#THANK YOU FOR THE PROMPT!!!!!! IT HELPED UNSTICK MY BRAIN SO MUCH

[milesdadworth]

100 words or less where one character is missing a shoe

anon...listen. i know you said 100 words or less, but I am physically incapable of keeping anything short, and since the prompts are for me to pad out my nano word count how about we call this 1000 words or less ;D

--

Phoenix entered the Prosecutor’s Office and made his way to the elevator, and punched in the number correlating to the Chief Prosecutor’s office. He adjusted the grip on his to-go coffee cups, one of them a simple latte for himself and the other—a caramel macchiato with soy milk and an extra shot of espresso. The dreary weather outside provided the perfect excuse to surprise his husband with a mid-week work visit.

Perhaps he could get some information on the prosecution’s argument for tomorrow’s case to help Athena out with her investigation.

As the elevators opened, he stepped out before spotting Kay Faraday bolting down the hallway.

“Hi, Kay,” Phoenix greeted. He didn’t remember Miles saying she’d be in town this week.

“Hi, Mr. Nick!” Kay called as she grinned and launched herself into the closing elevator. “Bye, Mr. Nick!”

“Bye, Kay,” Phoenix bid her goodbye as the elevator closed behind him. He laughed to himself, heading down the hallway, making a mental note to ask Miles what would be a good night to have dinner with her and the rest of their family.

Precariously balancing one of the cups between his chest and arm, he gently knocked before opening the door to the office.

He assumed Miles would be sitting behind his desk, so his brain couldn’t comprehend the scene of his husband on his hands and knees looking behind his desk.

“Miles?” Phoenix chuckled as he stepped forward, setting Miles’s coffee down on his desk, carefully avoiding the documents scattered about. He startled, quickly raising his head and hitting it on the underside of his desk. “Whatcha doin’ down there?” Phoenix said in a sing-song voice before taking a sip of his own latte.

“Phoenix,” Miles huffed, pulling himself to his feet. “You startled me. What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a man bring his husband some coffee without a specific reason?” Phoenix asked, raising an eyebrow, sipping at his own cup again. Miles gave an exhausted sigh before reaching out and grabbing the cup that Phoenix had set down on his desk. After his first sip, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a bit.

“Thank you,” Miles muttered, setting the cup down again.

“May I ask what you were doing down there?” Phoenix asked.

“I would dissuade you from asking, but you’re going to figure it out eventually,” Miles groaned. Instead of explaining any further, he came around the desk, standing before Phoenix, wearing only one of his shoes. The other foot was bare, save for a Steel Samurai sock that was mismatched to his other plain grey sock.

“I didn’t know the Prosecutor’s office had gone so casual that you have barefoot Wednesdays,” Phoenix remarked with a chuckle.

“I’m not barefoot—! Anyway, I seem to have…erm…misplaced one of my shoes,” Miles said, looking away as his face flushed.

“You misplaced—?! How do you misplace one shoe, especially when you typically keep them on your feet all day.”

“It’s foolish, but…I had to step outside for a moment to speak with one of Gumshoe’s detectives. There was a relatively large piece of evidence brought over via a patrol car…anyway, I accidentally stepped in a deep puddle as I stepped off the curb, which drenched both my shoe and sock. When I got back inside, I took the shoe off, and set it aside to dry while I went to replace my socks with the spare pair I keep here. I just turned around to deal with my soaked shoe and…and it was gone. I was worried I had kicked it under my desk unintentionally or something…”

“Weird,” Phoenix frowned. “It’s not like you to misplace something like that.”

Something suddenly clicked in his mind, remembering who he had run into on his way in. It wouldn’t be so outlandish that this was her doing.

Kay Faraday had mostly given up the ‘Great Thief’ persona in favor of a more practical private investigator, but she still had a mischievous streak in her, a mile wide.

Once a Great Thief, always a Great Thief! Phoenix seemed to recall her saying at one point. Suddenly, he knew exactly where his missing shoe was.

“Do you need me to run home and get you another pair of shoes to come home in?” Phoenix offered.

“I don’t mean to inconvenience you. If I need to, I’ll send Gumshoe to fetch something for me,” Miles said, waving off his offer.

“Oh, so you’ll inconvenience the poor Senior Detective during work hours, but you won’t let your husband take care of you?” Phoenix pouted.

“Are you not also here during working hours?” Miles sighed.

“Ah, Apollo’s keeping an eye on things at the office,” Phoenix explained with a shrug. “Anyway, I’ll give Gumshoe a heads up that he might be on errand duty later this afternoon. Or perhaps he can help you find your shoe. He’s not a senior detective for nothing, you know.”

Miles looked utterly exasperated at the idea of having to ask Detective Gumshoe for assistance in finding his missing shoe.

Phoenix smirked, hoping that Gumshoe had already run into Kay, who was probably eager to boast about her successful footwear heist to ‘Gummy.’

“Good luck with your shoe conundrum, love,” Phoenix said, leaning in to kiss his husband’s cheek. Miles tilted his head into the peck and sighed.

“Thank you,” Miles said in a defeated tone. “And thank you for the coffee, dear. It definitely made this trainwreck of a day a little bit better.”

[filet-o-feelings]

7. How do you handle writer's block or moments of creative stagnation?

Thanks so much for adding the question because I closed the tab I had open with the post 😁

I do not handle writer's block or stagnation well. I tend to just... not write. I know I should at least try to get something down, but if I'm not feeling motivated I will just not even open a doc for days. I'm trying to get better about that (I say after not opening a single doc for several days- it was too hot! The brain was too melty!)

Sometimes if it's actually writer's block and not just a lack of motivation (or heat, or a migraine, or a million other excuses) I will try pulling up a drabble prompt or ask for prompts or google prompts (you get it... prompts!) and that usually helps unstick me, and sometimes I can get my head back on my main project, but if not I at least feel better about getting something written. Sometimes writing/ask games here help too, just being made to think about my wips gets me back into the mindset so I can write again.

[buckleydiazmp4]

for @tootiredmotel 's follower celebration!

day 1: prompt: blue

congrats again Gen, you deserve it <3

college au, 1.2k (read below or ao3)

If Dean Winchester has a prominent talent, it is, without a doubt, painting. He just has this slight problem when it comes to actually painting stuff.

He's not exactly what people would call consistent; he can't just make a painting each week, and he isn't good with deadlines either. It just doesn't feel right, to make art because you're ordered to. His paint brush is just as much a part of his body as any of his other limbs, and none of those run on schedule, so why should this one?

Dean might not be tidy, or stick to a calendar, or function methodically, but when he gets random bursts of inspiration, they're entirely worth it. Once, he was able to paint about 5 pieces just from an ordinary raindrop he happened to see one sunday afternoon, because his brain just works in mysterious ways when it comes to creativity.

Lately, though, his mind is just a bit... lazier than usual, and he has to admit, he's getting a little desperate. He had an assessment due three weeks ago, and he hasn't been able to come up with anything. His teacher, Mrs. Jones, normally gives him a one to two week frame to deliver his homework, because she knows by now that rushing him will just end in disaster. But even by that standard, he's a week overdue by now, and he's getting worried.

"Yes professor, I promise, I'll have it by the end of the week, I'm just having a bit of creative trouble..."

"Listen Dean, you're one of my brightest students, and I hate to rush you. But you've taken too long with this assignment, and I wish I could do something about it, but I've done all I could already. If you don't bring it by Friday, I'm gonna have to fail you."

"Here by Friday, you got it. Thanks."

Dean exits Mrs Jones' classroom, his stress level dialed up to a hundred. He has two days to come up with three full paintings, and his brain is seemingly taking a very long nap. He considers asking Sam for help, but he doesn't think one of his heartfelt pep talks would work for this situation.

Defeated, exhausted, and very hungry, he decides to go to the coffee shop two blocks away from campus. That way, he'll at least have a full tummy. One less worry. He orders some coffee and freshly baked pastries that he eyes in the display, and waits for his order on his usual table by the window. He opens his laptop and browses through some folders where he saves pics for inspiration, but it doesn't help in the slightest.

When he's called back to the counter and retrieves his hot coffee, he's still drilling down on his brain, hopeful for any hint of an idea. And as if his day wasn't already going downhill, he bumps into someone, spilling the coffee on himself.

"Shit!" he hisses, trying to unstick his t-shirt to avoid burning himself further. He seriously considers giving up his career and his life to go backpacking through Europe and never return.

Then, there's a steadying hand posed on his elbow, accompanied by a deep, raspy voice, that has him looking up from the disaster going on on his chest.

"I'm terribly sorry. Are you hurt?" It takes Dean a bit too long to answer, because he's busy staring at the bluest, most beautiful eyes he's ever seen in his life.

"Uhm. What? Oh, no, I'm, uh. I'm okay. Well, as okay as I can be when a cup of scalding coffee is now all over my clothes." Great, now he's rambling. Get it together, Winchester.

"You can use vinegar and dishwashing detergent."

"What?"

The beautiful blue-eyed stranger clears his throat. "To um, clean the coffee, from your clothes. Vinegar and dishwashing detergent. That way it won't stain."

"Oh, uh. Thanks, I'll have that in mind." Seemingly waking up from its slumber, his brain catches on in the scene. "I'm Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester." He holds out his hand, which is immediately greeted by the stranger's. It's warm and soft, with a few callouses.

"Castiel. Nice to meet you." If Dean thought this guy was beautiful before, the smile he gives him then makes him even more of a sight. Dean lets his hand linger for a little too long, but Castiel doesn't seem to care.

After a beat of silence, Castiel offers to buy him a new coffee. Dean insists it was all his fault, but the man is stubborn, so they end up sitting together and splitting Dean's pastries.

"So, Cas, you're a writer?"

"Yeah. It's not exactly an economically rewarding career, but I quite like writing." Castiel (or, well, Cas now), takes another bite from the pastry, little golden flakes landing on the table. Dean stares when he licks his lips, and then he feels like a creep, so he look out the window instead, willing away the redness of his cheeks.

"Yeah, I get what you mean. Most times, things that we love aren't very well paid."

"What do you do?" Cas looks so genuinely interested, it takes Dean by surprise.

"I'm an art student." That reminds him once more of his long overdue homework, but this time, he doesn't feel the worry creeping up on him the way it did earlier.

"Oh, that's wonderful. I'd love to see some of your work. I'm sure it's very good."

"Well, you can come by anytime. I've a studio at home where I store all of my art stuff." Dean realizes too late that he just asked this guy he met an hour ago to come to his house. "I mean, only if you want to, y'know, you don't have to or anything, but, um. Yeah." Dean stares down at the table. He would love for the earth to swallow him whole right this second. If he prays hard enough, maybe it'll happen.

"That sounds nice, Dean. I'd love to come by. Maybe tomorrow?" That has Dean's head jerking up, and sure enough, Cas isn't joking. He looks– excited.

That's how Dean ends up exchanging numbers with the most handsome stranger he's ever met.

On his way home, he can't stop thinking about Castiel. He's sarcastic, and witty, and his dry humor is perhaps the funniest Dean has ever heard. But he's also honest, almost blatantly so, in a way that made him feel like he could trust every word he said after having talked for no more than an hour. He's smart and a good listener, and he just has this enticing, electric blue eyes that follow Dean inside his thoughts all the way up to his small art studio.

For the first time in weeks, Dean feels light and relaxed. He takes off his coffee-stained shirt, and nearly thanks himself for being so clumsy. Turns out that was the best thing that could have ever happened.

Two days later, he has three full pieces in Mrs. Jones' classroom, all made out of coffee spills and a hint of one particular blue color that he hopes to see every day for the rest of his life.

[percyjacksonfan3]

47- "Trust me" for the prompt game with Solangelo please! Love your writing!

Aww, thank you so much, that’s so sweet! <3

Of course Solangelo would be my first PJO ship request in ages, I should have known.

This is pre-relationship and set during The Last Olympian.

47. “Trust me.”

____________________________________________________________

Nico is tired.

Which is probably a stupid thing to acknowledge, he thinks to himself as he stares at the drained, beaten and dirty faces around him, because everybody is tired. They’ve all been fighting for days- Nico and his father only showed up today. He’s sure the others have far more reason to be tired than he does.

But he can’t help it. He is tired. He’s gotten almost no sleep the past few days because he’s been so busy trying to figure out how to persuade his father, Persephone and Demeter to leave the Underworld to come and help their friends and family.

Well, Nico’s friends. He’s pretty sure his dad doesn’t have any of those.

That’s fine though, he thinks as he watches his father stand awkwardly beside Persephone amongst the demigods, gods and other beings here up on Olympus. His father listened eventually and that counts for something.

Everything, actually. For the first time since finding out who his godly parent is Nico finds himself feeling almost hopeful about his relationship with his father.

Hades had listened. To Nico.

Percy would be proud of him.

Nico’s eyes drift over to see the son of Poseidon standing with Annabeth and Grover. He looks more exhausted than anybody, and there’s already a new weight to him that makes Nico uneasy to see. There’s something in the lines of Percy’s face that makes Nico ache in his chest.

He so badly wants to go over and speak to him. To stand with him and to just... be there.

But there are others who fill those spaces around Percy, Nico knows, and he watches as Annabeth stares at Percy without him noticing. Other people who belong there more than Nico does.

“Hey.”

He jumps and turns to see Will Solace watching him carefully.

“You okay?”

Nico stares at him in astonishment. Partly because the question seems ridiculous- are any of them actually okay after everything they’ve all just been through?- but mostly because Will is the first demigod to speak to him since the fighting stopped.

“Um, yeah. Thanks.” Nico says awkwardly, taking the blonde boy in.

He knows who Will is, of course. Head of the Apollo cabin, best demigod healer in the whole camp. And yeah, maybe Nico’s noticed him for some other reasons too, but he’s not even willing to think those thoughts around here. Who knows what god might take a quick peek in his brain and listen in.

Can they do that? Nico is pretty sure they can do that.

“Okay.” Will says easily and with a small smile, looking amused of all things. “It’s just that your arm is bleeding.”

Nico looks down in surprise to see a thin line of red slashed horizontally across his upper arm. He blinks.

It’s not that bad. He doesn’t even feel it, though he suspects that’s probably because he’s in shock.

“Oh. That’s weird.”

Will actually huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “Yeah, there’s been a lot of weird lately. C’mon, let me have a look.”

Now Nico lifts his gaze to look back at him. “What?”

“I have a bandage on me somewhere,” Will is patting himself in a search for said medical supplies and eventually pulls out a piece of bright white cloth in victory. “Aha, here we go.”

Nico almost flinches away from him when he comes closer. “I’m sure someone else needs it more than I do-”

“Shut up Nico,” Will says cheerfully and Nico just stares some more because- what? Where has this boy come from? “I’m the doctor here, that means I get to boss you around and you have to listen. Trust me. I know these things.”

“Okay.” Nico finally says and moves to stand so Will has easier access.

It really is just a scratch, Nico thinks, but he watches Will tackle the injury with a serious look on his face anyway. His entire face focuses in concentration and he even goes so far as to peak his tongue out of his mouth, biting on it lightly to help keep his attention.

Nico blinks and forces himself to look away hurriedly. The last thing he needs is for the only demigod who apparently isn’t scared of him to get creeped out because Nico is staring.

“Um, what about you?” He asks stupidly, needing to break the silence. “Are you alright?”

Will shrugs while taping up the bandage. “As alright as can be I guess. We lost a lot of people.”

Nico immediately feels bad for asking. “Yeah.”

“But hey.” Will taps his arm lightly so their eyes meet again. “Not all of us. We survived. And that’s something to celebrate I think.”

And the thought comes out of nowhere, hitting with enough force that Nico feels his breath stutter, but he can’t help it.

Because Will is smiling a bit, despite everything everyone has just been through, and somehow he doesn’t seem weighed down like the rest of them. No, instead there’s a determination in his eyes and on his face that tells Nico that Will Solace is going to make the best of everything and look on the bright side, no matter what.

And the thought comes unbidden but Nico can’t help it. He stares at Will and he thinks: Bianca would have liked you.

“Yeah.” Nico unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth. It feels thick. “Yeah you’re right.”

Will smiles at him again, this time in happy surprise. “I’m glad you made it, Nico.”

“Thanks.” Nico says automatically and then forces his frozen brain to whir back to life. “You too.”

With one last smile Will nods at him and goes to speak with someone else. Nico stares after him with a strange feeling in his stomach.

Well. Maybe today really isn’t so bad.

They have won after all. That has to count for something.

Absently Nico touches his newly bandaged shoulder and then lets his arm drop.

He goes to stand with his father.

____________________________________________________________

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

Send me tumblr prompts here!

[wickfursfanfics]

DCMKEmogust2021 - 05/08

My entry for DCMKEmogust 2021 - Thursday 05/08

My prompt Inspirations for this one:

Word 1 - Discover Dialog 1 - “Please marry me” Dialog 2 - “You can’t stay here” Song 1 - They’re home! By hanz Zimmer, Steve mazzaro Intended Genre: Humor I guess and fluff

Rating: General with slight Teen and up

Starring: Kaito, Shinichi and his eccentric parents. It's a KaiShin btw.

<<<><><><>>>

It was a quiet and tranquil day in the Kudo mansion. Shinichi had no cases to tend to and no extra university work to finish. It was a rare day to just relax and take it easy. He had sat down with his favorite Holmes book and a cup of coffee in his favorite armchair. The pages flipping and the quiet ticking of the clock was the only sound in the whole library and that was exactly how he wanted it. He picks up the cup of coffee into his palms and inhales the aromatic scent, it wafted over his senses making him sigh content. Everything was perfect.

He takes a long slow sip of the coffee letting it gently smooth over his taste buds. Pure bliss. It didn’t last long.

He could hear the moment the tranquility shattered in the form of the rattling of keys and the slamming of the front door. He blinked and froze with the cup at his lips. The unexpected sound making him just stare uncomprehendingly at the opposite wall. He wasn’t expecting anyone, maybe KID if he was so inclined. But no one who had access to his house keys.

“Shinichi! We are home!” He spilled the coffee all over his shirt at the familiar voice calling him from the foyer.

Oh no. Oh no no no no. His parents are home. No please not now, not today. Just give him one day to relax in peace and quiet. Was that too much to ask for?

He rushed out of the library and out into the hall to see his parents putting down their luggage. His mother was hanging up her coat when she spotted him, her face lighting up as she saw her son. His father just nodded to him in greeting. “Shin-chan~” his mother singsonged happily.

“Hey- mom and dad… you’re home... early” he smiled awkwardly at them. 

His mother walked up to him with open arms and incased him in a bone-crushing hug. “I’ve missed you so much!” she cried dramatically. “Look how big you have gotten!” He looked to his dad for help. His father just smiled, the traitor. 

When his mother finally let go, she frowned at his shirt. "Why do you have coffee all over your shirt?" She asked slowly. She begins patting her own shirt for dampness. Shinichi shrugged his shoulders "I was a bit careless…" he lied before asking “Why are you here? You could have called in advance... and warned me” he says with a bit of a strained smile on his face.

His mother pouted childishly “Do we need a reason to come visit our favorite son?” Shinichi's brow twitched “I’m your only son last time I checked” at least as far as he knew. His mother just grins at his grumpiness.

"Now now Shinichi, this is our house too" his father pointed out. Which was true of course, but so not the point.

"You certainly don't act like it. You never visit and when you do, it's always out of the blue" he grouses. 

Always, they don't contact him for months on end and suddenly they just show up out of nowhere and expect him to be happy about it. He didn't mind it all that much when he was younger. But as he grew older, the more he realized how little his parents actually checked up on him. It took KID to point it out to him though.

“Mou, why are you being so stingy?” his mother wails with a pout, like she was a 5 year old kid and not a woman in her late 30s. Shinichi ignores her antics with the grace of someone accustomed to it and coughs awkwardly

“So, how long will you be staying?” he asks casually. He wanted to be alone again as soon as possible.

His mother juts out her bottom lip with an expression of 'sad mother', but it was all crocodile tears.

“Please Shin-chan, we just got here. Can’t you be kinder to your parents?” she couldn't make him sad for her with that act, he was immune by now. She looks to his father with big tear-filled eyes "Yusaku~" she sniffs. Though his father wasn't immune unfortunately.

“Your mother is right you know” he says after giving in. He knew full well she was acting but gave in nonetheless.

"But to answer your question son, we will be staying for 3 weeks" he says.

3 whole weeks?… he was going to go insane.

Suddenly out of nowhere his mother gasps “Are you hiding something you don’t want us to see?” she giggles. Her expression doing a 180. "You know your mother has already seen everything, there is nothing to hide." 

Shinichi splutters, unable to hide his embarrassment “Omg mom no, there is nothing like that” he vehemently denies. He couldn't very well tell them he was dating Kaitou KID after all, or about all they do.

His mother narrows her eyes in suspicion at his claims. “Oh really? Nothing at all?" She says, incredibly suspicious.

Shinichi can feel himself sweating "Nope" he says a bit too quickly.

Before his mother can strap him down in a chair to interrogate him or something along those lines. His father interrupts them with

“Why don’t you go make us some tea while we go pack up?” his father suggests, ever the diplomat in their family. But only when it suits him.

Shinichi sighs but agrees easily enough. As long as he could be alone with his thoughts for a few moments.

