#and ill yap about him more soon as well

[towost]

another dandys world oc of mine!!

meet tamir the tape measure, i got inspired by crumb mewhehe

[ratatatastic]

do you write fic on ao3?

unfortunately for everyone involved i do!

[zarameraki]

⁺✩₊📨˚✧ 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢'𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐝 ⋆｡💵₊✩°

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 he's obsessed to the max 𖥔 ceo x assistant 𖥔 grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 she talks a lot x he listens a lot 𖥔 loved you for so long 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nanami's first time 𖥔 you talk him through it 𖥔 close proximity 𖥔

: ̗̀➛ words: 5.6k

: ̗̀➛ notes: hey all! sorry for the inactivity. im got reality to handle as well. i promise ill be more active soon. the creativity juices are running on low fuel atm. thanks for all the love and support you have have given me. if you enjoy my work, please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy!

Nanami couldn’t focus on the meeting.

He never could when you were in attendance, sitting off to the side, diligently jotting notes. His eyes flicked back and forth from the powerpoint presentation to the strand of hair bothering you despite tucking it behind your ear thirty-seven times.

Yes, he was keeping count. 

His dick constrained against his pants when you bit the end of your pen between your teeth, getting a bit of your red lipstick smeared around the tool. He wished he was that pen, with the mark of your lips on his skin instead. He even wished he was your tea mug sometimes. 

Jesus, something was terribly wrong with him. You were wrong for him. He was your boss; you were his assistant. Your relationship was strictly professional—has been for three years now. Three torturous years of admiring you from the sidelines. Three torturous years of hearing you yap about going on dates with random men off the internet. Three torturous years of chafing his dick in the bathroom every morning, noon, and night to the thought of you. 

Your scent, your breaths, your skin, your hair, your eyes, your mouth—God, he loved your mouth—especially when it moved and produced the loveliest sound he’s ever heard. He wanted nothing more than to print you onto his skin for the rest of his life. 

Nanami scowled at the silver-haired intern who kept side-eyeing your cleavage. If only it weren’t for that bastard. Firing him crossed his mind every time he popped up like a weasel, but Nanami needed a solid reason. 

“—that’s alright with you, Mr. Nanami?” 

Nanami’s attention snapped back to the presenter. What was he speaking about? Budget? Strategies for the future? Increases in revenue? Whatever it was, Nanami had one answer. “Yes.” 

“Lovely, we’ll go ahead with the renovations for our research and development department. They’ll be happy to know their resources are being updated!” 

Ah. Well, either way, he could care less. Whatever made his employees happy, he wasn’t afraid to spend a pretty penny. That’s why Nanami Kento was universally loved by everyone. Even his enemies—if he had any to begin with—would be his allies. He didn’t often put himself on the pedestal, but he does admit every now and then, he was a jack of all trades. 

“That was a satisfying meeting, wasn’t it?” you chirped as you both entered the elevator. Nanami caught sight of the silver-serpent catching up and jabbed the button to close the doors. 

Unfortunately, the intern pushed his hand in between and laughed in an annoying sound he called a voice, sending a twitch in Nanami’s eyes. 

“Oh, Satoru!” you greeted, standing closer to his side. 

“Boss,” Satoru said to Nanami, then turned to you, whispering, “Beautiful,” loud enough for him to hear. 

You snorted, waving a hand. “Oh, stop it. I hope the meeting wasn’t too much for you. Lots of changes we’ve made for the fiscal year, huh?” 

Nanami stared bored at the closed doors with the two behind him. 

“You made it easier,” Satoru replied. 

“Were you copying my notes?” 

“Come on, sweetheart. This is corporate. Not college. A little cheating hurts nobody.” 

Nanami heard your uncomfortable chuckle and clenched his fists tight. The word ‘cheating’ was a trigger for you. Your last relationship ended with your boyfriend of three months sleeping with your friend simply because she had more money and didn’t work for someone. Nanami was sure you’d quit and almost placed an offer to give you a proper role in the company, but you brushed it all off by stating how much you cherished being his assistant. He’d fallen madly, madly in love with you. He knew when he’d make you his wife, you’d be the boss. 

“That’s my floor,” Satoru announced. “Let’s do dinner soon, yeah?” 

You simply nodded. 

“Always a pleasure meeting the man of the hour,” the silver-ass said to Nanami before exiting. 

You stepped up to your boss’ side, sighing. “He just doesn’t know when to give up. It’s almost adorable.” 

“I believe ‘agitating’ is the word you’re looking for.” 

You laughed it off. Nanami didn’t think he was particularly a funny guy until he met you. “Satoru’s harmless.”  

“Will you, though?” he asked, clearing his throat. “Go to dinner with him?” 

You glanced up at Nanami, and smiled. He stared straight ahead with a tight tick in his jaw. Your smile broadened. “I’d love to,” you replied, finding his body tense, “but not with him.” 

Nanami slowly dragged his eyes down to you. Your blinks were slow, weighed down by the thickness of your long lashes. His eyes dipped to your lips, then back to your gaze. “Well, I hope you do with someone. Dinner is an important meal of the day.” 

He was an idiot. 

“That’s surprising coming from you, Mr. Nanami.” 

“How so?” 

You shrugged lightly, eyes twinkling. “I’ve never seen you eat dinner, let alone leave the office around that time.”

Nanami adjusted his tie, feeling a bit self-conscious. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to take the plunge. “Well, maybe we should change that.”

Your eyebrow arched slightly, curiosity piqued. “Change what?”

“Since you’re staying late to catch up on work,” he said, his voice steadying, “how about we have dinner here together?”

You paused, surprise flashing across your face before you smiled warmly. “That sounds nice. I could use a break, and it’s been a long day.”

Relief washed over him, and he allowed himself to smile back. “Great. I’ll order something for us. Any preferences?”

You shook your head, still smiling. “I’m fine with anything, Mr. Nanami.”

“Please, call me Kento,” he said softly.

“All right, Kento,” you replied, your tone gentle. “Thank you.”

As he walked out of the elevator, he felt a sense of accomplishment and, perhaps, excitement—an emotion he’d felt strictly in your presence. It wasn’t a grand romantic gesture, but it was a step in the right direction. Tonight, you were his, even if only for a little while. And maybe, just maybe, he'd find the courage to tell you how he really felt.

As the morning passed, he buried himself in his work, but his mind constantly wandered. Every so often, he'd steal a glance in your direction, watching you as you diligently typed away on your computer or answered phone calls. There was something about the way you moved, the way you smiled even when you were focused, that captivated him completely.

Around mid-morning, Nanami's concentration was broken when a male worker from another department walked over to your desk. He was carrying a file, but instead of simply dropping it off, he started chatting with you. The man was smiling, clearly enjoying the conversation. Nanami's grip on his pen tightened as he watched the interaction unfold.

The male worker leaned casually against your desk, making you laugh at something he said. Nanami's heart pounded in his chest. He hated how easy it was for others to make you smile like that. He felt a pang of jealousy, a possessive urge to step in and assert that you were his . . . though you didn't know it yet.

As the conversation continued, you glanced up and caught Nanami staring. Your eyes met, and you smiled softly at him. He quickly looked away, feeling a rush of embarrassment and anger at himself for being so obvious. His face felt hot, and he cursed under his breath, trying to refocus on his work.

The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion. Nanami found it hard to concentrate, his mind continually drifting back to you. He tried to remind himself that he needed to be professional, but it was a losing battle. Every time he heard your laugh or saw your smile, his heart ached with a mixture of longing and possessiveness.

The evening had grown quiet, with the soft hum of office equipment and the distant sounds of the city outside. When the delivery boy finally arrived, Nanami stood up and walked over to meet him.

“Oh, I’ve got it!” you said, standing from your seat and taking out your credit card.

Nanami tapped his card without a second thought; he’d always be willing to pay for anything when it came to you.

“Sir, this was going to be my treat.”

“Next time,” he replied. 

You smiled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Next time, it is.” 

He led the way to his office, opening the door for you. You set the food out on the table, and for a moment, there was an awkward silence as you both settled onto the sofa.

Nanami cleared his throat. “I hope you like what I ordered. I wasn’t sure what you preferred, so I got a bit of everything.”

You smiled warmly, appreciating his thoughtfulness. “This looks great. Thank you.”

You began eating, the silence stretching between you both. Nanami felt frustrated at himself. You’ve worked for him for three years and he still couldn’t harness the ability of speaking to you casually. He wanted to make conversation, to make this moment more comfortable, but the words seemed to stick in his throat. He glanced at you, watching as you took a bite and then met his gaze.

“This is really good,” you said, breaking the silence. “I didn’t realise how hungry I was.”

He smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. “I’m glad you like it.”

You continued eating, the silence now less awkward and more companionable. Nanami stole glances at you, noting the way you enjoyed the food, the way your eyes sparkled even in the dim office light. 

When the last bites were eaten and the containers cleared away, you leaned back in your chair, looking content. “Thank you for this. It was really nice.”

He smiled softly, his heart full. “Anytime. I’m glad we could do this.”

“About damn time,” you muttered. 

Nanami blinked. 

You sucked in a sharp breath, realizing what slipped your mouth. “Mr. Nanami— I— I only meant that—” You surrendered with a sigh, running your fingers through your hair. “Damn it.” 

Licking his lips, Nanami shook his leg anxiously, wondering what exactly you’d meant. Were you wanting to have dinner with him for a while now? A platonic dinner? Or was it, and he could be entirely wrong, more? Were you perhaps . . . also rowing the same boat as him? 

“I should’ve extended an invitation a while ago,” Nanami whispered.

Your eyes locked with his.

“Three years ago, to be exact,” he continued, awaiting your reaction. “In an intimate sense. Or professional, if that’s what you’d prefer. I’m happy either way. Unless this has made you uncomfortable—”

“Kento.”

He stopped to catch his breath. “Yes?”

You reached out and rested your hand on his knee, your eyes moving from his body to his face. “Next time, like you mentioned, can I treat you to dinner at my place?” The caress of your thumb set him aflame—a tiny gesture, yet powerful. “Unless it makes you uncomfor—”

Nanami cupped the back of your head and pulled you into a feverish kiss. He moaned at the first touch, savoring the sweet taste of you, the smoothness of your lips, and the sweep of your tongue against his. He didn’t dare break the kiss, tugging you out of your chair and onto his firm lap. His mouth was everywhere—your jaw, your neck, your collarbones—as he deftly unbuttoned your blouse. He was a madman, lost in the moment.

“I’ll do it,” you chuckled as he fumbled with the clasp of your bra. “I didn’t peg you for an inexperienced man.”

“I’ve been saving myself for—”

“The right woman?” you snorted.

“For you,” he stated firmly, cupping your cheek. “The last three years have been agonising. Whenever you’re near, I can’t focus. Whenever you laugh, I can’t breathe. Whenever some other bastard tries to flirt with you, my sanity chips away until all I want to do is take you away. Mark you as mine.” His possessiveness sent a shiver down your spine, making your back arch. “That’s exactly what I’ll do tonight. Is that okay with you?”

You bit your bottom lip and nodded. “More than.”

“You always know the right thing to say.” He smiled against your lips, slipping off your bra in the process. Through the kiss, you guided his hand to your breast. Just because he was inexperienced didn’t mean you were. Nanami should know by now that you had a little zest in you. “Like this, darling?”

You sighed as he pinched your nipples, his eyes marvelling at the sight of your breasts. “Yeah. You can put your mouth on them, too.”

His lips latched onto your left nipple swiftly. Your fingers buried themselves in the back of his hair as your hips ground against his erection while he nibbled and sucked on your breasts. He left them sore and bruised, kissing his way up to your collarbones, neck, and finally, your desperate lips.

Nanami picked you up with one arm, using the other to swipe whatever papers were on the table onto the floor.

“There are important contracts in there, Mr. Nanami,” you said as he laid you back onto the mahogany surface. “Don’t expect me to clean it up in the morning.”

“You’re the most important thing right now and always,” he replied, loosening his tie and tossing it over his shoulder. “And you will call me by my first name in private.”

You raised an eyebrow, relishing the sight of him slowly exposing his torso, button by button. “Yes, Kento.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, shrugging off his dress shirt and draping himself over you, his fingers gently closing around your neck as he kissed you deeply. “It must be exhausting walking in a tight skirt all day,” he whispered against your lips, finding the zipper of your pencil skirt and lowering it slowly. “If you want, I can change the dress code for my favourite assistant.”

“I’m your only assistant,” you said, letting him remove your skirt. “And I like my tight skirts, thank you very much.”

“I don’t like how the men stare at your back.”

“Sue me for having a perfect ass.”

He shrugged. “You have my lawyer’s contact number.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, which he immediately stole with another kiss. You locked your arms around his neck. “If wearing tight clothes gets me incentives like this, I’ll do it every day.”

He narrowed his brown eyes. “I can’t control your wardrobe choices.” His fingers trailed down your left breast, making your breath hitch as he grazed your sensitive nipples, then continued down to your stomach and under your panties. “But I have full control over your body tonight, yes?”

You pecked his lips. “Absolutely.” 

Nanami wasn’t quite rubbing your clit—it felt rather ticklish. “You’re making a face. Am I doing something wrong, darling?” 

“Not exactly.” You found his hand between your legs and lifted it higher, pressing his fingers directly onto your clit. It was embarrassing how wet you already were. “Rub here.” 

He rubbed there, and you took in a shuddering breath, nodding to encourage him to keep fucking me with those skilled fingers, Nanami Kento—fingers you had admired far too often, especially when he performed pen tricks with them.

“How many . . . erm, how do I word this?” He looked conflicted as he murmured words to himself. 

“What? I won’t judge.” 

Nanami looked adorable when flushed. “How many fingers would you like . . . inside of you?” 

You pressed your lips together, holding back laughter at his reddened face. This was the first time you'd be taking a man's virginity, and you wanted to make sure it was as good for him as it would be for you. “I can take three.” 

“Wow,” he breathes out, clearing his throat. 

“I’ve taken a fist before.” 

His eyes widened in shock. “I’m sorry?” 

You laughed, cupping his face. “I’m just joking. I only wanted to see your reaction.” He was still flabbergasted as you kissed him. “But it is possible. I wouldn’t suggest it right now.” 

“Right now,” he repeats. Yes, right now. Eventually, you’d want his whole damn fist inside of you. “I’ll start with two.” 

“Middle and ring finger. Never index. It’s a rookie mistake.” 

“Of course.” Nanami relieved your clit and slid down your centre. “God, you’re soaking my hand, darling.” His words sent a ripple through you. Then his fingers slowly slid inside your tight heat, making him grunt. 

“How is it?” you whispered, massaging the back of his head while the other rested on the side of his neck. 

“Warm,” he said. “And . . . clamping?” 

This was entertainment for you. 

“Warm and clamping is one way to describe it. You can start moving your fingers in and out of me. Curl them, tap them, whatever you want.” Your tongue licked his upper lip, surprising him. “And if you want to blow my orgasm through the roof, circle your thumb on my clit. Don’t hold back.” 

And he didn’t. 

Nanami drove his fingers inside your pussy, unknowingly hitting your g-spot, and flinching when you cried out his name. The pad of his thumb rubbed your clit, or if he complained about a cramp, he’d used the mound of his palm, cupping your entire vagina. 

“I’m close—” You let out strained breaths, gripping his hair or shoulders. 

“Close to what?” 

“You’re going to make me say it?” 

Nanami appeared genuinely puzzled. “Close to your orgasm?” Oh, my god. He was genuinely puzzled. Why wouldn’t he be? You couldn't expect him to know about even the most obvious sex-related things. Part of you was excited to show him your vibrator and have him guess what it was. 

“Yes, Kento. I’m close to my orgasm.” 

He grinned with pride. Your heart melted, and you grabbed his face, kissing him as if your life hung in the balance. Amid his fervent moans, you came gushing down, drenching his hand with your release.

Pulling his hand out, he stared at your orgasm. “That’s quite a lot.” 

“Oh, my god, stop.” You covered your face, suddenly embarrassed by how much you’d come. 

“I’m sorry, darling. I meant it in a positive way. I’m very flattered. And thankful that you taught me how to please you this way.”

You caught him about to lick his fingers, causing you to shout in protest and pull his wrist back sharply. “No!”

“What? What is it?” 

“You can't just— You're all about cleanliness and stuff. I don't want you breaking your own rules for that.” 

Nanami smiled. “I’d break all my rules for you.” He went to go lick again, but you quickly pulled his hand towards your chest and wiped it on there. His face contorted to frustration. “What the fuck?” 

Your brows shot up. This was the first time you’d heard him curse. It was so hot. You wanted him to say it again. “It’s dirty.” 

“It’s a part of you.” He made a tch sound and retrieved his tie from the floor. “Give me your hands.” Taking your wrists, he bound them with the material behind your waist.

“Kinky,” you said. 

Nanami stayed silent, his expression now one of disappointment, his brows furrowed deeply. The confusion that once marked his demeanor had given way to a completely different persona. “If you won’t allow me to taste you from your hands”—he pushed your ankles up on the desk and sank between your legs—“I’ll drink straight from the source.” 

“Kento, wait—”

Too late. 

You broke into a chorus of moans as his tongue licked and lapped at your pussy. His mouth engulfed your clit and sucked on it hard, the tip of his tongue now swirling the little bud. His fingers spread your folds, as he cleaned every last drop of your juices, even probing your little hole that they seeped from. 

By the end of it, you were drenched in sweat, tears brimming in your eyes, your wrists throbbing from the restraints. Your body swayed side to side, legs trying to close him away, but he remained persistent in eating you out like a madman.  “Ken . . . I can’t—”

“Have you learned your lesson?” 

“Yes, goddamn it. Yes. I’m sorry.” You would let this man lick your whole body from now on. “Just kiss me already. Please.” 

