Add tags: Human perry, mute perry, implied perryshmirtz, 9 minute snippet of the PnF blockbuster sneak peek.
summary: Ooooh everybody gangsta until the actions have consequences.
A/N: The angst ficlet yall been waiting for.
Perry fucks up on the last day before summer vacation.
If pressed, the thoughts that pass by in the seconds that immediately follow had been those of abject confusion, and a very damning whoops. There was just…so much going on. Francis was finally putting him off of Venomous Insectoid Robot duty (relegating him back to Danville after 9-months of the hours-long commute between the Quad-state and Tri-state area highways), just for him to find out that he'd completely overlooked the day Linda was helping organize the official summer blockbuster party that would be taking place tomorrow. The kids had been let off on a half-day to capture the last day of spring, and there was just. So…much going on.
"C'mon, Perry the Platypus, there must be something that annoys you." Heinz smirked, turning his cheek coyly. The twinkle in his eyes betray something knowing.
Perry rolled his eyes, arms crossed over the inside of the cage even as a smile had touched the edges of his lips. It's hardly an effort for him to reach past the criss-crossing steel barriers of his trap(s), turning the nozzle of the Inator right back around. Heinz's laugh betrayed a complete lack of fear, falling back into the air-cushioned couch he'd somehow dragged in here, leaning back—a little too seductively, if you asked Perry. This relapse was really getting to his head.
"Ah, there's that sass," Heinz purred, and Perry answered Heinz's smirk with one of his own. Tipping his hat back with a flick of his fingers. "That's what I've been missing."
Perry chirrs, exasperated.
"Come on, for real." His voice takes on a tinge of sincerity. He's not even pretending that there's an ultimately evil objective to his newest scheme outside of purposefully triggering the right buttons on the OWCA watchlist so they could hang out again—kicking it back and taking sadistic pleasure in pointless destruction. "There must be something you want to vaporize, right-,"
There is, to be fair. Perry reaches back out and flips the nozzle, jostling the trigger just so that the beam cleaves off the upper half of his traps. Heinz shrieks in surprise, and Perry smiles, wide. Unencumbered.
This is what I've been missing, Perry thought to himself, echoing Heinz's sentiment as he jumped nimbly across the tightrope thin edges of the hot-air balloon basket, tackling Heinz back onto the floor. Heinz takes the momentum to roll them over and elbows into Perry's throat, shoving him off back against the Inator.
This. This is what he's missed. This was something Perry couldn't find anywhere else, not in London or Manila or Rome. That spark of adrenaline no venomous robotic mecha could live up to, an excitement no other spark of arson could raise. Nothing else compares, no other man nor woman nor scientist could hope to match.
He'd gotten drunk on it, forgetting himself. I missed you too, Perry thought, as Heinz choked him on the heel of his foot, keeping him down. The balloon had taken him high, high, stealing his breath, and Perry can hear the thumping of his own heartbeat, rushing through his ears. It pierces through the cacophony of the blockbuster party right below them, like hanging off the edge of an oh-so-familiar cliff-face. His fingers, scrambling, finding the edge of a rope tucked beneath some tarp on the north-edge side of the basket.
I missed this, I missed you, fuck Heinz, I missed you-
A twist, a tackle, tripping Heinz over his calf and the winding of the rope. Heinz snarls, knocking back against the Inator as they grappled—
Things you can’t do when you’re mute (partially for the pnf community partially cause i was just thinkin about it):
- Phone calls (yes they have TTS apps that can do this but a) they cost money to remove ads that physically interrupt you and b) people are stupid sometimes and constantly ask if you’re still there even when you introduce with the fact that you’re mute and to give you time to type)
- Fast food drive throughs
- Communicating while carrying things
- Communicating while driving (unless you are with someone who can understand sign/one handed sign)
- Asking people if they need help quickly without stopping them and having them wait for you to type
BONUS, doable things that are just kind of annoying:
- Paying for gas with cash
- Buying things at a register instead of self checkout
- Really just paying for anything in cash
- People acting like I am deaf when I am actively listening to music with large over the ear headphones loudly and having to point to my ears and do a thumbs up (this usually get the point across)
BONUS TWO, things that are cool that have happened to me:
- A hispanic guy (this is relevant) came up to me at a gas station who had seen me paying for gas inside and I guess heard me blasting my music and started speaking to me in spanish. I understand enough spanish that i was able to get that he was asking if i was mute, then he asked if i understood spanish and i shook my head, and he switched to english and started telling me about a seminar he went to on mutism. He was very sweet and it made my day
- The woman who is always working at the panda express I frequent at my school learned how to say a few things in sign presumably because I go there a LOT
- A little girl at the summer camp I went to who connected with me heard another kid ask me why I was using my phone to speak and said loudly “Some people can’t hear and some people can’t speak its a disability”
- Another little girl at the same camp kept running out into the hallway and the teacher was older and worried more about keeping an eye on everyone than her comfort so I offered to watch her in the hall. I sat down with her and asked her if she was overstimulated (in a way a small child would understand) and she nodded. I don’t remember what I said next but she signed me too. I signed asking if she signed and she signed back “a little”. I explained why I couldn’t speak and she said she was the same. I nearly burst into tears for this child and the connection we had. I spent the rest of the day with her. She spoke quietly to other kids but with me she would just smile big and point to things she wanted to show me. We read some of her favorite books quietly sitting next to each other.
- Teaching kids the ASL alphabet, they are always so eager to learn
If anyone is mute or has recently gone mute or has non verbal episodes I am here with you. There’s nothing wrong with us. I love you.
