#those yellow elements on the head slap

[alltheirdamn]

Rotten | cowboy!joel x f!reader

Summary: Sharing land with Joel Miller has always been infuriating, but when your bad attitude finally gets his attention...things get messy. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 5.2k Warnings: No-Outbreak AU, banter and arguing, explicit language, brat taming, semi dark!joel, dubcon elements, degrading, choking, rough spanking, hair pulling, face slapping, throat fucking, touch of dacryphilia, rope/bondage, rough unprotected piv sex, hint of a subspace moment, orgasm denial, squirting, creampie, no aftercare because joel is an old, grumpy asshole A/N: Y'all probably wouldn't believe me if I told you Apple by Charlie XCX inspired this random fic...but anyway, this one goes out to my sweet bb angel @lotusbxtch <3 thank you for always being my partner in crime in the late hours of the evening ilysm

Part II

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

The Texas sun beat down on your skin as you rode through the acres of land—your land— stretching out before you. Passed down from generation to generation, this entire pasture of fields and wild barley was yours. After both of your parents died during a freak accident, you inherited the land and dealt with upkeep and farm animals as if it were your life. And it was your life. Every inch of this farmland was yours, no matter what anyone said. 

You pressed your heels into the side of your horse, Mac, and urged him further down through the tall grass. The summer hadn’t been kind to the fields, the grass yellowing in most places, but what would you do about it? Tell the sun to stop shining? All you could do was take care of the land and ensure nothing went wrong. The animals were taken care of, the wild wheat still grew strong in the outskirts past your tiny farm home, and you had enough money to put dinner on the table for yourself at the end of your night. 

No trouble at all. 

What was trouble, though, was Joel Miller riding his ass right down the edge of your land. The sun cast him in a dark silhouette as he rode closer, his broad body sitting tall on the back of his horse. You held back the reigns, shushing Mac gently as you slowed him to a trot, keeping a healthy distance from the insufferable man trespassing onto your fields. 

“Think y’got yourself a bit lost out here, Miller,” you hollered. 

Joel removed the black cowboy hat from his head; the grey hairs streaking through his curls shimmered in the sunlight as he swiped an arm over his sweaty forehead. Every inch of his skin was sunkissed and tan from hours under the sun, his greying beard patchy and well-kept despite his rugged exterior. If he weren’t such an asshole, maybe you’d even consider him attractive, but your irritation with him ran deeper than any other emotion. 

Staring up at you under thick brows, Joel quirked an amused grin and shrugged. 

“Ain’t lost at all, darlin’. S’my land out here.”

You steered Mac forward, keeping yourself parallel with Joel’s body. You weren’t intimidated by any man, let alone Joel Miller. He may have a few decades on you, but that didn’t matter. The Miller family had always been a problem. For generations, they feuded with your family over acres of land that stretched across the horizon, never agreeing on who owned what. Before Joel, his father had caused an uproar in your family, and now he just had to continue causing problems. Would you ever rid yourself of this man and his family?

“I suggest y’take your ass home ‘fore I make you leave,” you warned. 

The wind kicked around you, fanning your hair down around your shoulders. Joel caught how your hair flared under your cowboy hat, and a hint of mischief sparkled inside his dark brown eyes. He was a fucking nuisance and still on your fucking land. 

“Careful now, darlin’. Those are some mighty big fightin’ words.”

You straightened your spine, holding firm on the reigns to keep yourself anchored. Mac huffed impatiently as if he knew how sour your mood was turning. The longer you kept yourself around Joel, the quicker your anger grew. The sun would set soon, and you still had miles to cover before you made it home; you wouldn’t entertain an old cowboy all night, even if he were staring at you like you were a wild horse to be tamed. 

“This is the last time I’m tellin’ you to stay off my land, Joel. I mean it.”

Joel chuckled lightly as if your words meant nothing. He placed his hat back over the matted curls on his head and began riding past you. You glared over your shoulder, watching his body travel further into the horizon and away from the rolling fields of your land. 

**

The summer wasn’t getting any easier. The sun grew brighter each day, and the air thickened with humidity, making it nearly impossible to continue wearing anything restrictive. With no one else around to pester you, you paraded around the stables in a tight top, a pair of daisy dukes, and your usual worn leather boots. The fewer clothes, the better—even if that meant getting bit up by a few mosquitoes here and there. 

You were deep into cleaning Mac’s stall when you heard the sound of hoofs pounding against the dirt ground outside the stables. Your body went rigid; you knew who it was without looking. Who else would it be out here? The horse in the distance bristled as its rider dropped to the ground, his heavy footfall nearing you as you exited the stall with a towel slung over your shoulder. 

Joel stood tall in the entrance, his broad frame sucking in all of the light as he walked closer. He wore an old denim button-up, and the sleeves pushed up his tan forearms, exposing the thickly corded muscles that ran down to his hands. Without a cowboy hat resting over his eyes, you could see how rich and dark they were as they stared you down. Despite hating him, your body reacted on its own accord. You clenched your thighs, trying to quell the ache growing inside your core. Leaning against the stall, you narrowed your eyes, watching Joel stalking closer. His steps were confident—casually, even—as if he owned the damn place. 

“Not sure why y’think it’s okay to come waltzin’ in here,” you scowled, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Ain’t you just a ray of sunshine,” Joel smirked. 

“Fuck off, old man,” you snapped, rolling your eyes. 

“What was that, darlin?” 

Joel stepped forward, and you mimicked his movements, drawing yourself closer to him. Even with his height towering over you, you were unphased. This man wouldn’t get the best of you. 

“Oh, sorry. Should I be speakin’ louder? Ain’t sure if y’got your hearing aids in.”

“No, I heard y’just fine. Just wanna hear you say it again.”

The toe of your boot tapped against his as you glared up at him. With a smug grin stretching across your face, you repeated your retort. 

“Fuck off. Old man.”

Joel’s body tensed, his eyes narrowed as he considered your words. You weren’t backing down; he was on your property and, quite frankly, pissing you off. He could bitch and moan all he wanted about how this land was his birthright, but he was wrong. Your parents settled the matter generations ago and never once faltered against the Millers. That wouldn’t change now. You’d uphold their wishes and continue fighting for what was yours. 

“Y’gotta damn nasty mouth on such a tiny body. Ain’t your parents teach you some manners?” Joel questioned. 

“They taught me enough, but it ain’t gonna stop me from tellin’ you off. So, get the hell off my property,” you demanded. 

You glanced down, noticing Joel’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. It was amusing seeing him all riled up. Who knew he had that kind of spark in him? You wondered just how far you could push him until he snapped. 

“Ain’t you just spoiled rotten. Is that what it is? Y’think everythin’ is yours ‘cause your mommy and daddy said so?”

His voice was taunting, a litany of rhetorical questions to which he didn’t care to know the answer. Whatever you said, it wouldn’t matter because his mind was made up. Stubborn old man.

“I don’t think everythin’ is mine. I know it is,” you objected. “So, move your old ass back to your side of the pasture and get out of my face.”

Joel crowded your body, walking you back towards the stall door until your body pressed into the wood. You lifted your chin defiantly, watching his eyes clouded with rage. 

“Spoiled lil’ brat. Should teach you a lesson for the way you’re speakin’ to me,” Joel growled. 

Let’s see how far we can take this, you thought. 

“Whatcha gonna do? Spank me?” You laughed, gracing him with a rueful smile. 

Placing his hands above you on the door, Joel caged you between his body. You had nowhere to run; truthfully, you didn’t want to run. The incessant ache between your legs was swelling, your underwear practically soaked with the burning anticipation coursing through your veins. 

“Keep runnin’ your mouth, darlin’. S’only gonna make things worse for you.”

“I ain’t scared of you, Joel.”

“You damn well should be,” he warned. 

Joel’s hand shot out to grab the base of your neck, yanking you a breath away from his lips. The rich scent of whiskey wafted off his lips as he held you close, his fingers tightening around your throat. You rolled your tongue across your bottom lip, an invitation for whatever threat he had. You could take it. 

“Y’think it’s cute actin’ this way? Think you’re just tough shit, and no one will put you in your place, hmm?” Joel whispered. 

“You gonna be the one to do it, Joel?” You challenged. 

Joel used his grip on your throat to spin you toward the door, your cheek smashing into the wood as he pinned you against it. The instant sting of his palm radiated through the denim of your shorts, the heat of his hand melting into your skin. You yelped in pain, dragging your nails over the wood that strained against the press of your body. His hand smoothed over the curve of your ass before delivering another jarring smack. 

“Fuck!” You cried, biting back tears. 

“Spoiled.” Smack. “Fuckin’.” Smack. “Brat.” Smack. Smack. 

“Joel, please!” You begged. 

You weren’t sure if you were begging for more or begging for him to stop. Either way, he was unrelenting, his handprint leaving welts on your skin. Joel’s grip on your throat tightened, restricting your breathing as he dug his fingers into the supple skin of your ass. Prodding…smoothing…spanking. A continuous, viscous cycle you were weak against. Every bite of his hand on your body intensified the throbbing between your legs, your clit swelling with need. Repeating slaps against your other cheek forced tears down your face, their path leading down your neck and onto Joel’s warm hand. 

“You cryin’, darlin’?” Joel taunted. “Gonna beg me to stop?”

“Please—” You choked out, your words garbled and strained. 

Joel’s lips touched your ear, his breath fanning over your skin in waves. 

“M’fraid I can’t. Not til’ y’learn your lesson.”

You twisted your head around, your tired eyes connecting with his. There wasn’t a hint of brown in his irises as his pupils swallowed them whole, an unsatisfied look washing over his features. He wasn’t done, and neither were you. 

“Fuck you,” you snarled. 

Joel tilted his head, his graying mustache twitching as his lips curved into a smile. An unmistakable hint of desire masked his expression, keeping you reeled in and wanting more. If he could keep going, then so could you. 

“You just ain’t backin’ down, huh?” Joel questioned. 

You wagged your head back and forth, his fingers squeezing against your windpipes. Joel’s hand coasted up your waist, tugging at the belt loop on your shorts until your body spun to face his. Even with tears streaming down your cheeks, you grinned at him, clearly unbothered by the onslaught of pain he had inflicted. 

“That all y’got, old man?” You lipped off. 

“Call me old man one more time, darlin’,” Joel warned his face inches from yours. 

“Old. Man.” You punctuated each word through gritted teeth.

Joel cupped your sex through your jeans, no doubt feeling the arousal seeping through the denim fabric. A rouge whimper fell off your lips, and you bit back any more sounds to give away the desperation rolling through your veins.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he exhaled, but there was a lightness in his voice.

You were both giving into some carnal need, electrifying the humid air around you. You chased his mouth, wanting to lap up every threat on his whiskey-drenched tongue. Joel pulled back, your lips connecting with nothing as you arched forward. With a slight pout, you huffed in annoyance. 

“Look who’s actin’ all desperate now. Just beggin’ for this old man to fuck you.”

“Betcha can’t even get it up in the first place,” you grumbled. 

Joel’s hand connected with your cheek, a rough slap sending your face to the side. Dammit, if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d done. The sting of his palm sent a wave of pleasure rolling through your stomach, a burning need just aching to come undone. Thick fingers gripped your jaw, wagging your face side to side. 

“I’ve heard enough of that bratty mouth,” Joel said decisively. 

His hands brushed over your collarbone, grasping your shoulders and shoving you to your knees. Your legs hit the straw-covered ground with a soft thud, your skin scraping against the dry hay. He wasted no time undoing his large belt buckle, working his cock out of the confines of his jeans, and your mouth went dry at the sight of him. Joel was hung like a fucking horse, his length thick and no short of any girth. Precum dribbled down off the tip, the sticky mess enticing you to move closer. Staring up at him through your lashes, you waited for his next move. He might have you on your knees, but you’d have his cock, and that was power in itself. 

“Make use of that mouth and suck,” he commanded. 

You lapped at the precum, his cock twitching against every flick of your tongue. You explored his length, dragging your tongue along the veins running down the underside of his cock. Joel gripped the hair at the crown of your head, guiding your mouth over the tip and down his length. Your nose brushed against the bushy hair at the base, his musky scent flooding your senses—it was intoxicating. 

“There we go,” Joel hummed, his voice gravely and strained. “So fuckin’ full of me y’can’t talk back.”

His name came out muffled as you tried to speak, your tongue flatted against the base of his cock. He pushed his cock a centimeter further, the tip knocking against the back of your throat. You gagged around him, your hands slapping against his thick thighs. 

“I don’t wanna hear y’say a damn word,” Joel growled. “You’re gonna take my fuckin’ cock down your throat and choke on it.”

You clawed at his thighs as tears sprung along your waterline, threatening to spill over the longer he kept himself inside your mouth. His fingers tightened around tiny strands of your hair, anchoring you to his cock as he thrusted himself deeper. You tried to protest and pull away, but his grip on you was unforgiving. 

“Please,” you garbled, spit rolling down your chin. 

“Still actin’ like a spoiled fuckin’ brat, ain’t you? Think y’can get whatever you want?”

He granted you an inch to breathe, pulling you halfway off his cock. You inhaled sharply through your nose, trying to latch onto any control. Joel used his grip on your hair to slide your mouth up and down his length, the sound of your lips around his the only noise aside from his labored breathing. You tapped on his thigh twice, hoping he’d relent and give you a reprieve. 

“Real fuckin’ cute,” he laughed. “Struggle all y’want, darlin’. I ain’t stoppin’.”

The tears flowed freely now, mixing with the saliva pooling down your jaw as you worked him deeper down your throat. Every strained attempt to beg him to stop fell on deaf ears; his cock only pushed further down until you had no choice but to sit there completely disarmed and helpless. The scratches left on his thighs didn’t phase him at all, nor did your whimpers as you tried to swallow a breath around him. 

“Keep cryin’, darlin’. Just makes you look prettier when I’m ruinin’ you,” Joel muttered. 

As your nose pressed against the hair at his navel, Joel’s hand brushed over your cheek, collecting a rogue tear on his thumb. Through blurred eyes and running mascara, you blinked up at him right as he tasted the tear pooling on the pad of his fingertip. 

“Delicious,” he hummed.

A dangerous grin split across his face, his hips jerking forward one last time before he wrenched you free from his cock. You coughed violently, the air wooshing back into your lungs with each heaving breath. You swiped the back of your hand across your mouth, wiping off the saliva coating your chin and jaw. 

“You fuckin’ asshole,” you choked out. 

Crouching down, Joel met you at eye level, his eyes soulless and dark. You shivered under his heavy gaze and flinched away from his face as he crowded you. 

“How’s that attitude of yours now?” He questioned. 

You reeled back, sending a glob of spit across the bridge of his nose. Joel scrunched his eyes together, jaw clenched as he wiped away your spit. You bared your teeth at him, still refusing to back down. Joel straightened to his full height, working at shoving his cock back in his jeans. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a bit disappointed; you hated him but wanted more. 

“Guess I ain’t been rough enough,” Joel grumbled, walking down the stable. 

You watched as he picked a bundle of lead rope off the hook near Mac’s stall, weighing it between his hands. A jolt of panic ran through your veins as you saw his eyes light up in mischief. You were so fucked. You half-considered running, but where was the fun in that? Joel would only chase you down, and even that sounded delicious. There was no use in fighting it now; you were in it for the long haul. 

“Now,” he started, his steps slow as he walked back toward your kneeling body. “I’m gonna give you two options. Y’either walk your ass outside like a good girl, or I drag you out by your hair. What’s it gonna be, darlin’?”

“I’ll walk,” you snapped, rising to your feet. 

Your knees ached with each step as you walked into the blinding daylight outside the stables. Gnats swarmed around your face as you stood idle by the entrance, glancing over your shoulder at Joel stalking behind you. The rope swung beside his body as he carried it in his hand, the lingering threat lying within the coarse fibers that wound together. His head jerked over to the tie rack beside the barn, his eyes trained on the vacant stall before the expanse of your land. 

“C’mon, brat.”

He waltzed in front of you, guiding you to the empty platform with a stern look gracing his features. Without a single word, Joel yanked your wrists together, his deft fingers working at knotting the rope around your skin. The fraying pieces bit into your skin, rubbing and burning the longer he twisted it in loops around your hands. He gave the rope a good tug, humming in satisfaction once the binding was tight enough. Guiding your arms upwards, he clipped the lead to the metal loop on one side of the tie rack, keeping your body suspended awkwardly as your wrists ached from the restraint. You refused to say a word, too frustrated even to protest his actions. If you thought you were helpless before, you were utterly powerless now. It was just you, Joel, and the empty stretch of land that went on for miles. 

Joel pressed his body against your back, the warmth of his touch ignited heat within your core all over again. You squirmed as his hands roamed over your curves, his fingers tracing the outline of your breasts under your sweat-covered shirt. He pinched at your nipples, finding their pebbled indentation hidden within your bra. A desperate whine left your lips as you swayed against the pull of the rope, your feet slipping against the ground. 

“See all that land out there,” Joel whispered, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. “That’s all mine, darlin’, and I’m gonna make sure you remember that by the time I’m through with you.”

“Tyin’ me up and fuckin’ me ain’t gonna change my mind,” you scoffed. 

“Guess I’m just gonna have to fuck some sense into you.”

Joel’s hands worked down your body, making quick work of undoing your shorts and shoving them down to your boots. The hot, sticky summer air breezed over your bare skin, hardly helping to soothe the painful ache between your thighs. Thick, calloused fingers massaged the skin of your hips, kneading your supple curves as you writhed against his touch. You could beg him for more, and oh god, did you want to. You wanted to cave and relinquish everything just to quell the burning pleasure inside your body, but you wouldn’t beg. Not for Joel Miller or any other man. 

Joel swiped a finger through your drenched folds, tutting at your pliancy. The brief touch alone was enough to spark stars behind your eyes, your breath growing shallow.

“Well, would ya’ look at that,” Joel tutted. “You’re soakin’ my fingers, darlin’.”

You refused to say a word, too afraid you’d succumb to your own devices. You wouldn’t ask him to fuck you, but Jesus Christ, you fucking needed it. Every fiber of your being cried for release, and if it meant you had to be tied up and fucked in front of the yellow fields in front of you, then that’s what you’d do. 

“I’ll give you one last chance,” Joel offered. “Say this land is mine and I’ll let you go.”

You glanced over your shoulder at him, no doubt a mess after being on your knees before him. There was a cruelty in his eyes that alarmed you, but you were too focused on what you needed, even to feel afraid. 

“This is my land,” you stated, your chin held high. “S’my family’s land and it’s gonna stay that way ‘til I’m in my grave.”

“Wrong fuckin’ answer.”

Joel knocked your legs apart, the denim of his jeans dragging against your slick arousal. There was a moment where there was absolutely nothing, a vacancy of sound or touch that deprived your senses. Maybe you were teetering on the edge of delirium, too far gone to know what he was doing behind you, but then you felt everything. The thick head of his cock brushed against your entrance, rubbing between your silken folds in tantalizing strokes. That was the only warning he gave before pushing himself deeper, splitting you open inch by inch. You cried out as your body worked to stretch around his length, and your vision blackened as the sharp pain of the sensation jolted through your veins. 

“Fuck!” You screamed. 

The adjustment to his size was agonizing despite how wet you were. Nothing could have prepared you for the way Joel broke you open, nor was there anything that could have prepared you for how brutal he would become. Thrust after thrust, he assaulted you, completely breaking you and molding you to his cock. The pull of the rope burnt the skin of your wrists as he took you harder, your body lurching against the restraints with each snap of his hips. Joel tugged your body backward, shifting your legs until you were forced to bend at the waist. Words wouldn’t form on your lips, and you dissolved into a heap of wailing cries as he plunged deeper into you. 

“Where’s all that loudmouthin’ now?” Joel grunted, his fingers bruising your hips. “So fuckin’ cock drunk y’can’t even speak?”

Your silence only drove him crazier, his speed quickening mercilessly. The ache inside your core was all-consuming, a burning wildfire inside your stomach. You dropped your head between your shoulders and dug your nails into your palms, keeping yourself grounded. 

“Joel,” you gasped. “Please.”

You failed in your attempts not to beg this man, throwing everything to the wayside as you succumbed to the pulsing ache between your legs. 

“Shut up, brat,” he snapped. 

“Joel!” You sobbed. “I’m gonna—fuck—please. I need to—to…”

The words turned to ash on your tongue as he snaked a hand around your body, his fingers drawing circles over your swollen clit. You yelped at the roughness of his fingers, the sensation alone nearly causing your legs to buckle beneath you. If it weren’t for the ropes holding you firmly in place, you would have fallen to the ground. 

“Poor thing,” he crooned in your ear. “Y’wanna cum? Is that what you want?”

Another drive of his hips. Another draw of his fingers. Tormenting movements that kept you on the edge of ecstasy and suffering. Your arousal pooled down your inner thighs, mixing with the sticky sweat that clung to every inch of your skin. 

“I need it, Joel,” you gasped. “Christ, please!”

“Y’gonna change your mind?”

“N—.”

Joel pinched your clit between his fingers, and your words drowned out under a helpless wail falling from your lips. He pulled you back by your hair, winding it around his fist as he drew his lips down your neck. The sweltering touch of his mouth on your skin and his rough fingers on your sensitive bud were enough to topple you closer to the edge. The furnace igniting inside your stomach wouldn’t stop any time soon, but you still wouldn’t give up. He was always going to be wrong, and you’d rather die than give him the satisfaction. 

“Say it, darlin’. Say the words, and y’can cum all over my cock.”

“Never,” you panted. “Never gonna—.”

He pistoned into you, his cock spearing deeper and deeper, completely paralyzing you. Sobs wracked through your body as you took every thrust, and your mind began to float off into a blissed-out haze that drowned out the noise behind you. 

“Gonna own all this fuckin’ land,” Joel gritted out. “Own it just like I own this fuckin’ pussy.”

Please. Please. You weren’t sure if you repeated the words inside your mind or aloud; either way, Joel only huffed a laugh and continued with his repetitive assaults on your body. Your orgasm began barreling toward you, your core fluttering around him as it sparked beneath your skin. Everything inside you tensed up, and your jaw went slack with an outward cry as you slipped under the rapid release coursing inside your body. 

“Oh fuck!” You sobbed. “Fuck… fuck… fuck!”

Your sex clenched around Joel so hard he choked on a breath, his body rigid against yours as you spasmed beneath his hold. Hot, wet streams of your orgasm drenched his cock as he tore through your orgasm with shallow thrusts. Jole rammed into you over and over again until another wave of pleasure slammed into your body. 

“Fuckin’ brat,” he hissed. “Never said y’could cum, did I?”

His hand vanished from your waist and returned to the welted skin of your ass with a resounding smack. There wasn’t enough air in your lungs to cry out, nor any more tears to shed. You hung against the ropes, limp and pliant, as he took you with abandon. 

With another snap of his hips against yours, Joel spilled into you, his release filling you to the brim as he released a carnal groan. You could barely lift your head to look back at him as he untangled his fingers from your hair and pulled away. 

Every atom inside your body was pulsing with overstimulation, your ass welted and bruised, and your throat raw from screaming. The constant thrum of your heartbeat in your ears smothered the sound of Joel’s belt buckle clanging together, the warmth of his body far removed from yours as you stood on tired legs. Moments passed without a single touch, and you wondered if Joel would leave you there tied to the rack and dripping with cum. 

“Think y’learned your lesson now?” He asked, his voice sounding far away. 

All you could do was wag your head in protest, your eyes pinned down to the floor, fixated on the pool of saliva that had fallen from your lips. Joel appeared beside you, his grey hair dissolved and face red from exertion. He worked at unclasping the rope from the hook, unbinding your wrists until your arms fell limp to your sides. Your body was weightless without the stability of the rope, and you fell forward, anticipating the impact against the cement. Joel was quicker, though, winding a strong arm around your front and holding you up. 

“Easy now, darlin’,” he whispered softly. “Easy.”

Your fingers wrapped around his arm, clinging to anything to escape the impending collapse of your entire body. Your boots scruffed against the cement of the stall, kicking dust into the air around you. With his arm still braced around your chest, he used the other to guide your shorts back up your legs and onto your hips. You hissed as the denim rubbed against your ass, the swell of your skin still prickling with pain no matter how brief the touch was. 

“Can y’stand on your own?” He asked. 

“Mhmm,” you mumbled.

“Attagirl.”

Yet as he released your body, you staggered forward, grasping onto the tie rack for support. Joel waited until you found your balance and offered a hand. You were hesitant but relented silently. He took your wrists in one large hand and began massaging at the reddened skin, working out any tension left from the rope. You stared blankly at him, watching a crease burrow between his eyebrows. You still hated him, right? Right? Something so minimal shouldn’t make your heart pound against your chest, but there you were, speechless as you watched this rough man touch your skin with a tenderness he had yet shown. 

“Suns goin’ down soon,” he muttered, nodding to the sky. 

You peered over your shoulder, surprised to see the sun dipping over the horizon. You hadn’t noticed the pinky hue of the sunset while he fucked you, but now you stared at it in wonderment. 

“Guess it is,” you sighed. “Y’should get your ass off my property ‘fore it gets too late.”

