#i don’t know what is even happening anymore lads

[mossflower]

tma 2: jon turned into a tape recorder

[gaysindistress]

What if Simon didn’t listen when Price told him to apologize to his girl before she does go off and find herself a better man? - part two

a/n: I know John isn’t American but I kept picturing him as Joe from SIX and honety Gibs from NCIS and I couldn’t stop myself. I sincerely apologize that this John is American-grumpy-hot-military-older man coded (not really). Also I know it took a month and I’m so sorry 🙈 I got so busy at work but it’s here! Enjoy!!

Warnings: smutty smut smut, phone sex

non-mcu masterlist

part one

Taglist: @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @calicocat45 @whos-fran @vonev @yyiikes

The situation at hand is tricky to say the least. Waiting around and trying to be careful of everyone’s feelings will push you away. On the other hand, he’s wanted to show you the love that you deserve and now is his chance.

Fuck Simon.

Fuck him for treating you like a safety net and like you’re replaceable. Fuck him for letting you shoulder the burden of your relationship and expecting you to always be at his beck and call. Fuck him for lying to you instead of having the balls to just be honest about why he wanted to break up. Fuck Simon Riley for saying that you could find a better man and expecting you to not listen to him for once.

“I want a lot of things,” he starts and takes a moment to choose his words, “I might be a gentleman but I’m a selfish man. I won’t take what’s not offered but you’d be hell bent to find me sharing my life with others. If you say that it’s over and mean it, well then love, I’ll be the most selfish man you’ve ever met when it comes to you. Im not some young lad anymore; I’m settled in my life and now that things are stable I want someone to share it with. I’ll follow your lead when it comes to how we share it but just know that I don’t want something casual or even friendship.”

You’re still resting your chin on his shoulder, listening to his every word as hope begins to fill your eyes. It’s the last sentence he whispers as he gazes down at you that causes your breath to hitch;

“I’ll love you until my lungs give out.”

And this man Delivers. The capital d is not a typo. John Price understands that you’re an independent person and he respects that. That’s not to say that he doesn’t spoil the absolute shit out of you and ensures that you are happy in every facet of your life imaginable.

The dogs are being wild today and overwhelming you? As soon as he gets home, he’s taking them out on a walk and giving you instructions to go have yourself a nice hot bath. Dinner is already taken care of so no need to worry about that. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the quiet.

He’s been on deployment for a couple weeks and the loneliness is starting to creep in? You will be getting at least two check in texts a day and a call or FaceTime if he can before you go to bed. You should also expect some sort of care package to be on your doorstep weekly. This could be anything from flowers to your whole ass Amazon cart, all you need to do is say you miss him and he’s got you covered.

Things have been a little tense between the two of you? Well get ready because you’re going to be doing a check in that night where the two of you talk about whatever is going on. If it’s something small like you’re both stressed from work and a weekend getaway is needed, he’s already got that planned. If it’s something that needs more work, he’s ready to dive right into it and figure it out.

Still true to his internal word, nothing physical happens between you two at first. He wanted desperately to kiss you when he told you he would love you until his last breath but he didn’t. Disgusted by the enormity of his craving for you, John vowed to wait until you asked for his physical affection. Of course this meant he wouldn’t give into any of your advances until you told what you wanted.

After that night, you began the long and arduous process of breaking down John’s resolve. While it may have been unspoken, you knew what he wanted but you weren’t going to give into him so quickly. It started with closing the distance between you two. Instead of sitting on opposite ends of the couch, you’d lay your feet in his lap or move just close enough to trail your fingers over the back of his hand. Only would you move to sit beside him if he slung his thick arm over the couch’s back and beckoned you closer. Then you would take every opportunity possible to cuddle into his side and slyly skirt your hands across the waistband of his sweats when you wrapped your arms around him. If you were in the kitchen together, you were always just out of his grasp. His fingers could grasp at the back of your shirt but never fully grab you. You’d swiftly slip around him if he moved behind you but not before brushing your hands over him in some way.

Eventually you grew bolder and began to shower with the door propped open. You’d said it was so the dogs could still see you but John isn’t stupid. He knew that you wanted him to catch a glimpse of your body through the foggy glass doors. But here’s the thing; he’s not Simon. Simon would’ve joined you and fucked you on that glass door like your life depended on it but not a captain price.

No no no. John Price is going to make you say those three little words, ‘I want you’, before he touches you even if it means leaving on for a mission without so much as a chaste peck on the lips. No amount of sly looks and sneaky touches is going to convince this man to give into you.

He starts beating you at your own game though. his bedroom door is suddenly always cracked open making it so that you can hear every rumbling moan and gasp of your name when he fists his cock at night. You no longer feel the waistband of his underwear when you wrap your arms around his am waist during your cuddles. Instead your fingers find the thick trail of hair that disappears under his sweatpants. Speaking of which, John knows about grey sweat pants and he exploits that turn on every chance he gets. Soon it goes from just wearing them low on his hips to forgoing boxers (as mentioned above) and sometimes he even ‘forgets’ his shirt. The memory of his thick bare chest on display alone is enough to make you clench your legs together.

When he finally does have to leave for work, he presses a light kiss to your temple and tells you to be careful. It goes without saying but John makes your promise anyways. Eases his old heart as he likes to say. If only he would go easy on yours…

Nearly every photo, FaceTime, what have you, this man is bare chested with lidded eyes and a knowing smirk on his face. He knows that you’re frustrated with the way things have played out; namely his departure with no memorable moments. He’s already become an expert in you, knowing what your body langue means, what your blushes mean, and most importantly, what your words truly mean.

Probably about a month in to this mission is when it comes to a climax. Your hands were doing nothing to ease the ache between your legs and your toys were making it worse. It was as if your body knew that it was you instead John rubbing small circles into your clit late at night. You’d tried nearly everything you could think of aside from finding someone in a pub and telling the older captain about your dilemma. While you two weren’t anything more than roommates with feelings at this point, it still felt wrong to find someone else to help you out. With only one person that your body wanted and nothing you could do about it, you settled for being sexually frustrated and irritable.

John is finally able to get some alone time to call you and actually talk to you. Settled into some poor excuse for a cot, he makes himself comfortable as he waits for you to pick up. It makes maybe a few rings before your tight voice comes through with a short ‘hello?’

He wants to chuckle and fails to suppress it, “Well hello to you too, love.”

Immediately you sigh when you recognize his voice, “oh John it’s you. How are you?”

“Been better. What’s been going on with you?”

You let out another deep sigh, pausing to answer as you contemplate what to tell him.

“What is it, love? Something bothering you?”

“I…I’m just….im just irritable,” you attempt to pass off as the full truth but John knows you better than that.

“Irritable you say?”

You can hear him shuffle around on his end and it causes your legs to cross to even think about him. God it’s beyond annoying to be this turned on over just hearing him move around, let alone hear his voice right now.

“I’d say a relaxing day is in order,” he teases with a low pitched sultry tone, “find some relief in a massage maybe.”

Relief.

The word feels hot as it washes over your brain and invokes images that would make a nun curse under her breath.

You snort at his suggestion. In that small noise, he finds all the answers he needed; you’re about to break and murmur those three sweet words.

“No appeal to that, love?” He asks and you can just hear the smirk he’s wearing. “A massage isn’t the relief you’re looking for though is it? You need a different type of relief, isn’t that right love?”

That bastard.

You hear him shuffle again and you swear to god you hear the sound of a belt coming undone.

“Talk to me. Tell me how I can help.”

If you weren’t needy before, you must certainly are now. You feel pathetic, a bitch in heat with the way your body starts to react to his simple words. Practically mumbling you attempt to tell him to fuck off but it doesn’t sting as much as you’d hoped. John laughs off your feeble attempt at hiding the true reason you’re in a mood.

Instead of adding flame to fire, he stays quiet.

It takes 40 agonizing seconds of silence for you to groan his name out of frustration. The captain only hums his acknowledgment that you spoke.

Phone sex isn’t new to you by any means however there’s something about this time that causes you to falter. There’s something about the way he initiated it but is allowing you to lead where it goes. There’s something about the way he knew what you needed within seconds. There’s something about the way your body seems to know that it craves his without ever touching.

“Yes,” you mumble while your cheeks burn and your body sings at the thought of getting what it truly desires.

John chuckles under his breath and the sardonic sounds causes your eyes to squeeze shut.

“Be a good girl for me and slip your hand into your panties.”

Your hearing dulls to a muffled tone as your hand follows his instructions. Barely does your ears register the sound of skin on skin, a slick hand taunting an impossibly hard cock. Your name comes out as a groan when you tell him to continue.

“Fuuckkk, love. Tell me are ya wet?”

“S…soaked.” You sigh as you roll your clit with your fingertips.

He lets out a string of curses as his hips buck up into his hand and his cock throbs from his slow pace.

“I want you to keep rubbing your clit and fuck yourself with your fingers,” the captain orders you, “and dont try to hide any of those pretty sounds.”

You mumble a weak ‘okay’ as you work your clit in small circles, feeling yourself become even more wet.

Strings of curses fall from his lips as he listens to your desperate cries of pleasure. The sounds of his thrusts get louder and louder in time when you bury two fingers in and become to fuck yourself like he told you to. It feels better than all of your other attempts but it’s not enough.

Nothing will be enough until you can feel John’s cock deep inside of you. Until you can feel his hips rut against yours and his hoarse moans in your ear. Until you feel the burn that his facial hair will give you when he eats you out like a starved and neglected dog. Until you feel his warm speed leak from you after he’s worked you through several of your own orgasms.

The thoughts of what is to come push you over the edge and you moan out his name in an absolutely pornographic manner. It stirs something disgustingly powerful and sinful deep in his gut when he hears it. He can only imagine the beautiful display of pleasure and bliss that you’ve come as you lay panting post orgasm.

You can only imagine how stunning he looks with his sweats pulled down to his mid thigh, his bare chest rapidly rising and falling while his stomach is painted with his own cum.

“John?” You whisper after your breathing has returned to normal(ish). “When are you coming home?”

His lips turn up in a smirk at your word choice, “missing me more than you let on, now are ya love?”

“Yeah it’s lonely without you here. you can’t leave on another deployment like this without fucking me before.”

“I promise it won’t happen again, my love.”

[cntloup]

Medieval AU reader is homeless and a prostitute, offensive language

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

You wince as he gently dabs the wet cloth on the wound on your forehead, “Sorry.” he mumbles. 

You were attacked in the middle of the night by the same crowd that beat you up the other day. And they had persuaded and gathered many more people of the town.

They were yelling and hollering, “We do not want a whore amongst us!... throw her out of the city!” they said. 

Simon was quick to gather his mates to defend you against the brutes. And they were thrown out effortlessly by the strong men. 

“I’m so sorry! It won’t happen again. I'm leaving tonight.” you choke out through sobs, not from the pain, but mostly shame. 

“No, you’re not.” he states firmly, “What? I don’t want to be a burden to you anymore!” you retort through tears.

“You’re not a burden. They're bloody pricks, bigots. And they will pay for it.” he responds, nearly snarling with rage. 

“Simon, a word?” the man who goes by the name ‘John Price’ as you have learned, calls out. 

Simon nods and finishes cleaning up your wound, then gets up and steps into a corner of the room with John. 

“Simon, this will not stop. And you know it.” John whispers, “What do you suggest?” Simon asks. 

“I think I know a way... but you will have to convince her.” John mutters and Simon nods, gesturing for him to go on. 

----- 

They walk back to where you’re all sitting beside the fireplace. 

Simon is deep in thought for a few moments, then brushes a hand across his face, letting out a sigh. 

“Out with it, lad!” Johnny calls out, frustrated in anticipation. 

Simon turns to you, “I need to talk to you.” he demands, “Of course.” you say, then get up and walk up to him. 

He gently touches your arm and guides you to the corner. 

“There is a way to stop all of this... Now if you had a man, no one would dare to touch you.” he says, “What are you suggesting?” you ask with confusion. 

“I am asking you... to marry me!” he says in a serious tone, your eyes widen and your mouth hangs open, “Marry you?” you shout in disbelief, alerting everyone in the room. Kyle and Johnny turn to you with the same reaction as you. 

“I-I mean no offense... but I... I hardly know you!” you add, lowering your voice this time, “I don’t even know your full name!” 

You figure he knows more about you than you know about him. Your reputation precedes you after all.

“Simon Riley” he responds, “They will come for you again. I'm afraid there’s no other way... I will protect you. I promise.” 

You stand still, stunned and perplexed at all of this weight suddenly thrown at you. 

“I-I...” you stutter while looking down “You don’t need to be afraid of me.” he murmurs, stepping closer to you, “If that’s what you’re wondering.” he adds, gently brushing his hand against your cheek, his words and his touch so tender and sweet, you start to lean into it and it somehow eases your nerves.

[wood-white-writer]

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [5/...]

“Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down, I'll be there on their side. I'm losing by their side.”

— Mitski, "Bet On Losing Dogs"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. 

It's been a few weeks since the events in Orange Town, and Luffy notices something that others do not. So, he decides to ask you.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, LA!Verse, No (fully bodied) Buggy this chapter, Luffy being the precious cinnamon we all love and must protect above all else, flashbacks about Shanks, past discussions, Luffy and Reader have a heart-to-heart.

A/N: I was initially going to write them going to the Baratie this chapter, but it became too long so next one for sho.

Taglist:@kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk, @notyuralycat, @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

You're sitting by the table in Party's bar, nursing a cold glass of rum against your cracked lips as you observe to the kid - Luffy - demonstrating his newfound Devil Fruit powers without any regard for poor Makino's furniture. 

You don't get him, at all. Then again, you don’t get kids. 

You've never thought of yourself as someone who easily got along with them ... or people in general. Shanks has always been the better-suited one for that kind of work. Whereas he is smiling and grinning at the kid’s mischief, you've barely offered him more than a glance at most.

Your crew has been positioned in Foosha village for the better part of the month, stacking up on resources and food in preparation for your next job. Incidentally, the Red-Haired Pirates also happened to be in town for similar excursions. You rarely see Shanks nowadays since you parted ways several years ago, but whenever you happen to come across one another, you share a drink on his tab.

While your crew is around and about, replenishing their strength and vigor for the work to come, you're content with just sitting here at your leisure. When you're not plundering or fighting or attacking Marine bases, you can't find it in yourself to do much of anything anymore. 

Nothing adds any purpose to your life save for what keeps you fed and clothed, which in the life of a pirate, simply means pirating.

"I've heard you had good fortune on your latest heist," Shanks says from where he's sitting opposite of you. "For your efforts, the Marines have granted you among the highest bounties in all of the East-Blue."

You hum noncommittally in response, not offering much to the conversation in terms of merriment. "The quality of the Marines has been in decline. It says more about their effort, or lack thereof, than mine."

"Do you know what they call you nowadays?"

"They call me a lot of names, you got to be more specific."

"'Cross-Hairs, the Beast of the East'. It's got a certain ring to it, don't you think?"

"Sure."

Shanks smiles the kind way he always does. Always has done.

"Gum-Gum Pistol!" 

The sound of yet another chair breaking has you rolling your eyes without even looking, and poor Makino ages ten years in seconds across the bar counter. 

"Luffy!"

"Sorry!"

Shanks laughs heartedly at the display, only to cut it short upon noticing Makino's even glare sent his way from across the bar. 

"You were careless," you state matter-of-factly and take another gulp from your drink. "You should've kept the fruit hidden more securely."

"Now, in my defense, I didn't think the lad would searching through my loot."

