#writing flow

[hrizantemy]

Do you have any writing tips to share? I really love your sentence structures and greatly admire you as a writer

oh my god—thank you so much, angel?? that means the world to me, truly. i’m gonna treasure that in my lil writer heart forever.

and YES absolutely, here are some writing tips that have helped me so much:

1. vary your sentence lengths for rhythm.

short sentences hit. longer ones, especially when they spiral through thought or emotion, build momentum. mixing them creates a natural cadence that keeps your reader engaged and makes the emotions feel real and lived-in.

2. repetition = power.

repeating a word or phrase on purpose can emphasize urgency, grief, desire—whatever you need. (“she said no. no. no.” vs “she refused.”) don’t be afraid to break technical rules if it makes the moment land harder.

3. write like you’re confessing something.

the best writing feels intimate. sometimes i ask myself: what would this character never say out loud—but think when they’re alone? that’s where the magic is.

4. let the emotional beats breathe.

sometimes what you don’t say hits harder. instead of “she cried for hours,” try: “the floor was cold beneath her knees. still, she didn’t move.”

5. use contrasts to create impact.

“she was smiling when she said it. but her hands were shaking.” those emotional contradictions?? that’s gold.

6. your voice matters more than perfect grammar.

if it feels good when you read it aloud, it is good. rules are helpful, but style is what makes people remember you.

and most importantly:

7. don’t edit while you write.

you wouldn’t tell someone to fix their house while they’re still building it. write messy. write ugly. you can make it pretty later.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Tips: Writing Flow

Good writing flow makes for an effortless reading experience and is essential to the quality of academic and creative writing. The best writers pay close attention to flow throughout their writing process.

Writing flow - the pace, cadence, or rhythm of a piece of writing.

Good writing flow allows a reader to ease into the text without expending much mental energy—it has a natural feel that makes reading a breeze.

Texts without good flow feel choppy and lack cohesion.

The best way to establish good writing flow is to focus on word choice, varied sentence structure, and ensure solid coherence between your main points.

Good writing flow results from care and attention at both the sentence and paragraph levels. Consider these tips to improve the flow of a piece of writing:

Ensure that paragraphs have a clear organizational structure. Solid paragraph structure is crucial in academic writing. The first sentence of every body paragraph should begin with a topic sentence that tells the reader the paragraph's main point. Specific examples should then support the topic sentence. If necessary, end the paragraph with a transition sentence leading to the proceeding paragraph.

Link sentences with pronouns. Clear pronoun references can create cohesion in your writing. Pronouns like “he,” “she,” “it,” and “they” refer to previously mentioned nouns (aka antecedents). For example, “The writing center provides helpful tools for first-time writers. It can also help experienced writers overcome writer’s block.” In this case, the pronoun “it” helps these two sentences flow together.

Use transition words. Transition words—known as “signposts”—create a coherent train of thought by signaling to the reader that the next sentence is in some way related to the previous sentence. Some common signposts include “for example,“ “furthermore,” “therefore,” “however,” and “as a result.” Make sure that not every sentence begins with the same transition word. For example, if you start one sentence with “therefore,” use another word when starting the following sentences.

Use varied sentence lengths. A combination of short and long sentences gives a piece of writing rhythm. In fiction writing, short sentences create forward movement. In academic writing, varied sentence lengths improve the flow of information by making the text easy to digest.

Use varied sentence structures. Break up the monotony of a text by using different types of sentence structures. Good sentence flow makes use of simple, compound, and complex sentences. Simple sentences have a single independent clause: “I chopped the carrots.“ Compound sentences have two or more independent clauses: “I chopped the carrots, and Karen peeled the potatoes.“ Complex sentence structures have a single independent clause and one or more dependent clauses: “I added the vegetables to the pot after the water came to a boil.”

Source ⚜ Pacing ⚜ Avoiding Word Repetition ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[enchantingepics]

Story Prompt 22

In the dimly lit city of Veridion, where neon signs flicker and cast a surreal glow on the rain-soaked streets, a mysterious figure wandered through the alleyways. The air was thick with the scent of distant memories and secrets. This character, wrapped in a cloak of shadows, felt an unusual hollowness in their throat—an emptiness that transcended mere physical hunger.

