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whump-imagines · 14 days

Text

Lightning and Panic

I swear I will write for other characters too... I'm just currently deep in Buck and Eddie brain rot.

Buddie x reader

Wc: 1300 ish

You pinched your arm, flinching at the sensation. There was no way this was real. This was your worst nightmare. You just needed to try harder and you were sure you would wake up.

Pinching the same spot once more, you realized that you were likely going to have a bruise soon.

Yet again, you were sitting in this awful waiting room. It felt like you had just been here waiting for news was after Eddie was shot.

Now, it was Buck.

It had been two days of waiting. Two days of worrying. Two days of desperately trying to convince yourself that he was going to be okay.

You knew they had a dangerous job. You thought you'd been prepared for that. You expected burns or maybe smoke inhalation. Not a sniper and a freak lightning strike.

Truthfully, you'd only prepared for minor injuries. Not near death experiences.

Suddenly, Eddie was kneeling in front of you. Why did he look so concerned? Something went wrong. Buck was gone.

He was talking. Why couldn't you hear him? Why are your ears ringing?

Eddie squeezed your hands almost too tight. He was trying to ground you. He took a slow exaggerated deep breath then finally, his words broke through your haze. “Breathe.”

It was then you finally realized you were barely wheezing air in and out and much too quickly. Your heart was racing. You gasped. “I-I–” more gasping. “C-c-can’t.”

Eddie moved your hands to his chest. “Yes, you can. Just follow me.” His fingers dug into the pulse point at your wrist as he took another slow beep breath and counted the pattern for you.

Tears rolled down your face as you desperately tried to calm down. You yanked your hands away from Eddie to pull at the collar of your shirt. It suddenly felt like it was strangling you.

Eddie turned toward Bobby and said something to him about a doctor. Had he whispered? Maybe. Your ears were also ringing more intensely again.

Now, you were grabbing at your chest. “H–hurts,” you panted out the word.

“I know, sweetheart,” Eddie soothed. “Just try to breathe.” He pulled your hands back down to your lap and once again pressed his fingers into your pulse point. You could see the worry in his eyes despite trying to stay calm for you.

You desperately tried to draw in more air but failed. Before long, black spots started to appear in front of your eyes. Then there was a doctor. He had to be there about Buck. You tried to back away, you couldn't handle any more bad news. “No.”

Eddie moved to the chair beside you and pulled you against his side. “It's okay, sweetheart. He's here to help you.” He pulled up your sleeve then nodded to the doctor.

There was something cold on your shoulder then a pinch and a burning sensation. You couldn't move away from it as Eddie had you held firmly in place.

Almost immediately, you felt calmer. You relaxed fully into Eddie and finally drew in a deep breath. A nurse you hadn't noticed placed an oxygen mask over your face.

You felt Eddie’s sigh of relief. “You're okay.” You weren't sure if he was talking to you or himself. “The doctor is going to run a few tests just to make sure that was a panic attack and nothing else, okay?”

You tried to snuggle further into him not wanting to leave his side. “‘m tired.”

“I know. Just relax. It's okay if you fall asleep,” Eddie soothed. He stood and lifted you into his arms bridal style. You dozed off with your head against his shoulder before he made it to the exam room.

When you opened your eyes, you were alone in a hospital room. As the grogginess started to lift, confusion set in. Why were you here? Why were you alone? There were no monitors or IV lines and aside for being tired, you felt okay.

Then the memory hit. Buck. You jerked upright. “Oh, no.” You would have stood to go find out how he was but you were suddenly dizzy. So instead, you pressed the nurse call button on the bed rail.

The dizziness mostly cleared and you were considering going to look for Eddie and check on Buck when the door swung open and a doctor entered. You vaguely remembered him from the waiting room earlier. “How’re you feeling?” he asked.

“How is Buck?” you asked, ignoring his question.

Before he could answer, Eddie came in and was by your side a moment later. “How are you?”

You huffed. “How’s Buck?”

Eddie smiled. “He's breathing on his own. He's getting better.”

Tears slid down your face as the relief washed over you. You finally felt like you could breathe again.

“Now, back to you,” Eddie redirected. “Are you feeling better?”

Shrugging one shoulder, you thought about it. “Honestly, I'm still tired. I was dizzy but that's passed. How long was I out?”

“Almost five hours,” said Eddie.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Holy crap. Wait, I thought I heard something about tests.”

“You did.” Eddie looked to the doctor to let him explain.

“We ran an EKG and blood tests because you were having some chest pain during your anxiety attack,” he explained. “Everything came back normal.”

“So then am I captive here or can I go see Buck?” you asked.

“You're free to leave,” the doctor said. Then he left the two of you alone.

“I'm sorry,” he started. “I should have been paying attention. I should have noticed you hadn't really slept or eaten. Or at least that you hadn't taken your meds.”

You just shook your head. “It's not your fault. We were both focused on Buck.”

“I still should have noticed.”

“You noticed when I was having an attack and got me help. That's all that matters.”

He just nodded, not seeming convinced.

“Can we go sit with Buck?” you asked.

“Maddie and their parents are in with him right now,” Eddie started. “How about we just go look through the window so you can see he's okay and then we go home so you can get some more rest?”

“I don't want to leave him. What if something happens?” You felt yourself spiraling. “What if something happens and– and we're not here?”

Eddie took your face between his hands and forced you to look at him. “Breathe.” He demonstrated a deep, calming breath for you. “He is stable. They don't expect anything to change overnight. And even if it did, we're not that far away. Okay?”

You took a few deep breaths. “Mmkay.”

“Besides, you know Buck would want you to rest and take care of yourself rather than sit around here.”

“Ugh. Fine,” you conceded. “Can we not tell him about my panic attack earlier?”

Eddie shook his head. “We can wait until he gets home. Unless he asks directly because I won't lie to him.”

You agreed and the two of you made your way towards the ICU. It really did help you to see him doing better. Leaning your head on Eddie’s shoulder, you were content to just stand I'm that hallway until Buck woke up but Eddie wouldn't go for that.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“No,” you told him truthfully. “But we can anyway.”

A week later, Buck was finally coming home. You were practically vibrating with excitement.

Walking into the house, you tried to lead Buck towards the bedroom but he stopped you and attempted to head toward the couch. “You need to be resting,” you scolded him.

“Are you going to rest?” he asked.

“Me?” You asked, confused. “I'm fine. I didn't die a few days ago.”

Buck frowned. “The doctors ran tests to make sure you weren't having a heart attack because you nearly passed out from a panic attack.”

You scowled at Eddie. “When did you tell him?”

Eddie just shrugged. “He asked while you were loading up the car. I told you I wasn't going to lie to him.”

You sighed. “Regardless, I'm fine.”

Eddie shoved you and Buck towards the bedroom. “I think we could all use some rest. Let's all go take a nap and then we can watch a movie and eat take out in bed.”

“Sounds amazing. Except, when do we need to pick up Christopher?” you asked.

“Carla is keeping him overnight so we can get Buck settled in,” Eddie explained.

Buck nodded. “I vote pizza.”

“Deal,” you and Eddie agreed in unison.

#eddie diaz x reader #buddie x reader #evan buckley x reader #9 1 1 x reader #911 fanfic #911 reader insert

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gyuworm · 10 months

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EVERYTHING ✰ established relationship / hurt / comfort

; in which seungmin is your everything and he reassures you that you’re his.

pairing. seungmin x gn!reader

cw. insecurity / crying / kissing

you drew in another shaky breath, eyes heavy from the amount of tears you had finished shedding merely moments before. your boyfriend, seungmin, sat to your right on the edge of your bed. his left hand intertwined with yours, resting in your lap. his free hand on your back drawing patterns of nothingness.

there were no words exchanged between the two of you besides seungmin’s previous encouragement to allow yourself the right to cry and to feel, assuring you that it was more than okay and healthy to do so.

“min?” you called, voice barely above a whisper, your grip on his hand tightening — afraid of letting go, of what could happen if you did.

seungmin turned towards you, he didn’t say anything. running his thumb over the ridges of your knuckles. there was no pressure to talk, no further questions or concerned looks. he knew you would continue when you were ready.

as you gazed at him, the bedside lamp illuminating him perfectly, you couldn’t help but wonder how someone like him could love someone like you. he was absolutely everything — kind, smart, talented, loving, funny. and you were nowhere comparable.

“do you actually want me?”

the question tumbled out before you could stop it, mind lagging behind your mouth as usual. it wasn’t a new thought by any means — the question had swirled around in your mind for weeks. digging itself in and making a home amongst your insecurities.

a silence stretched between you, heart sinking with each passing second. this was it. the moment he admitted you were simply safe and comfortable, that he didn’t desire you or love you. you lowered your head, returning your gaze to your lap as an apology began to bubble up your throat.

“of course i want you,” his voice was firm but gentle.

seungmin squeezed your hand softly — twice. drawing his free hand up to brush away a tear that had begun a new track down your face. when had you started crying again? you couldn’t remember.

“you’re my person, yn,” he paused, “you’re my everything,”

as he finished speaking seungmin brought your clasped hands towards him, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand. you let out a breathy laugh, sniffling.

untangling his fingers from yours, seungmin slid his hand down to your wrist, grasping gently. tugging your hand closer at the same time, bringing his lips to your palm with a chaste kiss. your heart swelled at the action, butterflies sprouting in your stomach with each kiss he pressed to your skin.

“tickles,” you mumbled, tapping your finger to the tip of his nose once he pulled back slightly.

a hum is all you received in response, seungmin already peppering kisses against your skin once more. you lift your free hand, cupping his face gently to still his movements. his lips parted, eyelashes fluttering as he looks at you.

“hm?”

you smiled at him fondly, love flowing through every inch of your body, dripping from your fingertips and seeping into his skin. you ran your thumb along his cheek, his skin warm beneath your still trembling fingers.

“i love you. always and forever,”

seungmin turned his head, pressing a kiss to your palm where your hand still held him in place, “i’m aware,”

you tsked at his response, nose scrunching. mimicking the gesture, he pulled away from you making his way towards the bedroom door.

“and even beyond that!” he called over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

masterlist

a/n - n e ways don’t perceive me ‼️🤨🤨

#stray kids #skz #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids hurt/comfort #skz hurt/comfort #stray kids drabble #skz drabbles #seungmin hurt/comfort #seungmin fluff #seungmin imagines #seungmin #seungmin drabbles #skz seungmin #seungmin x reader #kim seungmin fluff #kim seungmin x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader

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leighsartworks216 · 12 days

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On The Count Of Three

Harvey x FTM!Farmer

I've been thinking about this idea for days, but I've only just been able to write it sort of like how I want it. I'm not 100% happy with the ending but trying to expand it out made it worse so I chose the less worse option (in my mind). Slightly inspired by my fear of needles and my third-degree yearns of wanting Harvey to take care of me

Warnings: needles, injections, mention of fear of heights, anxiety, references to Harvey's ten heart event, slight hurt/comfort, semi-implied transphobia (not addressed)

Word Count: 1,002

Masterlist

AO3

Harvey washed his hands in the bathroom sink. He wasn’t even thinking about it, so second nature to nearly everything he did at work. Instead, he thought mostly about what he needed to grab from the medicine cabinet.

A bandaid, disinfectant, a fresh needle, and the bottle of testosterone. He repeated them in his head like a mantra as he dried his hands off and began grabbing each item in turn. With everything secured in his arms, he leaves the bathroom behind and heads into the bedroom.

The farmer fidgeted anxiously as they sat on the edge of the bed, watching him intensely as he set everything aside and ripped open the disinfecting wipe.

Harvey couldn’t help but feel honored to be trusted with this. Yes, he was a doctor, but it was nearly a year after their arrival in Pelican Town that they told him about their plans for medically transitioning. They’d admitted to him later that they were afraid of the people in this small town rejecting them or worse. They were so alone in Zuzu City for so long, they’d hate to feel that way again here.

