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entomolog-t · 1 year ago

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The Shadow We Cast - 3

The boys are back with two more Prompts down! Delight and Linger ! I love writing these boys so much- just the goofiest vibes.

How long before I make it angsty?

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 2

Next Chapter: Chapter 4

Word count: 2332

CW: Adult language, substances (beer/drinking)

Man, the food was great. Never in my life had I tasted anything like the weird paste Mark had made- and to put it on meat?? Some crazy part of my was compelled to howl with joy. While the glass bucket Mark had given me to use as a cup proved progressively harder to grip with more and more of the sauce covering my hands, I was plenty fine with the extra effort just for another sip of the cool golden drink- Beer went incredible with hawk wings.

Leaning back, I groaned as I stretched out, stomach aching.

I’d more than eaten my fill, but it's not like it was everyday that I had such a mouthwatering feast to myself. My eyes flickered to Mark. Both in my own eager hunger and out of a slight unease, I’d been avoiding watching him eat. There was something both ridiculously impressive and deeply unsettling about watching another being consume many times more than my weight in food. Inarguably cool- but the spectacle left me feeling… less.

My eyes met his own. Though, as soon as my gaze met his, he looked away- quickly focusing on taking another drink. I felt a grin tug at the corners of my mouth. Looks like I caught him staring. I wait until he puts the can to his lips before I speak,

“See something you like, big man?”

Mark chokes on his drink- a strangled sound escaping him as his hand shoots up to cover his mouth as he sputters. I can’t help but laugh at the sight of him desperately trying to hold in his drink - his sputtering turning to coughing. The mix of the panicked look on his face and the pitiful sounds are just too much, and I find myself wincing at a sharp pain biting at my sides from the laughter.

Catching his breath, Mark chuckles. He waves a dismissive hand,

“Man, I’m just shocked at how much you ate.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Dude, you’re what? Ten times my size?” I gesture to the pile of bones on his plate, “How do you think I feel?”

Mark rolls his eyes,

“Relatively.” He points to the section of meat I’d claimed for myself, “Like, holy shit dude. It looks like you ate one of your legs worth of meat.”

I shrug.

“You could have eaten more if you hadn’t filled up by drinking so much.”

He chuckles- but his laugh is cut short as he jerks. The flinch is all the warning I get before a massive hand is sent rocketing toward his opposite arm. A thunderous clap breaks through the evening air. I feel the blood drain from my face, and I can’t tell if it's the sound echoing in my ears or if it's my heart thrumming in my chest. I hadn’t even flinched- a thought that I wanted to be able to revel in- to tell myself it was because I wasn’t so easily cowed… but there was no lying to myself.

I didn’t even have time to flinch.

The thought sent a chill through me.

Mark, unaware of my racing heart, sighed.

“Ugh, the mosquitoes are coming out.” He shot me a nervous smile, “You, uh, wanna head inside and have a few more drinks?” Pausing, he adds “And maybe put a shirt on?”

I chuckle, though it feels more forced than moments ago,

“And why would I do that?” As I say the words, sing songy and teasing, I feel the tension inside me ease. I stand, my body feeling sluggish- heavy with the weight of a good meal. Stretching, I meander over to his waiting hand, making sure he knows I’m turning down the suggestion to get dressed rather than the invitation for more beers.

Mark rolls his eyes,

“I mean, you’re wearing enough of the sauce that it might as well count as a shirt.”

I narrow my eyes at him for a moment before looking down.

Eesh. He… Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Stomach to chest, I was covered in splatterings and smears of the dark red sauce. My pants were decorated with various stains, some smaller, like where I’d wiped off my hands, and one particularly large spot of sauce where I’d rested the massive hunk of meat against my legs.

Using my forearm, I haphazardly wiped across my chest, clearing off a decent volume of sauce.

“DUDE!” I jump at his exclamation, frozen in place with my tongue still dragging along the sauce smeared skin of my arm. I furrow my brow. What was his problem now?

“Wash off properly before you get in my hand” He scolds. I mimic his exasperated expression and roll my eyes. He tears off another piece of napkin and hands it to me in response. Taking it, I double back towards my drink-bucket.

“What are you- SAL!” I tip the bucket over my head and feel a wash of cool liquid pour over me- a momentary respite from the overbearing heat of the day. The chill combined with the strange bubbles in the drink are a bit jarring, but in a way that’s invigorating- refreshing even.

Above me, I can hear Mark sputtering- a mix of “Dudes” and “whys” and other half finished questions. I throw up my hands, confused and frustrated. This guy’s impossible! I cleaned off?? What did he want from me??

“Dude! Come on…” The exclamation is chastising in its tone. “Why would you-” Before he can continue I interject,

“But you said-” An exasperated sigh interrupts my very valid point. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he speaks.

“You know what? It's fine.” His tone suggests it's anything but, yet the smile he gives me feels genuine- as if he’s the one being patient and I’m the one being unreasonable. In a slow and careful movement, Mark once again offers me his hand.

There's a slight, but not unnoticed, chill that grips me- a little shot of adrenaline at the sight of his incoming hand. A faint tremor in my legs, and a pounding in my heart accompanying a stray thought at the back of my mind that wants me to hesitate- to back out. The thought reminds me almost of getting into cold water; that anticipation of shock making you move slower, as if your brain is trying to persuade you away from that unwanted discomfort.

I set my jaw.

Well, fuck that.

If I didn’t feel comfortable, I would make myself comfortable. My thoughts are mine to control- not there to control me.

As if his hand were a body of water, I dove in. His hands were soft as I landed, much more so than my own. It wasn’t the first time it had crossed my mind how comfortable it felt- how warm.

I flopped to my back and patted the meat of his thumb, coaxing him to move. I don’t miss the way his fingers curl in, or how his other hand comes up to support the first. I can’t help but roll my eyes. Those subtle gestures leave me a bit conflicted- stuck in a middle ground between finding it endearing and finding it patronising. The care to use a delicate hand with me was… nice, yet the thought that I needed to be handled with a delicate hand was bordering on insulting.

The warmth of his hand and the rhythmic rise and fall with his steps seemed to lull me away from my irritation. Closing my eyes, I let myself relax to the steady sway of his steps. I liked Mark. He was nice. He had good food. He was fun to rile up. I felt my cheeks burning from a goofy smile that wouldn’t seem to falter. This was real. After all these years, I had someone to talk to! Someone to spend time with! There was a giddiness in my chest that just seemed to build- a dizzying surge of wild energy that felt like the room was spinning-

Wait. Was the room spinning??

I felt my stomach lurch, a weird feeling of vertigo prompting me to open my eyes trying to ground myself. The spinning sensation eased to a stop as I sat up. Seemingly right on cue, Mark lowered his hand to the table.

As soon as I dismount from his hand, Mark’s massive frame turns away from me, rushing toward the sink. I frown as he washes his hands. I’d washed off for him, and yet he was acting as if he’d just handled something foul. As he returns to the table he seems to catch my glare.

He raises his hands as if surrendering,

“Dude, you’re sticky.”

I snort.

“I am not.”

I patted my skin. Sure, it was a little tacky to the touch, but that was hardly anything to wash up over. I’d just doused myself off in front of him- what more did he want?

While I had no clue what he wanted from me, I knew what I wanted- and that was another drink.

Eyeing my glass bucket, I meandered over to wear he’d set his drink down. Each step was off- just a little, almost as if it was… Delayed? I took a long blink, trying to orient myself. Was I swaying?

I stumbled, catching myself on Mark’s arm. He flinched under my touch and my scowl returned.

“Ew, dude, don’t touch me. You’re all sticky.”

With a glare, I let my body collapse against his arm limply laying over it. He stiffens under my touch, and I feel the strangest sensation of goosebumps forming on his skin beneath me. I keep my head buried against his arm as my scowl is pulled up into a grin. This guy was really something else. Spiders, first aid, and slightly tacky skin?? I bet his own shadow could get a rise out of him.

I chuckled at my own thought, laughing into his arm as he squirmed beneath me. Mark titled his arm in an attempt to push me back onto my feet, but rather than let him guide me back into a stand, I pulled myself up - stradling the width of his forearm.

“Oh- Dude, come on. Get off.” He whines, twisting his arm, carefully trying to force me to dismount. His kindness is his own downfall, as the slow and gentle movements are easy to correct against- leaning my weight this way and that to compensate. Above me, he groans. Out of the corner of my eye I watch as his free hand reaches up, prompting me to spring up into a stand- feeling oddly dizzy at the sudden movement.

He hesitates- hand hovering at my side - either waiting to catch me or unwilling to touch me. Before he can reconsider I spring into action. In one bound I’m at the crook of his elbow. Without pausing I leap, clearing the small gap between his arm and torso as I throw myself at the fabric of his shirt.

Mark does nothing more than flinch- making a strangled noise as he jerks bolt upright in his seat, hands stiffly to each side of me yet making no move to touch me. I can’t stop laughing, My cheeks burn, my sides ache, yet my arms feel light as I pull myself up the length of his shirt. Mark leans back, craning his neck and tilting his chin away in the most futile attempt to distance himself from me. Stitches form in my sides as I nearly wheeze at the sight.

Gripping the collar of his shirt I heave myself onto his shoulder, letting out a sigh as I try to quell my laughter.

“Is something wrong, Big Guy?” I tease,stifling a giggle while leaning my apparently sticky self onto his neck. The sensation of his warm skin shuddering under my touch is bizarre, “Afraid I’ll-” I pause. His skin is more than just warm, it's hot. I crane my neck, awkwardly trying to look at his face from the odd vantage point.

His face is red- his mouth a thin line and his eyes are anywhere but on me.

Oh.

This was too much, wasn’t it?

I was too much.

I clear my throat, wracking my brain for anything to fill the now very noticeably awkward silence.

“You, um, mind refilling my drink?”

A little puff of air escapes him, and I watch as a smile pulls at the edge of his lips. Slowly, he turns his head towards me, and all at once I’m reminded of just how massive he is. On his shoulder I’m eye level with him- Mark meeting my gaze out of the corner of his eye… and eye roughly the size of my head. I stagger back a half step, careful to mind my footing. Something about seeing an eye so closely was off-putting, the depth of the brown looking too deep- like something I could fall into; the colour like good healthy dirt.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Mind getting off?”

With an exaggerated hop, I let myself drop down the steep slope of his arm, half sliding half falling to his forearm. Mark lets out a yelp at the motion- as if a fall from that height was anything to worry about.

I step down from his arm, my gait still feeling not quite right- each step somewhat unsteady, as if the table swayed beneath my feet. It wasn’t only my gait- my skin felt strange. Almost numb but not really? It was… buzzing? Yet despite all the strangeness, there was a warmth in my chest that seemed to spread over into my mind. A light fuzziness that softens the edge of my thoughts. There was an ease- a comfort- that seemed to coat my mind, like a paradoxically warm blanket of snow.

Maybe a little too warm?

I knit my brow.

I could fix that.

I looked up, craning my neck to meet Marks gaze,

“So, how about another drink?”

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randofics · 8 months ago

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🎶 Lainey Wilson - Things a man oughta know

Gaz x southern reader

The COD boys are meeting you for the first time! Separate stories for each!

Gaz was uncomfortable, to say the least. This extra training with inexperienced privates in the humid carolina air was starting to take its toll, and he just wanted to get this over with so he could fly back home. The rest of the 141 were also here, but they had their own training groups to deal with. He didn't doubt they also wanted to get home as soon as possible.

Thunder rolled, and storm clouds were slowly overtaking the once clear blue sky. He hoped it would rain, so maybe they could cool off. He wouldn't have to hope long as sprinkles light as a fairy hit his uncovered skin.

-------

Several hours later, all he wanted was a drink to unwind, his back already killing him from the rough land nav session. He'd met up with the others in the lounge room, and they all agreed with his plan to go out and enjoy themselves a bit.

He'd swapped his uniform out for a white wifebeater and jeans along with his usual cap, hoping that more exposed skin would help with the heat.

Price asked some other guys walking past where the closest bar was, and surprisingly, it wasn't that far at all, maybe a five minute drive at most.

-------

When they stepped inside the neon lit country bar, a couple of people stopped to glance their way but quickly returned to the more interesting conversations and drinks. It was probably a common thing for soldiers to come down from the base for a drink.

He pulled out a seat along with the others, and a waitress sat a stack of menus on the end of the table. The singular laminated papers had two printed sides, one for beers and other strong drinks with food to go along with it. The other side had cocktails and other fruity or mixed drinks with deserts such as cheesecakes or pies.

The team ordered their drinks and three plates of hot wings in different sauces. TV's mounted around the bar were playing different games, and their waitress was kind enough to ask if they wanted to watch anything in particular. She managed to put on a football (soccer) game from the UK, and in no time, the wings and drinks were gone.

-------

A group of women laughing at one's joke walked inside. They sat at a nearby table and ordered their own drinks.

Price turns his head when he hears their laughter. One woman in nicer dress than the others waves at him with a smile. He smiles back before turning to the team and downing the last of his beer in one go. He gives them a look, getting up and following the woman to the bar.

A few minutes go by, and two more women break off from the group drinks having been finished. One in a cammo cap and another in a pastel yellow dress with lace along the hems single out Gaz and Konig.

-------

The woman in the cammo cap introduces herself as y/n. There's a bit of dried mud on the bill of her cap, and it looks well worn. "What's a fella like you doin' here in the States?"

"Recruit training, miss." She leans with her hand on the table. "You know I haven't met too many foreigners yet. You're my second brit."

"With the base so close by, I would've thought you'd met more than that." She gives him a small chuckle. "You'd think so. Maybe I just don't time it, right?"

"You're in luck! There's a whole table of foreigners right here." He holds out his hand for her to shake. "I'm Gaz it's a pleasure to meet you, y/n."

-------

Your conversation draws on for another hour, and you've become engrossed in each other's stories. A couple of beers have been emptied and sit on the old wood table between you.

You had just been laughing at something, he said, twirling a bottle around in front of you. You look up at him with a content smile. "Hey, do you want to go to my place for a bit? Maybe watch a movie or something?"

He's a bit nervous scratching the back of his head. "Sure, I'd love to!" A brighter smile graces your features as you stand.

The taxi drive to your house is filled with hilarious stories and laughs. The tires hit the gravel driveway and come to a stop before your house. Wind chimes on the porch jingle, and your dog in the backyard starts barking.

You pull your keys as he holds the storm door open for you. Cool air hits you when the door swings open and you switch on the light.

He spots the deer head mounted above your couch along with a couple of framed turkey tails and beards. "You're a hunter, after all. I thought you might be."

"Oh yeah, that's my first buck I ever shot. And those are mine and my dad's turkeys from a few years ago." As you put your things away, he glances around the room. A couple of hunting and fishing magazines lay stacked on the coffee table along with a centerpiece bowl of seashells and driftwood.

The shelf nearby has more magazines and old builders manuals along with some miscellaneous titles. Also, a few collectible plates sit on the shelves not packed with books. Movie posters and family pictures cover the empty spots.

You let out a sigh as you plop down on the couch, turning on the TV. "Well, what are ya waiting for? Come sit!"

"Anything in particular you want to watch?"

"Not really no." After a minute of scrolling through movies, you give up.

"There's something we could do to pass the time." You grin at his meaning, setting the remote down and straddling his lap. "I'd like that."

-------

One hand lands on your thigh, the other cupping your cheek to pull you closer. His lips connect with yours, and you relax against him.

As your hands roam his body, he lets out a quiet moan. His tongue presses against your teeth, asking for entry.

He tastes like beer with a hint of buffalo sauce from his meal earlier. To him, you taste like sweet tea and beer. The lingering sugar in your mouth makes him want more.

You pull away to catch your breath when he takes the opportunity to attack your neck. You hum in contentment as his lips dance across your skin. His hands move to the hem of your shirt, slipping beneath to feel your soft skin. His gentle touch down your spine gives you chills as his other hand spreads over your belly.

A groan escapes his throat when you tug his hair, arms around his neck. He sucks on your pulse, leaving behind a blooming red mark. Your own moans make him grin against you.

Reluctantly, he pulls away to look you in the eyes. "Sorry, I can't go any farther than this love. We only just met after all." You smile, nodding in understanding. "That's fine with me so long as you keep touching me darlin'." He grins, shaking his head. "Alright, then let's keep this going."

End

#fanfic #gaz cod #gaz x reader #gaz x y/n #cod mw2 #cod men #x reader #fanfic short series

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spaceorphan18 · 2 years ago

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5 Times Kurt Talks About Sex and 1 Time He Doesn't (Part Three)

A/N: So, this was inspired the other day by a Nonny who was asking about how Kurt interacts with others on the topic of sex and this little idea popped in my head.

It’s a little mini-series, and I’ll post one part a day, then I’ll get it up on Ao3 after it’s complete.

It’s set in a post-canon-ish world when they’re all living in New York. The whole thing takes place over the course of a day.

****

Conversation Three: Rachel

Kurt’s sitting in the café, slowly sipping a refreshing vanilla café latte with caramel drizzle. The afternoon is turning out to be bright and sunny and has been otherwise exquisite. There’s only one problem… Across the table sits Rachel and Jesse, snuggled closely together, looking lovingly into each other’s eyes and acting as if he isn’t even in the room.

The two of them brush noses together, trading little kisses that only they think are cute, while Kurt leans his head on his hand with a disgusted look on his face. The whole thing is made even more revolting by the fact that Jesse had finished off a giant bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos and his orange lips are leaving dusty marks all over Rachel’s face.

“You’re extra spicy today,” Rachel coos into his kiss.

“Oh, just extra spicy?” Jesse teases. “Do you like when I get a little hot for you?”

“Mmmm, I love it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Why is this his life? Why did they even bother to invite him to this lunch if they don’t even seem to care that he is there? He wishes Blaine were there with him. Then maybe he could show Rachel just how annoying PDA really can be. Why does Blaine have to work on the weekends?

Kurt takes another long sip of his coffee - there were truly only a few good things in the world.

Rachel and Jesse cup each other’s face - more interested in eating each other than the food on their plates.

With Finn, her youthful obsession had been understandable, and at least Kurt had been distracted enough with his own romance that he had been able to ignore most of it when he needed to.