Joel snorted, glancing up at you through thick lashes. In the dwindling sunlight, his eyes had dissolved from onyx back into a glistening amber color, the flecks of rich brown dancing as he looked at you. 

“Stubborn lil’ thing,” he huffed. 

He dropped your hands and straightened to his full height. Perspiration coated his button-up, staining it in dark spots as excess beats of sweat still rolled down his muscular neck. You tamed the flyaways of your hair, trying to minimize the obscenity of your look the longer he stood before you. It was no use after what he had done. 

“Y’ain’t changin’ your mind, huh?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. 

Joel rolled his eyes and shoved a hand into his front pocket. Leaning close, he brought his other hand to your face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers brush over your cheek before pulling away. 

“Guess I’ll just come back tomorrow and try again.”

“Y’come back here tomorrow, and I’ll shoot you dead, Miller.”

He cracked a grin and began to retreat toward his horse beside the stable. You stood motionless as he mounted the brown mare, slipping the reigns between his hands. Joel gave you a farewell wave before taking off across the flowing fields, his broad figure dissolving into the sunset. You slumped against the wall of the stables, letting your body fall to the ground. A smile slid across your face, taking in the open land before you. 

You didn’t give up. It was all still yours.

[luescris]

Everybody buckle up and to those of you who follow me: I am sorry.

But I have acquired the Images and I must yell about them.

Because there are two things that always gets to me when it comes to shows: Imagery, and symbolism. It is not often where both are done well or right. Sometimes neither even exist. So I would have never expected a "what if" funny haha Lego star wars show that has a million meme refs in it to put such thought and care into how both are EFFORTLESSLY presented. And then slap on a whole layer of emotions and meaning.

Let me show you what I mean.

This. This was like the second thing that had my jaw drop to the floor. Glass shattering imagery combined with sick as hell lighting and a hint of symbolism in it???? Are you kidding me??? Like look at these; they're gorgeous!! I could stare at the quality for HOURS.

And don't even get me started on Dev and Sig's whole relationship. Cuz I have a MILLION things to say about it. For example.

Yes. This image is similar to the glass shattering one. But it's also so very much different because of the lighting and position of the two brothers. Dev being high above and Sig looking up from down below. This could also be a clever way to reference the, “I have the high ground” scene, but with that crack on the wall behind them?? Literally separating them apart while the bridge is already physically doing so??? There's so much to look at, so much to inference. The creators of this show paid so much attention to placement and meaning it's actually insane. 

Dev's whole point was to be devastating. He's more than just a villain with a temper, he has been hurt and was alone and was angry. His intro scene had him going, “If I didn't have you..” With a look of despair. He shook, he yelled, he was on the verge of tears. Like.

This. This? Sig's face. Dev standing over him like that. The freaking. Placement of where the characters are I don't know what the word is but dude. This was on purpose.

He doesn't even have the yellow Sith eyes! Sig knows he's not going to hurt him and he's so right and Dev hates that he's right. 

How can you sit there and hate after being given a face like that. A face so trusting and open and it's proving what Sig already knows. There is still hope left for Dev. There's still hope for everyone. Sig is just that beacon.

All his life Dev was alone and out of nowhere here Sig comes to ruin everything all because he cared. And the voice acting just sells it. It SELLS it. Sig whining whenever he was scared, Dev's “shut up.”, Jedi Bob being a sarcastic Master. Actually Dev's va work entirely like who IS that guy god-

I loved the chaos and ridiculousness of this entire show, but it combines the elements of Lego humor with the serious and heartbreaking stories of Star Wars and it's been a long time since I've seen that for this franchise. And to top it off???

It's all about grief. About moving on. Jedi Bob lost his whole galaxy, Sig has to learn how to live in this new one, Dev is struggling with the idea of how unfair it all is that he never got to be happy. Like at this point I don't even care if I'm looking way too far into this there's still so much meaning. 

How does Lego nail it in the head so many times. They're plastic toys meant to sell toys and it is working. 

One last honorable mention image that I just find absolutely sick as fuck for the road:

Another purposeful shot. Absolutely amazing. I'm gonna fall over and die. They're just legos..,,..,..,,,

This all happens in the span of the last episode and it is only four eps long, 26 min each. But it is so worth it.

Tdlr: Go watch Rebuild the Galaxy so we can get More of this please and thank you.

[crescentblossom66]

First Train on the Moon Part 2

Here's part two. It's significantly longer than part 1, but I think it turned out great. I took elements from the science express and beta train rush and even alpha version of Grooves makes an appearance. I hope you liked the second part of your delayed birthday present @nasubeenwithcat

Everything was a blur, people were panicking and freaking out. The passengers were, like him, being lifted into the air by some unseen force. Connor couldn't believe his own eyes when he caught a glimpse of the outside. He saw the rails...which was highly unusual as the train normally obviously ran on those. “Everyone, stay calm! This is probably just a temporary thing!” He hoped so, yet very much doubted it. It was likely the doing of the science owls. As he struggled to get anywhere, now that he was floating basically at the ceiling, he thought that Redd, who normally tended to the science owls...when he actually did his job, might know more. Wait! Redd! He was outside earlier!

With a new found worry that only piled up onto the fear he was already feeling, the black-clad bird pushed himself toward the caboose tearing open the door. “HELP!” The sight he was greeted with made the breath in his lungs hitch. His red-feathered brother was gripping the railing of the caboose tightly, his legs being pulled up as if a harsh wind was coming from right under him.

The yellow owl extended a wing, making sure to stay inside the train cart, grabbing the frame of the door with one talon while reaching his other out to toward Redd. “Redd, grab me wing!” The red owl had gritted his beak as he looked up at his older brother with despair and fear, reaching out one wing to grab the offered wing.

“Connor, am I glad ta see ye!” After missing a few times, due to turbulence, Connor managed to pull Redd into the cart, not without getting dangerously close to slipping off the door frame and being sucked out into the air. “Thanks fer savin' me. I thought I was gonna meet me maker out there. What the peck is goin' on!?”

“I was hopin' ye knew somethin'!” They could still hear the people panicking over in the passenger compartment. Redd was shaking with panic when Connor grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to get him to focus. “Yer the one who's around the science owls fer the most part. Have ye heard anythin', anythin' that can help us figure out what we're dealin' with here?”

After composing himself by taking a few deep breaths, Redd spoke in a shaky and fearful voice. “An anti-gravity device. I-I thought it was hogwash, but...” It all but confirmed the suspicion that the science owls had something to do with it.

“I'm gonna try and see if I can get other there.” Trying to keep a level head in this situation, the yellow owl made his way over to the passenger cart to reach the one that the owls used for their experiments. On his way there, he found Walter as he was passing through. His gaze shifted to him briefly, the relief of seeing his brother safe clear on his face to him only, as he addressed the crowd..

“Stay as calm as you can. We will resolve the issue posthaste. Please make sure to stay away from the windows and find something to hold on to!” Walter tried his best to keep the passengers calm with moderate success while Connor squeezed past him, finding his green feathered brother who obviously wasn't doing too well. Greg was flailing around wildly, nearly slapping the bird that opened the door to the science room with a wing. Telling Greg to calm down when he was panicking like that was a fool's errand. He painfully recalled the day that the yellow clad owl had curled up in a ball, weeping like a chick when the news of their fathers illness reached him. It took him at least a year to recover to the point that he could function again after their pa's passing. He reacted the same after hearing that their fifth sibling, Alfred, had gone missing after spending some time in Subcon Forest. His cooking was sorely missed, just as much as his optimistic attitude.

“Hang in there, Greg. I'll find out what's goin' on.” He could only see the unbridled fear and pure terror in the green bird's eyes. Connor couldn't even imagine just what kind of horror scenarios were torturing the mind of his younger brother. All he got as an answer was a quiet whimper and a nod.

As soon as he reached the room. He saw the science owls high fiving each other and cheering as they floated in the air. “Success!” One of them yelled, raising a fist in the air triumphantly. “After years of persistent failures, our unyielding resolve finally bore fruit!” As he got closer, he could make out the same device that the owls were working on when he walked through the compartment around an hour ago. So this was the culprit for the mass hysteria that was now plaguing their train.

Even though burst of anger were not a common thing with him, he now felt his blood boil. Not only did they endanger the other passengers, but they also caused more stress to his brothers. But the thing that angered him the most is that they did to the train, the same train that his father had spent years to build, the very same one that his father had taught them how to operate and run, the only thing that the old owl had left them after his death. The train, his home, was now floating around in midair. “Hey, ye peck necks, get us back down ta the ground! Yer scarin' the passengers and yer messin' with a family heirloom here!” The sheer volume and rage in his voice made the science owls flinch and turn their heads toward him, looking like deer caught in headlights. “Get us back ta the ground, NOW!”

If the sudden flip in personality from kind and easy going to rage-filled and imposing wasn't going to make the owls shiver, it was the fact that he looked looked like he was going to tear them to shreds with his own talons. “Uh...yeah...about that. We didn't build in a way to reverse the effects.” For a moment Connor just stared at them like they were from another planet, the sheer incompetence of the normally intelligent lab-coat-wearing birds was leaving him speechless.

“What! Ye mean ta tell me that ye build a strange thingamajig that is able ta break the laws of physics by makin' a train float, yet ye didnae think of a way ta stop it again?!” He balled his talons to fists, trying hard to regain his composure. “Any way ye can get us back down?”

“One of the owl, clearly the one science owl that couldn't read the tension in room, spoke up.”We're not just going to switch it off, now that we managed a breakthrough! We're advancing birdkind at a rapid pace and you're trying to make us quit now?!” Some of the other science owls were trying hard to make the agitated science owl stop talking after seeing that the train conductor they were arguing with was starting to lose the shred of composure that he had worked hard to retain.

“TO PECK WITH SCIENCE!”

Kicking the device was undoubtedly a bad decision as the moment he did so, it started to go into some kind of overdrive, flinging him and the science owls to the ceiling, slamming him against it and make him and the owls yell out in pain as they got briefly felt like their bones were going to snap. He could see everything spin briefly as a moment later they were flung around violently before everything stopped and he fell to the the left wall of the train which had now become it's ground.

Everything ached, he felt like his whole body was broken as he groaned and tried to keep the unconsciousness at bay. He was more or less able to, sitting up and blinking until his vision returned back to normal. He looked around, the science owls were out cold and the equipment they had that wasn't mounted to the floor was either broken or dented. He was lucky that none of it hit him as they got whiled around. He froze when he took a glance out the now shattered windows, they landed in some sort of city, yet it wasn't one he was familiar with. Groaning again as he forced his body into cooperation, he got to his feet and went to check on the other carts. He noticed Greg, whose had was bleeding from a slight cut, together with Redd and Walter who were tending to Greg and the passengers respectively. “How's Greg, Redd?”

Redd looked up at him, feeling relieved after seeing Connor in one piece. “That cut isnae to bad, it knocked him out cold though. Hope he still remembers us once he comes to.” Redd gave a solemn chuckle, trying to ease the fear with some humor.

“Everyone who's hurt, please move to the left side of the train while those of ye who are fine go to the right.” Walter instructed the people, holding his injured left wing, ignoring the pain that spread through it like a wildfire every time he moved it. “Connor, good ta see ye, can ye help me check on the passengers?” Connor nodded, starting with the mother of the small boy he helped earlier who was trying to be brave by telling her that they'd be okay.

After everyone was more or less cared for after Redd got the first aid kit, the three brothers who weren't currently blacked out ventured outside the train. As Redd took in the bright lights and neon signs, gaping in awe and letting out a stunned 'Wow', Walter's gaze was transfixed on their train, contrasting his brother's excited and awestruck expression with one of deep sorrow. “Would ye look at this place, this is the bomb!” Redd walked off, leaving Connor who shared his white-feathered brother's sentiment.

“We'll try ta fix it, Walt. As long as the engines are nae too busted up, we can repair her.” Connor put a wing on his brother's shoulder causing the slightly older owl to flinch and hiss. “We better get ye patched up.”

“This is a disaster, Connor. This is our livelihood, never even mind the last remaining memory of our pa.” He took Walter back past the exiting passengers who looked around, trying to figure out where they had stranded. He helped his found that Walter had dislocated his shoulder, so he did his best to put it back in its socket without causing the other too much pain. The loud yelp the eldest brother let out woke up Greg who more or less jolted and sat up straight before immediately bringing a wing to his head as the injury he sustained in the crash stung.

“What...What happened? All I remember is everythin' spinnin'. Am I dead? Are we all dead!? Oh no! Is that city outside purgatory?! Oh nononono! I donnae wanna be dead! I never managed ta find me a lovin' wife!” The green bird put his head in his wings, shaking which caused both relief and sympathy to wash over the other two. At least Greg was still his old self...his very easily frightened and anxiety-ridden self.

Connor went over to Greg, checking him over. “Yer nae dead, feather brain.” He gave a relieved chuckle which wasn't returned, but caused Greg to look up at his brother. “We're all alive, Walter, Redd, ye and I. We ran inta some trouble with a strange thingamajig that the science owls created, caused the whole train ta float and land in some strange city. Redd went ta explore it.” Greg tried to take all that information in, nodding along yet clearly too overwhelmed to understand all of that at once.

“First things first, we have ta assess the damage done ta the engines.” As Walter said 'damage' Greg looked around for the first time, nearly screaming at the sight that greeted him.

“The whole train's destroyed! How did this happen?!” Connor put a wing on Gregs shoulder, trying to stop his younger brother from spiraling yet again.

“One thing at a time, Greggy. We'll fix 'er up.” The assurance seemed to help somewhat as the green bird calmed down a bit, but was still very much out of it. “We cannae expect Greg ta just recover from the shock. I gotta say even I'm feelin' rather exhausted and I'm achin', so are ye, Walt.”

The white owl wanted to argue, but one look at his brothers made his words get stuck in his throat and he instead took a deep breath to clear his mind. “Alright...We'll find some place ta stay fer a few days. Tomorrow we'll figure out how ta repair the train.”

“A'ight. I'll go and look 'round fer a bit, figure out where we are and where the peck Redd went ta.” Walter nodded and helped the still rather upset-looking Greg out of the train.

Connor looked at the literal train wreck one more time, thinking on how ta fix this mess before he started to walk down the streets. He soon found that wherever this place was, it looked more modern when the cities he knew. Fancy cars were running down the street, bright neon signs lit up the tall buildings, and the smell of food from restaurants and fast food joints entered his nose. All he knew were rundown streets with many holes in them, old wooden buildings, and the most that was done for advertising were fliers and billboards. He felt horribly out of place, especially since the residents of that city were glaring at him like he was some kind of circus attraction. Said residents appeared to be penguins, those were rare, so it was strange to see so many in one place, in fact, the whole city appeared to be full with them. The train must have crashed in a rare penguin city. “Excuse me, uh...where exactly are we?” He decided to ask the friendliest looking penguin he could find who looked at him like he just asked the dumbest question ever.

“You're on the moon, dude. Do you come from a different planet or something?” The moon! How the peck did they end up on the moon?! Connor only managed to mumble a quiet 'thanks' before he walked on, walking into an alley briefly.

“How the peck did we get here? How are we going to get home?” Noticing that he was panicking just as bad as Greg, he calmed himself. At least no one was seriously harmed and he now knew where exactly he was...even if he would have rather been somewhere on the planet. He walked back to the street, he still had a brown clothed brother to find. He had an inkling where he was as soon as the bright neon signs of a club pierced his retina.

The train was normally quite loud, but this place was ear-deafening. Loud music everywhere that had a loud and strong bass and instruments he didn't even recognize. Connor looked around past the many dancing and half-drunk guests, he found his brother sitting on one of the stools near the bar. “Redd, what the peck are you doing here? We gotta figure out a way ta get home and yer getting' wasted?” The look of absolute annoyance and irritation didn't bother the red owl who started at him with unfocused eyes.

“Ah, good ta see ye me dear brother. This place 's mighty fine, aye?” Between the loud music and the heavy slurring of the word, Connor could hardly understand a word that his brother was saying. “Have one o' these foamy drinks, they're just the best.” Redd looked like he was struggling to even remain seated at this point. How many of those weird colorful drinks did he have?

Connor pulled Redd to his feet and had to catch him before he fell on his face. “There's no time fer this nonsense, yer gonna come back with me. Walter and Greg are worried about ye.” Some of the more sober patrons of the club were turning their heads at them, watching Connor drag his brother toward the exit.

The red feathered bird was having none of this. “I'm nae comin' I wanna stay 'ere. I like this place, the train's borin'.” Redd flailed around hitting his older brother in the face with his talons balled to fists. Not expecting this, the yellow bird stumbled back, holding his beak where the more or less unwanted attack hit him.

The black suit wearing conductor reached out a talon. “That's just the alcohol speakin'. Ye love the train same we do!” The hand he tried to put on his younger sibling was pushed away as soon as it made contact.

“Yer speakin' nonsesen! It's not the same anymore!” He was slurring his words more, but aside from the anger and the clear haze in the eyes of his brother was something that looked more like sadness and anger. A sadness that Connor wrongly attributed to his brother's longing for a different life away from the train. It angered him to see Redd, who was always lacking off and hardly helping, now dismissing his whole family. Connor had always supported him, same went for Greg and Walter, even if both of them showed their support differently. Greg tried despite struggling with his anxiety and Walter was harsh because he cared about Redd and wanted him to do better. It ended up in a small fight, the patrons watching the two brothers fight each other, punching and shoving each other.

“I hate that train! It's bad now!” the younger brother yelled as he slammed his older sibling against the counter of the bar.

The other grit his beak and kicked the legs away from under him, using his drunken state to his advantage. “Why are ye like this! We're all tryin' ta support ye, yet all ye do is make life harder fer us!” Neither bird noticed that someone was approaching them. “Ye slack off all the time, ye never do yer work! All ye ever do is complain!” Connor was panting, stopping now that the anger left his body somewhat after informing Redd about his shortcomings.

A loud and booming female voice behind him caused him to turn around. “What's going on over here, darlings? This club has a serious 'no fighting' policy.” It was one of those penguins, but that one was a lot taller than the others. They wore a red jacket and had shades in the shape of stars. Even among the club-goers in their fancy clothing, this penguin stood out like a sore thumb.

Connor flinched a bit under their gaze, not sure how to respond...he did just start a fight in the middle of an establishment, clearly not one of his finest moments. “Uh...ye see, I was just 'ere ta pick up me brother Redd. We have some business ta attend ta.” He still wasn't sure about the gender of that penguin, they looked masculine, but spoke in a more feminine voice.

“What business, darling? Could you be one of those strange birds that crashed into the bank in the center of the city? A bit obvious and on the nose for a bank robbery, no?” Even though the penguin chuckled, Connor wasn't quite sure if it was a joke or not.

Normally he was more confident and not afraid of others, unlike Greg, but being the center of attention and stared down by a large group of unfamiliar birds caused even him to feel a lump in his throat. “We just wanna get back home, none o' us mean any harm.”

“I donnae wanna go home!” Redd butted in with his own comment.

“Not now, Redd!” The yellow owl shot him a glare before looking back at the group of penguins.

They started to whisper among each other and some nodded while others frowned. The tall penguin speaking again caused his to flinch a bit. “We on the moon are always happy to help others, as long as you don't start any trouble. Do I have your word that you will not mess up our beautiful city, darlings? I have enough work on my flippers being a celebrity, you know.” The penuins around the red-jacket wearing teal-colored bird cheered and called out a name 'DJ Grooves!' it was like they were chanting it while the apparent DJ smiled and waved a hand. While Redd, drunk as he was, also started cheering, nearly tripping over his own feet, Connor was far less impressed. Not only was that penguin eccentric, but also rather full of themselves. At least they offered their help, the sooner they could leave the moon, the better.

After returning to the train, he found Walter waiting for Redd and him. He seemed to have calmed down significantly, sporting his regular cold expression instead of one of uncertainty and worry. “Good to see you back.” His sharp gaze fell on Redd. “So, I take it our dear youngest brother went fer a drink while all hell broke loose over here?” Connor just nodded, still a bit angry at Redd.

“How's Greg?” As soon as he asked the question he could hear the sound of a wrench tightening a bolt. “Already working, eh?” Walter nodded. “I got a wee bit o' help from the locals, they're gonna help us get back home.”

Walter sighed in relief at the news. “That's the best news I heard all day. It'll take a while, but we'll make it. I made sure that the passengers are safe and cared fer in the hotels. Those science owls will pay fer all the damage, I made sure o' that.” Walter's gaze hardened which caused Redd to laugh out, nearly doubling over.

“Hahaha! They got a scolding from ol' Walt! I'm sure they got so scared they wet their feathers!”

Connor sighed. “This'll be a long week, eh?”

[bubuslutty]

A monster's high

this is just word vomit, i didn't want it to collect spiderwebs in my docs so im putting it out there for someone to read.

pairing: witch!gn!reader x werewolf! Johnny Soap MacTavish

word count: 1.2k

tags: supernatural elements, hybrids/demons and shit, suggestive themes, 3rd person pov, no use of y/n, they/them pronouns, no physical descriptions, poc friendly, reader is referred to as Darling

warnings: smoking + drinking

summary: au where soap finally takes his little witch friend, Darling, to a monster party to meet his pack.

a/n: inspired by this soap playlist.

Initially, he didn’t want to take them along with him this soon, no matter how fun he told them it was. Simply because he was worried it would be too much for their little human body to handle. You see, soap’s a werewolf and it’s in his nature to be possessive and protective of those who he considers his. And he doesn't want anything to hurt or break his favourite little human witch.

But lately, he really wants Darling to meet his friends, the guys he considers his own little pack, and wants nothing more than for Darling to get along with his little pack.

One fine evening, soap barges into Darling’s place, carrying many bags with him, making Darling confused and slightly worried.

“What are those?”

“Clothes and shoes, you’re coming out with me tonight t’meet my pack.”

“Tonight?!”

The werewolf tells Darling that the parties they attend are only for monsters, but the invitation can stretch to humans too if they’re attending with monsters and are looked after the said monster to avoid accidents. After all, monster parties are louder, the drinks are stronger and the ambience is so much more overwhelming than any human parties due to the magic coating the air like thick fog.

That night soap helps his little witch to get dressed up, picking them outfits and accessories and doing their hair, but without forgetting to scent them before stepping outside.

They end up walking through a thick dark forest, hand in hand, leading them to an abandoned hospital building. Darling was confused but Soap was grinning, “We’re here.”

Darling let Soap drag them inside the dark and abandoned building, and walk down a set of stairs towards a dark corridor with one single closed door at the end.

“Are you ready?” Soap turned to darling.

Darling frowned, there were no noises, no music, no talking or laughing, it was dark and silent. Was this a joke?

“Uhm, where’s the party, Johnny?”

“Right here!” Soap grinned, pointing at the shut door.

“Okay, lead the way.” Darling shrugged and let out a giggle when Soap placed a quick kiss on the corner of their mouth.

“You hold my hand, and don’t let go, aye?”

“Hmm, okay.”

When Soap opened the door, a wave of loud noise and absolute heat and colours slapped Darling in the face, making them step back and squint their eyes shut at the onslaught. Luckily Soap stood in front of them, shielding them and still holding onto their hand tightly.

“Come on, love.” Soap gave them a fangy grin and pulled them forward and Darling shivered when the door slammed shut by itself behind them.

The said party was huge, the space was massive and she could spot more stairs, more doors, more rooms and so, so many monsters and some humans here and there. The place was dark, illuminated by dancing colourful lights. And the ground was vibrating with the bass of the music.

Darling’s eyes were reflecting the ever-changing colours in the air, staring at the dancing monsters and how they seemed to so easily meet their eyes regardless of the lack of lights. They felt somehow exposed, naked, stared at like a new shiny toy, ready to be chewed and spat back out.

Soap pulled them forward when they got distracted by a woman with bright yellow eyes and red hair, black cat ears on her head as she danced and licked her lower lip as if readying herself to devour a meal.

Darling shivered and focused their eyes on Soap’s back, where his tramp tattoo could be seen. Tonight Soap decided to wear a tight-cropped tank top and a pair of low-rise baggy jeans. He also wore his eyebrow piercing tonight and accompanied it with rings and a combination of silver necklaces and a thick choker. He looked so pretty tonight, he always looks pretty but tonight he looked prettier, more himself and ready for trouble.

Darling gave a gentle squeeze to his hand in adoration, which made Soap turn around, “Good?” he shouted over the loud music.

Darling nodded, with a smile on their face and Soap mirrored their smile, “Come on, it’s right around the corner.”

And Soap was right, they only had to push through more bodies and they climbed up another flight of stairs, turned left and were in a smaller sized room with a huge balcony. Soap dragged them straight to the balcony with multiple lounge chairs. And they held their breath when sharp eyes landed on them.

Darling suppressed a shiver when Soap waved at his friends with a wide grin. And for the first time, since they changed to go out, they felt shy in the outfit soap picked out for them to wear. Darling was wearing a ridiculously small t-shirt, that was tight and left a huge chunk of their midriff naked, a pair of small jean shorts with a thong underneath (soap was very adamant they’d wear one to match him) and a pair of chunky platform ankle boots. As for accessories, Soap picked out the same choker he was wearing for them, just in a different colour, and some arm warmers.

