#and your little rolled up pantlegs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

peterrparrkerr · 3 years ago

Text

Tentacle sex - read on ao3

*-*

Tony's watched the boy on the beach for days. Watched how he ran on two feet, wobbling unsteady in the sand and laughing at himself when he nearly topples over.

His laugh is like a siren's song, pulling Tony from the depths of the water.

Tony knows his name is Peter from the times its called out when the sun starts to set. The boy snaps his head up the cliff face, up, up, up until he sees the woman beckoning him from the shore.

Peter calls back and the woman leaves. The boy always takes his time walking to the stairs that lead up the twenty feet to the grassy cliff top.

Tony watches him. Wants him.

He's only shown up with the warmth of summer. Migrating here from a spot Tony's unfamiliar with.

The boy turns darker the longer he stays outside, skin tanning, kissed by the sun. Tony sometimes misses the paleness of his skin, but he must admit, the darker skin fits him just as well.

Tony knows he'll never get the chance to feel the boy -to touch. Not when Peter stays close to the shore.

Tony gets as close as he dares, and most often gets pressed into the rock he latches onto with the waves -rocking with the tide.

He's content to just watch from afar.

And then one day, Peter's dragging a canoe through the sand. Tony watches curiously as Peter tries to get the boat out past the waves.

Its a slow process of being tipped over or pushed back to the shore. At one point, the boy swims ahead of the canoe, wrapped in rope.

He makes it at last, and climbs into the canoe, thin human legs flailing in the water as he pulls himself up.

He almost tips the boat over again, but falls into the bottom with a yelp.

Tony lets go of the rock currently anchoring him against the tide, and makes his way to the boat.

He doesn't want to scare the boy, but he can't wait. He wants to see him up close.

Peter seems to just be sitting in the boat, taking in the sun, letting the tide drift him. Tony waits just a moment when the boy paddles closer to the sore, worried he was already leaving.

But Peter stops again. He must not want to stray too far from shore.

Tony pokes his head from the water, blinking as air hits his eyes. Water laps softly at the sides of Peter's canoe, and Tony can hear the soft humming from above.

Tony nudges the canoe accidentally and the humming stops. Peter shifts rapidly, peering down at the water to one side. His hands grip the edges, and Tony's got to stop himself from reaching up and touching him.

Then Peter's turning and looking right at him, eyes wide as he yelps in shock.

"Jesus you scared the crap out of me!" Peter exclaims in a shrill tone. "I thought you were a shark or something."

"No," Tony hums, finally getting enough nerve to reach for the edge of the boat, pulling himself closer and further out of the water. "Not a shark."

"What are you doing all the way out here?" Peter asked, not seeming to be afraid of him now that he realizes Tony's not a danger to him.

"Making your acquaintance," Tony said, hooking both elbows over the edge of the boat and resting his chin on the cross of his wrists. "You're Peter, right?"

Peter grows a little stiff, apprehension settling in his eyes.

"How do you know my name?"

"I heard that woman call you the other day," Tony said with a shrug. "You answered to it, plus, you're the only one on the beach."

Peter relaxes again at the reasoning.

"Well, apparently not the only one," Peter sighed. "I haven't seen you around. I thought the beach is private."

"It doesn't look private to me," Tony said, glancing back over his shoulder at the shore.

"No, I mean, uh, its owned by my aunt and uncle," Peter said. "No ones usually on the beach except for us."

"I don't understand how humans can own sand," Tony huffed. "How do they know which grain of sand belongs to them? And don't you know the water is always changing?"

Peter blinks at him. "Uh, well-uh I mean, its more uh- humans?"

Tony nods, just as he reaches a tentacle up over the edge if the boat.

Peter's head snaps over to it, eyes widening. He doesn't scream though, or do much but stare at it.

So Tony pulls himself out of the water, tentacles slithering along the canoe.

"Holy shit!" Peter yelped, dropping to his ass at the bottom of the canoe, legs hanging over the small bench, back pressing into the front of the boat. He grips the edges with white knuckles, eyes widening as Tony settles into the other side of the boat.

"You're- you- you're an octopus!" Peter exclaimed, sounding out of breath.

"Cecaelia," Tony corrects.

"You're- you're like a mermaid," Peter continued to gape.

"You're not very scared," Tony mused, tentacles slithering closer to Peter. The boy doesn't shy away from them. Instead, he sits up a little, looking curiouser by the minute.

"I- uh, I guess not," he said, distractedly. He reaches forward before stilling. "Can I?"

Tony nods, and Peter's hand continues until soft fingers brush against the meaty part of Tony's tentacle. Tony suppresses a shiver at the feeling.

"Its slimy," Peter said, scrunching his nose, but continuing to explore.

"Its to protect my skin," Tony informs him. He explores Peter as well, curling one around his foot to explore the individual toes. It makes Peter giggles and flex his foot.

"How do you walk on these?" Tony asks. Peter isn't his first human, he knows how they go about it, but its still a curious thing, seeing human legs up close.

He's sure Peter is feeling the same way about him.

"Uh, very carefully," Peter responds. "I'm not very balanced, so I'm not the person to ask."

Tony chuckles, noting how often the boy fell in the sand. Tony's tentacles continue their exploration of Peter, whos still stuffed between the bench and the front of the boat.

One tentacle slithers up Peter's shorts through the pantleg, and Peter moves quick to try and stop him.

"Whoa! Whoa, uh, thats- uh, that's kind of private," he stutters. Tony continues to slither in.

"What is?" Tony asked innocently, the tip of his hectocotylus brushing against what Tony knows is the human's sweet spot.

Peter's breath stutters from his lungs, head falling back only a moment before snapping forward, shifting and trying to remove Tony's tentacle.

"Uh, that- its, uh, its-" Tony cuts him off by pressing in, feeling Peter's tight warmth stretch against him. "Hol-holy shit!"

"Am I hurting you?" Tony asked dumbly, continuing to press deep into the boy. He wondered how much of him Peter could take.

"N-no, its just- hnnng- its- its sensitive!"

Tony hummed moving closer so he can get his hands on Peter's swim shorts.

He pulls down just enough to expose Peter's cock, which is quickly filling up.

"And this?" Tony asked, curling another tentacle around it and making Peter whimper. "Is this sensitive too?"

"Ye-yes," Peter gasped, clenching around Tony's hectocotylus. Tony can't help but groan at the feeling, his other slithering close to nestle beside the one in Peter's ass.

"Oh, oh!" Peter cries out, body arching into Tony's touch. Its incentive enough to curl his tentacles around Peter and lift him out of the pocket he'd fallen into.

The boy's breath hitches as Tony lays him out on the canoe, half holding him so he doesn't fall off the bench.

Tony's got a grip on Peter's upper arms and his thighs, pulling his legs apart. His hectocotyli slowly start to thrust into Peter's asshole, one after the other, slowly stretching him to take in more.

His other two tentacles busy themselves with Peter's cock and his mouth.

The boy gasps and moans, and Tony easily slips past his lips. Peter's eyes widen before rolling back as Tony slips down his throat.

He groans loudly as he manages to fit more of himself up Peter's ass, stretching him on both his hectocotyli, moving harder, faster.

Peter's held open to him, with nowhere to go but where Tony's tentacles let him. He writhes, choking on Tony with tears in his eyes.

"You feel so good," Tony murmurs. "Can you take my seed? Hmm? Could your human body handle my cum?"

Peter chokes out a moan around the tentacle fucking his throat, pre-cum dribbling down his cock and over Tony's other tentacle.

Tony pulls out of Peter's throat, allowing him to gulp for air without removing himself fully from his mouth.

He moans desperately against Tony, tongue pressing up against him, suctioning to him until Tony releases his tongue.

"So willing," Tony mused, driving deeper into Peter, hectocotyli working in tandem.

"Ahgnh," Peter gasps, eyes squeezing closed and body trying to rock into his thrusts. Tony smirks, driving in harder.

"Look, sweet thing," Tony hums. "You can see me through your stomach."

And Peter lifts his head, mouth stull full of Tony. His eyes widen as he sees the bulge at Peter's belly, moving with each thrust of Tony's hectocotyli inside him.

Its enough to get Peter to orgasm. He archs his body, head thrown back as he practically wails, voice muffled by the tentacle as he cums in strips of white across his belly and the tentacle curled around his cock.

Tony continues thrusting into him, feeling his own orgasm fast approaching.

He drives down Peter's throat again, fucking him from both ends, picking up the pace and grunting.

His grip on the boy tightens and Peter's eyes water. His moans and mewling are muffled as Tony continues to fuck his throat with his tentacle.

"Get ready, pretty," Tony murmured, pulling out of Peter's mouth entirely in order to hold onto him.

Peter gasps, chest heaving out reedy cries as Tony's pace picks up even further.

He pulls Peter upright, holding him with the six tentacles currently not fucking into the human.

"Oh, God!" Peter wails. Tony spreads his legs further apart, suction cupping to his skin as he drives in hard.

"Close, sweet thing," Tony moans. "So close. Watch your stomach, baby. Watch me fill you up until you burst."

Peter does, eyes landing on his stomach. He whimpers as he watches Tony bulge his stomach out with each thrust.

"Thats it," Tony grunted. "You're taking me so well, you'll take my cum too, won't you."

Peter doesn't have time to answer. Tony cums hard and fast, groaning as he feels eggs begin to fill Peter, one at a time.

Peter whimpers at the feeling, gasping and mewling as Tony continues to thrust up into him, pushing his eggs deep into Peter's belly.

They both moan as they watch Peter's stomach begin to extend. This was Tony's favorite thing about humans. They were so small, filled up so quickly.

Humans took his seed so beautifully, and it always made his orgasm last longer when he watched them fill up.

"Ah!" Peter scrambled against Tony's hold, tears in his eyes as he was stuffed to his limit. "Ple-please!"

Tony slowed his thrusts as his climax came to an end. Peter heaved a breath, nearly choking on the whimper lodged in his throat.

He slips out of Peter's asshole, pulling his hectocotyli from his shorts.

"Oh my God," Peter gasped wetly as a few of Tony's eggs slip out with him, falling to the boat floor.

Tony hums, bringing Peter closer and maneuvering him so his back presses against Tony's chest.

"That won't do," he murmured, leaning back so Peter's almost laying down. He's still got Peter locked in his tentacles, and Peter whimpers as Tony presses back into him, keeping his eggs stuffed inside the little human.

"Fuck," Peter whimpered. Tony smirks, seeing Peter growing hard again. "That was- that-"

Tony slowly stokes at Peter's insides again, the suctions on his tentacles kissing as Peter's shaft.

"Humans are amazing creatures," Tony hums, working Peter up once more. "They can go again and again."

Peter shuddered as Tony slips his shorts down, pulling them completely off to expose pale skin. He draws Peter's legs up to his chest before pulling them to the sides, exposing him completely to Tony.

"I'm- so full," Peter moaned, head pressing into Tony's chest. "Too full. I can't- can't take any more."

Tony slides in deeper, the wet squelching sound making him moan softly. Peter whimpers as eggs are squeezed out as more of Tony presses in.

"You can take more," Tony hummed, picking up a brutal pace. "You're gonna take everything I give you, sweet little thing."

Tony empties himself into Peter again, and he's right. The boy can take more. He's full of Tony's eggs and leaking all over the place. Properly fucked out.

They lay still in the boat while Peter catches his breath, and then Tony's pressing into his stomach, squeezing more of his seed from Peter and humming in appreciation as Peter mewls and whimpers, being forced to expell Tony's eggs.

He guides Peter's boat closer to the shore -after having drifted so far out to sea- and watches Peter make his way up the steps slowly, walking with a slight limp.

Tony's surprised to see Peter the next day, the boy carrying nothing but an inflatable inner tube. Tony meets him where the waves aren't capping, smirking at the boy.

"You came back," he murmured, tentacles caressing Peter's legs under the water. He watched Peter shiver.

He nods, and before Tony can say anything else, Peter's reaching a hand down the middle of the inner tube. When it returns, he's got his swim trunks in hand, giving Tony an impish grin.

Tony returns it as he slithers up Peter's legs.

#marvel #tony stark #peter parker #starker #my writing #ao3 #sfsummerbingo21 #tentacles #nff #dubcon

68 notes · View notes

pinkandgreenarepurpleandyellow · 3 years ago

Text

Part 2 of me slowly irritating the fandom to death with mediocre pencil sketches and world-building concepts!

A quick disclaimer: A lot of the stuff here is just me fleshing things out bc I love filling in small world-building holes. The base for the style guide was @soledadcatalina's post from several years ago (that I currently cannot link bc Tumblr hates me) but with a lot of additional stuff based on my personal concepts and various experience/people I've met who have done some versions of these things (not the fighting and killing stuff, just bits and bobs). Although I'm a bit of a clothing nerd and love both analyzing and constructing design elements for wardrobe I am not a professional. (Image ID at end of ramble below the cut)

Ok so in my quest to find any vital descriptors I re-read the first there books, then Silent Night, then the bonus chapters, and then Lockdown again. The clothing is described as grey in a few places but the cover of Solitary shows Alex's jumpsuit to have stripes, so I finally came to a compromise. The jumpsuits start out as black and white striped classics but the warden is cheap and so the ink is shitty, quickly blotting and fading and staining so the older jumpsuits are a greyish color. (This will be come relevant for bandanna section of this post, towards the end). The actual Furnace logo is something that a little extra effort was put into, possibly being embroidered into the fabric (tbh yes I think the warden would do something like that just to be an extra level of asshole). The material itself is also not the best kind, and can shrink if overheated for too long.

Each latest batch of inmates is given a brand 'new' jumpsuit with distinct stripes for their first day. After they go into the showers, their uniforms are now officially part of the prison-wide circulation. There's always a very slight surplus for the sake of laziness and mild convenience, but not enough so that popped can vandalize the torsos of the jumpsuits or smuggle a second one out. But that doesn't stop people from fucking up the legs and the sleeves.

So, as a general rule, sleeves are fucked with more than legs partially for safety reasons and partially because shorter than expected sleeve are less of a pain than being tall and dealing with pantlegs that fit like capris on you because some short assholes just have to make it all about them even though plenty of the jumpsuits have shrunk over time so you think they could just vandalize those instead. So there's a certain amount of jumpsuits around that will actually fit on shorter kids, with very few additions or removals due to the risk of getting beaten up for constantly fucking up the uniforms. A good way to tell a short old-timer from a new fish is that the old-timers will push and shove for the ripped-leg jumpsuits while the new fish will try to go for either the less worn out models (that don't fit in the slightest and have the stripes still) or the leftovers.

Aside from the ripped legs, the solution most short kids have is the roll the excess up somehow. On someone taller, the baggy look is an option but when the fabric is a foot longer than your legs, you gotta do something. New fish go for the very big and bulky cuffs that have to be rolled up like 7 times to let their feet touch the ground directly. More experienced kids tend to make stylistic cuffs. Maybe it's mis-matching the height to which the pantlegs are rolled to, maybe it's rolling one leg the usual way and rolling the other one inward, but the cuffs end up looking more stylistic than necessary, which adds to the overall look.

Moving up, we've got sleeves. Most are also too long, but are usually shorter than they started due to inmates instantly ripping small pieces off of the edge for toothbrushes, hair ties, or just boredom. The life cycle of the sleeve is 'Starting length', 'fraying at edges', 'loose t-shirt sleeve length', and 'sleeves torn off completely'. Most of the older jumpsuits are in the latter two phases. Sleeves are narrower than the legs by a slight margin. Again, despite the inevetable degrading of the material over time, the number of shorter-sleeved jumpsuits is relatively stable, although it does go up and down more frequently.

With these basics, you can start telling apart people's time spent in the prison, level of deference to the warden, their hierarchal status, and their odds of survival in encounters with the other inmates. Of course, some of the excess or completely worn out jumpsuits are stolen and scavenged or ripped apart and passed around for anyone who needs more fabric tan there is in a sleeve or who needs a big square/rectangle of material.

Finally, the part that I personally get excited about, bandanas, accessories, and miscellaneous usage!

Skull Bandanas: Canonically all surface items are confiscated and I have no doubt that includes the gang bandanas. On the surface they probably either buy them or use paint (depending on area and resources, etc) but neither of those are really an option within the Furnace itself. So, to make a proper Skull bandana: take an extra jumpsuit, cut out a decently sized square, bleach out a rough circle in laundry (put some extra focus on the black stripes to make it look more natural), either burn the fabric at laundry /kitchen or get soot/the blackest dust available in the chipping and turn the white stripes surrounding the Skull black this way, and then use the same process for rough eyeholes. More detail-oriented members can heat up shanks/small pieces of metal and also add on rough teeth and holes in the nose area.

The finished product is a roughly black square with a roughly white skull in the center, to be worn only by the Skulls. Atempts to mimic the design to blend in don't work as the Skulls are relatively selective. Most of the bandanas were made within the first month (using just striped squares for the first part) and to get one now usually requires ousting a previous member unless Ambrose makes an exception (made twice within the span of five years).

Fifty-Niner Stripes: Usually made with the a mixture of dust and dirt from chipping. Some of the more unhinged members had tattoos from the surface but nowadays it's mostly dust/soot used as paint (can be stored in some extra rags and mixed with some of the chemicals in the laundry).

Leopard marks: These are established as cigarette burns on the surface and shiv-made holes in gen pop but I do think someone suggested 'hey what if we just use dust like the others' and promptly got shanked for it.

Accessories: So that sounds a bit weird, but allow me to explain. Strips roughly the length of sleeve's circumference can become improvised hair-ties, good for anyone who can't/won't see a slicer and anyone with long hair, which I imagine isn't too small of a population. Longer and thicker strips of cloth wrap around feet to act as (shitty) improvised socks. And even though wearing a bandana even remotely similar to the ones the Skulls use will get you killed, plenty of inmates make a similar version (sometimes just a long and wide rectangle) to act as durags or very basic headbands to keep sweat out of their brows during hard labor. Unlike the Skull ones, these tend to be either striped or faded grey.

Miscellaneous: Obvious, but the the sleeves and pantlegs frequently act as bandages since no one wants to go to the infirmary. There's also the pre-emptive use as a basic form of wrist/ankle tapes and a shitty version of a boxing glove by wrapping cloth around the hand. Shorter strips wind around shanks to make handles. Scraps and useless pieces of the jumpsuits quickly add up and some clever people figure out that they can sweep up all the pieces, shove them into the pillow case or under the sheets and get slightly better sleep.

[Image ID:

Two pictures of black and white pencil sketches on paper. The first shows four generic inmates dressed in the Furnace jumpsuits lined up and facing the camera. Aside from one with black stripes on his cheeks and one with a bruise on his face, they have no facial features. The focus is on the uniforms and their distinctions. The second page has more small notes about Skull bandanas.

Inmate Uniform Notes (going right to left for inmates, head to toe for notes):

On the first kid, who is dressed in a striped Furnace jumpsuit zipped up all the way with baggy sleeves and extremely rolled up-cuffs the notes are: "Surface hair" (referring to clean and neat haircut), "Zipped up", "New uniform, bolder stripes", "bulky sleeves covering hands", and "very rolled up legs".

