#gonna look for a shirt with uh? I think it's called french cuffs? or something? So I can maybe wear cufflinks...

[arrowpunk]

Me when I was younger: I just don't really understand the hype for weddings, you get so stressed and spend so much money for One Day why doesn't everyone just elope!

Me, now: Okay still wanna keep this as cheap and affordable as possible but heehee hoohoo wedding planning

[acephysicskarkat]

Duet

I was just packing up from practicing in my garage when Rosetta shot bolt upright.

Rosetta’s my dragon.  She’s mostly a blue, but there aren’t any blue breeds that are crestbacks, so there’s definitely some other stuff in there.  Her crest is also malformed, so it flops over to the right all the time instead of standing straight up like crests are supposed to.  When I got my undercut, I made sure it flopped over to the right as well, so we matched.  She seems to appreciate the ‘do when she’s riding on my shoulder.

Anyway, Rosetta’s awesome. Smarter than some people I’ve met, although to be fair I’ve met some really dumb people.  Also, I’ve managed to teach her to play the drums.  Some dragons have an amazing sense of music.

In this case, though, she’d apparently heard something in the bushes – yes, even though we’d both just been rocking out for the last twenty minutes.  I don’t know how her ears work.  I put down my electric guitar and went to have a look…

…and found a white dragon.

I looked up a lot of dragon breeds when I was a kid and obsessed with them, so I recognised him as a purebred at once.  Specifically, he was a seraph – a rare and very expensive featherwing breed, with a long, wavy feather sticking out the back of his head like a ponytail.

“Hey there, little guy,” I said, keeping my voice gentle and sing-song – at least, as far as I could. “Someone’s gotta be missing you. Come on, I’m not gonna hurt you…”

Cold fangs nipped at my fingers, but after a few moments, the newcomer seemed to decide I could be trusted.  A heart-shaped tag on a simple but expensive-looking collar told me that this was Ludwig, and gave an address.  Needless to say, it was on the rich side of town; if you lived anywhere else, getting a seraph would probably leave you in a cardboard box.

“You up for a trip, little buddy?” I said, and  Ludwig hopped up onto my wrist.  “Great. Let’s go find your owner.”

***

The house Ludwig’s collar pointed me at wasn’t the biggest in the district, but since my house is basically six rooms including the garage, which doesn’t even have a car in it, it still made my place look like a shoebox.  And here I was carrying a dragon probably worth as much as a car.

Some low, shitty part of me whispered that I should just run away and sell the thing, but I felt the comforting weight of Rosetta on my shoulder and shut that thought down.  I knew how I’d feel if Rosetta went missing. I wasn’t going to inflict that on anyone, not even for a big sack of money.

I was just about to knock on the door when it swung open and all my brain’s resources were assigned to Being Gay simultaneously.

She was gorgeous. Blue eyes, a tight ponytail of night-dark hair, wearing a tailored shirt and elegant pants, carrying a handbag that probably cost more than anything I’d ever owned and holding a bundle of Missing Dragon posters with Ludwig’s picture on them and the legend “IF FOUND, CALL GWYNEIRA” and a number I couldn’t quite make out.  Standing there in my leather jacket, pride pins on full display, an old skirt, hand-repaired glasses and big, tough boots, I felt like a nail driven into a classical painting.  I had no business being here and I knew it.

After a frozen second, her face broke into a smile.  “You found him!  Thank you so much!”

“Uh.”  My brain whirred for a few agonisingly slow seconds, and then some parts of it kicked into gear.  “He was hanging around my garage.  Must have heard my music and thought it sounded interesting.”

“Oh, a fellow musician!” she said.  “What instrument, pray tell?”

“Well, I dabbled when I was a kid, but these days I mostly stick with the axe.”

“Axe?  You mean a weapon?”

“No, I mean an electric-” A stray neuron sparked back to life. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

She gave a too-innocent wide-eyed look and then started laughing.  After a few moments, I did too.

She reached out, and Ludwig hopped across from my wrist to hers.  She waggled a finger under the dragon’s snub little nose and said, “I hope you won’t be pulling any more disappearing acts, Ludwig.”  Ludwig gave a smug, catlike smile and hopped up to her shoulder, and she turned back to me, reaching into her bag.  “I didn’t have time to put the posters up, but I was planning to give a reward for finding him-”

Take the money, Vetra, you dumbass, the parts of my brain that were functioning said.  Your amp is so old it was designed for the mandolin. Take the money, stick it in a jar, and when you have enough money, buy an amp that isn’t held together with baling twine.

Then my mouth, operating entirely independently from those parts, said, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?”  When my treacherous head nodded, she said, “Then at least allow me to buy you dinner.”

***

I was crammed into the only halfway decent dress I owned and had eaten something about half the size of an actual proper meal, but somehow I was still having a great time.

“So then we found the drummer hanging from the tree, in his underwear, rope around his ankle, and all he had to say when we let him down was, ‘I hate chipmunks.’”  Gwyneira choked back a laugh, and I shook my head.  “The band didn’t last long after that, although the bass player still crashes on my couch when he’s in town.”

“Such an…adventurous lifestyle,” she said, and sipped her wine.  

“But I’ve probably rambled long enough.”  I stabbed what I had been assured was the correct fork into a too-small morsel of chicken and said, “You said you were a musician, but you haven’t even told me what instrument.”

“Oh, how rude of me.” She cut a slice off…well, I don’t speak French, so whatever it was she was eating, and said, “I’m a violinist.”

“Huh.  Just as a hobby, or-”

“Professionally.”  She adjusted the cuffs on her suit, an outfit choice that was just deeply unfair.  “Have you ever studied much classical music?”

Show her how smart you are.  “Tell the truth, uh…I never really got into it.  I like my music with a bit more impact to it, you know?”  I mimed shredding on the air guitar.  Nailed it.

“I think I can show you plenty of impact,” she said, her delicate features arranged into a cocky smirk. “Come to my place tomorrow afternoon, and bring your…‘axe’.”

***

Rosetta took a deep breath and spat lightning into the amplifier.  For some reason, dragon thunder-breath doesn’t just charge a battery; it keeps it charging.  I scratched her behind the ear, and she grinned up at me, then spread her wings and soared over to the drums.

Ludwig raised his head from the piano, and Gwyneira started to play.

Notes didn’t fall from the violin; they rose, soaring into the air like birdsong.  Her voice, just as high and pure, mingled with it, underscored but never challenged by the slow, measured notes of Ludwig on the piano.

It was beautiful, but I wasn’t just here to listen.

I was here to play.

As the notes from the violin started to die away, I flicked my plectrum between my fingers like an old-time riverboat hustler playing with a coin.  Rosetta chose the tempo, her bunched-up claws striking the drums, a drumstick wrapped in her tail striking a cymbal, and my axe sang as I began: not the high, pure note of birdsong, but the howl of an iron wolf.

After a few bars, the piano started up again, but without its previous dignity and reserve.  Ludwig, apparently, relished the chance to cut loose a bit.  His claws struck the keys with speed rather than precision, keeping up with the beat of the drum and the snarl of the electric guitar, mixing in the occasional, perfectly timed glissando.

Then the violin’s song started up again.

Gwyneira’s eyes were closed, but she was keeping up with the much faster tempo like she was born to it, her bow dancing over the strings.  Her violin and my guitar weaved notes around each other, twining together like the tails of dragons in love.  It was like we were instinctively opening spaces for the other to slip into, letting the instruments work together rather than battle for dominance.