This had become a sort of ritual after that. When the prescription first came in, they’d held it in their hands, staring down at it as they sat on the exam table, like it was an alien baby they were holding. He asked if they needed help the first time, to know what to do. But it quickly became abundantly clear when he tried handing the prepped needle off to them that they couldn’t do it on their own.

As he knelt down on the rug by the bed, he looked up at them. They were looking away now, staring hard at the wall. Their hands shook in their lap, fingers tapping uneven patterns against their thighs. The cold shock of the disinfectant startled them, but they just closed their eyes and tapped another rapid pattern against their skin. He set the used wipe aside and removed the guard off the needle, drawing the proper amount of the hormone into the reservoir before setting the bottle aside.

Each sound made them more visibly anxious. He could hear them swallow thickly, hear the slight tremor in their breaths. If he was any closer, he’d hear the rapid beating of their heart against their ribcage.

He took one of their hands in his, and kissed the slightly sweaty palm with deep fondness. He thought this was one of the bravest things he’d ever seen them do. Nevermind going down into the mines, every single week they faced their fear, trusting in him to get them through it. And every single week, he did, and every week after they were ready to close their eyes, grit their teeth, and get through it again.

“It’s alright, dear, I’ve got you. Take some deep breaths now, alright?”

The first inhale was shaky. The exhale was squeezed out like somebody trying to get air out of a bag before they closed it. He waited patiently as they repeated the doctor’s orders a few more times, each subsequent one becoming smoother and easier. He hummed his approval, encouraging them to keep going.

He kissed their palm again reassuringly before setting their hand aside with a comforting squeeze. When he let go, their next exhale was choppy and nervous. There was nothing for it; the sooner he got this over with, the sooner they’d actually be able to calm down.

“Okay, ready?”

They nodded, eyes shut impossibly tight as they prepared for the sting.

“On the count of three. One… two… three.”

He slid the needle into the appropriate depth, drew some blood into the needle, and pressed down on the plunger to inject the dose. Their hands clenched into tight fists, clutching at nothing or the blanket underneath them. They remained that way for a moment after he removed the needle and clicked the guard back in place and set it safely aside. He peeled open the bandaid, removed the two pieces protecting the sticky parts, and expertly planted it over the injection site.

“All done! How are you feeling?” He took both their hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over their knuckles to smooth out their fists. They sighed deeply as they finally opened their eyes to look down at him, blinking spots from their vision.

“Exhausted,” they admitted. Harvey was no stranger to how much energy being scared ripped out of a person. He kissed the inside of their wrist. “Thank you for helping me with this. I know it’s kind of stupid.”

He squeezed their hands. “Hey, it’s not stupid. I think being scared of needles is a very justified fear.”

They huffed. “I know, it’s just… We’ve been doing this every week for how long now? I shouldn’t be so scared, but even just thinking about it…” They shuddered. “Which is dumb because it just happened, and it barely hurt at all, so why am I still so freaked out by it?”

He stood up from the ground, letting their hands go to brush some hair from their face, cupping their cheek sweetly. “You remember our first date?”

A bubbly laugh erupted from them. They didn’t expect this to be brought up again after so long. “Yeah, I remember.”

He smiled. “I was terrified of going up in that hot air balloon. But I still did, because…” He chuckles bashfully. “Well, because you were so brave, I felt like I could do it anyway, if you were there. But I’m still terrified of heights!”

“So, you’d go up in another balloon if I was there?”

“In a heartbeat. I’ll always be scared, but if you’re there, I can be a little brave. Or at least try to be.”

They grinned, leaning into his hand. “I love you.”

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to their lips, mustache tickling their upper lip in an oh so familiar and pleasant way. “And I love you.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #harvey x reader #harvey x farmer #sdv harvey x farmer #sdv harvey x reader #stardew valley x farmer #stardew valley x reader #sdv harvey #stardew valley harvey #stardew valley #slight hurt/comfort #fluff

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secondaxispoint · 1 year

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Pairing: Joel Miller x Male!Reader

Warning: None!

Content: Angst

The new episode has got me in a chokehold.

Let Go

You had been watching him from across the room. He sat motionless, staring at his trembling hands. He’d been almost catatonic from the moment you left the firefly hospital. You didn’t know what had happened as you were knocked unconscious and left outside. You only saw Joel help you up and into the car.

Once the car had broken down you were left to walk to the cabin you now reside in. Both Joel and Ellie were tiptoeing around each other. You wished you knew what was on his mind. You wanted to soothe whatever thoughts were making him act so reserved again. You were ecstatic to see him come out of his shell once you finally left that snowy wasteland and watching him descend back into it was breaking your heart.

So you got to your feet and walked over to where he was sat. He didn’t notice you, too preoccupied with his thoughts. You kneeled down to get a better look at him. His eyes were glossy and his breathing was shallow. You took a shaky hand into yours and gently rubbed a thumb across his knuckles. He still didn’t seem to notice your presence so you brought his hand up to your lips. You pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his hand.

That finally got him to snap eye up to yours. A tear rolled down his cheek and his brow scrunched. He took a few wavering breaths before falling to his knees right in front of you. He quickly buried his face into the crook of your neck and sobbed quietly. Taken aback, you wrapped your arms around him and rubbed his back. You traced patterns into the fabric of his shirt as he continued.

Ellie came into the room, hearing the commotion. She started towards the crying man in your arms but you held up a hand, signaling that he was okay. She looked worried but stilled her footsteps. You gave her a pained look that she seemed to understand and she retreated back to the room she came from. Sitting on the floor for what seemed like hours, Joel’s sobs became wimpers. He finally sat up, not daring to look you in the eye.

“I’m sorry.”

You shook your head.

“What the hell happened in that hospital Joel.”

His eyes glossed over once more and he drew a deep breath.

He explained what happened. The people he killed. The things he hid from Ellie. The possible cure that would’ve killed her. His voice was broken and defeated. He was lost and spinning in circles in his mind. You wanted to help, needed to. You shushed him and pulled him close to you once more. You were running your hands through his hair and rubbing his back again. His shoulders were shaking and you heard him cry.

“You did what you thought was right.��

He stifled a sob.

“I killed people. Innocent people who did nothing wrong but hope for a better future.”

You hushed him again.

“They were going to kill her.”

“They were going to cure the world.”

He snapped at you. You stayed silent, not knowing how to respond. You didn’t know how to make him feel better. You didn’t know if you could. So you said nothing. Only soothing him with your hands. Showing him that you didn’t think different of him because of the things he did. His crying quieted and the grabbing at the back of your shirt stopped. You thought he might've fallen asleep if he didn’t say anything.

“She’s gonna hate me.”

His voice was hoarse.

“She’ll never forgive me.”

He was right. You knew he was right. Ellie would never forgive him for this.

#joel miller x male reader #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller #i love joel miller #x male reader #male reader insert #male reader #reader insert #x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou series #tlou show #tlou hbo #ellie tlou #i love pedro pascal #pedro pascal #bella ramsey

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he4rtsforjoao · 9 months

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Gone- N.JR

Pairings: neymar jr x! Female reader

Warnings: bunch of angst, falling out of love etc.

Summary: You finally address Neymar regarding the considerable distance he has maintained towards you, anticipating the restoration of your relationship, yet regrettably, it does not unfold in your favor.

Author note: first time writing angst! 😿

In the dimly-lit dining room of your once vibrant home, a heavy silence hangs in the air like a thick fog, suffocating any remnants of warmth or connection. As you sit across from Neymar at the elegantly-set table, a carefully prepared dinner lies untouched before you, the aroma of the food filling the room, yet failing to penetrate the emotional void between you.

Neymar's eyes remain fixated on the glowing screen of his phone, his fingers scrolling with an intensity that mirrors the detachment he displays. The sound of his scrolling is the only audible presence in the room, a constant reminder of the vast distance that has grown between you. The weight of his indifference presses down on you, numbing your heart and clouding your thoughts.

Months have passed since this unusual pattern emerged, an unspoken agreement to bury the fractures in your relationship beneath the surface. Fear of what his response might be has held your mouth shut for months, preventing you from summoning the courage to confront him. Each passing day has chewed at your soul, eroding the once vibrant bond that drew you together.

As you nervously toy with your food, desperately seeking a flicker of connection, a question escapes your trembling lips, shattering the heavy silence. "So.. how was practice?" The words hang in the air, fragile and delicate, as if carrying the weight of your hopes and dreams. Neymar's response is a mere whisper, devoid of any semblance of emotion. "Okay." The word hangs there, a hollow echo of the vibrant conversations that used to follow each practice, regardless of how physically and mentally drained he may have been.

The stark dryness in his tone sends a chill down your spine. In the depths of your being, you yearn for the restoration of the connection that once bound you together. But as the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into months, the gloom that hangs over your shared existence grows heavier. The absence of meaningful conversation, the void of emotional intimacy, has left you adrift in a sea of uncertainty, wondering if the flickering flame of your love will ever be rekindled.

“Ney?” Your gaze turns towards him once more, observing his eyes still fixated on his phone, a faint smile gracing his lips. A deep sigh escapes your lips as you gather the courage to broach the subject that has been weighing heavily on your heart. Slowly, he raises his gaze, meeting your already teary eyes, but his expression remains impassive. Nonchalantly, he leans against his chair, emanating a weariness towards your presence, as if he has grown tired of your company. "Why have you been distant?" you inquire, your voice tinged with a mixture of hurt and confusion. His reaction is one of disbelief, as if your accusation strikes at the core of his being. "What?" he scoffs, his tone laced with offense.

"Well," you begin, your voice trembling slightly, "I can't pinpoint exactly where things went wrong. But it's painfully obvious that our conversations have lost their spark. Each interaction feels so dry, devoid of the warmth and connection we once shared. I mean, for heaven's sake, we just sit in silence while eating our meal. Am I no longer enough for you?" The floodgates of your emotions burst open, finally allowing the pent-up feelings that have haunted you for months to pour forth.

"What are you talking about, y/n? It’s too late for all this I’m going out" he murmurs, his voice laced with weariness and resignation. With a heavy sigh, he rises from his seat and runs a trembling hand through his disheveled hair, a desperate attempt to compose himself. "Neymar, wait don't leave yet" you implore, your voice tinged with a mixture of desperation and sadness. "I'm just calling you out for the sake of it. Deep down, you know there's truth in my words. If there's something you've been longing to express, please, say it now."

Reluctantly, a bitter admission escapes his lips, punctuating the silence like a knife to the heart. "Fine, then! I don't love you anymore," he confesses, his voice laced with a melancholic blend of regret and apathy. The love that once burned brightly within him has faded into nothingness, leaving an empty void in its wake. "What I felt in the beginning, it's gone. There is nothing left, y/n. Are you satisfied?" He continued.

As his words echo in the room, an overwhelming wave of anguish washes over you, threatening to consume your very being. Tears well up in your eyes, cascading down your cheeks like an endless waterfall of sorrow. Despite your efforts to hold back the flood of emotions, your voice trembles as you muster the courage to speak. "Do you love someone else?" you utter, the question seemingly emerging from the depths of your shattered heart, desperately seeking a sliver of hope in the middle of this darkness.

"What?" he stammers, his voice laced with disbelief, as if questioning your sanity. "Do you love someone else?!" you scream, your voice cracking under the weight of your anguish. The repetition of your question only serves to further infuriate you, as he fails to understand your questions quickly.

With a somber resignation, he finally admits, "Yes!I don't love you anymore, y/n." The words, sharp and cutting, pierce through the already shattered remnants of your heart. The realization that your once cherished bond has disintegrated into nothingness weighs heavily upon you, casting a dark shadow over your soul. In this moment, the suffocating emptiness becomes unbearable, and you find comfort in the bitter truth he lays bare.

As your eyes remain fixed upon his face, lacking of the love you used to see reflected in him, you simply nod, a single tear cascading down your cheek. The pretense of affection that had lingered between you, like a decaying facade, is now forcefully shattered.