While his parents drag up their luggage to their room, Shinichi goes into the kitchen to start brewing some tea. While he waits for the water to boil he looks longingly at his coffee maker. Maybe he should make himself a cup… or a pot. He would need it.

He starts the coffee maker and lets his mind wander as the grind slowly becomes the lovely brew he loves. How was he going to survive them staying here for 3 whole weeks? He would go insane in the first 3 days. 

Maybe he could plan out a few trips for his parents to make them stay out of the house as much as possible. The hot springs could work well enough, or a museum. The only thing is that they would drag him with them, which wasn't ideal… How was he going to survive this!?

He mutters plans to himself for several minutes. He is so distracted he doesn't notice the new person in the room that sneakily approaches him.

He gets snapped out of his planning when a kiss meets his cheek. A smooth whisper in his ear "Hello Shinichi" The detective automatically put a hand into the soft locks and dragged him back for another kiss, this time on his lips. "Hello KID, fancy meeting you here" he says. He gets a soft grin for his troubles.

The magician looks down at his shirt and frowns at the coffee stain "What happened here?" He asks even as he quick-switches him into a new fresh shirt. Shinichi smiles as he feels some of his tension slipping away. "Just a bit of a spill. Thank you"

"Any time" is his fond reply.

Shinichi can't help but tease "Are you here to steal my heart away?" a bit playfully.

KID smirks at his antics "No, but that can be arranged"

He then surprised the detective by going down on one knee. He can feel his brain spluttering and restarting several times as KID poofs out a small box into his hands.

He looks up at him with so much love that it melts Shinichi's heart. "Will you marry me?" He asks while opening the box. His gaze was hopeful and sweet, oh so sweet. Shinichi's heart does little jaunty jumps in his chest. He would love to.

The moment breaks as Shinichi suddenly remembers they aren't alone in the house. "Oh no" he utters a bit panicked, missing KID's hurt expression. He starts to push at him to leave "You have to leave right now, you can't stay here" the magician's expression turns even sadder. This time he noticed.

"Oh no, KID, not because of that. They will see you" he tries to explain. His expression changed from sad to confused. "They?" He asked. 

It was too late. His mother was already in the doorway. Her smile turning up several watts.

"Iiiiiih!" His mother exclaimed in an incoherent happy noise. "My little Shin-chan is getting married!"

Shinichi groans and hides his increasingly red face on KID's shoulder. The magician just looked stunned and super confused at the lady nearly jumping in happiness. "Is that your mother…?" He asks slowly.

"Yes unfortunately" is all he could say.

"Yusaku look, look!" She exclaimed as her husband joined her in the doorway. "Shin-chan is getting married!" His father takes in the scene of Kaitou KID and his son standing very close in his kitchen and feels his mind go blank. What.

Shinichi gets annoyed at their gawking "Mom, dad. A little privacy please"

His mother just continues right over him "You are dating KID and you didn't tell us?" She says dramatically "And now you are getting married, why don't a mother get to know these things?" 

Shinichi can feel his brow twitch "Well, you never call, so it's a bit hard to keep you updated" she ignores his grumpy reply. "I'm so happy, my little boy is getting married! Go on and tell him your answer!"

KID unsticks his tongue "uuuh, should I just, you know. Leave?" Shinichi puts up his hands and motions for him to stay "no, please stay"

His mother continues to watch them and he sighs at the fact his mother can't take a hint and leave them alone on her own. "If you could you know, leave us some privacy that would be great" he tries. His father finally seems to snap out of it and drags his wife away. He gives him an awkward thumbs up and a "good luck son" before they retreat into the living room. A bit too easily if you asked him, but there were more important matters.

He turned back to his confused lover with a sigh of relief and gave him a disarming smile. "Hey" he tries. KID just continues to stare off into the living room and back to him before he again asks "Should I just… go?"

Shinichi panicked slightly, he hasn't told him his answer yet. He couldn't quite manage to gather his thoughts though. So all his words just tumbled out in a mess. "Yes…. NO! I mean that yes, I’ll marry you”

KID's expression slowly lit up into a happy smile. He picked the detective up and twirled them around until his cape flowed around them dramatically. He then let him go and stepped back to quick-change. After a small amount of smoke dissipated there stood a young man in a fancy suit holding out a few blue roses in an artful bouquet.

"Kuroba Kaito" he started. Shinichi could feel his heart hammering in his chest at the reveal of his name. "Magician extraordinaire and university student at your service~" Shinichi smiled and took the flowers, before going in for a soft hug. They touched their foreheads togeter snd looked into each other's eyes, exchanging "I love you" as they did.

He suddenly hears his father splutter and yell from the living room "Wait, you didn't even know his name and you agreed to marry him!?" In a very unusual display of emotion. That wasn't like him at all. But more importantly, how did he hear them.

His mother giggles "Oh Yu-chan, stop being so dramatic. It's romantic" his father does a strange noise between a dog whine and a cat's fighting yell. "That isn't the appropriate order" he complains. How unusual.

He glances to the wall suspiciously and sees the little device sitting on the door jamb. Shinichi huffs, "Mom, dad. Didn't we agree on privacy?" He calls over to them.

His parents looked out of the room next door "We did give you privacy" his mother says innocently.

Shinichi pointedly holds up the camera they had put down to watch them on the living room TV "I wouldn't call this privacy!" He scolds. Why are they always so-

"But we left the room Shin-chan" hos mother says in defence, like that would make any difference whatsoever.

"Your mother has a point" his father agrees, finally back to his normal senses. But again why do they do this.

Shinichi massages the bridge of his nose "That is so not the point!" He yells. "Seriously, why do you insist on doing these things?"

His mother comes out of the living room with her hands on her hips "Of course we want to see your precious moment"

"But that doesn't make it right to spy on us" he growls.

"But Shin-chan~" she whines.

Kaito just hangs back and watches as the Kudo family bickers. What an unusual family dynamic they had. And his parents had been shocked, but adapted fairly quickly. He was just happy they seemed to accept it so easily. 

He watches as Shinichi becomes more and more agitated with his parents starting to poke and prod him about Kaito. He defends against their words like a professional defendant. 

He wanders forward and puts his chin on his shoulder and a hand at his hip. Shinichi just rolls with it and puts his own hand on Kaitos' hip. Melding into his side like he belonged there. He really loves his detective.

END

I am several days late but at least it's finally done! Hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

Until next time //Wick 0v0

[chroniccombustion]

Phantom Limbs - pt. 2

From “And a Week is All I Need (To Fall in Love With You)“, part of @souyoweek2020​

Genre: supernatural, ghosts and hauntings, bittersweet pre-romance, M/M Rated: T Characters: Hanamura Yosuke, Souji Seta (Yu Narukami), memories of Nanako Warnings: implied/referenced past suicide in pt. 2 Status: drabble collection, incomplete

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(prompts have been done out of order from here on out; previous chapter was day 4)

Ogaki “Granny” Kaede is a reference to Granny Okagi from ‘My Neighbor Totoro,’ with her given name taken from Priestess Kaede from Inuyasha~

Day 4 6: Scent or Stormy

After the ghostly stranger vanishes, Yosuke only hangs around long enough to change his clothes and throw his pajamas into a sling bag with his wallet, charger, and phone, before grabbing his keys and bolting out the door. There is no way he's sleeping in that apartment tonight.

Yosuke stays in a cheap hotel down the street.

After the ghostly stranger vanishes, Yosuke only hangs around long enough to change his clothes and throw his pajamas into a sling bag with his wallet, charger, and phone, before grabbing his keys and bolting out the door. There is no way he's sleeping in that apartment tonight.

He pauses just inside the front door of the apartment building to do a quick search on his phone for the nearest affordable place to stay; luckily there's one not too far from where he is. He doesn't even bother trying to call a cab, he just sprints on out into the rain and books it down the sidewalk like he's being pursued. Hell, for all he knows, he might be. He gets one heck of an odd (albeit sympathetic) look from the lady behind the check-in desk, and while under normal circumstances he might feel self-conscious, right now he honestly couldn't care less about the way her brow quirks at his disheveled, drowned-rat aesthetic. He simply slaps his card down on the counter with a wet and shaking hand, then thanks her as she hands him his key and points him up the stairs.

Yosuke climbs into the hottest shower he's ever taken and stares at the wall in shock until his skin turns pink.

---

The next morning dawns bright and misty, with the sun peaking through the gloom and chasing away all that's left of the rain from before. It's at least something pretty to look at after hardly sleeping for the scant remainder of the night, he tells himself as he's gathering his clothes back up from where he'd hung them to dry in the bathroom. He's not quite sure he really wants to go back home at this point, but if he doesn't vacate the hotel room pretty soon they'll charge him for another night, and if that's going to happen then he'd need to go back anyway to pack an actual away bag. So, for now at least, he's going to try and brave the apartment while he has as much daylight as he can possibly get – and save another hit to his wallet if he can.

He trudges back to the apartment building and takes his sweet, sweet time getting up to his floor, dragging his feet in the stairwell to the point of almost tripping over them. It's as he's hesitating near his door, key in the lock but unturned, that he hears a voice behind him.

“Oh! Well hello there, dear, I don't believe we've met yet.”

Yosuke looks up to see an elderly woman in a periwinkle dress, grey hair pulled back into a tight bun and held in place by a wide white bandana. Her back is hunched slightly with age, and while her face is heavily wrinkled and sports a large mole just where her left eyebrow starts, her eyes are sharp and kindly – as is the warm smile stretching across her features. Near her feet are an array of plastic grocery bags; in her hand is a set of keys, no doubt for the door to the apartment directly to Yosuke's left, which means she is likely his neighbor. He blinks at her for a moment, exhausted and bedraggled in more ways than one, but finds that no, he still doesn't recognize her. (Then again, he hasn't really met too many of his neighbors – he's been too busy trying to finish settling in.)

He swallows to unstick his weary tongue from the roof of his mouth. “N...no, we haven't,” he manages, though it's rough and crackly and very much not the kind of first impression he was hoping to make. He clears his throat to try and force himself into some semblance of being human again, rolling his shoulders to try and stand a little straighter. “Hanamura Yosuke,” he introduces, “I just moved in about three weeks ago.”

The old woman smiles a little wider. “Such a polite young man,” she says approvingly. “Ogaki Kaede – but call me 'Granny,' won't you?” She chuckles. “Nearly everyone does. I don't think I'd even remember to respond to my actual name anymore, if someone were to use it.”

Dumbly, Yosuke just nods; he's far too tired and far too rattled still from last night to properly interact with other human beings. As he's standing there, staring blankly at his neighbor while continuing to not unlock his apartment, 'Granny' unlocks her own. With a low grunt she tucks her keys into the pocket of her dress and slowly bends down to gather up her shopping bags.

It's as perfect an excuse to continue stalling as any, and it's also a way to make a better first impression, so Yosuke takes two long steps closer and hovers near the old woman's side. “Can I help?” he asks quietly, throat still a little rough from dashing through the rain to the hotel.

Granny gives him another warm smile. “Well thank you, that'd be lovely.” She takes a step out of his way and Yosuke carefully grabs what bags he can carry; he loops the handles of ones that he can't over his forearms.

“Come in, come in,” she says as she pauses near the door to toe off her shoes before stepping aside to let Yosuke in. “Would you like to stay for some tea, dear? You helped me get the bags in, it's the least I can do.”

“Uhhh,” he drawls, brain lagging. On the one hand he doesn't know how much energy he has left to spend on polite small talk with his neighbor; on the other, even if she winds up trapping him there for a couple of hours showing him pictures of her grandkids or whatever, then it's a few hours more that he doesn't have to constantly feel like looking over his shoulder in his own home. Though he admits that part might be a double-edged sword, considering he would rather brave his apartment while it's still daylight, rather than lose precious hours of sun.

He's still trying to come up with an answer when Granny looks up at him with a raised brow, eyes knowing, and says, “It's quite alright, dear, I'm not going to be offended if you say no.” She chuckles and takes the bags from Yosuke's hands. “I will say, though,” she says as she begins tottering over to the little kitchen space identical to his own, just set against the opposite wall; “...you didn't seem in too much of a hurry to get back home.” Wrinkled hands set the bags down on the counter and she gives him another look with eyes that know far too much. “Could almost say you looked like you'd seen a ghost.”

Yosuke's head snaps up, amber eyes going wide as his heart doubles its beating for a split second. “Wha—but—huh?” Several sounds try to make their way out of his face at once, none of them succeeding. It's such a specific thing to say, and yes, it's a figure of speech, so it's not like she'd straight up said anything direct, but of all the figures of speech to use here, and the glint in her eyes. Yosuke closes his gaping mouth so quickly his teeth click together, and all the while, Granny's shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.

“I thought as much,” she says, taking the tea kettle down from the cabinet above her head. She turns on the faucet and starts filling the kettle up with water. “When you live in one place long enough you start to become familiar with the patterns of the building.” She taps at her temple, smirking a bit. “Not just the people, those can change over time – someone has a baby, someone gets divorced, things like that – but the building? No, the building and its rooms are quite set in their routines.”

Yosuke just kind of stands there, staring at her as his brain tries to play catch up while she putters about putting her groceries away and a faint string of steam begins to drift from the kettle. Eventually Granny just huffs in amusement and, shutting the cupboard door on the last of her things, she shuffles back over and gently puts a hand on Yosuke's arm. “You've seen him, haven't you, dear? The boy at the window?”

Yosuke swallows hard, nodding slowly.

She gives him a nod in return. “Why don't you come and sit down?” she says softly, patting his arm. He finally slips off his shoes and she leads him further into the living room over to the couch. The kettle whistles in the kitchen.

“I'm sorry,” Yosuke whispers, still trying for normalcy as his neighbor turns around to heed the call of the kettle. “I... I don't mean to impose...”

But Granny just waves her hand dismissively and shuts off the stove. “Shush, you're not imposing on anyone.” A few moments pass and she shuffles back over with a little tray, setting it down  on the low table she'd seated her guest at. She sits opposite him and busies herself with the teapot and cups. “You're not the first to see him,” she says after a short silence; her smile holds a hint of sadness as she looks back up at him. “My grandson Kanta lived there for a bit while he was in college. He moved out only a month or so before you moved in, actually.” She points over to a few framed photos on the wall behind the small couch at Yosuke's back, one of which is of Granny and a lanky young man with short, short black hair that Yosuke can only assume is Kanta. Granny chuckles warmly, but her eyes hold that same odd melancholy. “Every time there was a storm during finals week, Kan-chan would come over here and pull his all-nighters at my place; even slept on the couch. He said it felt like he was intruding on something private whenever it rained.”

Granny pauses in her talking to take a long drink of her tea. In the quiet, Yosuke holds his own cup with both hands, staring down into the steaming liquid in thought, and letting the warmth of the porcelain ground him as it seeps into the palms of his hands. He pulls in a slow, deep breath as Granny's cup makes contact with the surface of the table once again.

“...What happened in the apartment?” he asks her quietly. He can feel his exhaustion from the night before still lingering in his bones. The real problem, though, isn't just the fear he'd felt, the lack of sleep, the adrenaline that had kept him going as he'd sprinted though the rain – it's the last few seconds of the stranger's existence in Yosuke's living room that's been playing on loop through his head like a damaged cassette tape. He's never seen anyone with an expression so helplessly lost, so utterly afraid and confused, since his crush back in high school had died. Yosuke remembers seeing the way her little brother's face had twisted at the funeral – just for a moment, when he thought that no one else was looking – and the image has been burned into a sad, hollow place inside Yosuke's his mind ever since. He'd hoped he'd never have to see anything as devoid of hope ever again.

But then he had, and it's left him cold in a way that nothing seems to help – not the burning shower in the hotel, nor the tea stinging his hands through the sides of the cup.

On the other side of the table, Granny hums. “Well,” she starts, drawing out the sound as if she's thinking. “I don't really know the whole of it, but before Kan-chan came to live next door there was another boy named... Oh, what was it.” She puts a knuckle to her lips for a moment, muttering to herself as she tries to recall the name. “Seta, I believe it was,” she finally says; “Wonderfully kind young man, said he was getting ready to start college in the fall.” Her frown deepens. “He was always alone, though; I think the only time I ever saw anyone next door besides him was the day he arrived, and even then it just looked like a pair of hired movers.”

Granny sighs from one side of her mouth, an odd, unrecognizable emotion coming to rest in the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. She takes another long, deliberate drink of her tea. When she sets it down again, there is a look of grief and deep regret set into the lines of her face, and her lips press into a harsh, thin line as her eyes begin to mist over. With painful slowness she turns to stare over at her own sliding glass door.

“...They found his body on the sidewalk not even a year after he moved in,” she whispers. “A suicide, they labeled it; said he must have jumped from the balcony somewhere around 3:00, 3:30 in the morning.”

Her shoulders slump. “It was storming so badly that no one even heard him land...”

---

Yosuke winds up staying with Granny until late afternoon, unable to leave a kindly old woman alone with her sorrowful memories after that. He does eventually wander back to his own apartment, the shadows having just begun to shift as he leaves, but this time there is no fear, no panic or racing heartbeat. Instead, there is only a quiet kind of melancholy that makes him drag his feet and lean heavily against the front door as he closes it behind him. He stares unseeing into the slowly-darkening interior of his home and lets out a long, quiet lungful of breath through his nose.

“...Are you here?” he calls softly into the silence of the room.

The silence does not answer.

It doesn't answer later that night, either, as Yosuke sits on the carpet and watches the cloudless, moonlit night outside the glass of his sliding door. Nor does it answer the next night, or the next one, or even the next. It continues not to answer for a week's worth of setting suns as they bring nothing but clear and storm-less skies.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Hey! Number 13 from the prompts please? "I made the mistake of thinking 'This can't weirder'. Sorry". It's totally upto you, but feel absolutely free to make it NSFW, because i LOVE your smut lol. Thank you! ❤😊

Friend! (And Anon!) Gosh, it’s been months, huh? But this is my final summer prompt!!! Anyway, thanks, both of you, for hanging in there and for your lovely compliments!

Web Fluid WingmanPairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle)Rating: EWord count: 7402

13. “I madethe mistake of thinking ‘This can’t get weirder.’ Sorry.”

“Peter?” MJ knocked on the door of the boys’ changing room.“I know you said you have to go, because it’s an emergency. I just wanted to…”She trailed off for a few seconds, feeling weird about talking to a door.“Don’t worry about coming back to practice. Everybody’s gone already.”

When he didn’t answer, she eased the door open a little,keeping her gaze on the floor.

“Peter? I saw you come in here. Did you leave?”

There was a faint noise that made MJ frown in confusion. Asort of groaning. Then, a gasp like someone who badly needed to catch theirbreath. She wasn’t usually the person to jump in and play the hero or whatever,but if someone was in here making those sounds, they might be in trouble. Andif it was just Peter, that was ok. She could help Peter and deny it later.

A rubber sole squeaked on the tile floor and MJ snuck intothe changing room, striding quietly down the aisles of lockers until she foundsigns of life: a backpack left out on a bench and the dork himself standing inthe far corner. He had his back to her. He was grunting.

She walked towards him and realized she couldn’t see hishands, couldn’t see them though he seemed to have his arms straight down infront of his body. Peter panted and MJ felt a flush rise up her face like hotsteam. Had she just walked in on him with his hands down his pants? Oh god, shehad to leave.

“Uh, sorry,” she said quickly, and stumbled in her attemptto retreat, just enough to bang her shoulder into a hollow metal locker with awobbly clang.

Peter whipped around, eyes wide.

“MJ?”

She tried to look away, cover her eyes, but even as sheturned her head, her gaze darted down in curiosity.

“Wait…” MJ narrowed her eyes and stepped closer. “What doyou have on your wrist?”

He had his wrist clamped in his opposite hand, tuggingfrantically. As she automatically reached out, some kind of liquid shot intothe air. Peter’s hand batted at it, hers jerked upwards to draw back, and theirpalms smacked together.

“Please tell me that wasn’t―”

“It wasn’t,” he promised quickly.

Peter was bright red. He seemed to be telling the truththough; she darted a look at his crotch and saw his jeans were definitely nothanging open to expose his, well, to let him do what she’d briefly thought he’dbeen doing.

“Just some kind of freaky Spider-Man goo then?”

“Wha-what?”

MJ rolled her eyes and drew back her hand to cross her armsin a spare me your pathetic deceptionsgesture. Her hand came, but Peter’s came with it. Reflexively, she shook herarm, and his arm shook too, riding the wave of her increasingly franticflapping.

“What the hell is this? Peter, what did you do?”

Their hands were still pressed together―glued, more like―at the palms. This wasn’t your regular white craftglue either, it was some kind of Spider-Man-grade adhesive bullshit and it hadzero give. Apparently, the drying time was instant and it was very effective onflesh surfaces.

“I was… working on a diorama,” he began, “f-for WorldHistory?”

MJ glared at him. She raised her free hand and counted outthe facts for him on her fingers.

“You’re lying,” she said, flicking her thumb up, “you’reSpider-Man, and you’re not even taking World History.”

“How do you know I’m not taking World History?”

Oh, those innocent, brown, Bambi eyes.

“Because I memorized your class sched- never mind.” MJneeded to not freak out because freaking out was making her answer questions itwould be far better to avoid. The last person she wanted knowing that shewatched everything Peter Parker did was Peter Parker. “One more thing,” sheadded, raising another finger. “You’re getting me out of this right now.”

“I can’t.”