"Well, you should've." You slam your glass down, strong enough to leave a dent in the wooden surface. "What kind of captain leaves his loot undefended and unsupervised? Especially when it contains a Devil Fruit?"

Shanks doesn't argue with your statement and settles with taking a gulp of his own drink, letting your words simmer in his head. "You're right, I should've been more observant. Now, it'll be more difficult for him to achieve his dream."

"His dream? Of what? Becoming the King of the Pirates?" Try as you might, there's no suppressing the snort that escapes through your nose. "There's only ever been one King, and we all saw what happened to him. What do you think is going to happen to a kid who can't even swim?"

"Oh, come off it!" He gives you a playful nudge to the rib, which you reciprocate with a glare. He remains undeterred. "You mean to tell me you've never thought about finding the One Piece? Not even once?"

"I have no interest in whatever plunder Gol D. left behind." 

"Then, what does interest you?" He rests his elbow on the edge of the table and leans over to your side. "What is your dream?"

You grit your teeth under your lips, a flash of blue circulating in your head. "Dreams are for fools and children," you point your head to where Luffy is currently sitting, trying to put the chair back together with a half-empty tube of glue and little luck. 

"Come on, I know you better than that. Surely there's something in this world you want more than anything?"

"What I want is ..." You have half a mind to tell him the truth, whereas the other half wants to push the idea further down to the bottom of your chest. "Is another bottle of rum."

You raise your arm to Makino to gesture for another one, but Shanks is quick to lower it with a gentle shove of his arm. You flash him a scowl and brush off his hand, but unlike your crew or anyone else, he's not afraid.

"The point which I'm trying to make before you're completely pissed," he starts. "Is that no matter how much opposition one faces, it's that dreams are never out of reach if you have the will to reach for them."

He inclines his head over your shoulder, and you turn around to see Luffy successfully putting the chair back together. You don't know how he did it - it looked pretty busted minutes ago - but there it is, wholly intact.

And when the boy smiles, it's so vibrant and full of joy that it's almost blinding. He proudly runs over and shows the repaired chair to Makino, who proceeds to pat his head and hand him a plate of food.

"See?" Shanks grins. "Nothing is impossible."

"You can hardly consider putting a chair back together the same as achieving an impossible goal."

He shrugs. "Maybe not, but you won't know unless you try. All it takes is a little spirit."

You watch Shanks for a couple of minutes in silence, processing his mythic words, then shift your attention over to Luffy who's preoccupied with shoving an unholy amount of food into his mouth. If this is to become the future King of the Pirates one day, then it'll be an interesting future indeed.

"A little spirit, huh?" 

— — —

You're sad.

Luffy first notices it when you leave Orange Town, and it lingers throughout your voyage. 

For as long as he's known you, you've always been a person of relatively few words; never speaking unless you feel the situation requires it, and only acting when necessary. Even following the Kuro situation™, getting the Going Merry, and adding Usopp to his crew, he can tell that you're not all there anymore.

Not to be mistaken, you're not conspicuous with the way you behave. You still act like usual, talk like usual, however little, and commit yourself to your work on the ship, almost to an excessive extent. 

All in all, nothing’s changed about you. However, he’s gotten used to your face and general lack of expression most of the time, and though it doesn't seem to alter, he still catches onto the fact that you're sad. 

"Hey," he asks the group and props himself in the kitchen, legs crossed atop his seat. "Do you think she's any different?"

"Who? Your friend?" Nami asks, raising an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Well, I think she's sad."

"Doesn't look any different to me," Zoro supplies while polishing his swords on the table. 

Usopp's in the middle of munching a piece of loaf, and answers with his mouth still halfway occupied. "Dunno how she usually is, but she's kinda terrifying if you ask me."

"No, she's not," Luffy dismisses lightly. 

"What's her position on the ship, anyhow? How'd you come across her?"

"She's always been with me," Luffy answers without any thought. "And she’s a good fighter.”

Zoro — to everyone’s surprise — nods his head to this in concurrence.

Their Captain claps his hands together to get the subject back on track. "But anyway, I just think she seems kind of down now."

"How can you even tell? With eyes like these, —” Usopp puts both of his index fingers at the crow’s feet of his eyes and draws them back to imitate yours. It’s borderline shameful, truth be told. “— I can’t tell for shit what she’s feeling or thinking.”

“I just can.” Luffy shrugs.

“Has she said anything?” Nami asks. “Anything to make you ask?”

“No, not really.” He heaves a sigh and props his hand under his chin, contemplating. “But she's been different since we left Orange Town.”

"If you ask me," Zoro speaks up. "You should ask her about her relationship with that fucking clown."

"Who? Boogie?"

"Buggy," Nami corrects. "Didn't you notice that at the end? They have a history, it's obvious. They know each other, and I don't know what pirate customs are like nowadays, but I doubt you'd touch the face of an enemy unless there was something going on. Has she said anything about it?"

Luffy shakes his head. “No... but then again, she never does tell me much about anything unless I ask.”

The tangerine-haired girl blinks as if the answer to this whole predicament is obvious. She quickly comes to realize that, to Luffy, it’s not.

“So…” she prompts slowly.

“So…?”

She rolls her eyes at his inability to catch her drift. “Go ask her.”

It’s like the thought never even crossed Luffy’s mind in the first place because truth be told, it hasn’t. He lights up like a candlestick on the spot. “Yeah, I should just ask her!”

“Ask me what?”

The members of the Straw Hat pirates (save for Zoro) withdraw in various unique positions, having not heard you make your entrance before you speak. 

You’re standing in the doorway to the kitchen, eyebrow slightly quirked at the Baroque-esque scene in front of you. Deciding not to address the display, you simply ask, “Anything I should know about, Captain Luffy?”

Usopp doesn’t even dare to answer, because he knows you sure as hell don’t see him as a captain in general, much less your captain. He swears he notices you briefly look in his direction at the mention of the title, and a shiver runs across his skin. Like static electricity in the air.

“Oh, yeah,” Luffy turns to you, not an ounce of fear in his eyes as he pops the question. “Are you sad?”

You blink once, then twice, like the inquiry on its own is of unfathomable origins to you. “Do I look sad?”

The boy in the straw hat nods. “I think you do.”

“Then I’m not.” It’s not only an answer, but also a sentence that marks this subject as finished on your part. One that does not permit any subsequent additions.

You incline your head to the deck above. “We’re going to have company soon, likely Marines, and they seem to be in supply of heavy fire this time.”

———

The situation with the aforementioned opponents temporarily distracts the crew, yet Luffy maintains a close eye on you, taking note of anything that can point him to the source of the unknown problem. You talk relatively little with the other crew members, but you seem to have developed an amicable enough relationship with them compared to when you first met. 

Before, you could care less about getting to know them. Now, you’re actively going out of your way to ask Nami about her cartographic skills, even giving her tips for additions to her geographical detailing. You provide Zoro pointers on self-developed defensive techniques and ways to paralyze opponents in certain spots (which he seems appreciative of).

You even give Usopp a short nod when he tells you one of his fantastical stories, even knowing that they’re full of shit.

Luffy’s happy, but he still sees that you are not.

It’s all in your eyes. They’re hollow somehow, like the end of a barrel. He doesn’t know how he knows, only that he knows, and he’s known for a good while now.

So, that night, Luffy finds you in the kitchen by the windows, absentmindedly snacking on a red apple while you gaze into the dark nothingness outside. He also discovers that he’s subconsciously become quite observant of your habits as of late. 

For example, you specifically pick red apples above any other color when they happen to dock someplace, not even paying any mind to the green or yellow ones. Just the red ones.

“Hey,” he positions himself next to you on the bench, a piece of loaf tight in his hand. “Why are you sad?”

You turn your head just a fraction to the side to look at him, not annoyed, but not appreciative of the focus he’s settled on as of late. "Shouldn't I be asking you that? The Vice-Admiral looks a little weary as of late, after all. Are you sad about it?"

"Nope."

“So why do you insist that I’m sad?”

“Because you are,” he states like it’s obvious.

You huff humorously and return your attention to the window that supplies no real view. “How can you tell?”

“I just can.” He takes a generous bite of his food and continues talking, oblivious to the crumbles that fall while doing so. “When I’m sad, I—”

“Eat?”

“Well, yeah.” He swallows the bite down. “But I also like to talk about it with someone I trust. Shanks used to say that true friends are the kind of people you can share your heart with and not get hurt.”

This annoys you, that much he can tell. A nail digs into the apple you’re holding, leaving a crescent-shaped indent on the red skin. “Shanks said many things, and not all of it's true.”

This doesn’t deter him from pressing on the matter. “If you keep all the hurt inside, it’s going to turn bad. You know, Makino said that if you leave a piece of ham in the fridge too long, it’ll get sour and people can’t eat it.”

“Only you could find a way to compare this sort of thing to food.” You withdraw your finger from the apple and end up leaving it alone altogether. A minute or ten of silence waves between you, laced with unspoken questions and denied answers. “Tell me, Luffy, just how much did Shanks tell you about his past?”

He thinks for a moment, mimicking your movements by putting his loaf aside. “Just about his adventures with the Red-Haired Pirates, and a little about the time you served with him. Is it true you were strong enough to throw a three-hundred-pound man to the ground when you were thirteen?”

He swears it’s a snort that he catches leaving your throat, but it’s hard to differentiate it from your more-than-usual scoffs. “He exaggerated.”

“Really?”

“The man was two-fifty, at most.”

Luffy grins with genuine admiration, so much so that your face tilts back slightly, being overwhelmed by the mere brightness that is him. “Wow! You must’ve been quite a beast when you were a kid!”

He notices it again, the sadness that latches onto your eyes like insects to sour meat. Whatever brief smile adorned your lips moments ago disappears like it was never there at all. Thinking he said something wrong, Luffy prepares to apologize when you speak again.

Your voice is soft yet faint like you’re afraid speaking too loudly will make something bad happen. “It wasn’t just me and Shanks, back then, you know.”

The Captain of the Straw Hats thinks it’s almost unnatural of you to be this demure, but he doesn’t interrupt you.

“Buggy was there, too. It was the three of us, together.”

“Oh, yeah.” He remembers it now. “He did mention that in Orange Town. You served the same crew.”

“… He did, did he?”

“He said you and Shanks betrayed him, but I didn’t believe him.” Luffy knows you and has known you for longer than he’s known a lot of people in his life. You’re one of the few permanent people he’s had, and he knows with a certainty that you’re not the kind of person who leaves anyone behind, not without reason. 

Even if you did have a reason for leaving Buggy, it must have been a good one.

Your mouth opens and shuts several times in the span of a minute like you’re hesitating to talk about the past. You’ve never been one to talk about it, except to share some details about your time as captain, and even that was limited to the bare minimum.

Still, Luffy, being in no hurry for you to reach an answer, waits patiently by your side until you do decide to talk about it.

Talk about what he believes is the reason for your sadness.

“We were close back in the days,” you begin slowly. “Me, him, and Shanks. It was us against the rest of the world, and we were going to sail together to the end of the seas one day. It was our dream.”

“Then, what happened?”

You put your palm over both your eyes and rest your elbow on the window frame, heaving a sigh that resembles someone who’s spent too much of their life working and working and working without catching any breaks. Pure, simple exhaustion weighs you down, Luffy can tell. 

When you speak next, you sound tired too, and perhaps a little strained. He can’t see your eyes, and so, he can’t truthfully tell what you’re thinking now. “The thing is, I don’t know what happened. All I know is that he decided he didn’t want to stick around.” You breathe through your nostrils. “Our captain was gone, and so was the crew, but we three were still together, and I thought we were going to stay together.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No … We didn’t. I don’t know what happened, but one day when I was talking with Shanks about what to do next, Buggy came in, and it … He looked at me like … Like he hated me.” You exhale. “He did hate me, and I don’t know what it was I did, but he practically told me that we were done … And then he left. I never saw him again, up until Orange Town.”

Luffy doesn’t require your eyes this time to tell that you’re sad now because you are. You’re so sad that it’s destroying you from the inside, and even that is an understatement on its own. There are no tears trickling down your cheeks, no quivers or thickness to your voice, no nothing to base his assumptions on, but he knows.

He stays silent for a short while, doing nothing but look at you. You’re one of the strongest people he knows. He’s seen you fight; seen the strength you possess, the fire in your eyes. You’ve stayed with him ever since Shanks left Foosha Village, you’ve looked after him from the sidelines when you thought no one was watching. 

You’ve been with him throughout everything, and seeing you like this makes him feel blue on your behalf. You don’t express it yourself – you never do. You carry your weight with the same kind of strength you always do, never letting anyone see you beyond just that, and sometimes, he wonders if you’re lonely because of it. 

At least, now he knows why you’re so sad. You’re heartbroken.

He’s never been acquainted with the feeling himself, has never felt any particular inclination toward it, but he can tell it’s your heart that’s hurting now, and it’s not as easy to heal as that cuts he received on his chest from the butler.

His hat seems to itch the harder he thinks about it, as if there’s something digging at his scalp through his hat. He thought Nami patched it up for him. He tries to scratch at it, but for some reason, it doesn’t cease. Maybe he’s got lice? 

He ignores it. “It’s weird. Bunky seems to think you were the one who left him for Shanks.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know. You’re not that kind of person.” He says it so easily, without a smidgen of doubt or hesitation. You look at him through your peripheral vision, and your eyes slightly widen at his statement. “But, do you know what happened between them? Shanks and Bonky, I mean?”

“No, I don’t.” You admit with a shake of your head. You’ve tried to figure it out for years, and at some point, you decided to give up. “Shanks never told me, but whatever it was, it was enough for the stupid clown to leave for… He chose a childish rivalry over me.”

“Then, there you have it. It’s all just a big misunderstanding, so why don’t you just tell him if you meet him again?”

“You seem awfully defensive of the guy who destroyed an entire village and almost drowned you.”

“Yeah, but talking about him seems to make you happy.”

You freeze for a bit, snort, and turn your back to the window frame, leaning back and crossing your arms across your chest in silent resignation. “I tried to explain things to him back in Orange Town, and a fat load of good that did. Like I said, he hates me, and he’s sure as hell not my favorite person at the moment. If we do meet again, it likely won’t end any better than it back in Orange Town.”

“You know, –” Luffy takes another bite of his bread. “It didn’t sound like he hated you.”

“Hmm?” You raise an eyebrow, halfway curious and halfway skeptical. 

“He still remembers that you like red apples and that you hide knives in your shoes. Is that true?”

You raise both your eyebrows and look at Luffy like he’s just grown a second head. Without a word, you pull your left foot up until it rests on the bench, and withdraw not one or two knives, but four. Small and subtle, hardly enough to turn any heads, but in a flash, you throw it across the kitchen until it lands on a specific spot on the opposite wall. 

Bull’s eye.

“We used to have knife-throwing competitions,” you reminisce idly, staring at the knife lodged deep into the wall. “I was good, but Buggy was better.” Your lip tilts up an inch or two. “We made bets, and whoever lost would have to steal a bottle of whatever liquor we happened to find in the next town we docked at.”

“Oh?”

“I ended up snatching quite a lot of bottles, but once every blue moon, he would have to snatch one instead.” You smile. It’s an actual, genuine, honest smile this time, and Luffy can’t help but marvel at the sight. It’s a rare thing for you to smile like you’re doing now. It’s usually brief or sarcastic and never seems to reach your eyes. 

This one does.

He thinks you look pretty when you smile. It’s your smile, and it’s so warm that he wishes you could do it more often. He tells you as much, and a red color falls over your cheek. You promptly turn your face to the other side to save face, and it makes Luffy think.

