#like i was scrolling so fast i thought 'bubbles blossom and--HUH'

[warwickroyals]

THE WAY I THOUGHT THIS WAS MEANT TO BE THE POWERPUFF GIRLS FOR A SEC

You have GOT to be kidding me

[slashthedice]

Ko-Fi Commission: The Hillbilly x OC for @hillbilly-wifey

Magg, thank you for having an amazing OC and for giving me the chance to write about Marga and Max! This is based heavily on @hillbilly-wifey's comic VI: The Lovers. If you all like Max and Marga, check out Magg’s blog and be on the lookout for another short piece about them soon!

Word Count: 3,172

Max missed Marga. There was no other way to look at it. His heart ached, and something inside of him felt unbearably empty. He was grateful that he had a place to stay, a place where he was warm, safe, and loved. But the quiet stillness of the house when she was gone was stifling.

The earth was damp and cool in his hand beneath the shade afforded by the broad leaves of the maple tree. The wind whispered through the branches and rustled the foliage gently, similar to the voice he had heard in his head once upon a time, but now calming and gentle rather than demanding and enraging. Little yellow flowers smiled up at him, their petals looked soft and fluffy as they swayed back and forth in the evening breeze. They were so fragile.

Max looked up at the sky, trying to judge by the orange glow of the waning sun and the ever dimming periwinkle of the sky as it descended into twilight just how much longer he would have to wait for Marga to return. He could just barely see the blood red horizon over the top of the tall fence that bordered the yard. Any minute, he assured himself. She would be home any minute.

Sure enough, in only a handful of heartbeats, he heard the quiet whoosh of the sliding glass door.

“There you are!” 

That sweet voice filled all the empty spaces that had been paining him. Time spent as a hunter had attuned him to the slightest rustle of grass as her foot made contact with the lush greenery and she ventured out to join him, he knew exactly where she was. The beating of his heart and the hum of evening insects kept time until her warm presence washed over his back. He felt her lean over him to look at what he was doing. He looked with her, gaze landing on where his hands were half submerged beneath the dampness of freshly churned soil, surrounded by happy, golden flowers.

“It looks like you’ve been quite the busy bee!”

Max was struck by an impulse to pull her to him. He wanted to hold her tight, to never let go so that she would never leave again. He didn’t act on it. He was covered in dirt, sweat, and filth, and he didn’t want to sully her clothes. Besides, he knew the drill well enough by now: first a bath, and then he could squeeze in next to her on the couch and hold her until the sun was well and truly set and it was time for bed.

Marga set her hand gently on his shoulder, her smooth skin felt cool against him. There was the barest drag of her manicured nails against his collarbone before she spoke again.

“You got so much done! Now let’s get you cleaned up so we can spend some time together.”

There was a fluttery feeling inside his chest that her words inspired, setting the wings of whatever bird had nested between his ribs thrashing. He could do little but gawk at her dumbly before nodding quickly. She took his hand as he got to his feet, leading him back to the house and coaxing him into taking his dirt caked boots off just outside the door. He shot one last look over his shoulder at the fragile blossoms he had nursed and tended.

He meandered through the house following behind Marga like a lost puppy while she swept from room to room in a hurried effort to finish the few chores she still had. He could hear the sound of rushing water coming from the bathroom where she had set the tub to fill. He peaked at the door to see the steam spiralling and streaming through the cracks tauntingly, a promise and reminder of the warmth that would soon wash over him.

His attention snapped back to Marga as she set the laundry basket down heavily. It was filled to overflowing with clothes, both hers and his. She tossed the soiled garments into the drum before adding the detergent and turning the machine one. It whirred to life and began filling with water. She talked over the noise of her task, telling him a story about something that had happened at her job. Half of the time, he didn’t know what she was talking about. She used words and terms that were completely foreign to him, but he knew enough to get the gist of what had happened and how that made her feel.

He did what he could to show her that he was listening. When she would pause to take a breath or look to him for any sort of confirmation, he would switch between nodding silently and humming or grunting his acknowledgement. She smiled when he did.

On evenings like these, there was always an abundance of casual touches. This practice had been established by Marga, she would slide her hands over his forearm as she slipped past him, or drag her dainty fingers across his back. Max learned quickly that she welcomed any reciprocation on his part. He liked to take her smaller hand in his large one, or to wrap her up in a hug and feel the warmth of her body against his own. It always wiped away the little furrow that developed in her brow when she began to doubt his happiness here with her.

Marga was seldom bashful, but as Max took a step back from her she seemed to stumble over her own words.

“Well, let’s get the two of us cleaned up.”

The sound of the water as it rushed out of the faucet and rattled the pipes in the walls splashed against Max’s eardrums as it sloshed against the acrylic tub. He sighed contentedly as the warm steam buffeted his face and chased away the bone deep chill that the evening air had settled upon him. Marga helped him pull his shirt over his head before dropping it into the hamper.

