#drives himself half mad about a different woman

[lacnunga]

Putting hornblower under a glass to study him putting hornblower under a glass to study him putting hornblower under a glass to study him putting hornblower under a glass to

[the-fiction-witch]

Discussing The Matter

Media - Game Of Thrones Character - Viserys Targaryen Couple - Viserys X Reader Reader - (OC) Visenya Targaryen (Twin sister of Viserys) Rating - Smut (Incest) Word Count - 3008

Visenya made her way through Illrio’s large impressive palace in her loose blue gown in the typical pentos style. She matched into viserys chambers seeing his books and weapons lining the place, his large circle marble bath in the centre where he currently sat being attended by maids,

"Go." She demanded and the maids and staff cleared out leaving them alone,

Viserys looked at her, admiring her, she looked like an actual goddess to him. "What a commanding tone, you come into my chambers uninvited and demand my servants to leave?"

"Just because you have a cock! Does not entitle you to make all the decisions regarding our family viserys!" she said as she came over and stood at the steps of his tub meaning he couldn't get out until she was done talking to him

“Did you come all the way here to discuss my cock? or is there a different reason, my sweet sister?"

"viserys. I'm serious." She complained, "You can't really allow illrio to make this match for Dany. The Dothraki are cruel, their Karls take multiple wives, slaves, butchers and bastards to their women!"

Viserys rolled his eyes and leaned back against the bath, his gaze drifting towards the ceiling, "Oh, come on, do you really expect me to care about Dany? She's already a woman flowered, it's time she started fulfilling her duties as a woman."

"... And what of me? I am a woman flowered why did you not sell me?"

Viserys' gaze snapped back to her, his eyes searching her face in disbelief, a hint of anger in his voice as he answered. "You are my twin, my other half, my equal. I would never trade you away to some stinking barbarian."

"Dany is our baby sister. Is she not of your care too?" She said as she slowly stepped up the steps and into his bath with him, crawling over to sit in his lap her dress immediately soaking,

Viserys' breath hitches as his sister straddles him, his hands resting on her hips instinctively and pulling her closer to him in the bathtub. He looks up at her, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and desire, as he speaks, his voice coming out as a hoarse whisper. "You know I would never do anything to hurt you, but that doesn't apply to Daenerys. She might be our sister, but she's still just a woman. Her role is to obey us and bear heirs."

"I am a woman," she whispered against his lips,

His eyes darkened with lust, and a low growl rumbled in his throat as she spoke. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer, his hands sliding up underneath her wet gown to caress the bare skin of her back. "You are the exception."

"am I? I am older. I am ... Arguably more desirable. Dany is a child. And you sell her away, surely illrio has asked you as... The one with the cock. To make arrangements to send me away" she explained playing with running her fingers on his face and hair, as she shifts her hips on him

A sharp intake of breath escaped him as her hips moved against his, his grip on her waist tightening as he tries to keep himself from losing control. His eyes darkened even further, the desire burning inside him making it hard to think straight, the thought of losing her to a stranger, painful to imagine. "He suggested it, yes, but I refused. You're mine, always mine, I'd rather die than let another man have you."

"even if you got your army for me," she cooed moving her hips more knowing she can force his answers out of him

A low, primal moan slipped from his lips as her movements continued to drive him mad with desire, his own hips bucking against her involuntarily, his hands sliding down to her thighs, holding her in place. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his words coming out as a hoarse whisper. "I would burn every kingdom from Qarth to Asshai to the ground before letting another man touch you, to hell with my army."

"but she is sellable? Your own sister?"

His expression hardened, his lust momentarily forgotten as reminders of the current argument returned to his mind. He pulled back, looking at her with a mixture of anger and resignation. "She is. She is younger, more innocent, still pure. She can give me alliances and armies. What can I possibly gain from you?"

she glared and went to move off him

he caught her hips and slammed her down on his lap, the water of the tub sloshing around them. His grip was firm, not letting her move away from him. "Don't you dare. You came into my bathtub and straddled me, you're not going anywhere without me finishing what you started."

"you know what you would gain from me. An army, your crown. More allies in this world. You have two sisters both of which you can sell off and still be open to marry across the sea when you are king."

His hands on her hips held her firmly against him, forcing her to feel the hard length of him, his chest heaving as his breathing quickened. He moved his face closer to hers, their lips just barely touching as he spoke. "Why do you think I want an army or a crown when I have you, hmm? You're worth more to me than all the gold and armies in this world. I don't care about marriages or alliances, I just want you, only you, always and forever."

she turned her face away so he couldn't kiss her "This is cruel to her viserys."

His fingers dug into her waist, his voice coming out as a hoarse growl, frustration and desire mixing in his tone. "Why do you care so much about what happens to Dany? You're mine. You belong to me and I belong to you. She has to do her duty, even if it means offering her body and fertility to a barbarian. Why can't you just accept that?"

"... We ... Are not a possibility"

His grip on her tightened, his eyes narrowing as he watched her, a mixture of anger and hurt in his expression. "And why not? We're both Targaryen, I want you, you want me, we should be perfect together. So why can't we be a possibility?"

"we are siblings." She reminds

Viserys' jaw clenched, his breathing growing ragged. He knew she was right, but that didn't make it hurt any less. "I don't care. I don't care if it's a sin, if the Seven disapprove, if the Gods themselves send lightning to strike us down. All I know is that you drive me mad, that I want you, burn for you, need you more than anything in this world. And you cannot deny that you feel the same."

"targaryen wed brother to sister for thousands of years... But that time is over. No land would allow us to be as we wish."

His hands on her hips trembled as he struggled to hold himself back, his heart aching with frustration and unfulfilled desire. "Who cares what other lands allow, why should we care what the rest of the world thinks? We are Targaryens, dragonsblood coursing through our veins, we are above those pathetic mortals and their pitiful little rules. Why can't we just forget about the world and be together, you and me?"

she sighed and shifted her hips again "We aren't done discussing the matter"

He groaned as her hips moved against him again, his body responding to her unconsciously. He tried to focus on the conversation, but all he could think about was the fact she was on top of him, her body pressed against his, her breath on his face. He took a deep breath and tried to collect himself, his voice coming out as a hoarse whisper. "What further is there to discuss, my sweet sister?"

"when she is married, what will happen to us? She will be forced away with the dothraki as a breeding slave... And us? Are we to remain guests of illiro forever, worried always he is to sell us too?" She got faster

Viserys closed his eyes, fighting the wave of pleasure that washed over him as she picked up her pace, his hands on her hips now almost digging into her skin. His mind was struggling to focus, and he had to take another deep breath before responding, his voice coming out strained and hoarse. "No... I won't let that happen. I'm building an army, we will get our home back. I will be king, and you will be..." he trailed off, his breath catching in his throat as he let the fantasy play out in his mind. He stopped talking, his imagination conjuring up a vision of himself on the Iron Throne, with her sitting on a throne next to him. Him claiming her as his in front of the Seven Kingdoms and no one being able to protest their union. It was a tantalizing, seductive idea, one that made his heart hammer furiously in his chest, and the words spilled from his lips in a reverent whisper. "You will be my Queen."

"as tempting as that is. Where are we to live in the mean time? Here withilliro? With Dany and her horse lord slavers? Or go homeless while you build this army" she whispered against his lips as she moved her hands pulling her dress a little,

Her words broke into his fantasy, but the sight of her nearly naked body straddling him left him too distracted to think about the specifics of their situation. His hands roamed her body, roaming up her thighs, his fingers gripping her hips, his eyes drifting from her face to her chest. "We will stay here, for now. I need time to plan, to gather allies. We'll have to be patient, I'm afraid, my sweet sister."

"and If illrio betrays us?" She moved back down slowly gasping and softly moaning as she moved down his shaft,

Viserys gritted his teeth, his grasp on her tightening as he tried to focus on anything but the pleasure building within him. However, the sight of her sliding down his body, her breaths and noises adding fuel to the fire burning within him, made it near impossible to think straight. His voice came out as a hoarse whisper. "He won't. We need him, and he needs us. He knows that."

she grunted as she finally reached his hilt, "...does he?"

Viserys' breath hitched at the feel of her pressing against him, his eyes darkening with desire as his fingers dug into her hips, his head tipping back as he struggled to keep the last bit of his control. He spoke through gritted teeth, the words coming out as a primal growl. "He does. He better, otherwise he's a dead man."

"... The seven kingdoms will not be thrilled, of a set of twins as long and queen" she spoke as she nibbled his neck and began to ride

Viserys' head lolled back as she moved against him, his eyes closing as his body reacted to her touches and the feel of her mouth on his neck. He fought to keep his voice steady, his words coming out as a ragged whisper, his hands on her hips moving her faster against him, his own hips involuntarily bucking up to meet hers, his body on fire from the feel of her. "The Seven Kingdoms can go to hell, they have no say in what we do." His words dissolved into a deep growl, all sense and reason abandoned in the onslaught of pleasure and need. All he could think about was her, her body, her skin, her gasps and the way she rode him, driving him mad with desire. He moved his hands to her thighs, gripping them tightly, wanting to hold her in place and never let go. "I need you. Now."

she nodded and got faster riding at a decent pace the water moving around them

Viserys groaned deeply, the sound coming from deep within his chest. His hands on her thighs slid up to her hips, helping her move faster against him, his own body meeting hers with a need that bordered on primal. He tried to speak, but all coherent thought had left him, leaving only desire and need. "Gods, yes, keep going, don't stop." His lips found hers in a desperate, hungry kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth, exploring and tasting her as his hands on her hips pulled her closer, desperate to feel more of her, his body pressed against hers. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he panted, the pleasure building and building, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. "You're driving me insane, sweet sister."

her hand trailed Into his hair during the kiss, her hips moving on their own mindlessly searching for pleasure

He groaned as her hand threaded through his hair, the feeling sending jolts of pleasure down his spine, adding to the unbearable ecstasy building inside him. His tongue tangled with hers, his hands on her hips guiding her movements, his own body reacting to her, his hips meeting hers in a frantic, desperate rhythm. "So close... don't stop, don't stop, please..."

she screamed biting his shoulder as she reached her orgasm her body trembling and freezing up clenching around him,

He cursed under his breath as her body shuddered and clenched around him, the sensation of her climaxing driving him over the edge as well, his own release crashing through him in a wave of ecstasy. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, a guttural, primal moan escaping him as he held her tight, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm. "Sweet sister... gods, you drive me mad with desire."

she gasped her head laying against his bare chest "We... We can't keep doing this..."

His hold on her hips loosened, his hands moving up to her waist, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her skin. His body was still thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure, but her words sunk in, and he forced himself to be serious. "Why not? We both want it, we both need it."

"and what happens when my belly grows heavy?" She asked against his lips

His lips brushed against hers, his tongue darting out to taste her skin, his thoughts and feelings swirling within him. The mention of her belly rounding and growing was an image that caused his heart to clench in his chest, a mix of desire and tenderness stirring within him. "Then we will deal with it, together. And when your belly is heavy, I will worship you, my sweet sister, and I will kiss every inch of your body."

she chuckled "Would you sell our baby away for more army, as you do for Dany?"

He froze at her words, a stab of guilt and shame going through him at the thought, at the comparison. He held her tight, his fingers digging into her skin as he tried to form a response. "No, never. Our child would never be sold or bartered, I swear it. I would sooner sell my own soul than let anything or anyone harm a hair on our child's head."

"but our sister?"

He sighed, his heart heavy with guilt and regret at the mention of Daenerys. The reality of their situation weighed heavily on him, and he knew he couldn't deny the truth. "I had no choice," he murmured, his voice laced with pain and regret. "I need alliances and armies to take back my throne. I cannot do it on my own. If it means selling her off, then so be it."

"then why not me?"

His eyes darkened, and his jaw clenched at her words. The thought of selling her off, of giving her away to another man, sent a surge of anger and possessiveness through him. "Because you're different," he growled, his grip on her hips tightening. "You're mine, my sweet sister, and nobody else's. The mere thought of another man touching you, looking at you, claiming you... it drives me mad with rage." He pulled back slightly, meeting her gaze with an intensity that spoke of the depth of his feelings for her. He spoke in a low, hoarse voice, his eyes burning with a mixture of desire and determination. "You're mine, sweet sister, and I'll burn the entire world to the ground before I let anyone take you from me. You're mine to worship, to cherish, to protect. You will never be sold or bartered like a piece of property. You will be my queen, by my side, and none will dare question our union."

