#interacts with another when given room and time to breath and properly interact beyond tiny snippets here n there

[dragontamer05]

No lie I can't recall the last time I did like just one long continuous thread.

Like sure still doing small side stuff, asks ect but just idk but also letting muses grow and develop through one long continuous - and not always having to say resort to completely dropping if whatever currently is going on has run its course and instead just time skip with it but let it keep going.

And I say this as some one who is also 100% happy to time skip and jump around.

And hey you want to go back in time and explore a scenario that could have happened earlier in their relationship / knowing each other

or jump forward to something way later or even just explore a what if scenario that doesn't have to happen but could depending how things go/ how we feel about it ect

Hell yah love it all - trying to have some time line consistency is good obviously and as long as we can agree on even a loose idea of How they got to Y or where X fits and what not then sure.

Am fine with even the longest of threads eventually getting a wrap up if things simply happen to feel right in the moment and is what gets decided, doesn't have to be an infinite thread - certainly not about to force one to go on if its reached a point it kinda feels dead but idk call me easily attached but there's sometimes where I can still find / feels like their might be still potential to be found in a thread and all it needs is a bit of tweaking.

The chapter came to an end but the book isn't over kinda thing. Maybe all it needs is a small time skip / scene change but there's still things to be explored within said plot/scenario / whatever is going on with the characters - that would still also work/fit within said thread instead of separating.

Similarly but kind of reverse is I am equally as happy generally to return to threads that were long previously dropped/abandoned. Whether cause someone wasn't feeling it any more or simply we ran into a writing wall and at the time were lost on how to continue it so was better not to force it. But if something new comes along be it from plotting / just newer interactions or simply with having time away from it whatever the reason if a spark suddenly arises and hey suddenly what if we connected - old thread to new idea - or any other reason to want to answer/continue go for it.

idk mostly I this is was just a really long rambly way of saying how I miss long threads. Short quick snippets are fun and fine but 9/10 I promise i am very much interested and fine with carrying a thread for as long and far as it'll go.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @saraben00 @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane

~^~

Tuesday, 18:47

Song: EDEN - how to sleep

Lucas seizes up as the front door opens, gathering himself up and pushing to his feet. If he does it naturally, he can probably slip to his room without his father protesting too much. He can probably excuse himself with homework. He won’t have to interact, not properly.

His plan would work perfectly, in normal circumstances. Normal circumstances just usually don’t involve running into a moving skeleton three steps into the hallway.

He’s mildly embarrassed by the squeak he lets out, and by the pitch of his voice as he screeches, “What the fuck?”

His father curses under his own breath, moving the skeleton flapping in his arms out of his face, and mutters, “Language.”

“Dad,” Lucas sputters as the dummy is shoved into his hands. “What the hell is this?”

Hugo ushers him back into the sitting room, following behind with shopping bags hanging heavily from his hands. He dumps them on the coffee table and takes the skeleton out of Lucas’s arms to prop him up on the couch, watching them with a gaping, toothy grin. “Halloween decorations.”

Lucas bites back the urge to sarcastically thank him for stating the obvious and chooses to further his question. “Why?”

After the scoldings Lucas has gotten over the past few weeks, watching his father turn to him with his hands on his hips is a rather nerve-wracking thing. The smile on his face, however, turns out to be the most disconcerting. “So we can decorate.”

“We?”

“I thought it would be something nice to do together,” Hugo shrugs.

Lucas blinks at him. He feels the need to tread cautiously. He’s very worried that he’s somehow being played, in an oddly surprising way. “But...Halloween is in four days.”

“Exactly.”

“Everyone else has had their houses decorated for weeks.”

“Yeah, but we’ve only been getting moved in. We have the best excuse.”

Lucas continues to stare at him.

Hugo sighs, rubbing his hand over his brow, gesturing at the skeleton. “Do you have to be such a moody teen over everything? I bought a skeleton, buddy.”

The old nickname softens Lucas a little bit. Just a little. He looks at the skeleton once more. Flimsy, about three-quarters the height of Lucas, black smudges dotting his gray-toned bones. The right number of ribs, missing a tooth (with another cracked), eye sockets deeply sunken. Just on the realistic side of cartoonish.

Lucas asks, “What’s his name?”

His father grins proudly. “Tim.”

“Tim?”

“Same as one of my old-coworkers. Piece of work himself. One of the know-it-all types. Even worse than a moody teenager.”

Lucas can’t help it. He snorts. “Poor Tim.”

His father waves a hand at him. “Well, he’s a member of the household now. A blessedly silent member.”

Lucas raises his brows. He examines the skeleton once more, then leans forward and gently picks up its left arm. He presses the small button on the inside of its wrist.

Tim’s eyes flash red as his jaw drops open in evil, mechanical laughter.

Hugo jumps and curses under his breath again and Lucas lets out a laugh, delighted. He leans back in to grip Tim around the waist, picking him up and drawing that same arm around his shoulder, playing with the skeletal fingers. It’s unexpected. To be turning to his father with a grin, to feel the remnants of laughter settling cosily in his stomach. He likes it, and he likes the soft smile that lightens his father’s eyes, and he likes the comfort of the small space when it lacks the tension and the animosity of the previous few days, of the past week.

He asks, carefully, “What else did you get?”

His father beams. He moves to the bags on the table and begins pulling banners out of the way, followed by a packet of bats and pumpkin lights and various other witchy products. Lucas feels his pleasure grow at each new item and nods approvingly.

“Good idea?”

Lucas nods, humming. “You’ve definitely had worse.”

The man accepts the jibe with nothing more than a small shrug. “You happy enough to take an hour to do it now? I’ll start hanging these around the place and you can get Tim situated. Maybe somewhere around the door?”

“Sounds good,” Lucas agrees. He grips Tim’s arm tighter and carries him out into the hallway, making sure to press the little button once more as he passes his father. He chuckles at the swears he receives in response.

It’s almost therapeutic. Even as the desire to let Tim’s bones scatter on the street grows, there’s something simplistic and soothing about decorating the place. Something that makes it feel a little more like it’s his. A little more like a home. It helps that he loves Halloween. He loves the spookiness, the eeriness, the beauty in the horror. It’s satisfying, watching the angry little pumpkin faces emit a stunningly bright glow. There’s a sort of poetry to all of it, he supposes, to the veil around the world becoming foggy, to the masks people wear becoming visible.

There’s an artistry, too, that he appreciates more than anything. The sharpness, the otherworldliness, the darkness. The meaning under it all, of the in-between.

Beauty in the horror.

He supposes there’s a little beauty, too, in doing it together. They work together to hang the string-lights up in the hall, and the silence isn’t strained or uncomfortable. It’s companionable, filled with little huffs of laughter as one or the other gets caught, or trips, or drops the line. The usual simmering anger that sits in his chest is entirely absent, just for these few moments.

“You used to love Halloween when you were a kid,” his father says suddenly, and Lucas glances over at him. “Your mom always avoided buying stuff she thought would scare you, but you never flinched at any of it. You wanted all the weird loud things that used to make Kes bawl his eyes out. The only things you didn’t want were the spiders.”

Lucas laughs at the idea of little Kes, terrified, and Lucas enjoying scaring him as he had with his dad today. He remembers how his friend would retaliate, finding the biggest fake-spider in the place and sneaking up to set it on Lucas’s shoulder. He’d only stopped at the age of twelve, when Lucas had given him the silent treatment for a week in response. “I did notice you didn’t bring any of those back.”

“I do pay attention, sometimes. I also remember that you liked it most because of all the sweets.”

“You could have just brought back a cake,” Lucas agrees lightly, shooting him a grin.

“Yeah, but we couldn’t have shared that. You would’ve eaten it all yourself.”