"Get out," you whisper, the words a fragile echo of the love that once bound you together. His response carries the weight of resignation, as he nods without resistance. He walks towards the door, his steps heavy with the burden of shattered dreams, leaving behind the fragments you used to share.

The door shuts.

And so, you stand there, alone amidst the remnants of a love that has crumbled into dust, enveloped

#neymar jr #neymar jr x reader #neymar jr smut #smut #angst #fluff #Neymar jr angst #World Cup imagines #soccer player x reader #y/n #fan fic #neymar

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starlitangels · 6 months

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Distractions

This didn't go the direction I was expecting it to, but you know what, I'm 100% fine with that! I missed Avior so much 1.7k words

—

I sat down heavily on the stone floor of the cave. Back pressed to the wall, I drew my knees up and rested my forearms on them. I hung my head and sighed.

Despite the fires burning all over the Hellscape, everything seemed dark to me. The air was thick with smoke and screams, but it seemed heavier than ever, pressing down on me from all sides. No one’s coming to save us, and nothing we’ve tried has worked. The thought spun around and around my head, crowding in with all the others vying for attention.

I’m not sure how long I stayed in that position, fighting off the metaphorical black cloud descending over me.

“Starlight?” Avior’s voice piped up over the din. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head. “I… I’m at my wit’s end, Avior,” I replied. “There’s no way out. I can’t keep fighting this place. I don’t—I can’t—we’ve tried everything. We’ll never get out—I just—” I shook my head harder. “I’m exhausted!” My throat felt like it was going to close and my eyes burned with tears I didn’t want to shed.

Avior leaned against the wall beside me and slid down it until he was seated next to me. He held out one hand in my direction. I took it. He brought my hand up to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Close your eyes,” he repeated, louder.

I did. My eyes stung from the smoke. Closing them came with some relief.

Avior squeezed my hand tighter.

Music started to fill the cave. Gentle piano and strings. Soft at first. Quiet. Almost a lullaby.

Cutting through it, the rib rattling resonance of a cello playing low entered the score.

The music built. A crescendo.

It drowned out everything. The roaring fires. The shrieking winds. The whipping smoke. The endless screams of the dreamlike projections of tortured souls. All the noises of Hell drowned under the music.

The cello and piano pushed everything out of my mind and heart. A cleansing of my soul. A high violin stabbed across the rest with a sharp, precise, beautiful continuation of the melody. Breath eased in and out of my lungs better than I’d been able to while we were here.

The music was crystal clear, and yet it was fuzzy like a nostalgic memory.

It forced my despair out of me.

“How are you doing that?” I asked Avior. Barely louder than a breath.

“Sonal magic,” he replied almost as quietly. He let go of my hand and started running his fingers over my back gently. Tracing random shapes and patterns.

“Wh… why?”

His fingers paused. I opened my eyes just enough to peek at him. Only to discover him already looking down at me.

“You’re breaking, starlight,” he breathed. “And I don’t know how else to save you.”

“Save me?”

“If you shatter here, I fear there will be nothing I can do. I can’t let you lose yourself to this Hell.” His fingertips, feather-light, dusted across the ridge where my neck met my back. “I love you, my starlight. And I will do whatever it takes to get you through this. I swear.”

I moved and buried my face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around me.

“Tell me how to help you. Please.”

I clung to him. “Distract me. Please. Talk to me about something. Anything.”

He ran his hand up and down my spine. “Okay. When we get out of here—and we will get out of here—how do you want to design our dream home together? Are you content with an apartment? Do you want a house? Pretend money is no issue. Where are we going to live? What will it look like?”

I blinked, thinking hard. “I… I want a cottage. Out in the woods. We can have peace and quiet.”

“Keep going.” Avior went back to tracing the mindless shapes on my back.

“I’m not much of a green thumb but I wouldn’t mind a little garden. Some flowers, maybe some fruit-bearing plants or vegetables.”

“Sounds so beautiful. What else?”

I took a deep breath, letting the music that was still filling the air keep cleansing my soul of despair. “An open kitchen for us to dance in together. A fluffy rug that looks like the night sky in the living room. A bedroom with enough space for you and me.”

“What about a claw-foot bathtub?” Avior suggested. I nodded. “Queen or king bed?”

“King. You’re too tall for a queen.”

He chuckled. “Most demons are tall,” he said. His fingertips trailed up and down my spine. “Can I use glow-in-the-dark paint to put constellations on the ceiling of our bedroom?”

“Please do,” I said.

He hummed. His voice vibrated almost as much as the cello’s low line still playing. “When we get out of here, there’s one thing I think I need to do fairly quickly.”

“What is it?”

“Inchoate demons and Concubi rarely take charges. It’s easier not to for Desire Demons. And for Inchoates there’s not usually much of a point. But I’m going to legally Claim you as my charge. Other demons will leave you alone if I do.”

“What… what does that mean? Being your charge?”

“It means a few things, in demonic society. First of all, it means that other demons aren’t allowed to feed on you unless they want to have a problem with both me and the Chorus. A human with a Claim can’t be fed on without permission of the demon who laid the Claim. Other demons can detect it. But it’s a magic that only demons can detect. A human wouldn’t even notice it, empowered or not.” I opened my mouth to ask a question, but Avior kept going. “A Claim can be laid on unempowereds too. It’s not anchored to your Core or anything, before you ask.” I smiled.

“What else does it mean?”

“Some demons take a Claim as meaning they have to take care of their charge’s emotions, to a certain degree. Particularly with Empathy and Serenity Daemons. They see a Claim as a duty to foster the feelings they can feed on in their charges. Most demons and daemons—both spellings—choose charges who are already predisposed toward the emotions they feed on. It’s easier that way. Serenity Daemons find people who tend to be calm. Empathy Daemons’ charges either need someone to help them be happy, or are already happy more often than not. Sadism Demons who take charges often find people who already have… malicious tendencies.” Avior cleared his throat. “And it’s a good thing that there aren’t many Sadism Demons, comparatively, considering there really aren’t a lot of humans with sadistic tendencies that linger longer than a flash in the pan in a moment of anger.”

“Except maybe politicians,” I muttered sarcastically.

Avior snorted like I caught him off guard. “Yeah, except maybe politicians,” he agreed in the tone that said he was humoring me.

“So what does it mean for an Inchoate to take a charge, considering you can feed on anything and don’t need specific feelings?”

He inhaled through his nose. “Not much more than no other demon can feed on you without your permission and mine. Although, to be honest, if you’re fine with another demon feeding on you, I doubt I’d have a problem with it. But, you being my charge also means that legally, I’m allowed to keep you safe from any other demons who get any funny ideas. And if another demon violates my Claim on you, then I’d be able to seek restitution.”

“Restitution? How does that work?”

“Starlight, trust me just this once to not answer your question because you really don’t want to know.”

“Avior—”

“Please, my love. Just trust me. I’ll remind you, though, that demonic society functions on fundamentally very different morals than human society. Demonic ‘restitution’ can get bloody, quickly. And that’s all I’ll say.”

“Wait—so if another demon violated your Claim and you weren’t okay with it… you could get in a fight?”

“It’s one avenue, yes. And probably the more common one.”

“Yikes.”

“Like I said: different morals.”

“No kidding.” I blinked several times, processing that information.

“Hey,” Avior said softly. “Is it working?”

“What?”

“The distractions.”

“O-oh. Yeah.” I smiled. He returned it, gently, and snuggled me closer to his chest. “Can… can I trouble you for something? It might be too much magic to sustain for long.”

“Of course. Whatever I can do, my starlight.”

I moved a hand so I wasn’t holding him and projected a small illusion. “This teddy bear was given to me when I graduated high school and started going to the academy. He took a lot of my stress. I always held onto him while working on projects that were frustrating.”

Avior studied the illusion, reaching a single finger as though to touch the little velvet bow tie stitched to the teddy bear’s neck. “What’s his name?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t.”

I looked away from Avior to the projection. “Doug. I thought it would be a silly name to make me smile but… through the long hours of studying for school… he just became my little Duggie.”

Avior kept studying the illusion. “Do you know what he’s made of?”

I shook my head. “He’s really soft but that’s all I got.”

Closing glittering gold eyes, Avior heaved a heavy sigh.

And a very good replica of my teddy bear popped into existence on my outstretched hand. I clutched the plushie close to my chest immediately and burrowed back into Avior’s with my face. “Thank you,” I whispered.

He went back to running his fingers up and down my spine. “Of course, my starlight,” he replied.

The soothing motion of Avior tracing my spine and the comforting firm plushness of Doug in one of my arms helped the tension ease away. Avior’s music shifted from a symphony to drown out the despair into a lullaby to soothe and relax. I felt my breathing slow, matching Avior’s.

Before I knew it, I fell asleep for the first time in months.

—

Tag list: @pinksparkl

#redacted asmr #fic #Redacted Avior #Redacted Starlight #redacted audio #Starlit Fic

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kookie-doughs · 7 months

Text

Again And Again

Portgas D Ace X Reader

-Amatsuki Y/N decided to stay in the future without her sister upon meeting a friend’s son.

Chapter 10: Invictus

Your return was a dream come true, embraced by the man you love. Ace held you close, swaying gently as memories of the past flooded your mind. This was the moment you left for your mission, and now you were back where you belonged. A smile graced your lips as you nestled your face against Ace's chest, inhaling his familiar scent of cinnamon, amber, and your favorite fruit. The chaotic noises of battle were gone, replaced by the soothing sound of his heartbeat.

Fifty-three attempts had led to failure, but now, on your 54th attempt, you were determined to make it count. You would fight to protect this moment, to cherish the time you had with Ace.

"Y/N, why are you crying? Are you okay?" His voice pulled you from your thoughts, concern etched on his face as he wiped away your tears.

You let out a soft laugh, a mixture of relief and happiness, as you looked up at Ace, your eyes shining with tears of joy. "I'm more than okay, Ace. I'm just so happy to be here with you. I couldn't ask for anything more."

"W-What--" His face flushed, turning red.

Ah. You had forgotten. Your first time admitting your feelings to him was as he was dying.

A gentle smile graced your lips as you lifted your hands, placing them on Ace's shoulders. With a soft, affectionate pull, you drew him closer, your heart racing with anticipation. Your eyes met, and in that moment, everything else faded away. The world around you ceased to exist as your lips finally met, sealing your love and longing in a tender kiss.

Time seemed to slow down as you savored the sweet taste of his lips, cherishing every moment of this intimate connection. It was as if all the pain and trials of the past had melted away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, blissful moment.

As Ace pulled away from the kiss, a faint blush colored his cheeks, and he looked at you with a mix of surprise and delight. His breath slightly hitched, and a shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It was evident that he hadn't expected the kiss, but he certainly didn't seem to mind. It was then when you made a promise to yourself – you would fight for this love, for your future with him.

"Y/N... I-I, Y-You," he stammered, his heart still racing from the sudden display of affection.

You chuckled softly, feeling your own cheeks flush. "I love you," you replied, giving his nose a peck.

He was bewildered, his eyes shining with happiness, but his mind couldn't comprehend.

"I love you, Ace. Always." You smile sweetly bringing his hand to your cheek.

Ace's eyes had so much mixtures of emotions, having heard 53 goodbyes from him, you could tell what those emotions were.

Ace's touch was both gentle, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on your skin, as if trying to etch the memory of this moment into his very being. His heart, overwhelmed with emotions, betrayed his facade of strength, and you could sense the depth of his feelings.

With every heartbeat, you could feel the weight of his love, and you wished you could bear some of his burden. Your arms instinctively wrapped around him, pulling him closer.

As his lips met yours again, it felt like a rush of electricity surging through your veins. Each kiss was a silent promise, a reassurance of the love that bound you together.

As the kiss broke, Ace's forehead rested against yours, his warm breath mingling with yours. You felt a sense of vulnerability in him that he rarely showed to anyone else.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice filled with affection. "You mean everything to me. I don't know what I would do without you. I love you more than word can express."

