#unrelated but it seems that images have to be placed one by one and not side by side-

[mintjeru]

kvthm doodle dump ft. various hainyans

open for better quality | no reposts | ID in alt text

[yakourinka]

hmm

[espinosaurusrexex]

Celeste

FallenAngel!BuckyBarnes x Female!Reader AU

summary: Heaven is not what they tell you. The celestials don’t live in harmony and the devil is not as far as you might think. He’s vicious in his ways to seduce every being - makes even the mighty fall from grace. And one of them happens to be your guardian angel. When James is banished from the heavens, he is forced to amend his sins on earth. What did he do wrong, you might ask? Well, he fell for the one he watched over.

a/n: I thought I’ve read a FallenAngel!Bucky fic on here before. But I couldn’t find it. So please, if you know it, tag me. Anyway, this is my take on the au.

word count: 20.3k (good lord, someone take my computer away)

warnings: this might offend some people (remember this is my fantasy world - I don’t know much about angels and the whole shebang), soulmate trope, the devil, also God?, jealousy/envy, mentions of killing and abuse, banishment and punishments, he falls first (literally lmao), fluff and wholesomeness, agony, angst (of course, with happy end!), smut (wingplay, Bucky‘s got heavenly dick, Virgin!Bucky, size kink, cum play) !MINORS DNI!

ﾟ✫ 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ𝒄.𝒂𝒊 ｡✭･ﾟ

all image credit goes to @animarvelita on TikTok (there's more at the end)

James.

Wake up, James.

Wake up!

The wind hits his lashes before he opens his eyes. He’s falling. He’s falling and there’s nothing he can do. 

❁ ❁ ❁

It’s eerie outside, you note as your towel glides over the countertop. The entire window of the diner displays dark clouds. Dark clouds that will soon bring the heavy rain Old Lee has been mumbling about for days now. 

Not too many people believe what the crazy farmer says but you can’t help but notice how much he really understands of the world. 

Nick hits the little golden bell by the serving hatch and you take the fresh sandwiches to a table by the door. 

“Anything else I can get you?”

“We’re good, honey.”

You just nod as your eyes stay focused on the small parking lot outside. You wipe your hands on your apron and return to the counter when the first drop of rain hits the window pane.

❁ ❁ ❁

Branches are aching beneath his weight when he crashes through the trees. A deep thud echoes in the woods as his body hits the ground. It’s raining. 

Every tragedy needs rain.

❁ ❁ ❁

"Are you alright, dear?" Peggy, one of the regulars, a wise old lady, asks and points to your hand that's settled above your chest. 

You clear your throat. "I'm fine. Just a frog in my throat." You nod with a tight smile. Something seems to have knocked the air out of your lungs. But you've been feeling like you are coming down with something for a few days now. 

"Must be the weather," Howard comment's next to Peggy, and his newspaper crumbles beneath his touch. 

You turn and refill their coffee mugs. "Yeah... must be." But you can't shake the feeling it has brought to you. 

"It's always the weather." Peggy nods before the door to the diner opens and Old Lee enters, his muddy boots dirtying the checkered floors. You scrunch your nose. You'd be the one cleaning that up later, Scott surely won't do it. 

"This ain't a normal April storm, folks." His hat tips before he sits at the counter in front of you. "You look like you’ve been trampled by a cow.”

"It's just the weather," you say and place a cup of hot tea in front of him. That's just Stan: brutally honest and strangely right about everything. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Pain is strange. His feet get caught in the thorned bushes. Golden blood is the only evidence of his path.

And it’s slowly turning black.

❁ ❁ ❁

The storm outside intensifies, the rain hammering against the diner's windows with an unrelenting force. Old Lee's words linger in the air, stirring a sense of unease among the patrons. You glance outside, noticing the darkness creeping in as if it's swallowing everything in its path.

A shiver runs down your back as you remember how much Pietro would have loved this storm. Your mind drifts back to the memory of him. He always found solace in the chaos of nature, seeing beauty even in the fiercest storms.

But he's is gone now, lost to you in a way that is irreversible. The ache in your chest intensifies as you try to push away the memories, focusing instead on your tasks at hand.

Stan’s voice is low and gravelly when he murmurs again. "You can't outrun the storm, kid. It's coming for all of us, whether we're ready or not."

His words are chilling, but you shake it off, forcing a smile as you refill his tea. 

"We'll weather this storm just like we always do." Peggy chimes in as her hand lands on yours with her calming touch. But your heart is hammering in your chest, still. Something feels off. As if a piece fell out of place, waiting to be discovered, and raving to make a mess. 

❁ ❁ ❁

It’s cold and muddy here, no comfort in sight. But he’ll venture on until he reaches you. His soul is pulled to your very presence. 

He needs to find you. Needs to amend his wrongs. Though is it really wrong to love?

❁ ❁ ❁

It’s dark out when you hang your apron in your locker and wave a short goodbye to Nick. Pulling your coat tightly around you in an attempt to brace yourself for the wind, you step outside into the deluge. The rain lashes against your skin, soaking you to the bone on your walk through deserted streets and cold concrete. 

You sigh thinking about everyone that made it home dry, probably sitting in their beds right now, watching the rain roll down their window pane with a hot cup of cocoa in hand. 

But that seems to postpone itself, you realize as you abruptly halt. You look around. This isn’t your usual route home. But something pulled you off your intended path and toward an unfamiliar alleyway. Confusion mingles with a strange sense of anticipation as you find yourself drawn deeper into the darkness. 

Your head is screaming at you. This is dangerous. You shouldn’t be doing this. Why are your feet moving anyway?

And then you see it. Or rather... him?

A figure stands at the end of the alley, obscured by shadows and rain, but there's something about him that sets your heart racing.

"Hello?" you call out tentatively, your voice barely audible over the storm. You hate how weak you sound. 

He steps forward into the dim light, his features illuminated by a flickering streetlamp. Dark hair and a strong yaw, wide muscular shoulders, his arms are adorned by silver cuffs. His whole being is well over six feet. But he seems even taller as something wide reaches from behind him, almost hugging his shoulders and prodding up towards the sky. He steps forward again and your breath hitches in your throat when you can finally make out the grey feathery wings standing from behind his back.

But you don’t run. You don’t even stumble back. Your feet are frozen to the ground. Then his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, time seems to stand still as you’re caught in the intensity of his gaze. 

“I’ve been searching for you,” he says, his voice almost like a whisper to the wind. Calling and marvelous. 

Everything inside you tells your how absurd this situation is. How fast you should be running anywhere but here right now. But the way your heart races doesn’t feel like fear. In fact, you’re not even scared. More fascinated, awestruck, intrigued. You know he wont hurt you. 

“I don’t know you.” You manage to stammer, your eyes still locked with his. The tension overwhelming and electrifying all at once.

“That should be obvious.” He points to his wings smiling amused, a smile that you know holds a universe of secrets and promises. You want to learn them all, you catch yourself thinking as your eyes slip to his lips. 

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to understand,” he replies and it’s the first time his wings move behind him. “Just trust that we are connected in ways you cannot even begin to imagine.”

“Well?” You clear your throat and cross your arms in front of your chest, relieved your body is able to move again, though the pose feels rather awkward. “Why are you here?”

He seems shocked for a moment, as if he hadn’t expected you to play along so fast. And, to be honest, neither did you... at least a little. 

“I need to...” His mouth falls shut again and he turns his head down to the side, shoulders heaving. “I guess I need a place to stay.”

“With me?” That’s insane. You know it is. But why does it not surprise you? 

He nods, you shake your head. “I cant just accommodate a...” You gesture to him and he clears his throat awkwardly. 

“Angel.”

“Right, of course.” You chuckle as you scan his body again. Only now do you see the torn clothes and bloody feet. Drenched through and through. 

You sigh. “I don’t even know your name...” 

His eyes are sparkling, the smallest of twitches making him look a little softer, tangible even. You’re not afraid of him. And it messes with your head. You should be scared, right? But all there is in your body is the steady tingle pinging from your heart back to your stomach. 

“It’s James.” His smile is handsome when he reaches out his hands, offering you a better look to his toned arms.

Whywhywhy? “Alright.” 

❁ ❁ ❁

James looks out of place in your rather small living room. His size dwarves every piece of furniture carefully picked out to make your house a home. He makes it look like a doll house just by standing in it. 

But he doesn’t seem to care. James ducks when he passes through the door and you watch his feathers ruffle as they press themselves to his back in order to fit through. 

You’re not sure what to do. Never in your life did you think you would end up in a situation like this. There is no protocol for hosting celestial beings. Though a how to angel dinner party guide would come in handy now. Did he even eat?

Something must be wrong with you. You let a total stranger into your house, even though your track record of people skills is not exactly the best. One that is borderline freakishly tall and has wings. Wings that look soft and beautiful. But strong and kind of intimidating as well. But why does he feel so safe?

“You’re staring.” James notes and a handsome grin spreads across his face. 

“I’m not really used to having angels in my house to be honest.” The sarcasm is dripping from your tone in subtle undertones. But James seems to enjoy it. “Why are you here? On earth... I mean.”

He stares at the ceiling and his wings sag a little. “I have a mission, dearest.” He tells and his eyes meet yours. They’re deep blue and stormy - just like the sky. You can see yourself falling lost in them. His presence is all-consuming, making you shiver. It reminds you that the both of you are drenched from the rain. A puddle has formed around your feet and James’s wings guide the water droplets to your hardwood floor in two perfect circles. His hair is curling at the ends, in the nape of his neck and the water is also running down his throat, pooling in the remains of his shirt. 

“What mission?”

“I cannot tell you yet.” 

You nod, even though you don’t understand. But you don’t want to pressure him. “Do you need a shower? Or... clean clothes?” The second you ask you feel stupid. It’s silly right? Why shouldn’t angels shower? 

Then again, the way he looks at you is one of surprise. “Yes, that would be good.” 

“Good. Yes.” With a sigh you flee through the hallway to your room in search for some clothes. 

❁ ❁ ❁

A shower. James is giddy. Human things have always excited him. He has been watching from the heavens for eons, never truly experienced them quite like this. But he’s intrigued. Especially when you offer them to him like he’s not an intruder in your life. 

If things were different, you would never know he even existed. But James is guilty of happiness that he gets to meet you in person. 

Up close, you’re even more perfect. You smell nice, your home feels cozier than anything he’s ever experienced, and your voice sounds just a sliver more comforting when its directed at him. 

He is smiling like a fool, standing in your living room - the one he knows by heart but so much more personal now. And when you return to him with a pile of grey cloth, his heart skips a beat. You bring him the familiar warmth that made him fall in the first place. But having you within an arm’s length makes all of it feel worth it. 

There is not an ounce of regret in him for being here.

Electricity shoots up his arm when you touch his hand. It’s cold and wet - he immediately vows to always keep you warm from now on - makes it his purpose to have you be comfortable for the rest of your life. 

You lead him to the bathroom, grinning sheepishly when you gesture toward your shower. 

“It might be a tight squeeze.” You point at the glass surrounding your bathtub. “But it’s all I can offer.”

“It will do just fine.” He reassures you. 

“I will leave you to it then.” James is confused.

“Are you not staying?”

“Sorry?”

“To help me.”

“Help you... shower?” There is hesitance in your tone, but James truly doesn’t know how to turn the thing on.

“Well, yes.”

“I...” Your eyes are big, staring up at him through surprise and nervousness. “I don’t want to intrude. Give you some privacy to- oh.”

His clothes are already on the floor. He knows this much. Shower is something one does naked. But you seem to be shocked when his whole body is revealed to you. Do you like it? James is sure he looks as close to a human as a person with wings can. So why are you still staring at his stomach?

His eyes catch yours as they move a little lower, your eyebrows raising just that much higher and a smirk places itself on his face. So, you do like what you see. He confirms silently. Not that he particularly knows why. He never noticed people by their bodies - only their soul, because that is the important thing - the one that never changes. 

And yours is the most enchanting of them all. 

❁ ❁ ❁

You watch as James sit’s down on the opposite end of the sofa. He’s declined every offer you have made for him to feel a little more welcome. But he seems content. His smile hasn’t left his lips ever since you led him to the bathroom.

You couldn’t help but notice his body when he revealed it all  to you. It’s like every inch of him is carved by the gods. He looks soft in the right parts, strong enough not to be skinny with his height. And his male parts. Well, they look more than satisfactory. 

You felt like a pervert staring him up and down while he stood there with this kind of proud innocence to him, wondering if he understood how proud he could be of his looks. There is so much you don’t know about him. It’s not like you haven’t talked. 

You have. But he speaks in riddles. 

“You are staring again.” James notes and you immediately snap your head elsewhere. 

“I’m just figuring this situation out, I guess.”

He smiles encouragingly. “You can ask questions. I imagine you’ve been eager to know more.”

You exhale long, taking courage to look him in the eyes. “And you will answer all of them honestly?”

“Honestly, yes.” His teeth find his bottom lip and you squeeze your thighs together.  “I cannot promise to answer them all.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

A comfortable silence settles between you as you think of the first thing you could ask him. Maybe you should get the most obvious one out of the way. Maybe you should ask him more about himself, though you’re not sure how personal he can get if he spent his entire life in heaven. You just assume there is too much to do to pursue actual hobbies and such. 

“Is there a God?”

“Starting with the light questions, I see.” You just look at him with intrigue. Already lining up all the other questions no-one else in this world has the opportunity to have answered. James sighs and then nods. “Yes, God exists.”

“Do you know God?”

He hesitates, his eyes fleeting to the end of the room and then back to you. “Yes.”

“Why did that answer take you so long?”

His jaw tenses and his eyes find the floor as if he was cursing himself for offering this situation. But then again, you haven’t heard him cuss once. Maybe you’re wrong. “It was under rather... unfortunate circumstances.” 

You nod as if you understand. But you can only imagine. “So, he’s like the big boss, only getting involved when things escalate?”

James looks caught, his wings draw in closer. After a moment, he clears his throat and his feathers ruffle with a small shake. “First of all, it’s she/they. And second, ... I guess you could say that, yes.”

“I knew it.” You grin as the pride washes over you at this information. “Why did she never correct us?”

“Let’s just say mankind doesn’t have a great track record of enforcing things that go against their believe... Not that it would be believable if someone told the story of meeting an angel who told them God is a woman.”

“Fair point. That person would have probably been burnt alive.” You nod again, crossing your legs and turning to him on the sofa. James takes a moment to rake his eyes over your body, making you feel tingles all over. You clear your throat. “Speaking of torture... Why do we have war and world hunger?”

“Please do not take this the wrong way. Those are issues that very much concern God or anyone that want’s the best for her people, but she’s busy. She manages everything else that has gone south since.”

“Since what?” You partly enjoy the way James talks to you as if you are an insider, but you only understand half of what he’s saying. 

“Since she and Lucifer had a big fallout.” He shrugs, but it just adds to your confusion.

“I’m not following.”

He rolls his eyes as if it were your fault you don’t know about this supernatural fight. “They had a disagreement. Lucifer’s response to God’s proposal was an ill-conceived frivolity which ended up becoming the patriarchy.” 

To say you’re stunned is a serious understatement. “You’re telling me the devil threw a tamper tantrum and that’s why we have inequality? How did he even do that?”

James shakes his head. “...Yes. The trial is still in progress. But it may be calming to know that we have not figured out exactly how he convinced an entire species of males being the stronger part of it.”

“No, James. It is not calming to know.” You sigh and watch as he clasps his hands in his lap, his cuffs glistening in the lamplight. God, they’re big. You immediately scold yourself for thinking this, feeling weirds as the words of your mother echo in your head ‘Don’t you dare use God’s name in vain’. “What exactly has God done since then?”

The smile returns to his face and you readjust yourself on the sofa. “Oh, you wouldn’t want to know how this world would look if she hadn’t kept busy with sorting it.”

Your nose wrinkles in a frown, as you check the points off in your head. “I really don’t think it can get that much worse. Climate change, mass genocides, what else could there be?” You nod at each one just as James lifts up his fingers and opens his mouth as if he is starting to count. 

But you stop him. “Please don’t.”

“Yes, that is probably for the best.”

It is silent for a moment as you try to process all the information you have just attained. It is a rather weird feeling. Knowing you know what no-one else on earth does and not being able to tell. Knowing there will be no-one believing you. 

You sigh when your head starts spinning from how crazy this day has been. James seems to be rather relaxed considering he barely knows you. His dark hair falls around his face perfectly, the back of it forming a cute curl in the nape of his neck and your fingers itch to touch it.

But you refrain, reminding yourself that he is a stranger - and an angel. Beside the fact that he has not once reached out to you, just randomly touching his hair would probably be the weirdest thing to do right now. 

“Can I ask you something?” He suddenly breaks the silence and you shoot a thank you to the sky for saving yourself from going down the mental rabbit hole of how soft his hair looks. 

“Yes.”

“Why did you take me in?” James’s eyes are boring into yours so innocently. If it weren’t for the giant wings on his back, he would almost look like a normal clueless and incredibly cute guy. And yet he just revealed outerworldly gossip as if you were discussing the latest celebrity TMZ. 

“I-“ you trail off, thinking about it for a while. You aren’t sure how much you can tell him. But James has been genuine from the start. It wold only be fair to do the same. “I felt like you needed me.”

A weird feeling takes over your body suddenly. Like a warm flush rushing through you. James fidgets in your peripheral and nods in understanding. “I did. I do.”

It’s like the reality of it all hits you like brick when a noise sounds from outside and his wings twitch, pushing over a pile of books on the cupboard behind the sofa. This is not normal, something tells you, and yet your stomach flutters in a way that feels a lot like butterflies. Everything about James is fascinating to you. You constantly fight the urge to reach out and brush your fingertips over every part of him. And for some reason, your mind tries to tell you that he would let you. 

“Why are you really here, James?” You voice is only a whisper when the rattling outside subsides. It’s probably a raccoon or something. But James looks a little nervous all of a sudden. 

“I’m afraid that is one thing I cannot tell you, love.”

You sigh. “I guess... I just want to help. Having you stay here doesn’t feel like it’s enough. There has got to be something you need to do.”

“That is very kind of you. I admire your bravery and openness.” His lips spread into a smile, his hand lifting from his lap as if he is about to place it on yours, but his fingers only strech and land back on the sofa between you. “But to be truthful, even if I knew what I had to do, I am not sure wether I would do it or not”

So he is a little deviant. You smile at the small observation. Maybe it’s the reason he is here in the first place. But you feel like you have asked James enough for tonight. Just on cue, a yawn escapes your lips. 

“You should rest. It has been a long day.” 

You nod, rubbing your eyes and rising from the soft cushions. “I have a spare bedroom. You can sleep there.”

“That is fine. I do not sleep.” James shakes his head as he rises with you out of curtesy. With his hands clasped in front of him he looks like a goth painting. 

“What? Never?”

“I am not human, dearest. My body attains energy in different ways.” You shudder again, blaming it on your sleepiness as you rub your arms when another yawn escapes you. 

“Maybe you can tell me about it tomorrow. I am really tired.”

“I will be watching over you.” Your name passes his lips like a song, sending another shiver through you. What the hell is the matter with you. You huff as you catch yourself again. It really never occurred to you how often you referenced to the supernatural... “Take all the rest you can get.”

“Good night, James.” You nod and wave awkwardly.

“Good night.”

You know James’s eyes are only you until you disappear into the hallway. But you cant help but feel safely watched over with him around. 

❁ ❁ ❁

They will find him, and they will send him further from you than he ever was.

❁ ❁ ❁

James hates the days you have to leave for work. He watches you with a sense of longing and resignation, knowing that he must find a way to navigate this separation once again. Though it is necessary he find a way to dodge the inevitable.

It’s the vexing thing about the celestial kingdom. They always leave one to find the laws on their journey. There is no book he could read on earth that could help him here. But he has seen the repercussions of disobedience, felt the weight of his transgressions bearing down on him like a heavy chain.

And yet, as he watches you prepare to leave for work, a sense of desperation gnaws at him from within. He wants to reach out, to beg you to stay, to keep you safe from whatever dangers may lurk beyond the safety of your home.

But he knows he can't. He's bound by duty, by the laws of God that dictate his every move. And so, with a heavy heart, he watches silently as you gather your things and head out the door, leaving him alone once more.

As the door closes behind you, James is left with nothing but the echoes of your footsteps fading into the distance. He knows he should use this time wisely, to prepare for whatever trials may lie ahead, but his thoughts are consumed by you, by the overwhelming need to protect you at all costs.

❁ ❁ ❁

There’s and angel in your home. And he’s so freaking attractive, it’s unfair. 

It has been a week since you found James. And despite the incredibly irrational decisions of yours to invite him into your home, nothing bad has happened to you. Sure, the first night you might have dreamt about him. He’s everything your fantasy books described an more. And you couldn’t help but let that tiny romantic sliver of you hope for the more. 

But James is more pious than any catholic boarding school kid you’ve ever met. 

He seems to enjoy a good joke and he’s quite confident. But he never once touched you. And while that should not be one of your first concerns, considering he’s a stranger and an angel, something inside you tells you he’s holding back. 

He never even flinches when you reach out to him. And the longing stares he sends your way make you shiver with anticipation. Yet there is no attempt to ever pull you in - even though you are so sure you were sending signals. 

Maybe there are no signals in heaven. What are you even saying? Of course there are no signals in heaven. You don’t even believe dating exists up there. 

“Yo, whaddup with ya today? I’ve been calling your name for a solid minute.”

“Sorry. Feeling a little off today,” you mumble to Nick and retrieve the food waiting in the serving hatch. 

“You can’t go home. I don’t wanna serve alone today.”

“Scott, there’s literally no-one here.” You gesture toward the few people sitting in their booths and sigh. “Besides, I never said I was going home.” 

“Don’t get mad. You barely texted me back this week. What’s so awesome about your home when I’m not there with you?” You feel the heat rising to your head at Scott’s comment. “You’d think she’d call me if she ever needed to hide something.” He mumbles to Nick who just laughs and flips a pancake. 

You turn to him with your fists by your side. “The weather is weird and cold, can’t I need a little down time?”

“Not from me!” Scott looks baffled. He’s your friend, and yes, you had other things to worry about than be on your phone this week. But you also knew he wouldn’t understand.

“You’re being a real pain in my ass today, Scotty.”

“Good, so everything’s back to normal then.”

You throw a towel in his face. “Shut up.”

“Cut it out, you two, there’s customers.”

Scott resumes to the back, effectively dodging his work and leaving you to serve the new customer. But your breath hitches in your throat when you look up from the counter.

James is standing in the door, already drawing looks of attention from a few people. He’s smiling back at them, even waving at a child before his eyes meet yours and your heart sets off again. It seems to always do that when he’s close. 

You rush toward him, wrapping your fingers around his cuffed wrist and he audibly exhales. 

“You can’t be here.”

“Why not?”

“Because-“ you lean in closer and James bows down to get his face to your level. “You’re and angel.” You mutter under your breath and the sexy smile returns to his perfect lips. 

“And how would they know that?” His eyebrow raises. 

“You-“ you lean back, examining his shoulders - only then noticing that his wings are not there anymore. “How?”

“I only show myself to truly important people.” He winks and you stumble back a little, his sudden boldness making your legs feel like jello. 

“What are you doing here?” 

James looks around the diner as though he has not planned this far. His eyes swerve to the counter and then back to you. “I want to watch you work. I enjoy spending time with you.”

“But you can’t be here without ordering.”

“Then I will oder.”

“You don’t eat, James. Do you even have money?”

That seems to surprise him. “No.” You shake your head and look at the tiled floor. James’s wrist is still wrapped in your hand but there is no attempt to hold you. So you drop it. Why did he even come here when he won’t touch you?

“Please, beautiful. Let me stay.” His eyes are genuine, his lips purse in a plea. All you can think about is how weirdly lucky you are that this Adonis of a being chose you for his quest. 

You bite your lip and watch him shudder. “Alright. Just sit by the counter and try to be inconspicuous.”

His smile spreads wide. “I’ll be as invisible as the air you breathe.”

You exhale and get back to work but unfortunately, his promise doesn’t last long. Before you know it, Peggy has chosen the seat right beside James. She’s leaning over to him at the counter and Howard just sits beside them with his newspaper in hand - as always. James seems just as invested in the conversation as Peggy and as you steal glances over to the pair of them, insistently hoping he won’t spill about his identity, you catch James’s eyes lingering on you. 

“You are a fine young man, James.” Peggy's hand lands on his, tapping it in a grandmotherly manor, though her eyes are glinting with something akin to longing. She whispers something into his ear you cant make out and James’s eyes shoot to yours, his face tinting rouge from one ear to the other. 

“And you are a remarkable lady, Peggy,” he clears his throat, his mind seemingly wandering elsewhere. “You remind me of a girl a friend of mine was in love with once.”

“Then he must have been the happiest man to ever live.”

Peggy’s hands tremble when she reaches for her cup of tea, her red lipstick taint the white porcelain as James watches her movements with a soft stare. He looks so protective of her, it makes your insides tingle. “He truly is, though he seems like he has forgotten about it lately. Is this your husband?” He gestures to Howard, who just slams the newspaper down in front of him, blank eyes staring at James while Peggy laughs and waves her hand dismissively. 

“This rascal?” She presses her hand to her chest as she tries to calm down. “No, dear. My husband died a long tome ago.” She smiles warmly, floating in melancholy when she continues, “I never loved another man since. He was a heaven sent. Strong, kind, always worked towards the greater good... and his looks were to die for, too.” She winks and James chuckles. 

“Oh I wish a love like that to everyone. Promise me something, James.” 

“Anything.”

“If your find it, never let it go.” Her hand clasps around his biceps, her tone a motherly sternness laced with affection. 

James eyes you again and it feels as if the air is shifting with tension. “My word is in God’s name, Peggy.”

❁ ❁ ❁

James feels the repercussions of his being on earth stronger every day. In heaven, he was miserable because he had to watch you live your life without him. On earth, he’s in agony because he knows, if he ever were to touch you, he would cease to exist.

It’s slanted. He gave up everything coming here and despite the fact that his wings stopped working the second he fell from the sky, he categorizes the uncertainty eating away at him as even worse. Hanging in limbo is more troubling than actually going to hell, he is sure of it. 

He watches you move about your house with the same longing look torturing his features since he realized how much he needed you. It’s laughable how dependent on you he has become. While you go about your life with the minor change of having a roommate, James despises the unforgeable distance heaven has created between you. 

You are friendly with him - you are friendly with everyone. James would even go as far as to say that you two are friends by now. But he wants so much more. So much more he cant tell you because even if you did know about his feelings, there is nothing either of you could do about it. 

James sighs standing from the sofa, ducking his head when he passes through the doorway to you. You never questions when he just follows you around. The soul bond probably keeping the curiosity at bay if it feels anything like his experience. It feels good for no explicit reason. 

You sort some bowls in your cabinet as he stands behind you, offering to place the ones higher up so you don’t have to struggle too much. “What’s heaven like, James?” You ask innocently through your movements. “Are there pearly gates and fluffy clouds?”

James loves when you say his name. It makes him feel closer to you than ever before. In a way, he equates it with your touch. Just as his saying your name is his way of reaching out to you. 

“More like endless paperwork and celestial coffee breaks.” Coffee breaks. He learned about those a while ago and he loves the concept. “But hey, the views are to die for.” He gets lost in your eyes, remembering how much more distant they felt when he was watching from above and he is thankful to be this close to you now.

You smile smugly, and thats when the heart race sets in again. He’s sure you feel it too. Because your eyes avert and your hand places itself atop your chest. 

You think something is wrong with you, he just knows it. It’s like the time you watched hours on hours of Gray’s Anatomy and then proceeded to research yourself into a frenzy about the sicknesses you might suffer. But James made sure then that there was not even a paper cut compromising you and he will do the same now, too.

He is desperate to tell you what it is you feel, that there is not much you can do and that he feels it ten times worse because he hates to see you suffer. But he needs to be careful about how much he reveals to you. 

“Oh my god, I’m getting paranoid,” you mutter to yourself and James smirks at your small slip up. He has noticed how you try to minimize your references in curses. It’s cute, really, because he knows how much you used to do it. It’s a little bit amusing, the small deviant trait of yours making him feel like he has found something in common with you and he’s almost proud of it.

You collect yourself, quickly, breathing in deeply and then turning around to him. “I have to run some errands today.” 

“Great, where are we going?” James asks with eagerness. Car rides excite him. He has always found them fascinating, but actually being in one is a whole new experience. 

You bite your lip and for once, James does not feel the familiar tingle in his stomach when you do so. There is sadness sitting in your eyes when you answer him. “Actually...” Your tongue darts out to wet your lip just for your teeth to dig into it again and an unfamiliar tightness travels through James’s body. “It is something I need to do by myself today. I hope that is okay.”

The angel nods vigorously, trying to ignore the pang in his chest. “Yes of course. I will leave you to it alone.” He steadies himself on the door frame and then heads to the living room where he grabs a book and settles on your window sill to look occupied. 

“It is nothing personal, James.” Your head dips from the doorway and he looks up. “It's just... it would be weird for you to be there.”

“I understand.” The way he adds your name to his answer makes him sick. But his body is feeling weird, not showing him the familiar signs of jealousy or anger he knows. It feels... warm and uncomfortable. 

