#every time it falls down all the heat escapes its like cold in here

[bellaxgiornata]

The Devil at Your Window |1: Snowed In|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 8k

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

Series summary: In the middle of a New York City blizzard, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen accidentally lands himself on your fire escape–quite literally. When he accepts your invitation to warm up inside your apartment, you're surprised at how well the conversation flows all night with the curious and attractive masked vigilante. He's intriguing, though what you find even more intriguing is his unexpected returns to your window after that night–and his flirting. But when it seems like you're not the only one beginning to develop real feelings, he pulls back and you're left wondering two things: Why did he disappear and who really is the mysterious Devil that you've inevitably fallen for?

a/n: Just a short collection of one shots that I'll update whenever the ideas strike. It'll be told in a style like Falling for the Devil but it won't get nearly as long (unless y'all end up loving it, too). I just couldn't deny giving us all the fantasy of black suit Matt reappearing at your apartment window and all the flirting, sexual tension, feelings, and naughty things that might ensue... The installment list for this little series can be found here and feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer

Picking up the steaming mug of tea you’d just finished making from off the kitchen counter, you cradled your other hand around the warmth of the ceramic and drew it towards your chest as you turned and headed back towards your living room. The small spot of heat against the front of your sweatshirt caused a shiver to run down your spine as your sock-clad feet padded along the cold hardwood floor and back towards your couch. 

It was freezing inside your apartment tonight and the blustering snow storm raging outside in Hell’s Kitchen wasn't helping. Thankfully your office had already announced its closure for tomorrow before you'd finished work earlier this evening. The snow had already started to dump from the sky before you’d even left the office, falling heavy and wild as it accumulated in a cover of white that blanketed everything in the city. It would have been beautiful if you hadn’t needed to walk home afterwards in the frigid mess–especially with the way the large clumps of snowflakes pelted and battered you in the face over and over, the cold stinging at your skin. 

The city was expected to get a whopping eighteen inches of snowfall minimum over the next twenty-four hours, so you were grateful that your boss wanted as little to do with making it into work tomorrow as you did, especially because you couldn’t afford to do anything but walk to the office. The last thing you wanted to do was trudge through all of that mess and slip on a patch of ice, inevitably falling in a massive pile of snow and leaving you stuck in damp dress clothes all day. 

No, you'd rather stay dry and cozy at home enjoying a lazy day off of work.

You were just hoping the power in your apartment building remained intact throughout the fury of the winter storm. You didn’t want to think about losing the heat in your building in the middle of all of this. Another shiver ran through you as you pushed the thought away–hopefully not something you’d need to worry about tonight. 

But since you didn’t have work first thing in the morning, you had every intention of enjoying your night. You’d immediately come home and thrown off your dress clothes before settling on something comfortable–soft sweatpants and a cozy sweatshirt sans bra underneath. Then you’d made dinner and cleaned it up fast before claiming your ‘spot’ for the evening on your couch. Which consisted of both of your blankets and the television remote while you binged a guilty pleasure show that you hadn’t had time to catch up on for the past few weeks. Tonight you were intending to stay up a bit late, cozy up beneath your blankets, drink some hot tea, and lose yourself in the plot and romance of the show before eventually dragging your tired ass to bed in the hopes of sleeping in tomorrow to make up for staying up late. 

Eyes focused on the paused television screen as you moved, you rounded the side of your couch while drawing your steaming mug up to your lips. You sipped at the warm liquid, reveling in it for a moment before you swallowed it down. You could feel it heat you from the inside out as a pleasant sensation washed over you. Your eyes closed briefly for a moment–it was the first time you’d actually felt warm today. 

Opening your eyes, you continued towards the couch and began to lower yourself down onto the cushions while trying not to spill any of your tea from the mug. Just as you were about to sit back down on the couch and cocoon yourself in both of your blankets, ready to settle in for more of your show, something outside the window to your right caught your attention. Your head spun in the direction just as a flash of black dashed past the window and a loud bang reverberated through your apartment. 

A frightened yelp slipped out of you at the sound and you clutched your mug tight to your chest, your heart thudding heavily in terror. Whatever had just literally dropped onto your fire escape had been large, especially with the sound of that impact. Sucking in a breath, you held it as you stared transfixed at the window, almost ridiculously terrified it would be some sort of wild animal–like a bear or a wolf–on your fire escape. 

Though, more realistically considering you were in New York City, you knew it was probably a burglar. Who else would be traversing fire escapes late at night? Especially dressed in all dark clothes? Except…that also seemed a little ridiculous, too. There was a literal blizzard happening outside, meaning everyone would be home. In their apartments. Making it impossible for a burglar to break into anyone’s place unseen. Plus, it was insane outside, what criminal would risk dealing with that right now?

So what the hell had just fallen onto your fire escape?

Another thought struck you soon after and your lips parted in shock at the idea as you blew out the breath you’d been holding. With trembling hands, you very slowly reached out, carefully placing your mug of tea onto the coffee table before you without taking your eyes off of your window. Gradually, almost nervously, you rose to your feet before taking hesitant step after hesitant step forward. Another sharp, surprised gasp flew out of you when you saw the dark figure sit upright on your fire escape, bent in half as if they were in pain. Which made sense, considering the fall they’d just taken.

But your body froze up instantly at the sight of the man dressed in all black bent in half and dusted in white patches of snow. He wasn’t a burglar at all. With the black cloth tied over his head and the form fitting shirt he was wearing, there was absolutely no mistaking who he was. You'd certainly seen enough images of him plastered across the media. 

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had just fallen onto your fire escape.

Eyes widening in shock at the infamous vigilante attempting to pull himself up to his feet, one of his gloved hands holding onto the metal railing of your fire escape, you were suddenly overcome with the urge to check on him. To make sure he wasn’t seriously injured from that fall. 

Without thinking your actions through, you crossed the last few steps to the window and unlatched the locks before pushing it up. The masked figure immediately spun towards you at the sound as a bitter gust of wind burst its way into your apartment, chilling you instantly while those thick snowflakes once again assailed your face. For a moment you locked eyes with him–or at least, it seemed like you did despite the fabric covering half of his face–as your mouth hung open. You suddenly found yourself at a loss of what to say in the moment. And considering the way his lips thinned out along his face and the way he remained silent, he clearly wasn’t going to strike up a conversation with you, either.

Eyes darting down, you saw he had one gloved hand clutching at his right side as if it hurt him. His shoulders were hunched in on himself as his back faced the violent winds blowing snow relentlessly. Seeing him in person for the first time ever–something you’d never expected in your life considering how elusive the media made him out to be–you realized just how thin and unprotective his clothes really were. Especially tonight considering the cold weather. He had to be freezing.

An icy wind whistled loudly, another flurry of heavy snowflakes pelting you right in the face and breaking you from your thoughts. Blinking the snow from your lashes, you finally found your voice. 

“Are you alright?” you asked hesitantly, unsure how one should approach the masked man. “I just–just saw you fall. It looked like it hurt.”

He gave a curt shake of his head, wincing before he turned more towards the railing. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” he replied.

Something warm flooded your veins at the gravelly tone of his voice. It suited him somehow, even if it sounded fake. Like he was pitching his voice lower to sound like someone else in order to hide his identity. Not that you'd probably have recognized him anyway. 

With his back partially to you now, especially this close when there was barely a few feet of space between the pair of you, you could see just how incredibly muscular this man was. His black shirt clung to him like a second skin, the toned abdominal muscles on his upper body clearly visible even from just his profile. Even the pectoral muscles of his chest were well defined and visible beneath the sheen of black. His arms were thick–far too big for just one of your hands to wrap around. And as your gaze lingered lower, you fought back the thoughts that entered your mind at the sight of how large his thighs were in those tight pants–and how pleasant a profile his ass also had. You wondered briefly if he'd gained all that from working out or if it had more to do with his nightly activities.

Though when you saw him grab onto the metal railing of your fire escape with both of his gloved hands, the movement drawing your attention away from observing him as he attempted to swing himself over it, you nearly screamed as you lurched forward. You lived on the fifth floor, was this man really about to fling himself off of the fire escape from all the way up here? 

But the scream died in your throat the moment he cried out in pain, his feet slipping from off of the railing as he fell back onto your fire escape. He let out a hiss of pain as he clutched at his clearly injured side.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out, shoving the window open wider despite the cold and snow and leaning further forward. “You’re clearly not okay. Do you need something? An ambulance or something? Is there someone I can call? Or–or something I can do to help?”

The man rolled off his injured side and onto his back, gradually turning towards you as he lay on the fire escape. You hadn’t expected the amused and pained chuckle he emitted while the snow accumulated on the entire front of him, lightly covering the thin layer of his black shirt. Which you’d noticed had ridden up, revealing a small sliver of skin just above the dark, form fitting pants he was wearing. You tried hard to not keep glancing back at that patch of skin as it slowly rose higher and higher, unsure why you were so distracted by it.

The sound of his amusement soon drew you back to the moment and you cringed. Why the hell was he laughing?

“Are you alright? Did you…hit your head?” you asked him cautiously. “Maybe you have a concussion…”

Another amused sound slipped out of him, but that was quickly followed by a pained groan as he tried to once again rise up onto his feet. “I don’t have a concussion,” he assured you.

“You sure?” you asked, an eyebrow arching onto your forehead as you crossed your arms over your chest to stay warm when you began to shiver from the cold. “Because this doesn’t seem like a funny situation to me.”

“Well,” he grunted out, wincing as he drew back up to his full height, “normally I’m the one offering assistance, not the other way around. So yeah,” he continued with a faint shrug, your eyes once again catching the way he was holding his side, “it’s kind of amusing. In an…irritating sort of way.”

Your heart sank to your stomach at his words. “Oh, sorry,” you muttered, heat rushing up to your face instantly. “I didn’t mean to be annoying. I was just concerned–”

He took a half step forward, cutting you off as he waved a hand between the pair of you. He shook his head, letting out a slight huff of laughter. “No, I didn’t mean you were irritating. Just…this situation. The–the snow and the falling part.” In a quieter voice he added, “And having an audience for it.”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you stood there studying him for a moment. He was injured and wearing barely anything at all in the middle of a blizzard. He looked like he needed help even if he seemed like the type not to ask for it.

“Do you want to come inside?” you blurted, unable to stop yourself. “I mean, to get warm and maybe sit down for a moment? I could call an ambulance or–or a taxi or something to bring you to a hospital.”

Another amused huff of laughter slipped out of him as he shook his head. “No hospitals, please. I’ll be alright. But…if you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind a moment to warm up.” His gloved hand lowered, pinching a bit of fabric from his shirt as he glanced down at it. “Admittedly this doesn’t offer much protection from the elements.”

You eyed the thin material between his gloves doubtfully. “Doesn’t look like it offers much protection from anything,” you told him.

A surprised bark of laughter peeled out of him, the sound drawing a smile onto your face. You’d made the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen laugh. Now that was something you weren’t going to forget anytime soon. He didn’t seem like the type to break character easily.

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” he agreed, his laughter subsiding.

Taking a step back from the window, you waved a hand towards him, gesturing for him to come inside. “How about you come in so I can close this window and we both can stop freezing?” you suggested, surprised at how bold you sounded considering who it was you were speaking with. “I’m shivering already so I can only imagine how cold you must be.”

You watched as his lips curled up into a charming grin at the corners, just beneath the black fabric of his mask. It was impossible to deny that he had a handsome face–at least, from what you could see of it. You imagined the rest of it to be just as attractive beneath that cloth and a sudden intense curiosity to know what the rest of it looked like overtook you as you watched him carefully climb through your opened window. He moved slowly, wincing in pain as he made his way inside. Despite his tough act, that fall must’ve really hurt his side and you frowned, wishing he’d accept your offer to help. There was no way he was as fine as he claimed to be, surely he needed medical attention.

“Takes a special kind of person to just invite me into their home so readily,” the Devil’s rough tone came out as he turned his back to you, shutting the window after himself. “Normally people prefer to avoid me.”

“You’re not dangerous,” you replied almost instantly.

The window closed with a sharp clack before his masked face turned over his snow-dusted shoulder, his attention fixed on you. “Oh?” he asked curiously, a smirk growing over his lips. “I’m not?”

Your eyes were drawn to his mouth, though it wasn’t like there was anywhere else to look when you spoke to him with that mask covering most of his face. The smirk appeared teasing, and for some reason that had the hair on the back of your neck bristling. You suddenly became very aware of the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra beneath your loose sweatshirt and it was now cold in your apartment. Quickly your arms wrapped over your chest, hugging yourself tight. His lips almost seemed to curl ever higher in response.

“I mean, you are ,” you amended, “but to, you know, criminals.” 

You swallowed hard when he remained still, gazing at you over his shoulder wordlessly.There was something almost predatory in the way he was studying you. It was easy to see how this lone man terrified the criminals on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, striking fear into them. He certainly had a presence. Goosebumps rippled beneath the sleeves of your sweatshirt at his continued silent stare.

“Right?” you asked tentatively, voice softer.

His smirk vanished as the other corner of his mouth curled upwards into what felt like a warm smile despite you being unable to see if it reached his eyes. He nodded gently, turning slowly back towards you as he did. 

“That's correct,” he agreed, brushing the snow from his broad shoulders. “I’m only dangerous to criminals. So unless you’re hiding any dead bodies or have some outstanding charges…?”

You laughed, though abruptly you snatched your bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt to quiet the noise instantly. He was witty and funny. You weren’t anticipating that. Or the way your reaction to his quips seemed to please him, like he was trying to charm you. Which seemed even more curious, considering who he was and what he spent his nights doing. 

“Can't say that I do,” you said. “I'm probably the most boring person in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Well now,” he replied teasingly, “don't sell yourself short. I'm sure you're not taking that title  all by yourself.” 

That charming smile was back on his face and it had your stomach fluttering. Tearing your eyes away from him, you noticed the television was still paused on your show. Paused on a scene where the two actors on screen were clearly about to kiss. Cheeks burning, you hurried over and grabbed the remote from the couch and turned it off. 

“You can make yourself comfortable if you want,” you told him, trying to keep the embarrassment out of your tone. “I've got a couple of blankets you can use to help warm you up.”

His heavy boots thudded with each of his steps as he crossed the room and made his way to the couch. You bent over, grabbing both blankets from your place on the couch where you'd previously been curled up as he passed behind you. The moment one of his cold gloves brushed against your back, you froze.

“Sorry,” he whispered. 

“No it's–it's fine,” you replied. 

He passed behind you before settling onto the opposite end of the couch from where you had clearly taken residence. You forced a smile onto your face as you turned and leaned over, holding out the blankets towards him. 

Pull yourself together , you internally chastised yourself. Just because it's been a while since you've had a man here doesn't mean you need to react to every little thing. That's not what this is, obviously. 

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the blankets from your outstretched hand. 

You nodded before sitting back down on the opposite end of the couch, keeping space between you and him. Curling your legs up under yourself, you watched as the Devil wasted no time throwing both blankets around himself, beginning to visibly shiver beneath them as he tried to warm up.

“Are you sure you don't want me to call anyone?” you asked him.

“No one to call,” he answered. “And a hospital would defeat the purpose of trying to remain anonymous.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” you muttered, glancing away and spotting the forgotten tea on your coffee table. “Would you like something to drink at least? Some water or some hot tea, maybe?”

His masked head tilted curiously to the side at your question, a grin returning to his plush lips. “Playing hostess?” he asked. 

“Well I'm sure you've got to be thirsty running around Hell’s Kitchen and fighting criminals all the time,” you explained. “I always sort of wondered if you stashed water bottles around the city or stopped for water breaks somewhere–not where you live, I imagine. Since you're trying to keep your identity hidden.” Your eyes narrowed as you added, “Or do you just let yourself get dehydrated every time you're out? Because that's not good for you, you know.”

The Devil's grin grew wider as he shifted on the couch, facing you even more from his place on the cushions. “Oh?” he asked, curiosity in his tone. “You've thought about me before, have you?”

Eyes dropping down to your lap, you smiled sheepishly as you shrugged. “I mean, I've had some theories circulating about you ever since you kept reappearing in the news,” you admitted awkwardly. “Sort of hard not to.”

“Well now you have to indulge me,” he teased. “Enlighten me on some of these theories of yours.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you continued to avoid his covered stare. “I mean, they're not that interesting…”

“Oh come on,” he tried again. “It's not like we don't have the time. And maybe I can confirm or deny some of them for you. Besides, I admit I’m curious to know what you think of me. Especially being so willing to offer help like you did.”

Chewing your bottom lip, you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes. He looked far less intimidating beneath your blush pink blanket now. What would it hurt if you told him a few of your ideas about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen? Maybe he might laugh at them, but would hearing that sound again be all that bad? And it truly would be interesting to learn more about the mysterious vigilante, something you'd probably never have the opportunity to do again. 

“Okay,” you agreed with a nod. Straightening up on the couch, you turned to face him more fully. “So I've always thought with the way that you fight that you were trained by some sort of secret ninja assassin organization.”

A hearty chuckle filled your living room at your first theory. The pleasant and resonant noise left you grinning as your stomach fluttered in response. You briefly wondered how often the Devil actually laughed when he was out. 

“I cannot confirm nor deny that,” he responded. 

The playful smile that kept appearing on his face was beginning to further disarm you. You found yourself enjoying his company, soon becoming used to the way half his face was hidden from sight with that ridiculous fabric. And for some reason your unexplainable attraction to him was only growing. 

“Next theory,” he prodded, the smile on his face apparent even in his voice. 

“You're not wealthy,” you stated, leaning forward and grabbing your tea from the coffee table.

“Oh, ow,” he joked, playfully recoiling back from you on the couch. “What makes you say that?”

You waved a hand at him across from you as you settled back into the cushions, mug in hand. “Because you wear clothing that is obviously not meant to protect you very well in a fight,” you answered. “I imagine if you had money you'd have something…nicer. Meant for what you do. And,” you continued, pausing long enough to drink down some of your now barely warm tea, aware of him focused on you, “you protect Hell’s Kitchen. Only Hell’s Kitchen. This part of the city isn't exactly filled with the wealthiest people. And with how dedicated you are to everyone here, I assume it's because you probably grew up here yourself. Most likely still reside here, too.”

The Devil hummed appreciatively when you'd quieted, his masked gaze still on you. You swore you could feel it as you drank down more of your tea.

“You're observant,” he mused. “Maybe I need to watch myself around you.”

A surge of pride swelled in your chest; you hadn't expected his praise. Or the way it would make you feel. And apparently, you'd guessed something right about him. 

“You're also not married or in a serious relationship,” you blurted before you could help yourself, wondering what more you could learn about him.

“Poor and unlovable?” the Devil asked with a surprised laugh. “That's what you think of me?”

“No,” you disagreed, laughing a little with him as you shook your head. “No, but I mean, I imagine you don't have time for someone else. And I figure most people wouldn’t like their partner going out and doing what you do. Putting yourself in danger.”

“Mmm,” he hummed out, shifting on the couch and making himself more comfortable. “A partner would certainly be…a distraction. A liability. One I couldn't really afford to have. So no, you're not wrong, I don't have one.”

You glanced down at your lap, your fingers fidgeting with the mug in your hands. Half of you was hoping to hear that he wasn't with anyone–though you refused to admit to yourself why that mattered–but the other half of you had heard the way he'd said that a partner would be a distracting liability and you’d felt a sad pang hit you in the chest. Considering how much he seemed to be enjoying your company when he didn't even know you had you guessing that the Devil was a lonely man deep down. 

But that wasn't a theory you felt comfortable sharing. 

“Any others?” he asked, breaking through your thoughts.

Clearing your throat, you focused back on him across the couch from you. His smile had disappeared, his lips now downturned at the corners just a bit. His posture had changed in your silence, the same as his mood, as if he'd picked up on the subtle change in yours somehow. 

Strange.

“I imagine you're the kind of guy who's fridge is always empty,” you answered.

A ghost of a smile reappeared on his face as he huffed out an amused breath. You couldn't fight the smile returning to your own lips at the sight of his again. 

“Well hey now,” he countered lightly, “there's usually beer. Sometimes orange juice and eggs.”

You giggled, unable to stop yourself. “Who'd have guessed the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is just your average bachelor?” 

“Average?” he repeated in mock offense, his head tilting to the side. “I'm just average now?”

Quirking a brow at him in a challenging manner, your own head cocked to the side. “Maybe tell me more about yourself and I could say otherwise,” you boldly teased back. 

“Well obviously,” he began, grinning at you in a way that had your body heating, “I can't exactly do that now can I? Defeats the purpose–

“Of remaining anonymous,” you finished for him. “I've picked up on the importance of that.” 

A silence soon settled between the pair of you, one that slowly began to cause your nerves to grow with the way he kept smiling at you. Once again you desperately found yourself wanting to see the rest of his face, curious to know just how handsome he really was under that black mask. Though you settled for studying what you could see, your eyes tracing the soft curves of his pink lips, noticing the way they very minutely twitched under your scrutiny. Eventually your gaze dropped down, following the hard lines of his stubbled jaw. As your eyes trailed further down, they lingered on the part of his neck that wasn't covered by the blankets he’d wrapped around himself for warmth. A heat burned in you as the urge to reach out and just touch him, just to see if he was real, suddenly grew within you. It didn't help that it almost felt like you could feel the weight of his own eyes fixed on you beneath the mask, once again making you very aware of your lack of bra beneath your sweatshirt.

Catching your lip between your teeth, you noticed the way his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. Had he been having similar thoughts? Observing you, too? 

Inhaling a sharp breath through your nose at the idea, you knew you needed to stop this line of thinking and stop it fast. There was absolutely no way the Devil would be interested in you. Certainly not like that. That was absurd.

“Would you like something to eat?” you asked, trying to calm your pulse. “If your fridge is empty all the time I'm guessing you could use something to eat.”

“I mean, I suppose if you’re–”

He stopped short the exact moment that the lights died, throwing the pair of you into almost complete darkness. You sucked in a breath, turning to look out the window just to your right. It was eerily dark outside, a sight that was rare in the city. Even the buildings across the street had been thrown into darkness. There was nothing but the howling wind and snow outside.

“Guess it was too much to hope the power wouldn’t go out in this mess,” you breathed out.

“I suppose so,” he replied, his tone just as soft.

Reaching blindly forward, you set your almost empty mug onto the coffee table before you. For a moment you reached around on the surface until your fingers brushed against your phone. You picked it up and unlocked the screen, grateful for the bit of light it shed in the dark as you turned on the flashlight function.

“So I can’t offer you a nice cooked meal without power,” you told him, rising to your feet, “but I can get you an apple and a couple of protein bars? If you’d…like?”

“You don’t have to, but I’d appreciate it,” he said.

“It’s the least I can do for the man who does so much for the rest of us,” you told him, maneuvering around the couch and navigating your way to the kitchen by the light of your phone. “I’d feel awful leaving you hungry and dehydrated.”