When he thinks about his dream of becoming King of the Pirates, he can’t stop himself from smiling ear to ear. So, that begs the question: “What is your dream?” 

What makes you smile?

“My dream …” You reach for your apple and hold it against your face, the uneaten side of it shining against your face. “Is unattainable.

“I don’t think it is,” Luffy says without missing a beat and takes your hand in his, determined to make you see that. “I think that no matter how much stands against us, dreams are never impossible if you have the will to reach for them. All it takes is a little spirit.”

He doesn’t know where those words come from, but he’s heard them from someplace, and judging by your staggered reaction, you’ve heard them too. 

“A little spirit, huh?”

“Exactly! So, please tell me, what’s your dream?”

You look straight ahead into the room, resting your elbows back on the window frame without a word. He thinks you’re about to decline his question or ignore it altogether. However, he’s surprised to hear you actually answer this time, truthfully too.

“My dream was to sail the seas with him again.”

Suddenly, the itchiness on his head stops, and it stays that way.

[daisyblog]

To Be So Lonely

Our Story Masterlist Summary: How To Be So Lonely was made.

Warning: alcohol usage, talk about relationship, swearing

Harry didn’t understand how quickly things could change. He’s gone from feeling hopeful that things between him and YN were heading in the right direction, that there was a chance that they could work things out. But after their strained conversation last week over coffee at Beachwood, he started to lose hope. 

Noticing how down Harry had been and how lost he seemed, especially after he had written the song ‘Falling’ a few days ago at the studio, Sarah and Mitch had invited him over for some dinner with them. 

Sarah was in the kitchen prepping and cooking their dinner, and Mitch and Harry were lounging in the living room. 

“Still haven’t heard anything from YN?”. Mitch asked, knowing how much this was affecting his best mate.

Harry shook his head, as he started to play with the loose cotton string on his dark jeans. “I did speak to Louis the other day after we met up…and he said she’s having a lot of panic attacks at the moment.” Harry felt so useless, knowing he couldn’t help her any more. “They started after her Mum passed.” 

“It’s hard man.” Mitch sympathised, knowing it can’t be easy for YN either. Sarah had now joined them, sitting next to Mitch and naturally his hand found his way to her thigh. Harry feeling a tad a jealousy that he no longer had that type of relationship.

“I just don’t know why she thinks I’m interested in some other girl that Glenne was talking to the other day…I hate the media…they twist everything.” Harry frustratedly ranted, knowing how unfair it was that something so innocent had been made into him now getting close to another woman. 

“It would be boring if they didn’t twist it.” Sarah added to their conversation. “Plus I don’t think the headline ‘Harry’s wandering hands’ helped you there.”.

Harry scoffed “Wandering…I didn’t even speak to the girl…I was too busy talking Jeff’s ear off about YN.”.

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing filled the room, and as he took it from his pocket he was surprised to see Louis name. “It’s Louis.”.

He pressed the green button, accepting the call quickly. “Hey Lou…everything okay mate?”.

“Sorry to bother you lad…it’s YN-“. Louis voice sounded defeated, almost like he’d ran out of options and Harry was his last hope. 

“Is she okay?” Harry panicked, thinking something bad had happened.

“Yeh she’s fine…well she’s fookin’ wasted..and right now she’s lying on me floor just repeating your name.” Louis began to explain but soon YN’s voice could be heard faintly in the background.

“Harry…is that Harry?”. YN’s voice was slightly slurred.

“Do you want me to come over?” Harry asked, assuming that’s the reason Louis reached out to him. 

“Do you mind H?” Louis hated to bother Harry, knowing that their relationship wasn’t great right now, but he was his last hope.

“Course not…I’ll be there in five.” Harry began to stand and gather his jacket ready to drive to Louis house. 

After ending the call with Louis, Harry explained the situation to Mitch and Sarah and apologised for leaving so suddenly without having dinner. But Mitch and Sarah understood and just want YN and Harry to work things out. 

Harry was feeling nervous as he drove towards Louis house. He wasn’t sure what to expect. He didn’t know if YN really wanted him there or if it was a case of she was that intoxicated that she forgot that they weren’t even a couple anymore. 

Pulling up into Louis drive, Harry exited his car and jogged up the few steps as Louis opened the front door. “Come in man…I am really sorry to fookin’ bother you-“.

“Lou…it’s alright mate.” Harry interrupted him, not wanting him to think he minded coming over. He’s always want to be there when YN needed him. 

Louis walked Harry into his house, and showing him where YN was currently sprawled across his grey rug in the living room, attempting to sing ‘Somebody To Love’. 

“Can anybody find me somebody to love.” YN sung badly, and Harry could only assume that was down to the alcohol roaming her body right now. 

Usually Harry would laugh at YN in this mess because it would be entertaining, but it was clear to him that she had been drinking alone in the house and he felt guilty that it may have something to do with him. 

“Hey Kiddo…if you’re done murdering that song…do you think you can get up from the floor?”. Louis walked further into the room, Harry a few steps behind him. 

“Fook off…and leave me here to mope.”. YN slurs her words, as she childishly rolls on the rug beneath her. 

Harry remained silent, not wanting to aggravate the situation any further. “Well the reason your moping is standing right here so…please get your arse up from my fookin’ rug and talk to him.”. Louis wasn’t being nasty, just using his assertive voice. 

It was in that moment that YN noticed Harry standing next to her brother. “Hey bubs!” YN gave him a tipsy smile. 

“C’mon bab-“ Harry had almost let the pet name slip out after hearing YN openly call him ‘bubs. “C’mon, let’s get you up from the floor.” Harry held his hands out, hoping YN would comply. But Harry knew how stubborn she was. 

YN wore a cheeky smile, one that would appear whenever she was about to make a joke. “Did you just call me baby?”. 

“It slipped out.” Harry confessed, but still confused why YN was teasing him when she had referred to him as his nickname first. 

Just as quickly as YN teased, so her expression changed to a serious one, even her eyebrows frowned. “Don’t call me baby again!”. Harry was taken back, how someone’s mood could change so quickly. 

He looked to Louis for help, but he shrugged his shoulders. “This is what I’ve been dealing with since I came home…good luck lad…I’m off for a smoke.” Louis announced as he grabbed the packet of cigarettes and lighter from the side and closed the living room door behind him. 

Silence surrounded them for a short while, for a moment Harry wondered if YN had fallen asleep. But his question was answered when she stood up from her position, swaying slightly and Harry quickly stopped her from hitting the coffee table in front of her. “Hey! Friends don’t touch each other…remember you just want to be friends!” YN snapped. 

“YN…I never said I wanted us to be just friends”. Harry bit back, frustrated at all the assumptions she was creating recently. 

YN had now made herself comfortable on the grey L shaped sofa. Harry following and sat down on the opposite side, choosing to keep a safe distance. 

“Do you still love me?” YN asked quietly, in between her tipsy hiccups. 

Harry snapped his head up to look at her. How could she think any different? “I’ve never stopped loving you.”. 

“It felt like it when you were on tour.” YN admitted and Harry wonders if this was the alcohol talking. 

“I did act like a dickhead, I won’t deny that.” Harry couldn’t disagree, when he was on tour, he prioritised everything before his relationship.

“Hmm my words would be arrogant son of a bitch.” YN’s words stung, but Harry took it well.

“M’sorry!” Harry apologised. “I know it’s probably too late but I am.”.

When YN didn’t respond, Harry wondered if he should leave. Since he first arrived, she seemed to have sobered up a little, she was still hiccuping but she wasn’t slurring her words as much as she was when he first arrived. 

“I think I’m gonna leave.” Harry stood from his seat, about to walk towards the living room door. But he stopped in his tracks at YN’s words. 

“Please don’t leave me.” YN pleaded, Harry turned to look at her, tears were forming in her eyes. “I-I..don’t wanna b-be alone.”.

At the sign of weakness, Harry ran to her side. “Hey…it’s okay I’m here.”. Harry pulled her body closer to his, his arm wrapping around her and YN was quick to hold him tight. “You’re never alone.”.

“It’s so hard going home and being lonely.” Harry’s heart broke there and then. He hadn’t been back to their London home since they split. But he could only imagine how that must feel, walking into a house you once shared to find it dark and empty. 

“M’sorry.” Harry left a soft peck to YN’s head. He was reluctant to ask but needed to know. “Is that why you’ve been having panic attacks?”. YN didn’t speak, just nodded her head. Harry held her tighter and ran his fingers through her hair.

After a while, Louis gently opened the door to find the reason it was so quiet in the house. YN was half lying on Harry, her leg over his and her tucked under his neck. He was glad to see that YN was back with her safe place. 

---

It had been a few days since Harry was at Louis house. When Harry and YN woke the next morning, they were still snuggled up in each others arms but neither of them made an effort to move. 

They had made breakfast together, but bath didn’t bring up the antics of the previous night. Silently telling each other that they needed to move forward. Harry had left before Louis had woken that morning, purposely because he didn’t want to give him the wrong impression that something more had happened between him and YN. 

Harry had a studio session today with Mitch, Tyler and Kid. Mitch didn’t question Harry on what happened after he left their house that night. That’s one of the reasons Harry loved him so much, he was a good friend, he was a good listener but he never probed for information. 

As Harry entered the studio, Mitch was already playing something on a new instrument in his hand. “Mitch…what’s that?”. 

“It’s a Ukulele.” Mitch continued to strum on what Harry could see was a smaller version of a guitar. “I’ve got this melody that I just can’t see to stop playing.”.

“Show me.” Harry instructed as he took a seat on the stool, opposite his guitarist, folding his arms over his chest in concentration. 

The minute Mitch began to play, Harry loved it. It had a unique sound and he instantly knew he needed to use it for a song. Harry signalled Mitch to keep playing, a rush of creativity coming over him. 

Don't blame me for falling I was just a little boy Don't blame the drunk calling Wasn't ready for it all

Harry reflected on how young he and YN had fallen in love. They were young and innocent and had no idea what life was going to throw at them. The drunk calling referring back to the night a few days ago, it wasn’t Louis fault, he just didn’t what to do with his paralytic sister. 

You can't blame me, darling Not even a little bit I was away And I'm just an arrogant son of a bitch Who can't admit when he's sorry

Thinking back to their conversation, Harry could resist using YN’s directness of calling him out on his shitty behaviour when he was on tour and confidently calling him an arrogant son of a bitch. 

Don't call me baby again You got your reasons I know that you're tryna be friends I know you mean it Don't call me baby again It's hard for me to go home Be so lonely

YN’s words about her feeling alone and lonely will always haunt him. No matter what, nobody should have to feel like that. 

I just hope you see me in a little better light Do you think it's easy being of the jealous kind? 'Cause I miss the shape of your lips You'll win, it's just a trick And this is it, so I'm sorry

Harry has always been a jealous lover and looking at all the happy couples around him only proves that. But it was true, he missed her, he missed everything about her and this was his way of saying “I’m sorry.”

As Harry finished, he and Mitch a look. “We make a good team!”.

Tag List: @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats @harrysbbyh0ney @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r  @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @or-was-it-just-a-dream @hittiesontour @bunnyharold @fanfictioncafe @lilfreakjez @iamahallucinationnn @theekyliepage @indierockgirrl @buckybarnessimpp @ashleighsss @jerseygirlinca @fake-coolbeans @itsmytimetoodream

[bestworstcase]

@cryptidblues tumblr ate this one too, maybe drop tumblr support a line to check if you’ve been erroneously shadowbanned 

Oscar is dying! He’s dying! We’re getting the full weight and crisis of the merge in volume 10 I NEED IT. The image of him collapsed on the sand as the sunrises with his back to the long memory OOUGH just like Ruby and crescent rose after she drank the tea, before the tree took her. The reversal on “I don’t want to be me anymore” / please let me stay myself. The lad is being eaten alive! From the inside out! By an unstoppable brain parasite that will kill him! And Replace Him! I Need the slow build up of horror from Oscar and everyone involved. “And Oscar…just isn’t himself” they’re place setting. Getting the table ready. Ooh yknow he’s hiding those merge episodes/attacks from his friends. I NEED the existential terror and dread! BUT I NEED THE CATHARSIS OF OSCAR BEING KNOWN, SEEN & SAVED TOO ;-;

NOT to make a post oscar about ozma instead but the thing that is really, really pulling the hinges off for me is the implication that this is happening because oz started actively fighting the merge. as long as oscar resisted and oz kept up the drumbeat of “this is inevitable, there is nothing either of us can do,” the curse kept on quietly eroding oscar as the boundary became thinner and thinner between them. it was, for lack of a better term, stable. 

the moment oz tries to resist, the curse starts trying to rip him forward. to force him to take over, inflicting what seems to be torturous amounts of pain on both of them. the subtle, silent, invisible violence that was inflicted on oscar before explodes outward to attack both of them. 

how many times have i said this curse is specifically designed to make it impossible for ozma to change? that the whole point is to prevent ozma from ever changing his mind or defying the god of light? never doubt me. the literal fucking instant ozma tries to break free, the curse becomes YOU DO NOT HAVE A CHOICE. 

the curse had a failsafe the whole time.

/ozma tangent

oscar though. this poor kid. like the greatest burden on his shoulders in the last four volumes has always been that no one wants to openly acknowledge what’s happening to him and the nature of the merge’s violence being so completely internal means that no one has to look at it except him. and he’s been so isolated in that existential dread but he’s also grown so accustomed to being treated like just. the next ozpin. that when the violence abruptly becomes externalized in reaction to oz’s resistance, oscar… hides it. keeps it to himself. somewhere deep down the idea that it doesn’t matter to anyone what happens to him got lodged in his brain so deeply that he keeps it hidden!!

and i’m obsessed with the emotional complexity the layers of what he’s feeling with regard to ruby, because it’s not as simple as that he misses her and aspires to her optimism; there’s also some underlying resentment there (“you were always so sure that everything would work out…right up until the moment it didn’t” <- paraphrasing) because she was wrong and he wishes he could borrow her certainty but she was wrong. she fell. she was wrong. 

BUT AT THE SAME TIME, everyone else believes that they’re gone forever. that they’re dead. oscar doesn’t. he’s thinking about it in terms of where they might have gone, what might have happened to them, he’s doing research because deep down, there’s a teeny tiny spark of hope that hasn’t been extinguished yet. so there’s this subtext of i wish i had your certainty. even though you were wrong. i’m still trying to find you. we’re still fighting this. you always saw me for who i really was. i don’t know who i am anymore.—there’s this tension throughout the monologue between bitterness and hope, and i don’t know if oscar is even capable of seeing that he is still hopeful or that he does have, if not ruby’s kind of certainty, something of his own that rhymes. he’s feeling this bleak about everything and still trying to figure out where they are because he doesn’t believe they’re dead. 

it was oscar’s idea to put the memorial where the portal had been. it’s taller than a person and shaped like a door. it’s a memorial but it’s also a symbol; the portal is gone, but they were inside it still, we should build our own door so they can find their way home. and then they do, according to the context given. the blacksmith gave them a doorway that went right through their memorial.  ETA: never mind, misremembered

ruby confronting and facing his mortality after running away from it for three volumes to galvanize her to really try to save him vs oscar doing whatever he can think of to somehow save her while roiling in all these complicated painful feelings about how no one cares to know how he’s suffering because it isn’t like there’s any real hope for him. tasty!