The figure moved with purpose, guided by an invisible force, weaving through the bustling crowds oblivious to their silent presence. The emptiness in their throat wasn't a result of a lack of food or water, but a deeper yearning, a hunger for something intangible.

As they continued their journey, the neon lights seemed to pulsate in sync with the rhythm of their solitude. The story of Veridion unfolded in glimpses—of forgotten dreams, unfulfilled aspirations, and the echoes of laughter that once resonated through its forgotten corners.

In the heart of the city, the figure found an abandoned bookstore, its weathered sign barely visible through the mist. They entered the dimly lit space, the musty scent of old books enveloping them like a familiar embrace. The shelves were filled with volumes chronicling the tales of Veridion, each page holding the weight of countless untold stories.

The figure reached for a dusty tome, its pages whispering forgotten narratives. As they delved into the words, the hollowness in their throat began to shift. It was as if the stories breathed life into their very being, filling the void with the essence of other lives, other worlds.

[shinekocreator]

The unthinkable happened: I'm having a creative flow. No writing block.

[anna-pineappel]

Writing really goes one of two ways:

1. Write 3k words in 30 minutes

2. Takes 3 hours to write 3 sentences

There is no in between

[hinamie]

unconditionally

[keyboard-squared]

Unconventional Approaches to Overcoming Writer's Block (That Actually Work!)

Struggling with writer's block? Want to have a game plan ready for the next time the words just won't come? These unconventional methods have been proven to work time and time again!

We all face it at one point or another.  If you’re a seasoned writer, chances are you’ve come face-to-face with writer’s block many times already. If you’re new to the writing game, you might be dreading this monster you’ve heard so much about. Writer’s block is the most common obstacle writers face, after all. Not only does it bring frustration for you, the writer, but it can have even bigger…

[writerpolls]

*In writing terms, an architect is someone who plots out, plans, and outlines things before drafting. A gardener is someone who takes an initial idea and then just writes, seeing how the idea grows without specific plans.

Some people use the terms “plotter” and “pantser” (as in, going by the seat of their pants) for these writing styles, but I prefer architect and gardener.

[rynli]

every binary man does this

part 1 part 2

[starscream-is-my-wife]

This is part 1 of a continuation for my other post where LL Megatron gets trapped in the G1 universe, I was thinking about how someone would go insane in this cartoon world and thought "what if Megatron had someone else to accompany him" so, I gave Starscream an existential crisis

Edit: pt 2 here

[andejoe]

No one wanted to ask. Someone had to. It was terrifying. But it made sense.

Of course humanity finally abandoned its planet. Everyone was surprised they hadn’t abandoned it sooner. Still, the concern was there.

What made humanity abandon their planet in a mass event? What thing was finally found to scare them off their favorite death world?

Of course not every last human abandoned the planet, but enough did that Earth was no longer considered ‘inhabited’. Humans flocked to other worlds, most choosing death worlds with similar biomes to the ones they preferred. (And there was a suspiciously armored ship heading towards Disney planet.)

The concerning thing was the humans kept going back. Never landing. Never breaking the atmosphere. Just driving by.

Finally, a delegate was chosen to ask the human council member. Poor Laeri was nervous, but they had been called friend by council member Daryl before. Surely this question wouldn’t be an offense.

“Daryl, may I speak with you a moment?”

Daryl paused, and nodded, careful not to smile. He was well practiced in the art of not offending. “Of course Laeri. What is the matter?”

“Humanity has recently applied for habitation permits for a dozen planets. As soon as the permits were awarded, humans left very quickly.”

“Well sure. The permits took three earth years to be approved. Most of the planet had been preparing for over five years at that point,” Daryl explained.

“Yes, that is not my question. The question is why?”

“Why were they ready?”