Wrapping one arm around your chest to try to fight the chill that had been steadily creeping into you, you headed towards a cabinet near the sink. Reaching up, you grabbed a glass from out of it before taking a moment to fill it beneath the faucet before setting it along the countertop. Then you plucked an apple out of a fruit bowl on your counter, taking a moment to rinse it off first. The moment you’d turned off the faucet you heard his voice from across the apartment.

“You’re cold.”

For a moment you found it odd how his words hadn’t come out as a question but more of an observation, though you quickly shrugged the strangeness of that aside. You set the apple down on the counter beside the glass of water before sliding a step to your right and opening up another cabinet.

“It’s alright, I’m fine,” you answered, trying to shine the light from your phone into the cabinet to read the labels on the boxes. “I wasn’t the one out in that snowstorm wearing barely anything at all.”

“You say that like I was out there naked.”

His voice had unexpectedly come from just behind you this time and it jolted your heart in your chest instantly. His sudden proximity mixed with his word choice had you startling on the spot. Your hand that had been about to pull the box of protein bars out of the cabinet accidentally bumped it instead, causing the entire box to slip off of the shelf. But before it could tumble to the floor and spill its contents, a black gloved hand darted out beside your face, catching it before it had barely fallen six inches. 

You stood there rooted to the spot, his hand just brushing your arm as his held the box of protein bars. The hair on the back of your neck had risen, aware that he was standing barely a foot behind you now. Slowly, you turned over your shoulder to look at him. Your pulse quickened further at how close his face was to yours. He was looking at you, too. Or at least, he was facing you. Eyes dropping down, you couldn’t help but notice that mouth of his again. 

“I apologize,” he said, your eyes watching as his lips moved. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Sometimes I forget how quiet I can be. I just wanted to give you one of the blankets. No sense in me using both when you’re cold.”

“Oh,” you whispered, unable to form any other response.

With his attention still on you, he reached up and slid the box back onto the shelf. Then he seemed to take a purposeful step back from you, his lips set in a straight line. You wondered what was going on in his mind right now, because you were sure there had to be something. Had he felt the tension you’d just felt? Or were you just ridiculous and overly hopeful?

And why did it even matter? You were never going to see this man again after tonight anyway.

Blinking a few times, you returned your attention to the shelf. Reaching up, you slid your hand into the box that had nearly taken a nosedive to your kitchen floor and pulled out two protein bars. Keeping your eyes actively focused away from the Devil nearby, you closed the cabinet and slid a step back to your left, grabbing the glass of water in your hand with your phone and the apple in the same hand as the bars. Though before you could turn around, you felt something gently drape over your shoulders. Looking down, you noticed it was the pink blanket he’d been wearing.

“Like I said,” he repeated, “there’s no sense in me using both.”

“Right,” you whispered, pulse pounding in your throat.

Turning on your heel, you stepped past him and made your way back to the living room by the light of your phone. This time you heard the heavy steps of him following after you. You assumed that was intentional.

“So why were you out in this blizzard tonight anyway?” you asked him, making your way around the couch. You hoped having something to talk about would distract you from whatever it was he kept stirring inside of you. “Surely there aren’t a lot of crimes being committed in this weather?”

The Devil let out a light laugh as he accepted the offered glass of water and food from you. One of your brows quirked curiously onto your forehead at his reaction as you sat back down in your original spot on the couch. Though you noticed as he took a large drink from the cup while lowering himself onto the cushions that he’d sat closer to you than before. You watched as he ripped open a protein bar and tore off a large bite next, but he didn't answer until a moment later when he’d swallowed the bite down. Internally you noted he must’ve been hungrier than he let on with the way he was devouring that bar and you’d wished you’d had more food to offer him with the power out.

“You’d be correct,” he told you. “And yet I still stupidly made my way out into this storm tonight in the hopes of catching a lead on something. Instead all I got was my ass frozen and my side bruised.” 

You watched as he took another large bite of the protein bar, chewing it almost contemplatively as his head canted to the side. You could still see him in the beam of light from your phone which you were still clutching in your hand. Somehow this lighting made him even more appealing as it cast sharp shadows along his jaw.

“Though I suppose unexpectedly meeting you was a highlight,” he added, causing your cheeks to flush. “But you know, you never did give me your name.”

“Well you never exactly gave me yours,” you immediately quipped back.

Those beautiful lips of his curved upwards yet again as he chewed the last bite of the first protein bar. What you wouldn’t give to see if that smile had reached his eyes.

“Alright, point taken,” he replied. 

Tearing your gaze away from him, you focused on your phone. If you kept the flashlight running the battery would die in no time. And who knew how long the power might be out for, you might need it later. You supposed you didn't need it on just for a conversation.

“I’m going to turn the flashlight off on my phone for now, if that's alright?” you told him, fingers darting across the screen to do just that. “Might need the battery on this later.”

“That’s alright,” he replied, sounding as if he was chewing another bite of food. “I don’t need it.”

He’d made the comment just as you’d leaned forward to set your phone back onto the coffee table, but you’d paused as the words processed in your mind. Your eyes narrowed again as your mind raced. Something about the way he’d said that sounded as if it had another meaning to it. But before you could put too much thought into it, he’d changed the topic.

“You’re still cold,” he pointed out. “That blanket alone isn't helping.”

Brows furrowing together as you slowly sat back, you wondered how he could possibly know that. The pair of you were in almost pitch black again with your phone flashlight off. It wasn't like he could see you and you hadn't been shivering, though there were definitely goosebumps dotting your skin. How could he possibly know? 

“I’m fine,” you said, pulling the blanket you had on tighter around yourself. “It’s bound to get colder here with the power out now.”

“And with how long you had your window open earlier,” he added. “The temperature is going to drop in here faster than it would have if you hadn’t helped me.”

You sighed, frowning in his general direction. “So much for being able to help you warm up,” you muttered. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” he assured you.

It felt as if he was shifting on the couch nearby. Your brows knitted further together as you tried to make out what he was doing through the dark. All you could see was a faint mass of black that seemed darker than the rest of the blackness. Then moments later you felt a blanket being draped over your lap. 

“No, uh uh,” you said, shaking your head and immediately grabbing the blanket. “There’s two blankets, we can clearly share.”

“You’re freezing,” he countered. 

“And you’re not cold?” you shot back.

“Doesn’t matter, you’ve already been far kinder than I deserved this evening,” he replied.

You grabbed the blanket in your hands and stubbornly tossed it back in his general direction. An audible sigh sounded through the darkness to your left.

“You know I can just leave, right?” he told you. “Which would leave you with no reason to not use both blankets.”

Your eyes narrowed in the direction of the sound of his voice. “But then you’d be allowing more cold air into my apartment, which would only make the temperature drop faster in here,” you argued back. “Then I'd really be cold.”

He breathed out a laugh and you imagined the smile on his lips at the sound. You smiled triumphantly back at the dark shape of him because you knew you had a good point. Even though really, you could just layer on more clothes.

“Okay,” he relented. “That’s true. So how about…we share?”

The smile on your face quickly disappeared at his suggestion. Mouth dropping open, you felt your heart skip a beat in your chest. It took you a few seconds to regain the ability to respond.

“Share?” you asked.

“Body heat would certainly keep us both warmer,” he answered. “So would sharing two blankets instead of using only one.”

“Oh, uh, well,” you stammered, your mind racing at the thought of your body pressed up against his. “I–I–”

His deep laugh rumbled towards you through the darkness, the sound causing your lips to clamp shut. 

“I’m not suggesting anything immoral,” he assured you. “Simply a possible solution to the very real problem of us freezing in here. Unless, of course, you’d prefer me to leave?”

“No!” you exclaimed.

Immediately your eyes widened in horror at how quickly you’d responded to that. And judging by his chuckle, he’d also noticed, too. Your face scrunched up as you mentally scolded yourself for sounding so eager to keep him here in your apartment.

“Well in that case, we could share the blankets and our body heat,” he suggested again. “Because the temperature has definitely dropped a few degrees already and it's only going to continue if the power stays out.”

Nervously your tongue slid out, licking your lips. You were trying hard to control the racing of your heart, positive he could hear it with how hard it was beating now. Of course you weren’t going to pass up a chance to basically cuddle the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen for warmth during a snowstorm. You just needed to find a way to not sound so eager to accept his offer first.

“I suppose you…have a point there,” you said slowly, trying to keep your voice even. “That’s–that’s usually what people do in survival situations. Use their body heat to keep warm.”

An amused huff came from him and you realized he’d scooted even closer to you on the couch. Your breath caught in your throat the moment you felt his thigh bump against yours.

“So are we in agreement with sharing both blankets, then?” he asked.

“That–that appears to be the most logical solution to the problem,” you answered. “So yeah, I guess we…share the blankets.”

Despite the lack of light, the Devil seemed to move with ease and fluidity through the darkness, something you were paying close attention to as he gently sidled his way up against the side of you, managing to wrap both blankets around the pair of you. All the while you’d sat pin straight on the couch, aware that he was flush to your side from your shoulder all the way down to your knee. You clasped your hands in your lap, unsure of where else to place them. Truthfully, you had to admit you were already much warmer like this, with his body heat enveloping you beneath both blankets.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked, his tone far gentler than it had been all evening. “Because that's not my intention.”

“No,” you answered with a light shake of your head. “You're not.”

He chuckled softly, his body shaking yours slightly with the movement. Your head turned towards him and you wished you could see at least the part of his face that was visible right now.

“Then why are you so tense?” he questioned. 

“I'm not tense!” you lied.

He laughed again, this time louder. The movement jostled you somehow further into his side, though your hand flew out and landed flat on his very solid chest as you tried to stop yourself from falling further into him. Your eyes widened in horror yet again, but before you could push yourself away you felt his arm wrapping around your shoulders and allowing you to sink even more into him. Heat was very much creeping up your neck and reaching your cheeks now in embarrassment. 

“You're very tense actually,” he teased. “If you're uncomfortable I can move, but we aren't going to be sharing much body heat if you don't actually sit next to me.”

Slowly you removed your hand from his chest, lowering it to your lap. Though with the way you were sitting facing partially towards him now, your knuckles were brushing against his thigh. 

“I am not tense,” you grumbled. “And you aren't making me uncomfortable. This is just…awkward. I barely know you and you don't know me.”

“Okay,” he conceded. “How about since you've guessed a few things about me, I think it's only fair you tell me a few things about yourself now.”

“I told you I'm not very interesting,” you reminded him.

“Ah, well,” he replied with a shrug, “I think I'd like to decide that for myself.”

Biting your lip, you turned your burning face and buried it into his shoulder, glad he couldn't see how nervous he'd suddenly made you. It was hard to tell if he was flirting with you or if that was just his vigilante persona–when he wasn't beating people, of course. 

With your nose pressed against the fabric of his shirt, you noticed he smelled surprisingly good. There was the hint of his sweat, but there was also a faint clean detergent scent. You closed your eyes and tried to relax, inhaling a deep breath in. Even though he was still a stranger and a vigilante, he seemed kind and safe so far. And he also hadn't thrown you off of himself for getting even closer to him, either. Maybe you should just do what he seemed to be doing: relax and enjoy the unexpected cuddles tonight with an unexpected acquaintance. 

“Alright, what do you want to know?” you whispered, eyes still closed as you focused on his scent.

Eyes fluttering open, you felt yourself waking from a deep, comfortable sleep. Though your eyes instantly snapped closed against the bright light that immediately assaulted them. Slowly you blinked them back open, trying to adjust to the surprising sunshine pouring through your living room window. Gradually you began to push yourself upright, realizing you were laying with your head on a couch pillow, both of your blankets snuggly wrapped around you. For a moment your face twisted into a look of confusion as you hesitated, staring down at the two blankets. Why had you been asleep on your couch?

But then flashes of last night came back to you. The masked man falling onto your fire escape. The joking and constant banter between the pair of you. Darkness when the power went out and the feel of his warm, muscular body wrapped around yours as he tried to keep you warm. The scent of clean detergent and his sweat. The feel of his spandex shirt against your fingertips and your cheek as you rested your head against his shoulder.

Had that all really happened? Or had you just fallen asleep on your couch and dreamt it?

Your attention shifted towards your coffee table and your sluggish brain processed the sight of your almost empty mug of tea, left abandoned all night, and an empty glass of water. Pushing yourself the rest of the way upright on the couch, your head turned over your shoulder. The lock on your living room window was undone.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen really had been in your apartment last night. Which meant the pair of you really had cuddled together for warmth when your power had gone out. And you really did meet him. At least, somewhat.

“Oh my God,” you breathed out in awe. “He was really here.”

But just as the rush of excitement at meeting someone you’d always secretly admired filled you, it quickly vanished. Because you must have fallen asleep on him sometime last night when the pair of you were talking, and then he must’ve slipped out of your apartment before the sun came up, probably when the power had come back on. Which made sense, considering he wouldn’t want to be seen sneaking back to his own apartment in such a conspicuous outfit. 

But what was upsetting you was the growing realization that it wasn’t just the first time you’d met him, but it would most likely be the last. And you’d gone and fallen asleep through part of that meeting.

Stupid stupid stupid.

[herseraphwings]

18+ A Glimpse Into The Most Intense Sexual Encounter Of Your Lifetime😈💦🍆🍑

It's been months & I had to step away from Tumblr to focus on business! I'm sorry to those who took the poll and didn't get the readings! Here is a steamy pick a card to make up for it. Hopefully I can contribute more pick a pile's to this side of Tumblr more consistently now!

Copyright 2024 © Tellot Tarot

All original works posted on this platform are copyrighted. Unauthorized use or reproduction without permission is prohibited. This pick a pile/image/card is meant to give you an idea of what the most steamy and intense sexual encounter of your life will be. This encounter could be at any point! Enjoy!

Minors DNI!!

✨This will be a creative writing pick a card✨

 Pile #1

Your Song: Love Is Stronger Than Pride - Sade

Prime Lyric: “I can’t hate you, though I have tried.”

It's a shame this is happening here. 

The cold of the marble countertop against your exposed skin sends quivers up your spine and frissons of blessed goosebumps across the curve of your rear. A warm but equally gentle and rough hand cups your derriere while twin digits grip your jawline. Timeless lips suckle at your needy neck as you draw in unsteady breaths, grasping at the walls to support the arch of your back. Thick, honeyed lust pools lower and lower with the current of your strong but fluttering heart, drawing your thighs together like aching soft magnets. Just a few minutes ago, there was gnashing of teeth and an attempted divergence witnessed by the Gods as a spectacled exchange of bitter thoughts raised like christened knives against your throats. 

It was the supposed last stand. The conclusion of your story, where you're completely, utterly, officially separated.

But as you both faced off on your war-torn battlefront for the last time, you were ambushed. Your armageddon was due to rear its ugly head and place the four horsemen of pride, betrayal, uncertainty, and, sadly enough, money issues on all sides of your connection. But surprisingly, those demons watched from up high. For the Devil always has a trick up its sleeve. This isn't the first time you've launched into battle and escaped bloodied. But it is the first time the warzone has turned sanctuary- nestling you, cuts, bruises, and all to its tempting bosom. 

What better way to fight than to fuck?

Now, your limbs are entangled while you paw at each other, vulnerable and mutilated by past sins in the bathroom of a mutual acquaintance. Hands you caressed and caressed a million lives over now grab you with need. A need for understanding. Atonement. Rehabilitation. A need to strip you even more bare than their painful words could leave you because it's you. It's always been you. You're the one that chips at their inescapable pride. 

You do this to them- challenge them to be better and tear them down to be much worse when they've failed you.

Heady kisses trace down your neck to your collarbone, all the way down, planting seeds of love; another could never hope to see bear tempering fruit like they could, down to where the heat of all you could ever want and need rests eagerly within the cage of your thighs. "

“Open your legs.”, They look up to you and whisper; their voice tickling you with vibratory lust. 

As you part, you feel teasing nips and pecks mark your sensitive skin with seductive swirling licks to echo, shifting deeper to the core of your desire until a pleasant moan escapes you.

You're not sure if you'll leave your tryst hand in hand or even on the same accord, but you at least know one thing. You both can rip profound emotions out of the other- deep from the marrow. Day or night. Spring or fall. You won't worry if that's a good or bad thing for now because as they beckon your climax to greet them at the edge of their greatest weapon against you, the past pain loses its power. 

Every precise movement of their tongue is like perfect jolts of electricity through your body. Fuck they know you so fucking well. 

Their soft lips and hums of pleasure in pleasuring you are where the true power lies. The sensual dance of their fingers strokes at your sweet spot, but the sudden rustle of the door knob snaps you back to reality. Shit! You shouldn't be doing this here. Before you allow sense to overshadow the moment,the heat builds as your moans grow more intense. You're grateful for the ruckus on the other side of the wall. You sense them smirk beneath you and lock eyes with an individual who is determined to pluck at the strings of your desire until they're taught, and muffled screams rain down on them in a frenzied zenith. Passerby be damned. Once they've drunk enough of you, you'll be ready to return the favor with equal vigor. 

This moment is a storm. Just like your love. A great and terrible storm. Strong enough to tear through villages of memories built on the foundations of a long connection. And just like you have weathered many before as enemies and lovers, these moments provide enough energy to brace yourselves for inclement weather. 

The soul beneath you loves you harder as you writhe, faster, stronger until your beautiful climax hits you like a truck. 

It's such a fucking shame this is happening here. 

You see red. Are you back on the battlefield?

The Devil rises slowly to lay a peck at your ear and whispers, "There's a thin line between love and hate."

Notes: 

This person is may come off as moody or too passionate for others. You have been together for a while at the time of this experience.

At the time of your encounter they are struggling with money.

You are separated, but attempt to find common ground at a social event

This may be the direct doing of a friend. 

I don’t subscribe to the concept of twin flames personally, but this person may truly be your twin flame.

Your relationship with them at the time may be so deep that any little act that may harm the other can blow up to extremes because the feelings run too deep. There’s so much passion!

Thank you for allowing me the honor to read/write for you, Pile 1!✨ Follow for more readings like this!

Pile #2

Your Song: Hours - FKA Twigs

Prime Lyric “ Who’d have thought, I’d be in your mouth, loud and clear?

I once read that the best love stories are the ones that start with two people who can't stand each other.

 At the time, I thought it a stretch of fictitious delusion. Understand me, Rosaline. I've had my fair share of entertainment from the comedic tropes I've watched on my various screens and read in books, but that's because the hands that pressed pen to paper or finger to keyboard behind the scenes knew how to write a good story. 

There is power in prose. 

We can all agree that the prodigal hate fuck always satisfies an audience. But that's not real to me. 

How you eclipse the moonlight of the bedroom window to stand naked before me as the birth of Aphrodite itself is real to me. It's more vivid than any lucid dream or waking hallucination I could conjure in my insanity for you. How you languidly stalk towards the edge of the bed and make prey of me as your supple breasts softly and teasingly bounce is real to me. 

I've never known anyone to be so graceful as they lower themselves to their knees. 

The throbbing ache of anticipation you draw out of me as your hands open the gate of my thighs, and your beautiful face rests at the threshold of me is real to me. That first gasp-inducing sweet lick followed by the sacred scent of your hair penetrating my nostrils is intoxicating. And, the taste of me on your lips as you pause to greet me before you take me to church is so enchantingly real.

Why? Because the most striking and tangible things of this world aren't isolated to what we can experience with the five senses. It's the things that shake us, move us, change us, and stir something profound within us that is true. We don't even have to understand the why at first. 

And oh, how you stir the most primal and obsessive urges within me. 

I raise a quivering hand to caress your crown as you lick, nip, and tease my most erogenous areas, but you smack my hand away in a warning. Your eyes pierce mine, and you remind me that you are untouchable. 

You remain as unattainable as the day I met you. 

In the beginning, that side of you was cruel. You were so severe. So chaste. A person who seemed to constantly move the goalpost as I chased and chased. Our story was an epic on the destructive nature of gravity. I wanted to be your orange moon as your sunlight cast down upon me, but your pull always threatened to consume and scorch me if I dared to neighbor you. Your glares were like ice, and your mouth spat fire at anything that had something to do with me. It must have been something that I said. But I was no child, and neither were you. We cut the bullshit and found the necessary 60 seconds to get clarity. 

Now, we're very clear on one another. Our vision is 20/20, and God, if you aren't magnificent. The noises you make as your tongue continues its assault on me are provocative, eliciting moans from the bottom of my throat while my eyes roll back and my hips writhe beneath you. Vibrations emanate from your lips as you moan in response to how you undo me, slurping and licking at me deeper and faster to build on your high. Your hands grip me tighter, locking onto the soft of my thighs, not because you need to hold me down but because you want to anchor yourself. The sensual masochist in you knows how badly you want to slowly snake your hand down to feel the wet heat of your trembling cunt- but she won't let you. 

It's the idea that someone like me would beg for the opportunity to just lay beneath and watch you as you gave yourself the depraved release you will forever deserve that drives your lust. In these moments, I'm the one lucky fool under your spell who gets to have a taste of you, but only under your rules. 

That is why tonight is extra special because I agreed to let you do everything that you wanted to do to and or on me, and to be honest, your fantasies are not as wild as you think.

As my climax overtakes me, I gaze back down at you and admire your work. 

You may see me as a fool, but I am a victor. 

The same person that insulted me, frowned at me and rejected me is the same person that now in a delicious turn of events

has my cock down their throat. 

Notes: 

This person is someone that may have chased you or made you chase them

You both misunderstood each other and miscommunicated frequently, for some to the point that you couldn’t stand each other. 

Rosaline is the original apple of Romeo’s eye. She made a vow that prevented her from marrying so she is seen as unattainable and the cause of Romeo’s strife before he lays eyes on Juliet.

For some this night of pleasure is after you have a moment of realization and see that you both actually vibe really well.

You may choose to secretly scurry off to get to know each other better, or end up having this night of passion after you deepen your commitment or get married. 

You or this person could be in a situation where one has already promised themselves to someone else, but you both have a last minute moment of truth and choose to secretly give in to your desires without getting caught.

This is a slightly kinky pile

On this night you may be exploring water sports. I see a woman squirting over their partner or their partner asking to watch them squirt or pee into a glass 

I see nipple play

Similar to pile one, there is an edge of not being seen or organizing a secret rendezvous. 

I feel like it’s the more feminine person with the Rosaline energy, they may come off as bitchy or have severe resting bitch face, but the surprise is that they are the more kinky person.

They love your breasts, but get lustful when they see your opening.

Thank you for letting me the honor to read/write for you, Pile 2!✨Follow for more readings like this!

Your Song: Seventh - BOSCO

Prime Lyric: “Giving you permission as I'm breathing, Finger on the trigger, now we reset, Here to hide, Will we die? No.”