“I will be back soon.” Your voice travels through the hallway and your footsteps along with it. James stares at the empty doorway for a while, his eyes shooting down to the book when you suddenly reappear. “Do you want anything from the store?”

“No, thank you.”

“Okay.”

And then the door falls shut. But before James can get consumed by his loneliness, he puts the books down - something about an ice breaker - and heads outside to follow you. 

❁ ❁ ❁

But earth can be a lonely place. At least hell will welcome you with warmth.

❁ ❁ ❁

You didn’t lie. You were at the store. But now that you’re treading on the small path towards the grey cemetery walls, James feels the fear spread through his body like a slow and painful death. 

He’s hiding behind the trees closing around the park, watching you as you halt before a simple headstone. He can feel your mourning deep within his heart, tugging, yanking, pulling on the tiny strings that sting so effectively. His temple leans against the rough bark as his eyes trace your slow movements. You place a small bouquet of flowers on the soil before the engraved letters, resting your forehead on the gold stone. 

He can’t see it completely, but he knows you’re crying. You always do. Everything within him screams to reach out to you, to hold you and sway you until the world feels less taunting, but he knows how difficult it could make things. 

So, instead, he remains hidden, a silent sentinel in the shadows bearing witness to your sorrow from afar. He feels the weight of your tears as if they were his own, each drop a dagger to his soul and a reminder of the distance that separates him from you. 

And yet, even in the midst of your pain, there is a flicker of something else - resilience, determination, a quiet strength that refuses to be extinguished. It’s a testament to your spirit, a beacon of hope in the darkness that threatens to consume you both. 

As you linger before the headstone, lost in your memories and your grief, James feels a surge of admiration swell within him. Despite the pain you carry, you continue to preserve. 

“It’s really a shame you never have the balls to comfort her.” A voice whispers in his ear and James shoots around to be met with a redhead whose eyes stare daringly up at him. “Then again... I guess it would be kind of ironic, don’t you think?” 

“What are you doing here, Wanda?” All angels are made weary of Lucifer’s spawn. They are vicious and manipulating, carrying the pits of hell to places that least expect them and watch it all go up in flames as they stand laughing on the sidelines. 

James knows the demon standing before him. More than once have their paths crossed throughout time, but he is surprised to see her every time anew. He refuses to show any sign of weakness in her presence, knowing that to do so would only invite further manipulation.

Wanda chuckles darkly, her laughter echoing through the trees. “Oh, nothing much,” she muses with a wicked grin, pacing around James to take a closer look at him. “Just though I’d remind you of what you’re missing out on by playing the good little guardian angel. But who knows... maybe one of these days, you’ll finally grow a spine and take what you want.”

James clenches his jaw, struggling to maintain his composure in the face of Wanda’s relentless provocation. He knows better than to let her under his skin, but the demon’s words cut deep, striking at the heart of his insecurities. He feels the surge of frustration rising within him as his fists clench by his sides, the weight of his silver cuffs pressing against his wrists like chains. “I can’t,” he whispers, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know I can’t”

Wanda’s gaze narrows as her arms cross in front of her chest. “Can’t or won’t?” She counters, her voice tingling with an unspoken dare. 

James hesitates, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts and emotions. "I... I don't know," he admits finally. "But it doesn't matter. My duty lies with heaven, with protecting her. I can’t do that when I’m lost in the in-between.”

Wanda's eyes glitter with amusement as she takes a step closer, closing the distance between them with an unnerving grace. "And what if heaven isn't where you belong?" she whispers in a seductive purr as her fingers flick against his cuffs. The sound travels through the trees, making you turn and look around you. "What if your heart longs for something more, something... forbidden?"

A shiver runs down his spine, a sudden realization dawning within James. For so long, he has clung to the safety of his celestial duties, fearing the consequences of straying from the path laid out before him. But now, as he stands face to face with the embodiment of temptation itself again, he can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, heaven is not the place where he can truly flourish. 

“I don’t trust you, Wanda.” He admits genuinely, though the possibility of her words holding truth gnaws on his very soul.

“You shouldn’t.” She smirks devilishly, eyes flashing in a short glimmer of red and evil. “There will be consequences to disobeying celestial rules. But you will never find out if a life free of them would be more fulfilling to you if you don’t try.” She winks, setting uncertainty free within him. “Find me when you have made the right choice.”

As he watches Wanda disappear into the shadows, leaving him alone with his thoughts, James knows that he is standing at a crossroads—one that would determine the course of his destiny for eternity. And though the path ahead is uncertain and fraught with peril, he can't help but feel a glimmer of hope stir within him, a whisper of possibility that promises a future filled with love, and happiness, and the chance to finally be as close to you as he has always wished for.

❁ ❁ ❁

The night has broken over your small town by now. James has made it back with a conflicted heart before you came home from your errands. He knows you notice his silence as he normally enjoys to talk a lot to you. But you don’t say anything. 

He is just sitting quietly in the kitchen as he watches you make a cup of tea, wondering what it tastes like right before frowning at how scared he is to try a cup of hot water just because he doesn’t know what it would do to him. 

Wanda’s words come back to the forefront of his mind and the unease she instilled within his heart right alongside it. He has been longing to reach out to you for so long, has wanted to touch and comfort you in so many ways his mind began to spin. Especially after days like this, when you went to visit your brother’s grave. You would be crying yourself to sleep tonight. And you would get up tomorrow, wipe the sorrow from your eyes and continue to live your life as if nothing happened. Because you are strong and resilient. 

And James, even though he is finally present, is not able to offer you the solace you so desperately deserve. 

At least he thought so.

His eyes wander to the silver cuffs around his arms, feeling the weight and letting the subtle clink of them seep into his skull. He has never questioned why or how the rules of heaven applied to him. He never even thought about the consequences of breaking them until he felt the need to protect you. He never really cared until you became the most important thing in his life. 

Now, seeing the pain in your gaze, and feeling the guilt for being here, not soothing you gnaws on him, sending him back to a state in which he would kill to see you smile again. Free of fear and sorrow. 

You bite your lip when you settle on the chair across from his. Your eyes look dull, but James can’t help but think there is a question posed within them. Something desperate and restricted. Oh, how he would love to know what you’re trying to say. He is just too inexperienced with human interaction that he can get a read on everything just yet. 

James feels his heart picking up, knowing it beats in the same rhythm as yours, but he doesn’t dare speak, knowing his voice will betray him. Your tea cup is empty, your eyes tired, and he knows that this evening with you will end within seconds. 

“Good night, James.” You finally say, following the small ritual you have established with him as you wave at him weakly. 

Normally, he says it back. Normally, he guides you to the bedroom and closes your door promising to watch over you in silence. Normally, he doesn’t have a demon’s words ringing in his ears. 

But today, something feels different. As you gather your things and head towards your bedroom, a sudden surge of determination courses through him. He can't bear the thought of being separated from you, even for a moment longer.

With a sense of reckless abandon, and the words of Wanda hanging in his mind James makes a daring decision. Ignoring the warnings echoing in his every being, he reaches out to you, his touch barely grazing your shoulder as you turn to leave.

In that fleeting moment of contact, something shifts. A spark ignites between you, a connection so powerful and undeniable that it defies explanation. Time seems to slow as you both freeze, caught in the throes of a bond that transcends the boundaries of heaven and earth.

For a heartbeat, everything hangs in the balance, the air crackling with electricity. And then ...nothing happens. 

There is no rush of wind and light that makes him disappear, leaving behind only the echo of his presence lingering in the empty space between. There is nothing else welcoming him in wrath or absolute nothingness or whatever is supposed to happen if a celestial ever dared to touch a mortal.

He opens his eyes that he had shut tight without noticing. And you’re still here. In front of him, staring at his hand that is softly wrapped around your wrist. His mind is struggling to make sense of what just happened - or rather what didn’t. It was all a hoax. 

James feels rage bubble within him. And as you stand there, alone in the quiet stillness of the room, touching. He counts yet another reason why heaven was never where he belonged.

A single tear rolls down his cheek when he pulls you into his body and wraps his arm around you tightly. His heart beats violently, pumping the anger of knowing how much time he wasted not being close to you through his body. His wings follow close behind, sealing you into his warmth and creating a space just for you and him. It’s as if you are made for him. Your body tugs perfectly beneath his feathery white wings and he knows he’ll hold you like this for eternity. 

❁ ❁ ❁

He’s touching you. 

James is touching you. No, actually, he’s consuming you with his whole being, pulling you into the best hug you have ever received. His wings wrap around you protectively, engulfing you into his scent entirely. It’s earthy, and clean, and... heavenly. 

You chuckle slightly as your cheek presses to his chest, your head barely reaching his collar bone, but it just makes you feel enclosed by his presence from all around. You heart beats just as rapidly as his and you exhale in content as you realize that you’re not the only one feeling this connection. 

You don’t know what changed. Maybe you are not as good as hiding your sadness as you think you are. Or maybe there is a whole other reason behind this angel guarding you into the most loving hug you have ever experienced. But fact is, you needed it today more than ever. 

And James knew ...because he strangely knows so much about you. He feels familiar without trying and it is a weirdly comforting thing to experience. Especially after all you have been through. 

Hesitantly, and almost sorrowfully, you pull away from his warm chest. His wings loosen around you, his arms leaving just enough space for you to lean back and stare into those azure blue eyes of his. He’s beautiful up close. Long lashes frame his loving stare as his mouth tugs into a smile, taking yours right with it. 

“You touched me.” You say in awe as James’s eyebrows slightly raise. “You thought I didn’t notice, but I did.” 

There is a steak silence as his gaze travels over your face then roams his arms that are still holding you tightly close to him. “Should I not be touching you?” He asks carefully.

You can feel his hands retreating but you pull him right in before they’re gone. “I was just wondering when you would.” You snuggle back into his shirt and his hands cradle your head to him. “Is it embarrassing to say I’ve wanted you to do it for a while now?”

“Not embarrassing at all.” His chest rumbles with a chuckle. “I’ve wanted to do it even before then. I just didn’t know if I could.” The last part is a mere whisper that dissipates in your hair when his mouth presses to it in a feather light brush. 

A rush of warmth floods through you, filling every corner of your being with a sense of belonging you've never known before. Time seems to stand still, the world falling away until there is nothing left but the two of you, entwined in each other's arms.

"You've wanted to touch me?" you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them, a confession born of the unspoken longing that has lingered between you for far too long.

James's gaze softens, his fingers trailing gently along the curve of your cheek as he meets your eyes with a look of quiet intensity. "More than you could ever know," he replies. "But I feared the consequences.”

“What consequences?” James shakes his head as his thumb still lingers on your skin. 

“I don’t know.” You reach up to cup his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing against his cheekbones as you search his eyes again. It was stupid of you to assume he didn’t touch you because he didn’t like you. He was probably scared of what would happen if angels ever dared. The look in his deep blues tells you how worried he was. How long he withheld for the sake of dodging the unknown. 

“It’s not bad, is it?” You hand travels across his chest, feeling the muscles tense in its wake. “Touching.” 

James's breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding against his chest as he gazes down at you with a mixture of awe and reverence. And once again, you would love to know what is happening inside his brain. 

With a trembling hand, James cups your face in his palm, his touch gentle yet possessive as he leans in to press his forehead to yours. You cant help but feel that there is something keeping him from you, still. 

“Let me stay with you tonight, my beloved.” His fingers tighten around your face ever so slightly. “Let me hold you and keep you safe.”

“Safe from what?” You ask in a trance as your fingers bury in his hair and you play with the thought of pressing your lips to his. But he has taken so long to hug you. You don’t want him to be overwhelmed. 

“Anything.” He whispers back and closes his eyes. A whole new warmth consumes you when his words seep in, blanketing you in cherish and admiration. If this is what being appreciated feels like, you will fight to keep the feeling forever. 

“Okay.”

❁ ❁ ❁

Oh how much the celestials have lied. Flying is nothing compared to this. 

❁ ❁ ❁

As you bustle about the diner, taking orders and refilling coffee mugs with practiced ease, Peggy sits at her usual spot at the counter, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she watches you work.

"Something on your mind, Peggy?" you ask with a smile, setting down a plate of pancakes in front of a hungry customer.

Peggy leans in closer, her voice low and conspiratorial. "I couldn't help but notice that smile of yours, dear," she says with a knowing wink. "It's positively radiant today. Dare I say, it's almost as if you've got a secret?"

You chuckle, feeling a flush of warmth spread across your cheeks at her observation. “Hmm, I don’t know,” you reply coyly, unable to suppress the grin that tugs at the corners of your lips as you tab your finger against them. “What makes you think I’d share it with you?”

“Well, I am a loyal customer for one...” She pauses as she thinks of another point. “And I am old enough to think the secret dies with me." Peggy presses, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Please, you know the entire town.” You laugh and Peggy waves her hand dismissively, though there is a proud smirk on her red lips. 

Before she can respond, a voice cuts through the air like a knife, sharp and tinged with bitterness. "What's all this about smiles and secrets?”

You turn to see Old Lee leaning against the counter with a grim expression. His worn-down straw hat flops over his eyes, making him look even more grumpy than usual.

"It's nothing, Stan," you reply, trying to defuse the tension with a forced smile. "Just some friendly banter."

Old Lee’s eyes narrow slightly. "Friendly banter, huh? You're squawking like a bunch of chickens in a henhouse."

Peggy rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed by Stan's attitude. "Oh, hush up, Stan," she scolds, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. "Can't you see we're having a moment here? This is girl talk. Go and drink your tea like the grumpy old man you are.”

Old Lee shakes his head in response but wisely chooses to turn back to his drink. “We all know how the last time she came in here with a smile that big turned out.” Old Lee grumbles searching your eyes once more. “The frogs're telling me we’ll have another rain comin’ soon. You better be careful, sweetheart.”

You share a conspiratorial look with Peggy, either of you not sure wether to believe him or not. Stan is not one for sappy love stories, but he certainly hits the nail on the head with his predictions every time. His bold hint towards the last big death this town suffered glides off his tongue like a Sunday prayer and it ripples down your spine in ice-cold peaks. 

“That is in the past. Right now, I really am hoping we are talking about the charming gentleman I talked to the other week. He certainly is a sight for sore eyes.” Peggy’s eyes sparkle as Old Lee huffs into his cup.

She winks back at you and the smile returns to your lips, along with the giddy feeling you get when James is called into your mind. But before you can respond, the diner door swings open, signaling the arrival of another customer and putting an end to your conversation—for now, at least.

❁ ❁ ❁

A noise calls from the back of your house right before the sun starts its journey in the sky. You don’t wake as James tries to stir carefully with his arms still holding you tightly. He was not sleeping - he doesn’t need sleep, but he still feels groggy from the warm and comforting night being ripped away with the sound. 

It piques another time and now, James is sure, someone is trying to get inside. Within minutes he is out of bed, checking the window and then closing the door to your bedroom on his way to the back. 

He is ready to protect you at all costs, eager to show you how much you mean to him, but when he sees a touch of white beyond the window and hears the familiar rustling of feathers that accompany it, it only takes him a second to realize who has come to intrude your peace. 

Two men - angels - just as tall has James litter the kitchen once he opens the door and pulls them inside with both hands. Samuel, the one standing a little to the side, brushes his clothes off once he comes to a stand again, watching James with amusement and curiosity. “I see you haven’t changed much, James. A simple ‘hello’ would have been just fine.” He crosses his arms before his chest, his wings shaking the dowry rain from their feathers and right onto your kitchen floor. 

“Why are you here?” His eyes search those of Steven - a friend of his but also an angel ranking higher than James ever will.

“You know why we’re here.” He steps closer once he has composed himself again. “You are testing the heavens.” 

James huffs, feeling the anger rise inside him. If anything, heaven was testing him. So he goes on to ignore the blonde angel before him, willing his heart to calm at all the frustration accumulating at once. “Did you know it was a lie?” James starts instead. His voice is strained when he thinks of all the times he refrained from touching you just to keep you safe. “Just a way to keep us from initiating contact?” 

Steven doesn’t say anything and Samuel’s stare meets that of James again. Steven shows little remorse, the pride on display now more than usual. The supposed betrayal James has caused is nothing to the sting boring into his soul by the very man standing in font of him. Steven is cold, distant - when he should be a friend.

“I should have known.” James shakes his head. “Your duties have always placed higher than your friendships.”

“That is because duties are the most valuable virtue God can give.” Steven finally says and his jaw ticks angrily. 

James could never imagine being more loyal to a system placing as many restrains as heaven does. Not when he knows how good the real world can feel. How precious it is to smell flowers and hold the one you love in your arms well into the night. 

“You came here with a mission, James. And since your fall, you have done nothing but frolic throughout this place with your very own human.” Samuel is eerily still behind the broad blonde spitting one accusation after the other. But James decides not to comment on it just yet. 

“It is far more than that,” he rasps feeling the protectiveness flood his body. 

“We know. That is why you are here in the first place.” 

“What am I supposed to do, Steven?” James tries to keep his voice low, but his frustration is too great. Steven should be the one to understand better than anyone else. But he seems to have locked that part of him far away right now. “How can I amend a sin that is irreversible?!”

“Every sin can be amen-“ Steve’s eyebrows raise and Samuel’s eyes flickers from James and focuse behind him. That is when his heart beat picks up again. And as much as he loves you, he wishes with all his being that you are not standing behind him right now.

“Please, no.” He mutters and turns just to have you approach from the hallway with tired eyes. 

“What is happening? Who are you?” Your voice sounds sleepy, a hand rubbing over your face before you find yourself by James’s side.

“Angels.” He bites his lips, contemplating for a moment but deciding that you deserve to hear what is happening in your own home. A home he hopes to be part of forever. Besides, with Steven here, there is no ending this conversation without confusing you more. “They want me to abandon you.” The bitterness is evident in his tone. But he regrets it as soon as he catches the stutter in your heart.

“What?” It’s all you say, but the way you do breaks his collected facade. 

“James-“

“What do I have to loose, Steven?” his arms open wide. "They already cast me out. They took my freedom, they took it all.” His wings barely shake, just emphasizing his statement. 

Steve steps closer, causing you to slightly shove yourself behind James, his arm reaching around you, just not touching yet. ”But there is still a chance to redeem yourself.”

“What if I don’t want it?” James bites back. 

“Don’t act rash, James. Think about this.“

“I have.” Long and hard. Every night he holds you, he has enough time to do so. And he has come to the conclusion that nothing compares to having you this close to him... and only him.

“You know of the punishment placed for sinners who do not attempt to right their wrongs.” Steven is seething beneath the surface, James can tell. But he tries to stay professional. He can try all he wants. James has already made a decision. 

“What is he talking about?” Your voice takes him back to your presence. Your hands sneak around his forearm and hand, to which his body responds like a reflex. His fingers squeeze yours, his body seeks the heat of yours. Samuel looks at the interaction curiously, Steven settles for a disapproving taunt.

“I lose my wings. I lose heaven.” James explains to you, watching as your eyes open wider in shock. 

“What?” There is so much more behind your astound answer. What does this mean for us?

“James is banished from the heavens temporarily already.” Steven’s voice drips with authority, making you stiffen beside him. James hates it. And he doesn’t hate much. 

“Why?” You’re too soft for this, too fragile to take another betrayal so soon. He has just gotten started and he already feels you drifting away. Your eyes are glassy when you turn to Steven. “What could have possibly been so bad that you ended up here?” 

“You didn’t tell her?” Sam breaks his silence. The surprise is written all over his face just to be replaced by confusion when James utters his name in warning. 

“Tell me.” It seems as though his eyes switch between everyone in the room, trying to warn them all of what will happen if they take his opportunity of telling you himself.

“James is not just any angel.”

“Steve, stop it.” 

“He is your guardian angel.”

It all happens too fast. A look to Samuel tells him there is no ending this. Steven won’t stop until he has tried his all to have you turn from James. 

“And he committed the worst sin of them all.” You look shocked and expectant. The grip on James’s hands grows tighter with every syllable leaving Steven’s mouth. And James is silently cursing the angel in front of him “He killed a man... for you.” 

You stumble back and James catches you only to earn a warning glare from Steven and Samuel. 

“Brock,” you whisper and it sounds like the single word has taken the entire air out of your system.

Lighting brightens your house over the stifled morning gleam and thunder sounds dangerously in the distance. You’re flinching, though searching James’s eyes as he steadies you back on your feet. 

“You cant do this forever, James.”

“And what if I try?” He turns fully. “What if I would rather get myself killed than come back to heaven?”

“He wouldn’t” Steve is heaving, but Sam steps forward, Laying a hand on the blonde’s shoulder in an attempt to soothe his rage. “The soul bond affects her just as it does him.”

“What does that mean?” It’s barely a screech when you interrupt them again. Turning to James and tugging at his shirt, you convey the frustration of being kept in the dark through your features. “What does it mean, James?”

He sighs, shaking his head and then closing his eyes - hoping to escape this conversation. But it is happening. “It means, if I die... you will die, too. A soul need replace that of a guardian one.”

At this point, James questions his sanity. How could he have not realized the twisted ways of the celestial realm sooner? In an attempt to soothe both his aching head and your tired soul, he reaches out to pull you into a hug, but your hands swat his arms away.

James recoils as if struck, the sting of rejection shattering his heart into thousands of pieces

“You might think it wise to revisit what we offered you, James.”

The words hang in the air like a dark omen when Steven and Samuel disappear. With a heavy heart, James turns away from you, unable to bear the weight of your disappointment any longer.

As you walk away, James is torn between the desire to comfort you and the fear of causing you further pain. But when he reaches out to touch you, once more, your tears are a silent testament to the rift that now lies between you. 

"I... I'm sorry," he stammers, his voice choked with emotion. It’s a desperate attempt to fix this, even if he does not know how.

“Go, James. Please. I need time to understand all this-”

“I can help you.”

“-alone. I want to be alone.” You swallow hard. “Leave, please.” Your tears finally spill and James despises that he is at fault of them.

“Go.”

Feeling more abandoned than ever, James leaves you to your grief, the weight of his actions weighing heavily on his soul. In that moment, he realizes that the price of his newfound freedom may be greater than he ever imagined, leaving him trapped in a prison of his own making, forever haunted by the memory of the one he could never save.

He knows there are not many ways to fix this. But he is determined to find the one that will.

❁ ❁ ❁

He doesn’t remember earth to be quite this cold. 

Find me when you have made the right choice. The words keep ringing in his head. 

A little warmth would feel nice now.

❁ ❁ ❁

You were angry when you told James to leave. Angry, and hurt, and confused, and shocked, and fucking tired of it all. 

But now that he is gone, an unfamiliar emptiness has taken its place where your tingles used to be. Everything makes so much sense now. The weirdly familiar feeling. The sense of security around him - a total stranger at the time, who obviously possessed more strength than you could ever imagine. The instant pull from his heart to yours. 

The quiet of your house seems to close in on you. The walls feel tighter, the rooms emptier. Every corner holds a memory of James, a reminder of the presence that had once filled your life with warmth and mystery. His laugh echoing in the hallway, his silhouette framed in the morning light through the kitchen window, the way he seemed to know when you needed comfort before you even realized it yourself.

You sit at the table, staring at your untouched cup of coffee, replaying moments in your mind. The time he effortlessly carried your groceries when you insisted you could manage alone. The nights he stayed up with you, talking about everything and nothing, his voice soothing and familiar. The way he looked at you, as if you were the center of his universe.

The days seem endless without him. Simple tasks feel monumental in the absence of his reassuring presence. You find yourself hesitating before making decisions, second-guessing your choices, yearning for the silent support he always provided. The realization hits you: you had built your life around him, around the safety and stability he brought, even without knowing the full truth of who he was.

You cannot deny that a big part of you misses him despite all the lies he told you. Well, not lies entirely. You know he has always been truthful to you ...he just never told the whole truth until he was forced to.

And even though the other two angels who visited made him reveal his secrets to you, you feel like there is so much more to discover still. 

Your hand settles over your heart, trying to pull the constant racing around James back into existence. But it beats in profound silence, acting as though nothing has happened, when - in fact - everything has changed. James came into your life and unapologetically took your heart away. You don’t want it back. You want him back. Heart or not, your souls are connected. And now that he is gone, you know what you have truly been missing all this time. 

With a sigh, you rise form your chair and grab your keys, determined to find a way to help James out of the trouble he has caused because of you. A shiver runs down your spine at the memories of it all. James’s sin had good intentions, you know this much. But two people died at the time of it - though only one deserves your mourning. 

You pull your door closed and make your way to town hall. The entire left wing of the building is dedicated to the library and you are destined to find out more about the man who crashed into your life and took your heart away... and then disappeared. 

The library is quiet, the soft rustling of pages and the occasional whisper the only sounds that break the stillness. You approach the counter, where a librarian is meticulously organizing a stack of book. She looks up as you approach, her kind eyes lighting up with curiosity. 

“Hello, dear,” she says warmly. How can I help you today?”

You hesitate for a moment but then you decide to just start at the beginning. “I’m looking for some texts about angels,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. “More specifically fallen angels... and the consequences of disobeying.”

The librarian raises an eyebrow and a look close to amusement and happiness reaches over her face. “That’s a rather specific topic,” she muses and your brow begins to sweat. Maybe this was a stupid idea. The woman is still eyeing you with a smolder, but then, as if you pushed a button, she shrugges and begins to type away on her computer. “Good thing it’s my job to get you exactly what you need.”

She nods slowly after a little while. “We do have some old texts and legends about angels. Let me show you.” With that, she lifts her body out of the office chair behind the desk and leads you to the far end of the library. It’s a quiet corner where the oldest books are kept. She pulls an ancient-looking leather-bound volume from a high shelf. For the place it has been kept, it is surprisingly dust-free. 

With a smile, she hands it to you and then wishes you ‘happy hunting’.

The book is heavy in your hands. The front is embossed in golden letters. Your fingers trace over it, feeling every ridge and dip. ‘Legends of the Divine and Fallen’, the title reads. 

When you flip through the pages, the book’s well-worn smell engulfs you and something inside you shifts. You brother loved old books. The one in your hand brings you right back to when you were kids. Pietro had a whole wall of shelves filled with his favorite stories. And more so than often, you snuck inside when he was out with his friends, grabbing one whose cover intrigued you the most and then getting lost in the pages until he came back and read it to you. 

He sparked your interest in reading - made you the bookworm you are today. And finally, probably caused you to jump into this adventure with James in hopes of finally living inside on of your fantasy worlds. 

You eyes get caught by a story in the book, your thumbs halting and fully opening the page as intrigue tingles in your entire body with every word you read. 

The Tale of Buchariel: The Curious Angel

In the celestial realms, where light and harmony prevail, there existed an angel named Buchariel. Renowned for his loyalty and dedication, Buchariel was also marked by an insatiable curiosity. His yearning to understand the world beyond the heavenly gates set him apart from his brethren, who were content to serve without question.

One fateful day, driven by an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, Buchariel descended to the mortal realm without divine permission. His eyes beheld the beauty and chaos of humanity, the joys and sorrows that defined their existence. It was in this realm, teeming with life and temptation, that Buchariel's fate took a dark turn.

As Buchariel wandered the earth, a demon of cunning and allure took notice of the angel's presence. This demon, skilled in the art of seduction, approached Buchariel with promises of forbidden knowledge and experiences that no celestial being had ever known. Blinded by his curiosity, Buchariel succumbed to the demon's temptations, engaging in acts that defied the sacred laws of the heavens.

Word of Buchariel's fall reached the celestial realm, and the angels were dispatched to retrieve their wayward brother. They arrived in time to save Buchariel from complete corruption, pulling him from the demon's grasp and returning him to the realm of light. However, the consequences of his actions could not be undone.

The celestial court declared Buchariel's punishment. He was stripped of his rank and given an ultimatum: he could return to heaven only if he vowed never to betray the divine will again. God, in His infinite mercy, offered Buchariel a chance at redemption. He was to serve as a guardian angel, watching over humanity and guiding them towards righteousness. In this duty, he could be close to the world, yet stay obedient to heaven. 

Buchariel accepted his fate, grateful for the opportunity to make amends. Yet, the legend speaks of the angel's perpetual struggle. Constantly exposed to the allure of the mortal world, Buchariel walked a fine line between duty and desire. His heart, once pure and untainted, now carried the scars of his past transgressions.

Eons passed, and Buchariel's vigilance never wavered, but neither did the temptations. His soul remained in perpetual conflict, torn between his heavenly duty and the memories of earthly sensations. The legend warns that Buchariel's fall could occur once more, for the battle within him is eternal. He is an angel forever on the edge of sin, a guardian who knows the weight of temptation, and a being who understands the cost of free will.

Thus, the tale of Buchariel serves as both a caution and a beacon. It reminds all who hear it of the delicate balance between obedience and desire, and the endless journey towards redemption that even the most divine must undertake.

A chill runs down your spine as you realize the parallels between the legend and James. The delicate balance between obedience and desire - serving and sinning. James did sin again. When he killed the man who ended your brother’s life. 

