#link shared from the Ao3 collection | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xervn · 7 months ago

Text

melatonin

two-shot | enemies to fuckers sevika x reader

pt. 2

ao3 link

summary: you're forced to go on a business trip with your least favorite coworker and share a room with her. now you can't sleep.

18+ MDNI | 4.1k words | tags; canon divergence, sevika is a little mean, sevika is nonchalant fr, reader is a brat, very light sub/dom, vaginal fingering, scissoring, begging kink, praise kink kinda, porn w/ plot-ish, no use of y/n

new record; took me 4 days to write. i don't know who possessed me. i love enemies to lovers so bad FUCKKKK!!!

“One room.” The motel owner, an old, short, and grotesque-looking woman with a thick accent, says.

“One room? Clear another one out then?” You insist, mildly threateningly. The woman’s eyes glaze over as she blinks. She’s not moved.

“There are two beds; who cares?” Sevika grumbles, clearly over your antics.

You shoot a glare in her direction, lip forming into a scowl. “I’m not sharing a room with you; you look like you snore.”

She tells you something along the lines of go fuck or kill yourself (you weren’t really listening) before pushing past you and replacing the room keys on the counter with a stack of silver cogs.

The owner collects the cogs with a grunt before adjusting her small reader glasses. Sevika strides off towards the rooms, and you quickly turn after her.

“Couldn’t you have tried to help?” You ask. Your eyes burn a hole through the side of her face.

She doesn’t spare you a glance. “You’re dramatic, and I don’t have the patience to deal with your bullshit right now.”

You hate her. You fucking hate her. You’ve been working alongside Sevika for two years now, yet you can’t shake the feeling. It started when you first met; Sevika was cold and critical, reprimanding you even though you were young and starting out. That’s not even what drove you to hate her, though; at least back then it felt like she was looking out for you, but you were painfully mistaken when you got promoted within the year.

You don’t know what it was; jealousy, doubt, but her distaste for you only grew more apparent. There were fewer critiques and more insults about how you work or about your intelligence. Insufferable. She was insufferable.

There hasn’t been a day she’s been likable since then, so imagine your reaction when Silco tells you and her to go on a little business trip to Bilgewater. No matter how much the both of you wanted to protest, you didn’t. Instead you two argued amongst yourselves the whole trip there.

Why would you want to spend even more unnecessary time around her?

The minute you guys enter your room, you don’t speak a single word to each other, let alone look each other’s way. You take turns using the restroom to get ready for bed, and then you find a place for your belongings, and Sevika ejects her bionic arm for the night. Although you two definitely don’t like each other, it doesn’t mean you don’t trust each other. You know she won’t rob you; she knows you won’t (can’t) take advantage and kill her. That’s the only semblance of peace you share.

—

A faint amber light soaks through your eyelids, and you blink them open to the popcorned ceiling. You toss and turn in your bed, rustling around, unable to find a good position, and it doesn’t help that the cheap mattress is, well, cheap. You can’t sleep. You’ve always had trouble sleeping, but it’s never been a real problem before; you’d just stay up. Yes, you have permanent eye bags because of it, but it’s not like you can choose otherwise. You‘re from Zaun; any aid for it is not exactly accessible.

However, the meeting you have tomorrow is important, so it’s important that you find a way. You can’t afford to slack off or doze off during it; you’re the negotiator, and tomorrow makes or breaks a trade deal that will be most beneficial for Zaun’s income.

You rustle in your bed sheets again, and Sevika immediately groans. “Can you stop? And turn the lamp off.”

You look at her and you’re about to apologize, but you hold your tongue when you remember who you’re talking to. “I can’t sleep.”

“Turn the lamp off and fucking figure it out.” She snaps, turning her back towards you.

“Can’t you hear?” You squirm around, making as much noise as possible to get your point across. “I’m trying.”

“Find a different way. Count poros. Turn the lamp off.”

You scoff, eyes back on the ceiling, “I’m not five; counting poros doesn’t work, and I’m not turning off the lamp.”

You can hear Sevika shifting in her bed. “I knew you should’ve stayed back,” she sighs, “and you’re scared of the dark? Grow up.”

“Wow, fuck you. If you had asked nicely, I would’ve turned it off, and what do you mean I ‘should’ve stayed’? You’re not my boss. I’m more valuable than you are.” You angrily rant.

“Alright, you are talking way too much right now. Cut it out.”

“…No.” You reply. It sounds unconvincing with your lack of words, but it was the best you could come up with.

“Do you need calming tea or something? What will get you to shut up, because I’m about to hold a pillow over your head and call it a night.” She growls.

“Nothing. I can only sleep if I get a concussion or if I drink my pants off.”

She says your name like a warning, “If you ruin this deal, I’ll make sure to see you off myself.”

You bite back, “Sevika, if I could sleep, I would be sleeping. I don’t want to ruin it either, but your scolding isn’t helping.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, then Sevika grunts stubbornly. It’s followed by sheets moving and a dull stomp on the floor. You turn to look, and you see Sevika sitting at the side of her bed.

You glance at her muscular thighs in those gray shorts—you couldn’t help it—before staring back at the ceiling. “Are you going to make me tea?”

She pushes off the bed with her one arm. “No.”

“Switching rooms then?” You ask as your eyes follow her shadow’s movement on the walls.

“No.”

“Then... What is it?“ You turn, flinching a bit when you find Sevika peering down at you.

She looks hesitant, timid; the first time you’ve ever seen it. “I’ll help you.”

Your defenses go off, and you quickly sit up. “Wait. You’re not going to kill me, right?”

“Over sleep? Are you stupid?” She pushes you back down, and not with much force, obviously.

You lay there, defeated. “So?”

“I said, ‘I’ll help you.'” She restates.

You stare up at her with slight annoyance, “Well, you have to tell me how?”

She has an indecisive frown before exhaling, “If you come, you’ll shut up.”

Your head shakes in confusion. “Come? Where are we going?”

“You’re an actual idiot.” She groans.

You gasp in offense. “You’re the one being fucking cryptic—“

“I’ll fuck you to sleep.”

“What?”

“I’ll fuck you to sleep.”

“I heard you; I’m just,” you laugh nervously, “are you serious?” Your ears must be playing tricks on you.

“We’re not close enough to joke around with each other.” She says plainly.

Baffled, you reply, “We’re not close enough to fuck either?”

“Do you really care about shit like that? Sex is sex.”

You think about it for a second. You’ve never been in a proper relationship, and you’ve only had a handful of hookups, but you’ve never slept with someone you dislike, and you definitely don’t like Sevika. Even if she is hot. “Well, I guess not—“

“—Then what’s the issue?” Her eyes bore into you.

You gulp at the sudden weight of her stare, but you don’t crumble. “The issue is that I don’t like you. At all.”

Sevika scoffs, “I’ve seen the way you stare at me. You’re not subtle. At all. I saw you do it a few minutes ago.”

How embarrassing. It’s true, between all your hate are moments of admiration. Sevika is “cool,” she’s respected, she’s feared. She’s also full of herself, naggy, and blunt. Both things can be true. But on top of that, she’s hot to the point it’s frustrating.

One time, while she was sitting in her designated booth at The Last Drop playing poker, she locked eyes with you after a big win. There was that sexy, satisfied grin she always gets after every win, and she had the audacity to lock eyes with you.

Your thighs pressed together. You beat yourself up over it for the rest of the night and the following day; you couldn’t even look her in the eye without getting unreasonably angry.

Your face is turning warm, but there’s no point in turning away—you have to fake it until you make it. “Okay? What’s your point?” You ask, even though her point was very clear. You’re running yourself into walls.

Sevika already deciphered that; her face reads, ‘Where the fuck are you right now?’ “Listen, I don’t like you either, but if you want to sleep, I’ll help you, and if you don’t, I’ll get another room.” She explains.

You can tell it’s her final offer. You chew your bottom lip until you remember Sevika is still looking at you. Hiding your face behind your hand, you can’t believe you’re considering it. Sex with Sevika. Sounds mad when you repeat it in your head. It’s just sex, though, right? You knew she loved Zaun, but you didn’t know she loved it this much. Sleeping with you, practically her arch nemesis, for the betterment of society. That sounds insane. This is insane.

Sevika kisses her teeth, “Forget it—“

“—Okay,” you interrupt, “help me.” You’re unable to look her in the eyes.

She looks at you dubiously, and her lack of doing anything unnerves you, so you continue. “Please?” You slowly look up at her, and you swear her eyes darkened.

“Please?” She mimics. “Didn’t take you for the submissive type.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” You reply, although it comes out like a whisper.

“Mhm,” she hums apathetically, pulling up the covers draped over you. Her knee makes a dip in the bed. “Make some space,” she asks. You sit up, and you have no idea what to do. Looking left and right, you'd think you were trying to cross the road. She stares blankly. “Just spread your legs.” She commands.

You immediately do as she says, and she chuckles to herself at how you continue to prove her right. You’re clearly not a fan of that, your frown prominent. “What’s funny?”

Sevika kneels herself between your legs, using her arm to help balance her in place. “Man, you love to argue.”

You shrug. “I’ll stop when you fuck me to sleep. If you can... Don’t you think you’re a little overconfident?”

Sevika slowly blinks at you, unsure of whether she should be turned on or irritated. You take it as the latter, and now it’s your turn to chuckle to yourself. But your self-satisfied giggling stops when she leans over you, inches away from your face, “You’re about to find out.”

You never took the time to process Sevika kneeling between your legs, and now you can feel each exhale from her on your face. Your body starts to process it too: your breathing gets heavier and your heartbeat gets faster. You don’t have a crush on her or anything, but this is an unusual, unsurprisingly hot experience. Your eyes flicker to her full, uneven lips before they squeeze shut.

Sevika flicks your forehead. “Wh—ow?!” You whine, rubbing your head with your hand to soothe it.

“I’m not kissing you.” She clarifies.

Your face warms with embarrassment, fingers gripping at the fabric beneath you. “How was I supposed to know you wanted a staring contest?” You grumble.

Sevika rolls her eyes, barely shaking her head in disappointment. Her face moves on from yours, and her lips attack the exposed curvature of your neck, licking, biting, and rendering you speechless. She gives you no time to regulate your emotions, and you let out a soft groan you would’ve otherwise swallowed down. Just what she wanted: less talking, more moaning.

Letting her guide the tilt of your head, you awkwardly rest your hands on her shoulders. You’re unsure of whether you can or should touch her. She pauses. “Sor— I… uh…” You stammer and put your hands up. You decide to just stop speaking to save yourself.

“Relax.” She tells you, gazing at you through her loose, dark hair. It stirs something below you.

You place your hands back on her shoulders, albeit reluctantly, and try to maintain eye contact so you look composed.

Sevika doesn’t buy it. She glances at your hands, very tellingly. “…Relax.” She repeats, softer than she did before, and your heart skips a beat like you’re in a cliché.

Hesitantly, you slide your arms around her shoulders, linking your hands together. It feels intimate, too intimate, and looking at her is getting harder by the second. Sevika chuckles in a way that borders on a scoff. “You wanted to do that; don’t be shy about it.”

You huff, “I didn’t know I was being teased to sleep…”

“Is it working? It’d save me time.”

“Fuck off...”

“You’d hate that.” She replies, as if it’s undeniable. It is, but she’s way too cocky about it. You look like you’re about to curse her out, but you’re holding it back.

Sevika grins smugly, and for a moment, she considers kissing you. Your arms are wrapped around her shoulders, your eyes are yelling, ‘Fuck me already,’ lips practically begging to meet hers.

This is intimate, too intimate. It’s fucking with her logical reasoning—not that this is logical to begin with. It sounds stupid, but it’s worked for her so far; she casually fucks on the regular, and she doesn’t kiss them ever. Never really felt like it. Yet, here you are, making her feel new things. She knows there’s no going back if she makes an exception with you, and quite frankly, you still piss her off. It’s conflicting.

You impatiently perk a brow at her. You had to stop yourself from flat-out asking her to continue; your ego can’t afford you coming off as begging.

For a millisecond she looks like she got caught, then a millisecond later, she’s on you again.

She attentively kisses the skin below the curve of your jawline, her tongue making frequent warm appearances. It’s much more fervent, but rough in a way that makes you tremble. She always makes sure you feel her teeth gliding over when she moves to the next spot. Your legs move on their own, one leg curling up against her side. You��re already pooling where you’re seated, but now it’s getting uncomfortable to sit this damp.