It's such a beautiful day. Your limbs are tangled in mine as we rest peacefully under the shade of a lone tree before the chapel courtyard. Your beautiful head against my chest gently anchors me to the grass as you listen to the rhythm of my heartbeat. I gaze into the blue sky, contemplating the recipe of cool teals, turquoise, and sapphires God chose to bundle the earth. Sometimes, I wonder why God still allows us to roam this beautiful garden of Eden we call our planet. Maybe it knows that after falling so painfully hard, there really is nowhere to go but up. Or, at least in my case, look up. 

 It's so quiet that you can hear the trickle of a nearby stream. As I look around, everything seems so vivid. Each blade of grass and round tree leaf is a more lively green and rustles so clearly against the gentle currents of air caressing our cheeks- that my spirit can't help but reach toward the surface of an all-encompassing consciousness. The sky, the leaves, the air, and the stream are alive- as alive as I am right here with you. I can see it now. Is this what it's like to be high? 

How could I not be after what we just did? Even though the ceremony was intimate, I was nervous that one of our friends or family found it and somehow turned up at the last moment. 

You shift your hand to draw feathered circles on my chest and snap me out of my musings. You look up at me with a mischievously giddy smile and trace me lower and lower until you reach the hem of my pants, pulling teasingly at the elasticity. I arch my brow in surprise, looking for signs of the clergy. It would be a disaster if one were to stumble across us on their holy walk to find you performing the most unholy of acts. My eyes scan the clearing. I gather myself on my forearms and take a peek back. You're also looking around, but those naughty eyes flash with an undercurrent of different intentions. I would have missed it if I hadn't known you so well. 

You want to get caught. 

My quick scan tells me that we're alone. But you're already gripping me, slender fingers wrapped tightly around velvet steel, ready to receive your touch. You stroke me firmly and languidly as the clouds pass by overhead, and my eager tip moistens with salty essence. I won't let you pull too many moans out of me. We don't know who may be listening despite another quick look around. It feels like I'm floating in a blessed eternity as you touch me until the chapel bell rings unexpectedly. We rush to compose ourselves- one more than the other. You giggle as I try to thrust myself back under my pants and hide my shame before we embarrassingly cross paths with someone on our walk back to the car. I don't return the sentiment.

It was a bad idea anyway. If the Universe is alive and God is real, that must have been a warning. A sort of "Congratulations, but do it in private." 

I know when to listen to divine intervention. I won't allow us to suffer judgment because of your lack of self-control. So I will become a mascareri and punish you myself. 

I want you to think you crossed a line during the car ride back. That our perfect day may not be so perfect after all. You got too impulsive- too excited. So you start entertaining regrets. It's a little cruel, but you'll forgive me later. 

A few hours post your voyeuristic episode, we're diving into champagne and wine bottles. You begged me to pop one open in the spirit of celebration, but we both knew you wanted to flood the nerves in your body with libations. But your consumption of liquor is a double-edged sword. 

Three, four, five glasses down and you're swimming. Your cheeks are a luscious plump shade of rose, your skin is warm to the touch, and your feet are too light or maybe too heavy because you stumble across the floor and fall into my arms. I open a window to let the night cool you down. I'm still nursing my first glass, so I trust myself to securely hoist my bride into my arms and lay her tenderly onto the mattress. Your arms lock behind my neck, and I meet the longing in your big, beautiful eyes. You search me for emotion. Anything that would reveal the current truth of my inner world, but I keep my mask on. 

You wanted to give the Universe a show today. So let's give it one. 

I'll tear the clothing off your body so roughly that cool night air will douse your heated skin with prickles of goosebumps. You won't have time to gasp at my movements because I'll already capture your beautiful mouth with my own- my strong body pressing yours into the mattress of our lover's nest. You will squirm in need, but that won't be enough for me. I need you to whimper, to whine, and mold your begging hips so close to mine as I caress slowly, achingly, down toward heaven. I'll cup my hand at the pearly gate and watch your troubled face as you wait what feels like a millennia until you crack from desperation to feel more of me. 

But there is a warning in my eyes you have never seen before. Something that tells you that this is different. It grips you into submission, a sense of fear and excitement battling within. You've never experienced me treat you like anything other than an angel. Until now, I would never have allowed you to fall. But now I truly have you.

 ALL OF YOU. 

Tonight, you will discover that when angels fall, the devil is there to catch them.  

After our week of heavenly sin in our temporary Garden of Eden, we can deal with the backlash that awaits us. 

Notes:

-This is the person you will marry or at least form a deep commitment with.

-At the time of the sexual encounter, you are trying to eagerly move the commitment forward formally, but you're seeking help to try and make it happen.

-Like looking for an officiant or going through pre-marriage counseling.

-However, you are feeling a little confused and lost or at least frustrated at the situation because things are proving to require more work.

-This may be because other parties are trying to but in with their opinion.

-You feel like you are meant to be with this person. Or you could have already done the deed, and need to break it to your friends and family. 

Thank you for letting me the honor to read/write for you, Pile 3!✨ Follow for more readings like this!

[ereardon]

Snowed In || Sunday [Jake Seresin x OC]

A Jake Seresin AU miniseries

Summary: When a massive storm shutters every airport in New York, you receive an unexpected call. Jake Seresin, the ex-boyfriend of your college roommate, is stranded at JFK with nowhere to go. Somehow you find yourself hosting Jake for a long weekend in your studio apartment. What happens when you realize that maybe your long-standing hatred for him was covering up something else? 

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x OC [Ella Finnley]

Trope: Forced proximity; enemies to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, references to cheating, eventual smut

Wordcount: 4.4K 

Masterlist here; Part two aka Saturday here

Jake reeled back from your slap, his face pink from the cold and the heat of your palm as it smacked his perfect tanned skin. His clear green eyes were wide with shock. 

“Ella, I—”

“No.” You shook your head, hair whipping at your cheeks. “What the fuck, Jake? You can’t run down the street like an inmate who escaped from Alcatraz and then just kiss me. You can’t spend eight years hating me and making fun of me and then turn around and say actually, no, that was all a facade, it’s because I’m a five year old boy who doesn’t know how to say he has a crush.” 

You could feel heat rising to your face despite the cold and your voice echoed off the nearby buildings. The few people who were within spitting distance turned their heads at your raised voices. 

“Are you doing this to embarrass me?” you demanded and to your horror, a small tear rolled down your cheek. You were surprised it didn’t freeze as it trailed downward. “Pretend to like me so that I fall for your charm and then when it’s over you just leave? Or maybe if I come onto you then you’ll back away and mock me. Is that it, Jake?” 

“Honey, no, absolutely not.” Jake stepped closer, holding out one hand hesitantly before pressing it to your cheek, thumb sweeping away your tears. “Ella. I meant what I said. No ulterior motives.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

Jake sighed, running his hand through his hair. The rush of cold air hit your face hard as he removed his hand. You had to give it to him. He looked distraught. If Jake Seresin, golden boy, was even capable of looking that way. “I don’t blame you,” he said after a moment. His eyes searched yours. “I’m sorry, Finn. For letting you think that I spent the last decade hating you. Couldn't be further from the truth.” 

“What’s the truth, Jake?” you gasped, air freezing in your lungs on its way down. 

“I think you know,” he whispered. 

You shook your head, backing away. “No. If there’s one thing the last twenty four hours has shown me, it’s that I don’t know you at all.” 

And then you were turning around, taking off down the street, following the path you had just chased Jake down but in reverse, eyes watering from the speed and the freezing wind whipping at your face and Jake’s voice calling after you was just a whisper that got picked up and sailed away in a gust.

You burst through the double doors of your apartment building. Gerry looked up, surprise lacing his weathered face. “Miss Ella. Everything OK?” 

You shook your head, heading for the elevators. “Do you believe in timing, Gerry?” 

“Yes, I do,” he replied as you pressed the button, finger shaking. “Met my wife at a New Year’s Eve party forty-three years ago. She was there with someone else and I was too. But it didn’t matter. It was the right place and the right time and everything since then has worked out in our favor.” 

You looked up at him. “That’s not helping, Gerry.” 

He smiled. “So he loves you.” 

“Never said that.” 

“Don’t need to say it,” he replied. “I can see it in your face.” The sound of the doors flinging open turned both of your attentions. Jake stood, barely winded, cheeks pink, eyes wide. Gerry added, “I see it in his, too.” 

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Gerry held out one hand, pressing it open. 

“Goodnight you two,” he said. “Stay warm.” 

You stepped inside. “Goodnight, Gerry.” 

Jake stepped forward slowly, entering the elevator, his eyes trained on you, your eyes glued to the buttons on the far right wall. It was an agonizing ride up in silence. The heat from Jake’s gaze alone was enough to thaw you and by the time the two of you had ridden up five floors you were a melted puddle. 

After you unlocked the door and stepped inside, Jake stood, hesitating, on the threshold. 

You frowned. “What?”

He sighed. “I’ll leave, Ella. I’ll get out of your hair. But I just need to say one more thing.” 

“Where would you go?” you demanded. “It’s midnight and the city is practically shut down, Seresin.” 

Jake put his hands in his pockets. “I bought a unit in One57 last month.”

Your jaw went slack. One57 was one of the unbelievable skyscrapers on 57th Street aka Billionaires’ Row. It’s the most expensive building in the city, towering over the base of Central Park. Your eyes narrowed. “You’re fucking with me.” 

“I’m not.” 

“How could you afford that?” you demanded. “You can’t even afford a hotel.”

Jake smiled sadly. “Ella. I never said I couldn’t afford a hotel. I said you were my only option.” 

“That wasn’t true then,” you replied. “You have a fucking twenty million dollar condo sitting forty blocks north of here that’s probably filled with furniture that you’re not allowed to touch.” 

“It was partially true,” Jake said. His voice was much calmer than yours. His eyes were soft. Begging. This was Jake Seresin begging, you realized. “I spent years thinking that you were the one that got away, Ella. I had to come back and make sure of it.” 

Your breath caught in your throat. “And?” 

Jake stepped closer, crossing the threshold into the apartment. “Ella Finnley. I’ve enjoyed myself more the last two days than I have in the last five years. I came back because I thought that maybe there was a chance you’d be able to see me more as more than the douchebag that I was in college. That maybe you would be willing to look past who we were and focus on who we are now. You don’t know this, but I never stopped thinking about you.”

All you could feel was your heartbeat in your chest, the pulsing in your fingertips and neck and near your ear. Was this really happening?

“You’re intelligent and you’re so fucking sarcastic and you don’t take anyone’s bullshit and I couldn’t believe that when you opened the door on Friday that it was really you and that someone else hadn’t scooped you up years ago. And I thought maybe this was it. Maybe this was my chance to be happy.” 

“You’re rich,” you whispered, the words still sinking in. “You’re telling me that you, Jake Seresin, aren’t fulfilled?” 

He shook his head. “None of that shit matters, Ella. The money, the cars, the nice restaurants, the fancy clothes. You get sick of it after a while. I’d rather come home to this apartment every single night and sit on that uncomfortable couch with you and watch you read romance novel after romance novel and eat ramen noodles than go home to an empty apartment overlooking the park. Any fucking day.” 

“Jake.”

“It’s OK,” he whispered. “You don’t feel the same and I get that. Maybe I was stupid to try.” 

You stepped forward, closing the gap between the two of you, your chest practically grazing his as you breathed unsteadily. He was so fucking beautiful that it made you uncomfortable. “You are stupid,” you replied and Jake grinned. “That was never a question."

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he murmured, “and you’ll never have to see me again if you just answer one question.” 

“What is it, Seresin?” 

“Do you believe I changed? If not for you, just in general? Because that’s all I ever wanted, Ella. To be the kind of guy who was good enough.” 

You looked at him. How many times had you snuck sidelong glances at Jake Seresin while he and Suzannah were together? He was hot, even back then. Bronzed, muscular but not beefy, sweet Southern accent rendering anything he said charming with a side of cocky. Maybe you had only told yourself that you hated him because it was better than admitting the alternative. 

That you wanted Jake Seresin. But he hadn’t been yours to have. 

And now here he was, standing in front of you, begging for a chance. Asking if you saw his growth and change. Admitting that he had spent years of his life bettering himself so that one day he could stand in front of you a changed man and receive a simple acknowledgement. 

“Ella,” Jake whispered. “Tell me to go and I’ll go. I think this was a mistake.” 

“The mistake would be leaving before you convinced me why I should give you a chance to start with.” 

Jake smiled. “Convince you, huh?” 

You nodded. “I don’t know if you know this about me, Seresin, but I’ve been known to be stubborn.” 

“Is that so?” 

“It is,” you said slowly, reveling in the way Jake’s gaze never left yours. “So go on, Seresin. Why should I believe anything you’ve said in the last thirty minutes? How do I know it’s not some elaborate prank?” 

“You don’t,” he said. “None of us do, Finn. Life is a big cosmic joke. I’m just doing what we’re all doing. Trying to find that one person to spend your life with. Trying to find the person who makes you excited to get out of bed, the person you can’t get out of your head. The one person who sees you after everything you’ve done and still sees your potential, even when it was a bad day. The person who wants to celebrate with you on the good ones, too. The person who has more faith in you than you have in yourself.” 

“That’s a lot to put on a person, Jake,” you whispered. 

“I know it is, honey,” he murmured, raising one hand, skimming it along your cheek. “I can’t expect you to feel all those ways about me. Especially since up until yesterday I think you hated me. But tell me the truth. Do you feel differently about me right now, standing here, compared to yesterday when I showed up at this same doorstep?” 

“Yes.” It was automatic, the way the word tumbled out of your mouth.

He grinned. “Then anything is possible, Finn.” 

“You mean falling in love with you, Seresin?” 

“Maybe.” 

You shook your head, laughing. “You’re still cocky.”

“I’m working on it,” he murmured, hand sliding from your cheek, fingers wrapping slowly around your neck, thumb pressed tightly under your ear. “What do you say, Finn? Want to give me a chance?” 

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” you said softly, closing the gap between the two of you as Jake’s fingers on your neck tightened and suddenly his lips were on yours, his hand on your waist bending you backward from the force of his kiss. Jake swiveled you around, closing the door with one hand, pressing you against the wall both gently and firmly at the same time, his free hand locked behind your head, cushioning you. 

Jake slotted one thigh between your legs, pressing upwards gently until you found yourself moaning into his mouth as he grinned. “Fuck,” he murmurred, pulling back two inches, resting his forehead against yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve thought about that.” 

“Ten minutes,” you replied. 

Jake pulled back further, shaking his head, tracking one thumb pad over your swollen bottom lip. “Ella. Try ten years.” 

“Jake,” you murmured. 

He shook his head. “It’s OK if you don’t feel the same way,” he said quietly. “But if you want to stop, tell me and we stop.” 

You reached out and grabbed his collar, tugging him back in. “Don’t stop.” 

And then Jake’s mouth was on yours, his hands roaming over your chest and settling on your waist, pulling you in tightly before reaching down and hoisting you into his arms as you giggled. You didn’t even care that Jake’s shoes were tracking dirty snow into the apartment or that your jacket was brushing against the comforter as Jake sat you down gently on the edge of the bed. He stepped back, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his shoes and you did the same, pulling your sweater overhead, locking eyes with Jake as you unbuttoned your jeans, shimmying out of them before settling back on the bed in a pair of lacy black panties and a matching bra. “Fuck,” he murmurred, closing the gap between the two of you, his mouth hot on your neck as his fingertips pressed against your side. “God, you’re gorgeous.” 

 “You going to compliment me all night, Seresin?” 

Jake pulled his lips from where they had slid down to the tops of your breasts. “Yes,” he said confidently. “And you’re going to like it.” 

You flushed. “Then at least take your pants off.” 

Jake smirked, standing up and unbuttoning his pants, sliding them off. With one hand he grabbed the back of his shirt behind his neck, tugging it overhead in a single motion. You couldn’t help it. You gasped. Jake Seresin looked like a marble carving that would sit in the Louvre. 

He was stunning. 

Jake leaned in, shifting you further onto the bed, his lips grazing your breasts before dipping lower, trailing a wet line of kisses down to your navel. “Like what you see?” 

“Shut up,” you groaned, but the words turned into a string of moans as Jake’s mouth landed on your panties, warm breath heating between your legs. He knelt on the floor next to the bed in his tight briefs, fingertips scraping along your sides, one hand squeezing your breast before he slid the silky material to the side, exposing your soaking core. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, leaning back to admire you. 

“Jake,” you whined, and he felt his heart start to rapidly beat in his chest. 

“I got you,” he murmured, sinking down, pressing his lips to your core, tongue darting out, spreading flat against your folds, tasting you for the first time. He hummed against you and you wiggled, but his hands held your hips steady, tugging you forward, consuming you. He was everywhere: his mouth on your clit, his tongue in your folds, his fingertips dragging along your hip bone under one sank deep inside of your walls, curling at the top, beckoning you to come. 

And you did. Unraveling at his touch, your moans filling the air as Jake plunged his fingers inside of your wet cunt, tongue lapping at your folds until you cried out. “Fuck!” 

Jake stood, hands still on your thighs as your chest heaved. Finally you pushed yourself up onto your elbows. There was an obvious tent in Jake’s tight black briefs. 

You smirked. “Want some help with that?” 

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours harshly, with one arm scooting beneath you and tossing you to the top of the bed as you let out a yelp. “You’re going to be the death of me, Finn,” he murmured, lips suctioned to your neck as you lifted your hips, brushing your soaking core against his hips. He was hard and you were desperate for him, your hand reaching out and grabbing him. Jake’s head collapsed against your neck as you smoothed your fingers over his bulge. “Fuck, Ella,” he whispered, voice thick and husky. “God, I want to be inside you so badly.” 

You pulled your hand away, shimmying off your underwear. “I need you.” 

Jake sat up. His green eyes were wide. “Sweetheart. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words come out of your mouth.” 

“Don’t make me beg, Seresin,” you whispered. 

“Wouldn’t dare.” 

Jake crawled out of his boxers and you had to stifle a gasp. His cock was thick and long, practically dripping with anticipation. He pulled your legs so your hips were closer to where he was kneeling on the bed, running the tip of his cock along your folds as you whimpered. 

“Condom,” he muttered.

“Top drawer.” 

Jake leaned over, opening the box as you undid the hooks on your bra, flinging it onto the floor in the living room. He sat back, seamlessly rolling a condom over his cock, fisting himself a few times, eyes trained between your legs. Finally, Jake lifted his gaze to you, hand still sliding up and down his length as he panted. “I’ve thought about this so many times.” 

“Please,” you whispered and Jake hinged forward, sliding the head of his cock against your entrance until it hooked inside of you, pressing in slowly as you moaned. “God, yes, oh, fuck!”

“Doing so good,” he murmured as your legs spread further to accommodate him. “Almost there baby.” 

Jake pushed the final inch in, stuffing you full. Your eyes flew open. Jake had one hand pressed to your cheek, the other resting on your leg, pulling it higher over his hip. Your mouth opened as he pulled back, pushing into you again, setting a soft, delectable rhythm. It was just you and Jake and the sounds of your body slowly coming together and backing away, over and over as his cock brushed your inner walls, begging you to come against him. 

“God you feel so perfect,” he groaned, fingertips pressing your thigh back further, letting his cock slide deeper inside of you. “I could live in your pussy.” 

You cried out as Jake brushed against your g-spot. He shifted his hand to your clit, pressing down gently and your eyes widened, Jake’s hips snapping against yours as his fingertips swirled on your swollen clit. “Oh, my God,” you breathed.    

“Come for me, please,” he begged, chest glistening with sweat as he thrust harder into you. “Please, baby, need to feel you coming while I’m inside of you.” 

“Oh, oh fuck!” you screamed as Jake pressed down, hard, against your clit, your vision going white for a split second as you broke apart along his length, shuddering, cursing as Jake grabbed your hips, driving his cock against your fluttering walls. 

“Ella, oh fuck! Jesus Chris, I’m gonna come!” And then he was filling the condom inside of you, collapsing so his chest was pressed against yours, his hips stuttering as he tried to slow his rhythm. “Fucking hell,” Jake whispered, rolling off of you gently, tugging off the condom and disposing it. He turned back, running one hand up your side. “You’re perfect.” 

And even though you were two orgasms deep, it had been almost a year since you had been touched before Jake. So when you leaned in to kiss him and his cock twitched against your bare leg, you smiled, pulling away. 

“What’s that look, Finn,” he asked. 

“Lay back,” you whispered, raking your fingertips down Jake’s rock hard abdomen, his cock already hardening against his thigh. 

“Oh, shit,” Jake muttered as you leaned down, taking his length into your hand, dribbling a ball of split onto the tip, massaging it over the head of his cock with the pad of your thumb. He laid back, eyes squeezed shut as you took him into your mouth, Jake’s fingers buried in your hair as he gasped, releasing himself against your throat, filling your mouth. When you pulled back, swallowing, wiping one thumb over your lips, his eyes fluttered open and he shook his head. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” 

After showering, the two of you fell into a tangle on the bed. 

“This is so much better than the couch,” Jake whispered. 

“Go to sleep, Seresin,” you complained, his hand spread warm against your lower stomach. 

Jake pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder. 

Sometime just before sunrise, you woke up and looked over. Jake looked peaceful, golden hair spread out on the white pillowcase, one arm slung over the side of the bed, slumping down toward the ground, bare back and ass cheek visible from where he had thrown the covers off. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined you’d be asleep, naked, next to Jake Seresin. That you would be able to tolerate being alone with him at all. 

But two days had changed everything. 

***

The sound of yelping woke you up a second time. The room was bright, light streaming in from the windows. You couldn’t tell yet if it was the brightness of snow or the winter sun blaring through. 

Next to you, the bed was empty. 

There was the yelp again, coming from the kitchen. Jake emerged a minute later wearing a pair of boxers but no shirt, carrying two cups of coffee. The minute he saw you sitting up, the covers pulled up around your bare chest, he grinned. “Morning Finn.” 

“What are you doing in there?” you asked. 

“Frying bacon,” Jake replied, setting down the coffee mugs on the nightstand to your right. Just as you raised your nose to sniff in the air, he grabbed your face with both hands, landing a kiss right on your lips. As if it was the most normal thing in the world. Like the two of you had woken up together for a hundred weekends in a row. When he pulled away, you felt your breath catch. Was this what it was supposed to be like? “Stay there,” he commanded. “And don’t you dare get dressed.” 

You leaned back, the sheets tucked beneath your arms, and grabbed one of the coffee cups as Jake scurried back to the kitchen. A few more yelps later and he emerged with a plate of bacon, two muffins and scrambled eggs. “Where did you get this?” you asked, picking up a piece of bacon and sliding it into your mouth. “Fuck that’s good.” 

“Snuck out while you were snoring.” 

