Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prompt list for short prompt stories

Please comment couples or friendships or duo in general crossovers can be included with a prompt below
1. Getting lost somewhere
2. Pet names
3. Patching each other up
4. Hospital visit
5. Making fun of each other
6. Sleeping in
7. Drawing each other
8. Teaching each other how to do something
9. One of them is sick
10. Shopping together
11. Buying flowers
12. Dealing with children
13. Monopoly (Can be 2 or 3 couples)
14. Falling asleep on a couch
15. Having a mental breakdown after watching the other die
16. Singing old songs badly to cheer the other up
17. Comparing each other to art at a gallery
18. Choking and completely unnecessary mouth to mouth
19. Giggling at each other
20. Puppies
21. Watching old movies
22. Throwing each other into a swimming pool
23. Couple co-ordinated Halloween costume
24. Star-gazing
25. Someone has a headache
26. Aggressively cuddling
27. (Soulmate AU) tattoo of first words said
28. (Soulmate AU) seeing color for the first time when you touch
29. "Don't go where I can't follow."
30. "I know it's three in the morning, but I can't find my cat

31. Exercising
32. Night in a hotel
33. Watching the clouds
34. Walking in the rain
35. Climbing trees
36. Visiting a grave
37. Surviving a mob hit/attempted murder
38. Mistletoe
39. Snowball fight/building a snowman
40. Against a wall (smut)
41. On the floor (smut)
42. Shower/tub (can be smut or noy)
43. Kitchen sex (smut)
44. In a changing room (smut)
45. One of them is missing
46. Pregnancy announcement
47. Unexpected twins
48. Pretending to be a couple but falling in love
49. College dorm mate
50. College professor and student
51. Packing for camping/vacation (specify)
52. Setting up a camp site
53. A hike
54. Campfire fluff or smut (specify)
55. Proposal
56. Wedding (prep or ceremony)
57. Argument
58. Making up or forgiveness
59. Kitten(s)
60. Too much stress
61. Living room smut
62. First kiss
63. Love confession
64. Affair
65. First meet
66. Meeting while Undercover
67. Drunken hookup
68. Doing business with each other
69. Protecting each other
70. Reunions
71. Hate smut
72. Limo smut
73. Car smut
74. Coat closet smut
75. Comforting
76. Related/ twins
77. Letters
78. Cabin smut
79. One bed
80. Bickering
81. Camping smut
82. Kidnapping
83. Trapped together in place of writers choice
84. Cuddling
85. Sleepy love confession
86. Drunken marriage
87. Eloping
88. Crying in an elevator
89. Breakdown after losing a loved one
90. Giving advice
91. Getting advice
92. Meeting the family
93. Dancing at a club
94. Cyo
95. Public bathroom smut
96. Public smut
97. Club smut
98. Workplace romance
99. Hidden romance
100. Dress shopping
101. Roommates
102. Goodbyes
103. Roleplay
104. Talking about sex
105. Hallucinating the other
106. Sports
107. Sex toys
108. Sharing drinks
109. Secret kid
110. Conjuical visit( smut)
111. Dying in each others arms
112. Arrested
113 hangovers
114 platonic soulmates
115 wedding night smut
116. Tattoos
117.phone calls
118 confrontation
119 future together
120 working undercover as a couple
121 talking in eachothers dreams
122 coping with the death of a loved one
123. Love triangle

Chapter Text

Tara adjusted her ballet shoes, her gaze fixed on the mirrored wall. The Academy’s dance studio hummed with anticipation—the air thick with dreams and determination. She’d admired Ethan Karamakov from afar, the Golden Boy with effortless grace. But now, they stood side by side, about to embark on an unusual lesson.

Ethan cleared his throat. “So, Tara, what’s the plan?”

She hesitated. “Well, I thought we could teach each other something. You know, broaden our horizons.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Broaden our horizons? Sounds intriguing.”

Tara took a deep breath. “I’ll teach you contemporary dance—expressive, raw, and free-flowing. And in return, you’ll teach me your secret weapon—the art of partnering.”

Ethan chuckled. “You think partnering is a secret weapon?”

“It’s like a dance within a dance,” Tara insisted. “The trust, the connection—it’s magical.”

He studied her, those piercing blue eyes assessing. “Fine. But no lifts. I’ve seen enough injuries.”

Tara grinned. “Deal.”

And so, they began. Tara moved to the center of the studio, her body swaying to an invisible rhythm. She showed Ethan the fluidity of contemporary—the way emotions spilled into movement. He watched, intrigued, as she leaped, twisted, and surrendered to vulnerability.

“Feel it,” Tara urged. “Let go of technique. Let your heart lead.”

Ethan hesitated, then joined her. His lines were precise, his form impeccable. But something was missing—the rawness, the fire. Tara stepped closer, guiding him through a series of lifts and falls. His hand found her waist, and suddenly, they were a duet—a collision of worlds.

“Trust me,” Tara whispered. “I won’t let you fall.”

Ethan’s grip tightened. “I’ve never partnered like this.”

“Close your eyes,” she said. “Feel the weight shift. It’s not about strength; it’s about balance.”

He obeyed, and they moved—a delicate waltz of vulnerability. Tara surrendered to gravity, trusting Ethan to catch her. His arms held her, solid and unwavering. For a moment, they were weightless—a dance suspended in time.

“Now,” Ethan said, “my turn.”

He led her to the barre, positioning her hands. “Partnering is about precision. Trust, yes, but also physics.”

Tara frowned. “Physics?”

He chuckled. “Angles matter. Lift from your core. And don’t forget—you’re not just dancing for yourself; you’re supporting your partner.”

Tara adjusted her stance. Ethan stepped behind her, their bodies aligning. His breath brushed her neck, and suddenly, she understood—the delicate balance, the shared weight. He lifted her, and she soared, her heart pounding.

“See?” Ethan murmured. “Physics.”

Tara laughed, giddy. “Maybe partnering is a secret weapon.”

They danced until the sun dipped below the horizon—the studio their sanctuary. Ethan’s arms became her safety net, and Tara’s vulnerability became his strength. In that exchange, they discovered more than steps—they found trust, connection, and the promise of something beautiful.

