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inou-ie · 5 months

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Pairing: Yandere!Jingliu x female reader

Warnings: NSFW, reader has wings, transfem Jingliu, dubcon, dacryphilia, breeding, crying during sex, manipulation, nipple stimulation, mention of killing and blood, cutting of reader's wings.

Author's notes: I've had these requests from way before and I think the idea is interesting. Had second thoughts about this but... I've decided to serve it anyway.

MEN AND MINORS DNI

(dark content under the cut)

The creaking of the door always triggered anxiety, prompting you to hug your knees and wrap your wings protectively around yourself.

"Not even a greeting..." a cold voice pierced the silence, causing you to curl tighter. "But that's fine, you'll learn soon." The bed shifted as weight settled on it. "Show yourself, stop hiding." With reluctance, you moved your wings, reluctantly revealing yourself.

You saw Jingliu smiling at you so gently, but the sight of bloodstains on her made you feel nauseous. She moved closer, her hands working to undo the chains that bound you to the bed.

"Did you miss me?" she asked, extending her bloody hand to caress your cheek. Your breath hitched, and instinctively, you recoiled from her touch, causing her smile to vanish completely.

"Seems like you haven't learned your lesson..." she murmured. This time, she grabbed her blindfold, removing it and tossing it aside, revealing her red eyes. You've always been terrified by her eyes...

With a swift motion, Jingliu seized your hair, pulling your face closer to hers. "Looks like I'll have to teach you again how to behave towards me," she said coldly.

Panic surged through you, prompting you to grasp her arm, looking up at her while forcing a smile. "I... I missed you..." Your voice trembled, and your words nearly choked out, but upon hearing them, Jingliu released her grip on your hair.

"I thought so..." she said, her expression softening as she looked at you. "Now, come here." She opened her arms, signaling for you to hug her. Your gaze quickly shifted to the bloodstains on her body, but you concentrated on something else, trying to muster the courage to embrace her. Eventually, you wrapped your arms around her back, resting your chin on her shoulder.

Jingliu returned the hug, her hands tenderly caressing your wings, eliciting soft sounds from you. "You really are warm..." she murmured softly. Her other hand moved to the back of your head, gently patting you. Despite her comforting gestures, the scent of blood clinging to her made it difficult for you to relax fully in her embrace.

The hug persisted for a few more moments before Jingliu gently guided you by holding your shoulders, urging you to look at her face. "I love you..." she mumbled softly, leaning in slowly to plant a kiss on your forehead.

Her lips lingered on your skin for a moment before she looked at your face once again, her eyes filled with expectation, as if anticipating your response.

Feeling the pressure to reciprocate or face potential consequences, you attempted to gather the words to lie and say you loved her back.

"I... "as you tried to speak, you found yourself struggling.

"I... l-lo..." your voice faltered despite your attempts and the words you wanted to say simply wouldn't come out.

The shift in Jingliu's eyes from expectation to disappointment intensified the pressure on you to force the words out.

However, the rising anxiety within made it increasingly difficult to speak. Her disappointed gaze triggered memories of the distressing experiences with her—your cries for help while she violated your body, the echoing sounds of skin meeting skin, the feeling of her inside you, the sickening squelches—all flooding back vividly.

Jingliu grabbed your face, her eyes piercing through you. "Do you love me? Say you love me. Now!" she demanded through gritted teeth.

Love her? The sudden question echoed within you. There was simply no way you could love her, not after everything she had done to you.

She approached you, luring you into believing she was a decent person. She'd be filled with excitement recounting the heroic tales of your past accomplishments—a rare moment of joy, feeling appreciated when everyone else had forgotten.

You genuinely enjoyed your time with her, until another person saw you and recognized you... that's when it all began.

Jingliu loathed it—the way you smiled while listening to someone else's stories, the way they diverted your attention from her... she detested it all. So, she did the unthinkable—she killed that person right in front of you.

Jingliu viewed you as an angel, believing you shouldn't be tarnished by anyone deemed inferior. She perceived you as a celestial being meant solely for her possession.

You collapsed in shock upon witnessing someone you consider as a friend being brutally killed by someone dear to your heart, causing you immense distress.

Seizing the opportunity in your broken and vulnerable state, Jingliu took advantage and confined you in an unknown location—a cabin where you've remained trapped, unable to leave since that traumatic incident.

The thought of fighting Jingliu crossed your mind, but the thought of harming the first friend you made after years of loneliness and abandonment weighs heavily on you.

You tried to escape numerous times, but Jingliu always managed to catch you immediately, resulting in her teaching you a "lesson" each time you tried to flee.

"Last chance..." she whispered into your ear, her hands moving to your sides, gently caressing you. "Say you love me or I'll have to teach you another lesson... worse than the last one..." she added, her hands now delicately brushing over your wings, moving across the soft feathers.

You made the effort, trying your utmost best, but with Jingliu this close and with her gentle touches, speaking at all became impossible. Her mere presence felt suffocating, rendering you unable to voice anything in response.

Jingliu sighed deeply, leaning back to gaze at you. A trace of pity lingered in her eyes but swiftly shifted into lustful desire. "I'm doing this for you... all of this is for your sake. You have to learn." she said softly, gently caressing your face before pressing another kiss onto your forehead.

She pushed you onto the bed, causing your wings to flop onto the soft mattress. "Behave, hm? I don't want to hurt you." she said with a faint smile on her face.

"I'm... s-sor... ry..." you managed to choke out, tears forming in your eyes. You didn't even know why you were apologizing—perhaps hoping she might take pity on you and let you go, or maybe it was an apology for disappointing her. Your mind was becoming a mess, and you had no clear idea or thoughts anymore.

Jingliu just sighed, gently caressing your hips with a gentle smile. "Shh, it's okay. All you have to do is stay still and take all of it... and then I'll forgive you." she whispered, now moving her hands to lift up your shirt— the only piece of clothing she's allowing you to wear, exposing your breasts to the cold air.

Jingliu leaned down and kissed your stomach before licking her way up to your breast, licking your nipple before gently taking it into her mouth and making you grasp the sheets while moaning softly. Her other hand reached out and massaged your other breast with her icy touch.

"You're mine..." she mumbled against your sensitive nipple, making you feel shiver down your spine.

Soft whimpers escaped your lips as she continued licking and suckling on your nipple possessively, giving the same amount of attention to the other one until both of your nipples perked up.

Jingliu leaned back, admiring your body while you covered your eyes with your arms, tears starting to flow. The sight of you excited her even more. "Adorable..." Oh, how Jingliu relished the sight of your silent sobs, finding you in such a pathetic state. She desired to make you cry even more...

You heard a soft rustling sound, and as you glanced up, you noticed Jingliu slowly shedding her clothing, revealing her massive erection. It filled you with an overwhelming sense of terror and anxiety, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

The fear within you intensified even more as you thought about something so big claiming your body once again. Despite the fear, you cannot bring yourself to say no and push her away. Perhaps it's the fear of facing punishment if you deny her, or maybe... you've come to accept your situation. She's the only one you have, the sole source of comfort, the only person you can talk to.

"Now, let's become one, my angel..." She whispered huskily as she gazed down at you, her crimson eyes burning with unquenched lust. She gently held your hips while her other hand guided her massive erection toward your quivering entrance. Despite your relative dryness, she pushed steadily forward, filling you with an overwhelming sense of fullness that made you whimper in pain.

Her entry was slow yet insistent, stretching you wide enough that you feared she might tear you apart. You grasped her arms tight as your wings started flapping slightly as if your body is trying to push itself away, sobs escaping your lips as her size invaded you inch by slow inch. Jingliu sensed your distress and wrapped her powerful arms around you in a soothing embrace, humming softly in her chest as she kept moving deeper and deeper inside you.

Her cold embrace surrounded you, easing your suffering as she continued to comfort you. Her gentle whispers coaxed you through the pain and into submission. Your soft feathers flew around as your wings kept moving, your distress evident with every pained sob.

Moments passed and your wings started to droop down as you slowly adjusted to her girth, and though you were still in discomfort, your body slowly began responding to her presence.

"I've waited enough... now entertain me." With a low, husky growl, Jingliu lifted you up by the waist, bringing you closer to her lap. You couldn't help but let out a sharp gasp at the unexpected change in position, but she only smirked wickedly before pulling you down on her lap, burying her length even deeper inside you.

The new angle sent shivers racing through you as she filled you to the brim, her muscles flexing as she pulled you down harder, stretching you impossibly wide. She tightened her hold around your back, her other arm holding your waist firmly as she began a steady rhythm, pounding up into you with an insatiable hunger.

"Ah... haah... please, wait." You breathed hoarsely, attempting to push yourself away to catch your breath. But Jingliu was quick to anticipate your move, gripping your sensitive wings with a firm hand, making you cry out in response.

"Mmh, your wings are quite sensitive, aren't they?" She mused cruelly before yanking your wings more forcefully, drawing whimpers from you. "N-No... please, not my... hmnggh!" You groaned desperately, trying in vain to pull yourself away as Jingliu continued her relentless assault.

With each thrust of hers, she dragged you down onto her lap using your wings as handles, filling you more completely each time until you felt utterly consumed. You were at her mercy, helpless to stop her as she claimed your body, her grip on your wings only growing stronger and more insistent.

Feathers flew in every direction as you instinctually flailed your wings, attempting to free yourself from Jingliu's grasp. Her unwavering grip on your delicate wings only amplified your sensitivity to her every thrust, sending jolts of pleasure and pain through your entire body. "Still trying to escape?" she rasped darkly before crushing your wings even more tightly.

"You're mine... If I have to break you over and over again just for you to realize that, I will." Her voice grew thick with hunger as she plowed into you with renewed vigor, filling you completely and relentlessly pounding up into you.

Your anguished cries reverberated throughout the cabin as she mercilessly delved deeper into your depths. In torment, your hands scrabbled hungrily against her back, clawing deep furrows into her skin as you fought to preserve even a sliver of your remaining sanity.

Despite the pain of your nails piercing her flesh, Jingliu remained impervious, consumed by her passion, her focus solely on her relentless pounding. The blood trickling down her neck and shoulders only served to further fuel her desire.

Her powerful thrusts battered you from within, leaving you defenseless against the overwhelming rush of emotions. With your wings trapped and your body consumed by the intensity, your struggles eventually ceased.

Your wings drooped listlessly, your sobs fading into shallow pants as you struggled for air, your body going limp as you fell into a state of exhaustion. "I'm so close..." Jingliu purred, the sinister undertone of her voice belying the tenderness with which she held you.

"I'm going to fill you up so good, I know you love it when I do that..." she whispered, her voice low and husky. She shifted your position, forcing you to lie on your back before she continued her movements. Her thrusts grew harder, faster, deeper as she chased after her orgasm. You were powerless to resist, your mind filled with nothing but the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. Your arms covered your eyes, blocking out the world around you as you tried to shield yourself from the intensity of it all.

You couldn't hold back any longer, your body convulsing as pleasure exploded within you. Your hips bucked off the bed, coating the sheets beneath you in warm, sticky fluid as Jingliu continued her relentless pounding.

As her climax finally broke over her, she cried out in a long, primal groan, her body shuddering violently as she emptied herself inside you. Her grip on your hips tightened painfully, holding you still as she rode out her orgasm to its bitter end.

Your insides warmed, slowly filling with her thick essence. She felt it envelop her length, a sensation that drove her to the brink, prolonging her own climax. Her hips slammed against your quivering body as she poured herself deeper inside of you, painting your womb white with her thick load.

Once her orgasm had ebbed away, Jingliu's thrusts gradually decreased until they came to an eventual stop. She took a minute to catch her own breath before leaning down to embrace your quivering, limp body, not even bothering to pull out.

"I love you..." she whispered lovingly, grabbing your arms and pinning them above your head to see your pathetic face full of tears. "I said, I love you." she repeated, her tone threatening.

Your vision blurred with unshed tears as you stared blankly at her, too exhausted to form words. The silence only seemed to intensify Jingliu's gaze, her eyes darkening as she watched you struggle for breath. She gripped your hips firmly, pulling out of you slowly, relishing the way your body whimpered in response. Your entrance quickly filled with her thick cum, oozing out in long, slow streams.

"I planned to stop after doing it once... but you're being disobedient." she mumbled and before you could even process what was happening, Jingliu flipped you over onto your stomach, lifting your hips up high into the air.

She leaned down, her breath hot against your neck as she whispered, "You'll learn to love me back. It's only a matter of time." And then, she plunged back inside of you, claiming your body once again, her thrusts growing harder, faster, deeper.

You gritted your teeth, feeling the familiar invasion of her thick length pushing in and out of your sore walls. Each thrust sent a shiver of pain through your body. You buried your face into the mattress, trying to muffle your moans as she pounded you once again. This time, her thrusts were rougher, more demanding, as if she was really trying to split you open.

She pulled you closer, her hand fisting in your hair as she forced you to raise your head. "Bad, bad angel..." she murmured, her voice a low growl. She punctuated her words with hard, punishing thrusts, each one forcing your cervix to kiss her invading length painfully. She held you tight, not letting you go even as you squirmed and writhed beneath her.

You let out heavy sighs, your throat raw and throbbing from all the moans and cries that had escaped you. You couldn't help but shiver as her other hand pressed down on the bulge her thick length was making on your stomach. Her words echoed in your mind, a dark whisper that sent chills down your spine.

"I'm the only one you have..." she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear. Her thrusts grew deeper, her hips slamming against yours, claiming you completely. "You've been forgotten... your heroic actions are now just forgotten tales." She kissed your neck, her breath hot against your skin. "But with me, you'll never be forgotten. I'll always be here to remind you of your place."

"No one needs you out there anymore... you've been abandoned by the people you protected." She whispered softly, a light chuckle in her voice that seemed to echo your innermost fears. The reality of her words hit you like a ton of bricks, tears streaming down your face unbidden as a wave of sadness washed over you. Your heart ached, knowing she was right. Who were you if nobody needed you anymore?

In that moment, she suddenly yanked your head forward with such force that you collapsed back onto the mattress, her body pinning you down. "Shh, hush now..." She spoke gently, her voice soft but commanding, "You belong to me now. You'll find purpose in being mine." You sobbed into the bedsheet, overwhelmed by emotion but strangely feeling safe within her protective grasp.

As she kept you pinned down, her hips continued to grind against your sore entrance, her thick length drawing a mix of cum and your fluids. "Do you understand now? We're just two forgotten people, our only place is in each other's arms." she whispered into your ear, her words resonated inside you like a realization you were seeking.

Despite being a hero to some once, you were now just a forgotten figure, much like her own forgotten existence. It seemed like the perfect match, two forgotten entities intertwined.

She pulled out almost completely before driving herself back in with a forceful thrust that made your body jerk forward. You couldn't help but whimper, feeling completely filled by her length. In that moment, it felt as if all you had was each other, forgotten by the rest of the world, united in pleasure, and bound by a shared understanding.

She gave you long powerful thrusts that made you cling to the sheets for dear life, your eyes rolling back as you gasped for air, overwhelmed by sheer pleasure coursing through your body. Your insides ached from her relentless barrage, yet somehow it made you crave even more.

"You're tightening... hah. Keep doing that and I'll give you everything I have." she rasped, her voice thick with desire. As she said the words, her hands shifted to your stomach, pressing hard on the thick ridge of her hardened length. It sent shivers down your spine as her pleasure overflowed into you.

She continued to ravage your sensitive depths, driven by the pleasure you were providing her, her hips pistoning with renewed fervor.

Finally, she let out a loud grunt, her whole body stiffening as an intense orgasm wracked her frame. You felt her seed bursting inside you, hot and thick, coating your inner walls as she collapsed on top of you, still pulsating deep within.

You bit your lip, feeling so full and exhausted. You took a deep breath, mustering all the energy you had left. "...love you..." you whispered, your voice so small it was barely audible. But Jingliu heard it, her whole body twitching inside you, her softening cock coming back to life at the sound of your voice.

She pulled back, a hearty chuckle escaping her lips and making you lift your head up to look at her over your shoulder, "Ah, there you go. You made me wait so long." She leaned in, kissing your lips hungrily, her tongue dancing with yours deliciously. She nipped at your lower lip, enjoying your soft whimpers.

Jingliu pulled away from you, looking at you with a mix of love and longing in her eyes. She carefully pulled out, your sore entrance oozing with a mix of your fluids. "I love you... I love you so much." she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Her tone turned cold for a moment as she pressed her hand against your head, holding it down firmly. "You're not going to fly away from me anymore, right?" she asked, her voice edged with a hint of warning. You felt a shiver run down your spine, a nervous tension settling in your belly.

Suddenly, an intense coldness washed over you, a sudden chill that made your skin prickle with goosebumps. You couldn't look back, though - Jingliu was pressing your head against the mattress with such force that it hurt. You couldn't move, couldn't even twitch...

Jingliu's voice held a hint of cold cruelty, her words sending shivers down your spine. "You don't need these wings anymore..." she whispered, her breath tickling the back of your neck. You panicked, realizing what she was about to do. Your wings - your source of power, your connection to your past - were about to be taken from you.

But your body was too sore, too exhausted to even move. You couldn't fight back as she gently caressed your wings goodbye. Then, suddenly, you felt the cold, sharp prick against your skin. A scream tore from your throat as she began to slice away at your wings, feathers fell everywhere, dancing in the air like snowflakes. Every swing of her sword sent fresh waves of pain coursing through your body, making you grip the sheets tightly, pushing your face into the soft fabric of the mattress.

The agony seemed to go on forever, but eventually, the cutting stopped. You lay there, panting heavily, feeling the weight of your loss settling into your bones.

You lay there, looking lifeless, your eyes blank as your trembling body dripped with sweat and tears. You couldn't help but stare at the feathers scattered across the bed, your mouth hanging open with drool dripping down your chin. Jingliu approached you carefully, her voice soft and soothing, "Shh, shh. I'm here." She gently wiped away your tears and drool, lifting you up in her arms. "It's okay now..." she cooed, as if she weren't the reason for your pain.

When you woke up, you couldn't remember much; the bed had been cleaned, not a single trace of feathers remained anywhere. You glanced at your body, covered in bandages. "Finally awake..." Jingliu approached you with a gentle smile, her once-scary red eyes now seemed very comforting. "Mhm..." you replied with a faint smile, and Jingliu moved closer to kiss your forehead.

Despite feeling pain all over your body, there's also a sense of lightness, as if a burden had been lifted off your shoulders. Remembering every detail of that night— the pain, the screams, and the slow loss of your wings—you still find it difficult to be upset with Jingliu for what she did.

Jingliu diligently tended to your wounds until they healed completely, as though you had never possessed wings. However, whenever she has to leave, she still chained you to the bed, yet made an effort to return swiftly, bringing whatever you desired. Over time, you grew accustomed to the sight and scent of blood on her body whenever she came home to you.

You ceased attempting to escape from her, finding solace in the memory of your wings. Uncertain if they would ever grow back, you realized that even if they did, you would willingly let Jingliu cut them off once more if she desired. After all, you've come to accept that she's the only one you have and the only one you need.

