#and the small hip rockets but that will be fixed

[blighted-lights]

wow ravage is so cool in mtmte, wish he was an actual character and not a plot stepping stone for everyone around him (totally not bitter)

but hey, have an angry ravage wip! the full piece will be done soon, but first, i wanna do a lil experiment first depending on how many ppl see this post. ravage is angry, but 🤔 what do you guys think he's angry about? who's he angry at? let me know in tags, comments, asks, dms- i wanna test something rq

[babybluebex]

needs and wants | eric aqpdo x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in the direct aftermath of the apocalypse, you meet a man who's worse for wear in just about every regard. even though you can't do too much to heal his injuries, it's possible that you can heal his heart. wc 10.6k (she's a doozy) 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: eric (a quiet place: day one, 2024) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: SPOILERS FOR AQPDO, DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU DON'T WANT THE FILM SPOILED!, mentions of death/general apocalypse things, panic attacks, mentions of suicidal thoughts/actions (if you know eric's backstory that ended up cut from the film, he talks ab it), far too much intimacy for what this is, smut (minors dni): p in v, tit sucking, condom use 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: umm... i have no excuse for this... other than i need eric on a carnal level lol. hope you enjoy!!

It was funny how your whole world could change in a single day. And it was supposed to be a good day too; you had racked up enough PTO to allow yourself a full day off of work, and you had plans. You were going to brunch with your girlies that you hadn’t seen since nursing school, you were going to rent a movie at home, watch rom-coms in your underwear— you looked forward to sleeping in, taking a bubble bath, going to sleep early. You only achieved one part of that: you hadn’t even received the mimosa pitcher you had ordered when you heard the noise outside, as loud as a rocket taking off on the street just outside the hip brunch place, and you had hardly turned to look out the window when your world fell apart. 

Silence became your norm. Fear overtook you at every turn, giving your hands a perpetual shake that you weren’t certain would ever wear off. You didn’t know too much psychological or neurological stuff— you were a trauma nurse, emergency room and ICU type stuff, you were more concerned with stopping the blood flow and stabilizing vitals than ever caring about the after-effects of shit— but you wondered if the shaking of your hands was forever part of you now. You were good under pressure, never scared, but whatever the fuck those creatures were out there had changed the makeup of your being in a single second. 

When the helicopters buzzed overhead, drawing the monsters toward them and away from the city, and they announced that boats were departing from a nearby dock, you knew you had to go. More than saving yourself, you knew some very hurt and very sick people would gather there. You were sure that FEMA people would be swarming the boats to take care of the sick and injured, but you didn’t know what else to do. Your brain went on a sort-of autopilot, and you did the only thing you could think to do: you followed the crowd out to the docks. 

You had never gone that long without talking. Your throat was so dry from debris and dust anyway that you weren’t even sure that you could talk. Your clothes were torn, various small injuries that weren’t anything some disinfectant and a Band-Aid couldn’t fix, along with a gash on your calf that you had determined would be fine for now but could definitely use some tending-to once on the boat, plus your shaky hands, but otherwise you were fine. When the windows shattered and the monsters invaded, your table had overturned from the force of the sonic blast, and your animal instincts kicked in, throwing yourself behind the table and barricading there. You were one of the lucky ones— you lived. Sure, glass cut up your knees and palms, and you couldn’t even breathe without worrying that your breaths would alert the monsters, but you had lived. That was more than some could say. 

You felt packed out like sardines on the boat. Standing room only, except for the few exceptions of the people who were hurt or passed out. You had meager belongings in your pockets, although you weren’t sure how helpful your dead cell phone or essentially-useless credit cards would be in a time like this, but at least you had your work badge in your purse when you went to brunch. You found someone who looked like they were in charge, dressed in all-grey, not a military uniform but not civilian clothes either, and you silently showed them your badge, declaring yourself as a trauma nurse at a hospital in Brooklyn, and you gestured around, trying to ask if there was anything you could do to help. The woman shook her head, but folded her hands in a sort of ‘thank-you’ gesture.

You managed to stand towards the back of the ship, against the railing, next to the ladder, and you flinched at the loud chug of the boat casting off from the dock. Surely the monsters heard that. Everybody around you seemed to hold a deep breath, anticipatory, awaiting the worst to come at your final moments of salvation, but thankfully the monsters weren’t concerned with you all— maybe you were too far out in the water and, if the announcements from the helicopters were to be believed, the monsters couldn’t swim, so they didn’t care too much about the boat. Or maybe, the sudden sound of glass shattering from the shore, followed by shrill car alarms, captured their attention better. 

You watched, horrified, as you spotted a woman racing down the street, hardly noticeable from the distance, but the sun glinted off of a silver metal pipe in her hand as she raised it in the air, and she smashed the window of the car next to her as she raced away. 

“Hell’s she doing…?” The man next to you mumbled, and you instinctively put your hand on his shoulder to silence him, even though there was no need. The world had changed in a day, habits had formed in 24 hours, and you wondered how long it would take to shake the new habits. You watched the woman flit between cars, trying to outpace the monsters as she smashed windows, but then something else caught your attention. On the dock, there was a man. Wearing a yellow sweater, carrying something that you couldn’t identify, running like his life depended on it towards the edge of the dock. And maybe it did; a few straggling monsters had started after him instead of the woman, and he had to have known as well as you did that the water was safe. 

Your heart rammed up into your throat as he ran, faster and faster, white sneakers hitting the metal dock, and he looked over his shoulder for a moment at the monster that was meters, feet, away from him, before he righted himself forward and hurtled himself off the edge of the dock. Everyone on the boat was watching now as he flew for a brief moment, suspended in the air as time stood still, and then plummeted into the water below. The monsters skidded to a halt at the edge of the dock, one curled claw extended out, a scrap of yellow cardigan stuck on its talon. 

By now, everyone had come to the same conclusion, and started to gather at the ladder onboarding right next to you— the man would need help coming aboard. You all watched anxiously as he surfaced from the water, frantically looking around and gulping air as he tried to keep his head above water and orient himself. Finally, he looked towards the boat, and you could have sworn that he looked at you instead of anybody else. He gained his senses quickly, starting to swim out towards the boat, and you caught sight of the little white whatever-it-was he was holding: a cat. The cat seemed safe and unharmed, definitely soggy but no worse for wear, and you crouched down, extending your arm down the ladder to meet him. 

You didn’t have the strength to help pull him aboard, but the man who had spoken next to you gently moved you, and he grasped the wet man’s arm and pulled him up the last few rungs of the ladder. He heaved breaths, his eyes all big and round as he took in his surroundings. Then, if you were unsure whether he was looking at you before or not, he extinguished any doubts you had this time around, because his eyeline landed on you. He was startled, hurt, traumatized— those wet eyes had seen some things, worse than you had seen. 

You helped him move away from the ladder and back towards a more secluded part of the boat, and the FEMA woman you had “talked” to before came to your side, a first aid kit in one hand and a heavy wool blanket in the other. 

“Sir?” you croaked. Jesus Christ, speaking really was a challenge. You cleared your throat, hoping that would improve things, and you said, “Sir, are you hurt?” 

He shook his head quickly, clutching the cat in his arms, and you spotted the gash on his shin. The leg of his pants was torn and shredded, and you could bet that the wound was pretty fresh. “You can speak,” you told him gently. “We’re safe here.” 

He looked at you, tears streaming down his face, and in a hushed voice, said, “How can you be so sure?” 

They said the boat ride would last through the day and you would arrive by nightfall, but FEMA assured you that the destination would be worth it. A little island, they said, off the northern coast of the state, that used to house a summer camp but was abandoned however long ago. The buildings there, houses, old camp cabins, would take some sprucing up, they told you, but it was safe, and it could turn into home. As night fell, factions were made, and people divided as best as possible— the vulnerable ones, the hurt ones, the kids, went to the inside part of the boat, and the healthy stayed outside, huddled under the wool blankets and trying to forget the cold November ocean air berating their faces. 

The yellow-cardiganed man was moved inside, and you moved through the small crowd in there, doing what you could to help. Passing out crackers and water bottles, winding gauze around bloody injuries, squeezing hands and offering small words of encouragement. It wasn’t a lot, but it felt good to help. 

Eventually, you couldn’t ignore your fatigue anymore, and you sat down on the floor against the back wall with a sigh. It was a low din inside there, so you felt relatively safe making a little bit of noise, and you sniffled and zipped open the inside pocket of your coat. The stuff you had stashed from your purse was in there, and you frowned down at your brick of a cell phone, the screen shattered. You cast it aside, then pulled out your wallet, rifling through it to see what went missing. Thankfully, your license was still there, so if anybody needed identification at any point, you had that covered; an old fast food gift card that you were sure still had money on it but was useless now; and an old paper movie ticket that you had saved with the intention of putting it in a scrapbook. Your heart panged with hurt, and you checked every other section of your wallet, but it was empty. 

Your house keys were certainly back on the floor of the restaurant, and you thought about the key to your mother’s house that lived on the ring. You hadn’t been able to contact her since the monsters came— the last thing you said to her was a text the morning of brunch, telling her to have a good day, and she had sent the classic mom :-) emoticon to you. Was she still alive? Had she managed to escape the monsters? Even though she didn’t live in the city, you wondered how far the monsters had traveled. Her neighbors were a family, with a high-school age son who played basketball and mowed your mother’s lawn; for your sanity, you chose to believe that they had taken her in (along with her prized African violets). 

A little noise came from in front of you, someone clearing their throat, and you looked up through your welling tears to see him. Damp yellow cardigan, wool blanket loose around his shoulders, curls wet and flat to his forehead. He stood still, watching you for a moment, before he spoke, a little louder than the first time but still a whisper. “Never caught your name,” he said. An accent. Not a native New Yorker. 

You told him with a shrug. Your eyes canvassed his frame, watching him shiver a little in what was probably an adrenaline rush, and your eyes landed on that nasty cut on his shin. It wasn’t actively bleeding, but still very red. It looked maybe a little inflamed, a tiny bit swollen, and you started to reach out for it, but stopped yourself. Your hands were filthy and, if infection was already setting in the way you suspected it was, whatever germs you had probably weren’t good for the wound. You withdrew your hand and settled in your lap, and you cleared your throat. “One of the FEMA people can help with that,” you told him, nodding towards his leg. “Bandages and anti-inflammatories and shit.” 

“Aren’t you a nurse?” the man asked, now his turn to nod at you. You had clipped your badge to the collar of your coat and, even though the plastic flower that had once surrounded the metal clip was shattered and long gone, the clip still served its purpose. 

“I am,” you said. “But I don’t have bandages.” You cracked a loose smile, and you winced at the bottle of water and pile of crackers next to you on the floor. “I’ve got crackers and water.” 

“I’m starving,” he told you, returning the small smile. “May I?” 

You nodded, and he worked himself down to the floor (he seemed to be favoring his left ankle a little, the same leg with the gash). He settled back against the wall, sighing heavily, and he took a pack of crackers into his hands and read the label for a moment. “‘Peanut butter’,” he read. “D’ya like these?” 

“They’re alright,” you said. “I used to buy the same ones, shove ‘em in my work bag to eat between patients. Kinda bland and gross, but they get the job done.” 

He nodded, and he tore the corner of the plastic sleeve and extracted a peanut butter cracker. “I used to like the ones with, erm, cream cheese and chives,” he said. “A quick snack at work. S’never what I wanted to eat, but sometimes I’d be at the office ‘til late, and at that point, take what you can get, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you agreed. “What did you do?” 

“Lawyer,” he said, popping one of the crackers into his mouth. 

“Oh, shit,” you chuckled. “Yeah, you had some long nights… My sister’s husband is a paralegal, he used to tell me all about it.” 

“Cool,” he told you. “And you, Miss Nurse?”

“And me what?” you asked.

“What’s your husband do?” he asked. 

You laughed. You couldn’t help it. “I’d have to have one of those for him to have a job,” you said. “No, being a nurse is very, like… If you’re not married by the time you leave nursing school, all hope is lost. You won’t ever have any free time to go on dates or even think about that sorta stuff.” 

“Same with law school,” he told you. “All my mates were engaged or married when we graduated, and everyone always told me, ‘Oh, Eric, you’ll find the right girl! She’s out there somewhere’, and it’s like… If she’s not in my office building or on the subway home at 2AM, I’m not meeting her.” 

“You went to school around here?” you asked, and he (you assumed his name was Eric, based on his anecdote) nodded, then shrugged. 

“Cornell,” he said. “Then got hired at a firm in the city, and just… Never left.” 

“Well, that’s cool,” you said lightly. “I’m assuming you’re not from around here?”

He shook his head. “Kent,” he said. “About an hour out from London.”

“Wow,” you said softly. “That change must’ve been… A lot.”

Eric shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “It was alright, I suppose. At that time, I was sorta fighting with my dad all the time, really wanting to leave and go somewhere but he didn’t want that…” He trailed off, letting the conclusion form by itself. “Haven’t seen ‘em in-person since then. I always said I was busy, or it was too expensive, or… I was supposed to go back home at Christmas… My sister had a baby and I was supposed to meet him then…” He trailed off, obviously at a loss for what else to say, and you sighed.

“I’m sure they’re okay,” you told him, even though you yourself doubted it. “I mean, maybe the monsters are only here. They don’t like water; if they came from here, they can’t get over there.”

Eric nodded slowly. His eyes scanned the room, looking and listening, and he reached his hand out in front of him, making a small noise with his tongue against his teeth. You followed his gaze and found his cat, all furry with white and black spots, being adored and pet by a little boy sitting on a cot close by, and Eric tutted at the cat again. The cat turned their big dark eyes to their owner, and dutifully trotted over, snuggling in-between Eric’s criss-cross-applesauce legs.

“Who’s this?” you asked.

“Frodo,” Eric said, stroking the cat between his ears. Frodo began to purr, his eyes closing blissfully, and Eric said, “He was my friend’s, but she… She told me to take care of him.”

Your mind brought back the image of the woman running, distracting the monsters away from Eric. “Was that the one who…?” you started, and Eric nodded.

“He was her service animal,” he said. “She had cancer, he sort-of alerted her whenever her pain medication was going out… Also kept her company in hospice. He’s quiet, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Well, none of us have to worry about that,” you said, and Eric took in a breath. “Not anymore. Not with the island.”

“Right,” Eric sighed. “Almost forgot.”

“I’m worried I’ll never go back to normal,” you admitted. “Even just two days of thinking like this… Trauma’s so fucking weird.”

Eric nodded in agreement. You caught him staring at your hands, shaking and shivering as they laid in your lap, and he started to unwind the blanket from around himself to settle over you, but you shook your head. “M’not cold,” you told him. “Just… Nervous. Y’know?”

Eric watched you for a moment, making sure that you weren’t bullshitting him (you were a little; your coat was wet through, and you definitely could do with a dry coat, but you would live), and he said, “I think you need to pet my cat.”

“Do I?” you asked with a chuckle.

“You sure do,” Eric nodded. “He doesn’t bite or scratch— he might nibble your fingers a little, but only ‘cause he’s curious.”

You reached out for Frodo, letting him sniff your hand a little before he shoved his solid little head under your fingers, squinting his eyes as you started to scratch behind his ears. You couldn’t help the smile that overtook your face, and you said, “He’s very sweet.”

“He’s smart too,” Eric said. “He can do maths. Look’it: Frodo, what’s one minus one?”

Frodo, of course, responded in silence, and Eric smiled, cocking his head. “I think that’s impressive,” he said, and you huffed out a laugh.

“Silly,” you mumbled under your breath, moving to scratch Frodo on his chin. “When’s the last time he’s eaten? I can try to find something for him.”

“Last night,” Eric said, his smile faltering. “Sam might’ve given him something earlier this morning, but I didn’t wake up until later.”

That’s how you greeted the island, petting Frodo and sharing light stories about your past lives. Nothing too heavy or sad or emotional, even though it felt like any story about your past life held an air of sadness and mourning. You could try to go back to normal, but normal was long gone. As everyone departed the boat under the dusky stars, there was a large team of FEMA workers to greet you with big, heavy bags and send you to an empty cabin for the night. You and Eric (and Frodo) stuck together, and you received your bags and moved down to a cabin. To your surprise, the lights worked, as did a small space heater in the corner, but you can tell it had been running for some time, because the inside was already warm. Several beds were set up and made with thin, government-issued bedsheets, but it was far better than nothing.

You went about unpacking the bag as Eric moved to the small bathroom and shut the door. There was a change of clothes, sweatshirt and pants and underwear and socks, basic toiletries like a toothbrush and shampoo and a small bar of soap, two bottles of water, a plastic packaged MRE (you had Menu 3, “chicken, egg noodles, and vegetables in sauce”), and some things like Band-Aids and small packages of Advil like what you kept stocked in the ER, along with a sanitary napkin, and, the piece de resistance (courtesy of the American government, you’re very welcome), a condom. You frowned at the last thing and slid it into your toiletries bag underneath the bar of soap to hide it; to be frank, sex was the last thing you wanted or needed. Your brain was still in survival mode, and you didn’t even feel like you could settle down enough to sleep, let alone to fuck. Could anybody here?

You heard the shower squeak on in the bathroom, and the pipes creaked as water rushed through. You stripped off your clothes, exchanging them for the warmer and drier and less dirty option, and you sniffled as your fingers began to warm up, becoming less stiff but considerably more sweaty. The bed creaked under you as you sat down, the springs screaming at you, and you rubbed the paper-thin blanket between your fingers. It reminded you of the quality of the hospital, where you might as well be using copy paper instead of fabric. If you had known that your last night in your bed, with your memory foam pillow and weighted blanket, would truly be your last, you would have savored the experience far more. Would you even be warm enough under those blankets?

You couldn’t ponder it any longer, because Frodo suddenly caught a bee in his bonnet, and he skittered from atop the second bed, where Eric had settled his things before he went to the shower. He careened to the closed bathroom door, and he got up on his hind legs, pawing at the door handle. Wordlessly, he craned his tiny head to look at you, and he made the first cat noise you heard him make, a sort of “mrrow” chirping groan. As you got up and went to grab him (“Eric’s just taking a shower, Fro, he’ll be right back”), Frodo turned back to the door and began to bat at the handle, like he was attempting to turn it.

And then you remembered. Frodo was a service cat. He had been trained to alert for certain things, and Eric had mentioned rising pain levels, but what else could Frodo alert for? Suddenly, your heart jumped into your throat, and you knocked on the door. “Eric? You okay?” you asked, but you received no answer. “Eric? Hey, man, Frodo’s freaking out, are you alright in there?”

It was hard to hear too much over the sound of the running shower, but you heard the unmistakable shaking breath of a gasping sob, and, maybe against your better judgement, you turned the door handle. The door wasn’t locked, and the hinges squeaked as you opened the door. Eric had shed his blanket and cardigan and loosened his tie, but he was backed into the far corner of the bathroom, staring at the porcelain bathtub with eyes as big as dinner plates. The faucet was running, the tub filling up, but Eric was frozen. Quickly, you turned the tap and shut off the water, and you gave him his space as you asked “What’s wrong? Can you tell me what happened?”

Eric shook his head, his mouth contorting into an ugly sob, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Tears leaked out, and he just kept shaking his head over and over. “No, no,” he mumbled. “No!”

“Hey, easy,” you told him gently. “What’s going on? How can I help?”

“Th-The water,” Eric gasped. “I—I—” His knees gave out, and he slumped against the wall with a sob. He began to claw at his shirt, at the topmost button; even though it was undone, he still seemed to want it looser.

You rushed to his aid, pushing his hands aside and starting at his shirt buttons. His eyes were still shut tight, but you needed to see his pupils— if he was in shock, or if something else was happening, the dilation of his pupils could help tell you. “Eric,” you said softly. “Open your eyes, please. Please? I need to see your eyes.”

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and you saw his pupils so big and dark, they almost overtook the brown of his iris. His face was pale, his chest heaving as you undid his buttons, and you pressed your fingers to the side of his neck to check his pulse. Fast, hard, heavy. You had been by his side all night, he hadn’t taken any medication that he could be having a reaction to, and he had been eating the same crackers and water that you had. There weren’t many other conclusions to come to— a panic attack. But at what?

Eric sank down to the floor, sobbing and shaking, and you followed him, putting a gentle but controlling grip on his wrists. You didn’t think he would, but you needed to control him if he started to get violent. “Eric, take a breath,” you told him. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Nothing’s going to hurt you, okay? Everything is alright.”

Eric sucked in a breath and doubled over on himself, and you kept your hands on his wrists as you shifted away— if he got sick, you didn’t want it on your clothes. Although, you were sure you could get different ones somehow. But he didn’t get sick, he just kept crying. You felt awful and tasted bitter in your mouth. Typically, at this point, you would be paging the mental health wing to come by and evaluate him, and you’d move on to the next person waiting in the ER. You didn’t know how to talk someone down from a panic attack. You didn’t even know how to do that for yourself, let alone for Eric.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Okay, it’s okay. What happened? Did something happen?”

Eric’s eyes glazed over you and settled behind your shoulder, and you looked back to see the bathtub. It was hardly half-full, but everything clicked into place. “The water,” you said. “You’re afraid of the water. Is that it?”

Eric sniffled and nodded weakly, and you blinked away tears. “That’s okay,” you whispered. “That’s totally okay. I mean, you had to jump into the water to get away from the monsters, I don’t blame you for being afraid—”

“I was down in the subway,” Eric blurted out. “When the monsters came. I was there, and I couldn’t stop thinking, I just kept thinking, and I… I didn’t have the guts to do it. I wanted to do it, I wanted to! But I was too scared that it would hurt. Was scared I’d looked too fucked up and they wouldn’t be able to tell who I was, and my-my mum, thinking about my mum being told, it would kill her, and I was just thinking… And the water came rushing in. Filled everything up, there was no air… I had to swim, and I can’t swim, I never learned really, but I was swimming and I just thought ‘I don’t actually want to die’. But I started feeling spotty, all lightheaded and fairy, and I think I was starting to drown, but I saw the light and came up…”

You were at a loss for words. If you were understanding him, he had been trying to kill himself before the monsters. It sounded like he was moments away from stepping in front of a train. His saving grace was the flood in the tunnels. You had trouble swallowing as your throat went thick, and you lowered your eyes for a minute before you loosened your grip on his wrists. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “You’re gonna be alright. Do you want to take a shower instead?”

Eric shook his head. “Doesn’t work,” he mumbled. “Only the tub does.”

You sighed heavily. “Do you want me to stay?” you asked. “Or I can wait outside the door?”

Eric seemed edging into a catatonic state, just shivering and blinking, and you frowned. You finished your abandoned job of undoing his shirt buttons, and you loosened his tie until it came off completely, and you gently pushed off his stained and ragged buttoned shirt. His undershirt wasn’t in much better shape, the underarms and neck stained with sweat, and you started to take it off, but paused. “Is this okay?” you asked. He didn’t react to your question, just staring at your neck, and you carefully angled his head up to look you in the face. “Eric. Is it okay if I undress you and put you in the bath? I’ll be right here the whole time, I won’t leave you alone.”

Eric weakly nodded, shifting his arms a little to better help you pull his undershirt over his head, and his hands went down to his pants to finish the job. You quickly considered what the next steps were as Eric fished his belt from his pants loops, and you pushed the sleeves of your sweatshirt up to your elbows to free up your hands. Eric, now only in his boxers, gave you a pathetic look, and you took him by the hand and helped him to his feet. You figured that he had forgone removing his boxers for a reason, so you didn’t push it, and you held him stable as he lifted a shaking foot over the edge of the bathtub. He was silent, but you watched tears run down his cheeks as he settled both feet in the water, his grip on your hand so tight that it almost hurt.

Slowly, he sat down in the tub, and the water splashed your hand. It was warm but not hot enough to hurt, and you sat by the edge of the bathtub, watching Eric as he sniffled. He certainly was dirty after two days in an apocalyptic city, and you were sure that you weren’t any better off, and you started to get up to retrieve the toiletry bag that he had brought in with him, settled by the sink, but his tight grip only became more vice-like as you tried to depart. “Don’t—” he choked out, and you shushed him gently.

“I’m not leaving,” you told him. “Just getting the shampoo and stuff, just by the sink.”

“Can you get in?” Eric asked softly, almost at a whisper. “When you come back?”

