#benson did all this for him.

[barklikeagod]

randy talking to the 911 dispatcher

[saintathelstan]

i keep coming back to the scenes with sheppard. like the guy's face falls when he thinks there's a possibility that benson was a former student of his. he looks worried that he might be recognized by him and it's like he's remembering exactly what he did. and then benson beats him up and it's so so visceral and violent. the way he screams when Randy's trying to talk him out of shooting, the way he's pacing, bursting at the seams until that final blow, the way he spits on him before finally walking away and leaving him for dead. and then he's so obviously falling apart and trying so so hard not to.

[broughttoyoubytheletterf]

The way Olivia says "but you weren't" to Eames at the end of "Acceptable Loss" after Eames' "It's like we were married."

Like Olivia's fucking body language. I cannot. It's very that's a lesson I learned. A hard won lesson. That hurt but I learned it. It might be etched in razor blade cuts across my heart but I learned it.

She might not be totally at peace with it, never can be, never will be, but she's accepted it as a permanent ache, an old wound. So now she knows how to live with it, just like she knows how to deal with the strike of pain everytime she thinks of her Mom. So she almost laughs when Eames says that because what else can she do?

She spent 13 years building her life around a man who left her without a whisper, if they had been married he would have at least had to show up at court. She would have known what it was like to have him touch her. Could have carried that memory. But she makes do. She is making do. Elliot Stabler was not her fucking soul mate. He was not her for better or for worse. He was just a man she worked with for a while and had an unhealthy attachment to.

She has admitted to herself, if not to anyone else, that their relationship, hers and Elliot's was unhealthy, especially towards the end. Maybe they never had sex, maybe they never did more than a quick pat on the back or, in truly desperate circumstances, a glancing hug, but they did everything but. She's not quite self hating enough to think her attraction was one sided, to think that he hadn't also forgetten the entire world when they were together, that he hadn't thought of her body when he was touching his cock. She had known, they both had known. And that was the problem. It was an emotional affair, she knew that now, she had known that then, she even saw it as it was happening and did nothing to stop it. Hell, sometimes with the amount of time she spent imagining them having sex she had forgotten it wasn't also a physical affair. Sometimes in her more cynical moments she wishes that shooter could have waited one more week, maybe even just one more day, to come shoot up the precinct because she doesn't think it would have taken much more than that for him to slam her up against the door of her apartment and fuck her brains out. And really if he was going to leave her for Kathy anyways he could have given her the parting gift of a good fuck first.

So she's okay with it now, mostly. In the way things are ever okay in this world. But, they were certainly not married.

Anyways, my point is where's the Eames/Olivia/Cassidy three way fic because Olivia is very grab life by the balls post Elliot pre Lewis. So like have some fun, stop postponing joy. And Eames is hot and she likes the idea of Eames watching her and Brian or vice versa. And Brian is very adventurous in bed and desperately wants to be worthy of Olivia and protective of Olivia. He likes some kinky shit and she likes some kinky shit. (The kink has been a little darker since Elliot left but no one needs to know that). So yeah they have a nice little menage a trois.

[vancula]

benson being furious that randy was wasting his potential working at a diner ... and using that woman who had worked at diners her whole life and did nothing extraordinary as an example ... only for him to then die outside of a diner..

[hislittleraincloud]

I'm going to go against the grain here and also say that students who actively flirt with their teachers are asking for trouble.

The vast majority of the internet wants to put all the blame and responsibility on the men (and women) whose jobs we help put on the line, but SOME OF US (like me) knew exactly what we were doing in exploiting both our sexuality and their attraction to our young, pretty faces and hot bods. We knew, and we used that attraction to our advantage all the time. Like this

Late teens/adolescents are no less responsible for their sexual aggression than they are responsible enough to be tried as an adult when they murder someone. That was the conundrum that Cairo was pondering in her final film recitation.

The sooner we admit this, the sooner we can all get on with our lives without ruining others.

ETA: Another thing that kinda makes Cairo a little evil is her paper and the way she describes Jon ("Mr. Murphy") as a horny, hungry predator (watching his students, "all cunts being created equal", etc.) when he had zero interest in any student until she came along. That's yet another nuance of reality Barrett included in there that sets Jon apart. Cairo knew damn well that he never looked at anyone the way he looked at her (via Winnie, but it was true since she caught him staring during the 'Ode to a Nightingale' presentation) and she exploited that.

ETA 2: This isn't to say it's going to stop. Flirting behavior is a natural thing for humans. It's a way for people to test others' boundaries...in a social setting, without such strong power dynamics.

[thewaltcrew]

Director Kirk Wise, screenwriter Linda Woolverton, and actor Robby Benson on casting the Beast [x]

They gave me an incredible amount of freedom. I didn't want Beast to be a cartoon character. I played it as though I were doing a Broadway show. As if this was a living person. And I wanted him to be funny. By funny, I don't mean shtick or one-liners. I am talking about real comedy. When real comedy works, and is truthful, especially with the Beast, it comes out of the fact that he is so pathetic. For some reason, I really understood that. Ha! Because of that, they gave me a lot of leeway. [x]

My first audition was recorded on, of all things, a Sony Walkman. As a musician, I had branched out into recording engineer and loved to play with sound. When I saw the Sony Walkman I knew it had a little condenser microphone in it, and if I were to get too loud, the automatic compressor and built-in limiter would 'squash' the voice— and there would be very little dynamic range to the performance. I did a quick assessment and wondered how many people who had come in to audition for the part were making that error: playing the Beast with overwhelming decibels, compressing the vocal waveforms. I decided to give the Beast 'range.' Because of my microphone technique, and an understanding of who I wanted Beast to be, they kept asking me to come back and read different dialogue. After my fifth audition, Jeffrey Katzenberg the hands-on guardian of the film, said the part was mine…

Beauty and the Beast was so refreshingly fun and inventively creative to work on that I couldn't wait to try new approaches to every line of dialogue. Don Hahn is one of the best creative producers I have ever worked with. The two young directors, Kirk Wise and Gary Trousdale, were fantastic and their enthusiasm was contagious. I not only was allowed to improvise, but they encouraged it. It never entered my mind that I was playing an animated creature. I understood the torment that Beast was going through: he felt ugly; had a horrible opinion of himself, and had a trigger-temper. Those are things that, if done right, are the perfect ingredients for comedy. Painful and pathetic comedy— but honest. The kind of comedy I understood...

In the feature world of Disney animation, the actors always recorded their dialogue alone in a big studio, with only a microphone and the faint images of the producers, writers, directors and engineer through a double-paned set of acoustic glass. Paige O'Hara and I became good friends; it was her idea that for certain very intimate scenes, such as when Beast is dying, we record together. We were able to play these scenes with an honest conviction that is often absent in the voice-over world...

The success of this film was the culmination of a team effort but I must say, the honors go to the animators— and for me (Beast), that's Glen Keane — and to Howard Ashman and Alan Menken. This was the perfect example of a crew who 'cared'. And the final results (every frame) of the film represent that sentiment. [x]

[mindmelter]

Assimilated StepDaddy

Ryan slowly woke up, feeling disoriented. He looked around, recognizing his stepson's room. But something was off—he couldn't move. It hit him then: he was tied up on the bed. Panic set in as he struggled against the restraints.

"W-what the hell? What is going on? Why I'm tied up?" Ryan shouted, trying his best to free himself from the restraints. All he remembered was coming home from a hard day of work at the construction site and grabbing a beer to relax on the couch, and then... he woke up here?

"It's ok, Ryan, no need to freak out," He heard his stepson's voice as he entered the room while holding a glass jar with a strange slug creature inside.

"Benson? You did this to me? You little shit! I'm gonna beat your spoiled ass once I'm out of here!"

"Oh, you're going to beat my ass for sure, just not in the way you think," Benson said with a smug tone, he tapped his fingers on the jar, making the sluggish creature move as if it was excited. "It was very easy to drug your beer. You passed out faster than I thought you would, and I confess it was very difficult to drag you to my room, you're so heavy. Unfortunately, I'm afraid we don't have much time left."

"You drugged my WHAT? I knew you were a fucking freak but not at this level!" Ryan tried to pull the restraints once again, but he finally realized there was no use. He sighed and looked at his stepson. "Look, let me go now and I won't tell your mom about what you did."

Benson chuckled, "I'm not sure if I believe you; I know you very well, Ryan; in the past two years, I've known your true self; you're a cheater, a homophobe, and a horrible stepdad. I can't trust someone like you, I'm not dumb. But don't worry; once I help my alien buddy take over your body, our relationship will change to something more... trustful." Benson then looked at the creature inside the jaar. "Isn't that right, lil guy?"

Ryan could swear he saw the little creature nodding its head. "What the hell is this thing you're holding? You're freaking me out Benson.... please let me go!"

Benson got on the bed between Ryan's muscular legs and slowly started to pull down Ryan's underwear, he protested, trying to make the process more difficult for Benson, but with both his arms and legs tied up, Benson easily pulled his underwear down to his ankles. "Oh my, I can see why mom likes you so much because it definitely is not because of your personality," Benson said, amazed by Ryan's girthy cock.

"That's too fucking far! I'm gonna kill you, you motherfucker!" Ryan shouted.

Benson just ignored him and opened the lid, freeing the slug from the jar; the strange black slug crawled toward Ryan's ass and started to force its way inside his hole. Ryan's eyes opened in terror as he felt something squirming inside his ass. "Take this thing away from me! Take this thing away!" Ryan pleaded, no longer trying to keep his tough, manly persona.

"It's ok, Daddy Ryan, you're going to be a much better stepdad from now on," Benson said, caressing his muscular thighs and watching the tip of the slug disappear inside Ryan's ass. For a few seconds, nothing happened until suddenly Ryan's eyes rolled back, and his body started to contort and convulse, his hips bulked up and down, and his back arched as his muscles tensed until suddenly his body went limp.

That was when Benson heard his mom's car arrive; his heart raced as he immediately started to untie Ryan as quickly as he could; he thought he could turn Ryan into his pet's host before his mom came home from work. He untied Ryan's ankles and walked out of his room; it was then realized he had forgotten to pull up Ryan's underwear, so he ran back to his room and pulled his underwear up. He made his way to the living room just as his mom opened the door and walked in.

"Hey, Mom," Benson said, sitting on the couch and trying his best not to sound too out of breath.

"Hey, sweetie, where is Ryan?" She asked.

"H-he's sleeping in my room, I think he got so drunk that he crashed in the wrong room."

"Poor thing, he works so hard, let him rest a little ok?"

Later that night, while his mom was in the shower, Benson went to check on his stepdad, and to his surprise, the bed was empty. He jumped when he felt Ryan's hand grab his neck from behind and his big bulge pressing against his ass. Ryan leaned his mouth close to Benson's ear and whispered. "Fuck... he really hated your ass, I'm trying my best to control his body not to twist your little neck."

Benson smirked; he knew it was no longer his stepdad speaking. "I thought you said you would take full control of his brain?" Benson whispered back, pressing his ass harder against Ryan.

"Shut up you little..." Ryan stopped talking mid-sentence, and then closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and then looking at Benson with more calm eyes. "I will. It just takes a while to fully assimilate his brain. There's still some parts of him left, I can still access some fragments of his memories as well as the hatred he had for you..."

"I think we could use all his hatred and use it for something more..." Benson then turned around to face Ryan and was about to caress his hairy pecs when Ryan suddenly pushed him down to his knees.

"You disgust me, you always did. If I didn't have a fucking slug inside my brain, assimilating it and turning me into a brainless puppet, I would have punched your dumb face right now."

Benson was so hard, his cock was leaking only at the sight of his hot stepdad standing over him, with his huge bulge just inches away from his face. He knew it was the alien in control, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't a bit scared.

"Ok, I'm starting to get a little bit wo..." Benson tried to stand up, but Ryan pushed him back on his knees again and then pointed at him.

"You better keep on your knees! That's where you fucking belong." Ryan whispered, he then pulled down his underwear, freeing his throbbing massive cock, hovering his shaft over Benson's mesmerized face. "I'm gonna facefuck you as a punishment, that's what spoiled brats like you deserve," Ryan then grabbed Benson by the back of his hair and smirked down at him. "You better take every inch of punishment," With that, he pushed Benson's face to take all his length. Benson loved the way Ryan grabbed both sides of his head and fucked his mouth like he was a fucktoy. Ryan came down his throat before his mom finished her shower.

A week later, Ryan had his brain fully assimilated by the alien slug, and there was nothing more left of him besides his hot body. The alien adopted a more loving and caring personality for Ryan that Benson loved, but sometimes Benson would ask the alien to act more like the old Ryan.

Their relationship had improved so much since Ryan got assimilated. Benson's mom would go to work in the morning before Ryan, so every morning before going to work, Ryan would go into Benson's room and give him a proper morning fuck, as well as his morning load. And every time Ryan came back earlier from work, he would take his shirt off and order Benson to lick his sweaty body clean.

"These armpits won't clean by themselves, boy. You better bury your face in these hairy armpits and clean them up with your slutty tongue!"

After giving his stepdad a proper tongue bath, Benson was sitting on Ryan's lap, with his ass fully stuffed by Ryan's hard cock while he squeezed and groped his stepdad's big hairy pecs.

"C'mon buddy, suck on your Daddy's tits, your mom will come from work at any minute," Ryan said while flexing his massive pecs.

Benson didn't waste any more time and started to suck on Ryan's huge tits. He had only two hours left before his mom would return from work, and he would always make the most of it.

[vettelsvee]

I ALREADY HAVE A WIFE | Sebastian Vettel

f1 masterlist | ao3 | ask me anything or let's talk!

ferrari sebastian vettel x race engineer wife!reader

word count: 3450

summary: seb messes up on a press conference while his pregnant wife is there, and he also has to face a journalist that wants to try have a chance with him

warnings: this is based on THAT interview you know all too well (what are YOUR plans?). curse words, pregnancy and everything involved in it, talks of abortion, mental health issues (fluff fluff fluff)

a/n: this is part of history series (coming soon as is being heavily edited). it was my maiden series so... look carefully between lines because there might be some details you don't want to miss out. let me know what do you think of this pleaseeeeee you know i'm always waiting for your feedback, as well as comments and chats on that anon button please! and also, don't forget reblogs are truly appreciated

© VETTELSVEE (2024). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

“Rose Benson, for The Times. A question for all three drivers: it’s just 102 days until we’re in Australia. What are your plans now between… What are you gonna be doing over the winter break? 

“What are your plans?”

Everyone in the room was no surprised by Seb’s answer. Laughter started to fill the room, spreading quickly except for two people: Britta and you. You noticed her gaze piercing your husband, as if she were mentally scolding him, like every time she did when he messed up. You, however, just looked at him with a look of disappointment.

She was unsure about what she had just heard, you knew it perfectly.

Seb face immediately turned pale, as if he knew he shouldn’t have said that. As Seb’s not also wife, but also race engineer, you were used to this kind of behaviour and jokes, but today… it just hit different. 

“Seemed to be counting the days,” he continued while starting to laugh a bit nervous. “Can’t wait.”

Max and Lewis, sitting next to him, joined in the laughter, making him laugh even more as the situation seemed to begin to slip out of his control. You were sure that he knew that having you just a few meters away, shaking your head constantly at the same time you whispered something to his PR didn’t bode well. 

“Seb, you go first,” a journalist said. “What are your plans?”

“Uh…”

“Another baby?” Lewis interrupted.

You knew all to well that he tried his best to not tell anything. Apart from your four years old little girl, both of your families, and Britta and Antti, no one knew yet that you couldn’t try for another baby because the baby was already on the way. 

You couldn’t take the risk of sharing the news and then telling people all over the world that you had an abortion, just as happened to you in 2016.

“Uh... well…” Seb stammered, not knowing what else to say. “Quickly done.”

Even though you were caught up in the laughter around you, you couldn’t control your growing nervousness, as well as your husband, and it kept getting worse every time you glanced at him. You crossed your arms, almost falling off your chair, and decided to rest your head on Britta's shoulder. You tried your best not to fall asleep, but the yawns continued leaving your mouth with no shame at all.

“If you need advice I know how to do it.”

Another mess-up.

Britta was already signaling with her hands to him so he stopped saying nonsense, totally overwhelmed not because she wasn’t used to it, but because she was maybe too worried about you. You straightened up as soon as you heard that, and instinctively placed your hands on your barely noticeable belly, thanking yourself for having decided to start wearing clothes a couple of sizes larger than usual.

“Keep pushing,” Max blurted out, immediately drinking from his bottle.

“Well... I don't know how long you two want to stay on free practice sessions, but... if you want…”

“I like free practice,” the Dutchman commented. “I'd rather stay there for now.”

Lewis and Max kept talking to him, but you knew he was trying his best to go along with the conversation.