As the final notes of their impromptu duet faded, Ethan met her eyes. “Tara, maybe we can teach each other more than dance.”

She smiled. “Maybe we already have.”

Chapter Text

Sammy Lieberman (SL): (wiping sweat from his brow) Christian, we’ve been dancing around this for too long.

Christian Reed (CR): (leaning against the ballet barre) Sammy, what are you talking about?

SL: (nervously) You know exactly what I mean. We’re more than just dance partners. There’s something between us, something electric.

CR: (raising an eyebrow) Sammy, we’re friends. Great friends. But—

SL: (interrupting) No, Christian. It’s more than that. I’ve watched you dance, felt your heartbeat in sync with mine during rehearsals. And when you look at me—

CR: (softly) Sammy, we can’t. Not here. Not in this world of pirouettes and arabesques.

SL: (voice trembling) Why not? Why can’t we be honest about how we feel?

CR: (stepping closer) Because it’s complicated. Our dreams, our careers—they’re on the line. And what if it all falls apart?

SL: (desperate) Christian, I can’t keep pretending. I want to kiss you. Just once. To know if this is real.

CR: (whispering) Sammy, you’re my lifeline. But if we cross this line, there’s no going back.

They lean in, their lips brushing softly.

SL: (barely audible) Christian, I’ve never felt like this before.

CR: (closing the gap) Me neither.

Their kiss is hesitant at first, then urgent. It’s a dance—a pas de deux of longing and surrender.

SL: (pulling away) Christian, I—

CR: (cupping Sammy’s face) Shh. We’ll figure it out. Together.

*And in that dimly lit studio, amidst the echoes of music and the scent of sweat, Sammy and Christian’s first kiss became a turning point.

Chapter Text

Detective Jack Robinson sat at his desk, the dim light of the lamp casting shadows on the stack of letters before him. Each envelope bore the elegant handwriting of Miss Phryne Fisher, the woman who had both vexed and enchanted him for years.

“Jack,” her letters always began, as if they were old friends meeting for tea. “I trust this letter finds you well, despite the chaos of our latest murder investigation.”

He would read her words, the ink still fresh, and imagine her voice—the lilting cadence that could soothe or slice, depending on the circumstance.

“The victim was found in a disreputable alley,” she continued. “A ruby brooch clutched in her lifeless hand. I suspect foul play, of course. But what intrigues me most is the cryptic note tucked beneath her corset.”

Jack leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. Phryne’s letters were never straightforward. They danced around facts, leaving him to decipher the hidden meanings.

“Perhaps,” she mused, “the brooch belonged to a secret lover. Or an enemy seeking revenge. I wonder, Jack, if you might join me for a clandestine meeting at the old bookshop on Collins Street?”

He scoffed. Phryne and her clandestine meetings—always a riddle wrapped in silk and mystery.

“I’ll be there,” he replied, pen scratching across paper. “But only to discuss the case, Miss Fisher.”

Her response arrived promptly, delivered by a young constable who raised an eyebrow at the address on the envelope.

“Jack,” she wrote, “you underestimate the allure of intrigue. The bookshop awaits, its shelves heavy with secrets. Perhaps we’ll find answers among the dusty tomes.”

And so, they met—the detective and the lady detective—in the dimly lit bookshop. Phryne stood by the fireplace, her eyes alight with mischief.

“Jack,” she said, “do you believe in fate?”

He scowled. “I believe in evidence.”

She laughed, the sound echoing off the shelves. “Evidence can be deceiving, my dear detective. But letters…” She held up a folded paper. “Letters reveal truths hidden even from the keenest eye.”

He took the letter, the ink still wet. “What does this one say?”

“Ah,” Phryne leaned closer, her breath warm against his cheek. “That, my dear Jack, is for you to discover.”

And so, they unraveled the mystery together—the brooch, the victim, and the cryptic note. But amidst the clues and deductions, something else bloomed—an understanding, a connection.

As they stood in the flickering light, Phryne whispered, “Jack, perhaps we’re meant to be more than colleagues.”

He glanced at the letters strewn across the table—the ink and intrigue that bound them.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, “we’re meant to be something else entirely.”

Chapter Text

The hallways of Hillford Girls Grammar School buzzed with tension. Ja’mie King, the self-proclaimed queen bee, had just clashed with her best friend, Madison Cartwright. Their friendship had hit a rocky patch, and the air crackled with unspoken words.

Madison stood by her locker, her arms crossed. “Ja’mie,” she said, her voice icy, “you can’t just treat people like pawns in your social chess game.”

Ja’mie’s perfectly manicured nails tapped against her designer skirt. “Madison, darling,” she retorted, “I’m merely playing the game of life. And I play to win.”

Madison’s eyes flashed. “Well, sometimes winning means losing the people who care about you.”

And with that, Madison stormed off, leaving Ja’mie alone in the hallway. The weight of their argument settled on Ja’mie’s shoulders. She had pushed Madison too far this time.

Days turned into weeks. Ja’mie missed their late-night gossip sessions, their shared secrets, and the way Madison always knew which shade of lipstick suited her best. But pride held her back from reaching out.

One afternoon, as Ja’mie sat on the quad, nursing a broken heart, Madison appeared. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and her eyes held a mix of anger and hurt.

“Ja’mie,” Madison said, her voice softer now, “we’ve been friends since kindergarten. I miss you.”

Ja’mie’s heart fluttered. “I miss you too,” she admitted. “But I can’t apologize. It’s not in my DNA.”

Madison sat beside her. “Maybe it’s time to rewrite your genetic code,” she said. “We’re stronger together, Ja’mie.”

And then, in the fading afternoon light, Madison spilled her heart. She talked about her fears, her dreams, and how Ja’mie’s sharp words had wounded her. Ja’mie listened, her eyes welling up.

“I’m sorry,” Ja’mie whispered. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Madison wiped away a tear. “Apology accepted. But we need to change, Ja’mie. No more mind games.”

Ja’mie nodded. “Agreed. And Madison?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve missed your fashion advice. My outfits have been tragically subpar without you.”