To say the least, they looked cute and more naked than dressed. But it wasn’t their outfit that made them feel shy and exposed, it was just how many eyes were on them and how intense they were looking at them, practically eating them up.

“Darling, this is my pack. That’s John, Konig, Horangi, Alejandro & Rudy. Guys this is Darling, be nice.” Soap introduced and Darling frowned, they knew that Soap’s pack is bigger than this, so where were the rest of the guys?

“I’ll get you something t’drink and find the rest, stay here.” Soap said, holding their shoulders and giving them a kiss on the forehead before leaving. Darling stood frozen, in front of the five men without saying anything.

“Come here, Darling. We don’t bite.” A man with big dark green wings said, smoke and fire spilling through his lips. Darling bit their lower lip and walked up to the man, sitting on the two-person lounge chair, their thighs touching and his huge wings were spread out, behind the chair.

Darling shivered when a cold gust of wind hit their legs and John brought one of his wings next to their arm, shielding their body from the wind. “Thank you.” They said, shyly looking up at the big man.

John grinned, “No worries, lovey.”

Darling watched with awe as the man winked at them, noticing the yellow glow his brown eyes had. “So… You’re a dragon hybrid?”

“Yes I am, and you’re a witch.” He said with a grin, taking a sip of his beer.

Darling turned to look at the four other men and their cheeks heated up when they simultaneously smirked at them, well, they couldn’t see the faces of two men but they could see their eyes, and knew they were smirking under their dark masks.

“So what type of monster is he?” Darling asked John, tilting their chin towards the tallest man out of all of them, with a loose mask on his head.

“Ask him.” John leaned forward, his hot breath hitting their neck.

tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @obiwankenobis-lap @goapgrim @smalldemonlover @silviafantin15

[toainatreehouse]

Finally built all the 2006 combiners:

Botar - 11/10. This made me realize *why* Axonn was built so weird while Brutaka was a killer solo set; it's in order to meld them both fully into Botar. If you only have time/budget for a single combiner in your collection, this is the one you want to get. How small the pile of unused pieces is when your done is *shocking,* it might be the smallest ratio ever amongst combiners. I don't want to spoil it too much, but it's great.

Kardas - 3/10. Points mainly come from an interesting chest and wing build, but *all* the limbs feel wrong. Wrong to look at, purposeless and spindly vibes as you build it, squandered use of the piston pieces. I've table scrapped better arms and legs. The neck barely stays upright, and falls over from a stiff breeze. Loses points because of: how annoying it is to need to rebuild Vezon from the waist up and the Fenrakk skull; I lost a 3Long pin in the Kardas skull when rebuilding it into Fenrakk, truly bad design there; it doesn't conserve pieces in order to provide pins for Vezon to stand on, he's just hanging off the chain in the promo pictures even.

Whereas Brutaka and Axonn combine beautifully, Kardas needs another draft to incorporate V&F. I think an opportunity to make the axes the hands of the dragon exists, but serious work would need to be done on the legs and neck. Not worth your time, unless you're the kind of mad lad who wants to rebuild it better AND you have the budget to buy three titan sets, or already have some of them. (Tangentially, I have a vague memory of OnuaNut doing this on BZP with the Mata Nui titan set but I don't know how to find it again, anyone seen that thread?)

Lava Hawk - 9/10. Similar to Botar, I now get that the matoran looked That Way to accomodate this satisfying build. Also just a great looking bird. If your combiner budget isn't super high, this one is an easy second to Botar.

Dagger Spider - 7/10. Body build is neat, but another spider? After all that visorak stuff? C'mon man. The Matoran look That Way for this again. Solid little build, slap it together if you have the sets but you don't need to seek out another four legged spider, there's already a dozen of those.

Jovan - 5.5/10. It's... Nuparu but bristling with metal. Totally devoid of the blue or yellow from Hewkii and Hahli. Iunno. Maybe this'll be good for people who buy the Batman or evil Star Wars sets made of only black and grey. It's not doing anything for me. Neat use of Hewkii's chain but it is, truly, just another Inika build, if slightly wider. Bonus half point for staying upright, unlike Kardas. But it's also unsalvageable, unlike Kardas - I don't see a way to nullify the problems here. Skip this one, even if he's the only non-Takanuva Toa set to control an element that's not one of the main six.

Irnakk - 8.5/10. Honestly, this is as good as the Lava Hawk, but I'm docking half a point because you can't build it with just the sets, you technically need five extra pieces. Still looks *really* good without them, and the build is even fun unlike some on this list. Next to Zaktan, it does look like something that would fuck him up. Give it a whirl.

Protodax - 7.5/10. Bahahaha. This one was made for me specifically. It's goofy and silly AND it looks better than most of the 2005 rahi combiners. YMMV but I loved it. Good use of a piraka spine. The build isn't anything to write home about, but I looks like a blorbo, if a blorbo had three heads. Adding a half point purely because of the out-of-the-box design that may be the most unhinged *while-still-cohesive* build I've seen simultaneously. This is the anti-Jovan in a lot of ways. Look, just build it for me so you can have a good laugh as well, okay? Great.

[winterapocalypse]

Winter Apocalypse chapter 22

The Wallet

Undertaker passed a battered wallet to Aston, who took it in his hands and opened it. The money was gone, but the documents were there anyway.

Beric Dondarrion from Blackhaven in the Dornish Marches in southern Westeros. He was from the Stormlands and was in his fourth year and part of Hufflejhjk. He had played quidditch for a year but wasn't particularly good because he had accidentally been substituted.

She handed the wallet to the boy, who put it in a torn and sewn pocket of his black jeans, which were also dirty with dirt and mud and blood like all his clothes. The black and purple shirt with the silver embroidery all frayed and overflowing had lost some color due to being exposed to the elements for who knows how many days, and the coat on his shoulders was now unrecognizable colors - greyish, brownish, greenish, everything except black and yellow. Only the scarf, which was now draped over his delicate shoulders, vaguely recalled the colors of his house.

"Go away." the Undertaker said sharply. "Don't get caught. No one should know. If you or your friends spill the beans…"

Aston shrugged and accompanied Beric out of that house of horrors, taking care not to step on all those animal corpses buried in the fields around it, in a macabre pose upside down in the ground.

Beric was holding her hand tightly, perhaps afraid or tired, or both.

"Oh, how is it? Scared?" Aston asked him, feeling a little guilty seeing him all so scared and wrapped up in his dirty jacket. He looked up at the tall girl, freezing in the cold winter wind and her cold body alike.

Aston bent down to adjust the scarf around his neck, to cover that ugly cut on his throat that Undertaker had closed a bit haphazardly that night, but it was still scary. Beric stood still, letting her adjust the scarf around her neck and the hood over her face.

"What is your name?" he asked, all hopefully. He looked at her adoringly, clinging to her arm. She accompanied him into the castle, following the steps of her companions into the castle. They had gotten away with a sidelong look from Undertaker, which however was worth a whole yelling from other professors.

"Aston. Aston Royce, next Duchess of Runestone, scholar of the runic magic of the First Men from whom my family descends…"

Beric let out a small laugh, clinging to her arm and letting herself be led around the castle, which he seemed to have lost his memory of. "You sound just like a Ravenclaw."

All annoyed and a little embarrassed, Aston said nothing until entering Hufflephdhfd tower, where the boy resided. She hoped he at least remembered where her room was.

Beric looked at her for a long time, almost not wanting to part with her, more scared of what would happen than what had already happened to him. Aston, with a sigh, shooed him away with a gentle slap. "Go to sleep, or at least try. I'll be here tomorrow, don't worry."

This caused a faint smile on the boy's bluish lips. He greeted her with an unusual voice and ran up the stairs, heading to who knows where.

Making her way towards the Ravenclaw tower, tired and shaken from all the emotional and physical beatings of the day, he noticed that there were students who were cleaning the ground, dirty with dog footprints, or perhaps wolves as they were large and pieces of colored glass. Among them were, of course, his younger brother Dennis and a couple of other Ravenclaws, all grumbling and annoyed.

"They broke a glass window practicing magic they shouldn't have even known about." warned her the professor and head of the Ravenclaw house, Mr. wizard warrior DJ Wilde, with the dangerous ice blue eyes, and the symbol of his house- the Eye of Horuseros- under his left eye - who was said to have the power to read people's minds, since he lost his hearing due to dark magic that he had been practicing for several years when he was young, he always wore his multicolored shirt open on his chest covered in scars and orange hair like the hair on his head, and his wand stuck behind his ear like a common cigarette. He looked Aston up and down. She was still dressed in her Westerosi Quidditch uniform, tunic and leather armor with studs and metallic runes and broom in tow, but she was covered in dirt and mud and a few twigs and leaves had stuck in her long braid.

“Night training, Royce?” Professor Wilde asked her, and she Aston knew she couldn't lie to him. "I saw your friend Cesaro come back about an hour ago. You worked overtime, I see."

"More or less." she replied vaguely, not meeting her gaze.

A smirk formed on her face—did she understand?—and with a wave of her hand he let her go. "I don't feel like lining up two Royces tonight, go to sleep."

And Aston ran up the stairs, but felt herself being followed with his gaze by the professor.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

[adobe-outdesign]

Can you tell us your thoughts on the new scarvi mon if you haven’t already?

(Note: This is a special-edition review in honor of the recent reveals. Reviews after this will follow the usual earliest-first release.)

Fidough is a fun concept. We haven't really had any bread Pokemon before, so that's a unique niche for it to fill—even if, admittedly, I'm a little burnt-out on dog Pokemon due to their abundance.

It also seems to be based off of ensaïmada, a type of Spanish pastry. Assuming this was the intent, it makes for a nice little cultural reference that's still easy to understand for people who don't know what ensaïmadas are.

Also, that pun name is to die for.

Visually, I like the simple yellow and cream color scheme, the little "hair buns" that are literally buns as well as ears, and the little ruff around the neck. For a creature made of dough (or maybe it just looks like it's dough? it's not entirely clear yet), it feels fairly organic.

Evolution-wise, I agree with the consensus that it should become fully baked bread; it would be especially fun if it had to be given a fire stone or something to evolve, or to get hit with a fire-type move as a baking reference. Hopefully it would stick to some kind of Spanish baked good to fit the region, but I don't know enough about Spanish breads to offer any opinions.

Also, I like the bit of lore that it's been considered a valuable Pokemon because its breath contains yeast that can be used for cooking. It's a nice bit of worldbuilding.

Cetitan is definitely a stand-out for me. It's been a hot minute since we had a traditional "Pokemon-that-looks-like-an-animal-but-is-also-an-abstact-monster" kind of look, and a whale that has legs and walks around on land is perfect for that. The concept is probably based off of how whales are descended from land dwelling animals:

Though it's also possible it's a reference to the ningen, a modern-day Japanese yokai that's basically a white whale with arms and legs. Regardless, it's a very cool and very monster-y design.

Visually, I like how the pink adds some nice pops of color, and I adore this thing's mouth; three horns in a V shape, with an incredibly messed up mouth that isn't even immediately visible:

This is what defiantly makes the design for me. A land-whale Pokemon is already cool, but slap that mouth on it and it's an instant 8/10 for me.

I say 8 out of ten because there are some very minor things that bug me about the design, though they're mostly nitpicks. The random grey spots under the arms aren't needed, I would've rather seen one of the horns be pink instead of the flippers, and I don't get the pattern under the stomach. It just feels a bit over-detailed when it would look fine with just spots (as in, without all those little connecting lines everywhere), and I don't really get what it's trying to accomplish. Overall, however, this is a great design.

Side note: if I had to wager, Cetitan is either non-evolving, or likely has a pre-evo. And if it has a pre-evo... is it possible it would be the famed dolphin Pokemon everyone's been waiting on, seeing as they're both part of the Cetacea infraorder (and, you know, that's where the English name comes from)?

And Paldean Wooper is just ideal, as far as I'm concerned. It changes up as much as it can from the original design—front markings, colors, mouth size, and gills—while still remaining clearly recognizable. I wouldn't have minded a little something done with the tail, just because it's the only big element that remains the same (maybe just make it a pinch smaller or something minor like that), but otherwise it has a good balance of new vs old elements.

The big thing that makes the design however is the gills: this new Wooper is poison/ground instead of water/ground, so the gills have been changed to make the entire head a skull and crossbones. That is an absolutely brilliant design choice, and whoever came up with it deserves a raise. It also helps give the design a specific concept that keeps the changes from feeling too bland or arbitrary.

I am curious about the evolution. Is it going to become a regional Quagsire, or more get a new regional evolution? I do love Quagsire, but it might be more interesting to get a more axolotl-ish Pokemon, maybe taking elements from the Iberian ribbed newt that P. Wooper here seems to be based on, in all its rib-breaking glory.

So as a whole, all three of the designs are a very strong showing from Scarlet and Violet. Fidough has a fun concept, Cetitan is a great "monster" Pokemon, and P. Wooper has a brilliant design and is everything you could want from a regional. Here's hoping all of the new 'mons are this good.

[kiiingsnake]

i know this isn’t particularly interesting or unique buut i DID have a good time doing it so its time to talk about DRAGON DESIGNING

so here are images+inspirations and i’ll give some explanations too- although most of this is about personal preference- more so a look into my arrogant hubris brain more than anything else :>

here’s the thing about this guy. for some reason there was like some sort of. massive issue with conceptualizing him which was that they had to make a fury that didn’t milk toothless’ design for once and to make it look unique they made some. very odd choices.

i just decided to have some fun with this one and based him off some seabirds (florida kite, tern, kingfishers which i KNOW are freshwater birds but still) while trying to keep the catlike elements, especially with the double-layered wings meant to mimic rows of feathers. he also has a more airplane-like tail- one big fin with smaller ones at the sides. most of this was just looking at him and going “how do i make this different but with the same appeal”. as for the actual genetic trail of this guy, hes evidently a night fury+light fury, but with some stormcutter influence too- the extra wing layering and three-way tail give better steering.

i still can’t seem to find the post about effectively combining animals to make a new one but- the original for this gal just felt so slapped together. it was a good concept (i love beetles) but it had some poor execution.

this is honestly just an example of me combining a lot of what i love about beetles to make a more put-together design- including that they have little hairs that sometimes get thick enough to resemble fur. These specific beetles are rainbow dung beetles/scarabs and rainbow stags- although i wanted her less green bc for some reason they just dont make magenta dragons like they used to. i am a huge sucker for blue but it just… didn’t feel right to me? idk man. i also love making those stacked wings. this is a rumblehorn/deathgripper hybrid, with a bit of gronkle too, as it possesses their ability to do the hummingbird hover :>

this one wasnt bad to start out with!! most of the problems i had ran pretty personal, such as the attempt at bright coloration and the just. plainness of the overall design. to me it just didnt embody the tropical bird inspiration enough.

honestly i just went off on my own thing with this, but i did have the resplendent quetzal in mind- one of my favorite birds and what i would guess to be the original inspiration for her. her original colors were somehow just too dull to me- and she felt too bulky and not like a stealthy camouflaging dragon- i thought that those sorta “stalker legs” would fit much better on her design than large paws would. as for her lineage, i like to think shes a nadder/changewing hybrid but with a good chunk of thunderdrum- the frills on her chest cover vents that she uses to rapidly intake air in order to do her sonic scream thing.

there are. many issues with the original of this one that other people have very good in depth explanations of so ill keep this short and technical. from my perspective, it felt… forced? almost like they were trying to cram too much into it. it did have good colors, though, i guess ill give credit for that?

for this one i just sort of started scribbling, but wanted to incorporate some more fishlike elements, given that this is a tidal class dragon, so this one references longear (and other species of) sunfish, both with the split red/blue coloration on a yellow base, and their tall and spiny fins. I also wanted to give the heads each a more definitive aspect to them instead of just “parts are different sizes”- but that was a personal thing, more than anything i was trying to have fun with these. This one is a zippleback and shockjaw hybrid, and also has scauldron in there too, especially with the boiling/freezing water shots

[sisters-sideblog]

Yesterday in a shared discord server, @colibrie sent everyone well-wishes to the tune of "I gift you with the mental image of grumpy legend in times bunny hood."

