#they probably shot the guy who suggested those suits

[honeygrahambitch]

Hannibal's outfits in the first episode....are.... horrendous. I will never move past it

[fatecantstopme]

Better Together

Pairing: Rafael Barba x reader

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

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

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

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

por favor: please

qué: what

hermosa: beautiful/gorgeous

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

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

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

"Four hours."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Olivia shrugged. "You know how he is."

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

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

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

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

"I hate you."

She laughed. "No you don't."

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

"Does he?"

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

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

Nick chuckled. "Without a doubt."

"See?!" you said smugly.

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

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

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

**********

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

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

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

"Why?" Fin asked.

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

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

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

He raised his eyebrows. "Obviously not."

"Are you a forensic psychologist?"

"Again, no."

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

"No..."

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

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

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

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

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

"Likely both."

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

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

**********

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

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

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

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

"Awww no fun," Amanda teased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Excuse me?" he asked in surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why, then?" you asked softly.

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

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

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

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

"Safer?"

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

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

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

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

"Exactly."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded, not trusting your voice in the moment.

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

"Do you really want to know?"

He nodded.

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

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

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

He looked back up at you in surprise.

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

"What makes you think that?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I want nothing less."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you so afraid of?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhmm," you hummed in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are perfect, hermosa.”

You blushed. “Rafa…”

He groaned. “Fuck. Don’t do that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blushed and shook your head.

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

“I want you to enjoy yourself too…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But I want to," you reassured him.

"You do?"

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

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

You grinned ear to ear. "Stand up."

"Qué?" he asked in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am, cariño," he said in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Rafael!" you cried out at the sensation.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes!" you gasped.

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

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

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

You nodded your head rapidly.

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

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

"Don't--stop!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Very decent," he muttered against your hair.

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

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

"Who says we have to?"

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

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

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

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

"I was kidding, Rafa!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[chocotonez]

skz putting their jacket over your lap

a/n: hiii, merry Christmas Eve if you celebrate!! I hope you all stay warm and enjoy your winter <3 also I forgot to put a read more on this one so sorry about that lolol

warnings/genre: gn language but y/n wears skirts, shorts and dresses and stuff, fluff, mentions of food and slight cat calling/harassment in seungmin’s (guys stare at u and whisper shit), discomfort in revealing clothing in hyunjin but that’s a really bad way of explaining it so see for yourself if u want

chan

-he always keeps his arm around you at public events, so when you were at a dinner party to celebrate the release of his new album he could feel how cold your skin was

-the dress was suggested to you by a stylist since you didn’t really know what to wear, but someone call irene cuz…

-you were constantly pulling down the skirt, and he could feel you shuffling like every five seconds because just breathing made the dress ride up

-“are you okay?? wanna go home?” And you, who’s literally eating the best fucking food you’ve ever tasted and having the time of ur life supporting ur boyfriend obviously shot down his offer

-so he took the coat he came in with because suddenly this takes place in the winter and puts it over your lap, before kissing the top of your head.

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable, okay? We can leave any time.”

lee know

-lovingly already giving you shit about it before you even leave the house

-“baby, I love you and all and I think you look amazing but those shorts are gonna be uncomfortable as hell”

-“hoes never give up their clothes”

-he didn’t wanna be overbearing so he was like “whatever nerd let’s go”

-you guys were sitting outside and you were already pulling your shorts down, minho only noticing when you entered a grocery store because wtf why r they so cold

-gives you the “I told you so” look and forces u to take his jacket :>

“wrap it around your waist idiot, tell me if you want to go home.”

changbin

-ur probably gonna have to ask him bevause dawg doesn’t realize

-but when you do tell him he’s like !!! “Oh my god I’m so sorry, of course you can have my jacket!!” and he’s holding ur hand all reassuringly and apologizing n ur like “it’s ok I was literally just unbearably cold”

-feels so bad that he didn’t notice how u were literally freezing to death :,)

-bonus is you get to see him roll the sleeves up of his collared shirts + he gets to see you comfortably enjoying yourself so everyone wins

“I’m so sorry again!! Tell me if you need anything else, okay?”

hyunjin

-your supporting your boyfriend at a little formal party, and it was an indoor event at a familiar location that has never been uncomfortable ever in your life

-and then it was uncomfortable, you were just rubbing your legs and the feeling of leather on bare skin was weird and why the hell was it so cold??

-but you looked so hot in this dress ?? so what can someone do. you didn’t mind dressing up, but being in such a weird environment made you dream of the pajama pants you’d put on when you got home

-hyunjin takes his suit’s blazer off and casually slides it over to you without even blinking an eye, as you look up like ??? dawg I didn’t even say anything and he’s just like “I know~~”

-he just knows you very well and he also likes the trope of u wearing his suit jacket after a party, so he insists you keep it because u look so cute

“I can just tell when you’re uncomfortable! I’m a psychic, hehe >:]”

han

-“eeee i don’t like this dress, I feel weird in it”

-“omg babe no!! u look so good :>”

-“no my legs r just cold”

-feels like a superhero and the coolest boyfriend ever to put his coat over your lap, he’s so proud of himself :,)

-he feels like he’s the protag of some romance drama, n he loves it!! and you’re no longer freezing ur ass off so thank goodness

-pretends to forget his coat so he can see you wear it on the way home or something like that

“hehehe, you look cute! do you need anything else? aren’t I just the best?”

felix

-idk he’d probably forget a jacket too so you’d both be awkwardly freezing at a restaurant so we’re gonna put you in an award ceremony

-you were his +1! so you dressed up extra nice for the evening, and you sat next to him as winners came up with their thank you speeches

-I think he’s very attentive to you if you guys go out together cuz he wants you to enjoy every moment with him!!

-so he notices v quickly when you use the table cloth as a blanket for your lap or shake your legs, and he hurriedly gives you his suit jacket so you don’t feel so uncomfortable

-kisses your cheek after, and when cameras catch this cute asf moment you two go trending on twt for 24 hours :,) you guys are just so cute together!!

“Does it feel better than the table cloth? I thought so, I can ask staff for something more accommodating, just let me know <3”

seungmin

-you guys are taking the train home after a day out, and you’re just scrolling on your phone before he leans over

-“the guys across from us are looking at you, do you wanna move?”

-you decide to just stay as the only free seats were reserved for others who needed it more, so you just say like 180 degrees away from them

-you could hear them whispering, and you subconsciously pulled your shorts down, not even knowing if that’s what the problem was

-you tried to ignore the gawking before you saw a grey hoodie fly over your lap, seungmin gently holding your waist to turn you back forward and giving the guys across from you the most uncomfortable eye contact until they stop

“Weirdos. Don’t feel insecure or anything by them, probably just never seen someone as hot as you before…”

jeongin

-trips over his two feet to get to you

-you guys planned for lunch at a cafe, and while you were waiting for him you texted “omg this skirt is so uncomfortable lolol” and next thing you know someone’s sprinting at you full force while holding their jacket

-it’s your loving boyfriend who broke into a sprint the second he read your text

-“h-here, put this over your lap if you want” “how far did you run??” “bro just take it I beg”

-you can’t help but laugh because he’s so out of breath and didn’t even mind the eyes staring at him because he was just running in a panicked frenzy

-boyfriend mode: activated

“I’m not a simp, shut up. Just want you to feel comfortable you loser. (lovingly)

[a-spes]

T H E B L O O D O N M Y H A N D S - One shot.

Words count - 3,2k.

Tags & Warnings - Natasha Romanoff x reader, angst / comfort, a form of self-harm, mentions of death and blood.

Summary - When you kill someone on duty for the first time, Natasha is the one being here to stop you from falling.

— — — — —

You haven’t been a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent for long, barely more than three years. It may seem long for some people but, in that kind of job, it is not. Although your training ended up a long time ago, your teammates are still calling you a Rookie because even after years of duty, you still have a lot of things to learn, some the hard way.

You guess this nickname will stick with you until a new recruit joins the agency. It has been three years that no one passed the entrance exam so you are still seen as the newest addition which pisses you off sometimes. It is frustrating to not be taking seriously just because you are a bit less experienced than your teammates, some of them only been on the agency for one more year than you but are acting cocky with it.

However, despite your teammates’ attitude, you are convinced you are right where you are supposed to be : even if some days are rough, you love this job. Honestly, you never planned to join the agency but now you are here, you don’t want to leave.

You have always dreamed about becoming a police officer, not some kind of governmental spy. You ended up here thanks to a bit of fate and, mostly, thanks to the help of one of your professors. At the police academy, you were doing great, you were among the best of your promotion, that is why Mr. Andrews suggested you to take the entrance exam for the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy. Before that day, you had never heard about the agency, but you still decided to give it a try, it was the least you could do to thanks him for everything he did.

Surprisingly, you succeed the exam and earned a place at the academy, alongside with two of your classmates. You weren’t sure it was what you wanted to do, but it was probably your only chance to give it a try so you went to the academy, thinking you could always leave if it doesn’t suit you. Yet, it has been the best decision you made.

Surely, you doubted it sometimes, thinking about quitting because the training was so hard, both physically and mentally, that you thought you couldn’t take it anymore. But you stayed, not being alone helped you a lot so, even if you doubted a lot your decision, you never regretted it.

Until today.

One day was enough to change everything. The first rule in the job is that you know nothing. Every mission is different, every mission could go wrong at any moment, it is impossible to be prepared to what it could bring to you. After three years of duty, you tend to forget about that rule. Up to now, everything went smooth, except for a few injuries you got, you were lucky.

It was supposed to be a routine mission, not much different than the previous ones. Your team was supposed to take back some important documents, so you needed to infiltrate the hotel the guys who stole it were staying.

“I get it”, you whisper in the communication device.

But when you are about to leave the room, you hear the voices of two persons. You don’t have much time, so you decide to quickly hide under the bed, you wish there was a better place but all you can do is waiting here, praying they won’t notice your presence. However, it seems fate is not on your side tonight.

After maybe ten minutes of waiting that felt like an eternity, you eventually feel someone pulling you from under the bed by grabbing your legs. You may be a qualified agent, but they are way more experienced than you are. You were listening to their conversation but yet, you couldn’t have guessed they knew you were here the whole time. Racing heart and irregular breath are the signs of panic, but you can’t let those take the control of your body, fear is a synonym to death. Take a deep breath, think and attack before they can.

It is quite easy to escape the man’s grasp because he wasn’t expecting you to be so fast. But the man wasn’t the problem, it was the woman with him. She was aiming that gun at you while you were fighting with her mate, not shooting yet because she could’ve killed him instead, but as soon as you stand up, she doesn’t hesitate anymore.

It was a reflex.

She missed the first bullet because of the circumstances, because she couldn’t clearly target you so the bullet passed closed enough. Except she doesn’t look like someone that misses an easy shot and you don’t look like someone who wants to die so you shoot first.

It was a reflex.

It is the first you kill someone on duty. Three years of duty during whose you ensured that you wouldn’t kill anyone. You get them out of the way, you hurt them, sometimes you knock them out like you just did with that guy but you never took a life. But tonight you did, for the first time. Tonight, you didn’t aim for that woman’s leg but for her chest, right where her heart is, she died almost on the spot. It feels awful.

On the way back to the base, you are silent. Your teammates don’t even notice how quiet you are tonight. The two sitting on the front of the car are talking, the last one is humming some music. The mood is light because the mission was a success: you did bring back those documents. So why aren’t you joyful? You don’t know, but tonight you don’t feel like joking, laughing and jumping around as you usually would.

Tonight, you won’t celebrate with your mates because there is nothing to celebrate. A woman died. It doesn’t matter which side she was on or if she was aiming that gun at your head because you shoot and it makes you no better than the people you despise. When you joined the Academy, it was to save civilians, to make something good about your life, you wanted to feel useful and make a difference. So from the moment you became an agent, you avoid killing people. A part of you knew that, one day, wouldn’t let you choose but you didn’t think much about it; if after three years you didn’t kill anyone, it’ll may stay that way until you end your career.

Oh, how naive you were.

Maybe you are too gentle for that world. Your mates kill people and you never saw them hesitating, so what’s wrong with you? Can’t your mind just shut up? It is not that a big deal, is it? It is supposed to be your job, you did what you had to, right? So why does it still feel wrong?

You are a person that easily slip on other people’s shoes. Those people called villains are nothing more than people that got lost at a moment in their lives, people that were failed by the system or made a wrong choice, does it mean they deserve to die? Some of them, maybe, but definitely not that woman. She was barely older than you are, she had a whole life to live but she will never get you because of you, because you decided she didn’t deserve to live.

It is something your superiors often blame you for: your inability to shot when it is needed. It is not because it led to failed mission, but because it caused you a lot of injuries that could have been avoid. They never understood why you were so reluctant to do so, sometimes they are angry, sometimes just disappointed. But tonight you eventually did exactly what they are expecting from you. That’s what you are repeating to yourself but it doesn’t make you feel any better, if you hate the idea of disappointing Agent Romanoff, your superior, you probably hate your actual situation even more.

This moment is playing again and again on your mind, making you oblivious of your surrounding. The sound of her body falling is covering your mates’ voices. The way her chest raised one last time before she stopped moving, the way her eyes were wide open and the blood. Everywhere. On the ground, on her suit, on your hands. A bit of your own, but mostly of her, who knew a body contains so much blood? Not you.

When you are finally back at the compound, the redhead is here. Even if you are not a trainee anymore, you are still a rookie until they decide otherwise and she will probably be your mentor for a few more years. And being your mentor means that wherever you are, she is. Today was your first mission alone. Well, you weren’t really alone, you had your usual team by your side but she wasn’t here. At first, she didn’t want to let you go, wherever she is, you are, but she let herself be convinced. This mission couldn’t wait more, neither could the emergency call she got.

The mission was easier than some you did by the past, she knows you are capable but still, she can’t get over that strange feeling, being scared for you security. She knows she can trust you but can she really trusts your mates? She is stressing over the fact that, for the first time, she isn’t here to protect you.

She is now regretting her choice, it was irresponsible from her to agree to such a demand. She has no idea what exactly happened during the mission but she heard that things didn’t go as smoothly as they were supposed too. She is pacing back and forth on the garage, waiting for your team to come back. She tried to get more information from Fury, but he doesn’t know much more than what he already told her.

A few hours later, the team is eventually back. When her eyes catch you, she is relieved: you seem fine. Her relief only lasts a moment as she quickly notices something is off with your attitude. You ignored her, didn’t even looked for her as you would usually do.

“What happened?” she asks to one of the agents that was on the mission. She grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to look at her, she is taking the whole situation seriously.

“She fired”, he replies, shrugging.

The man doesn’t really understand why it is such a big deal to you, after three years, you should be used to that kind of things happening in a mission. However, Natasha immediately understood.

She rushes to find you but it is already too late. She can’t find you on the locker room, neither she can on your dorm or on the common areas. It is on the shared bathroom that she eventually finds you. She can’t help but being worried. She was really young when she killed for the first time, but she still remembers how it feels, years don’t take away the guilt and the disgust. The difference is that she never got a chance to think too much about it, she was raised to kill, it felt almost normal after a while, she got used to that feeling You, however, are not of that kind. It doesn’t matter how skilled you are: you are not a murder.

“What are you doing?” she asks, frowning when she saw you here.

Scrubbing. That is what you are doing and the only thing left in your mind, you are just obsessed with the idea of cleaning your hands. So you are scrubbing. You are scrubbing until the water turns clear but it doesn’t, it stays red and bloody. It seems there is always more blood on your hands.

You are so focused that you didn’t even hear the woman coming in. Your ears are ringing and your vision is blurry because of the tears in your eyes, the only thing you can see clearly is the blood, all this red. You are using a nail brush in hope it would help you get it of the dirt? but it doesn’t. It just hurts.

A pain that you ignore.

A pain that you feel like you deserved it, like it is the only way to get those memories out of your mind, even if it is just for a moment, you are glad to be able to focus on something.

However, Natasha is not. As soon as she realizes what you are doing, she steps in. She turns the water off, wrapping her hands around yours to make you stop, as her attempts to talk to you failed. She slowly takes the soap and the brush from your hands, putting it on the sink.

For a few minutes, you remain silent. You don’t even dare to look at her in the eyes, how could you? The guilt and the shame make you avoid her gaze, a part of you being scared about what she could say or think. Maybe she sees you exactly as you do right now: pathetic and horrible.

“Let’s clean those wounds”, she eventually says in a quiet voice that surprises you because you thought she would be angry and yell at you. Or maybe it is what you wished she would do. It is easier to hate yourself when people do too.