Madison chuckled. “Well, get ready for a makeover, Queen Ja’mie.”

From that day on, Ja’mie and Madison rebuilt their friendship. They laughed, they cried, and they even shared a secret handshake. Ja’mie learned that vulnerability wasn’t weakness—it was strength. And Madison discovered that forgiveness could heal even the deepest wounds.

As the school bell rang, signaling the end of another day, Ja’mie linked arms with Madison. “You know,” she said, “maybe winning isn’t about social status. Maybe it’s about having someone who’s got your back.”

Madison smiled. “And maybe,” she replied, “it’s about finding your true queen in the unlikeliest of places.”

And so, in the hallowed halls of Hillford, Ja’mie and Madison made up—a friendship stronger than any feud, sweeter than the finest macaron.

Chapter Text

Lee, the quiffed henchman, had always been loyal to The Network. His icy demeanor and unwavering commitment made him a formidable adversary. Wilson, on the other hand, was the survivalist geek—a conspiracy nerd who spent far too much time on the Internet. Their paths intersected in the shadows, where secrets thrived.

One rainy night, as Lee monitored the surveillance cameras in the dimly lit basement, he felt a throbbing pain behind his eyes. The headache intensified, blurring his vision. He massaged his temples, cursing the fluorescent lights.

Wilson, the unlikely ally, stumbled into the room. His eyes widened when he saw Lee wincing. “You okay?”

Lee grunted. “Just a headache. Nothing more.”

But Wilson’s gaze lingered, as if he could see through Lee’s stoic facade. “You know,” he said, “I’ve read about a secret remedy for headaches. Ancient herbs, hidden knowledge.”

Lee scoffed. “Don’t waste my time with your conspiracy theories.”

Wilson leaned closer. “What if I told you it’s real? A cure hidden in plain sight.”

Lee’s headache pulsed. “Speak plainly.”

Wilson traced a symbol on the wall—a cryptic pattern etched into the concrete. “This,” he said, “is the key. The Network’s darkest secret.”

Lee squinted. “What does it do?”

Wilson’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It reveals the truth. The real purpose behind Janus, the comic, the chaos. Everything.”

Lee’s headache intensified. “Why are you telling me this?”

Wilson’s eyes held a mixture of fear and determination. “Because we’re both pawns, Lee. The Network plays games with our lives. But this symbol—it unlocks the door.”

Lee hesitated. “And what’s on the other side?”

Wilson grinned. “Answers. Redemption. Maybe even freedom.”

As Lee pressed his palm against the symbol, colors swirled—a kaleidoscope of memories, regrets, and hidden agendas. The headache vanished, replaced by clarity.

“The Network,” Lee whispered, “they’re not what they seem.”

Wilson nodded. “And we’re the keys to their downfall.”

Together, they deciphered the cryptic messages—the truth buried within the comic’s pages. Lee’s loyalty wavered, and Wilson’s idealism clashed with reality.

In a dimly lit room, they confronted Milner—the enigmatic puppet master. Lee’s gun trembled in his hand, and Wilson’s eyes burned with purpose.

Milner smirked. “What do you seek?”

Lee’s voice echoed with newfound resolve. “The truth.”

And so, Lee and Wilson—the henchman and the geek—unraveled the conspiracy. The Network’s web tightened, but they danced on its threads, determined to break free.

As they faced their final choice, Wilson whispered, “Lee, are you with me?”

Lee’s headache returned—a reminder of their fragile existence. “For answers,” he said, “and for redemption.”

And in that moment, Lee and Wilson—the unlikely allies—became the keys to Utopia’s secrets.

Chapter Text

Simon and Daniel, an unlikely pair, found themselves navigating the bustling aisles of the local supermarket. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a sterile glow on the neatly stacked shelves. Simon adjusted his glasses, glancing at Daniel, who seemed equally out of place.

“Daniel,” Simon said, holding up a box of cereal, “do you think Nate would like this one? He’s quite picky.”

Daniel squinted at the colorful packaging. “Hmm, maybe. But let’s check the ingredients. You know how Bronwyn is about organic stuff.”

Simon nodded, flipping the box to read the fine print. “Right. No artificial flavors or preservatives.”

As they moved to the next aisle, Daniel hesitated near the pasta section. “Simon, do you think Liam would prefer penne or fusilli?”

Simon chuckled. “Honestly, I think Liam would prefer the dinosaur-shaped ones. But let’s go with penne. Less mess.”

They continued their mission, filling the cart with essentials—milk, bread, fresh vegetables. Simon couldn’t help but marvel at the absurdity of the situation. He and Daniel, two men who had once been adversaries, now bonded by a shared responsibility.

“Remember when we used to argue about forensic techniques?” Simon said, reaching for a bag of apples. “Now we’re discussing lunchbox snacks.”

Daniel smirked. “Yeah, well, life has a funny way of throwing curveballs.”

They rounded the corner, and Simon stopped in front of the cleaning supplies. “We need dish soap. Bronwyn insists on eco-friendly brands.”

Daniel picked up a bottle, examining it. “This one claims to be plant-based. Good enough?”

Simon nodded. “Perfect.”

As they approached the checkout, Simon felt a strange warmth. Maybe it was the fluorescent lights or the hum of the refrigerators. Or maybe it was the fact that they were doing this together—for Nate and Liam.

“Daniel,” Simon said, his voice quieter now, “about what happened with Francis…”

Daniel’s expression darkened. “I did what I had to do. For Simon.”

Simon touched his arm. “I know. But secrets have a way of catching up.”

Daniel met his gaze. “You’re right. Maybe it’s time to face the truth.”

They paid for their groceries, the receipt crumpled in Simon’s pocket. Outside, the sun peeked through the clouds, casting long shadows on the pavement.

“Thanks for doing this,” Simon said, feeling oddly grateful.

Daniel shrugged. “Family sticks together, even when it’s messy.”

And so, Simon and Daniel walked back to their car, bags in hand. As they drove home, Simon wondered if this unexpected bond—the one forged in supermarket aisles—could withstand the weight of their past.

Maybe, just maybe, it was worth a shot.