Experienced is how you can describe her right now. You heard rumors of her activity, but you never believed it. There was no way her ol’ grumpy ass was getting laid, no matter how incredibly sexy she was. Then again, you never got along, which makes this situation, this fucking feeling, even crazier.

She was being extra careful not to bruise you at first, but she seems not to care anymore, only driven further when she hears your little gasps or feels your arms tightening around her. She’s getting carried away, but she’ll figure out how to play it off some other time.

Sevika pulls back. She throbs at your dazed and confused expression. “Come closer.” She ushers as she transitions to sitting rather than kneeling on the bed.

With no hesitation, you don’t let go of Sevika as you push yourself forward on your hips, sitting your ass comfortably on the edge of Sevika’s lap. Her hand lands on your waist. She says, “Lay down for me.”

You nod shyly, removing your arms from Sevika’s shoulders and descending onto the mattress. Sevika tries to ignore how the loss of your arms around her made her feel. Her hand travels to the waistband of your joggers. “You’re going to have to move these for me too.” She asks, shrugging her shoulder that’s missing an arm as a reminder.

She doesn’t move; she waits. Your insides do a flip. She’s waiting for you to remove them how you are now: legs diverged around her, hips pointed towards her. You think about how vulnerable you’ll look and feel when you slide them off, showing her the sopping mess she unknowingly made between your legs. You know she’s going to see it eventually, but from you doing the honors? That’s tearing you apart. She notices a shift in your demeanor, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. “Hurry up.”

“Can’t you move back…?”

Sevika rolls her eyes. “No.”

You whine in embarrassment, briefly shielding your face in your hands before hastily pulling at your waistband. You wish you had turned the lamp off.

Sevika’s hand clasps over yours. “Slowly.” She scolds. Scolds. You’re fucking flabbergasted. She’s doing this on purpose, you can tell. She’s barely holding back another signature, smug smile.

“You’re such a dick.” You curse. A direct juxtaposition in your actions that don’t defy Sevika at all. Hell, it juxtaposes your body because of how you’re aching for her.

“Yeah, yeah. Off.” She pulls at the band of your pants, letting it slap down when she releases it.

You mutter out a few more curses that she fully grins at before you silently begin to remove your joggers and underwear simultaneously. You lift your hips for mobility, and Sevika’s eyes are glued to the fabric making its way down your thighs, and you’re forced to watch how intently she’s watching you. You can try to insist this is humiliating and cruel, but you can’t stop throbbing just from this; her eyes anticipating your reveal, like you’re a self-opening present.

The clothing starts to bunch at the middle of your thighs, and your arousal is halfway there to being exposed to Sevika. The scent is what hits her first; it makes her want to yank your pants down and give you what you want, but watching you do it so much better.

Once it reaches above your knees, she partially moves out of the way so she can help you remove them properly. While she tosses it elsewhere, you debate pinning your legs shut.

Sevika looks back at you—your legs, actually—and you do flinch them closed. She tsks. “Don’t be stubborn. Not now.” She didn’t sound like she was insulting you, even though a small part of you wanted to be offended.

You let out a shaky sigh and avoid her gaze, slowly parting your legs. Thighs slicked with arousal, folds glistened with the same, you’re undeniably soaked. You prepare yourself to look at Sevika’s shit-eating grin, but when you do, it’s nothing of the sort. Her eyes are low, shaded, and memorializing, and her bottom lip fully disappeared between her teeth.

Then she grins; she even laughs, just as you expected. You groan, not at her, but at how wet you got from it. “I didn’t even do anything yet.” She teases, her eyes still locked on the ego-stroking mess she made of you.

“Such a di—“ You cut yourself off to moan sharply.

Sevika’s thumb came in contact with your swollen clit, the rough pad of her thumb making perfect circles; the rest of her fingers positioned in the patch of hair crowning above it.

“How fast do you think you’ll come? I’m thinking,” she pretends to, only to press her thumb over your clit. Filthy words flutter from your lips, and you instinctively grind into her touch. “Three minutes?”

You look pissed between your bouts of pleasure; it molds together attractively. Sevika can’t wait to make it break, make you cry, and fuck the attitude out of you. “What? You should see how wet you are; you’d think I already fucked you.”

She feels the way you twitch at her words, and it makes the pressure between her legs unbearable. She should just strip and grind her cunt into you, but she knows she won’t be able to stop there. Fuck her stupid life; she’s losing the plot.

Her thick forefinger collects your slick as she paths towards your entrance. You twitch as she slides it in, making you gasp. She chuckles as your walls clench around her finger, and she starts pushing it in and out, painstakingly slow.

It’s not enough, yet you can’t bring yourself to beg her for more. It’s at the tip of your tongue, but Sevika was right; you are stubborn. She reads you like a book, and she can read you now. She angles her finger in a way that brushes against your g-spot, but at the same mind-numbingly slow pace.

Your body doesn’t know what to do; you can’t find friction anywhere; you can squeeze against her finger, but it doesn’t change her speed; all you can do is writhe in place. “You look like you need something,” she says, almost like it’s a thought in her head, so condescending, so fucking hot. Your pussy tenses around her finger for the millionth time, and you almost, almost, cry. “You’re gonna cut my finger off at this rate.” You tense again. She chuckles.

“Sev—Sevika,” you bite your lip to hold down a sharp inhale, but it fails miserably. “Sevika, you’re not helping.”

“Should I stop?” She asks with the tilt of her head. Her finger does stop regardless of the answer.

Your hands reach out for her wrist, weakly clawing at it. “No! No, pl...” You mildly cringe at yourself, turning away.

Sevika’s brows lifted. “What was that? Pl...?” She begins her pace again, and you realize you didn’t appreciate it enough before. “You said it once already; come on.”

Your lips tremble, “Plea—se—?” She barely lets you finish the word before slipping another finger into your drooling cunt. Her pace increases, and you let go of her wrist as you succumb to pleasure.

Your arousal coating her fingers makes the most obscene noises; she wonders if the entire motel can hear it. You try to suppress your moans with your hand, but you can never do it right, not with the way she’s fucking you. Sevika’s glad you can’t; having one arm would’ve been even more inconvenient otherwise. She needs to hear you sob out her name at least once. “Please what?” She leans over you as she slams her fingers into you, pressing them against your wet, ridged, gummy walls.

“You’re— fuck, you’re pushing it,” you groan, and just like that, she slows down. But you’re weak, and you crumble. “Wait, wait, wait—please. Please, fuck me... Fuck me to sleep.” You ramble loosely, back to scratching at her wrists again. There’s that smile you were thinking about earlier, the one she gets after a big win. She broke you, and she lost the plot ages ago.

—

It’s been an hour, and you’re already on the brink of your third orgasm. Sevika folded and ended up, verbatim, stripping and grinding her cunt into yours. You should be asleep right now, but Sevika said you have enough time to catch up on it before the meeting. You hope that’s true, but you don’t care. You can’t get enough of her or her abs flexing with every desperate hump.

So intent on getting her rocks off, practically using you for her own pleasure at this point—you already came twice now; any more is a bonus, just like the one building up right now. Your eyes are pressed shut, trying to envision your release so it comes quicker. “Just like that. Keep fucking me, please, Sev.” You beg through your teeth and quiet sniffles. Sevika’s fingers squeeze the meat of your thigh.

She murmurs, “You,” her movements get sloppier; you can tell she’s close, “feel so fucking good.” Now you’re close—no, you come at her praise.

You’re shaking, grabbing at the sheets that have since slid off the mattress. You forgot how to breathe; all you can feel is your orgasm coursing through you. Your mind is turning fuzzy, and even fuzzier with Sevika still grinding into you. Your moans are pitchy and pornographic; you’re making sounds you didn’t even think happened in real life. “Sevika...” You sob out from overstimulation, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

She loves it. “Shit…” Sevika moans, followed by several more curses as she shudders out her orgasm. Her vision goes blurry for a second from how hard she came. She tries to control her labored breathing as she comes to, breathlessly calling your name.

When she focuses in on you, you’re passed out, fucked out, and peaceful. Sevika’s pupils dilate at the markings she left on your neck, then to your lips, which she’s yet to have the chance to kiss. She lets the sleep weighing on her win and carefully collapses beside you.

#sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x you #arcane #sevika x y/n #sevika x female reader #sevika smut

5K notes · View notes

yearoftheotpevent · 7 months ago

Text

hello fan creators!

Year of the OTP is officially back for 2025 with a new set of prompts!

we've switched some of the prompt categories around in an effort to make the event more inclusive of all kinds of fanworks. we've also included song prompts this year! the playlist is on spotify here.

we want to give a huge thank you to everyone who participated in the last event - it grew so much larger than we ever expected and it's truly amazing how you all took our last set of prompts and made so many wonderful things. keep it up!

a couple housekeeping notes: we will not be reblogging every entry this year. mods will keep an eye on the blog if you have any questions, but the reblogs were too much last time. thank you for your understanding!

we will be closing the 2023 collection on December 31. thank you for your continued participation, but it's time to look forward!

the link for the new collection will be posted here January 1.

we're looking forward to seeing what you create this year!

alt text below the cut.

Year of the OTP 2025

The Rules: the Ao3 collection accepts any /-ship works inspired by a prompt from this sheet The Challenge: make 12 works for one ship in one year, using prompts from each month

*you do not need to do the challenge to post to the AO3 collection, as long as you follow the rules*

January first kiss ♦ “may I have this dance” ♦ sharing clothes ♦ BDSM AU ♦ stockholm syndrome ♦ Strong – One Direction

February Valentine’s Day ♦ “it made me think of you” ♦ bed sharing ♦ multiple penetration ♦ mind control/mind break ♦ Like Real People Do – Hozier

March fresh starts ♦ “what are you doing with that”♦ florist/tattoo artist ♦ phone sex ♦ major character death ♦ Take Care – Drake

April pranks ♦ “right in front of my salad” ♦ running away together ♦ dom bottom/sub top ♦ raised to be a killer ♦ Drops of Jupiter – Train

May hanahaki ♦ “we’re dating? since when?” ♦ body swap ♦ magical sex toys ♦ stalking ♦ Paper Rings – Taylor Swift

June pride ♦ “I can’t get you out of my mind” ♦ relationship reveal ♦ unconventional sex positions ♦ paying a debt with your body ♦ Good Looking – Dixon Dallas

July vacation together ♦ “I like my _ how I like my coffee” ♦ kidfic ♦ mutual masturbation ♦ dehumanization ♦ You May Be Right – Billy Joel

August Sports AU ♦ “you’re thinking too much”♦ cooking together ♦ object insertion/ penetration ♦ becoming a monster ♦ You Shook Me All Night Long – AC/DC

September high school/college sweethearts ♦ “come here” ♦ date night gone wrong ♦ semi-public sex ♦ abduction ♦ Thinking Bout You – Frank Ocean

October costumes ♦ “boo” ♦ online dating ♦ shibari ♦ mutual non-con ♦ Mr. Brightside – The Killers

November camping ♦ “are you sure” ♦ touch-starved ♦ cockwarming ♦ abusive relationship ♦ A Thousand Years – Christina Perri

December holiday traditions ♦ “where are you taking me” ♦ bathing together ♦ food play ♦ tortured for information ♦ Everything Is Alright – Laura Shigihara

#yotp #year of the otp #year of the otp 2025 #yotp 2025 #yotp25 #ao3 stuff #writing event #art event #prompt event #fanfiction #fanwork event #fan art #fanfiction writer #fan artist #yotp 25

3K notes · View notes

heywriters · 7 months ago

Text

Rescued Writing Links!

When cleaning out the HEY, Writers! Pinterest I moved some links here. The internet has changed a LOT since I started collecting these, so some links may include outdated info. All were still active when I made this, but it's been in my drafts for a hot minute.

Protip! In Firefox, check to toggle reader view when reading these (mobile: the page icon in the url bar; desktop: same icon or hit F9). This removes popups, ads, screen clutter, and often has an audio option.

Survivors of Internet Decay Award!

These active sites featured most often in my collections so they get the top of the list.

Helping Writers Become Authors

Mythcreants

Bryn Donovan

Getting Started (Ideas & Intros)

How to Start Writing a Book: Learn One Writer’s Process | Marian Schembari

How to Start a Story: 30 Opening Scene Examples | Bryn Donovan

Don’t Panic! What to Do When You Have Too Many Story Ideas | Faye Kirwin

How to Write a Killer First Chapter | Rae Elliot

How To Write A Captivating Opening Sentence

Outlining

How to Create a Flexible Outline for Your Novel | Faye Kirwin

Protagonists

How to Write Believable Characters | Bridget McNulty

4 Ways to Write a Likable Protag at the Start of the Character Arc | KM Weiland

5 Tips for Writing a Likable "Righteous" Character | KM Weiland

I Hate Your Protagonist! Want to Know Why? | KM Weiland

The Secret to Writing Dynamic Characters: It's Always Their Fault | KM Weiland

A Protagonist’s Moment of Realisation

Antagonists

Blurring the Lines: What Are Anti-Heroes and Anti-Villains?