He kissed your clit and travelled up to your stomach, each nipple, and to your mouth as he undid the tie so you could cling to him. His mouth met your wet eyes. “I’m sorry, darling. I got carried away a bit.” 

“No, don’t be. I loved it.” You planted a kiss on his cheek, making him smile bashfully, just like he had ten minutes earlier. “But I’d prefer someone else to touch me now.” 

His gaze grew intense. “Who?” 

You blinked. “Your friend.” 

He scoffed, running his fingers through his hair. “My— My friend?” 

“Uh, yeah?” 

“Have you spoken to him before?” 

You eyed his prominent bulge. “I’d like to. Touch him, kiss him, have him inside of me.” 

Nanami stared at you with disbelief. “No.” 

“No?” 

He gritted his jaw, fists at his side. You were completely frazzled by his response. Why was it that he got to explore your inside with his fingers and tongue and wouldn’t allow you to touch him? 

“That’s not fair. I thought you wanted me,” you mumbled. 

“And yet you want my friend,” he replied sharply. “Haibara will be disappointed to know that I don’t share.” 

Huh?

“Haibara?!” you shrieked at the highest decibel, jolting him. “Hai— Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Kento, you id— That’s not what I meant when I was referring to your friend.” How is this man running a multi-million dollar corporation? “I was talking about your penis. Dick. Cock. Whatever you prefer.” 

Nanami stood in stunned silence. His anger melted away, replaced by a sudden realization, his eyes darting upward. “Oh.” 

You’d had enough. If he prolonged your orgasm any further, you were going to get a female version of blue-balls. “Come here, you doofus.” You pulled down by his collars and kissed him, undoing his belt, button, and zipper for him. “Can I touch your dick, Mr. Nanami?” 

He nodded vigorously. 

You rolled your eyes, smiling, and slid your hands into his boxers, grabbing him. “Oh, God. I knew it. You’re so big.” 

“You knew it? Has it been on your mind?” 

“Ever since my interview. No one asked you to manspread. It drove me crazy. Made me stumble on my words.” You stroked him slowly, dissolving him in a sea of grunts and groans. “Be honest, did I get this job because you were attracted to me, or because I’m genuinely good at what I do?” 

Nanami pondered for a moment before responding, “Both?”

“Of course you chose the safest answer.”

“Well, you’ve managed my schedule flawlessly for three years. You handle all my emails, make the best coffee, and surprise me with treats. Yes, you’re undeniably beautiful, but it’s your heart that I’ve fallen in love with.”

Your hand froze. “Love?”

He nodded, a blush colouring his cheeks as he looked away. “Love.”

You cupped his face with both hands. “You love me?”

Another nod. “Since your interview.”

He had loved you for three years now. It seemed surreal. You liked him, certainly, but did you love him too? That was the question. Your mind had always assumed he would never see you romantically, so you held back from letting your feelings grow.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Nanami reassured you. “I’ve loved you enough for both of us for far too long. I can wait until you’re ready.” He kissed your forehead gently. “But please, don’t make me wait forever. I don’t want us to stay strictly professional. I want to take you out, make you my girlfriend as soon as possible. Eventually, make . . .” He paused, unsure where to place his hands, before settling on your shoulders. “Make you my wife.”

Oh, you were about to give him the best blow job ever. 

“Okay,” you whispered, stepping down from the table and taking his hands. “Let’s go on a date tomorrow, the day after, and every day after that. I want to be your girlfriend by next week— I’ll add it to your personal calendar. And I want dinner and wine at your place afterwards. Speaking of your place, I want to move in with you by the end of next month, or we can live in my shitty apartment— I don’t mind. You have to make me your wife next year instead of making me wait three more years. And I want two kids somewhere down the line. Oh, and a cat.” You grinned widely at his stunned expression. “Can you give me all that, Kento?” 

He breathed out heavily, nodding slowly. "Yes," he affirmed. His lips found yours. "Yes. I can. I will. I'll give you whatever you need." He kissed you without restraint, laughter filling his office like a contagious joy.

“Okay, okay.” You gently pushed him back by his shoulders and settled him into his seat. “Prepared to have your mind blown, Mr. Nanami.” Kneeling down, you kissed his thigh, tracing a path up to his hip bone.

His breaths came out laboured, short, as he watched your intentions with a hawk eye. 

You took him out of his boxers and prepared your poor throat. It was long and girthy, your fingers barely curving around it. Your tongue ran over his tip, collecting the salty, pre-cum leaking from there. 

Nanami hissed, gripping the armrests of his chair as he spread his legs wider. “Will this be painful?”

You looked up from under your lashes. “I'll do my best not to use my teeth by mistake.”

“I meant for you, darling.”

“One way to find out.” Your lips curved over the head of his cock, lowering yourself until his length was tickling the back of your throat. Nanami was in shambles already. You pulled back and licked him from his base to the summit. “You’re so warm, too. So hard.” Your hands sailed up his thighs, kissing his rigid length. “All for me.” 

“For you, darling.” He brushed your hair back from your face. 

Chuckling, you took him into your mouth again and sent a prayer you didn’t wake up with a sore throat. You could easily picture Nanami purchasing cough drops for you, brewing tea, and insisting you take a day off. The idea of him looking after you sent shivers down your spine.

Nanami gripped the sides of your head, his own tilted back as he breathed heavily through those flawless lips. Occasionally, he'd bravely look down and catch your gaze, then quickly avert his eyes to the ceiling. It was adorable how he struggled to maintain eye contact with you. You had assumed he avoided it because he wasn't interested in talking to you or listening to you yapping. It all makes sense now.

He's simply shy. And you're determined to coax him out of his shell, or even better, cozy up inside it where it's safe.

“The sounds you’re making,” he breathes out. The sounds you’re making, Kento. “It feels like you’re taking me deeper.” 

Because you were. You expanded your jaw, even hearing a little joint tick, and pushed him past the limit of your throat. You’d given blow-jobs before, but the guys were either too small, or too aggressive, leaving your scalp numb without any aftercare. 

Nanami was different. He left your hair and held your face, thumbs caressing your cheekbones as he struggled against his restraints. You could feel him twitch in your mouth, feel the veins pulse on your tongue, his sacs hot at your touch. 

But you wanted Nanami to come inside you. 

At the last minute, you drew him out of your mouth, the strings of your saliva and his pre-cum bridging from your lips and his tip. Nanami groaned at the sight, his dick twitch involuntarily, standing long and proud. 

“I want you inside of me now,” you whispered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and sitting on his lap. He pulled your lips in for a kiss as you adjusted his tip at your entrance, sitting down on it in one go. A cry ripped from your aching throat; a loud growl from his. “Fuck, Kento. Your cock’s filling me up.” 

“Such a dirty mouth,” he muttered, hand on your nape while the other guided your rolling hips. “Does it hurt?” 

You chuckled, head shaking. Your forehead rested over his palms on the side of his neck as you bounced on his lap, your movements growing faster. He was stretching you out, the tip poking your womb, practically splitting you in half. 

Nanami, on the other hand, was on cloud nine. You were warm and sticky, your walls cushioned and clamping around him, sucking him deeper by the second. He’d dreamt of this every night, jerking himself off to the thought of you, recalling the sound of your laugh, or your floral scent. 

Right now, his name slipped off your tongue and you smelled like him. Sweaty, breathless, moaning. This is exactly how he wanted you. Needed you. You were his assistant. His woman. His lover. If any other man dared to touch you, or flirt with you, he’d fire them. He wished he could kill them instead. 

You had awakened his territorial, possessive side, consuming him completely. If his parents refused to accept you as his equal, he would abandon everything and find happiness elsewhere with you. But first, he was determined to fight for you with all his might. Damn it, he loved you.

“I’m tired,” you whispered, wincing as you tried to mill your hips forward again. “Oh, no. I’m cramping up.” 

Nanami hated that he didn’t know what to do. He wished he was experienced. He wished he didn’t have to rely on you even if it was a turn-on when you dominated him with your words and actions. “Stop and take a breather.” 

You obeyed, resting your forehead on his shoulder.

He grabbed the globes of your ass and stood up, walking over to the couch and laying you down there. “Is this better?” 

“Yes.” You stretched up your arms then wrapped it around his neck, giving him a long, loud smack of a kiss. “Proceed.” 

Nanami chuckled, caressing your cheek. He thrusted inside of you, pulling himself to the tip, then back inside. It seemed to have you making those needy sounds, so must’ve been on the right track. 

“You’re so handsome,” you whispered, locking eyes with his deep brown gaze as he intensified his movements, growing faster and more forceful. “Yes, yes, yes. Oh, god. Ken—” You were cut off by his kiss, by his hand clutching your breast, pinching your nipple. 

“I love you,” Nanami murmured, kissing your throat and burying his face in the crook of your neck. You cupped the back of his hand, wailing moans as he pounded into you, flesh slapping against flesh. “I love you, darling. I love you so much.” 

“Kento.” You were feeling achingly sore, your legs losing sensation. He was rutting into you like a madman, and no, you did not want him to slow down whatsoever. “Kento!” 

He drew his face back. “Yes?” 

“I love you, too,” you cried out as you climaxed, your back arching off the couch’s surface. 

Nanami crashed seconds later. 

You were both a breathless, sticking, sweaty mess. Nothing but the sounds of your rapid hearts and shallow breaths could be heard. 

Nanami slid out of you after a minute of silence. He was glowing, golden hair damp with sweat and sticking in different directions from your hand that was running through it. He parted your legs and watched both your mingled release leaking out of you. “I did that.” 

You burst out laughing. “Thank you for letting me take your virginity.” 

He scowled at you, the kind where a smile creeped on his lips. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

“No, lay with me for a sec.” 

Nanami listened attentively and settled beside you on the couch, pulling you into his embrace. You showered kisses over his face, jaw, and the corners of his smiling mouth. “You said ‘I love you,’ by the way.” 

“I did.” Another peck landed on his lips. 

He swallowed, his eyes sparkling as they met yours. “Are you sure?” 

“One-hundred-infinite percent.” You fixed his hair away from his forehead, running your index finger down the slope of his nose and to his lips. “Say it back.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.”

Nanami sighed contentedly, his hand cradling the back of your head as he planted a kiss on your forehead. You giggled and nestled your cheek against his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I know you said to wait until next week to make you my girlfriend, but is it alright if I make you mine now?” 

“I am already yours.” You drew hearts on his torso, feeling shy all of a sudden. You’d never been in a proper relationship before. But neither had Nanami. Which meant you’d both navigate your relationship together as novices. 

“Officially?” He continued. “Or I can wait—”

“Yes,” you said, craning your head up. “I’d love to officially be your girlfriend, Kento Nanami.” You savoured the relieved breath he took. How could you ever reject a soul like his? He was your favourite person. “But I’m still your assistant.” 

“And now I’m yours.” 

You laugh and rest your nose in the curve of his neck, closing your eyes. He hugged you close, lips lazily kissing the top of your head. “Get as much rest as you can, Boss Man. Round two is in five minutes.” 

[seokmn]

pairing: joshua x gn!reader

genre: fluff

wc: 1.2k words

warnings: mentions of drinking, brief moment of shirtless joshua, suggestive moment if you squint reaaally hard

joshua took a sip of his drink and pointed his index finger at you, “what do you think of me? no sugarcoating”. you also took a sip of your drink and gave him a small nod before speaking, “i think youre cool”

“seriously? cool? just ‘cool’?”

you shrugged your shoulders, “what else do you want me to say?”. joshua looked away and pouted, his voice was as quiet as a whisper, “i thought you were going to say a little bit more”

you rolled your eyes, “i think youre really polite and kind with people. hm… i dont like the way you always find a new song to obsess with and sing the same verse for days every single time, but at the same time, i love your voice, it gives people comfort. your voice is like a hug after a stressful day.” you took a long sip of your drink before continuing, “i also like when you smile and how your eyes disappear. let’s see… i like when you always try to reassure me that everythings fine when i mess something up and when you look at me when im looking at you and your dimples come out. oh and-“

“i think thats enough” joshua cut you off and chuckled. he shook his head slightly, finding funny how you started yapping about the things you like about him. that being a sign that you were starting to get tipsy. “if you keep going ill think i like me or something”

“okay, my turn now. look at me” you leaned forward, your chest glued to the table as you looked at joshua’s face intensely. joshua smiled a bit and leaned forward as well, looking at you. “‘kay, im looking”

“do you see someone looking back at you or do you see someone thats in love with you?” you asked, eyes narrowing as you tried to analyze his reaction. on the other side, joshua’s smile died and he suddenly got shy. he drank all of his drink in one sip and rubbed the back of his neck. “so… youre in love with me?”

you just nodded with an affiliative smile on your face, “yes. very much so”

joshua could feel his cheeks heating up. he stood up and walked towards you, he placed his hand on your shoulder and looked down at you, “im afraid youre getting drunk so i guess its time for us to leave, i dont want to keep saying things that you might regret about tomorrow.”

“but its your birthday and i just confessed to you… dont you feel the same?”

“maybe…” he chuckled, “ill only admit it when you tell me about your feelings while being sober. now lets go, ill take care of you”

you huffed, “fiiiine… but you know, that is so not fair!”

“its my birthday, so its fair if i say so and im telling you thats soo fair”

he paid for the drinks and food you two consumed and went back to his place with you. he let you sleep on his bed while he slept on the couch.

you could hear the birds chirping and feel the sun on your face. you slowly sat up, frowned and placed your hand on your head, feeling it hurt. “gosh…” you looked around and noticed the obvious, that wasnt your bedroom. panic was slowly starting to increase, but it died as soon as you heard a voice singing in the background. you knew that sweet voice too well. you were at joshua’s home.

you walked towards the voice and you found him shirtless and cooking. you blushed a little and cleared your throat to make your presence known, he turned around and looked at you, giving a smile that warmed your heart. “good morning, did you sleep well?”

“morning.. yea, i slept very well, but now my head is killing me” he chuckled, “that wont be a problem anymore” he said as he placed a bowl of hangover soup in front of you. you mumbled a thank you and started eating it, enjoying the taste.

“is it good?”

“ah, yes. its really good! you know what else would be good?” joshua raised his eyebrow, waiting for you to tell him. “a shirt”

the man laughed and smirked, “cmon, i know you love it. but okay, ill put on a shirt”. you watched him put on a white shirt, but you were with a puzzled expression on your face, why would he say that? was he only being extra or did you say something last night? “what you mean? i dont love it!”

“oh, so you dont remember about last night?” he had a cocky smile on his lips and your eyes widened. last night? what did you do or say last night? you looked at him with a blank expression for a few seconds, trying to process everything. once you thought you got it, you immediately gasped and placed your arms on your chest and on your lap, as if you were trying to hide your body.

joshua’s eyes widened as well and he shook his head, completely in panic. “no! its not what youre thinking!! i even slept on the couch!” he said as he pointed at the couch with some pillows and a blanket. you looked at the couch and let out a deep breath you didnt know you were holding.

“then why would you say such a thing?!” you looked at the soup and muttered while mixing it with the spoon, “saying like we did something…”

“so you dont remember what you asked me last night? whoa… you really cant drink alcohol”

“what i asked you…?” you tried your best to remember about the night before. a few memories started to come together and your jaw started to slowly drop as you remembered the stupid answers you gave to his questions and the even more stupid question you asked him. you hid your mouth with your hand and looked at joshua in complete shock.

“looks like someone remembers now” he said with a smirk on his face, crossing his arms as he leaned on the kitchen counter. “i-uh…”

“was it true or just drunk words?”

“why do you wanna know?” you raised your eyebrow. you were getting defensive because you didnt know what to answer. would he dump you? would your friendship with him be ruined because of your feelings?

joshua tilted his head and smiled gently, “i think i deserve to know, dont i?”. you scoffed while looking away before looking back at you, “maybe it was true, so what? huh? its not like im gonna chase you or try to make you fall in love with me or some shit like that!”

he just let out a calm sigh and took the bowl of soup away from you. “hey! if you dont feel the same just say it, you dont have to take my food away!”

“get your coat”

“woah-“ you scoffed, feeling offended, “youre kicking me out? is that it?”

“nope, im going to take you on a date. your feelings are reciprocated and as a late birthday gift we’ll be enjoying a really good time together. and who knows, maybe in three months you wont have to pretend to not like to see me shirtless anymore”

you rolled your eyes, not being able to hold back your smile. you grabbed your coat and ran to him, interlocking your arm with his. “that sounds good, i like it. and just to let you know, i never said i dont like to see you shirtless” he chuckled as he opened the front door, “i know. but its nice to tease you”

you playfully hit his arm and he laughed. “lets go?”

“lets go.”

[jinxlovemail]

[TKaTB]

Emilie 'Emi' Celinde

decided to give her introduction a go- not my best but ya bdjhsbd

click for more!

relationship chart - made by @ kazueisaloser ! <3

understand my ship in 5 mins (sol, crowe, geo) - by @ fantasiakitt , the game developer herself!

full character

doodle

some stuffs abt her

she was part of some bands but only for a short while when events are held, she got paid for being the guitarist, vocalist, and drummer.

learned how to play a guitar when she was young, her mother taught her before she passed from an illness- which she believed.

she's very self-conscious about her works and actions, pretty much insecure but had to force herself anyway just to get things done lol.

she had a little intermission to sol, alone. she taught him how to hold a guitar and strumming chords.

she draws very often, like A LOT until she gets drained and tired- and then she starts to hate them.

not tkatb related but she'll be my m/c for some vn's as well (might make a reference soon)

i have more but i rather save them for future posts lol

that is all for now, thank u for letting me yap (kinda).. :D

[giveafike]

kinda obsessed with the prompt of ben x fem tennis reader being together for a lil while and being the cutest couple , breaking up bc the distance hit them too hard after two straight months of different tournaments/locations, then seeing each other for the first time at a 1000 tournament, going out to dinner with the same group of people and end up going back to bens hotel room to clear the air and obvs end up in bed together realising they’re gonna have to get thru the distance cos they can’t be without each other now 😭

TLDR: tennisplayerfem!reader and ben break up bc you can't handle being away and then surprise, you can't handle being not together. Losers.