But she doesn’t.

On the contrary, she is sweet and caring, an attitude that is rarely hers, Agent Romanoff not being someone showing that she cares the usual way. She is usually demanding with the people she cares for but she understands that tonight you don’t need that. Right now, what you need is someone by your side, someone to guide you through that situation.

So she makes you sit on a stool. You don’t protest, there is something good in not having to think about what to do next. She comes back with a few seconds later with medical kit. She sits in front of you and, in silence, she starts to take care of your hands. You scrubbed them for so long and with so much pressure that the blood at the end wasn’t the woman’s anymore. It was yours because the brush scratched your hands.

“Here we are”, she says once she is done. She cleaned your wounds with alcohol and then applied bandages on your hands. She seems to want to add something, but she hesitates. “Do you want to talk about it?” she eventually asks.

You shake your head, no. You don’t want to talk about it, you don’t want to hear about it, you don’t even want to think about what happened today. If it was possible, you would like to erase this day from your mind or turn back in time so you can change the outcome, but you can’t.

Natasha sighs but she doesn’t push, she knows it is not the solution. Instead, she guides you to her quarters.

“It is not my room”, you remark when you get here. It is a one person room, one of the privileges of being a superior.

“No, it’s not”, she acknowledges, “but I am not leaving your side.”

“You don’t need to do that, I am gonna be fine”, but she doesn’t let you go. As you try to leave the room, she firmly hold you by the arm. You staying here wasn’t a question, not even an invitation, it was more of an order.

“No, you are not. And after what happened I don’t trust you, at least not tonight”, she tells you and she is not joking at all. She has that serious expression and you know she won’t take no as an answer. You want to be alone, but deep down you are relieved you won’t spend the night alone.

She helps you take off your suit. She then helps you to put on some of her clothes, a short and a t-shirt, so you are ready to go to sleep. It is already late, midnight was long gone. She guides you to the bed, it is a bit small but it is just for one night and you don’t seem to protest, you just let her guide you, your mind being far away.

The two of you are leaning in the bed in silence. Her chest pressing against your back, her head near to yours. She is holding you firmly, as if she was scared you could run away. You stay in that position for a moment before your voice breaks the silence.

“I- I don’t even know her name, I barely saw her face and-” you eventually say, feeling the need to let a bit of what is in your mind out. You are exhausted, but you can’t even close your eyes to try to sleep, those memories and thoughts keeping you wide awake.

“it’s okay”, she whispers in your ear. She is not sleeping either, too worried about you for that. She already knows that she is going to stay awake the whole night to keep an eye on the woman she is holding in her arms.

“No!” you yell. You can’t stand how calm she is. “No it’s not, how could it be okay? I killed her. I killed a woman and I don’t even know who she was.”

“It happens, sometimes, you have no choice”, she continues to talk in a quiet voice, soothing you by stroking your hair. She knows nothing she could say right now would make it easier. You need time and support, all she can do is being here and let you know she is.

“I do, I should’ve aimed for her limb or…”, you start, but you can’t even finish your sentence. You feel your throat tighten, your voice broke on the last few words.

“You did exactly what you had to. You did exactly what you had to stay alive. I know it is hard but you will get through it, okay? And I am gonna be here, with you, the whole time”, she whispers again in your ear, her voice calming a bit the storm in you.

This is how you eventually fell asleep. In the comfort of the arms of that woman, with a feeling of security. The way her hand is brushing your hair calming your mind until Morpheus accepts you in his realm. The words she is whispering in your ears are helping to ease the guilt and the hate. However, Natasha won’t sleep. She is going to stay awake the whole night just so she can be here if you wake up needing her, no matter what time of the night it is, she wants to make sure you are not alone because it is the worst in situations like this.

[farmhandler]

for those of you who do follow me on tumblr, you get a sneak peek... because I love you... (continued after ch9)

“Hey,” Scott said, catching Logan’s attention as he started moving away towards the stairs. Logan had agreed to stick to one of the empty conference rooms upstairs for a while to avoid startling any of the kids.

“Ugh, this guy again,” Wade muttered.

“What is it?” Logan said.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” Scott said. He sounded sheepish, of all things. “About you two, I didn’t—I’m not—what I said back there isn’t how I am. It wasn’t what I meant. This whole thing—”

“Scott,” Logan said, cutting him off. He raised a hand. “It’s…you were an asshole about a lot of it, but I get it. This whole situation is fucking weird for me, too. A lot has changed. I’m not exactly the same guy I was when I knew you—the other me knew you. I’d probably be worse than you are in your position.”

“Should I be offended by that?” Wade said.

Scott seemed relieved, shoulders slumping. “Good. You guys are—I mean if you’re happy, that’s—that’s good. Deadpool has caused a lot of damage, and I mean a lot—"

“Feeling slightly offended now!”

“��but clearly there’s something there most of us haven’t seen. Colossus has been pushing to include him more often. And he did complete that mission for us. So maybe there’s some hope we'll make an X-Man out of him yet.”

“X-Person,” Wade corrected primly. “X-Them, if you will.”

Scott’s head turned briefly towards Wade, nodded, then back to Logan. “I’ll see you soon. It’s…it’s good to see you, Logan.” Emotion crept into his voice. “I mean it.”

“You too, Scott.” Logan said. Understatement of the year. “I’ll see you.”

They moved upstairs to the empty conference room. Logan had suggested Wade could leave if he wanted, but Wade shot it down.

“And miss the big family reunion? Hell no!”

“I don’t think you’re gonna get to be there,” Logan admitted. “Pretty sure it’s just going to be me, at least for now. This whole thing is…fuckin’ unreal. Surreal.”

“Lame,” Wade drawled. “I did all the fucking work. I should get to be there. So unfair. What am I supposed to do while you’re gone? I want to be where the action is.”

“Yeah, well, nothing’s going to be fun about this. Probably just a lot of talking and shit. I really fucking hate this part.”

“Are you hungry?” Wade asked out of nowhere. “Because I’m starving. They said they have lunch, right?”

Logan blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, I can get you some food. There’s a chef on duty every school day. Colossus said there’d be food.”

After checking the coast was clear, they went back downstairs. Logan felt absolutely ridiculous in his yellow suit, but standing next to Wade in his red, it wasn’t so bad. They made it to the kitchen and Logan stole a few sandwiches, handing one off to Wade.

It felt so…normal. Logan hated that he couldn’t relax, that he still felt on edge, but tried to focus on Wade.

Like he could tell Logan needed the distraction, he started talking about one of the times he’d visited the mansion and destroyed something while he devoured his sandwich. Several somethings, in fact—“Just a few statues of old white dudes”—and Logan watched him, eyes lingering on the way Wade’s mouth moved with the mask rolled up. He loved that mouth. Loved Wade, even when he was doing all the shit he wasn’t supposed to do. Even terrorizing the X-Men. He fucking loved him.

“And then even though I said ‘no touching’," Wade said, pulling his mask back down, "Colossus grabs me by the throat, which is one of my biggest turn-ons, and then he—”

“Hey,” Logan said, stopping Wade in the empty hallway. He kept his ears open, but everyone was in their classrooms. “I’m gonna kiss you.”

“I’m sorry, I misheard. I thought I heard you say you were going to kiss me.”

Logan reached over and undid the back of Wade’s mask. Wade’s hands clamped over his, but Logan only rolled it up again so his mouth was exposed. He backed Wade up against the wall and kissed him.

“Well, well, well,” Wade said when he pulled away. “I never took you for a sexual deviant. In public? My oh my, Mr. Wolverine. Kiss me again and make it sloppy.”

“It’s just a kiss,” Logan said, chuckling. The chuckle turned into a laugh. He kissed him once, then twice. The third time Logan shoved his tongue in Wade’s mouth, over his teeth, tasting him, and slid his hands around the back of Wade’s neck. He felt Wade’s moan reverberate in his mouth.

That was when Wade stopped him. “Don’t look to your right,” he whispered loudly.

God damn it. Logan tapped his fist on the wall next to Wade’s head.

“And you’re just now telling me.”

“I assumed you could smell them and didn’t care, peanut,” Wade said. As Logan moved, he quickly rolled his mask back down over his face. “You should see their faces.”

“I literally do not understand this,” Scott said beside them. “Not the you and Deadpool thing—I mean I don’t understand that either—but…you’re sure you’re the same Logan? You have never smiled like that.”

“Not for you,” Logan said, turning around fully. “Word to the fucking wise for everyone here. I will not put up with the shit I heard earlier from Scott or anyone else. If I hear one word said about Wade that isn’t directly regarding his behavior, we will have a fucking problem. Are we clear?”

[seattlesolace]

you've got me wrapped around your little finger // jay (ENHYPEN)

pairing: jay x fem!reader

summary: you and Jay have been friends forever, and it took you one slow dance, and a couple glasses of wine, to finally realize that you might have harbored feelings of love for him.

genre: fluff, suggestive // trope: friends to lovers // warning: suggestive themes towards the end, hyung-line make an appearance in texts, mentions of being drunk

word count: ~1.8k

author's note: this account is in need of an update, so have this little treat! I might be making more of these little one-shots based on old songs since I already have a whole playlist...

if you feel like this one feels a little different than my other works, it's because this is an old fic that I edited. I made this one maybe in 2016? for a different kpop idol. I've been thinking of reusing/recycling my old fics so I can post them to my accounts, and I hope you don't mind! (the fics haven't been posted elsewhere, so in a way I really am releasing it for the first time)

the song for this fic is this version by Beth Rowley, specifically this version. it's an OST for the movie An Education, but that's totally unrelated.

anyway, hope you enjoy this one!

The lights shone on the wet pavement as the car halted to a stop. The heavy rain that poured down for more than two hours was still persistent making the whole earth soaking wet. You opened the car door with a blazer over your head.

“Thank you, Sir! Jay, quickly!”

Another figure hopped off the car, not forgetting to thank the driver and closing the door shut. Jay took a side and held the blazer with you, running towards the porch of your apartment.

“Your poor jacket,” you said once you were inside. You gave the blazer some pats, attempting to clean it from water droplets.

“It’s fine. It’s not like it’s Armani,” Jay checked his reflection in the mirror beside the doorway, ruffling his hair.

You squinted. “It’s not? It’s really good quality.”

“It’s H&M. Do you really think I would wear an expensive suit to a party with a lot of careless people who can spill wine on you anytime?” Jay took the blazer from you and gave it a good shake. “This will do.”

“Thank God we are dressed up enough for the Uber guy to take us in and not scold us for being in the rain, right?” You climbed up the stairs with Jay following you from behind.

Jay nodded. “If I were wearing my usual clothes I don’t think he’d let us in. He’ll probably think I’m homeless.”

“I would disagree,” you murmured.

“Sorry?”

“I’m starving,” you said, grinning awkwardly.

“Then hurry up and get us inside your apartment and I’ll fix you something up,” Jay nudged you so you can move faster. You struggled with the keys before finally opening the door.

“My good man,” you said, inviting Jay in. Jay walked past you while blowing your bangs. You shrieked a little and quickly fixed your hair.

Jay hung his blazer on the coat hanger by the door and threw himself on the sofa. You waddled and sat down beside him, bending over to take off your high heels.

“No wonder you looked so tall,” Jay peered over at your shoes. “You could literally sprain your ankle if you trip while wearing those, right?”

“Please don’t say stuff that will make me dread wearing heels,” you sighed. “Beauty is pain. High heels look nice. I will sacrifice and put myself in pain in order to look nice.”

Jay nodded. “It does accentuate your legs—OUCH!”

You had slapped Jay's forearm before he could even finish his sentence. Jay chuckled and went on.

“I don’t even know why I decided to go to such a fancy party like that,” Jay leaned on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. “And to bring you with me.”

You made an ugly noise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I thought I’d be bringing one of the guys, but they were all busy—“

“So I’m your backup plan.”

“No, what I meant was—“

“You regret taking me?”

“Can you let me finish?” Jay threw a death stare which made you zip up and continued to listen. “The party was pretty boring. I should have taken to you somewhere more fun.”

You nodded. “Which is why we’re back home early. I feel bad, though. I bought this pretty dress and I only got to wear it for an hour.”

You and Jay continued to stare at the ceiling.

“We left so early that we didn’t even get to the dance part,” Jay sighed and ruffled his hair. You turned your head to look at him.

“What were you expecting?”

“A dance with you, of course,” Jay still had his eyes glued to the ceiling. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“You know I can’t dance,” you said as you sat up and stretched out your arms.

Jay stood up and walked over to your laptop that was on the desk, open and untouched. He typed and clicked here and there and suddenly the sound system in your room turned on, playing Beth Rowley’s You’ve Got Me Wrapped Around Your Little Finger.

“Good choice,” you mumbled as you started to close your eyes. Jay walked over to you and reached out his hand. “What?” you asked nonchalantly.

“Dance with me,” Jay’s voice was stern and he looked serious. You laughed.

“I will if I’m drunk,” you refused before you went back to close your eyes. Jay set the song on repeat and walked over to the kitchen. After spending so much time looking around, you just had to finally ask.

“What are you doing?”

“You have wine, don’t you?” Jay opened the kitchen counters one by one. “If drinking will make you dance then let’s open one.”

You stood up, kicked away your high heels, and waddled over to where Jay was. You tiptoed a bit to reach the top kitchen counter and pulled out a bottle of wine.

“That looks too fancy,” said Jay, checking the bottle out. “Isn’t there a cheaper one?”

You shook your head. “It’s my only bottle.”

Jay scrunched his nose, unsure. “And you’re willing to open it?”

“Might as well,” you shrugged. Jay grabbed the corkscrew laying on the counter and skillfully popped open the bottle. You were subtly impressed.

“I don’t have proper wine glasses,” you peered into the drawers where you kept your mugs. “These will do, I guess.”

Jay looked at the Ryan-shaped mug and the Cony glass that you took out. He burst out laughing while pointing at the Ryan mug.

“I know someone who would love this,” he said as he poured the wine into it. You decided to keep quiet about how it was your ex-boyfriend who gave it to you as a random gift.

After pouring the wine and clinking your mugs together, and two to three more mugs later, you were already tipsy. Jay was still looking sober, and he wouldn’t shut up about how your tolerance was so low.

Your laptop then died of low battery about two glasses ago. Jay set his empty mug on the coffee table and plugged in your laptop to play the same song again. As the intro played, he walked over to you and reached out his hand one more time.

“Fine,” you sighed. “But I’m bringing this,” you raised your mug, still half full. Jay shrugged and pulled you up from the sofa.

You've got me wrapped around your little finger If this is love, it's everything I hoped it would be You've got me wrapped around your little finger You will see, by my words just how much you mean to me

Jay was fully aware of how unskilled you were at dancing, so he kept it lowkey and just took you for a slow dance. You had one hand around Jay's neck, the other close to your chest, still holding the mug. Jay placed both his hand’s comfortably around your waist.

“Is this dancing?” you asked. Your voice was starting to become hoarse. Jay wasn’t sure if it was the wine or just you being tired, but you sounded a thousand times more attractive.

You look a thousand times more attractive too, he thought.

“For you, I think you could get away with calling this slow dancing. I’m just worried you might break something if I spin you around.”

With that being said, you spontaneously spun yourself around and landed back into Jay's embrace. He laughed wholeheartedly.

“Wasn’t expecting you to do that,” he said. “Spin again.”

This time Jay took the mug out of your hand and hold your other hand to properly help you turn. Your flushed cheeks became even redder with your laughter.

When we kiss, it's as if our lips agree that we were meant to be When we touch, it's too much Oh the sparks that fly, are lighting up the sky

The song continued and you were already dizzy from spinning just two times. Jay decided it was best not to give your mug back. After mumbling-complaining for a while, you gave up and went back to slow dancing.

Both of you weren’t really paying attention to the lyrics, but somewhere along the song your eyes locked. Without blinking, you moved your head closer so that your nose touched Jay's. There was a brief silence before Jay finally closed the distance between your lips and you shared your very first kiss ever. Sweet, sour from the wine, and definitely warm.

You gasped and broke the kiss as you felt liquid seeping through your dress. Jay pulled back. His eyes widened at the huge red stain starting to form on your precious new dress.

“Jay…”

“I am so sorry, do you want me to—“

“Leave it to someone sober to spill wine on you, huh?” you gave Jay a little punch as you chuckled. Jay's face was already pale from the paranoia of being scolded by you. Especially after a kiss.

“I’m gonna go clean this up,” you said, swiftly making your way to the bathroom. When Jay wasn’t looking, you grabbed your phone and rushed away.