The sudden intrusion of Teach shattered the intimate moment between you and Ace. Anger and frustration welled up inside you, but you tried to keep them at bay, not wanting to ruin this precious time with Ace.

"Hey Y/N, pops wanted me to remind you of your mission. He said you had to leave now." his words cut through the air like a knife, reminding you of your purpose, your mission to prevent the tragedy that had befallen Ace in the past.

Teach's presence was a bitter reminder of the sacrifices you had to make for the greater good. You knew that leaving now was the right choice, but it still pained you to tear yourself away from Ace. After all you can't possibly kill Teach in Ace's presence. Reluctantly, you pulled yourself out of his embrace, though your fingers lingered for a moment longer, as if trying to hold onto the memory of his touch.

"I know," you replied softly, trying to sound composed despite the turmoil inside you. "But hey can you call either Marco or pops? I need you and one of them."

Teach grins as he walked away to follow your request.

You and Ace share a look, "Be careful on this mission."

"I'll be back before you know it." You give his cheek a kiss and grabbed you bag and sword.

You spot Marco and Teach talking at the forest entrance. And you walk to them your resolve not faltering.

Marco sensed something was wrong with you the moment you came.

"Pops said you had to do this mission alone. What do you need us for?" Marco asked.

Before either of them could react, your sword had pierced Teach's chest. They both looked at you in horror, Teach looking down at the sword.

"Y/-"

You twist your sword and pull it out to inflict another stab, and another, and another.

You try to remember how many it too to take down Edward in your previous attempt.

"What the hell are you doing?!!" Marco pulls your away from Teach.

He activates his power as he was about to heal Teach but you grab Marco and put seastone cuffs on him.

"I need to kill him. I brought you here so Edward doesn't think I'm just being crazy."

"I think this is crazier!"

"He's going to kill Thatch, Ace and Edward."

Your claim took Marco aback. He looks down on the writhing Teach not even half dead.

"H-He couldn't. Y/N, he's like a brother." Marco looks between you and Teach.

"Marco, look at me in the eyes. I've lived through numerous attempts on trying to save Ace without killing Teach. 53 attempts, I couldn't save Ace. I was only trying to save Ace."

"Why... why did you bring me here to watch..." His voice was shaking.

"I didnt want to go through this alone. And I'd need help explaining to Edward later. I asked him to pick between you or Edward."

Marco looks away not daring to look at Teach who was practically begging him for treatment.

"Don't make him suffer. He maybe a villain in your time... but he's a brother to me right now. Be merciful for old times sake at least." He walked back to the ship.

Just as he requested you kill Teach with a swipe of your sword.

His final words being, "Darkness"

Edward's anger was expected as he confronted you about your actions. "Why did you do it?!" he roared, his eyes blazing with fury. "Why would you just kill him without hesitation!"

You stood there, facing Edward's wrath. "I had to," you replied, your voice firm. "I knew what Teach would become with that cursed fruit, and I couldn't let that future happen. He would have caused so much pain and destruction."

"He was my responsibility!" Edward bellowed, his grief and anger colliding in a storm of emotions. "You had no right to take that away from me!"

"If he was your responsibility," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Then you're the most irresponsible person I've known."

Your captain looked at you in shock. Your nonchalance against his anger spoke volumes.

"You say he's your responsibility, do you have any idea what he's going to do? He killed Thatch because he saw the fruit. He got Ace killed because he wanted to gather criminals. He kills you because he wanted to steal your power. If he's your responsibility why did you let him do all those?" you argue, your voice filled with emotion.

"Y/N, you just took the life of someone the crew considered family," Edward replies, his anger and grief evident in his voice.

"I killed the man who's going to ruin the family,"

"We could've tried to change the future. Was that not your goal?" he ask.

His words echo through your mind, and tears start to well up in your eyes, alarming Edward.

"Y/N-"

"Can you even change the future?" Your voice trembled, "I-I killed him because I couldn't bear to see the same pain and loss happen all over again. I've gone through countless attempts to save Ace, but each time, I failed. I couldn't let it happen again."

Edward's expression softens as he looks at you, concern evident in his eyes. "I understand why you did what you did," he begins, his voice gentle, "but did you stop to think, perhaps there was another way. Maybe if you had tried talking to him, reasoning with him, there could have been a chance to change his path."

"Edward, Teach was the center of everything. I had to make that choice. If he were someone we could talk to over coffee or tea, no one would've had died."

Your voice trembled as you tried to convey the weight of your decision. The pain of losing Ace and the countless attempts to change the future weighed heavily on your heart. You knew that killing Teach was a drastic action, but you couldn't bear to live through the devastation he caused.

"I didn't want to take a life, not when he was family," you continued, tears streaming down your cheeks. "But then, what was I supposed to do to protect our family, to keep everyone safe. I couldn't let him..."

"I understand," he replies, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. "You only did what you thought was right. And I believe in you, Y/N. I just hoped, the way was something that didn't have anyone dying."

As you lay in Ace's arms that night, feeling a sense of relief and contentment, the weight of the world seemed to lift off your shoulders. You believed that Teach's death had changed the course of fate, and you allowed yourself to be consumed by the happiness of the present moment. Thatch didn't die, Edward didn't die, Ace didn't die. No loss shall come to you.

"Pretty, are you okay?" Ace gently brushed aside the strands of hair that had fallen across your face.

A tearful smile graced your lips, elated at the sense of accomplishment you finally felt. "Never better."

With a kiss to your head, you let the night pass.

But fate had other plans, and the future had a way of playing cruel jokes. As the morning sun began to rise, you were awakened by a commotion outside the room. Voices filled with panic and urgency echoed through the ship.

You and Ace quickly got up and rushed outside, only to be met with chaos. The peace you thought you had achieved was shattered in an instant. Your heart sank as you realized that the battle was far from over.

As you and Ace stepped out to see the chaos that ensued on deck, you were shocked to find that the panic was caused by a crewmember who had been sent on a mission. One of the plenty men that was sent to retrieve Yami Yami no Mi, but now, they returned alone and severely injured. The sight filled you with concern and dread, wondering what had happened to them and why Thatch was not with them.

The crewmember's voice trembled as he recounted the tragic events that had unfolded during the ill-fated mission. "I-I'm so sorry... We were ambushed... They came out of nowhere and... We tried to fight back, but they were too strong. Everyone... everyone was killed. H-How can I face pops... I failed him..."

Marco and other ship doctors come to his side, "Hakuro it's fine come on. We need to treat you."

Hakuro took a shaky breath. "I don't know... Who they were... they were skilled fighters, and they seemed to be after the Yami Yami no Mi. I tried my best to protect it, to run back with it. They took the fruit and left me there to die..."

"Hakuro, that's enough. Stop talking, you're losing blood." One of the doctors say.

"I-I needed... to report so I came back. P-Please tell pops we're sorry..." He cried out one final sob before his arms went limp.

The weight of the loss settled heavily on the deck of the ship. The fallen crewmates were not just fellow pirates; they were family. The pain and sorrow were palpable as the crew mourned the loss of their comrades.

Ace's grip on your hand tightened even further, his eyes reflecting a mix of grief and determination. "We'll find them. We'll make them pay for what they've done."

Your heart sank as you realized where this could lead. You knew that a revenge-consumed Ace, was what lead to your past suffering. Tearfully, you looked at him, trying to find the right words to break through his pain.

"Ace, no," you implored, your voice trembling. "N-No. N-No. No. NO. NO!"

Your legs grew weak, the haunting memory of Ace's lifeless form flashed before your eyes. The image of Edward standing tall despite death, and Luffy's gut-wrenching sobs echoed in your mind. You began to shake uncontrollably, inducing worry among the entire crew as you struggled to catch your breath.

"T-This wasn't supposed to happen! I-It was supposed to change!" You cried.

Marco and Ace rushed to your side, concern etched on their faces. You clung to Marco, looking at his eyes hoping some answer would come, just as you had done in the attempts to save Ace.

"Marco, what do I do?" you pleaded, your voice trembling. "I-- Teach, h-he was the one who was going to do this... I-I killed him e-everything was supposed to change!!! Wasn't it enough? Marco please! I-I c-can't go through this again... Help me.... please..."

Marco held you gently, trying to soothe your panic. "Y/N calm down," he said. "We can't lose hope. This isn't over yet, Y/N. We just have to be strong and think rationally, yeah? No one will go off alone. It's going to be fine."

You turned to Ace, seeking reassurance. He held you tightly, his arms providing a sense of comfort and safety. He places a kiss on your head, his heart breaking at the sight of you so lost.

"I promise," Ace said firmly, his voice filled with determination. "We'll face this together, just like we always have. No matter what happens, we'll stand by each other's side. I'm not going to do anything stupid."

What did fate have against you? Despite all the promises, the efforts, and the sacrifices, it seemed that nothing was enough to keep Ace safe. You had hoped that your determination and love would be strong enough to protect him, but time and time again, you were proven wrong.

58 attempts. 77 attempts. 93 attempts. 124 attempts. It was unbelievable. The countless ways you had witnessed Ace's life slip away in your attempts to save him weighed heavily on your heart. The pain of losing him over and over again became almost too much to bear.

In each attempt, you had tried to change the course of events, to alter fate's cruel hand, but it seemed like destiny was unyielding. No matter what you did, the outcome remained the same – Ace would die, leaving you shattered and broken.

You had grown weary from the constant struggle, the endless loop of hope and despair. Each time you failed, you had to gather the strength to try again, to face the heartbreak once more. It was a cycle that seemed never-ending, and it left you feeling drained and defeated.

354 attempts. Life seemed to revel in throwing the most absurd and improbable deaths your way, as if taunting you with each failure. It was as if destiny itself had become a sadistic force, determined to keep you from saving Ace.

In one attempt, Ace would slip on something and fall to his demise. In another, a stray seagull would drop a coconut from the sky, hitting him on the head as he ate. There were times when he would simply trip over his own feet and end up impaled on a random object. The scenarios were bizarre, almost comical, if it weren't for the heartbreak and pain they caused.

Yet, amidst the ridiculousness of these deaths, there were also moments of sheer terror and tragedy. You had seen him sacrifice himself to save others, take a fatal blow meant for someone else, and face overwhelming odds with unwavering courage. Each time, you felt your heart shatter into a million pieces, wondering why fate was so cruel.

But with each attempt, you grew stronger and more determined. The love you had for Ace, the memories you shared, and the hope for a future together fueled your resilience. Always coming back to the moment he held you before your mission.

In the face of the 460th attempt, the weight of all those failures hung heavy on you. The journey had been long, arduous, and emotionally draining. Each attempt had taken its toll on your spirit, leaving you feeling like a shattered reflection of your former self.

With each new attempt, the sense of hope you once clung to had waned. The memories of all the previous failures haunted your every move, casting a shadow over any glimmer of optimism. The pain of loss had become a constant companion, and you found yourself questioning the purpose of it all.

Yet, a part of you refused to surrender to despair completely. Buried deep within the depths of your heart was a stubborn flicker of hope, refusing to be extinguished. It was that tiny ember that drove you to continue, to endure the heartache, and to keep fighting for Ace's life.

On the 482nd attempt, as you held Ace close, a heavy silence enveloped the two of you. You couldn't help but contemplate the possibility of drastically altering the past to save him. The weight of the countless failures weighed on your shoulders, and a part of you yearned to take a different path this time.

As you gazed into Ace's eyes, you knew that the fate of countless lives rested on your decision. If you succeeded in changing the past, it could alter the course of history for better or worse. The consequences were unknown, and the thought of tampering with time filled you with both hope and dread.

In your heart, you wanted nothing more than to keep Ace safe, to rewrite the tragic events that had unfolded so many times before. You were willing to risk everything for a chance to see him smile again, to hear his laughter, and to hold him in your arms without the constant fear of losing him.