“Stop it, loser,” she said with a sigh, letting their handsdrop. “Spare us both the time it’ll take for you to come up with an excuse I’mnot going to believe anyway. I know you’re Spider-Man, so quit pretending youdon’t know what’s going on.”

“I know you know.” Her eyebrows shot up at his words. Petershuffled his feet in agitation, MJ’s arm swinging with his. “I mean, I didn’tknow, and I’m totally horrified that you figured it out, but I also believethat you figured it out because you’re smart and, and, I can’t fix this.”

As his shoulders slumped, what he’d said sank in for her.

“But you didthis,” she reminded him, sending a tremor through their arms.

“Not on purpose! I was trying to leave, like I said,” heinsisted, expression earnest, doing his damnedest to gesture with both hands,“and I put the web-shooter on―” She assumed that was the thing around hiswrist. “―but it made this weird sound, which it shouldn’t have done because,obviously, I maintain my stuff really carefully, like, it saves my life on aregular basis, you know? Or at least saves me from breaking my leg or somethingif I fell while I was swinging―”

MJ wished he’d accidentally sealed his lips together insteadof their hands. Her face was severely unimpressed.

“―so I went to take it off again,” he was saying, “but Icouldn’t get it, and then… and then… you came in.”

“What. The. FUCK!” she shouted, getting some of herfrustration out. She felt better right away, catching her breath. Their handswere attached with ‘web-shooter’ goop that MJ had mistaken for ejaculate. Theirpalms could not be separated. These were facts, and facts were something shecould deal with. In a calmer voice, she explained, “I made the mistake ofthinking ‘This can’t get weirder.’ Sorry.”

“I can unstick our hands,” Peter promised. “Just not here. Ihave a compound that washes this stuff away like it’s nothing, but I keep it inmy closet. In, um, my room.”

“Well then that’s where we’re going.”

He looked a little stunned.

“We’re going… to my bedroom?”

“To get the unsticking compound,” MJ repeated. “Keep up,Parker.”

Peter gave her a self-deprecating smile that made herautomatically lick her lip. Hopefully he couldn’t feel her pulse too stronglyin her hand, because it had definitely accelerated, but he probably could.Because he was Spider-Man. Just like she’d guessed!

Hmm. Maybe vindication would taste a little sweeter when shehad a chance to be alone and retreat into her own thoughts. He was too much,too close, standing here next to her.

“Let me just grab my backpack,” Peter said, pointing behindher.

MJ turned with him and he slung it up off the bench and ontohis shoulder. She still had hers over the opposite shoulder, so at least shewasn’t trapped in the straps of her backpack. Just trapped with him. The partof her brain where her intense crush on Peter was currently being suppressedsent some good feelings through her body. Shutup, she thought at herself.

Aloud, she said, “We should hold hands.” No, that wasn’t thecrush talking, it was pure logic. Sort of.

“Hold hands?”

“Yeah, so we don’t look, you know, affixed with industrial-strength glue.”

“Right, uh, good idea. How should we?”

They studied their hands. His had come down while hers wentup, and they’d been facing each other, so their fingers didn’t align. Instead,their palms met on a diagonal and it was pretty easy to curl their fingersaround the each other’s hand. MJ grasped the side of his palm, pinky hookedover his wrist, and Peter’s fingers folded over the curve of her thumb. Theylooked up at each other and she saw agreement in his eyes. She then had toremind herself that he wasn’t looking that way because he actually wanted tohold her hand, it was just dealing with an unexpected and unwelcome scenario.

“Now maybe we should…” Peter started to say, then finishedhis thought with an action.

Watching her face carefully, he raised his arm in the air,elbow higher than his head. MJ understood what he was doing. She glanced at thefloor and took a quick breath, then rolled in to him like they were dancing.His arm ended up draped across her shoulders, hers bent at the elbow to cutacross her chest. Their hands were clasped over her collarbone.

“Could be worse, right?” he checked, sounding nervous. Likelyjust anxious that this sorry attempt at a disguise would be totally obvious.

“Looks credible enough,” MJ assented. “People… inrelationships… probably walk like this.”

She glanced at his face and realized how close it was tohers. And he was staring right back at her. Willing away a blush, MJ reached upwith her free hand and tenderly pulled her trapped hair out from under his arm.

“Oh, sorry,” Peter said, yanking his arm up and out of herway. It made her nearly clock herself in the jaw with her own hand, stuck fastto his.

MJ raised a pacifying hand before he could apologize again.When he settled his arm back around her, it seemed to hold her slightly closerto his body than before. Which was fine. Obviously not on purpose. It gavetheir arms more slack if their bodies were closer; that was probably exactlywhat he’d meant to do.

“We need to catch a bus, right?” she asked as theycautiously exited the change room, peering both ways down the empty hall.

Of course, she knew the answer, but she was really trying tokeep herself under control for the rest of this misadventure. They would go tohis place, fix this, and then forget about the whole thing. Apprising Peter ofhow much she’d noticed about him was not a necessary conversation within thescope of this plan.

“Yeah. You alright?” He turned his head to look at heragain, but MJ just nodded without meeting his eye. He was way too close and shewasn’t mentally prepared to be casually almost brushing noses every time theyspoke. “Ok, come on. I don’t normally leave this late, so it might be busy.”

It was busy. Itwas the start of rush hour. The busses were clogged in traffic, slow to arrive,and many too full to accommodate a conjoined Peter and MJ once they did. Theyhad to stand at the bus stop for ages, her tucked into him, him curled aroundher, exchanging awkward smiles, out in public like they did this all the time.When a less packed bus squawked up to the curb, the two of them had to fumblefor their passes. Peter seemed pretty ok managing to swing his bag down hisarm, catch the handle in his teeth, and dig his bus pass out with his freehand; MJ lost a few seconds being gobsmacked at the fluidity of his motions.

“Can you get yours?” Peter asked, at about the same momentshe remembered she’d stuffed her pass into her front right pocket and nowdidn’t have her right hand available to retrieve it.

MJ really tried to reach across with her left hand andwriggle her fingers into the pocket. She could touch the edge of her bus pass,but the angle was no good. She couldn’t pull it out. Normally, she would’vepersevered (normally, she wouldn’t have been glued to Peter Parker), but thebus would only wait so long. They were the last to get on and traffic wasthinning up ahead as a string of streetlights turned green.

“No,” she said, defeated. “It’s too deep.”

He’d been watching her struggle, not attempting to intervene(she would’ve told him to back off), so he knew what to do when she nodded,inviting him to try. It only took a few second, but in that time, his hot handwas pressed against her hip, wiggling down her thigh inside the pocket of herjeans. The shift of Peter’s fingers through the thin cotton of the pocket’sinterior casually turned her inside out. MJ was flushed and restless, a littleabrupt as she plucked the liberated bus pass from between his index and middlefingers.

They flashed their passes to a driver who, like most,probably couldn’t care less, and maneuvered clumsily down the aisle. Theydidn’t get far because there were a couple dozen other passengers, and becausethe bus lurched forward and they were forced to grab onto something. Peter,with his Spider-Man reflexes, grabbed a swaying rubber handhold. MJ apparentlyhad useless instincts, because she didn’t go for any of the germy supports thebus offered; her hand just tightened around Peter’s and he jerked her closer soshe wouldn’t fall. Her backpack slid off her shoulder and she held it in frontof her with her left hand, not wanting to risk smacking a stranger if sheheaved it back into place.

She turned her head and felt a lot of emotions take turns onher face: gratitude, surprise, annoyance. The ride smoothed out after theinitial surge and MJ would’ve shuffled away to put as much space between theirbodies as possible, but a few people rose from their seats and headed towardsthe rear door. Instead of moving farther from Peter, MJ had to get closer―a lotcloser. As the group of passengers contracted to make room for those exiting,she found herself not under Peter’s arm, but with her back to his chest. Hisarm encircling her all the way to her opposite shoulder. His exhale ticklingdown her neck where her hair didn’t cover it.

“Sorry,” he started, “I can’t…”

“That’s ok,” MJ assured him, quick and terse.

The bus braked aggressively at the next stop and she bracedher feet firmly. Peter must not have been ready, or maybe he couldn’t seearound her since he wasn’t tall enough, because his hips bumped into her frombehind. Just as MJ couldn’t imagine any more contact, he gripped her hip.

“Sorry,” Peter mumbled again, using her hip as leverage topull his own away from her. She couldn’t decide if his Spider-Man powers meanthe should’ve been able to stop himself before colliding with her so intimately,or if Spider-Man was just as susceptible to bus inertia as every other rider.

She shook her head like that agitation would dislodge hisapologies. It didn’t bother her, thecontact. The only shitty thing about it was that it wasn’t on purpose. But MJcouldn’t think about that right then. He’d probably hear her acceleratedheartbeat or see her pulse thump beneath her skin at her throat.

Or.

Was this an opportunity? Starting with walking in on Peterwhen she’d thought he was masturbating, this afternoon had been a series oflooks and touches that never should’ve happened. His hand in her pocket. Herbutt against his groin. Their goddamn hands bonded with an adhesive Peter’dprobably invented himself, the nerd. And he hadn’t seemed to mind, not any ofit, not if MJ forgot about her personal embarrassment for a second andreflected on his reactions. If there was ever a time to, well, try something―put the moves on him, soto speak―this was it, here in a scenario overflowing with potential excuses.The bus rocked, the people pushed and squirmed, and the noise! Surely, with allof these bodies, he wouldn’t notice herheartbeat picking up its usually lazy pace.

MJ took the next opening to press back into Peter. Stiff,she waited to see if he’d re-establish their little buffer of empty space. Hedidn’t. Maybe he felt slightly tenser where his chest met her shoulder blades,or maybe he was just attempting to remain upright. Huh. Peter not upright.Peter―deep breath, MJ―flat on his back. That was a thought. She acted on thattempting concept, nudging his crotch as she straightened her spine. There, thatcould’ve been accidental.

She did it once more, always standing on the figurativeshoulders of the bus driver, who was doing the good work of driving this busreally badly, thereby making these touches possible.

“Careful,” Peter said, just under his breath, just to her.

It sounded like a genuine warning, as though he was reallyworried about her safety, and MJ was going to bite back with something snarky,probably rude. Until his hand landed back on her hip. And stayed there, notguiding her away. Her body felt misted with heat, and no, it wasn’t sweaty buscondensation.

“Of what?” she asked, turning her head just enough tosuggest she was listening. Loosely framing their conversation so she couldescape should Peter back out.

“I don’t know yet.”

He withdrew his fingers from her hip very slowly. MJ’sbreathing sped up and she almost turned all the way around to face him, but shecontrolled herself.

“Two more stops,” Peter informed her.

“Ok,” she acknowledged lightly.

Her cheeks were hot.

He prioritized her―tripping and shuffling to clear a pathfor her―as they pressed their way to the rear door, his block approaching. Whenthe door folded open, MJ couldn’t remember how they’d managed to get on the bussmoothly. Were they going to have to count to three and jump out together toavoid mistiming their steps and leaving one or both of them with a rolledankle?

While she puzzled, Peter cut through the thought process;his hand around her shoulder dropped to her waist. It made the side of her handslide straight over her boob while the heel of his hand caressed it from theside. Before she could say anything about Parker coping a feel, he hugged heragainst him and lifted her down to the sidewalk. Effortless. That was what hadher mentally stumbling to catch up to what had just happened. She had the heighton him, but he’d picked her up (and her backpack, stuffed to punishing fullnesswith hardcovers) without a hint of strain. Right, the Spider-Man thing. He wasprobably hurrying so they could get up to his apartment and separate.

As MJ went to ask him which building on this block was his,Peter glanced at her. The look held a long time, even with the door squealingshut behind them and the bus thundering away. It held almost as well as theirhands. She swallowed. But the compound keeping their palms stuck together hadbeen engineered by Peter on purpose. Their handhold had not.

Fuck. The combination of the look in his brown eyes―sotransparent―and the series of necessary yet highly intimate touches was really…it was making it… thinking was just…

“It’s that one,” Peter said, pointing to an ordinary greybuilding.

MJ glanced up, head tilted back. It wasn’t really to get abetter look at the apartment building (who hadn’t seen one of those?), but tolet the trickle of air that qualified as wind in these crowded blocks to passover her face. After a couple of seconds, she rolled her head to the side tolook at Peter.

“I hope you don’t have your heart set on taking the stairs,‘cause that’s not going to work.” She jostled their clasped hands.

He laughed weakly and, not meeting MJ’s eye, moved his armfrom around her waist back up to her shoulder, then lowered it again, thenraised it, then left it hovering somewhere in between like he suddenly didn’tknow how to touch her. She wanted to tell him that either was fine―the weightof his forearm draping over her shoulder or the pseudo-protective squeeze of itfitting into the dip of her waist―but she was feeling a little tangled up. Notjust with her arm crossing her body. Tongue-tied.

When they went to enter the building (waist it was), anelderly woman stepped out and shot them a sweet, knowing smile. Peter didn’tsay anything to disabuse the old lady of the idea of him and MJ as a couple.His lack of response was probably due to his concentration on grabbing the doorwith his free hand so it wouldn’t close on the woman, but MJ heard acceptancein the silence. It flummoxed her and she decided to flummox him right back.

“Can’t keep our hands off each other,” she volunteered witha conspiratorial (maybe? Was she doing the smile right?) grin as the seniortrundled past.

So it was unclear whether or not the woman had heard her,but Peter sure as hell did. It could’ve been true that MJ felt his pulse thumpthrough his thumb, where it curled around the heel of her hand, or maybe thatwas only one of several things she imagined about him as she darted through thedoor he was still holding open. He almost tripped, dragged behind her.

She allowed him to do the honours of pressing the button forthe elevator while she smiled benignly, very much not meeting Peter’s eye.

“MJ,” he said softly, seconds dropping away like thelowering floor numbers displayed digitally above the elevator door as theirride descended. She snuck a look at him from the corner of her eye and saw himwet his lip. Readying to speak. Preparing. She felt dizzy anticipation and heldhis hand tighter. “MJ.”

The door dinged open to a scene of minor chaos featuring anextremely dad-looking person with a baby―legs dangling―tucked into a carrier onhis chest and a toddler―legs viciously kicking like the kid was trying to flingtheir shoes off (looked likely)―in the stroller he wheeled out in front of him.

“Hold the door,” the man gasped, just catching the baby’stiny hat as the child dipped forward in an effort to examine its father’sforearm.

Again, Spider-Man used his Peter Parker disguise to aid thepopulous on the sly, slapping his palm to the edge of the door and maintainingwho knew how much pressure to make sure it didn’t budge as the man got all fourwheels of the stroller going in the right direction and escaped.

This time, in his haste to be the door-holding hero, he’dtugged MJ close to him. His front wasn’t fit as fully to her back as it hadbeen on the bus, but even partially aligned, she had some distinctlyunvoiceable questions about what was pressing against her butt.

She cleared them out of her throat with a light cough andstepped into the elevator, the door of which Peter continued to diligentlyrestrain until they were fully inside.

“No comment for that guy?” he asked lightly as the door slidshut. MJ glanced quickly at him.

“Well, he has two little kids. I think the memory of whatextended hand-holding can lead to is pretty fresh in his mind. I don’t want toassume, but I’d guess it’s been longer for the old lady.”

“Ha!” Peter blurted out. “Right.”

MJ heard him drum his fingers against the wall of theelevator―possibly out of view, but she wasn’t going to check, because his freearm was hanging at his side, which would mean his hand was near his hip, andshe couldn’t look towards his hip, since that would put his crotch in her lineof sight, and if there was anything happeningin that region, well. Was that something she could deal with?

“Nice, um, elevators,” she noted stupidly, nodding aroundtheir little metal box as it rose.

“Yeah, they’re, uh, faster than the stairs,” he agreed,equally idiotic, but she couldn’t fault him for following her example.

“Peter―”

“MJ―”

They spoke together and blushed together too when theirgazes crossed like laser beams in the vault of a heist movie.

“Your heart’s racing,” he observed quietly, thumb fleetinglystroking the inside of her wrist.

“I’m afraid of elevators.” Wow, maybe they could just goback to the ground floor, walk outside, and wait for the next bus to hit her.It would sever their connection and end the moronic stream of her words. Twobirds, one stone.

“But a minute ago, you said―”

“I’m also afraid of awkward silences.”

“Are our silences awkward?”

Do not react justbecause the nerd used the word ‘our,’she coached herself determinedly.

“I don’t know, Peter, but we’ve already managed tosuperglue―and I use the prefix ‘super’ literallyhere―our hands together today. Pretty hard to anticipate any other kind ofinteraction between us not being a mess.”

“So no… other kinds of interactions,” he clarified and shespied on him from the corner of her eye again to realize he was teasing her.

“Better not risk it.”

“Maybe the web fluid thing is the worst that’ll happen, andit’s already happened, and anything else we did would be fine,” Peter suggested.Anything else we did? she thought,finding it suddenly a little stuffy, a little warm in the elevator. “Maybe youjust need a sign.”

The elevator dinged to announce their arrival at Peter’sfloor. MJ turned her head fully to glare at him.

“You knew that was going to happen. Loser.”

They ambled to the door of his apartment―clasped hands likea third person they carried between them―where he dropped his backpack and shewas forced to bend over next to him, while he rooted around for his key.Retrieving it, Peter said, “So, my aunt won’t be home yet.”

“She knows right? About Spider-Man?”

“Yeah, she―watch your step,” he warned as they maneuveredinside, past a small heap of shoes. “She knows, it just might be weird.” Petershrugged.

“Right, yeah,” MJ agreed, waiting while he locked the door.“I guess she’d wonder why I know such an important secret about you, even ifyou’re not very good at keeping it.”

He frowned and she smirked, making him smile in return.Clearly, he was more comfortable in his own home, where his secret wasn’t asecret and he had the tools to fix little mishaps like this.

“No,” Peter disagreed, but in a low mumble. “I actuallydon’t think she’d be that surprised to see you.” Louder, he added, “My room’s thisway.”

Everything about the hallway was ordinary, except for thefact that MJ never thought she’d be walking down it. To Peter’s bedroom. Withhis arm tucked snugly around her. (His forearm was a warm, solid bar at herwaist. It was frighteningly easy to imagine him scooping her up and carryingher. Easy and dangerous.)

“Uh,” he said awkwardly, pushing the door wider when theyreached his room so they could step inside at the same time.

She couldn’t look at him, or at his bed, and it was a lot ofeffort to avoid both in the relatively small space, but MJ made that effort.Letting her body be loose enough to be rotated and guided around the room asPeter rummaged for what he needed to unstick them, she kept her gaze moving.Pictures of him and Ned. Open textbooks. A closet left ajar, where she glimpseda rumpled row of t-shirts (likely the pun-bearing variety). The question ofwhere he kept the rest of his clothes―namely his underwear―entered her mind.She exhaled unsteadily. Ok, that was the end of looking around.

MJ observed Peter once more, watching as he gave an opaqueketchup bottle a hearty shake. He glanced at her, face always too close (andnot close enough).

“Ready?”

She narrowed her eyes at the bottle.

“Ketchup? That’syour super-secret compound?”

“Yeah, the combination of the vinegar and the natural sugarsfrom the tomatoes are safe to eat, but really effective at dissolving web fluid.If I ever run into somebody who fights by squirting ketchup at me, I’m totallyscrewed.”

They stared at each other.

“You’re messing with me,” she decided. Peter grinned.

“It is the compound I told you about though,” he promised,holding the tip of the bottle over their joined hands. “I try to keep myimportant stuff not too obvious.”

“Right. Your bedroom is the most logical place to keep abottle of ketchup. No one would ever question that.”

Peter laughed, then raised his eyebrows at her, poised withthe apparently-not-a-hotdog-condiment. There was no doubt, no thought of nottrusting him. The only oddity that did occur to MJ was that they hadn’t unwoundthemselves from each other; their glued hands were positioned in front of herand to make it so that they were nearly centered for Peter as well, he was onceagain crowded up against her back.

“This won’t, like, burn my hand off, will it?” she asked,keeping her voice as monotone as possible. The prospect of her skin beingscalded or melted or corroded gave her an adrenaline kick nearly as strong asthe one she felt with Peter wrapped around her.

He didn’t laugh at her.

“No, no pain. It’ll just take a few seconds to seep betweenour hands and get to work. On skin, it goes kinda crumbly and then you canbrush it off.”

MJ took a breath.

“Do it before I have time to evaluate how much trust I havein an amateur chemist who keeps his concoctions in ketchup bottles,” shedemanded, releasing her fingers’ grasp. He did the same, so that only theirpalms were in contact.

Peter pushed the tip to the seam of their glued hands andsqueezed the bottle, following the join all the way around, tilting their handsto make sure he didn’t miss even a millimeter (she assumed his vision was thatprecise).

Once he’d circled around to his starting point, Peterflipped the bottle right-way-up and set it on his desk.

“It wasn’t so bad, right?” he asked, not looking at her whenshe stole a glance at him. “Being stuck together?”

“It wasn’t the worst,” MJ agreed.

Together, they stared at their hands while the compoundattacked the web fluid. There actually wasn’t much to see from the outside. Thestuff didn’t even run down their wrists or between their fingers. Peter’sbreathing was happening very close to her ear and she wondered if he wouldquestion the goosebumps springing up along her arms.