“I probably should have washed this with the others, huh?” Marga mused, tossing a grin over her shoulder at him.

He gave a noncommittal half shrug and wavering nod. When she tossed her head back and laughed at his reaction, he felt his heart skip a little beat. He loved the sound of her laughter. It wasn’t cruel or mocking, never that. Her laughter was a warm, full sound that made him feel light.

She coaxed him into the soothing heat of the bath water, and it enveloped his body comfortably. He closed his eyes and smiled as best as his twisted face would allow, hoping he could convey the relaxation he felt. He could wash himself just fine, but he wasn’t going to shoo Marga away as her gentle hands scrubbed away the dirt that clung to his skin with a soapy washcloth. She chattered happily as she worked, telling him how glad she was that they could finally just be together. No Entity. No trials. Just the two of them and a peaceful life.

He wished he could tell her he felt the same. He wished he could tell her that she was the one good thing that had happened to him in his entire life. He wished that he could get his warped, ruined vocal cords to work for just a handful of seconds so that he could use words to tell her how important she was. But he couldn’t, so the most he could do was stare at her with all the adoration he felt shining through his tiny, pinhole eyes.

She kissed his forehead, lips leaving a tingly feeling in their wake. “Think you can rinse yourself off while I wash my face?”

She knew the answer to her question already, but he nodded at her retreating back anyway.

There was a stretch of silence as Marga removed her makeup and washed away the day’s grime. Max watched transfixed for a few moments, fascinated as always by the transformation that took place before him. He turned back to the soapy, bubbly water of the tub to finish bathing when he spotted the bright yellow rubber ducky sitting on the rim. 

He picked it up and squeezed it, delighted by the squeaking sound it made. He was further gladdened by the chiming giggles that came from the woman leaning over the sink. He squeezed it again, and she chortled all the harder at the prolonged squeal the rubber toy produced.

“I thought you were getting rinsed,” she accused teasingly around a mouth full of giggles. Then, getting serious and glancing at him through half-lidded eyes she added: “I wanted to spend some quality time together after we were both cleaned up.”

Max’s heart skipped a beat. He knew enough to pick up on what she was talking about, and he would have been lying if he told himself he hadn’t been thinking about that for a good portion of the day. Heady flashes of memory and phantom touches across his body seared his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed away the ache centered in his groin.

A handful of minutes and an overt exertion of willpower later, the bathtub was draining and Marga was helping him to towel off. He looked down at her, hair flowing free and wearing only her underwear and an oversized t-shirt. She looked soft, the way she did when they were laying in bed together with her curled into his side. Her lashes brushed the rounded apples of her cheeks while she focused on her task. Behind her was a pile of his clothes, a cotton t-shirt and comfortable sweatpants that she had bought for him.

She was so small compared to him, but he had seen her do things big people couldn’t do. She lifted others off of hooks, she struggled and fought, she ran as fast as a fleeing rabbit. But she was no little rabbit, not meak or timid in any way. She had told him off-- more than once-- and she was not afraid to boss him around. He liked that about her.

Marga let him get dressed before taking his hand and all but dragging him to the small couch in the living room. He took up his usual post directly in the center of the plush cushions so that she could plop down next to him and lean her body into his.

She wrapped part of the blanket around her shoulders and tucked her legs beneath herself. She reached towards the coffee table to grab the remote and flick on the TV, quickly scrolling to the titlecard of a series they had been watching almost every evening for the past couple of weeks. He felt her scoot closer to him, her legs pressing comfortingly into his thigh. The episode started with a recap of what had occurred previously, but he could hardly focus on the pictures illuminating the screen before him. She must have been able to feel how tense he was, but when he stole a peak at her face, her plush lips were quirked upward in an expression somewhere between a grin and a smirk.

He looked back at the TV, but before he could force himself to pay attention to the melodramatics of the series’s heroine, he felt Marga tug on his arm and slip one of her hands into his lap. He lowered his head towards her and felt her nose brush the shell of his ear as she leaned up to whisper to him.

“Guess what?” She breathed, sending shivers down his spine and raising goosebumps across his skin.

He wanted to hum his wonderment, but it came out more like a whine.

“I love youuuu~!” Her words were singsong despite the lowered volume of her voice. 

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, then to his jaw, his throat, his quivering pulse, and finally his shoulder. He sucked in a rough breath as the hand that had been resting against the inside of his thigh found its way inside the waistline of his pants. She raised her head again to ghost her lips over his ear.

“Oh,” she half moaned. “Someone’s excited.”

He nodded eagerly, closing his eyes against the pleasure that sparked as she wrapped her fingers around him.

“Have you been thinking about this all day?”

He nodded so zealously that for a moment he wondered if it would be possible to break his own neck.