After what felt like an eternity, the press conference ended. Everyone started to get up and scatter around the room, probably to chat with each other. The season was over, and they wanted to do the usual: say goodbye and wish each other a good winter break. Seb  did the same, with the difference that he headed straight towards you.

You were still sat, eyes fixed on the floor while you fidgeted with your fingers nervously, tears streaming down your cheeks.

You felt like a complete idiot because, even though he hadn't meant any harm and your really knew that, he should have thought before speaking because he knew all too well that you usually got overly sensitive. You had been through a pregnancy together before, and although it was a vast world full of unknowns, certain patterns did repeat.

The constant desire for sex and the hormonal ups and downs you suffered were the most obvious.

Slowly, he approached you and, with utmost care, knelt beside you, placing a hand on your thigh. You didn't pull away as you usually did when she was mad at him, and you saw in his eyes that he wasn’t expecting you to react that way.

“I'm sorry if what I said made you uncomfortable, especially that baby talk. The last thing I wanted to do was to upset you but I ended up messing up, like always.”

You lifted her gaze, meeting his. He knew you were not exactly sad, but a bit disappointed at the thought that someone might have discovered the pregnancy you were trying so hard to keep secret.

“I swear I hate you right now, Sebastian Vettel,” you said, being completely honest and letting the hormones act for you. “You made me feel so bad, I swear, but…”

Your words came out broken, and tried your best to keep your cool.

He knew you stopped talking because your eyes welled up more than usual: you were on the verge of breaking down but didn't want to do it in public. He leaned his forehead against yours, your faces almost touching.

“I never wanted to make you feel this way, my love,” he whispered. “You, alongside our girl, are the most important people to me, and you know that perfectly well,” you nodded, though he knew you doubted it. “You don't know how much I regret not taking care of my words…”

You looked at him, perhaps trying to find the obvious honesty behind his words. You knew he was being completely honest, but once again, your insecurity was consuming you and acting on your behalf.

“Seb, I hate myself right now. Quite a lot, actually,” you revealed in a nearly inaudible whisper. “I hate being pregnant because I feel useless! I'm so bipolar…” you tensed up, though standing and positioning yourself next to him to keep talking without anyone overhearing. “I want to hit you, I want to cry, and at the same time, I want you to take me to the bathrooms and have casual sex like we were teenagers. Do you understand me, sunshine?”

You said that but actually no, he couldn't understand you because he didn't know what it was like to be roughly eight weeks pregnant.

“Y/N, hey, listen to me love,” he said, holding your face in his hands and wiping away your tears. “You don’t have to hate yourself for feeling this way, alright? We’re in this together, and you’re going through a lot of changes. It’s completely normal to feel this way,” he repeated.

You nodded, and even curled your lips into a small smile. You didn’t waste any time and quickly started hugging him and leaving kisses on his right cheek.

But that ended abruptly when you both heard a throat clear behind you.

Britta was standing next to none other than the pink-haired girl who had asked your husband about his winter break plans earlier.

Rose Benson, that Italian journalist who had become one of the best, if not the most prominent, additions to Formula 1 journalism.

“Sebastian, as charming as ever I see…” her words made you cling tightly to Seb’s arm, a bit afraid. Again, your insecurity appeared. “Can I steal you for a few minutes for an exclusive interview?”

Her gaze fell with a hint of disdain on your, as if your were an unnecessary part of the conversation she was trying to have with your husband. Immediately, he wrapped his arm around your waist and started making faces at Britta so she could help him to get rid of that reporter.

As expected, she refused, letting him know he would have to face an interview he didn’t want to do but that it was up to him whether or not he did it. She knew better than anyone what it was like to deal with the media and, especially, with professionals like the one in front of you.

“I’m sorry, Rose. I’m busy.”

“Come on, Sebastian... we’ve known each other for years,” she persisted, getting a bit closer to Seb. “You know it would be an amazing interview... like so many we’ve had.”

You were starting to get upset again. The only thing he did was placing a hand on your belly, and it somehow calmed you, but not for long. 

“Benson, I’m serious. The only conversation I want to have right now is the one I was having with my wife,” he said, calmly rubbing your back.

“You’re disappointing me, Vettel,” she snapped, leaving you both in shock. WYou’re missing out a wonderful opportunity to be interviewed, in private, with someone like me.”

After hearing that, tears once again covered your face. You took a few steps back, slight pushing him and positioned yourself next to Britta, who didn’t know what to do other than wrap her arms around you while Seb was still watching the reporter start scribbling something on a piece of paper.

“Here’s my phone number, Seb,” she said in an overly suggestive tone as she handed him the piece of paper, which he took. “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider? We could find a more private place, and…”

As she got dangerously closer to him, Seb kept your eyes on you.

You hated how polite he was even though people acted in such a stupid way. 

“Rose, I’m sorry, but that’s not going to happen,” you said again. “My answer, once again, is no.”

“Have you never wanted to explore curves other than those on the circuit?”

“Why are you such a fucking bitch?! The only curves he explores off the circuit are mine!”

The woman’s insinuations had pushed you over the edge. Several people were already looking at you, and you’d swear some were even taking pictures or videos, so it wouldn’t surprise you if you went viral on Twitter that night.

Benson didn’t know what to say or do after your insult, except to end the closeness she had created by moving away from your husband as much as possible, trying not to arouse suspicion from the onlookers.

“Y/N, I think it’s best if we go get some air, what do you think?” Britta suggested you.

“No, I don’t want to go get some air, Britta!” you shouted again, breaking free from Roeske’s careful grasp. You were worried about you getting this upset, but you didn’t care at all. This wasn’t good for the pregnancy. “I want to tell this stupid journalist to learn to do her damn job properly and stop meddling in marriages!”

“Excuse me? Are you calling me a cheater?” she retorted, clearly offended. “You need to learn to control what you say, dear. You’re going to get yourself into more trouble if you keep this up.”

You were getting more nervous than hearing Seb during the press conference, you’d swear.

“Yes, you!” you snapped, moving further away as Britta tried to take you out. She must have noticed how pale you had gone. “Do you think Seb doesn’t have a girlfriend? Well, surprise! He married me last June and we’ve been together for nearly seven years, and we have a daughter, and...!”

The index finger on Seb’s lips was what made you stop from revealing your third pregnancy or who knows what else. Your expression revealed him that, although he had done the best to make you shout, at that moment you only wanted to kill him.

Britta began to guide you more quickly towards the door to get out of there, but your words still could be heard despite the distance with a frustration that was more than obvious. There was a point in your life when you started saying what you wanted, fought for what you believed was not fair, and you stopped being intimidated or afraid of anything or anyone.

That’s what probably made Seb fall in love with you more and more every day, even he actually thought it would be impossible.

When you finally left, Britta handed you a bottle of water and started to calm you down, but you just couldn’t relax. Now, you were still nervous and actually worried about what Seb could be saying to that woman. His body expressions, the ones you were seeing from distance, didn’t calm you as much as you thought, and when she handed him a piece of paper you completely lost it and, once again, started crying, leaning on a wall.

A few minutes, later, Seb approached you while you saw Britta leaving you two some space.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m so sorry about what happened there. I should’ve handled it better,” he started, his voice full of concern.

“Seb, it’s not your fault. She was way out of line,” you said, your voice trembling while trying to calm yourself down. 

He pulled you into a tight hug, your body relaxing slightly against his.

“We’ll get through this, together, like we always do,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head, hoping to soothe your nerves.

His gaze meets your tear-filled eyes. Gently, he took your hands and started caressing them with his thumbs, knowing how much it relaxed you in moments of distress like this.

"Thanks for taking care of her for me, Britta," Seb said, turning around to thank your second mother once more for looking after you and sparing you any trouble.

You wanted to say something to him, but as soon as Seb turned his back again you, he got closer and closed the distance between you two, pressing his lips to yours. 

You ended up forcing yourself to pull away not because you might get horny,because you're not used to showing affection in public unless it's a completely special occasion. The world knows you only hold hands lightly or maybe kiss on the cheek, out of respect for your profession and, above all, so that people see you as an engineer and not just a WAG.

Private moments were exclusively yours, and no one beyond your loved ones and yourselves needed to know about them.

"What's that about, Seb?"

You were too surprised, feeling a wave of emotions invading you. 

"The thing with Rose, or the kiss?" he asked innocently.

"Both," you replied shortly, then corrected yourself. "Sorry, it's just that girl made me feel like..."

You couldn’t continue. You put your hands over your face, but Seb pulled them away. There was no need for you to hide from him: he knew how you felt, and all he wanted in those moments was calming you and making you aware that there was no need for you to feel ashamed about anything.

"I only want you, Y/N," he brought you even closer and started touching your belly again, but now with more discretion. "In this, and a thousand more universes, and beyond life, whatever it is, and no matter what happens, I will always love only you. Just you, Y/N."

"Do you really love me? Even though I'm fat and ugly like I am now?" you wanted to know, doubting yourself as you focused on looking at your body up and down.

He chuckled softly at your comment. You weren’t not fat: your belly was just a slightly bigger than usual despite being in the first trimester because of your natural anatomy. 

"You're neither fat nor ugly, darling, but it's normal to feel that way," he comforted you. "You're experiencing changes, so don't overthink, Y/N. You’re a superhero: you’re creating a whole baby in there"

"But I just... I feel like a bomb of emotions. I feel so... so stupid and contradicting myself all the time..."

"It's the hormones," he interrupted you. "Don't press yourself for feeling that way. Do you remember when you were pregnant with Emily?"

Before he could say anything else, he made sure that, aside from Britta, you were alone in the hallway. Seeing that no one else was around, he kneeled down and brought his face to your belly. He placed both hands on either side and started kissing it, causing you laugh.

"Hello, my little girl. How are you doing? There's a long way to go, but mom and I are so excited to meet you, as well as your big sister, who really wants you to be born just to play with you."

You know the baby couldn’t hear you, but you felt so happy Seb was trying his best to make you a little happier.

"Stop, sunshine," you started saying, taking his arms to make him stand up. "Seb, seriously, get up. They're going to catch us!"

There was no one around, and he even double-checked to make sure. However, he decided to listen to you to avoid making you more nervous. At the same time, Britta nodded for you both to follow her. Seb took your hand and followed her steps.

"Seb..." you started speaking with some doubt.

"What is it, love?"

"Why did you say my little girl before?”

He turned hid head towards you. He saw you blushing and looking a little lost.

"Because I know it's going to be another girl," he confessed to you, leaving you a bit puzzled. "I don't know why, but it seems, and I truly believe, that making girls is our specialty."

"I think it's going to be a boy, but it makes sense: the other baby was also a girl..."

You forced yourself to stop talking. You didn’t usually talk about the miscarriage you had about two years ago, at sixteen weeks pregnant, and although you had made great progress after nearly making an irreversible mistake, it still hurted.

They say you learn from mistakes, but if you had seen the clear signs of the person who ruined your lives and had taken measures much earlier, things would have been very different.

"How about we make a bet?" he commented, trying to change the subject while now wrapping his arm around your waist. "If it's a boy, I'll take you on vacation wherever you want."

"And if it's a girl, like you say?" you wanted to know.

"Then I'll take you to dinner at your favourite restaurant. The one you always want me to take you whenever we go visit your family."

You looked at him strangely, knowing perfectly well that what he said wasn’t really a bet; in fact, it's anything but a bet. Adding to that, his voice sounded so calm that it might have surprised you with his passivity.

Britta and Antti look at you both as Seb helped you to enter the car, as if they wanted to know what you were talking about. You look that he shook his head at them and immediately started laughing.

"And what are you laughing at now, Sebastian?" you snapped at him again as he sat next to Britta. "Are you trying to mess with me, or what?"

"What's wrong with her? Is she okay?"

The whispers from his training coach, who clearly wanted toknow what was going on without appearing nosy, made him laugh even more. He didn’t even answer him and directly looked at you:

"Start thinking if you want to go to Cadiz or Mallorca, and if you prefer a McDonald's burger with pickles and ice cream with ketchup and fries or your aunt's wiener schnitzel."

Your eyes lighted up with excitement. You knew that he was making you decide, but in the end he’ll do all of that, and more, for you. Seb was the best partner ever and took care of you amazingly, especially when you were pregnant or struggling with your mental health. 

"I hate that you know me so well, Seb," you ended up saying, taking some candies from Britta's hand. "But I'm sure you don't know what's on my mind right now."

Of course he did, he knew you too well. You were just being horny, and your face showed.

"Y/N, I really appreciate you all," Roeske began to say as she looked at both of you, "but please: stop acting like you know what in front of us. Can’t you contain yourselves for ten minutes and then do whatever you want when you’re alone in your hotel room? Really, I’ll take care of Emily and I'll even stay all night listening to loud music on my headphones so I don't have to hear you moan all the time. Agree? But please: behave, kids."

[little-diable]

Broke my heart and called me pretty, won me back and called me his - Tyler Owens (smut)

Watched Twisters again and I simply needed to write another Tyler fic. I listened to "Pretty Slowly" by Benson Boone while writing this. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tyler had ended his engagement to the reader years ago, all for her to chase her dreams. But when he turns up as a guest for her lecture, both find themselves thrown back into the love they still feel for one another.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), ex-lovers to lovers, some angst, lots of fluff tho

Pairing: Tyler Owens x professor!fem!reader (4k words)

“(Y/n)?” Her eyes flickered up from her notes, watching her assistant take a step into her office. With a soft smile playing on her lips, (y/n) waited for Alice to keep on speaking, knowing that she must leave for her upcoming class in a few minutes. 

“There’s been a scheduling problem with your guest for today’s lesson, they sent somebody else. He’s waiting outside for you.” For a second, she only stared at Alice, letting the words sink in before her annoyance and anger could clash through her. Organising guests who were willing to speak to her students has always been a struggle, she spent hours on finding the right people and now she couldn’t help but curse them for not giving her an earlier notice.

“Send him in, thank you, Alice.” (Y/n) began to collect her notes as the elderly woman left the room to fetch whoever was waiting outside, buying herself some time to remain calm. Deep breaths left (y/n), fighting through the uneasiness she couldn’t shake. 

The sound of boots meeting the ground rang in her ears, and suddenly her body began to tense, freezing on the spot almost. Somehow she could feel him before she saw him, instantly knowing who was about to enter her office even though it had been years since they had last seen one another. 

“Would you look at that, I’ve always wondered what your office looks like.” His voice shot shudders down her spine, a reaction she had once been all too familiar with but couldn’t help but curse now. With her teeth buried in her lower lip, (y/n) let her eyes wander over his features, fuck he was still as handsome as he had been all those years before. 

“What are you doing here, Tyler?” Her voice didn’t carry much strength, just enough to draw his wandering eyes back to her. Tyler studied her for a moment, keeping his distance while both seemed to get lost in the draw they had felt ever since their first date, knowing that the other was the one - or at least it had always felt like that. 

“Jake gave me a call this morning, told me he couldn’t make it. And since we were in the area anyway, I didn’t mind stepping in.” A scoff clawed through (y/n), followed by the shake of her head. She kept her eyes focused on her things while she rose to her feet, set on getting this over and done with as fast as possible.

“Of course you didn’t mind, the holy saint Tyler Owens just can’t help but present himself at any given chance.” His hand shot out to catch her arm before she could brush past him, forcing (y/n) to stand close to him. 

“Hey, I’m doing you a favour here, least you could do is treat me with some respect.” His voice still had that southern drawl to it she had longed to hear for way too long. She had deleted all his socials, hadn’t talked to any of their shared friends, no matter how many times she had longed to do so - even thinking of him hurt still too much. 

“Respect? I’m amazed you even know what that word means.” Both looked at one another for a moment, caught up in the memories that still haunted them to this day. Perhaps it could have been different. Perhaps they could have still been together if their path hadn’t been forced to an end years ago. 

“I did what was right, you can paint me as the bad guy, but don’t lie to yourself, darling. I did it for you, and I would do it all over again.” She ripped herself out of his grasp and muttered a small “Follow me” before leaving the room. Tears threatened to build in her eyes, forced to remember the day he had broken up with her, weeks after he had asked her to marry him. Deep down she knew that he was speaking the truth, if he hadn’t broken up with her, she wouldn’t have followed her dreams to study overseas to end up where she was now. And yet she hadn’t been able to let go of her hurt to this day.

The sounds of their shoes meeting the cold ground was the only thing that could be heard, nothing but heavy steps that felt like they were moving towards their end once again. Ancient lovers reunited in their last hour on this earth, and with one last chance they were offered to find their way back together. A chance that was now slipping through their fingers. 

“Good afternoon.” Her voice boomed through the big room which was filled with students who all instantly stopped speaking. Tyler kept his distance, waiting near the door while studying her every move. This was what he had hoped for all these years ago. For her to end up right here, doing what she had always dreamt of doing.