Word count + info: 10k. Am I mentally ill? This is supposed to be a blurb.. Dialogue (angst, texts, calls, conversation).

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! Breakup and kinda mean stuff said (nothing physical description wise). Otherwise, it's all good! (i think)

Azzie Notes ✚: SHOOT ME IN THE HEAD. AM I OKAY??? 10K?? ON A BLURB?? idrk what angst is fr chat lmk if i did that one fr idk....im a LOVER girl ok IDK HOW TO DO THIS SAD SHIT - in saying that, was part of my dialogue in this lwky..loosely based off of my ex...........maybe...

I fear I loved this prompt so bad and like...I love to yap..so...

Socials + Updates: twitter ( @azziegivesafike) - feel free to follow and msg me about non requests there, I'll be posting life updates, story + req updates and spoilers/teasers alongside other things, so it'd be nice to have a community over there!

————————————————————————

Shattered - B.T.S.

In the beginning, being with Ben is the kind of whirlwind you've only seen in movies, a connection that feels so natural, yet thrillingly unexpected. Well, in hindsight, that might've been a lie. It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but instead, a slow, magnetic pull that drew you together, like the tension building in a long rally. You met on the circuit, both hungry, ambitious, and dedicated to your own success. But from the start, Ben had this way of getting past your disciplined, guarded exterior with that relentless charm of his.

He’s everywhere, it seems—posting highlights from your matches on his stories, sneaking your name into press conferences, tagging you in his silly “lazy Saturday” shots where your game is always playing in the background. He flirts shamelessly, flashing that grin across the court, his voice lifting over the crowd to make some cheeky comment that leaves you stifling laughter. Your friends see it before you do: Ben is crazy about you, and soon, so is everyone else.

He flirted shamelessly and relentlessly, everywhere and anywhere, often catching you off guard in ways that left you flustered despite your best efforts to stay cool and professional. With that, you started to look out for the way his eyes would find yours in a crowd while you sat in the stands during his matches or how he would nudge you at practice with that easy, casual touch like he’s done it a thousand times before; like you belong by his side.

Once, when he's asked in an interview if he’d dedicated his recent win to anyone, he grins and looks straight across the room, making everyone laugh. “There’s someone special right now, but no need to say names, she knows.”

It’s sweet, funny and more than a little bold. Later, when you called him out for it over one of your first late-night calls, he shrugged, entirely unapologetic, telling you with that stupid drawl of his, “What? Ain’t no point hidin’ it. The world knows who my lucky charm is.”

Soon, it was you reaching out for him, your hand slipping onto his arm, leaning against him during walkouts, letting your barriers fall. And every time he catches your eye, every time he manages to make you smile, he looks at you like he’s won the lottery. His heart stammers a little each time you shove him playfully or roll your eyes at his antics. Whether it was on the bench or during changeovers, Ben would rest his hand gently on your lower back, a touch that makes you feel, just for a moment, like you're the only two people in the world.

When the rare break in your schedules comes around, you steal hours together. You grab a coffee, turning a "quick run" into a day spent together and wander around a city you barely know, or stumble upon a hidden café with pastries too flowery for your tastes. He made everything feel easier, like no matter how intense life gets, you’ll always have that balance with him. Around Ben, you can be softer, and more vulnerable; he brings out a side of you that isn’t just about winning and competing but about laughing, sharing, and letting go.

People noticed the way you look at each other, the easy affection that passes between you, the more daring and intimate PDA, sharing kisses and lingering stares. Soon, fans were shipping you openly, posting photos of you courtside, or whispering to each other when you lean close and murmur something that makes him laugh. On tour, you’re one of those “it” couples, a little slice of joy in the relentless pace of your careers. And in those early days, you both believe that together, you can take on anything. In those early days, you believed you could take on anything together. You and Ben were partners, equals, and even in the midst of a gruelling season, there had always been time for him, always a reason to smile. It felt perfect, like a love story you had stumbled into but were both entirely committed to.

But that honeymoon phase comes crashing down real quick.

As seasons shift and tournaments stretch across continents, the cracks start to show. At first, it’s just a few hours difference, but then come the miles and oceans, and the texts dwindled, conversations cut short, replaced by more missed calls than made and vague apologies. You both had tried, in every way you knew how. But eventually, the memories weren’t enough to bridge the distance. You’d catch yourself staying up just to wait for his call after practice, only to fall asleep disappointed, staring at a dark screen. And every time you woke up to a hastily sent sorry, something came up text, it felt like another tiny fracture.

Ben wasn’t the only one caught up in the chaos of your schedules; you had your own demands, too. The strain went both ways. In an attempt to keep things alive, you’d push yourself to keep up with his time zone, adding another city to your Clock app, setting alarms accordingly to his lunch and dinner times, staying awake far too late, eyes heavy as you sat alone in your hotel room, scrolling through old photos just to feel closer to him. When the call finally did come, your voice was barely more than a whisper, tired and distant, and Ben couldn't bear the exhaustion in your tone, his heart aching as he hushed you to sleep, meaning neither of you would stay on long.

It all piled up slowly, almost imperceptibly, until the weight felt crushing. Conversations became one-sided, it’s like chasing the sun itself, moments of silence replacing the laughter that had once felt endless, and that spark, the one that made you feel unstoppable together, felt further away with every day that passed.

Then came the day of your match, a game that should have been easy, one you’d normally have breezed through. But you were dragging, exhaustion wrapping itself around your every heavy, drooping step, and somewhere in the depths of your mind, a bitter thought took root:

If only he cared.

You knew it wasn’t his fault, but still, the frustration boiled over. Would things have felt different if you weren’t so alone in this? If you didn’t have to wonder when, or if, he’d remember to call? If he scheduled calls to your time for once? If he could just postpone everything for 20, 20 measly minutes for you?

A ball zips right by you, snapping you back to reality.

Lying in your hotel room that night, you stared at the ceiling, replaying the best moments of your time together like an old movie reel. In those moments, it had felt perfect. You’d believed you could take on the world, side by side, partners in everything. But now, with miles and silence separating you, you wondered if those memories were all that was left of what you once had.

But even with that ache, even with the emptiness filling the room, one thing is clear as day: loving Ben, for all its messiness, for all the distance and loneliness, had never felt like a mistake but God, was it hard. You pondered on those same irritating thoughts that itched at you until your fingers found your phone and hit the FaceTime Call button. Part of you wanted him to not pick up, knowing that you had nothing kind or sweet to say, but a small part of you wanted to dish back what he deserved.

“Hey,” he greets, his voice tense, worn. His drawl feels distant like he’s talking to you from across an ocean.

“Hey.” You can feel the iciness in your voice, colder than you intended.

“Long day?” he asks, though his expression is already tense, wary.

“Yeah. Almost lost today,” you say flatly.

Ben’s gaze flicks down. “I saw the score,” he says, his voice cautious. “Guess it was a tough match, babe.”

“It shouldn’t have been,” you snap. “But maybe it’s hard to focus when I’m barely sleeping… or constantly waiting for a text that never comes.”

He blinks, his eyes narrowing. “So this is on me?” The familiar accent is a little rougher around the edges. “You’re losin’ matches ‘cause I’m not callin’ you enough? That’s what you’re sayin’?”

“Don’t play dumb, Ben. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about” You feel the bitterness twisting in your chest. ““You’re barely here, Ben. Half the time, I don’t even know if we’re still together or if we’re just two people sending pointless messages every few hours. Half the time, it feels like I’m talking to a ghost.”

He lets out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “You think it’s any easier for me? I’ve got my own stuff, my own schedule, darlin'. I’ve got my career to think about too, you know, this ain't just about you.”

Your jaw tightens. “Yeah, well, at least when I'm on the court, I don’t exactly have the luxury of tuning you out, Ben. I’m not the one who forgets to call after saying I would. I don’t have time for half-assed texts and waiting around for you to call when you feel like it.”

“Oh, don’t go there,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “You know what it’s like. The fans, the interviews, the time spent on court-”

“Yeah, I get it, Ben. But last week, you bailed on a call to go sign autographs. Priorities, right?”

He takes a deep breath, visibly holding back. “C’mon, babe, you don’t mean that.”

But you press on, unable to stop yourself. “You’re too busy with whatever ‘big thing’ you have going on, right? Maybe if you cared enough to focus on your game instead of your ‘commitments,’ you wouldn’t have dropped that finals match. Just maybe.”

He flinches, his expression turning dark. “Oh, that's low from you, Y/N. You really wanna go there?”

“Yeah, I do,” you say, your voice unwavering.

He pauses, his face hardening. “If you were out here on the ATP tour, you’d understand how rough it really is. You wouldn't even get past a challenger. It ain’t the same league as the WTA.”

You laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “Oh, don’t even start with that. Rougher than the WTA? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Maybe come and join WTA then, you wouldn't manage it out here either, Ben.”

He snaps, his voice cutting like a whip. “You know how much I’m fightin’ to make a name for myself out here. Just ‘cause you got a few more shiny titles doesn’t mean you get to talk down to me like this.”

The sting of his words hits like a slap. Your face flushes, a mix of anger and hurt bubbling up. “So, that’s it? Just because I’ve actually earned my success, I’m some kind of… what? Nag?”

“I didn’t say that,” he shot back, voice tight, his eyes narrowing as he looked away. “But maybe you’re doin’ too much. Bein’ all… dramatic, blamin’ me for stuff I got no control over.”

“Right, okay, so I’m being dramatic,” you scoff, your voice edged with sarcasm. “I’m the one asking for too much because I want something real, something you clearly can’t give.”

He laughs, bitter and raw. “Maybe you just want too damn much.”

You feel the tears prickling behind your eyes, but you clench your jaw, holding yourself together by sheer force of will. Your voice trembles as you speak, the words thick with a pain you can’t contain. “I just want you to care, Ben, or at least pretend to care and make it believable. I want you to care enough to be here when it matters. But you’re so wrapped up in yourself, you don’t even see it.”

His face hardens, his jaw set, but his eyes hold a flicker of something unspoken. “You think I don’t care? I’m out here pushin’ myself every day, for us, for this future we’re supposed to be building 'n shit. But it’s like no matter what I do, it ain’t enough for you.”

A sharp knock sounds from his end, followed by muffled voices. He glances away, then back at you, irritation flaring in his eyes. “Look, I gotta go. Dad’s waitin’ on me; he already gave me an extra ten minutes to talk.”

You feel your heart twist, an ache of disappointment settling in. “Oh, of course,” you mutter, your voice dripping with bitterness. “Go ahead. I’m sure your training’s way more important than anything I have to say.”

He turns back, his eyes blazing with frustration. “Maybe it is right now,” he spits. “Talkin’ to you like this, all it’s doin’ is makin’ things worse. We're not getting anywhere like this-”

The words cut deeper than you expect, and you can barely hold back the surge of anger and heartbreak choking you. “Fine. Go, then. At least one of us can prioritise something.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as he looks away. “You’re bein’ unfair, 'n you know it.”

“Am I?” you whisper, your voice tight and choked. “Or am I just done waiting for you to show up?”

You stare at each other, an endless silence stretching between you, sharp and seething, words too heavy to be unsaid. Then, with a frustrated shake of his head, he mutters, “I can’t do this right now. I’ll talk to you later. When you’re not actin’ like this.”

Before you could respond, he hung up, his face disappearing from your screen, leaving you alone with nothing but the cold light of your phone. Your hands shook as you stared at the blank screen, tears finally spilling over.

With trembling fingers, you took a breath, letting a cold, steely calm settle over you. You typed out a simple, blunt message, leaving no room for second-guessing, no room for soft words or explanations. Just the truth, as raw as you felt.

“We’re done. I can’t do this anymore, Ben. I’m sorry.”

Your thumb lingered for a second before hitting “send,” and as soon as the message went through, you blocked him on every platform, cutting off any way for him to respond, to apologise, to convince you otherwise.

But as you tossed your phone aside, a crack appeared in the calm you’d forced on yourself. The tears came suddenly, your breath hitching as a tidal wave of heartbreak surged through you. You buried your face in your hands, pressing your palms against your eyes as if you could somehow contain the emotions clawing their way to the surface. You tried to stay quiet, muffling the sound in the dark, but the weight was too much, every sob raw, grieving and heavy, pouring out the frustration, the loneliness, and the love you’d tried so hard to salvage.

By the time your tears subsided, you felt utterly drained, hollowed out in a way that made everything around you feel distant and surreal. The city lights flickered outside your window, the glow indifferent to the storm that had torn through you. And in that quiet, broken moment, with only the shadows as company, you lay there, letting the exhaustion seep through your bones until sleep claimed you.

When sleep finally came, it was restless, fractured. You tossed and turned, flashes of memories from better days with Ben haunting you, the sound of his laugh, the way he’d smile, gummy and wide, his nose scrunching with that easy confidence. You woke up more exhausted than when you’d closed your eyes, feeling like you hadn’t rested at all. But you forced yourself out of bed, pushing yourself through your pre-game routine, your emotions locked away, frozen under layers of determination.

As you walked onto the court, the crowd buzzed with excitement, but you barely registered it. You were a storm, calm on the surface but seething underneath. Every shot you took was hard and brutal, the ball slicing through the air with an intensity that made your opponent flinch, the impact echoing through the stadium. You played as if your life depended on it, your body moving with sharp, lethal precision.

Your serves were relentless, your groundstrokes vicious, each one faster, sharper, as if each shot were a way to expel the anger and hurt still simmering in your chest. The crowd murmured, noticing the shift in your energy, the way you were pushing yourself, almost recklessly. A couple of times, your shots zipped past your opponent’s hand, barely missing, almost daring her to try and reach for it - "try me". You were untouchable, unstoppable, playing like you had something to prove.

But there was no smile, no hint of joy in your movements, solely mechanical. The usual lightness in your footwork was gone, replaced by a cold, ruthless efficiency. You’d already decided: this match was yours. You weren’t here to give an inch, weren’t here to let any lingering emotions cloud your focus. The crowd might have wanted excitement, but you were giving them precision, a display of control and fury that left no room for doubt.

You won, of course. Your opponent barely had a chance. But as you walked off the court, sweat trickling down your brow, fists clenched, you felt no thrill in the victory. Just the dull ache that lingered, a hollow space where your lightness, your smile, used to be. The heat of the court only made your head throb. The applause faded into background noise as you strode away, head high, shoulders tense. You’d won, but it felt like a hollow victory. You had no one to text after your game, anyone to call you baby - you had done it to yourself, were you really that desperate for a man to validate you? You were sick of feeling this way, sick of the exhaustion, the anger, the loneliness that clung to you even after everything you’d given today. At least, for now, you’d proven something, to yourself, to him, even if he’d never know, or care.

In the month that followed, you threw yourself harshly into your schedule, determined to erase any trace of him from your routine, your heart. Matches, training, travel, interviews, photoshoots, more matches, each day bled into the next, filled with an almost mechanical sense of purpose. If you weren’t on the court, you were working out, perfecting your strokes, spending hours on serves and footwork. Anything to exhaust yourself to stop the thoughts from lingering too long. Your routine was relentless, your focus razor-sharp.

But even in this frenzy, despite it all, reminders of him still slipped through. You’d scroll through social media, and every so often, an ATP post would pop up: Ben at a tournament, Ben celebrating a point, Ben grinning with that easy charm that used to make your heart ache. He looked different now. His curls were longer, spilling out from over his sweaty headband, and his frame had hardened, leaner, with muscle that seemed to outline his strength in sharper lines. His chubby cheeks had slimmed down into something harder, replaced by the quiet confidence of someone who’d grown, adapted, maybe even suffered a little.

And you could almost feel it, the quaking, gaping pain of missing him, but you’d swallow it back down, pull yourself together, and look away.

Your own press conferences became something else entirely. You were more composed, a bit sharper with your words, confident in a way you hadn’t been before. Where you used to smile shyly or laugh softly, now you leaned in with humour, a hint of flirtation, your charm more self-assured. You handled reporters’ questions deftly, especially the ones that tried to pry about Ben. The same questions came up over and over:

“So, do you still keep in touch with Ben?”

Each time, you’d respond with a practised, cool smile. “Right now, I’ve got all the support I need from my team and the people I have with me.” You’d turn the conversation to your work, your skill, and your grind on the court, dismissing the topic with subtle elegance, always steering it back to your goals, your game, and your people.

Yet, away from the cameras, the facade cracked, if only slightly. Sometimes, after a long match or a particularly brutal day of training, you’d find yourself scrolling through your old photos or feeling tears prickling your eyes, this messy situation taking a bigger toll than you would like to admit.

In his hotel room, Ben watched your interviews alone, a faint crease between his brows. There you were, in all your brilliance, flashing a confident smile at the camera, handling the press with a wit and boldness that felt both familiar and strange. He could see the way you’d grown, the way you’d steeled yourself, and it stirred something in him, a pang he couldn’t ignore. It was like watching someone he knew intimately and yet… not at all. The way you answered questions about him, and your subtle redirection to your career and team, it stung. Maybe it was petty, but he missed the way you used to talk about him with such pride, with that lovestruck glow. He loved seeing how shy you would get at the sheer mention of his name. Your hair was different, your skin glowing, you had more confidence, even if it came off a bit cocky but he still felt like you were his, just as much as he was yours. Ben didn’t know how to reach out, didn’t know what he’d even say. There was a distance now, both physical and emotional, that seemed impossible to bridge. He’d scroll through his own phone sometimes, finding old messages, ones before distance got the better of you both, photos of the two of you, half-written scripts in his Notes app he couldn’t bring himself to deliver. If he flew out tonight to you, what would he even do after? He’d think of calling you, of reaching out somehow, but the memory of your last fight, the bitterness in your voice, the way you’d shut him out… it held him back.