#inou works #jingliu smut #jingliu x reader #jingliu hsr #hsr smut #inou dark content #yandere jingliu

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sixosix · 5 months

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FOR YOU I WOULD FALL FROM GRACE | LYNEY

warnings blackmailing lol… AETHER PAIMON!!! 3.6k words!

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The bell chimes as the door of the flower shop swings open, and in comes strutting in Rosalie, all dazzling smiles and ostentatious jewelry. Even now, her brown locks are curled to perfection, framing her face beautifully. Even across her, you feel like you’re standing next to an Archon.

This time around, you don’t accidentally freeze the pot of flowers you’re holding from her bursting inside. But you might again tomorrow; Rosalie loves to test you.

Rosalie hums in approval. “Hm, very good, very good. Any customers today, ma chérie?”

“Just one. That guy really wanted to see you,” you reply, eyes fluttering shut as the woman ruffles your hair. You repress the urge to lean into it. “Was he the same guy you met in Café Lutece?”

Her face twists unpleasantly, haunted. “Oh, dear. Thank goodness I wasn’t here. Keep scaring him off.”

You bow your head. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Rosalie bent the law just to keep you, and you’re more than grateful for her generosity. In exchange, you pledged to work diligently for her. You knew that even your hardest efforts couldn't compare to the years of food and shelter she had provided, but this was the least you could do after she didn’t once hesitate to take you in when you confessed you were stranded and alone.

At first, you wanted to repay her by helping out in the kitchen, but you later find that your Vision isn’t the most perfect fit for it. Rosalie’s teeth could shatter from the amount of bread you’ve frozen at the slightest mistake. Your experience in battle doesn’t translate well in handling baking—the heat makes your actions rougher than intended. You get frustrated when you don’t get the results you want. You treat the kitchen like a battlefield. Your hands are too cold; they can’t handle the warm and hot temperatures well.

And the sight of fire… You don’t react to it nicely.

Rosalie suggested you help out in the flower shop. The thought of kneeling over for hours sounds like torture to the posture and grace you’ve perfected over the years, but you can’t quite be picky with under-the-table jobs and nice people who are willing to take care of an orphan who doesn’t know how to act like a normal child.

At least, with gardening, you’ve trained yourself to be more gentle with how you handle living beings. Your hands will always be calloused; they will always have the muscle memory of carrying weighty weapons and tossing them around like sticks—an immutable trait. But you’re trying.

Although Fontaine could never be the safest, it’s safer here. The Fatui don’t have reason to spy against a local flower shop; you’re away from prying eyes, and it isn’t too big of a change because this is still your home.

And you have been safe for years. Rosalie is nothing like The Knave. They have the same fierce protectiveness, but Rosalie is much warmer and open with her fondness, a stark difference from The Knave’s distance. You’re not quite sure how to act around either of them.

You try not to get yourself attached to Rosalie despite her endless hospitality. So long as you don’t reveal your past affiliations and the reason why your hands are rough and why your affections are clumsy, she wouldn’t throw you out. But if she ever does… those are what no attachments are for. You learned your lesson from last time.

“I’ll cook us dinner,” Rosalie sings, heading towards the back of the counter, where it’s connected to her house.

You return to your flower.

You were the one who planted it, and it pleases you to no end that it’s growing healthily. This is the first flower you managed to not— well, kill right off the bat. Or freeze right off the bat, really. The elemental power from your Vision is hard to control, and it certainly doesn’t help that you aren’t doing anything to do something about it, too afraid to even try.

The Lumidouce Bell. It means something about a desire to return. It speaks to you, but not because you long for it—gods no—but because you’ve seen it before. It was probably in a dream, or perhaps a vase back at home, maybe in the middle of the large dining table or in between the fingers of someone with lilac eyes.

The door lashes out once again, the familiar chime ringing in your ears. It had only been two hours since the last customer. Business is doing well today. In comes a floating pixie and a blond with a glow of gold. He’s furious.

“Paimon doesn’t know…” the pixie says, floating behind. “All she knows is that you don’t want to get involved with the Fatui but—” Your hands falter around the petals, “—they said their goals were different, right? What are we doing here again?”

“Paimon,” the blond sighs, and only then do you notice he’s holding a flower. It’s crushed and dried, but it’s supposed to resemble the pot of Lumidouce Bell by your side. “We can’t trust them just like that. We don’t know them.”

“Really…? You think so? Paimon doesn’t think they’re bad people.”

“They’re hiding a lot of things. I don’t want secrets—not anymore. Lyney and Lynette may seem harmless now, but once the time comes where our goals oppose each other’s—well.”

It’s been a while since you heard those names. A rush of nostalgia fills you. You hear about them in passing when your (rare) customers gush about their performances, or ladies passing by giggle about the charming young man in the center of the stage, but that’s about it. To think that these two know that they’re affiliated with the Fatui…

Who are they? They look so familiar, like you’ve seen them once and then never again. Were they sent here? What did they do to be involved with the Fatui? No ordinary person would casually indulge in a conversation about the Fatui like that. There is usually a lot more secretive whispers and cautious glances around the crowd.

“Paimon gets it now,” she says, but she doesn’t look too happy with it. It seems she’s really fond of the twins—which you know all too well.

“Besides,” Aether pats her head, then hands her the flower, wondering out loud, “We don’t even know what this flower means.”

As if following a poorly-written script, both pairs of eyes direct to yours. Like they were expecting you to listen in just for that. At your stunned silence, they wait patiently.

“Um—yes. Lumidouce Bells often mean separation or the wish for reunion,” you recite like a good florist, recalling the words straight from the textbook. “Would you like a copy of a book about Fontaine’s Floral Language, sir?”

He waves a dismissive hand. “No thanks. Was just curious.”

The pixie nods her head, studying the flower in her hand. “Yeah! For all we know, this could’ve been some secret code! Apparently not. But wish for reunion…? Paimon heard Lyney only uses that flower. Does he know about its meaning?”

That name again. It seems that their main topic this afternoon is the twins. You want to crawl out of your skin and bury yourself in the soil. You thought you had moved on, but just hearing about him feels as if listening to strangers talk about a friend you’ve lost—not too far off from the truth. The guilt has not left you since; who were you kidding?

“He probably doesn’t mean anything by it,” the boy murmurs. “I mean—I don’t know. I don’t know anything about them. Is Lyney truly a magician? Is Lyney even his name?”

“Snezhevich,” you murmur out of instinct. Son of snow. You’re surprised that you even remember; it’s been years since you tasted the word on your tongue.

The blond hair and the floating pixie are staring right at you, the man slamming an arm on the counter desk and the little one moving her hands to her hips. “How do you know that?” he asks.

You pale. “I—excuse me?”

“I heard it,” he says. “Those surnames… They’re for the orphans in the House. How do you know that?”

Your heart pounds. You want to ask him the same question, but then, upon closer inspection, you realize why they’re familiar. They’re the Traveler and his travel companion, posted all over magazines. You’ve used one of those papers as placemats for dirty work involving soil, catching glimpses of their faces. The Outlander, the hero, Aether, having come all the way from Mondstadt—of course he knows about the Fatui; he has probably gotten himself involved more than you have.

“Don’t think about lying,” Aether warns at your silence.

Weakly, you say, “Is—is it not… in their introductions?”

“No.” And, well, honestly, that was a stupid cover, so you should’ve expected that. They’re only for the orphans, and he’s right. Even when he’s not a local, he seems to know his facts. Locals are getting smarter, dammit.

“Lyney told me,” is what you decide on after a split-second of contemplation. Aether isn’t giving you enough time to come up with a lie here.

“Told you?” Aether narrows his eyes, studying your face. “Why would he tell you about that? He hasn’t even told me. Are you two close?”

Paimon gasps before you can comment about how Aether sounded like an insecure boyfriend. “Is it…like that?”

You blink at her, lost. “What? Like what?”

At Aether’s conspiratorial expression, your eyes dart between the two of them warily. “What are you two on about?”

“Are you and Lyney romantically involved?”

Romantically involved. You think back to all those sidelong glances and allusive remarks. Lyney was definitely and monumentally involved in your life, but romantically? Even the word feels forbidden. Not once have you thought about romance throughout your entire experience as a child under the protection of the House.

Your face feels like lava, and their crowded attention has you feeling even more embarrassed. “How could you even come up with that? Mortifying! You’re both wrong!”

“What else would it be? You seem to know him well.” Then, much to your embarrassment, Aether adds, “And you’re not bad-looking.”

Is the Outlander calling you pretty enough for Lyney to date you? Right now? Just thinking about the implications has your mind screeching to a halt. “No! I was an orphan there!”

“Ah,” Aether grins widely, “I knew it.”

“Gods,” you mutter, burning. Of course he already figured it out. But was that really necessary? “Is this how you interrogate everyone? Embarrassing them to death?”

Aether shrugs. “If it works, it works.” At whatever expression you must be making, he adds, “And I was just kidding about the romantically involved thing. I mean, unless you aren’t denying it. By the look on your face—”

“Enough. Just spit it out. What do you want?” You’ve gotten awfully rusty with dealing with people. Then again, you were rarely sent out on missions in the first place, so this blame is not for you to take. You curse out The Knave’s name and then feel terrible about it.

“What are you even doing here, huh? Undercover?” Paimon sneers. She fails to look even slightly intimidating. “Do you own this shop?”

“No. I work here.”

“Does your boss know about the whole Fatui thing?” Aether asks. You stare at him warily. If he dares to harm Rosalie, you won’t hesitate to fight dirty. “That seems like a no. If you cooperate with me, I won’t tell whoever is taking care of you.”

“You’re blackmailing me.” You laugh dryly. “I guess I can never run from my past for too long; I just didn’t think I’d be blackmailed by the Outlander himself to face it.”

Aether has at least the decency to look a bit guilty.

“Why do you want to know about the twins so bad?”

Aether’s shoulders hike up to his ears just a little. “Lyney and Lynette… they’re very dependent on each other, aren’t they? The Fatui are not good people—they’re powerful ones, too, and getting involved with power like that while you have your family,” Aether’s expression does something complicated, “It never ends well.”

“You’re blackmailing me into helping the twins out?”

“I’m not trying to— Listen, I just need to know if they’re hiding something else from me. Something that tells me that I shouldn’t be trusting them, then we’ll decide if I’m helping them out or not.”

…Something else? “They already told you a lot, haven’t they? You just have trust issues, hero.”

“It’s perfectly reasonable to have trust issues as a hero.”

Aether inches closer. Your hand twitches by your side, instincts screaming at you to pull out your weapon and flee; the man before you is danger, but you don’t.

Aether hums at your wariness. “And you talk like you know them well. Do you have something you want to say to me, retired Fatuus?”

“I told you, didn’t I? I used to be an orphan in the House of the Hearth,” you say, not wavering with how he holds your gaze. This is no lie; you have no reason to falter. “But that’s not my life anymore. For all I know, they’ve completely changed goals.”

Aether’s shoulder sags because he knows you’re right. There wouldn’t be a way for you to know if the House is still operating with the same objective. If he’d really believe the words of a former Fatuus is a completely different story, however.

Aether sighs. “…It’s not right to call me a hero in this situation.”

“Oh?”

“I’m doing this for selfish reasons.”

Aether hesitates. Does he think you know nothing about selfishness? You ran from the House that took care of you because of your cowardice. You’re plenty familiar with selfishness.

“Mhm,” Paimon nods, “the Traveler wants to know if they’re hiding something about his sister.”

“Paimon,” Aether admonishes, then wilts.

“Oh no!” The fairy’s face pales, her hands coming up to her mouth. “Was Paimon not supposed to say it right away?”

“It’s fine.” It’s not fine. You can see it in the lines between Aether’s brows, his tense shoulders, and his sharp glare to the floor. “You already blurted it anyway.”

“Your sister,” you repeat, conjuring an image of a girl with the same gold as Aether, the same hardheaded determination. What is it with you and getting into trouble with brothers? “I’ve never heard anything about your sister during my time there.”

Aether shrugs. “That doesn’t surprise me. I only arrived here not too long ago, and from what I’m getting, you were already out of the orphanage.”

“So you think Lyney knows something?”

“I know The Knave knows something.”

How strange. Aether’s certainty that their ‘Father’ would confide in them everything, imply that Lyney is privy to information that only the Harbingers would keep to themselves.

You had this same thought before: Lyney, someday Harbinger, someday who would take Arlecchino’s throne. Now, you feel empty thinking about it. It used to fill you with so much rage before.

You turn away from Aether so he won’t see your face. Your previous affiliation with the House shouldn’t matter anymore—you’ve long since abandoned that life. You shouldn’t care about what the upstanding hero would want with them.

You shouldn’t.

Yet you end up fearing what this Outlander will do if they find out the darker secrets of the House that the orphans have to task themselves with. It’s never the children’s fault. But as a hero in a storybook, they rarely have pity for the bad guys.

If Aether finds out anything remotely wrong, what would he do to them…?

You sigh heavily. “I’ll prove to you that you’re wrong about whatever you think of them.”

Aether smiles. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Rosalie comes out of the counter’s back door a few moments later, holding two plates of dinner. She stares blankly at your frozen figure and Aether’s slack posture.

She hands you the plates. “I’ll get two more.”

Rosalie disappears back into the kitchen, a bright smile on her face as she leaves the scene. There was a skip in her step, too.

You settle the plates down in front of Aether and Paimon. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Paimon gasps in delight.

When Rosalie comes back out, she’s fluttering all over the place, gushing over how adorable your new friends are. She then goes into a tangent about how she was right in telling you that you have a charming personality, and it was about time people realized that.

“Rosalie,” you murmur, steaming from the ears.

Rosalie laughs heartily. “Oh, you’re so cute. Do you kids have any plans tonight?”

Aether casts you a glance. “We’re going to watch Lyney the Magician’s show tonight if that’s alright.”

You breathe in deeply. Aether sure works fast. You haven’t even prepared yourself for the little chance you were going to be forced to face Lyney again. You expected it on much more personal, grudge-driven circumstances, with Lyney taking you in for The Knave to deal with.

Rosalie sips from her glass, turning to you. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to watch it, mon ange? I also would have taken you to watch Mr. Lyney.”

“They came over to give me their spare ticket,” you say before she can start thinking deeply about Lyney, but it doesn’t work.

“Ah, I see! Well, have fun.” She grins. “I’ve heard only good things about Mr. Lyney.”

You down the rest of your drink, wishing it was the strong taste of alcohol instead of the sugary sweet Fonta.

Rosalie gasps, hands on the table as she stands. “Oh! Let’s get you changed for tonight’s show! What if Mr. Lyney’s show picks you as a chosen participant? You have to make him and the audience fall in love with you, Y/N!”

“None of those are necessary,” you say, nearing a whine. It’s embarrassing to have her say that while Aether and Paimon are right in front.

“This is the first time you’re going out—let me please dress you up!” Sometimes, Rosalie acts more like a big sister than a mother.

Rosalie turns to Aether, already pushing you out of your chair. “Give us ten.”

Aether is smiling, looking as if holding in laughter. “Don’t worry. We aren’t going anywhere; we made a deal.”

After rummaging through closets and spilling dresses all over Rosalie’s bed, you're soon ushered out of the door. You witness Paimon's jaw dropping and Aether's eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“Whoa…!” Paimon gasps.

“Please spare me from any more comments,” you say, face hot.

Your dress, while nothing as grand as the rest of richer Fontaine women, is still grander than your loose blouse from before. It flows all the way down and drapes gracefully down your legs in a deep shade that blends in seamlessly with those who walk past the busy streets of Fontaine.

Thankfully, they oblige. You can’t handle any more—too much have you a puddle on the spot, and in the most humiliating way possible. Rosalie bids you all farewell, telling Aether to bring you back home before ten.

“I don’t think you can be home before ten,” Aether mutters as he leads you outside.

You hide behind his figure, uneasy from the curious stares of the passersby. It could be because you’re walking next to the renowned Traveler, but a part of you thinks that they know who you are. For all you know, there could be wanted posters of your face, and you wouldn’t know because you don’t go outside.

Aether turns to you. “Can you move comfortably?”

“This corset is a little too tight.”

Aether takes your hand and leads you somewhere off to the side, away from any onlookers. Then, he moves behind you and helps with loosening the corset. You look off to the side and swear that you saw a figure dash past, as nimble as a cat, but that was probably nothing.

“Should we rip off the length, too?” Paimon asks.

“No!” you exclaim, startling the two. “No, it’s fine. This is not my dress. Are you going to make me fight Lyney?”

Aether shrugs. “If worse comes to worse.”

“I’m in heels.”

“If worse comes to worse,” Aether repeats, tying the ends in a neat little ribbon.

“I wasn’t aware that you would start blackmailing me this early on.”

Aether smiles grimly. “There are no warnings when it comes to that.”

You perform a twirl in the new adjustments, twisting around, finding it much more breathable than compared to when Rosalie treated it like her usual fitting.

“Good?” Aether asks.

“Good.”

The conversation doesn’t die down, but it’s much more stiff than before. Paimon tells you that she liked your muddy apron better, and you wish you could agree. But this is who you really are. Nothing genuine like the soil staining your washed-out apron and your hands, or the Lumidouce Bell by the counter you’ve watched grow, but a dress that doesn’t belong to you for a mission that you have to fulfill to save other people who wouldn’t even recognize what you’ve done.

The Opera Epiclese, though you’d never been, looks the same as all the stories you’ve heard about it. Filled with a lively audience, the atmosphere dimmed, and your breath held in anticipation as Aether led you to vacant seats. You sit on Paimon’s supposed seat.

You face Aether. “What now? What do you want me to do? Strut back into their lives and demand all their Fatui secrets as if I never left?” you whisper hastily as all the lights flicker off.

A spotlight centers on the stage.

Aether nestles into his seat. “Prove to me that I can trust them just as much as you do. Who knows, you might get something out of this, too.”

BEFORE YOU STOP READING!! LOOK AT ONCE AGAIN ANOTHER AMAZING FANART BY OUR FAVORITE akagi0021

scene of paimon's "whoa...!" and aether demanding "how do you know that?" !!!!!! 😭😭😭❤️❤️

sorry if my inherent attraction to aether came out a bit for some scenes here. the heart can’t help but want what it wants… and that includes what my fingers end up typing whenever aether is on the same docs LOL

TAGLIST.

@thenyxsky @aeferkssr @1mewo1 @lacrimae-lotos @meigalaxy @hyacinth-daze @miwafei @popochakku @svasilios @heyhazelnut101 @kruinka @waveto-earth @superstar-ethereal @mxplesyrvp @achilleas-dream @episodecete @jellifizz @auranny

#606: THAWED #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #x reader #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n

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thisismeracing · 5 months

Text

Charlieverse | CL16

― Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader ― Word count: 2.1k ― Warnings: mentions of alcohol and Halloween costumes (clowns, werewolves, and others). ― Summary: When Yn decided to go to a Halloween party with her best friend, Charles Leclerc, she did not consider that some of the fantasies would be so close to reality that they would terrify her. But one thing Yn had no idea about too, was Charles’ feelings for her. All Hallow’s Eve is not the most romantic scenario to confess your feelings, but it might be just the perfect one for them.