A couple of weeks ago, I started getting back into my MARVEL phase, and since I had no intention of letting my Phineas and Ferb phase go in the meantime, it's cumulated into the desire of seeing a crossover. Before I remembered that a crossover existed, and it sucked. I DID end up rewatching it, and I fell asleep thinking about how wrongly it represented my favourite characters from BOTH fandoms. Natasha didn't feature, and they didnt even crack Tony out of his iron shell. They made Candace look like an idiot, and Isabella had such a small role as to be almost completely insulting.
I'm now 3/4ths of the way done, and the only reason it isn't is because I'm approaching the end of my semester, and I just got too. Overwhelmed. I really, really want to share what I have so far, because I had a TONNE of fun writing it while it was still going, and I'm already so so close to the finish line.
Context/Tags: Post Civil War, Prior to Ragnarok, featuring Irondad. Human Perry, selective mutism. OWCA is a bit more competent than usual in this fic, and while Fury doesn't completely LIKE Francis, there is an air of respect between the two of them.
This snippet mainly features the interaction between Perry, Francis, Carl, Fury, Natasha and Clint. Seeing (writing) these spies interact is at least half the reason I wanted to write this fic in the first place.
Snippet under the cut, Enjoy!
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Natasha liked Perry immensely, the moment she met him.
He stands at attention just a little behind a man she assumes to be his superior; a white haired monobrow-ed man in an olive green uniform. Bartholomew "Perry" Fletcher cuts an intimidating figure, though apparently shorter in person than he seems from afar, just a little taller than Natasha herself. Much like Tony. His naturally teal hair is just as eye-catching as it had been in his profile photo, though it brings out his Australian complexion, and the brown of his eyes.
He’s dressed eclectically, in what she assumes is something of a uniform within the organisation. A brown Kevlar-and-silk waistcoat over a light teal dress shirt, pressed brown trousers and smart, steel-toed loafers, topped off with the ever-recognizable OWCA fedora.
His gaze is sharp, calculating, but not particularly unwelcome. Perry carries himself not with braggadocio, but the familiar confidence of a man who knows his own strengths, and what he brings to the table. A man who knows himself to be good at his job. Natasha should know; it is a look she sees frequently in her line of work, in the company she keeps.
Time will tell if Perry would remain among them.
“It’s a pleasure to meet the esteemed Director Fury in the flesh." Said Francis Monogram, the superior in question, eager and a little bumbling. Natasha could see Perry rolling his eyes, even standing at attention, and Clint hides his chuckle with a well-timed cough.
“I wish I could say the same." Fury says, pointedly ignoring Monogram’s outstretched hand. "You understand this is no social call.”
Francis’ thick mustache quivers unhappily. It reminds Natasha of a fat, old caterpillar. “It never is. We’re glad to be of any service we can, of course. Agent Platypus will be glad to answer any question you have."
“Yes, Agent Platypus." Fury raises his eyebrow. Perry tilts his head when addressed. "Your reputation precedes you. We’ve been told you are OWCA’s finest.”
How someone could look so expressive and professional at the same time, Natasha can’t say. But that was Perry. I do my best, sir. He signs, simple and modest.
His ASL is sharp, quick and fluid, which confirms another point from his portfolio; selective mutism. Clint had been almost delighted to know. She respects that Perry does not pull any punches regarding how well they could understand him.
Nonetheless, a curly haired, freckled child (only a little older than Peter) standing with a clipboard by Francis’ side pipes up. “He said-,"
“We know ASL, kid, that’s not necessary." Clint intercepts gently. He shares a look with Natasha before addressing Monogram. “Sorry, should he be here? Or is he done?”
"Carl is head intern of the organisation.” Monogram answers dismissively, leading the way down from the rooftop where the helicarriers had dropped them off before going their merry way downtown. "I’m afraid he goes wherever I go. He will be responsible for addressing future reports of our meeting.”
Big job for an intern. He shares another look with Natasha, and they both turn to Perry, as if to seek his unspoken opinion on the matter.
Perry gives them a subtle nod.
Natasha chooses to leave it, and follows them down the stairwell.
“I trust you’ve been briefed of our recent little…incident in New York.” Fury starts, as they all make their way through the building. Presumably for Francis’ personal office.
“I’m led to believe it was an accident." Francis says, throwing an indecipherable look over his shoulder. “The Flynn-Fletcher brothers have great untapped potential, and while we’ve had cause to doubt their intentions in light of certain…developments, I am ensured it is not for evil.”
"You think it was an accident.” Fury echoed.
At this, Francis shrugs. "Weirder things have happened in Danville.”
Natasha makes note of the unmistakable coil of tension that grows in Perry’s form with every new mention of the Flynn-Fletcher brothers. Perry clears his throat, loudly.
Francis sighs, as if he had been reminded of an incredibly tedious thing. “Our sources tell us that the boys were only involved peripherally, in any case. The ray in question hadn’t been their fault, even if it had been intercepted and collected in their satellite. The real culprit is a criminal we have been pursuing for years; a Dr Heinz Doofenshmirtz, and his latest Power-Drain-Inator.”
Clint shares another look with her, eyebrows raised. Now this was a new development. “Not the most creative name." He quips.
Francis scoffs. “I assure you, it’s more than made up for in the invention itself, as well as its effectiveness."
Natasha straightens. “So it was effective?"
“Your being here seems tangible enough proof that it was." Francis points out, and she almost hates that it’s a sensible observation. “Doofenshmirtz inventions have a 96% success rate. He is the third most dangerous villain in our database. Agent Platypus, as his nemesis, had neutralised the threat as quickly as he was able-although not quickly enough, as it seems, to fully prevent any harm.”