Antagonists: Inner & Outer Demons | Kristen Lamb

How to Write Multiple Antagonists | KM Weiland

Character Building

The Epic Guide to Character Creation, Part 1 | Kylie Day

Pick Up A Bad Habit | Maggie Maxwell

How To Write Characters from the Opposite Gender | Rachel Poli

Top 4 Tips for Using Backstory in Your Novel | Diana Anderson-Tyler

Depicting Background Characters | Chris Winkle

Scene Building

The 5 Elements Of A Good Scene | Amanda Patterson

A New Way to Think About Scene Structure | KM Weiland

2 Ways to Make the Most of Your Story’s Climactic Setting | KM Weiland

8 Things Writers Forget When Writing Fight Scenes | Lisa Voisin

Descriptions

Master List of Facial Expressions | Bryn Donovan

Master List of Words to Describe Voices | Bryn Donovan

Master List of Physical Description for Writers | Bryn Donovan

Writer’s Guide to Serious Injuries and Calamities | Bryn Donovan

How to Ground Your Reader (in the setting) | Rachel Craft

The Forgotten Fifth Sense | Writer's Relief

Never Name an Emotion in Your Story | KM Weiland

Show, Don't Tell: How to Write the Stages of Grief | Ruthanne Reid

100 Words for Facial Expressions

Dialogue

How To Write Good Dialogue: Ten Tips | Irving Weinman

Seven Dialogue Don’ts | Jason Bougger

10 Keys to Writing Dialogue in Fiction | Katherine Cowley

Points-Of-View (POV)

What Every Writer Ought to Know About the Omniscient POV | KM Weiland

Motivation & Support

What New Writers Need To Know About Fear | Bryan Collins

How to Discover Your Writing Process with Gabriela Pereira | Kirsten Oliphant

Editing & Revising

18 Overused Words to Replace When Writing | Oxford Tutoring

An Easy Way to Immediately Improve Your Character’s Action Beats | KM Weiland

Want More Depth to Your Writing? | Sacha Black

How Much is Too Much Backstory? | Ellen Brock

Why Your Writing Sounds Weird (And What You Can Do About It) | Joe Brock

Self-Editing for Fiction Writers | Jenny Bravo

Favorite Revision and Editing Tricks

Short Stories & Flashfic

How to Write a Story a Week: A Day-by-Day Guide | Emily Wenstrom

How Flash Fiction / Microfiction Can Help With Your Writing | Rhianne Williams

Worksheets & Downloads

Writing Worksheet Archive

If anyone out there loves making lists and wants to transport this to another site, you have every right to do so! Just let me know in a reblog so I can share it here again :)

---

HEY! Writers' Links

Tip Jar! If you enjoy my blog and advice, support me on Ko-fi!🤗

Follow me on AO3 for fanfiction

Visit my Pinterest & Unsplash for visual inspiration

#writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing resources #writing links #writing help #writing advice #writing tips #writeblr community

2K notes · View notes

staytrueblue · 7 months ago

Text

AO3 is now making people agree to a privacy policy before being able to access their content. What does that mean?

This is not something to be scared of. Knowledge is power so I encourage you to do research, especially if you're concerned about your privacy as a reader or writer on AO3. Please do your own research and come to your own conclusions. I can only provide the information, and I also do not have a law degree so I am not the person to speak to about this lol

Here are some relevant links, information, and full screenshots of that privacy policy that hopefully can help explain what it is and what you're agreeing to:

"Any Personal Information you include in your Content (including Special Categories of Personal Data and other types of Personal Information) may be accessible by AO3 administrators. It may also be accessible by the general public if the Content is made public, or by AO3 users if the Content is made available to AO3 users."

Definition of, ‘Processing of special categories of personal data’.

(we won't share your information at all unless one of these very specific and probably legal situations happens)

---

"You may have other rights regarding your Personal Information under the laws of the jurisdiction in which you are located. We will not discriminate against you for making a request under the data privacy laws of applicable jurisdiction."

Link to rights under data privacy laws in the UK, EU, and some US states. (I encourage you to also do your own research for your country/state)

---

"We will not share your Personal Information with any third parties without your prior consent, except for the following cases:

For external processing: We may use third-party services to store, process, or transmit data, or to perform other technical functions related to operating AO3. For example, we may use third-party email services. A list of third-party services is provided in our Subprocessor List. We cannot guarantee other services' technical performance. We or the services we use may store or process your Personal Information in data centers which may be located in the United States or elsewhere."

Link to what subprocessors are and what that means. (Again I encourage you to do your own research.)

---

This has no links but it is just helpful to know.

"For legal reasons: We may share Personal Information if we:

are legally compelled to do so;

have a good-faith belief that such action is necessary to comply with a current judicial proceeding, court order, or legal process served on the OTW; or

are cooperating with law enforcement authorities. We will cooperate with all investigations conducted by law enforcement authorities within the United States when legally required to do so. Cooperation with law enforcement authorities from other countries and cooperation when it is not legally required are at our sole discretion. Our discretion looks favorably on freedom and justice, and unfavorably on oppression and violence.We will attempt to notify you any time we disclose your Personal Information to a third party for legal reasons, unless legally prohibited from doing so or if, in our sole judgment, notification might hinder an ongoing investigation. In some cases, the Personal Information we have, such as an IP address, may be insufficient for us to notify you."

---

"If you have any questions, concerns, or complaints about this Privacy Policy, or would like to submit a data request, please contact the Policy & Abuse committee."

Link to the Ao3 Policy & Abuse Committee

---

Final links that I believe could be of benefit:

Which AO3 features collect, process, retain, and/or display my content or personal information, and how do they use it?

The full AO3 Terms of Service

The AO3 Terms of Service, including the Content Policy and Privacy Policy, are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

The screenshots of the full Privacy Policy are below for those who want to read it.

After reading it I personally think it just means that legally they are now required to inform us that our information is being stored in 3rd party sub-processors (because they’ve gotten so big) and how our information is being stored therefore having to explain how and when it would be used if at all. again this is just my personal opinion from reading the information.

#ao3 #archive of our own #analysis i guess?#information dump #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #ao3feed #ao3 link #ao3 author #fanfic writing #privacy policy #staytrueblue analysis #staytrueblue

548 notes · View notes

sulemio-week-official · 2 months ago

Text

Final Prompts for SulemioWeek25 are here🍅✨🍅✨🍅✨🍅

Get ready for the gayest summer on this side of the galaxy✨✨✨ SulemioWeek25 is from June 15th to June 21st and we can't wait to see what you make🍄

Rules:

You do not have to have to follow the prompts. You can use those prompts to inspire your fanwork content - art, fic, music, cosplay, whatever you feel like contributing!

Tag your work with #sulemioweek25 and/or tag the main account so we can share your work.

Work in all languages are accepted.

Tag all content appropriately and use content warnings if applicable.

NSFW content should be behind a link or have a SFW preview in order for us to reblog it.

If you posting your work on ao3 you can add it to the collection https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SulemioWeek25

Check out the twitter account here :

https://x.com/retweet_sulemio?t=EPXE8gW7oC0FMlH4QZhrEQ&s=09

#sulemio #miorine rembran #suletta mercury #g witch #the witch from mercury #gundam witch from mercury #gwitch #gundam the witch from mercury #gundam #LET'S GOOOOO #we wanted to keep prompts general #but firefighter/medic came in so many times we thought why not #SPREAD THE WORD #sulemioweek25

282 notes · View notes

fantasy-girl974 · 1 month ago

Text

▷— MASTERPOST —◁

NaruMitsu comic : Lean On Me

This is where I'll update little by little the links with all the pages so you won't be lost with the many posts !

◴ Status : ONGOING # Number of pages : 41 pages ♥ Pairing : Narumitsu (P. Wright x M. Edgeworth | Ace Attorney Series) ✓ Rating : Teen And Up Audiences ⁕ Links : AO3 ◆ Summary : This story takes place 3 years after Phoenix Wright's disbarment and "Ace Attorney Investigations : Collections". Miles Edgeworth starts to visit occasionally Phoenix to request his aid on some of his cases he received in Europe and to check on him and Trucy. Miles is still not aware what fully happened the day Phoenix got disbarred. He only knows from him that he's now working at the Borsh Club bar as a pianist and vaguely shared his suspicion toward the defense attorney, Kristoph Gavin. However, since this regrettable event, Phoenix's habit to conceal his feelings and opinions got even more considerable than it used to, which is getting on Miles' nerve.

Reblogs are very appreciated !

If you wish to support me for more comics : you can have an early access to the pages (4 days before anyone) by joining the "Adventurer tier" on my Ko-Fi. Even giving one Cappuccino will means a lot! Any support will be cherished ☕❤️

I hope you will enjoy this story just as much I enjoyed drawing it, thank you in advance ;u; 💕

[ COVER ] // [Notes + Pg 01 - 02] // [Pg 03 - 04] // [Pg 05 - 06 - 07] // [Pg 08 - 09 - 10] // [Pg 11 - 12 - 13] // [Pg 14 - 15 - 16] // [Pg 17 - 18 - 19]

#ace attorney #narumitsu #nrmt #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #ace attorney comic #narumitsu comic #ace attorney fanart #fanart #doujin #fancomics #comics #my art #masterpost #masterpost-lean-on-me #fantasygirl974-art #nrmt-lean-on-me

194 notes · View notes

wukoweek2024 · 1 year ago

Text

In Your Arms, I'm Safe by Emby81

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Summary:

3 times Mako carried Wu, +1 time Wu carried Mako

#wukoweek2024 #wuko #fanfiction #prompt: carry me #link shared from Ao3 collection

11 notes · View notes

fireya-x · 4 months ago

Note

I’m obsessed with the idea of divorced Price who gets you to fall in love with him again. Like, I have forty chapters planned out in my head. Is this just me?? Am I crazy?

Cali!! bestie!! ❤️ Omg. Not sure this is like the forty chapters you have in mind, but I hope you'll like this!

chamomile

【 AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist 】 ✦ John Price x Reader ✦ After a painful divorce and unexpected reunion, you and John rediscover a love that never truly faded. ✦ 8.4k words ✦ tags/cw: angst, divorce, feelings, hurt/comfort, reunion, eventual smut, reunion sex, piv sex, oral sex

The silence in your flat was a heavy, suffocating presence. Some days, it pressed in you from all sides, amplifying the absence, the emptiness, where he used to be. It wasn’t merely the absence of another person, but the absence of him in particular.

John.

His rumbling laughter, often accompanied by the clinking of ice in his whiskey glass. The quiet humming when he lost himself in a well-worn novel by the fire. The concentrated sighs that escaped his lips when he was hunched over his office desk, wrestling with mission reports, the scent of tobacco clinging to the air. The comforting rhythm of his breathing next to yours in the night, now replaced by the oppressive weight of solitude and the cold emptiness of the other side of the bed.

Some days, the silence turned into a constant, dull ache in your chest, a wound that refused to heal. It was a constant reminder of what once was.

You often caught yourself staring at the shelf on the wall, the one you’d desperately tried to fill with an assortment of meaningless decorations, a futile attempt to fill the empty spaces where his belongings had once resided. Each object, carefully chosen and meticulously placed, felt like a small betrayal, a silent admission of defeat. Vases with dried flowers, their faded colors a pale imitation of the vibrant blooms he used to bring you; cheap trinkets that held no emotional value, their manufactured perfection a stark contrast to the unique, imperfect treasures he'd collected on his travels; some mass-produced artworks in frames that replaced the vibrant, personal photographs. Pictures of your sun-drenched vacations on the beach that now felt like a distant dream, a photograph of your faces on your wedding day, smeared with cake, eyes sparkling with laughter. A small porcelain figurine, a handmade and heartfelt gift from his grandmother, a woman who had welcomed you into her family with open arms – it was all tucked away in a box somewhere, hidden from view, wrapped in tissue paper, memories cherished but not yet ready to be confronted, like shards of glass that could cut you if you handled them too carelessly.

But nothing, none of the forced replacements, could truly ever fill the space, this gaping void that he left behind when your lives went separate ways.