Chapter Text

Ned (Veteran Codebreaker): (frustrated) Ian, this is a disaster. The code—the one that could change everything—is missing. It was supposed to be in the secure vault, but it’s gone.

Ian (Computer Science Grad Student): (raising an eyebrow) Ned, you’re telling me that a top-secret code vanished from a vault? How is that even possible?

Ned: (leaning against a dusty bookshelf) I don’t know, kid. But it’s real. The brass wants it back, and they’ve got eyes everywhere. We’re talking about national security here.

Ian: (rubbing his temples) Okay, let’s backtrack. Who had access to the vault?

Ned: (thinking) Only a handful of us—me, the head cryptographer, and a couple of agents. But none of them would steal it. I’ve known them for years.

Ian: (pulling out his laptop) We need to retrace the steps. Maybe there’s a clue. Did anyone act suspiciously recently?

Ned: (scratching his head) Well, there’s Agent Reynolds. He’s been acting edgy lately. But he’s been with us since the Cold War. Why would he jeopardize everything now?

Ian: (typing) Let’s dig into his background. Maybe he’s got debts or secrets we don’t know about.

Days Later:

Ned: (entering Ian’s cluttered apartment) Kid, I’ve got news. Reynolds is clean. No hidden agendas, no shady connections.

Ian: (looking up from his laptop) That leaves us with nothing. The code is still lost.

Ned: (leaning against the window) Ian, you’re young. You see things differently. Maybe it’s not about Reynolds. Maybe it’s about us—about what we represent.

Ian: (confused) What do you mean?

Ned: (softly) We’re the bridge between old-school spycraft and cutting-edge tech. The code—the missing one—it’s a cipher that can unlock secrets buried deep. Maybe someone wants to erase that bridge.

Ian: (leaning in) So, what’s our move?

Ned: (smiling) We find it. Together. You’re the brains, and I’m the old dog with tricks. We’ll turn every stone, follow every lead. And when we find that code, we’ll make sure it’s used for good.

Late Night in the University Library:

Ian: (yawning) Ned, this is like searching for a needle in a haystack. We’ve been through every archive, every dusty file.

Ned: (pointing at an old book) Not every file, kid. Look at this. It’s an obscure journal from the '60s. The author—Dr. Evelyn Sinclair—was a cryptographer. She disappeared mysteriously.

Ian: (reading) “The Lost Cipher: A Key to the Unseen.” What if she cracked the code and hid it here?

Ned: (nodding) Ian, we’re onto something. Let’s decipher her notes. Maybe she left clues.

Final Scene: The Vault

Ned: (holding a yellowed paper) Ian, it’s here. The code. Sinclair encrypted it within her research. She knew it was too powerful.

Ian: (typing) Decrypting… Got it! Ned, this isn’t just a code. It’s a map—a map to hidden knowledge.

Ned: (looking at Ian) Kid, we’re the keepers now. We’ll use it wisely. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll change the world.

Chapter Text

Marissa and Moses had always been an odd pair at Pine Gap, the secretive joint defense intelligence facility nestled in the heart of the Australian outback. While the rest of the A-Crew buzzed with intensity, deciphering codes and analyzing satellite data, Marissa and Moses found solace in the quiet corners of the compound.

Marissa, with her wild curls and affinity for ancient languages, was the facility’s resident linguist. She could translate anything—from encrypted messages to love letters written in Sumerian cuneiform. Moses, on the other hand, was the enigma. His dark skin held stories of distant lands, and his eyes seemed to carry secrets only whispered by the desert winds.

One chilly evening, as the Christmas decorations went up, Marissa noticed a sprig of mistletoe dangling above the entrance to the cafeteria. It was an odd choice for a place like Pine Gap, where danger loomed around every corner. But there it was—a tiny green promise of holiday cheer.

Moses stood beside her, sipping his coffee. “Mistletoe,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “A relic from happier times.”

Marissa raised an eyebrow. “Happier times? In this place?”

He chuckled. “Perhaps. Or maybe it’s a reminder that even spies deserve a stolen kiss now and then.”

She blushed, her cheeks matching the crimson berries on the mistletoe. “Stolen kisses, huh?”

Moses leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Why not? Life is short, Marissa. And we’re surrounded by secrets. Maybe we should create our own.”

She hesitated, torn between duty and desire. But when Moses tilted his head, capturing her lips with his, all rational thought fled. The cafeteria faded away—the fluorescent lights, the surveillance cameras—until there was only the taste of coffee and the warmth of his mouth.

When they finally pulled apart, Marissa’s heart raced. “We shouldn’t—”

Moses silenced her with another kiss. “Rules are made to be broken,” he murmured. “Besides, who would suspect us? The linguist and the mysterious analyst.”

And so, beneath the mistletoe, they danced—a clandestine tango of lips and promises. Marissa forgot about intercepted messages and encrypted files. Moses forgot about the shadows that haunted his past.

As the days passed, they stole moments—whispered confessions in the server room, stolen glances across the surveillance screens. Their love was a fragile thing, nurtured in the heart of Pine Gap, where danger and desire coexisted.

On Christmas Eve, they stood by the cafeteria window, watching the desert stars. Marissa traced constellations with her finger. “What are we doing, Moses?”

He took her hand, intertwining their fingers. “Surviving,” he said. “And maybe, just maybe, finding something worth fighting for.”

And so, in the heart of secrecy, Marissa and Moses kissed again—a promise sealed under the mistletoe. They were spies, yes, but they were also human. And sometimes, even in the darkest corners, love bloomed like a forbidden flower.

