forward, when Y/N pushes the short distance and connects their lips together. 

Harry’s confused for a moment as his brain registers what’s happening, but when he feels that she might pull away, his body finally seems to wake up. His hands find her face, cradling her jaw in his hands as he reaffirms the kiss and lets the butterflies in his body take over in hoards. He’d given thought to kissing Y/N, sure, but he’d never thought it would happen. Not only that, he’d never thought it would feel this nice. She tastes like the pineapple wine coolers she’d been sipping on that night, her lips still a bit sticky from the residue of the alcohol on her soft lips.

She’s gentle in how she kisses, like Harry would have guessed -- careful too, and cautious with how her lips parted from him only to fix back together. A pool of heat had formed in Harry’s lower belly and rose to his chest, stirring his heart in flutters when her tongue slid into his mouth and met her own. Harry hadn’t realized just how badly he wanted to kiss her until their tongues are sliding against one another, and his hands are slipping down from her jaw,  caressing the delicate skin of her throat, skating down her chest to her hips. He squeezes her sides and pulls her closer to him, feeling the knit of her top rub against his bare torso. It was as soft as he’d imagined it’d be. 

Had she been wanting to kiss him for as long as he wanted to kiss her? Normally, Harry could tell how badly someone wanted to kiss him by the act alone, but with Y/N he was so caught up he couldn’t focus. She was calm and soft, but the longer they kissed, the more ardent she became. It was the tiny moan that had left from her mouth into his own, that made him lightheaded. He had to pull away to breathe but his forehead pressed against hers as he breathed in, “Harry?” Her voice is low, she says his name like a secret, “Was that okay?” 

His response is to press their lips back together, but this time only for a moment, before he withdraws. Harry loops his fingers around her wrist and brings her with him back into the main room, flopping onto her bed since it was the closest and urging her to climb into his lap. She straddles him, and just as soon as she’s within reach, he slides his fingers at the nape of her neck and pulls her back to his mouth. 

It was good -- it felt so fucking good, Harry couldn’t begin to describe it. He held her close, and tried as he might to stave off his cock from ruining the moment, the longer they kissed the harder he got. How she was positioned at first made it so she couldn’t really feel him, but when she tried to get closer to him, she scooted her hips forward and rubbed up right against him. A gasp leaves her as she parts from him, looking down, having lifted her hips, “I’m sorry,” she apologizes and Harry gives a startled laugh. 

“I’ve got a stiffy, and you’re apologizing?” He chuckles with a shake of his head, “I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I’ve got a pretty girl in my lap kissing me, s’kind of hard not to get hard. We can stop if you want.” 

“I don’t want to stop,” she answers with no delay nor doubt, as she lowers back down, resting her front on his prick and with this she gives an experimental roll of her hips. Harry hisses in a breath as she does it again, her own little moan slipping from her mouth. She was only in a thin little pair of shorts, and Harry had chosen sweatpants for the night, so there was little fabric truly separating them. Harry was thankful for it as she continued to roll her hips against him, sponging kisses from his mouth, down his jawline, to the curve of his throat. She fixed her lips there, lulling her tongue over the skin before she started suckling at him and Harry’s hands danced along her back, stroking up and down it, feeling her, holding her closer. Each roll of her hips made him harder, and he was desperate to know if she was wet. If he pushed his fingers into her shorts, would they come back slick from her arousal? Would she watch him as he slid them into his mouth to taste her? Would she let him split her thighs and lick straight from the source. 

His mind was overcome with filth, smutty images entangle once innocent thoughts as she brought the blood to the surface of his skin. When one of his hands left where it had latched onto her hip and slowly maneuvered around to her front, she paused, but left her face dipped in his throat, “Are you wet for me?” He asks her quietly and she nods through a little shiver, “Yeah? Bet you soaked through your little panties,” he murmurs as he slides his fingers past the elastic bands of her shorts and underwear, but left his fingers just past them, “Answer me.” 

“Yes,” her voice trembles, she swallows thickly and the muscles in her abdomen contract beneath his fingers. 

Harry hums low, slipping his fingers down further and he dips between her slick folds, “Oh, Sweetheart,” he presses a chaste kiss to the side of her head, “Is this your first time getting wet for me?” She shakes her head, “Hm, really? So you’re like this often? Do you take care of it?” 

“I -- yeah,” she stutters over a moan as the pads of his fingers roll over her swollen clit slowly, feeling it flick beneath them, “At night, sometimes I will in the shower if I can’t. . .if I can’t wait anymore.” 

He feigns a gasp, “Oh my goodness,” he speeds up the slow lull of his fingers, “Your showers are always so fast, doll, you’re really that quick to cum?” 

Harry may not be able to see her face, but he can hear the pout clear in her voice, “It usually isn’t that fast! Just with you, it is -- when I think of you, it’s always quick.” 

He thought it would be impossible for his cock to be harder than it already was, but her words make pre-cum bubble at the tip, and when he dips his fingers back into her slick little hole, he gets even harder. Gliding his fingers from her panties, he draws them up to his mouth and presses them past his lips as he’d wanted to. Y/N has withdrawn from his throat, watching him do it with glassy eyes, her hands resting on his shoulders, digging her fingers into grape sized dents at the muscle. Her mouth falls open as he sucks her juices away, his eyes fluttering and a groan torn from his throat. 

“Get on the bed,” he instructed and Y/N followed without question, crawling from his lap and lying her head on her pillow as Harry stood, and repositioned himself. He takes a hold of shorts and drags them down her legs, wriggling them off her ankle and tossing them elsewhere. His lips finds her ankle first, before he’s peppering and sponging kisses down her leg, the parts that he had tended to throw over his shoulder. When he gets to her thighs, he makes the kisses slower, softer -- he suckles and nips at the supple skin until he’s right before her center, only to switch to her other thigh and push kisses up and down the length of it. 

Y/N’s whole body trembles with each shaky breath she gives. She’d spoken no words until he was positioned right in front of her core, looping his fingers in the waistband of the little cotton pair she had on, pulling them up toward her hips so the fabric stretched out over her. He could see her pussy beneath it, made out the outline of her swollen lips and engorged clit -- it made his mouth water. 

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want,” she tells him, and his gaze is pulled back up to her -- she looks apprehensive. 

“What?” 

She shrugs, “I know some guys don’t really like to so --” 

“Do you want me to eat your pussy?” Harry asks her bluntly, and he revels in the way her eyes widen, and how bashful her face turns as she looks away, “It’s a yes or no question, honey, if you don’t want me to, I can come back up and kiss you while I make you feel good with my fingers. If you do want me to, I’m g’na pull those panties to the side and make you cum on my tongue -- either I’m good with.” 

“I -- yes,” she answers, her voice meek, “Yes I want you to.” 

Harry smiles softly, “Poor thing, How many stupid boys were refusing to eat this sweet little peach?” He runs his thumb up and down her slit, visualizing where the wet spot had grown and soaked her panties so that the fabric thinned. Leaning in, he nosed at her clit and she inhales, “God, I’m so excited — you’re okay with this? You’re okay with me eating this little pussy out? Need you to let me know because once I start sweet girl, I’ll be in heaven.”

“Yes, please, please lick me.”

“So polite,” he suckles a kiss at the very innermost part of her thigh, before licking one, long stripe up her center through the fabric. She moans, pushing her hips down toward his mouth as he drags his tongue over it again, and again, and again. He soaks it with his spit, teasing her — he wanted to pull her panties to the side and suckle and slurp between her lips until she came — but he wants her to beg for him. Wants to hear that she wants him just as much as he wants her. 

He smiles against her as he hears her getting impatient, little huffs between each moan. She whines, her hips bucking up against his tongue — he looks up to her, watching as her chest rises and falls quickly. The fingers of one hand are dug into the sheets beside her, while the others rest between her teeth. Her brows were tilted, lips pouted, whimpers come more frequently the longer he suckles and laps on the fabric, drenching it. 

“Harry,” she finally works out, shivering when he pauses just over her clit and flickers his tongue over the top of it, “Oh, please just -- please.”

“Hm?” He hums against her, jolts, inhaling sharply, “What is it, baby? You’ve got to use your words.” 

“Please stop teasing me,” she tells him, “Please take them off.” 

And Harry may love to tease, but he wasn’t cruel. Wasn’t a bloody monster, was he? So he slides his index and middle finger in between the fabric and her core and tugs them over to the side -- he didn’t want to waste any time wiggling them down her legs. No, instead he dips his tongue in between her lips and slides it flat and straight up to her swollen clit. The groan that leaves her is sinful -- it makes his cock twitch in his pants, his heart slamming against his sternum as he suckles and her fingers find his curls. She digs her fingers within the strands, rocking her hips up to meet his mouth, and for a moment, Harry just leaves his tongue out and flat for her to grind against. Harry thinks, if he could spend the day just strapped to Y/N’s bed, willing, ready, and waiting for her to come use his mouth how she pleased -- he would be inconceivable happy. 

Eventually he wiggles his face back into her, sliding his tongue back and forth before he latches his lips back around her silky folds. The swollen little button crying desperately for his attention was where he spent most of his time, lapping, or lulling his tongue in circles around it. She keens, her heel digs into the mattress and begins to slide down but Harry grabs a hold of her thighs and pushes both of them up, so her knees are to her chest. The new position makes her cry out his name raggedly, and Harry was teeming with carnal desire, and so horny he thinks he would barely have to hump against the mattress to cum. 

“I’m close,” she warns him, mewling, “I’m g’na cum, I’m -- oh, please don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

Harry doesn’t think he’d stop if he was paid to do it. He doubles his efforts, sucking harder, sliding down to tongue at her hole while his fingers wrapped around and spun little circles into her clit. His other hand he reaches up with and slides his thumb into her mouth and she accepts it graciously, as it muted her moans that grew louder and louder the closer she got. 

When she cums, it’s beautiful -- Harry wishes he would be able to see it on repeat, how her back arched upward and her hips bucked loosely as she pulsated around his tongue. Her mouth hangs open around his thumb, her eyes squeezed shut, the fingers in his hair tighten and her other hand wraps around his wrists and holds him tightly. The initial lurch of it subsides and she melts into the mattress, trying to catch her breath, her chest heaving beneath her sweater. 

After he thoroughly cleans her (until she’s twitching and jumping away from his tongue), he crawls up her body, pushing her sweater up over her breasts, “Can I fuck you, Darling?” He asks her, a small smile on his mouth when she leans her chest closer to him so he can reach behind her and unclip her bra. Tugging the cups away, he grabs them carefully, thumbing over her nipple, “If you don’t want to, that’s okay, don’t feel bad about it, just let me know.” 

“I want you to,” she rushes to tell him, nodding, “Do you have a condom?” 

He dips his head against her chest, breathing out a sigh, “Fuck me,” he utters, shaking his head, “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.” 

He usually does -- Harry always keeps a few on him, but he remembers very vividly he and Y/N had blown his last one up just a few nights prior and drawn a face on it. For a moment he feels hopeless, a sad pit forming in his stomach because the thought of fucking Y/N sounded like paradise and he only brought one bloody condom that he wasted. 

“It’s okay, we’ll do it next time then,” she tells him, and Harry feels a joyful spike in his overall demeanor. Next time -- she wanted there to be a next time? And if she wanted there to be a next time, then they would have to see each other after the camp. . .they would spend time together, Harry could learn what she was like in her normal day to day. He was eager and delighted, and not even just at the prospect of pushing into her (which he was also pretty damn excited for), “I mean, if you wanted to do this again, then, yeah -- right? We’ll hang out after camp is through?”

A smile threatens to split his cheeks, “Of course we will,” he tells her, nosing at her jawline, “And not just ‘cos you promised to let me fuck you. I was hoping we would see each other still but was worried that you might be sick of me.” 

Her brows pinch, “Sick of you? Dummy, I thought you would be sick of me!” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at the both of them, “We’re so stupid, we ought’a communicate better.” Y/N presses at his abdomen, “C’mon then, I’ll spin around and you can fuck between my thighs. I did it once with a boy -- I just shaved in the shower last night too so it should be soft.” 

Y/N flips over, scooting her bum in the air for him as she cuddles a pillow to her face, her ankles locked in place and her thighs squeezed together. Harry wiggles out of his pants and boxers before he lets a glob of spit fall onto his stiff cock that had soundly slapped up against his stomach, slicking it up nice and wet so the glide between her thighs wouldn’t be too dry. One hand he lays palm flat to her bum, stroking the skin there with his thumb while the other hand navigates his prick, tipping it down and fitting it between her warm, soft thighs. 

It felt good; Harry groans wantonly as he pulls out and sinks back in, watching himself disappear between them. She wiggles her bum at him and Harry playfully swats it, chuckling when she squeals and giggles, “You’re so fucking cute,” he coos before bending over, stretching himself over her so his chest was pressed to her back as he started steadily fucking in between her thighs. One hand he uses to cup her breast and tweak at her nipple while the other he slides down to her pussy, finding her swollen little button and rubbing it. 

Harry’s skin prickles as she moans, her legs falling open just slightly but he tuts his tongue, “Keep them nice and tight for me, baby,” he murmurs, and she nods, tightening the channel for him once more. He won’t last long, he knows it -- he can feel that pool of heat crackling in his lower belly. His blood buzzes in his ears as he fucks his hips forward, their skin slapping together sound in their little cabin. Her breasts bounce with each thrust he gives, she’s beginning to cum again from the ministration of his fingers, and Harry’s nearing the end of his rope. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he’s just a breath away from her ear, “You’re gonna make me cum.” 

He nibbles at the shell of her ear and lets his eyes flutter closed, his senses on overload. All he can hear, and taste, and smell, and feel is her. Dizzy and overwhelmed, Harry feels as if he may burst at the seams. 

“Cum,” she murmurs, “Please, I want you to feel good -- I want you to cum.” 

That’s all it takes -- the little push of her words has his hips stuttering as he cums, spurting long stripes between her thighs, some catching her skin, some landing on her sheets below them. His world fizzles out, static splinters through his body as warmth rushes through his veins, and his toes curl hard enough to lock up. As he comes back to, he giggles, the last of his orgasm drooling from the tip as he pushes a kiss to the back of Y/N’s head, “Stay still, lemme go get us a rag.” 

His legs feel like jelly when he stands, fleeing arse naked to the bathroom and returning moments later with warm, wet rags. He cleans her first, careful in how he works her underwear down her legs before he pats gently around her thighs and at her center. She’s sensitive, so a few times she twitches and flinches from him but eventually relaxes as she holds tightly to the pillow. He wipes himself off a bit haphazardly, more concerned with getting Y/N somewhere to lie down as he gently tugs on her arms, “C’mere, poor thing, I came all over your bed.” 

“Yeah, you jerk,” she says puckishly, letting him guide her over to his bed, climbing in and immediately snuggling beneath his covers. Harry is not too far behind her, and at first she snuggles up close to him, she hisses and squeals before trying to shuffle away, “Why are your feet like ice?” She asks him, her words accusing, like he’d come in the bed with intent to freeze her. 

Harry shrugs, “I dunno’ I usually wear socks to bed to keep them warm.” 

“Socks? To sleep?” She slowly wiggles her way closer to him, despite the words that follow, “I don’t think we can share a bed, you’re batty.” 

“Guess you’ll have to go sleep on the jizzy bed then.” 

Y/N laughs, and Harry feels it vibrate through his body as he holds her close to his chest, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. They’re quiet for a moment, as they both settle, taking deep, slow breaths, allowing themselves to slip towards sleep. 

Before Harry could get there, Y/N murmured his name. 

“Thanks for being my camp ‘husbad’.” 

Harry smiled to himself, and held her a little closer before he teased her. 

“You can say thank you next time with an 18 carat diamond.”  

[burnedbyshoto]

all tied up

— Sero’s not an easy guy to fluster, but when he’s trapped in his own quirk, his embarrassment bleeds through when he finds out that he likes it.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: sero hanta x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, characters are adults, pwp, dom!reader, sub!sero, rimming (giving), handjob, tape bondage, humiliation

word count: 2,002

a/n: and so, kinktober begins. all in all, this is a slow start on my own end. idk, I just am trying to approach this challenge different this year. theres going to be a lot of 2k pwp fics, and then a good handful of 10k plotlines with smut! to my fellow writers, good luck with your kinktober endeavors, and to you readers, comment on all the fics you read! have fun :D if you don’t want my kinktober fics, blacklist bbs kinktober 2020

main kink: bondage

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

When heroes became professional heroes, some people thought that they stopped training -- stopped placing themselves into theoretical situations and simulations to see how they would fare. As a matter of fact, that was not true.

Sero was more than aware of this truth. Especially as he currently was nearly encased in his own cellophane tape in his attempt to combat a virtual villain with a whirlwind quirk. 

He struggled against the tape that managed to bind his arms tight against his side, and his knees locked together. It shouldn’t have taken him that long to unravel himself from his own tape, having been with it for the majority of his life, Sero knew how to escape his own clutches (the tape was also a lot less likely to stick onto him), but he was in a predicament. 

The tape was just a bit too tight.

The feeling of it digging into his skin, his wrists and ankles bound just right sent pumping blood straight to his cock. Not to mention, whenever he shifted his hips, his cock would rub just directly against the matted floor, sending his cheeks into a small puff, desperately hoping to not make a single whimper. It took nothing more than a few seconds for his cheeks to be flushed, and his brow sweating with his horror of how he was seconds from rutting into the floor to relieve his growing cock.

The mat under his chin was cold, the gym’s ac just a tad bit too strong, and for a moment, he decided that since you collapsed in front of him, eyes closed, not moving save your breathing chest… it wouldn’t hurt to move... right? 

Sighing softly, Sero averted his gaze from you, a bit too embarrassed to look at your relaxed posture while dry humping the floor. One thrust, two, he stopped, glancing at you quickly to see that you had rolled to your side, your back towards him. With a strained sigh of relief, Sero continued his rutting, already knowing that his cock was too hard, too tight in his gym sweats to go ignored once you would help him out of his trap. His sweats, thankfully, were a dark color, something that could conceal the leaking precum from his tip until he managed to shower. But as he took another serotonin releasing rut of his hips against the pleasantly warm mat, he heard you sit up.

Oh no.

It was only then that Sero became deadly aware of how wide his eyes were, the gaping of his mouth, and the wine red of his cheeks. His breathing became erratic as he met your glistening, bright eyes.

The world seamlessly froze, and Sero couldn’t think as you stood up, the smirk on your face growing wider as you sauntered behind him. Your footsteps light on the matted floor, and your quiet giggles vibrating deep within his core.

“Oh, wow!” Sero shuddered when your bright and deadly teasing voice broke through from behind him, a location he was refusing to look at for his own humility. “Did I catch you at a bad time, sweetheart?”

A bad time? Sero thought, his throat running dry. He had no idea if you meant about him being caught up or him rutting against the dirty, sweaty gym mats.

“Actually, I was just getting comfortable, these mats are quite nice,” Sero responded back as smoothly and detached as possible. His shoulders attempting to shrug nonchalantly, but he winced when his arms scuffled against the dry mat.

“Didja need some help?” you ask, hand pressing against the small of his back in a ready attempt to push him over, but it did something incomprehensible to the black-haired man on the floor. The feeling of your warm fingers and radiating palm pressing to the small of his back, the feather-soft linger of your fingers sent him through a loop.