It was the kind of jam session you usually only get once in a lifetime.

***

Anyway, that’s how I met my girlfriend.

I own some nicer clothes, now.  I speak a little French.  And, you know, I’m starting to get along with classical music.  I mean, give me the faster ones any day – you should hear my cover of Rondo Alla Turca on the electric guitar, it’ll knock your socks off – but, you know, we meet halfway.

And I mean halfway.  Gwyneira looks like a goddess in anything, but when she’s let her hair out of its ponytail?  When she’s at a rock concert, just letting it all out, headbanging along? It’s amazing.  She’s amazing.

There have been challenges – you try finding good homes for an entire clutch of half-seraph, half-mongrel dragon hatchlings sometime – but we’re going pretty damn well.  She’s even talked about starting a proper band – weaving classical and rock together.

And if that never comes to pass?  If we can’t get a gig or find a good rhythm guitar?  At least we can still jam together.

[plaidbooks]

Everyone Deserves Love chapter 8

A/N: This starts with a little bit of fluffy cuteness, but don’t let that fool you! Jenkins coming in hot, and then it switches to angst. And it stays angst. So heads up, it’s gonna be angst for a bit haha.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: none, outside of feelings, oh, I guess minor character death that was mentioned in one line

Words: 6k+

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba (lemme know if you want to be tagged!)

Apartment of Rafael Barba

Saturday, May 2nd. 5:00am

Devon woke up at 5am sharp, as usual, even after being up over 24 hours the day before. She uncurled on the couch, stretching while standing, then went through her morning routine: exercise, shower, dress. She tried to be as quiet as possible, since Barba was still asleep, and she planned to let him sleep in a little, their deal from the previous night. Normally on weekends, he would stumble out of his room around 8am. Glancing at the clock, it was still early; only 6:30. Devon planned on making coffee to go with the breakfast, so she decided that 8am would be the safest time to start it. Until then, though, she’d work on the abandoned report from last night, while trying to ignore the thoughts that had stopped that report. Having those types of thoughts helped no one and was wildly unprofessional. So, she shoved her feelings away, focusing on the events from the past two days instead.

Time flew by and 8am came faster than she thought it would, with no signs of life from Barba’s room. She still got up from the couch, report done, and started the French press. While waiting for the water to heat up, she went to the FBI database, trying to check on the last 12 Aces in the city. She looked up from her laptop when she heard Barba’s door open; she didn’t even hear him shower, yet his hair was still damp from the spray. He was in nice slacks and a plain polo shirt; his “casual” attire, unlike his “weekend” suits. It was always a little treat seeing someone who was normally in expensive suits dressing in something…not as expensive. Casual. He still looked damn good, though.

“Good morning,” Devon chirped, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Coffee?”

“Please,” he grumbled. Even when he slept in, Rafael Barba was not a morning person. Devon grinned, pouring him a cup, and adding the appropriate amount of sugar that she knew he liked. She noticed, somewhere deep down, that she liked their almost…domestic tendencies. It made sense, with how much time they spent together, but it was still nice to have these little shared things. It was like his home was hers’, too. Which was comforting. And absolutely terrifying.

“Here you go,” she said, passing him the hot liquid.  He gratefully took a deep pull, letting the caffeine waken him. He went to the fridge, pulling out an assortment of vegetables and a carton of eggs. He set about making breakfast, an omelet with sautéed vegies; Devon hovered in the kitchen, but her attention was on her laptop, still researching.

“So, what time were you up today?” Barba asked casually.

“Uh, 5am?” Devon replied.

Barba shot her a look. “I thought we agreed to sleep in today. Why were you up so early?”

“I—I’m always up at 5. I have an internal clock, wakes me up,” she explained.

“Everyday?”

“Correction, almost always. Sometimes I’m up at 4.”

Barba looked shocked first, then concerned. “We go to bed so late; why the hell do you wake up so early? And how the hell are you so perky in the morning?”

Devon thought about it. “I’ve been waking up before the sun for a while, now, couple years, actually. Guess it’s just habit.” She gave him a playful smile. “The perkiness is all me, baby.”

Barba ignored the joke, all serious. “Years? That cannot be healthy. Have you talked to anyone about this?”

Devon took a sip of coffee, swirled it in her mouth before swallowing. “After doing a UC, it’s mandatory to talk to a therapist. So yes, I did ‘talk to someone’ about it…. Especially because it seemed to start a week into that assignment.” Barba flipped the omelet he was making. It looked like he was going to question further, so Devon cut him off. “Yes, both my therapist and I believe that it’s from stress. I—I think I’m just…” she took a deep breath; saying it out loud was acknowledging it. But it was also good to get it out of her mind. “I’m just afraid; my brain needs to be on alert at all times. I know it sounds silly, but people like you—victims--deserve to have 24/7 protection, but I can only give you 20 at most. I’m a light sleeper; anyone breaking in and I’ll hear it. But I don’t think that’s really good enough; it leaves at least 4 hours where you’re open, exposed, especially with the fire escape in your room.” Barba took the omelet out of the pan, placing it skillfully on a plate, and passing it to Devon. She took it gratefully, blowing on it before taking a bite. It was delicious. Is there anything he can’t do?

Barba sighed as he went back to the pan, starting on his own food. “Devon, I know that no one wants to hear it, but you are human. No one, including you, can stay awake and alert 24/7. Hell, even 20/7 is insane. I’m glad that this whole mess is almost over.” He flinched inwardly as soon as the words left his mouth. And the look on Devon’s face was a punch to the gut; it was only there for a split second before she went back to a neutral expression. But he felt it, too; as much as he would like life to go back to normal, he really didn’t want to lose her, lose this. Not yet.

“It will be nice to sleep in my own bed again,” Devon joked, though her voice fell a little flat. She knew that it was inevitable; she’d have to leave him eventually, go on with her work and life. But she really, really, didn’t want to think about that. She was disappointed that he was already there in his thoughts, that he was wishing for it.

Barba finished cooking his own food, standing at the counter next to Devon. They ate in relative silence, besides complimenting each other on the food and coffee, and idly talking about heading to the park afterwards.

“Oh shit, I need to call Liv,” Devon said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. Olivia picked up on the second ring.

“Hey Dev, everything alright?” she asked.

Devon chuckled, shaking her head. “Of course. Just wanted to let you know that Barba and I were going to Central Park for a little. Get some fresh air after the mess from the past couple days.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? You don’t think that you’ll be sitting ducks?”

“There’s only 12 Aces left, and I think after what happened with Marco, we should be good.” Devon waited a moment before adding on, “I’ll be armed, we’ll be safe.”

Liv sighed. “For one thing, I forgot to text you last night; we caught 5 more Aces in a raid last night. So now the magic number is 7. And second, I’ll station some extra unis in the park, just to be sure. The remaining members may be getting desperate, since there’s not many left.”

“That’s good to know. I’ll let Barba know, and I’ll keep my eyes open,” Devon replied. She hung up, then, and relayed the information to Barba.

“Hm, SVU must be busy; Liv doesn’t normally forget to inform us like that,” he said.

Devon agreed. “We can always stop by later today, see what’s up.” Barba nodded.