You slapped his bicep and he chuckled. Jake was so muscular it didn’t even affect him. You let your fingers linger there for a moment before pulling them away. “I don’t snore.” 

“You do,” Jake said, a piece of bacon sticking out of his mouth. “It’s cute.” 

“No snoring is cute.” 

“Anything you do, Ella Finnley, is adorable.” A blush crept up your neck toward your face. You realized for a moment you had no makeup on. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this close to a man without makeup on. 

“Wait.” You frowned. “You went out this morning?” Jake nodded. “What about the snow?” 

“It’s gone.” 

“What!” You rushed out of bed, practically tripping on a corner of the rug, smashing your hands against the window. 

Jake was right. The streets which the night before had been layered with snow, were clear. Instead, they had been replaced by the usual threads of traffic: honking taxis and black town cars and every Toyota under the sun filled with Uber drivers. The sidewalks were congested once again. 

It was like the storm had never happened. 

You looked over at Jake, eyes wide. That was it. The magic of the snow was gone, replaced by the smell of the subway steam hot on the grates and hordes of pedestrians cluttering Fifth Avenue. 

Jake got out of bed, grabbing his henley shirt from where it was folded on his suitcase and handing it to you. You blushed, realizing for the first time that you were butt ass naked, standing in the middle of the room. The shirt was soft as you pulled it overhead and smelled like Jake: coffee, cinnamon, vetiver. The sleeves were long and you balled the excess fabric into your fists. 

This was the part of the movie where the princess turned back into a pumpkin. 

“Jake, I—”

“I’m staying,” he said, his words overlapping yours. 

“What?” 

“In New York. I’m leaving San Francisco,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. I’m moving my company’s headquarters out of the Bay and into the city.” 

“Company?” 

“I own FreeTek.” 

Your head felt heavy. Congested. FreeTek was one of those Forbes 100 companies. The kind with billion-dollar valuations and IPOs that they had billboards for in Times Square. It was a tech company that also helped to build schools in Africa and Central America. 

Your eyes boggled. Jake reached out, one hand cupping your neck gently. “Ella. I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

“We don’t even know each other, Jake,” you replied. “You’re just some guy that my roommate used to fuck.” 

He looked hurt, lips pressed into a line. “We know enough,” he said. “And what we don’t know, we’ll learn.” 

“It’s not that simple.” 

“It could be.” 

“Fuck, Seresin, I don’t know, OK. Two days ago I hated your guts.” You looked up at Jake and he chuckled. “One really good fuck can’t change everything.” 

“Really good, huh?” 

“Don’t be so proud,” you said. “It had been a while. I probably would have gone home with Raji, the bodega guy in about a week if you hadn’t come along.” 

“Does Raji kiss you like this?” And then Jake’s lips were on yours, his hands traveling down your back, pulling you in tight, holding your chest to his. 

When the two of you broke apart, he brushed the hair from your face before letting go, taking a step back. 

“I waited ten years, Finn,” he said softly. “What’s another week or another month?” 

“What do you think is going to happen in a week or a month?” you asked. 

Jake grinned. “You’ll realize the fairytale doesn’t end here, Ella. You and me, that’s how this story ends.” 

You shook your head, reaching out, wrapping your arms around Jake’s neck, tugging him in close. “God you’re a conceited dick, aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

You rolled your eyes as Jake smirked. “Alright, prince charming. Let’s go see this palatial apartment of yours.” 

Jake slipped his arms around your waist. “Is it bad I’m hoping there’s another storm so I can trap you inside again and have you all to myself for another weekend?” 

You looked outside. The sky was perfectly clear. Blue skies and small puffy clouds as far as the eye could see beyond the buildings. It was as if the snowstorm had never happened. 

And then, so fast if you had blinked you would have missed it, a snowflake drifted in your field of vision, hovering in the air outside your fifth-story window. 

You grinned. “Be careful what you wish for, Seresin.” 

Jake kissed the top of your head.   

Tag list [using my list from The Off-Season since it's my most up-to-date Jake list but if you're not interested in these types of fics just let me know!):

@double-j @topguncultleader @momc95 @hangmandruigandmav

@teacupsandtopgun @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @blue-aconite @seresinhangmanjake @eminyourjeans @shawnsblue @babyminghao @sadpetalsstuff @angelbabyange @taytaylala12 @wkndwlff @mygyn @oneelleandaneye @averyhotchner @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @rxmtoon @valkyrja-siren-blog @horseshoegirl @abaker74 @clancycucumber230 @theharddeck @redbarn1995 @shanimallina87

@memeorydotcom @joaquinwhorres @bobfloydsbabe @gretagerwigsmuse @djs8891

@blackcatdhisgf @buckysteveloki-me  @eli2447 @bellaireland1981 @seresinslady @hookslove1592 @shotclock24seconds @fanficfandomlove @ryebecca @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @t8r-tots

[buckys-loverman]

cooking lessons part 2 - jeremiah fisher

you and jeremiah have been best friends since you were children and he has taught you everything you know; but he’s not done with all his lessons

warnings: smut, minors DNI, 18+ appropriate, praise kink, vulgar language

pairing: fem!reader x jeremiah fisher

A/N: hello everyone! i’m so happy you all liked this story, so here is that part 2 you all requested! if this is your first time reading then head on over to my page and read “cooking lessons” to understand <3

“So it looks like i’ll have to fuck it out of you.”

Your mouth felt dry hearing him talk to you in such a way as your legs continued to shake from your previous organism. The two of you never broke eye contact as he moved closer to stand between your legs, placing his hands on your knees.

“Be a good girl and open up for me.” Jeremiah pleaded as you slowly nodded and opened your legs just for him. Your brain felt like it was under a spell of some sort, having no control over how your body reacted to him, taking in each word.

His pointer finger trailed upwards from your knee as he slowly reached for the half ripped panties you were wearing, pulling at it with sudden force until it completely teared in half, the rip echoing across the kitchen.

A small gasp escaped your mouth as the cold air through the window brushed past your open legs. Reaching his other hand forward, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck and pulled you forward just close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.

“I want your permission to fuck you.” His voice sounded so sweet yet his words meant the opposite. You nodded as you held back the impulse to bring him towards you, closing the space separating the two of you.

He shook his head, “Words. I want to hear you say it.” He responded with more force as you answered, “Yes Jere, please fuck me.”

A smirk plastered his face as his hand on the back of your neck tightened, pulling you in as he began kissing you with force, the two of you fighting back and forth for dominance as your fingers combed through his now tangled hair from earlier, a similar heat beginning to rise in your stomach.

Jeremiah gripped onto the material of your shirt before pulling away and slipping it off, just a sheer lace bra covering your hardened nipples. He stared at the sight in awe before placing a hand on your stomach and pushing you down on the counter.

He kissed your lips once before moving down to your neck, taking his time as he sucked and bit down to leave a mark that said no one could have you but him.

A moan escaped your mouth as he made his way down to your chest, one hand working to remove your bra while the other one was busy rubbing his thumb and pointer finger between your nipple. The pleasure ripples through your body as he got your bra off, removing any material between you and his fingers.

Jeremiah cupped your breast as he placed his tongue in the center as he swirled it around, another moan escaping from your mouth as your hand made it to his shirt, pulling at it in pleasure. A low groan came from him, the vibration of his hum causing you to jerk under his touch.

“You like that, don’t you darling?” He questioned as he lifted his head, the other hand continuing to rub your nipple. You nodded in response as you squeezed your fists together for some form of relief.

He continued to focus on the center of your nipple as he shifted between the two, alternating between the motion of sucking and swirling versus rubbing and twisting.

“Jere.” His name slipping out of your mouth repeatedly as his hands roamed your body, leaving its trace for you to find later. His scent filling up your lungs, driving you even crazier than imaginable.

He moved further down your stomach, leaving behind a trail of kisses that were softer than the ones he left previously. The sound of his zipper and pants falling to the ground sent a spark through your body as you pushed your body up to take in the sight.

His body was toned and tan, every vein trailing up his arms and trailing down his cock was on full display for you. His ruffled curls sat perfectly on his face and his eyes looked at you with a mix of lust and desire, the main thought running through his mind was how you would never fuck anybody else but him after today.

In a quick motion Jeremiah reached forward and pulled your body towards the end of the counter, legs still spread, as he slipped two fingers in his mouth before trailing them between your legs, the same wave of pleasure flooding through your body.

He inserted both fingers this time as his free hand gripped your ass, pushing you forward with each thrust of his fingers to feel how deep he can go. “Good girl” he repeated under his breath, each time his voice getting lower.

Each thrust felt better than the last as you threw your head back, your moans becoming louder as he curled his fingers, repeatedly hitting your g-spot as though he had it memorized.

“Put it in Jere.” You begged as his fingers were soaked in your juices, wishing it was something else there instead.

“Whatever you wish for princess.” He smirked as he pulled out, using his drenched fingers around his hardened cock as you watched, just the sight being enough to make you finish.

He looked up into your eyes and he stepped closer, lining his cock with your entrance before he paused and said, “I won’t be going slow for you-“ as he pushed it in, a gasp escaping your mouth before he finished, “I can’t help myself around you.”

Your breath got caught trapped in your chest as he pulled out quickly and pushed himself in even harder than before, filling a rush of pleasure in your body that you did not know was achievable. Your back arched from his harsh grip, sure to leave marks on your body to find tomorrow.

“Jere-” You moaned, your voice bouncing off the walls and his cock stiffened hearing the echo of your voice moan his name, you were his girl, and no one was going to take you away from him now that he’s claimed you.

“That’s right angel, take it all in.” The rhythm of his hips sped up faster with each thrust, the sound of your juices decorating his cock amplifying, a mixture of moans and whimpers escaping your voice as he continuously hit your g-spot again.

One of his hands gripped your ass while the other was tangled in your hair, pulling at it roughly while he fucked you against the kitchen counter you two were once baking on. The batter was leaking over the counter like you were on him, a similar fire in your stomach begins to form as you feel yourself approaching another high.

A small smirk slips from his mouth and he removes his hand from your ass, licking his thumb before placing it on your heated clit, rubbing it in circles as he pumps himself in and out of you.

A groan escapes your mouth as the combination of the two overwhelm your body, your toes and fingers so curled you are sure you will soon draw blood. Your head falls back as a harsh wave of euphoria runs through each vein of your body, sending a bigger shock than the one before as your high overtakes every sense of feeling.

Jeremiah continues to fuck you through your high as you hear him mutter a small, “Fuck” before finishing inside of you moments after. As the two of you come back to your senses, you stare at each other in disbelief as you’re both covered in each other’s sweat, saliva, and baking materials. You both take deep breaths as you continue to stare into each other’s eyes, before Jeremiah interjects with-

“Creampie anyone?”

——————————————————————————

hello everybody!! did i post a part 2 three months later? yes. do i regret it? nope. enjoy <3

[writingwarden]

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Male!Reader

TW- Being stabbed, blood, canon typical violence

Word Count- 1.2k

Prompt- "Can someone make the ground stop moving?"

Warden Writing Masterlist💚

[CALLSIGN- HYPNO]

[A/N- Need more Gaz/Male Readers fr]

“Pushing into the office now.” You shout into your mic, hands numb from the cold air of winter and the constant shaking of your rifle as enemy after enemy fell in your path. 

The warehouse finally clear of hostiles as you rush up the metal stairs to the top floor. Adrenaline courses through you and the rusted metal door slams open under the force of your shoulder. Two men turn to you with their guns raised but you’re faster. You’re moving before the bodies hit the ground. Kicking the door shut behind you to hopefully buy yourself some time.

The 141 had been tracking this part of a terrorist cell for months after a series of arsons and murders that were too similar to ignore. This was it. There is chatter over the comms as you flip through manilla folders. The words between Price and Gaz don’t register as you shove everything that looks of importance into your backpack. The computer screen flashes in the corner of your vision. The laptop and its intel were the target.

The computer sat on the metal table surrounded by folders and scattered maps now splattered with blood.

You turn and hunch over the computer to begin your work. Attaching the flash drive as you start to scour through enemy files. Anxiety grips you as numbers and names fill the screen. Targets, dates, weapons manifests, it was all here. In the back of your mind you scold the enemy for making such important information so easily accessible. Your team would smoke you if you had ever left something like this so carelessly in the open. 

Footsteps thunder across the floor below your position. The files were nowhere close to being finished, you would have to hold this position until they were. This was information that you could not afford to lose. 

Down to your last mag and you would need that for your escape to the evac. You let loose an annoyed groan and raise your hand to the radio on your vest. “Hypno to Bravo-Six, I’m cornered in the office, gonna need some backup.” 

There is a moment of silence before Price’s voice crackles through, “We can’t son, they’ve got us bogged down near the trucks.” Shit. 

Grabbing the laptop off the table and sitting it carefully on the ground; you crouch behind the table and prop the rifle on top. Taking in a deep breath as the door bursts open. Three men rush in, carelessly firing off shots in your direction. When you squeeze the trigger the first man goes down smoothly, falling into the one behind him. 

This gives you just enough time to fire at the fumbling enemy soldier, the second man falls just as the first. Blood coating the concrete floor. 

The third man’s bullets pelt the table and ground around you. Curling into yourself as the bullets fly so close you feel the heat on your skin. One successfully grazing your upper arm as you attempt to fire again. 

Sending up every curse in your mind as your gun jams. Moving quickly to unsheath the knives on your belt as the barrage of bullets stops and you hear the click of an empty gun. Not letting him get the time to reload you jump the table and send a knife flying. The man screams, dropping his gun and reaching for the knife now lodged in between his shoulder and throat.

As you watch in disbelief the man rips the blade from his skin, not hesitating to charge at you. Swinging upwards to block his swing, knocking his arm down and away from your face. But the man doesn’t give up. He instead stabs downwards. Your own knife now embedded in your thigh as the one in your hand sinks into the man's chest.

The man slumps forward, forcing the knife further into his chest. A wheezing sound punched from his chest. Blood trickles down coating your glove as you push him back. The body hits the ground with a heavy thunk, dragging the knife in your leg downwards. The knife tears through the skin as it clatters on the concrete. 

Ignoring the tingling sensation and heat quickly spreading through your leg, a pop up on the computer's screen draws your attention. A text message? No, A full conversation was being typed out before your eyes.

BREACH- They’re SAS.

BREACH- What do you want us to do?

The most recent message is what sends you into motion. Grabbing the now complete flash drive and shoving it into your front pocket. Slinging your bag over your shoulders and sprinting out the door, jumping over the dead. 

ATLAS- Burn it down.

Blood pumping in your ears as you run. The wooden crates that had provided you cover were now burning. Flames spread to everything as you rush across the warehouse floor. Smoke threatens to choke you as you reach the loading dock doors. 

Jumping off the platform results in your legs giving from under you and you slide across the icy asphalt. You can’t stop here, scrambling to your unsteady feet you stumble forward. Adrenaline courses through your veins as you run for the trees. Branches tug at your clothes and snow seeps into your boots. 

Shouldering through the brush reveals the team standing surrounded by dead soldiers. Blood staining the clean white snow. Your sudden appearance has them raising their guns at you before recognition sets in. 

“Bloody hell Hypno.” Price says, stepping in your direction. 

You shuffle forward, the blood covering you growing cold while heat continues to spread down your leg. A look crosses the two men's faces as you get closer. 

“Where’s that blood coming from?” Gaz’s eyes frantically comb over your form. The pair stands in front of you, why were they blurry?

Your vision swims as you turn to face Price, ignoring Gaz’s question. “Captain, they're… Oh shit can someone make the ground stop moving.” Your knees buckle and then your face is slamming into the hard snow. A searing pain shoots from your leg through your body on impact. 

Despite the freezing temperatures there's sweat on your brow. Hands are on you then you're facing the sky, a panicked looking Gaz pressing his hands to the bleeding wound. His mouth is moving but the words don’t reach your ears. 

Lifting your gloved hand to his arm makes him look at you, then your eyes close.

… … … … … … … 

“Doctor is saying that it barely missed your femoral artery.” Gaz sits beside your hospital bed. His hands are wrapped around your own as he places a kiss on your palm. 

You had woken up in a haze, bright lights blinding you before you realized where you were. According to Gaz you had only been out for around seven hours after arriving back at base. The trucks had been set ablaze so your team had to be airlifted out of there. 

Other than the stab wound you had several bruises and were borderline hypothermic. 

You smile at him, “Yeah well, you should have seen the other guy.” Gaz lightly smacks your chest, clearly not amused with your joke. 

“Remind me why I’m dating your dumbass.” He says with a straight face, trying not to smile. 

“Because of my handsome face.” you reply with an equally straight face but can’t help it and a wide grin splits across your face. Gaz looks away and shakes his head but you can see the corners of his mouth upturned. He turns back to you and leans in, placing a quick kiss on your lips. 

“Sure, we’ll go with that.”

[A/N- Sorry if this seems off, trying to push through a very tough writer's block. Feedback and Reblogs are always encouraged!]

[64yrsold]

ACHES 11. mine

18+ (please see masterlist for cw) aches masterlist previous (10)

I slept through the morning, waking up cold and bothered by the afternoon light seeping through the curtains. His pillow was creased and empty, so I listened for him. In the midst of the droning of traffic, and the song of spring birds, was the warm, full sound of his acoustic. I peeked out of the bedroom, shivering. 

He muted the strings when he saw me, “Morning, angelface.”

I scoffed at the nickname, pretending I didn’t like it.

“You need a coffee?” He asked, setting his guitar in its stand. “God, you look freezing.”

“I think I’m turning to stone,” I mumbled, “Feel how cold my hands are.”

I put my hands between his, his eyes squeezing shut in a wince.

“Oh, darling,” he pulled me in by my wrists, letting me sink into his outstretched body on the couch. I fit perfectly on top of him, my cheek to his sunkissed cotton sweater. I breathed in his scent, making him giggle.

“Why do you always do that?” He messily brushed my hair to one side, his fingers rough on my scalp. I grabbed handfuls of his sweater.

“You smell nice,” I took in another breath, then looked up at him with a frown. “You smell like my soap.”

He pressed his lips into a line, “That’s weird.”

I narrowed my eyes, “I bought you your own soap, remember?”

“And I use it every time I shower,” he nodded. His cheeks reddened, just slightly, as if I had pinched his milky skin between my fingers.

“Liar,” I accused, laughing.

“I really do!” He argued, but blushed harder. He sighed, rolling his eyes, “Fuck, I’m a horrible liar.”

“I’m too cold to be mad, anyways,” I let my head drop to his sternum again, shuddering. He grabbed the hem of his sweater, pulling it over my head, covering me in darkness. He didn’t mind my frigid hands seeking shelter on his torso, or my cold nose pressed into his ribcage. 

“I wish I had an apartment with proper heating,” I grumbled, escaping from under his sweater. My hair was frizzy and disheveled, and he grinned, patting it down. 

“Then you wouldn’t need me to warm you up,” he cupped my cheek, dragging his thumb down my nose.

“Well, you won’t be here all the time, will you?”

“Sure I will be,” he smiled, the bridge of his nose blushing pink. “Tell me more about your dream house.”

I closed my eyes, picturing it, “I’ve thought a lot about this.”

“Really?”

“The exterior is a baby blue. I saw a house like that once, and it was so cheery and comforting to look at. Like looking at the sky.”

He hummed, “I wouldn’t mind that.”

“There’s a sunroom, and a big porch in the back. A kitchen with a big sink. I can keep a garden in the backyard, too.”

“How many bedrooms?”

I hesitated, “Just one for us.”

“You don’t want kids?” He asked. His thumb traced the apple of my cheek. He didn’t seem surprised, or upset. Just curious.

“Not yet,” I shrugged. “I don’t really know.”

“I might like a baby. I think I’d be a good father. I would try, at least.” I could see him picturing it, taking care of a child. He smiled, looking up with those round, brown eyes. “I could do it with you.”

I smiled back.

“Only if you want, I mean,” he corrected. 

“Right,” I nodded, laying back down on his chest. I listened to his heart, fast and loud. I rose with the waves of his breath. 

“If you don’t want kids, I don’t want kids,” he sighed, letting his head fall back to the couch. “I’m driving this conversation into the ground.”

“You can retry, if you want.”

“I’d like kids. If you want kids. I love you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, “I love you.”

“Do you want that coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

He sat up, hands skimming over my back. I sat in the corner of the couch, and he pulled his sweater over his head. 

“You can keep this one,” he whispered, helping me put my arms through it. He took the hood, tightening it around my face, tying a knot below my chin. “Looks cute on you.” He kissed me, all comfort and adoration. He kissed me to communicate, to say he was mine, just to feel close to me. 

I fought against sleep on the couch as the apartment filled with the smell of coffee.

-> next (12)

[brucenorris007]

Scrap

Summary: Scrap, verb: to discard, retire or remove from service. Metal Sonic discovers—partially through force, partially via coaxing—that perhaps it's time that it scraps a few hardwired notions. Else it will be stuck in the same loop indefinitely.

1801 words (Chapter 1)

“Egghead dipped, base is about to blow, and you still wanna scrap.”

Every fight had the same premise:

Bones versus bearings, blood versus oil, feet versus engines.

“I respect that, Metal; let’s take this outside!”

The outcome should have been obvious, and yet…

Clang.

Braak.

Thok.

Much like the premise, every fight had the same result.

Metal raced Sonic through falling detritus and collapsing supports amid blaring alarms; it clashed with the hedgehog whenever possible, attempting to knock him off his stride and prevent his escape. Sonic wove around the debris while still giving as good as he got; no number of bruises ever slowed him down.

Another explosion rocked the foundations of the subterranean structure; pressure building from rapidly rising heat and fire from below began propelling metal and concrete up as well as down.

Chances of escape came out to approximately two percent.

ZOOM.

Two percent was all that Metal’s nemesis had ever needed.

Groaning and creaking, the roof of the base cracked; daylight peeked through at the end of the flames. Metal’s turbines spun at a droning hum, and it shot outside milliseconds after Sonic did. They briefly hung in the air over the glacial mountain Metal’s master had been operating out of; Metal calculated trajectory, engaged its afterburners and careened down to cross the distance to its doppelganger. Sonic was never truly helpless, but in the scant moments before his feet touched the ground again, it might

The hush over the mountain shattered with a thunderous BOOM.

Sonic’s eyes went wide.

He opened his mouth.

Metal raised its clawed hands.

Loud whooshing sliced through the cold air.

A crash.

Impact.

Something quietly went

Crack.

Disconnection.

Stillness.

Then, motion; all-at-once, too-much motion. Metric tons of red-hot metal flashed across a backdrop of blue sky and white snow. Tumbling and crashing, sliding and barreling through the air without discernible direction or any sort of control.

Noise.

Just… noise.

Simultaneous. Overwhelming. Constant.

Until it wasn’t.

Stillness. Again.