Laeri shook their head. “Why did they leave Earth? Humans have made it a point to ‘stick it out’ despite better options being available. Why leave now?”

“Oh, that. Well.” Daryl paused. He knew he didn’t have to report officially yet, but his friend wanted to know. “Will you keep it a secret from the council?”

Laeri paused. The answer being a secret did not occur to them. What could the humans possibly be hiding? Would they be able to hide it as well?

“I do not think I can keep any dangerous thing a secret,” Laeri finally admitted.

Daryl nodded. “Nor would I ask you to. It’s not dangerous, just a little experiment more like.”

“If it is an experiment, then you should speak with-“

“No Laeri.” Daryl interrupted calmly. “This isn’t something we want help with. That’s why we haven’t mentioned anything to the Viyon Academics. We just need time to see if it works.”

Their curiosity finally got the better of them.

“If what works?”

“A new society. A new civilized species.”

Laeri didn’t speak, but either from awe or concern, they weren’t sure. Daryl continued.

“We believe a species evolves when they start to take care of their injured and impaired. It means they have compassion. Well an intelligent species on earth has been observed showing compassion. We simply want to give them the space they require to evolve.”

Laeri considered the intelligent species that lived on earth. They were suddenly very concerned. Had the humans been duped?

“The dolphi are showing compassion?” Laeri asked.

Daryl almost laughed. “Not even close. No, we wouldn’t break the agreement we made. They’re not escaping earth anytime soon.”

Laeri felt immediate relief. “Then which species is it?”

Daryl smiled. He couldn’t help it. He liked birds. “Corvids.”

“But, but they’re so small.”

“We know. That’s why some humans are still there, zoologist types to help them grow, learn, and show them the way.”

“What if another species wipes them out before they get the chance?”

Daryl shrugged. “Well that’s why we left some warriors behind, to help keep the corvids alive while they grow. And of course to keep the dolphins contained. We do take that assignment very seriously.”

Laeri was excited now. Another avian species may be joining the galaxy soon. They wanted to tell everyone.

“Promise you’ll keep the secret?” Daryl asked.

Laeri felt their excitement dash upon the cruel rocks of reality. “I will.”

“Good. Here.” Daryl held out a small computer drive.

Laeri took the drive. “What is this?”

“The live feed of the experiment. You really think we wouldn’t watch? As soon as they reach civilized status, I have to report them. Until then, they’ve been completing some very complex puzzles and problem solving lately. You’ll want to start at the beginning but they post new information all the time.”

Laeri clutched the drive to their feathered tunic. Suddenly the small drive was priceless. “I, must go now.”

Laeri took off as fast as would be ignored by others. Daryl watched his friend, surprised by how excited they were. His watch gave him an alert.

“Ooh, a group puzzle. Wonder if they managed it this time.”

Daryl walked off to his own private quarters to watch the newest update on the corvids.

[xoxojisu]

STILL HOLDING YOU!

synopsis: you've been scared of storms since you were a kid but katsuki's always got you.

notes: self-indulgent bc theres a big storm rn and i have headphones on under the blanket and NO KATSUKI </3

the thunder starts slow, like it’s creeping up on you.

you try to ignore it. try to tell yourself it’s fine, that you’re not a kid anymore, that it’s just noise.

but it doesn’t stop.

the rain gets harder, the lightning flashes closer, and the thunder starts snapping instead of rumbling, each crack feels like it’s aimed straight at your chest. like the world's yelling at you. it's angry, and it's all your fault.

you pull your blanket tighter around your shoulders to try to quell the anxiety pooling inside your heart and stomach.

it doesn’t help.

when the next thunderclap hits, sharp and sudden, your body flinches without meaning to. your breath stutters. your fingers curl too tight around the blanket.

you don’t realize you’re crying until your phone lights up with a message.

from kats!: you in ur room?

you blink through blurry eyes and text back a shaky yeah.

less than a minute later, there’s a knock.

then the door opens and he’s there, hoodie half-zipped, eyes scanning your face like he already knows. because he does. because ever since you were kids, when he first found out that thunder frightened you, he promised himself that he'd be there for you.

he shuts the door behind him.

