A Valentine’s Day accident forces Rafael and Olivia to confront the choices that shaped them, and the ones that tore them apart, as unseen forces pull long-buried truths into the light. The Door
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A Valentine’s Day accident forces Rafael and Olivia to confront the choices that shaped them, and the ones that tore them apart, as unseen forces pull long-buried truths into the light. The Door
Fight
Prompt - 'Fight'. Olivia and Rafael can argue like the best of them.
Warnings - very very light angst, one or two words of bad language.
***
They had both been wrong, that was the real problem. They had both been stubborn. They had both been unwilling to relent and now it had descended into chaos.
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” she screamed, whirling around to see him stalk across the living room.
“’Liv, can we table this for another day please?”
“No, we can’t, Barba!” she shouted, slamming her hands down on the counter and facing him with a steely expression, “Are you seriously considering taking this job?”
“I DON’T KNOW!” he screamed back, waving his hand in the air before allowing it to drag down his face, closing his eyes briefly and breathing in deeply.
Entry for @thebarsondaily 's Weekly Drabble Prompt - opening night
It’s been a while, my writing mojo kinda went into the universe somewhere. Enjoy!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/38565150
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Impeccable Timing
Barson drabble, established relationship, based in the future of the Iowa Vs Italy universe. Funny and silly, no warnings really apply. Noah's around 15 years old and teenagers and their parent's libidos don't mix. Enjoy!
WC: 702.
***
“Oh Jesus! Mom! Dad!” came Noah’s shout as he walked into the living room.
“Noah! What the hell!” came her mother’s cry as she shoved Rafael off her and stumbled to her feet, grabbing her blouse from the floor and hastily trying to button it.
“I forgot my gym bag.” said Noah quietly, his eyes firmly fixed on the floor, trying to ignore his mother stood there in only her bra and slacks.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming home?” she asked, correcting her pants and running her fingers through her hair.
You Called Me Sweet
Barson (pre-relationship kind of) drabble, very mild angst, slightly fluffy, using the prompt - "H-how long have you been standing there?"
WC: 1277
***
“H-how long have you been standing there?” he asked, his face burning when he turned to the look at the door and saw her stood in the doorway, leaning to one side, arms folded across her chest, a small smile on her face. She looked as lovely as she always did.
“Long enough.” she shrugged, stepping into his inner sanctum, “you really went to bat for me, huh?”
He threw his phone down violently on his desk, growling some Spanish words she didn’t catch under his breath before stalking back and forth, his mind racing.
“We’re partners, ‘Liv. I’m not going to let anyone threaten you like that. If Buchanan thinks he’s going to hold me to ransom he’s got another thing coming. Slimy arrogant bastard!” Rafael spat, his eyes burning, his fists clenched at his side.
Can't I Tempt You?
Barson drabble, fluff, using a prompt from Twitter's @incorrectBarson - "Are you trying to seduce me into better sleeping habits?"
WC: 614
***
“I don’t need to go to bed. I’m not tired and I still have work to do.” grumbled Rafael as he heard her footsteps shuffling behind him.
“But it’s cold tonight and I need warming up.” she whined, coming to a standstill behind him.
“Are...are you trying to seduce me into better sleeping habits?” he smirked, his smile turning into a groan as her hands worked his shoulders, her fingers dancing across his aching muscles.
“Is it working?” she whispered, her lips hovering deliciously close to his ear, her breath gliding across his skin as the shivers whipped up his spine.
Do You Promise?
Barson (pre-relationship) drabble, mild angst, mentions of gun violence and blood, using the prompt - “Promise me you’ll look after my mother.”
WC: 876
***
“The wound to Mr Barba’s side is superficial, the bullet grazed him, barely went through at all.”
“And his leg?” she asked anxiously, her hands twisting together, trying to let herself ignore the blood staining her own flesh, his blood.
“That one’s not so good, entry wound but no exit, but what you did? That probably saved his life, any more blood loss and it would’ve been close. You riding with us, Lieutenant?”
“Try and stop me.” she barked, before climbing up into the back of the vehicle.