Lucas laughs quietly, realising he can’t argue, that there’s plenty of proof in the past to refute anything he would say. There’s a calm that has settled over him, and he relishes in it.

For a moment.

“Hey, Luc,” his father starts slowly, and some of the tension in Lucas returns. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you. It’s a big change, and a bad age to be making it, and I don’t know how many times I can apologise for it before you’ll forgive me.”

Lucas tacks his end of the lights to the wall and listens carefully.

“I should be making it easier for you, but I think it’s pretty obvious that I just have no idea how. It used to be so easy for us, too, you know? I used to know you so well. Now I keep stuffing up.”

Lucas slowly lowers his hands to his sides and turns to face him. “Dad,” he starts, but the man shakes his head.

“I was harsh on you the other night. And the week before that. I know that. I just don’t know what else to do. You don’t let me in. I can only react to what I see. And maybe I overreacted, but I only do what I think is right. I think what worried me most, about the weed, is that it didn’t surprise me. And now, I know, it’s probably natural to all of you nowadays and it might not surprise many, but it’s more that—well it didn’t surprise me that you managed to hide it from me. It was just another nail in the coffin.”

“I don’t hide everything from you,” Lucas says quietly. “You surprise me a lot more often.”

“I know,” Hugo says, just as gentle, abandoning his task to turn to Lucas too. “I know, buddy, and I am sorry. I’m trying to do better. But I need you to try with me.”

Lucas swallows thickly, averting his gaze to his feet for a moment. There’s a war going on in his chest, the childish urge to hold onto this leverage over his father and the desperate desire to give in, to claw for some semblance of harmony. Beyond all of it, canceling out all the rest, is the whisper that whatever answer he gives won’t matter. The harmony could never last, and he’s stupid to hold onto that tiny bit of hope, a tattered little shred he hadn’t even realised he held.

But it’s this little whisper that strengthens his resolve, that makes him return his gaze to the man before him and give a tiny nod.

“Okay. I will. Promise.”

His dad squeezes his shoulder, and none of his anger returns at the contact. He leans into it, and he lets himself hope.

Hugo lets him go and moves to tack up the middle of the string-lights. “So as it’s my proposal, I feel like I should make the first move, and say if you wanted to have a few friends or something over for Halloween, that would be okay.” He pauses. “You have friends here, right?”

Lucas huffs. “Yes, I have managed to make friends here. But everyone will be going out for Halloween. They know I’m not allowed out, so they probably already have plans, or whatever.”

The realisation settles in that this may very well be true, and it’s another sting settling in his heart. He’s still too invested, much too invested, and he still hasn’t figured out what to do about it. Managing his emotions felt a lot easier when he was pretending—even with himself—that he didn’t have any.

Now every time he sees Jens without him, he aches, and when he sees Jens with Jana, he breaks, and when he sees Jens at all, he has various emotions that he really doesn’t want to think about in such close proximity to his father.

His father, who is currently frowning at him in genuine concern. “You really think so? Surely good friends would make the effort to include you.”

Lucas thinks of Jens messaging him about meeting up even while thinking he was in a different country. Of Jens dragging him to the party a few days before that. Always of Jens.

He directs his gaze back down to the ground and shrugs. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t ask that of them. I haven’t even known them that long.”

Hugo sighs and makes his way back to the kitchen, leaving Lucas to stand alone for a moment before following. They hang up half a packet of bats before the older man says, “A curfew is still kind of a punishment, right?”

Lucas whips his head up to look at him. He’s focused on the bat in his hands, unwilling to look at his son and the excitement suddenly building in him. “Yes, definitely. Better than grounding, really. More embarrassing. Will definitely get me laughed at.”

“So, say, if you wanted to go out with these friends of yours. That would be okay, as long as you’re back by midnight?”

Lucas nods quickly. Much too quickly.

Hugo’s eyes narrow. “Midnight’s too good, isn’t it?”

“No, of course not, midnight is super lame.”

“No, make it ten.”

“Ten?” Lucas tosses his hands up. His dad turns to look at him, now raising his brows in challenge. “Eleven,” Lucas counters.

The man considers him. “Ten-thirty. Final offer.”

“Midnight was your first offer!”

Brows are raised further.

Lucas blows out a breath and turns on his heel to collect more bats. “Ten-thirty.”

It takes ten more minutes of hanging decorations before Lucas chances asking.

“So, does this mean I can have my weed back?”

His father stares at him. “Buddy, I might not be able to stop you from smoking it, but I can’t just give it to you. I have some parenting skills, you know.”

“It could be bonding! We could share that too.”

“Nice try. Give me that orange tinsel. We’ll give Tim a little sparkle.”

[fullmetalscullyy]

the way it was - chapter 28

summary:  what if riza never went to war?  riza hawkeye has just married the man she loves. six months into their marriage, an unexpected surprise stops her from following roy to the military. a canon divergence au that explores what might have happened had riza been unable to join the military. there will be plenty of family fluff, angst, and royai.

rated: m | warnings: no archive warning apply

read on ao3

1914

never thought love never thought life

could take us far beyond what we believed

as long as i got your love next to me

better than i used to be

“So.” Rebecca threw herself into the chair, barely waiting for Riza to even sit down at the table in the back room of Chris’ bar. “What has been going on in Central, Riza?” Her voice was hushed as she leaned forward eagerly in her chair.

Rebecca’s urgency had startled poor Sheska before Riza could even greet her with a hello. Eyes owlish but full of concern, Riza paused as she turned to greet their friend.

“I’ll tell you all that I know, but it’s not much,” Riza replied. “But first,” she added, turning to face Sheska, “hi.”

“Hello,” Sheska nodded. A timid smile overtook her concern, but the crease in between her eyebrows quickly returned. “What’s going on?” Nerves had settled in Sheska, making her shift in her chair and also tip forward to hear what Riza was going to share.

Poor woman. Riza felt for her. When she’d called and invited Sheska out it really was to spend some time together of an evening, but now she would be dragged into this whole thing. That’s not what Riza wanted for her.

Resigning herself, Riza let out a sigh. “I really don’t think here’s the best place at the moment –”

As if on cue, someone approached from behind Rebecca. The woman’s expression changed as she walked, moving from neutral to breaking out into a bright grin as soon as she made eye contact. Given Riza’s current circumstances after her talk with Fuhrer Bradley, she was instantly on guard.

“Riza Mustang?”

“Yes?” Riza eyed the woman up and down. She appeared to be innocent enough. Her brown hair fell just past her shoulders, sitting in a side parting. Hair was curled behind one ear, the other side falling forward as she smiled kindly down at Riza in her chair.

“Hi, my name is Irene. My husband is Lieutenant Colonel Andrews.”

Irene spoke as if this would answer all of Riza’s questions, but it created more. Remaining wary, she eyed the woman as Rebecca and Sheska did the same, although the latter did it rather shyly, her head angled to look down towards the table before them.

“Sorry to interrupt your evening with your friends.” Irene continued to smile at the other two women, noticing the suspicion on their faces. “I just wanted to pass on my congratulations to you and your husband. A new addition to the family is always something wonderful to celebrate, and my husband and I wanted to pass on our regards to you both.”

Irene held out an envelope for Riza to take, which she did. Eyeing the paper and weighing it by touch alone, it felt like there was a card held within. Giving it a gentle squeeze to test, whatever was inside was tough but not indestructible to break. It bent gently underneath the pressure. Remaining wary, Riza schooled her expression so that it appeared as neutral and grateful as possible while accepting it.

“That’s very kind of you both, thank you,” Riza replied.

“We’ll be thinking of you both during this time,” Irene added, meeting Riza’s eyes straight on. For whatever reason, something held Riza there. Irene’s eyes widened pointedly, as she gave a tiny nod of her head. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do,” she grinned, that look in her eyes gone. Without another word, she turned and left.