And then there had been Brody… who even though lived with them for a while, at least had been tolerable. (And oh, god, Brody! Until that moment, he had forgotten there is another dick that he has seen up close. Completely unwillingly, and too often for his comfort, but at least he could text Elliott that his number is one higher… or not, maybe best leaving that conversation dead.)

The point, though, is that Rachel has always had a tendency to be blinded and single minded by her romances. Kurt had hoped once she and Jesse had gotten married that she would have grown out of her habit of being obscene in public.

That doesn’t seem to be the case.

“You know, Rachel, I thought you hated when your significant others ate spicy food,” Kurt shoots out. Thinking of Brody reminds him of something, and a smug grin climbs on his lips.

“What?” Rachel snaps her head towards him, her face contorting into a truly confused look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I seem to remember a time with chicken wings and habanero sauce and a misadventure with Brody…”

Her eyes grew wide as it dawned on her what he’s talking about. “Kurt!” His name is sharp on her tongue. “You swore you’d never say anything.”

Kurt had said enough to intrigue Jesse, however. “Rachel, darling, I thought you promised that there were no secrets between us. I’m sure whatever this story is would only do well to strengthen our bond together.”

Kurt lets out a snicker as he sips more of his latte. “Are you sure you aren’t burning to tell him Rachel?”

She gives him a glare. “It was nothing, Jesse. Just a stupid little thing that happened.”

Jesse looks over to Kurt, an eyebrow arched wanting to know more.

“Her college boyfriend went down on her after wolfing down a dozen or so very hot wings,” Kurt says bluntly. Rachel’s face blushes a deep red as Kurt continues. “How’d the story go - Rachel? It burned so bad that you couldn’t sit down during the subway ride home?”

Rachel looked at him, fuming. “Do you know how embarrassing it is riding the subway without underwear? Just knowing those pervy guys can just tell something is going on under there?”

“You’re the one who gave Brody dessert after his meal,” Kurt snickered.

“I had to have a milk bath after that,” Rachel screeched unexpectedly, pointing at herself indignantly. “And you were the traitor friend who wouldn't help me with the burn cream the doctor suggested.”

“Oh my god, Rachel,” Kurt’s voice grows agitated. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not going anywhere near your vagina!”

“A true friend would have done it!”

“Well, maybe you should have gotten Santana to rub some of her Yeast-I-Stat on you!”

“Brody and I had already broken up by the time she did that commercial! Or maybe I would have,” Rachel shoots back.

“Wait, what?”

“And I doubt that cream would have even worked! I’ve had yeast infections that have felt better than that!” Her voice carries enough that the two teens sitting a few tables down look at her funny.

“Oh, honey, that must have been such a painful experience,” Jesse says, cupping her cheek. “I, myself, had the misfortune in my youth of trying to masturbate after eating nachos with jalapenos. I thought I had washed my hands thoroughly, but even with the imported French, silken soap, it still burned. Regrettably I couldn’t touch myself for a week afterwards. And I had to lie to my mother - telling her that I had received a critical accident when attempting new choreography with Vocal Adrenaline.”

“Oh, my god…” Kurt mutters.

Jesse then turns to him. “And really, Kurt, Rachel’s vagina is the most beautiful flower whose honey I could suckle for hours if possible. I don’t blame her college boyfriend - or any man or woman - to be so desperate for a taste they’d jump in without proper preparation. If you are ever interested, Kurt, I’m sure Rachel would be willing to let you experiment on her so you, too, could have the nirvana-like experience I had when discovering Rachel for the first time.”

“Right, exactly,” Rachel punctuates, until she realizes what Jesse has said. “Oh, no, wait, Jesse…”

“Did you just offer your wife to me for sex?” Kurt isn’t sure he just comprehended what had happened.

Rachel waves it off. “Of course he didn’t…”

“Rachel, we shouldn’t cut ourselves off from experiences just because they scare us,” Jesse continues. Kurt’s eyes grow wide. What is even happening? “I, for one, am open for anything - especially if Kurt’s undoubted curiosity leads him to explore the vast, physical love we have for each other. I mean, why else would he bring up such a story? Though, he should be warned, I do critique technique and am not shy about it.”

“Oh,” Kurt says, shrugging at Rachel’s mortified face. “So, it was a proposition for a threesome. Noted.”

Rachel lets out a regretful groan.

“Well, that seems like it would hardly be fair,” Jesse continues. “Blaine is also always welcome to our bed.”

Kurt nods, going back to his latte. He should have had lunch with Elliott.

#s.o. writes things #five times #kurt hummel #rachel berry #jesse st. james #kurt hummel fic #omg i love writing bonkers jesse

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abramsbooks · 2 years ago

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RECIPE: Kate’s Buffalo Tofu Wings (from Fake Meat by Isa Chandra Moscowitz)

Let’s start with the OG of vegan wings. Once again, we take a trip to the golden era of veganism, the 1990s. We were lousy with veggie burgers and scrambled tofu. Packages of vegan cheese didn’t even bother to advertise “IT MELTS,” because we all knew it didn’t. And no one, but no one, even considered that a wing could be vegan. Except Kate’s Joint in Alphabet City. I could write a whole think piece on the place, but let’s just focus on the buffalo wings. Fat rectangles of chewy tofu in an herbed breadcrumb coating, and dripping with buffalo sauce. On the side, a pinch dish of creamy tofu ranch. No table was without a few orders. On your first bite, everything just burst into your mouth in the most obscene way. Now you can create that feeling at home! So scruff up your tables, hire some crust punks to sit outside your window, and enjoy.

Makes 16 wings

1 (14-ounce/400 g) block extra-firm tofu, sliced into 16 rectangles

1 teaspoon salt

3 tablespoons olive oil

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

3 tablespoons cornstarch

1 cup (240 ml) cold unsweetened soy milk

1 tablespoon tamari

2 cups (160 g) panko breadcrumbs

3 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary

Safflower oil, for frying

FOR THE SAUCE:

¼ cup (55 g) vegan butter, melted (I like Miyoko’s)

¾ cup (180 ml) buffalo hot sauce (like Frank’s Red Hot)

FOR SERVING:

2 cups (200 g) carrot sticks

2 cups (150 g) celery sticks

Rescue Ranch Dressing (see below)

HOT TAKES

I don’t press the tofu for these. I don’t know, Kate’s might have, but I like the moisture when you bite into one, as well as the fact that it cuts down on a lot of prep time.

Kate’s tofu wings were rectangles, so I re-created the shape for mine. You can use any shape you like, but don’t expect any points for authenticity. Here are directions for butchering tofu to end up with the correct shape: sixteen stubby little rectangles. Don’t press the tofu; a drain and a quick little squeeze with some kitchen towels to keep it dry are all you need. Now let’s proceed.

Use a 14-ounce (400 g) rectangular block of tofu; this will work best. Place the tofu on one of its long sides and slice it in half down the middle into two planks, like you’re making an open book. You should have two large rectangles. Now slice both of them in half the short way. You’ll have four rectangles. Take each rectangle and cut it vertically into four pieces.

Press each tofu rectangle with a paper towel to quickly dry it. Place in a single layer on a small baking sheet. Sprinkle with ½ teaspoon salt and drizzle with the olive oil and lemon juice. Toss to coat. Let rest while preparing everything else. You will be using this same tray for the breaded tofu.

Now make the slurry and breading: Scoop the cornstarch into a wide-rimmed bowl, add half the soy milk along with the tamari, and stir well until it’s a thick smooth paste. Mix in the remaining milk. On a large rimmed plate, mix together the panko, rosemary, and remaining ½ teaspoon salt.

Dip a piece of tofu into the the slurry with one hand, letting the excess drip off. Transfer to the panko bowl and use the other hand to sprinkle a handful of breadcrumbs over the tofu to coat it completely. Return it to the tray and bread all the other pieces in the same way. Make sure you use one hand for the wet batter and the other for the dry batter, or you’ll end up with crumb hand.

Preheat a large cast-iron pan over medium-high heat. Pour in a layer of oil, about ¼ inch thick. Fry the tofu in the hot oil until golden on the top and bottom, working in batches if necessary; it will take about 8 minutes total. The sides will get fried in the process, but add a little more oil if needed. Use a thin metal spatula to flip.

While the tofu is frying, make the sauce: Simply mix the melted butter with the buffalo sauce. You can melt the butter in a large ceramic bowl in the microwave then mix in the hot sauce to save on doing dishes.

Lift each wing from the oil and dunk it into the buffalo sauce to coat. Transfer to serving plates and serve immediately with the carrots, celery, and ranch.

RECIPE: Rescue Ranch Dressing

If we replaced all the dairy ranch dressing on earth with vegan ranch dressing, we would reverse the climate crisis and save millions of lives. It’s a fact, look it up. But I’m not here to preach, I’m here to give you a creamy, herby, zesty dressing that you will want on hand at all times. You don’t need any tips on what to do with ranch dressing; you will naturally dip anything and everything in it. Wings, obviously. But being in Nebraska, I’ve seen people take this dressing in some weird directions. Pizza? OK. Nachos? You do you. Except that one person who dipped samosas in it. What were you thinking?

Makes about 1 cup (240 ml)

2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh parsley 2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh dill 2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh chives 1½ teaspoons onion powder ½ teaspoon garlic powder ¼ teaspoon ground black pepper ½ teaspoon salt, plus more if needed 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice ¾ cup (180 ml) vegan mayo

In a small mixing bowl, add the parsley, dill, chives, onion powder, garlic powder, black pepper, and salt. Drizzle in the lemon juice and give it a stir. Let sit for about 5 minutes, soaking up the flavors and wilting the herbs.

Add the mayo and stir well. Depending on the kind of mayo you used, you may need to add a little water to thin it out. Do this by the tablespoon until the consistency seems correct, thick but pourable. Taste again for salt and seasoning. The flavors enhance as it sits, so it’s even better the next day! Seal in an airtight container and refrigerate for up to 5 days.

Bestselling author Isa Chandra Moskowitz shows you how to create your own vegan meats, like deli slices and ground beef, that will satisfy every craving

“I’m an animal lover and that love doesn’t end when I get hungry. Do I miss meat? Not really. But here’s what I do miss: Aromas. Experiences. Methods. Traditions.

“I remember all the tastes and sensations from my omnivore days, even though they were so long ago. My grandmother’s meatballs, burnt on one side. Slurpy seafood pasta at a café along the bay, my teeth scraping against the hard oyster shells. My favorite pizza burger from a diner underneath a Midtown office building, the feel of the vinyl seat as I bounced with excitement at the sight of the melty mozz arriving at the table.

“These are the moments you could say I miss. Maybe you do, too. But we don’t have to.” —from the Introduction

Fake Meat is packed with 125 recipes that will satisfy every kind of meat craving, from a vegan Philly cheesesteak and a basket of wings to a rich, gooey lasagna.

For more information, click here.

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lewdligu · 1 year ago

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Finally Time at Home

Figured I should get a story up here. I don't know how many I'm gonna post since I have like four other places I post my writing. XD I will probably use this space for shorter things though, fantasies or thoughts.

I also do a thing where I write based on the gacha game pulls I do, that'll be coming soon.

But for now enjoy this cute little thing involving a sweet couple and some tickly shenanigans.

If you want to read more writing, hit up my DeviantArt.

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“I wonder where she is…” I question the walls as I mull about the kitchen. It’s not really that I’m worried; she can take care of herself against whatever might be around her little forest, but usually her mushroom gathering is pretty quick. She has her particular favorite little patches of shrooms she floats between.

Plus, I’m about ready with this sauce and it needs the key ingredient!

Ahh well, I’m sure she’s just being extra picky about which ones she collects, since it’s been a while since I’ve made her favorite dish. Been so busy in the castle lately that I haven’t had this kind of opportunity to spend time at home for an extended period. I’m happy to be so busy, but I miss the ability to just be with her, like before.

Wisps of purple smoke erupt from the large pot bubbling away on the stove; the timer spell telling me that the spaghetti is done! I quickly grab my strainer and swirl it through the boiling water, giving the pasta a little gathering twirl before nabbing it all in one scoop. With a bobbing flourish (archmages always have a flare for the dramatic), I drain the nest of spaghetti before laying it on the large plate I have prepared, letting it steam itself out. Its ordeal is not yet over, but it needs to cool while the sauce is being finished up.

Speaking of the sauce, it can get my full attention once more. I play with the stove a little, tweaking the flame in the most subtle way. This sauce is so amazing, but it does take quite a lot of effort to get right. The heat has to be perfect, the order of the ingredients has to be correct. Even the amount of spices has to be pretty exact or else the entire sauce goes bad.

I take the small bowl of pre-measured Uhilian vinegar…

I take a sniff of the bowl just to make sure I have the Uhilian vinegar.

“Hork!” Yeah this is definitely the stuff…

It mellows out in the sauce, I promise. As I rub my nose and toss it in, the thick simmering sludge absorbs the liquid and it turns from a deep crimson to a lighter flame red. Just as planned. But now we’re at an impasse… The next ingredient is not yet–

“I’m hhhHHOOOOOME!” A shrill voice escalates as its owner comes barreling into the house through the open window.

Literally barrelling, why is she flying so fast!? And so erratically; the basket she’s carrying is flipping all over the place, I can see the mushrooms nearly falling out!

“E-Enelily!” I exclaim as I scramble out of the kitchen, rounding the shelf and putting my hands out to grab the basket just at the tipping point before any of its contents can escape. When I stop the basket, the little fairy’s momentum carries, and she begins swinging on the handle like a goofy kid at a playground. Her magic allows her to be pretty strong at this size, but considering she’s not even a foot tall and I’m almost six, physics wins over magic there.

“WheeEeEEeEEEeeeh~” The minigirl squeals as she flips around and around the basket handle, slowing to a stop after a couple rotations until she’s just dangling from it. Her four translucent wings twitch, spread wide like she were flying, but I can tell she’s not. She’s got a silly look on her face, and her little coat is only half-on her body. The top of it is stained with a dark liquid.

Oh, I get it.

“‘Lil, you got into the Nightwish again, didn’t you?” I ask with a sigh as I start back toward the kitchen with our star ingredient (and the fairy dangling above them).

“Nnnnnn–.... Nooooooo,~” she replies, not at all trying to hide the goofy smile on her face. My walking makes her sway back and forth, her body pretty lax as she looks like she’s just enjoying the movement.

As I set the basket down on the countertop next to the stove I can finally get a good look at her. Her normally sapphire-blue hair is also darkened to a deep indigo. I shake my head lightly and offer my finger to her. “What did I tell you about flower-diving?”

“You shaid…. You shhhhhaid…” she slurs adorably, reaching a tiny hand out to my finger to monkey bar climb her way from the basket handle to dangle in the same way from my finger. “You said to have fun!”

Gods she is so cute, I can’t help but smile. “Yes, but I meant with me, silly.” I twist around and wiggle my finger, which makes her giggle and bounce, trying a little pull up–unsuccessfully thanks to her inebriation–but it’s an adorable attempt.

“I knooooow~ I’m sorry it’s just that the plant is growing so well, and it looked so inviting and I was thirsty and…” ‘Lil continued to ramble, but started talking so fast that I couldn’t comprehend her. Nightwish affects different fairy species in different ways, and she’s never really been able to hold her substances of any kind well, so I’m not surprised she’s so discombobulated. At least she’s an adorable drunk.

“Well, it’s fine, you’ll be good by the time dinner is ready.” I say–from very much experience– as I dangle her over the counter next to where the spaghetti is sitting, now pleasantly warm.

“Yeaaaaaaaaah!” she cheers, and lets go of my finger. I expected her to drift down to the countertop–she likes to float back and forth slowly like a falling leaf, it’s just the cutest thing–but instead she just hovers exactly where she was.

Drunk brain is a funny thing.~

I give her a smile and poke her cheek (my fingertip is nearly as big as her cheek), to which she puffs her face brattily, before I turn around and start going through the mushrooms she’s selected.

“Wow, you really went all out with these,” I say, rummaging through the caps in the basket. Each mushroom is plump and tight, with gills perfectly formed. It looks like she’s chosen all of her favorites, and just the best specimens of each. I knew that she would grab good ingredients–it is her job after all–I guess I forgot just how good she is at this.

I’m glad she found these before she dove into that pitcher plant.

Well, I don’t need all of these, so I begin the process of selecting two of each type that I think would be best in the sauce. The largest Purple Hearts. The ugliest Sprinkle Caps. The greenest Box Tops.

As I hold two of the Baggund mushrooms, one circular and one square, I can’t remember which was better…

“Hey, do you remember what Baggund I usually use?” It’s been a really, really long time since I’ve made this recipe…

“Tha square one!” She calls back, though her voice is a little muffled. The shift in tone makes me perk up, setting the mushrooms down and turning around with a curious eyebrow.

My face falls as I step to the other counter. “Enelily…” She’s not sitting where I thought she would be. She’s not sitting at all.

A leg poking out of a nest of noodles, a wrist wrapped up in a strand, a tiny foot shibari’d in a pasta knot.

“I’msorry it was so waaaaaarm,~” she says with a drunken groan, the noodly mountain shuddering as she squirms in spaghetti until her head pokes out. The sticky noodles cling to her hair and her pale neck. All her limbs are sticking out now, as is a bit of her torso and her collarbone. But the rest is just noodle; I can’t even see her wings.

How long was she in there for? She must have dove in and squirmed around for the entire time I had my back to her…

“Well now I need to make another batch of spaghetti…” I say with a deep, exasperated sigh.

‘Lil looks up at me with pleading eyes. “A-are you mad at me…?” she asks.

My face lightens, giving her a soft smile. “No, silly,” I reply warmly, leaning down to rest my elbows on the countertop on either side of the plate.

Honestly, it’s impossible to be mad at her, ever. I fell in love with her because of her pure heart, her kindness; and yes, her silliness. It’s been so long since we’ve been able to get so comfortable and casual like this that I’ve forgotten just how much of those things she is, and just how much I love her because of them. We lock eyes for an eternal second, as I lose myself in them all over again. Her smile grows sheepish as my lovey gaze weighs on her, making her blush deeper and shrink into her noodly cushion.

“But, I do need to punish you for ruining this batch,” I tease. With a swift motion I lean far to the side–so much so that I’m nearly tipping–as I reach out for a nearby tall jar that still has its lit off.

“P-punish…?” she says apprehensively, trying to twist herself around to watch where my hand is going. But as she tries to stretch, the noodles around her constrict; she can barely move! “A-ah’m s-stuck!” she exclaims, some of her Sirilian accent coming through.