They finished their food quickly, suddenly eager to get out into fresh air. Barba’s loft was only two blocks from Central Park, so it was a short walk there, but before they even hit the park, they were already more relaxed, basking in the warm, sunny day. There’s something about getting out of the house, even for a simple walk, that was refreshing. It seemed like the tension, the heaviness, from the last two days lifted, and they joked and laughed, conversation flowing easily. They made it to a trail that went by the water, and just enjoyed each other’s presence. They talked about nothing, really, just idle small talk.  Devon did surreptitiously watch every person within eyesight; she saw at least 6 cops the first ten minutes there, two on bikes and the rest on foot. But no one looked suspicious, only suburban moms with their strollers, joggers, couples walking through the park. They wandered the trail for about an hour, slowly getting closer together, though neither of them noticed. It wasn’t until Devon’s hand brushed against his that they realized how close they were. They stopped walking, half turning to each other, Devon’s cheeks flushing, an apology on her tongue. Barba opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by a woman screaming.

Devon was a flurry of movement, embarrassment from the simple touch forgotten. Her first instinct was to shove Barba behind her, turning towards the noise. It took a moment for the woman’s words to process in her adrenaline-clogged brain.

“Help! He stole my purse!” she yelled, pointing. A man dressed like a burglar from a shitty movie, complete with loose jeans, a black hoodie with the hood pulled up, and dark sunglasses, was running on the path that Devon and Barba were currently on, a tan purse clutched in his hand. As the man tried to push passed them, Barba stuck out his leg. The man got caught on his foot and went down, slamming into the ground, glasses flying off his face.

“Great reflexes,” Devon said, jokingly, giving him a half-grin. She knelt down, grabbing his hands and pulling them behind his back. “Senior Special Agent Motely, FBI,” she informed the man. She grabbed the purse from his clutches and handed it to Barba.

“Did you doubt me?” Barba smirked back. He took the purse, looking towards the woman who had alerted them. She was on her way over, as well as the two bike cops. Barba handed over the purse, and Devon let the unis cuff the man. Devon noticed Barba’s hands were shaking; he must still be feeling anxious from the past couple days for this small action to affect him so.

“Come on,” Devon said, giving him a soft smile. She took Barba’s shaking hand, ignoring the jolt of electricity she felt from touching his burning skin, and led him away from the scene at a slow jog. She was hoping that a short jog would burn off the extra energy coursing through both of their veins. She led him out of the park and towards a small café across the street; one of her favorite spots.

“That was…surprisingly fun,” Barba chuckled, trying to catch his breath. Devon laughed with him; at least he had stopped shaking.

“Oh no, please stay as a lawyer. Don’t switch to cop,” Devon replied, feigning concern at his life choices.

“Why not? Afraid that I’d take your job?”

“No, but I think the power would go to your already inflated head.”

Barba scoffed as if offended. “Don’t lie; I’d outrank you in a week.”

“And there’s that ego I mentioned.” They chuckled, before a waitress came out to them. They both ordered a coffee—Devon got a pastry, too--and resigned to people watching while they waited for her to come back.

“To be honest, though, I am glad that we were able to help that woman out,” Devon said.

Barba agreed. “We got lucky that he ran towards the two people in the park that could help her.”

“That’s a little rude to the cops working in the park.”

Barba smirked. “But am I wrong?”

“Not at all,” she replied. Their coffee and food came just then, and they sat in silence, drinking and sharing the pastry. Devon broke the silence. “Today’s been really fun. I’m glad we decided to do this.”

“Me too. It’s nice getting out of the loft every now and again. To not worry about cases, files, rapes, murders, and traffickers.”

Devon nodded. “It does get…taxing, after a while. You have to find a balance in this line of work. It’s not always enough to just go home at the end of the day.”

Barba thought about what he wanted to say, how he wanted to say it. “I—I couldn’t imagine doing what you do. At least I get to go home at the end of the day. You just finished a three-year undercover op before this; you didn’t even get to go home. You didn’t get to talk to friends, hell you didn’t even have your own name. That sounds like a type of torture. And now, you still don’t get to go home.”

“At least I have some good company,” she smiled at him. She took a small bite of her pastry, then continued, “sometimes, it feels like torture. But you have to get so into your character, your fabricated life. You have to be invested in your fake job, fake friends, fake relationships. Sometimes, none of those things feel fake anymore. It’s just life…. I’ve learned that you need to have something, anything, that can pull you back to your real life.”

“What…what did you have?”

Devon’s cheeks turned red, though she tried to hide it by drinking her coffee. “You, uh, you got to promise me you will not tell a soul,” she said after putting her coffee down. She locked eyes with him. “I’m serious; no one must know of this, especially Olivia.”

Barba kept his face neutral, trying not to smile at how flustered Devon got, how cute she was when her face got all red like that. Was it really that bad? “Okay, I promise.”

Devon took a deep breath, let it out. Then she reached into her pocket, pulling out her phone. She popped the case off, pulling something out. In her hand was a small square of what looked like folded paper. She went about unfolding it, and Barba realized it wasn’t a piece of paper, but a photo. It was so worn, so creased, that it was obvious how often she had needed to look at it during her time undercover. Once unfolded, she handed it to Barba, looking away sheepishly, sipping at her coffee.

The picture was faded, even though it was timestamped as only four years ago. It was a snapshot of what looked like a fun night in a dark bar. Devon was on the left, wearing a plastic top hat that read “Happy New Year’s! 2010” and with a drink in hand. She looked like she was laughing in the picture. Hanging on her, arm wrapped around the people on either side of her, was Olivia. It looked like she was trying to have them hold her up, but her face showed that it wasn’t happening. The photographer must have gotten her mid-fall—her mouth was open in a comical “O” shape. Barba only knew the man on the right because Olivia had showed her pictures before; his name was Elliot Stabler, Liv’s old partner. He wore a hat matching Devon’s, and it looked like Olivia was taking him down with her. His mouth was open in surprise, though a smile tugged at the corners. It was a great picture of three friends enjoying the start of the new year. Barba hated that he felt a pang of loneliness and jealousy looking at it. He looked up from the picture to find Devon watching him, cheeks still red.

“That was the first time since my childhood that I had celebrated my birthday; that I even had friends to celebrate with,” Devon explained, taking the photo back and gazing at it lovingly.

“Your birthday is New Year’s Eve?”

“Day, actually,” she corrected. She took one last look, then folded it up, stuffing it back into the phone case, popping it back on and replacing it in her pocket.

Barba wasn’t quite sure what to say. He was glad she had people to celebrate with, but also felt sad that it took her so long to find that kind of acceptance in her life. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” he said softly. There was nothing else to say. He was touched that she had opened up to him, had shown him something so personal.

Like in the park, they were both so enraptured in their thoughts that they stopped paying attention to their surroundings, especially their body language. They both had the same, stupid grin on their faces, as they stared into each other’s eyes. Barba had his hand on the table between them, and Devon didn’t even realize that she had placed hers on top of it. They were slowly leaning closer to each other, lost in the depths of their eyes, the closeness that they felt. Thinking about how today was a perfect date, yet neither would admit to the other that it even was one; it was just a walk in the park between friends. Sharing an intimate secret between friends. Holding hands, sharing a pastry, leaning closer, heads tilting, eyes closing…as friends….

Devon’s phone started ringing loudly, and they both jumped back, ripping their hands off the table. Devon fished her phone back out of her pocket, heart beating wildly. What just happened?

Barba looked flushed and a little…disappointed, grabbing his coffee and taking a sip, adverting his eyes. Devon looked at her phone screen, seeing her boss’s name lighting up across it.

“Uh oh…” she mumbled before answering. “Motely.”

