#i call this one: top ten moments before disaster (but make them pretty)

[waxflowerwoes]

a quick reimagining of the frame at 1:10 of @rusty-courage's wonderful Time's Up AMV!

[dlwritings]

Aftercare | Tom Holland

masterlist found here

pairing - Tom x reader word count - 6,568 (I have no idea how this happened) warnings - language, bad/uncomfortable first time, bleeding after sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, good sex! A/N - this wasn’t requested but the idea came to mind a while ago so here we are (I think I’m just sick of being a virgin and this came out of it)

summary - Not everyone cares about their first time. Some people just wanted to get it over with .You had always wanted it to be special. A special time with a special guy. But after ages of never finding that guy, you decide to just get it over with. Tom helps with the aftermath of the disaster.

You had always wanted your first time to be special. It wasn’t that you wanted to wait until marriage. You just wanted it to be with someone you loved, not a random stranger. But as the years went by, you felt like the chances of you finding someone you loved were slim. Hell, you were 22, and you hadn’t been in a serious relationship since you were 17. Your virgin status was starting to irk you. Not because of the label. No, you knew virginity was a social concept at best that society created to shame girls. The reason it irked you was because you wanted to have sex. You wanted to be in a relationship with someone so you could get absolutely railed by someone who loved you.

Was that too much to ask?

It didn’t help that you had a crush on your best friend. Girls all over the world swooned over Tom Holland, and you were one of them. The only difference was, you actually knew him. You had been friends for ages, and you had been in love with him for about just as long. Despite all the flirty comments the two of you shared and the endless platonic cuddling, that’s all it was. Platonic. Sometimes you swore he felt the same way, but after years of never making a move, you decided it was all in your head.

You weren’t sure at what point you just caved and downloaded Tinder. You couldn’t say what pushed you over the edge. Maybe it was the smutty Harry Styles fanfic you read that just went too hard (literally) and turned you on to the point of cracking. Regardless, you had done it, and you were actually doing pretty well on the app. You were getting a lot of swipes, and you were feeling pretty good about yourself. When one particularly handsome and charming guy -Theodore- asked you on a date, you agreed.

The restaurant you were going to was pretty fancy, so you wore a cute black skater dress and some killer red pumps. You did your makeup and hair to the best of your ability and finished applying your lipstick just as Theodore texted you that he was at your apartment. Okay, so he wasn’t going to pick you up at your door. That was fine. The gesture was a little outdated anyway, right?

“Hi,” you said, opening the car door and sliding in. “Theodore?”

“Theo,” he said with a smile. “(Y/N)?”

“That’s me,” you said. “It’s great to meet you.”

“You too,” he said. “Ready for dinner?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “‘M pretty hungry.”

“Me too,” he said with a chuckle. 

The date was fine. It was nothing exciting. Nothing to write home about. Theo was nice enough. He was polite and everything, and he made some jokes that genuinely made you laugh. Still, he spent a lot of time talking about himself and not a lot of time asking questions about you.

As the night wore on, you could tell where it was headed. And Theo really was nice enough. You didn’t love him, but you liked him, and at this point in your life, you would take that. You invited him back to your apartment, which he accepted. You got into your apartment, and Theo wasted no time pressing you up against your front door and kissing you. You kissed him back, all the while hoping he didn’t notice how scared you were and how long it had been since you had kissed someone.

You two eventually stumbled into your bedroom, and Theo all but threw you onto your bed. You scooted up to the top of the bed and watched him unbutton his shirt and toss it aside. You expected him to kiss you or pull your dress off, but he didn’t. Instead, he moved to unbuckle his trousers and tugged them down along with his boxers. He grabbed a condom from his wallet and rolled it onto his already hard length. He smiled down at you and fumbled with your panties, pulling them off and throwing them to the floor. Part of you wondered if you should tell him it was your first time, but you also didn’t want to kill the vibe. Didn’t want him to run away. So, you let him thrust into you, biting your lip to stop the painful moan that wanted to escape your lips. You definitely weren’t wet enough, and he hadn’t stretched you out at all before sliding in. “Oh, fuck,” Theo moaned, hanging his head in pleasure. You focused on blinking back tears and tried to find any good feeling that might be there, but you couldn’t. It just hurt so much, and you wanted to tell him to stop. You should’ve told him to stop. You shouldn’t have to suffer through shitty sex just because you felt obligated to put out. But, you were the one who wanted to lose your virginity.

“(Y/N), Jesus fuck you’re so fucking tight,” he moaned. “You like my cock splitting you open like this?”

You weren’t sure how long guys were supposed to last, but you were sure it was longer than this.

Theo spilled into the condom and collapsed on top of you. He panted against your neck before placing a soft kiss to your skin. “You finished, right?” he asked.

“Hm?” you said. “Oh, yeah, thanks.”

You winced as Theo pulled out of you and went to the bathroom to get rid of the condom. When he came back, he pulled his boxers and trousers up his legs and buttoned his shirt back on. “This was great,” he said as he slid his shoes on his feet. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Okay,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you watched him. He walked over to you, placed a kiss to your forehead, and saw himself out of your apartment.

It didn’t take long for tears to spill from your eyes. When you lifted your dress to look between your legs, you saw you were bleeding. The sight made a sob escape your lips as you covered your mouth with your hand. You knew you needed to clean yourself up, but you felt actual pain between your legs, and your mind felt numb. As you cried softly, mascara running down your cheeks, you blindly reached for your phone that you had set on the bedside table and opened your contacts. There, you clicked your third favorite contact: Tom.

The line rang a few times -you didn’t pay attention to how many- before Tom answered. “Hello, love,” he said, an audible smile in his voice.

“Tommy?” you croaked out.

Tom had been laying back in bed watching TV but sat up as soon as you spoke. Not only did it obviously sound like you were crying, but you only called him Tommy when you were sad. He knew you had a date that night, and his mind immediately went to the worst case scenario. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?

“Can you just come over?” you asked. “I’m sorry to do this.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll leave right now. Be over in ten.”

“Okay,” you whispered. “See you soon.”

You hung up before he could respond. You laid in bed curled up in a ball, clutching your arms over your stomach. You couldn’t stop crying, and wished you could go back in time and stop yourself from downloading Tinder in the first place.

“(Y/N)?”

You opened your eyes at the sound of Tom’s voice. You were grateful you had given him a key for emergencies. Seeing him only made you cry harder, so he rushed over to you and sat beside you on the bed, pulling you onto his lap. You hissed at the movements, the pain between your legs even more present. “What happened?” Tom asked, running his hands through your hair.

“It hurts,” you sobbed, not knowing how to sit to ease the pain. Squeezing your legs together made it worse, but keeping them open was painful too.

“What hurts?” he asked.

You sniffed, trying to compose yourself so you didn’t sound like a blubbering idiot. You knew Tom wouldn’t judge you no matter what you said or did. That was one reason you loved him. “He wasn’t gentle,” you whispered. “And, and he didn’t prep me at all, but I didn’t want to stop him because I thought it’d be rude.”

Tom was quiet for a few moments, trying to let the words sink in. His heart broke at what you were implying. He knew you were a virgin, but you had always expressed to him that you wanted your first time to be special. He wasn’t judging you for losing it to some Tinder date, but it made him sad that you didn’t get the memorable first time you had always wanted.

“Are you bleeding?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” you said back. “Hurts too much to get up and, and clean it.” Tom nodded in understanding, petting your hair comfortingly again.

“How about I run you a bath,” he said. “And while you’re in the tub, I’ll go get you some ice cream, okay? And we can watch some films for the rest of the night. Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah,” you choked out. “Thanks, Tommy." He nodded, kissed your forehead, and stood up from the bed to get a bath going in the bathroom. You stayed in the same position on the bed, doing your best to keep your tears in while you were alone.

“Alright, love,” Tom said when he came back in the room, crouching beside the bed so he was level with your face. He stroked your cheek with a soft smile. “Bath’s all ready. I put your favorite bath bomb in.” You managed to give him a smile back, but when you sat up, you frowned again at the ache between your legs. Tom licked his lips and gave you a tight, sad smile. “C’mere,” he said as he stood up straight and held his arms out to you. “I’ll carry you.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue with him, so you stuck your arms out and let him pick you up and carry you bridal style to the bathroom. He sat you on the toilet and knelt in front of you. “You want me to help you into the tub too?” he asked. You bit your lower lip and hung your head in shame.

“Do you mind?” you asked.

“Course not,” he said. “You take off your clothes, and I’ll lift you in.” You nodded and waited for him to turn his head so you could undress without his watchful eye. Not that it mattered, because he was literally about to lift your naked body into a bathtub. When your clothes were off, you muttered his name, so he turned to face you. He made sure to keep his eyes on yours rather than your body as much as he could as he hooked one arm under your knees and one around your back, lifting you up and setting you into the bathtub. He took your hair tie from your wrist and pulled your hair up into a ridiculously messy bun on the top of your head. You managed a soft smile as you sunk into the tub.

“Okay,” he said, petting the top of your head. “I’ll go pick you up some ice cream, yeah? You call me if you need anything, and I’ll come right back.”

“Okay,” you said. “Thank you.” He nodded, kissed your forehead, and left you alone in the bathroom.

When Tom got in his car, he gripped the steering wheel tightly and tried to compose himself. God, when he found this son of a bitch, he wasn’t going to hold back. And he would find this son of a bitch. For now, he had to focus on helping you feel better. He drove to the store to pick up the ice cream he knew you liked, and on the way there, he found himself calling his mom.

“Hello, lovely,” she said when she picked up.

“Hey, Mum,” he said back. “Can-” He cleared his throat. “Can I talk to you about something kind of serious?”

“Of course,” she said. “What is it?” He hesitated, but knew his mom would be able to help. After all, mother knows best.

“(Y/N) called me and, and she had sex with someone, but it, it wasn’t good sex.” He was trying to keep out awkward, intimate details.

“She’s sore?” she asked.

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Like, really bad. And she was bleeding a little too.”

“Oh dear,” she sighed.

“Yeah,” he said as he pulled into the parking lot of the store. “I’m going to pick her up some ice cream, but I want to know what I should get to actually help her.”

“Well, there’s not much you can do, really,” she said with another sympathetic sigh. “As odd as it sounds, she might want to use an ice pack. And-” She paused. “-are you ready to be an adult about this, Thomas?”

“Mum, I called you about this,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Lay it on me.”

She chuckled. “If you want to buy her some Vagisil moisturizing gel or something, it couldn’t hurt. Maybe some Midol.”

“Okay,” Tom said, letting out a heavy breath. “I can do that.”

“Good boy,” she said. He could hear her smile. “You’re very sweet to do this for her, Tom.”

“Thanks, Mum,” he said, a blush forming on his cheeks. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

They exchanged I-love-yous and goodbyes, and Tom hung up the phone. He was in and out of the grocery store fairly quickly (the most time was spent searching for the Vagisil) and headed back to your apartment as soon as he could.

You were still in the tub when Tom got back, so he set everything on the vanity in your bedroom and helped you out of the tub, wrapping a dry towel around your body. You both headed into your room, and you got out some pajamas to put on. Over the shorts and tank top, you pulled on a hoodie you had once stolen from Tom. He didn’t know, but it was your comfort hoodie. You wore it whenever you were sad or stressed because it made you feel safe.

“Um,” Tom said, rubbing the back of his neck as you crawled into bed, “I got you some stuff.”

“Stuff?” you repeated, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Yeah,” he said, fumbling with the grocery bag. “I got ice cream, and, and, uh, well, you said you were hurting, so, um-” He cleared his throat, and you couldn’t help but smile at how nervous he was. He dumped out the contents of the bag and revealed that he bought an ice pack, some Midol, and a small tube of Vagisil. Suddenly, you wanted to cry all over again. You sucked in your lower lip and looked up at Tom who immediately frowned. “Oh no,” he said. “I’m sorry. Did I overstep?”

“No, no,” you said, shaking your head. “This is just-” You took a shaky breath. “This is really sweet, Tommy. Thank you.”

Tom’s smile returned as he nodded once. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll go get spoons, you pick a film, okay?”

“Okay,” you said back. He took the ice pack to put in the freezer for a while, and you moved everything else to the bedside table. “Tom?” you called after him.

“Yeah?”

“Can you get me some water too?”

“Of course!”

You worked to open up the Midol which you did just as he came back with spoons and a water for you. You thanked him, downed two of the pills, and smiled as he plopped beside you on the bed. “Did you pick a film yet?” he asked, allowing you to sit between his legs and rest your back on his chest.

“No,” you said. “Something on Disney+ I think.”

“Whatever you want, love.”

You eventually settled on Monsters Inc. which Tom said was fine. Realistically, you knew he would’ve been okay with whatever you picked. Less than halfway through the film, you and Tom had already abandoned the ice cream, allowing it to melt slowly on the bedside table. One of you would put it away in the freezer before going to bed. As the minutes ticked on and the ache between your legs started to subside, you couldn’t help but think about Theo again. Tom must’ve noticed your shift in demeanor, because he rubbed your stomach with his thumbs and nudged your cheek with his nose. “Are you okay?” he asked. You hung your head and closed your eyes, not wanting to burst into tears all over again.

“Just wish I did it all different,” you whispered. He hesitated a moment.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked. You swallowed back the lump in your throat before speaking.

“We got back from dinner,” you told him, “and I invited him into my apartment.” You shook your head at the memories. “Everything happened so fast. We were kissing, and then, he was taking off his clothes and-” You couldn’t help it. Tears started to come again. You felt so sad and stupid and embarrassed and hurt and used. “-he didn’t even take off my dress. He didn’t touch me or anything. He just put on the condom and-” You cut yourself off with another shake of your head, figuring Tom got the picture. “It was over pretty quick, and he asked me if I came and I just said yes.”

“But you didn’t?” he asked.

“Of course I didn’t,” you mumbled, painfully aware of the shake in your voice. “He didn’t do anything to make me feel good at all. I feel so stupid.”

“You shouldn’t,” he said. “If anyone should feel stupid, it should be him. He’s clearly shitty at sex.” You giggled softly which made Tom smile and nudge his nose against your cheek again. You looked up at him. “I’m sorry your first time wasn’t more special,” he said. “I know you wanted it to be nice. And you deserved something nice.”

“It’s whatever,” you said dismissively. “Maybe I made a bigger deal out of it than I should’ve. I set my expectations too high.”

“No you didn’t,” Tom said. “You just wanted a good first time. That’s not asking too much. Hell, you didn’t even get to cum. You’re allowed to be upset about this.”

You scoffed. “Well, let’s just say I’m deleting Tinder, so I don’t see me getting anything better anytime soon. Not unless I meet some sex god at the office.” Tom sighed and kissed your temple.

“You’ll find someone better,” he mumbled against your skin. “I promise.”

-

After the whole Theo fiasco, you deleted Tinder, deciding whatever game you wanted to call that just wasn’t for you. Everyday went by with the same routine. Wake up, work, come home, watch TV, go to bed, repeat. Eating was sprinkled in here and there, and you tried to change up your meals whenever you could for a little bit of variety. Otherwise, it was all very monotonous.

So when you got home on Friday and found a note taped to your front door, you were rightfully confused. You pulled it from the wall, let yourself into your apartment, and closed the door behind you with your foot as you ripped the envelope open.

(Y/N)-

We haven’t gotten dinner in a while. Wear something nice, and I’ll pick you up at 6:00! It’s gonna be great x

Tom

You pressed your lips into a tight line and held the note to your chest as you leaned against the door. Sometimes you hated Tom for doing stuff like this. He was such boyfriend material, but he would never be that. Did he have any idea what he did to you? How he made you feel? Probably not. You loved Tom, but he sure was thick sometimes.

It was already about 5:00, so you had to get ready pretty quickly. You put on a white, lace, bodycon dress and started to do your hair and makeup. Tom arrived before you were quite finished, but he let himself in. “(Y/N)?” he called.

“Bedroom!” you called back. He came in, and you caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked handsome, as expected: blue slacks, a white button-up, and brown shoes that matched his brown belt. You turned to look at him, your lips slightly parted. Before you could say anything-

“Wow,” he whispered. “You-” He chuckled. “Wow.”

“Shut up,” you said with a laugh. “Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not!” he said, matching your laugh. “I’m just saying. Wow. You look great.”

“Well thank you,” you said, walking up to him. You straightened his collar that was folded oddly. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” You patted his chest and tried not to let your hands linger for too long. Tom stuck his arm out for you to take, which you did, and the two of you walked out to his car.

You and Tom had been going on friend dates for ages. Once he became famous, he loved treating you to fancy dinners whenever you both had time to spare. You on the other hand were a sucker for bowling nights and paintball tournaments. But nice restaurants were lovely too, and any time you could spend with Tom, you would take.

Dinner flowed as nicely as it always did when you were together. You chatted about your work, and he shared as many details of his newest project as he could. The whole time, you couldn’t help but feel like there was a weird tension in the air. Maybe tension wasn’t the right word. There was just something going on with Tom that you couldn’t quite place. You didn’t ask him about it until you left the restaurant. He invited you back to his place for drinks, and you obliged.

“Are you okay?” you asked him as he pulled out of the restaurant parking lot. “You seem a little off.”

“Off?” he repeated. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Forget it.” Tom just chuckled and continued the drive down the street. When you arrived at his apartment, you knew for a fact something was going on with him, and you didn’t like how he was hiding it. “What is up with you, Tom?” you asked him. “I know something’s going on. I know you.” He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair as he closed the door behind the both of you when you got inside.

“You know I love you and care about you,” he said.

“Of course,” you said, folding your arms across your chest. “Why are you-”

“C’mere,” he said, taking your hand. Your eyebrows furrowed even deeper than they already were but allowed him to walk you over to his bedroom. When you walked in, your lips parted slightly in shock. He had a lamp light on and his essential oil diffuser (the one you bought him for Christmas) going, the soothing smell of lavender filling the room. On the bed -which was neatly made; a rare occurrence at Tom’s house- were rose petals. You turned to look at him, sure he could hear your heart pounding in your chest. “There’s no pressure,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I couldn’t stop thinking about how unfair it is that your first time was so horrible. It should’ve been with someone special like you wanted. Someone who cares about you. And, well-” He sighed as if realizing he was fumbling around the point. “I want to make it up to you. I want to show you what good sex is supposed to be like.”

“You, y- you, uh,” you stuttered. “You want to have sex with me?” He licked his lips and took a step closer to you.

“No pressure,” he said. “No strings. Just good sex and the guarantee of at least one orgasm.”

You swallowed thickly. “At, at least one?” Tom smiled and nodded, then closed the distance between the two of you by wrapping his arms around you.

“At least one,” he repeated. He could tell you were hesitant by the way you were nibbling on your lower lip, so he stroked your cheek gently in an attempt to calm you down. “If you say yes and you change your mind while we’re doing it, that’s okay too. I’ll take it nice and slow for you.” He paused, licking his lips as he glanced down at yours, then up at your eyes again. “But if this is too weird, that’s fine. I just wanted to give you the chance to have great sex with someone who cares about you.”

You giggled a bit. “Are you saying you’re great at sex?”

“Mm,” he hummed with a smug smile. “I don’t want to brag, but I’ve never heard any complaints.” You melted into Tom’s touch as he pulled you a little closer and buried his face in your neck. “What do you say, darling?” he whispered, kissing your skin lightly. “You want me to make you feel good?” You took a shaky breath and closed your eyes as Tom sucked the skin of your pulse point, surely leaving a bruise.

“Yeah,” you whispered. You felt Tom smile before he pulled back to look at you. He pressed his forehead to yours and kissed your nose.

“Okay,” he said. “C’mere.” The two of you walked over to the bed, and Tom helped you move to the head of the bed. He sat in front of you with his legs crossed, and you mirrored his position. You tried to give him a strong smile, but you knew it came out small and nervous. He chuckled softly and put his hand on your cheek. “S’okay to be nervous,” he said. You bit your lip and nodded just as he started to lean forward and brush his lips against yours. You released your hold on your bottom lip and accepted his kiss, opening your mouth as soon as Tom traced his tongue across your lip. Already, this was different than when you were with Theo. It was like Tom was pouring his care into the kiss.

You put your arms over his shoulders and played with the hairs at the nape of his neck. He started to lay you down on the bed, and you could feel your breathing pick up. Still, you kept your lips pressed to his. His tongue massaged against yours, and you held in your whimpers as best as you could. It got harder when he started trailing kisses down your jaw and neck. His mouth wasn’t muffling your noises, so you had to bite your lip to keep yourself quiet. “Darling,” he whispered against your collarbone, “you look like an angel in this dress.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Can you lay on your stomach for me?” he asked. “Wanna unzip you.” You nodded and rolled over, and you swore you heard him hum as he put his hands on the back of your thighs. He ran them up your body, pausing to squeeze your ass which made you jump. He chuckled and moved to unzip the dress, kissing the skin that was exposed as he removed the fabric. You turned to sit up so he could pull the dress off you, and he licked his lips when he saw you weren’t wearing a bra. Everything suddenly felt very real, and you moved to cover yourself. Tom frowned and shook his head. “You’re so beautiful, (Y/N),” he said. You hung your head, still feeling an odd sense of uncomfortableness, but Tom was having none of that. He lifted your head and kissed you again. He laid you down on the bed and started kissing down your neck. “How’re you doing?” he asked, feeling your erratic pulse against his lips.

“Just nervous,” you admitted. Because this was Tom. You could be honest with Tom.

“That’s okay,” he said, sucking your pulse point until a bruise formed and you whimpered. “‘S not gonna hurt, okay, love? ‘M just gonna use my mouth to start. Warm you up and make sure you’re ready for me.”

“Okay,” you whispered.

“And you let me know if anything doesn’t feel good,” he said. You nodded, and Tom kissed down your body, pausing to pay attention to each of your breasts. He sucked on each nipple until it was hard and extra sensitive to the touch. He smiled as he nipped at your bud until you whined and tugged your fingers through his hair. You could feel a pulsing between your legs, and you needed more. Tom could tell, because he smiled again and kissed down your stomach until he got to the waistband of your panties. He looked up at you through his eyelashes, and you licked your lips and stared up at the ceiling. When you broke eye contact, he tucked his fingers in your panties and pulled them down your legs. Your breath hitched, but you didn’t say anything. Tom would take care of you. You had no doubts about that. If he said it wouldn’t hurt, you believed him.

Tom pushed your legs apart and brought his mouth down to your thighs, kissing each of them before placing his mouth on your opening. You gasped and put your hands in his hair, and you felt him smile. His thumbs dug into your thighs as he licked up your slit, avoiding contact with your clit. And as badly as you wanted him to touch you there, this was already feeling better than everything Theo had done to you. “Tom,” you breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut. “Feels so go-” You cut yourself off with a moan as Tom started swirling his tongue around your clit. “Oh Christ,” you muttered. “Tom!” He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, causing you to whine again and arch your back.

“Can I add a finger?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you gasped. “Yes. Please, Tom.” He nodded and sucked his finger in his mouth, then slowly eased it into your opening. “Ahh!” you moaned.

“You okay, love?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you hummed. He slowly started moving his finger, still keeping his mouth on your clit. You squeezed your eyes shut as he slid another finger inside you. The sudden change in fullness startled you in a good way. So this was what foreplay was supposed to feel like. Tom added another finger, and you swore you were in heaven. He could tell you were feeling good by the way your jaw was dropped but no noise was coming out. He smiled and curled his fingers a bit so that they grazed your g-spot perfectly. “Tom,” you whispered. “I, I’m-”

“Cum for me, darling,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

Your thighs squeezed around his hand as he flicked his tongue over your clit and moved his fingers faster in and out of you. In seconds, you were coming around his fingers with a soft cry as you dug your head into the pillow. Tom kissed your thighs and slowed his fingers down to help you ride out your high. When you caught your breath, you blinked your eyes open and looked down at him. He had a lazy smile on his face, and he kissed up your body until he got to your lips. “You want to keep going?” he asked. You nodded and lifted your head slightly to kiss him. He pulled back quickly and tugged his shirt over his head, then let his jeans and boxers follow.

His cock was more impressive than Theo’s. Longer. Thicker. If his foreplay wasn’t enough, you knew now that sex with Tom was about to be much better than it was with Theo. Tom reached into his bedside drawer and pulled out a condom, wasting no time rolling it onto his length with his lower lip tucked between his teeth. He pressed his hands into the mattress on either side of your head, and you gripped his biceps in your hands, your nails leaving little half moon shapes across his skin. “S’okay,” he whispered to you, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. “S’not gonna hurt, okay? I promise.” He leaned down to pepper gentle kisses across your face. “Do you trust me, love?” You nodded.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Yeah. I trust you.”

Tom smiled and gripped his cock, lining himself up with your pussy. He guided himself in, inch by inch, kissing your neck and whispering words of encouragement into your ear as he did so. He was right. It didn’t hurt. In facte, it felt so fucking good, you wanted to cry. “Oh, Tom,” you muttered, your head tossing back. He kissed up the column of your neck, and you could feel a smile across his lips. Once he bottomed out, Tom paused, giving you time to adjust. You let out a shaky breath, and he moved his head so he could look in your eyes. He only hovered for a moment before pressing his lips to yours. You sighed into the kiss as his tongue slipped into your mouth, fighting for dominance against yours. He stayed still until you wrapped your legs around his waist, silently encouraging him to move. He pulled his hips back and thrust them forward in a slow, smooth stroke. You cried out in pleasure, and Tom moved to kiss your neck again.

“Oh fuck, (Y/N),” he moaned. “How’s it feel?”

“Tom,” you cried. “Feels so good.” He brought his fingers up to his lips and licked two of them before sliding his hand between your bodies. His fingers found your clit right away, and he started rubbing fast circles, hoping to bring you close to that edge. He wanted more than anything to move faster, to pound into your tight cunt like it was all his -like you were all his- but he held back. This time couldn’t hurt you at all. He wouldn’t be like that other guy. He wanted you to remember this. To happily remember this. Even more than that, he wanted this to mean something.

He just wasn’t sure he was ready to admit that much yet.

You squeezed around his member, and Tom muttered, “Fuck,” under his breath and moved his hips a little faster. “You’re close,” he said. It was a statement. Not a question. Like he already knew your body better than you did.

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “‘M close.”

He let his hand move at the same pace as his hips -faster and faster, bringing you closer and closer to climaxing. “Tom,” you cried. “I’m, I’m gonna, oh.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and came, squeezing so tightly he came right after. He moaned your name in your ear, slowing the movement of his hips to help you ride out your high. You gripped his hair in your fists, and he started kissing your neck again. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “Did you know that? Do you know how beautiful you are?” He pulled back so he could look in your eyes, then brushed his knuckles across your cheek again.

“Thanks, Tom,” you whispered. He smiled and pulled out of you, frowning as soon as you winced.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m okay.” He smiled softly and kissed your cheek, then pushed himself out of bed.

“Want you to go to the bathroom, okay?” he said. “Then we can go to bed.” You nodded, your head feeling a little hazy, then got out of bed. Tom watched with a soft smile as you trotted off to the bathroom. While you were gone, he changed the sheets, put on some clean boxers, and got you a pair of boxers and a t-shirt to wear to bed. You were back in a few moments, your hair now up in a bun and your makeup off your face. You gave him a sheepish smile, your arms folded awkwardly across your chest, and he smiled back. “I got you some clothes,” he told you. “You’re staying the night, yeah?”

“If that’s okay,” you said, hanging your head a bit.

“Course,” Tom said. You smiled, then took the clothes he offered you and changed. By the time you were dressed, Tom was under the covers. You got into bed beside him, and turned on your side to face him. “So,” he said, reaching out to stroke your cheek again, “how was that?”

You giggled. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

He chuckled. “It’s always good to hear the compliments out loud.” You rolled your eyes and gave his shoulder a shove. Your expression shifted a bit.

“How was I?” you asked. He gave you a soft smile.

“You were perfect, love,” he said. “Best I ever had.”

“Shut up,” you said. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying!” he said. “I’ve ever had sex with someone I-” He cut himself off, his smile dropping a bit. “It’s just different.”

“With someone you what?” you asked. Tom swallowed, and you could sense something that looked like nerves in his eyes. “What?” you pressed, a giggle passing your lips. “What’s on your mind?” He sighed and sat up, causing you to furrow your eyebrows and mimic his position.

“(Y/N),” he said, “I love you.”

Your response was immediate.

“What?”

“I love you,” he repeated. “And, and I care about you so much. When, when you said sex with that douchebag was so bad, I wanted it to be better for you. You deserve something better than that. I really mean that. But, but what I didn’t tell you was that it was also, it was a way for me to-” He sighed, clearly annoyed with himself. “I wanted to sleep with you because I love you. I, I saw this as a chance to, to be with you the way I want to be with you. And I know how wrong that is. I know how messed up that sounds, but-”

“You love me?” you said. You were still having a hard time processing the admission. He just sighed and nodded. Before he could say anything else -and he looked like he was going to say something else- you closed the small space between the two of you in a kiss. He jumped, but the shock wore off quickly, and he rested his hand on your cheek. He smiled beneath the kiss, and you smiled back. When you pulled away, you kept your foreheads pressed together. “I love you too,” you whispered. “And, honestly, I wish my first time had been with you, but, but I’m glad you made this one count.”

“Yeah,” he said with a small chuckle. “Me too. And don’t you worry-” He pressed a kiss to your nose. “-all the times after this are gonna be just as good.”

“Yeah?” you giggled. “Promise?”

“Oh yeah,” he said with a grin. “I promise.”

----- ----- ----- -----

add yourself to my TAGLIST

strike-through means Tumblr won’t let me tag you

ALL: @bangtan-serendipity | @planetdemon | @the-singing-clown406 | @tomshufflepuff | @bluelalal | @grandloser | @jackiehollanderr | @mindset-jupiter | @bisexual-sk8r | @feel-like-gold | @runaway-apple | @miraclesoflove | @marvelismylifffe​ | @wonderbyers​ | @coraz0ndcristal​ | @lizmarvel​ | @delicately-important-trash | @superhoorny4daddy​

TOM: @hannihannelora | @lbuck121 | @quaksonhehe | @onepackfrombroke | @chloecreatesfictions | @ladykxxx08 | @gkarisa839 | @destinedbooklover | @tinyyoungblood | @itstasken | @rxves | @theamuz​

[procrastinatorproject]

For the fic asks, two heart emoji and a clown walk into an ask box:

💖 What made you start writing?

💞 Who's your comfort character?

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

Ohhh, what illustrious guests! Thank you so much for visiting my inbox! Let's see....

Sparkly Heart (💖): What made you start writing?

For as long as I can remember, I have been making up stories in my head. I was fully 20 years old before I realized I could probably call this "daydreaming", for me it was always just "making up stories".

I started writing them down in earnest when I was... 11, I think? Took me a few more years to find out I had technically been writing something called "fanfiction", and other people did it, too!

I basically didn't read or write any fic for 10 years, before I slowly started to rediscover it in 2019. I couldn't even tell you what got the ball rolling. I'm pretty sure it was the discovery that this kind of story I had tended towards and always felt deeply ashamed for enjoying not only had a name (Hurt/Comfort), it was so incredibly popular it had a nickname (whump) and entire fests and huge communities dedicated to it! And then I discovered Musketeer fics and the wonderful, wonderful people writing them.

And then season 1 of Star Trek: Picard aired, and against my expectations, I fell instantly in love with it. And a lot of people whose Musketeers fics I loved also started getting into the Aramis in Space fandom. And I started out 2020 by thinking: "I'm going to start writing again. I'm going to write, and at some point, maybe in a year or so, I might have enough practice and be good enough that I dare post something I have written. Maybe."

Sharing the first bit of substantial writing I had created in ten years with a friend was one of the most insanely nerve-wrecking experiences, but it was also exhilarating! My conviction to wait and practice for a year or so before posting anything went out the window pretty quickly, and I posted the very first real story I had put on paper. The first story in my life I ever finished, I think. And then the dam was broken.

And MY GOD the amazing friends and community this adventure has brought me 🥰

Dancing Hearts (💞): Who's your comfort character?

Er... I think it's going to come as a surprise to absolutely no-one that it's Emil 🙈

I just... I love to read and write stories with this man in them. He is snarky and irreverent but also caring and kind, under the slightly exasperated exterior (because he is part of Rios, so how could he possibly be anything else?)

I have loved him from the very first moment he stalked onto my tv screen, and I can't wait to continue writing things to give him more life and adventures.

And I should probably mention the other holos, too. Those five hyper-competent disaster boys make me feel all warm and fuzzy and at home, and if I could only ever write stories about them for the rest of my life, I'd be content.

Clown Face (🤡): What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

The entirety of A Night at the Opera.

I laugh at my own jokes and my own writing A Lot. But this one... when I started dreaming up the idea for it, I think I spent a good fifteen minutes sitting in my armchair and just cackling like a maniac!

And then there were so many jokes and exchanges in it that just made me laugh out loud when they occurred to me, and then again when I wrote them down, and then again every time I reread them.

But as a taste, I am always going to be proud of this particular exchange (talking about the roomba-like cleaning bots):

Xyr leaned around the Tactical Hologram to get a better look, wincing as he accidentally put weight on his injured hand. “So, what exactly is it you hope to do with the bot if you catch it?”

“Emmet and I have some exciting ideas to increase their defensive capabilities”, Enoch replied, rising slightly from his crouch to get a look of the action over the top of the others’ heads.

“I don’t know, they already seem plenty capable. The way they keep disappearing to evade capture?”

[...]

“Just imagine what they could do with a few added features.” Enoch waggled his eyebrows again.