“shit,” he breathes when he sees your hands shaking. “c’mere.”

you don’t even try to pretend. you just crawl into his arms.

he doesn’t tease you. doesn’t say a word about the tears or the fact that you’re curled in his lap like a little kid. he just pulls the blanket tighter around both of you and wraps his arms around your back.

you bury your face in his hoodie.

his heartbeat’s steady. slow. it comforts you to some degree.

when the next thunderclap hits, you flinch, but his arms are solid around you.

“breathe,” he says quietly. “'m right here. i got you.”

you nod against his chest.

“feels like everything’s mad at me,” you whisper, and it sounds stupid as soon as it leaves your mouth, but he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t brush it off.

he tucks his chin on top of your head.

“it’s not,” he says uncharacteristically soft. “’s just sound. just clouds bein’ dramatic.”

you let out a shaky breath.

“i’ll blow ‘em up if they keep messin’ with you.”

you laugh. it’s tiny and wet, but it’s real.

“still?” you murmur.

“always,” he says.

you remember when you were six or seven. small hands, warm blanket, his grumpy little voice saying i got you like it was a promise. like it was truth.

and now, years later, it still is.

the thunder rages.

but katsuki doesn’t move.

he holds you through every crash, every sharp crack, every boom that makes your skin crawl. his fingers rub soft circles into your back. his voice stays low, grounding, always there.

“you’re okay.”

“you’re safe.”

“i’m right here.”

and the storm keeps screaming,

but you stop shaking.

masterlist

[justsalpals]

And in this moment I became obsessed with G13

what if I was a shitty little oily hacker guy, looking out only for myself. what if I had a small ring of like minded cyber criminals, maybe my friends, maybe willing to stab me in the back at a moments notice, maybe that's what friendship means to us. what if I worked for the feds and the criminals and above all for myself.

what if a world of explosions fell flat with static. what if chosen family spat the same predictable lines. what if I was a hacker, and the world was code. what if.

what if a little old woman fell right into my brain, sweet and useless and real. real real real.

and if I reached out -let the code of my mind fill in her blank spaces- and tasted what it meant to be real.

[somnimagus]

My page for @sheikahzine; about Impaz's duty to her village, empty of people and full of memories.

[id in alt text]

[baejax-the-great]

One of the things missing in Veilguard is any sort of meaningful power struggle. By keeping to the poorer parts of the city-settings, we don't really deal with corrupt or powerful nobles. By defanging the Crows, an organization who famously has lethal squabbles between factions, they turned them into some weird, benevolent family organization. Even the assassin trying to make "evil" power plays doesn't actually manage to kill any of his targets, and his ruthless relatives? Also don't kill him in revenge. In the end, the status quo is maintained. Nothing has changed.

In Tevinter, we have the Threads, an organized crime unit who we know runs "protection" rackets on the locals and is involved in some kind of smuggling (it's Tevinter--so presumably this would involve slavery and dangerous artifacts, but it's Veilguard, so I guess not). Instead of them beefing with the Shadow Dragons, who presumably ruin some of their deals with their pesky "freeing the slaves" thing, and instead of their main issue being with any sort of law enforcement, something which doesn't exist in Veilguard beyond one singular templar who does all of jack shit the entire game, their main power struggle is with the Venatori, who are evil just to be evil.

And instead of the Veilguard siding with law enforcement or the threads and enlisting their help to, idk, unseat the corrupt head of the templars or otherwise deal with the venatori shit, the threads are highly favored by the storyline, and in the end the only real choice is to make Neve a thread or to make her... idk, the same Neve? The game calls her an "inspiration", but it's not like she's part of any organization, so we can't call her a figurehead. It's just like, see that random citizen right there? She rules. And I don't really see how that increases the power of the rule of law, because even if one good person is working within rule of law to get things done, she's not part of the system, and everyone already know the system is corrupt in Minrathous. Random citizens in fucking Ferelden know the system is corrupt in Minrathous, or they would if they weren't all dead. Neve is now just playing on hard mode to appear righteous, which, good for her, but I'm sorry, won't inspire all that many people who are still paying "protection" money to the local mafia.