Of course I had to write it.

~~~

“I am not wearing that.”

“But it’ll make you go fast!”

“I don’t care.” 

Raised voices filtered in from the direction of one of the barns on Malon and Time’s ranch. Twilight and Warriors exchanged a glance. Twilight settled the saddle he’d been carrying outside to detail in the sunlight across a fence rail; the bucket of cleaning tools in Warriors’ hands joined it on the ground nearby. They turned to look. 

There came Wind and Legend, stalking out from among the buildings behind them. Well. Legend was stalking, every footfall driven into the ground with emphasis to convey his irritation. Wind hustled to keep up with him, holding up something yellow between them.

“Doesn’t that belong to Time?” Warriors questioned, sotto voce. 

Twilight nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from the small scene of chaos working its way towards them.

“But Legend! You like going fast! Otherwise you wouldn’t wear those boots all the time!”

“I. Don’t. Care.” 

“Don’t you want to see how much speed you get with this and your boots? We’re in the perfect place to try!” Wind flung out a hand towards the acres of rolling pastureland around them. 

A flicker of temptation escaped ever so briefly from behind Legend’s grumpy expression. All three of them saw it. Wind leaned in, eyes sharpening and grin growing, his prey in sight. 

Warriors chose that moment to contribute his opinion. “Aw. You should try it, Legend, it’d be cute.”

It was precisely the wrong thing to say to get Legend to agree. Probably why he said it. Twilight leaned back against the fence, arms crossed, as Wind shot Warriors a filthy look and jumped right back to his wheedling. 

Warriors liked to tease too much. Wind relied on persistence. But Twilight knew the way to Legend’s heart. He cut across Wind’s carefree tone with one single, clear sentence. “Do it and I’ll let you try out my Ball-and-Chain.”

Wind’s jaw snapped shut. Legend wavered. Warriors chortled. “That thing weighs more than he does.” 

“Titan Mitts,” Legend fired back, but he was thinking now. Wind went quiet, visibly quivering with anticipation. The trailing ears on the hood flopped over his hands, dancing in the air as he tried to hold himself still. Legend narrowed his eyes at Twilight, shifting his weight to one hip. “Smash and bash isn’t really my style. I want to try out that other thing. What did you call it? The Dominion Rod.” 

Confusion from Warriors and Wind. Twilight didn’t let himself react outwardly. Hook, line, and sinker. “We’ll have to find something it’ll work on, first.”

Legend huffed. “Just no funny business about following through with your end of the bargain.” He tugged his hat off, tucking it through his belt, and extended a hand towards Wind. Wind cheered. 

The hood slapped down into Legend’s palm. Legend glared at them all, glanced down and gave the object in question a withering look for good measure. Then he visibly steeled himself and put the thing on. 

Before meeting Legend, Twilight had only heard of the creature it was meant to depict in myth, illustrations in the margins of books. Having met Legend and witnessed his other form, Twilight found the sight of two long yellow ears jutting proudly above Legend’s head even more rewarding. They looked almost as soft as Legend’s true fur. There was an added element of hilarity in how they arched above his Hylian head, permanently upright in an adorable imitation of Legend showing interest or concentration when he wore the real things. Twilight fought back a smile. 

Wind and Warriors weren't quite so discreet. 

Warriors coughed into his fist, doing a poor job of disguising his laughter. Wind whipped out his Pictobox, snapping off a quick picture before Legend had time to react. 

Legend’s expression went positively black, aggravation replacing the reluctant goodwill in a heartbeat. He reached up to tug the hood back off, to Wind’s immediate protests. “What about following through on your end of the deal? You have to test it!” The Pictobox vanished back into Wind’s hip pouch in favor of Wind tugging Legend’s hands away from his head. Their shouts rose up to carry over the peaceful ranch again, but Twilight didn’t much care about the outcome of the argument. So far as he was concerned, seeing Legend wearing adorable yellow bunny ears was reward enough for having to go hunt around for a statue the Dominion Rod would work on. 

Too bad Sky wasn't here to see this. Twilight would have liked to share the joke.

[allronix]

Circuitry in the 1982 and Tron 2.0 settings, was an identifier of your loyalties but also what system you hailed from. Encom User Believer? Cyan. Rogue element (like Clu 1.0)? Yellow. System security? Green.

The Grid was an isolated system. Probably not totally isolated, given the pager, but unconnected as far as the Programs knew. So the Programs didn't need the flashy identifiers of what system they hailed from. Flynn was also likely porting in a bunch of Programs from broken hard drives, decommissioned systems and so forth. So not all those Grid scripts hailed from Encom, meaning that to make his utopia a bit more assimilationist, everyone got white circuits. White circuits also kinda make sense as Flynn was...well, the Betrayal comic showed he was half-assing a lot. If you're not giving a full ass, then it makes sense to slap the default settings on everyone and send them along.

And also the "y'know what, keep your mouth shut and your head down" makes a lot of sense. Why advertise any loyalties or preferences or opinion of your own when any deviation outside what the person in charge wants you to think, feel, believe is going to be punished? Simpler to wear the most bland colors possible as to not stick out or draw attention

Anyone know why for Legacy the primary circuit color became white?

In the original it’s explained (implied in film, explicit in novelization and other materials) blue is user believer and red is the elite, it’s controlled by the MCP except for the occasional free programs.

It makes sense for on the grid the main bad guy colors to go from Red to Orange as orange has always been Clu’s coloring.

But white is unexplained? It also adds to my “bland Sci fi” criticism on the aesthetics and legacy as a whole. You look my in the eyes and tell me Kevin Flynn would design something so generic. This is the man who made space paranoids and a lot of the games that shaped the original. I’m just saying

The white circuits even expand to Tron, I don’t think he ever had blue on the grid? Maybe at first but I don’t think so (at least movie wise)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Heart-Shaped Box💟9/End

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), forced pregnancy, some violence, intimidation, some elements untagged for sake of plot.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Sister Series: Get Your Fix

Summary: You accept a job as an au pair, but not all is as it seems.

Note: Finally finishing this one up. Sorry it took me ages but I’m doing my best to go back and wrap up whatever I can.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Masterlist

Bucky pulled out of you as he held your head down, bouncing the bed beneath you as he pushed himself onto his back. You panted as your sweat dampened the sheet beneath you and he leaked between your thighs. You winced as you rolled onto your side and slowly sat up. 

He had you whining loud enough that you had no doubt your guests heard it all. It only seemed to encourage his partner-in-crime as you soon heard a similar scene on the other side of the wall. You were sickened by that noise and stood warily as you cupped your hand over your cunt and scooped up his cum before it could drip onto the floor.

“I told you to keep it down,” he snickered and sat up, his muscled back to you as he stretched his arms above him, “get the shower started, I’ll be in shortly. You girls have a lot of work to do today.”

You grumbled and dragged your feet to the attached bathroom. The low buzz of the pipes filled the silence and you stepped under the steamy water. The moment of calm broke sharply as Bucky appeared from the other side of the curtain and stepped in behind you. He had you clean him with a lathered loofah and you bore it only for the eventuality of time away from him.

The other woman meant you wouldn’t be trapped with just him. It was little help or hope but it was better than your former solitary torture.

You dressed in black dress with daisies and made yourself look like his perfect housewife. You couldn’t hold the smile and make him believe it all the way but he wouldn’t anyway. He flicked your chin and clicked his tongue.

“Mmm, you’re getting there,” he mused as he dropped his hand and reached around to slap your ass, “better go get breakfast on. I’ll check in on our guests.” He squeezed and winked, “be a good girl.”

Those words made your insides curdled but you swallowed your disgust and nodded, “yes, sir.”

He stepped out behind you and watched you go down the hall to the stairs and you heard him knock on the door as you descended. You went to the kitchen and pulled out the frying pan and the coconut oil. You lined up the ingredients for crepes on the counter and took two bananas from the yellow bunch. Your mother used to make the oversweet delicacy and you needed a reminder that you were still that girl.

You stopped as you searched for something to keep the crepes warm after you assembled them, a lid that could fit over the plate or something akin to it. The lower cupboards you rarely opened. Bucky left the cleaning supplies on the counter with your chore list every day and you never bothered to look for anything else.

You stopped and stared at the drain cleaner and the can of toxic oven spray. Well, that wouldn’t be subtle enough, would it? They’d smell either of those a mile away. Anything under the counter would be easily discovered but it did give you an idea.

You closed the wooden door and went back to your task. You heard the voices in the next room and the scrape of the chairs on the floor. Steve’s girl appeared in the doorway, rubbing her stomach as her face contorted.

“Smells sweet,” she said as you simmered the bananas with brown sugar, cinnamon, and a little butter, “almost too sweet.”

“Morning sickness?” you asked innocently.

“All the time sickness,” she sighed, “anything I can help with?”

“Do you know how to make crepes?” you asked as you whisked the batter.

“Not really,” she shrugged, “but I can learn.”

“It’s easy. Takes less than a minute,” you waved her over and tested the temperature of the pan with a flick of water, “so you wanna put just a little batter in…” you ladled in a careful dollop and lifted the pan, “you spread it like this,” you tilted it so the batter spread all around, “you just use the spatula a little on the edges to make sure they don’t stick and you flip.”

It was like second nature and she nodded quietly as she watched. The crepe cooked quickly and you threw it onto a plate and put the pan back to the burner.

“You think you can handle that?” you covered the plate with the lid of a pat to keep it warm. “Then we put some of the bananas and wrap them, bit of cream on top and some icing sugar…”

“You like to cook?” she wondered as she added batter to the hot pan.

“Not particularly, but my mother taught me,” you shrugged, “she can cook anything.”

“Oh,” she flipped the crepe and glanced at the door, “I suppose… it keeps him happy.”

“He’s never happy,” you murmured and cleared your throat, “so, you must be excited to move in!”

“I guess,” she slid the crepe onto the plate as you lifted the foggy lid, “you know how it is.”

You smiled and she tilted her head as she squinted at you. You went to the drawer where there was a box of blank recipe cards and continued speaking as you fished out a pencil from another.

“It’s always nice to get settled,” you said as you wrote, ‘they can hear us’.

“I suppose, nice to be in one place,” she replied stiffly as her features relaxed.

‘I have a plan,’ you wrote and raised your voice just slightly, “oh, you know, we didn’t even get you a housewarming gift. I’ll have to remind James.”

You went to the burner and held out the card under the coil until it caught. You threw it into the sink and watched it burn and curl. You ran water over it as it turned to ash and washed it away. You nudged the bowl towards her and leaned on the counter, “need help with that?”

“No,” she said as she started again, “I’m getting the hang of it.”

💟

You looked around the front room of the house next door. Steve’s girl opened one of the stacked boxes. For once, the men were gone and you could just enjoy their absence. 

Bucky agreed that a gift was in order and Steve had mentioned wanting to explore their new hometown. You tried not to seem eager but even the small walk across the lawns enlivened you. How long had it been since you’d been outside?

You started with the pictures. You left the frames in a stack as she assured you Steve would put the nails in and hang them. Then you moved onto the kitchenware and you kept her from lifting the heavy box of dishes. She seemed to forget about her condition and the reminder made her frown.

You stood behind the counter and set the dishes in the cupboards one at a time, the plates clacking one on top of each other. She watched from the other side as she arranged the silverware in the plastic tray.

“Can you do me a favour?” you asked as you kept on.

“What?” she asked as she dropped a butter knife with the rest.

“I know they’ve locked us in but can you check the garage door? Can we get in there?” you asked evenly.

“What?” she blinked and pushed herself straight, “even if we can, they won’t have been stupid enough--”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. I know we can’t get out that way either. It’s the same at our house. Everything is bolted up tight.” You assured her, “just go and check while I get these sorted.”

She left you and you snapped shut the door and finished with the utensils. You slid the tray into the drawer as she returned, rubbing her stomach.

“Yeah, we can get in but it’s mostly empty,” she said, “so…”

“Mostly empty?”

“Yeah, just the car--”

“The car,” you rounded the counter and curled two fingers for her to follow you.

You headed for the plain white door that led to the garage. You hopped down the steps as she remained at the top and watched you tentatively. You went to the car as she crossed her arms.

“He took the keys,” she said.

You tried the handle and the door opened. “I know,” you said as you put a knee in the front seat and peered into the back. Nothing. 

You felt around under the dash and found the lever for the trunk. You pulled it and it popped. You shut the door and went around the back of the car. You felt around the spare tire and your hand felt something plastic. You grabbed the handle of the half-filled jug and pulled it out.

“Hey,” you held up the bright blue anti-freeze, “do you wanna cook dinner here tonight? A housewarming dinner?”

Her brows knitted and she gave a long blink. Her lips parted then curved.

“You can’t mean--” she let out a scoff.

“It’s sweet. Hopefully they won’t notice if I add enough sugar to the cake,” you breathed, “we can’t let them settle. This is our chance.”

“I don’t-- I don’t know. What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’re still in the same boat,” you turned your free hand out, “that man has drugged me for months. I think it’s only fair that he gets a taste of his own medicine.”

She swallowed and looked down at her stomach. She inhaled and cradled her bump. “It can’t get worse than this, can it?”

💟

You spent the day unpacking, the distraction not much of one as you thought of the bottle you hid at the back of the cupboard. By the time the men returned, you were ready to move onto the second floor. 

Bucky offered a bottle of non-alcoholic wine and basket of expensive macarons as your gift to your new neighbours. He forced a kiss from you before he let you follow Steve’s girl upstairs.

You sat in the bedroom and heard the men ascend shortly after. You peeked in on them as you opened the linen closet to shove in the spare sheets. They were hammering together a crib. You knocked lightly on the doorframe as you watched them.

“Huh, what’s going on?” Bucky looked up from the directions.

“Um, we were just… thinking, we could have dinner here tonight? A little housewarmer? I could grab some ingredients from ours--”

“Give me a list, I’ll grab it,” Bucky puffed as he bent to help hold the rail in place for Steve, “that sound okay?”

“Fine by me,” Steve smiled, “it’ll be nice to have our feet on solid ground.”

You left them and returned to your only ally as she sat on the bed and stared at a packet of pills. She crushed it in her grasp and huffed. She flicked away tears with her knuckles. She tossed them over her shoulder.

“He kept them,” she snarled, “it’s like he’s mocking me.”

“What?” you neared her and sat carefully beside her.

“I never… I worked with him, you know? He brought me these drinks and I didn’t realise he was dosing them. The stuff, it made me itchy… it made me so hot and I just needed anything. I hopped on him I was so desperate and-- I told him to stay away. I realised what he’d done and I told him to leave me alone and you know what he did,” she crossed her arms over her stomach.

“No, I--” you touched her elbow.

“He broke into my apartment and replaced my pills. And he didn’t leave me alone,” she spat, “he did this all and he still has the goddamn pills like they’re some sort of trophy.”

She hung her head and grunted in frustration. You leaned against her and put your arm over her shoulders. She let you and the tension drained from her body.

“Even if we get out…” she whispered, “I’ll always have this piece of him.”

She pressed her palms to her stomach and you frowned. There was nothing you could do or say. You’d been lucky so far, even if it only fed your suffering. You didn’t have another life to worry about.

“We don’t have to if--”

“I want to,” she hissed lowly, “I want him dead.”

💟

Usually, you tasted the icing and licked the spoon. Not that night. The blue shade of the frosting was anything but suspicious as you spread it over the fluffy cake. It was a perfect disguise. You topped it with blueberries to add to the theme and dusted on a few coloured sprinkles. You stood back and admired your work as the smell of garlic filled the kitchen.

“I know it’s not much,” Steve’s girl said as she stirred the sauce, “but it’s what I can manage.”

“I’m sure it’s great,” you said as you took the meatballs of the burner and tested the spaghetti, “noodles are perfect.”

You strained the pasta and helped pour the meatballs into the sauce. You mixed it up and poured it into a large glass dish and the noodles into another. You brought them out to the table and called the men to dinner before you fetched the wine, both alcoholic and not.

Steve’s girl sat as you poured a glass for each of you and the men sat. You set the bottle down and nestled in next to Bucky as he served himself. When the plates were full, the other woman nudged Steve and whispered in his ear.

He cleared his throat and stood, “um, I know it’s just us but I guess I should say thank you for all the help and we’re excited to be neighbours… can’t wait for the kids to be running around these halls together.”

“Mmm,” Bucky lifted his glass, “hopefully…” he muttered doubtfully and looked at you, “that better be what she’s having,” he nodded to your glass.

You held it out for him to sniff and he gave you a sour look. He tutted and sat back to twirl noodles around his fork as he set aside his glass. You took a sip of the gutless wine and speared a meatball on your tines. You chewed and looked at Steve’s girl. She let Steve rub her thigh under the table and forced a smile.

She was playing it well and you felt as if you would fall apart. You felt as if Bucky would see right through you the minute you walked in with the cake. What would he do then? Steve couldn’t hurt his girl, she had the baby, but you, Bucky could replace you still. Maybe that was for the best but it didn’t mean you weren’t scared shitless.

You cleared the plates and retreated to the kitchen. Just you. You’d gone over it, you didn’t want them to catch on. You didn’t get too close with them around, you acted like strangers, you really were after all.

You sliced the cake into careful portions and came out with two plates at a time. You put them in front of each chair and sat. As you did, Steve’s girl covered her mouth and gagged. She pushed herself up unsteadily.

“Honey?” Steve asked as he rubbed her lower back.

“It’s the baby I--” she gulped sickeningly, “I gotta--”

She rushed out and Steve gave a look, “nausea. It’s been like this for weeks.”

“I’m going to make sure she’s okay,” you stood, “go ahead and start without us.”

You went down the hall and as you neared the bathroom, Steve’s girl opened the door and pulled you inside. She looked genuinely sick and you smelled vomit on her breath. She turned and rinsed her mouth and shuddered. 

“I didn’t actually feel sick until I got in here,” she wiped her face with the hand cloth, “when I realised--”

“Everything’s in the trunk,” you assured her, “once they’re out, we get the keys and go.”

“How do we know--”

“Retch,” you hissed, “we wait until we’re sure.”

She gave an exaggerated hurl and you heard the clink of porcelain and silver and the drone of voices. You listened through the door as she watched you in the tight space of the half-bath.

“I’m thinking about getting her an… exam,” Bucky’s deep tone carried, “maybe she can’t…”

You let out the breath you were holding and closed your eyes. Just a little longer. 

When you heard a sudden lull, your eyes rounded and you turned the handle and let yourself out into the hall. She crept close behind as you peered through the open archway. Both men had their faces on their plates in the crumbs of vanilla cake and smears of blue icing.

“Let’s go,” you went to Steve and shoved your hand into his pocket, “shit, they’re not here.”

“Here!” she pulled her hand from his jacket hung on the rack, “you think they’re dead?”

You looked from one to the other and shakily felt along Steve’s neck. “Still a pulse. I think maybe… they’re only knocked out.”

“The serum,” she shook her head, “means we have to go quick.”

You hurried after her and followed her down into the garage. She climbed into the driver’s seat and moved it back as her stomach pressed to the wheel. You got in the other side as your body trembled with adrenaline. She hit the button attached to the keys and the door slowly raised behind her.

As she reversed, you felt a sudden shock around your neck and yiped. You’d forgotten entirely about the necklace. She stopped suddenly and watched you writhe in agony.

“Shit, shit,” you leaned forward until the shock stopped, “the necklace.”

“Fuck,” she reached for it and you batted her away.

“No, you’ll get zapped,” you gasped as you pulled on it desperately. It was too tight to get past your chin but too strong to snap. 

She took the keys out and tossed them in your lap. You lifted them and twisted the necklace around the house key but there was no give. You sobbed and dropped your hand.

“I can’t,” you looked at the bent key, “you gotta go without me.”

“What? No, I can’t--”

“You have a baby,” you said as tears burned in your eyes and your throat tightened, “go, please.” You dropped the keys on the dash and opened the door. “I can’t--”

“No, you have to come with me,” she begged.

“No, you have to go before they wake up,” you got out as you grasped your neck, the searing pain still hot on your flesh, “I’ll… I’ll survive. I have this far.”

“N--”

“Shut up!” you slammed the door and hit the hood, “go!”

She stared at you and her lip quivered. She gave you one last sad look and grabbed the keys. She sniffed as she gripped the wheel and backed out down the drive. 

You fell to your knees and sat back on your ass as you watched her drive away. You shook your head and held it in your hands as you sat behind the invisible wall of your prison.

The tires screamed at the end of the street and the noise of the engine faded into the distance. You laid on your back across the concrete and covered your face with your arm. At least you could live with knowing you got her out. Well, you couldn’t really say you’d be living. You’d be alive but little more than that. 

But you’d survive knowing that you kept one person from that pitiful fate. Even if it wasn’t you. Even if you knew that you would pay for it in the end. Even when those men woke up and found you laying in the garage, the sweet flavour of antifreeze on their tongues as the bile of their anger overflowed and drowned you. 

You couldn’t do anything but wait. If you were lucky, they might just kill you and that in itself would be freedom.

💟 💟 💟

END

[loosesodamarble]

Hi there, Sodaaa! 🥰 May I please have a Nobara Kugisaki x reader scenario, for the 200 special? The reader likes sketching clothes in secret (because of shyness) using Nobara as a muse. I really wanted to see how you think she'd react. I love your blog, by the way! Keep doing just as amazing as you are!! 😄

Oh, that's a fun prompt! And at last, some romance for a female character!

Summary: You've had eyes for Nobara Kugisaki for a while and chance encounter reveals that she's been watching you too.

Word count: ~800

..........

You had been drawing for as long as you can remember. Anything you could see, you drew. Your latest fascination, however, was clothing.

You raised your head and took another look at the outfit you were sketching. Short sleeves on the top and pants. The matching jacket was clearly made of thin fabric. The lighter shades used in the outfit. With all those elements combined, it was a spring or summer look in your eyes.

“Hey there!”

“YEEEK!” You had almost thrown your sketchbook in the air from the shock of hearing someone behind you. You whirled around and found Nobara, a classmate and fellow sorcerer, standing there. “U-uh-aaaahh…” You tucked your drawing pad behind you.

Nobara pointed behind you. “Did you fall in love with the model or were you gonna buy that?”

“Huh? Oh no!” You gaped at Nobara then glanced at the store’s mannequin. “I wasn’t going to—” You shook her head, trying to find words. “I don’t really wear clothes.”

Nobara blinked at you, as if she hadn’t understood what you said.

Then you realized what you said. But by then, it was too late. Heat flooded your face and you flailed your arms while explaining, “I meant I don’t wear those kinds of clothes!”

“Pfft!” Nobara slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry! I shouldn’t laugh.” She sucked in a breath, quickly composing herself. “So…” She stood with hands akimbo. “I take it you like fashion? Same here.”

“Heh, yeah.” You averted your eyes. “But I only admire. I wouldn’t look good…”

You took in Nobara’s appearance. She wore a romper with a pink and yellow floral pattern. The flowers somehow popped in the store’s sterile lighting. Those light shades were balanced out by the black belt and tights she had on. A beaded bracelet on her left wrist quietly clacked as she moved to tuck her bangs back. It was neither too plain nor too flashy, but bright and very cute. Like her.

“Not the way you do,” you said with a sigh. Wait. Your flush worsened and you wondered what shade of red you were. AAAAAAHHHHH! “I—uh—should maybe…” You started to shuffled towards the exit but paused when Nobara gave a haughty laugh.

“Well, well!” Nobara smirked and stuck her nose in the air. “You have an eye for beauty, don’t you?”

She was proud but there was a sense of appreciation in her tone. It was confidence, not ego. Yet another thing you had grown to appreciate about her. There was a boldness to everything she did that you admired. It was why she was your muse and why you had gotten into fashion the way you did. In fact, most of your sketches were of her.

Not that you could say it out loud without sounding like an absolute creep.

“I always knew you admired me. Or at least my fashion.”

“W-what do you mean…?”

“Even if you hide behind your notebook, I sometimes catch you looking at me.”

Horrifying. Nobara knew you were a creep the whole time.

“I am… So sorry!” You backed away. I’ll have to transfer to Kyoto to esc—

“Don’t apologize,” Nobara said with a wave of her hand. She smiled at you, a simple and friendly grin. She motioned you closer. “C’mon.” You stepped up to Nobara so you two stood side-by-side. “I don’t mind. Seriously.”

“But isn’t it creepy to be staring at someone?”

Nobara shrugged. “Eh, I’d call it more looking furtively. You’re not very good at it though.”

You let out half a laugh. “Are you saying you could do better?”

“Mmhm. You never caught me, after all.” Again with that proud, confident tone—

Wait. Slowly, you turned to her and pointed. “Caught you?” you echoed.

“How else would I have known that you had your eyes on me? I’ve had my eyes on you, too.” Nobara spoke so plainly. Somehow her composure made you all the more flustered. “I was intrigued. Shy in the classroom but on the battlefield, you’re super cool. Like an action movie hero! From there, I like you more and more.”

You stared wide-eyed. Your mouth opened and closed but no sound was made.

“So, uh…” Nobara crossed her arms and smiled cheekily. “There’s my confession. Not the most romantic but I’d rather not hide it anymore.”

You repeated the information you had just learned, trying not to reel from it all. You hid your still warm face in your free hand.

“I, uh, like…” You took a breath for courage then looked Nobara in the eyes to say, “I like you too!”

You heard grumbling and suddenly became very aware of your environment. You let out a squeak then ran for the door.

“H-hey! Don’t leave your girlfriend behind!” Nobara yelled after you.

[soulmate-game]

This is an alternate ending for my Bio!dad Joker / Bio!mom Harley AU. Or really, the timeline itself will be entirely different starting from the moment that Marinette’s plane lands in Gotham. If you haven’t read the original, you can do so here.

—*—*—*—*—*

“He’s going to find out, Mom.”

“No he won’t, don’t be silly! I’ve been very careful about hiding you from him, Nettie-pie.”

“Mom… I just have a bad feeling. I don’t think we can hide who I am from him. If he sees me, I think he’ll know.”

The phone went silent.

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. If I was crazy about him, Sugar, then I’m head over heels for you. Not even he can stop me from caving his skull in if he tries his usual tricks with you.”

“... My plane leaves soon, I’ll talk to you when I land. And mom?”

“Yeah, honeycake?”

“I love you.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette often hated how accurate her intuition tended to be. She had barely even stepped out of the airport before she had felt the prick of a needle in her neck and the sensation of being shoved into a small, dark space before her vision cut out.

Looks like her mom wasn’t able to hide her existence away as well as they thought.

And unfortunately for Marinette, her darling asshole of a father had apparently had ample time to plan his first meeting with her. If he had just used the much easier to acquire Chloroform on her, then Marinette likely would have woken up early enough to come up with a plan. Chloroform was unreliable and wore off fairly easily. But no, he had actually had the time to steal hospital grade anesthetic.

Which meant that Marinette woke up with her wrists zip-tied to heavy links of chain above her head, and her ankles connected to the chain below her with what felt like ten layers of duct tape.

Lovely.

“Ah, there she is! Good morning, sleepyhead!” Those were the high-pitched, dramatic words she heard when she came back to consciousness. She didn’t even need to open her eyes to know who the speaker was— she had watched enough videos online and not-so-legally obtained Asylum and Prison footage to immediately recognize the speech patterns and tone that was echoing around her.

