#I liked to think rick was trying to look good for reader during the briefing; and she literally did not notice it was for her lmao

[babblydrabbly]

Trust Me Pt. 5 (Rick Flag x Reader)

[Gif]

Pairing(s): Rick Flag x F!Reader

Character(s): Rick Flag, Blackguard, Amanda Waller, and Florence Crawley, Boomerang. Brief mention of Harley Quinn and TDK.

Rating: General

Word Count: 2.5k+

Warning(s): Language, blood/violence. Guns, injuries.

A/N: Been a minute! Thank you to those still reading this series <3 Let me know if you wanna be tagged.

Pt. (1)(2)(3)(4)

Another mission, another risk of life and limb. You almost fall back into old habits— Rick won’t let you this time.

Taglist: @rrtxcmt @to-be-or-not-to-be-2021 @captainjaspenor @everythingiloveandcherish @mochminnie @chaosconcerns @oopsiedoopsie23 @malar-region @ajeff855 @monkeyyellowsunshine

“This is your name? Your full name is Richard Hertz?” You asked Blackguard, almost warily. You knew it was, you just couldn’t believe you only noticed it earlier that morning. You held up a manila folder with his mugshot paper clipped to the outside. He was holding a placard with his information in the photo, for obvious reasons. He leaned forward, squinting at his own image.

The criminal shrugged in his seat, lanky arms rising and dropping. “Yeah?”

“Richard as in Dick. Your name is Dick Hurts.”

“Well don’t say it all weird.”

You frowned. “How am I saying it?”

“You’re putting emphasis on the Hertz part.”

“Well, I’m not going to put emphasis on the dick part.” You muttered, looking back down at his file.

You heard a soft snort from behind you. Flag entered the briefing room, his stride leading him right to you. You stood from your folding chair across from Blackguard.

"You bullyin' the assets now?" Rick quipped. He held his own set of files tucked under one arm.

He was wearing the black uniform and boots he put on for squad member briefings, minus the baseball cap usually on his head. He had combed his hair back neatly, his face clean shaved. You glanced down to see the zipper of his jacket half undone, a tight black shirt stretching over his toned chest underneath it.

You shifted awkwardly in your white button-up blouse and stiff jacket— The outfit of someone whose been stuck in an office. Rick's eyes flickered over your styled hair and the analyst lanyard dangling around your neck.

"I wasn't bullying him. I was just— Trying to find out his preferred name." You said in your own defense. You hugged your stack of files and tablet to your front while he shook his head.

"Think he's fine with Hertz." Flag assured you. His smirk was both annoying and comforting.

You blinked, puzzled, when he gives you a light tap on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "Look at you. Brace free."

"Oh," You lifted your arm. Now fully healed, you smiled appreciatively up at Rick for noticing. “Yup. Reinstated."

"Harley's been askin' when you'd turn up again."

Before you could reply, Waller entered the room. She made eye contact with you pointedly, her wordless summons. Rick watched you freeze up, watched the way you broke away from him without any hesitation to join her mid-conversation.

Rick wondered a lot about you and Waller. You weren’t all Yes, Ma’am’s at every turn; He came to understand your role was to question every mission’s loose end, every piece of the big picture— But you didn’t push back the way you did with him.

You didn’t really push back the way you did with Rick— not with anyone else.

The colonel kept his sigh to himself. He’d have to worry about figuring you out later. He moved to plant his feet over by the wall as the briefing began, careful not to let his eyes linger on you too long.

As it turned out, Harley Quinn wouldn’t be on this one.

You glanced around and noted another sausage fest coming together for Task Force X's next operation. Blackguard, Boomerang, some guy in a helmet with initials for a name. You took your seat, disappointed. Quinn would have been perfect for this one.

You sat by yourself during the short meeting: Front row, in Waller's orbit. As the lights dimmed, you ran the plan she gave the rest of the room through your head again. Touch down on the tarmac, take down the plane before it gets off the ground, get out before the bad guys called in more bad guys. It was your first mission back in the field; It'd been three months since you were out.

From the corner of your eye you could see Rick, his hands resting on his belt as he paid attention.

You shifted again. Your seat felt too small all of a sudden.

Jesus— Stop looking at him for five seconds.

You had noticed the habit form after some prodding from Flo over the weeks. It started when Flag would show up to plan and get his own personal directives from Waller. He would take up a seat at one of the small desks sometimes, filling out paperwork or waiting for his meetings.

You'd heard his voice drift over through your open door, or the familiar way he would idly click a pen over and over while lost in thought. You found yourself sticking your head out of your office to catch a glimpse of him periodically. He looked ridiculous, sitting there with his little mug of coffee, the handle too small in his big hand.

Finally, he‘d return the glance, and you’d hesitantly give him a wave from across the room on his way out. He mirrored the gesture, the elevator doors closing between you.

You trailed your eyes away to see Flo staring back at you, and you dreaded the way her face lit up.

You tried to shut your office door on her, embarrassed, but she was too quick. "[Y/n]. [Y/l/n]."

"I'm busy, Flo."

"The hell you are.“ She teased. “You have enough time to wave at Flag."

You huffed at how this office was so gossipy, considering it was a black ops unit. If there was one thing about all the desk nerds around the Argus building, it was how they all seemed to be sleeping with each other.

Well, all of them except you. You were a stick in the mud, even to your fellow pointdexters.

So, naturally, you had to spend a week reassuring Flo that yes, you didn't loathe Rick like you did a few months ago, but no, you two weren't... —Flo had broken out into a grin every time you trailed off. He was still a pain, you explained.

And you still made sure you were still one too. It was too odd to change now.

You found yourself letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding in when the lights finally went back up. You stood as some of the squad members asked… interesting questions. Waller answered them all, to her credit. Even the stupid ones.

When you all filed out of the room, you sighed with relief, hanging back in the hallway to avoid Waller’s scrutiny for just a moment longer.

"[Y/n]," The sound of your name in Rick's baritone made you stop. You ignored the way he said it— or rather— how much you enjoy hearing it.

“Yeah, Rick?”

“Can I talk to you? ‘Bout some notes I had.” He said, already opening the door to one of the conference rooms in the hall. You followed him without needing to hear more, closing the door behind you while he switched on the lights.

"What kind of notes?” You asked.

You still had your own reservations about dropping down from a helicraft into the area like the mission plan wanted. You threw in your bid for a ground assault from a back entrance, but it was scraped forty-eight hours ago for the drop.

Rick was smiling and shaking his head as he had a seat. You shot him a curious look; Taking a seat across from him, you wait for him to elaborate.

Rick waited too. Until he saw you were being serious. He scoffed.

“I was kiddin’, [Y/n]. Just wanted to get you away from the Wall for a second.” He said. “Looked like you needed a minute.”

“Oh,” Despite a flash of disappointment, you felt your shoulders relax.

He was right. You had been following around Waller all morning and the day before in preparation for the mission. It was the 24-hour window in which you’d better have an answer for anything she threw at you, or else. When you unfurled your fingers from the paperwork in your arm you winced, the dull ache still ghosting your forearm.

“You sure you’re good?” Rick asked. He leaned back in his swivel chair, lacing his fingers together over his lap. You rolled your eyes.

“It was a hairline fracture. I’m fine.” You said. “Why? You gonna recommend me off the mission?”

“Hell no. I’m not dealing with Boomerang by myself for a third time. —I’m countin’ on his crush on you to keep him distracted.”

“Crush on me?” If that was true, it was news to you. Rick ate up the way your face twisted into a grimace. He had to be fucking with you again. You drummed your fingers on the lacquered table.

The conversation lolled, but you didn’t mind the silence. The silence with Rick had been companionable lately— And you liked the quiet of the empty room. It was a welcome break from the comms center’s noise. You felt that tired nag at the back of your skull. The one you had to ignore before it pulled you down into a buzzing sea of exhaustion.

Rick can’t imagine it. How you could consider every paralyzing possibility that could happen out there— To turn into all into spreadsheets and numbers and still dare to jump into the fray with him anyway. As much as he had to think about as team leader, he didn’t need the big picture. He had his directives, his orders, and that was it. Mission over when mission was over— If he lived, of course. But you— your open book of a face was pinched with worry, even now.

“You ever tell her ‘no’ before?” He wondered out loud. You looked up from the tablet you were always habitually checking for updates. You shook your head. You didn’t have to give it any thought.

“Have you?” You retorted.

He shrugged. “Can’t say I’m in a position to do so.”

“I… You know how it is. When she says jump…” You drag your finger over the screen idly. “She doesn’t keep slackers around. Not for long.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever slacked off in your fuckin’ life.” He laughed. Really laughed. You felt a grin threaten to break you.

“Said West Point’s finest.”

He threw up a hand, waving you off. “Jesus. That was fucking years ago.”

“It got you here, didn’t it?” You meant it in a general way, but you saw the way it made Rick pause— The way he suddenly pulled back his light smile. He drummed his own fingers on the table slowly now, glancing away.

“Yep. Got me here.” He echoed.

Shit. Did that sound like an insult? You pulled the cord in your head before you could derail and overthink it. You cleared your throat, sitting up a little more.

“At any rate. We’re both here.” You tried, shooting him a smile. “And I think my new suit might be ready for this mission.”

It pulled him out of his thoughts just like you knew it would, his brow raising. “New suit?”

You concealed you smugness terribly. Rick was always making fun of the way every member had their own look— Even him— while you always showed up in your boring military fatigues.

A hypocritical dig, in your opinion, considering you‘d seen plenty of surveillance pictures of him in his favorite American flag cap and camo jacket before you even joined Argus. You always wondered what made him change it up.

“Research and development wanted to test out a new material for tact suits— I volunteered my measurements. For science, of course.”

Rick snorted. “For science?”

Your tablet lit up with an email from Flo, and you stood with a little more pep. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

—

You didn’t get the chance to gloat for long. The moment the squad touched down on the ground, all hell broke lose— But what was new?

An air drop would be fine, they said.

You sprinted through one of the airbase’s buildings after the target, your heart pounding. As you rounded a corner, you caught some grunt’s arm right to the chest, clothes lining you to the ground. Your teeth clacked together as you fell on your back. Without waiting for him to kick the shit out of you, you brought your foot up to kick him in the groin.

As he doubled over, you heard the swift fling of a boomerang. You flinched when it sliced right through the man’s neck.

“You alright?” Harkness called from down the hall, catching his weapon.

“Fine.” You ground out.

There was more fighting down the hall, gun shots ringing in your ears. Boomer and you kept booking it down the corridor to join the others.

Rick was finishing off the last of the henchmen in the area when you caught up. He looked at Boomer, gesturing for him to continue down the hall. You hung back for Rick to go with you when he lingers against the wall for a moment, catching his breath.

That’s when you saw it— The telling patch of his uniform soaked with something even darker, the rip at the center exposing red flesh. Boomer disappeared around the other bend while you holstered you gun, catching Rick as he sank to the ground.

“Just need a minute.” He breathed. You batted his hand away from his side, kneeling beside him.

“What happened?”

“Just a knife.” He said, like he wasn’t bleeding all over the fucking place. You glowered at him, willing for him to stuff the strong soldier bullshit.

You ripped off your utility bag and quickly unzipped it, yanking out a small white kit. Rick watched you tear that open too, quickly going to work on his mess of a wound.

"That's what you carry in that bag of yours?" He said incredulously after a moment. "You brought a medkit on a suicide mission."

"I don't know if it's that drawl of yours, but I think what you're trying to say is 'thank you'." You shot back, trying to focus. He was infuriatingly calm as you fumbled with the gauze pad in your hands. Your mind raced faster with ever spurt of blood that seemed to be gushing through Rick's fingers.

"Hey," He murmured, his breathing heavier than you’d prefer right now. He reached to place his other hand over yours, steadying you momentarily. You shook at the feeling of his blood, warm and tacky, sticking to your knuckles. "Not as bad as it looks."

"Let me just— I'll just stop the bleeding and we can move." You declared. Rick seemed to recognize the determination in your face, and removed his grasp to let you work.

"What a fucking shit show." You muttered. You poured a few droplets of solution onto his exposed skin. If it stung, Rick made no point of it.

"It happens." He said, watching you.

"It's a fucking waste of resources." You snapped. You wiped the sweat and stray hairs plastered to your forehead with the back of your hand. You had to ignore the way his blood smears over your temple, the smell of it reaching your nose. "If she would just wait, instead of wanting whatever she wants when ever she wants, we'd have less losses!"

Rick flinched as you punctuated your words, pressed the gauze tape down over his side too roughly. "Shit, [Y/n]." He breathed out sharply as he gazed at up you.

You made an exasperated sound, tossing the used wrappings back into the kit. You threw it all back into your bag. You were still shaking from all the noise and blood and death. Fuck. "I'm sorry, okay!"

He smiled a little then. In the middle of World War III, Rick Flag was smiling.

You expected Rick to other give you one of his pep talks about why you do what you do, but instead, he seemed to consider something in the silence; You don't expect to hear what he says next.

“You haven’t asked me yet. ‘Bout our kiss.” He finally said softly. “Thought I put the ball in your court, but… guess it wasn’t too noteworthy.”

He said it with a kind of light self depreciation. The kind that takes your mind off the gunfire around the two of you in an instant as you stare at him, trying to find the hidden explanation as to why the hell he’d be talking about it now.

But you were panicking a moment ago, hands flying over Rick while you worried. Rick knew you a little better now; Knew that bullets were too unpredictable and that your breathing was picking up speed— You didn’t like unpredictable. Didn’t like the chaos out here in the field.

But now you’re snorting, rolling your eyes at him.

“Not noteworthy?” It’s all I fucking think about.

Rick halted and stared at you.

Fuck.

Fuck.

You just said that out loud.

"I—” You were interrupted — of course you were— by an explosion that rocked the entire building. No one in the squad brought any fucking bombs, so you could only imagine what everyone had gotten up to in the five minutes you and Rick had spent down here.

"I…”

“We should talk about it. Later.” He said for you, smirk returning. You made yourself look full of disdain instead of the embarrassment you really felt. It didn’t seem to deter him one bit.

Gripping his hand too hard, you helped him on his feet before taking your gun back out of your holster.

“The suit looks good, by the way.” Rick added.

[3d-wifey]

Temptation Sings

Pairing: Ryūnosuke Tanaka x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Smut, fluff, senpai kink, p*rn watching, implied bisexual reader, excessive use of the word "babe" & some curse words

A/N: The senpai kink is sort of one-sided, but what kink isn't 💀 and the title is sort of based off a lyric from Super Freak by Rick James. Also, those are actual lines from a Hentai, but I fucking lost it half way through so I had to improvise. Anyway, this is over 3,000 words of straight dog water. Enjoy!

Synopsis: You ride Tanaka while watching hentai

"What kind of porn do you watch?"

"What?" Tanaka let out a quick bark of laughter before staring at you with wide eyes. His hand was frozen over the bowl of popcorn as he turned his full attention to you. The two of you had been dating for over a year now, yet, you've never had sex.

Sure, there had been some over the clothes stuff before. Some tops off heavy petting, some groping while making out, but it had never progressed past that. Not for a lack of trying, of course. Anytime you could find time to hang out alone, something would always interrupt you.

You weren't a virgin, but you didn't have much experience, so, naturally, you were more than a little nervous. And Tanaka, bless his soul, was pretty understanding. As long as you two could still make out and he could grab your ass, he seemed fine. But, he's still a teenage boy, no matter how respectful. He could only handle being blue balled so many times. And you wholeheartedly felt the same way.

This seemed like the best way to go about it. Establishing a common interest in what you both liked to get the ball rolling.

"Porn. I know you watch it, Ryuu. So...what kind?" You sat up on your side of the bed and leaned against the headboard, knowingly making him eye level with your breast. Nothing wrong with a little incentive.

"Okay, wow. You're serious. Um," he stuttered, eyes flickering over your chest and back to your eyes, before a blush settled flooded his cheeks, "You're just gonna laugh." He moved his gaze over to the movie playing on the laptop, avoiding eye contact. Was he embarrassed? He should know by now that you didn't judge.

You wouldn't be dating him if you did.

"I promise I won't laugh, baby. Look, I'll go first," you moved the bowl of popcorn off his lap and grabbed his hands to pull him up, "Pay attention."

"Wha–"

"There's Amateur, Lesbian," you ignored his questioning look and kept going, "Creampie, Fingering, Solo male and female, Public, and Taboo. That's all I can think of off the top of my head. You like any of that?"

He stared at you slack-jawed. Had you been too forward? You thought if you were honest about it, you both could be comfortable with each other. You watched in anticipation as he moved his gaze from you to the ceiling.

"Thank you, God," he whispered, almost on the verge of tears, "I must truly be blessed."

"Are you serious, Ryuu," you scoffed, hitting his arm to hide how relieved you really were, "You made me anxious for nothing!"

"That is so hot, babe," he grinned excitedly, moving to sit on his knees with his legs folded under him, "All that stuff sounds cool, and we're definitely gonna come back to that lesbian thing later, but I usually just watch...Hentai." He cleared his throat, scratching his cropped hair.

You pulled the laptop over to you and paused the movie playing. Pulling up the browser, you typed "Hentai" in the search bar, and hesitated for a second.

Hentai. Of course, it was hentai. You weren't surprised in the least that he got off to cartoon characters fucking. In fact, you expected it. You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to date him. You briefly wondered what kind he watched before it hit you.

Oh, yeah, you thought, he'd like that.

"What are you doing, babe?" He questioned. You paid his nervous laughter no mind as you queued up the perfect video. You were a genius.

_

"Are you okay with this, Kasuri?"

"I've been telling you that it's okay!"

You watched as the small girl pushed the boy on the ground and climbed on his hips to straddle him backward. To your complete surprise, you were actually kind of invested in the plot. Sure, some of the lines made you cringe and the ethics behind the sister trying to fuck her brother were a bit iffy, but, somehow, it was keeping you entertained.

The less than spectacular writing didn't seem to be affecting Ryuu any. With how much he jerked off to this kind of stuff, you figured he was probably used to it.

"I want you to take it...take me Senpai."

You felt Tanaka stiffen up beside you before quickly relaxing. Well, more like you felt him force himself to relax. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he subtly, or as subtle as Tanaka could be, adjusted himself in his sweats.

He was trying very hard to hide how much the video was affecting him; however, you always found Tanaka easy to read. The furrow of his brows, the twitch of his muscles, the restless tapping of his fingers along his thigh—all of it was effortlessly understood like the words of a well-loved book.

He was holding himself back for some reason that you couldn't find the effort in yourself to figure out, but he wasn't the only one affected.

"You have to tell me what you like. You have to teach me, senpai."

There was that stiffening again.

You placed your hand high on his tense thigh, completely ignoring the eyes burning into the side of your face. Unlike Ryuu, you were a fantastic actor. You decided you would wait for him to fully relax, or be as relaxed as any teenage boy could be while watching porn before you would strike.

You waited for the moment his leg softened under your hand and oddly enough it was at the point in the video where they showed a very detailed shot of the boy coming inside of the girl. He probably thought it was ending soon. Little did he know you were going in for the kill.

You cuddled further under his arm before you looked up at him with imploring eyes.

"Do you wanna do that...with me, senpai?"

It was just like any other kink, you rationalized. It was on par with the guys who were into being called 'Daddy' or 'Sir' or some other title. It didn't do anything for you, but if your magnificent hunk of a boyfriend got turned on by being called senpai, you were more than happy to go along with it.

"Well?" You prompted when he said nothing and gawked at you like a test he didn't study for.

"What did you call—is this—are we actually about to—" His wide eyes switched between you and the computer screen before deciding you were far more entertaining.

Instead of answering his stammering, you rose to your knees to pull the sundress over your head. You unhooked your bra and threw it off the bed with no regard for where it landed. It was a shame it wasn't one of your cuter ones, but you doubted Ryuu cared.

Your hands paused on the waistband of your panties when you realized he was frozen beside you, eyes flickering over your body like he didn't know where he should look.

"Am I gonna be the only one naked?" You would have thought he was on the court with how fast he jumped off the bed.

You watched from his bed as he struggled to get out of his clothes. It was adorable how excited he was, but he wasn't the only one. You've been waiting nearly thirteen months for this and you were practically vibrating out of your skin.

You were content to watch him almost bust his ass as he tried to get his sweats off when you remembered something.

"We don't need a condom. I'm on birth control." You started birth control years ago to handle your irregular periods, but it also came with the added benefit of Ryuu being able to cream you like a Twinkie.

He stared at you for a second with a blank face before closing his eyes with his hands clasped together...almost like he was praying? You heard him whisper something suspiciously along the lines of him being blessed before he practically bounded up to you like a hyper puppy

Probably not the best analogy to be made in your current situation, but it was true! He was bouncing on the balls of his feet and shaking his hands out like he always did before a match. You briefly wondered if he ever did this before. He never told you if he got this far with any of his exes and you never asked.

At that moment, you decided it didn't matter what he did before because you would be the best he ever had.

Your hands shot forward to pull his underwear down before pausing.

"Is... Is this okay?" You asked, hands hovering over his boxer briefs. For the first time during the entire affair, you were hesitant. What if you were pushing too fast? You hadn't exactly asked anything. You just gave out demands and he followed. You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you ended up pressuring him into this.

"I—," he stopped, staring down at you with wide eyes and for a split second, your heart stopped, "Are you kidding, babe? God, yes, it's okay!"

You honest to God giggled when you pulled him onto the bed with you and clamored onto his lap, like the stereotypical school girl. You calmed yourself down enough to just look at him. The way he gazed at you with a year's worth of pent-up desire made slick dampen the seat of your panties.

"You're just—you're beautiful. God, I love you so so much," the sincerity in his voice was amplified by the goofy grin he gazed up at you with and the blush on the apples of his tan cheeks, "you know that, right?"

One look at Ryuu and even a blind man could see how much he loved you. It was a good thing his feelings were mutual or it'd be pretty embarrassing.

"I love you too, idiot," your hand settled on the back of his close-cropped head to pull him into a kiss. And in typical Tanaka fashion, he kissed you like you were the only thing keeping him alive. He kissed like his only goal was to leave you as breathless as you made him. And he always succeeded.

"Now," you took a deep breath, "are you gonna fuck me, senpai?"

The groan he let out against your lips was more than enough of an answer for you.

You rushed to pull your panties off, thanking whoever was watching over you that it wasn't one with holes or bleach stains on it.

You reached to pull him out of his boxers, but he beat you to it. It gave you pause how he whipped it out like it was nothing to gawk at.

A little over half the length of your forearm, his dick was nothing to scoff at. He was the same width as your wrist with a thick vein running up the underside of his shaft.

Not the first dick you've seen but by far the biggest. Your heart rate picked up as you thought of the logistics of how he'd even fit inside you. You'd probably have trouble with just the tip.

You pulled the foreskin back to see precum already collecting at the angry red head. He jerked when you took the heavy weight of his dick into your hand and you could barely wrap your fingers around him. You didn't think he'd be so sensitive but you called yourself thankful for it. Easier to tease.

You rubbed his tip against the opening of your pussy and pulled away, strings of slick still connecting you. You repeated the action a few times before taking pity on your poor boyfriend. You used his quiet moans as motivation as you pushed his head past your tight hole.

You hissed at the unexpected stretch. The burn veering on the side of uncomfortable, but not painful. You couldn't tell if it was because of how long it had been since the last time you had sex with anyone or if it was because of the sheer size of him.

You decided it was the latter as you tried to take more of him.

"Here," you grabbed one of his thumbs and rubbed it over your clit in quick circles. The callused pad pleasurably rough against the slick covered bud. Luckily, he caught on quickly and kept up the pace as you tried to sink further down. The ache in your walls added to the pleasure on your clit.

You sighed once you finally reached the base. You hadn't expected this much effort would go into just taking him.

He was panting hard, eyes closed and struggling to hold still enough to let you adjust.