[chelseachilly]

THIS LOVE - chapter six | i wish you would come back

pairing: ben chilwell x reader

rating: T

word count: 1.8k

summary: ben's in ibiza with his friends, and he can't stop thinking about you...he just needs a little help figuring out why

A/N: long time no see! it's been a crazy few weeks - i moved, then i got sick, then work got super busy - so i'm sorry i haven't had time to update! i'm going on a little holiday this weekend so i wanted to get this out before i did 🩵 i hope you enjoy the switch up to ben's pov ;) xx

previous chapter | view all chapters

-

Ben should be feeling like he’s on top of the world. He’s staying at a luxury villa in Ibiza with his best mates, coming off a big win and a goal for his country. He’s young, healthy, and successful. He should be enjoying life at the moment.

Instead, he just feels like shit.

He’s felt like shit from the moment you walked away from him at Wembley, declaring the end of your fake relationship. It felt like a knife to the gut when you left him standing there, unaware of what he did wrong, wanting so badly to chase after you but knowing he shouldn’t. 

He sat through an entire, agonizingly long dinner full of people celebrating and congratulating him on the goal, and all he wanted was to pull out his phone and call you to make sure you were okay. 

The next morning, Mason, Harvey, Tom and Woody practically dragged him to the airport and onto the private plane they’d booked weeks ago. It’s a rare week off for both Ben and Mason, so they wanted to make the most of it. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

In the past, a boys week in Ibiza was his idea of paradise. It meant days spent poolside catching up with the lads and relaxing before returning to his busy schedule. And the nights were usually dedicated to going to some swanky club and leaving with a hot girl.

This time, it’s been three days of their five-day holiday, and Ben hasn’t left the villa once. He’s been sulking in his bedroom half the time, and generally bringing down the mood even when he tries to force himself to have fun with the boys. 

He’s sent you a few texts to no response, and he would’ve been genuinely concerned for your safety if it weren’t for the fact that he could still see your Instagram stories - specifically one of you out drinking with some coworkers, including a good-looking guy apparently named Matt, who Ben may or may not have stalked on social media. The bastard - who Ben’s never met - may only have three photos, none of which are particularly offensive, but Ben knows for a fact he doesn’t deserve you.

The morning of the fourth day, he comes out of his room around ten looking for something to eat for breakfast, which he’s slept through every other morning so far, and is instead served with what can only be described as an intervention. 

All the guys are sat around the table, drinking coffee and staring him down as he trudges out in just his boxers - perks of a lads trip - still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

“You need to tell us what happened with you and Y/N,” Tom says firmly as soon as Ben sits down at the table and pours himself a cup of coffee.

He just groans and takes a long sip before answering. It’s way too early for this.

“I already told you, I kissed her in front of the cameras, then she got weird and ran off,” Ben repeats the exact same brief recap he gave them on the flight here. “I followed her out and she said she couldn’t pretend to date me anymore and that she needed space.”

“Yeah, we know that part,” Harvey says. “And I get that you’re disappointed she’s bailing on the PR thing-“

“I don’t give a fuck about that,” Ben interrupts, a bit dramatically clanking his mug down on the table. “Look, I’m sorry I’m bringing down the holiday vibe, but my best friend isn’t returning my calls and I’m worried about her.”

Although most of the people at this table could make a case for being Ben’s best friend, and under better circumstances would probably joke offense at his statement, there’s nothing but silence. They all know what you mean to Ben, the place that you occupy in his life and in his heart. It’s…different.

“She’s fine, mate,” Mason says softly after a minute. He’s always the calm, level-headed one in these situations, and although Ben is typically grateful for his presence, he feels white hot rage within himself right now. 

“You talked to her?”

“She texted me back yesterday and said she’s alright and she’s just taking a beat,” Mason responds, speaking carefully as if he’s afraid of saying too much. “Look, I know you feel shitty because you and Y/N got into a fight and she’s not talking to you. But have you thought about why she might have ended this thing?”

Ben runs a hand over his face. “I told you, Mase, I have no bloody idea-“

“Just think about it, Ben,” Tom chimes in. “She agreed to be your fake girlfriend, basically giving up any chance of having her own dating life during that time. Then she gets upset and bails right after you kissed her for show, in front of a bunch of people?”

Ben’s chest tightens as he realizes what his friends are implying, but he immediately shakes his head. It’s ridiculous. There’s no way you, his best friend, have feelings for him.

“No,” he says simply. “That’s not…she doesn’t…she would’ve said something.”

“Why would she?” Harvey asks, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not like you’ve told her.”

Everyone goes silent again as all eyes fall on Ben, who just nearly choked on his coffee as he processed Harvey’s words. 

“What are you-I’m not-“

“Mate, I say this because I care about you,” Harvey continues. “You need to get your head out of your arse and just admit that you’re in love with her already.”

Of course he loves you. His best friend since the age of six, his rock, his favourite person on the planet. He’s loved you since before he knew what love was.

Except he can’t be in love with you, because that kind of love ends. He’s seen it end, when his parents got divorced and when his friends have had devastating breakups. He’s seen people fall in love and fall out just as quickly. And that can’t be you and him. He can’t lose you.

“Harvey, it’s not like that,” Ben says quietly. “She’s…Y/N. She’s my best friend.”

“Yeah, but she’s always been more than that, hasn’t she?” Mason says. “I mean, the bond between you guys, it’s not like what you have with any of us, right?”

“Well, no, but-“

“When I first met you I thought you were already dating her,” Nathan admits. “I told Mase I’d never seen a guy so whipped and when he told me you weren’t together, I was shocked.”

“And you’ve hated all of her boyfriends,” Tom adds. “Even the nice ones.”

“They’ve all been dickheads,” Ben replies, though he knows that’s not entirely true.

“You two have always been more than friends,” Mason continues. “I love you, bro, but she literally took weeks off work to take care of you after you did your ACL. She moved in with you and drove you to every physio appointment until you were on your feet again. And then last year when you realized you were gonna be out for the World Cup and you felt like shit, she was the only person you would talk to. I think that’s when I knew for sure how you felt about her.”

Ben still remembers that night like it was yesterday - he was in the treatment room at Stamford Bridge, icing his leg, already knowing tomorrow’s scans would confirm what he felt the moment he landed wrong, and he was so upset about missing Qatar that he barely spoke when the coach and some of his teammates came to see him. And then he heard your voice in the hall, grilling the medical team to ensure he was receiving proper care, and he smiled for the first time since he limped off the pitch that night. 

You ran in, pushing past Mason to wrap Ben up in a tight hug and tell him everything would be okay, and despite how terrible things were at the moment, he felt so at peace in your arms.

“Mason’s right,” Tom says sincerely. “And it’s probably why none of these girls you hook up with feel right. You’ve already got your heart somewhere else.”

Ben feels his head spinning as he replays every meaningless one night stand he’s had, how something had always been missing.

He thinks about how it feels when he sees you in the stands at the Bridge, especially when you’re wearing his kit, and the way just seeing you gives him the confidence to be a better player. 

And, more importantly, how you make him a better person - how he’s constantly in awe of your career and how you help people, how it inspires him to try to do more to make the world a better place. How you’ve turned down expensive Christmas and birthday gifts from him every year and directed him to a charity worth donating to instead. 

He thinks about how you’ve stood by his side all these years, even when he was a cocky kid coming up in the Premier League and when he’s been a bit of a dick, you’ve always kept him from straying too far from himself. Through all the injuries, through every win and loss, you’ve been there. 

He thinks about how you literally agreed to this ridiculous, elaborate PR scheme just because he asked you to, sacrificing your own free time and privacy to help him out. 

Finally, he thinks about how right it’s felt pretending to be your boyfriend. It’s been almost second nature holding your hand and telling people how wonderful you are. It felt as easy as breathing to kiss you, and though he knows he shouldn’t have done it in a room full of people, he can’t bring himself to regret it. Kissing you was pretty much the best moment of his life, which means seeing you walk away from him on the verge of tears minutes later was probably the worst. 

But while he’s been beating himself up this entire holiday over the fact that he kissed you and the fact that he dragged you into this fake relationship, he now realizes that wasn’t his mistake.

The issue is that he should have done it a long time ago, and it should’ve been for real. 

“Shit,” Ben mutters under his breath. “I’m in love with Y/N.”

“Finally, he admits it!” Harvey grins, patting Ben on the back firmly. 

The rest of the boys grin and chime in with their agreement, but Ben is already rising from the table and pulling up flights on his phone.

“Where you going, mate?” Mason asks with a smug grin on his face.

“Home, I don’t want to wait until tomorrow,” Ben says with a nervous smile. “Wish me luck, boys.”

As he begins to jog back to his bedroom so he can quickly pack and get to the airport in time for the next flight, he hears Harvey call out from the kitchen.

“Don’t forget trousers!”

-

a/n: and off he goes!! sorry for the slight cliffhanger but i hope you guys liked this one, as you can imagine i'm very excited to share the next (and last, except for the epilogue) part and am already working on it!! let me know what you thought of ben's pov and any predictions for the ending! tag list: @captainwans​ @amandaaa1025 @bbygrlllllll @ncentic​@lunamelona @kathb59 @cinderellawithashoe @batmansb1tch @myheartgoesvroom @chillymountsjess @babygirlbenji @delicateearthquakellama @joyfullyswimmingface @xxenia14 @chaotic-taco-collector-blog @chilwellspulisic @maraudersmap123 @evelinapurmale @freekoalakryptonite (let me know if you would like to be added or if i missed you!)

[anjelicawrites]

Dragon riding not for the beginners

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Synopsis: inspired by the prompt “Why don’t you ride this dragon my love.” from this prompt list. Or, Aemond fucks around and finds out.

Warnings: smut, sub!Aemond, dom!reader, p in v sex, orgasm denial, orgasm control. 

“In the end you can only blame yourself - you say grinding your hips against Aemond who lets out a long, tortured moan of pleasure and pain - what did you say to me earlier?” 

He can’t answer, he is desperately trying not to come and your cunt’s muscles deliciously massaging his cock are making the feat even more difficult. For half a second he wishes he had the cock ring on; the vise would be awful and those non-orgasm torture, but he wouldn’t have to cling to his self control so desperately. He screams when you pinch his right nipple and is forced to open his eye

“I’ve asked you a question” you say sweetly, in contrast with the way you are pinching his abused nipple

“I… ah!” he can’t concentrate, he, always so good with his words, reduced to a moaning, squirming mess by the devious ways you hips move over his

“Do you want me to help you with your answer, my dragon?” 

Your words are honey for his ears, but you abruptly stop moving and he almost loses the iron grip on the headboard to grab your hips; a fraction of his mind knows you will punish him if he ever tried a stunt like that. His teeth sink on his lower lip instead, hoping the small pain will help clearing his mind

“I… Issa jorrāelagon… - he tries and his brain is screaming at him to breathe, just breathe but he can’t calm down, not with how deliciously your cunt envelops his engorged cock - Yes… help!” he can’t produce anything better than that, him, always so well spoken

“Why don’t you ride this dragon my love - you say, sickening sweet - ring any bell?”

He enthusiastically nods but you slap his chest, he has to use his words like a good lad

“Yes - he says pathetically - I’m sorry!” 

 He doesn’t even remember why he had said that, it sounded right in the context of hours ago, now? He is finding out what happens when he fucks around.

Your hips start grinding again, nice and slow and he wants to beg but only a long, tortured moan escapes his lips. He needs you to let him come, his balls feel so full and his cock is raw; you have been denying his orgasm for hours. He doesn't know what is worse, this or when you overstimulate him until his balls have no more spunk to give. 

He screams when you start bouncing up and down with a purpose, tears streaming down his right cheek, he can't, he can't stop himself from coming if you use him like this, your hands on the headboard to help you ride him brutally. He wants to tell you he is close and incapable any more, please just let him come, he's learnt his lesson and he's going to be good, the perfect lad for you, he will not say anything sassy anymore just please grant him pleasure

"No - your smile is cruel as you angle yourself so that is cock pushes against your G spot, he is so easy to read when he is like this- You are not going to come Aemond, don't you dare". 

He screams in frustration, his head moving from one side to the other, lilac eye shut as he tries to reign in his orgasm as your cunt squeezes his cock like a vise when you come. 

You purposely don't dismount until he has felt every single contraction of your pussy and he sobs every single time. He is so pretty when he is ravaged like this, so much that you'll be happy to go for another round, but he needs to learn his lesson. 

When your warmth abandons him, is both pain and pleasure and his eye shots open, his hands still around the wood of the headboard

 "Ābrazȳrys" he moans in confusion

"Get dressed Valzȳrys" 

He complies slowly, his hands hurt from how much he has gripped the headboard and he has to grab his engorged cock, it hurts too much when he moves, slapping against his belly. When you see him slowly making his way to the bath chamber you tsk curtly and he freezes on his tracks

"My love?" He stares at you, confusion in his eye

"I told you to get dressed, not to wash yourself. I want you to go about your day hard and covered in my spent. If you can do this for me, I'll let you have a month of free orgasms - his eye widened - I won't overstimulate you my dragon, I'll let you come if and whenever you want. You'll be able to masturbate, if you feel inclined to"

"It's never the same when you are not with me" he blushes as he says this, but it's the truth: you mouth, your fingers and your cunt are ten times better than his hand. 

You are still naked as you make your way towards him and hug him, a small reward for his words. 

You help him dress again, he goes slow but his cock is too hard for him to do anything hasty; when it's time for his breeches, the leather is cold against him manhood and is too hard against the sensitive skin, it hurts so much, but he wants to be your good lad, show you how obedient he can be. He'd do this for free, he doesn't even care for your reward, he just wants you to be proud of him. 

You kiss him slowly and sensually, your tongue playing with his as his hands grab the meat of your hips. He is going to bruise you and you don't care, he owns you as much you own him. 

[octuscle]

HEY SUPOIRT

Sorry got excited and forgot how much bigger my fingers were. But I’m the guy you helped get that muscle bear body he wanted. Thanks again for that, by the way.

But I got another ask if you got a minute.

I’ve got plenty of twinks and twunks falling all over me, and don’t get me wrong those guys are great, but there’s a couple of fellow beefy bears at the job, including some of the big bosses in suits even above me, I wish I could get to do the same. Problem is: they’re straight as an arrow.

You got a way to make me more ahem convincing? You mentioned something with my pits last time and I’m not gonna lie, dude, that sounded kinda hot to me. Maybe something to do with that?

First of all: Glad that you like your new body. To be honest: I think it's hot as hell:

Your area director is indeed a really handsome fellow. Not quite young anymore, but beefy indeed. Hasn't been sitting in his executive chair with a white collar all his life, either. He knows the construction sites and hard physical work. You two go over the quarterly figures. Boring stuff. Rising purchase prices. Falling order numbers. The job used to be more fun. Sweat stains are forming under your arms. Shit, did you forget your undershirt? And the way it smells, so does your deodorant. Your boss sniffs and grins. He asks if you didn't have time to shower today. You laugh and say that you were at the gym a little longer than planned today, so you had to save time. Your French cuffs disappear. You wear only a short-sleeved shirt. Your boss loosens his tie and unbuttons the top button. Shit, you once saw at the company party that there is hair on your chest… But there seems to be a fur.

Precum drips into your jockstrap. You're not wearing dark blue suit pants anymore. But like your boss a dirty jeans. And heavy work boots. Your shirt almost dissolves into thin air and becomes a stained wifebeater. You look at the numbers on the monitor and cross your arms behind your head. Beads of sweat glisten in your armpit hair. Your boss moves closer to you. Looks at the numbers on the monitor. Turns to you. And runs his tongue through your armpit. And then, as if nothing had happened, he turns back to the screen, points to a few numbers with his right hand and asks you why energy costs have risen so much. His left hand kneads your bulge in your jeans.

