#chrome plated heart

[drgrlfriend]

Chrome Plated Heart

It's here! My first-bidder auction winners in the Marvel Trumps Hate 2022 auction graciously allowed me to put their (35k and counting) fic on hold so I could write my second-bidder auction, and here it is -- a Marvel Pacific Rim AU featuring Winterhawk! I've posted the prologue and chapter 1 together, and will be updating one chapter per week until I post the last chapter and epilogue together. Enjoy!

Chrome Plated Heart by dr_girlfriend

Excerpt:

“Hey.”  Steve nudges Bucky’s shoulder and tilts his head toward the door of the canteen.  “New blood.”

Riley and Sam turn all the way around to look, not in the least bit subtle as the newcomers follow Coulson in and grab trays.

They are an odd match to be drift compatible — the man as tall and broad-shouldered as the woman is small and slender.  Similar in age, so probably siblings or romantic partners.  Or just new recruits from the Pan Pacific Defense Corps, maybe.  There’s not a jaeger in the assembly line anywhere near to done, but having a backup team on hand is never a bad idea with how high the casualty count has been lately.  Fewer minutes on the war clock after every event, and he heard Pietro Maximoff took a hard hit in Scarlet Sentry the other day — enough to put him out of commission for at least a few weeks.

“Interesting,” Steve says.  “They could almost pass for —” He stops, the forkful of macaroni arrested halfway to his mouth.  “Holy geez,” he says reverently.  “That’s —”

“Lucky Striker,” Bucky finishes.  “Sonuvabitch!”

Romanoff and Barton.  They’re legends, the very first team to establish a neural handshake once Stark nearly blew out his heart trying to pilot a jaeger alone and realized it only works with a shared neural and physical load.

They have more kills than any other team out there.  Hong Kong, Vladivostok, Lima — Lucky Striker has held the line at almost every ‘dome on the rim.  Steve and Bucky have pored over the footage of every single one of their kills, marveling at the way their jaeger moves.  Fluid, seamless, graceful.  And most of all, of course, deadly.

“Think they’re just visiting or they’re here to fight?” Steve asks.

“Either way, we’ll probably at least get to see them in the kwoon,” Riley drawls.  “Shee-it, won’t that be sweet?  Whaddaya think they’ll use?  Staffs?  Nunchaku?  Or just hand-to-hand?”

“Whatever it is, it’s gonna be fuckin’ beautiful,” Bucky says.  

He can’t take his eyes off of Barton.  In the recruitment posters and news clips he’s handsome, sure — tall and blond with an easy smile.  In person though, he’s not nearly as polished.  His hair is all mussed up like he just tumbled out of bed, his faded t-shirt has a hole near the collar, and he’s got about four days’ worth of stubble shadowing his jaw.  There are bright purple hearing aids looped behind each ear, a Wonder Woman bandaid across the bridge of his nose, and a scrape along his cheekbone.  Bucky thinks this scuffed up and scruffy version of Barton is about a million times more appealing than the airbrushed PanPac posterboy.

As Bucky watches, Barton reaches out to snag a piece of lemon meringue pie.  He puts his thumb right into it as he tries to fit it onto his already-full tray.

“Aw, pie, no,” Bucky hears him say mournfully over the background hum of conversation.  He balances the overfull tray on one forearm, bicep threatening to split the seams of that threadbare t-shirt, and sticks his thumb in his mouth, sucking off the smudge of lemon and meringue.

Bucky feels his heart stutter as he watches that thumb going into Barton’s lush mouth and coming back out, leaving both it and Barton’s lips pink and wet and shiny.  “Fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathes.

[notmyneighbor]

Back Alley - Doppelgänger Francis Mosses x Female Reader

Word Count 5k

Rating Explicit

CW - minor blood/injury, fluff and smut

Also available on AO3

The end of your shift. The quiet part of the evening.

Nestled downtown in the oldest part of the city, the diner you’re employed at as a waitress caters to DDD members and civilians alike. The final patrons have already filed out the front entrance, a pair of glass front doors with shiny chrome handles. You begin the process of closing the establishment for the evening, starting with a final wipe down of all the surfaces in the dining area while the young man that washes dishes works his way through the last batch of soiled utensils and plates and cups. You count the money in the register and gather the receipts, placing everything on the owner’s desk in the tiny office in back of the restaurant.

The adolescent has finished the washing in the kitchen and finds you putting leftover food scraps onto a plate, a snack for the stray cats that dwell in the alley behind the diner. He rocks on his heels, the apron he’d been wearing already removed and now anxiously wrung between his hands. “Did you want me to wait, or…”

You smile softly. “No, that’s alright. I’m just going to set this out and bring out the trash and I’ll be locking up. Go on home. Be safe.”

Needing no further encouragement, the youth darts from the kitchen. You shake your head ruefully, gathering the ends of the plastic bag in the kitchen’s rubbish bin together and knotting them. Balancing trash in one hand and the plate in the other, you manage to open the heavy steel door at the rear of the diner that leads to the alley.

Normally there are several strays to greet you as soon as you open the door, accustomed as they are to this nightly routine.

Tonight it takes you several moments to locate one solitary form after you’ve lobbed the bag into the dumpster and closed the lid, retrieving the plate you’d set by the back door.

You spy one of your usual clients hovering near the stockade fence further down the narrow passageway, a raggedy looking gray tabby with a torn ear that’s normally the friendliest of the bunch.

“Hey there. What’s wrong, you’re not hungry?” You walk forward a couple of steps, crouching down and holding out your empty hand, making little affectionate sounds to lure the animal closer.

In the distance you hear voices shouting. Not uncommon in the city, but you’re still wary as you straighten, leaving the plate on the ground.

The cat, still hunched by the fence, issues a warning growl.

You turn and see a shape moving from the opposite end of the alley where it divides into the main road, the hair on your bare forearms rising, the skin goose pimpling.

You whirl around, already making for the open door at your back, that slice of light inside a beacon that’s frustratingly so close and yet so far.

You don’t quite make it.

A hand reaches the door before you do, slamming it shut. It becomes a wall at your back as you shrink against it, recoiling from whatever just closed it.

No, not whatever. The strays knew what it was. Now you know, too.

A doppelgänger.

This one dressed in the uniform of a milkman, though his outfit had seen better days. Spattered with blood, you cannot find a single patch of the white shirt that doesn’t bear some trace of scarlet droplets. Shouting again in the distance, though this time it sounds closer.

You open your mouth to yell for help and a hand instantly clamps down over it. The doppel is breathing heavily. It must be the DDD pursuing him. Without the light of the diner’s interior, you can’t see much of the creature’s replicated features in the night shrouded alley. You wonder why he hasn’t killed you yet, your heart hammering like mad.

“I’m not going to hurt you. If you help me, I’ll do something for you in return.”

He was trying to bargain? Bad idea. Doppelgängers were notorious liars. By definition of their very existence they had to be masters of deceit. He must have been desperate if he was making this offer. Definitely being chased by the disposal team officers, the likely source of the shouting you’ve been hearing, the details of the situation coming together in your mind.

You can’t imagine a single thing the invader could offer you that you’d desire.

“I’m going to remove my hand. We’re going to go inside. You’re not going to make a sound. Agreed? Nod if you understand me.”

Wide eyed, nostrils flaring, you move your head, signaling your acceptance of his terms. What choice did you have?

The barrier over your mouth lifts and you’re pushed aside, firmly but without malice, the heavy door wrenched open. You’re shoved inside and the door is quickly shut again.

“Is the front door locked? Lights off?”

You nod, swallowing past a panicked lump in your throat as you take a couple of steps back away from the intruder.

The male copycat sighs, shoulders visibly sagging with relief.

He’s still hiding.

Still wearing the visage of the human he’d duplicated, a tired looking brunette male probably in his early thirties with tousled chestnut hair, shadowed under eyes, a long nose with the slightest bump along the bridge—an old injury that had never healed quite right, perhaps—set above thin lips.

The arm that’s been tucked tightly against his side the entire time, never once in use to restrain you or open the door, you realize, now lifts, exposing a gash across his lower abdomen, rent right through the fabric and severing the flesh beneath.

You’d incorrectly assumed the blood had been from a struggle with the original milkman he’d replicated, not from the alien himself. You suck in a deep breath, wincing as your eyes linger on the injury. “What happened?”

“Got cut jumping the fence.”

“That’s going to need stitches,” you observe as he drags the shirt’s hem free of his belted pants, hurriedly thumbing the buttons open and shrugging out of the garment, thrusting it into the garbage bin you hurriedly point to. The undershirt is similarly stained, but this he leaves in place, merely lifting the edge to better expose the wound.

His eyes meet yours. “Can you do it?”

“I mean, I’m not a physician. All I have is the sewing kit I keep in my purse to mend tears in an emergency. You need to see a doctor, go to the hospital…” Your voice trails off. Of course he couldn’t. He’d be killed instantly.

“Get it.”

You hesitate. Were you really going to risk helping this foreigner?

“Please,” he adds through gritted teeth. Perspiration beads his forehead. You wonder if he hasn’t already been exposed to something that would prove infectious later on. Not really your concern, though. You just needed to survive until you could get away from him. Somehow.

“Alright.” You don’t spare any more time debating about what the right course of action is. You grab one of the clean dish rags from under the kitchen sink and your purse stashed in the bottom desk drawer in the office.

The doppelgänger’s eyes remained fixed on your every movement, watching as you soak the wash cloth in warm water and pull the sewing kit from your purse, the fingers threading the needle shaking. You drag one of the chairs from the dining room for him to sit on, kneeling on the linoleum beside his seated form.

You hesitate again. You really didn’t have the appropriate kind of materials for this. Should you have heated the needle to try to sterilize it first? Was there even time for that? Would it be easier just to attempt to cauterize the area? Somehow you don’t think the invader would be keen on the idea of getting burned, even if the intention was to aid and not harm. “I don’t know that this is going to work, but I’ll do my best. This is going to hurt,” you caution.

“Worse than being cut open?” He asks bitterly.

“No, I suppose not.” You begin washing around the cut, scrubbing at the dried blood, trying to clean the edges of the laceration. It’s still weeping blood but the flow has slowed, the body’s natural clotting process coming into effect. The milkman he’s replicated is on the leaner side, with little softness in the abdomen you’re cleansing. “Why can’t you just replicate the skin again? Make it intact?”

“It doesn’t work like that. It’s penetrated through the outer layer. You humans are so fragile. It doesn’t take much to tear through…” He lets that thought remain unfinished.

You shiver, thinking of how, were circumstances different, he would’ve torn you to shreds without a second thought, murdering you at best, devouring you at worst. You can’t help but wonder if the doppel will turn on you once you finished patching him up.

“Okay, I’m going to try to start sewing.” Your heart is still thudding rapidly. Your eyes narrow in concentration as you pierce the skin, hurriedly seeking the adjacent flesh to sling the thread between, then drawing it taut. You’re feeling a little nauseous and lightheaded. You tell yourself you’re not piecing a person back together. Urging yourself to pretend it was something else. Mending a torn shirt. A ripped stuffed animal. Anything but the gruesome sight before you.

At last the task is completed, the pale skin sutured together. You sit back on your heels, heaving a raspy sigh, your hands clasped tightly together in your lap, willing them to stop trembling.

“You’re skilled,” the doppelgänger murmurs, looking over your handiwork, probing the closed incision gingerly. It is a rather impressive job if you’re being honest, a neat line of even stitches despite your shaking hands.

“You’ll need to keep this clean so it doesn’t get infected. And you can’t move around too much. I don’t know how well that thread will hold.” You gently push his questing digits away, applying gauze and tape from the first aid kit in the office to cover the wound and he eases the ripped undershirt back down.

“Thank you.”

Your eyes meet his. You’ve never heard of an invader asking a human for help. Being grateful. You don’t know what to make of it.

“I won’t forget this.”

You rise, tossing the used wash cloth in the trash and returning your sewing kit to the depths of your handbag. You return the chair to the dining room once he’s slid from it, watching as you settle your purse strap on your shoulder, keys to the diner in hand. The replicant opens the back door a crack, peeking outside, head cocked slightly, listening. No shouting. The DDD had passed through the area. He glances back at you a final time before slipping through the gap.

You lock the door behind him, then sag against it, exhaling a shuddering breath. He’d let you live, as promised. A doppelgänger that kept his word.

What did it mean?

***

He’s in the alley again.

You tell yourself you weren’t looking for the milkman’s clone every night for the last three shifts, merely taking out the garbage and feeding the strays per usual.

Your stomach does a little somersault as he approaches. His skin color is better, no longer so ghostly pale. The milkman uniform he’s wearing looks clean and crisp and starched. Where had he gotten it? Was he keeping a low profile, pretending to be the human he’s dressed as? There certainly seemed to be some transfer of knowledge that occurred when the replicants adopted a human form, intelligence information that surpasses beyond what could be obtained through just casual observation. The doppels knew so much about humans, and humans still knew so little about the invaders, what should have been a home field advantage hampered by the persistence of these alien visitors.

“How are you?” You greet him cautiously.

“Healing well. You did a fine job.”

What should you say to that? You’re glad you helped the enemy? You shudder to think what would happen if anyone ever found that out.

The doppelgänger steps closer. “Are you going to invite me inside?”

As if he was a vampire, seeking permission to grant entrance. You can’t imagine what he wants from you now.

Still, you push the door open wider. He eases past you, his body lightly brushing yours.

“What do you have to eat?”

“Um…” As far as you knew, the invaders only ate human flesh. “What…what did you want? I haven’t cleared out the displays yet. There’s pie, donuts from the morning, though those are probably stale by now. I can make you a sandwich, or…”

He follows you into the dining room as you list the possible offerings, reaching for one of the chocolate iced pastries tucked under the nearest glass dome. He takes an experimental bite and his mouth turns down in disgust at the flavor.

“I warned you they’d be stale.”

“It’s not that. It’s the sweetness. Overwhelming. We’re primarily carnivores.”

“Is turkey okay? Or maybe ham? I don’t know what to offer you.”

He tips his head to one side, considering. “Cow?”

“Yes, we have ground beef.”

“That would be preferable.”

“You just want it…raw?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” There are a couple of defrosted packages in the fridge. You resolve to put some of your tip money towards the meal. You don’t like the idea of stealing from the restaurant.

It feels weird just handing him the styrofoam tray, but also silly to dump the mass of pink pulverized meat onto a plate. You refuse to watch him eat, studying one of the laminated menus resting on the counter intently, unfortunately catching a glimpse of him licking the traces of blood lingering at the bottom of the package when you dare to glance over at him.

“I’m aware this adds to the debt I owe you,” he says.

You discard the tray and fold your arms across your chest, trying to exude more confidence than you felt. “I’ll put it on your tab.”

A slight frown appears as the creature processes the phrase.

“It means adding it to the list of things you already owe that you intend to repay.”

“Ah. Yes, that.” He watches you finish cleaning up after his grim repast, wiping the counter down a final time before accompanying you to the front door and waiting as you lock the entrance from the outside, tugging on the chrome handles to make sure they’ve been secured properly. “Do you live nearby?”

“Yes,” you answer, suddenly wary.

“This is not a very safe part of town for humans,” he muses.

Is anywhere safe anymore?

“Is your living space guarded by the DDD?”

“Not internally. There’s just the street patrol.”

“I’ll accompany you as far as your destination, then.”

“You don’t have to.”