The violent spinning stopped as abruptly as it started.

Soft reboot.

Metal came back online.

A rendering of what had occurred formulated in the space between processors.

The conclusive explosion of the base had expelled a jagged portion of a support beam; its ballistic path intersected–at terminal velocity–with Metal’s frame.

SYSTEM OPERATING ON RESERVE BATTERY POWER

And consequently, it lay half-buried in ice and snow; alerts identifying multiple instances of severe non-function cropped up, cumulatively depicting a less-than-optimal state.

“Metal, you okay?”

Sonic characteristically chose the worst moment to reappear, skidding to a stop in the snow.

“That was a gnarly ride down.”

Internal alarms blared at his measured approach; Metal had experience with being at another’s mercy while in a state of disrepair.

But Sonic was not its master.

It bypassed several advisories against re-engaging combat capability, despite that its reserve battery was not designed to support that. Metal attempted to propel back onto its feet.

Something popped. Loudly.

Hissing and heat followed.

“That… didn’t sound good.” Sonic said.

Metal ignored the derision; occupied with suppressing panic and trying to force fluidity out of limbs locking up courtesy of uncooperative hydraulics.

“Doesn’t look good, either.”

The hedgehog paused just within striking range. Metal’s motherboard ran countless calculations of all the data points illustrating how severely disadvantageous the situation was; of how many weaknesses Sonic could exploit to inflict damage.

“Here, let me”

He reached out. Anticipating an attack, Metal’s own hand snatched the hedgehog’s wrist. Threw itself forward in a spastic lunge.

“Hey!”

Sonic spun to one side, leaving Metal to crash into the snow again. Expecting retaliation, it snatched its hand back.

None came for several moments. Sonic stared at it. Metal glared back, chills that had nothing to do with the temperature permeating its core.

“Okay then.”

Sonic turned around and ran, circling the base of the mountain; a thunderclap seconds later let Metal know he’d broken the sound barrier and was, within a minute, long gone.

Metal attempted again to right itself; renewed alerts made the task more trouble than it was worth. It switched off its optics to preserve power.

WARNING: PROLONGED EXPOSURE TO LOW TEMPERATURES MAY AFFECT BATTERY EFFICIENCY.

RESERVE POWER: 83.6%

—————

Kvhroon.

By Metal’s internal clock, just shy of an hour had passed when it next registered another presence.

“Do you see him, Omega?”

“NEGATIVE.”

The new arrivals were only marginally less-than-welcome. The cronch of snow and ice coupled with the faint, smooth whirring of moving mechanical parts preceded the last of its master’s E-series announcing:

“I HAVE LOCATED HIM.”

Metal kept its optics offline. Perhaps if it ignored them, they would go away. It willfully disregarded how unlikely it was they were searching for it when it happened to be injured.

“Is he on standby mode?”

“NO. HE IS JUST BEING A LITTLE BITCH.”

Metal’s optics flared back to life for the express purpose of glowering at Omega.

“CALLED IT.”

Shadow leaned into view.

“Metal? Can you move?”

“HE CANNOT.”

“I wasn’t asking you.”

“YET I AM CORRECT.”

Metal raised one arm defiantly, a particular titanium finger elevated.

“MUCH IMPRESS. SUCH WOW.”

An internal fan briefly spun harder than usual; Omega might have been programmed without inflection in his voice box, but Metal did possess sarcasm receptors. Shadow sighed.

“All right,” he said; he knelt in the snow. “Let’s just move him.”

Metal’s systems overclocked on seeing Shadow’s outstretched hand; for the barest moment, the incinerating barrier of its Overdrive function enveloped its body. Shadow yanked his hand back. Steam from instantly evaporated ice surrounded Metal.

RESERVE POWER: 50.2%

“Or not.” Shadow said after a beat.

Metal shut off optics again; after that half-a-second engagement of its most powerful offensive maneuver, conserving energy was an even higher priority. It cast about for incoming satellite signals until it pinged off Shadow’s phone. The work of a couple minutes allowed it to interact with the device.

Did Sonic send you?

A beat. The sound of Shadow’s fingers tapping and a phone unlocking. Two simultaneous verbal responses.

“No.”

“YES.”

“Not helping.”

“IT IS THE TRUTH.”

Any help from him is unacceptable

“FINE,” Omega said. “LET YOUR CIRCUITS FRY AND FREEZE BEYOND REPAIR. YOU MIGHT SUCCEED IN HURTING HIS FEELINGS.”

Sarcasm receptors blared again.

“Thank you, Omega.” Shadow said; Metal didn’t have much data for comparison, but the hedgehog’s voice sounded a little strained.

The cronch of Omega’s footsteps indicated he’d momentarily stepped away.

A beat passed.

“Why?” Shadow asked.

What

“I haven’t seen you accept help from anyone before; why take such exception to any that he offers?”

He is the Enemy

“The feeling doesn’t seem to be mutual.”

False

“What are you basing that on?”

Metal’s processors stalled. Sonic, nemesis, the threat that required every preparation and observation to combat; the nemesis who still won, mercilessly heedless of all the data Metal painstakingly had compiled within its CPU. If Sonic, who consistently exceeded that data, didn’t feel as invested in their conflict as Metal, then for what reason had it gathered all that information? Metal could not provide any more complete an answer than:

He is the Enemy

RESERVE POWER: 48.9%

—————

Inexplicably, both of them remained with Metal, despite the arctic climate and the temperature falling with the waning afternoon.

“Is the hatred truly yours if it’s just part of your programming?” Shadow asked.

Were you not programmed–created–to be a protector?

“That’s one of the purposes for which I was made, yes.”

I was created for a sole purpose; eliminating Sonic the Hedgehog

“AND YOU’RE NOT EVEN GOOD AT THAT.”

Metal elected to ignore the more bombastic robot.

That he is the Enemy is just a motive for pursuing his end

Shadow didn’t immediately respond.

“The primary purpose assigned to me on my creation,” he said. “Was to preserve–protect–humanity and the planet. Yet few, if any, have come as close as I did to destroying both.”

That you failed only proves it is not what you were programmed for

Shadow huffed.

“By that logic, failing to eliminate Sonic means that’s not your purpose, either.”

Metal didn’t have a satisfactory reply to that. Rather than frustrated or angry, it experienced more… confusion. Pensiveness.

Uncertainty.

RESERVE POWER: 39.4%

—————

You do not need to remain here

“What do you mean?”

Robotnik will return to collect me in due time

“Will he?”

Metal didn’t understand Shadow’s apparent desire to challenge its every assertion in gentle tones.

“I’ve never known the doctor to spare a second glance at anything he’s left behind him,” Shadow said; almost as if thinking aloud. He paused. “Not unless whatever has captured his myopic attention requires it.”

Omega’s persisting presence was conspicuous by his deafening silence; the lack of any barbing interjections despite his well-documented contempt for Metal’s master.

“I suppose that’s the primary factor he gave you,” Shadow said. “That single-minded focus; though, is Sonic really your enemy, or his?”

There is no distinction

“Maybe not,” Shadow conceded. “But maybe there should be. I may not have destroyed the planet, but I have been–I am–much more than just a protector. I see no reason why you couldn’t similarly evolve.”

Metal once again failed to formulate a response.

“Sonic doesn’t have to be your enemy,” Shadow said. “If you want, you don’t ever have to fight again.”

RESERVE POWER: 27.7%

—————

You have not attempted to move me again

“Do you want to be moved?”

Merely an observation

One that Metal couldn’t comprehend. They’d come in place of Sonic to assist, yet a single defensive act deterred them. Despite that, Metal knew from the vaguely song-like echo of chaos energy that Shadow hadn’t strayed off, and though Omega occasionally stomped up and down in the snow, he offered not a word of complaint. They accomplished nothing of any discernible value that Metal could grasp by doing so.

Even the way Shadow phrased the question caused a stutter in Metal’s motherboard.

“We’re not going to do anything you don’t want us to do.”

That word again: want.

‘Are you ready’ or ‘There’s no rush’ Metal could have understood; an implication that their help was imminent, or that they were waiting until it lacked the power to retaliate. Never mind that Metal’s battery had long since depleted past the point of being able to utilize Overdrive again, regardless of whether they had any way of knowing that.

No. Instead, Shadow asked what it wanted.

“CONSENT IS ESSENTIAL.”

Metal had ample experience receiving repairs or… improvements, heedless of its state of consciousness.

Yet Shadow and Omega were not its master.

RESERVE POWER: 15.8%

—————

What would I be without my programming?

“Everyone in the world would give you a different answer; the only conclusion that matters is the one you carve out for yourself.”

—————

Take me to the fox

please

RESERVE POWER: 2.0%

Kvhroon.

[lighthouseofstories]

Devotion

10.09.2023

TW: Soft NSFW, Creampie, Oral Sex-Female Receiving, Vaginal Penetration.

A Happy Late Birthday Hawkins! Our mystical tarot man has quickly become one of my faves! This was in part inspired by the song 'Devotion- by Hurts) if anyone wants to have a listen.

You often reflect, that being with Hawkins is like being with some ethereal being. His calm, collected nature and mystical outlook on life set him apart from the pirates around him. His face is often stoic, many not familiar with him accuse him of being cold and unfeeling, unable to express a shred of emotion. But there are two of you who know this to not be true, one is Hawkins’ long-time friend and subordinate Faust and the second is you, his lover. He holds you both in the highest regard and values the opinions of you two above anyone else, a trust you feel great love for. 

It is in peaceful moments like these, with the dark cabin illuminated by candles and the soft shine of moonlight filtering through the window, that Hawkins shows you the love and unwavering devotion he feels towards you. 

Your hair is scattered across the pillow and your head tilted to the side to expose the smooth and sensitive skin of your neck to Hawkins. Every gentle kiss Hawkins places across your neck is a soft caress, an act of worship to you who is a part of his soul, but also an act of possession; you belong to him, belong here in his arms fate after all decreed it to be so. 

Hawkins’ smooth hand gently strokes its way down your body and grasps at the hem of your white nightgown, gently pushing it up your legs until more of your delicate skin is on display. His hand then travels lower, and lower, until it reaches your still-clothed womanhood; clothed but already soaked through at Hawkins’ gentle touch. He gently pulls them down your legs and you slightly lift yourself to help him. Once those are on the floor and out of his way, he begins to gently move down your body, peppering his path with kisses as he goes until his lips reach between your legs. Hawkins gently spreads your legs wider and leans down, enveloping your sensitive nub between his lips. 

“Hawkins! Oh.” You breathily gasp out and your hands fly to his hair, gently grabbing a hold of it to keep him in this spot where he now ignited a fire within you. As Hawkins gently runs his tongue over your nub, slowly, gently allowing your pleasure to rise, you can’t stop the gasps and small moans that escape you. 

“Ohh!” You suddenly moan as Hawkins pushes two fingers into you and curls them against your spot deep inside. 

With the fire quickly rising, “Hawkins, I’m oh! I’m close!” You whimper out. 

“Cum for me y/n.” Hawkins tells you as he once more brings his lips around your nub, an action that causes the heat within you to burst, spreading warmth throughout your body. Hawkins doesn’t stop his ministrations helping you to ride out your orgasm to the fullest. Only when you gently started pushing at his head, in slight pain from the immediate overstimulation did he stop to give you time to recover. 

Out of breath and body limp from the pleasure running through your nerves, you just about manage to turn your head to look at Hawkins with a soft look in your eyes. You stretch your arms out to embrace him and softly call to him, “Hawkins.”

Hawkins enthralled with you as he is, readily leans into your embrace, resting his head against yours. 

You spread your legs as your hands come to rest on his trousers. “Hawkins let me help you. I want you to feel good too. Won’t you let us be one?” You gently murmur into his ears as you nuzzle your head against his. 

Hawkins lets you help him untie his sash and belt before he steps back and takes off his trousers and underwear before gently pulling the nightgown over your head and allowing it to fall to the floor with he rest of the garments. Hawkins gives himself a few strokes before leaning down to rest his head against yours as he kisses you briefly before lining up with your entrance. 

He gives you a last look, making sure you’re alright to continue, It has been an exhausting few days after all, with marines and foolish weak pirates on your tail. When you smile at him and nod, he slowly pushes into your entrance, being careful not to rush and hurt you. Hawkins is big and knows taking him is always a stretch for your daintier form. But he loves to be within you, connected so deeply and intimately in a way that no other shall ever be. Having you so intimately in his arms truly allows him to show the depths of his feelings for you. 

You both moan as Hawkins bottoms out. Hawkins attempts to give you time to adjust but as you begin to move your hips all of his resolve is lost. Like a man starved, Hawkins begins to thrust strongly into you all the while leaving desperate kisses all over your bare body. To him, this was his way of worshiping you, his way of showing devotion in the most private and intimate sense. 

You who always stands by him and holds unwavering trust in him. Who lets him protect you when the situation calls for it. There is no other Hawkins would wish to be his partner, a part of his soul. “Y/n your fate is mine as mine is yours. Fate has decreed my love shall be yours, I will love you and keep you safe.” Hawkins whispers his promise against your neck, all his emotions laid bare for you to hear.

It doesn’t take long for him to feel your walls begin to tighten around him. It’s been a while since the two of you had the time and safety to spend the night so intimately. The feeling of your wet walls clenching around him combined with your gasps and whimpers has Hawkins gasping and pressing desperate kisses against your head, neck and anywhere his mouth can reach. 

“Hawkins~Oh! Yess!! I’m~ I’m so close.” You whimper out in pleasure and Hawkins let’s his arm trail down to your womanhood where he gently starts rubbing at your nub.

It doesn’t take long before you cry out and your walls begin to spasm around his cock. He continues thrusting, bringing your overstimulated walls to another orgasm. As he begins to feel his own end approaching his thrusts become more rough and erratic, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust, turning you into a moaning incomprehensible mess. With a last desperate thrust, he buries himself as deep as he can, pressing right against the opening of your cervix and he lets himself cum. His thick seed shooting straight to your womb where he secretly hopes it will take. 

After catching his breath he pulls out, watching as his cum drips out of you. The sight almost makes him want to take you again, but you both need your rest.

He leaves the warmth of your embrace to get a bowl of warm water from his bathroom and makes sure to pour some scented oils into it.

He comes back and sees you barely awake and smiles. He dips a washcloth into the bowl of water and begins to gently clean you up. When you’re clean he washes himself and pours the water away in the bathroom.

Not wishing for you to catch a chill, he takes out a fresh nightgown for you from the wardrobe and helps you into it before he puts on a loose pair of trousers for the night. Spent and exhausted, Hawkins collapses next to you in the bed and pulls you close to rest against his chest. 

The cabin is once more enveloped by the peace of the night. The candles are burning low, enveloping the room in a shadowy warmth, while the ship gently sways and creaks on the quiet sea. Here in your arms, Hawkins allows himself to rest his head on top of yours, breathing in your scent. On nights like these, the weight is lifted off his shoulders, even if momentarily. He for a moment isn’t a pirate captain who has to think through hundreds of different outcomes and make decisions appropriately, he is simply your lover, a part of your soul that fate decreed should be brought together. 

“Hawkins” you tiredly whisper his name and he moves his head to look at you. 

Barely awake, you smile at him. “ “I love you, Hawkins. I’m glad that fate has brought me to you.” 

Hawkins smiles at you and how peaceful you look having drifted off to sleep. Basil Hawkins is a man who believes and trusts in fate wholeheartedly. This trust in fate has brought him to you and you to him and for that Hawkins is thankful.

You often reflect, that being with Hawkins is like being with some ethereal being. His calm, collected nature and mystical outlook on life set him apart from the pirates around him. His face is often stoic, many not familiar with him accuse him of being cold and unfeeling, unable to express a shred of emotion. But there are two of you who know this to not be true, one is Hawkins’ long-time friend and subordinate Faust and the second is you, his lover. He holds you both in the highest regard and values the opinions of you two above anyone else, a trust you feel great love for. 

It is in peaceful moments like these, with the dark cabin illuminated by candles and the soft shine of moonlight filtering through the window, that Hawkins shows you the love and unwavering devotion he feels towards you. 

Your hair is scattered across the pillow and your head is tilted to the side to expose the smooth and sensitive skin of your neck to Hawkins. Every gentle kiss Hawkins places across your neck is a soft caress, an act of worship to you who is a part of his soul, but also an act of possession; you belong to him, belong here in his arms fate after all decreed it to be so. 

Hawkins’ smooth hand gently strokes its way down your body and grasps at the hem of your white nightgown, gently pushing it up your legs until more of your delicate skin is on display. His hand then travels lower, and lower, until it reaches your still-clothed womanhood; clothed but already soaked through at Hawkins’ gentle touch. He gently pulls them down your legs and you slightly lift yourself to help him. Once those are on the floor and out of his way, he begins to gently move down your body, peppering his path with kisses as he goes until his lips reach between your legs. Hawkins gently spreads your legs wider and leans down, enveloping your sensitive nub between his lips. 

“Hawkins! Oh.” You breathily gasp out and your hands fly to his hair, gently grabbing a hold of it to keep him in this spot where he now ignited a fire within you. As Hawkins gently runs his tongue over your nub, slowly, gently allowing your pleasure to rise, you can’t stop the gasps and small moans that escape you. 

“Ohh!” You suddenly moan as Hawkins pushes two fingers into you and curls them against your spot deep inside. 

With the fire quickly rising, “Hawkins, I’m oh! I’m close!” You whimper out. 

“Cum for me y/n.” Hawkins tells you as he once more brings his lips around your nub, an action that causes the heat within you to burst, spreading warmth throughout your body. Hawkins doesn’t stop his ministrations helping you to ride out your orgasm to the fullest. Only when you gently started pushing at his head, in slight pain from the immediate overstimulation did he stop to give you time to recover. 

Out of breath and body limp from the pleasure running through your nerves, you just about manage to turn your head to look at Hawkins with a soft look in your eyes. You stretch your arms out to embrace him and softly call to him, “Hawkins.”

Hawkins enthralled with you as he is, readily leans into your embrace, resting his head against yours. 

You spread your legs as your hands come to rest on his trousers. “Hawkins let me help you. I want you to feel good too. Won’t you let us be one?” You gently murmur into his ears as you nuzzle your head against his. 

Hawkins lets you help him untie his sash and belt before he steps back and takes off his trousers and underwear before gently pulling the nightgown over your head and allowing it to fall to the floor with the rest of the garments. Hawkins gives himself a few strokes before leaning down to rest his head against yours as he kisses you briefly before lining up with your entrance. 

He gives you a last look, making sure you’re alrigh to continue, it has been an exhausting few days after all, with marines and foolsh weak pirates on your tail. When you smile at him and nod, he slowly pushes into your entrance,being careful not to rush and hurt you. Hawkins is big and knows taking him is always a stretch for your daintier form. But he loves to be within you, connected so deeply and intimately in a way which no other shall ever be. Having you so intimately in his arms truly allows him to show the depths of his feelings for you. 

You both moan as Hawkins bottoms out. Hawkins attempts to give you time to adjust but as you begin to move your hips all of his resolve is lost. Like a man starved, Hawkins begins to thrust strongly into you all the while leaving desperate kisses all over your bare body. To him, this was his way of worshipping you, his way of showing devotion in the most private and intimate sense. 

You who always stands by him and holds unwavering trust in him. Who lets him protect you when the situation calls for it. There is no other Hawkins would wish to be his partner, a part of his soul. “Y/n your fate is mine as mine is yours. Fate has decreed my love shall be yours, I will love you and keep you safe.” Hawkins whispers his promise against your neck, all his emotions laid bare for you to hear.

It doesn’t take long for him to feel your walls begin to tighten around him. It’s been a while since the two of you had the time and safety to spend the night so intimately. The feeling of your wet walls clenching around him combined with your gasps and whimpers has Hawkins gasping and pressing desperate kisses against your head, neck and anywhere his mouth can reach. 

“Hawkins~Oh! Yess!! I’m~ I’m so close.” You whimper out in pleasure and Hawkins let’s his arm trail down to your womanhood where he gently starts rubbing at your nub.

It doesn’t take long before you cry out and your walls begin to spasm around his cock. He continues thrusting, bringing your overstimulated walls to another orgasm. As he begins to feel his own end approaching his thrusts become more rough and erratic, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust, turning you into a moaning incomprehensible mess. With a last desperate thrust, he buries himself as deep as he can, pressing right against the opening of your cervix and he lets himself cum. His thick seed shooting straight to your womb. 

After catching his breath he pulls out, watching as his cum drips out of you. The sight almost makes him want to take you again, but you both need your rest.

He leaves the warmth of your embrace to get a bowl of warm water from his bathroom and makes sure to pour some scented oils into it.

He comes back and sees you barely awake and smiles. He dips a washcloth into the bowl of water and begins to gently clean you up. When you’re clean he washes himself and pours the water away in the bathroom.

Not wishing for you to catch a chill, he takes out a fresh nightgown for you from the wardrobe and helps you into it before he puts on a loose pair of trousers for the night. Spent and exhausted, Hawkins collapses next to you in the bed and pulls you close to rest against his chest. 

The cabin is once more enveloped by the peace of the night. The candles are burning low, enveloping the room in a shadowy warmth, while the ship gently sways and creaks on the quiet sea. Here in your arms, Hawkins allows himself to rest his head on top of yours, breathing in your scent. On nights like these, the weight is lifted off his shoulders, even if momentarily. He for a moment isn’t a pirate captain who has to think through hundreds of different outcomes and make decisions appropriately, he is simply your lover, a part of your soul that fate decreed should be brought together. 

“Hawkins” you tiredly whisper his name and he moves his head to look at you. 

Barely awake, you smile at him. “I love you, Hawkins. I’m glad that fate has brought me to you.” 

Hawkins smiles at you and how peaceful you look having drifted off to sleep. Basil Hawkins is a man who believes and trusts in fate wholeheartedly. This trust in fate has brought him to you and you to him and for that Hawkins is thankful.

[willddheartt]

Right Person, Right Time | JJ Maybank

Summary: Sequel to Room 93 (Read it here!!) what happens between the secret lovers after summer leaves? Do their motel encounters simply fade away? 

Inspired by: Right Person, Right Time - Rachel Grae

Warnings: None (?)

Word count: 895

The motel room that once lay bustling with joy and laughter laid quiet and empty for months. The journal that never ran out of pages had its last line filled and sat upon a shelf, unopened. The white t-shirt that always covered her body and carried her scent throughout the week lay washed and hung up in the back of the closet.   After summer came to a close the secret lovers went from knowing everything about one another to complete strangers in the run of a week. It started with one missed Friday. The blonde boy stood her up, leaving her waiting in the empty room all weekend, never losing hope that he might still show up. The next weekend she got rid of the reservation and any future ones, handing back her key to the front desk.  Their different worlds brought the encounters at room 93 to a close just as the cold front brought the summer to a close. Maybe their affection never leaving the confines of the motel room was a sign all along that they would never last past the threshold of fall.  Whenever their paths crossed they didn’t exchange ‘hello’s anymore or even a simple nod or smile, instead they would simply look at their feet as they passed the other, pretending nothing happened no matter how much their hearts ached to be in each other's arms again. 