Parts of him had cursed himself for ending their engagement, but as much as he had wanted to follow her and help her chase her dream with him by her side, he hadn’t been able to leave. He had broken both their hearts with hurtful words spurred on by the anger he had directed at himself and at the circumstances he hadn’t been able to rip himself free from. 

“This is Tyler Owens, I’m sure some of you may know his channel. He’ll talk to you about storm chasing today, please bear in mind that you’ll get enough time for questions after his talk.” She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to get lost in the eyes she had always tried to look for in every room. Eyes that had once held their shared secrets. Eyes that had watched her grow into a young woman after meeting when they had been mere teenagers. Eyes that still appeared in her dreams whenever her mind needed a reset from the battles she was currently fighting.

The sound of loud claps filled the room, he moved closer with a smile glued to his lips - a smile that slightly began to drop as she mumbled a quiet “I’ll be in my office” while brushing past him.

……

“Hey,” Tyler’s voice filled her office. A soft sigh left (y/n) as she forced herself to look at him, unable to bite down the hurt that had been clawing at her skin since the second he had first entered her office hours ago. “You missed an interesting class.”

“I,” she cleared her throat while shifting around on her seat. “I watched the stream. You were good, they loved you.”

“Well, what can I say? We have a big fan community.” A soft laugh managed to leave her before she could stop the sound, forcing heat to rise in her system. “Will you grab dinner with me? I think we’ve got some catching up to do.” 

She should have said no. She should have kindly told him that she had other plans. But knowing that she’d most likely not see him again for years and years to come felt like a punch to her gut. So all she did was nod her head and grab her purse, ready to leave her office for the day.

No words were spoken between them as he guided her towards his truck, the same one she had seen in his videos. It felt strange being here with him, sitting in the truck that added to this internet persona of his she was a stranger to, barely recognising the man he was now. 

“It’s bigger than I expected it to be.” (Y/n) blurted out the words while she looked around the truck, watching Tyler drive them to the spot he seemed to have in mind. The smirk tugging on his lips told her that she had just shared something she shouldn’t have, letting him in on the knowledge that she was watching his videos every now and then.

“I always wondered if you were watching us. They miss you, you know.” Nothing but a hum managed to pass her lips, unable to speak up as her throat grew tighter. It had been years since she had last seen his crew, the people she had once called her friends and had cut off the second she had left home, unable to think of anything that had something to do with Tyler. Years had passed before (y/n) had allowed herself to get back into all things storm chasing, which also meant catching up with Tyler and his work. 

“I miss them too.” Her eyes flickered down to his right hand which seemed to move in her direction but before Tyler could touch her, he pulled back again, balling a fist that rested on his thigh. It hurt her more than she had thought to see him like that, seemingly struggling just as much as she did with their newfound distance after all these years. And yet they were still bound together, by something neither could put a finger on. 

“Thought we could visit Mary Jane’s, for old times’ sake.” She couldn’t reply, not when one memory after another caught up with her. They had lost count on the amount of times they had chased in that area, grabbing dinner and coffees at Mary Jane’s at any given chance. A bittersweet memory that only worsened the heavy feeling settling on her chest. 

After parking the truck, she watched him round the car to help her down, keeping his hand placed on the small of her back for a second too long. It felt as if Tyler had to force himself to let go, to remember that she no longer was his to touch, even though it only felt right to keep close. 

“So, tell me, professor. What did I miss? What did you do the last few years? Your mom didn’t tell me much.” Her focus was ripped from the menu at the mention of her mother. She hadn’t told (y/n) anything about being in touch with Tyler, hadn’t dropped his name once. Every now and then (y/n) had wanted to ask about him, knowing that her mother was most likely at least watching his videos, but something had always held her back. Perhaps she had been too scared to hear of stuff she wouldn’t be able to stomach, wondering if he had moved on, if he had found another woman to spend the rest of his life with. 

“You’re still in touch with her?” The approaching waitress momentarily distracted them both, taking on their orders while (y/n)’s gaze kept flickering back to Tyler. Seeing him again had made everything more complicated, a distraction she hadn’t needed, but as much as she wanted to run and hide from the past, she also couldn’t stop herself from wanting to ask all these questions burning on the tip of her tongue. 

“Well, I call her every Christmas and on her birthday, and she does the same.” An unjustified anger simmered inside of her, drawing a frown onto her features while averting her gaze. It felt unfair that he and her mother had kept in touch, sharing details about their experiences and what they had done over the past years – all while (y/n) had fought so hard for a clean start away from her past. “Hey, look at me, pretty.”

“Don’t call me that, Tyler.” Hurt flashed over his features, a sight that only worsened the pain she felt deep inside of her. 

God, what was she even doing here? There was nothing left to say, nothing but a proper goodbye so she could go back to her day and forget the pain she had tried to bury six feet under. 

“Listen, (y/n).” Tyler reached for her hand before she could pull away, forcing her to keep her focus on him. “I didn’t do it right back then, should have sat you down and told you everything I feared and worried about. I should have given you the chance to make this decision for yourself. But I don’t regret giving you an out, you deserved to experience every dream, everything you have worked so hard for. Don’t blame me for wanting you to live the best possible life you could dream to live.”

“But what if all of those dreams had lost their meaning without you? What if nothing worked the same way without you by my side?” A tear dripped from her eye before she could try to wipe it away. She couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t read what was swimming in his pupils. Nothing but hurt and confusion that made her pull her hand away from his big one. “This was a mistake.”

She pushed herself out of the booth and rushed outside while more tears kept on falling. The shaky exhale leaving her drowned out the sound of Tyler calling for her, catching up with (y/n) before he pulled her against his broad chest. Sobs clawed through her as Tyler’s hand kept stroking up and down her spine, holding her close. 

“I got you, darling, I always will.”

……

“Here, do you need anything else?” It had been hours since her breakdown at the diner. Hours that had been filled with a shared dinner, memories that had been whispered about and eventually a drive back to her place. It had already been late by the time they had left Mary Jane’s, leading her to invite Tyler to stay in her guest room for the night. 

“I’m alright, thank you, darling.” Tyler shot her a smile before he pulled her in for another hug. With a kiss pressed to her hairline, he eventually let go of her, watching (y/n) leave the room after a few hesitant seconds.  

Her heart was racing until she found herself laying restless in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The past hours kept replaying, flashing past her open eyes while wondering if Tyler had managed to fall asleep. Seeing him again had ripped open all old wounds, leaving her confused and torn between too many sensations. For the last years she had tried to move on, had gone on many dates that had led to nothing but a hopeless feeling that she may never get over Tyler and the love she still felt for him. A feeling that had now resurfaced once again. 

With an annoyed sigh clawing through her, (y/n) left her bedroom again, freezing in her step as she found Tyler’s frame standing near the window in her living room, staring down on the city. Slowly, she moved closer, wrapping her arms around herself as she came to a halt next to him. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” His raspy voice made goosebumps rise on her skin, forcing her to shake her head while trying to keep her focus on the lights. A few seconds of silence passed before Tyler wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her against his side. “I missed you, pretty.”

This time she didn’t comment on it, could only push herself further into his embrace to search for his warmth. Wordlessly Tyler pulled her along to her sofa, plopping down on it before she placed her head on his chest, falling back into a routine that felt too familiar. 

“Do you think we would have been married by now if things hadn’t ended?” The question was whispered, rolling off her tongue without giving it much thought. (Y/n) had always wondered about their wedding, how it would have played out, who they would have invited and where it would have taken place. 

“Oh, for sure. I wouldn’t have been able to wait much longer before calling you my wife.” His soft chuckle vibrated through both their bodies, drawing a smile onto her lips. 

“I was so excited for it. It would have been the best day.” Tyler tightened his grip on her waist while pressing another kiss to her hairline. For a moment, neither of them spoke, keeping quiet as their thoughts began to spiral. She felt his muscles tense beneath her, making her wonder what he was about to speak while the night wrapped its comforting veil around them. 

“It can still be the best day.” Her heart skipped a beat, wondering what he meant by that. Her eyes found his, seeing the way he was torn by whatever kept buzzing through his mind. She wasn’t sure what he meant by it, and yet the way he looked at her, filled with something she hadn’t felt in years, left her wondering if he was still talking about the two of them. 

“What are you saying, Tyler?” His hand came up to cup her cheek, feeling her warmth pressing against his hand. Seconds of silence blurred by, making both their hearts race while he fought to find the right words. 

“I won’t ever be able to love anybody the way I love you, and that will never change. And judging by what you told me, it’s the same for you. Marry me, for real this time.” She pushed herself off his chest, rising to her feet with a teary laugh that was torn between excitement and sadness. (Y/n) stared down at him with her fingers buried in her hair, trying to figure out if this was just a joke fate was playing on her. 

“That’s insane, Tyler.” He mimicked her movements to draw her back in, hands resting on her waist. 

“You know what they say, pretty, if you feel it, chase it. And I’m so tired of living this life without you by my side.” Her body forced her to move, to close the distance between them with her lips finding his. Electricity buzzed down her spine, forcing her even closer to deepen the kiss. Kissing Tyler had always been an experience to say the least, two magnets that fit together, an explosion of heat and longing, and yet this felt even better than all these years ago. It felt right, more right than anything else. 

Without breaking the kiss, he picked her up, forcing her legs to find their way around his waist. Tyler carried her back to her bedroom, letting them rest on her mattress with him hovering over her. 

“Do you mean it? Really mean it?” (Y/n) mumbled the question against his lips. His fingers brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear, a warm touch that communicated what both felt at that moment, an undying longing that grew stronger with every passing second. 

“Marry me, (y/n).” Another laugh clawed through her, a sound that turned into a moan the second his lips found her neck, kissing their way down to her collarbones. 

“Alright, I will marry you.” Tyler kissed her again as his hands disappeared beneath her shirt to pull it over her head, exposing her naked frame to his wandering eyes. 

“You’re even more gorgeous, fuck. I can’t wait to make you mine again.” Her eyes fluttered close as he tugged on her panties, pushing them down her legs. Tyler’s mouth kissed its way to her aching heat, groaning the second he tasted her again after all these years. With both arms slung around her thighs to keep her close, he ate her out, letting his rough tongue brush through her slit before sucking on her pulsing bundle.

Moans and groans left both, high on the different feelings both were held hostage by. No longer could (y/n) remember if being with Tyler had always felt like that, all she knew was that she never wanted this moment to end. She’d happily be stuck in time like that, forever reunited with the one that had gotten away. 

Tyler let his gaze rest on her pleasure-drunken features, trying not to get too eager while his hardening cock begged for her attention. He’d fuck her all through the night and then some more in the morning, having to burn every passing moment into his mind to fight against the fear of waking up in a few hours from a too good to be true dream.

“Tyler,” his name rolled off her tongue, spurring him on to push her over the edge. (Y/n) had her back arched off the comfortable mattress, hands fisting the blanket while her first orgasm clashed through her like a ship hitting the cold ocean ground. She lost control of the moment, could only give room to her sounds the blinding sensation pushed through her. 

He kept lapping at her folds, prolonging her orgasm while he couldn’t bite down his proud smirk. Tyler still knew her body like the back of his hand, able to map her out even with both eyes closed as if she had always been his. 

“What will it be, darling? What do you want?” Tyler’s voice had grown lower, raspier even while he still lingered between her trembling thighs. He watched her heavily exhale, needing to ground herself before letting her twinkling eyes find his. 

“I need you inside of me, now, Tyler.” Without having to ask twice, he followed her command, getting rid of his shirt and his tight boxers before finding his way back to her. He watched her fish for a condom, helping him roll it down his length as both their hands shook from the anticipation and excitement they couldn’t shake. 

Somehow it reminded her of her first night with Tyler, the first time he had fucked her in the back of his truck in the middle of nowhere. It had been the best night of her life, or so she had always thought - until today at least. 

With his lips pressed against hers, he kept himself close as he pushed into her, slowly. Both groaned at the feeling, no longer used to being connected this intimately. She clung to him with her nails clawed into the soft skin of his back, needing to adjust for a few seconds before a soft “please” managed to leave her. 

They weren’t in a rush, weren’t set on chasing a high within a handful of seconds, but it felt too good to have one another back again, set on giving their all to the other. Every thrust hit her swollen spot, every thrust reminded (y/n) of the way Tyler had always managed to make her feel - as if he was the match setting a petrol station ablaze, a heat so strong it could melt her skin right off her body. 

Forever his, forever hers, a story so complete, neither could manage to put it into words. 

Their bodies met with every faster growing thrust, set on feeling her walls flutter around him while he kissed her breathless. She stared up at him, getting lost in the eyes that were filled with a love so strong, she was sure that neither of them would be able to let go ever again. 

“Atta girl, you’re doing so well for me. I got you.” He pressed a kiss to her neck while he deeply exhaled. Both tried to drag out the moment, hoping that they could stay connected for longer, but their bodies had other plans, needing another high while falling off the edge together.

Tyler’s hand found her right thigh, pulling it closer to her body to hit deeper spots that made both groan. She snuck a hand between their bodies to circle her pulsing bundle, desperate for the relief cumming around him would push through her. Encouraging praises and sweet nothings left Tyler, spurring her on to let go before he could. 

And then (y/n) came again, high on everything he embraced while another moan left her. Tyler fucked her for a few more moments, chasing his own orgasm before he groaned against her warm skin. The feeling buzzing through them both only grew stronger, keeping them united while they tried to catch their breaths.

“Are we really doing this? This is insane.” Her breathless laugh filled the room, leaving Tyler chuckling while he lifted his head off her chest. He looked at her for a moment, pressed a kiss to her slightly swollen lips and then pulled out of her.

“We are, and I can’t wait to finally call you my wife.”

[corroded-hellfire]

Tiny Dancer - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish Story

Summary: It’s your daughter Eliza’s first recital and Eddie couldn’t be prouder

Note: This idea came to me and would not leave me alone until I wrote it 💕

Warnings: older!eddie, dad!eddie

Words: 1.9k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Why did I have to wear a tie?” Luke complains, yanking at his buttoned-up collar. 

Eddie leans forward so he can see Luke around Ryan, who is seated between them.

“Because this is a special occasion. Your sister’s first recital.”

“They’re three-year-olds,” Luke hisses in a whisper, one hand gesturing towards the empty stage. 

“Hey,” Ryan says to his brother, “she cheered louder than anyone for you at your baseball game. You can do this for her.”

Eddie nods at his oldest in thanks. 

Luke turns to you and asks, “Think her hair is still all up in the bun?”

Wrangling your daughter’s dark curls into the ballerina bun on the top of her head had been a massive undertaking. Some spirals were shorter than others, so there were always a few popping out right as you would go to secure the hair with the white bow. It was an immense test of patience to try time and time again all while Eliza became more antsy and less appreciative of you tugging on strands of hair. She ended up with enough hairspray on her little head to make her hair as hard as a helmet. 

“It’s out of my hands now,” you say, wiping your hands and holding them up in defeat. “If Ms. Benson wants to deal with a curl going rogue, that’s on her.”

The lights dim and eight little ballerinas walk onstage, all with hands on their hips, poofy pink tutus flaring out just below them. Their instructor, Ms. Benson, follows them out to make sure they’re all in the spots they should be. 

Eliza is the third ballerina from the left, and she looks so precious you think your heart might burst. Her white tights and ballet slippers somehow aren’t stained even though they’d been in your house longer than forty-eight hours. The pink leotard and tutu give her the regal air of a princess, though that might just be Eliza’s own aura. She’s nothing if not captivatingly glamorous. It looks like all of her unruly curls are still on their best behavior, but it would be hard to see one or two offenders that sprang loose from the audience anyway.

You peek over at Eddie and see him beaming as he looks at your little girl up onstage. He feels your gaze and turns his head to meet your eyes. The pride on his face makes your heart melt against your ribs. Eliza hasn’t even done anything yet and Eddie is over the moon.

“She’s so beautiful,” Eddie whispers.

“Like her dad,” you reply, giving him a wink. 

He playfully rolls his eyes, but you don’t miss the touch of pink that colors his cheeks. Luke puts his hands on his stomach and pretends to gag. Eddie thunks him on the back of the head. 

Ms. Benson finishes her inspection and gives the girls a thumbs up. She scurries off stage, all ballerinas still with hands on hips. None of them can truly stay still, though. A few are swaying, one is twisting from side to side, and Eliza shakes one little leg, her knee bouncing up and down. You’re unsure if it’s due to nerves or anticipation. 

A few moments later, the speakers above the stage crackle to life. The opening notes of music tinkle and the voice of young Shirley Temple singing On The Good Ship Lollipop floats through the air. 

Eliza and her fellow dancers start to move, tapping the slipper on one foot on the stage in front of them, then switching to the other foot. It’s hard to tell what foot they’re all supposed to be on, since it’s split about fifty-fifty with what foot each girl is using. 