(Putting Neve in charge of the Threads is an absolutely whackadoodle decision by the devs that I don't even know how to respond to. She has a single Thread contact. Presumably the Threads have a hierarchy. She has never demonstrated interest in being a smuggler. Being a detective really has no overlap with being a crime boss. Telling a group of criminals that they are all detective's helpers now is sure to go over like a lead balloon. What the fuck was that. Why did that happen.)

Maevaris and Dorian arguing came out of nowhere and lasted a fairly long time, which was interesting, but after the most recent election in the states, Maevaris's position sounds unbearably naive and trite, and this hardly counts as a power struggle as they both say they will support the other depending on what some random outsider thinks should happen. (That is soooo not a basis for a system of government. Why would Maevaris OR Dorian cede their power to Rook, someone they don't know and who doesn't matter)

The power struggle within the Wardens is also very stupid and easily solved. The First Warden is a moron. He dies (kind of). For some reason the extremely hot and competent couple who we first encounter in the middle of nowhere are next in command, so, phew. Problem solved there. A question of what the Wardens will do now that the Blights are over would have been interesting. Do they keep recruiting lest the Blight somehow reoccur and nobody remembers the Warden secrets? Or do they disband? Do they set themselves to seeking a cure and nothing else?

The closest you get to that is deciding what the griffons will do, which, again, why the fuck is Rook deciding that, but also there are 13 of them, in two or three more generations they will be dead unless a lot of mages bone up on genetics real fast.

Who is left? We have Rivain, which is just pointless in this game. I played as a Lord of Fortune, but you could drop that faction and not a single thing changes in the game. Pirates who don't loot valuable artifacts because they are elvhen? Give me a fucking break.

Same for the Mourn Watch. There is pretty much nothing going on in that region. You could excise it from the game and nothing changes in the slightest. There is not a single excuse for them not using the Eluvians to help the Veilguard earlier in the game, given just how little they have going on.

The Veiljumpers are just missed opportunities all over the place. They could have had factions debating whether to join the god of vengeance in fucking up the human civilizations as payback for, you know, everything. They could have had people joining Cyrion in thinking that a Forgotten One might be the best way to face down the gods, given they'd done it before. There could have been a HUGE cultural impact on "what do we do now that we know our gods are evil fuckfaces--what do we keep and what do we throw away," but Veilguard ain't that deep. They could have had knowledge of a super-weapon or some elvhen bullshit that would help the Veilguard fight the gods... but nah.

In DAO, your decisions not only affected the political futures of the various regions, but they decided who would help you and how. Did the dwarves have golems? Did you have templars or mages? That whole wolf thing with the Dalish that I no longer remember that well? And the Dalish deciding to help changed how they were viewed in Ferelden. The mages helping you meant the monarch would treat them favorably. It fucking mattered.

In Veilguard, the only situation remotely close to that is the dragon decision at the beginning, which was one of the fucking dumbest plot points in a video game I have ever played. It was the first thing that made me set my controller down and go... what? What the fuck? The idea that Rook, a nobody, is the only person singularly capable of driving back a dragon in the entire north is laughable. What the fuck was Dorian up to that day? How is Rook more capable than every single Crow? How is it the two companions you sent to the other city were absolutely useless? If Lucanis/Neve + two companions were unable to drive a dragon away, what makes them think Rook would be the deciding factor? What makes them blame Rook when they themselves couldn't fucking do it? Neve in particular was a big part of fucking up that ritual and releasing the gods, so why is Rook taking all the fire for this?

AND WHY IS THEIR RESPONSE TO A BLIGHT TO FIND A SINGLE DRAGON HUNTER? HEY DIPSHITS, THE DRAGON IS HUNTING YOU. YOU DON'T NEED TO WORRY ABOUT THAT PART. YOU NEED AN ARMY.