“I-In?” you repeated. “Like, in the bath?”

Eric nodded. He was watching you with his big, intense eyes, and a shiver ran down your back.

“Okay,” you told him. “Umm… I don’t know if I can. I don’t have any other clothes, and I can’t get these wet.”

“Please?” Eric whimpered. “Need… Just need help.”

Maybe it was because you felt bad for him, or maybe you were feeling something that you didn’t want to consider yet, but regardless of the reason, you nodded. You got up from the floor and retrieved the bag from the sink counter, and you came back to the tub. The sides of the tub were curved, not allowing for you to settle the stuff on the edge, and you quickly handed the shampoo and soap to him. He held them gingerly, and he averted his eyes down to the water as you put the bag down and started to pull off the sweatshirt. “Eric,” you said softly. “You can look. You’re gonna see everything in the next few minutes anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

Slowly, Eric raised his eyes up, but he still didn’t look staright at you. At least now it wasn’t obvious that he was avoiding looking at you like before, where it felt like he would be burned alive if he looked. You carefully pulled the sweatshirt over your head and set it by your feet, then you pulled down the sweatpants and stepped out of them. Your heart was beating quickly as you lowered yourself into the bathtub, sitting with your back to Eric, and he nudged his legs a little wider to allow you to sit comfortably. The water felt good on your aching muscles, especially your back, and you sighed lightly. You sat for a moment, trying to drum up enough courage to turn to him and start to help, but he beat you to it.

Eric’s hands were warm, his palm a little rough, as he touched your shoulder, sliding his hand down a little to reach your back. His fingers played with the ends of your hair, and he lowered his hand back to the water. He cupped his palm and let water flow in, then he brought it up to you and wet your hair. Was this his definition of help? To help himself, he had to help others? It made sense, but it still took you a little by surprise. You don’t think anybody had ever washed your hair for you, not since you were a kid. But this was different, in just about every way possible. It was intimate in a way that made your breath catch in your throat, and you swallowed thickly as Eric lifted a hand and tilted your head back to lightly pour water over the front of your hair. He was careful in his work, making sure not to get it on your face or in your ears, and you listened to his breathing even out as he diligently did his task.

The shampoo was some cheap, basic crap, didn’t smell like anything and was only good for getting the oil out of your hair, but the way that Eric worked it into your hair made it seem like it was made by the gods. You felt relaxed, the first time in a long time, and your eyes slipped close as his fingertips worked into your scalp. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt that good, especially by someone else’s hands— maybe years, it was hard to say. You knew that, no matter how good it felt, you couldn’t sink too hard into the feeling of it. Eric just needed to help you, and this was his help; nothing more, nothing less.

He gently poured water from his palms over your hair, rinsing it out as best as possible, and you felt that hot streak shoot up your nose. You wanted to cry. You hadn’t cried in… You had no idea. It certainly had been a long time, and you frowned and gulped as you held down the tears. Unluckily for you (or maybe luckily; it was nice to know Eric was so attentive), he noticed your catched breathing, and his hands gently settled on your shoulders. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“Are you?” you answered, almost a knee-jerk reaction. Don’t worry about yourself, worry about your patient, your friend, anybody else. You came last in your mind, everybody else was more important than you.

“That’s not what I asked you,” Eric said firmly. “Are you okay?”

“I…” you started. You wanted to tell him that you were fine, that nothing was wrong. He didn’t need to worry about you, you were tough, you could handle yourself. You watched as water filtered through your own fingers, pooling in your palm but escaping out of every little break and crevice possible, and you pursed your lips as you slowly rubbed your face, trying to wash away to grime and dirt. You shook your head lightly, trying to come up with any words to express yourself, and you wiped off your cheeks as you sniffled. “I don’t know.” You couldn’t come up with any better explanation; you just didn’t know if you were okay or not. Your hands slid down your face and flattened up against your neck, and you sighed. “Are you okay?” you tried again.

“I’ll be okay,” Eric told you. His hands smoothed down your shoulders to your arms, and he squeezed your upper arm for a moment before he went for the soap, starting up a lather between his palms.

“Well, sure, we’ll all be okay eventually,” you replied. “But are you okay right now?”

Eric waited until he was washing your back to answer. His sudsy hands slipped over your skin easily, but he dug his fingertips into your muscles, offering relief. “I’ll be okay,” he repeated. “I don’t know what I am right now, to be honest. Head’s just full of… I don’t know. A whole lot of noise, but not any one thing. It’s all quiet out here, but in there, it’s just…” He sighed, and his hands halted at your sides. He obviously had been on track to move to your front, doing his job on autopilot, and he only thought about what he was doing as he was about to do it.

Silently, you shifted your weight back just a hint, closer to him, trying to tell him that it was alright without saying the words. He quickly caught on to what you were telling him, and his hands slid around your body to your front. To your relief, he avoided where you had expected his hands to go, instead wrapping his arms around your shoulders and hugging himself to you, setting his chin on your shoulder. “You make it quiet up there,” Eric whispered, barely above a breath, like he was afraid of saying it out loud. “I don’t know how, I don’t know why… But you start talking, and it’s like everything else fades away.”

That was your breaking point. Tears started to fall from your eyes, and you sniffled as your hands reached up to your neck and clutched his wrists, looking for anything tangible to hold on to while you cried. And cried you did, your face contorted as you sobbed, your shoulders shaking and chest heaving, and you squeezed Eric’s wrists. He was quick to move impossibly closer, molding his front to your back, and his arms slipped down to your middle, squeezing you tightly as he buried his face in your neck and began to cry as well. He was much quieter than you, not having nearly as much that he held back and needed to get rid of, but it felt good to have someone commiserate with you.

You weren’t sure who moved first— maybe there wasn’t a first to move, maybe you both moved at the same time— but somehow your foreheads came to touch, and your crying pettered down to a sniffle and watery eyes. Your hand came up to touch his cheek, scruffy with a few days’ old beard trying to grow in, and your thumb stroked his cheekbone. He keened into your touch, his eyes fluttering open to look at you. His big brown eyes, so full of every emotion, hidden just so but easy to see if you knew where to look, locked on yours, and your lips fell open in anticipation of his mouth on yours.

Instantly, though, you shifted away and lightly cleared your throat. This wasn’t the time for that. You didn’t know if there would ever be a time for that again. Quietly, you splashed water on your face, and stood up, carefully getting out of the bathtub and going after the towel that sat on the countertop. You scooped your clothes up off the floor as well, and you escaped from the bathroom without a word. You were sure he was confused, maybe even wounded, but you didn’t care. On some level, you did want that— you wanted to feel wanted, to feel adored, cared about, and Eric was a great guy for that, but you didn’t want just that. You wanted a life, you wanted a partner, you wanted love— not just some trauma-borne fuck that you forgot about as soon as it happened.

You dried your body and slipped into your full outfit, pants and sweatshirt and underwear and socks, and you sat on your bed as you dried your hair. You listened as, inside the bathroom, the water sloshed against the side of the tub while Eric moved around, and you watched as Frodo calmly stalked the perimeter of the room, seeming to check every nook and cranny. You put your damp towel to the side and tutted out at the cat, and Frodo looked up at you for a moment before he scampered over to you, hopping up onto the bed and settling himself in your lap. “You’re a good boy, Fro,” you whispered, stroking his back. “Such a good boy.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Eric’s voice floated to you, and you turned to him. He was now all clean as well, his hair soggy and his face free of grime, wearing the sweatpants and sweatshirt. His hair was pushed away from his face, and you could see, even in the dim light, freckles dotting his forehead.

You sighed. “No,” you replied. “I’m just… I don’t know.”

“Did you not want me to…?” Eric began.

“No, no, it’s not that,” you told him quickly. “Not that at all, I did want you to, I just… I don’t know if I can do all that.”

“All what?” Eric asked. “What did you think was going to happen if I kissed you?”

“Well,” you shrugged. “I don’t know, I assumed more would come of it. And I just don’t know if I’m ready for more. Even before the world came crashing down, I wasn’t ready for more. That’s why I didn’t have anyone; not because I didn’t have time, although that was true. I’m just… Scared.”

Eric quietly moved towards you, bypassing his bed and settling at the extreme edge of yours, as far away as possible while still occupying the same space. Frodo looked at him with thin eyes and he slowly blinked at Eric, and his tail flopped in an indignant half-wag. “Scared of what?” Eric asked.

You sighed. “That I won’t be right for anyone,” you said. “Even back when I was on the market, people always… I don’t know. Wanted more, and for whatever reason, I could never give more to them. I was always so afraid of what would happen when I finally gave all of myself to someone that I never did, and by the time I figured out that someone did want all of me, it was too late and I’d already lost them. I can never win— I’m always never enough or I’m too much. I’m never just right.”

Eric thought on your words for a few moments, and he moved closer to you, just an inch. “Yeah,” he said. “But that was back then. Everything has changed. Everything is different now. You don’t need to be afraid of being what’s right, because what used to be right is just… All sorts of fucked up now. Nobody knows anything anymore. I certainly don’t. But I know what I want, more than I ever have before.”

“And let me guess,” you said. “You want me?”

You hoped that calling him out on his cheesy cliché would have him back down. You liked that he wanted you, and you wanted him too, you wanted him so badly that it hurt, but you didn’t want him to mistake wanting you for wanting a connection with someone.

“I want to be okay again,” Eric told you. “But I need you.”

That was the most magical word of all. Need. It punched a hole in your heart and took your breath away, and you watched him as he watched you, just seeing who would dare to break first. Frodo seemed to know something you didn’t, because he jumped up out of your lap and skittered across the room with an uncharacteristic yowl, and you frowned as he sped away, but your frown was quickly wiped off your face as Eric bridged the gap and kissed you.

You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. He held your face as his lips moulded to yours, a perfect fit as you kissed back, and you wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. It felt good to kiss someone, to hold someone and be held by someone. You forgot how much you missed the feeling of another person, and you melted into his body as he claimed your hips in his strong hands. His knuckles were scuffed up, but he held you so gently, and you easily fell back onto the bed. He followed you, settling over you like he had done it a thousand times before, but the way his hands slowly slid up the sides of your shirt to touch your bare skin showed you how much it meant to him. Slow and gentle and sweet, he was everything you had wanted from a partner and a lover for as long as you could remember.

But you could tell, even though he was being sweet, how badly he wanted to have you. His kiss was greedy, shifting away from your mouth to kiss your chin and jaw and neck, almost feral with his need for you, but you welcomed it. Strong emotions like that were flattering, especially here and now, and you didn’t waste much time before sliding your hand past the elastic waistband of the sweatpants nestled around his hips. Your palm found his cock instantly, and you held in your gasp of surprise at his size— he definitely had something to be proud of. His skin was warm through the layer of his underwear, and you paused and widened your eyes at him, a quiet question of how far he wanted you to go.

“You don’t have to be quiet anymore,” Eric whispered. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You shivered underneath him at the sweet name he had bestowed on you, and you quietly asked, “Do you want me to…?”

“God, yes,” he moaned. “Haven’t done this in so long…”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile as you slipped under his briefs, and your fingers wrapped around his thick length. His skin was hot to the touch, his cock rock-hard, and he moaned softly into your neck at the contact. Whether he meant to or not, his hips rolled forward, pushing himself further into your grip, and he quickly whispered, “M’sorry, fuck—”

“Don’t apologize,” you told him. Your free hand went to cradle his cheek, and you shifted his face so that you could kiss his plush lips again. “It’s hot.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eric asked. “It’s hot how…” He paused to kiss you, nipping at your bottom lip with his front teeth, and he continued. “How desperate I am?”

“I am too,” you told him. “I just hide it better.”

Almost as if he was checking if you were lying, his hand skated down from your side and into your pants, letting his fingers mold to your cunt, and he chuckled lightly. “God, you’re wet,” he smiled. “That makes me feel better.”

“Were you worried I wasn’t?” you asked.

“Just a little,” Eric whispered, wrinkling his nose. “But I figured you’d tell me if something wasn’t working for you.”

“I’ll let you know,” you told him. You chased him into another kiss, and his tongue invaded your mouth. It had been so long since you had someone make you feel like that, and you whined softly into his mouth. “Eric, please.”

“What do you want?” he asked. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”

“Anything,” you whimpered. Your legs shifted, coming up to anchor around his waist, and you slowly started to stroke his cock, teasing his soft head, just to see his reaction.

Thankfully, his cheeks went red, and that pretty pink mouth of his opened in a moan, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he mumbled, “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m already too close for you to be doing that.”

“Already?” you asked. You sounded a little more surprised than you meant to, and you quickly added, “That’s really attractive, Eric, I hope you know that.”

“What is?” he chuckled. “That I’ve got a short fuse?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged sheepishly. “I think it is, anyway. How can I help you?”

“Umm,” Eric said, then swallowed thickly. “Can I… Tits?”

You smiled at him, and you laid a gentle kiss on his lips before he shifted away, letting you pull up your sweatshirt. Your little survival packs hadn’t provided you with a bra of any kind, and you watched Eric’s already-wide eyes flare out at the sight of your chest. He didn’t say a word before he moved down your body and started to kiss everywhere he could reach, taking time and care on your tits. Your hand fell out of his pants at the angle shift, and you settled your fingers to twist in his damp curls as his own hand replaced yours, jerking himself off as he gently licked at your hardening nipple.

“S’that okay?” he whispered, casting his doe eyes up at you, and you nodded quickly. “’Cause if it’s not, I can stop—”

“I promise it’s okay,” you whispered. “I swear.”

Eric smiled. “She swears,” he whispered under his breath, and you giggled. “She swears she likes when I suck her tits. Aren’t I a lucky guy?”

You could hardly ignore the hot pressure between your legs, and you snaked your hand in-between your bodies and started to push down your sweatpants, but Eric noticed what you were up to, and he tugged his hand out of his own pants to capture the waistband of your sweatpants in his grasp. “Please,” he said. “Allow me.” You could tell that he intended to be funny, but his flushed face and fucked-out pupils made it seem a lot more pathetic than you’re sure he meant to be, but that just made a rush of heat strike your core, and your head fell back in bliss as you felt your hot skin slowly exposed to the air.

When you lifted your head back up to look at him, you watched as he shed his own clothes, finally matching you, and you bit your lip as his heavy cock rose to lay against his tummy. He had the thinnest trail of hair coming from down his belly button, smatterings of hair on his chest, a nicely-groomed bush of hair at the base of his cock; he clearly cared about the way he looked, and you loved that. You wondered if the Eric you knew was anything like the Eric before the monsters came, and you watched as he leaned back and began to gently place kisses down the length of your body. He was soft and gentle with you, although you were nearly certain he wanted to take you then and there, and you wiggled a little under his lips. “Can we…” you started. “Do that later?”

“Do what?” Eric asked.

“The whole ‘sweet and kissy’ thing,” you said. “Not to sound, like, sex-starved or anything, but I am, and I think my heart’s gonna explode if you’re not inside me soon.”

Eric chuckled, obviously not expecting that level of honesty out of you, and he pushed his damp curls off of his forehead. “Whatever you’d like, sweetheart,” he told you. “As long as you promise to let me eat your cunt eventually. I can only go so long seeing you like this and be expected to not put my mouth on you.”

“Sure,” you replied, secretly excited that he was expecting a second time.

Eric swiped a quick kiss on your mouth, and then he furrowed his eyebrows. “Umm…” he began. “I— Do you… Are you on any birth control or anything?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “No,” you sighed. “I was, but all that’s back in my apartment in Brooklyn. Haven’t taken my pill since, like, three nights ago, so I’m basically fucked for the whole month.”

“Fuck,” Eric whispered, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. “I guess, are you alright with this, then? We can figure something else out—”

“There’s, umm,” you winced. “A condom, in the bag with the shampoo and everything. There’s one in mine, and I bet there’s a second one in yours too.”

“Oh, shit, really?” Eric laughed. “That’s… That’s pretty funny.”

“Apparently, FEMA knows what people do in times of crisis,” you smiled.

“So, what I’m hearing,” Eric started, moving himself off the bed and going to your toiletries bag on the floor. His back turned to you, and you felt your eyes widen in shock at the state of his ass. Jesus Christ, this guy had a great ass, smooth and plump and perfectly rounded; you almost wanted to reach out and bite it. “Is that we can fuck twice, and then we’ll need to figure something else out.”

“Is that so?” you asked, and Eric came back to the bed, deftly tearing open the condom wrapper. You leaned up on your elbows to watch as he got back up on his knees, caging you between his thick thighs, and he made quick work of rolling the condom down his thick length, making a quiet grunt as he got it situated the way he wanted. “What makes you think there’ll be a third time? Or a second, for that matter?”

“Won’t there?” Eric asked. “You seem pretty into it right now. Or least your cunt is; look at how wet she is for me.”

“Well, yeah, now,” you teased him, biting the tip of your tongue, trying to will your thundering heart to go back to normal. “But what if, when everything is said and done, you’re actually a terrible fuck and I don’t want anything else to do with you?”

He laughed deep in his chest, and he took your thighs in his strong hands and opened your legs, smoothly settling himself so he could rub his hard cock against your weeping cunt. You felt blood thrumming under your skin, making every inch of you pulse and surge, and you whined high in your throat when the head of his cock caught at your hole, threatening to slip in with ease. “I doubt that, sweetheart,” he told you. “I’ve been told I’m a fantastic fuck.”

“Are you sure they weren’t trying to keep your ego intact?” you asked, and Eric tilted his head curiously at you.

“Well, they weren’t telling me much of anything,” he said. “Usually, by the end, they’re so fucked-out and brainless that they can hardly string a sentence together.”

Then, without a word of warning, he gripped your hips and slid himself inside of you, and you gasped. It had been so long that you had almost forgotten what sex felt like, but this was something entirely new and different. You could feel every ridge and vein on his cock, even through the condom, and he gave a delicious throb as you tightened your thighs around his hips. “Fuck!” you yelped, and a shade of worry passed over his face for just a moment. “I-I’m okay,” you told him quickly. “Just… Fuck, Eric, you’re so big.”

“You flatter me,” he chuckled. Slowly, he began to rock his hips into you, moving shallowly at first, just letting you get used to his size, and his dull fingernails buried into the flesh of your hip. You couldn’t help all the little noises he caused you to make— you could feel every inch of him, burying deep within you, stretching you and filling you like he was made for you, and he leaned down and ghosted against your lips with his. “Feel good?” he whispered, and you nodded quickly.

“Do I?” you asked softly. Your arms went around him, holding him close to you, and you pressed your fingers into his shoulders. He felt like a lifeline, his warm skin keeping you grounded, and you didn’t even care if you sounded pathetic or insecure. He made you feel good and safe, and that’s all that you cared about.

“Fuck, so good,” he grunted out. He was picking up speed, gaining a good rhythm that made you wonder how prolific he had been before his career got in the way, and you listened to the bed squeak under you as he mumbled, “So warm… So wet… You feel like a dream… Remember that short fuse I talked about?”

“Really?” you smiled. “Already?”

“Listen, woman,” Eric started, and you dragged him into a messy kiss. You loved him talking like that, and it made you realize just how close you were as well. He tugged away from the kiss to take a deep breath, and he went in to kiss you again, hungry and wanting you. He was going fast now, pumping in and out of you, leaving pleasure and sparks in his wake, and your legs twitched and tightened as the knot in your belly twisted closer and closer to its end. “I haven’t had sex in years,” Eric continued, finally tearing himself away from your lips. “And my right hand can only do so much after a while. So excuse me for being a little quick to the draw tonight.”

“How many years?” you asked.

Eric sighed. “I dunno,” he said. “At least since I graduated law school, so… Five years, maybe?”

“God,” you chuckled. “That’s… A while.”

“No, wait,” Eric said. “Three years. My birthday a few years ago, my mates took me out to a bar, and I met a girl, I spent the night at her place… And she never answered my texts after that.”

“Ouch,” you hissed. “That must’ve hurt that ego of yours.”

“Not gonna lie, it did,” Eric laughed. “But it’s for the best. I didn’t have time for a girlfriend anyway, I would’ve been an awful boyfriend to her. Or to anyone, not just her… What about you?”

“Umm…” you started. “Sex… Yes, I know what that is. Definitely a thing I’ve had before now.”

“Don’t play with me like that,” Eric started, jokingly wide-eyed and startled, and you laughed.

“About the same, I guess,” you said. “Three-ish years… It was back a few years ago, I was feeling bad about getting older and having a career but no partner, so I… I went on a dating app, found a guy, and we talked for a little bit and hooked up, but I got a bad vibe from him, so I broke it off.”

“I’m sorry,” Eric said. “Did you like him?”

“Not really,” you sighed. “And he wasn’t even that great in bed.”

“So, I’ve got him beat in every category, right?” Eric asked.

You kissed him again, cupping your hand across the back of his neck, and he smoothed his hands up your body lovingly. “You’ve got everyone beat, baby,” you told him.

“I think you’re an angel, actually,” Eric told you, and you shyly shook your head. “No, no, I think so. I don’t care if you don’t agree, that’s what I think.”

“Whatever you say,” you told him. “Can you, umm… Maybe a little faster?”

Eric obliged, pistoning his hips quicker to fuck you to your liking, and his hand floated to your pussy, his thumb gently rubbing at your throbbing little clit. You whined and scratched at his back, tightening your legs and digging your heel into that ass he had, and the electric shocks that ran up your toes and into the rest of your body started to become too good, too much. “Eric!” you gasped. “Eric, fuck!”

“I’ve got you, angel,” Eric whispered in your ear. “I’ve got you. Let me see that pretty face when you cum, yeah? Wanna feel your cunt squeeze me, fuck, I need it.”

You looked down at yourself, watching as his hard cock plunged in and out of your hole, leaving a creamy ring at the base of his cock, and your whining and whimpering almost had the wet squelch of your bodies together beat. Then, almost against your will, your whole body relaxed, every muscle feeling like it went slack, and you sobbed out your final moan, your head falling back as your nails went hard into his freckled shoulders. You felt your wet cover your inner thighs, and you panted as Eric chased his own end. You didn’t have to wait too long before you heard him choke back a moan, and he spilled himself inside the condom. You felt the warmth of his spend inside you, and he slowly pulled out of you with a hiss at the sensation on his sensitive, softening cock.

He was quick to take care of the condom, and he came back to the bed and settled in the small, empty space beside you. His red chest was heaving, his cheeks flooded with pink color, and he wrapped his arm around you and tugged you close to him. You melted into his warmth, mashing your cheek against his hard chest, and he let out a breathy laugh. “Fuck,” he gasped. “I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t eaten real food all day or what, but I’m exhausted.”

“Me too,” you giggled. “I think you were just that good.”

“Once again, angel,” Eric whispered, settling a soft kiss on your head. “You flatter me.”

You fell into a comfortable silence then, listening to each other’s breathing even out, and Eric cleared his throat after a while. “Typically, at this point,” he started. “I’d be smoking a cigarette.”

“Oh my God, Eric, no,” you groaned. “Don’t you know how unhealthy that is?”

“Oh, right,” Eric chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Miss Nurse. So concerned for my health.”

“Right,” you told him. “I care about you, and I don’t want you to have breathing complications or worse early in life from smoking.”

“I think I’ll manage,” Eric told you. “I think I need another shower after that, though.”

“You do sorta stink,” you giggled, and Eric rolled his eyes. “If you shower, I can be making food.”

“Food?” Eric asked. “There’s food?”

“Yeah, an MRE,” you told him, and you grunted as you got out of bed, going in search of the plastic-packaged meal. “Chicken and noodles. I didn’t see what yours was.”

“Fuck,” he laughed. “I’ve got a sexy woman making dinner for me? I might keep you around after all.”

“You have to keep me around,” you told him. “Who else is supposed to help you raise your cat?”

Frodo seemed to know his cue, because he revealed himself from behind a bookshelf, batting a bit of cobweb on his nose, and Eric smiled. “I suppose you’re right,” Eric said. “Just don’t feed him too much; he’ll get fat. He’ll also try to attack your hand if you pet his belly, so don’t do that either.”

“Noted,” you told him. “Go shower, handsome, this should be done by then.”

Eric took a moment to wrap his arms around you and press a kiss to your temple, and he softly said, “I wish we could have met any other way. But, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here now.”