Xyr seemed deeply intrigued. “What sort of features?”

Enoch said “Statically charged forcefields”, at exactly the same moment that Emmet said “Knives.”

I don't know why this one gets me so hard, but I always burst out laughing at "knives" 🙈🤣

Thank you so much for your ask, this was a blast!

If anyone else would like to join the fun, here is the list of questions 😁

[hopelesshawks]

Love and Admiration Part 34- Vulnerable

18+ Bakugo x fem!pro hero reader

Summary: (Y/n) has known Bakugo since middle school, admired him since high school, and had a crush on him since the first time they met. Even now, a top pro hero in her own right, she can’t shake her school girl crush. Too bad Bakugo literally has no idea she exists. Well that’s not entirely true… He does know pro hero Mercury exists, but (y/l/n) (y/n)? Never heard of her.

Note: there’s a written part after the third screenshot so careful not to accidentally skip past it if you click into the photos to read the texts

Masterlist Help Lulu <3

You wake up slowly to the sound of your phone pinging incessantly and it takes a moment to realize why there’s another warm body beneath you. As memories of the previous night trickle in so too does a combination of hopeful excitement and dread. Bakugo Katsuki loves you, of this you can now be sure. But the uncertainty lies in whether he can forgive you for breaking his heart. Sure, he’d seemed accepting the previous night but it’s one thing to accept late at night in the heat of the moment with your lips on his, and another entirely to accept it under the harsh light of day with a clearer head. You’re brought out of your thoughts when Bakugo’s arm around you tightens in a quick squeeze. “Stop overthinking idiot,” Katsuki grumbles, voice still rough with sleep. You shift slightly so you can look at him properly before replying “How do you know I’m overthinking?” “Can just tell. Relax,” he assures you. “Ok,” you sigh, releasing with it some of the tension from your body. You notice your phone is still pinging so you reach over and grab it off the nightstand. Bakugo scowls at it, taking it from your grip and flicking it on silent before tossing it back to the nightstand before you can even check the notifications. “Uhh is there a particular reason you won’t let me look at my phone?” you asked with a raised eyebrow. “It’s just our dumbass friends. Ignore them for now,” he huffs before rolling you both over so you’re pinned beneath him and unable to reach for your phone again. “Katsuki you’re heavy,” you whine, feebly pushing at his shoulder until he shifts so his weight is better distributed on top of you. You expect him to fire some reply back and when he doesn’t you look down at where his head is now lying on your shoulder to find him staring up at you. “What?” you ask, suddenly self conscious as his gaze traces over your face. “I missed hearing you call me by my first name,” he admits quietly, your heart breaking at the words. “I’m so so-“ you start to say but Katsuki covers your mouth with his hand. “You said that already dumbass,” he tells you before getting out of the bed and pulling back on his shirt and boxers.

You watch Bakugo curiously as he digs through your drawers in search of something. Once he finds it he tosses it to you on the bed. As you unfold it you realize it’s the Dynamight hoodie you’d bought alongside the Mercury one for Katsuki. “Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen,” is the closest you get to an explanation as Katsuki leaves the room. You pull the hoodie on then go to your drawers to find underwear and a pair of pajama shorts to throw on. By the time you meet Katsuki in the kitchen he’s pouring two cups of tea and setting them down at your kitchen island so you go to take a seat there and wait for him to come sit next to you. It’s quiet for a moment as you both try to think where to start. “Look I don’t need or want another fucking apology from you got it? I wasn’t entirely blameless or whatever so,” Bakugo starts stiffly. He’s uncomfortable, you can tell. Emotional conversations have never really been his thing, at least not without a heavy dose of violence to simultaneously use as an outlet. It’s just further proof of how important getting this right must be to him. “I just need to know why,” he finally admits although he’s staring resolutely into his mug of tea instead of looking you in the eye. You nod, gathering your thoughts for a moment so you can be sure to get this right. He deserves that much. You both do.

“I’ve had a crush on you since middle school.”

Bakugo’s head snaps to look at you in disbelief so quickly you’re genuinely shocked he didn’t give himself whiplash. “Eh!? Why??” he asks. “I don’t know! You always seemed so cool and you were so determined to get into UA and I am not going to rationalize middle school (y/n)’s feelings ok?? You were a fucking gremlin but you were a gremlin I happened to like a lot,” you huff, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “Whatever brat, just finish your fucking explanation,” he scoffs but the tips of his ears and his cheeks have gone pink. “Yea well, you matured a lot in high school so the crush didn’t go away. If anything it got worse but you didn’t really know who I was so that was kinda it y’know? It just became this thing that sat in the back of my head that I ignored,” you explain. “What about that stupid extra you dated?” Bakugo asks, his grip around his mug tightening slightly. “I liked Shindo a lot. Even loved him for a bit but I don’t think he really made the crush go away, just made it ignorable y’know? My crush on you was still right there waiting after he and I broke up. At the party two weeks ago he even told me that the reason he cheated was because he was paranoid I’d leave him for you,” you admit. “That’s not a fucking excuse,” Katsuki practically growls. “I know.” “Good.”

You pause to take a sip from your tea as you continue sorting your thoughts. It’s embarrassing to admit how long you’ve been hung up on Bakugo, especially considering he had no idea who you were even if he loves you now. Even still, you resist that small, self-protective instinct that wants you to shy away. It’s what got you in this situation in the first place after all. You and Katsuki will only work if you can be vulnerable with each other. “But yea, anyway, uhm all that to say I’ve been kinda hung up on you for a really long time but it was always from a distance y’know? Until suddenly it wasn’t and we were hanging out and having sex and you made it very clear that you don’t date and I thought I was fine with that because whatever we were doing was already so much more than I ever thought I’d have with you, especially once I realized you didn’t remember me, but then Shindo kissed me,” you sigh. Katsuki tenses up beside you. “I remember. Thought you were gonna go crawling back to that idiot,” he growls. “I was,” you admit, and once again you worry Katsuki’s going to give himself whiplash with how quickly he turns his head to you. “What? After everything he did to you, why-“ “Relax ok? I couldn’t do it, even though at the time I kind of wanted to.” “Why couldn’t you?” “Because of you.”

The words hang heavy in the air as Bakugo’s eyes scan over your face searching for any indication that you’re lying or embellishing the truth. “Then why did you start avoiding me after that night?” he finally asks and you give a wry smile. “Because I’m an idiot? Kissing Shindo made me realize that the crush I’d been harboring for you for years had changed. It wasn’t just a stupid crush on the idea of you anymore, I was in love with you. I am in love with you. But I thought there was no way you’d ever want anything more than what we were doing and I couldn’t just be your fuckbuddy if I was in love with you, so I distanced myself to try and give myself time to get over you before we could continue our friendship,” you elaborate. “You should’ve just talked to me.” “I know.” “If you had I would’ve told you I’ve admired you since I first saw you fight as a pro a couple years ago,” Bakugo reveals and you can’t help but gape at him. “A couple years?” you ask incredulously. “Yea well, whatever don’t make a big deal out of it I just saw you on a bust or whatever and you fight really well so even if you weren’t the highest ranked or whatever I respected you. Then when I started seeing you around more this year I knew you’d end up top ten. Obviously,” he scoffs, his cheeks blushing an even brighter red at the admission. “I had no idea,” you say in wonder. “That’s obvious.” “Don’t ruin the moment.” “Whatever, can I finish what I was trying to fuckin say now?” “Ok, ok go for it.”

Bakugo rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t fall out as he huffs. “Look I’m... I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since that first time in the alley, it just took you kissing that stupid, shitty extra for me to realize it. So if you’re done being a fucking idiot, I’d like it if you could be my girl,” he confesses and despite his gruff tone you can hear the hope and vulnerability in his voice. “I’d like that too,” you smile, voice soft and warm with affection. “Then c’mere,” Katsuki tells you before tugging you close to him until you’re sitting in his lap, legs straddling his waist. “I love you,” you tell him, voice filled with sincerity and joy at finally having him the way you’ve dreamed and fantasized about for years. “I love you too Princess,” he promises before pulling you into the sweetest kiss.

A/N: I wasn’t 100% sure where I wanted their talk to go I just knew that they needed to talk out exactly what happened instead of just confessing, sleeping with each other, and moving on but it felt only right they both should reveal just how long they’ve had their eyes on each other. Just a couple parts left guys ❤️

Taglist: @pixelwisp @oliviasslut @larkspyrr @heroacadema @kozukatsuki @captaincyberqueen @undead-nyx @ineedtofocusfr @i-heart-fictional-boys @theycallme-becky @superhermit @black-rose-29 @disaster-rose @fandomsgotmefucked

[barry-j-blupjeans]

maybe 3 or 11 + blupjeans for the kissing prompts? :o

11. when one stops the kiss to whisper “I’m sorry, are you sure you-” and they answer by kissing them more

(Kissing prompts here :D!)

this got,,, A LITTLE out of hand sjflsdfj. here is OVER 2k of blupjeans for ur reading pleasure (probably to be posted on ao3 later)

--

Barry’s got one arm covering Lup as he’s half leaning over her, and the other up in the air to create a shield around them (god, he was so glad that Lucretia had talked him into learning abjuration magic a few cycles ago). It wasn’t the strongest, but it held up as the mineshaft they were in caved in around them. By the time the ground stopped shaking, and the rocks stopped falling, the bubble he had created was completely covered from top to bottom. There wasn’t a shred of light anywhere.

“Fuck,” Lup said, which aptly described how Barry was feeling. “Quick thinking, Bar, good job.” 

She snapped her fingers and a few balls of light lit up the bubble, floating aimlessly around them.

He lowered his wand, focusing on the spell well enough for it to stay steady, and turned his attention to Lup. She wasn’t injured, besides some scrapes on her arms from when Barry had shoved her to the ground. He felt a little bad about that, but the tunnel was small and he didn’t want her to move out of range of the bubble.

Lup fished her Stone of Farspeech out of her robes as Barry gave her a tight smile in response. He sat up against the side of the bubble shield as she called back to the ship. Davenport was sending Taako, Magnus, and Merle to come to get them out (which Barry already knew would be a disaster, even if they worked well together). When she hung up, all that was left to do was... wait. There was a light on the top of her Stone to show it was being tracked, and they couldn’t do anything else to make it go faster.

“Sorry for pushing you,” Barry said. Lup shrugged and sat cross-legged across from him.

“No biggie,” she said. “It was either be pushed to the ground or get killed by a rock, so I don’t think I have the right to be mad about it right now. Or the want to, anyhow.”

Waiting was slow going. Barry knew Lup wasn’t a particularly patient person and could tell when she was starting to get antsy. Neither of them were good at sitting still, but Lup’s foot had been tapping for ten straight minutes before she started searching through her pack for things to do.

“Hey, Bar,” she asked, five minutes into that, “Wanna help?”

“Gods, yes,” Barry said, shuffling his way over to her side. “Give me something to do.”

Lup muttered something under her breath that Barry didn’t catch, and probably didn’t want to. She turned the whole bag over and pushed half of it towards him.

“Do... something with that,” she said and started working on her half.

Barry started to organize it because that was probably what Lup had meant. He sorted it by use first- things someone would need if they were going to a mission (waterskin, loose charcoal, which Barry didn’t want to begin questioning), makeup stuff (chapstick, face wipes, three different colors of nail polish, and one eyelash curler), and misc. (four individual playing cards, a note in Taako’s handwriting that just said “fuck you”, a photo of a baby elephant). Then he sorted by size.

When he looked back over to Lup, she had made a wobbly tower out of her half. Barry was startled into a laugh, which caused it all to fall over.

“Barold Bluejeans,” she said, turning on him. “You fucking monster.”

“S- sorry!” Barry gasped, leaning back against the bubble, not sounding sorry at all. “I thought- I thought we were both sorting!”

“I said “do something” not sort!” Lup said. “I cannot believe- oh, fuck, is that my charcoal, I was looking for that.”

Which just made Barry laugh harder. She scowled at him, in good nature, and snatched the charcoal from his piles. She eyed him as she started building her tower again, pausing only when he sniggered to send a light-hearted glare his way.

After a while, he finally got control of his laughter and watched her build a tower. She had two books she was using as the base, followed by a thinning stack of sticky notes, and a half-empty water bottle. After about three minutes, she finished the pile, which had been swaying precariously as she added things, and placed the charcoal on top. She leaned back on her hands and looked at it.

“Hey, Bar,” Lup said, not taking her eyes off the pile.

“Yeah?”

“I’m bored.” She tore her gaze away from it to look at him, lips turned into a cute little frown. “I wanna do somethin’ else.”

“Not a lotta options here, Lup,” Barry said. She frowned, tilting her head at him. His heart stuttered a little. “We can, uh. Talk?”

“About what?” Lup asked. “‘What’s your favorite color?’ I already know yours is denim blue. You’re predictable, babe. I don’t know what to ask that wouldn’t seem like this is a bad first date.”

Barry flushed a little.

“This would be a very bad first date,” Barry said and Lup laughed. She scooted up next to him, careful not to disturb her pile while she moved. After a second, she pressed her arm next to his and leaned onto his shoulder. Barry’s brain short-circuited, almost missing what she said next.

“We’d have to be on at least third date questions,” Lup said thoughtfully. “Like, uhh. What’s your social security number?”

“I don’t remember that!” Barry laughed and Lup buried her head into his shoulder, giggling. “I- I barely even knew it when we were at home, Lup, how do you expect me to remember it after forty-five years.”

“Joking, Barry,” she said, laughing a little still. “I’ll ask a better question, then. Uh. When you were a kid, what did you wanna be when you grew up?”

“Astronaut,” Barry said immediately, which sent Lup into another fit of giggles. She looked up at him, grinning.

"For real?" she asked and when he nodded, she whistled. "Dang, babe, you got your dream."

"I- I guess," Barry said. "It's not like- I mean, I gave up on that dream fairly quick back home. One, because it was pretty unrealistic until the Light came, and two, because it seemed... I don't know, unrealistic. I was a professor, Lup, I didn't- the mission was more of a... midlife crisis decision, if we're being honest."

Lup hummed, dropping her head back down to lean on his shoulder. Barry worried he went too far for a moment.

"I forget that human's live such short lives," Lup said quietly. The mood of the room (bubble) shifted when she said that. It took on a somber tone. "Me and Taako weren't adults until we were a hundred. By that age, you'd be all old and wrinkly."

"Hey," Barry said, nudging her. "I'm old and wrinkly now."

She snorted but shook her head.

"Guess Magnus's "live now, die later" attitude kinda makes sense when you think about it like that," Lup said. "Like, you age so fast. You just kinda have to do what you want when you want so you can actually get it in there, y'know."

"Not really," Barry said. "I mean, there's a lot of time to do things still, but I see where he's coming from. You don't wanna not do something and regret that you never did it."

Lup seemed to think on that for a second. Barry did, too. She was still pressed against his shoulder, close enough that her hair was tickling his neck. He looked away and sighed slightly. If he was being honest, he probably should take his own words to heart. Life, love, never lasts long enough and as soon as you get what you want, it's counting down the seconds until something takes it away. Circumstances, opportunities, death. Something always took it away.

They had an endless amount of time to get it right. But Barry didn't want to be the one to break her heart when they stopped the cycles and he started to age again.

"Barry," Lup said, quiet, but absolutely deafening in the silence of the bubble. "I, uh. I think we need to talk." She sat up, turning herself towards him completely. Barry's heart thundered in his chest.

"I know humans don't live long," she said carefully. "And we don't know when we're gonna get out of these cycles. But I... can't ignore things because of that. I can't just fucking- pretend that I'm not feeling things? Because that's not healthy and also, by the way, it fucking sucks. I'd rather-"

She broke herself off. Barry saw her hands dig into the dirt under them.

"This isn't the best place to say it," she said, looking away. She backed up a bit and knocked her pile over in the process. "Uh, my bad, I just-"

"I don't wanna pretend either," Barry blurted out, before he even thought about what he was saying. "Being trapped in a bubble under a collapsed mineshaft isn't the best place to talk about anything, Lup, but it's you and I don't wanna make you not want to say something. I, uh. I think I get what you're getting at, though."

He steeled himself, taking a deep breath in. Okay, he was doing this. He was doing this. He just had to, uh, collect himself first, and-

"I like you," and Lup beat him to the punch line. Barry blinked at her and she hurried along. "Like, in a romantic way, I mean. Not like- I like the others just fine, but I like you, Bar."

"Oh," Barry said. Lup chuckled nervously, not looking at him.

"Yeah," she said. "Um, like I said, not the best place to talk about it, but-"

"No!" Barry said. "No, Lup, I like you too! Fuck, I- I wasn't expecting you to, uhm- Lup, I like you so much, I didn't wanna make things weird."

"This whole goddamn situation is weird," Lup said, hitting the side of the bubble with her hand.

"No, like, us," Barry said. "Like as a friendship, I didn't wanna make it weird. I'm..." he sighed. "It's complicated for a lot of reasons, Lup, I'm human. I-"

"So it's a no?" Lup said awkwardly.

"No!" Barry said. "No, no, no, it's definitely a yes! I just don't want- I don't wanna fucking... die on you when the cycles stop, Lup. I don't want it to end and I don't want you to have to deal with that."

"That's not up to you," Lup said at once, sounding a tad bit annoyed. "If I wanna date you, that's my choice, and if you die, then it's my emotions I'm going to be dealing with. I don't want you to beef it, obviously, but- it's not up to you to figure out how I'll react then. I wanna do now with you and I wanna do that all the way up until we can't. It's fine if you don't- don't want that, but I-"

She was starting to tear up a bit and he panicked, scooting forward.

"Sorry," he said, because he didn't know what else to say. "I- I wasn't thinking about now, I was focusing on later. I- I don't want to see you upset because of something I've done, if I can help it. I got a little stuck in that.

"I desperately want this to work out," Barry said, holding out his hands. She wiped away a tear and clasped her hands in his. "There's no one I'd rather be with than you, Lup, I promise. But I wanna talk about what all it'll mean, first, if that's alright with you. I wanna make this work."

"Yeah," Lup said thickly. "Of course."

She hesitated for a second, and then wrapped him in a hug. His heart was beating fast as he hugged back, burying his face into her neck. After a moment, she drew back a little, pressing her forehead against his.

"Can I kiss you before we talk, or do you wanna wait 'til after?" she asked. The air momentarily left Barry's lungs. He took a deep, needed, breath in and nodded. When he realized that the nod answered nothing, he said,

"Now's good, if you, uh, if you want."

"Now," Lup said decisively, leaning in.

If you asked Barry, the day could be divided up into two parts: before he kissed Lup, and after. Maybe that was stupid, because they were buried under a pile of dirt and rocks right now, but... Her lips against his were fire and ash and everything wonderful and powerful. The touch was soft, because they were both uncertain, and Barry drew back just far enough to say,

"I'm sorry, are you sure-"

Before she was pressing her lips back up against his, stronger, with more intent. Barry's heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest as she tugged him closer with the arms she had around his neck.

And then he felt like his heart did actually explode when something clanged against the side of the bubble. Barry startled back, hitting the opposite end of the barrier, and looking towards where the sound had come from. Lup scooted back towards him, raising her wand towards it. It hit again and Barry recognized the blade of a shovel, scooping away the dirt.

In a matter of seconds, there was a sizable amount gone and there was Magnus, who grinned upon seeing them. He saw Taako standing against the wall a little further back and Merle on the ground, talking to him.

Lup swore. Barry saw that the tips of her ears were pink when she shoved her want back into her holster.

"We'll get back to this later," she promised. "The kissing and the convo, I promise. Help me put my shit back in my bag."

"Yeah," Barry said, his whole face flushed. "I can do that."

[dulce-pjm]

hmm for the mix and match drabbles how about established relationship + prompt 19!!! OR bakery/flower shop/bookstore au + prompt 6!!! you can pick!!!

hmm i see your options and i raise you this: why not all?

lol an epic crossover of prompts: au #3 - established relationship!au, au #2 - bakery/flower shop/bookstore!au, prompt #19 - “No, I have a [girlfriend/boyfriend].” “That’s me! How much did you drink?”, and prompt #6 - “One more kiss.”

make your own request here using these prompts!

bakin’ me crazy

jimin x reader

word count: 3.4k

genre: fluffy fluff fluff, established relationship!au, bakery!au

summary: despite having one disaster on top of the other and then some, you can’t help but feel better when he’s around

a/n: apologies in advance. i think we’re all learning that i’m a pun-lover and that probably won’t change

It’s everywhere. 

There’s sugar in your hair and lashes, coating your cheeks and sweater, even under your nails and somehow you swear you feel it between your toes. 

It’s been a long day. Up at the crack of dawn to open up shop, meeting with customers until noon, and now you’d found yourself baking way past your bedtime to keep up with all the orders. There’s nothing you’d like more than to eat your weight in cupcakes and enter the subsequent sugar coma on your couch, never to be disturbed again. 

But just as you’d pulled that last batch of cupcakes out of the oven, just as you’d started whipping up a fresh batch of icing, disaster struck. 

You should have known better, should have thought to check. Sunny was frantic yesterday as she rushed out the door, completing her tasks as quickly as she could so as not to leave too much work for you but still be present for the birth of her child who was not supposed to be due for three more weeks. You’d tried to calm her down, tell her to go home already, but you eventually learned that pre-parental panic is just as bad in real life as it is in the Sims4 and let her do what she needed to relieve stress. 

Which included restocking the powdered sugar. 

And in her tizzy, Sunny hadn’t noticed that this bag, the very one she placed on the edge of the shelf, had a hole in it. And you, in your own tizzy of work and stress, hadn’t noticed how it began to slump over, dangerously close to falling. You hadn’t noticed the impending explosion of powdered sugar until it had detonated on top of your head. 

No part of the kitchen seemed to be spared. While you were sputtering and stumbling backwards, wielding your spatula like a weapon as if it could help you, the fine powder coated all of your fresh cupcakes (which were still hot. and thus now had a weird film of dissolved powdered sugar on top), fell onto the clean dishes drying by the sink. 

When the dust settles, you think about crying. Seriously consider it. After the past day and a half, you definitely deserve it. 

Why couldn’t one thing go right today? And now you’ll have to stay even later just to clean things up and check to see if the cupcakes are salvageable. You’re tired and you’re hungry and you really just need a hug. Is that too much to ask for?

And suddenly the tears are pricking at your eyes and you’re sniffling and hiccuping and still covered in sugar. You feel pathetic and exhausted and miserable, the terrible feeling welling in your chest with every passing moment. 

The front door of the shop swings open, the bell attached to it ringing sharply. Who the hell comes into a bakery at this late? And what the hell did you think you were doing, not locking the door earlier?

“We’re closed!” you manage, voice choked as you scramble to your feet, slightly nervous at the sudden intrusion. 

“It’s me, Y/N!” You recognize Taehyung’s voice instantly, though it doesn’t stop you from being confused. “Sorry for stopping by so late, I have Chim with me and he wouldn’t quit asking for you and I saw the lights on— What the hell happened to you?” 

You’ve fully collected yourself, walking out of the kitchen and into the lobby to find your boyfriend of a few months with his arm wrapped around your friend of many years, staring at the floor and giggling to himself. You’re still a bit flustered, inexplicably covered in powdered sugar and very confused by the sight in front of you. 

“Uh, long story?” you manage. “Well, not really. Just a freak accident in the kitchen.” You approach the two of them tentatively. “Is Jimin okay?”

 At the call of his name, he lifts his head and smiles rather stupidly when he sees you. In an instant, he parts himself from Taehyung and stumbles over to you, nearly crashing into a cake display in the process. 

“Y/N!” He wraps his arms around your waist, digging his nose into your neck and shoulder, no doubt covering his blonde strands in sugar as he nearly squeezes the air out of your lungs. 

“‘Missed you,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your sweater. 

Taehyung shakes his head, running a hand through his dark hair. “He about drank his own weight tonight at the bar, that’s all. Let Jungkook talk him into doing shots and well...” You nod knowingly, rubbing your palm up and down Jimin’s back. “He gave me a lot of trouble on the way here, he wouldn’t let up until we came to check on you.”

You laugh when Jimin squeezes you tighter, peppering kisses at the most ticklish spots on your neck. You’re surprised he’s not more talkative, normally babbling on about any and everything he can think of when he’s had enough to drink. 

“You get any good videos of them acting stupid?” Taehyung chuckles, pulling his phone from his pocket. 

“I’ll send them to you now. Jungkook was flirting with a pole for at least ten minutes before he realized.” You snort and Jimin smiles into your sweater, nearly pressing his entire body weight onto you and sending the both of you toppling. 

You know Taehyung’s tired, try as he might to hide it. You’ve always appreciated how attentive he was of your boyfriend when you couldn’t be. Their shared apartment is on the other side of town, which means either they were drinking nearby (unlikely, you all hated the bars around here) or Jimin had begged to come see you so much that Taehyung finally caved, despite his exhaustion. 

“You can leave him here, if you want. I’ll let him sleep on the couch.” Taehyung’s eyes go wide while Jimin is still blissfully unaware of what’s going on around him, snuggling into you like you’re his childhood stuffed animal. 

“No, no, you don’t have to do that. You’re clearly all tied up here—”

“It’s okay, Tae,” you insist, smiling warmly. “Go home and rest, I’ll take care of him from here.” There’s a moment where Taehyung opens his mouth to argue, but he closes it, seeing your expression. 

He sighs. “Alright, it’s your funeral,” he jokes. “Thanks, Y/N.” 

“No problem.” 

The bells tingle again as Taehyung leaves, bracing himself against the night air. 

“Alright, sleepyhead,” you tease, ruffling Jimin’s hair. “You’re gonna have to let go of me a minute so I can clean up.” 

You shuffle backwards in spite of his grumbling protests, dragging a chair into the kitchen for him to sit on. You peel him off of you while he’s spouting incoherent sentences, gently guiding him into the chair. 

It’s difficult to resist him when he gives you those puppy dog eyes and that pout like he’s going to cry if you don’t pull him into your arms again, but you remain stern, though smiling slightly at this face and clothes that have also become victim to the powdered sugar explosion, via his contact with you. 

He giggles upon fulling taking you in. 

“You look like you got snowed on,” he says, propping his chin in his hand to keep it from bobbing too much. You shake your head, a cloud of white dust falling off of you when you do. “What happened?”

“You don’t look much better, love bug. And it’s sugar.” His brows furrow in confusion before he licks his lips, smile widening at the taste. “I’ll just clean it up and then we can go home, m’kay?”

“You should let me kiss it off for you.”

You laugh, reaching for the broom while he watches you sleepily. “We’d be here all night.”

“I don’t mind,” he calls back in a sing-song voice, seeming more awake than before, or at least, more talkative. 

You get to work sweeping up the sugar, deciding to put the forgotten cupcakes in the fridge and worry about them in the morning. You’ve too soon forgotten that you were sobbing and contemplating staying here all night to finish this order a few minutes ago, Jimin’s presence, albeit pretty drunk, helping you think a bit more sensibly.

“Did you have a good time?”

“Uh-huh! Had sooooo much fun.” You sneak a glance at him, smiling softly at how his cheek is squished against his palm and his head is bobbing slightly. He starts mumbling something again and you can only catch a few words. 

“What was that?” He sighs as you dump some powdered sugar in the trash, grinning at him sweetly.

“I said you’re pretty, dummy.” He clicks his tongue disapprovingly as he shakes his head to himself. “Always making me repeat myself when I compliment you.” He juts out his index finger in your direction as his words slur together. “I know your dirty tricks.”

You bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing, deciding to tease him further. “Still can’t understand you, love.”

He cries out in frustration, throwing his arms out dramatically. “You’re hot! Is that what you wanna hear?” Now you can’t help but giggle at his pouting, always so easily riled up both sober and intoxicated. 

You kiss him on the top of his head as you pass by, putting away a few stray dishes. “You aren’t too bad yourself.” At that, he huffs, making a point not to look your way and give you the cold shoulder. 

You still have a few things left to tidy up and Jimin doesn’t question you further while you do them. It isn’t until you hear him snoring quietly as you wipe down the counters that you realize he’s nodded off, neck bent dangerously as his head leans against the kitchen wall. You cover your mouth to keep from laughing at his slack-jawed expression, approaching him quietly and snapping a quick picture. You immediately make it your new lockscreen, just to tease him in the morning. 

You remember the first time you met him, when Taehyung invited you to go get drinks along with the rest of your friends. The shop had been a mess and so were you, so Taehyung picked you up from work as soon as you were done as to keep you from just going home and sleeping. You’d slid into the backseat happily, Jungkook in shotgun and Jimin beside you. 

You hadn’t given him many glances, just polite greetings and small talk, not until he quietly informed you that you had hot pink frosting on your forehead and nose and you were thoroughly embarrassed. Luckily, one thing led to another and the minute you had any alcohol in your system, you were pressed against his side, rambling about the cupcake business and your passion for baking. His giggle was more intoxicating than the drinks and you found yourself unable to part from him. 

At the end of the night, you asked him to go on a date then and there, like a drunk idiot. And he said yes, also like a drunk idiot. 

Neither of you made it two steps before you were passed out in the back of Taehyung’s car, your head on his shoulder and his lying on top of yours. 

The next day, you swore you’d never drink again and hoped and prayed Jimin had forgotten the entire incident. But fate is both cruel and caring, and you’d picked up your phone a few hours into your workday to see a text from Jimin, inquiring about the promised date.

There’s still things to do and you definitely aren’t fully cleaned up, but you make the executive decision for yourself and Jimin to just go home before it’s past midnight and you’re really miserable. 

You remove your apron, tossing it in its designated bin at the back of shop, grabbing a bottle of water for Jimin and a defected cupcake (i.e. you knew you loved this flavor and purposely messed up the decoration so you could sneak it later) for yourself. Your boyfriend is still snoring quietly, head jerking painfully every few minutes as his hand struggles to it upright. You gently shake at this shoulders, keeping your voice low as to not startle him too much. 

“Hey, love bug,” you murmur. “Let’s go home, okay? Get you to bed.” He whines in his sleep, pulling away from you. 

“I can’t,” he mumbles. You laugh at his dramatics, grabbing his elbows as you try to coax him to his feet. 

“You can, promise. My apartment is just upstairs, remember?” It’d been nothing short of a coincidence that the space Sunny found for the business lied right underneath your apartment, but in times like these, it was definitely a blessing. 

He wags his finger in your face, his eyes barely opened. “Nuh-uh. No, I have a girlfriend.” You scoff incredulously, crossing your arms. 

“That’s me! How much did you drink?” His eyes open fully and he smiles sheepishly at his mistake. 

“Oh. Oops?” You roll your eyes, pulling him to his feet unceremoniously and shoving the water bottle in one hand, guiding the other around your shoulder. 

“I barely drank anything, really,” he insists as you lock the doors and turn off the lights. 

“Mhmm.”

“Like— Two sips!” he says, holding up three fingers.

“I believe you,” you lie. “Now drink some water.” He complies, though his eyes lie on the chocolate cupcake you’re taking a bite out of. You catch him staring quickly as you round the corner of the building, entering the hallway that leads to the stairs. You’d take the elevator, but you worry that if you don’t keep him moving, he’ll fall asleep where he stands, so you suck it up and prepare to climb three flights. 

Before he even has to ask, you stick the cupcake in his face and he smiles, licking a big chunk of the frosting right off the top. 

“Jimin!” you cry, yanking the cupcake back. “You know I hate when you do that! Enjoy the cupcake as it is or just ask me for some frosting.” He doesn’t seem the least bit guilty as you glare at him, pretending the leftover frosting on the corner of his cheek isn’t both tempting and adorable. 

“But I loooove the frosting!” he argues. “You know what else I love?” You already know what he’s going to say, he’d blurted out the “L word” on your two month anniversary, totally on accident. Luckily, the feelings were mutual. 

“Me?” He scrunches his nose. 

“What? No.” You gasp, offended. “I mean, yes, you know I do, but I wasn’t talking about that. I love the name of your shop.”

You blink at him twice. “You like ‘Bakin’ Me Crazy’?” You huff. “That was the biggest mistake of my life.” Now it’s his turn to be offended, stopping in his tracks and nearly sending you both falling back down the stairs. “Jimin—!”

“It’s an amazing name, Y/N!” he exclaims, brown eyes wide and earnest. “It’s cute.”

Hmmph. “If you say so, weirdo.”

“Cute like you,” he sings, loud enough to wake the entire building.

“Stop complimenting me. I’m still mad at you.” You shove the last bit of cupcake in your mouth, wiping the crumbs from your mouth with your thumb. He giggles, leaning closer to you. 

“I like you so much, did you know that?”

“I did.”

“I’d really like you if you gave me a piggyback ride, though.” You scoff. 

“You’re such a tease! You always lay it on thick when you want something.” You remember his words from earlier, wagging your finger in his face to copy him. “I know your dirty tricks.”

He sighs, acting extra tired as if to emphasize how deserving he is of a piggyback ride from you. You’d consider giving it to him, if you thought you were physically capable and you weren’t on a stairwell. 

He takes another sip of water as he pouts. “Pretty please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“No.”

“And whipped cream?” A laugh slips through your lips, all too soft for him when he’s acting cute like this. 

“What are you even talking about?” you giggle, unlocking the door to your apartment which is thankfully not far from the stairwell. “Just keep drinking that water. You’re gonna be so embarrassed in the morning.” You guide him to the side of the bed next to your dresser, helping him sit down. 

He makes grabby hands at you as you fish through your drawers for pajamas, muttering something about you abandoning him. 