But deep down, you also knew that changing the past came with its own set of perils. It could create unforeseen ripples in the timeline, affecting not only Ace's life but the lives of countless others. The delicate balance of the world could be disrupted, and you couldn't predict the full extent of the repercussions.

Caught between the desire to save Ace and the fear of the unknown, you found yourself torn. You knew that there was no guarantee of success, and the thought of failure was a daunting prospect. The pain of losing him once more would be unbearable, and you wondered if you could handle yet another heartbreak.

Could you do something so selfish?

Could you make it so Ace never joined the Whitebeard Pirates? Could you throw away the family he found within the crew, the place where he felt accepted and cherished. Get rid of the life he had grown to love, but had also brought him closer to the tragic events that unfolded.

As you held Ace closer, your heart pounding with emotion, you mustered the courage to ask the question that weighed heavily on your mind.

"Ace," you began, your voice trembling with both fear and hope, "how do you think you'd be if you never joined Whitebeard Pirates?"

Ace looked at you, his eyes searching yours for a moment before a small, sad smile tugged at his lips. "Joining the Whitebeard Pirates... it wasn't just about adventure or freedom. It was about finding a family, a place where I belonged. I don't regret my decision, not for a second. I wouldn't know what I'd be without them."

"Ace, if you had to choose," you began, trying to keep your voice steady, "between being with them and being with me, what would you choose? Would you choose to be happy with me?"

Ace's expression softened as he looked at you, understanding the weight of your words. He gently wiped away a stray tear that had escaped your eye.

"You're important to me, more than you can imagine," he said, his voice tender, "and being with you makes me happy. But my crew... they're like family. I can't abandon them, just as I can't bear to lose you."

"I don't know what to do," you said softly, struggling to find the right words.

Ace held you closer, his embrace offering a sense of comfort and warmth. "I don't want to lose either of you," he whispered, "and I don't want to choose between you and my crew."

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Taglist?

@nykie-love-anime @gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @cinnamonrollscafe @sol-d15

#x reader #fanfiction #y/n l/n #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece ace #one piece x you #portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #portgas ace #portgas d ace x reader #ace x reader #ace #one piece portgas ace #one piece portgas d ace #one piece ace x reader #one piece portgas ace x reader #one piece portgas d ace x reader

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second-axis-point · 1 year

Text

Pairing: Joel Miller x Male!Reader

Warning: None!

Content: Angst

The new episode has got me in a chokehold.

Let Go

“I’m sorry.”

You shook your head.

“What the hell happened in that hospital Joel.”

His eyes glossed over once more and he drew a deep breath.

“You did what you thought was right.”

He stifled a sob.

“I killed people. Innocent people who did nothing wrong but hope for a better future.”

You hushed him again.

“They were going to kill her.”

“They were going to cure the world.”

“She’s gonna hate me.”

His voice was hoarse.

“She’ll never forgive me.”

He was right. You knew he was right. Ellie would never forgive him for this.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x male reader #joel miller x you #i love joel miller #x male reader #x reader #male reader #reader insert #male reader insert #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou series #tlou show

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thaliasandy · 1 year

Text

Another smutty/fluffy Hellcheer headcanon:

"Are you cold or did I just rock your world, sweetheart?"

Eddie asked, chuckling, while tying a knot in the used condom, aiming for the trashcan in the corner of his room, throwing it and just shrugging his shoulders when it landed a couple of inches away from the trash, he would take care of it in the morning.

He flopped down on his bed beside Chrissy and pulled the sheets up.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded as he manhandled her shivering body on top of his and held her tight.

Chrissy wrapped her arms tightly around him and he could feel her tremble, aftershocks still coursing through her.

"Do you always get this jittery after sex?"

His fingers were slowly tracing patterns across the soft, heated skin of her back.

She lifted her head from his chest to look at him, her cheeks red and her lips puffy from kissing.

"Oh...um...I don't know..."

"Ahaa Carver never managed to get you off!? That's what I thought."

He laughed.

Chrissy mimicked the movements of his hands and drew little hearts on Eddie's chest with her dainty fingers.

"Well no..." she nervously chewed on her bottom lip before quietly adding:

"...We never did that"

"Wait ,what?! You're not telling me I..."

He stopped himself before asking if he really just popped her cherry, thinking it sounded too crude for what they just did. Chrissy seemed shy and a bit inexperienced but he hadn't expected the hottest cheerleader in Hawkins High to be a virgin.

"...I'm your first?!"

She looked at him, worried, like she was scared of his reaction.

"Hey, it's alright." Eddie smiled reassuringly, his big warm hands started carressing her again.

"You should have told me before though...I would've been gentler."

She placed her index finger on his lips.

"Shhh, you were gentle. It was perfect."

After cuddling in silence for a moment he asked.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Chrissy huffed frustratedly,

"Everyone always makes decisions for me and treats me like I'm just a innocent little kid...I didnt want you to think of me that way."

"We wouldn't be naked, in my bed right now if I thought you were a kid...Nothing wrong with innocent though, it's cute."

She gave him an annoyed look.

"Alright, alright, sorry." He chuckled "

"You took my cock like a good little slut." He added in his deep, raspy dungeon master voice and enjoyed watching her wide eyes and scandalized little gasp turn into a satisfied grin.

"Better?"

"Yes!" She giggled.

"Did it hurt?"

His voice suddenly oh so soft again and full of concern.

"No, I just felt really...full.. and I'm kinda sore now....Was it okay for you?"

"Oh it was more than okay! I can die a happy man now, princess. Best sex I ever had!"

"Hm...Yeah for me too."

She leaned in, giggling, and pressed a tender kiss to his lips.

"Don't worry, it'll only get better."

#hellcheer #eddissy #eddssy #munningham #headcanon #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #chrissy x eddie

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skyloftian-nutcase · 2 years

Text

Reunion (LU in Healthcare)

Wild has a Moment, Twi heads off to dinner, and Wars and Wind run into a familiar face.

(Click here to read on AO3)

The first thing he could see was the snow, sparkling and bright, carrying pieces of stardust as the moon made everything glow. Frost blew in front of him, a potent and magical reminder of the chill held in the air, dissipating into the night. The wind blew briefly, taking the snow and tossing it in spinning, whirling patterns, temporarily blinding the path ahead. The ground was quickly becoming saturated with the white coat, green blades of grass barely poking through the layers.

He smiled. It was beautiful out tonight.

“Wild!”

His heart hastened at the high voice. He turned around to see a small figure running to him, their little arms flailing in delight. The figure drew nearer, almost visible in the moonlight, and then—

“Wild?”

Startled, Wild jumped a little, nearly losing his balance. Strong hands grabbed him by the arms to hold him steady. He blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings, and slowly, Twilight came into view.

“Hey, you okay?” Twilight asked worriedly. “You zoned out for like a solid thirty seconds there. And you’re… you…”

Wild felt the single tear rolling down his cheek, and he wiped it away absentmindedly. Behind Twilight, the peaceful picture of a snowy field hung innocently on the hospital wall, an image meant to bring peace to the people milling through the hallway.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Just got lost in thought is all.”

Twilight watched him with scrutiny for a moment longer, and then let it go. “Well, like I said, I’ve got to deal with the family first and then I’ll see you at home.”

Wild cocked his head to the side. “You don’t seem very happy about it.”

Twilight shrugged. “I mean, I barely remember meeting Malon, and I think I was a little kid when it happened. It’s just—my parents are just—these people, I don’t really know them, you know? It’s weird. I’ll be quick, though.”

Wild huffed out an amused snort, stepping away from Twilight. “Honestly, you act like a mother hen. I can survive without you, you know; I’ve been doing just fine on my own.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Right. Because dumpster diving and starving and being homeless counts as doing just fine.”

“I wasn’t homeless—”

“You said yourself that you didn’t have any place to stay for two weeks.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“No.”

Wild waved a hand in a shooing manner while sighing dramatically. “All right, all right, go deal with your crazy relatives, then. I’ll be waiting with bated breath at home, big brother.”

Twilight chuckled and put a hand on his shoulder before his mirth faded into something more serious. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Twilight,” Wild groaned in exasperation. “I’m fine, I promise. Get going. Have a good dinner – you know you could use a little meat on your bones, too.”

Twilight’s hand slid off his shoulder as he looked beyond him thoughtfully. “Yeah, probably. See you later.”

Wild watched him go, his smile disappearing the farther he got. He glanced back at the picture of snow, wondering if the memory would continue to form, but nothing happened. Sighing heavily, he dragged his feet towards the stairwell to clock out for the day.

XXX

Wind giggled in delight as he blew bubbles into his milk. Warriors glanced at him with an amused smile and winked playfully, scooping some more ice cream into his mouth.

“Told you this place was good,” Wind said after another slurp of his drink. Then he dug into his piece of chocolate cake.

Wars hummed in agreement. “I know where we’ll be going whenever we have crummy days.”

“And good days too!” Wind added insistently, poking his brother-in-all-but-blood in the arm. “We’re allowed to celebrate too, you know.”

Warriors watched him as he took a bite of his dessert. “So what are we celebrating today?”

“I finished unpacking all the boxes in our apartment!” Wind announced excitedly.

Warriors’ eyebrows rose a little and looked like he was going to comment when something caught his attention. His eyes widened, his face paling for a moment. Wind looked at him in concern, asking what was wrong, and when he didn’t get a response, he turned to see what Wars was looking at.

The little dessert place was not that full; there were only three other customers there. A mother and her daughter, and—

Wait. Wait. He looked familiar.

Wind squinted, taking in the soft baby face, the dark, dirty blonde fluffy hair, the bags under the eyes, the red earrings—

“Sky?” Warriors breathed, slowly rising as if in a trance.

Wind gasped. He was right, it was Sky!

Bolting from his seat, Wind tore across the restaurant just as Warriors strode purposefully in the same direction.

“SKY!” Wind yelled in delight, arms wide as he nearly tackled the pilot.

Sky lost his footing as he grunted from the impact. The pair stumbled together, hitting the wall a little hard, but Wind refused to let go. He hadn’t seen Sky in two years!

Sky’s hands hovered over Wind uncertainly, but they settled on his shoulders after a few moments. “W-Wind…?”

Wind pulled away and shook him. “Why didn’t you ever tell us what happened, you just vanished and Wars almost had a heart attack and—”

“Wind, give him a break,” Warriors piped in from behind him. When the teenager pulled away, he saw Warriors watching Sky with immense relief, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Warriors said simply, smiling. “When we didn’t hear anything from you after the transfer, I—”

Warriors choked on his words, clearing his throat and trying to push the conversation ahead. “Well, it’s good to see you again, Sky. Are you passing through?”

Sky watched Warriors silently, eyes discerning as always, and he walked towards the older man, settling against his chest with a gentle hug. Warriors stood there a moment, debating how to process this, and apparently decided that he didn’t care if the tears started to fall. He held Sky tightly, burying his face in the young pilot’s hair and holding him with a white knuckled grip. Wind smiled at the pair, giving them a moment before he wiggled into the hug as well.

“I missed you,” Sky mumbled into Warriors’ chest, his arm sliding down to wrap around Wind’s shoulders as well. “Both of you.”

Sky turned his head, still comfortable in Warriors’ embrace, and looked down at Wind with a soft smile. “You’ve gotten taller.”

“Of course I have!” Wind bellowed with cheer, pulling away so Sky could get a good look at him. Then he frowned. “You look tired.”

Sky laughed, giving Wars one last squeeze before letting go. “That isn’t anything new.”

Wind giggled with nostalgia, remembering Sky's propensity to fall asleep literally anywhere. Sky's smile faded, though, as he asked seriously, “Did… did you ever find your sister?”

Wind nodded. “I did! I found her and my family and everything! I’m living with Wars now; I’m training to become a respiratory therapist!”

Sky gasped, his warm energy returning and making his cheeks flush with cheer. “That’s amazing!”