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There are many sayings about how sharing is caring, and how life feels bigger and better when you do so.

Charles knew this all too well.

He was used to sharing everything with you since he was a kid.

It all started after you forgot your snack at home. He was only five years old then, but he had two brothers so he knew exactly what to do. Little Charles offered to share his bag of colored goldfish and grapes with you. The next day you shared your coloring pencils with him. It started with simple things, and it grew as you both grew older. All through the school years, Charles and you were inseparable, even with his crazy racing schedule. You would take notes for him, he would bring you stories, and you would study together until late hours. You shared your fears, deepest feelings, and even the shame of being underdressed when invited to a party such as now.

“I had no idea people would go this hard,” you state, watching as the Taxi driver came to a halt in front of the big doors. Gathered in front of the mansion were people dressed as all kinds of gore Halloween beings, some of the makeup seeming too real to your liking.

“We can go back home and change if you want,” there’s Charles' tranquil voice. He is always the one to keep his patience even if the world is ending, and you love that about him.

You shake your head, “We would never find something else in time, plus, we’re together, so… here’s to another good story,” you point to your matching costumes, and Charles smiles.

You’re both wearing Spiderman costumes. Though it felt like the best choice, the easiest one, you should have guessed it was too easy and, therefore, not ideal.

Charles gives you one last wink before putting on his mask. You do the same just as he opens the door for you, and hand in hand you walk through the crowd into the house. You cling to your best friend’s arm trying to stay as far away as possible from some of the costumes.

“You sure you’re ok over there?” Charles asks when you’re halfway to the kitchen, and you tighten your grip on his hand.

You nod, “Yeah, just.. That werewolf costume seems too realistic.” And there’s no need for you to explain to him. He knows you like he knows the back of his hand, his favorite track, his most played song. Charles knows that someone planted a seed of fear about some creatures when you were little, and some of the stories have stayed with you even after you grew. It is a bit curious how despite your fears, you still love Halloween, at least the kind of parties you go to where people will dress in a way that clearly shows that they are human beings and meant no harm.

Were you supposed to guess that a certain crazy clown costume was a mere costume after seeing people being killed by those?

You wouldn’t stay to answer that question.

When you finally reach the kitchen, both of you take off the mask to your friends, hugging and making your rounds. Charles grabs you two a drink and you choose to stay there instead of mingling and risking bumping into scary figures.

“Can you get me another of these?” You mouth to Charles pointing at your empty cup. From across the kitchen, he nods, and a few seconds later he’s in front of you with a full cup.

“They were out of ice, is it ok if we share this one?” he asks over the music and you nod. You’re sitting on the counter, and when Charles turns to your friends he stands right between your legs. One of your hands goes to his shoulders, and you keep talking about your costume as if your heart weren’t hammering inside your ribcage, almost coming out from your throat the second his hand finds your knee, holding it so your anxious bounce can cease.

You gulp trying to keep your attention on whatever your friend is talking about because all your mind can focus on is your best friend’s hand on you, his body radiating warmth into yours. And not that it is unusual for Charles to touch it, quite the opposite, he loves to hug and kiss those he cares about, but it’s just lately your heart seemed to wish for a different kind of sharing.

It wants to share the secret touches. It wants to claim hungry kisses, tears of happiness, loud silences, and whispered mysteries. It is as if your heart created a reality where you had all of this with Charles.

Your own Charlie-verse.

The party keeps going in full swing, and Charles never leaves your side for over thirty minutes. He comes and goes always checking if you’re ok and if you want to go with him, but you choose the safety of the counter and your crowd of friends. The conversation is good, and so is the booze, from the kitchen you can see a bit of the living room and the pool area through the glass doors.

And it’s only when part of the girls decide to go dancing that you hop off the counter, and grab Charles’ hands following him in the direction of another crowd of friends. You’re tipsy enough to lace your fingers with his and to tighten your grip when you pass people dressed as clowns, werewolves, and with fake open wounds.

You end up in the pool area in front of Charles, he holds your body protectively against his, while his other hand has a cup you’re still sharing. The conversation is between the group, but every once in a while something will catch his attention and he’ll whisper about it in your ear, to which you’ll slightly turn your head, chuckle, and then answer him.

Though you felt a bit out of place at first with how everyone’s costumes seemed so extra compared to yours, you and Charles have had a lot of fun. So much so that you have given up going back home and decided to share a cab to his apartment.

Half of the ride a tipsy Charles is lecturing you with his “I told you so” about how he suggested you slept at his place and you denied it before the party. You just rest your head on his shoulder and pretend you are listening to his non-stop rant.

As it happens, the driver seems a bit uninterested in Charles’ rant because he turns the music on, and the last song that starts playing when he makes the curve into Charles’ street is Michael Jackson. You shriek and start jumping on the car seat.

“Chérie, it’s late,” your best friend tries to reason, but you just giggle.

“You have soundproof walls.”

“But not windows,” he tries again, and you playfully roll your eyes before getting out of the car wishing the driver a good night.

“Annie, are you okay?” you start to sing as you reach the elevators, and Charles just fakes a sigh, holding you close by the waist.

“So, Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?” you sing loudly until you reach the penthouse.

“Love, that’s not Smooth Criminal’s dance, that’s Thriller…” Charles holds back his laughter when you start a made-up choreography in his living room. “Oh mon dieu, you’re so precious.”

You giggle, smacking a loud kiss on his warm cheeks. While you make your track to the bathroom Charles goes to the kitchen.

“I’m using the guest bathroom! Go shower on the main one, you stinky!” you scream from the corridors and you hear his scoff, almost able to picture his eye roll.

You go through your shower on autopilot, brushing your teeth, and reaching for one of Charles’ shirts that are on the guest bedroom bed. Your visits have been so frequent you have everything you need there, but tonight you didn’t want one of your pajamas, you want to indulge in the daydream that your mind is harnessing.

When you reach your favorite Monegasque bedroom you can hear the shower still running, so you settle in the middle of his bed, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere in your head, there’s still music playing and your body seems to have kept a bit of the buzzing from the party. The distant noises coming from the open windows, along with the wind hitting the curtains lull you into a soft slumber, that only goes away when a door closes, you guess it's his closet, you smell his body wash and shampoo before he steps close to you.

There’s too much happening inside your head, so you choose to stay in silence while your best friend watches you attentively, eyes finding yours in a beat.

Charles, on the other hand, doesn’t have much in his head. He only has you. Your smell, your laugh, your voice, your body on his bed wearing his shirt.

“You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” his mouth works faster than his brain does, and just like that you’re staring at him in confusion.

It’s like his brain is shortcircuited.

Charles gets up from the bed.

He walks to the door, then turns around and comes back to your side. There’s a crease between his brows and you have known him long enough to identify it as worry.

“Sharls, what’s going on?”

“I’m not drunk ok? Before you say anything, I’m not drunk, I’m just tipsy like you,” he starts and you nod from your spot on the bed. “I am so sorry, but I have to tell you this, and I’ll completely understand if you don’t feel the same, but I have to take this out of my chest, Yn.”

Sensing how serious the situation is you sit up, legs crossed one over the other, hands tucked under them.

“I- uhm… See- It’s like this, I-”

“Charles,” you call.

“I’m in love with you,” he spills in a single sentence, but then he keeps going. “I love you so fucking much it’s starting to hurt the fact that I’ve been keeping it from you. And I don’t even know when it started, but I’m so used to sharing everything with you, I just.. I wanted us to share more. I wanted to share my bed with you, and my clothes, and-” he points with his fingers before you could say something, “And I know we already share those things, but I want to do it differently. I want to share romantically. I want to share my heart with you, Chérie, all of it. But I’ll understand if you’re confused or overwhelmed by my outburst, in fact… shit… I should have waited in case you wanted to go home right? Please, tell me that if you don’t feel the same you’ll at least get the farthest guest bedroom, I promise I won’t bother you, we’ll pretend it didn’t happen in the morning and I-”

“No,” you interrupt.

“Pardon?”

“I said no, I won’t sleep in the farthest guest bedroom.”

“Oh- then let me drive you, just…– fuck I can’t I drank… uhm I’ll–”

“No, Charles, stop,” you get on your knees on the mattress and reach for his arm, bringing his body close to yours.

“No, I’m not sleeping in the guest bedroom because we’re sharing a bed tonight. No, I’m not mad about your admission, I’m sharing my heart with you too. Romantically,” you confess.

His shoulders drop in relief, and you giggle, threading your fingers on his soft strands. Charles mutters something you can’t understand because you’re too focused on how his face seems different from this angle, after all the confessed words. He’s still your Charles, but he’s also a new Charles, and this knowledge brings a new feeling to your heart and stomach.

When his lips find yours, soft and warm, a contrast with his cold hands on your jaw and waist, he presses your bodies closer and hums in pleasure. You smile, unable to contain your happiness. He kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before, and when the air has made itself scarce, you part the kiss, foreheads still touching.

“So, Charlie, are you okay? Are you okay, Charlie?”

Charles throws his head back and laughs.

He knows how insufferable you could get once a song gets stuck in your head.

“I was struck down. You’re such a smooth criminal, Chérie. Stealing hearts around so easily.”

It is your turn to laugh.

“That was cheesy, but I loved it,” you mumble before pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I love you.”

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, lovelies! I hope you liked the piece, I wanted to add a huge shout-out to Delia (@struggling-with-delia on Tumblr) for proof and beta-reading this <3. Let me know your thoughts on this piece *mwah*.

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incorrectbatfam · 11 months

Note

Batfam’s Father’s Day plans

(also on Ao3)

"Morning, Bruce."

The way Stephanie says that instantly makes him look up. She traces her socked toe on the right angles of the tile, looking down.

"Morning, Steph." Bruce puts his coffee down. "Something wrong?"

"Huh?" She perks up in realization. "No, not at all. I actually just have something for you. I stopped by Walgreens on patrol last night 'cause I ran out of antiseptic, and I saw something that reminded me of you."

She hands him a dark blue greeting card with a cartoon fruit bat and Comic Sans text reading: You drive me batty, but I love you.

"Get it? 'Cause it's a bat, and you're the Batman." She scratches the back of her neck. "Not trying to make it weird or anything, you're just a cool mentor and whatnot. But also, it's nice to have someone who you can mess around with. My old man was always talking business even when he was at home—you kinda do that too, but in a good way 'cause anything's better than being a D-list villain, y'know. Plus, unlike him, you're working on striking a balance. Sometimes you even have a sense of humor." She chuckles awkwardly. "Anyway, I'm going on a jog. Text me if you need anything."

Before he processes her rambling, she grabs a granola bar and races out the door. He opens the card and out falls out a handful of purple confetti plus an ever-rare two-dollar bill. Smiling, he brushes the confetti up and puts it in his shirt pocket.

Bruce checks his watch. Everyone else is already out, except for Cass. She was out late last night on that Clayface mission, but even she should be up by this time. He fixes her a bowl of cereal with the package instructions and brings it upstairs.

"Cass?" He knocks. "Are you up yet? It's past 9:30."

He hears the duvet crunch like a candy wrapper as she shuffles around. A moment later, the door swings open as a messy-haired Cass yawns.

"I'll leave this up here for you," he says, putting the bowl on the dresser. "Any big plans today?"

She shakes her head. "Write reports. And relax."

"Well, you deserve a break. Great job on the stakeout, Princess." He plants a quick kiss on her forehead.

"Love," she says.

"Huh?"

"Favorite thing you do. Love."

He laughs softly. "I try. Now go get dressed."

The rest of the day goes by like any other. Despite it being Sunday, he still has a meeting scheduled with some Singaporean investors on their timezone. By eleven, he and some other executives are gathered around the long conference table as the video call drones on, and it's not until over an hour later that they're finally let out. Bruce loosens his tie and Tim does the same, sighing in relief and exhaustion.

Bruce asks, "Did you have lunch yet?"

"Oh, I forgot that's a thing," Tim says, stretching. "Hey, remember that ice cream place on 32nd?"

"You want ice cream for lunch?"

"I'd break your no killing rule for their M&M cookie sundae, okay?" he says. "Besides, remember when you took my friends and I there even though we massively bombed our first off-world fight? I might still be a massive perfectionist but that made me get a little more comfortable with failing. Anyway, I thought it'd be cool to stroll down memory lane—and have junk food as a meal without Alfred knowing. Unless you're busy, which I totally get."

"Not at all," Bruce replies, putting an arm around Tim's shoulders. "Duke and Damian will be at the arcade all day and I don't have any urgent side business."

And so, instead of calling Alfred for a ride, they journey through the Gotham subways with Tim's camera capturing the Grammy-worthy saga of a billionaire CEO battling a common turnstyle. They get a few side-glances in the sparse train car, but besides a teenager asking for Tim's autograph, the civilians leave them alone. Pretty soon, they're at a 1950s-themed ice cream parlor, where the waitress slides their orders down the long chromium bar.

"Why do they call it a banana split?" Bruce asks, grabbing the cocoa powder shaker.

Tim pauses mid-bite of his cookie. "...Because they split the banana in half?"

"Really?"

He moves the whipped cream aside to reveal the cut banana in Bruce's dish.

"How would it sound if I said I never noticed that?"

He smirks. "That's why I'm the brains of this operation."

"Indeed you are." Bruce ruffles his hair. "Though this head of yours could use some shampoo."

"Will saying I love you get me a free pass out of it?"

"No." He laughs. "But I love you too, son."

Alfred catches on to their little dessert escapade and picks them up from the parlor, though not without commenting on the strawberry stain on Bruce's jacket. As Tim plugs his music into the car, Bruce takes the time to listen to the voicemails he got during their lunch break.

"Hiya Bruce," Clark's voice plays. "I hope today's going swell for you. I just want you to know that I'm glad I can call you my pard'ner." Bruce snickers at the country twang.

Next is Diana. "Bruce, I apologize if I must keep this brief since I have a curator's convention today. However, I wish to tell you that you are an invaluable teammate and even more remarkable friend."

"Hey Batman, I gave you a shoutout to the Central City press for your help taking down Weather Wizard," Barry says. "Also, thanks for letting me borrow your communicator. I can always count on you to be overprepared. Have a good one!"

"Bats, tell your kid to quit taking my yogurt from the fridge." Ah, good old Hal. "Also, today's all about guys like you, so... yeah. I admit, you could be worse."

Finally, there's one from Zatanna. "Afternoon, Bruce! I'd tell you in person if I wasn't caught up in Kahndaq, but I hope today is extra special for you. I know how much the birds mean to you, and I know they're gonna treat you well."

(There's also one from Ollie, but he's just asking if he can use the communicator after Barry. In the background, Dinah is is clearly ordering food.)

After dropping Tim and Alfred home and switching to a more discreet vehicle, Bruce makes his way to pick two of his other kids up from the arcade.

"Did you guys have fun?" Bruce asks as they climb in.

"We decimated every game," Damian says, "and won you the finest specimen as a trophy."

He plops a five-foot Snorlax into the front seat and buckles the seatbelt.

"This is for me?" Bruce asks.

"Tt, who else would it be for?"

"I didn't win as many tickets," Duke says, "but I also got you a spider ring and a Chinese finger trap." He puts them in the cupholder.

"Why are you giving me all your prizes?"

"Again, who else would we give them to?" Damian asks.

Duke says, "I think what he means is that you do a lot for us, so this is a thanks from us."

As silly as it might seem, Bruce is genuinely touched.

Pre-patrol dinner is a quiet affair, with Kate stopping by because she apparently forgot to go grocery shopping. She takes a fingerling potato off his plate.

"Um, you're welcome?" he says.

"Bruce, we're family. It's what we do." She takes a bite.

He takes a piece of asparagus from her. "I wish all of us were here, though. Too bad Dick and Jason have that Penguin stakeout. Hopefully they're being safe."

"Even if things go wrong, they were taught by the best. You should trust them more." Selina gets up and places a peck on his cheek before going to get a drink.

"I do," he mumbles into his meal. "It's the world I don't trust."

As he puts on his cowl, he asks Barbara for an update on the evening. So far, Duke is handling a carjacking, the girls are preoccupied with a strip mall hostage situation, Damian is patrolling Metropolis with Jon, and Kate is kicking off her shift with a car chase against Two-Face. Tim and Selina are staying back to catch up on some overdue reports, but other than that, the cave is quiet.

"Before you go," Barbara says, "my dad was cleaning out the attic and found something you might like."

From her bag, she pulls out a blue mug that says: World's Okayest Dad.

"My brother got it for him a long time ago, but... you know. It's all yours now, if you want it."

He takes it, running his thumb along the words.

"It suits you," she says before turning back to relay something to Stephanie.

The route laid out for him tonight gives him the perfect opportunity to swing by and check on two of his boys. He lands on the rooftop silently, where Nightwing and Red Hood have already set up camp. Evidently, they don't notice him as they keep going with their conversation.

"Did you get dropped on your head as a baby?" Jason asks. "Sour cream and Greek yogurt are not the same thing."

"They totally are, change my mind." Dick glances through his binoculars. "No sign of Cobblepot yet."

A moment goes by as Jason not-so-covertly steals some of his brother's patrol snacks.

"So how'd family therapy go yesterday?" Jason asks. "Did the old bat finally show an emotion?"

"It was pretty insightful, at least on my part." Dick lowers his binoculars. "I think I realized where Bruce's persistence comes from. It's annoying as hell, but I think that's how he maintains hope. And who knows, maybe it's his love language."

Jason scoffs.

"I'm serious," he says. "I know none of us are stellar at this family thing, but we care about each other. You can't deny that. We just gotta... refine how we express it."

"Count me out."

"Jaybird."

"Codenames, Dickhead."

Dick snickers. "You love us, admit it. All of us."

Jason mutters a string of curses under his breath before saying, "If you tell him, I'm filling your mattress with sour cream."

Bruce smiles and leaps to the next building.

At the end of the night, Bruce finds Alfred brewing tea in the kitchen and takes the kettle from him.

"I got this," he says. "Why don't you go relax in the living room? I think they added your favorite detective movie to Netflix."

"This is a pleasant surprise." Alfred raises an eyebrow. "What brought it on?"

"It's Father's Day, of course," he replies, pouring the cups of tea. "You know you've always been a second dad to me."

"You made that clear with last year's breakfast surprise," Alfred says. "Care to join me?"

"Always," Bruce says. "By the way, do the kids seem different to you today?"

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amysgiantbees · 5 months

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I LOVE Wyll and I understand why they did the rewrites I think he's a wonderful character and wouldn't dream to trade him for his EA counterpart. However, since they chose to rewrite him the lack of material does a disservice to his character.

I love Gale and Astarion and would not change their stories for the world but they aren't really integral to the main plot. Wyll is though and yet Astarion especially has SO much dialogue he comments on EVERYTHING and Wyll barely has anything to say even on the stuff that's important to him, like Gortash's coronation.

