Archive of Our Own

Rocket hasn’t seen Sword in days.


At first, Rocket didn’t think much of it; maybe Sword just needed some time to himself. Inphernals obviously had their off-days, right?


Rocket laughed it off, maybe Sword finally got tired of being everywhere all at once— But then another day passed. And another— and suddenly, it wasn’t just one quiet morning. It was an entire week of silence.


For anyone else, it might not have been strange. But this was Sword. Sword was the kind of inphernal who could light up a room without even trying (probably), often smiling, always dragging Rocket into conversations he hadn’t planned to have, dragging him along to crowded places— insisting on “just one more” story, “just one more” hour together. Sword was constant, steady in his presence, like sunlight spilling through a window every morning.


Sword’s presence was something Rocket had grown so used to that it felt as if it was practically stitched into the rhythm of Rocket’s everyday life.


So, no. Sword’s absence wasn’t just noticeable— it was wrong.


However, he hadn’t meant to end up here.


Rocket stood in front of Sword’s door. Out of worry, he believes. Not losing-sleep worried (maybe a little), not pacing-the-floor worried (he paced the entirety of Crossroads before he got here)— Just… worried enough to end up outside Sword’s home, standing there like an idiot with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, staring at the door like it owed him an answer.. shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and for the first time in a short while, he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. It was late—too late to be here without reason—but reason had abandoned him days ago. So what’s the phucking point?


“Phuck,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. He hadn’t meant to come here, not really. But after a week of radio silence, what else was he supposed to do? Sit around waiting? Pretend it didn’t bother him? Pretend he didn’t notice?


He hadn’t planned on coming here. At least, not really. He’d told himself he was just going for a walk, that some fresh air would clear his head. But his feet had carried him here anyway. Stupid.

He’d tried to quiet it. The restless pacing, the thoughts that circled endlessly; Where could he have gone? Did something happen? Why isn’t he here? Why didn’t he attend today’s phight? Each time he tried to dismiss it, the worry only burrowed deeper, until the silence in his chest became unbearable.

And now, somehow, his desperation had led him here.

Rocket forms a reluctant fist right before the door, hovering halfway in the air, knuckles tense, but he couldn’t bring himself to knock.


“Rocket— get yourself together, what the phuck?” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. He could just turn around, pretend he never came, tell himself he was overthinking it. He didn’t owe Sword this. But then again—wasn’t that what friends were supposed to do? Check in, make sure the other wasn’t, like, dead in a ditch or some shit?


“Goddamnit.”


Before he could stop himself, he rapped his knuckles hard against the wood. The sound echoed louder than he meant it to, sharp in the quiet. His chest tightened immediately. No going back now.


There was a pause. Then the faint sound of movement.


When the door cracked open, Rocket felt his heart stop—for a split second, okay?!— but much to his dismay, it wasn’t Sword who stood there, but Venomshank. However, there was another problem.


Because the second the door cracked open, the air hit him.


Something smelled, soft and sharp at once. It wrapped around him like smoke, clinging to his skin, and his throat went dry so fast it startled him.

His shoulders tensed before his brain even caught up. Instinct prickled at him, like his body knew something he didn’t want to admit.


Rocket blinked, caught off guard. “Uh—hey, sir.” he cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly— trying to steady his voice. “Sorry to bother you. Just—uh—haven’t seen Sword around lately. It’s been a week, actually. I was just wondering if he’s… y’know, doing okay?”


Venomshank hesitated, hand tight on the edge of the door. He was—while probably staring down Rocket really hard from behind that mask— cautious in a way that made the air suddenly feel heavier; however, it was not from the deity that smelt of pine resin and juniper berries. He didn’t move to open the door wider, just stayed there, blocking the way inside.


Rocket scratched the back of his neck. Fingers jittery. “Is… everything alright? Cause he seems to be a bit MIA and stuff, maybe he got abducted by some aliens or some shit, hopefully not, but.. I figured maybe he’d be holing himself up here—...”


“But if he isn’t—”
“—He’s here.”


Rocket blinks.


“So where the hell is he?”


Venomshank’s grip on the door tightened. And if Rocket squinted just a tad bit more, it almost seemed like the deity bristled at the question. “Sick. He’s not feeling well, Rocket.”


Rocket frowns, pocketing his hands.


“Caught something,” Venomshank added quickly, his words careful, too neat. “Fever. Worn out. But he’s recuperating just fine. He needs rest, not company.”


Illness. Right. Rocket’s brow furrowed. He wanted to believe it—wanted to let that explanation settle—but that smell kept drilling into him. Sandalwood. Strawberries. Too rich, too heavy for some random cold. It tugged at instincts he’d rather keep locked down, instincts that told him this wasn’t sickness, wasn’t anything so simple.


Rocket licked his lips, uneasy. “Sick, huh. Then why—” he stopped himself, jaw tightening, because he wasn’t about to admit that a smell was what tipped him off. He wasn’t about to look crazy.

Instead, he muttered, “Weird, is all. He’s never just… gone. Not like this.”


Venomshank somehow lost the tension in his shoulders (which Rocket only recently noticed, considering the deity was like, peeking out from behind the door.) at what Rocket said, but his stance didn’t move. If anything, the door closed in another inch. “I know. But trust me, he’ll be alright. He just needs time. You understand?”

Rocket stood there, caught between instincts and logic, teeth grinding. Finally, he dragged his hands out of his pockets—lifting them in a half-defensive shrug. “Fine. Whatever. Just—tell him he better text me back when he’s alive again, or I’m kicking his ass for worrying me.”


The deity gave Rocket a wary nod. “I’ll tell him.”


Rocket turned away, but the scent clung, heavier than before, wrapping around his senses like it didn’t want him to leave.

He started down the hallway before he realized he was moving. The stairwell felt louder than it should—every footstep a stupid drumbeat counting off the whole week he’d wasted not knowing.

He kept telling himself Venomshank had a point. Maybe Sword really was sick. Maybe this was nothing more than an overblown worry. He could be reasonable. He was reasonable. He’d grown out of jumping into shit without thinking. That’s what he’d told himself since he’d cleaned up the restlessness that used to get him into trouble.

But the smell kept hanging at the back of his mind—bright then heavy, impossible to forget. It wasn’t just a scent. It felt like a breadcrumb trail that led somewhere he wasn’t supposed to follow, and the part of him that hated being kept in the dark didn’t like that one bit.

He glanced down at his phone like he might find a message waiting there that would make everything make sense. Nothing. The screen was as blank as the past week. He shoved it into his pocket with a muttered curse. “Phuckin’ hell.”

He caught himself replaying how Venomshank was unusually closed off—uneasy, cautious, the way his hand had stayed on the door as if it could keep something in. Venomshank had been careful with his words, too careful. Illness was a neat, neutral lie; it kept other ideas quiet, questions fewer. It also kept Rocket out. Convenient. Protective. Or hiding.

Rocket stopped on the landing and crossed his arms, jaw working. Admitting what the scent did to him would be admitting a whole other thing he wasn’t ready to name—how much Sword’s absence tugged at him for reasons that weren’t only friendship, and holy hell did it drive him insane. So he squashed it down, shoved it into the corner of his mind where he kept the things he didn’t want to deal with. “Probably nothing,” he told himself. “Probably just ill, like what his old man said. Leave it, Rocket.”

He walked the rest of the way home slower than he needed to, replaying bits of the conversation like they were evidence. Small details kept sticking out—how the deity was trying to get him off Sword’s (and probably his) tail—or well, his wings. And how he’d closed the door the tiniest bit more than necessary. That niggling doubt sat at the base of his neck, a cold thing he couldn’t shrug off.


Rocket’s brows drew even more together. He could tell when someone was brushing him off — he’d had enough of that growing up to recognize the tone. And the way Venomshank was acting wasn’t reassuring, it was protective. Guarded.

When he got in, he paced the house like a caged animal for a few minutes, then threw cold can of—whatever the hell—into the sink and leaned his forehead against the counter. He hated feeling like this—annoyed at himself for letting worry twist into something grittier, irritated at Sword for disappearing, pissed off at the old guy for stonewalling.

He pulled his phone out again and typed Sword’s name into the message box, thumb hovering over the keyboard. For a second he almost sent something soft—text me when you can, you idiot—but he backed off, deleted it, and instead typed; You owe me an explanation. Don’t make me come back. He hit send before he could second-guess the tone.

Then he waited. And waited. And the silence tasted different now—less like mere absence and more like a challenge. He didn’t know what he was going to do next. He only knew he wasn’t satisfied with “sick” for an answer. Not when the burning smell of sandalwood and sickly sweet strawberries kept replaying in his head like a loop, how it drove him off an edge he never knew existed. Not when Sword had always been the kind of person who didn’t go quiet without a damn good reason.

Rocket told himself he’d give it one day. One day for a reply. If not—well, he crossed his arms tighter and felt the stubborn set in his jaw. He could be calm. He could be reasonable. But he could also show up again. Knock louder. Ask better questions. Break whatever line of defense was keeping him out.

He didn’t want to admit it, but the thought of waiting felt worse than the idea of barging in. And he didn’t like being the kind of inphernal who left things to rot.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

So… again.

One day seemed desperate, so—

Three phucking days.

Rocket lasted three damn days before the itch under his skin drove him back to Sword’s doorstep.

He’d tried everything—burying himself with work around the shop, running till his lungs burned, drowning the static with too much noise, participating in more phights than he usually would— None of it worked. The silence still gnawed at him. That scent still lingered like a ghost he couldn’t shake, creeping back every time he thought he’d finally stopped thinking about it.

But then again, how could he not? When it burrowed under his phucking skin like sin, and made its nest there, anchored deep within him.