“Is there a reason that NYPD’s Internal Affairs just handed me a file on you shooting a man two days ago?” Jenkins asked. He wasn’t angry; he just sounded tired.

Shit. “Oh, I meant to call you about that, sir,” Devon replied, heart still pounding. Her mind was going a mile a minute, stuck between thoughts of shooting Marco, IAB, and almost, maybe, about to kiss a certain counselor who was still avoiding her eyes. “You see, it’s a long story….”

“Well, you’d better come in and explain it to me, then.”

Devon looked to Barba, sipping innocently at his coffee. How much coffee does he still have? “Uh, permission to bring a civilian?” He finally looked at her at that, brow furrowed.

Jenkins sighed; he knew better than to ask questions. “Granted. Get here. Now.” And with that, he hung up.

Devon slowly put her phone down. She looked deeply into Barba’s green eyes. “Ever wanted to go to the FBI Headquarters?”

FBI Headquarters

Saturday, May 2nd. 12:37pm

Devon led Barba into the elevator leading to her boss’s office, his visitor badge bouncing off his chest.

“This is not what I had planned today when we agreed on a day off,” he mumbled, the doors closing behind them. Devon smirked.

“Sorry about this. I could’ve left you with a detective, if you really wanted. Or you can go back to the lobby; one of the field agents can watch you.”

Barba scoffed. “I’m not a child for you to pass around.”

“Then stop complaining like one,” she replied. He glared at her, and she stuck her tongue out in response. The elevator doors dinged and opened, and Devon led him down the long hallway to Jenkins’s office.

“Come in,” he said before she even had a chance to knock. Barba gave her a look, eyebrows raised. She shrugged in a yeah, that’s normal way, then opened the door for him, following him in. Jenkins kept his office space neat, tidy; a desk with two monitors, a couple of full bookshelves, and a small conference table in the corner. Although he was the Assistant Director, in charge of multiple sectors of field agents, he still didn’t spend much time in his office, usually only resigning to the space at night or on weekends to do paperwork. Much like Olivia, he worked his way up from field agent, and his heart and mind were still out in the field. He had trouble sitting still for too long, and was often out of the office, running teams or even in the field himself as much as possible. Which was why everyone respected him, whether they liked him or not.

“Counselor,” Jenkins said in his deep voice, nodding to Barba, before turning back to Devon. “Motely, report.”

Devon took a deep breath, then filled him in on everything that had happened since the end of January, starting from the night she met Barba, to talking to Olivia, to accepting the 24/7 protection of the ADA. “I honestly didn’t think it would be this…extensive,” Devon finished, lacking a better word. It was true, though; she knew what 24/7 protection was like, but she had only ever done it for a weekend at most. Never for months at a time. And though she knew that there was the chance of it lasting longer than she thought, it was different talking about it and actually doing it.

“So, this shooting of Marco Sorrel was in defense of Mr. Barba here,” Jenkins replied, looking at the case file from IAB.

“Yes sir.”

“And this protection order is still in effect? That’s why you brought him here, I take it?”

“Yes sir.” Devon felt Barba tense next to her; she had almost forgot he was there. He had said nothing since coming into the office. He knew when to bite his tongue.

“For how much longer? I need my top agent back to work.”

That knocked the wind out of Devon’s sails. It was the confirmation that after this was over, she would be going right back to work for the FBI. She wasn’t surprised, but it did solidify her resolve; she could not have a relationship with Barba, regardless of their feelings. She basically already told him as much that one day they talked a little too loosely about relationships.

“To my knowledge, there’s only 7 more Aces active in the city. Once they’re arrested, and the hit on Barba is off, I’ll be cleared for work again, sir,” Devon informed him.

Jenkins smirked. “Only 7? Tell that SVU Sergeant that I’ll make sure it’s taken care of before the weekend is over. I want to see you here, bright and early, on Monday morning; there’s a sex-trafficking ring I need you in on.”

Devon felt her stomach drop, her world crumbling. But she kept her face neutral, her voice steady. “Y-yes sir,” she said. Hearing the dismissal in his voice, she turned, Barba following suit, and left the office.

Apartment of Rafael Barba

Saturday, May 2nd. 3:05pm

“So, are we going to talk about it?” Barba finally asked from the kitchen. They both had been silent leaving the Bureau, and even more distant on the ride back to Barba’s loft. They tried small talk, but it sizzled out after a couple words. They both resigned to doing their own thing; Devon researching on her laptop, Barba doing the dishes from breakfast.

“Talk about what?” Devon replied, but she knew. Of course, she did. But she wanted to hear him say it.

Barba sighed, turning off the water. He placed the last pan on the drying rack, drying his hands off before coming to stand in the doorway. “Let’s be adults about this. Please. You know what,” when Devon stayed silent, Barba continued, “about what happened, well, what almost happened at the café. About the fact that you’re going to be leaving soon. About…about where that leaves us.”

Devon’s heart fluttered when he said “us.” God, she wanted there to be an “us” so damn badly. But she couldn’t force herself to take that leap, to fully commit to him. How could she, when both of their schedules were so busy, so crazy? Jenkins said it himself; she was about to go right back into the field. She could be gone for months, years at a time. She could be hurt or worse. How could she possibly hurt Barba like that, put him through that?

“The café was a mistake,” she said as flatly as she could. She stared at his chest, not able to make eye contact with him. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, Rafael, but there isn’t an ‘us.’ This is a job, and once it’s over, I’m back to working with the Bureau.” Devon was glad that there were no tears in her eyes; her years of training, of becoming personas were coming in handy, even if her own heart was breaking at her words. She dared a glance into Barba’s face.

He was crestfallen, his face falling. He had been sure, was positive, that she had felt the same way about him. Especially when they brushed hands in the park, when they almost kissed in the café. It took him weeks and weeks to build up the courage to make a move, and when her hand had enveloped his at that table, he knew that that was his moment. Then that damned phone call happened. And then, that damned meeting with her boss! And now she was going to leave him, by tomorrow if her boss was correct. That’s why he had to tell her, he had to know if she had felt the same.

“I thought you said that we were friends. That you cared about me,” he said softly. God, he sounded desperate, pathetic, even to himself.

Devon’s eyes softened, if only for a moment. “You are, and I do. But Barbs, we can’t be any more than that. You know that, right?” Her resolve was shaking under his intense stare. She could see him caving in on himself, his shoulders slumping slightly, his head falling, knees bending. His whole body language just screamed defeated. And she was the one delivering the blows.

He took a deep breath, stiffening his spine, raising his head; the prosecutor heading into a losing battle. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be putting you in this kind of situation. Forget I mentioned it.” With that, he made his way down the hallway and into his room, closing his door softly behind him. Devon opened her mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say.

Great, she thought. There goes that friendship. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, though; it made things a little less awkward. And it made her leaving easier. Plus, it’d be just like one of her many one-night stands anyways. No attachments: just cut all ties when she left. And leave the broken pieces of her heart behind.

As if the timing couldn’t be more perfect, Devon got an incoming call, from Olivia.

“Motely,” she answered, trying to sound professional.

“Devon! Great news: all the Aces have been rounded up and delivered to the NYPD. Did you call in the Feds to help?” Olivia asked.

Devon smiled grimly. “No, but my boss did offer his assistance after getting IAB’s report.”

“Well, he certainly assisted. Also, I just got a report that said that an hour ago, the Aces in Rikers got in a fight with the 32nd street gang in the prison courtyard. Jorge Ramirez was killed in the scuffle,” Olivia paused, letting her words sink in. “To our knowledge, the hit on Barba has been called off; you can go home, now.”