It's just so heart braking that Theo, his voice actor, is so passionate about and loved doing his romance scenes so much but Wyll has the least amount of hours dedicated to it.

Scenes I would have liked:

Wyll talking to a child or an innocent post Karlach and he either gets hugged and gets to be surprised that people still see him as heroic. Or he's a bit too smug about it if he killed Karlach.

Wyll meeting up with a member of the flaming fist he used to know in Act 3- maybe they were trainees together when they were teens - and getting to talk about the old days like Karlach and her friend.

Wyll getting to be really surprised Florrick still wants his help in Moonrise after he's been transformed and she puts 2 and 2 together at his reaction and asks if this is why he left Balder's Gate and he tells her that his father asked him to leave. Florrick says that's BS and can become a pseudo parental figure.

The companions dialogue reaction to him braking his pact is fixed so everyone is more like how they react to Shadowheart killing her parents and aren't instead jumping down his throat like he's a power hungry maniac. It's clearly leftovers from EA Wyll when he was more power hungry but it throws his whole character off because clearly this version doesn't struggle with selflessness, he is nothing but! He needs to put himself first over his shitty dad for once in his life. Like the only one I even kind of like is Halsin's dialogue about how a plant sometimes need to strangle a tree to find it's own light. I'm wondering if that isn't something to do with Halsin being expanded upon later in development so it was easier to match it to the new Wyll. Like Wyll damning himself for eternity is satisfying if he's been selfish, but at present it's just him risking himself again and not even for someone we know yet (or *spoilers* someone useful like all the dragon tip does is give us a bit more info about the Emperor and give Wyll some confidence).

I think it's VERY bold of Ravengaurd to say he WILL make it up to Wyll. Not that he'll try but that he knows he can make it up to him. Despite throwing out the sweetest teen on earth even though he was clearly trying to tell him something. Despite likely hearing about the Blade of Fronteir's exploits and never reaching out. Even after being rescued by him to just be still so full of bitterness and hatred. Despite all his failings as a father and always putting his reputation and Baulder's Gate above his son he really thinks it'll all be water under the bridge soon. So, I would like it if your TAV was able to challenge this assumption.

I would like it rewritten so Wyll actually has it out with his Dad instead of tadpoling him what has happened post rescue. Let them actually talk finally. Wyll lacks so much agency and could really use a dramatic moment like everyone else get's in Act 3 to shine.

I would love if your approval is high enough or you're romancing him for you to be able to see his walls come down once. I think it would be so powerful if after this whole journey he's been so composed and careful and then whatever happens with the contract in Act 3 he lets you see how he really feels for once. Like you still have your talk and he's all composed and tells you he just needs some time. However, later that night when you've gone for a long rest you catch him on the roof of the Elfsong or something. He could be crying, or praying to Tyr to save his father, or screaming, summoning dark tendrils of magic and yelling about how he resents his power.

Also Florrick should not show up if you break the contract unless the Duke is dead. It screws up Mizora's dialogue and brakes it a bit. Like if Florrick didn't show up till after you killed Orin that would probably work because if you kill Orin first you probably aren't going to kill Gortash or go down to the Iron Throne. Or at least give it a long rest or two before she shows up.

There's also just dialogue that does not fit that's leftovers from EA I believe. Like after braking the pact TAV being able to tell Wyll he shouldn't be a duke because he's too power hungry. Or even the companion dialogue where Wyll is a bit of a playboy and flirts with Lazel and then Shadowheart immediately afterwards - it totally goes against his hopeless romantic nature. Not that I want them to take even more content away from him.

#wyll #wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #baldurs gate wyll #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #balders gate 3 #larian #duke rave #ulder ravengard #bg3 #myanalysis #bg3 meta #larian critical #larian pls #larian studios

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thesweetnessofspring · 2 months

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It’s interesting because Peeta is on record the person she has warmed up to quickest. She was laughing with him and enjoyed talking to him even when she thought they were going to kill each other and they weren’t traumatized from the games yet. It literally took months of hunting with Gale for them to be okay with each other.

I firmly believe that if they hadn’t been reaped one day Peeta would’ve mustered up the courage to have a conversation with her and that would’ve started them on the path to being best friends. All of their fun moments like the picnic and plant book had nothing to do with trauma. If anything, I think the trauma from the games slowed down their relationship because it made Katniss more confused

Well, I will say that Katniss warmed up to Rue, Mags, Beetee, and Wiress pretty quickly. And even though all of those people were her competitors like Peeta had been, she doesn't freak out and think they're plotting her demise like she assumed of Peeta. Probably because she wasn't attracted to them like she was to Peeta and so not only were Hunger Games warning bells going off in her head, but so were the alarms going "wait, wait, wait, we don't want to get married and have babies and watch them die! DON'T have a crush on him!!!! Don't do it!!!" And then when it comes down to it, she isn't able to not fall in love with Peeta.

Oh the trauma 100% slowed down their relationship! Take this quote: "Just the sound of his voice twists my stomach into a knot of unpleasant emotions like guilt, sadness, and fear. And longing. I might as well admit there's some of that, too. Only it has too much competition to ever win out."

They went through something so horrible together and he's associated with that, and her instinct is to avoid that and him. As much as Peeta took the blame for the six-month freeze-out, what they had settled on (granted with a lot of guilt) was that Katniss would let him know once she figured out how much was real. And she never did so Peeta also ignored her. And Suzanne confirms this is the case in this interview when she says: "You can see she's [Katniss] practicing avoidance--she's completely pushed Peeta to arm's length, you know? She's trying to stay away from him, because everything associated with him except some very early childhood memories is associated with the games."

And yet despite this, they find their way back together because it was never about the trauma. That was 100% Katniss and Gale's relationship after their fathers died and they became their family's main providers. They fell apart because they didn't have strong enough alignment in their values and pissed each other off and couldn't figure out how to mend what they'd broken. Katniss and Peeta only grew stronger because of their shared values and complimentary personalities and because they always had a way of growing back together, no matter what happened.

#everlark

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nanomooselet · 3 months

Text

My Brother's Keeper (VII)

Knives, despite it all, I do indeed pity you. You horrible creature. More than you might imagine anyone would dare.

I said some time ago that Knives has agency and Vash doesn't, and that the Eye of Michael's dogma demands sacrifice.

One lives. One dies.

When Knives tells Vash to leave humanity, it's at that very instant Vash realises the truth: that this isn't about the Plants versus humans. It was never about that, ever, and trying to dissuade Knives from continuing his descent by arguing from that premise isn't ever actually going to work.

It's about how discovering Tesla broke them in two. It broke reality, cracked the singular unit they once believed themselves to be in half, and sent each half down forever-separate paths in both space and time.

Vash, through Rem, decided he could face the future. Even despite this discovery, how apathetically cruel the world is to the innocent, the future is always ours to shape as long as we live to choose. Rem showed him that through acknowledging and accepting responsibility for the pain of the past, even if once ignorant or complicit, one could learn and heal, and therefore work to be free of it. Not perfect. Never perfect. But still better.

Nai only saw potential pain. The fear of facing the world where it could be inflicted, and of those who'd done so, consumed him. He would erase both by returning to the past, the innocence and ignorance of having never learned the frightening truth. He'd thus build a paradise, an Eden, where no sin was committed and no sinner would set foot. He alone, in his own singular perfection, was fit both to assume this task and the power - and thus the right - to fulfil it.

Since when have we been so different?/Who are you? We've become so different I don't think I even know you anymore.

Vash begins to cry because he sees now that Nai… Nai is gone. Maybe he ran for too long, or maybe the Nai he thought he knew never existed. It doesn't matter anymore. There's nothing of his brother left to love in this monster before him, who's done everything that he's done and isn't sorry and wants to keep doing it by seizing control over Vash's own body. (Even though they look more like each other now than they have since they were kids, which still absolutely ruins me.) Vash grieves his brother, his brother's love and their togetherness in the past, but he finally knows for sure that they're gone, and he must define his own identity, and move beyond them.

His declaration that he'll always run isn't about running from humanity, anymore than Knives is truly fighting for the freedom of the Plants.

Seriously, Knives isn't fighting for the freedom of the Plants. He thinks he is, because he thinks that justifies controlling their bodies and consuming their power and benefiting from their suffering, but he's reversed cause and effect. He acts and so they suffer, but he believes their suffering is what motivates his actions and not his fear and his greed for the power to destroy whatever he fears. It's circular, and it's entirely self-centred.

It's the logic not of a liberator but of the entire system of oppression.

Knives's paradise, the home to which he's so desperate to return, no longer exists. It never will again. Not for him or for Vash or for the Plants. Knives himself broke it. Knives himself ripped it out of the heavens and plunged it into the earth, shattering it, so he could reshape the pieces into something that he alone controlled. Knives will always assume control, and he won't stop if you give what he says he wants, because he won't admit or even try to understand that it's not the truth.

He wants to stop being scared and alone. He wants his brother to need him and never leave him. He wants his mother, but she's gone. (He killed her. Over and over and over again he kills her and she's still always gone and he hates her for always being gone. Why is she gone? Why didn't she stay? He asked. He gave her a choice.)

(Yet in Vash's memories and in the people he loves, Rem's spirit lives on, and always will. She still loves him, her perfect boy, even still protects him, just as she promised she would. Did you guys know Vash's coat is bulletproof? Did you guys realise Vash literally still walks around kicking ass in the protective embrace of his mother? I actually had to take a minute, when I figured it out. It made me tear up.)

I was rejected?

Let me back in! Take me back.

Knives wants to go home. To be a child again with Vash by his side. Innocent, together, in paradise. But once you've grown up, you can never really go home again. It's a fundamentally selfish desire to want everything to go back to being the same forever - what it means is that because it was good or kind for you specifically, everyone else has to conform whether it was good and kind to them or not. There's always danger in nostalgia even when it's not misplaced. It encourages destructive nihilism, malicious and ignorant apathy. If the best can only ever be behind us, there is no reason to try to go on.

Vash is not nostalgic. Vash will run, and run, and keep running. For a lifetime if he has to - and a Plant's lifetime is a long one. It's not that he hasn't made a choice, but that he'd already made it long ago: to be free of Knives, to live and to fight for independence from his brother's abusive care, and to find a way to unite humans and Plants, the purpose he's been eager and happy to serve since the day he found it. Rem's dream is one he longs to fulfil, and he finally knows he has the power, intelligence, resilience, strength and above all, the right to take up that task.

He's just acknowledged and accepted that it's not also his purpose to help his stupid brother, not if this is all he gets in response. Dismissed, ignored, insulted, his grief and compassion mocked; abused, put down, smothered, injured, rendered permanently disabled, scarred, violated, traumatised. Forced into the shape that Knives imagines he should be in, pieces cut away until he fits the image in his brother's head.

It's very sad that after all that Knives has done to him, Vash doesn't value his own life and wellbeing enough to care for himself as much as he cares for everyone else in the world. But it still beats Knives trying to do it for him. He's so bad at it.

In the past, on occasions such as this, when Vash demonstrated like... the capacity to sort of almost disagree, Knives would yell at him suddenly and loudly enough that Vash would freeze up in terror, and then Knives would do whatever he wanted regardless. My man isn't good at hearing the word "no". If yelling or insults failed, he'd do something physically violent. I've seen a lot of takes on how funny and/or gay it is that Vash's reaction to Wolfwood grabbing his lapels and threatening to torture him to death is... this.

But understand that when Vash suggests an alternative that doesn't involve mass murder, his brother tends not to agree to it. Or stop at threats. Vash's arguments with Knives always make Vash sound a bit pathetic and dumb because Knives doesn't actually engage Vash - he shuts him down or insults him, telling him he's too weak and stupid to even speak. He has no respect at all for Vash's opinions, abilities, or as a person - honestly, I wouldn't treat an animal this way.

When someone finally respects your beliefs and abilities after they've been coldly or violently dismissed so many times, that's… how it feels.

Knives assumed that Vash had no powers so he was weak, and then when Vash did demonstrate powers, that Vash was weak because he was frightened of them. As usual, the trauma he's inflicted maybe being the problem never entered his mind; it's always Vash's fault. When Vash finally has both power and the will to assert control of it, he finally has the capacity and strength to enforce his refusal. And that leaves Knives finally exhausted of any means to break his will.

Except one. One final choice.

Vash is right: the plan has failed and this is over. Knives can never again have the power he desires, and what's more, Vash would rather be shot at for another hundred years than be together with his brother in paradise.

In spite of everything Knives has done to destroy it, the independent identity of Vash the Stampede yet survives. And so.

One lives.

One dies.

Nai is dead.

There's no turning back.

(The stars are falling down.)

And no one ever really goes home.

If you want to tell me Stampede is a poor quality adaptation, it's not funny and it's shallow and Vash is a loser now and there's no Milly and they're just exploiting the property and if it just hadn't been called Trigun maybe... maybe...

Maybe! You're entitled to an opinion. I'm open to the discussion. I do always try to assume good faith.

However, I'm still probably not going to agree.

And I'm done. Now I need to lie down on the floor and cry over my beautiful disaster twins. Thank you very much for reading! I encourage you to be as insane in the tags as you feel moved to be, because I crave validation.

(Extreme Lesbianism for Meryl Stryfe: Coming Soon.)

(Part I)

(Part II)

(Part III)

(Part IV)

(Part V)

(Part VI)

#trigun stampede #tristampparty #millions knives #vash the stampede #trigun meta #hundreds spoons #vash is in fact perfect #hundred spoons is a yellow-bellied baby who needs his mommy #throwing a tantrum trying to blow everything up #maybe if he'd tried the ramen in july he'd be less on fire #TOO LATE NOW #loser #i cherish them both #full disclosure the shot where knives is launched through the rem-plant-thing's face is only there because it makes me giggle #on a scale of millions knives to one how graceful are you in defeat #meta: my brother's keeper

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laryna6 · 3 months

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Can you tell me about Miles Vorkosigan? (And also which book to start with)

"Welcome to Barrayar, son. Here you go; have a world of wealth and poverty, wrenching change and rooted history. Have a birth; have two. Have a name. Miles means "soldier", but don't let the power of suggestion overwhelm you. Have a twisted form in a society that loathes and fears the mutations that have been its deepest agony. Have a title, wealth, power, and all the envy and hatred they will draw. Have your body ripped apart and rearranged. Inherit an array of friends and enemies you never made. Have a grandfather from hell. Endure pain, find joy, and make your own meaning, because the universe certainly isn't going to supply it. Always be a moving target. Live. Live. Live."

— Cordelia Vorkosigan to her newborn son Miles, Barrayar

Sci-fi series by Lois McMaster Bujold where the world of Barrayar was cut off from the rest of the galaxy for a long time and also the native plant life is mutagenic, so it became a mother's duty to kill her child at birth if it was a mutant. Also the tax collectors become a military aristocracy.

After recontact (and after a star empire tried to conquer Barrayar and threw a bunch of nukes around before getting finally kicked off the planet, not helping the local fear/hatred of mutations) is the first chronological book in the main series, Shards of Honor, about a survey (and later military) captain from the very liberal Beta Colony. Cordelia ends up marrying a Vor lord, but while she's pregnant there's an attempt to assassinate him with a chemical that as a side effect screws up fetal bone development that hits her too. She refuses to let her kid die and fucks shit up during a civil war to accomplish this in the second book where she's the viewpoint character, Barrayar.

"You're a Betan! You can't do—"

— Vidal Vordarian to Cordelia Vorkosigan, just before she does. Barrayar

However, Miles is still born very short with fragile bones, looking like a mutant despite not technically being one, as a member of a warrior-aristocratic caste, and becomes a master of the Indy Ploy/Xanatos Speed Chess ending up in crazy situations and trying to improv his way out of total disaster and among other things (non-late-arrival spoilers under cut)

takes over a mercenary fleet while pretending to be a clone of himself. The Warrior's Apprentice is the first book about him and the first book published. I love the Cordelia books so I'd start with them, but it's up to you.

They followed me home, Dad. Can I keep them?

— Miles on his new Dendarii Mercenaries. Warrior's Apprentice

Someone actually clones Miles to use the clone to assassinate his dad: by Beta Colony rules on family this makes the clone his brother and Mark is eventually Assimilated. You WILL be unconditionally loved and trusted in this family~

"Miles, what have you done with your baby brother?!"

— What Miles imagines his mother will say about his clone. Brothers In Arms

Miles is kind of manic and it's a lot of fun to see what crazy ploy he's going to go with next. Cordelia sees herself as the Only Sane Woman but between her and Aral it's very obvious where Miles got it from ("Every Vor woman goes to the capital to shop" XD).

"Shopping? That's an offer seldom made to the son of my mother..."

— Miles responding to Ekaterin's invitation. Komarr

#miles vorkosigan #vorkosigan saga #cordelia naismith vorkosigan

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babygorewhore · 10 months

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“I’ll protect you.” Protective Kyle Spencer comfort.

Hi!!! This was requested by @enchanting-evan and I absolutely loved this idea! Kyle is my little blonde baby. I absolutely love him. WARNINGS! Madison being a bitch. Protective Kyle. Choking. Pushing. Yelling. But fluff at the end!

“What are you doing?” Madison came up from behind you out of nowhere. You startled in surprise as you paused washing your face. You all had a busy day, Cordelia had you all practicing using plants to heal wounds.

Kyle was sitting on your bed with his iPad, not paying attention as he watched Dora the explorer. You glanced at him before turning back to apply your facial mask. “I’m doing my skincare.” Madison rolled her eyes and light her cigarette.

“Clearly, you need it. All you do is fuck around with Ken over there.” You withheld the urge to snap at her but you continued massaging your face with the cream.

Your toner was lifted in the air telekinetically and you sighed. Looking back at Madison, you held up your hands in a truce. “Please, stop and just go to bed. I’m too tired to fight with you today.” You pleaded.

You both were always at each others throats. She hated how much Kyle loved you. She was always giving you both dirty looks, trying to force him into kissing her despite that he was obviously in love with you.

“I just don’t get it. Why would he be with someone who doesn’t even know how to use her powers yet? You couldn’t given light the candle today.” She said at you and you glared.

“It’s none of your business. Cordelia is helping me. I’m stronger than I was last week.”

“Yeah. And that’s pathetic. You won’t last here. Especially with Halloween coming up. Who knows what might happen to you. You couldn’t protect yourself. Let alone Kyle over there.” Madison looked over at the blonde who was now staring at you. He must have sense something was wrong.

“Madison, leave me alone. Just stop.” You turned to wash the mask off but the water splashed in your face.

You gasped and spun to her. Angrily, you flicked your fingers towards her, yanking the cigarette out of her mouth. You stomped on it on the ground. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Madison stepped forward and you felt your hair be yanked back, you cried out as your head smacked against the wall.

Kyle ran towards you, stepping in front of you as you lunged towards her. “Enough!” He yelled. But Madison wouldn’t stop as she picked up your skincare products with her powers and smashed them on the floor.

Before you could react, Kyle moved towards her and got in her face. He was about to wrap his hands around her neck. “Leave her alone!” He screamed at her, stepping on the glass.