It was agonizing.

And by the third night, here he was— with his patience snapped.

He told himself it wasn’t because he was restless or worried in some unexplainable way—it was because Sword was being a pain in the ass. Because friends didn’t disappear like this. Because if Venomshank thought they could keep blocking him off, they had another thing coming.

So he stalked up the steps, fists jammed deep in his pockets, teeth grit. He knocked, hard, sharp enough to echo down the quiet street.

“Hey,” he barked, more bite than he meant, but he didn’t care. “I know you’re in there, old man. Don’t make me stand out here like an idiot again.”


For a beat, it was quiet—quiet enough he thought maybe he’d just storm off, maybe flip off the door like it did him wrong or some shit. But then…


“Rocket?”


The voice was faint. Raw, strained. But it was Sword.


Rocket froze, his chest tightening before his mind caught up. He stepped closer to the door, his palms suddenly sweating. “The phuck—Sword? That you?”


“Yeah,” came the reply, muffled by the door. “It’s me.”


Rocket let out a sharp laugh, bitter with relief and anger all tangled. “You’ve gotta be shitting me. You vanish for a week, your stupid dad gives me some bullshit about you being sick, and now you decide to talk? Behind a goddamn door?”


Rocket’s hand pressed against the door, tension building in his fingers. The faint scent of sandalwood and strawberries drifted underneath the small crack of the door, and his chest tensed. That smell—Sword’s scent—made something coil low in his gut, sharp and insistent. He cursed under his breath, blinking rapidly, trying to shove down the stir of an indescribable feeling from creeping up. He was more than this, for gods’ sake. He shouldn’t be reacting like this just to a smell and a voice, his best friend’s, no less.


Thank god he slapped on some scent blockers— else he would’ve made it mighty obvious what he’s feeling right now.

“Look, Sword…” he started, voice rough, trying to keep it rational, but it trickled off into whatever scenario Rocket’s trying to ward off in his brain, “whatever the hell’s going on, you need to tell me. Now. I can’t just—”

“Rocket…” The tremor in Sword's voice cut him off. Soft, breathy, hopeless. Sword’s voice trembled, and something about it made Rocket freeze mid-sentence. His pulse spiked, fingers scraping uneasily at his restraint, the scent— the long weeks he'd been gone— Did this motherphucker manifest his second sex or some shit? “Not with you here.”


Sure, Rocket made some jokes about Sword being a late bloomer, but he didn’t expect the motherphucker to bloom so late, in his phucking twenties too! He’d always thought the guy was a beta!


But maybe this wasn’t all that bad, either. However, he’s never gonna admit that. The masses would need to pry it off his cold, dead hands.

“You might want to go,” Rocket blinked, brow furrowing at how complicated everything’s getting, a scowl slowly etching itself on his lips. After everything? Dude, what the hell Sword. “Wait, wait, slow down. You— you’re a phucking omega? You—? At your grown age?” he asks, holding back a half-assed chuckle.

There was a shaky exhale on the other side of the door. “ I’m… It just happened, Rocket, like what the hell—! I didn’t want you to see me like shit—” Sword’s words came out in fragments, voice thick, unsteady, trembling with both shame and… something else Rocket didn’t wanna name. Rocket feels a lump form in the back of his throat. “I— Sorry.”

Rocket’s chest tightened, and his hands fisted against the door. “Shit… Sword, slow the phuck down. Just… shit. I’m not… I’m not blaming you—” He swallowed hard, heart hammering as instinct warred with thought. “But you’re in heat, aren’t you?” 

“Uh, I—” Sword broke off, a strangled sound slipping through. The scent hit Rocket in full force now, warm, sharp, utterly magnetic. The reality slammed into him like a phucking bus, his answer laid out right before him— his best friend, his friend he’d been trying desperately to keep in check, and maybe in the very back of his mind, his omega—was quivering for him. Because of him just being there.


Rocket has no idea if he should acknowledge how tight his pants felt at the thought.

Rocket’s lips pressed into a thin, tight line. A low, tremulous whine from the other side of the door has him wetting his lips unconsciously, the way Sword’s scent thickened and curled into his senses, made him feel… raw. Restless. And it took him everything within him to just— not bust that damn door down. Oh may the sword deities smite him down right now. Well… One deity in specific.

“Okay… okay,” Rocket muttered, rough, trying to keep it measured despite his nerves being all over the damn place. “you’re… am I making it worse? I’m sorry dude. But you’re my friend, Sword. And I’m not gonna just… leave you like this.”

“Rocket…” Sword’s voice cracked, desperate,  “I didn’t say you could—should. Sorry, just— please don’t.”

Rocket’s chest tightened again, but at the same time— Who is he really fighting here?!— Okay, what the phuck. His breath hitches, catching in his throat. He pressed his forehead to the door.

“You’re not okay, dude, I can tell from over here, which is— shit, obvious enough but…” he said softly, almost a rumble. “But goddamn… you smell like… you.” Rocket hesitates, fumbling over his words. “All… all of you. And it’s… it’s driving me insane. Uh—A bit.”

“You can smell it too?— didn’t expect it to hit me so hard like this,” the inphernal from the other side of the door whispered, and Rocket doesn’t respond, words dying in his throat—it was pulling, tugging at something in Rocket, something that had absolutely nothing to do with logic.


Rocket utters an empty prayer. More for Sword than himself.

Rocket then proceeds to curse under his breath. “No, not at all.” his hands flexed against the door, frantic eyes searching for Sword’s shadow from underneath the narrow crack of the door, something in him stirred, straining to maintain composure while everything he had been denying battered at him. “Just… hang on, okay? Don’t… do anything stupid. Just… breathe for me, yeah?”

“Okay—I uh, it's just— ‘m struggling really hard over here…” Sword’s voice trembled, thick, laced with desire and fear and something that made Rocket want to take control in the safest, roughest, most urgent way all at once. Rocket snorts to himself, what he’s feeling right now lowkey needs a word for it.

Rocket exhaled slowly, trying to ground himself, heart hammering. He had to steady himself, not jump right in like an idiot looking for a spot in a coffin, he literally had no idea what to do, because for one— he hadn’t come here looking for Sword to help him with his heat—really— He didn’t even know the idiot was in heat in the first place. He was here because he couldn’t stay away. (Out of concern, nothing else. Probably)


The silence dragged, and Rocket tried his best to drown it out with just his pulse and whatever coherent string of thought he was still able to produce at the very moment with Sword’s breathing uneven on the other side of the door.


Whilst Rocket lost himself in his thoughts, a shaky breath cut through the silence— Sword, steady despite the tremor in his voice— something flipped within him, almost like a switch. The smell grew stronger—headier, thicker. It wafted right into where Rocket stood and enveloped him like smoke.

“…Come in, Rocket.”

Rocket stiffened, his heart lurching, a loud curse almost leaving his lips if he hadn’t caught himself. “What?”

“You heard me,” Sword said, and despite the uncertainty, his syllables came stronger this time, a sense of bite lingering at the edge of his words. “Come inside, please.”

Rocket’s hand wandered and found themselves tightening against the doorframe. His mouth went dry, instincts blaring even as his brain tried to jam the brakes. What the phuck, Sword? You can’t just play this game, dude. “You don’t—you don’t mean that. It’s just your heat, dude. You were just a mess a minute ago—” What the hell, whatthehellwhatthehellwhatthehell?

“Yes, I do. And I— I don’t know, It feels different now.” Sword’s tone cut clean through his hesitation, low and certain despite the rawness in it. And Rocket shudders out of anticipation. (Or maybe how his gut coiled beneath his denial)  “But it’s you. I want you here. Nobody else.”

Rocket’s throat worked, his pulse hammering. He could smell Sword—heat-sweet, sharp with need—pouring through the crevice beneath the door and twisting around his lungs like a chokehold.


Something he thought he had pushed at the very back of his mind clawed at him to answer it, but his mind stuttered over whether it was truly right to. “Sword, if I—if we…” he broke off, shaking his head. The warmth that had long crept up his face unknowingly got impossibly warmer at the implication—


—an unclaimed omega inviting an alpha inside his heat-stricken den. Even an idiot would put two and two together about what the gesture meant. And thank goodness Rocket was just stupid— So again, what the hell. “But you’ll regret it once your shitty haze comes down, c’mon, dude— You can’t be phuckin’ serious.”

On the other side, a shaky laugh. “You…— think I don’t know what I’m asking? I’ve been going out of my mind for days… and the only thing that makes it worse is knowing it’s you I need.”

Rocket makes a noise, blinking rapidly, fighting back the itch to blast it open (When has he not?) Be better than your urges, echoing like a mantra in his head. “You don’t—phuck, you can’t just—”

“..I can.” Sword’s voice was clear, stubborn now. “And I am. So come in, Rocket. Or—... you scared?”

The words speared straight through Rocket’s hesitation. His chest tightened, stirring under the taunt. Slowly, his hand lifted, gripping the handle. The latch clicked. And he gulps to himself, probably counting down his last seconds before he utterly folds. To Sword. Of all inphernals— Sword.

The door cracked open—and Sword slouched against the wall nearby, his scent oozing off him like he was the finest confection freshly served just for Rocket. Wings bristling behind him at the breeze that had just entered his home the moment Rocket opened the door— he was flushed and damp, hair messy against his temples. His pupils were blown wide, lips slicked red. His shirt hung loose around his shoulders, collar stretched low from—probably—restless hands tugging at it. Rocket’s curious eyes wander— and finds himself staring at slicked thighs, evidence of it all. Sword’s heat clung to him like a second skin, rolling out in waves that made Rocket’s cock ache.