“What was that all about?”

Riza placed the card down on the table, giving it one gentle pat before retracting her hand, hiding it underneath the table. They both joined, her fingers wringing together with uncertainty. “I honestly don’t know.” She was just as baffled as Rebecca.

“That was nice of her, though,” Sheska added, trying to see the best in the unexpected interaction.

Another woman approached, the same as Irene did, offering the same message and sentiment. This time it was a woman named Rose, whose husband was Sergeant Cairn, recently transferred from East City. Angela followed after her. She was an older woman, the wife of Major Cole. These names all meant nothing to Riza, however they may to Roy. These women, all coming forward with the same meaningful look in their eyes, obviously all meant something, but Riza didn’t want to open up the cards in public. There was no telling what would be inside. They were inconspicuous enough, just like a normal greeting card, but Riza couldn’t help but wonder.  Perhaps… If she could slip behind the bar for a few minutes…

“I’ll be right back.”

She’d been lost in thought and had unintentionally interrupted Rebecca and Sheska’s conversation. They both looked surprised at the sudden disruption, watching as Riza subtly swiped the cards into her purse.

“Is everything all right?” Rebecca's eyes were searching Riza’s, trying to get a read on her mood. Admittedly, she’d been out of it that evening as she mulled over each woman’s message, trying to make sense of it all. It was bothering her so much that she was going to leave her friends to find out.

“Perfect,” Riza smiled as best she could. “Just need to use the bathroom.”

It wasn’t a lie, Riza thought as she left the two of them at the table. A quick detour on her route would allow her to open those envelopes in peace and find out what they contained.

“Is everything all right?”

Riza was startled by the sudden appearance of Roxanne. Her green eyes were scrutinising Riza carefully, unwilling to back down. Tonight, Roxanne’s hair was tied back into a high ponytail, the long brown locks looking luscious and healthy in the lights of the bar. It swished from side to side eagerly whenever she walked, catching the attention of all she passed by. Calming her heart rate, Riza scolded herself for being so absent from her surroundings.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Roxanne’s eyes narrowed.

“Really, I am.” Riza lifted the three envelopes in her hands. “I was handed these tonight. It’s been bothering me that I don’t know what’s inside. Would you mind if I go inside the house to open them?” Riza nodded at the ‘staff only’ door.

Roxanne broke out into a smile and tutted, rolling her eyes fondly. “As if you have to ask. Of course you can! Come on,” she ushered, opening the staff door for Riza.

She was guided inside, entering a hallway that Riza knew well. Just ahead, to her left would be the living area where they spent most of their time when visiting Chris. Taking a seat, Riza let out a breath and balanced the envelopes on her lap. There would be nothing held within the pastel pink, white, and blue paper that would attack her, but why did she experience such a foreboding feeling? Perhaps it was just the unknown. Giving herself a shake, Riza tore open the seal of the one on top, from Irene.

Riza blinked.

Inside was a ‘congratulations on the birth of your child!’ card, but a note slid out from between the stiff paper, removing Riza’s attention from the well wishes.

Weston arrived at the store today, was the first neatly written sentence on the page. Esther is not the fondest of him but puts up with his appearances for Susan’s sake. Ursula likes him though, along with Poppy and Preston. The twins have been fighting over his affection, much to Oliver’s dismay. The poor boy is so crestfallen at their diverted effort but won’t give up the fight. The same can be said for Rosalie. She feels the same way towards the dear boy, but Thomas has been diverting her attention as of recent. We think she may be susceptible to his charms. As for Yuri, he’s still focussed on furthering Oliver’s studies, much to his chagrin, but Ursula is good at pushing him towards where his attentions should lie, and away from such frivolous things.

“What?” Riza muttered is aloud, wondering why this would note would be included in a congratulations card –

Suddenly, Roy’s game popped into her head. In Riza’s mind, memories of ‘I love you’ stories, littered about their home, overwhelmed her. This was a message. This story was a message to her and Roy.

Dropping the thoughtful card, Riza picked out the names quickly and read the coded message.

We support you.

Peeling open the second envelope, and the third, Riza found a similar sentiment in each. Relief tugged her lips into a smile, and she sat back against the cushions of the couch.

“Everything all right?” Chris appeared from out of nowhere, almost startling Riza.

She turned quickly, nodding to her mother-in-law. “Yes. Everything’s fine.”

“What’s that?” An eyebrow raised, looking down on the cards sitting in a pile haphazardly on her coffee table.

“Messages of support…” Riza turned back to eye them. “For Roy, from other soldiers stationed in Central Command. Their partners handed them over to me tonight.” Lifting the congratulatory cards, Riza waved them gently. “Along with these.”

She had been so focussed on the coded stories that she didn’t properly look within the cards. A note fluttered free from the confines of the stiff card, floating onto Riza’s lap. Squinting at it, she lifted it delicately into her hands.

“Along with a gift too, it seems,” Chris chuckled.

“It’s money.” Riza blinked at it, dumbfounded that those women would gift her and Roy with money on the birth of their new-born child.

Chris shrugged. “People do that. It saves them having to worry about buying a physical gift,” she added. “Then you can go out and buy what you need for the kid yourselves.”

Riza was left to stare at the five hundred cenz note in silence as Chris wandered away.

Well, it was an immense relief that despite the sudden relocation of his team, Roy still had people behind him who were willing to support and lend their aid. Riza’s fears of his future were appeased for the moment, knowing there were others out there who looked up to him and were willing to fight Bradley as well.

Pocketing the envelopes in her purse, Riza stood and slipped back out the staff door to the bar. Passing the bar itself, she ordered another water and waited for it before returning to their table.

“You were away a while,” Rebecca commented upon her return, her voice low. “What was in them?”

Glancing up, Riza saw Rebecca frowning, instantly on guard to whatever the envelopes contained within.

Placating her worry, Riza shook her head and gave her old friend a reassuring smile. “Just some well wishes and support.”

*      *      *

“Wait.”

Roy sat up straight in bed, a thoughtful look overtaking his face. He motioned for the envelopes Riza had already opened. She’d already explained what was held within – the cards, the monetary gift, and the coded message to him.

“What?”

“Can I see them for a second?”

Wordlessly, Riza leaned over to her bedside table to pick them up before passing them to her husband.

Roy removed the card, ignoring the paper that held the message, and shook it, letting the note float onto his lap.

“Kids get us money too?” He picked up the note. “Oh damn,” he muttered, “we need to have more kids.”

Riza hit the back of her hand off his elbow gently.

“I’m kidding!” He didn’t sound like it. Roy was eyeing the note with a curious but excited look.

“We’re not exploiting our children for money.”

“… What if I took them to the office?”

Riza’s frown deepened.

“Y’know, everyone is aware I’m a family man,” Roy continued, “it would be nice to show off the kid.”

“To get money from your colleagues?” Riza’s eyebrows shot up towards her hairline, daring him to confirm that was the real reason behind his plan.

“I mean,” he scoffed, “that’s what people do, right? When someone has a baby? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to –”

Riza hit the back of her hand off his forearm this time, but slightly harder. It caused his arm to falter slightly, the joint giving way as the limb tried to distance itself from her hand.

“Hey!”

“That’s what you get for thinking of exploiting our kids,” Riza snapped back.

“I was just making an observation!” Roy exclaimed. “That is what people do when kids are born. You wouldn’t believe the amount of kids I’ve had to shell out for over the years,” he grumbled to himself. “About damn time it was my turn.”

Riza scoffed, lifting her eyes to the ceiling as she rolled over in place, pulling the sheet over her shoulder and making herself comfortable.

“I’m kidding, Dear,” Roy crooned into her ear as his arm wrapped around her stomach.