The second kid, who has messy long hair and a partially unzipped jumpsuit with faded stripes, baggy but uncuffed legs, and ripped up sleeves (down to wrists), has the notes: "Can't/won't see the slicers", "mostly faded stripes", "worn/torn sleeves", and "baggy legs, maybe a little rolled".

The third kid is significantly taller, with hair in a slightly neater cut pushed back and two stripes on his face, marking him as a Fifty-Niner. He is holding something in his right hand and there are bandages wrapped around his left fist. His jumpsuit is completely faded and partially unzipped, with the sleeves ripped off and the legs fitting almost perfectly, if a little big, and he has the notes: "better cut since in a gang" (hair), "coal/dust lines" (gang markings), "arms completely torn off", "stretched and worn out after years" (in reference to whole jumpsuit), " 'bandages' made of ripped sleeves" (fist), "stripes fully gone", and "excess bit [of pant leg] tucked under".

The fourth and final kid is shorter than the first three, with closely cropped scruffy hair, a bruise on his left cheek, and cloth wrapped around his right wrist. His jumpsuit is zipped all the way up, the sleeves are rolled to the elbows, and the legs are mismatched, with the right ripped short and the left cuffed. The notes around him read: "scruffy cut (wounds hidden)", "Zipped up but other details make this a fashion choice", "fading stripes", "casual sleeves", "improvised brace for wrist", "shrunk from overheating" (referring to the uniform fitting him despite him being smaller than average), "mismatched legs" (one ripped, one rolled up), and "stylistic cuff" (referring to rolled up leg).

Skull Bandanna Notes (and misc) (going roughly right to left, top to bottom):

Bottom right corner shows two small hair ties, one made of just one scrap, and one with a second scrap twining around, mimicking an elastic hair tie. Above, in the main square, are two versions of the unfolded Skull bandanas, roughly square-ish with the Skulls having circular eye sockets, small slants at the nose, and vague outlines of teeth. The top version is more detailed and the bottom is more likely to be what was worn in gen pop.

Across the top are three rough sketches of inmates wearing the bandanas. One is wearing his to cover his scalp, with the skull front and center. A small note on his points out the grey area in the middle, cutting through the black and white, reading "stripes faded but not gone". The one in the middle has his bandana tied around his neck and is looking up. The last boy wears it around his forehead, still leaving the top of the head uncovered as he glares down.

At the bottom of the page there is a simple sketch of part of a jumpsuit, with the stripes and a note "bleached out with time". The picture next to it shows a rough square (the starter for a Skull bandana) with visible stripes. A note to the black stripe reads "bleach (laundry)" and the one to the white stripe says "burn or cover in black dust (laundry/chipping when guard is distracted)".

Between the boys wearing their bandanas and the starter sample are small pictures of a few shanks and sketch of a Fifty-Niner in profile, glaring to the side. A note points to the mark on his cheek, reading "soot".

End ID]

#man did this get long #escape from furnace #eff this #eff #worldbuilding #style guide #the skulls (eff)#fifty-niners (eff)#leopards (eff)#yes I'm over tagging #accessible fanart #I have so many more thoughts honestly #the world-building I do for my hperfixations #*le tired voice* zee drawings #updated art tag for now ig

12 notes · View notes

notkageyamasprincess · 4 years ago

Text

embarrassing things about them | pt. ii

aoba johsai

request: Hey hey hey!!! Your crack hcs about embarassing karasuno sent me into another dimension 😆 when you get a chance, could you embarass seijoh next? PLS EMBARRASS THE SEIJOH 4 ITD BE SO FUNNY @wakeupsunshineee

request: i’m just here to say that i loved your “embarrassing things they do” headcanons 😭😭😭 had me giggling hehehe. would you please do one for seijoh? 🥺 @aiiishiiiteru

notes: my heart went ✨💓🥺 so happy that you guys are enjoying these so far n thank u for requesting! i hope i did them justice 🤧

genre/warnings: just pure crack

oikawa tōru

he did that “open sesame” thing in front of the automatic doors 👐

witnessed by a young mom with a child who were behind him when he was doing the motion

SMACKED the child in the face when he flung his arms outwards OHNO

HE STARTED CRYING the kid not him although he was also near tears

part deux just because he’s so embarrassing:

his nephew was drinking a pineapple juice box

all good right? until he squirted some onto his white pants

“i’m really sorry! wait... uncle, it kinda looks like you peed your pants!” “no it doesn’t, be quiet”

“HEY EVERYONE MY UNCLE JUST PEED HIS PANTS!”

matsukawa issei

sometimes just kinda…drifts off in thought in public

forgot his bag of groceries at the checkout once

usually not paying attention to store employees welcoming him into the store

“hi, how are you doing today?” “yeah”

also part deux bc i just had a thought:

got an unexpected boner in class and he was trying to cover it

the teacher thought he was looking down at his phone or something

wrestled with him until mattsun showed him what he had under his hands

well. it certainly wasn’t a phone, that’s for sure

hanamaki takahiro

late for school so he got dressed in a huge rush

he pulled on a pair of clean uniform pants from the laundry pile but oh, dear

he didn’t realize his older sister’s lace thong was trapped in one of the pantlegs

IT SLID OUT FROM THE LEG HOLE WHEN HE WAS WALKING TO HIS SEAT💀

a split second of relief that he made it on time and then ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE

“wow, i didn’t know you were that type of guy”

“oi, hanamaki, these yours?”

“interesting taste in undergarments”

“boy makin MOVES” “who’s the lucky lady?”

worst of all, the thong had to be confiscated by the homeroom teacher 🤠

iwaizumi hajime

this man is always so considerate to people in need on public transit

gives up his seat whenever he sees an elderly person or a mom

he gestured for a pregnant woman to take his seat

spoiler alert: she wasn’t pregnant ☹️

v v awkward rest of the train ride

yahaba shigeru

this guy tries hard to act smooth but he’s so far from it

keeps messing up his pick up lines

“are you a piece of art? ‘cause i’m at a museum.” “wait. shit, fuck, wrong order”

“did you just fall from heaven? because it looked like it hurt.” “what no, let me try again.” shigeru, you idiot

watari shinji

as a kid, his parents took him to the petting zoo and he really vibed with the baby chicks

wanted to hatch one on his own

took an egg out of the fridge and kept it in his sock drawer to keep it warm

brought it with him under the blankets when he slept

how long does it take for eggs to go bad?

“shinji, what’s that smell?” “it’s a surprise!” 😇��

he rolled over in his sleep and CRUSHED THE EGG ☹️☹️☹️

THOUGHT HE MURDERED A CHICKEN

kyōtani kentarō

just filled up his lunch tray in the dining hall

he slipped and w h o o s h his feet just came right out from under him

exactly like how it looks in the cartoons

involuntarily YEETED his tray of food, that shit went flyin

THERE WERE SO MANY PEOPLE WHO SAW

he didn’t know what to do. should he act calm? laugh it off? YELL?

luckily, iwaizumi passed by and helped good senpai

kindaichi yūtarō

really nice and enthusiastic towards service workers, but responds to them on reflex

“here’s your order, enjoy your meal!” “thanks! you too”

“this is your room card, i hope you have a pleasant stay.” “likewise!”

“please hold on to your ticket, and have a wonderful ride.” “awesome, same to you!”

??? takes him a second for it to sink in ¿¿¿

kunimi akira

just minding his own business waiting for the bus

probably listening to music and looking at his phone

a little dog comes up to him, lifts its leg, and just STARTS PISSING ALL OVER HIM

must have mistaken him for a tree or something i guess 🙈

had to hold his pants very oddly during the bus ride to prevent the wet spots from sticking to his leg

stank up the whole vehicle; it was a warm day too

but guess what he was on his way home from the store because you asked him to buy some toiletries like lotion n tissues.

oh, also a single cucumber bc you “needed one for a sandwich”

while he was fuming on the bus ride, he finally figured out why the cashier was giving him weird looks. ah

he started sprinting as soon as he got off the bus, he wanted to make you PAY if you know what i mean

a/n: yes, i have experienced some of these DO NOT ASK ME IF THE EGG ONE IS LOOSELY BASED OFF OF MYSELF I WILL CRY and ty to franz for asking me to start a taglist! 💞✨next one should be inarizaki but keep the requests comin’ if there’s a school you want to see!

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

taglist: @sparkykatsuki

#aoba johsai #seijoh #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu crack #oikawa tooru #matsukawa issei #seijoh four #hanamaki takahiro #iwaizumi hajime #watari shinji #yahaba shigeru #kunimi akira #kindaichi yūtarō #kyotani kentaro #jia writes #alright just posting this before i go to sleep

166 notes · View notes

spvce-cowboy · 4 years ago

Text

reunion

ch. 3 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous-ch. 2: “gentle things”

next-ch. 4: “songbird”

rating: mature

8k words

warnings: alcohol, drug use mentioned, jealous/protective mando, animal cruelty, descriptions of gore

summary: the luxurious rot of Canto Bight is enough to put anyone on edge. Mando is forced to ask for your help in finding a high profile quarry.

Mando leaves the fighting ring before the caterwauling nexu is able to deal the killing blow.

He can still hear the sound of the gore spraying against the floor as he climbs the stairs towards the exit, the roaring jeer of the crowd obliterating the speakers inside his helmet. The inevitable outcome of the fight was clear from its onset given the state of the nexu’s opponent, some kind of sand-bear, who was already injured upon entering the cage-like structure.

This wasn’t the Outer-Rim fighting rings he was used to. This place has carpets and a fucking chandelier suspended right above the blood clotted, dirt floor of the pit. It has pipe smoke and dark liquor, the low rumble of voices that only rise in tandem with the progression of the fight. There’s a strange reserve among this crowd that Mando has never seen before, not in this context at least.

The patrons still had that starved look in their eyes though—bloodlust, pure and simple. Somehow, all the tuxedos and hair gel makes it far more sinister than it normally would be.

Karga sent him here to gather information about the quarry, but after an entire day spent searching along with the past hour he’d spent floating around the fight hall where the informant was rumored to be, he knew to give it up before he wasted any more time.

Mando exits the underground arena, stepping into the late afternoon heat just as it begins its gradual descent towards an oncoming chill. Upon arriving at Canto Bight, he had learned very quickly to avoid the main streets. There were too many eyes and whispers for a bounty as high profile as this one for him to be spotted on his own like this, obviously searching for something.

There’s something about this city that makes him absolutely revolted. It’s not the strongest testament to his resolve or his character, but, at the same time, it’s not something he can necessarily help.

Mando still has absolutely no clue what Karga was thinking, but here he is, regardless if it made any sense or not.

He returns to the Crest, deflated after a second unsuccessful day of trying to gather information about the quarry’s whereabouts. He is desperate for a lead, two of three informants proving to be completely useless and his patience growing thinner every second he has to stay on this forsaken planet.

Closing the ramp behind him, Mando heads straight for the cockpit, needing a moment to regather his thoughts. To brainstorm a better plan of action before it becomes too late to rendezvous with Karga’s third, and last, possible informant.

The problem was that there was absolutely no way he was going to be able to get into the racetracks on his own. Getting into the fighting pit—which was considered “seedy” by Canto standards--was already a total hassle, costing him far too many credits and straining what limited negotiation skills he had.

The second problem was that he’d rather take a blaster to the leg than involve you in one of his missions. But now that was kind of his only option.

Mando rubs a hand over the forehead of his helm as he paces. When that doesn’t work, he settles himself in his pilot’s seat, hunching over slightly against the weight of the beskar against his bones. Maker, he is fucking tired.

Swiveling his head to the side, he notices a pile of something on the console that he can’t exactly make out until he leans over it.

Resting on the command board is a leather string, a few palm-sized pieces of stained glass already fashioned to hang from it by smaller loops of the same material in varied lengths. It looks like you were in the middle of working on it when something else distracted you, several more discs of glass piled onto one another to the right of the unfinished project, and a few loose scraps of leather in a pile on the copilot’s chair.

Mando allows himself to admire it for a moment, rubbing his gloved thumb over the glass’s surface. By the time he glances up through the windows of the cockpit, looking at all the people milling about outside, his breathing has somewhat evened. It’s easier to think straight, at least.

He stands and climbs back into the hull, rounding the corner to peer into the space you’ve made for yourself.

It takes him a moment to see you over the pile of blankets you’ve kicked off your mattress. You’re asleep. Under the table. The kid taking a nap with you. Of course that’s where he expected you to be if you weren’t in the cockpit but—but.

You’re on your belly, head buried in your folded arms. You have one, bare leg hitched up over pillow. The length of your calf spills over onto the floor, socked foot delicately pointed. That’s not really what stops him in his tracks. Well, it is in part.

But you’re wearing one of his shirts.

It must have just been a mistake, he knows that. He’s seen you in one of your own that’s the same general color and cut, but he knows this one is his because of the hole in the elbow where it had caught on an exposed screw and torn a few days previous. He’d been too busy to mend it.

Mando tries to wake you before his thoughts could go anywhere else. He says your name quietly, then a little louder. It wakes the kid, who yawns and blinks up at Mando, making happy sounds up at him from where he’s snuggled into your side.

When that doesn’t work, Mando nudges your calf with the tip of his boot. You startle awake, a protective hand shooting out to automatically bring the child against your chest, blinking rapidly up at him.

“Oh,” you wince slightly at the light coming into the cabin but otherwise doesn’t visibly react when you realize it’s him. Your arm loosens from where it had wrapped around the kid. “You’re back. I thought you’d be gone a while longer.”

“I need your help with something,” Mando crosses his arms in front of his chest. It gives him something to do with his hands and how awkward they feel just hanging at his sides as you prop yourself up into a sitting position to listen to him, the loose material of his shirt pulling up to reveal little glimpses of your lower back and belly as you do. “I have to have a companion with me, to go into the racetrack. They won’t let me in if they think I’m looking for a quarry.”

You nod, rubbing your eye with the heel of your palm, voice croaking and still hazy with sleep. “Yeah, yeah sure. I wanted to check it out anyway. Just lemme get changed and we can head out.”

You pick the kid up and place him back on the floor of the hull. He toddles over to Mando, nearly falling—your hands automatically reach out to hover over his sides--but he manages to catch himself on Mando’s pantleg, tugging the fabric in a determined up, now.

Your brow furrows. “What’re we gonna—”

“There’s a nursery. Karga cleared it,” Mando reaches down and scoops up the kid.

“Gotcha,” your voice already sounds clearer. You reach out a hand for Mando to pull you up, he obliges. The blankets fall from where they’ve pooled around your lap as you do.

You pad down the length of the hull towards the fresher, your hips sway with the movement as you lift an arm to continue rubbing the sleep from your face. The shorts you’re wearing are a few sizes too big, you have them rolled twice at the waistband to keep them up. Mando looks away sharply once he notices.

“Alright womp rat, how does some dinner sound?” Mando smiles to himself when the kid gives an impatient squeak. “Yeah, yeah okay alright. I’m the worst caregiver in the galaxy, I know.” The child keeps giggling as Mando makes his way into the cockpit.

Mando is running through some of the Crest’s vitals on the command board when he hears you climbing up the ladder.

“Do you think this would be okay, for the racetrack?” There’s a certain timid quality to your voice he doesn’t think he’s heard before. You have also literally never asked him for approval on something, so he’s already a bit surprised before he turns to look at you.

The clothes you chose were simple, a fitted long sleeve and a pair of loose-fitting pants long enough to at least partially conceal your work boots. It shouldn’t have felt like much of a departure from your usual roster of outfits because it really wasn’t, but for some reason there’s something different about it that he can’t put his finger on.

You have your hair piled on top of your head in a bun. With it pulled back like that, all attention is drawn to the canvas of your neck, your delicate throat that gently eases into the soft planes of your face. There’s a nonchalant beauty to you that sucks all previous thoughts straight from his head.

“You might want to bring something warmer, a jacket or something.” He turns back to the command board, desperate to look busy and hide how long he looked for. “Temperatures drop on Cantonica as soon as the sun starts setting.”

“Oops—yep. Desert planet. I forgot,” you sigh. He hears the sound of your boots scaling the ladder back down.

He purposefully doesn’t look up when you enter the cockpit again, when you announce you’re ready he nods curtly, making brief but direct eye contact with you before setting a quick pace out of the Crest and into the streets of Canto Bight.

The nursery is tucked away, out of reach and notice, protection guaranteed. He leads you through a series back-street passages to get there, too nervous about the attention the three of you would get with the kid and the main roads. You carry him against your hip most of the way, occasionally adjusting the little hood you’ve fashioned to cover his most distinguishable features with every person you pass.

The door is nondescript, positioned in the alleyway behind a semi-busy restaurant. Mando can sense your apprehension the second he steps up to press the buzzer. Within seconds, there’s the sound of a series of bolts unlocking.

A warm faced woman opened the door, wearing the clean white uniform of a nurse. “When Karga called in I hardly believed it,” her voice is light, but there’s a grating, nervous squeak to it that makes Mando scowl. Maybe it was just the day he was having, but just about anything was able to set him off.

Mando and the nurse exchange a few blunt words about pricing and care. He winces, slightly, at the cost, but it’s not anything either of you could notice. Right as Mando is about to turn to take the kid from your arms, you speak up.

“Is this… safe?” You ask again, holding the kid a little tighter to your chest. He realizes that it’s the first time since you’ve joined them that you’re separating from the kid, Mando thinks his anxiety is partially feeding off of yours.

“Karga gave me his word. It’ll only be for a few hours.” Mando glances at the nurse, who was giving the two of you her very best customer service smile. “C’mon pal,” Mando nods towards the nurse. The child’s big eyes stare apprehensively up at you, then at Mando. One of his small hands unfixes itself from your shirt to reach out towards the bounty hunter. The nurse clucks her tongue, her hands on her hips.

“Someone seems like he’s already gonna miss his daddy.”

His stomach drops without warning. “I’m not his father.” The correction is biting in a way he doesn’t intend it to be. He’s vividly aware of your sharp inhale at his words. The nurse looks startled for a half second before blinking her eyes and retaining composure.

“Yes, yes of course,” she stretches out a hand as an offering of assurance towards the child, who has resumed clinging to the fabric of your shirt. “Hey little guy, c’mon. I’ve got a lot of friends for you to play with, and some snacks. You like the sound of that?”

Mando catches your smile at the child’s ears flicking with interest, despite the fact that his hands are still firmly attached to you. Mando mutters something under his breath before taking the child from you, handing him off to the nurse and trying to push down the terrible feeling it gives him hearing the kid give a small whimper as the two of you walk away.

The racetrack is down a major boulevard, towering sandstone buildings line either side, their circular doors illuminated by bands of glowing yellow neon. The streets are a different kind of polished stone that makes Mando’s skin absolutely crawl for not discernible reason.

He thinks you’ve caught on to his worsening mood because you try to keep the conversation warm and light in a way he’s never seen you do before. Your eyes are fixed to a constant arcing movement, taking in as much of it as you can, but your mouth keeps moving about anything but Canto Bight. You avoidance just draws more focus towards the situation at hand, but he appreciates the effort.

