#one word a thousand stories blurb night

[thisismeracing]

dom!mick + smut + vibrator if you’re still taking blurbs ;)

Vibrator | MS47

⸺ the one where Mick decides to try something new in bed. ✓ nsfw. dirty talk. graphic description of sex. p in v. no protection. use of toys. edging. +18!! Minors DNI!!!.

⁕ one word, a thousand stories blurb night (closed) ⁕ my masterlist and my taglist

The frantic snaps of Mick's body against Yn's pushing and pulling his cock from her wet entrance did not match the soft way in which he pressed the vibrator against her clit which only seemed to add to the sensations.

"Mick-" she whimpered and his lips tugged upwards in a smirk.

One of his hands was holding her wrists together on top of the cushions, while the other used the toy as he pleased. He was playing one of his favorite games: to edge Yn, make her twist and whimper, beg to finally cum. And he loved to do it because it seemed as if she came harder each time.

"I'm gonna turn the vibrations up," he threatened in a mutter, biting his lips to keep his smirk from showing.

"I-I'm sorry. Sir. I'm sorry, Sir," Yn corrected, trying to keep her hips from shying away from his ministrations.

"Good. Be a good girl, and I'll let you come," he whispered, slowing down his thrusts just when he felt her cunt squeeze his dick, almost ready to tip over the edge and cum.

She kept from complaining and crying by kissing and licking his neck, sinking her teeth in his skin. Mick couldn't help but snap his hip, and moan on her ear, dropping the vibrator and letting all his control go over the window.

"Please, sir," she begged, knowing she would get what she wanted in a matter of minutes.

"Pull my hair," he commanded, before finally releasing her wrists. "And, Liebling?" Mick's ocean eyes found her, a darker tone around his irises, "you only come when I tell you to, got it?"

He was giving, but oh wasn't he also taking.

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: I hope you guys like itttt!! Don't forget to reblog and leave me a comment if you liked this piece and want to read more stuff like this one *mwah*

[wildemaven]

life and loss | joel miller

pairing: dave york x f!reader / joel miller x f!reader word count: 1k content warnings: 18+ blog; death, grief/loss, major character death (no description of said death), AU and crossover universes, kind of fluffy, navigating loss, reader is non descriptive/blank slate. notes: this randomly came to me yesterday on my walk. It was meant to be just a moodboard and a small blurb to go along with it… and then this happened. Oops! Tried to pack a lot into a small thing so hopefully it makes sense.

Momentos of him, your late husband, have remained tucked away for the last year following his unexpected death. As you settle into your new widowed life and new home over a thousand miles away from the life you created with Dave, all the beautiful memories reside in cardboard boxes out of sight. 

Word travels quickly through the small neighborhood about your arrival and marital status— or lack thereof. Welcoming introductions turn into unannounced check-ins and flowers. Uncomfortable small talk on your front porch is sprinkled throughout the following weeks, a hand on your shoulder accentuates their let us know if you need anything. Sympathetic casseroles finally dwindle allowing you to finally ease into this new season of your life. 

The hammock left by the previous owners becomes your sanctuary most evenings. Searching for the brightest star in the night’s sky, then asking Dave how he’s doing before reading aloud to him the words from your latest book. 

It's days later when you’ve read the final word that a small voice from over the fence manifests as a quirky teenage girl sitting at a table you’ve set up on your back patio. She has a million and one questions about the book and is filled with theories about what happens beyond its ending. The side gate is never regularly latched closed now, eagerly awaiting Ellie’s return. She navigates most of your late night conversations that follow, including personal stories and the history of her life. My grump of an old man is in construction. He’s single by the way— not by choice, but life happens. 

His voice is calloused the first time he makes his presence known to you. Goddamn it, Ellie! I told you to leave her alone! They exchange brittle words back and forth through the shared barrier, before you insist he join the two of you. The crunch of his boots on the ground stall when he towers over where you’re still seated. His hand engulfing yours, warm and gentle as he tries to determine where his gaze should fall— you, the ground, the smirking teenager sitting across from you. Joel. Joel Miller. Uh, Ellie n’ I live next door. Not sure how long she’s been botherin’ you, but I’ll be sure it doesn’t happen again.

It’s weeks later when you run into Joel at the mailboxes. The clanking of keys and squeaky hinges fill the space between you before you’re both retreating back to your respective pathways. Your hands fidget and twist the bills and letters from your parents when you bravely initiate a conversation before he’s able to reach his front door. She’s the first person since moving here who wanted to talk to me about something other than the death of my husband. I don’t think I’ve laughed as much as I have with her in a long time. She’s welcome over here anytime. 

He reeks of nervousness as he stands on your doorstep the following evening. The ambered hue of his eyes absorb the warmth from the front porch light, adding a brightness to them that they seem to be commonly lacking. His words waver a bit as he begins to speak, starting and stopping, scrubbing his hand down his face before he attempts to start again. You offer him nothing but patience, sensing the mournful energy radiating off him— similar to the one you’ve been carrying. My wife and older daughter— they were both in an accident on their way to Sarah’s soccer game. I was pickin’ up Ellie from her counseling group for adopted kids. We were headin’ to the soccer field when I got the call. Some days are harder than others. And everyone wants to help, however that may be— lots of food as I’m sure you know. It doesn’t ever really get easier, but you learn to live with grief. Anyways, if you ever need anything or just want to talk— you know where I live.  

He accepts your impulsive invitation to join you for dinner, offering him the open seat across from you in the same spot as your timid first meeting. The crickets orchestrate the evening ambience as you share stories you’d tucked away, too painful to revisit until now. You find you laugh just as much, if not more, with Joel. Even among the tears shed, the conversation is filled with a hope and optimism that you longed for. 

You still feel his wholesome embrace long after you’ve called it a night to seek out much needed sleep. But much like the nights that ensued after Dave’s death, loneliness and the weight of your grief rear its head. 

The black ink glides over the surface of the paper. Line after line formulated a year’s worth of unsaid words that had been bottled up and blockaded by the rigid walls you’d built around them. Joel was right about the therapeutic effect of getting rid of the burdensome thoughts that come with loss, finding it’s hard to stop now that you’ve started. 

You convey the love that you still carry for Dave, something you’ll never willfully ignore or regret. It feels wrong but you touch on the hatred you feel towards his death; you hate him for leaving you, hate that you miss him, hate that some nights you forget the small details that you cherished about him. You tell him about Joel and the kindness he’s afforded you in a short time of knowing him and that there’s life beyond losing the love of your life. To look for the light even when shrouded by darkness. 

Pictures and trinkets find their way out of the cardboard confines Joel helped pull out from the guest room closet. The bare walls now filled with familiar faces and shelves adorn with colorful memories that you tried so hard to keep hidden. 

Joel and Ellie being a constant presence in your life allows you to see that life can surprise you when you least expect it and there’s room for new love. 

[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.

[gucciwins]

one last message 

word count: 2.2k

a/n: love on tour has come to an end 😭 it seemed only fitting to say goodbye to it with a small blurb from the love on tour series , the story of harry styles and y/n belmonte. thank you for all the love you always give me and i hope this blurb is enough to put a smile on your face. i love you, friends 💜

+

You adjusted the camera as you had it leaning against the bathroom mirror. You had finished your skincare and knew tomorrow was a big night for Harry and the entire Love on tour crew. There was a lot up in the air for your career and what was next, but in the next twelve hours, all you could think about was your boyfriend. He would be saying goodbye to a tour he poured his heart into, but most importantly, he was stepping away from what he loved to take a well deserved break. Harry couldn’t stay away long; he’d be back. They all knew it was only a matter of when.

Harry was in bed; he had fallen asleep as you played with his hair and told him about your day. The pasta you made from scratch at the cooking lesson you found in a small neighborhood. It wasn’t advertised, but the chef took a liking to you when you asked him more about his favorite dishes. It seemed that was enough to grant you a special spot in Mr. Caruso’s kitchen. He tried to play off his nerves, but you knew him well enough that this final show would be one he wanted to remember forever.

Once you knew your phone wouldn’t fall, you pulled up Instagram and started a live. It’s been a while since you did one. Usually, you do an origami piece with your fans to catch up with them. Tonight would be a little different. You hadn’t been on for a minute, and the number was increasing by the second.

Twenty.

Five hundred.

Three thousand in under two minutes.

“Hi, everyone,” you greeted cheerfully. “Sorry, I haven’t done one of these in a while. Life has been busy.”

The comments began to flood with “hellos” and “I love you,” but also a lot of mentions of Barbie, the film you finished promoting and starred in. You moved past those comments and instead focused on one asking where you were.

“I’m in my bathroom. I finished my skincare for the night and thought we could chat briefly.” You giggled as you saw Lloyd joining in. The number was past 35k, and although you thought it was ridiculous at this hour in Italy, the rest of the world was running at different times. “Lloyd!!! Buddy!!! Go to sleep!” You tease.

You first.

Shaking your head, you try to see if he comments again, but the comments are coming in at lightning speed.

Cariñoooooooo

“Sarai, cómo va tu día?” How is your day? You ask your best friend.

Boring. Send me a flight to Italy.

You frown at the screen. “Be quiet. I asked if you wanted to come. You said you were busy.”

A cousin’s wedding. Remember.

“Right. You’re officiating for them. I’ll see you in a few weeks,” you assure them knowing Naomi and Sarai will be staying with you for a week–two if you manage to convince them.

Where’s Harry?

Are you in Italy?

One last show!!!!

I loveeeee you!!!!!!

Final outfit reveal

Show harry

I love the new movie

A simple night. Though lots of questions if you would be in Italy for the final show as no one has seen you for a few weeks and where Harry was. You decided to do the live to connect with the fans, but you also wanted to go to bed and join Harry because even a room away, you missed him. You wanted to talk with the fans to share you feel the same sadness that tour is ending because Love on Tour gave you Harry, and that’s something you’d never forget. The same feeling they all feel staring at Harry while being in the crowd is one that you feel too. You can’t describe it, but you all know it well.

You think back to that night in St. Paul when you locked eyes with Harry and knew life would never be the same again. You can honestly say you didn’t expect to fall in love with him and go on this crazy journey two years later, but there is nothing you’d change in your life because it led you straight to him.

“It might seem odd, I’m here talking with you late into the night.” You laugh at people calling out your time zone. “Well, it’s late for me. Maybe even weirder to do it without my overalls and stack of origami paper,” you take a deep breath before continuing. “I know a lot of you know about my relationship. How private we keep it because not everything is meant to be shared online. I like things to be mine, but Harry has never been mine alone. A piece of his heart belongs to each of you, and it’s not something I will ever forget. I am fortunate to love him and be loved by him. I don’t ever take it for granted.” You sniffle and turn away from the camera to compose yourself, but you know it won’t work. When you look back, the comments are filled with love, and it keeps you going. “Love on tour allowed Harry and I to reconnect and truthfully fall in love. I won’t say more because it’s something special to us, but Love on Tour ending is bittersweet. It’s a tour full of love where many of you met friends, best friends, and lovers. You know what it means to love someone because of an event and because of the distance. The love will only grow stronger, and that I can promise.”

You grin at Pauli’s comment saying how much they love you. You found the love of your life, but you also met new friends and built a bigger family.

“Whether you’re a fan of mine or only following me to get an update on Harry, I want to thank you for your kindness, not to me but towards him. If there is anyone who deserves all the love in the world, it is him. Most of you wonder why I’m saying this here and not to Harry, but he knows. I can promise you he does. Think he might be fed up with all the love and support I shower him with, but I’m doing it because I want to look back at this, who knows, maybe five, ten, twenty years from now, and be glad I shared this with you all. If anything, it’s something Harry can look back at when we have to be apart for longer than a day. Harry, sé que no estás viendo esto, pero eres el amor de mi vida. Un último baile mañana y estaremos de camino a casa. Que sigas cumpliendo todos tus sueños, mi estrella.”