Maybe it was because of the humiliation coursing through his veins, or the way that his tape really did serve as good bondage (something he had been less than willing to accept despite your constant approval). Still, a soft, deep moan reverberated from his mouth, vibrating through his body with such depth that the way you yanked your hand from his lower back almost made him pout.

“Hanta!” you whispered, and Sero threw his forehead against the floor in his growing horny aggravation. “Are you dry humping the sweaty gym mat?!”

It seemed your amusement came from the latter of the two previous options.

“Y/n, please keep your voice down!” Sero bemoaned, his cock refusing to come down despite the horror he was experiencing in real life. Whoever said that focusing on the worst thing in the world while hard definitely did not expect situations like this to be involved.

“Okay, okay, I will,” you whisper, planting your feet centimeters before his face before squatting down, your eyes falling onto his shamefully averted ones. “Are you sure you don’t want any help?” you ask again.

“Nah, I’m good,” Sero lies, a flushed faux smile on his face. “Don’t worry, I’ll be out of this before you even realize it!”

You hum in acknowledgment, and Sero isn’t sure if he feels better or worse when you stand up, moving out of the way of his line of vision, and his cock throbs in his denial while he squirms to figure out where you went. But he regretted shifting his body, his cock carding just so perfectly against the crease of the matted floor, sending a rushing wave of dizziness through his head.

Holy fuck, why did that feel so good?!

Sero swallowed a moan, the tension of the tape on his wrists and thighs tugging just the slightest bit deeper into his skin, an action due to his ministrations. But, it was a soft touch against his ass that nearly sent him flipping over; his mind had forgotten the fact that you were still there.

“B-Babe!” Sero choked, your once feather-light touches growing heavier, hotter, intentional. “What are you doing?!”

“I never knew how good you looked all tied up,” came a soft reply, your voice so soft and sweet that Sero almost felt as if he was showing off a fancy new outfit and not being BDSM’d up in the training ground with his long time girlfriend hornily grabbing him. “If this is how I look, fuck… it all makes sense now.”

“We’re in the gym,” Sero pants, his eyes closing as he almost melts against your softly massaging fingers. Your fingertips oh so intentful against his lean built muscles, and Sero feels a heartbeat in his cock, a reminder that yes, he was enjoying this. “Who knows who’s ar -- oh fuck -- around!”

“Let them watch,” he felt you murmur against his neck, your fingers slipping to the waistband of his sweats and pulling on them so that he was on his knees, chest on the ground, ass up. “I know you don’t care.”

Sero hissed at the feeling of cold air against his hot cock, and throbbing balls. His eyes desperately looking through the corner of his eyes to find yours, but he saw nothing. 

He saw nothing, but good god could he feel every little thing you were doing. 

Your lips trailed down the spine of his back, your tongue on occasion peaking out to feel cool against his sweating hot back. But the breathiest of moans, the slickest of cries came when he felt your fingers grab onto his ass, pressing the cheeks aside in two tight holds and the soft, cold breath passing past your lips onto his quivering, pink hole.

“Y-Y/n!” Sero gasped, the rim of his ass squeezing in his humiliation and arousal of being so exposed in the empty gym, but he saw stars. His cock twitching, dripping with precum as he could imagine your tongue pressing against his rim, digging into the tight hole despite it all, making his ass buck backward against your wet muscle. 

But it was not in the cards right now.

Sero nearly collapsed when your warm, slick lips pressed by your fingers, kissing every piece of exposed skin except where he wanted you most.

“Your asshole is so fucking cute,” he heard you giggle, the teasing cool breathes fanning against his hole, making him whine with greater need. “I haven’t eaten your ass in a while, have I? And look at you, pathetically clenching for my tongue that hasn’t even touched you yet.”

“Please!” Sero gasped, his teeth burying into his lower lip when your right-hand lets go of his ass. And he convulses when your fingertip presses against his tight muscle, not pushing past the opening, but just enough for Sero to choke on his tongue. “Fuck, y/n, baby, please!!”

“Only because you sound so, so desperate~.”

Sero’s vision went white when your tongue finally pressed against his rim, your hot, wet tongue swirling and edging into the tight muscle, yet never intruding. The solid moans, the whines emitted from his mouth, seemed to echo in the empty gym. He moves his ass back, seeking complete penetration from your tongue, his stomach fluttering, balls tightening when the tip of your tongue protrudes through his tight hole.

There was, however, nothing to warn him when your tongue completely pressed into him, moving and swirling inside him. The arm that wrapped around his stomach moving downward to hold onto his throbbing, completely ignored cock.

Sero howled into the mat at the feeling of your tongue curling within him, and your hand moving up and down his cock, fingernails trailing against his risen veins, finger pinching at his leaking head. There was no helping the shooting cum that came out of his cock in thick, hot ropes as you continued to move your hand up and down his length, tongue continuing to fuck him as he sobs your name. 

The pressure of his balls returns nearly immediately, Sero choking on his spit when your free hand presses a lone finger into his hole, the saliva on your tongue provides enough lube that the entrance of your finger does nothing but make him weak in the knees. The smirk on your face is pressed against his ass when you immediately find his sweet spot, your finger stroking his prostate as your mouth moves down to suck on his balls.

Hand around his cock.

Mouth sucking on his balls.

Fingers stroking his prostate.

Sero came again before he could even give a breathy gasp that he was gonna cum.

He slumped down onto the floor, spit making his ass slick, and cock throbbing with overstimulation,

“You looked fucking hot, Hanta,” he heard you whisper, teeth nibbling onto his ear. “I can’t wait to get you home and fuck you all night.”

It was safe to say that Sero particularly enjoyed the strap that night.

[paroxysmal-distaste]

proximity. || ch2, isolate

◬ Chapter 2 - Isolate ◬ ◬ Pairing: Bill Cipher x Fem! Reader ◬ Date Published: 19/01/2018◬ ◬ Word Count: 2.4k ◬

The large header caused you to squint and quietly mutter a small, "Huh."

Ducking your head to get into your car again, you drove ahead much more steadily to entertain your curiosity and gawk at the unfamiliar scenery around you. There were bright red mushrooms with white spots and large pine trees. It was pretty.

It was a quite a sight to see, especially with your previous living conditions in the city. Pollution and rubbish everywhere. Alleys full of stray cats and dogs- even homeless people laid on their unsanitary mattresses. The mood wasn't entirely uplifting, so the new environment was a pleasant change of pace.

Here? It was clean, colourful and beautiful. Nature is quite a wonderful thing, and you often took that for granted so now was the time to appreciate it.

But your little moment of happiness ended when you saw what looked like the tip of a red pointy hat behind a tree trunk. You became even more alarmed after seeing large, wide beady eyes under the hat staring back in horror before disappearing behind the tree.

This caused you to swerve the car in panic - causing an extremely loud screech noise coming from the tires.

The blaring sound pierced your ears and prompted the car to veer off the road into the edge of the forest, hitting the base of a large tree with a big crash. Upon the impact, your body jolted forward violently and your head knocked against the glass window. Within seconds, a large airbag inflated in front of you.

A silence followed the series of events you just experienced, and you opened your eyes, furrowing your eyebrows in distress. Despite that, your mind could only be diverted to what you had witnessed before.

Holy shit.

You shook your head. That was just a hallucination, right? At this point, you were only focusing on what you saw, not the crash. No, there was no way. You know what you saw. You weren't crazy.

It looked like a gnome.

A loud groan escaped your lips as you instinctively placed a hand to your nose, a slight pain shooting through the rest of your face upon contact. The airbag rested the impact, but it still hurt like a bitch.

Weary, you undid your seatbelt quickly and got out of the car to survey the damage, stumbling out and grazing your palms on the floor to regain your balance. Finally squeezing out of the car, you sorta... tripped over your legs before standing hunched, staring at the mess. The bottom half of your body was fine, but your temple and nose was bleeding, noticed only when you saw your red fingers.

You let out an annoyed sigh and went to grab your face, before wincing.

The hood of the car was smashed open and dark smoke was coming out of it, but weirdly enough, the tree you hit didn't even have a splinter out of place. It looked perfectly fine, which was odd considering the amount of damage the car took. You made a mental note of that in your head.

Checking behind the car, you decided to look and see if the car left a trail to follow since the ground was just grass. But the grass wasn't squashed, it again, looked perfectly fine.

Huh. That's... weird.

It was enough to make you chalk this town as something other than ordinary.

You got back in the car and tried to start it up again, but obviously, that didn't work. It was worth a shot though, as all it did was confirm your next action. The only problem was you had no clue what that action was going to be. You sat there in your front seat, contemplating on what to do next, mindlessly tapping your fingers on the steering wheel.

As you stared out through the cracked windshield, your eyes wandered to the small but thick notebook on the seat next to you. It contained all the notes and plans you had for the portal, and was filled unevenly with colourful sticky notes sticking out its side, the corners of the cover flipped and bent over.

Its appearance pulled you to grab it and stuff it into your coat pocket, before stepping out of the car begrudgingly, already tired of the airbag taking up so much space.

It was time to get help. Meaning you have to keep going until you find that town.

With that, you kicked a stone away from your foot, clearly frustrated at the sights before you, but you persevered and began walking to small town Gravity Falls.

It wasn't long until you started seeing a few properties and buildings, one appearing to be a food service. Someone could possibly help you out in towing your car if you were friendly enough and asked them 'Pretty please?' with a cute smile, but at that moment, you were feeling grouchy.

Pine trees started to crowd the path until a very large log with a sign on top came into view, with the words, Greasy's Diner.

It seemed humble enough and you were absolutely starving, so you sped up your walking pace, more than eager to enter into a warmer and far more inviting establishment. You made the rash decision to move the hooded top from your head considering it made you look unapproachable.

With a deep breath, you walked in, the door playing a pleasant ring and the smell of pancakes slapping you in the face. The scent called you back into the situation, and it prompted you to suddenly straightened up and smoothed your hair over, forcing a smile on your face.

Come on Y/N, get a grip. Everything is going wrong today, but that means that anything from now could be better.

While glancing around and taking a look at the place, you sat down in an empty booth, only then noticing how dark the day had gone from the large window to your right. Your eyes continued to pry into the intricacies of the interior, before settling on a familiar set of H/C locks.

They seemed to be talking to someone happily - quite excitedly, even - and were seated at the very back of the restaurant, as if to show that they shouldn't be disturbed. You narrowed your eyes carefully and stood up slowly, walking towards the pair's table.

When you stopped in front of it, the familiar one looked up at you while sipping their drink and their eyes widened, as yours did too. When he recognised you, he started choking on his drink before muttering a small, "Y/N," before dying again.

You just stood there, baffled at the person seated in front of you until you finally took notice that your brother was choking. When he finally calmed down, you muttered, "B/N?"

He stood up and whispered quietly, "Excuse me," to the girl on the opposite side of the table and she just replied with a quick nod. You gave a glare to the girl, one she most definitely did not deserve since your bad mood was only attributed to an earlier incident and had nothing to do with her. Your cold stare made her own eyes widen slightly before making her turn away. You shifted slightly, feeling guilty before a harsh grip on your body tugged you from your thoughts.

B/N grabbed you by the arm and dragged you outside of the diner, the same way a mother would pull their child by the ear to the naughty corner. You frowned, "Ow- sto-"

"Y/N," he began, his hands extended in front of him, palms facing you, "I don't have time to talk to you right now... because... well, I'm on a date, alright? I'll can... explain when I catch up with you later. I'll be at the Mystery Shack in an hour, just meet me there." His tone was alarmed and rather hasty and you managed to catch him before he made a full turn to walk back inside the diner.

"Hey-hey-hey, hold on. Mom said you were training and here you are! Why would she say that? Did she lie? Does she know your hours away from home?" You babbled quicker than your brain could think, but they were just the questions you were hoping would be answered.

But? Instead? Your brother shook his head, mumbled a 'later' and walked back into Greasy's Diner.

You stood there, absolutely dumbfounded. Your mother said that he was training with your dad. You always knew when she's lying. Her voice would stutter slightly and her tone would be a higher pitch than usual. Then why did she say your brother was with dad? And how was he so far away from home and left undetected?

Maybe he actually was but considering how far away from home you were there was no way he could get here before you. You put your hand under your chin and paced outside the doors, thinking of every possible variable. Yes, your brother had been distant, ever since he learned that you were moving out. If he had slipped out of your Dad's watchful eye, he STILL wouldn't have been able to get here until another 3 hours at least.

Ever since you left, you grew distant from him, but when you saw him in Greasy's Diner, he seemed to know something you didn't.

So you're either crazy, mum's crazy, or he's just crazy.

You ran a shaky hand through your hair and decided to look for the place he told you to meet. You needed an explanation.

The Mystery Shack, he said. You frowned and looked around for anyone to help you. A small plump cop and a taller, thinner one stood next to the other leaning against their police car. They seemed to be laughing at each other's jokes or something.

You ran over to them, internally hyping yourself with conversation with someone that wasn't your family, "Hello there, excuse me for interrupting, but can you please show me where the Mystery Shack is?"

The smaller one with glasses and a moustache stopped and glanced at you and pointed to the path you came from, "Uh, this is just a guess but I believe it's few metres over there."

That's very helpful, officer, thanks.

"Alright, thank you." The thinner cop whispered something to the other and they both started giggling like idiots. You rolled your eyes as you walked back to the direction they pointed at, and once out of sight, you sprinted, anxious to sit somewhere much more relaxed and stable.

After a few minutes of following on and off the path, you somehow wandered into the forest alongside it. You internally groaned but decided to continue anyway, thinking you couldn't possibly get more lost than you already are. The day had passed the afternoon time, and it was getting increasingly difficult to see in the dark.

As you continued, a small hint of light blinded your vision for only a mere second, but it was enough to spike your interest of the source. The Mystery Shack? A moving car?

No, the glint could be seen again when you retraced your step, implying that it was a still object. It could be a parked car, bouncing of something, metal, perhaps? The idea excited you, convincing you that you had finally encountered a more urban area.

With a few glances to the left and right, the light shined in your eyes again and you realised it was just diagonal to you- much closer than you thought. Nearing the origin, you were surprised to find yourself holding your hands over your face to shield away from the intensity. Your pace slowed, much more weary as you closed in on the light.

Finally, you stopped when you saw a statue half stuck into the ground. It was glimmering from the sunlight, despite all the moss that was growing on it, and the stone exterior made a surprising reflection of light. It was all on its own, completely isolated from the rest of the world. It didn't come to that much of a surprise when you realised how long you had been walking around, deep into the forest to find something as bizarre as this.

A direct beam was glowing towards its hand, which was extended out, as if to expect someone to hold or shake it. A crazy thought ran through your mind. You stepped closer to the statue to have a better look. It was quite odd, it's appearance.

It was a triangle, with an eye and top hat. You felt a sudden pull towards it, an urge. Its extended hand seemed to be calling your name in whispers, stating the same thing in a jubilant tone, Let's make a deal!

Shivers ran down your back as you approached it, only a metre away now. That human gut instinct was telling you to get further from it, but you could only still in its presence.

"What the hell is this?" you asked yourself audibly, wondering if maybe the strange voice you were hearing whispering into your ear would answer your question, but to no avail.

Tick tock.

With more hesitation, "How lonely do I have to be to be shaking hands with a statue? Am I really that far gone?" you whispered aloud, smiling a little. The stare you had on the statue brought your attention back and your demeanour changed to be more serious. Your hand was only a few centimetres away before a strike of nostalgia shot through you like a bullet.

You faltered for a moment - like you snapped out of a trance - and your attention was stolen from something in your peripheral vision.

An axolotl?

You didn't know they lived in these parts, you've read that they're almost extinct. Sad, really, but that's not what made you suspicious. An axolotl out of water? It was rested nicely on a large rock, and it stuck its tongue out at you before moving away.

You shook your head, the statue's overwhelming aura and influence now reaching a halt as you thought back to the matter at hand.

Meeting my brother in the Mystery Shack. Right.

[yandere-sins]

this isn't from the alphabet thingy (so if youre only doing requests for that rn feel free to ignore this!!) but could u maybe write something for a reader who spends the entire academy phase pining for dimitri and then after the timeskip when they've maybe already buried their feelings, dimitri goes yandere for them maybe?

Thanks for requesting! :3 Let’s go!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««      

This much should be okay, right?

Even though you had this nagging feeling in the back of your mind, it wasn’t like you two were doing anything especially strange. Dimitri just... held you. A little too awkward and a little too tight, sure, but after all, he went through, could you blame him? Five years ago, this would have been a dream for you, and even though the world around you turned into rubble and dust, you couldn’t ignore the soft flutters in your stomach now that your wish was fulfilled.

You, too, needed comfort after all that happened.

Back at your time in the monastery, you had only ever dared to glance at the prince. Admired his diligent and firm way of thinking and talking, but also the soft smile and tender laugh falling off his lips. Every day you swore it would be the day you’d approach him, reach out to him. Yet, every day you hesitate, watching the chances you had, dwindle away and so did Dimitri. More and more did he start to distance himself from you and everyone else, for that matter. He may had his struggles - and you, for one, would have loved to be his confidant back then - but he never let them on, even if they were written on his face in pain. Only as things started to become more and more convoluted did something inside him break, vanishing all the light from his eyes and cladding him in somberness and hatred. 

Dimitri was nothing like his former self anymore. If he spoke - and he did so rarely - it was hard listening to him, painful even. Before you stood a broken man, someone whose heart had been ripped out and trampled on before reviving him. You didn’t want to be the one pointing out his flaws, not when he was so important in the upcoming battles, and you were thankful for his presence. But he also wasn’t the man you fell in love with anymore, that much you had to realize for yourself. 

And yet, who’d have thought that of all people, you were the one he’d let close. Dimitri had stopped talking to so many of your comrades. Stopped eating and moving, spending hours inside the cathedral, and not rarely did you wonder what his mind did in times he stood dead still. 

Perhaps, something about the lost reality Dimitri embodied at this time was what made you take extra care of him. You, who got back so much strength from seeing the Blue Lions reunite, have both the prince and Byleth back from the presumed dead, just couldn’t abandon the boy- or rather, man you once loved. Even when he hissed and screamed about you at first whenever you approached him, it soon made space for more silence, and you calmed down, knowing you weren’t one of his victims-to-be.

All you did was bring him food and told him about the news around the monastery. When you took heart and approached him more closely to get his cloak, carefully pulling it off his shoulders with only an exasperate sigh falling off his lips, you almost jumped for joy, even though the garment was stinking abominably and washing it was more challenging than fighting in battle. But it was all worth it for the moment when you returned it, Dimitri adjusting it with daggers shooting from his eyes at you, only for him to mutter a quiet ‘Thanks’ as you left again. To you, this was the highest praise you could have received all your life.

So now that he decided to hold you, you couldn’t refuse. In the end, you didn’t know what happened to him or what he truly was thinking. But in these uncertain times, everyone could need someone to hold and rest their head on. Even a presumed monster like Dimitri, or maybe, especially Dimitri, needed it. You didn’t want to assume anything or think too highly of yourself, but perhaps your dedication of not letting him decay like he did before was the reason he chose you for a change of mind. 

Nothing would ever be the same as it was, and you weren’t the naive teenager anymore you had been before. The teenager who still believed that nothing bad could happen in this world and Dimitri was a literal saint sent from the goddess. But your body wasn’t lying either, hands shaking as you returned his embrace, putting them on his back carefully, scared you’d make him disappear if you touched him. 