One evening, as you sat alone in the players' lounge, your forehead pressed against the back of the sofa, you felt that familiar ache pulse through you, the one that came every time you thought of him. It was then that Coco came by, her familiar, steady presence filling the room as she settled down across from you, cross-legged on the seat in front of you. Over the past year, it was Ben that introduced you but, you and Coco had grown even closer, bound not just by shared victories and losses but by the pressures only someone like her could truly understand.

Coco tilted her head, her gaze warm but unwavering. “Alright,” she said, cutting through the silence. “What’s really going on? Are you… over him?”

You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I wish I could say yes,” you murmured. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried to move on, focus on the game, on everything else, but… he’s still everywhere. Even when I’m doing well, even when I’m focused, it’s like… something’s missing.” Your voice dropped to barely a whisper. “It’s like I can’t fully shake him.”

Coco nodded, her expression both sympathetic and knowing. “I get it. You two had something real, something intense. But maybe this time apart is what you both need. I mean, look at you. You’re stronger now, on and off the court. Maybe that’s part of this whole journey, you know?”

You managed a faint smile, though your heart still felt heavy. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. It just… doesn’t always feel like enough.”

She reached out, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me. If he’s the right guy, he’ll figure it out, too. Until then? Focus on your game. Focus on you.”

Her words stayed with you, offering a small but steady comfort in the days that followed. You have been throwing yourself into training, pouring everything into the sport, trying to find solace in each match and each moment of growth. Somewhere out there, he was doing the same, and maybe, just maybe, this was what was best.

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t completely smother the small spark of hope, that someday, somehow, your paths might cross again.

It was similar in the men’s locker room, Ben slumped forward on the bench, his elbows propped on his knees as he stared blankly at the floor, holding an uncapped bottle of water. Frances Tiafoe, who’d been eyeing him from across the room, exchanged a knowing glance with Taylor Fritz before making his way over.

“Alright, bro, spill it,” Frances said, tossing a towel over his shoulder as he leaned in. “You’ve been lookin’ like you’re living in some sad dog for weeks.”

Ben gave him a sidelong glance. “There’s nothin’ to talk about.”

Taylor rolled his eyes as he joined them, settling down on the other side of Ben. “Come on, man. We’re not blind. Ever since she blocked you, you’ve been… different.”

Ben scoffed, looking away, his voice low. “She didn’t just block me, man. She… she threw down, real hard. Said some things I thought she’d never say.”

Frances let out a low whistle. “Was that rough, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ben said, rubbing a hand over his face, his frustration mingling with regret. “It all just blew up. We were on a call, talkin’ like usual, and suddenly… it was like everything we hadn’t said just came out. She starts throwin’ things at me about how I’m not there, like… like I don’t care enough or not workin' hard enough. And it pissed me off, you know? I work just as hard, and it’s not like I’m sittin’ around, right?”

Taylor nodded, leaning back against the lockers. “So, what’d you do?”

Ben shrugged, his expression pained. “I pushed back, told her she couldn’t keep actin’ like she’s the only one workin’ for this. Told her ATP is just as tough, maybe even more competitive. Didn’t mean it that way, but she took it wrong. She thought I was tryin’ to downplay her game.”

Frances shook his head, giving Ben a sympathetic look. “Man, she must’ve felt hurt.”

“Yeah,” Ben muttered, a bitter laugh escaping him. “And next thing I know, I get this text. ‘This isn’t workin', we’re done.’ Blocked me on everything. Cold as ice, man. It’s like she flipped a switch, just… shut me out completely, as easy as shuttin' a door.”

Frances gave him a gentle nudge. “You still care about her?”

Ben’s gaze softened, a faint smile breaking through his frustration. “Yeah, man. She’s… she’s my girl. Even if she’s not my girl right now, you know?”

Taylor chuckled, nodding. “So, what’re you gonna do about it? Sit around here moping, or actually make a move?”

Ben sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What am I supposed to do? She’s made it pretty clear she’s done with me.”

Frances grinned, crossing his arms. “Bro, just ‘cause she blocked you and sent a text after you called her game easy, doesn’t mean it’s over. She’s mad, yeah, but she’s probably missin’ you just as much. You just gotta show her you’re willin’ to do what it takes.”

Taylor nodded in agreement, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “And it doesn’t have to be some big romantic gesture, man. Sometimes, it’s the small things. Something to let her know you’re still thinkin’ of her, still care. You know where we're at next, right?”

Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “And do what? Just show up at her hotel room? She’s liable to call cops on my ass for that shit, bro.”

Frances laughed, shrugging. “So what? At least she’ll know you tried! Don't go doin' that though. Look, I’ve been with my girl for years now, and sometimes, you gotta be willing to look like a fool to show her you care.”

Ben leaned back, their words sinking in. He could still feel the sting of the things she’d said, the accusations she’d thrown at him like he didn’t care, didn’t work just as hard. But he couldn’t deny that he’d made mistakes, too. He’d let his pride get in the way, said things he regretted, and let the frustration of it all get the better of him.

Frances nudged him again, his grin widening. “Think about it, man. You got two choices: sit here, feeling sorry for yourself until she finds some other guy, or actually do something about it and get her back, even if that means standing in the rain with a fuckin' speaker.”

Ben finally cracked a smile, looking between his friends. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

“Hey, maybe,” Taylor said with a shrug. “But at least we got girlfriends. And you? You got a chance to get yours back. Just gotta decide if she’s worth it.”

Ben sat there, mulling over their words as a new determination started to burn within him. Maybe he didn’t have all the answers, and maybe there was a lot he’d have to figure out. But if there was even a chance to fix things, to bridge that gap that felt so wide, he wasn’t about to let his pride hold him back.

As he left the locker room that night, he felt a resolve solidify within him. He’d find a way to reach out, to let her know that no matter how far apart they were, she was still the one he wanted. Because when it came down to it, she was worth every bit of the fight.

A week went by before a 1000 game flew in, and both ATP and WTA were present if not, nearby for the games. You couldn't care less what was at stake, anything was a win if it kept you occupied. The courts were almost empty, shadows lengthening as the sun beamed high above. You bounced the ball steadily, the rhythm calm, your focus laser-sharp. The only sounds were the muted thud of your shoes on the court, and your breath falling into sync with the beat of your earbuds. Nothing but you, the court, and the quiet.

But then, that voice broke through.

"Aw, c'mon, man!" A laugh, deep and full of that unmistakable Southern drawl. Your grip faltered, the ball hovering mid-toss. That laugh, it was a sound you hadn’t let yourself think about for months, one that held too much of him.

Ben.

Your pulse jolted, the memories flooding back, warmth and bitterness tangled in the knots of your chest. You gritted your teeth, tossing the ball high before slamming it against the court, the crack of impact sharp in the quiet. It almost felt satisfying, like you could obliterate the tension he brought, shatter it with sheer force.

Almost.

You readied another serve, the ball bouncing harder than necessary as you forced yourself not to look. But you could feel his gaze, that familiar weight of his eyes lingering on you. The pull was magnetic, almost maddening, and despite every ounce of resolve you’d built up, your gaze betrayed you, slipping over to catch a glimpse of him.

Ben, laughing with Taylor, curls tousled longer than before, his hoodie slung carelessly over those familiar, ridiculous short shorts. The same hoodie you'd worn too many times to count, drowning in its warmth during late-night snack runs and lazy Sundays. The sight tugged painfully, a cruel reminder of the little things you’d pushed down, tried to forget.

He caught you looking, and his laughter faded, his gaze holding yours for just a second too long. You gripped the ball tighter, the ache settling heavy, and forced yourself to turn away, channelling the flurry of memories into another sharp serve, a fierce crack reverberating across the court. You didn’t look back again.

Hours later, your body was tired, your mind a bit clearer. You were scrolling through your phone in the lounge, zoning out, when Coco dropped down beside you with that familiar, mischievous grin.

"Hey, you!" She nudged you, hands on her hips.

You eyed her warily. "What’s up, Coco? Awfully perky for...5:30p.m."

“We’re having dinner tonight. Big group. Wanna come?” Her tone was casual, a little too casual.

Your guard went up immediately as you dropped your phone to your lap. “Who’s ‘we all’?”

Coco shrugged, twirling a loose curl around her finger. “Me, Frances, Arthur… maybe another WTA girl or two. Just a fun little dinner. Nothing formal.”

You narrowed your eyes, reading the glint of mischief in hers. "Coco, don’t mess with me. He's not gonna be there, right?"

She tilted her head, pretending to look innocent, but the sly smile gave her away. "Well… he might show up, but that's on his own accord. I didn't mention anything to Ben and it’s not like anyone’s setting anything up! It’s just dinner."

Your stomach twisted, a sigh slipping from your lips as you looked away. “I don’t think so. Not after… everything.” Your voice softened the weight of old arguments and unsaid things hanging between the words.

Coco’s face softened, her hand finding your shoulder. “Look, I’m not saying you have to sit next to him or anything. It’s a big table. You can stay on the opposite end and ignore him if that’s what you need. But everyone misses you, it’s been ages since we all got together. We all need to see your pretty face off the court too, ya know?”

You hesitated, rolling your eyes, the ache of missing them settling somewhere deep, the sense of family you hadn’t felt in months tugging at you. After a long pause, you finally nodded, rolling your shoulders back as if bracing for a match. “Fine. But I’m serious, Coco, no funny business. If he starts anything, I’m out.”

Coco grinned, throwing her arm around you. “Girl, trust me. If anything, you’ll be giving him the funny looks. Just friends, no drama. Now, let’s go get you out of those sweats.”

Meanwhile, in the locker room across the court, Ben was doing his best to act indifferent as Frances nudged him for the third time.

"C'mon, man!" Frances said, leaning against the lockers with a knowing grin. "So you are coming to this dinner tonight, right? Don't make me beg again, I'll start singing.”

Ben tried to play it cool, leaning back with his arms crossed. “I don’t know, man. You really think it’s a good idea?”

Frances rolled his eyes. “Look, you’ve been moping for months. She’s not gonna make a scene in public, and especially not with all of us, and who knows? Maybe she’ll talk to you, be all civil. It’s worth a shot.”

Ben let out a huff, rubbing the back of his neck. “Civil? You remember the last time we spoke, right? She has me blocked on everything.”

Taylor, stretching nearby, smirked and chimed in. “Man, you got nothin’ to lose. At the very least, you’ll see her. I saw how you were after you caught a glimpse of her training earlier. Besides, Frances and Coco will keep her from killin’ you.”

“Kay, thanks,” Ben muttered, though a flicker of hope sparked under the sarcasm. He didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t shake the longing to see her again, to maybe fix even a sliver of what had been broken.

Taylor nudged him, grinning. “Hey, listen, if I wasn’t taking Morgan out tonight, I’d be there just for moral support. But hey, maybe next time it’ll be a double date. Me, you, Morgan and your soon-to-be girlfriend, just like old times.”

Ben shook his head, the thought both terrifying and oddly thrilling. “You’re jokin’, right? She’d probably throw her drink at me before she’d sit through a double date.”

“Only if you act like an idiot,” Frances pointed out, laughing. “Just be yourself, man. You can handle the heat on the court, you can handle this. And maybe tonight’ll be the thing that finally breaks the ice.”

Ben sighed, running a hand over his face before finally surrendering. “Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll go. But Frances, don’t expect me to be all… chatty.”

Frances clapped him on the back, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “Yeah, you say that now. But I know how you get around her, man. Just don’t chicken out. Remember, we got your back.”

Ben couldn’t help but smile nervously, feeling a strange mix of dread and anticipation tighten in his chest. He wasn’t sure if this dinner would be a chance at redemption or just a painful reminder of how far they’d drifted, but one thing was clear, he was tired of hiding from whatever was left between them.

You walk into the restaurant and let Coco lead you to a long table, feeling an odd mix of nerves and determination fluttering in your stomach. Your outfit is cute but simple, just a sweater and leggings; just enough effort to feel put together without trying too hard. You take a seat between Coco and Arthur Fils, with Frances across from you. There’s an empty chair across from Arthur, and for some reason, that empty space makes your heart beat a little faster, feeling torn between wanting and avoiding Ben there.

As everyone settles in, you catch Coco’s eye and mutter, “Please tell me he’s not actually coming.” She just shrugs with an easy smile.

Moments later, as the group banters along, about to order drinks, Ben strolls in, catching you entirely off-guard. He’s slightly out of breath, apologising to the group with that familiar grin, explaining he’s late because he’d just finished showering after practice. You can’t help it, you nudge Coco under the table, whispering through gritted teeth, a frustrated, “Great.”

Coco just gives him a casual greeting, and you force yourself to turn back to the table, focusing your attention on ordering a glass of wine, pretending not to notice him as he takes that empty seat across from Arthur, just barely within your view, diagonally. But as he sits down, you feel his eyes on you, and for a brief moment, you glance up and catch him staring, his face almost dazed.

You’re caught off-guard by the look in his eyes. His breath seems to hitch, his big brown eyes wide and you can see a faint blush creeping up his neck as he stares at you, almost like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. There’s a softness in his expression that you weren’t prepared for, a kind of awe that makes your stomach twist with memories and longing. But just as quickly, you look away, turning your attention to your wine as Frances elbows Ben with a teasing hiss, “Be normal, man.”

Throughout the night, you manage to keep to yourself, mostly talking to the other WTA players or Arthur whenever he cracks a joke. You keep Ben at the edge of your vision, resolute in ignoring the way his gaze keeps drifting back to you.

Every once in a while, Ben attempts to draw you into the conversation, maybe a lighthearted comment or a direct question, but each time, you meet his gaze with a steely look, making it clear with just one glance that you’re not interested. When he tries again, you let your eyes meet his for a moment, long enough to show him you’re serious before turning away, cutting off his effort entirely, almost to say "not interested". Across the table, Frances raises his brows, murmuring with a barely hidden smirk, “Damn, she is good at this,” as Ben slouches slightly, clearly trying not to look embarrassed.

As dinner winds down, the plates are cleared away, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment alone. Inside, you take a deep breath, facing yourself in the mirror. You’d been bracing yourself for tonight, but nothing quite prepared you for how it would feel to see him sitting right there, looking at you with those big sweet brown eyes and a pout, filled with that same soft pleading that used to make you melt.

But tonight, all it did was remind you of those late nights waiting by your phone, checking it over and over for messages that came slower and slower until they just…stopped. It reminds you of the countless hours wondering if you mattered as much as you thought you did, replaying his empty promises and half-hearted reassurances that seemed to fade with each passing day. He couldn't expect you to take him back with a pout and some half-assed joke. But damn, was it a good attempt, he knew how to make you crumble, even if it wasn't his sole intention.

You force yourself to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you look in the bathroom mirror examining yourself with a sigh, applying a bit of lip balm with fingers that tremble just slightly. Anything to distract yourself, to remind yourself that you’re strong enough to face this without breaking, reminding yourself to keep that mask on. You straighten your posture, determined to push all those memories back down where they belong, buried.

But just as you step out of the bathroom, Ben is standing right there, leaning against the wall as if he’d been waiting for you. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours, and he opens his mouth, his voice just a whisper. “Can we…talk? Just the two of us?”

The look he gives you, hopeful, no, desperate, stirs something deep inside you, and you clench your jaw, wanting to say no, wanting to walk away without a second thought. But as much as you’d like to ignore it, part of you still aches for some kind of closure, maybe even just one honest conversation.

With a reluctant sigh, you nod. “Fine. Outside.”

As you head out the restaurant’s door, you quickly fire off a text to Coco:

me n Ben talking outside. brb.

You stuff your phone back into your bag, clutching it tightly to your shoulder as you step into the cool night air. Wrapping your arms under your chest, you try to keep yourself shielded from more than just the chilling breeze.

Ben falls into step beside you, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. There’s a moment of silence as you both find your footing, the quiet thick with everything that’s been left unsaid. You glance sideways, catching him opening his mouth like he’s about to say something, only to close it, his shoulders shifting awkwardly.

“So… how’s the tournament going for you?” he starts, his tone casual, a little too casual.

You blink, trying not to roll your eyes, feeling the irritation growing. Really? But you bite back and just sternly say, “Ben.”

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing up at the streetlights overhead. “Sorry, yeah, that was- uh, okay.” He lets out a breath and shuffles closer, his voice almost a murmur. “I just… I wanna make this right. Another chance- Just thought maybe… you know, talkin’ would be easier if…”

“Ben, stop.” You sigh, tightening your grip on your bag strap. “Stop being weird. Just… just say what you have to say, and let’s get this over with. Let's not make this longer than it needs to be, I've got shit to do tomorrow.”

He glances at you, brows knitting together. For a second, he looks almost frustrated, like he’s holding back something sharper, something rougher. But he lets it pass, letting out a long, resigned breath. “Fine. I’ll just ask one thing.”

You arch an eyebrow, scepticism thick in your voice. “One question. Shoot.”

His voice comes out softer, edged with a hesitant curiosity as if he knows it’s a stupid question but can’t help but ask. “What hotel you stayin’ at?”

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. “The Merrion.”

His eyes widen slightly, a small, stupid smile breaking on his face. “No way… me too.”

You sigh, looking up at the night sky, feeling the inevitability of whatever this night is becoming. Of course, he’s at the same hotel. Only Ben could make the universe align like this. And only Ben would think of a stupid question like that. He shifts his weight, stepping closer, his gaze steady.

“Look,” he starts, “it’s just a short walk back, twenty minutes or so. Just… give me that time. Just enough to walk back. Let me talk. And then you can go to your room and go to bed. How 'bout it?”

There’s a hopeful edge in his voice that you can’t ignore, and for a moment, your resolve falters. It’s ridiculous, this is exactly the sort of thing he would come up with, some half-baked plan to get you to keep listening, to keep him around just a little longer. You want to roll your eyes, to brush him off, but something about the way he’s looking at you, those earnest, brown eyes so damn full of longing, makes you sigh.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But if you get weird again, I’m out. No small talk, you know how much I hate it.”