I smirk and let out a playfully evil chuckle–as I am wont to do when I am getting into mischief. I reach into the jar and feel around with two fingertips, grabbing what I’m looking for, and slowly pull out a hard, uncooked strand of pasta. I flip it around my fingers ostentatiously and let it rest; holding it like a quill as I bring it in front of her.

Finally able to see it, the confusion is clear upon her face. I let the situation linger in the air, letting her mind wander with possibilities. What the heck am I doing with a stiff stick of pasta? Why am I holding it like a chopstick that I’d use to poke a piece of…

Her eyes widen.

“W-wai–YEEP!” As she opens her mouth to beg, it is swiftly cut off with a yelp as I prod her exposed left sole with the stick. I am no stranger to her body–we’ve been together a long time–but I know that in her small form my fingers are too big to tickle her.

But this? This thin, stiff, barely sharp stick of pasta? As I start to poke it around the plump curves of her tiny fairy sole, it works perfectly to make her descend into adorable giggles.

“NYooHihIIIYee-EEheEe! NYaaHaha–I’m sorry I’m sorreeEEEhhEE~!” She trills through her giggling, trying to form words as she writhes about in the sticky pile of noodles. Every time she twists or pulls, she knots herself up a little tighter, the spaghetti constricts a little more. And as it pulls at her, I notice that it’s making her little green blouse ride up on her midriff, exposing her milky, smooth stomach. Gods, she’s so beautiful.

But she’s also so ticklish, and ruined dinner, so the punishment must be performed. I move my implement of torture up to her belly, beginning to poke and prod around her skin there. Her laughter pitches up as she tries so desperately to curl up and protect herself, but the noodles are the most complete bondage, preventing her from doing more than writhing back and forth as my poking tickles make her jump.

“NYA-NNee–EE-EEEHeeEHIIIIII~!” It’s been so long since I’ve gotten a chance to tickle her that I forgot just how amazing her reactions were. Her laughter is high pitched, a little shrill; halfway between a buzzing beehive and a fluttering hummingbird. And every now and then–especially when my noodle finds the extra ticklish spots around her tiny hips–she erupts with a squeal like a birdcall. No orchestra in the world could produce music I would enjoy more than this ticklish laughter that I’m conducting from her.

The blush on her face makes her pale cheeks practically glow red, and even though her smile is forced, I can see the pure enjoyment behind her eyes as she alternates between squeezing them closed while shaking her head, and looking up at me amorously. I can tell that she’s wanted this as much as I have.

But she can also tell that I’m not going to go that easy on her, thanks to her indiscretion!

With my free hand I reach to the middle of the long uncooked spaghetti noodle, and snap it in half. With another showy spin I’m now dual-wielding pasta, and she knows I know how to use them. I move the noodles to each of her helpless, tiny bare feet.

“HYAAAAAHEEEEE~!” Her body stiffens in her noodly bondage as I prod the pointy noodles around her soft soles with swift, fast movements. Probably about as big as her toes, I am surprisingly dexterous with my torturous poking. She can shake and paddle her feet around quite a lot, but the spaghetti around her tiny body makes it so she can never shift away enough. Her right foot especially, since it’s bound at the ankle rather than the thigh like her other, is particularly helpless to my tickling.

I admit, I’m losing myself a little in the situation; I just love watching her squirm. The way her itty bitty toes are flexing and scrunching to each poke, the way her soft soles wrinkle and stretch with each of her pulls. The way I can make her yelp every time I poke the ball of her foot, but flutter in laughter every time I trace around her arch.

But as I’m tickling her, as the seconds pass and I fall more and more in love with her giggly torment, I can hear the exhaustion setting in. Her small form doesn’t have a whole lot of stamina, so as much as I would love to tickle her until the sun sets, I know soon it will switch from being enjoyable torture to being legitimately upsetting, and I couldn’t bring myself to do that.

At least, not without her prior agreement.

So after a few more pokes around her perfect soles (now a lovely shade of red), and a couple more prods around her belly (I just had to see her try to curl up one more time), I finally remove my tools, setting them down on the countertop. She giggles through heavy breaths, lingering tickly sensations still shooting through her body. ‘Lil has the cutest post-tickling afterglow; she lets out little twitches and shudders, and continues giggling for minutes without any touching even happening. Normally I would deeply rub her skin to get some of the electricity out of her nerves, but when she’s small like this, that usually just ends up overwhelming her, so I give her a few long seconds to let the fire across her skin burn itself out.

As she relaxes into her noodle bed, I think it’s time to get her out of there.

Plus, it’s now impossible for me to resist touching her amazing body.~

I lower my head, softly pressing my mouth to the noodles that bind her legs. With a masterful motion I slide my teeth across them, and a bit of her skin, taking a few bites to free her lower body. I move myself up to her midriff, unable to resist giving her stomach a lustful kiss (and eliciting just the hottest little moan) before navigating my teeth to the thick cords of cold noodle binding her chest.

I move to free her arms, but my lips are greeted with her hands instead; it seems like she already freed herself there.

…I wonder if she could have done that at any time.

I don’t really care, of course. I feel her arms guide me up towards her small, beautiful face, and she gives my upper lip just the sweetest little kiss. Tired, but very sweet.

“Take all the time you need, ‘Lil,” I whisper as I pull away. She’s sprawled out on the noodle bed, just enjoying the lingering exhaustion and our mutual presence. We gaze lovingly at each other for who cares how long, and each second solidifies my dedication to her more and more.

A gurgle from behind me catches my attention, and I peel my eyes away from my love while stepping to the other side of the kitchen.

The sauce is as black as night, and is giving off a sickly green vapor. Like I said; this sauce is temperamental. With a sigh I grab the lid and cover the large pot, turning the flame off. It’s a really good thing I didn’t actually put those mushrooms in; I have plenty of the other ingredients, but those would have been horrible to waste.

As I am lamenting the fallen sauce, I feel a pair of arms wrap around my middle. A chin rests upon my shoulder, and I’m given just the warmest squeeze.

“Let me help you,” Enelily says, still in a bit of a daze. As she’s hugging me, I can feel that she has a fist full of spaghetti in her grasp.

“I would love that,” I reply, reaching back and running my hand through her sapphire hair.

Gods, I love this fairy, in all her forms.

#LiguContent #LiguWriting #tickling #tickle story #I really need to do more with these two #probably the cutest thing I've ever written. XD

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crispychrissy · 3 years ago

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Extra Spicy

Summary: A decision made by Bucky has some unexpected repercussions, but thankfully his Omega is there to take care of him. Pairing: Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader Word Count: 4407 Warnings: Steve is stressed because Bucky is being Bucky, very minor angst, casual mention of throwing up (nothing graphic), fluff, ABO dynamics and the things that come with it, smut, rough-ish sex, knotting, Bucky is full-on Alpha mode, fluff A/N: This story was originally an SPN fic I wrote ages ago of the same name, but I've changed it to the MCU and rewritten about 95% of it to improve on a lot of things the original story was lacking. I'm experiencing a lot of writers block and stress and I stayed up until 5am on a weeknight to write this. I'm dead inside, but hey! I can still write dirty, filthy porn. Yay! It's also my first ABO fic set in the MCU, so double yay! This was beta’d by the lovelies @abbessolute and @idjitmonkey who both thoroughly enjoyed the ride.

Marvel Masterlist

“A smart man learns from his mistakes. A wise man learns from everyone else's.”

The disapproval in Steve’s voice had your eyes sliding from Bucky to meet the gaze of the Captain’s. He only stared at you helplessly, silently begging you to stop what was about to happen. The tension in the air was so thick, you kept having to remind yourself to breathe through your mouth as the plethora of scents in the air continued to assault your sensitive nose. When Steve glanced back at Bucky, you could only watch from the sidelines as the two super soldiers had a silent conversation through minute facial expressions.

“I gotta do this, Steve,” Bucky said, tightening his metal fingers around the hilt of the knife he had fisted in his hand.

“Come on, man. Think about your past, you know you’re gonna regret it,” Steve warned, crossing his arms across his chest and giving Bucky his best “disapproving Cap” face.

Bucky had made up his mind long before Steve interjected—you’ve known him long enough to tell—so when he tilted his head back and let out an odd warrior cry of a shout to psych himself up, you pressed your lips together to try and hide your smile. With enthusiasm rivaling the nights he got lucky, Bucky dug into the plate of extra spicy ghost pepper chicken tenders. He cut one of the two pieces in half before stabbing it with his fork and quickly shoving it into his mouth.

At least he was using utensils this time and wouldn’t need you to help him remove gobs of hot sauce from between the plates in his metal hand like you ended up having to do six months ago. Bucky’s shout of pain when he tried to jerk off in the bathroom that night without properly cleaning his metal hand after eating hot wings wasn’t something you’d soon forget… or soon let him forget.

Steve rolled his eyes before rubbing his forehead, and you glanced at the dozen or so photos scattered across the wall above his head which showed the customers that had completed the restaurant’s Ghost Pepper Challenge. Almost every single photo on the wall had captured challenge winners in varying stages of pain and discomfort, and you wondered if they actually felt like they won anything at all. Their sweat-drenched red faces were worrisome since at least half of them appeared to be seconds from passing out when the photo was taken.

Steve was right, Bucky definitely could have learned from the obviously painful mistakes made by those in the photos, but it appeared stubbornness was the one personality trait that had remained constant ever since the thirties when he was a teenager and boxing above his weight for extra cash on Friday nights. Hydra may have tried to brainwash the stubbornness out of him, but they only succeeded in redirecting it to his mission directives… until another stubborn asshole named Steve Rogers helped him remember by letting Bucky beat his face in.

A soft whimper of concern bubbled in your throat when you caught sight of the trembling in Bucky’s flesh hand as he picked up the second half of the first chicken tender and stuffed it into his mouth. He was absolutely headed for the same result as the people in those pictures, but he was halfway done and wouldn’t throw in the towel now.

Bucky coughed, dry-heaved, and then wheezed, gratefully accepting the napkin you passed him when his nose started to run. “One down,” he gasped, slamming his right fist down on the table soft enough to not break it, “one to… go.”

“Yeah, I can’t watch this. I’m gonna go back to the hotel and look over the files on our target’s known associates that Hill dropped off earlier,” Steve said, pushing his empty plate toward the middle of the table before he stood from his chair and grabbed his jacket. As he slipped his arms through the sleeves, he looked down at you. “Buck’s gonna be messed up for a while, spicy foods never sat well with him when we were growing up, and since the serum doesn’t change your taste buds…” Steve shook his head at Bucky’s splotchy and sweaty face before he shot you a look. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Punk,” Bucky rasped before placing another piece of chicken in his mouth, which immediately made him start coughing and gasping for breath as he chewed. Despite the fire in his mouth, he still managed to raise a metal middle finger at Steve.

“Bucky,” you admonished in a sigh as you patted him on the back before smiling up at Steve. “I knew that when I bonded with him, Steve. Whether it’s a bad rut or spicy chicken, I’ll always be there.”

Steve exhaled quickly out of his nose in amusement, watching his best friend writhe in pain, and tapped the end of the table with two fingers. “You two are perfect for each other. Good luck.”

“See yah later, Steve,” you laughed, and once the door closed behind him as he disappeared out of the front of the restaurant, you turned to face Bucky. “So, how are you feeling?”

Bucky looked at you as lovingly as he could through watering eyes and a face as red as the first time you talked dirty to him during a heat. He smiled at you through the pain. “Almost…”

There was only one piece of chicken left, the final half of the second tender, and you could see employees and customers alike watching with expressions ranging from amused to horrified as Bucky scooped it up and shoved it into his mouth with a grunt. He chewed fast, swallowing with a soft whimper, before raising his hands above his head in triumph.

“Victory!”

You squeezed his thigh as the restaurant staff started heading toward your table with a camera and flimsy paper certificate, and tried to keep the amusement from your voice. “You are so gonna regret this.”

***

“I regret everything,” Bucky whined from behind the bathroom door. “It burned more coming up than it did going down.”

“Well, yeah, of course it did. Instead of just the ghost pepper sauce, you also have your stomach acid joining the regurgitation party.” You locked your phone and tossed it on the bed next to you before tucking your hands behind your head. “Make sure you brush your teeth, baby.”

“I know, ‘mega,” Bucky cooed, and you heard the toilet flush before the water turned on. You heard him wash his hands before the low buzz of his electric toothbrush filled the air.

According to Steve, Bucky has always been clingy and grumpy when he didn’t feel well, so the Captain had quickly gathered his laptop and mission files the moment you returned with a whiny Bucky in tow, telling you he would be back in a few hours. You didn’t blame him for fleeing, though, since Bucky’s stomach pain was causing his normal musky Alpha scent to have a bitterly sour bite to it due to his distress, and the change in his best friend’s scent made Steve distressed, as well.

After flipping over to lay on your stomach with your head pillowed on your folded arms, you were just getting comfortable when the bathroom door opened and Bucky emerged, rubbing his stomach through the thin t-shirt he was wearing.

“That sucked,” he murmured.

You frowned in sympathy and waved him over to you. “Well, at least you waited to puke until we got back. Apparently if you upchuck while you’re still at the restaurant, it doesn’t count as completing the challenge because you didn’t keep it down.”

Bucky grimaced, shuffling across the hotel room towards you. “I don’t wanna know how many people finished ‘em but ended up being disqualified for puking.” He burped, winced, and shivered. “Ugh, those tenders were no joke.”

There was something making your nose twitch, aside from the bitterness of distress in Bucky’s scent, and you sniffed the air around him delicately a few seconds after he plopped down on the end of the bed. “Y’know, your scent… it’s got this weird spicy undertone now.”

“Yeah?” Bucky looked at you over his shoulder and smiled, taking his time to admire the curve of your ass and how soft you looked nestled in his bed. “Do ya like it?”

A soft hum of thought rumbled from your chest as you inhaled. “It’s… not offensive, but it’s a strange accompaniment to the normal spicy undertone of cinnamon in your scent. It’s almost like… too much spice.” You shrugged and rolled over onto your back, smirking when you found him staring at you hungrily. “My guess is that it’s similar to how eating a lot of garlic makes your sweat smell like garlic because of the intensity of the aroma. It’ll probably go away after you shower.”

“So you’re saying I’m,” Bucky’s lip curled into a wicked smirk, “extra spicy?”

Whatever sarcastic reply you were about to quip back at him was replaced by a squeal when Bucky twisted his body, leapt forward, and pounced on you, pinning you to the bed as he nibbled and kissed along the smooth skin of your neck. Bucky would sometimes get into these intense yet playful moods during and after your missions when he needed to make sure you were safe, and you were more than happy to play along, squirming and giggling as he let his more dominant and wild Alpha side out to play.

“Mmm, Omega,” Bucky rumbled into the skin of your neck before lightly nipping at the scar from your mating bite. “Want you.”

The softness of Bucky’s hair tickled your skin as you ran your fingers through his locks, stopping to scratch his scalp once in a while and enjoying the rumbled purr of complete bliss you received from him in response. “You have me, Buck.”

Bucky smiled against your collarbone before leaning back to trail his hands down to the bottom hem of your shirt. He looked up at you through his lashes as he tugged on your shirt like a playful puppy trying to get your attention, and you smiled as you leaned up to assist him in pulling it up and over your head. Bucky’s shirt and pants as well as your jeans and your bra are quickly added to the pile of discarded clothing on the floor next to the bed, leaving both of you in just your underwear.

In a move that would be impossible for someone without fight and stealth training, Bucky had you pinned down so he was hovering over you, his feet positioned on the inside of your knees to hold your legs open. Based on where his legs were, it seemed to be some kind of modified version of a leg lock, but instead of keeping your legs together to stop someone from kicking out like the normal move does, he was keeping your legs open while still pinning them down so you couldn’t move. The cool of his metal hand made you shiver as he began pawing at your breast, while the other wiggled into your panties to stroke your slick folds.

All of your senses were being overwhelmed by everything Bucky, but when you took a deep breath, you realized the extra spice you’d smelled earlier had shifted from overbearing to more of a sweet kind of heat, complementing the mix of your scents in the air. Bucky’s warm fingertip slid up between the lips of your pussy and gently circled your clit, making you whimper and moan as goosebumps cascaded over your skin. As the sensations caused by his touch grew in intensity, your body went limp under his and your legs fell further open on their own accord, the sight of you spread open drawing a deep animalistic growl of satisfaction from Bucky.

“You’re practically dripping, doll, so slick and warm,” he whispered between affectionate yet possessive kisses to your lips, jaw, and neck. “Gonna knot you, baby. Need ta feel this tight pussy around my cock.”

“Bucky!” you gasped as he increased the pressure against your clit, rubbing and flicking your hard bud with dexterous fingers. The pleasure rocketing through your body made your hands shake, causing you to fumble slightly when you reached up to slide your hands past the elastic of Bucky’s boxer briefs and wrapped your fingers around the hard, thick warmth of his shaft. He hissed at the contact and growled when you gave him a long, slow stroke from the sensitive ridge at the base of his cock all the way up to the leaking tip.

“Fuck, Omega!” Bucky jerked his hips forward, chasing your touch when you pulled your hand away. “Doll, I… need… gotta see… nghhh.”

Sometimes, when Bucky reached the point of pleasure where his eyes were permanently half-lidded and his hands were constantly touching or caressing you, his words didn't flow as eloquently as they usually did. It was almost as if his brain reverted back to a primal Alpha state, where he could only communicate with grunted noises and gestures. Luckily, you and Bucky had been mated for well over a year, so you knew exactly what he wanted.

Shimmying out of your panties took some extra effort on your part since Bucky didn’t seem to want to break contact with your skin long enough to help. Instead, he appeared to be perfectly content to sit back on his haunches to watch you slide the cotton fabric down your legs. Once they were dangling from your foot, you bent your knees and spread your legs, the obscene display exposing your slick-glistening folds to his gaze.