It is clear that the accusation of failure had been the one to hit a nerve, and Perry looks away, ashamed. Natasha almost felt tempted to reassure him; nothing more upsetting to an agent of their calibre to be accused of failure, after all. But it had a ring of truth-it was only luck that the beam had hit the Avengers after the fight had been done with, and not a second before. Tony, in particular, had been severely incapacitated.
“And where do we find this…. Doofenshmirtz?” Fury asks, as they arrive on the bullpen floor. It is not so busy, but the few OWCA agents lingering don't bother hiding their curious eyes as even when Perry sends a withering glare in their general direction. Carl ushers them all inside Monogram’s office, the largest personal space on one side of the floor.
Inside, the space is decorated with lush carpets and a grand mahogany table, like a high school Principal’s office. There are floor to ceiling windows with a view to the parking lot, as well as a clever viewpoint of the building’s entrances and exits. Not so glamorous, but Natasha could admit it was practical.
Perry closes the door behind them, and clears his throat once again. Carl jumps.
“Yes sir,” He said, adjusting his glasses. “Being a Friday, considering what we understand of his schedule, he should either be at his home address, or shopping for groceries, since Dr Doofenshmirtz gets custody of his daughter on the weekends due to an agreement with his ex-wife in the divorce. However, certain developments were brought to light that it may be…unwise to act so directly.”
Francis, who had been typing away on his computer when they had arrived, swivels the screen around to show them a purple and white themed webpage that is–on closer inspection, turns out to be an encrypted Tumblr account.
“You’re kidding." Clint says. "He blogged about it?”
“He has more professional blogs as well,” Carl says, procuring a tablet from his pocket (Not Starktech. Most networks prefer to use their own developed tech, and Natasha notes that OWCA is much the same) for Fury’s perusal. "It’s almost comically incompetent, but he also knows we stalk him, so we feel some two ways about it. I would like to bring attention to his most recent post, dated this morning.”
"Looks like he’s entertaining company.” Fury agrees, passing the tablet down to Natasha (with Clint looking over her shoulder.) “I assume you have…plans, for detainment?”
"What’s stopping us from apprehending them all at once?” Clint asks, fingers pointing to the background of the picture taken with all of their criminals in frame. "We have tangible proof of their collaboration, written confessions to their criminal intentions, we know where they are-,”
"Doofenshmirtz is a criminal no matter who he chooses to collaborate with." Francis points out. “And we have records of worse collaborations. These aren't confessions–only intentions, not yet acted out. These posts were made nearly an hour ago, where they’ve made plans to tour the Tri-State Area causing general mayhem. By all means, we don't know their plans, we don't know where they are or where they plan to be, especially considering Doofenshmirtz own historically unpredictable patterns and impulse decisions.”
"And apprehending them in public is out of the picture, I assume.” Natasha says drily. Predictably, all three OWCA operatives tense unhappily. "Too much collateral damage, as well as risk of exposure.”
"It’s not like you can do much, without solid criminal charges." Carl mutters. “Not if we detain them in the Tri-State Area. Doofenshmirtz’s little brother is the current mayor, and he’s stupidly well-regarded. His influence is wide-spread. Doofenshmirtz also has an exceedingly amicable relationship with his ex-wife, who owns a very influential legal firm. She even kept his name.”
"So we can’t pin them on jack shit, is what you’re saying.” Clint surmises. “Not until they do something drastic. Not so long they remain in the bounds of the city. And they will remain here. We know they want something from Doofenshmirtz, and they don't know how dangerous he is.”
“And how dangerous is that?" Fury asks.
Francis and Carl simultaneously glance to the side, where Perry had chosen to take position by the side of the door.
"Not much.” Carl says. "Usually.”
Natasha quirks an eyebrow.
Perry coughs, to call attention to himself, and brings his hand up in a see-saw motion with a twitch of his left eye.
He’s unpredictable, Perry signs. We mean that. He’s ambitious, single minded, and persistent, with the genius engineering know-how to walk his talk. But he follows his own rules, and standards of conduct, which are almost admirable. He also has an almost debilitating case of ADHD, prosopagnosia, and PTSD. Trying to follow his sense of logic can be…. difficult.
“I can believe that." Fury defers. "What do you suggest, Agent?”
Perry glances towards Francis, as if to ask for permission. When Francis responds with a brisk nod, Perry wastes no time.
There is a protocol in place. We call it Walking the Dog.
Relationship: Heinz Doofenshmirt/Perry the Platypus
Add tags: Human Perry, mute Perry, POV Outsider, possibly a sister fic of When We Didn't Get Along, whipped this up real quick before I go back to actual productivity.
A/N: Inspired by the ask sent to Liz here
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Chamy shushes everyone in the bullpan pantry so loudly it throws spittle in James' face, making him quickly twist his body with a hand over the his cup of coffee to keep it from contaminants. He kicks Chamy in the ankle to retaliate, but they ignore him easily, already distracted by the screen.
He doesn't know why they think they needed to do that; the chatter falls into a deathly silence when the gentle whoosh of Dr Feelbetter's post opening credits flashcards whirl on-screen, which is impressive, considering the sheer volume of bodies a 6 by 9 ft room could ever hope to comfortably contain. But OWCA work PCs were monitored, and there was no hope in recording Dr Feelbetter's Specials on the Evil Channel without your device somehow blowing into pieces anyway. The only way to catch today's episode was to watch it live, and there was not a single gossip hungry soul in OWCA that would dare to miss it.
The camera pans to Agent Panda, hefting an armchair over his head, and James' eyebrows creep up his forehead, wondering if the drama happened in studio before the cameras could catch it. The audience would never forgive him.