But Treviso or Minrathous being spared doesn't change the global political situation at all. It would have been really interesting if it did. Tevinter hobbled? How many kingdoms would be salivating to take a bite out of their territory? With the trade princes of Antiva being absolutely fucked over by the Blight, who is taking over that trade? Who is getting rich?

Nobody, I guess, because why would Rook know or care about that, because, as previously mentioned, they are a nobody who doesn't matter and honestly shouldn't be listened to.

The stakes in this game are nothing because the bad guys are all so obviously bad that you know, as a video game player, that you are going to defeat them. Oh, the Antaam are just mindless, faceless brutes fucking up Treviso? Okay, let's kill them. Venatori again? I'm pretty sure they aren't the heroes of this game. There's no power struggle, and in the end all we've done is revert to the status quo, (except i guess Treviso is no longer occupied).

Except for the south. The south is dead. but we didn't have anything to do with that for some reason. Couldn't even be bothered to house some refugees in our safehouse that was built specifically to house refugees. The Inquisitor, who has access to the eluvians, couldn't figure out how to get other people through them or something so... sorry, every single Orlesian, Fereldan, and Marcher.

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ small town johnny 'soap' mactavish

cw : smut, johnny wears rings and necklaces, chubby reader but that usual, pan johnny but that also his usual

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  collection

those stupid fucking rings.

it drove you mad to see them all the time. they had appeared out of nowhere and never left. it was hard enough to concentrate when he was around, but this was the last straw.

you didn't remember when johnny had started to become a constant in your life; it was a small town, after all. word had spread that a handsome scottish soldier had settled down for good. it wasn’t a cliché—small countryside towns truly loved to gossip.

"heard he got shot in the head," you overheard two old ladies gossiping one day.

the other only chuckled, shaking her head. "if that were true, he’d be dead."

truth was, he had been shot in the head—just lucky enough for it to miss anything vital. he bore a nasty-looking scar on the left side of his scalp, a relic of the past he wore like a badge of honor. it got him plenty of attention, and the bastard basked in it.

old ladies loved his accent as well. everything about him was adored by the old folks of the town. well, not just the old ones. young women, and men, fawned over him just as much. something new happening in a small village like this was always a big deal.

it was also undeniable that he was truly handsome. and genuinely nice. he helped around a lot, taking every small job that popped up. a roof needing fixing? he showed up with his tools the next day. a construction site needing another set of hands to finish on time? he was waiting at the gate, a coffee in hand, the following morning.

he never complained, a smile always on his lips.

and as the proud owner of the only coffee shop in town, you saw him almost every morning since he set foot here.

at first, he was just another nice face you'd see every day. truth was, your job was a bit boring. you saw the same people every day, ordering the exact same things, never wavering from their usual.

and then johnny became special. he had been dead set on tasting everything you had to offer. every day was a new coffee order and a new pastry until he had tried them all. sometimes, he'd even stop by to try your sandwiches for lunch. before long, you started slipping free little sweets into his orders—he was your number one fan, after all, always eager to try the new batches. even the messed-up ones.

you paid it no mind. sure, he was attractive, but you were convinced you weren’t his type. even if he flirted with you every chance he got, you figured that was just who he was—a flirt.

oh, how he hated how oblivious you were.

so, he came in one morning with rings on his fingers. that had hardwired your brain. you still didn't how it was possible to lost all your composure like this, but it had been embarrassing. the way they just sat on his fingers just right had made it hard for you to focus on anything else.

you had stuttered, lost your train of thought entirely, your words fumbling out of your mouth like a damn fool. your eyes couldn’t focus on anything but his hands, tracing over the silver bands like they held some kind of forbidden power over you. it had been pathetic.

but god, did johnny enjoy it.

the way your breath hitched, the way your fingers fumbled with the register, the way your gaze kept flickering back to his hands like they were some kind of sin you weren’t supposed to be looking at. he noticed every little thing, and it fed his ego like nothing else.

he loved the way red dusted your cheeks and neck. he exaggerated every movement, gesturing more than usual, just to keep your eyes locked on his hands. every time you caught yourself staring and quickly looked away, he had to fight back a smirk.

even if he wanted to take credit, he couldn't. back when he was scheming ways to make you notice him, he remembered something some drunk lad had slurred at him in a pub.