The doppelgänger insists, now walking beside you. It feels unwise to allow the invader to see where you live, but then again, had he done anything to harm you thus far? Surely there had been opportunity if that was his main goal. What was his main goal? What did he want, if not to consume, to take over control of the planet like his brethren?

“You’re not like the others,” you murmur your thoughts out loud, feeling the mimic’s eyes flick in your direction.

“Do you know many doppels?” He sounds bemused.

“No,” you reply, stepping over a broken bottle littering the pavement.

“Is every human the same?”

“Of course not.”

“So why should we be any different?”

“I guess you’re right,” you concede.

You’ve reach the end of the street you’re traveling on and take a right, leading the invader onward into another back alley. You’ve barely taken a few paces before the sound of heavy footsteps alerts you to someone else’s presence.

“Disposal team.” You hear the disgust and fear in your companion’s tone as he tenses, jerking to a halt. The sounds are getting louder as the guards draw closer. “Play along. They won’t be suspicious if they see a couple.”

Suddenly you’re pushed against the wall, so abruptly the air leaves your lungs, your next desperate intake of oxygen interrupted when the doppel’s mouth covers yours.

You feel you stomach do that little somersault motion again. His tongue finds the inside of your mouth. He tastes slightly metallic. The movements are inexperienced, clumsy. Imitating something he’s seen. The teeth that nip your bottom lip are sharp.

“Hey! You there! What’s going…” The DDD officer halts, the beam of the flashlight illuminating what appears as your lover pinning you against the wall, caught up in a moment of passion. You don’t even have to fake the look of embarrassment as your eyes shyly meet the guard’s, the doppel’s mouth sliding from yours.

“Sorry, sir. Just picked my girl up from work and I couldn’t wait.” He offers a sheepish grin that looks extremely convincing.

The DDD member’s partner draws even with his cohort, the gun in his hand lowering, looking over the pastel yellow dress you’re wearing.

“I know you. You work over at the diner.”

You nod frantically.

“You should get on home. It isn’t safe out here. Even with your man with you. Especially not down the side streets.”

“Sorry, that was my idea. My feet are killing me and I just wanted to get home faster.” You pause, reaching for your purse still slung over your shoulder. “Did you want to see our IDs?”

“Nah, that’s alright. Imagine a doppel making out with a human. Right?” He elbows his companion, grinning.

“Get home safe, now. No more dallying,” the older of the pair cautions before abandoning you, resuming patrol with the more inexperienced member who’s still wearing a smirk as he trails slightly behind, darting one more glance in your direction as if hoping to catch you in the act again.

The copycat heaves a sigh of relief when they’ve both finally departed, the booted steps receding in the distance. His eyes lock with yours, and you see his nostrils flare slightly, a slight frown wrinkling the bridge of his nose, then his eyelids lift, whatever mystery he’s been puzzling over solved.

“You liked that.”

“What?” It’s your turn to be confused.

“You liked what we just did.”

Oh. Your cheeks flush again. “No, I…I was just playing along, like you said. You caught me off guard.”

“You did a good job. Thinking on your feet. Admirable, really. How deep in debt I’m getting,” the doppel hums beside your cheek. He hasn’t shifted much since your discovery, one hand still braced on the wall at your back, his body leaning close to yours. “You smell good. Good enough to eat.”

You shiver and gasp. “You promised me you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“No, no. Not what I had in mind at all,” he hurriedly reassures you. The clone of the milkman plants a kiss on the side of your neck. Gentle. Not rushed, not under the guise of something to trick the guards. Repeating the process, getting accustomed to using the human body he’s replicated for this new task. He kisses your lips again, and you know you should be repulsed.

You’re not.

Your mouth parts for his, inviting him inside. He’s already growing more skilled, the tongue against yours slick, deft, curling and stroking, the fire he’d begun stoking in your core flaring anew.

You’re French kissing a doppelgänger, and you like it.

You feel a hand caressing down your body, pausing to drag the purse off your shoulder, then kneading one breast before sliding down to your hip, moving neatly around to grope the curve of one buttocks cheek. The fingers curl, dragging up the fabric of your dress.

“I can smell your arousal. Your body wants to mate.” It’s crass, vulgar, sheer filth the alien should be slapped for uttering, but there’s nothing derogatory in the way he mentions it, the words of observation that he spreads before your lips lilted with a kind of wonder, fascination, curiosity. He’s finally reached the hem of the skirt portion of your work uniform, shifting quickly to the waistband of the panties you’re wearing, dipping underneath and nudging at the fork of your body.

To be doing this, with a doppelgänger, in public…

Your legs are already shifting, your stance broadening slightly to grant him better access. A little grunt of satisfaction, and then his fingers glide through your slickened folds, searching for the source of that dampness.

You moan softly, disappointed when the fingers do not linger, instead brought up to the invader’s lips, his thumb rolling the slick of your sex over the pads of his index and middle fingers curiously before he thrusts them into his mouth, a fresh flood leaking from your canal as you watch his eyes slide closed, a sound of some rapturous enjoyment hummed around those digits.

He kneels down, the movement swift and smooth, your eyes darting nervously to the lit street so close and yet so far, the last of the street lamp glow’s reach ending just beyond the shadows you’re standing in. The doppel looks up at you and you bury a hand in the thick mane of chestnut hair, a tender gesture of permission, pleading. You don’t know if he’d stop even if you’d declined the offer, that ravenous look in his eyes intense as he impatiently shifts the hem of your dress again, dragging away the flimsy undergarment that clothes your sex, this last barrier discarded carelessly on the pavement nearby.

Your low heeled pumps scrape against the dirty gravel of the alley as you adjust your position, the alien’s face instantly at your pussy, nose digging into your mound, tongue laving the rosy sensitive flesh. He groans and you echo the sound, your legs already trembling as his tongue delves deeper, dragging fluid back, the inadvertent flick of the tip of the curled muscle against your bud making you gasp and moan, your head rocking back against the brick and mortar.

His attention focuses on that sensitive bundle of nerve endings, mouth clamping over it and sucking, slurping, nursing at it until you see spots in front your eyes. You know you’re being loud, your only saving grace being that the building at your back is a long abandoned shirt factory with no one to hear your lewd sounds of pleasure.

His fingers are at your entrance again, paired to penetrate into that opening. The milkman he’s imitating has long fingers that reach deep, curling and twisting inside, scooping out more of your arousal for him to lap at before he sups at your pussy, drinking straight from the source.

You bite your bottom lip until it bleeds when you climax, shuddering against that incessant mouth worshipping your cunt, your fingers knotting restlessly in his tresses. You cum like a freight train, hard and fast, an unstoppable force driving you right through into bliss.

He’s still lapping, enjoying the taste of you, this new creamier substance that emerges from deep within after your release. You can’t tolerate it any longer, now shoving gently at his shoulders, pleading you’re too sensitive, it’s too much, you feel as if you might faint if not for the strong building exterior supporting your spine.

The doppelgänger rises, face wet with your juices smeared across his mouth and chin and cheeks, a distinct shine visible even in this dim illumination. “Delicious,” he growls softly, dragging his fingers over his dampened features and then nursing them clean.

His gaze focuses on the smear of crimson on your lower lip and he licks at that spot, sucking the wedge into his mouth, tasting that little copper tinged leakage of your lifeforce. You whimper and keen, feeling his hand guide one of yours to his crotch, pressing it against the erection straining there.

You squeeze gently and he huffs in pleasure, dragging your hand up and down. Needing no further guidance, you begin struggling with the belt buckle and button closure and zipper keeping you from your goal, dragging his cock through the opening flap of his briefs, smearing precum over the tip and eliciting another deep growl, the mouth nuzzling your throat vibrating in pleasure.

“Want to fuck you,” he gasps, and you find yourself nodding, no longer caring about the exposed location or what you’re about to let invade your body. You want it, the brief satiety you’d just enjoyed already dissipating, leaving you hungry for more.

His hands loop around the back of your thighs, his body crouching slightly then lifting you up, your dress scraping along the bricks. He fucks up into you and your legs wrap around him, your wrists draped over his shoulders as you’re thrust into and back against the building.

The milkman’s copycat prick is large, long and thick, stretching you as he fills you when his hips snap forward. Your unprotected buttocks suffers abrasions each time you’re impaled but you couldn’t care less. The pain is lost amidst the pleasure you’re experiencing as he buries himself deeply, withdrawing just slightly before driving forward again. Your mouths seek one another’s but it’s difficult with all the jostling, a sloppy collision of wet lips and wetter tongue, trails of saliva linking your panting openings.

“Your stitches…the strain, you shouldn’t…you’re bleeding,” you gasp, the hand that snakes down finding his shirt sticky with blood.

“Don’t care…fix it later…”

Your breasts are tender from the repeated battering of his chest against yours. You’re being pummeled mercilessly now, the invader pushing so hard it’s as if he’s trying to merge completely with you. You almost think you can see, just for a moment, a shift in the facial features, a glimpse of the doppelgänger’s true form lurking beneath the false human surface, but then it’s gone and it’s just those soft tired eyes and that slack, generous mouth as his cock pounds into your cunt until your body finally surrenders to another release, your muscles clenching, sucking at his member. He chases his own climax, moaning against your mouth, pumping streams of hot seed inside of you.

You realize then you’re both sweating, both drenched in perspiration and saliva, blood from his reopened wound and cum that leaks out of you and coats the erection he withdraws from your body as he slowly lowers you back to the ground, your stockinged feet touching the dirty road, your shoes lying nearby where they’d tumbled during the rough intercourse with the alien creature.

The doppel retrieves your panties and you hastily shove them into the purse he hands you. There’s no way you’ll be putting those back on after being in the dirty alley, almost laughing aloud at the idea when you’ve just been soiled by something you should consider disgusting. The amusement fades as you watch him brush the sole of each nylon clad foot clean before assisting them back into your pumps, the gesture almost oddly tender and thoughtful.

The doppelgänger straightens, his fingers reflexively reaching for the bloodied area staining his shirt, then moving to refasten his pants. His eyes meet yours again, waiting to see what you’ll do next. Wondering if there is regret, perhaps. Or if this is the start of…something.

“I…I live two streets over. We’re nearly there.” As if you hadn’t been interrupted on your journey home. You don’t know what to say, just wanting to fill the sudden silence.

He nods and you begin walking in slow, measured steps. Your limbs are still tingling, the aftershocks of your most recent orgasm still firing through them.

You and your companion reach your destination. The building looms up between two shuttered shops. Five stories. No elevator. You resided on the top floor. A lot of stairs to tackle on a good night when you’d merely worked a shift at the diner. Now, after this…

“It’s a long trek. I’m on the fifth floor. Will you be okay walking that much? I don’t know where else to stitch you back up again. I need to wash it, I need a good light source, I…” You’re inviting him inside your apartment. The realization suddenly dawns on you.

“Yes, I’ll manage.” He pauses. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“Helping me avoid the DDD earlier. This. Letting me into your home.”

You nod, your hand resting on the rusted railing that borders a flight of cement steps leading inside the building. The nearby street lamp flickers, a bulb that was long overdue for a change, the filaments within struggling.

“Of course. People should help each other.” You ascend the stairs, holding open the door for him.

He nods gratefully. “I’m not human, though. I’m the enemy.”

“Are you?” Your voice sounds wary at this reminder and you pause at the top of the first landing.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises, following you up the next flight of stairs.

“Until the debt is repaid?”

“You don’t trust me.” It’s a statement, not a query.

“I don’t know how I feel.” You’ve reached the third floor. Despite his bravado earlier, you see him wincing slightly, his breathing ragged as he keeps one hand pressed to the injury. You wait for him to recover but he waves his other hand, indicating you should continue your journey.

“Did you enjoy it?”

The words make you halt abruptly and he nearly collides with you. You hurry up to the next landing and clear your throat before you give voice to your admission. “Yes, I enjoyed it,” you say when he reaches your side.

“Will we do that again?”

“Now?”

His solemn features break out into a smile. Handsome. The milkman whose appearance he’d copied was attractive, especially like this. You like the curve of that mouth, the flash of his teeth. “No, not now. I’m hardly in any condition to…I meant later,” he adds for clarification. “Another time.”

“Oh. Yes.” A sudden thought occurs to you. “Will you be safe from the patrol? On the way back, to wherever…”

“I’ll manage. Don’t worry.” He steps closer to you. “Are you that anxious to be rid of me?”

“No, I only meant…” You shake your head, feeling flustered.

“Were you looking for me tonight? When you were behind the diner. Hoping I’d be there, maybe?”

“Why would I…I hardly know you.”

“You know me a little better now though, right?” He crowds you back against the wall of the stairwell. You’re thinking maybe injury or not, he still wants you. You can feel the desire radiating from his eyes, his lips hovering close to yours. “You’re really something special, aren’t you? Out of all the humans to run into, and I find the only one who’s willing to take a chance on me, risk…” His voice trails off before he kisses your mouth. It seems impossible there would be any passion left inside of you to respond but you find your lips melting against his, one hand curling around the nape of his neck, holding the doppelgänger close.

[tinydefector]

Human's effects

More a silly little thing that I had to write out.

Warnings: talks about sex, xenophilia, kinks

Word count: 3k

Masterlist

Next

Human Effects 2 - characters

Request are open

____

There were a lot of things that fascinated the cybertronians over humans. Their size, body types, skin tones and those soft they are. 

So many of them become so fascinated over the fact that such small and fragile creatures don't have plating to protect themselves but only wear soft fabrics. 

And it slowly leads a lot of Cybertronians to realising they were Xenophiles. 

A list of kinks and fetishes cybertronians discovered from it. 

-size kink 

-skin fetish 

- hair pulling 

- silk and ribbon play

- cum inflation 

-breeding

-pet play

- vore

-fluid play and consumption 

- spiking warming

- Heart and spark syncing 

- new spike and Valve modifications to test on their human lover

There's originally a lot of unknowns about humans, and cybertronians are rather intrigued, for one the first times the a lot of the crew of lost light had encountered them was on black market and high priced pets, and companions. 

There were exceptions such as Perceptor, Ratchet and Megatron who had been around humans before but for a lot of the bots this was their first time seeing them. that is until they are assigned a human communications, relations Ambassador/ liaison. 

But after the black market incident it had led a lot of bots into research over humans. And it just spirals more with them discovering some rather dark history with cybertronians keeping humans as playthings. And finding out their ‘interface equipment’ isn't that different from their own, just more organic and smaller.  

A late night of drinking at swerve slowly devolved into conversation over their local human. Brainstorm sits nursing his drink of engex while he and others of the ship chat away. "So does it fascinate anyone else over the fact that humans don't have natural plating or any kind of protection for their squishy form?" He brings up, he himself had fallen down the rabbit hole of human porn but didn't quite know how to breach the subject with anyone else. 

"Oh Primus, look who decided to join us, thought you were holding up with your Conjunx Chrome!" Swerve said with a chuckle, placing more drinks down. He hopped up onto one of the bar stools and leaned in eagerly, His attention flicks to Brainstorm. "You bring up a good point, Brainstorm," Swerve replied.

 "Those squishy humans are really something else, ain't they? No armour, no defences - I'd be scared outta my circuits if I was just soft protoform all the time!, like i’m so surprised squishy hasn't been stepped on yet" 

Rodimus nodded in agreement. "Yet they've managed to survive just fine so far. There's obviously more to them than meets the eye. Like i've seen some of the things our ambassador can do like the strange stretching"

"I dunno," Skids chimed in. "Seems pretty fraggin' reckless if you ask me. One good shot and it lights out!" 