She nodded and laid on his chest with a slight sigh

He held her close, his arms wrapped around her tight, his fingers tracing gentle circles on her bare back. He took a deep, steadying breath, the feel of her on his chest bringing him a strange sense of comfort and peace. He spoke quietly, his voice soft and vulnerable. "I mean it, sweet sister. You're the most important thing in this world to me. I'd give up my throne, my crown, everything, just to keep you by my side. I love you."

"I love you too, I just worry for her is all. I worry for all of us." She says

He nodded, his expression somber as he thought of their sister. The weight of responsibility and worry weighed heavily on his shoulders. "I know, sweet sister, and I share your worries. I wish there was an easier path for us, a way to take back the Iron Throne without selling Dany off like cattle. But I see no other way. I need an army, and alliances, and I need them now."

she nodded pulling him into a kiss

He responded to her kiss, his lips moving against hers hungrily. His hands roamed her body, his touch desperate and possessive, as if he couldn't get close enough to her. He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged and his voice ragged. "I need you, sweet sister. I need you now."

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Lazarus (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 2)

"According to tradition, Lazarus never smiled during the thirty years after his resurrection, worried by the sight of unredeemed souls he had seen during his stay in Hell..."

Word count: 5.7 k

Tags and warnings: Angst, fluff, soft smut 🔞. Slightly possessive!Ghost. Graphic depictions of past suicidal thoughts. Dating, kissing, cuddlefucks, emotions (the most daunting cw there is). Unfettered prose about a grown man's complex trauma. Reader is female and works as a medic at the base. Ghost POV.

Summary: You've just started dating Ghost. (This is a standalone sequel to Refugee)

She tastes round and sweet after the tang of blood and smoke and metal of the field. She feels like warm cascading water after the bleak, dead weight of a gun that leaves his hands throbbing with recoil. Her skin returns the memory of Paradise until it overrides everything else.

She's a soft blooming to the senses.

And his have been blown wide, torn apart, shot full of noise. There's an amputated, burnt stump where there should be a limb and some soft skin. But still, a blast that burns flesh from bones is not that different from her soft whisper that has the power to level him like a nuclear wind.

. . .

They're some kind of a secret, although he doesn't know why exactly.

Perhaps because she knows enough by now. She knows he's a dead man.

A ghost.

And women like her don't date apparitions. They deserve more than just bones and a haunting: they deserve flesh and blood and solid ground. She deserves far more than promises he has no power or right to give.

He has no mandate for life. His is a half-life, and stolen; he's living on borrowed time.

She doesn't only protect his phantom, she shields herself from talk and rumors. It's only understandable. He takes everything she gives him, which is more than he deserves.

He fucks her to ruin on the conference table people share in the meetings. He makes her leak all over his desk during quiet afternoon hours of his office; he makes her come on his tongue in the fucking hangar after a long day, just to get the taste of dry desert sand off his mouth.

She stops complaining about propriety after that. After all, she's the one who came there on his call and allowed him to rip her pants down when there was only settling dust to accompany them in the quiet hall.

It doesn't take long to see that the woman's not actually complaining at all. She fucking loves it when he barges in and simply takes her.

And he buries himself inside her like she's the base. His home after a mission, his destined location after deployment. She lets him fuck her practically anywhere except on the floor.

That's his place. And he has no problem with lying down there in the filth, especially if it means he gets to watch how she sits on his cock until that pretty little face distorts with pleasure that looks like pain.

His field pants and navy blues have cum stains after his visits while she cleans herself up in no time, fixes her hair and looks as innocent as ever. His mask smells of cunt when he's trying to concentrate on missions, and the scent of her juice makes him hard while he's supposed to be instilling brass into bodies. He smokes cigarettes just to drive the maddening taste of her from his tongue.

He's gonna get killed one of these days. The irony doesn't escape him: it's not a bullet or a grenade that will take him, but that sweet, hazy memory of her cunt.

She's an obsession. He injects himself full of her like the most pathetic addict.

Until one day, she says it can't continue like this. That it won't do to rut like animals until the smell of mad sex coats the room she's supposed to stitch and staple people in.

It causes a small panic till she asks him to visit her.

In her home.

It sounds serious: it sounds like she wants more than just his cock. And he's fucking terrified.

Women think about whether to wear this dress or that on a date: he thinks about whether to put on the mask or not – he meditates on it for two whole hours. Everything else is clean and in order; he looks like a human and not a soldier. But he can't rid himself of the skeleton.

There's a storm coming when he reaches her place. It electrifies the air until his spine is full of thunder.

She seems surprised – happily so – when she finds him at the door, decent as can be. He gets one of those innocent smiles which are pure sin beneath.

"You came."

"Sure."

She doesn't ask why he's always wearing a mask. She takes what he has to give, which is his all, which he fears will never be enough.

"There's food–"

She lets out a delightful little noise when he picks her up and carries her to what looks like the biggest and softest bed he has ever laid a woman on, ever laid himself on.

So, she likes luxury. Or at least, comfort.

Softness. Hugs… Support.

And kisses, apparently, because his mask is lifted without permission. Not that she needs one.

"Simon, I made you some dinner," she laughs in his mouth, and he's smiling – she's the only one who makes him fucking smile.

"Later," he rasps with a sore throat – he has become soft, too, and it's her fault. He has barked orders all day, but with her, his voice always comes out quiet and calm.

Where her domain at work consists of harsh lights and sterile frigidity, her home is dark and warm like a womb. His senses are filled with lemon and thyme – she has made something he's never tried before, something… Mediterranean, perhaps. A culinary ambrosia for someone who has lived on dog food and tried to thrive on it.

It's a pity that he's a barbarian, and here for dessert. As much as he likes the dainty little thing she has put on just for him, it's not cunning enough to stop him from ripping it to shreds.

She protests at first with a posh little gasp, but then she spreads her legs like it's open season and he's the VIP customer. The laced, pathetic little thing lays in wreckage around all that softness creaming just for him, and his mouth shoots full of water.

The feel of her is better than sinking a knife between two ribs. She's velvet on his scar and coarse stubble and for the first time in his life, he curses the mask. She moans all around him, tries to grab him by the hair still under the black fabric.

And it makes him want to rip it off and let her yank and tug to her heart's content, grab his hair and push his face as deep inside her cunt as it goes.

He tries to fit inside her apartment, a serene space filled with scented candles and clean carpets and frilly little curtains that shift in the restless night wind.

He tries to fit inside her.

The attempt always makes her moan and tremble and sigh. It's hard to focus on the task at hand when he wants to freeze the moment to where her lashes flutter and she stops breathing for a second – when she takes him in with grace and hunger.

"Oh fuck…"

She swears this time, watches with helplessness and an open mouth as his cock slowly disappears inside her. Then she looks up at him like…

Like she's missed him.

"You're a brute," she whispers, eyes shining.

"Thought you liked brutes."

"I made you dinner and you…Ah…"

He arrives home, heavy and loaded with yearning.

First things first.

It has been a week, and there's been no time to relieve the pain, nowhere to go and wank off the sickness that festers inside him every second they're apart. And she's the only one who can cure his disease. But he does feel like a brute for not letting her feed him. When was the last time anyone made him anything?

The sea is booming now, roaring behind the window she has left open. This time, they're not fucking at the base, in some corner of a room with a lock hurriedly latched on. He's fucking her amidst doused lights and a seaside breeze that enters their skin through an open window. He's at the beach, even when there's no sun. The sands are even more stunning with a gathering storm.

He fucks her like a dog, and she looks at him with weak love in her eyes. She's looking up at him with those big, wet eyes like he's the best leader there is - like she's counting on him. Like the people under his command, those who ask for his advice, ask for the next move.

It drives him fucking insane.

It's even better than a good round of sex: that unbound look of adoration. His mask is a poor shield against all that. She slips past it like she's the expert in clandestine warfare here. And suddenly he doesn't want any more secrets. There's a ton of them already; he carries the weight of them in his soul.

He's an underdog, always has been, but he's also a hound for claiming her as his that night.

After he's done fucking her to oblivion, he descends. She comes alive like a jolt of lighting in his arms as he kisses her, then sucks the tender skin of her neck. Everyone's going to see it, he makes sure of that by using the tiniest amount of teeth to finally mark her. She moans an equal amount as she does when she's clenching around his cock.

"Did you just give me a hickey?" She asks, breathless when he's done.

"High time, don't you think," he mutters. The woman will look glorious on the beach and highly improper at work.

Lie down with dogs, get up with fleas…

"You're unbelievable." She only laughs at his obsession. The woman’s not afraid at all, even when she’s face to face with a monster. The sunshine of her smile pairs well with the crackle of thunder outside.

"You want a beer?"

He's too drugged to answer with nothing else than a surprised, drowsy blink. She laughs again and takes it as a yes, which it is. He stares in awe as the woman walks to the fridge, all naked and lax from his treatment, takes out a bottle, opens it, and brings it to him. She takes none for herself; she only serves him like he's some kind of a king. When he takes a sip, she smiles again: lighting flashes somewhere in the distance and gives her an aureole of light, a halo of an angel for a second.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." The wink she gives him makes it perfectly clear that she wouldn't mind him joining her. But as she goes by the mirror, the vision of his claim stops her.

"Simon…"

He gets a scolding, and it only makes the corner of his mouth tug.

"No concealer is going to cover this."

"That's the point," he takes another sip while lying on her too-soft bed. She shakes her head before walking to the shower. The eye of the storm is above him, and everything's silent, like he's lounging on a dream.

The bottle in his hand sweats cold condense in his hand, and like always with her, he finds himself in the present moment. He drinks the beer in less than ten seconds, then takes the mask off and leaves it somewhere among the sweat and cum stained sheets.

It's the first time she has seen him without the shield, the first time she sees his body in full light. Every protrusion of white scar, every part of uneven skin, every marring of two and three stage burns is visible as if he is on a well-lit stage.

"Well. Pleased to meet you."

The smile that greets him, the veil of surprise that draws aside to reveal pure delight and marvel is more than worth the risk. She's frozen in time with a bottle of shower gel in her hands, too preoccupied with the trust he has decided to arm her with. She now has power over him, but he proceeds to do what he came here to do. Which is to make her sing a second time.

"For what do I owe this pleasure–"

The bottle falls on the tiles with a soft plunk as he steps between her legs and lifts her against the wall.

On that, she doesn't only kiss him; she takes the scar of his lip between hers and sucks. The warm water is nothing compared to her hands which sweep up and down his back and release years and years of tension. She whines when he only gives her shallow thrusts, then tries to claw his back to get more of his cock. It makes him chuckle.

"Needy," he comments on such delightful hunger, and she lets out the most annoyed, frustrated noise he has ever heard on her.

"Stop teasing, Riley…"

She tends to use his last name when she's fed up with him. It's supposed to create distance, but it only makes him latch himself onto her more fiercely.

He could torture her, delve deep, dig out even more frustrated sounds from her, but that's a quest for another time. He grants her wish along with his own and slides fully in. She kisses him through the whole fucking, and he feels like he's in boiling water, cooking until the raw meat grows tender and prepared.

And he realizes he's not actually fucking her: he's making love to her. He didn't even know he could do that.

When they've had their fill, the water takes away his gift. It feels wrong that something meant to be inside her leaks down some filthy drain. It's like a testimony, an illustration of his whole life: that his essence, his worth, belong in the sewers.

"You're a beautiful man," she whispers on his skin while caressing his back filled with past torture. His stomach churns, he feels like throwing up and falling asleep at the same time. An odd sensation.

She holds his mutilated corpse under the descending water and breathes life into him. The vomit never comes. He exhales history on her skin, inhales some peace in its stead.

In the morning the sound of thunder has been replaced by myriad birdsong.

. . .

He never meant to bring her here, but the wind on the beach is too harsh today and she's cold. It would be ungentlemanly not to get her a jacket from his apartment when it's only a few hundred meters away.

"To say that this place needs a woman's touch would be an understatement, Riley."

There's little else here but a tv and a fridge. He doesn't need either of them, but they're there to remind him what a home should look like. She takes the deafening silence and barren wasteland well, far better than he ever imagined she would.

"Y'can touch anything you want."

She turns and raises an eyebrow – he already knows that look. He's in for it now.

"Smooth... Very smooth." She walks to him and pushes him to the armchair. Not with force, because she doesn't need it. He falls to the sagged old thing like it's suddenly cloud nine rather than his old deathbed.

He waits for her to climb onto his lap and ride him until the chair breaks under the weight of their love. He could use a new chair anyway.

But she doesn't do that.

She gives her what this place has been missing.

A woman's touch.