Devon sat in silence, trying to figure out what the hell the bombardment of emotions she felt was; it was all too much, too quickly. “Devon? You there?” she heard Liv say.

“Yeah, yeah sorry, I’m here. That’s…that’s great news, Liv. I’ll be sure to tell Barbs; I’m sure he’ll be relieved.”

They talked for a few more minutes before Devon made an excuse to hang up, citing the fact that she needed to pack and go grocery shopping before heading home. She sighed heavily, rubbing her hands over her face, but she stood and started collecting her small number of possessions.

“It’s done, isn’t it?” a voice came from down the hallway. Devon stopped, but didn’t turn to look.

“Yes; all the Aces have been arrested. Plus, Ramirez was shanked in a prison fight, so the hit’s been called off,” she turned to look at the man now, “congratulations, Barbs. You’re no longer a marked man.”

The door to his bedroom was wide open and Barba was leaning casually against the doorframe. Well, as casually as he could; his body was tight with tension, as much as he tried to hide it, and if Devon looked closely, she could see a small red ring around his eyes. He gave a stiff nod, peeling himself off the doorframe and coming out into the living room. Devon finished packing her things, zipping up her grip and slinging it over her shoulder. She felt a slew of emotions run through her; she needed to get out of there, but she was rooted to the spot.

“When will I see you again?” Barba murmured. It was barely a whisper, so quiet that it was hard to tell if he actually said it, or if Devon imagined it.

She gave him a soft smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sure we’ll end up working on a case together at some point…I do help SVU from time to time,” she replied quietly. He gave her another stiff nod, not trusting himself to speak. She no longer trusted her own voice, and turned away, unable to look at his face anymore. She felt tears spring to her eyes, and she blinked them away rapidly, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Devon made her way to the front door, unlocking it, opening it slowly.

“Wait,” Barba finally choked out. Devon froze at the door, one foot already in the hallway. She looked over her shoulder at him, eyes softening for a moment. His mouth opened and closed a couple times, but no sound came out.

She gave him a small smile. “Stay safe,” she whispered, and then she was gone.

 *********************

Devon didn’t go straight home. It was still early in the evening; the sun still hadn’t set, and it was still warm out. She also didn’t call a cab; instead opting to simply wander the streets, the grip slung over her shoulder soon forgotten as her mind, too, began to wander. She made it a full block before the tears began to flow, slowly at first, but then soon falling freely. She let them, ignoring the stares from strangers she walked by. It was good to let it all out, especially here, outdoors, rather than in her own space. She did wander in the general direction of her apartment—she lived about a 30-minute walk from Barba’s loft—and she took her time, weaving in and out of the streets. Finally, with the sun setting, and her shoulder growing sore from the weight, she made her way home.

 *********************

Apartment of Devon Motely

Saturday, May 2nd. 7:35pm

After her undercover op in California, Devon had the cleaners from the FBI clean her place so that it wasn’t dusty or gross. This was not the case with the past three months with Barba; the place had obviously not been inhabited. Dust covered every surface, there was a weird smell that wasn’t there before, and it was stuffy. Devon sighed, having no motivation to clean anything, emotionally drained. She looked at the clock and sighed again, realizing she hadn’t eaten anything besides breakfast and the little pastry at the café by the park, right before everything fell apart. She should eat, but she didn’t feel hungry. She didn’t really feel anything right now except for emptiness…a longing, and a loneliness that she hadn’t felt in years.

She went to her room and checked her bed, sniffing the sheets. They smelled musty, and she knew she couldn’t sleep in that. She stripped the sheets and threw them on the floor in the corner; that was a tomorrow problem. She went to her closet and pulled out her back-up sheets but couldn’t bring herself to make the bed. Instead, she threw them on the bed in a heap and made her way to the kitchen. Hungry or not, she should eat something, especially if she planned on drinking—and she did plan on drinking; maybe it would help lessen some of the emptiness, though she knew, deep down, that that was a load of crap.

First things first, she looked in her liquor cabinet, finding some cheap whiskey. Fingers crossed, she looked in her fridge and, hallelujah, she found an unopened bottle of Coca Cola. She quickly made herself a strong drink, then took another look in the fridge. No food to be found. She checked her pantry next. A couple cans of soup and some long-expired rice. She winced, remembering that she had been gone for over three years now; she really needed to go grocery shopping tomorrow.

Sighing, she grabbed a box of instant rice and opened it. It wasn’t fuzzy or discolored, so she presumed it was fine. The alcohol she was drinking would kill anything in it, anyways. While waiting for the water to boil, she unpacked her grip, throwing the clothes in a laundry bin, plugging in her laptop, and taking out her toiletries, to be replaced with new ones tomorrow. She went back to the kitchen, grabbed a notepad, and started making a list of foods. Once done, she had a thought, and went to her supply closet. After checking the small amount of cleaners she had, she added ones she needed to the list too. She was on autopilot, thoughts blank, afraid to stop moving. Actions kept her thoughts at bay. Speaking of moving, she realized that she could finally go back to the gym tomorrow morning, something that she thought she’d be excited for, but in this state, it was a dull thought. She dreaded the pain she’d be in tomorrow—her little morning routine wasn’t intense enough to replace a gym workout—but knew it would be worth it in the end.

Satisfied with her list, Devon took her food and drink, then sat in her living room. She didn’t like how the apartment didn’t seem…familiar, not in the way she was used to, or how his had felt. Even with her work, she had lived in this apartment for about seven years now, and it was always a welcome relief coming home. Now, it was like a piece was missing. Suddenly, the silence was pushing in on her, deafening her. She lunged for the TV remote, turned on whatever sports station she could find, and sat there, picking at her rice as the announcers were droning on about…the Mets. It didn’t really matter what was on, as long as there was continuous talking, hence, sports.

It didn’t take long, though, before the monotone voices seemed to tune out of her consciousness. Devon finished her food and drink, went back to the kitchen to dispose of her dishes, and brought the whiskey and coke back to the couch with her. She quickly lost count of drinks, thinking more and more about, well, everything that happened the past couple months. She remembered the first night she had met the ADA, before she knew who he was. She thought about how he didn’t want her help at first, how he had told Olivia that he didn’t need her. How she had made a deal with him that she’d never bother him again afterwards.

She thought about those first few weeks together, about how they were awkward around each other, learning about each other. She thought about how fascinated she was the first time she watched him in court, the pride and awe the first time he won a conviction. She remembered how his eyes lit up, how he set his jaw when he ran through his arguments with her in his office. She remembered how his green eyes conveyed concern when she got stabbed in the shoulder. She remembered his little smirk when he found something amusing. She wondered when she noticed all these little things about him.

She was shocked when she felt the tears on her cheeks, didn’t notice them pooling in her eyes. So, what if she loved him? It wasn’t going to work; she knew that! She had to move on with her life, let him move on, too. He deserved someone who could love him with their whole heart, who could be there for him when he needed them. She couldn’t be that person; she was always on call, and it was never a guarantee that see would come home at night.

Devon let out a loud sniffle, trying to control her emotions. It was final; she would forget about Rafael Barba. She would get a good night sleep, clean her apartment tomorrow, and then go back to work on Monday. And that was that. She finished her drink, wiped the tears out of her eyes, then went to her room. She saw the sheets clumped on her bed and let out a frustrated scream.