He pushed her against the wall. His hands around her neck as you flew towards him. As much as you hated Madison, you didn’t want him to kill her. Maybe. “Kyle stop, I’m okay!” You said to him.

“Kyle-“ she choked as Kyle tightened his grip. His focus only on protecting you.

“Kyle, stop it!” He flinched as you yelled at him and he removed his hands. “It’s okay.” You smoothed a hand over his hair and he relaxed into your touch. Madison gasped for air and ran out of the room.

You pulled Kyle into your arms, the sleeves of your robe wrapped around him as he snuggled against your shoulder. “Are you-okay?” He stuttered and you nodded, smiling at him.

You cupped his cheek and he nuzzled against your palm.” Yes, baby. I’m okay.”

Kyle leaned forward, kissing your nose before he crushed you into a hug. “I’ll always protect you-you-“ He said against your ear. “I-love-y-y-you.”

“I love you too, Kyle.”

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 2 months

Text

A little danger, pt. 15

A little danger - Series Masterlist

Pairing: Sky of Eraklyon x mind!fairy

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, violence, sexual innuendos, descriptions of blood/wounds/death

———— PART 15 ————

Drawing in a shaky breath, Y/N swipes under her nose with her index finger. She frowns upon the sight of blood and the purple glow it emits.

“Keep going,” Saul encourages, his voice a steady anchor.

Her lips tremble as she tries to form words, the effort of speaking through the agony nearly unbearable. “It feels like my insides are being ripped out of me,” Y/N exclaims, her voice strained and filled with anguish.

“Maybe she could take a break,” Sky pleads, itching to stop the process himself.

“No,” Saul’s voice is firm, his resolve unwavering. “If we’re to protect Bloom, she has to erase the truth from everyone’s minds. Ours included. Otherwise, all of this was for nothing,” Saul pauses, a shadow of regret crossing his features. “And I still remember what happened perfectly.”

Violently trembling, Y/N’s tears blur her vision, though they are not tears but blood, a crimson hue that glows eerie purple. The blood’s strange luminescence casts a haunting glow around her. The warmth she emitted that had him awestruck is gone, it’s terrifying for Sky to look at her now. She sways on unsteady legs, her breath turning to ragged gasps torn from her lungs as she fights to maintain her focus.

“That’s enough,” Sky decides, his gaze hardening. He rushes to Y/N’s side, “Stop this!”

Noticing her left eye twitch, Sky realizes she’s actively fighting to keep her focus despite the distraction he provided. She won’t stop. Not until she does what Saul asked, even if it kills her. Not unless Sky makes her stop.

“Please,” his lips part in a plea as he cups her cheeks. Sky swallows thickly as he realizes she’s bleeding from her ears as well, soaking his hands.

“Keep going,” Saul speaks again sharply.

“It will kill her,” Sky says through gritted teeth, desperation creeping into his voice.

Stella jumps to her feet, her eyebrows furrowed. “Maybe Sky’s right. She’s not looking well.”

“She can do this,” Saul states plainly.

Bloom shakes her head, “She shouldn’t be risking her life over me. I can handle whatever punishment I receive.”

“Or we can just trust she can recognize her limits when she reaches them?” Terra suggests, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Musa’s eyes widen, “She’s going to die.”

Panicked, Sky shakes her body, his heart pounding with fear of losing her to the very power that always captivated him. He’s lied to her about it before – Sky loves her power as much as he fears it for this very reason. The amount of magic concentrated in her is too much for any fairy to handle, the danger looms over them like a dark cloud. If he stands by as it claims her, he knows he will never forgive himself. Nor Saul.

“Don’t do this,” Saul warns Sky who doesn’t heed his words.

In a desperate attempt to steer her focus away from the mission, Sky ignores the tiny voice in his head warning him to be cautious. When it’s Y/N, Sky is willing to toss all caution out the window.

“Don’t kill me for this,” he cracks a smile before planting his lips onto hers, hard. It’s like a collision of pure love and fear, passion and despair. He pours all the longing buried inside him, all the hopes he’s ever carried for their future, all of himself into this kiss, hoping it’s enough to break through to her. His hands tremble as they cup her face, his touch gentle yet urgent, as if he’s trying to anchor her to reality.

As their lips move together, a surge of electricity courses through him, a spark of magic that he can't quite explain. It's as if their connection ignites something within him, something primal and raw. And in that moment, he feels as if he's on the brink of losing himself, of being consumed by the intensity of their bond.

But then, something shifts. A jolt of energy passes between them, and Sky feels a sudden emptiness wash over him, as if a part of him has been ripped away. It's a sensation unlike anything he's ever experienced, a hollow ache that cuts deep into his soul.

And then, just as quickly as it came, it's gone. Sky blinks in confusion, his mind reeling as he tries to make sense of what just happened. But before he can grasp it fully, Y/N pulls away, her expression one of shock and horror.

"What... what did I just do?" she whispers, her voice trembling with disbelief. And then, realization dawns on her face, and she looks at him with wide eyes filled with anguish.

"I'm so sorry," she says, her voice choked with tears, her hands tremble as she reaches out to him. "I didn't mean to... I didn't want to..."

But Sky doesn't hear her words. He's lost in a haze, his mind swirling with memories that no longer belong to him, disappearing one by one, then hundreds and thousands at a time until he’s left a blank page, a void where his memories once resided.

“What just happened?” Stella stares at the two, confused as Sky seems to be.

Saul takes a few steps toward them. “What did you do,” Saul’s voice is oddly calm, but his eyes betray his worry.

“Sky?” Y/N asks shakily, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Huh?” Sky’s response is distant, his gaze vacant. He tilts his head ever so slightly to the left. There’s nothing in his eyes, no fear or hatred or anger….and no love. “You have something,” he gestures to her face. “Like all over.”

Covering her mouth in shock, Y/N shakes her head vehemently. “I can, I can fix this.”

“Fix what?” Saul raises his voice ever so slightly and Sky flinches at the sudden sound, though his expression remains blank.

“Why so loud, dude? You shouldn’t be yelling at her,” Sky states, his words lacking their usual warmth and familiarity as he takes a protective stance before Y/N.

“Dude?” Saul repeats in confusion, his concern deepening.

“I think I erased his memories,” Y/N confesses. “Why the fuck was he kissing me? Why would you allow him to even touch me when I was using all that power to fuck with other people’s minds?!”

“Do you really think any of us could stop Sky once he set his mind on something? Especially when you’re concerned?” Bloom sighs. “You can fix it, though?”

“I think so?” Y/N furrows her brow, her minds racing with thoughts of how to undo the damage. “I never wiped someone’s memories before.”

“Great,” Aisha mutters. “Well, I don’t think we have time to fix Sky right now. We need everyone on campus to forget, remember?”

“I don’t care,” Y/N snaps at her in frustration. “I’ve done what I could, Sky’s priority.”

“You guys really like the sky,” Sky chuckles, his voice light and carefree.

Stella tilts her head, considering. “At least he seems happy and unburdened.”

“He doesn’t even know his name,” Y/N deadpans, her heart heavy.

“We all knew you could potentially lobotomize us,” Stella shrugs. “Maybe the rest of the campus is like this too.”

“NOT HELPING,” Terra exclaims.

“Fix him,” Saul states firmly, his tone ending their argument. “Now.”

“I need time,” Y/N insists. “I could potentially make it worse!”

Pursing his lips, Saul nods. “I guess I’ll have to do what we wanted to avoid.” Sighing, he looks to Bloom. “You’ll have to wear these.”

Opening a box, he presents her with metal bracelets.

“Those look nice,” Sky goes to touch them only to get slapped over his hand by Stella.

“What are those?” Y/N asks.

“Torture devices to stop Bloom from using her magic,” Stella answers.

“You’ve had a way to stop a fairy from using her magic all this time and this is the first I hear of it?” Y/N raises her brows. “Wow.” It could have saved her so much grief. She could have used them outside of class to stop hurting everyone around her. So many people could have been protected from her outburst and Saul never once offered these bracelets to her.

“These are the terms to keep you out of confinement until they reach a decision. Bavani will convene a tribunal to determine the consequences and Queen Luna will preside over it.”

“Lovely,” Stella rolls her eyes.

Placing the bracelets on Bloom, they tighten around her forearms as if they’re embedding themselves into her skin. It looks painful, but Bloom doesn’t make a single sound.

Instinctively, Y/N takes Sky’s hand who pulls away instantly. He doesn’t even glance at her before turning to the TV. Feeling an explosion of pain spread in her chest, Y/N can’t help as tears well up in her eyes.

“Someone’s speaking,” Sky points out.

Queen Luna is making an address.

“Citizens of Solaria, I have tragic news. Rosalind Hale, headmistress of Alfea, is dead. It is a grave loss not only for the students of Alfea but for the entire realm. Rosalind was one of the bravest fairies the Otherworld has ever seen. Respected by her peers. Feared by her enemies. But fear will not dictate how we respond. There is a guilty party, and they will be brought to justice. Blood Witches. Their hatred of our kind is well known. But a heinous act such as this is unprecedented, carried out by their leader, Sebastian Valtor. Every Blood Witch following him is considered an enemy of the Crown. We will use the full weight of our military against them. And make no mistake... this is an act of war.”

“She didn’t mention Bloom,” Aisha points out.

“Maybe the tribunal will be just to get her facts straight?” Terra states.

“I know my mother. She won’t pass on this.”

Nodding, Musa huffs. “So, until all this is resolved, we are expected to go to class like everything is normal?”

“Nothing’s normal,” Y/N interjects as her eyes rest on Sky.

“I’ll take him to my place for the night,” Saul states. “I can explains some basics.”

“No.”

“He doesn’t know you,” Saul tries to placate Y/N, setting a purple spark alight in her eyes for a moment.

“I need to try and fix him and I can’t do that if he’s not with me. Besides, he doesn’t know you either.”

“I don’t wanna go with either of you,” Sky interjects. “You’re pushy and I’d rather not deal with that. And the soldier dude is too serious.”

“Well tough luck,” Y/N grumbles. “Because you will be coming with me or I will do a better job lobotomizing you this time around!”

Stella giggles nervously, “Maybe we should take things easy, okay?”

“You,” Sky smirks. “I like you. You can take me anywhere you want,” he winks.

Glancing at Y/N, Stella pales. “I did not expect that!”

Exhaling loudly, Y/N grimaces. “If I don’t manage to fix him, I will kill him.”

“And you wonder why I don’t want to come with you,” Sky mutters under his breath.

Rolling her eyes at Sky, she turns to Saul. “I’m not done with you either.”

“I have plenty to say to you too,” Saul narrows his eyes at her.

Pursing her lips, she returns the gesture. “Table it for now?”

“Agree,” Saul lifts his chin and it takes everything in Y/N not to laugh.

Shaking hands on it, Y/N sighs before turning to Sky. “Can I trust you not to run and come willingly or will I have to use force?”

Raising his eyebrows, he looks to Stella again. “You’re really going to miss out on this opportunity?”

Lifting her hands up in mock surrender, Stella mouths a ‘sorry’ to Y/N before leaving the two.

“Unbelievable,” Sky grumbles in annoyance.

“I was thinking the same,” Y/N exclaims in disbelief. Grabbing him by the strings of his hoodie, she drags him after her in anger. Sure, she’s the one to blame for erasing his memories, but is he seriously flirting with his ex in front of her?

“Hold up!” Musa runs after her, holding a box of wet wipes. “You might wanna wipe the blood first,” she gestures to her face.

“It’s a short walk to my room and I’m planning to shower immediately.”

Pressing her lips in a thin line, Musa’s eyes widen. “I’d make sure no one catches you in the light then. It looks pretty bad.”

“Will do,” Y/N waves her off. Continuing on her way back, her hands clutch to the strings tightly. He’s not fighting her on it, but knowing Sky didn’t want to come with her hurts. It’s stupid, but part of her expected it to be like in the books; memory loss trope always has them feeling drawn to each other even if their history is gone. They are meant to be into each other, to want to fall in love again, not flirt with their royal ex girlfriend.

“I’m hungry,” Sky complains.

“Okay.”

“I’m starving, like actually dying.”

Pausing, she turns around only to see him flinch at the sight of her. Is he seriously that repulsed by her? Biting her lower lip, she swallows the tears. He will not see her break. She will fix this and then she’s going to be mad at him for not falling head over heels for her on first sight.

“I have food in my room.”

“Is it pizza?” He asks, seemingly excited.

“You don’t remember your name or me, but you remember pizza?”

He shrugs. “Well, I’m hungry not horny. If I was horny, maybe I’d remember you Strange girl.”

Licking her lips, she closes her eyes. “No memory Sky is a dick. Got it.”

Pulling on the strings harder, Y/N walks ahead and Sky groans. “I wouldn’t have to be a dick if you let me leave. I mean, why do you even care?”

“Why ask if you don’t want to know the answer?”

Chuckling, Sky moves to her side. “Ooooh, do I detect some anger in your voice?” Biting his lower lip, Sky smiles. “I think I like the angry side of you more, Strange girl.”

Opening the door, Y/N grips the fabric of his hoodie with all her might and pushes him inside her room, locking the door with her magic to ensure he can’t leave. She does the same to the windows, securing every exit point.

“Have the pizza,” she points to the box on the desk. “I need a shower.”

“What’s stopping me from leaving?” Sky asks timidly.

Leaning on the door frame, she shrugs meekly. Maybe it’s the inkling of fear in his beautiful eyes that grips her heart or it’s the nerves in his tone as he asks, but she softens her voice. “Because I care about you and not even an hour ago, you really cared about me. I guess I’m hoping that sort of a thing doesn’t get lost along with memories because that affects only the head and not the heart. I can’t take away the memories your heart has of all the ways you feel about me.”

“Felt,” he corrects her and it’s like a gut punch.

Averting her gaze to the floor, she crosses her arms over her chest. Her forehead wrinkles as her eyebrows furrow and her eyes struggle to keep the tears at bay.

“Eat your pizza, Sky,” she replies softly with a light tremor in her voice. Disappearing behind the door, she covers her mouth to stop herself from sobbing openly. It’s not his fault he doesn’t remember her. Isn’t this what she wanted? For Sky to forget all about her? She tried so hard to push him away. If she wanted, this could be the answer to her wishes.

Shaking her head, she leans on her sink. Looking at herself in the mirror, she gasps loudly enough to warrant a light knock on the door.

“Uhhh, not that it’s any of my business, but is everything okay in there?”

Clearing her throat, she nods. “Yeah. All good.”

Her face is caked in blood, starting from marks running down her eyes, from her nose down her chin, in fact only a part of her forehead is clear. There are bloody tracks from her ears too. No wonder Sky flinched at the mere sight of her. She looks like a horror movie character.

In the dimly lit bathroom, the sound of running water fills the air as Y/N stands beneath the steaming shower, letting the warm water ease the icy chill that has seeped into her heart again. She watches as the ruby red blood swirls down the drain, disappearing into nothingness as did Sky’s feelings for her. As she scrubs vigorously at her skin, trying to rid herself of the remnants of what’s happened, her mind is consumed by thoughts of Sky. He’s a stranger now, it’s evident in the blank expression on his face and the emptiness in the eyes that held so much love for her. All they mirror now is the loss she feels inside.

Sky doesn’t remember her anymore. There’s no love left in him, the bond the shared is severed by a knife she wielded herself, unaware it would go straight into her heart and twist with every beat. Y/N has experienced immense pain in her life, lost many dear to her heart, but this? It threatens to engulf her entirely. She was careless and this is the result. Sky was always afraid of her doing something similar to this, but she can’t imagine even he would have expected the magnitude of what’s happened this evening.

Mother. Farah. Sky.

She lost them all.

But she might be able to save Sky. She will lose him inevitably even if she brings his memories back. This is unforgivable, she knows that. Perhaps if she were to keep Sky as he is, she’d get him to love her again. Maybe it can still be like in the romance books and they could be happy.

No.

It wouldn’t be fair to him.

Sky deserves to know who he is and how he’s become that way. Most of all, he deserves to be able to make his choices knowing all the facts. If she has to lose him in the process, then so be it. That will be her punishment, one too easy for the severity of the crime. It will kill her, but that’s what she deserves.

And in that moment, a flicker of determination opens room for a glimmer of hope deep within her. She won’t give up on Sky, not now, not ever. He was always chasing after her, unable to give up even when she didn’t deserve him. This time it’s her turn to do the chasing. Even if he doesn’t make it easy on her. When he went after her, Sky at least knew she cares for him. This is a different story.

With renewed resolve, Y/N shuts off the water and steps out of the shower, wrapping herself in a towel. Though the pain lingers, she knows she can't let it consume her. She'll find a way to bring Sky back to her, no matter what it takes. For their love is stronger than any obstacle, and she refuses to let it slip away into the darkness.

Realizing she didn’t bring a change of clothes, her heart jumps at the thought of having to go out in front of Sky with nothing but a towel wrapped around her. He’ll think she’s nymphomaniac and it will make it all worse. Holding her breath, she opens the door only to find Sky laying on his back on her bed, eyes closed and his hands on his stomach.

“I didn’t wanna touch anything since I got all this dried blood on my hands,” Sky states as he looks at her. His eyes widen and he sits up immediately. “Uhh, I, uh, what are you? What are you doing?”

Raising her eyebrows, she smirks. “Little nervous, are we?”

“Little naked, are we?”

Holding onto the towel, she shrugs. “You can wash your hands in the bathroom. There’s warm water if you want to take a shower.”

Gulping, he averts his gaze to his hands. “I, uh, don’t really have spare clothes laying around.”

“You do,” Y/N remarks. “I have a few pairs of your boxer briefs, a few shirts and I’m fairly certain you’ve left half your hoodie collection in my closet.”

Staring at her with mouth open, Sky inhales sharply. “Sorry, what do you mean?”

“If you want a shower, don’t worry about clothes,” Y/N explains as she grabs some of it and tosses it to the bed. Realizing she threw her fave hoodie he’s left, she runs toward the bed, “Oh, sorry, that one I’ll keep actually.” Grinning, she throws it over a chair and grabs another. Walking back to the bed, she slips. Falling on her left hip with a grunt, she nearly screams as she feels warm hands on her bare skin moments after impact.

“I’m not looking!” Sky exclaims as he helps her back on her feet, her towel remaining on the floor. “I’m not a creep, I swear!”

She couldn’t help the laugh bursting out of her when she notices the pink tint on his cheeks. He’s staring at the ceiling, but his hands haven’t left her waist. Biting her lower lip, she reaches for his face, cupping his cheeks.

“I don’t think you’re a creep.”

Daring to look her in the eyes, Sky swallows thickly. “I didn’t even think, I just rushed to help you. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

Shaking her head fondly, she smiles. “I’ve never felt more comfortable than in your arms. And I know it sounds scary and overwhelming, but it’s the truth.”