You thank everyone for watching and signing off, turning off your phone, knowing the buzzing will start immediately. You know it will be shared all over the internet, and articles will be written by the time you wake up in a few hours. Usually, it’s something you’re careful about, but tonight you don’t mind. You’re proud of Harry, and you’re allowed to show it whenever you wish. You turn your phone off, knowing Harry loves his morning ringtone better than yours.

Turning the lights off, you know as soon as you’re wrapped in Harry’s arms, you're headed straight to dreamland. Crawling into bed is easy; moving the covers away from Harry proves to be a struggle every night. You shush him quietly to not wake him, and it seems to work until he shuffles over and drags you to lay flat on your back while he gets comfortable on your chest. He would forever be your little spoon.

“I love you, baby,” he mutters into the quiet of the night.

It makes your heart race even after two years together. You kiss the top of his head and repeat your favorite three words to him.

+

The final show has been nothing short of magical. Harry would spend the entire night on stage if he could, but you all know the show is close to ending. Harry, from the morning, had been cheerful from waking you up with a morning orgasm that led to making love, and once he let you get clothes on a walk along the water. You know he had seen your little speech but made no move to bring it up. It wasn’t necessary because you constantly told him how proud you were, and it was evident in how you proudly showed Harry off all day to a crew that already knew and loved him. You don’t know if someone texted it to him or if he happened to see it on Instagram, but he walked all day with an extra pep in his step. It could have also been the sex. Not a hint of sadness could be detected, and it eased your worries because it meant he was ready for a well deserved break.

You spent the show with Anne and Gemma, dancing your heart out. You knew Glenne and Jeff would pull you in for a final mosh pit as Harry danced his heart out to “Kiwi.” Harry had thanked the fans endlessly throughout the entire night. His speeches always bring tears to your eyes. He thanked the band and the crew. He thanked his family for the support they offered the past thirteen years. You didn’t expect a speech dedicated to you, so it caught you off guard when he mentioned you. All your shared family and friends cheered so loud, making it easy for Harry to spot you and even easier for the camera’s to find you and show you on the screens.

“I don’t know if some of you saw, but my girlfriend gave a lovely speech last night on a live,” Harry smiles as the crowd cheers for you. “She poured her heart out to you while I was sleeping.” He wags his finger playfully. “Like she doesn’t know I love my ego to be fed. Her love is something I feel even when she’s not around, but I am thankful she’s here tonight. She’s here, and she’s been dancing and singing all night. It's my favorite thing in the world seeing her happy.” Harry can see Glenne nudging her playfully, but your eyes never leave his. “I love being on stage and performing for you all. It’s everything I dreamed of, and I can’t wait to return soon to do it again.” Harry gives you a dimpled smile, and you know the look in his eye; even from a distance, you know he wishes he could kiss you. “No one tells you how much you miss out on. Family celebrations, nieces' first steps, and even graduations. The biggest to the littlest things matter. Bel has reminded me that even when I’m not there, I can send a reminder that I’m thinking of my family and friends. That everyone understands I’m doing what I love. I love being here with you all, but I also love being home.” Harry places a hand over his heart. “Bel has made me a better son, friend, and partner. Now I know this is sappy, and maybe you’re over this, and she’s going to tell me after this wasn’t necessary, but I do want it to be known that I’m happy. I have never been happier. And while I will be going away for some time, I want you to know I’m in good hands until I return and am yours again.”

The cheers are a mix of sobs and relief, knowing he will be back even with no set date. You can’t seem to stop crying. All the comforting Anne is doing is working, but it’s as if Harry broke you open by pouring his heart out for you on stage.

“He’s a bit of a romantic, my little one,” Anne teases as she squeezes you tighter.

“You’re telling me. I’m no match.”

Anne laughs, “you flew out the entire family and act like that’s not the greatest gesture.”

It’s true. You planned with Anne to make sure everyone could make it out by planning accommodations and rides for the final show to go smoothly for them. Harry deserved a large celebration, and it was important to have his family here. Naomi wanted to be here because if it weren’t for your best friend, you wouldn’t have found Harry in 2021 though Harry liked to think your paths would cross either way. Naomi’s parents, Ruby and Phil, made the journey for Harry. They happily welcomed him into the family. Viola flew in for the celebration as had Violet, your goddaughter with her father Alex.. Your family had become his, and they were here to celebrate two incredible years of a tour filled with love and joy. He deserved to have his family here after missing them so much. There was a wonderful celebration to come after the show ended.

“Guess we compliment each other well like that,” you told Anne. Small moments that reminded you how much a perfect fit you are for each other.

Harry clears his throat, “now, I’m sure Bel is flustered and wants me to stop, so I will. Thank you for being here. Thank you for changing my life. I love you.” He points at you, and you blow him a kiss he pretends to catch and puts it over his heart for safekeeping.  “I love you, and I’ll miss you.”

You don’t know what the future holds for your relationship. All you know is that your love will guide you through it all. Whether you get married, have kids, or simply exist to love each other, everything will work out the way it needs to because your love was written in the stars.

+

thank you for reading! love on tour has been so magical and special for us all. i love you all and hope you go back and read this series if you’re ever missing love on tour. te quiero mucho 🤍

[watermelonlovershigh]

Will you put out another image soon?

Medicine (SMUT) /blurb/

AN: right now!!! a little surprise fic for you. its short but sweet and spicy.

This story contains: sex, playful teasing, mild angst

{ dadrry - husbandrry - soft!harry }

word count- 812

Harry does something rather cheeky in bed one night and when you're at his Wembley Night 3 concert, you recognize him recreating that cheeky move in front of thousands.

One week before Wembley Night 3 show:

It was a cozy evening tonight in your family home in London. Thank goodness you were in a city where you had a home because you despise staying in hotels all the time. Harry had just finished putting your three and five year olds to bed while you wrapped up your nightly shower.

Not thinking twice about it, you come walking out your shared bathroom that's located inside your bedroom stark naked with just a towel around your hair. As you were pulling some underwear out of your dresser drawer, Harry enters the bedroom but freezes when he sees you.

He looks you up and down and immediately you know what his eyes are giving. They're giving his "bedroom eyes". The eyes Harry gives to you when he's in the mood for sex. Though you joke that Harry is a horny bastard sometimes, you're just as equally horny the same amount if not more.

Somewhere between you grabbing your sleep clothes and walking over to the bed where you put on your lotions and creams, Harry stalked over towards you and pushed you back on the bed. Not in an aggressive way but in a playful way. "Harry", you giggle, the towel around your hair falling to the ground, "what are you doing?"

You know damn well what he's doing but you play dumb. Harry has you starfished out in the center of the bed. He's straddling your hips with his legs locked around your waist and his hands pinning your hands down to the mattress. "Think you can walk around our room naked and me not want to prance on you? Huh?"

Harry leans his head down to whisper against your mouth one last, "Huh?" and you being needy now, encloses your mouth around his lips. He doesn't fight back on trying to get an answer but instead just falls into your lustful kissing spell.

One thing leads to another and the clothes he had on (sweatpants and a t-shirt) has been shed off onto the floor and now he's fucking you. Well he made sure you were wet first but then, he got into fucking you. It's not rough sex but it's also not your "love making" sex either. You'd almost say its playful sex. Teasing sex. Sex where you're laid flat on the bed and Harry's on top but isn't pressed down on you. Just sitting up right with your legs around his waist and his hands on your hips as he thrusts in and out of you.

After this goes on for a few minutes and Harry can see how tired you've become, he speeds the process up but reaching a hand down to stimulate your clit. This gets you coming within a minutes time. And the feeling of you coming nearly triggers his but because he didn't wear a condom, he quickly pulls out.

As you lay there reeling from your high, Harry grabs his dick and continues his stimulation by jerking himself off. But being the cheeky man he is, he pretends to shoot his load sprinkler style where he twists his hips to the far left and slowly turns his hips to the right. His cock being held by both hands.

Once you catch sight of his doings, you hiss, "Don't you dare get cum on our duvet."

Harry laughs, "M' jokin'. M' jokin''" But his playful attitude only last a second more before he throws his head back and stills his hips. He removes one hand from his cock so that his other hand can go full force in the jerking motion. He roughly jerks the shaft of his cock until cum spurts out onto your belly. "Mhm, aghh!" he moans.

When Harry finishes coming on your stomach, he quickly reaches for some tissues that sit on your bedside table and goes to wipe his sticky cum off your skin before it dries. Then he leans down to peck your lips where you both mutter "I love you's" before actually getting ready for bed.

--------------

Wembley Night 3 show:

As you stood in the friends and family section of your husbands concert with your two kids dancing their little hearts out down beside you, you notice something familiar. While Harry is performing his unreleased fan favorite song Medicine, he suddenly holds the mic stand up to his front as if it was a dick and twists his hips side to side.

When you stare at the sight before you, you see Harry winking directly at you and that's when the memory comes to your mind. The memory of him doing this move exactly a week ago in bed, except he didn't have a mic stand. He had his actual dick in front of him, jerking it off while rotating his hips left to right. That cheeky mother fucker.....

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @hsfanficsrecss // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @damnasstyles  // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet  // @meetmyblondemuffins  // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles  // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles  // @skyangel57   // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptress // @clairestylessss  // @kissmyaxe140  // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore1 // @florencepughily  // @alienorknight //@dancearoundthelivingroom  // @swiftmendeshoran

 // @luv-flor7777  // @alohastyles-x // @tenaciousperfectionunknown  // @sleutherclaw // @siredtohybrid // @whoscamila // @a-strange-familiar  // @golden-elodie // @mrspeacem1nusone //  @goldenkhae // @lntwithharry // @shadowygladiatorlight  // @manifestrry  //@mendesblurb // @sunshinemoonsposts  // @depersonalizationsucks // @academiaghost // @zendayassimp // @reveriehs // @vsnnstuff // @dancinsunflowerkiwi // @quinnsgrapejuice // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @justlemmeholdyou // @stylesmygucci // @hsonlyangelxo // @luvonstyles // @howdey

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

[corroded-hellfire]

Where the heart is.... maybe keeping in theme of first holidays and how Eddie wants to surprise the reader for their first valentines day.

Happy 2k!!!

+ valentines day in the where the heart is universe? i love them so much 🥹

I love that I got the same request in the same universe twice! I hope you enjoy this little Valentine’s Day story. Many thanks to @munson-blurbs for helping me so much with this 💚

In the same universe as Where the Heart Is

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral m and f receiving

Words: 5.5k

[Where the Heart Is masterlist]

When your alarm blares at eight o’clock in the morning, you groan and shove your head underneath the pillow. Unfortunately, that doesn’t shut it off, so you flail your arm around until you’ve managed to silence it. Shelby huffs from her bed across the room and you mentally give her the finger. Her eyes are still closed so you could’ve physically done it, but you don’t have the energy to lift your hand. You and Eddie had been on the phone until midnight last night, both of you insisting you had to be talking to one another the moment it went from February 13th to February 14th.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” he’d said.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Eddie.”

Usually, you’re very conscientious about getting off the phone so your roommate can go to sleep, but just this once Shelby could deal with it. 

But now, even though you don’t regret being on the phone for a moment with Eddie, you wish you could sleep in just a few more minutes. Begrudgingly taking your head out from underneath your pillow, you roll onto your back and take a look at your clock. Eight o’clock. Eddie should be awake now, his shift starting in an hour at the garage. He’d probably have a few minutes free to talk, but you know you’d probably both end up being late for your obligations today. 

With a sigh, you push yourself out of bed and shuffle over to your closet. The tile floor is freezing against your socked feet, and you take a peek out the window to see that it’s snowing pretty heavily outside. The heaviest sweater you own is pink, which works out perfectly for the holiday. You pair it with your thickest jeans and the warmest brown boots in your closet. 

As you’re running a brush through your hair, Shelby startles you by sitting up in her bed with a loud groan. 

“Thank God it’s Friday,” she says with a sigh. 