“Come on,” Warriors motioned back towards their table, putting a hand on Sky’s shoulder. “We’ve got a ton of catching up to do, and you owe us an explanation for disappearing off the face of the map two years ago.”

Sky’s cheer diminished slightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but he followed the pair without argument as Wind bounced around him in delight.

#writing #lu in healthcare #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu wild #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu wind #lu sky #I was going to try and throw the dinner with Time and Malon in here but that's way too Involved #it needs its own chapter lol #and I wanted to publish something so here we are

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ggomos-maribat · 2 years

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D-DAY Chapter 3 | 181 Days Before

TW: Brief mention of suicide

His chest was tight, squeezed by impending deadlines and the buzz of caffeine. Tim wandered into the dining hall as the numbness sparked tingles from his cheeks down to his fingertips. When was the last time I ate? I need rest.

I need her.

Just on cue, Marinette emerged, carrying a feather duster. She gave him a worried once-over and asked, "Are you okay?"

His lips drew into a fine line. "Yeah, just tired."

She put the duster away before wiping her hands on her apron. "You should sleep. I can make you some tea."

"I—I don't think it's a good idea. I might not wake up in time."

"Let's take a break then." She moved closer to him to feel his forehead with the back of her hand. "Why don't we go out to the gardens? Get some fresh air?"

Tim snuck a peek outside. The sky was unusually clear, letting in a shower of light that wasn't too harsh nor too little. The shadows of the trees were safe havens if they wanted to sprawl on the grass.

"That sounds nice." He nodded weakly.

"I'll fetch a basket and my sketchpad first." Marinette's embroidered apron came loose. "It'll be a picnic."

A picnic date, Tim supplied in his head. He told her that he was going to fetch something, and sprinted up to his bedroom to grab a camera and an old skateboard.

With all their things packed, they ventured to the middle of the gardens, choosing a comfy spot sandwiched between two trees. The checkered blanket fluttered in the breeze as Marinette laid it down. Meanwhile, Tim helped take out the packed pastries from the basket. Scents of cinnamon, cherries, and chocolate drifted out.

"Are you still doing that design? The one with the hitched collar?" He glanced at her sketchpad. The button up had caught his attention before, when she was drawing it.

" Notched collar." She crossed her legs, flipping a page open. "I'm changing it to a dress with a patterned A-line."

He'd come to know about Marinette's talent for artistry, and whenever they saw each other, she'd ask him about his thoughts on her design. He'd try his best to point out which ones he liked. 'This one's comfy'. 'I'd wear this to a gala'. 'This one would look good on you'.

She'd take his opinions to heart, listening intently while he spoke albeit knowing so little about fashion. His stomach would tie in knots every night he replayed her keen eyes and focused expression.

Marinette flipped to another page where two designs were sketched out, exact replicas of each other except for the sleeves. "What about this one? Bell or butterfly sleeve?"

He scooted closer to her, taking a bite from his banana muffin. "This one's the bell, right?" She nodded. "Uhh, the bell adds some volume but the butterfly one fits more into the blouse."

"Butterfly it is." She took a raspberry danish as she made the modifications.

Marinette held up her sketchbook at another angle. "So you brought a camera."

"An old hobby." He swiped a finger at the controls, opening up his old gallery to show her. There were old photos of the skyline and the mundane Gotham days. "I fell out of it because I got busy and all."

"Those look beautiful, Tim!" Marinette marveled, bringing a rosy hue to his cheeks. "Can you take a photo of me?"

"Of you?"

"Or—or anything you want! If you want to practice again."

"I'll take one of you." Of your beauty��. He smiled. "Just sit and sketch. Don't mind the camera."

Marinette was slightly tensed up, but she continued drawing, making small strokes and sticking her gaze on the paper. Tim's heart sped up as he captured the shots. It had been a while since he took proper pictures of people. Pictures that were made for memories and nostalgia, and not for investigations.

He left her alone in her own bubble for a while and moved on to snapping other pictures: the sky, the fallen leaves, their food. He even chanced upon a ladybug on a nearby flower patch. The tranquility was something he had become unfamiliar with. He forgot how freeing it was to do something he loved.

Marinette leaned on one hand to look over his shoulder. "Can I see?"

"Go ahead." One by one, they went through the shots. Tim realized he'd taken more pictures of her than anything else.

"Send me everything. I'll print them out and hang them up somewhere," she told him. "I love the ladybug one. Reminds me of home."

"Why? Do you usually spot ladybugs in Paris?"

She was hesitant in answering. "Sometimes. They bring luck and healing."

"I'll make sure to find more for you then." He browsed through more of the photos. "Do you miss home?"

". . . A little bit."

"What's it like there?"

Marinette pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, not meeting his eyes. "It's lively. For me, it's really the city of romance. I don't remember a day when I haven't found a piece of inspiration from it."

He didn't remember if he'd visited before. Wayne Industries had a branch in the city, but he wasn't in charge of handling reports coming from it.

"I'd love to visit with you someday."

"Su—sure. Someday."

---

When the pastries were nothing but crumbs, they pushed their stuff to one corner of the blanket and laid down on their sides facing each other. Having Marinette close was a spectacular sight; he could see the freckles dotting across her nose and the slight wrinkles on the corner of her eyes as she laughed.

"Thanks for bringing me out here, Marinette," he said softly.

Her hand moved up to poke his cheek. "Photosynthesized enough?"

"Yeah." His smile went from ear to ear. Her hand traveled up to his hair, making him shiver. "I always bury myself in work that I forget to just . . . breathe."

She raked her hand through his locks. "If I wasn't around, what would happen to you?"

"Alfred will probably dunk me into bed every six to seven business days," he drawled. "It wouldn't be a proper rest."

"Tim. You can't do that to yourself every time." His breath hitched at the way her hand moved over his scalp. "I've been there. It's not fun doing anything if you're wearing yourself down."

Tim's voice lowered to a delicate whisper. "I know, but if I keep myself busy, my work can distract me. From—from—"

"Being lonely?" She knew him so well.

"I'm so afraid. If I slip up just once, I'll lose everything I have. If I don't keep up with work, I'll be useless. Worthless.

I feel like an intruder, like I don't belong here," he confessed. "I don't deserve anything I have right now."

He was always standing on the edge, threatening to fall over anytime. The others always needed a favor from him. Those were the only times they gave him attention. If he didn't have her, he didn't know what would happen to him.

"You do. You're not a stranger. You're part of your family." Her thumb caressed his cheek. "They love you. I know they do. They just don't know how much you need them right now. You can talk to them."

His eyes closed for a moment. Was that really how she saw it? Was he the one overreacting?

"If they don't listen, then you have me. I'll be here for you," she said. "It's okay for you to rely on someone else."

So close.

They had inched towards each other, so dangerously close. Their noses barely touched and their breaths mingled. His gaze flitted towards her lips.

"Mari—"

"I like you a lot," she breathed out.

His eyes widened a fraction. His head blanked out.

"I want to stay by your side. Spend everyday with you like this," she continued.

He wanted to say that he felt the same, and he had been anxious that she didn't see him in a romantic way so he kept his distance. He wanted to say that she meant so much to him but it drove him insane thinking of her leaving some day.

"I like you too."

But before she could say anything, Tim abruptly sat up, face heating up. "I—I uhh, do you want to learn how to skateboard? I brought my old skateboard out and maybe I can teach you how to ride it, and um, we can go to the front of the manor and —wait we should get you a helmet and kneepads 'cause you're so clumsy outside of the kitchen . . ."

She bit back a smile at his babbling. "Sure, I'd love to learn."

---

Marinette set down the matching coffee cups on the countertop. She was pouring the drink when Dick came into the dimly lit kitchen.

"Hey Mars." She noted his exhausted features. "Can I ask for advice?"

"Of course. How can I help?"

"You've been spending a lot of time with Tim lately, right?"

"Yes," she replied slowly, putting down the thermos.

"He sent a message earlier and . . ." Dick trailed off, struggling for the right words.

"He told you about how he felt." Marinette's eyebrows shot up. When she had told Tim to talk to his family, she didn't expect him to start so soon.

"Have we really been neglecting him?" Dick's voice was strained. She could see the evident stress from him, the dread and guilt coming from hurting his brother.

"He's still preoccupied with work," Marinette explained. "But when he's free, he says he has no one to talk to and that's why he visits the manor more often."

Dick mumbled a few words to himself. She caught some familiar names: Tim's friends.

"I don't think you meant to hurt him." She offered a small smile. "Everyone gets too swamped in their own lives at some point. It just happens."

Dick heaved out a sigh. "Is he mad at me?"

"He didn't say he was mad . . . and it doesn't seem like he is. He's frustrated but he won't hold a grudge." Her fingers drummed on the edge of the tray in contemplation. "Just talk to him. Smooth things over. He won't push you away because he needs you."

"I'm really sorry you got involved—"

Her eyes steeled. "Don't be. I care about Tim." More than you can ever know . "I understand what he's going through and I want to help him as much as I can."

Dick seemed to examine her, partially carrying an air of doubt. She could see why: she was a newcomer, not yet someone they could fully trust. Most of them barely interacted with her since they didn't stay in the manor. If the Waynes thought she was trying to manipulate Tim, she wouldn't be surprised.

"What do you suggest I do?" Dick asked.

Her shoulders rose and fell. "Spend time with him. It doesn't matter what you do—as long as you're there, Tim's fine with it. If you can't, make a promise and keep it."

He coughed. "Thanks for that. I'll try to talk to the old man too. Pretty sure he also got his own message."

"Ah, for Mr. Wayne, I think it's better to not interfere. He should go to Tim on his own." She raised the tray holding one coffee cup on a saucer, along with a teaspoon. "Why don't you bring this to him?"

"Nah, he's going to think you forced me or something," he declined. "I'll talk to him first thing in the morning . . . or when he wakes up."

Bidding goodbye, he exited the kitchen to rest in his bedroom. Marinette stared at the direction he went off to. At least one of them came right away. Dick also had a lot on his plate, and she could tell that he'd get distressed if he couldn't meet those responsibilities. A tendency for self-sacrifice.

She added her own mug to the tray, picked up the set, and headed to Tim's bedroom. As for Jason, I'm sure he cares a lot but the tension between the two of them might make him hesitate. The same goes for Damian. Still, she hoped they could ease into good terms.

Marinette found Tim hunched over a stack of papers on his desk. She placed the cups on a safe spot and saw that the papers weren’t the usual ones he had. “What are those?” she asked, pulling up a seat.

Tim stretched his arms, taking his coffee with a small ‘thanks’. “I took a break the whole day so I thought I should get into another hobby of mine. Cold cases. I try to solve them or look for leads.”

Her eyes scanned over the long paragraphs. There were photos of evidence, suspect profiles, and crime scene details scattered all over the table. “Interesting. What’s the case you’re working on right now?”

“This one was dismissed as a suicide but it’s clearly not one.” His finger hovered over the notes scribbled at the edge of one page. “There are signs of struggle, and traces of another person in the crime scene. But police weren’t able to identify a suspect and the gun was the victim’s, so they wrapped it up quickly.”

Marinette frowned as she read the list of clues. “Wouldn’t the traces left behind lead to the culprit?”

“I checked the evidence, but they look like they were tampered with. The perpetrator obviously made an effort to make the clues misleading.” Tim gestured at another set of notes. “See, there was stuff left behind that the victim never owned and all of them didn’t have any fingerprints or DNA samples.”

“Hmm, they could still be the victim’s,” she considered. “Have you looked into their origins?”

“Actually, not yet.” He immediately grabbed his laptop, eyes shining. “I completely forgot. There might be receipts from their purchase or something. You're a genius, Mari."

"It's not much." She hid her face behind her mug.

"It's everything. You're amazing. You always are." She sucked in a breath when he took her hand and squeezed it.

"Do you think you can share some cases with me?" She picked up a folder with stapled papers inside. "I want to try looking over them too."

