My rvb secret santa submission for @theguywiththeyellowaccents !!!! I decided to draw a cute fluffy scene where the freelancers all go and chill at a cat cafe! cat cafes are so fun and I feel like Wash would definitely beg the crew to agree to go to a cat cafe at least once. And if you are wondering who the guy in the corner is who is completely covered in kitties, its Maine.
I hope you like my present and happy holidays!
hey there @jussafish !! i was your red vs blue secret santa for @redvsbluesecretsanta!! i so heavily relate to your love of bgc church you would not BELIEVE !!! love that angry blue boy!! merry christmas!
I hope this is to your liking! Never drawn something fluffy before so this is very new for me! Thanks to this promp I read a BUNCH of Maine/Wash fics on ao3, haha. This promt is a gift that keeps on giving 😍
I hope you will have a great Christmas and wonderful new year!
Ships: Grimmons, Sargrey, a bit of Tuckington and some backround ones if you squint really hard
Summary: The war is over. Everybody is living their peaceful lives back on Earth. And Sarge just invited everyone to his wedding!Simmons finds out Grif is taking someone else to the wedding, he is stuck on a 3-hour car ride with his suitemates, and they already missed the entire ceremony.
His day couldn't get any worse, could it?
Written for @powerfulpomegranate for @redvsbluesecretsanta ~ The prompt was shippy or platonic domestic things, Sarge being secretly fond of his team, getting drunk and spilling about friendship, some repressed protags, and good old wholesome content.
“Son of a bitch,” Simmons’s voice groans in frustration through the speakers of Dexter Grif’s laptop.
“Did a twelve-year-old snipe you from across the map again?” Grif mutters in the direction of his computer screen, eating an oreo in two bites. He lays on his battered couch in front of a fan that barely cools the 90-degree room.
If there’s anything Grif misses about Blood Gulch was the dry heat. It was hot, but at least he did not have to deal with the suffocating humidity here in Hawaii. Though if he has to be honest, at least he was as far away from Sarge as he could be. Which also means he’s away from Donut, Lopez, and Simmons, some of which he is not as happy to be away from, but he would never say so out loud.
Grif and Simmons make do with biweekly skype call to make up for the distance. Grif uses the excuse that he needs someone to talk to that is not Sister and that Simmons would surely go mad if left alone with Donut unsupervised for too long. It was the system they have been using for almost a year, and Grif was quite happy with it.
“First of all, I have no knowledge about whether a player is twelve or not,” Simmons’s voice replied through the call, cracking already at the first word. “Second of all, they didn’t snipe me, they sneaked up and stabbed me in the back.”
Grif bursts out laughing, “you got shanked by a twelve-year-old!”
“I didn’t-” There was a sigh and the sound of a remote hitting a table as it is dropped. “I think that’s enough for today.”
“Why? Can’t take another twelve-year-old outranking you in the kill chart?” Grif makes it a point that his smug grin is wide enough to be heard through the audio.
“I’ll have you know I still have second place in that kill chart. That’s the best spot there is.”
Grif chuckles, “You only say that because you get shanked by too many twelve-year-olds to make it to first.”
The audio cuts for a second and comes back with Donut’s distant voice asking Simmon’s something while standing just slightly too far away from the mic.
“He’s not- Donut stop-... Okay, I’ll ask him! Don’t you have better things to do?”
“Wow,” Grif raised an eyebrow at the ceiling, amused. “You sound like the real twelve-year-old right there, Simmons. No wonder they’re trying to kill you, impostor.”
“I do NOT sound like a twelve-year-old,” Simmon’s voice cracks, contradicting his words.
“Sure, Simmons, whatever you say.”
There is a small pause between them, filled only by the distant waiting music from whatever Simmons was playing and the whirring of Grif’s fan across from him.
“Hey, Grif,” Simmons speaks after a few seconds, his voice interrupted by static as the internet dies down “Do-..... -one?
“Can’t hear you, Simmons,” Grif complains at the laptop, turning himself around to check on it.
“D-.... want-....?”
Grif huffs to himself, sitting up and checking the internet connection. “I’m losing you, buddy.”
“H- Hello?” Simmons finally comes through clear as before.
“There we go,” Grif smiles, sitting back again. “What were you saying before?”
“I-I was asking you who you were bringing as your plus one,” Simmons stutters through the audio. “For Sarge’s wedding, remember? Did you get the invite?”
Grif made a noise of realization at that. “Yeah, I remember… Made a note saying he did not care if I showed up but he offered to buy my plane tickets.”
“WHAT!?” Simmon’s voice broke again for the third time in that hour. “He didn’t offer any such thing to me.”
“That’s because you can drive there,” Grif states. “I cannot. And to answer your question I am bringing a plus one.”
“Really? Who are you br-”
Simmons suddenly stops talking, and it takes Grif a few seconds to figure out the call dropped.