They shared a heartbeat of silence,

Rocket’s breath caught. “Holy shit, I—Sword… gods…”

Sword’s gaze locked onto his, unflinching, but his wing bats in anticipation. And Rocket nearly loses his composure, stammering as he fails to form a straight thought—Gears failing to work as his blood boiled underneath his skin. “Don’t look at me like that. You wouldn’t have opened the door if you didn’t want m— this, too.”

Rocket swallowed hard, every nerve pulled taut. “I—I shouldn’t—” he blinks rapidly, brows furrowed as he tries to take a step back, immediately regretting his actions. What are you doing? Enter. Enter, now.

“Then don’t talk,” Sword cut in, shuffling as he shoves his foot against the door, opening it before Rocket could even think about closing the door on him. His voice dropped, confident, almost daring.

Rocket’s restraint splintered under the weight of it. The scent, the look in Sword’s eyes, the way his own body screamed to close the distance—it was too much. With a curse, he gulps and takes one reluctant step inside, he pushed the door shut behind him and let the lock click into place.

Avoiding Sword’s gaze, he keeps his distance, “...You look like shit,” Rocket muttered before he could stop himself, voice too rough, too uneven.

Sword snorted, leaning lazily against the wall even though his cheeks burned. “And here I was about to say you look like you haven’t slept in three days.”

Rocket’s lips pressed flat, shrinking at the comment. “I—maybe.”

That made Sword falter for a heartbeat. His expression softened, “...You idiot.” then he stepped back, opening the door wider. “You’ve probably stood there behind my door long enough for the neighbors to start wondering why you’re glowering on the porch like a stray dog.”

Rocket hesitated—because it almost felt like he was gonna start walking into something he couldn’t walk back out of. But once he glances over, Sword’s eyes caught his, steady and expectant, and the smartass line on his lips stuck there, daring him. Even though it was shaky—tight, and maybe painful for Sword’s case— Rocket took it as a challenge anyway.

Though Rocket frowns, “Okay, but do you have a death wish or something?” Rocket asked, finally stepping inside, trying to make his voice come out lighter than the heat pooling in his gut. “Letting an alpha into your house while you’re—like this?”

Sword’s lips curved into a smirk that didn’t quite hide the flush on his cheeks. “What, scared you won’t behave?”

“Scared?” Rocket scoffed, though his throat was dry. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, fighting the twitch of his instincts. “I’m not the one inviting trouble.”

Somewhere in his mind, he wonders about the possibility that it was not Rocket chewing away at his door, but another alpha. Would Sword ask for them to come inside, too?

“So you admit you’re troublesome?”

Rocket dragged his eyes away, jaw tense, “No—cause— look at you, y’know you look like hell. And your house smells like someone set fire to a candy store. Thank god your door’s as thick as your skull,” ‘If not, you would be drawing alphas here like moths to a pyre.’ goes unsaid, hanging somewhere in the back of his throat.

Sword snorted, but the sound wavered. “Mm, poetic. Bet you like it though. You don’t have to lie.”

Rocket’s fingers find his dog tag, fidgeting. “Dude. You’re out of your mind right now.”

“No ‘m not— just.. new,” Sword shot back, lips twitching in a half-smile that was too tired to hold. “Heat. My very first one.”

The words dropped between them like a stone. Rocket froze. His skin prickled hot.

“So the late bloomer allegations were true, after all, yeah?”

Sword pushed off the floor,  swaying slightly as he stood, he moves closer to Rocket (Who is freaking out at the very moment)— all the while lacking a comeback, maybe lost to his heat-addled mind. “Positive. And it’s killing me, by the way. You have no idea how bad I need…—” he cut himself off,  “Shit. Forget I said that.”

Before Rocket could even retort, Sword tilted his head toward the back of the house. “Won’t you come to my nest?” Sword rasped, saying it like it was the least bothersome thing in the world.

Rocket’s throat caught his breath for the nth time that night, before he forcibly ground himself from Cloud 9 with a pinch to his arm. “You're inviting me?” does Sword know what that means?

That earned him a sharp glare, he leans backwards, before the swordsman walks off. Rocket followed, muttering, “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

Rocke nearly tripped over his own feet at that. His ears burned, his chest tightened, but when Sword glanced back over his shoulder with that cocky little smile, he couldn’t think of a single comeback. Does his heat give him extra brain cells? Or less, in the case of how it's not helping Rocket at all over here— Maybe, Rocket thinks. Platonic, all phuckin’ platonic. Casual. He's definitely not getting harder by the minute. Thank sword deities he has layers on.

He hears a door creak open, and he peeks in slowly. The nest came into view—pillows and blankets piled haphazardly, clothing mixing with one another— and although the colors clashed, Rocket thinks its pretty. It carried Sword’s scent thick and overwhelming. It hit Rocket’s lungs all at once, making him stiffen in place. But the urge to dive in and melt in it has never been stronger.

Sword’s wings fluttered, twitching as he carefully examined Rocket’s expression. “...Rocket. You’re standing there like you’re about to bolt on me. Relax, you’re not trespassing, I—invited you in, anyway.”

Rocket’s eye twitched. “Feels like I am,” he tips his head down shamefully, glaring at the floor. “Pretty sure your dad would rip my head off if he saw me here.”

“But he isn't here, is he?” he hears Sword whine all of a sudden, before breaking into coughs. Deliberately trying to cover up the heat bubbling within him. “So, what’s it gonna be? You wanna lurk by the door looking like an idiot, or see if the nest lives up to your expectations?”

Rocket flushes, realizing Sword read him like a book. Slowly, painstakingly— sets his ass on the edge of the bed. He smells Sword's disappointment, and Rocket wills himself not to give in.

Rocket looked down, lips tight, but Sword only smiled wider, “What’s the matter? Afraid my nest will eat you alive?”

Rocket swallowed hard. Patience waning. “…Maybe I’m afraid you will.”

That earned him a breathless laugh. “Well…—Wouldn’t that be one hell of a way to go?”

Then from beside him— Sword’s hand wandered, snaking up Rocket’s side, tugging at his jacket. His voice teasing and ragged, yet it still held an edge to it that Rocket can't quite put to words. “You could at least sit with me in the nest. You— you don’t even have to do anything. Just… keep me company before I start…—doing something stupid.”

Sword pauses. Before he tears away. Though it felt a little more like he painfully forced himself to, if anything.

Looking over at the offer, Rocket pauses in thought.

The nest looked so enticing—It smelled thick with warmth and tension, air heavy enough that Rocket’s lungs felt like they were filling with syrup every time he tried to breathe.

Sword backs off, now sprawled across the mess as if it were his throne, head propped lazily on his hand, the other patting the space beside him with mocking insistence. His grin was sharp, but his eyes—half-lidded, flushed, unfocused—betrayed something softer, yet it held a teary edge that made Rocket cave.

“Why are you acting like you’re on death row?” Sword quipped, playful and teasing, voice husky, thick. Rocket would be lying if he said he wasn't lowkey into it right now. “It’s not a guillotine. It’s a bed.”

Rocket hummed, the sound loud in his throat. Unsure and wavering in his composure. Holding back as if his life depended on it. “…Feels about the same.”

Sword’s wings puffed up in response, defensive. “Hey, I worked on this really hard, you know— just for you to slander my nest, seriously?”

That made Rocket snort, a sharp grin tugging at his lips. Ignoring the voices that started, clawing at his mind to coo and shower Sword with praise. “Says the guy who can’t even walk across the street without tripping over his own feet.”

“Unfair. That was one time.”

“Three times. You had me save your ass each time.”

“—Okay, maybe three. But you’ve eaten shit off your rocket way more than that, so don’t get too cocky.”

Rocket laughed, the sound rawer than he meant, and shook his head. “Hell, you’re impossible.”


Our omega is not impossible, you're just being stubborn.

“Ironic… isn't it? And yet—here you are. In my room. In my nest.” Sword raised a brow, the smirk still plastered across his face, but there was a tension in the set of his shoulders, a flush high on his cheeks. He tossed it out like a joke, but his voice dipped, “Who’s really impossible, huh?”

Rocket froze for half a beat too long, his chest pulling tight. The air between them was thick, heavy with scent and things they weren’t supposed to admit. He dragged a hand over his face, trying to laugh it off. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? Like, slowly. Death by secondhand embarrassment.”

Sword wheezed out a laugh, painful, but it did him well by covering his own nerves with bravado. “Please. You’ve embarrassed yourself way worse without me lifting a finger.”

“Yeah, but at least I wasn’t sitting there looking like a tomato about to explode,” Rocket fired back, his grin sharp and pointed, accusatory. 

Sword lobbed the pillow and Rocket caught it against his chest with a laugh, tossing it aside like it weighed nothing. His grin was all teeth now, spiteful. “Cute try. You throw like a twelve-year-old.”

Sword’s wings flared wider, puffing up on instinct, his eyes narrowing. “Excuse me? That’s rich, coming from the guy who—” he gathered himself before he jabbed a finger into Rocket’s chest, hard enough to make him scoot over to the very edge of the bed. “—crashed into my window at two in the morning a few weeks back. Real graceful, champ.”

Rocket chuckled, “Oh, so now we’re keeping score?”

“We’ve always been keeping score,” Sword shot back, even with a wavering voice, the tight smirk tugging higher on his mouth. “And spoiler alert? I’m winning.”

“Winning?” Rocket echoed, incredulous, though the edge of his voice cracked into something low, dark, veiled with tease. He leaned closer, crowding Sword back into the nest with each word. “Pretty bold claim from someone with feathers sticking up like a pissed-off pigeon.”