Chapter Text

Prompt list for short prompt stories

Please comment couples or friendships or duo in general crossovers can be included with a prompt below
1. Getting lost somewhere
2. Pet names
3. Patching each other up
4. Hospital visit
5. Making fun of each other
6. Sleeping in
7. Drawing each other
8. Teaching each other how to do something
9. One of them is sick
10. Shopping together
11. Buying flowers
12. Dealing with children
13. Monopoly (Can be 2 or 3 couples)
14. Falling asleep on a couch
15. Having a mental breakdown after watching the other die
16. Singing old songs badly to cheer the other up
17. Comparing each other to art at a gallery
18. Choking and completely unnecessary mouth to mouth
19. Giggling at each other
20. Puppies
21. Watching old movies
22. Throwing each other into a swimming pool
23. Couple co-ordinated Halloween costume
24. Star-gazing
25. Someone has a headache
26. Aggressively cuddling
27. (Soulmate AU) tattoo of first words said
28. (Soulmate AU) seeing color for the first time when you touch
29. "Don't go where I can't follow."
30. "I know it's three in the morning, but I can't find my cat

31. Exercising
32. Night in a hotel
33. Watching the clouds
34. Walking in the rain
35. Climbing trees
36. Visiting a grave
37. Surviving a mob hit/attempted murder
38. Mistletoe
39. Snowball fight/building a snowman
40. Against a wall (smut)
41. On the floor (smut)
42. Shower/tub (can be smut or noy)
43. Kitchen sex (smut)
44. In a changing room (smut)
45. One of them is missing
46. Pregnancy announcement
47. Unexpected twins
48. Pretending to be a couple but falling in love
49. College dorm mate
50. College professor and student
51. Packing for camping/vacation (specify)
52. Setting up a camp site
53. A hike
54. Campfire fluff or smut (specify)
55. Proposal
56. Wedding (prep or ceremony)
57. Argument
58. Making up or forgiveness
59. Kitten(s)
60. Too much stress
61. Living room smut
62. First kiss
63. Love confession
64. Affair
65. First meet
66. Meeting while Undercover
67. Drunken hookup
68. Doing business with each other
69. Protecting each other
70. Reunions
71. Hate smut
72. Limo smut
73. Car smut
74. Coat closet smut
75. Comforting
76. Related/ twins
77. Letters
78. Cabin smut
79. One bed
80. Bickering
81. Camping smut
82. Kidnapping
83. Trapped together in place of writers choice
84. Cuddling
85. Sleepy love confession
86. Drunken marriage
87. Eloping
88. Crying in an elevator
89. Breakdown after losing a loved one
90. Giving advice
91. Getting advice
92. Meeting the family
93. Dancing at a club
94. Cyo
95. Public bathroom smut
96. Public smut
97. Club smut
98. Workplace romance
99. Hidden romance
100. Dress shopping
101. Roommates
102. Goodbyes
103. Roleplay
104. Talking about sex
105. Hallucinating the other
106. Sports
107. Sex toys
108. Sharing drinks
109. Secret kid
110. Conjuical visit( smut)
111. Dying in each others arms
112. Arrested
113 hangovers
114 platonic soulmates
115 wedding night smut
116. Tattoos
117.phone calls
118 confrontation
119 future together
120 working undercover as a couple
121 talking in eachothers dreams
122 coping with the death of a loved one
123. Love triangle
124. Getting back together
125. Making breakfast together
126. Birthday
127. Eating takeout food
128.. Buying each other a present
129.. "Help! My soulmate is possessed by the devil"
130. Picnic
131. Making out in the office
132. Date night
133. Drive-in movie
. "Dance with me"
. "Come on. Tell me a story"
. Spending time with their kids
. Daydreaming about the kids they'll have together someday
. Adopting a pet
. Spending the day at a carnival or fair
. First anniversary
. Stranded
. Planning a trip
. On vacation
. Fixing the other's coffee just the way they like it
. Moving into their new place
. Public displays of affection
. Modeling for each other
. Rainstorm
. Valentine's Day
. Jealousy
. Lipstick stains on the collar
. Picking a couple song
. Kissing and making up
154. Appreciating how sexy their partner looks

Chapter Text

Ned Banks sat in his cluttered office, the glow of the computer screen casting shadows on his face. As an online journalist, he’d seen his fair share of scandals and cover-ups, but this one was different. It cut deeper, tugged at the frayed edges of his conscience.

His brother, Jesse, leaned against the doorframe. “What’s eating at you, Ned?”

Ned sighed. “It’s that accident in the desert. The one involving those Aboriginal kids. Someone should have called for help, but they didn’t. And now we’ve got footage, Jesse. Shocking footage.”

Jesse’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of footage?”

Ned swiveled his chair to face the screen. “Watch this.”

Together, they viewed the grainy video. The collision between the stolen 4WD and the transport truck played out—the twisted metal, the cries of pain. But it was what came next that chilled Ned’s bones. A shadowy figure stepped out of the wreckage, deliberately avoiding the injured kids. Someone powerful, someone who didn’t want this story to see the light of day.

Ned’s boss, Perry, had been equally horrified. They’d tried to publish the video online, but the response was swift and threatening. Leave the story alone, they were warned, or face serious repercussions.

Ian Bradley, the enigmatic Director of Communications, had paid them a visit. His eyes held secrets, and his words were laced with danger. “Some things are better left buried,” he’d said.

But Ned couldn’t let it go. The accident haunted him—the unanswered questions, the hidden agendas. He booked a flight to the desert, determined to uncover the truth.

And that’s when he met Ian again, standing amidst the red sands. Ian’s gaze bore into Ned’s soul, a mix of warning and curiosity. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Banks.”

Ned clenched his fists. “I won’t back down. Those kids deserve justice.”

Ian’s lips quirked. “Justice? Sometimes justice is a luxury we can’t afford.”

As they delved deeper, Ned discovered the web of secrets—government cover-ups, corporate interests, and the tangled lives of those involved. And at the heart of it all was Ian, a man who danced on the edge of right and wrong.

Their late-night conversations became a dance of their own. Ian’s guarded confessions, Ned’s relentless pursuit. They met in dimly lit bars, whispered truths over glasses of whiskey. Ian’s touch was electric, a secret they shared amidst chaos.

“You’re my weakness,” Ian murmured one night, his fingers tracing Ned’s jawline.

“And you’re mine,” Ned replied, pulling him closer.

But danger loomed. The Cyber Crime Unit tracked Jesse’s online activities, and Ian’s loyalty wavered. Would he choose Ned or the secrets he guarded?

As the desert winds whispered ancient truths, Ned grappled with love and betrayal. The stakes were higher than he’d ever imagined. And in the heart of the outback, where shadows merged with starlight, Ned and Ian faced their reckoning.