Of course, nothing like that would happen just from your touch, and you took a deep breath to calm yourself. The happenings of the days... they still weighed heavily on your mind too. But how hard must it have been for Dimitri if you were already suffering? Another fight, another important soul perishing from the world. The head of house Fraldarius may not have died in vain, as his last breath was used to put some soul back into the empty, murderous shell Dimitri had been. So how much must the former prince be suffering right now that he’d chose to trust in your company instead of anyone else?

“Thank you,” he whispered quietly. It was only you and him and the wind howling around you two on the balcony you two had retreated to, but he still spoke as if his words were only meant for your ears and no one else. 

At first, it had surprised you greatly when he approached you himself, smiling nonetheless. You were almost convinced you died; otherwise, how could you explain the change of heart he had gone through? 

“For not giving up on me. I am thankful that you were there,” his voice sighed into your ear, and you felt the heat rise into your face. Luckily, the armor you two wore for protection also protected your heartbeat from giving away how fast your pulse was racing right now. “N-No problem,” you managed to croak out, scolding yourself for the ordinary answer you gave. It could have been your moment to say something epic! Something groundbreaking! But no, it was humble at best. 

“I’m glad Your Highness is finally looking up again, even if what happened had been a tragedy too.”

Biting your lip, you thought to have overstepped with your words as Dimitri pulled back. But in the moonlight shining down on you two, you felt it rather than saw, as his hand cupped your cheek, the leather of his glove warm and soft. “Yes, I can finally see clearly again. I know now what’s important and where my priorities are. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for showing me.”

The kiss that followed was timid at first but changed into unreserved and unstoppable quickly. Part of your brain knew that leaning in and accommodating Dimitri was a mistake, something a teenager might have done, but it had been five years since you felt this way for him. The war wasn’t over, and a love story like this was only true in books, so there was always a chance for it to end in tragedy rather than joy. 

But right at this moment, it felt like the world was restored to normality. As if his kiss could defeat all the evils and banish them away. Even if your love had laid dormant for so long, Dimitri was poking at the embers, stoking the fire inside of you. Perhaps, you hadn’t been over him as much as you thought five years ago when he was captured and vanished not long after. Maybe you had just ignored your heart, hoping that one day it would stop aching, but never abandoned your love for him. 

“Please don’t leave me.” Opening your eyes faintly, you could see the reflection of the moonlight shining from his. His gaze was wide and adoring, but in it laid so much more than what you could hope for. In fact, you weren’t sure if those feelings you noticed in Dimitri’s eyes were feelings you wanted him to experience when he looked at you. “Not tonight,” he continued, “Never.”

Fear, desperation, desire. It all flicked through his gaze, his lips continuing to play with yours roughly. He sucked and pulled, his tongue slipping in the first moment your lips opened in a gasp for air. It was an amazing experience, yet, a part of you felt like he was devouring you. All these things began to make your head spin uncontrollably, his words being questioned over and over. What did he mean? What did he want? You didn’t want to confront him with wrong assumptions, but you also didn’t want to let him down. It was all so much - too much - to bear, and yet you simply didn’t want him to stop and go away.

“Of course!” you sighed into the kiss. “Anything you wish for, Your Highness.”

“Ah,” he whispered back, pulling you into an even deeper kiss. “The Goddess is merciful with me today. I’m so happy! I am so--” 

Your body noticed it before your mind could register what happened, a harsh flinch jerking through every muscle. It shook you awake, slapped away the clouds that had fogged your brain, as you felt the pain coming from your lip. The taste of iron spread over your tongue, and you cocked your head away, reaching up at your lip only to find something hot and wet coating your fingers. Too thick to be saliva. Too red in the moonlight to not be blood. 

As you went to question what happened, Dimitri’s lips crashed back down onto yours. An assortment of stings made you close your eyes tightly, drumming your free hands against his breastplate. You wanted to like his kisses, but not if you were bleeding and put in a tight spot with his harsh movements. 

But you didn’t need to voice your uncomfortableness nor fight him as he quickly pulled away again. With a sense of horror, you noticed your blood on his lips, his tongue flicking out without ever looking away from you, to lick off the red color decorating him. “--happy! We’ll be together forever, right?”

You had no answer for him as he waited for your reply. This much, it should have been fine. It should have been fine to follow him into battle, to fight for him, and to celebrate his success. Even after all these years and the heartache you experienced before, it should have been fine to fall in love all over again, to care for him and accept him closer, right? Right?

Then why did it feel so dangerous to be in his arms, your lips trembling as they tried to heal the wound he just marked you with?

[prompt-master]

Bear Trap (Part 2/3)

Art done by @doodles-by-noodles

Kyoko was hunched over Makoto, her eyes were darting from place to place over his body. Taking in every gash and tear before acting. Time was critical. She needed to know exactly how to treat him, or Makoto could die right there in front of her. Judging by the sound of his breathing, stressed and heavy, she could tell he’d already lost a lot of blood. Well, not that you needed her expertise to determine that. You could just look at the splattered pink around them. 

“It doesn’t look good,” She had said to Byakuya. It doesn’t look good. Seriously?

“No shit it doesn’t look good,” he spat out, sounding as intolerable as he did the first day they’d met in the killing game “I do have eyes, you know.“ 

Her right eye twitched. The logical side of her said this was just how Byakuya handled stress, by disconnecting himself and becoming irritable instead. The emotional side of her wanted him to shut the hell up. She opted to spare him little more than a glare before placing a hand on Makoto’s neck to check his pulse. It was beating rather hard and fast. It was strange really. She felt as though he was already dead. But that didn’t make any sort of logical sense. He was warm, he was still bleeding, he was shaking, and panting. All of this was right in her hands to be directly experienced. But he still felt like he was dead, putting her fingers to his limp neck. 

She had a morbid thought just then. About how her talents were used to help after a death, never really before one.

"You need bandages,” Byakuya said, ever so helpfully, “how else will you stop the bleeding? Or did the panic render you useless?" 

Kyoko took a deep breath. 

Makoto wouldn’t fight right now, not during an emergency, and neither would she. It’s just how he copes. It’s just how he copes…

"Tear up your jacket then.” She stated, “I’m not certain mine will be enough." 

She had to spark herself into action. She couldn’t let herself fall to something as simple as shock. She had been given mortician training as a part of the Kirigiri Family teachings so that she would have complete expertise on how different injuries came to be. She could glance at the wound on his back and see that it was given to him by the claws of a Mono Unit at a rather awkward angle. As she tied torn pieces of her blazer around his wounds so that they’d hold pressure - she only had two hands after all - she was able to get the entire story of all the brutal suffering Makoto just went through. 

She had seen bodies fresh from the morgue slapped down onto a table in front of her. She had witnessed the aftermath of horrors such as slit throats and dismemberment. She had once solved a case in which she found the victim’s severed head hidden underneath the floorboards in a safe. But Makoto’s disfigured leg, mangled to the point where she wondered how it was hanging on, bone sticking out after tearing through the skin, sharp from where metal teeth caused a clean break: THIS out of everything that she had witnessed in her life was what made her want to throw up. 

His arm was also rather damaged. It was hard to make out under torn fabric and blood, but it seemed more salvageable than his leg…she just needed…

"Togami. Your jacket.” Her tone was unforgiving. 

“I’m working on it.” Byakuya retorted back, a hint of offence in his voice.

It’s just how he copes. She felt like her patience for Byakuya was a rubber band in her hands, slowly getting pulled in either direction.

“Work harder." 

"You should be concerned with yourself.”

Deep breaths. The band was taut, shaking from force.

“Is this the best of your abilities?" 

The band snapped. 

"At least I’m actually doing something to help him!" 

Byakuya paused midway through tearing his blazer. Byakuya thought of himself as a capable man, but all his capable talents extended only towards self preservation. The one time he wished he had the skills to help someone else he could only stand and watch. There was nothing that Byakuya hated more  than being helpless. Kyoko’s words reminded him of the time Aoi slapped him back in the killing game. One of the many wake up calls Byakuya had received over the past few years. 

He could remember as clear as day, the wake up call that Kyoko herself had given him back when they hated each other. His fury at being incorrect over Sakura’s death, at not understanding the case, had all been snuffed out when Kyoko told him he simply lacked any emotional capacity to understand. Kirigiri Kyoko of all people. 

Hearing her remind him of his uselessness now with such a harsh tone. Well, it felt like she hated him all over again. 

He was still angry. Angry that he cared, angry that he wasn’t prepared, angry that he was faltering.

"What do you expect me to do?” He demanded. He spat out the words, but his heart was desperate to be given a task. 

“Make sure our emergency call earlier went through. Update the Foundation on the situation.” Right, that all made sense. How had he not seen that before? It almost made the emergency feel like a quick business move. He could handle that. Kyoko looked up from tending a wound on Makoto’s stomach, the worry in her eyes made him feel sick. “…and when you’re done, try to keep him awake." 

"Keep him-? He’s awake?” The boy had been so still and silent since they’d discovered his mangled body Byakuya hadn’t even considered that possibility. Upon further inspection Byakuya realized Makoto was never still or quiet. The distance he’d kept away from the scene prevented him from hearing the panting or noticing the trembling racking his body. 

A simple “yes” was all he’d gotten in response. He didn’t push or question any further though, it was clear Kyoko had a lot to focus on right now. Makoto’s life was in her hands, and neither wanted him to die like this. Kyoko could only estimate the ETA on help arriving, and she was fearing they would be too late. Memories flashed through her mind of running stitches through the skin of a banana peel during training. But she had nothing to work with, and certainly nothing sterile. Kyoko didn’t believe in God, but she prayed that an infection wouldn’t strike later. 

It was looking hopeless. 

“They said they’ll be here with a helicopter in half an hour." 

Right. She forgot Byakuya was even there. She tied another knot over a wound. Despite her heartbeat moving her entire body with its pounding, her hands remained steady. Just like when stitching banana skin shut. Another deep breath, her hands will stay steady. Any mistake could cause an issue. Mistakes could cause browning fruit to gush between the stitches. Nothing more than an insignificant rotting pile of ruined fruit splattered and smothered against the street like-

"Don’t just stand there, ” she took another deep breath, her hands will stay steady, “keep him awake." 

When Byakuya came over to take place near Makoto’s head she waited for him to pass her the tattered cloths she’d been waiting for. She ended up discovering he’d already thrown them to her side. She needed to focus more. She was by Makoto’s lower body, only half a mind paying attention to what Byakuya was doing. 

Makoto had never looked so disgustingly pale before, and he was the kind of person to lose all color when frightened. His mouth was slightly parted as his breathing continued to take a toll on him. A cold sweat had begun to break out on his clammy face, with a fever glowing across his skin from the blood loss and pain. What made Byakuya the most concerned though were his eyes, half lidded and staring at nothing in particular. His eyes fluttered, but his pupils were lazily taking in the world around him as if he was trying to understand what was going on but couldn’t take hold of anything tangible.

Byakuya held a hand up and froze. He was unsure what to do, all of this was out of his element. He wanted to push it all an arm’s length away. It was a simple task. Just keep him awake. But did he know what to do? In movies he’d seen people slap others awake. But Makoto was hurt, so shouldn’t he be gentle? Why was he even fussing over the method? There was no need to hesitate. He’d touched a corpse before, he could push through any nerves to handle this.

Byakuya put a hand to his face. After an unsure pause his thumb slowly caressed the skin of his cheek in an act of comfort that Makoto probably didn’t even register.

"Naegi, can you hear me?" 

There was a delay in his response, eyes heavily rolling side to side before settling on Byakuya. After the first small victory he prepared to speak, licking his lips and swallowing thickly. The delay felt like hours.

"T'gami…..kun?” Makoto’s lips felt heavy as he spoke.

There was an ache in Byakuya’s chest that he wasn’t used to, “The one and only." 

Makoto let out a breathy laugh. His face turned into this familiar dopey, trusting smile that he hated and loved all at the same time. His eyes seemed to lose track of Byakuya for a moment, he tried to match where they went. 

"Hey, eyes on me.” Makoto’s expression seemed to sink a little.

“W-….where's….” He sounded completely breathless and confused, “where’s Kiri…?”

“She’s right here.”

His head barely moved as he tried to see past Byakuya. Through his blurred vision he could make out that familiar lavender hue. Even with the trembling caused from blood loss he relaxed at the sight, letting out a breath when he processed. He closed his eyes, he didn’t see any reason to be scared anymore. 

“Hey, don’t you dare. Open your damn eyes.” Byakuya sounded angry with him, but he was too busy basking in relief.  

“You're….both ok?” His voice was barely above a whisper, if it wasn’t so quiet around them Byakuya would have to strain to hear it. 

“Of course we are.” It was that rare reassuring tone from Byakuya. Short lived before the anger came back, “I believe I gave you an order did I not? Open your eyes." 

To stress his point, Byakuya patted the side of Makoto’s face repeatedly and rather annoyingly. Both of them felt like they should be worried at how hard it was for him to simply open his eyes. It was like prying something off of hardened glue. Byakuya grit his teeth, he had a dreadful feeling that if Makoto closed his eyes again they wouldn’t be opening any time soon. 

"ETA?” Kyoko asked bluntly.

Byakuya didn’t take his eyes off of Makoto, “five minutes haven’t even passed yet.” So, they’re both impatient then. Makoto seemed to grin a small bit hearing Kyoko’s voice. 

He’s conscious, Byakuya reminded himself, which means that he can keep him awake by talking. But what the hell could he say? His mind felt blank, desperately pulling at drawers to find a single conversation topic locked away in his mind. But Makoto’s eyes were still on him. Perhaps the contact was grounding enough? But for how long? Makoto’s breathing felt heavier than before. 

“Why is he breathing so hard?” He opted to talk to Kyoko instead. 

“He’s lost a lot of blood." 

"He’s warm.”

“He’s lost a lot of blood." 

"Shouldn’t that make him cold?" 

"I’d rather it not get that bad. I’m sure his hands are cold if you check.”

She was right, his hands were icy cold. Makoto’s hands always felt a little chilly compared to his. Byakuya always ran hot like a furnace while Makoto was always chilly enough to wear multiple layers (I mean, a hoodie under a blazer? Really Makoto?). But this sensation felt like there was no blood in his hands. Wasn’t that a symptom of shock? His body was prioritizing vital functions just to keep him alive. Byakuya wished he could roll Makoto onto his back and elevate his legs like he’d been taught. But he’d seen the gashes on his back. It was the only injury he really took in. 

“You idiot” the words came through grit teeth, “getting yourself into a mess like this for us to clean up. Typical." 

Guilt could be read on Makoto’s face for a moment. “…yeah.” Byakuya once again felt a pang in his chest. Was that really all Makoto had to say? 

Kyoko managed to do something while working that made Makoto wince. Byakuya didn’t think for once, he just continued to rub slow circles across Makoto’s face.

"Hang in there.” Makoto’s face hadn’t relaxed much, still strained with all the pain he was feeling, “I do not permit you to die like this. Understood?" 

Makoto groaned in response, leaning into the hand that was cupping his face. Once again his eyes lost track, doing a big loop around before snagging back onto Byakuya. 

"Hurts…” he said, breath hitching as more pain shot through his body. 

“You can handle this much. You’ll be fine.”

Earlier Makoto felt relaxed when Kyoko and Byakuya had arrived. Their very presence gave Makoto a hope that he’d survive this. But Byakuya’s expression had gone from angry to worried. His eyebrows were furrowed, creasing lines across his forehead. If even Byakuya was openly worried…how bad was it? 

Makoto felt another harsh shiver run through his body. His face felt hot but everything else was like sharp winter air kept blowing over his skin. As the shiver travelled up his spine it caused pain to flare again. He was met with a harsh reminder to open his eyes from Byakuya. His breathing felt even heavier than before, each breath taking more effort than the last. Byakuya’s face was shifting again, but Makoto could hardly make it out through the greying swirls of dots across his vision. Ah, Byakuya looked scared. So Makoto was going to die then? The only sound he could hear was his own rabbit quick heartbeat threatening to break free from his tattered ribcage. Byakuya’s mouth was moving, but none of it made sense to Makoto. He couldn’t even read his lips. One second it was quick, then slow, like time itself was blending together into something incomprehensible. 

Makoto blinked slowly. 

“Naegi?” Byakuya had gone from tapping his face to shaking his shoulder.  He didn’t get much else besides a distracted groan from Makoto. “Naegi, can you hear me?”

“Don’t shake him like that!” Kirigiri scolded, frustrated as she tried her best not to let the movement interfere with her work. 

Byakuya felt like a life was slipping through his finger tips. His own breathing felt tight in his chest from the pure anxiety that Makoto’s unresponsiveness gave him. 

“Naegi if you don’t answer me right now…” his nails dug into the boy’s shoulders.

Makoto’s eyes rolled up, dropped down, fell to the left, all as if there was a weight to it. Another slow blink. More odd drifting. Not a single response from him. 

“Makoto, say something…” Byakuya ordered, pausing to watch the boy’s face; his voice was quieter than he wanted to admit. “Makoto!" 

Makoto sharply inhaled at the sound. Byakuya sounded scared. Byakuya was never scared. "Nn….” Makoto frowned a little bit in worry. He felt like he was drowning, being pushed beneath thick murky water and whenever he got close enough to the surface to even understand a little bit of what was going on he was shoved back down again. He could see Byakuya look towards Kyoko for a moment and watched his expression fall. 

Focus…focus. If he could just make out the words they were saying. His vision left him for a moment, greying out as his body felt weirdly numb and tingly. It wasn’t a bad feeling. If Makoto were to die here and now…he’d be happy to die next to the people he loved with this strange not-bad feeling. It was much better than bleeding out alone and in pain surrounded by the mascot that caused all this suffering in the first place. He could just drift away, and be able to die peacefully, a luxury most people didn’t get any more. If he could see his own face he was sure a weak smile played on it. 

“What do you mean?!” Byakuya snapped, he glared at her out of habit.

“I mean… just look…” Kyoko’s busy hands paused momentarily to grab more fabric from the dwindling pile. Byakuya looked away from Makoto’s face and his breath caught in his throat. The limb Kyoko was working on barely resembled a leg anymore. She had done a decent job at cleaning up the wounds but it only made it more apparent how… disfigured it was. Nothing about it seemed right.

“He can’t-” the words welled up in Byakuya’s throat. He couldn’t speak the words into existence. If he did, then it would become an undeniable reality. 

But Kyoko didn’t have that same hesitation, “There’s no way his leg can recover from this, and that’s without factoring in the high risk of infection.”

Byakuya’s eyes were glued to the horrific sight. Despite the sight of death becoming background noise to them all, it put a pit in his stomach. He felt disgusting. Like any second now his lunch would come back up. Look closer…it was a miracle the leg was even hanging on at all. Kyoko was right. He would lose his leg. 

Makoto, just barely through the swirls of gray blurs and black spots, could see the desperation and worry on Byakuya and Kyoko’s faces. It was only a small thought  in the back of his mind at first. Just a little whisper. But eventually it became bright and loud. A scream next to his ears. A new hope. 

He didn’t want to die. Not like this. 

He couldn’t leave Byakuya and Kyoko heartbroken. They’d drown in the despair.  Letting their trusted friend, their partner in survival, die after doing everything they could to try and save him? It would be heartbreaking. But Makoto couldn’t even make out the color of sky anymore. He couldn’t move his fingers. He didn’t know if it was possible for him to get out of this one alive, but he wouldn’t spend his last moments watching people he loves suffer. 