“What if it doesn’t work?” she asked quietly―somewhathopefully―staring hard at a small scar on the back of her hand where a girl hadpinched her in the fifth grade.

“There’s mustard in the fridge. We could try that.”

MJ turned her head to glare at him as Peter turned to grinat her, probably anticipating some snarky remark. She wasn’t confident thatshe’d really had one ready, but there was definitely nothing waiting to be saidwhen their noses bumped.

“Or Worcestershire sauce,” he mumbled, angling his head.

“Lime juice, maybe.”

His breath against her mouth was vaguely fruity―artificial,but not unpleasant. MJ recalled that he’d been chewing gum during decathlonpractice.

Her lips had just brushed his when they stumbled into eachother, faces glancing off one another’s. The first thought she had, bizarrely,was ‘earthquake.’ But no, it was just that the not-ketchup had worked its magicand their palms had come unattached all of a sudden. She hadn’t realized she’dbeen putting pressure on that connection, leaning into him, not just casuallytouching with accidental adhesion. Really holding him without chemical interference.

Slowly, Peter unwound his arm from around her; it didn’timmediately disappoint MJ that he hadn’t leapt back into the almost-kiss,because she was examining her own hand. The palm was nearly a stranger to her.No, she was being dramatic. Must be the influence of the nerd in front of herand she’d absorbed it by osmosis when their lips had touched.

She was sweeping the debris from her hand (like he’d said todo), watching the beige-ish rain fall onto the desk, when Peter yanked up hissleeve. The whatever-it-was that had released the incommodious web fluid wasfastened around his wrist, but with a grunt and a twist and rubbed-red skin, heremoved it. He flung the device across his bedroom, straight into his closet.It smacked the closet’s back wall and made the sound MJ now knew to associatewith web fluid being released. Pretty much instantaneously, the closet doorbanged closed on its own.

MJ turned to Peter.

“You probably just glued your closet shut.”

He laughed and nodded, looking like he was intentionallysetting that worry aside for the moment. Soon, she thought, he’d panic over thefate of his t-shirts.

With a subtle lick of his bottom lip that she―with her eyesfixed on his face―would’ve had to be blind not to see, Peter reached out andstroked the back of her hand gently with his fingertips.

“What are you doing?” she asked, already rotating her wristso that his fingers could skate across her palm.

“I thought we could do it on purpose,” Peter explained.

He aligned their fingers, then edged his over slightly toslip between hers. They folded their fingers in unison, locking their palmstogether. They were holding hands, the way people did it for real, not becausethey were involved in what was essentially an off-site lab accident, in whichtheir super-dork friend unintentionally coated their palm with an unfamiliarand extremely effective adhesive. It was nice.

MJ kissed him quickly, face darting into his personal spaceand out again, leaving Peter looking shell-shocked. He let go of her hand.

“Well, that’s―” she started to say, recognizing the novelchange of their palms not being stucktogether semi-permanently.

But then his hand landed on the side of her face and hekissed her much more insistently. That was what unbalanced MJ the most: Peter’sdetermination. Like he’d been thinking about doing that for more than the twoseconds since she’d kissed him. Then again, his pre-elevator boner was prettyhard evidence. No pun intended because what was she? One of his stupidt-shirts? Not that she could imagine Peter Parker ever owning a shirt thatalluded to dicks or arousal or―unlikeliest of all―legal proceedings. (The wholeSpider-Man gig was kinda a detour around the established justice system, wasn’tit? Not that she was complaining.)

MJ couldn’t imagine Peter backing her into his desk either,but that one he did do, mouth urgent on hers because she’d responded unrestrainedly.She took a second to push away from the desk though, not really wanting any ofthat crumbly stuff stuck to the seat of her jeans. If that ended up with herforcing Peter into the wall, who could blame her? His hand hadn’t so much creptas dove around the back of her neck, gripping her head through her hair, while the other hand continued to cup her face.

Some kind of irresistible pull, like a black hole maybe, wasdrawing her into him. It saved MJ from thinking about how she didn’t know whatshe was doing or wondering how she was supposed to handle Peter. Her handssqueezed his shoulders and her feet scooted closer to his and her mouth openeda tiny, terrifying bit, making her heart plummet, then float back up when shefelt the hint of Peter’s tongue touching her lips.

The movement of their lips softened as they tried this newthing, taking turns edging their tongues farther into each other’s mouths,allowing them to meet and retreat. But their hands held each other’s bodieswith greater resolve. MJ slid her palms from Peter’s shoulders around to rubacross his upper back. While she levered the top halves of their torsostogether, he went for the bottom halves, fingernails rasping over denim as he tookdesperate hold of her hips and pulled them closer.

There was no question now about what was happening in thefront of Peter’s jeans; he’d brought her as solidly into contact with hiserection as she’d done pushing his back against the bedroom wall. He pantedinto MJ’s mouth and she wrapped him tighter in her arms, dipping her fingersdown the neck of his shirt.

Peter shuddered, but she was the one who got goosebumps. Atingle raced up her spine and a heavy feeling settled lower; she was gettingwet. MJ’s newest urge was to open herself up to him somehow. Ok, not somehow―open her legs, specifically, soshe could feel the rigid length behind his zipper pressed somewhere other thanher abdomen. Somewhere she could press back and feel whatever Peter was feelingwhen she rocked gently against him and his breaths came harsh and short.

He kissed quickly over to her ear as his hands shoved thefabric of her long-sleeved shirt upwards, enough for his warm thumbs to land onMJ’s skin just above the waist of her jeans. Peter’s shirt buttoned and sheheard how he breathed differently when she unwound one arm from around him tolightly circle a button over his chest. Her heart swung metronomically as shestrove to stay still. As if this could scare the boy who scaledskyscrapers.

MJ began, slowly, to unbutton his shirt. Peter watched, headangled down, but still pressed to hers so that the shallow crater of his templefit to her cheek. She wanted to cup his face and hold it there to hers, onlyshe couldn’t spare the hand.

She was breathing fast through her nose as she neared thefinal button, working from the top down. Peter’s shirt hung open across hischest now and MJ looked. In another second, MJ touched, just the tips ofher index fingers, stroking an inch or two down his stomach. He pushed her shirthigher and when the look on his face told her he couldn’t stand it anymore, hestopped holding the shirt and held her bare waist instead.

Peter exhaled and MJ hadn’t realized how quiet it’d beenbefore that. She finished his buttons.

His mouth caught hers as she was reaching for his shoulders,so MJ had to push his shirt off blindly, eyes shut into the rushed intensity ofthe kiss. Peter rotated them, putting her back to the wall with a careful gripon her waist. It made her heart skip, even though they got their feet tangledin Peter’s shirt and almost tripped.

“I can…?” Peter mumbled, edging her shirt up even with thelower line of her bra.

MJ raised both arms and pressed them to his bedroom wall.She grinned when he met her eyes. He laughed excitedly and drew her shirt overher chest, then swiftly over her head. MJ shook her hair out of her face andwiggled her arms down to help Peter reach all the way to her hands as he slidher arms from the sleeves. He dropped her shirt and swallowed. Then, his gazefell.

She wanted to cross her arms or dig her fingers into anxiousfists at her sides, but MJ made herself reach out to Peter and ended upclutching his forearms while she eyed him the same way he was eyeing her.

With a longing sigh, his hands went again to her waist andhers stole up his arms (lingering on his biceps) to hold his shoulders,bracketing the breadth of them with choked-back awe. Their feet shuffled closeruntil neither of them was touching the wall.

They kissed and it was new all over again. All MJ couldthink about was closing the space between them; in execution, it wasn’timmediate. It was a little dance, both of them moving nearer with their eyesshut while they kissed. She, at least, was unable to judge the distance withoutsight. Peter was probably a bit better at that.

Her whole body tingled at the first touch of her torso tohis. Suddenly, it was easier and their hands gripped and ran over each otherlike water. Like water, finding every dip, smoothing over every plain. MJ waswrapped up in Peter not just because of his arms, but those helped, firm andstrong when they encircled her. Their mouths were hot and quick and Petergroaned when she slipped her tongue into his. She pushed her hips forward,chasing another sound like that, and he gave her one.

Flattened to MJ’s back, his hand nestled under the band ofher bra to keep her close. He could probably feel her nipples through the soft whitecups, right? If he couldn’t then, he definitely could when his other handcaressed up her stomach at a polite, deliberate pace―giving her lots of time tostop him―before running into her bra. Peter panted, a wet breath through his mouth, hovering his hand over her breast. MJ wanted him to hurry up and touchher so badly that she was in danger of chewing her top lip off.

His palm was warm as he shaped it to her and MJ pushed into it,shaking. After a minute of maintaining that position, Peter tucked his hand intothe cup. Just like slipping on a mitten. MJ made a noise she couldn’t help andtraced both hands down to his lower back, settling them there. She might’vefelt him throb against her abdomen, or it could’ve been her imagination.

Peter touched her with so much care, adding to the heatbetween her legs. She was less sure about removing her bra than she had beenabout her shirt, but he didn’t try to take it off and he didn’t need to, notfor this. Not to make her feel this way, with his clueless fingertips runningover her nipple while MJ narrowly kept her shit together.

She got the corner of his mouth before kissing him full-on.After their lips started moving together this time, MJ didn’t know how she wasgoing to go home. With Peter’s hands on her back and chest and this weirdsecret of the glued hands between them, she felt like she was already in aplace she never wanted to leave. MJ was really ok with being pressedskin to skin to Peter Parker.

Her phone went off in her backpack and it wasn’t so much atext that was inevitable as something that would’ve broken them apart sooner orlater.

“May’s probably gonna be home soon,” Peter admitted to herback when MJ reluctantly went to check her phone in case it was her mom.

“Right,” she said, feeling confused and elated and colderwithout him wrapped around her. “And you’ll need time to think of anexplanation for why you can’t open your closet.”

“Oh,” he remembered. “Oh… oh right. Shit.”

MJ snickered, then darted her eyes down at her shirt on thefloor. She was blushing pretty hard when Peter passed it to her, but so was he.

“Thanks.”

“Yep.”

She yanked her shirt on to see Peter shrugging his over hisshoulders.

“Let me,” she insisted, fingers already grabbing the frontof his shirt.

MJ’s brain was freaking out over this sudden possessiveness,but her hands seemed strangely fine with dressing Peter. He watched her redoeach of his buttons, she knew he did. Seemed like they’d agreed not to verballyacknowledge the bulge in the front of his jeans. Not today, anyway.

“There,” she said, cocking her head a little spastically.Peter smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt and gave her a smile.

Her mouth opened to say something else, but there weren’tany words waiting on her tongue, so she hefted her backpack and Peter led herto the door of the apartment.

They kissed once, quickly, then again, unhurriedly.

“I can walk you?”

“I’m good,” she assured him. It was still afternoon andmaybe the sun and the air would help MJ transition into her normal self by thetime she got home. Maybe. She touched the neck of her shirt to make sure shehadn’t put it back on backwards or inside out.

Peter shrugged and smiled, holding the door open for her.

“Spider-Man might follow you anyway, to make sure you get homesafe.”

MJ put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to kiss hischeek.

“I know, Peter.”

“Good.”

She stepped into the hallway.

“It was nice,” MJ offered, turning back for a second.“Holding your hand.”

He nodded, eyes full of brand-new intimacy.

“It wasn’t the worst.”

[joon-bugs]

Wet

~This was..interesting to write. Lets just say I took the prompt I used way too far. Enjoy lol~ 

‘You shivered despite the night air, trying to look anywhere but the naked chest of Kim Taehyung. You attempted to twist your wet hair into a decent braid, but found yourself too distracted by the man approaching. Your hands were shaking. Dammit.’ 

word count: 2,750

pairing: Taehyung/Reader

genre: smut 

warnings: fingering, rough handling, unsanitary sex, dirty talk (slight) 

Cool water brushed against your feet as you swirled your polished toes along the edge of the water. The hot summer air blew past you as crickets welcomed the evening with their music. The light rift of ‘Maggot Brain’ drifted along the poolside, causing you to twirl your head to the addictive beat. Your fingers tapped on the concrete beside you absentmindedly, enjoying the relaxing atmosphere.

 However it was short lived as you felt a torrent of water drench you.

You sputtered and gasped, looking probably like a fish out of water. You looked down at your ruined clothes and pushed back your now wet hair.

        “What the HELL?!” You screeched, looking around for the cause of your  distress. A blonde head popped out of the water then, followed by a pair of arms that thrust in the air.

This little punk! You thought, irritated that Kim Taehyung had disturbed another one of your peaceful moments.

       “Woo! That was a perfect cannonball! That's gotta be in the top ten. What do you think Y/N?” Taehyung asked in excitement.

       “What do I think? I think you are possibly the most irritating creature on this planet!” You yelled, kicking water in his direction. Taehyung frowned, a cute puppy expression. Cute? Ew,no.

        “What are you even doing here?” You grumbled, flicking your hands.

       “Oh c'mon you act like it’s your first time getting wet.” Taehyung chuckled, lifting an eyebrow suggestively. Immature. This word in the dictionary would be followed by a picture of the man child in front of you.

       “My brother isn't even here, did you break in or something?” You asked, as you scrunched your face up, your relaxing evening officially ruined.

       “I know where you keep the spare key.”  Taehyung smiled, his mouth wide. You glared at him and stood up.

       “Thanks to you I now have to find a hair tie before my hair frizzes up.” You threw your hands up and pulled your feet out of the water, reaching for the towel next to you. You began drying your exposed skin when you happened to glance over at Taehyung.  

       He was looking at you with an odd expression on his face. The now calm water swirled in light ripples around him, the blue pool lights making him look soft. Your breath hitched as you realized just how attractive Taehyung had become. He was a scrawny thing in his youth, all long limbs and a bright innocent smile. The smile he had kept, but everything else had changed. His lanky form had developed hard muscles, something you hadn’t paid much attention too until now. He continued to stare at you, moving slowly to the pool’s edge before pulling himself out, water cascading off of his tanned skin.

        You shivered despite the night air, trying to look anywhere but the naked chest of Kim Taehyung. You attempted to twist your wet hair into a decent braid, but found yourself too distracted by the man approaching. Your hands were shaking. Dammit. You thought, eyes widening when Taehyung got into your personal bubble. You could feel the heat of his skin from his close proximity, and could see the long curve of his eyelashes. He was still looking at you, scanning your face.

        “What?” You blurted, the silence unbearable. Taehyung moved his hand then and you flinched, expecting him to touch you. However he only pushed his hair back, exposing his forehead. You'd never thought a forehead could be sexy until now. You inhaled shakily, taking a step back. Taehyung smiled, unblinking.

        “Where are you going?” He asked, licking his lips.

        “I told you I-I need a hairtie.” You stuttered, turning to retreat to the safety of your kitchen. A large hand gripped your arm before pulling you down. You opened your mouth in a scream, but the only sound that came out was a muffled noise. You fell onto a warm surface, a surface you quickly realized was a lap. You instantly scrambled to get up, but a pair of arms encircled your waist, pinning you to a very wet, chest.

        “What the hell are you doing Kim Taehyung?!” You yelled, hoping that maybe one of the neighbors would hear and come investigate. Wishful thinking that was.

        A exhale of hot air blew on the back of your neck and you shivered again as goosebumps began to rise.

        “Let me help you.” He murmured,  detaching one of his arms to gather your hair to one side of your face. You squirmed some more, your discomfort rising.

        “Help me with what you perv?” You hissed, starting to beat at his unprotected legs.

        “Why are you acting so weird?” You continued, not letting up your assault.

        “Shhh..stop fusing Y/N. I'm just braiding your hair.” He assured in a murmur, rearranging you to sit more securely in his lap. You blushed, trying to ignore the increased beating in your chest. The light touch of fingertips glided along the base of your neck, before weaving through your mass of hair that was in the midst of drying. You sat stiffly, staring straight ahead. Your hands were clenched in your lap, avoiding any contact with Taehyung’s bare skin.

His hands were gentle, something you hadn’t expected. He was a rough houser, always running into things or challenging someone into a wrestling match. He was religiously destructive, but in that moment he treated you as if you were fragile, as if you were glass. You wriggled at the intimate feeling in the air. Taehyung paused, clearing his throat. You moved again, ignoring him.

“Stop that.” He commanded, breaking the silence. You furrowed your brow in confusion.

“Stop what? I’m not doing anything.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest. You shifted your legs, unsticking them from each other. The heat of the night was beginning to get to you.

In an instance Taehyung’s hand grabbed your hip, stopping you. He leaned close to you, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear.

“You know exactly what you’re doing missy. You better stop before I get the wrong idea.”

His exposed chest pressed hard against your back, making you aware of how little clothing you were wearing.

“Or maybe..you don’t want to stop? Do you like it when I touch you?” He emphasized his words by bringing his other hand to trace the lines of your collarbones. You froze, the odd behavior terrifying, yet you still felt the pulse of desire stirring low in your abdomen. What was happening? Why was this happening? Where was the old irksome boy you had grown to tolerate?

“T-taehyung..maybe you should go.” You were starting to tremble, wishing that you were alone with your music like you originally planned. You felt the rumble of his chuckle vibrate throughout your body.

“Why? I’m helping you Y/N.” He flipped the length of your braid over your shoulder and it landed over your breast, the contact startling you. The lips at your ear skimmed around to the back of your neck and inhaled deeply. Heat flashed through you. Oh god. Why did it have to be so freaking hot?

“Thank you for, for braiding my hair. But now you should really-”

“How long has it been for you Y/N?” He asked lowly.

“What are you talking about?”

“How long since someone has held you..touched you?” His words wrapped around you, as heated as your sweaty skin. You swallowed thickly, your brain blank. You considered his words. Repeated his question in your mind. Your first and only boyfriend had been over a year ago. And you weren't the type to sleep around, so a long time. It had been a long time since you had any physical contact with the opposite sex.

“That long huh.” Taehyung took your silence as an answer. You nodded, unable to say anything.

“I could help with that.” Taehyung sighed deeply, his breath causing a panicked reaction from you.

“Actually I decided I’m celibate soo thanks but no thanks.” You jumped up and away from the boy, turning to keep him in your line of sight. Unfortunately, this meant you couldn't see behind you. Your heel met the edge of concrete and you found the world tilting.

Chlorine invaded your nostrils, burning your eyes. You flailed around, trying to reach the surface without drowning. Two long arms thrust into the depths and yanked you up, giving your lungs a much needed burst of oxygen. You coughed up the acrid tasting water, heaving as your body shook. You leaned against that same warm chest as you regained your breath, noticing your back was pressed against the pool’s walls, your legs still surrounded by the cerulean liquid. You looked up, meeting the dark eyes of Taehyung, feeling his chest and arms holding you afloat. Your chest was squished, pushed up prominently so you knew he could see them. He licked his lips, flicking his gaze down briefly and you went to kick at his legs, but found no room to do so. He smiled, bringing a hand up to brush away loose strands of your hair. He stroked the braid he had created, seeming to admire his work.

“Hmm, this held up pretty well. I’m pretty good with my hands Y/N. Wanna see what else I can do with them?”

This was ridiculous. This had to be some prank your brother put him up too. But it had gone too far for your liking.

“Kim Taehyung put me down this instance!”

“If I put you down you might drown. I can’t let that happen..plus I like holding you.” He pressed himself impossibly closer to you. You felt as if you couldn't breathe.

“You like holding me? What are you talking about?” He heaved a big sigh.

“God you’re dense. I’ve liked you since Jungkook and I became friends Y/N. I thought I was pretty obvious but I guess not.” Welp. This wasn’t what you expected. You gaped at him, processing his words. He’d liked you for years then? Why did this confession send signals right to your groin and redness to your cheeks. There had to be something wrong with you. He was older than you by five years, an age gap your parents would be furious at. But he was tall, and cut, and had that deep voice which could melt butter.  And he was your brother’s best freaking friend.

“But-Jungkook..”

“I won’t tell him if you won’t.” He had slipped back into this this persona, seductive and inviting. He tilted his head forward, his eyes lidded.

“ Taehyung I swear to god if you-” You were cut off by his lips, pressing into yours. Your objection was swallowed in his hot mouth and your cries quickly turned into low moans, your hands splaying across his back. He bit your bottom lip and tugged, drawing blood.

“What the hell!” You wrenched away, watching as a drop of red hit the splashing water. He gave an apologetic look before pulling your head back and licking up the mess he made. You melted into his embrace, grinding your lower body into his as his tongue explored your mouth.

“Wrap your legs around me Y/N.”

You obeyed, this position bringing his crotch level with yours. Oh god. He was hard. He swiveled his hips and you keened, bowing your back. It really had been too long for you. You had almost forgotten how good a man could feel. He continued this motions, pausing to nip at your jaw every so often. Your already soaked pants tightened and you grew uncomfortable, whining at the restrictive fabric. You were going to tell Taehyung to take them off you when you felt the button of your shorts being unbuttoned. Sneaky bastard. His long fingers had managed to slip between your bodies without you taking notice. The palm of his hand brushed your navel while his middle finger found the patch of hair decorating your most secret place. Of course this had to be the one day you hadn’t worn underwear. You felt Taehyung stop as he realized the same thing.

“Oh Y/N..I’m going to ruin you.” He rasped into your ear, starting to rub your clit rapidly. You choked on your comment, your legs tightening. He pulled back to watch his hands with a concentrated look. He bit his lip, giving you a wink before slipping his finger inside.