You hum in agreement, one last yawn sneaking its way out of your mouth. Opening your jewelry box, you take out the charm bracelet that Eddie gave you for Christmas and secure it on your wrist. 

“I’ll see you later,” you say, shrugging on your coat. Shelby gives you a two-finger wave as you sling your backpack on. 

Luckily, you only have the one class on Friday’s, and it was probably your favorite – abnormal psychology. Also luckily on this blisteringly cold day, the Psychology building isn’t too far of a walk from your dorm building. Once you’re comfortably seated in the blissfully warm lecture hall, you notice most students are wearing red or pink, all decked out for the holiday. A couple a few rows in front of you is holding hands. You rest your elbow on the table next to your notebook, propping up your chin as you let out a melancholy sigh. 

This is the first time you’ve had a Valentine, and you know without a doubt that you have the best one. But he’s a thousand miles away, curls probably tied in a bun at the base of his neck as he works under the hood of a car. Every second is going to tick by slower than ever until you get to talk to him tonight. 

The class is interesting as always though, so it manages to keep your mind engaged enough not to fixate on missing your boyfriend. It’s snowing even harder than before class when you step out of the psychology building, heading toward the dining hall. Nancy’s class ends ten minutes before yours so she’s probably already in there waiting for you, getting toasty after being out in the bitter cold. But as you approach the large glass doors, Nancy is hurrying out, mouth chewing on something.

“Nance? What’s up?” you ask. She covers her mouth as she finishes the food in her mouth before speaking.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t do lunch today. Emergency at the student paper. I only had time to grab a quick sandwich.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you assure her. “I’ll see you for dinner?” 

“Definitely,” she says, giving you one last apologetic look before she heads off, tightening her cream colored coat around her small frame. 

It was moments like these that the book in your backpack came in handy. You didn’t mind eating alone, but you also needed something to focus on other than your food. The hall looks more crowded than usual today, probably because everyone wants to get out of the cold. You’re quick to pick up a bowl of steaming hot mac and cheese and nestle yourself into a corner table where you can look out onto the falling snow. 

After the first bite fills your frigid body with some much needed heat, you reach into your bag to pull out your copy of Pride and Prejudice when a voice sounds from behind you.

“Is this seat free?”

On instinct you’re about to say that it is, but your mind catches up to your ears and realizes you know that voice. Your head whips around so quickly that your own hair smacks you in the face. Shaking it from your eyes, you look up to see the grinning face of your boyfriend.

“Eddie!” You leap up and throw your arms around his neck. He laughs and wraps you up in his arms, lifting you so that the toes of your boots are barely brushing the ground. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” he says in your ear. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he sets you back down. You take his face in your hands, mind having trouble putting the pieces together that he’s standing here in front of you. 

“Happy Valentine's Day,” you say, voice still sounding dazed. “You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here. Couldn’t let today go by without seeing my best girl.” Eddie cups your jaw in his large hands, leaning in to press his lips to yours. The questions swirl through your mind, one after the other, wondering when he got here and how long he’s been planning everything. But none of it seems to matter when his mouth is on yours. 

“You’re done with classes for the day, right?” Eddie asks once you’ve pulled away for air.

“I am. Wait.” You raise an eyebrow at him, and a mischievous smile comes to your lips. “Are you why Nancy suddenly couldn’t have lunch with me?”

“Maybe.” Eddie shrugs, a shit eating grin on his face. “Now, come on. Let’s finish your lunch so we can get over to the hotel.”

“Hotel?” you ask as you sit back down. “Wait.” You laugh as Eddie sits down next to you. “Did you say ‘let’s’ finish, as in you too?”

“Yes and yes,” Eddie says, grabbing your fork and shoveling a mouthful of mac and cheese into his maw.

When you get back to your dorm to pack for your weekend hotel adventure with Eddie, there’s a vase of yellow roses next to Shelby’s bed.

“Wonder who sent those,” you say as you pull a bag out from under your bed. “She and Joey broke up weeks ago.”

“I brought them,” Eddie says. Hand on the closet door, you pause and frown in confusion.

“For Shelby?”

“Yeah.” He slides his hand into his pockets and nods his head towards the flowers. “The guy at the flower place said yellow is for friendship. I dropped those off here before coming to find you. Figured she could use some cheering up since the breakup.”

The fact that Eddie not only was thoughtful enough to bring your annoying roommate flowers, but that he remembered she’d just gone through a breakup makes your heart swell. Eddie Munson was truly the kindest person you had ever met and the fact that you got to be his girlfriend made you feel giddier than all the champagne in the world could. Pausing your packing, you grab the sides of Eddie’s face and pull his lips to yours.

“You’re the sweetest man alive,” you whisper against his lips. Eddie chuckles and gives you another quick peck.

“Don’t worry, baby. Got you flowers too.”

Truthfully, that hadn’t even crossed your mind. But of course he had. 

“Where are they?” you ask.

“Hotel,” he says with a wink as he slides his hands onto your hips. “Can I pick out your underwear for the weekend?”

The devious look on his face as you flushing.

“And my bras too? And what about pajamas?”

“Sure, I’ll pick out your bras, too.” Eddie leans in and presses a kiss to the side of your neck. “But I don’t think you’ll need pajamas.”

“What should I wear to sleep then?” you ask, giving Eddie the most innocent look you can manage. 

“I was thinking nothing,” Eddie says with a shrug.

“Hmm,” you hum as you take a few steps over to your dresser. “You may want to rethink that.” Out from the top drawer you pull a skimpy negligee you’d spotted at the mall a few weeks ago. The pinkish purple silk has lace lining the neckline and the hem, a pretty pale pink. Perfect for Valentine's Day. 

“Shit.” Eddie’s eyes grow wide and darker as he looks at the bit of material hanging from your fingers. “Okay, yeah. Start the night in that. End in nothing.”

“Good compromise,” you tease as you toss the nighty into your bag. “Now hurry and pick out your favorite pairs of my underwear.”

“Challenge accepted.” Eddie rubs his hands together as he walks over to your delicates drawer.

In your car on the way to the hotel you pepper Eddie with the questions that have been buzzing through your mind since he appeared in the dining hall.

“When did you get here?”

“A few hours ago.”

“Did you get any sleep after we hung up last night?”

“A little. And I slept on the plane.” 

“How long are you here?”

“Fly home Sunday night.”

“Why’d you get a hotel?”

“Really, babe? Besides the fact that I didn’t feel like getting complaints from your RA when I make you moan too loud?” He pauses with a laugh as you reach over to swat at him. “I knew Shelby wouldn’t be staying with her boyfriend since she doesn’t have one anymore and I wasn’t about to give her a free sex show.”

The hotel room is small, but it’s clean, warm, and has a bed. That’s all that matters to you. And just as he promised, there’s a vase that’s stuffed to the gills with red roses sitting on the bedside table. The sight brings tears to your eyes as you drop your bag on the bed. No one has ever gotten you flowers before, let alone roses. 

“Eddie, they’re beautiful.”

He slips up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. You feel his hot breath brush against your ear as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Fitting for the most beautiful girl.”

There’s a large box of chocolates next to the flowers, a bright red ribbon tied around the cardboard heart. You rest your head back against your boyfriend’s shoulder and turn your head to kiss his cheek.

“How many of those candies are missing, hmm?” you ask. A squeal of laughter leaves your lips as Eddie digs his fingers into the softness of your tummy.

“Not one, thank you very much,” he says as he tickles you. “Maybe if you’re nice to me I’ll feed them to you. Like you see on the covers of those sappy romance books.”

“The ones where the men’s nipples are always showing?” you ask as you start to playfully fight with him, pulling out of his arms to escape his clutches. 

“I’ll be shirtless for it if you want me to,” Eddie says. He tugs on your coat sleeve but with one quick unbuttoning, you’re sliding out of the garment completely, leaving Eddie there standing with your coat in his hands. You kick off your boots, Eddie following your lead, and you kick them into the corner so no one can trip on them. Eddie rids himself of his leather jacket, tossing both it and your coat onto the single chair in the room. 

Making your way back over to your boyfriend, you start to push him onto the bed and shock paints your face when he shakes his head. 

“I know you’ve got that sexy lingerie in there,” he murmurs into your ear and motions to your duffel bag. “Go put it on f’me, yeah?”

“I was saving it for tonight,” you pout, jutting out your lower lip in protest. 

Eddie just laughs. “No time like the present, baby.”

“I expect you to be a lot closer to being naked than you are right now when I come out of that bathroom,” you tell him as you pick up your bag. He gives you a salute before you walk into the bathroom and close the door behind you. 

When you take off your soft warm sweater a chill enters your bones. Wearing less, and then no, clothing doesn’t faze you though, even in the middle of February. There’s not a doubt in your mind that Eddie is going to warm you up. But as you strip out of your jeans and socks, you let out a hiss through your teeth as you see you haven’t shaved your legs. 

“Uh, Eds?” you call as you creak open the bathroom door.

“What’s up?”

“I, uh, didn’t shave my legs,” you admit, heat gathering in your cheeks. “Didn’t know you’d be here. Haven’t been wearing shorts.”

Eddie just laughs, the booming sound making your tummy tumble. “Babe, I don’t care if you’ve got some stubble. Shit, I don’t care if you have longer leg hair than I do. Just come out here so I can kiss you and shit.”

“So romantic,” you say with a scoff, regarding his last sentence. But really, the fact that Eddie doesn’t care if your legs are perfectly smooth or not makes him even more amazing in your book. 

The silk of the negligee feels nice as it hits your skin, sending goosebumps over your chest and down your arms. You turn your head upside down to shake out your hair, hoping to give it some volume. It won’t matter how it looks because it’ll either be in Eddie’s hands or pressed into a pillow in a few minutes, but it’s the principle of the thing. 

When you step out of the bathroom, the floor is biting cold against your bare feet. Trying to ignore the chill, you try to walk slower and sexier. A “sexy” walk isn’t something that’s generally taught, so you’re doubting yourself the whole way towards the bed. But when Eddie’s eyes land on you, they light up. Suddenly, there’s a pressure behind your eyes. Tears could start streaming at any moment and your body starts to feel warm from the inside out. Because all of a sudden you know. You know that it doesn’t matter that you haven’t shaved your legs. It doesn’t matter that your hair might be a little messy after trying to fluff it up. It doesn’t matter if the walk you were just doing looked stupid. Because Eddie doesn’t see any of that. He sees you and it makes you feel safe in a way you never knew you needed. 

The tears don’t come but the feeling of safety and belonging doesn’t wane. Your eyes take in Eddie’s figure on the bed, shirt off – pink and white scars that you’ve come to love and memorize on full display – belt undone and fly unzipped, ready for you to strip him right down. 

“There’s my sexy Valentine,” Eddie says, eyes still drinking you in. 

Giving him a shy smile, you walk over and tug on the ends of his black jeans. He lifts his hips for you so can slide them all the way off. “Boxers too, mister.”

Eddie rids himself of his boxers and you feel a significant surge of wetness between your legs as you’re greeted by his long pretty cock. It’s been inside you dozens of times now, but you still get that bubbly feeling whenever you see it.

“Staring might not be polite, but I like when you do it.” 

Eddie’s words have your eyes meeting his, a smirk on his face while yours is growing warmer. He holds out his hand for you and you take it, letting him guide you onto the bed next to him. Fingers tracing down the bare skin of his arm, you cuddle up to his side and press soft sweet kisses along his neck. 

“You’re so pretty,” you mumble absentmindedly against his skin. A pretty pink hue creeps up his neck, even coloring his ears at your words. A strong calloused hand comes down to rest on your thigh, thumb stroking lovingly on the inner part of your leg. “What do you want first, baby?”

“First, I wanted you in this,” Eddie says, finger coming up to tangle in the piece of lace at the bottom of the nighty. “Now, I want to taste that pretty pussy of yours. Been thinking about it all day.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, looking at him from underneath your lashes. Eddie takes your hand and places your palm right on top of his cock.