"Okay," you breathed, "okay." You slowly rose to your knees and peeked at his dick as it came out coated with your slick, before driving yourself back down with a moan. You settled your hands on his shoulders as you picked up a rhythm.

"You're such a badass, babe," he praised and you would have laughed if him shoving himself into you, thrust for thrust, didn't fuck a series of moans out of you.

You peppered quick kisses against his lips as you drove yourself up and down. You ran the tip of your tongue along his bottom lip before nipping at it. He eagerly took the hint and opened his mouth to you. You swallowed his groans as your hand slid up to the front of his neck and squeezed, tongues pressing together in an openmouthed kiss.

When you pulled away, his eyes flickered between your bouncing breasts, where his dick split you open, and your lidded eyes.

"I've dreamed of this for so long," you moaned as his hand resumed its motion on your sensitive clit. How he was able to piece together coherent sentences was beyond you, "Wanted you so bad, baby. So. Bad."

The headboard slammed into the wall as you sped up your pace. You were lucky you two were the only ones in the house.

"That's right, babe. Bounce on Senpai's dick. Fuck," he cursed, voice cracking when you swiveled your hips, "You like that, don't you? My pretty girl." You didn't want to admit it, but the senpai thing was really doing it for you. Not the actual word, but the sheer affect it had on him.

You can't say you were surprised by how talkative he was, his dirty words dripping over your overheating body like rich syrup. If you knew watching porn would lead to this, you would have done it ages ago.

His big hands used his grip on your ass to rock you back and forth at a faster pace. You relaxed your legs and let him take the lead, pulling his head towards your chest. The animated girl's moans on the computer combined with Tanaka's and created a harmony that pushed you closer to your release.

You moaned freely into his neck as the change of positions dragged your swollen clit over his pelvis with every buck of your hips. Sweaty bodies pushing and pulling against each other in a motion that was more grinding than riding.

Wet and sticky slaps echoed around the room, punctuated by the meat of your ass meeting his wet thighs. Thighs made wet by your juices collecting at the base of his cock.

Your release bubbled low in your stomach, steadily being pushed higher with every one of Tanaka's sloppy thrusts. It pulled heavily from below your naval, expanding to the point where you felt like you could burst. You weren't a virgin—this wasn't your first time, but, God, it felt like it was. And it might as well be your first time with how sensitive he made you.

You were sweaty and you were sore and so, so completely overwhelmed. But your mind was wonderfully cloudy with the pleasurable haze of an incoming orgasm and it made it hard to care.

"You close, babe?" You whimpered out a weak yes as his lips trailed from your jawline down to your damp neck before sucking on the skin.

"Can feel you squeezing me. So damn tight." He panted against your heaving breasts.

You knew it was coming, but knowing and feeling were too different things. Your thighs burned with fatigue, but you couldn't stop. You were so close and the humid air blurred out everything that wasn't Ryuu's cock plunging against that spongy patch on your wall and you didn't want it to end.

He couldn't take his eyes off of you as you used him for your pleasure. Head thrown back and skin gleaming with sweat.

"Shit, I'm-" he grunted at the tightening grip your walls had on him, just begging him to cum, "Fuck, 'M not gonna last, babe." His hips twitched uncontrollably as he rammed into you.

The knot in your stomach built and built before suddenly loosening, your vision blanking completely. Not that you could tell with how far back your eyes rolled. Hands shooting forward to desperately cling onto him as you trembled. Nails digging into his tense biceps, a mantra of his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your thighs shook as you rode yourself past the sensitivity.

And that's what does it for him, your impossibly tight heat clamping down on him. Tender balls pulled taut against his body as the white ring of cum coating his cock grew with every one of your thrusts down.

The only sound that escaped him was your name broken by his breathy moans.

Once you came back around, you're still dazed with cooling sweat gathering on both of your bodies. The air is still clammy and you were sore from your neck to your thighs but it didn't stop you from looping your arms around Ryuu's neck.

He gathered you into his warm chest, heavy arms locked around your waist.

"So," he huffed, "lesbian porn, huh?"

"Shut up, Ryuu."

[wonderswritings]

Devils Angel 2/?

Summary: He’s Waller’s lap dog. He goes where she says, does what she says, without question. Mostly. But it turns out he’s not her only lap dog, something he knew already but he’s never met her before today. And it turns out maybe he’s not as much of a lap dog as he thinks, because she gives him a run for his money. Warnings: None Pairings: Rick Flagx Fem!Reader (eventual)

Flag’s clearance gave him access to files in or on Belle Reve. Sure, most, if not all of them said files were blacked out, he could still access them. Even though his clearance was relatively high, it didn’t seem to matter because the one thing he was looking for, he couldn’t find even a mention of. It helped that Waller had been ignoring him, rescheduling their meeting for the next day only to never show, a repeating cycle that had gotten old after the second reschedule. But with Waller off being someone else's nightmare, he had plenty of time to look into the files. Still, Rick knew enough about the people who had a connection to Belle Reve. How the secretary is married, but takes their ring off every morning in the car and flirts with everything that breathes, occasionally sleeping with those who are willing. The guy who’s supposed to watch the cameras sleeps during his shift, paying one of the interns to watch the cameras instead. But the one thing he knows nothing about is the girl- no the woman- who disappeared outside Waller’s office. He’s searched the database, even went to the basement and bothered the lady who sits behind her desk, playing games on her computer to get access to the files that’ll never get digitazlied. But everywhere he could think to look he came back with nothing. Even his contacts outside of the prison came back with nothing, and they were some of the best. He even thought about asking around Belle Reve, but he didn’t want to risk Waller finding out he was asking about a ghost. For two weeks he looked and for two weeks he found nothing. Then Waller came back, and with her an influx of prisoners. So the search for the ghost was put on hold. Waller started to pile missions on him one after the other, the new prisoners getting a front row seat to the mayhem of the Squad. And before he knew it, six months had passed, and the search for his mystery ghost was forgotten. Trudging himself down the hall to another mission brief, he mentally prepared for another mission to hit the fan- what with Waller sending the ones who were the most least qualified for the mission. Every other time she’d done that, he’d fight back to at least get one person who’d at least try to listen, but Waller would always shut him down before he could make any argument against her. Walking into the room, Waller spared him a once over before she tossed a file at him.

“I’m sending someone with you. They’re not a prisoner here, so you’ll have no control over them.”

Flag made a face, looking up from the file.

“What do you mean they’re not a prisoner? I thought the squad was only for prisoners cause they’re expendable.”

“And they are. This one however is under my payroll. You won’t be able to threaten them by blowing their head off, but they’ll listen good enough.”

“Do I at least get to meet this person beforehand?”

Waller glanced at him, minutely shaking her head.

“You’ll meet them on the plane. You’ve got four hours to pick your team.”

Flag made a face as Waller walked towards the door, turning towards her.

“I get to pick the team?”

Waller clenched her jaw as she took a breath, nodding once.

“Read the mission parameters over, pick your team. They can be briefed on the plane, or not, I don’t care. Just get the mission completed.”

Flag nodded, slightly clenching his jaw.

“Yes mam.”

Waller walked out of the room, leaving Flag to look the file over as he tried thought about who the non-prisoner was that Waller was sending along.

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[uwurakax]

i wanna make her mine ♡

pairing: iwaizumi x f!reader (oikawa x f!reader) ♡

genre: angst // unrequited love // iwa’s in love with his best friends girl yay // love triangle(ish?) ♡

summary: he knew it was wrong, but iwaizumi hajime couldn’t help the fact that he was in love with his best friends girl ♡

word count: 1.9k ♡

author’s note: it’s not super angst, just a little bit (i wasn’t in the angst feels but i like it - a little lolol oops). someone needs to take youtube away from me from listening to these songs ✌️😭 as always its not proofread, so any mistakes yIKES ty for coming (also crappy writing due to writing this at 5am no sleep as always) 🌚 ♡

♡ (inspired by jessie’s girl by rick springfield) ♡

Iwaizumi Hajime is a good friend. Despite his intimidating stature and the frown lines that decorate his brow, he really was a kind and considerate guy; in his own way of course. Did he yell and raise his voice? Did he get violent with a certain pretty best friend of his? Of course, it’s just how Iwaizumi was. However ask his teammates and fellow peers and they’d tell you how loyal he is, how he always looked out for his friends. How he always put them first.

No one believed this more than said pretty boy best friend, Oikawa Tōru. Although the setter, and captain of their volleyball team, always complained about his ‘brutish friend’, he couldn’t deny that he did appreciate his childhood friends support and constant worry. As mean and as violent as Iwaizumi could get with him, Oikawa knew that deep down he was caring and looking out for him in his own manner.

“Hey, make sure you don’t stay up all night”

“If you catch a cold, I’m going to punch you”

Yes, those around him would say that Iwaizumi Hajime is a great guy and a good best friend, even if he was a ‘bit of a brute’. Though if you were to ask Iwaizumi himself, he’d wholeheartedly disagree with you. Why would he? Well, the answer is very simple.

Iwaizumi Hajime is in love with his best friends girlfriend.

It went against every moral compass implemented by humans. Against every bro-code created by men decades before him. He knew it was wrong, completely and utterly wrong. He knew he’d never do that to you, and he’d most definitely never do that to Oikawa; but Iwaizumi couldn’t help how he felt in the slightest. If he could, he’d tear up every emotion of affection he had towards you.

But unfortunately for Iwaizumi, he couldn’t.

This wasn’t some vampire TV show. He couldn’t turn off his emotions or humanity, no matter how much he wanted to; and by God did Iwaizumi want to. So badly. It was sick and twisted, the feelings he had for you.

L/N, Y/N. A fellow third year student at Aoba Johsai High School, Class 5. It was like fate had it out for him. He had the unfortunate pleasure of not just being in the same class as you, but seated in the desk right next to yours as well.

Life truly was cruel.

In this entire school, in the entire prefecture, the entirety of Japan, hell even of all freaking Earth, it just had to be you. Why, oh why did it have to be you?

Why did you have to fall in love with his best friend? And why did he have to fall in love with you?

It wasn’t like Iwaizumi didn’t want Oikawa to be happy. On the contrary, Iwaizumi never wanted Oikawa to be upset. He rarely saw the pretty setter truly smile, always opting to charm his way with a toothy grin, no matter who was on the receiving end. Iwaizumi knew, and could easily see through his deceptive smirk. He noticed, however, that he never used that smile around you.

Iwaizumi only ever saw Oikawa’s real smile around you. He could see that his best friend never needed to fake anything around you. Everything about you just radiated goodness, honestly and truth. It was probably why Oikawa never wanted to pretend with you.

And it only ever made it harder for Iwaizumi to hide his feelings from you.

He’d watch the way you’d come into practice, immediately greeting everyone, and then eagerly run towards your boyfriend.

“Tōru, have you been over exerting yourself again?”

It wasn’t anything new, especially not to Iwaizumi. Oikawa always had a tendency to push his body over its limits. It was why the ace usually got violent with the setter; he’d never listen otherwise. He knew the drill, it was like clockwork. Oikawa would swear up and down that he didn’t, despite the grimace he tried to hide. He was such a natural actor, anybody else would be fooled by his performance. Not you though, he could never fool you, and Oikawa could never fool Iwaizumi. You both saw through him easily, but you knew how he’d be, and there was only one way to get him to listen.

“Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi wasn’t particularly fond of the nickname Oikawa had given him when they were children. He daresay he didn’t really care for it at all, Oikawa seemed a bit too old to still be using such a cute and childish nickname. Oikawa was stubborn though, and through the years, he just got used to it. No, Iwaizumi wasn’t keen on the nickname, but when it fell from your lips he suddenly didn’t mind it at all.

He’d look over at you and see you pout, almost demanding to know if Oikawa was overdoing it. Iwaizumi had gotten so used to it, your words barely registered anymore. It was one of the off chances where you looked at Iwaizumi and he could look at you, and not feel guilty about it. As much as he hated the damage Oikawa would do to his own body, he couldn’t help but think it was a small blessing in disguise from the universe. For Iwaizumi didn’t need to listen to you so intently like he did the first few times. Nowadays, he could just enjoy just looking at you without it being ‘weird’ or ‘creepy’.

The way you pouted, crossed your arms, scrunched up your face and spilled words of concern over his best friend, your boyfriend. You were so cute, so beautiful. He couldn’t help but wish that he was the one you’d worry over instead.

These little interactions, however brief, were enough for Iwaizumi. He knew they wouldn’t last forever, knew you were only here while you guys were still in high school. Knew that once you all graduated, he’d never see you daily. Iwaizumi couldn’t decide on whether that was a good or bad thing, but while you both had these exchanges, he’d savour every moment.

And so Iwaizumi would say what he always did. Complain back that ‘Shittykawa’ wouldn’t listen to him, that he was so stubborn, that you’d need to talk sense into him, because he’d never listen to anyone else like he did you. Honestly who could blame Oikawa? Iwaizumi is sure that if you asked him to travel to the ends of the earth, he would do it in a heartbeat.

After practice is over, Iwaizumi grabs his water bottle, quickly chugging down the much needed liquid. He was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t notice you make your way towards him. Not until you’re right in front of him. Your presence startles him, and you’re just so close. His hands start to sweat, heart accelerating and he can feel the blood rush quickly to his face. His heartbeat rings loudly in his ears, and he’s surprised he can even hear you over the deafening drumming.

“Hey Iwa, are you alright? Your face is all red”

Iwaizumi curses mentally to himself when he feels the back of your hand press to his forehead. Your skin felt so smooth and cool against his. He knows he’ll never be able to feel it again, and his heart sinks at the thought. You’ll never know it, and he’ll never tell, but Iwaizumi makes a mental note of this moment, wanting to ingrain it in his body and soul forever.

This will be one of Iwaizumi Hajime’s most cherished memories.

Iwaizumi gently takes your wrist and reluctantly pushes it away from his face. He inhales deeply, his body already missing your comforting touch.

“You feel hot, could be a fever?”

He lightly chuckles, trying to release the tension pent up in his body.

“No, it’s obviously just from practice. Of course I’m all hot and red, that’s what exercise does to you, dumbass”

With surprising softness, he flicks your forehead. It’s not enough to hurt, not in the slightest; but it’s enough to have you embarrassed.

“Y-yeah yeah, whatever. Iwa-chan”

Iwaizumi notices your nervousness and he swears to himself. It was disgusting, you’re his best friends girlfriend; but he just can’t help the thoughts of wishing he was the one that got to see that face more often.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine. I gotta go help clean up, so I’ll see you later”

Oikawa was good at playing pretend, he had years of practice. No one knew that his best friend was a great pretender too.

It finally reaches the time where Iwaizumi can go home, and of course to his luck, he had to walk with Oikawa and you. You know how awkward it is to be the third wheel, and Iwaizumi is thankful of how considerate you are. It’s too bad his best friend wasn’t the same way.

He’ll watch you and Oikawa hold hands, smile and steal occasional quick pecks while you think he isn’t looking. Of course he see’s it though, he can’t help but look at you. At one point during your nightly stroll, you’ll shiver from the cold, and Iwaizumi so desperately wishes he could hold you, wrap his arms around you for warmth, but he knows he can’t.

So he just watches as Oikawa takes out his volleyball jacket and drapes it over you. You look good in white and teal, Iwaizumi thinks to himself. He hates how cute you look in it, and he feels his heart crack a little when you snuggle into it, sniffing the collar and inhaling Oikawa’s scent.

He tunes out the conversations you two are having, silently praying that you three can part ways at the next street. The sweet love confessions pouring out of both you and Oikawa taking a toll on Iwaizumi’s fragile heart.

You all finally make it to the crossroads where you part, the trio now to soon be a duo and a solo. Two’s company and three’s a crowd. It had never felt more truer than when he was with the two of you.

He’ll smile, make a joke about how he finally gets to go, being free of the nauseating presence of two lovers. You’ll roll your eyes and Oikawa will just refute with ‘Iwa-chan, you’re just jealous’. Oikawa has no idea how right he is.

So he goes, leaving behind the two of you at the corner. Iwaizumi takes a few steps and looks back, thinking he’d see your retreating form, but he doesn’t. He see’s you and Oikawa, still rooted in the corner, looking at each other with such love and admiration. Oikawa then leans down and kisses you deeply. You throw your arms around his neck, deepening it even further. Iwaizumi is no longer there, there’s no more prying eyes. The two of you didn’t need to pretend. You could freely express your love, no longer having to steal chaste kisses so your friend wouldn’t feel out of place.

Iwaizumi looks on and smiles sadly, before turning back around and making his way home. Oikawa Tōru was a natural actor, but so was Iwaizumi Hajime. Iwaizumi could fool everyone into thinking he was a good friend. No one would ever know he was secretly in love with his best friends girlfriend.

And no one would know how absolutely shattered his heart was every time he’d see the both of you together.

[beckzorz]

If The Shoe Fits

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Words: 8771 Summary: An assassination at the Jelly Belly factory goes haywire when SHIELD arrives on the scene. Warnings: NSFW (language, mentions of child pornography, smut), 18+ A/N: Happy Fourth! This is part 3 of my Looks to Die For series, written for Attie’s Challenge Challenge! Thank you @barnesrogersvstheworld! My prompt was, “You love me?” Hope you enjoy!

A portrait of Captain America. Two portraits, really, since there’s one of Steve Rogers and another of Sam Wilson.

“Huh,” you say.

The little boy gaping beside you nods enthusiastically before his attention is drawn elsewhere. You can’t quite blame him. Captain America—either or both—are fascinating, but there’s a lot going on here. Portraits line the walls. Two versions of Marilyn Monroe, one of Harry Potter, a wall of animals. There’s three whole portraits of Ronald Reagan, of all people. You can’t think why.

Not exactly what you were expecting from the Jelly Belly Bean Art Gallery.

The animals, yes. Past presidents? Not so much.

Still, it’s a far cry from your last job. Even with the absurd college student getup you’ve got on, an air conditioned factory beats the jungle any day.

You trace the sharp line of Steve Rogers’ jaw with your eyes, then step sideways to inspect Sam Wilson. Two beacons of justice, and you’ve only got two questions in mind.

One: what would they think of you?

And two: why doesn’t Bucky Barnes get a Jelly Belly portrait?

You’ve half a mind to march up to the tour guide to demand an answer to question two—he’s not likely to have an answer to question one, is he?—but a ping in your ear diverts your attention.

“Time to go,” comes Kasie’s voice.

Your lips curve into a little smile as you saunter to the tour guide. “Nature calls,” you murmur, and Kasie snorts in your ear. The tour guide turns to you with a helpful smile as you reach his side. “Excuse me, where’s the bathroom?”

—

On your way down the hall to the bathroom, you pass a tall blond man wheeling a janitor’s cart. A slight smile and a tilt of his head is all the acknowledgement he gives you.

Apart from the two of you, the hall is abandoned.

As soon as you pass him, you veer to the side, following his head tilt, and burst through a set of doors marked PRIVATE. The neutral look on your face morphs into a dark smirk.

Time to get to work.

—

Twenty-four minutes later, you’re sitting at a desk with your feet propped up. Under the desk, the curled-up corpse of the man whose name graces the office door. The computer is running a program from a thumb drive you’d hidden in your bra. An effective weapon, a thumb drive. Jab it into someone’s eye, they scream. Jab it into a computer port, and with the right coding…

Well, there’s money moving in your direction. Payment for a job well done, on top of your cut for the heart attack you’ve just induced. And a little bit more.

With gloved hands, you pick up a paperweight shaped like a clump of jelly beans.

“Y’know,” you say into the open air, “it’s strange getting paid to murder someone involved in making candy. Candy makes children happy.”

“Well, this guy was doing plenty to make children unhappy,” Kasie says.

“Oh, sure. No doubt about it.” Your lip curls distastefully. It had been all too easy to find his stash of child pornography. On his work computer, no less. Your stomach had damn near curdled at the endless scroll of files. You hadn’t opened any, but dear lord, even the file names and preview images had been more than you could stomach. And the job brief hadn’t said anything about exposing the bastard, but if he happened to be discovered dead in his office from a heart attack with that folder easily accessible…

Well, you won’t complain. Maybe it’ll help the police catch a few more perverts. Assuming the company doesn’t just hush the whole thing up, but a hint dropped in the right ears will go a long way if it comes to that.

The right ears. Your face softens and your stomach settles. All the sugar from the tasting rooms and the nausea from finding that obscene stash fades as you think of the right ears, and the head between them.

Bucky. A good, nice head on good, nice shoulders on a good, nice body… Thinking about him while you’re waiting for the program to finish running is an excellent distraction. Better than thinking about the horrible things the man at your feet had gotten up to during his lifetime.

“Oh fuck.”

Your head perks up. Kasie’s voice is strangled.

“What?” you blurt.

“SHIELD is here,” Kasie hisses.

“Why are you whispering?” you snap. You stand up, hands curled around the edge of the desk as you try and steady your racing heart. Your eyes dart around the office, but it’s empty. Just you, and a corpse at your feet. “This channel is secure.”

“Fuck you. Get the hell out of there. Now.”

“No way!” You slap the desk. Your hands tremble, and you clutch the desk again. “I’m almost done. If I can get all the shit on this guy—”

“It’s too risky!” Kasie exclaims. “I am not letting you get caught in SHIELD’s crossfires again, you hear?”

“SHIELD can suck my dick,” you snap. “I’m not giving up on this. Whoever this guy was getting his shit from deserves exactly what I just gave him.”

Faint popping through your earpiece. You freeze.

“Luka?”

Silence.

“Luka, what’s your status?” Kasie says, voice barely steady.

More radio silence. Bated breath as you wait for the third in your trio to respond.

A klaxon wails.

“Fuck,” you say.

“Evacuation,” Luka breathes, just loud enough for you to hear under the alarms. Relief floods through you until he speaks again. “Guns.”

“Okay that’s it,” Kasie announces. “I’m calling this off. That’s an order.”

“Just two more minutes,” you beg. Your knuckles, curled so tightly around the edge of the desk, are white under the plastic gloves as you stare at the download bar for your thumb drive. You’re so close. The drive is almost done, and then you can deliver the wrath of god. SHIELD has nothing on you. You survived the last time, that night you met Bucky Barnes through a rifle scope. This can’t possibly go any worse.

Kasie doesn’t answer. 

Well, silence from her is close enough to a yes for you. You sink back into the chair, limbs stiff. The alarm is still wailing. Your foot knocks against the body under the desk.

Two minutes? Enough time to rearrange your victim into a plausible slump in his chair. You grunt as you tug him into the open air. You wipe your brow with the back of your wrist before hefting him into his chair by his lapels. There’s nothing worse than deadweight, but then again, that’s just part of the job. A few artful rearrangements of his stiff limbs, and you’re satisfied.

Running footsteps echo in the hallway, louder than the alarm.

“Fuck,” you mutter.

You duck behind the desk, hand hovering right by the thumb drive, and wait until a key scrapes in the lock before pulling it free. The computer beeps unhappily. You tuck the thumb drive in your bra and fold yourself under the desk.

The door unlocks, opens. Two steps, and then a low fuck before the door slams shut.

The man rushes to the desk and the dead man in his chair.

“John? John, you bastard!”

Slap.

Your eyes widen. Hitting a corpse? That’s a bit much, even for you.

“Wake up, you good-for-nothing—”

The stranger is nearly choked up. You can just make out the shadow of his shoes as he shakes the dead man by his lapels. So much for your two minutes.

“Shit.”

The stranger gives up. He nudges the chair over and bends over the keyboard, typing at a rapid fire pace. Then he sucks in a harsh breath. “Oh you bastard…”

Well, he must’ve found the child porn.

“Bribery wasn’t enough for you, huh?” the man mutters. “You sick fuck.” He’s typing again. Your legs are starting to cramp. You’re used to lying flat on rooftops, not stuffing yourself in tiny spaces.

Wait—was that the trash can noise? Is he deleting evidence?

Well that won’t do.

A harsh shove of your foot sends the dead man’s chair careening back into the wall. The typing stops, the stranger drops to one knee, and you barrel into him, arms fastening fast around his neck as you catch him in a chokehold.