You sit in silence, the weight of your realization settling over you like a shroud. It’s clear that Jame’s story resembles that of Buchariel in too many ways to be a coincidence. He was weirdly comfortable on earth, now that you think about it. For Christ's sake he even told you he had met God ‘under rather unfortunate circumstances’. If what the legend says is true, unfortunate is the understatement of the century. Now you cant help but wonder what price he might pay for his defiance.

❁ ❁ ❁

The diner hums with its usual activity, the clatter of dishes and the murmur of conversations fill the air. You move mechanically from table to table, refilling coffee cups and taking orders, but your mind is elsewhere, clouded with thoughts of James and the emptiness his absence has left behind.

Peggy, sitting at her usual spot at the counter, watches you with concern etched on her face. She waits until you pass by her with the coffee pot before speaking up.

"What's happened to that smile of yours, dear?" Peggy asks, her voice soft and maternal. "You used to light up this place."

You force a smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "Just tired, Peggy. You know how it is."

Peggy's eyes narrow, not buying your excuse for a second. "Tired, my foot. Something's bothering you. You can talk to me, you know."

Before you can respond, Scott chimes in with a smirk. "At least now I know you’re back to normal," he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Thought you were gonna float away with all that grinning you were doing."

You shoot Scott a glare, feeling a mix of irritation and sadness. "Thanks, Scott. Really helpful."

“Always at your service” He tips his nonexistent hat, almost bringing a chuckle up within you. In his own way, he never faisl to cheer you up a little.

Peggy waves a dismissive hand at Scott and turns her full attention back to you. "Don't mind him, honey.” She leans in closer, her expression softening. "But seriously, what's going on? I haven't seen you this down in a while."

You sigh, the weight of your emotions pressing down on you. "It's complicated, Peggy. Someone important to me... well, they're not around anymore. And it's just... hard."

Peggy reaches out and pats your hand gently. “We all miss Pietro, dear. Losing someone is never easy... especially after all you’ve been through.”

You nod, grateful for her kindness, but the ache in your chest remains. You can't bring yourself to tell her it’s not your brother you are mourning at this time. "I appreciate that."

The hustle and bustle of the diner continues around you, but for a brief moment, you feel a small measure of comfort in Peggy's concern.

As you turn to refill another customer's coffee, Peggy's words linger in your mind. Maybe opening up a bit more wouldn't be such a bad idea. Maybe, just maybe, sharing the burden could help ease the pain of James's absence, even if only a little. But who should you talk to? The only person you were every really close with is gone...

❁ ❁ ❁

Yet another day passes in which you worry yourself tired. The house feels emptier than ever, the silence pressing in on you as you move through the rooms like a ghost. You try to distract yourself with chores and routines, but your thoughts always circle back to James. Wondering if he’s safe or thinking about you.

You sink into the worn armchair by the window, your favorite spot to watch the world outside. But tonight, the familiar view brings no comfort. The sky is a dark canvas, the stars hidden behind thick clouds. You hug your knees to your chest, feeling the loneliness wrap around you like a suffocating blanket as Old Lee’s words echo in your mind once again. 

A quiet sob calls into the empty room - barely audible. And then the tears start falling down your face in constant streams. The memory of his touch, his warmth, his presence, feels like a distant dream. You close your eyes, trying to recall the feeling of James's arms around you, the sound of his heartbeat against yours. It's a comfort and a torment all at once.

You haven’t cried like this since Pietro died... No, actually, you did when the message of Brock’s death reached you. But those were tears of relief rather than pain. 

A sudden chill sweeps through the room, at the memory of the man who tormented your life in more ways than one. You open your eyes, frowning as you notice that it’s not only the thought of Brock making you feel this way. The air seems to crackle with an otherworldly energy. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you feel a strange pull, a familiar yet eerie sensation that makes your heart race.

You stand up slowly, your breath hitching in your throat. The room feels alive with a palpable tension, as if the very fabric of reality is shifting. You turn around, your eyes scanning the dimly lit space.

And then you see him.

❁ ❁ ❁

James stands before you, his presence both startling and comforting, he notes as your herts sync again. His eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of relief and sorrow. You look as if you've been through a storm, yet there is a resolute strength in your gaze that anchors him. He probably doesn’t look much better, considering he in fact has been in said storm. But he’d do anything to come back to you. 

"James," you breathe, your voice trembling with emotion. "You're here.”

He steps forward, closing the distance between you. "I’m here," he says softly, his voice carrying the weight of all the unspoken words and unshared moments.

You reach out, your hand trembling as it touches his cheek, as if verifying that he is real and not another figment of your imagination. Your skin is cold and the sensation sends a flood of emotions through him.

"Where have you been?" you ask, your voice cracking with the weight of your worry.

“It is a long story," he replies, his hand covering yours. "But right now, all that matters is that I'm here. With you.”

In that moment, the world outside fades away, and all that exists is the space between you and James. The silence is filled with unspoken promises and the electric charge of a reunion long overdue. 

When you fall into his arms crying, his knees feel like giving out. He has had a long journey behind him, but he would die before showing you weakness when you need him the most. “I thought I would never see you again!” You cry even harder and James wraps his arms around you with loving pressure.

“I’m here,” he tries to soothe you. His wings come around you once again in search for the calmness that washes over him when he realizes you feel safe. 

“I don’t think I can do without you anymore.” Your voice is muffled against his chest but his heart leaps at your confession. Warmth spreads throughout his body as the realization hits that you finally feel close to the emotions he has harbored for you for so long. 

James wants to promise you that he’ll never leave again. He wants to tell you that there is nothing worth losing you. Not the most tempting offer to ever exist. He wants to hold you forever, in fact, do more than just hold you and give into the feeling he has only ever heard about from demons and sinners. 

But he can’t. Because he knows it would not be true. 

His feud with heaven is far from over. And the journey he plans to venture holds great unknown. So, he settles for the one thing he can tell you with certainty. 

“I cannot be without you, either, my beloved. There is so much I want to experience with you but the most important of them all is love. I love you, with my entire soul and heart. I cannot deny you this truth any longer. I have done the unspeakable because of it and you deserve to know.”

You eyes look up at him widely, a question in them that has waited long enough to be asked. “Brock’s death wasn’t an accident,” you whisper, but your posture remains steady. There is no pain or sorrow in your face. Just pure, plain curiosity.

“They told me he was mugged and thrown in the river. But it never made sense to me.” You pull a little out of his touch and James lets you even though his entire body screams to keep you close. “This town is too small to be mugged in. He was killed with a single stab to his heart. A mugger would never be so efficient.”

You gleam at him, seemingly waiting for him to confirm. But James stands in your presence with a sense of pride. He does not regret is transgression, not when it meant keeping you safe - which was and still is his greatest aim. 

“The way he was found was too peaceful to be from a robbery, either.” You tell him shaking your head. “How can you make a murder look so respectful and honest?” 

“I am sorry if I have upset you, dearest-“

“You haven’t. Brock Rumlow was a bad man. It took me a long time to notice, but he was abusing and ill-driven. If anything, I am upset I couldn’t thank you sooner that he is gone.”

“I had played with the though of removing him from the face of the earth for quite some time,” James confesses, feeling all the secret’s weight rolling off him like avalanches. “From the moment he first screamed at you... to the time he laid his hands on you. But I knew you were strong. I was so proud of you for getting up each day and moving on. I would have never acted had he not hurt you in a way even i could feel throught the very bond that ties our souls together. I knew you could handle the hurtful words, even the hurtful touches - that no-one, and especially not you, deserves. Your brother is of similar cunning as myself. But he was brave enough to act while I was fearing the consequences of testing celestial rule once more.” 

James catches the new tears rushing down your cheeks. But he wont stop telling you. He knows you need to hear it. It hurts him to revisit the memory of watching Pietro die in his quest to secure your freedom. “I was trying to honor you brother as much as ensure your safety when I... killed Brock.” He clears his throat and takes your hands in his. “He would have continued to hurt every person he encountered. I do not regret what I did.”

“Oh, James.” Your hands reach up to his face. James bows down to follow the tug you apply to his jaw. “Thank you for telling me. I am not angry. And despite what the other angels said, I know you are a good person. I love you, too.” 

You smile as James’s hands cover yours on his face. Your foreheads are touching and the room around you fades into nothingness. In this moment in time, there are just you and him, and all the new feeling bubbling inside him that he his eager to explore. 

He’s known it for long, but now he is certain than going back to heaven was never an option. Not when you are still here. 

“I would love to kiss you right now,” you whisper in the space between you, igniting a heat within James he has never felt before.

“I would like that very much,” he confesses and as soon as the words leave his lips, yours are firmly pressed against his. 

The sensation is overwhelming. Your lips are soft and warm, moving against his in a way that sends shivers down his spine. His hands still press yours to his skin, unsure what to do and overwhelmed with the experience opened to him. You gently take them and move then to your waist, then a little lower, making him trace the curve of your body as your tongue slowly slips between his lips. The contact sends a surge of electricity through him, making his heart race.

The kiss is tentative at first, each of you exploring this new and wondrous connection. Your fingers weave into his hair, anchoring yourself to him as if afraid he might vanish with this daring protest against heaven. He can feel the gentle tremor in your touch, the same mixture of awe and desire that he feels within himself.

You pull back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. Your breath mingles with his, cheeks heated and lips swollen. “Move your hands, James,” you whisper, guiding his hands to slide even lower on your body, teaching him how to hold you close, even though he thought he has always done so right. This is different. This is more.

He follows your lead, fingers trembling with the intensity of the moment as they squeeze flesh, eliciting a soft whimper from you that makes James’s insides stir. Or maybe it is not his insides after all, he notices when his pants feel tighter all of a sudden. 

Each brush of your lips against his, each caress, speaks of the longing and love that has been building between you for so long. James deepens the kiss, more confident now, feeling the warmth of your body against his, and it’s as if the world outside has ceased to exist.

Your thumb brushes over his cheek, and you smile, voice breathless. “You’re doing great.”

The kiss becomes more fervent, your guidance helping James navigate this new territory. He feels like he’s pouring all his love and devotion into this one act, wanting to convey everything he’s never been able to say. His wings reach round you tentatively, leaving enough air for you to breathe. He want’s to be wrapped up in you more - he cannot explain it.

James pulls back slightly, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “This... this is incredible,” he murmurs in a voice husky with wonder. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

You smile, eyes sparkling. “Neither have I.”

Your lips find each other again, more urgent this time, as if you’re making up for lost time - at least James is. The demon who lured him down the first time failed to mention this part of humanity to him.

“I want to show you more,” you finally whisper against his skin and at this point, James is willing to walk the sun if you asked him to. 

“Everything,” he rasps, his lips touching you with every syllable. He cannot get enough of your taste. “Show it all to me, my love.”

“I want to start with taking off our clothes.” You kiss him again, making Jame’s pants feel even tighter. He knows about sex and he knows it is what you are hinting at. But he has never experienced it. It is no use to angels, since they cannot impregnate another. In heaven, it is rarely talked about - and if it is, one is warned about it. 

Right now, James does not care why. He is eager to experience as much as there is on earth with you and then some. So, he lets you guide his hands over your shoulders, shrugging your cardigan off your body and letting his fingers glide beneath the thin straps adorning your shoulders now. 

His hands are so big compared to yours. He marvels in the fact of how much stronger he is, making him able to protect you that much better. 

James has no difficulty guiding the clothes from your body. Nakedness is something barely acknowledged where he comes from. But today... something about it feels different. This situation feels so much more intimate than it usually does. And he notices, when you kneel down to pull his pants down, his cock stands proud from his body, bigger than usual, and hard and- “Oh!” sensitive, he notes when your lips kiss his hip, your face slightly grazing his member in the action. 

With your head next to it, it looks disproportionately huge, but you don’t seem to mind. 

“This... I have never done this before.” James’s hands guide you back up to him. He is certain his cheeks are glowing red by now. He feels hot and bothered, yet so yearning for more of the teasing your face provided for mere seconds before. 

“Are you okay with continuing?” Your eyes find his again. 

“Yes.”

“Okay, good.” And when he nods, you take his hand and lead him down the hall to your bedroom. 

He has missed this place, missed holding you for the time he went away, but he can't tell you where he has been just yet. Not now, anyway. Right now, he wants to experience whatever you are willing to show him. 

You walk around him, touching him all over, watching him react and making him lean down only to pull back before his lips can get a taste of yours again. It’s beautiful agony and James is torn between pulling you into his strong grip and letting you wind him up until his balls feel like they are the ones squeezed tightly. They already are...

Eventually, you come to a stop behind him. He jolts when you fingers drive over the top of his wings, only for you to mumble a quick ‘sorry’ and coming back around in front of him. 

“Don’t be sorry. I was just not expecting it.”

You stare past him and at the white feathers protruding from his back. “They are so soft... and pretty.” You find his eyes. “All of you is pretty.”

He reaches for your face, finding pride in the way you nestle into his palm with a smile. “And dear, you are the most beautiful being the world has ever seen.”

“Can I touch them again?” You whisper only for James to now stare in awe. 

He watches as your hands pass his body in slow-motion. They travel past his ribs and reach carefully towards his wings again. This time, he is prepared, though his stomach feels tight with something opposite of worry. More of a physical feeling he can't begin to explain. He closes his eyes and lets your touch travel over them like a prayer. Your path leaves shivers in its wake and James lets his head hang, reveling in the feeling. He opens his eyes and watches his cock twitch whenever the tingles get too much. 

He gasps breathlessly when you graze the underside of his wings, making his whole body jump slightly. 

“Oh, are those sensitive?” You smile in awe, though your expression turns to excitement when he wheezes out his answer. 

“Very.”

“Do you like it?” 

Your fingers glide over the same spot again, making his cock leak, feeling like he’s about to explode. “Yes!” He grabs the sideboard next to him.

“I want to make you feel good, James” your voice is damp agains this ear and he bites his tongue before bursting. 

“You already do.” 

“I want to make it even better.”

James is not sure he can handle better. He’s already floating miles above the ground when you touch him in the ways you do. Maybe he has to distract himself to enjoy this some more. 

He could think about why heaven would withhold education of how amazing sex can be. That will make him calm a little, posting yet another reason why it was never the place to be for him. 

Your hands wrap around his silver wrists as you guide him to the bed, pushing down on his shoulders until he is sat on the mattress, looking up at you with intrigue and awe. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to ride you, James.” You straddle his lap and his arms immediately reach around you. 

“Ride ...me? I’m not a horse.” He states and watches as your smile lights up. But it settles a weary feeling in his stomach. There is a hint of mischief in your glint, and James is not sure he can handle it right now. 

“Do you trust me?”

“With my entire soul.”

You kiss him and push at his chest. “The lie back for me.”

And so he does, realizing - once again - that anything heaven could offer him pales in comparison to the love he feels for you, a love that knows no bounds or logic and that is reciprocated in your every touch. 

James watches as you scoot up his body until you are sat right behind his cock, which has not ceased to soften one bit since you kissed. It reaches all the way to your navel. But before he can take in the sight and calculate the size difference between you, you press him against your stomach, pulling another moan from his lunges. 

His tip is leaking more and more with every touch you gift him and James starts to worry his body will give out before he can make you feel good. 

“You’re so big, so pretty.” You stroke him from base to top, letting your thumb press into the underside of his cock and send shiver after shiver through James’s body. “I need you inside me.”

“I need that to.” His voice is strangled when you lift up and grind his tip through your wet folds, moaning with the friction he can only assume is the same for you as it is for him. 

In a swift motion, the head of his cock sinks inside you, breaching tight muscle and making him feel dizzy with the new sensation. Your head falls back with a loud breath that makes his abs tighten. This whole time, he feels as though a gust of wind could make him unravel, but something inside him tells James he should hold out - or at least try to. 

The raspy sounds escaping his throat cant seem to stop when you slowly work yourself all the way down his shaft. And the high-pitched scream you set free when his tip reaches another barrier within you makes him twitch and leak even more. 

“Are you alright?” He asks through sweaty brows. 

“I’m amazing.” You smile and lift yourself up only to sink back down into his lap. Your movements become steady, and when he finally gets over the way your mouth hangs slack, the rhythm you set builds even more pressure inside him. 

The room is filled with messy sounds of skin and sweat and moans and heavy breaths. You sink down on him again and again until James feels like he is on fire. But you don’t relent. Your pace never falters when you fall back and your hands grip his thighs, digging into his muscles until his toes curl. 

It’s too much at once and not enough at the same time. James feels as though there is a cliff he could fall over every second now, but he’s too scared to loose the sensations he is experiencing right now to let his body do so. 

“Touch me,” you suddenly say, taking his hands which have fisted inside your duvet until now and placing them on the soft flesh of your breasts. Only now, your nipples are hardened when you guide his fingers over them. “Like this.” You’re somehow fare gone and right there with him. But he does as he his told again, flicking his thumb over the pebbled flesh until your moans grow higher and higher. “Ah, Yes!”

It’s doing something to him, he his twitching every time your pussy squeezes him in tandem with his thumb on your nipples. His body is moving without the permission of his mind when he suddenly thrusts up. And then again. And again. Until you are mewling and crying on top of him, your fingernails digging into his legs painfully hard. 

James immediately drops his hands only to watch you stare at him with wide eyes. 

“What’s the matter. Why did you stop?”

He bites his lips in shame when he realizes he misses your constant movement on his cock. “Am I hurting you?”

You eyes possibly widen further. Leaning forward and capturing his cheeks with both lips and hands, you shake your head after you pull away. “No! No, its a good thing, love. You feel so good. You...” Your expression changes to a rather shy one. “You’re just very big. You should be proud.”

Something inside James clicks as you confess with another kiss to his lips. A smirk spreads beneath them when he curiously thrusts up inside you and experiences your hot breath gains his face. 

In a second, his hands grab onto your hips, his body turns and flips the pair of you until your back hits the mattress as gently as he can offer in his compromised position. 

A last look of reassurance when your eyes lock with his set off the urges he has suppressed so far. His hips snap forward over and over again, your pussy tightening more around him with every push. Your hands are fist into the covers, head thrown back and mouth open. There is no more sound coming from you at this point. And James understands why. He is as overwhelmed with the feeling as you look. When you grow even tighter, gripping this cock until he cannot move anymore, white pleasure as hot as hellfire rushes through his body, kissing his nerves from head to toe. He feels his balls empty as he paints your inside with his spent, only being able to lazily rut into you after a minute to seize every last drop of pleasure this moment has to offer. 

Then he falls forward as if a higher force has taken all the strength from his body, though careful not to hurt you when his weight settles on top of you. 

“What-“ he needs to catch his breath first. “What was that?”

“That,” you open your eyes, chest having with every deep breath, “was an orgasm.” Your hands brush through his hair and James finds himself purring at the touch. “And it was the best one I’ve ever had.” 

You kiss him and chuckle when he looks at you questioningly. “I guess you could say it was outer-worldly... or even heavenly.” 

James rolls his eyes but can’t stop the laugh from slipping his lunges. He pulls back and watches as his softened cock leaves your pussy, only to be followed by your mixed arousal dripping out of you. 

Trance-like, his hand moves to collect the fluid and begins to smear it over your petals, up into the soft tuft above it. He knows angels cannot impregnate other beings, but he is fascinated by the scene in front of him. It’s like a little testimony when he marks you all around the best place he has ever experienced, wordlessly rubbing and enjoying the whimpering sounds you make when he flicks over a particular spot. 

“Is this sensitive?” He teases with a smirk only to be met with a playful smack on his arm. 

“Very.” you say. “But I am entirely satisfied as of right now.”

James sighs and falls into the sheets beside you. “Me too.” He nuzzles into your neck and pulls you closer to his body. He does not care that you are sticky with sweat or that neither of you are cleaned up. He just needs to hold you now that reality has taken its place back around him again. 

“So, you have been watching over me for - what? All my life?”

James hides the chuckle bubbling up his throat at your sudden question. He still has his eyes closed, taking in the feeling of your nails lightly scratching up and down his forearms. It makes him tingly. 

“All your life, yes.”

“And have you ever meddled with other things that were supposed to happen to me?”

“Do you remember the year in which you kept finding pineapples in arbitrary places?”

It’s silent for a moment, but your movements don’t falter. “I always thought that was a weird coincidence.”

James smiles into the crook of your neck. “Consider it my way of adding a little excitement to your life. And maybe a small attempt to make you notice me.”

You push yourself up slightly and rest on your elbows as you look at James. “I like you like this.” You smile.

“Like what?” He’s smiling as well.”

“Less angel, more...” Your hand comes up to gesture at nothing in particular. “...deviant.”

The smile on James’s face turns into a proud grin before he leans up to kiss you tenderly, savoring the moment and pushing away the thought that has been gnawing on him ever since he came back. 

He holds you until you fall asleep, purposefully missing the opportunity to tell you what he has gotten himself into while he was away.

❁ ❁ ❁

James stands in the garden, the sky overcast and heavy with the promise of rain. He’s out here to retrieve a bouquet of your favorite flowers, smiling like a fool because he finally has what he always wished for. All his mishaps and seem worth it when he holds you in his arms at night. 

The flowers are vibrant and alive, and he bends to pick them with a sense of purpose, each blossom a token of his affection. Even as the first raindrops start to fall, his joy is undiminished. The rain doesn’t bother him; it’s a minor inconvenience compared to the happiness he’s found with you. 

As he moves through the garden, he thinks of the moments you’ve shared—the way your eyes light up when you see him, the warmth of your touch, the sound of your laughter, the way you writhe beneath him in she sheets. For the first time in his existence, he feels complete. 

James clutches the bouquet and heads back toward the house, eager to see the surprise on your face when he presents you with the flowers.

But before he can pass the threshold, an eery feeling spreads though is soul, a shadow falls over him but vanishes just as soon. He scans the yard, his sight nestling through the trees at the very edge of it and then suddenly halting when he sees Wanda leaning against one at the very far corner of your property. Her presence is like a dark cloud on the horizon, a stark contrast to the bright joy he feels. Her red eyes glint with a knowing look, and her lips curl into a smirk that sends a chill down his spine.

“Are you not coming inside, James? The weather will only get worse.” You shout through the house only to appear behind him to inspect what is keeping him outside. 

But James’s stare is fixated on the demon in your yard, his protective instincts setting in immediately, scanning his surroundings while keeping a close eye on Wanda. 

“What is going on?” You ask and reach your arms around him from the side. He can sense you’re eyeing him but he knows you see what he is seeing when your entire body grows rigid beside him. 

“Who is that?” you whisper into James’s shoulder as you step even closer to him, your voice barely audible over the increasing patter of rain. He squeezes you a little tighter, trying to shield you from the inevitable storm brewing. A quick look at your state tells him he should have send you inside. But It is too late for that now. 

When his head turns back into the direction of the demon, it is no longer in its prior place. Instead, Wanda has moved across the garden with impeccable speed, looking up at the pair of you a few feet alway from the step leading to your porch. 

“You promised me time to explore the likes of this life.” His voice is low and intimidating, though he knows its futile in the face of a demon. They are scared of very little. 

“And explored you have,” her red hair falls over her shoulder when her head ticks to the side. “Tell me, Bucharius, is it worth the cost?”

The demon knows of the leverage it has on him. James was sure he would follow through with his request from the start. But he forgot, or maybe just hoped, the devil’s spawn would gift him more time until he had to go and seal the contract. 

“You know it is,” he pushes though clenched teeth, hating how your fingers clamp around his arm already. 

“Actually, I don’t. But I would be an idiot to refuse an offer such as yours.” Wanda clasps her long fingers together and grins with evil. “Oh, I will have so much fun with your soul once the time comes.”

The angel closes his eyes tightly, hating the way the demon pressures him to leave so soon. But it is for the greater good, for him at least. He need’s to be selfish for once - to be able to spend a lifetime providing whatever you desire. 

“Just give me a moment, Wanda,” James says, his voice steady despite the chaos inside his head. He knows his flicker of happiness is about to be shattered, but he wants to hold onto it for just a little longer.

“What is happening? What does she want?” There are tears brimming in your eyes and James decides he has seen them far too many times to be a good guardian to you. It just secures his decision to do what Wanda came to collect him for. 

James presses his lips to the crown of your head before gently tilting it upward with his fingers. His gaze is steady, exuding a confidence while you desperately cling to him in your confusion.

“I’m not sure I can handle all this newfound angelic drama,” you mutter with unease, and James kisses you—short and sweet, a fleeting moment of peace.

Then he whispers against your lips, “Please, you handle drama like a queen. Remember that time you dealt with Valentina from accounting?” His attempt at humor brings a small smile to your face, and he momentarily loses himself in the warmth and security it provides.

But the feeling doesn’t last long.

“James has made a deal with the devil,” Wanda grins, her red eyes flashing with malevolent glee.

Her words send shivers over your body, James feels the ripples pass beneath his fingertips. You pull away from your guardian angel, whose troubles have now escalated to an unthinkable level. 

“What does she mean, James?”

❁ ❁ ❁

James’s silence is deafening. You pray, you beg, for this to be a terrible joke, but deep down, you know it’s not.

“James.” Your words are strained, desperate for answers, desperate for reassurance. “What is she talking about?”

“It is true,” James finally admits, his eyes free of sorrow but filled with determination. “I have made a deal with Lucifer. My wings for a mortal life. My soul when it leaves my deceased body after spending a lifetime with you.”

“What?” The word is a whisper, your mind struggling to process the gravity of his confession. Because your cheeks feel salty and stained before you realize what James has just told you. “Why are you doing this?” you ask through your tears.

“Because I’d give up heaven if it meant being with you.” James’s eyes burn into yours, the rain dripping off his wet face deceivingly. His voice is steady, unwavering. “I’d go to hell a thousand times over until my soul burns to ashes if it meant I get to hold you one more time. You’re everything to me. Everything.”

Another wave of shivers slip over your skin with the way he presses the last word. His eyes are fiery, almost desperate. He is trying to make you understand how much better this decision is, but you fail to see how it can. “You can’t do this. You are destined for more. There are many more to come after me that need protecting and watching over.”

“And there have been plenty before you, yet none of them have or will ever compare, my love.” He touches your cheek, but you push his hand away. Your heart is already aching when you watch his face fall at the gesture. But you are not made for these types of dilemmas. You are human for fuck’s sake. “I would spend eternity regretting not experiencing life with you. I am tired of watching; I am over feeling the distance between us. Going back to heaven means finding you someone else to love. And I cannot do that. It would destroy me, burn me alive, rip my heart out of my chest.”

“James, think about this.” Now the first angry tear slips from his face and mixes with he rain which has grown heavier. Dark clouds cast over the scene, matching the mood perfectly. Dreary and sad - how poetic. 

“I have. For far too long. I will never feel truly fulfilled until I can be what you need me to be: a real, tangible person that grows old with you.”

You shake your head, your hair sticking to your skin. “You have to believe me when I tell you that I exist only for you. My life was dull before you entered it, and it will feel like a black hole when you leave. There is nothing—nothing—I wouldn’t do to be with you.”

Never before have words felt more genuine than this. James is hunched forward, his eyes pleading at you from above. A sneaky hand has captured yours and presses it to his chest, where his heart is beating vigorously against your skin. 

Resignation laces your voice when you finally answer him. “So you’re just going to leave now? For how long? What if he tricked you?”

You don’t know  much about all the rules but one thing is for sure, the devil likes to play and deceive. Just the thought of James walking into a trap makes your stomach churn. 

“Then it was worth it.” There is something akin to content and fulfillment in Jame’s stare when his hand squeezes yours and his heartbeat slows. Though your’s seems to do the opposite. 

“No.” You say breathlessly. 

“I’m sorry," he answers, and wraps your fingers around the bouquet in his hands.

“James.”

“I love you.”

“James.”

The rain intensifies, pounding the earth as if mirroring the turmoil in your heart. James turns and lets Wanda put him in chains, leading him away. You fall to your knees, crying, the three words you have yet to say hanging on your lips for nobody to hear. He’s gone. He’s gone without the knowledge of ever seeing you again.

❁ ❁ ❁

And just like that it ends like it began: in tragedy… and rain.

❁ ❁ ❁

Maybe you are just not cut out for happiness, you think as you wipe down the counter with a frown. The sun is shining today, almost mocking your bad mood with every chirping of birds outside. Earlier today, you were so angry about the reflection blinding you inside that you shut the blinds completely. 

James has been gone for a week now and you already feel like breaking down over what you’ve lost whenever something is mentioned that reminds you of him. 

A few days ago, after a really rough night, you swore you’d never let anyone this close to you. It’s the perfect start for you villain origin story, really. Losing your brother to an abusive ex. Losing said abusive ex thanks to a protective angel. Then falling in love with the angel only for him to go to hell for loving you back. 

You heart cannot take another hit. It’s constantly breaking as you think about the torture and pain James is probably suffering in the pits of hell. There is just no more room for another person, another worry, or anything else, really. 

You will just die an old and groggy lady, likely still cleaning this very counter until you cant anymore. The whole town is going to know you as the weird woman with seventy two cats.

You shake at the thought of it, disposing of your towel and grabbings some plates from the counter to clean up some more.

“New customer is yours, freaking weirdo has been standing outside the window and looking inside like some kind of stalker,” Scott mumbles as he paces by you with his head buried in his phone screen. 

You just sigh and throw a used napkin into the trash before loading the dirty plates onto a kitchen tray. 