Rewind shuddered. "Ugh, don't remind me. Just thinking about all those organics and tubes and who knows what else squishing around in there makes my fuel tank turn." He made a dramatic churning sound effect.

Riptide laughed. "I saw a nature documentary once about these hairless ape creatures the humans evolved from. Now THOSE guys were squishy."

“What in Primus have you been watching?!” 

“some old earth docs that Percy’s has, bots got a lot of info on Terra and the planet's history” The bots shared a collective laugh at the image. Swerve took a swig of his energon. "Frag, maybe there's something to be said about living on the edge like that! Sure keeps things interesting, its still strange that they are somehow one of the top predators of their planet yet are smaller than half the things they eat"

Brainstorm goes quiet for a moment. "Have you seen how flexible they are?"

Swerve nearly spit out his energon. "Whoa hey, I don't need those kinds of vivid imagery floatin' around my processor thank you very much!, keep the squishy interface vids to yourself" he said, waving his hands animatedly. 

"You have to admit, the way those fleshbags can contort themselves is pretty impressive," Skids added. "Must come in handy for.. maintenance." He waggled his optical ridges suggestively.

Brainstorm nodded pensively. "Indeed. Their non-metal structure allows for feats we could never replicate by ourselves." He took a sip of his energon. "Always makes me curious what other evolutionary adaptations they've developed to compensate for such vulnerability. The potential for scientific discovery is endlessly fascinating with their species and ancestors."

Riptide shrugged. "As long as they don't expect ME to try any of their bone-breaking yoga moves," he laughed. "This chassis is meant for tough stuff, not Twister!"

"You think they would be soft, you know if you interface with one?" Brainstorm asked while downing his drink, the engex was slowly going to his processor loosening his lips. 

"Oh don't give me that look I know for a fact you all have thought about doing with a human at least once! Rodimus I know for a fact you eye them up everytime our little liaison walks past you" He calls out Rodimus. 

Rodimus nearly choked on his energon in an attempt to look innocent. "Wh-what? That's not - I never -" he sputtered in protest, flustered optics darting around at the other bots.

Brainstorm smirked as Rodimus squirmed uncomfortably on the stool. "Oh please, don't try to deny it, Captain. You're about as subtle as a combiner in a supply closet." 

"Roddy's got the hots for squishy, who knew!" Swerve giggled uncontrollably. 

Skids nudged Riptide playfully. "Hey, maybe we got a xenophiliac on the ship!" 

"Alright alright, knock it off you glitches," Rodimus growled, though the blue flush across his face said otherwise. "I was just... curious, that's all. They ARE a strange species."

Swerve tried to contain his laughter. "Ohhh I bet you are more than curious, if you catch my drift!, wanna get up close and personal" More raucous peals of laughter from the group.

Brainstorm stroked his chin in thought. "They do feel intriguingly delicate. I wonder if their flexible frames would be more pleasurable to interface with than our own rigid forms..."

"Have you seen videos of them, they stretch a lot, like a lot, like I know human skin is resilient but i didn't think they were that resilient " Brainstorm states remembering some of the videos he had seen online. Other bots peak up intrigued. 

Swerve choked again as his fuel tank nearly turned inside out. "Brainstorm! That's... more than I needed to visualise, thank you very much." 

Skids seemed a bit less phased. "Fleshbags gettin' their twist on, huh? Can't say I'm not curious now." 

Even Rodimus seemed intrigued despite his earlier protests. "Resilient is an   understatement. I've seen some of the contortions that humans can do - it's astounding that their protoforms don't tear apart." 

Brainstorm nodded enthusiastically. "Precisely! With the right lubrication and technique, I hypothesise an interface with a limber human form would provide entirely novel sensory data."

Riptide shifted uncomfortably. "Not sure I'm ready to dive into the fleshy deep end just yet.”  

Swerve shot him a sly grin. "Aw c'mon Rip, live a little! Where's your sense of adventure?" 

Rodimus tried to steer the subject elsewhere. "Let's maybe change topics before someone needs a wipe down. Or Primus forbid, Magnus overhears you lot"

"I hope I did not hear what my processor just heard" Ultra Magnus states while staring down at the group of drinking mechs. A Lot of bots in the bar snicker at the group getting in trouble. 

"Come on Sir, get that wrench out of you aft, join us!" Skids called out.

Swerve let out an audible squeak at Ultra Magnus's stern tone, almost dropping his engex in panic. "U-Um, Magnus sir! Fancy seeing you here. We were just, uh, discussing..." 

He shot desperate optics at the others for help, but they all seemed to shrink down in their seats under Magnus's disapproving glare. 

Rodimus flashed an uneasy grin. "Just having a friendly debate about alien species, you know how it is. Brainstorm was bringing up some, er, interesting biological points..." 

Ultra Magnus sighed wearily. "I'd rather not know the details, thank you. Some topics are best left undiscussed in public."

The whole bar erupted into laughter at the group's misfortune. "Ah lay off em Magnus!" one patron called out. "They're just havin' fun!"

Another bot piped up. "Yeah, loosen up that rusty chassis and join us! One drink won't hurt." 

Magnus scowled, unamused. But as the encouragement grew louder, he glanced around hesitantly...

Swerve spotted an opening. "C'mon Magnus, live a little! I'll even give you a two-for-one special." He flashed a hopeful grin.

The enforcer grumbled but his resolve was cracking. Against his better judgement, he pulled up a stool. "One drink." Swerve whooped and poured him a double.

They cheer as Magnus sits down to drink with them. Skids speak up. "So brainstorm you saying you'd hook up with a fleshy, get nice and personal with a human" he calls out with a laugh.

Brainstorm leaned forward eagerly. "Why of course! The pursuit of scientific knowledge knows no boundaries. Though upon further review, direct interfacing with an organic might require certain, ah, safety protocols." 

Skids peered at him suspiciously. "Exactly what kind of 'research' are you plannin' on doing Brainy?"

Swerve nudged Riptide with a smirk. "I'll bet ya 20 shanix Brainstorm's just trying to find an excuse to get jiggy with the humies!"

Riptide snorted. "No way, I ain't takin' THAT bet!" 

Rodimus dropped his face in his palms with a groan. "can we PLEASE stop picturing Brainstorm fragging humans?" 

Ultra Magnus coughed on his engex, catching the comment he'd really rather not have heard. 

But Brainstorm paid them no mind, lost in scientific contemplation. "The human capacity for sensory input and feedback would provide a rich study on cross-species interface protocol adaptability..."

"INTERFACE PROTOCOLS?!" Swerve shrieked. The table erupted into howls of laughter at Magnus's deeply uncomfortable expression. It was going to be a LONG night indeed.

“Primus Brainstorm you kinky fragger” 

"Fine then everyone servo up if your not at least somewhat curious or thought about it at least once" Brainstorm calls out to all of Swerve's bars patrons

"Oooh, Brainstorm's putting us all on the spot!" Swerve giggled with gleeful mischief. He raised his servo without hesitation. 

Skids was quick to follow suit, slamming his half-empty glass down. "Frag it, I'll admit it! Those soft squishy bodies got me wonderin' what else they're good for." 

To everyone's surprise, Rodimus sheepishly lifted a servo as well, avoiding optic contact with Ultra Magnus. Riptide shrugged and joined in the show of servos, if only to blend in. 

The majority of bots in the bar started raising their hands amid roars of laughter and drunken encouragement. Only a select few hesitated, shooting nervous glances at Magnus. 

The enforcement officer's expression cycled through outrage, resignation and back to outrage as his gaze swept over the forest of raised servos. "I cannot condone such deviant interest in alien biologies," he protested, voice stiff. 

But as more servos stayed stubbornly aloft, Magnus sagged with a weary sigh. After a long moment, he slowly, begrudgingly raised one massive hand as well. 

The bar erupted into ear-splitting cheers. Swerve howled with glee, banging his fists on the counter. "Look's like we've all got a bit of xenophile in us after all! Even you, Magnus my mech!" 

Magnus buried his faceplate in his servos as Brainstorm cackled maniacally. Once the bar settles back down its Swerve who speaks up with a smirk on his faceplate. "So... which one of you charming mechs are gonna be the first to try and get our lovely Liaison?" He teases. 

Rodimus sputtered into his drink at Swerve's question, flushing brighter. "W-what? I never said anything about actually doing anything!, it's all just fantasies Swerve!" he protested in a hissed tone. 

Skids rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, well they do have a cute lil' figure. Bet they'd be a wild ride..." 

Swerve grinned slyly at Rodimus. "Aw c'mon Captain, don't tell me you ain't thought about it at least once! I bet they'd be real fun to break in, get all soft and pliable..." 

Rodimus smacked Swerve upside the helm. "Knock it off!" He shot a pleading glance at Ultra Magnus as if begging for rescue.

But unexpectedly, Brainstorm was the one who spoke up. "While the organic's flexibility is intriguing, directly interfacing could introduce unknown health risks or cultural taboos. Outside the fact our people have kept humans as pets and companions in the past. A more ethical approach would be gaining consent for strictly observational research."  

Riptide frowned. "Not sure the liaison would go for that either Storm" 

Swerve sighed dreamily. "Just imagine wrapping those soft squishy bits all around you though... bet they'd feel amazing..."  

"SWERVE." Magnus's warning tone silenced the cheeky bartender immediately. He turned back to Rodimus with a sigh. "Despite certain... Curiosities, directly engaging an organics  such a manner would be unwise, dangerous even, not to mention our form are much larger and could harm a human."

Rewind nodded gratefully at Magnus, relieved the subject was shifting. But the mischievous glint in Swerve's optic suggested his teasing wasn't over yet. It was going to be a long night indeed.

"Relax Mags I'm just riling these drunk mech up. Unless you're interested in our sweet little ambassador" he teases, making other bots choke on their drinks. 

Ultra Magnus's icy glare could have frozen Swerve's energon. "Need I remind you this conversation is highly inappropriate and unprofessional," he said sternly. 

But to everyone's surprise, Rodimus let out an undignified snort of laughter. "As if Magnus would ever break protocol like that! He'd probably recite the entire Autobot code of conduct while fragging."

The whole bar erupted in howls of mirth at the mental image. 

Swerve was nearly rolling on the floor. "Can you imagine?! 'Paragraph 3, subsection B clearly states interfacing with sentient aliens requires prior diplomatic clearance forms in triplicate!'" he cried in a mockingly stiff voice. 

Skids were wiping away fuel tears. "Primus if MR. RULES AND REGS ever broke the rules, it'd be one for the history archives!" 

Riptide jabbed Skids in the side. "Ten shanix says he'd have them memorising regulations the whole time!" 

"Twenty shanix says they'd run screaming first!" Swerve shot back. 

The bets and ribbing escalated as more mechs joined in. Across the table, Rodimus shoved Magnus playfully. "C'mon Magnus, live on the wild side for once!" 

Magnus's rumbling huff was the only response. Watching his rigid commander finally loosening up filled Swerve with delight. Somehow, some way, he'd find a way to get Magnus to break protocol yet! It was shaping up to be the best night ever.

"Ohhh let's make this fun. I list some bots and you say if you think they would hook up with a human" Riptide states. "Rung, Drift and Ratchet" he calls out the names.

Swerve let out a dramatic gasp. "Ooh spicy!"

"Rung is definitely curious but way too professional. Might let loose over a couple cubes of engex though!" 

Skids broke into hysterics at Riptide's suggestions. "Rung and a HUMAN?! Rung doesn't even touch his OWN interface panel!" 

Rodimus snorted. "Can you imagine? 'My dear, it seems you're experiencing some psychological interfacing blockers. Please, tell me how that makes you feel.'" 

"Drift guy's definitely intrigued by other species, if you know what I mean. Plus he's artsy so he'd probably appreciate the 'aesthetic'." Swerve responds

"Drift might go for it, he's open to new experiences," Rodimus mused with a grin. 

Brainstorm nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed, his spiritual philosophies suggest an openness to cultural exchange that others may lack. I think if he and ratchet weren't together its something he might try" 

"Ratchet. bah! As if that grumpy old rust-bucket would try anything so illogical. Unless she's a doctor too and starts quoting his favourite protocols... then all bets are off!" Skids laughed. 

"Ratchet? Nah, too much of a hard aft. He'd just bitch about human biohazards the whole time," Swerve giggled. 

"Well if Drift was interested I'm pretty sure that mecn could get ratchet to do anything with the bat of his optics" Rodimus remarks.

The table erupted in raucous laughter. Swerve took a playful bow. "Alright bring on the next victims!" 

Riptide rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, how about...Tailgate, Cyclonus, and Whirl?" 

Swerve cackled wickedly. "Tailgate would be way too nervous but he'd try for his Conjunx Cyclonus. Cyclonus would 100% use his broody vibes to charm her pants off but only for Tailgate. And Whirl? He doesn't interface, he destroys! So that liaison better watch her interfacing ports around that lunatic!" 

Chromedome interjects stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Tailgate would be way too nervous and shy, I think. He'd probably short-circuit just from holding hands!" 

Riptide nodded. "Cyclonus has always struck me as the kinky type. Wonder if he's into those squishy bits like Brainstorm thinks..."

"Whirl would frag anything that moves," Rodimus interjected with a grimace. "But I don't think an organic would survive the experience!"

Brainstorm stroked his chin. "Indeed, Whirl's interfacing protocol subroutines seem rather...enthusiastic. Consent might be a fleeting concept. Better to observe from a safe distance." 

Swerve shuddered. "Ugh, don't make me picture that psycho getting 'friendly' with a human! I'm tryna keep my fuel down y'know." 

The names continue being dropped. 

 " First Aid! I don't know if the medic-bot's got it in him to break the rules. But I betcha if he did, he'd be real gentle and caring-like. He'd have them feelin' better than new in no time!" 

Skids grinned devilishly. "Yeah but would they feel better? Aid's so straight and narrow I bet he'd put em in stasis lock from boredom!" 

"Now Perceptor on the other hand..." Swerve tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Bookish type, but you know there's a passionate scientist in there waiting to experiment. Think he'd go slow and methodical, really take his time 'exploring the specimen'." 

"his thirst for organic sciences might overpower his good sense," Rewind remarks. 

“optimus prime, Prowl and bumblebee ” Chromedome interjects with his own inquiries. 

Swerve pretended to wipe away exhaust fumes. "Primus help me, this is gonna be good... Optimus Prime is obviously Mister Morality himself, but you know he's got a secret wild side under all that virtue signalling. Just imagine how freaky he could get with some alien nookie!" 

The bar erupted in incredulous, drunken laughter and cheers. Swerve grinned impishly. 

"As for Prowl, I'm telling you that stick up his tailpipe is begging to come out and play. One roll in the berth with a naughty fleshy and he'd loosen up reeeal nice!" 

"And Bee? He's a sweet kid, but you know what they say, it's always the quiet ones! Between his cute lil' face and that tight chassis, he'd have the human lining up to frag that glitch right into stasis!" 

The bar absolutely lost it, bots falling over each other in drunken hysterics. Even Mirage was struggling not to fall off his chair. Swerve took an exaggerated bow as his audience howled. 

"Thank you, thank you! I'll be here all cycle! Now who's ready for the next round?" More shouts and clanking glasses answered his call. It was shaping up to be the wildest night at Swerve's yet!

 Magnus dropping Megatron's name that really sent them over the edge.