You hold up a pair of bright orange fleece pants decorated with penguins. “You like these? All my sweats are in the wash.” You toss them into his lap when he nods happily. “Do you need help?” He yawns and blinks hard and you smile in satisfaction, seeing that his water bottle is half empty and he’s ever so slightly more sober. 

“I got it,” he says. You go into the bathroom, washing your face and changing into your own kiddish pajamas. When you come back into the bedroom, Jimin’s already tucked in with the covers pulled to his chin. 

You cross your arms. “I don’t remember inviting you into my bed, mister.” He smiles at you as you slide in next to him, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. You’d had every intention of sending him to the couch out of fear that he’d puke on your sheets, but you reason that you’d be cold without him and you’d rather be close by if he did get sick. 

You dust the last of the powdered sugar off of his nose and brows, pressing your cheek into his chest, exhaustion already overcoming you. Underneath the alcohol, you can still smell the comforting scent of his vanilla lotion, lulling you to sleep. 

“Don’t fall asleep yet!” he suddenly exclaims, pushing you a few inches away. You groan, propping yourself on your elbow and wondering how the hell he’s still awake and bothering you. 

“What is it?” You blink a few times as he smiles cheekily. 

“One more kiss.” You scoff. “You still have sugar on your face. On your lips, actually. So I should get it for you.” 

You’re scoffing but oblige, smiling into the kiss as he slots his plush lips against yours, knowing very well you scrubbed the last of the sugar off your face moments ago. 

--

You wake up to your phone ringing rather rudely. You sigh, peeling yourself away from Jimin and laughing at his bedhead and the displeased expression he makes in his sleep, his face swollen and eyes shut tightly. 

“Hello?” you whisper, pulling yourself into a sitting position. 

“Hey, Y/N!” Once you register her voice, you can barely contain your excitement, bouncing on the bed once before reminding yourself that Jimin’s still asleep. 

“Sunny!” you whisper-yell. “How’s Jisoo and the baby? You a mom yet?” Your business partner laughs on the other end of the phone. 

“Oh, she’s fine. Just tired. The baby was born a few hours ago, but we’re still deciding on a name for her.” You grin. “So yeah, I’m a mom and you can be her unofficial auntie.”

“You’re gonna name her after me, right?” 

Sunny giggles tiredly on the other end of the phone. “I’ll add it to the list, don’t worry.” You’re about to tell her to go get some rest, but she interrupts you before you can. 

“Speaking of names! I got in contact with that guy about changing our sign so we can finally choose a different name for the business. You’re still serious about that, right?”

You glance at Jimin, his cheek squished against the pillow and lips puckered. You run your fingers through his blonde hair and he sighs contentedly. 

“Maybe we should leave it, for now.”

“What? But you said—”

“I know, I know. Let’s talk about it another time. Go get some sleep!” 

The two of you exchange a few more words of endearment and congratulations before you hang up, noting the sunlight cracking through your blinds. 

You know you need to get up soon. There’s still cupcakes to bake and customers to deal with and a temporary replacement for Sunny to find. 

But for a moment, you self-indulge, curling up next to Jimin, letting him wrap his arms around you and warm you back up. He digs his nose into your shoulder as you press a quick kiss onto his forehead, closing your eyes and drifitng back to sleep, feeling weightless as he holds you. 

[qvid-pro-qvo]

i can’t hold you now (and god, it kills me)

rafael barba x female!reader. based on “townhouse incident (season 17, episode 10).”

word count: 12,500

rating: mature, for the pain that comes when someone you love is just out of reach (canon-typical mentions of rape, and tw: vivid depictions of assault and rapes in progress, blood, guns, hostage situation. not fun).

-

The call from Liv isn’t exactly unexpected – you’re about halfway across town to pick her up anyway, and you’d shot her a text that had gone unanswered about her preferred coffee order. The day is for the two of you. However, the request is an odd one, or at the very least, inconvenient.

You hadn’t anticipated the invitation, and like a lot of things in SVU, it came last minute. If anything, you’d thought Dodds would’ve gotten the invite, considering that he was her sergeant. But, something about your interest in the technical aspects of the jobs, the medical aspects of the jobs, hell, the lab as a whole, had caught Liv’s eye, and so when these innovations came up, a new way to look at DNA, your name was always on the list. It was an honor, and spending the day with the lieutenant never disappointed.

You answer her call with a smile. “Hey, I’m on my way, I promise. I just needed the caffeine boost for another day of lectures,” you tell her. Your voice is light, and the clock in your car tells you that there’s plenty of time. “Like, ten minutes?”

Your boss’s little chuckle is light, but there’s something strained in it. “Not a big fan of those seats personally, but. We’ve got to make a stop first.”

You reach down for your iced coffee, taking a long gulp. The sweetness on your tongue makes you smile, mainly because you can see Barba wincing at the sugary mess you insist on downing.

Rafael Barba. The A.D.A. for the Special Victims Unit, the transfer from Kings County, Harvard Law graduate, Bronx native… and your boyfriend. Even thinking it makes you smile around your straw.

It’d started off like anything else, you and Rafael. Meeting in the squad room after you’d joined up. Bickering and squabbling, different people with different worldviews in high stress situations. The amount of times Liv’s eyes had rolled at the two of you bickering could’ve broken world records. (Amanda was known for leaving the room with her hands up in the air when the two of you got particularly biting, especially if Carisi was added like a cherry on top.)

But then you’d watched him soften. Watched his way with the victims soften, watched his eyes soften. Watched squabbling and bickering turned into standing side-by-side and making snide comments from the other side of one-way glasses. Energy against turned into energy together, and the two of you became a duo that could convince a defendant of anything in those interrogation rooms.

(“At least they’re being productive,” Fin had snarked to Liv, as the two of them watched the interrogation unfold. “Last time they fought paperwork got held up for a week just to spite him.”)

And then the other shoe dropped, as it always did, with a case.

Squabbling turned into standing over his desk, facing him down over a file. You’d stared at him, eyes narrowed, hands gripping his mahogany desk.

“I will not stand by while people we promised to protect are thrown aside in the name of the law.” Your voice hadn’t even dared to waver, and he had stared right back.

His eyes had scanned you. Up, down. Narrowed, sharp, and you braced yourself for the return volley. And then he’d stared right back.

His hand reached out to cover yours. Squeezed it.

“Trust me. Neither will I.”

(The first kiss didn’t happen, then, but it came pretty soon after.)

Rafael’s a good boyfriend, even though sometimes his work prevents him from being as attentive as you know he wants to be. But there’s a catch, because there’s always a catch – you haven’t exactly told anyone yet.

At first it’d been just because it was easier. Because how can you tell the squad what you are when you don’t even know? But when long nights turned into early mornings, and conversations turned serious, it became the only way. To protect yourself, to protect the team, you needed to keep it separate. These two things could not mix, or else disaster would surely come of it.

(“I don’t even want to think about what Carisi will say,” he’d told you one night, fingers running down your arm, and you’d snorted before rolling over to kiss him, shut him up.)

So the now is like this: the day ends, he’s Rafael, and he teases you and tempts you and kisses you. The day begins anew, and he’s back to Barba, and you have to settle for good enough.

Even though he’s more, all you can be is colleagues in the squad room, in interrogations, during debriefs with Liv. Any affection you want to show has to be bottled up until those precious moments alone. It’s exhausting, but worth it, getting to know Rafael, and getting to really, truly care for him.

You shake your head, forcing your thoughts back to the present. You finish your sip, raise a brow. “What kind of stop?”

“A favor.”

You slowly pull up to a red light. The coffee is down. The phone is in the passenger seat and jolts at little at the stop, so you reach for it, turn the speaker off. When you hold it up to your ear you can catch the little things: the rustle of Olivia’s hair against the microphone, Lucy’s voice behind her, something that sounds a lot like Noah babbling.

“What’s up?” You shift in your seat, suddenly very aware of the gun on your hip.

“Lucy works with another family, asked us to check in one them. Said the mother had bruises around her neck, shooed her away after saying that the kid was sick and the husband yelled at her.” Liv’s voice is tense, and you feel your shoulders rise a little. Your jaw clenches, too. “So, can you pick me up?”

Domestic violence cases always have your anger flaring, the thought of those victims stuck and unable to get out. Your sigh is short, sad. “Yeah. I’ll grab you and we’ll head over.”

“Thanks.” She signs off, and suddenly the sugar in your coffee feels like it’s churning in your gut.

For a moment your hand runs over your phone’s screen. Wakes it up from its brief sleep, ready to text Barba – to text Rafael – the update. Might be a little late. Favor called in. But then the light turns green, and you toss your phone to the side, sighing.

You’ll do it later. After the visit. When all is said and done.

-

Olivia knocks. It’s loud, repetitive, sure to get the attention of whoever’s home. Your hands slide into the pockets of your jacket, your toe tapping on the concrete.

“Did Lucy say anything else?” you ask your boss, but before she can answer the door opens. Slowly, carefully, and you find yourself looking over every detail the woman who peeks out offers.

She looks exhausted, first of all. Her eyes are watery, and you can clearly see the bruising. One hand is holding the door open, the other hidden. You wonder if there’s bruising there, too, and your hands in your pockets clench into fists at the thought of someone hurting her.

“Hi, Lisa.” Your boss greets. Her smile is small, but there’s something urgent in the way she does the same scan. “Olivia Benson.”

“Right, Noah’s mom,” Lisa responds, and she’s quick to tell them that Lucy’s not there.

Liv has perfected the concerned friendliness, and her head tilts a little at the assumption. “Well, actually, I stopped by to speak with you.” With a gesture to you, Liv introduces you as a friend, and you offer your warmest smile.

“Hi, Mrs. Crivello,” you say. “How’re you doing?”

“Well, Luca’s sick, so – so it’s not really a good time,” she stammers out, and you glance towards your lieutenant, who seems unfazed. When you look back, though, you see the injuries add up. The span of the bruises. The little marks on her face.

“You have a little cut, over your eye,” you tell her. Your hand starts moving to your bag for something to dab at it, clean it up.

But Lisa just shakes her head. She looks even more teary, close to letting them fall as she pulls back a little from the door. “I should go…”

Again, Liv just looks at her, and you see her brow furrow for a moment. “Well… how about we come back later? Is that all right?”

Suddenly the two of you hear a voice from behind the mother. It’s quiet, but firm.

“Let them in.”

It’s like a switch is flicked. The uncertainty gives way, and suddenly, Lisa acquiesces. Glances down at her feet for a second before opening the door wide, and the two of you smile at her as you’re let into the apartment. But your eyes see almost nothing before something clocks you in the back of the head, and you hear Liv’s cry as she’s shoved back against the door.

There’s a clatter, but the room doesn’t go black. The hit just grazes you, fortunately and unfortunately, and you stumble forward into arms that are anything less than welcoming. A woman has Lisa, a guy with sweat on his brow has Liv against the door, and a third is the one who’s grabbing you. Your vision is blurry, and your ears are ringing, but you can see Liv lift her hands, see her look both of the captors in the eye.

There’s another girl, you realize. She’s young, a teenager, and when your eyes meet hers you can see her tears. The whole room comes into some kind of focus, and when you take it in your heart starts to sink.

Oh, fuck, what did the two of you get yourselves into?

Instincts start kicking in quick, even in your daze. Your hands test the strength of the guy behind you, which makes his grip turn bruising, and you hear the shouts of the men as they tell the two of you to drop your bags.

“Who the hell is she?!” one of them hisses, and your whole body shivers at the feeling of breath on your neck. “Who are they?!”

“My name is Olivia Benson.” There’s a shake in her voice, the adrenaline, the high, and your eyes blink a few times to focus in on her.

“Liv –“ you call out, but her eyes meet yours suddenly. She glares, and you go quiet, once again feeling those hands tighten on you. It’s as good as an order from her.

“We’re here by chance, okay, but the both of us are New York City police officers.”

The panic on them in clear, and you feel one of the hands holding you start to roam against your waist.

“Fuck, man, this one’s armed,” says the man holding you, and Olivia just sighs, nodding.

“I am, too. Okay? I am, too. I’m telling you now, do you understand?”

“Ralph,” the guy next to Liv says sharply. He’s jittery, and you see a bead of sweat drip down his brow. “Come take this.”

Your guy just stammers out something. “But I’ve got her, Joe.”

There’s no warning, from Ralph or from Joe. One moment, you’re being held to keep from struggling, and the next there’s another hit, this one against your temple. Liv’s voice is the last thing you hear as you crumple, and your mind goes blank, the room going dark.

-

When you stumble to consciousness again, it’s to the sound of sobbing. Your head is slumped forward, and the taste in your mouth is copper.  

“Fuck,” you hiss. Every movement feels like fire, and when you blink your eyes open it’s to see one of the men, Joe, jostling the teenage girl in his arms, they’re moving towards another room. She’s screaming, Liv and Joe are talking, and Roxie is yelling. The cacophony of her voice and everyone else’s makes you wince and groan again.

“Roxie, this is on you. Let me in there,” Olivia all but snarls, and you see her get clocked across the face. Watch her stumble, get shoved on the bed. You’re pinned to the bed, you realize, as you try to reach for your lieutenant. Tied around it, your ass on the hardwood floor.

“Liv,” you whisper, and your voice makes her pause. You’re awake, after all. But the look she shoots you is sharp. She wants you to let her handle it, you realize. Throw herself in the line of fire.

Yeah, you think to yourself, unlikely without your company.

Joe. Ralph. Roxie. The trio that broke in. Ralph is… gone, now, nowhere in sight, and… where’s Lisa? Your eyes blink a few more times, the sounds around you ratcheting up to full volume as you wake.

There’s someone else here, another voice, so painfully young. A memory swims to the surface as your head swivels from side to side – Lucy takes care of their boy.

Liv hasn’t moved since she got hit, hasn’t said a thing, but the screams are raucous. They make your head spin, and Roxie only adds to it when her frustration reaches her limit.

“Can’t you just shut up? God, make him shut up,” Roxie snarls, and you blearily blink so you could turn to look at Liv. Her eyes are like daggers at the woman, who looks frantic at the noises Luca is making, the sound of… his sister…

Begging for his own sister’s life.

God. You feel sick, and combined with the concussion you’re trembling.

“You’re gonna need to untie me to do that, aren’t you?” your boss almost whispers. She’s frustrated, pulling at her restraints as her will battles Roxie’s. “Please, I’m not going to do anything stupid, just let me help the boy.”

When you look back at Roxie, she looks helpless. Even with the gun in her hand. And when she moves to untie Luca and Liv, cutting off her restraints, the sigh of relief you let out is audible, even with Roxie’s whisper threat over your head.

So Liv goes. Goes to Luca, quiets him, and her voice is so gentle. It makes your lower lip tremble, the way she cradles him against her, reaches for his iPad so he can send the world away. He doesn’t deserve this, not even a little, but Liv is there for him anyway.

Leaving you to stare down Roxie.

“You wanted this?” you mutter, and the woman’s attention shoots to you, her gun shaking ever so slightly in her hand. “It’s on you, like she said. All of this, right now.”

“Shut up,” she snaps, and Liv looks up, too, lifting from her spot next to Luca, who is thankfully engrossed in a movie.

“This can’t be the way you wanted things to go down,” she adds, and she’s able to stand to her full height, dwarf the woman who looks nothing more than a girl. Uncertain, even in her arguments.

“You don’t know me,” Roxie snaps back, and you scoff, shaking your head.

“I wouldn’t want to, if you’re fine with your boyfriend raping a sixteen-year-old girl,” you hiss. Her gun shifts between the two of you, Olivia staring her down, you glaring up from your spot on the bed. “Do you even hear that? Do you hear what he’s doing to her, that sick son of a –”

“Well, Joe does Joe, and I do me, so you better sit down.”

“You can save yourself,” Liv tries, but the girl just raises her voice, pulls back. You duck your head to hide the frustration on your features, the clench of your teeth as Liv’s phone chimes.

When Roxie moves to it, you look up at your lieutenant, who spares a glance down at you. You must look a mess, because you can feel the slow throb of your temple, the stickiness of your hair that’s surely from blood. You can smell it, on you, but even after all of it, you offer a smile. A small grimace. And when Liv turns toward Roxie again, her toe taps yours.

“Who’s Lucy?”

Liv freezes. You see her shoulders tense, and for the first time since you’ve woken up another name dances across your mind. Noah. Oh, god. All of this, and Liv has Noah, and your stomach rolls again.

Your boss is quick. Her minds works, and as you blow hair out of your face she’s reaching for the phone.

“She’s my sitter. She’s also Luca’s sitter, and she needs to talk to me. She needs to know about my son’s daycare pickup.”

Wait. Pickup? It’s… it’s what, 11:00 in the morning? Your mind swirls with confusion, but in shock you realize that Roxie is handing her the phone, that Roxie is letting her text back. Your eyes widen, and quickly you duck your head.

It’s almost in prayer, you realize. With your hands tied behind you, with the feel of them going numb against the metal that’s hot from your own body heat.

Please, Lucy. Whatever she tells you. Get it to the right people.

Suddenly, a face swims to mind, and your eyes widen, blinking away the sudden rush of tears. Liv is surely thinking about her son, but all you can think about is Rafael.

Please, Rafael. Please be the right person.

-

The wake-up call in the morning is a text, and Rafael Barba blinks blearily at the message. It’s almost habit that makes his lip curl up in a smile, and when he throws off the sheets it’s with a preparedness for the morning he almost never has.

Perhaps it’s just the expectation of coffee. These huge events usually have a few cups for him to help himself, too, and he knows the sight of him downing them will make your lip curl in disgust. Or maybe it’s the knowledge, knowing that going to this DNA conference will make him a better lawyer, a better advocate for the victims.

Or maybe, it’s just that the text is from you.

You’d been a surprise, when you’d met him. A veritable source of conflict on one hand, with snappy words soothed by smiles. A disregard for the courtroom, in more ways than one. A capable detective, who had a tendency to follow instinct whether it helped or hurt. At least, that’d been the pitch.

Of course, because it was Rafael, the start had been shaky. Bickering and bantering over everything and nothing. More than once Liv had to shut the two of you up with a raised hand and a raised brow, since gut collided with a man who wore suspenders and a belt.

(“If the two of you don’t get it together, I’m throwing both of you out,” she’d threatened one eventful evening, her voice very reminiscent of the tone she took with Noah. An unsteady peace was made through the end of the week.)

But just like the squad, just like Rollins, and Carisi, and Liv, all it took was one case.

One case to turn the tide.

From there, it’d grown. Moments alone, somehow snagged against all odds. Him and you in a side room in the courthouse, talking about deals. Visits to his office to break the monotony, banter and bribe with snack to take a break. You became a friend, first and foremost, and from there it slotted into place.

Didn’t take long for him to realize just how much he’d fallen for you. A kiss sealed the deal, Rafael finally working on instinct. But while the short-term was brilliant, the long-term was more… complex.

The ADA, together with a detective. Complicated to say the least, a disaster waiting to happen at most. But how could he stay away, knowing that you had a smile that was just for him? Eventually, the two of you had agreed – it would be a secret, from the squad, from the office. The only people that needed to know were you and him.

On the outside, you did your best to treat him like everyone else, treat him like before. Banter and bicker and bite. You’d slug him in the arm same as Carisi, and you laugh with him like you do Rollins, and you roll your eyes with him and Fin as the perps incriminate themselves.

But when the two of you were alone… when you knew you were alone…

Of course, that doesn’t mean that he can’t enjoy the thought of spending time with you even at work, can’t enjoy your morning texts in the privacy of his own apartment. Today is the DNA conference, after all, which is why your text isn’t surprising. He expects to see you there, you and Liv. You send him your itinerary, which matches his almost to the letter, and he thinks about you as he thinks about what to wear, thinks about you as he pours himself his coffee, and thinks to stop thinking about you as he pulls up to the conference.

And then… you’re nowhere to be found.

He double-checks the schedule you and Liv have planned out. It’s intricate, but there are overlaps. And in those sessions, he sits, thinks about saving a seat. But there’s no further texts, nothing, and that makes the lectures a bit harder to get through. He’s almost thankful for the text from Carisi, the one that pulls him up and out of his chair and out the door. Because surely this is what’s keeping you.

Got the push-in rapist.

When Rafael makes it to the precinct and immediately grabs a cup of coffee.

“What do we have?” he asks Dodds, who is the first to greet him. Not you. Or Liv. He gets filled in by the new sergeant, and by the time they make it to the one-way glass he’s noticed that the two of you are nowhere to be found. It makes his brow furrow, but soon he’s leaning against the window, watching as the man inside starts fidgeting.

“He was on top of the roof, got trapped. Had the weapon on him, too, tossed aside. It was clean,” the sergeant tells him, and Barba can’t help the lift of his brow.

“We’re sure?” he asks, letting the doubt creep in, and Dodds’ eyes narrow at the ADA.

Fin backs him up, arms crossed over his chest. “It was clean, Barba. We got him.”

There’s a bit of relief, and tension in Rafael’s shoulders drop. Fin joins the two of them in front of the window, and he nods at him. He takes a sip of his coffee, and the steps that stalk towards the squad are distinctly unfamiliar.

“Well, congratulations. You found another innocent black man.” The defense attorney is vaguely familiar, and his eyes scan the three of them with disdain (and some kind of sick glee at his own taunts). “I suppose we should be grateful that you didn’t shoot him.”

“He had a gun on him,” Fin says, no flair, just facts.

“Did he?” is the return, and Rafael looks between the two sides, brow raised. “Who planted it?”

That’s when the ADA decides then he doesn’t have time for this, and he lets his scoff sound over his coffee cup.

“Don’t troll. This is your client’s third rape. We have multiple IDs.” He says it with a confidence that he rarely gets to have, and it feels good to be able to reply with the knowledge that DNA will match, IDs will be made. Dodds again affirms the presence of DNA, forensics, and that’s that.

It could all go horribly wrong, of course, but he still has time to relish just a little in the assurances provided.

“Save it for the judge. May I?” The public defender moves smoothly into the interrogation room, and Barba watches him for a few moments before turning to Dodds again.

“Nice work.” Frank, but honest. And straight to the point. “Where’s Liv and Y/N?” he asks, casually, paired with another sip of coffee. There’s no urgency, even as he hopes that Dodds has some idea why you bailed.

But the sergeant seems unbothered, and Fin pipes up as he stands up straight, hands in his pockets. “They’re both still at the DNA conference.”

Barba stops. Pushing off of the window, stands up straight. Looks at the two officers in front of him. Smirks a little. Not a prank, he guesses. Something else came up, surely. “No, they’re not. I was there all morning. I would’ve seen them.” He doesn’t confirm how he knows he would’ve seen them, the texts from you on the cell in his pocket, but he does know that the two of you were nowhere to be seen.

And… well. That certainly catches the two of them by surprise. Dodds looks at Fin, and Fin looks back at Dodds.

“I’ll text her again,” Dodds decides. “Let’s wrap this case up, get it delivered to her signed, sealed.”

But at that point, there’s still a hesitant peace. A certainty that whatever is wrong will be resolved, wherever Liv is she’s there for a reason. Rafael finds himself hoping the same thing for you, hoping you are not far behind her, that soon enough your voice will be heard down the hall, in the elevator, your laugh pitched high among all else.

And then, the peace shatters.

“Guys, we’ve got a problem here.” Carisi’s voice is sharp, tight. His strides are long, and soon he’s across the precinct, at Fin’s desk. “Liv just texted this to Lucy, and… it’s bad news.”

Rafael’s brows inch up his head. His mind goes to the solution that’s obvious – that Carisi is overreacting. That nothing’s as wrong as the Fordham student says it is. He doesn’t even lift his pen from the paper.

And then Fin reads.

“Stuck at precinct all day. Pick up William at daycare. He has a playdate with Lewis and Y/N today.”

In a moment Barba finds his head spinning. He lifts up, looks around the room at the other men, watching as their own minds piece together the information.

William Lewis. Just the thought of him sets Barba’s teeth on edge, sets his body alight. He has to straighten so he can wrap his mind around the implication.

“William Lewis?” he repeats. Well. Says, out loud. “That’s… that’s not good.” But he remains calm. He has to remain calm. His voice is steady, even as it wants to tremble. “When did you last hear from them? From Liv?”

Barba tries to keep his cool, but he can’t ignore the way his heart is pounding. Can’t ignore the way that he turns to Dodds again. “Have you spoken to them today?” he urges, and the sergeant jaw is clenched as Rafael reaches for the phone Fin has in his hand.

His eyes scan the words. Over and over, just to confirm. He can’t help but hope against hope that Fin read it wrong, but everything is there, in black in white in front of his face. There’s a growing dread in the pit of his stomach.

“I sent Liv a text, let her know we got the push-in rapist,” the sergeant explains. “She responded.”

“Same with Y/N. I texted her, earlier, and I got a reply,” Fin tells Barba, but there’s still something that’s got him on edge.

“But did you talk to them? Hear their voices?” He hopes the others can’t hear the break in his voice, the worry in his tone. “You didn’t actually speak to them?”

The silence is deafening.

For once, he and Carisi are on the same page. Their eyes meet over Fin’s desk. “That sounds like a 10-13 if I’ve ever heard one. It’s gotta be. Lucy said that Liv checked on a neighbor this morning?”

Dodds’ voice cuts through before Rafael’s can. “Where?”

The four men find themselves all turning to the nanny, who stands off to the side. Her worry, that brought her to the precinct in the first place, seems close to crashing over her.

“Go find out.” It’s not an order, not really, but it leaves Barba’s mouth before he can stop it. And without a second to waste, Dodds and Carisi step towards Lucy, while Barba looks down to his own phone.

It’s instinct. One tap, two, three, and there’s your name. His thumb sweeps over the screen before he presses dial, and within an instant his phone is at his ear. He’s dialed your number, what feels like hundreds of times, but the ringing stretches on and on and on. Each time it goes off, he expects the call to connect, for you to tease about calling during work hours. Can’t get enough of me at work, Barba?

When he hears your voice, he starts, wants to feel that relief, but the automated message is the only thing that’s going. His heart climbs into his throat.

One more time. He pulls back, taps a couple of times. Another call, this time to Liv. The same thing. Ringing, ringing, ringing. Message.

Nothing. He tries both numbers again, with all eyes on him, with the same result.

Two of them. Two of their own. Gone without a trace. And all Barba can think about is the name William Lewis, and the sight of it so close to your own.

Nausea rolls, and he tries one more time.

“Barba,” Fin tells him. Reaches out, fingers on his desk. “Barba.”

When he looks down, Fin’s eyes are piercing him. There’s something in them, something that makes the lawyer think the old blood knows more than he ever lets on. That Fin knows exactly what the day looks like now, and what the next case will be.

“Find out,” he manages, and tries not to think about how he’s dialed your number yet again, the sound of your automated message the definition of insanity.

-

Your phone is in Roxie’s hand. It buzzes, over and over again, and then the same thing happens with Liv’s phone on the chair next to her. Your captor watches it, reads the name and then the notifications on your own phone. There’s a back and forth, a pause, and then she looks at the two of you with confusion.

“Barba keeps calling. And this guy, Rafael. Why?”

Your breath catches. Liv is on the bed, her feet planted next to you, and you hear her words, vaguely. Something about work.

Then you realize Roxie is staring at you, raising a brow your direction. You swallow, blink a few times. Clear your head, offer a tight smile.

“Just… probably calling to ask about a case. Let it ring. He’ll get the… the message,” you say, and her eyes narrow at you before setting your phone down.

You feel Liv’s toe tap your leg. When you look up at her, her eyes catch yours, and you feel her gaze sweep over your face before you shake your head.

Not now, Liv.

She taps your leg again, but you refuse to rise to the bait, and that’s when the door bursts open.

Joe says something, but his voice fades away. All you can see is the girl, the way her face is vacant now. The faraway look, in her eyes, and your chest tightens at the sight of her hair, limp around her face.

Your sympathy turns to anger in an instant, as she limps over to the bed. Liv’s voice is soft to the girl, but your mouth twists into a sneer as you look up at Joe, who sneers right back.

“What are you looking at?” he scoffs, and the rage is blinding.

“Untie me and you’ll find out,” you shoot back.

“Playing hero, huh?” Roxie spits, but Joe beats her to it, glancing toward your phone.

“Got someplace you gotta be? Someone at home waiting for a detective who’ll never come back?” His threat isn’t lost on you, and your instinct is gone, replace with the impulse to lash out, kick at his legs.

A third tap, a warning shot, but it’s too late. Joe reaches for your collar, and Liv’s hands reach out to stop him, press against his chest as he lunges.

“You’re okay, Joe, it’s fine,” she urges, and his mouth goes a little agape as he stumbles back.

“What the hell, Roxie? What is she doing untied?”

“She was helping with Luca –” you snap, just as Roxie says that Liv isn’t going anywhere.

“If she does, she’ll never see her son again,” Joe sneers, and he moves to retie Liv just as there’s another phone ring. But it’s not Rafael, and it’s not your squad. It’s the third wheel, it’s Ralph, and you watch as Joe’s anger is stoked again. It’s like watching a train you know is going to crash, your eyes drawn to the disaster as it happens. Joe’s frustration is only peaked by Lisa’s demands, and your admiration for the will of a mother is tempered by the way that Joe’s voice grinds on his last sentence.

“Now get the cash, or they’re dead.”

One thing after another. Your head, still pounding, can barely keep up, your energy gone from the kick. There’s a ring at the doorbell, and Joe’s corralling Tess downstairs. You strain to listen, to hear anything, but the muffled voices aren’t ones you can recognize. When Tess comes back up, she’s shaky, and Joe screaming at her doesn’t help.

“They were cops! What the hell did you say?!”

Cops? you think to yourself, and for a moment images of your team swims across your vision. Oh, god.

“Nothing, I just told him Luca and I were sick!”

Joe’s pacing now, and Liv is standing. She reaches out for them, and her voice is so strong, so calm. You’re still on the bed, attached, but you force yourself to breath in and out, to look up at Joe with Liv and try to talk him down.

“Now is the time for you guys to go,” she whispers.

“You need to stop talking,” Joe hisses, but your voice chimes in before he can think too much.

“This is only the beginning,” you add. It’s what you have to do. Make him think, make them second guess. Your hands pull at your restraints to no avail, and you huff out a breath to move the hair in your eyes. “You guys should get out of here, while you still can.”

“What do you mean?” Roxie asks, but she’s silenced by Joe. Your anger at him only grows at the way he grips her tight, enough to bruise her wrists.

“They are cops – both of them, do you fucking hear me? She is lying to you, and everything that comes from her mouth is a lie.”

“Joe, there is no perimeter,” Liv urges. “Look outside. There’s no one out there. If you sneak out the back, they won’t find out who you are.”

The conversation ends with one last word from Joe. A knife in his hand pointing at all you, even Roxie. “And we’re not going anywhere until we got the money.”

The next hour is ruthless. Your concussions settle in, and you keep having to force your eyes open as Liv moves to sit next to you. The lights and the sirens are relentless, and every so often you can’t help the groan that leaves your lips at the pain.

Liv’s at the bed, too, with Tess and Luca, and a hand reaches out to you. You hear Luca’s voice, soft and gentle. “Is she gonna be alright?” he asks your boss, and before she can answer you look up at them with a shaky smile.

“Hey, buddy. Yeah. I’m – I’m fine. Just. Just got a bit of a headache. Go back to your movie, okay?”

You try to ignore the way that Liv’s hand presses on your shoulder, the way you can feel her urge for calm through the touch. Try to forget that for a few minutes, that’s the only thing grounding you, her fingers on your skin and the knowledge that your friends are out there. Your family.

And Joe? Joe’s on the edge. His fingers keep messing with the blinds, keep pulling them down and shoving them aside when the sight of the cops steadily piling into the street overwhelms him. You watch his hands go to his hair, pull, and drop back down to his sides, watch his sweat drip down his forehead. He looks manic, he looks pissed, and Roxie’s whispered doubts only do that much more to drive him mad.

“Let Richard go,” Liv urges, at one point. “Let the kids go. Keep me – I’m your best asset.”

Oh, no, you don’t, Liv, you think. Not while you’ve got Noah.

“Keep me,” you press. Your hands are still tied, so you push forward with your shoulders. “I’ll do whatever you need to do, but if you let the kids go, if you let Richard go, use me as a bargaining chip.”

“Y/N,” Liv warns, but you pull forward again, the zip-tie digging into your skin.

“They won’t come after you if I’m inside,” you urge. “Liv’ll make sure of that. Keep me, Joe. Keep me, and… and I can get you out of here.”

But before you can push anymore, Joe is shaking his head. Roxie looks frantic, and their voices drown each other out.

“Just shut up!” is the shriek that stops her, but Liv is reaching out to him again.

“Joe. Just let the kids go.”

“Will they stand down?” Joe snaps, suddenly, at Liv. You sigh out a groan, as Liv just shakes her head. “No. Not unless they hear it from you. You’ll call them, tell them to stand down. You’re going to get us out of here.”

“Joe, they’re not going to stand down,” Liv tries, but soon her phone’s in her hand, anyway, and there’s a gun to your head. You wince, tears springing to your eyes as you squeeze them shut. Liv’s voice catches in her throat.

“There’s – there’s no need for that, Joe –“

“But I’m not playing. Call them.”

“Okay. I’m calling my sergeant. Speaker is on.”

When the gun is pulled from your head you realize you’ve been holding your breath. You gasp for air, and when the phone call goes through, Mike’s answer is drowned out by your own breathing.

At the mention of a negotiator, he loses it. There doesn’t seem to be anything that doesn’t set him off, and Roxie can’t calm him.