A small grin creeps onto his face, and he falls into step beside you, a little closer than necessary, his arm brushing against yours as you start down the quiet street. For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, just walks alongside you, letting the silence settle around you both. But then, in that familiar southern drawl, his voice comes softer.

“Y’know, I've been thinkin’ ‘bout us a lot… probably more than I should.”

You keep your eyes on the sidewalk ahead, willing yourself to stay unmoved. “And?”

He swallows, his gaze tracing your profile, softening with each word. “I messed up,” he admits. “I know I did. I shoulda… been there more, answered more, I dunno. Shoulda been better at handlin’ it.”

You nod slightly, keeping your face blank. “Mhm, you should've.”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his expression, but he doesn’t let it throw him off. “You think I didn’t feel it too? That whole time, it felt like- hell, like I was losin’ you, like somethin’ was slippin’ right outta my hands, and I couldn’t do nothin’ to stop it.”

You feel the tension in your shoulders loosen just a fraction, though you keep your arms folded as a kind of armour. His words settle into the silence, raw and rough, and you can feel him glancing over, waiting for some kind of response. But you keep your gaze forward, biting back the little stirrings of emotion that are beginning to creep in.

He keeps talking, voice low and steady, drawing you in without giving you a chance to look away. “I’m not tryin’ to make excuses, alright? I know I coulda tried harder. But it’s like… the more I tried, the harder it got. The distance, the time zones, the schedules… it all just made me feel like I couldn’t keep up. And I just didn't know how to juggle it and that's my fault.”

You shake your head slightly, finally glancing over at him, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of your mouth. “So this is your way of apologising?”

He laughs, a little sheepish. “Guess I’m not real good at it, huh?” He nudges you with his shoulder, a familiar, easy gesture that makes your arms slowly loosen. His hand brushes your arm, just for a second, and a warmth blooms where his fingers graze your skin as if your body’s memory of him can’t help but respond.

“Look,” he says, his voice dipping softer, “I just… I miss you so much. Like hell.”

The honesty in his tone hits you hard, unravelling the cold exterior you’ve worked so hard to keep up. He keeps his eyes on you, watching your face carefully as if gauging your reaction. You feel your resolve slipping even more, your arms slowly falling to your sides, your heart aching as you fight against the wave of warmth that’s threatening to break through.

“Ben…” you start, barely a whisper, but you don’t know what to say, feeling torn.

He moves a little closer, his eyes wide, pleading, like he’s trying to hold onto every inch of you he can. “I know I messed up, okay? But I don’t wanna lose you. Not for good. Please, Y/N. Give me one more chance, you won't regret it 'n if I fuck up bad, you can do whatever, however; I deserve it but please. Just one more chance.”

You press your lips tight together, feeling your heart tighten as his words sink in, as he stands there looking at you with that same vulnerability you’d once fallen in love with. For a second, you forget the hurt, the sleepless nights, and you’re left with just him, the version of him that’s open, sincere, the Ben you’d once held so close.

The walk to the hotel stretches out as he keeps talking, spilling out and laying his heart bare with that easy, boyish charm that only he can pull off, and little by little, you feel your icy exterior start to melt. He talks about his time away from you, how he admired you from videos, watched highlight reels, his endless hours at night going through photos and texts; the whole lot. He cracks a joke, and despite yourself, you smile, trying to hide it but failing. He nudges you again, grinning as he sees the hint of laughter breaking through your guard.

He apologises over and over, more earnestly each time, his voice steady and low, and you can hear the regret, the guilt, the need to make things right. By the time you reach the hotel entrance, you’re feeling something dangerously close to hope, your heart betraying you, making it harder and harder to keep up the facade.

You glance over at him, catching the way his eyes soften as he looks at you as if you’re the only thing he can see. He’s staring, the blush from earlier creeping back up his neck, and when his hand brushes yours one last time, you don’t pull away.

You stand just outside the hotel, a faint chill brushing past as the streetlights cast a warm glow around you. You shift on your feet, glancing up at him, your eyes soft but determined.

“Can I talk?” you ask, breaking the quiet, your voice barely above a whisper. The first thing you had actually said this entire time.

Ben raises an eyebrow, leaning in with a playful smirk. “Talk? What else have we been doin’ for the last twenty minutes, girl?”

You roll your eyes and reach out to smack his arm, earning a chuckle from him. “Fine then. Can we go up to your room?” you add, a small, daring smile tugging at your lips.

Ben’s eyebrow quirks higher. “My room, huh?” His gaze narrows, teasing you with that familiar glint. “What exactly ya got planned, sweetheart?”

You swat him again, harder this time, and he laughs, raising his hands in mock defence. But then you drop the smile, your voice softer. “I wanna talk about what I did, Ben. I messed up too.”

The teasing fades from his expression as he studies your face, searching. After a pause, he nods and gestures toward the lobby. “Alright, then. Let’s go talk.”

In the elevator, silence hangs thick in the air, tension as familiar as it is unspoken. You don't even notice, spending your time stilling your breath and running through everything you want to apologise for. When you reach his room, you head over to the small couch by the window and settle in, tucking your legs under you and giving him a steady look.

“Ya gettin’ comfortable already?” he jokes, leaning against the wall, his eyes dancing with that old spark that makes you ache.

You try not to smile, steeling yourself for your confessional. “Can you be serious for a minute?”

His smile fades as he walks over, sitting across from you, his gaze intense and focused. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything you’ve held back.

“I shouldn’t have put so many expectations on you,” you begin, your voice wavering. “You’ve got your own life, your own competitions, your own dreams. All this constant travelling, the different time zones… it’s not fair to expect you to be there every time I needed you at the drop of a hat. You get burnt out too- God. I never even asked how you were before I'd launch into my own day.”

You bite your lip, blinking back tears as they start to blur your vision. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve been more understanding, given you more grace.” Your voice catches, barely a whisper now. “And what I said… on that call… it was cruel, Ben. I was mean and unfair, and you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of it. At all. I wouldn't want myself back after all I had said and done.”

As a tear slips down your cheek, Ben’s face softens, and he reaches out without hesitation, his hands cupping your face as he brushes the tear away. His thumb lingers on your skin, his gaze is unwavering, and then he leans forward, pressing the gentlest kiss to your temple, another to your forehead, and a final one at the crown of your head, his hand resting tenderly against your hair.

You let out a shuddered breath, your hands covering his as you finally let everything pour out. “I miss you so much,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I miss everything about you… the way you laugh, your ridiculous voice…” Another tear rolls down, and you don’t try to hold back. “I miss the way you’d talk about cars or food for ages, and you’d make everything feel so normal, even when my life was a mess. Without you, it’s like this haze I can’t shake. I just… I miss you. I barely recognise myself these days.”

Your body shakes with the sobs you’ve tried so hard to bury, and Ben doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms like he could shield you from all the pain, all the regret. He holds you there, one hand smoothing over your hair, his lips pressing soft, tender kisses to your forehead and cheeks, murmuring gentle words against your skin.

“S’all right, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. I’m right here with you.”

You cling to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, as his hands trace soothing circles along your back. Your sobs gradually quiet, but your breaths are still shaky, each exhale unsteady.

“I’m so sorry, Ben,” you manage, voice barely audible.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Hey now,” he murmurs, his tone warm and grounding. “We both made mistakes. Ain’t just on you, alright? Takes two to mess up, but it takes two to fix it too. We can fix, can't we?”

You nod, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, feeling a little of the weight lift, softened by his words.

Ben tilts your head to hold your gaze, his own eyes glassy. “Can’t tell ya how many times I thought about callin’ ya or flying to ya,” he admits, his voice low. “How many times I’d pull up your name, wonderin’ what you’d say if I told ya all the things I wished I’d said. But I was… hell, I was scared, darlin’. Thought maybe I’d screwed up too bad, and you’d moved on.”

You shake your head, a small, breathy laugh escaping. “I couldn’t...I could never.”

He strokes your hair gently, his lips brushing your forehead once more. “Guess we’re both a couple of fools then, huh?”

You laugh softly, the sound wet and trembling as he pulls you back into his arms. You lean into him, letting yourself feel the warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart, grounding you. Wrapped in the quiet, tangled together, you both hold on a little tighter, feeling the rawness of your honesty and the comfort of finally, finally being close again. In the safety of his arms, you feel, for the first time in so long, a sense of peace, letting the unspoken words settle around you like a quiet promise.

Ben’s hand rests on your cheek, his thumb tracing small circles as he learns your face all over again, making your heart flutter. His fingers move slowly, grazing down to your jaw, then up again, threading into your hair. You let your eyes close for a moment, his gentle touch working its way through the tension of the night, and a small, contented sigh escapes you. For the first time in weeks, you feel relaxed and content.

“Gettin’ comfortable, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, though there’s a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He leans in, giving one final push to a stray strand of your hair before tilting his head toward the bed across the room. “C’mon, darlin’. This couch is barely holdin’ us together.”

You hesitate, but Ben’s already moving, holding out his hand as he stands up. His grip is strong, guiding you as you follow him to the bed, and he lets out a soft chuckle as you settle beside him. His arm drapes around you, pulling you close as you lean into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against you. The warmth is so consuming, cocooning you immediately.

Ben smiles down at you, a playful glint in his eye, and as his fingers find your hair again, he starts twirling a strand between his fingers. “So,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on the top of your head, “ya still gonna keep me blocked, huh?”

You roll your eyes, smirking. “Fine,” you reply, unlocking your phone with a playful huff. You find his name, well, technically his new contact name since you’d deleted him in a fit of anger, and type a single white heart emoji, pressing send.

The vibration of his phone buzzes beside him, and he pulls it out with a grin, holding up the glowing screen. “There it is. Knew ya couldn’t resist me,” he says, laughing as he pulls you in close as he kisses your temple.

But just as you relax against him, you notice a missed notification. It’s a text from Coco, her reply to your earlier message asking where she’d disappeared to after dinner. You hesitate, then, instead of texting back, you tap the Facetime icon, feeling a strange urge to share this quiet moment, finding words couldn't suffice, nor were you in the mood to type out a lengthy paragraph.

The call connects, and Coco’s face appears, a gasp escaping her as she spots you two tangled up in Ben’s bed, nestled together with his arm around you.

“Oh my god! Yes!” she cheers, loud enough to make Ben chuckle. You hear laughter and cheers in the background too, and Coco turns the camera, revealing the whole dinner table watching with knowing smiles.

"Coco, this was a set-up plan, huh?" you giggle as you see the entire friend group on the other end.

"Somewhat, but blame Morgan and Taylor, not me. They did all that," she throws the blame as she points the camera over to them. Frances, Morgan and Taylor wave and Frances yells “Look at Ben! Already got her in bed, huh?”

Ben rolls his eyes, but a faint blush colours his cheeks. He pulls you closer, his hand resting protectively around your shoulders as he grins.

“Hey now,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “This one’s special. Ain’t like any other. My lucky charm.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his words, and you’re so focused on him that you barely notice Coco and the others making gagging noises before Ben reaches out, ending the call on your phone with a smirk. Then he turns back to you, his eyes soft, filled with something that feels dangerously like forever.

He leans in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s slow and tender, each second lingering with quiet promises. And in the warmth of his arms, your heart finally feels at home, exactly where it belongs.

[tibby-art]

tibby you have no idea how much i want you to just straight infodump about kyle (huge monweek fan & i love his whole aesthetic) so im just sitting here waiting for more stuff

GODDD DUDE ive been so fixated on our campaign and its only been three sessions clenches fist. Ill yap under the cut

So the campaign takes place in 2009 in a small town in Illinois called Hollowbrook. Kyle was born & raised there, very normal upbringing, mom dad & little brother living in ur typical cozy cul-de-sac home, he's a pretty outgoing and rebellious kid though. Likes doing stupid shit like going to parties in the woods and breaking his arm doing skating tricks and going to the junkyard and smashing stuff for fun. Plays guitar badly in his garage. Goes to the local comic shop to talk nerd stuff like pokemon and world of warcraft and whatever.

6 months before the campaign takes place, Kyle is out in the woods with his younger brother Liam one night. Growing up, they've both been pretty interested in supernatural stuff and mythological creatures, so it's not uncommon for them to hang out there looking for bigfoot or whatever for fun. However, something goes wrong, something strange/magic happens, Liam goes missing and Kyle is witness to it all. He tells everybody what he saw, but no one believes him.

This sends Kyle on a pretty bad spiral for the next few months. The trauma of your younger brother going missing right before he's about to graduate high school, knowing you saw Something but nobody believes you, continuing to search for the truth while everyone slowly begins to move on. Kyle quickly becomes a lot more reckless and obsessive. He takes a semester off community college because he can't focus on school at all. He dedicates all of his time to one purpose and it's getting his brother back. He spends his days online at deep web forums discussing cryptids and magic, and at night he heads out to the woods to look for clues or creature sightings. He notices the forest is a little strange at night, but besides that, not many leads.

Only very recently does he meet the other three members of the party and discover the Hideaway, a magical portal that connects their world to a mirror dimension full of magic and mythical creatures. Kyle is convinced that this has to be where Liam went, and with a new lead & a team of chucklefucks he can continue to work towards that goal. :J Kyle's playbook is The Expert. He's the only player character who's lived in Hollowbrook his whole life so he knows pretty much everything there is to know about it. His casual interest in cryptids over the years + his recent obsession with it makes him pretty knowledgeable about that stuff as well. He doesn't have any magic abilities of his own (yet, that i know of?) but he wants to help the other three learn more information about the nature of their abilities, hoping that solving their mysteries may bring him closer to learning more about where Liam could have gone.

I'll share art I've done of Liam soon bc there is a Lot :J Towards the end of last session, Kyle revealed to the party that he's looking for his younger brother who went missing, however they haven't had time to discuss this in detail yet, so they haven't seen any photos of him or anything (Kyle keeps a lot of photos on his camera & printed out though lol. Also all of the characters have 100% seen Liam's face without realizing because Kyle has been putting up missing person posters everywhere)

soooo yeah thanks for being interested in my guy teehee i already have like 50+ drawings ive done of him in a month urm

i tag hollowbrook hideaway stuff as hh and there will be more stuff on my main blog where i rb other peoples art of their characters as well

[lexosaurus]

stained teeth leave the aftertaste of rot (part 1)

Here is my fic for @ecto-implosion! I was soooo pumped to get an art from @antleredweirdo which you can see [right here] (plz look at it cuz im VERY normal about this art piece)

Thank you so much to @lexiepiper and @ghostlyglimmer for betaing!

Characters: Danny Fenton Tags/warnings: minor character death, gore, ghost hunger Summary: Danny was just sick. It was probably some sort of ghost flu that was making his body heavy, his stomach hollow, and his eyes burn with fatigue. There was no way he was—no, he wasn't going to think about that. He wasn't. In the darkest corner of the room, something shifted.

[read on ao3]

[part 2] [part 3]

****

Danny sat behind his desk, staring listlessly out the window with heavy, half-lidded eyes. Sun beamed down from the cloudless sky, deceptively bright against the fresh spring air. The weather would warm soon, and birds would return from their winter flight to chirp from their tiny branches, but not yet. Not this early into the season.

He tapped his finger against his chin out of time with the droning rhythm of Mr. Lancer’s lecture, the motion about all he could muster to stay awake. His elbow supported his sagging body, nearly numb from the pressure of the desk. But he couldn't find it in him to care.

When he blinked, his eyes burned with sleep. They protested when he opened them, and really, it was so tempting to let his fatigue win. All he wanted was to let his head collapse on his desk, fold his arms into a soft pillow, and rest.

But he'd promised his parents he would try to do better in school this semester. Last fall had been more than a disaster, and if he repeated that again, he would have to do credit recovery over the summer. The last thing Danny wanted—or any teen for that matter—was to do more school over the summer.

So, he forced his head to turn to face the teacher and fought each lagging, burning blink as he pretended to at least appear like he was paying attention.

Even if behind him, his friends knew that he would be copying their notes later.

It wasn't his fault he was so tired. He was probably coming down with something. He didn't think he could get human illnesses, but that must have been what was happening because there was simply no other way to explain this sort of weakness that ached deep in his bones. How despite sleeping well the past week, each day his body felt more drained than the last.

Finally, finally, the bell rang. He stuffed his unopened notebook in his bag, nearly forgetting to zip it up before he tossed it over his shoulder, and dragged his useless body and feet forward, red shoes plodding one step in front of the other as he made his way to the door.

"Man, what a drag," Tucker said, falling in step beside him.

Danny had almost forgotten that Tucker was in that class too.

"I thought Lancer was gonna go on yapping forever." Tucker nudged him with his elbow. "Thought you were gonna nap at least five times, too. Seriously, you good? You look like you’re about to fall over."

"Yeah, fine," Danny said on reflex, then grimaced, amending with, "Kind of tired, actually."

"How many times have I told you to call us if the ghosts won't let up? We're your backup, dude!"

Danny stopped before his locker, phasing his hand through his lock and popping it open. Last fall, this sort of small, public usage of his powers would have been unthinkable. But he'd long since realized that one of the benefits of being invisible in the social hierarchy of school was, well, that he was invisible.

"It wasn't even a ghost this time. I think I'm just getting a cold."

Tucker leaned against a scratched red locker, folding his arms and pulling out his brick-like phone. One of those cases that doubled as an external battery, he'd said. To Danny, it just looked like one of Skulker's projectiles.

"You can get colds?" Tucker scrolled through what Danny could only assume was one of the many encrypted files he'd stolen from Vlad on halfa biology.

"Well, I don't know what else to call this."

"I do." Tucker clicked his phone off. "It's called wearing yourself out! Honestly, Danny, call us every once in a while."

Well, Danny couldn't exactly blame Tucker for not believing him about the ghosts actually letting him sleep for once. He tried rubbing the weariness from his eyes and grumbled, "Fine."