“ ‘s… ok…y …gami” Makoto’s tongue felt like lead and moved sluggishly in his mouth. Byakuya wished he could take any form of comfort from the broken sentence. 

The fever from Makoto’s face had gone cold, leaving him with all his blood washed pale skin on full display. Byakuya had to pause to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Don’t talk like that, you moron. I know what you’re trying to do.” and he did. Byakuya knew that Makoto was trying to make himself and Kyoko more at ease. Even while walking on a tightrope between life and death the bot still wanted to make sure his friends were okay. Byakuya felt rigid in a mixture of irritation and worry.

“It… d’sn’t hur.. nymore…’s okay." 

The words made cold fear run down Byakuya’s spine. He clenched his fists, glaring down at Makoto like he’d insulted him. But his voice was weak, "I told you to stop…" 

"Really…I pr…mise…’s not going to be bad…" 

Byakuya grinded down on his teeth with enough force to hurt his jaw. He exhaled harshly, ignoring Makoto’s words and turning to Kyoko, "Will you hurry up and save him already?!" 

"I’m doing my best! There’s not much I can do!" 

”’re both… really strong… you c’n overcome …‘nything…” Makoto felt a lump in his throat, he wanted to make it seem like everything was gonna be fine, but he knew that no matter what he said… Byakuya and Kyoko were smart. They were smart enough to know he was lying through his teeth. Maybe it was more for him than for them at this point.

“Dammit Makoto if you don’t stop fucking talking that-!“ 

"Tha…’s why I know….you’ll be okay…” He struggled to speak, tongue heavy as lead, and still he tried to make the words clear as possible. He was afraid, he didn’t want to go, not now. There were so many things left that he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do. He wanted to tell the two people in front of him how much he cared about them but all he could do was watch as their distress increased. His vision started to fade and he wanted to scream for it to come back. He struggled to breath.

“Makoto!" 

Byakuya took Makoto’s face in his hands again. The light in Makoto’s eyes were completely gone, unable to properly process the world around him. Despite Byakuya’s pleas steadily becoming more and more desperate for Makoto to stay awake, he slipped through his fingers like sand. With his eyes drifting to the right, Makoto fell away from the world. 

And both of them felt it with their own hands. They felt the exact moment Makoto lost consciousness for what could very well be the last time. They both stood there frozen in shock. Byakuya still had his hands on Makoto’s face, just watching as if any second he’d open up his eyes again and apologize for scaring them. Kyoko had her hands up, mid-wrapping wounds. She just stared blankly, unable to grapple with the idea that all her work may have been for nothing. 

They sat in silence. No one moved.

It felt like gravity had increased, time had slowed down to a crawl and even the gentle whistling of the wind felt subdued and gentle, as if even it didn’t want to disturb them. Neither wanted to be the first to move. If they were to move, what were they even supposed to do? Both of their minds seemed to cloud. Was it even worth it to move? Was there even a point? There was too much to process, too many unanswered questions. Too many calls to feelings that would be left unanswered. And yet the world kept spinning sluggishly as if nothing had happened at all. 

"Check…” Kyoko felt some clarity dig into her skull, sharp like a breath of cold air, “check his pulse." 

"Huh?" 

"Check his pulse…! Now!" 

They both jumped into action. Kyoko grabbed Makoto’s wrist, pressing two fingers into the pulseline with enough force to bruise. It was manic and ineffective. She didn’t even think about how she had her gloves on, she just needed to know now. Byakuya was pressing his fingers into Makoto’s cold neck again and again. He kept missing the pulse point and getting impatient when he felt nothing.

When they found it, they both sunk back with relief. They could have passed out from the rush of realization. It was weak, and way way too fast, but it was something dammit. He wasn’t gone yet. With a shaky yet confident breath, Kyoko got back to work, hands trembling ever so slightly. Enough for Byakuya to notice, but not enough to comment on. 

Byakuya slowly let go of Makoto’s neck. He dragged himself back to give Kyoko space. The pick up would be here soon. In an effort to keep contact with Makoto and stay out of Kyoko’s way, Byakuya positioned himself so that he could rest the boy’s head in his lap. He wouldn’t be caught dead in this position on any other day but in the moment that didn’t matter. He occasionally glanced up at Kyoko to watch her work, but stayed focused on Makoto. If Makoto woke up he was going to be right there and this time he wouldn’t let him slip away again. 

The pick up was almost there.

[capaimagines]

ateez - first time together

Pairing: ATEEZ x Reader | Genre: angst, fluff & suggestive | Warnings: mentions of sexual relations | WC: 1.8k

Request: Can I please request what your first time with ateez would be like?? I know you aren't comfortable with smut but this doesn't have to have any smut

kim hongjoong

He would know exactly just how nervous you were and would do everything he could to try and calm your nerves. He’d be extremely patient with you and move slow, always asking you to be reassured that this is what you want and he will stop as soon as you say the word. Hongjoong knew how to read your body language, more so to see what you like and don’t like. “You’re so beautiful,” He would murmur as he placed butterfly kisses to the crook of your neck. Goosebumps would erupt all over you and you couldn’t help but whimper at the sensation. As much as he wants you, he knows he needs to keep himself in control because the last thing he wants to do is hurt you. Praises and compliments would fall from his lips throughout the whole time. Once he’s buried inside you and feels you clenching around him, he would lose control. He would be thrusting in and out rapidly, loving the way his name sounds rolling off your lips. He’d makes sure that you both finished together and would waste no time in cleaning you up and holding you the rest of the night. He’s always loved you, but after tonight, he’s pretty sure his heart is going to burst with his emotions.

park seonghwa

He would be just as nervous as you were. Even though he may be experienced, he knows that this is a big step for you. He wouldn’t want you to regret it and he would want to make sure that you’re comfortable at all times. You’re very timid, as expected. You’d try to hide yourself under the duvet as he undresses you, but he would only smirk at you, pulling it off and throwing it on the floor so you’re left exposed to him. You could see the lust and desire in his eyes and the way he licks his bottom lip as he stares at your naked chest only makes the coil in your stomach tighten. “Are you sure?”  He’d ask you that for the millionth time but he only wants to make sure that you still want this - that you still want him. A nod of your head and a murmured “yes,” confirmed it for him and all it took for him to slip inside of you. It would hurt at first but quickly changed to absolute pleasure. He’d link your hand with his, intertwining your fingers together and he’d let you set the pace. His hands would never leave yours, even after you’ve finished. He’d hold you close, running his fingers gently through your hair and kissing the crown of your head.  “I love you, Y/N.”

jeong yunho

Yunho would also be one who is just as nervous as you. It would also be his first time and he’s terrified of messing it up or hurting you. You had called him earlier saying you wanted to talk to him about something important. When you had told him you were ready to have him in every possible way, he couldn’t say no. He also wanted you in every possible way. Even now he was in a frenzy, cleaning everything. He had changed the bed sheets and lit some candles in hopes that the smell of clean linen and fruity candles would keep you and him both calm. With shaky hands you’d both undress each other, kissing fiercely. Yunho’s hand  traced the outline of your face and then traveled lower to do the same with the rest of your body. It may have been a lot of experimenting to find what you both enjoyed, but in the end, you were both breathless and tired and swooning for one another. “How about a bath and some movies?”  He would murmur into your hair and you tiredly nodded, tightening your arms around his waist.

kang yeosang 

Outwardly he would be really calm and collected but on the inside, would be an anxious mess. He loved you and wanted to make this special for you. You had already told him of your past horror sex stories and he did not want to become another story added to that list. He knew trying to plan it all down to the last detail would never work. Things never go your way when you try to be meticulous. This was something that he wanted to happen naturally. So, when he took you out during his free time and you walked in wearing a short dress that made your boobs pop and your ass look great, he wanted nothing more than to take you home and rip it right off your body. You might have purposely worn something you knew he would like, that would keep him captivated because you wanted him. When you returned to his dorms, neither of you cared who was home. He pushed you against the front door, kissing you fervently and slipping the dress off of you. He’d let you take control once you were in his bed, riding him until both of your moans filled the whole room. He would roll on top of you after, sweaty, tired but extremely happy. “You’re perfect.”

choi san

San would swoon with love that you trusted him enough to give yourself to him.  Being somebody’s first is what most people consider a huge thing and San would be no different. While he had been patient with you and waited until you were ready; he had been filled with desire for you for months now. He wanted this to be special and not scary. Of course, you had heard all the horror stories and read them online. It hurts, there’s bleeding, sometimes the wrong hole is accidentally touched. You were quite nervous and scared, but you trusted San with your life and you knew he would take care of you. True to your beliefs, he did. He’d wine and dine with you, going to your favorite restaurant and letting you order whatever you wanted. Taking a bath when you went back to yours, him sitting behind you while you leaned back against his chest. Unlike the things you had heard from friends and read on the internet, it didn’t hurt at all, but you probably had San to thank for that. He was always good at distractions. His eyes never left yours, lips constantly glued to yours or some part of your body. He’d praise you the whole time, compliment you on everything and anything. You were wholeheartedly in love with this man and as you two lay back on the sheets, sweaty and out of breath, San turned to you, pulling you close to him and kissing you roughly. “Thank you for trusting me, love.”  You could only snuggle into his chest, a tired but bright grin on your face. You’d always trust him.

song mingi

He would probably more nervous than you. He had even gone to Yunho to ask for advice because he just wanted this to be perfect for you. It wasn’t the first time for either of you, but Mingi really, really liked you. He was still teetering back and forth between love and like. He wanted this to be perfect for you and wanted it to be all about you. He had lit candles, he had water ready to go in case either of you needed it. He had made sure the fluffiest pillows he could find were adorning the bed. When it came down to it, nothing could ever be that perfect.  The candles had burnt out before you arrived, you had accidentally bumped into the bedside table that had the water as you two were kissing, spilling it all over Mingi. As he pulled his now wet shirt off, you couldn’t help but lock your eyes on to his chest and then down to his abs. “I-I’m sorry, Y/N.  I just wanted this to be perfect.” He said and you smiled a little, standing on your tiptoes and giving him a peck on the lips. “All I need is you to be here for anything to be perfect.”  You murmured back in response and Mingi knew then and there that he loved you.  And he made sure to tell you that, before smashing his lips against yours and showing you in more than one way how much he did love you.

jung wooyoung

He wanted you just as much as you wanted him. You were both really good at the cat and mouse game. He’d always see how you would stare at him like a horny school girl when he wore a tank top or flexed his muscles. He always saw  how you would ogle him when he would change his clothes. Though being a stylist meant you had your own tricks up your sleeve too. The skin tight pants that accentuated your ass. You’d catch him licking his lips while looking as you would bend over for something. The red lipstick that adorned your face was his absolute favorite. Your first time was anything but romantic, but it didn’t matter because you were with him. In some dingy storage room at the venue they were currently at to record a show. The thrill of someone hearing you or being caught only seemed to turn you both on even more. It was your first time with Wooyoung and probably the most adventurous you’ve had. “I’d definitely like more adventures with you,” You’d wink at him as you slipped out.

choi jongho

Jongho always made you feel safe and protected. It probably helped that he could break just about anything with his own bare hands without much effort.  While that was something that made you feel safe, it was also something that would cause the heat in your gut to pool somewhere even lower. However, you were shy to say anything because you didn’t want to seem like an idiot for still having not lost your virginity. Jongho was observant and he liked the way you looked like you wanted to eat him when he was working out or showing off his strength.  When he had come over one day your make out session had gotten heated and both of you were quickly in the bedroom, on your bed and undressed. “W-wait.  I-I’m not—I’ve n-never done this before.” You would stutter out. Jongho sent you a fond smile, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss. “I’ll take care of you, promise,” he murmured and he kept to his word. You were feeling euphoric as you came down from your high. Jongho chuckled, pulling you to him and kissing your forehead. “Next time, I’ll hold you up against the wall.”

[pride-moth]

You only get what you grieve [Stolitz Week Day 5 Hurt/Comfort]

Ao3 Link

Event Info Link

Stolas has been drifting in and out of consciousness in his tight restraints for hours by the time Blitz, Millie, Moxxie and Loona break down the door to his holding cell. It’s a big, empty room, all metal and a single cupboard. Stolas is tied to a chair, has been for days, no food, no water in his reach. To get it, he would depend on Stella’s mercy and she has shown him none.

It takes him a moment to force his eyes open, and attempt to feel his own limbs when they all pour into the room. He can’t, the ropes around his body have cut off all sensation in them. He can faintly remember them hurting when he was first put in them, but all the pain has long been replaced by unbearable numbness.

Blitz rushes towards him to hold his face between his hands. “Millie! Give me your knife!” he yells and cuts Stolas free the moment he receives the knife.

Stolas’ arms fall to his sides uselessly. “Blitzy?” he says weakly, his voice barely more than a rasp.

“Sir, I think he’s dehydrated,” Moxxie remarks.

“Then get some water, Moxx!” Blitz yells, making Moxxie scurry into the back of the room, stands in front of Stolas again and takes his face back between his hands. “Stolas? Hey, it’s… It’s okay, we’re here now, you’ll be okay.”

“Stella?” Stolas asks, it’s all he can get out.

“She… She’s dead. We… Took care of that. It was… I was… Sorry, there was no other way.”

Stolas doesn’t say anything, but is overcome with a hefty cough.

Moxxie comes running back with a large bottle of water. Blitz yanks it from his hands and holds it carefully to Stolas’ beak. “Slowly,” he says softly, perhaps more softly than Stolas has ever heard him speak.

He drinks, trying to slow himself down, but he hasn’t had a drop of liquid in three days and his body is aching for it with every fiber. His arms start to itch again, so that’s a good sign as well at least. He stops drinking for a moment to whisper “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, I wouldn’t just let you die in this hole.” There’s a rumbling above them. Blitz looks up in obvious concern. “Can you get up?”

“I don’t know, I barely feel my limbs.”

The steps above them grow faster. “Loona, you’re strong, can you throw him over your shoulder when we get in a hurry?”

She shrugs. “I guess. Either way, we should probably get running.”

“I thought…?”

“Yeah, we got rid of Stella, but unfortunately Striker still has a bit more of a personal problem with us,” Millie explains while she gestures for Blitz to give her her knife back.

As if on cue, Striker appears in the doorframe, already bleeding from his shoulder, but his eyes hungry for a fight. “You killed my source of income, you destroyed my job and you’re even trying to save this pompous asshole?”

“I’d rather have a pompous asshole than a deranged one!”

“Hand him out to me, I’m sure there are enough overlords and royals in Hell who would be more than willing to pay a good bounty for him. And I would even be generous and give you all 10%. As a peace offer.”

“Fuck you and your peace,” Blitz says, draws his gun and takes a single shot.

The bang echoes throughout the small room and leaves Stolas’ ears ringing. A stinging pain takes over that makes it hard for him to look up and focus. But when he manages to lift his head again, he sees Striker on the ground, struggling to hold onto this bleeding leg.

“Let’s get out of here,” Blitz sighs and motions for everyone to follow him as he jumps over Striker and leaves him behind on the ground.

“Sir?” Moxxie says as though to raise an objection.

“Shut it, Moxx. Loona, take Stolas. Now.” Blitz doesn’t even look back at them.

Loona throws Stolas over her shoulder with surprising ease and carries him outside.

They make their way through the abandoned warehouse building in uneasy silence, only the sound of steps on metal between them.

When they make it outside, the light almost burns Stolas’ eyes. “Let’s go to the office,” Blitz offers.

“But Via…” Stolas says weakly, still hanging over Loona’s shoulder, suddenly overcome with fear for his precious baby.

“She’s there, we got her out of the palace first thing before we went on our little rescue mission. Took one of your butlers, too, so someone can look after her.”

“Oh thank the stars.”

“No, thank me maybe, but you can save that for later.” Blitz fishes his phone out of his pocket and stuffs it back in, frustration all over his face. “Moxxie, would you call an ambulance?”

“What?”

“An ambulance. Weee-oh, weee-oh. Takes people to the hospital, do you even have a brain up there?!”

“Sir, I know what an ambulance is, but why?”

“Well, Striker is bleeding out in there, for one.”

“Don’t you want him dead?”

Blitz laughs. “Are you insane? He’s the only motherfucker in Hell to put up a real fight, do you really think I want to deprive myself of that fun?”

Moxxie sighs, shakes his head, but calls the ambulance without further discussion.

Loona sits Stolas down on the couch of their waiting room. Stolas thanks her and feels sleep gnawing at him more intensely than ever before.

It takes not even two seconds before Octavia storms in and throws her arms around him, “Oh my God, Dad! You’re safe!”

Stolas weakly lifts his arms, thankful to feel them again at all, and wraps them around her. “Of course, Via. I would never leave you alone.”

“I assume Mom didn’t make it?”

Stolas’ looks around helplessly, unsure of how to respond.

“She was on the way to fully execute your dad, so we didn’t really have a choice,” Blitz says, as a matter of fact, but he doesn’t seem particularly happy about it. “I… I’m sorry.”

Octavia nods. A thousand emotions run through her big eyes in a matter of seconds. Grief, relief, anger. “I… I’m glad you’re safe, Dad. I just… I need a moment.” She lets go of him and gets up. She leaves the room.

“Via-” Stolas tries to get up but his legs don’t quite allow him to yet.

“Leave her,” Loona says, “Her mom might have been a bitch, but she was still her mom and it’s hard to lose that. I’ll check on her later.”

Stolas wants to protest, run after his daughter, but simply gives her a sad nod. He’s not running anywhere yet.

“How are you feeling?” Blitz asks as Millie enters the room with some hot chocolate for everyone.

Stolas can only shrug. “Like shit, mostly. I can sort of feel my body again, at least. But, I just… I can’t form a clear thought, it’s all so… foggy. I… I can’t even think of how I feel about Stella being dead. It doesn’t feel real. Nothing feels real.”

Blitz nods and hands him one of the hot chocolate cups. “That’s okay, take your time.”

“You’re being extremely nice to me,” Stolas remarks.

“Stolas, I’m coming off a 72 hour rescue mission and I’m mostly just glad you’re alive. I don’t exactly have energy left over for snarky sarcasm, okay. Being as charmingly abrasive as I am takes work.” Blitz plops down on the couch next to him with a shaky laugh. Stolas leans against him.

“Thank you. I don’t think I would still be alive without you.”

“I would never let you die,” Blitz whispers.

Across the room Millie is gesturing at Moxxie and they excuse themselves from the room moments later.

“Where are they going?”

Blitz sighs. “Ugh, they want to give us the room. As if I’m gonna drop a whole confession speech on you when you barely function.”

Stolas stops. “Confession?”

“Oh crap.” Blitz blushes. “I… Don’t worry about it today, okay? Worry about your daughter and the very awkward funeral you’re about to attend soon. Just… Just let me help you put yourself back together.”

Stolas stays silent.

“Let’s start by massaging your shoulders, those must be killing you. Sorry, maybe not the best time to make jokes about murder. Uhm, anyway.” Blitz puts his mug down, gets off the couch to walk behind Stolas. He starts carefully massaging Stolas’s shoulders.

It feels good, it takes some of the edge off, it brings warmth back into Stolas’ body. It makes everything feel a little less horrible. It makes everything horrible he has experienced in the past few days feel a little farther away. He doesn’t want Blitz to ever stop touching him. He wants to feel these hands on him for as long as he lives. It should be some earth-shattering revelation, but it simply feels like the culmination of everything they’ve been through. “I love you,” he whispers, without thinking.