When the two of you reach the racetrack, you stop talking completely as you scale the stands. You and Mando settle on two chairs pulled up to a tiny table, overlooking the standing room crowd below. Mando faces the crowds more than the track itself, however you angle your chair so that you can look at the racing fathiers with ease. Eventually you turn away, grimacing.

“What is it?” He asks, out of curiosity as well as a desire to fill the silence.

“They’re so beautiful,” you cast one more glance over the track as the group rumbles past to the sharp roar of the crowd. “But they look so sad.” You keep looking at the beasts for a beat longer before fixing your gaze to your hands clasped in your lap.

Mando finds his words slowly. “This planet… this amount of abundance. There is always a cost. They always make someone else pay.”

You wince, shifting your body so you’re only facing Mando and the expanse of the crowd that’s over his shoulder. You don’t look at the track for a while after that, purposefully keeping your body turned to keep your gaze away.

Mando finds fleeting solace in the fact that he was at least able to keep you away from the fighting ring, which is quickly replaced by guilt in exposing you to a similar cruelty in a less bloody form. He does his best to remind himself that you mentioned wanting to see the races previously, that the indecipherable emotion on your face was not entirely his fault.

The wait spans an hour. The tension in Mando’s shoulders grows with each passing minute.

“He isn’t coming,” Mando eventually grits out. “It’s… Maker I—”

Jobs have started off way worse than this, he’s not sure why he’s allowing all of it to get under his skin. It’s this damn city, something about it makes him feel like there is a knifepoint digging between his ribs.

You tap his hand lightly. Twice, with your index and middle fingers. It happens so quickly he’s almost able to believe he’s imagined it if it weren’t for the fact that you were still adjusting your hands in your lap after your hand had retreated. As if you didn’t know what possessed you to do that, either.

“Hey. It’s fine. It’ll work itself out, yeah?” You maneuver your head to stare directly into his visor. For some reason that alone is infinitely more intimate than your brief touch. “We can just stay here for a bit longer in case the informant shows up, then pick up the kid, grab something to eat and hunker down in the Crest. Tomorrow’s a new day, or whatever.”

Mando looks you over, then nods.

The sun is setting on the horizon, the tracks illuminated by the last vestiges of its light. This is the beginning of most everyone’s day, yet the drinks are already flowing, and have been for quite some time.

There are far too many extravagant outfits, ridiculous little hats barely teetering on large skulls. The roar of the crowd grows with their drunkenness, the races becoming crueler the more the stands fill. Mando will never understand the value in any of this and he’s genuinely not sure what’s worse—the icy coolness of the fighting rink or whatever all this is.

“Who’s the quarry?” You blink up at him. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Tyreus Cavill. Some filthy rich kid who doesn’t know how to keep his damn mouth shut. He’s taunting the Gild to the point of insult,” Mando rubs his hand over the brow of his helm. “It’s been confirmed that he’s supposed to be at some kind of party tonight. That was just about the only information I could get.”

“Was that why Karga mentioned deep cover?”

Mando nods. “He said it would be my most viable option, which doesn’t make any kind of sense. Especially with no pre-existing contacts that could get me any intel on where he’s hiding.”

You speak up after a while. Mando isn’t sure how long, too comfortable in the silence as is.

“You know my mother worked for the Alderaanian court?” You say it softly, quickly looking at the racetrack to avoid drawing attention to your words. You’re kneading the hem of your sweater, a nervous tick of yours he couldn’t help but notice. “I still remember all the things she had to teach me when we went to dinners at the homes of the survivors, the etiquette and everything. I’m positive it’s much of the same, here. All this,” you twirl your index finger in the air, gesturing to the whole of the track and presumably what lay beyond. “Seems very familiar. I could help, if you need it.”

“Your mother?”

“She was the court singer--or, well, one of them,” your voice is tense. “My father was a professor. I don’t remember a lot, just that they loved me very much.” Your eyes are searching the crowd in some desperate search for something, he’s not sure what. Probably for any kind of distraction, or any reason to keep your eyes away from his. He waits in silence, patiently. “They moved to a different planet to have me, a few years before the annihilation, there were a few other survivors who were off planet when it happened. I remember my parents hosting them, and they us, on a few occasions. It was always a multi-day affair of trying to remind me what proper manners were.” You wrinkle your nose. “It’s all very stupid, if you ask me. But,” you turn your head finally and look at him evenly. “I can—”

Mando watches as your gaze floats to a space just above his left shoulder. Your entire body visibly tenses, lips parted in what he can only think is total shock. Your hands drop the edge of your shirt and hover in your lap, as if you don’t know what to do with them.

Before Mando can ask what is wrong, you’re getting up from the table and pushing through the crowd. It takes him a beat to register what has just happened before he is up and following after you, making considerably better time in catching up given the fact that the crowd seems to naturally part for him. He almost reaches out to touch you, but instead settles for aiding your pursuit by keeping pace and staying at your side, clearing a path for you with his body and an outstretched arm to motion people to the side.

“What is it?” He tries to keep his voice low enough to not be overheard, his head in a constant survey of the crowds before you. You shake your head and keep pushing forward, higher into the stands, swerving around servers with platters stacked high with strange looking drinks. “Hey—if we go any further we’d need clearance—" the higher in the stands, the richer the patrons get. They wouldn’t let either of you in without identification after the eighth flight, which you’d just swiftly pushed past. Mando checks over his shoulder and, sure enough, a server is murmuring something to a guard droid, pointing up at you.

You’re so far up by that time that you have at least a minute until the droid catches up with the two of you. You climb onto one of the raised platforms dotted with various aristocratic parties, dining over bright white table cloths, centerpieces of bizarre orange flowers bursting through the tables. You make a beeline for the centermost table, where a Twi’lek woman is dining with an Abednedo and a human male.

You approach the Twi’lek in three swift strides, grabbing her shoulder. “Febhana.”

When the woman turns, standing, there’s a kind of wide-eyed shock of absolute wonder that immediately turns into pure joy. The two of you leap into one another’s arms in a cacophony of ecstatic, indistinguishable sounds. One of some long awaited reunion.

The Twi’lek woman, Febhana, holds your face in her hands, yours slide over hers. There are tears in her eyes as the two of your chatter over one another in breathless delight.

“I thought you—”

“I had no idea that—”

“I’ve tried to find—”

You both cut each other off, staring into one another’s eyes before laughing again and embracing tightly.

From over your shoulder, Febhana gives Mando one of the quickest, scathing once-overs he’s ever received. He can’t help but automatically have a little bit of respect for it, especially compared to the terrified, diverted eyes of her companions.

“Who is this?” She asks, pulling away from your embrace slightly. You open your mouth to respond but she’s already babbling over your warmly. “Oh! No. Don’t tell me. Not yet. Let’s do this over drinks at mine—please. Please indulge me. Maker, look at you.”

You let loose a laugh Mando doesn’t think he’s heard before. A certain tonal quality of complete release, familiarity. You nod as Febhana clasps your face between her hands again, in marvel. Mando doesn’t blame her, with that look of utter joy on your face he’d—

Well.

“Do excuse us,” Febhana swiftly addresses her dinner mates, they nod and mutter forgiveness, eyes still fixed to the ground. Mando knows for a fact that at least one of them has a fob on them by the tight anxiety exchanged in their brief glances towards one another. He ignores it for the sake of maintaining the moment between you and your friend.

Mando trails behind the two of you by a few paces. As Febhana guides you through the crowds, she waves off the guard droid with an elegantly manicured hand.

Febhana’s apartment could be considered a house twice over by Mando’s book. She leads you and him through so many tall-ceilinged hallways and rooms to get to the… lounge, he guesses would be a proper term for it… that he genuinely can’t remember where the entrance is.

The room contains a bar stocked better than any cantina on Nevarro, a few odd pieces of furniture, and a large fireplace. Heavy, dark blue curtains hang from windows so tall he has to crane his head upwards to see the top. He guesses the luxury is communicated through the refusal to occupy the space with much else, despite the fact that it could be considered a small banquet hall.

Febhana makes you and her drinks while you settle on one of the sloping, white couches, scanning the room in the same way Mando has been, with a little more plain wonder in your eyes.

Mando hovers on the periphery, unsure of where to place himself until you motion him over to sit on one of the opposing chairs, equally abstract as the rest of the furniture. Febhana settles across from you on the couch, handing you your drink before leaning back and kicking off her heels.

The two of you are in a constant chatter that has so many names and dates and overlapping speech that Mando has a difficult time keeping up. What he does catch is limited and mostly inferred: the two of you escaped from the same warlord at different times, Febhana was able to scale the social ranks of Canto Bight with ease and an inherited wallet--most importantly, the two of your missed each other very much.

It’s been at least an hour since the three of you sat down when Febhana directly addresses Mando for the first time.

“And what are you doing here, Mandalorian?”

Mando feels your eyes on him, burning, as you take a sip of your cocktail.

“She saved my life,” he manages as a straightforward reply. “I’ve hired her as a medic.”

“Febhana,” you say. When you’re slightly tipsy like this, you have a breathless wonder in the way you go about describing things. “It’s… it’s been so good. I’ve been practicing all these languages and… Maker, all the places I’ve been. It’s just like you described, when we would tell each other stories to go to sleep. Everything’s so big and there are so many people.”

Febhana throws back her head in a laugh, nodding. “Well I know that, darling. Oh, stars, it’s so good to look at you again.”

You and Febhana go back and forth a while longer still, Mando happily settles into the rhythm of it. There’s the warm, familiar way women get so engrossed in one another that he finds completely novel, if not enviable. It softens something in him to see you so relaxed as you prompt Febhana to detail her exploits, the excited yip you make when she flashes you the wedding band strung on a series of thin gold chains looped around her neck.

Then again, the way the two of you seem so physically intimate occasionally makes something in his chest constrict uncomfortably. He isn’t sure where it comes from, all the little touches you give each other seem to come from a place of purely platonic joy in reunion. But there’s a little jolt in his stomach whenever he sees it happen. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it as jealousy, but… she gets to feel you. So unabashedly.

At some point there’s a lull in the conversation. You take this moment to stretch your arm across the couch, clasping Febhana’s hands in your own. “We’re actually here for a specific reason,” you say. “And I’m only asking you out of genuine, pure desperation—Mando… has a job, here. That’s gotten a little tricky. The bounty is on the head of Tyreus Cavill.” Febhana’s eyes widen considerably, but other than that she maintains composure. Taking a deep breath, you continue, “He needs to find him, Febhana—there’s intel that he’s supposed to be at some kind of event. Possibly tonight.” You glance up at Mando to check if you’re getting the details right, he gives you brief nod of assurance when you do. “Do you know anything about it?”

Febhana scoffs, shaking her head and withdrawing her hand from yours to grab her drink resting on the low glass table in front of you. “If you’re referring to what I think you are, it would be the Gathering of Rams, one of the most exclusive events hosted on Canto. I’d imagine that’s why he’d dare show his face, even with the price on his head. Unless you already have an in, you’re fucked, Mandalorian. That place is more fortified than a warship.”

You visibly deflate. “What do you mean?”

“It’s an old, and I mean old, money tradition. A dinner for just about every despicable person in the galaxy. I’ve only heard rumors about what goes on, definitely some serious cult-y type shit, oaths, rituals, the like.” She chews on a nail as she thinks. Something in her eyes lights up. “Wait. I think I… yes! Yes, I got the announcement a few weeks ago. Stars I think—” she looks down at the device on the inside of her wrist, tapping on it until—“Christ you two are the luckiest couple of bounty hunters in the galaxy, you know that? The Tagges are hosting the afterparty, tonight. The most eligible of all of Canto Bight will be there, and then some. I was invited a few weeks ago, I’d completely forgotten. With any luck he’ll be dumb and drunk enough after the Gathering to go.”

“The Tagges?” Your voice is filled with apprehension. You glance to Mando, then quickly back to your friend. “Febhana, there’s no way he can get in.”

“Hm, I’d think so too but there could be a chance…” Her eyes narrow, her face breaking into a toothy grin. “No, I’m a complete idiot. Maker, this is gonna be perfect--most of the ladies in waiting here dress their guard droids as glorified curtains. It’s a new thing if you get what I’m saying. If we go in together and disguise the Mandalorian as even more of a hunk of metal than he already is—” Mando grunts at the slight jab—“all one of us would have to do is get the target by himself with a little eye-batting and it would be a done deal.”

You and Mando speak in unison.

“I am not going to be a honeypot.”

“She will not.”

Febhana raises a brow, one side of her mouth pulling up in poorly concealed amusement.

“Oh I suggested no such thing, I’d happily volunteer. But I do need a wing-woman, for appearance’s sake. I am taken, you know,” she flashes the wedding band again, pulling the collar of her dress down a fraction to do so. “Would be unbecoming to go on the prowl in public like that without pretending like I was just assisting.”

Mando glances over at you, trying to gauge your reaction to her proposal before he came off as to overbearing. He didn’t have the right to, he knows that. But there’s some raw part of him that winces at the very thought of you and your safety getting involved in one of his jobs. Maker if you got hurt in any way—

Febhana’s voice breaks his thought before it can be fully formed. “Oh, this is going to be excellent.” She practically purrs, jumping off the couch and extending her hand towards you to help you up. You comply, giving Mando a raised-brow glance of well, let’s see where this goes.

As Febhana begins leading you across the room, Mando stands.

“Should I contact the nursery to let them know to keep the child overnight?”

“The child?” Febhana’s eyes flick between you and Mando quickly. “I’m sorry, what?”

You curse under your breath, pressing your hand against your forehead. “A kid we’re looking after,” you clarify for Febhana. “I’m so sorry Mando, I got excited so it completely slipped my mind. I…” you bite your lip. “If you feel like it would be safe doing that I… guess that should be fine.”

“My wife could also look after it,” Febhana regards Mando evenly for a moment. “If you’re worried about safety. Would that be sufficient?”

Your eyes brighten slightly, glancing at Mando, tilting your head in question.

Mando nods, addressing Febhana directly. “If she trusts you, I do. I can travel back and get him while the two of you get ready.”

“I’ll send a car for you,” Febhana throws the remark over her shoulder, already busying herself by flinging the double doors that lead into the hallway back open.

You inhale sharply as if remembering something, tapping your friend on the shoulder before she begins to walk down the hall. “Wait, Febhana—the car, is there maybe a taxi service you could call? With an actual driver? He… we don’t really ‘do’ droids, if possible.”

“I have an ‘actual’ driver, darling,” Febhana playfully chides. Her eyes flick towards Mando. “I’ll ring him, he’ll be downstairs in a moment. You remember where the entrance is, right?”

Your delicate rephrasing, that “we,” rings in Mando’s ears for the entire trip back to the nursery.

Mando quickly returns with the child, slightly weirded out by the enclosed landspeeder Febhana sent for him. It’s unlike anything he’d seen before, more like a carriage than any hover-craft he’d ever set foot in. There’s a dividing curtain between the passenger cabin and the driver’s seat, which he has pushed away to make sure the silent man at the wheel doesn’t try anything.

The driver has a stony demeanor that seems very similar to Febhana’s—she clearly wasn’t one to suffer fools, and the people she surrounded herself with seemed to reflect that. Thinking back to the way you initially interacted with Mando, he could potentially see how your shared history with Febhana could have informed that. The characteristic briskness, the unflinching resolve.

The child spends most of the returning trip chattering in relief, little hands reaching out to touch Mando’s beskar in a continuous greeting.

“Right here, kid. Always right here,” he affectionately rubs the corner of the child’s ear. There’s a heavy guilt that had settled itself in the bottom of Mando’s stomach since dropping him off.

He wants to apologize in some way, to blame it on his mood or the mounting anxiety surrounding the job, but he doesn’t know how to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete jackass. So he settles for bowing his helm to bump foreheads with the kid in a small display of reassurance. It seems to settle something in both him and the child almost immediately.

Mando glances up sharply, nearly forgetting the parted dividing curtain. The man, a wiry looking human male, glances back at the two of them through the thin pane of the rearview mirror, then returns to chain smoking while wildly maneuvering his way through traffic.

The hover-car’s abrupt stop breaks him from his thoughts. He glances out the window, recognizing Febhana’s apartment building. The entire block is in a similar style as the boulevard you both had walked down earlier, circular doors outlined by bands of glowing yellow light. The only difference were the towering, wrought iron gates in front of each building and a set of tall stairs made of the same sandstone leading up to each house. The driver gets out and opens the landspeeder’s door for Mando and the kid, then steps forward and unlocks the gate, holding it open for the two of them.

“Sir.” The driver’s voice is more of a growl. If it weren’t for the enhanced settings of Mando’s visor, it would be too dark to see the mass of scar tissue that formed a jagged line across the man’s throat. The old wound is only partially concealed by the lapel of his coat pulled up against the drizzling rain. He’s abnormally tall, so thin that it looks as if his skull is actively attempting to escape his face. “Febhana’s apartment is the third buzzer. The service droid will let you in. She told me you should follow it.” The cigarette balancing against his lip bobs as he speaks, his heavy drawl disrupted only in part by his eviscerated voice box.

Mando’s lip curls slightly but he nods, thanking the driver, ducking out of the hover-car and climbing the steps leading to the apartment’s door.

Just as the driver said, the front door of Febhana’s apartment is opened by a droid. Mando stiffens despite the fact that the thing just barely reaches his knee. It gives off a series of little sounds before turning away and maneuvering down the front hall. Muttering something unsavory about Canto Bight under his breath, Mando follows it inside.

When he arrives at the threshold of Febhana’s dressing room, she’s only just started pulling out dresses for you to try on. He deflates slightly, really hoping that the two of you would have gotten this part over with so he could begin scoping out the Tagge mansion as soon as possible.

Mando accepts his fate and seats himself for the time being, placing the kid on the ground to let him toddle over to you. You lean down immediately and scoop him up, lifting him in the air with a happy: “Hey, stinky!” The child giggles as you snuggle him to your chest, pressing kisses all over his face in reunion.

You keep gently playing with the kid as you and Febhana resume your conversation: wiggling your fingers over his face for him to grab, tickling his tummy, gently pinching his socked feet. It’s something you sink into so naturally Mando can’t help but be mesmerized by it. It calms something in him, to see both of you like that. He pushes the implications of that feeling away for the time being, as he always does.

Febhana gives the kid a bit of a once-over but looks overall disinterested, turning her attention back to rummage through her closet. “So it’s supposed to be a formal dance, but if it’s anything like the similar things I’ve gone to, that shit quickly disintegrates. But it’s still weirdly important for them to keep up the illusion of appearances, even though most rooms with closeable doors are occupied by people railing lines or fucking. Or both. Usually both.” The Twi’lek woman plucks out some kind of red, silken shift, holding it in the air then shaking her head and returning to her hunt. “I’ve been to enough Tagge parties to be a familiar face, we can play you off as an old friend of mine, some kind of lady-in-waiting thing or whatever. Crowds like these don’t tend to prod too deeply into personal histories, and with tits like yours I don’t think they’ll be interested in asking too many questions.”