With those words, he’s unable to tear his gaze away from her. She stands there, her damp hair cascading in loose waves down her back, brushing his hands on her waist, her eyes reflecting so many emotions he can’t quite decipher. There’s a resilience, a strength in her that captivates him. Looking at her now, with all the blood washed away, Sky can’t help the undeniable sense of awe. She’s not just pretty, she’s stunning, breathtakingly so. Every feature is perfectly crafted, from the curve of her lips to the sparkle in her eyes. In this moment, she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his life and it takes his breath away. And that? That’s what ignites a nagging sense of fear that grips his heart. She’s a stranger to him, someone he barely knows, yet there’s a connection between them that he can’t ignore. She told him he cared for her, that she cares for him, but he doesn’t feel that. What if he never does? What if she expects him to be the guy she thinks she knows and he can’t live up to that? Whoever he was to her, whoever he was in that life, that part of him is gone.

Letting his hands fall to his sides, Sky turns away. “The towel’s right next to you.”

He listens to the way she inhales, as if he’s already disappointed her. Part of him wishes he could remember, to know all he’s ever known about her, to understand why he was set aflame just by touching her bare skin, but that’s unattainable right now.

A shower isn’t.

Taking the clothes she laid out on the bed, Sky passes by her without so much as a glance. Closing the door, he finally lets out a breath he’s been keeping inside. There’s a goddess outside those doors and she looks at him like he’s all she’s ever wanted. So why did he run?

Out of the shower and dressed, Sky truly hoped she fell asleep. Y/N, that’s how he heard them call her. He likes the way her name sounds in his head, but he’s certain it sounds better rolling off his tongue.

Shaking the thought out of his mind, he peaks inside only to find her in the hoodie she took back earlier. Y/N’s sat on her bed, back against the frame. She looks up, a small smile on her lips as their eyes meet.

“Feel better?”

“I, uh, really don’t know what to say,” he manages a small smile.

“I can tell.”

“You have a photo of me on your vanity.”

“I do,” she glances at it for a moment. She took that photo during his training, right as he realized she was there, watching him. That grin of his is immortalized in her mind and in that photo.

“Okay. So we were close. I can accept that.”

Sighing, she nods. “Sky of Eraklyon. That’s your name. You’re the heir to Eraklyon…should we ever manage to free it.”

Frowning, he clicks his tongue. “That’s what you open with?”

“I don’t know what to say, either.”

Rubbing his forehead, he sits at the foot of the bed. “Don’t treat me differently, okay? I might not have memories I used to, but I’m still me”, he looks down to his hands folded in his lap.

“If I granted that wish, we’d sorta both be naked and –“

Chuckling, Sky glances at her sheepishly. “Maybe treat me a little bit differently. Like when we first met.”

She licks her lips before smiling. “We knew each other as kids. Then we were separated for a long time. When we met again, we didn’t talk for years.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. The first time we talked again, you got thrown into a wall.”

“What did I do to deserve it?”

Y/N pulls her knees up to her chest. “Nothing. You were being kind and I…don’t always have a lid on my magic.”

“So, you were the dick back then?”

Chuckling, she nods. “You could say that.” When she looks at him, her gaze is tender. There’s a softness in her eyes as she looks at him, like she sees him, truly sees him.

“Stop that,” Sky turns away from her.

“What?”

“Stop looking at me like I’m yours, because I’m not!”

Swallowing thickly, she stares at him in shock. Nauseous and lightheaded, she feels as if her heart is breaking. You can die of a broken heart, it’s a scientifically proven fact. She can feel the ache deep behind her ribs, the heart that’s beating a desperate rhythm: love me, remember me.

“I don’t know how to look at you differently,” she gives him a tight lipped smile, swallowing tears. She knows she shouldn’t take it personally, but his words almost feel venomous.

Seeing the unshed tears in her eyes, Sky sighs. Running a hand through his wet hair, he leans his elbows on his thighs. “I did say you shouldn’t bring me with you.”

“Yeah. The girl you wanted to go with is your ex girlfriend and my…well, she’s like my best friend.”

“Oh,” he looks at her again, noticing the tears have made tracks on her cheeks, but no new ones are awaiting their journey. “So, that’s why you were so pissy. Even if I don’t remember you, cheating isn’t something I’d want to do.”

“Well…we are technically just friends right now. We broke up pretty recently.” Wiping under her eyes, she huffs. “It was stupid. Our breakup, I mean.”

“Who ended things?”

“I did,” she admits. “I was so good at pushing people away and running from everyone until they give up the chase, but you,” she smiles softly. “You never give up on me. The reason you were with me tonight, why this happened to you, it’s all a result of your unwillingness to walk away.”

Listening intently, Sky moves up to sit beside her. “I think you lied to me then. It doesn’t sound like I cared about you,” Sky leans his head on the headboard, his eyes chained to hers, taking in every little change in her expression to heart. He didn’t want to make her cry again. “Did I love you?”

Y/N’s lips part with his question. She’s taken aback, hopeful and he knows he’s made a mistake. He should have worded it better instead of giving her reason to hope he feels that way now.

“Y-yes,” she whispers. Her hand brushes his out of habit. “Sorry,” she tries to pull away, but he takes her hand in his, seemingly curious. His fingers run across her palm, warm against her skin.

“Why does touching you make me feel like I’m right where I’m meant to be, yet your presence here makes me want to scream for you to leave?” Sky speaks softly, quietly, as if she isn’t meant to hear him, but she does and it hurts. It’s just the very tip of the emotions of a very deep iceberg.

“What about my presence unnerves you the most?”

“The expectations in your eyes. You look at me and see someone you love and I’m not him anymore. I’m worried I’ll never be him again and I’ll lose something that’s obviously been very important to me.” He traces her wrist with his thumb, wetting his lips. “It’s the pain in your eyes, like I stole something you can’t get back.” Gnawing at the inside of his cheek, he releases her hand. “What if those memories are gone forever and I don’t end up falling in love with you again?”

Closing her eyes, she inhales deeply. “I don’t know.”

When she turns to look at him, Sky expected tears in her eyes, but he’s breathless as he’s met with a violet hue instead.

“What –“

“I’m not going to give up on you.”

Backing away, Sky shakes his head. “What’s that supposed to mean? Why did your eyes change?”

“I’m a mind fairy and I’m the reason you lost your memories. I have to try to bring them back,” she taps on the mattress. “Don’t you want to at least try and remember?”

“I do, but what if you lose control and turn me back to a baby or something.”

Holding her hand out for him to take, she shrugs. “Won’t know until we try.”

“That’s reassuring,” he grimaces.

“Are you in or out?”

Shaking his head, he sighs. “You’re kinda crazy, Strange girl.”

Chuckling dryly, she nods. “It’s precisely why you love me.”

“Okay,” he sits back down, holding her hand tightly in his. “Ruin me for good.”

PART 16

#sky of eraklyon #sky x reader #sky of eraklyon x reader #sky fate the winx saga #sky fate #fate the winx saga #sky angst

32 notes · View notes

clarepreed · 3 months

Text

Neighborly

Story Content and Summary - 8,171 words. Larissa and Mitchell try to save a choking neighbor. Choking, on-site resuscitation, explicit sex.

Previous installment: Micro-Story: Larissa's Decision

Mitchell

Mitchell ruffled his hands through his hair and dropped them to his sides, his eyes on the boardwalk path ahead. They’d been home a few days, and the sunny weather tempted them out for a walk.

Larissa reached for his hand and he let her take it, curling his fingers around hers. The gesture felt right, despite everything that had gone on between them lately. Larissa, he thought, looked lovely dressed in blue, with her hair loose and her face freshly washed and free of makeup.

“I’m glad we’re home,” she murmured. “It was nice to see Momma and Daddy and Poppy, but I enjoy being home with you. Especially here.”

“I feel the same way, baby.”

They walked for a while until they approached the gate that closed off their boardwalk trail from the gated community behind their property.

“Keep walking?” he asked, smiling over at her. “I’d like to continue if you’re up for it.”

Larissa nodded, unlocking the gate and holding it open for them both. She had to release his hand for them to walk through, but she recaptured it once the gate closed behind them. “How’s your head?” she asked, referring to his recent accident at her grandfather’s home.

“My headache from this morning is gone,” he told her. He reached up and brushed the sore scar near the top of his head. “And it feels like there’s hair growing back.”

“It’s white,” she said matter-of-factly. “The new hair is silver. I peeked.”

“Oh.”

Larissa squeezed his hand. “I didn’t mean it in a negative way, honey. Just an observation.”

“I’m lucky it didn’t kill the hair follicles.”

“They make very fancy hairpieces now.” Larissa grinned and squeezed his hand again. “Which would be entirely about your vanity, as I would not be put off by a measly bald spot.”

“You have enough hair to spare some for a custom piece, I’m sure,” Mitchell said, rolling his eyes.

“I have enough hair in the shower in a single week to make you a hairpiece.”

Mitchell laughed. “Really?”

“I do clean up after myself, Mitchell.” She leaned toward him and kissed his shoulder, softening her retort.

They fell into companionable silence. The air was just north of cool, bathing his skin and keeping the humidity at bay. Mitchell reached out and let his fingers graze a leafy plant growing against the boardwalk handrail.

“We need hobbies.” Larissa spoke without preamble, her bluntness born from what sounded like nervous energy. He heard it in the slight pitchiness when she spoke. “Or part-time jobs.”

“Oh?” Mitchell bent his arm, pulling her hand up with his. He studied their interlocked fingers, then used his other hand to trace the hills and valleys of her knuckles.

“Don’t you miss having a task you can get lost in? Really set your mind to?”

She sounded so tentative that he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “What do you want, Larissa? Is there something you’d like to do?”

“Drawing classes,” she blurted. Mitchell watched as the cheek closest to him flushed pink.

“I’m certain we can find art classes for you on the island, baby. Or a private tutor. Whatever you’d like.” His brows dipped. “Surely you know that you are free to do whatever you’d want, Larissa.”

“So are you, Mitchell.”

Mitchell slowed to a stop and reached for her other hand. He pulled them both up and kissed the back of each hand, his brow furrowing as Larissa’s expression mirrored the tentative tone of her voice. “Of course, I would prefer if you sometimes showed me your drawings, if you wanted. And whatever we do, I’m always going to be happy to be with you at the end of the day.”

Her eyes took on a glassy appearance, as though she might cry. Instead, Larissa leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. When she rocked back on her heals, she asked him: “And what would you like to do, honey?”

Mitchell raised his eyebrows. He had an answer to her question, and the answer was that he did not know. Oh, he’d thought about it, surely, but—

“HELP!”

Mitchell whipped his head around. The shout was unmistakable, and not too far off.

“What is it?” Larissa asked. “Mitchell?”

“OH MY GOD! HELP!”

“Someone is shouting for help…” Mitchell released one of her hands and took a step toward the sound. He stopped, looking indecisively at Larissa.

“We should try to find them, then.” She tugged on his hand. “Mitchell?”

“We don’t know why they are calling out. If it’s safe.” His mind served up an image of Larissa sprawled by a fountain, dying from blood loss.

“PLEASE! STELLA! HELLLLP!”

Mitchell gritted his teeth. Larissa tugged on his hand. “Are they still yelling? We’re at home. Someone might be hurt! It’s safe enough, Mitchell.” When she tugged his hand again, he joined her, and they jogged down the boardwalk.

It didn’t take them long to find the source of the voice. A man half dragging, half-carrying a semi-conscious woman. He heard Mitchell and Larissa’s footsteps on the boards and turned, struggling to hold up the woman as her knees went out. Mitchell took in her half-open eyes and her darkened face.

“Oh, God! Stella, don’t—” The man caught the woman around the chest with one arm, her head sagging forward as he pounded her between the shoulder blades.

“Is she choking?!” Larissa exclaimed, her voice rising as Mitchell released her hand and they both ran to the couple.

“May I help?” Mitchell asked in a rush, a cold sensation dousing him from head to toe as he reached for the man’s weakly struggling burden.

The unnamed man all but shoved her at Mitchell, who caught her sideways and spun her in his arms. Larissa came around the front, her hands gripping the woman’s arms and helping to hold her upright. “My husband is going to help you! You’ll be all right!”

Mitchell drew his arms around the woman’s waist and searched out her navel with his right hand. He curled the left into a fist and pressed his knuckle just above his right hand, then moved that hand up to cover his left. He jerked in and up.

“Again, Mitchell!” Larissa almost shouted. “What’s her name?”

“Stella—”

Mitchell thrust his hands into the stranger’s abdomen again, grunting as he nearly lifted her off the boardwalk. Stella didn’t make any noises; he heard Larissa encouraging him to continue, and the male stranger babbling away in a panic. But he didn’t hear any air moving. No gasping or coughing. Not even gagging or choking. Another abdominal thrust, and the weak scratching at his arms stopped.

“Have you called 9-1-1?” Larissa asked, her fear evident in her rasping speech. He met her eyes inadvertently, saw his own remembered trauma reflected at him. He heaved hard up toward Stella’s diaphragm, his stomach hollowing out as he felt her knees give. Larissa reached out and grasped the woman’s face. “Stay with us, Stella. Keep your eyes open!”

Larissa

“Have you called 9-1-1?” Larissa managed, her eyes darting to the distraught man standing next to her. She looked back at the woman as Mitchell tried again to dislodge whatever was killing her. Stella’s face turned a dark reddish purple as she watched, her eyes and nose streaming and saliva dripping from her open mouth. As Larissa watched, the woman’s eyes rolled, and she saw Mitchell trying to keep her on her feet. Her heart pounding and her own eyes watering, Larissa reached out and cupped Stella’s face in her hands. Dark curls draped over the woman’s face, incongruously soft considering the circumstances. “Stay with us, Stella. Keep your eyes open!”

As she brought her face close to Stella’s, a hot and sweet scent tickled her nostrils and hit her with a wave of nausea that nearly made her lurch away from the other woman. Cinnamon candy.

“No, I… I’ll do it now! I’ll do it now. Stella, you have to cough it up!” To his credit, the trembling, panicked man immediately dragged a cell phone out of his pocket and pressed it to his ear.

Larissa shook her head and swallowed hard.

Mitchell performed a fifth abdominal thrust, the woman’s head pulling free of Larissa’s gentle grasp and tipping back against his chest. He shifted her, his leg slipping between Stella’s as he cradled her in one arm and pounded her between the shoulder blades with the other. Her arms swung limp and her head lolled, mouth gaping. Larissa caught her head in her hands again, gasping: “Mitchell, she’s losing consciousness!”

The man, standing on her deaf side, was barely audible as he spoke to the 9-1-1 dispatcher. Mitchell wrapped his arms around the woman again, his eyes huge as he desperately jerked his fist into her abdomen. Her lightweight sweater rode up, bunching beneath her breasts and leaving her abdomen exposed. Larissa looked down, watching as he pulled his fist hard into the reddened skin of her stomach.

Suddenly, the woman went completely limp, her head falling toward Larissa as Mitchell yelped and held her unconscious form against his chest. “Help me lay her down!” Together, they eased her flaccid body to the boardwalk, Larissa guiding the woman’s head as Mitchell laid her flat on her back. She was vaguely aware of the man kneeling beside her as she used a hand on the woman’s forehead and another at her chin to tip Stella’s head back.

“STELLA!” Larissa shouted at the woman before thumbing open her mouth. She used her finger to sweep between her teeth, hoping the position change had dislodged the unknown item. Stella’s brown eyes were half open, bloodshot, and staring up at the tree canopy. Larissa felt nothing but the woman’s tongue and teeth. Removing her finger, she leaned her good ear by Stella’s mouth. Mitchell reached out and pressed his fingers to the pulse point in the woman’s neck.

Rather than announcing that the woman wasn’t breathing, Larissa hastily swiped her hand over the woman’s wet mouth and then pinched her nose. She covered Stella’s bluing lips with her own and attempted to give her a breath. Stella’s cheeks rounded, followed by Larissa’s own. Then the seal broke, making her lips tingle as they buzzed against the other woman’s skin. She adjusted the tilt of Stella’s head and tried again, blowing harder. The air escaped between them and out of her own nose with a Pthhhbbt! sound. The other woman’s mouth was sticky from the candy that choked her.

Mitchell bent over the woman as Larissa leaned back, his hands tracing the woman’s ribcage and then stacking over the bottom of her sternum. He rolled his shoulders forward and then forced her sternum downward. The woman’s head wobbled in Larissa’s hands, and she saw her abdomen distend as Mitchell thrust his hands into her chest. “One, two, three, four, five…”

“Oh GOD! YES… yes, they are d-doing CPR. Oh, Stella…” Larissa looked at the man out of the corner of her eye. He had the phone in one hand, and a death grip on Stella’s hand with the other. She spotted a wedding ring on his finger.

“…fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…”

Larissa reached up and scrubbed the back of her hand across her mouth. Her face and hands felt tacky. A combination of panic, disgust, and shame rolled through her as she returned her hand to the woman’s chin. Leaning closer, she used her thumb to open the woman’s mouth further. The woman’s tongue was in her line of sight, keeping her from seeing into the back of her throat despite the bright sunlight.

“… nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…”

Before she could talk herself out of it, she used her thumb to pin the woman’s tongue against the floor of her mouth. The moist muscles tried to slide free as she peered down toward her uvula.

“… twenty-six, twenty-seven…”

As Mitchell hit thirty compressions, Larissa slipped her thumb out of the woman’s mouth and took a deep breath. Closing her nostrils, she tried to give her two breaths. Neither were successful.

“One…” Mitchell thrust the heel of his bottom hand hard into the woman’s chest, repeatedly, at nearly two times per second. The woman’s neck looked tense, the vessels and tendons standing out. Her shoulders moved with each compression, lifting slightly from the boardwalk. Further down, her sweater still exposing her stomach, Larissa saw the force of the compressions seesawing the woman’s abdomen. “… nine, ten, eleven…”

“Oh my God! Stella?! Graham, what happened?!” A woman’s voice, loud enough for Larissa to hear, made her lift her head and look up the boardwalk. A pair of women a little younger than Larissa and dressed for running came to a stop at Stella’s swaying feet.

“She choked!” The man, evidently named Graham sobbed “She’s… oh, God!”

“… twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four…”

“How can we help?” The second woman asked.

Larissa was already peering into the woman’s mouth again, ready to give her another two attempts at breath. As she bent to do so, she heard Mitchell respond. “Is there an AED in the clubhouse here? We may need it.”

“Yes!” the second woman exclaimed. “Amy, you’re faster—”

“Come with me. You can wait at the trailhead and direct EMS!” her partner exclaimed, taking her arm.

Mitchell resumed chest compressions as the two women quickly turned and sprinted down the boardwalk.

Graham

“W-We have someone going for an… an AED.” His voice was hoarse, barely making it past the clenched muscles in his throat. “And someone else who will wait at the end of the path.”

The dispatcher said something that sounded like a confirmation of that being the right course of action, though it was hard to concentrate as he watched a couple of strangers try to save his wife’s life. The man, maybe a decade older than himself, with silver-blonde hair and a determined expression, pounded his wife’s chest with a speed and depth that looked like he knew what he was doing. The procedure was ugly, harsh enough that he heard what sounded like cartilage or ribs popping in Stella’s chest. With each compression, her sternum sank and her stomach popped. Her green flats, her favorite shoes, swayed side to side almost comically as she lay there dead or dying.