“Oh shit!” You let out a shout, jerking in Taehyung’s hold.

“Language. Good girls shouldn’t talk like that.” He pumped his digit at a fast pace, splashing water all around you. You should have cared  about how unhygienic and twisted this whole situation was, but he was making you feel so good. Lust clouded your vision as you struggled to meet his fingers with shallow thrusts of your own. You wondered if one finger could feel this way, how two would. You soon got your answer. It felt fantastic.

You groped Taehyung’s shoulders, admiring how the water dripping off of him gave him the appearance of Adonis. He grunted as he moved quicker, rubbing the palm of his hand on your sensitive bud. His fingers curved upward and you knew you were done for. Your muscles tightened as your orgasm approached.

The fingers stilled and you almost cried. Why did he stop?

“You can’t come yet. Not until I’m inside you.” He was huffing, freeing his hand to pull down his trunks. At the sight of his bare erection you blanched, knowing he was bigger than the last guy who you had slept with.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid? You’re always up for a challenge Y/N.” He teased, distracting you by biting at your collarbone. He laved at the spot and suckled, stirring up the heat inside you again. You felt the tip of him poke your belly, his pre cum beginning to drip down over your belly button. Condoms. We need condoms.

“Taehyung, do you have any protection?” You gasped in a rush, concern trickling in your mind. He rolled his eyes, unfazed.

“I’ll pull out, don’t worry.” You were unconvinced but couldn’t dwell on it for much longer because he was kissing you again, dissipating your concerns in his needy touch. You felt him at your entrance and bucked but forced yourself to relax as he slowly pushed in. The stretch burned despite you being prepped, and you clenched your eyes shut in pain.

“Taehyung-uh! Wait, wait. It hurts.” You pleaded, pushing at his chest. He only kissed you again, and massaged your clit to placate you. His hips soon came to be flush with yours and you panted, not used to being so full.

“Omg Y/N. Are you sure you’re not a virgin? You’re so tight.” He hissed, giving an experimental thrust. The air flew out of your lungs and a hiccup left your lips. You were surprised the neighbors hadn’t heard you.

The chilly water beat against your bodies and spilled over the pool’s edge, making a mess of the deck. Your grunts and moans filled the empty silence of the yard, tinted lights illuminating sweaty skin. Taehyung was rough, digging his fingers into your hips, surely leaving bruises you would have to explain. He was pounding into you, slamming you back, as your breasts jiggled painfully. There was nothing romantic about this, nothing soft or slow. He was fucking you and all you could do was hold on for the ride.

“What would your brother think hm? Seeing his little sister getting fucked by his best friend?” Taehyung laughed, amused at the idea. You clutched the back of his head, anchoring yourself. You said nothing, your desire to come greater than your senses. You trembled around him until one hard push of his hips later, you were gone. Like a cork unscrewing you came, burying your face in his neck. He wasn’t too far behind you. He thrust, one, two times before pulling out of you, spilling his seed over your stomach and in the water. You were still shaking, only being held up by his body so close to yours. The waves quieted as your breathing went back to normal and you basked in the aftermath of your release.

“Told you I would pull out.” He grinned, nosing under your jaw. You rolled your eyes throwing your head back. Only to see the upside down image of a familiar pair of Timberlands.

“What the hell?!”  

Written by Rose 

[dresupi]

i don’t need therapy, i just need to vent

Darcy Lewis Crack Challenge |  Day 3: Stuck in an air vent | 

Ship: Darcy Lewis/Axel Cluney |  Rating: T  |  Word Count: 3055 |  Characters: Wade Wilson, Jesse Aaronson | Bedlam, Shatterstar, Axel Cluney | Zeitgeist, | Neena Thurmon | Domino, Cable, Peter (Deadpool) |  Prompt: Day 3 - Stuck in an air vent |  Other Tags: Swearing, Crack, Break-Up, Post Break-Up, Reunited and it feels so good, Humor, Group chat, Awkward, Banter, Fourth wall break | 

Summary:

Darcy's stuck in an air vent and ofc her ex is the one who comes to unstick her.

Darcy bit down on her bottom lip and released the green 'button' on her phone screen that would connect her to the communication app she'd designed for Wade.. It was a simple enough app, she'd made one for the Avengers too. X-Force just seemed to use it more.

This mission wasn't supposed to be this complicated. It was supposed to be a quick job. One and done. Break in, steal the intel, sneak out.

But of course, it didn't go that way, because the universe hated Darcy Lewis. Hate, hate, hate, capital H.

Okay, maybe it didn't hate her, but it certainly loved fucking up things that were supposed to be easy and then laughing at her while she scrambled.

She probably shouldn't have tried to do this alone. She was technically a field agent, but mostly, everyone wanted her for tech. And the intel she'd stolen was about that. But field agenting was something she was still green at. But Cable had needed the intel, and everyone else glazed over when she started talking about dismantling the firewall, so. Here she was.

"What is it, Monkey?" Wade's voice responded.

"Wade," she replied.

"Use our code names, dearheart."

"WADE. This is a private channel. No one's hacking in, I promise."

"Still not right, but I can tell by your tone that things aren't exactly peachy keen, so I'll let that slide. My code name is Rainbow Smash, in case you forgot."

She hadn't. But he was right about the' no time' thing. "Look. I got the intel Cable asked for. That part was easy."

"Okay, I sense a but in the future. Or a, however. Probably a but."

"It's a but. These idiots came back from wherever the hell they were and now I'm stuck in this vent because if I shimmy out the way I came in, I'll not only alert everyone in this building with the resulting rumble, I'll probably get mowed down by assault rifles before I can even squeeze out of the vent."

"Where are you now?"

She looked around, her surroundings not helping in the slightest, so she pressed against the smartwatch on her wrist, swiping through all the screens until she found the infrared map.  "Directly above the barracks. No one's there currently, but they will be in a few hours. And the longer I stay put, the more likely this vent will give way and I'll fall into AIM barracks on my ass."

"Damn those AIM bastards for needing a tight ten and a half every night…" Wade muttered. "Listen. We'll get you out. Just sit tight. I'll send someone in to get you."

"Right. Because another person in the vents is what we need."

"Look, you can't go crawling over their heads and risking them hearing you unless we got a clear shot out.  Plus. Two is better than one."

"Only if one of the two is Cable," she countered.

"Noted."

"So you're sending Cable?

"Did I not say noted?" he asked.

Darcy rolled her eyes. "Yes. But that doesn't always mean you're doing what I asked."

"I will do what's best for you, Monkey."

She sighed. "Give me an approximate wait time."

"Seven minutes."

"Okay. I'll chill for seven, and if no one's here, I'm calling you back."

"I'd expect nothing less."

She exhaled and lay her head down on her folded arms and started to count four hundred and twenty Mississippis.

Approximately three-hundred-ninety Mississippis later

"Incoming, Monkey," Wade's voice rang in her ear.

"Cable?" she asked hopefully.

"Nah. But I got you the next best thing."

She raised her head off her folded arms, watching as a very familiar face crawled around the corner in the vents. But it wasn't Cable.

"Axel!" she exclaimed, frowning as her ex continued army crawling towards her.

She got back on her comm. "Wade. WADE! I asked for Cable."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Axel replied, his voice on a slight delay in her ear as well.

"Why are you on my comm when you're right there?" she asked.

"Oh right. I kind of have everyone on the same channel. Or Bedlam did. I don't have admin access anymore," Wade replied.

She would facepalm, but she was kind of in an air vent, so she sighed heavily. "Who else is here?"

"Hiya Darce!" came Domino's bright greeting. "Cable's also here, but he's not talking. Typical."

"I would if I had something to say," was his terse reply. "Shatterstar's here too, pick on him instead."

"Only in spirit, I couldn't fit in Doppinder's cab," was the curt response.

She pressed her lips together in frustration. "Wade. I asked specifically for Cable."

"Zeitgeist is the next best thing."

Hardly. She turned her gaze to Axel's. She almost couldn't look at him. Pain bloomed right over her heart and she swallowed back the lump in her throat. This wasn't funny. This was raw and painful and the worst timing of ever for her to have to face him again.

"I don't mean to be rude," she began.

"Cable couldn't fit through the vents, so I'm here," Axel said sharply. "I'm pulling you out because I don't want you to get shot to pieces. Can we please put our personal shit to the side for the next half hour?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, embarrassed to be so perfectly called out for all the right reasons. This was work. Not some awkward night at Sister Margaret's where they caught each others' eyes and slunk to opposite tables, Darcy taking Cable and Domino, mostly because Cable was already sitting across the room from everyone else.

"Awesome," Axel said with a cool smirk.

"Aww, you guys…" Wade cooed on the comm.  Both Darcy and Axel chose to ignore him, as did everyone else in the comm group chat

Axe switched to business mode immediately. Which Darcy was still in charge of her brain enough to admit was totally hot. "Follow me around the corner and they'll pull my cord, yank us both out slowly."

"How did they not hear you?" she asked.

"I crawled in over the laundry room. There was a load in the dryer so they couldn't hear me crawling. Won't have that luxury on the way back, so it's good they're dragging us." He shot her a quick smile that faded immediately. Almost like he'd forgotten for a second that they weren't in flirty banter mode.

"Heya Darce. Bedlam here…" The lower voice immediately shocked her until she remembered that they were all here. All of X-Force. Why Bedlam hadn't piped in during her impromptu roll call, she didn't know.

"Sure, what is it, B?" she asked, slowly moving around the corner.

"I'm out here on the roof with the pulley. Just letting you know that we gotta drag you slowly so the cord we attached to Axe won't snap."

"I'm not that heavy, am I?" Darcy joked.

"What? No! Not in the slightest, but this is a different sort of weight than it's used to. Just wanted to let ya know… … You're not big. You're not. Not what I meant."

Axel snickered a little, stopping when Darcy shot him a look.  "What? You're not."

"It's fine, let's just get a move on, okay?" she replied.

A bead of sweat dripped down her forehead as she followed Axel around the corner. It was an awkward squeeze, but she finally made it.

"Okay. grab my hands," Axel said, holding both out in front of him.

"Just making sure, but… you're feeling alright, aren't you? You're not hungover, or nauseated, or claustrophobic or anything, are you?"

He shot her a look. "If I was, I wouldn't be doing this," he said. His tone taking on a much softer tone that called back to something Darcy wasn't ready to revisit just yet. The break up was too fresh.

She simply nodded tersely and held out both arms towards him.  He gripped her gloved hands tightly

"We're ready," he said.

Slowly, they began to inch forward. Backward for Axel, but down the vent, regardless.

Bedlam had been right. It was slow. Achingly slow.

"D, you alright, baby?" Bedlam's voice came into her comm and she nodded before stopping herself and actually replying out loud.

"Doing fine. I don't weigh too much for the cord, do I?" she teased, even though her heart wasn't in it, what with being dragged slowly through the vent by her ex and all.

"Darcy… you know that's not what I meant. You're a good healthy weight." He paused before continuing, "We'll have both of ya outta there soon."

"Umm…" A decidedly more timid voice joined in. "Is there any way I can mute you guys?"

Axel frowned, tilting his head as he tried to recognize the voice. "Peter?"

Darcy groaned in protest. "Wade. Is Peter with you guys?" He had to stop bringing him to dangerous places like this.

"No, actually…" Wade replied.

"I'm at my nephew's bar mitzvah," Peter replied.

"Why do you have your comm with you?" Bedlam asked, sounding slightly perturbed.

"Well. After Darcy set it up for me, I didn't want to mess it up, so it just… pairs to my headset automatically…"

"Well, just unpair your headset," Darcy said. This was actually something she knew how to fix. "It should send the call back to the app on your phone, and you can disconnect."

"Oh great. Thank you!" Peter sounded relieved, so they all waited a few moments, Axe and herself slowly inching down the vent the whole while. A snail was probably faster.

"Uh oh…" Peter's voice sounded distinctly more echo-y. As did the background noise. Which very quickly became numerous groans of anguish.

"What is uh-oh?" Darcy asked.

"I might have… sent the group chat to the DJ's Bluetooth speakers…"

"Disconnect from the speakers," Darcy exclaimed. "Peter. Just disconnect from--"

At that moment, she and Axe stopped moving. Since they weren't moving fast to begin with, it wasn't jarring, but he grunted out a sound that vaguely registered to her as pain, so she abruptly snapped her attention to him.

"I'm caught on something," he said. "Stop pulling." He released her hands and slipped his arm down his side, rummaging around before ceasing all movement entirely. He exhaled loudly. "Shit."

"Language!" Peter chastised. "You're still on the DJ's Bluetooth… I'm so sorry, these are my coworkers… that last part was for the bar mitzvah guests," he explained. "But really, if you could all watch your language."

"We're kind of in deep doo-doo, here, Peter," Darcy hissed.

"Thank you. Just like that. Thanks, Darcy."

"For the love of--"

"It's my tact belt," Axel concluded, looking back at Darcy. "Something's snagged."

"Great. Take off the belt and we'll go," she said.

"Not that easy, I can't fit it through the loops with everything attached to it. I also can't reach where I'm snagged, so…"

She sighed. "So I need to? Is that what you're so eloquently refusing to ask me?"

He made some sort of movement that was probably supposed to be a shrug. "Well yes. I can't quite bend that way. You're smaller."

"You are," Bedlam piped in, happy to finally be able to save his ass from his combined weight statement before. "You're so much smaller and--"

"Shut it, both of you. Left or right?" she asked, nodding once when Axel jutted his head to the left.

Darcy let go of his hands, inching forward until she could hook her chin over his shoulder and reach down to where he was snagged. She couldn't see what she was doing, but she could definitely smell his cologne and aftershave and laundry detergent. It made her eyes water, but not in a 'jesus-christ-stop-wearing-so-much-product' kind of way. It was more of a triggered memory kind of thing, and she didn't like this in the slightest.

"Okay, I think I found where to unpair the speakers," Peter said.

"Glory be," she deadpanned. "I was waiting with bated breath."

She felt Axel snicker a little, but she didn't really want to think about him at all. She just wanted this to be over. And the sooner she could swear again, the better.

"Uh-oh. Again…" Peter lamented.

"What now?" Axel asked.

"Instead of unpairing, I think I hit the stream button. Now we've got video streaming on the digital projector on the stage…" Peter replied.

"Video of what, exactly?" Darcy asked.

"Zeitgeist's helmet has a cam on it," was Bedlam's response.

"So you're seeing what Axe is seeing?" Darcy asked. "Which is what? Dark tunnel?"

"Well, considering my head is on your shoulder, I'm looking down your backside…" Axel said.

"Turn your head immediately!" Darcy said, sliding her hand around to finally unhook whatever it was from his tact belt.  

"I wasn't doing it on purpose," Axel said softly. "Promise."

"I don't care if you see it. This is just work, right?"

"Right," he said with a short nod.

"But Peter's nephew's bar mitzvah doesn't need to see it. Peter, turn off your phone and leave it off until you leave again."

"I'm so sorry, Darcy," Peter sounded sincere. He always did, but she couldn't be anything but terse right now.

"I know, babe. Just… turn it off completely, should unlink you from everything."

"Peter has left the chat," a robotic voice informed everyone.

She slid the items out of Axel's tact belt and into her hand. She scooted back and handed them to him. It looked like ninja stars, but knowing Axe, it was likely some kind of poisonous lethal weapon of some kind.  Or else it was food disguised as a weapon. "Here. Put that somewhere else."

Waiting for them to start getting tugged again, she reached for his hands as they began to gently move down the vent once more.

Darcy avoided Axel's gaze until they reached the end and he slid out the vent and got out of her way. They were at the opposite end of the roof. There was a small drop, but nothing she couldn't handle if she was flipped around.

Which she wasn't, so she waffled, frowning a little until Axel reached up and plucked her from the vent and into his brief, but lingering embrace.

Bedlam was there, unhooking his cord/pulley system from Axel and the outside of the vent. He snapped the whole thing back into a small box and gestured to the side of the building. "We'll have to rappel down the side of the building there. Doppinder's got his cab waiting out front.

"Are you kidding? He's just idling out there? I thought he dropped everyone off!"

"The others are with him. Cable and Domino. Wade."

"So Domino's keeping everyone safe and Wade and Cable are just…" she trailed off.

"Superfluous, yes," replied Bedlam.

"Well, if Domino's there. It's a shame y'all didn't think to send her into the vent," Darcy joked. "She would have fit and maybe some of her luck would have rubbed off."

Bedlam shifted awkwardly, glanced over at Axel, and gestured to the side of the roof. "I'll set in the grappling hooks. T-minus two minutes."

Darcy watched him leave, frowning a little. "That was weird. I guess he's in a hurry?" she said, taking a step towards him, but stopping because Axel had grabbed her hand.

"Look, I might as well tell you. I volunteered to go in after you."

She frowned. "Why? It would have been easier if--"

"You know I'm a control freak. I wanted to know first hand that you were alright. I couldn't have just… sat down there in the cab and listened. Wade had to send me."

"I would have been fine--"

"I wanted to save you, okay?"

"You didn't save me. You assisted me."

He smirked. "Fine. I wanted to assist you…" He trailed off. "Long story short, I want to be the one you call when you need help, okay?"

"You kind of lost that perk when we decided I couldn't call you for anything else."

"We nothing. You decided that."

"Bull. You're the one who said you were dangerous," she countered. "Too dangerous, if I recall. That whole bullshit superhero excuse that is so old it should be called the Steve Rogers."

"I know what I said. I regret it and I'm sorry. But you were the one who ended things."

"Because you kept Steve Rogering me into non-committal booty-call purgatory! Do you know how many nights of sleep I've lost over you?"

"No, tell me. I'll make up for each one." He raised his eyebrows a little, his tone monotonous and droning.

She laughed. "Ass. You know I don't lose sleep for anything."

"But I understand the sentiment. I'm sorry if being my non-committed booty-call made you feel anything less than wonderful."

"This past month's been a whole lot less than wonderful, Axe."

"Look, I know. It's been hell for me too. I want to do this the right way. I want to be the one you call for everything. Doesn't matter what. You made too many cookies? Call me. You're lonely and you don't want to fall asleep alone, call me."

"What if I need tampons?"

"Call me," he said, chuckling a little.

"Um. Hi. Ms. Lewis? Mr… Geist? Just letting you know, you were talking way longer than two minutes," Doppinder said over the comm. "Not to interrupt, but the meter is running…"

"Oh my god," Darcy reached into her pocket, scrambling to disconnect from the app on her phone. Axel did the same, but everyone had already heard. "Doppinder's on the comm?"

"He's why Wade doesn't have admin privileges anymore," explained Axel. They both turned and ran towards a very impatient Bedlam.

They all three rappelled down the side of the building and made a break for Doppinder's cab. Slipping into the backseat, Axel squeezed between Bedlam and Cable. Darcy hopped into Domino's lap, her legs stretched out over everyone else's.

Wade reached for the handle beside his head as Doppinder peeled out and turned around.

Domino glanced over at Axel after a long quiet moment. "Will you pick up tampons for me, too?"

Axel shrugged. "Text me a picture, so I know which ones to get."

Darcy's mouth quirked up a little. She was so gonna kiss his brains out later.

Wait. She didn't have to be so PG, she could swear again...

Eh. You know what I mean.

[spoopybruh]

Prompt: Steven seeing Andrew cry for the first time and comforting him. maybe not sad crying, maybe like overcome with love/other strong emotion crying but it’s up to u!

[ I gotchu, fam. Hope you’ll enjoy this one. I might have embellished here and there for story flow but…blease..let my heart live. c: ]

Being vocal about needs and wants isn’t really Andrew’s strongest suites, though Steven would like to think that he’s been getting better at that. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s Steven himself who’ve learned to pay a little less attention to the anxious voices in his head just so he could concentrate on what’s really there. Maybe he’s just gotten really good at ‘speaking Andrew’. Andrewish. Andrewnese. Whatever- don’t quote him on this one.

Anyways, whatever it is, it’s working. Because when he hears Andrew remark “You know, things are really quiet without you here. It’s weird-” through the phone after a long pregnant pause, he doesn’t process it as “You make too much noise” anymore. Instead, Steven recognises it as Andrew’s own unspoken way of telling him he misses him.  

He misses Andrew too.

Whatever’s there must be working on his companion too because he only laughs when Steven responds by saying it must be boring without having someone there to give him the side eye for his puns. They talk about the projects they have been getting into, about the projects that have yet to come, about future Worth It trips and Steven listens to the comforting lull of Andrew’s voice when he fills him in on what’s been happening with Adam and Annie and the rest.

Despite initial reluctance, Andrew gets better acquainted with FaceTime. Without being prompted, Steven initiates contact the moment he heard Andrew’s making more frequent use of it. They set up a schedule….well it’s more of an unspoken agreement that they would FaceTime each other more often. But if casually planning for the next time they do that together isn’t setting up a schedule then he doesn’t know what is. When Andrew accidentally lets slip that he’s probably the only one he contacts more often through FaceTime, with the exclusion of his own family members, Steven allows himself ten minutes to be smug about it. Okay maybe more than ten but who’s counting?