But then Agent Panda throws the couch into a messy stack in the corner of studio, and the camera catches someone in the crowd swooning. Ah, comic relief. Someone in the pantry, James thinks it's Sergei, snorts loudly.
"Thank you, Agent Peter the Panda, I've been meaning to stack those chairs." Phil says, to which the agent bows sarcastically. The camera pans back into the studio set, and James is sure they weren't going to see Peter again. "Dr Heinz Doofenshmirtz, it's time."
The statement is almost somber, the lights of studio turned down low. The camera switches focus, back onto the men of the hour, and Jesus, fuck, James doesn't think he'll ever get over how agent Platypus looks like.
He's looking, there was simply no way around it, absolutely horrible. With the unmade hair and red-rimmed eyes, the unshaven stubble, and darting eyes. Hunched shoulders and chapped lips. Not fidgeting, though, and his suit—sans Blazer and tie--was nothing short of crisp and pristine, but it is a pocky sheen of dignity. It's…startling. Disconcerting.
Perry was the best of them. He always had been; the kind of hero-eque idol you'd count yourself lucky to meet, much less work with on a daily basis. He had a spleen of steel and the aura of giants, despite his less-than-impressive stature. Perry had the family, the respect, the reputation and the skills to back it up. Christ, Perry the Platypus had it all. The freshies talk about him like he's a God among men, and Perry even had the envy of haters who can't even pretend he isn't worth the hype when they look him in the eye. And to see him so reduced, and for…what? Some hacky evil scientist Francis keeps insisting wasn't worth the audio recorders they planted all around his laboratory is…
James sips his coffee, internally disturbed. Just who was Heinz Doofenshmirtz? What makes him so special?
"Tell Perry the Platypus how you feel." Feelbetter suggests, and James watches as Perry rubs his lips with the tip of his finger, the hollow look in his eyes.
"Perry the Platypus, I'm," Heinz starts, and stops, and starts again. His voice sputters, and his fingers twist, but his gaze-on Perry-they do not waver, and Perry seems to smile despite himself. "I'm sorry, I really am. Perry, I am so so sorry. I'm sorry that I-I hurt you, when I wasn't trying to hurt you."
Heinz's eyes, blue and watery, there was no mistaking the apology, the watery sincerity. When he gets on one knee by Perry's feet, James could've sworn he hears Chamy quietly sniffle. The songtrack, instrumental, slow and sentimental, is subtle—but it plays out the scene of the studio in perfect harmony. They're really milking this for all it's worth.
"I swear," Heinz continues. "If you give me one more chance, I promise to only hurt you in the right way. With cartoonish physical violence, and elaborate traps constructed out of strange things I purchased over the internet."
The humor is half-hearted, but Perry (along with some of the in-studio crowd, and the pantry itself) finds themselves chuckling anyway, despite the mood of the hour. Perry buried his face in his hands, the crooked upwards curl of his lips unmistakeable, but so was the sniffle (crackling over the mic), the fresh tears trailing down his cheeks.
There is a collective gasp in the pantry, and James hides his gawping behind the rim of his coffee cup. Behind him, Agent Beatrice the Bee lets out a sympathetic coo, and he hears someone go, "What the hell?" James can relate; he couldn't have brought himself to imagine in a hundred years he'd ever see Agent Perry the Platypus, the best agent of OWCA, brought to tears. He didn't think that was physically possible.
The studio had also been brought to sympathetic cries, but Heinz isn't paying attention to any of them. He was crying too, reaching out, and Perry clasps both Heinz's outstretched hands in his own, still attempting to muffle loss in composure. It's a beautifully heartfelt moment. He's sure Feelbetter's going to want to keep this one in the books.
"What do you say?" Heinz asks, like a vow. Christ. Feelbetter squirrels in by the edge of the camera, right by Perry's shoulder and James feels like throwing his coffee at the screen for ruining the moment.
"Well, Perry the Platypus? What do you say?"
Perry spares Feelbetter only a single glance, before he turns back to Heinz. Their eyes meet, gaze heavy with all the words they couldn't say in front of a live studio audience, before Heinz, finally smiles.
Perry smiles back. Off-screen, someone hands him his hat back on a silver platter, and he doesn't hesitate a single more second before he takes it, putting it back on his unruly hair. The audience coos and cheers.
"Oh, what a beautiful conclusion folks! How absolutely wonderful!" Feelbetter cries.
In the third floor OWCA's employee pantry, the crowd bursts into their own cries of relief, patting each other on the back as they celebrate while pretending nobody had cared either way.
"That's better than any of my soaps." Chamy quips, as the crowd begins to thin along with the end of lunchbreak. Both of them were still standing there, because James had a hunch that something was About To Happen. "Nice to be reminded that Perry's just like any one of us, really."
Chamy would know, of course. Their nemesis-ship with the Sinister Sisters would hit their 20th Anniversary this Friday. A nemesis-ship, he'd been repetitively told by his graduating supervisor back in the Academy, was a commitment, so maybe they all should've seen this coming, really.
James wonders about Peter. He'd heard the guy had his own nemesis, back in Seattle. Someone should be looking into what happened there, but Mystery—some Doctor or Professor or other—was infamous for being almost undetectable. Perhaps they had the better sense to keep whatever happened there under wraps instead of coming onto a live studio recording for professional help. Maybe Ann was right and Perry really was a sucker for attention.
James is pulled out of his thoughts as Heinz gets to his feet, pulling a button out of his lab coat pocket. Uh-oh.