Bucky’s nostrils flared and his eyes fluttered shut as the intoxicating scent of your slick sent fire surging through his veins to pool in his loins. His cock twitched in anticipation and he grunted his approval, pushing down the front of his underwear just enough to expose himself, leaving the rest of the fabric bunched around the top of his thighs. Bucky’s cock was rock hard, long and thick like always, and he gave himself a slow stroke from root to tip, causing you to whimper and him to puff his chest out at your reaction to his cock. The dark red ridge of his knot at the base of his cock was slightly swollen, and the bead of precome at the tip twinkled at you in invitation. As much as you wanted to lean forward and lick it off to savor the taste of him, you relaxed back on the pillow, waiting for Bucky to make the first move so you could follow.

When he didn’t immediately pin you down and slam himself inside you like usual, you tilted your head, raising a questioning brow as his lust-darkened cobalt eyes danced over every inch of your exposed skin. Bucky’s jaw clenched and he narrowed his eyes, and you nodded when it finally hit you.

“Yes, Alpha,” you mewled, waiting until he moved back just far enough to give you room to lift yourself up and turn over. Once you settled, you were on your stomach, ass high in the air, with your hands folded under your head, the slick dripping from your pussy on full display for him. Bucky’s growl of approval made your inner Omega preen and you teasingly wiggled your hips in invitation.

Bucky shuffled closer on his knees until he was right behind you, and you shivered when the cool metal of his palm gently traced the curve of your back down to your ass, giving your flesh a firm squeeze before he spread your slick cunt open with two fingers. Despite the warm scent of spice in the air, the hotel room was somewhat chilly, so you whined quietly as it cooled the exposed slick between your legs and made goosebumps appear all over your body.

Fortunately, the cold sensation was quickly replaced by the familiar heat of Bucky’s cock sliding between your folds to gather your slick, and you nearly wept in pleasure when the thick head of his cock pushed forward and slipped inside your entrance. The amount of slick dripping from your hole allowed him to slide all the way in, the stretch only causing you mild discomfort. The wanton moan that spilled from your lips echoed in the hotel room when his hips finally rested flush against your ass, leaving his cock practically throbbing with need when he was buried to the hilt inside you.

“Take me… so damn well, doll,” Bucky murmured through a throaty growl, his brain struggling to form coherent sentences. “So tight… all… for me.” He grunted a choked off noise when the temperature difference between his metal and flesh hand as they gripped your hips made your pussy clench around him in excitement.

Bucky inhaled sharply when the warmth of your sheath disappeared as he guided your hips away until just the tip of his cock was resting inside you. The metal plates in his arm whirred, the only warning you got before his fingers tightened again and he pushed forward, slowly feeding your greedy pussy every inch of his slick shined cock, no doubt savoring the sight of it disappearing inside you.

“Need…” Bucky rumbled out a deep half-growl, half-moan as the movement of his hips leveled off into a steady rhythm. Well, steady until the downright filthy slapping sound of skin meeting skin seemed to drive him wild with lust, making him increase his speed to take you at a nearly unhuman pace. “Mine,” he snarled, his breath coming out in a harsh staccato that matched each thrust of his hips.

“Yours,” you answered, even though it wasn’t a question. Bucky belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him despite the raw, possessive Alpha currently in the driver's seat of his brain. “So good, Alpha, so big!”

Bucky’s fingers twitch and tighten around your hips, and you moan at the mental image of those ten long bruises on your skin, each one reminding you of this moment for days. Finally losing the battle to keep your eyes open through pleasure-heavy eyelids, you stretched your arms out in front of you and fisted your hands in the soft satin sheets to ground yourself as Bucky slammed into you with rough, deliberate movements. When his cock twitched and throbbed inside you, the thick vein along the top of his shaft rubbed deliciously against your sweet spot, making you see stars. All of the muscles in your body tensed for a moment before relaxing entirely when your orgasm slammed into you. The waves of mind-numbing sexual euphoria crashing over you had you screaming Bucky’s name and title as trembled. A low, triumphant rumble vibrated through Bucky’s chest, his skill as your mate evident by your moans of satisfaction, his slick orgasm-soaked balls, and your body’s submission to him. It greatly pleased the Alpha deep inside him that had risen to the surface.

The moans, whimpers, and gasps tumbling from your lips as you tumbled from one climax into another seemed to spur him on, and you let out a shocked “oh!” when Bucky’s metal arm wrapped around your chest and you were jerked upright and held in place, your back pressed firmly to his chest. His pace never faltered, and you could feel his breath coming out in animalistic pants against the back of your neck where his nose was pressed, allowing the hidden fire of your delectably alluring scent to surround him.

“Gon’ come,” Bucky warned through gritted teeth, the punishing rhythm of his hips beginning to falter. He flicked his tongue out and licked the sweat from your skin, moaning at the taste.

“Fuck! Need your knot, baby! Please… James.” Drunk on pleasure, you were mindlessly babbling and the use of his first name caught him off guard. A particularly hard thrust of his hips served as a reprimand and reminder of who was in charge, sending you reeling as you corrected yourself. “Alpha, please! Knot me!”

The light scraping of Bucky’s teeth over the scar that remained from when you had first bonded together sent you sobbing in pleasure and spiraling into another orgasm, one which had you slumping forward to press your face into the mattress. The hoarse shout of a scream that tore from your lips had you bucking your hips against him wildly, trying to draw out every last bit of pleasure possible. Bucky gasped, struck completely still, his knot beginning to swell at the sight of his cock disappearing inside your spasming pussy as you frantically slammed yourself back onto him. With his orgasm swiftly approaching, his enthusiasm matched yours when he firmly grabbed both of your hips and pulled hard, spearing you on his cock and forcing the entire girth of his knot into your pussy with a feral shout, one you echoed with equal fervor.

“Fuuuuuck!” Bucky shakily dragged out the word with a moan as his cock continued to pulse and fill you over and over, the little jerks of his hips heightening his pleasure when his knot tugged at your entrance.

At this point you were nearly delirious with the ecstasy you were feeling, but the warmth of his seed in your belly made your entire being clench, sending another small—but in no way less gratifying—orgasm searing through your pleasure-ravaged body. Bucky nearly doubled over at the unexpected sensation of your pussy squeezing his knot, and he bent down to press himself against your back as he continued to kiss, nibble, and lick your mating scar as if it was as fresh as the day he put it there.

“Wow,” you sighed when you finally floated back down to your body, turning your head to the left so you could speak. “I am one-hundred percent certain I now know why the French call an orgasm ‘la petite mort’. Pretty sure I transcended into another plane of existence with those orgasms.”

Bucky rumbled out a soft chuckle as he nodded against your skin, trying to clear the post-orgasmic haze from his mind so he could regain control of his human limbs; his metal arm was rock solid where it was wrapped around your front to support your hips. “Yeah, that was pretty intense. I don’t think I’ve let myself go like that since the night I claimed you.” Using his flesh hand, he brushed the hair out of your face to make sure you were okay, then gently stroked his thumb along your cheek. “You ready to shift positions?”

Even though you felt like a boneless lethargic sloth, you nodded and smiled when Bucky leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. With the strength of a super soldier honed by practiced ease, Bucky scooped you close to him and moved so he was laying flat on his back before arranging so you ended up splayed out on his chest, your head tucked just below his chin, while you waited for his knot to go down.

When you felt his muscles tense under you, you opened a bleary eye and tilted your head to look up at him. “What?”

“Steve… he said he’d be back in a few hours. It’s been almost two and a half since we got back from the restaurant.” Bucky leaned up and frantically looked around before his eyes zeroed in on the bunched up comforter partially hanging off the bottom corner of the bed, likely pushed there during the course of your lovemaking. “Can you grab that?” he asked you, pointing a metal finger at the comforter. “I don’t think Steve’ll appreciate seeing us all… au naturale when he gets back,” a growl of residual possessiveness rumbled through Bucky’s chest as he tightened his hold on you, “and I definitely don’t want that fathead to see my girl naked. You’re all mine.”

“Well, seeing as how your knot is currently buried inside your mate, I think you can rest assured I’m not going anywhere, Buck,” you teased, flashing him a cheeky smile before nuzzling back into his chest to breathe in his comforting scent. The spicy smell had faded quite a bit, but you could still feel it tickle at your nose if you focused. When Bucky didn’t relax, you sighed. “When you called me ‘Mega’ while you were still in the bathroom, I could tell you were in a playful mood. I already told Steve you were probably gonna jump my bones and to wait until I gave him the all clear to come back.”

Bucky’s hand froze on your lower back where he’d been absentmindedly tracing random shapes on your skin with his fingertips. You were about to ask if he was okay when hysterical, full-body laughter burst from his lips, making your head bounce around on his chest. “Damn, am I that predictable?”

“Only when... you’re horny,” you said through a yawn and smile.

“Naughty girl.” Bucky lightly and playfully swatted your ass, then lifted his head to kiss your forehead before wiggling you a little bit when he saw your eyes flutter closed. “Don’t fall asleep yet, doll. I… uhhh, I came a lot, so we gotta get to the bathroom before my knot goes down or we’ll end up ruining the sheets.” You snorted a laugh at the hilarious picture your mind painted, and you could feel the peaceful smile on Bucky’s lips when he kissed your forehead. “I’m gonna carry you to the bathroom, alright?”

“‘Kay,” you agreed sleepily, wrapping your arms around his neck and locking your ankles behind his back when he sat up and began to shuffle over to the side of the bed.

Bucky’s metal hand curled under your bottom as he stood up, your limbs wrapped securely around him despite your exhausted state. When you hissed and flinched at the cold metal pressed against your skin, he easily switched to supporting you with his flesh hand and made a mental note to contact the Wakandans to inquire about some kind of temperature regulation feature for his arm. “I love you, dollface. Let’s get cleaned up.”

“Love you too, Buck,” you murmured, nuzzling your face into his neck to savor the last vestiges of the extra spice in his scent as he carried you into the bathroom and shut the door behind you.

#bucky x reader #alpha!bucky x omega!reader #abo #abo dynamics #mcu fanfic #marvel fanfic #extra spicy #alpha!bucky #steve rogers #steve is 4 offramps past done #tumblrs probably gonna block this on ios #so hashtag fuck tumblr

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bubblyhoney · 3 years ago

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spicy

warnings: kissing, mainly fluff, suggestive language and insinuations (steamy), 1 ass tap, mentioning of a name brand of spectacular hot sauce

tags: dreamwastaken x gn!reader

words: 1047

A/N: had a burrito with cholula for dinner tonight and suddenly had the motivation to write this drabble for dream?? a little out of left field for how long it's been since i have written for this green idiot but i like it hehe.

requests/inbox status: open

“C’mon.”

You slide the plate half an inch closer. He just shakes his head, half of a disgusted look on his face.

“It’s going to hurt me. I don’t want the inside of my mouth to sweat,” he complains with his body tilted away from it. He acts like it’s going to sink its teeth into him and take a meaty bite.

You stare between him and the chicken and cheese burrito. It has a singular stripe of Cholula on it; it’s the sweetest hot sauce you own, not awfully painful but still spicy enough to taste good.

“One bite, and I’ll leave you alone. It’s not that bad, baby.” You scoot it closer. “I’ll make you those cookies you like after. Promise,” you offer, eyebrows wiggling.

“Extra chocolate chips?” He asks, wincing as he picks up the fork. You nod, fond smile growing on your face.

He’s not a massive fan of spice, per say. He only gets barbecue wings when you go out, and even gets his pad Thai without red pepper flakes. The one time you coaxed him into a spicy garlic boneless wing at Buffalo Wild Wings he coughed and sputtered like you spiked them with something radioactive. His lips and nose turned this cute shade of red and you kept teasing and asking about what shade of blush he uses. Sapnap got him convinced that eating the white parts of jalapeños was actually the least spiciest part of the pepper and Dream spent 45 minutes in the bathroom.

So he just glares at the bite of burrito in his fork and sniffs it suspiciously. Sucking in a big breath, he puffs his chest and takes the bite off of the fork with his teeth scraping on the metal. He chews so hard his jaw pops, like he’s afraid to actually taste it. But he swallows, smacking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. He looks around at you, one eyebrow tilted in surprise.

“That wasn’t the worst.”

You clap, wiping an imaginary tear off of your cheek. Grabbing his hand, you bring the back of his palm to your lips for a kiss.

“They grow up so fast,” you simper through a sniff, voice weak. He rips his hand from you with a short laugh, standing to bring your now-empty plate to the sink.

“Shut up.” He hides his smile.

You follow, snorting, and lean up against the fridge to watch him put away the dishes in the dishwasher.

“Who knows. Maybe one day you’ll graduate to buffalo sauce. That day I will drop dead,” you say with finality, grin wide on your lips. He just shakes his head and closes the door of the dishwasher with a snap.

And then he’s nearing you, head tilted, shoulders relaxed and confident. He presses an arm up onto the fridge above your head, leaning down to your level. Your grin melts into a smirk. His lips find your cheek, and his other hand your lower back. Eyes falling closed, you revel in his touch with a hand clenched in the material of his t-shirt. He smells like the cologne he keeps on his desk, all warm and spicy and sharp.

The hand on your back slides down to the belt loops of your jeans and he slides two fingers in them, hooking his hand to you.

“What is all this for?” You ask, too breathy for your liking, and he gives you a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Pulling away just slightly, your lips open to see that look in his eyes. Hm. You know that look. He has that expression on his face right before—

Click.

Sapnap’s entrance to the house saves you from your most definitely steamy interaction with your boyfriend.

“Kitchen!” You call, loosening your fistful of his shirt and standing up straight. He gives you another look but backs off, leaning up against the counter with his arms folded. Like a father awaiting his child to come home past their curfew. Sapnap’s bearded face comes into the light of the kitchen and he sets his keys down onto the island with a loud sound.

“Dude. Dream tried Cholula.” You sound proud.

“No way!” His mouth drops open, looking between you two.

Dream groans, smacking his head on the cupboard behind him.

“And didn’t even pitch a hissy fit! That’s growth.”

God, you’re having so much fun with this.

“Proud of you, bro,” Sapnap adds before slapping his best friend's bicep and leaving for presumably his room. Dream just shakes his head and calls out some sassy remark you're too enthralled in turning to the cupboard to get cookie ingredients to hear.

You’re halfway through pulling out a measuring cup for the flour when he sidles up behind you and presses you flush to the counter edge. You make a noise of acknowledgment but continue on to dump the powder into the plastic mixing bowl. Two long arms drape over you and press flat to the counter as his head drops onto your shoulder.

“Do you want my help?” He mumbles, muffled from the material of your shirt. His mischievous mood seems to have disappeared, you note. Good. Sapnap just got home and he’d probably not love you two christening the kitchen.

“Yes.” You turn your head and press a kiss to his temple. “Go get me the chocolate chips, big boy.”

His pressure from on your back lifts, but not before he lands a firm smack on your butt. You jolt and glare at his back as he reaches up to the shelf where he hides them from Sapnap. (Sap likes to eat them by the handful and Dream plays with him by putting them on top of the cupboards. Meanie.)

“No hot sauce in the cookies, right?” He jokes and plops the bag down right next to you.

“No,” you start, and tear off a corner of the bag. “But I will put a healthy dose of sichuan chilies in.”

He seems to not know what you’re talking about, for his eyebrows furrow and he chews at his lip.

“Are those hot?”

“Nah.”

And you don’t put them in his sacred chocolate chip cookies. But you slip in that little detail for future reference when you get Chinese food. I mean, he’s got to branch out somehow, right?

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :] let me know what you think in the comments!

#dreamwastaken #mcyt imagine #dreamwastaken x gn!reader #dreamwastaken fluff #dreamwastaken fanfic #dreamwastaken oneshot #dreamwastaken drabble #dmsp #mcyt #mcyt x reader #bubblyhoneyfics

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ficsilike-reblogged · 3 years ago

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Burnt Toast - One

Summary: Everyone at Belle Reve has a secret. Even you, the new cook. But when Rick Flag smiles at you, you know everything will become unraveled.

A/N: Do I need to be starting a new series? No! Am I going to? Can’t stop me now. I hope you guys like it. I lost the list of urls of people who wanted to be tagged so I am so, so, so sorry to you all! This story will deal with themes of domestic violence so please do not read if this upsets you.

Pairing: Rick Flag/F!Reader

Rating for this Chapter: PG-13 for guns, violence, Harley being Harley

Word Count: 7.3k

Or read on Ao3 here!

Chapter One

“I can do this.” You didn’t believe that for a second. “I can do this!” Your hands shook as you tried to smooth the invisible wrinkles on your apron. “It is…just food.”

You had answered the ad in the paper like an idiot. The promised salary and benefits package had been too good to be true and the person you had first interviewed with had definitely smiled too wide to be trusted but you…needed the money. Needed the security. Needed to never go back to Gotham ever again.

So, when you went in for the second interview (which should have also been a red flag—even the four star restaurant in Gotham where you were a Sous Chef didn’t have two interviews) and showed off your best cacio e pepe and turkey scallopini, and learned where you would be cooking, you should have known better. Should have said no.

But a voice whispered at the back of your mind, reminding you that you needed to be safe. And where would be safer than behind the gates of a super-high-security prison, specifically in the wing filled with world-renowned criminals and metahumans?

“Thank you for this opportunity. I won’t let you down.” Stupid.

The first day went fairly well. Your hands only shook a half dozen times when you were handing over the plates but everyone did seem to enjoy their food. And there was a system in place, only a few of the prisoners were allowed in the cafeteria at the time—to avoid fights, you assumed—so you were able to learn almost everyone’s quirks fairly quickly. And most others were still confined to their cells during meal time so you would take a little cart around and push the food through the door, trying your best to be friendly. A woman you knew to be named Harley Quinn actually asked for seconds with a vibrant smile and a bit of your marinara sauce streaked on her cheek. You happily obliged, happier still to have her in the cafeteria instead of the box of barbed wire and fencing they called her cell. She had been your first and fiercest friend, happily holding up the line to talk with you about anything and everything and not leaving until you gave her an extra helping of the day’s dessert and even then, she lingered.

A man named Robert DuBois was the next to make you feel a little more at home behind all the trip wires and concrete. “This is good,” he said as he finished his serving of pumpkin-pie waffles when you came to collect his plate through his cell door. “A little heavy on the brown sugar.”

You just nodded, fighting a smile. “I’ll adjust the recipe. Thank you for the feedback.”

He chuckled at that and shook his head. “You’re too nice to be here. But I do like your food.”

It gave you a little bit of pep in your step for the rest of the day.