Apparently keeping her eyes closed was not allowed, because it was only a few seconds later that Marinette felt a harsh slap sting her cheek and whip her face to the side. Oh, that would become a bruise without a doubt. Her teeth betrayed her, cutting into the inside of her mouth with the force of the hit. So, when Marinette opened her eyes to glare at the sperm donor responsible for half of her DNA, she aimed her bloody spit right at him. It landed on his shoe, which only a few seconds later slammed into her gut.

Marinette gasped for air even as the chain she was on swung violently, making her dizzy and upsetting her stomach. Too bad she didn’t have anything in there to throw up on him, she thought angrily. The chain links rattled loudly, ringing in her head alongside the electric pain of both of her newly forming bruises.

“Honestly, is that any way to treat your dear ol’ Daddy?” Joker cooed with false offense, one hand over his heart. Marinette glared at him as best as she could as she continued to sway in the open air, the chain she was tied to being the only thing keeping her from plunging straight down into a vat of sickly green, bubbling liquid.

Marinette didn’t need to be told what that liquid was. And joker knew that, the moment he saw her look down at that vat and saw the realization almost immediately cross her face. So instead of explaining, he laughed. Loud, high, and deranged.

“Good, good! That idiot Harley kept you educated, at least,” he said between psychotic chuckles. “Ah yes, and she somehow managed to choose the perfect name,” he glided over to her, as if he was some ethereal demon of chaos instead of a human. His paper-white hand reached out, grabbing her chin in a crushing grip and turning her face this way and that. Inspecting her as if she was a piece of china and not a living being. “So easy to adjust. Right now, you’re Marinette. Just like how, all those years ago, your mother stood here as Harleen. But just as she was dunked into acid and became my harlequin,” he stepped back and grabbed Marinette’s shoulders. He spun her like a top, making the metal chain creak and clink as it wound into a few weak coils and then released back out, trying to go straight again. It sent Marinette twirling through the air in a horrid half-spin, one-eighty degrees one way before sharply spinning to the other side. Joker laughed.

“Just like that, you’re gonna go from boring old Marinette,” he stuck out his tongue like a child, as if the mere taste of her name was bitter. “And you’ll be reborn as my new little Marionette. Aren’t you excited?!”

“Fuck you,” Marinette spat, even as she tried to blink and return her vision to normal. She was far too disoriented to even come up with a plan— but she was still coherent enough to register that the sky was dark outside the high windows of the factory she was apparently in. She had been missing for a few hours then, which meant that her mom and Momma Ivy would have called for help a long time ago. Maybe if she just stalled long enough, it would get there in time. “I’m not a puppet. Not for you, not for anybody!” She snarled.

Joker rolled his eyes, but his smile still widened. “Oh, that’s what they all say. In fact, your mother put up a good resistance there for a while, but her inner chaos couldn’t resist me. You’ll bend even easier, I have no doubt,” her ran his hand along her cheek in a motion that was so gentle that it felt foreign, wrong, to her coming from him. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to whiplash her, take all her hope away before dangling the option he wanted her to choose in front of her like a carrot on a stick.

Too bad he didn’t know her at all. She cringed away from his gentle touch, revolted by the mere feel of his skin on her’s.

“And your accent is a nice touch,” he cooed as if her reaction didn’t bother him at all. It probably didn’t. “Exotic. Just the thing I need to freshen up my usual act a bit, the Boston twang my old Harlequins had is just… stale by now, don’t you agree?”

Marinette clenched her jaw at the reminder that he had tried to pass off a cheap look-alike as her mom when she disappeared, back when she was pregnant with Marinette, to hide her baby from Joker. How he had discarded that woman like trash when Harley went back to him, only to replace her again when her mom left him for good.

No matter how badly Joker spoke of her mom, Marinette knew that Harley had been the only Harlequin of his to actually last. The only one he kept around, and there was a reason for that. Now, he was looking for another replacement. One that was more than a cheap knockoff, and he was hoping that a teenager with not only Harley’s genetics, but also his own, would be the exact kind of right-hand prop he wanted. An obedient little puppet of chaos, just for him.

But Marinette was nobody's toy. She had been used and taken advantage of enough back in Paris, she had spent her whole life struggling to escape the side effects of her parentage. To deal with the things she inherited.

The obsessiveness, the way she was so quick to get attached. She knew she inherited that from her mom. But there was also the rage, the anger that Marinette constantly had to stuff down. Hide below the surface before it hurt someone. Keep under a tight reign and hide away in the back of her mind, her own dirty little secret.

The constant reminder of just who her biological father was. Because that anger, that viciousness, could only have come from him.

She had spent her whole life trying to carve herself her own identity, to create beauty with the chaotic elements she got from her blood. And she couldn’t blame her mother, not really. Her mother at least did her best to help, and always leant an empathetic ear when Marinette needed it. But Joker?

Oh, she could, and would, blame him even long after he was dead and gone. Because he was the one who hurt her mother, he was the one who twisted her and drove her to feel unfit to be a parent. And sometimes, Marinette thought it would be better if Joker never existed. Sure, that meant she never would have been born. But wouldn’t that have been easier, too? To not ever have to experience the struggle that came with being his daughter, a title she never consented to?

But she couldn’t change the past. She was alive, and she would use her life to spite everything that the Joker stood for. That would be her revenge. He wanted a toy?

Joker had been monologuing, but Marinette drowned it all out as she kept her periphery vision on the windows above her. Shadows moved out there, with familiar bright yellows and shadowy blacks. The bats were there. She just needed to stall.

She opened her mouth. Joker pulled a lever.

Marinette dropped.

Wire whizzed through the air, knocking the breath out of Marinette as it wound around her torso. She was barely able to piece together what was happening; one of the bats shot a human-safe grapple to try and pull her away from the acid.

But the chain and her restraints were stronger, heavier, and just dragged the grapple down with her body.

The impact sent a large wave of sickly green liquid surging over the side of the vat, and Marinette was dragged from view underneath the surface.

It burned.

She distantly felt the tape around her ankles peel itself away from her skin, the combination of acid and wetness rendering it useless. She felt the chemicals burning at her, sending painful tingles across every last inch of her skin. It got in her mouth, she didn’t have any breath in her to hold and ended up swallowing some. It seared her throat and created a river of lava inside her. It hurt.

It hurt so bad, she just wanted out. Out. Out. Out!

Someone pull her out now!

The zip tie around her wrist loosened enough for her to pull herself free, right as something heavy slammed into the heavy metal bowl. The entire container sloshed, slamming to fall onto its side. Marinette’s body was pulled alongside the rush of liquid as it flowed out, and she was able to breathe air again. Sweet, cooling air.

And then she hacked up acid, spitting and spewing it in an attempt to purge every last drop she had accidentally ingested. Like a cat choking on a hairball, she coughed and hacked and her chest convulsed and contracted to try and help her. Her ribs ached, she figured that the grapple that had tried to save her had ended up fracturing or breaking a rib or two. But all she cared about was breathing and getting rid of the chemicals she had inhaled. She needed it out. All of it. Out. Out. Out of her!

“Try to take a deep breath,” a gruff voice commanded, soft but solid. Something stable for her to cling to. So she did as it asked, forcing herself to stop hacking and instead focus on inhaling. As slowly as she could. It was difficult, the first few breaths cut themselves off with more involuntary coughing, but the owner of the gruff voice stayed nearby. Repeated it’s request. “Deep breath. Steady, now. In. Out. Good.”

Marinette was just starting to calm down, just starting to claw herself out of the haze of panic and adrenaline, when that wretched laugh cut through the air again.

“There you are! Heheheheh! My cute little Marionette!”

Marinette froze. She could barely think, barely understand her own emotions. But she knew she was different now. She knew there was no way back, he had taken it from her. He had taken her normality, he had taken all of her years of hard work and burned them right in front of her.

He had won. The bats hadn’t been fast enough. But, if her foggy mind was correct, Batman was the one trying to bring her back to lucidity. Batman was the one trying to help her get air back in her lungs.

Not her so-called father.

If he wanted a toy, she’d be a haunted doll. She’d harass him, haunt him, until he wanted nothing to do with her. She’d come back, like a possessed porcelain doll refusing to be thrown away. She would make him regret ever awakening the monster that she had spent so long forcing down. Because she was her father’s daughter, yes. But she was also her mother’s daughter.

And most importantly, she was Marinette Quinzel-Isley. Her own damned person. The Chosen wielder of the Creation miraculous. And she would never bow down and be used by anyone, ever again.

Tikki’s words from so long ago echoed in her mind. Resounded even louder than Joker’s laughter;

“That’s all order really is, Marinette. The decision to take all the chaos and madness around us, and make it make sense. Make it do something good.”

And wasn’t that everything Marinette had ever done? It was a part of her now. Like a tattoo she had inked into her very soul.

She took the chaos she was given, and turned it into something beautiful. And right now? Right now, the most beautiful thing she could think of was Joker’s face when she slammed her fist into it.

“Easy,” Batman repeated, but for a different reason now. Marinette’s lungs still stuttered a little, but her breathing was mostly under control. Now, he was saying it because Marinette was forcing herself to her feet. Her legs trembled under her, threatening to lay her out on the floor again. But she was every bit as stubborn as Joker, which made for a terrifying combination with her all-consuming fury. The acid had broken the mental chains Marinette had been using to hold it back, and now it burned fierce and bright in her eyes.

So Marinette kept herself up right, cognizant of Batman’s hand on her shoulder but ignoring it. She grit her teeth against the burning light of the room, everything suddenly too bright and colorful. Too vibrant. But it did little to distract her. She realized that one of her hands still gripped the heavy chain that had sent her drowning in the acid, and sent a snarl at her darling, jackass of a father as she whipped it out right towards him.

“Marinette!” Batman yelled, his grip tightening on her shoulder. But he didn’t pull her back, which spoke louder than any words he could have said to her right then. He wouldn’t save Joker from his daughter, he knew the man deserved at least this much pain. And sure enough, the metal links slammed right into Joker’s side, winding around him like a crushing whip.

But that was all Marinette had the strength to do. As soon as she saw Joker’s body hit the floor, writhing in agony and painfully loud cackles, her hand let go of the chain and her body tumbled down. Batman caught her.

“Red Hood, Nightwing, get Joker back to Arkham,” Batman’s order faded in and out of focus. Now that her most pressing desire was taken care of, the effects of the acid reared their ugly heads with renewed ferocity. Everything was too bright, too loud, and her thoughts echoed in her head like voices wrestling for supremacy. “Robin, Black Bat, stay on alert. Harley said that she’s incredibly trained,” he warned his partners. Marinette didn’t begrudge him, the only other two people who had survived being dunked into those chemicals hadn’t exactly treated him with kindness and pacifism. But she could barely focus on them anyway, too distracted by trying to reign in the chaos in her mind.

But Joker would never stay silent, even as he was dragged away in chains.

“Hehehahahahaha! Paper white, paper white!” He jeered cheerfully. “That’s my girl! Violent just like Papa!” Red hood knocked him out with a harsh punch to the side of his neck before he could say another word. But it was enough— enough for Marinette to gasp in realization.

Her skin. It was paper white, just like his. Not even Harley’s skin had been bleached like the Joker’s after her dip in the acid. That had always been makeup. Her mom had a healthy, peachy complexion like anyone else. A complexion Marinette had shared— until now. Now, she was unhealthily pale. Just like him.

A painful screech tore itself from her already raw throat, and Marinette’s fingernails immediately began to tear at her own skin. Red. Red was better than white— she didn’t want to look like him. She couldn’t. White was bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

“Marinette! Stop!” Strong hands clamped around her wrists, pulling her hands away from herself even as she wriggled and tried to keep clawing at herself.

“No! No no no!” Marinette howled. “I don’t wanna look like him! I don’t wanna be like him!” She managed to get one hand free and immediately tried to tear away at her face. Batman was able to wrestle her arm away before she could do any damage besides a few angry red lines. “I refuse! I refuse! I refuse!” She shook her head, not feeling as tears flung themselves off her cheeks.

“Okay,” Batman’s voice was solid again, soft and grumbly and stable. She grabbed at it again, drawn to anything that might help bring her stability. She needed his unflappable attitude right then, and he probably didn’t even realize how badly. “That’s good. But you don’t need to rip your skin off to do that, you know that right?”

Marinette hiccuped, finally sinking down to sob as the weight of everything she had lost pressed down over the chaos of deafening light and blinding sound that continued to jumble around inside her head. “He changed me,” she choked out. Batman nodded even though she wasn’t looking at him.

“He did.”

“Th-that f-fucking bastard,” Marinette managed a sad chuckle before devolving right back into sobs. “I wo-worked so h-hard. N-never hurt any-anybody. Never… never yelled. Ne-never hit… Not people who didn’t attack f-first.”

“I know. Your mom told me,” he confirmed calmly. Solid, tethering. Marinette swallowed another gulp of air, trying to calm down. But everything was too much.

“Mom!” She suddenly realized out loud, turning and grabbing at Batman’s chest, clinging to his uniform. She didn’t even care that she almost sliced herself on a batarang, she clung to him desperately with wide, crazed eyes. “G-get Mom and… and Ivy! They… they can help. They know—“ Marinette paused to breathe, then resumed. “Momma Ivy— she gave me—gave me a diluted… th-thingy, years ago, I can’t remember—“ Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed as she tried to get her mind to calm down. To work.

“The serum she gave Harley?” He asked. “The one that made her immune to poisons, and gave her increased physical abilities?”

“That!” Marinette agreed frantically, nodding. “I was too— too little, to give the real thing, so she diluted it,” she swallowed her spit and winced when it burned her throat. “It… I think it’s helping with the—the—the—“

“The chemical’s effects?” Batman suddenly sounded like he was paying much more attention than before, his shoulders a little straighter at her explanation. “You think it’s slowing down or numbing what it did to your mom and Joker?” Marinette couldn’t talk anymore, it hurt too much. Everything hurt too much, so she just nodded. “Good. That’s good, Marinette. Robin! Get Harley and Ivy down here, now!”

That was when the voices started. Sometime during the ten minutes it took to get her Mom and Ivy to her, they had apparently been waiting nearby anxiously incase the Bats had needed backup, the voices had built from ominous whispers to devious shouts, ordering her to do things like slam her elbow into Batman’s throat or see what happened if she splashed Robin with some of the acid that was still on the ground.

Her body didn’t move. She kept herself carefully still, focusing on ignoring her impulse to listen to one of the voices. She was still lucid enough to know that she would regret it if she did any of that. That the Bats were more on her side than any of the voices or the Joker were. But it was growing painful, and Harley and Ivy walked in to Batman trying to keep Marinette from hitting her own head. She had devolved to trying to knock herself out to get the voices to be quiet.

“Shut up,” she hissed, her voice hoarse and gravelly. “Shut up, shut up, shut. Up!” She was clearly talking to herself, her eyes screwed shut as she continued to try and hit her head. Harley gasped, hands flying to her mouth and eyes watering at the sight. This was something she had hoped she would never see.

“Harls,” Ivy spoke softly, putting a gentle arm around her wife’s back in support. It hurt Ivy to see Marinette in so much agony, but she knew it pained Harley even more. And much more personally. “Come on. We can help.”

“Y-you’re right,” Harley agreed shakily, taking a deep breath to try and compose herself before they both approached their daughter. Batman didn’t let go of Marinette, but did lean out of the way to give them access to her.

“Honeycake?” Harley called out softly, a little unsure how the chemicals were affecting her baby’s personality right then. The first few days were going to be the worst, and she knew that. The Dunk never took it easy on it’s victims. Marinette gasped, stopping her muttering and raising her head to look at Harley with wide eyes.

“Momma?”

Harley had to swallow heavily to shove back the sob that wanted to bubble up out of her. She had to be strong for her baby. She couldn’t break yet. But Marinette hadn’t called her Momma since she was little, now she called Pamela ‘Momma Ivy’ and her just ‘Mom’.

“It’s me, sugarplum,” she assured her daughter, kneeling down and cupping one of Marinette’s cheeks in her palm. And that was when she noticed it, and couldn’t help but widen her eyes in shock. But Marinette’s senses were so sensitive that she noticed it right away, and stiffened.

“Wh-what is it?” She grew frantic when Harley didn’t immediately respond, only winced in sympathy. Marinette knew that wasn’t good. “Mom? What is it? What did he do? What else did he do to me?”

“Darling,” Harley started, licking her lips nervously. “My sweet baby girl, your right eye… it’s green now, sugar.”

Marinette’s world froze. She tried to smile, but it came out lopsided and disbelieving. “No,” she somehow managed to breathe. “No, mom, I have your eyes. Your blue eyes. I love your eyes,” Her voice steadily got more and more panicked as she went on, not wanting to accept what her mother was clearly seeing. She watched as Harley’s face broke a little, a few tears escaping before the older woman could stop them. Marinette shook her head again, slipping her tiny wrist out of Batman’s hold and raising it to her eye. “No. It’s one of his tricks. He—he must have slipped a contact in my eye when I was passed out, that’s— that’s— that’s all—“ but her fingertip met her normal eye. No contact to be felt. Marinette’s hand fell into her lap limply. The room was absolutely silent as everyone gave her a few seconds to process just how much she had been changed, entirely against her will. She opened and closed her mouth, not sure whether she wanted to yell or curse or cry. Instead, her voice just came out in a very tiny, broken:

“...fuck.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette had gone mostly mute. She would say a word here or there, but for the most part she was doing a good impression of a vegetable. She stayed silent, as still as possible, and just stared at the ceiling of her hospital room.

She had been like that for the past two weeks they had been monitoring her in the Acid’s aftermath. Her ribs, which had turned out to only be bruised thankfully enough, had healed. Her cheek and torso were healed up too, only the barest hint of sickly yellow to show as a reminder of Joker’s hits on her. Sometimes the cameras would catch her talking to seemingly empty air, only for a nurse to rush in and see that Marinette had gone silent yet again.

Tikki was doing her best to help. She had been separated from Marinette, but Pamela had found Marinette’s purse and returned it— and subsequently Tikki— when they had gotten her to the hospital. She was the only person Marinette regularly spoke to, because Marinette knew Tikki understood. Tikki had been around since the Big Bang, she had seen worse things than a little insanity. Tikki had always been there to help her feel at ease with her mind and body. She shared a piece of Tikki’s soul, even, according to the tiny god.

But talking to anyone else was too hard. Too scary. She still had those damned voices at war in her mind, trying to convince her to do things that made her lock her joints and keep her body absolutely still before she acted on any of the coaxes. Possibilities she had never considered before came startlingly easy to her mind now— like how it would only take two seconds to tear her IV out and stab it into her nurse’s eye. How she could use her blanket to strangle Momma Ivy, or how she could fake jumping out the window and Harley wouldn’t waste a second trying to save her.

They were horrible thoughts. Intrusive, ugly, and far too loud. She didn’t want to act on any of them, but sometimes she found her fingers twitching only a second before she could follow through on one.

She spent a lot of time meditating, because of it. Which is why most people thought she was ignoring them. She didn’t mean to, she just needed to meditate. It was like her brain was a giant room filled with filing cabinets that held her thoughts and emotions. Her whole life, Marinette had carefully kept this room alphabetized, organized, and neat. Every file in its correct drawer. Until Joker had come along, and ripped the entire place apart. Tore certain files in half, broke her cabinets, ruined her filing system. And now she had to put the room back together, one drawer and piece of paper at a time.

That’s what the meditation was doing. She was getting reacquainted with herself. Learning what had changed in her mind and trying to adjust. She couldn’t be the old Marinette anymore, but she’d be damned if she let the Joker turn her into someone ugly like him.

So she needed time.

One day, towards the end of those two weeks, she got a visitor slipping through her window. Considering her room was on the tenth floor, she had it pretty narrowed down as to who it could be. Batman had visited her every night, a silent shadow in the corner, but he had already left for the day so it couldn’t be him. None of the other bats had dropped by after the second day.

She turned her head to see that that was now changed; Red Hood sat on her windowsill with one leg inside the room and the other bent on the sill itself. He looked the very picture of comfort despite being a stiff wind (or quick shove— no, bad brain) away from falling to his death. And then Hood took off his helmet, which was ugly enough to inspire some of the more violent suggestions in her brain and make them seem appealing.

“Ya know. Red Hood used to be what Joker called himself,” were the first words out of the vigilante’s mouth. Marinette’s eyebrows pulled down, and it was clear she was confused (and a little angry) at what he told her. He grinned, his eyes still hidden by the domino mask on his face. “Eh. The bastard killed me, ya know. I was the second Robin, a lifetime ago.”

Marinette’s eyes widened at that, and the violent voices dimmed and seemed to grow muffled. Marinette couldn’t quite understand what they were trying to tell her anymore, which made her figure that she had better pay attention to what Hood had to say. She licked her dry lips, and spoke softly. Her throat was still damaged from the acid, so she couldn’t speak very loudly yet.

“Then how are you… you know, here?”

The man chuckled. “Another group of assholes happens to have a magic pit in their basement. It’s a glowing green lake, ten different types of bad news. But it brings people back to life, and they dunked me in it without even caring for a second if I even wanted to come back.”

Marinette’s shoulders relaxed all on their own. It seemed to sink into her brain all at once, a simple:

Oh. He gets it.

“I guess the water doesn’t take it easy on your brain, either?” She hazarded an educated guess. He laughed, shaking his head.

“Not at all. I went off the deep end for a while, and killed a lotta people. They deserved it at least, but I don’t like how violent I was back then. Before I learned how to cope. Attacked people who were innocent. Red Robin almost died when I attacked him, back then, when he was just Robin.”

“Then why’d you keep calling yourself Red Hood?” She asked, tilting her head. He finally turned his head to look straight at her instead of just staring out the window. His grin widened, but it was lopsided. The grin of someone who was healed from some serious shit, but knew that it would always ache. A bittersweet expression.

“Cuz he doesn’t own that name. I made it into something that stands for at least a little good. Something that scares the assholes who don’t care about killing or abusing innocent people. Hell, some people take comfort in the name Red Hood now. And you know what that means?”

Marinette shook her head, and his grin widened into a shark-like smile.

“It means I stole it from him. The name Red Hood. He’ll never use it again, and now it stands for the opposite of anything he’d agree with. You can do that too, you know. Find something to steal from him, or use something he gave you, and make it your own.”

“Turn the chaos into something good,” Marinette said dreamily, clearly quoting someone. Red Hood nodded.

“Exactly. It’s not gonna be easy, but you got the choice here. You ain’t going back to who you used to be, but you can take the victory away from him.”

“... make him regret ever dunking me in that stupid vat,” she agreed, narrowing her eyes as they filled with determination for the first time since her body hit the acid. “He wants a puppet, an obedient little doll, I’ll give him Annabel.”

“There ya go,” The vigilante slid off the windowsill and approached her bed, holding out his hand for a shake. “I can help you get to that. What do ya say?”

Marinette was silent for a long minute, staring straight into his masked eyes. And then, a slow smile spread over her lips. “I got one question, Red Hood.”

“Shoot.”

“How do you feel about black cats?”

—*—*—*—*—*

This took four hours, holy hell. I’m actually happy with how this turned out. What do you guys think? I even got to max length on Tumblr 😂

[whatwouldmickeydo]

Joy list ✨Music Edition✨

Compilation of 🎶 musical 🎶 things that spark serotonin in my soul:

Pink - Glitter in the Air 2010 Grammy performance

Dida Ritz lip syncing for her LIFE to This Will Be in front of Natalie Cole

Once More With Feeling the best musical episode ever on BTVS

Bonnie Bramlett singing You Really Got a Hold on Me on Roseanne

That Come What May moment from Moulin Rouge, you know the one

Poussey singing Amazing Grace on Orange Is the New Black

The Fifth Element Diva Dance performance

This cover of the Diva Dance

Adam Lambert covering Believe in front of Cher

A Change Is Gonna Come - Jennifer Hudson version, Mike Yung busking version, AND Playing For Change band

1,000 musicians playing Learn to Fly by the Foo Fighters

“This is Me” rehearsal for The Greatest Showman

Cynthia Erivo singing ‘Can’t Hurry Love’ in Bad Times at the El Royale

Valentina lip syncing to Into You

Galen Hooks Love on the Brain choreography (if you’re a fan of choreography she is a MUST WATCH for any performance she does)

Yebba - Evergreen

Tank and the Bangas performing ‘Nice Things’ on Jimmy Fallon

The Masked Singer cover of When The Party’s Over

Nicole Scherzinger performing Don’t Cry For Me Argentina

Priscilla Ahn - O Leãozinho

Rather Go Blind - CB Milton and Titi Tsira

Sheryl Murakami choreography to ‘Earned It’ AND Vanessa James and Morgan Ciprés ice skating performance to Earned It

Bishop Briggs - River

Chris Thomas King - ‘Hard Time Killing Floor Blues’ from Oh Brother Where Art Thou (the whole soundtrack to this movie slaps tbh)

Sitting on the Dock of the Bay performed by Playing For Change

Bobby McFerrin and the power of the pentatonic scale

Sara Bereilles cover of Yellow

Theremin performance of Over the Rainbow

Jack Black singing Marvin Gaye in High Fidelity

Hallelujah cover from Shrek

Christiana Danielle cover of Hot Line Bling

Two Feet, Go Fuck Yourself choreography

Harry Styles cover of Sledgehammer

The Head and the Heart - River and Roads live performance

Ok I’m stopping here otherwise we’ll be here all day because I’ve got quite literally a thousand more musical things I could put

I’m gonna tag a whole BUNCH of you cuz I wanna see some cool musical stuff and cuz I love you all a lot, show me those musical joy lists! 💕✨🎶

@southside-forever @unbridgeabledistances @iansfreckles @pink--and--white @gardenerian @messedwithmandy @howlinchickhowl @mickeyssleevelessflannel @grumpymickmilk @thisaintmacys-bitch @mikhailo-m @bazgallaghermilkovich @self-absorbed-pretty-boy @udontfuckangie @gallawitchxx @y0itsbri @mrsinistertype @sweetcresta @milkovichy @mixkeymilkovich @7x10mickey @husbandian @energievie

[di-kut]

Fairy Dust

Pairing: Fem Reader x Ezra (Prospect) 

Word Count: 16k i kNOW

Rating: MA (Extremely explicit sex scenes I don’t know what else to tell ya)

Summary: While collecting rare gems on an unpopular prospecting planet you are both infected with a sex pollen. (Porn with a mild attempt at plot?) 

Warnings: Ok saddle up boys here we go Dirty talk, oral sex (m/f receiving), sex pollen, elements of dub con implied (although they do not do the do while under the influence!), non-established dom/sub dynamic, masturbation, orgasm denial, pharmaceutical drug use, saliva/cum play, nipple play, breath play, overstimulation (sorta), multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, clit slapping, unprotected sex, pleading, general kind of explicit sexual things 

A/N: This is 29 A4 pages of absolute porn. I really can’t make a single excuse for this. As always this started as something much smaller and got way WAY out of hand. There is lots of yearning and pining in this for a sex pollen fic, and also lots of sex so there’s that. Um pls be kind to me? 

The ground is soggy from the downpour. Your boots sink into the mud and stick. It’s hard going to climb out of the valley, even now, long after the rain has ended. You hike your case higher against you, have to pause and flex your hold around it. Heavy with a cargo which has made the whole descent worth every sodden footstep and fighting against the rain. A rare aquatic gem encased in a bloom which only surfaced during complete submersion. A field of water flowers, nothing but green swaying grass under the sun, suddenly appearing after the rain flooded the valley. The whole planet covered in flora which changed with the weather, almost terraformed with the climate.