“I’d like a sandwich, please.” A voice sounds from behind you and your entire body goes rigid.

It can’t be. It cant. For days you have been wishing for James to come back, now you are finally becoming crazy. 

But your heart picks up its familiar sprint and your entire body tingles with hope. Still, you don’t dare to turn around. 

“Are you not going to look at me, dearest?”

Your hands tremble as you grip the edge of the counter. What if it’s real? What if it’s not? The uncertainty gnaws at you, each second stretching into an eternity. You’ve dreamed of this moment, but dreams are fickle things, easily shattered by the harsh light of reality.

“James...” The name slips out in a whisper, a plea, a hope. Tears sting your eyes, and you squeeze them shut, bracing yourself for the worst.

You take a deep breath and finally turn around. Truly, there he stands in front of you, with a bright and gleaming grin on his lips. There is one thing you notice immediately: the silver cuffs on his arms are gone. And he looks oddly free without them.

Almost trance-like, you round the counter, your had reaches out to him, touching his jaw, gliding down the length of his neck until your fingertips disappear into the soft curls in the back of it. 

“Is it really you?” You whisper in awe as you start to drown in the familiar blue of his eyes. And when James covers your hand with his, squeezing his reassuring sequence to your bones, you know. It’s real. 

“In the ...flesh.” he frowns but then smiles widely. 

“What happened when you were gone?” Your curiosity gets the better of you, but James just shakes his head and then turns his face to kiss the inside of your wrist. 

“Not here, love. Take me home... if you’ll have me. Take me back. I promise no more secrets from now on.”

You just nod vigorously, finally pulling James into your embrace. The worry raging inside you fades into insignificance, eclipsed by the certainty that in this moment, you’ve regained something intently more powerful - a bond that defies explanation, but feels undeniably perfect. 

“I will always choose you over anything else, James.” You nuzzle into his chest as you ravel in the warmth of his body and the security of his touch. His heart is singing the same song as yours and his head hangs low atop yours, pressing meaningful kisses to your hairline between every stroke of his hand on your back. 

The diner around you might as well not exist. All that matters is this connection between you - the bond that defies the boundaries of heaven and earth. 

“But tell me one thing,” you whisper into his shirt and James moves to better hear your low voice. 

“I will tell you anything,” he presses into another kiss on your face, still holding you close. 

“Are you... did the-“ you’re not sure how to assemble the questions inside your mind without being bold. But James seems to know exactly what it is you want to say. 

He takes both his hands from around you and guides your face to his until his warm lips press a meaningful kiss to yours. “Yes,” he murmurs softly, yet steadily, conveying just enough seriousness to let you know how important and truthful his answer is. “I did what I promised. I am yours until the end of my life, and even beyond, my soul will be seeking yours for eternity. But until then, we will grow old together and finally be what we were meant to.”

His lips latch onto yours a second time and as the kiss deepens, a sense of completeness washes over you. In James’s arms, you find the solace and passion you have been yearning for, a promise of love that transcends all else. 

“I can’t begin to tell you how much it means to me.” You smile back between kisses.

James pulls you even closer, his voice a gentle murmur against your lips. “We have a lifetime to show each other.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the echoes of a bustling diner and the warmth of his embrace, you know that no matter the trials ahead, this love will endure, defying all boundaries and transcending every limit. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Because at last, there’s noting more freeing than falling itself.

🫵 You cant get enough of this character? Go check out the chatbot I made for him! This way you can explore different endlings, plotlines, or just enjoy his company for a while longer 💕

Lord, can we take a second and appreciate these images???!! Got me on my knees - and not for praying, I'll tell you this much...

Hello, loves. As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. I hope you had fun! Maybe... juuuust maybe if you want to, you could leave a comment or reblog on this post. New fics will be on hiatus until August, I have some real life work to finish. But please feel free to interact and talk to me. I love hearing from you! Take care, and ill talk to you as soon as I can. ~Meg 💗

Wanna be added to the taglist?

@circe143 @valkyrie418 @mirikusashes @noideawhyimdoingthislol @nikkitc0703 @lethallyprotected @erynnnn @misshale21 @wattpaduser200 @buckyseddie @adoreyouusugar @km-ffluv @mcu21lover19 @pigeonmama @wilsons-striped-ties @caplanbuckybarnes @rosecentury @somnorvos @almosttoopizza @sociallyimpairedme @royalwritersoftheuniverses @i-l-y-3000 @mrsgweasley @prettylittlepluviophile @dinwifey @stuckysgirl27 @wintermischief @supersecretblogformytreasures @broadwaybabe18 @fridayiaminlove @buckybarnessimpp @goodkittyspost @justafangir1 @simpxinnie @bisexual-buckyfan @blackhawkfanatic @augustbucky @kandis-mom @harleycao @ashhsage @hhiggs @scott-loki-barnes @gabshouse @i-spy-1812 @barnes1031 @am-3-thyst @awkotaco24 @star-buck-barnes @armystay89 @missaprilt23 @rexit-mo @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

[justsomestuffreally]

I think the Batkids reaction to a Bruce who isn't de-aged to 8 but rather 29 (pre-Jason death, post his adoption) would be fascinating. 

Their reaction would vary wildly:

Dick: Oh. Bruce is soft again. Bruce calls them ‘chum’ and ‘buddy’ and gives head pats for no reason. He still isn’t perfect, his communication skills are still a work in progress, but compared to his future self? Without actively dying Dick is hugged plenty. Bruce asks him to go to the zoo, unrelated to any case, just to spend time together. Dick is hit with more nostalgia and longing for the past than he knows what to do with.

Also notable: his dad is younger than him. That is something. Second, holy existential crisis Batman, his dad is younger than him and already one adult and one teenage kid??? Dick is not ready to feel this old yet. Third, Dick has absolutely no idea how Bruce managed to stay patient through his no-pants years. He is going to thank reason every day from now on that Damian wears full protection.

Jason: After his death and League he clung to an image of Bruce. One many tried to beat out of him, but he still kept it somewhere close to his heart, buried deep enough even he couldn’t see it. When he came back Bruce wasn’t like this idea of him. How stupid of him to believe the mind of a traumatized kid. Trying to create one good thing before the kid drew his last breath. Making up memories that never even existed.

But they did. Every smile and hug and even his words reflect the image tugged safely against his still-beating heart. His dad very clearly, very deeply loves him. Which is so much worse. Because he can understand why a Bruce, who never cared, didn’t kill the Joker. But he cares. So why the fuck did he not kill the Joker?

Tim: The reason he joined the family, the reason why he became Robin in the first place was because he saw a problem when Bruce started self-destructing and thought ‘Someone needs to fix that!’. Therefore he went and collected Dick, who didn’t seem keen on fixing it. So, the job fell to him to fix it.

He thought he did a good job, he thought he fixed the problem. Except now he sees who Bruce was, and he knows he failed. Their Bruce is less soft, less affectionate, less like he was before. Batman needs a Robin and Tim didn’t manage to be good enough of one to save him. 

[Or: Tim has a guilt complex a hundred miles wide and blames himself for things that aren’t his fault part 52]

Steph: Jason and she are very similar. Both come from the Narrows, both have a mother addicted to drugs and a shitty father. The differences start when Steph keeps waiting on the roof of their apartment for Batman to whisk her away, while Jason tries to steal the tires of the Batmobile and is taken in.

When Steph started out as Spoiler Bruce tried to keep her off the field, and obviously this one would too (even if he would probably be less paranoid about it), but she knows this Bruce would have also taken her in. This Bruce would be the father she always wished for when she sat on their roof and couldn’t see any stars. 

And she didn’t get to have this because Jason went ahead and died. (Of course, she knows she isn’t fair to the guy. Dying isn’t fun… And she knows the only reason she lived is because he died. When Batman rescued her from Black Mask she was in such terrible shape that Leslie managed to convince the World’s Greatest Detective that she died. If Jason hadn’t died Bruce wouldn’t have been as paranoid, wouldn’t have noticed her missing so soon, wouldn’t have been as urgent in his response. Would have been just a minute slower, a minute which would have killed her. Just as it had Jason.)

For her, this Bruce is a distorted mirror into a past which never was. 

Cass: This Bruce and B are not the same person. They don’t move the same. In a fight, this Bruce is younger, faster, stronger. Doesn’t compensate for a previously broken spine. Less experienced. Still one of the most experienced she knows, but less. 

He still moves differently, outside a fight, less pain. More likely to engage in physical affection, more likely to hug and pat and talk. He talks more than B. B knows what she means without words. This Bruce doesn’t.

She likes this Bruce, warmth, and softness. But not as much as B. He knows what she means, when she wants a hug, when she tells him ‘I love you’ without words. B doesn’t need words. This Bruce doesn’t know her, doesn’t communicate like her. She wants B back.

Damian: At first, when this version of his father seemed uncanny and oddly familiar, he assumed it to be due to the stories of his mother. After all, she always told him tales about his father. He simply did not have the frame of reference to understand the kindness she spoke of. Clearly, the clash between the ideals of the League and the ones of his father causes these feelings, just as they did when he first entered the manor.

He presumed this to be the case until one day on patrol Batman laid a hand on his shoulder and told him he did a good job after no particularly impressive fight and he nearly called him ‘Grayson’. Because the stories of his mother may have painted the picture of this version of his father, however, it wasn’t what made it familiar; no, he knew this kindness. These hugs and compliments one would bestow upon a child. Compliments which, despite the indignity, still warm him. Because Grayson learned how to be a… caregiver from his father.

His father used to be like Grayson, used to be until his grief hardened him. Damian could have had this. Damian could have a brother and father who would- But he doesn’t because of Todd. He loathes Todd. Loathes him for ruining the life he could have had.

Why did he die anyway? Damian certainly wouldn’t have a problem escaping bonds created by the Joker, Damian would have disarmed the bomb in time, Damian would have never thrown this life away like he did.

[Or: Damian is a child who was raised by assassins and has unreasonable standards for fighting abilities and also is a child who needs to focus his rage on someone.]

Duke: He was neither there before Jason died nor in the aftermath [according to my math he was around 4 when Jason died] he joined the family when Jason was already back for 4 years or so. He mostly skipped all the drama. For him, Bruce is the way Bruce is because he is Bruce. It’s weird to see him so different, to see how grief shaped parts of Bruce which Duke assumed were just Bruce things.

He’s glad this Bruce is brighter, or not because it just highlights how much that light will dim? Who knows, certainly not him. 

What he does know is that, with their Bruce, he has a distance which, with his parents still alive, he appreciates. With this Bruce, he can understand why Dick struggled so much whether he wants to be his ward or son, how he doesn’t want to replace his parents but still have this Bruce as a dad. It definitely explained the ted talk Dick tried to give him after Bruce officially took him in as a ward.

He likes this Bruce well enough, but he doesn’t necessarily want him to stay this way. Yes, their Bruce is less happy, less open but he did heal, he did grow. Duke met a Bruce who tried to learn from his mistakes, learned to communicate better, and learned when to pull and when to push. For Tim, Damian, Dick, and certainly Jason there is too much baggage, too much history in their relationships, it’s difficult for them to ever move past- anything really.

Sure, when Dick and Bruce are on the same page they are essentially invincible but then the past catches up again and they don’t talk to each other for months. And honestly? Apart from Cass, Duke’s pretty sure he has one of the best relationships with Bruce simply because he got to know him at a better time.

Duke doesn’t mind this Bruce. But their Bruce loved Jason, cared for him so deeply the scars still show to this day. And he still chooses to open up again even if just a bit by bit. Even if just Duke can see it. He is used to being the only one that can see.

And maybe knowing this care extends to him, this love even grief can’t shake? Maybe it makes him feel just a little bit safer, a little bit warmer, a little bit brighter.

[anistarrose]

Imagine, for a moment, that your internet just stopped loading images one day. Your dash might look pretty different (and less usable), but at least you can still make posts — whether about your internet situation, or about completely unrelated topics.

Now, imagine that one or more of your posts blew up, to the tune of hundreds if not thousands of notes. Imagine people started adding images to your posts.

Imagine your post circulating almost entirely in the form with four or five images attached, and with everyone in the notes laughing about those images — except you, who started the post in the first place, who can't even see those images because you're trapped in Tumblr's loading gradient hellscape.

You're excluded from any further conversations on your own post, because someone added a mystery image with the caption "don't leave this in the tags," but you have no idea which set of tags it is, and can't tell if it's one of the good takes from the tags or one of the horrible takes from the tags. You're excluded from the Tumblr users playing with JPEGs like dolls. You can try to guess the contents of the images based on people's reactions, but it's hard. And no one adding images even seems to notice the irony.

This is, of course, a real problem plaguing Tumblr users with regularly slow internet. And it's also a huge, insidious problem plaguing blind and low vision people who rely on either screen readers, or image descriptions in combination with enlarged text on their device.

People with disabilities around comprehending images, people who have images (or gifs) disabled due to photosensitivity, and many others are also affected.

If you add an image to a post without either alt text, an in-post image description, or even both for maximal inclusivity, you don't know if OP — or the person whose tags you're peer reviewing, or whose reply you're screenshotting — will actually be able to see it. From their perspective, you might just be shoving a mystery rectangle in their face, expecting them to be able to guess — or responding to them without them being able to know.

Imagine being on the receiving end of that expectation constantly. Imagine how isolating that must feel.

We need, collectively, to stop making assumptions that everyone we interact with online will be able to access, physically see, and mentally process images. The assumption that disabled people are vanishingly rare and statistically shouldn't really need to be considered is an assumption of structural and/or implicit ableism.

Write image descriptions. Write image descriptions for every image you post, if you're able — but if you have limited energy, or you're still learning, you should at least start trying your absolute best to describe images you add to other people's posts. If you're starting a conversation, even an online conversation, you should make your best effort to be accessible.

So: Write IDs, especially if they're as simple as just text, like screenshotted tags (link to guide). Write IDs even if you think the best ID you can write is too short, or too incomplete (link to post explaining why even "bad" IDs help).

Write IDs in general (link to a huge compilation of guides). Challenge ableist assumptions and inaccessibility.

[leonw4nter]

A Soft Spot for You

RE2R!Leon x F!Reader

Your phone buzzes into life, the once dark screen illuminated to a caller ID interface. The insistence of your persistent ringtone has you picking up your phone to check out who could be calling, though you have a clear idea of who could be the caller. The incoming phone call reintroduces noise into your home, as silence has long filled in the space when Leon had left hours ago to have drinks with friends and coworkers back at the police station. He initially planned on politely declining the offer, intending to stay at home with you as he is a homebody at heart, but your unrelenting attempts at getting him to go made him cave in. Besides, this would be a great opportunity to interact with his friends and make new memories. Your boyfriend’s smile commands your heart to take flight, even through a contact photo; his grin wide and warm, eyes squinted into joyful crescents, as he holds a bouquet of flowers close to his chest in his graduation from the police academy.

“Baby?” you ask as you hold your phone up to your cheek. You hear faint giggling, mumbling, some shuffling, and an unfamiliar male voice talking to some other person. “Hello? Who am I talking to?”

You hear some more shushing before someone finally responds to you. “Hi, I’m Chris. I’m Leon’s friend and he’s had one too many drinks tonight. He needs to be picked up, he can’t head home like this.” You’ve seen Chris before when you visited the station to get Leon cups of coffee when he had to stay in for a night shift, a tall man with exceptionally amazing arms and a neat Ivy League haircut.

“Baaabyy?” Someone drawls but this time his voice is familiar. It’s Leon and judging from the hiccup and giggle that followed, he must be a lot more plastered than Chris is describing. “I’m soooo hiccup dizzy…”

“He’s going to puke!” Chris says in an alarmed tone. “Jill, help him to the toilet! It’s going to smell like unwashed ass in here if he hurls!”

“Jill?” You ask.

“She’s a coworker,” he clarifies. “You better get here quick, he’s a mess. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of him while we wait for you. Here’s the address but call me again in case you’re confused–”

“I loooove you!” Leon’s voice distantly calls out, probably done puking.

“I love you too,” you say before hanging up. You set your phone down to gather what you need: coat, shoes, purse, some plastic bags, and your ID. With your things ready, you leave the comforting warmth of your home and head out to find a taxi. 

Finding a cab wasn’t too difficult so you got on the first one that you saw and gave the driver the address that Chris sent. The driver seemed familiar with the place so you told Chris that you’d get there in a few. Instead of acknowledging the message you sent, he sent what seemed to be several photos and videos combined. ‘You’re gonna want to watch these,’ he followed up. In all the attachments he sent, Leon’s hair was messy and sticking out; his eyelids were droopy, cheeks and ears the reddest you’ve ever seen them, his black shirt no longer wrinkle-free with his dark teal jacket dangling off of his forearms. In one (blurry) image, he’s bent over on a toilet as Jill pats his back; there appears to be a creasing frown on her face, probably from the smell in a cramped space. In another image, he’s sprawled out on a couch in what would be impossible for sober Leon to get into. In a video you clicked by random, he’s looking around for a marker.

“Dude, what?” Chris says from behind the camera. “I told you, there’s no markers in here.”

“Need to hiccup write… her name on… on my hiccup arm… can’t let anyone g-get to me…”

“This kid’s going places,” Jill mumbles from somewhere.

The next video is shakier, as Chris is now somehow chasing Leon. You don’t understand the flurry of movement until you catch a glimpse of Leon chugging a bottle of Smirnoff Ice, much to the horror of a middle-aged man nursing his beer in the corner.

“Barry, what do we do?” Chris asks, catching his breath. “How is he faster when he’s drunk?! That doesn’t make sense!”

You’re giggling hard now, a hand clasped over your mouth as you try to keep yourself silent inside the car. There’s tears brimming your eyes as you rewatch the video over and over again, a snort escaping your mouth which prompts the driver to look at you dead in the eye through the rear view mirror for a moment. In the last one that you click, your boyfriend is now leaning his forehead against Chris’ shoulder as he mumbles to himself.

“Angels, they’re– hic– real because I… have a girlfriend,” he begins.

“Mhm,” Chris follows.

“I think she can probably heal… sick puppies,” he adds. “I dunno… I– hic– love her sooooo much. My name’s jus’ a word… but hiccup when she says it, it’s like… it’s like–hic– the law… right, Chris?”

“Right.”

“hiccup she looks at me! Like… I’m her hero, or somethin’. She has hiccup the option to hiccup choose other men… but she picks me! Me, Chris!”

“She did,” Chris affirms and Leon giggles, shaking his head before another hiccup shakes his frame.

As he slurs nearly poetic nonsense, you find yourself oddly charmed by his drunk sincerity. You watch other videos, embarrassed yet undeniably touched by how aggressively passionate Leon can get while talking about you. To you, it’s unbelievable how much more adoration Leon can have when he’s drunk as he’s already so full of it when he’s sober.

“I miss my girlfriend, man.”

“You just saw her hours ago and you’ll see her again when you get home.”

“Love ‘er sooooo much hiccup I want… I want… I want hiccup a hug.”

“Okay, c’mere bud–”

“Noooo. Not from you, I want a hug from her.”

You giggle at the other pictures and videos, the trickster side in you wanting to show these to Leon at breakfast as he nurses a killer hangover. You send three sobbing emojis in response to the clips, finding them hilarious. You assumed that Leon would be the sleepy drunk type of person, dozing off in the corner once he’s had too much, but it appears that he’s the talkative type.

You get there and see that it is mostly empty, save for a few people that you recognized in the video. Chris gives you a nod and leads you to Leon, who is now being prompted to drink a tall glass of water.

“I’m so sorry for how he’s acting,” you sheepishly say as you help Leon stand up. “I’m sure he was so annoying.”

“Good to see the rookie’s treating his girl right,” Jill comments with a smirk. “He wouldn’t stop rambling on about you but it was sweet to be honest.”

“The station’s going to love this,” Chris grins. “We’re never going to let him live this down.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

On the quiet ride home, he clung to your arm with both his hands as he rested his temple against your shoulder. Upon arriving home, you first sit him down and undo the laces of his sneakers as he tries to fight off sleep and keep a conversation with you going. You give him another glass of water, encouraging him to finish it before taking his jacket off of his warm body.

“Somethin’ you wanna say?” You gently prod as he stares up at you, pupils inky and wide.

“You’re making me nervous,” he admits as the flush of his cheeks grow bolder. “You’re very… beautiful.” His actions are reminiscent of a teenage boy gushing about his out-of-league crush.

“Thank you baby,” you say with a wink. His eyes widen and his breath catches in his throat before he clears his throat and tries to look composed.

You help him to the bathroom to get him cleaned up before ending the night. Brushing his teeth proved to be cumbersome but it would lessen the taste of alcohol and vomit. You wipe him as much as you can before you bring him to bed, changing his clothes before tucking him in.

“Pills,” you mumble to yourself as you walk over to your side but your boyfriend, confused and teetering between sleep and consciousness, holds on to your wrist.

“Don’t go,” he softly pleads.

“Huh?” you ask. “I was just going to get some pills and water for when you get up.”

Far too drowsy to properly respond, he unwraps his fingers from where he held you and you get to fetch him what his hungover self will need tomorrow. You walk back into the room and set them down on his side before climbing into the sheets and snuggling up to him, the alcohol in his body making him a lot more warm.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

A quiet yet unmistakable sound of a groan comes from your bedroom, signaling that he’s awake. You walk inside, greeting him a chirpy good morning.

“What happened…” he asks, rubbing his forehead.

“You had too much to drink last night, “ you say. “Did you take the pills already?”

“Yeah. I feel like I got hit by a truck,” he adds.

“Well, breakfast would make you feel so much better. There’s some ready in the kitchen.”

He quietly heads over to the dining table, taking his seat and adding his serving of food onto his plate. After a few moments of silently chewing, you ask him something you’ve been wondering since you’ve woken up.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” You ask.

“No, not really. I’m never drinking ever again... my head hurts so bad,” he responds.

“You’re going to want to see this,” you say with a wicked grin as you show him the pictures and videos from last night. “I think these will jog your memory a bit.”

He’s baffled at first, confused by what he’s made to watch until his eyes widened, mortified and embarrassed at seeing himself.

“They’re never going to let me live this down as a rookie,” he says as he hides his face in his shirt.

NOTE - I was supposed to upload this last night but unfortunately my laptop died and my charger was downstairs but here it is anyway :3 this fic is inspired by "Soft Spot" by Keshi, I really love the song and have been looping it ever since I started working on it. Also this fic is another simultaneous writing project like the one before this and I worked on it within an hour at like... 1 AM coz I just got this sudden burst of creativity right before I was about to sleep. I'll try to write for other versions of Leon coz I've been writing for RE2!Leon so much 😭 Also to my smut writer mutuals or anyone who writes smut that came across this, feel free to drop any advice in my messages coz I wanna write smut (on a separate blog) but I feel so awkward typing it out LMAOAOA. Anyway, that's all <3 thank you for reading my ficsss!!!!!! I <3333333 UUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!

The dividers (the ones with the heart and stars) are made by @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[yvannile]

Thinking of when you and gumi get into a fight... 💭

⊹　 ︶︶　 𖹭᪲　 ︶︶　 ⊹

Bf megumi! Who had been slipping further away each day, his gaze colder, more withdrawn, like he’d buried himself in shadows. Every time you tried to offer comfort or a gentle touch, he seemed to resent it. He acted as though your presence was a burden, something weighing him down rather than helping. You started to wonder if he even cared about what you were trying to do for him, you wondered if he even cared about you anymore.

Bf megumi! Who one night, after another icy silence, you found the courage to ask, “Megumi, what’s wrong? Why won’t you just talk to me?” He stopped, barely even glancing your way, his tone biting. “Why do you keep asking?” he shot back, anger creeping into his voice. “Do you really think you’re helping? Just stop—stop acting like you know anything about what I’m going through.”

Bf megumi! Who’s words stunned you, but you pushed back, telling him you were trying to understand because you cared about him. He scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Care? You care because it makes you feel better. It’s like you need to feel important, like you’re actually helping. But the truth is, you’re just in the way.” The words hit like a slap, tearing down every effort you’d made, making you feel small and out of place in his life.

Bf Megumi! Who you looked at him, trying to hold back the pain, but he only grew colder. “Honestly, it’d be better if you just stayed out of my life,” he muttered, his voice harsh and unrelenting. “All you’re doing is making things worse. I don’t need you hovering around like you’re some savior. You’re only making this harder for me.” His words cut deeper than any blade, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart splinter under the weight of his indifference.

Bf Megumi! Who just when you thought he’d said it all, he looked you straight in the eye, his gaze empty and unfeeling. “You don’t belong here—you don’t understand anything about this world. You’re just… useless to me.” His voice was a final blow, shattering whatever pieces of your heart you had left. You swallowed back tears, giving him one last look before you turned and walked away, leaving him behind in the shadows he seemed to crave.

Bf Megumi! Who’s months passed, and as his anger dissolved, guilt took its place. Megumi couldn’t shake the image of your face, the pain in your eyes as his words had ripped through you. The silence he’d wanted so badly now felt suffocating, the emptiness left by your absence a constant reminder of what he’d destroyed. He didn’t understand why he said those things to you. He loved you dearly, is what he thought.

So imagine Megumi when he finally sees you from afar, a lighter smile on your face as you talk with someone else, a friend or perhaps something more. His chest tightens as he realizes you might be moving on, leaving behind the hurt he caused. For a brief moment, your eyes meet, but there’s only a fleeting recognition before you turn away, leaving him in a silence that now feels like punishment. He watches as you disappear into the crowd, haunted by the memory of all the things he said, and the reality that he may never get the chance to make it right. Because at the end of the day, he can only stand there, the bitter truth settled in—his cruel words had not just pushed you away, but had severed the fragile thread that held your hearts together, leaving him to drown in the unbearable silence of what could have been him and you, together forever.

≿————-　ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🌷་༘࿐　————-≾

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

When you point out how neurodiversity affects whole areas of the brain, not just what we see as the presentation symptoms, it seems so obvious. I've known that many neurodivergent conditions have high rate of co-morbidities, but haven't thought about what that would mean. I really liked your explanation of what else dyslexia affects, it made me recategorise some of my sister's mom behaviours. I see time blindness, some executive dysfunction, organisation difficulties and go, yup, I've got that too, it's normal, and forget that most people don't struggle with that (I've suspected I have undiagnosed ADHD for years, but never got checked for it, since I suggested it my dad freaked out, insisting there was nothing wrong with me. I really should though)

May I ask how your synaesthesia manifests for you? I'm always curious about how neurodiversity manifests in people and how it affects them, because there are so many minor and major things not talked about. I apologise if that question makes you uncomfortable, you don't have yo answer it.

Anyway, thank you for your explanation! It made a lot of things click all at once for me.

If you want lots of examples of how my synaesthesia works, I have a tag you could trawl here. But, I have a few different types; the common numbers-have-colours one, but I also get textures and sensations and feelings, and about... literally everything. Numbers, words, people's voices, names, personalities, the plots of media, images, everything.

Soooo, yeah. Sensory overload is the big impact; trial and error over the years has shown me it's primarily auditory, so if I can wear earplugs I can cope for longer in 'busy' environments. The other thing is that it really does a number on my mathematical ability, though, because, I shit you not, the colours get in the way. When I was a small child I was shown that 3 + 5 = 8, and my brain went "Yes, orange + pink = brown, got it" and ever since then if I see a 3 and a 5 together in a sum it DOES NOT MATTER what the operator is, I immediately assume the answer is 8. 3 plus 5? 8. 3 minus 5? Also 8. 3 times 5? Buddy you'll never guess. But it's 8.

It takes conscious effort not to do this T_T

The other thing is that I really, REALLY suffer from this thing where someone goes "Hey, we should watch Program X" but the problem is, you see, the problem is, I cannot stand the sensation I get from the name Program X, and therefore I will not watch it out of disgust that is totally unrelated to the actual show. This applies to all media, places, human beings, etc. (It is obviously a thing I have to be careful of when it's human beings.)

I think everything else I have is ADHD-related though, so that's probably everything I can put down to the synaesthesia.

[brujamala-aka-gigi]

sea bunny plushies and random tarot messages

( ( i had to take some time off because life was being too exhausting but now i'm back with my pac readings, missed tumblr so much tbh. ) )

so: pick a sea bunny plushie and let's see what random pieces of advice you can get from the tarot.

number 1 number 2 number 3

number 4 number 5 number 6

꒰ঌ ✦ scroll down for the results ໒꒱ ༘*.ﾟ

-ˋˏ ༻ ❁ Masterpost and Tarot Menu ❁༺ ˎˊ-

images are from pinterest and dividers are by @nicodefresas

reblog if you enjoyed this reading or if you enjoy sea bunny plushies <3

༘⋆♡⸝⸝💌⊹。°˖➴

꒰ BUNNY NUMBER ONE ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Being overly confident and reliant on thoughts that don’t come from healthy spaces is understandable if you’re in a desperate rush to find stability in your life. But sometimes these ideas will make you unable to move further, especially if moving on involves the questioning of such toxic beliefs. It is quite normal to find comfort in what we already know, but just because something is normalized (on the outside world or on your inner world) it doesn’t mean it’s healthy, or that it’s actually genuine to you. Even if your ambitions are coherent, take time to reflect on how you understand and conceptualize your own struggle and your path to success.