Mando clenches his jaw so hard something starts hurting. You give a bit of an embarrassed laugh, quickly diverting the conversation. “So how do we get introduced to Cavill?”

“Honestly? The easiest thing to do would be getting you to snuggled up with one of his friends. He runs around with a group of bachelors who are not… pleasant company by any standards. Snotty rich kids,” she makes a face. “But if that’s not an option I could try to push some of my contacts there to get us into their circle. Seriously, darling, with men like this involved it is probably going to be one of the easiest bounties he’s ever going to collect.”

The strain being placed on every cell in Mando’s body in response to this conversation alone says the exact opposite.

Febhana continues pulling out dresses, layering some over a bench and discarding others all together.

“Febhana, will they know?” You ask it suddenly, your tone—not tense, necessarily, but definitely controlled, as if you were expecting an answer you didn’t want to hear but were willing to take regardless.

“It’s the Tagge family, so of course they know what happened to that fucker, but I don’t think they would care,” she waves off your fearful tone with a shake of her head. “Just as long as we make a bit of an effort to conceal your identity, for formality’s sake, it’ll be fine.”

“What happened to who?” Mando asks. Once he does, all the air is immediately sucked out of the room.

After an extended moment. “You didn’t tell him?” Febhana’s head cocks, you visibly swallow.

“I um…” your nostrils flare with the sharp inhale you take as you search for the right words. “When I escaped…”

Febhana interrupts. “She stabbed the shit out of the warlord who owned us. All his wife found was pulp. Didn’t take it well, the cunt. Nearly catatonic. The rest of us were able to practically waltz out of there because of this one. Owe this gorgeous bitch my life. All of us do.”

You smile at Febhana, reaching out to squeeze her hand. She winks at you, covering it with her own before turning to go rifle back through her closet. You keep your gaze to your hands when she does, lips pressed together. Mando doesn’t remove his eyes from you as Febhana continues.

“So it might be a little difficult getting her in there, but to be honest the Tagges hated him anyway. Rival business type stuff, though, not the whole holding women captive or worker’s rights violations and debt bondage thing,” her voice drips with a kind of contempt that Mando prays he’ll never have directed his way. He notices your hands tighten slightly from where they lay in your lap, your arms loosely looped around the kid who now sits upright in your lap. “I know someone who can forge some papers well enough to present to the guards, he owes me some favors anyway,” Febhana continues. “They’ll be ready by the time we have to leave. Doll you up enough and I’m sure it’ll be fine—ah!” It is only then that Mando looks back over to the Twi’lek woman. Her eyes are lit up, fanged mouth pulled upwards in a triumphant smile. The dress in her hand is a deep plum color, fabric so thin he cannot make out what it actually looks like without a form to fill it. You reach out to it, rubbing the dress between your thumb and index finger.

“Perfect.” You and Febhana say it in unison, your widest smile of the night parted up at her. There’s a delighted, mischievous tilt to your mouth he’s never seen before.

Mando swallows, despite the sudden tightness in his throat.

He waits outside while the two of you change, sitting on a strange tufted seat pushed against the hallway’s bay window. It’s piled with an obnoxious amount of silken pillows—it seems the longer you’ve been with him, the more surfaces his beskar encounters that it never would have otherwise. A part of him is able to find the humor of that, despite the discomfort of feeling wildly out of place in your friend’s luxurious home. He settles with his legs slightly spread, back hunched to brace his elbows against the tops of his beskar-clad thighs.

After about thirty minutes, a woman comes down the hall, absentmindedly cleaning a pair of large-framed glasses with the corner of her sweater, a thick, leather-bound book tucked under one arm. She looks as out of place in this hallway as he does—more like a Galactic librarian than a resident of an apartment like this. She puts her glasses back on and stops in her tracks once she sees him.

“Who are you?”

Mando clears his throat. “A friend of Febhana’s.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, I am--well. A friend of a friend.”

Her eyes narrow quizzically. “I’ve been married to that woman for five years now. I think I would know if she had a Mandalorian as a ‘friend of a friend.’”

As if on cue, Febhana emerges from the beaded curtain suspended over the entrance of her dressing room, barefoot and wearing a blue gown. She pads over to the woman, something bulky tucked under one arm, the other carrying the child in a sleeping bundle. Febhana places him in her wife’s arms delicately. “Lovely, we’re just getting ready for the party. Don’t mind her play-thing,” she tilts her head towards Mando without directly looking at him. “He’s just here for decoration.”

Mando physically bites his tongue.

Febhana’s wife glances at Mando, before leaning up to gently kiss Febhana. “Alright, I’ll be in the study. Wake me when you get back.”

Febhana cups her wife’s face gently. It’s such an intimate gesture that Mando looks away, feeling as though his presence alone is an interruption. The couple talks quietly for a moment, then her wife exits through the same door she came in from.

“Here is the guard’s uniform. The measurements should be right,” Febhana stands in front of Mando, handing him folded pieces of dark fabric, and then a helm. It’s two halves of a black metal shell meant to fit and tighten over the face of a droid. There’s a thick pane of darkened glass cutting through the middle of the mask, presumably to not disrupt a droid’s sensors but it will render Mando’s absolutely useless. This night just keeps getting better and better.

The whole thing is not something Mando has ever seen before, though he was never one to frequent circles like Febhana’s. The only distinguishable features are symmetrical dips cutting severe cheekbones into the object’s silhouette. Two fixed pieces of gilded metal form a swooping triangle that hovers just over where his nose will be under the helmet’s featureless surface. Looping, thin chains dripping from the decorative structure to partially conceal the mask’s lower half. When he holds it up in the low light of the hallway, their movement creates glinting waves of light.

All of it is purely flare, for the most part. At least the tailor made plenty room for armor beneath the--as Febhana put it--glorified curtains usually meant to conceal a droid. He heaves a sigh, taking the uniform from her. “This is the only option?”

Febhana shrugs. “Unless you want me and your girl going in by ourselves and trying to lure him out to you--which is certainly an option--yes.”

“She isn’t ‘my girl.’”

“Oh, trust me,” her smile is biting. “I know that.” She tilts her head towards the dressing room. “C’mon, the pretty one is almost done. You can use my room to change.”

When he enters, you’re seated at Febhana’s vanity. All the air is sucked out of his lungs.

The dress is really nothing more than a series of gauze-like drapes that spill from your body and pool onto the floor. The expanse of your back is completely exposed, the dress only resuming to cover you right above the base of your spine. One long piece of fabric serves as the illusion of sleeves, cinched at the swooping neckline by delicate, medallion-like embellishments that rest at the dip of both shoulders. The sleeves’ near-transparent fabric are fixed to ovular gold rings you have on the middle fingers of both hands.

Mando watches the fabric shift over the bend of your arm as you use said finger to swipe a little pigment on your lips. It glistens in the mirror he looks at you through. In that initial moment of deep focus, you have the severe look of a high official’s wife. Utterly untouchable. The most beautiful creature he’s ever witnessed.

His entrance breaks your concentration, you smile up at him, warmly, through the mirror.

“I’m almost done,” your voice breaks him from his stupor. Your other hand dips a small brush into a pot of powder. You dab it under your eyes and then stand, going to a crystalline bar cart and spraying some kind of perfume on your neck.

Febhana steps into the room behind him. After a moment Mando finds his voice.

“And you said she isn’t supposed to be the honeypot?” It’s hard to keep the pain out of his voice as he says it. At this point it’s like the two of you are actively trying to kill him.

Febhana laughs, and the smile you give him is expansive yet strangely private at the same time. As if you and him were in on some secret, some inside joke. You cross the room and pat him lightly on the shoulder twice, before moving him aside in order to link arms with Febhana.

The two of you leave the room, picking up whatever conversation you were having before Febhana left to give Mando his things. He stands there until his heartbeat steadies, then moves behind the wooden room partition to put the uniform on.

It’s going to be a long night.

a/n: mando, babes, u don’t even know the half of it

jokes aside i am so excited for the next chapter you guys have no idea how much fun this is to write !! love a good ol’ fancy party w a bunch of degenerates.

tag list: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @walkingthegrounds @roseallisonparker @kaitlyn2907 @dinsbeskar

please let me know if you would like to be added/removed!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mandalorian and grogu #grogu #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch.3 #fanfic #star wars fanfiction

175 notes · View notes

skypiea · 2 years ago

Note

Obsessed with the Ievan Polkka post's implication that Ingo and Emmet's pants and shoes are just one connected clothing piece. Imagine not being able to roll your pantlegs up because they're also your shoes. I could never.

theyre in their funny little business tights

#kite.txt #I think even outside of that post I tend to draw them connected a lot #<- man who hates to draw shoes #they def r in all my soul eater au art

5 notes · View notes

madamewriterofwrongs · 4 years ago

Note

“Let’s share my coat, since you’re so cold.” For Buddie plz bc imagine the potential 💛🥺

So sorry about the long wait, my darling. I hope you enjoy <3

Hold My Hand When No One’s Looking

911/Buddie

Honestly, Eddie hadn’t noticed it right away. He and Buck were relatively the same size (though the other man was a bit wider in the chest and arms) and spent much of their day in uniforms. It also so happened that the two of them had similar styles when it came to their civilian clothing. There was a lot of denim and a lot of circle-necked shirts in their shared wardrobe.

He’d known that asking Buck to move in with him would mean surrendering to the fact that everything he owned would slowly become ‘theirs’. His favourite show became their late-night binge, his unhealthy snack choices mysteriously disappeared whenever Buck was left alone to babysit Christopher, and one time he swore that his toothbrush had been moved – though he’d never been able to prove it. But Eddie didn’t mind, not really. Buck had already stolen his heart, so he’d happily let him steal the rest of his life.

Telling Carla that very thing when she’d asked him about his mismatched socks had earned him a side-splitting laugh and a text to Buck, who later teased him mercilessly for the rest of the week.

He still had no regrets about letting him in.

Because that was what you did where there was love and trust. You didn’t mind sharing because you had someone who wanted to share with you in the first place.

He was even becoming better at opening up about personal things. He still struggled to admit when he was scared or upset about something because for so long, he’d understood that expressing his feelings wasn’t his job. Though he knew better now, it was still a monumental task for Eddie to share some anecdote about his childhood or speak up when Buck said something that struck an errant nerve.

But it was worth it, he vowed. It was worth it to try, and he didn’t mind sharing those things with Buck. He didn’t think he minded sharing anything with his partner.

That is to say: he was fine, until he searched through his closet one morning, scrambling to get to work on time because someone had hit the snooze button one too many times.

“Where is my grey sweatshirt?” He threw the pile of clothes from the closet floor to the bed. “Where are any of my sweatshirts?”

“Laundry?” Buck called from the bathroom, poking his head out with a toothbrush still dangling from his lips.

“There’s no way I got every single one of my sweatshirts dirty since the last time I did the laundry.” As he continued his search, he could hear Buck rinse and spit before beginning his morning routine of styling his hair with way too much product for Eddie’s liking (though he’d never complain because it gave him a chance to play with his hair throughout the day until it was exactly to his preferences). Sure enough, he found a collection of clothes in the hamper that definitely resembled his but he did not remember wearing.

Though he did remember watching Buck spill ketchup on a grey sweater that looked suspiciously like his.

How had he not noticed before? How long had Buck just been taking clothes out of his closet? Why hadn’t he bothered to ask first? He would have been happy to share – well maybe not elated but he wouldn’t have minded – but for Buck to just take them without permission (and then get them dirty)? It bothered him more than he thought it should have.

He wants to wear your clothes, the untamed romantic portion of his brain swooned.

He’s stretching out your shirts without asking, the frantic portion grumbled as he searched for a wearable sweatshirt from the pile of clothes that had apparently become communal without his knowledge.

“Did you find it?” Buck reentered the bedroom, now looking much more put together than Eddie felt.

“I found something.” He grumbled as he threw the black shirt over his head, grimacing at the old clothes smell that lingered on the fabric. “When we get home, you’re doing laundry.”

Buck squawked as he threw on his own – clean – shirt. “Why do I have to do it?”

Because it’s your fault I don’t have any clothes to wear. If he’d had time, he might have launched into a lecture about why this small thing frustrated him so much. But alas, they were already running behind, so he silenced them both with a kiss.

“No complaints.” He gently ordered, smirking at the way Buck immediately melted under his touch. It was a nice reminder that the feeling of adoration was very much mutual between them.

“Okay.”

“Let’s go.” He smacked Buck on the behind as they stumbled out the bedroom door. “If we’re late again, Bobby will make us scrub the truck with a toothbrush. Again.”

After that morning, it was as though Eddie became hyperaware of how often Buck wore his clothes. At least twice per week, he’d find his favourite t-shirt in the back of his boyfriend’s closet, or search for several minutes only to discover someone else’s ass in his only clean jeans.

Once, he’d grabbed one of Buck’s pants in protest, but spent the entire day pulling at the inseam and ended up rolling the pantlegs just to avoid tripping.

And yet, when the boy with the giraffe legs wore his pants, it looked hot.

Did it look hot? Of course, Eddie had surrendered to his physical attraction to Buck long ago. Nearly anything that man wore would get him going. Was there something about seeing Buck in his clothes that made him look exceptionally appealing?

The day he pulled one of his nicer dress shirts over his head, only to find the sleeves had been completely stretched (and there were definitely a few seams missing) was the day he decided that no amount of sexiness would let him forgive Buck for stealing his clothes.

Maybe it was petty of him to start hiding his good clothes. And maybe it was immature to start separating their laundry – not to mention a waste of water – but at least he knew he’d have his own clean clothes to wear. It wasn’t like Buck was lacking for wardrobe. The man took up the majority of their shared closet with his selections. “Something for every occasion.” He’d told Eddie. Which made it all the more confusing that he would want to take from Eddie’s meager pile.

“Hey, Eddie, can I borrow your green long sleeve?” He asked as he searched the closet for the item without waiting for a reply. Of course, Eddie knew that he wouldn’t find the shirt amongst its brethren because he’d hidden it in a bin under the bed for this exact occasion.

At least he’s finally asking for permission. Too late for him, now.

“I don’t have a green long sleeve.” Eddie continued to dress with the picture of innocence masking his satisfied smirk.

“I’m sure you do.” Buck mumbled as he headed towards the dresser (also 70% Buckley). “I wore it to Bobby’s BBQ three weeks ago.”

“Oh, so he admits to wearing my clothes.” His mumbled sarcasm was intended to only pacify his own needs, but unfortunately, his boyfriend had excellent hearing at the most inconvenient of times.

“What do you mean ‘he admits’?”

Well, Eddie glanced at the alarm clock to confirm they had just enough time to get into their discussion, he might as well bring it up now instead of months in the future when it had grown into an even worse frustration and festered into every aspect of their relationship. Or they could nip it in the bud now.

Despite the topic of discussion, he was still surprised when he gave a long sigh and turned around only to find a very shirtless Buck standing before him. He was only momentarily distracted by the smooth lines and soft, exposed skin – he was only human – but he recovered with most of his dignity intact.

“You have so many clothes but you always wear mine. Why?”

Of course, Buck looked sheepishly adorable, and perhaps a little confused at the hostility being directed towards him. “I like your clothes. I didn’t think you minded.”

“Well I do mind. You keep stretching the fabric and then you get them dirty and I have nothing to wear.” Eddie was proud of his composure in the face such a stunned and sweetly wide-eyed expression.

“Oh, I-I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

The logical portion of his brain knew very well that if Eddie simply told Buck that this was bothering him, he’d stop immediately. Why it took him so long to bring it up and then felt surprised by the outcome, he still wasn’t sure. One look at the sincerity on his boyfriend’s face and him reaching an arm to summon him to his side.

Buck took his hand immediately, letting himself stumble into Eddie’s embrace and throw his arms around his waist with practiced ease. This was comfortable. This, he could do: hold Buck close and tell him the truth.

“I don’t like that you didn’t ask me first if you could borrow my clothes. That bothers me more than a few ruined shirts (although, I’m still not letting you wear my green long sleeve. It’s one of my favourite shirts and I’d like to preserve some of the shape).” Buck opened his mouth to call out his lie from moments earlier but wisely closed it a moment later. “Just ask, okay?”

The man in his arms quickly nodded, a shy smile on his lips. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ll ask before borrowing your clothes again.”

He knew he was being too cheeky for his own good, but how could he resist those kissable lips? “I’m sorry, I’m what, now?” Buck scrunched his face, preparing to protest, silenced a moment later by Eddie pulling him just close enough for their lips to meet.

Kissing Buck had quickly become one of Eddie’s favourite past times. A quick peck at work, a long reunion after a long day, a sloppy smooch against the truck after one of them had consumed too much alcohol but they were both drunk on each other (and he’d wisely kept that particular nugget of poetry to himself, lest he face more ridicule). The largest change when taking the sidestep from ‘best friends’ to ‘lovers’ had been their level of physical contact, which had always been comfortably close. Now, there was no space between them. No barriers.

But they still had to wear their own clothes. That was where Eddie drew the line when it came to sharing their lives. It was an arbitrary line, to be sure, but it was one to which he held firm. As predicted, Buck was quick to respect the line and stick mostly to his own wardrobe. When he asked to borrow a dress shirt or shorts, he made a habit of coming up behind Eddie and wrapping his arms around his middle, gently murmuring his clothing request in Eddie’s ear like a salacious secret. Was it a dirty move? Absolutely. Did Eddie cave every single time? Without a doubt. Did he respect that his boyfriend exploited his weaknesses? Somehow, it made him love him more. He also respected that Buck didn’t abuse his super power for every clothing item. He accepted Eddie’s distaste for ill-fitting clothing and always turned to his wardrobe first.

Miraculously, many of Buck’s clothes started getting thrown in the donation hamper – almost as though he hadn’t worn them in months or years and no longer had need of them. Soon enough, their wardrobe had evened out and Eddie could actually mark the distinction between his and Buck’s side of the dresser.

Suddenly he could breathe again.

“It wasn’t about the clothes.” Eddie informed him one night as they lay in bed.

Of course, Buck propped up on his elbows to face Eddie despite the darkness. “What wasn’t?”

“The clothes borrowing thing.”

“The clothes borrowing things wasn’t about the clothes?” It was understandable to hear confusion in his voice.

“I brought it up to Frank the other day. And we talked about why it bothered me so much.”

“You said that I was stretching out your clothes (which I’m choosing to take as a compliment, by the way).” As a show of comfort, Eddie ran a hand under the sleeve of Buck’s night shirt, only to laugh when his boyfriend pulled away a moment later. “Why are your hands always so cold?”

“Not all of us are a furnace.” He gently reminded, knowing it would go completely unmarked by the human stove. “And while I am definitely not a fan of you stretching my shirts, it wasn’t actually about that.” One thing he loved about Buck from long before their romance began, was his ability to wait for Eddie to gather the courage to continue speaking. He rarely prompted or interjected when time stretched between them; he gave Eddie the space to find the words.

“It felt like I was losing a part of myself when I saw you in my clothes.” Surely, he could find more words than that. “When I look around this room – when I look around the house – I see us. I see you and Christopher making a pillow fort even though I told you not to take the cushions off the couch. I see me and my son trying to bake a cake for your birthday and actually making one that was edible.”