 On the off chance they would cross paths they would merely share a glance in the other direction and look to the ground as they passed on the street, or in a shop. God forbid they ever frequent the same stomping grounds they did in the summer, in those last good weekends of the fall.  The once bright blonde-haired boy wouldn't so much as look her way, except for those unconscious glances that he thought nobody noticed; and for her, she didn't notice a single one of the boy's side eye stares. 

A new journal began to fill up, but not of poems about his body and their encounters, but of thoughts of what would have happened if they would have left it at what it was supposed to be. A drunken one-night stand. Would they have stayed friends when the summer heat ran out? Might he still be around to bring her warmth in the winter? Perhaps just the one encounter would have been enough to pinpoint where everything was going to go wrong. Maybe their friends would have walked in on them in that random bedroom at the first party of the summer and it would have just been one embarrassing moment in their history and they would have never spoken to each other again. Perchance they would have remained acquaintances who didn't have to live with the memories of that one summer that was now just history. 

Losing a passionate summer romance wasn't the only thing she had lost. She lost her best friends and was forced to pretend like nothing was wrong. All their conversations about how one day they would escape the world they were forced to live in and move somewhere they would be judged for who they were or their social standing, were now gone with the wind only to be remembered by that one leather-bound journal that sits on her shelf reminding her of months ago every night. Their plans for after high school crumped in the trash.  A few weeks ago it felt like the stars had aligned, there was nothing wrong in the cosmos, for who were they to argue with the stars? However, the stars only ill fate lovers to the worst tragedy. Maybe the stars led them together too soon as they cannot tell earthly time, perhaps ha they crossed paths ten years down the line they might actually have the correct timing for everything and not have had the worry of being the wildfire that spread through the town. If only they’d known what would have followed their first encounter on that one drunken night at the beginning of the summer, they wouldn't have followed through. 

She rolled over, her bed empty and cold. The moonlight streamed through her open blinds highlighting the other side of her bed where she often dreamed she’d wake up and he would be next to her. Her phone sat on the empty pillow, black screen. No calls or even a text from him explaining why he stopped showing up. Pulling her knees into her chest she attempted to lull herself back to sleep, trying to imagine his arms wrapping around her as they used to. She tried to find comfort in a memory that only brought her pain. Her alarm clock read 1:00 AM, it was late but no amount of tossing or turning could get her back to sleep on a night like this. The weekends were the worst, they should still be together. The godlike boy should be with her in their motel room just a few minutes away on the outskirts of town. 

Perhaps if the two drunken lovers from room 93 faced their fear of judgement, they would have been able to lay in her bed together and she would be wrapped in his strong arms when she couldn't sleep.  Maybe if they just had spoken their love aloud, they would have left the confines of room 93.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Time For Debriefing

Water turned pink where it circled the shower drain.

Sleek white surfaces captured a vague reflection of Chloe Grant’s silhouette. Both palms flat on the wall, she leaned against it, and closed her eyes while hot water ran down her body in a constant stream, washing away blood from bruises and scratches alike.

Though returned to climes less cold, it felt like the body armor and airlift had captured the wintry air of the Rocky Mountains. Like the shower’s heat needed to wash that away even more than the ignorable injuries she had accumulated on her first mission for Future Proof.

Steam filled the shower room. A long sigh escaped Grant.

Her mind’s inner eye flashed with memories of recent events. A crocodile from another era, a veritable dinosaur. Gazing down the jagged cliffs of the Miocene era, having jumped the jaws of death, and living to remember it. The crunching of bones every time the Purussaurus hit crags on its long way down, falling until it hit the ground.

A man she had barely known was now wiped from existence. Without an explanation. Without a trace.

The sound of bare feet tapping on hard floors cut through the stream of water blanketing Grant’s entire world.

Someone else joined her in the shower rooms.

Mischchenko’s right eye was beet-red, the skin around it discolored in a different shade. A scowl across her lips suggested she was none the happier for whatever she had suffered in the Rockies.

She hadn’t said a word for the entire ride back in the airlift, dismissing any questions about her well-being. After landing, she disappeared into the headquarters’ medical bay, and Grant hadn’t seen Mischchenko since.

Mischchenko entered a stall several booths apart from Grant’s. The short-walled separators only revealed a set of shoulders and their heads. Mischchenko waved a hand in front of the connected electronic sensor—the showers here had no handles to operate them.

Her showerhead sprang to life, unleashing another stream of hot water, soon adding to the fine mist of steam in the room.

Grant wiped water from her face and waited till Mischchenko finally spared her a sidelong glance. Then Grant said, “And here I thought Spencer woulda wanted to brief us immediately after getting back.”

Mischchenko grunted, with a fleeting hint of a grin.

She swept her long brown hair back behind her head, screwing her eyes shut, as she stepped under the stream of hot water.

Sputtering, she finally verbalized a reply, eyes still shut. “He would have, if he hadn’t been in a Zoom call with investors, or somethin’.”

That tracked better with what Grant had expected from the CEO.

She finally cracked open her shampoo bottle and soon massaged her scalp with a blue liquid.

“What did the doctor prescribe?” she asked Mischchenko.

“Concussion,” said Mischchenko with a deep sigh. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine.”

That also tracked.

“You ever, uhm, have a near-death experience on this job? Dealing with dinosaurs like we just did?”

Mischchenko snorted. Laughed. Something in between, sputtering again.

She shook her head but grinned, with gritted teeth on display, and said, “All the damn time. Wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Who else in my line of work gets to say they deal with bona fide dinos?”

“Can’t complain about what Spencer’s paying, either,” Grant muttered.

“Nope, really can’t.”

Once Grant started massaging the shampoo out of her hair, suds gathered around the drain on the floor, and the shower’s water no longer spiraled down in pinkish hues. The soap no longer stung in any open scratches on her skin.

The pain was gone, as was first blood.

Grant asked her, “Got any family?”

Mischchenko shook her head again.

“Two dogs. That’s it.”

Grant flinched. She really didn’t like dogs, but the puzzle pieces fit. Of course Mischchenko was a dog person.

She considered chit-chatting some more about the generous insurance policy Future Proof LLC was granting them, but the previous night and day had been blurring into a surreal haze.

Grant desperately needed some downtime to process everything. Every strange thing. Preferably with some shuteye. But it was a lot to take in. She suspected her mind would keep spinning, keeping awake for many nights to come. Considering all the things she had known about reality, now challenged by everything she had learned of.

Of Anomalies that connected different points in time.

Of a company and government organizations secretly dealing with living, breathing, dinosaurs.

And of lots, and lots of dead people. The broken, and the missing. How many had disappeared through those Anomalies? Disappeared when some change to the timeline erased them from existence? How many had been eaten or mauled by dinosaurs?

She waved a hand in front of the sensor and the stream of water from her shower cut out.

Neither she nor Mischchenko said anything. Only the sound of water remained between them.

Grant left the shower room and dried off. The blurry haze extended. Time melted and stretched and contracted.

Still radiating heat from the shower, she sat alone in her new office in the sleek, highly technologized building of Future Proof.

The device on the desk barely resembled a computer. Her fingers tapped on the desk’s surface upon which a keyboard’s layout glowed, which took some getting used to—without the feedback of physical keys underneath each fingertip, her first few attempts at entering her password failed miserably, punctuated by annoying beeps.

The computer itself was a sleek white case clipped underneath the desktop, as invisible as most of the futuristic tech in this building. A transparent wide screen unfolded on the desk’s right half, and turned opaque upon activating the display’s projection.

This whole place felt like it came from the future.

And maybe it had?

What Singh had said—the company had dealt with threats from the future, just as much as it had been dealing with prehistoric animals coming through the Anomalies. What if Spencer and his crew had been dragging futuristic tech into the present for use in their operations?

Grant sighed as she clicked through a flood of onboarding emails.

Singh had spammed her inbox with a grotesque amount of information, ranging from itineraries of different section heads in the company, accounting, various login and authorization information, staff meeting schedules she was expected to attend, training modules, and other administrative crap.

A single mail stood out to her, addressed to her from the CEO himself.

Malachi Spencer wished Grant a good start at her new workplace. A cold and short message, like one would expect to receive through automation. Something unpersonal and generic, fitting for any new employee if you just exchanged the name addressed at the top.

And yet, it filled Grant with a strange sense of unease. She wondered if Spencer had spent the minute it took to type up those two lines and send it himself. At any rate, he didn’t seem like the type to agonize over those two quaint sentences. Even so, she couldn’t help but wonder.

Then she shook her head, clicked on a debriefing appointment scheduled for in little under an hour into the future, and wasted more minutes scouring other files and options that her new computer and office offered.

Her eyes burned. She rubbed them.

Closed the inbox.

Grant played with the smart office’s settings, increasing window opacity to one hundred percent, thus blocking out the sights of other office workers in the cubicles outside, and dimming all light to the point where she could steal away for a nap unnoticed.

Tall as she was, she barely fit onto the bright red couch in her office. Her calves rested atop one armrest and she dared to close her eyes.

Her office space did a good job at muffling the sounds of phones, chatter, and buzzing devices outside.

Thoughts of the night swirled, preventing sleep from arriving. This wasn’t like her, as her time in the military and private security had left her accustomed to effortlessly chunking up her sleep.

Then again, this wasn’t like any job she had ever worked before.

She thought back to Carter’s incessant swearing, followed by the sight of his broken leg after the dinosaur had tossed the big man aside like a toy.

She thought back to Pruitt’s dry sarcasm while piloting the airlift and coordinating while Mischchenko was MIA, and then to how Sears had vanished from existence for no explicable reason. Because something had altered the timeline. For a split-second, she dared to wonder if it was because of the—

The bright flashes of energy from their EMD weapons, and the hissing snarls of the Purussaurus, a toothy maw that could have broken her in half, and swallowed her whole.

Crunch, crack. The dinosaur’s bones broke as it fell, crashing into the canopy of trees half a mile down cliffs of the Miocene era.

The scintillating, brilliant light of the Anomaly, that wondrous sphere, a rupture in the space-time continuum, connecting two eras, millions of years apart—

Her phone’s alarm buzzed. Nap time was already over.

Grant sighed.

Time for debriefing.

She slipped into her flats and struggled to find her way. Then she bumped into Singh while looking for the conference room—for which they had to ride the elevator to the top floor, and he showed her the way again, chewing her ear off with more administrative busywork—she couldn’t tell if he was repeating the Cliff’s notes of whatever he had already spammed her in mails with, or if this was more information he expected her to absorb.

Grant hoped not to break out into a cold sweat over the thought that she was about to forget everything he was blabbing about.

Instead, she tuned him out, nodded strategically in intervals, and considered how she would phrase future apologies.

They pushed inside glass doors.

Stark white, sleek, and reflecting surfaces awaited them. Surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows, the conference room permitted them to overlook Austin’s skyline, mirroring the imposing and dizzying architecture of Spencer’s own office.

The CEO himself, garbed in a different, but no less sharp-looking three-piece suit, sat at the head of a long, oval table. Mischchenko and Pruitt also already awaited when Grant and Singh entered.

Pruitt, whom she now saw for the first time without a helmet, turned out to be a man of what she assumed to be Native American descent, probably in his fifties. He shot Grant a weary smile, and twirled a silvery pen between his fingers, clicking it fluidly after every other spin.

Carter joined them, limping inside on crutches. The young, burly man had a scruffy blond beard to match his grumpy demeanor. A doctor in medical had encased his leg in a thick cast.

As more people poured into the conference room, Spencer made introductions with Chloe Grant and them, one by one.

Marcus Stantz, public relations, had joined them. Grant caught herself staring at him repeatedly because he bore an uncanny resemblance to Ben Affleck. The main difference were the black rings of exhaustion under his eyes, like he had been up all night, just like the field agents. And given he was their spin doctor, he likely slept even less than the operatives.

Danielle Bennett, head of IT and data processing, quickly avoided eye contact and buried her attention in a thin black laptop without a brand label on its case. She tip-tapped away at the keys while introductory chatter filled the room. Barely spared Grant a glance, like she didn’t expect her to stick around for long, or avoided getting close to anybody. Carter grumbled something and shook his head.

The science division also took part in the debrief session.

Alisha Burch, the company’s paleontologist, was a mousy black woman around Grant’s age, yielding a timid and nervous smile in their introduction. Then she spent the rest of her time staring at a blank spot on the table, only parting with some words when addressed directly.

Doctor Solomon, whose acquaintance Grant had made in Containment underground, showed up in the same white lab coat. He, too, looked like he hadn’t slept all night. Once the debriefing commenced, he looked bored, and kept checking his wristwatch like he had somewhere else to be.

Two women, several decades Grant’s senior, entered the conference room with Solomon—Lucille Trémaux, a quantum physicist with long gray hair; and Rebecca Chao, head of specimen containment and animal control. Both of them dressed quite chic and in different tones of blue, replete with scarves around their necks.

Grant fidgeted when the presence of their scarves reminded her that it was indeed somewhat chilly in most rooms of Future Proof LLC’s headquarters.

And Malachi Spencer, once more looking like a knife in human shape, folded his hands on the table in front of him, and cast a glance in the round.

“That would be everybody for this meeting. Let us begin,” he said with strong rhythm.

Carter raised a hand and grumbled his ask, “Where the hell’s Ruiz?”

Like a gargoyle, Spencer’s entire form stayed statuesque, while only his eyes moved and his unblinking gaze drilled into Carter.

Grant felt like it was not a good idea to ever interrupt Spencer.

“Agent Ruiz is excused. He filed a written report in full and resumed his vacation leave,” Spencer replied.

Carter’s eyebrows raised in visible frustration. He swallowed a remark. Unlike with the rest of the team, he likely kept his mouth shut in front of the CEO.

In fact, Valentìn Ruiz was sitting at a table outside a café at the other end of the city, tucked away behind the shining skyline of Austin, Texas, far out of sight from that conference room.

The outdoor section of the locale shone in soft pastel colors of pink and blue, courtesy of tasteful lighting and decoration.

Coffee cups and spoons clinked, in symphony with the shuffling of a waitress, a smooth texture of inoffensive music, and idle chatter from other tables.

Across the table from Ruiz sat a woman with red hair and features as strikingly symmetrical as his own. While Valentìn Ruiz was dressed casually in earthy brown tones of a leather jacket, a comfortable olive sweater, stonewashed dark jeans, and a beige beanie on his head; the woman was dressed in a snazzy black business suit, rivaling Spencer’s taste in expensive attire.

Ruiz didn’t know her name. Not her real name, anyway. He didn’t need to, or want to, for that matter.

He slid a USB thumb drive across the table towards the mystery woman.

The sleek black surface of that tiny object featured the logo of Future Proof: half a clock, connected in its linework to half a shield.

The drive contained a copy of his report and debriefing on the Rocky Mountains incursion, originally written to Spencer in full.

The drive also contained other data he was putting up for illicit sale.

The woman in black shook her head with a wide smile, and asked, “How do you get those out of your FOB unnoticed?”

Ruiz reciprocated with a crooked smile of his own. He said, “I got a couple o’ tricks up my sleeve.”

With an adroit flick of his index finger, he sent the USB drive sliding the rest of the way across the table, barely caught by the woman in black before it slid right off the edge of her side. Then Ruiz splayed his fingers, wiggling them in a hypnotic pattern until a poker card—the Jack of Hearts—appeared out of thin air, clinched between two fingers.

“My, my,” she said. Seductively. “Look at you, Mister Magician.”

“Maybe I should charge extra for my performance,” he said. His smile widened until his perfectly straight teeth were on display again. His dark eyes flashed with mischief. “You do need me more than I need you, after all. Or am I wrong?”

“You know—”

He raised his other hand to stop her, and it worked. The card vanished from his right hand and he shook his head, chuckling.

“Please, I don’t think we’ll ever be more than friends, if even that. Just wire me the payment, and I’ll be on my way again.”

The woman in black’s face fell. Serious. Eyes cold, blue, piercing, like a shark’s. A killer.

Trained on Ruiz’ dark eyes, she said, “Already done. You keep delivering this kind of excellence in intelligence, and our… professional relationship will continue to flourish, Mister Magician.”

His smile faded. Ruiz tapped the table’s surface twice. He left tattered dollar bills on the table next to his empty cup of coffee while he rose from his seat.

Wagging a finger at her, he asked, “Did the signal beacon I left you work? Newbie on our team fried me pretty hard with an EMD. Had no idea if it would still work.”

The red-headed woman narrowed her eyes.

“Yes, it worked. A bit late, and we’re still observing while Future Proof is mopping up the mess, waiting to scour the premises for scraps once they clear out. No thanks to you. Maybe if you—”

Ruiz’s stone-cold gaze met hers. Burned, icy cold.

Silenced her without a word. Neither of them smiled at each other.

Two sharks, recognizing the danger they both exuded.

“Maybe,” he said, licking his lips in the pause, “if you doubled your efforts in replicating the Anomaly detection system, you wouldn’t be lagging behind, and they’d be picking up your scraps—not the other way around.”

The smile returned to her red-painted lips. Cold and calculating, this smirk did not reach her eyes, though she radiated a calm confidence.

“I assure you, Mister Magician. In due time. I, too, have some tricks up my sleeve.”

Unsettled by that, Ruiz nevertheless kept his composure. With his back turned to her, he raised a hand for a motionless wave. Didn’t even bother to look at her when he said his parting words.

“Well, I have some vacay days to enjoy. Bye.”

He left. Crossed the street, weaving between traffic, until he mounted his motorcycle and drove off.

The mystery woman watched him leave, still smirking. She sipped her coffee. Then she grabbed her phone.

The sun rose high over Austin. It was going to be a beautiful day.

And it wouldn’t be long before Future Proof’s next mission in the field.

The Anomalies were occurring more frequently.

[brandwhorestarscream]

Since people have been mentioning the Reincarnation AU where the TFA characters become the babies of G1 characters, I feel like dragging an idea from Discord onto here that was talked about in, like, October.

So G1 Prowl gives birth to TFA Prowl, right? And the adults are worried that baby Prowl is sickly due to how thin he is compared to basically everyone else who is blocky. Of course, mama Prowl is very protective of baby Prowl.

One day, mama Prowl left the baby with Jazz due to all the other mecha he trusts being busy and Prowl needing to go do something that isn't safe to bring the baby to. Jazz takes the baby to a pit of sorts he knows the baby won't escape from and its a sunny day, so he isn't worried when he falls asleep. However, he should've checked the weather because oh boy here comes the rain. He wakes up to baby Prowl crying at him and raining pouring down and Jazz has to rush back to base.

Ratchet is not happy at Jazz as he sets up the baby with a little nest of heated blankets and the baby keeps sneezing and got a cold from how long he was out in the rain before Jazz could return. When mama Prowl finds out, he's furious and lays into Jazz, scolding him. Jazz is a bundle of shame and sadness, since now mama Prowl won't let Jazz babysit the baby and whenever he goes to the medbay, he feels so bad when he sees baby Prowl asleep in his little nest.

Jazz gets back into mama Prowl's good graces when something happens and Jazz is the only mecha mama Prowl trusts with his baby that is staying at base. Jazz knows mama Prowl is watching him, so keeps the baby in his room and makes a blanket fort with the baby. Mama Prowl returns to see the baby happy and snuggling with Jazz.

There was more to this with Bumblebee and the Decepticons, but I can throw it in through a different ask or you can relay to tumblr if you so choose.

ITS BEEN 5 MONTHS SINCE THIS AU STARTED?? FUCK 😭

But anyway YES! Back when Lil P was the only reincarnated sparkling and Prowl was still a super high strung overprotective mama! Poor bitty isn't at all accustomed to water or snow or earth's shittastic cold temperatures (idk if winters were this harsh in the 80s but where I'm at, our winter temperatures regularly dip below -30°F [that's -34.4°C for anyone not in ye old freedom land]) and delicate little praxians are not built for such extreme cold! It's a miracle all he got was a bit of cold shock! Ratchet chews him out, sure, but Jazz was actually afraid Prowl might kill him. He has never seen the SIC so mad, before or since

It takes him a looong time to get back into the resident milf's good graces, and even after he earns the right to babysit again? Prowl still gives him the "I'm watching you" fingers at every hand off. Jazz is always on his best behavior looking after Lil P, refusing to take him outside and keeping him safely entertained in the rec room or his suite. He's the fun uncle that let's the baby build blanket forts and tear apart his room, but he truly doesn't mind. They've fallen asleep in there together on more than one occasion 💖

Prowl will never admit it, but he has pictures 😌 he likes to look through them on his drives when Lil P is cuddled against his chassis, sound asleep after a long day

[skylarstark4826]

The mission, take down one of Savages revenue sources, required two members of the team to go undercover. Len hadn't understood why he was chosen. (He understood why Sara was chosen. She was well… Sara.) It was when they sauntered up to the building and saw the "Saint Valentine's Couple's Escape" etched in an elegant font on the sign. Vandal fucking Savage owned a couple's retreat?

"What the hell, Rip?" Len cursed

No answer. Of course Rip, and the rest of the team seemingly, decided to take the comms out now. No one wanted to deal with the Crook and Assassin after they withheld information.

"Come on, Lance." Len grabbed Sara's arm, ignoring the electric hum that buzzed throughout his body at the touch. "This obviously isn't an actual mission." He wasn't pouting like a two-year-old.

"It is an actual mission."

"You knew?" Venom laced his tone. Out of everyone on the time, Mick included, Sara was the last one he expected to lie or withhold information from him. It didn't settle well in his stomach.

"Rip knew you wouldn't say yes if you knew the truth."

Len wouldn't have. Acting wasn't his strong suit, let alone acting like he was in a relationship. "Ya could have chosen someone else."

"No, we couldn't have." Rip decided to chime in. "No one has the same chemistry you do with Sara."

Len wanted to shot himself with his Cold Gun.

Everything else went off without a hitch. Until it was time to go to bed.

One bed, king sized sat in the middle of the room and no matter how much of a man-whore Len was, he wasn't thrilled to have to share a bed with Sara. Mostly because even the slightest touch between them, even when their skin was separated by layer upon layer of clothes, every nerve in his body was set ablaze with lust and something that would settle deep in the pit of his stomach, demanding all of his attention.

"Nah, uh. Not happening." He said as Sara stripped down and put on a form fitting black tank-top.

"It's only one night, Snart." Sara rolled her eyes. "Afraid of getting cooties?" She pulled on a pair of boy shorts.

"Not at all, Lance."

"Then suck it up."

They climbed into bed, both choosing to sleep as far as possible away from the other.