꒰ BUNNY NUMBER TWO ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Neglecting healthy conversations about your emotions for the sake of other’s comfort is definitely stunting the development of many unrelated matters, not recognizing the importance of preserving your mental and emotional stability, is taking a toll on other aspects of your life. You’re giving away too much of your energy to people and places that won’t make an effort to comprehend the real complexity and validity of your purest emotions. Even if you feel like you’ve recently been too emotional, that won’t be solved by dissociating yourself from something so human and natural as feelings are.

꒰ BUNNY NUMBER THREE ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

This is a great moment to understand that it’s okay if you are not entirely sure on what to do next with your life. Taking the time to rest or taking an entirely new direction is also part of your own life path. Don’t expect answers that will come from outside yourself, you will find more clarity if you focus on building your own spaces of comfort and growth with the resources and people you already have in your life. Don’t look for things that are not meant to find you yet, find the time to take care and nurture what’s already there for you to help you grow.

꒰ BUNNY NUMBER FOUR ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Even if it is quite undesirable to be in situations where you have to embrace chaos and accept uncertainty, it is helpful to understand that uninterrupted stability eventually begins to feel like stagnation. Situations of conflict are necessary on time to time in order to test the value and strength of anything. It’s key to understand that what’s needed in moment’s of instability is not a toxic sense of optimism and hope, but more so an objective analysis of  what can be done since the problem is giving an opportunity to fix what’s broken and check what could break next.

꒰ BUNNY NUMBER FIVE ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Your decision taking abilities might be affected by a false sense of urgency on time to time. If your mind is moving too quickly and it seems like there’s only few options where you have to go all in, just know that it’s likely that you are not thinking completely straight. Being paralyzed and stuck on unhealthy thought patterns is keeping you away from seeing the full picture. The overly rationalized insecurities and negative self talk might be unperceivable due to it being incorporated as normal and healthy “self criticism”. Is not, and it’ll affect your life negatively.

꒰ BUNNY NUMBER SIX ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

It’s okay to embrace the simple pleasures in life and feel confident in material success, yet being overly fixated on this will take away many opportunities to develop a deeper perspective on many issues you might be wilfully ignoring. Don’t allow yourself to change your core beliefs in order to appease hedonistic needs, as this will bring you to periods of stagnation. Take the time to establish your priorities and keep them in mind whenever anything feels too good to be true, if you don’t care for your success, nobody else will.

Hey hiii, it's me, Gigi. I hope you enjoyed this reading and you found something helpful or entertaining on it. In all honesty, im so so soo obsessed with those plushies like, i couldn't resist the urge to use them as visuals for this post i dont care how unserious it seems.

anyways, i'm back to being cronically online, my bookings are open so check my tarot menu if you're interested. and my masterpost has all my pac readings so far if you're into them.

if you feel like reblogging and liking this post, i appreciate the shit out of that and i love you.

i think i don't have much else to say, other than hi im back, missed this place so much.

so,,, bye <3 much love, gigi.

[gilverrwrites]

Hello, me again

Could you make also, a Dean having erotic/dirty dream with his female best friend or rival (or a best friend that is also a rival).

And all that she does remember him of his smut dreams

Not So Sweet Dreams

Author note: Sorry for the delay, I've been super busy with unrelated things, but I had a lot of fun writing this and trying to get into Dean's mind set. I hope it's what you wanted and that you enjoy it!

Pairing: Dean Winchester/F!Reader

Rating: M/18+

Words: 3349

Content: Dean being jealous and over-protective. Male gaze/male fantasies, drinking, swearing, violence, blood, vampires, arguing, hatesex, (kinda) subby Dean, teasing, dirty talk, unprotected sex, p in v sex, woman on top.

Please remember: That you deserve love.

Ko-Fi || Masterlist || Request Info

You were being surprisingly level-headed about the whole thing. The two of you had inadvertently wound up at the same nightclub, hunting the same nest of vampires. You’d begrudgingly agreed to work together, two hunters are better than one, after all. But you’d been reckless. You, strutting around in your skimpy black dress to get their attention, acting drunk and helpless, had been part of the plan. Watching you had undoubtedly been his favourite part. You letting one of the vamps take you into the back office without warning and without backup was not. You were supposed to lure them outside, not deeper into the building, behind far more security. By the time Dean had found a way to stealthily follow, he’d found you in a precarious position. Time seemed to stand still as he took a moment to process the sight. Your dress, or what was left of it, was all but hanging off as you fought back against not one but THREE bloodsuckers. The image of your ass in that tiny little thong, would be etched into his mind until the day he died. When he found his bearings again, he stepped up. If there is one thing he’s good at, it's decapitating vampires. Even you couldn’t deny how quickly and skilfully he’d taken out your opponents before swooping you into his arms and taking you back to the car. He’d expected your normally ungrateful ass to be, well… ungrateful. After years of reluctantly crossing paths, he’d come to expect your brash, defiant attitude but you were taking the whole thing pretty well. In fact, he was considering how he might slip you some holy water when your voice interrupted his thoughts. “Thank you so much again, Dean.” You purred, and he looked over at you, sitting in the remnants of your disguise and his jacket, comfortable and safe in the passenger seat of his baby. The words sounded all wrong coming out of your mouth, but he wasn’t complaining. You reached over and patted his inner thigh, making his breath hitch as you continued. "Really, I’m so grateful.” At that moment, he pulled up outside the motel the two of you were checked into, separately. Taking advantage of your newly found pliable nature, Dean asked, while cocking his thumb towards his room; “You wanna come in? Have a drink?” You nodded and allowed him to slip his arm around your waist as he led the way. You didn’t object when he guided you to sit on his lap or brush him off as he examined the scrapes and bruises on your arms. “I didn’t know you could be so well-behaved.” He teased as he finished tending to the worst of your wounds. You giggled in response, actually fucking giggled; it was magical and confusing as hell. “What is up with you today?” “I want you, Dean,” you replied, looking down at him through your lashes. You placed your hand on his cheek, gently pulling him closer until your lips locked. Your lips were so soft against his, and in that moment, he decided to stop questioning your personality transplant and just go with it—at least for the night.

Every tiny detail of his illicit dream flashed through Dean's mind now as he watched you across the dancefloor. Your little black dress wasn’t quite the same as in his dream, but it and everything else was damn close enough. Where your weapons were hidden was totally beyond him.

You’d been less than thrilled when you’d bumped into him at the motel, but had reluctantly agreed to team up with him for the hunt. The similarities should make him nervous, but he just couldn’t seem to make himself care in the moment. Not at the sight of you, seemingly lost to the music, dancing beneath the flashing lights. Your body was so much hotter than he’d dreamed it. He was so engrossed in the sway of your hips that he barely noticed the glare you shot him before shimmying further into the crowd. 

Dean takes a swig of the beer he’d bought as a prop, attempting to clear his head from the fantastical image of your hips, naked and riding him, from the way your body curved with each move. This is gonna be a long night. With another sip of his beer, he starts walking, patrolling the club, taking stock of the exits, the staff, all the things he should be keeping tabs on.

When he sees you again, you’re seated at the bar, smiling, chatting with a bloodsucker whose hand is so far up your thigh he’s surprised you aren’t squirming. In his dreams, your skin burned hot, and your breathing hitched when he ran his hand between your legs.

He slows, trying to eavesdrop, but he can’t make out a word over the booming music and the hustle of the crowd. He wants to head up to the bar to get closer in case you need help. But he can’t afford the risk of making a scene, so he keeps walking, intent on circling the building once more before finding a vantage point he can monitor you from. But when he returns, you’ve left the bar.

Cursing under his breath, he scans his environment; he finds you on the other side of the floor. Stumbling around in the arms of the same handy bloodsucker you’d been pawing at the bar. He should have fucking known this would happen. Exasperated, he watches as you’re guided through a door with a keypad, not an exit door. You were being herded into some kind of off-limits staff area. This was not the plan. 

He pulled out his phone, watching intently as he waited for the time display to change. As much as it killed him, he couldn’t hurry in, guns blazing. That would put you at even more risk. As soon as 3 minutes had passed, he checked his surroundings for fangbangers before marching to the door. Luckily, the keypad was old, and the numbers 1278 were worn. He started punching in codes until the door gave way on 1827.  The hallway was clear, and he could hear commotion coming from a room at the end of the hall.

When he entered, you were anything but the helpless damsel he’d saved in his dream. You looked powerful and radiant. You were stood tall, fully dressed, and swinging your knife at one of the four vamps as they attempted to advance on you, until you locked eyes with Dean. The swing of you knife had stuck the landing, but the distraction had opened you for an attack from behind. The biggest of your opponents had grabbed you, forcing you into a full-nelson, rendering your arms almost entirely useless. Regardless, you bucked your hips up and kicked at the vamp still in front of you.

That’s when fight mode kicked in for Dean. He pulled his machete from its risky position tucked in the inside of his jeans and started swinging at the other two vampires, taking one out almost instantly. The other was smarter and faster, dodging his strikes and mouthing off every chance he got. Dean didn’t bother quipping back. This was the same vamp who’d been cosying up with you earlier, and he didn’t want to waste any more energy on him.

By the time he’d taken the vamp out, you’d gotten free and were evading the big guy. It seemed your knife was laced with some potent dead man’s blood, because the one you’d stabbed earlier was whimpering on the floor. Dean put the thing out of its misery as he crossed the room to help you.

You had to tag team the last one, taking turns distracting and swinging for it until Dean landed the decapitating blow.

He turned to you, grinning and ready to brag about taking out most of them alone, but he stopped in his tracks when he noticed the nasty gash you were cupping, leading from your shoulder and over your chest. There were more, up and down your arms. Instead, he barked, harsher than intended. “We should get out of here. Fast.”

“But there’s still more.” You argued. 

“I don’t care.” His anger didn’t let up. He grabbed you by the wrist, ensuring there were no injuries there first, and began pulling you into the hall. “We’ll deal with that later, let's go.”

He’d offered you his jacket, but you’d declined. This was not how he’d dreamed it. You sat in the passenger seat of his baby, your dress torn and bloodied, your face sour, refusing to look at him. He heard you take a deep breath and braced himself for your snide comment.

“What were you thinking? You could have gotten us killed.” You didn’t even sound mad, you stated it like a fact.

He couldn’t help but do a double take as he processed your words. “Me? We had a plan, and that wasn’t it. What were you thinking, going off alone with them?”

“I had to think on my feet, and it was going perfectly until you barged in and fucked it all up. God I am so sick of you.”

“Perfect my ass! Putting yourself in dange-”

“I was fine, YOU put me in danger.” He opened his mouth to interject but you continued, going full rant. “They saw you sniffing around the club, and when you broke in, they saw you on the CCTV. It wasn’t exactly hard to put 2+2 together. You always do this, you underestimate me. I am not some damsel in distress, I can handle myself.”

The air was thick with bitter tension as he drove the rest of the way to the motel in silence. He didn’t like you going off alone like that, but maybe you had a point. Hunting wasn’t exactly the safest of jobs, and you’d made it this far without him. He should have apologised or tried to smooth things over, but instead, he asked, “Well, princess, will you at least let me patch you up?”

You watched with furrowed brows as he cocked his thumb to point at his room. He’d expected you to ignore him and head for your own room, but you agreed with a nod and crossed your arms as you followed him inside.

He didn’t try getting you to sit in his lap. You sat yourself on the end of the bed as he located his makeshift first-aid pack.

“Should I put the TV on?” He asks, knowing it’ll likely be a long, quiet process if not. 

You glare, and he knows he shouldn’t be, but he’s reminded of the look you’d given him across the dancefloor earlier and everything else he’s associated with it. Eventually, you answer. “Whatever.”

He sighs, switches on the TV, and begins patching you up in silence. He tries to be gentle, but the alcohol makes you hiss and groan as he cleans you up. Every moan evokes an indecent image that makes his skin burn with inappropriate arousal. He wonders if you sound the same in bed.

When the worst of the damage is patched up, he starts cleaning up the excess blood, checking for any he might have missed. Blood from the cut across your chest has gathered and congealed in your cleavage. He hooks a finger on the low neckline of your dress and looks to your face for approval. You’re unbothered, eyes fixated on the TV screen with such distaste he wonders if inanimate objects can take offence.

He tugs at the dress, not enough to expose anything but enough to get your attention. You glance down at his hand, then to his face, and shrug before diverting your attention back to the TV. Taking that as permission, he pulls your dress down, almost certainly too far. He takes an involuntary moment to soak in the image, blood and bandages included, you were a vision in your lacy black bra.

Your deliberate coughing brought him back to the present, and he made quick work of cleaning your chest, avoiding your gaze as he worked. When he was done, you pulled your dress back up without delay. You made no move to get up, and he made no effort to move you. Instead, you continued to sit in awkward silence. Both of you too stubborn to speak first.

When you finally broke the silence, you didn’t sound angry anymore, just tired, worried. “The rest of the nest is gonna be on our trail.”

“I know.” He conferred, trying to match your energy. “But it’s almost sunrise, we have time to rest and regroup before tomorrow night.”

“And will I be allowed to fight them, or would you like to cover me in bubble wrap?” Your voice still lacked malice, just sarcasm.

Without taking the time to think through his words, Dean replied. “You can do whatever you want. Just don’t blame me when you get yourself killed, or worse turned.”

“There you go again.” You leaned away from him, rolling your eyes, exasperated. “All your mouth does is talk dumb shit.”

“My mouth does plenty, thank you very much.”

“Like what?” You ask, tone defiant as you watch him through your lashes. The words were wrong, but the intense gaze matched his fantasy. He half expected you to reach out and pull him in for a kiss. When you don’t, he does it for you. You taste like salt and booze, but your lips are so soft, they melt right into his.

When you pull away, he braces himself for you to yell, or punch, or leave, but instead, your eyes rake over his face. He notices the heat in his cheeks when you comment, “Are you blushing, Winchester? Because of me?”

“No, it’s hot in here.” He replies curtly, still not wanting to give you the upper hand. 

“Funny.” You aren’t laughing as you look around the room. “I’m pretty cold.”

“You lost a lot of blood. That’s one of the symptoms.”

“Isn’t delirium also a symptom. If it’s that bad, are you taking advantage of me?” You raise brows at him, challenging him.

In return, he shoots you with the most puppy-dog concerned face he can muster. “Are you? Delirious? Should we stop?”

“No, get back over here and kiss me.” Now you reach for him, placing both hands on his cheeks and pulling him closer until your lips lock again. Mid kiss, you straddle him, holding him still with your arm around his neck as you begin to grind against his clothed erection.

He paws at the skirt of your dress until you get the hint and pull it over your head. He only gets a second to enjoy the view before you return the gesture, lifting his shirt up until he finishes the job for you. By the time he’s done, you’ve removed your bra as well. He greets the unobstructed sight of your breasts by planting himself between them, lavishing them with his mouth, sucking and nibbling at your nipples as you roll your hips against him.

Offering you reprieve, he pulls back to watch you as he dips his hand into your panties, happy to be greeted by the slick between your folds. Not bothering to tease, he plunges a finger straight in, enjoying the way your heat immediately clenches around him. He pumps the solo digit a few times before adding a second and a third, and you take each one perfectly. The sounds you make are just how he’d dreamed it, but also somehow better.

The best sound is the squeal you make as he quickly retracts his fingers and switches your position, laying you flat on your back as he straddles your thighs. You take it in your stride, however, and plant your hands on his shoulder before slipping them down his chest to hook into the waistband of his jeans. You work together to undo his belt and jeans. Dean shimmies them down just low enough to expose his dick. You must like what you see because he notices the way you lick your lips at the sight. He makes a mental note to see about putting your mouth to good use at a later time.

Your whole body seems to shiver when he runs the tip of his hardened cock between your slit, deliberately circling your clit.

“You like that?” He coos.

You respond by pushing him off you. He concedes, rolling onto his back and letting you mount him once again. “Shut up.”

He laughs but otherwise does as he’s told, barely able to keep his composure as he takes in the sight of you. You grip his cock, pumping a few times before you start lining him up with your entrance, and he prays you don’t mock his blushing again.

You don’t say anything, but you lock eyes with him as you slide his cock between your lips and sink down onto him. Fuck, you feel so fucking good, better than he could have imagined. Your walls are tight and wet around him, and he can’t help but grip onto your hips, not to force you down, but to make sure you don’t retreat.

When you reach the base, you seize all movement, presumably allowing yourself to adjust, but he can’t help rocking his hip beneath you. You both groan in sync at the feeling.

“Impatient.” You scold, but your voice is soft and dreamy.

“Can’t help it.” He returns, thrusting up again and enjoying the way your eyes roll back in response. “You feel too good, you take it so well.”

You glare at him, challenging him as you reposition your feet, readying to start, and he bites his lip in anticipation.

With no further warning, you start riding him, setting a fast, reckless pace, and releases your hips to fists at the sheets, trying to distract himself from the fact he’s already about to blow his load.

“I think I’m gonna-”

He’s cut off by the immediate narrowing of your eyes. “Don’t you dare, not until I’ve cum first. You owe me.”

“Fuck. Yes ma’am.”  He groans through gritted teeth as you continue to fuck yourself on his cock.

It’s agonising, watching you sway above him, taking what you want from his body. He watches with bated breath as you start to play with your clit, pleasuring yourself. His whole-body jerks, trying to hold back when he feels your walls squeeze around him.  You lol your head back, moaning to the ceiling when you finally hit your climax.

Your body slows as you try to catch your breath, but it’s Dean's turn. He sits up, lifting you by your ass just enough to ease the process of him rutting up into your leaking cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum deep inside you.” He chants.

You nod, blasé and tell him; “Do it.”

As if on demand, he shoots his load, spilling inside you with a loud, animalistic groan.

Your weight falls on him, your head resting against his shoulder. He feels his own energy slowly draining as well, but that doesn’t stop him from placing absentminded kisses on the back of your neck as he carefully falls back against the bed, taking you with him. Of everything that had happened that night, cuddling was the most surprising to him.

After a few minutes he speaks up, shifting to guide you back up. His soft cock slips out, and he feels his own cum drip back onto him. “We should get cleaned up.”

“Yeah.” You nod, taking his queue, standing from bed, and heading for the bathroom to get cleaned up. “And we should really start working on a plan nightfall.”

“Maybe we should get some rest first. Regroup when we're not both exhausted.”

“Are you kidding.” Your head pokes out of the bathroom door. “They could be on our trail right now… What?”

“Nothin’.” He shrugs. All the tension you’d just released together was already building back up. “You just don’t ever fucking change.” 

[clockwork-ashes]

Shake the Frost - Part I

Read on Ao3

Summary: Elain’s visions lead her to the human lands where she seeks answers from the one male she’s been avoiding—Lucien. As the two of them work together, the walls built between them begin to crumble.

Note: SURPRISE!!! this is for the lovely @zenkindoflove for this year’s @acotargiftexchange <3 i was so so so excited to get to write this for you, all of your works are simply amazing and it was such fun getting to know you a little better the last few weeks!!! thank you for answering my many (many) questions, and i hope you enjoy this!!!

Elain POV 

Drops of blood, like lovely ruby tears, were scattered along the pure white snow. They glimmered as if they were expensive jewels, an allure to each perfectly shaped one. The sun was bright, vicious as it reflected on the ground and danced as far as the eye could see. 

Elain shook her head with an annoyed sigh, loose curls bouncing around her shoulders. She couldn't move the pieces of hair without letting go of the gifts in her arms, so she blew up at the strands in a way that would seem practiced to any onlookers. 

A dagger, the hilt fashioned from gold and expertly crafted to resemble a snake, was stained scarlet. The hand holding it had rings on each pale finger, no scars on the skin despite the comfortable way it gripped the weapon. 

“That is enough,” Elain mumbled, an order to herself in hopes that the visions would stop bleeding through her waking moments. The images no longer haunted her, but they were still a type of nuisance, like summer gnats, flickering in the corners of her thoughts. 

If she focused, Elain hoped to avoid the most gruesome of her repeating visions. Always, like clockwork, she would witness Beron Vanserra’s death. It was bloody and cruel, never peaceful, even if the way it was done had not yet been decided by fate, the result remained the same. The High Lord of the Autumn Court would die, marked by endless crimson that stained the earth beneath him. 

She had thought them nothing more than a figment of her unsettled mind, especially when at first they had slowly and steadily filtered into her dreams. When they had leaked into her everyday life, when she had begun seeing Lucien’s face among the bloodied chaos, she had no choice but to take matters into her own hands. Elain knew from the war with Hybern that trying to bury and ignore her visions wouldn’t work, and neither would trying to hide her fear and confusion. 

She had tried to tell Feyre once, but hadn’t been able to go through with it. Her sister was finally happy. Nyx was old enough to enjoy the Winter Solstice celebrations, and Feyre had been busy planning for weeks. It seemed unfair, and Elain could admit only to herself that she was using it as an excuse not to share her worries with anyone at all.

Still, the visions wouldn’t let her go. They gripped her, cold and unrelenting, forcing her to face countless versions of the future when she least expected it. Nesta would have asked too many questions, ones that Elain would be unwilling to answer, and so she had turned to Nuala and Cerridwen for help. She had asked the twins to take her to the human lands, and had begged them not to tell anyone just yet. Elain was thrilled when they simply told her she had to be careful, agreeing to bring her directly to the place that Lucien called home. 

Elain stood at the doorstep of the manor, right where Nuala and Cerrdiwen had left her. The evening frost bit at her skin, her arms heavy with the weight of her offerings, small gifts she had taken with her knowing it would be a slight to come empty-handed. She could hear the soft ticking of the stopwatch she had bought for her mate despite the fact that it was nestled in a cushioned box. For the Queen of Scythia, she had brought Winter blooms from Velaris, delicate and white, their petals like soft whispers. She had struggled to find something nice for Jurian and had simply settled for a bottle of expensive wine. 

Her knuckles hovered at the door as she shifted on her feet, hesitation curling through her. She had seen the manor before, what almost seemed like another life, and yet now it felt unfamiliar. She finally knocked, the sound thunderous against the thick wood. 

There was not a single sound that followed, not even the careful tap of footsteps just beyond the entrance. Elain frowned wondering if perhaps no one was home. 

She balanced the gifts in her arms, blowing at the stray curls that had fallen over her eyes. She raised a gloved hand, ready to knock once more, when she heard the lock shift. She stepped back, watching as the door opened slowly, leaving only a crack of space for her to peak into the manor. 

At the flash of familiar copper hair, Elain plastered a smile onto her face. “Happy Solstice,” she said with false cheer, hoping that she covered her disappointment well. She wanted to speak with Lucien first, but she supposed she should be grateful that at least someone was there. 

Vassa looked surprised for the briefest of moments, using her frame to block Elain from entering. She raised an elegant eyebrow, her blue eyes midnight dark as she offered a judgmental glance over the three neatly wrapped parcels. “Who invited you?”

Elain maintained an unbothered air, pretending that Vassa was simply keeping the cold out. She lifted the presents, smiling a bit wider in an attempt to look kind and unthreatening. “I wanted to give Lucien his gift.”

Vassa’s gaze flicked to Elain’s face, where she took her in with an unreadable expression, a hesitation that stretched just a little too long. Then, with a motion too practiced to be casual, she opened the door wider, her gesture one of forced hospitality.

“Come in,” Vassa said, voice cool but not unkind. She waved her hand in the direction of the hall. “Lucien should be back in a bit.”

Elain stepped inside, her breath catching as she recognized the space. It was Graysen’s manor, but the weight of the years made it feel distant, almost like a place she had only heard about in stories. She had barely thought about him in the last few years, and was slightly annoyed at being reminded that he existed at all. 

She followed Vassa down the hall, her booted feet soft on the old wooden floor, the air thick with the scent of something she couldn’t place. Jurian was in the sitting room, bare feet up on a pink couch that was absurdly out of place when compared to the rest of the furniture in the large space. His gaze met hers, unsurprised, as though he had been expecting her arrival.

Jurian. 

The name had been whispered to her since childhood, stories of a human general that had fought for the freedom of her people. Sitting on that gaudy pink couch, he looked ordinary, Elain thought. He was just like any other man, a touch of a battle-weary edge to his face, but nothing of the myth she had imagined.

“Something to drink?” Jurian asked, his voice easy, inviting. He leaned forward, his manner so unaffected it took Elain by surprise.

Vassa did not speak, but Elain felt her eyes on her, assessing and distant, as though her very presence was an offence. The room seemed to thicken with unspoken words, the tension hanging heavy in the air. Elain could still hear the ticking of the stopwatch still in her hands, steady as heartbeat, knowing she was the only one among them who could catch the delicate sound with her ears. 

Elain cleared her throat, her voice coming out smaller than she had intended. “Maybe some tea?” It was not just the awkwardness of the moment that made her throat tight, but also the unmistakable scent of her mate that lingered.

He was everywhere.

On the cushions of the couch, on the fabrics of the curtains, in the very air. It clung to the room like a shadow, a reminder that he lived in this space. Elain scrunched her nose when she was struck with the sudden urge to curl up into the pillows and bury her face into the cushions just to take it in. 

Jurian invited her to sit, gesturing with his hand to leave the gifts aside. Vassa sat as well, eyes watching her every move, as they all waited for Lucien. Time crawled by slowly, and Elain could feel the weight of the room pressing down on her. 

Elain had come in search of answers, and she knew that her exiled mate would have the information she needed. Jurian brought her tea, the night stretched on, and Elain knew with a deep certainty that it would be a long one. 

Lucien POV

The shift of the seasons pulled at Lucien in ways that were nearly painful as he crossed into the human lands, winnowing in one final jump beyond Prythian’s border.

Lucien was always left feeling a bit empty when he returned from his visits to Spring. His thoughts always lingered on the broken remnants of what once was, a court that had once been his home. Tamlin, at least, had seemed happy that he had stopped by. 

Lucien made sure he had a glamour in place as he walked through the quiet village, ensuring none of the human eyes saw anything more than a stranger passing through. They were all weary around him, casting him with careful glares whenever he passed. The streets, though, were empty, the silence eerie as everyone stayed indoors to celebrate the solstice with loved ones. 

He was nearing the manor, his senses piqued by something, a subtle tug that pulled his chest tight, a connection that only his mate could cause. 

Elain. 

The bond thrummed under his rib, constant and steady, like the flow of a river. Lucien rubbed a hand over his chest, frowning slightly. He had not gone to Velaris this year, not even after Feyre had sent her invitation. Perhaps it had been rude of him, but he’d simply written a note, promising to visit soon. It had been easier, after all, to remain distant, he thought. 

Lucien noticed the boot marks still left in the snow leading up the manor, and he felt a chill crawl up his spine. The footprints were small, the pattern of the sole not ones he recognised as belonging to Vassa. Using a simple spell, he unlocked the door and stepped through the threshold and into the foyer. The bond flared to life with sharp awareness, drawing him towards her. It was as though his body had learned to respond to her presence even without his permission. Elain was nearby, and he was helpless to ignore it, to deny the way his heart picked up its pace in response. 

The whole world seemed to tilt on its axis as he paused at the entrance of the sitting room. He was unable to tear his gaze from his mate, even though he knew Jurian and Vassa would be watching his reactions carefully. 

“Elain?” he said, more question than anything. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded rough, unsteady.

He heard the soft rattle of a teacup as she set it down on the table. Her back straightened, as if instinctively commanding the room around her, a queen in all but title. “You didn’t come to Velaris,” she said, her voice even, but Lucien heard the slight accusation buried beneath the calm.

He hadn’t expected her to notice, hadn’t thought she cared enough to even keep track of his comings and goings. It was a surprise, and he was unprepared for the sting it left.

She still avoided him, still turned away whenever he entered a room, her distance like a shield between them. He couldn't even blame her, but the ache of each dismissal settled heavy on his chest. Remembering his manners, he offered her the smallest of bows, “Apologies, lady.”

Elain’s cheeks flushed, and Lucien’s heart did something strange, a flutter he couldn’t quite name. “No need to apologize,” she mumbled, ever polite. “It was just… I just noticed, that’s all.” She looked at him with an embarrassed tilt to her lips, her entire face having turned crimson. 

Vassa snorted then, a laugh that was sharp and unrefined, but somehow it didn’t feel entirely unwelcome. It cut the tension between him and his mate like a blade. 

“I needed to speak with you,” Elain said, her voice soft but deliberate. She glanced over his shoulder at Vassa and to Jurian who sat on the pink couch, a silent apology. “Alone, if that’s alright.”

While Lucien couldn’t see Vassa, Jurian merely raised his shoulders in a careless shrug. He motioned for Elain to follow him, taking his eyes from her as she grabbed onto her skirts and followed him to the porch that looked over the large courtyard. 

Lucien nodded. He motioned for her to lead the way, his mind already racing with questions he wasn’t sure he wanted answers to. They stepped outside, and though Elain kept her distance, it was still the closest they’d been since the battle with Hybern. Her breath misted in the cold air, floating around them like a little cloud. 

Beautiful. 

Elain Archeron was like something made of winter. Her hair was tucked behind her pointed ears and he could see the sharp cut of her jaw as she looked at the frozen gardens below. She reminded Lucien of snowflakes, lovely and fleeting, put out a hand to catch one and they disappear. 