The job wasn’t that hard, really. You only had to make three meals a day for two dozen people and maybe a few more if the missions called for a few extra hands. It was just you, alone, in a big kitchen with an almost unlimited budget. You called the kitchen your little kingdom and were happy.

It had made you, for a moment or two, wonder why you were cooking in a prison. There were stereotypes about prison food for as long as prisons had existed and the muck you had seen growing in the fridges when you first arrived had only confused you further. They were suddenly feeding them well? You decided not to question it after a while; asking questions just made things more complicated. You knew that better than most.

But Harley seemed to know what you were thinking.

“Flag told Waller we’d behave better if we ate better,” Harley said with a wink about four months into your new position and after you had learned about Task Force X aka The Suicide Squad. “I think she just wanted him out of her office.”

Of course you had met Amanda Waller. You hardly ever cooked for her but she had commented on the steak and grilled asparagus you’d plated for her, half-asleep after being woken up at half past midnight just after another mission wrapped. “Not the worst,” she’d called it. You had guessed that was as close to a compliment you were ever going to get and you were thankful that you had barely any contact with her.

And then there was Rick Flag.

Always tired, perpetually exasperated, infuriatingly kind Colonel Rick Flag. He liked your mashed potatoes and always said thank you with a soft smile. He usually sat by himself in the cafeteria, or tried to. Harley often took the seat beside him. Sometimes Digger would join him and Harley. Sometimes not.

It was cute, in a strange way, to see how they cared for each other in their unique way. You supposed running around the world and saving it over and over again would form pretty strong bonds, no matter how infuriating.

And he was…cute. Handsome, actually. And you might have really liked how he filled out his holster but it wasn’t like you were about to do anything about your schoolgirl attraction, no matter how his soft, southern twang made your traitorous heart leap into your throat or how his smile always made you mirror the expression.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said as you handed over the plate of avocado caprese salad with grilled chicken breast. You hurried to add a small chunk the ciabatta bread you’d just pulled from the cooling rack onto his plate before he stepped away.

“How many times do I have to tell you, call me Y/N?”

“I guess I need daily reminding.” His smile grew a little wider and you, flustered, immediately looked away.

Harley caught your eye and sent you an over-enthusiastic thumbs up, gaining Digger’s attention. “The fuck you doin’, Harls?”

“Y/N?”

Your head shot up to see Flag still standing in front of you, worry creasing his forehead. “Oh, um. I think I left the oven on.” And then you sprinted into the back, letting the heavy door swing closed behind you.

Jesus Christ.

This was not why you were here. This was the exact opposite of why you were here. You shouldn’t even be thinking about Rick…Flag or anyone in that way. Hadn’t you learned your lesson?

“I’m the only one who will ever love you. Don’t you see? Don’t you see, sweetness? It is me and you—forever.”

“You okay?”

You jumped at the sound of Harley’s voice and spun, your hip knocking into the hard metal prep table and scattering bits of avocado skin and chopped tomato onto the broken tile floor. “Oh, Harley, I don’t think you’re supposed to be back here. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

But Harley, as always, was undeterred. “You’re crying. Flag say something to you?”

You frowned and reached up and—yep—your fingers came back wet. “No, no, of course not. Flag’s been nothing but kind. All of you have.”

“Except for Blackguard,” Harley said with a sniff. She did not care for the young supervillain.

You chuckled and hurriedly wiped at your cheeks. “Seriously, ‘m fine.” You waved her on. “Don’t want to have security come back here and drag you out. You just got out of solitary.”

Harley sighed with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “You’re no fun.” But she turned and walked back toward the cafeteria.

“If, um, Flag asks, tell him it wasn’t him; he didn’t scare me off.” Why were you even saying this? It didn’t matter-

But the Queen of Gotham turned and winked. “Let ‘im squirm a bit. Builds character.”

The door swung shut behind and you had to smile—Rick Flag didn’t need to build character. He had plenty already. You liked him just fine.

But the smile faded quickly, too, with a terrible voice still whispering in your ear. “Sweetness, you know you can’t hide forever.”

But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try.

On your singular day off, letting your kitchen be occupied by the people who ran the other kitchen in the main wing of the prison, you sat down at your unsteady dining table and read the letter you’d picked up from the PO Box in the next town over.

Your nephew’s uneven handwriting on the front already had you smiling as you carefully opened the envelope. He wrote about his new school and the friends he made and finished the short letter with a drawing of a daisy because he remembered that you always liked them.

A second letter was folded behind the first and was decidedly less colorful. Your brother had always been full of smiles when you were growing up—it had been you two against the world. He had protected you when the world wanted to eat you alive. And now the tables had turned. You had to protect him.

But that was your fault, too.

His letter was short; how he was still enjoying his new job, how little Artie was his teacher’s favorite, how he missed you. And he (again) thanked you for the money you had given him before you all left Gotham. Miss you, asshole.

You chuckled and sniffled, feeling tears sting your eyes as you lifted the letter to your mouth to kiss the paper. “Miss you too, dumbass.”

You wrote a quick letter in return, telling them you were doing okay, that you’d made a few new friends, that you missed them both terribly, and you attached a recipe you’d thought up. It was simple enough your brother could follow it and you thought he and his son would both enjoy it. You didn’t write a return address and made sure it would be sent to the PO Box that your brother had set up, far away from his small apartment in Metropolis.

It was a precaution you both needed to take—because you had believed a terrible man when he said he loved you. He had ruined not only your life, but your brother and nephew’s too. And now you were alone.

“You seem sad.”

You looked up from your pan of French dip sandwiches on the bread you’d baked that morning and frowned at Cleo. She was new. Got caught trying to rob a bank with…rats and had been hauled off to Belle Reve. She was a handful of years younger than you and forever tired and nice. Nice and sweet and had a little rat on her shoulder who always waved to you when they came through the line.

“I’m fine, Cleo. I promise.”

“You have kind eyes,” she continued, earning a squeak from the Rat—Sebastian, you think his name was. “But they are sad. Even when you smile, you are sad.”

“Hurry up!” Blackguard groused. “I’m hungry!”

You pressed a smile to your face, trying to ignore her comments. Were you that easy to read? On the side of her tray, you put a tiny plate you’d found at a flea market, meant for Barbies you think, and filled it with a bit of cheese and spinach. Sebastian let out a happy squeak when he saw it. “Enjoy your lunch, Cleo.”

The girl nodded and took her tray, walking away to a table in the far corner, and you quickly plated the sandwich and small salad for Blackguard and ignored the rude comments he sent your way.

“I could kill him for you.”

You glanced up to see Harley next in line; you were pretty sure she had jumped the line because the last time you had seen her, she had been at the back of group. “That’s very sweet of you, Harley. But no.”

She shrugged and took her sandwich, making the au jus slosh a bit over the side of the tray. “Offer’s on the table, babe! Just let me know!”

The rest of the line waited their turn and you dutifully handed them food and made polite conversation with a few of them but you were exhausted. And Cleo was right. You were sad.

“Now, please don’t take this the wrong way,” an oh-so-familiar southern twang said, catching your attention. “But you look as exhausted as I feel.”

You had to chuckle at that and put an extra half of a sandwich on Rick’s plate before setting it on his tray. “Thank you for that, Rick. That’s what all the ladies want to hear.”

A pretty blush bloomed on his cheeks and he shook his head. “No, I mean, you look good. You always do. You’re beautiful.” The blush grew darker and your smile widened when he winced, finally stopping the deluge of words coming from his mouth. “Fuck. Sorry. I just think you may…need a nap.” His giant shoulders slumped. Defeated. “Just-just ignore me. I need a nap. Or a drink.”

You laughed and, yeah, it sounded tired. But he had called you beautiful and you hated how that was what you focused on. But it almost felt okay because it came from Rick. Sweet, kind Rick. “Coffee?” You asked at his retreating back.

He turned, brows pulled together. “What?”

And the courage you had only a second ago seemed to evaporate in an instant when you locked your eyes with his honey-colored gaze. “C-coffee? Do you…want some?” Your voice cracked on the last syllable like some lovesick pubescent teenager. Smooth.

But he smiled and you felt something your chest squeeze. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

You both settled on a time and you went about cleaning up, fighting a smile on your face.

“You owe me fifty bucks!” Harley’s voice rang out.

You glanced up to see Boomer grumble and pull out a stack of bills from god knows where and hand a rumpled fifty dollar bill to Harley who gleefully snatched it away.

She caught your eye and winked. “Thanks, babe!”

You didn’t know what that meant.

The coffee was…bad. You should have known because you were in a literal prison and you had no control over what brand was purchased or what creamers were stocked but damn. It was awful. You winced when you took a sip and Rick laughed.

“Sorry. Should’ve warned you.” But he kept drinking his own cup without even batting an eye.

“That is awful.”

“You get used to it after a bit.”

“I think I’ll just bring my own if I need coffee.” You pushed the steaming cup away with a grimace but huffed when Rick took it and downed that one, too. “You’re that tired? That you’d drink two cups of tar?”

He shrugged and you tried not to bite you lip when your eyes dragged across his shoulders. “Can I bribe you into bringing me good coffee?” Rick leaned forward, closer to you over the small table.

“Oh?” You asked, rising to the occasion without realizing you definitely, definitely should not. “What do you think my price is?”

Again, a pretty, vibrant red colored his cheeks and his large hands curled around the empty cup in his grip. He was pretty. “I honestly don’t know.”

And maybe it was your need for a friend outside the criminals who made you smile, but you opened your mouth and asked, “Can you just talk to me when you get the chance?” A wince crumpled your face as soon as you finished. That just sounded pathetic. “Actually, I-”

“I’d really like that.” And his smile was so sincere and his face was so open that you had to bite down your refusal. “ ‘s been a while since I’ve had any sort of conversation with somebody without a body count.”

“Who says I haven’t killed anyone?” Oh. A question for the ages. And you almost hated how Rick’s eyes seemed to light up with quiet laughter.

“So, what should our first topic of conversation be? I’m partial to the weather, food, and shitty 80s movies.”

And you relaxed with that, stress leaching from your shoulders. He was giving you an out. Keep it simple, keep it light. “You know I’m partial to food. So, let’s try 80’s movies for now.”

And that was how it started. You would trade terrible movies, giving the other a few days to watch them and then ‘discuss’ them the next time you met up between your meal prep in the kitchen and his missions and meetings with Waller.

“This was the worst movie I have ever seen.” Rick threw down the copy of ‘Space Mutiny’ onto the small table you’d both claimed as ‘yours’ in the shitty breakroom and settled into his chair. “Friendship over.”

You just laughed.

But Rick paid you back double with telling you to watch ‘The Pumaman.’ You nearly chucked the blu-ray case at his head when you saw him next. But it was good. The tradition continued for a few weeks only bracketed by one or two missions that kept him away.

It had been a late night in the kitchens. You’d promised Boomer eggs benedict for breakfast the next day and hadn’t realized your fridges were decidedly empty of everything you needed. You’d had to wait for the delivery and stocked the kitchen yourself when you heard someone knocking at the kitchen door. You turned, arms filled with five dozen eggs and six pounds of butter, to see Rick in the doorway. The light from the cafeteria framing him like some angry, beautiful angel. You quickly tried to erase that thought. (You were unsuccessful.)

He’d been out on a mission for the past week and must’ve just come back—it looked like he was still covered in grime and blood and had a bandage across the bridge of his nose. “Hey! You’re back!” You glanced at that the clock and grimaced. It was nearing midnight. “You need to sleep.” The food in your arms was unceremoniously pushed into the nearest fridge and you turned to him. “I can make you some tea? Some of the guys asked for nighttime tea. I’m surprised Waller approved that purchase. I promise it’ll be better than that coffee I made.” You started toward the cabinet where the tea was kept, not even realizing he hadn’t said a word, when a warm hand grasped your wrist and pulled you to a stop.

“Can we…just watch a movie?” He was tired. You could hear it in his voice and he swayed on his feet. And you couldn’t tell him no. “Sure. Yeah, of course. Lead the way.”

And he did, his hand sliding down to gently grasp your hand and his roughened fingers curled around yours and you almost froze, nearly tripped over yourself as he pivoted and started to lead you out of the kitchens.

His office was small but well-kept with a desk and chair and a couch on the other side. He all but set you down on the couch and then clacked on his computer, shoving something into the drive and turning the screen toward the couch in the dark.

You were only about twenty minutes into the (god awful—what were you thinking, Olivia Newton-John?!) movie when Rick actually said something. “I usually can’t sleep after a mission like that.” He paused and you had to stop yourself from reaching out and grabbing his hand, trying to provide a miniscule bit of comfort. “We lost a few good ones today. Had some close calls.”

“You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay.”

Rick’s head lolled to the side and he gave you a soft smile that had you sighing. Dammit. “But I want to. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is.”

And so he did. He told you about how Carl Draper stepped into a nuclear reactor to keep it from exploding and saved the entire team after it was sabotaged by a guy who went by the name Parasite. Two other team members died along the way, keeping the world safe and without any of the thanks usually reserved for the so-called Justice League.

“Some of these guys are real assholes; world is better without ‘em anyway. But some of them…” he paused. “Some of them are good, deep down. Just a little hurt.”

And that was the last thing he said before his eyes closed and he started to snore.

You started to move, to get up to turn off the movie, but then Rick’s head slipped to your shoulder and you didn’t dare move. You could give him this, couldn’t you? Just a little bit of rest. Even if you knew this was all you could—nothing more. You learned your lesson and didn’t want to bring Rick down into your mess.

He obviously had enough to deal with.

So, you shifted just enough to let his head rest a little higher on your shoulder so his neck wouldn’t hurt, and suffered through the rest of Xanadu.

“Can you get me hair dye?”

You looked up from the pot of hoisin sauce you’d just brought out from the kitchen to see Harley waiting for you. “Hair dye?”

She hummed, smile widening. “I need a change. I just don’t think pink and blue are for me.” With a flick of her wrist, she tossed her long, white-blonde hair over her shoulders with a wink. “I either change my hair or change someone else’s. And I don’t think Flag would like to wake up with tangerine colored hair next time he goes to sleep on a mission.”

You chuckled and pivoted to grab the beef you’d been cooking all night and into the morning and placed it next to the sauce. “What color, Harley?”

She screeched with a laugh and clapped her hands. “Can you please, please, please get me red and black? I think I’d look so cute.”

You agreed as long as she promised to leave Rick’s hair alone and she pinky-promised before skipping back to Boomer’s side as he slept on one of the cafeteria tables, waiting for lunch to be served. You readied the rest of the food and made sure your stack of plates was ready before calling everyone forward and watching the usual jockeying for the first place in line.

It had been a quiet couple of weeks. The most ‘action’ your ragtag criminals had seen was being shipped out to Monaco and then immediately shipped back because the Justice League had arrived first. Waller had been horrendously embarrassed. Probably because it had been discovered a handful of senators had been having quite a party, completely unaware of the destruction around them. Classy.

But it was good to have everyone back so soon, and technically, Waller still needed to take ten years off everyone’s sentence because the mission had been completed. Just not by them.

It was a fun little loophole. Rick had been so proud when he told you, nearly glowing.

Movies in his office progressed to movies at your tiny little rental home which progressed to you trying to teach him how to cook. You poked fun at how he readily admitted to burning anything he tried to sauté but learned that he was particularly proud of the French toast recipe he learned from his grandma.

And today, he’d arrived at your little rental, on your rare day off, with a bag filled with the ingredients and all but told you to keep your hands away from the stove while he ‘worked.’ And you liked watching him work. Rick had a habit of sticking the tip of his tongue out of the side of his mouth when he was really concentrating, something you knew he did not do while out in the field. You’d seen the videos. He was smart. Lethal. Handsome. And it was dangerous enough to have him as a friend. But you were always bad at telling people, including yourself, no. And you wanted to be near him. Wanted to make him smile. Wanted…him. In any way you could have him. For however long this strange relationship lasted.

He set a plate full of the powdered sugar-covered treat in front of her with a timid smile. “I…hope you like it.”

You only smiled and picked up your fork and dug in. And while a bit of the corners were a bit burnt, it was delicious and you quickly demolished the entire serving, mopping up the last bit of butter slick syrup with your finger.

“I can make you more.”

You felt a hot wave of embarrassment wash over you and you hung your head in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Rick shuffled the cheaply-made chair he currently occupied a little closer to yours, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I finally made something edible for you.”

“It was really, really good, Rick. I just ate it so-”

“You ate like you were hungry. Nothing wrong with a bit of an appetite. And I’m just happy I didn’t set off your fire alarm again.”

You chuckled and watched him cock his head to the side with a sweet smile. “You’re getting better. But really, give your Gram my best. I might want to steal that recipe from her.”

His smile widened. “She’ll love to hear that.”

You batted him away when he tried to clean up the (horrendous) mess he left behind and told him to pick a movie while he waited.

He huffed, grumbling something about “I made the mess, I should clean it” but did as he was told. The sink was soon filled with hot, soapy water and stung at your hands as you plunged the messy plates and pans deep. No matter how much time you had spent washing dishes before everything in Gotham, you still liked the sting, the bite of the hot water. You scrubbed mindlessly, yelling at Rick when he suggested watching “Mac and Me” and laughing when he laughed, too.

This felt nice. Normal. Domestic. So far and away from what you had left behind in Gotham. It felt good to have (gorgeous) friends and be able to laugh with them on a late Saturday morning. It felt like you could finally breathe and-

“Y/N?”

You looked up from the soapy water, clean spatula in hand, to see Rick suddenly at your side. When had he moved? “Yeah?”

“What’s this?” He held up a torn piece of paper, on familiar letterhead.

In your messy scrawl, was written: 33-45-12-99-67-00-14 – Two bags – locker 22 at Amusement Mile station – car waiting in Old Gotham – ditch phone

Your wet hand reached out and snatched it, throwing it into the soapy water. The ink bled and distorted in moments. “Nothing. Just um…just…”

“Don’t lie.”

You turned at the sound of his soft voice. It wasn’t the bravado he saved for the field or the stern cadence he reserved for new Task Force X recruits. This was just Rick Flag. Your friend. Asking you not to lie to him.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Not a lie. But you saw the disappointment flicker across his features anyway.

He nodded and looked away. “You still wanna watch a movie?”

And your poor heart leapt into your throat. Hope. “Of course.”

And he smiled.