[staroflightning]

Michael!! (For the character ask thing)

Thanks sm for the ask!! I love that demon dad so fucking much

Sexuality headcanon: I really don’t have one for him 🤷🏻‍♀️ @shakesqueer-writes said aro-ace for him and I like that so I’m gonna go with that

Otp: None.

Brotp: Him with the entirety of Team Cockroach. His friendship with Janet is adorable. They’re two immortal dumbasses who share one brain cell. And I love his found family relationship with Eleanor.

Notp: shipping Michael with anyone romantically tbh. I just can’t see it

First headcanon that pops into my head:

Oh, man, I have so many for Michael, but my favorite has got to be the headcanon that Eleanor buys him a “#1 Dad” mug meant as a joke, but when she gives it to him, Michael nearly cries because he’s so touched. He still keeps it on his desk to this day.

Favorite line from this character:

God this post is gonna be so long because I have so many favorite Michael lines but here we go. Here’s just some of the ones that come to mind:

“I’m bad at lying now, Janet! Lying used to be my thing!”

Michael: “Young lady, you will go to the PTA meeting and support your mother! I won’t hear another word about it!” / Eleanor: “What the hell was that?” / Michael: “I was going for the ‘stern, but y’know, caring’ dad vibe. Did I do it right?” / Eleanor: “No, man, like... not even in the ballpark.” / Michael: “I was trying something, Eleanor. Give me a break.”

“Those four humans are all I care about in the universe.”

“In the words of one of my actual friends, YA BASIC! It’s a human insult. It’s devastating. You’re devastated right now.”

“You’re my friend, Janet. You’re my oldest, truest, most loyal friend.”

Eleanor: “Hey, be careful.” / Michael: “Eleanor, are you... worried about me?” / Eleanor, desperately trying to cover it up but failing: “Pssh, yeah, because you’re our ticket out of here, genius. Don’t be getting all goopy on me.” / Michael, who sees through her fake cover-up and is genuinely touched: “Worry about them. I’ll be fine.”

Chidi: “We got all four clues you left us.” / Michael: “Oh, that’s good. Well, I actually left more than twelve hundred clues because of how primitive your human brains are, but I’m so glad you got enough to figure it out!”

“All I’ve ever wanted was to know what it feels like to be human, and now we’re about to try one of the most human things of all: attempt something futile with a bunch of unearned confidence, and fail spectacularly!”

“I have an idea to get the four humans to stay in Australia, and only five random bystanders get hurt! It’s called arson!”

“Serious question: should we kill them?”

Jason: “I know this sounds crazy, but... I think we’re in the Bad Place.” / Michael: “Jason figured it out? JASON?! Oh, this is a real low point. Yeah, this one hurts.”

His evil laugh in the season one finale bc it’s so Evil™️

In the season one finale when Eleanor blows his cover and he knocks her potted plant off the table (like a cat) because he’s Salty™️

“We’re in love. And love is stronger than anything you can throw at us.” / “Love is stronger than anything I can throw at you? I could throw an elephant at you! You think a thrown elephant wouldn’t crush you because of love?” / “She was speaking metaphorically.” / “Even metaphorically, it’s lame.”

“That’s why I didn’t want you to see your memories. I didn’t want you to see how cruel I used to be. Plus, I wore a lot of French cuff shirts back then, I thought it made me look classy. It’s all embarrassing. The point is, I’m different now.”

“Which, gross. Kissing is gross. You just mash your food holes together, it’s not FOR THAT.”

Michael, well-intentioned: “As long as I’m with you guys, I’m always in the fake Good Place.” / Eleanor: “That doesn’t sound as nice as you think it does.” / Michael: “The real Bad Place... is the friends we made along the way.” / Eleanor: “Nope, still nonsense. One more try?” / Michael, trying his best: “In a way, the Bad Place was... inside the Good Place... all along.” / Eleanor: “Y’know, that’s technically true. I’m gonna give it to ya.” / Michael, proud of himself: “I just made an aphorism.”

*gleefully* “A BUS? I’m gonna get to take A BUS? Oh, boy! I’m gonna sit in a front-facing seat, or no, wait- maybe a sideways-facing seat! I’m gonna get so motion sick, it’s gonna be great!”

“Oh, man! I was just on Earth! It was incredible! The traffic, and the pigeons! And I saw this place that was, at once, both a Pizza Hut and a Taco Bell! At the same time! I mean, wow! The mind reels! A Pizza Hut AND a Taco Bell!”

“We should enjoy ourselves while we’re down here on Earth. I know it’s touristy, but I’d really love to visit a Lens Crafters.”

Good Place committee member: “Every single Bad Place employee is a disgusting monster.” / Michael: “Well, I mean, I’m sure some of them are probably cool, handsome, men-about-town types-”

Tahani: “Can I ask an unrelated question?” / Michael: “Absolutely not! The fate of all of humanity is at stake, and time is running out!” / Tahani: *makes a pouty face* / Michael, sighing: “Go ahead.”

Michael: “This can’t be happening. He was supposed to tell us what to do! If he’s not gonna fix this, who is?” / Janet: “You, Michael.” / Michael: “What?” / Janet: “It has to be you. We keep wandering around these different realms expecting someone else to have the answer, but no one ever does. You’re the guy, Michael. You’re the only one who can fix whatever’s wrong with the afterlife.” / (skip to a bit later in the same scene) / Michael, to the humans: “Guys, I’m so sorry. The Accountant was no help. No one’s coming to save us. So... I’m gonna do it.”

Michael: “I need one of you to do something outrageously insane that will either make you cease to exist, or... be really fun.” / Jason: “That’s most of the things I’ve tried!” / Michael: “That’s my guy! C’mere!”

And so many more

One way in which I relate to this character:

I, too, love the members of Team Cockroach more than I love myself

Thing that gives me secondhand embarrassment about this character:

I was gonna say watching him be evil in season one / early season two, but tbh? Even when he was a villain, he was still incredibly well-written and really fun to watch. So, uh... really nothing.

Cinnamon roll or problematic fave?

...Depends on what season you’re watching, tbh.

[365daysofj2]

There Goes My Hero (Library AU, NC-17)

Thursday night, after Jensen finally gets off from work, Jared calls him. “Hey, Jared,” Jensen says warmly when he answers the phone. “How was your day?”

“Pretty good,” replies Jared. “How about yours?”

Jensen sighs. “Larry was in quite the mood today. He was telling Kathryn about restaurant managers he’d like to kill.”

Jared’s jaw drops. “You’re not serious. What’d you do?”

“Told him we’d have to report him to the police if he kept making threats like that,” says Jensen. “He shut up quick. Hell, Felicia even shut him down this morning. I couldn’t believe it.”

“What’d she say?” Felicia’s notorious for not standing up to anyone, even people who are actively yelling at her.

“He started to repeat himself, the way he always does, and she snapped, ‘I heard you the first time, Larry.’”

“Wow.” Jared sits down on the couch. “Did it work?”

“He seemed pretty stunned,” says Jensen. “He actually did shut up, and he wouldn’t go back to her the rest of the day.”

“Good for her,” replies Jared. “Tell her I said ‘way to go!’”

“I will.” He hears Jensen turn the phone to speaker and pour some liquid into a glass. “So, was there something you wanted?”

“Yeah,” says Jared hesitantly. “There’s something I wanted to, uh…get your opinion on.”

He hears Jensen take the phone off speaker. “If it’s something comic- or cartoon-related, I’ll do my best, but I make no promises.”