“Well”

“Are you going to tell Christopher that you hated the cake he made you?”

It was a cheap shot but it hit its mark every single time. “Wow.”

“I see you and me getting ready in the bathroom the first time I told you I loved you.”

It was one of his fondest memories, and one he would treasure forever; the day he’d been brushing his teeth beside Buck, staring at the man who’d come to mean so much to him, and the words tumbled out (along with a glob of foam) before he’d realized how true they were.

“We are all over this house and I love that. But my clothes? They were this thing that was just mine – one little thing I didn’t have to share. And when you took them without asking, it was like you were taking more than just my shirt. If that makes sense.” Clearly, he was out of practice with this sort of discussion (and he ever had this sort of discussion?) because the rambling was making him lightheaded.

“It does.” He could feel his boyfriend shift in the moonlight to something less than a hover, relaxing onto his shoulder so they both faced the ceiling but still felt connected to each other. “And I never meant to make you feel that way. I guess it was that cliched thing where I like smelling like you and having a piece of you with me all the time.” Eddie willed his beating heart to calm.

“Buck, we live and work together, how are you not sick of having me around?”

Another wonderful thing about dating Buck was his newfound ability to feel his eyes on him from across the room. Even in the middle of an emergency, he could look up and find Buck and know what they needed to do. When he was at his side, the stare was overwhelming.

“I will never get sick of you.” Buck’s voice was filled with more emotion than Eddie had words to describe and yet he knew exactly how he felt. “But I won’t wear your clothes anymore.”

His instinct was to protest, to concede to Buck and let him have whatever would make him happy. It had been his instinct for most of his life: make sacrifices so his loved ones would be happy.

You are allowed to have what you want. Buck will still be happy.

He found Buck’s lips in the darkness. “Thank you.”

The scene was a mess. One kitchen fire had spread to several houses before emergency services were even called – Buck admired that the neighbours had all tried to deal with the problem themselves; Eddie thought they were idiots for trying to douse the grease fire with water and then continue to pour water when the flames grew higher. It was a simple enough task to put out the flames and get everyone to safety but it left foam and shivering bodies and bits of debris scattered from the lawn to the street. The cleanup took longer than the rescue, completely unaided by the mid-day son beating down on the scene, melting both foam and firefighter with equal measure.

Mercifully, Bobby was the first to remove his jacket and throw it on the pavement so he could work with more ease, leading the way for his crew to strip off their heavy turnout gear and throw it in a pile. While their equipment wasn’t any less boiling to the touch, they were at least given this small reprieve while they continued to work.

And if Buck and Eddie were separately caught distractedly watching their boyfriend work in their form-fitting pants and sweat-soaked shirts, that was an added bonus of just doing their job.

Once they were finally in a position to leave (after doling a few lectures and congratulations to the civilians who’d tried really hard and only made things worse), the crew grabbed their coats from the pile and headed back to the trucks. Eddie would never admit it, but sometimes, he was distracted by the mere sight of Buck. The blond was teased constantly for his so-called ‘heart eyes’ whenever he thought no one was looking, but Eddie knew he was just as bad. It was difficult not to – considering his partner’s attractive physical features – but even to admire Buck’s enthusiasm and heart were unavoidable when he let himself enjoy a moment of peace.

Life since they’d begun their romance had been calm in a way Eddie never imagined his life to be – because there never really was a moment of calm, and yet it was the most serene he’d felt in a very long time. Every day was an adrenaline rush of emergency calls and worrying for his son. He still awoke with nightmares of the past and future reminding him that every one of his failings had consequences. His wounds still ached in the daylight and his life was constantly in peril. He still stumbled over milestones when it came to raising Christopher without the mother of his child, and no amount of forgiveness could completely erase the shame he felt in asking for help. But through it all, through every loss and victory both at work and at home, he didn’t feel alone. He had a partner in all things who loved his son and tried every day to be there for the two of them.

He wished he could say he wasn’t surprised at how well Buck fit into their domestic lives but it had never occurred to him to imagine it until he was asking his boyfriend of six months to move into his home because so many of his things were there anyways. The first morning he awoke to fresh coffee and the smoke alarm screeching in his ear, it somehow sealed his fate: he and Buck fit comically well together.

And the man knew him in a way no one had (not his wife, not parents, not any friend he’d ever had). He liked to think he knew Buck just as well but he enjoyed every time that he discovered something new about his partner. It sent a shiver of delight through his bones when he realized that he never wanted to stop learning about this man who made him feel happy.

He did, however, need to talk to Bobby about ordering a new jacket because his current one was much too big, especially in the shoulder area. Which was odd because he didn’t remember having that problem earlier. Of course, Eddie rolled his eyes, he must have grabbed the wrong coat – probably Buck’s – which would explain his sudden lack of stature. As he swung the offending item off his back, he searched for his partner in order to toss the coat in his face (as one does when one is hopelessly in love with a dork), only to stop short when he finally caught sight of him.

Whether by accident or design, Buck had grabbed Eddie’s coat and was proudly wearing it as he went about his normal duties, completely unaware that the sleeves were just a little too short, and the back was stretched a little too tightly. In fact, it was stretched taut in a manner that displayed the LAFD logo and bright stripes for all to see; and right underneath was Eddie’s last name. Four letters he’d seen all his life were suddenly given a different meaning.

‘Diaz’ had never been just his, it has always been something he shared: first with his family, and then Shannon, and then to Christopher the moment he held his son in his arms. He had been lectured by May once about the concept of ownership and the woman having to take the husband’s last name as though she belonged to him. He was well away of the history of name changes in marriages and significance in contemporary society of couples choosing different ways to express their commitment to one another. Call him old fashioned – and he knew that he was – but he had never seen Shannon taking his last name as a symbol of ownership; to Eddie, it meant that they were a family. A clan. Together in all things. There was a sense of pride in knowing that his name would live on when he was gone and that he was able to share this thing with the people he cared for most.

As if it were nothing at all, there was Buck, walking around in public with the name Diaz on display. Anyone who didn’t know them might believe that was his name. What would Buck say if a stranger called him ‘Mr. Diaz’ or ‘Firefighter Diaz’? Would he blush and smile, would he vehemently correct them, would he brush it off but realize he didn’t want to be associated with that name ever again?

Did he want that? Did he want Buck associated with his last name? There was no guarantee when they got married that either of them would change their names. Maybe, they could hyphenate.

When they got married.

Eddie didn’t ask for his jacket back.

Later, when someone asked him how dinner went, Eddie would have no earthly idea what they even ordered. He remembered confirming with Buck that they had reservations for their anniversary dinner, he remembered Hen picking up Christopher for his overnight playdate, he remembered kissing Buck against the bathroom door when he emerged in his dress shirt and tie, he remembered driving to the restaurant too afraid to hold his boyfriend’s hand because his palms were suspiciously clammy.

It was just a dinner at a nicer restaurant to celebrate their anniversary together. They’d had one of these already and a million dates in between. Yet it sent his heart racing every time. Not only was he a fan of Buck when he dressed to the nines (he loved that man in everything and nothing, but the tight dress pants were a treat) but it was also a celebration of their time together. Of how far they’d come as a couple and as individuals. Going out in public came with a small amount of anxiety and guilt, of course, but they’d worked through every setback as partners and would continue to do so.

On their first official date, Eddie had called Buck at 3am to inform him that they could never see each other again because he was betraying his wife’s memory by moving on. Another time, they had run into one of Buck’s previous conquests who was alarmingly cavalier about their sex history but incredibly judgmental about Buck’s current situation. Introducing Buck to his parents was more than a little nerve-racking (though significantly better than meeting the Buckleys for the first time) but had turned out amiably enough when they saw how much Eddie and Christopher cared for the man – and more importantly, how much Buck cared about Christopher.

Christopher had been his saving grace in so many ways, not the least of which was figuring out how to introduce Buck at school functions. ‘Boyfriends’ was the term they used most often but it still felt juvenile whenever he said it out loud. ‘Lover’ had made both of them double over in laughter, and ‘special friend’ was off the table before it had left his mouth. Though he’d never said it out loud, Eddie was saying the term ‘Partner’ for a special occasion.

The first time Eddie had brought Buck to the afterschool pick up so his teachers could meet the other adult with special permission to care for Christopher, he’d stressed to the point of tearing a small hole in the steering wheel cover about what to call him.

And then Christopher had run into his best friend’s arms and introduced everyone to ‘His Buck’ as though that name was the only explanation anyone needed. But it did the trick. Everyone greeted him with kindness and respect and when one of the teachers asked Eddie if this was, indeed, ‘His Buck’, all he’d been able to do was blush and nod.

They’d overcome every little thing that life had thrown their way. They could get through one little dinner.

“You have been fidgety all night.” Buck teased through another mouthful of garlic bread. Or maybe they couldn’t. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing is up with me.” He lied. “I’m just tired. Long shift.”

“Boring shift. Four false alarms, seven car accidents, and one heart attack. I would have killed for a house fire or even someone stuck in a tree.”

“How would they have gotten stuck in a tree?”

Buck shrugged, stuffing another loaf into his mouth. “Maybe they were skydiving but the wind picked up and they got carried away.”

They continued their hypothetical discussion (which turned to the topic of craziest saves, most disgusting encounters, and most obvious lies) until their shared appetizer arrived and he realized how at ease he felt despite his earlier tension. That was another miraculous thing about being with Buck. Without meaning to – for he did it far too often to be intentional – he could pull Eddie from whatever wave was threatening to pull him under and keep him company by just being himself. They would talk and laugh and find companionship with one another until suddenly, the waves had subsided.

“Where’s my phone?” Buck patted his entire body, despite only possessing two pockets in which he could fit his cell. Upon finding nothing, he concluded “I must have left it in the truck, I’m just going to go grab it.”

When Buck reached for Eddie’s jacket pocket, knowing the keys were always in the right, Eddie felt a new wave of panic suddenly submerge him and he shouted “Don’t touch that!” too loudly for anyone at the adjoining tables to misunderstand him.

The way his boyfriend instantly paled, told him that no one had misunderstood his harsh reaction. Buck released the jacket, letting it fall to the ground, but hesitated to grab it. A thousand curses and warning bells echoed through Eddie’s mind, knowing full well how far his partner’s mind could travel down a dangerous path before he ever reached him.

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” he sputtered. “I know we talked about the clothes thing, I just forgot.” Only then did he finally reach a hand to take the jacket on the tasteless restaurant carpet. “Can I grab-”

“No.” He snatched the offending object before Buck could finish his sentence; flinging it away with such force that the contents of his pockets spilt onto the floor. Another curse barely left his lips before both men were on their hands and knees, scrambling to retrieve the objects.

Buck found it first.

“What’s this?”

Eddie froze with a hand on his keys, eyes locked on his partner – his best friend – holding the small velvet box that had once been housed in his jacket pocket. Abandoning all else, Eddie crawled to meet Buck beside the table. He breathlessly watched the other man examine the box, feeling the edges with sharp anticipation

A voice that wasn’t his own whispered in the space between them “open it.” With medical gentility, Buck pulled open the lid and Eddie watched his expressions shift as understanding took hold.

He’d been so careful, to the point of paranoia, about picking out the perfect ring. There had been incognito browser searches, late-night chats with Hen about same-sex protocol (for which he repaid her with many cups of espresso), and one very anxious expedition to the jewelers to find the perfect one. And right at the finish line, he fumbled over his own two feet.

The only memory that mattered, though, was the look in Buck’s eyes when he saw the ring and realized what it symbolized to both of them. What Eddie was asking for wasn’t marriage: it was everything. A life of sharing their darkest selves and celebrating every triumph. Being both an individual and a pair in equal measure – partners in every sense. Respect and trust and joy would become home, security would be a given; everything was asked with that circle bonding them together.

“I’m sorry for grabbing your jacket.” Buck whispered when he finally looked away from the box in his shaking hands. The laugh that escaped Eddie was barely more than a cry of barely restrained tears but it brought a smile to both their faces.

“It’s okay.” Neither could look away now that they’d found each other in the silence. “Do you like it?”

“It’s nice. Did Maddie help you pick it out?”

“She offered when I went to ask for her blessing but this was all me.”

“You asked for her blessing? How traditional.”

“I’m a traditional kind of guy.”

“I know. Sophia told me what you did to her first boyfriend.”

“It was only meant to scare the guy. How was I to know he had asthma?”

“He was 15, you shouldn’t have done it anyway. I think it might be illegal now.”

“Oh my god.” Both men looked up at the waitress standing over them with their food in hand. “Will you ask him already?” A few chuckles from curious onlookers reminded them that they were still kneeling in the middle of a restaurant with Buck holding the ring he wasn’t meant to see yet.

The blush that crept on his partner’s face matched his own, but Eddie’s only focus was on fulfilling the server’s request.

“Marry me, Buck?”

His smile outshone the entire city of Los Angeles.

“Yes.”

As cheers erupted around them, Eddie scooted across the carpet to pull his fiancé into a kiss saturated with joy and laughter. His hands fairly shook as they clasped Buck’s cheeks to hold them steady but nothing else matter to him but that smile.

Slipping the engagement band onto his finger was prolonged by the trembling in both their hands but with time, he stared down at the circle, knowing it was finally where it belonged.

He only realized he had stared for too long when the waitress cleared her throat to grab their attention.

“If you folks wouldn’t mind taking your seats; these plates are kinda hot.” The men scrambled back into their booth, offering copious apologies to the woman who simply rolled her eyes and told them that dessert would be on the house. A handful of patrons offered their congratulations but Eddie rarely turned his attention away from the man across from him. Every time their eyes met for the rest of the night, he could feel the dopey-eyed grin that refused to melt away. He hoped it never did.

The evening had not gone the way he’d planned in any shape of the word but for years to come, he would relish in telling the story of their engagement, and of the full lives they shared together.

#cj writes things #softboiidiaz #love sunny #buddie #buddie fic #911 fox #911 fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #established relationship #clothes sharing

140 notes · View notes

marvelsdc22 · 4 years ago

Text

Interrogation

Intro: Hello, lovelies!! I hope you guys are having a good day/night!! Came up with this after watching a Tik Tok with the saddest character deaths, this starts out a little weird, but it will all come together!! I hope you guys enjoy!!(italics mean flashback)(Based off the Criminal Minds episode “100″).

Note: Y/N has seen Hotch as a father figure since they first started, meaning that Haley was seen as a mother to them, Foyet returns and things go south... Fast, how does Y/N handle everything that had happened while being interrogated by Strauss?

Warnings: Canon Death

Word Count: 3266

“Is he still not answering?” You asked, going over to Prentiss who sighed as she set her phone down “Nothing… I’m going to go check his apartment” she decided, standing up from her seat and grabbing her things “I’ll come with you” you said, knowing two eyes would be better than one and besides, the guys and J.J. had the Jeffrey case in the bag “What about-“ “Finished it” you interrupted, already knowing she was going to ask you about the paperwork you had to fill out for what all information you guys had on Jeffrey for the time being “Please, Emily? I want to get out of this stuffy house” you said, giving your girlfriend puppy eyes which worked more on her than it did with J.J. “Fine, come on” she said, laughing at the small cheer you gave before you followed her out, the two of you telling Spence in case they got worried about where you guys had vanished off to.

When you guys got to Hotch’s apartment, your guns were drawn just in case, you heading for the hallway while she went into the kitchen “Clear!” You called, waiting for her to say the same before you holstered your gun with a sigh, looking around Hotch’s bedroom which matched him, everything neat and nothing out of place, hell even his ties were placed with precision “Anything?” You asked, not finding anything that would indicate as to where Hotch had went “In here!” She called, making you rush out and into the foyer area “Bullet hole?” You asked, looking over Emily’s shoulder as she pulled some gloves on and pulled some tweezers out “Hold open that baggy for me?” She asked, you grabbing the ziplock bag from her bag and holding it open for her, you holding the bullet up and examining it “Em… Call every hospital in the area” you said, finally looking at the floor and finding blood that you had overlooked earlier in your frenzy to clear the apartment… Hotch was injured and you had to find him.

A few hours later, you guys had located Hotch and had notified the others who were finishing up the Jeffrey case, you pacing the hall outside of Hotch’s room, worried since he was like a father figure to you, you were the youngest on the team and when you joined, Hotch took you under his wing, going as far as being the protective father when you first went out on a date with J.J. and Emily, biting your nails, you heard the clicking of heels and when you turned, you barely had time to see the flash of blonde hair before you were pulled into familiar arms “How is he?” J.J. asked, pulling back slightly to look at you and gently brushing some hair out of your face “He’ll be okay, he’s resting right now… They don’t know who brought him in, Emily’s looking over the video footage now” you said, watching as Morgan peeked into the window.

“You can go inside if you want, it’s two people at a time” you told him, having come out here to get some air and watching as Morgan nodded before he went inside “Y/N” Emily said, holding still images from the video and you heading over there with J.J.’s hand in yours “What do you have?” You asked, looking over her shoulder at the images and almost immediately recognizing the man carrying Hotch into the hospital “Foyet” you said softly, feeling J.J. squeeze your hand gently “We’ll find him, don’t worry” she promised, kissing your head as Emily wrapped an arm around you “Exactly, he’s not getting away with this” Emily promised, giving you a small squeeze and her and J.J. locking eyes, nodding in a silent agreement before they led you to sit down for a while.

Several days later, you looked up at where J.J. was being interrogated about Hotch’s behavior, it was understandable why he was as hellbent as he was to find Foyet, his family was in danger, who wouldn’t act that way? Looking over at Emily who was focused on her screen, trying not to think of how they would all be questioned at some point that day “This is going to be a long day” you sighed, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your face, the day had only just started and you already felt exhausted.

xxxxx

About a week before, you were sitting in your apartment when your phone rang “Hello?” You answered, raising a brow when you heard J.J. start explaining what she had learned earlier that day while her and Will(ex, but still good friends) were at the pharmacy to get Henry a refill on his medicine “You mean to tell me that over the counter drugs can be used as the higher prescription ones? But, what does this have to do with anything?” You asked, not sure where she was heading with this and nodding some when she told you that Garcia was looking into it due to the fact that Foyet was addicted to a certain drug “Yeah, I’ll dig into it, don’t worry” you promised, knowing you usually helped with these types of things with your medical degree and all “I’ll let you know if I find anything… Love you too” you said before hanging up, wondering how Emily was doing with trying to find where Foyet was hiding before you sighed and went to make yourself some coffee “So much for going to bed early” you muttered, heading into the kitchen.

xxxxx

Several weeks later, you sat in your desk chair with your head in your hands, dropping your hands, you looked up at the stairs when the door opened and J.J. walked out, looking like she’d been through hell, watching as she went down the stairs and Rossi went in after her “I’m guessing she’s hitting us hard?” You asked her, watching as she just sighed and collapsed in her chair, you rolling yourself over to her in your chair and patting her leg gently, smiling when she laced her fingers with yours for a moment before she released your hand and sat up straight “Lets just say… She’s looking for anything she can to get Hotch to lose his badge for good” she said, rubbing her temples for a moment before she stood up “I need coffee” she said before heading for the kitchen, leaving you to roll your chair back to your desk, trying to think of what to do now since you had finished all you had to, guess all there was now was to sit and wait.

xxxxx

“Are you sure that’s his apartment?” You asked, the team having been working on this all day and now that you guys had something like results, you guys weren’t 100% sure with what you found “Yes” Hotch said, although you knew that his judgement wasn’t the best since his mind was dead set on finding Foyet which clouded his judgement since he’d take anything he could get “He may not even be there anymore” Rossi pointed out as you guys sat in the vans a little down the road from the apartment “I know. And the longer we sit here, the further away he gets” Hotch said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in front of him “You make the best call you can, kid” Rossi said, leaning back in his seat and you looked at Hotch from your spot in the backseat, seeing the gears turning in his head “All right, this is what we’re gonna do”.