Her mouth is hot as hell, wet like the gulfs that used to drown men in the sea centuries ago. She's a siren with her songs, but this time, she's quiet.

The room is not: the deathlike silence is suddenly filled with wet urgency and sloppy sounds of adoration. All his hauntings recede to the shadows like the blowjob is a whole exorcism.

His head falls back, and the first charred moan coats the air like it's been entombed for decades. And it has.

She is encouraged by the sound, and the tongue that sweeps the underside of his cock sends him jolting from his shallow grave.

Jesus fuckin'–

"Fuck…" He tries to blink back tears or death while looking at the crumbling paint on the ceiling. He feels equally worn out on her tongue: old and a lot of work, but a woman's touch is like magic.

"Mm–h." She dares to moan on his cock as if it's the best thing she's had in her mouth in decades, too. She even brushes her fingertips over his balls like they're some newfound treasure. They pull taut under her touch, stupefied by the sudden attention.

He can feel the upcoming blaze. It gathers at the base of his spine, his cock is brick-heavy in her mouth, and she won't stop – fuck, she goes even deeper…

"Fuckin' hell, pet…"

His thighs bunch and spread, a scorching groan erupts like he's a volcano and not a man. That's when she gives his cock a long, torturing suck, and he's gone, there’s no time and space other than her hot velvet mouth that surrounds him like the hot core of a star.

She adds a hand at the base of him, and he explodes so hard that he barely has brain cells left to worry about whether she will choke on it. But she doesn't even gag, even if the first spurts must be more than generous.

Fuck, this woman…

He melts in the chair while she finishes the rest of him, takes all he has to give, like she always does. They're an odd pair: an angel and a demon, and he feels like he's finally saved, resurrected – this room, this chair has never seen anything like this.

It's different with her, the emptiness that comes after. It's not filled with grief but deliverance.

He wants her to know what she’s just done, but he knows the things he's good at, and he knows the things he's not. Words are one of those things. She moans and begs and shatters and swells in his arms, she takes on a volcano and resurrects corpses long since dead, and he still doesn't know how to tell her. That he's hers, that he wants to make her feel as good as he bloody fucking can. He could be tortured for days and he still wouldn't know the right words. He tries to tell it to her in other ways and sees how she settles.

He would rather kill the whole human population on this earth than see her settle for anything.

So he forces the strange words out, fleshes them on his tongue and pushes them through teeth to haunt the stale air of his apartment that has never seen such love before.

"I missed you."

Of course it sounds so odd that she laughs. Bitter, too.

"You missed my tongue."

"No. I missed you."

She finally raises her eyes to his, doesn't try to blink back the watercolors. Those eyes are shining; they're beckoning.

"I missed you too," she says, then lays her head on his thigh like she's only a humble servant begging for mercy.

It's a farce. He's a skeleton, a ghoul of useless rubble while she's celestial; she's summer, a fucking empress.

It rips his chest to see her on her knees on the dirty floor, that she's comforting him in a chair that should've been his disposal site. The leather was supposed to be painted with shards of bone and puddles of pink-white brain; this room was supposed to echo with a single blast of a gunshot, not with roars of fragile love. He would've been found relatively soon, the neighbors wouldn't have had to complain about the smell: after all, the military takes care of their own. A lieutenant's absence wouldn't have gone unnoticed, even if everything else in him would never have been missed by anyone.

He brushes her hair, and she sighs, oblivious to his past hell. All nine circles of it, an inferno that would put poets to shame. And she doesn't know she has pulled him from the depths just by smiling.

. . .

"Promise to come back."

"Yeah I promise."

He can't promise that. Fuck, that he wants to.

Every bullet acquires sound, like that birdsong from her little window. They gain weight, they start to carry death. It used to be his power: to bring destruction. He was put on this earth to reap.

Now he's alive.

He's suddenly a man who can be killed.

Now everything's bright like he's a newborn trying to get used to a world full of pain. Light and sound and time and space; mortality.

Sharpened instincts have never been his friend. It used to be a simple dance: knife out, knife in. Drop 'em.

Line the sights and deal extinction. Walk like a ghost until the battering ram announces there's death coming.

It takes him a while to understand where the sorcery lies.

It's in the senses. She's sensuous.

"Simon–"

He hears her in the shaded crevice of rocks, catches phantom notes of vanilla from the dry desert air that tries to push through the filthy fabric of his mask. She’s with him just before the hatch opens, and for the first time in his life, he hesitates before the jump.

She tastes round and sweet after the tang of blood and smoke and metal of the field. She feels like warm, cascading water after the bleak, dead weight of a gun that leaves his hands throbbing with recoil. Her skin returns the memory of Paradise until it overrides everything else.

She's a soft blooming to the senses. And his have been blown wide, torn apart, shot full of noise. There's an amputated, burnt stump where there should be a limb and some soft skin. But still, a blast that burns flesh from bones is not that different from her soft whisper that has the power to level him like a nuclear wind.

He has to learn how to come back to his senses. It's a joke that makes him wish he could shed tears. Luckily, she's the best teacher he could ever have.

"Fuck, Simon…"

He tries to quit smoking just to be able to taste her better. A scorched tongue is a curse when a man can't get enough of cream and silk.

"I need you. Need you so much. You don't even know..."

He knows. He knows that the depth of his need surpasses hers; it always has and always will.

The last time he saw her wasn't at the base; it was when he woke up to the sight of her foraging for orange juice from the fridge with his sweatshirt on. She combined sultry lace and bare, smooth skin with an old, black hoodie.

And it swallowed her. All his darkness. She only looked sleepy and content while being smothered by all that dark cotton.

"I'm gonna make some breakfast," she announces upon seeing he's awake. "You like bacon and eggs?"

What the fuck did I do to deserve you.

She knows full well she could offer him a chest filled with gold, and it wouldn't be half as tempting as her little American breakfast.

"That'll do."

He was supposed to go to the shower but instead, his feet take him right back to her. She gives him a pleasant hum when his hands fall on her shoulders and start to rub some stress away. He knows it will make her moan, as it does now. She leans a little into him, surrenders to his treatment.

"Simon… Do you come here just for sex?"

The hiss of cooking bacon almost drowns the question. Just one syllable less, and the question would be as she originally meant it to be.

Does he come to her just for sex.

"No."

She turns to look at him with a shy little smile. It makes him want to crush her against that counter until those lips part with a helpless sound.

"I like your cooking."

"You…ass," she laughs, shoves him lightly.

He treats every day like it’s his last with her, waits patiently for her to realize he is not the man she thinks he is. Under the bones he wears there’s only more bones, nothing more. She can feed him all she wants, but it will only make him more hungry; and a day will come when she sees he’s not actually a man at all but a yawning, six feet grave.

The black cotton hugs her and makes it falsely look like this woman belongs to him. It’s another round of torture to see how she takes his shirt, takes his cock, plays with the only things he can give her for a while or two.

She has the sweater on as she gives him the softest farewell smile. She adds a few words, some more detail to her request. In truth, it's his new protocol.

"Promise to come back to me."

He doesn't ask for the sweatshirt back.

She's left with it and his promise.

. . .

"Poor lass's always sulking when you're on those solo missions."

He knows that Price might know about them by now. But if Soap knows, everyone knows.

He doesn't care: after all, the woman doesn't even try to conceal the seductive looks and dreamy smiles she gives him whether there are other people present or not. They're not a secret anymore. Perhaps that's the way she wants it to be.

But the information Soap gives him is new.

"She is?"

He goes straight to her after the plane lands. Doesn't give a single fuck about that smug look the boy gives him.

She looks slightly surprised as he simply walks in: she can see he's filthy. He has grime on his hands, on the fingerless gloves that make it easier to operate a gun when there's no threat of sweating. He smells of smoke and ruin, gasoline and tobacco – a lousy compensation for her, a ridiculous substitute to calming his nerves when he knows the mission is going to be tricky. It already pisses him off that her cream will be mixed with smoke and disease again. He knows his weaknesses, which aren't many. But with her, he has learned it's not about the quantity.

The sorrow is briefly disguised from him. It's admirable: the way she tries to hide even the plainest of things. He knows her by now, knows that the sun casts shadows too. She should know he's the one she can cast them safely with.

The throat between the shoulders burdened by work and worries looks fragile in his hands. A bird's neck he could wrench without breaking a sweat.

"Mmh. I love your hands."

"Just my hands?"

He shouldn't be touching her with his filth, but he can't help it anymore. If she loves it, who is he to argue back?

Love your hands too.

Fuck, I love your smile. Your tits, your lips. That little pout you got when you don't get what you want right away.

I love–

She sighs. Then she cranes that beautiful neck, clings to him with one, tiny hand. "Why are you here, Simon?"

"Heard you were sulking," he mutters in her hair.

"What…?" She laughs. She laughs, but she's not happy. "What on earth are you talking about?"

She's shy. Reserved. Hiding behind a wall of humor and sunshine and smiles. His darkness penetrates it all.

"Heard you're devastated when I'm gone," he tries even more softly.

She could take it as arrogance. One of his lousy jokes. But she knows better than that.

"I am," she finally says, angel-soft. When she turns, there's finally sorrow in her eyes. She looks up at him, up, up, again with that stare that says I am yours to command. On the brink of tears; tears he wants to battle to the abyss. But his muscles are no use here.

Her lip trembles, just a little, when he brushes his knuckles over her cheek.

"We can't have that."

"We can't?"

"No."

"Well what are you going to do about it?"

Her voice is soft, pleading. It's not a demanding question: the woman's simply out of it. She wants assistance, assurance.

What are your orders, sir?

She worries too much. Up until this point, he thought it’s just because she's dutiful, responsible, one of the best employees there is. But she's not tense from work.

It's not just the missed you's she whispers when his skin is at its most thin.

She fears losing him.

Stone-cold realism is required in his field of work; no sleight of hand magic can help him when he's facing the unavoidable. If the mission is impossible, he doesn’t take it. Because he can't change the unchangeable; he can't fight the inevitable. They both know he can't promise anything.

They both know he will do his best to come back. There was a time he would’ve considered it a blessing if he didn’t. Death used to be his only ticket to some peace.

She gives him an impossible mission, and he can't say no. Leadership is about taking care of people. His people. And she's more than just a subordinate.

He grabs her by the waist and raises her to the counter, relishes the way she gasps. She weighs nothing in his hands after cold, hefty cannons. It’s almost like she gains wings and flits to the tabletop designed for him to take her. It’s the perfect height for him to simply open his pants and alleviate her pain.

"Gonna fuck you until you cry."

She sighs. "You can't solve every problem with a gun or a cock, Riley."

The woman knows how to penetrate him, too. The stabbing doesn’t stop even when her thighs part slowly - she knows, just as much as he, that this is the best way to remind her just how alive he is. This is the only thing he can give her, and he is damn right going to deliver. His hand covers half of her thigh as he brushes a thumb over the sensitive inner side.

"You sure about that?"

That look of desperation makes him hard already. Her hands go about his neck in a perfect paradox with what she whispers next.

"Honey… Not here."

She calls him honey. As if this tar-black madness is only golden nectar to her.

"No?"

It’s not only sorcery, but necromancy: how she’s brought him back from the grave. No wonder such arts are considered dangerous. This is forbidden, and still, he cannot stop.

"Ya want me to stop?"

"...No."

He leaves most of her uniform on because he is in too much of a hurry to get between her legs. The woman molds herself against him the second his tip meets her folds.

"God, you feel good," she sighs as he slides in. It's like a prayer: both her words and his return back to the base. Alive.

"So fucking good…"

Fuckin' tell me about it.

She whimpers and clutches him like a little leech. Almost cries already.

"That's it. You just hold onto me."

If someone heard the way he's cooing in her ear, they would deem him soft in the head. He doesn't give a fuck.

Her moans chime inside his head like the softest, most beautiful opera. He has never been a man of high culture. The whole civilization could go to hell for all he cared. But she sings to him so beautifully that even a man like him can finally see the appeal. Legs wrap around him even tighter than those small hands until he doesn't know who's holding who here.

"That feel good..?"

"Yes… Don't stop, just don't stop."

She's almost limp in his arms. Good. He's managed to relieve that tension already.

He goes deeper, deeper, and a tiny hand that saves people instead of slaughtering them grabs him by the shirt, probably in an instinct to try and catch some skin. He can't see her face but the body against him trembles and shakes as he spreads her wide and pours love in her.

"No need to sulk, sweetheart. I got you."

She's crying, or laughing, or both. Of course she likes pet names paired with support. He adds it to the list of things the woman loves, the things he can give her. He hopes, half expects that she will shed some tears after shattering around his cock. She needs a good cry as much as she needs him. And nothing feels as good as this: being needed by her.