“No, I want to get out of here,” he snaps, and your voice comes out raw.

“We have to negotiate, Joe.” You’re begging him, begging him to see reason. “We have to, if you want to survive.”

Liv fills in the gaps. “You have a family in here, Joe. You have two police officers in here. They will burst in here if you do not negotiate. That is where we are.”

“So – so who do you trust?” the asshole sneers, and the gun points to Liv, nudges against her shoulder. “At the NYPD.”

“My squad,” she responds immediately. Your heart warms, for a moment, before the chill of Joe’s voice freezes it again.

“Oh, no. Someone with more pull.” You watch Joe lean close to Liv, watch his breath puff in her face. “So I’ll fucking ask again. Does anyone at the NYPD care if you both live, or if you die?”

You look up at her. You can see her thinking – her eyebrow twitches for a moment, her gaze drifting over the scene before her.

“What about that Barba guy?” Roxie asks, pointing her gun between the both of them. “He called both of them, he obviously seems to give a shit –”

Your heart climbs so high in your throat you choke on it. Liv’s eyes widen at the suggestion, and thankfully speaks before you can stammer out an indication in the negative. “No. Ed Tucker. He has pull.”

You try to hide your shock, the way his name twists your lips. There’s history there, more than you know, and Liv looks to you, brow furrowing, a silent plea. Something passes, between the both of you, a mutual understanding. About what it means to be someone that either of you care about.

This is what needs to happen. To get the both of you out. The both of you safe, to those who care about you the most.

“Ed Tucker, Joe. He’ll get you what you want.”

-

The street outside the brownstone looks like a battleground – the armored vehicles and lights flashing on closed windows.

Rafael’s steps are quick through the organized chaos, shouts from other officers as they directed the traffic around the area filling his ears, exhaust from engines rising up into the cool air. But there’s no time to linger, catch his bearings. He can only feel lost among the uniforms and bullet-proof vests. There is only the task at hand, the thought of you pushing him to keep one foot in front of the other.

And if his hands start shaking, well, that’s what pockets are for.

He sees Dodds in the distance, the man standing half a head above any others in the area. He makes quick work of the terrain, weaving through armored bodies, and soon he’s beside the man, who greets him with a tense nod.

“Where are we?”

“Ralph Volkov. Assault, drunk driving. Fired by the Crivellos’ after two failed drug tests.” Dodds is to the point. His steps are quick, and Rafael feels like he has to take two keep up with him. They’re on a fast track to the command center, and Rafael tries to ignore the pit in his stomach.

“A revenge plan?” Rafael hisses. It’s in disbelief, in horror. All of this because of some grudge? Your life over a job as a truck driver? “Do we think he’s in charge?”

“He’s not the ringleader. Through here,” Dodds tells him, but before the sergeant can reach for the door the counselor’s voice stops his hand.  

“Dodds. Where… where are we?” When he asks again, he doesn’t mean for his voice to tremble, but it’s fraught with the emotions he knows he’ll need to put away.

The sergeant takes a moment. Ducks his chin, before giving an answer. One without fluff, or pomp, or poise. Just the truth. “As far as we know, they’re both there, conscious. Okay, as of a few minutes ago,” he murmurs. “But we don’t know what okay means. They’re alive. We caught a glimpse of them, both of them, through a second-story window. Some bruising, bleeding. But… the one with the phone is hopped up on something, and. We can’t get a rapport. Not a real one.”

“But we’ve heard them?”

When Dodds glances back, it’s with a sigh. Rafael tenses. “Just Liv. Her phone is the one they’ve been using. To make the calls. But she’s told us that they’re both okay, and I trust that… she knows what she’s doing.”

Rafael’s eyes widen, just a fraction, but Dodds doesn’t see. He’s already pushing forward, into the armored truck, leaving the lawyer’s thoughts scrambled. Your voicemail message seems to sing in his head. But the spiraling has to stop, and so he forces himself forward, through the door, chin lifted and steps long.

He can see him, at the end. One of the assholes responsible for taking you, for beating you. His shoulders straighten, and that fury is used to stalk close, tilt his chin down and glare. His presence makes the man shrink, and he relishes in that pleasure.

“Hello, Ralph. I’m Assistant District Attorney Rafael Barba. Who’s we?”

He’s pathetic, the man in front of him. Voice a mumbled mess, clothes dirty. His hands are cuffed in front of him, and he can barely look Rafael in the eye. But he answers, slowly, blinking up at the lawyer. “Me and my sister, Roxie. We needed money, for my ma, she. She needs a new hip, she can hardly walk.

Dodds says something. Rafael’s mind is on the name. Roxie. Roxie. Roxie and Ralph, the fucking dynamic duo.

Suddenly Ralph is pushing back. “Yeah, but she didn’t want to hurt anyone either. And Joe came along. All of this was his idea, man, not ours.”

Rafael takes a seat. He’s level with this guy, and it makes him sick to his stomach. “Uh-huh.” His voice is hoarse. Bitter. “Joe’s his real name?”

The man doesn’t respond, seems to shrink back, and Rafael finds his temper flaring, his voice going sharp. His hand reaches out to snap under the man’s nose. He sits down, and the only place he’s looking is at the dumb son of a bitch in front of him. “Ralph. Look at me. Anyone dies in there, you’re on the hook for felony murder.” He doesn’t want to think about you, about your body coming out, not your life. His vision goes a little red, and he leans close with a tight tone. “You help us or you’re gone.”

That seems to get his attention, and Ralph nods, swallowing down his fear. “Joe’s his real name. Joe Utley.”

Fin moves to the laptop quickly, looking at his sergeant. Their glance is exchanged, but Rafael’s mind is fixated on the three names he has. Ralph. Roxie. Joe Utley. All of them responsible for taking you. For taking Liv. He finds himself squeezing his knee under the table, praying for a moment that the crime he prosecutes them for doesn’t have – fuck, doesn’t have murder in the damn headlines.

And then he gets a text from Carisi. His hand goes to Ralph’s phone, next to him, and the latest text shines up. The two kids, huddled together on the bed, Liv to the side, and you… sitting against the bed on the floor, looking up. There’s blood, on your forehead. Some down the side of your neck. Your eyes look glazed, dull, and all the blood drains from his face.

When he holds up the photo, he can barely speak.

“This photo.” His voice is raspy, and his hand is almost shaking. “Is this the last time you had contact with Joe and Roxie?”

Ralph confirms it, and that’s when he has to step away. He just hears a fraction of what Dodds says. It doesn’t matter. It just confirms the filth that has you captive in that fucking building. Has to pull back, take a breath. There’s a fury within him that only builds as Ralph pushes back, refuses to cooperate when you’re inside that damn townhouse –

Fin’s voice cuts through the chaos, goes straight to the point. Tucker and Dodds and Rafael watch on, as the detective leans close, scowls at the perp. “Let me ask you something, man. Do you ever want to see your sister alive again?”

Rafael swallows at that. Looks down at his phone. Can’t watch as Dodds holds up the phone to Ralph, can’t do anything but close his eyes and turn as the hand is dealt.

And then Ralph stammers. There is nothing more useless than a juris doctorate in that moment, watching as the man turns. Admits that he’s caught, that it’s done. Nothing more horrifying than the sound of Joe’s voice on the other end of the line, a furious shout of a curse before the line goes dead. And nothing more nauseating than knowing that whatever happens next, Rafael can’t do a damn thing.

-

“Son of a bitch!” Joe screams, and you can’t help your wince. The noise seems to rattle your brain, and when you open your eyes again the man is leaning on the fireplace.

The four of you – including Liv and the kids – had been moved downstairs as Ralph’s absence stretched longer. And no matter how much you wanted these bastards ended, you couldn’t help your prayer that Joe would just get what he wanted. Anything to keep him sane, to keep him from using one of the kids as a punching bag, or from hurting Liv.

But with Ralph out of the picture, caught by the police… you can’t help but notice the way that your chances get slimmer and slimmer. Your eyes flick toward your lieutenant, the strongest woman you know, and you can’t help but feel the doubt. Doubt that trickles down your cheek with a couple of tears, a mixture of blood and sweat joining it.

And Rafael… your throat closes up at the thought of him, swimming around in the back of your mind. Usually such a comfort, and now the guilt kills you. The knowledge that you’d – fucking hell, that you could’ve seen him for the last…

You have to physically shake your head. Enough that Liv’s hand reaches out for you.

No. You have to see him again. You have to.

Joe and Roxie are yelling now. Back and forth, back and forth, and you want to sink further into your chair but can’t get far enough away. It all bounces in your head, and everything just as you hear Joe’s voice scream into the phone.

“What?”

The silence is deafening. Joe’s ultimatum more so. And then the phone is shoved into your hands, along with a threat for your life, the gun pointed at you.

“Ralph, and the cash, or your pretty little girlfriend dies. Or what about… what about this one? This useless bitch, huh? Not much stopping me from putting a bullet in her head.”

Your energy is used to glare up at the man. You feel Liv freeze beside you as you lift your mouth to the speaker.

“He… he really wants Ralph back in here, Tucker.”

“Yeah. I, uh. Understand that. But that’s not something we can do right now.”

Your head drops. The phone and your hand drop. And Liv’s voice is next to you, soft. “He’s telling you the truth, guys. We’re not allowed to send civilians inside.”

“All right. Then I’m done talking.”

-

There’s a hitch to your breath at the end of Joe’s statement, and Rafael’s hands are limp at his sides. He can picture it so vividly – he knows what Joe looks like. It’s not hard to visualize him lifting a gun and aiming it at you. Barba barely notices he starts to tremble as he anticipates the sound, that one final sound.

Luckily the finality is something that Tucker doesn’t accept. And at the sound of Joe’s request to talk to Ralph.

After all, he knows what that look on Tucker’s face is trying to tell him. He sees the way the man turns to him like he understands. With Liv on the other end, perhaps that’s what he’s hoping to convey. The urgency, the knowledge that he’s doing everything he can.

Little does he know.

There’s yelling, fighting. Tucker tries to talk them down again, but Roxie and Joe on the other end of the line are going off at each other, and then there’s a clatter. The whole room seems to wince at it, and when there’s silence on the line no one can breathe.

“Everybody okay?” Tucker asks. But even when the silence breaks, the tension is still thick. Rafael feels it clawing at his throat. And Liv’s voice on the other end, shaking, makes him lift a hand to his hair.

“Okay. So we know that Ralph’s not coming in here, but do you have his money?”

The trade develops. Slowly. Too slowly, and your name doesn’t come up once. It makes Rafael’s twitch, and by the time the final deal is made, he’s had enough of it. One person. One person, and it’s not you. It’s not you.

The door is opening, and Rafael is gone before he can think. He’s pushing out of the van and starts pacing behind the command center, muttering something to himself. He’s halfway through the recitation when he realizes it’s a prayer, and almost done with it when he sees Carisi just a few feet away, making his way to where Rafael just left.

He doesn’t stop the detective from coming closer. If anything he almost welcomes it. Carisi looks almost as harried as he is, and he can’t help the way his lips twist at the familiarity of Carisi’s “counselor” in his mouth.

“How’s it goin’ in there?” For a first question, Rafael is struck by how little he can bear to answer.

“The… the father’s in bad shape. They’re organizing a trade,” he whispers, and hates the way that his voice cracks. The way he looks up at the row of townhouses and has to swallow his fear so he doesn’t vomit with it.

Suddenly Carisi’s face softens, somehow, even more. He looks at Rafael with pity. And while the counselor wants to bristle at it, he can’t.

“We’ll get them out, counselor,” the blond promises. “We’ll get Liv, and we’ll get them out –”

But when Rafael lifts his hand, it’s to silence him. To just glare, work his jaw, and try not to shatter so completely.

“It’s not just Liv,” he spits, and the admission takes even him by surprise. “It’s not. So. Please, just.”

He doesn’t know what Carisi is seeing when he looks at Rafael in that moment. He doesn’t know what the detective thinks. But no matter all of his words, his teasing, he knows that the man isn’t stupid, and can put the pieces together on a simple puzzle.

Who else is in that fucking room? Who else could the squad lose?

“I can’t lose her.” Carisi’s jaw clenches, his whole body tensing in Rafael’s periphery. But there’s no answer, because the detective isn’t stupid.

Not enough to make empty promises.

-

Mike’s eyes meet yours first when he comes through the door. He reassures Joe that his demands are being met – the money, the car, the goddamn plane – but he can’t stop looking at you. Maybe it’s the blood at your temple, the way your hands are gripping armrests on the chair you’re basically strapped to. Maybe it’s the dazed look in your eye that you’re sure you have, a concussion wreaking havoc on your system. But it doesn’t matter. He can’t help you.

Joe’s orders to strip had made too much sense – forcing them down to the bare essentials to come in and get the father out. But seeing it, seeing how vulnerable Mike it makes your chest hurt, and as he stands before Joe and his fucking assault rifle basically bare, you can’t help your desire to reach out to him.

“Everything is on its way,” Mike tells Joe, meeting his gaze head on – a steady lift of the chin while Joe fidgets.

And then the vests come off, too. And you have to watch Mike leave without any protection, his back so vulnerable, and you have to watch Joe’s eyes follow him, and once he leaves the breath you let out is audible. Audible enough to earn you a glare.

“What?” he snaps, and you just shake your head, offering a smile that feels like

“Nothing, Joe. That was a good thing you just did, letting Richard get the helps he needs,” you tell him.

There’s a beat, and then before you can react he’s lunging forward, his fist and thankfully not the butt of the gun smacking you across the face.

The kids scream, a horrific sound as your head is whipped to the side, eyes closed tight as you groan and try not to look at them.

“I’m – I’m okay…”

“You’re laughing,” he hisses, bending forward. “You’re fucking laughing at me.”

“Joe,” Liv says with a sharp tone. She doesn’t come to you, but her eyes are wide as your body pulls in on itself, barely able to look up and see her through the tears in your eyes.  “Joe, look at me. That was good, getting Richard out of there. The car is… is coming, okay? It is, and… when it’s here we can start working on an exit strategy.”

“I have an exit strategy. For me, and for Roxie,” he snaps. His voice is hoarse from yelling, and then the phone rings again. Joe picks it up, and he’s moving from the hall to the table and back again, the end of the line approaching steadily.

“I’m gonna send someone out to check the car. I want the keys in the ignition, I want the engine running, and I want all those ESU guys gone, y’hear me? I want a clear path!” The phone is tossed away, connection gone, and then Joe’s in front of you again, bending forward, grinning. “About time to make yourself useful.”

“Joe,” Liv murmurs, trying to reach out to him, but the gun is quickly pointing at her.

“Shut up, boss lady!” he snaps. “The both of you are gonna put the vest on Roxie, and then she’s gonna go out there and check the car.”

What else can you do but comply? Joe’s release on your restraints has you stumbling forward, but when Liv goes to get you she’s pushed away by the firearm. You slowly rise to your feet, and there’s blood falling steadily from your nose as you stumble forward.

There’s no affirmation. Joe can only hiss out a curse, and then he’s stumbling away towards the back of the house.

The front of the house feels cold. By the time you make it to Roxie it feels like an eternity, and you and Liv have to get to work buckling her up. You’re so disoriented, the world spinning, that when you realize Liv is talking she’s already halfway there.

“Roxie,” she murmurs. “You can save yourself. You realize that? Right now. your brother is out there, and you don’t have to die. All you have to do is drop to your knees and put your hands up.”

Your hands are finally free. It feels good being able to roll your wrists, but you can barely focus as you realize you’re looking up into Roxie’s eyes. Your brain stumbles through its recollection, and when you do manage to speak it’s small. Soft. So Joe can’t hear.

“Save yourself, and your brother, Roxie, okay?” you whisper. “Get out of here. For him, you understand.”

“Just – just shut up,” she snaps, and Liv buckles her in.

It’s torture watching her leave. Joe’s back now, and the phone is at his hear, while Liv’s at the window, watching. But the light from outside makes your head spin. All you can do is stumble back to a chair, count to ten, and try not to cry.

You wish you had a hand on your back right now. Someone rubbing small circles into your skin. You can hear his voice, Rafael’s, in your ear, low hums as the two of you relax on the couch…

No.

You blink a few times. You can hear Roxie’s voice over the phone. Her sharp gasp, the long pause. You hear Rafael, then, too, urging you onto your feet, urging your mind to come together for just a bit longer…

No. He’s not – he’s not there. He’s outside. He’s not on the phone, he’s not on a couch, he’s outside and waiting and you’re stuck in here. It makes you want to scream, and your fingers lift to curl in your hair.

And then Carisi’s voice filters in over the phone.

“Hey, hold up, she’s surrendering. We got her!”

Something in Joe seems to snap at that moment. His eyes are wild, the assault rifle draped over his body, and when he lifts to gun to direct it between you and Liv.

“We’re almost there,” Liv tries to tell him. But you know she’s telling you, too. You try to nod, but there’s a flash of light as you struggle to stay conscious.

We’re almost there, Rafael whispers in your head, his little smirk so clear.

Okay, Rafa. Okay.

“It’s your terms,” Liv’s saying. “You tell Tucker how to do this… we’re so close to getting out of here.” Even as your head hangs you can’t help your smile. That’s your lieutenant. That’s Olivia fucking Benson. Allying herself. Protecting you. Your everything aches and she knows it and she’s still there.

The phone rings. Tucker’s voice filters over all of you.

“Now I’m gonna need something. The kids, Joe, okay?”

But Joe’s ready. Joe’s fired up, thanks to Liv. She’s there with him, she almost smiles at him, as he ends the negotiations. He’s ready to get out of there, he’s ready to live.

She’s got him, you think. She’s got him, right where she wants him.

“Joe, we kept our side,” Tucker says. “We’ll need at least one kid.”

“Fine,” he snaps. “You get the boy. When I get into the car you get the boy.” And then his smile goes rancid, evil, cruel.

“But I’m keeping my girls.”

-

Rafael’s leg can’t stop bouncing. He’s made his way back inside the command center, and the hustle and bustle never stops. People are in, people are out, and all he can think about is you. All he can hear is your voice is his ear, all he can focus on is getting you out safe.

Which sucks, because he can’t do a damn thing about it.

He shouldn’t even be here. He should be home. He should be home but he hasn’t been able to move since he made it to this chair.

His fingers go to your tie. It’s around his neck, but it’s yours. One you bought for him, the burgundy something you said brought out his eyes. You’d handed it over with a wink, at the end of a day that’d had you both in the office for longer than you strictly should’ve been.

Just for you, you’d said. It was basically calling your name.

God, what’d he give to hear you calling his name.

He doesn’t have an earpiece in his ear. So he doesn’t know why the cops all around him suddenly tense up, he doesn’t know why they file out of the command center and start loading their guns. What he does know is when Dodds peeks in, Carisi’s eyes visible behind him through the doorway.

“Barba,” the sergeant barks out. “They’re coming out. Stay down and stay behind, Joe is coming out –”

Rafael’s throat closes up. “With who?” he asks, but Dodds is already gone. Carisi peeks in.

“All of them, Rafael,” he says. “Liv, the kids, and –”

Rafael doesn’t need to hear your name. He’s already up. He’s led by Carisi to a vest, he’s led by Carisi to a spot behind the line of armed officers, and all he can do is watch as everyone watches the doors.

“They’re coming out by the garden level!” someone yells, and guns are aiming before Rafael can think.

He sees you first. It’s not hard to miss you. Your hair is whipping around your head a little from the wind, and there’s...

“That’s blood,” he whispers to himself. “God, that’s blood.” It’s dripping down your face, or it was – from your nose, all over your face and mouth.

“Barba,” Carisi whispers back, and that’s when he sees the gun.

No! his brain screams. His body is motionless. The gun is against your head, and you’re walking, no, stumbling forward ahead of him.

He sees your lips moving. You’re talking to Joe – Joe, surrounded by you, and Liv, and the kids. Your hands are up.  

Joe starts yelling. “Farther back! Get farther back!”

“Get back,” Carisi says, and he shouts it a little louder for the group. Everyone starts backing up. Everyone does, and Rafael watches as the four of you creep towards the car. Liv is talking now. She’s right in his ear.

And then the kids get let go. He seems a small smile play across your face, as Joe looks back at Liv.

“He’s letting both kids go!” Dodds shouts. Someone rushes up to meet them, carries them away, and Rafael watches as Joe is flanked by you, by Liv. The kids are rushed away, and the breath Rafael can take after that is minimal. It’s minimal and you’ve still got a gun to your head.

There’s talking. There’s more talking. The car is only inches away.

And then your elbow swings.

-

“Joe,” you whisper. “Keep the gun to my head.”

You feel the pressure against the back of your head. Right against the bruise from this morning. “Good, Joe. We’ll keep pushing forward, okay. I’m gonna keep my hands up, and you…”

“Shut up.”

Your mouth closes tightly. The inching forward is tedious, but you creep with every step. And then Liv starts talking.

“You don’t need the kids, Joe,” Liv whispers. “You don’t need them. Let them go, all right? It’s just about you and us, no one else.”

And then they’re gone. The kids. They dart away, and your eyes close tightly, the smile on your face momentary. One step closer. You can almost hear Rafael still. Almost there.

You feel Liv’s foot tap against yours as the group of you come to a halt. And when your eyes meet hers you can’t help what happens next.

There’s a mutual understanding. One that the two of you come to, in that moment, surrounding Joe, protecting him. His voice is still in your ear, but it doesn’t matter, in that moment. In that moment, it’s just you and Liv, and you see her eyes flick to Joe’s head before glancing down to your elbow.

“Get in,” Joe snaps, and you nod.

You know what she’s asking of you. You what she’s begging for. Safety for the kids, for the parents, for the nightmare to end.

“I will, Joe. I’m just gonna tell Tucker the plan.”

And you know that while she thinks of Noah one last time, steeling up her courage as the two of you shuffle towards the car, that you think of Rafael Barba.

“Get in!” he shouts, and you swallow tight.

Three fingertips against your hand give one tap.

“I’m just gonna tell –“

Two fingertips.

“Get in the damn car, you bitch!”

One finger, one more second.

His gun lifts from your head.

One smile staring up at you from his contact photo, one kiss that he gives with his hand tangled into the hairs on the back of your neck –

Go.

You throw an elbow, and Liv throws herself to the side while you drop. You hear the command, the gunshot, and everything stops as it rings in the air.

And then Joe’s body crumples. There’s a thud as it hits the ground. and you wait for the other shoe to drop. Liv’s own body falling, a new radiating pain in your side. But there’s nothing. Fucking nothing. It’s over.

“He’s got a gun,” you murmur, but it’s so quiet it’s just to yourself. You can’t speak up louder, the sound of the shot that killed him ricocheting in your head, rattling around until your eyes cross and you can’t think.

The yelling of the officers around you can’t stir you from your daze. Nothing seems like it can. You’re holding your hands over your ears to try and quiet what you can, your eyes wide as you stare at Joe’s dead body. And then it hits you, all at once. Like a fucking tidal wave.

It’s done. You’re free. And as you turn towards the crowds around you, shaky legs and a migraine making you stumble, one name is on your lips.

“Rafael?”

It starts out small. Low. Quiet. You can hear Liv next to you, calling out for Noah and people start crowding before you can think.

“Rafael?”

Another time. Louder, fiercer. You can’t see him, but you need to. You know he’s here, he has to be. Your throat almost can’t push the sound out, but it goes, fierce and brave.

“Rafael!”

And then you see him. There. You see him, you see the bright purple tie, the way he’s turning any way he can to find out where your voice is coming from. It’s almost comical, and you start laughing, a lot hysterical at the same time tears start coming down your cheeks.  

Laugh. Cry. Same thing. It doesn’t fucking matter. The next thing you know you’re pushing towards him, and it takes one more turn for him to see you, to start moving through the crowd. You throw your arms around him as he does the same to you, and everything inside of you seems to fall apart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over again. “Lo siento, mi amor, lo siento, estoy aqui.” But his apologies mean nothing more than just hearing the sound of his voice, pressing your lips to his mouth and neck and shoulder as you press as close as you can, hug as tight as you can, hide as much as you fucking can.

“I – I was so sc-scared,” you sob out, and that’s when your legs give out. Rafael has to try and catch you, and almost can’t, the way you go dead weight on him. But there’s nothing left to give, no more strength, and in the end he holds you as the medics rush you.

Liv’s voice fades in behind you. “I’m fine, go to her, I’m fine. Where’s Noah?” Tucker’s voice is trying to assure her that they’re getting him, that he’s coming, but then everything fades out again.

You’re so tired. God, you’re so fucking tired.

Your head hurts so bad.

Shit.

“Rafa,” you whimper out, and his shushes are gentle, one of his hand lifting to shakily push through your hair. There are other bodies around the both of you, and you try not to think about how when his hand pulls away you can see your own blood on it. Blood. Like your nose.

“Cariño,” he murmurs. “What happened?”

“Got… hit. In the head,” you whisper, and that’s when everything goes black.

-

You wake up in the hospital. You wake up, and things are still a little fuzzy, but you wake up at all, and that’s a minor miracle. You could’ve slept for another week, you think, if the way your head is pounding tells you anything.

“Fuck,” you hiss immediately, when everything hits you all at once. The lights, the beeping, the feeling of your body, somehow weightless and heavy as hell at the same time.

“They wouldn’t let me in.”

You have to blink. The lights are still too bright, and the voice almost doesn’t sound like it’s coming from in the room. After all, Rafael’s voice was in your head throughout the last few hours of that damn mess.

Right. The townhouse.

You blink again. Rafael is sitting next to you. His eyes are on you, and he’s leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.

You try not to think about the way his sleeves are rolled up, the way he looks like he hasn’t slept. There’s a bit of stubble on his face, and you want to reach out and touch it – he’s never not clean-shaven.

“What’d you say?” you murmur. Your mouth feels like cotton. 

“They took you away,” he whispers, and reaches out to grab your hand. “They took you away, out there, and… they didn’t let me in because I’m not family.”

Everything slowly comes back in. 

“You’re here now,” you whisper, and he shakes his head. 

“I wasn’t. Not the whole time you were... I wasn’t.” 

“You were... you. You were.” 

You struggle to sit up, but there’s oxygen in your nose and you can’t pull at it. You’re so weak, and everything, everything hurts. But. But the kids, Liv –

“They’re okay.” That’s when you realize that you were talking out loud, and Rafael reaches up to brush your hair back. Leans forward to kiss your forehead. “They’re okay. You’re okay.”

“Rafael.”

“The squad didn’t know. No one knew. So no one could vouch… no one knew, when your name was on there, too, with Liv, with... fuck, William Lewis...”

You’re blinking. You’re blinking a lot. Something is prickling at the corners of your eyes, and you let the tears fall. “Rafael. I’m here. I’m…”

He leans up to kiss your forehead again, and you realize he’s crying, too. You can feel something wet against your skin, and he’s holding you so close.

“You almost weren’t, and. They know now,” he whispers. “I told them. If anything ever happens, I – I need to be in here first.”

You don’t have time to process, and frankly, you don’t want to. Because Rafael is here, in your room, holding you gently, and you hear his voice in your ear just like you did earlier. You hear his little murmured prayers against your head, thanks to God, in Spanish right at your collarbone. 

You didn’t tell anyone because it was safer. You didn’t tell anyone because it was easier. You didn’t tell anyone, and it still ended with you in a hospital bed. 

He told them. And you can’t help but… but feel grateful. 

No more uncertainty. No more secrets. No more, if it means that he gets there just a little bit earlier. If it means you know that he’ll be there. 

“If anything ever happens to you,” you mutter back, “you best believe I’m beating down the doors. Family or not.” 

It’s slurred, your words. Things are getting a little fuzzy, again. You think it’s something about the medicine that’s dripping into your arm. It doesn’t matter. Rafael’s holding you so tight.

“Of that I have no doubt, cariño. Now get some rest for me.”

-

tag list - @writefasttalkevenfaster // @hurricanejjareau // @crazyshannonigans // @goldenxreid // @teamhappyme // @chasingeverybreakingwave 

[bellesque]

Stop & Smell the Flowers (Loki x Reader)

A Loki Oneshot for the Spring Time with Loki Collab Collection on AO3. Also on my AO3.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 8.9K BIG yikes

Tags/Warnings: Sex Pollen (therefore Mildly Dub-Con), Smut, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Sex in Space, and some hints of a Praise Kink

Summary: Plant samples from Alfheim and a brooding god as your only companions in a small Quinjet sounds like a recipe for disaster, but some good things can happen in ten hours.

A/N: All I can say is... whoops, my hand slipped?

THE RIDE BACK to Earth is longer than you anticipated.

The small Quinjet is a sturdy and silent thing, the engine’s muffled hum a constant as you hurtle through space. It’s a drawn out, unceasing sound; it brings your boredom to the forefront of your consciousness and warps it into a false sense of steady calm. You might even be able to close your eyes for a second, seeing as there’s nothing but blackness before you—

“Wake up,” a voice snaps from behind your pilot chair, punctuated by a sharp snap of fingers. “You will not crash this ship.”

You straighten in your seat, unfazed by the bite in your companion’s tone. You blink a couple times, squeezing your eyes shut as you stifle a yawn.

“There’s literally nothing to crash into, Loki.”

Heavy boots thud against the metal floor of the ship until they stop by the copilot chair a few paces away from you. “You never were the vigilant type to begin with.”

This time, you sigh. “Look, if it makes you feel better, I’m turning on autopilot. If you can’t trust me, trust Stark. His tech is unparalleled. We will be fine.” You punch a button on the control panel, and the low hum of the Quinjet rises slightly in pitch. Swiveling around in your chair, you turn to face the god with raised hands. “See? No hands. All good. Course set.”

Loki stares at you, his features set in an unamused scowl, before turning on his heel to the farther side of the ship.

It takes a little more willpower than usual not to allow yourself to snap back at him, but you manage. After all, you’re both pretty tired, and he’s most likely antsy because of how long you’ve been cruising through the void of space. You’re sleepy, he’s irritable.

Still, your estimated time of arrival isn’t for another eight hours, and seeing as you’re going to be stuck with each other you might as well try to maintain some semblance of cordiality.

“So,” you begin, pushing up and out from your seat, “Alfheim was pretty.”

Loki stands by the glass window that shows you nothing but the expanse of space. His reflection is so clear that the details—like the strong slope of his nose, his aristocratic cheekbones—are unmarred.

“Yes,” he answers curtly. “Home to the Light Elves. As Stark briefed earlier, if you had been paying any attention.”

You swallow the retort, letting it fizzle out on the tip of your tongue. Stark did brief you on your mission, alright. You just wish knowing how to handle a brooding, irritated god was one of the things on Tony’s agenda.

Your mission was simple enough—collect some plants and flowers and shrubs and cuttings, he said. All the planty things. It’ll be quick, he said. Two rides through the Bifrost from Earth to Heimdall’s Observatory in Asgard, and then to Alfheim, followed by a short Quinjet ride to the nearby planet-slash-moon-thing, he said. Piece of cake, won’t take too long to get there.

He failed to mention how long it would take you to come home since you couldn’t use the Bifrost for reasons that were “none of your damn business.”

“You know, you’re not usually this much of a pain in the ass,” you find yourself saying as you stand side by side.

“And you’re not usually this mouthy,” he replies. He cocks his head at you. “Are you certain the coordinates have been set for Midgard?”

“Yes, sire,” you say, unable to keep the mocking tone from your voice at bay. “I told you. Trust me. If not me, then Stark.”

You lapse into silence, watching distant planets and stars twinkle against the dark backdrop of the void, the unending vastness pulling you into thought.

You’ve been working with the Avengers for just about a year. In this time, you’ve gotten to know everyone in the tower.

Including Loki.

He’s… quite a character, to say the least. Silent. Calculating. Not plotting his next attempt at world domination, but still, many are wary of his presence. You’ve spent enough time with him to know he’s a different Loki from the one in New York, though. You’d even go as far as to say that he’s… almost kind of good. Wreaking chaos, sure, by way of annoying the hell out of Steve and Tony especially, but… good.

And you’ll even admit to yourself, just a little, that he’s nice to be around. Not right now; no, he’s unnecessarily bitchy at the moment. But when it’s just you and him in the tower while the rest are either off-world or taking a day off outside the tower, it’s almost refreshing. His presence is companionable. When you watch a movie, his comments are genuinely witty and they make you laugh. He’s more aloof—more himself, you feel, and he allows himself to actually fucking smile.

And hell, when he does, looking at you with those green eyes and that heart-wrenching, happy smile—

You huff, squashing the blooming feeling in your chest. Pivoting on your heel, you make towards the other side of the ship: the small corner by the hatch that holds your collection of plants from today’s excursion. Maybe the weird, exotic flowers will keep you from acknowledging your tiny (but growing) crush.

“Do you have plants like this on Asgard?” you ask, hoping to inject some light into the heavy and tired air that hangs between you.

It takes Loki a second to move from his stance by the opposite window, but he ends up by your side eventually. He picks up a glass jar that houses a plant with blue, stunted leaves. “No.” He brings it up to eye level, examining it and rotating it in his hand. “The plants we’ve acquired are native to the Alfheim regions, it seems.”

“What does Stark want with them?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

He sets down the jar with a dulled thunk and picks up another. The flower inside this one is pretty: curling petals with an orangey, reddish, and golden iridescence to it. It glitters in the low light of the Quinjet’s interior, and you can’t help but voice your admiration for it.

“Do you know what that one’s called?”

“No.”

“So why’d we get it?”