The tip of Elain’s nose was stained a rosy pink, and he created a small bubble of warmth around them instinctively, watching as her posture relaxed, seeming much more comfortable in the harsh cold. 

Lucien broke the silence between them as she hugged her arms around her middle, suddenly looking more nervous. “Please tell me that Feyre and Rhysand know you’re here.” He knew the answer even before Elain winced and turned away from him. “Nesta?”

She shook her head, a small frown pulling at her lips. “My friends know. They brought me here.”

Lucien couldn’t help the sigh that fell from his lips, running a hand through his hair. He had half a mind to walk back into the manor and write to the Night Court about where she was, but something in her demeanor, something in her dark eyes, stopped him. He could feel the weight of her decision pressing on him, even if she hadn’t said the words yet. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but the truth tugged at him. He was going to be knee-deep in trouble if he kept her secret.

“Why?” he asked, his voice quieter now, gentler. “Why did you need to come here?”

Elain seemed to shrink into herself for a moment, her eyes fluttering closed as though she were steeling herself for something. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I see you in my dreams.”

Lucien froze, his breath catching in his throat. He couldn’t suppress the choked sound that nearly escaped him, couldn’t mask the shock that gripped him. His heart pounded in his chest, and for a moment, he felt unsteady, as though the ground beneath his feet were about to crack open.

Elain flushed under his gaze, her eyes quickly darting to the snow beneath her booted feet. “I mean... my dreams and my visions,” she corrected, a little embarrassed, as if the admission were something she hadn’t meant to speak aloud.

He didn’t know where she was going with this, but the quiet urgency in her voice made him hold his tongue, waiting for her to explain. He remained still and kept silent, offering her the space to share whatever was on her mind.

“No one listens to me,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Not my sisters, not the rest of the Inner Circle... no one. I thought...” She bit her lip, her eyes flicking up to his. “I thought perhaps you would?”

Lucien was left speechless, his heart clenching with something he couldn’t quite name. She was asking him, of all people, to pay attention to her. There was a part of him, an ancient and primal part, that nearly overwhelmed his senses, but he nodded. “I’ll listen.”

Elain exhaled a soft breath, reaching out with her small hand. “And what if I ask you to see?” 

Without a word in response, Lucien put out his own hand, letting Elain grab onto him so that she could pull him a little closer. The bond between them flared to life, the bridge connecting their souls allowing Elain to show him something unexpected. What she saw burned into his mind, and Lucien was no longer sure where his mate’s dreams ended and reality began.

[roselibrary]

𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐧𝐞 || 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon! Reader

Trigger Warnings: murder, targcest, eventual dark!aemond, yandere!aemond, obsessive behaviour, typical targ madness

Summary: Aemond would have his sea-nymph one way or another.

Requests are open!

Summer blossomed like the pink buds on a cherry tree coming to life the day the young Prince Aemond realised his affection for his niece. She had ensnared his soul and enraptured his heart like the vines of ivy devouring the exterior of a Keep. Silver locks and lilac spun eyes that beheld all the secrets in the world, it seemed. Soft-tanned skin – a perfect blend of her mother and father though the same could not be said for those she called brothers – that beamed soft gold in the light of the sun and lips that looked as if only the sweetest of fruits had kissed them. Her hair shone pearlescent in a similar fashion to the decorations often found woven into her curly smooth locks. They fascinated him; the way the peals glimmered in the light and emerged from her curls like the foam atop a crashing wave.

More Velaryon than Targaryen in truth was she. She, too, had no dragon to call her own but instead proclaimed the sea as her abode and its treasures her horde. He wished to be considered a valuable item amongst those she already kept. Soft-spoken and gentle in nature she was her mother's pride and joy – the image of her grandmother they deemed the sea nymph. Sometimes, he wondered if she could grow a tail much like the mystical mermaid on the sigil of House Manderly and if she could, would she finally join her beloved sea and leave them all to wither on land? Those thoughts never brought him any comfort. Instead, he remained grateful that for as much as she wished to join the sea in all ways; she simply was unable to.

He often prayed to the gods in thanks for her inability to simply vanish on the waves.

It became lonely, living in such cold solitude, after a while and none could deny the younger prince led a cold, solitary life. His other kin shone so brightly, vivaciously and with such vitality that it was easy for him to fall into the shadows, the darkness, and the madness. He was a scarred second son of a King who did not even deem his firstborn son his heir. Aemond believed deeply in tradition and the stability such a thing brought to the realm; he could not fathom his elder half-sister bringing chaos with her untraditional succession claim. His sister would openly have a bastard follow her on the throne. Perhaps that’s where his true sentiments lay; he did not despise his sister for being a woman with a powerful agency, or even for being the heir to the throne, but for what would come after his sister's succession. What precedent would it set if bastards could inherit before trueborn children? What chaos would that sow within the realm? Aemond was a man of routine, tradition, and unrelenting stability all of which Rhaenyra was inherently posed to ruin.

Aemond didn’t wish to see his little sea nymph fall with her mother, as she undoubtedly would, due to her unending loyalty and devotion to her catastrophic family. His Gentle Dragon had no qualms openly expressing her love and devotion to the young men that would steal her birthright; it was bad enough the elder prince Jacaerys would steal her place upon the iron throne but downright insulting that, the younger than she, Lucerys would steal the birthright of her father from her person by claiming Driftmark. Aemond wished to see her claim her rightful place as the heiress of Driftmark as the only trueborn child of its heir, however, he would not want to see her seated atop the iron throne.

The monolithic, fearsome work of art did not suit the gentle and ever-changing disposition that she carried with her. Unmoving iron and sharp-edged swords should be nowhere near the supple curves and smooth skin lining her form, instead – if it were not for his no-good elder brother – he would sit upon the iron-casted seat of death in her place. He would be her King and she, his Queen. He had only to find a way to keep her with him permanently.  

Perhaps his father's addled mind and desperation for peace would smile fortuitously upon the one-eyed prince, for once.

It had been many a year since his eyes last wandered upon the form of his beloved sea nymph – a name he only acknowledged in his mind's depths. The realm’s Gentle Dragon had returned to Kings Landing alongside the rest of her kin when protests were raised on the legitimacy of her younger brother's claim to Driftmark. Something many deemed rightfully hers. She glowed effervescent in her Velaryon blue and soft violet threaded gown the silk gently forming the curves of her body and flowing down the lengths of her arms and back. It seemed the dress also recognised the girl's call of the sea for it moulded like waves and rippled in each minuscule movement of her own. The train of the gown followed behind her like the sea lapping at the sand of the beach never quite reaching as far in as it wished.

She stood beside her mother with her head held high in pride as her uncle all but disparaged what remained of her mother's good name - if anything was left of it to begin with. It had delighted him to see the Strong princelings debased in such a public manner and their mother alongside them. He enjoyed much less the disparagement of the Crown Princess’s only daughter and the belief that she would fall to the same whims her mother had and beget only bastards for her future husband. No, that did not please the prince at all. He had observed and planned and waited patiently for many a year to gain his nymph and she would give him no bastards – he knew she wouldn’t. His nymph was too intelligent, dutiful, and self-aware of the consequences of such a thing to attempt such a crime.

Still, his blood boiled, and his hands clenched behind his back. It took an effort to keep his stoicism about his person in the face of his ever-present wrath but within a second his wrath was replaced with bewildered wonderment. Gone was Ser Vaemond’s head; instead the figure of his uncle stood tall, proud, and nonchalant in the face of such grotesque violence. Aemond felt the stirrings of admiration and conflict within his chest at such a sight. This man, his uncle, was a threat, an obstacle, his biggest unrelenting guard towards what Aemond had deemed his. All the realms knew of how Daemon favoured his girls over his boys, and none could deny how he had claimed the Gentle Dragon as much his own as his other brown-skinned, silver-haired darlings. He clenched his jaw. It seemed he would need to confide with another of his aspirations if he wanted to succeed where others had failed.

As if the man could hear the thoughts echoing in the princeling's brain the Rogue turned and leered. Aemond could see the taunt within his gaze, the dare for him to be as foolish as the man who kept his tongue but lost his head.

He could hear the whisper Daemon Targaryen’s eyes conveyed.

“Claim her, if you're bold enough.”

Just as he proved to his father when he claimed Vhagar; Aemond would once more prove that he was, indeed, bold enough.

[macabrecabra]

Did art fight and saw so many pokemon OCs...and realized for how much I LOVE pokemon, never had any of my own really...so I made some. Then I wrote a story. Then I built a whole worldsetting.

So enjoy the "End of the Line" pokemon setting that is now born... starting with my favorite trio of ghost pokemon! The Silph bros are known more publicly in connection to the powerful Silph Corporation, but also operate a powerful black market mafia under the table.

More under the tab if you are interested in my character ramblings!

GEN SILPH (Gengar) He is all about image. In the public eye, he is a well liked, always smiling, corporate prodigy and the face of Silph Co. Well respected and always known for handling PR and all the social trappings of an elite status well. Behind closed doors though, he is also running an extensive mafia operation with his fingers on the pulse of Saffron-Lavender City. He may seem nice and upbeat, but when he is ticked, he can show a very cold, very calculative, and very sadistic side as he is not above getting his hands dirty if people are messing up on the perfect persona he controls. Not a pokemon to cross as he will smile and shake your hand while having a gun behind his back. There are very few whom he trusts, as he is known to let his paranoia sometimes get the best of him when it feels like the control he's carefully built into an empire seems threatened even a little bit. Every move is calculated. Every chaos a delicate pull of the strings. Just remember to always trust in Silph Co for your every need!

Design Note: All the Silph bros wear suits because they are classy, but each has a design. For Gen, I was all corporate. Sleek cut, formfitting, Dark colors, and of course, classy tie. The kind of guy without a hair out of place. Also glasses felt fitting for someone that probably has to squint at computers...also makes him look more smart. GHAST SILPH (Ghastly)

The youngest brother of the Silph brothers, Ghast is a bit goofy and doesn't really tend to take things too seriously, but also never one to disappoint his older brothers whom he adores. He really wants to live up to expectations and has since stepped up to being the main leader of the mafia, second only to Gen, but really he just does what Gen says and doesn't ask questions. He really just wants to make his brothers proud, and feels the pressure to live up to Hauts' legacy.

Ghast can come off as dismissive towards others at times, but it comes from his desire to appear just as strong as his brothers when it comes to the dealings of the world. They are super besties with their personal gang of "bad brats" as he calls them, sometimes to the point of trying to step in and keep them out of trouble.

Should be note that Ghast is transgender. What their deadname is, no one knows. They don't much care for being misgendered as there has, and always has been, three Silph brothers, and don't you forget it!

Design Note: I felt that Ghast was the flashy type with bright eyesore suits and sort of a lounge lizard, impractical sort of suit, hence no pockets to be found. The single button suit felt more like going to a party than corporate, which fit Ghast more in my head. Also had to give Ghast unruly hair to mimic the gas around Ghastly.... Ghast's wears a hat to try and control it.

HAUTS SILPH (Haunter) (Alsos one of the main characters of the story!)

There was no doubt that Hauts was how made the Nightshade Mafia a force to be reckoned with. He was smart like his older brother, but also wasn't afraid to be reckless and unrelenting when it came to his goals. He was the muscle that could get any job done, one way or another. Known as a wildcard, laid-back, unpredictable, yet suave, Hauts was a criminal prince and was an important part of keeping the Nightshade Mafia running well....most of the time. His recklessness and disregard for Gen's orders often put him at odds with his brothers.

Hauts felt it more a difference of opinion, but nothing too crazy as at the end of the day, he cared very deeply about his brothers and everything he did would never put everything in danger. Gen didn't see it that way and shot his brother with intent to murder and remove something that was starting to make him paranoid about his control of things.

By all accounts, Hauts should be dead, face blasted open and body dumped in the woods, but he was found by a local pikachu from a nearby village and managed to find his health again. He's hung up his old life though, not interested in revenge, not interested in going back into that world. His guns are hung up to live a peaceful life as a bartender in Veridian Village, at least, until life comes knocking and he might have to pick up his old life again... Design notes: He is very much looking to copy the style of a 1920's ganster, hence the older style to his suit and wears an open jacket to match his more laid-back attitude. Also was one to always make sure you knew he was armed when in company. His hat was fun as it is clear it is blown off and there history and sentiment to it. He's had that torn up hat a long time and is intent on keeping it that way.

[14dyh]

#18!! I just wanna make hange jealous/be jealous

Replacement | H.Z.

Pairing: Hange Zoë x female reader Summary: Hange seems to love it when you style your hair a certain way. Content Warning: slow-burn - happy beginning, things fall apart, angst, jealousy, lots of mentions of pikuhan (because they were ex lovers on this one), doubts and insecurities, reader is mentioned as kinda feminine Word count: 3.2k A/N: sorry this took so long. it was a bit slow but i hope you'll like it, anon :)

It has been a month of exchanging letters with Hange, and a few minutes of waiting for their arrival in the dock when you spotted their figure on the ship. The bluish sky seemed to brighten as the ship drew closer, your eyes brimming with joy at once when Hange came running to you once the ship landed.

Family, lovers, and friends await, the waiting area almost filled in groups of twos or threes but all seemed to blur out once Hange filled your vision, hands around your waist as they happily twirled you around. You smile into their neck, your fingers finding their way back to the soft brown hair you longed to touch.

Hange nestled their head onto your body, their grip unrelenting as they inhaled the familiar flowery scent from your perfume that always makes them smile.  "I missed you, sweetheart," they smiled against your ear.

As you walked hand in hand towards the awaiting train, you expected the heliotropes they brought out of their coat, the never-ending stories of fascinating things they encountered from their trip, and most of all the photographs and souvenirs they bought for you. But they showed you something that sent your senses frozen in both disbelief and overjoy. They fished out a small velvet box from their pocket, one that reminded you of the curtains and sheets you share at home. Your mind cannot fathom how your early morning on the train could start with a marriage proposal and an engagement ring on your finger but your thoughts failed to speak as you caught Hange by surprise through a tight embrace, whispering a small "yes, I'll marry you" on their coat before soaking it with your tears.

-

"Don't cry anymore, sweetheart," Hange chuckled, kissing the last few tears from your cheeks before the train stopped. "I don't like making my future bride cry, you know that."

A smile etched on your lips as you depart the train. You longed for this usual banter, their laughs, the way their eyes smile whenever they face you. Not long ago, these images plagued your dreams in a rosy film, wishing every waking for your dreams to be true. Maybe have a life where Hange doesn't have to be away from you for so long, a less demanding job perhaps? You wonder if a sudden shift would occur once you're married.

Rows of greenery grew near the embankment, the water rippling gently along the wind as you walked hand in hand. A short walk full of promises, and excited glimpses at what the future could be.

"After our wedding, maybe I'll take a week or month off from work," they would say, hand around yours. "I'll spend time making you happy. In many aspects. Would you like that, dear?"

You knew with half of your heart that they were trying to cheer you up, their fulfilling presence healing the time lost. Hange knew you enjoyed lounging at home, tending on the expanse of your garden. It felt like a perfect view, you and the flowers around you. Simple and tender, reminding Hange to purchase a camera once they returned to Marley to capture such moments.

Later that day Hange received an invitation letter. It was a simple party in the headquarters to welcome them back, along with the new Marleyan visitors.

"It wasn't such a big party, we can style ourselves then." Hange placed the invitation at the bedside table, gaze lingering on yours as you gently comb your hair.

"Say, sweetheart. Remember the way you styled your hair the last time? I think it looks beautiful on you."

Your mind recalled the way you styled your hair to their wishes. Your hands went to part your locks, fingers remembering how that style frames your face and a gentle ponytail hung on your back.

Hange's eyes smiled at you, walking over to place a kiss on your head.

"You're beautiful, Y/N," Hange whispered. Their every adoration sounded like sweet music, serenading your heart. A mellow wind blowing any doubt that would linger in your heart. They're right. You're beautiful in this hairstyle, Hange always shows you with how whenever their slender hands slip under your hair to cup your face in a loving kiss. One that sends you out of oblivion and illuminates everything.

Hange spent the night with their arms wrapped around you, their every kiss and praise sending a jolt through your skin. They would occasionally Twirl your locks around their fingers, eyes in deep rapture just by gazing at you. Their tenderness washed your worries ashore. Perhaps tomorrow you'd tell your mother about your marriage, wishing for a positive response despite knowing that you'll only come to hear a skeptical one. After all, you've only known the Commander for a few months. Tracing back your memory, has it even been eight months? You wondered. But as Hange muttered a final good night against your cheek, you were slowly rocked into slumber, dreaming of all the flowers you could place on your hair for tomorrow's party.

-

There was a single box that Hange refused to sort out or throw away. It wasn't taking up much space but you've always wondered if you could place it elsewhere if they wouldn't sort it out. As you pry the box open for a peek, you half wish this doesn't contain anything poisonous or preserved animals in jars. When the flap opened, you were greeted with a stack of envelopes, papers with their familiar handwriting, and most of all the fragrance of scented papers. You couldn't help but flip through the letters. For sure, they weren't old Survey Corps reports so you decided to look more closely and read.

Words of adoration, of longing, of intense feelings in the neat curls of Hange's handwriting. Your heart would have throbbed in happiness if it weren't for the dedication that wasn't for you.

To my beloved Pieck,

Your eyes read through, traveling around the very few photographs attached to the letters. There was Hange, smiling with a happy glint in their eyes as they held a woman with a familiar face. Of course, you know her, you might not have known her fully but you've seen her face several times. You always remarked them to be soft ones that fit her face perfectly.

It has been more than a year since Pieck and Hange broke up. It was peaceful departing from each other, you never heard a terrible word about her from Hange or their friends. If not, you heard how much Hange loved her.

You felt terrible for the tears welling in your eyes, of the heaviness weighing your heart whenever you looked at Hange's delighted smile frozen in the photograph. You wondered if you've made Hange smile in such a way if their eyes ever sparkled with just the thought of you. Looking at it for longer only creates a crevice within your heart, one that is enough to let doubtful thoughts in. You were about to seal away this box of memories once more when your eyes caught upon something. You briefly gazed at your reflection and back to the photographs Hange and Pieck shared. For a brief moment, you tried to deny it but your eyes couldn't help but gaze at how Pieck's hair frames her face, a ponytail tied low on her back.  Her usual style ever since she met Hange, but the way it mirrors the way your hair currently looked pricked your heart where it doesn't feel right.

The way your hair was tied looked very similar to hers and it almost appeared like you copied her. You loosened a few strands, tucking or siding it differently in an attempt to rid of the image. However, your little fussing stopped abruptly as you heard Hange's footsteps near the room.

"You getting ready for the party, sweetheart?" they asked casually, opening their cabinet to choose from the suits they picked earlier. "D'you think a red tie would look good on me?"

Their lighthearted tone only indicated that they didn't notice you hastily shoving the box back to its original position.  "I think it looks good on you, Hans," you remarked before standing up to smoothen your clothes.

They turned to you with a smile, running a hand through your hair in a way that the strands fell over to their original style despite your attempts to change it. "Get ready now, Y/N. I'll be waiting outside the bedroom."

-

Momentarily, you were snatched away from the terrible thoughts plaguing your mind. Hange's eyes remained on yours, never failing to tell you how beautiful you looked in that party. You stand out in a way, they said. Maybe it was the quaint old-fashioned dress, or the soft flowers adorned in your hair. However, you couldn't help but feel like everyone looked a different shade of elegant, synchronised almost as you called it.

You shared drinks with Hange, found new acquaintances, and were congratulated by Hange's friends for the upcoming marriage. Those were enough distractions to stray your mind away from the hairstyle you kept to please Hange or the way your eyes caught Hange greeting Pieck who arrived at the party. Sure, it was just a friendly greeting, nothing should be sour between them since they parted ways on good terms. But for a brief moment, you remembered the glint in their eye from the photograph kept in their box. Their smiling eye that sparkles.

It didn't help that when you fully turned in Pieck's direction, her hair was styled the same as yours, except for the flowers adorned in your head. You nibbled on your lip as you tried to avert your gaze, focusing on the swirling drink at hand or how cold the room was. Realizing you were in no position to protest or feel bad only weighed the situation. This was her hairstyle first. Hange was hers first.

You set the drink down quite loudly as if the sound would scare your thoughts away. You tried to depart from your seat but decided against it. However, you knew you were bound to converse with people eventually. Otherwise, you wouldn't have found yourself facing Pieck at one point in the evening.

"You look beautiful, Y/N," she praised you. You only gave her a soft smile in return even if your mind protested and desperately wished she hadn't said a thing.

-

The terrible dam you tried your best to keep broke within a nudge, like wounds stitched healed being delicately sliced open once more. You've doubted yourself enough the moment Hange slipped that ring on your finger. It felt like a hasty marriage, an opportunity for things to go awry from one simple mistake. You never thought you deserved to be a part of this marriage but you shoved the many possible hindrances at the back of your head when you happily agreed to it.

And even if you think that you never deserved Hange's love, you vowed to spend more than half of your life trying to deserve it. If that's how it should be, then so be it.

In selfish terms, it had to be you. You had to be the one they chose to keep their heart. Their choice was very evident with the ring on your finger and yet... you couldn't help but trace back to the love they shared with Pieck more than a year ago. Haven't they lasted a few years together before breaking up?

Such love couldn't rot in over a year, such deep roots couldn't be unearthed by a new love shared just because you came.

The box was there for a reason. Hange could never throw out their memories, no. Not entirely.

This is one of the things your mind could understand but your heart wouldn't.

Hange didn't like how silent you were on the ride back home, always looking out the window and never facing them. Your silence and the heaviness within disturbed them, but Hange sensed your fragility in those minutes. That perhaps touching you would shatter you into a million pieces.

You excused yourself to the bathroom as soon as you stepped out of the vehicle, the hair on your face getting disheveled by the second. Your anger within had no place but yourself. You couldn't be angry with Pieck when she's been kind the whole time, and you couldn't find yourself angrily accusing Hange of purposely making you style your hair like their ex-lover would when you were never sure if they did.

Before you knew it, your hands found the scissors lying near the sink. Your hands snipped away the hair framing your face, silent tears pouring out of your eyes as your gaze fell down the uneven clippings and severed petals littered across the sink.

The clippings felt like a sinister offering traded for peace. Maybe cutting it off was the only way to get rid of the image prompting those terrible thoughts. 

She looks perfectly elegant, jeweled simply, and you're a woman with no rank in the military and flowers tucked in her hair. Pathetic.

Your fists clenched the sink once again, struggling to pull yourself from the deep pit being created beneath your feet. Vines seemed to grow below the ground, pulling and ushering you in wicked silence to give in. Give in.

“Y/N.”

You partly registered how the door opened and how Hange’s arm wrapped around you in protection, the phantom vines dying right at their touch. Hange held you as they knew it was the only way to keep you from falling apart. You were a dejected being, a mess of some kind in the mirror. All of a sudden, your hair doesn’t seem to be that soft or your dress to be that pretty. You sobbed on Hange’s chest, burying your face in their coat the way you did yesterday at their proposal.

Hange ran a finger on your hair trimmed haphazardly, brushing away the rest of the flowers strangled by the strands. 

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Their eyes fell on the clippings on the floor, and the abandoned scissors on the sink. “Why did you do this?”

I don’t want to feel like a replacement anymore, you wanted to sob out. I don’t want you to remember her when you look at me. 

“Do you want to marry me to forget her?” The question slipped from your mouth even before you could stop yourself. 

“What…?” Hange muttered, the realization only beginning to sink in when they ran a hand through your hair, provoking a sense of familiarity. Hange understood by now who you meant.

“It’s just that… I’m having my doubts, Hange,” you said slowly, trying not to break into a pitiful voice. “Our marriage, and the box you kept under the bed… I know I sound ridiculous but… I want to hear it from you.”

Your eyes finally dared to meet theirs as you spoke, “Why do you even want to marry me?”

It was Hange’s turn to trace back into a phantom calendar in their head. It has been several months since you went out together and for half of those months, Hange has always intended to give that ring to you. Always in their pocket even a month before they went for the trip, waiting for the right opportunity until it presented itself yesterday. Hange feared your rejection. After all, it has only been months but… Hange have their own reasons.

Hange began to stroke your hair, slipping their fingers now and then to smooth out the tangles as they spoke.

“I thought maybe we still got to spend a few more months, hell, even years to know each other but... Y/N, you know I'm getting older, and time, well... time has been getting rougher. It was never kind to me... to us. I barely see you when work demands it. And I... I didn't even expect you would be happy to marry me.” A soft smile etched their lips at the memory of yesterday that brought relief in their heart.

"Y/N, it would break my heart if you misunderstood my intentions so let me clear it up this time. I'm not marrying you to get over Pieck or to secure a marriage so you won't leave me... It's just... I've never been so sure about anything in my life but this... "

Hange pressed a kiss on your forehead, their own tears teetering at the edge of their eye.

"I don't know what the future holds for me. And part of me doesn't even want to know because it terrifies me sometimes.

"We live in such a dangerous world. From my line of work, it's easy to anger people and have them take me out instead of resorting to peace. You see, Y/N... I just want to make sure... Make sure that I did something from my heart. Something I would never regret. "

A smile lifted in their lips despite their tears, and inner sorrow by the reality you both live in. You wanted to curse yourself for thinking that you both have all the time in the world. It was a wishful dream that only hurt you in the end. Your chest throbbed from the strained sobs erupting within you but Hange managed to calm you little by little by rubbing your back.

"People think that I understand things enough to have everything under control but I'm... I'm also full of uncertainties. I don't even know if half of the decisions I've made in my life were right,” they continued.

Hange circled a thumb over your hand, the other grazing the beading tears in your cheeks.

"So I'm giving myself this chance to act upon one thing I'm certain about." Hange's lips met your forehead once more, the tears from their cheek brushing against yours as they held you tight. "And that decision is marrying you, Y/N..."

You wanted to thank them for many things, for driving away all the worries nestled in your heart, for being someone to cry on, and for all the trust they placed on you the moment they vowed their heart and life to you. 

"I love you, Hange…” 

I’m sorry.

They chuckled, a soft one coming from their chest as they kept holding you. It amused them that a month ago, they would only hear your i love you's in their head as they read them from the letters you exchanged with each other. It always sounded better coming from your mouth.

"I love you too, Y/N,” Hange smiled. “From that day I saw a few daisies tucked in your hair, I knew I'd give you a ring someday..."

"But that's our first date, isn't it?" you asked.

"Oh, I know," they laughed softly. "I remember that day like a photograph."

Often, living in a cruel world seemed like a life carved out of pain and infinite regrets, brought by never-ending doubts born from such a distrustful world. But with Hange’s every touch, and every word laced with love, the dreadful pit making a home through the atrocities within yourself gradually vanished, smothered by the affection Hange gives.

You sat by the garden where the heliotropes Hange knew you loved grew. They carefully trim your uneven hair the way one trims a plant during growing seasons. Your kiss of gratitude brought a smile to their lips as they ran a hand over your hair once more. They think of you whenever blossoming heliotropes face the sun.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N.”

[mjwhisperer]

𝚁𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚕𝚎

*Requested*

1988

New York City

Word Count: 13.5k

It had been four agonizing days since you'd last spoken to him, since you'd even allowed yourself to think of him. His presence, once so comforting, now felt like a jagged wound. Each memory of him was another shard of glass piercing through you. The betrayal, the heartbreak—it felt like your chest had been crushed, shattered into a million tiny fragments, impossible to piece back together. He had called you "My Girl," made you believe you were his everything, but after that night, everything was tainted. What once felt like a dream was now an unrelenting nightmare, one that played on repeat in your mind, tormenting you with every passing moment.

That night was plastered everywhere—on television screens, across newspaper headlines, whispered about in conversations you couldn't escape. That kiss, her kiss, replayed over and over in your mind, like a cruel loop. The sight of her lips on his still burned into your vision, making you nauseous with every flash of recollection.

Why did she kiss him? And why did he just stand there, unmoving, as if her lips on his meant nothing? A thousand questions raced through your mind, all of them worse than the last. Had he been cheating on you this whole time? Was every sweet word, every whispered promise, a lie? Had the love you thought was so real never even existed at all?

Now, you sat stiffly at the dinner in his honor, your presence at the event feeling like a punishment. It was being hosted by the United Negro College Fund, an evening meant to celebrate his success, but for you, it felt like your heart was being laid bare before a crowd. His mother, Katherine, had insisted you attend, had even personally invited you. She held your hand now, her fingers warm and gentle, silently acknowledging the depth of your pain. She knew. She understood what it felt like to see the man you loved kiss someone else in front of thousands of people at Madison Square Garden, to have that image seared into your memory. It was unbearable.

Every second in that room felt suffocating. It was as if his eyes were always on you, watching, piercing through you with a burning intensity that made you sick. You could feel your pulse racing, the bile rising in your throat as you fought back the urge to scream, to cry, to demand answers from the man who had shattered your heart. The weight of your grief was suffocating, and it sat heavy on your chest, trapping you in place.