"Sure, I'll send you the ones I compiled with complete evidence."

They ended up losing sleep over long discussions on the mysteries. Theories went from outlandish ones to downright conspiratorial. They'd laugh, drink coffee, and jot down their notes on the spaces between the lines until finally, they both fell asleep resting against each other.

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AO3 Link

Taglist: @its-maemain @tinybrie @worlds-tiniest-puff-pastry

#d-day #timari #timinette #maribat marinette dupain cheng #maribat tim drake #ggomoz #maribat fanfic #maribat fic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #enjoy the fluff while it lasts

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animereaderinsertwriter · 1 year

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a/n: so uhh i know this isnt anime, but i wrote it while a little manic and it turned out okay so i wanted to post it :D enjoy! ao3 link here

Pairing: Gascon/Meve/Reynard

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: smut, drunk sex, mfm sex, double penetration, no beta we die like men, spoilers but only if u squint

Word Count: ~4k

Plot summary: Gascon has always found Meve to be a singular sort of woman. When faced with a difficult choice, she always finds a way to change the game and pick an unexpected, unprecedented option that reminds him of her earned queenship. Similarly, Reynard (Meve's loyal friend and advisor) is the most steadfast and honorable man that Gascon has ever met; it gives Gascon great pleasure to rile Reynard up just to see how far that patience and goodness goes. However, now that things between the three of them have hit a plateau, it is not often that Gascon finds himself surprised by them; he knows him, and they know him.

In matters of the heart, however, Gascon manages to be surprised by them still on one fateful, very drunk evening of respite and revelry.

(Set before the end of the game while still on campaign at a peasant's wedding feast)

There were benefits, Gascon supposed, to stopping in at every town and leaving no good deed undone from Lyria all the way to fucking Nilfgaard. One, naturally, was to tip the karmic scales back in his favor; but another was that, on occasions such as this, when a peasant festival or nuptial celebration was to be had, who wouldn't invite the do-gooder queen and her merry lot of dagger-happy fools to party alongside? And Gascon, a lover of revelry and all other earthly pleasure, was more than happy to take a load off to drink some free ale and eat some free vittles instead of endlessly pursuing this death march of Meve's.

There were problems, though, too, with remembering what it was like before the campaign— and one of those problems for Gascon specifically was simply the cessation of movement for long enough to remember to be alive. From his perch on a log next to a pretty woman who was nattering on about something or other about the bride and groom, Gascon could see miles and miles of green, rolling hills, fertile and full of plenty. The sun was on its way out, the golden hour of the evening finally waning into purple twilight, and as a bonfire and lanterns were lit, a fiddler drew up his bow and began to play alongside pipers and little drummer boys. It was a beautiful evening, full of light and laughter and all the things that made life worth living, and now more than ever, Gascon wished for a home he could truly call his own.

He had not had such a place for many, many years.

Across the way, Meve and Reynard were speaking lowly, their heads bowed together in a moment of shared intimacy. The queen and her second-in-command rarely found a moment alone, but when they did, Gascon was usually lurking close enough to witness; watching them, he felt oddly like a voyeur, as though he should not be seeing what his eyes beheld, though it was never more than this— a simple, emotionally charged moment. If their usual pattern were any indication, it would only be a second or so before one of them would back away, drawing the line and leaving things unfinished between them.

Melitele help them— Gascon was dying of blue balls just watching.

As Gascon had predicted, Reynard drew back after a moment; but then, something unusual happened. Meve reached out and grabbed his hand, saying something that Gascon couldn't hear, and Reynard bowed respectfully before allowing bright, vibrant Meve to pull him over to where the peasants were dancing. Together, Meve and Reynard began to dance as well, each smiling in the arms of the other, and Gascon found that they were nearly too painful to look at in their joy.

Truly, he didn't know which of them he was more jealous of— Meve, who was held steady by the strong, calloused hands of a kind, honest man, or Reynard, who was touched softly by a bloody-handed conqueress, a queen stronger than most kings and hair of spun gold. Separately, they were stunning; together, they were impossible. Gascon wanted to be between them, beneath them— he wanted— he wanted.

Gascon threw back his tankard. He must already be too deep in his cups anyway— might as well finish the job and make his way back to his tent. The girl sitting next to him made a squeal of surprise, and Gason nearly made a bid to take her back with him— she had blue eyes and gold hair, after all, and Gascon's imagination could work wonders with that— but when he stood without explanation, she didn't demand anything or command him to explain himself, and it ruined the effect for him. Meve would never allow him to walk away without dismissal, and if he'd ever tried, Reynard would have stood between him and the door, a solid mass of muscle and steel, strong and steady.

Fuck. He really was far down in his cups.

The journey from Gascon's log to his tent turned out to be a perilous trek. In truth, Gascon was probably too drunk to be standing (he'd started drinking at noon, after all, and had hardly slowed), and well— every tent begins to look the same, after a while, a logs are bloody hard to step over when you can't tell how high to lift your leg. After a good few minutes, though, he managed to find a tree to piss on and a tent that was most likely his own, and he collapsed on the floor, certain he was going to regret getting so drunk on the morrow.

As it happened, though, Gascon was to regret getting so drunk much, much sooner than that.

As Gascon lay quietly, feeling sloshy and almost sea-sick from the spinning world around him and his belly full of liquid, the flap of his tent opened. Standing in the entryway was Meve, tall and regal and lovely, looking down on him with a soft smile that made his tummy do a little flip.

"Forgive me, Meve," he slurred, propping up on his elbow. "I'd stand, but I think I'd puke if I did."

Meve laughed— a low, hearty sound that came from the throat.

"Don't worry, Gascon," she told him fondly, "I just thought I'd look in on you so you wouldn't drown in your own vomit. Give me a moment, and I'll fix up your sleeping arrangements to where you'll be comfortable."

"You don't really need to…"

It was useless. Once Meve put her mind to something, she meant to do it. As the queen busied herself with fluffing and ruffling about his pallet, Gascon took it upon himself to watch her body as she worked. Goddess above, she was lovely, all long limbs and lovely eyes, and wiry strength— Gascon wanted to touch her ankles, kiss the bend of her knee, he wanted to—

"There," she said, putting her hands on her hips in satisfaction. "All done, Gascon. Do you think you can make it over there by yourself, or shall I carry you?"

Meve's eyes shined with her jest, but Gascon knew he wasn't going to make it to the fine little nest she'd made for him. Still, though, he couldn't bear to make her carry him, so instead, he said,

"I appreciate the thought, Meve dear, but the ground here is passing comfortable for my old bones. Come, sit— you'll see what I mean. It's fine ground, this is. You'll like it."

Laughing, Meve humored him, kneeling in front of him. Gascon managed to pull himself upright enough to be face-to-face with her, and he was hit at full-force by the shining of her eyes.

"You're right," Meve told him, sharing his breath. "It's fine ground indeed."

Gascon was confused. When had they gotten so close? Why were Meve's eyes half-lidded? Fuck, was she about to—

"Gascon, Your Majesty," said a familiar voice, and Gascon started. "I brought the water you asked me to—"

Reynard stopped mid-sentence, and Meve turned to him with the most guilty expression Gascon had ever seen on a woman— and he had seen many guilty women. Reynard wasted no time, though. As ever, he shrewdly calculated the situation and sacrificed himself for the good of others.

"I see." He cleared his throat. "Pardon my interruption— I shall impose no longer."

Oh, the poor sod. Even blind drunk, Gascon could see the pain in his eyes. Gascon wanted to take it all away from him, take it back, make it better— but what could he possibly do or say to unbreak a man's heart?

"Reynard, wait," said the queen, commanding and desperate. "It isn't— this isn't— I didn't come here with the intention of—"

Reynard held up his hand.

"You needn't explain yourself to me, Your Grace. You're a woman as fine as any, and you've been campaigning many a hard day. It is only natural that—"

"You misunderstand me, Reynard." Oh, she was truly suffering now— and it was all Gascon's bloodly fault. "You are as you ever were— a steadfast friend, patient and wise and honest. On the most trying days, under the beating sun or in pounding rain, you are my buckler, the shield that fends off the swords of my enemies. You are dearer to me than I can measure."

Gascon looked away then, drunkenly ashamed— he should not be here, he should go, a quip and a laugh, and he could be away, away, away—

But Meve was not finished.

"And Gascon— my, my, what a man you are. So full of laughter, and full of secrets; you are the hunter in the night, the wolf that prowls and stands before my doorstep, a warning to those who would dare to cause me harm."

She reached out to him, blue eyes shining. Her hand, though rough and calloused against the stubble of his cheek, was so tender that Gascon wondered if his face might crack from the pressure of it.

"You are the blade in the dark that protects me when all else 'round me sleeps," she told him, the rasp in her voice like fingertips up his spine. "Gascon… you are the darkness in my own heart."

She paused then, swallowing thickly, and with azure eyes bright with tears, implored,

"Don't make me choose between the two of you. The thought of losing either of you— I cannot bear it. My shield and my blade— I need both in equal measure, else I shall die as surely as Melitele hears me now."

Gascon was gobsmacked, for once rendered speechless— but Reynard, ever the dullard, bowed his noble head and spoke, as ever, with the most foolish, most honorable cop-out imaginable:

"You need not choose, Your Grace. I— I overstep. I am your subject, and you my commander— any, er, relationship that might occur is— well, it's hardly appropriate."

Though Reynard's words were strong and sure, Gascon had an eye for weakness. Even as Reynard was trying to preserve the heart of the woman he loved, his heart was breaking. No— he was breaking his own heart so that she would not have to, in order to spare her the pain of it.

Stupid, noble bastard. He was a stronger man than Gascon.

"I will forever be your friend and ally, Your Grace," he continued, bowing lowly, respectfully. "I am entirely devoted to you; nothing could dissuade me from my task, or from our lasting friendship. Gascon is a fine man, and handsome— not that you need my approval, but—"

He swallowed dryly, his eyes sliding to Gascon in a way that felt fragile, like an alchemist's incendiary concoction in a delicate demijohn.

"But you have it. I could not have chosen better for you myself."

"Reynard," the queen breathed, her eyes wet, glistening, and her closest adviser turned away, unable to contain his own emotion.

Oh, bloody fucking hell. Gascon was going to have to bloodly fucking walk.

Gingerly, he rose to his feet, swaying slightly. Without his usual grace, he made his way one foot in front of the other to where Reynard stood, head bowed in deference and shame. Noticing the shadow Gascon threw, Reynard looked up, and suddenly they were close— eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose, too close— and Gascon boldly placed his hand on the back of Reynard's neck, sliding his own calloused hand into soft salt-and-pepper hair.

"Reynard, you fool," he said, his eyes drifting to the other man's lips even as they shared a breath. "As ever, you don't have a single clue. You're going to make our queen cry."

Slowly, almost teasingly, he smiled, tilting his head, requesting permission. Reynard, slow as ever, made a strangled noise, and then their lips touched, dry and soft and warm. Gascon grinned, then chuckled as Reynard kissed him back.

"Sweet goddess," Meve breathed behind them, and Gascon laughed into Reynard's kiss, pulling the other man closer to him until they were flush and his half-hard cock met Reynard's full, muscular thigh. Reynard's hands, resting til now at his side, traveled upwards to touch Gascon's back, and Gascon shivered.

"Don't you see?" Gascon sighed between kisses, holding back a groan as Reynard squeezed his waist. "This is so much easier, isn't it? Easier than the fighting, than the pining— our queen needn't choose. Does she not deserve the both of us? Is she not worthy of both our worship?"

Reynard pulled away, and for a moment, Gascon feared he'd overstepped or somehow given offense— but then he saw Reynard's pupils blown wide, his eyes dark with desire, and Gascon's heart thumped painfully in his chest for an entirely different reason.

"You talk too much," Reynard told him, and Gascon swayed, too drunk to take such a statement and stay standing. Reynard, ever the gentleman, caught him by the waist, steadied him, and Gascon thought he'd never wanted to suck thick, knightly cock more than he did in that moment.