When she comes with an arched back and a scream he fears and hopes will reach every other officer here, he knows he can let go too. He's done his duty: now it's time to collect the reward. It's not transactional, she's not work, but she's still his responsibility. The woman's paycheck is fatter than anything he could ever get from his employer. He's inside her, but that doesn't mean she isn't inside him too. She's embedded in him in ways that threaten to swallow him and leave him on the shore like bleach-white bones on a beach. He stays inside her long after the waves have passed. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he doesn't dare to move.

"I still have your sweatshirt," she sighs while holding him.

"Good. Looks better on you."

"I sleep with it sometimes," she whispers and wraps herself around him so tight that he wishes he could be there every night to send her to sleep. Now she only has his memory as a company, some darkness far too big for her. "Sleep in it, actually."

His mind is like a wheel that turns around nothingness. There's nothing to hold on to; he's falling through starless space.

The eerie sound of gunshot echoes in his head, he thinks about the splatter of brain matter on the armchair; how there's at least one person in this world who would cry from hearing the news.

And not just any person, but her; a whole summer in one woman. A midsummer sun, missing some forgotten, weatherbeaten bones on a beach when there's plenty of flora and fauna to shine on.

"If you ever break your promise…"

She sniffs in his neck, and his embrace tightens instantly.

"Would rather die than break it."

His promise doesn't make any sense. Or perhaps it makes every sense. She finally cries like she's supposed to.

"Shh. I'm here now."

I'm not dead.

I'm not dead.

[yeahtimesten]

18+, mdni / maybe modern!au or 2019!patrick if you want tbh idk but smartphones r involved

you and your friends are out barhopping on the city strip, you’ve already hit three different places and you’re ordering at least two drinks per place. you and the three other girls you go out with are rowdy and obnoxious at this point, definitely wasted. and your shared ‘locker room talk’ with the besties is something so perverted, so nasty. but they say drunk words are sober thoughts. and the topic at hand is something probably every woman universally agrees on.

yeah, dick pics are gross and all, but: “nut vids with the sound on,” you’re cackling at your friends proclamation. “those get me freaky. like wet wet.”

“dude, yessss, that’s what i’m sayinggg,” another friend agrees.

and you’re laughing along. but really, you had never received one. you knew the meme, and you saw the appeal, but you had never seen one.

don’t get me wrong, you and patrick are still gettin’ it on over the phone and video chat, doing everything else possible to bridge the gap that distance brought you. being a tennis player on tour, working up to the big leagues, was something you wholeheartedly supported for your boyfriend. to keep morale up, you even sent him a gift box once complete with polaroids, a spicy letter spritzed with your signature perfume, and a pair of worn panties, baby pink and silk with a lacy little trim. you liked to treat him like that.

and he treated you too, with new panties and outfits he wanted to see you in and other miscellaneous gifts, and good dick too whenever he was able to come around and see you. but when you got to thinking, you realized a majority of the gifts he gave you, were really a gift for himself as well. yeah, he’d jerk off to you on video calls, but it wasn’t for you, it’d just be weird if his cam wasn’t on when yours was too.

another round of shots were had before the four of you were making your way to the next bar, the last stop of the night. and you were trailing behind your three friends, typing on your phone to him. partially because you are ovulating, definitely because you were drunk, and you were a tad bit in your head now too thinking about the things patrick could be doing for you, but you were going absolutely feral in his dms.

babyyy wen r u gna see me next :(

i miss uuuu hehehe

need ur hand around my neck while u finger me NEOWWW

and he’s receiving all your texts with fervor. you’re totally exciting him and arousing him. but hes crossfaded (on tour? smh, but he’s celebrating a win as well as the end of this leg of travel) out with other players that he’s met so his replies are just as desperate and sad and pathetic as yours.

soon gorjus

be there b4 u kno it

cant wait for u to take my dick

send pix ?

and when you get to the next bar, you immediately excuse yourself to the bathroom, locking yourself in a stall, posing with your shirt lifted. your perfect tits are exposed to the camera, and because you love and trust your boyfriend, at least half of your face is still in frame too. your lips are slightly pouting, and you know that detail will drive him mad. and you snap another, but this one is an underskirt shot; you standing up in the stall, with your panties pulled down over your mid thighs, also in frame, from behind at the perfect angle to showcase your ass, with a hint of your pretty pussy in frame. and you send both to him in a photo set.

earlier, you sent him more innocently posed but still quite sexy outfit photos and selfies before going out. you did this every time you left the house basically. it was both endearing and such a huge turn on for him, no matter how you were dressed. your outfit was especially scantily clad tonight, so he was already having dirty thoughts of you. he was supportive of what you wore, and was never really controlling, but he wished he were by your side protecting you from other creeps who’d love to sneak a peak. and he had already fantasized about taking you to a dingy bathroom in one of these dive bars you frequented that he saw in the background of your photos, and bending you over the sink and fucking you from behind, both of you watching in the mirror.

both of your data connections were shitty, but he was texting you that he was heading home. he couldn’t wait any longer and needed to get off to you now. and he asked if you were going home any time soon.

another shot, and nursing a midori sour, or whatever your drink of choice is, you and your friends are still chatting and having a wild time, but you’re having flashbacks to the last time you both were together. you remember him boring into your wet cunt, on top of you, in the back of your car at the airport, because you couldn’t bare to part without one last fuck. your thighs squeezed together, trying to dismiss the warm pit forming in your stomach.

you were relieved when one of your friends decided to call it quits, and since your apartment complexes were so close to each other, you decided to share an uber. as you two waited for the ride, you finally received his texts and confirmed you’d be home soon too and that you two could call and take care of each other. and on the ride back, while your friend is talking your ear off, you check your phone again to see a snapchat. patrick sent you a video.

without thinking, you clicked on the notification to see what he sent. and now who would have guessed, that in this moment, you’d see a video he recorded of his cock out, laying in the dark on his bed, his flash was on. his dick glistened with his spit, as he slowly started stroking his shaft and playing with his tip. in a panic, you lock your phone and stuff it back into your purse, face flush with embarrassment.

your friend looks at you with furrowed brows. “you okay?” and you nod, hoping she hadn’t taken a good peak at your screen.

“i’m fine,” you smile. you’re more than fine, you’re seeing stars. and you’re anxious to reach home. after what feels like an eternity, you’re finally there. you skip up the steps and and climbed the flights of stairs until you reach your floor. the anticipation is getting the better of you as you fumble with your keys. but finally, you’re inside and it’s oasis. your place to be horny and out of control.

you flop on your bed and reopen snapchat, 5 more segments of that video waiting for you to open. you turn up your volume to max. in next clip of the video, he’s still taking his time stroking slow and you can hear his breath hitching, yours matching in real time. his breathing is heavy and loud, as little moans and groans escape his lips.

i fucking love you baby, he says in the clip. i’m so fucking hard for you.

and you’re so wet for him, as you reach down and start rubbing circles into your clit above your underwear. the video keeps going, and he picks up the pace, his moans getting louder. you love how he isn’t silent in bed. he’s so vocal and sweet, showing you he’s enjoying it just as much as you are.

the next reel starts, and he is fully jerking off, his breathing getting faster. you know what’s about to come. him. and with one final guttural groan, he does. glistening white cum leaks out gently, and he continues to stroke, much slower, making sure to milk every last drop.

r u home yet baby ?

he texted you.

- ya

and immediately, you have an incoming facetime. you answer and the camera is pointed to just his face, still sitting in the dark.

“hey, princess, how was your night out,” he asked.

“it was good,” you said. “i accidentally opened your snap in front of my friend though.”

“i texted you to wait until you were home to see it,” he laughs at you.

you didn’t receive that text. but you were just stunned he practically read your mind, that you wanted exactly that video.

“i missed you.”

“how much baby?”

“so so much, i couldn’t wait to get home and talk to you,” you pouted.

“me neither,” he whispered. “i’m hard again, baby. wanna see?”

and before you answer, he’s pulled his phone back to angle on his cock, with his abdomen and face still in frame. he’s moving it around, teasing you with its length.

“i miss fucking you so bad. do you miss fucking me?” it’s your turn to tease, and you move your phone down to reveal your panties with a big wet splotch soaked into the fabric.

“you really were thinking of me all night, huh?” he’s starting to stroke himself again, and you do him the favor of bringing the camera back and pulling your shirt off. he’s obsessed with how hard your nipples are, and he moans for you.

“your tits are so perfect,” he breaths out. “touch yourself for me, baby. i wanna see you rub your clit.”

and like it’s a royal command, you pull your panties down, and show him your finger swirling around your wet cunt.

“that’s perfect, you’re perfect,” he says.

you’re watching each other get off and his mind is racing with things he wants to do to you, with you, for you. and he’s sharing about half of them with you.

“i can’t wait to fuck you again. i can take you out to dinner and a movie, and we can sit in the back row by ourselves and mess around.”

“and you can ride me in the passenger seat of your car.”

“i wanna play with your ass so bad and eat you out from the back.”

“finger your pussy for me, sexy. let me see you fuck yourself with your pretty manicured fingers that i paid for. you’re so fucking wet for me.”

and besides his new request, everything is in one ear and out the other. your sole focus is watching him get off so you can get off. and it’s working, the heat in your pelvis growing stronger, you are about to release any second. you can tell he is too, as his breathing is heavier and his words and incoherent and slurred, he sounds tortured. you move back to rubbing your clit.

“are you gonna cum, baby? i’m going to, i want you to cum with me,” he sighs.

“yeah baby, i’m gonna cum. i’m gonna cum patrick!���

your moans harmonize with each other as you both finish together and you both continue to touch yourself as the tension in your groins lessen. you’re still pulsating for moments after.

“i can’t wait to see you any longer, im booking a flight for tomorrow to see you,” he says, still huffing. and you can’t wait either.

[bb8banner]

au WIP I have buzzing in my head where their breakup goes a little differently, Tommy never actually proposed to Abby but they were together for a long while. Buck spirals, self-sabotages. Sadness ensues.

...

Buck stared out the passenger seat window of Tommy’s truck as the blur of cars and street lights whizzed by. He hasn't spoken a word since they left Miceli’s and Buck had turned his body out and away from Tommy. Tommy was focused on the road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other by Buck’s side, slack and inviting, hoping Buck would join his hand there, but he didn't. Tommy turned the radio down, and Buck could feel his eyes on him at every red light, but he couldn't turn to face him. His thoughts were racing and he felt almost like crying. For months, Tommy was his, solely his. Now, from one night to the next, he shared him, and with Abby of all people. Buck was nauseous, and it wasn’t from the overindulgence of beer and dessert. Tonight was supposed to be special, romantic, it was supposed to be about them, so why? 

Fuck. Why?  

“Evan, you okay?”

Buck was pulled from his reverie then, he finally turned to face Tommy, if only slightly. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

Tommy shrugged casually. “You’ve been quiet since dinner and, I don’t know, I feel like you’re upset.”

“I said I’m fine!” He huffed out, too harshly.

Tommy wasn't having that. “O-kay, now I definitely feel like you’re mad at me and I don’t know what I did to upset you.”

“Can we not do this? I don’t want to fight right now.”

Tommy's eyes shot wide incredulously. “Who said anything about fighting? I thought we had a nice dinner. I had a great night with you, but I can’t read your mind. If I did something wrong, you have to tell me Evan.”

“Just drive, we’ll talk about it later.” 

Tommy took a shallow breath and steeled his gaze on the road, but Buck glanced at both his hands on the steering wheel now, grip firm and white knuckled. Tommy was irritated now, great.

Buck knew he was being difficult, stone walling Tommy. He knew it wasn’t fair, but how could he bring up what actually upset him at dinner. He racked his brain trying to figure out how to make sense of his own thoughts, let alone tell Tommy about it. Hey so you know back at our anniversary dinner when you dropped the atomic bomb of being with a woman named Abby for years, three whole fucking years. Oh and remember when you said you thought about proposing to her, but you pulled the plug when you realized you couldn't commit, you ‘just couldn't do it’ and you left and broke her heart? Oh yeah, and remember when you said that thing about how she went nuts after you left her and she took up with a himbo half her age? Well what do you know? It was me! I’m the himbo! What a coincidence right!? 

How the fuck was he supposed to just casually bring this up? So when Tommy finally parked the truck on his street, he didn’t bring it up. Instead the truth caught on his throat like a proverbial frog. 

“So are you going to tell me what’s bothering you now?”

