this is one I've written in my head like a dozen times, but everytime I try to get it down on paper I can't word properly. Basic idea is Julia visiting cyn's grave and talking to her, finally confessing what she didn't when cyn was still alive. here's a rough snippet:
You replace the flowers, peonies this time. She’d never shared what her favorite was so you bring a different one each time. Maybe that would make her smile, but she would probably call you an idiot, overly-sentimental. She wouldn’t be wrong.
Why else are would you be here?
“We’re finally moved into the new headquarters,” your voice breaks the quiet. It had felt so stupid when your therapist had first suggested it, but it’s grown easier with time, like a lot of things. Beside you were always good at talking.
“It’s very snazzy, you should see the locker room. The sauna is fantastic, might even tempt you.” You continue in that vein for a while, listing the virtues of the new facilities, as if she would ever get to see them. Like she would be joining you next week on the training mats, or you might find her stealing food from the fridge in the breakroom.
here's some rough ortega 40th bday stuff featuring curtis
🌹 “You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.” You meant the words as a taunt, a barb to sting and get under his skin, but instead his smile grows wide and you fucked up.
🌹 “You do always call me an idiot,” he says with a chuckle hardly missing a beat, the bastard.
For cyn/julia: trailing kisses from your lover's lips to their neck
thank you for the prompt kitbug 💜 this is pretty short and mostly just me trying to get more comfortable with writing sort of spicy content. I'll get there someday
from this prompt list
like a moth to you
pairing: julia ortega/f!sidestep (cynthia basri)
rating: M heavy make out session
words: 700
read on ao3
You thought you remembered this. Memories played and replayed a hundred times, a thousand times, in your dampened cell at the farm. Even after you’d lost hope, after you knew she had forgotten you, you couldn’t forget this. You thought you remember how it felt.
You were wrong.
Your memories were a pale shadow compared to the reality of her. It was bad enough just watching her move, so sure in her own body, confident, beautiful. Her well-muscled arms and the broad expanse of her shoulders drawing your eyes. So much worse with her leaning forward, and that look in her eye is something you do remember. Her touch is gentle on your chin, her thumb brushing along the edge of your lip for a moment before she tilts your face up to capture your lips in a kiss.
It’s soft, almost tentative, until you let your arms wind around her neck, let your hands get lost in the dark mass of her hair. It’s all the sign she needs to deepen the kiss, to let her tongue delve into your mouth. Her one hand still cupping your face while the other is firm on your waist, her hips pressing against yours keeping you trapped against the edge of her desk.
She’s too good at this. Too good at turning you into putty in your hands. Too good at silencing the smarter parts of you. The parts that tell you this is a bad idea, such a bad idea, that you should walk away now.
She wants more
God, you do too.
Just like a sparring match, you are scrambling to keep up. Her lips moving against yours, pulling and pushing in equal measure. You’re out of practice and out of breath. Desperate reactions, as you try to keep up to not lose yourself completely to the pace she sets, her hand moving to the back of your neck, holding you where she wants you. Putty.
Her lips leave yours, and she chuckles at the needy whine that escapes you. Stupid smug Julia, and you want to say something to bring her down a peg, but she’s still kissing you. First a press to the corner of your mouth, teasing, so close to where you want her, a peck to your cheek, and finally a kiss to the edge of your jaw.
Her hand on your waist staring to stray, light teasing touches at the edge of your breast.
You’re still clothed. You’ll always have to be clothed, too many secrets on your skin. Your mind knows it would ruin everything, but your body doesn’t. The ache in-between your legs trying to drive away all reason, all logic, all rational thought.
If she doesn’t touch you, you’ll die. If you let her touch you, you are doomed. Stuck balancing on the razor’s edge, and her teeth find your earlobe. The warm of her mouth followed by the sharp sting of her teeth.
Paralyzed, you need to stop this you need to leave, but that would mean she would stop. Would stop the messy trail of kisses down your neck. Only slowing when she reaches the edge of your shirt. She lingers there, her mouth hot and insistent on your skin, setting your nerves to dancing.
She bites, not hard, but enough for you to give a started yelp.
The next kiss is soft as an apology against your neck. A warmer one against your lips, but without the heat of only a few moments ago. She rests her forehead against yours for just a moment before pulling back, letting the tension between you break and dissipate.
You find a reason to leave. You both know the excuse is flimsy, but she doesn’t protest. Her gaze is heavy on your back as you walk away, and you want to turn back, to let yourself be drawn back into her arms, but you resist.
You tell yourself you should keep your distance. You can’t continue to tempt fate this way, but you already know it’s futile.
You will let yourself be drawn back to her, drawn back into her arms, the temptation of her kiss. Even if it ends up destroying you, there’s no other way you’d rather go.