---

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” you whispered as you looked at yourself in the mirror, cheeks still flushed and red. Either from the wine, or the kiss. Or both.

You unlocked your phone and opened the group chat with your two friends, which already had 145 unread chats.

You: MAYDAY Isa: there she is Yoon: we were wondering where you were You: Jay and I just kissed

Isa and Yoon both started typing at the same time.

Isa: WHAT????? Yoon: YOU DID NOT! Isa: HOW WAS IT Isa: TELL US EVERYTHING Isa: SPILL IT Yoon: UNNIE YOU DID NOT!

After spending a couple of minutes too long, you heard a knock on the door.

“Are you okay in there?” asked Jay from the other side.

“I’m okay,” you shouted back. “The stain is just too hard to remove.”

Not hearing a reply, you went back to the chat. “Maybe I shouldn’t have?” you asked.

Isa: hey, the heart wants what the heart wants Yoon: we’re in no place to judge but you go, unnie!

Meanwhile, Jay took the time to check on his own group chat with his boys. He announced the same thing and all three of his friends freaked out.

Sunghoon: You finally did? Jake: How was it? Heeseung: Tongue?

Jay had to tell the boys to chill before explaining and finally ending his rant with a simple “I should have kissed her sooner.”

He didn’t have a chance to reply to the responses since you suddenly came out of the bathroom, helplessly walking back to the couch with the red stain on your dress only faintly cleaned.

Jay slipped his phone into his pockets real quick while you left yours in the bathroom. You both exchanged a silent, long, but meaningful glance at each other. Jay had to break the ice.

“I guess you have to take it to the laundry then?”

You smiled awkwardly. “Yeah.”

You both shifted your gaze somewhere else before looking at each other again. The song was still on repeat.

“Do you… want to…”

“Dance again?” you cut him off. Jay wasn’t quick enough to offer his hand because you instantly wrapped yours around his neck again. With a smile, Jay moved closer until your foreheads touched.

If this is love, it's everything that i've been dreaming of

-END-

© seattlesolace 2023, all rights reserved

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[hear-meout19]

Darling, I don't wish you well when you ain't with me (I want you crying)

{P.1}

ᴄ.ᴡ. ɴꜱꜰᴡ, ɪɴꜰɪᴅᴇʟɪᴛʏ, ᴀɢᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ, ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ʜᴜᴍɪʟɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴏᴠᴇʀ-ꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜱᴇx, ᴅᴏɢɢʏ ꜱᴛʏʟᴇ, ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ꜱᴇx, ᴄʟᴏᴛʜᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx, ʙʀᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ᴋɪɴᴋ

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As she strolled down the bustling street, her phone clasped tightly to her ear, she chatted away with her mother, excitedly discussing her new house. Amidst the sea of strangers passing by, a face caught her eye. A face she knew all too well, a face that brought back memories of a time long gone.

Her heart raced as she recognized him, it was unmistakably Butters Stotch. It had been years since they had last seen each other. She hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do.

Should she say hello? Should she keep walking, pretending not to notice him?

But before she could make a decision, he spotted her too. Their eyes locked and the world around her faded away. She couldn't believe it was really him, standing there in front of her.

As she looks up, disbelief washes over her. 

"Butters..? Is that really you? I can't believe it's been so long!" Her gaze travels over his face, taking in the changes since high school. He's taller now, with broader shoulders, a mustache, and a more defined jawline, but those bright blue eyes are unmistakable.

As he gazes at her, a flicker of an emotion passes through his eyes that she can't decipher. However, before she can even process it, it vanishes. "I apologize, ma'am, but it seems you've confused me with someone else. The name's Vic, Vic Chaos!" He beams at her and offers his hand for a shake.

She hesitates for a moment before taking his hand, unsure. "Oh, okay.. Vic. It was good to see you." She starts to pull away, but he holds onto her hand tightly.

"Hey, wait! Don't go just yet," he says with a playful smile. “W-what have you been up to?” 

Her eyes dart down to where their hands are still joined before meeting his gaze again. "Well, I just moved back home to South Park. It's strange being back; I've been down in California since graduation."

Butters or “Vic Chaos”, nods enthusiastically, eyes trained on her, clearly very interested in her story.

“Oh wow! That’s awesome, what made you move back?” He finally drops her hand absentmindedly, like he didn’t realize he was still holding it. 

She looks away, brow furrowing slightly as she sighs. “I'm going through a.. rough patch.. in my marriage right now. He's still in California, and our counselor suggested some distance might be good for us.”

She shuts her mouth quickly, surprised at how much she's revealed. She's not sure why she's telling all of this to someone she hasn't seen in 15 years. He probably thinks she's weird for unloading all of her problems onto him.

Vic's expression softens. “Aw shucks, that's a bummer. Long-distance can be rough, but maybe it'll help you sort things out. But you know, if he can’t handle you then maybe it’s time to move on.” He says as he shrugs. 

She's taken aback by his genuine response, God she absolutely cannot get a read on this guy. She smiles at him, grateful for his kind words. "Thanks, Vic. That means a lot to me. What about you? Are you married?"

He grins and chuckles lightly. "Naw, I'm still single. Haven't found the right gal yet, I guess. Y’know, still waitin’ to get hitched!” 

She reaches out and pats his arm reassuringly. "I'm sure the right girl will come along soon.”

He glances at her hand on his arm and back up at her with a bashful smile. "Gee thanks, I hope so too! Who knows, maybe I'll find her someday," he laughs, gently patting her hand.

"How come you're here?" She gestures to his sharp suit. "Business trip?"

"Naw, I actually live here. I travel for work a whole lot though, so I'm a bit of a nomad. I'm an...investor of sorts." He flashes her a lopsided grin.

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Really? I had no idea you were some big shot now," she chuckles.

He laughs, throwing his head back, “Yeah, I guess you could call me that”.

Before he can speak further, her phone rings, and she groans. She takes out her phone and quickly turns it off, rolling her eyes in frustration.

“Sorry about that, that was my husband calling. I should probably go.” She shoots him an apologetic smile. “It was lovely seeing you again, Victor.”

She smiles and turns around but is spun back around by his grip on her arm.

“W-wait!” He says quickly. “Wanna get dinner with me later? We’ve got a lot to catch up on!” He gives her a charismatic grin. 

She hesitates, unsure of how to respond. She hadn't seen him in years, and now he's asking her out to dinner? What would her husband think? But the way he's looking at her, with that irresistible grin and those piercing blue eyes, makes it hard to say no.

"I don't know, Victor," she says softly, biting her lip. "I don't think it's a good idea."

His expression falls slightly, but he doesn't let go of her arm. "Come on, it'll be just like old times. We'll catch up on everything and have some great food." He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I promise it'll be worth it."

She feels a thrill run through her at his words, but she quickly shakes it off. This is crazy, she can't go out to dinner with him. Not when she's still trying to work things out with her husband.

He chuckles as she takes a moment to process his offer. "Come on, it'll be fun. We can catch up and reminisce about old times," he adds with a playful wink.

She chews on her lower lip for a moment, mulling over the invitation before finally nodding. "Yeah, that sounds great. It'll be good to catch up with you." A twinge of guilt tugs at her conscience as she thinks about her marriage, but she dismisses the feeling with a shake of her head.

He grins widely, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "Great! How about that Italian place downtown? Eight o'clock?"

She nods again, smiling. "Sounds perfect."

As they part ways, she can't help but feel a flutter of excitement in her chest. Maybe this dinner with Victor would be just the distraction she needs.

[glamdringwlv]

-Get it on-

Maybe the worst Logan is not that bad.

Wolverine/Logan Howlett x female!OC a/n: Hi! This is my first work on this app and in English, which isn’t my first language. This idea has been in my mind since I saw the movie because this Logan has me on my knees for him. I hope you'll give it a chance. I'm using a oc female caracter bc I feel it that way. She has powers, so she is a mutant. And I took several liberties to make the shot and it probably has some mistakes but I wanted to write something cute for Logan. Thanks Warnings: Suggestive lenguage, Deadpool and Wolverine spoilers, a bit of angst, foul language, mentions of alcohol, cursing, my bad english.

Summary: Grace Green has been waiting for her Logan to show up for so long that she’s losing her mind. But when it seems he’s finally appeared, it turns out to be the worst one.

+++

Wade tries to stifle a surprised squeal, but fails and quickly turns toward his companion.

"Well, pluck out my eyes and call me Al. It’s her, Logan. It’s her."

Logan doesn’t seem fazed, but when Grace sees him, she can’t help but run toward him, ignoring the stares from the others. From the mercenary's perspective, everything happens in slow motion, like in those cheesy romantic movies he secretly loved.

Her arms wrap around his neck, and Logan instinctively grabs her waist, not letting go of the bottle in his hand. Their lips crash together in a rough kiss, and the X-Men sighs happily, unable to suppress a silly smile as the kiss continues.

The others watch the scene with satisfaction, glad that the girl's endless misery-filled speeches have finally come to an end.

"Alright, folks, I think we’ve had enough cocaine jokes. No need to push Disney’s patience any further." Wade nudges Logan’s shoulder, to which he responds with a deep growl, tightening his hold on Grace. "Did you just growl at me? You're such an animal."

It’s Grace who pulls back, placing her hands on the mutant's chest, hardly believing he’s there with her.

"Why do you taste like rubbing alcohol?"

"Because our big guy here downed a bottle of ethanol and some hawk-eye whiskey. Tell ‘em, big man."

"My name’s Gambit."

"Sure, whatever."

Grace seems dazed but can’t hide how happy she is.

"God, Lo. I’ve missed you so much. This whole place is filled with Deadpools, but no Wolverines. I was losing hope of ever seeing my Logan again."

"My Logan?" Grace didn’t like the sound of that. She takes a few steps back, needing the distance to get some perspective.

"Oh ho ho, you have no idea who she is, do you, you bastard?" Wade’s voice confirms Grace's suspicions, but it’s Logan’s expression that assures him.

"God, I just kissed some random Wolverine…" Grace puts a hand to her forehead, her features twisted in anguish.

"He’s not just any Wolverine, he’s the worst one. But I guess we have to make do—"

"Shut up, Wade!" Grace sends a blast of power that flings him across the room.

"You know me?! Damn, the freaking best X-Man on the planet knows my name!"

"You," Grace steps up to Logan, jabbing her finger into his chest with more force than the mutant expected, "if you didn’t know me, why’d you follow along with the kiss?"

He lowers his head threateningly, getting on her level as if contemplating kissing her again.

"I’d be crazy to refuse a kiss from a woman like you, wouldn’t I? Besides, shouldn’t you have made sure who I was before throwing yourself into my arms?"

She huffs and shakes her head, not putting any distance between them.

"You really are the worst. I kissed you because you’re wearing the same suit as my Logan. I assumed you were him. But don’t you dare twist this around like it’s my fault."

"Guys, we’re in a time where people don’t belong to other people. Come on, be a little more open-minded."

"Shut the hell up!" they both shout simultaneously.

"See? You’re perfect for each other."

"Wade, I swear I’ll rip out your tongue and shove it up your ass, and I’ll savor every second it takes you to regenerate it, ‘cause they’ll be the best moments of my life."

She starts walking towards him, drawing two batons from the sheaths at her hips, stopping dangerously close. Wade stares at her, petrified, finally left speechless.

"Are those Daredevil's freaking batons?"

"God!" She extends a hand and hurls him into Logan, sending them both crashing into the far wall.

"What the hell?" Logan kicks Wade off him and stands up, discovering the bottle he’d been holding had shattered from the impact. The room fills with the sound of claws unsheathing.

The others enjoy the show, not wanting to get in Grace's way. They’d already learned the hard way that it wasn’t ideal.

"Logan, I don’t know how my variant is in your universe, but I’m much stronger than you. Don’t even try."

Wolverine bares his teeth like a wild beast. Maybe he was wrong. He leans forward, claws ready, prepared to charge at her. She can see how he’s healing from the wounds caused by crashing into various things in the room, which only enrages him more.

"Poor big kitty, did you get hurt, little claws?"

"Call me that again, and I swear I’ll—"

Before he can do anything, Deadpool steps between them.

"Guys, as much as I think this would totally turn me on, I can’t let you kill each other. Logan, this here is Grace Green, pretty much the only one who can put up with you and your soulmate in every timeline, I’d say." He turns to the girl. "I’m a huge fan of yours. But she’s also one of the strongest X-Men around. She could tear you apart if she wanted. We could really use her help."

"My soulmate?"

"That’s all you took from that?"

"Don’t listen to him, it’s just a figure of speech. But it’s true that I’m the only one who puts up with you, you’ve got a horrible temper, kitty claws."

"Stop calling me that, damn it. I’m not the asshole from your universe."

"Of course, you’re not, soft claws. My Logan would have torn you apart."

"Let him try."

"Actually, I thought Wolverines couldn’t age. I can’t believe I mistook you for him. What happened, Kitty? Not using enough coconut oil?"

"That’s it, I’m ripping out your throat in one move."

"Hey, Logan, no, stop. We need these people’s help, and you’re acting like a jerk."

"I don’t need anyone’s help."

"It’s impossible to leave this place, I’ve already tried. Cassandra can nullify my powers with a snap of her fingers."

"But you haven’t tried with us. Look, we’ve already been to her lair and—"

Elektra interrupts him.

"Wait, if these two clowns managed to get in and out alive, there might be a chance."

"YES! YES! Yes to everything."

"To what?"

"To you and me and you and everyone. To us, to being a team."

"You’re going to die."

"That’s not the attitude, Logan."

…

Grace had overheard the entire conversation between Laura and Logan. She knew eavesdropping was wrong, but she couldn’t help staying hidden when the X-Man's words broke her heart. She didn’t understand what had brought her there; her feet had just started moving towards him. When the girl disappeared, she approached him.

"I don’t want company, thanks." Logan's voice was still tinged with sadness and the effort it took not to cry. She felt something stir in her chest. She wanted to lift her hand and touch his hair, to use her powers to quiet whatever tormented him, even if just for a moment.

"Easy, Kitty, I come in peace. I bring an offering." She raised a bottle from Remy’s secret stash. It was her Logan’s favorite booze, so she hoped it was his too.

Logan raised an eyebrow, almost surprised to see one of his most common choices in the hand of the woman who had just sat beside him. He sighed and resigned himself to the nickname she had chosen for him. He accepted the gift and growled in gratitude. It was a start.

Silence enveloped them, but Grace was just grateful to be with Logan again. Even though her mind screamed that he wasn’t hers, her feelings overwhelmed her.

"You keep looking at me like that, princess."

She almost fainted at the nickname. She quickly looked at him, unable to take her eyes off his profile. That’s how Wolverine used to call her to irritate her sometimes. She let out a sigh.

"Like what?"

"Like you’re trying to see someone else. I’m not him. I’ll never be him."

Grace felt each word like a punch to the gut. She had fought against a lot of people and received some pretty nasty wounds, but this stung much more than any of them.

"I know." The words came out as a whisper, but she knew he could hear them. Tears began to fall down her cheek. "I didn’t get to say goodbye. It’s not like he’s dead or we broke up. I have no way to ease the loss I feel." Unconsciously, she started to fidget with the dog tags Logan had given her long ago, feeling more exhausted than ever. "And then you show up, wearing his suit and all his personality, his voice… For a moment, I felt like I was home again."

Logan’s hand shot out without thinking to grab her arm. Grace looked at him, her vision blurred with tears, her breath catching.

"Listen, I can’t replace him. Like I said, I’m not him."

"I’m not trying to replace him. I know you’re not him, but you remind me so much of everything I’ve lost. I guess I was just looking for something to hold onto, even if it’s just the ghost of what I had."

Logan’s defenses crumbled when he saw in her eyes a reflection of his own feelings. He slowly withdrew the hand that had tried to somehow anchor them both to reality.

"I don’t know you, Grace, but you’re stronger than you think. You don’t need to cling to any shadow to move forward. You’ve managed just fine in this hellhole."

The X-Men reflects on the words of this Wolverine, feeling relief for the first time in a long while. She had carried such a heavy burden all this time, one that had joined the endless void inside her, growing larger and larger. Hearing those words eased that feeling of anguish a bit. Wade had said this was the worst Wolverine, but she didn’t completely agree. She understood that this one carried an additional burden that dragged him down even more.

"I wish I could have said goodbye to my people, not just to Logan. The TVA wiped them all out when they pulled me from my timeline. I can’t help but think it’s my fault they’re gone. All I have left is this ridiculous lemon-yellow suit." In better spirits, she caught Logan’s attention by touching his arm. "I preferred the black one, didn’t you, Kitty?"