"Thank you, Perry the Platypus." He says, before he clicks the button, effectively trapping all studio staff members and OWCA agents in the crowd, and alarms began blaring all through the headquarters as Monogram and Acronym are demanding cavalry to the Feelbetter set in LA, double time. Chamy curses, and James finishes off the last of lukewarm coffee in three large gulps.
"Let's never speak of this again," he says.
"Agreed." Chamy answers. Agent Jackal and Chameleon shook on it, before they rush out of the office to save the day.
Hi I wanted to ask you about a fanfic idea? You don’t have to answer this but I have a couple ideas and I’ve been to busy to really put it to use.
You know in the movie into the 2nd dimension where Perry’s able to hold up 2 kids, 1 teen, and a fully grown evil scientist. I thought of the idea of what would happen if his host family saw that or if he got a bit to rough with Dr d during a fight.
You might have already had this idea or have even already done it but i thought it would be a fun short fic or something.
Early Days
Rating: G
Relationships: Bg Lawrence Fletcher/Linda Flynn-Fletcher
Characters: Linda Flynn-Fletcher, Lawrence Fletcher, Perry the Platypus, Heinz Doofenshmirtz mentioned, Flynn Fletcher siblings mentioned
Add tags: Non graphic depiction of violence, non graphic depiction of injuries, family feels, light angst, PnF S1 Hail Doofania, human Perry the Platypus, mute Perry the Platypus
A/N: This takes place in the early days of Perry and Heinz's nemesis ship. In the episode Hail Doofania in S1, Perry spends almost the entire episode wearing a protective collar. His flashback shows us that Heinz pushed him down a sandpaper making factory that tore up the fur on his body, making Linda suspect he's scratching himself up due to some sort of rash.
In the human!Perry version, I take this further to mean that he's wearing some sort of neck brace, meaning that Heinz had--at some point early in their relationship--had hurt him quite bad. I thought it's fitting to fulfil the ask. Perry still calls Heinz 'Doofenshmirtz'.
This fic mainly centres around Perry's relationship with Linda and Lawrence, and how they worry for him. The boys are maybe 5 years old here, making Candace 10.
If you want to understand the reference to Ferb's mom, i recommend reading my human Perry lore post linked in my pinned post.
Im sorry this took so long @salty-frenchfry . Between life happening and my laptop going Ka-put, finding the time to properly address this ask took longer than I'd like. I never forgot it though! I hope this little short is ok 😭
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In his line of work, injuries were unavoidable.
Often times, they were easy enough to hide. Bruises were most common. Perry's long since taken to keeping a spare set of make-up with a replenishable bottle of concealer on his person, whether that be the dash of his hovercar or the storage box beneath the seat of his scooter. And what the concealer couldn't hide, his sleeves and long trouser pants could.
He's good enough at what he does. That being said, sometimes Doofenshmirtz gets a lucky shot.
Linda stormed into his private ward like an avenging angel, and Lawrence trails behind her in a more sedate, nevertheless eager pace. The nurse, as well as a be-suited nameless OWCA insurance representative slips out silently to leave him to their harried concerns, though not before the former sends him a small smile for good luck. The married couple barely notices.
"What happened?" Linda demands. Lawrence makes himself at home in the bedside chair, letting his wife take charge of the mother henning for now. "The hospital told us you'd gotten involved in a car accident? Oh Perry, your handsome face." She cried, bottom lip wobbling, and if Perry didn't have his left hand in a cast and his body completely leaden with drugs, he would have reached out to reassure her. As it was, he could only attempt to do what he can with a strained smile.
He hadn't known, until this point, what excuse OWCA had given the Flynn Fletchers to obfuscate the circumstances surrounding the severity of his injuries, but he really should have guessed. OWCA loved car accidents. In truth, he'd lost his balance over the edge of a rooftop while fighting with Doofenshmirtz, and he'd somehow managed to push Perry over. Perry had fallen through a roof of a sandpaper making factory, down 20 feet onto some crates and toppling heavy machinery. He'd almost broken his neck, fractured his left wrist, dislocated his left knee joint (the side that had broken his fall) and his face looks like he'd gone 5 rounds with Mohammad Ali. Thankfully he'd found he'd managed to thwart Doofenshmirtz's scheme anyway (he'd thrown a shoe into the revealed gearwork of his Unpaved-Inator, a machine designed to revert paved walk lanes into unstable cobbled paths. As if Danville didn't suffer from enough sabotage in terms of accessible walkable infrastructure), so at the very least, it was not a complete failure. The paperwork would've been impossible, instead of just insufferable.
He'd been given a voice to text machine by his bedside by his functional hand, a small voice box in respect to his disability, and he uses it to lie in it's emotionless vaguely feminine robotic voice. "T-boned into a truck running a red light." He says. OWCA would take this lie and run with it later. "Thrown onto the road. Think it slipped."
Linda and Lawrence made appropriately sympathetic noises. When Perry lolled his head to the side, he realizes his brother-in-law looks far more haggard than he'd initially noticed; red rimmed eyes and a glassy smile. Stiff upper lip. Well. Ferb had gotten it from someone. "You'd scared the children out of their wits, Perry." He says quietly, likely to conceal the shaking in his voice. "They're waiting in the car as we speak. None of us had quite the appetite for dinner after we'd gotten the news."
The strained smile slips into a slightly more sincere, more painful smirk. "Just the kids?" Perry asked, and Lawrence barks in laughter that sounds far too similar to a sob.
He can't imagine what he sees, what it must've been for him to have gotten the news. OWCA had told him it was a car accident too, for Ferb's mother nearly 5 years ago to the dot, now.
He'd not even got to see the body, then.