Loki’s eyebrows scrunch together, shifting his weight to the other foot. “Are you a child, mortal? Why must you ask such—”

You never get to hear the rest of Loki’s question; the Quinjet makes a hard, stuttering sound, almost as if it’s skidding over gravel, and the entire ship lurches forward and then sideways. The scraping sound of metal doesn’t cease as the ship continues to vibrate from the turbulence. You lose your balance, clutching at air to steady yourself, only one particularly hard jerk to the side causes you to stumble into Loki with a soft oof.

The pair of you are jostled to the floor, and the next thing you register is the distinct sound of glass shattering.

After a few seconds, the vibrations stop. Thankfully, because you were really starting to worry that dying in space was going to become an actual thing. The lights flicker before steadying and it resumes its normal hum as though it didn’t just go through the most unholy turbulence you’ve experienced. Granted, this is only your third time in space, but the unexpected collision leaves you spooked out nonetheless.

“What was that?”

It’s this moment that your mind chooses to notice that Loki’s chest has seemingly cushioned your fall, the top half of your body splayed on top of him.

Feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you hastily clamber off him. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything, only rises to his feet and dusts off the front of his clothes. “You and I are in big trouble,” he says.

You hurry to the cockpit, which isn’t much of a cockpit considering how small the ship is compared to what Stark usually provides. A space rock just about the size of the ship lazily rolls away. “Looks like an asteroid?” you say, uncertain. “Are we caught in a belt?”

“No, it was a rogue one. The trouble I pertain to is not that, mortal. I’m afraid we’re one plant short now.”

“What?” Your head whips to the back so fast that your neck cricks, and you rush to the spot Loki points at.

Broken glass, and a flower that’s lost some of its iridescence. Some particles glitter on the metal floor, and you curse.

“There’s a spare jar in one of the overhead cabinets. Maybe we can still salvage this one.” You sigh. “What if this had some super special healing power and we just ruined it?”

“I told you not to crash this ship, and yet—”

“Shut it, Reindeer Games.” At this, you can see in your periphery how Loki’s nostrils flare just the slightest at the nickname. He hates it. Hates it because Stark uses it.

You manage to pick up the bigger pieces of broken glass without inadvertently cutting yourself and throw it into the waste bin. Loki hands you—well, more like shoves into you—another glass jar, into which you carefully place the flower. You slot it with the other plant samples and straighten up.

“There are still some smaller shards of glass around here,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the floor, “so we just need to be careful when we walk here.”

The floor shimmers in some angles: some attributed to the minute glass shards, some from the flower. Loki dips his chin in acknowledgment before resuming his perch by the window, staring out at the abyss of space as he was doing before you and he decided to look at the Alfheim plants.

A decision you’re regretting more and more with each passing minute.

You’re back in the pilot chair, scanning for any possibility of crashing into another space rock. If what you were feeling earlier was sleepiness, how you’re feeling right now is that tenfold with an extra weight of ten pounds on your head. Your eyelids are heavy and your body is beginning to feel warm. You sniffle, your nose a little congested, and a sneeze permeates the silence.

You swivel around to face Loki. The simple action of it causes your head to spin; you feel almost lightheaded, the same feeling you get when you’re sick. You steady yourself by planting your feet on the floor. “Hey. Are you feeling a little woozy?”

Loki’s eyes snap to you, concern written on his features. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“Not really. Feels like… like an allergy. From the flower.” You sneeze again. “Head’s heavy. Wanna sleep.”

“There’s a pull-out cot you can rest in.” In a flash, Loki’s helping you up, one arm around your waist. You can’t stop your eyelids from closing this time, feeling your grip on consciousness slip from you as your head lolls onto Loki’s shoulder. It’s a weird feeling. Heavy and light at the same time. You want to voice how it feels, but all that comes out is another sneeze.

“Perhaps the Alfheim flowers are a little too intense for your mortal body.”

Maybe it’s the allergies, but you swear you hear the hint of a smile in his voice. Loki drapes a blanket over you—wait, is he tucking you in?—and cards his fingers through your hair. You’re not sure if it’s real or not, but it feels nice.

“Sleep,” he says, voice distant and muddled. “I will take care of the ship.”

It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep to the Quinjet’s comforting hum.

 --

It’s hot.

Way too hot.

You blearily open your eyes, the feverish warmth that’s spread over your body the first thing you notice. The funny thing is you’re hot but you aren’t sweating. At all.

Just warm.

Excessively so.

“It’s hot,” you blurt out dumbly, sitting up on the strangely comfortable cot. The blanket falls away from you as you squint at Loki’s silhouette in the pilot chair.

The lights are a little dimmer, you think. Not as harsh and cold, blinding white too, but almost warm. You didn’t even know the ship had that feature.

Loki doesn’t answer you. You realize this a little late after marveling over the Quinjet’s new lighting. “Are you hot?” Your voice sounds foreign, different to you—a different timbre, a little more hoarse.

“Not particularly.”

Your stomach does a little flip because shit, his voice sounds different too.

You swallow, rising to your feet. “How long was I asleep?”

“I did not keep track. Perhaps an hour. Maybe two.”

He swivels in the pilot chair, and your stomach does a funny kind of flip. He’s the perfect picture of a confident, cocky prince with a sort of casual regality; he’s leaning back just a little lower with his legs spread open, one arm hanging over the armrest while the other is bent at the elbow, a closed fist by his face. Like he sits on his own throne, proud and powerful and incredibly sexy.

And you’ll be damned if you don’t admit it’s an attractive sight.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, his head falling to one side. The intensity of his gaze burns into you, and something inside you coils unmistakably. What the hell…?

“I…” your voice catches, and you clear your throat. “I did. Maybe—do—uh, do you want to take a nap this time? ’Cause I can keep watch.” You hurry to your feet, and your legs feel like jelly as you stand. It’s as if they aren’t a part of your body as they take you to the heart of the ship, the halfway point between the cot and the cockpit.

Loki stands, still staring at you, and even in the dimness of the ship you can see that the intensity with which he looks at you hasn’t waned. He reaches you, standing a good foot away, and stops.

You try to calm the wild beating of your heart, rooted to the spot from his attentions, and you fidget. Your eyes are flighty in contrast, flitting from his face to his chest to the void outside the Quinjet and back again.

He lifts a single finger up to your face, tipping your chin upwards so your eyes meet. Heat begins to pool somewhere specific now, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Obviously nothing, your brain screams in protest. It’s like your mind is swimming, your afterthoughts delayed and your actual thoughts heady, private wishes just bubbling at the surface.

“Your face is red,” Loki comments, his voice low and soft. Like the blanket he tucked you into. No, a part of you thinks, stop this right now—

He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, regarding you with great interest. “You’re burning up as well. Shall I take you to bed?”

Surely he doesn’t mean for his words to come out as much of an innuendo as they do, but that’s immediately where your mind goes: into the gutter.

“A-aren’t you tired?” you say instead, allowing Loki to steer you by the shoulders back to the pull-out. “I can definitely—”

“No, you need to rest,” he insists. As your butt hits the mattress, Loki’s expression shifts into a thoughtful one. “Although your suit seems to be an unfitting set of clothes, considering you’re quite hot. One moment.”

Loki disappears, walking to a hidden part of the ship and you take this time to fan yourself. It’s still unbelievably hot, and the way your folds are slippery without any stimulation (except, you think with a small smirk, Loki’s little pilot chair moment was visual stimulation enough) causes alarm bells to ring faintly in the distance of your mind.

You experimentally flex your lower muscles and—oh. Oh.

“Here,” Loki says as he saunters back into view. He tosses you a dark green shirt. “Wear that.”

You stare at the bundle of fabric in your lap and realize it’s his.

And just like that, a fire is lit within you.

You bring up the shirt to your face, inhaling his scent when he turns his back, and fucking hell does he smell good. Your mouth practically waters at it, your eyes trained on Loki’s back as he settles back into the pilot’s chair.

Unconsciously you bite your lip as you wonder what his skin might look like underneath his armor.

“Don’t turn around,” you say, fighting the urge to jump him right then and there that surges to the fore. You’re tempted. You really are. And you also want him not to listen to you and turn around, watch you undress and change into his shirt.

Again, what in the hell…?

You shimmy out of your clothes and pull Loki’s shirt over you. It’s Asgardian in design, likely tailored specifically for him. You wearing it just feels so intimate. The smell that’s so distinctly him envelops you and quite frankly, it’s intoxicating.

You stand, and the shirt falls just to your mid-thighs. He didn’t bother getting you any shorts; you’re not sure if you’re grateful or angry, or maybe a heady mix of both.

Bundling up your used clothes in your arms, you clear your throat. “Thank you.”

Loki swivels around, stuttering to a stop when he sees you. His eyes rake over you, from your messy bedhead down to your exposed legs. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat quite visibly, and your pride rears its head in victory.

“No shorts, though?” you ask innocently, one eyebrow shooting up.

“Unnecessary,” he answers with a devious grin that makes your insides melt and ignite all at once.

He turns his attention back to the controls, and you lay your clothes by the side of the pull-out.

Wearing Loki’s shirt does little to cool your temperature—in fact, it’s still blistering despite the Quinjet’s air conditioning.

“Are you sure it isn’t hot?” you ask again. You know you’re asking unnecessary questions, but you want to get him talking, speaking to you in that gorgeous velvet full voice of his.

You hear him chuckle, a gush of heat rushing towards your center. “I’m afraid that’s all you, little one.”

Sighing, you flop onto the bed, pulling a pillow over your legs. Maybe if you take another nap, the heat will subside from your body.

Your arousal, on the other hand…

A thought enters your mind, fleetingly, because you immediately push it away and chastise yourself through the murky fog of your brain. Pleasuring yourself? In Loki’s presence? The absurdity of the idea. You should be feeling shame… only you don’t. Not really, at least.

You shift onto your side, squeezing your eyes tight. Sleep does not come to you. You try lying on your back, on your stomach, and then again—

“Are you alright back there?”

The normal tone Loki uses astounds you, seeing as you’re somehow a feverish, horny mess and he isn’t. It puzzles you, and some deep part of you wants to figure out why. Only your brain seems to refuse to cooperate unless you’re thinking of doing certain things.

Things you certainly don’t mind doing with Loki.

“I-it’s hot,” you explain, embarrassed defeat lacing your words. How many times have you said that to him? You probably sound like a broken record.

At this, Loki lets out a full peal of laughter, husky and with a sensual edge to it. You wish you could make him laugh, hear it one more time. Or twice. Or on loop. It doesn’t really matter.

He swivels again to face you, his sitting posture similar to the one earlier, and it does things to you. Causes an uproar that’s novel to you, a need rising within you that must be sated.

Loki makes a smooth come hither motion with his fingers, curling from his pinky to his index. A beckoning you can’t refuse. “Perhaps I can help. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m quite adept at magic. It may help the current predicament you face.”

You slide off the cot and walk barefooted to the copilot chair. He looks a little different, you realize as you amble towards him. Maybe it’s the allergies, but just as he sounds different, there’s something different about him now that you’re really looking. He’s always been a pretty face and you’ve always found him extraordinarily handsome, but right now is different. You just can’t put a finger on it, so you chalk it up to his aura changing. Or the allergies. Most likely it’s the allergies.

You’re about to sit in the copilot chair beside him, only to be stopped when Loki laughs again and wraps his fingers around your wrist. All you hear is a faint, “No, silly girl,” before he pulls you in between his legs.

Pulls you with surprising strength, it seems, because your butt lands almost unceremoniously in the crook of his groin and lap. Your knees are hooked over the opposite arm rest, which means if you shift even just the tiniest bit to the side, your hip will come in contact with a certain part of him.

It’s a dilemma, you think with a giggle, if you want to be caught in a hard place.

His arms snake around your waist, pulling you close to him, and it just registers that you’re sitting on his lap holy shit you’re sitting on his lap.

“Are you comfortable?” he murmurs, adjusting your position so he can rest his chin on your shoulder. Instantly your mouth goes dry; it’s the proximity. You’ve never been this close to him before, and being in such a… an intimate position has you tense and rigid on top of him.

“I think so?” you squeak, stilling further as Loki’s nose burrows into your hair. He parts the curtain of your hair with side to side movements, until he buries his face into your neck. He inhales, and a delicious shiver runs down your sides.

“Good,” he breathes.

You’re frozen on his lap, afraid to even let out the smallest puff of air. His face just stays there, in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“Are… you okay?”

And then your heart stops, because he’s lifting his head, his fingers brushing your hair to the back and exposing your nape to the cool air. The next second he’s tracing the tip of his nose from your chin up to your earlobe, where he pauses. You’re acutely aware of his lips against your skin, just barely brushing against it. “Never been better.”

He inhales again, deeply, and another shiver runs down your spine. You were wrong to think he was unaffected; something’s changed between you as you slept, and you aren’t sure why or what it is.

“You smell…” He trails off, moving down and back to the spot behind your ear. You swear you feel the slightest whisper of a kiss there, and it takes extra effort to hold in the sigh that’s caught in your throat. “…different.”

“I have a smell?” It comes out with a halfhearted, short laugh; an attempt to ease the thick tension that hangs over you.

Loki only hums in response. This time, with the pressure on your neck and the puffs of his breathing against your skin, you’re sure Loki’s lips are on you. Not a kiss, nothing more—just a steady weight that anchors you in his lap.

Anchors you to the reality that you are in his lap.

“And you are so warm.” The way he says it, his mouth moving against your skin, it’s almost as if he’s talking to himself. His arms around your waist tighten, and your hip comes in contact with a little bulge.

Well, not very little, but…

“Y-yeah, I thought you were going to do something about that.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.”

His hand rests on your exposed thigh, his thumb rubbing hypnotic circles into your skin. “Better?” he asks with his face still buried in the crook of your neck.

“I don’t think so.” Coherency becomes increasingly difficult to achieve; you’re too focused on the sizzle of electricity thrumming within your veins, spidering from where he touches you.

“How about…” His hand glides up your thighs, skimming over your underwear and underneath the baggy shirt until they come up to rest on your hip. “Now?”

You’re sure he kisses you this time, on that sensitive spot below your ear, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from making a sound.

“Still nothing,” you whisper, strained. “As hot as ever.”

There is no second guessing anymore: something wet and hot darts out behind your ear, and Loki’s lips press a firm, lingering kiss there as his hand skims to the center of your stomach. You suck in a shaky breath, your eyes slipping closed at the spark you feel.

“And now?” he questions, just by your ear. The conspiratorial tone and the volume he uses makes you clench in anticipation.

Instead of answering, you shift on his lap—purposefully grinding a little bit on his evident erection. You hear Loki’s breathing change just slightly, his fingers curling on your stomach.

You think he’s about to do something to break the sexual tension and turn it into something tangible, something you both can actually do to ease the ache you’re sure you both feel, but you know the God of Mischief enjoys his games. He enjoys acting unaffected when in fact he is, and you intend to play that to your advantage. Somehow.

“I’m not sure I’m feeling anything,” you say as nonchalant as possible. A plan quickly brews in your mind, and you pretend to notice something on the dashboard. You wriggle in Loki’s lap, making sure to rub him in all the right places as you tell him you swear you saw something whiz past.

The way Loki tenses underneath you brings you a small bout of satisfaction.

“Perhaps,” he starts, his voice clearly strained as you begin to rotate your hips ever so lightly against him, “perhaps a nap is what you need.”

“But Loki,” you say, exaggerated and almost whiny as you lean back against his lean chest, feeling the full extent of his arousal against your lower back, “who’s going to see if the asteroid comes back?”

You yelp as Loki stands, one arm hooked under your knees and the other around your waist. He’s carrying you, the thought floating through your muddled brain.

“Stark will handle it. Like you said. Trust him and his technology, or something like that,” he says, voice a little rough. “It’s bed for you.”

Loki lays you down with surprising gentleness, smoothing the covers around you. You think you might be able to sleep a little now that a little pent up energy has been released, but you only become shell-shocked when Loki climbs into the cot beside you.

It’s not a very large bed, mind you, which means that you’re trapped between his body and the wall of the ship. There isn’t much room to lay on your back when Loki’s in it with you, so you settle on your side while he does the same.

Loki pulls your back to his chest, completely flush against his body. “Relax,” he murmurs. “Try to sleep.”

Yeah, as if you can with something very hard poking into your backside.

For the record, you do try to sleep. You let your eyes drift closed with Loki’s arm draped over you, but even when you reach that half asleep state you’re focused on his erection behind you and his arm slowly making its way under your shirt again.

And somehow, whether it’s of your own doing or your body on autopilot, your hand slowly makes its way behind, reaching between you and placing it flat against his erection.

It’s like time stops. There’s nothing but static in your brain, the only sound the ever-present hum of the ship. As if neither of you dare to breathe. Loki’s fingers rest on your hipbone, where the garter of your underwear rests.

Neither of you move. You stay like this, for how long you don’t know, until Loki exhales a little, pressing his length against your palm.

“Can’t sleep,” you whisper, shifting to ease the budding strain in your arm. “Still hot.”

“So am I,” Loki replies softly.

You don’t think you can tense up further, but your body surprises you. “Maybe…” You don’t know why you’re allowing your question to form and where you’re getting the boldness to ask. “Maybe you should take something off.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you don’t turn around to face him. The sound of the sheets rustling and the mattress shifting is enough to tell you that he got up. Cold dread begins to replace the delicious fire that was coursing through your veins—have you scared him away? Offended him?

The mattress dips again, and Loki’s pulling you against him, in the same spooning position you were in earlier. Only… only he’s shirtless, you realize when your back hits his chest.

Shit, you really want to turn around and take a good look at his gloriously naked chest first.

You’re not sure your heart can take any more when Loki slowly guides your hand back to the evidence of his arousal. Once he places your palm on his erection, his hand is sliding over your skin underneath what you’re wearing, resting just underneath the swell of your breast.

“You know, mortal, you are very pretty,” he admits quietly, his finger dashing against your skin. “And your company is… tolerable.”

“Yeah, you’re not too bad yourself, Reindeer Games.” It comes out rushed, breathy, and a small moan of pain (or is it?) punctuates the end of your sentence as he drags a nail over your skin.

“Do not call me that. Or I will have to punish you.”

When did you decide to court danger?

“Are you threatening me with a good time?”

“Perhaps I am threatening you with the absence of one.”

Fast as lightning, Loki removes his touch from you. “You are still feverish. Perhaps you should take off your shirt.”

“You mean your shirt.” Your heart thumps loudly against your ribcage, your hands now toying with the hem of the fabric. The tone between you two has shifted so drastically, the tension so thick it’s almost suffocating. You sit up, twisting to see Loki lying on his side, his eyes dark and half-lidded.

You maintain eye contact as you grip the end of the shirt, slowly pulling it as it exposes, bit by bit, the upper half of your thighs, your underwear, your stomach, your breasts, until you pull it over your head and toss it to the side. Loki stares at you all the while, a hungry look in his eye, but does nothing.

“Lie back down,” he commands, running a finger over your bare side. “Perhaps now you will be able to cool off.”

He twirls the ends of your hair around his fingers as you do as he says, the warmth of your center now the focus of your attention as it thrums.

Loki props you against him, on your side again, his fingers dancing across your midriff, moving up until he’s tracing the tops of your breasts and ghosting over your nipples.

Your back arches almost unconsciously, pressing into him where he meets you with equal pressure.

Experimentally you gyrate over his erection, making sure to keep your movements slow and agonizing. His hands skim over your breasts until he takes one in his hand, rolling your nipple between his fingers until they pebble.

His head falls onto your shoulder as you keep with your tantalizing dance over his hips, his breathing growing ragged. He tweaks and pulls at your nipples, squeezing and palming your breasts until it’s the only thing that clouds your mind.

“Are you—are you still warm?” he asks, evidently trying and failing to keep his composure as you buck your ass against him particularly hard.

“You tell me.”

He flicks over your breast in response, your head falling back with a barely held back moan.

“Maybe you should take off your pants,” you suggest with a sigh.

“Maybe I should take off yours.”

“I’m not wearing any, remember?”

Loki stills, which makes you do the same. He shifts, gently guiding you to lie on your back. The confusion must be clear as day on your face, because Loki stares at you with those intense green eyes of his as he climbs on top of you.

Your faces are level, his eyes scanning every inch. You’re not sure where this is coming from; one minute he’s all over your breasts and the next he’s quiet and on top of you. He buries his face in your neck for what feels like the millionth time today, setting off a reaction that sends another wave of want to your core.

This time he sucks on your neck, and you gasp. Your hands move to bury into his hair, but Loki pins your arms to the sides by your wrists. You writhe underneath him as he marks you with tongue and teeth.

He peppers kisses around your neck, your throat, your collarbone as he grinds into you. Letting out a small groan, he moves to hover over your lips.

“Tell me to kiss you,” he whispers hoarsely. “Do it. Now.”

The grip on your wrists has slackened and you take the opportunity to pull Loki’s face to yours. Hungry and passionate is what the kiss is: his mouth moves quickly, in sync with yours, as though to make sure every bit of this is real and not just a fever dream. You savor it, the taste of him, leaving you dizzy and delirious with every swipe of his tongue and graze of his teeth against your lips. It’s almost rough, the way he kisses you, but it fits the urgency you feel. You don’t want to have it any other way.

He travels down until he’s suckling at your breasts, and you do everything in your power to hold in the moan that rises in your throat. All you can feel is heat and slick and the pulsing of your blood, overcome with the need to be filled to the brim by him.

You’re about to fumble with his pants when he trails a path of kisses down your torso, stopping when he reaches between your legs.

You’re practically trembling with anticipation now. Seeing Loki in between your legs, a wicked grin on his face, has you wetter than you’ve ever gotten in life. He spreads you apart, settling between them, and feathers kisses over your inner thighs.

“Loki,” you say through gritted teeth, your pussy clenching as he nears your sweet center. “Stop teasing.”

He shifts forward, kissing your hips, your stomach jumping underneath him. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he bares his teeth, scraping over your skin and biting down on the fabric of your underwear.

He slides one side down, his mouth dragging over your thigh, your underwear between his teeth; he does the same to the other side, and again he goes. All the way, pulling your underwear down with his teeth until they’re around your ankles. He discards it lazily, adding it to the growing pile of clothes, and at this point you’re nothing but a whimpering mess.

“So this is the source of your sweet smell,” he mutters as he lowers his head between your legs. You’re shaking lightly, wound tight from the excitement, and when Loki inhales the scent of you, long and drawn out, you almost want to cum right there and then.

“Absolutely divine,” he comments. Then he’s placing his tongue flat against you, your head falling back against the pillow, unable to hold in the moan that spills from your lips.

It’s like an explosion of little lights, you think distantly. Little stars bursting from one touch.

He lifts his head from your cunt with a mischievous grin. “I like that sound, little one. Let’s see how many times I can make you do it again.”

The feeling of Loki’s head between your legs, his mouth inside you, is incomparable. He dives into your cavern, his dexterous tongue causing you to sigh praises that seem to only spur him on. It’s a steady, swirling motion that drives you insane, your pelvis arching.

Then he’s moving up to swipe over your clit, and every nerve ending in your body sizzles and frays, another loud moan of his name ripped from your throat. With a grip of steel, he holds your thighs down, parted wide, as he assaults your clit with sucks and nibbles and licks.

“Loki,” you pant, hips bucking against his mouth. Your insides begin to coil in preparation, your walls clenching around Loki’s tongue. “Loki, I—”

He hums, almost like he’s questioning you, and the vibration on your sensitive parts is enough to send you over the edge.

The orgasm that overtakes you is powerful, pulsing through every part of your body as you whisper his name like a prayer. Only Loki doesn’t stop—he licks up every drop that leaks from you, and it’s enough stimulation for another powerful orgasm to build.

His lips latch onto your clit, sucking rhythmically, as his tongue swipes and swirls around the bundle of nerves.

“Loki,” you try to say, only it comes out a breathy whine, “I want to go down on you too—ah—”

He plunges a finger deep within you, curling against your G-spot in time with his sucks.

“Fucking hell, Loki,” you grind out, your fingernails digging into his scalp as you rotate your hips on his face. You can feel the steady climb to another precipice of an orgasm, as well as the tiny smirk that plays on Loki’s face against you.

Your grip tightens on his hair as he speeds up his movements; rapid, quick swipes on your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you shallowly. Your walls begin to clench at the splinters of release—

“Not yet,” he says, removing his lips and fingers from you with a dark grin.

Frustration wells up within you, but it’s shadowed by the undeniable thrill that shoots towards your center. If you’re understanding Loki right—which you do most of the time—he isn’t finished with you just yet.

He crawls on top of you like a prowling animal, the pure lust in his eyes mirroring what you feel. He captures your lips in a kiss, languid and seductive, his hands cradling your face.

The juxtaposition of the entire situation hits you like a freight train. He’s gentle when he’s holding you like this, like you’re made of glass, but the urgency with which he grinds into your naked mound detonates another explosion of emotions. One action is delicate, the other rough. Contrast bolting through you at the same time and colliding into one as pleasure.

“You’re amazing,” you sigh into his mouth, and you can feel Loki suck in a breath, pausing at your words. Spotting your chance, you roll on top of him, straddling his waist with a smirk.

Loki’s eyes open, a ghost of bewilderment etched onto his face at the sudden shift, and then when he sees your expression he transforms his own into his usual confident half-grin. As though he’s merely amused by this whole situation—but he isn’t fooling you.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, little one,” he drawls, sliding his hands up your sides.

You grab his forearms, pushing them down to his sides as you rock against the clothed tent in his pants. Loki could easily overpower you, you know that, free his arms from your not so vicelike grip, but he lets you. Lets you pin his arms to his sides just as he did to you.

Lowering your head, you run your nose along the expanse of his chest, up to his neck where it’s your turn to inhale deeply. He smells just like the shirt you were wearing, only ten times more potent, and it sends a fresh wave of heady arousal to wash over you.

“Not yet,” you echo his words from earlier, your grip tightening on his wrists as you grind down into him. You can feel Loki about to respond with a snarky remark, so you silence him by suctioning your lips on his neck. Your one track mind has only one goal: mark him with bruises that are of your doing. Claim him as yours.

You lift off him with a little pop; not a very sexy sound, but Loki seems to enjoy it with the way his hips seem to be moving of their own accord. You kiss across his throat before suctioning again on another spot right below his jaw.

This time, you play a little rough.

Loki’s hips jerk upwards as your teeth rake over his skin, his breath fanning over your hair. “Little minx,” he utters, groaning a second later as you push your center against him with a harder bite to his neck.

“Pants off, Loki,” you whisper.

He frees one arm from your grip and haphazardly waves his hand, and your swollen sex comes in contact with the flesh of his hard and heavy cock.

Just as Loki’s about to jerk up and into you, you lift your hips off of him. It kills you to do it, but the teasing, the foreplay, causes you to feel a smidge of power.

“I said, not yet,” you say, sliding down his body until your face is level with his cock.

His length throbs in front of you, and somehow, somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind you think you’ve never seen a cock as beautiful as his. Curious, you lick a stripe down the underside of it, from the base up to the tip.

Loki masks his hiss, turning it into a cheeky exhale, folding an arm under his head. “Go on then. Impress me.”

Whatever intimidation game he’s trying to play, feigning nonchalance, it’s not going to work on you. You take a moment to examine the bead of precum that leaks from his slit, your fingers at the base of his erection, and drag the tip of your tongue over it before sliding your lips over the blunt head.

You don’t bob up and down; unmoving, merely suckling and swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. His hands fist into your hair as your hand and mouth begin to pump up and down his shaft, and just like that promises and praise fall from his lips like wine.

You chance a glance at him, and are utterly pleased by the sight. Loki’s eyes are scrunched shut, barely containing his pleasure, breathing hard through his nose. To have him, a god, reduced to his most carnal needs at your ministrations fills you with gratification. You take him further into your mouth until you can feel him pulsing with almost release, and then you lift off him with a sly grin.

“Not yet,” you repeat in almost a teasing, singsong kind of way.

Loki glares at you, but it’s hardly threatening. You manage to laugh as you level your faces, kissing him hot on the mouth and guiding your slick entrance to his throbbing cock.

You hover over him, not fully seated, his cock just stretching you the slightest bit. Your self-restraint cracks with every passing second you remain unmoving, until Loki takes your hips in his hands and brings you down on top of him, seating you on top of him.

He stretches you in a way you can only describe as full. You lean forward, planting your hands on his lean chest, and rock against him, eyes closing at the feeling.

It’s nothing you could ever conjure up in your wild dreams—he fills you, grinding in time with you and sending you into a barely controlled frenzy. But you keep your movements slow, relishing the way you can feel him throb inside you. Everything feels so new, a first you’ve never experienced: each touch, movement, kiss, no matter how small seems to be amplified in the small ship. It fills you with an unfamiliar, delicious kind of fire, boiling inside you.

“Not—not bad,” Loki grunts, unable to maintain the once casual tone he used before. “For a mortal.”

You swivel your hips and rake your nails over his chest, and Loki’s mouth parts lightly. “Not bad,” you remark, squeezing your muscles around him, “Reindeer Games.”

It’s Loki’s turn to seize his opportunity, it seems, because his eyes fly open, a wild, hungry look to him as he flips you underneath him, his cock still buried in you. The shift in position drives you a little mad, your pussy clenching unconsciously around him.

“What did I say,” he asks dangerously, plowing in and out of you with slow, agonizing strokes, “about calling me that?”

“You’d punish me.” A delicious shiver runs down your spine as the words come out.

“Wonderful that you remember. Because you’re about to forget everything except my name.”

And with that promise, Loki brings your wrists over your head, pinning them above you with a firm grip, his mouth seeking yours as he begins to rut into you more senselessly now. He swallows the moan you make when the tip of his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you, making sure to angle it right where you’re most sensitive.

He doesn’t cease his movements when he latches onto your breast, roughly biting and sucking until you’re whimpering soft cries and pleas and praises. His other hand caresses the curve of your hip and ass before he presses on your clit.

If you were seeing stars earlier, right now you’re seeing entire galaxies explode behind your eyes. The sensations are overwhelming, your legs spread wide open, and just when you think you’ve felt it all, Loki takes you by surprise and pulls you both into a kneeling position. He bounces you on his cock with unrelenting speed, and your arms find their way around his shoulders as you approach orgasm yet again.

You subconsciously flex your walls around him, biting down on his shoulder to prepare you for an orgasm—only Loki slows to a stop, gently laying you back down on your back.

The release that built inside you ebbs away, and you clench around Loki, a silent signal for him to continue. Only Loki pulls himself out of you, resting atop you with his face buried in your neck, suckling another bruise into your skin.

“Loki,” you breathe, his hand cupping your breast, “Loki, please.”

The god has the nerve to smile against you, you feel it. “What did you say to me earlier?”

“You said it to me first, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Loki lifts his head, his eyes boring into yours, blown with desire and yet… something has shifted. Something else is there.

“You are extraordinary,” he tells you, brushing hair away from your forehead. “You have always been the object of my attention, ever since you walked into the board room on your first day.”

Your throat closes with the genuine admission, and you swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah, well, I always thought you were pretty neat. Maybe we can talk later and finish what we started?”

Loki chuckles, his eyes crinkling, and presses a kiss to your lips. “Smart woman.”

It’s almost as if the tender moment doesn’t happen at all, because Loki’s arms snake underneath you to bring your hips closer to his, plunging into you and reaching a deeper spot that makes both of you groan in earnest. Whatever just happened, you can probably mark it for later with a good sit-down conversation. Right now your focus is on his cock inside you, and you don’t hesitate to tell him how good he’s making you feel.

“Hands above your head,” he commands.

You oblige, and his head immediately dips to your breasts. He’s kissing, licking everywhere he can reach, while your hands tangle in his hair, his shoulders, his muscled back. Your back arches, his cock thrusting mercilessly into you, burying himself to the hilt and brushing against that sweet, sweet spot over and over.

You don’t know how you’re ever going to come back from this. Loki buried within you, your cunt stretching to accommodate him, perfectly slotting into each other. His fingers rub against your clit, adding to your already overloaded senses and fuck, it’s as if all the effects from the foreplay and your heat come crashing down in one big tidal wave.

The speed at which Loki’s pounding into you is almost ungodly, unreal. Your mouth hangs open, your orgasm building with extraordinary intensity—

Almost as quickly as it builds, you’re tipped over the edge, a broken wail of his name accompanying the spasms in your lower body. You’ve never had an orgasm as shattering as this one, your cunt fluttering around Loki even as you slowly come down from your high.

“That’s it,” Loki says, jaw set. “Very good, little one.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down—he continues to wreck you, the sounds of your coupling obscenely filling the air. You want him to feel the seismic pleasure you just did—so you clamp around him, rotate your hips in little circles in time with his thrusts.

“You’re absolutely amazing,” you tell him, watching how he slowly unravels with every new praise. You tell him how good he makes you feel, how good he is, perfect and incredible and oh, the things you would do to—

Loki bends down and kisses you ferociously, licking every part of your mouth and biting on your lips as he bucks, going rock hard and cumming inside you. His movements slow, just a fraction, as you let him ride out his high.

“Glorious woman,” he mutters, his eyes still closed as he kisses over every inch of your face.

You’re about to return with a compliment of your own, but are cut off when Loki grinds into you again.

“A-are you still hard?” you ask, a giggle rising to your throat whose tail end turns into another moan.

“I’ve lost count how many times I’ve made you make that wonderful sound,” he says, hips stirring back to life as you feel a fresh bout of slick moisture gush down your legs. “I think that’s quite a success.”