The hill is steep, green except for the worn path of mud you had tracked into the grass on the way down it. The peak is near now, grass swaying lazily against a brilliant blue sky. The pod is over the rise, down in the next valley. You dig your feet into the sliding earth, feel it try to pull you back down the hill and into the gorge below, still filled with crystalline pools of clear water. No longer glistening with the purple heads of the gems, those are stowed in your cases. Enough to set you up for months. A year maybe. Rare enough that they will fetch a high price, high enough to have a holiday even. You smile at the thought, forget to check your steps and you shift your weight onto a patch of sliding mud. You stagger, yell, nearly drop. The earth beneath you keeps shifting down, pulls you with it. A hand catches your elbow, stops you from your inevitable fall back down the hill.

“Are you alright, Starlight?”

Ezra’s voice sounds distant through the earpiece. Crackles with static. Your heart is pounding, you can feel it sitting at the back of your throat. You twist your helmet around far enough to look at him and nod. He helps you right yourself, lets you hold onto his arm until you get your balance again.

You continue your climb. The hill wants to slide out from beneath you. Every footstep less steady than the last as you reach the top, the landscape more battered by the rain so close to the peak of the hill. But you don’t slip again, and Ezra is steady on his feet behind you. When you crest the top of the peak the sun emerges from the clouds still curled around the horizon, a halo of threatening grey, the cracking of thunder just audible, carried over the endless lulls of valleys and peaks. A surface of craters – each one filled with a forest, or a lake, or a jungle, on and on, disappearing into the distance. The storm seems far away, but the planet is not just unpopular for prospecting because the gems are hard to find. The weather systems fluctuate quickly, and change can happen in minutes. You eye the clouds with distrust, even as the valleys all around you are bathed in golden afternoon light.

Your breathing bounces around between your headsets, the echo of your own breathing reverberating back to you through the Ezra’s mouthpiece. He stops beside you, balances his case between his feet and sighs. Puts his hands on his hips and stares out with you. A beautiful planet, really, if you can forget the threat of the weather.

“One certainly does crave for the smell of dampened soil.”

“Ezra…” You warn.

“The atmosphere is perfectly breathable, I checked multiple times.”

“Don’t – ”

But he is lifting his arm and releasing the helmet. Movements sure and easy with his only remaining hand. He had been clumsy at it still, when you had first met him, just months after he had lost his right arm. But he no longer avoids your offers for help – doesn’t need them. He holds his helmet against his cocked hip and makes a show of sucking in a long breath. Turn his head to peer at you from the corner of his eye.

You sigh. “It might not be safe.”

“You shall have to take your helmet off, Starlight, without the assistance of our earpieces I cannot hear you.”

“I know you can hear me,” you mutter.

He chuckles at you and the sound curls the familiar sensation of tingling deep in the pit of your stomach. Ezra lets his eyes slip closed, a light breeze ruffling his hair, pushing it up and away from his face. Without the helmet you can see the shape of his profile, strong against the distant clouds. Skin glowing golden in the sunlight, blond streak almost white. You study the lines of his brow, the hook of his nose. Give yourself this moment while he is distracted to commit this memory of him to the same place you keep all precious memories of Ezra. Secret and deep. Almost let yourself think for a moment what it would be like if you took your helmet off too, if you gave in to him. But his eyes are fluttering open and you turn away.

You start the trek back down the other side of the slope. The pod is within sight now, nestled in against the tree line, facing out over a sodden field. Ezra is laughing at you, at your stubbornness. He calls something teasing you ignore, do not let the flood of colour rush to your cheeks. Concentrate on the squelching of your boots through the mud, and the sounds of his joining you as well, never far behind.

His voice marks a constant melody behind you, a soothing sound after almost two years. It’s deep and clear without the static of the helmet to interfere, rings out around you as he chatters. Content mostly just for you to listen, as he always is. The way down is easier than the way up had been, not so steep as the other side of the hill. Your case is heavy enough that you have to lean against its weight at steeper parts. The gloves of your suit are covered in mud from the extraction, so are the knees and fronts of your legs. You are glad a second trip won’t be required to make the journey worthwhile. Glad you will be able to wait out the departure safe from the rain and the storms from the inside of the pod. You glimpse at Ezra, can’t help the fond smile you don’t let him see. Think he was made for this, really, to be always exploring under the shine of the sun.

“We shouldn’t stay out here too long, Ezra.”

He has stopped at the base of one of the trees. Almost fifty metres from the pod. It’s not a tall tree, only Ezra’s height twice again, but its trunk is thick, broad enough that if you stood on either side of it your hands would not touch his. The bark is a smooth grey, covered over with glistening moss, still wet from the downpour. He’s close to it, staring up at something in the canopy above. His helmet pressed between his arm and his hip, the case hanging from his hand below. Small droplets of water occasionally fall from shuddering leaves, catch the light as the drop, the air filled with gems all around him.

“The flora of this planet truly renders one speechless.” He ignores your warning. “A blossoming kaleidoscopic gallery which changes with the weather.”

He places his case on the ground, then his helmet. Tilts his head at you to come closer. You step towards him, close the distance between you with sticky steps. He points up at something, whatever had caught his attention. You stop next to him and turn to see it. The canopy is not far above your heads, a dark leafy green shade from the blue of the sky. Drooping under the weight of the rainfall. Nestled in the green there are buds, yellow and small. They are what has captured Ezra, flowers unopened. Invisible when you had passed through hours before on your way from the pod, but now under the bloom of the sun they are opening. You stand together, shoulder to shoulder under the leaves, watching as dozens, hundreds of them appear above you. More of the local plants which change with the weather, just like your gems. Hidden away, something secret and magical. You can’t deny him this, this little piece of wonder in such a cruel world. Couldn’t deny him anything, not really. You will never tell him that, because the world is cruel, and has been cruel to you both. And you trust him. Know you will never find another partner like him. So it stays within you, locked away, with the little pieces of happiness you find with him. His smile, face turned towards the sun.

He’s watching you, when you turn. His skin golden in the sunlight. Magical himself. And then the blossoms open above you, not flowers after all. Petal-less buds which release a floating snow of yellow pollen which drifts through the air. Settles against his shoulders and into his hair. His smile is soft, changes when you catch his eye. He lifts his hand and knocks his fist  gently against your helmet.

“Rather like fairy dust,” he says quietly. Pinches some of it from where it’s settled on your suit and holds it up between you. Blows it away. The pollen in the air between you comes to life, from a drifting snow to a dance, twisting and writhing through the air on his breath. “Do you think it would heal our wounds, Starlight? Bless the paint which brushes our lives with luck as well?” His eyes glimmer, playfully conspiratorial. Drawing you in towards him, in the way Ezra has of making you feel a part of something. A confidant. “Shall we bottle some, do you think?”

“We’d need a lot.”

He laughs. “That we would.” He closes his eyes and inhales. Exhales. Makes the yellow clouds of pollen chase each other through the air. “The aroma is divine. You ought to smell it.”

You sigh. “Just because the atmosphere is breathable…”

“The helmets were merely to protect our persons from the deluge and keep us from discomfort.” He hikes his own helmet up on his hip as if to demonstrate. “I have not come to harm from the removal of my own.”

“Yet.”

You fidget for a moment, think about saying no. But you can’t, not when he is smiling at you like that, like maybe if you remove the helmet you can make him happy. Like you are someone important. He doesn’t hide his emotions like you, he wears them open and honest on his face and in his eyes. A trait so at odds with his profession. You think he might want you, sometimes, when he looks at you like this. But know him well enough to know he is a wanderer, and that craving your body, after weeks alone in space, is very different to wanting you forever. The way you might know you want him, if you would ever let yourself think about it.

So you place your case carefully between your feet as well and lift your hands to your helmet. It releases with a soft hiss of the pressure and a click and you pull it away. The air is cool and sharp. The soil smells of rain. Ezra is right. The smell of the pollen is incredible. Sweet and sharp and bright. Unlike anything you’ve ever smelt before. Intoxicating, almost. Even more after the staleness of the air in your helmet and in your pod. You can smell him as well, a more familiar smell through the pollen. His eyes are catching the sunlight, the brown shifting between shade and light, sometimes golden sometimes orange and sometimes almost black. More beautiful than the trees and the dancing yellow pollen and the gems in your cases.

“Wonders of the universe, hey?” Ezra murmurs. He’s studying your eyes as intensely as you are studying his.

You throat closes a little. He leans towards you and you shrug away from him. Turn your head to hide your blush. “We should get back to the pod.”

You pick up your helmet in one hand and your case in the other. Ezra is quiet the rest of the walk. Your hair becomes coated with a fine yellow dust, your eyelashes, the tip of your nose. It lands on your shoulders and sticks to the mud on your suit. You feel the gnawing of guilt in your stomach, know you were too quick to turn. Too sharp with him. You turn back several times, get so far as opening your mouth to apologise. But he is staring at the ground beneath his feet, brows furrowed. As he has been other times when you have broken away too soon, when there has been a moment building between you. Only for you to shut it down. Close yourself off.

The pod is cool inside. You brush off the worst of the pollen outside it in silence. Awful, unfamiliar silence. Step inside and remove your suits without a word. But the tension breaks when you giggle at the cloud of yellow which puffs into the air when Ezra shakes his head. He laughs with you, and you settle back into normal, fall into your easy routine. Ezra stores the gems away while you pack the suits, try to get the worst of the pollen off them by shaking them out the door. Pack them away. Dinner; protein bars and supplements and flasks of water. Ezra has a field guide up for the planet, is flicking through the local flora and telling you anything which catches his fancy, reads out descriptions with a melody they do not deserve. It lulls you, makes your stomach turn more than normal. You catch his eyes resting on your face or your body several times before he looks away. It makes your skin break out in goosebumps.

“Ah look,” he says, kicks his feet up onto the bunk. You are still wearing your undersuit, a thick warm lining, but Ezra has shucked his, is wearing only his compression clothing. Your eyes linger where his shirt has ridden up and reveals a sliver of skin over his hipbone. “Our magical tree outside. Not a remnant of some fairy civilisation I’m afraid, and rather well documented.”

You hum encouragingly, distracted.

“Wide trunk… short height… a wider family of flowering trees which covers the planet’s surface. Names after a botanist… species is known for its pink flowers – ”

“It’s flowers weren’t pink.”

“Let me finish, if you would be so kind. Known for its pink flower which do not pollinate, as the pollen is enclosed in a separate yellow bract rather than the sepals of the petals. The pollen is of renown – maybe we should have bottled it – due to its – ”

He cuts himself off. You are fiddling with the zip of your undersuit, still staring at the gap between his shirt and pants. It takes several long moments of silence for you to be able to draw your gaze away from his skin and up to his face. “Renown due to?”

He is gone pale. Stares blankly at his screen.

“Ezra?” You straighten. “Ezra, what’s wrong? The pollen, what is it?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Is it poisonous?” You are oddly calm. Start running an inventory of the contents of your med kit, try to remember how long since you’d been exposed to it. “Ezra, are we in danger?”

“No,” he croaks. “It’s not poisonous.”

You deflate back against your bunk. Throw an empty protein bar packet in his direction and huff. Want to kick him in his shin for the dramatics. “You scared me. Don’t – ”

“It’s an aphrodisiac.”

You blink at him. “A… A what?”

“An aphrodisiac. It’s harvested for its high potency but it difficult to acquire because of the plant’s unique quality of blooming in certain conditions. The buds are only visible when exposed to extended periods of rainfall, and release pollen only under UV light.” He’s still reading the article aloud. His face slack in horror. “It contains hallucinogenic properties, and is known to create both psychological and physiological – ”

“Ezra, plain English, please.” You say. “So it’s – it’s what? We’re going to be horny?”

“Incomparably aroused.” He looks at you and then away again. Starts to flick through other articles with desperation. “It’s a hallucinogenic. It will not simply make us feel horny, we will be unable to think of anything else. It will make us feel things, phantom sensations, we will experience corporeal responses without other stimulation.”

You blanche. “Maybe it’s the wrong tree, maybe it’s – ”

“It’s not the wrong tree.”

“So what do we do?” You feel too hot, the space around you is suddenly too small and your undersuit too heavy. You think it must be a trick of your mind, but paranoia makes the flush worse.

Ezra clicks through article after article. He estimates you have maybe an hour before it takes effect, maybe less. The pollen was generally harvested, and the chemicals extracted to use as additives for drugs. There is next to nothing on direct inhalation. Not documented, not tested. He tells you it should only last a few hours – three to four. But you can feel your hands shaking, are only half listening. He’s speaking so quickly now, and you curl your feet onto the bed in front of you, wrap your arms around your knees. Was the flush from nerves or from the pollen? Were you shaking because of it as well? Ezra is still talking.

“What?” You say. Head shooting up.

“It does not seem to matter if you… if you finish. The effects of the pollen will not dissipate until it leaves your system.”

Your face colours. “Okay. Okay. Four hours though, that’s what you said.” You think you must look sick. You feel sick, as if all the blood has left you. “We’re both adults, we can just,” but you can’t even finish the sentence. Stare down at your knees.

Ezra makes a pained noise in the back of his throat.

.

It’s getting harder to breathe. Harder to see. The walls around you have started to blur. The bright white lights in the pod are too much, hurt the space behind your eyes. You shuffle to the edge of the bed and swing your legs to the ground. Feel the buzzing in your hands and feet. The switch has never felt so far away, and yet the air around you keep compressing, the walls closing in. It hasn’t been anywhere near an hour. Twenty minutes at most and you feel like your mouth is full of wool and your head too. Ezra has turned on his side, his back to you, the quiet sound of his long deliberate breathing the only noise he makes. You finally reach the switch, grasp at it with shaking hands. Ezra turns over his good shoulder, and you catch the sight of his hair – wet and flattened to his head.

“Don’t – ”

But you already have the lights dimmed. Still bright enough to see, but not painful anymore. Ezra seems vivid even in the dim, like he’s brought into hyper-focus, safe and solid in the pulsating world around you. Without thinking you begin to shuffle towards him. Lick your lips. Think maybe it would be better to stay close to him. Would make you feel better.

“What are you doing?” He pushes himself up on his arm, half facing you. The prominent muscles of his neck straining at the twist.

“I – I – ” You shake your head. Try to clear it of the fuzzy feeling which has settled over your thoughts. Suck in a deep breath which doesn’t reach your lungs. “I don’t know.”

“It’s the pollen.” He’s short. You can hear the tension in his jaw. See the ticking of the muscle under the skin. It distracts you. He kicks his foot to get your attention. “Lie down. Over there.”

You listen without question; the commanding tone sends a lick of heat up your spine. Your knees buckle when they hit your bunk, and you fall against it, boneless. Suddenly weak. It’s so hot. You can feel sweat forming along your top lip, sink over your brow and into your hair. You push the strands away with shaking hands, shove it back off your face. It’s too hot in the pod. Your mouth is so dry. So hot. The undersuit, you’re still wearing it, and your compression clothes beneath. Ezra has lowered himself back to the mattress, stares at the wall ahead of him, but his whole body jerks when he hears the pull of your zip. You turn your head to the side to watch him, stare at his back. Watch his shoulders pull tight through his thin compression shirt, damp with sweat. Watch the muscle tense. Catch your tongue between your teeth. His neck is so tight you can see every dip, see the veins stand out beneath the skin.

You get the zip undone and start to wriggle your arms free. The cold air of the pod is a relief until Ezra groans, deep and pained. The sound shoots down your spine, sparks across your lower back and into your stomach. Makes your cunt pulse. You echo the sound back at him, feel your body temperature climb again, impossibly. You slump, half out of the suit, your skin feels like the crackle of static, alive and humming. You are on fire. Can feel your chest and stomach and the creases beneath your breasts growing slick with sweat. You shift in the suit, still halfway down your waist, and the inseam of the crotch catches against your underwear. Without thinking, without meaning to, you are bending your knees, digging the heels of your feet into the bed and pulling yourself down. Feel the thickness of the seam, too much and not enough all at once dig into you and your back curves. Relish in the feeling of friction, and the release which dribbles, stick and warm, down your slit.

You choke on another moan.

Ezra is so stiff he is almost shaking. Pulled so taut he might snap. You can’t take your eyes off him, watch the way his ragged breathing fills him and rushes out again. Like he’s been running. Sweat soaking through his shirt now, making it cling to him. His voice is cracked and hoarse. “Be quiet.”

You can’t help it. Another moan slips out before you can stop it, louder at the sound of his voice. You bend your knees again and work your hips against the inside of the suit. Become aware of how swollen your cunt is, tingling. Worse than tingling. Somehow better. Your legs are shaking, breath coming in fast pants. It’s too loud in the pod, bounces around and comes back to you. Makes you dimly embarrassed, a small place in the back of your mind is mortified. But you can’t concentrate on why, can’t hold any thought in your head long enough to remember why you shouldn’t give in. Can’t remember why you’re holding back from the throbbing need in the first place.

“Ezra.” It’s too breathy. Too soft. That’s what you want, you realise. The taste of his name in your mouth makes it fill, hot and wet. Ezra, Ezra, Ezra. “It’s hurting.”

“It’s the pollen.” His voice is tight. He turns his head enough that you can see a sliver of cheekbone. “A few hours, remember? Then it will be over.”

The pod is getting hotter. You are getting hotter. Your breasts ache, you feel your nipples hardening, feel them catch against the sweat drenched fabric of your singlet and it stings. Another throb, so long you think it won’t end, makes you whimper. And then. Wet. Not dribbling, leaking. Flowing. The suit is still tangled around your legs. Your hands are shaking so badly you have to kick at it to get it off, manage to catch it and have it twisted around one ankle. Finally kick it onto the floor. Your compression pants are slick, and you are vibrating. Weak. The heat is still growing even now the suit is gone, like you are on fire. You still haven’t looked away from Ezra.

“You were in it for longer,” you say. Barely get the words out. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. “You had – had – ” a barely stifled moan “ – had your helmet off. For so long. Why aren’t you like this?”

He swallows loud enough that you can hear it. “I am well practiced. This feeling is one I am quite used to concealing from you.” His voice is like honey. Fills your head and your mouth and your body with syrup. But the words. The words make you weak. Make you utter another quiet whimper. “The effects of the pollen will wear off in a few hours, Starlight.”

You have to put a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound which threatens to escape from it. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You realise you can smell yourself. It makes you dizzy. And him. The sharp scent of his sweat on hot skin. Familiar. Unbearable. You kick your legs out, hit your head back against the bunk and fist your hands into the sheets. Struggle to hold on to the embarrassed part of your mind, feel it slipping away. Try to stop your hands from reaching between your legs at his confession.

“Ezra.” It’s almost a sob. “Ezra, please.”

“I ask of you only that you are quiet,” he says. Tight, pained. “Whatever you do to deal with – with this, just do it quietly. I can’t – it’s – ”

You have never heard him stumble before. Not with words. Never with words. You think sometimes that he must know them all, certainly knows many more than you. So much of your time together has been filled with his voice, wrapped in them, the way he rolls them in his mouth and holds them. But now he has none. And instead of being filled with his words, the space between your is hot and pulsing. Fills with other things. Aching.

You forget your embarrassment.

“We could, we could help each other.” You lick you lips. Pull yourself up onto your elbows with shaking arms. “We could deal with it together.”

“No.”

“Ezra!” It’s a petulant wail. His chest is heaving. The smell of him is everywhere, all around you. Mixing with the smell of you. “Please. Please, please, please.”

“I said be quiet.” He snarls at you. Full of venom. This is the Ezra he is with other prospectors. The Ezra that steals and kills. Cruel. Mean. The sting of tears in your eyes well and slip and fall. And still you feel your cunt weep with you.

“Do you… do you hate me?”

“No.”

“You do! Why else would you make me hurt like this?” A full sob works its way up your throat. Nearly chokes you. Makes your breathing stutter. “I only want you to touch me. You hate me so much you won’t even touch me.”

He says your name. Not Starlight. Says it with a bite which stings and clears your head long enough for you to finally wrench gaze away from him. You turn your head, press it against the cool wall of the pod nearest you. Close your eyes so tightly white bursts behind your lids and crushes your lashes against your cheeks. You try to breathe, but every mouthful is full of the taste of you both. You try to concentrate. And Ezra is panting as well, ragged and loud. Sounds closer, and you turn your head back to him, and realise your mistake. He has pushed himself back up onto his good arm and twisted to stare at you over his shoulder. His eyes are dark, face dripping with sweat, hair wet with it. Compression shirt almost transparent against the heaving mass of his chest. His mouth hangs open with his breath. You have to bite your lip, roll it into your mouth and dig your teeth into it hard enough to sting.

He is furious. “Do not speak to me as if I have no heart. It is because of my heart I am denying you.”

“Why?” You don’t understand him. “Why don’t you just – ”

“Stop.”

He twists fully now. Rolls onto his back. Your eyes follow his length, slip over his chest and stomach and – you think you might die. Think you will explode. His cock is tented in his compression pants. Even in the dim you can see the shape of it pressed against the grey fabric. The thickness of it. See the dark patch around the head where it leaks precum. Such a huge patch you think surely, truly, he must have already come. Know he hasn’t. You press your legs together with a strangled moan.

“Be quiet!” He squeezes and his eyes shut at the sound.

You writhe against the mattress. “All I want is for you to touch me Ezra, please, please, why don’t you want – ”

“Do you know how badly I crave you?” He cuts you off. “Do you know how often I have dreamt of you, like this, begging me to take you? How many times I have dreamt of fucking your cunt? Of the taste of you? God,” he makes a sound, half deranged. It might have been a laugh in a different time, a different place. “Have you any conception of the ways I have imagined having you? How many nights we have laid here while you sleep, and I bit my fist to stop myself from waking you while I come all over my hand?”

You heart must have stopped. Must have swollen until it was too large for your chest and been crushed. Outgrown its place. Blocked your lungs as well because you can’t breathe.

But he’s still going. Still talking.

“I have had to fuck my hand for months. Pretend it was your pussy. Or your mouth. Your pretty little mouth. And every night you are there, not four feet from me, oblivious and dreaming. I think of you licking up all my cum, cleaning it off my fingers. Fucking it straight down your throat. Fuck.” His words become lost in the deep groan which forces its way out of his mouth. His dick jumps in his pants. “Fuck.”

You are clenching around nothing, the tightness in your stomach and centre coiled so badly now it is painful. You pull your feet up nearer to you so you can lift your hips off the bed and grind them into nothing, into the air. Tears of frustration slip, never so frustrated before, so desperate and shaking. You hold the sheets tighter, know once you touch yourself you won’t be able to stop, but coming won’t help. The symptoms won’t stop until the pollen leaves your system. You drop your hips back to the bed with a harsh sound, something between a sob and a gasp. Ezra is breathless, groaning in response to every sound your make. You are so wet it has soaked through your compression pants, down around the crux of your thighs and into the seat of your underwear. Mixing with sweat. Sliding between your lips and your cheeks and making the drag of the fabric against you almost painful.

“Keep going. Ezra, please.”

“Don’t. Don’t make me… not fair.”

“Love your voice.” You twist. Jerk your hips forward against the bunk. “Could… could come to just your voice. Wouldn’t – wouldn’t even need to touch myself.”

The sound he makes is tormented. Guttural and deep. Sparks through you. “Fuck. Fuck. Shit. This is torture, it must be. Condemned for every lascivious thought I have had of you. Punished more my lewd cogitations. Every time I have pictured your pussy. Thought of what my dick would look like filling you up.” He chokes on the words. “I have imagined fucking you on every surface of this damnable pod. And the pod before that and the one before that.”

“Please Ezra. Please. I want you to fuck me. Anywhere, anywhere you want.”

You are looking him when he opens his eyes. He looks wild. Almost unhinged. He sucks his lips between his teeth and hisses when he rolls them back out. Is staring at the hardened buds beneath your drenched singlet. His breathing cracks, and for a moment, a second, you think he is going to break and move towards you.

“No.” It’s drawn out. Hard for him to say. He closes his eyes and faces the ceiling. “No. Do not make such requests of me. Not now. It’s not fair to ask me to take you now when you will surface from this haze and hate me for it. You will hate me for all of it.”

“I won’t.” Quiet. Timid. Desperate.

“You wish to hear my fantasies? Do you want to know what all of my fantasies of you have in common?” He waits. He is looking at you again, and he waits until you have focused on him. “In every way I have imagined you, in every way I have dreamed of taking you, you have wanted me as badly as I want you, Starlight.”

You can’t say anything. Your tongue is lead in your mouth. You are throbbing so relentlessly it’s almost impossible to think of anything else. The pain at the base of your stomach is growing, spreading, and you feel like your limbs are beginning to lock down. You have to roll onto your side and curl around yourself. More fluid moves at the action, leaking over your lips and thighs and soaking into the sheets below you. It somehow makes everything worse. It’s too much. So much. You are too full and not full enough. All you can think about is the feeling of him pushing inside you, tearing you apart, pounding into you as relentlessly as your cunt throbs for him. You sob again.

“I want you Ezra. I do, I do want you.”

“You would want anyone,” he spits. “It’s the pollen. You’ve been drugged.”

“But I want you! I always want you!”

“You think you do but you will live through this and then you will not want me anymore.” He turns over his good arm again and rolls onto his side. Faces away from you again. “This is torture enough for a lifetime of sins. I can’t – ”

You aren’t sure where the strength comes from, but you know you must move. Your body screams to move towards him, almost convinces you he will make the pain fade. You hold onto one thought, the sound of the pain in his voice, hold it tight as you can and roll yourself out of your bunk. He flinches away from you at the sounds of movement, and you almost forget yourself when you see his hips jerk involuntarily. Mouth-watering, knowing he must feel the need for you as desperately as you need for him. But you can’t. You burn the sound of his pleas across every thought you have and stumble to the corner of the pod, struggle to open the compartment with shaking hands, and when you do you drop the med kit on the floor. You are vibrating, and if you had thought you couldn’t see before then now it is blindness. You blunder through the kit, splaying its contents half onto the ground around it before you find the packet. A packet full of pills the size of pin heads, but powerful. Meant to be for adjusting to new planets time cycles. Getting back to Ezra’s bunk is easier than moving away from it, invisible strings inside you pulling you to him.

“Here,” you say. Voice hoarse like you’ve been screaming. Grates at your throat. “Ezra.”

“What?” He doesn’t turn.

“Sleeping pills. They… they can knock us out.”

He turns his head, just enough to see you. Up close he looks worse. Better, so much better. His pupils are blown so wide the brown around them is barely visible. His pillow drenched in sweat. His face is flushed, the back of his neck and ears and forehead are red. His mouth open in wet pants. You crumple, drop to your knees in front of him, or risk throwing yourself into the bed with him. You drop the pill on his pillow, think if you touch him you will snap and give in. He’s looking at you the same, like if you move wrong he will not be able to stop himself. You lift your pill to your lips.