Blitz stops massaging him for a moment. “You should call a therapist.”

“Because I love you?”

“No, because you’ve just spent three days tied up in a storage unit without food or drink and your wife had to be murdered to get you out of there. You might need some help processing that.”

“Were you even listening to me?” Stolas asks, a little heartbroken.

“I was, Stolas. And I love you, too, you big idiot, but I’m not going to talk about this with you now. Not before we’ve slept for 24 hours. Not before things aren’t somewhat okay with your daughter. I don’t… I’m not going to take advantage of you like that.”

“It’s not-”

“Please, Stolas. Let me just… Be there for you for now. Platonically.”

Stolas swallows but then he nods and that’s all that’s said about it for the evening. It’s enough, though, for now, that Blitz brings him hot chocolate and massages him and helps him talk to Via and helps him get up and walk again. And Blitz is right, he has other concerns for now. The horror of the moment is over, but there’s so much work ahead.

[piracytheorist]

Till I Can Stand On My Feet Again (1/1)

Fandom: Resident Evil Village

Summary: One simple change; Heisenberg is the one to show Ethan what he is, and drags him to watch his fight with Miranda. Scared of himself but determined to protect his daughter, Ethan’s path takes a different route. (Basically, an Ethan Lives AU cause my heart and soul need it)

Word count: 5.3k AO3

~

“Not bad, not bad, Winters!”

Ethan’s hand rose instinctively, gun aimed directly at Heisenberg’s head. He was walking down a series of metal pieces from the chamber that he moved to resemble a staircase.

“You would’ve made a useful ally in my fight against Miranda,” Heisenberg said. “Too bad your feelings override your logic.”

“Fuck you!” Ethan shouted, firing two bullets at him. He wasn’t surprised they ricocheted off a metal shield Heisenberg put up just in time, but he was too stubborn to regret the wasted ammo.

“You amuse me, Ethan. You’re so hard-headed you can’t even see what’s right in front of you.”

“I’d never join you!” He hadn’t lowered his pistol.

“Sure, sure. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Before Ethan could see it coming, a pair of handcuffs flew and wrapped around his wrists. He managed to fire once before his pistol was snatched from his hands, but the bullet didn’t seem to hit anything. Heisenberg threw away the gun without even looking at it, or the rest of Ethan’s guns as he pulled them off of him.

“Damn it,” Ethan said under his breath. “What the fuck do you want from me?!”

Heisenberg’s gloved hand jolted up and Ethan was flying backwards, grunting as his back met with the metal door he had just attempted to open. His hands went up and he sighed exasperatedly. At least he wasn’t hanging from them this time.

“I’m returning the favor,” Heisenberg said. “You’ve been giving me quite the show since you stepped foot in this village. How long has it been now? Barely a day, and you’ve survived so much.” By now he was right in front of him. “Did you even count the amount of injuries you sustained?”

Ethan stared at him in confusion. “What?”

“I have been watching. And don’t forget, one of those was my initiative.”

Without a warning, he grabbed Ethan’s sweater and the t-shirt under it and raised them up to Ethan’s chest. He extended the index finger of his free hand and he touched the place where he’d stabbed him with that metal pole… indeed, barely twelve hours ago.

“Look at it, it’s already scarring.” His voice sounded less amused now; more focused, serious. “It should have taken days to close, weeks to heal. You shouldn’t have been able to walk, let alone run or fight, until it stopped opening and bleeding every time you took a step.”

Ethan shrugged; if he were honest, he hadn’t actually given himself the time to wonder how it all had worked. “What can I say? The healing stuff found around here works wonders,” he said, a bitter tone in his voice.

“What? This junk?” With another move of his fingers, Ethan’s last bottle of healing salve flew from his inner jacket pocket to Heisenberg’s hand, probably manipulated by the metal cap. “Some fucking disinfectant?”

Despite the confusion setting in his mind, Ethan couldn’t ignore the relief at Heisenberg not touching his naked torso anymore. He shook his head. “It’s not- AARGH!” His sentence was cut short by a cry of pain as something stabbed through his finger. Before he even had time to raise his head to see it, a particularly sharp metal piece had pierced through the index finger of his right hand, completely cutting it off. His knees gave out and he slid down the door, his haunches dropping to the ground.

Heisenberg picked up the fallen digit, saying, “See, I was even generous to not remove more fingers from your crippled hand. But you wouldn’t need worry, even if I had. See?”

Ethan whimpered, curling his right hand into a blood-soaked fist as Heisenberg turned the finger so that Ethan could see the inside of it. “What- what am I supposed to see?” he said between gasps of pain.

“The mold, Ethan.”

His throat went dry. “The what?”

Heisenberg leaned down to him and brought the finger even closer. The lights in the room suddenly turned brighter, and in his absolute horror, among the mess of blood, muscle and bone, Ethan could see small, black tendrils across the inside of his finger, moving. His voice shook in a breathy whimper.

“Don’t tell me you think that’s normal,” Heisenberg said. Ethan gasped as the handcuffs moved suddenly; Heisenberg grabbed his right hand, keeping it steady with physical and magnetic force as he brought the finger back to its place.

“Wh- What are you-” Ethan started.

“Patience,” he interrupted.

Ethan swallowed past the lump in his throat. It couldn’t… no, the BSAA had tested him… maybe Heisenberg was toying with him, the way Donna Beneviento had?

“You think it was that liquid you carried around that healed you, right?” He lifted his head, sunglasses moving away from his face through magnetic powers. “I suppose you’ve heard of the placebo effect.”

“No…”

“No, you haven’t, or no, you can’t believe it?” His eyes were boring into him. Whatever Heisenberg was trying to tell him, he was dead serious about it.

“You’re lying. You’re just messing with me.”

“Am I?” Heisenberg shrugged, raising his hands as well.

It was then Ethan realized he had actually let him go. He looked down at his hand; his finger had been perfectly reattached, though with a visible scar around the connection.

“Even if it had been a top-notch surgeon to reattach your finger, under perfect hospital conditions, it would still take weeks for your finger to regain its full mobility, if even that.”

Panting hard, Ethan tested his digit. Though the skin around the scar itched a little, it moved as perfectly as before. He looked up at Heisenberg, who was now smiling wide.

“Wha- why…” Ethan tried.

“Why else do you think Miranda was after you?”

“What? How would Miranda even know about us?”

“Oh, she knows some powerful people.”

Ethan shook his head. “No. Only the BSAA knew where we were living, about our involvement with the Dulvey-” He cut himself off, then looked at Heisenberg, feeling like an idiot. “The BSAA?”

Heisenberg shrugged. “Weren’t they the ones who’d made you feel safe and protected enough to start a family? To have a child? The ones who probably told you you were safe from whatever shit you went through in America?”

“Wh- what shit are you talking about?”

“I stabbed you, for fuck’s sake!”

Despite himself, Ethan shrunk backwards a little.

Heisenberg went on. “The now-dead tall bitch drank your blood, strung you up with hooks from the ceiling, cut off your whole hand! Only now you’re wondering?” He shook his head, amused again. “Talk about denial, Winters. No healthy, living man should be able to reattach limbs just like that.”

“Living?” Ethan said in a weak voice.

“Well… as living as the mold inside you keeps you.”

“No, no, that’s impossible. I stopped Eveline. I killed her.”

Heisenberg smiled. “You know as well as I do that sometimes, a dead man can still kill.”

It was then that it hit him; how Dimitrescu, upon tasting his blood, had said that it tasted “stale”.

His head fell down to his hands again; she’d stabbed him with hooks, her claws, cut off his hand… and there he still was. It would be impossible, unless…

“You’re dead, Ethan Winters,” Heisenberg said.

“You know he’s right.”

Ethan didn’t have to move his head to see who had spoken; he’d had enough nightmares haunted by Eveline’s form, either as a child, old woman, or transformed mold monster, to recognize her voice.

Still, he moved it, to see the girl standing just behind Heisenberg, the same, patronizing smile on her face as always. “Stop lying to yourself already,” Eveline said. “Do you think Zoe had any real idea how to reattach your hand?”

“B-but…” Ethan tried.

“Just like Lucas reattached his cut hand. But Lucas had been alive, when I infected him. You?” She moved instantly right next to him, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Remember, when you first met Jack?”

Could he ever forget? He was welcomed to the family with a punch in the face… and Jack stomping on his head.

“That hit was stronger than Jack had intended. You were already dead when he dragged you back to the house.” Ethan shivered at the sound of a smile in her voice. “When I took you too.”

His hands were trembling; he could already feel tears pool in his eyes, and the first, stupid question to form in his mind was how he was even able to make tears. How… how could he not know? Everything else had been normal, had it not? He experienced everything he had before, hunger, thirst, heat, cold, pain… He bled. He cried.

“How exactly do you think your little Rose would be able to survive what happened to her?” Heisenberg asked.

Ethan snapped instinctively at the sound of his daughter’s name. “What ‘happened’ to her?! Or what you did to her?!”

Heisenberg raised his hands again. “I just stood by and watched. Can’t say I was really bothered to do anything.”

Stood by? He’d seen it– Heisenberg and the other Lords reaching to touch Rose… “You fucking bastard-” Ethan started, cut off by Heisenberg’s hand pressing against his mouth.

“Ah, ah. But don’t you wonder? You think she just happens to be able to crystallize and be brought back unharmed? Don’t you wonder whether she takes after you?”

After him?

His eyes widened. Mia had had the vaccine. He had not. The BSAA had reassured them both the mold hadn’t left any lasting effects on their bodies. But he… Rose…

New tears formed in his eyes, this time starting to run. To his surprise, Heisenberg seemed to show understanding, as he pulled his hand off and stood up, turning his back at him.

Was that what Mia had kept from him? Did she- had she… when… how…?

Was that why Chris had killed her? Did he want to isolate Ethan, and had he feared Mia would protest, and decided she had to get out of the way? If the BSAA had told Miranda… she would get Rose, and they would get him…

It was all because of him. Rose was… infected, because he was. Because he was too stupid, and too worried about Mia instead of himself, to notice that something was wrong with his body, before deciding to bring her into this world.

“Seeing as those old news have shocked you, I will extend my last chance,” Heisenberg said, still turned away from him. “I am going to use Rose’s powers either way, but you can choose to stand by my side and enjoy watching that bitch Miranda dying.”

Within the waves of panic and sorrow, Ethan was nearly surprised to feel rage build back up in his chest. He looked up as Heisenberg turned to face him, and actually spat at his direction. “My ‘fuck you’ still stands.”

Heisenberg shrugged. “I tried.”

Ethan’s shoulders hunched forward as he felt his rage wash off, his previous feelings surfacing again. He didn’t bother watching as Heisenberg moaned and roared, his body fusing itself with steel and iron in yet another horrific body transformation. Ethan had seen enough of those in a day that he couldn’t be bothered to feel shock at it.

The shock at realizing his own condition was enough.

Instead of throwing Ethan in a cell, Heisenberg simply passed a chain around his handcuffs, secured it to his metallic body and forced him to walk beside him and his metal army towards the ceremony site.

It seemed the asshole was still enough of a drama king that he wanted Ethan as an audience to the show of him taking revenge on Miranda.

Not that Ethan minded the idea of Miranda being taken care of. But with Heisenberg transformed into an iron giant, surrounded by hordes of soldats and zombies that for once weren’t trying to kill Ethan, he couldn’t help wondering how the hell he had any chance of saving Rose.

He was still determined to, no matter the potential cost to himself. Though, with him being already dead, what were really the limits?

He had none, he realized. First chance he’d get, he’d grab Rose and run. To where, he didn’t know.

He was nothing but a corpse full of mold. How could he ever raise his daughter properly? With the BSAA coming after him?

He had to. He owed it to Rose to find a way to save her and keep her safe.

~

The village looked nearly unrecognizable now. Trees made of mold had broken out of the ground in various places, ruining any house that hadn’t already been ruined by the lycan attacks. Heisenberg was leading, his tank form flattening any obstacle on the way to the ceremony site.

Ethan’s chest grew heavy; he had no weapons, his hands were literally tied, and he would be surrounded by enemies.

Just let Rose be fine. Just let Rose be fine.

When Heisenberg pushed aside the mold trees isolating the ceremony site from the outside, Ethan stopped listening to what anyone else was saying, though he could hear voices speaking, because she was right there; Rose, in the flesh, fussing and crying, in the arms of that psycho monster.

“Rose!” Ethan screamed and tried to run to her. His body twisted as the chain pulled at his hands, and for once he found himself wishing he could cut off his hand on his own. Mold wrapped around Rose, carrying her behind Miranda, to safety, as Miranda herself transformed. Ethan couldn’t bother turning to see what she looked like.

The fight started. Ethan was being struck by stray swings of swords, drills, and mold branches. Heisenberg and Miranda groaned in effort and pain, as he would try to move to grab Rose and she would move to stop him. And still Ethan pulled at the chains that kept him restrained to the metal tank, out of reach of his daughter.

The first sound that caught Ethan’s attention was the one of gunshots being fired closeby. Three shots found Miranda, and though she cried in pain, she still kept standing and resisting Heisenberg.

And then, with the sound of metal breaking and a bullet ricocheting, the pull at Ethan’s hands disappeared and he was dashing straight ahead. He wasn’t looking, he wasn’t listening, he didn’t even care much to understand what was going on. His hands were still cuffed, but that didn’t stop them from stretching forward as soon as he saw Rose, lain on top of the Giant’s Chalice behind Miranda.

“Rose!” he shouted and ran to her. She was crying softly, small feet fussing under the blanket she was wrapped in. Ethan’s breath shook when he finally reached her. Picking her up with restrained wrists was hard, but he managed to lean her against his left shoulder. A feeling of warmth rushed through his limbs when he felt her hook her tiny hands on his jacket.

She was safe; she was whole, and she was back.

He allowed himself one shaky sigh of relief; and then he was running.

With both hands covering Rose’s head, his shoulders hunched to protect her from stray attacks and gunshots, Ethan bolted towards the exit.

“No!” he heard Miranda’s distinctive wail.

Tendrils of mold sprang out of the ground, wrapping around Ethan’s ankles. He screamed out as he fell, turning to the side so Rose wouldn’t be hurt.

“You will not take her from me!” Miranda cried.

Ethan turned his head to see, terror pulling at his heart as Miranda started stretching her mutated arms towards him, until more shots found her, along with a punch from one of Heisenberg’s chainsaw hands.

The mold retreated from Ethan’s legs to protect Miranda, but then another chainsaw hand appeared right in front of him as he stood up.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Heisenberg’s also distorted voice rang out.

The ground shook as a blinding flash of light erupted, centered on Heisenberg’s form. He screamed out in agony, chainsaw hand twitching wildly. Crouching down, Ethan barely avoided it as it scraped against his right bicep. He clenched his jaw, his throat shaking with a restrained grunt of pain, then ducked away from it and once again, ran off.

He felt hot blood run from the gash down his arm. He was probably bruised in multiple other places, and his right ankle complained at every jolt as he ran down the rocky steps. His vision was starting to go dark, but he chanced one look behind him. He was out of the ceremony site.

And then another flash erupted, along with another pained scream from inside. He saw it clearly now. It was some sort of laser from the sky. He didn’t care to wonder where it had come from, or to decipher the timbre of the voice to understand who had been struck. The gunshots were multiplying now, as were the screams.

A small sound from Rose made Ethan turn to her, carefully moving her so he could see her. She wasn’t crying anymore, her face was calmer. She was still grasping on his jacket, somehow realizing the safety he was providing her.

“Oh, Rose,” he said softly, feeling a lump in his throat again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing through the lump. He didn’t have time for that now. He still had to get out.

He secured Rose back against his shoulder, turned around and kept running.

His knees were shaking when he reached the square where the Giant’s Chalice was first, where the Duke was too, not that long ago. In his panic, Ethan realized he had considered him his only hope of escaping. Did he have any chances now?

“Ethan!”

His blood ran cold as he immediately recognized the voice screaming his name.

It couldn’t be…

He turned to where the sound had come from, where it kept coming as she kept shouting his name. The voice he would recognize anywhere was joined by a face and figure he'd also recognize anywhere, now running towards him.

No. Donna was dead, she couldn’t be still toying with him-

He saw Chris appear behind Mia, a rifle in his arms, and Ethan wanted to scream at her to run away from him.

But his head was dizzy, he could barely keep it up.

Mia was now standing in front of him. One hand was grabbing his free shoulder, the other was frantically rubbing at Rose’s back. She was talking to him. He couldn’t understand a word, but still her voice felt like a soothing balm on his wounded soul, nothing like the fear, guilt and anxiety Donna’s hallucinations had caused him.

When Chris spoke, however, he understood him. Because Chris said “Take the child,” and Ethan couldn’t… he couldn’t let him take her… Not again…

And then his arms were empty. Too empty. As if Rose had been a lifeline keeping him steady and afloat, and now he was about to drift off below, down into darkness and nothingness.

His eyes had already closed.

His head spun and his stomach rolled as his balance shifted; he was being pulled up, leaning on something stiff and warm, his head, arms and legs dangling.

A warm hand touched his cheek.

“Stay with us, Ethan.”

He wanted to call out for her. But his lips felt heavy, heavy as his whole body did.

“I love you. I’m right here. Stay…”

~

“You can’t stay with them! You can’t have a family! You’re a monster, a corpse, made of nothing but mold!”

Eveline laughed. She mocked and she giggled and she laughed.

And he could only stay there, kneeling on the cold ground, looking at the black tendrils of mold spread across his body, even over his clothes.

At least, he had made it. Monster or not, he had saved what mattered the most, his everything.

His daughter.

~

He was lying down on his side. For half a second, instinct was about to kick in to send his hand jolting down to his hip where his gun was.

Or would have been.

But that instinct was immediately taken over by the feeling of familiar fingers brushing through his hair. His head was resting on something warm and soft with a soothing scent.

He opened his eyes.

He saw a row of seats across from him, and he could guess he was lying on a similar set of seats. His hands were still restrained by Heisenberg’s cuffs, making him grunt in frustration.

“Ethan? Baby, can you hear me?”

Mia. Of course. Her scent. He looked down to see his head was lying on her lap. He recognized Mia’s home clothes, the ones she’d been wearing… Fuck, had it been just yesterday? That she’d been shot?

“Ethan?”

He slowly turned his head towards her. She was right there, a worried expression on her face, Rose resting on her shoulder. One hand was holding her, the other was still brushing through his hair, dirty with muck, sweat and blood as it was. Perhaps he ought to tell her, but it just felt so good…

He was struggling to keep up; Mia was alive. Rose was safe. It hadn’t been a dream; he had truly saved her. It hadn’t been a simple, easy-to-ignore nightmare either. The entire day, from watching Mia get shot, to being attacked by lycans and undead monsters, to fighting the Lords, to learning about what he truly was, it had all happened for real.

“Mia…” he managed.

“Oh, thank God.”

“How? C-Chris…”

“It wasn’t her last night,” Chris’ voice rang from the side, as he approached and sat on one of the seats across from them. “It was Miranda.”

“What?”

“She had taken my form, made herself look like me,” Mia said. “She kidnapped me yesterday and pretended to be me, wanting to take Rose too. Chris found out about her plan and tried to kill her.”

“She… she took Rose…”

“Rose is safe now. We all are,” Mia said, touching his also blood-stained cheek. “Thanks to you.”