“Sure you are,” she replied, not believing him for a second.

“It would be a benefit though, right? You have to admit that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she barked.

“I’m joking!” The hand that had been around her stomach shifted, moving away and into the air in a show of surrender. “Sorry I mentioned it.” Roy rolled away from her, settling into the bed with a sigh.

The room was silent for short bout as Riza continued to frown at his insinuation. Ire was festering in her chest, causing a light burn. They would not use their kids to get money from strangers. Even if it was a traditional gift, it made her uncomfortable and she wanted no part in it.

“Sorry.”

His apology was soft and quiet, filling the room. It smoothed out her frown and put out that spark in her chest. It fizzled low, turning to an ember before leaving her completely. Her shoulders relaxed, peeling down from her ears as a deep breath left her lungs. That breath calmed her, giving her time to think.

Riza rolled back over, seeing Roy on his back, staring up at the ceiling. His lips were pursed and off centre, a sign he was chewing something over in his mind.

“Sorry I snapped.”

Dark eyes met her own. The crease in between his eyebrows slowly disappeared, the skin of his forehead smoothing out.

“Sorry I upset you,” he replied. “I won’t bring it up again.”

Riza huffed quietly. “I don’t mind jokes. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It sounds like it was a mood swing.”

Her irritation spiked again. Opening her mouth to reply, offended at his accusation, Riza stopped herself. His eyes had widened in realisation that he’d set her off again. There was a fear in them too which stilled her tongue. Riza’s mouth promptly closed, accepting her hormonal reaction.

“I guess it was, yeah,” she agreed sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Roy replied simply. He rolled over to face her, brushing her fringe from her face and curling a strand of hair behind her ear. “I opened my mouth without thinking. Again. And I’m sorry I brought it up. I was just joking, though.”

“I know you were.” Her head turned, pressing a gentle kiss against the wrist that was resting by her face. Roy had cupped her face with his hand, his touch warm and gentle, as well as comforting.

“Did the mood swings happen a lot with Mia?”

“I don’t think so.” Riza cast her mind back, trying to remember. It didn’t feel like it. But then perhaps it was biased to ask her. “I don’t remember.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“I don’t want to feel like I’m going to snap at you every two seconds though,” Riza frowned, but at herself. That behaviour wouldn’t do at all.

Roy shrugged. “We’ll work through it. It won’t be the first mood swing in the family and it won’t be the last. In a few years, Mia will be all over that,” he grinned.

Her head bowed in defeat. “I hope we don’t end up with a moody teenager.”

“I do too,” Roy chuckled. “But, like I said, we’ll get through it. Be as understanding with her as we can and give her the space she needs.”

“It sounds like you’ve been through this before,” Riza commented wryly.

“I grew up with so many sisters, remember? I learned my lesson after the first shoe was thrown at my head,” he winked.

Riza gasped. “Who?”

“Roxanne,” Roy laughed. “I was bugging her too much and she’d had enough.”

“You were a little shit as a teen, so I can totally see it.”

Roy’s mouth popped open in shock. “Riza Mustang!” he exclaimed.

“What?” she giggled.

“I was not,” he scoffed, scandalised.

“You’re remembering differently.”

“No, I think it’s you that’s remembering it differently, Ma’am,” he accused, poking her shoulder gently.

“Don’t poke me,” she pouted, poking him back.

“What are you going to do about it, huh?” His provoke came with a wide grin, reaching right up to his eyes and causing the corners to crinkle.

It reminded Riza so much of the boy she grew up with and the innocent young man she’d fallen in love with. It came out in rare moments, but it was heart-warming to see. Underneath the lines and scars life had left him with, Roy was still Roy, and he loved her completely, just like she did him.

“Why don’t you tell me what I can do about it, Colonel?”

Roy hummed, shuffling over to her side and rolling Riza onto her back as he kissed her forcefully. Propped up on an elbow, his free hand moved to cup her chin, holding Riza in place as they broke apart and Roy stared down at her with so much love in his eyes, it felt like she may cry.

“I love you, Riza,” he smiled fondly, a hint of his mischief still remaining, dancing playfully in his eyes.

Bending his head, Roy pecked her lips once, then her nose, then her forehead. His freehand moved from her chin to rest upon her stomach. The ends of two of his fingers were resting on her bare skin, making Riza gasp quietly. Slowly, as his head bent to claim her lips once more, Roy’s hand moved and slipped underneath her pyjama top, his touch hot as his thumb caressed her skin lovingly.

“Love you too, Roy,” Riza breathed, eyes fluttering closed as his touch relaxed her immediately.

Then suddenly, a massive yawn overtook Riza. It was loud, making her eyes water, the moisture bunching at the corners.

Roy just laughed. “Looks like someone is tired,” he murmured.

She almost snapped at him again for moving his hand, but a wave of fatigue overcame Riza before she had the chance.

“Sleep, love.” A kiss was pressed to her forehead again, making Riza melt at his touch. Roy cuddled into her side after turning off the lights. His face was buried in her hair, his lips resting just above her ear.

“Love you,” she mumbled tiredly.

“Love you too,” he laughed quietly, returning his hand to her pregnant stomach once more, this time, above her pyjama top. It was the warmest, most comfortable, and most relaxed Riza had felt in a long time.

[demolitiondarla]

ice // b.b x reader

pairing: bucky barnes x mutant!reader

warnings: pain, angst if you squint, fluff

plot: being in a relationship with bucky and having ice powers

a/n: hello again i love this concept but i’m not very good at writing so here’s this rather long au

(gif from google images)

sitting up with a jolt, you woke up from a rather nasty dream. nothing out of the ordinary but nevertheless unpleasant. bucky gave a concerned ‘hmm?’ as your icy body moved away from his. you ran your fingers through your hair and mopped your crystallised brow. cold sweats are a mystery to anyone with ice abilities. the sweat only turns to ice and you begin to look like you’ve been kept in a freezer.

‘just a bad dream’ you whispered, slightly out of breath.

‘c’mere’ he mumbled pulling you back into his embrace. settling in between his warm, flesh arm and his cold, metal one under the covers. he kissed the top of your head and buried his chin in your frosty hair. it hadn’t always been like this.

you never thought in a million years that you would take comfort in someone whose like a walking furness, and vice versa. you were still learning to control your powers when steve first introduced you to bucky. you knew the basics about his past but all he knew was your name. when you first met, he was incredibly distant and seemed almost annoyed by you.

‘nice to meet you, bucky,’ you shook his hand, forgetting you hadn’t quite mastered the control in your fingertips yet. you sent a frost all the way up to his shoulder, his eyes widened as he quickly pulled his hand away from yours. ‘oh my god, i’m so sorry mr barnes i didn’t mean it, i-i can try and undo it i just need to concentrate-‘ you offered your hands.

‘NO, no. i’m sorry, no,’ he interrupted. ‘i’ll sort it out myself. i’m sorry’ he held his arm close to his chest and quickly walked away. you and steve watched him go, steve with a look of sympathy and you with an apologetic look of horror.

‘why did he apologise, he didn’t do anything wrong’ you looked up at steve, almost tearful.

‘if there’s one thing to know about bucky, it’s that he’s forever apologising for things beyond his control’

every other interaction with bucky from that point on, for a good few months, was incredibly awkward and included a lot of apologising. until steve’s birthday party came around. the dress code was red, white and blue. and because white and blue were your two most on-brand colours, you decided to switch it up and wear something red. you showed up in your red dress that was tight in all the right places and bucky couldn’t take his eyes off you. he wasn’t the only one, but for some unknown reason, he was the only one you cared about. you gave steve his gift and a friendly kiss on the cheek then headed to the bar. you weren’t in the mood to get drunk, you were still relatively new around here. you ordered a lemonade and discretely turned it into a slush. bucky watched you do so from across the room and chuckled under his breath. you noticed and smiled, air cheers-ing him. he slowly made his way over to the bar with his nearly empty beer bottle and ordered a fresh one.