You turn around to face him. He looks at the monitor, unimpressed. Your bulge is getting wet from the precum. His hand goes into your pants. And meanwhile his hair on the head disappears. A massive beard grows on his chin. His voice becomes a thunderous bass. He addresses you only as "Boi" or "Little Lad".

And it seems perfectly natural for him to jerk you off at work. You start to moan. Your cock is hard as steel. You can't hold it much longer. Fuck, you cling to the back of your chair, twitching with ecstasy, your head thrown back. And you shoot your load into your pants. Large wet spots form on your jeans. Your boss pulls his hand out of your pants and rubs his smeared hand on your chest hair clean. "So Boi, now it's time for you to satisfy me." He takes off his sleeveless lumberjack shirt and wifbeater, stands in front of you and unbuttons his jeans.

You know what you have to do. You get down on your knees. You smell the musky scent of his jockstrap. He pulls down the waistband. His cock jumps out of his pants like a jack-in-the-box. And you don't care whether your boss is about to cum in your face or in your ass. Now you have to suck his balls first.

Pic of your boss found @cazaosos5024

[niiine]

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄

Characters. Kazuha, GN! Reader.

Synopsis. Only when you're invloved that Kaedehara kazuha can show a few things that he's usually not—like possessiveness for example.

Fluff, jealous Kazuha

Inspired by this. (With permission) Check this, it's soo cute.

Mentions of "Beautiful", and Kazu's jealous of a man.

NOT PROOF READ!!!

Saw this pictures from Mei_xxy! on tiktok and thought, I want a whole scenario with jealous Kazuha. Kazuha babyyy be home next patch alrightt? And also, 500+ followers 😳 Thank you for reading my trashes peeps. You make me happy!

“Ahh, the wind is telling me that we ar—”

“Kazuha if you don’t shut up, I swear I’m going to throw you out in the sea.”

The gentle lad sighed at his crewmate’s outburst—he can’t blame him though; he had been pestering him about just how far more it would take before the Crux reach Liyue for the past three hours now. He can’t help it you know; he misses you so much and for him, it’s nothing but agonizing.

Dragging his feet up the crow’s nest where he plans to spend the rest of the day before he can see you again, his heart sinking even further at the thought that it wouldn’t be any time soon. He drifts into a light slumber, begging for his dreams to about his beloved.

“Kazuhaa!” Beidou’s shout wake him from sleep, eyes fluttering open and somehow, sleepiness’ still vivid in the way he lazily closed them again. That is, until the captain announced their arrival at the land of Geo. A flash of silver plunged as he jumped from the Crow’s nest, his ever-calm face now adorned with giddiness. “Captain! I’m gonna go see (name)!” and he’s gone even before Beidou could wish him a safe trip. The wandering samurai can’t wait to be home.

The streets of Liyue’s still as busy as ever. Usually, he would stay away from rowdy environment. The excitement and chaos clashing in his calm demeanor, but right now, the idea of melting in your hands just seems stronger than any uncomfortable conditions. The image of him planting his face into your presence brought a serene smile into his porcelain face—really, only can bring out this side of him.

His eyes darted forward; he wants to buy something from Wanmin to bring with him for you. And that’s when he sees you, as dazzling and beautiful as ever—and…him. You’re talking with a man so happily, present as you exchange words that is inaudible to his ears. A frown decorates Kazuha’s face as an unfamiliar emotion tugged at his gentle heart. His feet move towards your direction, hoping to gain your attention. Surely you will be more excited and happier to see him than to talk with this guy, right? But his advances are drowned in the noise of the crowd, and probably because you and your companion are facing the restaurant, thus he remained unnoticed.

He cleared his throat, hoping once again trying to snatch your gaze. No avail.

His lips quivered. Come oon, your boyfriend’s here you know!

“Hello, Sir…” He trailed off, eyes drooped and an annoyed expression resting on his face. He wasn’t always like this, but he hadn’t seen you for days and now it looks like you’re not in love with him anymore (I live for dramatic Anemo boys supremacy. Regardless if it’s the ever so collected Kaedehara kazuha).

It even sends him in more turmoil as the man you’re talking to doesn’t listen when he called him out. The guy left him no choice. He huffed exaggeratedly as he caged your form between his strong arms, earning a cute squeak from you.

He looked over your shoulders and glared at the man, “Excuse me. They’re my partner, return them to me now please.” Before burying his red face in the crook of your neck. You understand right away what’s happening, your hands finding its way to your lover’s silver locks. A soft, gentle laugh escapes your lips.

“Kazuha, he’s my brother”

“What?”

[applesjuice]

Where Falling Stars Live

Just a little something for the Legends Arceus AU! The first one to meet Akari was Laventon, before they even were Akari.

When a child fell from the sky Hopkin wasn’t certain he was entirely awake. The last few days, months really, had been much too long, and it wasn’t right of him to constantly be relying on Rei to do more than he already was. So when three of his specimens ran off when he unlocked the lab, he hadn’t the heart to bother the poor lad to go fetch them. He was meant for science, not running, yet he managed to corner them all on the beach. And then a child fell onto the sand. Straight out of nowhere.

They laid stilly, not moving, and Hopkin worried some drifblim got into the village the evening before. He cried out in shock as the three menaces crawled over the corpse, but the sight of it seemed almost unreal, like a dream he'd cooked up under a Yawn. And then all of a sudden it stared to breathe and he came to his senses.

“It’s not dead? You’re not dead!” he cried in relief. “Oh wake up, wake up! Do wake up, wouldn’t you?” Slowly, eyes the color of his favorite butterscotch schnapps blinked up at him. He frowned at the two different sizes of pupils and how he, she? He wasn’t terribly sure really, children weren’t exactly what he’d gotten accredited for. They all looked somewhat similar before they reached puberty anyway. But this child struggled to sit up, and was much too unsteady once on their feet. 

It was a perfectly normal child, small, too thin and missing a shoe, with hair that was dark and a mess. Half of it was up like a thwackey, and purple. The rest was falling out of a hair tie. Poor thing. Definitely looked like one would expect if they dropped out of the sky. 

They blinked up at him, eyes heavy, then looked around. Then stared at his specimens as though in a daze. 

Hopkin tried to seem reassuring, and like his head was not spinning with fright. “You gave me quite the shock, falling from the sky like that… Thank goodness you’re alright!” he cried. 

The child’s eyes rose from the pokemon to meet his. “W-Who are you?” they whispered. An accent, less drawn out than the clans’ pronunciation, but still off from how the settlers here spoke. 

Hopkin considered them. Definitely not from Jubilife then. “I’d like to ask you the same! I mean, you fell out of the sky, you understand. Come now– who does that?”

Slowly they curled into themself unsurely, trying to hide behind the hair in their face. “Me I guess?” they said almost wondering. 

Yes, well, they weren’t wrong… Hopkin studied them closer; a few bruises here and there, some cuts along their cheeks, like gravel was flung at their face. The fragments caught in there shimmered. An odd sleeveless blouse over breeches, practical yet lose the way the young girls in the villages fancied. So maybe a lass? But then again Rei’s hair was that length until only recently, when he singed off a good chunk leaning too close to a ponyta. He’d been upset, but more at the loss of his drawing. It had taken about fourteen hours of sitting in one spot in the Fieldlands to get the anatomy down pat. 

Hopkin just didn’t know anymore. He’d been spending so much time holed up in his study he could hardly remember how to be a functioning person. This one didn’t look foreign, not in the way he did at least, but a lot of things about them was off. If only children had more distinguishing features, like inverted sclerae or differentiating ear lengths. “Your clothing is unusual. You wouldn’t happen to have an acquaintance in these parts? Or some family?” he asked.

“I don’t know…” They shook their head wearing a big, confused frown.

Oh dear. Hopkin grew more concerned. “I see. You seem to be in a bit of a pickle. Might I be able to help in some way? Offer some directions? Do you have somewhere around here to stay? You’re much too young to be out and about on your own like this, it’s dangerous.”

“I don’t know…”

Oh dear, oh dear. “So you don’t know anyone here, and you don’t even know where to spend the night? Goodness me.” Their little face was growing afraid. “Well, this is a proper pickle indeed.” 

They looked to the side, frustrated tears coming into their eyes. “I dunno what to do.” They sniffled. 

“I see,” Hopkin said, pretending to think hard on it. “Well, no gentleman would abandon such a person in need!” The three menaces chimed in their agreement. The child looked at them with that dewey look kids got when they wanted a hug. Especially from something so deceptively cute. Terrors, absolute terrors they were, but nobody seemed to believe him. 

The three menaces! The whole reason why even left his lab in the first place. “Oh my, I’d completely forgotten! I had just caught up with these three runaways when you tumbled out of the sky. Almost as if they knew you’d appear here!”

Hopkin wouldn’t give them that much credit, but it was odd that they came here specifically. Though odder things did happen in these parts. As odd as the howls that came from the Weald when a mist settled in on cold nights. But he knew it best that some questions remained unanswered. A thought came to him. “Ah, I have to ask. Do you even know what a Pokemon is?” 

“Of course!” they said all indignant. 

Hopkin laughed, and felt his unease grow somewhat lighter. “My, that’s a relief then! Though you fell from the sky, it seems we have some common ground, eh? These three belong to me, mysterious creatures that they are.”

The three in question scoffed, but immediately went back to pretending they were cute and deserving of treats. But Hopkin would not fall for it, not again. He gave them a look, a stern one, that they promptly ignored. 

And then he realized his manners had slipped him. “My name! Oh, I apologize! I haven’t even introduced myself! I’m Laventon, something of a Pokemon Professor. That is to say, I’m a scholar seeking to deepen our understanding of Pokemon. Pokemon such as these three here–”

The three in questen proceeded to run off again.

“Blast and bother, not again! Why must you keep running from me!?” He had to stop himself saying something inappropriate for young ears. “I’m terribly sorry, but do you think you could help me round them up… and I haven’t even asked your name yet. Here I am making requests.”

“No, let me help you!” the child said quickly, and went stumbling forward. It was more of a jog than a run, and Hopkin himself wasn’t much faster. From the way that they ran, they were definitely off balance, and unsurprisingly, they took quite the tumble. 

“Careful now!” Hopkin said and helped them to stand. A hand mirror of some sort was now in their hands, their knee bleeding from where it knocked against its hard surface. Oddly enough the mirror was beeping. They stared into it, wondering at their reflection. Maybe it fell out of their pocket? It was a decorative thing, with what looked to be antlers carved onto the housing. 

A rustling came from the susuki thicket, and the rowlet poked out its head.

“Kroo!” it cried out, flapping its wings, and he felt for a pokeball within his pocket. He should have captured them as soon as he got his hands on these contraptions, but they were generally so mild and enjoyed his climate controlled lab.

“Come here! Be a good lad,” he called out to it. It ignored him, trotting further into the thicket. Clumsily he tossed one of the balls. Keeping wasn’t ever his strong suit, nor was cricket in general. Or any sport, really. Predictably it went to the left. As did the next one he tried.

Cyndaquil scurried under his legs, the flames on her back lit. He shooed her off before she could crawl up his pant leg, patting the embers that caught on the edge of his coat. Hopkin tried to catch her as well, and this attempt was even worse than his last.

The child came over then, paler and suspiciously red-eyed. 

“Aha!” Hopkin cried. “You’ve come to my rescue, my new friend from the sky. I tried catching my little runaways, but I’m not the best at this sort of thing you see…”

And see they must have, as they broke into giggles. That was a good thing. Laughter always did children well, and this one seemed anything but. He didn’t mind being silly or making himself into a fool, it made the pokemon less likely to bite him, and seemed to soothe something hurt within this young boy. Girl. Prepubescent creature. Hopkin needed a nap. Sorely he hoped this wasn’t a ditto.

He spoke of the pokemon fondly, explained their physiology as simply as he would when lecturing a Galaxy Team member. His audience here was substantially more pleasant, reduced now to just the occasionally sniffle. But their interest was earnest, and not once did the attention on him wander. Hopkin began rambling in glee. He couldn’t help but to go on a tangent. Wax on about their power to shrink, how they could find the inside of a hollowed out apricorn comforting. A perfect, portable closed system where the energy the pokemon exerted conducted itself through a solid rich in native minerals. The tumblestone, a rock, a plain simple rock, combined with the Pokemon’s own ability to perform of a reversible process! The blackbody nature of the skin of a fruit.

He was over explaining, over complicating things as he tended to do, but here was someone who drank in every one of his words with fascination, staring at him as though this was already well known.

Hopkin fell a little in love then, the same way he did when Rei shyly sketched him a zubat in the dirt with a stick, not yet wholly aware that forever was forever when the pyre burned his parents remains.

“Would you mind trying to catch them? I know we just met, but I’m afraid I’ve no one else to turn to. I’d be awfully grateful.”

The child before him shifted from one foot baring only a sock to the other, and did not immediately agree. They asked him softly, “What if they don’t want to be caught and I’m just being selfish? I don’t want to hurt them. I don’t mean to hurt anyone…” They stopped, their eyes glazed by confusion, seeming to try and guess where those words came from.

It was alarming, and Hopkin found himself stunned. This was a child. A child, and something within them that they seemingly could not put a voice to was terrified and that in turn terrified him too. It was so heartbreakingly unsure and human, to watch someone so young slowly fall apart before him. 

“This doesn’t hurt them,” Hopkin said fairly.

“It might.” Their voice was shrinking, their vibrancy whittling away as they said “I don’t know why, but it might. It will. I’ll hurt them.”

Hopkin leaned down at that to be on their level, and guided the child to look at him, and they did so in a complete haze of confusion. “You never told me your name, you know. I’m terribly sorry that I’m only just now asking for it.”

“I don’t know it,” the child said very softly, as if admitting it aloud spoke the admission into existence. 

Hopkin stared at them, troubled. This wasn’t normal. Not an ounce of this made sense, and he didn’t like it one bit. The child’s thoughts seemed to grow inward, trying to find one single memory, or any at all. “Well, how about something you’d like to be called. Let’s start with that, shall we?”

“K-Kiki?”

“Wonderful! That must be short for something, but sometimes the hows and whys of things slip by us. Especially when you get to my age. I can’t say I understand your situation Kiki, but what I can understand is that you are very afraid. And sometimes to get past that fear we need to take a first step and do something uncomfortable, something that may make us frightened. That’s why I think you should be the one to try catching these three. If they don’t want to be caught, they won’t let themselves be, but whether or not you try doing so doesn’t mean you are forcing your will onto theirs. The relationship between humans and pokemon is tumultuous as best, and the act of ‘catching’ them is still rather new, but I firmly believe this here device, this pokeball, is an olive branch. And sometimes we, as people, are desperate for friends.”

Kiki looked completely dumfounded and slowly tears ran down their face. Hopkin stood up, cracking his back and the weight of his gut jiggled. He stepped back, and handed Kiki three balls to try with. The weight of their touch as they traced a small finger over the fruit was fragile. “Do you think they’d want to be friends with me?”

“Who knows,” Hopkin said very softly. Honestly, he himself wasn’t sure if either of them even liked him, and he’d been raising them since before he even got on the boat to Hisui from Johto. “But there are numerous pokemon in this world, so logically at least some of them must want to.”

“Alright then,” Kiki mumbled, a spark of some fire now lit deep within them. “I’ll give it a try.”

“There’s the spirit! Now, the proper technique is to take aim at the Pokemon and let the ball fly– really, it’s quite simple! Though far be it from me to say so, I supposed, given my own dire lack of skill in this area.”

Kiki nodded. 