“Me too,” you told him, turning in his arms to give him a real, genuine kiss. “I’m so glad you found me.”

[aylasology]

Rocket Queen

A guitar solo and the finishing touches.

warnings : smut!! Fingering and oral. Using cocaine. Reader gets fucked in a recording studio 😭

notes : jeez this was long. This is a part of my rockstar!Robin x groupie!reader universe btw! Check her out here :) Here's my birthday treat from me to you 🫶

Heels tap on the hardwood floor as you watch her sing. Her hands shoved in the pockets of her flare jeans, blue eyes tinted red as her heart shaped glasses slip on the bridge of her nose. Robin Buckley is a rockstar in the flesh - and she is in her element.

Her tall frame stands by a microphone. Her voice has a rasp in it, a strong low voice that no one could compete with.

"I'm a sexual innuendo in this burned out paradise, if you turn me on to anything you better turn me on tonight."

Her eyes shoot to you. A shit-eating smirk on her face as she kept singing. You could remember how she wrote this song so vividly. On her bed, you sprawled naked underneath the sheets as she lay next to you with a pen and a notebook in hand. Tapping to a melody she hummed quietly. The notebook was on a blank page, scribbles and crossed out words on the other side.

Robin was convinced that this next album was going to be a hit. She was convinced that her vocals, and the band's distinct sound is gonna take them somewhere. She was strong in her belief and you couldn't help but believe it too.

You don't know what it was about her that made her so magnetic. It was something beyond looks, something beyond that voice that made you let her toy you around and use you. Maybe it was the thrill? The thrill of getting caught and getting outed? The thrill of finally getting touched by a woman? You couldn't lay a finger on it.

Their guitarist, Eddie Munson, started playing his riff, fingers fast in its movement as it moved against the fretboard. Stiff in her movement however, Robin's eyes squeezed shut, a serious look on her face as if she was deep in thought. You knew what this look meant, the look that said something was wrong. Something didn't align to whatever artistic sound she had in mind.

"Eddie wait."

Eddie stopped playing. A resounding, rather pissed off "what?" Slipping from his lips. Robin's eyes wandered in thought, eyes wandering to you. She looked you up and down, eyes wandering on the tiny skirt you've decided to wear. A thought comes to mind.

"Uh, just keep playing actually..."

After recording, a pair of hands snake from behind your waist, tugging onto the fabric of your shirt. Robin.

"Hey sweetheart..." She cooed, peppering kisses on the skin of your neck. "I can just eat you up.." she murmured in between the kisses. Robin always seemed so drunk in love when it came to you. You were never sure if it was love, but you were sure of one thing : you aroused her.

"Robin..." you chuckled as she had turned you to face her, pulling you in the recording booth. Everyone had dispersed out of the studio by now, the room suddenly so chilly and quiet.

"Shh, sweetheart..." She cooed. "Need something from you really quickly..." She murmured, pressing your back against a beat up leather couch, pushing a microphone next to you. "Gonna need a quick little fix 'fore I ask for a favor m'kay?"

A little nod was all it took for her to lay you down completely, pulling out a small plastic bag with white powder in it - cocaine. She lifts your shirt up, a small but demanding "bite" grunts out of her lips. Quick to obey, you bit the fabric of the shirt to keep it up.

She adjusts herself, straddling your hips as she sat on you, eyes hungry as she took in the sight of your body. The curve of your hips, the swell of your breasts, your already erect nipples. Of course you didn't wear a bra.

She rips the plastic to form a little hole, cocaine on your belly and all the way up the middle of your breasts. You could hear her groan, the sight of you enough for her to completely ravish you.

"So pretty this way...just a pretty little thing for me to use..."

She bends down, pressing a kiss on your skin before sniffing down the powder. A hand on the curve of your hips, words slipping out of her mouth every time she'd sit up to just look at you.

"Such a perfect little slut....you gonna let me abuse you, honey?"

"Such a good girl for me...god, you're perfect."

And as a small trail is left in between the perfect globes of your breasts, her tongue prods out of her mouth, licking the skin and the cocaine off of it. Her eyes stare up at you, needy eyes that could tell everything she wanted to do to you.

"Robin..." You could only whimper, mouth waiting and cunt soaked in anticipation. The heat inside your skirt boiling.

She leans closer to your face. "I know, princess, I know..." She cooed, before pressing her tongue onto yours. The taste of cocaine landed on your tongue, a hand kneading one of your breasts and the other cupped onto your face.

Her kisses seemed eager, and they felt as though they were waiting for a reaction. And when she gains that soft moan from you, she pulls away, a string of saliva connecting each other's tongue.

"Gonna need more from you, sweetheart..." She groaned. She pulls away from your body, ordering you to sit up. She pulls your skirt down, a smirk on her lips as she feels your panties soaked.

"All this for me?" She teased, fingers tracing circles on the wet patch, your legs shaking in anticipation.

"Robin..." You cried, an awkward blush on your plump cheeks.

"Oh so you're blushing now too? Fuck sweetheart, you're just so cute..."

"Robin!" You groaned, absolutely having enough of the teasing. A chuckle erupts from her lips as she pulled the panties off. Her hands gripped onto your ankles, holding your legs up as her finger pushes in deep, slow strokes. A moan slipping from your lips.

"There she is..." She hummed, a chuckle slips from her lips as she watched your face contort in pleasure. She adds another finger, her pace moving quicker as she spreads your legs wider. "Gonna need you real loud for me sweetheart..."

Without waiting for a response, she pushes your legs further, you moan softly in pain, but she's fucking you too good for you to want it to stop. "Feel good sweetheart?"

"Fuck..." You cry out. "Yes..fuck...yes..." You moaned as you lay your head against the arm rest of the couch. A plethora of moans and cries falling from your lips as she spread your folds open.

And as a familiar, twisting knot forms in your stomach, her fingers pull away. A soft, but reassuring "We're not done yet..." hums from her lips.

She adjusted herself, keeping your legs spread open as she kissed your thighs and stomach. And before you could complain on how much of a tease she was, she dipped lower. Licking your sensitive clit before moving inside your folds immediately.

You moaned against the sensation. Robin's tongue was warm and eager and sloppy and it was perfect against you. It found and abused nerve endings, unbridled pleasure taking over your being.

Your fingers grasp onto her hair, hips bucking against her mouth as your slick and her spit seemed to drip on her chin and onto the couch. Your moans came out in hurried grunts. Your thighs squeeze her face, as suffocating as it was she didn't care - she felt as though she could happily die like this, head in between your thighs and a mouth lapping up pussy. Your pussy. Your moans continued to sound desperate, a slight crack in them and a rasp that only Robin could recognize. Robin was the only person who touched you like this.

The knot in your stomach comes undone, sticky fluids of your release all over her lips and cheek. She pulled away, letting you watch her swallow it all down. She leans close to your face, kissing your cheek. "You did so good, sweetheart..."

Before you could say anything, your body is instantly hit with exhaustion. Pretty eyes of yours fluttering shut as you lay there with a pillow on your head and another on your hand. A chuckle slips from Robin's lips.

"I'll let you rest, m'kay? I'll be here when you wake up."

And she was there in the studio once you woke up, tampering with the audio of their recording session from earlier. You could hear her play it, legs wobbly as you stood up and walked over to her.

You could hear the guitar solo in full blast, though another sound seemed to be playing alongside it. The sound of what could be considered as lips smacking together in a kiss, which then lead to needy and desperate moans. The moans held a crack in them, a rasp that bubbled from the throat. Desperate and loud, and...wait...

"Robin, was that...?"

"Yes sweetheart, that was you." She replied with a cocky smile, lifting your hand up to her lips. "You always told me how much you wanted to be a muse..." She muttered before kissing the skin.

[ikkosu]

HEyooo, Soundwave requestor here again. This time to actually give ya the request!

Righty so, as said before, this request is a sequel to the fem!bot squid!s/o ficlet. So, for this I've got a couple of scenarios in mind, but I'll some of those for future requests!

Anyhow, how about Soundwave introducing S/O to his casettes, how they interact with her, what they think of her, etc.

SOUNDWAVE. FEM.BOT.SQUID. S/O

|[part one ]|

YOU peered over your servos, curling the digits around the glass rim of the mini-aquarium.It was a nine feet tall container, accommodating your height, as well as your size, allowing you to swim around freely.

“Why's she lookin' at me weird."

Soundwave had conjured it up swiftly within a matter of days. You remembered a kind of warmth pulsed in your spark, relief and adoration mottled into one, when he told you that.

As, after all, following initial meeting with the decepticon, you doubted the notion of him ever coming back. It wasn't rocket science. Every being in close proximity of your own, whether it was intentional or not, is guaranteed too maim themselves injured or dead.

If you were to prevent that, suppressing your field proves to be another problem. Holding it taut for for so long only reels you nauseous, spinal strut shuddering with an intensity more vehement than any lacerating wound would pulse.

But, at the sight of him returning with another mech (an intimidating one, if you had to add ) the prospect doesn't seem all that delusional. Not when he had gently lifted you up from the waters, a servo on your tail, and the other on your back, sauntering towards a make-shift carrier not too far from the shore.

"We have to ensure her outer platings are constantly moisturized." Shockwave, you remembered his name, droned off to your new companion. "Her build is naturally divergent from our own. Years of decade long exposure to water, maybe even more, had caused the outer epidermis to conform to the surroundings. If not handled with care, the oxygen will rust the platings and the ramifications will be severe."

Soundwave had left swiftly with his scientist after depositing you in the container, assuring that it won't be long before he comes back. You're now left in the company of two eccentric little bots. Little bots that dawdled in front of the aquarium, unbothered.

"I'm tellin' ya, she's lookin' at me weird."

You blink tentatively. They were so small. Around the height of a human if you had to guess, if not — just a little taller.

"Oi! Rumble,” You dipped at the sound of a smack.

The other (black red, you note) groaned, clutching his helm. “Hey, hey! Watch the head! Watch the head! I'm not fussin' knockout for a cracked helm after getting my servo fixed! You know how he is eith second appointments.”

Blue, meanwhile, fisted his hips and narrowed his optics. "Then, watch that mouth if you don’t wanna have big red after ya' spark.”

“Can’t help it if she looks weird, fussbrain.”

“And you’re gonna be guts deep in a pit ‘cause a’that? I'll gaurantee ya' a clock in the head if bossman hears."

You settled your chin on the glass, observing them prattle away. Mini-figures, moving. Gestures and expressions, animated.

"Oi, looks are subjective, alright? You find ‘er normal. I find ‘er abnormal. I’m honest about it. I’m an honest mech.” Rumbles puts a servo on his chest. “At least, I ain’t no screamer.”

"You just might be with how much slag's spooling out of that intake!”

"Ugh. Just look at the tails!"

Blue vents, complies with a swivel , and inspects you, squinting of his optics. He snorts.

Frenzy ignores his biting tone and continues his examination. “Too lifey to be tails. What tail is on someone's shoulder, eh? I see 'em moving, too. Oi! You. You’re pulling your field back, you scared or something?”

"I don't think they're tails, Rumble.”

“What’s it then, her brain?”

"....Not at all.” You say demurely. But your tendrils stiffen when their own fields eases over. As if they’re experimenting.

Rumble cocks a brow, "Oh, good. She speaks."

"Course she does, idiot. What she gonna do, sing?"

“You know what? A performance ain’t too bad right now to be honest.”

"Rumble, Frenzy : mind your manners."

"Oh, slag. Right. Sorry about that.”

They both stiffened, swivelling around in time to meet the gaze of their, you weren't so sure how to describe their relationship, sire? Towering over the two.

“Your field.” He warns.

You visibly loosened when the pressure of their field retracted. Frenzy blinks at the noticeable change while Rumble says nothing.

“I’d like ta’ see you try, fussbrain.”

“‘pologies bossman." He starts. "We're, uh, a little curious."

“Too curious.” Frenzy mutters, earning a hard kick to his shin. He grunts and they both swivel, face to face, fists locked and loaded for a brawl.

“Oh, I oughta give that servo a nice beating until big red comes around and scoops ‘em up like broken egg shells. Ya hear?”

Soundwave strides past the two bickering mini-cons and straight towards the container. Your tendrils relax a the sight of him approaching. No longer bristling, you teeter close to the glass wall. He puts a servo on the surface and you do, as well, grasping the pulse of warmth behind the glass.

You give him a small smile and somewhere behind his visors you notice a crinkle of his optics.

“Rumble, Frenzy.” He swiveled around and gave out your designation. “Introduce yourself.”

“This one there. That bugger is Rumble.” Frenzy points, “And I’m frenzy. I woulda shake ya’ servos but missy is nine feet off the ground and i’m seven feet short.”

“It’s alright. No need for that.” You said.

“She’ll be staying with us for a while. I’m expecting her welcome is to be warmly embraced.”

Rumble greets you with a careless wave of his servo. “Oh, she’ll be fine with us. No worries, there. We’ll keep ‘er good company as long as she doesn’t piss off Ravage and get ‘er tail stuck in a kitty’s claw. Ain’t that right, squid?”

That was….highly specific. Ravage?They seem quite the charmer. Let’s hope you won’t encounter that problem anytime soon. Pissing off Ravage and the like. You gave them a sheepish smile and nod. “Thank you for, ah, accepting me. I know this isn’t easy to see a new face around.”

“Squid.” Frenzy says blandly.

Soundwave meets your gaze. “She’s a neutral.”

Rumble shrugs. “Didn’t say it was hard.”

“Uh, how long is a while?” Frenzy looks up. “Won’t Megatron have a thing or two to say about ‘er buddies?”

“But—" Rumble begins.

“A nuetral.” He says more firmly. “That’s all there is to her faction. And you’re going to refer it that way, am I clear?”

The mini con glanced to each other for a moment. To you, then to Soundwave. Frenzy shrugs, as though he couldn’t care less. mumbling a simple “A’ight.” While Rumble grins, gleaming with chesire smugness.“If you say so, boss.”

[widowsofchaos]

𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐬

summary: if Asgardian mead can transcend two super soldiers into three sheets in the wind, then is there Asgardian herb to send a smoker like you to Vallah? pairing: Thor x black!enhanced!reader (established/married relationship) ao3 warnings: herbal smoking, smut (porn with plot), and filthy use of astral projecting. a/n: Guardians of the Galaxy cameo, Rocket being a furry menace. New Asgard cameo. Valkyrie cameo. Just a self-indulgent piece on my love for Thor, and weed. For @canumoveurseatup-no​ cause we’re Thor and weed loving whores. This was finished way long ago, like way before MoM came out, so the writing style isn’t up to my liking. It was just a self-indulgent fix it, I guess.

“You’re really not going to share? Really?!”

Furry pointed ears flex agitatedly, tiny palms kneed into his eyes, claws dually scratching his furry face --- small paws stomp on the floor akin to a toddler, grieving as if the world is against him; on all floors as he bounces on the flooring, hunching over as he snarls in withdrawing agitation --- all for galactic weed.

A click of the tongue, “Look at him --- I told you it’s good.” Krog laughs as he packs handfuls of herb in the plastic bag, as the snarling scavenger twirls around his ankles. The rock-being stood frozen, in amusement to watch the tiny animal have a withdrawal, standing next to him is his Asgardian liege.

In his palm, marveling at the Asgardian herb that was glowing with golden streaks within the stems, luckily seeds were saved before the disaster of Asgard; now nurtured, and gardened in Norwegian soil.

“I am Groot.” The teenaged tree-being grunts, with his arms crossed against his chest. “He is a jerk!” Rocket shouts, his claws scratching the wooding; a high-pitched yelp emits from the unhinged raccoon.

“Oh hush --- you know he’s going to pack us some.” A green palm grabs Rocket by the vest, as he flails, his furry tail twirling; small teeth gnawing the air at the mere act of being man-handled.

A sweet low giggle, “You know he’s just teasing.” Gamora nestled Rocket between herself and Peter on the couch; Peter too engrossed in the newest gorey Mortal Kombat video game with Drax to even jab a joke or two.

Rocket nearly wails, head thrashing against the cushioning of the couch, “I need some now!” Never one to lose his composure, always snarky with his jokes, and remarks. Gamora shushes him once more, as she pats his head gently with her green fingertips.

Krog nudges Thor by the elbow, catching his attention. Handing Thor two massive bags of herbs, and blunts --- expertely. Years spent on Midgard, Krog took up a multitude of hobbies, and conveniently, one of them is rolling up.

“Two?! Look at those big bags!” Gamora shushes Rocket again, fingertips stroking the fur between his ears.

“Do not worry, you will get your fix.” Thor teases, jacket zipped, and ready to take his leave back to the States. Rocket grumbles, snout pouting, as Thor gives his goodbyes.

The brisk Norwegian air fans against his face, a nice reprieve on his skin. Stepping out of the bricked home, he basks in the scenery for a moment.

Catching his sight, perched against the wall of the house by her foot is Brunnhidle. Flickering on a light, igniting her joint, that clung between her lips. Thor hums, leaning on his hip, “How does it feel?”

She exhales a long puff of air, “Amazing. It’s been too long.” She gazes up at the sodden sky with blissful content. Cocking her head to her shoulder, her mirthful eyes catch his. Gesturing to him with the jut of her chin, “Taking some home to my wife?”

Thor playfully grumbles under his breath, “Yes,” he huffs. Brunnhilde breathes a chuckle, “Please, you will tell me how she’ll handle it.” It’s no secret Thor’s precious wife is a little pothead, and has been one of the loudest to hound for the special Asgardian herb.

The blunt that glows with streaks of gold within the twisted wrinkles of the paper is marveled between her fingers, blowing a gust of smoke, “You know she’s going to become a little crackhead for it.”

Thor belly laughs, “When is she not?”

---

Tiny snuffles breathe against your breast-bone --- soft plump cheeks, the slope of a button nose --- as heart-shaped baby lips suckle against the swelled tit; chubby fingers grip sweetly yet with youthful vigor the collar hem of your shirt, tugging it more under your breast.

The infant drinks his milk with joy, doe-eyes gleam at you with such wonder, and innocence, as your fingers fondle tenderly in his thick locks of hair.

Caressing his fuzzy dome, as he drank from you --- the fifth time today --- only five months old, yet already has an appetite that rivals his own father.

Cradling him in your arms, shoulder-blades leaning against the head-board --- supported by massive plush pillows --- pinching fingertips toys with his curls that springs back in shiny coils, his toes curling against the skin of your belly.

The nape of his small head is held by the crock of your elbow, dripples of milk seep from the corner of his mouth, wiping it by your finger, you coo at your son. “My baby boy, so hungry.” Chin to chest, as your lips featherly kiss against his temple; nuzzling the tip of your nose within his curls.

“Bjørn, ljúfi drengurinn minn. Líf mitt.” Bjørn, my boy. My life. The Icelandic language no longer fumbles from your tongue awkwardly --- like it did during the months of your pregnancy.

It was set in stone, a goal to learn the language that was closest to old Norse; an homage to your husband, and a catalyst for your son to grow up proud of his roots.

Bjørn Erik Odinson, born at 4:50 a.m, 8.8 pounds, skin as brown as shiny garnet, pudgy rolls adorning his arms, and legs, small toes that you love to munch on, just to hear his beautiful laugh.

Bjørn excitedly huffs, tit still in his mouth; snuggling him closer to your chest, you trace his pudgy cheek, the slope of his button nose.

You thank your God, and the Gods of all nine realms, for bestowing this fate. For your husband, for your baby, for your surrogate family --- it's everything you ever dreamt for.

A creak lingers near the doorway, your eyes dart upwards --- to catch Thor cheekily standing at the entrance; it’s comical how his bulky shoulders, and towering height just barely fit against the door-frame.

Also --- it’s eerie how a massive 200+ molded demigod that has the power over thunder can tread in silence --- when he wants to, usually he walks around in life as the embodiment of a golden retriever.

Out-stretching your open palm, fingers wiggling; Thor gets the hint, he walks happily towards you, a smile that stretches from ear to ear.

He belly-crawls upon the bed, on his arms, and knees; seeking out your warmth, as his arms circle around your midriff, kissing the small soles of Bjørn’s feet.

“I miss my little bear cub,” another kiss on his tippy toes, “And I’ve missed my queen.” His lips find the flesh of your tummy, an open-wet kiss; suckling the flesh. His lips trail your skin, to the pouch of your belly, a little remnant of your baby weight.

Bjørn’s small toes curl softly against Thor’s forehead, earning a chuckle from him. Thor nuzzles his nose against Bjørn’s under foot, the bridge of his nose wiggles under his small toes.

His milky fingers gently strokes the soft skin of his chubby leg, his blue gems staring adoringly at his son.

“So --- how’s my wife?” You breathe a snicker as Thor pinches the meat of your thigh playfully, earning a squeal from you.

“Brunnhilde is doing just wonderful.” Thor lazily smiles, laying his head back on your stomach. “New Asgard is thriving, and growing.” Thor nuzzles his face against your tummy, as Bjørn drinks from you.

There’s something weighing on your tongue, you’ve been waiting all day for this --- matter-of-fact, you’ve been waiting for months to finally experience the Asgardian high. You nudge your ankle at the arch of his back, Thor happily peers up at you.

“Did you get it?” Your eyes widen owlishly, with fervent yearning. Thor hums, the vibration tickles the slope to your navel, “My queen, you’re insatiable.”

His breath fans your skin, enticing you, you whine, “Thor.” Your ankles shuffle against his midriff, as he belly-laughs.

“Yes, yes.” He spoke through his chuckles, “I made sure to get it.” He kisses you once more.

---

“Thanks again for agreeing to watch him.” You spoke, as you held your son against your chest.

Bjørn’s small fist fondles your golden chain, his little snorts under his breath, you kiss his head with a nibble. “Of course, I just love Bjørn.” Wanda’s hands wiggle, gesturing in ‘gimme gimme’ with the biggest stretched smile, split from ear to ear. Cradling your son in her arms, fawning over him in glee.

“The boys can’t wait to see him, they just love to show Bjørn their toys.”

It was only natural for Bjørn’s godmother to baby-sit him.

Ever since Wanda got her sons, and husband Vision back --- through a turbulent journey of the multiverse where hundreds of different realities branch off from the original where you reside, where you found your brother-in-law alive, by the guiding hand of time-travel, learning the existence of variants, the Watcher above time and space, by the help of Dr. Strange, and his malice other-half, bumping into different Peters --- all whilst pregnant --- to the birth of your son; it’s been a tough long year.

It’s so much more to tell, but recounting in memories pains your brain, and rather rest from it. It’s over and done with, and now everyone can start anew once again.

Bjørn’s little arms encircle the slope of Wanda’s neck, as she nuzzles her face against his cheek.

Bjørn held lovingly against her chest, worries of separation eases itself in your chest --- separation anxiety has been riddling you intensely, if your son wasn’t latched on your chest, you were a wreck.

And so was he.

But this is needed, alone time with the love of your life --- and finally, oh yes finally, able to inhale the sweet Asgardian weed. It was brought up in conversation years ago, when three of your closest friends were alive, and well --- the memory of their happy faces floods tears in your eyes, you miss them dearly.

Rolling up blunts, Tony, Clint and yourself being the weed experts --- Tony was hounding Steve to take just one inhale, practically begging him; nudging the blunt near him.

Thor watched on in amusement.

Unprovoked, boasting in his tone, goblet pinched between his fingers, “On my planet, our herbs are much stronger.” And without such a glance upon you all, he gulps a hefty swallow of his mead, not one spared look.

Tony, and Clint frozen stiff in their seats, eyes widening as fish-eyes, as you stared at Thor agaped, your blunt falls on your lap, mouth hanging open.

“Excuse me, point break?”

“The Aryan Jesus has the nerve to hold out on us!”

“More like Judas!”

Thor chuckles as he gups down the last of his mead, turning his head to glance at all of you, “It’s more used for ceremonies.” Everybody snickers except for Tony, Clint and yourself; more of a jest towards all three of you.

“Darling,” You cut in, crawling on your hands and knees on the couch, nearing a smug Thor, “what are you talking about?” You began pawing at him as a cat.

Onyx painted tips gripping his massive biceps, “Baby, baby, baby---”slithering on his lap, “When were you going to tell me? Me. Of all people, me.”