You hadn't spoken to him since that night. You couldn't. The moment the scene had unfolded in front of you—her lips pressed against his, his frozen reaction—you'd fled. Your heart pounding, your vision blurred with tears, you'd rushed back to the hotel, barely registering your surroundings as you packed your bags with shaking hands. The ache in your chest was unbearable, suffocating, and the thought of being near him, breathing the same air as him, felt like it would destroy you. So you ran, found another hotel, anywhere that offered an escape from the tormenting replay of that kiss.

But no matter how far you went, no matter how many doors you closed between you and him, the truth clung to you like a shadow. You had once believed—truly believed—that he loved you, that you were his everything. Now, that belief felt shattered, crumbled into dust by the cold reality of what you had witnessed. The love you had trusted in so completely now seemed like nothing more than a cruel illusion.

"Relax, hun," Katherine's soft voice broke through your spiraling thoughts. Her hand, warm and steady, gave yours a reassuring squeeze.

You swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape. The knot in your throat tightened as you forced out, "I'm trying... it's just... looking at him, being here... I don't know if I can do this."

Katherine turned slightly in her seat, her eyes soft but searching as they met yours. "Have the both of you talked?" she asked gently, her voice filled with concern.

You shook your head, unable to find the words. The weight of everything unsaid pressed down on you as you glanced up, only to see Michael standing at the front of the room, now wearing a cap and gown—a doctorate cap and gown. He had earned this moment, a recognition of his achievements, but the sight of him—his eyes locking with yours, that familiar smile beginning to spread across his face—made your heart lurch painfully in your chest. You quickly looked away, focusing on the folds of your dress, anything but him.

Katherine's voice was patient but firm as she spoke again. "Sweetheart, you both need to talk. Holding it in won't help. It'll only eat you up inside."

Your throat tightened, and you turned to her, your voice trembling as you admitted, "If I talk to him, I might cry the whole time... I don't know if I can do it."

Katherine's eyes softened with understanding. "And it's okay to cry. Let it out if you need to. Michael didn't mean any of what happened that night. The girl only did it to get under your skin, to make you angry. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she got what she wanted. Michael fired her that same night—he wanted to tell you, but when he came back to the hotel, you were already gone."

You could feel your heart clenching, torn between hope and doubt. "What if he's lying to you?" you whispered, barely able to get the words out. "What if... what if he's seeing her? What if there's something going on between them, and I'm just too blind to see it?"

Katherine shook her head with conviction, her grip on your hand tightening just slightly. "I know my son," she said softly but with a quiet strength. "When I looked into his eyes that night, I knew. He wasn't lying to me. He was devastated, sweetheart. He made a mistake by not stopping it fast enough, but he's not seeing her. I can promise you that."

Her words offered a glimmer of reassurance, but the doubt still gnawed at you. The memory of that kiss, of the crowd, of the betrayal—it was all so fresh, the wound still too raw. Could you trust him again? Could you even bear to hear his side of the story, knowing that it might break you even more? The thought of facing him, of letting him see your tears, felt too overwhelming to contemplate.

But somewhere deep inside, you knew Katherine was right. Holding everything inside would only deepen the hurt. If you didn't talk to him, the questions would never stop, the pain would never heal.

"I can't believe I'm nervous," Michael's voice reverberated through the speakers, deep and familiar, sending a shiver down your spine. It was a sound you had been avoiding, a voice that used to be your comfort, now stirring a mixture of longing and pain within you as if you hadn't heard it in years.

The crowd laughed softly, charmed by his humility, and even Katherine smiled, her hand still wrapped securely around yours, her thumb grazing the delicate skin of your knuckles. Her touch was gentle, but it tethered you, grounding you amidst the swirling emotions threatening to pull you under.

Michael cleared his throat, his voice softer this time, almost vulnerable. "But I really am embarrassed. I appreciate everyone coming tonight... all these great friends, the people who've supported me through thick and thin. My dear mother and father, who are here in the audience."

Applause erupted as Michael gestured toward Katherine and Joe. The room seemed to collectively turn their attention to them, but his eyes—they were locked on you, unyielding, even as he smiled for the crowd. "Stand up," he encouraged, his voice echoing with a certain pride that you couldn't bear to acknowledge.

Katherine gently rose, her hand never leaving yours, as if she knew that if she let go, you might crumble. Joe stood as well, a grin spreading across his face as they soaked in the crowd's cheers. But you remained seated, stiff, still staring at the ground. It felt as though if you met his gaze, even for a second, you'd break apart, and you couldn't afford that—not here, not in front of all these people.

Katherine squeezed your hand tightly as she sat back down, her fingers still clutching yours, protective, like a mother shielding her child from the storm. You clung to that gesture, feeling like something small and fragile, lost and unsure.

You tried to focus on anything but him, but even as you lowered your gaze, you couldn't escape the memories flooding your mind. You stared down at your dress, the one he had picked out for you, his exact words echoing in your head: "I know you'll love this." It had been perfect—he had known your taste so well, had known you so well. But now, that once-beautiful gown felt like a weight, something forbidden, a painful reminder of the intimacy you had shared, the deep connection that had once defined your relationship.

Michael continued to speak, his voice rising and falling as he delivered what must have been a carefully crafted speech. But you didn't hear the words. You couldn't. They blurred together in the background, distant and meaningless, drowned out by the roar of your thoughts.

You tried to remember, tried to grasp at the fragments of what you had once shared. The way he'd make you laugh with just a look, the secret touches under the dinner table, the nights where your heart felt like it would burst with the intensity of your love for him. The connection, the trust, the bond that had seemed unbreakable. But now... it all felt so far away, like a faded memory, an echo of something that once was. The love that had once filled your heart felt hollow now, emptied by doubt, by betrayal, by the haunting image of her lips on his.

What had once been so vibrant between you—so pure and unbreakable—now felt tarnished, a cracked reflection of everything you thought you knew. As Michael's voice echoed through the room, each word from his speech felt like a weight, pressing down on you, making it harder to breathe. The ground beneath you seemed to shift, unstable, leaving you with nothing solid to cling to. Every memory, every smile, every promise hung in the air like fragile glass, threatening to shatter at any moment.

Once the speeches ended, there was a collective sigh of relief from the audience, but for you, the tension only mounted. Michael made his way to his parents, his smile warm and effortless as he embraced them. Katherine's hand slipped from yours as she stood to greet him, and that single moment of separation hit you with a force you hadn't expected. It was as if the last tether holding you together had snapped, and reality crashed down like a tidal wave, merciless and cold.

The tears you had fought so hard to contain finally escaped, hot streaks running down your cheeks, betraying the calm façade you'd tried to maintain all evening. You hastily grabbed a napkin, dabbing at the moisture before anyone else could notice, but it felt futile. The ache inside you wasn't something you could wipe away.

And then, there he was. Kneeling before you, Michael's presence consumed the space, suffocating in its intensity. His hand reached out, gripping yours firmly, as if trying to anchor you back to him, to that version of you that had once believed in him so completely. The warmth of his touch was like fire against your skin, burning through the layers of hurt you had tried to bury. It ignited something deep inside, a rush of emotions you weren't ready for.

You pulled away quickly, instinctively, like his touch was too much, too overwhelming. But it was already too late. Just that brief contact had opened the floodgates. The dam holding back your tears collapsed, and the pain you had suppressed came rushing to the surface. The weight of it all was unbearable, the heartbreak, the betrayal—it all came spilling out in an uncontrollable torrent.

Without a word, you stood abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor as you pushed back from the table. You could feel eyes on you as you moved, but you didn't care. The only thing you could focus on was escape. Each step you took felt heavy, your heels clicking against the cold marble floor like a drumbeat in your chest. Faster and faster, you walked, your breaths growing shallow, desperate, until you found sanctuary in the women's restroom.

The door swung shut behind you with a dull thud, and for a moment, the silence felt deafening. You stumbled over to the sink, gripping the cool porcelain edge for support as you turned on the faucet. The sound of rushing water filled the space, drowning out the quiet sobs that had begun to escape your throat. You stared at your reflection, but the tears blurred your vision until all you could see was a distorted image of yourself—lost, broken, and heart-wrenchingly alone.

The pain was suffocating, wrapping around your chest like a vise. Every breath felt labored, your heart pounding erratically in your ribcage, a wild, desperate beat that matched the chaos inside your mind. Why had you come? The question looped over and over, each repetition deepening your regret. It felt like a cruel trap—an elaborate game you had been pulled into without ever realizing the rules.

The bathroom door creaked open, and the soft sound of it locking echoed through the room. You froze, your tears momentarily pausing as dread pooled in your stomach. You looked up at the mirror, but your eyes were still too blurred with emotion to see clearly. All you could make out was a figure, the deep red of their clothing catching your attention.

The figure approached, each step deliberate, but you couldn't move. You stood there, helpless, until they reached forward and turned off the water with a quiet click. It wasn't until you felt the familiar warmth of his hand brushing against your cheek, wiping away the tears, that you realized—it was Michael.

His touch was gentle, tender, as he carefully dried your eyes with a paper towel, his gaze never leaving yours. For a moment, the world around you seemed to still, the storm of emotions paused as you stood there, facing the man who had caused so much of your heartache. His presence was overwhelming, filling every inch of the room, and despite everything, a part of you still ached for him, for the connection you had lost.

Michael's large, warm hands cupped your face, his fingers spreading over your cheeks with that familiar tenderness that once made you feel safe. His touch was a comfort you had longed for in your sleepless nights, yet it now felt like a betrayal. You wanted to melt into it, to give in to the sensation of being cared for, but something inside you resisted—an ache too deep to ignore. You pushed him away, your hands trembling as they met his chest.

"Leave," you whispered, but even your voice betrayed you, cracking with the pain you had tried so hard to conceal.

Michael's brow furrowed, his expression softening as he took a step back. "Can we talk, please?" His voice, so pleading, felt like a dagger. He moved toward you again, cautiously, as if afraid you might shatter. "All I need is five minutes."

Your tears blurred the edges of his figure, but the hurt inside you was sharp and clear. You wiped at your eyes furiously, your hands shaking. "Just five? Just five minutes?" You laughed bitterly, though it was choked with emotion. "All you need is five minutes to fix what you messed up? Five minutes to fix a six-year relationship?"

"Baby, listen, I—" he started, his tone desperate, but it only fueled your rage.

"Don't 'baby' me, Michael!" Your voice echoed in the small space, each word laced with the bitterness of betrayal. "I'm not your baby after you kissed that... that girl on stage, in front of everyone—your fans, the world." Your voice wavered as the images you had tried to block out resurfaced, haunting you. "I have to see it every day, Michael. Her lips on yours, pulling you in close, like she was claiming you, owning you. Why? Was I not enough for you? Was I not the one you wanted, the one you needed?"

Your voice cracked with the weight of those questions, and the tears that you had tried so hard to hold back began to fall in earnest, hot and relentless. You could barely breathe through the sobs that wracked your body, each one pulling you deeper into the pain. Before you could step away, Michael was already moving toward you, wrapping his arms around you in a way that was both protective and suffocating. He held you close, his hand gently caressing your back in soothing circles as you broke down completely.

"Let it out," he whispered, his voice low and soft, like a lullaby meant to calm a storm. He didn't try to explain himself just yet, knowing that words would only make things worse in that fragile moment. He simply held you, absorbing the tremors of your sobs, allowing you to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

You buried your face in his chest, the fabric of his red blazer damp with your tears. The scent of him filled your senses—familiar, intoxicating—pulling you back into memories of better days. Days when his presence alone was enough to silence all your fears, to make the world feel right. But now, even with him so close, that feeling of security was gone, replaced by an overwhelming sense of loss.

Michael lifted your chin gently, his thumb grazing your skin as he tilted your face up to meet his eyes. There was a softness there, an apology unspoken but clear in the way he looked at you. "Give me an hour," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But we can't talk here. Come with me back to the hotel. Please."

"An hour?" you asked, your voice hoarse from crying. You weren't sure you had the strength to relive everything, to open the floodgates again, but something in his voice, in the way he held you, made you pause.

Michael nodded, his expression resolute. "Maybe all night if that's what it takes," he added, his voice soft but firm, as if he had already resigned himself to whatever consequences might come from this conversation.

You hesitated, every muscle in your body screaming for you to run, but instead, you found yourself nodding. "Okay," you whispered.

Michael's hands moved with care as he grabbed another paper towel, gently drying the tears that still clung to your skin. His touch was almost reverent, as if he were handling something fragile and precious. He wiped away the last traces of your tears, even brushing softly over your lips, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

"Don't cry," he said softly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of forgiveness. "I promise I'll explain everything to you."

You didn't respond, your throat too tight, your heart too numb. The words he spoke felt distant, as though they belonged to someone else, someone who hadn't been hurt like you had. You weren't sure if you could believe him anymore.

You followed Michael out of the bathroom, your hand limp in his as he unlocked the door and guided you into the dimly lit hallway. The cool night air hit your skin as you stepped outside, the gentle breeze doing little to ease the storm inside your chest. His limo sat waiting at the back exit, a sleek, black vessel that felt like a temporary escape from the emotions swirling in your mind. The driver, ever the professional, opened the door wordlessly, giving you a brief, respectful nod.

Michael let go of your hand, his touch lingering in the empty space between you, before he gestured for you to step inside. You hesitated, just for a moment, your mind racing with second thoughts, but the exhaustion from your emotions made the decision for you. You slipped into the cool leather seat, the familiar scent of luxury filling your senses. Michael slid in beside you, and the door was quietly closed behind him, sealing you both inside the small, intimate space.

Without a word, he reached over and pulled the privacy screen shut, his long fingers steady and deliberate. It was something he had always been particular about—privacy, especially when it came to you. He didn't want the world prying into moments like these, moments that felt too raw, too personal for anyone else to witness.

For a few beats, silence hung in the air, thick and heavy between you. The hum of the car's engine barely registered in the back of your mind, drowned out by the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. The weight of everything—the betrayal, the hurt, the confusion—sat like a stone in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You stared out the window, watching the city lights blur as the car began to move, but even the distraction of the outside world couldn't quiet the ache inside you.

Michael shifted beside you, his gaze burning into the side of your face, but you refused to meet his eyes. You weren't ready, not yet. The thought of confronting everything he had done—everything he had ruined—was too much. You could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his body tensed as if he wanted to reach out to you, to fix what had been broken, but he held back. He knew better than to push you right now.

Finally, the silence broke, his voice soft, almost pleading. "I know you're hurting," he said, his tone careful, measured, as if afraid to say the wrong thing. "And I know I'm the one who caused it. But if you give me a chance... just one chance... I'll explain everything. I owe you that much."

You didn't say anything, your mind racing with a thousand different thoughts, none of them offering any clarity. A part of you wanted to scream, to tell him that no explanation could fix what he had done. But another part, a smaller, quieter part, still yearned for the Michael you had once known—the Michael who made you feel loved, cherished, like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

He reached for your hand again, his fingers brushing against yours with a tentative touch, but this time, you pulled away, folding your arms tightly across your chest as if trying to protect yourself from the vulnerability that came with being near him.

The limo continued to glide through the streets, its quiet hum the only sound between you. Minutes stretched on, and the weight of everything unsaid felt suffocating. Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "Why did you do it, Michael?" You didn't look at him, your eyes still fixed on the window. "Why wasn't I enough?"

Michael's hand reached out, gentle yet insistent, turning your face toward him. His touch was familiar, tender, and his gaze was pleading. "You are enough," he whispered, his voice soft but filled with an intensity that cut through the silence. "Every bit of you is enough. Enough for me."

For a moment, your eyes met his, and in that brief exchange, you saw the sincerity—the regret—etched into his features. But it wasn't enough. You pushed his hand away, your gaze falling back to the cityscape outside the window, the lights blurring into streaks of color. "I don't feel like it," you murmured, barely loud enough to be heard. "If I was enough, you wouldn't have kissed her."

His breath hitched, and you could hear the quiet shake in his voice as he responded, "She kissed me. It wasn't meant to happen. She didn't stick to the script. I only went along with it because... because I didn't want to embarrass her. But deep down, I wanted to push her away. I should have pushed her away."

You turned further from him, the weight of his words doing little to ease the ache inside your chest. "You should have," you whispered, the bitterness of it lingering on your tongue. The image of him with her, of their lips meeting, replayed in your mind, a loop that wouldn't stop. How could he not see the damage it had done?

"Baby, I wasn't going to embarrass her," he said, his voice growing more desperate as he reached out again, this time resting his hand gently on your thigh. The touch sent a shockwave through you—his warmth seeping through the thin, delicate fabric of the red satin dress he had chosen for you. "But I knew I messed up the moment you walked out that night."

You didn't respond. Your silence spoke louder than words. The flood of emotions that had been brewing within you—rage, hurt, betrayal—clashed violently with the part of you that still ached for him, that still longed for the man sitting beside you.

Michael withdrew his hand from your thigh, his fingers curling into a fist as he turned his gaze away, his expression one of defeat. You could sense his guilt, the deep regret that radiated from him. He was lost in the silence, unsure of how to make things right.

But then, without fully understanding why, you reached out, your hand hovering for a moment before gently covering his. The warmth of his skin beneath yours was a reminder of everything you had shared—the love, the intimacy, the trust. It wasn't a solution, not yet, but it was something.

Michael's head turned slowly toward you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find hope. When he saw your hand resting over his, his gaze softened. He didn't say anything, didn't dare break the fragile peace that seemed to settle between you. Instead, he turned his hand over, his fingers intertwining with yours, holding you tightly, as though afraid to let go.

In that moment, it wasn't forgiveness—not yet. But it was a step. One small step toward something that felt like it could be mended, if only you could both find the strength to rebuild what had been broken.

The limo coasted to a stop in front of the Helmsley Hotel, a place that once held memories of fleeting happiness and painful betrayal. The hotel's grand entrance loomed before you, a reminder of the night you had fled, desperate to escape the life you thought you'd be leaving behind. Yet, here you were again, back in the same place, back with the same man who refused to let you go. Michael wasn't going to let you slip away—not this time.

The door opened, and Michael stepped out first, his hand extending toward you. His grip was firm yet gentle, pulling you close to him as you both walked toward the hotel's towering doors. Inside, the rich red and gold decor filled the lobby, the marble floors gleaming beneath the soft lighting. Each step echoed in the space around you, the weight of the moment heavy on your shoulders.

Michael's hand remained on the small of your back as you approached the elevator. He pressed the button with a deliberate touch, the soft light glowing beneath his finger, a subtle reminder of the path ahead. You glanced down at your feet, the polished tips of your heels reflecting the tension you felt building inside. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, a small gesture meant to comfort you, but it only reminded you of the ache still lodged deep in your chest.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet ding, the polished interior welcoming you inside. Michael stepped back, letting you enter first before following closely behind. He pressed the button for the top floor—the floor where his suite awaited—and the doors closed, sealing the two of you in together. The only sound that filled the space was the low hum of sensual jazz, its smooth notes creating an intimate backdrop for the tension that lingered between you.

Without a word, Michael moved closer, his arms encircling your waist from behind, pulling you against his chest. His hands rested gently on your front, holding you as though afraid to let you drift too far. You felt the warmth of his breath against your neck, his steady breathing grounding you in the moment.

You glanced down at his hands, resting atop yours. His thumb grazed over your engagement ring, the one you had nearly taken off that night—the night you'd left him. It felt heavy now, a symbol of something you weren't sure you could still hold onto. Yet, in his touch, there was familiarity, a longing that whispered of the connection you both shared despite the pain.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the hallway to his suite. Michael loosened his hold on you but kept your hand firmly in his as you both stepped out, walking in silence down the plush carpeted hall. His grip tightened just slightly, his thumb tracing gentle circles over your palm as you reached the door. He pulled the key card from his pocket and slid it into the lock, the soft click echoing in the quiet corridor. The door opened, and he let you step inside first, flipping the switch to bathe the suite in a soft, dim glow.

He followed behind, closing the door with a soft thud, the sound of the lock turning a subtle reminder of the privacy now surrounding you both. You walked across the room, your heels sinking into the plush carpet as you approached the tall glass windows. Outside, the city of New York stretched before you, the night alive with lights and movement, a stark contrast to the stillness you felt inside.

Michael stood back, watching you. He didn't want to disturb the fragile peace, his gaze lingering on your silhouette as you stared out at the city. You heard his soft footsteps retreat, but the tension between you remained thick, unspoken.

"Michael..." your voice was barely a whisper, the sound cutting through the stillness.

He stopped, turning back toward you, his eyes searching yours. "Yes?"

"I—" You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. You glanced back out at the city lights, the answer to your question lost somewhere in the blur of emotions. "Never mind," you murmured, turning away from him again.

Michael's sigh was heavy, weighted with regret and weariness as he took a step toward you. Each movement felt deliberate, as if he feared that closing the physical space between you might shatter the fragile calm. The soft rustle of his clothes brushed against the silence of the room, but it couldn't bridge the emotional chasm that now lay between you both—vast, like an ocean neither of you knew how to cross.

"You can talk to me," he murmured, his voice low and earnest, as if he was trying to coax out the words you were holding back. "You can say anything you need. I know you're mad. Frustrated. Angry. Upset. You have every right to be." His hand hovered for a moment before it gently brushed against yours, tentative, like he was afraid you'd pull away.

When your eyes finally met his, the tears that had welled up moments before threatened to spill over. His eyes softened, dark and pained, pleading in a way that unsettled you. It wasn't just the guilt—it was the rawness, the fragility you weren't used to seeing in him. And for a second, it almost cracked the walls you'd built.

"I mean it, deep down with everything I have, I swear to you—" His voice wavered as if the truth was burning him from the inside out. "I didn't want to kiss her. It wasn't supposed to happen. She didn't stick to the script. I had to fire her. She's off the tour, I made sure of it." His voice held the weight of a promise, but you weren't sure if you believed it anymore. Could promises still matter when trust had been shattered?

You looked at him, your gaze trying to pierce through the layers of his words, searching his face, his eyes, for something—anything—to tell you if he was telling the truth. His eyes, wide and glistening, held that familiar warmth, the warmth that once made you feel safe, but now felt distant, like a memory you couldn't quite grasp.

You let out a sigh, heavy and exhausted, your gaze drifting back to the window. The city lights blurred behind your tears, a mess of color and light reflecting the turmoil inside you. Michael stood there for a moment longer, watching you, before he reached out again—this time, his hand found your chin, the touch tender yet firm as he turned your face back to his.

"Can I ask you something?" His voice was quieter now, more fragile, as though he was treading on dangerous ground.

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension in your throat as you tried to suppress the anger that threatened to spill over. "What?" Your voice came out sharper than you intended, but you couldn't help it. The weight of your hurt clung to every word.

He held your gaze, not backing down. "Do you trust me?"

Silence. The question hung in the air between you, thick and suffocating. You didn't answer, couldn't answer. Trust? How could he ask that now, after everything?

He stepped back slightly, his voice even softer now. "If you don't, I'll leave you be. But I need to know... do you trust me?"

The words stung. Part of you wanted to scream that you didn't, that he'd lost that right when he let her lips touch his. But something inside, something small and wounded, still wanted to believe him. "I trust you," you whispered, the words feeling both true and false all at once.

Michael took a small breath, relief flickering in his eyes, but you weren't done. "Look at me," he said, his tone a little firmer now, pulling you out of your thoughts. His hand, still on your chin, tilted your face just enough so your eyes met his fully.

"Do you still love me?" His voice cracked ever so slightly, and you saw the tears begin to well up in his eyes, though he fought to keep them from falling. His vulnerability was heartbreaking, but the question cut too deep.

Your hand fell from his, your body going cold as the gravity of his question hit you. It wasn't just about trust—it was about everything. Love, broken promises, the future you once saw together, now clouded with doubt.

Michael blinked rapidly, trying to push back the tears that threatened to spill over. "Please don't do this," he whispered, his voice shaky and desperate. "Tell me you still love me. Tell me you still want to be my wife." His words came out in a rush, like he was afraid if he stopped speaking, the silence would swallow him whole.

Your throat tightened, the lump there almost unbearable. Your heart pounded in your chest, the rhythm erratic and painful. You did love him—you couldn't deny that, even if you wanted to. Every piece of you, every broken part, still loved him. Even the pieces that hurt the most.

But the question wasn't whether you loved him—it was whether you could move past this, whether you could still be the woman who stood by his side, the woman who once trusted him so completely.

The air between you felt thick, almost suffocating, as you took a step back. Michael's desperation was palpable, his movements quick as he closed the distance you tried to create. "Do you still love me?" His voice cracked, raw with emotion. "I will get down on my knees and beg!" The intensity in his eyes made your chest tighten, and for a split second, you saw him lower himself, his knees threatening to meet the floor.

"Don't do that," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, but firm enough to stop him. You took another step back, instinctively, as if space could shield you from the weight of his plea. But Michael wasn't giving up. He moved closer, his presence overwhelming, and before you could retreat further, his hand caught yours.

His fingers wrapped around your hand, holding on as if he feared you might disappear if he let go. "Tell me you still love me, please..." The way his voice wavered, like a man on the edge of losing everything, sent a shiver through you. "Baby, please!" His grip tightened, his words almost echoing off the walls of the suite, as though he needed the room itself to hear his cry for mercy.

Your eyes drifted to where your hands were intertwined, his large, calloused fingers enveloping yours. You felt the tremor in his hand, the desperation coursing through him. Slowly, your thumb brushed over his knuckles, tracing the familiar ridges and veins, grounding yourself in that simple touch. When your gaze met his, the raw vulnerability in his eyes nearly unraveled you.

"I-I still love you," you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips, but they carried the weight of your heart.

Michael's face softened, but the wariness lingered in his gaze. He wasn't sure yet, wasn't certain if you meant it fully, and you could see the question hovering in his eyes. "Do you mean it?" His voice was soft, almost afraid to hear the answer.

You nodded, feeling the burn of unshed tears in your throat. "I do. I-I could never stop loving you. Not even the bones in my body could stop loving you." The words flowed softly from you, but they felt heavy, laced with the depth of the love that still lingered, even after everything.

Relief washed over Michael, and he stepped even closer, his body just inches from yours now, the warmth radiating off him in waves. "Do you forgive me?" The question lingered in the air, heavy and full of hope.

You hesitated only a moment before nodding. "I forgive you," you said softly, feeling the weight of the words lift from your chest as you released them.

Michael exhaled a long, shaky breath, like a man who had been holding it for far too long. "You still my girl?" His voice was tender now, searching for the reassurance that you were still his, that he hadn't lost you completely.

You met his gaze, your heart swelling with emotion. "I'm still yours," you whispered, the truth of it ringing in the space between you.

Michael's hand cupped your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart ache. "I love you," he murmured, his voice full of sincerity, each word wrapped in the emotion he could barely contain.

You couldn't help but smile, the corners of your lips lifting softly. "I love you," you replied, the words a balm to the cracks in both your hearts.

He moved even closer, his breath warm against your skin, his lips hovering just inches from yours. "Can I kiss you?" His voice was playful now, a slight grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, though the intensity in his eyes never wavered.

A soft laugh escaped you, shaking your head lightly. "You don't have to ask me that. You can kiss me," you teased, the lightness between you returning for the first time in what felt like forever.

Michael chuckled, the sound low and warm. "I wanted to ask first," he teased, leaning in just a little more. "I don't need you biting my head off." His words were playful, but the look in his eyes was one of deep, unwavering affection. He wasn't just asking for a kiss—he was asking for the chance to heal.

Your lips curled into a faint smile as you closed the remaining distance between you, your breath brushing against his. "I wouldn't bite your head off," you whispered, your voice soft yet teasing, "unless this took a completely different turn. You should be lucky your mother saved your ass." You moved even closer, feeling the heat of his body wrap around yours like a warm blanket, grounding you both in that moment of vulnerability.

Michael wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against him as his forehead rested gently against yours. "She told you, didn't she?" His voice was low, laced with guilt, yet there was a tenderness to it that tugged at your heart.

You nodded slightly, feeling his breath mingle with yours. "She did," you whispered. "But I didn't want to hear it from her. I needed to hear it from the man who put this ring on my finger and promised to love me."

His lips hovered just over yours, brushing against them softly, barely a touch, but it sent a wave of warmth coursing through your veins. "I do love you. All of you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he finally closed the gap, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was tender, yet filled with the desperation of a man trying to make amends.

His lips were warm, soft, and comforting, moving with a gentle urgency that conveyed everything words couldn't. He kissed you deeply, pouring everything he had into that moment, as if trying to kiss away the pain, the hurt, the doubt. You felt your body melt against his, the tension in your muscles unraveling as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go.

As the kiss deepened, you felt your legs grow weak beneath you, your resolve crumbling under the weight of his affection. With a practiced ease, Michael scooped you up into his arms, cradling you as if you were the most precious thing in his world. Your lips never parted as he carried you, the soft click of his shoes echoing in the suite as he led you both down the hallway.

You kicked off your heels, the soft thuds as they scattered across the floor barely registering in your mind. All you could focus on was him—his warmth, his touch, the way his lips continued to claim yours with a passion that left you breathless.

Michael nudged open the bedroom door with a soft kick, closing it with another, the quiet click of the door signaling the intimacy of the moment. He walked over to the bed, laying you down with a gentleness that belied the intensity of the kiss still lingering on your lips. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his body hovering over yours as you sank into the plush mattress.