They caught all three of the pokemon one after the other, quick to aim and quicker to throw accurately enough to get each of them by surprise. They had already caught Oshawott before Hopkin realized this was something this child had experience in doing. Which was impossible considering the invention was only patented within the last year. As he thought further on it, Hopkin took a deep breath, and decided he didn’t quite care. Even before Kiki looked back at him, smiling and holding up three pokeballs that were putting out fireworks, he felt this child was here for a reason. He just wasn’t sure what that was yet.

[aeolianblues]

Thinking about Fontaines D.C. again. They’re quite different from any other band of the 2020s that I can think of, somehow they’re simultaneously both completely of this decade in their themes, context and sound, and still have something almost old-fashioned, maybe even timeless about them.

Like they’ve got that sound, depth and emotional complexity that makes people believe there’s something more to them, they’re no flash in the pan, they aren’t chasing any trends or whatever. And still, their post punk sound was so placeably 2018-2022 that you’d listen to it and you have to say yep, these lads came up in the wake of bands like IDLES at the same time as bands like Shame, very 2019.

And you never think, ‘oh I wonder what happened to them, I haven’t heard from them in a while,’ despite the fact that they are basically not active at all on social media. They have the band IG and each member too, but half of them last posted in like 2022 once. They aren’t doing any ‘trends’ or challenges or too many behind the scenes stuff— nothing. It feels almost like a classic band, like someone from the 90s or for the last time, the 00s.

And yet they feel modern, maybe it’s just that they speak to pretty modern fears and anxieties. I don’t know. But then, they’re also still doing the band grind. They’re not famous for anything except their music. No gimmicks, no collabs, they’ve never had a viral hit. People buy their whole albums because nothing they do misses. They sell more on vinyl than some of artists who are much bigger than them and monopolise the record pressing plants (coughs and dies).

Their best known songs are widely known because of fantastic televised festival performances in 2019 and 2022 (Boys In The Better Land, R+L 2019, R+L 2022 when they had that 18 y/o fan join them on guitar; Big Shot with the strings and piano and I Love You, Glasto 2022). Nothing about that is modern, and yet here they are. I couldn’t really see them coming up in another age, not because of the music but the context and themes.

I know, some of their songs sound like they could’ve been observational poems by Keats, Yeats, modern ones like MacGowan. Grian has said he’s still drawn to nature poetry despite being a city boy, but you listen to something like Oh Such A Spring and tell me he couldn’t write an ode to a landscape. Songs like I Love You, the album Skinty Fia in it’s whole. I personally nearly cried hearing it the first time, because as much as musicians have often written about being misfits, about not fitting in, it wasn’t very often that you’d hear someone explicitly framing that from the theme of an immigrant, of someone away from home, neither any longer a part of their home place but noticeably a stranger in the new. About having his Irishness almost heightened by not being in Ireland anymore. All of that. Oddly for the times, and very relevant. Songs like Bloomsday as well. Going back home and realising why you left in the first place. In some ways, Fontaines could only be a band of the now. And yet, there’s been something so traditional about their ascent.

Got big off the back of solid songwriting, they come off as clear-eyed romantics, still with a bit of the mystery and distance afforded to a rockstar of the past, yet not rockstars because they’re such ordinary people. The everyday poets, with a bit of mysticism about them. Amongst many of the bands that have got big in the last four years, they’re the only ones who are still truly independent, all the rest are on Island (UMG subsidiary). They have, if anything, gone more independent now: they’ve moved from Partisan to XL Recordings, both independent labels, and XL is part of the Beggars Group, perhaps one of the largest to still remain completely independent. At this stage in their career: chart topping albums, huge physical sales, a Grammy nomination, Irish Choice Prize nom and a BRIT win, surely if they wanted to, they could easily get on any of the majors. They could bypass the subs and go directly to like, Warner. They’d definitely get signed if they wanted. They’ve chosen to remain independent, admirably.

In some way, it adds to the appeal of the band. There’s a bit of the old band charm to them. I want to be careful not to over-romanticise or turn to folklore a group of very real human beings who have indicated at times that they are perhaps not very comfortable being put up on a pedestal (they are right), and I respect and honour that notion. But there’s certainly something special about this band. And perhaps Starburster has only reignited my admiration for this band, man they’re good.

[judyfromfinance]

Olden Times. Modern Thinking.

(Heimdall/Modern!Reader)

Summary: You know things you’re not supposed to. You behave oddly. And the way you speak is even odder. Kratos, Mimir, and Atreus have no idea if they should believe your ramblings of another world and of a future they have no way of knowing is real. But, you seem harmless enough. Plus, Faye may rise from her grave if they let a poor woman freeze to death in their forest, right outside their home no less.

~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 3

The boys were out for the day, which lead you to being home alone for the time being. It’s been a rough couple of weeks. Food was a bit scarce. But, more importantly, Fenrir was sick. You’ve met all three of the wolves that they saved. And all of them were loving but Fenrir was the most rambunctious out of the three. You didn’t know him long but it hurt to see the poor animal grow so weak. No matter how sad you grew though, it was nothing compared the inner turmoil that was running amok inside Atreus’s head. As you were cleaning the house and stoking the fire, making sure everything stayed warm for when they returned that you heard voices outside. You opened the giant wooden door slightly, peeking your head out to watch the sad scene play out in front of you. Mimir, who was reading on his barrel, spit out his spoon before asking “What’re doing there lass?”

“They’re back but… I don’t think Fenrir’s doing to good.” It hit different watching this play out in front of you. All though you were quite a ways away. And couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, you knew what had happened. Fenrir had finally passed. You saw the short argument play out before Kratos started to make his way back to the house. You opened the door fully for him as he walked in. He nodded his head your way before turning towards Mimir and saying “The wolf is gone.”

“Oh no. Not Fenrir. How’s the lad taking it?” Kratos turns back to Mimir after hanging up his axe. “Not well.” He grunts before walking towards his bed. “He goes to bury him.” You fiddle with your hands as they speak. No matter how long you’ve stayed here. Under the same roof as him, it was always difficult to talk in the presence of Kratos. He was quite intimidating. But still you speak up. “Poor Fenrir. Poor Atreus. I… I hope they both can find peace.” Kratos looks towards you. Every time he does you can feel a jolt run through you. But you look into his eyes and you know he appreciates your words. He nods then turns back towards his bed. He lays down and starts to drift to sleep. Dreaming of Faye no doubt. Mimir looks towards you before suggesting that you may need some sleep too.

“I uh… I’m not really that tired.” You grab your fur pelt that Atreus had sewn for you from the animals that Kratos had butchered. “I’ll go get us some more firewood. We’re running low.” Mimir hums, “Ok then. Be safe lass.” You nod and smile before quietly leaving through the front door. The cold air hit you like a ton of bricks. Almost knocking the air out of your lungs. You wrapped your arms around you as you trudged forward, making your way to the extra pre-cut logs that lay in the back. You would rather have stayed in the warm cabin but you needed space. To think. The game has finally begun. But it’s no longer a game anymore. This, all of this was real now. These characters were no longer just characters. They were people. And quite of few of these people were gonna get hurt. You stop in front of the fence leading out of the training grounds and towards the firewood. You leaned up against it as you fought with yourself in your head. Do you try to save these people? Could you? You were a mortal amongst gods. You still couldn’t get a hang of your bow and you sure as shit couldn’t fight against anything in this world. And even if you did manage to save people that were destined to die, would that change the future? For better or for worse? Questions ran rampant through your mind as you huffed in frustration. A million questions but no answers. What could you do? You opened the gate as you picked up five pieces of wood from the pile that you and Atreus had cut together earlier. You look up as you hear a roar in the distance. It sounded like a bear. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you hastily blinked them away. You close the gate with your foot as dread built in your gut for what was to come.

“How can a nobody like me possibly help these gods with the impossible?” With your head hung low you made your way back to the cabin. As soon as you tried to push the door open with your shoulder Kratos swung it open almost toppling you over. You squeaked in fear as he caught you. “Are you ok?” He asked. You nodded. “Yea. I’m fine. Why?” You shifted your gaze from him to Mimir and back. “Well you took your bloody time with that firewood lass! You had us worried.” Kratos grunted before telling you to stay put in the house. And with that they went to look for Atreus. You placed your pile of wood near the front door and sat down on your makeshift bed of furs. Kratos had built a small wooden frame for you and piled it with hay and fur. It wasn’t much but it was sweet of him to make it for you. Atreus had carved your name in it in norse runes. If you didn’t know any better, you would say you were practically part of the family. You went to bundle up under the covers before you heard a knock on the door. You turned towards it but didn’t move a muscle. If it was Kratos or Atreus they would just walk in. It was there home after all. This mysterious person knocked again before you got up slowly. You stared. Confused on who this could possibly be.

“I know you’re in there mortal. I just wanna talk…. Do you drink? I brought mead.” No. No no no no NO! This was not supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to be here yet! Why was he here? Maybe… maybe just by you being here you changed the timeline more than you thought. You grabbed the door handle before slowly opening the door. Not bothering with a ‘Hello.’ or even a short ‘Welcome.’ The god of thunder stood before you. A giant of a man as he looked down towards you. What was Thor doing here? How did he know you were here? As if hearing all the questions in your head he motioned towards the table behind you and said “Shall we have a seat? We have a lot to discuss little one.”

You dare not disobey him so you opened the door wider and let him in. He sat himself down before raising Mjolnir and laying it on the table. He turned his head towards you and noticed you stuck, paralyzed in fear. “It’s getting cold. Why don’t you close the door?” You slowly shut the door while not, for even a second, breaking eye contact with Thor. As you watched him take a swig of his mead you finally found your voice. “What do you want?” You question as you slowly approached the table. Thor swirled his drink around before he huffed and capped it back up. Setting it down on the table and turning towards you. “From you? I don’t need anything. The All-Father on the other hand…” and with that another knock sounded from the front door. You gulped down your anxiety as you went to open it. Thor was intimidating sure, but Odin? He may appear to be a frail old man but you knew better. You opened the door.

“Hello (Y/n). May I come in?” You nod your head and pray for Kratos to make a quick return. He was a god after all, maybe he could here you somewhere out there. Odin walked in as his ravens flew in behind him. Each one landing on his arms and disappearing as tattoos. He placed his hands on his hips as he sighed. “Look, we’re not here to intimidate you in any way. I know it may seem like it, you being a mortal amongst gods and all.” He pointed towards himself then to his son. He continued “But we just want answers. See, we heard through the grapevine that you aren’t as normal as you appear to be.” You backed up towards the front door as you kept eye contact with the All-Father. How does he know? How does he know anything? He couldn’t possibly… who told him? He approached you slowly, arms raised in a placating manor. Like one would do towards an animal backed into a corner. But they way he spoke was as if he was talking to a frightened child.

“Look, no one wants Ragnarök to happen. I don’t want anyone to die. Just like you. I want to protect the ones I love. And I’ve heard, that you just might know a thing or two on how to prevent it.” You shook your head vehemently. Your back fully pressed against the door as Odin sighed. “My dear, all I want to do is help. How am I supposed to help you if you can’t help yourself?” Your breathing became shallow as your mind raced. It was too stuffy in here. Your eyes shifted and became hazy. You couldn’t stand it. You needed air. You go to turn around but the door is pulled open for you. You bump, once again, into Kratos. Atreus behind him in a state of shock. You looked up towards him with tears in your eyes. Fear flashed through you in that moment, hoping that he didn’t think you were plotting against him with the enemy. But you saw a softness in his eyes as he gently pressed his warm palms on each of your shoulders. He nodded before moving you behind him. Atreus walked up next to you and held you close. The God of War faced down the All-Father as they discussed peace. Kratos set Mimir down before giving his answer.

“No.” And with that Thor stood up and launched his hammer towards Kratos. Causing a giant crater in the roof as you and Atreus bolted inside. You ran up to Mimir to ask if he was alright and in that time Odin walked out the door with Atreus on his heels. You both watched the door in silence.

“What do you suppose their talking about?” Mimir had whispered. Trying to stay silent to see if he could hear an inkling of what the two may be discussing. “He uh…” you look towards Mimir. “He’s probably inviting Atreus to Asgard.” His eyes widen as he looks at you. “Now how would you know that?” You fiddled with your fur pelt as you looked towards the door once more. “We have a lot to discuss once Kratos returns.”

~*~*~*~*~

I’m slowly but surely learning how to make my posts look better for y’all lol. But YEEEE. 3rd installment. Still no Heimdall. 😭 sorry. But heres a little bit of existential dread and fearing our knowledge of the future and our own mortality compared to the gods we keep company for ya~. Hopefully that tides ya over~.

Taglist: @zoleea-exultant @sumebuddy @sissontrinity123 @different4black @vknr @slaying69696969 @dont-mind-me27 @dijanur @frog-cultist @jamallemal @star-angel1 @mrsurrealism @ladysaribu @shirocchi13 @noxiemoon @fullmoonwolfer1 @forg1 @onix-a @silvergoldraeven @inky-weeaboo-weirdo14

[bucknastysbabe]

Half-finished half-ass fill-in for my other fic Untold. I wanted angst and smut I’m only a woman. Sitting in my notes too long and I prob wasn’t going to get any further so

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Word Count: 4,649

Synopsis: What really happened in the recount of the stories. Aegon and his sister can’t seem to escape themselves and the past.

Revealed

127 AC

You didn’t know what the plan was when you reached the Godswood. Pray maybe. Crying likely. Screaming at the Seven could alleviate frustration if you weren’t so worried about being found. You had lowered a rope down the wall of of Maegor’s holdfast. You had done this many of times to seek peace in the open air or play kissing games with a highborn lad.

The knot laid fastened in your dark quarters for when you would eventually return— if sleep would grace you. Fraught with bubbling emotions and nerves you continued on. Ser Criston was stationed outside your chambers for that night. You knew why. But you did not want to dwell on that until the destination was reached.

Slinking past the spikes fastened on the dry moat, you shimmied up the wall leading to your porefuge. Digging your toes in loosened stone you swung a leg over the thick wall, ducking down flush to the surface. With an leap you latched onto the branch of an elm. One, two branches down you dropped onto the grass with a dull thud.

You scanned the darkened trees, finding nothing of note. You padded to the familiar heart tree and wearily sat down, staring up into the wide expanse of stars. You exhaled a shaky breath. The tears began to rise again— like they embarrassingly had at dinner in front of your betrothed.

You were confused and your chest ached for something not wanted anymore. You threw a pebble, cursing, “Stupid lackwit!” Your brother always managed to rear his pale head when you thought the feelings for the drunken sot had been smashed. Whether that be at tourneys with a clipped comment or more bold— insulting your betrothed at supper with a mean smirk.

You hated Aegon.

You didn’t hate Aegon but dreadfully wanted to.

You threw another rock, the small stone cracking against an elm. You wiped your tears away with a grimace, recalling your mother’s words, “Tears get you nowhere, silly girl.” They didn’t. You couldn’t remember how many times you sniveled to get your brother’s attentions back. He was utterly besotted with women and wine, had been for years now.

You hissed to no one in particular, “Then why in the seven hells is he throwing a fit now!”

Another crack. This time is was not you. You rolled and hid behind the tree, holding your breath. Please don’t be Cole, please don’t be Cole. You could not handle a stern lecture with your nerves in disarray like they were. You kept silent, listening out for anything else. Mayhaps it was a bird.

“I know you’re out here, sister,” came the voice you wanted to hear even less than Ser Criston. Aegon rambled on, “You’ve always hid in the Godswood when upset.”