Thor nearly went cross-eyed as his nose met yours, “You need to bring some---” everyone is crippling in laughter, as you climb on Thor as a little chimp on an oak tree.

It was a fun night, mostly with you badgering Thor to bring some weed back from his planet, with little teasing, ‘Just quickly go home, and come back with it.’ But Thor would shush you with his delicious lips, his arm looped around the nape of your neck, reminding you that the weed back home has become sparse, mostly harvested for special occasions, but he promised to bring some when he could.

Unfortunately, chains of events over the years prevented it from happening --- until now.

“See you later, my baby.” Bjørn giggled as you attacked his plump cheeks with kisses, but another set of lips kissed his curly dome; you felt him, towering over you, his crotch slowly growing for you. “My sweet boy.” Bjørn’s toothless smile gleams with such innocence, and pure happiness, with a little bob of his head against Wanda’s cradling palm.

It was hard for you to part from your son, especially for Thor, he had to compose himself, always wanting his son laying on his chest, caressing his plump cheeks, always carrying his son in his arms everywhere.

Both of you wave as Wanda leaves with your son, his diaper bag hanging at her shoulder --- just for one evening. He’ll be back later, you kept reminding Thor.

A shaky sigh leaves his lips, as the elevator closes, Wanda waves with Bjørn’s little chubby hand in hers.

Twirling on the soles of your feet, you place your open palms on his chest, shushing him. Thor’s eyes closed, his cavity nearly shattering, “It’s okay, baby. It won’t be long till our little cub is back. He’s not even sleeping over.” Standing on the tips of your toes, kissing his molded chest, his thick biceps encircle around your waist, lifting you up.

You kiss the tip of his nose, hugging the slope of his neck with your arms; as he rocks you back and forth.

---

“Are you ready, my love?”

A joint pinched between his fingertips, within the wrinkled twistings was fluorescent glimmers of rainbow colors --- its scent was potent, yet intoxicating. Just a small whiff of it is strong to your senses. Anxious hands try to paw at his wrist, but Thor holds it far from you, tsking you.

“Patience,” Thor muses, kissing your forehead, pacifying your huffs, softly stomping your foot. “You must inhale carefully. Please, my love.” His fingers cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb strokes your skin, you mewl.

“I promise.”

---

It’s idyllic.

It’s --- there’s no words to describe the high you’re experiencing. Time ceases, your skin prickles with goosebumps; you felt as if you were floating on your back. Laying down on the carpeted flooring, spread eagle, as Thor rests his head on your belly.

Splotches of colors paint the air, your tongue is delighted, as if you can taste the chromas. Soon the atmosphere shifted shade --- from calm dewy sunlight to a serene verdant cast upon the living space.

Gleaming through the ceiling high windows, daylight settles calmly; the atmosphere is soothing.

As if landing on another planet, you both star-gazing into the skies of a foregin galaxy.

Both of you frolicking around the empty compound, naked, tearing each other's clothes off, rolling around the carpeted floor; kissing, and dry humping.

It’s delirious, and you laugh, and he laughs --- you both can’t stop. Reality shifts into another plane of existence --- as if you left Earth.

“Thor, where are we?”

“In our own world, my love.” He hugs you, lifting you up in the air, melting into a field, the grass feels soft like the pillows back home. You can let go, a nether land; it’s amazing.

You look up to the sky, you can see the moon up close, yet far enough. Gazing upon it, you whisper “Thor, do you see that?” Pointing up at the sky, milky lavender with twinkling stars, it looks like the northern lights down on Earth.

A surge of emotions bloom in your chest, such deep love for Thor, for Bjørn, for life --- life, life, life. You’re alive, it’s okay to feel pain, feel everything life gives.

Is this a coming to Jesus moment?

“I love you.” You wail, tears fall down your cheeks, “Oh God, I love you.” You cry, a smile that makes your cheeks hurt, your hands on his chest, head falls back.

You look down to see Thor is crying too, but that toothy smile fades into a wrinkled frown; shushing him, hands on his cheeks. “Don’t cry, baby.” Kissing his nose, the crease between his brows, the slope of his nose, and his lips.

“Why are you crying?”

Thor cries like a baby, sputtering, “I love you so much. You’re so beautiful.” Overcome with emotions, rubbing his wet eyes with his hands, sniffling. As if a balm, you soothe him, small kisses on his quivering lips. Cocooning him in the warmth of your embrace, you lean your weight on him, holding onto him.

His massive biceps ensnare around your body, pinning you against him. He’s overwhelmed with love, his love for you, and Bjørn, the love for his brother --- he’s just so overcome with happiness, and yet it makes him cry.

Because of the pain that had to occur for this light.

---

“Slab that fucking butter on it, babe.” You slur, clumsily your tongue licks your dry lips, stomach rumbling hungrily, as Thor’s massive bear hands slather guabs of butter on the cherry frosted pop-tart.

Your cheek squishes against his bicep, droopily your eyes close, and open, unevenly one after the other.

It’s been an hour since Thor and you come down from your delirious high --- and soon, beastly appetites come crashing down.

Thor scruffs down the tart, as you stuff small chunks of strawberry treat into your mouth, the creamy butter melts in your mouth.

Thor leans down, licking crumbs from the corner of your mouth, his warm tongue lapping at your lips. You giggle, as he playfully nibbles at your cheek.

His thick arms encircle around your waist, pulling you to his chest, lifting you in the air effortlessly. Squealing, nose scrunching at his wet lips, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Totinos with M&Ms, the warmth of the totinos melted the chocolate, creating a delicious coating. Mouthfuls of junk food, with hooded eyes, and cheeks puffed as chipmunks. Giggling as little toddlers, sharing sloppy kisses, able to lick the gooey chocolate from his mouth; sucking on his tongue.

The kitchen counter is littered with open bags of chips, candy wrappers, and boxes of pizza squares. It’s a jungle of high carbs, and fattening sugar, but the intense munchies are astronomical.

“Wow.” Mobius chuckles at the kitchen’s entrance, arms crossed against his chest; a warm flick of a tongue at the shell of his ear jolts him. Arms encircle around Loki’s chin rests on the jut of his shoulder, “This is nothing new, my brother can feast as three horses.”

“And so can she.”

What a comical but endearing sight for Loki and Mobius to capture, coming back home from jet-riding in the compound’s lake.

The two lovers gawk with mirth in their eyes, watching you and Thor devour sugary snacks, concoctions of a mind-blowing haze. The lingering high makes your minds float, nuzzling your noses together, giggling.

---

Bellies full with junk food, giggles echo, and bounce in the air; the room smells heavily of herb. Your thigh is looped around Thor’s tummy, your arm sloped over his chest, as he holds you close with his thick bicep. Fingertips soft as petals caress his blonde chest hair, scratching him.

“My love,” your limbs stretched lazily, satisfied, and cozy; Thor purrs under your touch. Cradling you closer to his chest, practically laying on top of him.

A naughty thought lights up above your head, remembering the little idea you conjured up a few weeks ago, wanting to try with Thor.

“I have a surprise for my king.” You whisper against the base of his throat, a wet smooch. Thor hums, “And what is that, pussycat?” You giggle low, “My love, what would you do if there were two of me?”

A rumble of a growl vibrates inside his chest, “You know what I would do.” You purr, nibbling at his chest, “What would you do?” Breathy whispers, goading him, needing to feed, and fuck on his feralness.

His palm cups at your neck, pulling you to his lips; slick lips, tongue dancing, teeth gnashing. His fingers cradle your chin, making sure you don’t slip away from him. “Naughty,” his lips flick at your lip, “My love is naughty minx.” A shit-eating grin forms on your mouth.

“What are you thinking?”

“Imagine it, baby.” You perch yourself up, thighs parted by his belly, slowly crawling down his body, your kisses following in the wake of your bodily heat; loud kisses that spurs Thor on. Moving downward on his body, with wet open kisses in your wake, dull scratches on his belly skin.

“Oh my love, what a treat I have for you.” You whisper against his pelvis, just an inch above his cock; already hardening. Hunched over, your fingers begin to zap at the tips, “A thank you just for you.”

Violet magnetic energy seeps from your fingertips, soothing Thor’s mind --- settling his spirit to an ease, a moan filters in his ears, but your lips didn’t move. He squints his eyes --- another arm floats near behind your back, springing alive.

Rolling behind you was --- you. Naked, and wanton, but with slick straight hair that reaches your bare breasts. Thor’s eyes widen owlishly. Arms seeking out for him, caressing his legs as your lips slither between your slick lips, licking a stripe against his cock.

Now, bare and at his mercy, were two of you, with lustful feline eyes.

A breath catches at his throat, as you both roll your tongues, purring as cats. Pawing at him, comfortably perching yourselves at his hung, wet, pulsing cock; it twitches making your two halves cross-eyed.

You flick the tip of your tongue at the swollen head, making your clone giggle. Bowing its head down, softly taking Thor’s tightening balls in the warm cave of its mouth.

He growls low in his throat, his head falls back, memorized, drunk off the pleasure, babbling to himself, to you, low moans, murmurs that catch your ears that he loves you, and only you.

Milking him in your mouth, as your other half licks, and drenches his balls with saliva; trailing down to the satiny stretch of skin that connects to his ass. Slurps, and moans make Thor’s eyes roll to the back of his skull.

Spit coats the jut of your chin, shiny, as your duplicate tugs Thor’s sack between slick coated lips; trailing a lick upwards, the pink muscle tracing every ridge of veins. Taking turns gagging on him, spit bubbles pops and soaks his cock, and the corners of your mouths.

Bobbing your head with vigor, his cock hitting the back of your throat ---- gawk gawk gawk. Eyes watery to the brim, having Thor melt under your touch, and the power of your mouth.

“I wanna taste his cock too.” Your other-half whines pathetically, nudging your shoulder in jealousy, his cock escapes your lip, with a pop, and an airy gurgle; heavily breathing through your nose.

With a gentle grip of his cock, slapping your clone’s wanton tongue with his dick, his salty semen coating its mouth.

Your other hand glides against its spine, gripping the nape of its neck; its hair bone-straight now in a makeshift ponytail, guiding it down Thor’s dick.

Thor’s eyes were blown black with lust, his chest heaving intensely, every fiber of his being shaking; sweat collects at his brow, and neck, his massive hands clawing and clenching the bed-sheets. His toes curl, snarling, teeth gnawing at the air, groaning gutturally.

What a sight --- so filthy, so debauched.

And you’re all his.

“Make him cum,” You hiss, your eyes bore into his, nearing the shell of its ear, “make him cum deep in your throat.” Goading Thor, a full stripe of your tongue against his pubic-bone, to feel his trimmed hair against your soft tongue --- it just fuels you more.

“You like it, baby.” He nods hastily, you snicker, the wet gags echo, “You love it when I use my throat as a cock sleeve for you.”

“A slut, a filthy slut, and I love you.” Thor shrills a whine, “A dirty succubus --- guh, mine, all mine--- all UUGhh.” Thor’s spine arches off the bed, beating his fists against the mattress, as his cock spurts cum deep down the duplicate’s throat; gagging, and gurgling happily.

Thor’s head blops against the pillow, trying to catch air into his lungs, ragged breaths. The mixture of his high and the bliss of an incredible orgasm fuzzies his head.

As he recollects himself, he tucks his head down --- both you and your clone stare at him with feral grins, all fangs, waiting like predators to bounce. A gasp catches at Thor’s throat.

As you crawl over his toned thighs, perching yourself on his hips, and your clone slithers upon his chest, gently grazing the puss against his torso, reaching his face; thighs hover his face. Soaking mound winking back at him, and he growls.

Without any hesitation, he tugs your duplicate downward to his yearning mouth, but it giggles, refusing to go down so easily. He whines like a puppy.

You tsk at him playfully, aligning yourself, your folds hugging, and gliding down on Thor’s thick veiny cock; to finally with the tender guide of your palm, hovering over his weeping cock.

“Thor Odinson, the God of Thunder, cut down by pussy.” Swiftly your cunt swallows him whole, to the hilt, as you rested at his hips.

He groans, pretty pink lips parting, as your counterpart seats on his face tenderly. A groan rumbles deep in his throat, as his tongue laps at your velvety folds.

“My queen.” He growls, devouring your cunt, as you rode him wildly, blindly; in a frenzy. His balls slap against your puckering asshole, his massive hand on your asscheeks, as the other laid firm on your clone’s hip.

It’s bliss, to not only have one but two of you, taking him apart --- the pleasure that swirls in his chest must be what warriors feel entering Vallah. Bruising fingertips cling onto hips, guiding your soppy cunt on his tongue, slurping as a mad man.

His mouth slathered in your juices, tastes sweet just as you. The jut of his chin soaked, shining; watering his beard. Your other half grips the headboard, Thor’s beard chafing inner thighs, unabashedly grinding on his mouth --- and you felt it all.

Overstimulated at the sensation, your cunt ignited by the pleasure of his tongue, grinding him. Your clit is throbbing, and hot. Your sex is ingited, soaking Thor’s thigh, slick as you glide back and forth, balls deep. He can feel your puckering asshole on his balls, your chest heaving; riding him akin to a wild animal.

Thighs quivering, as one of your palms grip your hair, the other has fingers digging into Thor’s hip, panting airy breaths. Crashing onto him, as if you both were touch-starved.

Teeth softly gnashing at the peach-fuzz cunt, tongue fluttering, diving deep inside the folds, teasing the hole --- without any thought, Thor plunges his tongue inside. You screech, head tilting back, both you and your clone unison, your cunt clenched tightly upon Thor’s cock.

He snarls --- a mixture of something of a yelp, and a growl. You need more, this furor of his tongue, and his cock fucking into your wet cavern --- the end nerves crashing as waves to the shore --- you can feel it all, all of it coiling, and all too much; so much that it’s deliciously painful.

Perching his feet against the mattress, the hand that rests on your waist, guiding you up, as Thor fucks into you; snarling, gnawing at the air as a beast. Your wetness squelching into echos, spurring Thor on, he felt like a king.

Your fingernails scratching along his chest hair that trickles into his happy trail, bending forward to lick at his belly; suckling.

Airy pants, as you savored his pouch, he’s toning his body is slowly coming back to his chiseled form, but you just love his softness. His warm plumpness is like a pillow, to sleep on, to kiss, to bite.

“Guh,” Thor hoists your hips off of his face for a moment, “my queen is an insatiable beast.”

“No more than you, my liege.” Grinding harder, desperate crashing, to catch that delirious high of his cum. Your voice falls into silence, “I feel it,” you whine, “I fucking need it.” The coiling pit in your stomach begins churning, and it’s tightening.

“Uggh, Thor --- I” A high-pitched shrill, both voices now blend together, unison in pleasure, hips thrashing. Your cunt clenches on his cock, wound tight, your vision began to blur --- kismet energy began to manifest and spark within the air; emitting from both Thor, and yourself.

Oceanic blue with blinding white streaks and bruising violet so rich it bleeds as a welt into the air, intermixing --- thunder cracks in the distance, the raw power of a god vibrates against the window pane.

The sky has become sodden above the upstate county, thunder cracking within the clouds.

His belly tightens, as hips thrust upwards inside you --- more sloppy, and uneven, but the intensity hasn’t eased; his vigor has heightened. Soaking balls slapping against skin, smacking wet against your puckering ass.

“My love, I’m going to ---” Thor is rendered speechless, his words trailing into babbling, fumbling lips against wet folds. You hiss with a grin, “I know,” your open-palm caress against his pelvis, “I can feel it too. I’m close.”

Desperate pants, and huffs of air, Thor rumbles, his voice trills through your other half, making it squeal, the meat of its thighs quiver, and jolt, nibbling on swollen clit. “Soak me! Fuck --- uggh, soak my cock!” His voice is husky, and wanton, hungry as a wolf.

Thunder crackles outside, as Thor groans, painting the walls of your cavern white, spilling from your spilt jewel, dribbling down the base of his pulsing cock, as you shrill together with your half, as it coats Thor’s mouth, and watering his golden beard.

Vein pulsing at the throat, resembling a feral creature, as your cunt clenching, milking Thor’s cock, his balls drained. Riding Thor, selfishly savoring every drop of him, and every second of your orgasm.

Your other-half looks down to Thor, chin to chest, his breathing ragged, fanning against the skin of your mound, eyes blown --- a pucker of a kiss, and wink --- then it's gone, evaporated into rich lavender mist, with a faint moan.

Your body aches happily, with tiresome limbs you crawl over Thor, with his hands pulling you against his chest.

Nuzzling your head under his chin, your leg crossed over his belly, boneless melting into the mattress. Thor whispers your name, “I love you,” his fingers scratch your scalp, “No other woman can compare.” He hums.

“You bring the beast out of me.” You giggle, small kisses on his molded chest, “I love you too.” A suckle on his nipple. Cheek to chest, you can hear his heart-beat, it lulls you.

Both of you are falling asleep under the warm blankets.

---

A flicker in the foggy distance of his mind awakens him slowly, he grunts sleepily. A familiar scent wafts through the crevices of his mind, his nose twitches.

Pretty lashes flutter open, his vision blur for a moment, to see you hovering over him, dangling the blunt just above his nostrils.

He must have fallen asleep, so comfortable in the bubble of your scents, and body heat.

Teasing him awake, you chuckle at Thor’s sleepy pout, “My love, another?” He stretches his muscles as a feline, you jiggle on top of him from the bodily movements.

You playfully shrug, “Our baby will be back in two hours,” you twirl the blunt between your fingers, lips pursing. “So, why not have a little bit more?” You giggle, trapping your bottom lip by the teeth.

He hums, his eyes hooded; wordlessly he plucks the blunt from your fingers, perching it in his lips.

“An insatiable wife, I have.”

You hum, gliding down on his belly, legs bent back in the air, ankles locked, “And what a beast of a husband, I have.” You giggle against his chest, with a nuzzling kiss.

[iamthecomet]

O my o my o my

I saw a tiktok of a man. Who has a belly button piercing. And I immediately thought of Dew, and fell to my knees.

I’m not sure if you’re taking request but I wanted this image in your mind, but if it doesn’t fit your fancy that’s totally fine:)

Anyway what if Dew got one specifically for Aether, because he knew how he’d act. And when Aether finds out he goes full feral. He didn’t think Dew could get any prettier, then he does this.

I've been sitting on this for TOO long. I've been trying to decide how I want to answer it. I headcanon that AETHER has a belly button piercing (because come ON) soooo do with that what you will. ANYWAY. This is uh...nastier than I planned.

It's been a rough few weeks. Dew's had to play the long game--something he is not used to. He hates it. Hates avoiding Aether on purpose, lying to him. But it's all worth it for this moment. When he has Aether in his room, laying on his bed, shirtless and lax. The ruddy head of his cock peeking out under the waistband of his sweatpants. Dew drags his shirt up over his head and Aether makes a choked noise. It's not the usual reverent sigh. Aether's intentional about his praise. He always has a remark when Dew takes his shirt off. Always saying something about how pretty, how soft, how badly he wants to touch.

But this time? There is the strangled moan, and then nothing. Aether's eyes are fixed on Dew's belly. They're usually drawn to the nipple rings. Aether has a thing for piercings, Dew discovered it early on, and exploits it at every turn. Walking around shirtless when he probably shouldn't be just to watch the way Aether hones in on the metal.

But his eyes don't shift up this time. They're focused on the new piercing. The two ball ends of the bar through his belly button. Dew reaches over and thumbs over the ring through Aether's. "We match." Dew doesn't get a response. Not a verbal one. Instead, he's flat on his back on the bed and Aether is on top of him, wedging himself between his legs, before Dew can draw a full breath. Aether kisses him, hard, before Dew can open his mouth to say something else.

Aether licks into his mouth and trails his fingers down Dew's sternum, over the flat plane of his belly to press his thumb to the piercing. It doesn't do anything, not like when Aether does the same to his nipples. But it gives him a small jolt all the same. Connection.

Satanas he's getting soft. When Aether finally tires of his mouth and starts to drag his teeth over Dew's jaw, his pulse, down to his collarbone. Dew finally regains his breath, his words. "You like it?" Aether looks up at him, his eyes wild, pupils blown out. He looks like he's been caught, called out. He grips one hand on Dew's hip hard. He licks his lips. Aether, again, doesn't answer him verbally. He ducks his head instead to catch one of the nipple rings between his teeth. Dew's brain short circuits. Aether is quick, heavy-handed. He flattens Dew to the bed and drags his sweatpants down. He wastes no time prepping Dew and pressing his knees up by his ears to get in as deep as he can. Dew's head is spinning. Pleasure grinding through him from every angle. He grins up at Aether as he fucks into him. Aether trails his thumb over the new piercing again. And this is why Dew waited because he knew Aether would have to touch, to taste, to toy with it. And the reverence on Aether's face is worth all the time he spent trying to avoid this. "Gonna have to get pierced more often," Dew pants as he gets a hand on himself and starts to jerk himself off in time with Aether's thrusts.

"You're so fucking hot, you know that?" Aether growls.

"Only got it because it looks so good on you," Dew says, voice hitching into a whine as Aether changes the angle and starts nailing against the spot that makes Dew shake almost instantly. He rockets towards his orgasm, twisting his hand over the head of his leaking cock as Aether fucks him into the mattress. "Aeth, fuck, I'm gonna--" "Yeah. Yeah. C'mon. Make it messy for me."

Dew has one last fleeting thought about how sanitary it is for him to cum all over a barely healed piercing before he's doing exactly that. Body clenching down on Aether, and bowing off the bed. His eyes roll back in his head with the force of it.

Aether groans low and deep and then his fingers are dragging through the cum on Dew's belly. Slipping over the piercing rolling it between his cum slick fingers. Dew wants to look away, wants to close his eyes against the overstimulation, he can't. Not until Aether throws his head back and cums with a shout. Only then does Dew allow himself to sag back onto the sheets. Aether rolls off of him, their shoulders pressed together as they both come down. "So you, uh, I guess you do like it then."

"Yeah," Aether says with a laugh, "I guess I do."

[thisworldisablackhole]

nothing,nowhere. Hell or Highwater

FFO: COUNTRY, EMO, ALEX G, DASHBOARD CONFESSIONAL / LISTEN

Country is back in. It has been for a while. Everyone wants to be a cowboy these days. The undercurrents of americana that pervade popular music have never gone away, but many artists over the past few years have been pushing their over the top characterizations of cowboys and countryscapes back into the mainstream by fusing the genre with electronic based pop and rap. Lil Nas X, Oliver Tree, hell, even Beyoncé has seen the potential in this fusion. In a way, it almost feels a little bit late for singer-songwriter and emo-rap-metalcore extraordinaire Joe Mulherin to be hopping on the trend, but I'm not sure if anyone has so unabashedly mixed alt-country and emo pop like this before.

Hell or Highwater is the newest entry in the series of Joe Mulherin doing whatever the fuck he wants since leaving Fueled by Ramen and regaining ownership of his career. He already dropped a full length record of emo rap bangers earlier this year, and now, almost as if to flex his new found creative freedom, he's switching things up with nine sad, manure scented acoustic tracks. "John Wayne (I Wanna Be A Cowboy)" kicks things off with a reminder that Mulherin is, in fact, a millennial, and his perspective as a 30 something year old struggling with motivation and trapped in cycles of late night doom-scrolling definitely shines through in the lyrics. Somber strums of the guitar accompany him as he sings "I wanna be a cowboy, but I sleep too late. I stayed up all night watching Walmart fights on my phone". At face value, it's a bit cheesy, but the message of desperately wanting more for yourself yet having too much executive dysfunction to take those steps is honest and easily relatable for the modern age. Don't worry though, not every song is so on the nose with it's tiktok generation pandering. Fourth track and one of the biggest album highlights, "In The Country", hits us with the beautiful cry of the harmonica and a much less obvious approach to discussing depression and the yearning to escape to a quieter, simpler life.