He looked at Chris. “Why didn’t you just fucking tell me?” he asked, only remembering his promise to himself to not swear in front of Rose after the words were out.

“I should have,” Chris admitted, lowering his head. “But it all happened so fast. As soon as we realized Miranda was in your home, we had to take immediate action. I feared she might have infected you, so we didn’t know if we had the time to explain.” He sighed. He sounded really tired too. “I hadn’t expected her to survive being shot and make her move so soon. I’m sorry.”

“You were the one shooting at them?”

“Miranda and Heisenberg? My team, yeah. They were watching, waiting until you were out of the ceremony site so they could attack without any stops.”

“Where are they now?”

“Blown to bits.”

“Blown?”

“I told him you were sleeping too heavily to hear the explosions,” Mia said. “They blew up the whole village.”

Something pulled at Ethan’s heart – as much of an actual heart as he had now. Everyone in the village had been a victim of Miranda. So many lives, wasted and lost. The few villagers at Luiza’s house, the ones that had turned into lycans, even the Lords. He, the dead outsider, was the one to come out in one piece. Only Rose came out actually alive – or at least he hoped she was, in some form.

Tears prickled his eyes as he looked up at his daughter.

“You want to hold her?” Mia said, recognizing the expression on his face.

He nodded, swallowing hard against that persistent lump in his throat. Chris stood up, offering to help him sit up, but Ethan shook his head. Moving carefully, he managed to sit up on his own. His body still ached, and the longer he was awake, the more places he realized were hurting. It felt like he was all out of the adrenaline that had kept him running all day, and now the effect of everything he'd gone through was becoming more apparent.

Chris was holding a set of bolt cutters. “Let me see if I can take those out.”

Ethan turned his head towards Mia and Rose, not wanting to look at those fucking cuffs anymore. He didn’t realize tears were streaming down his face until Mia reached to wipe them away.

With a definite clank the handcuffs broke loose, and Ethan flexed his wrists around as his arms reached out for Rose. Mia handed her over.

Rose was awake. She looked up at him and smiled, hands reaching up to touch his face.

A sob escaped him. “You’re here,” he whispered. He kissed her forehead, then brought her even closer to him, nearly squeezing her against his chest.

His body started shaking with sobs. He felt Mia’s hand tentatively touch his back, and he turned towards her to lean his head against her shoulder. Mia’s hand didn’t move.

“Hold me,” he whispered, voice breaking.

He heard Mia’s shaky sigh as she wrapped her arms around him. Through his current outburst of piled-up emotions, he was somehow recognizing the irony, of a baby being calm and smiling with her parents being the ones crying.

Biting his trembling lips, he tried to focus on the sensations he’d believed he’d never feel again; Mia’s fingers in his hair, her lips on his temple, her warm breath landing on his skin.

She was never dead. He hadn’t even given himself proper time to mourn her, but he’d missed her enough for those sensations to start calming him down a little now.

His sobs were slowing down; he was still leaning his head against her shoulder, but he finally took a quick look around. He was just realizing they were in some sort of a plane. He could see the pitch black darkness outside the window, and all he could think was how everything had happened in barely a day. It had just been yesterday that he’d been home, putting Rose to bed, with fucking Miranda having invaded their house…

“Are you okay? Where were you?” Ethan asked, his voice just a little steadier.

“Miranda took me yesterday. She kept me in an underground cell in the village.”

“You were there?” He raised his head to look at her.

Tear tracks were on her cheeks too, and he secured Rose on his chest to wipe them away, feeling stupidly guilty at his fingers smearing dirt on her. But she didn’t seem to care, as she retrieved her hand to hold his.

“You were in the village, the whole time, as I was…” His voice trailed off.

“As you were rescuing our daughter.”

He shook his head, dropping his gaze. “I was only a pawn to Miranda’s experiments. I wasn’t given any choice in the matter.”

“You chose to save her. You chose to fight for her.”

A choice that had led to so much being revealed. Too much. “Mia… I…” He looked up at her; he hadn’t blamed her for keeping that secret, and it was then he realized how terrified she must’ve been of it breaking their family apart. He was as scared to admit it now as she must have been ever since she realized it herself. “You knew. About what… I am. Didn’t you?”

Her eyes widened, filling with new tears. He saw his own fear reflected on her face. However, she closed her eyes, sighed, then opened them to stare on her lap as she took her hand away, guilt clear on her face. “I did. I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you.”

“I know.”

“I should have told you…”

“I’m not sure it would have changed anything.”

She looked up at him. “What?”

“I think the BSAA had something to do with all of this. How else could Miranda have known about Rose?”

Mia’s face fell even more. “She knew about me.”

“What? How?”

“She was involved in the E-series project. I only saw her once, didn’t even speak to her, but she probably found out what the outcome of that project was.”

His head spun again. He didn’t care to hear more about that project. Knowing wouldn’t have helped him, either way. “Then the BSAA must be compromised. They wouldn’t have helped us. And I wouldn’t have acted differently myself, had I known.”

“Why-” Mia started, almost upset, then collected herself. She hunched her shoulders, dropping her gaze again. “Aren’t you mad?”

His only reaction was to breathe out a laugh. “Waiting for the other shoe to drop, aren’t you?”

“More like waiting for the storm to hit.”

“You were afraid. Of how it could break us apart.” He looked away. “Just like I am now.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her turn to look at him. “Ethan…”

He looked down at Rose in his arms, already sleeping by now. “You didn’t… you didn’t know before we…”

“No, of course not.” She sounded almost shocked. “It was during the pregnancy that I started suspecting, and when she was born I was almost certain. I was in denial for some time myself. I’m sorry.”

“Mia…” He looked at her. “How… how did you stay?”

“What?”

“I’m dead.” He let out a shaky breath. He didn’t know if he would ever voice those words without feeling how heavy they weighed. “I’m no different than the monsters in the Baker house. Even the Bakers were probably better off than me.”

“No, Ethan, what are you talking about?” She touched his arm in a gentle grip. “Do you realize what you just did? You went in there, you fought, you saved our daughter. Do you have any idea how quickly, and how intensely, Jack Baker, or Marguerite, or Lucas, started to want to kill Zoe? And the monsters didn’t even have a consciousness…” She started brushing her fingers through his hair again. “It’s different. You’re still you, baby.”

“But what if that changes? What if I lose control?” He looked down at Rose, once again terrified at just how vulnerable she was, her mold status notwithstanding. “What if Rose…”

“We can deal with that, okay? Look at me.”

He did.

“I stayed because I saw you. I know you. And I love you. I was never worried you might lose control, I was just scared you would feel you don’t belong with us anymore, if you knew.”

“How... how can I belong? How can you want me with you?”

She smiled. “Who the hell else am I gonna choose?”

Hearing his own words thrown back at him was so jarring he found himself laughing out loud. New tears were forming in his eyes, and when Mia leaned forward to rest her forehead against his, he didn’t feel as dirty or unworthy as before.

“We can work with it, okay?”

He sighed, but then nodded.

“For now let’s just take a breath.”

He nodded again. Waves of guilt spread through his chest when she closed her eyes and kissed his lips. But that feeling of holding her close, of feeling she was really there, after he had spent a day – that had felt like an eternity – thinking she was dead, fearing for their daughter’s life, was enough to turn them into small ripples. Easy to manage, easy to wade through.

He had really had a long day. With Mia holding him close, and with Rose’s reassuring weight and warmth against his chest, he couldn’t help feeling that, finally, he deserved a break.

He was still terrified. But this was the first moment he could allow himself to not feel that, to let himself feel something better, lighter.

And he’d be a damn idiot if he didn’t take the chance.

[bookaddict24-7]

REVIEWS OF THE WEEK!

Books I’ve read so far in 2022!

Friend me on Goodreads here to follow my more up to date reading journey for the year!

___

67. Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

This was such a beautiful and heartbreaking exploration of grief and the complex relationships that can sometimes exist between a mother and a daughter. I really appreciated, also, how Zauner talked about her identity and how confusing it could be when you're biracial--especially when faced with people who are adamant in their attempts to make you feel lesser than just because you don't fit what they see as a proper member of their culture. The weaving in of food into the memoir was lovely and perfect since food can be a wonderful connector. It made me both hungry and curious because I want to try everything Zauner told us about. I can't dive too much into the grief because when I think about the day that I have to grieve my mother, my heart stutters. I think seeing that their relationship was so complicated made it even more heartbreaking because their time together coming to terms with and loving their differences was so short. I super recommend this one! Such an incredible read...bring tissues.

___

68. Blood on the Tracks Vol. 6 by Shūzō Oshimi--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

If there’s something I’ve learned about this series, it’s that I need to stop thinking I know where it’s going. It’s such an uncomfortable and eerie series that I find myself recoiling from certain pages. The author is a genius when it comes to setting up incredibly disturbing imagery. Also, madness spreads, it seems.

___

69. Blood on the Tracks Vol. 7 by Shūzō Oshimi--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I’m not going to lie, I think this one made me the most uncomfortable of all the volumes in this series. Watching the MC cross over into a mindset that shows his slipping grip on reality was both sad and frustrating. Also, there’s a particularly disturbing image that made me pause and say, “nope nope nope”. Sigh. I believe the next volume is out for delivery today, so I’ll probably read it tonight.

___

70. Blood on the Tracks Vol. 8 by Shūzō Oshimi--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I'm interested to see how the next few volumes going, seeing as how completely into madness the poor MC has fallen because of his mother. It's interesting though because it's also making me think that what he is experiencing is something she experienced when she was younger and she is just passing that trauma off to him. Either way, this was a wild volume. The artwork definitely helped in bringing home that disturbing image of abuse and madness that has been building up since volume one.

___

71. A Good Day For Chardonnay by Darynda Jones--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Look, it might be pretty obvious to others, but I am not convinced that Sunshine is not Charlie. There are just so many clues here!!! The town, the descriptions, PEANUT (IF YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW). I need the next book in this series right now, please. I love the humour, the spice was SPICY, and the mysteries were fun and dangerous. I also love the character growth in some of these characters, and I'll always love the connection between Sunshine and her daughter--it's very Gilmore Girls. Can't wait until the Winter when book three comes out 😭

___

72. The Woods Are Always Watching by Stephanie Perkins--⭐️⭐️⭐️ I am a fan of this author's horror books because they're simple and fun to read or listen to. I think this was just an entertaining listening experience while working an overnight shift. It wasn't entirely memorable, but I can definitely see this one also being turned into a campy horror film. I think there definitely should have been a bit more of a conclusion to this story (add maybe one hundred more pages or so), and maybe a discussion of their huge argument before their worlds went to hell. I also think some of the things that happened were a bit impossible (how many things can a human body take before it bleeds out?) But honestly, there were some gross and creepy things about this that just screamed "made for TV horror film" and I couldn't help but enjoy this for what it was. Was it thought-provoking? No. Will this make my favourites of the year list? Also no, but if you're looking for a fun and creepy read to pass the time with, this wouldn't be a bad choice. I for one can't wait to see what other horrors this author writes for us!

___

Have you read any of these? Would you recommend them?

___

Happy reading!

[kim-miri]

HALF(have a little fun) pt. ii

read part one here!

→ Sayomi Zoldyck is the eldest child and twin sister to Illumi, of the renowned Zoldyck family of assassins. At the age of ten she’s taken away to Meteor City by her mother, Kikyo Zoldyck, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, as well as newborn Killua, and left to fend for herself. This is the story of the long-lost Zoldyck and those she becomes acquainted with, all while she just wants to have a little fun.

» part two / ?

» pairing: eventually - chrollo x oc x feat. hisoka

» warnings: drugs, blood/violence

» a/n: helloo~ this is my first write ever, and it’ll probably be a pretty long series. I’m also balancing school and a part-time job so forgive me for slow updates! If you’re reading this, thank you so much for showing interest and please leave comments below with your inputs!

» word count: 2,506

☾ ii.

Name: Sayomi Zoldyck 小夜美 | "小" is small | "夜" is night | "美" is beauty |

Hair color: White

Eye Color: Purple

Nen: Manipulator (same exact abilities as Illumi)

Abilities: Same as Illumi Zoldyck - Body Alteration, Hypnotic Spell, Corpse Control, Needle People, Katana

☾ ii. part ii: a backstory(2/2)

In front of Illumi and Kikyo, Sayomi laid unconscious, bleeding through the cloth bandages from the torture she had received the other day, as well as her new wounds from the fight.

Despite her daughter’s current state, Kikyo was dissatisfied with the fight, now yelling at Illumi for going easy on his sister. She hadn’t realized that Sayomi had never even attempted to strike back against Illumi.

She was blinded by her hate and disgust towards her daughter, not even aware of what she was complaining about anymore. “You should have been harsher on her! She deserves nothing but pain for disgracing our family!”

Illumi’s eyes wavered at the sight of Sayomi crumpled on the grass in front of him. He felt sick to his stomach.

His mother’s words were nothing but empty shells to him, but the smallest amount of guilt struck his heart as he turned away from his sister to face his hysterical mother.

Now facing Kikyo, Illumi’s eyes seemed to darken and narrow with each insult that came out of his mother’s mouth. His right hand twisted and bundled the fabric of his training pants, materializing into a trembling, pale fist.

And though he wanted to express the pent up anger trapped within himself, he didn’t, as he knew it would only make things worse for Sayomi.

Instead, he chose to stand his ground without a word, only staring forward with a vacant gaze towards his mother.

Kikyo was about done screaming at her now two broken twins, and she clenched her jaw tight as she made her way to her fallen daughter, nails outstretched.

She was going to get rid of her insolent daughter. 

Now having seen that Illumi was stronger than Sayomi, Kikyo saw no point in her daughter continuing on to disgrace the family name. 

Her hand shot down to close around Sayomi’s neck, only to be stopped with a piercing shriek that she then recognized as her own. 

Illumi had stepped between his mother and sister, shooting a hand out to stop his mother from harming Sayomi any further.

Unable to control the anger that was mixed in with his urgency to stop his mother, he had gripped too hard and snapped his mother’s wrist. There was a sickening crack as Kikyo cried out and hurriedly stepped away from the twins.

“ILLUMI! MY WRIST!” Kikyo stared at her son in horror, teeth grinding together as her wrist went limp by her side.

However, Illumi had already started off in the other direction, leaving his sister and mother behind as he made his way back to his room. 

☾ ii.

Normally bright, vibrant violet eyes were hidden behind a set of full lashes and eyelids that seemed to be too heavy to budge. Sayomi wasn’t in the infirmary or her room, however.

The arrhythmic sound of a rumbling engine and tires rolling over uneven cement surrounded Sayomi in a barely conscious state.

Kikyo sat still in the back seat of one of the slick black cars owned by the Zoldycks. Her wrist remained limp on her lap, going unnoticed as she continued to stare ahead at the road in front of her.

On her left was a drained version of her daughter, still recovering from her unconsciousness and unable to open her eyes. The car was silent, eerily silent, as the butler drove on without a word.

The Zoldyck estate was now far behind them, as hills and abandoned lots passed with a blur moving on to unknown lands.

Three hours in, Sayomi’s eyelids lifted with much difficulty, as she struggled to keep them open. Her cheek rested on the smooth leather of the car door, her forehead pressing into the cool glass of the window. 

Everything around her seemed hazy, but she was able to squint hard enough to see her own dishevelled reflection in the window, as well as the unfamiliar scenery that continued to pass by.

Focusing harder on the reflection in the window, Sayomi was able to spot her mother sitting beside her. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she moved to lift her head off of the car door. 

Upon Sayomi’s movement, Kikyo turned to look at her daughter with distaste evident in her expression. “Good morning to you, Sayomi dear”.

Sayomi only acknowledged her mother’s words with a grunt, too exhausted to think or speak.

With a lack of urgency, Kikyo moved to retrieve something from the holder beside her, a glass bottle that seemed to contain water. Unscrewing the lid nonchalantly, she handed the bottle to the faint girl beside her. “Drink up dear, you must be exhausted.”

Although in the back of her mind, Sayomi questioned the sudden hospitality of her mother, she was much too fatigued to give the offer a second thought as she reached out for the bottle.

With a shaky hand, Sayomi accepted the drink with a soft “thank you”, taking a swig of the liquid without hesitation.

The drugs Kikyo had mixed into the water were odorless and flavorless, but Sayomi had endured countless forms of harmful substances and immediately sensed something was off. 

Noting the small cringe evident in her daughter’s face, Kikyo made quick work of pinching Sayomi’s nose closed, forcing her to choke and swallow the drugs.

Sayomi gasped for air as she dropped the bottle in her hand, the contents spilling over the floormats beneath her feet. 

She whipped her head to see her mother smiling contently, and started to speak when the lights went out for Sayomi for the second time that day.

☾ ii.

Kikyo was cruel. And without her husband or father in law there to stop her, she was unhinged and acted out against her daughter full of spite and pure hatred.

Ever since Sayomi was born, the attention of all the elders and family acquaintances shifted from the new woman of the Zoldyck family- Kikyo, to the bright bundle of joy- Sayomi, who displayed Silva’s features on her face like a mirror.

She was jealous of her own daughter, recalling all she had to go through to be accepted by the Zoldyck family herself, while Sayomi seemed to fit right into their legacy without having to even lift a finger.

The driver was well aware of their destination and felt like he was making the wrong decision by going through with Kikyo’s plans. But he knew the consequences of disobeying his employer and continued towards Meteor City, his two hands gripping tight on the wheel.

☾ ii.

Many different modes of transportation later, and the three arrived at Meteor City, their fancy clothes and car proving they didn’t belong in the waste that seemed to pile on infinitely.

 Kikyo made no movements from her seat in the car, only gesturing with a single pale finger towards the butler. “Leave her here, please.”

The butler nodded and reached over to the passenger seat in order to retrieve something before moving to lift Sayomi out of her seat. 

Sayomi was carried off to a somewhat clearer spot amidst the dump, her luminous white hair waving in the breeze as the butler left her leaning against what made out to be the rusty remnants of a fridge. 

He held between his arm and side the katana Kikyo had brought with them. Placing it at Sayomi’s feet with a sigh, he bowed to the 10 year old still deep in sleep and wished her well.

Silently, the butler turned away from Sayomi and made his way back to the car, trudging through the waste and broken fragments of millions of lost items.

As he started the car to return back to the Zoldyck estate, the butler’s mind repeated a verse he had once heard through the many jobs he experienced.

It was the Meteor City motto: “We’ll accept anything you leave here, but don’t ever take anything away from us.” 

The citizens of Meteor City were said to have a bond thinner than water and thicker than blood… How would Sayomi fit into this broken down community?

He wasn’t sure she could.

☾ ii.

Back at the Zoldyck mansion, Kikyo was met with the sight of about 50 butlers rolling on the floor in agony, needles sticking out from their faces and necks.

In front of the gate stood Illumi, his black eyes full of rage once again as he approached his mother. “I know what you’ve done, mother. The butlers gave me more than enough information.”

Kikyo only smiled at her son, unwavering at the mass amount of butlers he had taken down. “Good then, dear. I hope you’ve learned something from the consequences of your sister’s decisions.”

With that, she continued on past the devastated twin and into the mansion. 

Illumi stood his ground, watching his mother leave him without any remorse for his other half, his twin. 

A single tear slipped out from one of his eyes, running down his pale cheek to drip off of his jaw. 

He would find Sayomi, no matter what. Even if he couldn’t right this moment, he would wait and save her when the time was right.