Len woke up before the sun was even close to rising. He had moved to the center of the bed in his sleep and Sara had too but their sudden closeness wasn't what woke him up. No, Sara's thrashing and quiet screams had done that.

"Assassin," The nickname sounded like a term of endearment on his tongue. "Wake up." He spoke. It was important he not startle her awake, that could end in disaster. "Sara," He so rarely spoke her first name. "You're with me. You're…" He paused and took a deep breath. "You're safe."

The assassin awoke rather unceremoniously. She said nothing but didn't go to move either.

Len laid there frozen. Mostly. He held Sara's hand in his own, his heart beating erratically. His eyes grew heavy, his eyelids dragging shut slowly. He didn't want to leave this moment ever he didn't want sleep to end what was the best memory he had since joining the team. z

Sara was exhausted. Emotions that she wasn't ready to accept and certainly didn't understand swirled around in her chest. Sleep called to her, begging her to join its rocky calm. It was a nice offer most of the time but here, with her limbs entangled with Len's and his warmth supplying her with more heat than a blanket ever could, she wasn't sure which was the better offer. Eventually, her breathing evened out and sleep enclosed her mind like a thick blanket.

It was almost impossible not to fall asleep once Sara was asleep. The steady rise and fall of her chest lulled him to join her in the land of dreams.

Len woke up a few minutes before Sara. Watching her chest rise and fall was perhaps the most peaceful thing he had ever experienced. Serenity settled over him and it hit him just how right this felt. He never wanted to get up. Naturally, it terrified him.

He quickly untangled their limbs, waking Sara in the process. He left the bed quickly and rushed to the bathroom. Locking the door, he breathed out and turned the shower on.

The water cleared his mind, the warmth undoing knots in his muscles and in his mind. It would be best if something like last night never happened again. Sex Len could do, sex could be emotionless but cuddling was somehow more intimate.

His father had ruined him. Reduced him to a scared boy in his youth and a heartless freak in his adulthood. Len would never be any better than his father, any serious relationship he went into would end with his partner bruised and broken and too much like him. He would sooner destroy his Cold Gun and give up thievery than ruin Sara in the way he had been ruined.

Sara said nothing when he left the bathroom.

"What's on the agenda today?" Snart asked. He didn't look at her.

"Recon."

Len hadn't realized recon involved posing as a couple and doing couple activities and various games. "I thought we were doing recon."

"We are." Sara sat in front of him, her hand wrapped securely in his. "But we have to maintain our cover." She traced her thumb against the back of his hand.

Len yanked his hand away from her, desperate for the feeling in his stomach to disappear. It didn't. It instead increased tenfold. "Can't we just blow the damn place up?" He grumbled and crossed his arms.

Before Sara could answer, a woman in an obnoxious pink outfit with a name tag reading 'Bethany'. Bethany smiled in a way that made Len want to knock her teeth out. "Trouble in paradise?" She laughed.

"That's why we are." Sara smiled. She leaned close to the woman's ear. "Leo, here has intimacy issues."

Bethany's smile grew. "The best way to fix intimacy issues is a steamy kiss." She looked at the two expectantly.

"Yeah, Leo." Sara leaned towards Len, hovering near his lips. "A kiss could fix everything."

It was a test. Len knew it was a test. She had done it to see if he would stay in characters. He flinched away from Sara. "Not happening, sweetcheeks."

Sara rolled her eyes but didn't move back. "Kiss me, Leo."

And with that Len stood quickly, banging his head off Sara's, not that that stopped him. He pulled his Cold Gun out of his coat pocket. (He never left home without it.) He aimed it at Bethany. "'Fraid we are checking out."

Alarms blared and Sara stood up. "Nice job, Snart."

"My pleasure." Len smirked and took Sara's hand in his own. He pulled her into a supply closet with intentions of waiting for the heat to die down.

Len is pressed up against Sara. Technically, Sara was pressed against him and he was pressed against a wall, not in the fun way.

"As much as I love having your butt pressed against me, Lance, this could get awkward real quick." He snarked.

"You're the one who blew our cover." To spite him, she pressed harder against him.

Len fought a groan when Sara pressed harder against him. What has he done to deserve this torture? Oh right, he hadn't kissed her. "Watch yourself, Lance."

"What if I don't?" Len could hear her smirk. She let her hands wander for a while, trailing along his chest and arms. She turned to face him. "What if I don't?" She repeated her question.

In that moment, it was just them. Savage, Rip, the team, his dad, they all ceased to exist and the only other person who inhabited his universe was the blonde with a thing for white leather. His doubts about ruining flew out the window as he pressed his lips to her's.

She bit his lower lip playfully and deepened the kiss.

It was chaotic and messy but so were they, it was the best kiss ever had ever had. Most of all, it was a battle of wills. Len, years later, would describe it as a the perfect first kiss.

And then the moment ended. Len pulled away, thoughts of his father and how he was nothing more than a good for nothing thief filling his mind. He shut down the thoughts that told him to kiss her again.

[terrania]

ONE SOUL BETWEEN US

A STORY ABOUT TRAUMA, QUEERNESS, AND EVERYTHING

WRITING SAMPLE:

Andrea first felt cold, half-smooth wood beneath her, in a curved set of planks. A low soft symphony of crickets stirred her, before she was jolted up the rest of the way by the deafening siren of a passing helicopter. Seeing the scene around her, she couldn’t help but find a slow chuckle escape her lips- waking up on a bench in the middle of the night, yet again.

5895 WORDS LONG

ABSURDLY FAST-PACED

CW: CHARACTER DEATH ALLUDED TO, EMOTIONALLY INTENSE SCENES

PLEASE CONSIDER READING

ONE SOUL BETWEEN US

A STORY BY JOAN

It felt like a thousand years ago, but it felt like just yesterday, too- doesn’t it always? Like that maxim- “changing the course of your life forever.” Everything she did from that point was because of it, in some way or another. In every action, she could still feel that pain, the echoes of the horror from that day, the guilt and anger in tandem.

It always shocks a community when that happens, but of course it wasn’t in a positive way. Not in that Town, after all- not in the town that, itself, killed him. People mourned for maybe a week, and by the time a month passed, nobody had even really changed from it- maybe they acted a bit more vindictive, or a bit kinder to her and the other couple people who knew him, but it never really added up- and soon enough, she was able to feel that same overbearing density in the Town’s air he did again, and she knew she couldn’t stay.

Maybe none of this would’ve happened if they didn’t find his body in those woods, or if the guy he met when he got into the City didn’t rat him out, or he didn’t slowly starve and become delirious when he came back. Maybe all of it would’ve happened anyway, and they’d be in the city with him now. What was certain was that she had no option but to escape when talk of him died down, and talk of her queerness returned in kind, when they started harassing her girlfriend again, when they started asking her to just “move on,” as if her life would ever be the same. Well, now it really wouldn’t. They’d do it right this time.

~~~

There it was, 1330 Edmund Blvd, a massive apartment building, dingy but with bright light shining through its windows. Emma texted her that address when Andrea was finally done crying behind that Waffle house after completely blowing up during her job interview, ending just shy of getting the cops called on her. While she was sad she couldn’t finish what she wanted to say, she could still be glad that she didn’t have to talk with the pigs- they’d identify her immediately, sending her and Emma back to the Town they were raised in. 

PART ONE

When she stopped sobbing, she saw that the golden hour light had turned red-orange, and the lot around her was empty, the heat from the pavement sticking only to her worn shoes. There was still heat from the road in her, heat that stayed in her chest and throat, all the way here. Now, the sky had made its way to the silver hour with only a trace of the afternoon at its edges, and as Andrea glanced at it, she realized that, for once, there were no stars within that sky, where they once were in the Town. The people rushed along the sidewalk around her, but she knew nothing of any of them. She knew nearly nothing of this City, even still.

1330 EDMND BLVD

As Andrea approached the building, she noticed Emma immediately, directly in front of the glass door, leaning next to the buzzer. In front of her shirt- still dirty from that fall on the road to the city- she had a black, worn fabric jacket, with a university label on it- one that Andrea didn’t recognize at all. The conviction on her face was as clear as the fear, but as she noticed Andrea, she immediately shone with relief.

Confused about the situation but happy to see her, Andrea simply asked “Emma?”

“Andrea! God, I was getting so worried.” Emma certainly seemed to be, but if she was, why did she leave Andrea in the lot in the first place?

“You know you don’t gotta worry about me, Emms.” Andrea attempted to say this with enthusiasm. “That said, are you okay? The hell’s up with these apartments?”

“...Right,” said Emma, adding a light, anxious chuckle. “Look, we... we should talk.”

“Yeah, looks like we oughta.” “Look, Andy. I know you want this to just be... us. I know we’re in this together. I know we’re better than where we’re from, and as good as where we’re going. I know we have to do it right.”

“...But?”

“But it’s killing you! I, I mean look at you, you haven’t eaten in two days, your shirt’s ripped through... you just spent two hours breaking down behind a waffle house?? Five days ago, you- you were promising to protect me! You were saving me from that Town, the way we always had to! Where the hell’s that Andy??

Andrea’s fists clenched. The hell did Emma think that the Andy protecting her was when she was working her ass off to get food and a job? “I am protecting you! That’s why you’ve been eating my last meals! That’s why I’m getting this job! I’m doing all of this for you!”

Somehow, Emma looked even more unhappy. Her eyes squinted and peered down, and she gripped the side of her sweatpants. “You’d... You’d die for me, wouldn’t you?” It didn’t come out as a genuine question, but more as a realization on her own part- and in a low, quiet tone of voice, yet still like there was disdain worthy for such a practice. “You’d die for me,” a grand accusation in an inexplicable sense, a declaration of guilt in an angle Andrea couldn’t even understand. In spite of it all, she still answered with her heart. “Yes. Yes, Emma, yes I would.”

“Of course you would. You’re so, so focused on creating this world for me, and forcing the rest of the world out. You keep refusing to stop- you’re letting yourself die, right now, just to make it a margin better for me. You’re trying to be a goddamn martyr!”

“Emma. The hell is wrong with that??”

Emma’s face was red now. “What’s it going to take for you to realize that my “ideal world” you’re dying for needs you in it???” It ended as a shout, piercing through Andrea’s forehead, dissipating in the saliva building in the back of her throat, settling in her stomach. She doesn’t cry. She wasn’t about to start.

Silence passed between the two of them. The sound of those crowds going by and by and by. A plane landing in the distance. The screech of a car horn.

Finally, Andrea found the words within her. “Emma,” she said- in a deep, gravelly voice so she didn’t start sobbing- “why are you in front of this building?”

“This can’t work!”

Emma pushed it through a choked sob, and hunched a little on the step. “We can’t do this alone. You can’t do this alone. So I got some help.”

That’s when it clicked for Andrea. The golden light coming from the doorway. The black jacket. That sense of conviction Emma came into this with. She did it, what they’d promised each other they’d never do, above all else. Here she was, in front of the house of a stranger she decided to trust, in the city, away from her. She’d chosen to stay here.

“Emma. Emma. Emma.” A look of guilt passed through Emma’s face. She knew exactly what this meant to Andrea.

“Emma. You know what happened to Spencer.” “Yes. Yes, I know what happened to Spencer.

“We saw him die, Emma. We saw him die. And now you wanna die the same way.” it was as cold as Andrea could muster, but the exact same way she was to everyone but Emma. “Andrea. In, in those days that Spencer was trying to get out again, to get back here, to where we are... you know how focused he was on escaping?” Andrea stayed silent.

“I saw him stop eating. I saw him do nothing- think of nothing- but getting out. I saw him care about nobody but us- not even himself.” Andrea’s heart beat faster. The light behind Emma was blinding. “Then, I saw him die.”

There was nothing Andrea could say, now, nothing left but to wait for what Emma was about to say. Of course, she knew exactly what was next. Emma would hold her hope close to her chest, take one more shaky step silhouetted by the light, and ask...

“No,” Andrea blurted out.

Tears finally burst out of Emma’s eyes. “Andrea, please!”

There was nothing else Andrea could think to say. There was nothing more important in the world than saying it. “I’m not going to go with you. I’m not going inside that house, and I’m not going to give up on making a name for ourselves.” Her face reddened. “And no, I’m not a martyr because I’m doing it all for you. No, I’m not starving, and no, I’m not fucking destroying myself!” 

Andrea’s gaze was blurry as the last shouts left her. Her head pounded against her eyes, the bursts of pain finding their way out of her, any way they could. The crowds outside were so, so loud. Emma, though, couldn’t say a word.

“You’ll get that soon. You’ll come back for me, and you’ll see how well I’m doing, and you’ll understand. Text me when that happens, and until then, don’t fucking talk to me.”

She turned around. She didn’t glance up to see Emma’s reaction. She didn’t let herself look back at that apartment building. She just kept going where her legs took her, not knowing where she’d end up. She had to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but with her.

PART ONE COMPLETE

Andrea shut the door of Emma’s room, immediately jumping and falling, full force, on her bed. She rolled over and let out a loud, excited wheeze, filling the room with pure electrical joy.

Emma giggled, which she knew to be an immensely comforting sound in Andrea’s ears, that got her heartbeat to pick up once again. “Oh my- hehe- GOD, what’s up with you?”

Andrea slid up on the bed to rest her back on the bed frame, trying to maintain a Coolguy pose despite her obvious earnestness. A fiery blush lit up her face- she was high enough on life to overdose. “Dude, I’m just realizing that the last thing my brother will ever hear from me is telling him to fuck off!”

Emma hopped right onto the bed as well, stretching out in the sunset’s fading sunbeams. “He’d better, after outing you to your parents!” She did a sort of scamper over to where Andrea was half-sitting, cozying up against her side and burying her face in her chest. This was the woman who’d protect her from the town. This was the woman who’d bring her to the city... Holy shit, tomorrow. This was their last day in this town!

“God, this still feels unreal.”

“Hmm?” Andrea glanced down from the window she was peering through. Despite the mundanity of her response, she looked at Emma with such warm reverence, with such hope...

“Like, this being our last day in this town. These people...” Her eyes widened. “they have no clue!”

Andrea let out a burst of laughter, sliding down a bit on the bed and turning on her side to Emma. Her expression, though, became a bit more anxious for a moment, and she took a deep breath, calming down the best she could.

“...Hey, we’re completely sure about this, right? If you ain’t, now’s the time.” She averted her gaze, putting on a cautious smile.

Emma expected this, honestly. This was probably the last moment before the two of them were fully committing to the plan, the last chance to drop out. Admittedly, Emma was a bit nervous about this, and there were still people from school worth talking to, people who’d probably miss them, an entire world they were leaving behind...

But Emma looked at Andrea, and saw every moment the two of them had had together, Andrea’s drive to protect her and her own drive to make Andrea feel loved, and the desire within her for this girl was too strong, too ecstatic for her to say anything other than...

“We’re in this, Andy.” The kiss that followed was a burst of bubbly electricity, a moment of pure, ecstatic togetherness.

~~~

Andrea turned to Spencer. “Dude. I’m saying that you’re getting somewhere with this, but that you can still goddamn do it without starving.”

Spencer raised his head from where he was lying on the bed. “Cmon Andrea, you know I’m fine.” “I can see you, man. You’re goddamn emaciated.” Andrea felt childish trying to be kind like this. They’d never had this kind of serious conversation before. Spencer finally sighed and got up. “Look, Drea, it’s hard to eat in this house, when I only get the chance around my family. You know that.” The bags under his eyes were all the more apparent.

PART TWO

Andrea slowly stepped to the bed from the window. She knew better than to get angry here, but this had to be said. “If you can handle being around your family for just the one week, we’re golden. We’ve got a place to stay, we’ve got fake documents, we’ve got goddamn everything.” She moved up to Spencer, intensifying her expression. “For the love of god, last that one week.”

“I’m gonna, Andrea,” Spencer said, defeated. “Just trust me.” Andrea wished she could.

NOWHERE, EVERYWHERE, THE ALLEYS

She walked and walked and walked. Her head hung low, and her movements grew shaky for moments, but she continued. Building after building passed, dark and imposing, the signage shadowed, hardly visible, and the roofs impossibly high. Andrea was a shrub on the side of the road to the passing cars, a pebble to the skyscrapers, a blur to the planes. The crowds had mostly dispersed, and she didn’t spare anyone who was still out a glance. Andrea was alone on the streets.

The shelter was about a quarter of a mile from here- the shelter, where she could rest, where she could make it to the next day, and make a recovery. The shelter, the one place her route could lead her, her only option, her savior. There was nothing more to it- nothing to think on, nothing to be done. She could keep going like this. She was about to keep going like this.

So she went, thinking nothing, feeling nothing, and watching those facades. Her head began to ache in spite of herself, and here she realized that she hadn’t had any water since Waffle house, three hours ago now. She could, she supposed, have gone in the apartment just to take some water and dip- she’d love to, honestly, but her future was this way, and the shelter had a water cooler, anyway. Still, without anything to drink, or anything to buy water with, her vision started to blur, and her steps became heavier, as her back hunched, and her mind went into a haze...

But she snapped out of it. The air and the lights were crisp  again, and her eyes were set on the path forward. 9 more crosswalks, now. Tomorrow was within grasp, and that tomorrow would be a better one- even without Emma, she could make that day’s interviews, and she could thrive soon, she could make it all better. It was all about to get so much better.

But it can’t get better for Emma.

What?

Not without you.

...Sure, but it could’ve gotten better for her if she did come back with Andrea. The choice to forsake her was ultimately made by Emma- she chose to stay where it’s safe, to not commit to the life that the two of them had so earnestly planned, and now she was facing the consequences. Andrea’s steps quickened. She began to breathe from her mouth, tasting the warm city air. Besides all that, Emma would inevitably see Andrea’s success, and return to her. Tomorrow would be better. Andrea would survive.

You act as though you are completely above her. Wasn't she who you were doing all this for? She could adapt. She could support herself, too. Her rubber soles scraped on the concrete. Surely, one wouldn’t suspect that Andrea had lost the drive to continue for her own sake at this point? She still had the motivation to live, to make it better for herself, and in all honesty, she was convinced enough of this goal to see it through, as she always did. She wasn’t just someone who gave up at the first sign of hardship. I mean, she was a better person than that. Better than...

Than those who failed before you?

Oh, god- no, she was-- Andrea blinked. Her surroundings were suddenly far quieter. Her eyes refocused, and she noted that the one source of light around her was from the windows of the surrounding buildings, and that the pain in her legs had vanished, with a fuzzy, null feeling replacing it. From one side of her, the alley seemed to stretch out, windows and trash bins and concrete, again and again with no roads or visible endpoint- and from the other side, the same. The air was heavier. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t fucking right at all. You aren’t doing this for yourself alone. 

No reaction? Just going to keep prattling?

You can’t outrun your shadow.

The sky above her was starless, but now even the moon was under cover of cloudless, indefinable shadow. A few wisps of clouds- orange from the glow of the streetlights- passed above. That... must’ve meant she was still in the city. That must’ve meant that she was just lost, and she could find someone, and get directions, right?

So Andrea moved one foot forward, continuing past gold windows and concrete floors, glancing left and right for someone behind a window or for any other sort of opening, somehow knowing for certain that the next window, the next step, would be the one that brought her out of this, back to the streets, back to the shelter. Her thoughts looped in this fashion like clockwork as her legs’ movements grew a tentative franticness, and soon the windows passed with such speed, the walls with such ferocity, that-

You can’t check for anyone inside. You’re paying attention to nothing more than your own struggle.

So? The way forward was more important. Yet you still wish for the presence of another.

As if on command, the windows glowed brighter- yet at an angle that brought the shining path of their light to the ground. Andrea’s steps quickened once more, glimpsing at each pane to see nobody silhouetted against the light, but feeling eyes on her anyway. Andrea would find someone, eventually. If Emma didn’t return- which she would- she could meet someone else.

But is there anyone you can really love?

In this City? There’s probably someone for her. This was a dead sprint now. Somehow, Andrea wasn’t tiring as she took each step. As her body bounced and bounded, she spotted something- another building, far taller than all those surrounding her- such that its roof was higher than she could make out- lit up with golden windows, right at the end of the alley. A goal. A hope. 

Though it felt impossible to quicken her pace, Andrea was moving faster despite herself, eyes trained on nothing but the points of light before her. Just a couple minutes now. It was time to get out of here.

Listen to me. There is not a single person in the city that you would accept.

Bounding and bounding. Each leap monumentous, each drop like a simple tap on the earth, like running on clouds. The past is within you. You remember every person in the Town deeply. Deep enough that everyone you meet will remind you of one of them. 

Her vision was a camera with the field of view at its minimum, a single static image of that tower. There was nothing around her but the end. The tower swallowed the space around it in her eyes, and her vision was soon concentrated on one single window within it, everything she could perceive, everything she knew, being within a wash of golden light. She was filled with hope like water fills a tall glass, joy spilling out the top of her.

You will never know someone you even *like* if you continue like this. You’ll always find something wrong with them. You’ll never let them really know you.

The gap between her and the building was infinitesimal. This was it. This was it.

If someone were to know you, they’d know that you’re destroying yourself, and if they really care about you, they’ll try to help you through this. You’ll never let yourself be helped, and you’ll always scorn those who aren’t close to you. Do you get what that means? Do you get what this is all *leading to?* You’ll never know anyone again. You’ll never get where you really want to be. If you continue like this, the time you have left will be measured in weeks. You can’t keep going.

On that last bound, just before the end, Andrea felt a horrible, inevitable presence on the toe of her right sneaker, and the unmistakable sandpaper texture of concrete scraping on rubber, and her left leg finding nothing to support it, as she moved through the air, head sailing infuriatingly closer to the building as she barreled to the ground. She anticipated another scrape of concrete, the pain of impact, to feel her skin torn from her forehead...

But she opened her eyes, and saw that there was nothing.

PART TWO COMPLETE

Listen to me. The mind’s modus operandi is absorbing data from the world, to grasp a fuller picture of everything there is. The mind stores memories where they can become information, information where it can become one’s beliefs, beliefs where they can become identity, identity where it can become one’s self, all the way to the deepest layer of the psyche. You are the culmination of everything you’ve experienced, from memory one onward. That’s not all, though.

Your mind hasn’t just picked up on memory or information. There’s more at play.

There is a strong, strong force in this world that wants you dead. There are a thousand thousand Towns like your own, oppressing a hundred million people like yourself. There are an insurmountable sum of lawmakers, a thousand million people who desperately want you gone, a vast majority who will never understand you or your people. The world, in large part, hates you. But there’s more at play.

There’s a weak force, but a large one, that wants you to succeed. There are another thousand million people in the world who love your queer kind, who wish to protect you, who will always remain sympathetic to your plight. There are so, so many ways that your people’s love, your pride, moves back to yourselves, through art and relations and policy. Within this great love, something can manifest- something intangible. Something undefinable. Something compassionate. Something the mind can pick up on. This force is within you. I am within you, and my will is that you feel the same love that so many people have for you. Be strong. I love you.