“Been half hard all day just thinking about it. But you wearing this while I eat you out? Shit baby, we’re going to have to go a few rounds because I’m telling you right now, I’m not going to be able to last long.”

“Better get to work then,” you say, shooting Eddie a smirk as you settle back against the pillows. He rolls over onto his stomach and slides down the blue floral duvet. When you spread your legs for him, he lets out a groan that sounds like it deflated all the air from his body. 

He takes your words to heart, wasting no time throwing your leg over his shoulder and moving your other one to the side, giving him the perfect view of how wet you already are for him. Slowly, Eddie moves his body up closer to yours. Large hands grab at the bottom of your lingerie and Eddie’s pushing it up, so it gathers around your waist. He didn’t want anything to get in between him and his prize. 

Eddie places a few kisses up your thighs, but he knows they’ll be plenty of time for teasing later. He may only be in town for two nights, but he was going to make every second count. A hand is braced on each inner thigh, hard enough for you to find finger shaped bruises in the morning. He dips his head in, taking his first taste of you in weeks. How was it possible that your slick on his tongue was even sweeter than he remembered? As he goes in for another swipe of his tongue, your hand grips the duvet below you. His flicks his tongue against your clit, causing you to let out the smallest of whimpers. Always encouraged by the pretty sounds you make, Eddie keeps the attention on your clit, swirling his tongue around it before sucking on the small bud. 

“Eddie,” you whine, and Eddie feels his cock twitch where it’s trapped between his body and the mattress. 

“What is it, princess?”

“Feels so good.”

That makes Eddie smile against your pussy, pressing a few soft kisses to the area before slipping his tongue inside of you. The feeling of the wet warm muscle entering you makes your back arch off the bed and Eddie uses one strong arm across your pelvis to keep your hips in place. 

“I missed this, baby,” Eddie says before delving back into your hole. 

“M-Me too.” You don’t have the mental fortitude to keep up a conversation when your boyfriend’s head is buried between your legs. 

“So wet,” Eddie muses, mostly to himself, as he pulls away and some of your slick keeps his chin connected to your throbbing cunt. 

Adjusting his position to make himself more comfortable, Eddie wraps an arm around each of your thighs, pulling you closer to him as his tongue starts to really work you. He alternates between licks and sucking on your clit, never letting your dripping hole go too without attention either. He slips two fingers into you with no resistance and begins to hunt for that place inside that he knows drives you wild. It doesn’t take him long to find it; Eddie was a quick study when it came to learning your body and how to make it feel good. 

Curling his fingers up has you keening, your boyfriend smiling in satisfaction at making you feel this good. It only takes a few rough strokes of his fingers before your hands are scrambling for purchase on the bed.

“Eds, I’m gonna - shit I’m,” you moan out.

“I’ve got you baby,” Eddie assures you, lips still against your clit. “Let go. Cum for me.”

That’s all you need to hear before your legs are closing around Eddie’s head and your walls are clenching around his thick fingers. He works you through your orgasm, wanting you to get every last bit of enjoyment out of it. 

“There we go,” Eddie says as he slips his fingers out of you. “How was that, princess?”

It’s with heavy lidded eyes that you watch Eddie bring his fingers up to his lips and suck your slick from them. The sight of it has another moan slipping free from you.

“Was s’good, baby,” you say as you try to catch your breath. “But I need your cock.” 

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Eddie crawls up your body and presses his lips softly against yours, the intimacy of it making your tummy buzz. 

A pale arm reaches over to the bedside table, fumbling with a square box behind the heart shaped one. Eddie’s deft thick fingers pluck a condom from it and the foil crinkles as he works it open. 

“Hey.” There’s a smile on your face as you catch Eddie’s wrist in your hand. 

“What’s up?” he asks, brow pinching in concern.

“We, uh, we don’t really need that,” you say, eyes glancing down at the condom. “I figured it would be a surprise when I saw you over Spring Break, but I guess now works too.”

“Surprise me with what?” Eddie asks. His eyes dart down to your stomach, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“I’m not pregnant,” you say with a laugh. “I started taking the pill.”

“Oh. Well, fuck this thing then.” Eddie tosses the condom over his shoulder and cups your face in his hands as you laugh some more at his antics. He presses a few tender kisses to your lips, smiling against your mouth. “Shit, can’t believe I get to feel all of you, baby.”

“Mm, that’s what I wanted,” you say as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Good surprise?”

“Amazing surprise,” Eddie says, trailing the kisses down to your neck. You decide to throw another little surprise Eddie’s way as you hook your ankles where they rest just below his ass and roll the pair of you over until you’re on top of him. 

Eddie’s hair is splayed out on the pillow around him, a dark halo of curls, and looks up at you with lust blown eyes, pupils swallowing the brown. 

“Wanna ride you,” you say. Mouth hanging open but no sound coming out, Eddie just nods his head at you, causing you to giggle. “No words, baby?”

He takes a few breaths and licks over his lips before speaking. “You’re on top of me. Wearing that. Saying you want to ride me. I have no thoughts in my head right now.”

With a laugh, you lean down and rest your forehead against his. “You’re adorable.”

Rising up on your knees, you take Eddie’s cock in your hand and line him up with your entrance. Both of your mouths drop open as you sink down on him, a whimper coming from you as Eddie squeezes his eyes closed.

“Shit, I didn’t think it could get any better,” Eddie says. “But fuck, feeling you is perfect.”

“Uh huh,” you pant out as you nod your head in agreement. Finally sinking all the way down on him, you place your hands on Eddie’s chest to give yourself a moment to adjust. Fingertips dig into his scars and his hands come up to rest on your hips. 

The first roll of your hips has Eddie releasing a groan from the back of his throat, his thumbs digging into your hip bones. The way his head tilts back, revealing the pale expanse of his neck to you has you rolling your hips a little bit harder. The muscles are straining, and you can see a vein throbbing on the side of his neck. The temptation is too strong, and you find yourself leaning down and running your tongue from between Eddie’s collar bones, up his neck, and all the way to the light stubble coating his chin. The thin sheen of sweat on his skin leaves a salty taste in your mouth. 

He grins up at you, a hungry gleam in his eye. The look sends a flare through your body, landing straight between your legs, making your walls clench around him.

“Fuck,” Eddie spits out. Only encouraged by his reactions, your hips pick up the pace. Your boyfriend is a moaning, panting mess underneath you and it’s only driving you crazier. Lifting off of him before slamming back down had Eddie’s eyes rolling back in his head. Your self-satisfaction only grows when you see the tears leaking from the corner of his eyes. Swiping one up with your thumb, you pop the digit into your mouth, leaving Eddie even more of a whining mess.

“M’close,” Eddie says. He manages to take a deep breath before gripping your hips even tighter, making the drag of your clit over his pubic bone even more delicious. 

“Feels good, Eddie.”

“Yeah, baby?” he asks through his tightened jaw.

“Mhmm. Close,” you say.

Eddie rocks his hips up into yours, sliding your bundle of nerves against his skin over and over. 

“Shit, babe – fuck, I’m coming.”

Eddie finishing had always felt amazing before, even with the barrier of the condom between you. But with nothing separating the two of you, feeling the warmth of his cum as he came inside of you has you gripping onto his skin like a lifeline as you fall over the edge of the cliff into your own orgasm. Bodies moving together as you both ride out your highs, your muscles weaken, and Eddie holds you against his body. The only movement that occurs once you're both spent is the rapid rising and falling of your chests as you try and catch your breaths. 

“Wow.” Eddie is the first to break the silence. 

“Yeah,” you agree. With a cheeky smile on your face, you turn to rest your chin on Eddie’s chest, looking up at him. “Hey Eds?”

“Mm?” he hums.

“Were you crying?” you ask. 

He tilts his head down to meet your eyes, cheeks blooming pink. 

“S’your fucking fault,” he mumbles, making you laugh.

“Excuse me?” you ask.

“Pussy’s just that good,” he says with a shrug. 

You break into another round of giggles and bury your head in his chest. Eddie presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Best Valentine’s Day ever.”

“I agree.”

The rest of the day is spent holed up in your room. Eddie opens the curtains – once you’re both properly clothed – so you can watch the snow, which has now gathered into a couple inches on the ground. The television has Star Wars playing but neither of you are paying attention to it as you lay with your head in Eddie’s lap, talking and giggling with him in between bites of the chocolate candies he’s feeding you. 

You get a pizza delivered for dinner and stay snuggled up in the bed as you eat it, napkins scattered all around so neither of you gets grease on anything. The bathtub isn’t big, but the two of you make it work when you decide to sit in the hot water together – and then maybe make a bit of a mess when you fool around in there. When you get back into the bed, the blankets are soft and inviting as you curl into one another. 

By the time Sunday comes around and it’s time to check out, you’re informed by the front desk that no planes will be taking off due to the amount of snow on the ground. They tell you there’s been a state of emergency declared. Since Eddie’s flight is canceled, the hotel comps your room for the night, giving you two the chance to spend even more time together. Eddie’s thrilled as the two of you bound back into the hotel room.

“Work can’t get mad at me because it’s a state of emergency,” Eddie says as he tosses his body onto the bed. He makes grabby hands at you. “And I get more time with my girl.”

As you step up to the bed, Eddie whips a pillow up from behind him and whacks you in the stomach with it. You bend over, laughter bubbling out of you as you take in the shit eating grin on his face.

“Asshole!” You snatch up another pillow and toss it at his head. He grabs you around the middle and pulls you down on top of him, both of you laughing as you wriggle around. 

“Good thing we don’t need condoms, or we would’ve run out by now,” Eddie says as he pins you down beneath him. “And who knows how long we’ll be snowed in?”

“Speaking of which,” you say, poking him in the chest. “You should call Wayne and tell him.”

Eddie groans and drops his head forward.

“Well, there goes my boner,” he says, making you giggle.

“I’m sure I can bring it back after you get off the phone,” you assure him. With a sigh, he rolls off of you and grabs the phone. He puts the receiver up to his ear and punches in the number as you stand up from the bed, a mischievous idea getting the better of you. 

Eddie sits facing the window, which you take a moment to glance out of before you spin towards him and get down on your knees. Raising his eyebrows at you, Eddie waits for Wayne to answer the phone. And so do you. The moment you hear the older man’s gruff voice coming through the phone, you pop the button on Eddie’s jeans and pull down his fly. 

“Uh, hi, Wayne,” Eddie says, eyes widening as he looks down at you. What are you doing? he mouths at you. You hope he isn’t expecting you to answer him, as you feel it’s pretty obvious, as you reach into his boxers and pull his cock free.

“Y-Yeah, I’m here. Um.” Eddie looks up at the ceiling, trying to ignore you. “So, there’s a state of emergency here cause of all the s-snow.”

It’s hard to contain a laugh as you give a few kitten licks to the head and Eddie fists the duvet in his hand. 

“Right, exactly. Ah! No, n-no, I’m fine.” Eddie clears his throat, glaring down at you and you start to take him into your mouth. 

“No, they’re comping the room.”

Giving a few harsh sucks to the head, you pull off and run your tongue along the vein on the underside of his dick.

“I guess I-I’ll call tomorrow and see-see what’s going on.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes closed and drops his head back, trying to ignore the sinful way your tongue is working over him. 

“How is she? Oh, she’s fucking amazing. I mean, I-I mean she’s good.”

You have to pull yourself away and stifle a laugh into your hand before you can get back to teasing him. When you wrap your fingers around him, Eddie doesn’t know if he wants you to stop or not. 

“Yeah, I’ll let you know when I-I do. Okay, Wayne. Shit – bye!”

Eddie slams the phone down and you fall back onto the floor, consumed with giggles. 

“Oh, you’re in trouble now,” Eddie says as he slides onto the floor next to you. You’re laughing too hard to answer him, so he swings one leg over you and sits on your hips. He pins your hands above your head and raises an eyebrow at you. “Think you’re funny, huh?”

“Yes,” you say between bouts of laughter. 