His hand roamed your arms, fingers trailing over your soft skin, igniting a fire everywhere he touched. Slowly, he reached for the straps of your dress, pulling them down with deliberate care, his lips never leaving yours. You lifted your arms, letting the dress slide off, pooling in a rich, crimson stain on the floor, leaving you bare save for the delicate lace of your black panties.

Michael's lips moved from yours, trailing down your cheek and along your neck, each kiss sending a shiver of pleasure through you. His breath was hot against your skin as he found the pulse point at your throat, sucking gently, his touch igniting every nerve in your body. The intoxicating mix of your pheromones and the familiar scent of your skin only spurred him on, heightening the moment as his kisses grew more fervent.

Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft curls as you let out a quiet gasp. He pressed his body against yours, the heat between you almost unbearable, and yet, you craved more. The way his lips worshipped your skin, the way his hands explored every inch of you—it was as if he was trying to memorize you, to make up for every wrong with each kiss, each touch.

With each breath, each kiss that grazed your skin, Michael was more than just a reminder of the love you shared—he was a force pulling you deeper into that connection, a tether to something unbreakable, even in the face of all your doubts. His lips moved like a soft whisper, trailing reverently down the curve of your body, leaving a path of heat in their wake. As his mouth traveled lower, the ache in your chest, the heaviness of the past few days, began to unravel, replaced by the overwhelming presence of him—of the man you could never stop loving, no matter how hard you tried.

Michael paused at your chest, kissing delicately down the valley between your breasts before continuing his descent. His movements were unhurried, savoring every inch of your skin as if committing it to memory. When he reached your stomach, his breath warm against your skin, he shed his red blazer in a single fluid motion, the soft rustle of fabric hitting the floor echoing faintly in the room. The air felt charged between you, a silent promise hanging in the space as his lips continued downward, inch by inch, until they found the sensitive skin of your lower abdomen.

His teeth grazed the waistband of your panties, latching onto the delicate fabric as he slowly, teasingly, tugged them down your legs. The sensation was tantalizing, every movement deliberate and filled with purpose. You felt the cool air brush against your bare skin as the lace fell away, pooling on the floor beneath you. Now, you were laid completely bare before him, vulnerable and exposed in a way that left your heart racing, but trusting him entirely.

Michael's hands found your thighs, his grip firm yet gentle as he guided your legs back toward your chest, your knees brushing softly against your skin. He kissed along your inner thighs with a tenderness that nearly undid you, each press of his lips a silent declaration of his love, his devotion. The heat of his mouth sent shivers up your spine, a delicious contrast to the cool air of the room, and your body instinctively arched toward him, seeking more of his touch.

"Michael..." you breathed, the sound barely a whisper, your voice heavy with longing. You could feel the intensity of his gaze, the weight of his attention fully focused on you, on pleasing you, on reminding you that his love had never wavered.

With slow, measured care, he spread your legs wider, revealing the most intimate part of yourself to him. His eyes darkened with desire as he kissed the soft skin around your center, brushing his lips against your folds in a way that made your breath hitch. The anticipation coiled tightly in your core, your entire body attuned to every movement he made.

When his tongue flicked out, tasting the arousal that had already begun to glisten on your skin, a shuddering moan escaped your lips. "Oh God," you gasped, your head falling back against the pillows, fingers tangling in the sheets as pleasure rippled through you.

Michael's fingers slid between your folds, his touch firm yet tender as he parted them, exposing you fully to him. His tongue found your clit with an expert precision, flicking it in quick, teasing motions that made you gasp for breath, your body instinctively arching into him. He sucked gently on the sensitive nub, his lips moving with practiced ease, as if worshipping the very core of your pleasure. The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve in your body alight with the intensity of it.

His tongue moved lower, dipping into your entrance, thrusting slowly in and out as he tasted you, the warmth of your walls clenching around him with every movement. The sensation of his tongue exploring you, combined with the rhythmic strokes on your clit, sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, building with each passing second.

"Don't stop," you begged, your voice breathless, desperate, as your fingers found their way into his hair. You tugged gently, not wanting to hurt him but needing something to hold onto as your body teetered on the edge of release.

Michael groaned softly against you, the vibration sending another shock of pleasure through your core. He doubled down, flicking his tongue with more intensity over your clit while thrusting it deeper inside you, his lips moving in perfect rhythm. The pressure was building, an inferno in your belly, and you could feel yourself spiraling toward release, your hips beginning to move in time with his mouth, chasing that edge, that moment of bliss that was so close you could taste it.

Your breath hitched, your chest rising and falling in rapid succession as the pleasure built with a tantalizing intensity. Your body trembled, hips instinctively grinding against his face, chasing that elusive release he was masterfully guiding you toward. The tension in your core twisted tighter, every nerve electrified, every sensation amplified as you teetered on the edge of bliss.

Michael's fingers slid inside you with ease, his middle and ring fingers curling just right, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust. His tongue, slick and warm, moved back to your clit, the soft flicks sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. His pace was steady, controlled, each movement deliberate as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, your arousal coating them in a glistening sheen.

He rested his head against your left thigh, the warmth of his breath fanning across your skin, grounding you in the moment. His tongue moved lazily over your sensitive nub, each slow flick driving you mad with need. He was edging you, teasing you with the slow, deliberate pace, keeping you right on the precipice without allowing you to fall over.

"Michael, I'm so close," you moaned, your voice trembling with desperation, your body arching toward him, begging for release.

But instead of giving you what you craved, he slowed down. His fingers moved inside you with an agonizing slowness, his tongue tracing languid circles over your clit, drawing out the moment. The tension in your core tightened even further, the pleasure building but never quite reaching that peak. He was toying with you, pushing you to the brink and pulling you back, and it was driving you wild.

"Michael, please!" you whimpered, your voice raw with need, your fingers digging into the sheets as you writhed beneath him, desperate for more.

He lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and molten with desire. Those big, brown eyes—eyes that had always held you captive—drew you in even deeper, pulling you into the depths of his love and passion. His gaze was intense, filled with a hunger that matched your own, but beneath it all was the tenderness that had always made your heart ache for him.

"Mmm, you taste so good, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. His tongue flicked lazily over your clit again, drawing another desperate moan from your lips.

"Michael... please, I want to cum," you begged, the words tumbling out in a breathless plea. Your body was trembling, your thighs shaking with the effort of holding back, your core burning with the need for release.

A small, wicked smile tugged at his lips as he curled his fingers inside you again, pressing deeper, finding that sweet spot with precision. You gasped, your entire body shuddering as pleasure flooded through you, your walls clenching around his fingers. His tongue resumed its slow, torturous rhythm on your clit, flicking over it with deliberate care, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

"Let go for me," he whispered against your skin, his voice barely audible but filled with command, "I want to feel you fall apart."

With that, he curved his fingers even more, pressing into that perfect spot inside you while his tongue picked up speed, flicking and swirling over your sensitive nub. Your body jolted, every muscle tensing as the pleasure built to a breaking point. You were so close—too close.

And then, with one final flick of his tongue, everything snapped.

A wave of euphoria crashed over you, your body convulsing as you came undone beneath him. You cried out, your back arching off the bed, your fingers tangling in his hair as your release washed over you in powerful waves. Your walls clenched around his fingers, your thighs trembling as the pleasure consumed you, white-hot and overwhelming.

Michael didn't stop, his fingers and tongue continuing their relentless assault, drawing out your orgasm until you were a quivering, trembling mess beneath him. He coaxed every last bit of pleasure from your body, his touch firm but gentle, his mouth worshipping you as you rode the high.

Finally, when you could take no more, your body spent and trembling, he slowed down, his fingers slipping out of you with a wet sound as he kissed his way back up your body. His lips brushed softly against your skin, each kiss tender and loving, a contrast to the intensity of the pleasure he had just given you.

He hovered above you, his breath warm against your cheek as he looked down at you with that same, unwavering affection. "I love you," he whispered, his voice hoarse but filled with sincerity.

You smiled up at him, still breathless, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your body continued to hum with the aftershocks of pleasure. "I love you too," you whispered, your voice soft but heavy with meaning, your heart swelling with the fullness of the moment.

Michael's dark eyes never left yours as he stood straight, the intensity in his gaze making the room feel smaller, the air thicker with anticipation. Slowly, he began unbuttoning his black shirt, each flick of his fingers deliberate, almost torturously slow, revealing the smooth expanse of his bare chest beneath. Your eyes followed every motion, captivated by the way his muscles shifted under his skin, the light catching on the sheen of sweat that still lingered from earlier.

He shrugged the shirt off, letting it fall to the floor without care. The fabric barely made a sound as it crumpled at his feet, but the sight of him standing there, shirtless, was enough to steal the breath from your lungs. His hands moved to his belt, the soft click of metal as he unbuckled it echoing in the quiet room. The leather slid from the loops with a quiet hiss before joining the shirt on the floor with a muted thud, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

You shifted, sitting up on the edge of the bed, your pulse quickening as you watched him with wide eyes. Michael didn't say a word as he reached out, his large hands wrapping gently around your waist as he pulled you to your feet, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours. The moment his lips met yours, the world around you melted away. The kiss was deep, fervent, full of passion, his lips moving against yours as if they were searching for something, something only you could give him.

A soft moan escaped your lips, muffled by the kiss, as his hands tightened around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The heat of his body, the firmness of his chest against you—it was intoxicating. You could feel the pulse of his need radiating from him, mirrored in the way your own body responded.

Your hands found the waistband of his pants, your fingers trembling as they unbuttoned them. The sound of the zipper lowering was lost in the fervor of the moment. With practiced ease, you slid the pants down, but before you could go any further, Michael caught your hand, guiding it beneath the waistband of his briefs. The heat of him was startling, the hardness unmistakable as your fingers wrapped around him, feeling him pulse and grow under your touch.

A shiver ran through you, your pulse quickening as the kiss deepened, your lips moving in a frantic dance of passion. You backed Michael up, the two of you moving in sync, until his back met the wall with a soft thud. He pulled away from the kiss, his breath coming in harsh pants, his forehead resting against yours as he gazed into your eyes.

"I love you," he whispered, the words rough and raw, filled with all the emotions that had been building between you.

Your eyes flicked from his lips, now swollen from the kiss, to his eyes, dark and full of longing. "I love you," you whispered back, your voice barely more than a breath as you gave his hardened shaft a teasing squeeze.

Michael's breath hitched, his hand coming up to cup your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he leaned in, capturing your lips again in a slow, sensual kiss. The intensity of it sent a jolt of electricity down your spine, and before you knew it, he was guiding you back toward the bed. Your body gave way to the soft mattress, the sheets cool against your skin as you collapsed onto it, your breath coming in short gasps as you watched him shed the rest of his clothes.

The sight of him standing there, fully bare, took your breath away. His body was a masterpiece of lean muscle, every curve and line a testament to his years of dancing. His abs were defined, his skin smooth and glistening under the soft light. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, the slight sheen of sweat catching the light. But it was the way his hardened length stood thick and proud, the veins running along its length prominent and pulsing, that had your pulse racing.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice soft but filled with awe as he moved toward the bed, his eyes never leaving yours.

You shifted, dragging yourself up toward the headboard, watching as Michael climbed onto the bed, his movements slow, predatory. He hovered over you, his breath ghosting over your skin as he kissed his way down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Each kiss, each flick of his tongue, sent shivers racing through you, your body arching toward him, craving his touch.

When his lips reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, dark with desire. He placed a soft, lingering kiss against your folds, his breath warm against your skin. The sensation sent a shockwave of pleasure through you, your body trembling with anticipation.

Michael held his hardened length in his hand, stroking himself slowly, his eyes never leaving your face as he teased you with the sight of him. His tip was slick with precum, the thick skin pulling back with each stroke, revealing the sensitive head that glistened in the low light.

He kissed his way back up your body, his lips brushing over your stomach, your chest, until finally, they found your neck. His body pressed against yours, his warmth surrounding you, the weight of him a comforting presence as his lips found yours again.

You could feel the heat of his shaft against you, the swollen tip brushing teasingly over your slick folds, sending a pulse of raw desire coursing through your body. The anticipation was electric, the air between you humming with unspoken longing as his breath mingled with yours, every brush of his skin against yours a promise of what was to come.

The teasing glide of his tip against your entrance had your heart racing, your core tightening with every soft, deliberate movement. His gaze held yours, intense and unwavering, making you feel like the only person in the world.

"You ready?" His voice was deep, laced with both tenderness and need, as he continued to nudge himself against your entrance, his precum mixing with the wetness that had already begun to gather there. The slick friction of him against you made your breath catch in your throat, and you could only nod, the words barely able to form on your lips.

"Yes, Michael," you breathed, your voice soft, trembling with the weight of desire. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your fingers threading through his hair, anchoring yourself to him.

Michael's hand moved with practiced ease, gently lifting your left leg and draping it over his shoulder, the position opening you up to him completely. The warmth of his body was overwhelming, the sheer size of him pressing into you making you shudder with anticipation. Slowly, carefully, he guided the tip of his length inside, his every movement deliberate as he stretched you, inch by agonizing inch.

You gasped, your head falling back against the pillow as he filled you, the sensation both overwhelming and exquisite. The stretch, the fullness of him inside you, made every nerve ending in your body come alive, your slick walls pulsing around him, adjusting to the invasion.

"Shh, relax, baby," he whispered, his voice rough with restraint. His eyes, dark and full of heat, flickered up to meet yours before dipping down, captivated by the sight of himself sinking deeper into your warmth. He took his time, easing in slowly, savoring every inch as your body stretched to accommodate him.

The feeling of being completely filled sent a shudder through you, your body tightening around him as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours. The fullness, the delicious stretch of him inside you, was overwhelming, and yet, all you wanted was more. His slow movements in and out were almost torturous, dragging out the pleasure, making you hyperaware of every inch of him.

Your eyes followed his, both of you transfixed by the sight of your bodies joined so intimately. His thick shaft glistened with your arousal, every movement making it shine under the soft, dim light. The way he slid in and out of you, slow and steady, left a trail of slick wetness that only added to the growing intensity of the moment.

Michael's breath came in shallow gasps, his mouth hanging open slightly as he watched your bodies come together again and again. The look on his face, the pure, unfiltered desire, sent a thrill through you, your own breaths turning into soft, shaky moans. Each thrust, each pull, was deliberate, his hips moving in a slow, sensual rhythm that had you climbing higher and higher.

He reached out, his hand cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The connection made your heart stutter, your body arching into his as he sank even deeper, the pressure building inside you unbearable in the most delicious way. Your moans were muffled against his lips, the sound of them only making him chuckle low in his throat.

He broke the kiss, his lips hovering inches from yours as he whispered, "You feel so good, baby."

And then, he went deeper, pushing past the point of teasing, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur, your body jerking in response. A cry escaped you, your hand flying to his abdomen, fingers splaying against the hard planes of his stomach in an attempt to steady yourself. But the truth was, you didn't want him to stop; if anything, you wanted more. Needed more.

Michael's chuckle was dark, knowing, his hand slipping from your face to your waist, holding you firmly as he thrust deeper, his pace still slow but each movement precise, deliberate. The tension was coiling tighter inside you, the heat building with every second. You could feel the pressure mounting, every nerve in your body on fire as you teetered on the edge, waiting for that final push.

"More, Michael," you pleaded, the need in your voice thick and trembling, your nails pressing into his skin with desperation. Every inch of your body was taut, straining toward the release you craved, but Michael was in control, holding you just at the edge.

"You want more?" His breath was hot and teasing against your lips, his deep voice vibrating through your chest. You nodded eagerly, your body arching into him, but Michael's dark chuckle made your heart flutter with both frustration and desire.

"I'm taking my time tonight, baby," he murmured, the words a slow, deliberate promise as his hips rocked forward again, his thrusts measured, almost torturous. "I'm not rushing anything."

A gasp tore from your lips as he pushed deeper, his tip brushing against your cervix with each precise movement, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body. Your muscles tensed, clinging to him even tighter, your breaths coming out in ragged, desperate pants.

"Michael..." you gasped, your voice a broken whisper as you held onto him like a lifeline, his warmth and weight grounding you amidst the overwhelming sensations.

His lips found the crook of your neck, soft and slow as he pressed tender kisses against your skin, the heat of his body melding with yours as he shifted, pressing deeper, stretching you further. Your leg still rested over his shoulder, his grip on your waist firm but gentle, pulling you even closer.

Each thrust was slow, deliberate, designed to make you feel every inch of him. It was maddening—the way he held back, savoring the moment, pouring all of his unspoken emotions into the rhythm of his hips. This wasn't just about pleasure—it was about making up for everything, about showing you just how much you meant to him. The love and regret hung between every breath, every deep plunge inside of you.

"Oh god, Michael..." you moaned, your voice cracking as your nails dragged down his back, leaving faint marks in your wake. His name was a soft plea, a prayer, whispered against his ear. The sound seemed to ignite something in him, urging him on, though his pace remained maddeningly slow, each thrust a steady, rhythmic beat like the pulse of a heart.

Your bodies were slick where they met, a sheen of sweat and arousal coating both of you, making the friction both unbearable and intoxicating. You could feel every inch of him, the thickness of his shaft stretching you to your limit, his tip pressing against all the right spots. Each slow retreat left you aching for more, but when he filled you again, it was like he was made to fit perfectly inside of you, his length pulsing in time with your own heartbeat.

He could feel the way your walls clenched around him, slick and hot, gripping him tighter with every slow thrust. The pressure inside of you was building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, threatening to snap with each deliberate movement of his hips.

"Tell me what you want, baby," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it as his hand cupped your chin gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. His dark eyes were filled with heat, with the need to hear you say it.

You moaned in response, unable to form words as his lips trailed over your neck, each kiss sending jolts of pleasure down your spine. His hips continued their slow, devastating rhythm, driving you mad with need. "Tell me," he coaxed again, his voice low and rough, a command hidden within the soft plea.

"I want you," you finally gasped, your voice broken and breathless, your body trembling beneath him. "All of you," you moaned, your words spilling out between labored breaths.

Michael's lips brushed against your ear, a soft kiss filled with reverence and need. "You have all of me," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Everything." His words were a vow, one that made your heart swell as his hands gripped you tighter.

Your nails dug into his back, pulling him closer, your moans vibrating against his skin. He responded with a deep groan of his own, his body pressing harder into yours as he buried his face in the curve of your neck. His tongue flicked out, teasing your skin, before his lips latched onto your throat, sucking gently but firmly, his intention clear. He wanted to mark you, to claim you all over again, as if the love you shared could somehow be stamped into your skin.

His slow, deep thrusts had you teetering on the edge, your core burning with the need for release. The tension inside you was unbearable, your body trembling as the pressure mounted, threatening to break. You were so close, so desperately close, and he knew it. He could feel it in the way your walls clenched around him, could hear it in the breathless moans that escaped your lips.

Michael's lips hovered just above your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing as he whispered, "I can feel it, baby. You're so close. Just let go for me."

The sound of his voice sent shivers down your spine, the rumble of it vibrating through your core. You were on the edge, teetering on that precipice of pleasure that only he could push you over. "Michael, please..." Your voice cracked, laced with desperation, the heat in your body growing unbearable. You clawed at his skin, nails raking along his back in a silent, aching plea for more.

His mouth lingered at your neck, his breath teasing your sensitive skin, and his voice dripped with both power and tenderness. "What is it, beautiful? Tell me what you want."

You could barely breathe as you looked up into his eyes, pupils blown wide with need. "Harder," you whispered, your voice shaking as you tried to find the strength to speak. The tension between you was almost unbearable, a heavy, charged silence that echoed in the room.

For a moment, he just watched you, his dark, molten gaze searching your face, savoring every flicker of emotion. His slow, deliberate thrusts continued, each one calculated, driving you wild with the need for more. He was holding back, teasing you, savoring your frustration. Then, without warning, his pace changed. His hips snapped forward with a force that took your breath away, his body slamming into yours with raw, unbridled intensity.

The shock of it ripped a cry from your throat, the sound broken and jagged, your moans turning into desperate, breathless screams that echoed off the walls. His name left your lips in a shattered gasp, "Michael!" The sharp, rhythmic slapping of skin on skin filled the space, each powerful thrust driving him deeper, harder, shaking you to your very core.

His hand found your chin, gripping it possessively as he tilted your face upward, forcing you to look into his eyes. There was fire there—an intensity that left you breathless. He leaned down, his lips rough as they claimed your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a possessive mark. Each kiss felt like a brand, a reminder of the connection, the tether that held you both together in this feverish moment.

"You feel that?" he whispered against your skin, his voice a deep, dark growl that sent a shudder through your body. "I can feel how close you are... just let go, baby. Let it out."

You tried to resist, tried to hold on to the last thread of control, but it was slipping, unraveling with every brutal thrust of his hips. Each time he moved inside you, he hit that perfect spot, the one that had your body trembling, your mind slipping into a haze of pleasure. The tension inside you snapped all at once, a white-hot wave crashing over you as your body shattered. You convulsed beneath him, your muscles tightening around him, your release coming in violent, uncontrollable spasms.

Your hands flew to his back, nails digging into his skin as you cried out, your voice lost in the storm of sensation. You could feel your own slickness coating him, your release mixing with his as he kept moving, unrelenting, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from you.

"Oh, just like that," he groaned, his voice a low, guttural growl as he felt your body responding to him. The tight, pulsing grip of your walls drove him closer to the edge, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. His arms wrapped around you, holding you against him as his body tensed, the muscles in his back tightening under your hands.

With a final, powerful thrust, he spilled into you, his release coming in deep, shuddering waves. His moan was raw, broken, his breath ragged against your neck as he emptied himself inside you. Each pulse of him inside you sent another ripple of pleasure through your body, your walls milking him for every last drop, the heat of him flooding your core.

Michael collapsed against you, his body heavy as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath still ragged and uneven. He was still moving inside you, slow, languid thrusts as he rode out the last waves of his release. The sensation was overwhelming, your body trembling beneath him, utterly spent.

You could feel his seed seeping out of you, mingling with your own, slicking the insides of your thighs and the rumpled sheets beneath you. The air in the room was thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and the aftermath of what you had just shared.

For a few long moments, the two of you just lay there, tangled together, the only sound the soft, heavy rhythm of your breathing. His heartbeat pounded against your chest, still racing, in sync with your own.

Slowly, Michael pulled out of you, his length slipping from your body with a wet, slick sound that left you trembling. He carefully lowered your leg from his shoulder, his hands trailing down your thigh, his touch soft, gentle in the aftermath. The cool air hit your skin, making you shiver, your body feeling strangely empty without him inside you.

He pressed a soft kiss to your hip, then your stomach, working his way up to your chest, leaving a trail of tender kisses in his wake. Finally, his lips found yours again, capturing you in a deep, lingering kiss. "I love you," he whispered against your mouth, his voice rough with emotion. "More than anything."

Your body was too exhausted to respond, but you smiled softly, your heart swelling with the warmth of his words. He eased off the bed, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment before returning with a warm, damp washcloth. Gently, he wiped away the sweat and the sticky mess of your shared release, his movements slow and careful, full of love and tenderness.

Once he was done, he discarded the cloth and slid back into bed beside you, pulling the covers over both of your bodies. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his chest pressed against your back, the warmth of his body soothing your trembling limbs.

His lips found your ear once more, brushing against your skin as his breath came in soft, warm waves. The simple, quiet intimacy of the moment felt profound as he whispered, "Hey."

You stirred in his arms, your body moving instinctively closer, seeking the comfort of his embrace. The bed felt like a sanctuary, the covers a cocoon around you both, holding you in this fragile moment. Your hand slipped out from beneath the blankets, your fingers trailing across his chest before coming up to his face. Your touch was gentle, delicate, as if you were tracing the very essence of him.

The room was bathed in a pale, silvery glow from the moonlight streaming through the window, casting soft shadows across his face. His strong features were softened by the light, the sharp lines of his jaw now gentle curves under your thumb as you traced the rough stubble there. His skin was warm, and you could feel the subtle tension in his muscles begin to relax as you caressed him.

"You mean it, right?" His voice was barely above a whisper now, the vulnerability in his tone raw and exposed in a way you didn't often hear. It trembled slightly, a hint of insecurity laced beneath the question. "You still love me?"

The weight of his words lingered in the air, fragile and heavy at the same time, like he was afraid of the answer despite knowing it deep in his heart. You nodded slowly, your fingers moving across his jaw, brushing lightly against the stubble that you loved so much. The texture beneath your fingertips grounded you in the moment, in the depth of your shared history.

"Always," you whispered, your voice quiet yet resolute, filled with all the love and assurance you could offer. The word hung between you, a promise as enduring as the years you'd spent together, filled with passion, struggle, and unwavering devotion.

A look of pure relief washed over his face, and his lips curved into a soft, almost shy smile that melted something deep inside of you. His dark eyes softened, the intensity in them easing as the tension that had been gripping his body finally released. He leaned in slowly, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, his nose brushing against yours in a gentle, playful gesture that was so quintessentially him.

Then, he closed the distance between you, his lips pressing against yours in a kiss that was achingly tender. It wasn't a kiss of passion or heat but one of love—deep, abiding love that spoke of shared memories, of moments when words weren't enough, of the bond that had grown stronger through every trial. His lips moved against yours slowly, reverently, sealing the love you both carried for one another, a love that had withstood time and trials, unshaken.

When he pulled back, the soft smile remained on his face, but his eyes held a spark of playful curiosity. "Good," he murmured, his lips grazing yours as he nuzzled against you, the warmth of his body wrapping around you like a blanket. "Because I didn't want to lose you. I don't think I could handle that."

You smiled at him, the affection you felt bubbling up inside you, and pressed your forehead against his. The closeness between you felt magnetic, an unbreakable bond drawing you together. The warmth of his skin, the scent of him, the sound of his breath—it was all so familiar, so comforting. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat, beating in time with yours.

"You never will," you murmured softly, your voice a gentle promise that you both knew was true. Your fingers traced the shape of his lips before resting on his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of his stubble beneath your palm. "But, like I said, thank your mother. She was a big help in all this."

Michael let out a quiet chuckle, the sound rich and warm, and his smile grew. The tension that had been hanging between you seemed to melt away completely, replaced by a sense of peace and lightness. He leaned in even closer, his nose brushing yours again in a playful, teasing gesture.

"Yeah, I guess I owe her one," he replied, his voice still low, but filled with affection and gratitude.

Before you could say anything more, he closed the distance between you again, this time with a kiss that was deeper, more intentional. His lips moved against yours with a gentle firmness, conveying everything that words couldn't—the gratitude, the devotion, the love that had claimed you both so completely over the years. There was something timeless about the way he kissed you, like each kiss was a reaffirmation of what you had, of what you would continue to build together.

As he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the room. The love that tethered you both was palpable, an invisible thread woven through years of memories, trials, and triumphs. And in that moment, in the quiet darkness, you both knew that it was a love that would last—still strong, still meant to be.

[zeddpool]

Superbat Week 2024 - Day 3

Xenobio Extravaganza

A/B/O | Alien Biology | Kryptonian Diet

(I am a massive xenobiology nerd, you have no idea the monster you've unleashed)

So I’m perpetually annoyed by the fact that Kryptonians look exactly like humans, have the same blood colour as humans, are reproductively compatible with humans, etc. despite being from completely unrelated planets

So I thought, what if Kryptonians developed a very mild form of shapeshifting as some kind of survival mechanism

So Kryptonian children slowly but surely grow to almost exactly mimic the dominant species of whatever place they grew up, or, like, the species they were raised by

So a Kryptonian raised by Skrull or Vulcans or wtvr would grow up to look like those species instead

It’s not a perfect explanation but it’s the first one that’s made any sense to me

Anyway, the illustration is just more of my headcanons on what remaining Kryptonian traits Supes might have, written in the style of Anatomy of a Metahuman, ie I tried to write it like these were Bruce's notes

Text from the image under the cut

Kryptonians produce far more varied pigments than Humans, and as such have a wider variety of hair, eye, and even skin colours: Kal has blue-pigmented eyes and hair a similar iridescent black as ravens and crows

Vestigial pointed ears, though what the ancestral purpose was, I can only guess

Kryptonians seem to have some similar membrane to the Tapetum Lucidum, giving Kal far superior night vision, though it must make it difficult for Clark to have his picture taken with flash

Very prominent canine teeth, Kryptonian ancestors were definitely meat-eaters, and his teeth seem to be actual bone, unlike humans

As muscle mass can only increase through repeated micro-tearing and healing during regular and strenuous exercise, Kal doesn't actually have that much bulk since he'd have to bench press an aircraft carrier every other day to "get big"

Lack of nipples would indicate non-mammalian ancestry, but the presence of a belly-button suggests Kryptonians were a placental species. The only alternative would be that Kryptonians lay eggs, which is...

...I have seen this man knowingly and willingly consume metal multiple times. I have no idea what is going on in here, but I fear asking him if I could get in his guts could be misconstrued. (Here's what inspired this point!)

From my translations of some Kryptonian texts, their society had wildly different concepts of gender than Humans, as well as indications that there was a wide array of how their biological sex presented. Perhaps my theory about egg-laying isn't so far-fetched...