Send me a pairing and a number between 1-100 and I’ll write a short scene based on my Spotify Top 100 playlist
thank you friend 💜 this one ended up a little bit spicy 😳 still doing these as half hour flash prompts
49. a little death - the neighborhood
Touch me, yeah
I want you to touch me there
Make me feel like I am breathing
Feel like I am human
Want
pairing: julia ortega/f!sidestep (cynthia basri)
rating: m (minors dni)
words: 400
Your hands are shaking as you pull the shirt over your head. Not naked yet, still in an undershirt, but you are exposed. Even in the dim light the tattoos seem to glow. She’s seen them already, touched them in the dark before she knew when she could only feel your scars and think they were the only things that marked you.
Her eyes glance down and you keep waiting to see disgust, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, her eyes trace over you, slowly appreciatively, moving up your torso, lingering over the swell of your breasts, before meeting your gaze. Not disgust there, just an intensity which makes heat pool in your stomach.
Her movements are slow and deliberate as she crosses the space between you in her bedroom. Perhaps she fears any sudden movement might sent you running for the door.
She’s not wrong. Half of you is screaming out that this is dangerous. You need to run, to flee, to never look back. The other half is caught, ensnared in her brown eyes. Not caring about the danger, ready to expose your throat, at least you’d die at her hands.
“Is this okay?” she asks as she reaches out, fingers teasing under the edge of your undershirt, her hand finding the bare skin of your waist underneath.
It is. It isn’t. You can’t decide.
She pulls back, retreating a little, replacing her hands in the same position but this time on top of your shirt, and you exhale a breath of relief.
You never thought you would end up here, there was no version of events where she would still want to touch you after knowing the truth, where she would still want you.
Her hand is warm as she cups your cheek, pulls you in for a brief kiss, but you don’t let her pull away.
Easier to lose your fear when she is kissing you, easier to feel human. The bare skin of her shoulders in warm under your hands.
“It’s okay,” you whisper as the kiss breaks. “I want this.”
Her hand slips back under the shirt, her palm on your lower back, emitter against your spine.
“I want you to touch me, Jules.” You kiss her again, deeper this time, deep enough to draw a moan out of both of you.
“I want you,” you admit as you surrender yourself to her touch.
thank you kit for giving me an excuse to talk about cyn 🥺💜
1. How would they have their LI's number saved in their phone before and after they get together?
so back in the sidestep days it started out very formal as professional as Marshal Charge (that is once cyn actually bothers to get a phone) before changing to Ortega and finally ending up as Jules
in rebirth it's Ortega but then cyn changes it to idiot (and honestly she isn't sure if the insult is aimed more at ortega or herself. because she is an idiot for answering an idiot for responding) if the regene reveal goes okay then cyn will add a little heart after idiot.
5. What would their reaction be to being in a 'there's only one bed' kind of situation with their LI?
I am slowly picking away at a fic like this! At first cyn would say she'd just sleep on the floor. After Julia insists and convinces her to get on the bed, cyn would have a very difficult time falling asleep. if she eventually wakes up to ortega snuggled up against her she would pretend to be asleep as long as possible. knowing she should move, should get up and put the distance between them, but unwilling to lose the closeness.
13. What are their favourite spots to kiss and be kissed on?
she'd never admit it but, she really enjoys receiving forehead/temple/eyelid kisses. in the future, once her and julia are on more honest and open footing, kisses to her inner wrist will make her very emotional. She really enjoys kissing on the lips and neck.
Okay i gotta ask, what the hell is "no space riley"? 🤣
I can see why you have to ask 😂 but it's just a coincidence! one of my wayhaven detectives is named Riley
this is an old prompt that someone send me for "things you said with no space between us" I'm attempting something more on the smutty side with some softness, so who knows if it will ever see the light of day but here's a little snippet:
I already know how this is going to end. I know that look in her eye and how it sets my heart to thundering in my chest. Her grin widens and I know she can hear. She closes her eyes for a moment as if listening.
“You make the sweetest music for me,” eyes open bearing into mine, “but I prefer the vocals”
Not long after their second escape from the farm Vesper tries to get revenge against ric. Still blaming him for what happened and more than a little delusional. Breaks into his apartment and waits for him to get home.
Ortega gets tipped off by his fancy new security system. goes into the fight trying to keep the assailant conscious/get them to talk. Wants to know who sent them (he's sure it's hg) and doesn't want to just knock them out in case they were just there to place another bomb/bug the place.
Big fight ensues, Vesper is weak after their time in the farm, but vicious. Ortega trying to banter, to figure out what they are after, and feeling this creeping sense of familiarity with the way they move.
it's too dark to see their face.
finally having to shock the assailiant figuring he'll knock them out and get them to talk in custody. only seeing vespers face in the light from his emitters and feeling his whole world shift sideways
send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it