It was good. Things were good. You got scolded after helping Harley dye her hair in the kitchen sink but it was okay because she wrapped you in one of the tightest hugs you’d ever received and offered to kill the “office chump” who had caught you. It was good because Robert was out of solitary for meals and you could smile at him without the metal door separating you. It was good because Rick was…Rick. Still terrible at cooking but learning.

And he recently developed a new habit.

It started with his fingers drumming next to yours on the counter. Just close enough for you to feel the roughened skin move against your own. And then his hand would slide across your back if he had to shuffle around you in your tiny, tiny kitchen and you always had to bite your lip to stop the smile you felt growing.

And then he hugged you. It first started as one arm slung over your shoulder when you brought him and his team unevenly frosted cupcakes after they landed and thanked them for saving the world. Then it progressed further to ever so briefly holding you close after longer missions (which seemed to be coming more and more often) and then…his hands would softly cradle your face, thumbs swiping against your jaw like you were made of the finest gold before all but crushing you to his chest. Those types of hugs were usually reserved after missions when he lost a teammate and you would wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him back, trying to press a bit of joy back into his soul through the contact.

Yes. Rick had a new habit. And it revolved around touching you.

And you didn’t complain.

But it was a slowly twisting knife in your gut. His strangely addictive scent of earth, black coffee, some sort of spicy cologne, and burnt toast that would cling to his clothes after another rushed breakfast had burned its way into your nose. And you found yourself plucking at your shirt and bringing it to your nose after he gave you another hug just to smell it again.

“Hey darlin’,” Rick said, stepping into the kitchen early one morning. And that was another thing—his choice of nickname. Darling. You had never been anyone’s darling. And he called you his.

Dangerous.

It was all so dangerous.

You looked up from your stack of pancakes to smile at him. “Good morning. You’re here early.”

A small smile pushed at his lips as he stepped closer, letting the door swing closed behind him. “Waller called me in.”

“Where’s she sending you now?” You quickly plated a few pancakes and a handful of bacon and thrust it at him, knowing he probably hadn’t eaten, or if he had, it was just black coffee and burnt toast (again).

“You know that’s classified, darlin’,” he said, taking the plate. “Just wanted to see you before we shipped out.”

You smiled at him and shook your head. “And I’ll be here when you get back. I promise.”

He nodded and rolled up a bit of bacon in one of the pancakes and took a large bite. “Yeah. I know,” he said as he swallowed. “Still just…wanted to see you.”

You looked away at that fighting a smile and a sinking feeling in your gut. “I’m glad. You know I always like seeing you.” You had to clear your throat. “Need me to box up a bit of this? For the team?”

Rick paused, a bit of pancake still squirrelled away in his cheek, his lips again turning up in a smile. “I’m sure they’d like that.”

A few minutes later you were out on the tarmac, handing Styrofoam containers filled with breakfast to each of the teammates and wishing them luck. Rick was the last to board and he stepped to your side as the sun started to rise above the hangar. “We’ll be back in a few days.”

“Keep Harley out of trouble.”

Rick groaned. “You know she creates trouble.”

You laughed and reached out to grab his hand and squeeze before you could stop yourself. “I am aware. Was worth a shot, though.”

Rick turned to look at you, broad shoulders blocking out the sun for a moment. “Can we have cinnamon rolls for breakfast when we get back?”

You nodded, laughing a bit at how serious he had seemed. “Of course. I think everyone will like that.”

Rick nodded and his familiar small smile pushed at his lips. “I’ll be back soon,” he repeated.

You opened your mouth, ready to tease him a bit, but your brain short-circuited when you felt his lips brush against your forehead and one of his large hands squeezed at your hip.

And then he was gone.

You went through the rest of the day in a haze, nearly burning the chicken you had made for lunch. But you couldn’t stop smiling. It was a good day. You felt lighter, despite the voice at the back of your mind whispering that this was dangerous.

“You’re smiling today,” Cleo said with Sebastian squeaking on her shoulder. “Your eyes are bright.”

You chuckled, feeling a bit of embarrassment wash over you and you moved her along quickly with an extra bit of food for her beloved companion and ignored the sneer that quickly followed from Blackguard.

The rest of the day finished in a neat little bow and you waved to a few of the guards as you walked out to your tiny little sedan and drove back to your rental. When you threw the car in park, you glanced up at the tiny home and your heart clenched. The front door was open.

You quickly leaned down and grabbed the small handgun you had taped to the bottom of your seat and stepped out, cocked and ready. It was easy to realize you were alone in the house and you took stock of the damage. The house was a wreck. Your precious-few belongings were all in pieces. The handful of outfits you’d brought from Gotham were shredded. But that wasn’t what you cared about.

No.

Painted over your bed in red paint were the words: Found You!

Terror gripped your spine and you felt bile rise in your throat, making you dash to your bathroom to empty your stomach. You thought you had been so safe, so careful. How had he found you? You pushed out a breath and scratched at your forehead with the butt of the gun. “Fuck.”

Obviously you wouldn’t get your deposit back since you were cutting your rental agreement laughably short and you nearly depleted your saving sending in painters and handymen to repair all the damage so your landlord wouldn’t see it. But it wasn’t like you could stay here. You were already playing with fire by supervising the repairs. Staying where he knew you to be was stupid. But running wasn’t an option. Your place of work was safe. Safer than anywhere else you could find in the country.

You had slept in your car, parked in Belle Reve’s parking lot, your gun still in your hand. When one of the guards caught you, you had to make a plan. Had to find another place to live but it wasn’t like the surrounding area was bursting with apartments or rental homes. There was a couch in the small breakroom that was…basically all yours anyway. It was small and lumpy and probably older than you, but it would work. You really only wore the over-starched trousers and button-down that had been your assigned ‘uniform’ since taking the job, and you had several of each, just enough to fill the small locker with your name on it in tape.

All of your “good” clothes had been left in Gotham.

Your home had become Belle Reve overnight. You would survive. And that was all that mattered now. He would be stupid to try to get to you here.

On the third night of your ‘stay’ at Belle Reve’s breakroom, you were dead on your feet and the shitty couch looked welcoming after you had washed your face and you curled under a cheap blanket after flicking off the light.

But, just as sleep started to welcome you, a warm hand wrapped around your arm and your eyes shot open. The jump nearly tore you from your skin but you just tumbled to the dirty floor instead.

“Y/N?”

It didn’t sound like him—it didn’t, it didn’t, it didn’t. But you couldn’t stop the shakes wracking your body or how you had immediately reached up to shield your face.

“Y/N? Hey, hey, it’s me.”

And then a large body was crowding you, muscular thighs bracketing yours on the worn carpet. Careful, rough hands gently grasped your shoulders and you looked up and—there was Rick. Warm eyes wide with questions and concern and still covered in grime and blood from the mission. “Oh, Rick. I-I’m sorry-”

“No. No you have nothing to say sorry for—I scared you.” He sighed and you watched something skitter across his gaze, like he was contemplating something and then his warm hands moved to cradle your face and you felt yourself sag in his grip. It was so gentle. “What’re you doin’ here, darlin’?”

Embarrassment washed over you and you winced. “I was…uh…sleeping.”

“Here?”

“Yeah. M’house got broken into and I didn’t really have another place to go.”

“Don’t trust the motels around here, yeah?” He asked it with a smile, and you had to reciprocate. And he still held you so gently.

But you still didn’t tell the complete truth. “Yeah. Thought there would be fewer bed bugs here.”

Rick smiled and shook his head before he stood and you tried not to frown at how the warmth had left. But then he held out a hand to you, still a mess on the floor. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“I’ve got an extra bedroom.”

“Rick, I couldn’t-”

“No bed bugs. I promise. And I paid good money for that mattress. Someone’s gotta use it.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue and let him lead you to his truck out in the parking lot. The pair of you were quiet as he drove, some old country song whispering over his speakers. It was quiet and comfortable.

The apartment was in a quiet part of town about forty-five minutes away from Belle Reve. It was well-kept, almost meticulously clean, and mostly devoid of any sort of personal items except for a few scattered pictures in small frames. You smiled as you recognized Harley and Boomer in one of the photos. Harley had slung her arm over Rick’s shoulders and was beaming at the camera. All of them were covered in blood and…something orange.

“One of the guys took that picture—it was his last mission before he qualified for an early release.”

“Who?” You asked, turning to look at him.

“Floyd Lawton.”

“Deadshot took this family photo?!” Of course you knew who the famed assassin was-Gotham had been his stomping ground.

Rick chuckled and nodded. “Took my phone without me noticing and yelled at us to smile.” He stepped to your side and looked at the picture. “I think you’d like him.”

“If you like him, he’s gotta be a good guy.” You spoke for a little longer, mostly about the mission and how Harley once again became a trouble magnet, before he took you by your hand and led you toward the spare bedroom. The bed did look comfortable, even with the terrible plaid comforter and mismatched pillows on top. “Are you sure this is okay?”

Rick squeezed your hand, his gentle smile still on his face. “Yeah. Get some sleep. There’s a few of my shirts and stuff in the dresser if you want something to sleep in.” He looked away after that, a bit of pink on his cheeks. “Want me to wake you up around five? So we can go in together?”

“Sounds good.”

He nodded and leaned forward to brush another kiss to your forehead. “Get some sleep, darlin’.”

And you tried, head fuzzy with thoughts of Rick and terrible red paint. But you slept better in that handful of hours in Rick’s guest room than you did during the 8 hours you managed to get each night on the breakroom’s couch.

And maybe it was the near-high you achieved for sleeping so well but you felt like you could take on the world when you heard Rick knock on the bedroom door and murmur a soft, “good morning.”

You washed your face again and slipped out of the shirt you had commandeered last night and back into your uniform, meeting Rick at the front door.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Yeah.” And your traitorous heart thudded sharply behind your ribs when Rick’s hand settled on the small of your back as he led you down to his truck. He was quick to open the passenger side door for you and then jogged around to the driver’s side. And you expected another quiet, comfortable drive back to the prison.

That didn’t happen.

“You know you can tell me anything.” Rick glanced at you through the corner of his eye.

No, I can’t. “Yeah, I know.”

He paused. “Wanna tell me why you had a gun hidden in your car?”

Your lips twisted into a grimace and you turned to look out the window. “I’ve just got some things in my past that I want to keep in my past.”

“That’s not an answer, darlin’.”

You didn’t answer.

Rick murmured your name. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

“You’re doing enough—more than enough, by letting me stay at your apartment. I promise I’ll find another place soon and-”

The words evaporated as his warm hand covered yours on your leg. “Don’t. Don’t do that. I’m here to help. I want to help.”

“It isn’t your fight.”

“But I want it to be; I want to help you. Don’t you know I care about you?”

You pulled your hand out from under his to wring your hands together with a grimace. “I know you’re used to saving the world and fighting the good fight but this is complicated. And I don’t want to drag you into it. You’ve got enough going on.”

“I want to help!” He said, voice bordering on exasperation. “Let me help!”

“You can’t!” You snap and instantly regret it. You visibly deflate and shake your head. You never wanted to hurt him. “I can handle this. You don’t have to save me.”

“I’m not trying to save you. I’m trying to help you.”

“Rick,” his name is pushed out in a soft breath, “just stop. I’ll be okay. I promise.”

You watched him wrap his hands a little tighter around the steering wheel, leather creaking under his grip. You had seen another man do something like that, time and time again. He was angry. You opened your mouth to apologize—to babble about just needing time, to say that you didn’t mean it—his grip relaxed and he nodded. And he sighed. “Everyone’s got secrets. I understand. But you let me know if there’s anything I can do, yeah? Anything.”

Tension you didn’t realize you’d felt seizing your body leached out with your next breath. Gentle Rick. Always gentle. You nodded and murmured, “thank you,” just as he pulled into the parking lot.

He got out and made sure to open your door again for you. You smiled at him and reached out to squeeze his arm in thanks. It was okay. Everything was okay. You’d go back to the kitchens to cook the promised cinnamon rolls and he’d go speak with Waller and it would be okay. It would go back to normal. It would-

A hand caught your arm and you turned with a stumble, a question on your tongue, but then his lips were on yours and his warm hand was cradling your cheek and you…you felt his smile against your own and your hand reached up to tangle in his hair and you knew then; you were in trouble.

A/N: Please let me know what you think! I hope to have the next part up soon.

#rick flag x reader #rick flag imagine #suicide squad imagine #rick flag #tw: domestic violence

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cinamun · 8 months ago

Note

I’m just breezing through right quick. I’m going to drop this thought then Imma head out. I can see Mercy turning into a granny version of Bonnie while still keeping Bishop as her Clyde. Like the dark version of Isaiah and Octavia lol. Not saying she becomes a villain per se but more like a gun toting, cigarette in her mouth while frying fish and will toss some hot grease on your ass if you fuck with her type. All while rocking a bomb ass pixie cut. And for all intents and purposes it turns Bishop all the way on. The Blackburn men do love a good ride or die chick. That’s all I’m saying. Now, I’m going back to lab but let me get a plate of them wings on the way out.

*hands you a plate and extra sauce covered in some tin foil*

Enter the Dark Mercy™ era...?

LMFAO but stay tuned tho! You never know how things will go!

#story stuff

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truglori · 4 years ago

Text

Game Night...

(Heads I win...Tails you lose)

Synopsis: Game night at Erik’s crib with a twist...

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Plus size OC

Warning: Language, Smutt

A.N- Inspiration was this picture

It was Game Night at Erik’s. He held them every other Saturday night and it was starting to become a ritual for Kaila to attend within the last month. When being surrounded by coworkers ,who became good friends, food, drinks, and music how could anyone turn down a time like this. Along with his beautiful luxurious bachelor’s pad Erik made a pretty good host.

Everything from wings with different flavors, a meat and cheese board, warm soft cinnamon pretzel bites, chicken and beef quesadillas, as well as different chocolates and chilled high class wine ,that Kaila wasn’t used to, had covered his antique walnut wooden dining table. Like she thought, he was a great host who had great taste and wasn’t cheap at all.

Standing in front of the miniature buffet with an empty plate Kaila was indecisive on what to get and how much. Still fresh to the friend group she was conscious on how much she ate in front of people that she wasn’t really comfortable with yet. Out of the six times she’s been here this was only her second time eating with them after getting pressured by her cubicle buddy ,Celina, telling her to make a plate before everything was gone.

Hearing the chatter coming from the livingroom, Kaila decided on a few slices of the quesadillas instead of the wings. She didn’t want to look like a pig knowing that she would try to suck the sauce off of her fingers afterwards. Filling up her red plastic cup with the cool wine she headed back into the huge living area. Spotting her purse and coat she sat in her spot and cuddled up with her belongings.

“See I told you, the food is good.” Celina smiled while sipping on her wine. She brought a hand to her hair stroking the box braids and giggled.

Kaila noticed that she had three cups prior so she knew that she was starting to become loose.

Laughing with her, Kaila shook her head and dug into her finger food. Looking at the small group she wondered how she was able to fit in with them. The group consisted of three women and three guys, Erik including as one of them. Every single person in their clique was extremely attractive and in shape. Her body type did not belong at all. There was always rumors going around the office about them setting up date nights to throw orgy parties. At least that’s what people assumed because they were so tight and never invited anyone else.

But Kaila had to take a chance and ask, since her desk buddy was a part of the famous group. So one day she asked Celina if it was true only to earn one of the most hysterical laughs in her face. She shut it down immediately and informed her the reason behind their closeness was because they all trained and got hired for their jobs at the exact same time and have been inseparable since.

Celina thought it was funny and invited her out so she could see that she wasn’t lying. Kaila refused the first few times but gave in after Celina had another one of their members, Leah, tag team against her insisting that she’d come. Kaila wasn’t an extrovert at all. Her regular day included work, talking on the phone with her baby sister who was away for college, and tv time with her cat, Snuggles.But she wanted to change that so she made Game Night at Erik’s a part of her weekend routines.

“Y’all mufuckas ready to get this bitch started.” Erik walked in finally making his presence known after being upstairs for half an hour. He was changed out of his work attire into something more relaxed. Nike grey sweats, a crisp white tshirt with his gold chains falling over it, and his Nike slides to match. His dreads were out of the braids that he only kept in while he was at work, now they were wild and free.

Kaila took in his frame. She watched as his muscles flexed from the slightest movements. Twisting open his personal bottle of Hennessy, she watched him take a long swig and shaking his head at the taste afterwards. She did a short giggle when she seen him hiss making his gold canines show. When Erik’s eyes turn to her direction she quickly averted her gaze to everyone else praying that she didn’t get caught staring.

This crush that she had for him was starting to be too much. At first she thought it would go away once she would find out that his body and personality didn’t mix but it became worst when she started to hang out with them. Erik was nothing like how she thought of him to be. Before hand she for sure figured him out as a smug and arrogant jerk but he was the total opposite. He was such a gentleman, sweet, and a charmer when it came to the ladies.

The littlest things he did like hold the door for her, or making sure that she wasn’t the last one going into a building whenever they went out for lunch to grab coffee. Kaila was falling for all of it. But after hanging out with them for so long Kaila noticed a few things about him. Yes, Erik was a sweetheart but he had a rough edge to him. When the drinks were in his system Erik liked to talk his shit, and he was nasty with it too. Of course all of the girls in the group would openly let him know that he could fuck if he wanted to. All except Kaila, she would never make a statement as bold as that no matter how much alcohol she had.

“About time nigga. The hell was you doing back there?” One of the guys, Tyler asked sitting in between Leah’s legs on the floor.

“My shit, my business bitch ass nigga.” Erik retorted playfully. He walked in front of his coffee table sitting in his chair. On the table had a display of all types of games. He sorted through them taking his time.

“Erik hurry up and pick a gamee.” Celina whined as she still sipped.

Glancing up he eyed everyone briefly. “The fuck is it, rush Erik night or sumn shit. Y’all niggas know without this y’all wouldn’t have shit else to do so calm the fuck down for I throw all y’all ass out.” He laughed drinking out his bottle.

“Hold up I didn’t say shit. I hope that’s not for everyone.” The thick dark skin girl who’s name was Keisha came in and sat down. Kaila thought she was the prettiest.

“Nah not you Keisha, you know you my boo.” He smirked.

She giggled doing the “period” motion with her hand. Kaila smiled sitting her plate on the floor beside her making a mental reminder to throw it away before she leaves.