"Well, I see you lads have been keeping something from me— again."

When Gascon looked back, Meve was smiling wryly, but there was a brokenness to it that shamed him.

"Never," he insisted gently, prying himself from Reynard. "Meve, love— I swore to you, never again."

"Hm."

The queen, it seemed, was unconvinced.

Well, that was alright. It wouldn't be long before Gascon could feel his face again, and even drunk, he'd been known to be very convincing when he wanted to be.

With as much dignity as he could muster, Gascon took Reynard by the hand and led him to where Meve sat, long, lovely legs drawn up against her chest, guarded, defensive. Awkwardly, he lowered himself to the floor, pulling at Reynard to follow, and placed a hand on one round knee, stroking it softly with his thumb. Wordless, Meve dropped her head to her knees, hiding her face, and Gascon could feel the wetness of her unshed tears finally break loose from her eyes.

"Oh Meve," he said, "Oh, darling— don't cry, love. We've got you. We're here."

The queen stayed that way a few moments, and Gascon let her. He said nothing further, only stroked her back with one hand and petted her hair with the other. Reynard, equally silent, knelt apprehensively beside her; from his expression, he wanted desperately to touch her, but wasn't sure how, or even if he could. Meve was his queen, his sovereign, his highest power— to Reynard, Meve was sacred, more than queen, more than woman.

That would not do. Meve was all that and more-- but she was a woman, and that side of her deserved to be touched, to be loved like a human, not aestheticized, not objectified. Slowly, Gascon reached out, allowing Reynard time to process the motion, and when Reynard did not stop him, Gascon placed Reynard's hand on Meve's shoulder, squeezed gently, and guided Reynard's movement until the man felt brave enough to take his own initiative.

Once she felt Reynard's touch, the queen looked up, nose red and sniffly, cheeks puffy. Gascon thought she had never looked more beautiful.

"May I kiss you, Your Grace?" he asked, and, bewildered, Meve blinked, then laughed.

"Forgive me," she choked out, attempting to stifle her laughter to little effect, "I don't mean to laugh at you, it's just— I don't think you've ever called me Your Grace before this very moment."

She smiled, took his hand, and added,

"Never has it meant more. Kiss me, Gascon."

Gascon did not need to be told twice. He pressed his lips to hers, sweet and slow, then deeper, tasting the spiced wine on her tongue. His hands pulled at her knees, and Meve allowed them to be moved apart. Gascon knelt between them, his hands in her hair, and then he felt her hands slip beneath his tunic, cold and searching.

"Reynard," she said, the movement of her lips soft against Gascon's mouth. "Come to me."

Gascon took his cue and began to kiss lower, worshipping his queen's neck with kisses, licking the salt-sweat taste from her skin in a way that made her shiver. Above him and to the side, Reynard and Meve were kissing, the movement of their lips making wet, lewd sounds above Gascon's ear. Eager, hungry, but still a bit addled, he began to fiddle with the laces at the front of Meve's shirt, trying to loosen them, but soon got distracted, moving instead to the large, alluring bulge in Reynard's trousers, pressing against it with pleasant friction as his other hand squeezed at Meve's breasts. Mindlessly, he rutted against what of Meve his cock could reach, wondering why the hell they hadn't tried this sooner as Reynard groaned, low and animal, at the press of a palm against his cockhead.

Really, it wasn't fair that the stick-in-the-mud had such a big... stick.

"Reynard," he purred, a bit sing-song. "Take off your trousers, love— I want to taste you."

Oh, the attention that got him. Meve's eyes, bright and hazy with wanting, narrowed with carnal pleasure at the suggestion, and Reynard's widened in innocent shock.

"I— Gascon, that's very generous, but— I mean— I don't think it proper to— "

It took a moment for Gascon to catch on to the reason for Reynard's hesitancy— what man turns down a blowie, anyway?— but then it clicked, and Gascon was suddenly, inexplicably flattered.

"You're worried about sullying my honor, wounding my dignity," he grinned, gleeful and bewildered by such concern. When Reynard nodded hesitantly in affirmation, Gascon's grin turned filthy.

"You're very sweet," he replied, shuffling forward to place a kiss to Reynard's ear, "but I'm the Duke of Dogs. Honor and dignity aren't really my thing, and I think if I don't get to have that fat cock of yours in my mouth, I might just die. You'd be doing me a favor, really."

So saying, Gascon began to fiddle with the laces of Reynard's breeches, and luckily, they were easier to untagle than Meve's shirt. In only a moment, Gascon freed Reynard's length, and, after admiring it for a moment, brushing the thick, bulbous head with his thumb, he lowered his mouth to it and began to suck.

"Melitele's saggy tits," Gascon heard Meve swear above him, and there was some rustling and the soft rip of fabric that he could only assume was Meve's shirt falling victim to Reynard's impatient hands.

Gascon was nothing if not thorough in his ministrations. At a moderate pace, he forced Reynard's cockhead past his lips, teasing the slit with his tongue, and was rewarded with a deep, earthy groan. A few moments later, he let his hands take over to lap and suck at Reynard's thick, heavy balls, their smell deep and rich with sweat and arousal, and Gascon allowed himself a moan as he tasted and touched them, rolling their heavy weight in his hands and sucking them into his mouth. Deliciously responsive, Reynard thrust his hips up and against Gascon's face, and the next thing either of them knew, Gascon was dodging spurts of white and Reynard was shuddering from his release.

"Already?" Gascon teased, and Reynard had the grace to blush.

"It's... been a while," he admitted sheepishly, and Gascon rose to kiss him, soft and reassuring.

"It bothers me not at all," said Gascon, "for the night is young, and I'm only getting started."

Comforted, Reynard brought a hand up to guide Gascon's face to him so they could kiss— a warm, sticky hand, slick with—

Gascon took a sniff or two...

Meve.

Gascon turned to find the queen entirely bare. While he was distracted with cock, Meve had apparently abandoned her clothes, exposing miles and miles of golden flesh and a dusting of fine blonde hair. She knelt beside the two of them, smiling widely, and Gascon smiled in return, beckoning her to come nearer.

"Your Grace," Gascon bowed, a sweeping and dramatic display. "Permission to lap at that pretty cunt of yours?"

"Only if you promise to make it good," the queen teased back.

"Oh, I solemnly swear, 'twill be," he grinned. "On your back, love."

After a few moments of shimmying, Gascon's head was between Meve's legs, licking and sucking at her clit. His hands smoothed over her legs and the soft down of hair there; too drunk on her sex to notice anything else, Gascon nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Reynard press himself flush against his back, cock hard and sliding over the curve of his ass. Wordlessly, Reynard rocked against him, humping like a dog (ha!), occasionally reaching over to tweak Meve's pretty, perfect nipples.

Oh, the feel of Reynard's terribly large cock in the cleft of his arse— they should definitely have tried this earlier, Gascon decided. Instead of fighting, biting like mutts at each other's throats, they should have been doing this.

"Gascon!" Meve exclaimed as he spat messily onto her cunt, grinning like a hound at the mess she looked beneath him.

"What?" he asked, batting his eyes with faux innocence.

"You're— that's— !"

The poor queen couldn't string more than two words together, but her need to do so dissipated as Gascon returned to his purpose, this time plunging three fingers inside her without warning. He sucked at her clit, curled his fingers upwards, pressing into soft, yielding flesh. As he did so, Reynard reached around to grasp his cock, and Gascon moaned against Meve's sex as a rough, calloused hand stroked him.

"Gascon," Meve breathed, "Gascon, what's— oh— oh!"

Gascon did not let up until his face was soaked from his nose down and Meve was threatening to crush his 'mean, filthy skull' between her thighs if he didn't 'stop, dammit, she was fucking shaking'— and only then to correct his queen, because she didn't seem to grasp the idea that such a crushing of skulls was hardly a punishment.

"Are you ready for cock, then, my queen?" he asked, his knees beginning to shake as Reynard's thrusts began to synch with his stroking. "Which of us would you like first?"

Reynard, who had been very much lost to his pleasure for the last few minutes, seemed to snap out of it a bit at that. Suddenly once more unsure, Reynard stopped moving altogether and just sort of froze, awkward and insecure.

Oh, bloody hell, Gascon should have just kept his mouth shut.

"Well," said Meve, propping up on a hand as she glanced between the two of them, "I don't very well see why I cannot have the both of you at once."

The suggestion was so matter-of-fact and without a hint of teasing that Gascon had to pinch himself to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. Similarly affected, Reynard's mouth hung agape, and the queen threw back her head and laughed at the both of them.

"What, skittish now, Gascon?" she teased. "And you, Reynard, my bravest knight— why do you balk?"

"Hey, love, no one's balking," said Gascon, the ale running away with his tongue, "It's just the fact that you said what you said out loud and expected us not to faint like blushing virgins. You're quite filthy, Your Grace. It's a wonder you haven't killed poor Reynard."

Reynard was still frozen, the poor sod, so Gascon reached for his hand and brought him to his side. Reynard shuffled forward, his ridiculously large cock bobbing comically between his legs, and Gascon knew Meve was going to need more prep to take that girth plus his own.

"Come on, chap," he said, clapping Reynard on the shoulder. "We've got work to do if we're to please our queen, and it's going to take both of us to prep her well. Are you up to it, or shall I take over for a bit?"

Without waiting for Reynard to answer, Gascon sank two fingers into Meve's cunt, scissoring and playing in her wet heat. With his other hand, he guided Reynard to mimic his motions, and soon they were both four fingers in, spreading Meve obscenely wide as she writhed and whined beneath them. Fuck, if this wasn't every depraved man's wet dream, Gascon didn't know what was.

"Ready, Mevie?" he asked with a kiss, withdrawing his fingers. "We don't want to hurt you."

"M'ready," she replied blearily, chest heaving with pleasure. "Just get on with it, will you?"

With a gentleness that surprised even himself, Gascon took charge, maneuvering them until Reynard was sitting behind Meve, his cock resting against her sex, and Gascon pressed a kiss to both their mouths before lifting Meve until Reynard slid smoothly into her, eliciting a filthy gasp from them both that would live forever in Gascon's memory as the most lewd noise he'd ever heard. Wasting no time, Gascon took his own cock and pushed slowly in, allowing Meve time to adjust and forcing himself to be present enough in the moment to appreciate the sensation of sharing a woman this way. There was so much sensation all at once that Gascon was afraid that he would embarrass himself, but then his hips moved on their own, rocking into Meve and against Reynard in delicious friction that was better than anything had a right to be.

"Oh, goddess," Meve keened, arching her back as Gascon began to fuck her in earnest. "Oh, goddess!"

She pulsed around them, reaching orgasm, and Gascon found himself not too far behind. A few moments later, and the heavens opened; a choir sang, his vision went white, and Gascon came harder than he'd ever come in his life. He pulled out, choosing to spend his seed over Meve's belly, and in improbable, impossible queenly fashion, Meve dragged her fingers through the mess and brought it to her lips, tasting him— but that was not all. She turned, opened her mouth to kiss Reynard, pushing seed from her mouth to his, and Gascon thought he might pass out just from watching them.

"Melitele help me," he breathed.

As he watched Reynard lift Meve bodily and thrust up into her with all the fervor of a zealot in his worship, Gascon made a vow. For these two, he would do anything, break any vow, keep any oath; Gascon would die before them, because none would touch them while he yet lived. Meve had called him her blade in the darkness, the wolf at her door— Gascon had not realized how right she was until that very moment. He would be that which stood between them and the world, and no matter how this Nilfgaard business shook out, Gascon knew where his loyalties lie.

For once in his life, Gascon stood for something, and it felt right that it should be this.

That it should be love.

#thronebreaker #thronebreaker: the witcher tales #queen meve #meve x reynard x gascon #reynard odo #gascon brossard #ao3 #smut

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