“I don’t know if you’re lucky or not that you’re stuck with me for at least another day,” Eddie says, tilting his head to the side. “Because I think I’m about to tease the hell out of you for hours.” 

[physalian]

On self-publishing, and why I did it

Based on the research that I have done, following other indie authors across multiple platforms, I think I've made an approach to this that is a lot less... shall we say, *intense* than people make it out to be? I've seen some YouTube videos acting like picking one route or the other might be the worst mistake of your author career.

I mean, I guess?

Back a few years ago I had a manuscript I was querying around and couldn't find any takers. Couldn't find any publishing houses that were accepting open submissions to pick up my manuscript either. So many of them had clauses in the application verifying that you were submitting to them and only to them and to expect a reply within 8-10 months. Coooool.

I did not have time for that.

—

The manuscript I had was 120k words. Baby’s first novel sitting at 120k words is not attractive to publishing houses. It’s a risk. I was younger and didn’t know much about finding an agent and all that jazz, so I had looked into self-publishing and was staring down an editor bill of about $3k minimum because of my word count. I did not have the money for that.

So that manuscript got shelved, meanwhile I wrote the sequel and got halfway through book 3 before writer’s block took hold.

Enter February 2024. I have an idea for a new book. 31 days later, I have that book’s first draft done—Eternal Night of the Northern Sky, on sale from draft to publication in seven months.

This time, I didn’t consider for one second trying the traditionally published route. ENNS is 111k words, it’s a doorstopper of a book, but the bulk wasn’t the only reason I decided to bootstrap myself to the finish line.

I wanted complete, absolute creative control every step of the way

If I have to market myself anyway, why am I splitting profit with a publishing house?

I *really* don’t have time to wait around hoping the right person sees my manuscript. I have a new job coming that’s going to eat up all my free time and could either delay ENNS a year or more, or get it out while I still had time to do so

I didn’t do this for money

I think that’s what makes so many of those rather intense arguments for one or the other so harrowing—the pressure is a lot higher if you invested all this time, money, and effort expecting returns to break even, if not actually turn a profit. Publishing with a publisher doesn’t guarantee people will buy your book, mind you, but it’s a helping hand nonetheless. If I even want to break even, let's say just on royalties from the ebook, I'd have to sell over a thousand copies.

Breaking down my above points:

I’m a firm believer in “if you want something done right, you do it yourself,” which does bite me in the ass from time to time, this I know. I didn’t want to get caught up in contracts or editors telling me what I could and couldn’t do or what I had to change. If ENNS fails, I will have no one to blame but myself, and I am at peace with this. If ENNS fails, and I’d gone through the trouble of signing my book’s soul away to a publisher, then I’d probably be a little resentful. 100% of ENNS is mine, even the cover. I had an image in my head of what I wanted the cover to look like, and I sat down and I drew it and it matches perfectly. Aside from the feedback implemented from betas and editors, my story is told the way I wanted to tell it. If it fails, I am at peace with this.

On marketing, I am not a person who does well with social media. Maybe it’s autism, idk, but trying to keep up with an Instagram is exhausting. I just don’t get anything from tiny text posts and blurbs and doomscrolling through influencers and advertisements. Social Media is, for me, exhausting. Tumblr is different, because writing is my strong point and this blog exists to share and curate something useful. But either way, I’d have to market this book alone, so why not do so with full creative control? If it fails, I am at peace with this.

I have a new job coming very quickly. My current job allows me about 5 hours of free time during my 8 hour shift on a good day not including the time outside work, and I work from home. ENNS was written in 31 days thanks to this job. The new one? Not so much. Seeing “please allow 8-10 months” and “please ensure this is an exclusive submission” on so many little publishing houses, and I did search far and wide, was incredibly disheartening. For me, personally, it wasn’t worth the gamble of waiting all that time, following the rules, and being told no or just being flat-out ghosted. Nor did I want to sit around querying agents into the void. This time, I didn’t have time to sift through agents. ENNS had to get out on the shelves as quickly as I could get it, and all that time (five goddamn months of editing, 500% of the time it took to write it) was spent perfecting the manuscript that it is, *not* waiting around trying to find an agent. If it fails, I am at peace with this.

And lastly, I don’t care if I make absolutely nothing from this book. I didn’t do it for the money, I did it to say I could. I have a day job, and I’m about to have a much higher paying day job. Maybe I’m lucky enough to have that, but I am under no illusions that putting in the hard work guarantees success. Success as an author is a crapshoot and being an amazing book is not the metric sales are measured in, if no one wants to read it. I’d like to make money, I didn’t do it for charity. It’s going to be priced exactly the same as another fantasy book of its caliber. But if only one person buys it, and finds something good from it, something in it that changes their life, then I will have succeeded, profit be damned. If all else fails, I am at peace with this.

—

This is not a post meant to sway people one way or the other. I know I didn’t do enough research or scour the internet hard enough to find a good agent. All of this is irrelevant when time was the most important factor in my debut novel. I was in a position where I could drop that $3k on an editor, so I did. I’m a capable enough artist to draw my own cover, so I did. I might be abysmal at managing social accounts, but less than a year ago this blog didn’t exist and it has over 5k reblogs and 950 followers and I think that’s pretty swell.

I’m 25 years old. I was not about to let it keep sitting around waiting for the golden opportunity with the perfect publishing house that might not have been coming. I had the means and motive to get it done, and by god, I did it.

If it fails, at least I can say that I failed trying. I am at peace with this.

—

Eternal Night of the Northern Sky is available now on Amazon in ebook and paperback! It is also available through your local bookstore.

Check it out on Goodreads!

[littledrummeraussie]

a rare appearance of dom luke please 🧎‍♀️

This is my first ever Luke piece (took me what? 3 years?), and let me tell you, this one was a ride I did not expect at all. The idea came to me almost immediately, but I'm glad I took the time with it because I'm actually really happy how it turned out.

When I was coming up with the title, Personal Jesus came to my mind for maybe obvious reasons, but it did not really fit with the whole story. Until I remembered the version Hilary Duff made out of it, and let me tell you, that was the perfect fit.

This might not be everyone’s taste so I’m sorry? Also, I was heavily inspired by this Luke:

masterlist. | want to be added to my taglist? | Christmas Blurb Fest 2022 / I want a blurb too!

reach out & touch me (before i go insane). [a dom!Luke blurb]

warnings: daddydom!Luke. subfem!reader. pet names. daddy kink. fingering in front of a mirror. one little spank. a moment of breath play. Luke is both praising and taunting the reader during their play time. (let me know if I missed anything???)

word count: 1836

----------

“You’re so easy, Angel.”

Luke softly nipped your earlobe, hot puffs of air tickling your skin, making you shiver at every little touch. It always made your knees weak when his voice turned deep and scratchy, so easily switching modes, slipping into the dominant role that he rarely showed to the world. A role that was only reserved for you.

“Lu– please…”

His messy blond curls hung over his forehead, traces of glittery makeup still painted on his skin from the time he was performing. He was still high on adrenaline when he got back home – rushing through his veins, making him dizzy with want and need for you: to touch and tease, to give and take, to wreck you before the night ended.

“That’s not my name.”

It only took him a second, just a look with those darkening blue eyes to have you on your knees, obediently waiting for his orders, always wanting to please him when this side of him came out to play. A little chuckle left his lips, something between sweet and satisfied before crouching down to you to tip your chin up, pressing a kiss on your parted lips. He breathed against your ear, telling you to go to the bedroom and wait for him.

“I–”

You’ve tried to be patient as you kneeled at the end of the bed, waiting for Luke to finally come after you. It felt like an eternity, but finally you heard his steps coming up the stairs, taking his time as he strolled down the hallway, leisurely kicking his boots off like they didn’t cost thousands of dollars. He stopped in the doorway, throwing his suit jacket over a table or a chair, you weren’t sure, just that he towered over you, calling your name to look up at him.

“Say it.”

He looked like a god, or something else out of this world, looking at you like you were a precious little thing that pleased him, something picked out from the masses, so special and beautiful, only fit for a man like him. His thumb ran over your bottom lip, pushing into your mouth and against your tongue, letting you suck it just for a second before he pulled his hand back. A low whine slipped out of you, doe-eyes searching him, pleading to let you get close to him again, to feel him against you, however it pleased him. Luke gave you a sympathetic little noise, almost something like a chuckle or a chiding, your name falling off his lips softly – it made you shiver from head to toe. Luke finally took pity on you and stepped closer, the bulge straining his pants right in front of you as he asked you to help him strip without being too touchy. After all, good girls do as they are told by their–

“Daddy.”

With trembling hands you reached for the button on his pants, tugging down the zipper that was pressing against his boxers, his cock so close and inviting, you just wanted to wrap your lips around the tip that already soaked the thin material right in front of you. You bit your lip to keep those thoughts at bay, always wanting to be so good for him, and instead you pulled on the legs, the pants sliding down on Luke’s hips, pooling around his ankles. He kicked them away, motioning you with just a nod of his head to stand up and help him out of his tank top. Your fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, lifting it up slowly, palms sliding against his warm skin for a second, just to feel him. He grabbed the top and pulled it over his head, throwing it away, standing in front of you in all of his glory. His head dipped down, lips whispering against yours, only a thin circle of blue around his dark pupils.

“Good girl.”

.

Luke’s back way resting against the foot of the bed, long legs stretched out, toes almost touching the mirror standing in front of you. You leaned against his chest, your own legs thrown over his thighs to keep them spread, your panties long forgotten along with Luke’s clothes. He was still wearing his boxers, his cock rubbing against your ass as your hips moved, trying to get him to move, to touch you, to take away the ache deep inside you.

“You’re so easy, Angel,” Luke softly nipped your earlobe, hot puffs of air tickling your skin, making you shiver at every little touch. “Ask nicely.”

“Please, Daddy.”

“There you go, Angel,” he traced his nose against your cheek, kissing it sweetly. “It wasn’t too hard, was it?”

You choked on a moan as his fingers curled against your sweet spot again, his thumb rubbing over your clit in small circles. Your pussy was soaked from the way he teased you, from the way he edged you, the wet noises filling the room and your ears as Luke’s fingers moved in and out of you. Your nails dug into his thighs, eyes closed tightly as you chased your pleasure, head thrown back onto his shoulder as your pleas spilled from your tongue.

“Look at yourself,” he pressed a kiss on your temple, teeth grazing the top of your ear. “Come on, open your eyes and look at yourself.”

For a moment you needed to bury your face against his neck, knowing the sight will make you feel embarrassed and turned on at the same time. Luke was right – you were so easy to play with. You loved him for bringing out this side of you. With a soft whine you finally opened your eyes, looking at your reflection in the mirror, your walls clenching around Luke’s fingers at what you saw.

Your eyes flickered between your boyfriend’s face as he watched you in the mirror and his hand moving between your thighs, fingers pulling out of you and spreading you open, your lips puffy and the most beautiful shade, drenched with your arousal. He pushed back in again, his rings cold against your sensitive skin where you were wrapped around his fingers, making something tighten in your core. He must have felt it too, suddenly teasing a third finger against your hole, making you grind against his palm.

“Daddy… Daddy please, please… I wanna… I wanna… Please Daddy…”

Luke growled at your begging, hips bucking forward at his name, rubbing his hard dick against your ass, the wet spot growing where the precum soaked his boxers. The fingers on his free hand curled into the top of your sleep shirt, tugging it lower on your chest, his grip so strong that soon you heard the thin material rip, your tits spilling out. It made you trash against him, so lost in your pleasure, not sure if you wanted to press forward against his hand or fall back and melt against his chest, giving up all control and letting him do as he pleased.