His heart squeezes in guilt, an all too familiar ache. Lawrence had been through enough: the point of a stable nemesis ship was to avoid injuries of such a caliber. To provide stability, safety. Security. Perry didn't want Linda, didn't want the kids, to ever worry about whether he would come home, especially not with the line of work he tells them he's involved in.
A gentle knock on the door heralds a familiar face: a specialist Perry had seen once or twice walking down the corridors of OWCA's medical bay as an emergency field medic, sans the white fedora with a red band denoting his position within the organisation.
This time he was simply wearing a signature Doctor's lab coat, holding a clipboard and flanked by a pocky young adult in scrubs, buzzing with caffeine. "Flynn-Fletchers?" He requested gently. Linda makes an affirmative noise, and the duo welcomes themselves inside the ward with that familiar professional smile.
"He's got banged up pretty bad out there." The doctor offers in a vague, sympathetic manner. "Has he told you what happened?"
Perry thinks he sees Lawrence and Linda share an unreadable look. "A car accident." Lawrence echoes hesitantly. "With a truck?"
The unnamed doctor nods, writing something down on his clipboard, likely the cover story he would need to report back to Francis shortly. "The impact had broken his collar bones and given him a mild concussion." He reports. The pocky nurse at hands out a print of Perry's X-ray reports, and Perry watches the married couple analyse the given print like it was anything comprehensible. "He'd landed on his left side, fracturing his left wrist, up to the back of his ulna, so we're casting it for now. No surgery beyond the one we've done to his collarbones immediately upon his arrival to the AnE, which has already been covered by his work insurance."
This seems to surprise Linda. " As an accountant?"
The doctor doesn't even blink. "Seems like it. Good health insurance plan. We're assigning him to a couple more days in the hospital to watch over his condition, and about 2 months bedrest before he can go back to work. If everything goes smoothly, we can discharge him by the end of the week. Any questions?"
"Paid vacation?"
It's a question asked through the robotic monotone of Perry's given voicebox. The doctor gives Perry a secretive, sympathetic smile for the unspoken concerns he understands far too well. "I'm afraid you will have to ask your superiors. My influence remain within these walls, I'm afraid. But I'll put in a good word."
Perry sighs. It comes out weaselly and creaky, and Lawrence reaches forward to squeeze his uninjured shoulder in reassurance. "Thanks, doc." Perry says, because he wasn't an animal.
"My pleasure." He says, which must've been some sort of cue. The pocky nurse moves to exit, leaving them with the X-Ray prints, and holding the door open. "I'll let you get your rest, and you may refer to Consultation for any questions regarding visitation hours. We'll be able to greenlight him tomorrow."
Linda and Lawrence thank him, watching him leave before they redirect their attention back to Perry's prone form.
Linda has her lips pursed in displeasure. "Your boss doesn't really want you back so soon after your accident, would they?"
Perry sighs again. This time, the exhales brings his attention to his parched throat. "I can't say." He types into the voicebox. It's not the answer she was looking for, he can tell from the continued sour look of her face. Lawrence face becomes even more pained.
"Can you promise you won't be doing this again?" He requests, and while his throat and his guilt tears him from the inside out, Perry lets himself chuckle lightly.
"I can't help these things, Lawrence."
The silence that follows is heavy with things Perry feels they're both keeping from each other. Linda sits heavily in the chair next to her husband, and reaches out to squeeze his hand, hanging limply by the armrest. Lawrence looks him in the eye, pointedly silent, and he smiles something wane and unreadable.
Relationship: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus
Add tags: Human Perry, Mute Perry, Trans Perry, FTM Perry, Cunnilingus, my pussy eating champion Heinz agenda starts here.
A/N: Perry refers to his genitals with words such as clit, cunt and hole, and if that's not your thing, you don't need to read past this line.
---
Heinz, he says, hands fluttering. You don't have to-
"Sit." The other man commands, pushing at his chest. Stunned, Perry lets him, and falls into Heinz' curved, velvet work chair. It creaks loudly in protest from his abrupt seat. It's the last thing on either of their minds.
Heinz follows him, bent down to bring their faces so close together the agent could feel his breath brushing against his lips, stare unblinkingly into his lust blown eyes. Taste the hunger in them as if it is his own, making him gulp helplessly. See that unstoppable, determined drive that makes Heinz so...Heinz.
When the scientist closes the gap between their lips, Perry burns.
He'd expected it to be like their fights; fast and hard, an inexhaustible argument filled with the innate desire to come out on top. Instead, it is almost chaste, teasing breaths and brushing lips. Perry huffs, reaching up to bury his hands into Heinz's hair, and bites. The smile he feels pulling against his own. Heinz keeps his own hands propped up against the armrests, but it doesn't keep him from giving as good as he got, sneaking his tongue to lick a moan out of Perry's mouth, brushing against the flat of his palate. Perry tries to coax him to stay, tangling Heinz's tongue with his own and nibbling at his moistened lips, but it's clear the scientist had plans of his own, pulling away with a lingering lick.
Perry couldn't pull his hands away to sign if he tried. He makes do, instead, with a questioning chirrup, and chokes on a full out moan when Heinz drops to his knees.
Fuck, he wants to say. Heinz. Instead he moans as the other man presses his nose to the side of his left knee, brushing his cheek against the inside of his clothed thigh. Scent marking. Blood rushing past his ears stops him from hearing properly, but he's sure from the gentle rumble of Heinz's chest that the man must be purring.