And then he’s flipping you over, on your stomach, pulling your ass up and sliding his still-hard cock back into your dripping folds, reaching depths you didn’t even know you had, evidently ready for another round.

Through your half-lidded eyes, you make out the faint outline of stars—whether they’re from the pleasure you feel or actually there, you don’t know.

-- -- --

You’d think overstimulation would best you, but your entire afternoon—evening, morning, you can’t really tell, space is just completely dark—has been you and Loki all over each other all over the ship.

You can’t tell how long it’s been, but you can feel the ship beginning to descend into Earth’s atmosphere.

“Hey. Hey, Loki—ah, yes, there—”

You’ve also lost track of how many orgasms you’ve had.

You writhe underneath him, searing hot ecstasy blistering in your core as Loki sucks on your clit, his teeth just lightly scraping over it, his fingers smoothing over your inner thighs.

“You taste so sweet, little one,” he murmurs against you, licking through your folds.

“Don’t distract me.” You swat at his head weakly. “I think we’re here.”

“Haven’t touched the ground,” he says, shrugging, making to dive back into your well-spent cunt.

You stop him before he can seduce you into letting him taste you again, and again, as he’d been doing all day.

Whatever warmth you were feeling earlier has completely subsided from your body, and even your mind feels clearer. As soon as you came down from whatever it was, all that was left was a blissful afterglow that you still feel until now.

Surprisingly, you and Loki haven’t had any awkward, dead air—granted, he has been buried in your thighs and yours in his most of the trip. You thought maybe as soon as the strange fever subsided, you’d both be back to whatever it was before this, but apparently not. It seems to have opened up a door, an opportunity, one you both mutually want to walk through together.

“We still have time,” Loki purrs, caressing your folds with his thumbs.

“You’re insatiable,” you sigh, and Loki takes this as a sign to delve back into your warmth, his tongue gliding into you for the umpteenth time today.

“You love it.”

 --

You and Loki disembark the Quinjet, you with shaky legs and him with a sort of spring in his step. You’re not sure what to tell the others when you see them, a tinge of worry sneaking into your bubble of sexual satisfaction.

As soon as you walk into the board room, you’re met with the expectant eyes of the Avengers, studying the pair of you with varying expressions.

And then Loki’s sliding his arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him, and the room erupts into shouts of “Called it!” and “No!” and you can’t help but laugh at the raucousness of it all.

“I’m glad we couldn’t take the Bifrost coming back here,” you tell Loki quietly.

“As am I,” he whispers back.

“Yeah, about that,” Stark cuts in, stepping forward, “yeah… you totally could have used it.”

[lifeofkaze]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 13

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N:

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Language, allusion to NSFW content

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell

Drop of a hat she's as willing as Playful as a pussy cat Then momentarily out of action Temporarily out of gas To absolutely drive you wild, wild She's out to get you

~ Queen - Killer Queen ~

After Lizzie had left on that day back in August, Orion hadn’t been sure whether her words would follow action and there would actually be a next time, nor had he been entirely sure he wanted there to be one.

Not because the night he had spent with Lizzie hadn’t been fantastic, or either of them was feeling uncomfortable with it; but she had been his close friend and colleague for so many years now and Orion valued her presence in his life deeply. Changing a pattern that worked smoothly seldomly proved to be a good idea.

He had been glad nothing seemed to have changed between them when they saw each other next; Lizzie had acted just the same as always, focused on their music, laughing with him during breaks, maybe a little flirtatious, but then again, that was just her way.

Orion’s resolve to consider the fling with her done and dusted lasted about a week. He had walked her home from the dinner they’d had with the rest of the band; when they’d reached her flat in Chelsea, she’d waited in the door to the house, looking back at him over her shoulder with an amused expression.

“What now? Are you coming or not?”

He had to admit, the second time round, this time with their senses all together, the sex had been even better than the first time. His concerns about what it might do to their friendship were melting away with every kiss Lizzie left on his body, setting his skin aflame and shutting off his mind with that deliciously wicked smile of hers.

When they’d found themselves in his flat for a third time, he felt the need to stop her wandering hands while he still could.

“Wait a minute, we should really talk about what we’re doing here.”

Lizzie looked up at him incredulously, her fingers hooking on the seam of his trousers, her fingernails grazing his sensitive skin. “What, right now?”

Orion tried to ignore his urgent wish for her to continue where she’d left off and sat up. “Yes, right now.”

“Fine,” she answered briefly and removed her hands from his body, but not without running her hand over him one last time, sending a shiver down his spine. He couldn’t deny how much his body yearned for her but he pushed the heat inside his chest aside and forced his thoughts to focus on what was on his mind.

“If we want this to continue we need to talk about where it’s going,” he managed to say a lot calmer than he felt as he watched Lizzie slowly taking in his undressed body, a salacious smirk on her lips.

“I can perfectly tell you where this is going right now,” she chuckled but Orion didn’t let himself get distracted.

“I’m serious, Liz. As fun as this is, we’re actively breaking the rules here. We are part of a greater thing; the whole unity that is Equinox is more important than every one of us on our own. I don’t want to do anything that could harm the band.”

With a sigh, Lizzie sat up straighter, her expression serious. “Neither of us would ever do anything to put the band at risk. This here is not a relationship, Orion; we can stop this any time.”

She shuffled closer to him on the bed and put a hand on his arm. Her smile was now nothing but warm and reassuring. “Don’t worry, this is just fun, no strings attached.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced, however. “Things like this end in disaster more often than not.“

“If it makes you feel better, let’s make a deal,” Lizzie suggested. “We’ll do this as long as it’s fun and we both want it. In the case that things change for either one of us, we’ll just stop and go back to how things were before. How does that sound?”

Orion sighed deeply. “Do you really think it will work just like that?”

“Just like that,” she smiled, her hand wandering from his arm onto his chest, giving him a slight push so he fell over on his back.

“You’re thinking too much,” she purred as her lips trailed down his chest and over his stomach, coming to rest where hands had let off earlier. “Let me help you relax.”

And just like that, what had begun as a simple drunk one-night stand had developed into something that wasn’t just a friendship, but was far from a relationship either.

Even when their tour had started, they hadn’t stopped meeting in the dead of the night, the risk of being discovered adding an additional thrill, which Orion would have never guessed he’d find himself enjoying. Working off the adrenaline a successful show set off in their bodies soon became his favourite way of winding down. It wasn’t long before he’d actually started showing signs of impatience - something that used to be completely foreign to him - when Lizzie took her time before leaving the backstage area, joking around with Skye or Charlie, deliberately teasing him.

The curves of her body became as familiar to Orion as the neck of his guitar, and he knew exactly how to play both to coax the sweetest sounds from them. Lizzie began to learn every story behind his many tattoos, her fingers tracing the delicate lines as he told her all about them.

The harmony that had existed between them from the get go solidified, unexpected but not unsurprising; it felt like a natural extension to their friendship, raising their connection and understanding to a higher level.

Now, almost ten months since their first night together, he couldn’t even remember what it had been like before.

Orion was violently broken out of his musings by Skye snapping her fingers in front of his eyes.

“Earth calling Orion, you still with us, mate?”

She eyed him critically as his eyes snapped back into focus. “What’ve you been daydreaming about?”

He slowly pulled her hand away from his face. “I have been reminded of something and indulged in the call of the past for a moment,” he answered serenely.

“The way you’re looking it must have been a good memory,” Lizzie said innocently. Her eyes were sparkling as if she knew exactly what he had been thinking about.

He inclined his head, hoping his face wouldn’t give him away. “A favourite.”

Skye shrugged. “Whatever, let’s get those damn pictures taken and get outta here, I’m hungry. You’d better focus on the job.” She stopped, looking thoroughly bewildered. “Can’t believe I need to say this to you of all people.”

Still shaking her head, she grabbed Lizzie by the arm and pulled her towards the set that had been prepared on the far side of the room. The photographer was already instructing Merula on where to stand, Everett looking on from the sidelines.

It took them ages to get all of the pictures Rita’s magazine wanted done. After all of them had their portraits taken, they continued with group shots in various combinations.

When it was the girls’ turn, Orion joined Everett on the sides. The mood between the two guitarists had improved a little since Everett felt he got the recognition he deserved, but still, the atmosphere lacked the carefree camaraderie of the past. Orion struggled to find something to talk about with him these days, not wanting to provoke any of Everett’s bad moods.

As it turned out, their frontman had no desire to talk to him anyway. He was watching Skye, Lizzie and Merula pose in front of the camera intently. He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms in front of his chest, a small grin forming on his face.

“You can say what you want, but our girls are quite a sight to see, aren’t they?”

Orion didn’t answer, only raising his eyebrows slightly. Everett took his silence as a sign to go on. “I mean, look at them.” His grin widened, taking on a wolfish touch. “Look at Lizzie, for fuck’s sake. Shame she’s always running ‘round all plain and simple, what a waste.”

Orion had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “Beauty comes from the inside, from embracing our nature as it is and carrying it to the outside. Lizzie is in tune with herself and that is showing. The way she prefers to keep it simple doesn’t dim her light, it enhances it.”

“I certainly wouldn’t say no to her glammed up like that, is all I’m saying,” Everett snorted.

Orion wasn’t surprised by Everett’s take on things, but he was astounded at how much his words were grating on him. Everett had been a flirt for as long as Orion could remember, but he had never objectified women the way he did these days. Ever since they had started their way to the top, the pressure they were constantly feeling had steadily increased. Everett was treating the girls admiring him just the same as he did anything else taking his mind off things; as a meaningless, replaceable means to an end.

He didn’t like hearing Everett talk about anyone like that, but especially not Lizzie.

However, Orion couldn’t deny that he had a point. As per usual, Andre had worked his magic on her for the shoot, creating a maximum effect with simple but well chosen measures. Lizzie’s light brown hair fell around her face in a heap of messy curls, her dark makeup accentuating her blue eyes.

The shiny leather leggings she was wearing were clinging tightly to her legs that were elongated by a pair of black heeled boots. A loose black shirt with the familiar logo of the Rolling Stones gave her the effortlessly nonchalant vibe that was so inherently her. She had tied it in a knot at the sides to shorten it, showing just the tiniest bit of her belly.

Yes, as much as he hated to admit it, Everett was right; Lizzie was a sight to see. Their eyes met briefly as Merula and Lizzie switched positions. Orion could see the smirk starting to form on her lips, like it always did when she caught him watching her.

She quickly regained control over her expression, flipping her hair out of her face and concentrating again. But her attention kept wandering back to him, a mischievous glitter in her eyes that Orion knew all too well.

When it was time for pictures of the whole group, he and Everett joined the girls in front of the camera again. To get a more compact looking picture of them all together, the photographer wanted him and Everett to sit on one of the sofas they had used for the interview, the girls grouped behind them, all trying their best to look as casual as possible.

Orion was sitting directly in front of Lizzie; he almost jumped when he suddenly felt her hand on his back, hidden from the others by her body that was very close to his. Her fingers tiptoed higher up until they found the exposed skin of his neck. Her nails were grazing his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind at the unexpected sensation. Orion could feel the intense energy radiating off her and had to fight the urge to turn around and catch a glimpse of her expression.

Looking at her camera, the photographer, a beautiful young woman in a blue headscarf, frowned and shook her head. “This doesn’t look right yet. I’m missing the energy, the spirit of your connection.

She contemplated for a moment before her fine features lit up. “I know; Merula, could you sit between the guys? The other girls, one on each arm of the sofa, please.”

They changed as she had asked them to, Skye perching on the back of the sofa next to Everett and Lizzie now sitting closer to Orion than before. But still, their photographer wasn’t satisfied.

“Lizzie, could you lean in a little?”

“Sure,” Lizzie smiled innocently, leaning closer to Orion until their bodies were almost touching. He could smell her perfume and the sharp scent of hairspray. When he felt her hand on his back yet again, conveniently out of sight of the camera, he shifted his position a little, ever so slightly leaning into her touch.

Encouraged by him playing along, the corners of her mouth twitched, masked by a little tilt of her head for the camera. Her hand traveled down his spine to the base of his shirt where she lost no time to slip it underneath the seam, her cool fingers brushing across the bare skin of his back.

Orion exhaled slowly, trying not to laugh at the light sensation of her fingertips. Lizzie knew that he was ticklish in that particular spot. She was trying to play him, testing his control over himself, just as she had done after their first show in London.

He couldn’t believe the risk she was taking; touching him like that in a dark nightclub under a table was one thing, but during a photoshoot, with all eyes on them? He’d never thought she would be so bold.

Her ridiculous recklessness was intriguing, however; just like everything about Lizzie it was playing with fire and the reward of being close to a blazing flame never came without danger.

A movement at the edge of his vision drew Orion’s attention away from her touch. His eyes flicked over to the other side of the sofa and he thought he could see Skye looking over to them. His heart suddenly racing, Orion leaned against the back of the sofa, effectively forcing Lizzie to withdraw her hand.

He glanced over to Skye again, but she was looking straight at the camera, her moody rockstar expression edged onto her face. She paid him or Lizzie no mind whatsoever, and for a moment Orion wondered whether that frown on her face had been nothing but a trick of his mind.

[cherrybracelets]

We Fell In Love in October

dad!spencer x reader

a continuation of these blurbs. you do not need to read them to read this fic, but they all take place in the same universe

word count: 2.7k | warnings: pregnancy, hospitals, other than that all fluff

We fell in love in October, That’s why I love fall, Looking at the stars, Admiring from a far

There was nothing that broke your heart more than the fact that you were missing your daughters first time trick or treating. But, as Spencer reminded you every day, you were way too pregnant to be out walking around all night while she got candy. You were devastated, but you knew he was right. You were nearing your due date and felt like you were carrying a whale around at all times. There was absolutely no way you’d last longer than 20 minutes without whining about how your feet hurt.

So you and Spencer decided you’d stay home and hand out candy while he took Imogen to the fanciest neighborhood in your suburb so she could get the best candy. You remember trick or treating in the same neighborhood as a kid, and the houses always had full size candy bars and toys. There was one house that made a mini haunted house in their front yard every year, and it was your favorite thing as a kid. You felt sick thinking that Immy was going to experience it for the first time without you. 

“You promise me you will take a ton of pictures and videos? If there’s not at least 500, we are literally getting a divorce,” you pouted, helping Spencer get his costume on. 

“Babe, I promise you won’t miss a second of it. I know it sucks you can’t go, but you have to keep my little baby safe,” he smiled, kissing your swollen belly and then bringing his lips to yours, giving you a small peck. 

“I’m gonna go check on her, make sure she’s got her costume all set. Why don’t you go downstairs and relax, you seem a little high strung today,” he teased, walking out of your bedroom together and into your daughters room. 

“Of course I’m high strung, Spence. I’m a thousand months pregnant and you’re taking my daughter away from me to walk around alone in the dark.” You felt yourself tearing up, one again out of control of your emotions. Being pregnant fucking sucked. 

“Do you not trust me to keep Immy safe? Do you know what I do for a living?” Spencer laughed, and you rolled your eyes in annoyance as you walked down the stairs to go flop on your couch. 

You felt the baby kick, and you placed a hand on your belly. You both decided not to find out the gender, the same thing you did with your last pregnancy. Spencer loved not knowing, claiming you got ‘more gifts’ if you didn’t know. But it drove you crazy. Even though you didn't know for sure, Spencer was convinced it was a boy. He wanted a son so bad, so you played along with his fantasy, but you were pretty certain it was a girl. You felt the same as you did when you were pregnant with Imogen, even craving the same foods as before. You had a mother's instinct- you knew who she was. 

You leaned your head back on the couch, closing your eyes to rest for a moment. You seemed to be constantly exhausted, despite spending most of the day sleeping. You slowly rubbed your belly, always afraid that if you went too long without touching her she would forget you. 

“You ready, Mommy?” You heard Spencer’s voice say, from the top of the stairs. You smiled happily, keeping your eyes closed as the two of them came down to the living room in their costumes. 

“Let me see my loves!” You responded, giggling in anticipation as you awaited your daughters first Halloween costume. 

“Look at me, Mommy! I’m so pretty!” Imogen said, Spencer holding the girl in his arms. You opened your eyes to see her dressed as a fairy- exactly what she wanted. You felt yourself tearing up, which were a mix of happy and sad tears. 

“You both look so amazing!” You stuttered, trying to get your words out through muffled cries. 

“Don’t cry, Mommy!” Immy pouted, wriggling out of Spencer’s arms and onto the couch to give you a hug. 

“Oh, I’m not sad, Im. You’re just so pretty!” You kissed her on the top of the head, trying not to mess up her costume. 

“We should probably get going soon. I don’t want to be out too late,” Spencer frowned, checking his watch and looking outside to see if it was getting dark yet. 

“Right, of course. Please keep me updated, okay?” 

“Of course, my love.” 

“Have fun, you guys. Be safe!” 

Spencer and Imogen waved goodbye to you, blowing you a kiss as they walked out the door. You tried your best not to cry as they drove away, trying to focus on getting ready to hand candy out to other kids. You knew it was probably just your anxiety, and the fact that you and Spence had been watching scary movies every night for the past month- but you had a bad feeling about tonight. And it was only a short time later when you realized your feeling was right. 

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥

Spencer was one of the smartest men alive- that was indisputable. But where he excelled in book smarts, sometimes his common sense was lacking. Like how he was consistently forgetting to charge his phone. So when it died after only an hour of trick or treating- probably because he hadn’t stopped taking pictures since they left- he felt like a huge idiot. Especially considering how much you reminded him to plug it in every night before bed. 

But he tried not to panic, convincing himself he had recorded enough of the night to satisfy you. Plus, now he could really be in the moment with his daughter, which was what it was all about, right? 

“C'mon Daddy,” Imogen groaned, pulling Spencer by the arm up to another house. And as Spencer followed his daughter, he realized where they were. This was the house. The ‘haunted house’ house that you talked about every Halloween, that the both of you were so excited for Immy to experience herself. And Spencer had promised you a thousand times over that he would record the entire experience. 

‘Fuck,’ he thought to himself, shaking his head in disappointment, preparing for the inevitable fight when he had to tell you he didn’t record it. Unless, they just don’t go? That could work, right? He would just tell you that they didn’t do it this year, and next Halloween they could all go together. The plan was perfect. Except for one thing. 

“Please, Daddy. I really wanna go to this house,” his daughter frowned, crossing her arms in frustration. 

“Immy, please just listen to Dad, okay. Not this house.” His daughter was persistent and adorable, which made this incredibly difficult. 

“No. I want to go to this one.” 

“Imogen Josephine, when your Dad tells you no, you have to listen.” 

“No! I want to go!” She turned around quickly, running up the driveway to the house. Spencer rolled his eyes in annoyance, chasing after her. She was running quickly, not paying attention to her surroundings. It was a disaster waiting to happen, and Spencer knew it. But he couldn’t catch up to her before disaster struck. She tripped over one of the decorations, falling on the pavement and falling on her arm. 

“Ow!” She yelled, her eyes filling with tears as she sat on the ground. Spencer caught up with her, immediately getting on the ground and checking on her. 

“Imogen! This is why you listen to me when I tell you no!” He yelled in frustration, trying to see just how bad her scrapes and cuts were. 

“Don’t yell at me!” She responded, now fully crying and screaming. 

“I’m sorry, peanut. I didn’t mean to get mad,” Spencer responded, wiping the tears from her cheeks and picking her up. 

“My arm really hurts,” she wept, holding her now swollen wrist away from them. 

“Okay, peanut, I think we need to go to the hospital and get that checked out,” Spencer instructed, carrying his daughter down the street and back towards their car. He knew you were going to kill him when he got a call from the hospital. He felt sick to his stomach as he got Immy in the car and started driving. What an absolute nightmare. Maybe he couldn’t do it without you. Maybe his skills as a parent were only valid if you were around to watch him. 

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥

Seeing all of the cute kids in their costumes was definitely making you feel better. You knew you had to trust Spencer. He was an amazing Dad and husband, and he would always take care of your girl. You knew he would. 

But, everything seemed to fall apart in about five minutes. It all started when you went to check Spencer’s location, a bad habit that you knew wouldn’t solve anything. When it popped up that he couldn’t be located, you felt your stomach flip and your heart skip a beat. 

“Damnit Spence. Charge your fucking phone…” you whispered, shaking your head and digging your nails into your palms. It was okay, though. He was fine, they were fine. Right? 

And then the worst possible thing could’ve happened. You felt a weird pain in your abdomen, one that caused you to nearly double over and fall on the floor. Only a few seconds later, it made sense. Your water broke. 

You weren’t due for another two weeks. This could not be happening. There’s no way. But another contraction a few minutes later made it clear- you were having your baby, and Spencer had no phone. Holy shit. 

You reached for your phone and instinctively called JJ, telling yourself it was because she lived the closest but also knowing she was the only person who could handle being in the delivery room with you if you couldn’t find your husband. 

“I’m going to kill him,” you screamed into the phone, not even bothering to greet your friend or explain the situation. 

“Woah, okay kiddo. What’s going on?” 

“His phone is dead, and I am having this damn baby. I am going to kill him.” 

“Oh, Jesus (Y/N). Okay… um… we can figure this out. Do you know what neighborhood they're in?” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay, I’ll send Will to go drive around and look for them. In the meantime, I am coming to pick you up and take you to the hospital. Just relax, take a few deep breaths. Everything will be fine.” 

You hung up the call and grabbed your hospital bag, patiently waiting by the door. JJ was only about ten minutes away, but it felt like you were waiting for hours. You tried calling Spencer’s phone a few times, but it went right to voicemail. This could not be happening. Holy shit, this could not be happening. 

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥

Spencer pulled into the emergency room parking lot, whipping his car through the lines as his daughter cried in the backseat. He finally found a spot, parking terribly and quickly grabbing Imogen. 

“We’re here now, peanut, everything’s gonna be okay,” he reassured her, not truly believing the words himself. His heart was racing, his breath shaky and his mind going a million miles a minute. He needed to talk to you as soon as possible- he needed you to tell him, and your daughter, everything would be okay. 

“Hi, um, my daughter fell and hurt her arm. I just need to get her checked in,” he spoke, his voice quick and panicky as he stood at the desk. 

“Of course. What’s her name and date of birth?” The woman asked, smiling kindly at the two of them. 

“Imogen Josephine Reid. She was born April 8th, 2017.”

“Oh, wonderful, I’ve got her file right here. Let’s get her admitted.” 

Spencer stood impatiently, holding his daughters hand as she stood next to him, watching the secretary take her sweet time to admit Imogen. Spencer was tapping his foot in frustration, which Imogen quickly noticed, placing her free hand on his knee and telling him to stop. Spencer just laughed at his daughter, who was always so unapologetic, always just telling people whatever thoughts came to her head. 

“Oh no, this is not good,” a familiar voice behind him said. He turned around quickly and saw JJ, a nauseated look on her face. 

“What are you doing here…” Spencer asked, furrowing his brows in confusion. She appeared just fine, and she wasn’t with anyone else. 

“Spencer, don’t freak out, but-” 

“SPENCER REID!” You yelled, your face red and voice fuming. 

“Wait, what is going on?” Spencer looked at you, confused, as you were being wheeled into the emergency room by a nurse.  

“Why are you at the emergency room, Spencer? What happened to Imogen?” 

“Hi Mommy! I fell and hurt my arm!” Imogen responded, her face stained with tears and her costume ripped from the fall. 

“What?” You were seething, staring at Spencer with wide eyes. You were about to yell again, but your whole body seized and pain shot through your body. Another contraction. They were getting closer, and you knew it was only a matter of time before this baby came out. You whined loudly, gripping onto the arm of the chair and closing your eyes in pain. 

“We need to get you in a room now, Mrs. Reid,” the nurse instructed, looking at JJ and Spencer. 

“Wait… are you… are we having a baby?” Spencer’s eyes got wide, excitement filling his face as he realized what was going on. 

“Yes, Spencer. Maybe you could try to not let this one break their arm,” you yelled, immediately noticing Spencer’s shit in tone as you yelled at him. 

“Okay, okay, everyone. I’m sure what happened with Immy was an accident, right Spence?” 

“Yes, yes I promise. She was running and tripped…” 

“See, (Y/N)! Just an accident. So why don’t I take her to go see the Doctor and you guys can go… have your baby,” JJ smiled, doing her best to handle the situation. She was used to dealing with yours and Spencer's chaos. She was also Imogen’s godmother, and she did not take that role lightly. 

“Okay… okay… let’s go have our baby.” 

“Let’s go have our baby!” 

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥

On November 1st, 2020, at 1:17 AM, your second daughter was born. You weren’t shocked at all when the doctors told you it was a girl, but Spencer was at a loss for words. They wrapped your small newborn in a blanket and handed her back to you. You were even more in love with her than you thought possible, and so was your husband. 

JJ and Imogen were in the waiting room, along with Will and the rest of the team. Immy’s arm was fine- nothing more than a bad bruise. They had given her a halloween ice pack and a bag full of candy, to which JJ allowed her to have a little too much, and she crashed from the sugar rush pretty hard. She was passed out in Uncle Rossi’s arms, drooling chocolate all over his pajamas. 

“Guys… she’s here.” Spencer smiled, walking out of the delivery room to share the news with his family. 

“She? Another girl? I knew it. You owe me twenty bucks, Derek,” Garcia giggled, Derek rolling his eyes in response. 

“Can we meet her?” JJ asked, happy to have another little girl to spoil. 

“Of course. Come on!” 

Rossi woke Imogen up, who was thrilled to meet her baby sister. Everyone walked quietly into the room, where you were holding your sleeping daughter in your arms. You were overjoyed to see all of them, knowing they would always be your family, and the first to meet your baby, because they were her family, too. 

“Mommy!” Immy yelled, running towards you. 

“Shh, be quiet, peanut. She’s sleeping!” 

“Got it. Quiet.” Immy whispered, giggly as she looked down on her little sister. 

“She looks like you, Spence,” Emily laughed, lightly grabbing Spencer’s shoulder. 

“Do you remember how much Imogen looked like (Y/N) when she was born?” JJ asked, smiling down at the two girls. 

“We now have a clone of each of us. It’s only a matter of time before we take over the world,” Spencer laughed, his arm wrapped around you and the baby. 

“What’s her name?” Hotch asked.

“Lola. Lola Danielle Reid.” 

“Welcome to the BAU, Lola.” 

[villainousshakespeare]

Putting It Back Together Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Adam/OFC

Rated M (will probably change to E) - Grief, angst, eventual smut, mention of characters dead before the start of the story, blood, slow burn

Summary: Since the death of his beloved Eve, Adam had been barely living, only alive due to a promise he made to her. Then one night he meets his new neighbor, a woman dealing with grief of her own. Will they help each other heal or drive each other crazy?

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @gorgeous1974 @maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1​ @poetic-fiasco​ @shiningloki​ @dangertoozmanykids101​ @bookworm-christina​ @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy​ @amwolowicz​ @delightfulheartdream​ @frostbitten-written​ @what-a-flammable-heart​ @tom-hlover​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @myraiswack​

If you would like on or off the tag list, please let me know!

Hunched over his desk, Adam scowled at the blank staff on the music composition page before him. In his mind he could hear the notes that he had composed two nights ago but when he tried to concentrate and write them down they refused to stay clear in his brain. Twice already he had crumpled up the dried out old paper and hurled it across the room. Now, after his pen scratched through another mistake, he swept the entire pile of paper off the desk.

Leaning back in his wingchair, he glared across the room. It was all the fault of that thing. There against the wall, clashing with his dark hued room, sat a garishly bright neon yellow tool bag. It was not just that it was an eye sore, though that was bad enough. Really, who in their right mind would purchase anything so hideous? It was the knowledge that it belonged to her. That horrid, sobbing girl who had cried all over him last night.

Adam suppressed a shiver as he remembered it. She had clung to him like a python, face buried in his chest has he flailed to find a way to calm her. He had been so startled by the way she melted into him he had not known what to do. He was no longer, he realized, used to experiencing any form of physical contact.

She was tiny. That had been his first, irrelevant observation. Her watery face had only come up to the middle of his chest. She was also surprisingly warm. Holding her felt so different, so very different than holding Eve had felt. His late wife had been nearly as tall as he was, and like him she lacked the blood pumping through her veins to warm her in the night air.

Blood. That was the next, unshakable realization. She was full of throbbing, pulsing blood. Adam could sense it coursing through her, adding a flush to her face and a beat to the chest pressed against his stomach. With her hair piled as it was on top of her head he could see clearly the blue tinted vein running down her long neck. Staring at it, he felt his animal side begin to stir within him.

It had been ten years since Adam had eaten from a living person. On that desperate night in Tangier it had been a matter of life or death, him or the young woman unfortunate enough to cross his path when he was literally starving. He had turned the girl, and Eve had done the same to her lover. They had given them immortality, curse or gift depending on your mindset. In the end, it hadn't mattered. Both of them had died along with Eve when tainted blood had been sold to them. Adam would have been dead too, had he not been out scouring a rare bookshop for a gift for his beloved.

Years later, the proximity of a carotid artery, just there for the taking, caused a physical sensations within him. Adam could feel his fangs fighting to descend. Alarmingly, he could also feel his cock hardening in his jeans. Live feeding was not the only thing he had gone without for years. The small woman in his arms, so helpless and so unaware of her peril, was all but begging to be devoured in all sorts of ways. He could imagine tearing away her clothes and sinking into her, first his cock then his fangs, as he satisfied his cravings upon her unsuspecting body. Had Adam been other than what he was, had he not had all of those centuries with Eve to civilize him, she would have been done for.

Instead, he had clumsily patted her on the back, eyes rolling in his head as he did so. He could not quite bring himself to mouth the platitudes he knew she would expect of him, but he did his best to bite back the sarcasm that was his defensive habit. She had lost someone herself, and while the pain of losing someone known only for one short lifetime could never compare to the loss he had suffered, it still touched a chord within him. He knew the deep, unending pain of love taken too soon.

When at last she had managed to breath regularly again, Adam had quickly walked her back to the hatch that led to her own home. She had uttered a ceaseless string of apologies that he neither wanted nor needed, and he had mumbled something inane in return, sounding for all the world like just another zombie. The relief he felt when he shut the hatch behind her had almost brought him to his knees. And yet...

She had been so very warm. So warm and so alive. Irritating and encroaching, yes, but her questions about his electric system had been intelligent, and her observations startlingly apt. He was used to zombies being disinterested, focused so inward on their own petty problems that they didn't see what was right in front of their faces.

Her face had been pretty, the thought ran through his head. A little older than he had expected at first, though they all seemed young to him. Big eyes, full lips, high, almost elfin cheekbones.

With a growl, Adam stood up and stalked over to the offensive yellow tool bag. He should have left it up on the roof. She would have realized it was missing eventually and gone back up for it. But the skies had looked threatening, and he didn't want her tools to rust. It was a matter of conservation, he assured himself. Not wanting to do something nice for a zombie. Certainly not that.

He obviously was not going to be able to concentrate with the hideous thing in his home. He would take it back over to her. The home she lived in had a double style doorway; if he was lucky the outer door would be open and he could leave it between them. No need to see her again. The last thing he needed was to be dragged into another encounter with her.

Pulling his leather jacket on without bothering with a shirt, Adam grabbed the tool bag and headed for his front door. Best to get this over with. Yanking open the door in his rush, he collided with something soft and with a shock watched the very person he had been hoping to avoid fall backwards off of his front stoop.

"Fuck!" she yelped, as she toppled down.

Adam blinked as she looked up at him from the ground where she sat inelegantly on her ass.

"Are you alright?" he asked as sense returned to him.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," she smiled unconvincingly at him. "Luckily I don't have too far to fall."

"I was going out and didn't expect you to be there," he mumbled.

He heard the accusation in his voice, but didn't seem to be able to help it. What the hell had she been doing there?

"Of course not," she blushed. "Um... would you mind?"

She held out her hand and Adam gasped. Her palm was scratched from breaking her fall, and a small pattern of blood was beading up on the skin. Instinctively he took a step back at the same time his head moved forward with a will of its own. The woman looked at him with confusion, and he forced himself calm down. Why the fuck hadn't he put on gloves?

Working hard to control the trembling of his hands, he reached out and helped her to stand. Hyper aware of the siren call of her blood he pulled his hands back as fast as he possibly could, hoping she didn't notice the way they trembled. Fortunately for him she seemed too concentrated on her own discomfort.

"Did you want something?" he asked brusquely when she had gotten her balance back.

"Not really. Well, I mean, yes. To... to apologize. For last night. For crying all over you. Sorry."

"No need," he told her "Forget about it. I have."

"Oh. Well, okay then," she stood for a moment worrying at her lower lip, and he noticed again how full her mouth was. "Were you going somewhere?"

"Out," he said tersely, old habits dying hard. As he saw her flinch, he made his tone soften. "Actually, I was going to see you."

"Really?" he eyes lit up, and Adam felt a panic that he could not place.

"Yes. You left this on the roof last night. I thought you might want it back."

"Oh," she said again, face falling once more. "Thanks."

"Think nothing of it," he said, grimacing. Why was she just standing there? "Well, see you."

"Yeah," she blinked up at him.

"Alright then."

Honestly, wasn't she ever going to move? Giving up, Adam gave her the closest he could muster to a half smile and turned back inside, shutting the door behind him in her face.

Only when the wood was solid between them did he shakily raise his hand in front of his face. There, crimson in the dim light of his apartment, was a smear of her blood. Unable to control himself any longer, he brought his hand to his mouth and desperately sucked the sticky liquid off, moaning with the taste of it. So fresh, so pure, so sweet.