Logan growls in her direction, and she laughs with delight.

"The truth is, it suits you like a glove. You’ve always worn it with more dignity. Cyclops was jealous."

The comment seems to boost his ego, and he smirks.

"Cyclops, jealous? That idiot only has eyes for himself."

"Not when you steal the girl."

Logan looks at her seriously, processing what she just said.

"Were you Cyclops’ girlfriend?"

"Yeah, we entered the school together when we were kids, so we only had each other. When I was part of the teaching staff, I met Logan, and that bastard made me fall for him completely."

"How did he do it?"

"What?"

"Make you fall for him."

The mutant grinned widely and shook her head, amused.

"The truth is, he was a grump and a grouch. We didn’t get along very well. We just argued and fought a lot. But we eventually got along when we realized we were more alike than we thought. Logan had a hard time trusting others, and I had a hard time delegating to the team. Plus, he’d never admit it, but he fell for me first. Followed me around like I’d just discovered fire."

Logan nodded slowly, not doubting her last words. He was starting to understand why her Wolverine had fallen first.

"You could always try convincing that loudmouth Wade to take you with him to his timeline if you survive this suicide mission."

"Don’t you want to go back?"

"There’s nothing to go back to."

Shee remembered his conversation with Laura and wanted to return the favor by quieting his demons.

Shee stood up, took the bottle from his hands, and took a swig that made her close his eyes. God, it had been so long since she’d done this that she feared he might lose control completely. She looked down at him and saw fury cloud his gaze once more. Despite knowing it might cost her life, she did it anyway.

Grabbing his hands, she straddled his lap, her face inches from his. Despite the alcohol, he smelled like him—like Logan, like home. A shaky sigh escaped her lips as she heard him curse.

"Look, I’m flattered, and I’m going to regret saying this, but I don’t think this is what you want."

Grace understood where Logan’s train of thought was going when she felt something beneath her. She bit her lip to stifle the laughter that was about to escape her throat and looked seriously into his eyes.

"I think it’s something we both want, Logan. Since when are you such a gentleman?"

He seemed to be fighting an internal battle, but his hands quickly moved to grip her hips, pulling her closer to him, losing his composure.

"I’m trying not to be the worst Wolverine, but you’re not making it easy, sweetheart."

"Well, I thought you’d be happy to see me, Bub," she said, giving him a look that suggested exactly what the mutant was thinking, and she rolled her hips, making Wolverine growl. His grip on her hips tightened to stop her.

"You’re going to kill me, you know that," he said, she was marveled at the smug smile that transformed his features completely. She felt the need to kiss him, but she didn’t.

Logan was confused by the inevitable attraction he felt for her, as if she were made of some kind of magnet that irresistibly drew his adamantium skeleton. He had a fleeting thought that she was somehow made for him, even though moments ago they were about to kill each other. He remembered Wade’s words, and a sigh escaped his lips: She’s your soulmate.

Grace laughed, unaware of the battle the mutant was fighting. She raised her hands to cup both sides of his face and closed her eyes, comforted by his warmth. Maybe, if they made it out alive, she’d seriously consider the suggestion she was straddling.

"Well, Logan, be patient; it’s been a long time since I’ve done this."

She shifted in her seat, earning another muffled groan from him.

"I’m a bit out of practice too, but I’m sure we’ll figure out how to make it wor—" He suddenly stopped when he felt Grace’s presence in his mind, much more abrupt than he remembered Charles ever being. "What the hell?"

Grace navigated through Logan’s memories and found the place where he hid from all the pain. Still, she could hear everything that tormented and haunted him.

"Let me return the favor. Let me make you free for a moment, Logan."

Suddenly, everything went quiet in his head—the screams, the memories, everything that made him want to give up. He let out a satisfied sigh, feeling at peace. Besides pushing away the thoughts, Grace had poured a thousand emotions into him, serving as a balm for his torments. He could feel all the love the girl held inside, the joy, and the hope.

He let his head drop until their foreheads rested together. Grace used the moment to comfort herself one last time with the presence of the person she had loved the most. On the other hand, Logan reveled in the feeling of not having the weight on his shoulders, grateful for the favor.

"Thank you for giving me this moment, Logan. It’s the best thing I’ve had in a long time."

Logan couldn’t speak. He was so overwhelmed with happiness that he felt overpowered, in a good way. He just nodded slowly.

"When Logan had nightmares, I used to keep them away so he could sleep. Why don’t you do the same, big guy? You look tired."

He nodded again as she got up from his lap and helped him lie down. As she was about to leave, Logan’s hand closed around her wrist like a shackle, stopping her. He needed her, her company, and he felt that she needed him too.

"You could stay. If you want."

Without responding, she nodded too, lying down beside him and stroking his hair until his breathing became deep. She watched as, with his relaxed face, he looked even more like her Logan.

"Goodbye, Logan," she whispered before falling completely asleep, comforted by the warmth that made her feel at home for the last time.

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Red Carpet Dreams

Y/N gets caught up in the chaos that is the premier for Jackass Number Two.

Johnny Knoxville X Gn!Reader

(Fluff)

2.9k Words

Warnings: Very suggestive content, crude language, drug use, alcohol, prostitutes, near drowning, partying (it’s Jackass), fake relationship, flirting, paparazzi

An: Aaaaaa!! I had so much fun with this one!! For all who sent in asks- thank you!! I’ve been writing a lot more recently and I’m working on more requests at the moment so look forward to them!! :)

“Hi! My name’s Katie Cordoba, and I’m here at the premiere of the new feature film, Jackass Number Two!” The red lipped, smizing news lady chattered into the camera, obviously feigning excitement. You rolled your eyes at the charade- four years ago, those Hollywood bigwigs would’ve turned up their noses at those guys, but now they’re all over it, as Johnny would put it to you, like flies on shit.

You blended in pretty well with the rest of the crowd, all eagerly looking around, waiting for the big Hollywood movie stars to make their appearances. It made you wonder what normal premieres were like, with everyone fully dressed, mostly sober, and generally law abiding. But just as you were mulling it over, the first guest was arriving.

As the car door popped open, Steve practically fell out, however the beer in his hand was miraculously unscathed as he tumbled to the cement, as was the cigarette hanging from his teeth. Getting to his feet, he didn’t even bother to pull up his pants that were now sitting about six inches below the waistband of his gray tartan Hanses. His skinny, shirtless body was bathed in a flurry of camera flashes, stroking his already swollen ego.

Following behind him, and catching you off guard, came a woman you had never seen before. Of course, people went wild over this, shoving microphones in his face from all angles. “Steve-O!! Steve-O, who is this dashing young woman you’re with?” The lady from before muscled past you, shoulder pads and all. “Well,” Steve wrapped an arm around her cockily, slurring his words, “this here is my girl, Trixie!” She giggled. The reporter lady probed more, “Oh, you two are just adorable!! How did you two meet?”

“I saw her on a street corner a few blocks from here!” He seemed to catch the reporter off guard, something stilling behind her eyes. Leave it to Steve to bring a prostitute to a movie premiere. You could hear her start to say something then stop. “Well, I, uh- I hope you two have a nice evening.” Steve grinned, taking a drag, “Oh, you know we will!” And there he went down the red carpet, giving her a firm slap on the ass.

Following behind him with that goofy smile was Chris, boasting one lady on each arm. To all your scrutinizing, they seemed perfectly normal, not paid by the hour women. He stood for a moment in his slacks and suit jacket, posing for paparazzi photos, beaming. He whispered something to one of the girls that made her eyes go wide before unbuttoning the jacket, taking it off and throwing it over his shoulder…and exposing his lack of a shirt. Of course, you weren't complaining, and judging by the excited roar that swept through the crowd, neither was anybody else. Turning to follow after Steve, he put an arm around each, “Let’s rock n roll, girls! Yeah!”

Another car pulled up, and Ryan walked out, cool as always behind those sunglasses. He didn’t even bother to dress himself up, wearing the same clothes he passed out in last night when you had to drag him back to the hotel from the bar. “Ah! Ryan! Tell us about the new movie!” Another interviewer held a boom mic out to him, a camera guy over his shoulder with one of those CRTV sized pieces that probably cost a year of your salary. He shot a look over you as he leaned against the metal rail nonchalantly. “I mean, this one- we decided to kinda take it in another direction. It's a sexual thriller, yeah. Oh, and while filming it, Knoxville died- horrible accident. He actually-“

Blindsiding him, Bam hurled a handful of flour at him, the cloud covering not just Ryan but anybody within a 3 foot radius, including the interviewer and, by extension, you. After accidentally inhaling some, you nearly hacked up a lung, the flour sticking to the inside of your throat like paste. Through the dense white cloud, you could barely make out Bam tackling Ryan to the ground, tumbling with him for a moment. As the dust cleared, Bam threw up the horns at one of the big cameras pointed in his face, yanking Ryan to his feet. As the two hauled ass down the carpet, leaving as soon as they arrived, Bam leaned down to pick up his board, which you didn’t even notice that he rode in on.

It had been about half an hour since the event had officially started, and your little starlet still hadn’t arrived. He was fashionably late, as usual- Knoxville didn’t do anything fast- the closest he got was doing speed. Bam would tell the media that Johnny wasn’t there because he punched the intern that got his Jamba Juice order wrong and they were bandaging his sore little knuckles, but it usually was from traffic. That seemed to be the case once again.

But when that shiny black limo pulled up, and Johnny stepped out with those glinting Crest teeth and his sharp Hollywood three piece suit, you almost forgot that he was the same man that you saw a month prior farting on Jeff with baby powder in his crack. Of course, everyone went wild at his mere presence, earning an appreciative chuckle from him as the crowd buzzed like a hive of bees. You smiled, not even caring that you were blinded by camera flashes that flanked you.

All of a sudden, you felt a hand grab your arm and pull. It took you a few panicked seconds for you to realize that you were on the carpet. Moreso, it took the warmth that was pressed against your back to murmur close to your ear for you to really get what was going on. “Just be cool, Y/N.”

Johnny’s head whipped back up, smirking back at the cameras while guiding you with his hand around your waist like nothing was out of the ordinary. You stared like a deer in headlights with a dumb smile on your face, finally understanding what it looked like from the other side of the barricade. And, of course, he just had to walk you over to that reporter lady, waving around her microphone like an idiot. “Johnny! Johnny- over here!” She feigned a smile, hiding exasperation, “We’ve seen so many, uh- lovely couples tonight, so I am just dying to know who you’ve got here!”

“Well this here is Y/N.” He pulled you closer, his hand grasping you near his torso again as he leaned down to the mic, his chin resting on your shoulder, “And they are allll mine, so don’t you fellas be ‘gettin any ideas!” He pointed to the cameras like he was addressing the viewers at home. You blushed, giggling at his joke that he obviously made to get you to loosen up. The lady beamed, convinced at your charade. “Wow! How long have you two been together?” Unable to come up with an idea, you leaned into Johnny, “You know, I actually think the movie’s starting soon! So we really have to go- sorry!” The lady nodded, saying something to the camera crew as you hustled through the doors. “You did so good there!” He excitedly patted you on the back as you got into the theater. “I had no idea what I was doing!”

“Hi! I'm Johnny Knoxville, and welcome to the premier of Jackass Number Two!” The packed theater cheered as Johnny spoke at the lectern, looking more like an actual movie star under the lights of the stage than he usually did in his dickies and t-shirts, the light glinting off of his glasses as he continued, “But…I would be remiss not to introduce the fine men that risked their lives- and livers- to make this film possible. Let’s bring ‘em out, boys!”

Like the most demented parade ever, they did. Starting with Steve, who came in walking on a pair of aluminum stilts. Though you knew he knew how to use him, he made a big show of looking like he was losing his balance, teetering for a moment before tipping stern first, landing flat on his face with a clatter and an, “Ah, fuck!” Snickering, Johnny feigned concern, turning to him, “Hey, you alright, Steve- O?” He laid there really still in the fetal position for a moment, the crowd holding with baited breath, before he gave a stiff nod.

In the midst of the horde cheering, you could hear music from somewhere in the theater. You, and maybe half the people in attendance , knew exactly what that meant. And while Steve was still there on the ground, groaning and fiddling with the leather straps of the stilts, in from stage right comes Mr. Party Boy himself. “Sounds like someone called for a party!” From your seat in the front row, you were actually close enough to catch the pair of tear away pants Pontius discarded as he stripped down to his silver mankini, dancing onstage. Giggling, you sat back in your seat, watching everything play out in front of you.

Oh, and did it play out. As the finale for the grand display, an orange blur flew in from one side of the stage- Dunn’s motorcycle. You were a little scared, having no idea how it got up there, but all you could do was stare However, it took him hitting the brakes hard, leaving an inky black skid mark on the wood, for you to notice Bam, who was getting pulled behind like he was water skiing on his skateboard.

He landed, sprawled on the laps of 3 different people in the front row, his board disappearing completely backstage. After the initial groan from the impact, he burst into laughter. He was about a seat or two away from you as he rolled off of the people, leaving them to sputter and straighten their suits and fancy dresses, muttering about how he dressed or what a roughian he was. “Dude!” He scrambled to his feet, grabbing your arm and yanking you up.

Before you knew it, you were up onstage, staring back at the packed theater. Goddamn it, it happened again. Johnny looked confused at what Bam did before he caught on, cackling. “Oh! Last, but not certainly least, Bam reminded me that we would all like to thank our very lovely manager, Y/N, for gettin’ us off our sorry asses so we could be here tonight!” Johnny pulled you in, his muscular arm firmly around your shoulders as the crowd roared in applause. You stared at the sight in front of you unbelievingly, wide eyed. Johnny chuckled. “Alright, let’s get this thing started!

And the premiere went great!! The audience loved the film from the title screen to when the credits rolled. When the theater wasn't nearly vibrating from laughs, it was full of gasps and cringing at some of the more painful moments. Hell, you heard a good handful of the vomit bags the red velvet clad ushers handed out at the door were filled by the end, which brought you a strange sense of pride.

The trouble came, however, with the after-party.

“Come oooon, Y/N!” Steve hung onto you as you two sat on the couch, his arm thrown over your shoulders. He was like a round vase, wobbling around even though he was sitting. “It's not that bad…Knoxville does this shit! Maybe if you tried some, you could get that damn stick outta your ass.” He looked up at you with pupils that eclipsed his irises, making him look eerie in the multicolor club lights. You rolled your eyes. “No way!” He looked at you adoringly, “He does, I swear.” Misinterpreting you, he giggled, “Hey- Hey. Have I ever told you that I love you?” Scoffing, you rolled your eyes, peeling his arm off of you. “Yeah, right. You’re just high.” He had a sort of feigned earnestness as he rambled, hushed and surprisingly coherent. “First of all- its MDMA. Second of all- I really do, baby! You’re, like- the love of my life. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you!” He was so distracted by talking that he didn’t even notice when you got up and walked over to Chris at the pool table. He just sat there, speaking to nobody in particular.

“Hey, Y/N! How’s it goi- aagh!” His speech was cut off as Chris got hit square in the balls with an 8 ball. It was certainly a sight, seeing him spread eagle on the green felt, wearing nothing but the silver mankini, his very exposed skin illuminated by the dim yellow ceiling lamp. “Oh shit! Are- are you okay?” Holding his crotch, he winced for a moment before falling over, tumbling to the side with a grin. He nodded, putting you at ease a little. You breathed a sigh of relief, “Well, Steve told me to tell you that he’s over on the couch if you wanna hang.” Not passing up at any opportunity to bro out, he headed over to him, smiling like a golden retriever.

Just as he left, your vision caught the pool from the corner of your eye. Since the party was held at the VIP suite of a hotel, the room had everything- of course the pool table, but you also had a deluxe lighting system, an open bar, and, of course, a private swimming pool. Curious and hot, you crept outside to investigate.

The second you opened the sliding glass door, you were drenched by a wave. Opening your eyes, you saw Bam in the pool, flipping his hair back as the people around him cheered. You’d later find out he did a ‘super badass gainer’, as he put it. The chlorinated water permitted your clothes, leaving you bitter and dripping wet as Bam laughed at you, finding this hilarious. Grumbling, you took a seat on one of the lounge chairs with a broken strap, dripping onto the pavement.

And just as you sat down, Ryan came waltzing by on the deck, clearly drunk off his ass as he dragged his feet. One minute, he was up and walking- the next? Plunk. In the water. He didn’t even try to swim up, just sort of sitting down there, bubbles rising from his lips down by the bright, medically white LED pool lights. If you weren’t so worried about him, you might say he looked like a peaceful wet specimen down there.