Buck’s words spilled out like word vomit, and he couldn’t contain the half truths that raced out. “Back at the restaurant, when that girl came up to ask me to take those pictures, you said it was fine for me to look? I just, why would you be okay with that, you wouldn't get upset if I check out other people?”

Tommy’s face twisted in confusion. “What? Evan it was nothing for me to be upset over, she was flirty but harmless and I don’t expect you to magically stop looking at women just ‘cause you’re with me, i’m not naive.  Like I said, it’s fine, harmless.”

“Oh harmless, like you checking out the waiter?” Buck regretted it as soon as it came out, but he couldn't take it back now. It’s not like the waiter wasn't hot, he had been. Buck might have even checked him out himself, just a little, but that wasn’t the point. This argument wasn't even the point, not by a longshot. 

Tommy’s eye roll was practically audible. “Evan, seriously? I literally saw you check out his ass when he walked by, it’s fine. It doesn’t have to mean anything, people are hot, you look, it’s normal. I was there with you, my drop dead gorgeous boyfriend, I was there with you. There’s no need for jealousy.”

“Yeah well, I got jealous, so sue me. Maybe I'm not as evolved as you.” Evan pouted, and Tommy couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Okay Evan, real mature.”

“Oh so now you’re patronizing me? Great, just what I fucking need right now.”

“I don’t know why you’re trying to bait me into an argument Evan, but I'm not going to fight with you tonight, I wanted to have a nice night with you.”

“Yeah? Well it’s too late for that.” Buck said as he flung himself down from the truck and slammed the door shut in a way he knew would piss Tommy off.

“Evan, stop, wait-”

Buck walked faster, trying to make it to the gate of his building. Trying to shake his racing thoughts, trying not to face Tommy with those fucking earnest eyes.

“Evan, please, baby slow down, why are you being like this? Just talk to me.”

Buck whirled around, enough to jar Tommy in his path, and he felt Tommy's hands grip his waist but he couldn't look up to face him, never to face him. “Tommy just… just drop it. I don’t wanna talk, I just want some space. I need… I need a break.”

Buck could feel Tommy’s tense, his hands dropping from Buck’s waist and back to his own sides, hands balling into fists before diving into his jean pockets. Buck could have sworn he heard Tommy’s breath hitch. “A break… a break from this conversation or… or, a break from us?”

What am I doing? What am I doing? What the fuck am I doing? Talk to him. Talk to him, just talk to him. Buck’s guilt ate at him, gnawing at his chest like locusts ravaging a field.

“Evan say something, please.”

 “I don’t know, I don’t know just give me some time I’ll call you in the morning.” 

“Evan…”

“I’ll call you in the morning, I promise.”

Buck left Tommy standing in front of his building, shocked and confused, much like he had been left after their disastrous first date. When Buck got upstairs, he stood, catatonic in the kitchen for what felt like hours. Tonight was supposed to be special, romantic. By now, he’d otherwise be curled up in Tommy’s arms, warm in his bed with Tommy’s body firm against his own. Instead, he was throwing up into the toilet as the cyclone of thoughts whirled in his head. Thoughts of Tommy in Abby’s bed, of them in each other’s arms, for years. For years before Buck was even in the picture. Did Tommy break her? Is that what made Abby noncommittal? Is that why she’d left him, ghosted him, leaving him pining after a woman who’d run off like their relationship hadn't mattered? Like he’d never even existed? Was Tommy the catalyst?

I hear she went a little nuts after I left, took up with some himbo half her age.

Fuck.

The thoughts were whirling again. It’s me, i’m the himbo. You hurt her, and then she hurt me.

When Buck slipped into the bed that night, his sheets smelled faintly like Tommy. Tommy who’s slept over the night before. Tommy who’d held him through the night, legs tangled and arms pulled tight against each other's bodies. Buck hugged his sheets against himself as he fought the urge to open the unread text messages from Tommy.

Tomorrow, he’d figure out what to say, how to say it. Tomorrow he’d apologize, he’d explain. Tonight, he let sleep take him so he wouldn't cry anymore.

[ctimenefic]

don't like a gold rush

sometimes you watch a video of James Vowles calling Alex special and your mind goes blank and three weeks later you have 6k

everlasting thanks to @latecomersprivilege for cheerleading, proofreading, and encouraging my crimes

don't like a gold rush Rated Explicit Fandom F1 RPF Pairing Alexander Albon/George Russell 5,951 words In which Alex having a good boss for once drives George absolutely mad.

First part below:

James Vowles is the best thing that could have happened for Williams. Well, the best in 2023, second overall - second to signing Alex. George truly believes that, has said it often, loudly, to anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby with a microphone. Even as the spectre of getting caught in the Albon DRS train gets ever closer, even as the W14 lets him down at every turn, he’s still got a massive soft spot for his old team. He wants the best for them. He wants the best for Alex.

And James as a boss is everything Horner wasn’t, as far as George can tell. Even-tempered. Even-handed. Kind. George has been in the Mercedes orbit long enough to see that. James wasn’t the type to talk down to a fourteen-year-old touring a garage with eyes like saucers. Instead he offered a steadiness even Toto couldn’t match. His good opinion had been worth having, and George had fought to get it.

He likes James, for Christsakes.

So, it’s something of a surprise to find himself grinding his teeth as Alex gets second-beer tipsy and starts waxing poetic about what a difference he’s made to the team.

They’ve got a small table at the back of a footie pub in London, where not a single regular is under 60 and clearly no one gives two shits about Formula One. It’s not built for tall men; their knees jam up against each other. George is slightly too warm in his jumper and coat, prickles of heat across the back of his shoulders. And his molars ache as Alex keeps going on about bloody James Vowles.

“Some of it’s the car, obviously, and the calendar,” Alex is saying, too media-trained to not add context and caveats in any declaration, “but James is just- like, no offence to Jost, but- he gets it. It’s like we’re all going in the same direction. Points aren’t a fucking miracle anymore, it’s expected, but not in a bad way, you know?”

“Don’t rule out the driver,” George adds, because he’s pathetic, really, weak for the indulgent eyeroll and grin Alex throws him to hide the genuine pleased flush of a compliment. And, because, well. It can’t all be James.

He’s not blind to the fact Alex has dragged Williams higher than he ever managed. And yes, it’s a different car, a different set up, but Alex is fucking quick, and it’s about time someone else noticed.

“No, but really, it’s- Look, I’m not saying it’s perfect, I’m sure Logan has something to say about his contract renewal, but I’ve never had a boss who takes care of the team like he does. It’s nice,” Alex finishes, with that half-shrug he adopts to couch his opinions in nonchalance. George knows him too well to fall for it.

Something hot and slick and sour coats the inside of his chest cavity, roiling up from his belly. He necks the rest of his pint before it can escape over his tongue. “He takes care of you?” he manages, and it almost sounds normal, squeezed out of his throat like that, everything else trapped behind his teeth.

A glint comes into Alex’s eye. “I’m sure it’s not the full Toto Wolff experience-”

“Piss off.”

“-holidaying together, sharing a crossword, father-son fishing trips-”

“Piss off!”

“But, yeah. Logan more, obviously, he needs it more. But- you know after Silverstone, after you pointed out the shoulder thing, he had them look at the seat again? That kind of thing.”

Of course George remembers Silverstone. He’d joked about it, under the watchful eyes of the press and a Williams PR woman who knew him far too well, because Alex hated when George made a sincere fuss, but he could just about get away with taking the piss.

It’s good, he reminds himself, that James doesn’t want the car to shake his drivers to pieces. But that doesn’t stop the sudden blinding vision of James pressing a bandage against Alex’s skin.

George had done it, back in the summer, when Alex had tripped on their run and the jerk of the fall had reopened the scar from the seat. George had only had these stupid Superdrug plasters, all too small, so he’d had to line three up, carefully overlap them and smooth them down so they wouldn’t ruck up into a mess when Alex rolled his shoulders. Alex had said he was making too much of a fuss then as well, but he’d shivered as George ran a thumb around the edge of each plaster to check the seal.

It hadn’t been normal for George, obviously, having his best mate half-naked in his bathroom, the mirror too big for comfort, all of his face there to be seen as he touched Alex’s skin. But. But the thought of James doing the same makes George’s fingers tighten on his glass. And he knows, logically, that it didn’t happen; that Williams has a medic, that Alex has a trainer, that there’s half a dozen people on the team who take care of Alex. Who have that in their job descriptions.

He just- Christ. He wants it to be him.

“I’m glad, mate,” he lies. Swallows. Makes himself hold Alex’s gaze when he responds with his ducked-head smile. But he nudges the conversation on so he doesn’t have to keep lying, swaps the wildest rumours he can with Alex’s - Charles to Red Bull, Lewis to Ferrari, Fernando collecting a seat on every team like he’s filling out a Pokedex. The caustic burn lingers in the back of his throat, despite four pints and a packet of crisps. Read the rest on AO3

[ocil91]

I meant to do this MONTHS ago but I want to talk about the Coven Heads a bit now that they've all shown up at least a bit in Outsiders.

Let's just start with the three at the Glandus Incident.

Mason - Stern Head Witch of the Construction Coven. He's very good at what he does and has a bit of a perfectionist streak. He's a newer Head Witch and is quite proud of the title. He works well enough with the other Head Witches but he's not going to let them boss him around or speak down to him. Which generally puts him at odds with Adrian, Vitimir, Terra, Osran and even Darius.

He's generally a kind person but his strict adherence to his own personal beliefs, combined with being very openly hostile to anyone that he believes is in the wrong don't always make him come across that way.

He is Steve and Matt's father, which hasn't come up in the actual story yet but its a thing that's true. Steve and Matt are half-brothers meaning that they have different mothers, but the same father. He's proud of both of his boys. Does he know Matt is Dual Tracking? Probably not.

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

Raine Whispers - We all know and love Raine. An incredibly powerful Bard with an equally strong sense of justice. As a member of the Rebellion, Raine has to pretend like they are part of the Coven Machine, but cannot bring themselves to actually hurt anyone just to keep up appearances.

They are also the leader of the Bards Against the Throne and are fiercely protective of its members. It drives Raine mad listening to Darius making snide comments at their expense. The trio of Bards might not be as strong as Head Witches, but Raine believes fully in their potential and always seeks to nurture that potential.

As a talented actor, Raine pretends to be much more meek around the other Head Witches and Belos himself. With an overbearing presence like Terra always hovering over them, its easy for them to appear more timid and weak.

Speaking of Terra, their relationship to her is pretty simple. They absolutely hate the woman. She has involved herself in their life as far back as high school. She's even constantly vouched for Raine's ability while, in the same breath, infantilizing them. It's led to an overwhelming belief among the Coven Heads that Raine only got the position because of Terra.

However, as much they can't stand her, Raine can't help but feel like a helpless kid in her presence. One day they'll work up the courage to speak the truth directly to her face, but for now...

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

Terra Snapdragon - The ever-confident Head of the Plant Coven. She's held the position for decades now. Every year it is speculated that she'll finally retire and name her replacement but it never happens. Terra intends to hold firmly onto the role until she finally gets what she deserves. And to that end, everything is fair game. There's nothing too cruel or too petty.

Her age and experience put her a notch above even her peers. Despite her age her magical power hasn't weakened at all, even if her body has a bit. She looks down on pretty much everyone, viewing herself as the most skilled, most powerful, most beautiful, most... everything.

With the exception of Raine, she doesn't really get along with anyone. The others are either too young to be taken seriously or too weak for her to even consider listening to.

She even views herself as superior to Belos. She acknowledges his position in the world, but thinks of him as a lowly brute who she can effortlessly manipulate into doing what she wants.

Her relationship to Raine is more complicated than she'd like. Having never had any kids of her own, she legitimately views Raine Whispers as her legacy. This bright-eyed and endlessly talented kid who she took under her wing and boosted up to the very top! She will do whatever it takes to keep Raine on the right path and protect them... in her own ways.

However, any care she has for Raine is ultimately swaddled by her own selfishness. The core of the matter is that she views Raine as an extension of her own prowess and ability so, truthfully, her grip on them is just her trying to puff herself up further. Not that she sees it that way.

[cat-fried-fiend]

trans Techno SBI fic part 2

here's the second part to the fic I've been writing :)

<part 1 & part 3>

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

Phil drives like a mad man. Honestly, he’s probably broken at least half a dozen traffic laws trying to reach Puffy as fast as possible. Maybe flying would have been less hazardous to others but Puffy doesn’t drive he can’t find it in himself to care about the law anyways. Most people in his situation would do the same, probably. At least he hopes he isn’t the odd one out, the only one who is completely fretting over this ordeal.