“Wha—”

His voice cuts off, his fingers digging painfully tight into your arms as you squeeze the breath out of him. You grit your teeth against his struggles, your tailbone bruising against the floor as he flails his legs. You’re not trying to kill him, just to render—him—unconscious.

One of his hands drops from your arm, reaches into his pocket. Your eyes widen as his thumb swipes. The dial tone.

“Shit,” you mutter. You aim your leg, kick at his hand until he groans, but it’s too late. Someone’s picked up.

“Hello? Rick?”

Rick gasps just loud enough. You tighten your elbow around his neck, his eyes bug out, but he manages it.

“John’s—office—”

Then Rick slumps, finally unconscious.

“Rick? Rick?!”

You wriggle out from under Rick’s prone body and dig his phone out of his pocket. A single click, and his phone’s off. You pat Rick down, but he’s got zero weapons.

“What is it with these people? Why do none of them carry guns?” you grumble.

“It’s because they have armed security,” Luka grumbles in your ear.

“Luka!” You pop to your feet with a delighted grin. The edge of the thumb drive digs into your chest. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be inside in a few minutes to get you,” he says.

Tension melts out of you. “Luka, you sweetheart.” He might look gentle, but Luka’s one of the fiercest close-combat fighters you know. If he can get to you, you’ll both get out safe.

Still, no point in wandering around as unarmed as you are now. You scan the room, desperate for any kind of weapon. Your phone is tucked in the pocket of your leggings, but you’ve still got one pocket free. A pen jar… Aha, there. A letter opener.

“Head to the warehouse,” Kasie says. Her voice is grainy. “Damn, SHIELD’s interfering with my signal. Luka, meet hsssssssssss—”

Kasie’s comm cuts out, but you got the memo.

You heft the letter opener in hand and stalk to the door. One quick breath, a listen for any sounds under the alarm, and you slip into the empty hallway at a light jog. Red lights whir overhead. Distant popping filters through your earpiece, and then comes Luka’s voice.

“See you soon,” he whispers.

A click, and all you can hear is the alarm.

—

Eleven minutes later, Doc Martens slamming on the concrete as you race through a giant warehouse, you’re regretting those extra two minutes.

“Y’know,” you pant, “whoever thought these shoes were a good idea has clearly never had to run in them.”

A gunshot rings out behind you just as you skid around a corner. You don’t look back. The armed security that Rick had summoned had caught up two minutes back, and it’s been a race to the finish. Plus, somewhere SHIELD is lurking, waiting…

Another gunshot. The bullet whizzes so close you can feel its wake. You can hear them behind you yelling at you, yelling about SHIELD on its way—

“Shit shit shit!”

Another corner looms ahead; you take it.

Still running, you pull a pin out of your hair. It’s not a comm device, it’s not a thumb drive, it’s not a bug. It’s a gift from Kasie, the very one who warned you about all this Avengers and SHIELD nonsense from the start.

You hurl yourself between two stacks of boxes before anyone turns down your aisle.

“How long?” you whisper.

“Forty seconds,” Luka answers.

Running footsteps pound close, voices echo closer, and you wince.

“Too long,” you say. “Scram, Luka!”

“Wait—”

You twist the hairpin, lean to the side, and throw it into the aisle. Then you curl into a ball and cover your head with your hands.

A heavy moment, still and quiet save for the slowed footsteps and a confused huh. One single scuff of a shoe as someone bends to look. You suck in one last breath.

An explosion rocks the warehouse. Sound and heat wash over you as the boxes at your back shudder. There’s an overwhelming urge to look, to peek, but you stay curled up, head protected, as the boxes over your head slide and start to fall. The edge of one pokes into your back, hard and painful against your spine, but at this point you can’t move. The crackle of flames is loud in your ears. The sickly smell of burnt sugar tickles your nose, and you cough. Smoke catches in your throat. You gag, eyes still squeezed shut. You breathe straight into the arm of your sweatshirt, shimmying your hands out of the burning plastic gloves and tossing them aside.

At least the running has stopped. All you can hear is a faint ringing, the alarm and something else. No one’s following you anymore, not that you can—

The box at your back flies away. Your eyes pop open and instantly swell with tears from the smoke. Before you can even move, hands are on you, pulling you up, out. Your eyes are burning, so much that you can’t see. Your assailant tugs you against their chest, holding you too tight to escape. You shout, kick, and then you realize that one of the hands on you is metal.

You still. Try and blink the smoke out of your eyes. A black uniform, straps, holsters…

“Bucky?”

“Next time,” Bucky growls, “wait.”

—

You blink the tears from your eyes, grasping weakly at Bucky’s shoulder as he hurries through the smoke. All you can hear is a faint ringing. You hadn’t expected the hairpin bomb to be so loud. Nor so… successful. So destructive?

Bombs aren’t your style. Never have been. But at that kind of disadvantage…

You couldn’t risk it. The data you’ve got—your own life—

Bucky shoves an emergency exit open. The alarm’s already ringing, at least. Smoke billows out over your head as you stumble outside, gasping in the sweet fresh air, clearing your lungs of burnt jellybeans and smoke and fire. You lean heavily against the concrete wall, head tipped back and eyes closed as you catch your breath.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Bucky hisses.

You open your eyes slowly, still breathing heavily. Your vision is still blurry, and it’s hard to make his expression out right away. “Just that I wanted to not get shot.”

Bucky glares at you. You blink, confused. It’s not like he hasn’t had to make spur-of-the-moment choices.

“I didn’t have a gun, and I can’t run as fast as you. What else was I supposed to do?”

“You didn’t tell me you’d be here!”

“You didn’t tell me you’d be here, either.” You close your eyes again. You hadn’t breathed in that much smoke, but after that sprint through the warehouse, it was enough to drain you. Anyway, Bucky’s seen you turn into a puddle before. Hell, he’s made you turn into a puddle before. You bat those thoughts away and force your eyes back open. “If I’d known there were SHIELD shenanigans going on, maybe I would have brought a gun.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Why the hell didn’t you? How can you just walk in somewhere that dangerous so fucking unprepared—”

“Not all of us can flash a shiny badge to get through security, Bucky.” You gesture at yourself, at your smoking sweatshirt and the Doc Martens and the leggings. His scowl doesn’t fade, and you frown at him. “Why are you so damn pissed?”

“You should’ve known better.”

“Somehow I managed just fine in worse scrapes than this before you came along.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I wasn’t dealing with so much shit before I met you! No one was impersonating me, no one was blowing my cover to SHIELD, no one was making my jobs impossible—”

“Well I’m not giving up my job,” Bucky says flatly. “I can’t.”

You purse your lips. “Neither can I, Bucky.”

He raises an eyebrow. You scrub a hand down your face.

“I know no non-extradition treaties rely on me keeping my job. But it’s real fucking hard to walk away from what I do. You know that.”

“Have you ever even tried?”

“I don’t want to try. And I shouldn’t have to. You’ve never had a problem with what I do before. Why now?”

“Why now?!” He gapes. “Are you tucking kidding me? You almost got killed by your own damn bomb!”

“I had a plan,” you say. “It’s not my fault you ruined it.” You toss your head vaguely in the direction of where Kasie and Luke had been—hopefully where they had been, because now Bucky’s looking that way, his eyes narrowed. If they’re caught—

But you know them. Kasie and Luka are professionals. They’re long gone.

At any rate, Bucky’s expression shifts. He tilts his head just barely to the side, eyes darting between you and the distance, and then finally his face softens. Finally.

“Of course,” he murmurs. He shakes his head and tugs you into his arms. His lips press against your temple, and you sigh, all your annoyance fading away. “I’m sorry. I just—fuck, angel, I’m sorry. I should’ve known better.”

“Yes,” you tell him. You wind your arms around his waist and squeeze tight. A comfortable silence for a few moments, but you can’t help but add, “For the record, I don’t mind being rescued by you. Even if I didn’t need it.”

His chest rumbles as he chuckles, but there’s a hint of melancholy to it. “Just wish I’d gotten to you sooner.” He steps back, looks you over. His lips twitch.

“What?” You look down, raise an eyebrow. “Something funny?”

“No, no,” Bucky says quickly. He gestures to your outfit. “I’m not used to seeing you dressed, uh, like this.”

You look down. Patterned leggings, a cropped blue sweatshirt, scuffed Doc Martens… All of it a little scorched at this point. You bite your tongue. You’re not sure if you look more like a broke college student or a gentrified hipster.

“Well, you’ve seen me in worse,” you tell him, adjusting the sweater so the wide neck bares most of a shoulder.

Bucky winces. “I’m not sure about that.”

“What, you don’t prefer this over that plain dress getup I had?” You wiggle your foot in the air. “Look! Legs!”

“Well,” he says, “at least then I knew exactly what you had on underneath.” He winks, and you can’t help but laugh.

“No hiding any thigh holsters under these leggings, that’s for sure.”

Bucky cups his hand around the back of your neck and draws you in, his smile the last thing you see before your eyes slide shut and his lips meet yours.

It’s heaven to kiss him. Always has been. Rough and needy like the first time, brief and desperate, or even like now, soft and sweet and smiling, his hand warm on your neck as his other catches your fingers and squeezes them tight.

Bucky kisses you like he’s trying to charm away all your worries, and you let him.

A woman clears her throat, and Bucky pulls back, his face all apology as you gape, gaze flitting between Bucky and a thoroughly unamused SHIELD agent.

“Sorry,” he mouths.

One pair of handcuffs, an open van, and an unpleasant shove from the SHIELD agent later, you’re starting to think that maybe you should’ve murdered the Winter Soldier when you had the chance.

—

“You know, Barnes, I wasn’t expecting to have to detain your girlfriend.”

Agent Nunez sits quite primly in her chair, her hands folded on the table over a file and her head tilted as she looks you over. Bucky, the bastard, is leaning against the wall, arms crossed and face black as he glares at his colleague. Nunez taps her file.

“So. One casualty, two cases of second-degree burns, and thousands of dollars in damages. What do you have to say for yourself?”

You set your jaw. “I want my lawyer.”

“That’s not how this works,” Nunez says. “You didn’t get picked up by the police. This is SHIELD.”

Your jaw ticks. Oh, how badly you want to snark back at her—Oh, so SHIELD doesn’t play by the Constitution? I seeee—but you don’t. You can’t. Anything you say will be twisted, dissected, used against you.

They’ve already taken your comm device. Already taken your phone. Already taken your fingerprints, height, weight, eye color… A search more invasive than any leery airport guard’s. The only weapon you’d had after the assassination was the letter opener, and that had been abandoned in the warehouse when Bucky pulled you from the fire. They’d taken the thumb drive shoved in your bra, though. You pray they’ll make good use of it. In the meantime, though?

“I want my lawyer.”

“SHIELD isn’t interested in talking to your lawyer,” Nunez says. “We want to talk to you. And the longer it takes to get our answers, the less patient we’ll be.”

Bucky tips his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. Your eyes flit to him, but looking directly at him hurts. You look away.

“She’s the associate who helped on the Malinda Jackson case,” he says.

“I’m well aware,” Nunez says drily. “Invaluable help, I’m sure.” She eyes you again, her gaze lingering on your scorched sweatshirt, your bared shoulder.

You shift in your seat and tug at your restraints. You’d cover your shoulder, but you can’t move your hands more than a few inches from the table.

“At any rate, that doesn’t explain the bomb,” Nunez continues. “That kind of bomb is exclusive to factions that we do not mix with, Barnes. Just because you got your clearance back doesn’t mean you can drag the whole underworld up with you.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Shit. The whole underworld? The bomb had come from Kasie. Kasie, your friend, your mentor, your crewmate. If it’s traced back to her…

You hadn’t even thought of that. Had Bucky? Is his whole claim that SHIELD didn’t have a problem with your crew a lie? Is all this a ploy to bring them down? Bring you down?

Your eyes slide to the left. Why is he just standing there? Why did he let them take you? Did you never matter to him at all? You can’t look at him, not full-on. None of this makes sense. After everything you’ve shared, after everything you’ve said—not that you’ve said everything, but so many looks and touches and kisses…

Your stomach churns. You can’t look at him.

Instead, you stare at Agent Nunez, at her probing dark eyes and her hands folded over her file and the sharp collar on her SHIELD uniform. She raises her eyebrows at you.

“Nothing?” she asks. She sighs when you keep silent and turns to Bucky. “Barnes?”

You glance at Bucky just in time to see him glancing at you. His lips are pressed so tight together there’s barely a hint of them left.

Bucky squares his shoulders. “Send for Commander Hill.”

—

Agent Nunez uncuffs you from the table and walks you straight into a holding cell. Small, with just a low, stiff cot and a toilet in the corner. Not even a sink. It’s dim, but at least it’s clean. As spotless as the rest of the facility. And there’s an entire door, with a round porthole window. Privacy, at least, in which to rage in.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Nunez says. Only her head is visible behind the mostly closed door. “Commander Hill is on her way.”

The quiet puff of the door closing is as final as any deafening slam.

You collapse onto the cot, cuffed hands dangling between your knees as your shoulders shake. You heave in deep breaths, desperate to keep your tears at bay. None of this is worthy of your tears. You’ve been in scrapes before. You’ve been nearly stabbed by the Winter Soldier, you’ve been nearly exposed by a woman you’d never met…

But your rationalizations rings hollow.

Bucky’s just a man. One man. A superhero, enhanced in myriad ways, but still just a man, in the end. Malinda Jackson is only one woman.

SHIELD?

SHIELD is something else. SHIELD is huge. Bigger than you, bigger than your crew, bigger than nearly the whole world. Certainly big enough to deal with aliens. And you… You’re just one woman too.

You cast your eyes around the room, but it’s impossible to discern where the camera is. Are? They wouldn’t leave you in here unsurveilled. That would just be stupid. And as much as you wish they were a bunch of idiots, you know better.

Well, if they’re smart, they’ll know you’ve been wanting to cry since Bucky looked at you in the alley with regret all over his awful face.

You lie down, bury your head in your arms, and let the tears flow.

—

The door grinds open. You stiffen. You’re still lying down, face concealed. Without a clock or watch or phone, you have no idea how long it’s been. But it can’t have been long. Your cheeks are still damp. Ten, fifteen minutes? Was Commander Hill so close all along?

The door eases shut. You hadn’t even heard anyone come in. Did they just take a look? A quick peek at the Winter Soldier’s girlfriend?

The cot dips by your stomach. A chill settles over you. A heavy hand settles on your hip, nudging you until you turn to look up at—Bucky. His face is paler than usual, his eyes wide as he stares at you. Your heart skips a beat as you blink the last tears from your eyes. He reaches to wipe your cheeks, but you sit up and scoot away before he can touch you any more.

“Why?”

Bucky’s eyes widen. His hands slowly drop into his lap.

You don’t need to say any more. He knows exactly what you’re asking.

“Because I thought this was the best way to keep you from getting actually arrested.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Your face—it was on all sorts of cameras. Not while—” He glances at the door. “Not while you were in the bathroom. But in the warehouse? They know it was you who set that bomb. There’s no escaping that.”

Your heart sinks. That’s true. Kasie and Luka had set things up so your foray into the office wing was undetectable, but the detour into the warehouse…

Damn it, that was Kasie’s call. And now you’re suffering for it.

“That’s the trouble with spur-of-the-moment decisions,” you mutter. “Spur-of-the-moment screws-ups.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, “don’t beat yourself up too much.” He slants a smile your way. “I’ve done worse.”

“Oh?”

“I almost killed Captain America.”

A laugh bubbles in your chest, but it doesn’t quite make it to your lips. “That wasn’t you, Bucky.”

“Oh, I meant last week,” Bucky says. “Definitely almost killed Sam. He deserved it, though.”

“Seriously?”

“Dead serious.” He catches your eye. “And I’m dead serious about why I did this, too. This isn’t about catching you.”

You roll your eyes. “As if you could.”

“Found you on that island, didn’t I?” Bucky’s smirk is all kinds of dangerous, and you look away, biting your tongue, as a flush pricks at your cheeks. “Besides, they knew I had you. If I’d let you go… It would’ve gone worse.”

“Right,” you scoff, but something inside you settles back in place. Maybe Bucky had gotten you caught in SHIELD’s crossfires, but it hadn’t been to hurt you, or to catch you. It’s so he can help you. He’s not out to get you. Even if things are dark right now, even if you’re in the scariest place you’ve ever been, he’s still your Bucky. Still the little shit you lo—adore.

You reach out, handcuffs clinking, to grab his hands and fix your eyes on his.

“I believe you,” you tell him. His face softens, but you squeeze his hands harder, and he stills. “Now fix it.” You pull your hands away and try to cross your arms, but the cuffs won’t let you. You huff and drop them in your lap.

Bucky squeezes your knee. “I sent for Hill,” he says. “We just have to wait. I’m sure she’ll figure something out. She… knows of you.”

Undercurrents hopefully indiscernible to whoever’s listening in, but you hope he means that Hill is well aware of your crew. And, if you’re reading him right, she’s aware too of SHIELD’s hands-off policy towards you.

“Okay.” You nod. “Okay.”

He nods back. An understanding you pray follows through. If it doesn’t…

Bucky scoots closer and angles himself so his back is to the windowed door. “Listen, I need to tell you something.”

You rattle your cuffed hands on your lap. “I can’t exactly go anywhere.”

“It’s important.” His eyes flit between yours, but he doesn’t go on. You roll your eyes.

“What, you love me?” you scoff.

Bucky’s eyes widen. His mouth opens, then closes. “I mean, I—”

“For god’s sake, Bucky, I’m kidding,” you hiss.

Bucky’s face goes blank.

Something tightens in your throat. You sigh. A glance at the door; you shift your legs so no one can see as you slide your hands a little closer to him, palm up, and glance down meaningfully. Bucky’s brows pinch together as you wiggle your fingers. Carefully, surreptitiously, he lets his fingers brush against yours. It takes all your willpower not to grip his hand so tight it hurts, tight enough so you could pull him close, hold him—

But you can’t.

“Now’s not the time,” you say, gentler.

“Isn’t it, though?” Bucky sighs and runs his hand through his hair. There’s a noise outside, one that has you both flinching, staring at the door, holding your breath. Bucky’s hand drops to the knife at his side.

The sound fades. No shadows fall against the window. You’re still alone.

“I do,” Bucky says, still staring at the door.

Your heart leaps in your chest. Words crowd in your throat, too many for you to find a single thing to say.

“I do, angel.” There’s another scuff outside the door—footsteps, you think—and Bucky doesn’t hesitate to grab your hand properly this time. He looks back to you, finally, and every witticism, every word, dies on your tongue.

Every single feeling that’s burning in your chest is mirrored in his eyes. You blink, bite your lip, swallow.

“You love me?” you breathe.

“God yes,” Bucky answers, his voice thick. His metal hand cups your cheek; he presses his forehead to yours. “How could I not?”

“You know I’m a criminal, right?”

The smallest, most beautiful huff of a laugh escapes his lips. Okay, so maybe not every witticism went away. But that’s the you that Bucky loves. You and your mouth.

“Not yet.”

Bucky stands up just as a shadow falls across the window. A key scrapes in the lock. You gaze up at him, your hand cold now that he’s feet away. Funny how easily he does that.

The door swings open, and a tall thin silhouette hovers in the doorway. When your eyes clear from the onslaught of bright hallway light, you at last make out Maria Hill.

“Barnes,” she says, “what the hell am I going to do with you?”

“Dunno,” Bucky says. He tilts his head in your direction. “I’m more interested in talking about what you’re gonna do with her.”

—

The same interrogation room, but this time Nick Fury’s right hand herself sits across from you. Your hands are back chained to the table. Unlike before, with Agent Nunez, Bucky is perched on the edge of table, twisted so he can study Hill’s file.

“So Agent Nunez tells me you were uncooperative,” Hill says to you.

“We were waiting for you,” Bucky says.

Hill rolls her eyes. “You’re not her lawyer, Barnes. Let her speak for herself.”

You open your mouth, close it. Your lawyer request is probably the wrong move right now, but… what on earth would be right? Maria Hill has the power to make you disappear. You stare at her with pinched brows, catching your tongue between your teeth.

“Or not,” Hill says eventually. She sighs. “Fine. I’ll talk it through, and maybe in the meantime you’ll decide to stop clamming up.” She sorts through the file. “I’m assuming you weren’t just there for a tour.”

You don’t signify that with a response.

“So these are the men from the warehouse,” Hill says. She tugs our the third page in her folder—three pictures, with names and one marked deceased.

You don’t react.

“All victims of your bomb. But also all armed, without permits, and records to boot.” Hill studies you with severe concentration, but your expression is bland as can be. “Presumably you wouldn’t have set off that bomb if they had been unarmed,” she continues. “But that’s not the most interesting part.”

Another page drawn out, and your heart stutters. The two men you’d encountered in the office wing, your target and the Rick fellow you’d rendered unconscious.

“Richard Cline here says he was attacked by someone matching your description in John Franklin’s office. And Franklin, according to his autopsy, had just had a heart attack. That can’t possibly be a coincidence.”

The metallic tang of blood fills your mouth. Your eyes widen—you’ve bitten your tongue? You can’t remember the last time you’ve done something so stupid. So telling. It takes all of your willpower not to automatically spit the damn stuff all across the files, all across Maria Hill.

Instead, you swallow it. Swallow your pride. John Franklin’s office had more than a dead man inside it. You lick your teeth, hoping to wipe the blood away.

“Franklin had child porn,” you say. “Lots.”

“Excuse me?” Hill’s eyes widen. She rifles through her files. “I’ve got nothing on—”

“The drive I had,” you interrupt. “Nunez took it. Sent it off to be inspected. Dunno when that was. Hard to tell time around here, what with your blank walls.”

Bucky squeezes your shoulder. Hill’s eyes flit between you and settle on Bucky.

“When did you two meet again?” she asks.

You open your mouth, then close it. A glance at Bucky. He shrugs.

“Before the Malinda Jackson case,” he says curtly. “Why?”

Hill pulls her phone out of her pocket. “Yes, quite…” She scrolls along, but you’ve no idea what she’s looking at. “Right, of course—you’re the reason that he was so distracted when Rex Carston was murdered.”

Your vision swims.

“Damn, Hill.” Bucky’s hand tightens on your shoulder. It’s the only thing keeping you from sliding under the table in shock. “Isn’t there something about leaving stuff at the opera?”

“It’s ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,’ and you were not in Vegas.” Hill shakes her head. “Wow, Barnes. I have to hand it to you. That’s a long time to keep a secret like this.” Hill looks at you with something like—approval? “You’re part of Kasiemobi’s crew.”

A roaring in your ears. You lurch to your feet, the chair beneath you clattering to the floor. Kasie—your crew—

“Calm down,” Hill says. She leans back in her chair and holds up empty hands placatingly. “You’ve got a blanket pass from us. Although… I have to ask how the hell you screwed up so badly today.”

Bucky bends to right your chair. You slide back into it, fingers trembling.

“I—” You swallow. A glance at Bucky, and you find some strength in his eyes. You look back to Maria Hill. Swallow again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hill nods. “Fair enough. I wouldn’t trust me either. And I imagine SHIELD probably had something to do with your spectacular mess.” She collects her file and tucks it under her arm. “I’m going to confirm that tip about the child porn, and then Bucky can escort you—wherever you need to go. However.” She narrows her eyes at you both. “Open communication about your whereabouts. Try it next time.”

Your mouth drops open, Bucky sputters, and Hill strides out the door, leaving you chained to the table and Bucky with you.

A beat, and then Bucky is laughing, gripping his sides, bent over, positively cackling with amusement. You tug at the handcuffs, but neither they nor the table budges.

“I don’t—” a grunt as you try to tug free— “get—what’s so—funny!”

Bucky gasps, wipes his eye, catches his breath. But he doesn’t answer. Instead, he swoops down and clutches your face in his hands to pepper kisses across your cheeks and mouth until you’re screwing up your nose and squirming away.