In the course of the few months Steven spent making a home of New York, Andrew gets acquainted with more than just FaceTime alone. To Steven’s delight, he gets an Instagram account. Finally. So as it turns out, it had to take a couple of bets and constant whining from his end to get him to cave. Andrew doesn’t really update or post as much as Steven does. But it’s still kind of reassuring to know that him keeping up with his “cryptid brand” doesn’t extend to their personal group chats. Waking up to short updates from Andrew- quite often regarding the shenanigans of his cat, is something that never failed to give Steven’s day an extra boost of niceness.

A couple weeks later, they start filming the latest season of Worth It and Steven adjusts to being in the presence of Andrew along with the rest of his friends again. He’d anticipated the oddness of having to adjust to his interactions with them again. But though he’s predicted as much, it’s difficult not to have the awkwardness of adapting to what used to be familiar get to him just a smidge. Nevermind the fact that they were experimenting with new formats this season. He makes an earnest effort nonetheless. By the time they wrapped up for the new season, he’s somewhat pleased to note that bumping shoulders with Andrew isn’t an action he overthinks anymore. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.

Fumbling back to familiar territory again isn’t so bad and a part of him thinks that he wouldn’t mind doing it repeatedly, especially when Andrew keeps smiling at him like that. There’s something…so rewarding and almost magical when he slowly warms up to someone. That’s not something Steven would ever get tired of experiencing.

“You want a saw like that? Get here for Christmas.” Andrew says and he temporarily forgets that they were still in the middle of filming an episode until his shoe makes contact with a rock hidden in the tall grass they were walking across. Steven falters and forgets to provide a definite answer, which is probably ideal seeing as Andrew doesn’t seem to be looking for one. He makes suggestions and doesn’t push things. He never pushes unless absolutely necessary. But it’s a request that lingers in the back of his mind anyways because all Steven hears is ‘I want you here.’

Which is sweet. Except that it makes it that much harder to leave and go back to New York. Especially when it’s accompanied by a firm clasp to his shoulder, a tight grin and regretful eyes when Andrew sends him off at the airport. Steven almost wants to turn back. He doesn’t.

What he does is drop the worth it crew a message to let them know he’s landed safely and look at his own budgeting expenses to determine how much he should be saving for a trip during festive seasons. Slowly but surely, Steven hatches a plan. In hindsight, it’s way too dramatic even for his own standards and so much of it might not work. But it’s also one of the best plans he’d come up with in a while and he really really really wants it to work.

Despite the drop in temperature, his palms were sweaty as he held onto the wrapped gift and shifts from foot to foot. Heart in his throat, Steven takes two square breathes before he knocks insistently on Andrew’s apartment door. As he waits for Andrew to answer the door, it occurs to him that for all the planning he’d done, he hadn’t remembered to factor in the inclusion of what the hell he should say. Then again Steven couldn’t find it in him to be too mad at himself because the moment Andrew opens the door, every semblance of coherent thought effectively escaped through a window in his brain because he ends up standing there grinning stupidly at him.

Andrew doesn’t seem to be faring any better either, expression switching from confusion and genuine surprise after recognition sets in.

“Steven?”

“What’s up, Andrew?” His throat unsticks itself eventually. “Merry Christmas…uh well…Merry early christmas. Whatever, you get the point.”

“I didn’t know you were coming back.” Almost on reflex, Andrew shifts back and opens the door wider so that Steven could shuffle inside. Which he wastes no time in doing, a sigh of relief escaping parted lips once warmth rushes to greet him in a gentle embrace. If his cheeks were pink, it’s totally because the weather was chilly.

“Duh. It was meant to be a surprise.” Steven couldn’t help wrinkling his nose at his companion. “Would’ve been a bummer if you caught on way too early.”

He earns himself a snort of amusement from his companion and any bewilderment Andrew had experienced upon his unannounced arrival soon turns into something softer. A good sign. “Did you come early just to collect what you’re owed?”

“You’re making me sound like a debt collector…Wait. Did you really get me that saw for Christmas?” “Of course. I promised, didn’t I?”

“Dude! Where-” His excited rambles were cut short in lieu of Andrew resting warm hands against his shoulders, gently guiding him towards the coffee table in his living room and pointing a wrapped gift out to a beaming Steven. “You’re such an awesome person, did I tell you that?”

“Every other day, yes.” The wry remark is accompanied with a fond eye roll. “Aren’t you going to give me my gift, Steven?” “Oh right!” His gentle reminder has Steven jolting from the recollection of what exactly he’s here for. Before he could chicken out, his own wrapped box is pressed firmly into Andrew’s hands. “So.”

Now that his hands were free and all manners of distraction were gone, his nerves returned thricefold. Fingers plucked at the hem of his sleeves when he finds himself the primary focus of Andrew’s gaze. “Remember how you mentioned that it was a shame not everyone could make it for your family’s Christmas gathering this year?”

“…Yes?”

“I took time off-” Steven forces the rest of his words out. “And I figured if they couldn’t come celebrate with you and your family for Christmas, why don’t I bring them- or uh…their well wishes to you on their behalf, you know? So that way they’re still celebrating with you. And even after that, you’ll still have something to remind you of them when- you know whenever you need it.”

It had been a whole ordeal too. Getting the cooperation of Andrew’s family had been the easiest hurdle so far. Thankfully enough, they’d already knew who he was thanks to the Worth It videos and the occasions where Andrew was actually comfortable enough to chat with them whilst Steven had been around. Honestly the only reason why this all could have worked was the fact that they took it upon themselves to help arrange things together with Steven. Unfortunately, this also came at the slight misunderstanding that Steven is dating Andrew….sorry in advance for the probing questions on Christmas, Andrew. To be fair, he’d also accidentally spilled the beans to his mom and had to endure teasing questions from her. Then she had wanted to chip in too. Then it became a Lim family thing too. What the fuck.

“You got in touch with them?” If Andrew’s brows could rise any higher, they’d probably detach straight off at this point.

“Yup!” He pointedly ignores the shakiness of his fingers when he pats at the rather sizable gift box balanced in Andrew’s arms. “This bad boy right here is a shared gift. There’s something in it from everyone so I guess you’re in luck cuz you’re getting double the presents this year. Oh and uh- my mom wanted to give you something too because she’s biased and I’m starting to think she likes you more, which is rude because I’m supposed to be her favourite son so fuck you- but yeah. I wanted to pass it to you early since you’re seeing your family tomorrow….uh…those who could go anyways.”

The longer the silence stretches between them, the more he wants the ground to cave in from under him so he doesn’t have to endure the mortification. Oh shoot, why the hell did he think this was a good idea? There’s supposed to be boundaries, Steven! And he’s managed to barrel through each and every one with the finesse of a speeding truck. Fuck.

At this point, he doesn’t really know what to expect. But Steven knows he’s not expecting for Andrew to go all silent, staring at the box he has in his hands before asking him in a tone so quiet, so careful, one would have assumed he was holding something made of brittle glass that could shatter if someone were to raise their volume a notch.

“Can I…could I open it?”

“I mean it’s your present so…yea?”

Half of him’s so anxious his chest is literally on fire. But Steven forces himself to take a seat and watch as Andrew takes the time to take apart the wrapping paper. Once he opens up the actual box, out came several tins of snacks from Andrew’s hometown, small knitted jumpers for Andrew’s cat, handwritten letters, a photo album of pictures Steven had taken with the rest of Andrew’s family members, and an USB flash drive.

When plugged in, it’s revealed that there’s only a single video file stored within the flash drive. Said video, when played, turned out to be a recorded compilation of Andrew’s family and Steven’s each wishing Andrew a Merry Christmas. Steven had initially intended to only take recordings of those who weren’t able to make it to Andrew’s family gathering but the more he placed thought into it, the more he switched between ideas.

Unlike Steven, who lived for the experience, Andrew was all about making memories. He’s someone who could draw meaning from simple things. And while the process of doing this had been…admittedly as extra as Steven was, he had wanted something meaningful as well. And what would have been more meaningful than to record heartfelt sentiments? So he decided to get as many people as he could- Andrew’s family, their co-workers, their mutual friends, with a side cameo of his own family and finally himself.

Steven has to look away when the video nears the end and it’s finally his turn. Though he’s been on camera so many times, there’s always something a little embarrassing to see yourself on recording. Especially with the things he’s about to say.

“Hey Andrew!” Video Steven gave a wave. “Oh boy, it’s finally my turn and now I don’t know what to say but bear with me. Okay…first of all, I wanted to say thank you. Since tis the season to be joyful, grateful and everything. Uh…thank you for going with me on all these Worth It adventures. Thank you for just….being a good friend. It’s been fun, it really has. I know we joke about how I’m a fancy boy and everything but…I think a big part of the reason why I love doing Worth It so much is because you’re here, you know? I mean of course there’s Adam, Annie, Rie and the rest. But it wouldn’t have been the same without you too. You’re just…you’re just a really good guy and I mean it. I really do. You’re kind of the best partner anyone could ever ask for.”

Video Steven shuffles his feet and real life Steven’s trying his best not to pass out.

“I think I’m really lucky to have gotten to meet you. I’ve been thinking long and hard about what I wanna do since moving to New York. And I’ve come to the decision that, if you’ll allow it, I want to be a part of your life for as long of a time as possible. I wanna be 90 and still going on food adventures with you. Hey maybe we’ll get you a secret volcano lair by then and you can become the bond villain you’ve always dreamed of. Also uh. It’s also the move here that sorta made me realise that you’re someone who puts in a lot of heart in others you care about. But who’s placing in the same heart in you? Who’s, you know, caring for you and stuff. You don’t always talk about personal stuff and hey that’s totally cool and all. You don’t have to! I guess…what I want to say is…I made this video with everyone so that you’ll have something to remind you that you’re cared for. And that you’re…loved. Okay that’s way too cheesy and emotional so I’m gonna go. I’m not taking back what I said-” Video Steven raised a finger for emphasis. “But I’m gonna go. So yeah. Merry Christmas. Bye. Love you.”

Real life Steven reaches out to gently shut the laptop once the video ends. His gaze darts everywhere and anywhere except on Andrew until he finally musters up the courage to look up at him. And if Steven thought it had been a challenge to find air before, it’s even worse now when he looks up just in time to see a tear fall from Andrew’s eyes, trailing a path down his cheek as it’s owner made eye contact with him.

“Steven.” Andrew’s voice is hoarse when he utters his name. “You’re a madman. You-”  

A loud sniff is heard as Andrew blinks and Steven holds his breath when he blinks rapidly, more tears falling from his eyes in small splashes, clinging to his lashes wetly.

“Andrew. No. I’m- Hey hey no.” Instinct and self-preservation be damned. Steven finds himself scooting away from his end of the couch to get closer to Andrew. Thumb resting against the soft patch of skin under his eyes, he rubs at the tear streaks, brushing droplets away. “No no, Andrew. Don’t cry. It’s- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” And Steven would have pulled his hands away if it weren’t for the fact that Andrew clasps them in his own, keeping them pressed against each side of his face. “Don’t apologise for that. Steven, I. Do you understand what you’ve given me? No one’s ever-”

His voice cracks as Andrew squeezes his eyes shut and inhales a shuddery breath. As if in response, Steven shivers. He’d seen Andrew annoyed. He’d heard the pitch shift in Andrew’s laughter when he’s truly amused by something he’d done. He’d even seen Andrew at his most undignified, taking an impromptu nap on the nearest flat surface when their filming schedule is too strenuous. But he’s never seen him like this.

“Thank you.”

Andrew breathes out and something in Steven sighs. “Thank you.” Andrew says again, this time muffled against the crook of Steven’s shoulders because Steven pulls him flush against himself, anchoring him in his arms.

“It’s no problem.” He murmurs back in response, hand rubbing comforting patterns up and down the length of Andrew’s back. Every inhale feels a little too much and not enough at all because he’s surrounded by the familiar scent of Andrew. His skin prickles with each light scratch from the other’s stubble and Steven has to resist shuddering yet again.

He loses track of how long he sat there holding onto Andrew.

“I still can’t believe you went and did all of that for me. And all I got you was a saw.”

“Hey excuse you, it’s a fantastic saw.” Steven retorts fiercely on instinct, squeezing Andrew a little tighter for that and he feels the reverberations of his laughter against his chest, lighting up his insides like fireworks, setting his nerve endings alight. “Look I didn’t do all of that just to make you feel like you owe me something. I just wanted to- you’re important to me, man. I just wanted you to feel that you are. That’s all. Just…let me care for you in return for once. Okay?”

“Okay.” Andrew exhales against his skin. He’d stopped crying when he lifts his head from Steven’s shoulder, though his eyes were still red rimmed. Andrew rests his forehead against Steven’s and they breathed in tandem.

“Okay.” Andrew repeats. Then he leans in and Steven’s world shifts to a temporary halt. He’s by no means a novice when it comes to kissing and he’s no stranger to first kisses. But this isn’t really how he envisioned his first kiss with Andrew would go. There’s something a little odd about kissing someone who’d been crying a few minutes ago. Yet it’s beautiful all the same.

“Will you stay?” Andrew asks and he doesn’t need time to consider his answer because of course. Of course he’d stay. Nothing at this point would make Steven want to leave if he’s honest. They stay huddled close for the rest of the night. And when Andrew retires to bed, Steven is right there with him. Pressed against the length of his back, an arm slung around his waist to draw him close, fingers interlaced with his in a firm squeeze.

Nobody’s surprised when Steven shows up sheepishly along with Andrew the next day at his family gathering and spends the rest of the time avoiding the smug knowing looks of his parents.

[ragehappysecretsanta]

Author: http://teamcrazydicks.tumblr.com

Recipient: http://oxfordsemicolon-rebel.tumblr.com

Summary: It was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission. Gavin wasn’t supposed to get hurt. Now he’s stuck in a hospital room with the Vagabond, waiting to get discharged. There are a lot of things they both don’t want to tell the other about.

[For the prompt 'FakeAHCrew!AU. Person B is injured on a heist, the rest of the crew goes to comfort them. Unknown to the crew, however, is that Person A was also injured but doesn't want to reveal the injury for whatever reason.']

Warnings: Rated T, minor description of non-fatal injuries

WordCount: 5328

-

The Fakes didn’t go to hospitals. Not if they could help it. That was one of the unfortunate downsides to having a face synonymous with a spot on the LSPD’s most wanted list. They had the foresight to have an RN on their payroll instead, and a few industrially-stocked med kits in most places they might land after a job went south.

So when Gavin came to and, through a haze of drugs, pain, and exhaustion, blinked his eyes open and deduced he was in a hospital room, the thought that lazily floated to the forefront of his mind was, shit. His eyes tracked along the wall, the hanging TV that was off, the open window that showed it was sometime in the afternoon. He wasn’t cuffed to the bed, and there weren’t any cops at least. That was good. He relaxed again, knowing he was too weak to struggle to his feet and break out.

The next thought he had didn’t float so much as navigate through the mental debris currently clouding his brain was that it was supposed to have been a simple reconnaissance mission. Easy. In and out. Little to no chance of getting shot. Gavin was the hacker, the tech guy. He didn’t handle getting shot well. Save that for someone like –

Gavin jumped in his skin when the door banged open, grunted in pain a second later from the involuntary movement. The room had a small entryway, probably where the bathroom was, so there was a stretched pause between the door shutting again and the intruder appearing in Gavin’s line of sight.

Ryan stepped into the room. It took a moment for Gavin to realize it actually was Ryan; he had only caught the Vagabond out of the makeup and mask a handful of times, so it took a moment for his eyes to comprehend what he was seeing. That, and the guy had materialized wearing baggy jeans and a sweater, for Christ’s sake. His long hair had been cut short. He was giving Gavin an eyeful of some expression. Anger? Blame? Then he just sighed, twisting a little Styrofoam cup in his hand to take a sip from the opened top.

Gavin tried to unstick his mouth and ask if the other man had come to put him out of his misery. But Ryan beat him to the punch, speaking up in that usually dry tone of his. “Of course you wake up in the five minutes it takes me to get some coffee.” He took another, pointed sip out of the cup.

Gavin tried to eke out an apology, but all that seemed to come out was air. Ryan placed the cup by Gavin’s bedside and moved behind his line of sight. He heard the sound of water being poured and was, some moments later, presented with his own cup with a long straw. Ryan held the cup while he drank. “Michael and I are alright,” Ryan prefaced. “You were – well you weren’t on death’s doorstep or anything, but you were out of it for almost three days. Lots of superficial cuts; you’re on antibiotics for the infection on some of your deeper lacerations. They had to dig out some shrapnel in your abdomen and they were considering some physical therapy, due to the fact that they don’t want you to move around a lot for a while.”

Gavin looked up at Ryan, processing everything he said. “A while?”

Ryan shrugged. “They wanted to play it by ear, I guess. Don’t worry, as soon as you can stand I’m getting you out of here. If you need extra help, we can get somebody, do it in the privacy of your place.” Gavin nodded, leaning further against the pillows. Ryan put his water cup on the bedside table and took a seat next to his bed.

“How did you even get us in here without the police finding out?” Gavin took a breath. “I mean, I probably look like someone who survived a bomb attack.”

“Yeah, had to say something about letting off too many fireworks and not getting away in time.”

“Fireworks?”

“Considering we have a lake house and like throwing barbeques with our neighbors.”

Gavin squinted. “We do? Since when?”

“Since you needed medical attention and we’re the only two people in the Crew who can have a normal civilian identity.” He held up his left hand, Gavin noticed there was a gold band on it.

“Don’t tell me…”

“Yep. I’m carrying yours. You’re a size nine, right?”

He was. Gavin didn’t need to think long and hard about how Ryan might have figured that one out. “I don’t know why you’d even ask, as if you didn’t already size me for that and my casket, too.” Ryan smiled.

“I didn’t size you for your casket. I don’t think they even do that anymore. You think I’m making you your own coffin? I’m a busy man.”

“Not so busy that you couldn’t sit by your apparent husband’s bedside.” Finding that his hand was fine to move, he drummed a pattern on the sheets, then yawned.

“Well,” Ryan said, “I was kind of poking at what you got from the USB stick. Trying to see if I could get any damning evidence on those guys. Some locations, names.”

“Anything?”

“I found the name Lemuria, not sure if that’s their gang’s name or some drug or what. It’s all encrypted, and I can’t get any further without a cipher.”

With some effort, Gavin rolled onto his side. He sighed; despite the effort of moving, his back ached from laying that way for so long. “I made a de-encryption program a while back that uses a lot of the more popular ciphers. We can program more in too, if we can find any that might work. If you call Geoff I can tell him to bring my laptop over and –”

“No,” Ryan interrupted.

“No?”

“Not yet. You just woke up.”

“Yeah, exactly. I’m awake.”

“After being out for three days.”

“What, you think I don’t know my own code?”

“No, I just –” There was a loud rap on the door; a moment later a woman in maroon scrubs came through the door.

“Oh! Mr. Foster, you’re awake, that’s great. How are you feeling?”

Gavin blinked. “Uh, a bit sore, from… everything, yeah. But good, otherwise. In one piece.” She smiled at him.

“I’ll grab the doctor in a few minutes then. We’ll see if we can get you something for the pain. Did your husband explain your injuries?” Gavin’s eyes slid over to Ryan, who now had on an expression of worried fondness. He swallowed.

“Uh, yes, he did. Lucky he was here when I woke up, yeah? Like, like sleeping beauty. Right?”

The nurse forced a laugh. “Right. I’ll be back in a minute.” She shut the door.

“Sleeping beauty?” Ryan asked, after a moment.

“Whatever, I have to pretend we’re together, don’t I?”

“So you throw in fairy tale references? You might be laying it on a little thick.”

“You’re laying it on a little thick, sod off.” Gavin thought about turning so his back was to the other man, but the idea made most of the muscles in his abdomen twinge in pain, so he stayed where he was.

“Sod off,” Ryan echoed. “How terribly British of you.”

“W – I am British, what are you on about?” Ryan shrugged.

“You could be Welsh. Or Irish, right?”

“I could not.”

“Scottish.”

“Don’t even –” Gavin squinted. “What’s your name?”

“…Feeling alright there?”

“No you knob, I mean your – cover name, or whatever.”

“Oh, uh. Mark Forster. And you’re Thomas Forster.”

“Okay, so, Mark,” Gavin growled with annoyance. “I’ve had it up to bloody here with you.”

Ryan, surprisingly, laughed. “Did you just ask about our fake names so you could yell at me?”

“You said I was laying it on thick. Fighting is like – taking it off, then, right?”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“You don’t make sense.”

---

The doctor had checked on him some time later, and keeping up the charade of being a naïve man that was too careless around some fireworks while his vitals were checked and the doctor not-so-subtly warned him about being more responsible had, unfortunately, taken a lot out of him. Well, that or the morphine drip. Either way, he slipped back to sleep without really noticing. He may have had a dream. Something with deserts, a mission that should have been easy but wasn’t, a trap, a bomb, sound and light melded together…

He was slowly woken by the sound of voices. Someone else was in the room. He didn’t tense, knowing that would just cause more pain, instead he laid still and tried to make out the conversation.

“…Yeah, here, don’t spend it all in one place.” A man’s voice said. There was some shuffling, stuff moving around.

“Thanks, but really – why are you here?”

“Geoff says he needs the codes, Ryan.” Gavin nearly furrowed his brow at that voice. That couldn’t be Michael, could it?

“I’m working on it.” The sound of keys being hit on a laptop.