Puffy’s cottage is nestled in the heart of their quaint town but somehow still ringed with a yard of bright flowers and overgrown shrubs that border on trees. It’s a little slice of the country in a place where concrete is more abundant than fresh dirt and Phil relaxes as he approaches the front door. He’d let her know he was coming by but doubts she expects him to still be in his sweats and bathrobe. Still, he didn’t have enough thought to change before leaving, barely remembering to exchange his slippers for shoes.

She answers the door quickly, visibly surprised at his state. But she smiles and greets him kindly and ushers him into her living room. Phil sits awkwardly on the couch shifting his wings uncomfortably behind him. He’s unsure of how exactly he’s supposed to go about this conversation. He’d been in such a panic before that he’d decided to go to the first woman, he knew for help. But now Phil feels like maybe he shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Maybe Puffy wasn’t affected by her human side this way. Maybe he shouldn’t have assumed that only a woman would know what to do. Sighing, Phil drags a hand down his face, trying to scrub away the exhaustion that came with parenting.

“So…” Puffy starts, somehow having manifested two cups of tea and a plate of cookies, that now sit on the small coffee table separating them. “What was the emergency you needed my help with? Are the boys alright?”

“Oh…Wilbur and Tommy are fine,” he responds, grabbing a cup of tea just so he has something to focus on.

“And Techno?”

“He’s….. Well, that’s what I wanted to ask about. I woke up with him screaming for me. Which terrified me at first since he’s never really done that before but then…. He, well-”

Phil isn’t sure how exactly to tell his friend that he thought the kid he has been taking care of for the last six months, one he’s come to see as he third son, didn’t have the capability to carry children. It’s such a huge thing to miss. Especially when Techno’s already struggling with his hybrid identity. And now Phil’s probably made his identity issues even worse by just making assumptions.

Puffy raises an eyebrow, a concerned expression on her face.

“He’s not…anatomically male… like I thought” Phil wants to curl up and die. But being a parent means facing all sorts of mortifying conversations, so he forces himself upright and persevere. “And ah… he woke up with blood- which is how I realized that-”

Puffy fixes him with a look and Phil shuts his mouth.

“So, your son who you didn’t realize wasn’t anatomically male until today, started his period, and you ran to me for help?” She asks evenly, sipping her tea.

Phil nods, “Ah, yeah that’s… that’s mostly what happened. I- I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve never had to deal with something like this before and I thought that maybe you could help, or at least give me a place for information?”

Puffy hums. “I don’t like that you assumed I’d know what to do but you were right. I can help you. But you’re the one who’s looking after Techno. You’ve got to be the one he trusts for information, not me.”

Phil nods.

“Ok.” Puffy sighs, sipping her tea again. “What’s Techno doing now?”

“Showering. He doesn’t know what any of this is. I’m fairly sure he doesn’t even know the full extent of anatomical differences in humans.”

“Ok… the showering idea was good. Did he seem upset at all?”

Phil feels a flash of guilt. “Yeah… he was really upset with all of it but mainly when I told him about the monthly part. It was the one of the few times I’ve seen him cry so openly.”

“Look, it could be because of the hormones but I think you need to have a conversation about his gender identity or at least give him a basic lecture on human gender and sexuality.”

“You’re right.” Phil sighs.

“I know.” Puffy says with a smile. “Did you ever give Wilbur any information or is still he just confusedly and painfully pining over Quackity.”

Phil represses the full body shudder at that topic. Yes, he gave Wil the talk. Had he possibly been too late and ended up seeing things he can never unsee? Also, yes.  So no, Wilbur was no longer confused about his feelings for Quackity, at least in the gender/sexuality department. Though, Phil still isn’t entirely sure Wilbur knows the difference between a crush, a rivalry, and an obsession.

But Phil doesn’t say that. He just nods and focuses on his tea. They really should get going. It’s already been nearly twenty minutes and Phil’s certain Techno isn’t going to leave the shower until he produces Puffy or a large sum of gold. And as Phil isn’t sure there’s enough gold in the whole server to be enough to lure him out, Puffy it will have to be.

In the end, they wind up dragging Puffy’s younger cousins with them which Phil is a bit unsure about. He’s sure Techno doesn’t want a whole lot of people parading around the house at a time like this. But Puffy refuses to let them stay at home alone quoting that the last time they had, she came back with a quarter of her home completely missing and the rest completely covered in butter and burn marks. So, she drags them out of bed and into Phil’s car, the two of them cursing, and screaming the whole way. Phil sympathizes with them, he too would be kicking and screaming if Puffy decided to drag him out of bed on a Sunday morning before eight AM. Or maybe not, Phil decides, when Puffy fixes the look back at her cousins who promptly stop complaining.

Puffy is kind enough to let Techno use the supplies she has at least until Phil could be reliably trusted to go to the store and get the correct items. Relief slowly drips into Phil’s gut the closer they get to the house, unwinding the knot of worry. Beside him, Puffy is holding a box that she’s filled with whatever she’s deemed necessary and quizzing him on the basic information. Really, Phil should know more but as he hadn’t had the most formal education as a child, it’s lucky he knows this much.

Phil glances in the mirror, trying to be a decent driver this time around. Somehow, despite it only being five minutes since Phil pealed out of their driveway the two cousins are silent. And he realizes why. Behind him, the two smaller sheep hybrids are fast asleep, siting piled against each other in a way that has Phil’s heart melting.

This is why being a parent is worth it.

It’s been about forty minutes since Phil’s left when he finally returns. Anxiety has returned with vengeance over the course of the drive and his gut feels like one giant knot. But the house is still standing in one-piece, warm cedar shingles bathed in golden sunlight, and somehow this lessens the worry he feels inside. Ushering Puffy and her sleepy cousins inside quietly, Phil tries his hardest to keep the rest of the house asleep. He really doesn’t need Tommy waking up right now. After softly directing the two children into the den, Phil hurriedly guides Puffy up the stairs and into his office.

“Phil,” Puffy says evenly, “I know you’re stressed, go make some coffee and read one of the books I brought, I’ll let you know when Techno’s ready.”

Phil sighs, shoulder’s slumping and he allows Puffy to start to shoo him out of the small office.

“Wait-” Puffy says, pausing to rummage through her supplies, “here, give this to Techno, ok?” She hands him a small box that looks to hold some sort of clothes. Phil nods, giving her a tired but grateful smile.

“Thanks for the help, Puffy. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Probably die,” she says with a grin which he matches easily. “Now go…” Phil follows her orders, knocking on the bathroom door. Once he detects Techno’s stifled shout of allowance over the spray of the shower, he cracks it open and sets the box down on the counter then makes a hasty retreat. With that done, he begins a load of laundry. After so many years Phil’s become pretty much an expert on bloodstains and he’s certain that with his skills, nothing will remain as an unpleasant reminder for Techno. He’s just finished getting the coffee pot started and began perusing one of Puffy’s books when he hears someone faintly shout, “save me!” Then a deafening crash. Without a second thought, Phil bolts towards the den, praying that Puffy and Techno are doing fine upstairs.

[sortagaysortahigh]

Please like the way that this fantasy AU is causing me brainrot like i must share some of the other ideas i had!!!!

Eddie is the human prince (who only truly wants to be a music-loving sailor) that has fallen in love with the elven princess after a grand total of 1 conversation.

He’d be a liar if he said he didn’t feel drawn to the cloaked woman, perhaps it was her almost-magnetic presence, or maybe it was the glow of her rings, rings that were rumored to drive those who could not live to their potential mad, or maybe, just maybe it was the sound of her laughter, it reminded him of a soft melody, only growing in volume as she chatted with the half-elf barmaid, a woman who’d been running the tavern with her father for longer than Eddie had been alive. It was clear to him that they weren’t speaking in the common tongue, and as he did his best to get closer without giving himself away he was positive that they were speaking a dialect of elvish, and of course, the prince of such a large region would hold some knowledge on other languages and even speak some.

Which is how he found himself eavesdropping on their conversation about the cloaked woman’s travels.

It wasn’t until she’d laughed again, and said something along the lines of “Don’t you just hate it when people choose to stick their nose in places they do not belong?” To the barmaid that Eddie realized the woman was well aware of his presence. Of course she had to have been, she wielded magic and a few of her rings probably held enchantments that allowed her to be incredibly hyper-aware of her surroundings. He sat at the table that was behind and to the right of the woman, placing himself in perfect ear-shot, even through the boisterous commotion of the tavern. It also left him in the perfect spot to be caught like a fish out of water.

The woman turned in her stool, the iridescent glow of her eyes gave away her elven race in seconds as she allowed her cloak to slide back the smallest amount-it was still covering her head-to allow for her fake to peak out more. The both of them held eye contact, she wasted no time in sizing him up, eyes trailing his figure once, then twice, assessing if he was a threat, or if he was just any regular townsfolk. But she knew he was neither, especially as she examined what she could see of his clothes, the loose-fitted beige shirt was something that many sailor wore, however the shiny silver chain tucked into it was a different story. Many sailors opted to wear gold, especially those affiliated with pirates or mercenaries. It was rare to witness a sailor in silver-especially silver that was as clean as his.

Not to mention how clean he was. It was mid-afternoon so the Tavern was well lit, and from what she could see there wasn’t much muck, grease, or dirt adorning his skin. Not to say that sailors were unclean-but typically those who spent the majority of their lives at sea had a very specific physical appearance, and this man did not fit a single one of those characteristics.

So the princess moved from her seat at the bar to the seat across from him, she was curious about who he was, and what it was that he found so interesting about her. There were easier ways to find all of that out, a few drags of her fingers alongside a word or two in arcana would allow her to gaze into his mind-but truth be told she didn’t enjoy using magic that way. Magic was sacred, and there was a time and a place that deemed it necessary.

“And who might you be?” He simply shrugged, now getting a better look at her, watching as she relaxed her shoulders slightly while placing both of her hands on the wooden table, fingers interlaced and still, outside of one of her index fingers tapping along the top of her opposite hand. He did his best to seem casual, like any other tavern go-er, but his attempts to be casual were short lived when she caught a glance of the pendant hanging along his chain. He immediately froze as she reached across the table, fingers now grazing the silver before slowly dragging it out of it’s confines.

“Ah I understand now, you’re the prince attempting to escape from your duties. I can only assume that of you, but wouldn’t it be smarter to not wear any of your house’s medallions, especially a silver chain adorning the house crest. I’d also recommend working on your disguise, commoners may not see through it, but you have many tells.” He opened and closed his mouth several times, feeling like a fish out of water, as if he had been exposed to the world in a matter of seconds. He half-expected her to give him away, or even lecture him on the responsibilities of any high-ranking royal. The regality of her voice let him know that they were of similar status, and as most high ranking nobles did, she too would probably tell him to give up on his fantasies about being a sailor, an adventurer, or truly leaving the city.

But she didn’t. Instead she laughed at his reaction before sitting back down, extending a hand to him, waiting for him to shake it.

“It is only right that I let you in on my attempts of escape as well.” She told him her name before nodding a few times “Princess of Silvermoon, daughter of King Haldir, but the use of a title is unnecessary here, considering we’re in the same boat”.

It all made sense to Eddie, he’d snuck out of the keep after his mother sent news that the High Elves of Silvermoon would be making their arrival today, and with them, a potential match for him. Historically it wasn’t uncommon for Elves and Humans of high-ranking status to wed, especially under the pretense of political alliances and unification under the threats of potential war. But that didn’t make accepting his possible arranged marriage and betrothal any easier. In fact it made it harder, knowing that he was expected to sire an Heir to his throne, while uniting two nations that have their own histories of conflict, plus up until today, no one past the lands surrounding Silvermoon had seen the Princess.

As superficial as it was, he didn’t want to be wed to someone he found unattractive, or even unappealing, especially when Elves were known to be very posh, judgmental, and just plain stuck up.

He blinked a few times before grasping her hand, shaking it over the table while he forced a small smile. “As you’ve assumed, I am the prince, Prince Edward, son of King Wayne the Third. But Honestly, I’d prefer if you called me Eddie, and skipped the formalities. Also, if you’d like to smite me at anytime during this conversation please feel free to do so”

There it was again, that laugh, except this time it was a little louder and she pulled her hand away from his gently to adjust her cloak because the moment she started laughing at him, it started sliding back again, revealing a peak of the deep black hair that her family was known for. They were unmistakeable, many elves had lightly colored hair, or even sunkissed blonde tones of hair, however her family was known for the deep black hair, it was said to be so black that it had hues of blue to it. The rumour had always been that their ancestors were the first to dabble in the mix of divine and arcane magic, using gifts from the Gods in combination with elements of the earth to create something almost untouchable that threatened the existence of divine magic. So in turn, they were marked with hair as dark as night, hair that would be used to alienate them from the other High Elves, however it only made her family stronger, and the power they possessed is what pushed them to where they were now.