“Bucky! Stop!”

He pulls back just enough for you to see the brilliant smile on his face. Despite the anxiety slicing through you, there’s a rush of warmth at that beautiful face.

God never made a man this good.

“Don’t you get it?” he says, his smile brighter than any sun. “You’re okay!”

So much delight is shining out of his eyes that you can’t help the smile spreading on your face. Bucky traces your lips with the rough pad of his thumb.

“You’re okay, angel,” he murmurs.

You rattle your handcuffs and raise your eyebrows. “You might want to rethink that pet name. Most angels don’t get cuffed to interrogation tables.”

“Most angels don’t wear Doc Martens either, yet here we are.”

You scuff your shoes against the floor and duck your chin. “I was starting to like these, actually. I know you don’t like ‘em, but…”

“Actually, this look is starting to grow on me,” Bucky says. He nudges your face back up towards his. “But you know my favorite look is the one you’ll have just as soon as I can whisk you outta here and get you—”

Your heart skips a beat as Bucky breaks off, his lips twitching. He glances meaningfully at the door. His unspoken words hangs in the air, clear as day, clear as the light in his dark blue eyes.

Home, in bed, with me.

You turn your head and kiss his metal palm, then the other.

“I like that look too.”

—

“Somehow, Hill always manages to remind me about paperwork.”

Bucky’s grumping has you giggling as he drags you up a flight of stairs to his hotel room, your Doc Martens thumping louder on their stairs than Bucky’s steel-toed boots, bless. With him, here, so close to being finally and properly alone, the stress from the longest day of your life is starting to unwind.

“She does, doesn’t she?” you tease.

Steps from the stairwell to his door, the slide of a key into the lock, and then you’re inside. Bucky triple locks the door—regular lock, deadbolt, chain lock—with brisk precision, and then you pounce.

You fist your fingers in his hair and tug his face down to yours so you can finally capture his lips. He moans into your mouth, his hands squeezing your waist without a moment’s hesitation. Every single bit of stress melts away under his touch, his lips, the feel of that beautiful body pressed tight against yours. You tug a hand free from Bucky’s hair and start on the buckles of his holsters, of his uniform. They fall easily, as they should. It’s criminal to keep this man covered for a second longer than he needs to be.

Bucky slips his hands up under your cropped sweater and pushes it up your arms, over your head. You toss it aside and fall to your knees to unbuckle the holster on his thigh, your hands dancing dangerously close to the growing bulge in his pants.

“God, fuck me sideways,” he mumbles, his hand on your hair and the other against the door. You raise an eyebrow. His knife falls to the floor.

“If you like,” you say. “I was kinda hoping to fuck you right here, but—”

Bucky tugs you straight back into his arms. He catches you around the waist, settling you at arm’s length, breathing heavily. You reach for him, frowning, but he grabs your hands and holds them tight. His eyes bore into yours as his breathing steadies. The seconds stretch by, long and agonizing when all you want to do is touch him, but he’s just looking, watching, drinking you in.

It’s not enough.

“What’s wrong?” you demand.

“Wrong?” Bucky shakes his head, gives a little huff. “I… Nothing’s wrong. Except I said something, earlier. And you haven’t said it back.”

You blink.

“Oh,” you say. You tug your hands free from his and step closer, close enough so your chest brushes his. You cradle his face in your hands, the scruff on his cheeks a tingle against your palms. Bucky grips your hips, holding you close against him. His eyes burn bright, bright as the sun, bright as the moon, bright as every single star in the universe. They’re all burning in your chest, in your heart.

“I love you, Bucky,” you tell him. You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Only one kiss right now, because when have you ever settled for just three words? “I love you so much I think it should be illegal. I love your face, I love your body, I love your brain, I love your mind, your smile—”

Bucky grins at that. You can’t help but smile back.

“I love your soul,” you tell him.

His grin softens into something like awe, those plush lips of his just barely parted.

You trace the shape of his face, his cheekbones, his jaw, his mouth. Your whole body is full of something so warm, so tender, that you never would have been able to name it before. Before him. “You’re beautiful to me. In every way.”

“I guess it takes an killer to love a killer,” he says, lips twitching.

You shake your head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t?”

“Nah. It just worked out that way. For us.”

“I don’t think someone who isn’t in our line of work would love that part of me quite as much as you do, though,” Bucky says, grinning again. He starts walking backwards, not quite slow enough to keep you from stumbling.

“Well, they wouldn’t know just how brilliant you are,” you deadpan. “I, on the other hand, have an intimate understanding of just how good you are at your job.”

“When I’m not being distracted, you mean,” he teases, and you can’t help but laugh.

Bucky lowers his hands to your thighs and hikes you up, looping your legs around his waist as you wind your arms around his neck.

“Well,” he says, dropping a kiss on the tip of your nose, “now that’s settled, where were we?”

You tilt your head, and then Bucky grinds his hips up, his clothed cock driving straight against your core.

“Fuck!” you gasp, eyes fluttering shut. The warmth in your chest boils over, needy, desperate, sudden, hot.

“There we go,” he murmurs, eyes all but black. He slips his left hand under your sweater and claims your lips.

You let your legs fall to the floor. Bucky’s hand under your ass holds you up as he tastes you, drinking you in as you devour him back.

His metal hand kneads your breast, and you gasp into his eager mouth. Fire sparks along your spine, to your fingers, your toes, to that pulsing bundle of nerves between your legs as he takes you apart with only a single hand on your breast and his lips on yours. You’re a mess before his other hand dips into your leggings, pushing them and your panties down over your hips, baring your hips, your legs… You toe off the Doc Martens, your socks tugging free easily along with them as you work your leggings the rest of the way off until you’re just in a bra before him.

You break away from the kiss, breathing heavily. Bucky’s metal hand is still at your breast, the other is cupping your bare ass—and it feels so delicious to have his hands on you—but there’s something wrong.

“Bucky,” you whisper. “Bucky, why are you wearing so many clothes?”

“Well—” he kisses you again, squeezes your ass— “because the nice thing about your cute little outfit today was how little was actually involved.” His hand slides lower, lifting you onto your tiptoes, teasing—

“Oh!” You clutch desperately at his shoulders, still covered with that stiff uniform. “Fu—Bucky, c’mon,” you whine. You tug at his collar; the scruff on his jaw burns your fingers, but he doesn’t relent. He curls his fingers tighter between your legs until your knees buckle and your whole world is a haze. “Fuck!”

The darkest chuckle as Bucky hefts you up, back against the wall and his leg slotted between yours, his thick pants rough against the soft skin of your thighs and his arm curled around your waist.

“Usually I have to stuff your mouth to get you at a loss for words,” he muses. His metal hand tugs at your bra strap; it snaps back against your skin. The sensation shoots straight between your legs. You suck in a breath and try to focus on Bucky’s gleaming grin, Bucky’s glinting eyes. “I dunno, babe, I’m liking this.”

“Y-you like that I can’t actually get my hands on you?”

“I mean, it’s kinda nice having you like this. All soft and pretty.”

“But with just a few moments of work,” you murmur, hands seeking out his fly, “you could be all soft and pretty too.” Zipper down, you curl your hand between your bodies and grip his hardening cock. His low groan is music to your ears. “Well, hard and pretty.”

You twist your hand, thumb circling his tip, and he hisses.

“You’re fucking nuts if you think doing that is gonna make me want to put in a drop of effort.”

You tsk and grind down on his thigh still propping you up.

“The things I suffer for you,” you tease. You wriggle until Bucky lets you drop to the floor. You sink to your knees and bat your eyelashes at him, sitting demurely on your heels. You trace a finger along the seam of your lips. Bucky reaches for his cock, but you shake your head.

“No no,” you tell him.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Don’t be a tease, angel.”

“Me?” You suck your finger into your mouth. A lewd pop as you pull it free. “A tease?” You trace your hand down your neck, past your collarbone, straight down to circle a pebbled nipple, straining against the soft cup of your bra. You don’t bother containing your shudder, your whimper. “Such an unfounded allegation.”

Bucky’s growl is, you decide, an altogether fair reaction.

“Why don’t you take that pretty bra off?” he says.

“I suppose I could.” You slide the straps down your shoulders and reach back to unhook it, the motion thrusting your chest forward for Bucky’s eager eyes. One slight shimmy, and you’re fully bare for him, curves and marks and all.

“Fuck, you’re such a fucking sight,” he groans.

“Already? But I haven’t even got your cock in my mouth yet.”

You lean forward, a hand on his thick thigh, but he puts a finger on your forehead before you can tug his cock free.

“Let’s change things up a bit,” he purrs. He tugs you up, gathers you in his arms, and carries you over to the bed. His uniform is rough against your skin, but there’s a thrill in it. Here you are, bare, vulnerable, wide open straight down to your soul, tossed on the bed like a sack of potatoes, and then there’s Bucky.

You’ve never seen him quite so much like the Winter Soldier in the bedroom. All that black material straining over his chest, his tapered waist, his thick arms, the left bared for your enjoyment. He looks so damn powerful as he stands over you. Just the sight of him staring down at you with blackened eyes and that uniform sends a rush of heat to your core.

“Bucky,” you moan.

He grins. “Who’s complaining now?”

“You will be, if I decide I’m bored of not having your hands on me.”

“Aw, angel, don’t be like that.” Bucky crawls across the giant bed, caging you in. You press your thighs together, not quite so lost as to reach for him. Instead, you let your fingers dance along your belly, the light sensation going straight to where you crave him most.

“No need for that,” he murmurs. He settles between your legs, spreads them wantonly wide to make room for his head, his shoulders. “Time to make good use of my mouth.”

Bucky dives right in. He licks a solid stripe up along your cunt, his scruff burning your thighs but you couldn’t care less. Your legs seize up, tightening around his head as your hands fly to your breasts and a gasp tumbles from your lips. When his mouth latches onto your clit, your cry is barely human.

He eats you out with more passion than usual. His tongue draws shapes against your clit, letters and numbers in more language than you know. All the while, his finger drums against your thigh, and only after the fourth repetition do you realize—it’s Morse code.

Because of course it is.

A laugh bubbles out of you.

“I love you, I love you, I love—oh fuck—I love you,” you chant, breath catching as he teases your rim.

“That okay?” he murmurs.

“Oh—fuck me, yes, yes!”

A slow push, and his finger is in your ass. It’s—it’s different, it’s dark and heady and there’s nothing stopping you from bucking your hips into his eager mouth, chasing every ounce of pleasure—of love—that he can give.

And oh, he gives. His tongue on your clit, his finger moving slow and deep, sucking and thrusting and holding you down with his free hand so there’s no escaping the oncoming precipice.

You’re gone far sooner than ever before, cunt spasming against nothing until Bucky eases two fingers in, gentle. He hums, the vibrations prompting a fresh shudder as you collapse against the mattress, every bone in your body somewhere else. You can’t see a damn thing. Only the memory of Bucky, telling you he loves you, and then it all just fades away.

Minutes pass before you come back to yourself. You blink away the stupor. Bucky sits on his haunches, sucking his fingers clean. His eyes are dark and hungry yet so damn soft as he looks down at you spread wide just for him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs. He lays down alongside you side, cups your damp face in his warm hand. “I love you.”

You open your arms to him, and he settles with his ear over your heart and his hand splayed on your belly. You can feel dampness on his beard, and your lips curl into a smile.

“I love you too.” You kiss his forehead and breathe him in. It’s him, all right. It’s him, and he’s home.

How nice to be home. It’s been a long day. An uncomfortable bus ride to the Jelly Belly factory, an assassination, a chase, an explosion. Hours in SHIELD custody, not one but two interrogations, and the first declaration of love you’ve ever received—or given.

Yes, a long day.

Bucky lets you hold him, the silence sweet and comfortable. He’s still in uniform, the straps and buckles rough against your bare skin. You’re too tired to do anything about it. Bucky’s face is tilted up so he can look at you every now and then, but you’re nodding off. The world goes hazy around you. Bucky eases himself out of your arms. You shift, a little whine building in the back of your throat until he shushes you.

“Rest, love,” he whispers. A clink, a thud, some zips, and then he slides in beside you, his body bare and warm and perfect. With a click, the room goes dark.

You tuck your face against his shoulder. “Love you,” you mumble.

Bucky presses a kiss to your hair.

He’s here. You’re together, and you’re home.

[tessatechaitea]

Cerebus #8 (1979)

This cover doesn't help me remember what this issue is about.

Having only ever read the first half of Cerebus via the collected stories in the Cerebus phonebooks, this is the first time I'm seeing most of the early covers of Cerebus. I probably started reading the monthly issues during "Flight" but had purchased the "Melmoth" back issues. So I'll be getting a lot of new material in the covers and the Aardvark Comments section all the way up through "Jaka's Story." In Note from the Publisher, Deni explains that Cerebus is currently selling 4,000 copies a month. That's four thousand dollars a month! Of course, Dave probably has to sell at half the cover price, so maybe that's more like two thousand. And then there's the expense of paying for your own printing and shipping. I have no idea what that might cost but let's pretend it's another thousand dollars. That leaves Dave and Deni with one thousand dollars per month before taxes and art equipment! And I know I'm being way too optimistic so let's say it's more like $750. In Canadian dollars! That's probably about five hundred American dollars! But then again, this was 1979 dollars and cars were about six thousand dollars back then. You could buy a house for twenty grand. So by Issue #8, Dave was either really starting to make a lot of money or heading toward financial ruin. I'm not sure why I even began this paragraph when I have no idea what I'm talking about. Although, four thousand copies of an independent comic book by the eighth issue? That's good fucking marketing. No wonder Dave Sim became the God of Self-Publishing. In his Swords of Cerebus essay, Dave Sim continues to explain how he was growing as a writer and artist. It's the kind of thing a fan of Sim's work enjoys reading but not the kind of thing that I can make entertaining in a brief synopsis. So fuck off to the next paragraph already. We're done here. At the end of the last issue, Cerebus escaped his battle with a gigantic Black Sun spider god. But he did not escape as unscathed as I maybe led everybody to believe. He was actually bitten and poisoned by the thing and now he's wandering the desert (unless it's the tundra (which is probably a definitive desert but what am I? A reader of The Farmer's Almanac?!), hallucinating and probably dying. Some Conniptin soldiers find Cerebus and take them back to their Commander's quarters. The Commander isn't the main leader of the army; the main leader is some cocaine snorting prince who thinks he's a god. He wants Cerebus made into a bath robe which would mean Cerebus would get the last laugh. Because remember how badly Cerebus' fur smells when it gets wet? Ha ha! That joke was so funny Dave used it five or six times in the Bran Mak Mufin issue. The Captain and the Commander make plans to oust the young Lord and take over the army themselves. But they need Cerebus by morning for their plan and Cerebus isn't healthy enough. So they take him to the army's doctor for a few Star Trek jokes that seem cheesy and overly done (but maybe not so much in 1979? Or is that the whole point of the running joke here? Because it's a tired format that Sim subverts at the end?) but which ends with a pretty fantastic punchline.

To really appreciate this joke, I think you have to remember what the world was like in 1979. If you weren't born or cognizant of the world at that time, I can't explain it to you. It's like trying to explain Ringo's obsession with the hole in his pocket to somebody who has never seen The Yellow Submarine and who also doesn't know who The Beatles are and has also never heard music or seen animation. Yeah, the 70s were that fucking cool.

The Captain and the Commander take Cerebus out later and point him in the direction of a campfire. They tell them the men around the fire drugged him and they should pay. Feverish and sick, Cerebus runs up to the small camp and begins slaughtering the four men around it. He hallucinates that three of them are Elrod and one of them is Sophia. So what the reader learns this issue is that Cerebus is ready to kill all of the other characters of his comic book at a moment's notice. How The Roach and Weisshaupt and Elrod and Rick and Astoria and Cirin last as long as they do is a miracle. Or it's just part of the contrived story. I guess if it were real, it would seem like a miracle. But since this is all written by Dave Sim, it's just the way it was meant to be. I'm not sure what their eventual plan is for Cerebus as this just seemed to be a test. I guess he's their Manchurian Candidate? The four mercenaries Cerebus killed were Hsifan. The Commander and Captain are Conniptin. I have no idea what these things mean. I think Hsifans make really good ninja assassins though so killing four of them is pretty damned impressive.

Like I said. Killing twenty-five Hsifans is pretty damned impressive.

This story highlights one of Cerebus' bigger life problems: he's constantly being pulled into other people's stories. If he's not trying to steal some treasure to get more gold crowns so he can drink more ale, he's slaughtering other mercenaries to get more gold to drink more ale. And when he's not doing either of those things, it's usually because he's gotten caught up in somebody else's story. I suppose that's what you need to expect when you're some kind of prophetic Messiah. Your story has already been told and you're just time's puppet. But — and I think this is the most important part — something about being an aardvark allows Cerebus to tell destiny and fate to fuck off. So quite often, Cerebus just walks away from the story he got sucked in without a care to its resolution. It has something to do with aardvarks being soulless and less with aardvarks being hermaphrodites. Because I think maybe that's just Cerebus. The Commander and Captain want to make Cerebus their new leader because they can't stand the selfish, greedy fops who rule. The Conniptin motto is "Might makes right! Fight, fight, fight!" Which you really can't argue with unless you're a talented fighter. So Cerebus is offered the job which he can refuse if he doesn't mind having his guts spilled on the floor.

Seems like Cerebus' future is pretty cut and dry. If you forget that he's an aardvark.

Cerebus decides he'd rather escape than be a puppet of the Commander. But after knocking out the guard and trudging some way across the snow, he thinks twice. He decides having a warm place to sleep and free food are a better deal than running for his life from vengeful Conniptins. He also likes the idea of leading an army. If you're not into Cerebus as a mercenary captain, don't worry. It won't last more than one issue!

Damn, I'd forgotten about this line. It used to be one of my favorites to quote whenever being offered some payment or reward of some kind. "What's better than X? Mayhap two Xes!"

Fred Hembeck writes in to Aardvark Comment this month as well as, if not as famous as, David R. Wooten. Pretty sure I've seen David's name in quite a few letters pages of DC comics. The Singles Page is a strip by John Barclay called "Small Potatoes!" It's twelve panels of a couple of guys singing "Dude Looks Like a Lady" on, I guess, a street corner. They sing, over and over again, "DooDuckGlackaLayda!" It's social commentary of some sort. I think. Maybe he's just making fun of the repetitive nature of the song, or any song you're forced to hear out in public by buskers and bucket drummers. Who can tell?! Humor was different in 1988 (the Singles Page is only from the Bi-Weekly! That's why the date is different from the comic). Cerebus #8 Rating: A. There's something happening here. What it is ain't a standard comic book. But it's not what a lot of people thought of as an underground comic book. For one, not once has Cerebus walked around with an erect penis. What was this nonsense not being published by DC or Marvel but also not being weird animal porn that is also personal confessional?! I wish I hadn't been so ashamed of purchasing adult material that my mom might raise an eyebrow at but then say nothing at all. One time she cleaned my bathroom where I had a playboy under the sink. Instead of saying anything, she just straightened it up and left it. I couldn't look at her for weeks. Although I was pretty relieved because at least a week before that, I had about twenty Playboys in there! I can't remember why I moved them but at least she didn't know the extent of my wanking! She probably thought, "Oh how cute. One magazine! And the centerfold is an African-American lady. My boy ain't no jerk off racist!" instead of thinking, "How many fucking porn mags does he need? Does he do anything but jerk off? Oh God! I'm not touching anything of his ever again! Plus isn't this copy of Penthouse the one with an underage Traci Lords?! I wonder how much that will be worth in thirty years?" Of course she thought that last thought not realizing that thirty years later, it would be considered child porn. No, I don't own it anymore, you pervs. I threw out all of those porn mags when I went to college because I didn't know where to hide them! Also I was underage when looking at the Traci Lords' Penthouse so it wasn't weird. She was older than me in those pictures!

[rickssugarplum]

To Protect and Heal

First story in awhile! This one will be my first to feature Cop Rick! Another favorite of mine. I’d like to thank @rixxy8173571m3w1p3 and @nikkzwrites for brainstorming with me and helping me develop this story! ❤

(Cop Rick x Reader) SFW, Aftermath of S03E7, Spoilers, Injury, Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

You finally see Rick after he returns home, but horrified to learn he has been injured.

In the early hours in the citadel, you had been frantically trying to contact the department where Rick had been working for. It was only his first day joining the police force, and you haven’t heard from him since he left to start his new job. But not even 24 hours later, you were already scared to death that he might not come back home at all. Your tv was on, with the news talking about the new Morty elected president. But, you couldn’t give a shit about that right now. All you wanted was for your Rick to return home. You wanted to hold him and never let him go again.

You almost jumped at the sound of the doorknob turning. But you were relieved to hear it. It would’ve been way more devastating to hear a polite knock at the door. It had opened and you heard a tired groan. The familiar voice was the best sound you could ever hear.

“Rick!” you cried as you ran up and embraced him with all you had. Your arms wrapped tight around him, as you felt his arms hold onto you. Welcoming him home with a longing kiss on his lips, you let him know how much you cherished him. 

“I was so worried!” you said, voice cracking. Your hands gently cupped his face and you looked up into his eyes, seeing his features. He looked so tired, beat down. Nonetheless, he gave you his ever so charming smile.

“I’m fine, baby...I’m home...” he murmured. You pulled away and led him to the bedroom, so he can finally get out of his uniform.

“What on Earth happened?” you asked. Rick had sat down on the edge of the bed as he was taking off his shoes and socks,

“I got held up... There was a shootout in the Creepy Morty and I was questioned by the department. I think I underestimated the crimes going on in the Citadel..” he lamented. You watched as he took off his pants. Then you noticed something else...

“What happened to your shoulder?”

Rick froze. There was a bandage on his right shoulder. He was thinking of the words to say to keep you from worrying, but he wasn’t sure that would be a success.

“I uhh...had a little bit of trouble in Mortytown...” he hesitated. Slowly, he took off his vest and eventually, his shirt.

“What do you mean, trouble?”  As he stripped, you saw a dark, angry gash across his shoulder. You gasped in horror at the sight. The man you loved with all your heart was stabbed. Mouth agape, tears had started to form in your eyes thinking of the worst that could have happened.

“Oh....Rick....” you cried meekly. Slowly walking up to him, you examined the wound. It wasn’t deep enough to be fatal, thank god. But it still looked like it needed attention.

“Who did this to you...?” you whispered. Rick sighed before he explained the story.

“We were in the middle of a bust...and I-I started to search the place and...there was a Morty in a dark, filthy room. He was crying and looked like he’d been abused I don’t know...” You rubbed his back as you listened attentively.

“I picked him up and told him it was okay...and he just started to stab me. I had to kill him... I-I didn’t want to, but I was in shock. I-I just....”

“You did what you had to do, Rick.” you interrupted. You could not believe someone would do that to him, especially a Morty...To you, Mortys were typically seen as well-mannered, shy, and sweet kids. Apparently, some of them take advantage of that to get to certain things they want. Looking at the wound again, you couldn’t control the lump in your throat forming, nor could you stop the tears from leaking out of your eyes. Rick took you into his arms again, letting you rest on his bare chest.

“Hey baby....It’s okay....I’m alright....” he murmured. In his arms, you wept for him. During his training, you had feared of all the horrible things that could happen to him while on the line of duty. And he gets stabbed on his first day. By a Morty. You hugged him back tightly, not wanting to let go. You couldn’t. In your mind, your soul ached at the thought that you could have very well lost him. What would you do? How would you go on? These questions flooded your mind as you cried in his chest.

“Shhhh...I’m here...” he assured you as he rubbed your back. A statement so simple, yet the most comforting. You held on to every word. It was all you could do.

When Rick finally pulled away, he said “I gotta clean this wound sweetie. I’ll be right back...” He kissed your forehead as he headed to the bathroom. Quietly, you followed him. After what happened, you didn’t want him out of your sight, even for a second. In the bathroom, Rick had looked at his bloody shoulder and grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He looked over to see you standing beside him.