I'd be remiss not to mention that there is still a small hip hop influence on this album. "Hydrangeas", "Cliché Lovers", and "Honey" all feature some 808s and trap hi hats, but Mulherin's sad cowboy persona still remains at the core of these songs, and these elements blend so seamlessly into the rest of the album that they hardly feel out of place, especially if you are already familiar with the previous work of nothing,nowhere. These songs bring a sort of mixtape feel to the album, and while they aren't the star of the show for me, they act as nice segues between the more countryfied moments. Things really get kicked up a notch near the end of the record with bombastic choruses in a slacker visage like early Dashboard Confessional meets Rocket-era Alex G. Closing track "New England" ends things off on a particularly high note, starting with the lone riffing of an electric banjo before drums, acoustic guitars and blues slides all drop into place. Mulherin throws a slight twang on his voice as he recites some of his most muddy truck lovin' lyrics to date, "Well, I know that backroads and dirty clothes just ain't for everyone. So, you take the city lights and skyline, give me a setting sun". It's probably the most cowboy cosplay moment on the whole album, but in the midst of the trees and cornfields still lies an explosive, tearjerking chorus of lost love that could make me weep. Mulherin has always had a knack for hooks and catchy choruses, and this song further exemplifies the fact that he could easily make a career in writing chart topping hits if he wanted to.

I'll admit, I wasn't expecting to fall in love with this album. My personal relationship with country music has gone from ironically blasting "Fix A Drink" by Chris Jansen for shits and giggles, to eagerly watching Lucinda Williams live with clasped hands and open ears, but when the emo kid next door suddenly shows up on your front lawn with a cowboy hat, acoustic guitar in hand, and face painted like a clown, I think anyone would be a little skeptical. But whether it's rap, metalcore, or alt country, Mulherin never fails to write a memorable, heart clutching song. Hell or Highwater is just further proof that his song writing talent transcends borders, and—outside of the constraints of major labels—he truly can do whatever the fuck he wants.

[tmbswhodunit]

WHO DUNNIT TMBS CHALLENG - Steady On

Though several floors now lay between them and the security hold, to Martina it seemed like she could hear the tick-tick-tick of the calculator clicking in time with the thump-thump-thump of her heart. And the thud-thud-thud in her temples. The doors and hallways of the Shortcut seemed to blur as she moved past—even though, of course, she was only moving at walking speed—and only by fixing her gaze upon Sharpe’s shoulders ahead of her was Martina able to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

In the moment she’d had no idea what had happened. One second she was clutching the railing of the Salamander, watching the meadow grasses crunch and crackle and fall under the huge treads—and in the next second, there was nothing. The second after that, she was blinking groggily, sprawled in the dirt, the sun peeking over the ocean in the distance.

It seemed as though the agent—Kate’s father, McCracken had hissed at her later, knuckles stark-white on the wheel as he steered towards the four dots inching across the rocky plain—it seemed as though Kate’s father hadn’t felt the need to pull his punches with her. Never mind that she was freshly eighteen. She wasn’t a child anymore, and that was enough. Her limp body had joined Garrotte’s in the meadow.

The glare of the early-morning sun wrenched her from her thoughts. They had arrived on deck. Martina squinted against the sudden brightness, against the blare of the Royal Navy’s speakers as they shouted for Curtain’s men to surrender. She stumbled after Sharpe over to the railing, where Mr. Curtain was already scurrying down the grappling hook line with surprising agility. 

McCracken went next. The Salamander rocked as he leapt into it, already reaching a hand back to steady Sharpe as he descended. 

Martina was last. Her injured ankle protested as she clambered over the railing. No one looked back to check on her.

And despite knowing that the impending explosion wouldn't be strong enough to tear a hole clean through the boat, Martina couldn’t help trembling as she fumbled with the line. It seemed as though any second the blast would rocket through the ship wall next to her head, sending her flying backwards over the bay, shrapnel zinging straight towards the bridge of her nose—

The line slipped from between her sweat-soaked palms. Martina yelped, clamping down with her knees as she twisted and fell.

(Thud-thud-thud, went her heartbeat.)

(Tick-tick-tick, went the unheard echo of the calculator.)

A moment later her yelp was cut short as Martina bit straight through her tongue. Miraculously, her fall had stopped—had been stopped by the line winding around her injured ankle and snapping taught, to be precise. Bright lights flashed behind her eyelids.

“Snakes and—” Martina began, having picked up the habit from Mr. Curtain—then caught herself. She thrashed and kicked, bashing a knee with a resounding gong against the metal side of the Shortcut. “Get me down! Now!”

From her upside-down position, Martina glimpsed Mr. Curtain shift his weight from hip to hip. Was he … was he hesitating?

“Don’t just stand there!” Martina shrieked. “Do something!”

Mr. Curtain cast a glance back to where the patrol boats were wending their way around the Shortcut. With an impatient hiss, he jerked his chin at McCracken. The Ten Man obediently stepped forward so that he was directly below Martina. He took out a pencil, aimed it at the line above her—

Above her, where there came a familiar flash of yellow and red. 

Kate Wetherall loomed on the deck of the Shortcut. Though it took Martina a minute to recognize her as Kate Wetherall, so twisted were her features, so predatory was her stance, so dark were her eyes that there was nary a trace of ocean blue left to be found in them.

McCracken’s did that sometimes. 

Seeing it now on Kate Wetherall’s face, Martina stopped thrashing, suddenly filled with the urge to make herself as small as possible. Maybe then she’d go unnoticed.

Thud-thud-thud, went her heart.

Tick-tick-tick, went the calculator in Kate’s hand. She drew back her arm to throw.

The shouting from the patrol boats, the thud-thud-thud and the tick-tick-tick all collapsed into a dull roar. Martina could only hang there, twisting slowly, and wait for the zing! as McCracken’s pencil cut through the line, as he broke her fall, as Mr. Curtain took her far away from this place—

He owed her for her years of loyalty. He wanted her by his side, a valued Executive, a valuable asset. He needed her—

He twisted and waved an arm at McCracken, shouting, though the words didn’t reach Martina’s ears. The Salamander rocketed backwards. 

Martina watched the lines of Mr. Curtain’s green plaid suit gradually grow smaller until they were indistinct.

A whoosh from above. Martina watched numbly as the calculator sailed high overhead, flipping end over end before dropping into the bay with a barely audible splash. The explosion a few heartbeats later was rather more than audible—indeed, Martina winced as her head gave an almighty throb. Water displaced from the blast crashed back to the surface all at once, a few droplets spritzing Martina’s cheeks even this far away.

A cheer rose up from the Salamander. The Ten Men were applauding Kate. Martina couldn’t see the reason. Why, for a split second there, as the Salamander careened across the bay, as Kate drew back her arm to throw, as her eyes flashed—why, Martina had been certain that Kate meant to throw the calculator directly on top of the men.

Martina scoffed at herself. Of course Wetherall wouldn’t have the guts to actually finish them. The thought probably hadn’t even crossed her golden little mind. No, of course not. The very idea was laughable. She was one of those that always had the privilege to be foolishly kind and know it would never come back to hurt her—

Above her, Kate was breathing hard, staring in horror at her shaking hands held open in front of her.

Oh.

Oh.

She had been about to do it.

Martina would have preferred to have this realization anywhere but here, dangling like a salted fish fifteen feet below the railing of the Shortcut. Remaining hidden was her only hope. Once Kate moved, she could work on untangling herself and slipping down the rest of the line. If she hurried, she might be able to wade to shore and hide herself amongst the trees before the Royal Navy got too close—

Right on cue, her swollen ankle throbbed. A choked sound passed from her lips.

Kate wrenched her gaze from her hands with a start. Her eyes locked with Martina’s. They stayed like that, frozen for an impossible moment.

Then the younger girl crossed the deck towards Martina in three powerful strides, and Martina began to squirm in earnest.

She could hear shouting above her. The line twitched, tugged. Martina thrashed harder. 

Her thrashing proved to be successful in unwinding most of the bonds around her—and this was just about the worst thing that could’ve happened. Now, the only thing preventing her from plummeting below was a singular tangle at her ankle. The pressure of her entire body weight seared through her injury.

She felt herself begin to slip a few inches. Then a few more.

(The water below was clouded by the mud churned up by the Salamander’s tires, but Martina had been able to glimpse a few sticks and rocks littered below the surface before the disturbance. It couldn’t have been more than six feet deep. More than enough to severely injure her if she fell from this height. Could she even float back to the surface with a spinal cord injury? Would she simply sink like a stone and stay there?)

“Stay still!” Kate shouted from above. “Martina, stop!”

Martina stopped thrashing. 

The line settled.

With the line looped precariously around her ankle, Martina felt herself begin to rise, slowly, jerkily, as Kate tugged the rope upwards. She was too terror-struck to even feel a grudging sense of respect at the girl’s strength. She could hear indistinct shouts growing louder on the deck above, but Kate didn’t take her eyes away from the line for even a moment.

After what could’ve been a few minutes or hours, Martina found herself close enough to count the pale freckles dusting Kate’s nose. Briskly securing the line in place with a well-practiced knot, Kate hooked her ankles over the railing and flipped backwards, so that she too dangled from the side of the boat. She seized Martina’s hand.

“Let me go, Wetherall,” Martina hissed with as much venom as she could muster while dangling upside down.

Kate loosened her grip. Martina yelped and scrabbled at her wrist. The younger girl rolled her eyes but offered no characteristic chirpy comeback. Up this close, Martina could see that her eyes were rimmed an angry red.

Kate gave an almighty tug. Then somehow, impossibly, miraculously, they both found themselves sprawled on deck.

Martina panted, scrubbed at her eyes, and tried to get her bearings straight. They were surrounded by a crowd of blurry faces. She didn’t recognize any of them, but she saw at once that they were adults. Actual adults, not the sort that Martina technically was on paper. 

(But they’d see her as an adult, wouldn’t they? Kate’s father certainly had. Children could be victims. Adults needed to be held responsible. Adults could be blamed. Adults could be sent to prison—)

She needed to get out of here now.

Ignoring the jolt racing through her ankle, Martina climbed to her feet and bolted. If only she could find a ladder or something, find another line to climb down, she could make it into the woods and find a safe place to hide …

Kate, damn her, somehow anticipated what Martina meant to do. She barely made it three feet before the girl’s hand wrapped around her wrist again. 

“Get off me!”

“You want to dangle off the side of the ship again? Be my guest,” Kate hissed. She did not loosen her grip. Martina drew back her uninjured foot to kick out at Kate’s shins—

“Martina! Wait!”

At the sound of Mr. Curtain’s voice, she instinctively froze and went limp.

(Only it hadn’t been Mr. Curtain at all. Of course it hadn’t.) 

“Thank you, dear,” Mr. Benedict panted, mopping his brow. He came to a halt a few paces away and doubled over to catch his breath. After a moment, he straightened and offered Martina a warm smile. “I understand you wish to be far, far away from here—believe me, I quite sympathize—but I fear you’ll injure yourself or worse.”

“I’m going back to Milligan,” Kate bit out. “Watch her.”

She took off towards the stairs with nary a backwards glance at Martina. 

Alone on deck, Martina now felt strangely exposed. She crossed her arms and studied Mr. Benedict. During his captivity, she’d been struck by how similar he looked to his twin, with just a few details differentiating them: the scruffled hair, the stubble on his chin, the circles set deep under his eyes. 

The physical differences weren’t enough. She needed to know more. How much of Mr. Curtain also lay in this stranger in front of her?

He’d surely have a hand in deciding what would happen to her. Martina winced inwardly. She hadn’t exactly been charitable toward the man the past few days. And why should she have been? He was their prisoner.

Now, with their roles reversed, it was beyond too late to walk it back.

But perhaps she could make up for it in another way.

She knew from overhearing Mr. Curtain’s grumblings that the government put a lot of manpower into intelligence-gathering. It had proved to be most irritating in the past. What could be more valuable to this strange man in front of her than someone who had been directly inside of Curtain’s inner circle, someone ready and willing to spill all she knew?

Yes. She could prove herself to be useful.

(That hadn’t been enough in the end with Mr. Curtain. But it had bought her time, had it not? Yes, she’d spread out what little information she had until she’d come up with a plan. Come up with a way out of here.)

“I’ll tell you everything,” Martina blurted. 

Mr. Benedict merely blinked at her. He didn’t even seem to hear her words.

Somewhat desperately, she went on. “You want information? I’ve got it. I overheard a lot of bits I wasn’t supposed to, in addition to all of the secrets Mr. Curtain trusted me with. I could tell you about the schemes he’s got running, about his plans for the future—”

“You’re hurt,” Mr. Benedict interrupted.

“—his government contacts—what?”

“You’re hurt,” Mr. Benedict said again. He took a step forward. “Your ankle.”

Martina glanced down. Her ankle was purple and swollen to twice its usual size.

“Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?” she snapped. 

Mr. Benedict waved a hand. “We should get that bandaged up. Would you be amenable?”

Amenable. Martina scoffed. 

“I would hate to see you in pain,” Mr. Benedict went on. Despite his apparent exhaustion, his eyes twinkled. “Everything else can wait until after. No?”

(Her ankle did hurt.)

Martina hesitated only a moment. Then, wordlessly, she turned and marched for the ladder leading below deck, brushing right past Mr. Benedict’s proffered helping hand.

Play nice, a little voice in her head warned. Stay on his good side. That’s your ticket out of here.

Still, she couldn’t make herself turn around and offer even an apologetic glance. She began the slow descent down the ladder. 

Her ankle throbbed and gave out on the last step. Martina clung tight to the rungs.

She steadied herself. 

[love-for-faeries-go-burrrr]

Little Drabbles

Just some little pairings of my oc Rose (shown at the bottom) x Rocket Raccoon for funsies (Some sweet stuff then angst at the end. If you read this whole thing omg thank you for making me feel loved please comment on how you feel about these things)

~I made you something to eat~

Rocket groaned as the blaster in his hands wasn’t acting the way it should. It was odd for him to not know the problem to something. His humming stopped, as confusion started to set in, he heard his stomach grumbling. He had put off eating anything until he fixed this blaster.

“Flarkin Quill. Ya just had to get this beauty banged up” Rocket muttered to himself. Peter had used one of Rocket’s personal blasters in a fight, much to Rocket’s protest. And just Rocket’s luck, Peter had got it injured.

Rocket heard a small knock at the door, “Go away.” Rocket growled.

His ear perked when he heard a familiar person sigh. Rocket sighed himself as he laid the blaster down, placing a paw on his forehead and staring at the desk. “Come in” he mumbled.

“I made you something!” A now very excited Rose said, happy Rocket granted her permission to enter, granted they shared a room with Groot, she respected his space. Rocket’s eyes not leaving his beloved blaster, he asked Rose to clarify what she made. Rose only had half her body in the doorway; hiding something to the side, her antennas perked in happiness.

“I cooked for you-” Rose started but her eyes widened when Rocket’s attention snapped to her. “Oh you idiot!” Rocket started a tirade hopping off the chair and heading to the door. “Wait- I mean….I uh….” Rose stuttered trying to keep her surprise out of Rocket’s view. He placed his hands on his hips, eyeing Rose, now only a few feet in between them.

“Tell me my ship isn’t on fire” Rocket said blatantly. “My Ship~” Peter purred walking past the doorway, definitely eavesdropping. “Oh shut the fu-” Rocket started but then he made every contact with Rose, her eyes pleading Rocket stay civilized as her antennas fell in sadness. Rocket huffed, tapping his fingers against his hips, “What did you do Rose” Rocket said, an accusation rather than a question.

“Oh well you know I can grow plants, flowers, and with that comes fruits, vegetables and well…” Rose said looking to her left at the surprise but then back to Rocket who was letting his impatience get the best of him. Rose gulped and showed her surprise to Rocket.

Rocket’s nose’s perked as he didn’t even realized he leaned in to smell something rather sweet. Rose stepped forward letting Rocket inspect what was on the plate, before he could ask.

“I cross-pollinated some plants that I’ve grown that originate from my planet with a Yaro Root. Waited for them to ripen and picked the one that reminded me of you.” Rose said excitedly, her eyes flickering from the fruit to Rocket. Rocket let out a small humph as he picked a piece and and threw it in his mouth, he expected a crunch but was surprised as the fruits softness. The fruit was orange to purple and spiky, so the way the fruit didn’t poke his mouth shocked Rocket.

It was sweet, but it was like the flavor transformed itself to something on the spicer side, then back to sweet as he swallowed it. He paused, noticing Rose was staring rather intently at his reaction. Rocket’s tail flickered as Rose smiled, “Ha you like it!” Rose said excitedly, almost tipping the plate over in the process. “Now how do ya know that?” Rocket asked as he crossed his arms across his chest.

“Your tail does a little dance when you like something” Rose says eyeing Rocket’s now wagging tail. Rocket rolled his eyes, looking back and realizing Rose was right. “Shut up.” He said grabbing the plate and heading back to the blaster. Tucking his tail as he sat down, ensuring it wouldn’t be free to wag.

He grumbled as Rose had a small victory dance, sneaking glances at her. “Well at least you good at somethin when it comes to food” Rocket said with a smirk, causing Rose to stop and let out a mhm smugly.

Rocket forced his attention back to the blaster, his eyes flickered to the fruit on the plate then back to the blaster. Rocket had a mini heart attack, when Rose was flying over him and eyed the blaster herself. “Ya know you can be real stealthy when you actually want to” Rocket said looking up at Rose. Rose smiled to herself at the compliment; but keeping her eyes focused on the inside mechanisms of the blaster.

“Oh look!” Rose said lowering herself, hovering only inches above Rocket, he averted his gaze downward to where Rose was pointing. “Oh fuck me.” Rocket muttered angrily when it looked as if something similar to a screw was just jamming a spring mechanism. Looks as if he must’ve dropped something on accident while fixing the blaster. Rose giggled as she landed and stood next to Rocket.

She smiled as she watched him pluck the screw, and test the now working blaster. Rocket looked to Rose “uh…thanks” he muttered. Rose beamed proudly, knowing that thanks wasn’t just for fixing the blaster. She mentioned something about helping Groot grow flowers now as she left to give Rocket his privacy back.

She felt Rocket’s eyes watch her and she left and closed the door. She walked away, before being sly and using her wings to lift herself and fly back to the door, placing her ear against it. She knew Rocket would wait until she was out of ear shot, she grinned to herself as she heard a light crunch and Rocket let out a satisfied hum.

“Pervert” she heard someone whisper down the hall, looking to her left she saw Peter standing with his arms crossed. Rose shook her head as she flew down the hall and over Peter’s head. “I’d do the same for you” Rose said innocently as she knew she was out of earshot of Rocket. “Not without me asking!” Peter said rather frustratingly as his hands fell in defeat.

~Flower~

(Shortly after VOL 2, established now that Rose is Peter’s half sis by Ego)

As Rose enjoyed the sites of the planet the Guardians had recently landed on. She chuckled when to her side, Rocket was lecturing a toddler Groot on how he almost died the last mission.

Walking through a town square, the bustling of people trying to sell their products, people playing instruments for units and smells of freshly baked goods filled the air. Rose caught people’s attention, a faerie was a sight to behold to most creatures, it didn’t help she was beautiful.

Rose had to restrain herself from checking out all the shops, allowing people to place jewelry on her then insist on payment, last time that happened Rocket had a blaster pointed at a woman’s face as she apologized and took back the jewelry. She couldn’t help but allow her eyes to wonder.

Rocket’s eyes shifted upwards as he eyed Rose, watching her take interest in nearby booths. “Don’t get too close Rose, you know what happened last time.” Rocket grumbled.

“I am Groot.”

“Hey I only threatened her because she was trying to play Rose like a rube.” Rocket said in defiance.

His attention went back on Rose when he heard her let out a light gasp. “Oh for flarkin’ sake” he let out as he rushed behind Rose who had her eyes set on something specific. “Rose what do you want this time-” Rocket started, but pausing when he reached Rose’s side.

A young grey skinned, similar to Terran looking child, was struggling to sell a flower to nearby passerby’s, the child looked in awe when he saw Rose approach him. “Would you like a flower miss?” He asked sweetly holding out a purple flower.

Rose smiled as she leaned down, placing one knee on the ground and leaning on the other to be face level with the kid. Rose's smile faded when she looked at the flowers the boy was trying to sell, there were very few flowers and most weren't in the best health. Only one being in pristine health, which was the one then boy was offering Rose.

A woman appeared behind the child, Rocket's hand grazed his blaster when she moved close to Rose. But the woman bowed, thanking Rose for visiting their booth, referring to Rose as Princess. Rose looked as if she was about to ask how the woman knew.

"We don't see many faerie on this side of the galaxy, much less ones that are as beautiful as you," Rose smiled at the answer awkwardly until the woman continued more forwardly "and the news of you abandoning your fiance spread pretty quickly, your face was in our news for weeks" Rose sighed as if saying there it is.

Rocket huffed at the lady's remark, albeit it was true, it was still a tough subject for Rose. "I am Groot." Rocket nodded, "You got a point lady?" Rocket asked as he crossed his arms across his chest.

The lady's eyes widened as she apologized saying she meant no disrespect. Rose nodded and told the lady she understood, smiling at the boy as he still stared at Rose in awe, specifically her wings.

Rose continued smiling at the kid, then raising her head and asking the mother why the flowers were in a bad condition. When the mother explained that flowers struggle to survive on this planet, their fruits and vegetables had a hard enough time growing. Rose’s smile quickly vanished as a face of concern washed over her, she glanced over to Rocket who nodded in agreement with the mother.

Rose let out a slight hum, before cupping her hands together, a large smile forming as her antennas glowed a purple hue. “Here.” Rose held our her hand towards the mother, placed in it numerous seedlings.

“These will grow beautiful flowers, some can even grow fruits or vegetables, I hope it helps your family.”

“Even in our climate, miss?” The child asked as his eyes curiously scanned the glowing seedlings.

“I promise. My people can grow flowers, vines and more at a whim, granted royals can do much more, easier and faster than a normal faerie. So take these, my little gift to you.”

A pause as the mother and child scooped the seedlings and wrapped them around in soft cloth to plant later whenever they got home.

“One more thing” Rose said, raising her hand high as her antennas now glowed a bright yellow, a swish of her wrist and suddenly their empty cart was full of magnificent colors of all shapes and sizes, all with their roots still attached so people could buy them and plant them.

The mother practically fainted as she looked at her cart, while the kid was jumping up and down.

“I am Groot.” Groot said happily from Rocket’s shoulder.

“I wouldn’t call it beautiful….” Rocket muttered in response, receiving a slight eye roll from Rose, while Groot stomped his foot on Rocket shoulder, scolding him.

After receiving many thanks from the small family, multiple people approached Rose to ask her to do the same for them, in which she responded by encouraging people to purchase them from the family. Rocket and Rose were separated as people swarmed Rose.

Rose, lifted herself up with her wings and flew above the small crowd. Thanking them but stating she had to leave, she gave Rocket a look of I’m sorry for drawing all this attention to myself. In which Rocket shrugged, it can’t be helped, he said with his eyes.

As Rose motioned she’d meet Rocket back at the ship. Rocket started to walk away from booth when the kid from earlier approached him quickly, offering him the same flower he offered Rose. “A gift for the princess” the child said with a toothy smile.

Rocket debated the idea then politely told the kid no, before having Groot yank at his ear. “Oh you little-” Rocket started before seeing Groot’s serious expression. “Fine…Fine” Rocket said wanting to avoid a tantrum from Groot.

“How many units for it?” Rocket said with a slight eye roll.

“It’s free for her” the child said happily.

“I said. How. Many. Units.” Avoiding Groot’s angry gaze.

~time skip~

“Awww Groot! You bought this for me?”

Rocket rolled his eyes, as he piloted the ship he heard Rose loudly praise Groot for his generosity. Peter, sitting next to Rocket, had a puzzled look on his face.

Rocket ears flicked when when he heard Rose approach, “Thank you Rocket, I really appreciate it.” Rose said, now showing Rocket how she attached the flower to the right side of her waist, connecting it to her dress.

“It was nothin’ Groot was throwing a fit and I didn’t feel like dealin’ with it.” Rocket said with a shrug, acting disinterested. Rose’s face went from a smile to a more neutral look, “well it’s appreciated” she said sincerely before leaving.

“Hey what’s that about?” Peter asked once Rose was out of ear shot.

“Nothin’ important” Rocket said refusing to make eye contact with a now peering Peter.

Peter’s eyes fixated on Rocket for a while, Rocket said something about killing Peter if he kept staring but it didn’t matter. Peter smiled smugly as a certain realization finally hit.

“Yeah yeah…nothing important,” Peter said as he tried to make his voice deeper, mocking Rocket.