“Unfortunately for the both us, I cannot smite you Eddie, if possible, I’d put us both out of our misery. I hear we’re to be married? A Prince who I can only assume yearns for the sea and the freedom it brings, and a Princess who’d rather speak to the city rats than to anyone considered close to noble. God they’re all so pretentious, and of course I know that my people are known to be pretentious, but oh Gods, they’re such asses!” she raised her brows while he let out a small laugh, doing his best to keep up a ‘relaxed’ appearance, when in reality, the more she spoke, the more he wanted to ask her a million questions about herself and follow her to the ends of the earth.

And he hadn’t even seen her without her cloak on yet.

[havendance]

Thinking about my Legacy AU again, this time in the context of Jason…

There is a certain cruelty to fate that just as his father is taking his last desperate breaths, Jason's eyes open in the darkness of his coffin and he takes his first.

He digs his way out of his grave, wanders the streets of Gotham, catatonic, until he catches the attention of the League.

Talia is unhappily married to Bane. Despite his meathead appearance, the man is far from an idiot. As much as he likes to play into the fantasy that they are married, he would see an attack from her coming. He is also coming dangerously close to discovering the secret that Talia has kept for all these years, the secret of her son.

When Ra's loses interest in Jason, Talia sees an opportunity. There is a certain amount of sentimentality involved her decision, Jason is the son of her dead lover, but her reasons are equally pragmatic.

When the initial madness of the pit dies down, Talia hims you remain avenged. She tells him your father is dead.

When he asks who did it, she gives him Bane's name.

Jason trains, he forms himself into a living weapon. When he confronts Bane, the man tells him a different story. About how Ra's gave the order and Talia stood aside.

He kills Bane and then confronts Talia over her use of him and then goes to Gotham.

Gotham is a different city than he remembered. Half-rebuilt after the quake, there is a new Batman running around.

When Jason goes to the cave, he finds not only his old uniform in a glass case, but a whole row of them: A Batman costume, different from the one he remembered, something almost looks like Nightwing only so much plainer, a Robin costume with pants. And, at the end, a woman's costume in purple and black.

(Helena is just as much a drama queen as the rest. She has interred her old identity, buried the Huntress as she can never go back.)

He is standing there when the Batmobile drives in and out steps a woman wearing Batman's costume.

Helena never knew Jason. He was robin during the time span that she was gone from Gotham, between the first time she became the Huntress, and her return. All she knows of Jason are the heavy silences in conversation with Barbara, the case with his costume.

And then they talk. I'm not sure how exactly the conversation goes. I could see Jason wanting to be Batman. There is also the truth the Helena may or may not say, that if a Robin came back from the dead, she would rather it be the one she knew.

[connectionxterminated]

STARLIGHT — LOCKETS MOTHER

PICREW 1 // PICREW 2

TAGS: @cupid-beatricereden , @gmilfwhore , @hellishbitee , @ghostlyplacetobe , @ask-liam-and-co

Starlight is the mother to Lock, biologically known as Locket. Starlight is the very last descendant of the Angels, more scientifically known as; Celestial Beings.

No one truly knows of her origins, all they know is that she is a higher being from above.

Starlight appears to have rather large angel wings that can extend up to 6 feet in length, and 5 feet in width.

She was found back in 1972 after she had fallen from above and down to earth. A man by the name of Simon Hojo had found her and ended up nursing her back to full health. She awoke 4 and a half days after she was found. Her wings sustained multiple broken bones and injuries in the upper and lower halves, resulting in her being unable to use her wings until they were fully healed.

Sometime after she finally awakened, she was properly introduced to the man who had ended up saving her. She soon learned that his name was Simon Hojo, head of Shinra's Science Dept. She also ended up meeting a few others, Professor Gast, Professor Lucrecia and a man by the name of Vincent Valentine along with a little silver haired boy named Sephiroth.

Along with meeting the group of scientists and that one rather strange man, she also ended up meeting the president of Shinra Inc. And the Turks. She was unsure of each of them.

She did eventually end up working alongside the group of Professors, and yes, unfortunately, she was a test subject for research purposes.

Of course, it wasn't Hojo's option for her to be a test subject, it was direct orders from Shinra himself, so he obviously had to listen otherwise he might have ended up losing his job.

Hojo and Starlight did end up becoming rather close after quite some time and did end up falling in love, how the Hell could anyone fall jn love with this mad man, I'm not too sure myself. Regardless, they fell in love, somehow.

After a year or two of being together, they did eventually end up marrying. The love Hojo felt for this woman was like nothing he's ever felt before.

Sometime in August of 1997, a little girl by the name of Locket was born to the new parents. Hojo was thrilled, as was Starlight.

However, that excitement was quick to die down after a year due to President Shinra ordering Hojo to up his research more-so, and begin fully experimenting on Starlight. Hojo went through with it reluctantly. Starlight never had the chance to see her daughter, despite Hojo telling her stories and photos and just about everything about Locket.

Starlight ended up giving Hojo a heart shaped Locket for him to give to their little girl for when she's a little older. He took the locket and put it in a safe spot just as she asked him to.

When Lock was 3 years of age, she was given the locket by her father after she discovered his labratory and ended up finding a summon materia. However, about 15 minutes later, Starlight ended up escaping the containment cell and Hojo was ordered to go after her. He wanted to bring her back safely, but unfortunately that was not the case.

Once Hojo finally found Starlight, she was laying on the ground just outside of the labratory, being restrained from any further movements. Hojo was then ordered to kill her to put her 'out of her misery'. He refused multiple different times before he gave in, and shot her, killing her. The only thing she had to say was: "Take care of our precious little Locket for me.." and then that was it. Her form seemed to fade away into a mist, indicating that she was dead.

Hojo was absolutely devastated after this and began focusing more and more on his research and what not. However, because of this, it ended up driving him into a spiral of insanity, he became what was known as a mad scientist who would do anything to achieve his goal. This ended up in Hojo neglecting his daughter rather frequently.

Starlights death affected Hojo very negatively, he ended up being in absolute denial for 2 months straight, resulting in him lying to his daughter and saying that she was still alive, she was just on a vacation. But he knew deep down that his beloved wife was dead. He blamed himself for her death. After all, he was the one who killed her. Right?

Starlight was known as a rather kind and generous individual, she wanted nothing more than to make others happy and feel loved. This resulted in her never standing up for herself and allowing herself to be walked all over as if she was a doormat.

[dilfdoctordoom]

Absolutely just preaching to the choir at this point but like, I don't care I'm also going to complain LOL I cannot get over how it seems Gunn had a legit grudge against Gamora (and Mantis!!!) because the treatment of both of them feels so specifically targeted that you would think both characters broke into his house and kicked his dog or something. He's definitely not as dumb as the Snyder fans would have you believe, I know he reads the source material even if he ignores the majority of it, but I do not see how even if you ONLY read GotG 2008 that you'd come away with wanting to intentionally write the women like that, it's so unhinged.

I'd ask why the HELL Vol. 3 struggles so much with its WOC when he's shown to have the ability to Try and improve on this in his other work post Vol. 2 (Mind you i think The Suicide Squad also had issues with racism AND ableism- if it's supposed to be this commentary on the USA strong arming and trying to cover up their involvement with other countries, why is the film presenting it as a big joke that Bloodsport and Peacemaker are violently murdering these POC freedom fighters by accident? I know Gunn is a big horror nut and violence and an R rating blah blah blah but Maybe read the room. And don't get me started on everything with Polka Dot Man oh my god) but by now I think the Vol. 3 issues are because he just could NOT put himself mentally into the characters headspaces, like he literally couldn't relate to them At All so they just had to get these half assed resolutions at best or written out to never to return at worst. (other than Rocket, obviously, who even then ALSO suffers from the writing!! NO ONE TRULY WINS!!!)

I genuinely think the only reason the leading lady in Peacemaker (Leota, a black queer woman) didn't get treated like ass is because of Gunn's own comment that the character shares a name with his mother. Like, bruh. If the only way you can treat these characters with different backgrounds than you with the bare minimum of respect is because of vaguely nepotistic reasons or because you absolutely HAVE to relate to/project onto them, then idk what to even say 😵‍💫

This is a safe space to be mad about the treatment of women (& women of color specifically) in the Guardians franchise because god, it always just gets worse the more that I think about it.

(Random tangent: Like, you have Michelle Yeoh! The Michelle Yeoh! And she's just... cameo doesn't do anything doesn't ever appear again. My god if we're gonna force Gamora to be a Ravager at least bring her back).

There was some improvement in his DC work (though definitely not in his treatment of disabled characters lmao that's a consistent shitshow). Ratcatcher felt like a person, didn't get needlessly fridge like I'd assumed she would. Harcourt and Leota actually feel fledged out. Leota especially as that's a queer woman of color... and now it's just cause she has the same as his mother lmao.

Guardians 3 I think is the most disappointing movie in the entire MCU because I just fundamentally do not buy these resolutions for these characters. Peter's going back to Earth? Awesome, but he already did that. Rocket's fine with everyone leaving? Strange since for them, they were dead for five years.

What happened to Gamora and Mantis goes beyond Gunn's favoritism like he was so casual about killing Gamora... leading woman of color, and he talks constantly about how he just wanted to kill her, that's, uh, that's not great.

Mantis drives me crazy because you could not convince me that that man has read a single comic starring her. How do you adapt someone so horrifically? Comic Mantis isn't great, nor am I ever gonna claim she is, but she's still somehow better than the MCU depiction.

[illbeweirdaboutit]

Now I Wanna Be Your Dog

Part 1

Eddie-centric, undiagnosed Autism, pet play, choking, BDSM, S&M, implied child abuse, bisexual Eddie, references to homophobia and homophobic violence, vague guesstimations about the gay kink scene in 1980s America, I'm English so sorry in advance for spellings, kink exploration, humiliation kink.

Eddie knows he's different, it has always been obvious, even before he began purposefully performing his eccentricities. He's often felt like he's either dragging behind his peers, lost and alone or uncontrollably steaming ahead, frustrated with how slow everyone else is. He's never met anyone in the middle, never found someone else who seems to get it. 

People confuse him. They follow imaginary rules he can't decode, rules he keeps clattering into, clumsy and disoriented. He doesn't understand why and how to take turns when speaking, doesn't understand why it's rude to point out obvious things. 

The older he gets, the less he cares. It was so frustrating trying to keep step that he's given up and skips along in a way that suits him better. It's easier, now he lives with his Uncle Wayne and his endless patience. Eddie feels bad sometimes, wishes he could be easier to look after, easier for Wayne to love. Easier for his parents to love. But ruminating on it makes him sad so he doesn't.

Eddie's experience with romantic and sexual relationships have been interesting. He's long known he prefers men, though occasionally a woman will catch his attention, and he understands well enough that being vocal about this will get his ass handed to him by the homophobe of the week. Despite that there's no shortage of curious teenagers at school or grabby men at bars who let him touch and kiss. He's never gone all the way with anyone but he's made others cum and has had been made to cum by hands that weren't his  own. 

If he drives out of Hawkins, there's bars and clubs that provide zines, books, comics and art about all the possibilities, the dangers and things he'd never even thought to try. They ignite something in him, something searing hot in his guts and difficult to keep to himself. 

Eddie has been called feral a few times. When he chewed through the strap on his watch, Wayne shook his head, called him feral and promised him a new watch for his birthday. His teacher spat the word at him when he couldn't sit still, fidgeting and kicking the underside of his own chair. The Hellfire party whined that he was mad, feral and wild when he set up a particularly difficult dungeon crawl and allowed no mercy. It's a word that has floated around him for years. Feral. Feral. Feral. 

For the longest time Eddie thought he craved control. The world spun so fast and he couldn't keep up. He didn't know if he was in front or behind himself half the time and the idea of being able to control something - someone - was so appealing. He loved to be a little rough when he kissed, to bark orders and instructions while playing D&D.

On one of his trips to the city he traded some weed for a small bundle of BDSM and kink zines. He'd heard about the kind of games you could play with sex and he needed to know more.