Jared shakes his head. “Not exactly. It’s just…I was wondering if you would be up for a little role-playing next time we get together.”

“Dungeons and Dragons role-playing or the fun kind of role-playing?”

Jared’s eyes widen. “You know about Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Only that my parents thought it was Satanic,” answers Jensen, and Jared can practically hear his eyes rolling. “I take it you were talking about the latter.”

Jared grins. “Sure was. I was thinking superhero and tied-up hostage.”

“Tied-up as in bondage?”

Jared swallows hard. “Light bondage. Just wrist cuffs, unless you’re up for more than that.”

“You got more than that?” Jensen sounds surprisingly intrigued and not hesitant at all.

“I’ve got ankle cuffs and a mattress kit,” replies Jared. “But that’s a little advanced.”

Jensen’s quiet for a long moment. “Yeah, just wrist cuffs to start. I can’t believe you can even bring geekdom into the bedroom.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” says Jared with a smirk. “And many costumes, as well.”

“You mean—you know what, I don’t even want to know,” says Jensen. “So, you wanna come over tomorrow night? I’ll throw some chili in the slow cooker and make some cornbread.”

Jared smiles. “That sounds awesome. Yeah, text me when you get home and I’ll come by.”

“Sure thing.” Jared hears Jensen’s jazz music turn on in the background. “Well, I’m gonna eat and have some more wine. Have a good night, and I’ll see you tomorrow after work.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jared leans back and grins. “You won’t be sorry, I promise.”

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to punish you if it doesn’t go well,” Jensen says, his voice dropping into a terribly sexy low register.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” replies Jared.

Jensen responds in the same sexy voice. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Jared swallows hard. He adjusts his jeans and says, “I guess you will.”

“Good night, Jared,” purrs Jensen.

“‘Night, Jensen,” says Jared in a slightly strained voice.

* * *

The next night, Jared’s knees shake slightly as he steps up to Jensen’s front door. He’s got on a Batman hoodie and black jeans, baggy enough to allow for his Batman boxer-briefs with attached cape, and the cowl his college friend Sandy knitted him is in his Batman backpack along with his wrist cuffs and fasteners. He’s also got something he bets Jensen will never wear, but he’s gonna give it a shot anyway. He’s a little embarrassed now that he’s actually contemplating explaining his fantasy life to a buttoned-up jazz-loving librarian stereotype.

It could be worse. At least he doesn’t insist on playing a Batman porno in the background. He’s perfectly fine with a custom music playlist he keeps on his phone. He got that from the same person he got Jensen’s potential costume from—Sandy’s roommate Sara, who singlehandedly put on a midnight showing of Rocky Horror every year that included students acting out the movie in front of the screen. Jared starred as Brad all four years, and kept the corset and black lace panties. He figures if they fit him in college, they should fit Jensen now. Jensen’s a lot narrower in the shoulders and hips than Jared ever has been. Sara was also a slash fanfic writer, and he’s embarrassed to admit that most of what he knows about gay sex he learned initially from her fanfic before he started experimenting on his own.

Jensen answers the door, still dressed in his library clothes, a crisp maroon button-down shirt and black pinstripe trousers. His eyes light up when he sees Jared, as if he wasn’t expecting him, which is kind of ridiculously charming. Jared grins and steps past him into the townhouse. “Hey, Jensen.”

Jensen closes the door behind him. “Hey yourself, Jared. You can throw your bag on the sofa till we head upstairs.”

Jared does as he’s told and follows Jensen to the dining room, where steaming bowls of chili and a basket of cornbread are sitting out, along with bowls of sour cream and grated cheese. Jared grabs Jensen’s belt loop and pulls him in for a kiss. “This looks great, thank you. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

Jensen beams. “No trouble at all.” He motions to the chair that Jared has started to think of as his own. “Sit. I bought some craft beer, since that seemed better for chili than wine.”

Jared raises an eyebrow. “Have you ever bought craft beer before?”

“I went to college and grad school, you know,” replies Jensen, but Jared thinks the annoyance is feigned. “Yes, I’ve bought craft beer before. Fuck, I’ve bought kegs of Yuengling before. I’m not that much of a snob.”

Jared takes a sip of the beer. It’s a local one from the brewery at the PA Ren Faire, an oatmeal stout that’s quite possibly the best beer Jared’s ever had. “Wow,” says Jared. “This is great.”

Jensen smiles, clearly pleased. “See? I’m not totally hopeless.”

“I never said you were,” retorts Jared.

“No, but you were thinking it.”

Jared takes a bite of his chili. It’s got plenty of heat and meat, the two things Jared likes most. He dips his cornbread in it, as does Jensen. “So, you haven’t totally lost the Texas, I see.”

“No more than you have,” says Jensen. He takes a sip of his own beer. “You’re right, this is pretty damn good. I just bought it ‘cause it’s local, but it’s better than I was expecting.”

“Yeah, it’s awesome.” Jared shovels more chili into his mouth. “I swear, someday I’m going to move in here just so you can cook for me every day. This is the only place I ever get real, home-cooked food.”

Jensen’s eyes twinkle in the light of the candlesticks he’s placed in the middle of the table. “You want to move in already?”

Jared almost chokes on his food. “N-no, I was just—it was a joke!”

Jensen puts his hand over Jared’s. “Relax. I know that.” He takes a sip of his beer. “But, down the road, it’s definitely something I want to talk about.”

Jared nods. “I live in a shithole. Believe me, when you wanna talk, I’ll listen.”

Jensen goes quiet then, and the two of them eat their dinner in relative silence except for the music in the background, which Jared suddenly realizes is the Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets soundtrack. “You bought new CDs?”

Jensen nods and smiles. “Yeah, after the concert. You don’t mind?”

“No, not at all!” Jared pats Jensen’s knee. “I’m glad you opened your horizons to something different.”

“Someday we’ll see the movie,” says Jensen, looking to Jared for reassurance.

“I’ll bring it next weekend,” says Jared. “We can marathon the first three. Then I’ll let you catch up in your livres des français.”

Jensen beams. “I started French lessons on Duolingo,” Jared explains.

Jensen gets up and kisses the top of Jared’s head. “You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

Jared smirks. “Hold that thought.”

They finish eating and do the dishes together. Then, Jared retrieves his bag and they head upstairs.

Jared sets the bag down on Jensen’s desk chair and pulls out the cuffs, the ties, and the “surprise.” He feels his cheeks grow hot as he hands Jensen the corset and panties. “You don’t have to wear these, but man, I’d love it if you did.”

Jensen turns them over and considers it. Just when Jared thinks he’s going to say no, he grins. “What the hell, right?” He motions towards his bathroom. “I’ll go change, and then you can tie me up.” He rubs his chin. “There’s a sentence I never anticipated saying.”

Jared lets Jensen leave and then pulls off his hoodie and jeans. He fastens the cuffs to the headboard of Jensen’s bed and waits for Jensen to come back in. He hooks his phone up to Jensen’s Bluetooth speakers and starts his playlist. Hawksley Workman’s “Striptease” starts playing and Jared starts to get hard just from the Pavlovian conditioning. He fucked almost half a dozen guys to this song during college, including a different one after each performance of Rocky Horror. The first time it was Milo Ventimiglia, the guy who played Eddie. That was probably the only pairing in the whole show that wasn’t supported by canon. Even Jared couldn’t make a compelling fanfic case for that one.