~I'm not like her~

(around a year and a half of knowing each other, both have feelings for each other but they are unspoken/unknown by the other.)

Rocket searched frantically, his ears perking when he looked up and heard someone punching things on the top of a building.

"Flark me," Rocket growled as he started climbing an escape ladder up the building. He faltered when he reached the top, watching Rose yell as she punched the roof she was standing on.

Rocket still kept his distance from her. "Hey, Rose" Rocket said rather softly, slightly shocked at Rose letting her emotions get the best of her, it was unlike her to show what she truly felt.

"Did you see the way he looked at me?" Rose asked angrily before falling to the ground and holding herself.

Rocket slowly approached her, "Rose..." he started before being cut off. "Did you see the way he looked at me," Rose demanded.

"Rose ya can't let some jackass get to ya," Rocket said placing a hand on Rose's shoulder, he drew his hand back when she flinched. Rocket sat down next to Rose, eyeing her as she brought her knees close to her face, closing herself off from everyone.

"You don't get it. Everyone looks at me like I am just some pretty princess, I am just a piece of cake everyone wants to eat" Rose started, having a hard time controlling her emotions. "People look at me and think, I am just some easy prey." Rose started pulling at her hair.

"Stop" Rocket demanded softly, "Just because I like dresses, I like looking my best so I am just-" Rose pulled harder at her hair.

Rocket stood and grabbed Rose's hands with his paws, barking orders at Rose to stop. "I'm not like her" Rose as she was practically pulling her hair out at this point.

She only stopped when Rocket bit her wrist, soft for what he truly could've done. Rose yelped in response, to which Rocket, now further pissed, grabbed Rose's face and forced her to look at him.

"What the fuck are you going on about?" Rocket asked sternly, Rose's face tensed at the language, she wasn't used to him being so vulgar to her. After staring into Rocket's deep mahogany eyes, her face softened as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

"I'm not...like her" Rose repeated, with less confidence than last time. Rocket's eyebrow cocked upward, he opened his mouth to ask who Rose was referring to before she muttered "Gamora."

Rose answered the question she knew Rocket was about to ask. "She looks the part, she looks strong, and no one ever messes with her. I.." Rose trailed off, feeling Rocket's paws tense around her face, but continued as she leaned into his touch. "I will never be her, people look at her and just know she is a force to be reckoned with. For just once I wish people didn't underestimate me. They..." tears started falling down Rose's cheeks, absorbed by Rocket's fur.

Rose took in a deep breath, her voice cracking as she stopped swallowing the lump in her throat and started embracing it. "They see me as weak, I had to train ten times harder than my siblings because my own parents knew that I would be...well...fucked with more by people," Rose said avoiding eye contact with Rocket.

Rocket had to hold back a small smile, he was proud of her for cursing for once. He couldn't help but admire how pretty she was, even when crying.

Rose's cheeks reddening as she realized how close she and Rocket were, and how he was just studying her. In truth, Rocket wanted to tell her how lucky she was, in a way Rocket wanted to leave people in awe or wonder when he walked into a room.

Granted he could see how this irked Rose, she had to be a perfect pretty Princess, never straying from protocol and respecting people even when they disrespected her. Things Rocket knew he could never do.

"Ya know..." Rocket said lifting one of his paws to wipe off a tear from Rose's upper cheek. "You can use that to your advantage," Rocket said with a slight smirk, causing Rose's face to scrunch in confusion.

Rocket laughed at Rose's confused face. Rocket withdrew his hands from Rose's face as he sat in front of her, crisscrossed applesauce style. Rose's body relaxed as she withdrew her closed off posture, eager to hear what Rocket had to say.

Rocket avoided eye contact and looked at the stars above them. "Think about it, that guy at the bar never saw ya punch comin'. You have the 'element of surprise' I heard Pete say once. Hey, you remember that time we had to steal from that guy with the beard? The weird looking one with the face?"

Rose giggled remembering who Rocket was referring to, she nodded a yes. "There were innocents at his hideout...what did you do?" Rocket asked, his gaze lowering back to Rose. Rose sniffled, as she responded she stole the artifact they needed from him. "Yep! And how did you do that?" Rocket asked.

"I...I played nice, acted like I was visiting from my planet, played some naive princess who wanted to be saved by some strong man" Rose said mocking the last part of the sentence as she lifted her hands to make quotation marks.

"And...?" Rocket said as Rose's face softened as she smiled, "he never saw me coming when I stole from him," she said proudly.

"Exactly!" Rocket beamed, showing a toothy smile. "And it was all yar idea! Ya insisted, said ya did not want to risk innocents. We trusted ya and ya pulled through." Rocket said leaning forward and play punching Rose's arm. "I knew ya could do it," Rocket said with a chuckle.

Rose's jaw dropped open, "Liar! You said it was a failure of a plan and I was just going to get myself hurt" Rose said with a slight hmph at the end.

Rocket bit his lip, as he half-joked "Can you blame me? I thought ya was just a pretty princess" Rocket said trying to not laugh at Rose's unamused expression. "Sorry...sorry," Rocket said lifting his hands in defiance. "Please don't kick my ass princess," Rocket said with a smirk that said I wish you'd try.

Rose playfully rolled her eyes, "Hey but in all seriousness, I like ya the way you are, dresses and all. Ya ain't gotta change yourself. That prick at the bar was just a fucker, I would've killed him had you not beat his ass then ran." Rocket said as he let his body slump, now laying flat on the roof and staring at the stars above.

"I know..." Rose said quietly as she crawled towards Rocket, crawling on top of him, their body not touching, Rose practically levitated over him. Rocket had a small gulp that only he heard, watching Rose stare into his eyes he went speechless, not sure what she was about to do.

"You mean it?" Rose asked, barely above a whisper. Rose's eyes dropped but she forced herself to keep eye contact. Rocket broke it looking to his left.

"Yeah...you ain't terrible," Rocket said refusing to look back at Rose. Rose faltered for a moment, just staring at Rocket before laying next to him and staring at the stars above.

After a few moments of silence, "Ya know I could go back and kill him" Rocket offered causing Rose to abruptly laugh. Rose tilted her head to look at Rocket who was facing her.

"What kind of pair are we?" Rose asked as she lightly shoved Rocket's shoulder.

Rocket paused to just take in Rose, her small smile, her personality, the way she could just calm him. He found peace when with her, well the closest he could get to peace. For months now he's realized his feelings for her changed, he gladly would've murdered the guy who tried to touch Rose earlier, he would've taken pleasure in it. He wanted to be seen as good by her, he wanted to be her hero. But is that what she wanted?

Fuck do I say it? Rocket thought. Maybe just tell her she looks beautiful? Tell her I got a thing for her? What would that change? Rocket didn't realize how long he must've been staring and thinking because Rose turned her head and proceeded to stare at the stars in silence.

Nope. I'll just fuck this all up.

"The impossible kind princess...the impossible kind" Rocket answered as he looked back up to the sky, hiding his sadness from Rose. He wasn't answering her question, he was answering his own.

Taglist: @raccoonfallsharder @saaandy

[starttraction]

@adoranoia sent : with his toolkit in hand, seven steps into the not-yet open daycare, glancing around for it's attendant, casual--ah, there they are! as they approach, he smiles, brightly, waving, " heya, sun! don't let seven get in your way, okay? they just sent me in here to look at the wiring for the lights--and, that's all! " ✉️ he says, before giving a rather dramatized sigh, jokingly, he adds, in a stage whisper, " a waste of my talent, honestly, but... ah, oh well! what can you do? say no? " and, a laugh. he sets his things down on the security desk, and crouches down to carefully pull a metal panel loose from underneath it. ✉️ " anyway, what'cha up to, in here? any fun gossip? c'm-ooo-on, you know you wanna gossip with seven. " he teases, as he begun to work. ✉️ // saeyoung, for sun! let em gossip....... silly guys (gnc) gotta stick together, lmao

what does a daycare attendant do before opening? it's rather simple, really — they warm up! stretch their robotic limbs and animated features ( their rays spinning and contracting and expanding behind their face plate ), test their voice box by humming and making sudden noises, check their clothes for any imperfections... everything's working as it should! and now, they're ready for their next performance!

... at the daycare! ( oh my god, they miss the theater so bad. )

the small flickering of a light is almost enough to set the sun's mood all out of whack, but thankfully its annoying persistence towards imperfection would be fixed shortly as a familiar face steps in.

" we - he - hell! if it isn't my favourite technician! " their cheery voice chimes like a morning bell, hands placed comfortably at their hip. honestly, this fazbear hire had been a wonder for someone like sun — someone with the same energy to bounce off of, who goes along with almost anything... it's as he said, his talents really are being wasted fixing lights.

" oh, but if you weren't here, who could save me from having to look at flickering lights all day?! no one can fix these things quite like you, seven! you're a real modern day hero! " they tease with a flair, spinning their body as their head stays facing the technician. but then, a question asked, and sun rockets up with a hand on their chest in feigned insult.

" now now now! seven, what kind of bot do you take me for?! me? the gossiping type?! noooo, of course not! ... however, i guess i've heard a feeeew things here and there... " they leeeeean down, and arms fold to prop their head up against the desk. " recently, i heard one of the newer hires has been getting preeeeeetty chummy with some of their coworkers... being friendly with people is a great thing, of course, of course! but he's getting... friendly. with several people. wouldn't even be that scandalous if it was a polyamory thing, but i think this guy's just a total sleaze - bag. "

[thedo0zyslider]

Donations of a Different Kind - 1k words

Cleo wants Etho to donate to her new museum, and he frankly has no interest in it. Her visit to his base goes a little different then probably intended.

A03 Link

Etho didn’t get many visitors at his base, not like the Hermits had made at home visits a big thing anyways. Well, actually, what he had of a base; it was still a work in progress. He also lived quite a far ways away from everyone else, who were all more grouped together. Maybe that was why he didn’t get much company, even despite the new, dolphin powered road he’d made. Not that Etho minded too much, he wasn’t one to bother his fellow Hermits for things such as simple visits.

That just made it all the more surprising when the sound of rockets could be heard nearby. Curious, Etho had moved away from the farm he was working on at the time. Again, the jungle didn’t see many visitors. The last ones he could recall having were Grian and Scar a few months back. It was even more curious when he saw the familiar figure of Cleo landing a few feet away. The masked man approached at a rather leisurely pace, no idea what the zombie could possibly be here for.

"Etho, hi!" Cleo said, her voice almost a purr. She fixed her gaze on him with a smile too sweet for her, and he felt his suspicions begin to rise.

"Hi Cleo," He smiled under his mask, curiosity piqued even further by their tone. Whatever they were here for seemed to be more mischievous in nature.

The zombie got straight to the point as usual, placing her hands on her hips. "You didn't give me your most unique item" Ah, so that was what had brought them to his doorstep. If Etho thought about it he could recall seeing a sign asking for the most interesting item he owned from the season. No idea who the message had come from, Etho had ignored it and donated nothing, assuming that it could be a prank or some sort of redstone trap. He didn’t think it was one of the latter two, but those options weren't out of the equation; Zed was doing some weird advancements this season.

"Well, I haven't been on the server as long as the others have," Etho shrugged. "I don't have anything that cool.'' It was the truth, but it clearly wasn’t working. Cleo now wore a slightly unamused expression, arms crossed infront of her chest. “Is that not good enough for you?” He asked, a tease in his voice as he leaned in closer. The only sign that he was smirking was the slight crinkle of his eyes.

Cleo smirked in return. “No, it’s not,” She matched him by moving closer as well, until only a few inches separated them. Etho was now suddenly very interested too where this was going.

She moved so she could grab the side of his face cautiously, like they were unsure. Curious once more, Etho let her hold his face for a few moments, his chin eventually being tilted. "I still want something, though." Cleo muttered, voice dipping lower. He shivered involuntarily.

"Like what?" Etho muttered, now having a pretty good idea of where this was going. He wasn’t exactly opposed to it either.

"Like this, maybe," Cleo leaned forward, lightly pecking his cheek through the mask. Oh? He didn't flinch or pull away; just stifled a small chuckle, and the zombie took it as an invitation to keep going. She pressed another kiss to the black fabric, right where his lips were. He smiled under the cloth, kissing back the best he could.

"Mind if I?" She whispered, thumbing the edge of his mask gently.

"Not at all," He responded, and a moment later his face was fully exposed for the first time in …well, a while. Cleo took care to respect his privacy, however, shutting her eyes and leaning forwards as soon as his mask was down. Etho smiled at the gesture, then leaned to meet them in the middle. He didn’t have to lean down far though, as the zombie was similar in height to him; Etho frequently forgot they were almost eye level with her.

It was a nice kiss, better than he was expecting, not that Etho expected Cleo to be a bad kisser that is. Cleo’s lips were soft and plush despite the decay, and felt quite nice against his own rather chapped ones. Etho suddenly felt bad about not using something like lip-balm beforehand. Having someone hold his face like this was also rather enjoyable, and Etho wouldn’t mind if this became a normal occurrence.

Cleo’s other hand moved to his hair, teasingly biting his bottom lip. Etho made a small sound, before allowing her access to his mouth. They deepened the kiss with a small noise of their own, and oh, Etho could get very used to this. She tugged gently at his hair, causing a small whine to bubble up from his lips. He felt Cleo smirk in triumph, and decided to return the favor by slipping his own tongue into her mouth. At some point half gloved hands went to rest on her hips, nails digging in nicely as the zombie made her own pretty sounds.

The two pulled away a few minutes later, both a little breathless and their faces redder than before. The zombie moved to wrap her arms around Etho’s neck, causing a small whine to escape him as her hand left his hair. "You still have to give me an item," Cleo hummed, keeping her gaze on the upper part of his face still. Etho shifted until he was comfortable hugging her waist.

"Mmmm, even after that?" He muttered, slightly amused that making out wasn’t enough for them.

"Yep," She confirmed with a small smile. “I gotta have something that Cub’s museum doesn’t have,” That was the first time Etho had heard of another museum being built, which shows how desperately he probably needed to leave his base more often. “Something from the elusive Etho would work very well!”

Etho let out a small huff of fondness, then moved to capture her lips again. This kiss was softer, more sweet, and he felt Cleo smile into it. "That make up for it?" He asked when they pulled away again, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. He still had no intention to donate anything, no matter how hard the zombie or their competition pressed him.

"No," Cleo reformed their earlier statement, giving him a peck on the forehead along with it. "But I'll take these as payment until you do give me something,"

"So you like kissing me?" Etho teased with another smirk.

"It's the one thing you're not washed up in," Cleo shrugged, and began to untangle themselves slowly; much to Etho’s inner disappointment. He hadn’t been quite ready for their little cuddle session to end, and was tempted to pull her back before that commnet.

"Hey now!" He warned playfully, allowing the other to pull his mask back over his face, even letting them adjust it till it sat more comfortably than before.

Cleo let out a loud laugh, a sound Etho never had thought of as nice until that very moment. “See you later!” She called, and was flying off into the distance just as quickly as she had arrived. Etho watched her leave, realizing the sun had started to set during their little chat. Either he’d missed the passing of noon, or Cleo had been trying to have a romantic dusk makeout session. The former seemed more likely, but he still left himself open for the latter option, and secretly hoped more little moments like that were to come in the future.

[gentillerascal]

Chapter 1 - Friend, my renegade

Hello, Vee here! Thanks for supporting this small story!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

The last customers have left the tailor shop. Jesperi slides the cloth beneath the needle of the porcelain white and worn-out sewing machine and leaves a neat, straight line. Just as he finishes the final portion of monotonous sewing, Jesperi hangs the shirt he made and relaxes on his favourite wooden chair from the previous century.

The bell rings.

To his surprise, it is Mari. She is a lady with fluffy hair spread all over her shoulders, a thick sweater and a tight skirt around her legs. Her face is carved out with some age, Jesperi hops out from his reclaimed throne, almost runs up to her and bows down at her.

“Hello Mari, you’re here for your jacket?” Jesperi turns to her.

“Yeah, I am here for my jacket! Is Esku still in Vandaal?” Mari, the old lady replies with a warm tone.

“Y-yeah, he is still there. He should be here any time soon, I think. So for the jacket adjustment, that should be… thirty-four legees,” Jesperi looks at his calculator.

“Alright, thank god you finished the jacket just in time because I wanted to upgrade my winter wardrobe and give it a good clean-up! You always do a great job fixing clothes and make it look like new!” Mari laughs a bit.

“I am glad I could help you with it! Do you need anything else here? Like, sit and relax, or-?” Jesperi asks, tilting his head to the seats.

“Thanks, kiddo. Besides, I am feeling a bit tired. A lot of office work needed to be fixed today,” Mari sighs.

Jesperi always offers Mari a free cup of tea. He had learnt this habit from Esku. When Esku’s friends come over, Jesperi dashes to the kitchen, cooks tea in a small metal kettle and tears open the sugary sesame crackers. Just as Jesperi returns, the bell rings above his head.

“Hello, rva Valko, hello Kärki," the middle-aged and well-dressed man cheers with his hat.

“Hello, hra Alonen, how can I help you?” Jesperi grins.

“Uhm, I’d like to have my summer vest fixed.”

“Alright, I see it has a…”

“A popped seam,” the man awkwardly smiles.

“A popped seam… I could fix that tomorrow,” Jesperi rambles,”-I just have a lot of people on my list. You can get it back tomorrow if I am making a correct assumption… That would make twenty legees, thank you!”

“Sure, thanks! You are incredibly reliable. You and your father are always there when I need you!”

The old-school cabinet slides shut when Jesperi gently pushes it with his hip. He unravels his meter and starts to make different calculations on other pieces of patchwork. Torn zipper, popped seam on jeans, popped seam on a shirt, size adjustment for a jacket… the rack always keeps filling up from the other end!

It has been an hour and Mari still melts in her favourite seat when the bell rings again. Jesperi jumps up from his familiar voice.

“Jessi! I am here!” Matias jumps in.

“Whoa!” Jesperi hops up. “Ayy, Matias! How did your May trip go?”

“It went south, let’s say,” Matias coughs. “In Iverens, my dad argued with my uncle, and my other uncle got caught smoking a whole pack of cigs even if he promised my aunt he wouldn’t do that again. Oh, and most of us got food poisoning, including my dad, I didn’t get that.”

“Fair ‘nuff! That’s why you returned earlier with your father, didn’t you?”

“Yup! Besides, my arguing uncle got annoyed at me for the rest of the trip after I decided to burn a few Rinean rockets in the backyard. Kinda ruined their flowerbed,” Matias scoffs.

“Right… so, what does bring you here?”

“Eh, just a quick chat. Is your daddy here yet?”

“Nah, he should be here in about forty minutes. Wanna come over for dinner?”

“Sure, my daddy is kinda busy in the capital region. At some damn seminar, as per fricken’ usual.”

As the boys exchange their talk, Mari and hra Alonen look at them. Mari scrunches up her face and Alonen just stands and looks at the clothes. Matias rushes to the opposite side of the workshop. Wooden cupboards slam open around the small section of the kitchen, as Jesperi tilts backwards to gain a glimpse of the view in the half-opened door.

“Uhm, what on Earth are you doing there?” Jesperi leans over.

“Oh, I just tried to look for something to eat,” Matias’ voice booms from the kitchen.

Hra Alonen leaves, and Mari stares through the magazine, fully focusing on Jesperi and Matias. Matias has already found some sweet bread as he rustles with the plastic bag and grabs a few slices of bread that have a dark crust, but the inside is cream coffee-coloured. Jesperi scoffs and reclines against the wall.

“Seriously, are you gonna eat that bread? You know you should not be eating that during the evenings. I will make some rice and vegetables,” Jesperi mumbles.

“I know. It’s just too good to be true. My dad always buys some sugary white bread from Western countries, thinking it’s tasty… I never have anything proper food to eat at home,” Matias whines.

“Okay, okay… I will go back and return to working on the commissions. Just wait a bit before my dad comes!”

Jesperi calculates each move of the needle and then slowly stamps down the final line with the sewing machine. The foot makes a slow movement, like a cat’s paw that hunts down a mouse. A rapid run and ruin the untouched, rare textile. Hence, he feeds the cloth and slowly steers it, especially at the corners. Only the confident route is the perfect place to speed up.

The light from the sewing machine turns off once Jesperi is done, and the bell rings again.Esku drops a few heavy bags of textiles, decorations and other things as Jesperi already pulls in the bag and starts to sort it out.

“Hey dad! Do I sort these out?” Jesperi grins.

“Uhuh, just this bag,” Esku nods. “These are recycled, so we can use them for our projects or as a material to fix our clothes. These bags have textiles that we’ll use for creating new props for the local school!”

“Got it! Mari came here and wanted to talk to you,” Jesperi leans over to the lounge.

“I see,” Esku wanders off, “Hello Mari! How did your summer holiday start?”

“Oh, I just came down here, got bored at my home. Have you heard…”

Jesperi turns away for a moment to give both people a chance to have a private conversation as he weasels out from his seat and walks into the kitchen. The kettle is already shaking on the gas stove, trying to contain the steam and pressure rattling it. Matias twirls the tea bag inside the mug, his eyes averted from the busy scenery of the small kitchen.

“Uuuuh, Matias… are you okay?” Jesperi takes the chance to peek into the kitchen.

“Yeah… MORE THAN OKAY!!” Matias shouts.

Matias hops up, spreads his knees and spreads his arms open in an exaggerated pose. His grin curls more, as if he has so much happiness in him to share it with Jesperi.

“Y’know, that there was a tool that was used to rebuild certain things!? Like-” Jesperi peeks over.

Matias wipes the menu on a tiny blackboard, and carves in a sketch of a ring-like thing in the middle of it, with prominent shapes and intricate designs, such as thing vines and dots along them.

“See those things!?” Matias shoves the tiny blackboard. “For years I thought those were legends, until just now I actually saw one at the antique store this April!!”

“Didn’t you get your butt kicked out from there?” Jesperi looks back and forth between Matias and the board.

“I- Listen, I know this sounds cray, but I just- Well… It’s just… I remember you had it, right?”

A cold chill runs down Jesperi’s spine and shins. His eyes fixate on the wavering sketch. Where in the heavens did that guy get the idea of that bracelet!? Jesperi puts down the chalkboard and gathers his thoughts.

“I’d rather not talk about this,” he calmly replies.

“Eh? Why is that so, gotta problem?” Matias sneers.

“I don’t like talking about my past. You know I have a problem with my family.”

“Well, as a dude with family issues as well I can guess, but uhm…”

Jesperi draws a gap between Matias and the doorway as he starts to sort out the textile pieces Esku had dragged in. Matias looms over the table, staring at each rare-looking piece. He looks at each piece of rag that glistens under the dim light. Twisted flower vines with tiny rhinestones, thin and intricate details, delicate drawings and different designs from other countries show how expensive material was wasted for nothing.

“Wanna help with these? I'll pay you modestly…” Esku grins at Matias.

“Oh, sure, sure,” Matias nods.

Small mountains of textiles grow on each side. Matias throws in a few more pieces, then folds bigger pieces. In a few minutes, the table turns into a small colony of mountains at the borders. Esku measures and pops some textures by pulling by the edges. Perfect, Esku thinks to himself, these should fit his upcoming project.

Jesperi stirs the rice. He pushes it back and forth, scatters bright powdery spice all over the hot pan. He drops poultry meat, sweet bell peppers, corn and peas into the pan, and gives it a nice spin again.

“Is everything okay there?” Esku wades inside the small kitchen.

“Yeah, just cooking…” Jesperi shrugs.

“Okay, tell Matias to set up the table. Dinner will start soon!” Esku nods.

As Jesperi cooks, the bell rings another time. When Jesperi steps out of the secluded kitchen, he freezes. The blood boils in his veins again at the sight of a familiar silhouette. Thin shorts, striped shirt with tight socks and obviously oversized outdoors sandals. That's Saku for you!

“Hello. How may I help you?” Jesperi tries to balance his poker face and the plastered grin.

“Matias asked me to come over to chill.” Saku grins back.

“He is currently busy. Come another time, if you please.” Jesperi twists Saku's direction back to the door.

“Actually, I am done with the sorting!” Matias pops out from lounge, “It's a please to see you!”

“Huh? Since when you two were buddies!?”