"ya got real pretty hands, man," the guy slurred, words tumbling out of his mouth. "should—should decorate 'em, y'know? few rings here 'n there... they'd make... the perfect necklace."

that had been one of the best compliments, and johnny had made sure to thank the guy by fucking him so sweetly. it had been a really good night.

he hadn’t expect it to go this well.

that had been a couple of weeks ago, and even now, you still had trouble tearing your eyes away from his hands—especially as he tasted the new recipe you had made that morning.

it was fairly early, the world still buried in the quiet of the morning. but you knew johnny was an early bird—always the first customer of the day. he would linger, sipping his coffee, chatting, killing time until it was time for him to get on with his day. you usually didn't mind. but right now, you just wished he would leave.

the sight was unholy.

sugar clung to his fingers, and he moaned as he brought them to his lips, tasting the pastry for the first time. it was still warm, the flavors bursting on his tongue. he swore you had to be a witch—everything you made was downright sinful.

that was enough to send heat rushing to your face, a strange, unwelcome sensation pooling between your legs. but just as if he could see straight into the wicked fantasies echoing in your mind, he licked his fingers—slow, deliberate—his eyes never leaving yours.

and as if nothing had happened, he left to start his day, while you were left hot and bothered, the feeling lingering far longer than you'd like to admit.

that night, lying in your bed, your hand might have drifted past the waistband of your panties, thoughts of him flooding your mind. it felt good—too good—but it did nothing to satisfy the ache buried deep inside you.

here and there, you decided two could play this game.

when he arrived the next day, johnny stopped dead in his tracks. here you were, looking prettier than ever. don't get him wrong, you were always pretty, but this was a sight heaven worth.

you were wearing a pretty floral blouse, just a size too small. it hugged your curves in all the right ways, pressing against your chest, making it seem like your breasts might spill out at any moment. the fabric clung to the soft swell of your stomach, and johnny felt the blood rush straight to his cock at the mere sight of you.

his semi-hard cock turned fully stiff the moment he noticed the skirt hugging your hips just right, giving him a perfect view of your exposed thighs.

it didn't help that you were perched over the counter, wiping it down. johnny felt like icarus, flying too close to the sun. but if this was the price for burning his wings, he'd do it again without hesitation.

looking up, you gave him that soft smile, the same one you greeted him with every morning. but johnny was too preoccupied with making sure you didn’t notice the growing bulge in his trousers to catch the mischievous glint in your eyes.

he left as quickly as he had arrived, mumbling something about an emergency. technically, he wasn’t lying. the moment he got home, he fisted his cock with a desperate urgency, replaying the sight of you over and over in his mind until he was utterly spent.

he had felt filthy after it, like he’d done something wrong. yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop picturing you—naked, beneath him, moaning his name so sweetly. he was done for. completely gone.

he had to make a move, and soon. before he lost his damn mind.

that was how you’d found yourself sitting across from him in the only restaurant in town. it wasn’t anything fancy—more family-friendly than romantic—but it was enough.

he had rushed in that morning, eyes locked on yours with a determination that left no room for argument. he didn’t ask; he told you. he was taking you out tonight. no hesitation. no chance to say no.

it had been the first time he’d walked into your shop and left without buying anything.

it had been a lovely meal, your eyes grazing over his hands here and there. it almost seemed like he had more rings on than before.

he talked—a lot. he told you everything. about his childhood, scotland, the army, his friends, his task force, the accident. every little detail, like he wanted you to know him, truly know him.

and once you started sharing, he listened—really listened. he soaked up every detail you trusted him with, tucking them away like they were precious. how your mother had been hard on you growing up, how college had drained you until you finally dropped out and settled here, how you had met the kind old man who owned the coffee shop before you.