You sighed as you heard the rest of the team talking in the comms “He knew we were coming, he’s not coming back” you finally interrupted, knowing that Hotch didn’t want to believe it but he knew you were right “One thing we do know is that he’s in a hurry, he left his filled gun safe open and left a meal untouched” Morgan said, looking at you guys and Rossi nodded “But once he gets cornered-“ “He starts killing” Hotch finished, looking around the area “We’re not going to let that happen” You assured, reaching over and gently touching Hotch’s arm “We need to get Garcia on this” Hotch said as he headed back towards the vans, leaving you and the other two to look at one another before you guys followed.

xxxxx

Several people later, you looked up and saw Emily come out of the room, giving you a look that said ‘your turn’ before you sighed and stood up, shaking your arms out to try to get the nerves out of your system and glancing over at J.J. who mouthed ‘good luck’ to you before you let out a breath and headed up the stairs, knocking on the door “Enter” you heard Strauss say before you went inside, shutting the door behind you “You wanted to talk to me, ma’am?” You asked, sitting down when she gestured to the chair in front of the desk she was sitting at “Rank and name” she said as you sat down, you blinking a few times, having briefly forgotten who you were with your nerves.

“SSA Y/N Y/L/N” you said, trying to fight the shakiness you were feeling, normally you weren’t like this but when it was something serious enough to have to talk to Strauss, your nerves were everywhere “Agent Y/L/N, how long have you been working under SSA Hotchner?” Strauss asked, looking at you with a serious look as you bit your lip in thought “Two years, ma’am” you answered, fighting the urge to mess with your pantleg as you crossed your legs “I see and during that time, have you seen him make any decisions that could’ve been made differently?” She asked, making you furrow your brow “Ma’am, with all due respect… Not everyone agrees with how some of the cases are solved, so yes, there are some, but that’s my judgement, no one elses, but there’s nothing that could be considered to the degree that you’re insinuating here” you said, all nerves gone as your defenses went up, she wasn’t going to break you into bad mouthing Hotch when there was nothing to badmouth about.

Strauss looked at you for a moment with a raised brow before she nodded and wrote some stuff down before she looked at you once more “How would you describe SSA Hotchner while working?” She asked, watching as you looked away for a moment before meeting eyes with her again “Driven… When we get a new case, he doesn’t give up until it’s solved” you said, watching as she nodded and wrote some things down “What is your relationship with SSA Hotchner?” She asked, making you stop for a moment, contemplating what your next words would be “He’s my boss first, but he’s become a father figure to me” you said, preparing yourself for more invasive questions as the time went on.

xxxxx

“Garcia’s got a trace” Spencer said, walking into the room you guys were all in “He’s bouncing between a few towers” “Where?” Emily asked, looking t him and watching as he went over to the map and pointed to a spot “Fairfax county” Spencer said, looking at you guys and noting all your confused expressions “He’s still local?” J.J. asked, sitting up in the chair she had been sitting in “Send the coordinates to my phone” Emily said, waiting and feeling her phone ding “Done” Garcia said, them talking a bit more before they heard the phone on the table make a noise “Wait, that phone’s on?” You asked, looking at it and hearing beeping “Garcia what’s going on?” “Hotch is calling Foyet” she said before everyone went silent.

“Agent Hotchner” Foyet said, sounding at ease “If you touch her-“ “Be gentle? Like I was with you?” Foyet interrupted, sounding smug as he spoke “What the hell took you so long? I was beginning to think this phone was dead or something… Why so quiet? Usually you lash out when you’re frustrated” Foyet poked “I’m not frustrated, you’re more predictable than you think” Hotch said, you watching as Morgan and Rossi looked at one another for a moment “Am I?” Foyet questioned, making your blood start to boil at how nonchalant he was being with all this “You didn’t know where Haley was, so you made her come to you” Hotch pointed out, you feeling someone take your hand, making you relax slightly as you glanced at J.J. who was focused on the phone “Making me sound lazy” Foyet said, laughing slightly “Just another way for you to show control” “Well that’s terrible” “Your mother tried to protect you from your father, but she wasn’t strong enough and you hated her for that, didn’t you? You decided that all women were weak” Hotch said, you listening and biting your lip, feeling Emily’s presence behind you as you guys listened to the rest of the call “Aaron? I really gotta go” you heard Foyet say before the line went dead.

Looking over when you heard Morgan’s phone ring, you watched as he talked “He’s going to your house” Morgan said, you not hearing Hotch’s part of the conversation and feeling your anxiety start to creep up again, the one man you saw as a father figure was at risk of losing everything, not even noticing you were shaking until you felt J.J. tug on your hand to help ground you once more, Emily resting a hand on your shoulder to help calm you “We have to go” you said, rushing out with the others and climbing into the drivers seat of one of the vans “No, let me” Emily said, making you move to the passengers seat as J.J. climbed into the back, the two of them knowing you were not able to drive with how anxious you were “We have to get there in time, Emily-“ “I know baby, we will” she assured, giving your forearm as small squeeze before you guys all sped off, listening to the conversation since Garcia had patched you through.

“Foyet” Hotch said, sounding like he was struggling to keep his cool “Aaron?” Haley asked, you guys hearing the small breath of relief that Hotch released “You’re okay?” He asked, knowing she wasn’t safe there but for now she was unharmed, you guys listening as the conversation escalated when Foyet got on the phone, mocking Hotch for his failed marriage due to him ‘lying’ “Tell Jack I need him working the case” Hotch said, you already feeling the tears burning in your eyes as you covered your mouth, already knowing what was about to happen “Jack… Did you hear that?” Haley asked, hearing footsteps before you guys heard Jack’s voice “Hi daddy” “Hi buddy” “Is George a bad guy?” “Yes, he is… Jack, I need you on this case with me… Do you understand? I need you to work the case with me” Hotch said, sounding like he was fighting back tears “Ok daddy” “Jack, hug your mom for me” “Mommy hug me too tight” “I’m sorry” you heard Haley apologize “Why are you sad?” “Oh, I just love you so much” Haley said, the tears evident in her voice “Mom, I gotta go. I’m working the case” you heard Jack say before he ran off, leaving just Foyet and Haley, while Hotch was helpless on the phone.

After a brief moment of silence, you guys heard Hotch start to say how strong Haley was and how he was sorry she got roped into all this “Promise me that you will tell him how we met, how you used to make me laugh” Haley asked, knowing that this was it for her “Haley…” Hotch tried to say “He needs to know that you weren’t always so serious, Aaron… I want him to believe in love, because it is the most important thing… But you need to show him, promise me” Haley asked, her listening as Hotch promised before you guys heard the three gunshots, you trying desperately to hide the fact you were sobbing in the passenger seat of the car and if J.J. or Emily noticed, they didn’t say anything, knowing that Haley was like a second mother to you, even after Hotch and her divorced, she was there for you when you needed her and it killed you to know you weren’t there for her when she needed you most.

xxxxx

You listened as Strauss retold you about how Hotch had beaten Foyet to death “Ma’am, if I may?” You interrupted, not needing to hear what you had already seen happen “Imagine yourself in his shoes, he did what anyone else in that position would do… Foyet had been tormenting him for MONTHS before this, he didn’t deserve this and he sure as hell didn’t deserve to hear his ex-wife, who he loved get shot and killed over the phone… Before you judge him so harshly like you’re intending to do, take a step back and think about how you would react if you were in his shoes” you said before standing up and leaving, ignoring her saying that she wasn’t done with you as you grabbed your things and left the building, needing to take a breather, especially with the funeral being the next day.

A few hours later, you were sitting on your couch with your Corgi, Mushu, on your lap, watching some tv when you heard a knock on your door, checking your phone and seeing that it was almost 10pm “Who is knocking at this hour?” You asked, scooting Mushu onto the couch before going and opening the door, smiling a bit when you saw your girlfriends standing at the door “We brought food” Emily said, holding up the bags of food while J.J. held up the drinks, causing your stomach to protest at the fact you hadn’t eaten since breakfast, moving out of the way so they could come in before you shut the door behind them “Thanks” you said, smiling as you followed them into the kitchen “We figured you didn’t eat, we know how you get when you’re angry” J.J. said, them having seen you storm out which made you laugh and shake your head “You guys know me too well” you said, watching Emily dig through the bags in front of her.

After a bit, you guys were sitting on your couch and pigging out on the food they had brought while Mushu slept at your guys feet, eating whatever fell on the ground close to him “Have I told you guys how much I loved you lately?” You asked, looking between the two of them and feeling J.J. press a kiss to your head while Emily kissed your cheek “You have, but we don’t mind hearing it more” Emily chuckled, the three of you laughing before it went silent and went to a more serious note “We’ll be with you the whole time tomorrow” J.J. said, setting her plate on the coffee table before wrapping her arms around you and knowing tomorrow will be a hard day for you “I know you guys will” you said softly, leaning back against J.J. while Emily set her plate down as well as yours before she wrapped her arms around your front and rested her head on your shoulder, feeling J.J. kiss her head “We’ll always be here” Emily promised, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck as the three of you relaxed, you knowing that you could get through anything with them.

Permanent Taglist: @rianncreates / @natasha-danvers / @youngandwildx7 / @hopingforbarnes / @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

Criminal Minds Taglist: @wokeupinawalnut

End Note: I hope you guys enjoyed!! If you’d like to be added to a Taglist, shoot me a DM or an Ask!! Have a good day/night!! :)

Requests Open

#jennifer jareau x reader #emily prentiss x reader #jemily x reader #jennifer jareau x emily prentiss x reader #jennifer jareau x gn!reader #emily prentiss x gn!reader #jennifer x reader #emily x reader #jemily #jennifer jareau imagine #emily prentiss imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds

116 notes · View notes

falsehood-and-deceit · 4 years ago

Note

What if Janus tackles the others to the ground when they steal something he has claimed as his but it looks he's aggressively hugging them, since when snakes fight, they wrap around each other from what I heard

Asghfdsbhkebfhagrjlsbhjvaj You have the absolute best ideas omg!

So sometime after POF, when Janus gets accepted, they’re all just kinda chilling in the living room. Virgil comes down the stairs in one of Janus’s hoodies, he probably stole it from his room or something. And Jan just looks up and goes “is that my sweater?” and Virgil sits down at the table and goes “yep”.

“don’t you have like fifty band hoodies of your own?”

“yep.”

so janus just nods and goes back to reading his book, or talking to Patton, whatever he was doing idk it’s late and i’m tired.

and the others are like “???” because they were All There for the infamous “don’t touch my sh*t!” and virgil and jan aren’t really close so what happened.

and then virgil gets up to grab a glass of water (hydrate or diedrate kids), and janus just chucks his book aside, jumps up, and tackles virgil to the ground

“you little shit, give me back my sweater!”

“you stole this one from me it was mine in the first place!!!”

“I had it for over two years, it was grandfathered into my collection, everyone knows that!!”

and all this is being yelled while they’re just rolling around on the floor. janus has wrapped his arms and legs around virgil’s torso, and virgil has freed his arms and is trying to push janus off of him.

“let go you snake-faced assho- ouch!!”

“it’s my fucking sweater!”

alternatively: after a few years of living with janus, remus being quickly accepted after POF, the lights are just Over It.

Like just imagine Logan walking downstairs, a cup of coffee in hand, and janus just wrapped around his leg.

“can we have one day without the aggressive hugs please?”

janus, clinging onto him like a koala, face muffled by logan’s pantleg: “no.”

janus literally jumped on top of roman one time and roman screamed so loudly janus fell off of his back.

the one person jan does not tackle is remus, because the one time he tired, remus met him with a knife, and now jan has a scar on his arm that he doesn’t talk about.

that’s it i’m done and sleepy but this is such a cute idea!!! it’s much less angsty than your last one, but I love them both <3 please feel free to send in more prompts or ideas, I love the way your brain works

#janus sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #my writing #ms-wood

110 notes · View notes

keelywolfe · 4 years ago

Text

FIC: Welcome To Backwater ch.4 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch is settling into small town life.

~~*~~

Read Chapter Four on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

The rest of Stretch’s week went about the same way as the first few days. Work in the morning, movie in the afternoon, dinner with Red at night. After what Red told him, he’d been prepared to Groundhog’s Day his way through his next visit with Doris if needs be, braced for a few reminders until he made a good enough impression.

For their second meeting, he got another popcorn just for her, tucking it into the cupholder on the opposite side of her seat. She was barely formed before she was leaning down to breathe in the buttery smell of it and from that angle, he didn’t have to witness any of her less appetizing manifestations. He also brought strawberry-flavored twizzlers, bought from the store and smuggled in under his shirt since the only candy at the concession stand was raisinets and those tasted like chocolate-covered dirt, no thanks.

He wasn’t too worried about going over his entertainment budget. Red paid him yesterday and they hadn’t discussed an hourly rate, but a hundred bucks under the table wasn’t bad for a few hours work a day, especially since Red had recently taken more of an interest in feeding him. Seemed he’d taken his brother’s order to look after Stretch pretty seriously and he started leaving packets of donuts on the counter in the morning or little boxes of sugary dry cereal to munch between customers. In the evening, Red dragged him back to his apartment at night for more Wheel of Fortune and food, either deliciously left by his unseen brother or frozen dinners.

It made Stretch feel even more like a scrawny lost puppy found in a parking lot, but he couldn’t say Red’s sudden adoption was unwelcome, especially since it meant less of his dwindling funds were wasted at ‘Mama’s’ getting takeout. Not that he couldn’t access his bank account, even Backwater had an ATM at the gas station, but the second he popped that plastic into the slot, he’d be advertising where he was. Better to save that as his last measly dollar, ‘hail Mary’ pass.

After indulging in her popcorn vice, Doris sat back up to her normal prim posture and there was a certain restrained excitement in her voice as she said, “You came back.”

“’course i did,” Stretch said from around his current twizzler even as he nursed a secret delight at being remembered. “i said i would, didn’t i?” He wondered what other friends she’d made and possibly forgotten, aside from Red. Maybe she thought she’d been alone all this time when she actually had others who came to see her on the weekends?

Whatever the truth was, there wasn’t much point in asking. Not like she’d know the truth, anyway, and Stretch wasn’t planning on ghosting her. Her smile was Mona Lisa subtle and probably held as many unspoken secrets, and that was fine. Stretch wasn’t a guy to pry. They sat together through ‘The Road to Morocco’ and he didn’t even mind when Doris hummed softly through all the songs.

On the third day since their haunting introduction, she appeared before the movie started while he was playing ‘Candy Crush’ on his phone and pointedly ignoring the messages piling up. She looked fascinated, watching the flickering lights from the game. “What is that contraption, Stretch?”

Hey, points for being remembered again, but then, he’d been here every day so far. He wondered idly how it would go if he took a day or two off.

Stretch held his phone out to let her get a better look. “you ever have a telephone in your house?”

“Of course,” she said, but her eyes, both pale blue and ghostly pale at the same time, were on the android, “My parents were on the exchange. Mama used to call Central all the time so she could chat with the ladies’ in her church group.”

Stretch wasn’t quite sure what that all meant, but the movie was starting soon so there wasn’t time to ask. “well, this little gadget is a kind of a phone and a camera, plus a few other things on top.”

Probably better not to bring up the deal with the internet just yet.

Her eyes went wide and round, without an ounce of disbelief. “You can take photographs with that?”

“yeah, sure. here.” He turned it on selfie mode and tipped his head her way, waiting until he was sure to catch her good side before pushing the button. One click later and there was his grin and her translucent open-mouthed astonishment, frozen in time. He held out the phone so she could get a good look. “see? i can get it printed later, but for now, we can see how it looks.”

“That’s wonderous,” she whispered in hushed awe. “You don’t even have to wait to develop it!”

“yeah, it is pretty cool.” It was, honestly. He didn’t really think about it too often but carrying around a little supercomputer that also took pictures was actually pretty wonderous. He remembered getting his first phone when they came to the surface, a huge upgrade from the taped-up flip phone he’d scavenged from the dump. Playing with all the apps, taking tons of pictures of him and Blue. He’d forgotten that wonder when it all became commonplace and it was nice to have a reminder.

Doris reached out as if to touch, but her finger passing through the screen. Her hand fell away and she didn’t look happy anymore, more pensive, her delight fading as some other thought filtered in and force it to sink.

He wondered if the culture shock was kicking in. He asked, low, “you okay?”

“Yes, of course.” She pulled out a hankie and dabbed at her eyes. “I simply haven’t seen myself in, oh, a very long time, I think.”

Shit, he hadn’t thought of that. She probably hadn’t made too many trips to the ladies’ room in the past few decades and now he was double-glad he hadn’t accidently caught one of her bloody ‘flickers’, she didn’t need to see that. “i’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t be sorry,” she assured him, “I’m happy to have seen it.” She smiled then, pretty as a picture, “you’re a good friend.”

“trying to be.” For as long as he could, anyway. The lights started to dim and Stretch tucked his phone away. They both settled into their seats to watch ‘Casablanca’, him munching on his popcorn, her giving hers the occasional sniff, and both of them ended up sniffling as Sam played ‘As Time Goes By’, Stretch into his sleeve and Doris into her lace-edged hankie.

He didn’t know what past lover Doris was thinking about, but he hoped it was a nice memory and not one that helped her on her brutal path over to the other side. His own memories were more bitter than sweet, and he replaced both with more butter-soaked popcorn. At least that was a taste he could stand.

~~*~~

The store opened late on Sundays and closed early, only staying open long enough for anyone who needed a quick pick up or a treat for their kiddos after church. Stretch didn’t have the slightest interest in religion, not even his own, but he listened for the deep clang of the church bells gonging through the town announcing the mass exodus, and rang up all the Humans that came in dressed in their Sunday best.

At least none of them seemed to hold his lacking against him. Their smiles as they paid for the ice cream treats that their kids were already devouring were the same as they’d been all week and the only raised voice in the shop was a mother admonishing her son to ‘Be careful of that nice shirt, Billy, don’t you be getting chocolate down your front!’

By the time he hung up the closed sign at three on the dot, there hadn’t been a customer in nearly an hour anyway. Probably everyone was holing up at home for an early supper out of the scorching heat. He swept the floor, locked the door, and that was done. He wandered back to Red’s apartment in hopes of a little early supper of his own, knocking briefly before stepping inside, “red?”