But your veiw of him was erased- ripples and splashes distorting the reflection of him as he was quickly hoisted out from under his shoulders. Of course, that's what it took for people to stop staring at Bam, being the attention whore he was. Ryan’s savior grinned, laying him out flat on the cement, “Now this is why you should always have a lifeguard on duty, boys and girls. That’s what I- Bunny the Lifeguard- am able to save this young man’s life. I’m just gonna perform a little mouth to mouth and he should be just fine!”

Just as Chris slowly leaned down, about an inch from his face- Pow! Ryan’s fist shot up, planting one on him square in the jaw as he lurched up, coughing up water and soaking his t-shirt for the second time that night. Once he got it all up, he sputtered out, “Holy shit- dude! Are you alright?” Pontius rubbed his jaw, wiggling it a little to try and get it back into place, still smiling, “Yeah, man!” He helped him to his feet like nothing happened, the two chuckling.

As the night grew darker, a breeze blew past you, making you shiver in your seat, ushering you back into the party, warm with bodies in motion. The music R&B- loud but dull, the kind that made the insides of your ears tickle. Leaning against the wall, you looked around you at the party, everyone flirting and talking and laughing. But your head just throbbed.

“Hey, sweetheart. Can I buy you a drink?” Your ears perked up at the sound of his voice as you head whipped around, your vision dark as your face landed firmly in the vintage t-shirt covering Johnny’s chest. “Woah there…little forward, are we?” You could feel the skin and muscle right beneath the fabric. It felt warm, comforting- nice, in a weird way. He grinned as you quickly pulled away. “I’m pretty sure this is an open bar.” He raised his eyebrows with a gleam of hope, “Well, what’s your poison?”

Johnny looked at you with sweet dark eyes as he glanced over his sunglasses, close enough that you could smell the booze on his breath, “I’m sure you’d be more comfortable in some dry clothes, baby. I got a real nice shirt you could wear.” You gulped down the liquid at the bottom of your red solo cup, his attempts at flirting getting less cringy as you got more drunk. “That’s cute. Hey, why aren’t you hangin’ with Steve? I’m sure he’d be happy to let you help him do lines off some dead hooker’s ass.” Your giggling at your own joke was quieted as he gently held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning you to face him.

“Y/N- If anything, I’d rather do lines off of yours. God knows you have a great one.”

[ghostly-penumbra]

Happy (late) holidays, @everystarstorm! I was your secret gifter this year!

The Prompt: ALL ghosts need to honour the truce. Including those who don't know they're considered part ghost.

Could be DPxDC with Red Hood or could be with Valerie.

I decided it would be with both!

Warning: (Barely) mentioned drugs, there's a fight, lots of swearing. The Fentons' Christmas feud is mentioned, there is a small breakdown(?). But, as requested, it gets solved by the end! (So it's hurt/comfort overall). There is a scene that could be considered “suggestive” but that wasn’t my intention and this isn’t an explicit work. There is also references to dying.

Ao3

- - -

Valerie didn't hate living in Gotham. She just hated the smog, the villains, and how mean could be the people when you were just trying to go about your day.

It made life hard and fast-paced, with little breathing room between an academic crisis and a city-wide one.

What she really appreciated, though, was the lack of portals to Hell in her ex-boyfriend’s basement that constantly let out ghosts who greatly enjoyed wreaking havoc in her town. Her new city had its restless spirits, of course, but it wasn’t brimming with ambient ectoplasm enough to power up ghost royalty and Ancients, so she could easily deal with them by either helping them move along or make them.

(Her psycho-pomp side-job was not something she was Obsessed with, really, it’s just that she much preferred it when the dead didn’t mess with people trying to live their lives and had no way to defend themselves. That wasn’t fair.)

The downside of that was that she somehow managed to fall into a fake sense of security in Gotham, of all places. And so, when a convoy of half a dozen unmarked vans sped next to her as she left the library –they wouldn’t let her spend the night studying there in Christmas Eve, or the whole of Christmas day, either, the traitors–, followed by a ping from her Ghost Detector –which wasn’t a ghost sense, even if it was part of her suit, which was a part of her now, no matter what Danny said– and a man riding a motorcycle one-handed whilst he fired a gun with his other hand, she froze.

For a second, which was a small eternity on its own right, which many times meant the difference between living and dying. She froze, confused, wondering how the heck had a proper ghost –that had a high enough level of ectoplasm in itself as to be Detected by her suit– made it all the way to New Jersey? A natural portal, perhaps?

The very next second, by which point she could’ve died already, the Red Huntress sprang into action. Her suit covered her body like a second skin, lifting her from the round as her hover-board materialized and she began her chase.

“Stop right there, ectoplasmic scum!” She yelled at the ghost overshadowing what was probably some thug or crime lord, even. If her luck was really rotten, it probably was one of the more gun-oriented vigilantes.

The ghost turned the guy’s head towards her and quickly fired two shots at her hover-board. Valerie activated the suit’s intangibility with a thought and felt the bullets pass right through her unimpeded.

Annoyed, she growled under her breath, “You’ll regret that,” and pointed her wrist-gun at it; focused as she was on where it would be next, she didn’t wonder why it had used an actual, real gun rather than an ecto-beam.

The ecto-net flew from her wrist and Red Huntress hurried to secure down her end to her board, feeling it dip from the added weight as she fished the guy up from his bike, leaving it to careener off the road.

“Fucking shit! What the fuck is this?” Raged the ghost as it tried to cut the net with a hella-big knife. It probably had already figured phasing through it was not an option.

Well, neither was cutting it.

“Pff, don’t try it, big boy.” Red Huntress told it whilst she pulled up her GPS. “Skulker himself almost cried when none of his blades worked either.” She sing-sang in a mocking tone. That was a much cherished memory of hers.

After a moment of silence, the host spoke again, “I don’t even know who the fuck are you, but as soon as I’m outta here, I’ll fuck you up.”

Valerie rolled her eyes under her helmet, and set course to a dilapidated zone with many abandoned buildings that would serve to minimize potential collateral damage.

“That, you can try, ghost, once you release this… thug? Violent vigilante?” Red Huntress shrugged. Too busy with school to keep up with the gothamite night life, she was lagging a lot in her knowledge of who was who in the Hero/Vigilante vs. Villain/Criminal scene.

“For your information, jerk, I prefer the term zombie, since I’m up and about in my own body.” The ghost said.

“That’s what you all say, ‘this is my bo-’ what are you doing?!”

The ghost had shot a grappling hook at a nearby water tower, securing it firmly, and having Red Huntress’ momentum make her lose her balance and be pulled back by force, dislodging the net from where Valerie had clipped it to her board, and both of them tumbled down the couple of metres left between the ground and them.

Red Huntress retracted her board back into her suit the moment it hit the ground, falling on her feet and running out what was left of her momentum to reduce the impact damage.

She turned around and didn’t hesitate in shooting an ecto-blast from her other wrist as she saw the ghost pointing its gun at her (low, aimed at her thigh to impede, not kill). His gun clattered to the ground and he cursed, holding his injured hand close to his chest whilst he reached for his belt with the other one.

Red Huntress didn’t give him a chance. She stretched her arm and the ecto-net –which the ghost hadn’t managed to completely take off yet, and he had just started fighting whilst still entangled– launched itself back towards her, sweeping the ghost from its feet.

“Fuck this thing!” It swore again, and Red Huntress quickly straddled its abdomen and pointed her ecto-gun under its chin.

“I don’t want to hurt whoever it is you’re overshadowing, but I will if I have to. So come out of that body and fight me like a real ghost if it’s a brawl what you want!”

The ghost growled at her, mindful of the wrist-ray. “I told you I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I may have died but I am alive now, I’m not a ghost, and this is my body!” It lurched up and flipped them over, pinning Red Huntress’ wrists to the ground next to her head and away from him. “So you better leave me alone or we’re really gonna have a problem.” It reared back and then head-butted her, making their red helmets clash. “Are we clear?”

“Then tell me something, big boy,” Red Huntress spat venomously, “if you’re not a ghost possessing some random hunk, then why do ecto-weapons work on you? Shield up!”

A surge of red power lurched from Valerie’s suit and materialized around her, pushing the ghost away with a grunt of pain.

They stood up quickly, both taking fighting stances. Neither waited for the other one to find a good opening, and launched themselves at their adversary–

–and stopped dead in their tracks just as their fists were about to connect with the other one’s face.

“What are you doing to me?” The ghost demanded in a growl; his fear would have been well-hidden if not for the small cracking of his voice.

“I didn’t do shit, ghost.” She spat back. She moved back to an upright stance, but the moment she tried to attack her body froze again.

Red Huntress looked back at the ghost, who seemed to have reached the same conclusion as she, if his hand opening and closing as a claw whilst it hovered next to his holsters was a reliable sign.

“No violence, it seems.” It said, frustrated.

“That doesn’t sound like Gotham.” Red Huntress mumbled to herself but got a snort from the ghost all the same.

There was still tension running high between them, and Val was thinking fast on how to get the ghost out of that body and into her thermos without kicking its ass, and the ghost was obviously just as eager to resume their brawl.

Psychological warfare it would be.

Just as Valerie was about to say the meanest, most awful, confidence-shattering insult that would make Regina George proud and leave her former A-lister social group back home gaping at her… there was a shift in the air.

You know that feeling you get when you find out someone died? When it finally dawns on you that they are no more, will never be again, and nothing will change that.

Well, to that feeling, add the fact that said dead person is looking at you, and maybe you will get what they felt in that moment.

A bright, toxic green spiral appeared above the space between them, spreading out and opening up to a visage of floating purple islands and doors of all colours.

“By decree of the King of the Ghost Zone, any ecto-entity or spirit that breaks the [insert religious festivity here] will have to personally fight—” The glowing figure wrapped in royal regalia stopped as he took in what he was seeing, “-me. Uh, Red, what’s going on? Who’s your new friend?”

Valerie’s cheeks flushed with rage as Danny looked at her foe up and down with a furrowed brow.

“He’s not my friend! This ghost is overshadowing some hunk and it doesn’t want to let him go!” She said, pointing her finger at said ghost.

“I’ve already told you, I’m not a fucking ghost! This is my own fucking body and I’m not in the fucking mood to deal with this shit!”

“Then why does my ghost detector ping you as one?”

“Because your shit is broken, I don’t care!”

“And I should just take your word for it? You shot me!”

“And you fished me out of a car chase! Who the fuck does that?!”

“A ghost hunter to a ghost!”

“I’m getting fucking tired of you Ghost Buster shtick-”

“And I’m already freaking tired of you ‘not a ghost’ thing!”

“Oh, you can’t even swear.” The ghost mocked. “Shit fucking lame.”

“Get fucked, you ectoplasmic piece of shit.”

“Get out of my turf, Ghost Facer wannabe.”

“Shut up!”

Their mouths clamped shut against their will before they could throw any more vitriol at each other. They turned and found the young king hunched over on the floor, cradling his –now crown-less – head in his hands and with his eyes closed tight. His regalia was all gone, and instead he now wore a white hoodie fashioned after his regular suit. The hood was wide and covered a good half of his face, but his mouth still showed in a pained grimace.

“One year, that’s all I ask. One year without having to be in the middle of a stupid fight between believer and non-believer on fuckin’ Christmas. Is that too much to ask? I can’t lash out, I can’t stay out of it, am I just supposed to be unhappy?”

Val flinched, and her posture shifted so that she was turned towards Danny, ignoring the angry ghost next to her.

“Phantom?” She asked, approaching slowly, one step at a time. “Can I sit here?”

Phantom shrugged his shoulders and snorted. Not a ‘no’, so Valerie took a seat on the sidewalk with him, close enough to touch him if he allowed it.

The unknown ghost looked between one and the other, obviously confused, but Val wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. For one, she no longer could kick his ass, and most importantly, her friend needed her.

“Your parents are still holding onto their feud?” She asked gently.

“Pff, as if either of them was mature enough to accept defeat just for the sake of peace.” He spat, pulling his hoodie lower.

Valerie pursed her lips under her helmet. Danny’s relationship with his parents was good, especially since he revealed his half-ghost status to them. (Valerie’s acceptance had been… slower; to reconcile the fact that the sweet, shy boy she had dated and the annoying ghost she hunted were one and the same took her time, and now she regretted it had been so long); so for him to express himself like that about them… it must still be bad.

“I’m sorry.” She said, because even if it did nothing for him, she was. “I would’ve thought you would stay away for Christmas.”

“I wanted to, but there was an issue with a natural portal.” Danny explained to her, turning his head just the smallest bit toward her. His freckles glowed green just like his eyes, so she could see the bags under them. “I fixed it alright, just not in time to avoid their spat.”

Val put a hand on his shoulder and when he leaned into her touch she went for it and wrapped him in a one-armed hug.

“Well, you’re here and not there right now. Want me to show you around?” She offered him.

“What the absolute fuck is going on anymore?” Both Amity Parkers looked back up to the gothamite still standing there. “Who the fuck are you people?”

“Right, duty first.” Danny said and stood up, dusting off his clothes. “As the King of the Ghost Zone, it is my duty to make sure all ghosts, spirits, shadows, and ecto-entities abide by the Truce. Ecto-contamination makes you both ecto-entities.” He said as he gestured at Red Huntress with a hand, who took it to help herself up from the ground. “I assume you are dead-adjacent.” He asked in a tone too monotonous for such a question.

“… you could say that.” Was the clipped answer.

“There you have it. I’m not gonna delve into it right now, we can talk at length later, suffice to say, you count as an ecto-entity, so you are subject to the Truce, and that means no fighting in Christmas Day.”

“I have fought every Christmas ever since I was resurrected.” The dead-adjacent-but-apparently-not-a-ghost guy said.

“Fighting living, non-contaminated humans without a trace of ectoplasm in them. Which, and you’ll hate this, you won’t be able to do anymore, either.”

“What?!” The vigilante(?) roared, advancing menacingly just to stop one step in. “The fuck does that mean?!”

Phantom sighed and rubbed at his temples. “It means the Truce hadn’t taken effect on you because your ecto-signature is weak, and you hadn’t fought any other ecto-entity before, but now you have,” he pointed with his head at Red Huntress, who was paying as much attention at these news, “so now you can’t fight in this day anymore.”

“What about self-defence?” He asked quickly. Smart.

“That’s where I come in. I get the call, check out what’s up, and if a fight is needed, I have it.” He turned to his ex, sheepishly. “I just added that bit myself, y’know, to release some misplaced anger.”

“Understandable.” She said, patting him on the back. She turned to the vigilante. “I guess that means you’re not a ghost, after all.”

“As I kept saying.” He growled at her, but she ignored him.

“Well, there is nothing to it now.” She summoned her board and offered her ex a hand. “Let’s sight-see.”

Danny smiled, with his freckles shining bright green. “Yeah, okay.”

“So that’s it? You interrupt me in the middle of chasing down drug dealers, you tell me I’m some… pseudo ghost, you forbid me from fighting just ‘cause it’s fuckin’ Christmas day, and now you just leave.” He was clenching his fists hard, and Valerie could picture clearly the snarl on his face under the red helmet.

“It do be like that sometimes.” She told him unkindly, rolling her eyes. She wasn’t having an existential crisis over her nature, even if she had just as much right as him.

“We are going to have a talk, later.” Phantom told him, ignoring Red Huntress’ mean remark and sitting down on the board with his feet dangling. “There’s more stuff you need to know, and I would like you to go see my doctors for a full check-up.” The boy King said with an intense look. “And you’re welcome to join us, by the way.”

“Oh, I am?”

“He is?”

Danny sent a look at Valerie and she just inclined her head to convey her skepticism.

“Yes, you are.” He told the vigilante. “It’s part of the Truce; no hard feelings, regardless of circumstances or allegiances.”

“Pff, sure, I’ll think about it.” He said, turning his back, on them and walking away. He didn’t sound like he would think about it.

“Let’s go, ghostly boy.”

- - -

Hovering barely above Wayne Tower –but a considerable distance away anyways– Valerie and Danny sat watching the sunrise with a tray of jokerized fries between them (and several other wrappings stored away). Apparently, the batburger opened 24/7, every day of the year.

They saw the grapple land on the boar and hook itself to the conveniently placed anchor, making the board dip with the added weight.

They watched in unperturbed silence as the line retracted itself and bought along the vigilante they had found out to be Red Hood after a google search. Crime-Lord-slash-Vigilante, the Truce didn’t care.

“Took ya long enough.” Danny told him as he heaved himself up and then sat next to them.