This had been your shared flat once, a sanctuary nestled in the heart of Manchester, a carefully chosen haven, not far from either of your workplaces – a two-bedroom flat with large windows that overlooked a bustling street below, the sounds of the city a constant hum; a small balcony where you would share a bottle of wine on warm summer evenings and a cozy fireplace where you would curl up together on cold winter nights.

The location had seemed perfect then, a place where you had envisioned building a life together, a life filled with the comfort of shared routines, stolen kisses, the warmth of shared laughter that echoed through the rooms, filling every corner with the vibrancy of your love.

He had insisted you keep the flat after the divorce; “It’s yours,” he’d said, his gaze avoiding yours, his words clipped, his tone betraying nothing of the turmoil that raged within him. “I won't be here much anyway.”

The words, meant to be a gesture of generosity, a final act of kindness, a parting gift offered with a heavy heart, had instead become a constant, agonizing reminder of his absence, leaving behind the bitter taste of regret and the faint, lingering taste of what might have been.

You missed him.

Not the shadow he had become in the final years of your marriage, the distant, preoccupied figure who appeared infrequently, a ghost in his own home, his mind miles away. You missed the man he had been, the man you had fallen in love with – the man whose laughter could fill a room, whose touch could chase away the darkest shadows, whose love had once been your sanctuary, your safe haven in a world that often felt chaotic and uncertain. You missed the easy, effortless shared laughter over inside jokes that no one else understood, the comforting weight of his arm around your shoulders. The way he could make you feel safe, cherished, loved, with a single glance.

It wasn’t a sudden break, a dramatic fight, an explosion of anger and resentment, but a gradual erosion; a slow and agonizing fading, like a rot that set in, consuming your love, choking the joy, and suffocating the life you had once believed would last forever.

It started with small things, seemingly insignificant, but it was those small cracks in the foundation that triggered the fall. Cracks turning into widening fissures with each passing day. Unanswered texts, missed calls, forgotten birthdays, forgotten anniversaries, the growing distance between you in the same bed, the warmth of his touch replaced by the cold emptiness of the sheets, the silence stretching between you like a vast, empty expanse.

You had known, from the very beginning, from that first stolen glance across a crowded pub where you’d met, that his life would never be ordinary, that the long, dark shadows of his profession would always be a part of your shared existence, an uninvited guest at the table. And you had embraced that, welcomed it, believing, with some naivety that now made you wince, that your love and the connection you shared was strong enough to withstand the sacrifices his job asked of him, the toll it would inevitably take on your shared life. Sometimes, you wondered if there was even a place left for you at his side in this demanding, all-consuming world he inhabited. A world of coded conversations, hushed phone calls in the middle of the night, and the ever-present fear that gnawed at your insides, the fear that one day, he wouldn't come home.

You had always admired his devotion and his commitment to his work. You had seen him transform from a raw recruit into a seasoned soldier, a respected leader, a man who carried the weight of responsibility on his broad shoulders with a grace that both awed and inspired you. The way he could lose himself in the intricacies of strategy and tactics, the intensity with which he approached every challenge, every mission. You had been proud of his dedication and his commitment to a cause greater than himself.

He came home one evening, his eyes shining with pride and exhaustion, bringing with him the news of his promotion to Captain. You celebrated, of course. You opened a bottle of champagne, hugged and kissed, and told him how proud you were. You toasted his success, your words genuine, heartfelt, your joy for him masking the growing sense of dread that gnawed at the edges of your happiness. You knew how much this meant to him, this hard-won victory in the ongoing battle of his career, how many sleepless nights, how many missed birthdays, how many silent goodbyes whispered in the early mornings, had led to this moment, this achievement.

You wanted, more than anything, to be happy for him, to share the joy of his accomplishment.

And for a brief, fleeting moment, you did.

But later that night, the realization of what this promotion truly meant hit you, like a punch to the gut.

More responsibility.

More missions.

More deployments to the other end of the globe.

More sleepless nights spent waiting for his return.

More secrets whispered on the phone.

More clipped words you didn’t understand.

More distance between you.

More fuel for the slow, insidious rot that had already begun to consume your shared life.

Your joy at his success curdled into bitter disappointment, a mixture of pride and profound loneliness, a premonition of the long, empty nights and goodbyes that would soon become your reality. You lay beside him, yet you felt more alone, than you ever had before.

The Christmas you had planned so meticulously, the one where he had promised, sworn on his life, that he would be home – the Christmas tree shimmering with twinkling lights, the table set for a feast he never attended, the silence of his absence deafening amid the cheery Christmas carols on the radio. He hadn't even called, hadn't offered an explanation, hadn't bothered to invent an excuse — just a hasty, impersonal message left from a number you didn’t recognize, a clipped, emotionless voice relaying his apologies, the only sign of life you’d receive.

The pattern continued. The weight of his absences, the suffocating silence of his secrets, became an unbearable burden, a constant, oppressive presence that threatened to crush you beneath its weight.

The secrets grew deeper, the missions more frequent, more dangerous, his disappearances announced with nothing more than a hastily scribbled note left on the kitchen counter.

“Gone. Back soon.” “Don't wait up. Got called in.” “Love you.”

His words, once so full of affection, now felt hollow, crushed by the ever-present shadow of his profession, the weight of unspoken anxieties, the gnawing fear that each goodbye might be the last.

The rot spread and spread, its tendrils reaching into every corner of your life, tainting the once vibrant colors of your memories with a dull, grayish hue until only the empty shell remained, a hollow, brittle husk of a love lost and its future uncertain.

You tried to talk to him, to express your fears, your anxieties, your growing resentment. You remembered the way your voice trembled as you spoke, the words catching in your throat, threatening to choke you. And he listened. He truly listened, his eyes holding yours, his gaze filled with a mixture of weariness and regret. You saw the fatigue etched into the lines around his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders slumped with the weight of unspoken burdens. He understood. He understood the pain he was causing, the toll his profession was taking on your relationship, the slow, agonizing erosion of the love you had once shared.

He asked you to understand, to accept the life he had chosen, a life that demanded his complete and utter devotion, a life that left little room for the ordinary joys of love and companionship. He spoke of the importance of his work, the lives that depended on him, the sacrifices he was willing to make for the greater good. He spoke of the secrets he couldn't share, the dangers he couldn’t reveal, the constant threat that hung over him, you, and your shared life.

There was a raw honesty in his words, a vulnerability that you hadn't seen in a long time, a glimpse of the man you had fallen in love with, the man who was now trapped in the shadowy world he inhabited, a world where emotions were a liability, where vulnerability was a weakness, where love was a luxury he could no longer afford.

And so, when you finally uttered the words, “I can’t do this anymore, John,” the words a painful admission of defeat, a surrender to the inevitable – he didn’t argue, didn’t protest, didn't try to change your mind. He simply nodded, his eyes filled with a deep sadness, a silent acknowledgement of the truth you had both been avoiding for so long, the truth that your marriage was dying a slow, agonizing death.

“If I can’t have my husband back, I at least need my life back,” you had said, your voice trembling. “Not this… this constant waiting, this constant fear.”

“I can’t live like this anymore, John. I can’t keep waiting for you to come home, wondering if this time will be the last. I can’t keep wondering what you’re doing, who you’re with, what secrets you’re keeping from me.” Your voice cracked, the tears threatening to spill over, but you blinked them back, determined to maintain your composure.

You watched as his face crumpled, his carefully constructed mask of control momentarily shattering, revealing the raw pain, the regret, the love he still held for you, a love that was now slipping through his fingers like fine grains of sand.

He reached for you, his hand outstretched, his fingers brushing against yours, a fleeting touch, a desperate attempt to hold onto you, to grasp for something, anything, to prevent the inevitable. But his grip wasn’t strong enough against the cold, hard reality of your decision and your words’ finality.

You pulled away, your heart aching, knowing that this was the only way, the only path towards healing, towards reclaiming your life, your own narrative, your own future, a future that no longer included him. The pain of this separation, though sharp, like a knife twisting in your gut, was a clean break, a necessary amputation, infinitely preferable to the slow, agonizing decay of a love unfulfilled.

You threw yourself into your career, seeking solace in the familiar world of analysis, a world of logic and order, a world far removed from the unpredictable chaos and ever-present danger of John's life. You found a new rhythm, a new sense of purpose, building an existence outside of the shadows, a future you had once envisioned intertwined with his, now carefully, meticulously, constructed on your own. You excelled in your field, your passion and dedication earning you accolades and recognition.

Then one day, there was a call. From a woman called Kate Laswell, a name you’d heard several times in passing conversations with John. You’d met her once, briefly, during a social function at the base, a fleeting exchange of hellos, a polite, impersonal conversation amidst the clinking glasses and forced smiles. But you remembered her – a strong, intelligent woman, her eyes sharp, her gaze assessing, a woman who carved her way out in that male-dominated world of work that still felt so alien and impenetrable to you.

She had witnessed the change in John, the gradual withdrawal, the growing distance, the slow change of the man he had once been. She had seen him throw himself into his work, mission after mission, his dedication bordering on obsession, a desperate attempt to fill the void you had left behind. She had seen the emptiness in his eyes, the silent suffering that had settled over him.

And now, years later, she had reached out, her voice warm and professional on the other end of the line, offering you a position at her side, a chance to use your skills and expertise in a new capacity, a chance to step back into the world you had once abandoned, a world you had once vowed to never return to. “I’ve been following your work,” she said, her voice betraying a hint of admiration, “and I’m impressed. I think you have a lot to offer our team. I’d like to offer you a position as a forensic analyst. It's a unique opportunity, and I think you'd be a valuable asset.”

You were overwhelmed, flattered by the offer, intrigued by the opportunity. It was a chance to take your career to the next level, to work alongside one of the most respected figures in the field, a chance to challenge yourself. You accepted, of course, your heart pounding with excitement, blind to the fact that this wasn’t just a lucky encounter but a carefully orchestrated reunion, a second chance engineered by the woman who had witnessed the slow, agonizing demise of your love. A woman who believed, perhaps more than you did yourself, that it wasn't too late to rebuild the bridge that had been broken.

She took you under her wing, showed you the ropes, and introduced you to the team. She shared her knowledge, expertise, and insights, empowering you to navigate the complexities of your new role with confidence. You quickly found a liking to her, her strength and intelligence inspiring you, her confidence reassuring you. And it didn’t take long before she offered to take you along to your first real job, your first opportunity to put your newly acquired skills to the test in the field.

This wasn’t the first time you had been on a base. You had accompanied John several times during your marriage, social functions and official events, but never more than a few fleeting glimpses. But this was different. You weren't here as a spouse, a plus-one, a silent observer. You were here to work and to contribute.

The operations room buzzed with energy, murmured conversations, papers crinkling, keyboards clicking, screens buzzing. You were nervous. You’d done this work in a lab, in the sterile, controlled environment of a crime scene, but never within a military setting, never in the heart of the operation, never with the weight of lives hanging in the balance.

You clutched the folders you held tightly, your knuckles white, your heart pounding. Kate, her expression casually neutral, as if this was just another day at the office, cleared her throat. “Follow me,” she said, her voice low, just loud enough for you to hear above the noise. You straightened your shoulders, lifted your chin, and stepped behind her, your heels clicking against the polished floor, the sound sharp against the background noise.

“This is Captain John Price,” Kate said, stopping at the front of the room, her voice cutting through the noise, commanding attention. She gestured towards a figure standing with his back to you, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the flickering screens, his posture radiating strength and authority. “He’ll be leading the operation. I expect full cooperation from everyone.”

John.

Even before he turned, the name, spoken aloud in this sterile, impersonal environment, sent a jolt of electricity through you. It was a name that held a thousand memories, a lifetime of whispered secrets and stolen kisses, of shared laughter and unspoken fears, of a love that had once burned so brightly, so fiercely, that it had illuminated every corner of your existence. As he turned, his gaze sweeping across the room, taking in the assembled team with a practiced eye, assessing, calculating, your breath hitched in your throat, a sudden intake of air that caught somewhere between your lungs and your heart. Time seemed to stop, the noise of the operations room fading into a dull roar, the faces around you blurring, dissolving into an indistinct mass, replaced by the single, overwhelming image of him . You hadn't seen him in over two years. Had it been that long?

You held your breath, taking in his features; he was older, harder around the edges, the lines etched deeper into the corners of his eyes, the telltale marks of time and experience, of a life lived on the edge, in the shadows. His beard was longer, scruffier, his hair slightly unkempt, as if he hadn't bothered to style it, a small detail that spoke volumes about the changes in his life, the shift in priorities. But his eyes, those stormy sea-blue eyes that had once drawn you in with their intensity, warmth, and unspoken promises, were still the same, unchanged by time, the color as vivid and captivating as the first time you had met.