“out here,” floated back to him. The door that led to the backyard was open, only the screen keeping the humming insects at bay. Stretch went out on the porch where Red was sitting in one of the rickety rocking chairs he kept back there. His leg was propped up on a scruffy cushion atop a low stool, the pantleg oddly deflated and his shoe lying beneath the rocker. Next to him was a small cooler with beers floating in a shallow pool of water and the remnants of ice cubes. Dangling from his loose fingertips was a smoldering joint, faint wisps of pale smoke trailing from his darkened eye sockets.

Stretch went out, letting the screen door bang shut behind him. There was a sofa on the back porch even more ancient than the one in the living room and it puffed up a cloud of dust when Stretch flopped down on it. “you’re letting out all the cold air,” Stretch said.

Red snorted loudly, “you ain’t paying for it.”

“that is true,” he agreed. “i don’t pay for a lot around here, ‘cause you are a generous soul. speaking of,” he waved a vague hand at the joint that was nearly falling out of Red’s fingers, “gonna share that, too?”

Red didn’t even look in his direction, only blindly handed over the roll. The first hit was skunky-sharp, the smoke burning in his ribcage in a way that plain tobacco just didn’t, and Stretch was careful only to take a small toke to start. Red was the kind of asshole who either got cheap shit to match his cheap beer or he’d get the sort of weed that would have Stretch afraid to get up from the sofa because he might fall off the world. Better to start slow and figure it out from there.

Turned out to be somewhere in the middle and left him in a perfectly mellow buzz, all his stressors suddenly distant and unimportant. Stretch lived up to his name by sprawling out as far as he could on the moldering sofa, his sneakers dangling off the arm as he and Red passed the joint back and forth.

“ain’t bad, yeah?” Red said lazily. He took another toke, breathing out words and smoke, “ain’t legal here, yet, but the sheriff is one of my poker buddies.”

Stretch twisted to look at him, “seriously?”

“nope, but his kid is the one selling, so i figure he don’t mind.”

Stretch wasn’t sure if any part of that sentence was true and couldn’t be bothered to care. Blurry reality was so much better than having it sharp and in focus. The haze dug in deep beneath the surface, settling right and making itself at home. That was probably the only reason Stretch asked, bravely thoughtless, “so, why did your brother want me to leave town?”

“ehhhhhh," Red drew the sound out like it was a word of its own, his chair creaking on the dry wood of the porch as he rocked back, "he's jus' paranoid. folks that ain't used to backwater can get into trouble here sometimes."

“yeah, i can see how a town with only one bar can be loaded with problems,” Stretch snorted, “the locals aren’t as generous with their beer as you?”

“you’d be surprised at the kinda trouble you can find in a small town.” That sounded a little more bitter than expected and Stretch glanced at Red to see what kind of lemon he was biting down on. But Red wasn’t chewing on anything; instead, he was tugging at his pant leg, clumsily rolling the denim up. Stretch started to look away, didn’t want to make his landlord and new weed dealer uncomfortable but Red only let out that rough, scoffing laugh of his. “may as well look if you’re gonna be askin’ about the real shit.”

So he did, taking in the rounded nub of bone leftover from an obviously surgical amputation, the leg missing from right below the knee joint. Red only slumped back in the chair as Stretch studied it, giving every appearance of not caring. Unless, you know, a person wasn’t a complete moron and Stretch was at least one rung up. He could see the overbrightness in Red’s eye lights, the tight grit of his teeth, his jaw working even when Stretch fell back on the sofa.

Stretch asked with carefully affected boredom, “you’re telling me i’m gonna lose a limb if i keep hanging around? ‘cause when you offered to let me stay, i didn’t know the rent might be a literal arm and leg.”

A beat of silence, then Red chuckled roughly. The ice in the cooler rattled as Red reached in and grabbed a beer, loudly popping the tab and raising the can in a mocking toast, “heh, you got inches to spare, anyway.”

“only below the belt,” Stretch said, agreeably. “so what did he mean, then, that leaving isn’t an option?”

“eh, he didn’t really mean that.”

“he said it. leaving won’t be an option, that was what he said.” Stretch was a hundred percent on that, it was the sort of thing a person remembered very clearly, no matter how stoned.

Red only shrugged, rolling his shoulders with lazy ease, "toldja, he’s paranoid, is all. small town life ain’t bad, once you get used to it. folks settle in and don't want to leave. s'nice here, people are nice.” His sharp-toothed grin widened. “'m here, ain't i?"

“can’t argue with that." Stretch reached out and managed to catch hold of the cooler with the tips of his fingers. He tugged it close enough to fish out one of the beers. "does your brother live in town?"

"i ain't telling you where he lives,” Red said decisively, “ain't risking my meal ticket for your illusions of possible booty call."

Stretch choked on a mouthful of beer, thin streams running out of the sides of his mouth as he coughed, “i wasn't…" He broke off, stoned-stupid and too aghast to come up with a decent protest past the obvious. "that's your brother!"

"yep,” Red agreed, “all that means ‘s i am immune to his charms. don't mean i can't see 'em and you was staring at his ass like you wanted to take it for a lil’ test drive. telling ya right now, that ain’t a good idea.”

Stretch slumped down further on the sofa, sulkily muttering out, “the quality of your brother’s ass notwithstanding, i promise you, i am not on the lookout for any kind of call, booty or otherwise.”

“good,” Red grunted, “while we’re having this little soul to soul, you wanna tell me exactly what you’re running away from that got you all the way out to this neck of the proverbial woods? i can guess at the basics, but the finer details elude me.”

"digging out the best vocab for me, i’m honored.” Stretch rested his half-full can on his chest, played with the tab until it broke off then toying with the bit of aluminum. “not really. i broke up with someone and it sucked. i don't want to talk about it." He slanted his boss/landlord a look, "that a problem?"

"nope," Red took another swig from his beer, wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "man's business is his own, even when he ain't a man. already toldja, stay as long as you like." His easy voice went serious, weirdly intent, "one thing, though, them woods out there, you see ‘em?"

Stretch managed to lean up on an elbow, squinting out at the trees that were far enough away that the house regrettably didn’t fall under any cooling shadows. "yeah, it's kinda peaceful, i guess. if you like that kinda thing." Stretch didn’t, not really, the only greenery he was interested in was rolled up in Red’s joint.

"peaceful. sure. that's all fine and dandy, but don't you go walking out there at night, you hear me?"

It wasn’t easy, but Stretch managed to sit up, working at his wobbly balance to give Red the full weight of his disbelief, “uh. why the fuck would i?”

“didn't say you would,” Red said, a touch defensively, “just sayin’ don’t.

“no, seriously, why would i? do i look like the token monster extra in a horror movie?” Stretch let out an exaggerated shudder, “no thanks, no, no, no. no splitting up, no checking the funny sound in the basement, none of that shit. why, what happens if you go into the woods at night? ‘cause i’m cool with the town ghosts but i’d need a better door lock and a pay raise if you guys got vampires hanging around.”

Red gave him a strange look, his sockets narrowing around his bleary eye lights, "what the…no, you honey roasted nutbar! woods are bigger’n they look, i don't wanna have to dig up a search party to find your scrawny ass if ya get lost, is all!”

"seriously, me wandering in the woods at any time of day is the last thing you need to worry about.” Stretch wondered absently if that was actually a problem around here, people hying off into the woods at midnight, yeesh, might as well wear a ‘free snack’ sign while they were at it and speed up the process.

"great, i'll add it to the bottom of the list. vampires,” Red muttered in disgust, “fuck me.” Then louder, “mind me on this one, you hear? i ain’t your daddy, but i’m taking a liking to you, kid, want ya to hang around a in the land of the livin’ a while.”

That struck Stretch as absurdly funny. He started giggling and couldn’t stop, curling up on the sofa as he cooed, “aww, c’mon, daddy, you don’t wanna roleplay? if i do go in the woods, do i get a spanking?”

He ducked from the can Red threw at him halfheartedly, beer spraying out and splattering the porch, drying almost instantly on the parched wood. Stretch rescued it before it could soak the sofa, tipping the can back and drinking down the last warm mouthful.

“shut the fuck up and hand me that roach,” Red grumbled. He did, and they sat that way for the rest of the afternoon.

The sun was going down by the time they went inside, casting a bloodred glow over the horizon that extended across the not-so-distant trees. Stretch gave them a last look as he waited for Red to strap his prosthetic back on and head inside, maybe for canned ravioli, maybe for one of his brother’s much tastier meals. The leaves were visibly rustling despite the still air, heavy branches waving and creaking. Whatever breath of cool air that ran through the woods didn’t make its way into town.

Stretch shrugged mentally and followed Red as he limped his way through the back door. Air conditioning was better than breeze any day of the week, including Sunday.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #underfell sans #underswap sans #welcome to backwater

43 notes · View notes

shewhohangsoutincemeteries · 4 years ago

Text

little things

Rocket Raccoon x Gender-Neutral Reader

Requested by: @bluemarsuniverse

Summary: rocket talks to quill about the reader, confused as to why they do all those little things for him.

Characters: rocket raccoon, reader, baby groot, peter quill, mentions of other guardians

Warnings: adult language, fluff

Word Count: 2,047

CHECK OUT MY FANFIC DEDICATED BLOG

You were half-lost in inconsequential thought when you felt an insistent tug on the hem of your jeans. You smiled down at Groot, standing carefully and stretching your arms out above you. You groaned contentedly as you did, feeling a kink in the middle of your back ease.

It was your own fault that you were stiff; you’d been curled up in one of the cockpit seats since breakfast, shooting the shit with Quill and Rocket on a long-haul flight to a planet called Sakaar in the hopes of picking up some new work. Apparently, it was mostly junkers, but word had it the big wigs on the planet hired contractors pretty often. A couple of hours curled up in that chair, one leg thrown over the armrest… well, it would probably make anyone sore. Still, you’d had fun, as you always did. The three of you had just been talking about nothing in particular… although, truthfully, you’d spent most of the time just listening to the two of them squabble as you watched them fly the ship.

Rocket glanced your way as he heard your groan, his eyebrow quirked. It might have been concern, but maybe he was just exasperated. Or annoyed – you had technically interrupted him. You offered him a small, cheery smile and he rolled his eyes, a smile of his own touching at the edge of his mouth. You bent down to scoop Groot up off the floor when he took hold of your pantleg again.

“I’m gonna go and get lunch started,” you explained quietly as Groot grinned up at you, his tiny hand tangling in your hair as you placed him on your shoulder. “Try not to insult each other too much while I’m gone. I wouldn’t want to miss a good one.”

Quill turned his head to give you a crooked smirk in response. “All my insults are good ones.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back. “Half your references are so old and obscure even I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about half the time.”

His jaw dropped in offense, and you laughed. You were about ten years younger than Quill, and he took every single one of those years as some kind of personal offense. So, of course, you tended to play it up.

Rocket scoffed, shaking his head at the two of you. “You both make no sense.”

“I don’t know how you put up with us, Rock.” you said with a wink, and he smirked despite himself, ducking his head. “I’m gonna try making that spicy thing you liked again. I’ll bring up some for the two of you when it’s done.”

“You don’t even like spicy food.” Rocket pointed out and you shrugged the shoulder Groot wasn’t sitting on.

“Yeah, but you do.”

Rocket watched you leave, his brow furrowed. “I don’t get it.”

Quill adjusted the controls in front of him, settling comfortably back into his seat. “Get what?”

“Why Y/N… does that.”

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific.”

Rocket rubbed at one of his eyes with his paw, shaking his head. “Just, that—”

***

You sidestepped a wrench as it clattered across the floor, a smirk playing on your lips. This was exactly why you never went around barefoot; steel-capped boots were pretty much a must on the Milano. Rocket’s head was in an open panel, his paw buried in his toolbox and his back to you. “You wanna watch where you’re throwing those things, man?”

He spoke without looking up, sarcasm lacing his tone. “Why do that when you can just watch where you’re walkin’?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re seriously a charmer, Rocket.”

“You know it, doll.” he replied without looking up.

“How’s it coming?”

Rocket huffed, turning to dig deeper into his tool chest. His fur was mussed, sticking up around one ear – a sure sign he’d been at this for a while. Whenever he was frustrated, he’d tug at that spot of fur absently. “Would be fine if I could find the damn plasma—”

“You mean this?” you bent down to pick up the tool from where it was half-hidden under a crate. You held it up pointedly until he turned around, surprise lighting on his features. “Is this what you were looking for?”

“I—yeah?” Rocket said, his tone softer than before. You handed it to him, leaning back against the crate. “Since when do you know anything about tools?”

“I looked it up a while ago. Taught myself.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

You shrugged, leaning back against the crate. “So, I could help you.”

***

“This is disgustin’!” Rocket snarled, clawing at his fur irritably. He, like the rest of the crew, was covered in thick, dark purple goo. It was viscous and sticky; it was the remainder of some seriously disgusting alien pods that you’d all been contracted to destroy. They were a pest species popular on the black market; they could do some serious damage to a planet if left unchecked.

You’d found them in a cavern about thirty miles outside a small city, hanging from the ceiling in nets. You’d dealt with the smugglers and Quill had opened fire on the closest net. It had exploded, leaving you all retching and covered in the goop.

“Why the hell did we take this job?”

“For about thirty thousand units,” you said dryly, rubbing a towel through your soaking hair.

Quill had called “Captain’s Rights” and claimed the first shower, so you’d filled a bucket with steaming water and lugged it to your bunk. You’d stripped out of your mission gear and spent twenty minutes scrubbing the gunk off your skin. It had taken half a bottle of body wash and you’d ruined your loofah before you’d even gotten a chance at the shower.

It had taken another fifteen minutes and a lot of shampoo to finally remove the goo from the locks it had gotten caught in. Drax was in there now, and while Gamora and Quill were getting the ship back in the air again, Rocket was left in the cargo bay, furious over his condition. He’d been standing behind Drax when the first pod had exploded, so he’d been spared most of the goop, but it still clung to sections of his fur stubbornly.

“Yeah, well, it isn’t enough.” he grumbled, cursing as the goo glued his paw to the fur of his neck. He grunted as he pulled it free, taking a little fur with him. You hid a small, amused smirk as he did. “This shit is never comin’ off.”

“This might help,” you suggested, setting a fresh bucket of hot water and a cup down next to him. You held out your now half-empty bottle of shampoo. “And so will this.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, and you shrugged. “It’s all I had. You might just have to deal with smelling like vanilla and grapefruit for a little while. Sorry. But it’s probably a good thing, because that gunk really stinks.”

Rocket snickered despite himself, shaking his head as he took the bottle from you. “Fine.”

“You’re welcome.” He gave you an exasperated look, and you smiled, sitting cross-legged on the floor. You watched him struggle with the cap for a moment, the goop on his paws sticking to the plastic. “Dude… do you want a hand?”

His ears rose in surprise before they lowered back against his skull again, his expression turning apprehensive. You held up your hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, it took me almost half an hour to scrub that shit off, and I’m not covered in fur. You wanna do it yourself, by all means. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

You made move to stand, and he groaned dramatically in annoyance. He didn’t say anything, he just held out the bottle petulantly. You smiled softly, taking it from him. You could feel his eyes on you, wary, as you filled the cup with hot water and squirted shampoo into your palm. “Relax, Rocket. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He huffed a sigh, his shoulders lowering slowly. He held out an arm, letting you gently take hold of his wrist. “I know.”

***

“Groot! Set your ass down, would ya?”

You paused in the corridor as you heard Rocket bark irritably. Stepping into the doorway of their shared bunk, you watched in amusement as Groot terrorized his surrogate father. The raccoon was curled up in his hammock with his back to you – you’d relieved him at about three a.m. to take your turn ‘piloting’. Mostly, you just had to make sure the autopilot stayed on course and that nothing unexpected came your way. That was about six hours ago, and by the looks of things, he hadn’t actually gotten much in the way of sleep yet.

Groot on the other hand, was in high spirits, bouncing around the room and chattering excitedly. Rocket groaned, shoving a pillow over his head.

Rolling your eyes at the two of them, you whistled, catching the Flora Colossus’ attention. He immediately ran towards you, vines clinging to your leg. You saw Rocket’s ear perk up under the pillow at the sound as you let Groot clamber enthusiastically up your arm. “C’mon, sprout. Leave your Rocket alone and I’ll make breakfast.”

Rocket rolled over, his head peeking out from under the pillow. He watched you through one lazily opened eye, his fur mussed. “What’re you doin’?”

You tickled Groot’s belly with your fingertip, grinning tiredly as he giggled. You spoke through a yawn. “Distracting the child so you can get some sleep.”

“But you’re tired.”

“Not as tired as you,” you shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ll just take a nap later. This is what coffee’s for, anyway.”

Rocket gave you a small, weary smile. “You’re a doll.”

“And that right there is why I do it,” you teased with a smile of your own. You reached up to stroke the soft fur of his ear, and he sighed, settling back into the hammock. His eyes closed slowly, his lips curving softly. “’Night, Rock.”

“Night.”

***

“—that thing they do.”

Quill sniggered, shaking his head and setting the ship to autopilot before standing. “You really are thick, man.”

Rocket raised a brow, offended, following after him as he headed for the ladder down to the ship’s main quarters. The scent of warm spices already teased at his nose. “What’re you talkin’ about, humie?”

“C’mon, Ranger Rick. Is it really that hard to figure out?” Quill asked over his shoulder. He sighed when he caught Rocket just staring at him blankly. “They do it because they like you. It really can’t be that much of a shock.”

Rocket stopped, his cheeks warming under his fur. “You—you’re just—I—”

Quill turned to grin down at him as he reached the kitchen. “You seriously didn’t know? Oh, man, this is going to be fun.”

You looked up from the stove, ladling curry into a bowl. “What’s going to be fun?”

Quill winked at you, accepting the bowl from you as he stepped past you to sit at the table beside Gamora. She rolled her eyes at him, a light smirk curving her lips as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You’ll see.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, amused. You turned to Rocket, who still hovered in the doorway. Groot had run over to him as soon as he’d seen him and was now perched happily on his shoulder. “You didn’t have to come down, I would’ve brought it up to you.”

Rocket ducked his head, glancing at Quill briefly before shrugging. He rubbed at the back of his head bashfully. “’s fine. We, uh… we figured we could all eat together.”

You grinned, taking a seat and patting the space beside you. “Great. If the curry doesn’t blow your head off this time, I give up.”

He snickered, sitting up next to you. Groot ran out onto the table, set on bothering Drax while he tried to eat. You lightly touched a finger at the edge of Rocket’s ear, smirking as it flicked forward in reaction. He swiped at your hand with his paw, cheeks warming once more.

tags: @lovely-dreamer19 @spacesuitsforemergency @wittyforachange @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @glossyloner @capitalnineteen @dragon-chica

322 notes · View notes

noladyme · 4 years ago

Text

Chess. Chapter 7

Y/N never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. She only took what she needed, or what she felt others needed. She’d stayed out of sight for a long time, avoiding anything that could get her in to too much trouble. But for some reason Rick Flag shows up in her life, and in an instant, everything changes.