Erik cleared his throat picking up a box. “Aight I got one. Do or Drink!” Sitting the other games to the side he placed the box in the middle.

Groanes and curses came from the other people. Kaila faced them amused with their reaction wondering what was wrong with the game he chosed.

“No Erik you always pick this game.” Leah flopped her hands to the side of her.

“Yeah I don’t like this one bae. You be making everybody drink and get drunk while playing this. Can we play something else.” Keisha sighed picking up her glass.

“No y’all only get drunk cause y’all mufuckas don’t know how to drink or hold ya liquor. Besides she ain’t never played this with us yet.” He spoke sorting the cards.

All of the attention went towards Kaila. Trying her best to shrink in her side of the couch she felt her cheeks heat up. Kaila hated when she was put on the spotlight in front of everybody. Bringing her cup to her mouth she sipped some hoping to calm her nerves.

“Kaila you ain’t never played this with us?” Troy asked.

Shaking her head she smiled timidly. “No but I guess I will tonight.”

“Kaila the game is real simple, all you have to do is draw a card, read it aloud so that everyone can hear you and you can either choose to do what it says or drink instead. Don’t worry about all that extra shit. Got it?” Erik asked her shuffling the deck.

“Yeah I got it.” She answered softly.

When he eyed her up and down part of her had to clenched her thighs to keep the wetness she felt down there from damping her panties and the other part wanted to run away from his gaze. The way he looked with his dreads covering his eyes was so enticing and it had her excited. Something she haven’t felt with a man in almost two years.

There was an order on how the rotation went. It was Celina, Keisha, Troy, Tyler, Leah, Erik, and lastly Kaila. She was okay with going last just to see how the game was to be played. It was easy to catch on to after the first few turns. Some of the draws that Kaila picked up were to risky for her so she had to drink for not doing them. Because she didn’t drink hard liquor Erik allowed her to take shots of the wine but for everyone else it was either tequila or some of his Hennessy. She was definitely starting to feel warm from the drinking she’s been doing.

Now it was going on the second round and it was Leah’s go,she had to draw a card. “Okay it says let the group go through your phones photo gallery for 60 seconds. Do this or take two shots?” She threw her card down looking for the shot glass.

Erik jumped up from his seat. “Unh uh hand it over. You passed the last time. Gimme your fuckin phone.” He chuckled walking near her.

Kaila laughed watching Leah try to keep her phone away from him but failed due to his tall and bulky stature taking it clean straight out of her hands. He held the IPhone to her face unlocking it and went to her gallery. Erik’s eyes went from entertained to lustful within seconds. Sucking in his bottom lip he glanced back at Leah.

“Damn girl. Yo shit pretty as fuck.” His low voice crept throughout the room. His eyes traveled down to her covered area.

Kaila, knowing what he was referring to, felt herself get jealous and turned on at the same time. She wanted him to look at her like that and speak to her the same way but she was to shy to say anything.

“Nigga let me see.” Tyler hopped up standing next to him. His mouth dropping when he saw whatever that was on the screen. “Damn Leah.”

Rolling her eyes Leah snatched her phone from their view. “Okay y’all niggas not bout to be fantasizing over my pussy.” She sat back on her end of the couch.

Erik shook his head walking to his chair. Picking up a card he read silently before trying to pick a new one. Celina sat up when she saw him and called him out.

“Uh Erik you never skip cards. What you doing baby boy?” She sat on the edge.

Erik smack his lips. “Nah not that one. Plus it’s my shit I could do whatever I want.” He spoke lowly going to the next card.

Keisha got up walking over to him. “No let me see the card because I ain’t never seen you skip one a day since I met you.” She tried picking it up but Erik snatched it away.

“Chill Keisha, watch out.” He grabbed her wrist lightly.

Keisha laughed. “Boy stop playing with me and let me see.”

Distracted by her going back and forth with him Erik wasn’t aware of Celina sneaking around the other side of him and successfully grabbing the card. She ran behind the couch and read it.

“Let’s see why Stevens was act like a pussy.” She slurred her words. “It’s says motorboat the person to the right of you for 15 seconds, even if they don’t have boobs. Do this or take three shots?”

Everyone looked to the right of him. Sitting at the end of the couch left only one person, Kaila. For the second time that night all eyes was on her. She wished that she could find a hole to crawl in and just die but that wasn’t possible for her. Hearing Celina read the card had her wishing that she would have just left it alone when he skipped the first time. She was embarrassed but she didn’t know if it was because the card dared him to put his face in her titties or that he wanted to skip the turn.

“Celina sit your drunk ass down and just leave the card alone.” Leah grabbed her arm and pulled her down.

“Oops sorry.” She burped putting the card back.

There was silence for a few minutes. For almost the whole night Kaila skipped her turn or declined when someone had to do something to her causing them to lose. She didn’t want to be the party pooper of the hour so she spoke up.

“You can do it if you want.” Her voice coming out lightly. Avoiding the stares from the others her eyes stayed on Erik’s.

His brows lifted up surprised. “Look don’t let Celina’s drunk ass pressure you into something you not down for Kaila.” The way he said her name made her squirm and Erik peeped it himself.

“She wasn’t but if you don’t want to I get it-“ She stopped her sentence when he stood up from his chair.

His body was now in front of hers. Kaila couldn’t help quickly glancing at the print that stuck out through his sweats. The feeling of his hand under her chin tilted it up startled her a bit.

“You wanna do this out here or we can go somewhere private? It’s up to you.”

The room was now quiet as everyone watched the two under the influence and yet still drinking from their cups. Kaila nodded as she stood up signaling that she would rather do it somewhere not in front of them. Stepping to the side she went in front of him and felt his hand on the small of her back.

“Don’t take longer than 15 seconds.” Celina laughed sticking her tongue out when they briefly looked back at her.

Kaila looked around aimlessly as Erik led her down his dark hallway. The only thing that could be seen was the faint wall art from the infrequent lightening outside that came through his windows due to the rainstorm they were going to have tonight. The closer they were to their destination the more the butterflies in Kaila’s stomach start to appear one by one.

“Here we are.” Erik pushed a tall black door opened revealing his master bedroom.

Kaila didn’t stop her eyes from wondering as she looked around. The theme color to his room was black and red. His king sized bed was placed in the middle with a Versace Medusa logo cover resting on top. Laying on the ground next to it was a large black and gold Persian rug. But what caught her attention was the wide mirror that was over his bed.

“You have a nice room Erik.” She sent him a light smile standing in the middle of the floor.

Erik closed his door with the weight of his body. He smirked watching her stand there timidly barely keeping eye contact with him. Erik knew that Kaila had some sort of crush on him but he never said anything about it because he didn’t want to embarrass her. She was always shy around him but was okay with talking to everyone else in the group. Erik couldn’t stand that shit. Watching her round face give her sweet smile to Troy and Tyler always made him jealous. He wanted to be the one to put it on her face but could never get the chance with her always running away from him.

Before she became a part of their group Erik already noticed Kaila around the office. The curve of her wide hips and thickness of her thighs that she would cover up lured him into her. There would be days when she wasn’t wearing her turtleneck and he could finally get a peak at her smooth and chocolate double D’s along with a whiff of her perfume. Erik’s mouth would began to salvitate as he became curious wondering how they would taste. Now he had the chance.

“Thank you. I appreciate that baby.” He chuckled walking to stand in front of her.

Kaila’s eyes averted down at the new pet name. Looking back up, his russet eyes met her chestnut colored ones. His teeth held the full bottom flesh between them. The moment she inhaled for the first time with their closeness Kaila smelled his cologne that sent signals down to her vagina. She could feel the sticky wetness that he was created and he hadn’t even touch her. Her chest rose and fell as her breath hiked up.

“So you ready? It’s only 15 seconds.” The sound of his deep voice had her doing kegals on an imaginary dick.

“Yeah let’s do this.”

The sudden movements of his hands going up to her breast spooked her. Wearing an off the shoulder ribbed dark grey long sleeve tub top Kaila was able to feel his fingertips against her skin. She did a soft moan from the contact hoping that he didn’t hear.

“Big ass fucking titties.” Erik spoke out loud not caring if she heard him or not.

He began to grope them. Bringing his hands to the cuff of them he played with her breast. Lifting them up and down. All of a sudden he was like a kid in a candy store. Kaila could feel her nipples harden on his hands, that frequently rubbed against them. She bit her lip.

Erik smirked watching her get aroused in front of him. He could feel the pebbles turning into rocks from his touch and when he saw her suck on her bottom lip his dick jumped. Wasting no time he lifted her breast up and dove straight in face first. With the combination or her soft titties and her scent Erik’s dick started to get rock hard. He knew then that he now wanted to add titty fucking to the list of nasty shit he wanted to do to her.

“Mm.” Kaila tried her best hide her moan. She didn’t want him to think she was a prude for moaning at something as little as this. It was all a part of a game for goodness sake, but she couldn’t help it. Reaching up she gripped his dreads holding on to him while he moved his head side to side.

The fifteen seconds was long and over with but he was still down there. What was only supposed to be a quick playful motorboat session turned into love bites and delicate sucks. Erik took his time placing a kiss on to each breast. Tracing his tongue over them and then giving a soft suck. He could hear her trying to suppress her moans, but he was working for them and wanted to hear them clearly.

Reaching behind her he slid his hands around her thick waist and then traveled down to her ass. Gripping her cheeks roughly through her leggings he pulled her body into his pressing her down on his thick and solid member. Still continuing his sucks on her breast he groaned hearing her give in.

“Erikk.” Kaila felt the flutters in her stomach and her toes curl when she felt his package bump her area.

“Hmm?” He was now moving up to her exposed neck never losening his grip on her ass.

“The game.” Her words came out as a whine.

“Fuck it. You can’t tell me you not tryna let me fuck right now. Letting me suck on you and shit. I know you wet as fuck down there.” The confidence he spoke with had her dripping even more.

Kaila brought her hands up to his biceps. She turned her head to give him more space to kiss. Squeals left her mouth every time he would grip her cheeks separating them. Kaila wanted to submit badly but was still undecided as she worried about the others listening to what could happen in this room.

Erik pulled away from her seeing that she was hesitant. That’s when an idea popped into his head. His dick was too hard for him to leave without feeling any type of warmth. Going into his nightstand he found the coin and flipped it before walking back to her.

“Alright I have this coin here that’ll decide on what I can receive from you. Since you’re so worried about that dumb ass game out there. We can play our own.”

Kaila’s knitted with confusion but she was curious.

“What type of game?” Her soft voice asked.

Erik licked his lips as she watched hers move. He tugged on her lower lip with his thumb and index finger before showing her the coin and handing it to her.

“If it flips on head I get some pussy and if it flips on tails I get some head. You down?” Stepping in her space he bent his head kissing on her neck. She was so soft to him and it was hard for him to stop.

Kaila observed the gold naughty coin. She never tried anything like this in her 24 years of living. It was new and exciting and with Erik being the person behind it tempting her, she wanted to give it a chance.

“Okay. You flip?” She handed the coin back rubbing her sweaty palms up and down her black leggings.

Taking the coin he strolled over to his bed. Sitting on the edge of it he patted the space next to it offering her a seat. Kaila worked up the nerve to walk over from the liquid courage that she was feeling from the wine. It was making her feel frisky and horny all in one. She sat next to him and smiled sheepishly.

Erik leaned back and smirked. He wrapped an arm behind her as he got ready to flip the coin. “Heads I win...Tails you lose.” He chuckled as she understood the double meaning.

He tossed it up just a few feet above them and caught it quickly with the same hand.

“Hold your hand out.” He demanded and placed the coin flat on her palm. There was a pause for a few seconds before he lifted his hand. It landed on tails.

“Hope you know how to suck some dick.” He reached his hand behind her smacking her ass.

Kaila got up and stood in front of him. Rolling her eyes at his cockiness she pulled her braids up into a bun wrapping them around to keep them out of the way. She pushed him back causing him to lean on his elbows. Getting on her knees he started to rock his leg side to side. Tugging at his sweats she pulled them down along with his briefs making his semi-hard long and girthy length pop out. From the size alone Kaila got intimidated know that if he knew how to work with it he would make her go crazy.

Erik pulled on the hem of his shirt hiking it up to show his abs. He reached down grabbing the base of his dick whirling it back and forth. “I don’t wanna feel no teeth. You hear me?” His command coming out crystal clear.

Nodding her head Kaila leaned forward giving him a gentle kiss. The thick mushroom tip felt good against her lips. She hasn’t been with a man in almost two years so she wasn’t sure if she still had it. But tonight she would find out knowing that Erik would have no problem letting her know.

Getting her mouth wet she let a long sting of saliva drip on to his length. Sticking out her tongue she ran it against the sides wetting his stick up before taking him into her mouth whole. Erik was a challenge so she wasn’t going to get him down in one fit. She’d have to work her way down. She let him slide in and out of her mouth twirling her head when she would reach his tip. Taking one of her free hands she stroked his shaft while shoving her other hand in her leggings rubbing her clit. The feeling of having a dick grow in her mouth made Kaila’s pussy drip and nipples hard.

Looking up she watched as Erik kept his eyes on her. His jaws tightening from her locked jaw that she had on him. The ‘gawking’ sound coming from her made his balls jump. Erik’s eyes now became low as he reached for her braids unraveling the bun and created a ponytail with his fist.

“That’s how you sucking Daddy dick?” He asked surprise as he now sat up leaning on his free hand watching her perform her work of art.

When she felt him hit the back of her throat she answered him on purpose so that he could feel the vibrations. “Mmhm.”

“Ahh SHIT!” Erik threw his head back feeling how her throat had clenched around him. Kaila surprise the fuck out of him. He never expected a head monster behind that quiet little desktop bookworm facade she had put on, but everyone know that they be the main freaks.

She was sucking his shit sloppy just the way he liked it. Her tight warm jaws had his heads in the clouds. Kaila’s head game was starting to get so good Erik felt like he had to do or say something to throw her off.

“Let Daddy slut this muthafucking throat out....gah damnn.” Standing up he lifted his crisp white shirt up to his mouth tucking it in between his teeth. Grabbing her braids and making a ponytail with one hand he cupped her chin with the other as he fucked her throat.

When the spit began to run down her chin and hit her top it reminded Erik of her big chocolate melons that he wanted to fall asleep on. He had got to feel them now he wanted to see them.

“Pull them big ass fuckin titties out.” He spoke with his shirt still clenched in his teeth making his dimples show.

Kaila heard comply to his orders. She pulled the top down and her strapless bra up and began to play with her nipples for him. Using the spit that dripped on her chest she rubbed it on her pebbles as her mouth became wetter with her arousal. She brought a hand back into her pants and tweaked her nub.

Erik watched her play with herself knowing that head wasn’t the only thing he was trying to get from her for the night. If she could suck dick this good he only imagine what that pussy was feeling like.

“Mouth to fuckin good to not try and fuck. You gon give me sum pussy after?” His hips still stroking in her mouth. Kaila tried to push him out by his thighs but he pushed her hands away. “Move them fuckin hands and answer my question.”

Closing her eyes trying to breathe through her nose she nodded her head. Erik smirked as he pulled out of her mouth. Dick standing up and dripping with her saliva.

“Get yo ass on this bed.” He took off his shirt and stepped out of his sweats and underwear leaving him in his naked glory.

Kaila got on the bed, kicking of her shoes she laid on her back looking at herself in his mirror that was above them before she felt him pulling at her leggings. She squealed from the quick action lifting up to help him get them off. The moment the air touched her thighs she grew self conscious of her appearance. Erik noticed when he opened her thighs climbing between them.

“Instead of being worried bout how thick these thighs are you should be worried about how you gon take this dick.” He leaned up and tapped his heavy meat on her covered clit.

“Ooh.” Out of reaction Kaila moaned and shut her thighs closed.

Erik grabbing them and pushing them back to their previous position. “Unh uh. Open ya fuckin legs. I know you got some good warm wet ass pussy. I can feel the heat coming off that muthafucka and I ain’t pull ya panties to the side yet.”

His dirty talk was making her pussy throb. Kaila wanted to feel that heavy dick split her open even if she cried right after. Erik spoke with big dick energy because he know he had big dick to deliver.

“I want some dick.” Her shy hushed words coming out. Kaila didn’t usually speak like this but Erik brought it out of her.

He smirked and grabbed her the back of her thighs and lifted them up pushing them on her stomach. “Oh you gon get this dick, but I wanna eat this pussy first.”

Without warning he bent his head down between her thighs. Using his teeth he dragged her panties to the side. Kaila jump feeling his breath on her lower lips. She started to brace herself when she felt a long lick go up and down her slick coated slit. Taking his hand he used it to separate her meaty flesh. Her natural juices sticking to the sides

Erik groaned biting his lip. “Mm I know you be making niggas drown in this shit.” He watched her hole open and closed as he spoke to it.

Spitting on her clit he went straight to sucking on it. Erik had to stop her legs from snapping on his head. He used the all the upper strength he had to hold her thick thighs down all the while never letting up on her clit. Keeping his mouth around her he flicked the bud repeatedly. Her juices started to drip out already soaking his beard. The smell of her sex made his dick jump with anticipation. He was ready to feel her in some type of way. Bringing his tongue down he began to tongue fuck her tight hole. She clenched down on him as he slid in and out of her walls. Using his thumb he rubbed her clit adding to her pleasure

“Ohh fuuckk....I’m about to cum babyy.” Kaila covered her mouth to try and lower her whining moans but the way he stuck his tongue in her made it impossible.

“Let that shit out.” Smacking her inner thigh he went back sucking her clit. Erik felt how tight she was on his tongue. He knew he had to open her up a bit to get her ready for his dick. He took two fingers and slowly worked them into her.

Kaila lifted her hips to meet his strokes as she felt herself come undone on his fingers. The suction he was applying on her clit brought tears to her eyes. Her legs shook already giving out. Erik lifted up bringing his fingers to his mouth sucking her essence.

“I’ll have game night every day just to get up in this pussy.” He rubbed his tip against her clit. Using her natural lubricant he made himself slick enough and sat at her tight opening. Erik lifted her thighs back to as far as they were able to go and used the weight of his hips and thrusted inside of her.

“Ahh FUCK!! Gah damn. Wait a minute.” He pulled out instantly and closed his eyes. He chuckled lowly shaking his head. “You got me fucked up if you think I’m not beatin this shit down.” He gripped Kaila’s thighs pulling her to the edge of the bed. He had her at an angle and was standing up.