“Baby, I’m fine.” He chuckled. “You don’t have to stay in here..”

“I know... But, I just want to see you...” you said softly. His face fell into a sympathetic frown. He didn’t want you to feel bad, but he still understood why you had been so worried. His day was completely disastrous.

“Here, let me help you.” You grabbed a gauze pad and poured the alcohol then very gently placed it on the wound, applying gentle pressure on it. This made Rick hiss in pain as it stung into his skin, making your heart hurt. 

“I know. I know...We’re almost done, Rick...” you said as you began to place ointment on the area. Gently rubbing a thin layer to help it heal. The whole time, Rick didn’t say a word. He just simply watched you as you were tending to his wound. With new bandages, you carefully redressed his wound, making sure it would be secure and comfortable for him.

“There we go...” you proclaimed as you leaned in to kiss the newly bandaged wound and wrapped your arms around his slim torso. He wrapped his arms around you again in gratitude

“Mmm. Thank you baby...” he murmured in your ear.

“Of course, Rick....” you muttered quietly. Still in shock over this predicament, you found yourself shaking as you held onto him. Rick seemed to notice quickly.

“Oh, baby...You’re trembling...” he said calmly as he held you a little bit tighter.

“I’m sorry...” you whimpered.

“It’s alright, sweetie. It’s gonna be okay.” he promised. He kept holding you until you got everything out of your system. All the worry you had throughout the night, waiting for him to return, to the horror of his injury. His presence had let you calm down to mere sniffles. After a while, you pulled away and took his hand, smiling back at him.

“Let’s get you to bed. You must be so exhausted.” you said concerned. He had been awake for almost a whole day.

“Yeah..That sounds good.” he chuckled. You both climbed into your sheets and he pulled you in his arms. With your head to his chest, you watched where to put your hands, scared of hurting him. You nuzzled your face in his neck, his scent calming you down. He was here, back in your bed. Tomorrow, he did not have to do a shift. In your head, you considered taking him to a doctor, but you trusted him with his instincts. He was a good man. A rarity in a Rick. No other was a brave and loyal as yours. Sometimes to a fault, but you considered yourself incredibly blessed to have him in your life, and you never wanted him to leave.

“....I love you, Rick...I love you so much...” you murmured. He combed his fingers through your hair in light, feathery strokes.

“I love you too, baby....” he repeated tiredly. You felt warm at the sound of his voice, in a complete state of serenity.

“Promise me you’ll be safe, okay? Please?” you said quietly.

After a brief pause, he stroked your cheek and leaned closer to you, placing his mouth on yours. He kissed you softly, sealing a vow.

“I promise....”

Satisfied with that answer, you place your head on his chest again, his heartbeat lulling you to sleep as you heard his breath go even as he went in a peaceful slumber. You soon followed him, knowing he was now home, safe with you.

❤

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

Out Of The Woods (3/?)

This multi chap fic has been one that I've wanted to write for a while. I'm hoping to connect a few loose ends, since my series is getting closer to the end. Don't worry, I still got a couple of fics left in me. I'd love to thank @xerxezra whose conversations with me are always inspirational. I'd also like to thank @dorkydisappointment whose writing got my creative juice flowing and @hoodoo12 who continues to inspire me all the time. Please check out the wonderful art done by @ravenousscorpian for two scenes out of the second chapter of this fic (Her art found here)

References to the woman in Ricks journal is from my fic What You Found Amongst The Pages. I know, that was shameless self promotion. There are a lot of questions that I wanted to answer in you'd chapter, but for the sake of editing had to put it in the next. I'll work on it right as soon as this is posted. Thanks for everyone's continued support. 😘😘😘😘😘😘

If you haven't read part 1 or part2, then heres a link (Read Chapter 1, Chapter 2)

In this fic the reader tries to uncover the mystery of the artist behind Zeta-7s portrait.

___________________________

Chapter 3: Dare Not Say That Man Forgets Sooner

Whatever redeeming qualities the room held in the previous happy hours were gone, and now even the remnant, lingering daydreams were falling away. With every hour you comprehended the severity of your assumptions and what the consequences were if you decided that enough was enough. Honestly, you didn't want to lose him because Zeta-7 was the light of your life; he expanded your universe and had helped you become a better person, but you could still carry on if you needed to. You had the means, your work, and an ever growing list of books to read, but was it enough, now that you had gotten a taste of the good life? Probably not.

Nothing made sense anymore.

Concerning the current situation, and all which led up to it; if you considered everything which included your existence, life till now, and all he had ever done, then there was no mistaking that he loved you; or had; at least thought he did, but it didn't change the truth of the matter; you hadn't been the first. A few hours had given you time to weep until you thought you had no tears left to cry, but there was still a thick fog over your thoughts and rationality; any shift of emotion being too much to bear. You curled into yourself, aching, hoping you'd disappear, but it didn't work; you were still here; stuck. Being at a disadvantage, not knowing how to get home and neither having a way to get there if you could was frustrating.

Who knows how long you'd been down here, despairing, wallowing in memories and dust, but you were tired, thirsty, and knew that if you didn't move he'd have trouble finding you, and yet you didn't care; let him find you; let him work for it. Though, how would that make it any better? All it would do is succeed in upsetting him before you knew all the facts. You hated this. Father always said hate was a strong word that shouldn't be taken for granted; you rarely had reason to feel as such, but the more you gleaned from those photos and the more proof you found of her presence about the place made you feel hateful and bitter.

Thinking of her smiling at him, receiving every bit of his loving-kindness and inviting demeanor animated by unaffected good-will; his general countenance and becoming familiar with a fresher-faced creature of your dreams; holding him; touching him; loving him. Oh God no, you thought, groaning into a handmade pillow. What was worse was that you couldn't dissuade the thought of her mysterious silhouette sneaking up behind you, plunging a knife into your already fragile identity, and taking back what was hers. Your doubt feeding these ugly horrors which were hybrids of nightmares and daydreams.

Though during a brief moment of clarity, you had come to a conclusion which hardly alleviated these feelings, but we're true; it wasn't your fault. Yes, it had been your choice to accept him and be in a proper relationship with someone with an ambiguous past, and yes you did snoop around a little, but you didn't know how much he'd been hiding or searching for someone like her and had settled on silly, stupid you. Yet, no matter how much you thought about it, why chase a vision of the past and put so much effort in the present? There must've been more to this; there had to be.

Manifested, unstinted kindness and consideration and love in his form didn't happen out of the blue, it was nurtured and conditioned. Had it been her influence which made you knew? Who knows, but you had been fortunate to have had an opportunity to associate let alone form a romantic attachment, but that would soon pass away once you confronted him. Right? After a little while longer, when your heart was finally beginning to slow and thought you'd be able to catch your breath, you heard him walking about upstairs; calling and knocking.

Rick was home and you turned over on the couch and covered your ears so you wouldn't hear him; you weren't ready to deal with this; you didn't want to deal with this. In your heart of hearts, you wanted to go home, to the past, back to when there were no problems and it was just you, dad, and your dreams. If only he was still around so that he could tell you that everything was alright and it was all just a bad dream and that he could fix it, but you couldn't; only in a dream, you could. Dad always knew what was best, but you were old enough to decide for yourself now.

Did this mean you wish you never knew Rick? No, but you wished that you would've never known about all this; about her; that you could've lived in ignorance. Oh, the sweet, sweet bliss of ignorance, how wonderful it had been while it lasted. Even when his warm laughter echoed down the stairway, having found you, ready, eager and excitable to be near you, you didn't answer. You knew you weren't in the state of mind to say anything nice, that despite it all he wasn't a bad person. Yet, the moment that hand of his touched your shoulder, you hissed. “Don't touch me.”

He gasped, stunned by this uncharacteristic aggression. Maybe you weren't the nice girl he thought you were after all; especially if the rustling of his clothes alone made you angry enough to dig your nails into the couch cushions. Zeta-7 waited for a few moments, ruminating on what would be the best course of action before he knelt down to be at your level and wondered. “What's wrong? Are y-y-you hurt? Is th-there anything I can do?”

Swallowing back a sob, you silently counted to ten then answered in a listless tone. “I don't know if you can. You've… you've been hiding stuff from me.”

“Huh, I-I have? What have I…”

“Don't try to deny it.”

Pushing yourself up, you rubbed your swollen eyes and chanced a look at him; your sight fuzzy as tears threatened to fall but thankfully didn't. The alarm in his widened eyes at the state of your runny nose, and tear-stained cheeks made him instinctively reach out to wipe your tears away, but you pushed that familiar, loving hand away. “M-mi corazón?”

Instead of answering as you usually would, you pulled out the well-loved copy of Persuasion from behind a pillow, took a deep breath and dropped it on his lap. “I found it while I was looking for something to read.”

“Oh geez.”

“And can you believe I found more than I bargained for.”

You two sat in silence for what felt like hours as he stared at it, and when he gathered the courage to look inside, the lines about his brow and mouth deepened; another sign that it was true. When he finally interrupted the silence, he confessed regretfully. “I-I was going to tell you.”

“But you didn't. There's a lot of things that I understand are none of my business, but this….I think is a good time to know. If you care about me at all, then read what you wrote.”

“But it's - it's not what you think.”

“Then there's nothing be afraid of. Go on then, read it.”

Visibly swallowing, his shaky hands held it open and he stuttered. “I-I-I thought of you today as I left th-the milky way, on my way t-to a classified location. I-I wish you were here so I could show you the beauty that exists across the universe, but knowing our limitations I can only send you this wonderful novel that I found when I was exploring a-a bookstore located on one of Saturn's moons. I-I know it can be hard to believe that Miss Jane Austen's works can reach the furthest depths of-of space, but that can be blamed on a certain Gallifreyan and his little blue box. I can't wait to hear what y-y-you think of it. Till next time my dear. With love, from Rick.”

“Don't forget the photos.”

Setting down the book, he glanced at the discarded photos, sagging a little after each one, gauging your reaction after he finished studying them. Rick was a smart man, he knew well enough that he messed up and how compromising those photos were. “It's not - I was only writing as ugh - as a friend.” He began, wringing his hands as he went on. “Y-y-y-y-you know I don't have that many.”

Which was true. “Really? So what did she do for you? Was she special?”

“She - she made me a little less lonely. That in itself was something I w-was grateful for.”

Your nails bit into your palms and that ever familiar ache bloomed across your chest; his answer birthing more questions than you were willing to ask. He offered you a Werther's original to placate you which you accepted; it's wrapper similar to the one in the painting. As ever he waited for you to answer, and the longer he waited, the more he sagged; his eyes pleading, hoping, wishing that he could know whatever hurt clouded your heart and wanted to fix it. “I want to believe you, I really do,” you admitted, which made him hopeful, though only for you to crush it with this. “but I'm tired of walking on eggshells. Tell me, what did you want from me when you had someone like her? Seems as though she was a good match for you. She was a creative who could paint, loved flowers, and butterflies among other things I imagine.”

“Sh-she did.”

You bit the inside of your cheek in an attempt to hold back the surge of feelings which were a result of his sincerity. Damn it. You could do this……possibly. “See?” you said cooly, focusing your gaze on your naked feet. “I knew she was special considering you sent her a book that had belonged to the Doctor. She also knew about your travels, which meant you trusted her and you hardly trust anyone. The point I'm getting at is that I want to know what I am to you. So, am I a knockoff or a rebound? Because we both know there's nothing like the real thing.”

“N-n-no, not at all. You mean th-the world to me and I-I love you. I have only loved you. ”

“But she loved you, didn't she? And you loved her. I can't ignore that. If she's anything like me, then what are we doing together Ricardo? Why aren't you with her? I…. I thought we understood each other but then I found proof that I was only second best. I can't do it, I can't compete with a shadow, and I'm not going to try. I don't have it in me.”

“I-I-I-I never expected you to. Por favor mi amor de m-mi vida, if you'll let me explain, I'll tell you whatever you want. I - I don't want to lose you. Please, honest t-t-to God, I don't. I can't.”

“Hmm, I didn't know you were a praying man.”

“When you're about t-t-to lose your universe, I don't think there are th-that many options. I can't - oh please I can't lose you. Not again.”

You felt your resolve breaking. You wanted to fall into his arms and melt into the comfort of them; for you both to comfort each other and let it all go because it probably was just a big misunderstanding; him being the best thing that ever happened to you, but not yet. Maybe he was a praying man after all, and if God was merciful, then why wouldn't you be? Rick certainly would. For Zeta-7, you could be. He'd definitely given you enough chances.

“Fine.” you decided, helping him up as you stood, but through this brief touch he almost misunderstood, thinking that the worst was over and gave your hand a squeeze; his warm smile weakening your resolve even further. Maybe Ricks were masters at mind games after all. And you knew it wouldn't take much for him to make you forget how unhappy you were, and like magic, show you something wonderful and dazzling, but you didn't want to be charmed; you wanted the truth. You bit the flesh inside of your cheeks hard enough for you to bleed, and despite relishing the warmth which permeated your chilled hands, you let go. “I'm……I'm not over it yet.”

TBC

[janephillipsblog]

The Further Education of a Rogue

The past six weeks have been a busy but fantastic leg on my journey as an actor. As well as volunteering for the One Yellow Rabbit High Performance Rodeo for most of January, I ushered for several other shows which also got me in to see them. “The Robber Bridegroom” with Jupiter Theatre - somehow there is something even more gruesome about the dismemberment and murder of a puppet on stage than the realistic killing and maiming found in horror movies. Very well done and a play that made you think about social attitudes to domestic violence. Then there was the very brilliant “Deathtrap” by Ira Levin with Vertigo Theatre that would make one scream with laughter one minute and scream with horror the next. Next was “Shakespeare in Love” with Morpheus Theatre which was wonderfully done and then there was “Boom X” written, directed and performed by the super talented Rick Miller for Theatre Calgary, which took us through the years of Generation X which is, of course, my generation. I also ushered for Neil Simon’s “Plaza Suite” for Simply Theatre, a classic play that I have never seen before. Again, very well done. I feel that watching as much live theatre as possible is incredibly valuable for anyone wanting to create within that medium. It inspires me for my acting and even for my future writing and directing. 

Ushering for Boom X, Theatre: Calgary.

On the big screen I saw “The Upside” with Kevin Hart, Bryan Cranston and Nicole Kidman, which was good, and on the small screen, I am still working my way through “Orange is the New Black” as well as “The Office” (US version). I also saw “Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri” starring Frances McDormand and Woody Harrelson, both favourite actors of mine. So good! I listened to several interviews with McDormand after watching that film as I wanted to learn more about her as an actor.  

At the beginning of January, I started a six-week Essentials of Film and TV course with Company of Rogues Actors’ Studio (corogues.com), taught by Joe-Norman Shaw. In 2004, after about a year in Alberta, I took Scene Study I and II with Rogues. It was around that time that I had started to think of acting as more than a hobby, and a passion that could be developed. Both courses, one of which was taught by Stacie Harrison, who still teaches at the studio and whom I spent a day on set with on “Jann” back in September, were a really good experience for me. In both these courses, the students were paired up and given scenes to work on over the duration of the course, which allowed us to delve more deeply into a scene than would normally be the case for a community theatre production. The first session was with an instructor called Natasha who no longer works at the studio, but I will never forget how she told my partner and I that watching our scene (from Caryl Churchill’s “Top Girls”) was like watching “Coronation Street” which was to me, a big compliment. It was one of my favourite shows at the time and I’ve just started watching it again after a hiatus of many years. During Stacie’s class, I brought in long stem wine glasses for use in our scene from “Women of Manhattan” by John Patrick Shanley. Another group asked to borrow them and both ended up breaking during that scene (which was a couple fighting). Note to self: never use favourite items as props – I broke a tray that a friend had brought to a play to use as a prop last year. It was her mother’s and I am pretty sure that that incident has not endeared me or community theatre in general to her mother!

Essentials of Film and TV was different in that it focused on the audition aspect in the film and television world, however we also did discuss working in the industry as well as acting in general. For the most part, each week we were given sides of a scene from a movie to work on with a partner for the next week and then would have a bit of time in class to work on the scene together before it was presented in front of the rest of the class and videoed with each partner acting as the reader for the other one. For one class we had to do cold reads and were given about 20 minutes to prepare and for the last class, it was set up like a real audition with sides provided just a couple of days ahead of time and audition times given. We could not prepare with a partner and none of us got to watch others audition. It certainly felt like a real audition to me despite knowing that it was the last class of a six-week course! I felt that I really improved my audition techniques over the course, even learning to use a chair or water bottle appropriately in the audition room (as that is all that there often is to help set the scene). We had been provided a handout for Uta Hagen’s Six Steps with questions to be answered for the character and the scene. I have started to use this for every character I get to portray in an audition including ones for my theatre monologues. It works. I had the opportunity to practice with two film auditions in January (one being a self-tape) and felt a lot more confident in how I presented myself in an audition. The best take-aways from the class (other than the experience and practice) were to enjoy the journey and to not worry about the outcome of auditions too much as at the end of the day it is about whether an actor’s essence fits the part – apparent when we watched several people do the same scene. All in all, the Rogues’ Essentials of Film and TV, as with any of the courses offered by the studio in general, is a safe place for an actor to develop skills and to practice their craft.

I had my first professional theatre audition with Vertigo Theatre at the end of January. I had submitted my résumé and headshot, but it was still quite a surprise to get an invite to their general auditions in my junk mail one afternoon! I had to prepare two contrasting monologues. The day of auditions, I had already taken the day off work to attend a volunteer orientation session with AARCS as a cat caregiver and chose to go riding prior to that in the morning. I recited my monologues as I drove in the car including reciting them backwards. I am glad I wasn’t at the office as at least riding and AARCS took my mind off what felt like impending doom. By the time I was getting ready to go I was turning into a bit of basket-case - I suddenly couldn’t stand my own company. I was afraid that I would dawdle and be late. I dropped my keys as I was heading out the door, fumbling to pick them up as I juggled my purse and water bottle. (Incidentally, it was the same the morning of the mock auditions for the Rogues class, adding to it, the fact that I dropped my change for parking when getting out of the car on that day!) I took the train downtown and headed to the audition venue, second-guessing myself on its exact location. I headed inside the building and up the elevator and then down the longest corridor ever or so it seemed. I was early and I noticed that the two people that had signed in ahead of me had been in “Spamalot” with me in the fall – a lot of people I know got auditions with Vertigo and Theatre Calgary this year. Soon enough it was my turn. After a brief chat with the panel of two it was time to do my monologues. The first one was Katherine’s speech from Shakespeare’s “Henry VIII”. I honestly don’t know what came out of my mouth for the first couple of lines. I told myself to get a grip and continue and I think I recovered ok. Hopefully it looked better than it felt! The second monologue was Rivka’s opening monologue from “In the Cards” by Caroline Russell-King. It went as well as it ever has. I was sat in a chair and crossed my legs for the most part, however when I uncrossed them, my right leg just shook and vibrated (why couldn’t it have done that when needed in last year’s “Wake in the West”?). After, I sat down for another chat with the audition panel who explained that once the season for next year was announced there would be auditions for specific shows and I could let them know if I was interested in auditioning for any of the roles and that they would let me know if they wanted to see me for anything as well. So it wasn’t so bad after all!

This past week, I took a three-day Stunt Combat Workshop with Adrian Young of AY Action Services. It was an intensive, but fun and rewarding three days. When I joined ACTRA last summer I was asked to fill out a form if I was interested in doing stunts, something I hadn’t really thought about before. This wouldn’t get me stunt work but it would add me to the list of people interested in pursuing the work – it is a hard segment of the industry to get into. The workshop sounded useful, appealing and boundary pushing and so I signed up. It did not disappoint. The first day was mostly unarmed fight choreography and I was able to utilize techniques I learnt many years ago during Tae Kwon Do and the workouts at Canuckles MMA (RIP Max Marin), though I have to get used to “cheating” my hits for camera rather than just almost making contact. I also learnt how to do sit falls as well as forward tumbles. It was an intensive day and I was exhausted by the time I got home, at which time I had a hot bath right away. The next day we added fake handguns to the mix and learnt disarming techniques. We started to put together some fight choreography which we would include in an action sequence for our demo reel to be shot the next day where would we would each get to be the hero. That day finished with wire pulls where the stunt person would be pulled back on a wire into a fall as they were “kicked” or “punched” back. I didn’t feel ready to try this technique myself and so I just watched (as a few of us did). The final day was super fun as we shot our action sequence. I felt that it was a good simulation of a day on set for an action film and I did truly feel like I was either in a video game or an action star. It was a fantastic workshop and once again a safe environment as each participant was able to just participate in the activities they were comfortable with, though there were plenty of opportunities to push personal physical boundaries.

Striking a pose at the Stunt Combat workshop with AY Action Services

We started rehearsals for Gilbert & Sullivan’s “Princess Ida” with Morpheus Theatre at the end of January and it is coming along, though still in its early stages. The show goes up in April. I also auditioned for “The Wedding Singer” this weekend with Front Row Centre. If I get into that show, it will be a very busy Spring for me that’s for sure! 

[porkchop-ao3]

Idk if you’re taking fic requests but maybe some holiday time Christmassy Flesh Curtains Rick where he admits he has some feelings for reader and some smut??? I’m up obscenely early and this is what tired brain wants to request.

I hope this satisfies your needs :P

-

I gingerly sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, careful as to not wake up the man sleeping next to me. I stretched before getting up, rummaging through the pile of clothes on the floor to find my t-shirt and panties. Once I was semi-decent, I reached under my bed to pull out my weekend bag, and got to work packing. I’d left it to the last minute, of course. I was due to leave in a couple of hours to make the drive to my parents house, and I hadn’t even thought about packing until now. I tossed clothes into the bag haphazardly, feeling groggy and hungover from the night before.

Rick and I had attended a friend’s Christmas party, and had stumbled home together during the early hours of the morning, completely wasted, but not too drunk to screw around a little before crashing. My memories were hazy, but I had flashes of being fucked from behind up against the bathroom sink, of all places. I seemed to recall that we were gonna take a bath for some reason? Who knows. Things got crazy when Rick, alcohol and I hung out together.

I reached for my hair-dryer, figuring it might be useful to bring along just in case, and clumsily threw the thing onto the floor with a loud clatter.

“The fuck?” Rick groaned, peeling his face up from the pillow he was drooling on and looking over to me.

“Aw, shit. I’m sorry, I was trying to be quiet.” I apologized, picking the hair-dryer up with a sigh and stuffing it into the bag.

“You tyrin’a sneak out on me? Surely th-that’s my job, we’re in your house.” He chuckled, rolling onto his back to look at me. He reached for he cigarettes on the bedside table, and lit one up.

“I have to leave soon, I’m doing Christmas with my parents.” I told him, and my tone just said it all. He rose a brow at me.

“And that's… bad, right?” He asked, blowing out smoke with every word. I nodded.

“It’s just gonna be them tossing snide, passive aggressive remarks at one another all day, because they haven’t loved each other for fifteen years but are too scared to get a fucking divorce. Then my mother’s gonna get plastered, probably cry for some reason, and I’ll be stuck listening to her shit all night.” I grumbled, tossing my bag on the floor and walking back to the bed, falling onto it face first with a groan. “It’s the same every year.” I mumbled into the sheets.

“Then don’t go.” He said simply, and I lifted my head to narrow my eyes at him.

“Oh, I’ll never hear the end of it.” I said, and Rick rolled his eyes.

“Tell ‘em you made oth-other plans.” He shrugged.

“And then what? Stay at home all day, have myself a microwave dinner and get drunk on mulled fucking wine on my own?” I suggested, and Rick snorted.

“Ooor… we could do that together. Just you and me.” He countered, and I stared at him for a while, not really sure how to respond.

“I thought you were gonna spend Christmas with Birdperson and Squanchy.” I said, and he flicked the end of his cigarette into the ashtray before taking a deep drag.