"I mean, seriously. I get that we can't fly or anything, but Sam and I are great with a gun. You know this."

"Yeah, I know."

"What are we mad at Danny about?" A voice piped up behind him.

Danny slammed his locker shut. "Nothing!"

"The usual," Tucker answered.

"Oh." Sam popped out beside him, slugging her ratty purple spider bag over a cropped black band hoodie. She tilted her head, and black hair fell onto her shoulders. "You didn't call us for backup again? Seriously?"

"No!"

Tucker ignored him, pushing himself off the locker to tap Sam's shoulder. "And get this! This idiot tried to tell me he's getting a cold."

"That's a bad lie, even for you."

"I'm not lying! I didn't fight a single ghost last night!" His protest was slightly louder than he'd intended it to be, and he could see the awkward glances from his classmates beside him, their judgment so loud he could almost hear them thinking about what a lame weirdo he was.

Ancients, this was really not a good day.

He lowered his voice. "Seriously, guys, I'm just tired. That's all. I've been feeling this way all week."

Sam and Tucker exchanged an agonizingly long glance.

"Really," he insisted.

Then, surprisingly, Sam was the first to break the silent exchange, rolling her eyes to look over at Danny. "Okay, fine. But seriously, if you have another busy night, then call us, okay? That's what we're here for."

"Sure."

"Now, come on!" Sam spun on her heel and began walking down the hall. "If we don't get to gym on time, Tetslaff is gonna make us run laps again!"

"Right behind you!" Tucker yelled, following after her.

Danny watched them from behind, his feet too heavy to try to play catch-up. There had been a blissful minute at his locker where he'd forgotten he had gym next. But, of course, that fantasy couldn't last forever, and now it was time for Dash and his cronies to pelt dodgeballs at him, or whatever other misery they'd think of.

Great, amazing. Just what the doctor ordered.

Part of him almost wished a ghost would appear out of thin air just so he'd have an excuse to skip. But, of course, the universe loved working against him.

Students passed by him in a blur, their voices twisting and swaying into a kaleidoscope of sound that evolved with each thundering footstep, each turn around the corner of another hall. His stomach panged. Not with hunger, or really with pain, but...something else. Something he couldn't quite place.

Maybe he was getting a ghostly illness? He hadn't ever heard of such a thing before, but it wasn't as though he had a plethora of ghost friends to ask questions to. Vlad certainly would never give him a heads-up about anything that would deter Danny from needing to grovel at his feet about later. 

But he did feel weird. And considering his baseline levels were already what a doctor might call both "weird" and "extremely concerning—Mrs. Fenton, how is your son even alive—" this was very likely to be something ghostly in nature. Maybe an ecto-flu.

Hopefully.

****

"Oh yeah, and why not?" The ghost sneered, his gray skin crinkling around acid-green eyes.

"Because!" Danny threw his hands up. "I've told you! You can't just start terrorizing people every time Kitty gets mad at you!"

Johnny 13 rolled his eyes in a cartoonishly exaggerated manner as if making sure Danny wouldn't miss it.

"I'm being serious. You know this."

"Yeah, yeah." Johnny folded his arms against the handlebars of his bike and leaned forward. "Then what the hell am I supposed to do? She left me, man. And she sounded really serious this time! I can't just let some punk take my girl!"

She wasn't being serious this time, Danny knew. Ghosts were nothing if not creatures of habit. Which meant, unfortunately, they were going to be having this fight and conversation again in another month.

That also meant that Danny had answered this question so many times before, he all but had a scripted response. "Maybe start by apologizing to her?"

"I can't just apologize to her for taking care of my bike! Kitty always wants to go on rides when my bike needs a bit of attention. Don't get me wrong, I love Kitty, but I love my bike too, and I godda make sure that girl is all taken care of so that Kitty and I can go on our rides across the Realms."

"Maybe, then, you can start by not calling your bike a girl."

"No way! I'm not riding a dude."

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. Ancients, this was why he needed to stick to the script. "Well, I don't know, man. Just apologize to her anyway. You know Kitty! That's really all she wants."

Johnny 13 muttered under his breath, shifting his weight on his bike. Shadow appeared from under him—a little smaller than before, now that Danny had worn him out from the fight—and began curling up his legs and around his waist. He didn't speak, and Danny wasn't really sure if he could, but somehow, Johnny always seemed to know what he was saying anyway.

"Yeah, that really hurt by the way."

It took Danny a second to realize that Johnny was talking to him.

"You nailed my back with your stupid ice spikes."

"Well, you started terrorizing the public!" Danny shot back.

"Yeah, but I didn't try to stab anyone. Unlike you, Mr. Hero Shtick over there."

"Unleashing Shadow on a group of middle schoolers almost counts as the same thing."

Johnny raised a brow at him. "Middle schoolers? They can take it."

"Whatever!" Danny snapped. It was useless to try to argue with Johnny about what constituted a public nuisance anyway. "I didn't even hit you that hard."

"Yeah, you did." Johnny swiped a hand behind his shoulder and hissed. "Ugh—I'm fucking bleeding! You got through the leather and everything, asshole!"

Shadow made a throaty, warbling sound from beside him.

"Yeah, I know!" Johnny nodded furiously, apparently agreeing.

Shadow warbled again, and Johnny laughed sardonically in return.

Danny sighed, not knowing nor caring about whatever insult Shadow had just slung at him. He floated closer to Johnny, his tail lazily flicking under him. "Come on, let me see that."

"No way!" Johnny leaned away from Danny's outstretched arm.

They'd played this song and dance too many times before for Danny to back down now. "If you let me patch you up and go to the portal willingly, I won't suck you into the thermos. Then you'll have all day to find Kitty—who's probably in Ember's lair—and you can apologize to her and she'll instantly forgive you and then you two can go ride on your bikes into the sunset like every cheesy movie from the seventies. Doesn't that sound great?"

Johnny frowned, his blonde brows pinching together, and eyed Danny suspiciously.

But Danny meant it. He truly did. More than anything, he just wanted Johnny 13 and Shadow to go back to the Zone.

It was another win for Danny. He swooped behind Johnny and prepped some ecto-ice under his skin. He’d discovered that not only did the frost act as an adhesive to stop minor bleeding, but that other ghosts could slowly absorb the ecto-energy to speed up their own healing processes.

But then, he caught sight of Johnny's shoulder.

And froze.

It wasn't that it was a horrendous, gruesome mess that had Danny wondering how Johnny was still standing. In fact, there was hardly anything there at all compared to what Danny was used to seeing on himself. The leather had torn where an ice spike had hit him, and a small trickle of ectoplasm was leaking through.

But despite having seen the slow trickle of ectoplasm from scrapes and gashes a hundred times before, Danny still lurched back.

Because something was wrong.

The ectoplasm didn't look like ectoplasm anymore. It sparkled like a jewel and glittered like a mound of sugary syrup. It wasn't just ectoplasm, it looked...

It looked...

"Kid?" Johnny's voice snapped him out of his head.

Danny started, flushing as he realized in embarrassment, he'd begun to flair his aura.

Jesus, what the hell was that about? Maybe he really was under some sort of ghost cold or something.

"Sorry," he managed to say, averting his gaze and reaching out his cringing arm to Johnny's shoulder.

Something dark flickered at the edge of his vision. It must have been his imagination, though, because when his paranoid eyes snapped over to it, nothing was there.

"You don't have to fight the fucking ectoplasm back into my body, you know."

"I know," Danny grumbled. He felt like some toddler ghost who couldn't control its urge to establish dominance. "Sorry, I think I'm getting sick or something."

"Sure you are, kid."

Somehow, he managed to touch the wound—just barely—where he wasted not even a nanosecond before his ecto-ice was on his fingertips, coating Johnny's skin in a frost that would have given frostbite to a normal human, but to a ghost, was little more than putting a cool bandage over the wound.

"Thanks." Johnny 13 leaned away, rolling his neck.

"Don't mess it up."

"Yeah, yeah. I know the drill."

Oh no, did they have a drill?

Danny tried to avoid looking at the lingering ectoplasm on Johnny's back. "Okay, you're all good now so just go to Kitty, please? Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars."

"Sure thing, ghost brat!" Then, Johnny's expression shifted so quickly that Danny almost wondered if they were about to start brawling again. "By the way, you seriously need to recharge."

Now it was Danny's turn to roll his eyes. "Oh, jeez, recharging? I never thought of that!" He directed some ectoplasm into his eyes to make them glow brighter, snapping, "When the hell is a guy supposed to sleep when you all keep coming into Amity?"

"No, not that kind of—ah, forget it." Johnny waved him off. "You'll figure it out soon enough, anyway. Either that, or I won't have to worry about you anymore. Which, not that I'm wishing for your demise, but having you out of my way would be kinda nice."

"Not happening."

They stared at each other. Johnny, with his bemused expression, and Danny, with arms crossed and aura glistening in warning. Around the corner, sounds of children, blissfully unaware of the two ghosts in the alley, laughed as they played in the small park.

Yeah, like hell was Danny ever going to let these morons cause mayhem and disrupt innocent lives like that.

Johnny 13 was the first to break it, shrugging in that lazy way that Danny hated so much. "Well, have fun with your illness then. See ya!"

The motorcycle revving was never not obnoxious. A cloud of green ecto-smoke pillowed around them, following Johnny as he disappeared in the direction of Fentonworks.

Danny didn't follow him. Partly because he knew Johnny wasn't stupid enough to stick around. But also partly because his feet had frozen to the ground. The green motorcycle smoke was surrounding him, and he couldn't move. He didn't want to move.

It was simply too intoxicating.

When the smoke cleared and he couldn't feel any traces of ecto-activity around him, Danny finally let out a long, slow breath, his muscles releasing as he did. At his sides, his hands trembled.

But why?

That interaction was one he'd had a dozen times before. Why was he so rattled now?

What the hell had happened to him?

He must have been missing something, because when he replayed the events in his head, for a moment there, Johnny's ectoplasm...it had looked...he'd wanted to...

No.

No.

That wasn't right. No. He was misremembering it. He was sick. No. Something was off. He wasn't thinking clearly. He was a good person, he wasn't some freak who would—no, that was sick. He was just being paranoid.

He clenched his hands into fists, tucking them under his elbows and hugging his torso because he just needed to calm down. He just wasn't feeling right. He was tired.

His stomach felt empty. He must have been hungry too. Yeah, that must have been it.

But...he didn't feel hungry. Or, did he?

His body was too out of whack right now.

He needed to go home. Sleep. Yeah, that sounded good.

Sleep always had a way of fixing everything.

****

Danny lay in his bed, his stomach hollow despite the fact that he’d just eaten dinner. When he stared at the ceiling, a slight green glow reflected in the air above him.

Odd. His eyes normally never glowed in his human form unless he was upset or angry.

In the corners of the room, the shadows shifted.

He was afraid to look.

The tips of his fingers tingled.

Something was happening to him. Something that every time he tried to think about it, his brain slammed the gates shut.

So he didn't think. He kept clenching his fists. He refused to look at the shadows. He didn't acknowledge the emptiness in his stomach. He stared up, gazing past the green air to the glow-in-the-dark constellations on his ceiling. He breathed.

And breathed.

Up, down. Rest. Up, down. Rest.

For some reason, it was enough to distract him.

Perhaps, that was because breathing was human.

****

part 2 >

[delulustateofmind]

oof This is Love, Right is so AMAZING, i loved it a bit too much. my heart broke for the reader when she was soooo close to escaping them, but it all came crashing down - so sad, seriously.

i wonder if they have a preference for boy or girl and also if the kid is satoru, how does geto react and the vice-versa

❤ and thank you for sharing such masterpiece with us

TW: Toxic relationship dynamics, mentions of pregnancy/children, mentions of breeding/lactation kinks. MDNI

I'm glad you enjoyed it! Thank you so much! 🩷

Ahhh...in terms of children, those freaks wouldn't care. Geto would surely want girls or twins again. Gojo is well...happy to be there. However, the higher-ups would pressure for at least one of your children to look like Gojo. As for themselves, Gojo and Geto love each other so much that they would love each other's kids.

Now obviously when you have kids that leads to other issues.

Like Geto's breeding kink, oh, his poor breeding kink would go into overdrive. He would absolutely adore seeing you pregnant—he’d be thrilled by the sight of you swollen with their child. It’s not just a visual thing; he loves doting on you during that time, thriving on the closeness and the proof that you need him. For Geto, your pregnancy solidifies his control and affection. (I fear he wouldn't let any of the maids touch you, so uh good luck spending nine months would him)

Gojo has unfortunately a lot of deeply ingrained issues, like being taken away from his parents way too young, which would lead to mommy issues. So when you're lactating. He'd develop a sort of fixation on it, barely saving enough for the kids, and once your milk starts drying up, he'd be ready to give you another one.

You're probably going to (unfortunately) end up with a lot of children. Producing more powerful sorcerers for the world and if there's an occasional non-sorcerer they'd be fine with that.

Now to add onto this how do the kids react to your situation:

Geto is extremely good at manipulation. As soon as your children are old enough to understand and remember things, he’d start planting the idea that you’re “sick.” That’s why you can’t leave, and that’s why you sometimes get “delusional” or lash out at him and Gojo. However, after one escape, Geto did snip your Achilles tendon, so good luck running after that.

So how do the children react, Naturally, they just believe him. Why would their dads lie to them? Their dads are heroes, the strongest, and honored. Who takes care of their sick mother who lashes out due to an illness. So, unfortunately, anytime you try to plead with them or tell them the truth, they'd think you're just "sick" and would probably cuddle you, tell you how much they love you, trying to make you feel better until your "meds" kick in. They'd likely pick up yandere tendencies themselves, thanks to the lovely example their fathers are setting. <3

Sorry for the ramble! I just know others commented about certain situations so I figured I'd just yap about it now.

[abiiors]

the spring curse - ross x reader ˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧💌˚.⋆🌿

a/n: this is essentially a sickfic with so much yapping in there oh my god 🙄 yapping and yearning are the two things i operate on cw: brief suggestive content but no actual smut. being ill i suppose but it's very mild and fluffy. also pls we're going to suspend our disbelief here because i have no idea what being a florist entails. wc: 3.4k

they get together at the beginning of winter. 

the last of the leaves are already a deep shade of orange, falling and falling everyday until the trees go barren and white snowflakes start fluttering all around. they’re already exclusive by the time the first proper snow of the season falls. 

ross is a boyfriend. to the girl of his dreams. it makes him feel as giddy as a teenager every time he thinks about it; every time she gives him a sweet smile and an even sweeter kiss. 

he always holds her hand just a little tighter, cuddles her closer just a little longer every time she has to go—he’s making up for the lost time, he thinks. all the time he’s wasted being stupid and a coward. and so whenever she stays over he stays near her, follows her around from room to room. she finds it infinitely amusing, so endearing that she can’t help but kiss him every two minutes for it. 

a florist’s job is pretty slow in the winter. ross learns that quite early on in their relationship when he gets to take the slow days extra slow—cuddling on the sofa and dancing in the kitchen and every other cheesy thing he can think of. 

he fucking adores the slow mornings after she stays over—loves waking up with her in his arms, loves the slow, lazy morning sex where she’s moaning and squirming and cumming on his cock barely awake, loves how she looks at him with sleepy eyes hooded with lust. 

“‘s gonna be so awful when my job picks up again and the spring weddings start happening,” she says one morning while they’re in bed still, her head on his chest. ross hums. “you’ll be lucky if you see me two days in a row.”

he pouts. “it’s not that busy is it?”

“it is! so many new flowers coming into the shop and scott wants us to make sure each one of them is absolutely perfect. individually. fuck and the pollen—you’re not allergic to pollen are you? because i get so covered in it…”

ross racks his brain. maybe he does remember being a bit more sniffly in spring but nothing severe. it’s never been noteworthy. he shrugs and holds her tighter. “nah, don’t think so. it can’t be that bad though.”

she laughs mirthlessly. “you don’t know the half of it. my ex was so allergic i had to stay away for all of spring pretty much. like three months every year where i’d move back in with my parents because it was just that bad for him.”

he pretty much stops listening halfway through, stuck on the part where she had to stay away for three whole months. he can barely stay away half the week. 

“don’t have to worry about that,” he strokes her hair, brushing off the silly unwanted thoughts. 

and it turns out to be true—even when she stays in the shop longer, busy catering to new year’s parties and other events, ross hardly ever has a reaction to it. it’s blown out of proportion, he thinks. sure pollen allergies are real, but they must be incredibly rare.

what are the odds that he has it just as bad as her ex? 

soon enough he forgets the conversation. everything is so blissful, so perfect that by the time valentine’s day rolls around, he’s already asked her to move in. 

“are you serious?” she shrieks, giddy with excitement. it works great for them—for one, the floral shop she works at is so much closer to his house. and then just as an added bonus, he doesn’t have to compromise to seeing her only half the days of the week. 

“yes. oh my god, yes! it’d be perfect…”

and he agrees. it would be perfect… until, well, it’s not. 

spring arrives with a riot of colours—little weedy flowers grow in his backyard, daisies and buttercups cover grassy patches on the ground. even the dead trees start sprouting new leaves. 

everything outside is cheery and pretty and colourful. in comparison, ross feels…weirdly tired. not that it’s an everyday thing but on days when he’s outside more, he’s way too fucking exhausted to do anything else. it’s only when the sneezing starts does the conversation come back to haunt him. 

my ex was so allergic i had to stay away for all of spring pretty much…

ross shudders, thankful that it’s not that bad for him. it’s not! he’s certain about that. it’s only a scratchy throat and mildly itchy eyes that he could have gotten from eye strain too frankly, and maybe just a little case of the sniffles. it’s annoying, sure, but it’s not the end of the world. there’s no reason she needs to know about it and worry that she'll have to be away from him when she just moved in a week ago. 

he can very easily chalk up all his symptoms to a plethora of other things. 

and well, denial’s worked great for him—for one whole week, at least. 

towards the end of her second week, ross feels more tired than usual. she’s been slightly more busy at work (there’s a big wedding coming up) and ross has taken it upon himself to do a deep clean of the house now that he has a bit more free time—spring cleaning, to get rid of the pollen that may or may not be there. 

everytime there’s a persistent cough, he brushes it off. it’s dust—of course, that’s what’s making him cough and sneeze. 

it’s all the cleaning—that’s why he’s so tired.

all of it melts away though when he hears the keys jingling and the door opening. there’s a bit of a shuffle, a door shutting softly and then he hears her. 