He starts from his shoes. Meeting Perry's eyes, he trails his fingers down the length of his legs, lingering particularly down the back of his calves where he sweeps the palms of his hands back and forth of both legs. When he kisses the inseam, Perry exhales, loudly, thumping the back of his head against the headrest. But he doesn't look away. When Heinz moves to remove the left of his steel-toed dress shoes, he carefully does not rest his palms on his heels, where Perry knows he knows about the venomous ankle spurs that earned him his codename. Instead he angles his palms down the flat of his soles, and tugs them off gently by the seam of the wells until it comes right off, and Heinz sets it aside carefully. Perry watches, breath fluttering, as he bites on the hilt of the dagger tucked into it's holster by the ankle of his repurposed sock suspenders, and unsheathes it with uncharacteristically precise movements, spitting it into his hand.
That’s one. He looks at Perry like he expects him to keep count.
Heinz plants a sweet, worshipful kiss on his ankle as he unclips the suspenders and tugs off his sock, tucking them into the shoe. He sets the dagger on the worktable, and gets to work on Perry's right.
Rinse and repeat; a gentle kiss to the inside of his knee, and a careful tug on a weaponized boot, stored neatly by its peer. Removing the hidden dagger with unnecessary sex appeal, before tucking the sock and suspender into their appropriate shoe.
When Perry whines impatiently, tugging on his hair, it only makes Heinz stop and stare with a raised eyebrow. There were no rushing things tonight-Heinz was going to spend his time savoring this in its entirety, and there was nothing Perry could do to stop him.
Heinz rises up to his knees, knocking their temples together, pushing his head back. Perry feels he huff of his breath--an almost laugh--on the side of his nose, before he swoops in to close the remaining gap between them.
God, but he'd missed this. There was little else he missed more. Electricity surged in the contact of their skin, and the kiss explained everything he couldn't bear to say. The hands he'd previously planted in Heinz's hair pets strokes down, caressing all the sharp features of such a familiar, beloved face, and with a swipe of his tongue to Heinz's bottom lip, the kiss deepens further, a warm and wet prelude of what's to come.
They break apart for air eventually, and Perry gasps as his Heinz redirects his attentions to the line of his stubbled jaw, raspberries interpersed with little nips. They made him giggle, loose and relaxed even as Heinz gathered Perry's hands in his own, redirecting them to settle open palmed on the armrests of the chair.
"Keep them there," he requests, to Perry's curious chirrup, a squeaking sound that melts into a startled moan as he feels Heinz pawing the front of his slacks, pulling down his zipper.
Heinz, he wants to say, and all that comes out was another breathy moan as he slips two of his fingers through the gap of his unzipped-but unbuttoned-pants, caressing the wet line of his slit, damp through the front of his briefs. A tease of what's to come.
The fingers rub down none to gently, allowing Perry to rub against the wet-and-rough friction of the smooth fabric so well that his hips jump in uncontrolled pleasure. When the unrelenting fingers brush against the aching swell of his clit he chokes, feeling another small rivulet wetting his underwear even further, perhaps even seeping through the seat of his pants.
He whines, loud and desperate, and Heinz looks up to meet his wide eyed gaze, pupils blown wide and hungry. Perry watches him pull the tantalizing fingers away, and sticking them into his own mouth. Watches how he visibly savors the flavor of Perry's slick with a few skillful swirls of that insufferable tongue, and Perry gulps. Heinz smiles, almost smug.
The next few minutes roll by a lot more quickly. The empty holster goes next, tied into his belt loops, and he unbuckles the sharp buckle with due diligence. He untugs the belt from around Perry's waist with an audible fwick, carefully rolling the length around four fingers into a neat ball to set aside. Perry hisses, burning with impatience, but Heinz simply sends him a look, uncharacteristically stern and disapproving, and Perry cowers like a kitten.
"Up," he orders, once he'd set the roll aside, and Perry lifts his ass off the seat of chair just long enough that Heinz pulls down the waistband of his trousers, and briefs, off his legs, leaving Perry totally, and completely bare from his waist down, legs spread for Heinz's unflinching perusal.
And peruse he did.
Perry pants like a dog, his face positively burning as Heinz leans closed, close enough that Perry can feel his hot puffs of breath swanning across the exposed flush of his vulva. They haven't even begun. His thighs tense and relaxes in measure as he resists the urge to clamp his legs together in shame, trying hard to follow orders, to be a good boy.
"So pretty," Heinz mutters, low enough that Perry assumes he must be talking to himself, and in the next second Perry gasps loudly as Heinz uses the fingers of his dominant hand to spread the lips of his labia open, exposing his insides to the cold air of the room. "Mein got, just look at you." He swears, and Perry only gets wetter despite himself, feeling slick dripping down his hole, his asscrack, and the seat of the armchair beneath. Perry whines again, and Heinz plants a sweet kiss to the stretch of skin between thigh and crotch, a spot sensitive enough that Perry feels a muscle on his belly jump in arousal.
"I've got you, little bear. Hold still."
It should surprise no one that Heinz was excellent at eating pussy.
Perry whines softly, hands clenching so tightly on the arms of the chair that he digs into it's wood scaffolding as Heinz began to pepper light kisses on the inside of his thighs, slowly making his way in, no where yet near where Perry needed him to be. He was almost embarrassingly wet as is, feeling another gush of slick slip out darkening the hair of his mound by the time Heinz teases the sensitive skin of his labia with his teeth, sending a sharp jolt and shiver through the rest of his body.
"Hush," Heinz shushes him, as Perry began to whine. "I've got you, lieblingschatz. Where do you need me? Here?" Heinz nudges the tip of his nose--sharp, long and boney--where Perry's clit stands at attention, swollen and throbbing to the beat of his heart. Perry jumps, and moans, a pitch that raises higher as Heinz settles the rest of his mouth over hole of his cunt, wet and empty. He teases him with sharp, rapid thrusts of his tongue--hot and hard--but they weren't enough, and so Perry groans and whines and cries as he humps pathetically, begging for more, deeper, harder, spurred by the knowledge that Heinz was holding back.