“Yeah, that’s not happening anymore. Something came up.” He said, a hint of sadness in his tone that he tried to hide with indifference. I shifted my position, sitting cross legged on the bed. “Besides. They don’t even celebrate it, they only played along for my sake.”

“Well, I don’t want you to spend Christmas on your own.” I told him, and he gave me an unimpressed look.

“Yeah, I’m not looking for pity, or what-whatever. If you’d rather spend Christmas refereeing your parents’ bitching matches, then be my guest. Christmas isn’t- it’s just another day for me.” He blew smoke in my direction, then stubbed out his cigarette. “It was just an idea.”

“I’m not pitying you. I’m just surprised, spending Christmas together makes it seem like…” I paused, not really knowing where that sentence was going. Rick waited, staring at me expectantly. “Well, it’s what couples do, isn’t it?”

“And that’s weird, because?”

“It’s hardly like… we aren’t really…” I avoided his eyes, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze.

“We just spent all night fucking.” He pointed out. “An-and that happens a lot. You- what do you think we are? Just, just buddies?”

“Fuck buddies seems a little more apt.” I said in a small voice.

“Fuck buddies.” Rick repeated, and laughed. “Alright, I guess that makes sense.”

“What, do you have a different view of what this is?”

“No. No, fuck buddies is fine.” He said, climbing out of bed and pulling on his boxer briefs. He turned to me, adjusting his junk. “I’m gonna go, I don’t mind spending tomorrow alone. It’s just a day, it’s not special.” He told me, and I stared at him in concern.

“If we aren’t fuck buddies then what are we?” I asked, and he gave me a funny look.

“I never said we weren’t.”

“No, but your face did. You aren’t happy. Talk to me.” I crawled across the bed, coming close to him. I pulled him forwards by his wrist and stared up at him. He frowned at me for a long while, before finally deciding to speak. For once, I didn’t have to plead and plead for him to open up to me.

“I don’t know, I just thought we were past that.” He shrugged. “Cause I am, at least.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, and he groaned, looking up at the ceiling.

“Don’t make me say it. Are you really gon-gonna make me say it?” He whined, and I let him go, plopping back down onto my ass. I looked at him expectantly, and he sighed. “You aren’t just a good fuck to me; I thought I made it obvious. Y-you know, I drag you all over the goddamn universe when I’m on tour, I spend like ninety percent of my spare time with you, I haven’t fucked anyone other than you in months.”

“Really? I thought… I mean there’s so many groupies. So many gorgeous women… and men. Hell, and everything in between. You haven’t been taking advantage of that?” I gaped, honestly surprised by this revelation.

“No. How, uh, how’s the saying go? Why go out for burgers when you’ve got steak at home?” He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. His words flattered me, and I felt my face get hot. “It gets boring anyway, fucking someone different every night. Sometimes you don’t wanna just fuck, you want-” he stopped and sighed heavily. “You want familiarity. Trust, maybe? I don’t know.”

“Oh, I see.” I whispered, staring up at him in awe. He squirmed under my gaze.

“What, that’s it? Stop staring at me like that. I don’t know what else you want me to say.” He grumbled, picking up his loose fitting tank top and pulling it over his head. “You want me to say that- that you’re special, or some bullshit like that?”

“No. I just want to hear your true feelings for once. You’re always so tight lipped.”

“Feelings? T-take your pick. Part of me wants to throttle you cause you’re never fucking satisfied with what I give you, you’re always prodding me for more, tryin'a coax it out of me.” he complained, fastening his leather choker around his neck. “And I don’t hear you- you’re not exactly forthcoming with your own 'feelings’.”

“Yeah, cause I don’t wanna make you run a mile.” I snorted.

“You’d have to try pretty hard.” He replied, pulling his tight pants on, one leg at a time as he hopped, unbalanced. Once he was dressed, he approached me and kneeled on the bed, cupping my face in his hands. “Don’t make me say it. As soon as I say it, things are gonna change and I don’t want them to.”

“I don’t want to assume what 'it’ is, Rick. Just fucking tell me. Things aren’t going to change.” I whispered. Rick leaned forward and kissed me, his tongue probing for access that I granted. He backed me up further onto the bed, his hands gently guiding me onto my back, he handled me like china; and it was very out of character. He moved his lips to my jaw, nipping and sucking as he traveled to my neck.

“Promise me.” He said into my skin, not looking up at me.

“Okay.” I whispered.

“Say it. Promise me things aren’t going to change between us. I like things exactly the way they are.”

“I do too, Rick. I promise, things won’t change.” I assured him, bringing my hands up to his hair, lacing my fingers through it. He sat up abruptly, wrenching my hands away from him. He hungrily stared down at my body, grabbing my legs and lifting them so they rested over his shoulders. I gasped at his sudden forcefulness, it was such a contrast to his previous touch. He bent down, tonguing the band of my panties into his mouth, and pulling on them with his teeth. I lifted my hips as I watched him drag my underwear down my legs with his teeth, he stared me in the eyes the whole time. I felt weak.

Once I was free of my panties, Rick ran kisses down the insides of my legs, kisses that turned to bites when he reached my thighs. He sucked on my flesh, bringing up tender little splotches. He reached a hand between my legs, parting my folds and taking moment to admire the view. His middle finger rubbed teasingly over my clit, barely any pressure. I pressed my lips together, exercising my patience and trying not to beg him.

My patience was rewarded, because soon his mouth was on me, dotting kisses over my opening, his tongue poking out and flicking fast. I shuddered and grunted; it wasn’t a particularly ladylike sound but goddamn it I couldn’t help it. Rick soon eased off though, moving his lips to my lower abdomen, kissing, tonguing, and otherwise lavishing me with affection. I mewled in disappointment, and Rick pushed my t-shirt further up, exposing my breasts. He cupped them, rolling my nipples between his thumb and forefinger as he buried his face in my stomach, moaning softly. He said something, and I couldn’t make it out because his voice was so muffled.

“What?” I asked, embarrassingly out of breath. One of his hands moved back down my body, a finger slipped inside me, easily finding my g-spot. He stroked, the stimulation direct and well practiced; he knew how to please me.

“I love you.” He said in response, his voice still muffled but clear enough that I definitely didn’t mishear him.

“You-” I started, tensing up around his finger. He stilled, before removing it altogether. “No you don’t.”

“I do.” He argued, lifting his head to look at me. He pulled my legs off of his shoulders and settled between them, sliding up my body so our faces were level. I got about four seconds of eye contact before his face was pressed into my neck and his hips were rolling. I couldn’t concentrate on how good it felt to have his clothed hard on grinding against my bare pussy.

“You’ve never said that. Don’t say that if it’s just a heat of the moment thing.” I breathed, clutching onto the back of his shirt.

“I mean it.” He said, reaching for his pants. He pulled his cock free. “That’s the thing- that’s what I didn’t wanna say. Don’t make this harder.”

“Oh my God.” I said, wrapping my legs around him when he stroked the head of his length against my opening. “Shit, Rick… I didn’t think you- I thought that wasn’t your thing. I thought this was just a bit of fun for you.”

“It was.” He huffed, dipping the head of his cock inside me, pulling back just as fast; like he was resisting the urge to fuck me. “But shit, I guess things change, huh?”

“Fuck, Rick… I feel the same.” I admitted, tightening my legs around his waist, effectively pulling him inside me. “I have for so fucking long but I never said anything, I didn’t wanna push my luck.” I laughed breathlessly, and Rick began to move. He thrust fast, not wasting any time.

“Mm, I love you.” He repeated those words, and it gave me a pleasurable burst in my gut, a fluttery, giddy feeling that had me groaning.

“I love you.” I said it back, squeezing him tight as he fucked me. His pace was relentless, it was desperate, indulgent, he wasn’t holding a damn thing back and I was glad about it. He kissed me, tonguing me with an eagerness I’d never felt from him before.

“I want you, I want- fuck. I want you to myself.” He told me. Faster and faster, I’d never been fucked so fast. My mouth hung open and I could only nod. “Forever, baby. We’re gonna- it’s just gonna be me and you.”

“Yes, yes, oh fuck… please don’t stop.” I begged, he looked me in the eye; his gaze was intense. Possessive and lustful, I gorged on that expression, soaking it in and surrendering to him.

“I’m not gonna stop, baby, I’ve got you.” He cooed, shifting his hips so he rubbed up against my clit. It sent me over the edge in a flash, my orgasm came out of nowhere and my whole body was alight. Pleasure rippled through me, and I moaned Rick’s name over and over, my climax felt never ending. “That’s it. So good, I love it when you cum on my cock like that- fuck.” He growled, his thrusts becoming erratic.

Rick finished inside me soon after, his cock throbbed and twitched inside me as he filled me, glorious animalistic grunts met my ears and I laid back and took everything from him. He pulled out and sat back on his heels, parting my lips and watching his cum drip out of me, chewing on his lip and groaning quietly.

“Rick, what does this mean for us?” I asked after the atmosphere calmed, and he looked up at me with gorgeous, soft eyes.

“That w-we’re on the same page.” He said kicking off his pants lazily as he laid down on his side next to me. “Nothing’s changing. We agreed on that.”

“Okay. Good.” I whispered.

“Except maybe we’re gonna do this even more.” He added with a deep chuckle, stroking a hand over my stomach. I turned my head and grinned at him. Silence fell, and we laid there just looking at each other for a long time. I was the one to speak first.

“Let’s spend tomorrow together.”

“We can make Christmas pizza. With turkey on it and shit.” He suggested, his face lighting up with a content smile.

“Oh man, that sounds good.” I made a sound of appreciation, my mouth watering at the idea. “I feel like I’m gonna enjoy Christmas a lot more this year.”

[babblydrabbly]

Trust Me Pt. 1 - (Rick Flag x Reader); (Harley Quinn x Reader (Friendship))

Pairing(s): (Rick Flag x Reader); (Harley Quinn x Reader (Friendship)

Characters: Harley Quinn, Rick Flag, Digger Harkness, mentions of Amanda Waller

Rating: General

Word Count: 1.5k+

Warning(s): Language, blood/violence, car accident. 

Summary: Imagine you’re occasionally sent on Task Force X missions to back up Flag, but he knows Waller really just sends you to report back any dirt you can find on Rick. You’re a rat (No offense to Sebastian). He keeps you at arms length most of the time, and resents any attempts to be a part of the ‘team’, despite his big speech about treating each other like brothers and sisters. Still, you bond over all the literally suicidal missions, and really do watch each others’ back during the chaos. Rick Flag is torn between you being one of Waller’s spies and how much he cares about you. Part 1/?

---

You were uncomfortable with the assignment to begin with. You’d heard about what happened at Midway before you even transferred to Belle Reve, so when Waller said you’d be assigned to the next few Task Force X missions, you immediately knew why. Amanda Waller did not trust Rick Flag.

Without needing to say it, you were going to report back any and all chatter you considered insubordination between the members of the ‘suicide squad’. You were a rat. And Flag knew it right away. You were adequate in the field, but nothing spectacular; Your real job was working in the comms room during their missions. When the plane touched down on your first tag-a-long, Flag did little to hide the resentment he felt for you. 

That was fine. You didn't need to be friends. He kept you at arms length, only speaking to you directly with orders or updates. You rarely spoke at all while out with the team. 

That was, until Harley Quinn was reinstated a few missions into your assignment. During the take down of a moving convoy and extraction of an important meta-human asset, Flag looked happy to tell you you’d be driving a hundred miles out into the desert beside the bubbly criminal. He didn’t even give you the dignity of being in charge of driving. 

You sat in the passenger seat of the hummer, as Harley blasted the radio and sang without any shame at all. You had a feeling Flag could see your silhouettes  from his own vehicle one car back where he was driving with Harkness. You had literal hours to go before your four vehicle team (plus helicopter) even reached the convoy, and Harley’s energy was relentless. 

“So, where ya from, hun?” “You got a cute outfit- I’m more prone to a pop of color myself.” “Hey, you ever try peanut butter on a cheeseburger? Hear me out-”

“—Teams report.” Flag’s voice came in through your earpiece after an hour or so. Were you imagining it, or did he seem amused? The members ahead of you check in before you grit your teeth and give a curt, “Fine. Over.”

You gasped as Harley let go of the wheel to stick her body out of the open window, her blonde pigtails whipping around. She waved enthusiastically back at Flag, and you could see in the rearview as he casually waved back from his sunroof behind you. You cursed and snatched the wheel as the hummer swerved, shouting for Harley to get her ass back in the damn car! 

You heard a few chuckles and quips over the comms that made your cheeks burn, and you made a note to definitely mark this moment down in your stupid report. Fucking Flag. It wasn’t like you volunteered to be Waller’s little snitch. But you couldn’t help the smile spreading across your face. He was getting bolder. It had been less than a year, and what was once just cold shoulders and dismissals between the two of you was slowly turning into harmless jabs like this one. You even found yourself leaving things out of your reports on occasion. What use was mentioning it if it wasn’t relevant to the task force? Lying by omission for a bunch of murderers and losers— Who were you turning into.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sudden absence of noise— Harley had stopped singing along, instead choosing to bob in her seat to the beat. She glanced at you with a wide grin. Then again. And again.

“Eyes on the road, Quinn.” You practically begged at this point. You pressed your body into your seat anxiously. The dust cloud from the incoming convoy was beginning to blow past your window. Flag’s voice crackled through the comms again to get ready.

“You’re one uptight broad, y’know that?” She said cheerfully. You didn’t know if you were meant to take offense or not. Then, “I like it! Got a real Restin’ Bitch Face.”

“Thank...you?” 

“Don’t get me wrong— When a gal’s got on a good RBF, it’s in the name. You’re a bitch. But when a broody guy like Flag’s got one he’s a ‘serious leader’ and a ‘professional’ and a ‘dreamy hunk’.” Harley went on, taking her hands off the wheel to demonstrate her air quotes literally. You gripped your seatbelt in fear as the hummer began swerving again. 

“Quinn...”

“Everyone’s always calling me a psycho bitch when I get in the zone, y’know. But then I’m just a crazy bitch when I’m tryin’a keep it fun—!”

“HARLEY!”

Your heart leapt in your throat. As Harley let the vehicle veer back and forth, your attention was suddenly taken by the flash of fire and an explosion just yards ahead of you. The hummer with two other squad members leading the line had been hit with a rocket launcher, sending their vehicle into the air in a burst of flame— and because Harley was driving like a maniac, the explosion had missed your own hummer. Harley and Flag broke the line in a single moment, dodging the car that was now overturned and engulfed in fire. 

Hell broke loose then, as it always did.

You remember Harley shouting at you to take the wheel before climbing up to the mounted gun on the roof. Chatter erupted on the comms as Waller’s team directed the helicopter above and the rest of you still converged on the target. The plan was to never stop, to keep driving and extract the asset while all teams kept up with the convoy. You remember seeing a car pull up beside Flag in your side mirror, a rifle pointing right at him through all the dust and cross fire. 

But the beauty of Task Force X was how laughably terrible these guys were at not following the plan. You catch a flash of red and blue as Harley leapt onto the enemy’s truck, abandoning her post on the hummer to go get the asset herself. Waller’s orders were meaningless in moments like this, and she knew it. They would either accomplish the mission their way, or they were dead. 

That’s what the suicide squad did— was that really you? You looked in your rearview again in time to catch Harkness collapse onto the hood of Flag’s vehicle, a splotch of red visible on his chest even from where you were. You heard Waller’s voice in your head already dismissing Boomer’s loss by the end of all this. 

But you also heard Rick, his voice concerned but steady in your ear as he ordered Harkness to hang on while he attempted to lose the car still beside them. 

You sucked in a breath, and with a sudden jerk of the wheel, you lined yourself up with the enemy car behind you— And slammed on the breaks.

---

You had to come back to Belle Reve on a separate jet with Harkness, who also needed medical care before being sent back. Harley, despite her protests to see that you were both okay, was returned to her cell without so much as a ‘good job’ from Waller. Flag locked the caged door behind her with a murmur that he’d send word about Boomer soon. 

You landed in Louisiana with a fractured arm and ten stitches along your right temple. They had to reset your shoulder too. The bruising on the right side of your face made you look worse than you felt, but you still had to keep your face still from pulling the stitches. As you shuffled down the exit stairs, dragging your duffle behind you, you were startled when you looked up to see Rick Flag on the tarmac approaching you quickly. 

His brow furrowed, he immediately greeted you with a gruff, “Hey.”

“Hey—” You said back, feeling your bag being taken from you. He peels it from your fingers, your wrists brushing. No ‘[L/N]’, no curt nod. You watched as Flag slung the duffle over his broad shoulder and gestured back to the SUV he’d driven over to receive you from the Belle Reve air field without a word. When you approach your door, you stare as Flag uncharacteristically holds it open for you, then promptly shuts it, your bag placed down in the back seat.

The drive back to the main compound was usually brief, but today it felt like an eternity. You glanced over as Flag glared at the road ahead, and you remembered what Harley said about his... What did she call it? RBF? Dreamy bitch face?

Silence.

“Am I fired?” You finally said, your voice piercing the dead quiet of the car.

Flag blinked, looking between you and the road as if pulled from his own thoughts. “No, what?”

“Am I fired?” You repeated. Then grumbled, “Feels like you’re rushing me to an exit interview.”

“You're not fired.” He replied in his drawl, still distracted. “And I’m tryin’a hustle you to your debrief with Waller so you can get home and rest.” 

He put the car in park, the silence falling over you again deafening now that the engine was off. You sneak another glance over at him to see him staring ahead, his large hands still gripping the wheel tightly. 

“Are... You okay, Flag?”

“Are you okay?” He suddenly snapped. He released the wheel, turning his chest to face you in his seat. You reeled a little, confused at the sudden anger that seemed to release like a burst dam. 

“Stitches, a broken arm. You got lucky, [L/N]. What the hell were you thinking?” He continued, voice raising. And it was like muscle memory, the way your uncertainty vanished, your body turning in your own seat to square up to Rick Flag, Colonel pain in the ass. He was chastising you now? After you just saved his fucking life?

You said as much, your face shutting down, on the defense. Typical Rick Flag. The thought was written on your face, your contempt like a flashing billboard.

Flag’s lips parted, a sharp intake of breath telling you he was about to fire back— because that’s what the two of you did— but instead  he surprised you by promptly clamping the sharp line of his jaw shut. That silence fell like a wall between the two of you once more, and Rick turned to face forward, his gaze leaving you and taking all the fire with it. You watch his Adam’s apple bob minutely, something unreadable washing over his features before he mutters,

“Waller’s waiting for you in comms. Better hustle.”

[thewalkingdeadimaginings]

All Coming Back To Me

Oh my gosh could you please do an imagine where Abraham and Reader were like pen pals before the break out and the reader is a member of Alexandria and something that Abraham says kind of clicks and she knows it the man she'd been writing to? 😆

Ah, I’m nearly caught up with my backed up requests. Since I’m getting so close to being caught up, maybe I’ll update Beauty of a Secret in the next few days since I updated No Regrets a few days ago. Although I do have some requests coming up that are gonna take a while to finish because they’re pretty long requests. Not that I mind, I absolutely love the ideas you guys come up with and I just hope that I do your visions justice.

ALSO, just a reminder for anyone who’s new here or put in a request: I am not ignoring your requests. I see them and I’ve made note of them but I don’t usually respond to the requests until I post them although I haven’t done that lately. I’m nearly caught up although the more recent ones I’ve gotten are falling a little behind now so I’m TRYING TO HURRY so this doesn’t happen again. Anyways, enough gab.

You were the kind of person that couldn’t part with a lot of things. You could find the sentimental value in everything. And one of the many things you kept were a stack of a letters that you had been getting from a pen pal somewhere in Houston, Texas. His name was Abraham Ford and even his written words were energetic and full of fire. His gentler writings were about his wife and his children. He adored them and that’s what always brought you back to reading old letters. He had a big heart and you admired that about him. Whether or not you ever actually met him in person, he was a kind and passionate man and you were glad to have him as a friend and hear his stories about his family or even war stories even though most of them didn’t have happy endings. He had quite a colorful way of telling stories. The term “bitch nuts” and “motherdick” came up quite often in his letters. Maybe one day, you’d be able to meet the man you knew as a close friend.

But when the world ended, you had to leave those letters and those memories behind and that broke your heart more than anything. If you could’ve carried those letters with you, you would have. But there was only space for the essentials. You hoped that on the day the world was restored, you could go back home and find those letters again. You hoped they’d be safe from harm. But knowing how desperate everyone was, you had doubts. Someone might stay in what was once your home to get away from the dead, find the letters and use them as kindling to make a fire. As angry as the thought made you, you also knew it was something you would’ve done if you were staying in an abandoned house. You couldn’t be too angry at the idea of someone trying to survive any way they could. You had to learn to let those letters go. You had to let Abraham go. He had probably died a long time ago. What were the chances of him getting out of Texas alive and reaching Virginia? Slim to none. So, you had to move on.

And eventually you did move on. You soon came across a newly established community called Alexandria and thrived. Over time, you were able to bury every memory of Abraham and his letters. Soon, you even forgot his name. Forgetting was much easier than living with the fact that your friend was dead. You made new friends, created new memories.

One friend you’d made, Aaron and his boyfriend, Eric left for a few days to recruit new people to live in the community. He had good judgment and knew who to bring back and who to leave behind. In the past year and a half he’d been doing this, Deanna, the community’s leader, only had to banish one or two people. When Aaron returned, he brought a huge group back with him. At least fifteen people in the group including a baby. You hadn’t seen a baby in so long. Who knew there would ever be a baby in the world again.

“Wow, Aaron,” you said once everyone came through the gate, “You brought back an army.”

“I know,” Aaron replied, “I never expected to find so many people at once. I think they’re really gonna fit in here.”

They were all filthy and looked so exhausted and uncomfortable. They needed some warm food, a hot shower, and clean clothes desperately, “Look at them. God, who knows how long they’ve been out there.”

“Weeks,” Aaron said, “At least that’s what their leader told me. But they’ve still stuck together through it all.”

“That is pretty great,” you said. Before finding Alexandria, you didn’t really have a group with you. You were at first but they were all dead by the time Aaron found you. To have such a group was a blessing. They were truly a family.

“Could you do me a favor and set them up with their houses for me?” Aaron said, “They’re gonna need them.”

“Of course,” you said, “You get their weapons from them?”

“We’re about to,” Aaron said, “Just want them to get used to us first before we go and demand their weapons. I kinda made us sound shady when I was trying to tell them about this place. Don’t wanna give them an even worse first impression.”

“No doubt,” you murmured. With that, you left to get the group’s new home set up. At the moment, you only had two for the fourteen of them. Finding a space for the baby shouldn’t be too difficult though. You managed to find a crib and a playpen for the baby and ran into one of the members of the new group as you were carrying the playpen a bit awkwardly in your arms. His friendly smile was hidden a bit by his horseshoe moustache but you were still at ease looking into his blue eyes.

“You need some help with that?” he asked.

“Oh, no thank you,” you replied, using the playpen to gesture to the house in front of you, “Just gotta get this into the house for the little girl you brought with you. She’s so precious, by the way.”

“She is,” he said, “She’s Judith, Rick’s daughter.”

“Oh I see,” you said, “So, what do you think of this place so far?”

He looked around, taking in the sereneness around him. Even though you’d lived here for such a long time, the peacefulness of it all still took your breath away sometimes. To think it was possible to live in such tranquility in a world like this seemed impossible. You could see the awe and bewilderment in his eyes.

“Seems too good to be true,” he said finally, “But, for now, it’s nice. What about you? How long have you lived here?”

“I got here kinda at the beginning,” you explained, “The walls had just barely been put up when I arrived. But I’m still so surprised by this place sometimes like I’m new here all over again. I can’t even imagine how you and your people are feeling right now.”

“It’s surreal,” he said, slowly nodding his head, “So, I never even asked you your name.”

“Y/N.”

He paused as if you’d startled him, raising his eyebrows a bit. Before you could ask, he spoke up, “Sorry, it’s just I knew someone with that name once. A while back.”