Chapter Text

Guillermo de la Cruz, Nandor the Relentless’s loyal human familiar, stood in the dimly lit hallway of their Staten Island mansion. The air smelled of ancient dust and centuries-old secrets. Guillermo adjusted his glasses, glancing at the ornate wooden door that led to Nandor’s chamber.

“Tonight’s the night,” he thought, his heart racing. “I can’t keep waiting forever.”

He knocked hesitantly, the sound echoing through the stone walls. The door creaked open, revealing Nandor in all his imposing glory—a 761-year-old Ottoman warrior with a penchant for outdated phrases and a love for LARPing.

“Guillermo,” Nandor boomed, his accent thick. “What brings you here, my faithful familiar?”

Guillermo cleared his throat. “Master, I’ve been thinking. It’s been years—decades, even—and I’m still human. I’ve served you faithfully, lured virgins, and cleaned up after your bloody feasts. But when will I become a vampire?”

Nandor’s eyes narrowed. “Ah, Guillermo. You are like a mosquito buzzing in my ear. Always whining about your transformation. Patience, my dear familiar. It will happen when the moon aligns with the cosmic cheese grater.”

Guillermo clenched his fists. “But, Master, I’ve discovered something. Something that changes everything.” He hesitated, then blurted it out. “I’m related to Van Helsing!”

Nandor’s expression shifted from annoyance to mild interest. “Van Helsing? The vampire hunter? Impossible!”

Guillermo nodded. “My grandmother’s cousin’s nephew’s neighbor’s dog walker’s aunt—she was a Van Helsing. It’s in my blood, Master.”

Nandor scratched his chin. “Hmm. Perhaps this explains your obsession with garlic bread.”

Guillermo ignored the jab. “I want to be a vampire, Nandor. I want to fly, to have eternal life, and to stop cleaning up bloodstains. Can’t you see?”

Nandor sighed dramatically. “Very well, Guillermo. Tonight, we shall perform the ancient ritual of transformation. Fetch the ceremonial cloak and the sacred fangs.”

Guillermo’s heart soared. Finally! He hurried to the supply closet, pulling out moth-eaten fabric and a pair of plastic vampire teeth. As he returned, Nandor stood by the window, gazing at the moon.

“Kneel, Guillermo,” Nandor commanded. “Repeat after me: ‘Blood of the night, fangs of desire, turn me into a creature most dire.’”

Guillermo knelt, reciting the words. But as Nandor raised the plastic fangs, Guillermo hesitated. Was this really what he wanted? To be a bloodsucking monster?

“Master,” Guillermo said, his voice trembling, “what if I don’t want this anymore? What if I want to be human?”

Nandor blinked. “Human? But why?”

Guillermo stood, tears in his eyes. “Because I’ve realized that being human means more than immortality. It means love, friendship, and garlic bread. I want to feel the sun on my face, even if it burns.”

Nandor sighed, setting the plastic fangs aside. “Very well, Guillermo. You’ve made your choice. But remember, you’ll still clean up after our feasts.”

Guillermo smiled. “Deal.”

And so, Guillermo remained human, but he found a new family among the vampires. They bickered, laughed, and occasionally fought werewolves together. And every now and then, when the moon was full, Guillermo would glance at the sky and wonder what might have been.

“Maybe,” he thought, “being a familiar isn’t so bad after all.”

Chapter Text

Bertram Wainer, the Scottish-born doctor with fire in his veins, had dedicated his life to a dangerous cause—abortion law reform in 1960s Victoria. Joanne, his second wife, stood by his side, her resolve as unwavering as the winter winds that swept through Melbourne.

One frost-kissed morning, Bertram trudged home, snow clinging to his coat. Joanne greeted him with a steaming cup of tea. “You’re freezing,” she said, her eyes softening. “What’s the latest battle?”

He sank into a chair, exhaustion etched on his face. “The corrupt police—they’re like icebergs. We chip away, but they remain.”

Joanne knelt beside him, her fingers tracing the lines on his palm. “We’ll melt them,” she vowed. “One truth at a time.”

And so, they devised a dangerous remedy—a game of defiance. For every setback, every threat, they’d buy each other a gift—a token of resilience.

Bertram presented Joanne with a leather-bound notebook. “For your words,” he said. “Record our fight, our victories, and the moments when hope thaws despair.”

Joanne’s gift was a silver pen—a beacon against darkness. “Write your truth,” she whispered. “Let it pierce through the frost.”

They laughed, their breaths visible in the candlelit room. But beneath the laughter lay urgency—their love forged in the crucible of injustice.

As the snow piled up outside, Joanne gifted Bertram a pair of woolen gloves. “To keep your hands warm,” she teased. “For signing petitions and shaking the system.”

Bertram’s eyes sparkled. “And for holding yours,” he replied. “When the world turns icy.”

Joanne’s turn came—a delicate snow globe. Inside, miniature figures danced—a doctor, a protester, a woman seeking solace. “Our world,” she said. “Shake it, and let courage swirl.”

Bertram’s gift was a single snowflake preserved in glass. “For you,” he murmured. “Unique, fragile, yet part of a blizzard that can change everything.”

They kissed, their lips tasting of snowflakes and rebellion. The gifts piled up—a scarf, a compass, a lock of hair. Each held a promise—a thawing heart, a shared purpose.

One bitter night, Bertram handed Joanne a small box. Inside lay a silver pendant—a snowflake, intricate and delicate. “For you,” he said. “When the fight feels too heavy.”

Joanne clasped it around her neck. “And for you,” she replied, revealing a pocket watch—a reminder that time was their ally.

In the quiet of their bedroom, they held each other—a doctor and an activist, bound by love and a dangerous remedy. The snow fell outside, muffling their secrets.

“Joanne,” Bertram whispered, “we’ll break the ice.”

She kissed him, her lips fierce. “And thaw the world.”

And so, they waged their silent war—gift by gift, word by word. Bertram and Joanne—their love, a beacon against the cold, their legacy etched in snow.