You closed your eyes, praying he would simply leave. Your heart thudded in your chest like a bird flapping in a cage. Aegon’s slow footsteps come closer and you shook your head pitifully. You could feel him standing in front now, knew his hooded eyes probably looked down impassively.

With a quiet whimper you opened your lids. Aegon’s eyes were swollen and red in the dim light. His arms were crossed defensively, a sullen pout twisting his lips. He murmured, “Found you, little princess.”

You bit out, “Why are you torturing me like this? You know how I’ve felt for years.” Your arms wrapped around your middle, feeling the need to hide away and grow small. Aegon frowned, blinking away his emotions. He kneeled down to your level.

The prince croaked, “You’re leaving me, why would you do that? Can’t he come here?”

You gaped in shock. Upon contemplating his words, rage filled your stomach— acrid, roiling, all-consuming. You whispered bitterly, “How dare you!” Mustering more courage you jabbed a finger into Aegon’s chest. Truly wroth were you this time.

“How dare you say such insanity after throwing me away!,” you hissed, “I begged for your attentions and now that I’m finally getting my chance you come back demanding me like a spoilt child!” You jabbed him again, teeth bared in the dark of the night. Aegon fell back in surprise, at a loss for words.

He managed to stutter, “I- I- I don’t,”

You wildly mocked Aegon, “You don’t what?”

His voice was raw and cracked when he whispered, “I don’t know why I act the way I do. It hurt me to know I could not truly have you after my own wedding. It was easier to drink and whore it away.”

Aegon’s breath hitched gazing into your glossy eyes. Your mouth pinched in disappointment, falling back against the tree with a thud. He really thought his whoring would abate the fact of his feelings without any concept of your own heart. You sobbed, “You’re horrid. Disgusting.” Aegon reached out to you, getting his hand slapped away. You let out a mournful cry, “I hate you!” You sobbed painfully, body wracking with the contractions.

“Please don’t say that, don’t leave me with hate in your heart,” he begged.

“Just leave me alone, you’re right, it was easier.”

“You’re breaking my heart sister.”

You shouted, “Now you know how I’ve felt for years!”

Aegon grabbed you by the wrist and crowded your space. You gasped and twisted away as if burned. There was no escape between the trunk and his unmoving body. You protested, “Leave me, Aegon, for the love of the Mother.” He shook his head, a defiant tilt to his jaw. Aegon demanded, “Look me in the face and say you hate me so then I shall leave you be.”

You tried to tear away again, writhing in frustration. Hot tears soaked your lashes and cheeks, a nervous thudding in your breast. Sad lips trembled as you held your once dear Aegon’s gaze. Face crumpling you wept, “I cannot hate you and that’s the damned problem!”

Aegon nodded in understanding, jaw ticking from clenching down on it. He seized your lips in a lock, pressing insistently into your mouth. You squeaked and jerked but made no attempt to escape, didn’t want to deep down. To Aegon’s surprise you returned the kiss with passion, dainty hands fisted in his loosened cloak. Your mind felt split.

You mentally cursed Aegon for bewitching your heart once again, throwing yourself into the kiss with abandon. Your let him take control like you had always dreamed about, Aegon nibbling on your lip with darkened eyes. You whined at the touch, pressing close to him. You were utterly surrounded by Aegon’s scent, taste, and lies.

Between needy kisses you panted, “Why Aegon, why do you do this? I am too weak.”

Aegon cupped your warm flesh and begged, “I need you, I love you, let me have you before that Reach boy takes my little princess away.” You moaned against his lips, overwhelmed with desire for the blonde. You needed him in that passionate moment, old fantasies swaddling any logic. Your brain flooded with stories where you lived happily ever after, riding into the sunset on Merigar and Sunfyre. Stories where Aegon actually loved you, kept himself loyal to your body only.

In a voice that sounded strangely like your Hightower mother thundered your thoughts.

You are merely a toy for Aegon’s pleasure.

You gasped in shock, realization hitting like the cold spray of the Blackwater. Aegon lay heavily on top of your body, his swollen member jutting between your thighs. You exclaimed, “Aegon- Aegon stop this now, I cannot do this!” He ignored the pleas, too lust driven, laying hot kisses down the column of your pale throat.

You shoved at his shoulder, trying to not react to Aegon’s heated ministrations. You urged more insistently, “Aegon! Stop this now, I can’t lose my maidenhead!,” panic began to lace your tone, “I’ll be ruined!” His violet eyes peered down, the prince responding, “You won’t be ruined, I’ll get to have you freely then, sweet sister.”

In a fit of rage you kneed and jerked from his embrace. Aegon cursed and pushed you down, trying to relax your frantic flailing with sweetened promises. Fearing the worst, you slashed at his face with your nails, drawing bloody gashes. Aegon yelped and held his cheek, eyes remorsefully looking away.

“Fuck,” he swore, “Fuck, M’sorry, no, no! Come back!”

You scrambled away, dragging against the ground and only stopping from exhaustion. You panted from the mad dash, wiping bloodied nails against your dirty dress. Aegon had shameful tears staining his cheeks at the fear and revulsion marring your delicate features. After a stagnant pause you murmured, “I see what you want.”

Both of your heads turned at the sound of a sword being unsheathed. Lanterns cast a glow on your ashen expression and Aegon’s torn face. Ser Criston pointed the sword at the male, “If you weren’t my prince I would kill you on the spot.” You thanked the gods for his arrival, wrenching your hands painfully.

The kingsguard sighed and turned to you. He asked, “What are you doing out here? There is a reason for our existence you know.” You stared past his head and somberly spoke, “I have made a mistake, forgive me please.” Ser Steffon Darklyn helped you up carefully. You remained silent and passive for the rest of the night, swearing to keep Aegon from entering your heart ever again.

131 AC

You were once again brought back to the Red Keep. This time half-starved and seeing ghosts. Merigar must have sensed your slipping health and went to the place he knew the most. Where you seemed the happiest, atleast to your dragon. Your mount never got to see the wonderful year thriving in Goldengrove.

You had slept for what felt like merely a second, awakening to your mother. Alicent was slim as ever, but the stress and mourning left her aged beyond years. You said, “I think I shall stay now.” You couldn’t bear traveling again, oh so tired from the whirlwind of the war. Alicent sobbed and ripped at her black dress, cursing it all. You frowned and turned up to the stone ceiling.

You had your silvery ragged hair cut short when you became strong enough to move. Now a shadow stared back at you in the looking glass with contempt. At nine and ten years of age you shouldn’t have skeletal cheeks, frown lines, and sickly pallid skin. In a flurry you slammed the glass down, shattering the hideous image with a wounded noise. You softly asked the handmaiden to rid any reflections in your chambers, shaking with grief.

One of the Kingsguard retrieved you to visit Aegon’s quarters. You didn’t recognize the man, the knights changing all the time under constant flopping of rulers. Green, black, green, black. It made your head spin. Your heart thumped in fear of Aegon’s reaction.

He was like to throw you onto the spikes of the Holdfast for betraying the family under Rhaenyra’s rule. Aemond nor Daeron ever forgave you— taking that resentment to the grave. Helaena was too mad to discern reality from the hellscape of her mind. The boiling hatred you held for your eldest brother had died somewhere in your aimless journey around the North. You grew lonely and more bitter by the day there, wanting something familiar in the terrible cold.

Aegon was enough. Your mother was there, yes, but she represented the madness that sowed the seeds of the bloody civil war. You couldn’t remember the last time she spoke kind words. It left you unable to look at your mother’s stern face for long. You bore a love for your eldest brother that still ran strong. Although it had been smothered and twisted until unfamiliar.

The white knight bowed his head and instructed you to enter. The room was dim and smelled of smoke and healing herbs. You saw the faint outline of him behind a gauzy curtain around the bed. You grew fraught with nerves and shaky at the sight. The emotions were a gaping raw hole in your chest, bleeding out into the stagnant air.

He rasped, “My little princess, come back to me at last.”

You whispered, voice cracking with unbidden grief, “I- I am home. If you’ll have me.”

The covers rustled in the quiet of the room, his ragged breath filled the space, lungs charred from dragon fire. Aegon replied, “I’ll always want you.” You bit down on your lip and turned your head in shame.

“I look horrid,” you admitted.

“Then I fear you may be frightened upon my face. I thought it would be best to stay behind the curtain.”

You knew Aegon laid gnarled and his once handsome face was marred by burns. Bitter laughter fell from your lips, “I doubt I will mind. Let me lay with you?” He shifted again, grunting in pain. Eventually Aegon murmured, “Come on then. I did warn you.”

Cautiously you pulled back the curtain and clambered onto the bed. Shyly you kept your gaze down, crawling forward to Aegon. The bed was unimaginably soft, had to have been to ease the pain of his broken legs. He whispered a prayer under his breath. You felt a balm to your long aching soul when nestled next to the heat of him.

You felt nervous, like the summer child you were before the war. Aegon muttered, “You’re still beautiful as ever.” With a sigh you turned up to look at him. The king frowned and excused his visage. You scoffed and pet his pale hair, still as soft as you remembered. He had the same wide eyes and pouty lips, but half of his face was reddened and burned, twisting down his neck and leaving the ear a scarred hole.

“I find you handsome m’lord. What a pair are we?”

He smiled, a surprised baring of teeth, obviously a disused expression. Aegon chuckled, “You did go mad then. Orwyle said so.” The former prince blinked back tears, smile falling into a trembling grimace. You thumbed away one that slipped, staring into his violet orbs. He sniffled, “I’m sorry— for everything.” You shrugged and placed your ear against his beating heart, flush to his body.

“It makes no difference Aegon. Fate has decided we have each other now.”

He rambled, “Still, you deserved better. I wouldn’t have let Aemond put Braxton to the sword if I wasn’t so…debilitated.” Your heart clenched at the name of your late husband. You didn’t deserve better, Braxton Rowan did. You remembered his blue eyes flashing as he professed his love for you and cursed the other Targaryens. Then Vhagar bathed him in dragon fire, sickening crunches filling your ear afterward while you retched and sobbed.

Your throat clenched and bobbed. You urged against Aegon’s silk shirt, “Please do not mention that name. Let the past lie.” Thinking of the turmoil after your father died made you cold, so very cold. Aegon was warm and you could bear that.

He apologized again, his scarred hand carding through your chopped locks. You lay with him like that for the rest of the night, no other words spoken.

The small council was in shambles. You sat to the right of Aegon. Alicent waved her hands around, still vicious for blood. Your brother seemed like he might start sobbing, violet eyes darting to and fro. Lord Corlys drew the attention of the room. The once proud Sea Snake said, “Your grace, you must surrender. The city cannot endure another sack. Save your people and save yourself. If you abdicate in favor of Prince Aegon, he will allow you to take the black and live out your life with honor on the Wall.”

Aegon asked hopefully, dull eyes wide, “Will he?”

Alicent spewed vitriol, stating that Aegon must send a threatening message. Your stomach turned in discomfort, making eye contact with Lord Corlys. He spoke to you, “Princess, I know you are tired. Blood does not need to be shed. Please, you have always cared for the small folk and your family.”

You opened your mouth to respond, Aegon leaning close, but your mother interrupted. Her brown eyes narrowed, cruel lips moving.

“Don’t you dare Velaryon, she’s turned on us once already!,” Alicent spat. The dowager queen looked to Aegon, “Your sister holds no loyalty to you, to anyone, best you know that.” His expression darkened and Aegon shouted, “Why would the princess hold loyalty to us after we fed her husband to Vhagar?”

He calmed slightly, jaw twitching. Tears welled in his puffy eyes. You placed your hand on his arm, shaking your head.

“What would you have me do?,” he asked.

Alicent spoke of sending the boys ear as warning with you on Merigar as a threat. Rage crawled up your back and you stated, “I will not die with child’s blood on my hands. Merigar shall remain abstinent from war. That is final.”

Alicent sputtered in shock and a look of relief washed over Lord Corlys face. Aegon grew wroth with you later but let the matter lie after ranting and raving himself to exhaustion. You were going to live in the moment, no one descended from Hightower blood was getting out of King’s Landing alive. You hoped your dragon would have a better fate, he was a gentle creature under the scary armor.

Later in the week you sat by the fire with Aegon, pleasantly flush and tipsy. The wine dulled the pain of life, and for once you felt a longing to the past. When sober your heart cracked and bled upon facing the olden days. The broken king asked, “Do you remember when we got lost under the keep?”

You smiled at the memory and hummed, “I remember you yelling for help as I dragged you onwards. Ser Criston was so mad. We probably could’ve found Maegor himself down there.”

Aegon laughed, taking another slug of his treasured Arbor Red. Apparently he’d never quite lost that taste for constant inebriation. Aegon grew somber, staring blankly into the fire. He gazed at you, “I was never a good leader, was I?”

“No, I don’t think you were.”

Aegon shrugged, “Makes no difference. If only I had ran to Essos with you stashed away.”

You bitterly chuckled, “We would have been dead within the hour,” you lamely finished, “If only.”

The air grew still between you two, fire crackling at your feet. You stood up and padded to his legs. Facing Aegon you dropped to your knees and carefully placed your chin on his better leg. As if on instinct, his ringed fingers found your silver waves. You whispered, emboldened by the drink, “I want you brother. Before we perish.”

Aegon frowned, “Don’t say that.”

“Do you not want me then?”

His tongue faltered, the king gazing down slowly. He curled his hand into your hair, shifting in agony. Aegon declared, “I want you more than anything,” in a softer voice he added, “My cursed body will not let me.”

You deadpanned, “I have a mouth.”

Aegon snorted in amusement. He seemed torn about it all. You didn’t know what was fueling you either. The last time he was nearly intimate with you was not a positive affair. You figured it was that ever looming clock in your head— hurry up before the wolf lops your head off with Valyrian steel.

You passively kept your eyes on his, watching the pretty flush darkening Aegon’s cheeks. He rubbed his hand down his face and huffed, “I dreamt about this for so long and now I’m like a green boy.” You pressed a kiss to his thigh, hands placed on his hips. Aegon tended to be insecure, more now than ever, so you kept from touching his withered leg.

He murmured, “It’s been a very long time.”

“No matter, isn’t this what you always wanted from the whores? You to lie back and drink while getting your cock sucked.”

Aegon’s gaze grew heated at your words. He lowly accused, “Filthy words from a princess.” His fingers tightened around your hair, tugging at your scalp. You closed your eyes and moaned at the pleasure-pain. “Use me, use me please brother,” you urged.

He groaned, eyelids fluttering in heady desire. Aegon breathed, “I want to, fucking hells, sweet sister.” Slim fingers rounded his hips, cautiously unlacing his breeches. You raised a brow in question.

Aegon waved a hand, “Hold on, just yank them, fuck, you’re going to kill me.”

You bit back a laugh, and patiently waited. The king stopped and glanced, a dumbfounded look on his face. He snapped, “What?” You made a motion for him to lift his hips, chiding, “Take it easy- I’m not going to hurt you worse trying to get at your prick. It’s been a long time for me too, I’d ought to not ruin it.”

Aegon huffed and downed the rest of his wine in a swift movement. He clenched his teeth and strained, you gently shucking down his breeches as his hips lifted. The blonde panted in pain, cursing with anger. His cock softened and went limp. He grumbled, “Ah, there’s the beast. Fucking ghastly.” His purple eyes rolled at his cruel jest, jaw mulishly set.

You mulled over the situation, Aegon was caught in his head and bodily pain but needed a distraction. Your rail-thin body wasn’t much to look at. You reminded yourself Aegon rarely turned his nose up at a woman. You said, “Unlace me,” and twisted around. He dutifully did so, gently moving your hair out of the way. He said, “I want the jewels on.”