“…Why can’t Gavin work on it?” There was a petulant edge to his tone. Definitely Michael. Gavin nearly interrupted them, wanting to make sure the other was okay and figure out why the hell he was here, but his natural drive to eavesdrop got the best of him.

“He’s a bit incapacitated, as you can see.”

“Well if you woke him up –”

“I’m not going to – Michael, do not.” There was a pause. Someone shifting on their feet.

“Thought you said you could get him out of here soon.”

“Soon. Not yet. He’s not… I don’t want to break him.”

Michael scoffed. “Look, I know Gavin is like, 130 pounds soaking wet. But he’s hardier than you’d think. He hates it when he thinks he’s laying around doing nothing. He already hates being behind the scenes all the time.”

“I know. Just… He was talking, earlier. I think he can go home tomorrow. Or the next day. Tell Geoff I’m not breaking him out until I know it won’t actually break him.”

“…Fine. Yeah, alright. You’re probably right. But as soon as –”

“I promise.”

“Okay. Um. Do you want me to – ?”

“No. I mean. No thanks, cover, and everything.”

“I’m sure even the most attentive of husbands are allowed to go home, Ryan.” There was a pause, and Michael sighed.

“I mean, it’s just – you don’t have the most airtight disguise?” Gavin desperately wanted to open his eyes now.

“What are you talking about? It’s fine.” Another pause, Gavin imagined it was full of Ryan giving Michael a doubtful stare. “Alright, well, text me if you need something. Or if he needs something. And if he gets worse, or whatever – let me know. I’ll see you guys.” Footsteps, and a door swinging shut. Gavin exhaled very slowly through his nose.

“I know you’re awake,” Ryan murmured. Gavin cracked his eye open. “I could practically feel you spying on us.” Gavin answered with a smile, and Ryan rolled his eyes, his lips twitching despite himself.

“What were talking on about?”

“Couldn’t you tell?” Gavin shrugged, content to play dumb for the moment. Ryan shut the laptop he had been using, carefully putting it under his chair and resting a tote bag – which Michael had probably given him – on top. “The rest of the Crew’s getting… antsy about what files you might have found when you got that USB drive into the computers at their base. It’s all encrypted but you can figure it out, I imagine.”

“I mean, yeah, probably. I could take a look, but you’re probably going to say no, yeah?”

“No’s right. So far as we know they were just distributing drugs; no reason to treat them like a gang going to war with us yet.”

“Even if they did set up a bomb in their sham base and have it detonate when we tried to leave?”

“So they’ve got secrets and don’t want competition. We don’t have the resources or the man power to go off on a crusade just yet.” Gavin hummed, trying to remain somewhat reasonable. Ryan had a point, as he usually did.

“So you’re trying to put off any retaliation for as long as you can?”

“Any rash retaliation.”

“Ooh, going behind Geoff’s back using me, huh? That’s dirty, I like it.”

“What? It’s not just that. I wasn’t lying about you being out of commission either. You still can barely sit up right now.”

“I can sit up. You saw me walk to the bathroom earlier and everything!”

“After I saw you fail to sit up and need me to pull you to your feet, yeah.” Gavin sighed. Stupid Ryan and his stupid points.

---

He was out in the desert. There was grit in his teeth, sand digging into the side of his face where he was laying. He squinted, seeing the fiery remains of a blown out building. The hideout he went to inspect. He knew he was injured, but he didn’t feel pain, not yet. Instead he kept staring, watching the flames crawl up in the sky, higher and higher. The glass blew out of the windows, leaving smoking holes in the building.

A figure stood in the upper floor. Somehow, their shadow was darker than the smoke. Gavin squinted, trying to breathe in something that wasn’t kicked up sand or ash.

It was Ryan. No. The Vagabond. Still in the skull mask, melting from the heat. He didn’t seem to react any other way, just standing in the window, watching him as black rubber dripped down his face.

Another part of the building exploded, chunks of brick coming right towards him.

Gavin sat up in bed, breathing harshly. He was distantly aware of how his abdomen pulled and stretched painfully from his use of those muscles. He sighed, running his hands through his hair, then pressing them to his eyes for a moment. It was a bad dream, even if it was very loosely based on real events. “Just a dream,” he whispered to himself. When he moved his hands away, he realized it was nighttime, and Ryan was gone. A dim light shining from the room’s entryway suggested he was in the bathroom, or had at least left the light on, should Gavin need stumble his way to the toilet at two in the morning.

…Which may have been the case. With a steeling breath, Gavin swung his legs to the side and stood up, hobbling over to the bathroom door. It had been left ajar, so Gavin just pushed it the rest of the way open. He squinted as his vision filled with bright light.

“…Ryan?”

Ryan’s sweater was tossed over the closed toilet lid, and the man himself stood at the sink. Gavin could see a flash of red from the mirror, and when Ryan turned to face him, he realized the color was from an angry line of broken flesh along Ryan’s side, which the other had tried to patch up with thread. It was holding, but it obviously wasn’t healing well, if the irritated look and the mess of bloodied gauze in the sink was any indication.

“I thought I shut the door,” Ryan mumbled after a pregnant pause.

“What happened?” Gavin hissed, stepping further into the room in case Ryan got the idea to shut him out.

“Nothing I can’t handle. I’m just changing the bandages.”

Gavin’s eyes grew wide, hand coming up as though he was about to reach out and touch Ryan’s wound. “You got hit in that explosion, didn’t you?”

“It’s nothing, Gavin, go back to bed.”

“It’s not nothing, Ryan. Look at it! It’s infected, or – it won’t heal right.”

“It’ll heal just fine, Gavin,” Ryan snapped. “Stop yelling so I can patch it up.”

“We’re in a hospital!” Gavin said, edging closer, hand still outstretched. “Why don’t you have them fix it for you?”

Ryan turned around, face twisted into a scowl. His mouth was opened, ready to hurl another insult, but he didn’t seem to realize how close Gavin was, or where his arm was; instead Gavin’s forearm knocked painfully against the gash, and Ryan hissed through his teeth, pressing hard at the wound. Gavin looked on for a moment, the way Ryan hunched from the pain. He backed up a step. Then another, gears turning in his head.

“Ryan,” Gavin said slowly, “I’m gonna call the nurse. And you’re gonna make up some bullshit story, and you’re gonna get actual stitches. Please.” Ryan frowned, fingers pressing harder against his side. “For me?”

The renewed pain did most of the convincing, and after a moment Ryan’s stance wilted. “Fine. For you, Gav.” Gavin internally breathed a sigh of relief. Even though Ryan had said yes, he didn’t take his eyes off the other man, backing out of the bathroom to maintain a line of sight for as long as he could. He dashed towards the bed, hitting the call button with his thumb before edging back to the bathroom’s doorway. Ryan hadn’t moved, still staring out at him.

His eyes were blue, so blue, and Gavin would have given anything to have his sunglasses on, to be able to look away without the risk of losing whatever game they were playing.

Both their heads snapped towards the entryway when one of the nurses knocked on the door and let herself in.

“My husband hurt himself,” Gavin said immediately, pointing at the side he was still holding, “and he didn’t tell anyone.” Ryan shot him a glare.

“Yes, thank you, dear, I was about to tell her that,” he supplied.

“Well you didn’t the first time around, did you?” Gavin replied, more than a little righteous.

The nurse gave Ryan a look that very much meant he’d be getting an earful later. “Why don’t we have you fill out some paperwork while we wait for an exam room to open, sir? Follow me.” Ryan hastily grabbed at the sweater still on the toilet, pressing it to his side. He glanced over at Gavin.

“Uh, is it possible that – afterwards – I can come back here? I don’t want to… leave my husband alone for too long.” She looked between the two of them.

“We’ll see what we can do.” She moved to the side, sweeping her arm so that Ryan walked in front of her.

“See you soon,” Gavin murmured. Ryan gave him another glance. It wasn’t icy or heated or annoyed. It was something else. Something he couldn’t place.

Before he could try, Ryan murmured a “see you,” before ducking out of the room. The door shut behind them.

Gavin sighed, looking down at himself. There was a small smear of blood along his forearm. He washed it off in the sink, tossing away the bandages. He splashed water on his face. Somehow, despite the drugs and residual tiredness, he had a feeling he wasn’t going back to bed just yet.

---

Gavin was refreshing his twitter feed for the seventh time when Ryan walked in, wearing a blue sweatshirt with the name of the hospital along the chest. “Hey,” he said, shutting the door. Gavin saw he was still favoring his injured side. Actual stitches probably pinched more than the gauze and fairy dust that Ryan had been using to keep himself together before.

“Hey. Nice shirt.”

Ryan tugged at the hem of it. “Yeah, well. Something about not wanting to put on an old sweater covered in dried blood, I guess.”

“Could’ve just called someone and have them bring a shirt down.” Ryan gave him a look. “What, you could have done.”

Ryan sighed, and instead of sitting down in his usual arm chair, he sat on the edge of Gavin’s bed, by his waist. He angled his body so he didn’t have to twist himself to look over at the younger man. “I’d appreciate it, if, um. You didn’t tell them about – this.”

“And miss out on prime blackmail material?” Gavin said with a smirk. The way Ryan was looking at him made him think his attempt at a joke had fallen flat. “Hey,” he started, touching Ryan’s arm. “Did you know when you first joined the Crew, that I kind of hated you?”

“You didn’t hate me,” Ryan said immediately. “You were scared of me.” Gavin felt a flush rise to his cheeks.

“Well – same thing.”

“No. Hate and fear and definitely different things.”

“The point is, either way, I wasn’t real keen on you. Thought you were, well – all the stuff that made you scary. You were the Vagabond, and you’d probably find out where I lived and slit my throat, or something. Michael said I was being a prick about it, but you know how stubborn I can get.” He picked at the jagged line of his thumbnail for a moment, trying to get his thoughts straight. “Then there was this time, after some job we did or something, and everyone went out to celebrate, got absolutely trashed, and you, ‘cause of course you don’t drink – had to take us all home. You even had to take Geoff n’ me through the door.” Watching up through his eyelashes, he saw Ryan crack a small smile. “I guess the right word’s selfless. And dealing with drunk people is absolutely the worst. ‘Specially us. Guess after that I started thinking, well, there’s more to you than a mask. You’re one of us. Really, properly, one of us.” He let out a small cough, mouth feeling dry for more ways than one. “Guess what I’m getting at is – you are more than a mask, Ryan. Even if its… convenient for you to not be, most of the time. Doesn’t mean any of us see you as this unfeeling evil mastermind or something. Doesn’t mean you should see yourself that way either.”

He could see Ryan twist his mouth the way he did when he was trying to work out a problem in his head. It carried on like that for a handful of agonizing, pulling moments, him curled up in the hospital bed he was getting increasingly sick of, Ryan hunched in that blue sweatshirt that was maybe even more ridiculous than the sweater he once had on. Is this what he looked like on the odd weekend, Gavin couldn’t help but think – did Ryan have an old hoodie and sweatpants that he’d lounge around in all day? What did he do in those quiet moments when there was no mask, no face paint, no jacket; just himself, the man, and no one else around to put on an act for? Ryan’s eyes flickered back over to him and he stiffened slightly, as though the other could read his thoughts.

“So you’re not going to tell anyone?” he reiterated.

“Uh – not if you quit being an idiot and admit if you need help,” Gavin said slowly. Ryan sucked on his teeth, nodded once, and stuck a hand out.

“Then we have a deal.” After a second, Gavin reached out, shaking Ryan’s hand once. His fingers were calloused, rough, and warm.

They parted, and the other man gingerly sat down in the hospital chair. Gavin put his phone on the bedside table, curling up on his side to face Ryan. “Stiches hurt?”

“I always forget how unpleasant they are when they first put them in.” Gavin winced in sympathy, grateful in retrospect he was unconscious when they dug around at him. “Didn’t help that I waited so long before getting them done right.”

“How’d you manage that?”

Ryan shrugged a shoulder. “Once they put you in for surgery I snuck around and found some supplies. I figured I’d be set for a few hours or so, but when they finished with you and said you couldn’t leave for a while…”

“You could have left,” Gavin said pointedly. “I wasn’t going anywhere. Wouldn’t have even known you were gone, matter of fact.”

“Gavin, we had all almost been blown up. Excuse me if I was feeling a little paranoid. If those guys somehow were able to trace our whereabouts, I mean, hell, we’re both practically sitting ducks right now. I don’t think they’re tracking us, but…”

“You didn’t want to risk it,” Gavin finished, “got it. You’re rather thoughtful, aren’t you?”

Ryan yawned, pressing a fist to his mouth. “I’m full of thoughts, might as well put some of them into action.” He slumped further into his chair. “Forgot how much getting proper medical attention will take out of you, too,” he added.

“Gonna go to sleep?”

“Might as well.” Ryan had been gone a few hours, but it was still dark outside, for now.

“Can’t be comfortable in the chair.”

“It’s not,” He shifted again. “I’ve made it this far.”

“Well now I know you’ve got fresh stitches in you – maybe we can switch spots?”

“No – you’ve got it worse than me, you need the bed.”

“You’re going to get a neck cramp or something.”

“I can handle a neck cramp, Gavin.” Ryan replied easily.

“Well – we could try to share, I guess,” he said. “You know, technically the bed’s bigger than a twin. We could squeeze.” Ryan’s brows raised minutely.

“…You sure?”

“We’re both tired, and –” Gavin couldn’t exactly explain what else. Something had obviously shifted between them in the last couple of hours. A silent admittance of something that they knew was there, but didn’t realize was a mutual feeling. They’d had a ‘moment’, as Michael probably would have said. Didn’t that count for something? He moved to the far side of the mattress and turned down the covers. “Come on.”

Gavin was half surprised when Ryan actually got up, kicking off his shoes and slowly settling into bed, facing him. Immediately it was obvious that it was a tight fit. Parts of them were either pressed together or nearly touching; Ryan’s body heat immediately flooded against Gavin’s front, and a warmth settled in his stomach. Ryan rearranged the pillows into something more comfortable. “This alright?” he asked. Gavin honestly didn’t know what bit he was referring to.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” he said, not sure where along Ryan’s face he was allowed to linger on. Instead he just closed his eyes, willing himself to the edge of sleep. Ryan was here, he rationalized. He was safe. They both were. There was no reason he had to stay up and wait any longer.

He fell asleep much sooner than he thought he would.

---

A nurse coming to check on their vitals woke them up; in the back of his mind, Gavin was thankful their cover story had them legally married. Somehow it made it a few degrees less awkward.

Even when they were alone again, Ryan stayed in bed with him, staring up at the ceiling. Gavin’s chin rested on the top of his shoulder.

“Now that we’re both patients,” Gavin started, “how’re we gonna get out of here?”

“Not up for sneaking out?” He shook his head. “I texted Michael last night, said we’d probably be ready to leave by today. I’m sure he’s planning something.” Gavin hummed in acknowledgement, staring blankly up at Ryan’s profile.

“Being here is not fun,” he managed. “Glad you decided to keep me company.”

“I guess I’m glad you forced me to get stitches.”

“You guess.” Ryan chuckled, turning to face Gavin full-on.

“It’s nice to have someone looking out for me, then. Even if I didn’t think I needed it. How about that?”

“Better.” Their noses were nearly touching, they were so close. Ryan looked soft; bags under his eyes and the sunlight hitting his hair, pillow creases on his cheek.

Gavin was still surprised to find out that Ryan’s kiss was as soft as he looked. In all honesty, he had expected something harder; Ryan trying to get a reaction out of him, or gain an upper hand, like a mind game. Or maybe he just never wanted to think about it, was too afraid to put the effort into it and feed the thought more power. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, not because of nerves, but because Ryan’s fingers were nervously hovering just above them, wanting but unsure if he could touch.

Carefully, Gavin reached up, his own hand tucking along the side of Ryan’s neck, and then he felt fingers brushing the hair along his nape.

Gavin hadn’t really thought about what it would be like, him and Ryan. There was always… something there, but it had never been made concrete. He just got the impressions of things, how they’d clash and fit together. Their usually erratic sleep schedules; who would make the coffee. Would kissing someone with a beard feel too rough after a while? Ryan weaved the perfect couple story so easily for him at the hospital; could it have been like that? Would it have been? It was all probably too much to think of, this early in the morning with so little sleep. Or maybe Gavin would never be well rested enough to have all the answers when it came to the man that was still kissing him, holding him carefully, sharing the too-small hospital bed.

The sound of a phone buzzing drew them both apart. Ryan reached for his cell, squinting adorably at the screen as he made out the letters. His mouth turned, before splitting into a grin.

“Text from Michael,” he said, showing Gavin. “Breakout in fifteen minutes. Keep a lookout for Lindsay.”

“He’s dragging Lindsay into this?” Gavin asked with a groan. Ryan kissed him again in answer.

---

Fifteen minutes later, and it turned out Lindsay was an absolutely necessary element. She opened the door dressed in cat-covered scrubs, pushing a wheelchair. “Get in, fucker,” she said, gesturing to the thing. Gavin did not feel particularly at ease getting situated in said wheelchair, even as Ryan kept up the pace, walking by his side. Lindsay actually chatted with a doctor while they all shared the elevator going down. Then, as they passed reception, she let out a good hearted laugh. “Man, hospitals are too trusting.”

“You could say that,” Ryan answered, walking through the front parking lot. Michael was waiting for them in a nondescript car, honking the horn when they caught his line of sight. Gavin managed to slide into the back seat without hurting himself, and Ryan joined him. Michael and Lindsay sat up front, neither noticing the way Ryan very carefully drew the seatbelt over himself.

“Are we just leaving the wheelchair there?” Gavin asked, as they pulled away.

“Apparently,” Ryan muttered, looking out the back window. “I wouldn’t have minded a free wheelchair.”

“’Course you wouldn’t,” Gavin said, before tapping on the driver’s seat in front of him. “Michael! How you feeling, boi?”

“Eh, got another scar, but I’ll live.” They pulled onto the highway. “What about you? How was it being Ryan’s fake husband for half the week?”

“Did you have to kiss?” Lindsay asked.

“You always want my friends to kiss,” Michael complained.

“I mean, you could kiss your friends, but you always say no.”

“Because I’m literally married to you! Why would I try to go around kissing other people?’ That devolved into an argument between the two of them. Gavin let out a breath and relaxed into his seat. Hanging out with Ryan had been fun, but he had missed everyone else, too.

As he relaxed against the leather, his arm stretched out, catching Ryan’s hand. He nearly pulled back, but Ryan was faster, entwining their fingers and giving a quick squeeze. He looked over. The older man was staring out the window, but Gavin could practically feel the smile the other had on.

Gavin felt himself smile at the thought. He squeezed back.

[mckaylas-musings]

The Story Begins on the Third Page

           Lukas

           She was there again. The blonde girl with the star-stickered computer bag and coffee mug the size of her head. She strode to her empty table in the cafe and set everything down without ado, just like she always did. She dropped down into her seat and propped her legs up in the seat to her left, facing away from him, just like she always did. She grabbed her laptop from her computer bag, set it on her legs, and set to work, just like she always did.

           Lukas didn’t mean to pay this much attention to a random woman on campus. She was just trying to find a quiet place to do some work, they all were. He wanted to leave her to her privacy, as much for her sake as for his own, but every so often she would spark his interest all over again simply because he never knew anyone who could make him ask ‘What is going on?’ quite as much as she did.

           For example, as he was quietly trying to focus back on his theatre textbook and note taking, he heard a few clicks of her keyboard before silence. Nothing too unusual, he had written enough papers to know when you need a moment to think of what to type. No, what was unusual was that, about three seconds later, there was a loud succession of one button on a keyboard being pressed repeatedly. Lukas glanced up at the commotion, and sure enough, it was Star-Sticker. He could only guess she was very upset with whatever she had just written and was very violently deleting everything she saw.

           He really did wonder sometimes what it was she was writing. Maybe one day he would have the courage to ask. However, he was almost certain that he would most likely see her work in a bookshop years later and never know because he never had the courage to ask.

Geraldine

           Geraldine rushed into the cafe, same time as she always did, set herself up in the same table she always did, and got to work on the latest bit of inspiration that had hit her, as she always did. Today, it had been something one of her teachers had said in class: “The story begins on the third page.” Geraldine very much disagreed, and was willing to prove it.

           Opening her laptop, she started a new document and began to type.

           There is a common saying about plots in fiction: The story begins on the third page. This means that all of the set up for the plot is in the first two pages, and the show doesn’t get on the road for a short while. Some people think this means that skipping the first two pages is fine because it’s just filler. Well…

           Geraldine paused, smiled to herself, and slammed down on the enter key until she reached the top of the third page.

           It’s not fine. People work hard to write good stories and it’s rude to skip over the beginning.

           After writing this, Geraldine paused, and realized something. She had gotten this thought stuck in her head and needed to get it out into the real world before it left, but her focus on it had left her with one glaring problem; She had no idea what else to write.

           Sighing, she propped her elbow up on the table and leaned against it, looking about the cafe for inspiration. She doubted much of the staff would appreciate her bugging them, and most other patrons seemed rather bogged down by their own work. Her eyes continued to scan around her as she debated leaving for a more inspiring place, when her eyes crossed a mirror and her curiosity was piqued.