Chapter Text

The fluorescent lights of the Gruber law firm flickered as Fisk sat at his cluttered desk, stacks of paperwork threatening to engulf him. His tie was loosened, and his eyes burned from hours of poring over legal documents. The only thing keeping him going was the promise of takeout food—a greasy beacon of solace in the chaos of corporate law.

Helen Tudor-Fisk, his formidable wife and fellow attorney, swept into the room. Her heels clicked against the linoleum floor, and her expression held a mix of determination and exhaustion. Fisk admired her—how she could command a courtroom with a single glance, yet still find time to be his partner in life and law.

“Long day?” she asked, leaning against the edge of his desk.

Fisk nodded, rubbing his temples. “You have no idea. These contracts are like a maze designed by sadistic accountants.”

Helen chuckled. “Well, I’ve got something that might lift your spirits.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a white paper bag, the tantalizing aroma of fried chicken escaping.

Fisk’s eyes widened. “Is that—?”

“Your favorite,” Helen confirmed. “General Tso’s chicken and extra fortune cookies.”

He grinned, forgetting the legal jargon and deadlines. “You’re my hero.”

They sat side by side, the takeout containers spread out before them. Fisk tore open a fortune cookie, pulling out the slip of paper. “What does it say?”

Helen read it aloud. " ‘Success is not the key to happiness. Happiness is the key to success.’ Wise words."

Fisk nudged her. “You’re my happiness, you know that?”

She blushed, her cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink. “Flattery won’t get you out of reviewing those contracts.”

They ate in companionable silence, the clatter of chopsticks filling the room. The chicken was crispy, the sauce tangy, and for a moment, the weight of their legal battles lifted. Fisk watched Helen—the way she savored each bite, her eyes softening as if the world outside didn’t matter.

“You’re amazing,” he said, surprising himself with the vulnerability.

Helen raised an eyebrow. “Even when I argue with opposing counsel?”

“Especially then.” He leaned closer. “You’re my anchor, Helen. When everything else is chaos, you’re my constant.”

She touched his cheek, her thumb brushing away a smudge of soy sauce. “We make a good team, Fisk.”

And in that small office, surrounded by takeout containers and legal textbooks, they found their refuge. Fisk realized that success wasn’t just about billable hours or courtroom victories—it was about these stolen moments, where love tasted like sweet and sour sauce.

As they crumpled the empty containers, Fisk knew he’d fight any battle as long as Helen was by his side. And maybe, just maybe, they’d conquer the corporate world one fortune cookie at a time.

Chapter Text

James Griffin stood on the balcony, the city lights below casting a warm glow. The night air held a hint of autumn, and he clutched the lapels of his suit jacket. It was their first anniversary—the day that had changed everything.

Kit Kilroy stepped out, his eyes finding James instantly. His smile was soft, and he leaned against the railing. “James,” he said, his voice a velvet caress. “One year ago today, you walked into my life.”

James chuckled. “And you accused me of terrorizing children,” he teased. “Not the most romantic start.”

Kit’s fingers brushed James’s cheek. “But then you looked at me,” he murmured, “and everything shifted. You were no longer the suspect—I saw the loneliness, the vulnerability.”

“And you decided to make me fall in love with you,” James said, remembering the scheme Kit’s employer had hatched.

Kit’s eyes sparkled. “Best decision I ever made.”

They stood there, the city humming around them, memories flooding back. The stolen glances, the late-night conversations, the way Kit’s laughter echoed through James’s empty penthouse.

“You know,” James began, “I never thought I’d find love again. Not after—”

“—Charlie,” Kit finished. “She was your daughter, and losing her was unbearable.”

James nodded. “But then you came along, with your wit and your stubbornness. You challenged me, Kit Kilroy.”

Kit’s lips brushed James’s. “And you accepted the challenge,” he whispered. “You let me in.”

James traced the curve of Kit’s jaw. “I fell in love with you,” he confessed. “Your strength, your kindness. And your damn Bodie-like charm.”

Kit laughed. “Bodie wishes he had my charm.”

They swayed together, the balcony a cocoon of warmth. The stars above seemed to wink at them, as if celebrating their love.

“Happy anniversary,” James said, his voice thick with emotion.

Kit cupped James’s face. “Happy anniversary, James Griffin.”

And then their lips met—a kiss that tasted of promises kept and hearts healed. It was a kiss that whispered of forever, of second chances, of love that defied all odds.

As the clock struck midnight, they held each other, the city below a symphony of life. James knew that this was where he belonged—with Kit, in this moment, on their anniversary.

And as the night wrapped around them, James whispered, “I love you.”

Kit smiled, his eyes shining. “I love you too, James.”

And in that quiet declaration, they found everything they’d been searching for—the whispers of the heart, echoing through time.

Chapter Text

Captain James Cook stood on the rocky shore, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. The ship Endeavour, once a vessel of hope and exploration, now lay stranded on the unforgiving coast. The South Pacific had revealed its treacherous side, and Cook’s crew faced an uncertain fate.

Joseph Banks, the renowned botanist, paced nearby. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar landscape—the twisted trees, the exotic flora. He had joined this voyage for science, for discovery, but now survival took precedence.

“Captain,” Banks said, his voice tight, “we can’t stay here indefinitely.”

Cook clenched his fists. “Agreed. But where do we go? The Endeavour is damaged beyond repair.”

Banks gestured toward the dense forest. “We explore. We find food, water, and shelter. And we document every plant we encounter.”

Cook nodded. “Our mission lives on, even in adversity.”

Together, they led their crew inland. The terrain was harsh—the undergrowth thick, the insects relentless. But Banks’s determination fueled them. He collected specimens—unfurling ferns, vibrant orchids, and strange fruits. His notebooks overflowed with descriptions, sketches, and Latin names.

Cook watched him, admiration mingling with worry. “Joseph, we’re far from England. Our supplies won’t last.”

Banks wiped sweat from his brow. “We adapt. We learn from the land.”

They discovered new species—the Banksia, the Solanderi, the Liparis. Banks’s eyes sparkled as he pressed leaves into his journal. “These plants defy the odds, Captain. They thrive where others perish.”

Cook’s gaze shifted to the horizon. “And what of us? Can we thrive here?”