On The Good Ship Lollipop

It's a sweet trip to a candy shop

Where bon-bons play

On the sunny beach of Peppermint Bay

Arms go above Eliza’s head as she spins around, little feet stomping around in a small circle rather than spinning on one foot. Once she’s facing forward again, her arms come down to shoulder level and her knees bend and straighten, bend and straighten, as the ballerinas bounce. Again, all girls are going at different times and speeds, so it’s hard to know on which notes they’re supposed to be up or down on. 

Lemonade stands everywhere

Crackerjack bands fill the air

And there you are

Happy landing on a chocolate bar

Next, it’s one hand back on the hip and one hand waving out to the crowd as the dancers rock from side to side. You specifically remember Eliza practicing this move at home and she kept reiterating how her toes needed to be pointed on the foot she wasn’t balancing on. Only two other girls have their toes pointed at the appropriate times, so you can tell they didn’t take this step as seriously as your daughter. 

The moves of the eight tiny dancers are clunky and mismatched, which makes the performance all the cuter. When they all walk to the right on tippy toes, they’re at varying heights, some more flat-footed than others. On the march back to the left, one girl stomps so hard you can hear the clacking of her slippers. 

With arms out, the girls do one more twirl and then take their bows. 

The crowd breaks into applause and the small girls smile, appreciating the praise for their performances. The ballerina farthest on the right jumps up and down in excitement and the one on Eliza’s left waves furiously to her family. But Eliza stays in her final position, grinning from ear to ear as she looks out at you and her guys. 

“Yay, Eliza!” Luke cheers. 

Ms. Benson comes out, leads the girls in one more bow, then ushers them all off. The applause is still going.

“There’s my ballerina!” Eddie grins and catches Eliza as she runs over and leaps into his arms. He presses a smacking kiss to her cheek and squeezes her in his arms. “Mwah!”

“I did good?” she asks as the other girls reunite with their families all around you. 

“You were wonderful,” you tell her, leaning in to give her a kiss on the opposite cheek. “Did you hear me cheer for you?” Luke asks.

“Yes,” Eliza says with a giggle. “So loud!”

“Of course, it’s Luke,” Ryan says. He ignores Luke’s jab to his ribs as he reaches up and presents his sister with a bouquet of white flowers or different varieties.

Eliza beams and takes the crinkling plastic wrapping from him. She leans in to sniff the flowers and giggles as a few brush her nose.

“I got flowers!”

“For being the best ballerina ever,” you tell her.

“I love! Can you hold ‘em, Daddy?”

“Of course, my little ballerina.” He takes the bouquet from her with his free hand.

Ryan pulls on the bottom ruffle of his little sister’s tutu. “You look like a pretty poof ball.”

“Mama, can you take bow out?” Eliza asks.

“Sure thing, sweet pea.”

Eddie bends down a bit so you can see the top of her head. As gently as you can, you unwind the bow from her hair, wincing when you accidentally tug on it. Tough little girl that she is though, Eliza doesn’t whine.

Once you get it out, you do your best to stifle a laugh. It’s not good enough though, a snort of laughter breaking through your hand covering your mouth. Luke and Ryan laughing as well doesn’t help, either. 

“What?” Eliza asks with a pout.

“Sweetie,” Eddie says, also with a small chuckle, “I think Mommy used so much hairspray on you that your hair is stuck up in a bun all by itself.”

She gasps and her hands go to the top of her head. She feels around the stiff hair, moving backwards to the curly bun that hasn’t fallen one little bit since you took the bow out. Short fingers inspect the bun and Eliza turns to look at you with panicked eyes.

“Mama!” she cries. “My hair!”

“It’s okay, Liza,” you tell her, not able to help a small giggle coming out with your words. You pat her back soothingly. “As soon as you take a bath, it’ll be good as new.”

Your words visibly calm her. Her shoulders lower, though she still keeps her hands up on her hair. Now that she knows it isn’t stuck that way, she’s able to find the humor in it. Small giggles turn into loud laughter as she begins to shake her head from side to side like a wet dog getting out of the bath. Her hair hardly moves, only wobbling a little when she really whips her head around. 

“Do you want me to put your bow back in since we’re going out to eat?” you ask.

Eliza gasps. “We are?”

“Yep! Wherever you want,” Luke says, but adds under his breath, “despite my begging.”

“Yes, bow please.”

“What do you want to eat?” Ryan asks as you secure the soft white bow back around her stiff bun.

“Mmm…pancakes!”

“Ooh, breakfast for dinner,” Luke says, nodding his head in approval. “Nice choice. I’ll gladly wear my fancy schmancy suit while eating a waffle.”

“Okay, you can take off the tie now,” Eddie says. “I don’t feel like washing syrup out of it.”

“You don’t feel like washing syrup out of it?” you ask, raising your eyebrows at your husband.

Eliza pats her dad’s shoulder three times, as if she didn’t already have his attention.

“Mama does wash.”

“You tell him, kid,” Ryan says to his little sister. 

“Why you taking the girls’ side?” Eddie asks as you all begin to head towards the doors.

Ryan looks over at his little brother who is wrestling to get his tie off over his head. It’s currently stuck around his eyes and Luke just keeps tugging on it. 

“I’m not on his side,” Ryan says, looking back towards his dad. 

“Well, help him!” Eddie scolds Ryan.

“I gotcha, Luke,” you say.

A few strategic pulls and you have the knot undone, the green tie falling away into your hand.

“Thanks,” Luke says as he reaches up to rub his nose. “How’d you learn to undo ties?”

“Taking dad’s off,” Ryan says with a smirk.

Both you and Eddie whip your head towards Ryan with wide eyes. Luckily, both of his siblings are too young to get his innuendo. The further he gets into his teenage years, the more subtly inappropriate comments he makes.

“Dad doesn’t wear ties a lot,” Luke says.

“You’re right, Luke,” you say, ruffling his curls. Then you step closer to Ryan and wrap your arm around his head, your hand closing in over his mouth. “And you need to watch yourself, Mr. Teenager.”

Ryan mumbles something beneath your hand and the muffled sound makes Eliza laugh. When you still don’t move your hand, Ryan licks it, and you yank it back. Eliza laughs even harder at that. 

“You think it’s funny?” you tease, wiping your saliva-coated hand off on your daughter’s tight-clad leg. She squirms in Eddie’s arms, her legs kicking and almost catching him in the crotch.

“Ewww!” Eliza squeals. 

“I don’t have germs,” Ryan says.

“Yes, you do,” Luke and Eliza say at the same time. 

“Can I eat at a different restaurant?” Ryan asks.

“Nope,” you say, looping your arm through his. “You’re stuck with us.”

“Yep!” Eliza echoes. “You’re stuck!”

[avis-writeshq]

04 — you are in love

summary: “you can hear it in the silence.”/”you can hear it on the way home.”/”you can see it with the lights out.” in other words; the four times spencer wants to kiss you, and the one time he wishes he did. pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, slow burn,  warnings: drug mention, alcohol (reader gets a little tipsy), vomit (not in detail) wc: 3.4k a/n: thank you again to the wonderful amazing @astrophileous for beta-reading MWAH zara you're a real one <3 SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

Falling in love is something that Spencer thought he would never get the luxury of doing. It’s a fairytale. After all, his parents were supposed to be a perfect example of what love should be like and look how they ended up. Yet despite it all, he always seems to find himself going back to you. You, who makes it so easy to love but he doesn’t deserve it. He refuses to believe he deserves it. He feels so horribly broken that it doesn’t make sense why you would love him, or why he deserves to love you. 

It takes Spencer another three months to actually properly come to terms with the fact that he’s in love with you. He’s spent most of his free time attending Narcotic Anonymous groups upon your insistence and he hates to admit that it helps. He didn’t think they would at first, despite the swirling statistics of their effectiveness but he figures that it wouldn’t hurt. The other times when he’s not doing something drug related, therapy related or work related, he’s with you. Your apartment is almost like a second home to him and you’d given him your spare key (he went home with a ridiculous grin on his face and had to chug several cups of water to calm himself down). 

Since your leaving the BAU, he’s left a series of trinkets on his desk that remind him of you. A little ceramic blue bird beside the animal skull models. It’s no bigger than his pinky finger and when he asked you why you gifted it to him, you told him that it represents hope and renewal. He thinks he needs a lot of that.

In the first drawer of his desk is a framed picture of you and him at a Doctor Who convention with him dressed up as the Tenth Doctor and you in all blue in an attempt to dress up as TARDIS. It was a fun and silly day but it was enjoyable and that was what mattered. After a series of unfortunate events, Derek happened across the photo, claiming that there was no platonic explanation for it. 

(“Care to explain this?” He had asked, holding the frame with a grin on his face. He was looking into Spencer’s desk for a specific file on the Benson murders, only to be met with a very familiar face.

Spencer immediately lunged for the photograph, grabbing it and securing it back in his desk with a heavy slam. “Don’t.”

Derek put his hands up in mock surrender, although his eyes were sympathetic. “There’s nothing platonic about that, kid.”

He huffed in response, rubbing at his eyes and taking a seat at his desk. “I know.”)

The first time he came to terms with the fact that he actually wanted to be with you was after a specific realisation. Some cases are harder than others. It’s a given; some cases are just more difficult to deal with and therefore harder to compartmentalise. Each person is different, especially when you factor in trauma. Derek struggles when pedophilia is involved, and JJ finds suicide cases the worst. Hotch can barely function properly when children are targeted, and Emily hides behind a mask so effortlessly that the most mundane things can get to her. After a period of thought, Spencer realises what he struggles to deal with: bullying.  

“You should have– you should have heard what they were saying!” Spencer insists, pacing his living room floor while throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. 

He had just returned home from a case in West Bune, Texas, and it was probably one of the most difficult cases he had to go through. The UnSub was a teenager named Owen and after a very tense confrontation with him outside the police department, he was taken into custody. The entire nature of the case irked him. So many deaths could have been prevented if people just did something but now a boy is in custody with a body count nearing the double digits. 

“They didn’t even try to deal with the bullying,” he continues, running his fingers through his now long hair. He can’t bring himself to get it cut; especially not after the incident with Hankel some moons ago. 

You don’t say anything, sitting on his couch and sipping your tea, your eyes trained on the way he paces back and forth. 

“People are dead because of them. I’m not saying that they didn’t deserve it because they did, but something should have changed.” His words are harsh as he continues to walk, clenching and unclenching his hands. 

“You can’t change anything about it now,” You say gently, your gaze shifting from his hands to his arms to his face. “What’s done is done. All we can do is hope that the school board learns from their mistakes.”

“But they don’t!” He exclaims, turning to face you. He swallows thickly before sighing, slumping into the seat beside you and pressing himself into his side. “It’s just so… frustrating. They never learn.”

You nod, running your fingers through the knots in his hair. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“That could have been me,” he says quietly, burying his face into the palms of his hands. He presses the pads of his fingers into the corners of his eyes, stars dotting his vision.

“But it’s not,” you say firmly. “You’re a good person, Spencer. You’re saving people and putting the bad guys away. That’s a far cry away from being an UnSub.”

You’re looking at him now and he tilts his head to meet your gaze. You’re so close to him and Spencer can hear his heart pounding in his ears. 

Kiss her.

The words that enter Spencer’s mind are enough to give him whiplash and he pulls away, pretending that he doesn’t see the hurt in your eyes when he does. 

What?

“Are you okay?” You ask, frowning up at him. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, trying to shake the thoughts from his mind. He offers a smile. “I’m okay.”

*** 

“Emily doesn’t blame you, you know.”

The words hang in the air as you sit on the floor of your bedroom, the thundering storm pounding against your windows. Spencer shrugs, sitting next to you. The power is out across Washington and the flickering of candles helps to light up the room. Spencer fiddles with the rug on the floor and your brows knit together. 

“Walter.”

“I know.” He buries his face in his hands and lets out a groan. “I know, I know. It’s not my fault. It just feels like it, you know? We knew that it was a cult but we didn’t know that it was… that bad. God, angel, you should have seen her. She was beat up and everything and it feels like I could have done something.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” you chastise, brushing your shoulder against his for a moment. “You really need to take better care of yourself.”

He doesn’t respond, simply moving so that he’s lying down on the rug in your room. It’s a soft tufted rug that goes from a dark purple in the middle to white around the edges. It’s one of his favourite rugs in the world. You’re sitting cross legged beside him, leaning against the bed. The soft glow of the candles illuminate your face and you truly look like an angel in this light. 

He just came back from a case in La Plata County in Colorado and he was ordered to take a week off by Hotch to deal with the traumatics of the case. What started out as an undercover investigation in an underground cult led to a gun fight and a bombing, all while Spencer and Emily were inside the compound. The way Emily looked so in pain after the whole ordeal would haunt him forever; the black eye she suffered from, the bruising to her chest… he doesn’t even want to think about the rest of the things that could have happened. 

“Stop.”

Your voice pulls him from his thoughts and he sucks in a breath.

“I didn’t do anything,” he says meekly, playing with the rug underneath him.

“It’s not your fault.” You smile at him before hitting him lightly with one of your pillows. “Stop that.”

He laughs loudly, grunting a little from the impact of the pillow colliding with his face. “Hey!”

You grin teasingly and hit him again with the pillow. He retaliates quickly, gripping the pillow and trying to tug it out of your hands. Your grip is a lot stronger than he thought it was and his tug sends you flying towards him, a shriek leaving your lips as your forehead bounces off his. 

A hiss of pain leaves your lips but you’re laughing as you clutch your forehead. “Spencer what the hell?!”

“I’m sorry!” He says, not really meaning it, and rubbing at his head. He’s laughing along, his cheeks warm as he smiles up at you. His hands move to your face, one to your cheek and the other to brush the hair on your forehead to the side. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You laugh again, smiling a brilliantly beautiful toothy smile. The candlelight dances in your eyes with a warm orange light as you do. “Are you?”

His gaze meets yours, watching the way you brush a strand of hair behind your ear and the way your eyes crinkles when you smile. He watches the way you lean against the side of the bed, tilting your head back with your eyes closed. God. He swears you’re trying to kill him.

“Spencer?” You ask with a soft chuckle, and the sound is so pretty that he doesn’t mind the fact that you find amusement at his expense. “Are you okay?”

He nods, his throat dry and his cheeks hot. He blames the candles. 

*** 

The couch is never comfortable. You are well aware that the couch feels strangely lumpy and you’re pretty sure one of the springs is broken but for some reason you keep insisting to take it whenever you stay at Spencer’s apartment. The blanket he lets you use is thick and cosy to make up for it and the pillow is always fluffed. 

“Good morning.”

Spencer’s voice is raspy with early morning vocal fry and it makes your heart lurch in your throat. 

“Morning,” you murmur, eyes still closed in an attempt to calm yourself down. Maybe if you don’t see him you won’t embarrass yourself.

“Still tired?” He asks, and you hear him start the coffee machine. There’s the sound of rustling in the background along with the flicking of a switch. Too many sounds for too early of a day.

“Mm.”

He chuckles, deep and rumbling, before sipping some water. “Yesterday was fun.”

Yesterday involved fourteen hours of watching Doctor Who and passing half way through the nineteenth episode after stuffing yourself full of junk food. Yesterday involved passing out on Spencer, forcing him to move you to the couch and into a position that wasn’t going to destroy your neck. Yesterday involved the most platonic and innocent activities known to Earth, despite the way his words insinuated something entirely differently. 

“You fell asleep before the best part,” he says, pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

“You could have watched without me.”

He shakes his head as he stirs the sugar. “That wouldn’t have been right.”

A hum leaves your lips as you get up from the couch, stretching your arms and making your way over to him from behind the kitchen island. You’re wearing one of his old Doctor Who t-shirts that he let you keep, the sleeves reaching just past your elbows. Your hair is a mess and your eyes are half closed but you look so…

Cute. Seeing you in his shirt drives him wild. There’s something possessive about it and for a second he feels gross. He feels like he’s taking advantage of you but he’s obviously not; you’re the one who stole that shirt from him many moons ago and you’re the one who chose to wear it that day. Regardless, he can’t help but be transfixed as you walk around his kitchen like it’s your own home. Spencer’s eyes follow your figure as you pull open one of his cupboards and grab your mug (a really stupid avocado mug that’s bright green with a lid) before pouring some coffee into it. 

“You’ve been going to your NA meetings, right?” You ask him, sipping your drink.

He nods immediately, his gaze never leaving you. “Yeah. Once a week.”

“That’s good!” You tell him, the caffeine slowly beginning to wake you up. “That’s really good, Walter.”

He smiles at you, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Thank you.”

For a few moments, all he can think about is you. Your hair smells like your special vanilla shampoo that Penelope got you hooked on and your skin smells like lavender and orange blossom. He remembers JJ giving you a sample in the office and you went and ordered a whole bottle during your lunch break right after. The compliments you got that day were like no other, and he remembers the way your eyes would light up every single time someone commented on the perfume, as well as the way you would excitedly talk about the different notes. Now, whenever he smells lavender or oranges he thinks of you. He doesn’t think it’s a problem in the slightest.