           Sitting behind her a little ways was one of the actors of the theatre on campus. He was tall, slim, and dark haired. He had a certain charm that made people want to listen to what he had to say. She had caught one of his performances during a break in her schedule, and she was amazed at his storytelling skills. The way he was able to convey everything he felt with his expression and body language when his words couldn’t was breathtaking. The improv part of the show was spectacular and hysterical, and she found herself wishing she had his presence and gift for emphasis. Words were her strong suit, she was an English major after all, but inflection could just as easily make or break a piece.

           After a brief moment of watching him, his own eyes flitted up, and she dropped hers back down to her laptop. She stared at the words she had typed, and decided that maybe, they were right to say that. Maybe the story did start on the third page.

 Lukas

“Hey, do you mind if I bug you for a sec?” Lukas jumped a little at the voice, and looked up to see Star-Sticker looking down at him with a hesitant smile. He blinked at her before clearing his throat.

Why was she suddenly talking to him? Was he too obvious? Was he freaking her out and she was going to yell at him in front of everyone? This was his favorite cafe, he really hoped he wouldn’t have to leave.

“Sure,” He said, clearing his papers aside for her. She sat next to him and set her laptop down, opening it and turning to look at him.

“You’re an actor, right? You perform on campus?” He nodded again, slowly. “I caught one of your shows. You’re really something, you know that?”

He blinked at her again. “Th-thank you.” She laughed and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, I think I’m better on stage than off it.”

“Oh, no worries. I’m much better with words in the written form than the spoken.” She smiled at him and held out her hand. “I’m Geraldine. Most people call me Gerry, though some have started to call me Dean.” Lukas smiled and shook her hand.

“I’m Lukas. I’m a Theatre major.”

“I guessed,” She said, grinning. “I’m an English major. I promise I had a reason to talk to you, I didn’t just decide to be creepy.” Lukas laughed at that, glad he wasn’t the only one nervous to approach. “I was actually hoping I could pick your brain.”

He tilted his head, confused. “Pick it for what?”

“Story ideas.”

“What do you mean? You’re the English major, aren’t you?” He froze at his own word choice and debated saving face and running, but she just sighed dramatically.

“Yeah, but I’m stuck. You’re a good storyteller, I figured you could tell me a story and unstick me.” He looked at her plainly, and she slipped into a pout, brown eyes turning puppy-esque. “Please?”

“I-I guess…” He said, turning his slightly pinkish face from her, digging around in his backpack for a script or writing of some kind when he felt her hand on his shoulder.

“No no, I mean like tell me a story,” She said, and he looked back up at her. Her eyes were dancing with excitement in the subpar cafe lighting. “The ones you made up at the improv show were amazing. Tell me one of those.”

He looked at her a moment before gulping and nodding. “What about?”

“Anything.”

“That’s… not how improv works. I need a prompt.”

“So do I, that’s why I came to you,” She sighed, swooning back in her seat, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Was all this for nothing?”

“I have an idea,” He said, and she peeked over at him. “It’s about a girl who loves avoiding her homework.”

She grinned at him. “I think I’ve heard this one before.”

“Oh I’m sure you have.”

“Tell me it anyway.”

And he did.

 Geraldine

Geraldine had to hand it to him, Lukas knew how to tell a story. He knew what parts to elaborate and which to keep vague. He knew when to pause, and speed up, and emphasize. She knew the story was poking fun at her, but she couldn’t find it in her to be offended in the slightest. She was having too much fun.

After a truly amazing improv story, she clapped for him as he took a mock bow in his seat. “I knew you had it in you.”

He laughed, and she smiled at the sound. “Thanks. Do you have it in you to write a story?”

She hummed, tapping a finger to her chin. “I don’t know, I think I might need more inspiration.”

“Well, as much as I’d like to help,” Lukas said, stretching his arms above his head, “I have a class in about fifteen minutes. Good luck with the story.” As he moved to get up, Geraldine grabbed his arm.

“Wait,” She said, and he did. She didn’t think much past this step.

“Yes…?” He asked, eyes shifting between her and his arm. He looked nervous, and Geraldine realized she was probably keeping him from a very important class, and needed to think fast.

“Um, do you think I could have your number?” His eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Or email maybe? I just want to know, you know, when the next performance might be, or if you have other stories, or anything…” She teetered off at the end as he continued to stare wordlessly at her. “I mean, nevermind, you don’t need to. I can look them up online, you should go.”

“Here,” He said, gesturing to her computer. She turned it, and he typed down a few numbers on the mostly blank page. “My phone number. Just for you.” He turned to her with a serious look on his face. “Use it wisely.”

She laughed. “Of course.” He grinned.

“I gotta go.”

“Yeah.”

A quick pause as they stayed there, smiling. “Text me?”

“Sure thing.”

He nodded. “See you then.”

“Bye.” She smiled as he left, then turned to the computer screen and smiled wider.

She came to the cafe to prove the idea that ‘nothing starts to happen until page three’ wrong. She might have been the one who was wrong though. The story really does begin on the third page.

[samsylviasmoustache]

Donuts

Written for @stephsageek​ who prompted me with Sam & Ruth getting donuts. I hope you don’t mind me stretching it past the events of Maybe it’s all the Disco. I like the idea that getting donuts together has become a little supportive ritual for them.

The nurse gives her a sympathetic smile as she takes her pulse. It’s small but genuine, creasing her eyes. “Okay Ruth, you’re all good to go,” she says. “Your husband is just outside.”

“Thanks,” she says automatically. “You’ve been very kind, and—”

“You’re welcome, honey.” She is already moving, checking the pulse of another girl in another chair of the discharge lounge.

Ruth stands carefully, ready for pain. It’s there, but as dull discomfort rather than red-hot agony. More surprising is the shaking, post-fight feeling. She aches; but it’s secondary to the fight-or-flight of the body under attack. The lights are too bright, sounds are too loud. She flinches at the click of the door handle.

Sam is indeed outside, actually biting his thumbnail as he stares out of the door. She trains her tunnel vision on him. Uncharacteristically calm and still. Is this what he is, she thinks, outside of the gym, away from the camera? Stripped of all his bravado and bile is there a kinder self, folded inside the gruff carapace?

He catches her eye and smiles. It’s the same smile as the nurse, small and sympathetic, like she is a frightened animal. One that needs soft words and gentle hands to settle raised hackles.

“You ready to go?”

“Uh-huh.”

His hand rests lightly between her shoulder blades as he walks her towards the car. She settles into the seat, still shaking slightly. As adrenalin ebbs the aching pain is sharper. She closes her eyes, lulled by the motion of the car.

“Ruth?”

She jerks awake. “Sorry, I—”

“It’s fine. Do you still want donuts?”

They are pulled up at the gas station near the motel. “Yeah,” she croaks, dry mouthed.

He considers her, still blinking into consciousness, not quite able to hide a small wince as she undoes her seat belt. He gets out and comes around to the passenger side to open her door.

She looks up at him. “I didn’t think you—?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He extends his hand to help her up. “I just didn’t want to wait all day.”

The ice in her Coke has melted. She slurps the last dregs through her straw, engrossed in her book. Shifts in the seat, unsticking herself from the leather. The windows are down but there’s no wind. She might have to—

The front door opens. She puts down the book and paper cup slowly. She isn’t sure whether to hunker down and hide or sit straight-backed and earnest at the wheel. She decides on the latter, in case she’s already been seen. Sam exits the neat little house. A woman—Rosalie, she assumes—follows him into the light. They say goodbye on the driveway, cordial but firm, and Sam returns to the car. He settles into the passenger seat.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says carefully, waving one final time to the woman on the drive. She returns the goodbye, and turns back inside. “You okay to drive?”

“Sure,” she says, and pulls them away.

He is quiet, all the way out of the suburbs and onto the highway. She chances a glance now and then, when traffic allows. Unusually still, eyes unseeing; his gaze turned inward. They’ve done this before, she remembers, only the other way around.

There’s a packet of cigarettes in the door pocket. She fumbles for one, hands over the thin cylinder wordlessly. The routine of habit kicks in as he takes it, lights it; smokes it without speaking.

“So, I spoke to Glen about our sponsor problem,” she tries. “He said he’ll see what he can do.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean, it’ll probably be another golfing buddy. But we made it work last time, right?”

“Right.”

Silence again. He was manic on the journey down, running through potential scenarios with her, joking, chain-smoking. She itches to know if any of their simulations matched the reality. Fiddles with the radio instead. Thumping electronica fuzzes in and out as they speed toward home. It’s going to be a long ride.

Half an hour passes. She’s more or less retreated into her own brain, thinking about scenarios for Zoya and Liberty to explore over the coming weeks, when he finally opens his mouth. “Sorry. You probably had better things to do today.”

“It’s fine. I read some more on history of classical wrestling. Might help with some of the staging.” She sighs. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but I feel like I should… check you’re not going to disappear on us for another three days once we get home.”

He barks a laugh. “No promises.”

There’s a gas station coming up. She purses her lips. “You wanna go get donuts?”

“I had a feeling you’d show up on my doorstep sooner or later.”

It’s hard to say if she’s as he remembers, because he doesn’t remember much. She has long dark hair and familiar brown eyes. Familiar because she shares them with their daughter. The thought catches in his chest again, and he has to clear his throat noisily, awkwardly, to speak. “Justine gave me your address.”

“I know. She told me. She’s a good girl. Most of the time.”

“Yeah, she’s, uh, she’s a great kid.”

Rosalie folds her arms, unimpressed. “I’m glad you’re getting the chance to find that out for yourself.”

“Yeah, about that… Um. Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

The house is small; nondescript suburban. Only the pictures hanging in the hallway give any clue to Rosalie’s past life as barkeep. Black and white artistic shots, long haired hippies and punk-rockers. There’s a museum quality to them; like it’s already ancient history, a lifetime ago. For Rosalie, maybe it is.

“You have a lovely home,” he says.

“Uh-huh. How’d you take you coffee?”

“Black, thanks.”

She busies herself with the drinks, ignoring his open gawking at the ephemera of her everyday life. “So,” she says, as he takes his first sip of the scalding coffee. “What did you come here to find out?”

He takes another micro-sip, trying to assemble his thoughts. He practiced this conversation with Ruth a thousand ways on the journey down; workshopping it like it was one of her scene studies. Now, in the moment, the whole exercise feels hollow. “You never told me,” he finds himself saying, surprised at how constricted his voice sounds.

Rosalie shrugs. “It’s not like you left me your number…”

“I-I know but… you could have found me.”

She sighs. “Yeah, I could’ve. I thought about it.”

“And, what? Decided I wasn’t good enough?” He is almost shouting. Why is he almost shouting?

“Yeah,” she says, as if he’s proved her point. “Pretty much. I knew what kind of life you were living then.  You’re telling me that in between all the blow and the rallies, the dive bar lays, the all-night shoots and casting couches… you had room for a little girl?”

He manages to hold her gaze but only just. “I could have made time.”

“You would have resented it. Every second of it. I didn’t want that for her.”

He has no answer to this ringing truth. His fingers twitch, but he left his cigarettes in the car with Ruth. He wanted to make a good impression. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“And me,” she says, softer. “I know there would have been good times too. But I had to put her first. Understand?”

“Yeah, I do. I get it.” He feels six inches tall; smaller than when his wife took everything in the shit-show that was his divorce. Even his anger has retreated, leaving just this shell of a man, sipping coffee for want of snorting cocaine.

“I think she’s a lot like you,” Rosalie offers.

He recognises the lifeline for what it is. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, she’s stubborn. And she’s a great artist. She writes. All that creative stuff I was never any good at. She’s smart.”

“Yeah, she’s been helping me film some stuff. On location. She’s got a good eye.”

“She wants to be in the industry. I know that much.” She looks at him, with Justine’s eyes. “You think she’s got what it takes?”

“Yeah,” he says, surprised to find he means it. “She’s my daughter.”

Rosalie smiles at that, just a little. “I’m glad we had this talk.”

He’s not sure he agrees, but nods anyway, draining his coffee. Time is up. She walks him back towards the front door. “Do you still have the bar?” he blurts out, as they pass through the hallway.

“Yeah, three of ‘em now. We’re working on building a chain. Me and my husband.”

He’d already noticed the wedding band. “Sounds good.”

Her hand is on the door. “Apart from the TV show, how’s your life? Is that your… wife you left out there in the car?”

“No,” he says, “that’s Ruth. She’s a-a friend. She works on the show.”

“Good friend,” says Rosalie, raising a sceptical eyebrow. “It’s a long way to come.”

“Yeah, she is,” he replies stoutly. “Look, I know you don’t need this. But just in case.” He presses his card into her palm. “Now you do have my number.”

She turns it over, smiles. “Thanks.”

“Wow,” says Ruth, as he finishes his tale. “Sounds intense.”

The donuts sit untouched on the table between them; one plain sugar, one pink frosted. “Yeah.” He pinches the bridge of his nose below his glasses. “What the fuck do I do now, though?”

“Hmm.” She picks up her pink donut, takes a bite. “Same thing we always do. Eat the donuts. And then get on with it. Make the most of what we do have left in our lives out of the wreckage of our mistakes.”

He considers this, and finds himself chuckling. “Melodramatic much?”

She rolls her eyes. “This from the man who wrote a three-hour screen-play about his mommy issues?”

“Ouch, alright.” Through a mouthful of sugar, he adds: “I’m still not over that disappointment either, thank you very much.”

“Well, you need to be,” she says, “because we need to figure out how the hell to top last week’s finale.”

“Oh, I worked that out already,” he says, spraying crumbs. “Tag-team match. Britain and American versus Russia and China.”

“What?”

“Yeah, yeah. I want Rhonda to ride in on a white horse. Trust me. It’s gonna look epic…”

[what-is-going-on-mate]

The Legends crew in Vegas??? Amaya and Mick accidentally get married. Leonard deal with Sara hangover, Nate and Ray Gamble to much, Jax goes to many party and Martin be the one who marry Mick and Amaya.???

Here it is ! It was really fun to write that ! Thanks for the great ideas.

If you want to send prompts, you can do it here.

Vegas. Why on earth would they go to Vegas ? That was a terrible idea. But it was Jax’s birthday. So, of course, Sara agreed to offer him and the team a weekend there.

And now, the Legends looked more like college students partying during spring break than heroes responsible to save the world. 

Mick was completely wasted because of Sara. He tried to take his revenge from the Old West, in vain. At least this time Sara was drunk. Very drunk. 

Amaya had eaten a space cake without noticing, and even Martin was drunk. Not wasted, but definitely drunk. It was funny to see. He was the kind of drunk person who would suddenly love everybody and hug them. Love above all else.

Jax was on another planet. He had been dancing and taking shots for a few hours now, and he wasn’t a bit near finished, whereas Nate challenged Ray at poker, with real money. Ray had been a billionaire up to now. He was now a multimillionaire and Nate wouldn’t worry about his student loans anymore.

Leonard had watched Mick and Sara drink themselves under the table, accompanied by a few shots. He was drunk, but probably the most capable of being in charge of the team. 

He felt responsible for the crew. It seemed like there could be an alien invasion and the team wouldn’t even notice. So he decided to look after the team.

Big mistake.

Drunk Legends were worse than babies.

When he turned his attention to one person, another needed help and at the same time a third party wanted to show him something. They were impossible.

But then things began to be easier. For an horrible reason. He hadn’t noticed Mick, Amaya and Martin leaving the club secretly.

Of course it was easier, he didn’t have to check on them anymore.

Leonard had dedicated his night to Sara. A drunk assassin was probably the scariest thing he had ever seen in his life. She almost kicked a guy for trying to dance with her and another was lucky to only have his shoulder dislocated. When a dancer came near Leonard, she almost started a brawl. He tried to avoid dancing, but it seemed like it was the only thing that would keep her from turning into a wild lioness.

So instead of watching, he joined her on the dance floor.

He could keep an eye on Jax from where Sara and Leonard were. Bonus point for strategy !

Ray and Nate were happy with their games. They continued playing and when Nate eventually had enough money to build a house, they decided to team up and challenge other people. They were practically stealing from people’s pockets. A physicist and a historian, both scientists and strategists. They’d win against everyone in this club.

Everything was fine, until Leonard saw Sara’s face go white as she jerked her head with her hand over her mouth and left stumbling towards the bathrooms. Leonard quickly caught up with her once she entered the ladies room and crashed on a toilet seat. He took her hair in one hand to prevent it to get dirty. He caressed her back with his other hand.

As soon as Sara had emptied her stomach, she was back on the dance floor, pulling Leonard near her.

Wild was the only adjective that could describe her.

Or crazy.

Then « On the floor » came on and Sara completely lost it. She began to dance even more wildly and provocatively against Leonard. He really enjoyed it, but Sara wasn’t herself.

Leonard couldn’t see Jax anywhere. Maybe he went to the bar.

And oh my god, was she grinding ?!

That felt really nice. Like, really nice. He was tempted to let her continue, but if she found out come the morning that he let her do that, she’d kill him.

Leonard made her turn around to unstick her ass from his, well, dick. There was no way to put it differently.

But she was just having fuuuuuun !

Maybe she misinterpreted what he wanted her to do, or she really knew him and knew exactly what would drive him completely crazy.

Because she immediately ran her arms up his chest and kissed him. Snart was frozen on the spot. So she put her hands around his neck and pulled him closer. Leonard realized what was happening and deepened the kiss, taking her hips in his hands.

At least she wasn’t making anything stupid or dangerous, that was the most important thing.

So he let her kiss him fiercely and returned the kiss with even more passion. Minutes or hours passed, he wasn’t sure anymore.

Jax had…simply left the club to go to another one. And then another one. And finally, another one.

It was now 6 a.m. and they finally arrived at the hotel. Leonard opened the suite to see Mick and Amaya sleeping in his bed. He didn’t check if they were dressed, and if memory serves correctly, they were. Damn. No gossip or blackmail material. 

Martin was sleeping on the couch and Jax was sleeping…on the dining room table.

Wait, weren’t they with them all night ?!

And why were Ray and Nate throwing money from the balcony ? They were already back ?

But who stayed with Sara and him during the entire thing ?

Leonard looked around him and saw only Sara. But then he heard a « whoof » coming from the ground. 

There was a dog. A dog. Between Sara and him. She was holding his leash. 

Why ? 

It was a beautiful dog, but who’s dog was it ?! 

Then his brain cells worked a little and he remembered that he bought it for Sara because he was « so cuuuuuute and fluffy it hurts ! ». She may have continued her speech with things like : « He looks so fragile and pure ! He needs protection ! And who better than heroes to protect him ? Right, Len ? » And she may have put on her puppy eyes. And at this instant Len couldn’t tell who was cuter between the puppy and the drunk captain.

He cracked under the cuteness of the situation and agreed to get the small husky. 

Oh right. He remembered something else. « He is the perfect fit for you ! A husky for Captain Cold, come on ! His fur is black, just like your clothes and you both have amazing blue eyes ! You can’t deny that that’s just perfect ! » she was right, theoretically speaking. But he didn’t buy the dog for himself, he bought him for her. She’d just have to live with a Snart-resembling dog.

So. He had been watching over Sara, adopting a dog in the process, at the same time completely losing his other teammates.

Good job Mr. Snart. 

Really. 

Impressive.

« Ow, my head huuuuuurts. » complained Amaya, waking up. « Oh no. Mick ! No, no, no, no, no ! Mick, wake up ! Micccccck ! Move ! » what was happening to her ? She was freaking out for absolutely no apparent reason.

His response was a groan and him turning his back on her. 

« What the hell happened last night ? If we did what I think we did, we need to talk ! Now ! » she fumed, her voice low, because she had an horrible hangover. She pushed him out of the bed.

It felt like an earthquake.And he was up.

« Oh, no ! I remember. Do you remember what I remember ? » he asked, looking at her hand. She was wearing a ring.

Fuck.

« Stein ! You were with us ! Did we do what we think we did ? »

Martin looked at them, looked at their hands, smiled and turned back.

Yes, they sure did. With his help !

Leonard was leading Sara in the suite, his arm around her waist to keep her steady, the husky following the two. « Mick ? What are you all talking about ? » 

The dog barked.

Mick was going to answer when Sara did a small sob and said : « Owwwww, you’re married ! That’s soooo cuuuuuuute ! » and ran into Amaya to give her a hug, the puppy running after her.

« Len ! They got married ! I never thought the day would come ! From single to married in one night ! I’m impressed, Amaya ! » she said, stumbling back to Leonard and his firm grip on her.

Now the dog was laying on his boot. Just great.

Ray entered the apartment-like room. « You say that, Sara, but you were the one who spent her entire night with her tongue in Snart’s mouth. »

« What ?! » exclaimed Mick.

« You shut up ! At least I didn’t get married with my crush ! » retorted Leonard, pulling Sara closer to him. Why did he do that ?

« Your what ?! » asked Amaya to Mick.

« Oh come on, we’re married ! I can at least have a crush on you ! » he answered, trying to avoid the subject. « And why is there a dog sleeping on you ?! » he continued.

« Where are we ? » 

That was Jax waking up from the table. « I feel like I experienced all the Hangover movies in one night. Is that even possible ? »

Martin walked to his partner to help him and explained to him that Mick and Amaya were married, that Sara spent « her entire night with her tongue his Snart’s mouth », that Nate was now rich and that Ray had doubled his wealth. Oh, and there was a dog somehow sleeping on Snart.

« Yeah, so I did experience all three movies at once. That wasn’t an impression.»

« Kid, is that a tattoo on your back ?! »

Fuck.

You know what they say, what happens in Vegas…