"Megatron?! With the liaison?!" Rodimus howled with laughter, nearly spitting out his drink. "That's the funniest thing I've heard all cycle!" 

But Swerve wasn't done. "Megatron? Now THAT'S an image! 'You pathetic fleshbag, you DARE try to mount the great Megatron?! Grovel before my interface array!'" 

Magnus adds more information which makes everyone surprised " He and the ambassador are rather close" He states

Rewind speaks up from Chromedome’s side. "Y'know... they do have a certain chemistry. I'll bet under all that scowling and chipped armour there's a softie just waitin' for the right tender touch to melt his spark. And they have got sass to spare  bet they could handle Megatron's brooding and snarl!" 

"Twenty shanix says he'd have them trembling and beggin' for mercy in no time flat!" Skids bet eagerly. 

"You're on!" crowed Riptide. "But I still think Perceptor's the real dark horse..."

[babbushka]

Death At The Dive Bar

Flip Zimmerman X F!Reader

Inspired by this request, some weird twilight-zone occult occurrences happen to happen to our favorite detective. 3.4k, NSFW

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s always the same -- a scream, a crash, broken glass bloodied on the floor. A gunshot maybe, or maybe not. In the dead of night, acts of violence hiding beneath a cloak of darkness. 

It’s always the same -- a 911 call, frantic panicked voices demanding someone come down from the station, someone please help, before it’s too late, even though the very act of them picking up the phone means it’s already done. 

It’s always the same -- until it isn't. And on a dark and stormy summer night in the thick of the Rocky Mountains, a tiny dive bar calls the nearest police dispatcher, and calmly requests to speak to one Detective Flip Zimmerman of Colorado Springs. 

Flip had been in the area when he got the call over the radio, wandering around, scoping out the woods. He knew at once where it was, had heard stories of the place of course, way back in the day when he still wore the weight of the war like a thick leather jacket around his shoulders. When he pulls up in his Chevy it looks exactly the same as it always had been described: run down, small, with a buzzing neon sign proudly proclaiming The Mile High Tavern as the best place to grab a Coors within 50 miles. Nevermind that it was the only place. 

He sits in his truck and glares at the bar. Popular with passers-through along winding scenic roads and most frequented by motorcyclists seeking shelter from the rain, he wonders (not for the first time this week) what the hell he’s getting himself into. The note from the dispatcher had been vague -- a lady was askin’ for him specifically, and he was supposed to find out why. Things like this didn’t bode well for him, usually. 

Especially not lately, not with the way his last relationship flopped. He had tried to explain to the nice woman that his job took up a lot of his time -- had hoped that her big city job had given her a different perspective, but she didn’t seem to think his work hours applied to her. That had been three months ago that she left him, and he was still sore from it. 

No, a woman asking for him directly was the last thing Flip wanted to get himself tangled up in, regardless of the reason. 

Despite the rain, there isn’t the usual line of motorcycles out front. In fact, there was only one car to be seen, an oldie -- something chrome plated and pink, but he can’t really tell in the rainy darkness. The Mile High Tavern appeared for all intents and purposes to be empty, and so Flip takes one last drag of his cigarette, makes sure his gun is loaded and in its holster, and with a sigh of resignation steps into the downpour. 

“Let me get you something nice and warm,” A friendly voice calls over to him from the counter when Flip steps over the threshold, your back turned to him. All at once, Flip’s heart begins to pound. Something about this place felt odd to him, an uneasy feeling that shifted his stomach around. He took another step closer and you continued, “I’m afraid the only hot thing we’ve got tonight is coffee.” 

“Coffee’d be just fine, thank you.” Flip nods with gratitude, before sitting at the bar. Looking around, he notes how quaint the little place is. It’s neat and clean and warm, and he confirms that you are the only person in here. He wonders if you’ve been alone long, and frowns. “I’m sorry - I’m Detective Zimmerman, someone here rang for me?” 

“I’d be that someone, yes.” You slide him a cup of black coffee down the counter that you lean against with a smile. It is dazzling, bright in the dark light of the dive bar. “Thank you for coming out here, I appreciate how quick you were.” 

Well shit, Flip grimaces into his mug, now he feels like an asshole for sitting in the truck debating when, or if, he should brave the rain to head inside. 

You smile at him like you knew he was out there biding his time, a teasing smile that lets him know you’re not mad, even though you could be. It wasn’t professional for a law officer to keep someone waiting like that. 

“What seems to be the trouble?” He doesn’t bring up the fact that they’re alone. 

It was dangerous these days, with all the murders in the woods lately. Women being slaughtered left and right by what Flip is certain is a serial killer, but no one will take him seriously enough about it to do anything. Not without more evidence. 

“Do you..” You pause, as if you’re trying to find the words. No, that’s not it, as if you’re having a hard time spitting them out, like something is preventing you. “May I sit next to you?” 

You look at him with expectation and hope, and he stares into your eyes, searching for what the hell brought him all the way out here on his night shift. The clock strikes three in the morning. 

He doesn’t notice himself nodding with allowance, until you’re walking around the counter and getting close to him. Even though it’s warm in the bar, your hands are cold. 

“Thank you,” You breathe, getting close to him. Not so close that you’re touching, but close enough that he could brush against your shoulder with his own. “I don’t usually work alone, but tonight the other server is sick, and with the storm we aren’t expecting too many people, so here I am. There was something out there.” 

You stare directly into his eyes, and he’s almost taken aback by the seriousness and bluntness of your voice. Your voice is hypnotic almost, the edges of your words fuzzy and sharp at the same time, an impossible combination that has his palms sweating. He wonders for a brief moment if you slipped something into his coffee, but the thought leaves him as soon as it arrives.

“What sort of something?” He finds himself asking quietly, not wanting whatever it is to overhear. He thinks back to the past few weeks, the broken in-houses, the tape on the floor, the screams of agony. Flip sets his jaw and leans in close, looks deep into your wide open eyes, pupils huge in the dark. 

“A figure, on the other side of the window. I saw it in the lightning, I saw its eyes. I think it’s a man. I’m scared.” You whisper, lowering your voice to match his pitch. 

“I can escort you home -- ” He goes to get up, a rush of protective energy flowing through him, scraping the bar stool against the wooden floor, the sound so so so loud in the quiet of the bar, but your hand is gripping his arm the second he gets up.

“No!” Your voice is too sharp again, dark around the edges, and Flip looks down and sees panic in your eyes. He softens immediately, and even though he’s not supposed to, even though it’s unprofessional, even though you’re a stranger, he pulls you into a hug for some comfort. You throw your arms around him in return, and he’s not certain who is comforting whom. “No -- I -- I don’t want it to know where I live, if it follows us. I was hoping you could keep me company.” 

Your face is pressed into his chest, and for the first time in a long time, he feels complete, he feels like he’s never ever going to let go. He feels like you were made to fit into his arms, against his chest. He grows hot, his throat clearing as he immediately steps back to give you some space. 

You’re a stranger. 

He doesn’t even know your name. 

The rain pounds outside and lightning flashes, and Flip snaps back to reality. 

“I don’t think I can stay all night, I would have brought backup.” He grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, offering, “I can do a search of the premises, if that would make you feel better.” 

“You shouldn’t go outside.” You shake your head, and Flip lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, glad that you have relieved him from what would have been one bitch of a job. Especially when you look up at him through your lashes and bite your lip and say, “I would prefer it if you stayed in here. With me.” 

“Alright.” He smiles, throwing all caution to the wind because what the hell else is he going to do on a Monday night? “If you’d feel safer with me staying here with you, I’ll stay. But in the morning, I’ll escort you either home or to another safe location, or hell even to the station and you can give a statement, and we’ll have someone out here searching the woods.” 

“That sounds like a plan, thank you.” Your hand rests on the bar counter close to his, so close, he nudges his pinky against yours. There’s no rings on your finger, he notices. 

“In the meantime, what should we do?” He licks his lips, knowing that it’s wrong, it’s an abuse of power -- but who has power over whom? He’s getting lost in your eyes, in the pretty smile you give him as you reach over the bar counter and grab a small rectangular pack of -- 

“I have a deck of cards.” You brandish them at him, looking over your shoulder with a grin. The way you’re bent over the bartop has Flip’s mind doing awful things, things like picturing you without any of those clothes on. “You any good at poker?” 

Flip was not good at poker. 

He’s lost the past two games and you’re already shuffling for a third. The energy in the bar has relaxed significantly, and Flip is starting to forget why he’s there. 

“Let’s up the ante.” You say, in an attempt to discourage or motivate him, he isn’t sure, as you shuffle and shuffle and shuffle the cards. “Each hand someone loses, they take something off.” 

“I don’t see how this ends any other way than me naked.” Flip grunts, not entirely displeased by the prospect. 

“You could win, and then I’d be the naked one.” You point out, and he laughs, a snort through his nose that exhales blue wispy smoke from his cigarette. 

On the first hand, Flip loses -- but that’s all it takes. He unbuttons his shirt and you’re hot on him, pinching his cigarette out and flicking it into the ashtray for him, your lips searing onto his. No one can ever find out about this, can ever know he’s about to fuck this stranger on the job, fuck you silly over the bar counter while on a call, and you don’t seem like the type to tell. Not with the way you’re pulling your blouse up over your head.

He hadn’t really paid any attention to what you’re wearing until it’s off, in a heap on the floor around him. The undergarments you wear are old fashioned, a bullet bra and girdle that hold up a pair of stockings. The clothes on the floor are old fashioned too, almost like the same exact uniform that a waitress might have worn at the Tavern twenty years ago. 

But they look new, and maybe the tavern never updated their uniforms,Flip doesn’t care, not with the way your hands are on his belt, pulling his hard dick out of his pants and spitting down onto it, spreading the spit around, his tip leaking and joining the mix. 

With ragged breath, he pushes you down face first onto the bartop again, pops the straps of your bra, your garter, pushes down your stockings. They rip under his rough treatment, and he feels bad for a moment, just a moment, until his cock is rubbing at the soft wet folds of you and you let out a moan that fills the tavern with warmth. 

“I don’t have a -- ” He starts, pulling away, trying to remember that he’s almost forty for fuck’s sake, he needs to be responsible, he needs to -- 

“It’s alright.”  You reach behind him and grab at his hand, leading him to drape his body over yours, giving him permission to fuck you anyway. 

With a sharp breath he pushes in all the way, bottoms out so that his cock is completely enveloped inside of you, his hips pressed against the smooth skin of your ass, and he almost can’t move he’s so blinded by the feeling. You’re so tight, and so wet, the bar smells like musk and sweat and rain, the sweet salty combination making his mind go dizzy. 

He’s never talked much during sex, and this is no different, but in the back of his mind he wishes he had something good enough to say to you, something impressive. Instead, he thrusts in a steady harsh rhythm that has your knees buckling, your hands gripping the far edge of the bar counter, your cheek pressed against the polished wood, mouth dropped open and eyes shut tight in pleasure. 

Flip’s hands on your waist are tight enough that he could dig them into you if he wasn’t careful, he could leave marks. He almost wants to, wants you to remember him when this is over and he’ll have to go back to the station, have to write a report about all of this. Not this, not you, not the way your sweet cunt clenches around him as you take his force, take his length, hot and pulsing inside of you. 

He needs to see you, all of a sudden, he needs to. Grabbing your arms, he pulls out only long enough for you to whine in protest for a few short seconds, and then he’s taking you to a booth, taking you somewhere padded that he can lie you down and brace himself on top of you. 

You lick your lips as your head rolls back, legs spreading for him to nestle between them as he bends over you, those same legs hooking around his waist. You’re completely naked, your perky breasts begging to be sucked on, and so he does. He wonders if the rasp of his clothes on your skin feels nice, if you like it. If you like him. 

It’s too hot in here, Flip thinks, his eyes shut as he pants against your body. Too hot and bright, bright behind his eyelids as he groans and moans. He’s sweating, and it’s loud, the sound of rain too loud, its wooshing a roar that deafens his ears. He almost can’t think about anything else, can’t think about the way you feel under him, why is it so bright why is it so hot -- 

It hits you first, and you’re squirming, panting and moaning as you come. Flip can feel it squelching between your thighs, his cock pulling out shiny and glistening with your orgasm. It makes him go over the edge, his come filling you up, the hot white spread of it. He tries not to worry about fucking you raw, but it’s been a long time since he hasn’t used a rubber. 

You give him a big grin, stretching out beneath him, your legs falling to the sides where they can. It’s still raining. 

Wordlessly, he gathers you up from underneath him and settles you down on the floor, kissing all over your face, your neck, your breasts. Your stomach chuckles underneath him as you hold him close, breathing in the smell of him. He doesn’t want you to ever let go. 

“Then don’t.” You sigh into his hair there on the floor, and Flip closes his eyes, tired from the events of the day. 

He doesn’t realize that you’ve responded to his thoughts, until he’s in a deep sleep. 

In the morning, he’s alone. 

In the morning, the dive bar isn’t just old, it’s run down. The windows are smashed like kids had been playing pranks here, tossing bottles and rocks through the glass. The shelves are all empty, no liquor, nothing. 

Flip feels like he is frozen as he looks around him. Where were you? Where were the cards that had scattered all over the floor? He is fully dressed, asleep in a booth that is covered in dust and cobwebs -- it wasn’t that dirty yesterday, was it? 

He’s sick, his stomach lurching as he sits up. He doesn’t even know your name to shout it out into the bar. In the light of morning, the rain has stopped, and Flip gathers himself up on uncertain legs. He looks around, trying to find any trace of you, but there isn’t one. There’s only one set of boot prints in the dust on the floor, his own.

Confusion continues to wash over him, which slowly morphs into panic. These windows weren’t broken last night, the floor wasn’t dusty, where the fuck were you? He stumbles to his truck, his mind working double time trying to piece together what happened. Surely he hadn’t dreamt this, what was he doing last night? He wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t stoned he -- 

“Come in, Flip, come in!” A panicked voice crackles from his car, and making sure his gun is still in the holster, Flip runs right to his truck, hopping in and turning the engine over. 

“Ron?” Flip grasps the radio tightly in his hand, tuning the frequency to hear better. “Ron is that you? What’s going in?” 

“Flip! Where are you?” Ron asks, direct to the point. 

“I’m up by the fork in the mountain pass, just off the scenic highway.” 

“What?! Are you safe?” 

“Of course I’m safe, why wouldn’t I be? Ron what the fuck is happening?” Flip’s eyes are hard on the tavern, and even from the outside, something is wrong. This place was not open last night, it couldn’t have been. The walls are blackened with soot, the doors are boarded shut. How did he get in -- how did he get out?

“There was flash flooding, down the scenic road. It brought rocks down with it from all the rain. Search and rescue found a couple cars down the cliffside.” Ron rushes to explain, and Flip feels like he’s going to be sick. 

“They’re dead?” He pinches the bridge of his nose -- people were getting caught up in a flash flood while he was getting laid last night. 

“Yeah. You need to get back here, where did you say you were at again?” Ron asks, and Flip can hear that he’s pulling out a pen and paper from his desk. 

“Mile High Tavern. I spent the night here” Flip responds, and then there’s silence. “Ron? Did you hear me? I said I’m at -- ”

“I heard you, but that’s not possible.” Ron’s voice is shaken, “That bar burned down back in ‘57.” 

All at once, everything stops. 

He blinks, and he’s in the roar of the inferno as he comes into your body.

He blinks again, and the bar is gone entirely. 