‘you know, us super soldiers can’t get drunk, so you won’t be the only sober one here tonight’ he said just loud enough for you to hear over the music.

‘yeah, stark told me about that. sucks’ you added, having no idea what to say. he’d given you the cold shoulder for 3 months and now wants to engage in small talk?

‘hey, i’m sorry for being off with you since we met. the whole ice thing kinda threw me. cold things and i, don’t really get along’ he apologised, but this time with 10x more sorrow in his eyes than the usual passing apologies.

‘you really need to stop apologising, bucky. it’s my bad, i should have kept my hands to myself. i knew i didn’t have control over my touch and i knew you’d been in cyro. i didn’t mean to trigger you or anything. way to make a first impression’ you blushed, looking down into your frosty drink.

‘no,no-don’t apologise, you don’t have to, i’m sorry-‘ he started to stutter.

‘how about this,’ you smiled, looking up at his worrisome face. ‘we both stop apologising for everything. especially for things that we have no control over’ you put out your left hand for him to shake.

‘deal,’ he shook with his metal arm, realising your little trick. ‘clever’ he chuckled still shaking your hand, watching his arm condensate.

the two of you spent the whole party exchanging stories, compliments and tricks you could do with your powers, and tricks he could do with his arm. by the end of the night you had tons of embarrassing steve content and he had an emergency contact for if his refrigerator ever broke down. it didn’t get past steve and sam how well you two were hitting it off. they were nudging each other all night every time a flirty look or laugh was made.

the months after that night was some of the most pleasant of your life. you and bucky were friends. quite good friends, at that. joining the avengers, ironically, you never thought the winter soldier would end up being your closest friend in the facility. you had inside jokes, banter. to steve, bucky seemed almost completely like his old self again. bucky would never go back to actual normality. not after the things he “did” and things he’d seen. you didn’t really care, you loved the bucky you had.

the days that would really test your friendship with bucky were your down days. for some reason, people had this whole picture painted that being a mutant with ice powers was glamorous and the easiest power to have/deal with. that was far from the truth but you’d never admit that to anyone. you didn’t want people thinking you were ungrateful or sympathy seeking. not being able to cry, crystallising and occasionally passing out every time you were in an environment above 25 degrees, being too scared to properly embrace someone in fear that you’ll accidentally freeze their insides, never knowing what real warmth felt like. all these things would make you feel incredibly low, but you couldn’t cry. it physically hurt too much. the tears were sharp and would empale your eyes but the pain would only make you cry more. it was a horribly vicious circle. one day bucky was heading to the kitchen at around 3am for a glass of water, another sleepless night. he could hear muffled whimpers coming from your room. he knew the sound of pain like the back of his hand. concerned, he quickly strode to your door and knocked lightly a few times before going in. this is the first time he had ever been in your bedroom. nothing could have prepared him for the state you and the room were in. he found you hunched in the corner of your iced room, blue blood around your fingernails and iced shut eyes. all your furniture and walls were covered in a thick layer of ice, as if it was that was on purpose but he knew it wasn’t. you’d talked about how you live and he knew this wasn’t the way. your room made bucky’s stomach churn. it brought him all the way back to the loss of his arm, the years of living in russia, the years of training in the freezing cold, the cyrofreeze. he panicked for a moment but quickly focused back on your shaking body in the corner. you were almost completely blue.

‘it hurts’ was all you managed to get out through sobs.

‘shhh, it’s okay doll, it’s okay i’m here,’ he held you and you flinched at the intense heat. as his right hand embraced your shoulder, steam rose from the blue area. you flinched again at the new sensation. ‘i’m sorry, did that hurt?’ he asked trying to look into your eyes.

‘no, just not used to anyone touching me in this state’ your breathing started to get fast.

‘ok i have an idea, do you trust me?’ he noticed your panic.

‘yes’ you shivered, just wanting this to be over.

bucky took his right hand and placed it over your eyes. you winced at first, confused by the lack of pain. but feeling the sharp shards disappear, you leant into the touch. bucky slowly uncovered his hand when the steam calmed. you blinked a few times and looked up at bucky’s worried eyes and rosy cheeks. without thinking, you quickly took bucky into a full embrace. as steam rose off your blue skin, slowly turning back to its original colour, all your worries evaporated. selfishly, you didn’t think about how this hug would effect bucky. the only fact on your mind was the fact he’d just saved you from your personal hell, that in the past, you’d just had to wait out. sometimes it took days, but he just solved it in an instant. a drop of water crystallising on your hand snapped you out of your lovesick trance. you looked around and noticed your room was starting to defrost.

‘we should probably get out of here’ you broke away from bucky, pointing at the dripping icicles on the ceiling.

‘good call,’ he said, taking your hand. ‘what about all your stuff?’ he added, looking around confused.

‘doesn’t matter’ you replied, practically dragging him out of the ice box.

you made your way to the living room and just sat for a while.

‘i don’t get in that state too often so don’t worry, you won’t have to become my knight in shining armour every day’ you broke the silence.

‘i don’t mind’ he offered a small but warm smile.

‘it just all gets a bit too much sometimes, you know? i hate not being able to drink hot tea, go out in the baking sun, get intimate with people - sorry that’s probably too much’ you looked down into your glass of water.

‘you already forgotten our deal?’ bucky lifted your chin up with his fingers. you sighed in content. he made you feel so comfortable.

‘you know, the reason i was so, pun not intended, cold towards you isn’t because i’m afraid of the ice. it’s because i hate that i’m not. i want to hate the cold, i want it to make me uncomfortable, but it’s home. it’s all i know. and i hate it’ he confessed behind a sad smile. your heart broke into a million tiny pieces.

‘bucky...’

‘but you. you’ve given winter, ice, the cold a whole new meaning. over this past year, you’ve become this constant in my life. you bring so much joy to everyone here. even though you’re clearly hurting so much, you manage to have all this room in your heart for us’ bucky had never made this much eye contact with you before.

‘sounds awfully familiar, barnes,’ you grinned at his gorgeous eyes. he tilted his head like a confused puppy. ‘i don’t know where i’d be without you. honestly. breaking down your walls and getting to know you has been the biggest blessing in my life. i don’t want to scare you off but, what the hell i’m just gonna say it. i’m falling in love with you james. no one has ever had this much time for me before. i’m so lucky to have you,’ bucky had tears in his eyes. ‘oh please don’t start crying because then i’ll start and i don’t need to be going back there again’ you giggled swiping your thumbs under his eyes, his tears solidifying on your skin.

‘i love you too, doll’ he laughed into your hands, you stayed cradling his face for a moment, no ice leaving your hands. you both slowly leant in and planted a passionate kiss directly on the lips. you broke away and just stared at each other. you noticed the dark bags under his eyes and felt guilty.

‘bucky you need to sleep’ you pushed his hair back, still managing to control the ice.

‘so do you’ he stood suddenly and picked you up bridal style, carrying you to his bedroom. he laid you down and you couldn’t help but get nervous.

‘what if i freeze your bed. or you’ you crossed your arms and legs.

‘wouldn’t be the first time, darling. now go to sleep’ he mumbled, pulling you down. you smiled, snuggling into his chest. you really loved him.

that was the first night you spent in between bucky’s warm, flesh arm and his cold metal one. over time, you learned how to deal with your powers and he learned to deal with the things you couldn’t control. he took you to the beach for your birthday. you had to wear a coat made of ice packs that he had fashioned himself but that made it all the more special. it didn’t matter how many nightmares either of you had, having each other at the end of them made everything worth while.