You sip your coffee again, the sound of the toaster dinging in the background, accompanied by the thick smell of char. In an instant, Spencer jolts from his place and places two very burnt slices of toast onto the plate, his nose scrunching up in frustration. 

“I was gonna make you breakfast,” he tells you lamely. “I think we should get croissants.”

You laugh, dumping the pieces of toast into the bin and nod. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”

*** 

The rare occasion when Spencer drives is when you’re not fit to. He picks you up at two in the morning at a bar and you’re sitting in his passenger seat. Your hair has a few tangles here and there and you’re wearing the prettiest purple dress. 

“You really didn’t have to pick me up,” you tell him tiredly, rubbing at your eyes. “I could have gotten a taxi.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, leaning over the console to buckle in your seatbelt. “You called me, I’m here. I’m not going to let you get into a stranger’s car when you’re drunk.”

 “I’m not drunk!” You protest, your head leaning against the car door. “I had one drink.”

“Which can lead to a blood alcohol level of 0.01 to 0.03,” Spencer says, shooting you a smile. “I’d rather not risk it, angel.”

You groan and lean back on the chair. “I swear I’m fine.”

“Why didn’t your friends take you home?” He asks, starting the ignition. “Didn’t you say you were going to hitch a ride with them?”

A hum leaves your lips and you nod. “That was the plan. But one of the designated drivers couldn’t come last minute and the car wasn’t big enough.”

Spencer frowns, backing out of the driveway. “How long were you waiting outside of the bar?”

“Um…” your brows furrow as you think of the answer and you fiddle with the hem of your skirt. “Ten minutes?”

“(Y/N).”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t think it would have been that long,” you huff, rubbing at your eyes. “I promise I was careful.”

Spencer shoots you a frustrated look, sipping at his lukewarm takeaway cup of filtered coffee but keeping his eyes on the road. “You should have called me sooner.”

“I felt bad,” you respond sheepishly, offering him a guilty smile.

Spencer hums, running a hand through his hair. He hasn’t had the time to get it cut so for the time being it’s left slicked back and out of his eyes. He’s wearing his glasses now, too, because he didn’t have the time to put in his contacts. He looks a lot better than he did eight months ago, and he feels it, too. The white t-shirt he’s wearing is filled a little better now that he’s gained a little weight. Happy weight you had told him, pinching at his sides, it means you’re healing.

“Can you pull over?”

Your voice comes out small and Spencer snaps his head to look in your direction. “Yeah. Yeah, of course– hold on.”

He parks at a random McDonald’s on the side of the freeway and you immediately get out of the car and hurl in one of the bushes. He grimaces, getting out of the car to rub your back comfortingly.

“You okay?” He asks, continuing to rub circles on your back. He holds your hair away from your face, watches as your necklace dangles from your neck and catches the light from the 24/7 fast food place.

“... I might have had a little more than one drink.”

He can’t bring himself to get upset at you. Instead, Spencer just sighs and brandishes a bottle of water from the side pocket of his car. “Sip it slowly.”

You do as asked, taking small tentative sips of the cold water. He holds your hair in place, brushing a few strands away from your eyes and forehead. 

“This is exactly why I didn’t want you taking a taxi,” Spencer says with a hum, satisfied when you finish drinking half the bottle. “What if you threw up in their car?”

You groan, wiping a hand over your face. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, angel,” he says sympathetically, lifting your chin with his index finger so that you’re looking at him. “I just worry. You should be able to rely on me, too, you know.”

“Okay,” you say through drunken stupor. “Didn’t mean to worry you, Walter.”

“I know,” he repeats softly, running his fingers through your hair. “Hey. Look up.”

You do, and you stare up at the sky. Stars dot and litter the navy sky, and if you squint you could see a faint blue star.

“That’s Venus,” he explains, gesturing to the little dot. He points to a smaller, redder light just below it. “That’s Mars.”

Even amidst the light pollution, the planets shine brightly. Your gaze is fixed upon the little planets and stars, enjoying the midsummer night’s breeze, the nausea you felt moments prior beginning to subside.

“Do you know what Venus represents?” Spencer asks softly, brushing his shoulder against yours, smiling when you shake your head. “Venus represents love and beauty in Roman mythology.”

You laugh, pressing your nose into his shoulder. “Do you believe that?”

“Scientifically? No,” he admits, “Venus is a planet. It doesn’t really represent anything but a giant ball of gas. But people place significance on insignificant things because it gives them meaning so I understand why they do it.”

It’s quiet for a little while, aside from the occasional sound of a car passing by and a cicada chirping. A cool breeze blows past but it’s more comforting than anything as the two of you sit on the hood of his car: an old 1965 Volvo Amazon in the colour blue horizon with paint chipping off at the inner fenders and bumper ends. He lets you sit on his jacket, your dress and legs protected from the dirty car bonnet. Your head is on his shoulder, your arms wrapped around his and you’ve traded your heels for a pair of Spencer’s spare mis-matched socks.

“(Y/N),” he whispers, rubbing his hand on your arm. “We should get you home.”

You nod, wiggling your toes in the socks. “Yeah.”

Spencer pauses and looks at you, watching as you yawn and hop off the car. He says your name again, chuckling a little bit when you look up at him a little dazed. The words get caught in his chest as he takes a tentative step closer to you. You’re so close. Just one small move. That’s all it would take… he dismisses the thoughts when he can smell the liquor on your skin. 

“You’re my best friend,” he says quietly after several moments of silence. 

You smile at him. “You’re my best friend, too.”

He drives you home that day with more regret than necessary. He wishes he kissed you. It would have made his life so much easier.

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full work

reblogs are always appreciated!

[actualyves]

Thinking about the exceptional work the wardrobe/costume department did on The Passenger.

Kyle Gallner and Johnny Berchtold are a lot closer in size than Benson and Randy appear to be (which is to say Benson appears much bigger than Randy).

Benson’s clothes hang off of Randy, he’s practically swimming in them. Meanwhile, they’ve put Benson in a bulky cardigan and a white t-shirt, both of which create the illusion of him being significantly larger, on top of the already established idea of “Look how big Benson’s clothes are on Randy”. I would love to see them swap outfits and see if the illusion is flipped.

Even the way they wear their work clothes -the same outfit- they manage to make Benson look noticeably bigger.

Benson’s sleeves are rolled up and his shirt is tucked in, as opposed to Randy, whose sleeves are down and who wears his shirt untucked.

But if you look at the actors themselves out of character dressed similarly, suddenly they don’t necessarily look all that different build-wise.

Kyle Gallner is absolutely shredded as hell, but Johnny Berchtold is not the bird-boned, waif-like boy that Randy is and is muscular/fit himself.

Idk, I just think it’s fascinating how they took a character who was, personality wise, so significantly bigger and translated that physically despite there not being a major difference in their sizes.

[weebsinstash]

I'm not typically a fan of pregnancy au stuff for hazbin because it introduces a hell lotta new questions, but anyways, I DO find it absolutely entertaining thinking about a Reader who did the nasty with Alastor and had kind of a friends-with-benefits situation with him and he does his whole 7 year disappearing act without warning you or telling you anything at all (assumedly because he did not have a choice or opportunity) and he comes back, knocking on your front door, "say, doll! What's say we mosey on over to our old favorite jazz club to catch up on old times?"

and suddenly peeking out from behind your back is just the cutest little fawn with a head full of curls who is very clearly Alastor's son, clutching at your apron, "Mama, isn't he the man you listen to those old recordings of? He sounds the same"

Alastor feeling this, this WARMTH in his chest as you invite him inside your home and it's completely different from the last time he was there, filled with everything your son could need, his drawings and report cards from that nice school you break your back to afford stuck lovingly on the fridge and a hot home-cooked meal currently cooling on the stove as Alastor's invited for some food... if he feels comfortable. You and him discuss privately where your son can't hear as you get all weepy, "I'm sorry, but when you disappeared, I couldn't... ASK you what you would have wanted... I didn't want to have some kind of, of PROCEDURE and you hate me for it... and even from the very first scan, I loved him so much... he's my entire world... I couldn't even CONSIDER... getting rid of him. He's my beautiful smart baby boy and i would die for him"

Genuinely I think it would be real funny if Alastor is initially quite jealous actually for having to share you with a CHILD, but the more time he spends around the young boy, the more he realizes, oh, this is quite the upstanding young fellow! His mama raised him right and he likes to help around the house, likes to read lots of books, loves all kinds of music, helps his mother on all the crosswords and word searches and puzzle books, and he's smart enough to suss out pretty quickly, "sir are you my father"

and the second your son receives an answer, just, KICKING THE RADIO DEMON IN THE SHIN, "You're a horrible man!! You call yourself a gentleman but you left my mama to raise a baby all by herself!! You're terrible! Incorrigible! Disrespectful! Untoward!--" Your young son is breaking out the goddamn dictionary and synonyms on this man, "you lying, deceitful, devious, DEPLORABLE--"

And Alastor is watching this little kid threaten to beat his ass and not even caring that he's up against The Infamous Radio Demon, just shouting at Alastor until the young boy is absolutely changing colors in the face, getting SO SO upset for his mama that he's ready to FIGHT OVER IT, and Alastor is just, essentially, breaking out into laughter, "oh, so you ARE my son!! Aren't you a gutsy one!! Put JUST a little force behind that next one and it might actually sting a bit!" and pats the boy on the head. That settles it; he's accepted as Alastor's son like THAT

Of course, Alastor now caring for this boy does not come without its... complications. There might be some 'incidents' if you, for example, have other positive role models for your son, other men who are regularly coming around, making Alastor's new position as the boy's father and your not-quite-husband (yet) feel threatened and unstable and encouraging the Radio Demon to 'act out'. You're so happy to have Alastor back in your life that you don't even notice things are a little off until your son starts mentioning things like "Mama where did Mr Thomas go? He used to come by every Thursday to play chess but I don't remember seeing him for a while?" "Mama I know Benson has bullied me and pushed me down and stolen my things but I saw his mom crying outside the bookstore earlier saying he's gone missing and I think we should help look for him" "Mama I know Mr Alastor said we don't need her and he can teach me but I also like my old piano teacher. Could I have some lessons with her and some with Mr Alastor instead of just all of them with him? I miss Ms. Mason"

But like... you don't want to deny Alastor a relationship with his child after they both have already lost so much time and you don't want to deprive your son of his father without a good reason, so you stifle some of your suspicions. It's all for your son's sake, isn't it? And you can't help but, get a little selfish when Alastor insists on taking you and your boy out, going to see live bands, going to local events, taking your son to the county fair and you feeling tears in your eyes as, your boy finally gets to spend time with his father. It's like... it's like you're a real family... you've always wanted something like this, for him, for them, for yourself--

But... Alastor doesn't... see you THAT way, does he? He displays his emotions much differently than you, and there were even times in the past where Alastor himself drew the line in the sand that, oh yes you two were quite close friends, he has such a deep affection for you, but... romantically? Sorry, sweetheart, but no

... or so he thought. Now that he's back, he sees how deeply you love his son and sacrifice so much for him amd how much your son absolutely adores you and how, completely by yourself, without any of Alastor's help, you raised him into a fine young man that... the Radio Demon could see himself helping raise, a boy he can't help but feel a little pride in helping make and, can't help but feel a little sad he missed all sorts of important milestones for. And of course, of course of course of course, he missed YOU ever so much, and when Alastor looks up from his paper to see you at the stove, hair all out of place and your hands messy as you cook a meal for your son and his father, your little boy dutifully helping clean as you go, he can't help wish that THIS was how he spent his last 7 years.

Lucifer have mercy on anyone who tries to disrupt his new utopia of peace and tranquility. Could you even imagine, could you even fucking imagine you and Alastor are walking with your son and nearby TVs snap on and it's fucking Vox, showing your family on TV, talking shit to Alastor, using HORRIBLE language in front of your son--

And Alastor feels his love for you grow all the more as you use your own magic to surge through the television and begin strangling the newscaster right on the air, "DONT YOU DARE SHOW MY SON'S FACE ON TV YOU FUCKING--" and Alastor starts lovingly conversing with his son about how important it is to stand up for your family and your values as the pair of them watch you throw Vox around his recording studio in a frenzied rage, "You and your disgusting Vees always trying to peddle your worthless garbage to kids, you CREEPS!! BABIES DON'T NEED IPADS, RETINOL CREAMS, SKEEYEE DANCE ROUTINES, AND ATHLEISUREWEAR LEGGINGS THAT GO UP THEIR ASS, YOU CONSUMERIST IMMORAL SHELL OF A HUMAN BEING--"

Snapcut to you rejoining your family on the sidewalk with your hair a mess and visible blood on you while Vox is facedown on the floor in his broadcast unable to move before it cuts to a "technical difficulties, please stand by" screen. Alastor is oh so genuinely joyfully smiling, "Now who wants to go and get some waffles? I say we should celebrate any victory over our enemies with some tasty grub!!" and he takes you and your son's hands and is all but skipping down the sidewalk while his hated rival is bleeding out in his tower somewhere. Oh, Alastor will give the Television Demon his own revenge for daring to try and shame the lovely beautiful mother of his child and his beloved boy on that disgusting show. What kind of degenerate uses children for content, let alone threatens their safety? Alastor will be back for him later and do much, MUCH worse than you did.

For now, though? Alastor just wants to enjoy the sight of you and his son sitting in a booth with him while you all scarf down some hotcakes. A family of his very own, huh? How wonderful. If only his own mom were here to see it...

[writersmess]

DEATH WISH LOVE | EVAN BUCKLEY

gif credit

Pairing: Evan Buckley x fem!reader

Summary: Buck never thought he could love someone like that. Especially not someone with the same death wish love as him.

Warning: Anxiety crisis, near-death experience, hospital, crying, ansgt.

Word count: 2.5K

a/n: My God, I can't believe it's taken me over a year to get back. I missed this place so much. It's been an intense, crazy year. I finally got my dream job at the best hospital in Latin America. I'm so happy, but at the same time it's demanded everything of me, working long shifts almost every day, but its the price I have to pay. I hope you like this one, it was based on the song Death Wish Love by Benson Boone, which as soon as I heard it I immediately imagined something with our dear Buck. I confess I thought I'd do something angsty, but I don't think I have that capacity, he already suffers so much that I just wanted him to have a happy ending this time.

Masterlist

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You were the new firefighter in 118, and also new to the city. In order to follow your dreams, you left your hometown with everyone and everything you knew. You craved for bigger things, you wanted the big city, you wanted Los Angeles.

The team welcomed you with open arms, which was unusual to you. You weren’t used to this or neither known by your affectionate gestures, but apparently everything was an excuse for a hug at the station. It was a bit hard to get used to all this affection, especially when you came from a place where you were always by yourself.

That was one of the main reasons you became a firefighter, you have walked through fire every single day of your life, why not make it your profession?

You were a source of curiosity between the team, always so quiet and so resistant to everyone's affection. It was hard to win you over. Especially because you had a rather difficult personality, you were fearless at work, you weren't afraid to go into the fire to save lives, you did it without thinking twice.

To Bobby you were a cause for concern, and sometimes the reason why he was having trouble sleeping. He knew this personality very well. It was the same one he had struggled for years to learn to deal with, the one he had to fight with so many times, he was very familiar with this death wish love, it was the same as Buck’s.

The blue-eyed man on the other side, couldn't understand why he couldn't take his eyes off you. Ever since you arrived a few months ago, your image has been running through Buck’s mind. You've become a challenge for him. But not in a bad way, he wanted to get to know you, he wanted to understand you. But you didn't make things any easier for him, especially when today was the first time he'd seen you laugh.

"You're drooling" he snapped back to reality when he heard Eddie mocking next to him.

"Shut up" Buck said, turning his gaze back to you playing with his niece.

You had a beauty he couldn't explain, an angelic one. You had this steely gaze and looking at you felt like suicide. He would fall to his knees if you asked him to. How could someone so delicate also be so dangerous?

The way you were reluctant to follow Bobby's orders, you'd walk into the fire without a second thought. You would take risks without thinking about your own safety, just thinking about everyone else. He saw how hard you worked, he saw how mad Bobby got when he ordered the building to be evacuated and you were always the last one to leave. You were intriguing and he was fascinated.

It was so strange for you. Being in Maddie's living room, with everyone gathered together like a big family, laughing and telling funny stories. The team met once a week, with all the families together, the children running around the living room, the smell of food in the air, the voices, the laughter.

You accepted the invitation after a few months of refusing, and now you spent the week looking forward to the moment when you would be together again.

Sometimes when you got home from a meeting, you cried. You cried because you never had that, you never had anyone who cared about you. You were an unexpected pregnancy, your parents didn't planned you, they didn't want you and that was never a secret to anyone.