“Ugh, shut up.” Red Hood answered, but there was barely any heat to his words. “Not much else to do today, apparently.” He glanced at the batburger bags that sat next to Red Huntress and asked, “Got any chili dogs on that?” The paper bag passed hands and soon Red Hood was rummaging through its contents. “Bingo.” He took off his helmet –under which he had a domino mask– and dug in.

Valerie just took another fry to her mouth.

“So,” the gothamite said after being handed a can of pop, “any plans for the day?” He was looking at them, and his face as much more expressive without the helmet; he was genuinely curious, probably wondering what would two vigilantes do on a day without fights and when barely any business was open.

“I was thinking of sneaking into the planetarium later at night.” Danny said. “As long as there’s no property damage, no one gets hurt, and I don’t have ill intentions, the Truce remains intact.” He explained.

“I had thought of going to Robinson Park and have a picnic or something.” Val commented. “Here’s to hoping Poison Ivy isn’t there today, though.”

“She’s in Arkham right now, don’t worry.” Red Hood told her. “The day is long, though; wanna get lost in the woods for a few hours?” He offered them. At both incredulous stared –though Red Huntress’ was hidden by her mask, which had retracted just enough to allow her to eat– he continued, “It’s a cool place to go for a hike if you know which parts to avoid, which I do. There’s also a good hidden bookstore and library that’s open all year ‘round and I have a card, if either of you cares, and there’s also a great Chinese place downtown, also.” He crumbled his trash in his hands and stood up to throw it with a baseball player’s skill at Wayne Tower, managing to make it enter an open window. “Suck it!”

Valerie and Danny looked at each other and shrugged.

“Sounds good to me.”

Val stood up, dusting off crumbs from her suit. “Alright then, big boy. Guide us to that secondary location in the middle of the woods.”

[hausofmamadas]

For Those That Seek the Jungle's Forgiveness | Part 2

(formerly "Gone. Like That." Catch up with -> Part 1)

⁂

Pairing: Mika Camarena & Connie Murphy and Mika Camarena x Javi Peña

Word count: ≈ 5.2K

TWs: Canon-typical violence, major character death, grief/mourning, loss of significant other, discussion of guns

This was an argument she'd had a long time ago with men in fancy suits that held prestigious, official-sounding titles and had absolutely no intention of actually listening. Mika almost accidentally manslaughters Javi when he sneaks up on her on dark street at night, and then she proceeds to roast him for pulling some trick-ass shit, not keeping in contact with Connie while he’s been looking into Steve’s disappearance. Eventually, he accepts that Mika’s 40x smarter and wiser than him and bends the knee to the real comandante of this operation and comes one step closer to realizing he’s lowkey in love with her.

⁂

Mika glanced at her watch. Almost exactly half past eleven. She pulled up and idled in front of Connie and Steve’s place, staring at the front steps and metal railing that led to the black, geometric, lattice work on the front door.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. By who? No clue. But with every tick of her watch, she jumped, confusing it with the phantom sound of a camera snapping. She could already see what the picture might look like: her station wagon parked conspicuously in front of the building, bathed in the warm, sallow glow of the street lights. 

Hand on the wheel, she leaned forward, surveying the street with an outstretched index finger before making a U-turn and parking on the other side of the street. The engine was already off by the time she noticed it in the rear view mirror, a familiar boxy silhouette, two cars back, jacked up on all four wheels, that giant hood covering the back. Shit. It was Javi’s. She’d recognize that jalopy anywhere. So much for keeping the information contained between just her and Connie. So much for keeping the DEA out of it.

Oh well, she’d just have to find a way to convince Javi to go it alone with them. That would probably take some doing. She’d have to call Laura, see if she could look after Kikito and Danny for a few more hours. She hated to be more of a burden but they couldn’t risk Javi getting a bunch of agencies involved that would only eat the clock fighting over jurisdiction, paperwork, money. Plus, Danny loved when Laura showed him all the new additions to their huge fish tank.

Still, it was strange. Didn’t Connie say on the phone that Javi went back embassy? He did live downstairs, though. He might've just stopped at home. But Connie made it sound like he’d left in a rush. Maybe he forgot to tell her something important. That’d make a lot more sense than him being home. Hell, chasing a man they didn’t know and would probably never meet, these guys always found reasons not to come home. Chasing a partner gone MIA? Fucking forget it. So sure, maybe he’d got some news. Maybe he’d booked it back in a hurry because the news was bad. Mika shook her head. No, no, don’t go there. Not yet.

Reaching over, she popped the glove box. The door fell open to reveal the barrel of a Glock that Kiki had given her years ago, shining in the low light of the car. Was she really going to walk around with this now? Was it even necessary? Of course it was. Steve was missing and this place was a war zone. She tucked it into her bag, keeping her hand inside around the grip but off the trigger just like Kiki showed her. This sense of certainty had been almost unthinkable back when he had first suggested he teach her how to use a gun. 

It had been right after the DFS shot Víctor in that cafe and the Guadalajara cartel put a hit out on Roger. A vision of the Knapps’ front yard and driveway, littered with sheets of broken glass, struck her. Goosebumps erupted, traveling up the back of her neck as the memory replayed.

Kiki had been gently rubbing her back while they were watching Roger and Rita frantically jam suitcases in the trunk of their car, the same glass crunching beneath each frenzied step they took. She distinctly remembered, as she took in the scene, being afflicted with an almost inappropriate sense of relief that Rita wouldn’t have had to clean all of that up herself.

Looking from the driveway back to her, Kiki declared almost out of the blue, 'See if Clarice can watch Danny and Kikito sometime this week. I’m gonna take you to the range.’

He was startled when she’d started laughing, beside herself because the whole thing was absurd, right? Except, the look of unwelcome assurance in his eyes, an ominous forecast of what was to come, reminded her that it wasn’t. And that itself was absurd. 

‘Baby, c’mon I’m serious.’ She could make out the ridge of his jaw bone under the skin, tensed to keep his voice low as he shook his head. ‘No. We can’t count on them coming after just me anymore. And I won’t leave you alone without knowing you can at least protect yourself, protect the boys. I’m tryin’ to end this, you know I can’t be with you all the time.’

She took a deep breath to quiet the anxious laughter. A flat look of resignation had passed over her face as she breathed out, ‘No, you’re right. You’re right.’

He put his arm around her and pulled her in so she could rest her head on his shoulder, lips dusting her forehead with a quick kiss.

‘No, I’m sorry. And I know, I know, I know. You don’t even have to say it, okay? As soon as I get this motherfucker Félix, we can start looking for places in San Diego. But right now, I need to know you can take care of business. I mean, look, okay?’ he threw his hand up, waving it around in the direction of the house. ‘Look– I mean, fuckin’ Roger was makin’ fuckin’ pancakes for his kids when they started shooting up the place!’

Mika mumbled something in agreement. 

‘And anyway, you’ll feel better knowing you can kick some ass,’ he looked down and gave her a wink, ‘y’know, the Calexico way.’

The warmth of the smile in his voice got her to crack one too. 

And the thing was, he had been right. She had felt better after that. Taking Kikito to school, baseball practice, doctor’s appointments, going for lunch with Ana and Ronnie, thinking about what guys who pulled her over - like that greaseball with the slicked back hair and sunglasses - would do if she flashed a gun when she reached for her license instead of cash. It might not have changed the outcome much. But at least they wouldn’t have been so smug, knowing she wasn’t going to make things easy for them. The naive part of her that had been stuck back in Calexico knew how insane that was. But the part of her there, in Guadalajara, had understood that’s simply how things needed to be. Such was their life.

Or, her life. Now.

And would you look at that? Steve gone, it was all hell breaking loose, all over again. Except whatever optimism she might’ve clung to back then like a deflating life raft went to the grave with Kiki. So, these days, she had no problem admitting she felt better with a gun. Kiki put it as, ‘knowing she could kick some ass.’ Today, she thought of it as more, in the likely event that she didn’t survive, she could make whoever decided to fuck with her regret choosing her to fuck with.

She steeled herself with a breath before opening the car door, then pulled the handle and swung it open. Kicking one leg out and whipping her head around to check the street, she felt like a periscope rising out of the sea, slowly standing up. Clear. Good. And with more self-assurance than she felt, she shut the car door, locked it, and made a beeline for the concrete stairs of the building entrance, fighting every step of the way not to give over to the mental image of being tracked by crosshairs, to not think about a little red dot on her back right where her heart would be. 

Halfway to the other side of the street, a voice rang out from the dark behind her. “Hey stranger.”

She stopped cold, heart pounding so fiercely, she wondered if maybe she hadn’t been right about the crosshairs and this was what being shot was like. Relief nearly knocked her on her ass when, glancing down to make sure she was still in one piece, she realized there was nothing. Hand still gripping the gun in her bag, she whipped around faster than she could think, nearly clocking Javi in the jaw with the barrel. Just barely dodging the blow, his hands went up in a gesture of armistice, and froze like that in the middle of the street, laughing awkwardly. 

“Oh my god, you scared the shit outta me. Enserio, cabrón? Has vuelto loco? Sneaking up behind a woman on a dark street? In one of the most dangerous cities in the world? Do you have a death wish?”

“Er, sorry. Yeah, I guess I sorta forgot living in a place as, uh–”

“Lawless? Insane as Medellin?”

”I was gonna say uh, unpredictable— but yeah, of course this isn’t really be new to you, is it? Pero,” he slowly brought one of his hands down and pushed the gun barrel to the side with his index finger to inspect it, “pues tengo que admitir que no esperaba que sí estuvieras tan preparada.”

He put his hand back up but something in looking at the gun made him drop his shoulders and relax into that familiar, annoying, Saturday-afternoon, Javier-‘The Man’-Peña posture he assumed when he was especially pleased with himself. 

“What?” Mika’s eyebrows shot up. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Man, I don’t know how to tell you this exactly,” he said, scratching his forehead. “But at the risk of er— taking a bullet to the face when I do, I— well, you should probably know that, uh … well, your safety’s on.” 

From the position marked with a tiny, engraved letter “S,” the safety switch mocked Mika as much as the upturned sides of Javi’s mustache. He kept his hands up as if to reassure her that she was still in control but doing a piss-poor job because he couldn’t seem to hide that shit eating smirk on his face. 

“Well,” she narrowed her eyes and shrugged, trying to play it off, “maybe I’m not out to get anyone killed. Maybe I just wanna scare them. You think anyone who matters is really gonna notice?” 

He cocked his head like a curious puppy, smiling even more, “I did.” 

“But do you, Agent Peña?” 

“Do I what?” 

“Really matter?” Mika shot back, voice laden with sarcasm but enough good humor to show she didn’t mean it.

They stared at each other for a moment and the combination of the half-wounded expression on his face and the way the street lights lit it orange like a fake tan made her want to laugh. 

“Ah shit,” she glanced down the barrel of the gun, tipping it slightly to the side, “that is such a Soccer Mom move. But y’wanna know what’s worse?” 

A touch of curiosity came to keep Javi’s smirk company, the desire to hear her answer punctuated by his silence.  

Mika shrugged. “My kids don’t even play soccer.”

Javi looked down, shoulders shaking as he tried to direct his laughter into the pavement instead of at her. It didn’t matter though because she was laughing too. Standing in the middle of the street, they dropped their hands and busted up together so synchronously, it looked almost rehearsed.

Once their little fit subsided, Javi was the first to come up for air. “So, what’s a rogue lady of the DEA wives’ club doing on an empty street in Bogotá this late at night? Besides trying to murder me with— what is–? Hold on, is that an MHS?” Javi grabbed her hand to get a better look at the piece. “Man, where’d you manage to get one of these?” 

Perplexed, Mika’s eyes darted down to the gun because for all she knew about firearms, it might as well have been a potato that she was holding. “Uhhh, it was a gift from Kiki’s partner. So, I could learn how to use one. Obviously,” she rolled her eyes, “you can see how well that went.”

“Man,” he said, letting it go with such fondness, “I didn’t even know they still made those things.” Which again, made as much sense as if he were marveling at a potato she was holding. “Y’know those are one of the only kinds of Glocks they made with slide mounted safety.”

She kept switching focus from Javi to the gun, trying to figure out what was so special about it, before realizing she didn’t actually care, “Alright, nerd,” and dropped her arm at her side.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, anyway,” Javi said, back to reality, “I think you were about to explain the reasons for my brush with death?”

“What? Before you got sidetracked, being all nerdy and shit?” 

“Sure, yeah.” 

“Well, what? You can’t guess?” Mika looked up at Connie’s window on the second floor and then back at Javi, whistling. “Man, you boys at the DEA must be losing your touch. They’ll hire anyone these days.” 

Javi rolled his eyes, “Ha ha ha” finally letting his hands drop, palms smacking his hips on the way down. “C’mon, put yourself in my position. Sure, that wild look of biblical hellfire in your eyes is gone, but you’ve still got that,”  he gestured at her side, “in your hand? So, y’know��� thought it best to keep the conversation light.” 

“Whoops,” Mika said, chuckling and checking that the safety was still on before putting the gun back in her purse. 

Glancing at the empty street around them, Mika realized this might be a good opportunity to needle Javi for more info while she had him alone. Before he could clam up in front of Connie. “So, any news about Steve? I’m guessing that’s why you came back here, and not for a night cap and a bedtime story.” 

Javi regarded her, amused but not without suspicion, brows cinched as he caught his tongue between his teeth. Another mannerism of his Mika had picked up on in the few years she’d known him. Historically, she’d found it kinda cute when he wasn’t being evasive and annoying. When he was, she found herself hoping he’d slip and bite down a little too hard. 

Right now, he was being evasive and annoying. 

“Please, Javi. Don’t make me go there.”

”Sorry?” 

She eyed him with a measure of regret, acutely aware that his foot had just hit the metal plate of the conversational trap she’d just set and the mechanical jaws were about to clamp shut. “You’re not gonna make me invoke my dead husband’s name to shame you into telling me, are you?” There they went. 

His hands flew to his hips as he cocked one out to the side, face morphing from suspicious to pained and almost pleading. But still, nothing. 

With that, all regret evaporated and Mika just rolled her eyes, turning on her heels and headed for the door of the apartment building.  She made it to the other side of the street and up the steps but paused, fingertips on the handle, when she realized he wasn’t following her. 

“Cmon Agent Peña, just tell the truth.” Turning around, she shifted the weight of her bag on her shoulder so she could grab the spare key from one of its pockets. “Look, I know it’s not something that comes naturally to you boys in blue, but just think of it as practice. You know, for when you talk to Connie.”

Javi’s eyes darted from her, to the window of Connie and Steve’s apartment on the second floor, then back at her, then back down at the ground. Weighing his options, it seemed, he stood like that for what felt like ages before rubbing his face, grumbling into his palms, “Ah, fine. Fuck it.” 

Mika turned back to the door, taking a mental victory lap - gotcha - as she swung it open. 

And in a few long strides over to and up the stairs, skipping every other step, Javi was slipping in the door right behind her. He followed her down the hallway, both of them walking in silence, past his apartment, up the first flight of stairs, until, when turning to climb the next flight, he was seemingly unable to contain himself. “Hey. What’d you mean back there?” 

Mika kept pace about to start up the next set of stairs, paying him no mind.

He raised his voice to a kind of whisper-yell, grabbing her hand before she could get too far up the stairs, “Mika!” 

She turned around and walked back down stopping a step above him.

“Not something that comes naturally?" He let her hand slid out of his almost reluctantly before crossing his arms. "You wanna explain what that’s supposed to mean, exactly?”

There was more vulnerability in this than anger, the words of a boy on the playground whose feelings were hurt because someone kicked over his sandcastle.

She almost felt sorry for him but Connie’s words, thick with tears rang in her ears. Javi left before I could ask him anything. All he said was that he thinks Steve’s alive, but that just means he’s not sure he’s dead.

And all of a sudden, the long since dormant bitterness and fury that had made its home deep in the pit of her stomach when Kiki died came back to collect. With interest. It burned in her chest so tangibly, it felt like some toxic, poisonous gas all these years had been incubating in her body for all of these years that she was about to unleash with the steady stream of a flamethrower. Poor Javi. He was in for it.

The tragic part, the part she’d feel guilty about later, was that none of this was his fault. It was some bureaucrat’s, some bored old bastard, way up the chain of command, tucked away in some embassy office, sat behind a titanic mahogany desk so expensive it could cover the down payment on her house, even though he did nothing but shuffle papers around, shake hands, kiss babies, make phone calls to grieving wives and mothers to give them that familiar speech: Why yes, everything is under control, ma’am. We’re doing all that we can, ma’am. Well hey now, there’s no reason to raise your voice, ma’am. You just need to understand these things take time. Now, please take a seat over there so I can pretend like you’re not wasting mine, ma'am.