“ross?”

he’s out the kitchen and walking towards her the next second, smiling huge. she looks like a fucking delight—hair a bit messy from the wind, surrounded by the smell of her perfume and a whole mix of flowers, plus something inexplicably green. 

she grins when she sees him and almost tackles him into a hug. 

“i love coming home to you…” the words are muffled by his t-shirt but his heart speeds up regardless. ross smiles and tucks his nose into her hair. 

“hello, you. had a good day?”

she nods and stays exactly like she was. the bliss only lasts another second though. ross feels it only a second before it happens—the string of sneezes he lets out with only a split second’s warning from his body. 

one, two, three, fifteen… until his eyes are watery and his throat stings from the effort. she looks at him with a bewildered expression on her face, slightly confused about…all of it.

he shakes his head. “shit, sorry! must have inhaled some pepper… i was just making dinner.” 

which isn’t a lie. he was making dinner and yes he has got the pepper out on the table. she throws him one more skeptical look but doesn’t push it further. 

ross takes her bag from her. “go wash up, i’ve got a movie picked out for us.”

she brightens instantly, and gives him a gorgeous smile, one that makes the tiny dimple by her lip appear. ross watches her nod and walk away from him, making her way to their bedroom. his smile is real for the most part until she finally shuts the door and he lets the cough he’s been holding in loose. he tries not to agitate his throat more, he tries to clear it so it would get rid of the itchy, sticky feeling. 

pollen, the logical part of his brain tells him. there was a tonne of pollen in her hair. but ross stubbornly gulps a glass of water, sighing at the way it makes him feel better instantly. he splashes some water from the kitchen sink on his eyes to get rid of the stinging.

it’s only a bit of allergies, he’s not going to die from it. besides, once she showers, the pollen would be washed away…right?

the other delightful symptoms show up hours later when he’s in bed, tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. his head feels fucking heavy, like there’s suddenly a dumbbell placed on there. the itchy eyes won’t let him get comfortable and the constant urge to sneeze has him almost on the verge of fucking tears from how uncomfortable he is. 

ross curses silently, staying as far away from her without falling off the bed—for one he wants to try limiting his exposure to pollen. and if there’s a slight chance that he’s coming down with something then it’s better that he stay a bit away from her anyway. 

that just makes him even more miserable. all he wants to do is cuddle and fall asleep and not wake up until it’s at least 8 am the next morning but apparently he’s not afforded this luxury. 

sighing, ross gets up and checks his phone. 1:03 am. 

then he makes his way to the kitchen. maybe some tea might help… at least out of the bedroom he can finally sneeze into the crook of his elbow without worrying about waking her up. 

ross stumbles into the kitchen, his footsteps heavy with exhaustion and frustration. he flicks on the dim light above the stove, wincing as it illuminates the small space. his head throbs with each heartbeat, and he reaches up to massage his temples, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure. 

he tries not to be miffed about it—the fact that being out of the room instantly feels a bit better. it must the the honey in the tea, or the warm water. whatever it is, he refuses to admit it to himself that it may be her. that he’s been cocky about it this whole time only for it to bite him in the ass. 

“ross?” he startles and whirls around. 

despite the painful headache, his heart melts. she looks sleepy and soft—hair half out of the braid, his giant t-shirt drowning her a little, sliding off her shoulder. she squints her eyes against the light and rubs the sleep out of them.

“what are you doing, it’s—” she has to wait till the yawn passes “—so late. you alright?”

he nods, maybe a bit too quickly and fails to stifle a wince. the movement makes a twinge of pain slice through his head and her eyes train on him. 

“you’re being weird… are you unwell?”

“‘m not being weird,” he tries to reassure her. ross walks up to her, placing a hand on her waist so he could gently steer her back to their bedroom. “i’m fine, love. my throat feels a bit dry so i thought tea would help.” 

“your eyes are all red.”

“yeah, babe. i just woke up.” lie, lie, lie. “come on, you’ve got to be up early. go back to bed, i’ll join you in a sec.”

the skepticism on her face remains. “ross, if you’re ill—”

“i’m not ill, come on. would i do this if i were ill?” and then he kisses her. for a good thirty seconds. 

predictably (and to his delight) she goes all loose in his arms, clinging to him as if the kiss is the only thing that matters. that convinces her though and once they break apart, she hmphs. 

“fine, don’t be long.” and then she drags her feet back to the bedroom. 

ross stays in the kitchen for a bit longers, massaging his aching temples and hoping the tea works as some magical cure. he even manages to convince himself a little that it’s working, and maybe it is! 

finally, fifteen minutes later he gives up. he just wants to be in bed at this point. he’ll figure out the rest tomorrow. 

ross wakes up alone to warm sunlight streaming in from the window, perhaps a bit too warm for an early spring day. everything feels weird and uncomfortable and stuffy, almost like he can barely breathe. exhaustion coats every cell in his body. 

what the fuck… 

he just woke up too, how is it possible to be this tired, this early in the morning. he stretches a little, trying to shake off the ickiness, until his eyes land on a post it stuck on the nightstand. 

i don’t know if you remember me telling you i was leaving for work early so i thought i’d leave a note. you looked really tired and uncomfy :( call me if you need me xx 

her neat handwriting stands stark against the paper. how did he miss her leaving for work? he has absolutely no memory of being even half-awake and he never sleeps in until this late. ross frowns and checks himself for a fever but his skin feels cool to the touch, normal. 

allergies. a voice chimes in again. allergies to pollen and spring and. allergies to your girlfriend. 

it’s incredibly childish to think of it that way, he knows it. but he also knows that if she knew her job was causing him this much discomfort, she’d be quite sad about it. so ross just shrugs it away and sends her a text

awake and feeling a lot better :) 

thirty seconds later, his phone pings. 

good, because i took half the day off to spend it with you ♡

despite himself, ross beams, feeling giddy like a teenager. it takes him some effort to get out of bed and shake off the fatigue. he should probably clean the room a bit before she comes back. his thoughts wander back to the last time—to him uncontrollably sneezing and coughing because of the pollen in her hair.

ross groans and tries to clear his throat again. 

somehow he manages to pass the time, doing little things here and there, getting on his playstation to see if any of his friends are free for a game (the are, but only for a bit). he makes himself a lazy lunch, quick and easy tin ravioli that she would 100% wrinkle her nose at (“pasta should be fresh though!”) and then he waits, scrolling on his phone to pass the time. 

he wakes up to an onslaught of kisses and a huge bouquet of daisies. 

for a second ross wonders when he fell asleep. he didn���t even mean to fall asleep, the tiredness just dragged him under… 

“there you are,” she grins at him and places another kiss on his nose. ross tries not to blush like a high school girl. instead, he pulls her into a quick kiss. 

“i got you flowers!” the bouquet of daisies is thrust into his hands. the flowers are beautiful, each about the same size, white and fresh and pretty and she beams at him proudly. “made that one for you.”

“you are perfect…” he kisses her again and cradles the flowers closer. “any special occasion though?”

“nah, just thought you were a bit unwell and thought i’d get you flowers.”

ross brightens. he loves how thoughtful she is, loves that she made sure to get him flowers because she suspected he was sick.

all of it comes crashing the moment he feels the familiar itchy feeling build at the back of his throat, feels his eyes starting to water. he tries not to throw the flowers away as if they were made of fire but he has twist his body away from hers when he breaks out into a coughing fit. hacking and trying to get the flowers away from him. 

“shit, you okay?” she sounds alarmed and rubs her hand up and down his back. it barely registers while ross struggles to breathe. 

quickly she runs to the kitchen to get him some water. it takes him a bit to breathe and stop coughing so he can get some water down. 

“i didn’t know you were this sick!” 

“i’m not,” his voice sounds strained but she ignores him entirely and places the back of her hand against his forehead. 

“no fever,” she frowns. “but you looked so run down before…”

“i haven’t caught a bug i promise!”

she opens her mouth again to argue, about to say something but stops halfway through the sentence, her eyes widening and ross watches in real time as the realisation dawns on her. the room goes drop dead silent. 

“fuck…” she murmurs, “it’s hay fever, isn’t it.”

ross wants to deny it so desperately but all he can do is sit there and pout miserably. there’s nothing he can say that will undo it now. 

“how long?”

“how long what?”

“how long have you been feeling it? itchy eyes, the sneezing, coughing. you know what i’m talking about.”

he does but he doesn’t want to admit it. quietly, she move the flowers as far away as possible. ross palms the back of his neck, sheepish. “two weeks.”

“you’ve been miserable for what–two weeks? because of me! and you didn’t even tell me.” her face falls more and more with each word and ross wants to point out that this is exactly why he didn’t tell her, and now she’s upset anyway. convincing herself that she’s the reason he’s been feeling so horrible. 

“why didn’t you tell me?”

sheepishly, he spills everything—how he remembers the conversation about her ex, how he doesn’t want her to feel like she’s the one making him sick. 

“and i didn’t want you moving away for three months! you just moved in”

he sounds so petulant and childish to his own ears, he sounds like a seven year old, not a fully grown man. 

for a moment she says absolutely nothing. she only looks at him, bewildered and speechless. 

“did–do—” then she has to pause to take a deep breath. “did you take any antihistamines?”

and that’s when it dawns on him. ross opens his mouth and closes it again, like a fish. antihistamines. allergy medicine. a miracle of modern science easily available to him over the counter. something he didn’t even bother thinking about.

“did you?”

“no.”

he hangs his head in shame, embarrassed that he didn’t think about it sooner until peals of her laughter jolt him back. she looks like she’s ready to collapse on the sofa, completely fucking floored by the giggles she can’t seem to suppress. 

“you are so dramatic!” she shrieks, manages to even get the whole sentence out between gasps and giggles. “you’d think you caught the black death or something.”

“oi!” ross flicks her her on the nose but joins in on the laughter too. he has been a fucking idiot, of course he has. “you said you had to move away every spring! because your ex had it that bad!”

“yeah because he had asthma, you idiot.”

with every new piece of information she reveals, ross feels his face warm up more and more. okay yeah… he really has been fucking dramatic about all this. 

“you really are an idiot, you know that?,” she catches her breath with a bit of effort and moves a bit closer to him. ross pretends to grumble but pulls her on his lap and holds her close.

“your idiot?” 

“don’t try to be cute, you’re not living this down.” she sounds stern for about two seconds before bursting into another fit of giggles and burying her face in his shoulder.  

“i’m not moving out the house just because you’re allergic to me, you know?” she teases once she’s sobered up enough. “you’ll be fine with some pills.”

he would be, now all he wants to do is make a mad dash to the pharmacy and buy whatever otc medication they have. it’s been hell as is, he just wants this feeling to go away. 

i’m not moving out the house…

his heart leaps up to his throat and relief floods his body. ross feels like he can finally breathe again (figuratively, at least). 

“i’m not allergic to you,” he counters, “i’m obsessed with you if anything.”

“flirting will not get you out of this!” but ross doesn’t miss the way her smile widens and she struggles to meet his eyes. if only he could stay like this forever…

he would have even, if not for another round of sneezes building up again. ross cringes, turning to the side. 

“shit shit! still, radioactive, sorry.” 

ross snorts, silently begging for the sneezes to go away. 

“let me make a pharmacy run for you,” she declares, putting her shoes back on and shushing him with a look before he can even protest. it’s fine though, he thinks, it's only twenty minutes. she’s coming back home to him anyway. 

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[ceedaryaps]

Iron flame yap seshh: Characters

Hiyyaaaaahhhhhhhh I don't have much of an intro this time so were going straight into it.

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Violet & Zaden: If I thought they annoyed me before OHH BROTHERR. The lack of communication between these two is astounding. "Why didn't you tell me." "You didn't ask" "I DID ask." "Well, you didn't ask the right questions." ..................dpmo. I love them but they're so annoying I'm sorry and then when Violent found out ole girl has the same fighting style bc Zaden trained her too!!?? Violet wasn't mad enough for me. Then after he heard that girl tell Violet that Zaden only wanted her for sex what does he do? Try to have sex with Violet. IDk Violet is a much better woman than me I would have killed him. I do love that Violet clocked him and was like "You're acting like Dain." CLOCK HIM AGAIN. The Zaden being vennin at the end ugh what is even going awnnnnnn. In my opinion Violet should have been a lot meaner and Zaden.....for god's sake, I'm tired of the angsty man act can't lie. (Kudos to Violet for withstanding torture and knowing not to drink that shit the second time around THATS MY GIRL)

Rhiannon: Opinion hasn't changed. Queen.

Dain: This is not a complete redemption bc I still don't like the fact that he's still "Are you SURE you want him Violet." But I enjoy that he grew a brain and sided with the right folks. Like busting her out of there? I won't call him king but he at least gets Squire status.

Aaric Graycastle: "Keep ur fucking boyfriend away from me." Oh yeah, I fuck with him. Is someone not a suck-up to Zaden and not afraid to actually try to go at him? I sense a new fav.

Andarna: Princess Andarna wants blood and blood she will get, I kinda expected her to be different in some way so her scales changing was not a huge surprise but it was nice. Also despite the rules the dragons have in place she absolutely bodied that other dragon for Violet and ugh I love Andarna so much yall don't understand.

Tairn & Sgayel: I'm putting these two together bc man that scene where Tairn finds out that not only Zaden kept something from Violet but more importantly Sgayel kept something from Tairn!!!???? Gods I love these two as mates but that scene hurts my feelings. Also Dad!Tairn constantly being like "Andarna no." is my new fav thing.

Momma Sorrengail: Yanno.......I dont think I dislike her as much as I did, especially because she ended up helping but like...idk. I think id be like Brennan and just be like "Eh fuck you kinda?" like idk how to truly feel about her after iron flame. Its a complicated I don't like her but thanks we couldn't have done it without her? Pulled through for her kids ig so go momma Sorrengail.

Jack Barlowe: WHAT.THE.FUCK what. WHAT. First off, how are you alive, second why are you alive, third SAVED VIOLET?, fourth VENIN? fith KILLING BAIDE?! Someone kill him for good ZADEN DO UR THING like double tap make sure he STAYS down.

Brennan: no overwhelming feelings tbh. I understand his attitude towards Lilith tho def deserved it.

Catronia: I dont like her, Violet should have beat her ass WORSE. And like yeah mind powers are invasive but amplifying someone's EMOTIONS?! Yeah she sucks. And being mad at Violet bc of a fuck ass crown girl get REAL. Showing up in a see-through gown at Zaden's door? You dirty skank bitch she better be next on the off list especially her sparring match with Violet. IDGAF if she helped later fuck Cat.

Ridoc: "The map is under my mattress." King. So in love with him. Can we stop giving him near-death experiences pls ill cry.

Sawyer:....... don't do this to me man he better be okay.

Jesina: Queen pulled through for the translations a smart baddie queen love that for her tbh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay yall that's all I got for now, it was gonna be posted earlier but I went through a breakup and college got busyyyy hopefully I can give my thoughts on the actual plot of Iron flame soon!

[brokerplushsg]

Haiyyaaa!! I don't know if someone's asked you this before but what are your thoughts on all the taints / emotions from Block Tales and their domains??

I love your fear interpretation from the blog and I just gotta know what you think about the other three!!

I may also want to just hear what other people think about the taints in general because I'm so very (not) normal about them right now. Oops! :3c

- @afeatherypileofjunk

Ight yipppeee and tysm for enjoying my rp blog :3 (I plan on starting a 2nd one soon hehehehhe)

Tbh in general I love all of them for like different aspects

And welp, if u wanna know more, RANT BELOW YIPPEEEE

Idk how to sort this out but ig Ill yap about Greed first because ngl I love him and also screw it some head canons too

So first of all Im stealing that one artist's hc that they have some form of vitiligo, so there are like slightly lighter yellow patches all over their body, also making them kinda piebald I like my cheese mouldy bruh!!! Anyways, speaking about piebald, I kind of want to based them of the pied piper, leprechauns and some others, ngl for this section I am still looking for inspo, mostly mythological beings or something hehehwhwgsjdgdhsn

Also as you expected ya he's def a flamboyant and arrogant extroverted spoiled brat of a rich kid and will defintely cry and scream like a spoiled brat if they dont het what they want. Because of his nature in general they have no friends in general and they definitely not tryna fill that lonely hole in their heart with their greed and taking stuff and whatnot hehehehehehe

It's a somewhat vicious cycle, but dw, as hopeless as bro is, salvation is not impossible

Anyways onto Solitude, honestly I see them as very insightful despite being asleep since the begining or whatever, low intelligence, but high wisdom. Very elusive and mythical, as they are based on Kelpies, Sirens, Water nymphs and maybe even babayaga and much more. Also I think they would have like a nautical motivf because water, ocean, ya. And therefore they definitely have a good sense of direction, and knows how to infer from nature to know the directions like measuring the stars. Speaking about such things, Solitude would definitely know spiritual stuff, like knowing how to read horoscopes, knowing how to use tarot cards. And because of said insight, they can accurately tell a person's personality as well as even their backstory from a single glance.