Everything had happened so fast.

Moments before, they walked hand in hand, Graham yammering away as Stella unwrapped a hard candy and slipped it between her lips. She’d been about to respond to him when her inhalation stopped with a gurgle, an abortive cough, and then nothing.

She’d jerked her hand from his and come to a stop, fanning the air with one hand as she hit her fist against her chest. He’d figured out what was wrong but didn’t know how to help her, reaching around hesitantly to pound her on the back. At first, he expected her to spit out the candy and start coughing, but she didn’t. He pounded harder, and then she turned away from him and threw herself against the boardwalk handrail, slamming her abdomen against it and nearly tipping herself over the side. He’d come up behind her and helped her apply force, thrusting his body against hers, panicked enough now that he pushed past his fear of hurting her. But the candy hadn’t come up.

As the seconds flew by, Graham screamed for help. He pulled her into his arms and tried the Heimlich maneuver, though he couldn’t recall exactly where to place his hands or how hard to pull. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed sharply three, four times.

Then, against her silent, struggling protests, Graham lifted his wife and laid her down on the wooden boards, quickly throwing his leg over her body. Her wide, panicked eyes stared up at him as she clawed at her throat. Straddling her, Graham pushed his hands into her abdomen, right above her belly button, and shoved hard. Stella’s body bowed and jerked, but still she didn’t breathe. Her heels drummed on the wood and one hand darted out to grab his forearm. The other scrabbled uselessly at the planks of the walkway.

Graham continued his improvised abdominal thrusts, pumping her stomach hard and shouting at her to throw it up. Stella’s face went splotchy, then red. Her lips began to turn purple.

That’s when he truly panicked, heaving her upright again and dragging her back toward the trailhead, hoping someone who knew what they were doing would come along.

Now someone had, but he was afraid they were too late. The couple worked as a team, more competent than Graham himself had proven to be, though he could see from their strained eyes and frantic movements that even this couple felt scared. The minutes ticked by, coloring Stella’s face with frightening shades of blue and purple.

Graham watched as the strange woman pushed her long hair over her shoulder and pressed a life-saving kiss to his wife’s mouth, both women’s cheeks bulging with the effort. She performed the kiss again, and then exclaimed: “I still can’t get any air in her!”

“One, two, three…” The other man resumed chest compressions, sinking his hands deep into Stella’s chest. Stella, for her part, did nothing, her open eyes staring as the color faded from her cheeks.

“We will have an ambulance on-location in fifteen minutes,” the dispatcher said.

Mitchell

“Fifteen minutes!” the man, Graham, gasped. “Is there no one closer?! It’s already been…”

Mitchell closed his eyes briefly, though he didn’t stop the chest compressions. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Larissa staring back at him, stricken. Mitchell kept pushing into the woman’s chest, trying not to think of the fact that they weren’t getting any air into her. In another twenty or more minutes, the woman would be long dead, assuming she wasn’t already.

“… nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…”

“Please, Stella… God, please…”

“… twenty-four, twenty-five…”

“Mitchell! I see it! Don’t stop!” Larissa jammed her fingers into the woman’s mouth again, two of them sweeping deep. She grunted and changed position, her body leaning far over the woman’s face as she twisted her wrist. “Don’t stop!”

“One, two, three…” Mitchell kept up his rhythm, forcing his hands deep into Stella’s chest and making sure he released the pressure completely each time. Graham suddenly dropped her hand and reached out to steady her head as Larissa tried to grasp the obstruction. The woman’s body jerked under his hands, though Graham’s grip on her chin kept the force from moving her head around. To Mitchell’s surprise and dismay, her legs drew up slightly, then stretched out again. The action repeated a few times before her arms joined in, her hands curling under. “… sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…”

“She’s moving!” Graham exclaimed. “Stella?”

“…twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…”

“Roll her on her side, Mitchell!” Larissa cried out. “I’ve almost got it!”

Mitchell stopped compressions and seized Stella by her arm and her hip, rolling her onto her side, facing away from him. Larissa swept her fingers between Stella’s teeth again and dragged out a red, sugary disc. His heart lurched as she flung it to the side, but there wasn’t time, so he rolled the unconscious woman onto her back again. Her face was unchanged; pale in spots, lavender in others. Saliva glistening on her bottom lip. Dark eyes stared at Mitchell’s knees until Larissa righted her head.

He watched his wife quickly open Stella’s airway, pinch her nose, and seal her mouth with her own. This time, the dying woman’s chest rose. Her breasts fell when Larissa let the air escape, then rose again when she gave her another deep breath.

“Stella? Stella!” Graham cried out, as Mitchell pressed his fingertips hard into her neck, sliding them over until he found the spot where her pulse should beat. He waited. Counted out the seconds.

Shaking his head, Mitchell quickly restarted chest compressions, pumping Stella’s chest hard and fast. Now, he heard air huffing rhythmically from the woman’s mouth, held open by Larissa as she bent in wait for the next opportunity to give her needed oxygen. “…ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen…”

His own breath came fast as he worked on her, his attention zeroing back in on the way her chest gave underneath his hands. Periodically, the woman moved, limbs spasming or her face grimacing. She let out a long snore.

“Stella?!” her husband gasped, subsiding each time when he realized Mitchell and Larissa weren’t stopping their efforts.

Mitchell hit thirty again, and he watched Larissa perform mouth-to-mouth. A soft sound escaped the women each time that her lips parted from Stella’s. Then came the soft puffing of air as he mercilessly beat her heart by pinning the organ between her spine and her sternum. The woman’s eyes rolled back, the discolored whites showing. “Huh… huh… hungh… hrrggggh…”

“…ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…” Mitchell wondered how far away the clubhouse was from the trail. Granted, he didn’t even know if an AED would do any good. He just knew they needed to try. This stranger spasming beneath his hands deserved no less. “… eighteen, nineteen, twenty…”

“Mitchell, I’ll switch with you after the breaths,” Larissa broke into his thoughts. She was correct; he needed to switch out with her. But he eyed her weak left arm, knowing she still struggled with pain and numbness.

“I’ll do it,” the woman’s husband blurted, setting his phone down on the boardwalk. “I put the phone on speaker and I will do it! I don’t know how, though.”

“Thirty! Come around beside me!” Mitchell barked, as Larissa gave the unconscious woman a full breath. She kept the woman’s nostrils pinched as she let her exhale through her mouth, then gave her another respiration. Mitchell resumed chest compressions as the woman’s pale, teary husband laid her hand down on the boardwalk and scuttled around to come in beside him. “…five, six… Hold your hands like this. Yes. Bring them right beside me. You’re pushing down at least two inches, twice a second. You have to come all the way up each time. This is what circulates her blood. Do you understand?” Mitchell’s voice shook from adrenaline and his exhaustive efforts. He paused again so Larissa could breathe for the woman, watching as Stella’s breasts rose. He lifted his hands and scooted to the side. “Get in place now!”

Graham slid in, his eyes wide as he pressed the heel of his clasped hands into the spot Mitchell had just abandoned. Mitchell guided his shoulders over his hands as Stella’s chest fell a second time.

“Go! Count out loud!”

“One, t-two…”

Mitchell watched carefully, nodding as the man pushed deep enough. “A little faster. Like this.” He clapped his hands to the disco song playing in the back of his mind.

“Come on, hon. Please… please!”

“You have to count, Graham. Just count and think about everything you need to do. What you’re doing is helping her.” Mitchell leaned back on his heels and tried to recover his breath, though the terrible excitement of it all kept his heart racing.

“… t-twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…”

Footsteps pounded down the boardwalk, the steps growing louder as the seconds passed. Then Mitchell heard a woman breathing hard and fast. The runner from before, Amy, came into view, arms and legs pumping furiously as she sprinted.

As Larissa curled over Stella and blew into her open mouth, Amy slipped the AED bag off her shoulder, dropped it onto the boards next to Mitchell, and then staggered past. Her momentum carried her into the handrail, where she caught herself.

Mitchell snatched up the case. “Keep going!” he barked sharply at Graham, jolting the man back into action. His hands made a dull thumping sound as he resumed pumping her chest. Unzipping the AED, Mitchell laid the device on the wood and turned it on.

“… seven, eight, nine, ten…”

“Apply the pads and plug in the connector!” the device barked.

“… fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…”

Mitchell tore open a packet of adult pads and dumped them out into his hand. He shook out the leads and connector, then laid them beside Stella.

“… twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…”

“Apply the pads and plug in the connector!”

“… twenty-nine, thirty!”

He found the trauma shears and cut through the bottom hem of Stella’s lightweight sweater. Amy dropped beside him and held the fabric taught as he cut up the center of the garment. The woman’s chest rose and fell with Larissa’s breaths as he clipped the center of Stella’s purple, lacy bra. Mitchell dropped the shears to the side and quickly parted the fabric of her sweater, moving the cups of her bra out of the way and fully exposing her chest. A bruise was forming over her sternum, with reddened spots spreading down beneath her left breast. More splotches marred her abdomen.

Graham resumed chest compressions without having to be asked. “One, two, three…”

“Apply the pads and plug in the connector!”

As the woman’s pink-tipped breasts wobbled violently and her soft stomach oscillated, Mitchell and Amy stripped the backing off the AED pads. Mitchell applied one pad beneath and slightly to the side of the woman’s left breast, while Amy applied one above the right. Mitchell rubbed them both several times for good measure as Amy found the connector and plugged it in.

“Analyzing rhythm!” the device interrupted. “Do not touch the patient!”

“Everyone, back off of her!” Mitchell called out, scooting back and raising his hands. “Don’t touch her!”

Graham lurched back and Larissa released Stella’s head.

“Shock advised.” Mitchell’s eyes closed briefly as the tiniest bit of relief washed over him. “Charging. Do not touch the patient. Charging. Do not touch the patient. Device charged. Do not touch the patient. Press the shock button.”

Mitchell’s hand hovered over the flashing orange button. “Don’t touch her!” He depressed the button with his index finger and heard a quiet whine. Stella’s torso tensed and released within the span of a split second, and her head tipped to the side. Larissa quickly righted it and reopened her airway.

“Shock delivered. Perform two minutes of CPR.”

Graham hesitated. “Did it not wo—”

“Chest compressions!” Mitchell urged, cutting the man off.

Graham made a sobbing noise, but he complied, his hands finding the bruise and his shoulders rolling forward. As he thrust his hands into the bottom third of Stella’s sternum, he resumed counting. “One, two, three, four…” Despite his upset, Graham performed compressions properly, shoving her sternum deep. Stella’s breasts jerked toward his hands with each compression, jiggling and wobbling with the force. Her abdomen, too, moved with the deep thrusts, bulging and then deflating, popping and heaving at a rapid rate. Her shoulders jerked and shrugged, pulling up toward her neck. Larissa kept the motion from moving her head, gripping the woman’s jaw firmly and keeping her mouth open with a thumb on her chin. Stella’s face was no longer a dark reddish purple, but he was concerned by her white cheeks and blue lips.

The motion of the chest compressions made her legs rock, feet swaying side to side. He could even see her thighs shaking through her leggings.

Gurgling, growling, and huffing noises occasionally escaped the woman’s open mouth. When Larissa gave Stella breaths, Mitchell heard Larissa’s exhalation, followed by the slight smacking sound of their lips parting. Then chest compressions resumed, Graham’s shaky counting accompanied by quiet thumps, huffs of air, and the occasional pop or crackle. “... f-four, five, s-six…”

Stella’s legs drew up further, splaying her thighs wide and making her hips jerk. Mitchell, uncertain what exactly to do, leaned over and held her legs down, trying to keep her left knee from bumping into Graham. He felt her muscles spasms beneath his hands. The pressure he applied kept her upper legs in place, though her lower legs shifted and her hips continued to jerk grotesquely.

“… twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

He watched his wife bend over the spasming body, left hand sealing the woman’s nose and her own mouth opening wide before she covered the other woman’s lips. Her exhale made the woman’s chest heave. Larissa drew back slightly, and he saw a string of glistening saliva stretch between them. Another breath, and this time, when Larissa broke the seal, she swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. Then she quickly resumed holding Stella’s head in place as Graham pumped his wife’s lifeless chest.

Stella’s arms drew up toward her armpits, hands curling at the wrists and her fingers twisting. When he looked at her face, her eyes were closed.

“… twelve, thirteen, fourteen…”

“They are?” Mitchell heard Amy ask. “Okay. Um… The ambulance is in the neighborhood. They should be at the trailhead soon.”

“… twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven…” Graham’s voice cracked. “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty! Will they be able to help her?”

“The ambulance crew can do a lot of things we can’t,” Mitchell said, meeting the man’s tortured gaze. “And they can take her to the hospital, where even more can be done.”

“But…” Graham’s voice trailed off as the sound of Larissa’s second breath tapered off. He squared his shoulders and resumed his work over his wife’s body. “One, two, three…”

Mitchell looked at Larissa and found her staring at him. Her eyes were wet.

Larissa

Stella gurgled and growled and huffed as her husband forced blood to move through her heart. Larissa held her mouth and airway open, crouched low so she could quickly provide breaths after each set of thirty compressions. Her neck ached from the position, but it wasn’t the pain that made her look at Mitchell with tears in her eyes. As they gazed at each other, his lips thinned and he swallowed hard.

“…nine, ten, eleven, twelve…”

Larissa looked away first. Her eyes dropped to the woman’s gray face. Occasionally, her facial muscles spasmed, threatening to pull her chin from her grasp. She also felt the force of Graham’s chest compressions rocking up through her neck. His hands collapsed her chest harshly, his breath ragged. The other woman’s breasts swayed, her nipples erect. Below his hands, her belly popped up and down, bulging as his thrusts displaced organs and air. Further down, Mitchell gripped the woman’s legs in a gesture that was probably more about how upsetting it was to watch her gently seize than it was for any medical purpose.

“I can take over after the next shock,” Amy the runner said. “And then soon after that, the paramedics will be here.”

“I did not realize it would take EMS this amount of time to come out here,” Mitchell said, his voice so flat she wondered if he knew he spoke aloud. As it was, his voice was quiet enough that she barely heard him, her bad ear pointed in his direction.

“… twenty-nine, thirty!”

Larissa inhaled and pressed her mouth yet again to Stella’s, exhaling to make her chest rise and then lifting her mouth to feel the air rush back up into her face. She covered the cool, slack lips again, her eyes darting to the side to watch the woman’s breasts swell.

The bruise on her sternum disappeared under Graham’s hands. “One, two…”

“Do you know how to do chest compressions?” Mitchell asked Amy.

“I’ve taken CPR a few times,” she said, handing the phone over to Mitchell. “But you’ll have to let me know if I’m doing something wrong.”

Mitchell nodded.

“… seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty—”

“Analyzing rhythm,” the AED broke in. “Do not touch the patient!”

All four of them released Stella and shifted backward. She lay mostly still, her skin ashen, though her eyelids lifted enough to show the whites of rolled-back eyes.

“No shock advised. Continue CPR for two minutes.”

Damn, she thought, her hands automatically reaching out to reopen Stella’s airway. Simultaneously, Amy got into position and started chest compressions. Graham sagged back on his heels, breathing hard.

“One, two, three…” Amy’s compressions looked deep and fast, and Mitchell nodded in encouragement when she glanced at him. Short but powerfully built, Larissa could see the muscles cording in Amy’s forearms as she efficiently drove her hands into Stella’s sternum. “… four, five, six, seven…”

Distant sirens sounded in the distance.

“That’s more than one vehicle,” Mitchell speculated.

“… fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…”

The group fell silent aside from Amy’s terse counting and the soft huff of air escaping Stella with each compression.

“… twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…”

Graham muttered something that Larissa didn’t catch.

“You got her help,” Mitchell responded.

“… twenty-nine, thirty.”

Another breath, pressing her mouth against the cool, damp skin that still smelled like sugar and artificial cinnamon. Larissa followed up quickly with a second breath, feeling just slightly lightheaded as the scented air wafted back into her face.

“One, two, three…” Amy rocked her body hard into Stella’s chest, her fingers pressing into the unconscious woman’s left breast and inadvertently brushing her taut nipple. Larissa kept finding that her eyes were drawn to the exposed flesh in front of her. Like driving past the scene of an accident, she needed to know what was happening, what the effects looked like. Her mind, stressed from what had happened now and in the past, superimposed her own naked body over Stella’s.

She saw her own long torso rippling as Amy pumped, her large, freckled breasts bobbing, nipples drawing circles in the air. Her chest sinking and her stomach seesawing up and down. The face below her was her face, her eyes staring and her mouth agape, a cinnamon candy lodged deep in her throat.

“… thirty!”

Larissa dragged in a deep breath, coughed as some of her own saliva went down the wrong pipe, and sucked in another. Then, cursing the seconds she lost, she forced another pair of breaths into Stella. Then compressions resumed.

“One, two, three…”

“Larissa?” Mitchell asked.

“I’m fine,” she protested, coughing again.

“… six, seven, eight…”

Mitchell shifted, obviously intending to spell her, when they both heard heavy footfalls on the boardwalk.

“… twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…”

A pair of medics came into view, wearing gloves and carrying bags, led by Amy’s partner. Shortly behind them walked another pair, wheeling a gurney laden with more equipment.

“… twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

As Amy sat back on her heels, Larissa gave Stella another two breaths, trying not to inhale directly as the cinnamon-scented exhalations wafted up toward her face.

“Keep going until they tell you to stop,” she heard Mitchell say, and Amy resumed her position.

“One, two, three, four, five, six…”

The medics moved with purpose, but without running or rushing about. They did not immediately take over, instead setting down their bags as one of them stepped closer. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.

“She choked on a piece of candy,” Mitchell responded, hanging up Graham’s phone. “We tried back blows and abdominal thrusts until she lost consciousness. Then we started CPR. We eventually got the candy out. She’s had one shock from the AED, but the last time it did not advise a shock.”

“…thirty!” Amy called out. Despite the presence of the medics, Larissa leaned over once more. Their cheeks rounded as she exhaled once, then again.

“Thank you, ma’am,” a woman behind her said. “I can take over now.”

“Who is her next of kin?” The lead medic asked.

Graham

Everything sped up. The medics spoke with his neighbor, who, he learned, was named Mitchell. The women were relieved by paramedics, who checked Stella’s pulse and then continued CPR. Graham was asked to move back, and he complied, feeling numb as he walked over to stand next to Mitchell and his wife, who directed him to sit on a nearby bench.

From this angle, he couldn’t see her face, but he could still see her abdomen popping up in rhythmic waves as the gloved hands plunged into her chest over and over again. One of her shoes had fallen off. She’d neglected to wear socks, and he could see the flat brown mole in the center of her left arch.