Nothing remaining but a patch of scorched earth in its place. 

No neon sign. 

No motorcycles

No single car out front. 

Ron is saying something on the radio, but Flip can’t hear. He is reversing out of there so quickly that he almost misses the flash of something behind him -- almost. Flip looks back in his rearview mirror at the bar and sees something, a shape, a young woman in old fashioned clothing far away, through the trees. 

A hand waves, and Flip knows that whatever you were, you saved him, protected him from the flash flood that killed. You saved him, and he fucked you, and he’s sick to his stomach about that, not sure what was real and what isn’t, not sure of anything anymore except that he wants to find you and do it all over again. 

But he blinks, and you’re gone. 

[spamgyu]

PRETTY BOY // College!Mingyu AU – birthdays and i love you's

"Even if the sky's on fire. Got you here, it's alright, with me ..."

Started off as this prompt: no bc college!mingyu as someone who lives down the hall from your dorm and you always run into him doing something questionable genre: tooth-aching fluff PRETTY BOY MASTERLIST

This was her first time at his family home; and to say she was on edge was an understatement.

She's met his family a handful of times, able to count the interaction on one hand – but spending a whole weekend with them... that was nerve wrecking.

She felt as though she needed to be on her best behavior, not wanting to say or do anything that may cause his parents or his sister to disapprove of her.

It was Mingyu's birthday and contrary to how she thought he would be ringing in another year of his life, he carried on his tradition of spending it with his family – with a plus one, this time around.

Everyone else their age threw parties or went away for a trip with their friend group, going absolutely feral, as they celebrated another year around the sun. But just like before, Mingyu took her by surprise when he had notified her that he would like her to join his birthday festivities.... at his family home.

It wasn't anything special.

Just two days of being around his immediate family at almost every waking moment.

Y/n couldn't help but fall deeper in love for the boy as she come to realization that he was a family man – he loved bothering his little sister, helping his mother around the kitchen, and spending time with his father in the garage.

All with her in tow.

"I'm really glad you're here with me, this year." Mingyu hummed, a soft smile on his lips as his arms lazily draped around her waist.

They had just finished eating lunch in the garden, a meal prepared by Mrs. Kim with the help them two.

"I'm glad you invited me." Y/n matched the grin on his face, reaching up to wipe away a crumb off his chin.

He always did eat like it was a race; shoveling food into his mouth like someone was going to grab it off of his plate.

"My mom likes you."

"I would hope so."

"My dad and sister too."

"What about you?" She teased.

Mingyu shook his head. "Nope not me."

"Really now? You don't like me?" Y/n laughed, knowing that he was simply playing along.

"Nope." He popped his lips. "I love you."

Feeling the blood rush to her cheeks and ears, Y/n couldn't help but let out a giggle – her nose scrunching in the process. One of his favorite things about her, amongst the million of other mannerisms that had him swooning.

Mingyu could have sworn he felt his heart melt in an instant at the sight of the girl, who he once only dreamt of dating, practically become putty in his hands.

Using her finger to motion him to come closer. "Wanna know a secret?" She whispered, Mingyu nodding his head for her to continue.

"I love you too."

Mingyu had always been in love with the girl; his friends teasing him every time they had caught the poor love struck boy looking at her from a distance – back when she barely considered him as a friend. To anyone, this moment may have been something so casual; something so minuscule, but to Mingyu it was everything.

He didn't care about the new car parts his parents got him for his birthday, or the Chrome Hearths necklace Y/n gifted him – this was the best thing he had received all weekend.

"I love you more." He whispered.

"I doubt it."

Mingyu felt his knees weak; the feeling of happiness bubbling in his chest. He knew it wasn't a competition, but whatever love she had for him in her heart didn't measure to how he felt for her – the girl that made him want to be a better man than he was yesterday.

The girl that had made him feel like he had been living in a rom-com movie the past seven months.

The girl who he thought was far too good for a guy like him, spending nearly a week bragging to anyone who would listen that he had gotten the girl of his dreams.

He felt like a cartoon character floating in air, following her around with hearts for eyes – and he had no shame about it.

"I'll prove it."

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@thegirlwhoimagined @forcheol @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @f4iryjjosh @akeminy @yonabutnotyuna @tacosandbitch @aaniag @bettybotterboughtabitofbutter @xbaekcult @alwaysalmostthere @ashkuuuu @morkswatermelonnnn @isabellah29 @lottogyu @bubbly-moon @lllucere @bo-fairykim @pluviophile-xxx @daegutowns @niktwazny303 @fragmentof-indifference @leah-rose03 @haolistic @eclliipsed @joshuahongnumbers @gyuguys @yaaaridk @christinewithluv @yoonzinoooo @livelikejinki @watercolureyes @whoa-jo @primoisellerose @wonwoobestboyy @rakshithanotrao @mingcouper @aksweet7 @nikkell @raginghellfire @kriizztin @doubleshoticedshakenespresso @porridgesblog

(for some reason it's not allowing me to tag some who wanted to be added to the perm tag list ... cries... pls check ur settings so i can for future posts)

[starryficsfinishwen]

inspired by this and this

The smell of something fragrant fills your nostrils.

Sautéed onions, scallions...it roused you from your short nap. Fumbling through the comforts of your duvet, you try to find the source of that delicious smell. It makes you imagine your favorite fried noodles, or buttered chicken, or even your katsudon—

But wait: who was cooking in your base?

You hope to God it's not Lucia.

As much as you loved your teammate, you could hopefully give her proper cooking seminars in order to fix her rather...peculiar cooking habits.

Forcing yourself awake, you quickly stumbled through the covers and rushed to the kifchen. Upon rushing out of the room, sudden bright lights nearly blind you— before adjusting to the light, you find the kitchen occupied.

And a certain blonde man with turquoise eyes greets you awake.

“Hello, Commandant,” Chrome's soft voice echoes through the room, “I'm sorry, did I wake you?”

Under the golden light of the kitchen bulbs, Chrome's figure is ethereal in your eyes— his softened features, shoulders relaxed, and his tall figure over the stove. You couldn't help but notice how nice he looks, a white turtleneck and slacks, with a black apron over it. You rub your eyes; Strike Hawk's Team Captain is really standing and cooking in the Gray Raven base.

“...Chrome?”

“Yes, it's me.” He said, placing a cup over the glassware, “are you surprised to see me?”

Curious, you tiptoe over to where he is cooking. On the stove, a recently finished cooked scallion and garnish is on the pan. On his side, six cups are placed on the glassware. You look up to him, wanting for an answer.

“You were talking in your sleep,” He said, reaching over to caress your cheek with his index finger, “I figured I could have cooked it for you, and maybe wake you up after. But since you're already here...”

Oh, you now remember that you invited Chrome over for the night. A blush creeps to your cheeks, flustered to find out about your midnight cravings. “I'm so sorry, I didn't think I'd disturb you with that instead...”

“Don't be, [Y/N],” Chrome speaks of your name in such a differently soft tone that it makes your heart skip a beat, “I want to do this for you.”

He picks up another cup that you didn't notice, pouring it to the cups on the glassware. Not wanting to sit and stare, you decided to look around and see if there was something else you could do.

“It's okay, [Y/N], you can just wait for me in the dining area.”

“I want to be of help at least,” you cough, “after all, it was me who made you do this in the first place.”

So that was how your early morning went: helping around Chrome as he cooks for the both of you. Watching the way he prepares the noodles, helping him chop the needed ingredients, as he towers behind you, skillful hands on yours to guide you, a few quips and teases as you both worked— you never felt so hungry for something that someone made for you, something you've always wanted to feel. And now, the man is setting your food on the kitchen aisle, the both of you not bothering to move to the dining area.

The moment is raw— your bare feet on the kitchen floors in contrast to his own, the kind light shining over Chrome's handsome face as he laughs at your antics, his hands that gently gives you the plate of food. How pretty. How intriguing.

“If this is a dream, I never want to wake up.”

“It's not a dream,” Chrome assures, sliding over the mouthwatering soufflé to you, “this food is for you.”

Scallion oil noodles and soufflé. Seems like you didn't have to watch your mukbang videos at 3 am anymore. You laugh at your situation, to which Chrome looks at you with affection.

“What's so funny?”

“You didn't really have to wake up and cook this for me, y'know.” You smile at him, taking a bite out of your noodles with the chopsticks, “we could have done this in the morning.”

Chrome doesn't say anything. Instead, he reaches out, touching your cheek with his palm. As you lean into his touch with a hum, he could only move a little closer to you. No word could describe the way he looks at you in this ungodly hour— it is nothing but affection, a warm kind of expression that could only make your stomach turn into knots.

“[Y/N], I wish to do this for you whenever you want. You could ask me to make a cake at 3 am, or pick you up some tarts at 11 pm.”

He leans toward you, forehead touching, “Let me do anything you want. This is how I want to show my unwavering loyalty and love to you.”

Ah, it always makes you wonder what you've done to be blessed with such a kind, loving man. Amidst all the dangers and perils that await you, you were thankful to the gods that always listened to you—

You wanted Chrome to unravel the knot inside of you, tugging it away, wrapping yourself in his embrace and hopefully keeping yourself hidden there. Chrome's love blankets you in ungodly hours of the morning, and he is always there to welcome you awake.

And so, you kiss him— tasting the savory taste of the noodles and the sweetest chocolate in his lips, breathing in the air he has, grasping into his clothes and hair and wherever your hands could reach. It's warmer this way, that makes your toes curl, that makes the kiss deeper, evident in the way Chrome's hands were tightly holding your hips.

When he reluctantly pulls away, noses touching and lips refusing to fully pull away, seems like a different hunger begins to gnaw inside of you.

“Mmn, Chrome...”

“...yes, [Y/N]?”

“...stay a little longer?”

His hands on the lower part of your back is his answer.

“...as you wish, [Y/N].”

look I just want a guy who is willing to cook me breakfast and lunch and dinner too so he can be my dessert for all of those times :D

— starry

[inkformyblood]

stay the night (and the morning after) CWFKB #5

Morning Breath Kiss fill for @codywanfirstkissbingo Canon Era, Morning after but mild.

There is no slow awakening for Cody; only a sudden and immediate wakefulness that descends on him, seemingly out of nowhere. He stares up at the blank bunk above him, tracing the sharp lines of rapid assembly that no amount of filler or sanding seemed to be able to hide, and feels the rumble of the ship’s engines somewhere in the soles of his feet and a patch just beneath his ribs. This is a better mattress than he’s used to, the engines generally shake enough to rattle his teeth loose this early in the morning and he had become accustomed to simply rolling over and ignoring them. Next to him, someone shifts, a warm hand splayed over the bare expanse of Cody’s belly, a puff of warm air impacting his shoulder before they settle once more.

Without moving, Cody drags his gaze sideways, straining against the confines of his peripheral vision as he makes out a mess of red hair — his heart picking up in tempo, a rush that near enough sends his head spinning in protest — and a sweep of dark lashes that cast shadows over Obi-Wan’s cheeks even in the dim light. Okay. So, that wasn’t entirely a dream. 

The headache should have clued him in sooner, an oversight he wouldn’t be making again in a hurry regardless of how much the Engineering Department swore up and down that they’d worked out all of the kinks in their most recent attempt at a still. It had been an impressive feat of mechanics and sheer audacity, all gleaming chrome pipes stolen from a passing merchant ship that had been mostly gold plate and wouldn’t miss them and a better maintained cleaning cycle than the rest of the ship that kept them that way. Cody prods his lower lip with his tongue, trying to remember anything past the second drink that had tasted vaguely sweet and had a kick like a bantha to go with it. 

There’d been a proposition, eagerly given and accepted, that much he’s sure of, but he couldn’t remember if he had asked or if Obi-Wan had. The little details slip through his fingers, additional ammo for the pounding headache brewing just behind his eyes. His mouth tastes stale and it’s that that drives him up from the bed, wriggling out from Obi-Wan’s hold and staggering into the fresher. Obi-Wan’s quarters are distinctly nicer than his own, a benefit Cody is going to luxuriate in for as long as it takes for the Jedi to wake up and the subsequent awkward conversation. Cody borrows Obi-Wan’s toothbrush, spitting into the sink and keeping one hand on the faucet as he brushes. In the mirror, his eyes are bloodshot, his pupils blown wide and dark, and, rises onto his toes, tipping his head to one side, there’s a bite on his neck, sore only now that he’s noticed it. It throbs in dull counterpoint to his headache, and Cody leans forwards, dragging his lip to one side, the toothbrush held between his teeth.

He can’t remember kissing Obi-Wan. 

He’ll have to rectify that before he leaves. Cody scrubs a hand over his curls and spits once more into the sink, rinsing and dropping the brush back into the small holder. It’s still early, early enough that he could climb back into bed and try and grab a couple more hours of sleep before the inevitable happens. 

Obi-Wan had rolled over while Cody had been in the fresher, the blanket tangled around his thighs, a section pulled up against his chest. As Cody steps closer, Obi-Wan shifts, reaching his free arm over his head to tap against the pillow, indenting the surface. Cody pauses, chewing on his lip, before he continues, crawling back into bed behind Obi-Wan. He presses his head against the pillow and Obi-Wan’s fingers brush against his nose once, twice. Another sigh floods through him, the muscles in his thighs pressed against the side of Cody’s leg flexing and then relaxing completely. “Where did you go?”

Oh. Oh? Cody blinks up at the underside of the bunk. “Fresher,” he answers, keeping his voice low. It’s still early after all, there’s no reason to disrupt everything and throw out this moment of peace for the sake of a conversation woven with a confession. It can wait. “Go back to sleep.”

“Are you going to stay?” Obi-Wan wriggles around so he’s facing Cody, the blanket a lost cause around his legs. He grunts, reaching down to tug at the fabric but abandons the task after a moment, pressing himself closer to Cody’s side. He rests his head on Cody’s chest, his breathing deep and slow. 

“If you’d like me to.”

Obi-Wan nods, pressing himself impossibly closer. He drapes his arm across Cody’s chest, dragging his fingertips over the curve of his collarbone, back and forth, back and forth. It tickles, the touch delicate enough to barely register and Cody twitches his way through a laugh, forcing his breathing to even back out. They are both quiet and every blink grows longer, sleep descending over Cody as quickly as waking had. Obi-Wan shifts next to him, bracing his hand against the pillow beneath Cody’s head to push himself up.

“Can I kiss you?”

Cody opens his eyes. Obi-Wan smiles gently up at him, his eyes still half-lidded in the gloom. “It’s fine if you say no. I think I still smell like last night and—”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Obi-Wan blinks, rising up slightly on his hand. The curve of his shoulder reminds Cody of a hunter, something prowling through the undergrowth and utterly focused on its target, even as he prods his lower lip with his tongue. Something utterly starving. 

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan surges forward and Cody catches him, kissing him with equal intensity and it isn’t perfect, their teeth knocking together, the leftover taste of sour alcohol mixing with the sharp toothpaste, but it’s right. 

Blue crosses for posted, orange dots for completed fills. I'm currently posting in written order but feel free to send me a message/request in the tags for a specific fill to be posted sooner <3

[midnightwinterhawk]

There are three brand new fics publishing now that I am utterly in love with, without even having read chapter 1, and I am so torn between waiting for the whole story to post or starting now and being kept in suspense waiting for new chapters.

BUT

While I'm having my internal angst, you, dear readers, should definitely give these fics some love, whether it's commenting, sharing, subscribing, or all three (or a secret fourth thing).