And that's why you were surprised when one day you arrived early at the station and Hen had a cake for you that you had once said reminded of what your grandmother used to bake.

Or when another one Eddie handed you a drawing that Chris made specifically for you. Of the two of you playing together.

Or when Maddie sent you, through Chim, the cookies you said you loved one day while you were having coffee together.

Or when Bobby invited you to have lunch with him and Athena on a Sunday ‘cause he knew you were going to do it alone.

Or when Buck gave you a book he'd heard you say was your favorite during a conversation.

*

It was mid-afternoon on a Sunday. Your hands were shaking, your heart pounding. The words your father had once spoken echoed in your mind. "You will never be loved". But you were at a table with 118's entire family, and you felt loved. Maddie told you about the gossip from her work. Karen hugged you from the side every time you passed by her. Hen included you in every conversation. Athena calmly answered all the questions you were curious about her work. So why did you feel like an imposter? Why was your father's voice echoing inside your head? Why were you on the verge of an anxiety attack?

"I'll be right back" you muttered to the girls, but you realized how shaky your voice sounded. You were pathetic.

You barely made it to the bathroom, your legs buckled and you sat down in the corner of the room. You could hardly breathe, it was hard to pull in the air. Tears streamed down your face. Your heart was racing. Your hands were shaking.

You heard your voice being called from outside. Damn. You couldn't calm down, your hand was on your chest as if it could make the pain go away.

"Hey, hey. I'm here. Calm down, I’ve got you" it was Buck.

His voice was just a whisper in your ear. You let a sob escape your lips. Pathetic. You felt his arms around you, until you were all wrapped up in his arms. Why was he doing that? Why did he care?

He stayed there until you stopped crying. You were still in his arms, and it was so warm, so safe. Sighs came from your lips, and you couldn't imagine what a mess Buck's head and heart were in. He wanted you in his arms, not just now.

"I'm sorry," you whispered and tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let you, so you stayed.

"You don't have to talk about what's going on in there, but the day you feel like you need a hug to cry into, you've got mine" your eyes filled with tears again. "And don't ever apologize for it"

*

The smiles on your lips were becoming constant. And it was Buck's favorite image. You were letting people through your armor, you were letting your guard down, and it felt good. You now baked pies and cakes for the station on your days off, recipes learned from the girls after a few long afternoons of chatting and coffee.

Your laughter was contagious, and the boys would always crack little jokes to get them out of you.

Your eyes were now looking out for a pair of blue ones, all the time, everywhere. Eyes that were always looking back at you. Your hands were always looking for an excuse to bump into Buck's, just to feel that shiver run down your spine every time. And he would find any reason to text you, until the excuses became routine. You woke up every day with a good morning message and went to bed with a good night one. The little touches now became big gestures, Buck loved to brush your hair out of your face and tuck them behind your ear. And you loved to run your hand over the birthmark above his eye. You loved when his warm lips traveled up your neck to your lips. You loved when his hands ran over your body always so slowly and so gently, bringing goosebumps wherever they went. You loved making love with him. How he worshiped your body, how much he worshiped you. The way he made you feel loved.

You had a hold on Buck, and you didn't even know it. He had become attached to you, attached to the idea of having you by his side. The nights with you were the ones he could truly rest in, the mornings where he woke up to your soft kisses on his face, were the ones he would keep forever in his mind.

But he could feel that you were still resisting his feelings, and he was terrified of losing you. Buck was in love with you. It took months for him to realize that, but he did it. He loved you.

But one thing has never changed. And as Buck followed the loud murmurs coming from Bobby’s office, where he knew you were at, he kept in mind the danger you were in at every call. He couldn't lose you.

"Hey, what happe-" he couldn't finish the sentence when he saw you walking out the door, since you brushed past him, bumping into his shoulder, without even looking him in the face.

Buck made his way to the room, where he saw his captain wiping his hands across his face, letting out an exhausted sigh.

"She'll end up dead if she keep acting like this, Buck"

"I know"

"After the last call, if she doesn't change her behavior, I'll be forced to suspend her."

"I know."

Buck couldn't lose you.

You couldn't talk to Buck yet, you were so nervous after your conversation with Bobby. You were trying your best, how could he tell you that you had a death wish love? You were saving lives, and it didn't matter if it cost you your own. You didn't care.

A new call ecoed through the station. It was something big. A fire in a shed. People were working at the time, so there were many likely victims. You were anxious, just as you were before any call, but you were ready for it. You were born ready.

"Be careful," Buck told you before you got off the truck and you nodded. You were always careful "I love you"

You turned surprised to Buck, you'd never said that to each other before. It disconcerted you.

"Buck, I-"

Before you could say anything, you heard Bobby calling you to give instructions and you had to run.

I love you.

The words echoed in your head as you entered the burning building. No one had ever said that to you. You didn't even know the weight those words carried.

"Sir, follow this path and the fireman will take you to the exit."

It was so hot. You'd already lost count of how many people you'd pulled out of the line of fire. Your head was heavy. It was getting hard to breathe.

"Evacuate the building now," you could hear Cap saying over the radio. Everyone agreed and gave their location. You were about to respond when you heard something.

It was a call for help.

You could have sworn it was a call for help.

"Captain, I'm in the east side, I hear someone screaming for help. I'm close, I can get them out"

"Negative, the building will collapse at any moment. Get out immediately"

Your vision was blurred.

I love you.

You couldn't go out and leave those people to die, so you went ahead. The way to the door was difficult, there was a lot of rubble, and when you opened it, you froze in place.

It was empty. The fire danced in front of you, mocking you. But the cries for help... you've never been so wrong before.

I love you.

“It’s empty” you murmured at the radio.

Bobby was shouting your name from the other end of the radio. You turned around, but it was so hard to breathe. You tried to find your way back, but everything was spinning. Buck was now calling your name.

I love you.

His words were running through your head. Your steps were now slow. The way out, you couldn't find the way out. You could hear the fire laughing at you. Stupid. Pathetic. You heard an explosion behind you, and it threw you off balance, bringing you to the ground. You'd been walking through fire all your life, and now it would finally take its place back. Your siren buzzed in your ears. That would be the end of you.

I love you too, Buck.

The moment Buck came out of the building and didn't see you outside, he tried to go back. But hands held him in place.

This couldn't be happening. No, no.

Bobby called your name on the radio and you didn't answer. It's empty. That was the last answer they got. You weren't answering. An explosion. On the east side, where you were.

Buck's knees gave way, and he went down. All eyes were on the exit of the building waiting for you, waiting for a miracle. But it never came.

Buck screamed, and he would scream until his lungs gave up.

Time seemed to stop. Buck's screams were the only noise to be heard. And another explosion. Tears rolled down trough some faces. No one could believe it. This couldn't be happening.

Buck couldn't lose you like this.

"We found her" some voice echoed over the radio.

Buck's heart could stop any second now.

But the building was collapsing.

He broke free from his friends and ran into the building, dodging all the fallen and burnt obstacles, and he saw you. You were in the arms of a fireman. He ran up to you and carried you out of the building. As soon as you stepped onto the sidewalk, the building collapsed. Buck held you in his arms with all his strength and ran, feeling the debris fly past you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" was the first thing that came out of your lips when he put you on the stretcher and he shut you up, pressing his lips to yours.

Buck analyzed each of your wounds alongside Hen and Chim and you could see the tears streaming down Buck's face, the ones that were also streaming down your own.

You were still struggling to breathe, every inch of your body ached, and you felt on the verge of losing consciousness. Until you succumbed to the darkness that was calling your name.

*

You woke up a few hours later in hospital. Your hands were being squeezed and you could feel something wet running down over them. Tears.

Buck had his face in your hands, he had never felt so afraid before. And when he heard your voice calling him, it was as if he could finally breathe.

"I'm sorry, Buck, I-I don't know what happened-"

"I almost lost you today"

Your heart broke into a million pieces. You did this to him, your recklessness, your impulsive behavior. It was your fault.

"I'm sorry"

Tears were now streaming down your face and he moved closer, running his hands gently down your cheeks.

"I was terrified of losing you. I'd die if I do."

"I would never leave you"

"Promise?"

"I love you, Buck. And I'll love you to death"

"Please don't let it be soon"

You smiled. No one had ever loved you like that.

"It won't."

[saintsenara]

Riddle’s extremely fearful and aggressive reaction to Dumbledore when he thinks he’s a doctor (and the fact that he assumes this at all and believes he is being lied to) has some pretty dark implications (which of course no one follows up on). Do you have thoughts?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

and yes - this has occurred to me too... which means that my thoughts come with a trigger warning for the sexual abuse of a child, and are under the cut.

the relevant scene in canon is, of course, this:

“I am Professor Dumbledore.” “Professor?” repeated Riddle. He looked wary. “Is that like doctor? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?”  He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left. “No, no,” said Dumbledore, smiling.  “I don’t believe you,” said Riddle. “She wants me looked at, doesn’t she? Tell the truth!”  He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still. “Who are you?” “I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school - your new school, if you would like to come.”  Riddle’s reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious.  “You can’t kid me! The asylum, that’s where you’re from, isn’t it? ‘Professor,’ yes, of course - well, I’m not going, see? That old cat’s the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they’ll tell you!”

the surface-level reading of this scene - which is clearly what the text wants us to go for - is that riddle thinks he's about to be institutionalised for being "mad" - and, specifically, that he thinks that what dumbledore has been told is his "madness" is actually his magic.

[he is also clearly meant to be read as panicking a little bit that he's fucked around torturing his fellow children and is now about to find out...]

that riddle accepts he's a wizard so easily - and that he is so reassured by dumbledore agreeing that he's not mad - is something the text wants us to read as sinister. him immediately describing himself as "special" is set up as a precursor to the adult voldemort's delusions of grandeur - which the entire arc of the series, ending in his death as an ordinary man, is designed to undermine.

but i've always disliked this reading. the eleven-year-old riddle - a magical child raised around non-magical people - is objectively correct to describe his powers as "special" [in that they make him identifiably different from the crowd] within the context in which he lives. the word choice is nowhere near as deep as dumbledore decides - he's clearly known since he was very young that he's a wizard, but he didn't have the precise language to describe this fundamental part of himself until dumbledore offered it; prior to that, "special" is a perfectly reasonable alternative term.

and, in always knowing that he's a wizard, he also knows that he doesn't have a mental illness - but he must also know that this is something it's near impossible for him to prove.

in the real world, if i spoke to a patient who told me:

“I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.”

then i would be correct to describe them as experiencing psychosis. and i might - depending on their other symptoms - have reasonable cause to admit them [voluntarily or not] for psychiatric treatment.

riddle is - of course - demonstrably not psychotic. but it's not unreasonable that mrs cole would assume he is - the world she lives in, as a muggle [even if she's a religious one], is one in which people do not possess the ability to move objects or control animals with their minds, and if one of her charges is convinced that he can, then she's justified in seeking medical intervention.

[that psychiatric treatment in the 1930s can be described without exaggeration as inhumane is another matter...]

which is to say, i think we can easily suppose that mrs cole has - prior to dumbledore's arrival - succeeded in having riddle "looked at", and that the idea that he's mentally ill and should be committed to an asylum has been mentioned before. i think most of us would be instinctively [and angrily] wary of doctors if this happened to us, regardless of how nice the doctors in question were.

and maybe that's all there is to it.

and maybe it isn't...

in the doylist text, the eleven-year-old riddle's personality is the way it is because he's the villain of the series. where harry is preternaturally capable, even as a child, of all the things the series defines as admirable - above all, enduring difficulty without complaint - riddle is preternaturally incapable of them. he's meant to come across as unambiguously sinister - and the fact that the text repeatedly emphasises that he has control over his unpleasant traits invites us to view him as someone who is acting with full agency. that he lives in an orphanage is a trope which the text uses, like a campy horror film might, predominately to underscore how creepy he is - and the text, in keeping with its general lack of interest in states and their institutions, never really prompts us to interrogate the impact of his childhood upon the course his life takes.

[this is despite the fact that voldemort's reliving of the night he killed the potters in deathly hallows is an incredibly accurate depiction of ptsd...]

but it's also the case that the eleven-year-old riddle's behaviour and personality fits a pattern we might expect to see in a child who is being abused, sexually or otherwise:

he's aggressive, he has a hair-trigger temper, and he becomes distressed even by behaviour - such as dumbledore speaking mildly and calmly - which would not ordinarily be expected to provoke such a reaction.

his broader emotional state is fractious. his mood changes sharply, he seems to feel emotions very profoundly, he struggles to control his emotional response to things, he's extremely easily irritated, he's attention-seeking - and he particularly seeks negative attention, and he's very highly-strung. his admission in deathly hallows that he feels calm before he kills - or before he otherwise eradicates a threat or a problem - comes with the flip-side that he's someone who appears, when things aren't going well or he finds himself in a situation which he can't control, to become quite anxious. which is a trauma response.

he's extremely isolated. the text presents the fact that he has no friends as a deliberate choice - "lord voldemort has never had a friend, nor do i believe that he has ever wanted one" - and his relationship with everyone else he ever meets, including his fellow orphans, is defined by the text as exclusively involving him controlling, manipulating, and punishing them. or: he is always the more powerful person in the pairing. but this need for control can be read as self-protective just as easily as it can be read as sinister. there are hints in canon that riddle is not just some malevolent force in the orphanage preying on mild-mannered innocents. for example, billy stubbs, the owner of the rabbit he kills, is targeted by riddle as revenge: “Billy Stubbs’s rabbit... well, Tom said he didn’t do it and I don’t see how he could have done, but even so, it didn’t hang itself from the rafters, did it? [...] But I’m jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before." on the rare occasions billy turns up in fics, he's usually - i find - written very like neville - sweet and guileless and a bit pathetic. but the alternative reading - especially when we take into account that riddle attacks the rabbit rather than billy himself - is that billy is someone he would be afraid to physically confront. indeed, it's striking that voldemort - at all stages of his life - is described as being quite physically fragile. not only is he very thin, but he's always cold and his heartbeat is described several times in canon as irregular. i think this is supposed to be a comment on the physical changes he undergoes the more horcruxes he makes - although the idea that the soul would affect the heart doesn't actually align with how the series understands the soul to relate to the body - but it can also be interpreted perfectly legitimately as something he was experiencing prior to splitting his soul. i am committed to the headcanon that riddle was quite a sickly child - and that this is one of the things which drives his fear of death - and i'm also committed to the idea that his obsession with magic is because the enormity of his magical power makes up for his physical lack. he can defeat - and humiliate and frighten and remove the threat of - billy or dennis [or even an adult man?] with magic. without it, if they were to physically overpower him, then he wouldn't be able to throw them off.

he is extremely nervous about being alone in a room with dumbledore - someone he doesn't know, and who he assumes is connected to a profession [and, maybe, who knows any other doctors he's been previously made to see...] of which he is frightened.

he doesn't trust or confide in anyone - which, as a child, means particularly that he doesn't trust or confide in adults in positions of responsibility. he's clearly uneasy with the idea of finding himself in the subordinate position in an adult-child relationship when dumbledore offers to take him shopping for school supplies - potentially because he's worried that dumbledore will try and dictate or restrict what he's allowed to buy unless he behaves in a certain way... and i am always very struck that dumbledore says in half-blood prince: "He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much. He was careful never to reveal as much again." this is presented in the text as evidence that dumbledore is the only person of whom voldemort is afraid - by which the text means that voldemort acknowledges that dumbledore knows that an ordinary man, mortal and unimpressive, lurks behind the mask of unassailable power he has created for himself; and which the text thinks is a good thing. but we can also read it as a self-protective act on riddle's part. in his excitement, he offers dumbledore information [that he is known to be a liar, that he is in trouble a lot, that mrs cole dislikes him and is disinclined to believe anything he says] which would give dumbledore - or anyone in a similar position of power and presumed respectability - cover to abuse him, safe in the knowledge that he would be unlikely to be believed if he reported it.

he doesn't appear to feel safe in the orphanage and he's frequently absent from it - by his own admission, he spends a huge amount of time wandering around london on his own, which may even involve him staying away for several days at a time. nobody appears to notice or care about this.

he's very independent - which the text again presents as evidence of his deliberate self-isolation and rejection of the bonds of love and friendship - and his independence is unusual for a child his age [i.e. that he is capable of doing all his own shopping for school].

his knowledge of violence - i.e. how he designs the trip to the cave to be maximally psychologically devastating for dennis and amy and devoid of repercussions for himself - is also more advanced and methodical than would be expected in a child of his age. again, the text uses this to emphasise how inextricable the child-voldemort is from his adult self - and also, to some extent, to underscore the intellectual brilliance [his magic is also more advanced than is normal for a child] which his narrative archetype [the exceptional villain who is defeated by the everyman hero] requires. but we can also read it as evidence of his own victimisation. a common sign that a child is being sexually abused is that they display a knowledge of sexual behaviour which is more advanced than is reasonable for a child of their age - for example, knowing in detail how a sex act is performed, or fluently using sexual slang which they have no chance of knowing either from age-appropriate settings like school-based sex education or conversations with a parent or trusted adult, or from the sort of enthusiastic hoarding of rude words and phrases all children enjoy as they grow up. riddle's precise, clinical knowledge of how to manipulate, frighten, torture, and control can be seen as something similar. if he can - at eleven or younger - methodically break down another child until they're "never quite right" again, then this is because he's learned how to from someone.