You’ll be alright Sayomi. 

We’ve been through worse.

☾ ii.

Zeno and Silva returned from their mission late the next day. Just stepping towards the gate, both could feel the heavy atmosphere around them, in addition to seeing the sheer number of butlers with patched up faces.

Meeting each other’s eyes for a split second, the two assassins heaved out heavy sighs as they pushed through the great front gate with ease. 

Their walk towards the mansion was quiet for the most part, the only sounds interrupting the silence being the faint chirp of crickets and an occasional bullfrog in the distance. 

It wasn’t the first or last time there would be trouble at the Zoldyck mansion.

On occasion, there would be a fairly successful band of intruders that would deflate the mood at the estate, or one of Kikyo’s tantrums that led to the injuries of many of the unfortunate butlers that happened to cross paths with her.

Judging by the large number of butlers injured this time around, the two placed their bets on a fairly successful invasion.

Making their way through the doors of the mansion at last, Zeno and Silva sought out Kikyo to find out just what had occurred in their absence. 

However, before they even made it halfway to Kikyo’s chambers, Illumi came running towards them, a rare occurrence for the usually inexpressive boy.

His long, black hair was the tiniest bit mussed and his round eyes were wider than usual. 

Without pausing to catch his breath, Illumi broke the news to the two elders. “Father, grandfather. Sayomi is gone.”

Perplexed and bewildered at the sudden turn of events, Zeno and Silva sputtered out sounds of confusion as they pressed Illumi to explain in more detail. 

“Mother…-mother made us fight and then… she left Sayomi at Meteor City!”

Silva’s mouth dropped open in clear astonishment, pushing past Illumi to find his wife. There was no way he would leave his only daughter to fend for herself in Meteor City. 

His pace quickened as he turned the corner, heading straight for Kikyo’s room with a hard-set jaw and rage evident in his expression.

Confronting his wife with a booming voice, Silva demanded the reason behind Kikyo’s actions. “Kikyo. How can you make such hasty decisions without stopping to think first?”

Silva was furious, but with the watching eyes around him, he maintained his composure as the butlers were dismissed from Kikyo’s side. 

Kikyo spoke without a care, only adding to the growing aggravation of her husband. “Ah, welcome back dear... Sayomi’s insolent behavior was in need of strict discipline, and so she will remain in Meteor City until she is able to find her own way back.” 

Sliding a hand down his face in exasperation, Silva groaned at Kikyo’s antics. “Kikyo. Do you even realize what you’ve done to our only daughter?” 

Kikyo smirked in response and opened her mouth to speak only to be cut off by Silva’s voice. 

“There’s no turning back in Meteor City! Sayomi has most likely already been claimed by their rotten community and she’ll most likely be sold off with an aura that strong!”

As Silva took a seat, dizzy from the pure outrageousness of the situation, Kikyo opened her mouth once again.

“Dear. Did you forget that I was once a citizen of that rotten community? This is for her own good, and when our daughter returns, she will be even stronger than any training we could possibly give her. Think about the future of our family, she will be fit to inherit the family business!”

Silva raised his head at this.

It was true he had been mulling over which of his children could be fit to inherit his position. Millions of thoughts ran wild through his mind. He knew it would be nearly impossible to find and retrieve Sayomi at this point, and perhaps she would benefit from the experience. 

If she doesn’t return within two years time, we can always rescue her. No, but will she survive until then? Of course she will. She’s my daughter after all. 

Without even realizing it, Silva had effectively been persuaded into leaving his daughter at the city of ruins. 

There really was no turning back now.

☾ ii.

From the moment Illumi saw his father return with a conflicted expression spanning over his face, he could sense the outcome of his parents’ argument.

Sayomi was trapped in Meteor City.

When Silva officially broke the news to his father and Illumi, the 10 year old took off in a sprint, locking himself in his room.

Illumi was drowning. Too far deep in his own despair. 

His sister’s giddy smile flashed through his mind, her bright violet eyes seeming to burn through his own. 

He had never felt more helpless or weak than this moment. 

As he folded into himself, forming a barricade of arms and legs from everything around him, tears streamed down his face as the absence of his twin burned a gaping hole into his heart. 

☾ ii.

Illumi was never the same after that day.

His emotionless state was reduced even further into a mere skeleton of himself as he mourned his missing half.

Every day was the same exact routine. 

He would wake up with the hopes that everything had just been a bad dream, and that Sayomi would be stumbling her way outside to race him to the training yard.

And every day he would have to come to terms with the reality that Sayomi was indeed gone. 

He put all his focus into training as a way to cope with the situation, pushing himself to new limits each time. 

He obeyed his mother’s every command, killed in cold-blood, and when offered jobs, went through with them without fail.

Illumi’s soul was fading, yet despite the loss in expression, his power continued to reach new heights. 

Now he was nothing more than a machine, a weapon wielded by his parents that brought them fortunes.

☾ ii.

to be continued.

[bagelbright-tok]

Reflection

Jotaro (3) x Fem!Reader

[FINISHED FIC]

Warning(s): Violence, descriptions of life threatening injuries, descriptions of blood, life threatening experience, trauma, descriptions of pure anguish, five stages of grief, depression, angst, poor writing, I did not double-check or reread anything.

Word Count: 1946

__

I’m Sorry.

__

It'd already been several hours since Polnareff burst out of the bathroom, panicking about an enemy attack. The enemy being the man with two right hands. The man who had slaughtered Polnareff's sister. It was understandable that he wanted to go off on his own to hunt down the monster, but it wasn't smart.

Not smart at all. In the hotel, in Jotaro's and your shared room, you expressed your worry.

"I'm so nervous. I've never been so full of anxiety." You say quietly, plopping on the bed. "I'm sure he can fend for himself, but not even he knew what the enemy's ability is."

"You need to stop worrying. It's his problem. He's the one who decided to go off on his own." Jotaro said calmly, in his usual monotone voice. He removed his hat, placing it on the nightstand. "He even said when we met him that he was coming with us to get revenge for his sister."

You sigh, finally laying down on the edge of the bed, "You're right. I guess I just get attached too quick," You admit with defeat, "I'll miss him. He was like the… the comedy break in this depressing trip."

"Hm." Jotaro agreed, removing his jacket and setting it wherever he could.

Jotaro got in bed and finally you decided to place yourself in a more comfortable position on said bed. 

____ You'd been dating Jotaro for about two years now. You've had your Stand, Knight's Cups, since you had been born. It was more of a defensive than offensive, but could do damage if used correctly.

Knight's Cups could create barriers. These barriers were usually cloudy but mostly clear. You could create as many as you wanted, but the more you created the more energy you used. The same applied to size. You could make a barrier around the entirety of the world, but that would kill you before you were a quarters way done. You tend to stick to singular barriers to protect yourself or singular barriers around the enemy to capture them in a way. In some cases, you could shrink the barrier with someone inside. This would obviously crush them to death. You had no limit as to how small you could make your barriers. As with most Stands, there was the downside. Your Stand was the barrier. If the barriers were actually penetrated or cracked, it would seriously harm you.

___

The next day, likely around lunch time. You, Jotaro, Joseph, Kakyoin, and Avdol were all sitting around the table, an extra seat bothering every single one of you. It was empty. It shouldn't be an extra seat. It should be occupied by the silver haired Frenchman. Avdol was most bothered by it. It was obvious in his silence and disturbed facial expressions.

Eventually, Avdol stood, "Excuse me, I need some air." He casually left the table and went outside.

After five minutes, you spoke, "He didn't just go out to get some air, did he?" You look up and around the table.

They all shook their heads. The somber mood turned tense as everyone stood up at once and rushed out of the building. Without another word spoken, everyone split up. Jotaro went one way, Joseph went another, Kakyoin took a different route, and you went running where your gut told you to go. Eventually, you felt relieved to see Avdol's familiar red robes in the distance. You caught up with him, and became happier when you saw him tackle Polnareff. Concern quickly took over though when you saw a bullet fly by, nearly missing Polnareff.

You jumped in front of them, using Knight's Cup to create a barrier just to cover you, Avdol, and Polnareff. A bang rang out, and you felt a small throbbing pain in your stomach. It felt like someone grabbed a piece of your skin and ripped it out. But nothing had actually hit you. You focus on the cloudy figure in front of you. A cowboy with a gun. He shot at your barrier, which really did nothing but pain you.

"Does this guy even have a Stand? He's shooting a gun-" You were confused until Polnareff interrupted,

"That is his Stand!" Polnareff got up and dusted himself off.

Avdol did the same. "Lower the barrier, [Y/N]. All three of us can take him on." Avdol began to summon his Stand.

Polnareff already had Silver Chariot out. You nod, and as you were about to remove the barrier, you felt a great pain in your backside. It was different than having your barrier hit. Something was physically stabbing your backside. You groaned as your body reacted by arching. Your barrier went down.

"[Y/N]!" Both Avdol and Polnareff yelled at once. They tried to rush to you, but another bang rang out.

Everyone was caught off guard. Avdol was shot in the head. He collapsed in front of Polnareff and beside you. You tried to remain standing as the sharp object within you was removed.

"Avdol!" Polnareff yelled out, now focusing his attention on Avdol. 

You tried to attack the cowboy with a barrier, but a bullet can move faster than you. You felt the horrendous pain of a bullet entering your chest and nearly piercing your heart. The blood spilling from your back had already soaked you in its warmth. It only got warmer when your chest began to bleed as well. You couldn't stay up anymore. You fell backward, now spilling blood in the dry sand of Calcutta. The sand easily soaked it all up.

"No! [Y/N]!" Polnareff was now knelt between you and Avdol.

"Polnareff! Avdol! [Y/N]!" Kakyoin had come running. Everything happened so fast. 

Kakyoin had arrived just as Avdol and you were shot. He could do nothing. Neither could Polnareff. In just one minute, two people had died. At least, that is what was believed.

__

You couldn't protect Avdol, you only hoped for the best. But you knew you couldn't beat a bullet. Your barrier had gone down and so when you saw where Hol Horse was aiming, you put a half barrier over your heart. You couldn't protect whatever damage Hanged Man had done. If you'd known Avdol was going to get shot at, you would have put a barrier around him.

Right now, your only chance of survival was not bleeding out. Unfortunately, Polnareff and Kakyoin didn’t realize you were still alive. They ended up driving off, away from Hol Horse but being chased by J. Geil. Little had you known, you would be rotting next to Avdol’s dead corpse. Soon, hope for survival diminished. You were slowly slipping. You didn’t know how you lasted as long as you did. As things began to fuzz between reality and the great beyond, you heard the commotion of people surround you and Avdol. You could hear Joseph and Jotaro speaking.

“A-Avdol..? [Y-Y/N]..?” It was a shell shock for the old man. He groaned in distress as he looked at his friends’ dead bodies.

Jotaro was most upset. He was staring right at his girlfriend’s corpse. Blood spilled from your back and your chest. He staggered.

“J-Jotaro… You shouldn’t have to see her like this..” Joseph looked over at his grandson with pity and sorrow.

“[Y/N].” Jotaro’s usual tone was dry, almost cracking under the wave of emotions that crashed into him, toppling his strong form.

The teen’s eyes were wide, full of horror, shock, and pure sadness. She couldn’t be dead. They were just eating an hour ago. She wasn’t dead. Jotaro took a step forward, falling to his knees in front of her lifeless body. Who had done this? If he were to find out, he’d give them Hell, and then some. He gritted his teeth. Why did this have to happen? To him? To her? To [Y/N]? Couldn’t he do something? Anything?! He had one of the most powerful Stands and yet all he could do was remain still and allow the depression to roll in. How could he further this journey to save a woman he loved when he would lose another lady he loved? How would he cope? He would just have to. Do what he did best. Bottle up his emotions.

But- there was something. Something his Stand’s hearing could pick up. He was shocked now. Less negative, more positively. Was it shallow breathing? A very faint heartbeat? Yes.

“Jotaro-” Joseph tried to comfort the teen, but Jotaro wasn’t having it.

“Shut it, old man.” Jotaro swung his hand up to Joseph, signaling for him to shut up. “I hear something.”

“Jotaro, I know it can be hard, I have experienced this before, but-”

“Shut up!” Jotaro yelled, “I think- I think [Y/N]’s alive.”

“What? Jotaro are you sure?” Joseph was shocked, but was doubtful. It could be denial, or perhaps Jotaro finally lost his marbles.

“Yes. I can hear her.” Jotaro quickly responded, shuffling back to his feet and scrambling to you. “[Y/N]. [Y/N]!” He took hold of your limp form and began to shake you a bit, slightly waking you.

You groaned out of reaction to the sudden movement. You still remained relatively unconscious. Jotaro was suddenly relieved. He sighed, almost chuckling out of happiness.

“A-- Avdo-l…” You slur out, barely able to really think.

“Is Avdol alive too?” Joseph was curious as he went over to his friend’s body.

Jotaro could only hear your life. Avdol was dead. Jotaro shook his head, relieved his love was alive, but sad his friend was dead. Right then and there, they had to figure out what to do. As immoral as it may be, you alive was more important than their already dead friend. But, they agreed that Jotaro would take you to treat your wounds while Joseph would bear the burden of having to give his fallen friend a shotty funeral.

***

You would awaken, alive, not necessarily well, but alive. You quickly shot up from your laid down position, immediately regretting it as pain soared from your back to your entire body. You suck on your teeth and groan, instantly falling back down onto the ground you were laying on. Jotaro was there, waiting for you to return to the world. The black haired teen quickly ran to your side, making sure you were okay.

“Are you okay? What happened?” He began to question you, still worried.

“I- Ugh- I’m fine, Jojo. Polnareff got attacked, me and Avdol-” At the mention of his name, you turned your head around to see if he was also there, “Where is Avdol? Is he okay? He got shot. Jotaro, Avdol got shot! Is he-!?” You began to panic quickly, almost breaking into a sob just remembering the scene.

Jotaro’s shaking of his head interrupted you. It left you speechless. A singular silent gesture left you gasping for words. You moved back to sitting up. You grabbed Jotaro and pulled him into a hug. Jotaro was surprised and fell into it, unsure of how to react. You grabbed at his back, getting a grip into his black jacket, basically clawing into his backside. You choked on the sobs that hiked through your throat. For a moment, Jotaro just let you break into him. Though the edgy teen did realize that maybe hugging back would be good. Cautiously and slowly, he wrapped his arms around you, hugging you back for comfort. He didn’t apply too much pressure due to the stab wound on your back and the small bullet wound in your chest.

Jotaro could really only utter two words for you; “I’m sorry.”

___

E N D

[sincerelybubbles]

Healing || Izuku Midoriya

pairing: izuku x fem!reader

warnings: blood, minor character death (not reader or izuku, i promise), minor injury, resolved angst, hurt/comfort

wc: 2.3k

Izuku Midoriya was lost. Rarely was he unable to think of at least a few solutions to a problem given to him, especially since the start of his hero career. He had graduated top of his class, ran his own agency, defeated too many villains to count (okay, he’s lying, in the past month he had wracked in one-hundred and fifty-two villains, but it sounded cooler to say he didn’t know). But that was beside the point. He was the number one hero. The hero with a plan, who fulfilled All Might’s legacy with a smile on his face, so why was he faltering now? Why was he uncertain, with hands shaking, unable to move?

“Deku!?” A frantic voice sounded in his head, causing his head to snap up. She was in his head, meaning she wasn’t using her quirk to fight – he knew the limit to her powers, and with how long they’d been fighting, she’d only be able to do one thing at once. He was distracting her, making her focus on telepathy rather then telekinesis to defend herself, or even her teleportation to hide.

And yet. . . he couldn’t find it within himself to answer, to jump into action, to save the day like he should be doing right now. Instead, he caught a glance at his sidekick jumping across his field of vision and tackling the villain in front of him.

Izuku forces himself to look away as she captures villain after villain, instead focusing in the person in his arms, not breathing. This wasn’t his first loss, he experienced that early-on in his career. But this was the first person to die in his arms, and he couldn’t push past that.

He sat there for what felt like hours, listening to the sound of people fighting about him and instead focused on the man in his arms. He had dark hair, almost black, but Izuku could see some brown in the low light. His eyes were open, staring at him without any life in them. He had one freckle on his nose, and one freckle just under his left eye. His lips were thin and slightly separated. There was blood on his cheek.

“Deku?” Her voice was external now, and directly by him. Something in him registered that the sounds of combat were over. He should stand up, strengthen himself, prepare for the press that would soon come. It was pure luck that they hadn’t been here in the battle, surely, they would arrive soon.

A hand reached forward and Izuku tensed, holding the man tighter in his arms to protect him, despite the fact that he was obviously a corpse. Izuku flinched, realizing he didn’t even know the man’s name.

The hand slowly moved and covered the man’s eyes, shutting them before moving to rest on Izuku’s cheek. Gently, the hand lifted his chin and he was face-to-face with her.

Her eyes poured concern, dripping with care.

Izuku was startled to feel the tell-tale wetness on his own cheeks. It had been years since he cried in battle, usually waiting until he came home to collapse in bed or her embrace and released the tensions that come with constant fighting and the entirety of Japan resting on his shoulders.

“They need to take him home.” She whispered, eyes bouncing around his face. “You’re hurt.”

If he could have, Izuku would have laughed. Her other arm was obviously swollen and hanging at her side. Her costume was torn, and her nose was bleeding – a sign that she once again pushed herself past her limit, ignoring the warnings and threats Izuku constantly gave her. He knew first-hand how damaging it is to push yourself too far.

After a moment of looking at her, he nodded and allowed the clean-up crew to take the mans body.

She stood and offered him her hand. He took it despite knowing he could stand on his own. He held her hand tightly in his, starting to walk.

“We should help with clean-up.” She protested but didn’t resist his pulling. He was silent for a moment before turning back to look at her, pleading through his eyes. “Okay. Home?” He nodded, her words lighting a fire in his chest.

If he didn’t leave soon, he would be stuck sobbing in the middle of this abandoned building and the press would see. He had dealt with enough grief in his time for crying, being called a “cry baby” constantly by the press during his start up.

He had grown up; he should be past this. He shouldn’t be crying so easily over a loss anymore.

“it will be okay; I’ll get medical help.” Izuku helped the man out from under the rubble.

“My legs.” The man wasn’t crying, but he was clutching to Izuku, fear shaking his voice.

“I will make sure you’re okay.” Izuku noted the man’s obviously broken legs and lifted him up, scanning his surroundings.

Izuku shook his head, focusing on making his way home with her in tow, using the back streets to avoid press.

She didn’t talk, holding his hand tightly in her own, squeezing every so often. He appreciated her silence, knowing that if she tried to console him it would do no help.

He let her unlock the door, ushering him inside. Izuku watched as she took of her shoes with blind eyes, taking nothing in. He barely registered that he was removing his own boots and hero costume, not fully aware of his own motions.

Before he could even pull a shirt over his head, she was pushing him into the bathroom with her good arm, and it was then that Izuku snapped back into reality.

“Your arm.” His voice was hoarse, broken. She barely spared him a glance over her shoulder as she prepared the shower.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, I’ll wrap it up later.” He watched her with concerned eyes until she forced him into the shower and under the spray of the water. He hissed as the warmth seeped over his shoulders, leaving a puddle of dirt and blood at his feet.

There was rubble everywhere, and at some point Izuku had gotten turned around in the fighting. He was sure the medic was just over there but Izuku couldn’t find his sidekick.