Unfortunately for Javi, he was the one in front of her. And there was nowhere else for it to go. He’d looked like he’d taken a few on the chin in his day, but she couldn’t be sure he could bounce back from this one. Not that it mattered. This was an argument she’d had a long time ago with men in fancy suits that held prestigious, official-sounding titles and had absolutely no intention of actually listening. If a tree falls in the forest and there’s no one around to hear it, does it still make a sound?

Christ, was this going to be any different? 

“Look,” Mika sighed, “Connie already told me everything you’ve shared with her.” 

Looking like he was frozen in time, Javi stood there, forehead pinched in a moment of calculation. As much as he seemed unsure of what to expect, at the same time, he was aware enough not to insult her by playing completely dumb. 

“And to be honest?” she continued, crossing her arms. “So far, that ‘everything’ sounds like a whole lotta nothing.” 

Javi winced but managed to sputter out, “I don’t know what you’re talk—“ 

“Please. Don’t patronize me with all that,” Mika’s fingers came up to make air quotes, “‘What on earth could you mean?’ bullshit” and then ended the bit, dropping her hands at her hips. “Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime?” 

Eyes wide, mouth open, Javi looked stunned, the inevitable ‘What are you talking about?’ stuck in his throat, leaving him with nothing to say or do but wait for her to elaborate. 

“You wanna know what I’m talk—? Fine, fine. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you exactly what I’m talking about.” With a clipped breath, she steadied herself. “You think you’re protecting Connie by keeping her in the dark. Gone for hours, not answering her calls, not checking in, not telling her where you’ve been, who you’ve talked to, where you’re going.” 

Her eyes pinned Javi in place, right there in the middle of the stairway. Perhaps trying not buckle under the weight of decades of forfeited accountability, in an effort to cope, he shrank back trying to become one with the wall. But Mika wasn’t done. 

“She’s not some precious fucking flower who’ll wilt at any mention of the truth. And she’s not an idiot. She deserves the facts and your honest assessment about well,” she waved her hands, “whatever is going on. And that includes what you think Steve’s chances are.” 

“His chances?” 

“Of being alive, Javi.” 

His jaw tightened hard, lips pursed like he was sucking on a lemon, and he paused for a long time before launching into the same good-ole-boy schpiel she’d heard a thousand times. With Javi though, there was a well-veiled but desperate sincerity with which he delivered it that reminded her of Jaime. “With all due respect Mika, I can’t— I don’t know if you understand the moving pieces at play here. How rigged the system is. How— well, how beyond fucked up it all is.”

Mika’s head sank, chin nearly touching her chest. However sincere, it wasn’t enough. 

“Y’know,” she spoke down at the ground, through a cruel, thin laugh, “I don’t bring this up often because it doesn’t make for great dinner conversation, certainly not an ice breaker. But since you’re such a man, I bet you can handle it,” and then looked back up to him with a smile that came nowhere close to her eyes. “When I arrived at the ME’s office to identify Kiki’s body, do you know what they were picking out of the gaping wounds on his head?” 

The look on Javi’s face said he wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot pole. He didn’t need to.

“Chunks of rebar and wood. Along with pieces of his skull.” 

A war waged in Javi’s eyes between heartbreak and indignation but he was smart enough to know that now was not the time to give voice to either. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, maybe I’m mistaken. But were you there, Agent Peña? Were you the one to survey all the wounds he had? Did you read the coroner’s report– the one with that stupid, generic outline of a body that cataloged each and every injury? Did you see how riddled his body was? With bruises? Cuts? Welts? Burns?” She shook her head like she still couldn’t believe it. “Actual holes?”

His face conveyed nothing but heartbreak now. No matter that these were all rhetorical questions, it was the right answer. 

“So, I think a better question is, do you know how fucked up it all is?”

Eyes cast off to the side, Javi was quiet for a long time, rolling his tongue along the inside of his cheek, likely trying to decide what, if anything, to say, until he was reanimated by a moment of epiphany. He stood up straight, no longer resembling a shriveled barnacle, stuck to the wall. And it all came out, practically in one breath. 

“Alright, alright. Fine. You want the truth? The truth is, I have no idea. I have” he threw up his hands with the frustration of a man whose luck had run out, finally folding at the poker table, “not a fucking clue who took him. Nothing. No leads. No evidence. Except my colleague’s contacts in the military haven’t caught wind of anything about a DEA being taken by Escobar’s people, so it’s probably not him and I’ve just been trying to keep things quiet so th—“ 

“So you don’t get him killed by spooking the kidnappers because you turned law enforcement onto a big search. That’s a song and dance I remember.” 

“Right,” Javi carried on without missing a beat. “Which means I’ve got no help from the embassy, no help from my own agency, no help from the military. And I sure as fuck don’t want help from any of those shady fucks in the CIA. So yeah,” he;d been talking so fast, he was nearly gasping now, “I think— since it’s not Escobar, I think he might— well, might be—” 

“Dead.”

He exhaled a defeated, “Yeeup.”

After her little speech, Mika wasn’t sure what Javi would come back with but she didn’t expect him to fold quite so easily. He was an even easier nut to crack than Jaime had been when he came to give her the news that he’d found Kiki’s car. To be fair, she did have more leverage now, what with Kiki already being dead. Everyone already got their crash course, a ‘How-To’ in ‘What-Not-To-Do’ when a DEA agent goes missing. Still, she expected more resistance, more half-truths couched in platitudes, more bullshit. But he didn’t do that to her. 

She looked him up and down, sizing him up like she hadn’t gotten it right the first time and decided, in that moment, she respected him infinitely more than she had just minutes ago. 

“Okay,“ she began, breaking the silence. “Besides Escobar, who else would take him? Could it be someone in the government? Maybe loyal to the cartel but, I don’t know,” she shrugged, “operating without Escobar’s say-so?” 

Javi shook his head, “We have most of the financials of his operation, who takes his bribes, who’s on his payroll. Shit, half of them are bribed by us to look the other way when it’s convenient,” and looked wearily off to the side, grumbling, “The fuckin’ good guys, right.”

“Yeah, it seems like, no matter where you go, these ‘company’ men don’t have any real loyalty. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s some kind of professional code that the rest of us don’t know about.” 

Mika thought of Heath and the dozens of others in the DEA, Homeland Security, Defense Department, men in the same gray suits offering the same recycled condolences and half baked apologies in the months after Kiki died. She didn’t bother to wipe the stray tear that escaped down her cheek.

Javi shoved his hands in his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Alright,” Mika said, with a knowing smile. “Well. There. That wasn’t so hard, now was it.”

“Oh sure, yeah, real piece of cake,” he scoffed. 

They were both quiet, staring at each other until Javi piped up, “Y’know actually, I hear there are some teaching positions open at that uh,” he snapped his fingers, “whatsit, the School of the Americas? Yeah, they could learn a thing or two from you. Call it Emotional Blackmail and Interrogation Techniques 101. You should look into that. Might be your calling. I hear the pay’s nothing earth shattering. But the health benefits— tsk great.” 

Mika looked down at the floor, chuckling. 

“Although, I gotta say, that biblical hellfire look? That is— phew,” he waved his hand in front of her face and she giggled, “that is raw talent. Can’t teach that. So alright, what's next, patrona, Ms. Inquisition? What do we do now?” 

“Well,” Mika’s nose scrunched, giving way to real laughter this time which helped her to break the news gently, “for starters, you’re gonna tell Connie everything you just told me.” 

Javi opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “Look, if nothing in the last five minutes told you I’m not here for bullshit, maybe this will: as his wife, she deserves the truth.”

He crossed his arms again, quietly defensive.

“And as his wife, you might be able to leverage her, in case the higher ups try to play games, drag their feet on this.”

“Sorry,” he leaned forward like he didn’t hear her right, “leverage?”

“You said it yourself, you have no leads. It’s time to take this up the ladder, and there’s more than one of those, yes?” 

Javi groaned. 

“Look, when Kiki went missing, no one did anything at first. His boss Jaime was the only one looking. There was more traction when I got involved. But really,” she shook her head in awe,  like she still couldn’t believe it, “it’s not ‘till I lost my shit on one of the deputy directors in Mexico City that things started happening.” 

Get off your ass and start helping the other agents. Go find my fuckin’ husband! 

“It makes sense now, chain-of-command and all that, but if I’d known direct worked better than diplomacy, I would’ve started off yelling.” 

Javi raked his hands over his face. 

“So now, you need to figure out which ladder to take this up to.” 

“Yeah, okay,” his palms were nearly in his eye sockets now, “so when I figure that out, you want me to what—“ then dropped them from his face with a sigh. “Parade Connie, the distraught maybe-widow in front of whatever executive leadership and hope that’ll force them to act?” 

“Jesus Javi, it’s not like you’re a stage parent forcing your kid do pageants.” 

“Might as well be.”

“Don’t trivialize this, okay? This could work. Connie’s more than someone’s wife. She’s a person. And she’s smart. Articulate. Not only that, she’s a blonde-haired, blue-eyed nurse for god’s sake. America’s sweetheart. And frankly, she can be convincing to whatever executive leadership in a way that you can’t. I mean, let’s face it, all your police-radio jargon, letter-of-the-law, doublespeak nonsense, none of you law enforcement guys know how to properly emote.”

Javi laughed at that such fullness and depth, Mika realized that every time she’d heard him laugh before had been nothing but a pitiful shadow, a cheap imitation of the real thing. They'd known each other for a two years. How long could it have been since he'd laughed like that?

“Okay, Press Secretary Camarena. Point taken.”

“Plus, you have a trump card this time. Something Jaime and I didn’t have.” 

“Oh yeah. What’s that?” 

“The myth, the legend, the man himself, Kiki Camarena. Or really, the stain on the squeaky clean record of the DoD. The death of the myth, the legend, the man.” 

Javi chewed on that in silence, along with the inside of his cheek.

“Believe me, that’s a level of public scrutiny they don’t ever want to see again. They’ll avoid it at all costs. Especially if the government wants to keep selling weapons to anti-communist guerrillas. Undisturbed.” 

“Jesus Mika,” Javi kicked back off the wall, eyes wide with admiration, and she could practically see the lightbulb above his head, “You really have thought this whole thing through.” 

She bit back the tears welling in her eyes, an inexplicable wave of self-consciousness sweeping over her, and all she could think to do was shrug. “When someone dies, like how Kiki died, you always hear people talk about the hours they spent agonizing over it. Not sleeping for weeks, months— because you can’t help it. It’s involuntary. You think about things, replay every moment, every interaction– what could I have possibly said, done differently? What didn’t I see before it was too late?”

She swiped the tears off her cheeks and swallowed hard. He looked at her, touched by the peculiar sorrow that can only accompany surrogate grief. 

“Not many people get a chance to see the ‘what-ifs’ through. Me? I’ve had seven years to think about it. What I’d do differently. And now, I can use that to protect someone I love? Shit, this?” she smiled, making a gun gesture at Javi and pulling the trigger, “pschew. This is my shot.”

Javi just looked at her, dumbstruck. 

“Whatever happens,  god forbid, if Steve dies, however this plays out, it sure as hell won’t be because I wasted my shot.” 

With that, she turned, and walked up the stairs to the second floor. 

⥈

taglist: @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @ladygoatee, @ashlingiswriting, @ashlingnarcos, @kesskirata @artemiseamoon, @cositapreciosa, @rerorero-my-cherry

[deada55]

Under the Hood

crossposting: none (gonna see if I like it)

synopsis: Murderface has a little too much fun trying to recognize his bandmates by their bodies (teen and up-style. No porn.)

for kloktober day 3: Mordhaus Costume Ball

It sure is a costume event, it sure is a ball, and it's sure in Mordhaus, but it's a little creative.

Toki’s latest seasonal exploit was convincing everybody to blend in with the hooded masses during an industry cocktail hour they dipped out of for a “planning meeting.” The third time Charles asked what the “planning meeting” was for, Murderface “farted” and had to leave the room… and Charles didn’t ask any more questions.

All five of the band members suited up in hoods and black working clothes and split up across the grounds with the stated objective of finding one another. If you’re found, you have to follow the person or group of people who found you and become part of their “team.” (Toki had found that idea from a pink spiral-bound book of “Just Girly Games” from the thrift store. On second thought, the “hot potato” chant when passing a shot glass would make a great drinking game.) Murderface, with his hair held back with an accordion headband, was hooded and on the hunt, starting with the klokateers doing valet parking. 

They faced out into the receiving area, which was a black canvas tent surrounded by Bentleys, Geneses, and Lambos. William’s eyes tracked from bumper to bumper, rims to the bottom edge of hairy asscheeks in black pants, from paint jobs to picturing what it’d be like to have the workers’ knuckled, black-gloved hands grab more than just keys. The deep black night sky, smooth from the light pollution of Mordhaus’ grounds, made every hood ornament and rugged arm hair sparkle. His beltline got wet from the sweat on his back and he retreated back towards the house. If one of them was Toki, he’d take the L over getting caught staring with a boner trying to bore through his fly. 

In the corridors behind the main reception area, pointed hoods ducked and bobbed in swarms trying to arrange aperitifs and balance garnishes on the poshest bloody red shooters on God’s metal earth. The height of the ceilings made the flocks of heads look even shorter; the flapping of black tablecloths over serving carts slipped above the murmuring and the laughter teeming through the double doors before the main hall. He was silent as Klokateers bumped into his shoulders with mumbled, “Comin’ through”s and “Excuse me”s to keep his anonymity. Looking for the tallest people made the search easier… about thirty feet away from him was a guy who had to be standing around in Nathan and Skwisgaar’s altitude.

But how to know if it was Skwisgaar? He was thin enough, but maybe just a little more svelte vs slight. His back was toned and carved into smooth lines… his shoulder blades stretched his shirt over their corners while he assembled a chocolate fountain. His waist was so sincere and suggestive under that black muscle shirt, begging to be pulled forward or slammed back. This guy’s ass was a little flat to be Skwisgaar’s… or maybe it was too plush? It didn’t look quite right for him, but it was probably handsome, like two paninis made out of exceptionally rectangular White Castle hamburgers, with that sour, gamey smell and the taste that won’t leave your mouth alone… if only he could get a little lick, maybe right where his back turned into those buns, maybe right to the middle looking for a little beef, a little muscle–

William didn’t hear the guy trying to tell him to look out until there was a pyramid of tiny cups of gourmet barbeque sauce coming down on and over him. Stepping back only sent him to the floor in the mess, rolling around like a little piggy until he heard a familiar chuff.

“Dude, are you fucking hard right now?”

Holding an entire tray of stuffed buns in the shape of coiled snakes (with black sesame seeds embedded as scales), Nathan, unhooded, stepped forward out of the crowd of grumbling Klokateers scrambling to save the cups that remained on the cart. 

“What the fuck, man!”

“They said I couldn’t have any if I was working so I just showed them I wasn’t working. But you, Murderface, Jesus Christ… You look like that Stephen King movie with the ginger and the fucking tampons.”

William slid up from the mess and onto his hands and knees, but kept slipping in the sauce until two Klokateers took him by the arms and wouldn’t give in to his fighting. “At least I have Halloween spirit, Nathan! Halloween’s fucking brutal and scary and all that schit!”

“C’mon. Pickles gave up. Skwisgaar probably isn’t playing, and I don’t know what Toki’s doing-”

“Found yous!” One of the Klokateers that had been holding William up snatched his hood off and immediately got strands of his hair stuck to Murderface’s saucy shoulder like a spiderweb.

“Aw, fucking Toki! I could’ve fucking won this game!”

“Dildos! You didn’tst, but you found Nathans! Want to finds Pickle in the kegs room?”

[fizzigigsimmer]

Imagine a modern AU where Billy is an actor and Steve is the frontliner in an indie band called the Demo Crew. They’re not superstars or anything but are pretty blessed to have a really committed fanbase. Demo Crew is contracted to do the soundtrack on Billy’s latest film which is another huge step for them because of the exposure. Steve tweets about how he is awed that any of those studio suits even knew their unusual music but is super grateful for the opportunity and having a blast, and his fans notice that Billy’s official account likes the tweet. But things really heat up during the press tour when their mutual fans start noticing that Billy talks about the films music whenever he can. He’s always bringing questions back around to how the music makes the film and the scenes what they are etc. “It would have been a totally different film without Steve, Eddie and those guys.”