Sword sputtered, indignant. Proving Rocket’s point as his wings flared wide, “Pigeon—?! You asshole.”

Rocket grinned wider. “What? Should I get you some breadcrumbs?”

That earned him a shove, weak and shaky, more heat than strength behind it. Sword was laughing, breathless, even as his face burned crimson. “Shut up.”

“No, you shut up,” Rocket threw back, half on autopilot, half because his restraint was fraying by the second. His hand shot out before he realized what he was doing, catching Sword’s wrist mid-shove and twisting just enough to throw him off balance. Sword yelped, tumbling backward into the blankets.

Rocket followed, fast, pinning him down before he could wriggle free. Another hand shot up to catch both wrists and pressed them each beside Sword’s head.

Sword’s eyes went wide, breath stuttering out of him. But his grin didn’t falter—if anything, it curved sharper, face flushing impossibly redder, even while his thighs wrapped around Rocket involuntarily. “Ohhh. So that’s how it is, huh?”

Rocket loomed above him, smirk hovering somewhere between dangerous and uncertain. His pulse thundered against his ribcage, but the voices just purred, absolutely content with his choice of actions.

“What, you think I was gonna let you run your mouth forever?”

“Not—my fault you can’t handle a little banter,” Sword teased, voice strained, shaky, yet he kept an underlying bite within his words. He tugged against Rocket’s grip, but didn’t really try to break free. “Scared I might outtalk you?”

“Please,” Rocket scoffed, leaning down until their noses nearly brushed. His voice dropped low, husky. “I’ve got better ways to shut you up.”

Sword flushes deeper, and for once, Sword’s laugh came out unsteady, caught somewhere between a chuckle and a gasp. His pupils were blown wide, lips parted as if daring Rocket to prove it. “Big words… for someone who’s never had the guts.”

Rocket’s smirk twitched—half nervous, half hungry—and he pressed harder against him, their bodies flush, heat sparking like fire between every point of contact. His chest was heaving, and the grip on Sword’s wrists trembled just enough to betray how badly he wanted—how badly he and the voices gnawing at him needed this.

And Sword—cheeks red, chest rising, smirk clinging on by a thread—lifted his chin in challenge. “So what’s it gonna be, Rocket? More talk, or are you finally gonna—”

Rocket didn’t think. He just moved.

One second, Sword was mouthing off, grinning through his heat like he had the upper hand. The next, Rocket’s mouth crashed onto his.

The kiss was clumsy—teeth clacking, lips not lining up right at first. Sword let out a startled sound against him, half gasp, half whine, but then his mouth opened and Rocket’s tongue slid past his teeth, desperate and sloppy. It burned straight down both their spines, and suddenly, neither of them could breathe.

When they pulled back for air, strings of spit clung between their mouths. Both of them were flushed, panting.

“…Holy shit,” Sword whispered, voice cracking around a shaky laugh, mind buzzing. “That’s your big move?”

Rocket grinned, chest heaving. Mind screaming at him in incoherent strings of need. “Shut up. You kissed me back.”

“Yeah, well—you’re terrible at it,” Sword shot back, though the way his entire body flushed and how the black of his pupils nearly engulfed the entirety of his red eyes betrayed every word he spat.

“Terrible, huh?” Rocket murmured, leaning down again. He catches his composure, pressing firmer on Sword’s wrist. “Then maybe I should practice more, mind helping me?”

He kissed him harder this time, removing his hands as he tilted Sword’s head with the free hand, forcing his mouth open. Sword moaned low into the kiss, strong arms wrapping around Rocket’s neck as Sword arched slightly against him— but Rocket felt it like a punch to the gut.

His other hand—restless, searching—slid down over Sword’s side, then hesitated at the base of his wing. He’d always been curious. Always wanted to touch, but never dared. He needed to catch himself before he stumbled over how beautiful his wings looked. Needed to catch himself from touching them.

Now, with Sword trapped under him, flushed and gasping, Rocket gave in. His fingers brushed along the curve of the wing.

Sword gasped into his mouth—sharp, involuntary. Head thrown back into the nest, knocking Rocket back a bit— His whole body arched up off the nest, a shiver ripping through him so hard his legs clenched tight around Rocket’s hips.

Rocket pulled back just far enough to see his face, both hands hovering beside his head in surrender for fear he had done something wrong. Sword’s eyes were wide, lips trembling, face undeniably red.

“…What the hell was that?” Rocket muttered, stunned. But something deep in his gut bubbles. He reaches, his hand flexing against the wing again before Sword could even stammer out a response.

Sword let out a broken sound, a whimper he tried too late to swallow. “D-don’t—”

“Oh, sword deities above,” Rocket breathed, staring like he’d just struck gold. His grin came slowly, wolfish, as he smoothed his hand over the base again. Sword jerked, squirming under him, wings twitching violently underneath the warmth of Rocket’s palm. “Sensitive?”

“Shut up!” Sword barked, though it came out weak, strangled. His face was scarlet, his voice cracking with every pant. “Don’t you dare—”

Rocket laughed, low and rough, pressing his body down with his own to keep him pinned. “Oh, I dare.”

He slid his fingers further up the wing, rubbing deliberately along the edge, and Sword practically wailed, bucking up against him. His hips ground into Rocket’s without meaning to, heat thick in the air, mixing with the burn of his strawberry-sandalwood smell until Rocket felt drunk on it.

“Ohhh, shit,” Rocket muttered, half to himself, half to Sword. “You’re already coming just from your wings? Wow, looks like you’re the one losing between the two of us.”

Sword thrashed under him, mortified, drooling while his voice cracked. “No–! No, I'm not—S-shut your face—you don’t know what you’re doing—”

Rocket kissed him again, swallowing the words, grinding their hips together until they both groaned. “Feels like I know enough,” he rasped against Sword’s lips. His hand tugged at the base again, pressing—rubbing, deliberately teasing, and Sword shuddered so violently it rattled Rocket’s bones.

Rocket chuckled, dazed and hungry, staring down at him. “Gods, you’re actually better like this.”

Sword’s eyes snapped to his, wide and unfocused, wings trembling as he panted. “…Asshole.”

Rocket smirked, biting his lip, pressing their foreheads together. “Yeah. But you like it.”

And when he rolled his hips again, feeling Sword’s body grind back against him, the proof was undeniable.

Rocket’s chest heaved against Sword’s, his grin faltering for a split second as something he’d forced away at the very back of his mind chipped away at his sense of self, harder—bite him. Now—make him yours.

His instincts were gnashing at its cage, clawing bloody lines in its restraint. Every drag of Sword’s scent through his lungs was like pouring gasoline into fire—sweet, sharp strawberries, grounded with the bite of sandalwood. It made Rocket dizzy, made his teeth ache with the need to sink into the flushed skin of Sword’s throat.

Not now. Not yet. Don’t lose it. He forced a shaky laugh instead, burying the urge under his usual snarl. “God, you’re a mess already. You really break this easily?”

Sword bared his teeth, cheeks burning. “I-I’m not—!”

Rocket cut him off with a roll of his hips, pressing his hard-on against Sword’s already slick pants and the sound Sword made—caught between a gasp and a moan— made him feel things. His hand slid back to those trembling wings, twitching helplessly under his touch.

Sword jolted, clutching at Rocket’s jacket, tears threatening to fall. “D-don’t—ah—!”

“Oh,” he drags out, “I definitely should,” Rocket murmured, voice rough, strained from holding himself together. His fingers spread over the feathers, dragging deliberately slow. “You twitch like I’m electrocuting you. How the hell did I not know about this sooner?”

Sword whimpered, the sound tearing free despite his glare. His wings fluttered weakly, betraying him, and Rocket’s grin sharpened even as his chest felt like it might cave in from the urge to—

Mine. Yours. Ours. Take him. Sink in. Bite.

He bit his own tongue instead, copper flooding his mouth as he pushed back against the voices gnawing at him. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—rip this apart by losing control. Not when Sword was staring up at him like that, equal parts furious and wrecked, lips swollen from their kiss.

Rocket ducked down, brushing their mouths together again, softer this time—softer than he meant. “You’re killing me, you know that?” he whispered, breath ragged. His hand squeezed at the joint of Sword’s wing, and Sword bucked against him, keening, dragging Rocket closer.

“Y-you’re the one—” Sword gasped, tears dripping down his cheeks as his eyes rolled back. “—making this worse—”

Rocket laughed low, harsh, to cover the crack in his voice. “Nah. I’m making it better.” his jagged teeth grazed Sword’s jaw, skirting the pulse at his throat, and it took every ounce of willpower not to bite down. He lingered there, savoring the scent, the heat. He groaned, leaning down to press his face against the scent glands of Sword’s neck, dragging long licks on the flushed skin of the swordsman writhing beneath him.


He bares his teeth for a moment, before he snaps his head away.

Don’t. Not yet. Don’t ruin this.


Why, why? Why won’t you take him? Claim him, then he’ll truly be yours.

Instead, he raked his fingers along Sword’s wing again, watching his omega arch and tremble under him, completely undone. Rocket’s grin came back, desperate and hungry, though his voice was tight when he growled, “God, you’re addictive.”

Rocket had him pinned down—hands wandering all over Sword, his thigh slotted between parted legs. The heat radiating off him was unbearable, and Rocket’s canines physically hurt, though he kept grinding down on the gnawing voice in his skull. Anything to keep the canines off Sword, he supposes.

The voice starts again—Bite him. Take him. Mark him now. Yours, yours, yours.

Sword’s wings fluttered, twitching against the blankets like they couldn’t decide if they wanted to flare wide or curl tight. Beautiful, trembling things— He dragged one hand down, brushing the base of a wing, letting his hands feather over where it met the curve of Sword's back.