[early-sxnsets]

Stew

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672919/chapters/44928196

Chapter 5/13 of Proximity (The Collision of Lonely Men)

Word Count: 2384

Chapter Summary: Nostalgic meals, red wine, and hand holding.

Chilly, late fall nights have always been a favorite of mine.

I’ve always found myself inexplicably drawn to the harsh crunching of leaves and soft, wispy scent of their decay.

I get to wear those nice jumpers the Wellbeloves bought me for Christmas, and cooking doesn't feel as much of a chore rather than a comforting task. It’s feel warm all fuzzy--like the recipes were made for me to indulge in, rather than scarf down.

My favorite of all was always stew. Whenever there was stew nights at care home, I was always begging for seconds. It's hard to really mess up stew to the point beyond any recognition, and even with canned vegetables, it somehow managed to hold a home-cooked feeling.

It's so deeply ingrained into me that it's now one of the only recipes I know by heart. Probably only because I'd made it about 40 times over the course of one fall/winter. Made it so often that Aggie got sick of it while I was off memorized every little bit.

There isn't much in life I pride myself on, and stew is one of my top things. While I'd taken the recipe from a classics cookbook, I call it my own now. I've added some flair here and there to the point where it feels like it should be mine. Aromatic and thick--I feel like it could entice anybody with it.

Hell, it somehow even got Basilton in a shock.

I hadn't heard the door open, but I hear it fall shut, taking notice of the tall man standing at the door with his eyes fallen shut.

I turn down my music respectfully, raising both brows at him as I wipe my hands on the drying cloth. “Office hours over?” I ask, half expecting no answer (per usual). He treats me to one anyway.

“Mhm,” he hums, eyes still not open as he visually inhales. “Are… you actually cooking? In that shitty little kitchen?”

“Yeah. Of course I am.”

He finally takes a look at me, back straightening as his hands hover over his jacket buttons. “Oh. My apologies for intruding. You're probably expecting someone. I can leave--”

“Bullshit I’ll make you leave your own flat,” I shrug. “I don't have anyone coming over. I've got who in my life, Penny? That's about it. You're fine, come in.”

He stays put, not seeming convinced.

I exhale. “They're not serving dinner. Unless you plan on paying someone else or starving, I'd expect you to stay here. Take a seat, I'm nearly done.”

He runs his eyes over me and hesitantly slides out the top, thick black button of his coat. I stand at the small kitchen's entrance (it really is ridiculously tiny), hands on the towel as I watch him slip out of the jacket and his shoes.

He approaches slowly, one foot falling in front of the other almost like a skittish animal’s would.

I let him step closer on his own, heading back into the kitchen and eyeing my leftover wine. Enough for us to split a good bit.

Wordlessly, I settle a glass in front of him at the table and pour it up about halfway before settling the bottle in the middle. His gaze follows my hands, lips pursed hesitantly as I step back from him. I feel like a hovering parent, watching him somewhat nervously as he lifts the glass and brings it up for a taste.

He cringes slightly, frowning. “Tastes like cooking wine,” he mumbles, still going for another sip.

It makes me smile. “Wine is wine,” I shrug, walking back over into the kitchen. I can't see him, but I hear his tiny scoff. Still, there's the short scrape of glass behind me, roughing up against wood as he picks it back up. Soon enough, I'm sure he’s emptied it because I peek at him pouring another.

As I’m cooking, the creeping familiarity of the sense of being watched falls onto me. Like I’m his prey now, and his eyes are closely locked and not letting me go. And, as unnerving as it is, it’s harshly too regular now. It seems like every time we’re in a room, he’s watching me when I can’t see.

I pop the cast iron pot into the oven and silently go to fill my own glass. For now, I’m trying to stay focused on my own tasks, rather than Basilton’s concentration on them. Well, somewhat. I'm thinking about him thinking about and watching me, but that's completely different than thinking about him just watching me (isn't it?)

We're silent, but much closer than we usually are. As I lean against the table, he sits and blinks up, sipping at his own wine. Our eyes catch briefly, staring back at one another as the timer in the room over clicks rhythmically. I feel myself hold my breath, shoulders squaring out as I take an extended drink.

His head drops, index slowly tracing the rim of his glass as I struggle to find anything of use to say.

“How have your classes been going so far?”

He seems a bit shocked by the sudden interaction, snapping back into reality and staring up at me. “They've been manageable. The class average for my highest class was exemplary, but the papers of my fourth period class make me want to strike them from the gradebook, given how horrendous they turned out. It's like they learned absolutely nothing.”

I nod slowly, glass settling against my lips as I chat. “How's the students? Your schedule?” Easy enough talk, especially since he seems loosened up in the slightest from his drink. He's even got a small drop in his shoulders.

“Students themselves are fine. There's one student who wishes to be called ‘The Behemoth’, since that's what his rugby mates call him, and he might be the most obnoxious arse I've ever met.”

“Behemoth?”

“I'm assuming it's all in irony, given how short he is. He's not scrawny, but definitely not the biggest kid you've ever met.”

I feel myself chuckle, watching the downturn of his lips as he speaks. It makes me fight the impulse to simply reach out and rub my thumbs over the corners, smoothing them out to a more tolerable expression. “Well then, why is The Behemoth a nightmare?”

His head lazily tips back, eyes falling shut. “I can't begin--it's everything. Incessantly rude, impulsive and disruptive, no sense of respect for the classroom. I caught him trying to carve another dick into the table, and when I sent him off for it, he said ‘Thought you liked those’. It's a wonder I can't get him expelled.”

“Students can just… say that you?” I ask in a bit of a shock. He seems a bit amused by my surprise, raising a brow at me.

“With the amount their parents pay, they can call me a fag if they want to.” He simply stares up at me, glass reflecting spots of light down his wrists as we keep a shaky eye contact. I don't know what to say, if there's even anything left to he said.

“Fucking hell.” That's all I can manage from that. “Bloody fucking--have any students said that to you?”

He shrugs, soothing my anxious gaze by glancing out the window across the room. I listen to the settling of his glass against the table, making note of his uncharacteristic response. Does this mean I should comfort him? How the hell do you react to the person you like the least feeling like shit?

He finally speaks after what must be at least a full minute of silence. “Once. I gave the class a history on the word, and made it so tedious that nobody ever wanted to say it again, since they'd have to sit through another lecture.”

That's funny to me. I don't know why, but I'm laughing. And, suddenly, as if by a miracle, he's chuckling along. A quiet, hand-covering-face chuckle. One that, if he had his usual composure, would've never slipped out. It's stunning--soft and melodic. So much of him, yet so foreign and new to his usual reactions that it's making me smile openly.

We stop ourselves short to the beeping timer, signaling me to grab the pot.

We're calmed by the time I carry two bowls over. We sit adjacent to one another, hands only at reaching distance. The tiniest, cowardly part of me wonders what it'd feel like to push his skin against mine. To know what his hand feels like is to empathize, and to empathize is to bring that compassion we lack.

I don't know if I really like our fighting. I've never been a fan of pointless bickering or condescending arguments. If he was more like how he is now, a few glasses in, he'd be a lot more tolerable.

He polishes off that second glass and goes for a third, eyes blinking heavily as he stares down into the cheap drink. “How has your first quarter gone?” His voice is near-silent; a quiet chirp over the clinking of our bowls and spoons. I nearly could've missed it.

“Can't particularly complain. Boring, frankly, but it's temporary.”

“Temporary?” I suppose that's the best of a conversation spark as I'll get from him.

I shrug mindlessly, watching my carrots push around in the bowl. “Only a few years, then I wanna move back to the city. I miss the people being around me. It's far too quiet here.”

He raises his brows briefly before they drop back down. “Back to London then?”