Jensen comes back wearing the black flowered corset and lace panties. Somehow it manages to make his pecs look flawless and his thighs almost obscene. Jensen takes one look at the cuffs and swallows hard. “Do your thing,” he says, his voice slightly raspy.

Jared fastens the cuffs around both of his wrists. His arms are spread out at a sixty degree angle, which he’s not going to leave him in for long. It’s too painful the first time. He turns around and says, “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Jared dons his cowl and turns off the lights, leaving only a small desk lamp lit. “Call for help,” says Jared in his normal voice.

“Help?” Jensen sounds unsure, but then he seems to get into it. “Help me! I’m trapped!”

Jared turns around. “I’m coming!” he shouts in his deep Batman voice. He sees Jensen bite back a laugh, pressing his lips firmly together.

He climbs on the end of the bed. “Where are the others? Where are they?”

“I don’t know,” replies Jensen, sounding rather convincingly terrified. Jared wonders if Jensen has some theater background he’s not aware of.

“Who did this? Did you see?”

Jensen shakes his head. “He had a mask on. Covered his whole head. And then he covered my eyes.”

Jared rolls back on his heels. “I need to search the building.”

Jensen swallows. In a shaking voice, he responds, “Do what you have to do. Just—come back soon?”

Jared reaches out and strokes Jensen’s hair. “I’ll be quick. I promise. I’m not leaving you.”

Jared jumps down and lies on his belly on the floor to hide from Jensen. On the stereo, the song switches to George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex.” He has a momentary pang of guilt thinking of the singer's posthumous status. He lets the song play through and then gets up.

Jensen’s struggling against the bonds, not hard, just for show. “Help me! Please?”

“I’ve secured the area,” rasps Jared. “But I’ll have to pick the locks. It’ll take time.”

“Just don’t leave me again,” murmurs Jensen, and he actually sounds hurt.

Jared fiddles with the cuffs. They’re only Velcro, but they’re strong, and Jensen can’t get out of them on his own. He rests a hand on Jensen’s shoulder as he pretends to fiddle with the one on Jensen’s left wrist. “I’m not leaving. I’m here. I’m taking care of you.”

“I’m scared,” Jensen says in a small voice, and those plush pink lips turn out in a pout. Jared adjusts his rapidly-hardening dick inside his briefs.

“Don’t be,” he says in his Batman voice. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Jensen leans forward and brushes his forehead against Jared’s bicep. “You’re so strong,” he simpers. “You have such big muscles.”

“Comes with the job,” he rasps. He reaches down with one hand and traces the neckline of the corset. He starts unfastening the hook-and-eye closures down the middle one by one.

Jensen’s eyebrows shoot up, like he didn’t realize they were there. But he fights it down and drops back into character. “You’re so brave. But I guess that’s part of the job too.”

“Can’t be a superhero if you’re not brave,” Jared agrees. He unhooks a few more fasteners. He trails his hand down to Jensen’s crotch and feels the damp rayon of the panties that cover Jensen’s rock-hard cock. He’s enjoying this, too. He slips a hand under the waistband and flicks the tip of his thumb over the slit. Jensen arches his back and thrusts his cock further into Jared’s grip. Jared pumps it a few times and, as a courtesy, slides off the panties. He tosses them over the side of the bed and licks a bead of precome off the slit. Then he runs the tip of his tongue underneath the sensitized head, making Jensen buck his hips and nearly hit Jared in the forehead with his pelvic bone.

Jared takes Jensen’s cock further into his mouth. He laves a thick stripe up the underside of the shaft, then releases it and slides a hand up Jensen’s pelvis to the lower hem of the corset. Jensen squirms. “Ja—I mean, Batman, please, have mercy!”

“You like that?” Jared rasps. He unfastens another couple of hooks and slides his hand over to tease at Jensen’s left nipple. He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger, coaxing it into hardness. Jensen drops his head back and moans.

Jared leaves Jensen’s wrists bound, since he doesn’t seem to be disliking or resenting the restraints. “You’re just so pretty,” he breathes, sliding his hand to Jensen’s other nipple and teasing it into hardness. “No wonder the Joker went for you. He likes the pretty ones.”

“And what do you like?” gasps Jensen.

Jared smirks at him. “The grateful ones.”

“I’ll do anything you want,” says Jensen, breathing hard.

“Anything?” Jared raises an eyebrow.

“I owe you everything,” murmurs Jensen. “I want to—to express my gratitude.”

Jared flicks open a few more hooks. “You would do anything?”

“Anything at all.” Jensen honest-to-God flutters his fucking eyelashes. “Anything for you. You’re my hero.”

Jared reaches behind Jensen’s pillow where he hid the lube. He squeezes a generous amount on his fingers and runs one around the outside of Jensen’s hole. “Let me fuck you?”

“Absolutely,” gasps Jensen.

Jared slides one slick finger into Jensen’s tight hole. Jensen’s breathing hard and it takes him a minute to relax and let Jared past the ring of muscle. Jared reaches his other hand up and cups Jensen’s chin. “Relax, baby. I gotcha.”

Jensen nods. “I know. I trust you.”

Jared slides a second finger in. Jensen tips his head back, exposing that long, freckles expanse of golden skin, and Jared presses his lips to it. Jensen moans as the warring sensations dazzle his senses. He goes boneless in Jared’s arms, completely open to Jared’s desires, and Jared’s never been so horny in his life.

He adds a third finger, scissoring open Jensen’s hole. He reaches under the pillow and retrieves a condom, then tears it open with his teeth and rolls it over his thick, straining cock. He pulls his fingers out of Jensen’s hole and spreads some lube over the condom. “You ready, babe?”

“Fuck yeah,” gasps Jensen.

Jared pushes his cock into Jensen’s slicked-up hole and Jensen groans with pleasure. He presses in as far as he can, past the ring of muscle, and Jensen just leans back and lets him in. Jared starts to thrust, establishing a rather intense rhythm, and Jensen tips his head back and lets Jared do as he pleases.

Jared captures Jensen’s hot, dry lips for a kiss as he plunders Jensen’s ass. Jensen bucks against the restraints but doesn’t complain, just gasps and moans as Jared fucks him as fast and hard as he dares. Seeing Jensen like this, totally vulnerable and yielding to Jared’s every demand, is just about the hottest goddamn thing he’s ever imagined.

Jensen breaks the kiss and tips his head back on the pillow, panting so hard that Jared falters momentarily. “I’m okay,” gasps Jensen. “Fuck, just—just like that.”

Jared continues to thrust and Jensen continues to fight against the restraints, but not in a way that indicates distress. Jared comes with a stuttering shout and spills his load into the condom. Jensen bucks his hips and Jared takes his quivering cock in one hand and jacks him through his own orgasm as he’s pulling off the condom with his other hand. Jensen comes with a hoarse groan that Jared swallows by covering Jensen’s mouth with his own. He ties off the condom and throws it away as Jensen shudders through the aftershocks. Finally, he releases Jensen’s wrists and Jensen immediately throws his arms around Jared, who collapses next to him on the mattress. “That was incredible,” breathes Jensen.

“You liked it?” Jared’s breathing hard, but he manages to smile.

“I loved it,” replies Jensen. “I kind of want to try it from the other end.”

“You gotta ask nicely.” Jared nuzzles Jensen’s temple with his nose.

“Please can I tie you up and fuck you next time?”

Jared smirks. “I’ll think about it.”

Jensen kisses his temple and rubs his wrists, even though Jared knows the cuffs don’t chafe. “That’s all I ask.”