“Oh,” you murmured, “Sorry to hear that. What’s your name? Aaron didn’t mention any names.”

“Abraham.”

The name sounded so familiar but you couldn’t place it in your mind. God, the end of the world had really messed with your memory, like you had to put your past to rest and adapt to the new world as a new person.

“Nice name,” you said, “Well, it was nice to meet you, Abraham. I gotta get this playpen into the house now before the rest of your people get here. I wanna make sure everything’s set up for all of you.”

“That’s nice of you, Y/N,” he said, frowning slightly at the mention of your name. Whoever this person was, losing them was hard on him. Seeing him so upset simply because of your name made your heart break for him. This person must’ve been important to him.

“It’s no problem,” you said, “I’ll see you around, Abraham.”

Abraham. Abraham. Abraham. You repeated his name over and over again in your head and the answers still wouldn’t appear before you. It drove you mad that his name was right there in the back of your mind but you couldn’t grasp where you’d heard it before. Had you known someone with that name? Had you met someone during your brief journey before discovering Alexandria with that name? You’d met a few people before meeting Aaron, it was definitely a possibility. But it would bother you until the end of time unless you figured it out. If you could only remember, you might’ve gotten a restful sleep that night.

The next morning, Deanna had asked you to take some clean linens and clothes to the new group after breakfast. They’d kept to themselves for the most part. They explored a little and met a few people around the community but were still cautious and jumpy. You weren’t surprised though. Who knows what this group had endured before arriving here.

When you knocked on their door, one of the women in the group, Rosita, opened the door, “Oh, hi. Y/N, right? What’re you doing up so early?”

“I could ask you the same question,” you chuckled.

“Habit,” Rosita said with a smile, “We’re used to being up at dawn. Wanna come in?”

“Sure, thank you,” you said. You and Rosita walked into the house and you set a laundry basket full of bedsheets, pillowcases, and clothes of various sizes down on the back of the couch, “Deanna asked me to bring your more stuff. We wanna make sure you’re comfortable.”

“That’s nice,” Rosita said. Taking the basket from you, she nodded towards the kitchen, “You wanna stick around a while? Carol was heating up some water to make tea if you wanted some.”

“Yeah, that would be great,” you replied, leaning against the couch, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Rosita said, “I’m just gonna take this basket upstairs. Be back in a sec.”

As Rosita walked up the staircase, she passed Abraham coming down. He had just gotten out of the shower, water dropping off the ends of his red hair onto the towel wrapped around his neck. He had trimmed his moustache a little, making it easier to see the smile he greeted you with.

“Morning, Y/N,” he said, “You’re up kinda early.”

“So are the rest of you,” you said, “Rosita invited me to stay for tea.”

“That’s cool,” Abraham said, “Deanna’s got me a job in construction.”

“Oh, working on the expansion?”

“The very same.”

“That’s awesome,” you said, “Glad to see you’re excited about it. Were you in construction before?”

“No, I was a sergeant in the US army,” Abraham replied, “Had a wife and two kids, lost them after the world went to shit.”

“Oh wow, I’m so sorry,” you said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Abraham nodded, hanging his head. Then, out of nowhere, it hit you. Abraham. Abraham…Ford. Abraham Ford. From Houston. US Army, wife, two kids. Letters. The letters. The letters!

“Oh my god,” you whispered. You’d never seen what he looked like before but this had to be the same man, the man you’d befriended all the way from Texas. Your friend. He’d made it. He’d made it after all. You’d waited so long to meet him face to face and now that you had, you weren’t even sure what to do. You’d forced yourself to forget about him because the pain of losing a friend had been too much. But there he was, standing in front of you and he had no idea who you were.

“What?” Abraham said.

“You’re Abraham Ford,” you said, “From Houston, Texas.”

“How in the holy fuck did you know that?” Abraham snapped.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, “The one who you were writing to back and forth. Before the world ended, we were pen pals. That’s me.”

Abraham’s blue eyes widened and he gasped, pointing at you, “Y/N! Holy shit balls I can’t even believe it! It’s you! I never thought we’d ever fucking meet! What a way to meet, right?”

You laughed. Abraham hadn’t changed one bit, “Totally. I’m so relieved to know that you’re alive. I don’t even know how to feel right now.”

“Me neither,” Abraham said, “Ya know, I saved all your letters. They were in a drawer in my desk back home.”

“I saved mine too,” you said, “I had mine in a shoebox in my closet. I wish I’d brought them with me. Oh my god, I still can’t believe this.”

Abraham nodded in agreement. There was a long pause, neither of you sure what to say or what to do. Despite being old friends, this world had changed the both of you. Your friendship might have to start over from scratch.

But you knew it would be worth it.

Without another word, you rushed towards him and threw your arms around him, holding him in a hug that you’d waited so long to give him. He didn’t hesitate in hugging you back, squeezing you tightly against him. This was a huge moment for the both of you. The timing and circumstances of your first meeting were awful but you didn’t even care. You finally met your closest friend, the person that always made you laugh and made your days better. You had forgotten how badly you missed him until now. But now, you wouldn’t have to miss him anymore. You had your friend back.

YAY I FINISHED THIS IN ONE DAY! Does anyone ever actually read these little “author’s notes” at the end of every one shot? I dunno, just wondering. But anyways, thanks for reading and as always, thank you so much for your patience as I catch up on these requests 😊 <3

[tabledit]

So What The F*ck is a “Pitch Deck” and How Do I Make One?

What is a Pitch Deck?

A pitch deck (or pitch doc, as I still usually accidentally call it) is the big packet of stuff you give to the person you’re pitching your show too. It’s exactly what it sounds like: a brief, comprehensive look at your idea to prove to prospective buyers that they should invest in it. (It’s also something for those people to be able to show THEIR bosses later on, once your in-person pitch is over.) The pitch deck is also for you; it’s a guide that will help to flesh out your idea entirely, and keep you on track when talking to people about it in the room.

The most basic shape of your pitch deck should look something like:

LOGLINE

SUMMARY

ABOUT ME

THE SHOW

THE TONE

THE WORLD

THE CHARACTERS

THE THEME/WRAP UP

THE PILOT*

THE SERIES*

These can obviously be switched around or modified based on your specific pilot, and the ones asterisked at the end are semi-optional, but the basic building blocks can be used for any project. There are also “One Pagers,” which someone might ask for before an entire deck, or you may want to start there for sake of ease. It’s essentially a truncated pitch deck -- pretty much just the logline and summary. We’ll go over one-pagers and the template for each part of a pitch deck, which is attached below the line.

LOGLINE

One to two sentences outlining the premise of your pilot. Think about the protagonist, conflict, and premise of the show. Your “elevator pitch.”

Examples:

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend: A young woman abandons a choice job at a law firm and her life in New York in an attempt to find happiness in the unlikely locale of West Covina, California.

Rick And Morty: An animated series that follows the exploits of a super scientist and his not-so-bright grandson.

PRACTICE:

Write a logline for four of the six shows provided, or make up four of your own if you don’t watch any of these shows or movies.

30 Rock:

Friday Night Lights:

Scandal:

Harry Potter And The Sorcerer’s Stone:

The Simpsons:

Glee:

The Bachelor:

SUMMARY

A brief, ½-1 page summary of your show, main characters, and world. A step up from the logline, the summary should briefly expand on everything you set up in the logline, and everything you’ll go on to explain in the pitch. The bridge between your logline and more in depth parts of your pitch deck.

IE: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, Summary:

To most looking in, Rebecca Bunch has a great life: a high powered job as an attorney in a prestigious New York law firm, great future prospects in her chosen profession, looks, brains, and money. But she has always suffered from anxiety and depression, for which she is on a plethora of pills. Those maladies are largely from being pushed by her overbearing Jewish mother, which also led to Rebecca's father abandoning the family when she was young.

When on the streets of New York Rebecca runs into Josh Chan, her boyfriend from summer camp ten years ago when they were sixteen, she remembers back to that time as the happiest time in her life, happiness which eludes her. When Josh mentions that he is imminently moving back to his hometown of West Covina, California, Rebecca decides to pursue happiness in moving to West Covina herself, telling people it's because she got a fabulous job there, where in reality it's to rekindle a relationship with Josh, which she believes is what will make her happy.

As Rebecca ekes out a life in West Covina with a wide array of new friends, colleagues, allies and enemies - within this collection being Josh and his friends - Rebecca may come to some realizations about her life and what she is trying to achieve. Does this all make her a crazy ex-girlfriend, or is it a little more nuanced than that?

(Thank you to “Huggo” on IMDB for this LOL)

So, if our logline was “A young woman abandons a choice job at a law firm and her life in New York in an attempt to find happiness in the unlikely locale of West Covina, California,” in our summary, we build out from each part. “A young woman,” becomes “Rachel Bloom” -- a hotshot lawyer with a serious depression problem. Her “finding happiness” we now know means following her ex-camp crush to West Covina, California. We’re given a brief intro to the supporting characters who will make up Rebecca’s world.

MOST IMPORTANTLY, and I’ll stress this over and over, everything you write about your show should connect back to your main character(s). If they are the sun of your show, then all the other parts must revolve around, and connect back, to them in some capacity. For instance, Rachel’s mother is introduced in the summary -- but only in how she affects Rachel. If you have a clear focal point for your show, it’ll be easier to build out the world around them.

PRACTICE:

Write a brief summary for one of the shows you’ve written a logline for.

TONE

Tone is what your show sounds, looks, and feels like. This should give the reader an idea of how you want your show to be.

Some words used to describe tone include: Surreal, single-cam, multi-cam, zany, serious, drama, comedy, ensemble, character-driven, situational, dark, light etc.etc.etc. The most important thing about tone is that you clarify it early on, and stick to it.

Ie.: The Mighty Boosh is a visually and situationally surreal comedy with realistic characters.

30 Rock is like an animated show come to life, with quick cutaways and exaggerated comedy balanced out by grounded protagonists.

An easy “tone” statement to help you -- and execs -- out is: It’s this meets this if you added/subtracted/multiplied it by this.

PRACTICE:

Identify the tone of 3 shows you watch, and write 1-2 sentences describing each. Try to brainstorm a word cloud of tonal adjectives for your own idea.

ABOUT ME

Remember how I said, “Write what you know?” This is your chance to prove why you should be the person to make this idea come to life. What in your personal history led you to this story, or what makes you the person uniquely qualified to tell it. Sort of like a college personal statement but you can say “dick” all you want (FINALLY)

PRACTICE:

Write 10 (or as many as you’d like) bullet points on what makes you uniquely fit to tell this story. Again, they don’t have to be extreme: “I’m a woman and this show looks at the dynamic between women” is enough for now.

THE WORLD

Set the scene for your pilot. List anything externally relevant to the pilot and our main characters. This means where and when your show takes place, and how your character(s) fit into it.

IE: Wunderkind, The World:

LOGLINE: A curmudgeonly college freshman happily drops out of school to accept her dream job writing for a tv show, before realizing she only got hired for “being young” in the first place. Now she must straddle both worlds, or risk winding up in neither.

#COLLEGELYFE:

Shelby understands why she’d stay in school to be a doctor or teacher, but doesn’t get why people say college is the best four years of your life. Cuz, in reality, College is like a mediocre pasta dish — but when it’s served between an appetizer that called you “fag” for 17 years and a dessert made of mortgages and your own mortality, it starts to taste pretty good to people.

College life is a nonstop carousel of nightmares that everyone else seems to be enjoying. It’s weird that somebody else makes your food, dehumanizing to get water from a fountain in the hallway, and fucking sociopathic to get drunk during the daytime. Shelby doesn’t feel disdain for all of it, so much as feels guilty and like a nuisance for not enjoying any of it. Same with Katy Perry and Gummi Bears. But ~yung lyfe~ proves inescapable — like when she’s out on script for a week and audits a class for fun, only to get way too into it, or when she’s chosen by Vanessa to “moderate” a conflict resolution session at Vanessa’s sorority (you know, because she’s empathetic but doesn’t take bullshit and also not pretty enough to be threatening to the other girls. Like a big sweatshirt of a human! You know you should throw it out, but you love it and sometimes you still need it!) The one draw from college is the improv team she’s on and the fact that housing has already been paid for the year.

#WORKLIFE:

Staffing to Shelby is like Jerusalem to the Jews: the promised Holy Land where everyone comes together to worship the one true god, Television.

But just because her coworkers are older, it doesn’t mean they’re not still people, and Shelby’s not still Shelby. Alternately viewed as too young, too mean, too smart, or too dumb — depending on who you ask — Shelby has to deal with not just being a 17 year old girl in a tv writers’ room, but a lame 17 year old girl in a tv writers’ room.

Wanting to feel valued and useful, she learns to carve out a niche for herself in the room as an “expert” on young, fun people... despite definitely not being one. Suddenly, the healthiest thing for her professionally is to embrace her youth — and all the embarrassing, horrifying, drug-fueled experiences that entails.

PRACTICE:

Write a one page summary detailing “The World” of your show.

CHARACTER BIOS

A brief description of your main and side characters.

WHEN WRITING A CHARACTER BIO, CONSIDER:

Who is this person? What are their motives? What is the best thing about them? What’s the worst thing about them? What do they love? What do they hate? How would they describe themselves? How would other people describe them? Where do they begin their story, emotionally? Where will they end it? If this is not your main character, how do their traits reflect on and connect to the main character? Are they a foil? A friend? What do they add to the world, and how do they interact with it?

Ie: JOSH, “THE FRENEMY”:

This fucking guy, you know? This whitebread, Harvard-educated, National-Lampoon-staffing, The Onion-reading motherfucker who’s just tan enough to think he’s not racist. Shelby’s antagonist-turned-frenemy at work, Josh can’t stand anything about Shelby (the feeling’s mutual, bruh). An early 30-something writer and the guy who somehow ends up doing most of the show runner’s physical work, he’s technically a very “accomplished” adult who disdains anybody or anything he doesn’t think is “on his level.” If he were into videogames, he’d never believe that a chick really knows what she’s talking about (but, like, he’d never be into videogames).

At least, this is the snap judgement Shelby makes after an antagonistic first couple days — as Vanessa points out to Shelby, wouldn’t she rather Josh “haze” her than ignore her, like the other writers? And does she REALLY dislike Josh, or just dislike the fact that Josh dislikes her? As hard as this new environment is on Shelby, can she imagine what it’s like for the 31 year old writer who has never had to deal with a teen girl in the room? Not in a sexist way, but in a “teacher floundering because he’s not sure how to handle a new student” way? He had a hand in hiring her, after all (Shelby reluctantly understands Vanessa’s points, but with BIG caveats.) And Josh isn’t necessarily wrong when he criticizes Shelby: she’s young; she’s inexperienced; she wore pants backwards to work twice in row — but who does he think he is to point that out?? The one thing Josh has going for him is that he’s honest. He’ll make life hard for Shelby, and won’t pretend to like her when he doesn’t, but he’s not gonna sabotage her career — why bother when she’ll probably manage to do that herself? A big brother/little sister dynamic will prevail, without either of them realizing they care about each other until it’s too late.

PRACTICE:

Write brief character bios for your main and side characters.

**TIP** If you’re struggling, try to answer “How would this character order coffee?” It sounds silly, but knowing, without a doubt, how each of your players would act in seemingly innocuous situations will lead to fully developed characters (and make your life way easier in scripting).

THEME/WRAP UP

The theme part of your pitch should be sprinkled throughout the deck, but here’s your chance to make it loud and clear to the reader. The “theme” of any story is like the lynchpin: remove it, and the wheels fly off completely. If you’re struggling to think of the theme for your show, there’s a good chance you’re not ready yet.

PRACTICE:

Write up a brief paragraph, trying to really crystallize WHY this is the story you WANT to tell. Make me want to hear you tell it!

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #97: Godhood’s End!

March 1972

Alternatively and perhaps better titled as RICK JONES CONQUERS THE UNIVERSE!

This cover is okay. Rick Jones shooting superheroes at the reader. I also notice that the A in Avengers has reigned it in a little.

So. Last time on Avengers: Ronan thwarted in Arctic; Kree/Skrull War begins again; Avengers smeared by McCarthy allegory; Quicksilver, Scarlet Witch, and Captain Mar-Vell kidnapped by Super Skrull; Avengers fight some Mandroids and thwart a Kree plot to pressgang the Inhumans; Kree kidnaps Rick Jones and he becomes Ronan’s body-slave; Supreme Intelligence throws Rick Jones into the Negative Zone.

Heck there’s so much going on by the time we hit part 9 of this 9 part story arc that Rick Jones has visions across a two-page spread of what everyone is up to just so we know where all the pieces are in play.

And that brings us to now, with Rick Jones face to face with Annihilus, a not very friendly guy.

Who happens to recognize Rick Jones as one of the people involved when he was unceremoniously booted back into the Negative Zone back in part 1 of this story.

So he’s just going to choke a Rick Jones now, okay?

But he is fended off when Rick somehow shoots a bolt of energy from his brain, sending Annihilus flying away into the depths of the Negative Zone, leaving Rick Jones floating alone and confused.

Meanwhile, on the Skrull homeworld in the Andromeda Galaxy, stuff. Stuff is happening. Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch are trying to fend off an army of Skrulls to give Mar-Vell time to do... something. He’s locked himself in a negative energy whosits to tinker with the omni-wave projector.

Outside, Skrull Princess Anelle again begs her father to call off the attack. Emperor Dad has about as much patience for that as usual and tells her that if she weren’t his only heir, he’d kill her.

Not a happy family.

Emperor Dad notices that the negative energy whatsits is fading and Anelle sadly hangs her head because surely Mar-Vell is as dead now.

So, it won’t come up for years and years and years and years and years and years and it was a retcon at that point but during the time Mar-Vell has been held captive by the Skrulls?

He and Anelle fall in love with each other and become secret lovers. Very star crossed. At the risk of spoiling things, during this brief time, Mar-Vell managed to knock up Anelle and she has to send the baby away after its birth to protect it from Emperor Dad who was less than thrilled with the whole thing. And that baby later becomes the king of space.

So, yeah. That’s been happening between panels.

Anyway, Mar-Vell comes out of his negative energy whatsits and reveals that he had been trying to contact Rick Jones with the omni-wave projector but instead just caused him to be hurled into the Negative Zone.

THIS OMNI-WAVE PROJECTOR DESTROY EVERYTHING IT TOUCHES, MAR-VELL SMASH.

Scarlet Witch wonders why he didn’t use it as a weapon as the Skrulls wish to but apparently the Omni-Wave Projector is only a communication tool when operated by the Kree. Because made for Kree minds or something. I dunno.

Anyway, they’re all doomed when the next wave of Skrulls attack.

Meanwhile, back in the Negative Zone. Rick Jones is drifting. And he’s drifting into a dangerous explodey patch of space because the Negative Zone is the kind of place with areas where anything solid explodes.

Rick realizes his only hope is to try to unleash that power he inadvertently used on Annihilus and concentrates... and flings himself through a portal back to the Supreme Intelligence’s chambers.

Rick is about out of patience and demands that the face of bleh tells him what’s going on. The Supreme Intelligence tells him that there’s no time because the hour is at hand where Rick will prove worthy of his cosmic heritage or perish.

What heritage though, scoffs Rick. He’s an orphan.

No, no. Not a personal birthright, says the Supreme Intelligence with a look that expresses the disdain of a misunderstood person explaining things poorly. The cosmic heritage of the human race (who sprung from apish loins, he clarifies unnecessarily).

But by this point, Ronan has discovered that the Supreme Intelligence is up to something. There is far too much power flowing in the chamber where he was locked up. Shame. He was hoping that eventually the Supreme Intelligence could be made useful but if this is how he’s going to be...

He sends a squad of Kree soldiers to kill the Supreme Intelligence and Rick Jones.

The Supreme Intelligence tells Rick to do something about it. Rick wonders what he can do but the Supreme Intelligence tells Rick that he’s a giant comic book nerd so his mind is full of all kinds of heroes.

Remember that one time that Rick was lamenting that heroes aren’t as cool as they were when he was a kid? Those heroes? The Supreme Intelligence tells Rick to focus on those heroes... really, really hard. Just think of nothing but superheroes. DO IT! FOR THE SAKE OF THE UNIVERSE! GEEK OUT REALLY HARD ABOUT GOLDEN AGE HEROES!!

And then suddenly, those heroes all pop out of thin air. Cap and Namor, of course. But also the Golden Age version of the Human Torch and the Vision. The Patriot, the Blazing Skull, the Fin, and the Angel.

And they start beating up the Kree and talking like they’re in a comic book, which they are.

But after only a little bit of that, they fade away.

The Supreme Intelligence is a thing I’m getting tired of typing out every time.

But the Supreme Intelligence tells Rick that his summoned heroes gave him a bit of a respite, time that his brain could use to consolidate its new power. BUT NOW COMES THE FATEFUL TEST!

And despite Rick’s head aching like the dickens, he concentrates on what he has to do. CONCENTRATES.

And his body shoots off a bolt of energy which travels faster than light to reach the Andromeda Galaxy in an instant. The energy bursts out of Mar-Vell’s skull and freezes the attacking Skrulls in their tracks.

This utterly baffles Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch, of course. They’re having a hell of a day.

And then from Mar-Vell the Rick Beam shoots out toward the Andromeda Swarm where the Avengers still fight. The beam fills the flagship with light and when it fades, all of the Skrulls have frozen in their tracks.

This utterly baffles the Avengers. They think at first it might be some weird Skrull trick but what kind of trick has you leave yourself totally open to attack and not fight back when someone starts flopping you around like lasagna?

A dumb trick, is what. Too dumb even for the Skrulls. But if someone did this to them, it would have to be one of the most powerful beings in the universe.

Buuuuuut, speculating without any solid information is useless. Time to get back on track. So the Avengers get in the Bogey-Baby and follow the Rick Beam back to the Skrull throneworld, passing unopposed through the frozen Andromeda armada as they go.

Meanwhile again, Rick Jones is realizing that all of the Kree that were attacking him are now frozen in place. This utterly baffles Rick.

“I see now that your comprehension has yet to overtake your power!” Savage af, Supreme Intelligence.

Anyway, there’s another thing that Rick needs to see. The Supreme Intelligence shows Rick a vision of events on Earth, events concerning H. Warren Craddock.

You remember that guy, right? Basically McCarthy except with aliens instead of communists?

Well, he’s giving a speech in New York. But while he rants about ferreting out and smashing aliens in our midst, Rick can read his real thoughts. He thinks the crowd are sheep, following him without suspecting that he’s influencing them with VERBAL HYPNOSIS.

And then the Rick Beam comes to Earth and zaps H. Warren Craddock.

And H. Warren Craddock turns into - or should I say turns back into - a Skrull.

And the very crowd that he’s been riling up with anti-alien agendas and verbal hypnosis see an alien. And they know that aliens are out to kill us all. But not if we kill them first.

And the very crowd riled up by H. Warren Cradock surges forward and mobs  the Skrull. And to his dismay, he finds that his Skrullish powers of shapeshifting are not working. He can’t defend himself, he can barely move.

And the very crowd beats the Skrull to death, somehow not realizing it was H. Warren Craddock despite seeing him standing where the politician was standing right before.

Granted, they are hypnotized and very dumb.

Anyway. Holy shit.

I guess that’s one way to tie up that little subplot. Usually considered the laziest way though. A person raising points against the heroes was the Villain All Along. Although, H. Warren Craddock never really had any good points.

Anyway, he’s dead. And in a way, Rick killed him. Ehhh, the Supreme Intelligence says. The Skrull loaded the gun, Rick just nudged it so it was pointing at the proper target. Like Wabbit Season-Duck Season except with shapeshifting aliens.

So now is the time for explanations.

Ronan weakened the Supreme Intelligence so he could not influence the upper echelon of Kree and Skrulls. That’s been mentioned before. But through a series of teeny manipulations, the Supreme Intelligence got Mar-Vell to construct and use an Omni-Wave Projector, which unleashed powers lying dormant in Rick.