“Back to London.”

The look on his face makes it seem like he has something to say, but nothing comes out. I let the moment between us pass in a safe silence, finishing my first bowl and going back for seconds.

As I sit, I allow myself to break the space again. “Thank you, Basilton,” I say, letting him meet my eyes quizzically before continuing. “I'd never properly thanked you for letting me come to your meeting a few weeks ago. It was really nice, and I never really go a chance to say that.”

He takes a moment between us, eyes traveling over my face and focusing on every little detail before he silently relents. He nods, eyes soft and a very faint blush spread over his cheeks. The light rosiness, of course, he can't really hide.

No matter how much I may want for it to be progress between us, I'm really sure it's entirely from the wine.

I find myself nodding back to him, a smile creasing my cheeks as we hold an equal gaze. One second, two seconds, then it's done. He drops his face, focusing on finishing up his dinner.

I start to do so too, barely able to enjoy it from the distraction of his closeness. Part of me says to not get too close--a dog may not have rabies, but that does mean it won't leave a nasty bite.

Although, the smallest part of me wonders whether or not his bark is far worse than his bite.

He finishes his food as I do, and I make the quick move to clean up after finishing my second glass. He doesn't make to stand, watching me go take them to the sink. There's an odd comfort in the feeling of him studying me now. In it gives an equal peace of mind to where he is (so he can't really sneak up on me). And yet still, there's an equal concern to where his mind is. Plotting a rude snap, trying to get me to move out faster. Something. Anything evil.

I quickly look at him while I'm wrapping the leftover container, and he immediately turns away, finishing what must be his third glass. Innocence doesn't fit him well--it's like a cheap suit. Stressed.

He stands once I'm done, following me nearly side-by-side as we step off to our bedrooms. He halts right as I'm reaching for the door, and I feel the flashing grip of his hand closing around mine, holding my skin to his. My breath catches, mind melting into a confusing puddle as he simply gawks at me.

He stays silent for a full moment, jaw hanging as he searches for something clear to say. Hesitantly, I turn my palm around, comforting him with a soft squeeze back. It does nothing but stun him further. It's a long minute before he speaks, chin tipping up as he finally manages out, “You're welcome to come to meetings anytime.” It's barely choked, and comes out in a quiet rushing flow of words. He exhales slowly, looking down upon me as I stare. “And… don't call me Basilton. Makes me sound sixty. Baz is just fine.”

I relax a bit, nodding a bit as we keep our eye contact, and I keep hold of the soft hand of his. It's warm at the palm, and cool at his fingers, making me worried briefly for the state of his health. Still, it's a mindless comfort of knowing right where he is, looking back at me.

Seconds pass, and then minutes. It starts dragging onto a staring competition--one where I feel set to win as I'm now stuck on the sight of his strong grey eyes. They're less harsh now, softened by the night and the alcohol in his blood. They're nearly human. Like I could do this forever.

I contemplate doing so briefly, but the touch of his hand and gravity of his gaze keeps me longing for such an odd moment.

It finally breaks when I yawn, noticing how flushed his cheeks are now. I bet they'd be warm to the touch. “Tired,” I mumble, eyes finally falling shut. I feel his hand loosen. “I think I'm gonna get ready for bed.”

His hand drops mine fully, and as I'm opening my eyes, he's already retreating to his room. I can't help but feel empty, watching the door of his swing shut and closing him away. As if there was a missing touch there, or a final word, before we let this night rest.

I'm too tired to fight it, and just slightly buzzed enough to respect it. So, I take my leave to my own room, letting our moment pass us by.

[especially-heinous-ada]

Special Bonus! Original Part 3

Hey guys! As you may have read in my previous fic posts, my laptop stopped working the day I finished writing parts three and four of my fic, A Police Gala. I was afraid it would be permanent and I had lost the work forever. As a result, I re-wrote Part 3 and 4, but I was so in love with my originals that neither felt as good re-written. However, because my boyfriend is a wonderful, amazing person, he was able to fix my laptop, and I now have regained my original fics! So as a special bonus while you wait for Part 5, I present the original Part 3!  Let me know which version you prefer in the comments.

(photo is of the reader’s TV room) royalty free image found at https://www.pexels.com/photo/apartment-ceiling-chair-decoration-276653/

Rafael strode down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace. He was in no hurry to return home to his empty apartment after spending the better half of his night with such pleasant company. For a moment, he contemplated stopping for a nightcap, but decided against it, as he was soaked to the bone. His sopping-wet suit clung to his skin in an unpleasant manner as he walked and he cursed the cab driver under his breath. Luckily, it was a short trip from your apartment to his. He found it an amusing twist of fate. You lived so close to him, you were both involved in the law enforcement world, and yet, the two of you had no idea the other existed until now.

Once Rafael was under the building’s awning, he retracted the umbrella and gave it a hearty shake to slough off the rain before bringing it inside. He entered the building and nodded to the doorman.

“Good evening, Giles.”

“Good evening, Mr. Barba. Have a rough night?” Giles smiled, with a jovial twinkle in his eye.

“Actually, it was lovely. Until this, of course.” Rafael motioned to his entire body. “But it…perked up again at the end.” Giles nodded. The older man seemed to mull Rafael’s words over in his head.

“Take care not to catch cold.” He offered, before looking back out toward the street. Based on his expression, Rafael thought Giles might have inquired further about the events of his night, but he didn’t. He found himself wondering why. Though, he supposed he, himself, was probably to blame for that. Although Giles was a kind man and Rafael enjoyed the occasional conversation, it was rare that he had enough time to spare more than a line or two. He was always in a rush in the morning and upon the brink of exhaustion once he returned home.

Rafael stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the top floor. It was divided into two large suites—his, and that of an eccentric young tech guru. He had seen his new neighbor a few times, but they never interacted beyond a nod of acknowledgement. That was fine with him. He suspected they had nothing in common, anyway. The elevator dinged and the door opened to a hallway packed with people. Rafael groaned. Not another party. As soon as he exited the elevator, people from the hallway packed it full. He approached his door and unlocked it, wasting no time slipping inside. He placed his umbrella in its holder by the door and kicked off his shoes on the mat, too tired to take care of them properly. He sighed and crossed over toward his bedroom, wanting desperately to change into something dry and warm.

Entering his bedroom, Rafael quickly strips off the wet, heavy suit pieces and hangs them over a rack to dry. He sighs, wondering if he should even bother picking out pajamas to wear as he swaps his underwear for a dry pair. He decides it isn’t worth the trouble and slips underneath the covers of his bed. He stares up at the ceiling. Although he’s tired, his mind won’t stop racing. He’s thinking of your singing voice. Your dainty hand inside of his. The warmth exuding from your body as he stood close. The sweet nectar of your perfume commanding him to drink you in and never leave. The softness of your skin as his lips brushed against it…

Abruptly, Rafael sits up and throws the covers off of himself. He crosses the room back to where he hung up his suit. He reached inside his breast pocket to retrieve the piece of paper you had given him, wanting to store your number in his phone before he forgot. He felt the paper between his fingers and slid it out of the pocket carefully, to avoid ripping it. A frown crossed his face when he laid eyes on it. The ink had smeared and the phone number was no longer legible.

He began to laugh, unsure of how else to react. He wanted to shout, to cry out in frustration. This was just his luck.

I finally meet someone. She gives me her phone number, tells me to call her. I agree to…then I lose her phone number.

Rafael contemplated whether he might be destined to be alone forever as he sat down on his bed, feeling defeated. He had no idea how else he was going to get ahold of you, and he didn’t dare show up outside your building like a stalker. That was a sure-fire way to guarantee you filed for a restraining order. He contemplated the ways he might get ahold of you as he climbed back underneath the covers, but he knew that rich people like their privacy, making it very difficult to contact them directly. He groaned and laid down with a flop as he thought of what he was more than likely going to miss out on. God, you were fantastic: intelligent, funny, talented, warm, down-to-earth, intriguing, and incredibly sexy.