he keeps secrets. and he also goes out of his way to extract them. his grooming of ginny in chamber of secrets - he manipulates her into confiding things she wants to keep to herself, promises he won't tell anyone, and then uses the threat that he will to get her to do his bidding - is an absolutely textbook example of how abusers use the idea of secrecy to control their victims. it doesn't make his abuse of ginny any less inexcusable if we assume he learns this from being on the other side of things.

dumbledore understands his little cache of objects as trophies he's taken from victims - and the text takes the view that dumbledore is correct in this assessment. that hoarding trophies is something widely associated with serial killers means that this is yet another thing which underlines how creepy - and how like his adult self - the child-voldemort is. but it's also the case that the adult - and teenage - voldemort places a lot of emphasis on gift-giving as part of his control over other people. the two most obvious examples in canon are wormtail being given his shiny hand as a reward for helping voldemort get his body back, and slughorn being buttered up with crystallised pineapple before voldemort asks him about horcruxes. the text thinks this is sinister - and one of the reasons it does this is because gift-giving is a grooming tactic. the text also clearly thinks this isn't behaviour voldemort has learned from the other side. and yet a common sign that a child is being abused is if they have possessions it doesn't make sense for them to own [i.e. a child from a low-income background who is suddenly decked in designer clothes] and which they can't or won't explain how they came by. riddle's cache isn't luxurious - although he's so poor that a yoyo or a mouth organ probably is a luxury to him - but there's also nothing in canon which precludes the objects being presents, rather than stolen goods. if the spell dumbledore uses to make the box rattle is caused by a statement which is both relatively ambiguous and dependent on dumbledore's subjective personal morality - is there anything in this room he's acquired through nefarious means? - then the spell would still work as it does in canon if riddle was an abuse victim given the objects as "rewards". dumbledore's tendency to locate right and wrong in the individual and dumbledore's belief that good people should steadfastly endure misery means he can be written entirely canon-coherently as someone who would think a victim who appeared to collude in their own abuse - such as a victim who "offered" a sexual act because their abuser promised them something if they did - was behaving consensually, manipulatively, and nefariously. and it's worth noting that when riddle doesn't know what dumbledore has done to make the box rattle, he is "unnerved". when he realises dumbledore thinks he's stolen the objects - and that he has no interest in forcing him to admit this aloud - he is "unabashed". perhaps because he's just received proof that an experience he doesn't want to talk about is still secret...

on the other hand, the objects could indeed be stolen - because petty criminality and anti-social behaviour, especially in pre-teen children, is also a sign of abuse.

he can be extremely obsequious - when dumbledore tells him to watch how he speaks he becomes "unrecognisably polite", he ruthlessly flatters slughorn, and he is cringingly deferential to hepzibah smith. the text understands this as evidence that his apparent charm is only superficial - another trait associated in the popular imagination with serial killers [and it's striking that so much about the young voldemort - handsome, charming, seemingly quiet and polite, true evil lurking underneath the mask - is exactly like the pop-culture persona which has been created for ted bundy...]. voldemort himself agrees that his charm is performative in chamber of secrets: “If I say it myself, Harry, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted." but his obsequiousness is also a fawn response - a way of minimising a threat by attempting to please the person issuing it. he becomes "unrecognisably polite" - after all - in response to this: Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts - ” “Of course I am!” “Then you will address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir.’ ”  Riddle’s expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognisably polite voice, “I’m sorry, sir. I meant - please, Professor, could you show me - ?”  riddle could reasonably interpret what dumbledore says here as a threat to prevent him attending hogwarts - even though dumbledore evidently doesn't mean it in this way - and he switches to being fawning because this is something he really doesn't want to happen...

do i think that any of this is what the text was actually going for? no. and nor do i think that reading riddle as a victim of abuse excuses the violence which the adult voldemort goes on to perpetuate.

but i think it is a reading of his characterisation which is both canon-plausible and interesting - a strange, sickly child with a reputation for cruelty and dishonesty being abused by the respectable doctor who is constantly called in to treat his coughs and wheezes, who buys him little presents and charms him into telling him secrets, who then [to paraphrase the teenage voldemort] feeds him a few secrets of his own, safe in the knowledge that nobody will ever believe him if he tries to get help.

and i also think this a reading which is sincerely important.

a significant contributor to the prevalence of child abuse - no matter what exact form this abuse takes - is that we are culturally conditioned to imagine that both the abuser and the victim will look and behave in a certain way if the abuse is "real".

and this means, all too often, that we take child abuse more seriously when the victim is "sympathetic" - when they're from a stable home, and their family are respectable, and they do well in school, and they're polite and sweet, and they look innocent, and they behave perfectly appropriately for their age, and nobody would ever dare to say that they come across as older than they are, and they're white, and they don't have a history of lying, and they don't have a history of attention-seeking, and they don't have a criminal record, and they're not abusive themselves, and there's absolutely no way of suggesting that they colluded in their abuse, and the perpetrator was someone who looks like a child abuser.

someone who is creepy, low-status, ugly, unpopular. someone who everyone can tell is socially abnormal, someone who nobody would ever intentionally permit to be around their children. not someone who is charming, well-respected, attractive, rich, popular, trustworthy. not someone who has a loving family and a happy home. not someone we might be friends with.

but many perpetrators of child abuse are these second group of people. and many victims of child abuse are "unsympathetic", when their social positions and reputations are compared to their abusers' own.

they lie. they steal. they're attention-seeking. they're vindictive. they have trouble distinguishing between imagination and reality. they're violent. they're bullies. they hurt animals. they abuse other children. they take drugs. they're mentally-ill. they come from broken homes. they're in the care of the state. they're dirty. they're poor. they're odd. they're behind at school and badly-behaved in the classroom. they do things which allow their abuse to be dismissed as something they brought upon themselves - they speak or dress in certain ways, they pose provocatively in pictures and post them on the internet, they are known to be sexually active outside of the context of their abuse, they lie about being over the age of consent, they engage in sexual behaviour with an adult abuser in a way which appears [even though it isn't, and there's never a circumstance in which it will be] to be consensual or for their own personal gain, they are flattered by the attention they receive from someone who is important or attractive grooming them, they have complicated - and not always wholly negative - feelings towards their abusers.

and they are still - unequivocally - victims, and what happens to them is still - unequivocally - abuse.

tom riddle is an unsympathetic victim - not only of any potential abuse, but also of the horrors of his life which are explicit on the canon page: that he is raised in an orphanage; that he is grieving; that he knows nothing about his family; that he is thought to be mad.

the absence of any institutional response to his childhood experiences - dumbledore, by his own admission, discloses nothing about riddle to his fellow teachers - is a flaw repeated again and again in the worldbuilding of the harry potter series.

hogwarts - and the wizarding [and muggle] state more broadly - doesn't intervene in any case of neglect or abuse, from harry to snape to voldemort's own parents. the series' individualistic morality means that we aren't supposed to interrogate these collective failings. and the series' black-and-white view of good and evil - and its general belief that violence is fine if the person it happens to "deserves" it - means that it has no interest in examining the ways that poverty, isolation, and neglect are risk factors; that straightforwardly unpleasant people can still be victims; that victims can go on to become perpetrators without their victimhood ceasing to matter; and that the abuse of children usually takes place not in silence and secrecy, concealed in ways which make it fine for adults not to notice it and not to intervene, but in plain sight.

this is knowledge it never hurts to refresh. thinking about lord voldemort's childhood might be an usual way of doing so... but it is an effective one nonetheless...

[fatecantstopme]

Better Together

Pairing: Rafael Barba x reader

Summary: Barba acts like he hates you because it's the only way he can keep his cool in your presence. Things come to a head and you call him out on it...

Warnings: cursing, Rafael is a bit of a dick at first. Use of nicknames (baby, cariño, querida, etc.). SMUT, oral (M and F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V)

A/N: Spanish translations in brackets/italics after each sentence.

cariño/querida: sweetheart/dear/darling/baby/etc.

por favor: please

qué: what

hermosa: beautiful/gorgeous

"Right...and what makes you qualified to make that determination?"

You glared at him. "Eight years of education and ten years of practice."

"Fine, but how long did you actually talk to him?" he countered.

"Four hours."

"So now you're an expert in his mental health?"

You groaned. "He belongs in a psychiatric facility, Barba. Not a prison."

"I disagree. He raped and murdered five women."

"I'm not defending his actions, but I'm telling you he's incapable of understanding the consequences of his actions."

"She's right, counselor," Olivia Benson cut in. "I got the same feeling she did when I first talked to him."

Rafael Barba let out an annoyed huff. "Fine. What do you propose?"

"Offer him a deal," she suggested. "Send him where he can get the help he needs."

Barba nodded, expression still slightly annoyed. "Fine." With that, he walked out of the precinct, presumably to go write up a deal.

As soon as he was out of ear shot, you turned to your friend and colleague. "He argues with me for ten minutes straight, but you tell him the same damn thing and he immediately agrees?"

Olivia shrugged. "You know how he is."

"Pompous, arrogant, rude, and downright insulting?"

She laughed. "All of the above, but he's also a pretty damn good ADA."

You sighed. "I would absolutely love to disagree with you, but you're not wrong. Part of me hates that he's so good at his job. And I hate his smug face and his attitude and those damn three piece suits he looks so goddamn good in," you finished your ramble with a groan.

"Maybe if you told him you thought he was hot, he'd be nicer to you," Olivia said with a wink.

"I hate you."

She laughed. "No you don't."

"Fine, I don't, but I will do no such thing. He quite clearly despises me."

"Does he?"

"Does who what?" Nick Amaro asked as he entered the squad room.

"Does Barba hate (Y/N)?" Olivia asked.

Nick chuckled. "Without a doubt."

"See?!" you said smugly.

Olivia rolled her eyes. "One of these days you're going to have to talk to him. Tell him off for being such an ass to you all the time."

"Now that I agree with," Nick cut in.

"If he pushes the right buttons, I will."

**********

Little did you know that two days later, Barba would push the exact right button.

Olivia, Nick, Amanda, Fin, and yourself were gathered in the squad room discussing your latest case. You had two dead girls in two days and 1PP was already breathing down your necks.

You were going over the profile with the team when Barba walked in. "I know it sounds crazy, guys, but I believe the perp is a girl...probably the same age as the victims."

"Why?" Fin asked.

As you started to explain your reasoning, to include the lack of sexual assault, the relationship between the two girls, and the anger clearly present in the attacks, Barba cut you off with a harsh laugh.

"You think a 10 year old girl is capable of inflicting that kind of trauma?" he interjected. "There's no way."

You took a deep breath in through your nose and exhaled from your mouth before responding. You needed those ten seconds to calm yourself so you didn't murder him. "Were you ever a 10 year old girl?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Obviously not."

"Are you a forensic psychologist?"

"Again, no."

"Have you been working violent sex crimes for 10 years?"

"No..."

"Then be quiet and listen," you finished harshly.

You'd never snapped at him quite so intensely before and he was taken aback. He was also very aware that he may have taken it a little too far this time. He'd made it a point to keep you at arm's length (or farther) for the past 6 months, and he was belatedly realizing he may have been too cruel.

You finished your profile, answering the questions posed by the rest of the squad, before everyone went about their assigned duties.

Barba announced he was going back to his office to update the DA and you were thankful to be rid of him.

"Maybe you were right, (Y/N)," Olivia said softly. "He either hates you or he hates shrinks."

"Likely both."

"I'm proud of you for clapping back," Amanda said warmly. "Someone's gotta put that guy in his place every once in a while."

You smiled mirthlessly. "Once this case is over, I may have more to say to him, but for now, let's focus on finding the person who killed those girls."

**********

Three days later and you had your suspect in custody. You'd been right in your assessment of the perp...it turned out to be a 10 year old girl who had been relentlessly teased and bullied by the two victims for an entire year. The girl finally snapped and killed them both in a blind rage.

After hearing all of the terrible things that had been done to her, you felt sorry for the girl. You understood why she'd killed those girls, even if you didn't condone it.

"Hey, (Y/N/N)," Fin called. "We're going out for drinks. My treat."

"I think I'll take a rain check guys...I've got something I need to do."

"Awww no fun," Amanda teased.

Olivia gave you a look, but you smiled at her reassuringly. She took it to mean you were okay, so she followed the others out.

You'd decided to pay a very special visit to a certain ADA...

You arrived at his office 20 minutes later, and you belatedly realized you probably should have checked to see if he was even there still. It was already after 6pm, but you hoped since he was a workaholic, he would be unaware of the late hour.

When you reached his office door, you found yourself taking a deep breath. You started to question yourself and whether this was a good idea, but then you thought about the way he'd been treating you and you got a burst of courage.

You knocked on his door and waited. You heard a slightly annoyed "Come in", so you opened the door and stepped into his office.

Barba looked up from the paperwork he was buried in, a look of surprise ghosting over his face. "Dr. (Y/L/N)...to what do I owe the pleasure?"

You shut the door behind you and took a step towards his desk. "Do you have a problem with me?"

"Excuse me?" he asked in surprise.

"Do you have a problem with me, specifically, or is it psychologists in general?"

"I don't have a problem with psychologists."

"So it's me, got it. Do you mind telling me what the hell I did to you?"

He had the grace to look sheepish. "You didn't do anything to me."

"Then why do you treat me like I'm some sort of imbecile?"

"I...I never intended to make you feel that way," he said honestly.

"Really? How did you intend to make me feel? You belittle me, insult my abilities and my intelligence, you're unnecessarily rude to me in front of my colleagues..." you trailed off.

He rose from his seat and came around the front of his desk. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders had slumped slightly. If you didn't know better, you'd think he actually felt bad for the way he'd been treating you.

"You're right," he admitted. "I have treated you entirely unfairly."

It was your turn to look surprised. Out of all the things you'd expected him to say, an admission of guilt was certainly not one of them.

"I don't want you to think, for even a moment, that I don't think you're brilliant. You are the sharpest woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting and you're downright phenomenal at your job."

You opened your mouth and closed it a few times before you could formulate a coherent response. "How in the hell was I supposed to know that?"

He blushed and cast his gaze to the floor. "I suppose there was no way for you to know, given the way I've treated you."

"Why, then?" you asked softly.

He sighed deeply and ran his hand over his face. "It's--complicated."

"Enlighten me, Barba. I've got time."

His green eyes raised back up to meet yours and you found yourself nearly breathless--and not for the first time. His eyes were beautiful, typically sparkling with whit and mischief; but in this moment, they shone with emotions so complex you couldn't begin to comprehend them.

"I never intended to be cruel to you, only distant. But I found that being aloof wasn't enough to keep you at bay--I needed something stronger. So...I started treating you as if I hated you. It was just easier, and perhaps safer."

"Safer?"

He nodded, but neglected to clarify. "Keeping you out of my life has become a necessity, Dr. (Y/L/N)."

His formality annoyed you, but you didn't comment on it. "Then why didn't you just tell me you didn't like me?"

He groaned and turned back to his desk to pour himself a glass of scotch. "Because it's not true, and I'm many things, but a liar isn't one of them."

"Okay, but you want nothing to do with me?"

"Exactly."

"You do understand how contradictory that sounds, correct?"

He took a long drink from his glass and leaned back against his desk. "It sounds moronic, yes, I am aware."

You debated your next words with care. You knew if you said what was on your mind, you might regret it, but you also knew if you didn't say it, you would regret it.

"When I met you, I was instantly intrigued by you," you began. "It was obvious you were highly intelligent, but you were also funny, charming, and impeccably well-dressed. It's a rare combination."

You crossed your arms and sighed. "At first, you were friendly and I quite liked you, but things between us turned icy in an instant. I didn't understand it then and I don't understand it now, but what I can tell you is it hurt me. It hurt me deeply, Barba, and it still does."

If he'd felt like an ass before, he felt 1,000 times worse now. "I never intended to hurt you," he said quietly. "You're a kind and loving soul...and you don't deserve to be treated the way I've been treating you."

"You're right," you whispered. "I don't."

He winced slightly and downed the rest of his scotch. "I am truly sorry, (Y/N). More than you'll ever know."

His use of your first name was not lost on you. You could count on one hand the number of times he'd said it and you'd reacted the same way each time. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, your breath caught, and your heart began to speed up.

Rafael had never noticed before...had never really paid attention to you the very few times he'd said your name, but he saw your reaction this time. For the first time since he'd met you, he began to wonder if you shared his feelings...