“Eh, I wanted to give this bastard a chance to redeem himself,” Saku brings Matias closer to his shoulder.

Jesperi still doesn't shift his eyes off Saku. His sneering doesn't stop. Eventually, Saku gently guides Matias to the stairs to the apartment upstairs, forcing Jesperi to pull the duo back down.

“That's an off-limit zone!!” Jesperi speaks out with a louder tone.

“Ouch, strong hands,” Matias groans from that painful grip, “Come on, I just need to talk about the past with my best friend, Saku, right!?”

“Then… you may talk about it in my room. That'll offer you some privacy. Okay?”

The guys still shove Jesperi away. The young man retreats to the kitchen, checks on the rice. Letting it stay under a lid in a warm pan, Jesperi scavenges the vegetable net. He starts to shred the cabbage. Many years ago, Saku was Matias’ eyesore. And Matias was a target of daily abusive endurances for Saku. How come they became friends so fast!?

Still to this day, Jesperi is unable to wipe out that frame, the very scene from his mind. He had recently arrived to the town. Matias was his only friend at the time alongside a few adults. Matias was well-known at the school. He had a lot of friends, but also enemies. Saku and Matias never found the same way to communicate or act.

Jesperi remembers, how Matias beat up Saku by the end of the seventh grade. Matias was able to tackle down that pudgy dude, jam his foot into Saku's ribs and them give Saku a few blows to the face. All because Matias’ phone disappeared that day.

“Something's not alright,” Jesperi ponders to himself.

Shufling runs around from the story above. Jesperi looks up at the stairs, still wearing his hand-made apron. He leans over the steps, relying on the handrails to support his scrawny looks.

“AHEM!! IF YOU WON'T TELL ME WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP THERE, I WILL-,” Jesperi yelps at the duo upstairs.

The ballroom of the furniture pauses for a long minute. After even longer pause, Matias comes halfway down at the staircase.

“What?” he grumbles, “Aren't we allowed to talk for a few minutes and set up your room into a conversta-”

“Nuh-uh! My room shouldn't be re-arranged and you know I hate it when my dad rummages there too without my permission!” Jesperi yells.

“Okay, chill, bro!” Matias backs up and whispers at Saku, “Alright, dude, we need to be more private, he might hear everything!”

Jesperi doesn't think much about Matias and whatever his whispering has. Probably something about his relationship with Saku, Jesperi thinks to himself. He keeps shredding the cabbage. Esku walks into the kitchen.

“You sure everything is okay? I mean, you let your friend bring in that guy… who was a nuisance to all of us in a way?” Esku mumbles.

“I don't know myself. Matias is my only best friend and I know him well, I don't think they do anything suspicious… or I do think so,” Jesperi sighs.

Minutes later, Jesperi is setting the table up as he hears the bed and the bedside table creak against the wooden floor again.

“Jumalauta. Again!?” Jesperi scoffs again.

“You said Matias entered the off-limits with Saku, didn't you?” Esku suspiciously stares at the ceiling.

“I did? I let them both have a private conversation in my room!”

“Oh dear… I should have not let them go upstairs. One of my friends who works at the garage told me that Saku tried to shoplift his products a few times!”

Jesperi's heart sinks into his stomach. He rushes upstairs, not even caring about stomping his feet against the wooden steps. At that moment, Saku tumbles down the stairs. Esku's uninterrupted gaze holds Saku against the wallpaper of the store before the young boy dashes out of the store. Matias’ calculated steps remain unheard before Esku turns his head at him.

“You could have gone to the coffee room for a quick chat, you know?” Esku mumbles.

“I know. I just… felt like his room would be more…” Matias blurts out some words.

The round table is silent. Jesperi scoops up the rice with flower-embroidered utensils on a gold-decorated plate. Matias pokes his dish with the knife. Esku keeps taking small bites of warm food. Matias grabs the toasted bread, and dips it in the oil, and tears the crust of it, ignoring the grainy, bubbly meat in it. Esku lowers his utensil, brushes his lips with the napkin and waits for the perfect window of time to drop the question.

“So, what were you doing upstairs while I was making the clothes?” Esku sighs.

“Nothing special. Just talking to Saku,” Maties doesn’t bother to look up.

“But,” Esku sips on the water, “You clearly had a tough relationship with Saku before, right?”

“Yeah. But we talked about it. Thanks for the meal, tho,” Matias smirks.

Matias shoves a few more forkfuls of the dish inside of his mouth, swings on his vest and runs off outside. Esku shakes his head and pinches his face.

“He ate only half of his dish. Poor kid, sometimes he worries me, but at times his keeping running away angers me,” Esku grabs the plate, “Guess I will have to throw away the remains in the trash bin.”

Jesperi finishes his meal too, and gets up. He pushes himself up the stairs. Once he pushes the door of his room, he enters a messy sight. The curtains are closed and partially torn. The clothes on a shelf were thrown into thousands of puddles to avoid. The chest of drawers is turned into a tiny staircase, each tiny segment shuffled into a new disorder. The carpet is tossed aside into a small valley at the table. Even the items, that were neatly placed are scattered across the table.

Jesperi’s knees weaken at the sight of the box being open. It is wide open, with soft, textured fur unravelled. Where is that item Jesperi hid from the privy eyes of other people? His heart is thumping loudly inside of his ribcage. With each chilly wave, breathing starts to cease. His limbs drop down onto the floor. For a moment, a tight and bitter clump swells inside his constricted throat.

“I trusted him…” Jesperi whispers to himself.

Jesperi doesn’t even see the change of light by his side. Esku creeps behind his son, and rubs his back, and hugs Jesperi close to him.

“Jessi… Did he steal your bracelet?” Esku whispers.

“He did. I thought… he’d never do this to me. I thought I was his best friend,” Jesperi cries out.

…

The record still keeps replaying from the same moment, just as the thought of Matias and Saku snatching away a major part of Jesperi keeps Jesperi awake. He wants to punch the wall, either shout out in the middle of a silent night or laugh and cry. Instead, he remains in the cool bed, encased in a tastefully decorated blanket with thousands of different-coloured threads.

But he isn’t letting go as easily. Probably there is time for him to steal back the bracelet. Often, while Matias’ dad is gone, Matias prepares a party for everyone to come. And oddly enough, Matias didn’t bother inviting Jesperi to his tiny “tea” party. Jesperi kicks the blanket at the opposite side of the bed, and looks around his dark room, as cerulean blue wallpaper is washed down into a morbid tree forest. Jesperi pulls on a warmer shirt, a vest, more thicker jeans and thick, slightly irregular hand-made arm warmers.

He sits on the railing, softly slides and intercepts the cold floor with his toes. He softly crawls to the door, turns off the security system, and then pulls off the chain lock. He extends his arm to the bell above the door, allowing the clapper to sit on his soft paw pad, unhinges the bell with a swift twist, and then places it on the desk at the table and locks the door. The outside weather didn’t turn out to be as cold. The trees outside don’t wave at him, the apartments at the round park have only a few windows that glow bright yellow or white. Jesperi grabs his broom and kicks off, flying off into the darkness.

“Alright, Matias, you better have a place for an uninvited guest like me!” Jesperi sneers to himself.

Across more apartments and the tiny forest surrounding the suburbs, then the sports park, and through the fields, Jesperi zips with his magical broom. At the big mansion, encased in dark and textured stone, Jesperi crawls behind the shrubs. One window shines so bright with the yellow light, spreading across the intricate botanical garden by the mansion. Flowers and trees of all kinds stay still as if a sinister force is awaiting inside the castle-like house. Light music is humming from the inside and the laughter clatters inside the house.

Jesperi circles the house. Not even the tiniest gap to slip through! The young man attempts to lift the hefty window. As he tries to pry it open, each push slides the heavy wooden box-like contraption and threatens Jesperi by falling over at any moment. Just a small gap of only three djumes. Jesperi groans and hides under the window. He decides to tap on the window.

Tap.

Tap.

In a few seconds, someone pulls the window open.

“Hmm, just a branch,” a deep voice booms from above.

“Yo Henri, get yo ass here, we’re about to play shacker,” another voice rackets much further inside the big house.

Seemingly, whoever opened the window foolishly let the window fully open. Jesperi latches onto the cold and prickly windowsill, throws himself in and plops his feet onto the carpet. And he immediately greets a sunken face. Eyes are wide open, staring across the enriched room with a chandelier and dozens of heavy bookshelves, rich with books of all tastes. Jesperi backs up slowly. Even in the dark, the features are uniquely carved out with time, the man lying in a heavily decorated armchair. His clammy skin has barely any pulse in it, but the breathing sizzles at his tiny nostrils. Jesperi just sighs.

“Poor Uncle Tommy,” Jesperi groans.

The kitchen is now racketing with the laughter and the upbeat music. Upon a closer look, a group of men are encircled around the table, smoking repugnant cigarettes, clumsily spilling wheat beverages over crystal glasses and fanning their cards.

“Alright, setting two,” one guy smirks, fixing his cigarette.

“Psht, coward, I do ya better, raisin’ four,” another man slaps the cards onto the velvet tablecloth and sneers back.

“Erm, does anyone have the ‘woody’, guys?” the third guy groans.

“Alright, I’ll give ye my raise for that,” the youngest guy replies, sipping on the beverage.

And suddenly, one of the guys pulls the chair down as the young guy settles down. As he falls his ass over the kettle, the whole table erupts into the laughter. Matias smacks onto the back of the human guy who pranked the young boy and chuckles.

“Good one, Roba!” Matias cackles.

“Uhm, is it me or does ‘one stalk us here?” one of the guys nervously chuckles, shaking his head left and right.

“Nah, it’s just yer always drunk as fuck!” the guy with the deep voice laughs back.

“No worries, I knocked out Tommy with some pills. That asshat was always a worthless moron, thinking he can jus’ snitch on me!” Matias boasts proudly, “Anyways, raising five, along with this thing.”

“Indeed, he is just as grating as that bastard Jessi!” another guy screams.

“AHAHAHAHAA- Yeah, I hate him, he always wants to share, but never brings any use to us!” one guy yelps.

Matias slams the cards, a few legees and the copper bracelet, with intricate and thin patterns between two shackles. Small chains swing as Matias places them in the middle of the table. For one second, Jesperi was so close to running inside the kitchen, yet he decided to steer clear from the no man's zone of a hallway.

“Damn, so close!” Jesperi grumbles to himself.

And soon, the light lingers across the walls of the small library where Jesperi hides. The chairs creak.

“Oh, there he is!” one of the guys yells.

Jesperi’s fur sticks up. He hides behind the tall door. His heart is running at the highest speed possible. Yet, the main door glides open. All of the guys are outside, giggling and joking. Jesperi places his hands on his forehead when he stares out of the window. A large vehicle with many bags balancing it decides to take a small nap by the mossy bed of the forest. The same half dozen settles by the tall, muscular man. They cling to him, lean and push him around, throwing random drunken gags. One guy starts to unload the bags with him, another sits on the large, heavy craft.

“Yo, you got any more beer here?” the lanky guy pulls the bags.

“Uh? Yeah, I am not coming empty-handed!” the tall guy replies.

Jesperi uses this open window of time, this wide-open kitchen with no one sitting in it. This is a time of risk for someone to grab Jesperi by his scruff and beat him. He hops inside the kitchen, and grabs the bracelet. He allows the shine to glide along the clean metal. Tiny crystal sparks a bit, and tiny lines scatter across in a pulse. The young man pulls the bracelet across his arm to his bicep. The tiny crystal sparks a bit again.

“Got it back, good,” Jesperi sighs with relaxation.

So, he peeks out of the door as he sees the tall guy again. The vest is tight around his scrawny, but slightly muscular body. His face has a scar running across his cheek and lip. Long hair is picked up into a small pinsel at the end of his head. His fur is coarse and at parts splotched from the oil and grease. Jesperi freezes. What will that korsto do next!?

“Virgil?” Jesperi squeaks.

Instead, that man points to the room behind Jesperi. Virgil shoves Jesperi into the library room again and closes the door. At that moment, the heels of the shoes clatter against the wooden planks and move around before the steps move closer to the kitchen. The silence grows louder than the laughter before.

“Alright, which one of your dickheads took the crown!?” Matias shouts.

“Well, not me, fucking moron!!” a different voice shrieks back.

“Oh really!?” Matias mumbles, “You ought to tell me what you have as a problem!?”

A loud thud scatters across the mansion, followed by dozens of thunderous slamming and creaking. A shrill roar lasts for a few seconds before an exploding bang.

“You thievin’ bastard, Saku!” Matias roars, “I should have known not to be friends with you, you damn thief!”

Jesperi turns around and dashes the windowsill. Just as his fingers grasp the wooden plank, a loud moan catches his attention.

“Aaaaah! Aaaaah,” the old man stands.

Somehow, the thin man is on his feet. He can fall over at any moment, and his weak knees are already trembling from holding up such little weight on them. Man’s body finger accusingly points to Jesperi’s face, who instead is about to scream at the pale, ghastly man.

“Urgh! Is that old man awake?” Matias mumbles angrily behind the door.

The door’s handle slams against the bald spot on the yellow wallpaper. Jesperi now focuses on the long streak of light following up to his feet. As if the light is holding him on the spot, Jesperi stands on spot to evaluate each tough-looking, drunken and wrathful man at the door. Matias doesn’t say anything. He rushes towards Jesperi, holding up a wide knife.

“GET BACK HERE!!” Matias yowls.

Quick silvery dashes cut through the cold air. Jesperi jumps out of the window, but he feels nothing to land on. For a moment, he flies down, before he feels a strong tug around his wrists. His arm warmers have unravelled into long ladder-like contraptions with irregular steps and dozens of more lines connected around his hands. He has just enough minutes to catch a quick breath before the strings lower him to the soft, mossy carpet, and then tangle around his wrists again. Jesperi runs into the deeper portion of the thin trees.

Jesperi’s eyes cannot catch a glimpse of the broom. Voices are already creeping behind his back and Jesperi keeps running. Around the familiar area, he lifts the thick branch, hops on it and flies off.

…

Jesperi is looking down at the buildings below him. He is right above the rows of apartments, as he lands at the redbricked house. Two stories, with a small attic. Dark blue roof, and intricate decorations at the edges of the almost round house. Jesperi sees light creep out of the store. He comes closer as the bell awakens his half-torpor state.

“Damn it!” he whispers.

“Indeed ‘Damn it’,” Esku echoes, “Where the hell you’ve been?”

“Uuuuh…. dad?” Jesperi now speaks in a normal voice.

“What were you doing, you almost scared me to death,” Esku cries out.

“I just… stole this… bracelet?”

Notes:

Rouva, rva. - Ma'am, Mrs. Herra, hra. - Sir, Mr. Legees - Currency in this universe, inspired by lyres and euros Rinean rockets - You know these red firecrackers from China? These rockets are the counterpart of this universe! Jumalauta - Goddamn, goddamn it Djume - About five centimeters, about two inches Korsto - Big, strong, threatening guy Crown - A nickname for these bracelets

[williowdrake]

A simple life.

That is how all these stories start, isn't it? But this one is different. A simple life is never simple as we have come to know in these type of stories. Even the so- called normal life, is not normal. What is normal, what is simple, we have all asked that. Let me restart my tale.

     This life is not normal, not simple,- and to be entirely honest,- it is confusing as all hell.

     But that is my life.

Chapter 1

 Past

A looming cloud overcasting the blazing sun. Sandstorms can be seen running away from the looming shadows. A girl is laying in the desert away from her family. She wears what looks like an aluminum obsidian battle arena outfit. A slight purple tint flickers on her shoulders. Her shoulders are slouched and her eyes are bloodshot. She has a major muscle frame, her arms are about the same size as fixative cans. Her chest is just a broad plank of muscle. Hidden from view on her left shoulder is a tattoo of a wolf in the forest howling. Her golden anklet hides a small tattoo of fangs dripping blood. Under her tunic; there is yet another tattoo, that holds her darkest secrets,- self harm. The tattoo is of a yin and yan dragon. The dragon stretches from her left hip to her right armpit, laying in a relaxed position as if protecting her from shrapnel that may fly from the sky.

The tattoos move slowly on her body to make sure that they are hidden from view as a young man stands over her.

     "You know, he would not want you to bury your emotions away. We are a team. We share each other's pain. You know that we are always here for you."

     " My pain is none of your concern, and stay out of my head. How would you know what he wanted?! You were never around him, when you were all you did was yell at him. You never even bothered to ask him how he was, or even to ask if he was better! He was dying right in front of you and all you fucking cared about was how to run this damn city! As far as I am concerned, this city can sink in the goddamn ground and be forgotten. But because you forced him to build this place up to his final day, his final breath, you can have it! I would rather rule Eridu than ever run Babylon anyhow. At least, I would be able to feel him there."

  The man bows his head and mumbles "at least he told you that he loved you." The girl bolts to her feet, " loved me?! Loved me?! He didn't just love me asshole, we were going to get married, have a family, be connected with a yanium bonding."

     The man raises his head, his eyes wide. "You can't... That is forbidden... Tha-"

  "It was what he wanted. What we wanted. What Anu said that he would grant us. But now, he is gone. His last words ever spoken was to tell Enlil,- his asshole of a brother,- that he can have my town, my love, and my people. That everything to this point was leading him to rule in my place. To tell him that Marduk will need the most help in understanding why he died. To tell him that he was loved. To tell you, Enlil. " Tears are streaming down her face, her face pink from yelling. She whispers, " his last words were for you, not me."

  "I'm sorry."

"No. No, you're not. You are only sorry that you couldn't have been here to see him off, to be here to take over."

  The man sits in silence as the girl walks away toward the city. She fades in a sandstorm that covered her lover's dying city.

Chapter 2

  Sweat. Sweat everywhere. On the pillow, on the blankets, even dripping on the floor. Eyelids bolt open to unlock the melted chocolate tones underneath. A body as a rocket flung in the upright position, a large black and white blanket-like comforter clutched in whited hands. Ragged breaths fill the empty air. Outside the window, the full moon shines on the large overgrown jungle of grass that has been hiding all types of nano bugs that have been spying on our heroine.

     'What a horrible memory. If only I knew what it meant.' A quick glance at the digital clock indicates the blinking moment of time,- of zero-hundred. 'Slept only for an hour, what a drag.' She slowly gets out of bed silently, as to not wake the rest of the sleeping members in the house. She strips the bed sheets and presses a button on the stone-gray coloured wall. The wall opens and a large box-like container hangs on the wall. She slowly puts her sheets and comforter in the container, pushes the container up, and makes sure that the container clicks into place. A turn dial appears and the word start is displayed on the wall. She set the dial to one hour and presses start. A humming emanating from the wall, a bit of a slosh-swish sound as well. She takes some incense out of a light blue drawer about five steps away from her bed. She takes out an incense holder from the drawer as well. She lights the incense and places it on her black nightstand next to her glass of water. She then proceeds to run her fingers through her hair and takes a  deep breath.

     A blue light shines on the wall, illuminating her face. She quickly takes out her sheets and remakes her bed. After she is done, she takes off her clothes and places it inside the basket and presses start. She grabs a towel from outside the bathroom door and places it on the outer door of the shower. The shower doors are made out of glass, the type of doors that you may see in a Victorian house. The low hum of the water rushing through the pipes can be heard. Finally, scorching hot water is beating down on our heroine.

     The house is a large multi-layered complex. Each room is equipped with all the needed essentials to live. Washing machines, showers, stoves, bed, desks, anything that the person or people want in their home. The house is a high tech, state-of- the - ark, emotion and memory reader. The houses can also cause one to experience anything that they want; riding a roller coaster, being tucked into bed, etcetera. 

       The only downside to the house is that there are hidden cameras everywhere. But of course, our people don't know that. It is, of what of course, is just another way of the government controlling everyone. 

Chapter 3

Present Day

         Toni McMahon lives in one of the many state- of -the- ark houses. He is just moving in. It's only seven in the morning and he is already dreading moving his piano up to the thirteenth floor. He's wishing that he took up Pattrick’s offer to help him out. Pattrick and Toni have been friends since they were in diapers. Everywhere Toni went Pattrick would follow and vice versa. The two were inseparable.

          'No point of just staring at my new home from the outside. Gotta get things inside, they ain't gonna move themselves’  “I should getta moving.”

           “ Talking to yourself? That's a sure sign of insanity.” A woman says as she steps out of the house and down the three steps to the sidewalk. Her appearance is that of a Victorian gothic who badly wishes to clash with punk. Her hair is a deep dark red, if the sun wasn't shining on it, one would think that it was dark brown. Her eyes are a dark brown that looked like they were made from heaven's fine chocolate. Perhaps even from heaven's fine chocolate wine. She wears an expression of playfulness but also a guarded one.

           “Only if you gotta lug a piano up to the thirteenth floor,” Toni says, with wrinkles of laughter around his eyes. 

            “ Good luck with that, Mate. I gotta run. You know, gotta work to live.” The girl says as she gets in her, -what could only be described as; a broken, bent-out-of-shape silver Volvo. 

        “ Wait… I never caught your name.” Toni says as he jogs to the vehicle. 

        “ It's Tiffany. But everyone calls me Tiff.” Tiff says as she drives away, leaving Toni staring after her like a lovesick puppy.

        How do I fit in this equation, you may ask. Well, it's simple really when two people love each other very much,- I'm only joking with you. I'll save that talk for your parents. I'm Toni. A shy, large bodybuilder with abs to die for. Hazel eyes, that mostly stay their cool blue shade. That colour has always matched my punk rock, gothic leather jacket. My spiked bracelets, black chained pants, badass pleather boots, and even my piercings. I even have spiked hair- look. Most of my piercings are simple, snake bites, left eyebrow pierced, both earlobes pierced, and even my tongue. 

       The thing that most people's eyes gravitate towards is my large sex. Eighteen inches is far from the normal size for that particular part of human anatomy. But I have always been different, even at a young age. 

Chapter 4

Long Ago

The ark is the brand of the creator. The creator of the housing complex. They used to create arks, as in like Noah's Ark. Underneath the city of busy New York is a man-made island. The island looks like the original Noah's ark minus all the animals. Although in a way, we are the animals. The surface ones anyway.  

Underneath the ground and into the sea are these creatures that are a bit jellyfish, octopus, child-like being. They look like children with eight legs (or arms rather, at least when referring to octopi), and they light up like those very poisonous jellyfish. While they pose no threat to the underwater world, they pose a great threat to human beings. One bite from these creatures can leave you numb and in a coma for several weeks.

Near the edge of a lake is a young child, crying on the deck. He seemed to have been so distressed that he did not notice the little bubbles near the deck. A small bubbly sound came through the surface of the lake. A beautiful yet haunting song of sadness and death.

The boy wipes his hands and arms against his eyes in an attempt to wipe away his tears.

 "And soon you shall join us underneath.  

Away from pain and sorrow.

Here again, the morrow reach.

 Tears fall to the bottom."

His eyes fall to the depths of the ocean blue skylight captured in oval crystals upon the creatures face.

 

 "And soon travel deep.

 Inside the world unseek.

 Where one or two.

 Three or four.

 Shall eat you on the ocean floor."

 A simple statement broke him from his trance and he sat in silence waiting for the creature to do something. He is scared. More scared then he has ever been in his six years of life. The creature grabs at his ankle and drags him under the water. His head hits the corner of the deck.

 

 "And this is where our voices drown.

 Here is our oldest town."

The creature bites his left side. A silent scream echoes from the boy’s mouth, allowing his lungs to take in water. ' I am going to die here. I will never be found. I can not die here. Not like this.'

  A raging wave rumbles through the ocean. Throwing the boy and the creature in the air and plummets inside the water. Both of them are unconscious. The boy is pushed towards an island and gently laid on the shore. The water was his saviour. At least that day.

Chapter 5

Future

    As the purple dawn approaches, two silhouettes can be seen on a roof. The roof is a bit of a middle alcove, one roof below, the other above. Venus can be seen near the horizon line. 

    “Do you remember back in the day when we first moved in here, Toni?”

    “Before or after you dropped the piano on me.” Laughs Toni as he looks at Tiffany’s face.

    “ I thought that the piano just tried giving you a hug.”

    “ A hug to my face you mean.”

Chapter 6

Present Day

The piano rung out a depressed tune as one of the legs hits a step. 