“Might make me look less like a dead woman,” you quipped.

“You’re still beautiful, foolish sister of mine.”

You shucked off your dress, only clad in your chemise. The heat from the fire was raging but you still shivered. You inhaled sharply before tearing off the garment. Aegon’s breath hitched, “Come here, need to see you, please.” He reached to spin you back to him. You flicked your vision away, embarrassed about the lack of tits from wasting away in the frigid north.

Aegon croaked, “Fucking divine is what you are, little princess.”

You whimpered softly as he cupped your breast, getting a good feel. He thumbed at your other tit, pinching a pebbled nipple. You made another pathetic noise, gasping his name out at the feeling. Aegon groaned in pleasure as he felt you up, his attentions burning hot.

Tentatively you leaned forward and grabbed his cock again, now gaining some life again. You jerked the flesh a couple of times, feeling yourself grow wet at his sighs of your name. Aegon rambled breathlessly, “Fuck, never thought I’d have you to myself, gods granted me a boon.”

You replied, “I knew we’d be back together, felt it in my ah, bones.”

Aegon pulled you flush to his body, forehead touching yours. He swore, “Tell me you’re mine- promise yourself, it’s all I ever wanted.” He breathed against your wanting lips while his hands rubbed jutting ribs. You whined, “I’m yours, just you Aegon I promise, until my last breath.” He sealed his lips over your own, lapping into your mouth.

His scarred hand knotted into the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting you for better access. You arched into the kiss, mouth lax for the taking. Aegon’s cock was full and stiff in your palm now. You pulled at the flesh, tenderly swiping a thumb on the sensitive underside, Aegon moaning desperately.

The lip lock was sloppy, sheer yearning desire overtaking any form or function. You clenched your trembling thighs together, whining at the pressure between your legs. Aegon twirled his tongue with your own and groped your ass. The need to draw breath separated you two, although you’d suffocate if you could.

Aegon whined in pleasure at your ministrations, eyes shut tight. You panted, “Let me suck your cock my king. Fuck my throat.” Aegon cursed at your words, tugging your hair roughly, sending you careening at the blessed pain. He growled, “Little princess wants it rough?”

“Don’t hold back, I want to feel it,” you said.

You wanted to feel something, anything, and pain was what you deserved. Aegon’s head fell back when your mouth enveloped the head of his flushed cock. The prickling of hair ripping from your scalp made you choke and drool. You eagerly bobbed your head, hand coming to his sac. Braxton had taught you how to suck him off, the pair of you making it a game to find different places to do the act.

You gagged yourself to clear the thought. Your brother whined again in his throat, biting his lower lip in abandon. He moaned, “So good, such a good girl, my girl.” You forced him down farther, swallowing around the intrusion. Tears slid down your cheeks and your jaw was aching wonderfully.

You kept him deep in your throat until black spots swam in your eyes, whimpering wantonly at the feeling. Aegon shifted and cried out, squirming. You felt your body begging for breath and denied it until Aegon pulled you off his prick. He shouted your name while you drew in a ragged breath, his seed hitting your tongue and face.

You sobbed, overcome with emotion. In hoarse cries you said, “Oh Aegon, oh- I love you!” Your throat was swelling and throbbed from the rough treatment. Aegon sniffled himself, “I love you too, love you so much.” You wrapped your arms around his waist and cried like a child. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, shushing and cooing.

You whimpered miserably, “Sorry- I’m losing my mind. I don’t know why I’m crying.”

He attempted to jest, “You can’t cry with my spill on your face like that.”

You forgot about that, hysterically laughing at the insanity of it all. Aegon seemed confused at the sudden change of your demeanor, but smiled and wiped your face with the discarded chemise from earlier. He held you again while you cleaned him off and began the painstaking process of putting the breeches back on.

He kept repeating how lucky he was afterward, but you felt more of a curse. Still, the hole in your chest was less achy when curled up with the last person who mattered.

Alicent cornered her last children in the dining hall. Aegon was annoyed, drunk, and in pain. He grimaced, leaning heavily on his crutch. You crossed your arms, staring at a spot behind your mother.

The Dowager Queen whispered, “I have heard…displeasing things from Lord Larys.”

Your mouth twisted in bitterness. She still couldn’t speak directly of personal matters, words dancing into riddles. Aegon snapped, “Larys never has anything good to say, out with it.” The woman hissed, “He informed me of your, gods above, passions at night. Lord Borros has been curious on why the King would rather cavort around with his widowed sister than Lady Floris.”

Aegon shook with rage, the wine loosening his tongue. He spat, “Lord Borros should worry about what I’ve tasked him. Larys will have his tongue cut out if he speaks on my sister again,” he cut you a look, “I don’t have the patience for this, let’s go to bed.”

Your mother turned on her heel with a stifled sob and left. You murmured, “Maybe you should plan some more for the wedding. I will help.” Aegon hobbled forward with a scoff. You kept your stride to his ambling pace, waiting for a reply. He seethed, “I don’t care what the bitch, clubfoot, or that illiterate bastard think.”

You said, “You need the illiterate bastard’s army Aegon.”

He grumbled, “Fine. We’ll plan it. Better than the affairs of the shithole I rule.”

You sighed in resignation. Neither of you would likely live to see another wedding, Cregan Stark’s approach looming ominously. The hour of the Wolf would be upon you all.

[aerodaltonimperial]

katy's community poll-fic 2k24

part 1

(Well, so here is your next part, as decided collectively! I had to decide whether or not to bring the lads into this, and ultimately decided not to, since despite Bowens' best efforts, that shit ain't kayfabe, at least for Hook. ENJOY PART 2. Remember, 24 hours to pick the next bit.)

Bowens, it is: he’s got to know better than anyone how to deal with Max Caster and missing objects. Turns out, he’s relatively easy to find, but only because Jack accidentally stumbles across him sitting out by the row of sewing machines and the people sewing with somewhat reckless abandon. Jack actually almost skids right past him, coasting on his heels before realizing he spotted Bowens’ head half-hidden by one of the coat racks brimming with sequins and bright colors.

Honestly, the garish pink should have given it all away.

“Hey,” Jack says, perhaps more demanding than he should, because Bowens looks up from his phone screen with a frown. “Have you seen Max’s title belt?”

“What?” Bowens asks, and that might just be because Jack came barrelling out of nowhere without much of a greeting, but this feels like a Bowens problem.

“Max’s belt. It’s missing. Have you seen it?”

Bowens’ frown intensifies, tugging his face down. “What do you mean, it’s missing?”

“Don’t tell him anything!” Hook screeches, coming around the corner and nearly taking out the whole coat rack in his haste to stop. As soon as he does, Jack reaches out and covers Hook’s face with his hand, trying to push him back and away. He ends up getting Hook sputtering against his palm, which, ew.

“Okay, what is this about again?” Bowens asks.

“Max’s belt is missing,” Jack says, again. “I’m trying to find it.”

“I’m trying to find it,” Hook interjects, though it’s a bit muffled given that Jack still has his hand smushed up against Hook’s mouth. He finally withdraws once Hook licks his palm. Gross. What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

Bowens looks at Hook, and then at Jack. His face betrays nothing. “Oh. So… you’re both trying to figure out what happened to it?”

“Yes,” Jack and Hook answer at the same time, and then, disgusted, both try, “No.”

“It’s nice that you seem to be working together again,” Bowens says. The worst part is, he sounds genuine. The soul-crushing horror nearly takes Jack out at the knees.

“I’m not working with him,” Hook replies. “I hope his own hair strangles him in the middle of the night.”

“I hope that he inhales a joint and ends up choking to death on it,” Jack says.

“Well, I hope that his stupid little briefs are too tight and cut off circulation to his legs and he gets gangrene,” Hook says, with a glare.

Jack rolls his eyes. “I don’t even wear those anymore, so this just goes to show how much attention you pay to your surroundings.”

“Oh, sorry I’m not staring at your crotch,” Hook snaps. “You know, not everyone is, you perverted egomaniac.”

“Hook, I sincerely don’t think you are staring at anything except the god damn sun,” Jack says, “and I’m amazed that you haven’t gone blind yet. But there’s still hope it might happen. Today, if we’re lucky.”

“I feel like we’re getting really off-topic here,” Bowens comments.

Right: Max’s title belt. Jack turns back to Bowens, whose expression has gone, for lack of a better word, befuddled. “Have you seen the belt? Or anyone take the belt?”

“You think I saw someone take my partner’s title belt and then just… came here to sit for awhile?” Bowens asks.

“Fine, fine,” Jack amends. “If you had to guess, who would you think would take it?”

“Are you sure someone took it?” Bowens asks. His brow remains furrowed. “Max would misplace his ass if it wasn’t connected to his body, honestly.”

“He says he had it, and now he doesn’t,” Hook says, like a chump.

Jack pushes Hook away again, with his shoulder this time, to avoid the guy’s tongue touching his skin again. “Would, say, the Assboys take it?”

“But we’re in a group now,” Bowens says.

“Yeah, and that always works out so well,” Hook grumbles.

“Do you have any other enemies?” Jack asks.

Bowens, finally, seems to take this line of questioning seriously. He sits back, tapping a finger against his chin as his eyes slide up to the ceiling tiles. Then he says, “Well, I guess we did kind of declare war on the Undisputed Kingdom, back before we knew they were the Devil Goons. They might be pissed about that.”

“And they’re clearly assholes,” Hook agrees.

“But why would they give a shit about Max’s title belt?” Jack asks. “It’s not like they can do anything with it. It’s bright fucking pink. Everyone knows who it belongs to.”

“Maybe just to fuck with him,” Hook grumbles. “Get him all riled up.”

“I mean, they did steal MJF’s little mask and all,” Jack muses thoughtfully. “So they clearly have a history with this kind of thing.”

Hook nods, mouth pursed. “Wouldn’t be out of character.”

“Still feels like small fries compared to everything else they’ve done,” Jack continues. Then he realizes that Hook has been standing next to him for, like, five minutes, and is agreeing with him, which makes him feel like maybe he needs to go take another shower or something. “Go away. I’m doing this by myself.”

“No, I’m doing this by myself,” Hook says, all pissed and pink-cheeked again. “You’ll just stab me in the back the second I turn away.”

“Actually, I’d probably stab you in the stomach. I’d want you to know it was me.”

Hook growls. “Oh, trust me, I already would.”

“So, you guys are friends again?” Bowens asks. He’s gone back to his phone, scrolling through social media like somehow Jack and Hook have already lost his interest. Shouldn’t he be worried about Max’s missing belt? Whatever. “That’s nice.”

“Gross,” Jack says. “No. I hope he gets hit by a car jaywalking like a douchebag New Yorker.”

Hook’s nose crinkles in distaste. “Spoken like a true bitch.”

“Okay, cool,” Bowens replies, without looking at either of them. “Good luck with finding Max’s belt.”

“I’m finding it first,” Hook promises, and then turns to head down the hallway with his hands jammed into his hoodie pockets as though he doesn’t look like a bum that just rolled in from beneath the nearest bridge.

What an asshole.

[autumnscribbles]

friends | b.s

Summary: Y/n and Brad get into a fight, leading Brad to find support from his best friends and band mates.

Word count: 900 ish, a bit on the short side!!

a/n: hello friends!!! back with another brad imagine😎 i’ve been back into the groove lately (sort of) and i’m happy to have another imagine out! feel free to check out my recent conrad fisher one too!! anyway love y’all hope you like it❤️

Boop

“I-I think you should go,” you whispered, the now silent room chilled you. You stared at him, across the room, his eyebrows slightly frowning as he gazed at you.

“Y/n,” he sighed. “It’s fine we just need to sleep and we’ll be alright in the morning.”

“Brad I really don’t want to this time,” you replied. “I think maybe you should stay with one of the boys tonight and we can talk in the morning, okay?”

“If that’s really what you want,” he answered, nodding his head.

He didn’t want to go, it was the last thing he wanted. He ached at the idea of walking out that door. He knew it was what you needed, but he couldn’t shake the fear that you would never let him back in.

The back of his throat stung as he held back his words, wanting to beg you. He knew there was no point. When you made up your mind, you stuck to it. If you needed space, you were going to get it.

“Okay,” he choked out finally. “I’ll go.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, a slight curve to the corners of his mouth. It comforted him in a way, knowing you wanted him back.

She just needs space. He told himself. That was all. It wasn’t over, it couldn’t be.

He walked out to his car, the sound of his feet on the pavement echoing in the late night air. The world felt still, asleep. He almost laughed at the irony. Everything being so calm while he felt destroyed.

He let out a heavy sigh as he sat behind the wheel, pulling his phone out as he decided what to text the boys.

Hey lads. Need a place to stay tonight if any of you are available. I’ll explain later x

The rest of the boys answered almost immediately, offering up their places to Brad.

Let’s all meet at Cons! Tristan texted.

Brad nodded to himself, thankfully Connor was the closest to his and your flat. The faster he could get there, the better. He drove in silence, nothing but the hum of the wheels to distract his mind.

He got to Connor’s, seeing everyone else had already arrived as well. Brad couldn’t help but feel a tenderness for his best friends in that moment.

He walked in, knowing Connor’s door would be open, and was greeted by the concerned looks of his friends. They didn’t bombard him with questions, but the questions were swirling in their minds. Tristan passed Brad a glass of red wine, giving him a friendly wink as he raised his own glass.

“We figured you’d need a drink,” he laughed.

“Definitely can’t hurt,” Brad chuckled, taking a small sip as they went to go sit down.

He sat on the couch, letting his tense muscles relax briefly as he leaned back. He shut his eyes, trying to find a way to tell the boys what happened. They all waited patiently, not pushing him.

He loved that about them. Even if he didn’t want to talk about something, they were there for him. Whether he needed to rant or just sit in comfortable silence, they never let him down.

“Y/n and I got into this huge fight,” he finally said. “She asked me to leave for the night. Said she wanted space. I don’t know if that means she’s gonna end things or not.”

“I’m sorry mate,” James muttered, placing a gentle hand on Brad’s shoulder. “Is it a fight you can come back from?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “I said some really horrible things, I wish I could take it all back. She probably doesn’t want me anymore.”

“You and Y/n are meant for each other,” Connor added. “I’ve never seen two people more meant for each other probably. We all know her, I don’t think she’d give up on you that easy.”

“You should have seen the way she looked at me when she told me to leave,” Brad said, the back of his throat stinging with the tears threatening to spill. “I don’t know how to forgive myself.”

“Mate we’ve all made mistakes, we’ve all gotten into bad fights with girlfriends,” James comforted. “You guys can and will get through this. I know she loves you, and she probably just wanted to sleep on it, let things cool off.”

“Maybe,” Brad shrugged. “Thanks guys.”

“We’re here for you,” Tris smiled. “I agree with James, I think you guys will work it out once you’re both fresh tomorrow.”

“I really hope so,” Brad sighed. “I can’t lose her.”

“Y/n is a smart girl,” Connor added. “She wouldn’t let you go that easily.”

The boys drank wine and chatted what felt like all night, until eventually their eyes became heavy. Connor set up the guest bedroom for Brad before turning in for the night.

Brad lay on the bed, emptiness lingering beside him. He wished he was in bed with you, where he was supposed to be. He went over everything the boys said; how you were meant to be, how she wouldn’t leave you this way, that she needed space.

He hoped they were right. Even if they weren’t, they still comforted him and made him feel like there was hope.

Hope that he’d walk through that door tomorrow, and you’d be standing there with open arms.

Sometimes all you needed to see it, were your friends.