His gaze met yours and locked, and for a heart-stopping moment, the world seemed to fall away, the room, the people, the very mission itself, dissolving into nothingness, leaving just the two of you suspended in a bubble of shared history, of unspoken regrets, of what-ifs and might-have-beens. He didn’t smile. His expression softened for a fraction of a second before it returned to be carefully neutral, a mask of professional detachment. But neither did he look away.

“We’ve met,” you said, injecting just the right amount of professional distance in your voice, your pulse hammering in your veins as if wanting to breach your throat. “Captain.” You added, the word, a formal acknowledgment of his rank, his authority, feeling strange, foreign, on your tongue – as it was the uncomfortable, almost painful reminder of the distance that had grown between you.

But a slight, almost imperceptible tremor in your voice, the fleeting catch in your breath, betrayed the carefully constructed facade of indifference, a subtle, unconscious signal of the powerful emotional undercurrent that flowed beneath the surface.

The slight shift in the atmosphere wasn't lost on Kate. Her lips curved into a knowing smile, acknowledging the unspoken tension, the rekindled connection she had anticipated. Her gaze flickered between you and John, a silent assessment of the situation, a calculation of the potential risks and rewards of this unexpected reunion, before she smoothly turned back to the task at hand, addressing the rest of the team, her voice regaining its crisp, professional tone, her words bringing the focus back to the mission.

The days that followed were a blur of intense preparation, long hours spent poring over intelligence reports, analyzing data, strategizing, and coordinating with various teams across the globe. The familiar rhythm of the work, the adrenaline-fueled pressure of the impending mission, both soothed and unsettled you. It was a reminder of the life you had once shared with John, the life you had walked away from, the life that was now, in a strange twist of fate, within your reach once more.

You found yourself working alongside John, your professional collaboration a carefully choreographed dance around the unspoken emotions that simmered beneath the surface. You were both meticulous in maintaining a professional demeanor, your interactions crisp, efficient, devoid of any hint of the shared past. The lingering connection still pulsed between you like a live wire, a current that threatened to short-circuit the carefully constructed walls of your composure. You avoided his gaze, focusing intently on the task at hand, your mind racing with calculations, your fingers flying across the keyboard, your every action a carefully constructed shield against the emotional onslaught of his presence.

He watched you, silently, intently, observing the way you spoke, your voice clear and confident, your insights incisive and insightful, the way you dissected complex data with an almost surgical precision, the way you held your own with the hardened soldiers and seasoned intelligence officers – a world you had once shunned, now embraced with a newfound sense of purpose.

He saw the woman you had become, the strong, independent woman who had emerged from the shadows of their failed marriage, a woman he both admired and desired, a woman he had almost lost to the relentless demands of his profession, a woman he was now determined to win back, piece by carefully chosen piece.

He hadn’t tried to speak to you about your shared past, not once. And though it broke your heart, a dull, persistent ache in the hollow spaces where his love had once resided, it was precisely this respect, this professionalism, this acknowledgment of your independence, that made you see him in a new light. He didn't cross any lines, didn't attempt to rekindle the intimacy you had once shared, didn't presume upon your shared history. The mission, the success of the operation, was his primary focus, and in his unwavering dedication to his duty, you saw a glimpse of the man you had fallen in love with, the man of integrity and unwavering principle.

It was as if the rot that had consumed your shared life had, in its destructive path, cleared the way for new growth, a new beginning, a second chance you hadn't dared to hope for.

And yet, amidst the professional work, he began, slowly, subtly, to chip away at the walls you had built around your heart.

The steaming cup of tea on your desk in the morning.

Chamomile.

No coffee, no black tea, just plain simple chamomile tea. He’d teased you about it once, only sick people drink that , he’d said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. But he'd remembered. He'd remembered a small, insignificant detail, a personal preference you hadn't indulged in since your separation. Did they even have chamomile tea on base? Had he gone out of his way to procure it, just for you?

You hadn't touched chamomile tea since the divorce. The taste, once so comforting, so intimately associated with shared mornings and whispered love confessions, had turned sour, a bitter reminder of broken promises and a love gone cold. You had banished it from your cupboards, your life, a symbolic purging of the past, a desperate attempt to erase the memories.

You stared at the mug, the steam swirling before your eyes, a hazy veil that separated you from the present, transporting you back to a time when the world had felt brighter, simpler, when the scent of chamomile had been a comforting constant in your life. You remembered lazy mornings, waking to the sound of him humming in the kitchen, the aroma of chamomile tea mingling with the scent of freshly brewed coffee, a shared breakfast, a stolen kiss, a whispered “I love you” before he disappeared into the shadows of his work.

You lifted the mug to your lips, the ceramic warm against your skin, the steam caressing your face, the scent of chamomile filling your senses, a sudden, unexpected rush of emotion catching you off guard. You took a sip, the warm liquid flowing down your throat, and the familiar taste shocked your system.

It wasn’t the bitter, tainted taste you had remembered, but the sweet, slightly floral flavor you had once loved, a taste that evoked memories of shared laughter and the quiet comfort of a love that had once felt invincible.

And at that moment, as the warmth of the tea spread through you, chasing away the lingering chill of loneliness and regret, you knew that you hadn't forgotten either. It was as if the years of separation had all dissolved in that single sip, leaving you exposed, vulnerable, raw. The feelings, the memories, and the love you had once shared were still there, buried beneath the surface, waiting to be reawakened.

He left a carefully chosen book on your desk, a first edition of your favorite author, he accidentally brushed your hand during a briefing, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. Your gun permit, which had been inexplicably delayed for weeks, suddenly appeared on your desk the next morning, stamped and approved. He offered you a ride home one evening, the silence in the car filled with unspoken words, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife. He began to share small details about his life, his work, and his team, offering you glimpses into the world he had once kept so carefully hidden, a silent invitation to bridge the chasm that had separated you for so long. One afternoon, you found your schedule cleared and a scribbled note on your desk: “Take a break. You deserve it.”

You began to question your initial assumptions about John's priorities, the narrative you had constructed to explain the demise of your marriage. You had blamed his work, absences, secrets, and dedication to a world you couldn't comprehend, a world that demanded his complete and utter devotion, leaving no room for you, for the life you had envisioned together.

But now, as you observed him in the operations room, his authority commanding the respect of everyone in the room, his strategic mind dissecting complex problems with ease, his commitment to his team evident in every carefully chosen word, every decisive action – you realized that his work wasn’t just a job, a career, a means to an end, but a part of who he was, a calling that demanded his complete and utter devotion.

Perhaps he hadn't made a conscious decision to prioritize his career over your love, but had felt incapable, unworthy, of juggling the demands of both, of being the husband he wanted to be, the husband he believed you deserved.

Perhaps he hadn't chosen his work over you, as you had once so bitterly believed.

Perhaps he was his work, just as he was the man who left chamomile tea and thoughtful notes on your desk, the man whose love, despite the years of separation, had somehow managed to endure, a stubborn ember glowing beneath the ashes of your shared past, waiting for the breath of forgiveness to fan it back into a flame.

And in that realization, something within you shifted. The resentment, the bitterness, began to dissolve, replaced by a newfound understanding and respect, and a flicker of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn't too late.

The evening before the mission, as he handed you another steaming mug of chamomile tea, a small routine that had formed, he confessed his regret, his voice low, husky, his words a carefully measured confession. “Listen,” he said, his gaze holding yours, “when we leave for this mission tomorrow, I at least wanted to have said this... I was an idiot letting you go.” The words hung between you, heavy with unspoken regret, the weight of years gone by.

You simply nodded, your voice failing you, the sudden rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. “Thank you, John,” you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible above the hum of the computers. You turned away, retreating to the safety of your work, your heart pounding, your mind racing.

You couldn't rest. His confession, his admission of regret, acted as a catalyst, a spark that ignited the embers of your own emotions. A sudden, unexpected revelation that shook you to your core. You realized that your feelings for him were still there, stronger, perhaps, than ever before, buried beneath the surface, waiting, patiently, persistently, for this moment.

The next morning, he was gone. The days that followed were a blur of anxiety and anticipation. You found yourself constantly checking for updates, scanning the news feeds for any hint of what was happening on the ground, your heart pounding with each notification, each report. Then, finally, the news arrived. The mission was a success. Kate informed you that John’s team had returned, that he was back, safe and sound.

You had to see him. You needed to see him.

You drove to his flat, your heart pounding, a chaotic mix of hope and fear, anticipation and dread, warring within you. As you stood before his door, your hand hovering over the buzzer, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the encounter, for the potential rejection. You pressed the buzzer, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway, each second stretching into an eternity as you waited for his response. He opened the door, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern.

“Hey,” he said, his voice rough with sleep, his hair tousled, his clothes rumpled. “What’s wrong? Did some – ”

He didn't get to finish his question. You threw yourself into his arms, your body colliding with his, your arms wrapping around him, holding him tight, as if you could physically merge with him and erase the years of separation. He stiffened momentarily, surprised by the suddenness of your embrace. Then his arms closed around you, his touch tentative at first, then tightening.

He held you tight, his hands stroking your hair, his touch gentle, reassuring, a silent apology for the pain caused, the distance created, the years he had been absent from your life. He didn’t speak, didn’t ask for explanations, didn’t question the sudden outpouring of emotions.

You stood there for a long moment, locked in a silent embrace, the world outside fading away, replaced by the comforting warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his heart against yours, the familiar, comforting scent of his skin. It was a sensory symphony that evoked a flood of memories, both sweet and bittersweet.

Finally, you pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his. “I…” you began, your voice trembling slightly, the words catching in your throat.

He looked at you, his eyes filled with concern. “Tell me,” he said, his voice soft and gentle, an invitation to share what was on your mind.

You took a deep breath. “When you said… when you said you were an idiot for letting me go…” you began, your voice trembling, your gaze locking with his, searching for any flicker of judgment, of rejection, “It… it made me realize something. Something I should have realized a long time ago.”

He waited patiently for you to continue, his silence a comforting presence, an unspoken promise that he would listen.

“It made me realize that… that maybe I was the idiot, too,” you confessed. “For… for giving up on us. For asking you to choose when I knew, deep down, that this life, this work… it’s a part of you. It’s who you are.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you stopped him, your hand gently covering his, a silent plea for him to let you finish. “Seeing you back there, in the operations room, commanding, leading… I realized how much of this life is a part of you, how much you thrive in this world. Asking you to leave it… it would have been like asking you to give up a part of yourself. And that’s not what love is, John. Love isn’t about changing someone, it’s about accepting them, flaws and all.” Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision, but you blinked them back, determined to meet his gaze.

He didn’t answer, just pulled you closer, closing the door behind you, shutting out the world. He led you inside, took your jacket, carefully hung it up, and then offered you a drink. “Whiskey?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a familiar shiver down your spine. You nodded.

The familiar sound of ice clinking against glass filled the quiet of his flat, a comforting counterpoint to the frantic beating of your heart. Your throat suddenly felt dry, the anticipation coating your tongue like the first sip of cheap booze. As he poured the drinks, your gaze traced the familiar lines of his body, the subtle play of muscle beneath the worn fabric of his t-shirt, the scars that mapped the hidden landscape of his past. He handed you your glass, his fingers brushing yours, the contact sparking a flicker of warmth that spread quickly through your veins. You took a sip, the heat of the whiskey a welcome counterpoint to the nervous chill in your stomach. He raised his glass in a silent toast, his eyes locking with yours, the intensity of his gaze a palpable force that stole your breath away.

He set his glass down, the sound sharp in the sudden quiet. He reached for you, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb gently stroking the skin beneath your eye. The rough texture of his calloused fingers against your skin was a stark reminder of the life he led and the dangers he faced, but you found it strangely reassuring at that moment of rekindled intimacy.

“I missed you,” he murmured, holding your gaze.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back, the words a release, a surrender to the yearning that had been a constant ache in your chest for far too long. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision, hot against your skin. You hadn't realized how much you had needed to hear those words, how much you had needed to say them, until they hung in the air between you, fragile and precious.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, a feather-light touch that sent tremors through your body, awakening nerve endings that had lain dormant for far too long. You closed your eyes, savoring the sensation. Then, his lips pressed against yours with increased force, the kiss deepening, growing more urgent, more demanding.

His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, molding your body against his. The sensation of his familiar touch, the way he held you, sent a wave of heat through you, mingled with a deep sense of belonging, of coming home.