Murder, Magic, and a Masterclass in Denial by @noxnthea

18k | 4/9 chapters | Explicit | Sterek

FBI agent and necromancer Stiles (because necromancer Stiles is *chef kiss*)

Kingdoms Fall by @outtoshatter

1.8k | 1/46 chapters | Mature | Sterek

Seer!Stiles, Royalty AU (and if I know Gia, it'll have a heavy dose of BAMF!Stiles too)

Chrome Plated Heart by @drgrlfriend

2k | 2/14 chapters | Teen | WinterHawk

Pacific Rim AU!!

Actual footage of me right now:

[ultrainfinitepit]

Hollow Heart; I'm planning for this to be a freebie pin for the Eldritch Saints campaign. It'll have red chrome plating and soft enamel with epoxy. Stay tuned for more details and other designs!

[helps-the-writing-brain-go]

More Imaginary Captain Marvel AU bits

Billy jumps off the Magic Train (the title in proper caps, because little Billy knew important things, wonderful things were always thought of as such), barely wobbling as he made it over the large gap between the gleaming chrome beast and the dirty, crumbling platform of the station.

The train hisses, sputtering steam that seemed to tousle Billy's hair, making the boy giggle. (In truth, the Train looked like a modern thing and hence should have no steam, but really, who was there to judge aside from a delighted little boy what a Magic Train desired to do?)

Billy turns on heel, the warm, bright light that had since made its home in his chest smoothening the movement, almost-there warm, phantom hands bracing at his shoulders before letting go. Billy grins even wider before waving the Train off to wherever it was that Magic Trains went when they weren't ferrying little boys to and fro from Wizards to the Mundane World.

"Bye! Bye-bye! Thank you for carrying me Mr. Train!" He shouts and the train whistles loudly in farewell (even despite it having no whistle), and races off, sparks of all colours of the rainbow shooting off the rails, leaving the scent of ozone and the ground right after rainfall.

Billy keeps waving until the train is out of sight, then leaves the platform himself, his tiny body shooting off like an arrow, years of familiarity guiding his steps.

The low light sifting through the holes in the roof after the Train had gone had let Billy know all he needed to. It was getting dark, and even little boys who'd been granted an Amazing Thing should know better than to be out in the open after dark.

He makes to turn a corner, (that street is always dark, the streetlights near it never having been fixed, but Billy knows it, so he's not that scared of it-), but hears his Papa's voice whisper:

'Not that way today, Champ.'

And Billy listens, hand fisting over his heart and the pulsing, warm glow that shone ever brighter.

His Papa nudges him a little more as he goes and he makes it home in good time, and even better yet, had the wonderful fortune of passing by a generous baker, who, having not sold a few baked odds and ends left at the end of the day and who had been surprisingly full himself, had taken one look at little Billy crossing the street and happily gifted them to him instead. (Somewhere in the back of his mind, the scent of bread intertwines itself with other comforting smelling things like Ms. Polly's gardenia perfume, the down of feather boas, inks and papers and burning sands-)

Billy, having arrived, carefully unlocks the door to his apartment, shoving hard to make sure it is in place and locked before he putters over to the corner of the tiny room that served as the kitchen.

His Mama is the one that comes out to help this time. He can't hear her, but he can feel her warm prescence at his back, her arms over his as she plates his bread all pretty and radiates such a feeling of pride at him for managing to keep everything so clean despite his circumstances that Billy's face is nearly all the way pink, flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and pride. (Other bits and pieces cheer him on too, someone laughing gaily and complementing his fine manners, another brief sensation of a person petting his head for a job well done and-)

Billy washes up, then sits at the table with the lone chair he'd salvaged and fixed from the building one over's trash, with mismatched legs and lets himself revel in the warm feeling, like hugs inside and out as he eats, his mind and body filling with something even more wonderful than food.

He knows, kind of, that these aren't really people, aren't really his parents, but at the same time they aren't not people and his parents. Or so Billy understood from what the agitated Wizard had tried to tell him.

Billy knows now that when the Wizard had tried to give him Powers, he'd meant for him to be a Hero, a Protector of Magic and its Balance and of the Rock of Eternity itself. He'd seen the comic peeking out of Billy's bag and been confident in how the Powers of Shazam would take shape in the little boy. Unfortunately, the comic had been more a gift and Billy's idea of heroes, nebulous as it was, came from his father's words about kindness and goodness and from the dozens of bits of kindness offered to him from people around him that had shaped him and let him live till today. Billy idolized heroes like Superman and Batman and Wonder Woman, but in his heart of hearts, heroes had meant something entirely different.

So when Billy had said Shazam's name...it hadn't been Billy, stylized as a Hero version of himself that had emerged, but a Hero born of all the other people, experiences and kindness he had ever been exposed to. Captain Marvel was someone wholly Billy and yet not. Built from his memories, from his experiences and Heart, based off his form yes, but also from the amalgamation of the other people who Billy had thought of as true heroes.

On the one hand, Tawky Tawny, who had spawned in at the Wizard's palpable confusion and almost-distress, had commented that Billy would be far safer with the Captain quite far removed from who Billy truly was, but was also shot down by the Wizard's own assertation that with Him not being entirely based on Billy's good heart as Shazam had picked, meant that he could be unpredictable, that he might turn as-

Well, Billy hadn't quite heard the last bit as the Wizard disappeared in a shower of sparks, leaving his funny robes and hat behind. Tawky had looked terrible sad for a single, deep moment, before covering it up and ushering Billy away back to the train.

"What's done is done." he had said and mentioned that in place of the Wizard, Tawny would help watch over Billy and the strange Captain that had been borne from him.

[drgrlfriend]

Chrome Plated Heart - Now COMPLETE!

Chrome Plated Heart by dr_girlfriend

Chapters 13 and 14 now posted!

Chapter 13: And the Only Way I Know Where the Train Will Go is When I'm Sleeping on the Tracks

Excerpt:

Coulson’s voice rings through, urgent on the comms.  “We’ve got a second signal in the Breach.  Another kaiju incoming.  It’s a double event.”

Bucky can feel Clint’s thoughts echoing his — the bolt of shock refocusing to determination.  “What do we know?”

“Not much so far.  It’s small.  Category 3 maybe.  Emerging from the Breach in 3 … 2 … 1 …”

Clint pulls up the sonar display.  It is small, but it’s fast.  And it’s coming straight up from the Breach, not in any of their directions, but darting vertically through the water, straight for the surface.

“Fuck,” Bucky realizes.  “It’s a flyer.”

Sure enough, the kaiju breaches the surface, unfurling bat-like wings, and then swooping down, headed straight for Bayou Falcon.

Chapter 14: And the Love is Real As the Day is Long and the Night Is Black

[fanficfanattic]

Will you share your Jamie Tartt playlist? 👀

Buckle up boys! Hold on to your butts! Other ways to say brace yourselves!

To Build a Home (feat. Patrick Watson) by The Cinematic Orchestra

I'll Be Good by Jaymes Young

Sorrow by Bad Religion

The Greatest by Sia

Love I'm Given by Ellie Goulding

Runaway by AURORA

Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths

Move by Oliver Tree

High Hopes by Panic! At the Disco

Outrunning Karma by Alec Benjamin

Home by Cavetown

The Perfect Space by The Avett Brothers

A Better Son/Daughter by Rilo Kiley

False Confidence by Noah Kahan

Legend by The Score

The Competition by Kimya Dawson

In the Blood by John Mayer

Winner by Walgrove

Icarus by Bastille

Sympathy by The Goo Goo Dolls

Take Yours, I’ll Take Mine by Matthew Mole

People Help the People by Birdy

Daylight by David Kushner

Cough it Out by The Front Bottoms

Sober by P!nk

The Cave by Mumford & Sons

Tear It Up by Queen

Waves by Dean Lewis

Soldier by Ingrid Michaelson

We Don't Believe What's On TV by Twenty One Pilots

Blood In the Cut by K.Flay

Chameleon/Comedian by Kathleen Edwards

Water (feat. Rostam) by Ra Ra Riot

All is Soft Inside by AURORA

Pieces (feat. Noah Kahan) by Matoma

Dog Days Are Over by Florence + the Machine

Rise up With Fists!! by Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins

Gone, Gone, Gone by Phillip Phillips

HandClap by Fitz and The Tantrums

Hi Ren by Ren

I Don't Belong In This Club by Why Don't We & Macklemore

Skinny Love by Birdy

Raising Hell (feat. Big Freedia) by Kesha

Go Places by The New Pornographers

The Night Starts Here by Stars

Ghost by Ella Henderson

Here We Go by WILD

If I Be Wrong by Wolf Larsen

Part of Me by Noah Kahan

We're Going to Be Friends

The White Stripes

Bitch by Meredith Brooks

Samson by Regina Spektor

Let's go to Hell by Tai Verdes

Raise Hell by Brandi Carlile

Power Over Me by Dermot Kennedy

Don't Tell the Boys by Petey

Sober Up (feat. Rivers Cuomo) by AJR

O.N.E. By Yeasayer

Locked Up by Ingrid Michaelson

Like a Stone by Audioslave

Leave the Light On by Overcoats

Tough (feat. Noah Kahan) by Quinn XCII

touch tank by quinnie

Warrior by AURORA

Too Sweet by Hozier

I'Il Think of You by Kurt Hugo Schneider

Into the Ocean by Blue October

Star Fire by Sleeping Wolf

Happier (Stripped) by Marshmello & Bastille

Knievel by Tommy Lefroy

Walk Me Home by P!nk

Brat (Humor Me) by Deore

Am I Wrong by Love Spit Love

Someday by One Republic

7 Years by Lukas Graham

Stick Season by Noah Kahan

Like a Prayer by Madonna

Little Bit by Lykke Li

Bruises by Lewis Capaldi

Don't Carry It All by The Decemberists

Freaking Out by The Wrecks

Will Do by TV on the Radio

The Dirt by Tor Miller

Hope of Morning by Icon for Hire

Smile by Mikky Ekko

The District Sleeps Alone Tonight by The Postal Service

Blood Brothers by Ingrid Michaelson

All My Friends by The Revivalists

Fuck Authority by Pennywise

Crazier Things by Chelsea Cutler & Noah Kahan

Kiss With a Fist by Florence + the Machine

Unstoppable by Sia

Can't Go to Hell by Sin Shake Sin

World's Smallest Violin by AJR

All I Know So Far by P!nk

Knocking at the Door by Arkells

Little Lion Man by Mumford & Sons

The Seed by AURORA

Wine, Women and Song by Harvey Danger

The Cult of Dionysus by The Orion Experience

All You Wanted by Michelle Branch

Young Blood by The Naked and Famous

Truth No. 2 by The Chicks

Homesick by Noah Kahan

Family Line by Conan Gray

The Moon Will Sing by The Crane Wives

Heroes Never Die by NateWantsToBattle

My Number Tegan and Sara

Masterpiece by Big Thief

Til It Happens To You by Lady Gaga

I Don't Wanna Live Forever (Cups Version) by Kurt Hugo Schneider

Sit Down by James

Robots by Dan Mangan

Windowsill by Arcade Fire

Be OK by Ingrid Michaelson

Bite the Hand by boygenius

The Top (Bonus Track) by Primo the Alien

MEAN! (Remix) [feat. Noah Kahan] by Madeline The Person

Home We'll Go (Take My Hand) by Steve Aoki & Walk Off the Earth

From The Bottom Of My Heart by The Wallflowers

FourFiveSeconds by Rihanna and Kanye West and Paul McCartney

I Am the Resurrection by The Stone Roses

Chrome Plated Heart by Melissa Etheridge

Precious Love by James Morrison

Bones (feat. One Republic) by Galantis

Let's Go (feat. Icona Pop) by Tiesto

Unbelievers by Vampire Weekend

So What by P!nk

I Don't Feel Like Dancin' by Scissor Sisters

Creature Fear by Bon Iver

Brother by The Rural Alberta Advantage

Save Me by Noah Kahan

High and Dry by Radiohead

Power by Little Mix

Dirty Paws by Of Monsters and Men

The Boy Does Nothing by Alesha Dixon

Set You Free (Edit) by N-Trance

Stronger by Britney Spears

First Things First by Neon Trees

Kings & Queens by Ava Max

Welcome Home, Son by Radical Face

Capsize by FRENSHIP & Emily Warren

We Were Kings by Ryan Star

Come Undone by Duran Duran

Young Folks by Peter Bjorn and John

Pride by Noah Kahan & mxmtoon

Everywhere by Michelle Branch

Blow Me (One Last Kiss) by P!nk

Dust Bowl Dance by Mumford & Sons

Bad Blood by Bastille

Blue Monday by New Order

Make Believe by The FAIM

Midnight Show by The Killers

Can't Fight the Moonlight by LeAnn Rimes

Ophelia by The Lumineers

Shaky Ground by Freedom Fry

Grounds for Divorce by Elbow

Heaven and Hell by Let's Play Dead

Survivor by The Score

Ready Now by dodie

Young Blood by Noah Kahan

Ain’t No Reason by Brett Dennen

King by Years & Years

Bulletproof by La Roux

Beating Heart Cadavers by Acollective

How to Rest by The Crane Wives

Santa Monica by Everclear

Beds Are Burning by Midnight Oil

Get Some by Lykke Li

Sky Full of Song by Florence + the Machine

Beautiful Trauma by P!nk

Parachute (Serban Ghenea Mix) by Ingrid Michaelson

Down to the Bottom by Dorothy

YES MOM by Tessa Violet

Numb Little Bug by Em Beihold

Rise Up by Andra Day

Maps by Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Hurt Somebody by Noah Kahan

[rxgueone]

GOLDEN

Word count: 3,560

Summary: Austin wins the golden globe and goes home to celebrate with his wife.

Warnings: reminiscing, and fluff, that’s it.

Tags: none.

Note: Tumblr is still deleting paragraphs so if this story is a bit screwed up, I apologize. I tried making this as happy as I could given the circumstances.

MASTERLIST — SERIES

—

The tall blonde sat in the drivers seat of his car. He had just won the golden globe, and was staring at his name. ‘Best Actor Austin Butler.’ He brought his hand to his unshaven face, scratching it. He felt the hair of his stubble poke into his fingers. After, he rested his hands in his lap. His fingers fiddling with his gold wedding band. He was nervous, it felt like his heart was pumping in his throat.

He skipped out on the after party, wanted to go home and celebrate with his wife and child. He knew his daughter was asleep most likely, but his wife had stayed up. She was always there for him, always. No matter what happened, she would always cheer for him. Even from far away.

Grabbing the handle to the door, he pulled it towards him, and the car door swung open. He kept the award inside the car, knowing he’d leave again soon, he shut the door behind him, made his way towards the garage door. Seeing it open, he already knew who was there for him. And looking up, it was Fredrick, his butler.

“Not attending the after party, sir?” Fredrick asked him curiously. Austin shook his head, waving it off. In Fredrick’s hand was a metal chrome tray, holding a white glass plate with what looked to be porridge, as well as a tea cup. Austin stepped to Fredrick’s side, looking down at the soup. “I made you supper sir.” He clarified, seeing Austin’s curious eyes.

“Thanks dude.” He nodded his head, walking past Fredrick and down the hall towards the living room. With Fredrick following behind quietly. He noticed how quiet it was, which made sense, considering how late it was at the time. “Is Leia asleep?”