Although Solitude doesn't care that much about materialistic things, they secretly really love shiny stuff, especially crystals, they are obsessed with crystals. They have a secret collection hidden deep within their waters that they especially don't want a particular SOMEONE to raid and steal everything. Speaking about that, they are the kind who would yell back at a screaming child to get them to shut up. Said screaming child is Greed. Yeah the 2 have beef, and Solitude always verbally insults them in very, interesting ways. (Also should mention not the type to swear except in russian or any other slavic language) also even tho Solitude bullies them 99% of the time, there is indeed a 1% where they can be nice, because they do feel just a pinch of sympathy for Greed.

Anyways, they also feel like its their responsibility to take care of him sometimes so that they don't do something stupid as much as their introverted ahh hates going out

Also, as much as Solitude hates it, they do have some connections with Greed, as much as they have connections with Fear, physically and in some other ways idk how to describe

Okay for fear I kinda yapped it all about in their parody blog but Ill elaborate more on some things like their relationship with Solitude, where again they learned to somewhat be "braver" and to accept themselves more or something idk shdgjdbend. Although, Fear is indeed more inclined to having high intelligence rather than wisdom. Also yeah Fear is more ambiverted because aside from being slightly scared of people, they do crave a little interaction because they definitely do have a little FOMO.

Also because why not ill yap a lil about Hatred as well. Ain't gonna reveal much because spoilers to rp events planned ahead but HOHOHO, y'all better hate it, because they ain't gonna be "mean little cat boys" like the rest on this site, they are an actual asshole and I am confirming they are definitely soon enough going to hurt somebody in the rp and I will not confirm or deny if somebody in the rp is dying as well.

We will have to see ;3

Although, I will say, Hatred is simply a pawn for a bigger entity, that Imma be real, I am not sure will show up because I don't have plans yet, however, just know that Hatred will be the main antagonist for a long, dang time.

Anyways I should say like how the 3 are connected to each other so uh, idk if anything below this would make sense or not 😭

Greed is like humanity, Fear is like nature, Soitude is the inbetween

Fear represents spirituality, Greed represents materialism, Solitude is the connection between the physical and the unseen

Fear is like the past, something primal with the appreciation of life, Solitude embraces what is modern yet respects the roots of the wild, Greed is like the present, something so modern with ignorance for life since its so easy to live now with everything that we have

Greed is a sin, Solitude is a state, fear is an emotion.

With Fear as an emotion, it has the grip and control in most minds, not only that of humans, but of animals and nature too, everyone's afraid of something and I mean bro started to exist alongside the first vertabre. Everything wants to live, and disregarding fear is to accept death.

However, Fear is also the least bound to their nature because emotions can be more of a spectrum instead of a set thing, and plus many times fear can be felt but bravery can still be there, it ain't usually holding back a lot. (thus why they ain't like a scardey cat 100% of the time)

Solitude as a state has the grip on quite a lot, but not as much as fear, as well some people are naturally introverts, so may seek out less social interactions and some animals are purely solitary and not social. You can enjoy or hate being solitary, it's neutral after all.

However, Solitude does have more of a grip on certain people, especially humans because despite being a social species, and individuals wanting to be with others, they may be rejected from the rest due to certain issues like different appearances, preferences, etc. Because its such a subjective thing, Solitude is also not entirely bound to their nature, still close to it tho.

Greed is called a sin for a reason. Although some animals can be considered "Greedy" like pigs and squirrels, it's not entirely fair to compare them with Greed, as they do not know any better, and are just following their instincts programed into them for survival. Greed is a very, human thing.

And yes, like every other of the embodiments, it can be found in everyone, it's only a fraction of the population that it dominantly rules over *side eyes almost every company head ever especially roblox* and unlike the other 2, being neutral good or true neutral, Greed, is straight up bad. Getting all you want and not giving it to those who need it more. It can be ignorance, it can be intentional. Still horrible though.

Because of being such a defined nature that is such deeply rooted into humanity, of course it's hard for Greed to be apart from their nature, which is really unfortunate, because owning materialistic things aren't all there is to life, and Greed definitely yearns more than just those materialistic items, but such things that he yearns cannot be received unless he gives up those materialistic things. It's this or that, no both, but he wants everything, and therefore they will never be satisfied. Tragic, isent it?

However, once again there is a silver lining. Even though they so tightly entwined with their concept, their sentience shows that there's more to him aside from that and change is possible. Will be slow, will definitely be hard, but with determination, they can break out of their own nature. Might be death for themselves, but it's the only way for freedom.

Ngl writing all this makes me feel like a madwoman with a tinfoil hat trying to spread some kind of conspiracy or something shejhdjehd

Idk if y'all would even get anything especially the second half of this yap session but DO YALL SEE THE VISION???

I AM NOT DELULU RIGHT YALL CAN UNDERSTAND MY THOUGHT PROCESS RIGHT???

RIGHT????

Anyways I hope u enjoy this hehehehe I think I spent like an hour or 2 thinking and writing this breh

Also

ALL THIS IS DEF SUBJECTED TO CHANGE SINCE ITS DEFINITELY NOT ENTIRELY SOLID AND LIKE I JUST THOUGHT OF MOST OF THIS RIGHT ON THE SPOT

(Although some have been simmering in my brain for a long while)

[paviastrashyrings]

can i request a horropedia x reader with the “rude to everyone but loving to their partner” trope? (reader is the rude one)🫶🏻 male reader if possible

More of the lovely Nerdy Nerd? How could i possibly say no. Thank you for your submission and it is absolutely my pleasure to serve you. (side note: could not be more on the nail for how i am irl)

Without further ado, dear readers, lets get into another dream with Horropedia.

You were...rough around the edges, so to speak. Uncaring and cold towards most people.

If someone touched you, you'd snap at them. If someone came at you with an attitude, you'd match it.

Everyone associated with you was used to your foul mouth and bad mood.

Except one person, of course.

He had never understood why everyone spoke so poorly of your behavior until he witnessed first hand how "grouchy" you were with others.

"Hes not so bad." he'd try to defend you, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish smile.

"Dude he literally insulted me to my face because I bumped into him." one coworker recalls, angered by the mere memory.

It wasnt like you were trying to be mean, people just dont have spatial awareness.

They were right there.

Nothing pushed them into you.

They didn't even trip.

They just were dumb and didn't look where they were going. That's on them.

He would listen to you recall your side of the story, your tone soft and even because it was him.

"We really gotta work on your...people skills." he hums, but in complete honesty he was impressed how you were so able to stand your ground.

One day, someone decided to really push their luck. Yapping about how annoying "that weirdo, horropedia or whatever that guys name is" was.

Safe to say you were pissed, and he was in their direct vicinity too.

once you noticed that he was RIGHT THERE being spoken ill about?

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" you spat with malice, turning around so fast people would assume you were facing them the whole time.

You went off of them, until Joshua stepped in, equally shocked but also mildly amused by the expression on the culprits face.

"woah hey, no need to get angry." There was full and ardent need to get angry, they just insulted him to his face and he was just gonna take that? hell no, not on your damn watch.

He turns around and politely apologizes to the culprit, "So sorry about that, hes trying to work on his temper.."

He guides you away, still secretly impressed by your anger. Nobody really ever defended him like that, especially in front of a whole establishment full of people.

"I mean seriously can you believe them? Talking shit about you like that in front of you?" you'd start almost as soon as the culprit was out of earshot, just to keep him happy. You wouldn't have cared if they had heard you, you already spat so much profanity in their direction anyways.

"You know it happens all the time, I'm not exactly a stranger to it." which you couldn't understand. How does he tolerate such blatant disrespect, I mean sure he's a little strange and nerdy but that doesn't hurt anyone.

"Yeah but you don't deserve that, you didn't even do anything." you'd murmur, looking away. You look like a scolded dog, which he thought was adorable.

What he didn't remark on was the clear difference in how you spoke to others and how you spoke to him.

you were still frustrated, temper still on high, and yet you held back profanity and sulked instead of snapping at him.

He definitely noticed though, you were so sweet to him that it was hard not to notice.

He'll let you off for just this once, but the next time he catches you he'll have to scold you properly.

He won't admit that he's enjoying the special treatment, he's happy you care about him so much.

but maybe tone it down a little?

Only sometimes though

Well, this one was very fun to write. Thank you once again, dear readers, your support and kind words mean the world. We will dream once again, come find me soon <3. signed, yours forever Moon.

[asclexe]

ughhh fine ill succumb to peer pressure smh

MY HOUSE MD OC :3

insp by @wilsons-three-legged-siamese @sillyhyperfixator @cherrishnoodles :3

⭐️ BASICS :3 ⭐️

name: dr. fluoxetine pearl/dr. pearl

full name: fluoxetine millicent maxine marvin pearl M.D.

nicknames: flu, flux, flo

gender: enby (they/them), afab, fluoxetine is their chosen name, pearl is their dead name but they legally changed it to be their last name.

age: 34

nationality/ethnicity: filipino/french american. born in pennsylvania technically but raised in BALTIMORE 🔥🔥🔥

they have a slight new jersey and baltimore accent but it’s mostly general american

ppth position: head of gynecology/obstetrics, but they have a lot of emergency medicine and diagnostics knowledge due to their residency so they help around there a lot. youngest gyno head ever!!!

sexuality: aromantic allosexual bisexual

personality: quiet and spacey but not shy, they keep to themself mostly. they seem rude/apathetic but they’re actually very friendly, especially to patients. they tend to be very negative and pessimistic at times. they’re also quite secretive and a kleptomaniac. miserable by themself. fantastic at negotiation, a bit creepy and brooding at times, even. but they’re mostly harmless! there always seems like there’s something else going on with them..something much more…

appearance: warmly-skinned 6’1 masc appearing person. they had top surgery, so they have a mostly flat body, except for their softly round tummy. they’re very lanky, but not skinny. they have a good amount of meat on their bones, and they’re softly muscular. their hair is a choppy, voluminous short black wolf cut with two tacky strands of bleach blonde that fits their sharp face. they have black eyes and light freckles everywhere that are slightly visible on their dark brown skin. they face is sharp, but also youthfully soft. they look a lot younger than they are.

style: they wear a tight dark vest with either a basic white button down or nothing underneath with dark pants with their doctor’s coat on top most days, and it’s quite stylish and slick. occasionally, especially on days they’re not feeling well or an administration heavy work day or in general when they don’t leave their office, they’ll wear a big graphic t-shirt and baggy pants with a cardigan to work. they carry around a stylish but small, washed out messenger bag to hold their prescription pad, pens, etc along with anything else they might personally need. they wear low-top converse that are beyond beaten up everyday. occasionally they’ll wear a sweater vest, or maybe a tie. depends how they feel that day.

ART BI MY SUPER COOL MEWTUAL @magicmarkerz SHE’S SO COOL GUYS

they have diagnosed BPD. they’re completely deaf in their left ear. and they have PTSD due to something in their backstory, which i’ll delve into soon. they are also actively, but unknown suicidal but don’t sh.

⭐️BACKSTORY :3⭐️

tw for death, slight gore/injury description, :3

lots of yapping :3

it all started on a freezing winter night on december 18th, 1970 when a very pregnant dolores alma torres and a jean-gabriel adrian marvin archambeau were driving late at night, in the middle of nowhere, to visit dolores’ friend’s baby shower on an extremely icy road when dolores when into labor. jean-gabriel re-routed to find her a hospital, but quickly got lost in the dark backroads of pennsylvania. as tension rose and dolores got more short with him, as labor isn’t fun, jean-gabriel didn’t notice the deer he was about to hit and swerved at the last second. he hit the deer anyway in the million spins he did in the ice, and crashed into a ditch diagonally, killing jean-gabriel on impact. dolores waited there for hours in labor, in the dark with a fractured rib slowly puncturing her organs and a bunch of glass cuts next to her dead husband, until a car finally passed by and a kind stranger got some help. she gave birth in the backseat of their car and died shortly after.

her last words were naming her baby girl, pearl alma torres-archambeau, and that she was sorry, god.

they were sent to their french grandparents in baltimore after being cleaned up at the closest hospital, where they were raised pretty much happily until they were six, when their grandfather died of a massive heart attack and their grandmother of a grand mal seizure a year of quiet later. they were then tossed around foster care for a bit, until permanently being sent to an orphanage. they were a very quiet child due to all the tragedy following them. they read a lot of books, which gave them an interest in medicine early on. this interest was amplified when they needed to go to the hospital when their appendix burst. they were also incredibly clever, and earned top marks in all their classes. they didn’t have many friends, however.

when they were sixteen, they emancipated themself from the orphanage and graduated high school early. they applied to norte dame of maryland to study biology and chemistry for their undergrad and got accepted, also giving them a place to stay. they worked odd jobs and side hustles to pay for any tuition left after scholarships and spent their time studying mostly, and they had earned enough credits to graduate at 19. they applied to johns hopkins for medical school, and also got in. at this point they could afford an apartment close. and things seemed to go quite well for them!

well, until there was an armed robbery (baltimore 🔥🔥) at the little corner store they worked at after class. they were shot in the shoulder and twice in their left ear, but their co-worker took the worst of it and died to a gunshot in their heart. the er patched them up, unable to save their ear, and the robber was caught and jailed, but they quit their job and buckled down on school, spiraling mentally.

they graduated med school, started their residency, and changed their name. until the dean of medicine at princeton plainsboro teaching hospital had reached out to them, offering them a position in the gynecology department as that was their decided specialty. they got their top surgery there and was quickly offered be the ob/gyn department head due to their excellent performance :3

⭐️FUN FACTS :3⭐️

they’re left-handed!

they have a really weak stomach, despite their occupation

can speak french pretty fluently as well as english

they have genetic weak hormones, so they take hrt

they have two cats, morphine and xanax :3

besties with benefits with thirteen

sea shell/pearl collector!

i’ll prob be adding to this as i think about more things/their place in canon/the other ocverse :3

[anonymous-hopeful]

hcs.... for.... izaack and francis...... pls.... they make me sick..... in a good way.....

I too am on the Izaack and Francis train, we can be ill together, my fellow Anon.

Headcanon below!

Francis fanon aside, most people can agree that despite his tired eyes, generally disinterested mood, and dry manner of speaking, he's got some quality about him that radiates pure magnetism. Granted, he doesn't know that himself- he just thinks he looks like any other guy- but he's got that "it" factor that attracts anyone.

This includes the big buff news reporter that just so happens to live one floor underneath him.

Izaack himself is all about his looks- he's spent forever working towards his current physical form and takes a considerable amount of time in the bathroom in order to make sure he's as handsome as he can be before leaving his apartment. There's no tooth that goes unbrushed, no hair that goes uncombed, and yes, that is gloss on his lips, thank you for noticing.

...so how come the guy that lives directly above him, the guy that rolls out of bed every morning looking like the world's most sleep deprived rat, looks at him once, goes "Mmmm hello", and makes his heart nearly burst out of his chest.

For Izaack, it was basically love at first sight, and up until they got together, he'd go more than out of his way to make sure he and Francis somehow bumped into each other despite living on two completely different floors. His love language is essentially physical touch and yapping about how excellent of a partner he'd be all the while trying to not expose how nervous he actually is.

Yes, other neighbors have caught this. Yes, they know exactly what he is.

Francis knows too, so imagine Izaack's shock and delight upon hearing Francis ask him out first. He froze immediately and as soon as he finally realized what was going on, he proudly proclaimed that of course Francis would want to ask him out- "You must've been swayed by my charming good looks!"

While this isn't wrong, Izaack's more than vocal about how he feels about the milkman, and makes it a point to always shower Francis with compliments whenever they're together. Francis tries to reciprocate on his end as well, but in the reporter's mind, the fact that Francis felt the same in the first place is the biggest compliment he could ever receive.

[lunarxylem]

🕊️ Bird Fun Facts 🕊️

This funny little guy is Raffaello Cookie, Head pharmacist of the Dark Cacao Kingdom and eventually monarch who rules beside King Dark Choco

Their pronouns are They/Them He/Him

and I’m about to yap your ear off about them under the read more

A species of rare, intelligent, and reclusive magical creatures from a world that existed before resolution which made the freezing and harsh landscape of the Dark Cacao region their home before the twin dragons’ battle was brought to an end. One such erosion bird (yes, those Erosion Birds) found the Black Citadel and decided to nest there.

Raffaello hatched as a fluffy little chick but having been eventually raised by a Cacaoen Falconer/beast tamer, Rondnoir Cookie. He’d been keeping an eye on the strange little bird and when one day the baby fell out of the nest without mama around, Roidnoir actually climbed up to the nest to put baby Raffaello back. This was their first ever exposure to humans, and seeing how many of them there were and that maybe they weren’t so bad, their body began to copy the human form. although having no reference made even an attempt to blend in fail outright.

At one point Rondnoir would find the strange little fledgeling following him around from a distance more than they would their own mother as she began to separate from her young due to Erosion Birds being mostly solitary creatures.

And while Raffaello was doing alright on their own, they definitely didn’t have much a handle on things. They were sickly and had to rely on themself for food, and seeing this baby bird that he’d more or less been watching over since the day they were born, Rondnoir decided he might as well take them in, he didn’t know much about kids but, maybe he could work something out with his knowledge of how to raise birds.

As Raffaello grew up it was clear they weren’t cut out to be a swordsman, so instead they poured all of their knowledge into knowing how to forage for herbs and cures, understanding everything they could find in documentation of the Cacao Kingdom’s history of medicine, they were even able to channel the magic within themself to absorb sickness into their feathers, then as a giant bird creature head off into the harsh climate far from civilization to further understand and disburse the illness through molting said feathers.

This magic is of great use to the Royal family to keep them alive and well should an unknown illness befall his majesty. Soon enough Raffaello would be moved into the palace and live in the house of the king should they ever be needed right away.

In this time while they continued their studies and research they would meet the young prince and feel something they never had before. Raffaello meets up with the prince to more properly introduce themself to him, and he’s just such a wonderful man, so powerful yet so humble and kind, it was like the moment their eyes met something had bound them together.

Sure hope nothing bad happens to em-!