The country road seems to stretch for eternity through Simmons’ windshield, rolling out into the blue sky with trees lining on either side. He’s been stuck in his small car with Donut and Doc for close to four hours now, and it was not getting any better.
“I spy…” Donut begins for his 30th turn that day, looking out from the passenger’s seat window. “Something long and wet.”
“Uh… is it the creek?” Doc guesses from the back seat.
Donut turns around, smiling back at his suitemate. “How’d you guess?"
“Can you guys stop?” Simmons interrupts the two, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “I’m trying to concentrate on driving.”
“Is that why you shut off the music as soon as I turned on the radio?” Donut kicks one of his legs on the dashboard. “Chill out, Simmons. What do you need to concentrate on? It’s not like the road is that complicated.”
Simmons frees one of his hands from the wheel, using it to motion past the windshield to the rows upon rows of trees. “We are in the middle of nowhere! What if there’s a wild animal- or a deer that runs through!”
“I think a deer is a wild animal,” Doc points out.
Simmons waves him off, “Shut up.”
Donut sits up on his seat, eyes wide. “OoOOoh~ you’re worried about something, aren't you?”
“No, I’m not!” Simmons’ voice cracks.
“Uh… Guys…” Doc speaks up to get the attention of his suitemates.
“What is it!?” Simmons snaps.
“I think we missed our exit…”
Simmons shakes his head. “There hasn’t been an exit in ten miles. What do you mean we missed our exit?”
“That was it… ten miles ago…” Doc pointed out. His voice suddenly dropped an octave, “You fool. I wanted to see how long it would take you. Now you are truly stranded and nobody will find your body.”
“We’re going to miss the ceremony!” Simmons panics, turning the car around so fast that Doc was thrown into the door.
“We’ll make it to the reception at least,” Donut shrugged, holding onto his seat for dear life.
Simmons manages to get to the location of the wedding with the car in one piece and no casualties, but it just so happened to be about an hour late. By the time they arrive, the ceremony is officially over, and the guests had moved a ways farther into the park to enjoy the wedding reception.
The trio of not-so-fashionably-late men run through the empty chairs of the ceremony, following the sound of music and conversation.
Donut runs ahead of the group with Doc at his heels, as if it was a race to see who could get to Sarge first. “Don’t be slowing down now, Simmons!” He calls out over his shoulder, “We’ve only been at it for a minute. Don’t tell me you’re already hot and sweaty?”
“Donut, shut UP!” Simmons yells at his friend, adjusting his maroon tie as they run. “Sarge is gonna kill us! He’s gonna kill me! We missed his wedding ceremony, for fuck’s sake!”
“Well, then we better get to him quick, for the sake of fuck!”
“I do not think that’s how the expression goes…” Doc points out.
Donut does not have much time to respond. The three men stumble upon the reception area, crashing into each other and a few of the other guests. It starts a domino effect of tumbles and grunts of pain and surprise, and ends in a table toppling over with half a dozen expensive wine glasses.
Simmons shakes his head, pushing himself up with his elbows. He winces at the grass stains that already formed on his jacket, and the sting of a bruise forming on his jaw from the fall. His eyes catch a pair of brown armored boots approaching, possibly belonging to the only guest with any kind of armor on.
<<Hacia tiempo que llegaran, pendejos,>> A metallic voice speaks from the direction of the boots.
Simmons sits himself up and cranes his neck to stare into Lopez’s visor. “Nice to see you too, Lopez,” He wheezes, catching his breath.
By the time he gets to his feet, Donut is already throwing himself at the robot to greet him, earning himself only endless incomprehensible Spanish from the robot. Donut takes them as “I missed you”’s, but Simmons is not so sure if that was the true meaning of those words. It is Lopez they are dealing with, though, so Simmons decides to drop it in favor of looking for his former leader in order to apologize for their tardiness.
He spots Sarge across the reception party, sitting beside his new wife, clad in white, and another man who he could barely recognize from the distance. Clouds dance overhead, cooling down the park and Simmons’ worked up gears from all the running they had to do just to get there.
Simmons weaves around the tables hurriedly, tripping over the chair legs on his way to Sarge’s table. He bends over one of the chairs, catching his breath once he finally reaches it. With his head still down, touching the thin plastic tablecloth, he speaks. “Sir, I am so sorry we missed the ceremony,” He brings up his head for a second just to look Dr. Grey in the eyes. “Congratulations on the wedding though. I’m sure it was beautiful.” He drops his head again. “Please don’t be mad. It was all because-”
“You boys were out fighting the blues in my name!” Sarge interrupts him. Simmons lifts his head again, looking up at his former leader, wine glass in hand. “How can I be mad about that? You found out they were infiltrating civilian ranks! Just as I feared- Leave it to Simmons to lead an attack. That’s a damn good wedding present if I ever heard of one.”
Simmons facepalms, “I knew I forgot something back at the apartment…”
Gray could not help but chuckle in amusement. “Don’t mind him, he’s just had a tad too much to drink. You know how it is, with so much alcohol being passed around. Say, is that purple friend of yours around?”