Rafael’s mind turned back to the pictures from your lingerie photoshoot and he found himself getting aroused. The combination of emotional and sexual frustration built up inside him. At least he could fix one of those problems tonight, he thought as he slid one hand down underneath the covers.

***

You let out a big sigh. Your breathing is still a bit jagged and your heartrate, accelerated. You chuckle, putting an arm over your face to hide it, as if someone were there watching.

“Rafael Barba, what are you doing to me?” you say to yourself before removing the arm to stare up at the ceiling. It had been three days and you hadn’t heard a peep from him. You even went to another charity event tonight, in hopes that he would be there. He wasn’t.

Your mind returns to the other night. The dance floor. You relive the feeling of his hands holding yours, dwarfing them in comparison. They’re big, vascular hands with thick fingers that just scream I am a man. Your memory flashes forward to those same hands cupping your jaw delicately, making you feel so tiny. His face so close to yours that you can see every detail of it, but you’re focused on his eyes…then his lips.

“Gah!” You let out a shout of frustration. He was driving you crazy. You thought that maybe after you had some release, you could get him out of your head, but to no avail. Neither your hands nor your toys were enough to satiate you when you thought of him—and you couldn’t stop thinking of him. You turned onto your side and looked over at your bedside table. The clock read 12:00 A.M.

With another big sigh, you rolled out of bed and made your way straight into the kitchen. Whistling a haphazard tune, you grabbed a fresh bottle of wine from the wine cooler and fished the corkscrew out of a nearby drawer. You opened the bottle, threw the corkscrew in the sink and walked off into the living room, drinking straight from the bottle.

“Ahh, that’s better,” you think aloud, sinking down onto your white leather couch. You take another drink as you turn on the television. If a little on-on-one time can’t chase away the thought of him, maybe wine and late night television will.

“And in other news, the ‘Date Night Ripper’ of Manhattan has been brought to justice. Today, he was found guilty on 12 counts, including rape, murder and mutilation of a corpse—”

“Sick son of a bitch.” You said, shaking your head.

“Following the verdict earlier today, the prosecutor had this to say.”

Suddenly, the live feed from the news station cut to pre-filmed footage from outside the courthouse. The caption stated that it was from earlier in the day. Descending the courthouse stairs was none other than Rafael Barba. You groaned. A reporter called out to him, and he stopped to answer their question. He talked about how the jury made the right decision and how the people of New York could sleep a little easier tonight knowing the killer was off the streets, followed by some generic fluff about justice.

It was a pretty typical statement from an A.D.A., but it was the only typical thing about him in that footage. He wore a stylish black suit with a peach, checked dress shirt and matching baby blue tie and pocket square. You were impressed by the fact that he dressed himself so fashionably. His hair was perfectly coiffed and his jawline was more structured than the five-year-plan your financial advisor had explained to you this morning in explicit detail.  You let out a strangled groan. This had to end. Now. You took a large gulp of wine and stood off the couch, moving over to your entryway, where you had left your phone in your hurry to get to the bedroom. You kept drinking as you scrolled through your contacts, looking for someone tolerable enough to call to handle the situation for you, because you clearly couldn’t do it on your own.

“Damian. I miss you.” You purr, when the handsome man answers your call. “How soon can you be here?”

20 minutes was all it took and Damian was outside the door of your penthouse suite. You invited him in and wasted no time getting right down to business. You pulled him into your room and stripped down to nothing. Laying down on the bed, you pulled him on top of you. You moaned quietly as Damian kissed you and leaned into you, positioning himself between your legs.

Damian was a model you had worked with in the past. Neither of you expressed interest in a relationship, as he wasn’t exactly the type to settle down with, but when the nights were long and lonely, you could count on him to keep you company. Though you didn’t exactly need the stimulation; right now, you needed a distraction from Rafael. It was dangerous how quickly he’d taken up space in your mind. Damian kissed and licked his way down your body, stopping to suck on the tender flesh of your inner thigh. He moved up and let out a hot breath onto your renewed arousal before grasping your hip and taking you into his mouth.

You groaned at the stimulation, threading your fingers through his hair. Suddenly, your brain flashed a vision of Rafael’s perfectly coiffed hair on your TV screen and you imagined what it would be like to grip it as he put his head between your legs. The thought deepened your arousal.

No. You’re supposed to be taking your mind off him. You remind yourself. He’s a prosecuting attorney. He’s made it clear he’s too busy for relationships. There’s no way it would work out. That night was a one-time thing. A fantasy.

You let out a little gasp as Damian changed his rhythm, quickening a bit. Yes. Damian. Focus on him. He was rather good with his mouth. You had to admit, this was your favorite part of your encounters with Damian.

 He looked up and grinned at you as he started to use his fingers to tease you. It was a cocky, one-sided grin that you’d seen before—on Rafael’s face. You growled in frustration and Damian mis-read it as arousal.

“Ay, mami. You’ve never made that noise for me before.” Now doubly annoyed, you put your hand on the back of his head and direct him back to your center. You needed to come. Now. He gladly resumes his position and continues where he left off.

“Rafael Barba, A.D.A., Manhattan.”

You felt your frustration bubble up.

“Would you like to dance?”

Damian quickened his pace and you feel the familiar pressure build inside you.

“It’s kind of romantic, don’t you think?”

       Asshole.

“I’ll call you soon, if that’s still alright with you?”

       Liar.

 You let out a loud moan as you feel yourself near climax.

“That’s it mami, come for me.” Damian says. “Come for me.” After a few moments of resisting, you give in and let the waves rush over you. You panted and moaned and muttered things, but as you come down from your high, you don’t care enough to know what you said.

You scoot away from Damian, who sits up on his feet and looks at you with a confused look.

“Who’s Rafael?”

“What?” You reply, bewildered.

“When you came, you didn’t say my name, you said Rafael. So who is Rafael, and why is he not here instead of me?” He answers. You can tell he’s pissed off. Not that you could blame him, after you said another man’s name.

“Did I really say that?” You ask in disbelief. He sighs.

“I know I’m not exactly your boyfriend, but it’s awfully messed up to fuck someone when you’re wishing it was someone else.”

“I’m sorry, Damian.” You apologize, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You should probably go home. Sorry for wasting your time. You didn’t even get a chance to get naked. I’ll pay for your cab fare.” He shakes his head.

“It’s fine.” He thinks about it for a moment. “Actually, can I have the rest of that wine?” He motions to the open bottle on your bedside table. You laugh and agree. He downs a large gulp before looking at you once again.

“Good luck with this Rafael dude,” he says as he stands up and walks toward the door.

“Thanks.” You say. “I’ll need it.” The last part you mumble to yourself as Damian disappears and you hear your front door shut behind him.

You wake the next morning and resolve that something has to be done about Rafael Barba. You can’t spend the rest of your life obsessing over a man you spent one night dancing with and didn’t even fuck. You weren’t sure what would come of you contacting him, but you knew that you needed closure, whatever that happened to be. He was an attorney, so you knew that the only place you were sure to find him was work. Luckily, you were familiar with the DA’s office. You had toured it previously as a potential donor for the DA’s re-election campaign.

 You sighed, glancing at your phone to get ready for the day. No missed calls or texts. You took your time picking your outfit, styling your hair, and applying your makeup. He needed to see what he’d been missing for the better half of a week. When you were finally ready, you picked up your phone and your purse and walked out the door like a woman on a mission. Dressed to kill and armed with charm—Rafael Barba wouldn’t know what hit him, you smirked.