He lifted you into his arms, carrying you towards the bedroom. The world outside faded away, replaced by the feel of his arms around you, the steady beat of his heart against yours, the warmth of his breath on your skin. He laid you gently on the bed, the soft sheets cool against your heated skin. His body hovered over yours, his gaze holding yours, his eyes, once clouded with guilt and regret, now filled with a love so deep, so intense, that it stole your breath away. He kissed you again, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that mirrored your own.

He undressed you slowly, deliberately, reverently, his hands mapping the familiar landscape of your body with a newfound appreciation, a rediscovered sense of wonder, as though he were tracing the contours of a cherished map, each curve and hollow a familiar landmark on a journey he had almost forgotten.

He reached for the clasp of your bra, his fingers fumbling slightly with the fastening, the momentary clumsiness a endearing reminder of his nervousness. The cool air against your newly exposed skin sent a shiver down your spine, a frisson of anticipation that mingled with the warmth of his gaze. He looked at you, his eyes dark with desire, his gaze lingering on the swell of your breasts, the rosy peaks of your nipples hardening under his scrutiny. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against your skin, his tongue tracing a slow, wet path from the base of your throat to the valley between your breasts, sending shivers of pleasure radiating outwards, a symphony of sensation that had you arching towards him, your body humming with anticipation. He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, then harder, drawing a soft moan from deep within your throat. His hand cupped your other breast, his thumb circling your nipple, mimicking the motion of his mouth, the dual stimulation sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

You reached for him, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, your nails lightly scratching his scalp, eliciting a low groan of pleasure from deep within his chest. You wanted him closer, needed him closer, the years of separation, the ache of loneliness, melting away in the heat of his touch, the warmth of his body against yours.

He moved lower, his lips trailing a path of fire down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel, sending a shiver of anticipation through you. He kissed the soft skin of your inner thighs, his breath warm against your most sensitive flesh, his touch igniting a fire in your core. He reached for the waistband of your panties, his fingers hooking beneath the fabric, his gaze meeting yours, seeking permission. You nodded, your breath catching in your throat, the anticipation almost unbearable.

He pulled your panties down, his touch slow, deliberate, his gaze lingering on the delicate folds of your flesh, now exposed to his hungry gaze. He moved lower still, his tongue parting your folds and brushing against your clit, sending a jolt of electricity through you, your body arching involuntarily towards his touch. He kissed you there, gently at first, then with growing intensity, his tongue flicking across your swollen nub, drawing out a sharp gasp of pleasure from deep within your throat. You reached down, your fingers tangling in his hair again, anchoring you to the present moment, the exquisite reality of his touch, his warmth, the intoxicating scent of his skin mingling with yours.

“John,” you moaned, his name a plea, a prayer, escaping your lips on a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

He continued to lavish attention on your clit, his tongue circling, teasing, stroking, building the pressure, the pleasure, until you were writhing beneath him, your body arching towards his, your moans growing louder, more insistent. He hummed against you, the vibration a low, guttural sound that resonated deep within your core, amplifying the pleasure that coursed through you. He inserted a finger into you, slowly, deliberately, stretching you, filling you, the sensation both exquisite and familiar, a reminder of the intimacy you had once shared, an intimacy you had almost forgotten, an intimacy you now craved with a desperate hunger. You cried out, a mixture of pleasure and a sharp pang of need. He added another finger, then another, scissoring them inside you, mimicking the rhythm of his tongue on your clit, building the pressure, the pleasure, until you were on the verge of shattering, your body humming with anticipation, your senses overwhelmed by the exquisite torture of his touch.

“Please,” you begged, your voice thick with longing, your body aching for release. “John, please…”

He looked up at you then, his eyes filled with a raw hunger that mirrored your own, a flame that had been rekindled, now burning brighter, hotter, than ever before. He withdrew his fingers, his touch lingering on your swollen clit, sending a final jolt of pleasure through you that had you gasping. He rose then and began to shed his clothes. You watched him, mesmerized, as he shrugged off his shirt, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, the muscles rippling beneath his skin, the familiar scattering of dark hair across his chest and stomach. The familiar crisscross pattern of scars, some new, some old, resembling a map of his battles fought. Your gaze lingered on the planes of his stomach, the defined line of his V, the way his muscles flexed with each movement. He unbuckled his belt, the sound loud in the quiet room, then unzipped his trousers, pushing them down his legs, revealing his cock, hard and throbbing, already glistening. He stepped out of his pants, then reached down to pull off his boxers, revealing him fully to you. You admired him, the raw power and vulnerability he embodied in that moment, the man you had loved, lost, and now found again.

He positioned himself between your legs, the heat of his cock pressing against your entrance, a familiar pressure that sent a wave of longing through you. You reached down, your fingers wrapping around his shaft, stroking him gently, feeling the familiar texture of his skin against yours, the heat radiating from him. He groaned low in his throat, his hips bucking involuntarily against your touch. You arched your back, pressing yourself against him, wanting him closer, needing him inside you.

He pushed forward slowly, deliberately, the head of his cock stretching you, filling you, the sensation both exquisite and familiar, a reminder of the past and a promise of the future. You cried out, a mixture of pleasure and a sharp pang of need, your hands gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, anchoring you to the present, to the reality of his touch, his warmth, the solid weight of him inside you. A wave of heat flooded through you, centered low in your belly, spreading outward in ripples of pure sensation. It was more than just physical; it was a feeling of rightness, of completion. It was as if his cock was made to be inside you; the way it filled you so completely, so perfectly, the way it stretched you, possessed you. Each thrust reawakened a memory, a sensation, a feeling you thought you'd lost forever. You clung to him, your body molding against his, desperate to erase the distance, to bridge the gap, to become one with him again.

He paused, holding himself still inside you, allowing you to adjust to his size, his fullness. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his voice thick with need.

“Fuck me, John,” you moaned, your voice thick with longing, your body aching for the friction, the release, the complete and utter surrender to the moment, to him.

He obliged, moving within you, slowly at first, savoring the feeling of reconnection. He knew exactly how to touch you, where to press, how to angle his thrusts to elicit the most intense pleasure, as if he had the very skin between your thighs memorized, as if your body was a map he had charted again and again in his mind during the long years of your separation. His rhythm was slow, deliberate, each thrust a measured exploration, a rediscovery of the intimate language your bodies once spoke so fluently. Your hands found his back, your fingers digging into his skin, anchoring you to the present, to the exquisite reality of him inside you. Your faces were inches apart, your gazes locked, his eyes reflecting the same raw hunger and desperate longing that burned within you.

Lost souls, wandering in the wilderness, finally brought home to each other.

The slow burn intensified with each thrust, building a pressure that coiled tight in your belly. He groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated against your skin, resonating deep within your core.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. He shifted his angle slightly, his cock brushing against a particularly sensitive spot within you, sending a jolt of pure pleasure through your body. You arched against him, your hips meeting his thrusts, your moans growing louder, more insistent.

He withdrew almost completely, then plunged back inside you, the friction building with each thrust, the pleasure intensifying until it became an exquisite torment. You tangled your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, closer, wanting to merge with him completely, to erase the years of being apart, the ache of loneliness, the bitter taste of regret. Your nails dug into his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin.

“John,” you cried out, his name a desperate plea, a prayer, escaping your lips on a wave of pure pleasure. "John, yes ..."

The world narrowed, focused down to the single, overwhelming sensation of him inside you, filling you, possessing you, completing you – the pressure built, coiling tighter and tighter, until it became unbearable.

Then, with a final, powerful thrust, it broke, a wave of pure bliss washing over you, consuming you, shattering you into a million pieces. It was as if the very essence of your being dissolved, merging with his in a blinding flash of white-hot ecstasy. Your body convulsed around him, your muscles contracting, your breath coming in short, gasping sobs. You cried out his name, a wordless expression of the joy, the release, the complete and utter surrender to him.

He followed close behind, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm, his cock throbbing inside you, spilling his seed deep within you, a tangible expression of his love, his possession, his complete and utter surrender to the overwhelming power you held over him.

It was a shared climax, a melting point where the years of separation dissolved, and the barriers between you crumbled, leaving only the raw, visceral connection of two souls intertwined, two bodies forged together in pure euphoria.

At that moment, there was nothing but you and him, your bodies intertwined, skin on skin, two halves of a whole, finally reunited.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight comforting, his breath warm against your skin. He rolled onto his side, pulling you close, his arm draped protectively over your waist, his hand resting on your hip, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your bone. You snuggled against him, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, a comforting sound that lulled you into a state of blissful contentment. The silence stretched between you, now filled with a comfortable intimacy. The years before suddenly seemed like a distant nightmare.

“Come home,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the steady rhythm of his breathing, the words escaping your lips before you could fully process their meaning, a sudden, unexpected outpouring of a need you hadn’t realized was so profound, so deeply rooted in the very core of your being. You wanted him with you, in your life. You wanted to wake up next to him in the morning, the scent of his skin mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, to share a cup of chamomile tea. You wanted him home, not as a fleeting visitor, a ghost from the past, but as a constant presence.

He shifted slightly, his gaze searching yours, a question forming in his eyes. You’d spoken without thinking, your words driven by the raw intensity of the moment, the overwhelming sense of connection and belonging that had washed over you. As the initial euphoria faded, replaced by a sudden wave of self-consciousness, you realized how forward you’d been, how presumptuous, how soon . You froze, your heart pounding in your chest, a sudden fear gripping you, the fear of rejection, of having overstepped, of having shattered the fragile, nascent hope of a future you had only just begun to envision.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and hesitant, his words gentle and probing.

“My life is so empty without you, John,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper, the words a simple, heartfelt truth, an admission of the loneliness that had been your constant companion for so long, the gnawing emptiness that had threatened to consume you, to erode the very core of your being. “I… I miss you. I miss us .”

You looked at him then, your eyes pleading, your gaze searching his, seeking reassurance, understanding. You reached out to touch his face, your fingers grazing the stubble on his jaw. “You should have never left in the first place.”

He smiled then, a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached his eyes, chasing away the lingering shadows of doubt and regret, illuminating his face with a warmth that melted your heart. “I know.”

You took a deep breath. “I… I was so inconsiderate,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “To dismiss the intensity of your job. To ask you to choose. I should have understood, should have realized…”

He reached out, his hand gently covering your mouth, silencing your self-recriminations, his touch a comforting reassurance, a silent promise of forgiveness. “We both had our reasons. We both made mistakes. We both… we both went through a difficult time. I wish things could have been different. I hated being gone so much, hated knowing I was causing you pain” He paused, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. “It’s okay. We’re here now.”

“But, for better or for worse, right?” you whispered, echoing the vows you had exchanged so many years ago, vows that had been broken but not forgotten, vows that now held a newfound significance. “I… I broke that promise, John. I walked away.”

He leaned in then, his lips brushing against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “And I let you,” he whispered, “but not again. Never again.”

He kissed you then, a deep, lingering kiss that sealed the unspoken promise between you, a promise of forgiveness, of understanding, of a love reborn from the ashes of your shared past. You lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, content in the intimacy of a love that had, against all odds, refused to die.

377 notes · View notes

dbda-anniversary · 4 months ago

Text

The Netflix show Dead Boy Detectives was released on the 25th April 2024. So I thought it would be nice to celebrate the first anniversary with a prompt event running from the 19th to the 25th April!

You can fill the prompts with any kind of fanwork you prefer! Fics, gifs, art, moodboards, edits, podfics, etc!

Each day has three prompts. You can choose just one, or you can combine all three, it’s entirely up to you!

Post your prompt fill including the hashtag #dbda-anniversary, and I will reblog your post. Please do not post the fill before the date, but posting after is completely fine!

You can also add fics (and art!) to the DBDA Anniversary 2025 collection on AO3, link here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBDA_Anniversary_2025

Prompt post here: https://www.tumblr.com/dbda-anniversary/776766522525892608/dbda-anniversary-prompts?source=share

#dbda #dead boy detective agency #dbda anniversary info #mod posts

267 notes · View notes

nikpriceweek · 13 days ago

Text

NikPriceWeek 2025 Announcement

Greetings comrades! We are happy to kick things off by sharing the prompts, instructions and FAQ for the upcoming #NikPriceWeek2025. Whether you are here to write, draw or simply to enjoy the content, we are all here for it to spread the love for our favourite duo.

If you have any questions, feel free to reach out to us here with asks or our twitter page.

Prompts

Instructions

FAQ

★ Can I include other characters and relationships in my work? Absolutely. But the focus should be on Nikprice as they are the heart of the event.