Kaila squeaked. “Erik wait don’t go too deep-“ She was cut off feeling him sink inside of her. Her arms flailing over as she gripped his sheet. Mouth ajar and formed into a silent ‘o’ as she felt herself getting stretched open to max she’s ever been.

—

Erik wasn’t playing when he said he was going to beat her pussy up. The size or weight of her body didn’t stand a chance to him. He was in beast mode as he drilled her shit in. Kaila’s cry’s and moans fell on deaf ears as he was hitting her spot. No matter how much pushing at his chest she did, it didn’t change the pace or motion he was going in. She had already came on his dick two times but that didn’t mean anything to him.

Kaila whimpered as she brought her hands to his hips to try and stop him. “Daddyyy please l-I can’t.” She brought a hand up to her mouth and bit on her knuckles.

Erik ignored her knowing that she was only speaking because of the sensitivity of her pussy started to probably grow higher the more he stroked her out. The minute he felt her pussy wrapped around his dick Erik got stuck. Her warm and gushy walls clenching him every time he tried to pull out. There was no way she wanted him out of this pussy.

“Move ya fucking hand and take some dick.” He barked as his dreads hung over his eyes and chain swung low. He pulled out tapping on her clit only to slide back in deeper this time.

“Unh..okayy.” She cried frustrated that she couldn’t run

He had her thick frame bended up like a pretzel. Looking between their bodies that was starting to sweat up, Erik watched the way he slid in and out of her. Her coat attached on to his dick. The way he could see her pussy throb around him. But the way she would involuntarily clenched her walls around him when he would pull out only leaving his tip in had her flipping Erik’s crazy switch.

Erik wanted to laugh when he saw the tremble in her lower lip and her tears coming out the corner of her eyes. He was giving her that good dick and he loved watching her get ruined in front of his face. Leaning over her he started to suck her nipples while his stroke never faltered.

Glancing up at the cieling Kaila watched him stroke deep inside of her in the mirror. The rotation of his hips along with his slight curve he had on his dick was sending her to another dimension. He was digging so deep inside of her it had her mind making up scenarios of having a family with him. It was the way he stroked her and fed on her nipples at the same time that had her seeing stars on his wall.

Kaila gripped his dreads. She moaned and whimpered with panted breaths. She couldn’t control the level of her voice. When his strokes were short and fast she’d moan but when he started tapping at her bottom her toes would curl and she’d whimpered and shake underneath him. Kaila didn’t have a clue when she would be able to find another person to hit it the way he did or if there would be another at all.

“Ohh daddy....you so deep in my pussy.” Her sexy moans in his ear had Erik ready to bust. He lifted from her tittes and gave her a nasty kiss. Tongue and all. Kaila moaned and clenched down onto him. Erik’s fingers dug into her skin and sucked on her lip.

“You gon let me nut in this tight ass pussy?” He whispered in her neck.

Kaila shook her head yes willing to agree with anything while he was laying that pipe on her. “Cum in me daddy.”

Erik wanted to hold off but the pussy was hitting too good. He stood back up and stroked until he bottomed out inside her. He’d always get his best nuts when he would go deep. Tucking his lip into his mouth his deep long strokes started to slow feeling his balls tightened. Erik closed his eyes when she gripped his meat and pulling his seed right out of him.

“Fuck!” He groaned and continued to stroke his nut out until he was empty. He pulled out of her with her cream coating his member.

His dick was still hard. Kaila was laying in the same position. Her thighs sore and unable to close from staying open that long. Sitting up she rested on her palms to observe him. Erik’s eyes was glued to her pussy before taking his hand and rubbing her clit.

“I can’t stay out this shit.” He licked his lips.

Kaila shyly smiled as she was about to speak when she heard laughing on the other side of the door.

“Now y’all niggas know them 15 seconds been up.” Celina stated loudly before laughing along with the others.

Her hand covered her mouth as embarrassment clouded her face. She pushed his hand away.

“See Erik I told you.” Kaila whined getting up.

“Wait,where you going?” He asked stepping in front of her.

“I’m going back to the game.”

“We not done here yet. Now come flip this coin to see what you could get. This head...or... this dick.”

_____________________________________

Please excuse any mistakes!

(Going to have to edit this later)

Tag-list

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#black panther #erik killmonger #erik smut #erik stevens #erik x plus size reader #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger x reader #truglori #black panther killmonger

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years ago

Note

Maybe, if you have any extra time, would you consider doing a continuation of the good villain rehab center prompt??? 🥺

🥺 I loved writing that one. Here you go! Just as a heads up, I’m going to start making prompt fills like this a little shorter, just because they’re starting to pile up a little. I wanna make sure I can answer all of them!

Thank you so much for the request!! Continued from here. This one is fluffy but also just a little sad.

CW//Hospital setting, pill mention, nausea mention, low self esteem

Visiting hours were from one to four.

That was the first thing Villain learned about the Supervillain Memorial Villainous Recovery Center, or, as it was far more commonly known, for the sake of brevity, the RC. That visiting hours were from one to four.

They could not help but hear the fact, echoing in their mind, as they glanced to the clock. Half after noon.

Half an hour.

Lunch was served at noon sharp-- they had learned that, too. Villain glanced down at the plate, sitting on the desk before them. It had been picked clean, to the point of nigh-spotlessness, leaving behind only the smeared residue of sauces and spices.

Two days. Three, they supposed, now, since the clock’s hands had already passed well into the afternoon. Three days, spent at the RC.

72 hours. Not counting the time they’d spent without their consciousness intact.

They sighed, placing down their fork-- a real, metal fork-- and listening to its soft clatter against the porcelain dishware.

Visiting hours were from one to four. Meaning that, in half an hour, Hero would be there. They’d grown familiar with, though not particularly fond of, the knock on their door-- the age-old call: “Villain, you have a visitor.”

Lunchtime had quickly become their least favorite time of day.

Things were peaceful before food was served. They woke up when wakefulness stirred them, spurred by no alarm, human or otherwise. The room was... comfortable. Light coaxed its way between the shades of their closed blind, leaving sunspots on the wood-paneled floor.

Though they awoke alone, when they emerged from bed, it was never long before someone came to see them. Doctor, it had been so far. A face they had learned to find kind and welcoming, even if their movements still made them uneasy.

Every day, the doctor would coax a light knocking upon their door, greeting them with a soft call of ‘good morning.’ They would ask how they had slept, how they were doing.

It was always the less practical questions that came before those of a medical nature. ‘Have you been feeling well?’ ‘Is there anything you need?’ ‘Would you like some tea?’

Then came the medical questionnaire-- a short affair of simple ‘yes’s’ and ‘no’s.’ Yes, their head still hurt. No, they weren’t having any trouble breathing. Yes, they were drinking their water. And their pills. Based upon the doctor’s warm, content smile, Villain’s recovery was going well, though they never mentioned the way that the taste of smoke refused to remove itself from the back of their tongue.

And, finally, the apologies.

To Doctor, Villain’s living conditions must have seemed to be torturous, considering the way they spoke of them.

“I’m so sorry you have to stay in here. Your doctors want a clean bill of health before you move to the main wing. It’s flu season, they say. Something like that could land you in the hospital while your lungs are still weak.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you could come visit with the nurses for a while... Oh, you must be so lonely. Are you sure there’s no one you want to call?”

“You aren’t getting bored, are you? The library is just down the street, are there any books you want? There’s a TV in the employee lounge...”

Yet, despite their countless worries, each and every one went unfounded. Villain’s room was a cell, yes. The door was locked. The window was bolted shut. They were a prisoner, and they knew that.

But, inexplicably, they were happy. On the first day, they had gone so far as to wonder if their food had been tampered with. They’d soon found otherwise, however. There was a far less sinister explanation.

They were simply happy. Perhaps not euphoric. Not overjoyed. But... content.

The time they spent in their cell was serene. Staring out over the window, watching the ocean play, the flowers in the botanical garden flash their extravagant petals. On the second day, when their fatigue had receded, they had obliged one of the doctor’s many offers. A book from the library.

Later that day, a chatty intern had brought in five, jabbering about how they didn’t know how fast of a reader Villain was.

So far, they’d only gotten through one, flipping leisurely through its pages. There was something nearly overwhelming about the experience. Letting the words flow to their mind as waves whorled in the ocean outdoors.

Prisoner or not, they were happy. They enjoyed their cell. There was room to roam, room to breathe. They couldn’t remember the last time they had been able to simply pause. To let every part of them relax.

And, during most of the day, they did relax.

Except during visiting hours. One to four.

Villain’s gaze glanced to the clock. 12:45.

Three days they’d been in the RC. Three days Hero would visit. Even if the hour had no struck yet, there was no doubt in their mind that the hero would be there, right on time, smiling and bringing gifts. The first day, it had been cookies. The second, a handful of candies. Today, they’d promised a brownie.

Villain never ate the food. It went right in the trash, every piece of it. It wasn’t an act of spite, not an act of distrust. But an act of nausea. When Hero left after their visits, they had no desire to eat.

Hero was... nice. That was undeniable. They entered with a grin and left with one, even as it fluttered throughout their meeting. Never had they uttered to Villain an insulting word, an aggressive tone. That was exactly the problem.

Why?

Why hadn’t they harmed them?

By name alone, the RC would have made any villain keep far from its walls. A recovery center was certainly a misnomer, a joke at those inside. Those being held captive, broken down and shattered into fiberglass particles of themself.

Because the heroes were evil. They were in the wrong. Regardless of what they said, regardless of what the public thought, it was the villains who were fighting the good fight. Any facility they had control over was certainly a torture chamber, intent on inflicting nothing but suffering on those inside.

Not bringing them tea and library books.

During visiting hours, from one to four, Villain would hardly speak. They allowed Hero to do that for them-- even as they asked them questions, requested their input, nudged them for anecdotes. There were no words that villain could say that would sound right.

So, they listened. Listened to the hero’s stories, how their day had gone, what stupid think their drunk teammates had done last weekend. Yet, they never strayed to topics of villainy. Never to topics of work. When such things would come up, they were brushed over with professional efficiency. ‘Then we fought downtown, but you’ll never guess how Teammate managed to set off the fire alarm.’

Because they didn’t care. Hero didn’t care.

They didn’t care that they were speaking to a villain. One who had caused untold harm, unending, ceaseless, meaningless destruction. Every time they prompted Villain to speak, they struggled to open their mouth. To let a stream of apologies spill forth, greater than the ocean outside their window.

But, not a single word would emerge. Because it wouldn’t be enough.

In the Supervillain Memorial Villainous Recovery Center, Villain was recovering. That was the problem.

They didn’t deserve it.

#villain whumpee #hero caretaker #doctor caretaker #ask #whumpblr #whump community #hero villain whump #fluff

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whatgaviiformes · 3 years ago

Text

Fic: Fixated

A/N: I can’t explain how I am feeling, so I am going to let fic do it instead. This is entirely written without edits, without a read through. Overworked!Scott

Edit: Okay I did a read through. Remaining mistakes are mine

-----

Virgil is the first to notice. Maybe because he’s Virgil, and possibly because he’s the only one who can call Scott his immediate older brother, so there’s something in their closeness in age, having navigated childhood together almost as equals, that sets his Scott-sense apart from that of his younger siblings.

When Scott was thirteen and Virgil was eleven, Scott was in the eighth grade and had to write a research report on the Wright Brothers, the pioneers of modern aviation. And that was all well and good, because Scott was going to start training for his pilot’s license right when he turned sixteen. The report became not just a chronicle of the historical figures’ lives, but also of flight, of the first airplane itself and the prototypes before it, of physics, and aerodynamics. He researched in a way he never had before because it was a subject he was passionate about.

He obsessed.

Like John but different.

John absorbed the search for knowledge into the fiber of his being, his fingertips always itching to take a deeper dive through archives when he heard a word he didn’t know or a concept he couldn’t explain fully. Research was as much a part of John as music was for Virgil, or swimming was for Gordon. It was a companion he could always revisit later, and so like all of them with hobbies that mattered, John knew how to catalog and save for a better time, and turn the itch aside when he needed to. He knew when to stop.

Scott didn’t. Scott defined the turn of phrase “down the rabbit hole.” Alice caught and enraptured by the not yet known or understood.

When he cared, he obsessed.

That project got finished with an A+, but resulted in anxious shaking that didn’t alleviate until a few days after the grades came back. Scott had lost weight, skipped his extra curriculars, and Virgil hadn’t seen him for two whole weeks while he worked. The younger ones likely didn’t remember.

But Virgil did. And he knew the signs. Forgetting to eat, falling asleep at his computer or on his books, waking up earlier than normal to get a head start to whatever imaginary goals he created for himself that day.

So, the day Virgil notices, it’s because Scott missed lunch. Grandma had made hot wings, which was one of his favorites, so the smell of char in the air would’ve been enough to set his stomach rumbling. With Scott absent when he definitely shouldn’t be, Virgil decides to make him a plate, six hot wings with ranch on the side, and some celery.

He finds Scott at their father’s his work desk, his fingers flying over the keyboard, intently scanning the files behind the screen.

“Hey, I brought you lunch.”

No answer.

Virgil steps closer to the desk, sure that once Scott catches him in his periphery, he’d acknowledge his presence. But Scott doesn’t appear to have a periphery when he’s focused like that.

“Scott?” There’s a little room on the desk, so he nudges a few papers to the side and slides the plate down. “Scooter?” He looks tense. He can see knots forming, so he drops a hand on Scott’s shoulder, and –

“FU—”

Scott nearly jumps out of his skin, his hands fly up, catching the side of the plate which clatters, sending ranch and hot sauce all over the floor. Even MAX scurries away with a low beep at the sudden sound, and Virgil flinched in a sudden panic when the dish slipped through his fingers.

“Sorry, sorry! I just meant to help.” Virgil is already kneeling on the floor, trying to pick up what he can with his hands, knowing he needs a wet rag. Maybe a mop.

The little cup that held the ranch slid a ways. Gross.

“Ah. Thanks, Virg,” Scott says. And he means it, Virgil knows that. But he can also see the gears in Scott’s head still working, still thinking about whatever he had been focused on, not quite fully present. “Umm. Do you have this? I’m under a deadline.” He looks at his watch. “Ugh. A rough one. I’d help if I could.”

“No, I got this! Sorry, Scott.” He picks up the dirty hot wings, placing them on a plate for their compost pile. “Is there anything else I can get you instead? These were the last of them.”

But Scott doesn’t answer. He’s already back to his computer.

~*~

Gordon is next.

He may not have the same Scott-sense as Virgil, may not have picked up on it as quickly, but he and Scott both share early morning routines, meeting in the kitchen at 5:00, Scott dressed in a tank and his running shorts, Gordon in his swimsuit, a towel around his shoulders. Coffee is too heavy to start the day, but Scott usually would begin the brew for when they returned (and in case Virgil woke up) while Gordon filled their respective water bottles. Whoever finished first chose the energy boost of choice – sometimes just a snack bar, sometimes a shake. On weekends, it might be oatmeal or toast.

Out by the pool by 5:15. Stretching was important.

Scott began his run. Gordon began his laps. They went about their day. Rinse, repeat.

Occasionally a rescue might come in and affect their sleep cycle just a bit, but Scott and Gordon were both military. If they weren’t rising before the sun, it was too late and they lost half their day already.

So Gordon is next, because Scott doesn’t meet him in the kitchen. He’s not sure he knows how to make smoothies for one – hasn’t in a long time – so he proportions his ingredients for two, fills a second cup for Scott when he wakes, and sticks it in the refrigerator so it will stay cold.

He pushes himself during his exercise. He was long past chasing times, but he still raced himself. Seconds could save a life, and so he exercised for speed, for longevity sometimes. For survival.

It’s a longevity day, so he’s abandons speed for energy conservation, which makes it a long morning.

His muscles are tired and sore when he returns to the kitchen and opens the fridge for a drink to boost his electrolytes. He is not in the mood for coffee today, but sees the pot is half full, so someone is up. But it’s not Scott.

Because the smoothie is still in the fridge, untouched.

He tells himself he needs to check in on Scott once he finishes his research down at the dock today. He’s been tracking a pod of dolphins near Mateo and has been needing to collect the latest data captured by his little research vessel.

He’ll catch him later. Figure out what’s going on.

~*~

Then it’s Alan.

Alan admires Scott, has been practically raised by him since Dad disappeared. Scott is everything Alan wants to be… just the John version of him. Take Scott’s courage and bravery, John’s love of space, you get Alan. Eyes on the horizon, but looking beyond it into stratosphere, exosphere, the space between stars itself.

He’s a hell of a pilot. He knows that. He wouldn’t be the pilot of Thunderbird Three otherwise. But a part of him will always seek the approval of his older siblings. He wants to make Scott proud.

Scott hasn’t had the time for him lately. He’s been working on… oh he doesn’t know. They don’t tell him. Something for Tracy Industries.

His final quarter grades have come out, and he aced all his classes. It had been a hard semester and juggling his courses between rescues had been tough. He’d needed to call on his brothers’ expertise a few times.

He knows Scott has his file somewhere in his email, but he likely hasn’t gotten to it yet because he hasn’t said anything to him. It’s been a few days. So Alan pulls up his grades on his datapad and strolls past the center of the lounge over to Scott.

The first time he says Scott’s name, he doesn’t answer.

Nor the second.

The thirdfourthfifth time, because that’s how he called for him, the name running together like that, Scott irritably gives him a low grumble of “What do you want, Alan?” He doesn’t glance up, and the smile falters from Alan’s face.

“Oh, I, uh—” This was silly. It’s not important, really. Scott will get to it eventually. “My grades came through. When you get a chance.”

He grumbles in response. “I’ll look later,” he says. “I need to…”

But he trails off, back to his computer, and Alan still doesn’t know what project stole his brother away.

~*~

John’s the last.

He’s called to check in. He’s definitely connected, but....

Scott is slumped at his desk, and John’s calls are not working.

“Scott!”

No answer. The figure at the desk doesn’t budge. So John opens a channel to the rest of his brothers, his feet already sending him toward the space elevator as he calls out. “I can’t wake Scott!”

#overworked!Scott #Gavii Scribit #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy #John Tracy #Tracy Family #thunderangst mabe #sorry if this is crap

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