You suddenly felt empty, his fingers disappearing from inside you, and a whimper escaped you at the loss of his touch, your brain already trying to string together a sentence or at least a fragment of it to beg him for release. Not even a second later Luke’s hands curled under your thighs, gripping you and pulling your body back against his chest, and somewhere in the back of your mind you realized you must have slipped down, not being able to keep yourself up anymore. His palm was running all over your skin, one hand finally settling back between your thighs, fingers massaging your clit, while the other grabbed one of your tits, pinching your nipple. Teeth bit down on your neck, leaving a faint mark as he hungrily kissed and licked the soft skin, his fingers never stopping on your body.

The hand on your tit gave one last pinch to your nipple before sliding up on your sternum, fingers wrapping around your neck, and you choked on your next words as Luke softly gripped your throat, leaning closer to your ear, his whispers so close it was like he became the voice inside your head.

“Lu– Daddy, please, I’m–”

“What’s that, Angel? Hmm?” his voice was syrupy and warm like honey, sucking your earlobe into his mouth. “Is my baby not satisfied? Does she need more? Oh baby, is it not enough, what Daddy already gave you? So insatiable.”

His fingers tapped your clit before suddenly giving a quick little spank to your pussy, the pain and the pleasure travelling up your spine and making your thighs clench together, if it weren’t for Luke’s legs keeping you spread open. A second later his fingers slipped back inside you, steadily going in and out as his other hand travelled up to your face, grabbing your chin and squishing your cheeks, your lips falling open in a perfectly shaped O.

“Keep your eyes on me, Angel,” Luke’s lips dragged against your temple, leaving an open-mouth kiss on your hair. “And cum for me.”

It felt too much, the way his fingers were rubbing your sweet spot, palm grinding against your clit with every stroke, how he kept your head in place against his chest, eyes locked in an intense stare, those baby blue eyes now dark and full of lust, his words praising and taunting you at the same time until your vision blurred, back arching and toes lifting off the floor, hand grabbing at his wrist between your legs as you finally came, your whole body shaking from the powerful orgasm rushing through your veins.

“There you go, Angel. So beautiful,” Luke’s voice was soft around the edges, fingers slowing down as he worked your through your pleasure, helping you start to come down from your high. “Look at you, such a piece of art, baby.”

You sagged against his chest, feet finally lowering and resting against Luke’s legs as you tried to find the willpower to open your eyes, still shaking from the way his fingers were softly playing you. When you finally looked up you could see in the mirror how wrecked you looked, spread open in Luke’s lap, his fingers petting through your soaked folds, red nails glistening with your arousal, the shade against your pussy looking like an art piece, just like your boyfriend said it.

He left soft, sweet little kisses on your cheek and jaw, fingers running through your hair as he cradled you in his arms, his words praising you for being his good girl, such a perfect Angel, so absolutely beautiful for his Daddy. You whimpered softly when your felt his caresses on your thigh running too close to your pussy, his pinky finger brushing against a spot that instantly made you shiver. Luke chuckled above you, voice even lower than before as he breathed against your ear.

“Aww, sensitive?” he tutted lightly, lips pressing against your temple as he whispered. “Too bad, Angel. We’re just getting started.”

----------

@mymindwide @fuckyeah5sostakemehome @suchalonelysunflower @talkfastromance4 @ashtonsunflower @in-superbloom @wiiildflowerrr @lovelywordsblog @heyitskelseaj

[hannie-dul-set]

ONE WORD, FOUR LETTERS.

p — YANG JUNGWON x gn! reader. g — fluff, comfort, videocall with wonie who's out on tour. w — none, i can't believe there's no swearing in this. 441 words.

note — back with my lovestruck idol agenda. BLURB GAME: SEND ME A PHOTO AND I'LL WRITE SOMETHING.

there’s not enough words in the dictionary to describe how jungwon feels about you.

“wonie! why aren’t you asleep yet? isn’t it like one in the morning there?”

longing floods through his veins when he sees you through his phone screen, lips pouting in concern, and he’s overcome but the violent waves of wishing to drown in your warmth, yearning for your rhythmic breaths that lull him to sleep on nights where his want for you overpowers his need for sleep.

“because i miss you? you won’t even let me call you whenever i want?” 

adoration rattles him further awake when you break into a fond smile at his whines. it digs into his skin, bone-deep, until all of his senses fall into a reverie of affection-drunk daydreams of how nice it would be if he could kiss those smiling lips, of what he would give to have you laying in bed next to him, to be swallowed by your very presence.

“what am i gonna do with you?” you laugh. “i’ll talk to you until you fall asleep. you know, you gotta be up early tomorrow, right?”

he listens to each word you say, each syllable you utter with utmost devotion— memorizing the story of how you messed up making a sandwich earlier this morning like it’s prayer, committing every gasp and noise and sound you’d make in between anecdotes to reverence until his mind grows foggy, until it gets harder for him to keep his eyes open, but jungwon persists. there’s nothing more important than you. there’s nothing he worships more than you.

“wonie? ah, he’s finally asleep.”

yet all those words are still lacking.

he’s hesitant to call it love because are four measly letters really enough to encapsulate all his adoration, devotion, and longing for you? he feels as though it should be grander, greater than the ever-stretching sky and the depths of the ocean. it’s too short, too quick— too easy, but difficult to scrape out of his throat all the same. he could write tens and thousands of essays and sing perpetual voices and it still would be enough.

but when those four letters stumble from your very own lips, he’s suddenly awake again, but not entirely. alive, but paralyzed by everything he feels drowning him and lifting him up into the air at and it clicks like all those stray emotions have finally fallen into place.

“good night. love you. i’ll text you in the morning.”

jungwon longs for you. he adores you. he devotes all of his thoughts and actions and his entire person to you. yet above all—

“i love you too.”

ONE WORD, FOUR LETTERS. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[chiefwritesbook]

WIP Intro: SOTAL

Hi hello this is my main WIP and book 1 is out and I'm !!!!!!

(have a moodboard first of all)

Series title: Stories of the Ancient Lands (SOTAL) Genre: Epic fantasy/romance Themes: Justice (and prejudice), power & leadership, morality, self-identity, friendship & love

Blurb for book 1: War rages across the elven kingdom of Kies Tor. In the capital, the exiled crown prince has returned, seeking to usurp the throne. Midst the bloodshed and chaos, Talin Zylvaris II must take her place as queen and lead the kingdom to safety. It’s a heavy weight for the youngest Torrian ruler in a thousand years.

There is, however, a glimmer of hope in an unlikely alliance to the west. Against her council’s advice, Talin rides out with her mysterious royal bodyguard to seize it, oblivious to the dangers stirring at home. Caught between a court conspiracy and advancing Hellhounds to the north, Talin has only one chance to save her people. If it is not already too late.

About the main squad: Talin: Queen of an entire kingdom, inherited a war, trying her hardest not to screw up and also keep her people alive while everyone at court plots things behind her back. Probably needs to be fished out from the increasingly large pile of other people's bullshit.

Red Wolf: Lord Commander of the Royal Guard. Not a Werewolf™️ and definitely not a simp for the queen, not at all. Prone to getting stabbed or slashed by various sharp and pointy things - it's an occupational hazard.

Ettrias: Talin's twin brother, crown prince of Kies Tor, also very much exiled for murder. May or may not be plotting to assassinate the queen. People tend to forget he's highly competent with a sword and attempt to kill him for some reason.

Captain Golmin: Army vet who became head of the royal guard because it pays to be best friends with the Lord Commander. Really just tired of everyone's shit. Always ends up caught in the middle of a court conspiracy or another, possibly because he's dating the crown prince.

Ashera: A 12yo child who wound up as the Lord Commander's squire because the guy felt guilty about failing to save her hometown and subsequently promised her mother that he'd look after her. Looks like a cinnamon roll, can and will commit crimes.

Book 1 excerpt to finish off: Talin tried a different tactic. “Why did you allow the assassin to scale the walls?”

“We needed a man for questioning.” Red Wolf took the torch from her at the bottom of the steps and led the way onwards, past endless rows of black-barred cells. She could see some were occupied, though none dared come close to them in Red Wolf’s towering presence. A straggly youth with rags for clothes spat on the ground when they passed. Her bodyguard slammed the bars with a gauntleted hand, and he jumped back, eyes wide.

“You and Captain Golmin set this up?” Talin asked.

“The plan was my idea. Captain Golmin only helped because he had an obligation to his lord commander,” Red Wolf explained. “We organised a new night shift that left blind spots on the walls and allowed the assassin to observe the pattern. We also leaked false information that I would not be guarding you at night. I had been asking you if you required me to guard your chambers only because I did not want to go against your word, but you refused each time. We were running out of opportunities.”

“You mean to say that I was bait,” Talin said.

“Not the word I would use, but in a way, yes,” Red Wolf confessed.

“Why?”

“You have been on the throne for less than a year. If someone wants you dead this quickly, something is amiss. I’d like to find out what.”

[moonlit-imagines]

Poison

Kingo x reader

warnings: alcohol

a/n: eternals can get drunk right? they can now if im wrong! <3

prompt: @autistic-solar-fandom: “Thanks love! So yea, 'Poison' by Rita Ora w/ Kingo from Eternals, with the tropes 'Mutual Pining'/ 'Idiots in Love', in a blurb. Love you, hope this clears things!”

“Cut!” Halted the actors and actresses before the camera, giving Kingo a chance to wink at you in his final pose of the scene, another flirtatious gesture from the star of the film he’s been working so very hard on. You were a crew member he just attached to, and there was something about him that was so…magnetic.

You stood near the refreshment table, watching Kingo walk your way in such a confident manner, ready to greet his good friend. “Y/N! What did you think?”

“Gets better each time I see it.” You chuckled, handing him his special anagrammed cup full of fruit infused water, which he delightfully accepted.

“You’re good luck to have around, that’s for sure.” He told you, shooing away Karun as he saw him approaching. “Would you maybe like to, oh, I don’t know, come by my house again tonight? It’s just so lonely and boring when it’s just me.” You chuckled at his invitation, as well as his complaints. “What? I may look like I have everything, but there’s still one thing missing!”

“And that would be?” You asked, sipping your plastic water cup.

“Oh, you know.” Kingo smirked, waiting for a reaction from you.

“There’ll be wine?” You asked him, brows raised.

“Only the best for you.” He assured you. And after filming wrapped for the night, you and Kingo headed to his home, a beautiful mansion passed down through generations, full of memorabilia and artifacts you’d gaze upon in wonder each time you visited. “See something you like?”

“You ask me that every time.” You held your wine glass in your palm, stem between your fingers, and moved it in a circular motion. “You just want to tell me some long story to hear yourself talk.” Kingo and you stared at each other for a long moment and broke into laughter, which may have been because it was true.

“Come, sit with me.” Kingo was seated on a pillow on the floor, close to his antique fireplace. He patted a pillow beside him and you took a swig of your drink before obeying his request.

You two had obviously liked each other, and everyone else you worked with could see it, as well. Kingo doesn’t pay this kind of attention to anyone else, and he had realized that. But you didn’t really know how it’d work, you just enjoyed the extravagant company he provided if that’s all it could ever be. Kingo still hadn’t explained the whole “Eternal” thing to you, either, which had probably been the one thing holding him back.

But not tonight.

You two had gone from two glasses to two bottles through the night, now laying opposite of each other on the floor. You felt looser, lighter, and almost delirious. “Kingo?” You muttered, staring at the ceiling.

“Yes, y/n?” He answered you.

“Hi.” You simply said.

“Hi, y/n.” There was a short pause, a silence that brought up an idea. “I’m like, immortal, you know?”

“You’re drunk, you know?” You began to cackle at the claim he made, it made him smile to himself. You each clasped your hands over your stomachs, still lying on your backs as you carried on through the night.

“I might be. But I’m also thousands of years old. Crazy, right? And wanna know what’s crazier?” You tilted your head upwards to get a glimpse of him. “I believe I’m in love with you.” He admitted in his hazy state of mind, the clearest thought he’s had all night. He looked back at you, from an upside-down point of view. Your lips were turned downward…wait, no. You were upside down. You were smiling. You reached a hand up and back to him, which he took, and you grasped it tight.