Andrea felt, within that void, a presence- an intangible gesture like a tight embrace, made all the more abstract by her seeming lack of a body. There was, for a moment, nothing- yet at the same time, there was everything.

~~~

Andrea blinked. She was on a sort of concrete block, facing a long, dark alley that stretched far into the distance- the walls, floor, and sky meeting at a single point. Closer, there were two structures, made of the same concrete, between the alley and her- dividers, like the sort you see on highways. Her knees had a dull throb to them, and she felt the effects of exhaustion viscously flowing within her bones, but she found the strength to get up, anyway.

PART THREE

Moving nearer to the divider, a second glance at the tower revealed that the lights behind the windows were now all off, a dull blue in place of their illumination, and cheap blackout shades blocking their rooms. The tower was monochrome and brutalist up close, like someone turned a parking garage into a skyscraper. There weren’t even support beams near the overhang housing the block on which she woke up, which was actually built into the wall- a bench, maybe? There was nothing more than that potential bench and a single door, miniscule around the swath of concrete on the wall they were attached to- and the door appeared especially small, being the sort of door that separated rooms within houses, complete without so much as a lock. Andrea took a deep breath, looked once more at the infinite alley, and reached toward the knob.

37 ALBATROSS RD

Treading across the carpet, Spencer tentatively turned the knob for Andrea’s room. In the short span of time before she noticed him, he could take her room in- smaller than average even for the town, walls painted off-white, containing a bed with a metal frame, a small bookshelf, a smaller desk, hardly better than the type you’d see in schools- and not much else. Clothing covered the gray carpet, and golden-hour light came in through the windows. The shelf was of a sort one would expect to see in a kid’s room- old tchotchkes Andrea must’ve taken from her mother, coins and similar trinkets, and a small collection of books- seemingly organized by reading level, that petered off around the fourth grade. There was a disparity of mugs and bowls around the desk, surrounding a single, ancient-looking laptop with around 20 tabs loaded, the City’s tourism website being the open page.

Gasping a bit as she noticed his presence, Andrea turned to Spencer, giving an immediate light sigh of relief when she saw him. “Spence. Good to see ya.” “...Sure, likewise.” Spencer felt something bitter settle in his throat immediately, despite the conversation only having just started. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting going into this, but he wasn’t expecting her to be this... casual, right out of the gate. It had been a while since the last time the two talked, after all. A very long while. “...Drea? Are you feeling okay?” This came out annoyingly curt, a habit he was trying to break out of- that sort of curtness, that professionalism, the overwhelming cold confidence of it all... those were his last impressions on Andrea and Emma. Despite everything, it was easy for Spencer to feel a bit angry at himself for maintaining that habit all the way to the grave.

Andrea’s voice instantly woke Spencer from this train of thought. “Never better.” Spencer could notice the obvious signs of having been better in Andrea, showing up in the same spots that they had for him- eye bags, low, gravelly voice, clearly not eating enough- and giving the impression that she’s almost drifting in and out of consciousness, like you’re part of her waking dream. Once again, Andrea piped up mid-thought: “So, you’re here because...?” The bitterness in his throat moved to his stomach, flowing dark and deep, like oil. She was just as curt here as he had been, just as confident. 

...Hm. Actually, that pattern made sense in Spencer's mind- same dictation, same goals, slowly dying the same way... Spencer knew what he did wrong the first time, so that would mean... “Alright, Drea, just so we’re on the same page... Two weeks ago, you tried to get someone to help you in the city, and that person ratted you out to the authorities.” Andrea’s previously glassy gaze shifted to a more attentive one. It was already clear that she wasn’t going to enjoy this conversation.

“...That’s right. Anything else?” Same curt tone of voice he was using, too. God, that was hard to talk to- pure dismissiveness, like shouting into the void. Spencer reminded himself the best he could that there was a part of Andrea that cared- there had to be, as long as part of him did.

“...And now you’re holed up in your room, not letting anyone else even be concerned about you.” If he was actually talking to his past, almost-dead self and not Andrea in his position, that’s when the past Spencer would tell the current Spencer simply to fuck off, but-

Andrea rose from her chair, making a point of looking Spencer directly in the eyes. She was still squinting, but with an expression conveying far more resignation- deeply unhappy that she was about to say this, but finding no other option, pushing her friends away to feed her work, again just like--

“Listen, Spencer.” Her tone was gravelly, again- a tone Spencer remembered her using on her parents when they were in a bad mood, or the cops on rare occasions, if only to deal with them all a little faster. “I’m tired of all these people trying to tell me that they know me, that they know what’s good for me.” She rolled her eyes a little. “I’m tired of everyone telling me I can trust them, that everything’s gonna be okay. I’m tired of goddamn pretending I can be helped, that there’s people... worth trusting.” Something flashed in her eye for a moment, and her expression became glassy again- “...Aren’t you?”

...No, he wouldn’t stand for this. Spencer shut his eyes tight, breathed in, breathed out, and swallowed hard. This was it. “You’re gonna call it coincidence when it kills you.” The room was instantly silent, a sudden lack of chirping birds or car engines outside the window. “I know I did.”

Andrea was visibly caught off guard. “...Excuse me?”

“When you see that you could’ve gotten help. You’ll say that since you got hurt once asking for help, and once not asking for help, it was random chance either way, that you couldn’t’ve prevented it.” 

“...Spencer, what the hell...” Andrea tensed up. Her pupils contracted, and her gaze started flitting around the room. The dread within Spencer finally lessened, the oil singeing on the edge of hot, hot hope. She was starting to get it. “...What... is this?” Somehow, she managed to say that with a slight chuckle, the sort you use to maintain your authority in tense situations that question it. She was beginning to look dizzy, instinctively moving to hold her chest, staring just below the middle distance of his eyes.

“Andrea, asking for help isn’t what killed me.” Spencer stepped forward, holding onto his hope, making his stand. “Being betrayed didn’t kill me. The Town didn’t kill me.” 

Tears were welling up in Andrea’s eyes, shock across her face. Spencer took one more breath.

“What killed me wasn’t choosing to get help. It was choosing not to get help. It was choosing not to let Emma force me to rest, not to let you help me scope out opportunities. It was choosing not to eat, choosing to bury myself in my work...” He shuddered. “Until there was nothing left, and that nothing walked out into the woods and died.” His eyes began welling up, too. In this moment, he remembered those two gay idiots he tried to save all that time ago in full- their struggles, their joys, their love for each other. For better or for worse, he died for them. He was going to make that death worth it. “Andrea, I could’ve asked for help again, and I would’ve survived. Please, no matter what- Emma needs you to survive. Whatever... set this up needs you to survive. I need you to survive.”

Andrea broke down crying, and at the same time something clicked behind her eyes, like she finally remembered. She ran to Spencer, practically tackling him as the two fell onto the fake ghost-memory of her childhood bedroom’s low-quality mattress. She held him for dear life, like he could slip away again at any moment, like he was that ending, that goal she was searching for.

“I fucking missed you, Spence,” she gasped through choking sobs.

She was back, that baby-gay butch he’d done it all for. Spencer knew, once again, that she’d do great things, that she’d finally bounce back. “I missed you, too.”

The two stayed like that for a long time, but a finite one. Slowly, light filled the room, and Andrea passively felt her perception start to fade, this dream of a body being forgotten, bit by bit, by her real one. Andrea knew they were leaving without saying goodbye again, but this was goodbye enough. They’d see each other again, anyway.

PART THREE COMPLETE

Andrea first felt cold, half-smooth wood beneath her, in a curved set of planks. A low soft symphony of crickets stirred her, before she was jolted up the rest of the way by the deafening siren of a passing helicopter. Seeing the scene around her, she couldn’t help but find a slow chuckle escape her lips- waking up on a bench in the middle of the night, yet again.

For the first time since... Since the night before that Waffle House Breakdown, which would be a great name for a band- Andrea was thinking straight. Checking her phone- and feeling a wave of pride for Emma, for not having tried to message her again, which would thereby enable her after that ages-ago argument- Andrea saw that this park was only 3 blocks away from that apartment, 1330 Edmnd Blvd. Feeling crisp, clear moonlight on her skin, seeing those city lights surrounding her, stretching out her sore, sore legs, Andrea took one more deep, deep breath, filling her lungs as much as she possibly could. This was a breath that meant: Thank you. I’m going back.

3 more blocks. Not everything would be okay, but it’d be survivable with Emma by her side. It wasn’t going to be that solution for everything she strived for, but it would be enough.

~~~

Warmth fluttered between the two embracing lovers somewhere on Edmnd street, yet somewhere far from it. Within deep primordial darkness, physical form ceased relevance, the energy of their spirits entwined shining bright through the dark. Spencer’s love, the love of those thousands of allies, the love of each other- everyone was within this moment. They were together again.

Made with love by Joan

Thank you so much for reading, I put so much of my heart into this... I hope I can spark even a little of the absolute joy that went into it within you. Remember how many people love you, just for existing!

Special thanks to:

Kayla

Sofia

Owen

Sam Charlie

My parents

The lovely people at my Art Of Writing class

The small, urethrally beautiful community we’ve cultivated on the Jumbo Josh discord server

My influences creating this, that being the great visual novels by NomNomNami and The Echo Project, as well as Disco Elysium

The oceanic bundle of love and energy that is the queer community

Anyone that I’ve missed! You all rule unequivocally 

And you! You the audience member! You’re the best and I love you!

If you enjoyed this, check my blog out. This is the first real piece of art I've made, but i'm down to make some more in the future. One more time, thank you for everything.

[jules-and-company]

the only Heaven i'll be sent to is when i'm alone with you. there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin in the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene only then I am human only then I am clean.

calling to join them, the wretched and joyful shaking the wings of their terrible youths. with her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean she's the angel of small death and the codeine scene with her straw-blonde hair, her arms hard and lean she's the angel of small death and the codeine scene. feeling more human and hooked on her flesh, i lay my heart down with the rest at her feet fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile it's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet. jarring of judgement and reason's defeat the sweet heat of her breath in my mouth, i'm alive.

she blows outta nowhere, roman candle of the wild laughing away through my feeble disguise no other version of me i would rather be tonight and, Lord, she found me just in time. 'cause with my mid-youth crisis all said and done i need to be youthfully felt 'cause, god, i never felt young. electing strange perfections in any stranger i choose. i fall in love just a little, oh, little bit every day with someone new. there's an art to life's distractions somehow escapes the burning weight the art of scraping through some like to imagine the dark caress of someone else i guess any thrill will do. i wake at the first cringe of morning and my heart's already sinned how could your sweet love and you would pray for him how pure, how sweet a love, aretha, that you would pray for him.

honey, when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes i feel like a person for a moment of my life. but you don't know what hell you put me through to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you to feel your weight in arms I'd never use it's the god that heroin prays to.

honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know i slithered here from eden just to sit outside your door.

i have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me. we lay here for years or for hours your hand in my hand so still and discreet so long we become the flowers we'd feed well the land and worry the sheep. and they'd find us in a week when the cattle show fear after the insects have made their claim after the foxes have known our taste i'd be home with you i'd be home with you.

you and I nursing on a poison that never stung our teeth and lungs are lined with the scum of it. so we're slaves to any semblance of touch lord we should quit but we love it too much.

when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her. when I was kissing on my baby and she put her love down soft and sweet in the low lamp light I was free heaven and hell were words to me.

what did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth?.

you don't understand, you should never know how easy you are to need. don't let me in with no intention to keep me jesus christ, don't be kind to me honey, don't feed me, i will come back. it can't be unlearned i've known the warmth of your doorways through the cold, I'll find my way back to you.

screaming the name of a foreigner's god the purest expression of grief. i've no language left to say it but all I do is quake to her breaking if I try convey it the broken love I make to her.

her fight and fury is fiery oh but she loves like sleep to the freezing sweet and right and merciful i'm all but washed in the tide of her breathing. and it's worth it, it's divine i have this some of the time. the way she shows me I'm hers and she is mine open hand or closed fist would be fine the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.

rare is this love, keep it covered i need you to run to me, run to me, lover run until you feel your lungs bleeding.

oh but the farrow know her hungry eye, her ancient soul it's carried by the sneering menagerie. to be twisted by something a shame without a sin. when I was a man I thought it ended when I knew love's perfect ache but my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake.

you've done me wrong for a long, long time but after all you've done i never changed my mind honey please, try to love me. flowers, flowers grow where I'm laid to rest honey, pick a blossom and hold it, hold it to your breast and you'll know that's my love bursting loud from inside.

[darkkitty1208]

I noticed you said you could write Wongstrange… Could I prompt you for some fluffy Wongstrange? Please??? Anything goes. DS1, DSMoM, idk as long as it’s sugary and sweet. You are awesome. I can’t thank you enough for this!! You don’t have to do it. But if you could, it would mean the world.

Okay, okay. Yeah, I know you said 'sugary and sweet' my dear anon, but I simply could not resist adding a little bit of angst to it – which is, admittedly, quite an understatement because the literal theme of this fic is angst… I SWEAR THERE'S SOME FLUFF IN IT THOUGH DON'T WORRY 

Anyway thank you for the prompt, lovely! Enjoy <3 

~

Safe

Crushed. 

Impaled. 

Broken. 

Torn apart. 

Repeat. 

Repeat. 

Repeat.

Repeat, repeat, repeat, repeatrepeatrepearepeat–

Stephen woke up with a jolt, his ears ringing, the faint roaring sounds of his nightmare lingering in the back of his mind. His heart was hammering in his chest like a bird trying desperately to escape its cage, and he clutched it with a trembling hand, trying to breath through his nose to calm down his racing mind. He was sweating, panting, trying to clear his mind from the horrible images conjured in his dreams. 

Each death was always more horrifying than the last. He remembered every single one of them. Every blast, every turn, every fall, every swish of the cloak. The heat, the burn, the cold, the pain, he remembered every detail. 

Perhaps for most, his photographic memory must be a gift. But for him, it was a curse. An inescapable curse he had to endure all his life, a curse that made his mind remember every memory vividly, a curse that made him have to relive it all again during nights like this.

Last time it was the car crash. Before that was the Lake. Now was this.

He couldn't handle it anymore.

How could other people survive? How were they capable of living in a world full of cruelty? Was the world only cruel to him? 

Why can't he just sleep in peace, god fucking dammit? 

Tears were flowing down his eyes like a waterfall now, years of trying to hold himself together, trying to build the image of a strong and dedicated sorcerer, now reduced to a pathetic, miserable excuse of man. Because that's what he was. Pathetic. He was nothing like the great people around him. He wasn't strong, wasn't as capable. He was nowhere near perfect. He hated feeling this way, knowing that everyday, he walked in front of everyone in shame. Shame of his actions, trying to hide away just how broken and fragile he truly was inside. Shame that he couldn't even forget something as simple as–

His train of thoughts stopped in a sudden halt when warm calloused hands made their way to his face, gently cupping his jaw. He flinched as a thumb rubbed over his cheek to wipe off a trail of tears, and then his head was leaned upwards to meet another pair of warm concerned eyes. 

Stephen sniffed. He had forgotten about the presence of the other man. Having someone sleep beside you in bed, simply because that's what lovers do, and not because it was a one-time fling where he was more often than not left alone in the cold of the morning… was something Stephen should probably get used to. 

"Which one is it this time?" Wong's voice was soft, gentle, but still had his ever-present slight roughness in it. 

Stephen flitted his eyes downward, trying to hide away under his wet lashes. But Wong wasn't having any of it, he pushed Stephen's chin back up. 

"Hey, look at me, Stephen," Wong tried again, as gently as he possibly could. "Was it Dormammu?" 

A tiny sound came from the back of Stephen's throat without his permission, one akin to fear or frustration. Perhaps it was both. 

"Sh, sh, it's fine, love." Now the hand on his cheek came up to rub his hair soothingly, the other doing the same to his back. "You're alright, you're here, you're safe." 

Stephen leaned into the touch without hesitation, letting his shoulders slump as tension seeped out of him. It felt good. It felt good to just let go and allow someone to comfort him like this. Waves of relief washed over him as he sighed, snuggling closer to the sorcerer, uncaring of the rumpling sheets beneath him. 

Wong accepted him in an embrace, cradling Stephen close and rubbing more soothing circles on his back. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

Stephen knew that question was coming, it always did. His answer, though, was always the same. 

"No," Stephen said curtly, burying his face further into the other man's shoulder. He felt a nod, Wong's slight stubble scratching the patch of skin between his neck and shoulder. "Very well then." They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound present coming from the constant humming of magic in the sanctum and the rubbing of fabric as Wong continued to rub his back. 

"Tea?" 

A nod. 

Wong then moved slowly out of Stephen's warmth, not before Stephen tried pulling him back, but then slowly letting him go. Stephen's teary, glassy eyes gazed towards Wong's slightly concerned ones. Wong couldn't resist, he reached out a hand and pushed a strand of Stephen's hair behind his ear. 

"I'll be back soon enough, stay here for a moment." 

Stephen watched him go towards the door, and it closed shut with a silent click. He bundled himself inside the sheets, trying to breath in and out from his nose. Just then, he saw a swish of red from beside him. Sitting back up, he looked at the cloak. It tilted its collar in a silent request, and Stephen nodded. Suddenly, it lunged to give him a tight hug, wrapping around his torso, and Stephen freed his arm enough to pat a trembling hand on the sentient fabric. He chuckled quietly as it hugged tighter. 

"You must have remembered them, too, right?" He asked, and the pause that followed was eerily quiet, but not uncomfortable. "I'm very grateful that I wasn't alone back there." He let his head fall into the fabric, welcoming the warmth it provided. "Thank you," it came out as a whisper. 

Just then, a single knock came from the door, making both Stephen and the cloak turn towards the sound, and he realised then that Wong has already stood there with a cup of tea in hand, smiling fondly – lord he was actually smiling – upon the sight of the two bundled together on the bed. 

Wong then went forward towards them, the sound of his feet padding against the sanctum's floorboards echoing softly around the room. Sitting at the edge of the bed, Wong carefully held the cup in his fingers. Stephen scooted closer, extending his shaking hands to accept the tea. 

Wong looked at his hands for a moment, and then at his eyes, and Stephen felt horrible at the silent notion. But instead of the barrage of questions or the many words of concern, Wong gave him a gentle look, one that hinted the forming of a smile, yet was anything but. 

The sorcerer took one of Stephen's hands on his own, gently placing it on the warm cup, and did the same to the other. He placed his own hands on top of Stephen's, and then leaned closer. He silently blew out the steam, Stephen looking at him intently. A thumb rubbed his scarred hand, before gently letting go, the cloak taking its place to support his hands this time. 

"Thank you," Stephen said, and Wong nodded. 

He took a sip, and was delighted to realise it was his favourite cup of tea. 

"Earl grey?" 

Another nod.

"How'd you know?" 

Now came a chuckle. 

"Of course I know, Stephen." 

Stephen felt a smile tug at his lips, he had never felt so loved and cared for like this. Even the simplest knowledge of knowing his favourite tea made him feel warm inside. 

He was so lucky to have this man. 

Setting the cup aside now, Stephen hesitated before leaning in to give Wong a chaste kiss on his cheek. He swore he could see a faint tint of red colouring the man's face. 

They haven't gone farther than casual touches or featherlight kisses, but they'll get there eventually. Slowly. There's no need to rush things, after all. They can coax each other gently, letting each other out of their own shells at their own pace. 

And that's what he loved about this relationship. Wong was a patient man, and so was he. They understood each other, knew each other's limits. It was like a silent agreement between them, an unspoken yet mutual understanding between the two. And he appreciated that. 

And right now, as the silence settled over their atmosphere once again, the two sorcerers went back under the covers and held each other close. 

"You're safe, love. You're alright. Nothing's going to hurt you when I'm on watch." The gentle words were whispered in his ear, and he was far too tired to respond. Instead, he wrapped his hands around the man's waist, pulling him closer and nuzzling his head in the other's neck. 

Safe. He liked the sound of that. 

~

Anon: Can you make Wonstrange fluff? Something sweet and fluffy! 

Me: 

Me: Nightmare trope it is, then! 

I am so, so, sorry anon. Also that bit about Wong knowing Steph's favourite tea was an actual occurrence, a special someone once brought me a cup of my favourite tea, and it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It's nice knowing that someone pays attention to the little details about you. <3 

If you've read this far, thank you so much! I'm opening a tag list, so if anyone wants to be tagged everytime I fill in a prompt, please let me know in an ask/in my DMs and I'll add you to the list! :)

Much love! Cheers!

[sunsplatteredfeathers]

Icarus dreamed. He knew it was his time. Ever since that day, he had relived the same events over and over, time and time again. He had heard the crackle of flames and hot wax on wind chilled skin so many times, it echoed even in his waking hours.

Every time, he and his father would curl the wires around their bodies, give each other a good luck nod and leave. The rough stone of the windowsill once had copious amounts of bird poop, but it had been cleaned by Icarus for the special occasion. Daedalus left first, flapping hard to leave the tower’s immediate vicinity. His voice, his calls to be cautious and not fly too close to the sun or the sea were barely audible above the living caress of the wind. Icarus huddled on the sill, unsure and already aching.

“What if I fall? What if the wings fail?”

Daedalus laughed. The wind whipped the fabric he wore, making it slap against his skin. “Come on, don’t be fearful. We’re getting out of here, little one.”

Icarus gathered his courage and leapt. He fell for a terrifying moment, before his hard flapping laid off and he began to rise.

A cry like a hawk breaking free escaped him. The hum of the energy of the world around him was so much more potent than before. He wanted to see it all. The tower was growing small behind him, and he was drawn toward the electric warmth of the sun.

His fathers warnings from far below fell on deaf ears, the wind was screaming too loudly.

He felt warm. And safe. And free. The sun seemed to reach out and give him a hug to warm his wind chilled skin. The sea below was a blue smudge on the canvas of the world, a dark haired blob his father, the tower a nightmare in the distance.

The sun was too much. His embrace lit the feathers on fire and the wax dripped down onto Icarus’ skin. Every centimeter of the wire heated up and burned its way into his skin, like an overly friendly cat.

The smell of scorching feathers, alight hair and burned cloth filled the air around him.

He began to fall.

The flames curled around him like the wick of a candle, but still he smiled upward. The warmth around him was too much, and the ocean was getting closer. Cool breezes buffeted his back, enough to flip him over.

He was falling headfirst, and his impact was painless. His neck snapped, and it echoed in his head, but as he flipped over in the water to watch the world he knew vanish, the cold water was bliss.

Every time he would choose to fly and fall.

He would always choose freedom, even if only for a moment.

@when-wax-wings-melt