every little piece of your story, he kept close, unwilling to let any of it slip away.

this date—because johnny insisted it was one—felt different. you could see it in his eyes: real interest. it wasn’t like the other dates you’d been on recently, the ones where the only goal had been a warm body for the night.

you weren’t naive; you knew johnny wanted you. but for the first time in a long time, you were sure he didn’t just want to fuck you.

so when he kissed you on your doorstep, you let him.

raw passion—that’s what it was. johnny was nasty with it, all tongue and needy groans, like a starving man finally getting his first taste. like a dog that had waited long enough. it was perfect.

you had spent night after night imagining how he would be, and, of course, he shattered every last trace of your imagination—effortlessly.

the sheer force of him had turned you on instantly. he had lifted you into his arms like you weighed nothing, carrying you to the bed before tossing you onto it with ease. he looked like a savage warrior claiming his prize after a long, ruthless hunt.

as he pulled his shirt over his head and joined you on the bed, your eyes zeroed in on his neck. two necklaces swung with his movements, the soft clinking of metal filling the space between you. dog tags and a small cross—tokens of his past, his faith.

his fucking jewelry.

the sound that left you was somewhere between a moan and a whine, your thighs pressing together instinctively.

"love the jewelry, bonnie?" johnny mocked, his smirk sharp, teasing—knowing.

he was on you a second later, kissing you again, deep and hungry. the cold of his dangling chains met your cleavage, sending a shiver down your spine. you never knew something so small could turn you on, but then again, you’d never been this bothered before.

it felt rushed, your clothes disappearing quickly along with his, both lost somewhere on your bedroom floor as you explored each other with eager hands and hungry mouths.

"please, bonnie, i need ye," johnny whined when your hand wrapped around his hard cock.

you hadn't even done much, just gripped him a little, and he was already falling apart, whining so sweetly in your ear. how you ever thought this man wasn’t interesting was beyond you.

"please, baby, let me put it in," he begged again, his accent was thicker than ever, sending a shock straight between your legs. you swore you could come just from the sound of his voice alone.

his fingers sliding through your slick folds, feeling just how ready you were for him. "promise i'll tak' ma time wi ye later, but right now... please, i need ye."

it was pathetic, but you were no better.

entering you felt like knocking on heaven's door. johnny swore he died right then and there, only to come back to life in your warmth. nothing had ever felt like this before.

all the softness your body had to offer contrasted against his solid one, making it the perfect mix. his hands kept roaming over your legs, feeling your thighs, your hips, your stomach rolls—god, everything about you was just soft. he had to stop his movements for a second, scared of ruining it by coming too soon—like a damn teenager.

you had whined at his impromptu stop, and he had apologized with a hard thrust and a sweet kiss on your neck. as his movements picked up, your brain shut down—everything else faded away. all you could do was feel him. the heat of his stomach pressed against yours, the way his thighs slapped against you, the deep grunts and breathless praises spilling from his lips.

it was all too much, yet somehow, not enough.

in your hazy state, you grabbed his left hand—the one adorned with more rings—guiding it up until it rested against your neck. your own fingers wrapped around his, applying pressure, silently passing him the message.

johnny groaned at the silent request, his breath hitching as he tightened his grip just enough to make your eyes flutter.

"fuck, bonnie," he rasped, his thumb grazing your pulse, feeling how wildly it beat for him.

the sight of you beneath him, desperate for more, for him, sent a shiver down his spine. he squeezed a little harder, watching your lips part in a silent moan, your body arching into his like you couldn’t get close enough.

it had been the last straw for you—your body arched as a shattering orgasm ripped through you. the heat and tightness of you sent johnny over the edge, his own release crashing into him. his body gave out, and he collapsed, crushing you beneath him.

you moaned at the feeling, your cunt squeezing him still buried deep inside you. he groaned in response, his hands gripping your hips with a mix of possessiveness and tenderness. he never wanted to let you go.

and god, the fucker had been right. his hands were the perfect necklace.

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