Banks’s resolve didn’t waver. “We’re explorers, James. We adapt, we endure. We find beauty even in adversity.”

As days turned to weeks, their makeshift camp grew. Banks’s botanical collection expanded, each specimen a testament to resilience. Cook mapped the coastline, searching for a way home. But the land held secrets—hostile tribes, treacherous cliffs.

One evening, as the sun dipped low, Banks approached Cook. “Captain, I’ve found something remarkable.”

Cook followed him to a clearing. Banks knelt, revealing a delicate flower—the Ophiorrhiza solandri. Its petals glowed like moonlight.

“It’s named after you,” Banks said. “Solandri, for Daniel Solander, my fellow botanist.”

Cook touched the petals. “A tribute to resilience.”

Banks nodded. “And to survival.”

They returned to camp, their spirits lifted. The Endeavour remained grounded, but their purpose endured. Banks’s botanical collection grew—a living testament to their struggle.

One day, as Cook gazed at the horizon, Banks approached. “Captain, we’ll survive. We’ll thrive.”

Cook smiled. “Together.”

And so, on the distant shores of New Holland, Captain James Cook and Joseph Banks forged a bond—the captain’s determination, the botanist’s resilience. Their legacy would echo through time—their names intertwined with the land they explored.

Chapter Text

Louisa Atherton sat at her antique writing desk, the lamplight casting a warm glow on the parchment. The room smelled of ink and nostalgia—a place where memories danced between the lines. She dipped her quill, the inkwell trembling as if eager to tell secrets.

Nick Pickering, the rugged farmer from the neighboring town of Indigo, had become her confidant. Their connection had grown through letters—inked whispers that bridged the distance between Rainbow’s End and Nick’s sun-kissed fields.

Louisa’s first letter had been tentative—a brushstroke of vulnerability. She wrote about her dreams, her fears, and the ache of widowhood. Nick’s replies arrived like rain on parched earth—gentle, steady, and filled with warmth.

“Dear Louisa,” his letters began. “The sunsets here are like your hair—fiery and unforgettable.”

And so, they painted their love story—one letter at a time.

“Nick,” Louisa wrote, “I’ve planted roses in the garden. They bloom like secrets, their petals whispering your name.”

Nick’s reply arrived, ink smudged from the rain. “Louisa, I’ve built a bench under the oak tree. Come sit with me, and we’ll watch the seasons change.”

Their words danced—a waltz of longing and hope. Louisa wrote about the scent of freshly baked bread, and Nick described the taste of ripe peaches. They shared recipes, childhood memories, and the ache of missing someone.

“Louisa,” Nick confessed, “I’ve never seen the ocean. Describe it for me—the waves, the salt on your lips.”

And so, Louisa painted the sea—a canvas of blues and grays, of endless horizons and whispered promises.

“Nick,” she wrote, “I’ve planted sunflowers. They turn their faces toward the sun, just like my heart does when I read your letters.”

Nick’s reply was simple but profound. “Louisa, I’ve built a gate between our fields. It swings open, waiting for you.”

And so, on a misty morning, Louisa walked through the gate. Nick stood there, his eyes like storm clouds, his heart an open book.

“Louisa,” he said, “I’ve loved you through ink and paper. Now, let me love you in every sunrise and every whispered breeze.”

Their kiss was a brushstroke—a fusion of ink and rain, of longing and belonging. The letters lay forgotten on the grass, their secrets woven into the fabric of their love.

And as Louisa and Nick held each other, they realized that sometimes, the most beautiful stories were written not in ink, but in the spaces between hearts.

Chapter Text

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the deck of the Seaspray. Dan Wells, the widowed journalist, stood at the helm, his weathered hands gripping the wheel. Beside him, the Fijian crewman, Willyum, adjusted the sails with practiced ease. But it was the laughter of his three children that truly filled the air—their joy echoing over the vast expanse of the Pacific.

Mike, the eldest, was a lanky teenager with a perpetual grin. His sandy hair tousled by the sea breeze, he leaned against the railing, watching the waves. “Dad,” he called out, “when do we get to play rugby again?”

Dan chuckled. Rugby was their favorite pastime—a way to bond as a family, even in the middle of nowhere. “Soon, Mike,” he replied. “We’ll find a quiet island, and then it’s game on.”

Noah, the middle child, was the thinker. His glasses perched precariously on his nose, he sat cross-legged near the mast, scribbling in his journal. “I wonder,” he mused, “if the ocean has its own stories to tell.”

Sue, the youngest, twirled around the deck, her laughter like wind chimes. “Come on, Noah!” she teased. “Stop being so serious. Let’s play beach volleyball!”

And so, when they finally anchored near a pristine shore, they transformed the sandy beach into their own sports arena. The net was made from fishing lines, and the ball—a coconut they’d found washed ashore. The family divided into teams: Dan and Sue against Mike and Noah.

Dan served the coconut ball, and the game began. The sun painted their faces with warmth as they leaped, dived, and laughed. Sue’s sandy feet kicked up little clouds of sand, and Noah’s glasses fogged up from exertion. Mike’s competitive spirit flared—he was determined to win.

“Watch out, Dad!” Sue shouted, diving to save a point. Her fingers grazed the coconut, sending it spinning toward the water. But Dan lunged, his fingers closing around it just in time.

“Point for Team Dan and Sue!” Noah announced, grinning.

As the game continued, their laughter echoed across the beach. They forgot about deadlines, lost articles, and the weight of the world. Here, on this remote island, they were simply a family—playing, competing, and celebrating life.

When the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows, they collapsed onto the sand. Dan wiped his brow, his heart full. “You know,” he said, “this is what matters—the moments we share together.”

Mike nodded, his arm around Sue. “Yeah, Dad. Adventures on the Seaspray are the best.”

Noah closed his journal, a smile tugging at his lips. “And maybe,” he said, “the ocean does have stories. Our stories.”

They lay there, side by side, the waves lapping at their toes. The stars emerged, pinpricks of light in the vast darkness. And for that brief moment, they were a constellation—a family bound by love, laughter, and the promise of tomorrow.