“That is pretty crazy. I must be crazy, too.” You told him, slurring your words a bit. “Tell me more about you being immortal or whatever in the morning. And more about how you love me, yeah?” Your eyes were closed by now, you had drifted off with your hand in his. You both knew you’d rest well tonight.

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @johnmurphyisqueer // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @bad4amficideas // @sheridans-dynamos // @simsrecs // @prettysbliss // @skdkdkckfk // @simp-legend // @zoeyserpentluck // @wild-rose-35 // @ipurpleeyou // @nekoannie-chan // @punk-rock-raven // @evilcr0ne // @minxsblog // @v0idl1nq // @sydknee624 // @ruvaakke // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @amirahiddleston //@multifandomfix // @beth-gallagher22 // @brutal-out-here // @rqmanoff // @elenavampire21 //

[thisismeracing]

Charles + gamer + mild angst /fluff

Gamer | CL16

⸺ the one where he's been gaming too much with his friends and neglects his girlfriend for a beat. ✓ mentions of food.

⁕ one word, a thousand stories blurb night (closed) ⁕ my masterlist and my taglist

He wasn't a gamer. He was an F1 pilot. That's why it did not make any sense for Yn the amount of time Charles had been spending playing with his friends. And don't get her wrong, she did support him in everything and wanted Charles to bond with his friends, but the thing was he's been neglecting her in the process.

She tried talking with him, but he brushed it off not even taking his eyes off the screen, and that's how Yn found herself with Charles would call "an attitude", going around her day ignoring him. She went as far as cooking dinner without calling him to eat or saving him a plate.

She wanted him to feel the way she was.

"Amour, did you have dinner already?" Charles asked confused once his match was over, tonight he was playing some kind of fight game with Lando. Both streaming too.

Yn kept her eyes on the movie playing on the TV, not bothering to look his way, but Charles tried again, "Chérie, what happened?" he walked to the living room stopping right in front of her.

Yn sighed.

"Are you finally done with your game? I'm sorry but I can't talk right now, mon ange, I'm watching this movie...all by myself," she retorted hinting exactly at the problem.

The Leclerc cleared his throat a bit ashamed of himself finally realizing what he did to his girlfriend.

"Love, I'm sorry, I- I lost track of time, and I've been a terrible boyfriend. You deserve better and I'll start giving you better, I promise. Just, please, forgive me, and look at me," he apologized while pleading, now kneeling between her legs. He held her face between his hands, "I love you," he whispered when her eyes finally found his. "Can I get a kiss?"

"You don't deserve it," she answered, but the ghosting of a smile gave away that she was considering his apologies.

"Not even if I get you your favorite dessert? You didn't have dessert without me, did you?" he arches his brows.

"Well, you're starting to drive a hard bargain, Charlie."

"I'm the best of the grid, you know," he jokes.

"Now you're getting cocky," she laughs.

"If it makes you laugh I can be whatever you want, Yn," now his eyes were trained on her lips and he finally killed the space, tasting her lips and sealing a promise of doing better from now on.

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: I hope you liked it *mwah* <3 make sure lmk your thoughts, guys!

[usmsgutterson]

All right! This post is something that’s been a long time in the making. I hit 500 followers early last month, and I’ve been trying to figure out a cool way to celebrate ever since. 

This is what I came up with! Requests for this are open until the 29th and will probably start coming out at the beginning of next week, with the latest I can think that the first one would come out being around next wednesday. 

The characters to whom this applies are the same as usual! Nikolai, Alina, Mal, and Zoya as far as Shadow and Bone goes, and Kaz, Inej, Jesper, Nina and Matthias as far as Six of Crows is concerned. Pin Hawthorne of Free Rein is included in this as well, as he always is. As for characters that I don’t normally attach to my events, we have Aaron Warner and Kenji Kishimoto from the Shatter Me series!

CONCERT LINEUP

TAYLOR SWIFT

invisible string- pick a verse, bridge, or chorus from any taylor swift song. Provide a character, and I’ll write a mini-song fic/blurb with each paragraph based off of each lyric sent in. Multiple verses, bridges or choruses can be sent in but to keep the fics relatively short, I ask that, per request, you don’t send in more than three. 

paper rings- weddings!! give me a character. a rough word count (10k is the most I’m willing to write, but if you want the fic to be a longer one, specifics are heavily recommended) and where you would want to get married if you were to get married! You can also tell me if you want it to be next level angst or to have the fluff scale turned up to eleven. Provide whatever specifics you want, and along with the fic, you’ll get a moodboard! You can mention if you want the moodboard to replace whatever gif I use as a fic header, but if you want it at the bottom of the fic and for me to include the gif anyway, just let me know!

lavender haze- AUS! You can pretty much pick any AU or combination of AUs that you want, be it a royalty au combined with your selection of the thousands of soulmate aus that people have come up with or a modern au with a coffeeshop au thrown in there! Anything is fair game, as long as you provide me with a character and whatever other specifics you can think to include. I’ll write three thousand words for this one, so again, the more specifics, the better!

long story short- all right! This one will be a fic set like, 5-10 years in the future! Flashback scenes can be included if you want them to be but if not, the past that got the characters to where they are will be discussed a bit through internal monologuing. This one is pretty much just up to the requester. The plot is your choice, the character is your choice, even the genre is your choice. everything is up to you and for the third time, the more specifics you add, the better!

message in a bottle- ships and moodboards! send in a brief description of yourself, your gender and fandom pref, and an activity you think would make a fun date night, and I’ll ship you with someone! 

CONAN GRAY

lookalike- this is the hurt/comfort freebie! give me a character, a hurt/comfort prompt or idea of your choosing, and a word count (for this one, the max I’ll write is 5k) 

fight or flight- headcanon freebie! Give me an idea you have that you want me to write headcanons for

the cut that always bleeds- this is the conan gray version of the invisible string prompt. Give me a verse, bridge, or chorus of any of conans songs and I’ll write an angst fic using that, with one paragraph for every lyric in each stanza. In the interest of keeping these fics short, I ask that you only send three stanzas per request

the story- long fics! These ones can take place at random points throughout different years in the characters lives, and they can follow pretty much any plotline! Want me to write a slowburn that runs across a decade or two? want me to show how the characters lives would progress throughout the run of five years or maybe a relationship a year before it begins, as it develops, and a year after something like a proposal or marriage? Theres a lot of potential for plots here, it’s entirely up to the requester! These fics tend to run a bit longer and the shortest I could see myself making one is 5k, with a max word count of 15k, so be mindful that these will likely run a bit on the longer side and thus, take me a bit more time to complete

grow- songs and moodboards! for this one, just drop this prompt into my inbox and tell me that it’s from this event, and I’ll make a moodboard based on how I percieve you/your aesthetic, or I’ll give you a list of like, ten songs that remind of me of you or that I think you would probably enjoy! (moots only) 

PHOEBE BRIDGERS

funeral- this one is the MCD freebie. Drop this one into my inbox if you want me to write some angst involving the death of a character of your choice

killer- this is AU’s but with an angsty twist of your choosing! Soulmate AU’s with near-death experiences, right person right time but with an unexpected twist that throws things off completely? Pick and AU and an angst trope and give me a character for this one. 

moon song- phoebe bridgers version of the invisible string and the cut that always bleeds prompts. Pick any chorus, verse, or bridge from any song by phoebe bridgers, and I’ll write a mini songfic with it. Again, in the interest of keeping the requests short, I ask that you send no more than three stanzas per request. 

punisher (copycat killer version)- this one, in contrast to the rest of the phoebe bridgers prompts, is a bit more on the hurt/comfort side. For this one, give me any prompt that you want! My only ask is that, if you take the prompt from another account, you credit them in your request, and that you keep the prompt within the realms of hurt/comfort or angst. Send in a character for this one, and I’ll write a thousand words for it. 

waiting room- this one is the painful angst freebie! Make it hurt, make it hard hitting. Have Character A watch Character B almost die. Make it as painful as you want, and with this one, the more specific you can be, the better! Depending on how much you include, these ones may also run a little on the longer side (3-7k as a minimum, 10-14k as a max) 

-

mutual tags: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @thebestieyoureinlovewith​ 

[thetruearchmagos]

Writer Positivity Tag

Thank you kindly for the Tag, @sleepyowlwrites , I decided to take it up!

What motivates you to write?

Well, part of it's the history of it all. It feels nice to think of how many thousands of people across time have been somehow involved in the business of the written word, and I feel that what I do is in some way an homage to that long legacy. One that carries a personal, and so unique, touch.

A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not, maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them):

Uhh... haven't actually had the time to write much beyond fanfic these past few days! Here's one odd blurb I've thought over recently though:

The view from L'Orchidee was panoramic. From twenty five storeys up, it cast its gaze across the bay, whose surface glimmered in the last light of a setting sun. Those who passed through its doors would find nothing less than the best Cagnan could offer, serenaded that night by a full string ensemble striking up a tune. As it was, the only thing Captain Castex could hear was the sound of chewing. "Ahh, yes..." Colonel Francois Moreau, sitting opposite him, rose from his steak with a satisfied sigh, dabbing his mouth with a by now quite stained cloth. Of course, the gaze and shark's smile he cast at the Captain shot down any humour Castex might've been tempted to find in the display. "And you, Capitaine? I hope it is the company that is not to your taste, Chef LaCroix's talents are simply beyond reproach!" Castex's soup was long cold, half finished and currently untouched. A single scrap of bread circled on its surface, which Castex thought of as a kindred spirit. "Both are much appreciated, sir. I only wonder why it is me who you've chosen to share both with. Colonel, again I must---" "Enjoy myself, I hope you were about to say. And why shouldn't you? Tell me, how many months has it been since you last took leave, hmm? Six, Castex recalled, but did not say.

It'll be a while before I get to work on it, bit passes the bar of 'existing' I suppose.

Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them, and what are they like?

Well, Gustav of course, and Higgs too. Fiercely skilled, passionately for each other [eventually], these two have been with my writing for a loooooong damn time.

What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

Worldbuilding, which is awkward considering one of the questions down below! I've been one to imagine my 'Setting' as having a story, a history, of its own, one made up of the stories of the billions of people who've made their lives in it, writ large and gathered in the long arc of history. When I make writing from it, I pick one thread, and a few more, and just sorta bring them to light.

What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

Uhh--- Descriptions? Of environments, features, more tangible stuff usually? I mean, I do it a lot, and I suppose more than much else.

What is something in the writeblr community that is most enjoyable?

People, and just existing while knowing they exist too! I feel like I'm a lonely person, but it's indescribably nice to know that someone else, somewhere I couldn't imagine, is typing out words the same as me, if differently. And sometimes, they even talk with you about things you like, and that's the real ticket.

A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

World Anvil, despite my neglect of it recently, really is a wonderful application for my Worldbuilding stuff! I should get back into it...

A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law, etc)

AAAAAA---

Okay, really, really hard to pick just one. I really like what I've been doing with my histories, of course. I feel like a lot of them, in fiction at least, are... maddeningly easy to understand? Weird, sprawling, gangly systems of cause and effect charting the evolution of institutions, cultures, and technology across a timeline of about 2.5 centuries is apparently one of my callings, and I intend on hearing it out to the end.

[There's also a certain piece of Worldbuilding I love, and which causes me utter unbridled terror everytime I consider sharing it with people out of a stupid fear that it'll make them hate me. Again, hopefully just stupid.]

Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters:

I love every one of you!!!!!!

@lividdreamz @athenswrites @hessdalen-globe @dogmomwrites @theprissythumbelina @caxycreations @marinesocks @thatndginger @moonscribbler

[P.S., consider that my Tagging of you lot for this too!]

[fulokis]

Wrote this little blurb about one of my swtor ocs a while ago and can’t believe I didn’t post it

For as long as he could remember he was alone. For a few years it was his sister and him but soon the sith took that too. And then he was alone all over again. Eight years old and having to fend for himself, trying and loosing to garner the attention of anyone. By the time he was nine he’d learned how to be self sufficient and to not rely on those around him especially the sith.