The youngest-looking medic of the four peeled away the AED pads and turned the device off, setting it to the side. Graham opened his mouth to ask if they’d given up, when Mitchell leaned over and murmured: “They have their own pads that connect to their defibrillator.”

Sure enough, the young medic applied a set of larger pads, smoothing them quickly to her skin. The medic performing chest compressions resumed her efforts, thrusting the down into Stella’s breastbone. Shortly after, the monitor alarmed and he saw a series of lines crawl across the screen.

“Pause compressions for analysis. Asystole.” The lead intoned. He said several other things, most of which Graham couldn’t make out or interpret. He just knew they hadn’t stopped yet. They were still trying.

“They won’t be shocking her right now, so they will continue CPR and give her IV medication. They are going to suction her airway and put a tube in to make sure she’s getting plenty of oxygen.” Mitchell spoke quietly and slowly, his eyes on Stella.

“Is she going to live?” Graham asked.

Mitchell hesitated long enough that Graham knew he had his answer. But the other man spoke anyway, his eyes on his own wife as she spoke with Amy and her partner. “I don’t know. They don’t know, either. But I’ve seen… people beat the odds before. And I hope to see that happen again.”

Graham returned his gaze to the scene surrounding Stella. A couple of firefighters had joined the four medics, creating a busy ring around his wife. Still, he could see enough of what was going on. One medic crouched by her arm, holding it in his lap as they cleaned the inside of her elbow. The medic who acted in charge lay stretched out on his stomach, with some sort of metal device opened up in Stella’s mouth. As he watched, a firefighter opened a long package and used gloved fingers to extract a tube, which he handed over to the lead. Another medic unbuttoned Stella’s jeans and slipped two fingers just inside.

“There’s a pulse there,” Mitchell told him, leaning forward with his knees on his elbows. “They check pulse points during CPR to make sure the blood is circulating.”

“You know a lot about this. Are you some kind of doctor?” His hands were shaking again, and he thought he might have to get up and pace soon. Wishing he had something to do, he instead talked with this unfamiliar but very helpful neighbor.

“No,” Mitchell murmured. “Sometimes I wish I was.”

“Pause for analysis.” Compressions paused, and he watched as one firefighter traded places with the medic who’d been performing them. “Asystole. I want sodium bicarb now and another epi right after. Oxygen is up to ninety-three. Jim, come swap with me. I’m going to suction her.”

The firefighter started chest compressions as soon as the word “asystole” was out of the lead’s mouth. Graham realized that since they’d intubated Stella, the compressions didn’t stop at thirty. The firefighter pushed hard and fast at the same rate as before, Stella’s belly moving in sync with his hands. Instead of a mask pressed to her face, they’d attached a bag to the end of her breathing tube and squeezed it regularly, at a much slower rate than the chest compressions.

Graham ran over the moment she choked. Was it his fault? Had he made her laugh, knowing she’d just put a piece of candy in her mouth? Was it his expectation that she keep up her end of the conversation that made her draw breath at the wrong moment? He saw her face staring up at him after he laid her on her back and started pumping her abdomen. Terrified, eyes bulging, tears and snot and saliva running down her face. Her body jerking each time he plunged his hands into her stomach, nails clawing at her throat and his arms and the boards beneath her.

She’d held on so long. Long enough for help to arrive. People who seemed to know what to do. And yet it hadn’t been enough, and Graham watched her slip away, her body slowly changing as it reacted to the lack of breath and heartbeat. He’d felt a momentary flash of relief when Mitchell’s wife swept the disc of candy from Stella’s mouth, only to have the relief die a quick and bitter death. Everything had gone downhill from there.

Graham stood abruptly and walked a few paces down the boardwalk so he could see her face. The medic named Jim had her head in one hand, holding her head back at an angle. His other hand squeezed the giant bulb attached to the end of the tube. The tube itself jutted up from between her teeth. They’d secured it in place with medical tape wrapped around the tube and stuck to her face. Stella’s eyes were closed now, her lashes resting on her discolored skin. Her dark hair fanned out beneath her head, the curls tangled. At this angle, he could see the firefighter’s gloved hands pumping hard and fast, sinking her chest in the requisite inches before allowing it to recoil. Each time he thrust downward, her stomach bulged and her feet rocked. They had a blood pressure cuff wrapped around her left arm, and defibrillator pads stuck to her chest. The leads wound over to a display that Graham couldn’t interpret. Beeps and whooshes and thumping sounds filled the air. The medics surprised him by how little they spoke to each other.

“Pause for analysis,” the lead said, eyeing the monitor. The firefighter lifted his hands from Stella’s bruised chest. “V-fib. Charging to three-sixty, continue compressions until we are ready to shock.”

The firefighter snapped out a series of deep thrusts into Stella’s chest.

“Alright, everybody off. Disconnect oxygen.” The firefighter lifted his hands, Jim disconnected the bag, and everyone backed away. The lead made a quick check around the group. “Clear. Administering shock.”

He pressed a button, and Stella’s torso flinched. Her head lolled to the side, toward Graham’s feet. Jim quickly righted her head and reconnected the bag as the lead leaned in and started chest compressions. Graham’s eyes rested on the man’s gloved, interlocked hands. They sank down and snapped back up over and over. Pump and pump and pump and pump, with her breasts exposed for everyone to see, wobbling endlessly. He couldn’t stop staring. Her chest crushed down, re-inflating again and again. The man’s shoulders bobbing as he pushed his weight down through his arms. Her abdomen rippling down into the open waistband of her pants.

“Marked increase in tidal volume… pausing compressions,” the lead said abruptly, his eyes on the monitor. “Pulse check! Sinus rhythm on the monitor.”

To Graham’s surprise, multiple gloved hands plunged into Stella’s neck, wrists, and the crease of her thigh. Mitchell got up and joined him, gripping him by the shoulder. “‘Sinus’ means they got her pulse back, Graham.”

“Sinus confirmed,” the lead said. “Any attempts at breathing on her own?”

“She’s alive?” Graham asked, his voice gravelly. He looked from the monitor with its bouncing heart rhythm that he did actually recognize down to his wife’s face. She didn’t look any better, not yet. The only difference was that they weren’t having to beat her heart for her.

“Get her prepped to go while I update her next-of-kin,” he heard the lead say. Graham let out a shuddering breath.

“Do you need us to drive you to the hospital?” Mitchell asked.

“Millie and I will take you, Graham.” That made sense. They were his next-door neighbors.

“I’ve given Amy my number,” he heard Mitchell’s wife say.

Graham watched the lead medic approach. “You got her back,” he said, his face contorting with tears he was trying not to shed.

“Yes, sir.”

Graham doubled over, his hands grabbing his knees. He felt Mitchell grip his shoulder hard. His legs shook. “Hang on, Stella. I’m here…”

Mitchell

Fifteen minutes later, Mitchell and Larissa walked in silence back the way they’d come, her hand gripping his as tightly as he gripped hers. He let them in to their gated path, their steps growing faster and faster as though to carry them away from the previous scene.

When they finally spilled onto the grassy path that wove between flower beds, Larissa stopped and turned toward him, nearly crashing into his shoulder. Mitchell released her hand and wrapped his arms tight around her. He felt her chest heaving against him, her hands clutching at his shirt.

“Larissa…” he murmured, though he didn’t know what to say.

She tipped her head back, eyes wild and lips parted. Mitchell met her in a kiss that immediately deepened, her mouth opening for his tongue. Mitchell gathered the back of her dress in his hands, pulling up the skirt until he cupped her ass in his hands and pulled her tight against him. Her hands scrabbled for the hem of his shirt, slipping beneath and running up and down his back. One of her hands came around to the front to unfasten his belt and unbutton the fly. Larissa made quick work of the task, her dexterity making him grin. She ran her hands around his hips and then down the back of his pants and into his underwear, her nails digging lightly into his bare skin.

Mitchell found the tie of her wrap dress and pulled it loose, letting the dress part in the front. He dipped his head and nibbled his way down her neck and along the tops of her breasts. Slipping his hands inside the dress, he reached around to unfasten her bra. Then he lifted her breasts free from the loosened cups and gathered the soft globes together so he could move quickly back and forth between her nipples, licking and sucking and biting. Larissa moaned and reached into his boxer briefs, pushing the fabric down and pulling his hardening cock free. She worked him with her hand, moving up and down and running her thumb over the head until he was rock hard and throbbing.

He pushed her dress off her shoulders and let it puddle in the grass, followed quickly by her bra. She reached for his shirt, pulling it over his head. Their mouths met again in a needy kiss. Mitchell slipped his hand down into her underwear and found her wet, dragging some of that moisture up to her clit and massaging.

“Mitchell!” she cried out, and then she pulled him down to the grass with her, her hair fanning out around her head. He stripped off her underwear, and she laid back, coaxing him to lie between her thighs. His belt jingled as he thrust against her, running the head of his cock up and down her slit. Her hips jerked up against him, seeking. Then he thrust home, sinking all the way to the hilt and groaning as she cried out.

Mitchell began a forceful, punishing rhythm. Their bodies smacked together, Larissa’s breasts jerking and bobbing as his body met hers. She clawed at his back, letting out guttural moans and squeezing her eyes shut. He kissed her, their tongues thrusting against each other as she writhed beneath him. He grasped her hips for leverage, fingers curling into the soft flare of her body.

Larissa gripped his shoulders, mewling, rising to meet him. Mitchell scooped one hand beneath her ass, shifting the angle and squeezing his own eyes shut when she threw back her head and cried out his name. She was close, she had to be close, she’d better be close—

He tore his eyes open, watching her as she came, her mouth falling open and a wail of pleasure tearing out of her. Larissa shook and spasmed beneath him and around him, and he followed, burying his face in her neck as he whited out with the force of his release.

As their mutual spasms subsided, Mitchell held himself up on his elbows, surprised to feel himself trembling. Larissa, breathless from exertion, reached up and stroked her fingers through his hair. He knew he should get up, help her to her feet, and go inside. They could clean up and cuddle on their soft bed. Instead, he found himself unable to move, resting in the cradle of her pelvis. He dipped his head and kissed her beauty mark.

Larissa cupped his cheek and pressed her lips softly to his. Then she laid her head back in the grass and closed her eyes, the tension of the last forty-five minutes draining out of her. Mitchell gathered his fleeting energy and slipped his softening erection free. Then he bent and kissed the scars above her heart and down her arm.

Rolling to his side, he collapsed onto the grass. Mitchell gathered her close, slipping his arm over her stomach and nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.

Larissa took a deep, slow breath and whispered: “I love you, too, Mitchell.”

#resus writing #female resus

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taizi · 8 months

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Could you write a sickfic type thing about Luffy where like the marines or someone uses kairouseki against him in a way that just wipes him out for a while Nd the crew looks after him??? much love <3

Sea stone bullets are a cause for concern, but not as much of one as a person might think. Nami’s captain has always been unsettlingly perceptive when it suits him, since well before any of them had any idea what observation haki was. He knows when a bullet is coming that he can’t bounce away.

It doesn’t do him any good to know sometimes, though. Not when he disregards the warning of danger on purpose.

And there was really nothing else he could have done in this case, Nami is reluctant to admit even to herself, because if he had dodged, Chopper would have been shot in the back of the head. Luffy had, to his credit, thought to deflect the tiny missile with armament, but it only caused the glass casing to shatter and the substance inside to spill free. A few drops against his skin was all it took.

He dropped like a stone.

Usopp lunged in at the last second and caught him before he hit the deck. But then they all had to watch Luffy’s head loll, limp and unresisting. It was horrifying. It happened so fast. Despite everything Nami had seen up to this point, she had never been more afraid than in that moment.

“What is that?” Zoro bites out, an arm spread to the side to keep his nakama from getting too close to the spill.

It shimmered eerily in the late afternoon light, the sky overcast but still just bright enough for Robin to grow an expendable hand near the mess and pinch a bit of it in the corner of the picnic blanket they had all been lounging on all of ten minutes ago. She ground it between her fingers, protected by the blanket, to feel the texture. Within moments, understanding touched her face.

“Infused with sea stone,” she said.

Chopper squirmed between his nakama’s bigger bodies, shouting, “Take him to the infirmary!”

Usopp was off like a shot, Luffy in his arms, Chopper right on his heels. Sanji joined Robin and Zoro at the starboard side of the ship, staring out at the remaining warships with the same look of murder in their eyes. Franky was already at the helm, and Sunny was turning in the water to face the Marines; the cannon mouth hidden in the figurehead opening to rain destruction. Brook was laughing, high-pitched and chilling, in a way that surely carried across the distance between themselves and the unlucky bastards who thought a cheap ambush would be enough to net the Straw Hats’ collective bounty.

“A squall is coming,” Nami said, feeling the shift of the weather in her bones. “Destroy the ships but leave the soldiers alive. They’re so eager to play with sea stone—let’s give them a taste of how it feels to drown.”

“Fitting,” Jimbei rumbled. He was the most honorable person Nami had ever met, but just like the rest of them, all bets were off and morals thrown aside when it came to anyone who would try to rip Luffy away.

By the time revenge had been swiftly doled out, and Brook’s violin easily covered the sounds of the Marines in the water, Usopp reappeared on the deck to say, “He’s okay.”

Nami’s heart still didn’t settle, not until she had bullied her way into the infirmary, planted herself on the side of the bed, and held her captain’s face in her hands to see for herself.

“He’ll sleep for awhile, probably,” Chopper said. “Until that compound works its way through his system. There isn’t a counter-agent for sea stone—” yet, the glint in his eye suggests “—but it only weakens Fruit users, it doesn’t kill them outright. If it were a bullet lodged in his body, maybe ultimately it would fester and poison him, but this is just a trace. It’s like, um…like a sedative!”

“Maybe we should keep some on hand for when he’s being annoying,” Sanji said dispassionately, as if his hands weren’t trembling around the cigarette he was trying to light.

Someone nudged Nami’s shoulder. She glanced up, and Zoro said, “Storm.”

“Right,” Nami remembered. “We need to get Sunny prepared.”

She was reluctant to leave Luffy, but he trusted her to lead them safely through troubled waters, so that much she had to do. Brushing her thumb over the scar under his eye, she eased her hands away then stood up and started barking orders.

It took some effort, but Sunny danced through the wind and rain like it was all play, and hours later they came out the other side unscathed. There was a small island ahead of them, a crescent moon curve of pink sand and tropical flowers and a dilapidated, long-forgotten pier. The New World being what it was, Nami didn’t trust the peaceful picture for a goddamn second, but it would be a convenient place to moor for the time being.

Besides, Luffy would whine if they started an adventure without him.

He missed dinner and slept through the night. Sanji is prickly and short-tempered at breakfast the next morning, crafting fluffy omelets and frying potatoes and chainsmoking angrily out the window. But his entire attitude shifts when familiar voices outside bicker their way toward the dining hall, and the galley door bursts open to reveal a wobbly-looking Luffy, an irritated Chopper, and Brook, who continues serenading their journey with a tiny ukulele.

“SANJI!” Luffy calls across the room. “Feed me or I’ll die right now!”

“No you’ll die ‘cause I killed you for leaving before I said you could!” Chopper snaps.

“He’s already here,” Sanji says, across the room in seconds and frogmarching his captain to a seat at the table. “Might as well eat.”

“Lu, how are you feeling?” Usopp demands, leaning across the table eagerly and nearly sticking his elbow in the butter dish. “You look like shit.”

“Mean!” Luffy says.

“Accurate,” Nami butts in. She takes him by the chin, turning his face towards her. His brown skin has an unhealthy pallor, lethargy clinging to him despite his animated good cheer. He looks like any other flu-ridden teenager. As she studies him, he wrinkles his nose and sticks his tongue out. “Brat,” she scolds without heat, releasing him.

It’s such a relief just to have him at the breakfast table. Franky starts in on a wild story about the storm Luffy missed, and Robin discreetly pushes the platter of brown sugar glazed ham closer to his plate. The morning sun, pouring through the window, suddenly seems warmer and brighter than it did moments ago.

Still, Chopper is right. Luffy, force of nature that he is, starts to flag almost immediately following the meal. The burst of energy deserts him quietly. Nami only notices by chance, on her way toward the garden with Usopp. She casts her gaze out over the deck as she crosses it, and pauses mid-step.

Zoro is sitting back against the side of the ship the way he always does when he’s trying to catch a few extra minutes of rest, the brim of a worn straw hat tipped over his face to shade it from the sun. Nothing about that stands out.

But his strong arms are curled comfortably around Luffy, who naps sprawled against his first mate like a clumsily-thrown blanket, slack face pillowed on Zoro’s shoulder.

“Luffy’s sleeping?” Usopp says, a bit too loud in his shock. “He just woke up.”

“Chopper did say it would be a few days before that shit was out of his system,” Franky pipes up. “Poor bro must really be feeling it.”

“I told him to stay in bed,” Chopper gripes irritably. By now most of the crew has gathered, a combination of mirth, curiosity and lingering concern preoccupying their thoughts, and Nami watches Chopper cross the grassy deck and tug lightly on Zoro’s sleeve. “Hey, hey. Will you take him to the infirmary, please?”

Zoro opens his eye, a sharper gray than any blade, but never cutting when he looks at his family. After a second, he closes it again.

“Nah.”

Zoro may be a shithead at times to Sanji and Nami and Franky and—okay, most people—but all of his younger crewmates tend to get an automatic pass. Nami honestly can’t think of a time he looked at Chopper and said “nah” about anything that didn’t involve his own health. From the baffled look on Chopper’s face, neither can he.

“Huh?? Why not?”

“We’re sleeping.”

“And he can sleep in the medbay!” Chopper insists.

Zoro scoffs and moves his captain closer.

“Go get your own.”

Chopper gapes wordlessly. All the rest of Nami’s nakama have a similar expression on their faces, something between stupefied and offended—save Robin, who presses a secret smile behind her hand, and Jimbei, whose rumbling chuckle is just barely audible over the sound of the sea.

Nami—who knows very well what Zoro looks like when he’s trying to get a rise out of someone, who knows very well that she has a claim on Luffy that only a handful of other people in the world share, one that can never be broken or stolen or changed—feels herself bristle, too.

“HE IS OUR OWN!” the majority of one of the most infamous pirate crews in the New World shriek like schoolchildren.

Luffy’s eyes drift open in the chaos that follows, squinting through the haze until he can bring the faces of his nakama into focus. They’re all so lively, shouting and arguing about something, their ship the brightest, busiest thing under the whole sky. The sun touches his skin, warm and laughing, like it’s trying to tell him a joke.

It’s so comfy. Soon he’ll get up and shout with them, and eat some more, and fish and play and plot a new adventure. But first he’ll dream a little while longer. He knows his friends won’t mind.

#one piece #opfic #cat burglar nami #monkey d luffy #roronoa zoro #nakamaship #my writing #prompt #anonymous #op #this was so cute and fun to write #i love sickfic and i have a deep compassion and sympathy for chopper #whose job is to doctor the most insane and stubborn people in the entire world #if u see any mistakes no u didnt #im on a time crunch :')#& i normally dont like to write pov shifts like this but i couldnt help it this time

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