“Wait – ” He says. “The pollen, the pills, we don’t – we don’t know if it’s safe.”

“Ezra.” You feel a hot tear slip down your cheek. Your singlet and your compression tights hurt your skin where they touch you. The cold of the floor is burning against your legs and hand. The air around you is almost too much. “I won’t get through this. It hurts too much.”

You swallow the pill before he can stop you.

He says something, but the sound of his voice is too much. You stumble off your knees and towards the wet room. Your control is stretched taut within you, about to snap. Kneeling next to his bunk you can smell more of him, see more. You get to the door and it takes your shaking hands two tries to get it open. You catch him slip his pill between his lips and swallow, and the flex of the muscles in his neck nearly has you trip over yourself to get back to him. But you slam the door closed between you. Slump immediately into a cold wall and slide down it until you’re crouched against the plastic floor. The wet room is tiny, nothing more than an insulated storage cupboard with a hose and shower nozzle. The pills are strong, you lean back against the wall, feel them mixing with the effects of the pollen so that the world swims before your eyes. You close your eyes. Try and count your breathing. You try to count three times and lose count every time. You can’t feel the floor beneath you. Can’t feel the wall behind you. The world is slipping so that it is only the fire of your muscles and the throbbing between your legs. Time warps into a tunnel, feel like you are suspended and falling through it at the same time.

There is no world around you when you finally shove the heel of your palms between your legs. Don’t care when you start moaning, writing against it. You couldn’t remember your own name if someone asked, where you were. Anything. Your knees drop out, one against the floor and the other shoved against the wall in the tight space. You head knocks hard against the wall behind you. You shove your other hand down, unwilling to stop rocking your hips into your palm until you can get the tips of your fingers down your compression pants and find your clit. The first roll over the bundle of nerves makes you scream. Forces it up out of some place in your stomach and up, up through your chest and throat. You do not ease yourself forward, you rub against the throbbing spot with enough force that your arm shakes from the effort. Stop long enough to pull the tights down your thighs so you can rub your clit and sink your fingers into your pulsing cunt at the same time. The knot in your stomach becomes unbearable. Your cunt spasms and clenches around your fingers, three of them, and still you feel empty, and yet somehow so full you are almost sick with it. Keening. Desperate. You are speaking, blabbering nonsense. Your hips jerk off the floor.

But there is no release.

You have no idea how long you lie there, rubbing yourself, fucking yourself with your fingers before you give up. Boneless and whimpering. Sobbing. You can feel how wet you are, feel it all over the floor beneath you and smeared up over your wrist. You drop your hands, the blackness closing around your peripheries enough to dull the burning. The sleeping pill clouds the last of your consciousness and you slip.

When you wake the first time it is sweating and with the dream taste of Ezra in your mouth. An imaginary taste you have conjured many times before this but made to feel so real by the pollen. You’re panting so fast they begin to run together, your body trembling and shaking. The wall of the wet room is hard and cold against your back. You don’t even have to touch yourself to come when the memories of your drug induced sleep return to you, the dream of Ezra’s cock heavy on your tongue and full to the back of your throat. Your release is so long and intense you slump further into the ground. Your forehead against the door. You are barely conscious of the shock tremors afterwards, of the jolting aftershocks of the pollen and dream induced orgasm. The place just below your stomach is still as tight as before.

You fade in and out, the sleeping pill enough to keep you under most of the time. You wake a few more times, coming or on the edge of it. Have slipped into a dark place where everything except the buzzing of your body does not exist. The pollen continues to conjure hallucinations, the feel of hands all over you, impossibly hot and rough, of being filled and fucked, again and again. Ezra. Always Ezra. Haunting you.

Hours after crawling into the wet room, your sweat has broken. Shivering, drenched and pressed against the cold walls in the tight space. You are dizzy, can taste the sourness of dehydration coating your mouth and the back of your throat. You yank the door open again, can’t walk, so you fumble on hands and knees to the water and raise a flask with shaking hands. Drink three of them. You get to your bunk and pull of your clothes – wet and dripping with cold sweat – throw them at the foot of your mattress. Defeated and exhausted when you pull the sheets over yourself. Cold. Ezra is quiet, a still ball on his bunk, still facing the wall. You wait until you see him breathe, watch his chest rise and fall. Let yourself give into the relief of exhaustion.

.

When you wake next it is to the sound of rain against the roof of the pod. There is a deep aching in your limbs and the muscles around your stomach, but no burn of satisfaction to ease the pain. You are still dehydrated. Eyelids like sandpaper against your eyes, so you don’t open them. You can barely roll over you are so stiff. The rain sounds heavy. Another torrential flood.

You drift for some time in the place between wakefulness and sleep. You can hear Ezra, awake and moving around the pod, bare feet against the floor. He stops near you and he pulls the sheet higher over your shoulder where it has slipped, covering your bare back from the cool air. Pulls a heavier blanket over you as well. You continue to wander, sometimes dreaming. Sometimes listening to the sounds of him moving about, the hose turn on in the wet room. Turn off again sometime later. Smell the soap when Ezra emerges and feel the waft or warm, steaming air against the top of your head. Not long after his hand is on your covered shoulder, gently shaking.

“Starlight.” He says. “You need to drink. Wake up.”

He waits until you start to move, wraps his arm beneath you to help you to sit. Holds up the blanket when it falls and tugs it tighter around your shoulders. Gives you water and a protein bar and leaves you. You stare at the things in your hands, then at his back. Feel like you are floating.

And then the day before begins to bleed into your thoughts like a poison, and as you wake the horror of embarrassment makes it impossible to sit still. You can’t look at Ezra, where he crouches with his back to you not three feet away. Digging through the med kit you had left on the floor. You force yourself to eat but the protein bar tastes like cardboard in your mouth. You are hyperaware of your nudity, feel small and exposed, and you pull the thin blanket around your shoulders as high around you neck as it will go. Think of Ezra opening the door to the wet room to find the mess you had undoubtedly left there. Think of yourself begging him to fuck you while he desperately refused. You feel sick.

He brings the med kit to you. You can’t look at him, can feel his eyes searching your face. He sighs and gently reaches for the blanket. You flinch before he can reach it and he drops his hand.

“I will not hurt you. I assure you.” He shows you his empty palm. “I only wish to ensure you are well. I need to check if you are still suffering any effects of the pollen.”

You shake your head, hold your hands against your chest beneath your shield of bedding. “I’m not.” Your voice is raw from screaming and then hours of sleep. You think he must hate you. Must hate you for being so weak.

“I need to check.” His voice is so gentle. So soft. “May I please have your hand?”

You do not move, can’t look at him. And then you slowly release your hold on yourself and worm one hand out through the blankets, careful to keep yourself covered and let him take you by the wrist. Lay your hand palm up on your lap. His fingers make your blood spark where they touch you and you wish he wouldn’t. Wish you hadn’t been so awful to him while he tried to refuse you. He clips a small device to your fingertip, warns you of the prick of it taking your blood. Checks your pulse, checks your temperature. When the device beeps he removes it and compares the reading with a small manual in the med kit.

“The pollen is out of your system.”

“How… how long has it been?”

“Nearly two days since we were infected.”

You look up in shock. He is staring at you, warm eyes soft and tired. Marred by the dark circles around them. His hair still damp from his shower. You burn red and look away again.

“Two days?”

“You’ve been unconscious for some time.” He packs everything away and moves. You glance at his back when he goes, watch a droplet of water from his hair drip a slow path along the back of his neck and disappear under his soft clean shirt. Images of the days before rise behind your eyes before you can stop them, memories of dreams. Memories of hallucinations and fantasies. Your stomach churns. “Do you need more water?”

You shake your head. “No.”

He nods and comes to sit opposite you on his own bunk, his arm braced across his knee. You try to hold his gaze but humiliation crawls its way up your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut. Keep remembering trying to convince him to fuck you through the effects of the pollen, remember the hazy, sordid details of everything you said to him. You don’t know how you will ever face him again, every be able to meet his eyes. Its all made so much worse by the memory of how badly you wanted him, a desperate need which tore you apart. Feelings which you had supressed and kept dormant before now refused to be ignored and you are full of guilt and affection, tearing you apart. Feel them push up against your heart when you look at him and twist.

“Ezra…”

You hear him sigh, lift your eyes to look at him. He’s smiling, soft and sweet and sad. “It’s quite alright, Starlight. We do not have to talk about it if you do not wish to.”

You fidget you fingers beneath the blanket. “I… I think.” You pause and swallow. “I think we have to talk about it, Ezra. I said – I said – ”

You wish you didn’t have to think about what you said, but you do. And Ezra’s words chase each other around and around in your mind and tangle inside your head. You can’t ignore those. Can’t ignore everything said between you and go back to the way things were. Can’t look at him without remembering the throbbing ache between your legs at the way his voice wrapped around his words and filled you up with fantasies of fucking you in the pod. You need to apologise to him.

Ezra shakes his head. “The pollen was very strong. It put us under extreme duress, and we acted against our natures.”

“Against our natures?” You stomach drops. You know you should not hurt so badly at the implication but your heart begins to crack. Of course he did not want to tell you those things.

“I quite understand.” He looks to his hand, clenched into a fist on his knee. “And you do not need to explain your words to me, I understand they were brought on by the pollen. I shall consider the things which you have said to me to be banished from my mind if,” he releases his clenched fist and inhales slowly, deliberately. “If you will extend to me the same courtesy.”

Your mind goes terrible, horribly blank. Your head begins to throb and you lift your hand to press against it, massage the tightness between your brows. Ezra wants to you forget it all, to forget the whole thing ever happened. Everything said between you was a terrible mistake, and it was, and he is giving you an out. You understand that much – no apology required, no rehash of the painful events. Ashamed when the burn of tears threatens behind your eyes. You should say yes, you think. You should agree to forget it and move on with your lives. But there is the awful feeling, a gnawing in your gut, that if you turned away from him this time it would be the last time. That the space between you would grow and grow until you could not find your way back together. And you owe him an apology.

“Ezra I… I don’t know if I can.” You pick at the blanket in your lap. “I don’t think I can just forget.”

He’s silent. Unnervingly silent.

“I have spent so much of our time together trying to forget.” You whisper. “I don’t want to forget anymore.”

He frowns. “What have you tried to forget before this?”

You shift in your spot. Glance at him and then away. “You know. You must know. All the times… all the time when we could have,” your nerves fill your throat and you have to pause. “Like before this. When we were outside. When you helped me up the hill. When you said – when you said we were seeing the wonders of the universe.” Every moment I could have told you I loved you. You can’t say it. “I can’t forget them anymore.”

Ezra is staring at you. You look to him, find his eyes, because he deserves you to look him in the eye while you say this to him. He deserves more than your cowardice – the cowardice you have given him for the better part of two years. His face is slack at your revelation and then crumples. Collapses in on himself. He looks like he’s in pain.

“These are moments you wish to forget?” His voice is hoarse.

“No! No, Ezra they aren’t!” And you realise what he has thought. “I… they are my favourite memories. But I can never let myself have them because – because – ” You suck in a shaking breath. “I’m not good with words like you. I don’t know.”

“Tell me. Try.”

He is leaning towards you, guarded. Hopeful, maybe. You feel your heart beating so hard you can barely concentrate. “Every time there is something between us, I try to crush it. Because – because I’m scared. But I save them all and I think about them later. I – I think about what you look like when you’re smiling in the sun, or what words you use when you’re happy. Or when you… when you look at me like how you looked at me under the trees outside.”

Ezra pushes himself from his bunk and crosses the space to you. Sits close enough to touch you, but he doesn’t. You are looking into his eyes and can’t look away now. Transfixed. He is so wide and open now. His eyes so warm. You did that, you think. And you swell with the pride of it. So you take a breath and continue.

“I’m scared one day you’ll leave me.” You confess. “Or if I… if I say anything then you will want me to go. And I can’t – I don’t want another partner. I just want you.” Your cheeks go brilliant red. And Ezra smiles, blooms, so bright it’s like looking at the sun. Your hands are shaking again. “I’m scared if I let myself feel everything all at once I might break. And I don’t want to break. And I don’t want to lose you. I want to – I want to have you forever.” You’re talking faster now, more urgent. Your voice drops almost to a whisper. “That’s why I try to forget them, every moment, and its chipping away at my heart Ezra, and I’m worried I won’t have any heart left. I think it…” You close your eyes. Breathe. In and out. Open them again and look at him. Really look at him, and let yourself be seen. All of you. The parts of you which you try to hide. “I think my heart already belongs to you.”

Ezra shifts again. His thigh presses against yours now, burning and hot. He twists his body towards you. Stares at you, his face crinkled in a blinding smile. “Your heart belongs to me?”

Your breath shakes on your exhale and you nod.

He inches closer. “I find myself without words, Starlight. Of course, it would be you that renders me speechless.”

You lean towards him again, pulled by his gravity. His body leans to yours. Not touching anywhere except along your thighs, still pushed together below you. But you grow towards each other, closer and closer, until you can feel the almost press of his body against yours. His face is so close you can see every line, every freckle and mark.

“Surely you know how I feel for you,” he says. His quiet words wash over your face, you could catch them on your tongue you are so close, but you do not, you hover. Just away. “You conceal your heart so well, but I have not concealed mine. Every word I spoke to you while under the influence of that pollen was true. I only wish I could have told them to you in some different way.”

Your heart kicks in your chest. “Ezra, I’m so sorry, I tried to make you – I said awful things when you told me you didn’t want – ”

He shushes you gently. Closes his eyes and shakes his head so minutely. “You did not act on them. I said far more depraved things to you.” He sighs softly. “I truly am sorry it had to happen that way.”

You hesitate. Nod and relax back towards him. He smiles so softly, opens his eyes.

“I dream not only of your body. Everything that I am is yours. The pieces left of me belong to you. Only to you, Starlight. They have for some time now.”

Ezra presses his forehead to yours, his hair tickling your skin. You let your eyes slip closed. Twist slightly and push back against him, rub your nose closer until his cheek brushes the tip of yours and you feel his eyelashes flutter on your skin. His lips close and open and trace the shape of a kiss ghosting against your mouth. Not quite touching. His hot breath mixing with yours. Less than a hair between you. You push you chin just enough to catch his bottom lip with your teeth, tug it down and let it go with a sigh. Lick against the imprint of the bite to soothe it.

He groans your name.

“Ezra,” you say into his mouth. Try to catch him in a kiss but he shifts and move away. Retreats from you so that his eyes can find yours.

“Are you sure?”

You carefully move your hands, touch them against his chest and move them up, lightly over his shirt. Clutch the back of his neck. “I don’t need pollen to want you, Ezra. I never have.”

He stares down at you, his eyes fill up everything around you, until he is everything. Just Ezra. Only Ezra. For a moment you are worries he doesn’t believe you but then he surges forward. Teeth and noses clash. His mouth hits yours hard enough to bruise, is hot and open. His tongue inside you, no building, no warning. He pushes against you and you let him, twist your hands into the damp hair at the nape of his neck and pull him to you. Tighter. Nearer. Can’t get him close enough. He yanks himself away and you gasp at the sudden loss. Remember to breathe. His arm readjusts its hold around you back and he shifts himself, uses his knee to shove your legs apart and move between them. You lift yourself off the bed to your knees and he pulls you forward again so that you fall into his lap, still wrapped in blankets. Brings his mouth back to yours. Kisses you until you’re dizzy.

He moves his mouth sideways, open and wet and drags it down your jaw to your neck and back up again. Panting. “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

He leans all his weight forward and tips you backwards. You fall against the bed, the blankets bunched under your back. Naked. He is staring, transfixed, between your legs. You try to close them, but he catches your knee, pushes his body into the space and forces them open. You burn, conscious of the dried mess which must still be there from the pollen.

“Don’t try and hide yourself from me, Starlight.” He is still staring at your cunt. Uses his torso to push against one of your legs and his arm to move the other. He forces your leg down by the inside of your knee, so slowly, until it touches the bed. Pushes it outwards slightly just to watch your pussy better. “And the other one.”

His hand stays on your knee, his eyes stay between your leg as you do as he says. Watches as the stretch makes your lips part and reveals the almost purple inner flesh of your pussy. He coos, and the sound changes to a groan when you flutter around nothing, a bead of fluid forming at your hole and then dribbling outwards. Your hips jerk at the sound and when your knees lift away from the bed Ezra holds the one he can with such forcefulness that you make a soft cry.

“Can I still touch you?” He asks. His voice surprisingly soft, at odds with the iron grip he has around your leg.

You nod.

You think he means your cunt. You think his hand will dig straight into you with the way he is staring at it. Hungrily. Instead he releases you knee, draws around it with just the tip of his fingers, a featherlight circle over the soft skin and then trails his hand along your thigh. Your hips lift when he approaches the crux of it, traces the crease between your centre and your thigh and then back up over your hipbone. Makes you whimper when he leaves you aching and untouched. He flattens his palm over it, grabs a handful of the flesh of your hip and kneads it gently, before releasing it, moving his flattened palm over the curve of your stomach. Feels it move with every shortened breath. Drifts up slowly and spreads his fingers over the shape of your ribs. Up again and beneath the crease of your breast.

“I imagine you all the time,” he says idly. His eyes look up finally, sees that you have twisted your head to the side and squeezed your eyes closed, trying to hold yourself together. “Look at me, Starlight. There’s a good girl. I imagine you often, when we are outside and you are covered by your suit, and I think of what you look like beneath it. Think about the shape of you when we are supposed to be harvesting our livelihoods.”

You keen. Writhe upwards and try to lift yourself towards him. He shushes you and flattens his palm over your sternum, long fingers push up between your breasts and his thumb and pinky hook beneath them. Not touching them. Forces you back to the mattress, keeps his hand on you and smiles as you gasp. Feels the vibrations of your moaning, exposed beneath him. He waits until you still and look back to him. Dark eyes watching you.

“Keep your legs open.” You realise you have pushed them up off the bed again. It makes you pink and splotchy over your chest and neck and face but you slowly, shakily part them again. Let them drop on either side of him. “You are more than I deserve, Starlight. More beautiful than I could have ever painted you in my mind’s eye.”

His hand moves again, up over your chest and along the lines of your collarbones. Out over your left shoulder and then down the length of your arm. Lets his fingers rest still at the velvety soft skin at the inside of your elbow and then follows the path of your veins through the skin to your wrist. Encloses his hand around yours and brushes his thumb over the pulse point at your wrist. Presses in and feels your blood sing in response. And then he lifts your arm up over your head and rests it above you. Presses it once into the mattress and fixes you with a look. Do not move it, he doesn’t have to say. He releases it again and this time his fingers trail the other side of your arm down and gently through your armpit and over your ribs to your other arm. You are already lifting it and he catches it to and finishes the motion for you. Holds your wrists together in one large hand. Surprises you by pushing up onto his knees and pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. Sweet. Chaste.

He pulls away. When your eyes flutter back open, he is close and smiling. “Starlight does not do justice to how bright you are,” he whispers gently. Presses a kiss to your temple. “There is no star in any galaxy which could pit itself against you and come out the victor. You would put them all to shame.”

Your eyes are wet. You have to swallow the lump in your throat. “Ezra.”

His mouth brushes your temple again. Your brow. The bridge of your nose and your cheekbone. Hovers hot and open over your mouth but when you move towards him he is gone, his mouth open along your jaw. He tongues the length of your neck, dipping into the pit at the centre of your clavicle. You lift off the bed again and his mouth moves down, finally to your breasts in wet kisses until he reaches your nipple. Looks up to catch your eyes when he gathers saliva in his mouth and licks it. Makes your toes curl into the sheets. He coats you until the bud is shining with wetness and then pulls away and blows on it, a gust of cold air, freezing against your wet flesh. You groan, both watch the way it grows hard and pebbled, the skin around it pulling together. Then his hot mouth is around it, burning after the coolness and you whine and arch into his mouth. Use the leverage of your knees on the bed to push yourself into him.

He releases you with an obscene noise, deliberately wet. Lays his cheek against your heaving breast so that your nipple is being brushed by the tip of his nose and smiles at you. Saccharine, like he hadn’t just been suckling at you. Like he wasn’t forcing you to stare at the painfully hard nipple between you. And then he moves and gives the same treatment to the other side. Warm and cold and hot. Until you are desperately trying to lift your hips against his stomach and roll your centre against him for any relief. Can feel the wetness dripping from you, running down your slit and back. Probably staining the already ruined sheets.

“Please Ezra,” you are panting. “Please.”

He chuckles and pulls away from your tits. Admires the two wet and hard peaks of them. Leans down to peck your right nipple so lightly you might not have felt it if he hadn’t just driven you to the point of overstimulation.  

“I am sensitive to your plight, my sweet Starlight. But I hope I cannot be expected to rush this. I have many months of painful imaginations to fuel this encounter and I want to enjoy you.”

He lowers his mouth to the centre of your breasts. The heaving, solid spot there and leaves another wet kiss there. And then licks a long, hot stripe through your middle and readjusts his one arm beneath your middle, and you lift to make room for it, his forearm completely covered to the elbow beneath the mass of your body. Has to wrap it up under your right thigh and pulls the leg up higher to your side, stretching you so far open your thighs shake in protest. Then resumes his path of kisses over your stomach and down. You are clenching viciously around nothing, hips jerking even though you try to still them. His chin tickles the hair at the top of your slit. His eyes look up at you, smile at you even though his mouth is open beneath your naval, his tongue making lazy circles against the skin.

“Don’t move,” he says. “Or I will lose my balance.”

You bite down on your lip. Can’t speak, because you can feel another desperate noise building at the back of your throat. You nod.

He finally returns his gaze to your neglected cunt. Watches your hole flutter and spasm at the attention, watches as it leaks more wetness out and as it sinks down your slit and your crack. Makes a patch of wet beneath you. He leans closer and breathes you in. Smells you. It makes your head spin, makes your face so red you have to close your because you can’t think. You feel his nose almost against you and then his breath, hot and his tongue wet, so close to your hole you jerk before you can stop. But he doesn’t enter you, instead just barely lets the tip of his tongue run the length of your inner lips, all the way to where they encase your clit, stopping agonisingly just before it. First one side and then the other. Almost the same feeling as his fingertips had been over the rest of your body. But so much more.

You choke his name and he wraps his lips around your clit. You think you might black out, the attention so much more intense after the neglect. You feel a sob work its way from the back of your throat, force your hips to stay flat on the bed, try not to clench your right thigh around his arm in case he falls. He alternates sucking you, drawing patterns with his tongue and sometimes, when you release more wetness, he will lick a long broad stroke up your whole length and moan with his mouth stretched around as much of you as he can. Gather you on his tongue and dribble it back over your clit and pull away just to watch it slide back down your pussy. And then his mouth will be on you again, relentless. You feel his teeth more than once, grazing, experimental nips. Never hard enough to sting but enough to make you clench at the promise of it. Makes you leak more.

He pulls away.

“I have dreamed of the taste of you many times, Starlight. It is one of my favourites, one which I will often indulge myself. Look at me.” You have to force your eyes open, heaving from the effort of breathing. Tilt your head down and the sight of him makes you clench again and cry out. His hair is a mess, his blonde streak stuck straight up, and his face coated from his nose to his chin in your juices. The pink of his lips gleaming with fluid. “I will lay in my bunk long after you are sleeping and I will conjure ways in my mind to imagine how you will taste. I will try not to look at you, but I always do. And my hand is never enough when I think of how perfect I know you are, and so close, always so close to me, that I can hear the gentle undulation of your breath. I like the imagine you like this, beneath me, coming for hours so I can taste you and imprint the memory of it forever in my mind.”

He ducks his head back and licks up your length again, gathers you up and works his cheeks to mix you with his own saliva in his mouth, and then leans over your clit. Dribbles it over your clit, lets it land on the bundle of nerves and the skin and hair around it. And then blows on it like he had on your nipples. You let out a shriek and your head falls back at the cold air. Makes you draw up deep in your belly. Pulling tighter and tighter. So close. So close.

“My other favourite is that you will sit on my face, allow me to let myself be of use to you, let you fuck yourself on my tongue and rub yourself against me until you come.”

“Ezra,” you can barely speak. “Ezra, I’m going – I’m – ”

Your thighs are shaking so badly it hurts. Your arms straining above your head.

“Come.”

He latches his mouth over you as you do. Finally puts his tongue inside you and his nose brushes against your clit. Laps at you as you finally break and release over his face. You see white burst behind your eyes. Your whole body shakes at the force of it. You sob, hot tears streaking down your face. But Ezra doesn’t stop his ministrations, fucks his tongue in and out of you the whole time and when you think you might finish he moves his mouth back to you clit and moans against it, the vibrations of the sound pulse through your cunt and you scream.

“Ezra, no, I can’t – I can’t – I won’t – ”

You break again, not sure if it’s a second orgasm or the first. So, so wet. You can feel your pussy weeping. It lasts somehow, impossibly, longer than the first. You are boneless when it ends. Legs jerking, shoulders twitching off the bunk. Ezra laps at you until it almost hurts and when you flinch, he pulls back. Kisses your clit gently and slowly extracts himself from beneath you. Eases your leg around his body and pushes your knees together so you are on your side with your back to him. Kisses your thigh, and then your hip. Your shoulder. Lowers himself onto the bunk behind you and wraps his one arm around you and tucks his knees up behind yours. Flush and warm against you. Cradles you through the aftershocks of the orgasm with soft kisses to your neck and shoulder.

You turn slowly. Feel like you’re moving through water. You twist to face him and nuzzle you face into his neck. Let his arm pull you closer and his leg wrap over yours. “I love you,” you say into his skin. “Ezra. I love you. So much.”

He kisses the crown of your head, his hand gathers your hair and brushes his thumb over your scalp. “I would pour all that I am into you if you would give me the chance. I have spent my life in the pursuit of collecting treasures and now I have found one which I wish to keep always for myself. I would hoard you away from the world. I would give you the world if you asked for it.” Another soft kiss. He hums against your head. “I love you, my Starlight. My beautiful girl.”