Sword jolted like he’d been struck by lightning. “Ah—! Don’t— don't tease, please— gods, just ah—mate me already—!” his protest cut off in a gasp, his back arching so hard their chests collided.

Rocket swallowed, heart hammering as his eyes blew wide. See? He wants you—

“No,” Rocket growled under his breath, more to himself than to Sword, forcing the words out like chains. “You—you don’t get it, Sword. You—hell, you don’t know what you’re asking.”

Sword only arched harder, his thighs trembling around Rocket’s. His wings twitched and flared when Rocket dragged his fingers along the ridge, and the omega’s moan cracked into a sob. “P-please—please—”

Rocket’s throat burned, out of need or uncertainty— he can't tell. “You’re— you idiot, you’re practically asking to be—”

“Then do it,” Sword snapped, eyes flying open, glassy and furious all at once. “I—I can’t—dammit—Rocket—please, please, do it—”

The words nearly broke him. His maw ached, saliva pooled under his tongue, instincts clawing to shred every bit of restraint he had. He bent low, nose pressing to Sword’s throat, inhaling deep like a starving man.

Bite. Bite him. Yours. Yoursyoursyoursyours. He wants it too, he needs you too.

Instead, he ripped himself sideways, teeth sinking into his own wrist, hard enough to draw blood. He snarled against the sting, grounding himself, holding back. “Not… like this. I don't know— shit, not yet.”

Sword let out a desperate, high sound, wings flapping uselessly beneath him. “Then touch me—please, just—!”

Rocket’s hand slid back to the base of his wings, rougher this time, kneading into the trembling joints. Sword screamed, hips bucking, thighs clamping helplessly around Rocket’s leg. The gush of slick soaking through the nest was sudden, unstoppable, and Rocket’s eyes widened as Sword squirted against him, body convulsing, wings thrashing.

“Holy shit, you came just from your wings.” Rocket hissed, breath breaking. His own body was rigid, on the edge of snapping. He pressed harder, fingers relentless against the base of Sword’s wings, watching the omega cry out, soaking everything beneath them as more slick spilled, dripping hot against Rocket’s skin.

“Rocket—! Oh shit, ohgodsohgodsohgodsoh—!” Sword sobbed, trembling violently, his body jerking with aftershocks.


Rocket’s vision blurred at the edges. Every nerve in his body screamed to sink his teeth into that throat, to lock his knot inside and never let go. His mind was an inferno, chanting in his bones— Claim him. He’s yours. Now.


Sword was gone afterwards momentarily.

His chest heaved as he sprawled across the wrecked nest, sweat damp in his hair, half-lidded eyes dazed— unfocused and teary, wings limp and twitching with aftershocks. His thighs quivered against Rocket’s hip, the slick soaking everything under them.

Rocket couldn’t tear his eyes away. He’d never seen anything like it—never seen Sword look so wrecked, so blissfully undone, from nothing but his touch. It was devastating. Beautiful. And it was shredding the last threads of his control.

Take him. Bury yourself. Bite down.

He growled low, biting the inside of his cheek. But then Sword’s hand fumbled clumsily up his chest, pawing at him with no strength, just need. “R… Rocket…” his voice was thin, airy, strung out like honey. “Need more. Please. Don’t stop.”

Sword’s scarred fingers scrambled to take off the layers of Rocket’s clothing. Rocket waited, letting Sword have his way with him, and piece by piece— Rocket’s patience waned.

Rocket’s gut clenched, coiling tightly around him. He braced one hand against the nest, the other sliding lower. Sword meets his intentions as his arms snaked around—Rocket stared him down in response, scrutinizing every ministration, every roll of his eye. The heel of his palm met the hood of Sword’s clit, when his fingers found his cunt, slick coated his skin instantly. The omega jerked, a shaky exhale leaving him, wings fluttering helplessly.

“Goddamn…” Rocket muttered gravelly, half to himself, half to the gnawing thing in his chest. His instincts were howling triumph, and his cock had strained painfully in his pants for what felt like hours. “You’re soaked.”

Sword let out a laugh, delirious and cracked, head tipping back into the nest. “That’s your fault.”

Rocket almost laughed, but it broke into a groan as he pushed a finger into him—tight, hot, impossibly wet. Sword’s walls clenched hard around the intrusion.

“Oh—hell,” Sword gasped, “R-Rocket—ah—”

Rocket’s jaw locked tight. He moved carefully, pumping shallowly, testing, until Sword was rocking into it, begging with broken moans. His own vision blurred again, something clawing up his throat. More. Give him more. Stretch him. Knot him. Yours.

He snarled against the urge, but shoved a second finger in anyway. Sword cried out, arching off the blankets, his slick gushing around Rocket’s hand. His thighs quaked, spreading wider, shameless.

“Good gods,” Rocket swore (trying to block out one specific one in mind), breath rough, forehead pressing to Sword’s shoulder. “You’re… you’re milking my fingers like you’re starving.”

“Maybe I am,” Sword slurred back, words desperate and playful all at once, his voice wrecked. He dug his nails down Rocket’s back, drawing red, fresh crescents, “I told you—more, more—please, I can take it—”

Rocket thrust his fingers deeper, just enough to make Sword scream, the sound strangled with pleasure. He felt the omega clamp down hard, slick spilling again.


Rocket maybe should’ve stopped at that point. Every instinct screamed that he was crossing a line. But the slick coating his hand, the way Sword’s cunt gripped him like it couldn’t bear to let him go—it was his utter undoing.

He leans over, caging Sword— then he twists his hand for easier access, and almost accidentally, his thumb brushes over the swollen bud of Sword’s clit.

The reaction was immediate. Sword screamed, hips jerking so violently that Rocket had to pin him down by the thigh. His wings flared, feathers trembling like they might burst apart, and his cunt clenched so hard around Rocket’s fingers it nearly forced them out.

“R—Rocket! Oh, there!—ah—there, pleas—don’t stop—”

Rocket’s breathing was ragged. “Well, what do you know—” his thumb gave experimental slow circles over the sensitive nub, while his fingers shoved deep, knuckles pressed against Sword’s cunt, dripping with slick every time he pumped them in and out. Each rub, each thrust—it only fed into Rocket more and more, all the while obscene squelches filled the room.

“Holy, you’re… you’re dripping everywhere,” Rocket rasped, his voice low, ruined. He could feel it spilling down his wrist, soaking the nest under them. He laughs, exasperated at the same time, “Gosh—all this just from my fingers.”

Sword’s eyes fluttered, watery and unfocused, his mouth spilling desperate sounds. “Y-you—shit, Rocket—you’re too good at this—” words warbling into a whine as Rocket pressed harder on his clit, faster now, relentless.

“That’s because I can’t stop thinking about it,” Rocket growled, the confession torn from his throat before he could strangle it down. “Thought about what it’d be like… having you like this—under me, begging, soaked—” Yesyesyesyesyes, finally. Finally.

Sword gasped like the words punched the air out of him. His back arched violently, wings shuddering with overstimulated sparks, soaking Rocket’s hand and everything below him, thighs quivering as he shook his head against the already damp nest. High up somewhere— and it was all Rocket’s fault.

Rocket hissed through his teeth, almost feral. He doubled down on his fingers instead, pumping them faster, thumb merciless on Sword’s clit.

Sword’s hands slipped from his back and now clawed desperately at Rocket’s arms, desperate for purchase, his voice breaking high, strangled. “I—ahh, shit—c-can’t—Rocket, I can’t—!”

“Yeah, you can,” Rocket gritted out, watching Sword fall apart once more, helpless under how he worked his fingers, “You’re gonna come again for me—I know you can.”

And Sword did—body convulsing, cunt clamping down so tight Rocket almost came untouched. He squirts, spraying across Rocket’s pants, his thighs, the nest. His scream broke into sobs of ecstasy, wings quivering, back arched in a perfect bow until he collapsed limp against the blankets once more.


You made our omega come again, good. Good, keep it going— moremoremoremore—


Rocket froze, panting, staring at him in renewed awe and hunger all at once, his fingers still buried inside Sword’s cunt. His chest heaved, sweat dripping down his temple. Sword lay sprawled, trembling, his head tipped back into the nest, chest rising in jagged pulls of breath, wings fluttering weakly like a dying bird’s—spent but still twitching at the edges of every nerve.

Rocket’s throat worked as he swallowed, trying to clear the thick lump of heat that had lodged there. His fingers slipped free, drenched, and for one suspended moment, the world tilted. His cock ached like it would split him open if he didn’t touch, didn’t do something. His hands fumbled clumsily at his waistband, breath hitching, the pits of his stomach chewing at him from the inside out. He finally managed to shove his pants down, his cock springing out, flushed, heavy, and leaking against his stomach.

He cursed low under his breath, pressing it between Sword’s slick thighs, rut-driven instinct forcing him to slot himself there, so close to where his fingers had been just a moment ago. He stilled there, his tip nudging into that messy, soaked heat but not pushing in, not yet. Waiting. Watching.


And after a minute of fending back any funny ideas—

Sword groaned, half-conscious, shifting under him as if every nerve was still vibrating with aftershocks. His lashes fluttered, and slowly—his gaze dragged down. He blinked once, twice, and then his eyes widened.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sword rasped, voice cracked, still breathless. The pair of wings on his head twitched, flicking like startled ears.

Rocket tensed instantly, backing away slightly—though failing as Sword weakly pulls him back using one of his legs. Did he do something wrong? “What?”

“That—” Sword gestured with a limp hand toward Rocket’s cock, caught between his thighs. His expression flickered between scandalized, dazed, and something that suspiciously looked like panic. “That’s not… that’s not going to fit.”