Simmons furrows his eyebrows at Grey’s sudden change in conversation and her overly enthusiastic expression when mentioning Doc, but the third person on the table beats him to a speaking turn, slamming his glass on the table.
“What do you mean blues infiltrating civilian ranks?” Tucker, as equally intoxicated as Sarge, steers back the conversation. “Dude, the war is over . Anyways, your guys could never win an attack against any blues.”
“That’s what you think, you filthy blue,” Sarge replies, lifting his free arm, which Grey had hers hooked on, to point at the former blue soldier. “But I know my boys better than anyone. They may be a nuisance but they are my boys.”
Simmons blinks slowly, processing the fact that Sarge was actually saying positive about them. “Sarge…”
“Nah, man. Blue team was far superior,” Tucker tries to argue. “Caboose, the damn idiot he is, is already better than your whole group combined.”
“Did Tucker say something nice about me?” A familiar voice calls out from the reception hall.
Tucker turns to the direction of the voice. “Shut up, Caboose! I’m trying to convince Sarge that red team sucks!”
“The sharing of intimate thoughts while inebriated is quite fun to watch, isn't it?” Grey asks Simmons, who straightens himself as the argument unfolds.
“Alright, that’s enough,” A blonde man walks up from behind Tucker, taking the glass of whatever he was drinking from his grasp. He holds it far away enough that no matter how Tucker stretches, he cannot reach the glass. “We have to go pick up Junior from your mother’s house, remember?”
“But babe-”
“If we don’t leave now, you’re catching a ride back with Caboose,” Washington states as stern as he could, but a smile plays at his lips nonetheless.
Tucker sighs, “Fine.” He lifts his arm and Washington grabs hold of it to pull him to his feet.
“Another victory for the reds!” Sarge cheers, leaning back in his chair.
“Why’d you have to marry him?” Tucker grumbles at Dr. Gray, who just laughs in reply.
Simmons takes it as his cue to leave as well. It was a party after all, and parties usually involved socialization. Since he is finally here, and Sarge did not kill him for being late, Simmons decides to wander through the crowd and look for familiar faces.
He finally finds the man he was not aware that he was looking for, hiding away from the crowd and next to the buffet table with a plate piled past his head with different types of desserts. Simmons approaches him without thinking about it, only catching his attention when he finally speaks.
“I’m surprised you haven’t eaten half of the buffet table by now.”
Grif turns his head to look at Simmons, swallowing whatever he was working on. His hair is neatly pulled back for once, and the suit is a little disorienting to Simmons at first. “I’m surprised you even showed up,” Grif joked back. “Thought the fact that Sarge got married without asking you to be his right-hand man killed your from the shock.”
Simmons scoffs, “As if. I called that Lopez would be picked for right-hand man since the engagement. Remember?”
“Like you remembered to get here on time,” Grif teases, elbowing Simmons on the side.
Simmons drops his head in his hands, laughing out of nervousness. “Don’t remind me. Donut and Doc were playing I spy for three hours. Three hours, Grif. ” He sighed. “My suit is covered in grass stains, my car smells like whatever awful dish Doc was eating on the way here, and I missed the whole wedding ceremony. Today couldn’t get any worse.”
Thunder rumbles overhead. A couple of droplets hit Simmons on the head.
“You were saying?” Grif raises an eyebrow in amusement.
As soon as Grif spoke, the rain all hit at once. Guests scramble to find cover under their coats and under tables to protect themselves and their expensive garments from the rain. At this point, Simmons just allows himself to be drenched. He lifts his head once again, watching the chaos in utter silence.
Simmons turns to Grif, “Who’d you bring?”
“My sister,” the other man states, motioning over to a crowd of guests. In the midst of the chaos, Kaikaina was laughing at Doc, whose purple suit was dark with mud stains. “She wasn’t mentioned on the invite, but she wanted to come, so I said I’d bring her as a plus one.” He turns his face toward Simmons, “Why? Who else would I bring?”
“Sister…” Simmons repeats. “Of course it was Sister!” He facepalms.
“You know…” Grif shrugs. “She was talking to Tucker today about possibly trying out for a job at his workplace. Wanted to see what living in a mainland city was like.”
“So?”
“I have to tickets back to Hawaii, and she won’t be using hers,” Grif explains. “Could give you an excuse away from this awful weather.”
Simmons looks over at Grif for a second before hitting his side with his hipbone. “Next time, you could ask me to come visit like a normal human, you asshat.”
“Is that a yes?” Grifs asks expectantly.
Simmons could not help but smile. “Of course it’s a yes. Now move your fat ass to the tents or we’re gonna catch a cold.”
Here’s my @redvsbluesecretsanta piece for @ehpsilon aka grimmmons! Can you believe I didn’t ship this pair before starting this piece? I was a fool, thank you for opening my eyes through your prompt. Happy Holidays!