TW: Language, sexual themes, injuries. Rated M for sMut. You knew we’d get here at some point.

(This story is obviously non-canon, i.e. Diablo and GQ, but I hope you’ll enjoy it either way. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.)

---

I felt the blast before I heard it. It pushed me into the air, hot and forcefully.

The sound made my ears pop as I flew.

This is it. I’m dying in a second.

I hit the ground. Blackness.

An eternity went by.

“She’s under that car!”.

“Get a crowbar or something!”.

Metallic screeches. The air smelled like smoke; and I coughed.

“Chess? Kid? Are you in there?”.

“Mami, say something!”.

“I’m here”, I croaked. I tried to crawl towards the voices, but my foot wouldn’t move.

It was dark around me. Feeling my way with my hands, I felt something like a handle, recognizing it as belonging to a car door.

“Y/N”, I head Flag yell.

I pushed at the door, making a crack to let in some light.

“Croc!”, Flag yelled, and the door was ripped away from over me. I looked up at the squads worried faces. Flag grabbed my arms, trying to get me up.

“I’m stuck”, I wimpered.

Croc, Floyd and Diablo put their backs against the car that pinned my ankle down. Digger and Flag each took one of my arms.

In the background I saw Harley yelling at the soldiers to help.

“1... 2… 3!”, Floyd counted, and the three men pushed at the car, lifting it slightly, allowing the other two to pull me free.

I scrambled forward, ending up in Flags arms.

“Chopper inbound”, Edwards called, and Flag picked me up, carrying me in the direction of rotor sounds.

“Beta Team are clearing out any stragglers. We’re good to liftoff”, Edwards said, as we moved to the chopper.

Setting me down in one of the seats, strapping me in; Flag pulled out a bowie knife, and started cutting open the bottom of my pantleg, and then took of my boot.

“Don’t joke about me ripping your clothes off”, he grumbled; as I tried to hide a smile.

Determining that my ankle was most likely not broken, Flag went to his own seat, and strapped in for the ride back to Belle Reve.

---

Celebrating a job semi well done, we were granted a case of beer; outdated a few months earlier.

I’d had the chance to wash up, and put on my prisoner clothes, before Flag arrived at my cell, strapping me back up in the harness. I put my flannel over it.

“You don’t want to miss the party”, he’d said, and had a group of guards transport me in a wheelchair to the gym.

I hadn’t seen a doctor for my ankle; which I wasn’t surprised about; but the alcohol, and a couple of little pink “friends” – as Digger had called them, after he pushed them into my hand – made the pain bearable.

Harley had helped me out with a bandage; so sitting there in the wheelchair, drinking the stale beer, leg raised by a folding chair, I was content.

The guards had also “blessed” us with a small karaoke machine, and I was chuckling my way through Diggers strangely erotic rendition of Waltzing Mathilda.

“And he sang as he sat, and waited while his billy boiled: You’ll come a waltzing Mathilda with meeee”; he moaned; one hand pointing into the air, hips thrusting to what I guessed he thought was the beat of the song.

“You did good, kid”, Floyd said from next to me. “Made a choice probably none of us would”. He took a sip of his own beer.

“I guess so”, I answered.

“Now don’t get me wrong, doll”, he continued. “Good doesn’t necessarily mean smart”.

He smirked at me.

“You know you could have died back there”.

“That probably wouldn’t have been good for team morale”, I laughed, and he nodded with a smile.

Harley took over the mic, Digger having fallen from the chair he’d been standing on. Taking a deep breath, she led us into a heavy metal version of Stand By Your Man.

Diablo and Croc were arm-wrestling; actually having a pretty even fight, as the tattooed man would let his hand light on fire every time Croc almost had him defeated.

Once Harley started bawling her way through the second chorus, I decided it was time to turn in.

Wishing Floyd a good night, I wheeled my way towards the metal door.

Edwards was standing outside it.

“Boss wants to see you”, he mumbled, cuffed me to the chair, and wheeled me off, out of the building towards some barracks next to the cellblock.

“What does he want?”, I asked.

“Don’t know, don’t care”, was the answer; as he drove me into the building, and down a hallway.

We stopped outside a door. Edwards banged on it.

“Colonel!”.

Flag opened the door. He’d cleaned up too; and was drying his hair with a towel.

“Uncuff her”, he said shortly.

“Sir?”, Edwards said.

“Do it. I’ll bring her back to her cell when we’re done”.

Edwards looked at him questioningly; but began to uncuff me from the chair.

“I’ll radio if I need you”, Flag said, and Edwards left us.

“Come in”; Flag said to me, and moved out of the way, so I could stand, and limp my way into the room.

A bed, a desk, a couple of chairs, and a minifridge were placed up against the walls of his quarters.

It was surprisingly messy. Not dirty in any way, but both chairs had become makeshift closets, and papers were spread across the desk and bed; telling me that Flag literally took his work to bed with him. I chuckled to myself, thinking it must have been a while since anyone had been in here with him.

He cleared one of the chairs and pulled it out for me to sit on.

“I don’t have bitters or ice, so you’ll have to drink it neat”, he said, handing me a glass of amber liquid I instantly recognized as whiskey.

“How’s the ankle?”, he asked, taking a sip from his own glass, and sitting down on the edge of the desk.

“It’s ok. Digger had some fun little pills in his stash, that took the edge of the pain”, I smirked, and took a sip from my glass.

“I’m sure he did”, Flag retorted, almost looking defeated. “It’s like dealing with a kindergarten. And that?”. He nodded at the bandage placed on my foot and ankle, to decrease the swelling. The thing was covered in stickers, and held together by a couple of glitter hairpins.

“Harley”, we said simultaneously, and laughed, our eyes meeting for the first time. For a second all air went out of the room; but then Flag looked down at the floor.

“They didn’t want you in the hospital wing”, he said, still not looking at me.

“I scare them, don’t I?”, I asked, finishing my drink, and putting the glass on top of a stack of files on the desk.

“They’re worried, yeah”. He finished his own drink, and took both glasses away, putting them down next to a bottle on top of the minifridge. “You’re able to disappear at will; and they don’t know you won’t sneak up on them, and slit their throats”.

“Even with this?”, I asked, gesturing towards the belts and wires strapped to my body.

“Yeah. They ain’t exactly geniuses in this joint”, he scoffed.

He went to sit on the other chair, facing me. He wrung his hands; seeming indecisive about something.

“Hey”, I said, biting my lip. “Thanks for not letting me die”. I looked at him, and smiled, trying to ease the tension in the room.

“You’re Wallers newest toy. She would have had my ass if I did”, he answered shortly.

I raised my eyebrows. “Ok. Good talk”. I went to stand, finding it difficult to put weight on my busted ankle.

Limping towards the door, I was about to knock it, hoping a nearby guard would take me back to my cell. At this point, anywhere was better than here.

“You know, I thought were smarter than that, Y/N”, Flag suddenly said, startling me. “Why would you do something so stupid? Putting yourself at risk like that?”.

“What do you mean?”, I wondered.

He chewed at his bottom lip, looking at me angrily. “You threw yourself headfirst into that situation; almost got yourself killed!” He stood up, and paced the floor, staring me down; as I stood there, mouth agape, not knowing what to say.

“I told you before, I can’t always be around to protect you. You need to be smarter than that”.

“Locking me in a dark room, treating me like and animal? Strapping me up with this bullshit chastity belt contraption? Is that what you call protecting me?”.

I was on a roll. Who does this asshole think he is?, I thought.

“Did you forget that I’m a scumbag, and that the world would be better if I just disappeared?”. I pointed an angry finger at his chest and looked him square in the face. “I was doing my job. The job you hunted me down, trapped me, and tortured me to get me to do”.

He stepped back.

“That wasn’t my call”, he said, and went to pour another glass for himself.

“Waller?”, I asked, voice low.

“She seemed to think that letting the guards here work on you a bit before we returned, would make you more compliant”. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

I scoffed. “Why do you work for her?”.

He lowered his glass, having just been about to take a sip.

“I guess I’m a bad guy too”, he said, and drank the whole content of the glass in one swig.

I took a step forward; having forgotten all about my hurt ankle. The pain from stepping down on it, made me stumble and fall.

Flag ran over to catch me, but I hit the floor with my knees, cursing.

“Shit”, I yelped, and tried to stand again.

Flag grasped my elbow, and put his arm around my waist, supporting my weight. I pushed at his chest.

“Let go; I can take care of myself”, I said, struggling against his grasp. He held on to me, forcing me to lean against him; chest to chest.

“Would you just let me help you?”, he growled at me, putting his other arm under my knees; lifting me into the air.

Kicking my legs, I grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back, my other hand scratching at his arms.

“Get. Off. Me!”, I roared, and smacked him across the face.

Having been walking towards a chair, Flag changed direction.

“Fine!”, he barked; and let me go.

---

I landed with a bump on the bed. Shocked, all I did was stare up at him; standing over me, breathing heavily. Grasping my face with both hands, he leant over me; and planted his lips on mine.

I think I blacked out for a second – everything was Flag and his lips, tugging at mine.

His hands moved to my shoulders, gently pushing me backwards; until I was lying down underneath him; his one knee between mine.

I opened my mouth slightly, letting his soft tongue find its way to mine.

Grinding his hips against me, his groin meeting my core; it felt like I was on fire. I threw my head back and moaned.

Flags lips moved towards my neck, his hot breath sending tingles through my body. He kissed and nibbled at the sensitive skin below my ear, and moved down; reaching the spot where he’d used the strange gun to place the nano-bomb.

He suddenly groaned and pulled back; getting of the bed.

“Shit, we can’t do this”, he cursed, running his fingers through his hair, and pacing the floor again. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. This is wrong. I should take you back to your cell”. His eyes met mine, almost pleading.

The pain in my ankle completely forgotten, I stood up. I stormed across the floor, pushed him against the wall, and grabbed the back of his neck; pulling him in to another kiss.

“I don’t give a shit if this is wrong”, I said pointedly. “You finish what you started, Flag!”.

His eyes were instantly on fire. He grabbed my bottom, and lifted me up so quickly, it was almost dizzying.

“Rick”, he breathed.

“Rick”, I smirked; and pushed my lips to his, our tongues colliding, and fighting for dominance. He tasted like whiskey and chewing gum.

As I straddled his waist, he spun us around; pushing me against the wall – his hips grinding against my core once more. He grabbed at my collar, pulling it down; and nibbled and licked my exposed neck and shoulder.

The sensation almost sent me over the edge, as I felt his hardening member through his cargo pants, rubbing against my most sensitive spot.

I’m about to have sex with a guy who wears cargo pants, I chuckled to myself.

“What”, Rick asked, out of breath.

“Nothing”, I answered. “Just keep going”.

He carried me to the bed, and laid me down; my legs still in a tight grip around his body. His weight on me put even more pressure on my core, and I gasped loudly.

“Eager kitten, aren’t you?”, he chuckled into my ear, and tugged at my lobe with his teeth. My eyes rolled back, and I let out a mewl, as his fingertips travelled down my side, ending up at my waistband.

He ran one finger along the band, once again kissing me, this time softly; exploring the curves of my lips with his own.

He sat up on his knees suddenly, making my butt move up his thighs; as I was still holding on to him something fierce, with my own.

He looked down at me, soft eyes exploring my own, then travelling down my body.

“You sure you want this?”, he asked. Biting my lip, I nodded.

Rick pulled of his t-shirt, and as it travelled up his body, I swallowed hard. His muscles flexed, revealing the reason he was so strong.

Colonel Flag worked out! He was fit; slender, but not skinny. His muscles were defined, and his skin smooth and tanned. I ran a hand up his torso, and scratched at his chest; feeling the small amount of hair there, soft against my fingertips.

Throwing his t-shirt on the floor, he smiled smugly, and chuckled at me. Putting his hand around my back, he pulled me up into a seated position on his lap; our faces inches from each other.

I felt his breath again, warm; and he grabbed my bottom lip between his teeth, nibling slightly, before exhaling and looking me into the eyes again.

My body was frozen in place. What the hell are you doing to me, colonel?, I thought.

“Let’s get this of you”, Rick smiled, and pulled at my flannel shirt. Taking it of me, he threw it behind his back; and it landed on the desk, knocking over one of his piles, making us both laugh.

I ran my fingertips down his spine, as he leaned in for another kiss. I teased him; pulling my mouth away at the last second, tilting my head, and biting my bottom lip.

He tried again, and as I did the same thing; his eyes on fire, he growled, and grabbed both my hips.

He lifted me from his lap effortlessly, and threw me backwards, making me land on the middle of the bed, on top of the papers strewn there.

With one hand, he took a firm grip around my wrists, holding them over my head.

I giggled and struggled against his grip, as he straddled my legs with his own, and grabbed the bottom of my face; kissing my lips passionately.

“Who’s the eager one now?”, I smirked at him, as he pulled back. His answer was to kiss me again, grab my hip with one hand, and flip me over; still holding on to my wrists. Grabbing and squeezing my buttcheek, he leant over, and whispered in my ear from behind me.

“I can stop any time you ask”, he breathed, and chuckled when I mewled in response to his fingers close vicinity to my core.

He smacked my butt, and flipped me over again; this time letting go of my wrists, and sitting back up.

I threw myself at him – our lips once again meeting – one hand in his hair, the other scratching his back from top to bottom, ending up at his waistband; slipping my fingers underneath it, to stroke the top of his ass. It was firm; and I was eager to find out how it looked.

Smiling giddily, I started undoing his belt; as he sat back, hands behind him, looking at me intently.

Opening his pants fly, I noticed the fabric of his boxers struggling to keep the little colonel in place. Rick inhaled quickly, as I let my finger softly stroke his length through the fabric.

Biting my lip, I looked up at him. One eyebrow raised, he smirked at me. You’re a smug sonofabitch, I thought – but I had to admit to myself that he did have plenty to be smug about.

Rick leaned back towards me, and as his tongue restarted its exploration of my mouth, he started tugging at the hem of my tank top, trying to get it over my head – something that turned out to be an impossible task, due to the harness I was still wearing.

“Shit “, Rick said.

I sat back on the bed and sighed. I knew this had been too good to be true.

Rick caught my eyes, as if searching for something. He shook his head.

“Fuck it”, he said. He got up, walked to his desk, and opened the top drawer. He took out his key to the disc on my chest.

Once he got back to the bed, he unlocked the harness; and I lifted my butt slightly, letting him pull it off me.

He quickly threw it on the floor, and looked down at me, as I sat there – eyelevel with his stomach.

I ran my hand up his toned torso, and he grabbed my wrists again, lifting my arms into the air. Then – as eagerly as he had with the harness – he pulled my tank top over my head, leaving me in my bra and shorts.

He ran a finger across the uncovered top part of my breast, giving me goosebumps, and making me tingle in all the right places.

I looked up at him, once again biting my lip.

“You’ve got to stop doing that, kitten”, Rick breathed. “You don’t know what it does to me”.

Placing my palm over his covered member, gently squeezing it; feeling it’s warmth through the fabric.

“I can tell exactly what it does to you”, I smirked, licked my lips, and kissed his stomach just above the waistband of his boxers.

I started tugging at his cargo pants, and he stepped out of them, kicking them away.

Still seated, I put my hands on each of his butt cheeks, and pulled him closer to my face.

Looking up at him, I opened my mouth and put my lips on his length. His eyes widened, as he gave a small gasp.

“Y/N”, he breathed.

I moaned, and tugged gently at the fabric of his boxers with my teeth. Hearing him hiss, I laughed quietly; and hooked my fingers in the waistband, starting to pull down his boxers.

Behind my back, I could feel him unhooking my bra. Removing it myself; he meanwhile shucked his boxers.

Hi there, my eyes lit up. Standing at attention, Ricks member was right in front of my face; and I couldn’t help myself.

I placed one hand on his butt cheek, and the other closed around my new friend. Gently kissing the tip, I tasted the salty pre-ejaculate waiting there.

I opened my mouth; and meeting his eyes above me I took him in to my mouth, stroking his length with my hand.

I moaned, moving my head back and forth – tasting his warm skin, and feeling his veins ripple against my lips as I moved.

Ricks hands suddenly pulled at my hair, making me let go of his manhood.

Mouth still agape, I looked up at him, panting. He looked about to explode with lust.

He pushed me back in the bed, and pulled down my pants with shaking hands. Slinging them who knows where; he crawled over my body, grasping my right breast with a firm hand.

His other hand travelling upwards from my knee on the inside of my leg; he put his lips around my nipple, and sucked greedily.

I gasped loudly, as his fingers reached my covered folds. He continued to assault my right nipple for a couple of seconds more, before smirking up at me; then quickly pulled my panties to the side, and slid his finger between my wet labia.

He gave my left nipple a quick kiss, and moved his face to meet mine, grasping my lips with his own.

Continually kissing me, my hands in his hair; he stroked his finger from my entrance up to my sweet spot. Finding it engorged, he rubbed it gently between his thumb and index finger; driving me crazy with his circular motions.

My panties were discarded by joint effort.

He slid his free hand behind my torso, grasped my waist, holding on to me firmly. His member poking at my thigh, he held me down; one leg intertwining with mine.

He returned to my clit, stroking it softly.

His pleasuring hand pulled me closer and closer to the edge, when suddenly he slid his ring and middle finger inside me; and moved them in a come hither motion, rubbing his palm against my nub.

I pulled my mouth from his; gasping and moaning. A fiery tingle started spreading from my core, all the way through my arms and legs, fingers and toes.

I grasped the sheet, and threw my head back. Rick kissed and sucked at my neck, letting his warm breath there intensify the sensation on the rest of my body.

His hand continually moved – pressing upwards inside me, and downwards outside.

“I…”, I gasped.

“I know, kitten”, he breathed heavily. He kissed me again. “Let go”.

A hot wave, intense and earthmoving, washed over my body, from my core and outwards.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t breathe. My whole body tensed up, and I swear I floated into the air for a second; before dropping back down on the bed.

---

All the while, Rick had been staring at my face.

My body continued to climax, even after he had removed his hand from my warmth. He was now stroking my face, examining every inch of it with inquisitive eyes, as my muscles relaxed more and more; allowing me to breathe in a steadier pace.

“That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen”, he said, voice low; his index finger travelling from my forehead, over my nose, and finally stroking the edges of my lips.

I sputtered with laughter.

“I mean it!”, he said. I slapped his shoulder lightly.

“My cumface is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”, I laughed at him.

“Yeah!”, he laughed.

“You can’t be serious”, I smiled.

“Well I did see an original WWII Lanchester submachine gun once, that got me pretty hard”, he smirked.

I laughed out loud again, making him chuckle.

“Speaking of hard…”, he said, and moved to lie between my legs. “… I’m not done with you”.

His eyes bore into mine; and he positioned himself at my entrance.

I gasped; and Rick slid into me slowly, letting me feel every delicious ripple of him as he did. Everything was this moment, and we started to move together.

Tag list:

@gloriousgam3r

@hyp-oh-critical

#rick flag #rick flag x reader #rick flag fic #rick flag imagine #suicide squad fic #suicide squad imagine #deadshot #harley quinn

109 notes · View notes