Rocket flushed dark, his jaw clenching. “It’ll fit.”

Sword let out a shaky sigh, still trembling from overstimulation. “Easy for you to say—you’re not the one about to get split open like a melon.” his wings shuddered as he tried to catch his breath, his entire body twitched, the aftershock of an orgasm remaining deep within his gut.

Rocket’s ears burned. He shifted his hips just slightly, teasing pressure, his tip sliding along the messy slickness. His mind screamed at him to just push in, but his chest constricted. Be patient, goddamn. “…You saying you can’t handle it?”

Sword tilted his head, even through exhaustion, his smirk flickering back to life, crooked and weak. “That sounded like a challenge.”

“Maybe it is.” Rocket’s voice came out low, ragged with hunger.

Sword groaned again, body twitching beneath him, heat radiating. His hand wandered up Rocket’s chest, unsteady, his nails dragging just enough to make him shiver. “Cocky bastard,” he muttered, though his thighs tightened faintly around Rocket’s hips, wings flaring in restless flickers.


“Don’t call me cocky,” Rocket rasped, his voice thick, strained. His hand slid up the curve of Sword’s back, hovering just shy of those trembling feathers. “You’re the one pulling me in like this.”

Sword huffed a laugh that broke on a gasp, his wings twitching uncontrollably. “Oh, so now it’s my fault?” his head tipped back, mouth falling open when Rocket finally gave in—fingers brushing along the base of his wing, light but deliberate.


Sword’s nails scraped down his chest again, a reckless, fevered grin pulling at his lips even as his eyes glazed. “And now what—gonna drive me crazy with my wings before you even use that thing?” his gaze flicked down toward Rocket’s cock still throbbing against his entrance, then snapped back up, daring him. “Wouldn’t that make you a coward?”


Rocket’s blood roared in his ears. He grabbed the back of Sword’s thighs, and pressed his hips down, grinding his cock along that drenched slit. Slick smeared everywhere, heat swallowing him in.

“Careful,” Rocket ground out, his voice wrecked. “Keep running your mouth, and I won’t stop.”

Sword gasped, arching under him, his wings fluttering madly. But even through overstimulation, through trembling thighs and wrecked nerves, he smirked up at him, breathless and reckless. “…Maybe I—hnn!—don’t want you to—ah!”

Rocket’s vision blurred. His cock slipped lower, catching at the tight, soaked entrance. Throbbing and leaking against the heat of him. He stayed frozen for a long, shuddering second, his forehead pressed to Sword’s temple, panting hard like he’d run ten miles.

“...Sword,” Rocket rasped, his voice rough and tight, “So—Now I—” he cut himself off, biting back a curse, then managed, “Is this—okay?”

Sword let out a breathless chuckle, dumbfounded— exasperated even, “You’re…you’re asking now? When your cock’s already—ohh, shit—right there?”

Rocket gave a shaky laugh despite himself, his grip on Sword’s legs still iron. “Well—yeah. Seemed like the polite thing to do.”

“Polite,” Sword gasped, his wings twitching uncontrollably as his thighs clenched around Rocket in nervous anticipation. His head tipped back, inhaling sharply, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re a bastard, Rocket, y’know that?”

“Mm,” Rocket muttered, pressing in just a fraction, the head stretching him open. His vision nearly whited out at the tight heat hugging him. “Takes one to know one.”

Sword choked on a cry, legs tightening around Rocket’s hips, body jerking at the sudden intrusion. “R-Rocket—! hell, you’re—you’re way too big—”

Rocket groaned low, his whole body trembling with restraint. “Shit—you’re—tight—” He pushed a little deeper, inch by inch, his voice breaking with each breath. “You’re taking me—so damn good.”

Sword’s hands winded the sheets, gripping like his life depended on it— wings flaring wide as his back arched. His thighs quivered against Rocket’s hips, slick gushing down around him. “N-no—I can’t—it’s splitting me—” His voice cracked into a sob, then tumbled into frantic, half-laughing words. “Hahh—Are you sure—you’re a—”

Rocket’s head dropped to his shoulder, teeth grit, jaw aching with the effort not to bite. His cock twitched deep inside, rut pounding at his skull. “I am,” he ground out, his hips rocked, shoving another inch inside. “Believe me—I’ve just thought about this—you—way too goddamn much.”

His eyes fluttered open, half-lidded, staring up at him. “Right, cause you’re way too good at—Wait…Me?” he whispered, the word thin and desperate.

Rocket shut his eyes, cock buried halfway in his best friend’s wrecked, fluttering cunt. He groaned low, defeated, and admitted hoarsely against Sword’s skin, “…Always you.”

Sword’s breath hitched hard, his entire body clenching at the confession, making Rocket choke on a moan. “A-ah—you can’t just—say shit like that—when you’re—” His words broke into a cry as Rocket finally pushed deeper, hilting the rest of the way in with a wet, obscene sound.

The stretch was brutal, burning, his walls fluttering around the impossible fullness. Sword writhed beneath him, nails digging into his chest, wings spasming helplessly. “Ah—hahhh!—Rocket—! It’s too much—I can’t—”

Rocket held himself there, chest heaving, cock throbbing deep in Sword’s heat. His voice was guttural, wrecked, but still trembling with the last strands of control. “You can. You’re taking me—every inch—you feel like you were made for me.”

Sword sobbed, gasped, and then—laughing raggedly through his tears—bit out, “Cocky bastard—” even as his hips rolled up, betraying him.

Rocket froze, arms shaking with the effort not to move. Sword’s cunt was stretched wide around him, clenching weakly, slick dripping down to soak the blankets. He stayed still, breathing hard, forcing himself to wait.

“Shit,” Rocket muttered through his teeth, eyes squeezed shut as his head dropped against Sword’s temple. “You’re…goddamn tight. Calm down—” His voice broke into a groan, heat thrumming in his skull.

Sword was trembling, legs locked around his hips, every muscle in his body taut with the stretch. “Hh—hahhh—cant…!—y-you’re huge,” he gasped, voice frayed and broken. His wings shuddered behind him, twitching. “It feels like—like you’re splitting me in half.”

“Ah…Don’t feed my ego—” Rocket forced his eyes open, desperate for distraction. That’s when he noticed it—a faint swell low in Sword’s stomach, pressing up just a little, exactly where his cock was buried. His breath caught, eyes going wide.

“...Holy shit,” Rocket whispered, hand twitching like he wanted to touch it. “That’s me.”

Sword blinked, dazed, following his gaze downward. When he realized what Rocket meant, his face burned hot, wings flickering wildly. “Wh—don’t—you—don’t look at that!”

Rocket let out a ragged laugh, shaky from holding still. “How can I not? It’s—hah—it’s insane. I’m so deep inside you I can see it.”

Sword groaned, hiding his face in the sheets. “You’re disgusting.”

“You love it,” Rocket shot back, grinning through his strained breathing. His hips shifted just the slightest, watching it move with him. He groaned at the sensation, then quickly stilled when Sword gasped sharply. “Sorry—sorry—shit. I’ll wait. I’ll wait.”

Sword slapped weakly at his chest, nails dragging just enough to sting. “You’d better. I’ll kick you out— If you move before I—hhnnn—before I can even breathe again.”

Rocket chuckled breathlessly, pressing a kiss against his hair without thinking. “Fair. But you’re clenching around me like you don’t want me out.”

“Shut up,” Sword groaned, still trembling beneath him, but his hips shifted—just slightly, testing the fullness. His head wings quivered, betraying his overstimulated haze. “I’m still deciding if I even can take you.”

Rocket smirked down at him, eyes dark, sweat dripping from his temple. “Too late. You already are.”

Sword arched, trying and failing to glare up at him. “I— Asshole,” he panted, though his thighs tightened around Rocket’s hips, keeping him close. “You’re insane, putting that thing in me—”

Rocket kissed his jaw, smirking against overheated skin. “Guess you’re just as insane, taking it.” he drew back an inch and slid in again, harder this time, and both of them groaned when the bump popped faintly under the pressure.

“H-hah—!” Sword gasped, clutching at Rocket’s back, nails dragging lines over sweat-slick skin. “It’s—hnngh—it’s pressing so deep, I can’t—”

Rocket’s eyes felt like they burned out of hunger. “You feel me in your stomach, don’t you?” he rasped, unable to stop his hips now. Another thrust, deeper, and the bump bulged more prominently, Sword’s body convulsing in overstimulated shock.

Sword shook his head helplessly, whining through his teeth. “Don’t say that, don’t say that out loud—”

“It’s just you and I here, and guess what— it’s true,” Rocket groaned, forehead pressed against his as he let one hand ghost over the tiny bump. “I’m right there, Sword. All of me—inside you.”

Sword’s response came out broken, half-sob, half-moan. “Your words, stop— holy–”

Rocket’s grin was feral, shaky from how hard he was holding back. “I thought you liked them?”

His hips rocked again, firmer this time, the nest filling with wet, obscene sounds as Sword’s body fluttered around him, wings jerking like they couldn’t handle the overload.


Sword’s hands found themselves scrabbling for purchase on Rocket’s back, nails dragging shallow crescents into his skin. His face buried against Rocket’s collarbone, muffling the sound of his breathless whimpers. “S-Stop—wait… just wait…,” he stammered, voice small, flustered. “I—I’m not ready yet.”

Rocket went stock-still, breath punching out of him like he’d been doused in ice water. Every nerve screamed to rut forward, but he clamped down hard, forcing his hips still, forcing his claws to unclench from Sword’s thighs. “Okay, okay,” he rasped, his voice raw. “Not moving. I swear. You tell me when.”