“Deku!” Izuku turned at the call of his name, seeing her disappear from the top of a building and reappear in front of him. “Three of them, that way.” She pointed over her head to the other side of the building she was just on top of, before disappearing again, and Izuku couldn’t quite catch where she went.

Izuku glanced around for a second, another vain attempt at finding the medic, before sighing.

“I promise I will get you to safety soon.” He reassured the man, giving him a smile and watching as the fear left his features at the hero’s words.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Her soothing voice and hand on his back snapped him out of the recent memory.

“I told him over and over that I would get him to safety. I lied to him.” Izuku was sure that somewhere over the water pouring on his head, he was crying. He felt like crying at least, his nose clogged and heart tight.

She was cleaning his back with a warm washcloth covered in suds. He didn’t need to turn around to know that her brow was furrowed, and that her bottom lip was probably protruding slightly in concern.

“I told him.” There was a loud crash and Izuku turned to the noise quickly, making sure to keep his hold on the man in his arms tight. “That no matter what.” Izuku barely had time to process as someone’s quirk fired, sending Izuku flying back with the man in his arms. “Everything will be okay.” “Everything would work out, that he would be safe.” He gasped, recalling the moment where he looked down, seeing the man covered in blood.

He had taken the brute of the attack meant for Izuku. The hero couldn’t forget the moment he realized that, unintentionally, he had used this innocent man as a shield.

Izuku watched in horror as the man processed his words. “Thank you.” His speech was garbled as the man searched Izuku’s face, blood pouring from his mouth. “De-ku.” And with that, the light left his eyes.

“And because I couldn’t process it,” Izuku heaved in a breath, turning around to face her and her ever-patient face, “I left you to take on all three of them.”

Izuku let his head fall to her shoulder, his body shaking with sobs.

“What kind of hero can’t save a person? What kind of hero leaves their partner to fight off three villains alone while they cry? What kind of hero-” Her gentle voice cut him off.

“The kind of hero that’s also a human.” Her hands found the side of his head and gently pulled it up.

She looked at him with eyes full of love, despite his failure today. She took in the snot draining from his nose, the tears gushing from his eyes, the red cheeks covered in dirt and blood and water, and still pressed a kiss to his nose.

“You can’t be a hero without being a human, right?” She waited for his nod. “And being human means messing up every once in a while. It means having emotions and getting overwhelmed. It means sometimes needing help. Even if it also means getting the chance of being a hero, too. You can’t have one without the other, you know that”

Izuku nodded, he knew this. He knew that being a hero meant being human, having empathy, struggling, but he hated it. He hated the weakness it caused.

She guided his head down to her shoulder again, snagging the shampoo and pouting it into her hands before raking it through his hair.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Bunny. What happened today will probably stick with you for a while – hell, maybe even forever. It’ll hurt. It’ll take time to work through.” Her hands were gentle in his hair, slowly but surely calming the sobs still making their way through his chest from time to time. “But I’m not going anywhere Bunny, and neither are you.”

She guided his head under the water and her mourned the loss of the feeling of her hands in his hair.

“It’s okay to need help.”

Izuku felt a shudder work its way through his chest as he nodded, realizing just how right she was.

He showered in silence, Izuku thinking and she let him, only interrupting him occasionally with a gentle washcloth, a nudge under the water, or a brief kiss.

Once he was clean, he returned her kindness by washing her gently. His head felt heavy with guilt and sadness, and he relished in the ability to lose himself in her. To focus on cleaning her. Her arms, her legs, her chest, her face, her everything.

His everything.

After they were clean, after they dressed their wounds, Izuku found himself in his bed, wrapped in her arms as she hummed softly and combed his hair with her fingers.

It was rare that they were this quiet. Between the two of them, mindless conversation lasted for hours. It wasn’t ever silent until they fell asleep, and even then Izuku had the habit of mumbling in his sleep – a gentle sound that she found difficult to sleep without now.

Izuku found his chest was becoming tighter and tighter with every passing moment that the words were stuck there.

“It’s okay.” She whispered into his ear, her breath like a caress.

With a shudder, like her words were the permission he had been waiting for, the words came unstuck and poured from his lips.

He cried and talked, telling her everything that had been swarming in his head, his chest, his everywhere – even to the tips of his fingers – for the past hour and a half.

As he talked, Izuku felt the overwhelming love he oft found himself consumed by surround him, around his heart. She just listened. She let him ramble like that for at least forty-five minutes. She made a few noises of agreement, letting him know she was in fact listening, and pressed kiss after kiss onto his shoulder when he had to take deep breaths to calm his uneven breath. And when he was tired, worn out, and feeling like all of his edges were frayed, she wrapped him in her arms, her legs, the blankets, and their love so he could attempt at sleep. She sang softly when he told her he needed her to make some sort of noise to block out his thoughts and didn’t stop until he was snoring softly.

And when he woke up, she was there.

She was there to ease him away from the nightmares, to make him tea when he woke up with a throat drier than the Sahara. She answered his calls and talked to his manager. She sat with him on the couch and watched his old All Might movies with him. She let him think, let him ramble, and gently encouraged him to eat and take care of himself.

He showered her with praises, with thank you’s, and soft kisses. He told himself that, when he could, he would once again return to spoiling her at every moment.

She wasn’t some magical cure to his pain. No, quite the opposite. She was his magical permission to feel his pain safely.

Izuku Midoriya had loved her since fist seeing her. And now, as she sat and encouraged him while he put back together the pieces of his own heart, he was sure that he was fixing something that solely belonged to her and nobody else.

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 42)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV 2, 21 , 22, Vivi POV 2, 24, 25  Lewis POV 3,  Mystery POV , Vivi POV 3, 29, Lewis POV 4, 31, ViVi POV 4 , 33, 34, Lewis POV 5, Mystery POV 2, Lewis POV 6, Vivi POV 5, Lewis POV 7 Vivi POV 6 Vivi POV 7

Part 43: here

...

(ARTHUR POV)

“Maybe, if you’d been even half of what he was, you wouldn’t have been possessed so damn easily. I mean, this kid put up more of a fight, and he’s pretty much a walking collection of neurosis,” the demon taunts.

“I said shut up!”

The demon, and by default, Arthur, narrows their eyes. Micky’s sudden appearance has thrown a wrench into its plans, drawing its full and undivided attention. Irritation curls around Arthur, replacing the previous sensations of smug satisfaction and amusement. The emotion is unpleasant, making Arthur’s mind crawl but it’s better than the sadistic joy he had been forced to endure as it was stabbing Lewis. For the first time since that disastrous meeting in the hospital’s car-park, Arthur finds himself completely free of surveillance. The demon’s attention is focused solely on Micky and the gun. The shift is so sudden and is Arthur so panicked, that he almost doesn’t recognise the opportunity. 

Luckily-the only luck he’s had in a long while-he does recognise his opening. His one chance to make things right. 

A desperate calm settles over him. Lightning flashes, illuminating the faint blue and purple of Vivi and Lewis’s clothes. Mystery glows ever brighter, casting a red tint on the concrete around him. Everything else is darker shades of grey, fading into black.

In his new state of calm, Arthur can envision how the next few seconds would play out. Micky would shoot. The demon would dodge.  Even now, he can feel how his body is tensing, preparing to duck to the side. The demon is hyper-focus on the gun, watching Micky’s every muscle twitch. To dodge, the demon would have to already be moving even before the gun went off. It would need precise control and a split-second warning just before the shot. After the gun fired, Vivi would run forward to ‘save’ him, putting herself in danger. Then, Mystery would be forced to transform and save her. In the commotion, the demon would make their escape. 

“Did you even go back to bury him, or did you just leave him there? What happened to all the ritual, funeral nonsense to send his soul on its merry way? How disrespectful.” The demon’s voice is full of malice, coloured with amusement, aiming to both harm and insult. 

The gun clicks in Micky’s hand. Already, Arthur can feel himself tensing, preparing to move fast.

“Stop!” Vivi lurches upright and Mystery blocks her from jumping between them. “If you shoot, you’ll kill Arthur!”

 This is okay. Arthur has already accepted that he might never see his friends again. The demon would run, take him away, and they would be safe. Mystery would pass along his apology and it would be fine. The only one to really suffer would be him and he thinks he can live with that. Is that true though? 

“That fucking brat sent us to our deaths. He’s just as guilty.”

It wasn’t just him that would suffer was it? This thing would keep on killing. It would use his body to kill other people and maybe, one day, it would go after Lewis or Vivi again. The creature wanted Arthur specifically and he is aware enough to know that the demon has got some sort of plan involving his messed-up soul. 

The body snatcher sniggers, “I’m sure Dan would be very unimpressed with how you're threatening this poor innocent human. I mean, if he weren’t a shish-kebab at the bottom of a cave.” 

Micky yells, loud, animalistic, full of pain and rage. Arthur feels a pang of empathy for the man who had had the misfortune of running into him and being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like Darrel.

In that fraction of a second before the gun goes off, his body, under the direction of the demon, lunches to the right.  Everything slows, time crawling by. Arthur can already see Mystery leaping, his dog form rapidly expanding. Vivi is also running towards him, face white with fear. 

His way out was suddenly blindingly clear.

With all his remaining will power, throws himself to the left. He slams into the mental barrier separating him from his body. Similar to when he’d first tried this in the van, the demon falters ever so briefly, its attention refocusing onto him and away from Micky. For a fraction of a second, in between heartbeats, the demon’s movements slow. Unlike when he had tried this before, there is no time for the demon to react.

 “ARTHUR!”

 The shout rings in his ears alongside the loud CRACK of a shotgun discharging. 

A sudden weight smacks him in the chest and he stumbles back. This time, Arthur’s sense of fear is mixed in with his own cold vindication. In a moment of role reversal, it is Arthur feeling spiteful and the demon experiencing surprise. 

“You little shit,” He feels himself spit the words out, angry, even as new wetness clogs his throat and the metallic taste of blood floods his mouth. Time accelerates again. Arthur hits the pavement and doesn’t even care that his head cracks on the hard surface. All bodily sensation is fuzzy now. Any pain one would expect to feel after getting shot is dulled. Surprise quickly turns to anger. The demon is almost brittle with furry, its full attention bearing down on him from all angles, pressing in. Suffocating. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit…Bleeding…that’s a lot of blood. Need to control the bleeding.” Arthur focuses on Vivi’s face which materialises above him. For the first time since his possession, Arthur managers to move of his own violation, taking a hash breath. The process is an immense struggle and he’s not sure if it’s because of the demon or blood loss. 

“Vi…” His tong feels heavy and foreign, the words he tries to say are garbled by the blood coming up through his throat. He doesn’t get more than a syllable out before the control is wrestled away. 

‘You think this is over?’ The voice echoes in his head, low and threatening.

“Shh. Don’t speak. Everything will be okay. I don’t think its hit anything important. Just lie still.” Her expression is a mix of horror and worry. Regret quickly roles over his vindication because the last thing he wants is for Vivi to have to watch her friend bleed out and die.

His vision blurs. A purple outline appears alongside Vivi. It’s Lewis, equally, if not more panic-stricken. He can feel to demon’s attention re-centre, staring Lewis right in the eye. 

 “What’s…up. You…goin…watch him die …with me?” The demon jerks, trying to grab a hold of Lewis’s bear unprotected hands.  

‘You can’t have Lewis.’ 

Arthur slams his full mental weight into malicious presence, pushing it to one side, cutting it off mid-sentence. As his body weakens so does its control. They’re both weak now. 

‘Sharing is caring.’ Is sneered. A wave of malicious intent  chips away at his control, paralysing rational thought with uncontained fear.  Arthur feels his hand lift under the demon’s renewed power, reaching weakly for Lewis, beckoning. 

“Lew…is.” Arthur tries to speak and warn his friend off.  

 ‘Don’t do it.’ He can’t get the words out, his control failing. It is like being back in the cave, unable to stop the unimaginably terrible from happening. His vision distorts, made worse by the night around them. He can barely see the conflict waring across his friend’s face.   His arm is numb. He and Lewis are standing on a ledge overlooking a steep drop…green is pooling at the edges of his vision. It doesn’t matter that they are both weak, the demon’s got him beat in the willpower department. Too many past mistakes occupy his thoughts, distracting him. 

Lewis’s hand hovers then closes around his, drawing his focus. The hand is warm almost comforting.

NO.

He claws at the demon, ripping and tearing at anything he can reach, trying to drag it down with him. A patronising laugh bounces around and there is the sensation of something rushing to escape. Arthur scratches and grasps but it is hard to hold onto something that hardly exists. The result is an exercise in futility like he’s trying to dig his nails into loose shale. 

‘Nice try but you’re a few centuries too inexperienced to hold me down.’ The demon slips away, leaving him to sink downwards, alone. ‘Try not to die while I’m out would you. I would hate for all this drama to be for nothing,’ Arthur can still feel the echo of rage and malevolence underlining its final amused jab as it fades from his consciousness. The demon is angry. He knows it is going to do its level best to hurt Lewis. There is nothing he can do to stop it. And, suddenly, Arthur is alone in his own mind.

“Why?” He coughs, wishing he could shake an answer out of Lewis. ‘Why did you do that Lewis?’ The last he sees of Lewis is a green discolouration creeping up the other’s arm. Lewis stumbles away, swallowed by the night. 

Vivi’s shocked face fades to nothing a second later. Then there is only darkness. No demon, just himself and all his mistakes.  No snarky running commentary on how screwed up and pathetic he was. No weird dissonance as he experienced two sets of emotional responses. He is just Arthur existing alone. He should feel relieved. This should be a triumph. 

It's not...

.

It’s dark and he’s falling, slamming into a stone spike. Two sets of memories blur together, becoming one extended nightmare. Two failed timelines are laid before him in a spread of damning evidence against his very existence.

Lewis is dead…then alive, grinning, eyes flashing bright green as he looks down on him, “Once in a millennia chance and you managed to screw it up.” There is fire rising around him, growing increasingly not, framing Lewis’s human visage. “This is your fault.”

 He coughs, gripping the spike piercing up through his chest. 

“How many can say they’ve had a second chance? None. That’s how many?” Lewis growls and the flames become unbearably hot till even the air itself hurts. “Face it. I just wasn’t that important to you.” Arthur should just stop trying to fight and let the fire burn away all that was left of him. 

It’s what he deserves. 

“So that’s it.”  The female voice cuts through the crackle of the fire, “You’re just going to give up?" 

The stone around him shifts, colours mutating from purple and green to a gleaming, blue-tinted ice. Gone is the stone spike, the cliff, and the cave, to be replaced by an empty snow-filled field. He is no longer in pain. He is kneeling, half-buried in snow, surrounded be an empty silver-grey landscape. 

“What about your promise to answer my questions. You’re going to leave everyone behind wondering what the heck happened?” Lewis and his fire disappear, replaced with cold air and a familiar voice. He squints up at the blurry Vivi-shaped outline but can’t make out her face. The word around him is too blindingly bright to make out any details.

“I can’t…” he pleads, “I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“So what. That’s never stopped you before.”

He drops his gaze, ignoring the the rustle of fabric as a person knelt in front of him.

“We all make mistakes.”  Her voice is soft.

“I don’t know what to do?”  

If there’s one thing the demon has taught him it was that things could always get worse.

“It’ll be okay Arthur. Just explain what happened. I’ll understand.”

He looks up, desperately searching for the face of a familiar older Vivi. 

“I miss you.”  He doesn’t care that he is angsting over what was probably a figment of his imagination. The shadow of a Vivi he’d left behind in a future that would never happen. 

“Silly, I never left.”

The white space above him splinters, shattering like glass, falling on him like flakes of snow.

.

.

.

His next breath is heavy like he is struggling against some immense weight.  It is nothing like being on the cliff, struggling to breathe against the heat and having it cut with frigid cold, this is real. The sensation of forcing his lungs to expand and take in the dry air is almost too real. A dull ache settles over him and he can’t tell if it is coming from his body or somewhere deep in his chest. Everything feels floaty and unreal and he struggles to pull together a coherent thought. Arthur wills his eyes to open, almost afraid to try and have this illusion of control snatched away. 

Light eclipses the dark. The imprint of spikes, fire and ice, fade into a nightmare. He stares up at a familiar off-white ceiling. A pattern of square panels, broken by two overhead lights, one of which is switched off, meaning the room in only half lit. The faint smell of anaesthetic and bleach lingers in the air. Absently, he recognises the hospital ceiling. The dejavu is painful.  

Slowly, almost too afraid to try, he turns his head, scanning for his arm. There is a needle disappearing into his skin just above his wrist which is connected to a machine beeping a faint rhythmic pattern. It is his flesh and blood arm. This is his original arm, meaning this is the other timeline. The one he had just royally screwed up. His fingers twitch when he wills them to move, jerking inwards to grasp at nothing. This is the timeline where his Uncle is dead, and Lewis is probably off somewhere killing people under the demon’s control. An unbearable sadness descends upon him. He takes solace in the melancholy, welcoming it, wrapping it around himself like a familiar blanket. Maybe, if he waited long enough, the demon would return, and he would be able to save Lewis. Arthur doubts it, he has nothing of value to trade aside from himself and Lewis is ten times more valuable than him. It was pointless. Maybe he hadn’t learnt his lesson about wanting things. Maybe he will just lie here forever, wasting away.

 Maybe that didn’t sound so bad.

“Arthur.” The surprised voice cuts into him, slicing apart his thoughts.

He blinks, twitching to glance to the side, focus shifting  past the empty hospital chair placed next to his bed and towards the doorway. Vivi. She is standing in the entrance. Her clothes are wrinkled, speckled with dirt, and she has smudges across her face that look a bit like wood ash. Her eyes are wild with open surprise. 

Her surprise becomes relief, mixed with conflicting joy and apprehension. 

“You’re awake.” She speaks slowly, voice halting. 

“V…” His throat is far too dry to speak so the word comes out as a wheeze. 

Whatever misgivings had Vivi frozen in the doorway, they don’t hold her for long and she is across the room in a flash of blue. The next thing he knows her weight is resting across his shoulder and chest, gripping onto him. There is a brief flash of purely physical pain as she bumps the wad of bandages he only just notices are covering the upper half of his torso, wrapping his collar bone. Her face is awkwardly pressed against his opposite shoulder.

When his vision blurs, he panics, momentarily thinking he was losing his control. However, he quickly recognises it as a different sort of loss of control. A normal loss of control. There is water pooling in his eyes, running down his face. He’s crying, making breathing hard. 

“You idiot.” Vivi’s voice is unsteady now, full of hurt, “You colossal idiot.”

“I'm…sor…” He swallows, coughing out the apology “…ry”  He doesn’t know what exactly he’s apologising for but he’s made so many mistakes that it’s the only thing he can think to say. 

“I thought you were going to die.”

Sluggishly, Arthur tries to raise a hand, the one without a needle sticking into it, to hold onto the fabric of her jacket. His muscles feel a bit like jelly, spasming occasionally, as his mind re-associates mental commands with movement. He realises with a pang of grief that she is wearing Lewis’s jacket. What happened to Lewis?  He tries to speak, to explain, to ask questions, but his throat is still too dry. After attempting this a few more times he gives up and allows himself the small comfort of being able to hug Vivi again. 

..

NOTE: Happy Holidays!! Have an update as a gift :) Hope everyone is safe and wish you all good luck transitioning into the new year. Thank you for another years worth of support of this fic, it means a lot. 

Part 43: here