Falling back on the sofa conveniently behind him, he realized he was hard again. Licking to make sure he had gotten every last drop, he stroked himself with his other hand. If he was picturing a certain set of wide eyes and lush lips, it was only because their owner's blood was still hot in his mouth. There could not possibly be any other reason.

***

Well, that had been an unmitigated disaster.

Lilly held the bag of frozen peas to her ass and tried not to dwell on how thoroughly she had humiliated herself. If that was an example of her improving her image she obviously needed to never leave the house again. She was not fit to be around other people. Certainly not fit to be around someone so flawless as her neighbor.

Good lord, when he had walked out the door and into her, it was like being hit with a load of bricks. Lying there on her backside staring up at him, Lilly had been almost stuck dumb by the sight. She had thought he was beautiful from a distance, or in the dark light of the roof. Standing as he was in a halo of porch light he was almost god-like. It did not help that his black leather jacket was parted to reveal a very well muscled chest and abdomen. Lilly's eyes traveled the length of him from the bob of his adam's apple, over his defined pecs and six pack, and down to the thin trail of hair and the vee that drew her eyes past the edge of his low slung jeans.

Sweet bajeebas, but he was perfect. She was hardly the same species. What had she been thinking?

The playing began sometime later that night, around midnight. Lilly was hunched of a jigsaw puzzle she had found in a cupboard. Her Grandmother had loved to do them, and Lilly had caught the bug. She had lost count of the number of nights she had stayed up obsessively putting them together, unable to go to bed until she had found just one more piece, only to see the sun rise as she finished it.

The wail of a guitar came through the wall, sounding plaintive and introspective. Lilly had been drawn to all of the music she had heard from him so far. His melodies were complex, and he seemed to favor minor keys. Her Grandmother would have liked it as well. No doubt she had enjoyed hearing the strains come through the thin walls. Certainly she would have preferred it to the fighting and drunken antics of the students that had always assailed them before.

Lilly found herself humming along to his playing. She loved music, even if she was self-conscious of her voice. Having a Grandmother who had made a career of crooning songs in smoky clubs made her all too aware of her own deficiency.

There was something so comforting about music. It was almost mathematical in the way it worked. Patterns created and repeated, only to be subverted and return in a new and unexpected ways. If the composer was good, that was. Her neighbor was very good.

Of course he would be good. God forbid he be less than perfect at anything.

So when he kept reaching the end of a delicate passage, only to end on a note that didn't quite resolve the phrase. Lilly could hear the frustration in his fingers clearly through the layers of sheet rock that separated them. At first it amused her; so he was fallible after all. Good. She allowed herself to take a superior pleasure in his failure.

By the time it was approaching two in the morning, she was ready to scream. She was over halfway done with her puzzle - a scene of Paris at night, all lit up - but was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate. Her gorgeous, grouchy neighbor must have played through the piece a hundred times, and every time it ended wrong. It was driving her insane. He was so close to finishing it. Every time he hit the not quite right note she felt her entire body twitch. She could only imagine how he was feeling.

It started one more time. Lilly held her breath, willing him to find what was right there, waiting to be put in place. The final phrase started, she scrunched her face, waiting to hear it fixed. The note he played was achingly close, but not quite what the song cried out for.

"Half a step lower!" she screamed out, unable to resist any longer.

The music stopped. Everything went silent on the other side of the wall. Now she had done it. Lilly could see him, glaring at the wall with that intense, closed off set of blue eyes. She was inordinately happy now that a solid hunk of material kept them apart. Any hope of a friendship developing between her and her haughty crush had surely been dashed now. And all because she could not control her stupid impulses.

After a stretch that seemed like forever, a length of time where Lilly died and was forced back into existence repeatedly, the music started up again. She made herself a small lump in the corner of her sofa, as if somehow she could hide even though it was impossible for him to see her. If she could have fit below the cushions she would have.

He reached to end and after the slightest of pauses he played the note she had suggested. It sounded perfect. The chord rang out, slowly fading, and she felt a small smile fighting to exist on her lips.

The music stopped abruptly again, and for the rest of the night only silence greeted her through the wall between them.

[siren1song]

Can’t Get Enough

Summary: Janus, Roman, and Virgil are planning to go out, but Virgil is taking way too long for Roman’s liking.

Warnings: None that I know of

Pairing: Anaroceit

Word Count: 882

General Taglist: @acanvasofabillionsuns, @emo-disaster, @greenninjagal-blog, @jungle321jungle, @sleepy-sides, @gattonero17, @another-sandersidesblog, @strawberryjellystuff, @logic-with-a-pinch-of-deceit, @gr3ml1n-loser, @main-chive, @orca-iguana, @spooky-scary-virgil, @yalltookmyurlideas, @sanderssidesweirdo, @stormypaint, @just-a-little-bit-gay-oops, @dying-is-a-hobby, @rose-gold-roman, @the-angry-ship, @rosesisupposes, @just-perhaps

Notes: I wrote this for @firey-alex‘s birthday!! It was really cute and I know it’s not exactly traditional flower shop/tattoo parlor au, but I hope you enjoy it all the same! (Yes, I know your birthday is in three days. No I will not wait to post this.)

Commissions!! | Buy Me a Kofi!! | Join Casper’s Crew!! | Ao3 Link!!

“Virgil!”

“Shut it, Royal Pain in my Ass! I’m still getting my binder on!”

“You’re taking thirty minutes to put on your binder?”

Janus sighed quietly, watching as his boyfriend did his best to drape himself dramatically over the rail for the stairs while he whined for their third boyfriend to come down the stairs.

“It’s been like… Ten minutes, Ro,” Virgil said, finally making an appearance at the top of the stairs, rolling his eyes with a fond smile directed towards the pouting drama king.

“That is still way too long to get dressed, UV Light of my life.”

Well that was an interesting one. Janus gave Roman props for creativity instead of falling back on Black Knight again.

“Did you just call me a UV Light?” Virgil asked, grabbing a plaid button up from a doorknob and shaking it out as he began to descend the stairs.

Roman and Virgil continued to bicker, but as soon as Virgil reached the halfway point, Janus’ eyes zeroed in on his shoulder and it took him two seconds to recognize the flowers layered vibrantly under his skin.

“Love bite, what’s that?” Janus asked, speaking up to interrupt Roman’s next quip and draw everyone’s attention to Virgil’s left shoulder where a poppy and a magnolia resided.

“Vee!” Roman gasped, though instead of putting his hand to his chest in mock offense like Janus had expected, he took a step up.

“Roman I swear to God if my railing breaks-” Virgil started, though he was laughing as Roman attempted to manhandle him closer to get a closer look at the tattooed flowers.

“This is not my work! Where did you get these done, Cauldron of love? Is this why you haven’t been changing your shirts in front of us the last month?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow at Roman, and Janus cleared his throat in an attempt to cover up a laugh.

“Roman, sweetheart, did you just admit to wanting to see my abs?” Virgil teased, his laughter flaring up again when Roman froze and then promptly let go of him to get his feet properly on the ground, instead of slotted between the railing to stand on one of the steps.

“I can’t help that your night hobby makes you eye candy, Virge,” Roman mumbled.

Janus cleared his throat again, then pulled himself off of Virgil’s couch so he could wrap his arms around Roman’s waist and place his chin on his shoulder, guiding the shorter man until they were able to face Virgil while he was on the first floor of the house with them.

“Roman is right, Love bite. You are very-” he punctuated the word with a quick once over of his boyfriend and a smirk, “pleasing to the eye.”

With Virgil’s face now red, the man huffed and turned away while he returned to putting on his usual purple plaid button up.

To avoid looking at them while he calmed down his own flusteredness no doubt.

“Okay, water bottles are in the fridge, you assholes, I’m not dealing with your thirstiness today,” Virgil said, swinging the shirt around his shoulders so he could slip his arms through the sleeve.

Janus and Roman watched him for a moment, watching the way the fabric hid well toned arms and the new tattoo of the flowers.

“Darling of the knight, did you pick those flowers for the colors or the meanings?” Roman asked, leaning back against Janus, who tightened his grip on the shorter man’s waist.

Virgil hummed, flipping the collar to lay flat and starting to roll up his sleeves while he thought, glancing at the two of them after a moment.

“More colors than meanings honestly, didn’t really feel like digging through flower meaning websites for something decent and no way was I gonna ask Janus when it was supposed to be a surprise.”

Janus couldn’t help the smile that spread along his face. He didn’t necessarily need to know flower meanings to own his flower shop. Flower arranging was more what looked pretty and worked well together, but he tended to familiarize himself anyway.

“Ah, and that’s why you risked another artist’s work. I suppose I can forgive you then, and you got lucky in this sense anyway, they’re very well done- wait.”

Virgil froze, looking at Roman who was scrutinizing him.

Janus wondered if their prince noticed the smile Virgil was fighting back or not.

“You did not!” Roman protested, pulling at Janus’ arms to try and get out of his grasp.

There was a pause, Virgil’s grin broke free in a silent admission of the “treachery” that was going to Remus’ own tattoo parlor, and Janus held tighter for just a moment.

“I suggest running love, I don’t think he’ll stop until he “punishes” you with kisses,” he warned, earning a blown kiss from Virgil before he bolted towards the front door and Roman finally got free.

Janus sighed, feeling his heart swell as he thought back on how when they’d met Virgil the man was facepainting a small child and make jokes to keep her smiling while he wouldn’t give them the time of day.

Oh how far they’ve come. Janus hoped “how far” would stretch into the rest of their lives. It would certainly make living worthwhile.

[aquietwritingcorner]

Writers Month Day 1: Protective/School Word Count: 3165 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: G/K Characters: Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye Warning: NA Summary: Fourteen-year-old Roy Mustang makes some observations about ten-year-old Riza Hawkeye, and decides to do something about it Notes: Young Roy and Riza friendship is cute! AO3 || ff.net

 ____________________________________________

 Protective/School

 Fourteen-year-old Roy Mustang sauntered down the road, a carefree smile on his face. The day was a warm with a breeze, the perfect day for a walk into town, as far as he was concerned. He had finished all of the work that Master Hawkeye had assigned him, and Master Hawkeye was focused on his research at the moment. So focused, in fact, that he had handed Roy a list of supplies and told him to go to town and take his time. Naturally, Roy had taken his master’s request to heart.

Roy didn’t come into town too often, despite having been here over a year. Usually, he was kept busy with his studies, and when something was needed from town, young Miss Riza seemed to usually have it taken care of. Actually, she seemed to have most things taken care of. She took care of the house, the garden, the animals, the meals, hunting, and her schoolwork too. Honestly, Roy had no idea how the ten-year-old did it. He wasn’t half as responsible at her age. Then again, he had a lot of older sisters to look after him. Miss Riza had no one.

Still, he wasn’t about to waste a chance to take a walk into town and get out of the stuffy Hawkeye Manor. He wanted to socialize with people, see what was new, and wave at some of the girls. The girls here seemed to find him charming, and he just couldn’t disappoint them, now, could he?

Roy figured that most of the girls around his age were either working or in school at the moment, so showing off would be a little more difficult. He knew, though, that his path would take him by the school. He could at least wave to the girls who saw him through the windows of the one-room schoolhouse. Maybe he’d even take his time and walk back by when school let out. He couldn’t help the grin that grew on his face as he thought about that.

His grin faded, however, as he grew close to the school yard. Most of the voices he could hear came from inside the building, but he caught wind of a few that were coming from outside of it. He frowned, not liking the tone of the voices at all. They seemed harsh, and he had to wonder what was going on.

The voices weren’t coming from the side of the school that faced the road, and so Roy, not liking what he was hearing, walked on to the school property with just a minor glance around. No one was outside to stop him. He had just rounded the corner when he saw a water bucket being thrown down, and a familiar girl shoved back. He watched with wide eyes as she tripped over the bucket, tumbling down, and the three boys laughing at her.

“Can’t even carry a bucket of water!” one of them was saying. “How useless are you? Even your own dad replaced you!”

Riza said nothing, just stayed put, and kept her eyes down.

Roy saw red, and he quickly strode forward. “Hey!” he called out, grabbing all of their attention. “What are you doing?”

One of the boys—Thompson, Roy thought his family name was—turned towards him. He was bigger than Roy, but Roy wasn’t going to let that stop him. “It’s none of your business, City Boy,” he sneered.

Roy knelt by Riza’s side, reaching down to help the younger girl up, but his eyes stayed on the three boys in front of them. It had been a while, but he had scrapped plenty of times back in the city. These were unfair numbers, and he was pretty sure that these boys were stronger than he was, but he couldn’t just let this happen. Especially not to Miss Riza.

Before any of them could reply, the bell began ringing, indicating a break, and students came running out of the doors. The boys obviously didn’t want an audience, because they moved away with little more than sneers and muttered promises about “next time.”

Roy watched them for a moment, before turning his attention back to Riza. The girl was on her feet now, trying to brush off her dress, and wasn’t looking at him. Roy reached down for the water bucket, holding it out to Riza.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

Her cheeks flushed, and she grabbed the water bucket from him. “I’m fine,” she said defiantly.

“Are you sure?” Roy asked her again, not sure he believed her.

This time she did look up at him, glaring at him with such ferocity that he nearly took a step back. “I’m fine!” she snapped at him again, and then turned abruptly with the water bucket in her hands.

Not sure of what else to do, he followed her. “I’m sorry, Miss Riza. I just wanted to be sure.”

He watched as she attached the bucket to the rope and lowered it down into the well. “Well now you’re sure,” she said. “So go away. You shouldn’t be here anyway. You should be studying whatever my father left for you to do, so I could have just dealt with that like normal and moved on with the day.”

Roy’s brow crinkled at her words, but he moved passed them quickly. “I’m out on an errand for your father. I think he wanted to be left alone to research today.”

Riza’s lips pursed, and she hesitated only a moment before she began pulling the bucket back up. “Then it’s best you and I both stay away until time to fix supper,” she said, not pausing once in what she was doing. “Although you can probably risk going back sooner than I can.” She had the bucket back at the top by now and turned away with it in her hands. “I will see you this evening, Mr. Mustang.”

It was a clear dismissal, something he had gotten used to from the younger girl. Still, he couldn’t help but stare after her as she made her way back up the hill towards the schoolhouse. Something about what she had said bothered him. He didn’t want to let it go, but he wasn’t sure what else he could do.

Frowning, Roy reluctantly turned away. He had no business being here, and Roy was pretty sure that, if someone had been watching him this whole time, he had vastly overstayed his welcome. Roy continued on into town, taking his time there. Chris sent him a little pocket money each month, although he didn’t always have the chance to use it. Maybe today he would.

It was lunch time before he drifted back towards the school, sandwich in hand. The students were out as well, and Roy scanned them to see if he could see Riza. She wasn’t in amongst the other girls who were sitting together and eating. She wasn’t over with the younger kids who were playing. He didn’t even see her among the boys, which, after this morning, was a relief. He finally spotted her up near the school building, looking as if she were emptying out some water. He frowned. Was she working through lunch? Maybe she was in trouble.

“Roy!” A voice caught his ear and he looked over to see Cassidy Wiseman waving at him. “What are you doing here?”

He grinned and made his way over to her and the other older girls. “Just getting some supplies. Master Hawkeye is doing some research and sent me to town for him.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, grinning at him and batting her eyes a bit. “And what brings you by the school?”

“Curiosity,” he said with a grin. The girls tittered with laughter, and movement caught his eye again. It was Riza, still up near the schoolhouse. His own smile faded a bit. “Say, Cass, think you could answer a question for me?”

“For you Roy, anything.”

He gave her another dashing grin. “What’s up with Riza? Did she get in trouble or something?”

Cassidy and the other girls glanced up to where Riza was just emptying something else. Cassidy’s smile faded a little. “Her?” she snorted. “No. She sticks around the school a lot. Teacher’s pet, that’s what she’s trying to be. Besides, even on the days when she’s not doing work for the teacher, she’s always doing something else like reading, or doing calculations or something. She’s a bit… odd. Never does anything with us, even if she has food.”

“She is odd,” one of the others pipped in. “What’s with her hair? She always keeps it so short.”

“I heard she cut it off so her father can’t use it in alchemic experiments.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Nah, it’s because she’s trying to hard to be a boy. I mean, the short hair, the hunting—and look at her dresses. Patched and bare and out of style and never any stockings.”

“She’s hardly respectable.”

“She’ll never find herself anyone that way.”

“Can you imagine what a disaster it’ll be when she finally starts maturing?”

The girls laughed, but Roy ignored their gossip for the moment, his eyes back on Riza. Things were starting to add up for him. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Forgot something Master wanted me to do.”

Without so much as a goodbye, Roy made his way across the school yard and towards the building. “Hey! Hey, Miss Riza!”

Riza stopped, wastebasket in her hands and glared up at him. “What do you want, Mr. Mustang?” she asked him.

He didn’t miss the way that her eyes lingered on his sandwich for just a moment. “Not much. I mean, it looks like you’re busy. But, well, I bought this sandwich, and I only really wanted a half. I thought you might be interested in the other half.”

Her eyes lit up with interest, but they were quickly guarded again. “And why should I need you to give me anything?”

Right. Her pride. Even at ten she was stubborn. “You don’t,” he said with a shrug. “But it won’t last more than a few hours, probably. I didn’t want it to go to waste.”

She looked at him for a long moment, then sighed, setting the waste basket down. “Alright,” she said. “It wouldn’t do to have something go to waste—at least, no more to waste then buying a sandwich that you can make for free is already.”

She held her hand out, and he reached into his bag and pulled it out for her, giving it to her with a grin. “Hope you enjoy it!” he said.

She just frowned at him. “Thank you,” she said, fairly quietly.

There was an awkward pause, and Roy wasn’t sure what to do next. “Uh, say,” he said. “I still have to finish my half. Any chance I can sit here and eat it with you?”

Riza blinked at him in surprise. “Wouldn’t you rather go eat with the other girls?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “Nah. They’re busy talking about dresses and hair. I get enough of that from my sisters.”

“Oh.”

He glanced at Riza, but she wasn’t looking at him, just at her sandwich. After a moment, she sat down, and he did as well. But he kept an eye on her as they ate, noticing how her hand came up to her brush her short locks more often than normal.

Lunch was a short affair, and soon he was off, killing more time and exploring the town and the surrounding area. He supposed he could go back to the Hawkeye house, but instead he felt the need to stick around. By the time that school let out that day, Roy was waiting nearby, the supplies Master Hawkeye had requested with him, and a bag of apples as well. He smiled and waved at the girls that walked by, smirked at a boy or two who looked at him jealously, and then grinned when Riza walked up to him. In the distance he could see the boys from earlier scowling at him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him, hands on her hips.

He shrugged. “I had to take all of this stuff back anyway. I just thought it made sense to go back together.” He paused and held out an apple to her. “Apple?”

Riza still looked at him a little suspiciously, but after a moment she agreed. They worked out the packages among them, and started walking back towards the Hawkeye home, Roy doing most of the talking on the way, but Riza chiming in a little.

Over the next few weeks Master Hawkeye stayed focused on his research, giving Roy some work to do, but mostly leaving the boy on his own to self-teach. He did his assigned work, attempted to help out around the house, and did a lot of exploring of the area. It gave Roy a lot more time to talk to Riza too, and he found himself paying a bit more attention to the things she said or the ways that she acted. He had always known that she was treated poorly by her father. But before now, he hadn’t realized that she was having trouble with other kids as well. It was only when she came home one day, her dress torn, and Riza herself looking roughed up, that Roy decided to take matters into his own hands.

Roy liked Riza. Yeah, she was four years younger than him, but she usually seemed a lot older than that. Besides, when you got through her shell, she was funny, caring, and more than capable. He hadn’t quite breeched it yet, but he had seen glimpses of it. He genuinely liked the younger girl, like she was a little sister or a neighborhood kid that he was fond of or something.

It was with that feeling in mind that Roy made the decision to walk Riza home from school every day that he could manage it. Riza was suspicious of him at first, but she could find no real reason to object. The few objections that she did bring up—usually that he should be studying or else her father would be mad—he quickly dismissed. After all, what was alchemy without practical application? And wouldn’t that be better done outside?

Even as the fall temperatures moved further from the warm summer and towards the cold winter, Roy found himself keeping up this habit. Riza slowly started to warm to it as well, coming to expect him. She offered him little smiles, and small bits of biting humor as they walked. When the harvest came in, he would pick her up with things like apples and squash in bags, and she would turn them into meals and desserts. As the weather grew colder, his jacket often found its way around her shoulders.

Even at the Hawkeye Manor, their relationship improved. He would often sit at the kitchen table with her to study or puzzle out texts out loud in front of her. She would do her homework and start cooking. Roy started doing alchemy around the house more, supposedly as “practice” but really as an excuse to fix up what he could and help Riza in any way possible.

It was only when he presented her with a nice, warm winter coat—one made from several too small and too thin coats he had used as source material—that she questioned him.

She took the coat from him, the coat a soft, deep blue with black buttons, thick wool and in a fashion that he had knew was a classic style his sisters love. She felt it, but didn’t say anything, and his enthusiasm for the gift started to fade.

“Miss Riza?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

For a moment she didn’t say anything, just kept her head bowed over that coat, her thumbs stroking the material.

“I don’t understand,” she finally said.

His brows scrunched up. “What do you mean?”

She looked up at him, and he was surprised to see tears in the corner of her eyes. “I don’t understand,” she repeated again. “You walk me home. You buy things I like. You help me around the house. You fix things. You help me with my schoolwork. You seek me out to spend time with me. And now you’ve given me a coat.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand, Mr. Mustang. I’m no one. I’m just a ten-year-old girl who isn’t smart enough to learn alchemy. My own father doesn’t pay attention to me. But… you do all of these things. I don’t understand why.”

Roy was stunned. It had never occurred to him that she might feel this way. “Well, I mean… because I care, Miss Riza.”

Her head jerked up at him at that, eyes wide, almost as if she had been struck. And then, she was whirling away from him, coat still in hand. “You shouldn’t,” she said. “Thank you for the coat, but you should focus on your studies more.”

“Wait.” Roy reached out and grabbed her shoulder. “Miss—Riza. Riza wait.”

She stiffened under his touch, but looked back at him, clearly startled at the lack of formality.

“Why shouldn’t I care?” he asked her. “Why shouldn’t I care about you?”

“Because Father only wants you to care about alchemy. He wants you focused only on that. He won’t stand for distractions, and if he thinks I’m one then… then I’m not sure what he’ll do, but he won’t like it.” She turned to face him a bit more, and he could see that her lip was trembling, and her eyes were wet with tears she hadn’t let fall. “I’m not worth caring about. Your studies are much more important. I—”

“No,” Roy said, and said it so firmly she stopped, and stared at him. “No,” he repeated. “My studies are not more important than you.” He knelt in front of her, digging in his pocket for a handkerchief and using it to wipe her eyes. “Listen to me, Riza. No matter what anyone says or does, you’re worth caring about. Even if I’m the only one who ever does it, you’re worth caring about, okay? But I can promise you that there are plenty of other people out there that will care about you. You just haven’t found them yet. But you are worth caring about.”

She stared at him for a moment longer, trembling, and then she threw herself into his arms, sobbing. He held the young girl, rocking her back and forth as she silently sobbed on him. Roy was fine with this. He’d take care of her while he could, even if that meant walking her home from school every day until she graduated.

No one deserved to think that they weren’t worth caring about. And he’d prove it to her one day.

[svtskneecaps]

Number 17

Vernon Chwe x (gender netural) reader

Words: 5048

Genre: fluff, some pining (does pining count as angst?)

neighbor! childhood friend! aus

you’re feeling the summer listlessness. vernon helps you find something to do

day 35 of a tct summer collab

(holy shit guys i’ve been excited to post this since like, MAY holy shit i hope y’all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it)

(my masterlist)

You shot him a text. Very simple.

vernon i’m going crazy

He shot a text back. Very simple.

why

why do you think? you ask. i don’t know what to do

it’s summer, he says, you can do anything. for example, i’m lying in bed enjoying myself

it’s 1 pm

it’s summer

Who are you to argue with that?

i’m still going crazy. you might be able to stay in bed all day but i’m gonna go insane

so find something to do

i can’t, you say, because it’s true.

all year you were listing hundreds of things you would do when you got the time

i know, you say, i know. but it’s like, now i have the time, but i just feel paralyzed. i don’t know what to do

And you wait for a response and none comes for long enough that you worry you said something that was too weird even for him, but then your screen goes dark and your phone buzzes and his contact is on screen. You answer and his messy bedhead fills your screen.

“You want me to decide?” he asks, and his voice is rough like he just woke up.

“Sure,” you say.

“Try baking something,” he says. “Like chocolate chip cookies or a pie or something.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to eat it.”

“Absolutely,” he mumbles, face still half buried in his pillow. “I can grab a quick shower and come over just in time for the taste test.”

You snicker. “No way, you don’t have the palette for a taste test.”

“Alright, then I’ll put them in the oven and we’ll hit up a couple friends and force them to try it.”

And. . . honestly that doesn’t sound half bad. It’s been five days since you saw anyone outside your immediate family--which is suffocating in its loneliness, after the routine closeness of the year--and maybe that’ll make you feel less paralyzed.

“Okay,” you say.

True to his word, Vernon’s over within thirty minutes, leaning his bike up against yours in the garage. He handles the oven for you, although not without teasing you about the time you burned yourself on the top of the oven while taking out your grandma’s angel food cake at Christmas.

“Well at least I helped you remember how coordinates work,” you say, because you both knew that was the reason you two learned whether to move on the x or y axis so much faster than your classmates.

“At least I know how to keep my skin intact,” he shoots back.

While taking the tray out of the oven he very nearly blisters his thumb and drops the tray; after securing the tray’s safety and running cold water over the blister, once your heartbeat returns to something acceptable, you inform him that instead of cookies he’ll be eating his words, to which he responds with, “At least my words taste good,” and you snap him with the towel. He flicks water at you, and only the fear of having even more to clean up keeps you from starting all out war. You tell him to bring his swimsuit over tomorrow, though. There’s mischief in his eyes as he agrees.

You each balance a tupperware of cooled cookies on your handlebars as you coast through the neighborhood, knocking on doors and handing them out to friends and friends’ parents. Minghao takes three. Seungkwan’s mother trades you two bottles of water, fresh from the fridge, for a cookie and first dibs on the next batch. She takes another one and says it’s to give to Seungkwan when he gets home from acting camp, but winks when she says it. You snap Seungkwan the picture of his mom with the cookie, and he snaps back a picture of himself and Jun making dorky faces demanding you save a few for them because make no mistake we will be swinging by your house when we’re done for the day and we expect cookies you two!

Jeonghan and Joshua aren’t home, but you find them all hanging out in Seungcheol’s pool. Jeonghan asks why you aren’t selling your cookies. “Because this is the taste test,” Vernon says. “We’ll be getting you hooked on this batch and then start charging ten bucks on the next round.” Jeonghan praises your business sense and takes a bite out of Seungcheol’s cookie while he isn’t looking. Seungcheol tackles him into the pool and you leave before the ensuing splash fight can get the cookies wet.

True to their word, Jun pulls into the driveway with Seungkwan in the passenger’s seat and Mingyu in the backseat (they must’ve agreed to carpool with Mingyu after his cooking workshop), and you get nervous because Mingyu’s going to college for baking and everyone knows that out of the group Mingyu is the best cook, but Vernon presents him with a cookie no hesitation and Mingyu tells you they’re amazing, and Vernon gives you this smile as if to say, see, nothing to worry about.

Wednesday, Vernon comes over with his swimsuit and you make a pair of rudimentary signs for a car wash out of an old cardboard box. His is very simple, bubble letters with the address and CAR WASH in all caps. You tried to get a little creative with yours.

“I love it,” Vernon says, crouched next to you as you hover over your sign. “You can almost hear the cloud cow saying ‘graphic design is my passion’.”

You push his shoulder hard enough that he topples over, laughing. “It’s supposed to be a soapy car!”

He’s so proud of himself for that joke that he suggests you start a car wash company instead of going to college. “You can call it Clean Mooters,” he says, as you’re filling your buckets.

You blast him with the hose and he laughs so hard he snorts.

You spend the day covered in soap and water, spraying Vernon with the hose if there isn’t a car to wash and shrieking and trying to dance around behind him every time he gets the hose from you. When the cars stop coming you pack up shop, uprooting the signs and taking them inside, tossing them in the recycling bin.

Thursday it’s raining outside. Vernon comes over anyway. You call him an idiot. “Don’t you know the rain’ll rust your bike?”

He shrugs with a half smile, shrugging off a raincoat that now has a strip of mud up the back where his tires kicked up the dirty street water. “There’s only a hundred and four days of summer vacation,” he says. “I didn’t want to miss one.”

You seize his coat and toss it in the sink, bowing your head to scrub off the mud so he doesn’t see how red your cheeks have become.

You play Mario Kart on the Wii for most of the day (Vernon hits you with a red shell right before you cross the finish line; you hip check him off Rainbow Road), and even as out of practice as the both of you have become over the school year, you’re still pretty well matched. By the time you get bored with that, your mom has texted to say she’s going to need to stay at work a little longer and you might be on your own for dinner. That’s fine, you and Vernon try out a recipe for lasagna that you found on a food blog (buried under the woman’s lengthy story of the time her husband nearly got stomped by a cow. “It’s a sign,” Vernon says, “Clean Mooters is your true calling.” You’d hit him if you weren’t very carefully adding a layer of sauce).

It’s still raining when Vernon has to leave. You stand there, just outside the cover of the garage, watching Vernon shrug on his raincoat.

“You’re gonna get soaked,” he says.

“You say that like I care,” you say, rain beginning to drip down your hair.

He steps out of the garage then, too, standing next to you. You turn your face to the sky, closing your eyes against the heavy drops that splatter against your cheeks.

“You’re gonna catch your death.”

“Says the guy who’s wearing a raincoat with the hood down.” You shove his chest without looking. He catches your hands. You look down.

Your eyes meet.

Vernon drops your hands and coughs. You reach up to brush the water from your forehead, gaze on the ground as your face burns, despite the cool rainwater still sliding down your cheeks.

“I, um, I should go,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say. “See you.”

He hops on his bike and rides away. The rain falls so hard you lose sight of him before he rounds the corner.

Saturday the whole team gets together at Jeonghan’s house, because he has a firepit. Seungkwan is standing on the picnic table when you ride up, in the middle of a dramatic retelling of some odd thing that happened at acting camp. He appears to be fencing Vernon with an imaginary sword, and you can only imagine the context of that story. You don’t announce yourself, for fear of making one of them fall off, and help Wonwoo get the food from the kitchen. Mingyu is already getting set up at the grill (despite being one of the youngest, he’s the only one any parent trusts near the grill; previous block barbeques have ended in disaster that no one’s eager to repeat). Minghao is by the firepit, holding the lighter very tightly, either to keep it away from Soonyoung or to ensure he’s the one to start the fire.

Seungkwan jumps down from the table when Jihoon tells him to, although he continues telling his story in an enthusiastic yell. Vernon meets your eyes and grins, flicking his eyes at Seungkwan like you’re sharing an inside joke like normal, and you can almost forget that moment in the rain ever happened.

Nearby, Jeonghan is filling a plastic baby pool with water. You ask him what it’s for but he just grins and tells you it’s a secret. When it comes to Jeonghan that’s usually cause for concern, but also you’re itchy inside your skin and all you did Friday was pick out a couple songs on the old piano your great grandmother left your family and no matter what the adventure you’re down for it, so you leave him to it. It’s the first bonfire of the summer. You can handle anything.

They get the fire started before Mingyu finishes grilling, the smell of the meat wafting over the yard and making your stomach rumble. Unfortunately, they misjudged the wind direction and half of the chairs are directly in the path of the smoke. There’s a lot of complaining as people rush to shift their chairs out of the way. Vernon ends up next to you in the scramble. You aren’t complaining; now you get to tease him about the way he seasons his food and he’ll tease you back about your tendency to drown your burgers in ketchup.

(except you don’t; you eat quietly and neither of you bring up the other’s habits and somewhere deep down that scares you)

When the sun goes down, Jeonghan and Joshua bring out the alcohol, and everyone who’s old enough drinks.

The baby pool, Jeonghan says, is for the losers of the tournament. The tournament, he says, is simple. And for pairs.

The first challenge is a wheelbarrow race down the street. You thought you and Vernon had a pretty good chance of winning, but then, by some divine magic, Jihoon and Mingyu shoot off and cross the finish line miles before everyone else. Half the group calls bologna because come on they’ve got just about the biggest height difference between them, out of everyone, but Joshua was reffing the starting line and didn’t see any false starts; they won fair and square.

The second challenge is hula hooping. You don’t have much hope for your score, not because you’re bad at hula hooping, but because you’re bad at hula hooping when Vernon is right next to you and also hula hooping. You end up laughing so hard that you lose your hoop within three spins, but in the end it doesn’t matter, because Vernon can carry the team score to victory.

“Who needs eight years of gymnastics?” he asks, and you beam.

The third challenge is a ‘who knows their partner the best’ challenge. Jeonghan put together a list of questions, which he and Joshua list off and give time for each partner to write down both their answer and what they think their partner put. You’re a little scared; you’ve known Vernon for as long as you can remember but sometimes you wonder if you really know him like you think you do. The questions aren’t so bad, simply asking what your partner’s favorite clothing brand is, or what time they get up in the morning, or what they think of pineapple on pizza. You breeze through the questions, until the last one. Joshua lists the final question, which member of the group is their favorite?