“Yes sir,” Fredrick confirmed as Austin made his way towards the dining table. He pulled a chair out, plopping down on it. He looked at Fredrick as he placed the plate down onto the table, “I tucked her in like usual.”

“When did she sleep?” He asked, seeing Fredrick hand him a spoon.

“She went to bed after your speech.” He explained, watching Austin pick up the plate.

Taking a spoonful of the soup, he was immediately hit with a cold texture, causing him to spit it out. Smacking his lips, then wiping them with the back of his palm. “It’s cold!” He looked up at Fredrick again. Was he gone for that long? Did Fredrick really make supper so long ago that it was this cold? His brows were furrowed from confusion.

“It’s vichyssoise, sir.”

Austin blinked obliviously.

“It’s supposed to be cold.”

“Oh.” He gladly took another spoonful, eating it.

“Anyways,” Fredrick rolled his eyes at how ridiculous Austin was being, “she was asking about her mother.” He started, and Austin, who had been eating the soup like he had never eaten a day in his life. Took a quick pause to listen closely to Fredrick. “She understands what’s happened to her, sir, but she’s curious about you and Mrs. Butler.”

“Mm…” he hummed, putting the spoon down on the empty plate. He brought his hand to his lips again, and Fredrick quickly intercepted. Placing a towel down onto Austin’s hand before it touched his lips. “Oh- thanks.” He smiled, wiping his lips dry.

“You ought to tell her how you and Mrs. Butler met, sir. She’s quite curious.” He reached into the inside pocket of his tailcoat blazer, holding out a letter. “Here, she even wrote this for Mrs. Butler. She told me to tell you to not read it.”

Austin took the letter from Fredrick, tucking it into the inside pocket of his blazer. “I will.” He nodded. “And I won’t.” He promised. He stood up, sighing as he stood face to face with Fredrick. “Lets go check up on her.” He suggested, and Fredrick nodded in agreement.

The two of then walked side by side, making their way to the second floor, down the hall to Leia’s room. Serpent the Doberman, had been sitting quietly behind the doorframe to her bedroom, keeping watch as usual. Austin leaned down to quickly kiss his dog’s head, ruffling up his fur before walking into the bedroom.

He stood over his daughter for a moment, checking up on her. Without thinking, his hand went to his daughter’s head. He was caressing her blonde hair, his face frowning a bit. Sighing, he pecked her the side of her head, wishing her happy dreams and a good night. Then he turned his back on her, walking back over to Fredrick. “I’m going to go see Rose.” He whispered to his butler. “Down by the farm.”

“It’s awfully late for that, you’ll be there by sunrise.” Fredrick muttered, surprised by the sudden gesture Austin was displaying. The blonde pulled away from the bedroom, stepping out into the hall with Fredrick close.

“I want to celebrate with her.” He insisted upon it. “I want to, I must celebrate with her. She’s my wife, and she’s the reason I’ve come this far.” He continued on, watching Fredrick to see if he was listening closely. Which, the butler was. “I’ll probably spend a few hours there.” He nodded to himself, his fingers fiddling with his gold wedding band once more.

Fredrick noticed the fiddling, he could tell that Austin was nervous to meet his wife again. He hadn’t seen her in about a week due to a hectic schedule. “I understand.” He knew there was no point in trying to stop his friend. What was the point? And who was Fredrick to tell Austin how to celebrate this triumphant moment. “I’ll watch the house, and Leia…” trailing off, “…obviously.” He added underneath his breath in annoyance. In response, Austin chuckled.

“Thanks Fred.” Placing his hand on the butler’s shoulder. “Thanks for… stickin’ with me n’ everything.” He pat Fredrick’s shoulder, walking back to the garage. Fredrick like usual, stayed by Austin’s side.

They both walked downstairs, then down to the garage. Austin kept his hands in his pockets, while Fredrick had his hands by his side. “By the way do you know what Leia wants for breakfast?”

“Waffles, which are no problem to make.” Fredrick brushed off. “Also sir, she wants a Star Wars story book.”

“Will do.” Walking to the car to open the door. He sat down in the drivers side, and Fredrick spotted the golden globe award in the passengers side. “I’ll buy her the prequels. Can’t go wrong with that.”

“Of course, Revenge of the Sith is a cult classic.” Fredrick agreed happily. He watched as Austin shut the door, the car roared to life. Backing out of the garage, he watched his friend leave. Sighing, he rolled his eyes once more. “Does he seriously not know what vichyssoise is??”

—

Austin was staring at his daughter who was sitting in the baby high chair. She had a plate set out in front of her, with a bib around her little neck. She wore a pink onesie that his wife bought for her.

Austin was holding a little glass bowl of apple sauce, with a small spoon. He sat there staring at his daughter’s brown eyes, she on the other hand, was making grabby hands at her father, babbling away.

He reached the spoon filled with applesauce to Leia’s mouth. She slapped the spoon away, laughing at Austin who let out a frustrated sigh. ‘You sure it’s alright for her to eat this stuff?’ Austin asked his wife, he looked down at the label on the glass bowl. He glanced back, seeing her in the kitchen. She was making dinner for the three of them.

‘Oh for Gods sakes Austin, she’s almost two.’ His wife said.

‘I know Rose but still-‘

‘Don’t but still me you silly man.’ She started, walking out of the kitchen and into the dining room. He smiled when he saw her. She was wearing his white shirt, some sweats, and an apron. Her hair was tied back, and her face expressed annoyance. To him however, she looked perfect. Even when she was annoyed she was perfect.

He could hear her sigh, as she crouched down beside him to look at their daughter who helplessly sat there. Leia smiled at the pair, babbling and reaching out for Austin. ‘I don’t think she likes apple sauce, darling.’ He mumbled softly to her.

‘Well honey, she doesn’t like peas or carrots either.’ She shot at him with a sweet tone.

‘I don’t like peas or carrots.’ He countered. She side eyed him, but a smile seeped through her lips. He listened to her as she let out a lighthearted giggle, shaking her head.

‘Yes, you don’t. I suppose she gets that from her father.’ She kissed Austin’s cheek gently. ‘Here, give me that, love.’ Austin handed her the bowl of apple sauce and the spoon. She took it from him gently, then the spoon from him. Scooping up the applesauce, she held it towards Leia. ‘Say ahh.’ She cooed gently, and Leia opened her mouth.

Gently, she took the spoonful of apple sauce, and Austin watched quietly. The whole time he had a smile on his face, and Rose could see there was nothing but love in that smile of his. She rolled her eyes at him, charmed really. Leia blurbed her words, clapping her hands and bouncing up and down excitedly in her high chair.

‘See? She likes it, Aus.’ She leaned against his shoulder. ‘You just have to be patient with her. She’s about to become a toddler, y’know.’

‘Toddler huh.’ He breathed out, scratching the back of his neck. Falling quiet again, he watched his wife continue to spoon feed their daughter. Cooing to her in a gentle tone. Austin kept smiling at the pair. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’ She responded without missing a beat. ‘So does Leia.’ She added.

Austin knew Rose since he was a child. Somewhere in middle school, he had been pulled out to be home schooled. As a result their friendship went to a staggering halt, where they both didn’t talk to each other for a few years. It was only till he was around the age of 16-17, he had met Rose again.

He met her at a French cafe, at the time he wanted to buy beignets. When he revealed his name to her at the counter, she was shocked but happy to see he was okay. From that day on he would meet her every day at the cafe, where she would spend her break with him, talking about high school and how rude some customers were.

Eventually when they were 18-19 they moved in together. Rose knew about Austin’s acting career, but due to how insecure he was. A lot of the time he would doubt his acting skills, question himself. She however, never doubted him.

When those days came. She would cup his face, and whisper sweet things to him. How he was a talented man, and there will be a time when he would be recognized for his talent. ‘These things take time Austin, you can’t rush the future. You can’t rush time. Just trust yourself, your luck will come.’ She would say to him. ‘You’re a sweet man, as gentle as a dandelion, so don’t worry. Don’t rush this. Trust time.’ And he did.

He always listened to her. She was gold to him. To him, Rose was the most valuable person in this earth, most special person to ever live. She was the reason he breathed. He promised to be there for her always. Even in spite of their love, he was still a nervous wreck around her.

When the time came to propose. He was shaking like all of hell, and in fact, it wasn’t romantic at all. He blurted out that he wanted to marry her when the pair were cooking together. She was calm about it, and said she wanted to marry him as well.

He saved up as much as he could, and bought her an engagement ring. A year later, he married her. He was 20, and she had just turned 21 at the time. Their wedding was private, only four people attended. The priest, best man, his mother, and her father. That was pretty much about it.

Austin’s acting career was growing and more people were becoming his fans by the minute. Not wanting to attract any attention, they kept their marriage a secret until she became pregnant. His love for her grew by the day, and it was the same for her.

He adored her. He didn’t need to say it for she already knew. He didn’t need to say I love you, for she already knew that as well. But regardless, he would always tell her he loved her, any chance he got. When he would come home to her after a good days work, he’d kiss her and tell her he’d love her, maybe buy her flowers.

No matter what, he’d always adore her. It was the only thing he could do around her. Just stare and admire her for how perfect she was. Patient, understanding, and supportive, that was all it took. That was all he needed.

At one point in their relationship, Rose brought up the idea of a child. Austin agreed without any hesitation. He felt honored and happy that Rose would trust him with a child, that Rose would pick him to marry, and to have a child with.

When Leia was born, it was a bliss for Austin. He had a family with his forever, with the girl that he’d be with until his very last breath. He remembered the days when Leia and Rose had came home for the first time. He took care of everything, which was perfectly okay with him, he was happy to help.

At one point, when Austin was out for a drive with her. He brought up a touchy subject. ‘I was curious about something,’ he started.

‘Hm?’ She hummed in response.

‘I was wondering,’ glancing at her, ‘when you die- where would you want to be buried?’ He asked her.

‘Oh,’ she blinked, touching her jaw as she thought to herself, ‘hmph, never really thought of that.’ She tilted her head. Looked out the window for a moment, then back at him. ‘Make sure I’m faced between the west and east so I can always see the setting and rising sun, that way I can remember all the fine times we’ve spent together.’ She smiled.

‘That’s awfully descriptive.’ He scoffed, but nodded his head. ‘Will do.’ He grinned.

She smiled at his words, staring at his side profile. ‘What about you Aus? Where do you wanna be buried?’

‘With you.’

—

Austin desperately clung onto the few scraps of memories he had left of Rose.

He parked the car, and hopped out. He then looked at the farmhouse, holding the golden globe in his hand. He started walking towards the door, and held out his keys. Inserting the key into the keyhole, he twisted, pushed, and the door opened.

“Mr. Butler!” He heard a feminine voice. Blinking his deprived eyes, he shook his head. The voice sounded all too familiar.

“Ms. Coleman?” He called, and he could see a small woman poke her head out of the living room and into the hall. She had a bright smile on her face. “Have you been expecting me?” He asked curiously, walking to her side.

“Yes yes, Fredrick called and said I should be expecting you.” She nodded her head.

“I see,” he looked around his farmhouse, a house that he and Rose bought. Scratching his stubble, “are you usually up this early?”

“Of course! Someone’s gotta watch the stables!” She laughed, resting her hand to his arm. “I mean that is what you hired me for. To watch over the farmhouse and to take care of the horses and cattle.”

“Yes yes,” he chuckled lowly. He sighed, holding the golden globe with both his hands now, nervousness pricked at him like a rose bush. Gulping down his pumping heart, “is she…?”

“Oh yes,” Ms. Coleman gave a nod, “she’s waiting for you just outside, sir. Through the back door.” She pointed to the back of the house.

“Thank you Ms. Coleman,” he dipped his head in thanks before walking to the back door.

He was watching his dress shoes get dirty from the dirt he walked on. He looked at the horses in the ranch, then looked past them, to see a hill. He cleared his throat nervously again, his fingers fiddling with his gold wedding band. Nervousness was piling up, and he was as twitchy as ever. He hadn’t seen Rose in a solid week, and he was nervous as to how she’d react.

Walking up the hill of the meadow, he could see a headstone, and behind that headstone was a tree. He could see the sun rising beside the headstone, and barely he made out the words. ‘ROSEANNE BUTLER’ it read, and he bit his lower lip, nibbling on it nervously.

Stopping in front of the headstone, he stared down at it. Holding the golden globe with both hands, his fingers were kneading at it. “Hey darling.” He greeted her. “I um…” clearing his throat, “I won the golden globe.” Holding out the award, he crouched down. “I wanted to thank you, for encouraging me to continue acting. I wanna thank you for everything, for the happiness and joy you give me, for the peace you give me, I wanna thank you for existing in my life.” Gently, he placed the golden globe beside the headstone. “I wanna give this to you.” Standing straight again.

He stood in silence for a moment. Nibbling onto his lower lip once more, he could feel his heart racing in his chest. Absolutely trying his best to control his emotions, he was always a mess around Rose. Always. No matter what. Sucking in air sharply, he looked away from the headstone to stare at the rising sun.

His gray eyes showed nothing but sadness now. Now it felt like his heart was caught in his throat. His eyes welled up with emotions, and he stopped nibbling on his lower lip. Simply blinked his tears out, and he wiped his eyes. He expected them to stop, but they didn’t. “I miss you.” He revealed. “I miss you so much,” starting up on what he thought was a tangent, “I still dream of you every damn day. I think of you all the time. You should see Leia, she looks so much like you, hun.”

Sucking in some more air, he crouched down quickly to hide his face in his arms. Wiping his face again, he shook himself then stood up straight. He blinked repeatedly, trying to get ahold of himself. He wiped his eyes with the back of his palm like a small child would. A sharp inhale, and slow exhale. He stared at the headstone for a few moments. “Leia looks like you,” he started again, “Freddie… he uh, he says she looks like me. But she’s got your eyes. But um… she’s smart, Rose. She’s real smart. We read a book every night, loves Harry Potter… and I’m sure she gets-“ he paused, but, unfortunately cracked, “-she gets that from you.” He finished. “She- she wrote you a letter, actually. I dunno what it says, told me not to read it so. I’ll leave it here for you to read.”

Reaching into the inside of his blazer, he took out the little envelope titled ‘momma’ for Rose. Leaning down, as gently as he could, he placed the envelope underneath the award so it wouldn’t fly away.

Stepping back, he slid his hands into his pockets. If he was going to cry, he would cry. He wasn’t going to try to control himself. He was alone, out in the meadow, alone with his wife. “Y’know how, you told me you wanted to be buried between the east and the west to see the rising sun?” He looked towards the sky, watching the sun rise. “So we could dwell on the past.” He muttered. “I hope you like this spot.” He wiped his eyes again. “It’s real nice and pretty out here the meadow y’know,” looking at his surroundings, he stopped to look at her name on the headstone, “just wait a bit longer Rose. I’ll join you soon.” He promised. “I gotta make sure Leia is okay first, and I know you’re watching after us. But Rose, just wait a bit longer.” His tone, which was usually husky, now was soft and gentle, pleading with her, “just wait a bit longer for me Rose.”

Looking back at the sunrise, he couldn’t help but smile a bit. He could still remember her voice clear as day. Could still remember how she would fiddle with the strands of his hair to help him sleep. How she stepped on his dress shoes so they could dance to The Platters.

Rubbing face, he breathed in. Managing a smile, he looked at the headstone. “If you ever need anything, I’m right here darlin’ always.” He promised. “I love you, until the end of the time, I love you.”