★ Does it have to be "reboot" NikPrice? OG/Vintage Nikprice is very welcome. How about vintage Price and reboot Nik, or vice versa? All the Niks and all the Prices, please and thank you.

★ Can I mix sfw and nsfw prompts? Yes. NSFW prompts are only limited to 18+ accounts and just make sure your work is tagged appropriately. I mean, who doesn't take their vibrator on their fishing trips?

AO3 collection link: [will be shared during posting period]

Happy creating!

Below the cut are text versions of the attached images

Prompt List

SFW

Day 1 - Operation Day 2 - Close Call Day 3 - Injury/Medical leave Day 4 - Fishing Trip Day 5 - Night at the Bar Day 6 - I Missed You Day 7 - Retirement

NSFW

Day 1 - First TIme/New Experiences Day 2 - Forced Proximity Day 3 - Public Day 4 - Toys and Sensory Play Day 5 - Shibari/Restraints Day 6 - Sex Pollens / Chems Day 7 - Formal/Uniforms

Instructions

Each day has two prompts, SFW and NSFW prompts, you are free to choose either prompts or both, you can also combine prompts, go nuts!

Both sets of prompts follow a relationship progression theme, from the first meeting between Price and Nikolai to long-term relationship.

Tag your post with #NikPriceWeek2025 or tag the @nikpriceweek tumblr/twitter account to be added into the Ao3 collections

You’re free to post your entries wherever you’d like. We’ll mainly be on Twitter and Tumblr to interact and reblog/retweet posts!

All content should be tagged accordingly (e.g., NSFW, sensitive topics like MCD/dubcon etc)

No plagiarism, No AI

Be respectful to all creators, no harassment or hate allowed

Posting period starts from 21/7/2025 to 27/7/2025

Late submission extended to 31/8/2025

#nikpriceweek2025 #nikpriceweek #pinned #ask #nikprice #captain john price #cod nikolai #john price #captain price #call of duty #cod #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3

161 notes · View notes

celrondweek · 17 days ago

Text

Celrond Week 2025

"...and it was then that Elrond first saw Celebrían, and loved her, though he said nothing of it."

Announcing Celrond Week, a Tolkien fandom event celebrating the relationship between Celebrían of Lothlorien and her husband Elrond Peredhel, Lord of Imladris and Middle Earth’s favourite wifewise-guy. This event will run from October 20th — 26th 2025, and will feature three elements from which participants can pick and choose if and as they wish, or just go rogue!

A traditional “prompt list” — as seen in most fandom events, seven overarching themes and several literary/visual prompts within each one, to provide a spark of optional inspiration.

Bingo Challenges — a set of “bingo boards” that cater to those preferring to write sentence-fics, drabbles or shorter ficlets. These will be thematic, and feature short, or single-word, prompts that you collectively 'tick off' to reveal a 'prize' image underneath. Inspired by the @silmarillionwritersguild Potluck Bingo challenge.

Visual Prompts: for the artistically minded among us! These will include photo prompts, colour/mood boards, and even meme templates (Eg: “I bet Elrond is thinking about other elves…” Elrond: *thinking about taxation*) that you can take in whatever direction you see fit.

Prompts and boards will be shared on this blog across the next few weeks and in the run up to the event so do follow to keep updated, and the AO3 Collection will be linked here when live.

Click here for a detailed guide to the event, including content guidelines and an FAQ.

Happy Celronding!

#tolkien #lord of the rings #the silmarillion #tolkien art #lotr fanart #celrond #elrond peredhel #lotr #celebrian #elrond x celebrian #tolkien fandom event #jrr tolkien

157 notes · View notes

huaiian · 10 months ago

Text

Imagine Being Loved By Me (Sylus x Fem!Reader)

Summary:

“I’ll relent. Give my kitten a few hours to…play with her toy. To do as she pleases.”

In short, it’s the MC/Reader’s birthday and Sylus let’s her have her way with him.

Pairing: Sylus x Fem!Reader or MC

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY

Words: 4.6 K

AO3 Link Here

Tags: Light Dom/Sub, Dom!MC or Dom!Reader, Sub!Sylus, Bondage, Cumming (kinda) Untouched, Overstimulation, Porn but there's a thread of a plot

Author's Note: Hope you all enjoy! I haven't really written anything like this in a LOOOONG time so if it's not great I apologize. This is basically just me going hmm, what if you tied him up and made him cry. And well uhh….idk this happened. If you aren't into Submissive Sylus then I'm sorry, you'll probably want to skip out on this one ╥﹏╥

You awoke to rays of sun gently fanning across your face. Your nose scrunched up and you stretched your hands above your head, groaning slightly as your joints began to pop. You felt arms wrap around your waist and you smiled slightly, eyes opening slightly, glancing to the side.

“Someone’s up bright and early,” Sylus sighs, arms bringing you closer to him. His head moves to the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath and giving you a gentle kiss on your pulse point. Your smile widens, cradling the back of his head and guiding him upwards. You share a small peck before pulling back, adoration clear in your gaze.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he whispers into the morning air. You kiss him again as he envelopes you in his embrace.

The day progresses as any other day would, aside from the fact that it’s your birthday and Sylus will stop at nothing to shower you with gifts and attention. Did you mention a beautiful Tiffany & Co. necklace you wanted? He got you the entire collection. You said you wanted a new purse right? He took it upon himself to get you every Birkin he could find in person. It was all too much for you, having a more reserved and shy personality usually, but it’s your birthday so why not live a little.

Sylus led you from place to place, joining you in all of your favorite hobbies before surprising you at the end of the night with your closest friends and coworkers at the local karaoke bar. Sylus had to use his pseudonym, Skye, just as he did when you had coincidentally met him in a similar circumstance. Only this time, instead of trying to distance yourself from him the entire night, you were doing your best not to drag him towards you and kiss him until you saw stars.

“Sweetie,” he whispered in your ear, a shiver running up your spine, “you still have one more gift that you’ll need to open.”

“Oh?” You questioned, your eyebrow raising ever so slightly. “And what might that gift be? Don’t tell me you bought me an entire island or something ridiculous.”

Sylus was silent for a beat, causing you to straighten and whirl around, eyes wide and mouth agape at the implication. He chuckles while shaking his head, eyes scrunching up at the corners. “No my dear, though it can be arranged. All you need to do is ask,”

“NO, no I’m definitely happy and definitely don’t need you to spend anything more than you already have,” you stammer, a light blush coloring your cheeks. His laughter dies down and he smirks, leaning forward so his mouth is up against your ear.

“No love, this gift won’t cost me a thing,” his breath fanning out across your ear. Almost as if he could hear your confusion, he clarifies for you.

“I’ll relent. Give my kitten a few hours to…play with her toy. To do as she pleases.”

You could feel warmth rush through you in that moment, understanding the implication of his words. You never believed in the phrase ‘butterflies in your stomach’ until now, feeling the strange sensation combined with your heart stuttering in your chest, you could tell that it was going to be a long night.

After Sylus’ slight teasing, you slowly begin to exit the karaoke bar, hugging friends and catching up with some old co-workers here and there before finally making a subtle departure. You didn’t want to ruin the party for everyone else, but you also had a present waiting at home that had been plaguing your mind for hours now. You snatched Sylus’ hand and started dragging him over to his motorcycle, the man squeezing your hand gently.

“I see someone’s anticipation is slowly getting the best of her,” he teased. The motorcycle came into view, which only made you take larger strides.

“If I had known how much you’d enjoy this gift, I would’ve departed a long time ago-” his voice was cut off by you suddenly swinging him forward, leaning him against the bike before cupping his cheeks. His eyes widened before you brought his face forward, your lips colliding in an aggressive kiss, showcasing your pent up frustration. He hummed into the kiss before his hands came to rest on your hips.

As the kiss deepened, his hands snake towards your ass, that is until you swatted them away. You broke the kiss to find an adorably confused expression on his face. You lean forward, slightly on your tiptoes to try to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry, I thought the birthday girl was going to call the shots. Isn’t that right?” You questioned him with a smug demeanor. His eyes darkened before nodding. You grabbed his chin and pulled him in for another kiss, where it was obvious that you were in complete control. He could feel the smile on your face before pulling back again.

“That’s my good boy.”

He groans, eyes closing again before you bring him back into a possessive kiss. You wanted to muffle any sounds he might make in case anyone had the audacity of hearing him in this state; a state only you were allowed to see. You broke apart from him again, his eyes opening again and looking towards you for further direction.

“Let’s get you home baby, I’ll take care of you,” you softly tell him, hand cupping his face and thumb gently wiping just before his eye. He nods mindlessly at you before whispering “yes ma’am.” He climbs atop of the motorcycle as you follow close behind. Before you realize it, Sylus is weaving in and out of traffic at speeds you knew were nowhere near safe. Could it be due to your hand squeezing his inner thigh, your chest pressed against his back ever so tightly.

When you arrive at home, you notice that the twins and Mephisto aren’t there to welcome you home. You sigh slightly out of exasperation, taking Sylus’ hand once more before leading him inside the house. The darkness and silence is all encompassing, all that can be heard in yours and Sylus’ breaths desperately trying to calm yourselves of your racing heartbeats.

As you move through the house, you finally locate the bedroom door, noticing that candles had been lit, illuminating the room in a gentle glow.

“I’ll have to give the boys their thanks later,” you state, giggling slightly to yourself at the turn of events.

Sylus frowns slightly before squeezing your hand harder to indicate his irritation at the mention of the twins. You laugh openly now, ushering Sylus to sit on the bed.

“It seems that someone’s a jealous little toy huh,” you speak, an authoritative tone engulfing your words in a new weight. Sylus scoffs, crossing his arms and turning his head to the side.

“As though you wouldn’t be upset with me if I starting bringing up other women in the bedroom,”

“What other women Sylus,” you speak up, your hands grabbing his wrists and unfolding his arms. You widen your stance and take a seat on his lap, your index finger and thumb grasping his chin to force him to look you in the eye. He looks at you with a slight scowl on his face, but his widening pupils and growing bulge in his pants tells you that the expression is just for show.

“Enlighten me,” you tease, leaning forward so your lips ghost his ever so slightly, “what other women are you talking to?” The question falls upon deaf ears as your hand moves from his chin to his hair, curling around some strands before gripping tightly, tugging his head backwards. Sylus gasps sharply as you feel his cock twitch below you. You move your head swiftly to his neck, kissing up his neck before reaching his jawline just below his ear. You start sucking sharply, nipping at the skin to ensure that a mark appears in your wake.

He moans low, his hands fisting the sheets below him. His head falls to the side, allowing you greater access to his neck. You let go of the sensitive skin, but you don’t move away. Your breaths dampening the skin below you before you ask again, “Answer me Sylus: What other women are you talking to?”

“No one,” he states, sounding out of breath and ragged before groaning again as you bite his neck with pressure just enough to leave a mark. You release his neck before licking a stripe upwards, whispering in his ear, “that’s a good boy,” before softly biting his ear lobe.

Sylus’ hips buck upwards, searching for any kind of friction. You let out a ‘hmph’ before grinding down harshly, forcing a muttered ‘oh fuck’ out of his mouth.

“Now that won’t do,” you state, slowly getting up from his lap. He opens his eyes slowly, half lidded. His eyes watch you as you move your way towards the dresser, his breath stuttering as he sees you grab rope you both are all too familiar with. He kicks off his shoes and climbs onto the bed, positioning himself on his knees with his hands behind his back.

“How obedient,” you observe as he sits, awaiting for your instruction, “but we won’t be in this position today.” He quirks an eyebrow up at you, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. You smirk as well, knowing that the poor bastard had no idea what he had signed up for when offering his last present to you.

You kick off your heels and crawl in front of him on your knees. His chest starts rising and falling more noticeably and he tries to calm his breathing. You start undressing him, giving gentle instructions as needed. He obeyed without any resistance and as you were slowly peeling off his last layer, cock springing upwards and onto his stomach, you heard a quiet moan leave him.

You remove the boxers and throw them to the side, attention stuck on the pretty pink length twitching slightly at your gaze. You lean forward, licking a fat stripe on the underside of his cock, reveling in the way his breath stutters and his thighs shake. You give a quick suck to the head before pulling back, raising your head upwards to make eye contact with the man.

“Sweetie please,” he whispers, hand reaching forward to grab your waist. You quickly took his wrist and put your other hand on the middle of his check slowly pushing him backwards on the bed, pinning his hands above his head, straddling his hips. You could feel his cock underneath you through your jeans, moving your hips in a subtle circular motion. You hear him whimpering faintly, and you squeeze his wrists before letting them go. His wrists stay above his head, his gaze pleading with you to let him feel you in his rough grasp.