“Curses bloody piano. Sometimes, I hate being obsessed with you.” Toni states as he supports the piano against the crooked wall.  

The piano rings out another depressed tune as if saying, well it is your fault for even begging your parents for the lessons. All for what? To attract a girl who would rather bang a jock the size of Hong Kong, than risk being split in two.

    “Oh, hush you. No one truly asked your opinion.” Toni said as he wiped his brow with his shirt.

“Need some help with that Punk Rock?” Tiffany says as she floats by him with an airhead expression. 

“Geez, Tiff. You almost gave me a heart attack.” He says as he fake clutches his chest with his left hand, with a light smirk resting on his face. “But yes, but I would love your- I mean some help.”

Tiffany laughs. Her laughter is like music sent from Heaven, so heavenly. Like her features. Toni shakes his head as if to clear it. Tiffany wiggles her way past the piano to the other side. Toni and Tiffany work together as a team to get to the thirteenth floor. 

On the thirteenth floor is a small patch of carpet. The piano is halfway on the patch when Tiffany gets freaked out by the dead snake right next to her feet. Thus resulting in her accidentally letting go of the piano. When she did so, the piano fell back onto Toni making him lose his balance. He fell down six flights of stairs and the piano was close at his heels. Toni’s back hit against the seventh floor, he did not have time to move before the piano crushed him.

Chapter 7

     The snake was right there. It’s eyes deadly. The lack of emotion clearly shown on its dead face. It must have been dead for at least a month. 

    ‘Does this place ever get cleaned?’ The snake twitched for a brief moment. ‘Ahhhh.’ 

    I felt the piano slip through my hands. I watch helpless to do anything as my new downstairs neighbor fall to his death. If the stairs do not kill him then the piano will. ‘But what can I do to save him? This is not a sci-fi or even a fantasy show. There is no magic, no science technology to help me save him.” 

    I hear a sickening crack. The moist liquid of Toni was absent from under the piano. ‘I suppose that is a good thing at least.’ I whip out my cell phone and dial three simple numbers, 9-1-1. I explain the situation as I run to my hot ass neighbor.

    “Stay still. Help is on the way.” I tell Toni.

    “I have survived worse than this.” He says as he gently moves the piano,- as if it was a pillow,- off of him. 

    Loud sirens echo through every street. A large Policeman walks inside the house. He looks like he was just finishing his fattening doughnut. “What seems to be the problem?” The Policeman says, huffing as if he just walked up a steep hill.

    “My neighbor, Toni, here, had a bit of an accident with the piano.”

    “ I told you before Tiffany, I am fine.”

    “I would listen to the young man, miss. A fake call like this again can put someone in jail.”

    “But I..” Tiffany trails off, wondering how to make the Policeman believe her.

    “Sorry for wasting your time Officer. I hope that you have a good day.” Toni says as the Policeman begins his huffing descend down the stairs. 

    Chapter 8

    “What the hell was that about?” I state, eyes blazing as if in some type of anime episode and I push my new neighbor. 

    “Shh” He whispers as he grabs my left arm and tries to pull me up the stairs. 

    “No! You should be dead. You need to go to the hospital.”

    “And have them use me as some type of a science experiment?” He laughs as if something was more than plenty enough funny. In that moment, even though it was not possible, but in that moment I fell more in love with him. The universe alignment was perfect and that sound. That lighthearted sound that shot through my body from this.. This man. “Most people do not take to me lightly. I have always been different, shall we say.” He lifts the piano up the steps and I follow him, in a trance of confusion and love. 

    He nudges open his apartment door with the piano. I could see the boxes stacked on top of one another in the corners of the unused room. While there are spider webs hanging low from the sunset illuminated ceiling, there was still an airy energy about it. 

    “Like what you see?” He says as he lays his left arm against the top of the piano, his toothy grin filled with laughter and curiosity. His piano is next to a small little bookcase. The bookcase has to be as olde as he is, if not older. The corners worn as if some type of ancient book, and the shelves were littered with tiny handprints and dates. A family heirloom, I bet.

    I stand there silently. My mind is empty. Before I even realize what I am doing, I am standing on my toes in front of him. I slam my lips to his. I taste liquor, well- aged liquor and cigarette smoke. Some woodsy musk undertones, reminds me of when I was younger.

Chapter 9

 The Past

A small get together is held around the bar. Mostly women are around. Some men are cheeking out with their girlfriends. Undrunk drinks lay scattered throughout the room. I stand there leaning against the bar, a glass of good rum in my hand, while my elbows are leaning against the counter. The bartender looks to be in his early twenties, but I am pretty sure that he is gay. He is wearing a very colourful pair of skinny jeans and a neon pink shirt that screams ‘If only you swang this way’. He has a very nice hairdo, one of those silk like dos. You know the one that I am talking about if you have seen Grease. 

“A girl like you should be out dancing and having fun. These are prime times that you are in.” The bartender states to me as he begins to dry some glasses. 

“And how would you know how olde I am?” I ask him being a bit tipsy as I am. 

“It is written all over your face, Darling.” He says with a smirk. “ Besides, only good girls like you are in this type of place.” He winks and walks away from me to serve another customer. 

Chapter 10

    I stare at the sky. My normally overheated body, shivers uncontrolling from the memories of flying. Flying in this muted coloured place, stone etched cravings lined up on limestone walls. Sandy murk lay below, waves crashing on swords of malice. A unfriendly cave stands erect in the distance. I must have faith. I uncurl my wings and let out a strange cry and lifts off the sand, letting my wings lead me back home.

Chapter 11

Present Day

Small rays of light are glistening about the room from the moonlight. Illuminating my masculine frame, my normally clad body is covered with a thread-bare boxer brief. There is a thoughtful expression on my face. What am I thinking of, you may ask? My friend, Toni. He has just recently moved from this dreadfully boring, everything-stays- the -same, and the people-think-that- the- outside-will-kill you place. I am worried for him. But then again, I always worry. 

Small movements flicker underneath my body. My wings bending in strange positions. Itching, blazing, and aching to take flight again. The people here have little faith in me, although I have not given up… Yet, though there were times that Toni had to rush in to save my faith, my life, and everything about me. I worry that I am not enough, that I will not be strong enough to take flight, to help the place and the people that I have begun to call my home.

Chapter 12 

[hellabigsimp]

Do you like this Position? Bucky Barnes x Reader Oneshot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: After a long mission, Steve, Sam and Bucky all converge on their favourite tech specialist, wanting nothing more than to hang out and have fun. Only the didn’t expect it to hot and heavy…

Warnings: drinking, sort of alluding to sex, please don’t interact if you are a minor.

A/N: I got the inspo of TikTok and I just couldn’t get it out my head. So here it is! I might do a part two if people want actual filth.

Masterlist

“You have to do it,” Sam says, pointing his finger at you. “We want to see now. You claim you can raise his heart rate, then do it.”

You weren’t sure how the night had ended like this, but you somehow had Steve, Sam and Bucky squished into your lounge in your shoebox apartment. They had come back from a mission and needed some pick me up fun, so they came to their favourite tech specialist apartment.

Aka you.

There was drinking, the only ones getting tipsy was Sam and you, since the other two super soldiers couldn’t. As more drinks were shared between Sam and you, the more devious plans you two concocted.

On the table in the lounge was the heart rate monitor you had recently fixed for the medical wing. You had been testing it out when the boys had rocked up. Instantly Sam was on it, attaching it to himself.

Then the games began. You all were trying to raise each other’s heart rates by doing stupid things, showing videos and dancing somewhat provocatively. Once the first lap dance from Steve was given to Sam, that’s when things started going down hill.

You swore up and down, you could make Buckys heart rate sky rocket, you were sure of it. Lately there had been some suggestive and flirty texts and conversations you had shared. You were attracted to him, no doubt about it. The man fascinated you to no end, you were enraptured from the beginning when Steve brought him back to the compound.

You were never sure you could act on the suggestions though, you thought maybe he was doing it for fun and needed an overly friendly friend. Just that. But the issue with you, was that as soon as alcohol was in your system, you were bold. You were confident.

Which got you into trouble.

“Don’t doubt me Birdbrain,” you said, pointing at Sam. “I am not afraid to prove it.”

Bucky had chuckled at the suggestion to begin with but the more Sam and you goaded each other, the reality dawned on him. “You really don’t need to do it.”

The heart rate monitor was already attached to him, his heart rate spiking a little as his imagination ran wild a little at all the possibilities you might try to get his heart rate up.

“See birdbrain, I’m already winning and I haven’t even done anything yet,” you stick your tongue out and down the rest of your drink, the buzz enough to give you that boost.

You stand up from the floor, your head spinning ever so slightly. You weren’t drunk enough not to know what you were doing, just buzzed. You knew how to handle alcohol.

Sam whoops, making Steve laugh. You didn’t care about the audience. You had a bet to win. You look eyes with Bucky, his blue eyes wide. You could see him swallow, his tongue darting over his bottom lip.

You smirk at him as you saunter over, swaying your hips from side to side, running your hands up your body. You could feel your own heart start to race as you edge closer.

Bucky was sitting on the sofa, leaning back comfortably. He was in exactly the position you wanted. You spot the heart rate monitor, the number rising steadily.

“You ready Sergeant?” You whisper. You could hear Steve snort his drink behind you, but you didn’t care. As you stood in front of him, Bucky’s gaze locked on you, his eyes filled with this sudden hunger that would make sober you blush. He gives you a small nod.

You didn’t hesitate as you rested your knee on the sofa, swinging your leg over till you were comfortably straddling the man in front of you. Your core was pressed down against him, you could feel yourself starting to get wet, pleasure pooling.

Buckys hands automatically found the lower of your back, dangerous close to grabbing your ass. You let out a small gasp when his hand lowered a little. The heart rate monitor spiked quickly.

You grinned, resting your hands on his hard chest, you lower yourself, whispering in his ear.

“Do you like this position, Sergeant?”

Bucky couldn’t help but let out a small moan, his hands tightening the hold they had on you, his erection pressed against your core. He couldn’t get enough of you. The heart rate monitor was beeping loudly in the back ground.

You wanted to stay like this, your own body hot with need for this man. But you felt a cushion hit you on the back of the head. You look over your shoulder. Both Sam and Steve were watching with wide eyes, both of them somewhat aroused by the scene too.

“Alright, you win.” Sam said, downing his drink. “You win.”

“I told you birdbrain,” you say, regretfully getting off Buckys lap. “Never make a bet with me, I’ll always win.”

The need was still coursing through your body and you knew you needed release. But you couldn’t very well do it with company, especially the super soldiers. You sit down next to Bucky, who had taken the cushion and placed it on his lap, hiding the erection you had felt.

You crossed your legs, trying to ease the throbbing between your own legs, not that it was working. You grabbed another drink, opening it and down it, as an attempt to cool down.

It definitely didn’t work.

[the-fiction-witch]

Behave yourself Benjamin

Media The Queens Gambit

Character Benny Watts

Couple Benny X Reader

Rating Sweet / Flirty

Concept Messy Apartment 

I fixed a stray piece of hair from my eye line as I stood on the grey concrete watching the green tiles around me until the silver train rocketed past with a clutter. Once the doors opened I crossed the yellow line and boarded the foul-smelling capsule of dust, rats and piss known as the new work subway. I stood as it wasn't exactly that far and even in this half-empty midday carriage some jerk found an excuse to stand inches from me rubbing his jeans up against my dress. I merely rolled my eyes and got off a stop earlier than I intended. I walked the grey streets past the iconic brick townhouses and the piles of trash bags. Listening to my heels clack on the stone sidewalk. I arrived at the usual Brooklyn street and immediately noticed the sweet little blue beetle parked up close to the sidewalk immediately also noticed the small bundle of parking tickets under the wiper blade. I rolled my eyes sliding out the bundle and flipping through them as I ran my hand down the car "you poor thing, he treats you so bad" 

I headed down the stairs to the lower levels trying to ignore the dirt and general foul smell the place had going down to the old metal door unlocking it and headed inside shutting the door behind me.

I slipped my jacket off hanging it on the hook beside the long black trench coat setting my bags down by the door.

Turning to see the inside.

"Fuck." I sighed

The small grey basement apartment was…honestly as I expected. 

An utter tip. Books and papers strewn about the place haphazardly, chess boards and paraphernalia lined all available surfaces, the old ottoman and leather chair the only available places to actually sit, the kitchen cluttered with takeaway coffee cups and even a half-open pizza box, water lingered ankle high in the living room bath and shower unable to drain and the light about the sinks mirror still on flickering for some odd reason.

 I caught myself in the mirror in my little black halter neck dress tight to my hips, and of course my heels, my hair well curled and make-up done noticing how out of place I looked here. 

I sighed and headed down the steps into the apartment setting the parking tickets on the table heading to the fridge opening it seeing nothing but empty racks, so I shut it again and peeked into the pizza box spotting two slices still within however they were blooming with mould like horrific flowers.

"Oh hell no" I sighed running my hands through my hair a moment before I snapped "Benjamin Wilhelm Watts!" I screamed at the top of my lungs 

And within seconds the forested glass door to his bedroom opened and stood in the doorway still holding the door was a half-awake Benny in his blue floral kimono and… only his kimono. For a second I thought to look away but I didn't care nothing I hadn't seen far too many times before. His hair was a messy bedhead sticking up wildly, face emotionless and barely awake, his chest bear with some sort of mess on his stomach, the small snail tail obvious as he was pretty much hairless everywhere else leading downward, he was half hard clearly unintentionally, barefoot and clearly struggling to keep himself upright.

He seemed perplexed by the yell that clearly arose him and even more confused by the sight of me

He clicked his fingers a couple of times before pointing at me 

"Today…. The day you were coming up?"

"Yes" I sighed resting my hands on my hips 

"Right." He nods "quick question, pants?" He asks pointing downward

"No" 

"Right" he nods "excuse me," he says before going into his bedroom to put a pair of jeans on before returning to the main apartment

I sighed and began making coffee as both he and I would be needing some 

"I knew it was you" he sighed as he came over eager for his coffee

"Umm? What tipped you off?" 

"You are the only person on earth who knows my middle name"

"I probably am. I like using it. Let's you know how much trouble you’re in" I smiled giving him his coffee and having my own 

"Oh, what have I done now?"

"Uhhh the pig's den, you're calling an apartment?"

"I've been away"

"Not an excuse"

"I've been working"

"Which stops you from throwing out week-old pizza?" I said letting him to peek into the box

"Ohh shit. Alright you may have a point"

"May?"

"You always do"

"You've been home long enough to get little one in trouble," I said picking up the parking tickets and handing them to him to flip through as I went to get my bags

And he rolled his eyes "you love that car more than you love me" 

"It doesn't constantly disappoint, stress, and overall cause my life to be difficult." I explained "you on the other hand," I said sitting my stuff by the chair 

He dumped the tickets and his now empty coffee cup on the counter before I could add anything else he grabbed my waist pulling me close to him so my arms had to sit against his chest our hips meeting as he wrapped his other arm around me too holding me close as he pulled a sad face at me "don't you love me, my little sugar bear?"

"Ummm. Most of the Time" 

"Most of the time? Well I love my little sugar bear all the time. Especially when she visits looking so pretty" he smirked moving his hips against my own

"Behave yourself Benjamin" I warn him 

"Make me" he smirked 

I smiled moving my arms up to be around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss he happily kissed back pulling me closer to him to give me a squeeze as our lips gilded so perfectly against one another his hair tickled me a little where it needed a trim till after a good while we pulled back "I missed you benny"

"I missed you more" he smiled giving my nose a kiss 

"I love you" I smiled nuzzling into his chest 

"Awww, I love you too" he smiled "of course, I love my little sugar bear" he smiled giving me another squeeze

"Why do you call me that?" I giggled

"Because your as sweet as sugar" he smiled kissing my head "and my cuddly teddy bear" he smiled

"Umm alright, don't let anyone hear you talking like that, they'll never believe your goth chess cowboy look again" I smiled 

"We’re all alone I'm allowed to be snuggly" 

I giggled pushing him away "now I am going to unpack my things. This apartment will be clean to a decent standard by the time I return"

"Or else what?"

"Or else you will not touch this body for the next four days"

"At all?"

"At all"

"Alright," he sighed "once it's clean and you've unpacked? Can we… lay on the bed and cuddle?"

"If you're good" I smiled heading into his little bedroom,

[xxiamtiebrousxx]

Mercs x Tall! Reader One Shots

Scout:

He looked up to your height. He was proud to be your friend. You were always slouching but Scout got you standing up straight with pride. People made fun of your towering height. He defended you if anyone mocked your height. Scout walked with his arm around your hips, or wherever he could place it without making you feel uncomfortable. People always eyed you, but Scout would glare at them. 

Others would always make fun of you, bring you down, but Scout wouldn’t let them hurt you. He strapped wooden crates to his feet so he could be close to your height. He was always tripping, trying to prove to you that being tall wasn’t a bad thing.

It actually worked.

Unfortunately, Scout broke his ankle and you had to take him to Medic. After that, you never slouched again. You occasionally bent down to kiss Scout on his cheek for making you proud of yourself. He deserved it. 

Soldier:

Soldier was a little mad that you were taller than him. It was hard to surprise attack you from behind. The only thing he could do was smack right into you as he jumped at you. You were a literal wall, no offense. Soldier decided to start an alliance with you. You did not agree and made Soldier angrier. 

He tried to get you to let him win on some occasions but you wouldn’t give up. He gave it all up in the end. After seeing his effort, you allow him to beat you in one round. He was very happy and proud of himself! But he felt that it was wrong to win without a fight.

So, he challenged you to a boxing fight. Everyone was there to witness it. Compared to you, Soldier was an ant. He tried punching you, but it didn’t work. He hurt his fist and he did not learn his lesson. He kept on punching you. In the end, you ended up carrying Soldier over you back and back to the base. After that, he never challenged you again.

Every now and then, Soldier rocket jumps over you so he can get a glimpse of your smile. 

Pyro:

The fire-loving merc saw you as a gentle giant. He was always hugging you. You gave him rides on your back. With or without the Pyrovision, he didn’t care if you were enormous. You were the one always defending him from rockets, bombs, and bullets. Pyro could be found on your shoulders as he set the enemy team on fire.

Pyro ordered big chairs for you to sit on whenever you had tea parties with him. Pyro always held your hand and dragged you everywhere. He was more childlike with you, all giddy and happy. At the end of every battle, Pyro would reach his hands up towards you. You’d pick him up and hold him like a baby.

When you’d get home, you’d plop down on your bed. Pyro would sit with his legs criss crossed next to you. If you passed out, he’d tuck you in at night and plant a masked kiss on your forehead. 

Heavy:

You had his respect. You were taller than him but he didn’t mind. He was happy to have someone have the same strength. You were good at fighting with your fists. Heavy trained you how to left hook someone. Sandwiches kept the both of you fueled. You were the one who touched Sasha. You wanted to know how the minigun felt in your hands.

Heavy found out and got mad. All this time he thought it was Scout! He ended up chasing you, but because of your longer legs, you were able to outrun him. Heavy stopped by a tree, trying to catch his breath. You jogged back and managed to pick him up and carry Heavy on your back. You took him all the way back to Medic, who fixed him right up.

Heavy was grateful for your gesture. He didn’t know you could carry someone like him all the way to Medic. He forgave you for touching his gun. As a bonus, he lets you use Sasha in battle occasionally. 

Demo:

Whenever Demo got drunk, you were there to pick him up. It was easy because he was so small compared to you. He’d ramble in a drunken state about his life. You listened and enjoyed it. He actually got drunk on purpose so you could carry him home. He loved talking to you.

You overheard on the phone Demoman talking to his mother about getting drunk on purpose so he could talk to you. He told her how much he admired you. You listened to his stories which made him happy. So one day, you picked him up unexpectedly and carried him off the battlefield.  

You placed him on a tree branch and joined him. Soon after, the two of you started to talk. The others worried why every ceasefire day or randomly on the battlefield why you two were gone. If they tried to find the tree, you would pick them up and drag them to the bar where Demo would get them drunk. They’d forget that very night.

Engineer:

Engineer saw you as a giant. You were way taller than him. He feared you. Just a little bit. But, being tall came with its perks. If he needed to reach a high shelf for something, you’d get it for him. It was sort of cute watching Engineer stand on his toes to reach something. You’d just lean over and grab the wrench or nail required.

Engineer felt that he needed to earn your friendship. So he worked hard to create you a companion to help out during fights. A mini sentry attached to your shoulder did not work as well as he thought it would. But that did not stop him. Pyro mumbled to you how hard Engineer worked. So you paid him a visit.

Your shadow loomed over the small man. He felt you staring at him. It was scaring him. But he took a chance and turned around to face you. There you were smiling. He calmed down a bit and invited you over to see his latest invention. After that, he no longer feared you and the two of you became good friends. Pyro may or may not have gotten jealous.

Medic:

Medic wanted to know more about your height. Was it genetics? Yes, it was. But that simple answer did not stop him from wanting to know more. He was fascinated by you. Your heart was huge! Your fists were huge! He was always forcing you to come get checked up for medical and scientific reasons. He was hoping you were still growing.

Unfortunately, due to your height, you developed scoliosis a while back. Your spine was curved at degrees so bad it was killing you! Your back was hurting from time to time. You had hard times fighting. Medic found out even though you were trying to keep it a secret. He operated on you in the middle of the night. The next morning, you didn’t feel any pain and you seemed taller.

The doctor made breakfast that morning. He sat down next to you and told you what he did. You wanted to smack him for operating on you without your permission. He could’ve given your spine its own mind! On the other hand, you wanted to kiss him for fixing you. During that battle the same day, you got the enemy spy about to kill Medic. It was a good way for you two to bond.

Sniper:

It started out when he was reaching for an arrow stuck in a tree. He was practicing his aim. You were outside as well, walking around when you saw Sniper’s dilemma. You simply grabbed the arrow, pulled it out of the tree, and handed it to Sniper. He usually wouldn’t say anything but this time was different. He invited you over for a small snack.

After that, you started hanging around with him. His camper was too small for you. You kept hitting your head on the roof. Once you hit your head so hard against the doorway you were knocked out. Sniper, with the help of Engineer, built a “clubhouse” as Scout put it. It was a tall wooden structure located above the base. It was spacious. No more head hitting for you.

Sniper taught you how to shoot a rifle from above in the branches. He’d climb up a tree when you simply reached up and pulled yourself onto a sturdy branch. Your feet could touch the ground if you were a bit lower. He once fell out and you caught him by his collar. Sniper ended up building a treehouse which was a wise decision. Of course,  your team members rarely saw the both of you now.

Spy:

Spy was trying not to be intimidated by your height. When he stole your file, he forgot to read your height. He thought you would be around his size. It was a surprise for him when you ducked under the doorway. You were just like any other person. Spy could handle you. But he was not expecting you to be picking on him. Not in a mean way. Spy saw it as flirting, even though you denied it. He never laughed at your jokes or funny remarks.

He tried to keep his distance from you but you ended up finding him. Spy grew accustomed to your towering self. It was funny seeing him sit next to you. Like Scout, he would defend you. Sometimes he wouldn’t. He tried to keep his suave personality around you. You even carried him under your arm, trying to get him to laugh. He broke under pressure. Your jokes were getting him and he finally laughed.

If one looked carefully, they could find Spy as tall as a tower in the distance. Of course, they probably didn’t know you were carrying him on your shoulders. Spy was a cool guy with a sense of humor he kept hidden around the others. And you ended up punching him after he made a “how’s the weather up there” joke. He was forgiven and spent a while in the medbay.

Miss Pauling:

The Administrator was recruiting a new class. Pauling was expecting someone of average height. She was awed when you walked in her office for the interview. You had to sit on the floor since the chair squeezed you tightly. Miss Pauling hired you immediately. She personally drove you to your team, explaining everything on the way.

She began to visit you frequently, asking for assistance on jobs. You agreed to help out. Pauling always had to take the van. Once, when Saxton Hale refused to sell TF Industries new weapons, you disguised yourself as the C.E.O of Mann Co. while Pauling broke in. No one suspected a thing.

Pauling didn’t mind that she was petite compared to you. It was easy to carry her to the van whenever she was tired. She appreciated you for that.