And you are content to lay there, listening to the rain outside and the sound of his breathing, laboured at first but evening out into a gentle rhythm. You let your eyes close, press yourself between his neck and the mattress and sigh against his skin. Feel him tighten his arm around you and press his mouth into your hair. He’s wearing clean underclothes. Smells of soap. You know you should move and clean yourself from days of sweat and cum but you can’t bring yourself to leave him.

You jolt when you feel him unwind his legs from yours, had almost fallen asleep against him. There’s an awkward moment of shuffling before he can get untangled enough to push himself to sitting. You moan, reach for him and he chuckles. Leans over you again so that he can press another lingering kiss to your shoulder. And then he pushes himself from the bed and pads away. Comes back with a small towel, damp with hot water and settles himself by your feet. Tells you to sleep with a gentle voice and begins to gently scrub your skin. Your feet, your ankles, up and around your calves. All the way up your legs to your centre, wiping away the sweat and then very gently the cum which is drying between your legs and over your thighs. Your hips jerk away from the action, still sore and oversensitive, but you settle and allow him to work. He rinses the towel and returns. Sits you up and rubs your torso and your arms. You are aching from coming and twitch at the rub of the sheets against your centre. But your nipples still pebble at his touch and he chuckles.

“Come now, Starlight. To the other bunk. The sheets are clean.”

He helps you to stand and catches you when your legs buckle. Seats you in his bunk, against the clean sheets and leaves to discard the towel. You can see the tent of his dick in his pants when he returns, another patch of precum on the clean fabric. Your mouth fills at the sight.

“Ezra,” you breathe. “Ezra. I want to – ”

You fidget. Can’t say it. Years of keeping your feelings bottled deeply within you make the habit a hard one to break. Suddenly shy even after he had just made you scream. Made you orgasm twice. He stands before you, cock at your eye level and you can’t look away. Tiredness fading, soreness fading into something else. You lick at your lips and he groans.

“Can I please, Ezra?” You look up at him. Shuffle yourself closer to the edge of the bunk, and closer to him. Back down at his cock and then to his eyes. Dark and hungry and watching your mouth. “You’re not the only one with fantasies.”

He lets out a pained noise and nods. Chest heaving. “Yes. Yes.”

You scoot forward and slowly, carefully brace your hands on his thighs. Watch his dick kick slightly at the contact. Squeeze the thick muscle in his legs and bring yourself closer to him. Glance up at his eyes once more and he is watching you. Transfixed. You graze the head of him through his pants with your nose and then your mouth. Soak up the choked groan he makes, let it fill you up. Press open mouthed kisses to the already wet fabric, make them loud so that he will hear them. Let your mouth fall open further and further until you can almost close it around him. Hum in quiet satisfaction. He’s big. Just the tip of him makes you shiver.

You pull away and reach for the waistband of his pants, slung low on his hips already, and pull it slowly down. Take your time watching as his smooth skin is revealed, the patch of thick, dark hair at the base of him, and then the length of his cock. Just enough that he comes over the top of his waistband. Stare at it, slack jawed and nervous. Eager. Your mouth watering. He is big, bigger than you had realised. You hear the slap of skin against the pod and look up. Ezra has braced his elbow and forearm against the low roof and is leaning towards you, seeking your mouth.

You grant it to him. Lick the slit at the tip of his dick and then around it. Make sure you look into his eyes when you open your mouth and suck him in. Pause while you work your jaw to accommodate for his thickness and test the heavy weight of him against your tongue, taste him. Feel against him and massage your tongue against the shape of the prominent vein on the underside of his cock. He groans, stutters his hips forward into your mouth. You slacken your jaw as best you can, have to open your mouth so wide to fit him you can feel it stretch at the corner of your lips. You pull back, try to relax, take him back in again. Watch the way his head tilts back and the soft shape of his stomach heaves under his shirt. You lift your hand to work at his base, easing it up over the path of your mouth to spread the mixture of saliva and pre-cum down to his base. Bob your mouth over as much of him as you can, relish the feeling of his stuttering hips trying not to choke you. Trying to allow you to set the pace.

You move your hand from his thigh, up around to his ass, dig your fingers into the firm muscle hard. You push him forward from behind, force his hips forward and his cock deeper into your mouth, almost into your throat. More than is comfortable, but it makes you hot and aching, the feeling of the thick head of him pushing into you so hard you can barely breathe. You push again when you feel him try to fight another jerk of his hips, use your hand to show him you want him to fuck into you, still your head when he gives in to the feeling of it and groans. Lets his head all back and sinks himself into your mouth. His whole cock pulses hard and you moan, as loud as you can, to make him feel it. His hips hold in your mouth, almost too long, almost stops your breathing for too long. And then he pulls out and thrusts in again and again and again.

He’s cursing softly, using your mouth, his thrusts becoming stronger and deeper. Hitting the back of your throat. It brings tears to your eyes. He pulls out, rests just the head of his dick inside your lips and the sight of him, of his dick hanging just over the waistband of his pants and his thermal shirt covering him while you sit before him naked makes you thrill. You swallow him down, so far back it stings your eyes and makes you choke on him, sputter.

His knees half buckle and he yanks himself away. His dick falls from your mouth with a wet noise and a trail of saliva connecting you. He stares at it, swearing and panting until the string of fluid breaks. You whine, reach forward, try to pull him back again but he twists away.

He is breathless. Heaving. “I need… but a moment to collect myself.”

“I don’t want you to collect yourself.” You push yourself up onto both knees and sit on your ankles. Grip the clean sheets on either side of you. “I want you to fuck my throat. Please Ezra, please.”

His dick jumps again. Leaks a steady track of precum down the underside of its length and you moan again, twitch in your spot and mourn the loss of tasting it. Of the feel of it running down your throat. He closes his eyes and breathes, his fingers gripping against the ceiling so hard his hand turns white at the knuckles.

“I want to taste your cum, Ezra.” You blink up at him. Tears of frustration in your eyes.

You reach for him again and this time he catches both your hands in his. Yanks you from the bed with a yelp and pulls you to your feet. Turns you both and shoves you back, lands you on your own sullied sheets. Your bare ass bounces against the covers and you scramble backwards. Ezra is kicking out of his sweats and tugging off his shirt. Joins you on the bed. Bronzed skin exposed and dick hard and pink and pointed upwards. Shining with your saliva. You pussy begins to leak again.

“I want to cum down your throat, my beautiful Starlight,” he says, kneeling in front of you. “I want to fuck your throat until you cry and I want you to drink down everything I have to give you.” He grabs your ankle and yanks it towards him. You slide across the covers. “But first I want to cum inside your pretty little pussy. Is that okay?”

You nod. Nod so fast you dizzy yourself with it. He sits back onto his feet and yanks your ankle again, shoves your legs apart with his hand. Then his hand is on your clit. He is not soft or gentle this time. He pinches the bundle of nerves hard enough to make your cry out in shock. His hand leaves you, spans the width of your chest and forces your back to the bed. Then he is at your clit again, drawing harsh circles around it which make you scream. He doesn’t stop, not even when you can barely breathe, except to scoop your own juices from where they leak and smear them across your lips and clit. His finger is inside you, fucking you, and then back out. His hand disappears and you blubber, crying and humping your hips towards nothing at the loss.

The light slap against your clit makes you yelp. Makes you jerk your whole body in surprise, and then utter a low moan, feel the dribble of wetness down your slit and over his fingers.

“You have the prettiest pussy I have ever seen, Starlight.” Ezra grits. Sweat beading at his forehead and dripping around the curve of his brow. “I could watch your spasming little cunt clench around nothing all day. I could rub you like this and see how much your pretty pussy wants my dick in it. I could not give it to you, just make you lie here for hours and watch you and every time you almost come I could stop.” You are uttering fast, breathy little moans. Feel your pussy sputter and more wetness ooze from it. Your thighs jumping. He slaps your clit again, the sting much harder this time. You think if he doesn’t stop you will come again without having him inside you and the thought makes you want to scream. “You like this, don’t you? You like hearing me say what I wish to do to you. You like me spanking your cunt.”

“Please, Ezra.” You’re blubbering. Shaking. “Please, please, please!”

His hand lifts away from you again and you cry out. It comes back, but not between your legs. His hand is on your hip, holding you down. You start to push against him, start to whine.

“How long?” He asks. His voice almost conversational.

You’re panting too hard to answer him. Can’t figure out what he means. “H-how… how long w-what?”

His fingertips dig into your skin. “How long have you wanted me to fuck you?”

You groan. Leak. Can’t think, can’t form any words. Everything is bright and buzzing around you, your clit throbbing. And he wants – he wants – you toss your head to the side, screw your face up, try to think.

“S-since Arla-7,” you gasp. “Arla-7.”

He goes still. His hand turns to stone, pressing into you so hard. You sob, loud and needy. But he doesn’t move at all, just sits there. You turn your head back and open your eyes, have trouble seeing him through the tears caught in your lashes. He is not how you expect him to look. He is no longer harsh and snarling and telling you what to do. His face is soft. His hand moves from your hip to brush a tear from your cheek and then cradle your face. Tender and sweet.

“So long?” He whispers. “Arla-7 was – ”

“Nearly two years ago.”

He groans and then is crowding you into the mattress. Looms over you, his weight skewed, so he has to slide his arm beneath your head to keep himself balance. You feel the weight of his dick rest against your lower stomach. Let out a whimper. He rubs himself slowly along you, catches himself between your wet lips and drags his dick between you. You lift your hips to help, seek out the tip of him. Realise his arm is shaking in exertion. You drop back to the bunk.

“Would it – would it be easier if we swapped?”

He blinks down at you. Then nods and rolls onto his side and the back, over his good shoulder. Uses his arm behind your neck to pull you up off the bunk and with him. You swing up and gingerly sit yourself next to him. Loop your leg over his hips and balance your hands on his shoulders. For a moment there is a settling feeling, something softer and more peaceful works its way between you. Ezra lifts his arm and pushes your hair from your face and he smiles at you. One of his rare, small smiles. Like you are the centre of the galaxy. Makes you feel like maybe you actually are starlight. You smile back, press your lips to his wrist.

He drops his hand, grabs himself and you feel the blunt head of his cock push up against you. You moan, test your weight back and forward slightly and start to sink slowly. Feel the stretch of him inside you, so, so big. You sink lower and have to stop, feel your thighs shaking, your eyes fill with tears. Then lower again and you feel him at the back of your throat. You still, both hands on his shoulders, quaking at the effort of just having him inside you. The burn of the stretch doesn’t stop, and holding yourself up hurts too, so you lower again, couldn’t go any faster even if you tried, the friction of his dick against your walls so intense from the tightness of the fit. He’s murmuring to you, telling you to breathe, asking if you are okay. You keep sinking, feel a sob break your lips as you finally, finally cover him completely. Sit your thighs over his hips.

He’s holding your hip, his thumb drawing light circles against you. Still talking, still saying something. Your brain has blacked out, completely shut off.

Slowly you start to swivel your hips, gently rocking forward and back again. Feeling the burn turn slowly to something easier, something better. His words of concern turn into words of encouragement. You lift yourself off him just slightly and drop again. Feel his moan reverberate through his whole body. Feel his dick twitch inside you. You lift again, further this time and drop slowly, start to feel your toes curl again, start to ride him properly. He shifts beneath you, starts to match your strokes. Follows your pace with every thrust of his hips. Gentle at first and then faster. The wet sound of slapping skin fills the pod, drowns out the sounds of the rain outside. When you can finally open your eyes Ezra is staring between you at where his dick disappears inside you, brow furrowed, face red and damp with sweat. You groan and he grunts beneath you, tightens his grip on your hip and steadies you. Holds you still. He braces his feet against the bed and starts to thrust into you. Each hit jolts your body, you feel the slap of him under your thighs, against your ass. Bouncing your whole body at every impact, moans turn to sharp cries as he fills you, pumping into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pant with each thrust.

He’s out of breath. “Touch yourself.”

You do. You lean to one side so you can reach a hand between your bodies and rub at your clit. It makes you cry loudly and buck into your hand, back against his cock. He’s staring at your bouncing tits, down at his dick sinking into you. You rub vicious little circles around your clit so hard your arm is shaking.

“Where – ”

“I-in-inside me.” Your words break with every slap of his balls against your ass, sending you scooting forward on your knees. “Inside me. Please Ezra, please, safe – ”

He yanks your hips down over him, not humping anymore, almost vibrating. You watch him come undone beneath you. His jaw locks, neck bulges and tips back. Covered in sweat, slick with it. His chest heaving. You feel the hot pumping of his release inside you and tweak your clit, panting until you join him. Stars burst behind your eyes and you slump forward. Clenching so tightly around his dick you wonder how he fits. It only makes Ezra groan beneath you, surprisingly quiet when he comes. You slump into him.

You lay panting together, chests heaving and slipping, pressed against each other. His dick still inside you, your trembling thighs wrapped around his hips. You can’t think anything, except for his twitching length inside you, the last of his release mixing with yours and starting to swell at the place where you meet but trapped, because his cock fills you so completely that there is no room for anything else. You let your head fall into the crook of his neck, drop completely into him. Feel his arm slowly lift and wrap over your shoulders. Hug you into him while he tries to catch his breath. When you gain enough sense to think anything it is that you must be in heaven with him. He is hot and alive beneath you. And in love with you. You sniffle and kiss his collarbone, hug your arms around him as best you can.

You must lie there for some time because you feel the sweat dry and cooling against your skin and Ezra tugs the meagre blanket over you both. You are boneless against him, happy at the feel of his warmth trapped beneath you and inside you. He tries to shift, and you feel him start to slide out of you. You tighten your thighs around his hips and squeeze your cunt around him with as much force as you can muster. He groans and stills. Hot breath fanning against your cheek.

“Stay,” you whisper. Face burning hot with embarrassment at this request. At admitting how good he feels, soft inside you. “Just for a little while.”

He hums and stills. Drops his hand to your hips and pushes you down further into his crotch. Lifts his hips a little to sheath himself inside you to the hilt. You groan into his neck.

“Who am I to deny you anything,” he says into your temple.

“Was – ”

He waits, and when you don’t continue. “Was what?”

“Was it…” You squirm, and still when you both groan at the feeling of your releases trickle out of you and trail down his dick and over his balls. You still before anymore can escape, red at how much you resent any of it leaving you. You suck in a deep breath. “Was it as good as you imagined it?”

“Better, Starlight. Better.” He brushes hair back over your shoulder, lets his hand linger on the skin and trace the length of your spine. You feel his smile when your skin lifts into goosebumps beneath his fingertips. “No phantom conjuring in my mind will ever compete with you.”

Your eyes well with tears and you are as usual left without words. So unlike Ezra. So you show him in your own way. You turn your head to press a kiss to the thick column of his throat. A chaste one first, and then open your mouth and breathe over the spot. Press another wet kiss to the same spot. You feel his dick, still inside you, jump.

“You are truly fortuitous we have made our fortunes worth on those aquatic gems.” His fingers trail further down your back. Lower. Ghost the bump at the base of your spine and lower still. Almost, almost touching. Glimpsing against the top of the crack of your ass and then retreating. Tracing over the swell of it and back over your hip. His breath his hot against your hair. “I do not think I could be convinced by anything to leave you. I have two years of craving to account for, my Starlight.”

. 

Permanent tags: @btillys​ @vercopaanir​

[stark-strange-love2]

A Day at the Fair

My submission for the ironstrange fanfic challenge!

Prompt: 

Tony drags Stephen out on a date to the fair, despite Stephen insisting he doesn’t want to go. Tony spends the whole day trying to show Stephen how much fun it is until finally, Stephen breaks down and confesses the real reason he didn’t want to come today. 

Tags:

Omega Stephen Strange, Alpha Tony Stark, high school au

Tony grinned, practically vibrating with excitement as he rolled out of bed. Every year he and Stephen went to the fair, the closest thing their tiny town had to offer for fun. He grabbed his phone from his nightstand.

T: Heeeeeey Steph~

S: Tony? What is it?

T: Well I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to the fair this fine day, as per our usual tradition

Stephen took a few minutes to reply. Tony set down his phone, brushed his teeth, dressed, and sat down for breakfast. Stephen still hadn’t replied. Then, as he was pouring cereal, his phone dinged.

S: Idk. I’m not feeling up to it rn

T: Okay… do you wanna come over and hang out then? My parents are out of town… I could even sneak a bottle of wine for us

S: Eh… let’s just go to the fair.

Tony smiled.

T: Great! I’ll pick you up in an hour?

S: Sure

The fair was loud and hot and crowded. It reminded Tony of every fantastic summer with Stephen he could think of. Tony squeezed Stephen’s hand, but Stephen didn’t squeeze back.

“Hey, Steph, are you okay? You seem a little off-color.”

Stephen bit his lip.

“Just tired I guess. I have a bit of a headache.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Tony leaned up and kissed Stephen’s cheek, then down to his unmarked scent gland. “Maybe we can sit down near the back? Have some lunch? I have Asperin too if you need it. We can even go back home if you’d like. Anything for you,” Tony said.

Stephen smiled softly.

“Lunch sounds good.”

He finally squeezed Tony’s hand back.

“Ugh, don’t they have anything remotely healthy?” Stephen bitched, scrunching up his face at the third deep-fried Oreo stand they passed.

“Oh? Are you doing another vegan kick or something?”

Stephen shook his head, cheeks pink.

“Uh- no. No, just trying to eat a little healthier, that’s all.”

“Can you take a break for today?” Tony asked. God knew he wasn’t planning on eating well today.

“Well… I mean…” Stephen worried his lip between his teeth. “I’d just feel better if I ate healthily, that’s it.” He didn’t meet Tony’s eyes.

They finally found something reasonably healthy- chicken tenders and lemonade- and sat down at a table under a large tree. Somewhere in the background, a band was playing. Stephen picked at his food while Tony happily munched away.

“After this do you want to go on a ride?” tony asked.

Stephen shook his head.

“No rides.”

“Why? Are you still not feeling well?”

Stephen didn’t meet Tony’s eyes, electing instead to look off into the never-ending distance, hazy with the feeling of the fair, a haziness that stayed in Stephen’s mind and mulled like a roiling, humid cloud of every problem that had ever graced him. The heat clung to his skin. His stomach turned and he looked down, his arms folded over his abdomen. Tony could smell the scent of unhappy omega from across the table.

“Yeah. Not feeling great,” he lied.

Tony’s eyes were so warm and comforting that Stephen’s stomach couldn’t help but crawling higher into his throat and nestling there like some sort of weak and defenseless baby bird. Stephen’s cheeks were hot with shame.

“Are you sure that’s everything? Please tell me if something’s bothering you, Stephen. I love you. I want to help.”

Stephen’s stomach churned and he ran to the nearest trashcan and threw up. Tony leaped to his feet and rushed over but Stephen waved him away.

“Oh God- oh God Stephen!” Tony cried.

“I’m- I’m fine,” Stephen coughed. He wiped his mouth and downed his lemonade, popping a few breath mints into his mouth. He let out a low groan and took a deep breath.

“Jesus Stephen, let’s go home. You’re sick. You need to rest.” “No. You brought me here on a date. We’re staying.” The resolution in Stephen’s voice felt strong and clear and hard and unwavering, the same way a freshly poured asphalt highway stretches on and on and on until it dissolves into a dazzling mirage. Endless and resolute in a way that made Tony feel tiny in comparison.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Stephen ate his last chicken tender and tossed the tray.

“Maybe we can try at one of those fair games,” Stephen offered.

“Aren’t they all rigged?”

“Well that makes winning more impressive,” Stephen said with a grin.

Stephen took Tony’s hand and they walked through the fair before stopping at a booth: balloons and darts. Stephen bent over, looking at the booth. Then there was a loud whistle and a squeak from Stephen that had Tony’s alpha growling in his chest. Tony turned and snapped at the fuck boy alpha that currently had his hand on his omega’s ass. Stephen turned and slapped the guy’s hand away, face red and furious. His blue-green eyes burned like two twin stars hovering above the ocean horizon.

“Hey sweet-cheeks, what’s a pretty little omega like you doing with a boring alpha like him?” the guy said with a thousand-watt smile.

“Not interested.”

“Aw, come on baby, don’t be like that.”

“He said he’s not interested,” Tony growled.

The guy rolled his eyes.

“Fine, tightass.”

He stalked away and Stephen’s resolve broke. His entire body drooped and he sank into his seat, the smell of pure displeasure and unhappiness radiating from him like a morning fog over a valley. Tony sighed and pulled Stephen to his chest, holding him tight.

“Fuck Stephen- I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Stephen mumbled.

But there was a flat sort of grey hanging in his eyes and Tony knew it wasn’t okay, but he also knew there was nothing he could ever do. Tony held him close, whispering gentle things into Stephen’s ears.

“Hey, I saw what happened.” Tony looked up to see the carnival stand girl looking apologetic at the two of them. “I don’t know if this would make you feel better, but would you like to play a few rounds for free? It’s on the house.”

Tony smiled and looked to Stephen.

“Does that sound fun?”

Stephen shrugged, laying his chin on the counter.

“You play. I’ll watch.”

Tony nodded, a plan in mind. He missed the first shot but nailed the next four. Then he aimed for the bright yellow balloon titled ‘10,000 points.’ It was tiny, underinflated, and unlikely to pop from elasticity tension. Tony ran a few trajectory equations through his head, nibbling at his lip. He had two darts left. Gravity was his best bet, if he could arc the dart so it landed into the balloon, he might stand a chance. All the other balloons were one point, and by now, he could maybe get Stephen one of those cute little teddy bears, but he wanted to get Stephen something bigger. Like that giant fluffy round hamster plushy the size of Tony’s body.

The first dart missed, bouncing off the board and falling to the ground. Tony took a deep breath and tossed the last dart in a high arc, watching as it fell and fell and fell and gained velocity until it popped the yellow balloon with a loud snap.

Stephen grinned and clapped and Tony did a little dance. The girl grinned.

“Congratulations! What prize would you like?”

Tony grinned and pointed up at the massive hamster. The girl pulled down the hamster and passed it to Tony who promptly passed it to Stephen.

“Hey, I know today hasn’t been great, but I’m really glad I got to spend time with you today. You never fail to make me happy, even when the whole world feels bad, and I want you to know I want to be there for you, on all the good days and bad.”

Stephen looked at the hamster, then back at Tony. He sniffled and broke down in tears.

“Oh God- Stephen? Was it something I said? Are you okay? Oh God, I’m so sorry!” Tony stammered.

Stephen whimpered, tears pouring down his face. Then he turned and ran, the hamster in his arms as he wove through the crowd and through carnival stands. Tony stared after him, heart sinking. He stood there for a second before taking off after Stephen.

It took him twenty minutes to find Stephen in one of the animal shows, surrounded by cages of fluffy baby bunnies. He was crying silently into the hamster, squeezed tight in his arms. Tony knelt beside him.

“Stephen?” His voice was soft. Something was very wrong. “Please… please just tell me what’s wrong. I want to help you.”

Stephen looked away. His chest was so full of lead he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He felt heavy and dense, like an ancient tree rooted to the ground, bark worn by the elements but still there. Unmoving. Unable to move.

“Please.”

Stephen let out a choked whimper.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to tell you.” His voice was cracking and frail. So weak. But it was the truth.

“That’s okay. I just want to make sure you’re safe… are you safe?” Tony asked, taking Stephen’s hands in his.

Stephen nodded.

“It’s just… I don’t know.” Stephen hung his head.

“It’s okay not to know,” Tony whispered. “Do you want to go home now?”

Stephen shook his head.

“I want to ride the Ferris Wheel. Like we do every year.”

Tony smiled softly and hugged Stephen, staying there for a second, the way a curling vine of ivy finds comfort in cracked bark, grey with exhaustion. They stayed there for a bit, nestled amongst the animal cages and beneath the flair of the crowded festival like the world was fog and they were the grass, rooted in place.

Stephen moved first, reaching up and pulling himself to his feet and then reaching for Tony to help him up.

“You know, you’re the best alpha I could have ever wished for,” Stephen said with a small, bittersweet smile.

“Well… I couldn’t have asked for anyone better to fall in love with,” Tony responded.

“Do you promise you’ll always be with me? Through everything?” Stephen asked, squeezing Tony’s hand.

“Of course. I love you, Stephen. And nothing can ever make me stop.”

Tony leaned up and kissed Stephen softly, sweetly. Stephen let his eyes drift closed and he savored every single saccharine second.

They found the Ferris Wheel easily. It was the center of the fair, after all. And one long line later they were sitting in a car going up and up and up. Stephen fidgeted quietly. It was funny how the second all you needed was time it seemed to twist and turn and go faster and faster so blindingly fast you can barely even remembered what you prepared to say. When the carriage got halfway up its arc Stephen bit his lip, letting out a little, tightly-wound sigh.

“Tony… I need to tell you what’s wrong. I’ve been avoiding it all day, but… I just wanted one last good day with you before it all changed.” Stephen looked over the edge of the carriage and let out a dry chuckle. “Although I suppose I ruined my chance at that, too.”

“What- what are you talking about?” Tony’s voice was on edge.

“I-I’m pregnant.”

Stephen stared at Tony full-on. He kept searching for something other than shock but it was like combing a beach for something that just wasn’t there. Stephen’s hands started to shake.

“T-Tony? Please say something.”

Stephen’s voice sounded so small. He felt so small.

“Am I- Am I the dad?” Tony finally asked.

Anger flared deep in Stephen’s gut and for a moment he wanted to slap Tony off of the stupid Ferris Wheel.

“Of course you’re the father!” Stephen snapped. “You fucking idiot- you really think I’m screwing a dozen alphas behind your back?”

His scent soured and he turned away, glaring. Tony stayed quiet.

“Whatever. You probably want to break up with me now anyways. Just do it. I don’t want to have you pretend to care about this. I’ll just… forget about my full-ride to Columbia. I doubt my parents will even let me go. They want me to stay on the farm and become a good obedient little housespouse omega.” Stephen let out an involuntary whimper. Tears were pouring down his cheeks and he hugged himself. “I thought I was going to be happy… I thought I was going to have a future, but I- I don’t know anymore!”

The whole world felt like it was collapsing, folding in an compressing into one invincible singularity stuck in Stephen’s windpipe. Everything was spinning and hot and his head hurt so so much… Stephen closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands, sobbing.

Then, Tony gently wrapped his arms around Stephen, pulling the crying omega to his chest.

“Shh… it’s okay. I’m sorry, I just… I’m a father…” A small smile appeared on Tony’s face. “I couldn’t believe it. But Stephen, whatever you choose to do, this is your choice, and I will back you up 1,000%. I love you, and I meant it when I said I would stay with you no matter what. I know how much medical school means to you, and I swear that I can help you take care of our child so you can study if you choose to keep it. You don’t need to give up your dream, your dream can always stay. If you choose not to keep it, then I’ll be there for you too. No matter what you choose, we’re in this together.”

Stephen let his hands fall away from his face and his head plop on Tony’s shoulder. He was still crying and shaking, but this time from happiness. Tony wasn’t leaving him. He wasn’t going to be stuck alone on a farm his whole life. He would be okay. They would be okay.

He turned and tackled Tony in a hug, enough to rattle their cart. Tony laughed and held them as they reached the top of the Ferris Wheel, watching as the sun set over the fair and the town and everything surrounding it and turned it all to gold.