People start to notice things, like the way Billy rarely just says the band’s name but instead singles out the band members or sometimes just Steve. Like he has a personal relationship with them or something, and the (until then) niche Harringrove Shippers come alive like Muchu. They smell a story and they’re on the case. Somebody digs up old photo and video of Billy’s metal head days before he was famous and a whole theory is making the rounds about how he’s behind a certain avatar on the official fan forum “flayed club” and his publicist is forcing him to hide it for the sake of his clean cut image. Somebody else recognizes a bunch of blurry pins that look like they might be ones from the bands merch store in a couple of more recent photos. Controversy starts heating up between the shippers and some of Billy’s more conservative fans because of the dark themes in the music.

“I loved the soundtrack for the film, but lets face it Demo Crews ordinary stuff is kinda twisted. I just don’t think Billy’s the kind of guy who would be into that.”

“Can someone open a window? I can smell the bullshit moral panic from here. Look it’s obvious that even if Billy isn’t behind “Master_Puppet that he is one of the flayed, and you know what? THAT’S OKAY. It’s insane that in this day and age he’s being told he has to hide his interests just to make himself palatable to a bunch of pearl clutching PTA moms.”

Billy speaks up for his poor management team at the next interview. No he’s never been told he has to hide any part of himself and he’s lucky to work with a really great team who look out for him and always encourage him to be true to himself even when that’s hard for him, but he appreciates how passionate the fans are. He only knows a little about it but Flayed Club is a great space and he loves the energy and creativity happening there. Oh of course Jimmy, he’s a huge fan of Demo Crew. Funny story, he’s known for forcing new people he meets to listen to his favorite album. He thought he was taking a shot in the dark when he suggested that their vibe would be perfect for the project, but it turned out Jan over at the studio was also a big fan. Steve likes and reblogs the interview clip and captions it with “best reference we ever got”.

The fandom is on fire. Master_Puppet confirmed! Also Billy is basically the reason the band got hired. Everyone is rabid to know if/how/when Billy met his favorite band, also if he and Steve are friends. I mean, people would ship them anyway because they’d look gorgeous together but really it’s the way Billy always says Steve’s name first and the way he says it. It’s the way that as Billy opens up more on instagram about his past struggles, and why he relates to certain lyrics, that it just seems so in sync with the things that Steve has said about why he wrote them and why the band chooses to explore such dark material. Mashups and compilations with #soulmates trickle from the flayed club out to twitter and tik-tok, until it feels like the whole world is shipping them. “I know they probably don’t even know each other but I just think they’d be perfect together.”

“But isn’t Steve dating @RockinRobin? 😂 I mean, they live together!!!” The hetero police come out in full force to defend Steve’s assumed hetero, offended at the very idea that someone could think two men might get on well together. Robin would never fan a fan war online, Steve, she’s far too busy and adult for that. But she does make a point to dig up the taco earrings Steve got her for Christmas once and wear them with her Lesbi-Honest T-shirt and take a bunch of selfies for the gram. #theothersoulmate

So it’s pure carnage online. Some people are still convinced that this confirmation that Steve and Robin are partners while others are sure she’s directly referencing the flayed and #soulmates. Robins not the only one who seems to like teasing the fans. They’re always hungry for new Harringrove proof and go crazy when Billy and Steve like each other’s posts or interact at all, and sometimes it feels like Steve’s band mates and Billy’s friends will post deliberate references to the soulmate theory. TikTok queen ElevenEmpirePenguins makes a viral video captioned “When all of your friends know you’re in love with them before you do” with a clip from some rom com Billy starred in, and Max puts it on her twitter. Steve’s band mate Eddie comments “Blue Jean Rhapsody” a popular track on their second album under a picture of Billy and his costar Heather. Which leads to fans lamenting that there’s no music video for that song already and theorizing that maybe the band is going to collab with him to create one because that song was like, made for Billy.

There’s fireworks the first time Billy and Steve publicly meet. It’s during awards season, when Billy and the band are both guests on a talk show. Body language experts are popping out of the woodwork to analyze every look and gesture, down to how close they sat together on the couch. Billy looks at Steve like he wants to lick him up and Steve’s got like no chill. He was either just struck by cupid’s bow or possessed by the spirit of a blushing love bug.

“Whoa. Did we just watch Harringrove become reality in real time?!!! 😍”

When the host asks if they’re aware of the soulmate theory, Steve stays on flustered and Billy gets coy. “Oh yeah, well it’s been a whirlwind and there’s not a lot of time to focus on much outside of work. But yeah it’s great. I think people just love to be in love and if it makes them happy to play matchmaker, well that’s fun. As long as it’s not hurting anyone do what makes you happy.”

[legitimatesatanspawn]

First impressions of Mass Effect from someone who only vaguely heard of the games before:

I have not even met them but I want to stab whoever suggested my character. default setup Jane Shephard, wasn't ready for protecting the galaxy. Last survivor or not, I bet my character did more than you ever did in service.

Captain Anderson is kind of nice. I hope he doesn't die or get turned into a zombie. Also I swear the name's the same as another space scifi military AAA game.

Nihlus is a bit of a pretentious slightly edgy ass but he is a blackops agent. He'll probably suffer a fall from grace, poor guy. Aaand yep there he goes out the airplane. Bye, hope you don't die.

"Those are just gasbags, they're harmless." I don't care, I'm still popping them because they look far too much like Infected Flood humans for my comfort.

Its like... 300 years in the future and hacking is now simplified as a circular tile expy of Frogger?!

Oh hey those are the dragon teeth spikes. Rezzed corpses as shocktroopers is actually very clever.

Okay who decided to give the robots such thicc legs? Looking at all y'all on the design team, who decided this? Probably the same person who gave all the ladies booty shots with the form-fitting space suits.

Turian Two just pulled a "nothing personal, kid" on the edgy idiot.

Getting tired so saving for now. Not all that far in the game yet but it took forever to install.

[esoterium]

@chernayavidua || i fixed my meme tag link! || accepting!

025, an empty balcony while a party goes on inside. / for david

david's never been one for entire precinct wide get togethers. they make him feel awkward. like he's forced to rub elbows and talk to higher ups that tolerate him in the flesh on his 'best days' on their worst. he'd be at home right now. in his boxer shorts and a t-shirt passed out by now. or watching the game if it wasn't his court (and superior) mandated therapist that suggested he show up to this christmas/new years shindig. which made it nearly fucking impossible to turn down without raising suspicion that he's being some fucking nutcase shut in and about to become their worst nightmare to deal with. public relations and workman's comp-wise.

he knows what he is. a major liability wrapped in press coverage that had the department bent over face down ass up. there's no getting rid of that. possibly ever. the leash he's on is retractable and the collar's spiked on the inside. keeps him working, though. david's learned how to wriggle free. escape from it throughout the time he's been like this. then wriggle back in when needed. this is one of those wriggling back in times.

fingers lift from his drink. a rum and coke. they wave one at a time at the captain who wanders by. david waits til he's gone to call him a prick through gritted teeth. something that's heard by the redhead who appears at his side, he figures. that shit eating grin on her face says so. busted. brows lift. "what? he is. you can't say i'm wrong. or i'm gonna call you out on that bullshit. guy's got a two inch dick and the attitude to match." ah, eloquent david. in his suit that's got a crooked tie barely done and shoes that don't match the look. hair barely tamed from the lack of a fresh cut.

would he be any other way? probably not.

"where've you been? i thought i was gonna end up getting stuck with napoleon and crew all night." a grin's shot her way. relief evident in his features and how his eyes light up a little. "there's not enough liquor i'm not supposed to be drinking in public in that bar to take the edge off their company. might've had to resort to desperate measures."

[oliviahallwriting]

Chapter 14

“I didn’t know you had a suite,” Tom said, a few hours later, as he walked into the room on Chopin’s top floor. They’d gone to the gym again, and Jun had suggested that they buy groceries and have dinner at his dorm. “Did you pay off the res hall coordinator or something?”

“Okay, dramatic,” Jun replied with a laugh, before separating the groceries by perishability. “It’s not like it’s me and three bedrooms. I have roommates.”

“You’re talking about an apartment.”

“Says the guy who sprung for a single dorm,” Jun said, and clapped Tom lightly on the shoulder. Tom flinched; the touch was ice-cold from holding a pint of frozen custard. “I also decided on the early-acceptance route, which might have helped.”

“I see,” Tom said. 

Jun went back to sorting the groceries. He stared at a few of the items and put them on the counter.

“You need help with those?”

“Uh, sure. Full disclosure, but I’m pretty lost on what we’re actually cooking.”

“Were you not paying attention in the store? I had a whole spiel about how my mom makes pasteles.”

Jun looked at the ground sheepishly. “Well, it’s not that I wasn’t paying attention, but I don’t know Spanish, and, uh, I was making sure it was all dairy-free…” he trailed off.

“You couldn’t figure out what they were through context clues? I thought you were in comms.”

“That’s not what we learn,” Jun replied immediately. “But I guess there’s no time like the present. And I understood some of it, like that we’re probably filling this puff pastry with something. I’m not totally hopeless.”

Tom chuckled and started to chop an onion. Jun clumsily worked on the tomatoes.

“Hold on a minute,” Tom said, and winced when Jun’s knife came shockingly close to his boyfriend’s fingers.

Jun stopped. Tom curled his right hand around both Jun’s and the knife handle and, with his left, held the tomato in such a way that their knuckles would stop the blade.

“It’s called a claw grip,” Tom said, his voice lowered; Jun was only a few inches away. “Now you can’t cut your fingers off.”

For a second, Tom wondered if he’d sounded patronizing, but Jun didn’t reply. Actually, Jun was speechless, only resuming his default banter-y style once the tomato was fully chopped and Tom added more ingredients to the pan. Tom simmered cooking wine, tuna, oregano, parsley, salt, and egg all with the tomato and layered the sauce onto the puff pastry sheets before baking it in the oven. When it was done, he sat with Jun on the sofa in the flat’s dedicated seating area, plates of food in front of them.

Jun tried one of the pasteles and made a breathy little noise.

“Good?” Tom asked, needlessly.

“Yeah, mmph,” Jun groaned, and Tom would be lying if the sound didn’t affect him at all, didn’t send him a fleeting flash of something before leaving just as fast. Tom was suddenly furious, angry at his mind and body for giving him just one taste before taking it away.

Jun glanced at him, surprised.

“Uh, you okay? You’re kind of, um, glowering. Try the meal! It’s good.”

“Do that again,” Tom said, intense enough that no one would’ve considered it a request. 

Jun’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Do what?” he asked.

“That sound you made,” Tom said.

Jun looked surprised, but thankfully didn’t ask further, and made a valiant attempt at a recreation.

Tom felt nothing. Desperately, he leaned forwards to kiss his boyfriend, which Jun obliged, but even this effort to cross the same wires had no result. 

“God damn it!” Tom said, with enough ferocity that Jun stood up from the couch.

“What is it?” Jun asked, tentative, but Tom stood up and excused himself to the bathroom, ignoring the concerned expression his boyfriend left him with.

Tom splashed his face with sink water. He hadn’t cried for years, and he wasn’t about to now. But the ‘ace’ thing had grown on him over the past few weeks, and that was a term that apparently didn’t fit anymore.

“Tom?” he heard, through the door. “Since I’m a trained master in all communication, I can tell you don’t want to talk about it, but the pasteles are getting cold.”

He waited a beat before leaving the bathroom. When he did, he slumped on the sofa without making eye contact and glumly ate the meal, which was damn delicious, and cheered him a little. His boyfriend didn’t press him.

“Jun?” Tom asked, after he’d finished eating.

“Hmm?”

“Can you just, like, tell me what I am?” Tom looked at Jun and watched the smile he’d been wearing unravel into something sad and honest. 

“No,” Jun said, “I can’t.”

“Because I know that it’s a spectrum, everything’s a fucking spectrum, but I want to be correct in my goddamn sense of self,” Tom said. The words came out loud and he couldn’t turn them down. “I don’t want to intrude on a community or some shit because I get turned on by my boyfriend, like, once every three months!”

Jun gazed at him for a while before saying anything.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked.

His tone was sobering. Tom’s anger deflated.

“It doesn’t matter if you fit a label or not,” Jun said. “The point of any self-description is to connect with others who are similar. And for politics and dating, whatever.”

“But you’re trans,” Tom said, and felt a little stupid. Damn his boyfriend’s eloquence. “You’re in one of those categories because of your experience, right? You wouldn’t want some, uh, non-trans person to say they were.”

For some reason, Jun rolled his eyes. “Oh, cis infiltration? I’ll live. But, to your point, it’s not like I feel super strongly about gender every day. But I say I’m trans, and that’s because I feel like the term describes my experience well. And yeah, at some point, you have to accept that identification is subjective.”

Tom thought for a bit.

“But that’s awful,” he replied. “It’s not grounded in anything?”

“Oh, it is,” Jun said. “We get murdered, you know. By others and by ourselves, because the gender stuff is so strong, and it can hurt so badly to be rejected. All I’m saying is the specific words and labels we use are a little loose. Looser than some would like.” 

Tom frowned.

“I wish it were simpler,” Jun said. “But that’s the cost, right? Of being free to self-identify? It’s that we don’t always perfectly fit.”

Tom didn’t know how to reply.

“Here, let me show you something. Even the score and all that,” Jun finished, and left for his bedroom. When he returned, he was holding a large hardcover book.

“Is that…?” Tom started.

“Yeah. My yearbook,” Jun said, and started to flip through it, starting from the middle. There were fifteen pages for the freshmen alone. The sophomores, twenty.

Jun pointed out someone every few pages. That one sat next to him in biology. That one asked him to homecoming in freshman year, and that one was his friend for a while, and that one, and that one. 

He pointed out fewer people as he turned the pages. When he reached the seniors, all clad in formal black suits and dresses, he stopped with the specifics entirely. For a moment, the sound of flipping pages were the only sounds at all.

“That’s me,” Jun said quietly, after a minute or so.

Tom stared at the picture for a bit, not sure what to make of the uncomfortable-looking kid looking back at him.

“You don’t look, uh…”

“Pretty?”

“What? No.”

Jun laughed, which was a nice change from the rather solemn atmosphere. “It’s okay, you can say what you mean. It was kind of a weird time for me, so, you know. I won’t take it personally.”

Tom had stopped listening after the word “mean”.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” he replied.

“Like what?”

“You do this all the time, dude. Making fun of yourself. I don’t care if you were a different gender or sex or whatever, but I’m not going to bully a high-schooler through a yearbook, and definitely not if they’re you.”

“Well,” Jun said, “Maybe it makes me feel a little better.”

Tom shook his head. “Hard to imagine how. I feel like you’ve taken enough shit.”

Jun turned the page instead of replying.

Tom was hoping to see a few marker-penned paragraphs in the back cover, “have a great summers” and other, more thoughtful comments, but Jun abruptly shut the yearbook after the photos were finished.

“I wanted to read the autographs,” he said.

“Which ones?” Jun asked. His voice took on a dangerous quality. “The ones calling me the wrong name? Or those that just said platitudes because they didn’t know me enough to be more specific? I’ve taken enough shit, in your words. So tell me, Tom, what’s best for me?”

“Um,” Tom replied, and shifted in his chair, feeling vaguely like he’d offended his boyfriend, though what he’d said was innocuous enough. “What is this about?”

“You don’t know?” Jun asked, visibly incredulous.

“Uh, no, not really,” Tom replied.

“You’re dense,” Jun said, and seemed to soften. “And you mean well. Not worth being mad at, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Tom said sarcastically. 

“No, I mean that earnestly. You’re okay.”

“Oh, then thanks, earnestly, from me,” Tom said, though he’d lost the plot a little. 

“You’ll do the right thing when it counts,” Jun said, quietly, and seemingly to himself. “Doesn’t matter if you don’t read between the lines.”

The pause that followed was a little awkward, though perhaps only to Tom.

“Anyway,” Jun said. “That’s enough emotional vulnerability for one sitting.”

Tom chuckled and stood up. He wanted to thank Jun, for taking what had been a somewhat intense evening in stride, and for helping with the food, and for having the right things to say. But he didn’t exactly feel like talking, so he leaned in and hoped his boyfriend would get the message.

It was more pleasant than when they’d kissed at the formal dinner, Tom thought, after Jun did, indeed, get the message. Warmer, more emotional, slower.

Jun let go first, and gazed at him.

“That was nice,” he said.

Tom hummed in reply. 

They stayed like that for another couple heartbeats before Jun walked back to the sitting area and took the plates back to the kitchenette. Tom, of course, followed him.