And the reason is because the Kree and Skrulls are both dead ends. Even if they live another billion billion years, they’ll never advance any further up the ladder of evolution.

This is and will continue to be a big sore point for the Kree.

Stuck in this dead end, the most that the Kree and Skrulls can do is snarl at each across space hating each other but also hating the human race. Because they subconsciously sense humans to be their ultimate superiors.

Man, humans sure love writing humans as the best.

Anyway, any human could have unleashed the power Rick Jones did and all of them shall in some distant, unglimpsed future.

But for right now, Rick Jones needs to lie down. He’s not feeling so-

This utterly baffles the Supreme Intelligence. Even a being composed of countless brains all piled together into a face is too stunned to do anything for a moment. And then he rips open space-time like it was wet paper and brings all of the Avengers (save Goliath) into the chamber.

And after explaining the situation to everyone, the Supreme Intelligence tells them that Rick is dying.  All that power sorta kinda overloaded him. And only Mar-Vell can save him.

And only by merging with him as before, giving Rick his full life-force.

It would make a prisoner of Mar-Vell again. Worse than before.

And he impulsively refuses before accepting his fate.

He takes two moments to himself first. The first one, to look at the frozen Kree and realize that his mission to save Earth and the Kree from Ronan has been accomplished through Rick’s sacrifice. And the second moment he takes to think of Anelle and how she will now become the regent of the Skrulls. And his hopes that she could have become more. Which I’m reading as meaning that he wanted to go steady. I wonder if knowing he would have a son would have changed his decision to do what he’s about to do.

Because he is finally ready. And he steps into Rick Jones, merging with him as the Avengers watch, utterly baffled.

And Rick Jones lives again, his latent power put back to sleep.

And everything is back to how it was. The Skrulls and the Kree are back in a Cold War, somehow. The Supreme Intelligence is in control of the Kree again and hopes he’ll live up to his name this time around. Rick Jones and Mar-Vell are linked again. And hey get off my planet? The Avengers are teleported back to Earth again. Presumably leaving Bogey-Baby adrift in space and getting Nick Fury in a metric ton of trouble for losing it.

Oh but there is some wrap-up. For one thing, when the Avengers arrive back at their mansion, H. Warren Craddock is waiting for them.

But no, not the one that got beaten to death. A couple weeks back, a Skrull kidnapped him and took his place. Because that does make more sense. That Skrull slipped into the role of someone who already had authority and the respect of the President. He didn’t just make up a new identity and get given a bunch of power for no reason.

DELL RUSK.

Ahem. Anyway. Its also confirmed that the H. Warren Craddock Skrull was the missing fourth Skrull from Fantastic Four #2. Which is why the Avengers only had to fight the Fauxtastic Three.

And Thor suspects that the Supreme Intelligence manipulated the H. Warren Craddock Skrull to get the Avengers where they needed to be. But anyway, they don’t have to worry about any fallout from that. The real H. Warren Craddock has cleared them of all charges.

And that just leaves Goliath.

He was sent to stop Craft Beta-31 from nuking Earth. And Earth is unnuked. So he succeeded. So where is he?

Well, we’ll find out later.

So that was the Kree/Skrull War. Overall, I thought it was very good. I mean, its all a bit goofy. That’s comics. But it draws elements together from all over, including all the way back to the very beginning of the Marvel universe, to tell a story of scope, scale, and silliness.

We don’t actually see much of the war. And I think that’s fine. That works. The parts that we see are the parts that concern our heroes. The Avengers, Captain Mar-Vell, Rick Jones.

The war undoubtedly raged elsewhere but its impact on Earth was minimized thanks to the Avengers and co.

And in the course of it, the Avengers went through some dark moments. The public turned against them right after they saved the world. What they thought were the real founders, disbanding the team. The kidnapping of two Avengers and near death by cow lasers wounding of another. Goliath going through a kind of humiliation conga between being mind-controlled in the Arctic, tricked into accepting a court summons, losing the spaceship because he forgot to rejuice on the growth serum, finally leading to him to angrily give up the powers. Because he became Goliath because he felt ineffectual, useless to the team. And even with superpowers he ended up feeling.... ineffectual and useless to the team.

And some high moments. Blasting off into space and stymieing an entire armada on its way to destroy Earth. Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch holding the line against an army of Skrulls after being used as hostages. Helping to free the Inhumans from their destiny as just living weapons. 

And some weird moments. Like Vision and Scarlet Witch realizing what they feel for one another, and the realization affecting Vision’s decision-making even as he tries to reject it because he is a COLD AND LOGICAL MACHINE WITH NO EMOTIONS!!!! Some good robo-angst there. And that will play out more going forward.

There’s a lot of really good stuff in this arc. Enough to forgive the ending. Not that the ending needs to be forgiven. Not really. I just... I don’t know how to feel about it. This huge war between two star-spanning empires ends because Rick Jones shoots some beams out of his brain? The Avengers’ troubles on Earth get resolved while they’re off somewhere, not really contributing to the resolution? Humanity’s future as some great power to rival the Kree and Skrulls because we had the power within us all along to shoot reality-warping beams from our heads is sort of weird. It does feel at home in this type of sci-fi though. Its not really out of place in the magical land of contrivance and shenanigans that is the Avengers.

And the Kree/Skrull War arc was never really about the war, oddly enough. So it doesn’t really matter that it basically ends off-screen. It was mostly a vehicle to bring conflict to our heroes.

Although we do have an ending that suggests that the most powerful power of all is reading a lot of Marvel comics. And hasn’t Rick been an audience identification figure all along?

“READ OUR COMICS AND YOU TOO MAY ONE DAY STOP A STARS WAR!” - Marvel Comics.

[mikaey43]

#14 Percy Jackson & the Olympians:

The Battle of the Labyrinth by Rick Riordan

Rating: 4/5

Pages: 361 (with a brief excerpt from the final book: The Last Olympian)

Publisher: Disney-Hyperion Books (an imprint of Disney Book Group)

It's a new year and I'm reviewing a book I finished at the end of December 2016. (And let's face it, by the time I crank out this  review it'll be New Year's Day again...) I will preface this review by stating that while I do have reading goals, I don't necessarily have a numerical goal. I don't really like to place numerical goals on reading since, for me, it deters from the reason I read—absorbing the story—(basically: quality over quantity). But I do like to review books and I completed my goal of posting five book reviews. I did read way more than five books in 2016 but I didn’t review them because of reasons (mostly life). This year I upped my goal to six books reviews. It does seem like a tiny goal but because of life, if I do more than six I will be very happy. My other reading goal would be to post a review at least within a week after I've finished reading a book that (in my opinion) is worthy of a review. (UPDATE: I’ve already failed hard in that resolution.) Other goals this year include: finishing posting a month's worth of  pictures on Instagram as part of a monthly challenge. (UPDATE: perhaps every other month, beginning with February!) My last goal for this year is to organize myself better. (UPDATE: although this last resolution is vague, it's the one that has worked out the best so far. Weird.) Anyway, Happy New Year!

During the last week of December I was taken on such a great adventure! I actually don't have any anecdotes about this book. It’s completely brand new in the sense that nothing eventful happened prior to reading it nor do I have any news on a new Percy Jackson film, or reboot. Not even rumors on a television series. (In my opinion, it would make such a great series—if done right.) In a way this fourth book is in keeping with the theme of this post of a new year, new feelings, and new experiences and it is, of course, Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Battle of the Labyrinth by Rick Riordan.

(WARNING: Reader discretion is advised. Spoilers up ahead of PJO.)

In this story, we're back in the summer months, and just two seasons after the events of The Titan's Curse. We open as Percy attends his ninth grade orientation at Goode High School. (They grow up so fast.) As always, ancient monsters show up and try to destroy him. But we come to learn that Camp Half-Blood is in danger of being invaded by Kronos's army. The war with the titan king is drawing to a head and the only way to stop the attack on the campus is to journey into the belly of the earth through the mythical labyrinth. And unfortunately, things aren't looking too good for Grover and his search for Lord Pan.

Although there were a few new characters in this book I actually want to talk about a a few that have already been established and introduced to us. As promised, we have Nico di Angelo, Bianca’s younger brother. Unfortunately, he's still angry at Percy after the events of The Titan's Curse. We found out that he and Bianca are Hades' children, who were born before the World War II pact. I can’t see the impact—if there is any—on the overall picture of this story line. Then there's Rachel Dare. She was introduced to us during the pit stop at the Hoover Dam. She rescued Percy from an army of skeletons. The surprise came when we learned that she is a mortal who can see through the “Mist.” We get to know her a little bit more this time since she'll be attending the same high school as Percy. I couldn’t be happier. I like her. This brings me to the character I've wanted to discuss for a while: Sally Jackson. She was the first mortal we know who can see through the “Mist.” Aside from that, she is always there for her son, does her best to both protect him and support his destiny. I'm sure that as his mother Sally is worried about Percy. I'm glad to see that she's growing as a character and living her own life. She sets and reaches her goals. We only see Sally's development in bits and pieces through Percy but she has come a long way.

This book, for me, is a series of cinematic proportions. It has the slow buildup of plot, story and character arcs that span these four books but everything appears on a grander scale (case in point: defeat the titan king … but apparently save Luke whom Kronos has now possessed). The actions is amplified; the stakes—already high to begin—just becomes intense. I'd like to think that I have that good of an imagination; however, I like to know that it's Riordan who has done a wonderful job of having this story streaming through my mind with each word I read. I know that as a “good reader” you are supposed to be able to have this type of visualization in your mind, but it's the job of the author to help you construct the scenery, speak through the dialogue and react through the action.

Another thing about this book is the running theme about heroes and their fans (that “heroes rarely live up to our own expectations”). There were three characters who failed to live up to the expectations of our three main characters: Tyson with the hekatonchires, Briares, Annabeth with Daedalus, and Grover with Lord Pan. This disillusion had our main cast becoming their own heroes and ironically inspires Briares and Daedalus (Lord Pan is another story.) It was a very nice message to the readers revealing that you are more than enough as heroes. While it's nice to look up to others, “heroes” make mistakes, fail, and fall apart. Begin a hero doesn’t just mean triumphs and battle stories but having the courage to try again, having compassion for others, and doing the right thing. That is why heroes never fade.

After reading That Titan's Curse, I honestly thought that there wouldn’t be any other competition against The Sea of Monsters and that the story line would be a straight shot through without much climax or dip. But I was wrong. This adventure resembles the second book in the series insomuch that while there is a specific goal in mind, the route to this mythological place doesn’t have a set location on the surface of the contiguous United States. Therefore this makes the journey grander. There were occasions where they did pop back in different cities across the country but quickly returned to the labyrinth. Time also travels differently above and below the earth. It runs slower in the tunnels and faster on the surface. This helps the story move further away from reality making it more magical, mystical, and mythical without really leaving the present time.

I gave this book 4 out of 5 stars. This series has definitely been a roller coaster. It has many ups and downs, loop-de-loops and steep drops. This pattern through the series (book 1: 3.5 stars, book 2: 4 stars, book 3: 3.5 stars, and now book 4: 4 stars) leads me to believe that while the ending will be satisfying it won't bee anything extraordinarily great, which is fine with me. As long as things have been constructed logically toward the endgame I don’t think it'll let me down. I am very pleased with Riordan's weaving of intricate detail into plot and his great use of characters and their roles (both gods and mortals). He does not forget them. I am very curious to see how he finishes this tale and ultimately Percy's fate. Until next time (hopefully very soon with the final book review).

Happy New Year!

Thanks for reading.

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

The Conservatory

I wrote this while I was was supposed to be working on other fics and projects, but I couldn’t resist. Concerning what kind of plants he’d probably have was a combined effort. @another-sanchez-slut and others for letting me ask random plant questions.

A Doofus Rick x Reader fic.

In this fic the reader spends a day in Zeta-7s conservatory.

________________

Hopefully you hadn’t worked yourself into writer’s block again.

You had a deadline to make, and you didn’t have time to procrastinate. You needed to finish writing the last couple of chapters before sending it to your editor. Still, you couldn’t focus. There was something about the quiet in the house, it was distracting. You glanced at your phone, and thought about calling him.

Perhaps you should call, you knew he wouldn’t mind, and he might be home. Then again, he might be busy, and if you called, you’d interrupt any project he might have been working on. You were looking for a reason, trying hard to think of a friend that you could count on, but there was no one else, no one reliable enough. Time was getting shorter and there was much for you to do, but as the quietness of the room threatened to suffocate, you dialed his number, and waited for him to answer. His cheerful voice made you feel slightly better, and you told him the reason for calling.

You just needed to hear someone’s voice, anyone’s voice. In your line of work, you tended to isolate yourself, and while you enjoyed your own company, on certain days you felt so very alone you’d thought the silence would eat you alive. It turns out he wasn’t at home, but at work on some distant planet you weren’t allowed to know the name of. Still, he was happy to hear your voice as well, and shyly told you how much he missed you. Perhaps, he needed to hear someone’s voice as well, one that was not his own.

With all the negativity he dealt with in relation to his job with the council, sometimes he’d portal straight to your place, and hold you in a soul crushing embrace before returning to the hell hole he had just come from. This wasn’t one of those times, but you heard it in his exaggerated cheerfulness, as he tried to be strong for your sake. To think, you had called to receive when it was you who should have given.

Your loving friend, your beloved boyfriend, you needed to color his world. You congratulated him for having the honor to be on such a mission, whatever it was, and couldn’t wait to have that promised dinner.

When he dropped the facade, you could hear the exhaustion, and frustration he had tried to hide. Since he was on break, he had time to talk to you about other unrelated matters, and you listened. It was night time where he was, and it made him sleepy and eager for a cup of tea and a good book. Being the cheeky creature you were, you comforted him with gentle words, with a brief description of your mismatched pajamas. And when he chuckled, you felt your heart swell.

There it was, the Rick you knew. It didn’t take you long for you to have him laughing, nor did it take long for his personable nature to unravel you, and make you vulnerable in the way only Zeta-7 knew how to do. Lost in the moment, you began to flirt, and he chuckled nervously, and in all his nervousness to move away from listening ears, he dropped his phone. It was cute how nervous he still got, but you stopped when you heard the Ricks in the background.

You didn’t want to give those mean Rick’s another reason to bully him. Nonetheless, you were disappointed that he wasn’t home, and you were going to hang up, and return back to work, but he offered to allow you to sit in the conservatory. You admitted that you were afraid you’d hurt one of his plants, but he chuckled, and said that you’d never do such a thing on purpose. So, you accepted.

___________

You used the spare key to get in.

Something about Zeta-7s house always made you feel calm, almost in the same way your medication did. The sunflower rug you stood on was as brilliant as ever, the living room, and the house itself seemed to invite you. Near the window stood his easel where an unfinished piece was covered. On the couch, sat an array of plushies, a colorful pillow, and a quilt. Every square of the quilt was a scene, telling a story, but the last one blank. Perhaps it was unfinished.

Everywhere you looked, you saw color, it fed your eyes, enriched your soul, and it struck you with that nostalgic, heart heavy feeling; it felt like home. This feeling which visited from time to time, most particularly when you felt lonely, other times when you felt lost. There was something grounded, almost planted, and somewhere your were infected by its spores. This illness of feeling, of the ever wicked anxious mind, it made you feel too much.

Still, you could move, and you did.

In the kitchen, the turmeric powder was still open, and you figured he must have left right away, for the breakfast dishes sat in the sink, and next to it a empty container of tofu. Hmm, seems like he tried that recipe you had recommended. You set down your laptop, and began to clean up the kitchen for him. If he were at your home, you knew he’d do the same. When you finished cleaning, you headed toward that sacred place, more sacred than his underground lab.

The place he visited almost religiously, which you’d like to think of as his secret garden, a place of secrets, with messages among the thorns, and love painted among their leaves. Emerson knew best when he said ‘The lover of nature is he whose inward and outward senses are still truly adjusted to each other; who has retained the spirit of infancy even into the era of manhood.’ Upon entering, the differences in scents and temperature were obvious. The air was thick, and heavy with moisture, laden with nature’s earthy perfume. You closed the door behind you, and with caution walked around.

This was Ricks sanctuary, his breathing space. Like his home, great thought and planning had gone into its design. Within those glass walls, freedom, sincerity, long suffering, and love, existed in their stems and branches. Angels trumpet hung high and proud, Bougainvillea had claimed the wall of the furthermost corner, a Tropical beauty sat below the banana plant. Various palm-trees, as well as orchids, birds of paradise, fiddle leaf, elephant ears, sat in painted pots.

You realized that every bit of space was used to its fullest potential, with just enough to walk around, snug, but comfortable. How many happy hours had he spent with these friends? How many hours did he tend to his plant children? How many tears had they seen? Did they know the whispers of his heart?

If only they could say.

Up above, were the air plants in glass globes. They varied in size and in them they held mosses, to flowers, to things you’d never seen. Terrariums held what appeared to be small ecosystems of their own, where micro creatures ran about, grazed, and slept. A few of them experienced their own seasons, others were empty. Shelves were dedicated to house the succulents, their containers ranged from cookie jars, old boots, cracked teapots, and wonderfully glazed bowls.

In an old birdcage was a lone rose bush, whose buds were lapis blue. For a while you admired the depth of its color, and felt your cheeks grow warm from the thought of Zeta-7 presenting one them in bloom. A perfectly blue rose, you once read is elusive like the perfectly black rose. They cannot be achieved naturally so they represent the unattainable or the mysterious, and therefore embody the desire for the unattainable.

Among the plants, you swore one of them were singing. A singing plant? With Rick, was there such thing as impossible? No, it was not.

Somewhere, there was a musical flute-like sound, and you continued forward, until you stopped before a plant with paper-thin rigid leaves which vibrated. You blew on it, and it produced new musical notes. Beside it was a miniature dancing tree, near its a base a type of iridescent fungus. You swore, there were hidden worlds among the vines and bushes which you could not see.

A ladder held pots of bonsai, from a desert rose to cherry blossoms, and other small fruiting plants. The philodendron cascaded along the sides, shading them on its skirt of vines. My, Zeta-7 certainly had a poetic quality, which he expressed in his works. What you did not know was he was such a phytophilous being. How did one fit so much fondness in the confines of human flesh?

In their respective corner were the carnivorous plants. Venus flytraps, and a few other wicked looking flowers you avoided, but you stopped before a tray of mushrooms. You weren’t sure if they were the kind you could eat, but your dad used to tell you that it was usually the most colorful that were poisonous. In another tray were ghost like plants, with small flecks of color. Eery things really, like echoes, parasitic perhaps, and another thing you weren’t going to touch.

In the center of the conservatory was a type of fountain. In floating baskets were flora and fauna you could only imagine came from alien planets. There were various sizes of water lilies as well as submerged plants, with goldfish and small turtles swimming around their roots. During your tour, you had forgotten the purpose or reason you had visited this place. Perhaps it didn’t matter anymore as to why.

As could be expected from Zeta-7, everything was well pruned, the floor was clean, and his work table, and all his tools orderly. On the counter were bowls full of polished stones, various gravels, sea-shells, gemstones, and rocks. Above it were cabinets, where you found other odd bits and ends, as well as jars of seeds, and powders. You didn’t dare open any, but you couldn’t help but smile when you noticed the glowing pot of herbs. Not too long ago he had told you of his idea to make a bioluminescent plant so he could read in the dark.

You closed the cabinet, and pressed a hand to your chest. In this place, you had developed a new fondness. Warm-hearted, you felt a burst of joy, and renewed appreciation for him. In his house, especially in this room, you could feel him, and his nurturing care. Here, his invisible qualities were prominent, and you saw the fruitage of his work.

Away from the fast paced life you had known, here, you were disconnected, reborn in natural beauty. You felt his comforting presence, and almost heard his sing song voice call for you to be near him. Slowly, you were learning his secrets, and this was one of his better ones. It didn’t matter what you had come here to do, but you were relaxed, and on the couch nearest to the herbs, you laid down, and fell asleep. In your dreams, you stood amongst your perfect home, and it was very much like Ricks, and slightly a bit like yours.

Hours later, you were woken by the softness of a warm kiss upon your forehead. You were met by his winning smile, and towering figure. You sat up, and asked how long you had been asleep. Shaded by the color and sounds of evening, he pressed a code onto his phone and fairy lights lit up the corner where you two were. You had been there asleep all day, and hadn’t gotten any work done.

Oh well, that meant you had the rest of the night to figure it out. You patted the space beside you, and invited him to sit. Rick chuckled, and told you how he had come home to find you asleep, much to your embarrassment. He dared not to disturb you until he had showered, dressed, and cooked enough for two. Today he wasn’t wearing the usual blue sweater, and lab coat, but a blue dress shirt with a few of the buttons undone, and a pair of blue jeans.

Damn, when you gazed into his electric, forget-me-not blues, your breath caught in your throat. There was something different about him. Nothing so readily obvious, but nothing so insignificant. His penetrating stare searched you, curious in what it was you weren’t saying. You poked his cheek to ease the tension that had built up in your chest.

You did this a few times, and good-naturedly, he chuckled, and asked if you were having fun. Damn, it wasn’t helping, he was still handsome. Lips bitten, he studied you. What are you thinking, you asked.

With a blush, he leaned forward, until your foreheads touched. Sometimes, he didn’t have the words to say what he meant, but that was okay, you didn’t need them. With his face hidden in your hair, you giggled with he brushed that ticklish spot behind your ear. You pulled him close, until neither of you knew where you started or ended. Unlike other times, he did not try to pull away.

You bathed in his warmth, and sighed happily as he rubbed your back in soothing circles. He smelled like fresh laundry and cooking, his chin soft from a fresh shave. You blinked and all at once, you lost contact with the world around you, and he was all you, and you were all him. His fingers were in your hair, and you pressed kisses on the fresh cut on his left cheek. And when he captured your mouth in a firm, but gentle kiss, you felt him shaking.

There were days when he was so eager, that it scared him, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. Due to his lack of experience, as well as self confidence issues, he’d hold back from showing the full extent of his affection. Oh, the things he could do if he were more confident. Nice and slow you whispered, and in time he calmed a little, until you had a slow, and sweet rhythm of lingering kisses. When he broke this rhythm by apologizing for his inadequacy, you held him to your heart, and told him you weren’t going anywhere.

You loved this man more dearly than you had ever loved anything. He blushed like mad, too embarrassed to get an intelligible word out, but you thought nothing of it. Behind his ear, you found a bruise about the size of your thumb, and you realized you had probably held on too hard while you two were kissing. Now that you thought of it, you would have to be more careful next time. There were days when you forgot how old he was.

You knew that there would be struggles with dating someone like Zeta-7, someone so much older than yourself, someone who had been scorned and lonely, and how it was going to bring its fair share of trials and tribulations, but to you didn’t matter, because he was home.Surrounded by his plants, in this environment, in this sanctuary, you were home.

You asked what he had made for dinner, and his laughing eyes, nervous lip bite, and flushed face almost made you forget what you had just asked. You were good, and listened, even if all you wanted to do was steal his breath away. In this world, his world, Ricks behavior caught you off guard at times, but by allowing you into his world, you saw its values, and it’s truths. This sweet creature wanted you,

You traced his smile lines, committing them to memory.

He leaned into your touch, and damn he hummed. Please stay for dinner, he whispered. With you, you asked. As though he were peering into your soul, and reading your thoughts, he leaned forward, lips parted, his breath feathering your face. Just before your lips touched, he poked your cheek.

You pouted, which made him laugh, a full on belly laugh. This happy noise filled up the room, and you swore you heard something singing, perhaps it was a tree. The little tease, perhaps the Rick in him couldn’t resist. Oh well, there would be many other opportunities for you to return the favor, for now you’d accepted his outstretched hand. Blissful, he raised it to his mouth and kissed it.

Perhaps, he was becoming a little more confident, but all you knew was that it suited him. If nurtured, and cared for, with the right amount of love, in the right environment, what could Zeta-7 not do?