[diabolus1exmachina]

Ferrari 365 GTB/4 Daytona (very first) Prototype by Scaglietti

In the late 1960s, it seemed as if the performance car world was at a crossroads. With the introduction of Lamborghini’s P400 Miura and its revolutionary mid-engined design, some thought this design would be the future for the upper echelons of performance cars, and that front-engined cars would begin to fade from popularity.

Spurred on by the success of the Miura, Ferrari knew that the replacement of the 275 GTB/4 needed to be something spectacular and new in order to take the fight to Lamborghini. Rather than move to a mid-engined format, it was decided that the front-engined V-12 platform would remain, alongside coachwork penned by Pininfarina. Quite simply, if it works for you and your clients, why go about reinventing the wheel? After all, this is what Ferrari had built their reputation on, and there was no one better at building twelve-cylinder, front-engined GT cars than Ferrari. They were not to be outdone by this team of renegades at Lamborghini, headquartered just down the road from Maranello!

Chassis number 10287 was the genesis of that new model of Ferraris and the Scuderia’s fighting back against the Lamborghini and the Miura. At first glance to the casual observer, the car offered here seems to tread the line between a 275 GTB/4 and a 365 GTB/4 Daytona. Visual cues to both can be seen and some design elements seem to have blended together, but this car is far more than a design study to determine Ferrari’s future. A total of six 365 GTB/4 prototypes would be built, but this example, as the first, remains the most recognizable, the most unique, the most significant, and is undoubtedly the most desirable.

Chassis number 10287 is that of a Tipo 596 chassis, the same type which was used for the 275 GTB/4, made of tubular steel and a wheelbase measuring 2,400 mm (a wheelbase length shared by both 275 GTB/4 and 365 GTB/4). At its heart is a completely unique Lampredi engine, one that would not be seen in any other Ferrari road car at the time. Designated Tipo 243 internally, it is fitted with dry sump, three-valve heads rather than the usual four valves per cylinder, dual ignition, twin spark plugs per cylinder, and is topped with six Weber 40 DCN18 carburetors. The block itself is based on that of a 330 GT but has been bored out to 4,380 cc. What is worth noting about this completely unique and radically redesigned engine is that it bears similarities to the engines found in the 330 P4 prototype racers, the race car that won numerous races and earned its place in the history books after their memorable 1-2 finish with a 412 P coming in third at the 1967 24 Hours of Daytona. These racing cars also have double inlet valves with one exhaust valve per cylinder.

Aesthetically, the design in front of the windshield was similar to that of a 275 GTB/4, albeit with a slightly stretched and flattened nose, still boasting covered headlights and a bonnet with a central bulge similar to a 275 GTB/4. The shape of the tail section of the bodywork is instantly recognizable to anyone familiar with a Daytona, utilizing 275 GTB/4 boot hinges and a full-width rear chrome bumper. Chassis number 10287's side profile is most evocative of the production Daytona, and allegedly what Enzo Ferrari loved most about this particular prototype, featuring a near identical rear ¾ section and roofline. Looking at the nose and bonnet, similarities can be seen between this and Jaguar’s E-Type.

Once completed in early 1967, 10287 saw extensive factory testing at the Modena Autodrome over the course of that year. It was first registered on May 8, 1968, wearing Italian number plates ‘Roma B 85391’ through the official Ferrari dealer in Rome, Motor S.a.s. di Carla Allegretti e C, noting a sales price of 8,000,000 Italian Lira. It is interesting to note that, at the time, this was similar in price to a new 275 GTB/4, but by that time, the production version of the 365 GTB/4 Daytona had yet to be introduced, this being about five months before the 1968 Paris Auto Salon.

[punishing-eden]

Hello, I want to ask for a headcannon regarding how Liv and Chrome deal with my condition, a person who is picky about eating vegetables and fruit. Are they going to advise me or what? Because I was really picky and often refused to eat some food if it's contain things like eggplant, papaya and so on, end up having stomachache.

Thank you very much.

Operation: E.Y.G....

Pgr Chrome + Liv Head canons

Tags: Fluff, headcanons

You have a bad habit, and you know it. Yet, it never bothered you. Finishing your meal, you got up from your seat in the cafeteria. With the food tray in your hands, you walked up to the utensil collection station; not knowing, there were a pair of eyes looking at you, as you returned your food tray, still, with untouched greens on it...

Liv (Benediction)

Your pickiness is driving her into a frantically frenzy.

She would first tell you about your bad habit of being picky with your vegetable.

You promised her to change.

Until, Liv walked into the cafeteria one day, and saw your vegetables on your plate, untouched.

She gets upset, "C-Commandant! Did you hear what I said a week ago?!"

In reality, you never put what she said about eating your greens at heart. You forgot about it completely.

Ever since, Liv would make extra effort to give you reminders to eat your greens.

"Commandant, don't forget to eat this at least [insert healthy amount] of fibre." she said.

Her tone is never harsh or mean. More so, her tone is soft, but firm.

Sometimes, she would watch you eat, and will not leave until you finishes everything in the plate.

Usually, she won't take such extreme measures, but she couldn't gurantee that you would stick to your promise.

Besides, it's nice to break out of a bad habit.

Chrome (Archlight)

One day, Chrome was looking for you. He heard you were at the cafeteria, hence he went, and saw you eating by yourself.

He walked up to you to ask a series of questions and other mission related things. Only to constantly get distracted by the untouched greens on your plate.

Once the conversation ended, Chrome watched, as you threw away the greens and place the food tray at the collection station.

It bugged him to some extent, yet, he refrains from voicing his opinion, as he believed it was none of his business.

However, the notions of, "A good Commandant, is a healthy Commandant", was something Chrome also firmly believes.

He can't risk to have a mission go wrong if you weren't in the fittest condition.

Unlike Liv, he would, somehow, coax you you increase your intake of fibre and leafy greens.

Such as, randomly put out facts about the benefits of eating vegetables. Or, he would suggest you taking supplements under the guise of, "I heard they help improve your immune system and organ function."

You never caught on. Yet, you never really gave in.

It's not a must for Chrome to get you to stay healthy as with Liv, however if it does impact your health in a huge way, he will not be on standby.

(C) Punishing Eden

[tinyascanbe]

Introducing my g/t story

Beetle Shells

its based on actual entomology work ive done as a scientist, very self indulgent! TW: Cursing, light nudity, light blood, bugs (non aggro bugs)

Chapter 1: Introduction

I took quick and long strides down the sterile white hallway. At the end of the hallway were double doors tinted a dark black with yellow and red warning plates on the side. Reaching the end of the hallway and approaching a set of lockers, I instinctively reach for one marked with pink duct tape. Sighing, I shed my coat and donned a fresh laboratory coat along with medical boot covers. I tied my hair back into a messy bun of curls and finished up by secured the boot covers and buttoning up the coat. Beep beep beep beep! I stepped through the first door after punching in a personalized unique code. It was completely dark except for the UV light and stepped onto a sticky white pad. I heard the familiar hissing and allowed the cold air shower to blow onto my face and body before the stream dissipated. Lights automatically turned on and she then entered the quarantine lab. The quarantine lab was divided into four sections with one of the chemist labs right at the entrance.

“Heya Kyle. Any lucky today?” I approached the other scientist, peering around his shoulders at the beetle he was dissecting.

“Eh yknow, still having a hard time replicating the pheromones of this particular species. Still no preference or response to any of my solutions. The boss is pressuring me to get one ready in preparation for a public meeting with the state. Theres some big money involved with this research and the public havent been responsive. These invasive lil guys sure are causing me to lose sleep.” His face is creased with stress as he talks about it and he drops his tools in frustration.

“Yeah…they sure are cute lil guys. Imagine when you finally formulate it though! Theyll want to be all over you. Then your army of beetle lovers can eat the public opinion!” I laugh and pick up an analytical jar filled with peat and watch as the horned beetle emerges to munch on some sugarcane.

“Also hey how many do we have in inventory?” I inquire.

“Uhhh probably around 400 individuals over 5 generations. Sixth generation is scheduled to emerge in a few days now.” He answers, still not looking up at me. I admire his brown sleek hair, shining under the fluorescent lighting. I usually made excuses to talk to him throughout the day.

“Wow I wonder how much room we have left in here, we’re packed full. Well I have to work for about 3 hours with the longhorns so Ill come check in later to see if I can assist you.” Striding off, I walk through a hallway and enter a large metal door with a large latch.

I come into an enclosed refrigerated room and curse my luck on being stuck here. Its all plated metal with a chrome shelving unit on wheels and a long black table that stood about waist height. Plopping down on the black top swivel stool, i reach up for my clipboard, a binder, and mechanical pencil. Flipping open the binder, I scan the list of insects to be tested and pull out a form from another tabbed section. I flip open my airpod case and connect to my phones spotify playlist and walk out of the refrigerated hell to go grab my lil buddies that I get to hang out with for awhile. The insect species are separated by room so I dance over to the longhorn beetle room down the hall. The walls are lined with cups full of insect food and individual insects in each container. Buckets of different types of plants for feeding and a few carts along with another black table in the center of the room, fairly messy with forceps and papers were scattered about. The containers were marked with a gender sticker and had assigned genealogy tracking numbers. Sometimes Id mark a little heart on their containers if I was particularly fond of one of the individuals.

Dancing over and grabbing the cart, I stack male beetles and referencing my clipboard every so often. I scooted them all carefully back into my refrigerated testing room while grooving a bit to the music. I grabbed my favorite stick from the shelving unit and popped the top of the container to LB-08924 and was greeted by shaking and hissing.

“Oh nope. How bout you calm down there young man. Ill give you a few more minutes.” And grab another container for a second try.

On the table is a glass Y tube. Theres one small air hose connected to one side with the vaporized pheromone that the lab created and one small air hose connected to the other side with regular air. I get the next individual onto the stick and gently transfer them to the entrance to the tube and start a timer. The little antennas move a bit and stays in place. Waiting for the male to make a decision, I scribble in quick notes and information out on my form. Finally after 3 long minutes the male decides to walk down the tube towards our lab solution. I detach the air hose and gently pinch the lil guy to pull him out with a gloved hand. With a rather ungraceful plop, the male is dropped back into the container and the lid snapped shut.

Three hours go by and Ive listened to a whole Phish album and a podcast. I push a fallen curl behind my ear and straighten my posture, flipping through my reports to make sure I didnt miss any information.

Id been looking forward to taking a break and talking to Kyle again and the thought made me smile a bit to myself. I replace all my test subjects back to their respectful places, pop out my earbuds, and walk down the long hallway back to the main chemist lab.

“Kyle! Still hard at work I see. Im finished up with my beetles, need me to try and take a crack at yours?” I call out, seeing him in the same exact position as before. But this time, he actually turns to meet my green eyes with his darker gaze.

“Actually…yeah. The boss just fuckin yelled at me again to hurry this up. He doesnt understand that I cant rush this and once it is formulated, we have a long QC process ahead of us… Test this for me will you?”

“Yeah, anything for you. Give me a couple minutes to warm up first. Sample size?”

“Lets do 50 individuals. Using a spoon is your best bet to dig em out of the peat. Thanks, Clementine.” He holds out a vial to me and i take it, flashing him a smile and receiving one back.

I take the vial and slip it into my lab pocket readying a new cart of the new much larger rhinoceros male beetles. I struggle to balance their glass containers on the cart and right as I attempt to move the cart into the doorway of the testing room, the cart wobbles and causes the glass jars with the beetles to fall. Lunging to save the falling beetles, I trip in the process, breaking the vial and causing the glass to puncture through my jacket and shirt into my side. I land on other glass and thankfully none of the beetles.

“FUCK. ME.” I hiss and to my dismay I hear footsteps running over to me.

“Dude this didnt happen, lets not file an OSHA report and shit you know how much paperwork that is. Its my fault I shouldnt have tried to bring in that many bugs. I’ll take care of it all seriously Im fine. Im so sorry for breaking your vial I know that took you a long time..” I couldnt stop talking. Nevermind as fast as I was. I felt so embarrassed by the whole thing and wished I was alone. Kyle was staring at me with saucer eyes as if I ended the world by smashing his creation and I felt so badly about not being more careful.

“Uh Clementine… are you…. are you ok..? What the fuck…?”

I look down and see blood… but the blood stains look huge…but so does the lab coat itself…fuck I dont feel good. Woah all the beetles are surrounding me. The ones on the walls all surfaced from their peat. What the fuck….

Everything was in slow motion. I couldnt think straight and I felt like I was floating on hard drugs.

I realize Im craning my head up at Kyle with panic in my eyes.

“What was in the vial?” I slowly struggle to ask?

“Nothing that would cause this?? Its impossible. Maybe a dream??” He looks down at her with matching panic, hands shaking and staring down in fear as he appeared larger and larger to my now slumped body.

Ten or so beetles had finally began to crawl on me as I reached the height of the waist high table. Fear gripped me in the uncertainty but I realized I could barely stand from the overwhelming dizziness and weakness that overtook me. I was no taller than the waist high table and I collapsed to the ground causing two beetles to jump off.

“Help, please” desperation soaked my voice as their barbed legs gripped into my skin and my height still diminishing.

Kyles eyes darted and he finally began snatching the beetles off me and placing them in the labs emergency bug net. His huge hands approaching me caused my heart to race faster with fear. Holding the net of angry buzzing beetles, he turned and ran to secure them, leaving me. I had no idea how tall I was at this point, just that I was probably under 1’ by the look of things. I began to drag myself towards the bottom of the cart to try and hide underneath. There was no where else to hide and I couldnt trust a scientist, no matter how cute. The loud sound of footsteps coming back pumped fear through me and I realized I wouldnt be able to hide in time.

“Oh fuck youre so much smaller now…are you still shrinking?! Wait hey stop its ok theres no more beetles. All the insects are all locked up.” Kyle pushed the cart to expose the top half of me that had dragged myself under and squatted down in front of me.

“Uh sorry it took me a minute to process everything before helping you. I have no fucking idea whats happening but I feel responsible for giving you that vial. Im going to….pick you up now. Theres a lot of glass on the floor. Youre like 4 inches right now and I think you stopped shrinking.”

I watch, laid out on my side, bleeding in various places as he reaches both hands out in front of him, tilting his head as he considered how to exactly pick me up. I swallow as the hands approach. He uses his pointer finger to roll me onto the palm of his other hand. I puke in my mouth as he slowly raises me up to his gaze. His eyes are massive now, huge glossy orbs of color right in front of me. Exposing me. I had never felt so naked before and I shyly move my hands to cover myself despite my naked body already touching his warm palm. Averting my eyes, I hold back tears and feel absolutely out of control of reality.

“Ive got you, dont worry. I’ve got you.” He whispered quietly.

“We’ve gotta go though. We need to address your wounds first and foremost. Youre coming back with me.” Taking control of the situation, Kyles voice filled with more confidence.

“We gotta put you down first though so I can clean this up to prevent any suspicion. Im gonna lay you on the table now. Ill grab your shirt so you dont get cold. Youre shaking…i think.”

I couldnt speak. I didnt know what to say. I nodded weakly at the massive being and the nausea hit again as he lowered his hands and moved to the table. Using two fingers, he gently pushed me off his palm and I rolled onto the cold metal. In that moment I felt like a rag-doll specimen. He quickly plucked my bra from my shirt and brought the shirt up and wrapped me in it. My shivered chattering began to quiet and I soon found myself asleep to the sounds of him cleaning up broken glass.