Heinz only groans in return, a deep, rumbling noise that reverberates from so deeply in his core–and not to mention vibrating the nose pressed to his tingling clitoris that Perry shouts, spurting a small jut of cum that Heinz slurps, and swallows, like he's taking a sip of water on a warm day.
Perry growls angrily as Heinz lifts his face away, but the other man simply smiled serenely. It would almost look innocent, if the half of his face wasn't drenched in Perry's juices. "No?" He says, as if Perry had said anything coherent. "Schnutzipucki, you have to explain to me the things you want. Here?" He dives back between Perry's legs, and it is almost comical how quickly his false rage breaks as Heinz plants a sweet kiss on his swollen clit, his tongue nudging beneath it's sensitive hood so he could take the bundle of nerves more firmly between his lips, like he was sucking cock.
Perry chokes on a scream. His thighs tremble helplessly, having only just gotten down from the unfulfilling high of his first orgasm only to be plunged headfirst into such intense stimulant while still being left empty and wanting. Please, he wants to cry, please, please, please, though he isn't totally sure if he was asking for more, or less. His body had curled in on himself, and he watches the muscles of his lower abdomen clench tightly from restraint, keeping his hands and legs right where he'd been ordered to keep them.
Heinz makes the decision for him. He lifts up off Perry's clit (to loud and desperate protests) only long enough to shove two fingers into his mouth, making them nice and slicks before he redirects his efforts where they're needed, and Perry feels the nudge of his index finger into the hole of his cunt, empty and wanting. It knocks him back again, the back of his head banging into the headrest of the chair as Heinz slips his first finger into him, easy as anything. Yes, Perry thinks, sobbing, as he feels it curl, searching, before it finally nudges into g-spot, and Perry jolts again. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yesyesyes.
Heinz leaves off his clit just as the insistent tonguing was getting too painful, instead laving at his sopping inner lips with long, indulgent licks as he carefully feeds Perry another finger. Perry moans, long and hard, as he licks around where his cunt stretches around the width of his fingers, curling and thrusting and scissoring. He's so close he's shaking with it, and the wet slurping sounds of their lovemaking, interspersed with Perry's own obscene whining and grunting and groaning, was only taking him higher and higher. God, he's so, so close.
Perry looks down.
He regrets it.
Heinz looked wrecked.
There was an insatiable focus in his blue eyes, pupils blown black and large, unmatched in all other aspects in his life beyond, perhaps, his manic episodes of inventing. Almost his entire face was drenched in slick, and his hair drenched in sweat. He was shaking, Perry realized, but it took him a moment longer to realize it was from his free hand, stuck down the front of his own unzipped slacks, jerking rapidly. The head of his cock sticks out the top of his briefs, red and drooling, and the realization that Heinz was getting off on this, getting off on making Perry feel good, on making him cum and giving him what he needs, is the last push he needed off the cliff of his impending orgasm.
He cums with such strength he's completely quiet from the force of it, choking on air as every muscle in his body locks in surprise and he's squirting straight onto Heinz's face. He would've been embarrassed if Heinz himself had not moaned like a man possessed, drinking him down like a man parched for days. His fingers don't cease thrusting until Perry finally pushes him away, tingling from overstimulation. Heinz redirects his attention, instead, to gently licking around his outer labia, licking off the slick of his mounds so they were wet, instead, from saliva. His hand, the one with the fingers he'd used to fuck him, strokes his thighs gently through the last of the shivers racking through his body.
"Ok?" He asked, once Perry regains full consciousness. He almost looked small, posed on his knees between Perry's spread legs after giving him the best blowjob of his life, so Perry rolled his eyes, and used his now free hands to fist into the collars of his shirt and pull him up, into a kiss.
He moans from the taste of his own fluids, completely coating the inside of Heinz's mouth, as well as a good deal outside of it, right up to the bridge of his beloved, crooked nose. They were not so much as kissing, Perry admits, as they were eating face--sharing heated puffs of breath as Heinz lets him suck the last of his own taste off of his tongue.
"So good," Heinz moaned, almost incoherent. "You taste so good, lieblingschatz, missed you, I missed you, I missed you so much, so beautiful-,"
He chokes on the rest of his words and Perry pulls him to kneel on the chair, straddling his figure and he slaps away the hand still working tirelessly over his poor, sore dick. "Perry," he whines, as Perry used one hand to tug off the waistband of his slacks and briefs down, down, off, letting the scientist kick them away before he licks the palm of the other, making sure it was fully wet with saliva before he wraps it around Heinz's heated length. Heinz squeaks.
Perry grins, toothy and playful. Heinz pouts. "Don't." He warns him, and Perry only tilts his head in question, a mocking mirror of innocence. (Don't what?) He strokes Heinz down, twisting his wrist around the base and flicking the nail of thumb beneath the ridge of his head the way he knows the man goes crazy for. Sure enough, Heinz jolts, hissing and moaning and his hands squeeze hard where they've found themselves settled on Perry's shoulders, his nails digging crescent moons on the flesh of his shoulder.
He wasn't so cruel as to prolong this any longer when Heinz had already waited so long. Perry jerks him with long, smooth strokes, fast enough to shake Heinz with the rhythm of it. Perry drinks the moans straight out of his mouth, and Heinz fists his hands tightly in Perry's hair on the back of his nape as he cums; three sharp, white spurts soaking the front of his already unsalvageable dress shirt. Heinz sighs, happy and relaxed as he slumps into him.