Sword peeked up at him with wide eyes, surprised at how fast Rocket had pulled back. His chest heaved, his wings trembling. “…You’re—actually doing it.”

Rocket huffed a sharp, unamused laugh, “Don’t make it sound like I deserve a medal for not railroading you, dumbass.” his jaw flexed, teeth grit. Restraint obvious in his tone. “I’d rather die than hurt you.”


“You were literally just rocking my shit earlier—”
“This has been the first time you told me to stop from the moment I walked in here. You were saying?”

That pulled a shaky little smile out of Sword despite his flushed face. “Dramatic,” he whispered, trying to hide how his body pulsed and dripped around the thick stretch inside him. “Always so dramatic.”

Rocket dragged a hand up Sword’s side, slow, grounding, until his palm rested just under his ribs. He kept his voice low, careful. “Seriously. If it’s too much—if you want me to take it out—I will.” Liar. Liar. You know you want to—

Sword swallowed, looking away quickly, embarrassed by how much the sincerity made his chest ache. “Y-You sound like a consent poster right now,” he muttered, wings twitching.

Rocket chuckles, strained. Though his hips still trembled with the effort of staying put. “Yeah? Well, maybe they should put my face on one. ‘Don’t be a reckless idiot—be like Rocket.’”

That got Sword laughing weakly into his neck, muffling it there. “You’d make the worst poster boy.”

“Hey,” Rocket nudged his chin against Sword’s hair, letting the warmth of his scent anchor him. “I’m serious. Say the word and I’ll stop.”

Sword’s body fluttered involuntarily around him at the choice of words, heat clenching tight. His ears burned as he muttered, “I didn’t say stop, I said wait.”

Rocket’s breath caught, his self-control dangling by a thread. “…Then I’ll wait. For as long as it takes. This shits your first… Heat, after all. Wouldn’t wanna, y’know—ruin it. I mean— I was acting… you know, earlier, I hope it didn’t scare you or something. It—it was in the heat of the moment. Get it? …Okay, I’ll stop.”

“Dude.” Sword exhaled shakily, the sound fraying at its edges. “I literally–I literally kept telling you to keep going! Plus—you’re… way too good at this for a first time, you know that? Like… weirdly good.”

Rocket groaned, hiding his face against Sword’s neck so he didn’t combust. “It’s not experience, dumbass. It’s—you. Just you.”

Sword stiffened, his blush climbing all the way down his throat. His wings fluttered helplessly at the words, betraying him as badly as the way his body squeezed tight around Rocket’s cock. “…Shut up. You’re making me feel things.”

Rocket laughed softly, low in his chest, and pressed a kiss to his temple—light, fleeting, like a promise. “Good.”


Sword sucked in a sharp breath, nails dragging weakly down Rocket’s chest as if he could anchor himself. His thighs trembled around Rocket’s hips, still stretched to the brink, but he managed to rasp, “…Alright. You can—go. I can take it.”

Rocket’s grin sharpened, eyes dark with hunger. “That’s all I needed to hear.” he shifted his hips just enough to make Sword whimper. “Though, for the record, you sound like you’re begging.”

Sword’s flush deepened, wings flaring in protest. “B-Begging? As if—”

Rocket cut him off with a slow, grinding thrust, watching with satisfaction as the retort melted into a choked gasp. “What was that? Didn’t catch it.”

Sword’s nails dug in harder. “I said—” another sharp thrust, deeper this time, had him biting down on a moan. “…D-Damn it—stop cutting me off!”

Rocket leaned close, lips brushing his ear, voice low and taunting. “Then quit saying things worth interrupting.”

Sword’s head wings jerked, betraying him, his body fluttering tight around the cock buried in him. “R-Rocket—mmph!—just let me——”

“Finish a sentence?” Rocket cut in with another merciless snap of his hips. Sword’s body seized, another cry wrung from his throat. “Not happening. Not when you make better noises than words.”

“I’m not—” Sword started, but Rocket rocked into him again, stealing his breath with a messy cry.

“You were saying?” Rocket pressed, tone dripping with mock-innocence as his pace picked up just enough to keep Sword scrambling.


Sword’s nails scraped harder across Rocket’s body, screeching when Sword dug at his prosthetic arm, his hips twitching under every calculated thrust. His mouth opened, some retort on his tongue, but what came out was a broken gasp instead. “R-Rocket—wait!—stop cutting me off—”

Rocket chuckled low in his throat, though the sound was strained, cracked at the edges. All the while voices screaming like wildfire in his skull. Harder. Claim him. Knot him. He’s ready. Yours. He bent lower, lips brushing over Sword’s flushed cheek. “Can’t help it. You just make it too easy.”

Sword whimpered, wings jerking against the blankets. He tried again, voice trembling but defiant. “Y-You’re such a… smug bastard—ah—oh—” another sharp thrust folded his voice into a sob. His thighs clamped tighter around Rocket’s waist, and his hands fisted into his shoulders.

“Not hearing much of a comeback,” Rocket taunted, but his own voice cracked at the end, his rhythm faltering. He was barely holding on. The scent of Sword’s heat was thick, suffocating, clawing at every shred of control he had left.

Sword writhed, panting hard, his words a wreck between shame and desperation. “…J-Just—stop teasing me—nhh—please—just— claim me!—”

Rocket froze mid-thrust, his eyes snapping to Sword’s face. Begging. Sword was begging now. His voice raw, shaky, wings trembling like they couldn’t hold the tension in his body.

Hear him beg. Break him. Pound him. Knot him. Fill him. Yours.

Rocket gritted his teeth, his chest heaving. “Sword…” his voice was shredded, half a plea, half a warning. “Don’t—don’t say things like that unless you mean it.”

But Sword’s thighs pulled him closer, his nails dragging lines down Rocket’s back as he threw his head back with a cry. “I mean it! Goddamnit—move!!—don’t just—sit there—”

That did it.

Something that kept Rocket together somehow snapped.

A guttural sound ripped from his chest as his hips slammed forward, driving in to the hilt. Sword’s scream tore through the nest, his body arching under the sheer force of it, wings flaring wide then trembling helplessly. Rocket’s rhythm was brutal, rut taking over, every thrust angled deep, harder, relentless, chasing that fluttering squeeze around him.

The voices sang through him—Breed him. Break him. Fill him. He’s yours.

And all Rocket could do was obey, pounding Sword into the mess of blankets, every wet slap and broken moan stoking the blaze that finally burned his restraint to ash.


Rocket’s thrusts turned frenzied, hips snapping forward with a punishing rhythm that had Sword’s whole body jolting against the blankets. His slick heat squeezed tighter and tighter with every angle, wringing groans out of Rocket’s chest, fueled by his rut. But then—

He found it.

One rough drive struck deep enough to make Sword’s back arch off the nest, his voice ripping out in a cry that was half-pleasure, half-shock. Rocket froze for a second, chest heaving, then pulled back and slammed again, hitting that same place.

Sword desperately shook his head against the sheets. His thighs shook violently, wings twitching with every nerve on fire. “N-No—ahhh! S-stop hitting—th-there—!” he choked out, gasping as his hands clawed at Rocket’s arms, weakly trying to push, but his body betrayed him, fluttering and spasming around the cock that was now battering his most sensitive spot.

Rocket growled, testing angles, hammering into that firm resistance again and again until Sword was keening, tears streaming down his flushed face. Every thrust made his cunt gush helplessly, slick running hot and wet down Rocket’s thighs.

Then Rocket felt it—something solid. A barrier, stubborn but yielding with each brutal slam. His hips stuttered, his hazy mind clawing at the realization. Cervix. His womb. Breed him. Fill him. The voices roared, chanting through his skull. It physically hurt.

He gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his temples, and drove forward harder, each thrust sharper, more savage, until Sword was nothing but ragged wails and hot tears. His cervix trembled against the thick cock battering at it, straining to hold the line—until finally, under Rocket’s relentlessness, it gave.

Rocket shoved through, the head of his cock forcing the ring open, punching into the trembling heat of Sword’s womb.

Sword screamed, his body convulsing violently, eyes rolling back as his whole form bowed tight with the shock of it. He squirted— drenching Rocket’s stomach and the already-ruined blankets beneath them. His nails left stinging trails down Rocket’s back, scraping as his voice broke into choked sobs of overstimulated pleasure.

Rocket choked on a guttural groan, his hips still driving, now burying himself deeper than ever. “Shiiiit. Hnnnhh—shit, Sword—” he couldn’t stop, couldn’t think, just rutting wildly into the new, scorching tightness wrapped around him.

Sword babbled nonsense between sobs, shaking his head, his wings jerking uncontrollably. “O-oh, Rocket—I c-can’t—ah…! can’t take—too deep—inside—! More, more—please!” but his body clamped down, greedy and fluttering, his womb spasming around the thick cock that had made its way inside.

Rocket’s breath hitched, then broke into a guttural snarl as his hips still pistoned wildly, milking the adrenaline. “Oh, gods—your womb—oh, shit, Sword—it’s sucking me in—” his words fractured into a growl as his knot began to swell, each brutal thrust punching it harder against the ruined opening of Sword’s cunt.

Sword’s nails raked helplessly down Rocket’s back, his voice shredded into sobbing moans. “Knot me! Knot me—please—now!—ah…!—” another gush splattered out as his body betrayed him, squirting around Rocket’s cock again and again, every orgasm blurring into the next. His womb clenched and fluttered around the thick cock invading it, milking greedily despite his wrecked protests.

Rocket lost the fight. His knot began to swell, and Rocket was determined—each thrust following every second past gave way for his knot. The stretch was violent, overwhelming—Sword convulsed, crying out wordlessly as another orgasm ripped through him for what felt like the nth time—

And then Rocket came undone.