At age ten he’d attracted the attention of the sith but not for the same reason as his sister, nor by the whole dark council of the collapsing empire. No it was only one sith who had become interested in him. One that watched hours and hours of Kaas city security, keeping an eye on the affairs of the citizens, calling help when needed. Out of those thousands of hours he always seemed to be in the middle of the activity and hubbub. Not on purpose but the natural curiosity of the ten year old could not be quelled.

They came for him at night, one where the storms were so severe debris was flying through the air. The sirens in the city warning of the dangerous potential of the storms cut through the pounding of the rain and the roaring of the wind. They took him while he was asleep and instead of waking up soaked and cold he woke up hot in a sterile room tied to a cot.

The agents had tortured him, denied him food. The ability to get up and stretch his legs. Half the time they didn’t ask questions and when they did he didn’t give answers; too overwhelmed by everything to even process the words being spoken. Soon the torture stopped they left him there strapped on the cot in the dark and silence of the room a relief from what had just happened. Though likely the opposite effect they were going for.

Soon the sith in charge of everything was called to see the mere child who’d stumped the best interrogators in the empire. When she entered the room he hadn’t expected such a kind face or someone who really wanted to help. He didn’t know why they had done this to him he didn’t understand what was happening. But she did and she was the first one to actually explain it. And yet even then with all the understanding in the world he felt alone.

The sith offered him a job, he thought about declining. Going back to the streets, but then he would be more alone. Accepting he found a new kind of loneliness. One that ached even when he was around those he called friends. Perhaps it was the knowledge that one day they would all stab each other in the back. Or maybe it was the loneliness that he knew he didn’t quite fit in.

Four years of intense training passed. At sixteen he’d already killed too many to count. Each one reminded him of how alone he was. Thoughts flooded to the surface that no one would miss him if he simply were gone. He thought about how to disappear in the kaas wilds it wouldn’t be difficult with the skills he possessed. But the thought of being more alone stopped him.

Nearly 17 he thought about ending it all. The thought popped up mid mission in the cargo hold of a freighter. He held out hoping that the long term mission would distract him from the harsh reality of his loneliness. He was wrong; the community on odessen amplified it until he couldn’t bare it anymore. He had the blaster to his temple when one of the residents talked him down. The man was kind, one of the first to be truly kind in his short life. While he felt less alone from noticing the pain in the mans eyes, the understanding of the place he was in. it still didn’t solve the aching in his heart. Even when the man told him his story, and the engineer who’d talked him down.

Six months passed and he was finally in the republic walls. The first person he met sent him reeling. She was stern, and despite that she felt closer to home than anyone had in a long time. She was older than him, but not by much. And he could swear that she looked exactly like how he imagined his sister would if she were still around. It took him three hours to connect the dots, and despite knowing that his older sister sat in front of him during the SIS interrogation he could feel the aches in his heart for his twin.

Mission after mission for SIS; reporting back to imperial intelligence; then taking a few days off. The cycle continued until he was about twenty. And while the loneliness had shifted to the back of his mind it was always there. It was worse when she was around, he didn’t know if she knew. And that made it hurt more, he liked to think she did, that she didn’t want to admit that she liked her younger brother with the stuffy dromund kaas accent. He knew deep down if she did know she likely didn’t care, it wasn’t like they saw each other often mostly passing in official hallways while on their way to different missions.

One day close to when he was twenty he was called into the directors office. He assumed he would be going on a mission alone once again. But to his surprise she was there, dressed in more Jedi like garments a lightsaber sitting at her hip. A new pang hit him the realization that he was the only one who couldn’t connect to the force. And the idea that he would die alone without any comfort as he faded came to the forefront of his mind. He was so focused on his own emotions he nearly missed the director walking in.

Taking the human in he finally understood something. His sister was purposely keeping the fact she was aware from him. It wasn’t out of hatred or something to push him out of the SIS and out of the republic. It was to protect the three of them standing in the room. He knew why, any connections could be exploited to harm the others. That was why Imperial intelligence had recruited him. Because he was alone.

More and more he began to see things for how they truly were. He’d held a grudge against the empire for sending him on the long term assignment. Now he could see the sith in charge hadn’t wanted him to be alone in the middle of a battle zone as the sith empire was on the brink of collapse. He understood the delicate nature of the missions and how close they tip toed to the line of death. One with each increasing mission he seemed to get closer to.

One particular mission went wrong in every way possible. One he was alone on, in enemy territory, with no medical supplies. He barely made it out alive. It was the first time he had to be submerged in a kolto tank, and once again it was a different kind of loneliness. He was conscious enough to see the people coming and going through the med center every day. He could not hear them nor tap on the glass to try and get their attention. All he could do is watch through the sticky liquid and feel the loneliness creep up his spine.

After the kolto tank he had to be quarantined. No one was allowed to interact with him, while he regained immunity to the surroundings. After months of being alone he was once again in a situation where he was alone. While he could holo call people most of those he knew were often on covert missions. Nothing he did stopped the nagging feeling of being alone. Even when the medics let him out he felt alone in the world.

He thought he would be alone forever, but just as he was being discharged to his surprise two familiar faces came rushing over. The first one his sister her face conveying her relief that he was alright. The second the director of SIS, his father. He had assumed his sister had kept it quiet, but then he was quite sure that the man figured it out the first time he saw the two of them in the same room. To his surprise his father walked over and pulled him into a hug. And for the first time in his life Kor’alan didn’t feel alone.

[orime-stories]

What Is Needed

Aurelle Silmontier - Final Fantasy XIV

(Heavensward Spoilers in Initial Blurb)

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Aymeric attempts to process everything that happened at the Vault while launching himself straight into the work needed to fix things. With demands on his time and attention (and needs) in conflict, he struggles to settle on where his priorities should lie. Full story below the cut. (1406 words) Previous Story / Next Story / Read on AO3 / Tumblr Masterlist

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After Aurelle had left, the space had quickly been filled with Handeloup, with Lucia, with Handeloup again, with various other men under his command. All looking for his leadership as the city scrambled to catch up with all that had happened in the day. Word spreading of his imprisonment and of the Archbishop’s sudden flight. Not in a thousand years had his nation found itself in such systemic, spiritual and emotional disarray. Never before had its current populace experienced such a monumental challenge to their faiths.

The roiling of his own heart, at least, found its rest in the familiar rhythms and routines of work. Gathering perspectives, assessing options. Identifying the points of issue and clarifying the steps required to resolve those issues swiftly and skillfully. Hushing the parts of himself that were not useful in the moment, like the involuntary twinge in his gut when he moved his shoulder too suddenly and memory spasmed through it. Breaking everything down into its constituent parts, eyes clear and unwavering on the course before him. On Ishgard’s survival and the safeguarding of its future.

Not that it hadn’t felt callous to remain firm on that course with Aurelle breaking into pieces before him. Presenting the battered fragments of her grief-rent heart in trembling hands, beseeching him for some measure of comfort on this day when so much had been so cruelly torn from her. He might at least have held to basic manners. Basic condolences and courtesies. Had he not been so afraid that were he to reach forward in comfort, he would have found himself clinging to her for the satisfaction of his own. He could not afford to fall to pieces, now of all times. Could not allow raw grief, personal sentiment, to steer his actions. He was the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights of Ishgard, and the people needed him now more than ever. He would not shirk from that duty. He would not.

The Knights that had not joined Lucia’s brazen rescue avoided his gaze as he moved through the halls, tension between those that had joined the fray and those that had not coiling thick enough around the Congregation to paralyse it entirely. Which is why one of his first orders of business was to draft a quick address for the men, to put that tension to rest lest it jeopardise all else the order would be called to do in the coming days.

“To those who stood by me, who honoured me with your trust and your loyalty during such an unprecedented test of all of our faith; words cannot express my gratitude and my appreciation. To those who did not, I only wish to say that I understand. ‘Tis much easier to believe a Lord Commander fallen to heresy than to believe that the head of our faith—the very heart of our city—could have betrayed us all. Would that the simpler tale were the true one. Would that my imprisonment had meant an end for the turmoil the city now finds itself in. But the turmoil rages on, and we Temple Knights have as our sacred charge to protect the people of this city from that turmoil. The Warrior of Light and the Azure Dragoon have joined forces once more to put a stop to the Archbishop’s reckless and tyrannical ambitions. And until we hear word of their success, ‘tis up to us to keep the peace in Ishgard. The people’s hearts and minds are in disarray. We must be their stability in this moment. Putting our trust in the heroes that stand with us, that the people might put their trust in us in turn…”

It was not until he was in his bed that night, distraction-less and alone, that worry and doubt returned to eviscerate him in full. To force him to dwell in his father’s cruel dismissal. In the helplessness and the shock…

The imprisonment he had anticipated, along with the possibility of a swift but terrible end. He was not naive to the way Ishgard conducted its justice, after all. But the beatings… He had not anticipated the callous joy that would be taken in them. Nor how easily his father would turn away from his suffering.

As he had pushed for the man to reconsider — pleaded, when it had come to that last fateful encounter on the rooftops — his desperation, his sincerity, the bond they were surely supposed to have shared… even in the face of all that, his father had cast him aside and turned away. Eyes for naught but the wretched path he had so committed himself to.

And then there was Aurelle. Poor, sweet Aurelle. The people she held dearest maimed and struck down before her very eyes. The inadequacy of his response to that surely only sharpening her pain. As he had turned away from her, eyes fixed on his own path.

Realisation pierced through him as a knife to his breast. The two wounds in his heart merging into one as he saw his father’s callous indifference writ plain on his own face, an inheritance that he wanted no part of. The thought that he might have failed Aurelle, might have hurt her so deeply in that same way…

Oh Fury, what had he done?

What had seemed a selflessness, a denying himself of a comfort in order to dedicate himself more fully to the oaths he had sworn, suddenly seemed to be naught but selfishness. A prioritisation of his own needs in weathering the turmoil over hers.

Anguished thoughts snapping in and out of focus, incompatible in their demands of him. That he bury his own pains and remain focused on the people under his care. That he seek out the woman he had come to care so dearly for and beg her forgiveness, offer to shoulder as much of her pain as she would trust him with.

He needed clarity.

And he quickly found it in the framing that had ever been his guide. Returning to the core of the matter that all else hinged on, he removed himself from the equation and asked;

What does Ishgard need, right in this moment?

His father’s madness brought to an end. The Warrior of Light to end it.

Everything rested on that Warrior now. And so it was his duty to do all in his power to see that Warrior succeed. A Warrior who had ever found her strength in the love and support of the people around her.

Cursing his shortcomings these past days, he climbed out of bed and padded his way through to the study, already drafting a letter in his mind.

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Mistress Aurelle Silmontier,

Warrior of Light and most cherished friend.

I remember sitting down to write you a letter once before, as you prepared to confront the Lady Iceheart on behalf of my people despite our reticence to offer aught in the way of support against your own troubles. I remember the admiration I felt for you then, as I feel that admiration now a thousandfold.

I know that we ask much of you this time. Perhaps too much, in light of all that you have endured in our name. But we cannot hope to stand against this threat without your aid. So ask we must.

Ever have you placed the needs of Eorzea and its peoples before your own, and ever have we cherished you for it. Few could stand firm and squarely face the things you do. Fewer still could maintain your warmth and kind nature throughout such trials. You are a remarkable individual, deserving of all the gratitude and praise you inspire.

I know that I have not made things easy for you, or indeed for either of us, in recent days. And for that I can only apologise, and beg that you permit me the chance to better express myself the next time circumstances allow. The Congregation does not lend itself to undivided attention on my part, and there is much for us to talk about. Much I wish to say, if you would permit me that chance.

With everything that I am, I thank you. For all you have done. For all you are yet to do. For the dinners which have been a source of such brightness amongst these darkest of times.

 I thank you.

 May Halone watch over your journey and see you safely home to us.

 Aymeric