He heard the smile in her voice. “I have too. I’ve been thinking about how good you are, and how good you make me feel.”

He found that he couldn’t control his breathing, laboring under the harsh breaths that squeezed his lungs as she squeezed his cock. She pumped him slowly, torturously. The feeling of her smooth hands around his length was like heaven.

She shifted, and he watched through slitted eyes as she perched on her knees, tucking her long hair behind her ear. He lifted his hips for her as she sought to tug his sweatpants down his legs. His cock finally sprung free and his face felt hot as his blood rushed faster and faster through his veins. She squeezed him again before using her other hand to hold her blonde locks out of her face. He knew what would happen next, but that knowledge did not prevent the keening sound that bubbled out of him when she bent over him and wrapped her full lips around the head of his cock. The warm cavern of her mouth was like silk. He nearly bucked when her tongue pressed to the underside, but he remembered her scolding when he had done so without warning in the past and focused all his self control on not gagging her. He bit down on the side of his cheek and buried his fingernails in his palms so hard he might have drawn blood.

She hummed around him and he gasped. She bobbed her head and he moaned. She squeezed the base of his cock in time with her ministrations, and he could have cried. He was dangling over the edge, ready to fall into his release but just as he began to crest the peak, Marga pulled away from him with a pop.

He whined desperately and pleaded with his eyes for her to continue, to help him chase the withering pleasure, but she simply set about removing her shirt and underwear. He didn’t even have time to be disappointed by the lost orgasm before she was straddling his thighs and aligning the head of his cock with her dripping entrance. Her wild hair cascaded around her shoulders and the light from the TV illuminated her mane like a fiery halo. She really was his own personal angel.

She sunk down on him and he choked on the ensuing pleasure. It strangled him, wrapping its hands around his throat and squeezing until he saw stars. Marga leaned into him, breasts brushing across his yet clothed chest. She raised her hips and breathed air back into his lungs right before she slammed back down and stole it all away again.

His world was spinning, twirling out of control on its axis until it was just a blur of colors and all he could see was her at the center. She was flushed and radiant. She was a flame made human, sent to burn him up in the most beautiful way possible.

She bent towards him and captured his lips as best she could. None of the foods and sweets she had introduced him to could ever compare to the taste of her. Her lips, her tongue, each was the sweetest thing he had ever been allowed and he would never get enough. She made him dizzy with her sugar, flowing over his taste buds like strawberry wine.

She broke from him with a gasp, leaning on him heavily with her arms wrapped tight around his neck.

“Oh, Max,” Marga’s voice was a breathy song. “I’m close.”

He grasped her hips roughly, rougher than he intended and pulled her down as he thrust upwards. She squeaked in surprise but was quick to match his intensity, bearing down on him with a desperation that he wasn’t used to from her. He saw a glint in her eye as she looked down at him imperiously. Their urgency fed from the other’s, sending each hurtling towards their climax.

Max toppled over the edge first, grunting as he felt the mounting pressure finally snap. He poured himself into her, all of him. He hoped she could feel all the love he held for her but couldn’t properly express. He would have given her his soul if she had asked.

For her part, a combination of triumphant laughter and wanton moaning tumbled from between Marga’s lips like droplets of morning dew from rosebuds. She continued to ride him, bouncing in his lap until she closed her eyes and tossed her head back, sighing as her walls clenched around him until the pleasure was so intense it almost hurt. He used what little strength he had left to hold her still, to free himself from the overstimulation until she collapsed against him.

Their sweat slicked skin slid easily against one another as they recovered their breath, weak arms wrapped loosely around each other. Max tangled his fingers in Marga’s soft hair, while she dragged her hands lazily up and down his arms. The weight of her body atop his was comforting, and he wished secretly that she would never disentangle herself from him. Alas, it was not meant to be.

She peeled herself off of him before collapsing next to him on the couch, careful to keep the blanket beneath her. The TV played on, the characters of the show they had not been paying attention to were arguing about one thing or another, unaware of the activities of their inattentive audience. Intense music blared as one of the characters made a revelation about another, and it was barely enough to cover the sounds of the exhausted couple’s breathing.

Marga shuffled closer once more, tucking her body into his arm and leaning her head on his shoulder. For once, she was too tired to say anything, a yawn taking the place of whatever pillow talk she might have initiated. Max couldn’t have agreed more. His eyelids felt heavy, and he could barely keep his head up. He pulled his arm away despite Marga’s plaintive whining before wrapping it around her and bringing her closer to him.

“We smell bad now,” she mumbled into his chest. “We’ll have to take another shower.”

Despite the fact that her eyes were closed and he knew she couldn’t see it, he nodded slackly. Another bath would be in order. But it could wait. With the TV for white noise, the two slowly drifted off, each feeling warm, sated, and overflowing with love.