His snarl tore into a groan as his cock throbbed violently, knot swollen and locked inside Sword’s cunt as it pumped hot, ropes of cum straight into him. Sword wailed brokenly, twitching as he felt Rocket come undone inside him until Sword was nothing but spasms and gushes, jelly against his wrecked nest.

“Y-you’re mine—hell—you’re mine,” Rocket rasped against his neck, mind muddled and broken with relief as he ground them together, grinding his knot deeper. His voice cracked into a whimper, “Taking it all—good omega—made for me—made for this—”


Sword sagged below him, wings trembling, cunt still spasming weakly around the base of Rocket’s knot. His throat worked as he dragged in ragged breaths, eyes glassy with exhaustion, but his voice scraped out anyway—thin, hoarse, but deliberate.

“R-Rocket… claim me. Properly.”

Rocket froze, breath stuttering. His lips hovered against the slick skin of Sword’s throat, fangs aching to sink in, but his heart lurched in fear. “Y-you don’t mean that—” his voice cracked as his hips twitched helplessly, his knot throbbing deep in Sword’s womb. “Not now—hell, not like this. Sword, if I bite you—you’re mine. Forever. You can’t take it back.” Wouldn’t that be the nicest thing we could have? Permit yourself to, he wants you to, don’t second-guess his words— claim him, claim him now, claim every part—

Sword’s eyes fluttered open, hazy and furious all at once. His nails scraped at Rocket’s back, weak but sharp. “C-can you not— I’m—” his words broke into a sharp gasp as his body fluttered tight around the knot, but he forced them out anyway. “I’m not—mmh—saying it again, Rocket—...Y-you’ve already had me—hn—Then have me fully. A-as your mate. Already.”

Rocket’s chest heaved, rut and desperation tearing him apart. “You’re… you’re sure? Tell me you’re sure—please—” his voice shook, caught between a whimper and a growl.

Sword bared his throat, tilting it back in reckless surrender, his glare sharp even through the tears brimming his lashes. “I wouldn’t be—ah— offering if I wasn’t sure.” his voice wavered, then cracked, but he pushed it through anyway, almost spitting it at him. “Bite me, damn you—and we’ll… we’ll talk after, later—just—please...”


Our omega asks so nicely,

That was all it took. Rocket’s restraint shattered, a low, broken groan tearing from his chest— he wraps his arms tight around Sword as his fangs finally sank deep into Sword’s neck. The taste of his (long since desired) mate’s blood hit his tongue, sweet and burning, and something in him clicked—settled—like it had been waiting for this moment his entire life.


Sword had passed out in his arms immediately after, drenched in sweat and slick, lashes stuck together from tears, wings twitching in weak aftershocks. Rocket blinked down at him, chest heaving, knot still buried tight inside that wrecked heat.

“…Oops,” Rocket muttered under his breath, half a laugh, half a grimace. “Shit, I—uh… maybe went a bit overboard.” he brushed Sword’s damp hair off his forehead, his thumb ghosting over the faint mark of his fangs. The sight of it made something hot and possessive curl in his gut. Mine. His chest swelled with it, pride and hunger tangled in one.

But then Sword twitched, mumbling something incoherent, and Rocket froze. He pulled Sword up so that he sat on Rocket’s lap, hands scrambling to support Sword’s neck, “Shit—hey, hey, you good? You’re not—like—dead, right?” he leaned down, listening to the faint, steady breaths against his chest. Relief flooded him, followed by a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, okay. Still breathing. Thank gods. You just… tapped out.”

He kissed his temple, soft despite the mess, and whispered, “Can’t really blame you. You took all of me like a champ.” a crooked grin tugged at his lips even as he sighed and adjusted his hold on him, brushing soothing circles along his back.

Rocket’s eyes flicked back to the bite mark, raw and sealing, their scents tangled tight in the nest. The bond thrummed in his chest, making him grin wider, drunk on it. “…Mate. You’re my mate now. Nobody’s taking you away from me.”

The words felt good on his tongue, right in a way that made his chest ache. But as soon as the high settled, the ugly thought crawled in.

Venomshank.

Rocket’s grin faltered. His stomach dropped like a stone.

“…Oh gods above,” he muttered aloud, when in question— Sword’s dad is in fact one. Rocket groans, running a hand down his face. “Your old man’s gonna murder me.” he glanced at Sword’s unconscious, blissed-out face, wings slack against the nest, staring expectantly like Sword’s gonna reply.

He winced, already imagining the wrath, then groaned low in his throat, burying his face in Sword’s hair. “Great job, Rocket. Real smooth. Claim the guy and guarantee yourself an execution in one night. Genius.”

Still, even as he cursed himself, his grip around Sword tightened, protective, unwilling to let go. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. You’re mine now.” his lips peppered kisses all over Sword’s bitten and bruised collarbones,


A pause, before Rocket groans loudly, dragging a hand down his face.


“I probably sound insane right now.”


A few hours passed by until birds were chirping outside.

Sword woke groggy, sore in every joint and muscle, legs feeling like someone just put them through a grinder, wings twitching weakly as he blinked at the mess of the nest, and then he turned to himself— all wiped down. He turns, and Rocket is already propped up beside him, hair a wreck, shirtless, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. He had this tight, smug little smile plastered on his face, like he couldn’t decide between being proud or terrified.

“Morning,” Rocket said, voice low, almost tender. Then, smirking, “You look like you got hit by a truck.”

Sword groaned hoarsely, tossing a pillow at him weakly. “Shut up.”

Rocket caught it easily, grin widening. “Hey, don’t get mad at me. You’re the one who begged for it.”

Sword flushed scarlet, wings puffing up. “I did not beg—”

“Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that.” Rocket leaned down, stealing a quick kiss that Sword tried (and failed) to glare through. For a moment, it was warm, soft, just them—until a heavy knock rattled the door.

Both of them froze.

The door creaked open before either could answer. Venomshank stepped inside, his towering frame filling the doorway, gaze sweeping over the wrecked nest, his flushed, ruffled son, and Rocket—shirtless, very obviously guilty.

The silence stretched unbearably.

Then Venomshank started, his voice was low, dripping with sarcasm sharp enough to cut glass.

“Well,” he drawled, crossing his arms. “Did you have fun with my son, Rocket?”

Rocket’s blood turned to ice. His grin snapped off his face so fast it hurt. “I—uh—I mean—I wouldn’t call it—fun—exactly—”

Sword buried his face in his hands, mortified. “Dad.”

Rocket laughed nervously, sitting straighter, hands raised as if that would save him. “L-Look, sir, I swear—uh, it wasn’t—like—I mean, it was—but not—” he fumbled, choking on his words as Venomshank just stared, unimpressed.

Sword groaned from the blankets. “You’re actually speedrunning your own execution.”

Rocket glanced at him desperately, then back at Venomshank, blurting, “I love him!”

The room went dead silent.

Venomshank blinked once. Slowly. “Oh, do you now?”

Rocket swallowed, throat dry. “…Y-Yeah?”

Sword peeked through his fingers, looking like he was praying for a meteor strike. All the while torn between dying of embarrassment and maybe fainting.

Venomshank let the silence drag another beat, then scoffed, turning on his heel. “Tch. Pathetic.” He left, muttering something under his breath about “dumb alphas and their knots.”

The door shut behind him, leaving Rocket pale as a ghost. He turned to Sword, wide-eyed. “He’s gonna kill me.”

Sword, still bright red, smacked him with the pillow again. “…If he doesn’t, I will.”

Rocket flopped backward dramatically into the blankets. “At least bury me in your nest. It’s the least you could do.”

Sword buried his face in his hands again, groaning. “You are actually impossible.”


The door shut behind Venomshank, leaving the air thick and suffocating. Rocket lay frozen, pale as death, while Sword buried his face into the only dry pillow he could find, wishing the nest would swallow him whole.

The silence stretched unbearably—

—and then the same door cracked open again.


“Well,” Darkheart drawled, poking his head around the doorframe with all the subtlety of a crow in a jewelry shop, “we certainly enjoyed the show.”


Both Rocket and Sword jumped.

Sword bolted upright, mortification painted across his face. “D-Darkheart—what are you—why are you even—?!”

Darkheart slipped in fully, ignoring the question, eyes sweeping over the wrecked nest and Rocket’s guilty, half-naked state. He clicked his tongue in mock approval. “We’ve seen cleaner mornings, but rarely this dramatic.”

Rocket, still reeling, stared like he’d seen a ghost. “Wha—you—wait—how long were you standing outside?!”

Darkheart tilted his head, smiling sharp and amused. “Long enough to know you confessed before Venomshank could split you in two. Brave. Stupid, but brave.”

Sword shoved both hands over his face, wings puffing like a cornered bird. “Kill me now.”

Darkheart hummed thoughtfully. “Oh, we’d never. You’re far too fun to watch squirm.”

The moment stretched again, until Venomshank’s voice barked from the hall, “Darkheart. Out.”

Darkheart rolled his eyes but didn’t move, grin widening. “You see? Always trying to ruin our fun. We’re only here for… sightseeing.”

“Out,” Venomshank repeated, sharper this time.

Darkheart sighed theatrically, already backing toward the door. “Fine, fine. But really, Rocket—” his gaze flicked back to the alpha, grin wicked— “we approve. At least one of you has the spine to say it.”

With that, he disappeared back into the hall, the door clicking shut behind him.

Rocket flopped backward into the pillows with a groan. “Oh, great. Now your uncle hates me too.”

Sword dragged the pillow over his head, muffling his voice. “…He doesn’t hate you. That’s the problem.”

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