Your answer is simple enough, but you aren’t sure of his. Sure, you partnered up, but Seungkwan had all but thrown himself directly at Wonwoo when Jeonghan sent you off to partner and you knew Vernon and Seungkwan had known each other long before you had talked to anyone in the neighborhood or gone to a barbeque or slotted yourself into the dynamic of the block, and you knew he and Joshua had a special sort of friendship because of their similar heritage and you just didn’t know for sure what he would put (especially after the strange moment in the rain; you weren’t sure what it meant and you weren’t sure you wanted to know).

Eventually you write Seungkwan’s name on the sheet and hand the paper to Jeonghan when he comes around to collect. You fidget with your fingers as they tally up the scores. Next to you, Seokmin hops up to either get into a passionate debate with Soonyoung over what his true favorite movie is or to maybe just tackle Soonyoung into the grass. Either way, Vernon slides into his empty chair.

“So what’d you put for number seven?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he means. “Clean Mooters,” you say.

He pumps his fist. “I knew you’d see the light eventually!”

“Well I did get the most tips,” you tease.

“Well of course,” he says, “you’re the best looking, it’s only natural.”

Jeonghan calls out that they’ve tallied up the scores before you can process the full implications of that sentence.

You win that round too. Joshua hands the sheets back, and you carefully fold yours and shove it in your pocket.

You play a few more rounds: the chubby bunny challenge (Mingyu crammed an ungodly amount of marshmallows in his mouth, you almost wanted to go to church after seeing that; he kept going even after he won, until he almost choked and Joshua shut him down), the perfect s’more challenge (which you suspect was just an excuse for Jeonghan to get s’mores without having to make them; Mingyu’s first marshmallow slid off his stick, and the second caught fire; Seungcheol and Chan ended up winning and Seokmin called nepotism), the long jump (Soonyoung got overexcited and misjudged his landing; he landed hard on the cement and although he was totally fine, he would ask Jeonghan at random intervals for bonus points because of his injury with a shit eating grin all the while), and finally, a game of hide and seek.

The hide and seek rules are simple; they’ve been the same since you were old enough to be outside after sunset: don’t go off the block, don’t go inside, don’t leave your partner, and don’t use a light. The tournament judges give you thirty seconds head start. You and Vernon take off down the street and the thrill of the game sings through your bloodstream.

“Think they’ll think to look for us up Mrs. Boo’s tree?” Vernon asks as you run.

“Yeah, you remember Seungcheol did that once and Jeonghan’s never forgotten it, it’s the first place he’ll look.” You pass Chan and Seungcheol as they try to conceal themselves behind the Christmas decorations that Mr. Wilkinson still hasn’t taken down. “Mrs. Kim’s porch?”

“No, she’s got her light on.”

You skid to a halt at the end of the street, chests heaving, both casting around for a hiding space. Down the street, Joshua is beginning to yell, counting down from 10. Vernon tugs your sleeve, and points.

You grin.

Moments later, you resettle the plastic lid onto the box, burying yourselves carefully under the tarp inside and setting a few bricks on your backs for good measure. Mr. Lee is upgrading his yard this summer, and one addition is planned to be a brick footpath, and thankfully he left the tote of bricks out where you could get to it. Holding the tarp firmly in place, with the bricks above you for insurance, if they open the tote and decide to slap the tarp, you would just feel like a full box of footpath bricks.

Perfect.

Of course, it’s a pretty small space and you and Vernon have to lie pretty close to one another in order to fit, and your foot presses against his shin and his elbow is in your stomach, but if you lay there and don’t breathe, you’ll have the game in the bag.

“So,” Vernon says, voice so soft it’s sometimes hardly more than a breath, “what’d you put for number seventeen?”

You think back. “Vernon there was no number seventeen.”

“No?” he asks, with a tone like he’d always known. “Guess I’ll have to make one up.”

You snort, very softly. In the distance, yelling breaks out; Soonyoung and Seokmin just got found.

“How do you feel about long distance relationships?” he asks, so softly you nearly miss it.

Your heart skips a beat. You’re pretty sure he’s implying something but you aren’t sure if it should scare you or not. “I think they’re hard,” you say carefully. “Not impossible. But it takes work from both sides. So it’s hard.”

You hear him inhale like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t, and you feel the breeze from his exhale on your face. Neither of you speak, and you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re listening hard for the seekers or because you have nothing left to say.

The lid of the tote scrapes. You stop breathing. Jeonghan says something above you, drowned out by the beating of your heart. He pulls the lid off, and the moonlight filtering through the pinholes in the tarp might as well be a searchlight after the darkness.

Vernon’s face is inches from yours.

You blink, feeling like your eyelashes will brush his face with the motion. They don’t. Jeonghan pokes the tarp, hitting one of the bricks lying on your side. Apparently satisfied, he closes the lid. His footsteps recede.

Vernon’s face is still burned into your eyes like a sunspot.

He was staring at your lips.

You end up losing hide and seek, despite your perfect spot, because Minghao and Jun somehow managed to get onto Jeonghan’s roof (nobody’s managed to guess how and the pair smugly refuse to tell). The tournament ends with only Seungkwan and Wonwoo having not won any challenges. They change into swimsuits and dunk themselves in the baby pool, and then sprint back across the lawn to their towels yelling about the cold (you put a finger in; it wasn’t nearly as bad as when Jeonghan had filled it).

Vernon stops you before you get on your bike to get home.

“I’m. . . gonna be out of town for a couple weeks,” he says, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I can still facetime, but probably only in the mornings and evenings.”

“Okay,” you say, even as your heart sinks (he’s never been away this long).

“Yeah,” he says, and you stand there beside your bikes, looking at each other, like you’re both a little lost in what to do. His eyes keep flicking to your lips.

“So what’d you put for number seventeen?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t hesitate. “I think it could work,” he says, voice as soft as it was in the tote, and you find yourself leaning in to listen. “Easily, even, if it was someone as special as--”

He goes quiet. “As?” you prompt.

He shakes his head. “Someone special,” he says.

You haven’t drank at all but something still buzzes in your veins. It’s the first Saturday bonfire of the summer, and moon floats above the horizon like a glowing balloon, and a warm breeze caresses your skin, and you don’t feel afraid of anything.

“I guess it could work easy,” you say, “if it was someone like you.”

He stares at you long enough that you think maybe you overstepped and your cheeks start to heat and you duck your head and step back with something like an apology and--

--his lips crash into yours.

You don’t know if the kiss lasts for three seconds or three hours. All you know is when you break for breath, you find yourself caught in his eyes, the same familiar deep brown as you’ve seen for years growing up through schools and summers and camps and sleepovers, lying on the floor of the living room and whispering about movies and grades like they were the most important thing in the world.

And then you blink and the world unfreezes and he mumbles something about a curfew and you mumble something about your mom and as if pulled by the same strings you mount your bikes and pedal off in opposite directions.

You lie awake for hours, thinking about his eyes.

You facetime at any and all available hours. You find yourself staying up later to be able to catch him on a lunch break. And it’s hard, but you do it. Because, look, everyone on the block has known that his parents want him to go to Korea for college, and that he wants to go to Korea for college. For years you’ve known this moment was coming. And he’s only going to be there a couple weeks for some kind of tour he landed because his grandmother knows a guy who knows a gal who’s related to a guy who used to babysit for the guy on the school board, or something, and then he’ll come back and you can spend the remainder of the summer doing whatever.

Until then, you’re content to wake up earlier just to get an hour chatting with him before he goes to sleep. You show him all the pages you’ve marked in your mom’s old recipe book and tell him when he gets back you’ll make a couple and sell them for profit. You draw an official logo for Clean Mooters, and he suggests you add a restaurant as a side business that you two could run for extra profit. “Clean Mooters and Good Burgers,” he says, and then says, “No that’s terrible. I’ll keep thinking.”

“Are you the whole Clean Mooters marketing team?” you ask.

“Of course,” he says. “We both know all the business sense went to me.” And he smiles and you forget how to breathe.

You don’t talk about the kiss.

One time, he calls you, and your eyes swoop to check the time, because you know it’s crazy late where he is. You answer.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says before you get a word out, and his voice is hoarse and it twists your stomach. “Can you-- just tell me about your new project?”

And you do; you’ve taken up crochet this week and your grandma gave you a couple pointers and you do your best calming ASMR voice as you repeat her pointers and what you plan to do to build your skill, and then end up going off on a tangent on whether Clean Mooters should have a gift shop selling cow merchandise (“It would make sense, there are a lot of cows around here.”) and when you pause to recollect your thoughts, all you hear is his quiet breathing.

The day Vernon’s set to return is a Thursday, which is perfect, because it gives him time to recollect himself before the Saturday bonfire, which will be the real welcome back party. On Thursday, you and the other kids on the block draw all over the street and then, when his flight is late and the sun goes down before he gets to the street, assemble to hold flashlights over the really good stuff. You only see his smile for a few brief seconds as the car goes past, but it’s enough to make your heart swell.

Friday you wake up to a knock on your bedroom door. “Hey, up and at ‘em, it’s noon!” Vernon calls through the door.

You groan and throw an arm over your face. “Says the guy who was still in bed at one pm that whole first week!”

“Yeah, and it was heaven. Come on, you get up fast enough and I’ll buy you a donut.”

You get dressed and meet him downstairs. “Try that again and I’ll convince my mom to rehide the spare key,” you threaten.

He just grins. “I’d be able to find it.” He picks up your bike helmet. “You want to get out of the neighborhood with me?”

You’d rob a bank if it was with him. “Absolutely.”

It’s a rush to be back on your bike, both of you pedaling faster and faster to try to be in front, weaving around the cars parked on the streetside and hopping the curb just to prove you can. Last week’s project was learning to ride a bike no handed and you show off the new skill as often as you can.

You go everywhere and nowhere. You hit up the mall and he buys you a donut and you wander the halls window shopping, and he buys a whole rainbow set of tinted glasses just because they looked cool; you break open the package the minute you own them and check out your reflection in the store window.

“We look ridiculous,” you say, adjusting the red pair so they sit better on your face.

“Speak for yourself,” Vernon says, turning to see himself from different angles. “I think purple’s exactly my color.”

You shove the blue pair on over the red, even though they barely fit on your nose, and stick your tongue out at him. “There, now we match.”

He puts on another pair of glasses and it turns into a competition of who can wear the most, and then into who can wear the most without getting a headache. That second winner was Vernon, but you won the first half.

You hit up the McDonalds in the food court and get the large cup for a dollar, and then go down the drink machine and hit it with just a quick blast of each, repeated over and over until the cup was full. It tastes like a mess of conflicting sugars and syrups. You drink the whole thing through separate straws. You can’t stop glancing at his lips. Your faces are so close.

You get ice cream and sit under the bridge over the creek to eat it, watching the sun go down somewhere downstream, listening to the cars whizzing past overhead.

“I missed you,” Vernon says.

“I missed you too,” you say, even though that doesn’t convey the half of it.

“During the school year--” He stops, and you glance over to see him staring into the sunset, his ice cream melting toward his fingers.

You take his free hand. “It’ll be hard, not being close for so long,” you say. “But-- we could do it. I’m not just going to stop talking to you because I have classes and-- you know how my sleep schedule gets during the year.”

He laughs, softly, lacing your fingers together. “I’ll be able to call and tell you to go to bed without you turning it on me.”

“Damn.” You scowl at your feet. “Didn’t think about that. You sure you can’t just go to Europe instead?”

“Nope,” he says. “You’re going to have to find a new defense.”

You sigh. “But Vernon that one’s worked since we were fourteen.”

“It never worked!”

“Yes it did because then it got you on the defensive instead!”

“But you still went to sleep when I hung up, didn’t you?”

Double damn. He’s right and you know he knows it, from the raised eyebrow look he’s giving you as he catches the ice cream that’s melting around the edges of his cone.

“. . . That’s entirely beside the point.”

He just grins. You bury your face in your ice cream cone, trying to devour the rest in a single bite to avoid the urge to pout. Of course, all that really does is get ice cream all over your face, but whatever. When you look back at him, he’s still looking at you, his eyes soft and fond and damn but you’re going to miss him like a lung when he’s gone.

“You’ve got a little something there,” he says, and you make a face at him to maybe hide how very obviously whipped you are and do your best to wipe it off with the pile of napkins you snatched.

“Better?”

“No, it’s still--” and he scoots in, and you both go really quiet as he wipes the ice cream from your cheek. His thumb traces your lip.

“You know,” you say, very softly, “if you wanted to kiss me you could’ve just asked.”

His eyes blink up to meet yours, and red tints his cheeks, but he still smiles. “Okay,” he says. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah.”

Your ice cream melts. (“It’s okay,” Vernon says, “I’ll buy you another.”)

[volturialice]

me: i’m not gonna write any more of the drugged!human alice au

also me:

it has a title now too I guess. posting in a huge rush because I was supposed to be out the door ten minutes ago, so it’s even more unbeta’ed than usual. oh well

2,180 words

warnings: drugs, discussion of date rape, vomiting

rating: T

pairings: jalice

part 1 here

perihelion 2/?

It’s hard to tell visions from dreams. Sometimes, Alice doesn’t know which is which until a vision is coming true right in front of her, and then it’s like, okay, too late to do anything about this now. It means all of her dreams are high stakes—any nightmare could become a life-ruining disaster, any good dream could be made or unmade real by some hidden catalyst she doesn’t know about. She’s pretty sure she almost bombed the PSAT because she didn’t wear the blue top she had on in the dream where she scored a 189.

But her inability to tell the difference was never that big of a deal until Forks—until she started dreaming about the Cullens, and Jasper specifically. She wishes she could tell which of the Jasper dreams are real. They’re just so…well, horny. If Alice knew they were visions, and not her subconscious making a complete, desperate idiot of itself, she could be less embarrassed about the whole thing.

Tonight she dreams of Jasper and Rosalie in a room with green walls and shiny wood floors. They’re different in the dream, somehow—more still. Rosalie doesn’t sit. Jasper doesn’t blink.

Between them, an open doorway gapes into darkness. Just visible in the room beyond is the silhouette of a prone figure on a bed, unmoving. They watch it for an uncomfortable amount of time before Rosalie speaks.

“If she were any other human, I would have hunted you for sport, you know.”

“I know,” says Jasper, sounding impossibly old and tired.

“I would be off absolutely wrecking your shit right now, and then I would take care of the liability, because that’s how it works in this family. But she’s…this.” Rosalie grimaces, gesturing to the figure on the bed. “And why was it you told us you were following her, again? To ‘ensure her silence?’ Right,” she scoffs, evidently too disgusted with Jasper to keep looking at him.

“She hasn’t said anything. She won’t.”

“No, she won’t, because you’ll stop her at all costs, will you?”

Jasper’s face doesn’t betray the slightest twitch, but his eyes harden almost imperceptibly. “Not that way.”

Rosalie whirls back around. “You were supposed to be the one person I could count on to do what’s necessary! And now you’re telling me you won’t? Listen to yourself!”

Jasper throws up his hands. “Why are you here, then, Rose? Why are you helping her?”

“I’m helping you, you jackass! I know you all think I’m this narcissistic bitch, but I’m not…not inhumane, okay?” Rosalie levels a contemptuous glance at him, then looks away. “I don’t want some girl to be date-raped, however dangerous she is. And I’m not about to sit by and watch you make a complete mess of things.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I think that ship may have sailed,” grumbles Jasper.

“I’ll say. I drive up and she’s going on about how you’re stalking her and claiming you’re dating? She should have been killed the moment she figured out what we were, but instead you’re following her around protecting her because of some bizarre psychic connection she claims you have? Make it make sense, Jasper.”

“Edward confirmed her ability is real.”

“Great, so she’s a bigger freak than us. That makes it all ok,” snaps Rosalie, dripping with sarcasm. “Wonderful to know your abysmal taste in women hasn’t altered after all these years.”

Jasper ignores both the jab and the implication. “Earlier you made it sound like you were on her side.”

“I just think you ought to admit what’s really going on here. You won’t let us kill her—fine. It’s utterly irresponsible and stupid, but I can accept that. But it’s not like we can allow her to keep existing out there as a human, knowing what she knows.”

Jasper barks out a humorless, incredulous laugh. “Are you advocating that we should have Carlisle change her? You, Rosalie Hale, want to ‘take away her humanity?’”

Rosalie shrugs. “I’m not saying she wouldn’t be better off dead. But she’s not a very good human, is she? I gather she’s not exactly thriving. They have to pump her full of drugs just to keep her functional, and her human peers still think she’s insane. Be realistic. Her life was over the moment she learned the truth about us.”

Jasper’s only response is a slow shake of his head, like he still can’t believe what he’s hearing.

Rosalie’s eyes narrow. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about changing her. Don’t tell me it wasn’t your first thought, when you realized you didn’t want her dead. I may not be the mind reader in the family, but I know that’s a lie.”

It takes Jasper a beat too long to answer. “Of course I’ve thought about it.”

“Not enough, apparently. Right now, we’re in as much danger as she is. If she were one of us…well, her life is already ruined anyway. At least then we’d have her oh-so-special ability on our side.  Surely you can see the strategic advantage,” Rosalie rebukes. “Better Carlisle changes her than the Volturi. Has it occurred to you that if they ever find out she exists, the decision will be taken right out of your hands?”

“It’s not in my hands.”

Rosalie rolls her eyes again. “Hers, then.”

He sighs. “The possibility did occur to me.”

“You think she wants to learn Italian and live in a sewer? Eat tourists?”

“I have no idea what she wants.”

Rosalie laughs. “Right, because she’s playing it so close to the vest. She called you a simp. Do you know what that means?”

“We’re not talking about this.”

“Funny how you never want to confide in anyone, yet here we are.”

Jasper’s look says that isn’t what’s going on here, but he doesn’t respond. They settle back into tense silence.

“What are you going to do about the man? The one who drugged her?” asks Rosalie after a while.

“Eliminate him. Quietly.”

Rosalie nods. “Carlisle won’t like it.”

“He doesn’t have to.”

“Can you actually do it, though? Without slipping?”

Jasper doesn’t answer, which is an answer in itself.

“I could do it.” Rosalie’s voice is quiet.

“It’s not your problem.”

“Exactly,” Rosalie insists. “It wouldn’t be a problem for me. If you slip…well, we may not have to move, but you won’t be able to come back to school for months. Going to trust the rest of us to babysit your human?”

“I won’t slip,” says Jasper, but for the first time, he sounds uncertain.

Alice’s dream chooses this moment to blur and shift. Jasper and Rosalie melt away, voices distorting until they’re drowned out by other voices, other sounds and images that crowd in and pull at her, like being tossed around in a rough ocean. They come one after another, too fast to make sense of them—muddy tires, a burst of cut-off music, a slow, dark ooze crawling over pavement, an echoing splash. Familiar red eyes, looking down at her.

Then Alice is awake, and the eyes looking down at her are black. Wait, no. There are no eyes looking down at her. It must have been part of the dream.

She’s lying on something soft—a bed. Above her is a white ceiling. Her head throbs with a confused, cotton-y ache, and her mouth tastes disgusting.

What the hell happened? Alice isn’t great at piecing together chronological sequences at the best of times. She remembers being in Port Angeles…splitting up with Bella in order to meet her friends from the art show at a bar, and then…people talking, her legs sticking to the green leather barstool.  The lights getting blurry around the edges, the cool, slippery feel of condensation from the glass in her hand, and…oh. Oh, shit. Jasper.

Jasper had been there. The last thing she can recall is Jasper approaching, his face twisted in rage so murderous that she’d thought, huh, I guess he really is a vampire.

She rolls over and—speak of the devil—there he is, standing kind of a weird distance away, halfway between the bed and the door. He looks far less murderous than she remembers.

“Good morning,” she croaks, struggling into a sitting position. “Um. Where the hell am I?”

“Port Townsend,” says Jasper, which means absolutely nothing to her. She’s only been in Forks a few months—is she seriously supposed to know Washington geography?

To Alice’s immense relief, she’s still fully clothed. She does a surreptitious check to make sure her boobs aren’t falling out of her shirt, and when she looks back up there’s a glass of water in front of her face. She takes it and chugs the whole thing down in a few gulps. Why does she feel so hungover? She had only had, like, two drinks last night. Certainly not enough to make her black out and forget the whole evening. No, this big, empty gap in her memory feels more like when they used to drug her at the hospital. In fact, it feels exactly like that.

Jasper takes the empty glass from her and hands her another full one. He’s still watching her in a way that makes her want to squirm and fidget. Why had he been so angry last night?

She chugs the second glass of water while her sluggish brain tries to add it all up. Angry Jasper plus no memory plus waking up in a bed in a strange place, equals…yikes. Maybe she shouldn’t be drinking whatever he hands her.

“Uh,” she taps her fingers against the empty glass, “why do I feel like I’ve been roofied?”

“Because you were. Here,” says Jasper, handing her something else. Her own phone, somehow fully charged. One new voicemail, from…herself.

Future Alice, this is Past Alice. You’re probably pretty freaked out right now, but it’s okay! Jasper didn’t drug you. I repeat, Jasper did not drug you. Be nice to Rosalie; she’s there to help. Now put the phone down, you’re about to hurl. Bye!

Alice has just enough time to think, Rosalie? before a violent wave of nausea hits and she’s throwing up into the waste bin that appears in front of her face. “Ugh,” says the person holding it, and sure enough, there’s Rosalie.

There’s something extra humiliating about throwing up in front of two vampires, one of whom she kind of has a thing with and the other of whom is his super-hot sister who hates her. Thankfully, her stomach was empty except for the two glasses of water.

Rosalie blurs out of the room—damn, she’s fast—and reappears without the waste bin. It’s weird being on the bed while Rosalie and Jasper are standing, so Alice gets to her feet, already feeling way better. “Whose house is this?” she asks.

“Mine,” says Rosalie, practically shooting laser beams of resentment from her eyes.

“You wouldn’t let us take you home or to the hospital,” explains Jasper. “This is Rosalie and Emmett’s beach cottage.”

“Cottage” seems like the wrong word for this place, now that Alice gets a look at it. It has eight- or nine-foot ceilings and the view out the window—a vast, gray body of water that might be the ocean or some kind of bay—looks like a default computer desktop.

“Oh. So, then…someone else drugged me last night?” She tries to remember who she was talking to before Jasper came over, but she’d talked to so many people at the bar that they all kind of blur together in her head.

Jasper nods.

“Like we’d ever need to drug you,” says Rosalie. Oh, right. Vampires.

“So you just…watched me sleep?”

“Yeah, it was riveting. I had no idea snoring like a lawnmower was a side effect of rohypnol.”

So Alice was supposed to be nice to Rosalie, huh? Easier said than fucking done.

Something pushes at the back of her mind—Rosalie and Jasper watching her sleep. She, Alice, had watched them watching her sleep—from outside her own body. A vision, then, and not a dream.

She tries to remember the rest of it on the drive back to Forks, staring out the back window of Rosalie’s BMW like a kid with the two vampires up front. There had been something else in the vision, something besides the disjointed set of images. Jasper and Rosalie had talked about her, about whether or not she should be a vampire. She sneaks a glance at Jasper in the car mirror, at his downcast, shadowed eyes. Had he ever actually said whether he wanted Alice to be a vampire or not?

His eyes snap up to meet hers in the mirror, so suddenly she almost jumps. Alice looks away, guilty for no real reason. The vision, think about the vision.

There had been something else in it: a plan. They were going to…something. Something about slipping, something Rosalie thought she could do better than Jasper…

Right. They were going to kill someone.

.

.

rosalie @ human bella: noooo don’t become a vampire you’re so fertile aha

rosalie @ human alice: yeah nobody’s impregnating this little gremlin. bite away

[albino-whumpee]

Unrequited Love

CW// Pet whump, dehumanization, human trafficking, amnesia, hot water burns, exhausted whumpee. Pretty mild one honestly. ^^

Ok i didn´t notice it before, but THIS is the corrected version. Idk what happened.  Also taglist? I didn´t tag y´all???

Taglist:  @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread​ @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump  @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70​ @twistedcaretaker

During the party, Zarai had gotten the contact she needed to talk to Dune’s Ceo. Or at least the first of three people she needed to stablish contact to get to Gil Jefferson.

So while she was hopping around searching for the phone number of her client, asking for extensions and generally being absent, the whole team needed her approval to finish their jobs. So Albus was the one in charge now.

“Albus, can you check this out and tell me if its ok, please? Was a question he heard at least ten times a day now.

“Serra, talk to management on the next floor and tell them we need the results now” he would nod and fly downstairs.

“Serra I need your sign for this budget…” Zarai had given her authority to do that after Robert’s visit.

“Serra I need your sign for this budget…” Zarai had given her authority to do that after Robert’s visit.

Any problem the marketing and development team had was managed by the albino with a few wretched nerves and increasing eye bags. Then he would inform an overly tired Zarai that everything was in order. But there was always a small mistake she would notice and make him fix in shouting everyone on the office was too surprised to never have seen Albus cry from.

Despite the shouting making it all the way to other side of the office, he simply remained calm, waited for her to finish and then apologized before going to fix it. He just continued to work efficiently. Until there were no mistakes to get yelled at.

Sometimes, one of the new trainees would ask him if he was alright, but he would look at them with a funny look and change the subject. If he was to be honest, he had fully expected to be properly punished when they were alone, at home. He was so grateful he could hang his role as Albus Serra for a moment and allow himself to be only Al, the pet who didn’t hide his collar.

He was bent over some newbie’s desk when he straigthened up with a smile “Now, you just need to click this button, and you will have the whole system on your drive in a few minutes”

The newbie looked at him with adoration “Thank you so much, mister Serra!” He had said with a gleam on his eyes that made him blush.

“Mister Serra, I’ve a few questions about the report I sent you” Albus trotted to the woman.

“Ah, yes. I checked and it’s looking fine. I already sent it so, dont worry about it and give a hand to Ryan, please” the woman blinked “I know it’s not part of your job but look at them…” he cocked his head to the glass covered office of five people laying over their desks, one fully crying and the other lost in infinity. “You’ve got a degree on computer engineering right? The development needs to find the exact problem today. Please lend them a hand”

“Yes, sir” she had answered before walking away. Albus froze for a moment. An strange feeling sitting on his stomach.

He didn’t have time to wonder what it was when he was called again.

—

Albus was staring at the ceiling, serving himself some coffee from the machine at Tony´s office when he blanked out for a second and heard the man yelp.

“Albus it´s spilling!” he shouted loud enough to make the boy react. His half open eyelids fixed on the cup and then on the floor before taking lots of paper and wiping the floor with it “I´m sorry! Imsorry,Imsorry,Imsorry” he muttered before the man grabbed his right wrist and pulled down his soaked sleeve to reveal a growing red spot “Dude you burnt yourself! Are you ok? Does it hurt?” he said lifting him up.

Albus head spinned wildly enough to make him stumble against a wall. The man passed an arm around his waist “Jesus, Albus, what´s wrong?” Albus groaned while rubbing his eyes with his other hand.

“I´m sorry, I´m just… I´m… I´m ok, it doesn´t hurt. I promise I´m sorry” he told the man as he put him down on his chair.

“Hey, hey, it´s ok, it´s just some bean water. Look at me” the boy pulled his red eyes to look at his friend “I´ll go get some ice to put on that, yeah? Sit here for a second” he waited until the boy nodded to walk out of the office. Albus stared at the disaster on the floor and felt horrible. He looked around and found some kleenex on the desk. He hoped he wouldn´t mind and started wiping the floor again.

“Mister Serra?” The trainee asked him outside the office. Albus looked up at him and then at the floor. “Mister Serra you´re green! Please lay down, I´ll call someone to clean that up” the boy trotted to help him sit on the chair again.

“i-it´s fine. I´m ok, Jeremy” he said feeling his head puffy. The boy left him there for a second and then leaned on the frame of the door.

“Lee, can you get me some chocolate from my backpack? Mister Serra isn´t feeling well!” he shouted as the boy shrank on his seat.

“Mister Serra? Does he need some water?” a feminine voice asked with a worried tone. Possibly the intern from last week he had to sign her papers for.

“Yeah! and get someone from cleaning!” Albus heard a reply and felt his cheeks burning as Jeremy knelt next to him.

“Thank you” he whispered to the blonde. He directed a genuine smile at the albino. “Mister Serra has helped me a lot since I got here. Please don´t thank me. It´s the least I can do for you, mister!” Albus felt himself sink into the chair further as Lee handed him Jeremy´s candy bar.

“You´re looking a little pale, mister” She said when he was about to take a bite. Jeremy was about to say something when he heard himself laugh. Lee smiled triumphantly.

“Still, mister, have you slept enough? I saw you doze off during the report meeting with the interns yesterday…” Jeremy continued, his cheeks burning red. Albus swallowed feeling guilty someone had seen him fighting to keep himself awake.

“Don´t fall off yet, soldier, we still got work to do” Sasha came inside the office with Tony behind her. He put the ice on his burnt hand and he didn´t even twitch. The four stared at him with worry. “Does it hurt?” Sasha asked him. Albus didn´t look up, only shrugged.

“Thanks Tony…Sorry for the mess” he apologized putting his hand away. He tried to stand up, but his legs refused to do so.

“Don´t mind it. But maybe you should stay here for a moment” He bit his lip.

“I still have work to do…” he tried to stand up, but Sasha pushed him back to the chair.

“Well, then it´s a good moment to just rely on us for help. You have that meeting with the trainees again don´t you?” he nodded slowly. “You two” she directed the trainees, who squared up instantly “Make a summary and send it to me before clocking out. I´ll make the paperwork and Tony will help with the mails” The boys both responded with “yes, ma´am” Albus jumped trying to stop her, but Sasha gave him a freezing look. “You rest here, workaholic. You trying to imitate Zarai with her unhealthy habits? Just eat your candy bar, boy”

“But we´ve got that meeting with…” she put Tony´s coat on his shoulders.

“You´re in no conditions to listen to old men talking about how far to the right a letter should be to increase sales a 10%” she rubbed his back before pulling away “Just sleep a bit yeah?” she silenced him.

He tugged the cozy coat over his shoulders close to him. Hiding his face with it. “Thank you…”

Sasha smiled and pulled everyone out of Tony´s office as the cleaning lady took care of the mess. Jeremy and Lee walked out the office wishing him to get better soon after leaving some more candy. He thanked them and saw them snickering to each other as they went out.

Albus pulled his knees close to his chest and the coat covered his back when he fell asleep against the desk.

Tony´s coat was warm.

—

He never mentioned it to Zarai, but when he was working at home that night, or well, the early morning of the next day, he received a photo from Tony.

It was him curled up into a ball in the chair with only his white hair sticking out of the brown coat.

“A wild tired cinnamon roll has appeared!” Tony wrote below it.

Sasha keysmashed and put lots of faces laughing.

Albus just shook his head and grinned before he continued working.

Didn´t stop until dawn when Zarai came in to tell him they were leaving in a few minutes.

He arrived to the office with the same exhausted face from yesterday but when he came out, Lee was there with a coffee on her hands.

“Jeremy sends you this sir” she said to the mute boy.

“I…uh…thank you, Lee” he said as he shifted the coffee cup and saw it had a number and a smiley face. He looked up at her with his cheeks fired up. “Uh…”

Lee simply walked away before he could say anything.

He showed it to Tony and Sasha at lunch and snickered to the other “Aren´t you popular, boy! I´ve also had girls ask me for your number!” Tony howlered

“What?” Sasha grinned as he blushed

“But you´re taken already aren´t you? With that freckled boy you always talking about”

“Sann?” Albus widened his eyes. “Oh, I…no, no. It´s not…” he remembered his smile at the party, the tuxedo and the rose on his chest, his dimples, his hair looking like fire in the sunset and immediately went silent. “I wish but It´s more complicated than that”

Both leaned on him. He let out a heavy sigh before staring at the city from their table on the roof top.

“I met him two years ago, but I don´t remember anything from that period. I know I learnt what I know back then…but it´s blank. I feel like something important happened…but everytime I try to remember it´s like…it just hurts and it´s uncomfortable” he said rounding one thumb with the other “I want to remember that meeting, but I can´t. I just recently remembered some… things” he continued to explain, the images of handlers touching him all over came to his head. The shocks. “And then there´s…” the problem that´s he´s someone else´s pet and I´m not supposed to get close to him. “Anyways, it´s messy” he smiled at his quiet friends “It´s dumb to say that I would be completely fine just by seeing him being happy even if I´m far?”

Both stared at him for an uncomfortably long time.

“Does Zarai know of your amnesia?” Sasha asked bluntly, playing with the bracelet in her left wrist. Albus had to shrug.

“Did you have an accident or…?”

Albus had to think hard about it. “…maybe I had someone hit my head repeatedly…” Sasha opened her mouth outraged “No, no it´s ok. I don´t know for sure. I just remember feeling numb after a hit” he hurried to explain. “Can we change the subject?” he asked closing his eyes, feeling ill suddenly.

“…ok” both laid back on their chairs as Albus sighed relieved “You should get that head checked up tho´. Two years is a long time, Albus” Tony told him.

Albus bit his tongue to not spit he didn´t remember most of his life anyways. Or his parent´s faces, or his own name.

He instead tried to put a smile. A mask that pleased everyone was easier to pull than try to uncover the truth.

“So, please help with Jeremy? I don´t wanna break the poor boy´s heart”

It took a while for them to talk normally to him again, but in the end, Jeremy was understanding when he explained he was not available. In fact, he had smiled and thanked him for being honest and Albus could pull an all nighter in peace because of that.

He cried on Lee´s shoulder later at the bus station, but that was something Albus didn´t need to know.