You grab the forgotten rope at your side before cupping his cheek, bringing him into a tender kiss. Sylus attempted to deepen the kiss, but you smiled and pulled away.

“Spread out baby,” you say to him, unraveling the rope. He rolls his eyes and spreads out, his hands and feet pointing towards their respective corners.

“You know, when I offered up this as a present, I wasn’t expecting…” he trails off, trying to find the right words, “all of this enthusiasm. I thought you enjoyed begging underneath me, begging for my co-”

He was cut off from his bratty tirade by a sharp slap to the inner thigh, causing his hips to buck and the words to die on his tongue.

“I didn’t think I needed to keep that pretty mouth of yours in check,” you say with a bored tone, sighing slightly. You finish up tying the last ankle to the corner of the bed, using a single column tie for his wrists and ankles. As you lean back to acknowledge your handiwork, you can see his arms and legs straining a little, testing out the ropes. Unfortunately for him, the ropes are secure and unless he’s willing to beg, there's no getting out of them now.

You straddle his midriff and he looks up at you with a slight scowl at you tying him down. You cup his cheeks with your hands and kiss him deeply, languidly. You’re able to take your time now and you’re going to savor every second of it. He kisses you back, matching your leisurely pace.

You part the kiss, a string of saliva connecting the two of you. “I have scissors in the left hand drawer,” you mutter, kissing the corner of his mouth. “The safe word is Featherstar. Do I make myself clear?” You look at him sternly, wanting him to take this seriously. He nods his head and attempts to lean forward to kiss you once more. You click your tongue at him, moving away.

“I’m gonna need you to use your words my love,” you tell him in a hushed tone. He pouts at you but nods again, replying with a simple “Yes ma’am, I understand.”

“Thank you sweetie,” you whisper in his ear, causing him to shiver. You start kissing down his neck, leading the middle of his chest. You start sucking and biting different areas on his chest, knowing that the man would start unraveling at the seams. Sure enough, he was humming and groaning at the attention his chest was receiving.

You moved towards his nipple, dragging your tongue across the sensitive bud. You felt it perk up and start to harden as you swirled your tongue around it in small circles.

“Oh sweetie, fuck,” he sighs, his arms straining against the ropes. He lets out an annoyed huff followed by a low pitched groan and you start to suck on the raised bud. You continue sucking and your other hand caresses his side, trailing your fingers upwards until they reach his other nipple. You tweak the unoccupied nipple in between your fingers, pinching and rubbing it in small circles similar to your tongues movements before swapping the two. Your mouth comes and replaces your hand while your other hand comes up to caress his pec.

Sylus moans and twitches underneath you, becoming more and more agitated by his inability to touch you. “Baby, when will you release me? This is getting a bit boring, don’t you think?” He tries his best to keep his voice from wavering with arousal.

You look up at him and bite down on his nipple, causing the man to moan and tip his head back on the bed. You release his nipples and kiss your way to the center of his chest again. “Bargaining isn’t going to work my dear, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to get used to this.”

He tries to calm his breathing as you start caressing his body, your fingers applying feather light pressure to him, goosebumps rising on his skin. You venture lower until you’re sitting back, his cock straining against his stomach in a red color that looks somewhat irritated from the lack of attention.

Your touch delicately brushes against his length, his cock jumping and twitching with every touch. “You’re killin’ me sweetie,” he says, sounding out of breath. You continue the movements, making no effort to apply anymore pressure or stimulation. He whimpers as his dick starts leaking a constant stream of precum, creating a shallow puddle on his stomach.

“You can come just from this can’t you?” You ask, tilting your head to the side. He shakes his head slightly before flinching as your fingers gather some of the precum, teasing the tip. His thighs flex, trying to plant his feet onto the mattress but to no avail. You giggle at his reaction, playing with the slit before leaning forward, licking the shell of his ear.

“Don’t you want to make me proud? It is my birthday after all,” you purr into his ear, his breathing becoming erratic. You could tell he was close, all he needed was some pushing. You took your free hand and grasped his hair.

“Don’t you want to be a good boy, make me proud?” You say, tugging his hair so his head would be pulled back. He made a choked off noise and shut his eyes suddenly, whimpering as he came, hot streaks of cum shooting up towards his chest. You could see the veins in his arms protruding from being restricted. You smiled, cooing in his ear praises of how well he was doing.

Sylus took a few calming breaths before looking at you, his eyes glassy and gaze filled with longing. “Please baby, let me go,” he tries again. You shake your head before getting up, straddling him again. He quirks an eyebrow before you start to undress yourself, shimmying out of your jeans and pulling off your top, only left in a matching underwear set you treated yourself to for your big day. His eyes widened as he gazed upon the maroon lace seemingly painted across your breasts.

His distraction was evident as you started to crawl your way upwards, pussy hovering over his face. Even so, his eyes had not left the lingerie once. It seemed as though he was unaware as to what your next move would be, completely taken aback by your choice of attire to ask any questions. You gripped his hair again to tilt his head backwards so he made eye contact with you.

“Try to keep up,” you stated, using your other hand to push your panties aside. His mouth drops open, saliva beginning to pool in his mouth. Before he can retort, your thighs spread further apart, sitting yourself on his mouth, nose nudging your clit. You moan out as he tongue begins to work you open, lapping up the wetness with a new refound vigor. You started rutting against his mouth, grinding downward so his nose would grind against your clit at an addicting pace.

“Your tongue-” you groan, removing your hands so you could place them behind you, leaning back against his thighs, “God you’re good at this.” You gripped his upper thighs, feeling the firm muscle underneath your hands quivering. You lifted your hips up and away from his mouth for a moment to let him catch his breath. The smug satisfaction pools in the pit of your stomach as you see his chin glisten, mouth open while he takes a brief reprieve.

“You better get your ass back over here sweetie-” he starts, impatience in his voice. You roll your eyes at him once more pushing yourself back into his mouth. “I’m gonna need to punish you for speaking out of turn like that, ya know,” you tell him, grinding down harder and harder as he works you open. You gasp as he starts fucking you open with his tongue, moaning at your taste.

You glance behind you and find not only is he fully erect again, but it seems he’s just as close to release as you. And well, we can’t have that can we?

You could feel yourself getting close, and as rode him harder and faster, you reached for his cock behind you, squeezing just under his head. Sylus whimpers loudly in response, but continues to bring you closer and closer to the edge.

With one last nudge of his nose against your clit, your eyes rolled in the back of your head, body going stiff and you came on his tongue. You could feel him pant against your thigh as he tried to calm himself, hips thrusting upward to try and reach his release as well.

“Love please let me come, please, you tasted so good I wanna come too, please,” he begs, mumbling against the inside of your thigh. You pull back from his mouth as he whimpers in protest. You raise up, letting go of his cock as it falls against his stomach heavily. You take off your bra and panties, looking at him with a devious glint in your eye.

You grab him by the chin so his mouth would open slightly. “Open up,” you ordered and he reluctantly obeyed. You realized he was going to try to come up with a witty retort, but you knew how to satiate him for the time being. You took your panties coated in your wetness and shoved them in his mouth, gagging him. His eyes rolled in the back of his head and moaned loudly.

“Don’t worry Sylus, I just wanted to save your stamina,” you tell him, moving backwards so your cunt was hovering over his cock. He shivered and moaned at the feeling of you grinding down on his dick, heavy with want and radiating with heat. You moved your cunt against him, slicking up his dick. You finally lifted up and grabbed the base of his shaft, circling the head around your entrance. He started breathing heavily through his nose, the pressure from his yanking causing the ropes around him making the bed frame creak.

“Such a patient boy, you’ve been waiting so nicely,” you gasp out as you slowly start to sink down on him. He moans loudly, voice muffled by the panties. You take him inch by inch before sitting fully on him, feeling filled to the brim. All that can be heard are the desperate breaths between the two of you. You place your hands on his abs before raising yourself up, tip almost slipping out. As your hips come down forcefully, you hear a punched out moan escape Sylus, little noises escaping him the more you move, however slight.

You start riding him with new vigor, bouncing up and down on his cock, trying to get him to reach deeper and deeper inside you. His moans are becoming louder and louder, with whimpers escaping him whenever you take a moment to sit and swivel your hips in circular motions. The sounds Sylus begins to make sound more and more frantic, wobbly from desperation.

“It’s ok, cum for me Sylus. Fill me up, I wanna be filled with your cum,” your tone sounding strained and you uncontrollably start moving on his cock, desperate for him. It only takes a few more times bouncing on his cock before you hear a muffled shout, feeling warmth spread through you. You moan out, a high pitched squeal leaving your lips as you cum around his cock, milking him inside of you.

You look over and see his head lolled to the side, saliva dripping out of the side of his mouth around your panties. You lean forward and gently move his face so he looks at you. You cup his cheek and praise him as you gingerly remove the panties from his mouth. He breathes through his mouth deeply, coughing slightly.

You had planned to be done from here, thinking that you've had enough fun, but you can’t help but think of how far you’ll be able to push the infamous leader of Onychinus. A devious part in you wants to break him, while another part of you wants to give him mercy.

You decide to be selfish, still craving more and more from him. You squeeze around his cock and he groans out, mumbling a soft “baby, please”. Before long, you start moving in circles again, and Sylus is below you, pleading with tears in his eyes.

“Oh God, oh fuck, I don’t- I don’t know if I- SHIT!” He yells out, tears escaping from the corner of his eyes, head hitting the bed behind him hard as he tries grasping for something, anything to keep him grounded.

“Miss please, please, I can’t I- I need to touch you please please,” he begs, voice coming out shaky as you start lifting yourself up and down on his cock again. You were getting tired and felt as though his punishment had gone on long enough.

“Just your legs-” before you could continue, Sylus’ evol appears out of thin air, slicing the ropes that are connecting his ankles to the corners of the bed. You startle, stopping for a second before yelping, bracing your hands on his chest as he plants his feet into the bed, roughly thrusting up into you. You moan out harshly, sounds punching out of you with every thrust of his hips.

“You feel so good around me sweetie, so hot…so soft…kiss me,” he babbles. You prop yourself up and surge forward, meeting him in the middle. Your teeth clash and you can feel desperation in the kiss as you both try to ground yourselves with the other.

“Sylus please…please I need more, I need you to mark me, claim me, I’m all yours,” you whimper. His arms flex and his biceps bulge at the urge to grab you, feel your plush skin against his roughened palms. He whimpers at the realization of the restraints, giving you a pleading look that could send you to your knees.

“Touch me Sylus,” you order. Within an instant, his voice evol slashes the ropes and he’s grabbing you, taking you by the hips and physically lifting you up and down his cock. You scream out in pleasure as you can feel your release approaching swiftly. You can tell by his sloppy movements and frenzied expression that he’s close as well.

You begin to chant his name over and over, having the words be punched out of you by his thrusts. You feel him hitting you deeper and deeper, fucking his cum back into you over and over again. You grasp the back of his neck and pull him to you, kissing him sloppily.

As he returns the kiss to you, you break away slightly with a silent scream, hurdling over the edge and feeling nothing but a white static. Your body feels euphoric and, at the sight of your pleasure, Sylus gasps and thrusts up into you with one sharp movement, cumming hard to the point where it bordered on painful. After coming down from your highs, You languidly grab one of the random pieces of clothing you had discarded before to wipe off his chest.

Before you could get up to get some more cleaning supplies, Sylus holds you captive in his arms as he slowly leans back onto the bed, cradling your head and bringing you to his chest. As your breaths slow and the drowsiness starts to appear, you look up at Sylus.

“Thank you Sylus,” You whisper to him, kissing the center of his chest. He clutches you harder, kissing the top of your head. “I had no idea my love could be so…domineering,” he chuckled as you blushed, hiding your face into his chest. He laughed once more before kissing your head again.

“I don’t mind it though. We can play around a bit more in the future but,” he stops, contemplating for a moment. You look up at him with hope and mischief in your eyes. He sighs and holds you tighter, mumbling “maybe for special occasions only though. Don’t want my kitten to get too greedy with her toys now.”

You laugh and hug him closer to you, craving the intimacy of just being close to him. He tugs you upwards and burrows his head into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath in before he confides, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go.”

You giggle a little at his words and kiss his shoulder, “I don’t think I mind that. Not at all.”

_____

Author's Note: HOPE YOU ENJOYED!! If you'd like to see any other stories or continuations of this let me know, I'd be happy to write some more.

729 notes · View notes