You quickly recovered yourself--praying he hadn't noticed. "I appreciate your apology." Your voice was slightly off pitch and you wanted to kick yourself for letting any emotion show.

"May I ask you something?" he said suddenly.

You nodded, not trusting your voice in the moment.

"You said what you thought of me when we first met--what do you think of me now?"

"Do you really want to know?"

He nodded.

You swallowed thickly. "Everything I said is true. You're a brilliant man and an even better lawyer...and you can be funny and charming, when you want to be. But that's not the Rafael Barba I get. I get the one reserved for the criminals and defense attorneys you dislike. The ones that make your skin crawl. You're pompous, arrogant, and cruel."

He closed his eyes tightly. Hearing you say what you really thought of him was much more painful than he'd anticipated.

"But I don't believe that's who you really are," you said so softly he almost didn't hear.

He looked back up at you in surprise.

"I think it's a facade you put up--a mask you wear to hide behind."

"What makes you think that?"

"Call it intuition, or perhaps training," you said with a shrug. "Either way, I am certain you really are the man I met in the beginning--not the man you've been the past several months."

"How could you have that much faith in me? After the way I've treated you..."

"Perhaps it's foolish...or maybe I just want it to be true."

He stared at you with a strange look on his face. It was as if he was trying to decide if you were playing him or being sincere. His expression slowly morphed as he realized you'd meant every word you'd said.

"May I be honest with you?" he asked.

"I want nothing less."

"Truthfully, I'm terrified of you. Absolutely, 100%, completely terrified."

Your jaw dropped slightly. Once again, he’d caught you off guard.

"You got under my skin the moment I met you and I haven't been able to get rid of you since. I've never felt like this--like I can't control my own actions or my emotions--and it's petrifying. I thought pushing you away would change how I felt, but it only intensified it. I think that's why I became crueler over time--I was angry at myself and angry with you for making me feel this way. It's not fair to you, I know, but it's the truth."

You were once again shocked to the core. You almost couldn't believe what you were hearing...if you weren't so good at reading people, you'd be convinced he was lying, but as it stood, you knew it was the raw, painful truth.

"You can't control everything, you know," you said quietly.

He laughed harshly. "God, how I wish I could."

"What are you so afraid of?"

He took a moment to answer, but once he did, the words poured out of him. "I'm afraid the way I feel about you will ruin both of our careers. I'm afraid that once you see the man behind the mask, you'll run and leave me broken. I'm afraid that we'll fall apart...that we won't stand the test of time. I'm afraid of falling so deeply in love with you that I lose myself completely. But most of all, I'm afraid that I've already screwed this up beyond repair."

For all your education and all the eloquent words you've learned in your lifetime, you found yourself stunned into complete and utter silence. No words came to mind, no coherent thoughts emerged. You stared at him and he stared at you, as the silence dragged on.

After what had to be an eternity, Rafael spoke again. "Please say something. Anything. Tell me you hate me. Tell me you never want to see my face again. Tell me you'd rather jump off a building than be with me--"

"Stop!" The intensity of your demand silenced him. "Just stop talking…I…I can't find the words I want to say, but I do know one thing: I'm not afraid."

Out of all the things you could have said, all the beautiful sentences you could have strung together, those three words were the perfect response. Fueled with sudden courage, Rafael crossed the space between the two of you in three long strides, coming to a stop a few inches from you.

With a shaking hand, he gently stroked your cheek. "May I?" he asked quietly.

Your pretty (y/e/c) eyes met his and you softly begged, "Please."

He leaned into you, lips pressing against yours with soft insistence. The kiss ignited something within you--a desire so deep and powerful it almost frightened you. You grabbed ahold of his suspenders and tugged his body closer to yours as you deepened the kiss.

Rafael moaned softly against your lips, tongue pressing forward, requesting access. You obliged, lips parting to allow him entry. His hands traveled down your soft curves until they landed on your hips. He used his gentle strength to pull you flush against him, his own body backed up against his desk to support him.

You could feel his need for you in his kiss, in his touch...and in his pants. His growing erection was pressed against you, so close to where you wanted him, yet so far away.

Rafael broke the kiss for a moment. "Carmen left for the day."

"Mhmm," you hummed in response.

"But I don't want our first time together to be on the couch in my office."

"How 'bout the desk?" you teased lightly.

He groaned. "Don't think I haven't imagined it, but I'd like to take you home...do this properly--in a bed."

You stared at him for a moment. "If we stay here, it can be casual, unassuming. If I go home with you...that changes everything."

"I don't want casual. I don't want a fling. I want you--and everything that comes along with that."

You studied him closely before responding. You noted the sincerity in his voice and his expression and decided to--for once--allow your heart to lead your decision. "Take me home, Rafael," you whispered.

He breathed deeply, as if trying to control himself. It appeared that you had the same effect on him as he did on you when you called him by his first name.

He didn't say a word--you weren't even sure he could have if he'd wanted to. He simply grabbed his jacket, took your hand, and practically dragged you to the elevator. Once outside, he hailed a cab and helped you into the backseat before sliding in beside you.

As the cab began to move, you rested your hand on Rafael's thigh. He glanced at you, but didn't say anything. You were feeling bold, so you slid your hand slowly up his thigh, inching closer to his evident arousal.

When your fingertips brushed against his clothed cock, he hissed slightly. He leaned over to whisper into your ear so the cab driver wouldn't hear. "Careful, querida. O puedo perder el control [Or I may lose control]."

You inhaled sharply--something about his tone mixed with the hushed Spanish words, sent a jolt of pure arousal straight to your core.

Your reaction didn't go unnoticed by Rafael. He smirked as he discovered one of your kinks. He tucked the knowledge away for later use.

You managed to behave yourself for the rest of the short ride to his apartment, but once inside the building, all bets were off.

His lips were on yours the moment the elevator doors slid closed, pressing your body firmly against the wall. Your fingers tangled in his hair, messing up the perfect locks.

As the elevator dinged and the doors began to open, you reluctantly pulled away from each other. You saw the desperation in his beautiful green eyes and you knew the same look reflected in yours.

He wasted no time guiding you to his apartment and the moment you were both inside, he had you spun around and pressed up against the door.

“Querida,” he whispered hungrily against your lips, fingertips dancing under your shirt.

You moaned softly as you tugged harshly on his suspenders, pushing them out of the way so you could remove his shirt.

Within moments, your clothes and his were strewn across the house as he carried you to his bedroom, nothing left between you but underwear.

Rafael tossed you gently onto the bed before climbing on top of you. He eyed you hungrily—sprawled out beneath him, desire evident on your face.

“You are perfect, hermosa.”

You blushed. “Rafa…”

He groaned. “Fuck. Don’t do that.”

Confusion clouded your expression. You didn’t think you’d done anything wrong…

He’d closed his eyes and his face gave away the internal struggle he was experiencing.

Realization suddenly crossed your features and you grinned. You gently raked your nails down his chest as you murmured the nickname again, “Rafa.”

His eyes shot open and he rutted his hips against yours, mouth pressing wet kisses to your heated skin. His teeth nipped at your neck and collarbone, leaving love bites in his wake.

He was taking his time with you. Wanting to explore every part of you, taste every inch of your skin, catalogue every detail in his mind.

You whimpered softly, not used to such attention, nor such deliberate slowness. “Rafael, please.”

He looked up at you with his trademark smirk. “You ever been with a Hispanic man before, Cariño?”

You blushed and shook your head.

His smirk widened. “We like to take our time, make sure our lady is properly loved and appreciated. This is about your enjoyment, (Y/N/N), not mine.”

“I want you to enjoy yourself too…”

He kissed you gently. “You keep making those pretty sounds for me, querida, and I promise you, I’ll enjoy myself.”

You found yourself unable to respond as he continued his slow descent towards your core. Each gentle caress of his lips against your skin seemed to set your nerve endings on fire--the need within you growing exponentially.

You whined prettily, hips shifting upwards, desperately seeking his lips where you needed them most. "Please," you begged.

You didn't know it yet, but Rafael would never deny you--not in the real world, nor the bedroom. The moment he heard your soft voice begging, he glanced up at your face. You already looked so far gone--your hair was a mess, your lips swollen, your cheeks flushed, and your breathing was ragged. He smiled to himself as he lowered his head, giving you no time to adjust as he dove into you with abandon.

You gasped as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. As skilled as the man between your legs was in the courtroom, he was even better suited with his mouth hungrily devouring you.

In the span of mere minutes, he'd turned you into a gasping, moaning mess--every one of your senses overwhelmed with feeling.

"Rafa--I--I'm close," you gasped.

He hummed against you, lips wrapping around your clit to increase his assault. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, holding you in place as he sped up his ministrations.

Your jaw dropped as a flurry of sounds--some of which were intended to be his name--slipped from your lips. Your orgasm sent wave after wave of intense pleasure through your body, but that pleasure soon turned to sensitivity.

"Rafa, too much--" you whispered as you tried to pull away from him.

He laid his arm across your lower belly, effectively holding you in place as his mouth continued to work you. His eyes flicked up to yours to check if you really did want him to stop, but your head was already thrown back, chest rising and falling rapidly as the familiar knot tightened in your stomach.

The moment your cries turned to moans and pleas to continue, Rafael stopped and lifted his head. "Did you want me to stop, querida?"

"No!" you cried loudly, fingers grasping his hair in an attempt to guide him back where you wanted him.

He smirked as he complied with your direction, lips and tongue once again sending you into a spiral of pleasure you'd never experienced before.

As you came down from your second high, Rafael finally slowed his assault and allowed you to pull his head up when it became too much.

He placed soft kisses against your heated skin, gently soothing you as the aftershocks shuddered through your body. His lips traced the curves of your face with gentle affection until your breathing had begun to normalize.

Rafael kissed you deeply, desire evident in the action. In response, your hand slowly descended down his chest and abdomen, until you reached his throbbing cock. You lightly ran your nails across the still clothed member, enticing a groan from the man above you.

You teased him for a few more seconds before sliding your hand beneath his boxer briefs and palming his cock in your warm hand. He groaned loudly--hips rutting against your hand instantly.

"I wanna taste you," you murmured against the shell of his ear.

"You don't have to..." he said softly.

There was something in his voice that caused you to pull away so you could see his face properly. He looked worried and perhaps a little apprehensive.

"But I want to," you reassured him.

"You do?"

You nodded. "It's something I enjoy very much, Rafa, so if you're okay with it, I would really like to suck your cock."

His eyes closed briefly and he moaned softly, forehead dropping against yours. "Por favor," he begged in a broken voice.

You grinned ear to ear. "Stand up."

"Qué?" he asked in confusion.

You nudged him gently and tilted your head towards the edge of the bed. "Stand up, handsome."

He did as you asked and watched in surprise as you lowered yourself to your knees on the floor in front of him. He felt like he needed to remind you again that you didn't need to do this for him, but when he saw the hunger in your eyes, he fell silent.

You slowly dragged his underwear down, freeing his cock from its constraints. You were a little surprised by his size--he was longer than average and quite thick--but surprise quickly turned to hunger.

You looked up at him, a playful smirk dancing on your lips, and all his worries faded away. It was obvious you wanted this...perhaps just as much as he did.

You wasted no time in wrapping your mouth around his cock, taking as much of him into your mouth as you could, eyes never leaving his face.

You gagged slightly as he hit the back of your throat, but you pushed past it, determined to provide him with as much pleasure as you could muster.

As you began to move, his fingers intertwined in your hair and his hips stuttered forwards occasionally. You knew what he needed, but it was clear he wasn't going to do it without some prodding.

You pulled off of him with a *pop* and waited until his heavily lidded eyes met yours. "Rafael, I want you to enjoy this."

"I am, cariño," he said in confusion.

"Not as much as you could be." You licked the tip of his cock for emphasis and his hips jumped slightly. "I want you to use my mouth for your own pleasure, Rafa. That's what it's there for."

He shook his head rapidly. He'd been expressly told not to do that by several women before you.

You rubbed his thighs reassuringly. "I want this, baby. Please," you begged. "Please fuck my mouth."

The moment the words were out of your mouth, you sucked his cock back into the warmth of your lips, hoping he would take you seriously. You pressed yourself forward, pushing past the gag reflex to take his entire member into your mouth.

Without hesitation, you began to guide his hips, urging him to give in and take what he wanted--what he needed.

You flicked your gaze up to meet his and nodded your head as best you could, hands still encouraging him to move. He very tentatively began to move his hips and you smiled, fingers digging into his thighs.

When you didn't pull away, he started to put a little more force into the movements. When you still didn't pull away, he sped up, fingers wrapping in your hair to keep you still.

You let him take control, eyes still trained on his face. He slowly began to thrust in earnest, fucking your mouth like it was his favorite place to be. You watched his head fall back, moans of intense pleasure leaving his lips.

You held onto him and focused on breathing as you let him use you. A few minutes passed before his hips began to stutter and you knew he was close.

You prepared to swallow everything he had to give you, but he surprised you by pulling away, your mouth coming off of him with a *pop*.

His breathing was ragged and his eyes were wild--pupils blocking out the brilliant green. "I need you," he said, voice raw and husky.

You understood his meaning and quickly crawled back onto the bed. He was on top of you almost immediately, lips latching onto your neck, teeth nipping at your flesh.

His cock rubbed against the outside of your pussy and you both groaned.

"Fuck," he mumbled. "Do I need a condom?"

"Pill," you gasped as you shook your head. "Wanna feel you fill me up, Rafa."

He let out a low growl and his eyes turned even more feral. He gave you no warning as he plunged his cock deep inside of you, stretching you in ways you'd never been stretched before.

"Rafael!" you cried out at the sensation.

Normally he would have forced himself to give you time to adjust, but his mind was too far gone. He set a brutal pace almost instantly and you were simply along for the ride.

There were so many new sensations that you were having a hard time staying focused. Everything just felt so incredible.

Your pussy throbbed around him, pulling him in even deeper. "Te sienetes muy bien, querida." [You feel so good, sweetheart.]

You moaned loudly, nails digging into his back as you arched against him.

"Te gusta cuando te hablo español, ¿no?" he growled into your ear. [You like it when I speak Spanish to you, don't you?"]

"Yes!" you gasped.

"Chica sucia," he chuckled darkly. [Dirty girl.]

"Rafa, please--I'm so close."

He groaned. "Quiero que vengas conmigo, cariño," he mumbled. [I want you to cum with me, sweetheart.] "Can you do that for me?" he asked in English.

You nodded your head rapidly.

"Esa es mi buena chica," he praised. [That's my good girl.]

You moaned lowly, preening at his praise. He smiled and picked up his pace, not wanting to stop until he felt you fall apart. "So close," he mumbled.

"Don't--stop!"

He knew you were close--could tell by the way your pussy fluttered around him--so he whispered, "Cum for me, baby."

You cried out as your orgasm hit you with more force than either of the two you'd had earlier. Rafael groaned your name as he spilled his seed within you, filling you up as your walls milked him dry.

You both began to come down from your highs, the intensity of your orgasms taking the wind out of both of you. Rafael pulled out and collapsed beside you, completely spent and satiated.

"That was pretty decent," you said between breaths.

He snapped his head in your direction and started to laugh when he saw the mischief in your eyes.

You grinned and joined in on his laughter, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and pull you closer to him.

"Very decent," he muttered against your hair.

You laughed again. "'Fucking incredible' would be a more accurate description."

"I couldn't agree more." He sighed softly. "I don't wanna move."

"Who says we have to?"

"We probably should...we do have work in the morning after all."

Your body tensed slightly and he felt it, realizing how his previous statement may have sounded. "I want you to stay, querida. I'm just saying we should probably get up and shower before we fall asleep."

You relaxed. "You may have to carry me."

He chuckled and dragged himself out of bed, pulling you along with him. He scooped you up despite your protests and carried you to the bathroom, placing you on the counter while he started the shower.

"I was kidding, Rafa!"

He smiled. "If my girl can walk immediately after sex, then I did something wrong. I'm always happy to carry you."

You smiled back at him, realizing he was completely serious. You watched him quietly, completely lost in thought.

"Where's your mind, querida?" he asked softly.

You shook your head, clearing your thoughts. "I'm happy...that's all."

Rafael kissed you gently. "Me too, hermosa. Now come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Once you were both clean and dry, he carried you back to his bed and laid you down gently before crawling into the bed beside you. He tugged you in closely against his chest and you sighed contentedly.

"Go to sleep, cariño. I'll be here in the morning when you wake up."

Somehow he seemed to know exactly what you needed to hear. Knowing he wasn't going anywhere and feeling his strong arms wrapped around you, allowed you to feel a calm peace you'd not felt in years.

Within minutes, you'd drifted off to sleep in his arms. Just before he fell asleep too, Rafael kissed the top of your head and whispered, "Te adoro con locura." [I adore you madly.]