The zine he picked up last weekend burned a hole in his consciousness. He couldn't stop thinking about it, tucked under his mattress at home while he sat on the bleachers at school, fingering his hair, curling it around and around and around. FERAL in big mismatched type on the front. A person, mouth open and wide like they were barking with a thick studded collar around their neck. The silent shout of their bark cut off by an unseen hand pulling tight on a leash clipped to the back of the collar. FERAL. A zine for good and bad boys alike. It wasn't a particularly long zine but Eddie had been captivated. Men pretending to be dogs, allowed to be wild and unruly. Crawling on all fours, biting their masters hands, pushed down into submission. Eating from bowls on the floor, allowed to be free with someone else taking care of them. No need to observe confusing social rules. Feral.

At first he thought he wanted to have a pup of his own to play with and tug around. But the fantasies warped on a night, when he shoved his hand down his pants and touched himself. He thought about the oppressive weight of a heavy leather collar on his own neck. About being allowed to bite. He thought about straddling the leg of someone else, thrusting his hips hard against their skin as he got himself off. A gentle but condescending hand in his hair. A pat on the head as a well done afterwards. 

Eddie was getting hot, staring at nothing as mental Images flashed in time with his racing heartbeat. He pulled at his own fair slightly, a dark coil of hair purpling the tip of his finger as he tugged.

He thought about being pinned, fucked hard and fast as his Master choked him with a collar. He thought about being allowed to fuck his Master, fast and without rhythm because rowdy pups don't need to have finesse.

A commotion makes him jump out of his reverie. A couple of students lower down on the bleachers laughing and shrieking as they pretend to push each other. Eddie shakes his hair a little and forces himself to shelve his train of thoughts for later.

(Will try and finish part 2 soon)

[strangeduckpaper]

Green Lanterns of the 'Modern Age'

Hal Jordan-Spectre

From Coast City, California

Green Lantern during the latter half of the 20th Century, in roughly the same generation as Jade, Obsidian, and Infinity Inc, and Robert Queen, during his work with IO.

So technically he’s Pre-Modern Age

Coast City gets destroyed by Monarch, after which he disappears into deep space.

He returns in the modern age, possessed by Parallax and slaughtering the Guardians and a good chunk of the Corp.

The damage he does leaves the Green Lantern Rings vulnerable to being overtaken by other emotions, leading to a recruitment drive by Sinestro and his Qwardian allies, amongst other factions…

Following his death at the hands of his fellow Lanterns, Sinestro, and the League, he would find himself as the new host of the Spectre.

John Stewart-Mosaic

From Midway City, Michigan (Which takes the place of Detroit), an architect who gained his ring holding off a damaged Manhunter while he was consulting with Ferris Air.

The first “Modern” Green Lantern, and a founding member of the Justice League.

Had a brief Space-Vegas marriage to Katma Tui, though they would eventually settle into a more platonic relationship, and have a romance with Hawkwoman, Kendra Munoz-Sauners.

Following Hal’s rampage, John would be appointed to the position of Guardian, overseeing the GLC during the War of Light and the resulting treaty to form the Mosaic.

Would later override his Lantern Ring with compassion, becoming an Indigo Lantern when the First Lantern escapes.

Loves the alien tech he encounters, wants to take stuff apart to see how it works, reverse engineer alien tech and how it can be modified, how it works with human technology.

Very thorough and blueprint-y construct style, which makes him a little slow by lantern standards but makes his constructs incredibly durable.

Guy Gardner-The Warrior

Actually nonbinary.

Was a social worker before a TBI, is very mad about it.

Opened a bar in Bludhaven, Warriors, and even made some association with Dick Grayson.

Tapped as a back up Lantern by John when he went off world due to their willpower. The other leaguers really questioned John’s judgement on that one.

Still proved their mettle, but gave up the ring surprisingly easy once John was back.

Would still be tapped as a GL and JL reserve, but lose his rings and both arms during the Emerald Twilight.

Would later get metamorphic prosthetics originally belonging to the Vuldarii, a civilization that harnessed the Emotional Lights in a much more raw, untamed form.

Became the Warrior and served with the JLI, harnessing their emotions to power the prosthetics.

Their use of the Emotional spectrum now is flame-like, fast and destructive, but actual Light based constructs have little lasting power.

Kylie Rayner-The White Lantern

Irish Woman here.

Given a GL Ring by a dying Ganthet during Emerald Twilight.

Would spend her career fighting the Controllers, their Effigies, The Third Army, The First Lantern, etc..

Alex DeWitt doesn’t die, but they eventually break up.

Also has a very intense relationship with Soranik Natu, who herself would become the Yellow Lantern representative of the Mosaic.

Ascends to become The White Lantern during Crisis, becoming a guardian of E136’s dimensional barriers.

Her construct style has a sketchy quality to it, and tends to evolve through different “drafts”

Simon Baz and Jessica Cruz-Emerald and Opal

Okay, these two aren’t Green Lanterns per say, but connected to the Emotional Light and Darklands, like Jade & Obsidian (20th century Infinity Inc. heroes, here)

The ring of Volthoom (native to E136 here, a GL ring high jacked by the ancient rogue Emerald Knight, Volthoom of Mars) finds a host in the traumatized Jessica Cruz, sewing chaos as Limelight.

Eventually Jessica gains control of the ring, though it tries to blow itself up.

I explain how that goes (and how Simon enters the story) here.

Simon walks out of the explosion connected to the Light, capable of GL style hard light constructs and healing.

Jessica leaves connected to the Darklands, allowing her to manipulate her shadow like a GL ring, travel through shadows, and see visions.

They fall in with Infinity Inc. at first, but join the JL soon enough, before getting married.

Jo Mullein-Far Flung

Recruited after John’s appointment to Guardianhood, dispatched to Far Sector for a while.

Is recalled to Earth to help teach Stephanie, and ends up as the JL's main Lantern.

Stephanie Brown-Emerald Knight

Spoiler. Robin. Batgirl. Dead. Arkham Knight. 

Stephanie actually gets a Red Lantern Ring around Crisis, though overrides it through sheer force of will.

Is partnered with Jo Mullein, and thus the secondary Lantern of the JL, which would see her working with two of her exes.

Keli Quintela-Teen Lantern

Somehow engineered a connection to the Emotional Spectrum similar to Lantetn Power Batteries.

Tai Pham-The Legacy

Descendant of Golden Age GL Kim Tran

Newest Green Lantern as of yet.

Milagro Reyes-Spectrum

Uses a multi colored Spectrum Ring.

[krongrah]

I replied to a message in all channels of Mabinogi yesterday asking what family member did you think about too much on Thanksgiving, and I replied (in a very limited character count) "My dad, I love him but he's not the man I thought he was," and like a half dozen people started dunking on me and told me he's still the same person and I need to shift my perspective and move on, and stop whining. I chose not to reply in game, partly because I didn't feel like I should be expected to reply and partly because I felt stupid for sharing in the first place. But this is my blog and I want a place to scream into the void, and this seems as good a place as any.

This time of year always makes me think about my family, and I hate it. My mom was an abusive, narcissistic piece of shit and my dad and her split up early in my life, at about 3 years old. She got sole custody since Dad was living out of state at that time, and through years of piecing together the story and seeing how she treated me, I started to favor my dad pretty strongly. Whenever I was hurt or upset, my dad would be there for me (unless my mom was mad at me, which she would often unplug the phone so I was totally isolated).

Not that dad was perfect, he gave me self loathing issues I'm still working through. He told me queer people were evil and said some nasty things when I saw a trans woman on TV for the first time. I knew I was different and I hated it but for years I told myself I couldn't be queer because it would be too much for him to take. And my dad was my best friend, someone I told everything to, but slowly my admiration turned sour and became resentment. There was something innate to who I am, that he could never understand or accept. I lived for 19 years trying to be straight and 25 years trying to be cis but it didn't work that way. And when I was outed and he found out? He said some things he'll never be able to take back.

About the same time as I came out the first time, he started getting into Christianity and the far right pipeline through Alex Jones, and he's only continued further down that path since. At this point it's like he's living in a different world from me, he doesn't pay attention to how his party demonizes people like me and makes their lives worse to drive them to hiding themselves or killing themselves for their comfort. He's convinced that Democrats are all evil pedophiles controlled by globalists and pretty much every dumb bullshit conspiracy theory you can think of. He voted for trump and I didn't expect anything different, but that doesn't mean I can't grieve the man I thought he was. I know he's grieved over the man he thought I was. But it's his fault that he can't bring himself to love his daughter regardless, and I don't owe him shit.

So no, it's not as easy as shifting my perspective and moving on, he disowned me and honestly I'm tired of missing him because he doesn't deserve it

[akaashioppa]

Forever Will Never Be The Same

pairings: oikawa x reader

summary: The reader finally confronts her husband Oikawa after cheating allegations in the male locker room. angst!!!

warnings: curse words, mentions of the reader having a son with Oikawa, confronting of cheating. 

w/c: 1736

A/N: first time writing for Oikawa :)

Haikyuu Masterlist  Masterlist

“Everyone get out now!”

Your voice echoed off the metal lockers of the locker room. Eyes widened as you made your way into the changing room, not because of the fact that a girl was entering the male’s locker room. It was the fact that Oikawa (Y/N) was coming to kick her husband’s ass. Just as every man passed you to flee, their musky scent filled your nose making you cringe.

After the final whistle of the game, people were scavenging to take pictures with Oikawa Toru except you. Each morning that you woke your husband up he would give you one of those cheeky grins that he was giving the fans right now, the stupid grin was fake. Laughter, jokes, and cries filled your ears, for what reason? The Great King made his grand entrance back to the court, winning both sets with the help of Iwaizumi. The Great King himself showered his fans with love and pictures while you stood from afar, anger flowing through your veins. Knowing the Poker Face King for ten years and having been married to him for two, it was easy to mimic the grin. As girls would pass by screaming about the pictures they took with him you would shoot them that famous grin. 

You timed each moment perfectly, celebrating the win, pictures with fans, interviews with the sports commentators, more fan interaction and now he hits the locker room for a shower. Luckily for you, he was beginning to take his sweaty jersey off, beads of sweat from the previous game were still prominent.

“What are you doing here?” The look on his face was one of a kind, it was a mixture of panic and anger. Nothing to be afraid of, it’s not like he didn’t give you the same look when you caught him at the bar with another woman. Or the time you were driving down the road with his phone constantly going off, every other minute he’d get notifications, this would go on for hours.

The yelling of the men from the locker room made you come back to reality. Have they not seen a woman before or was it because you were standing there looking at their dick prints? A white tint cast over their knuckles from how hard they were holding their towels around their waist. ‘What a sight to see

“You can either tell me the truth or you can tell me the truth there’s no in-between.” You barked at Oikawa, men were still scattering out of the locker room. You barely gave them time to leave before you bombarded your husband with your question. 

The  panic on his face was quite entertaining, he moved in front of you so you couldn’t see his half-naked teammates running out of the locker room.“What are you talking about!?”

“When were you going to tell me that you went to a nightclub with Iwaizumi!? He told me everything so I’m giving you the chance to come clean about it!”

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you were going to be mad.”

“Did you sleep with her?” You got straight to the point, there was no need for you to sit here and procrastinate any longer. This has been on your mind ever since you got those three attachments from Iwaizumi.

“No” He scoffed, “Why would I sleep with her? I have too much respect for you to sleep with her.”

“Oh really, the way you were holding her waist makes me think differently. The way you kissed her neck makes me want to snap yours!” You held up a photo on your phone with him and another girl at the nightclub. His head was in her neck, you could see that he was kissing on it, his arms were wrapped around her waist but his hands were dangerously low.“Respect? Do you even know the definition of respect because if you did you wouldn’t have me out here looking stupid!”

He sat down on the bench of the locker room, his arms were tightly around his chest. Oikawa was already over this conversation, this wasn’t the first time you blew up in the face about this. Nor the second, he respected you in a weird way. He never laid hands on you, or even yelled at you but he couldn’t keep his hands off other women. 

“How do I make you look stupid!? I give you everything you want!”

“Everything but love.” You yelled desperately, the thing about arguing with him about these situations was that he’d always claim that he knew what you wanted. He’d always try to bring light on the situation when he clearly fucked up. He was a great husband, you guys had been dating since high school. Since he got the fame and money things turned upside down, he became a legit monster. 

“I show love to you every day, I make love to you every week!” His voice rose an octave, his hand was flying all over the place when he spoke. 

You were appalled, sickened, offended, that he could say something like that. It hurts to know that he thinks this way, it almost makes you feel worthless. Does he really consider having sex as love? “That’s not loving Toru, that's lust.”

He sighed, his hands were on his knees, he got up to finish packing up his things. “Well, I’m over it. I don’t want you here anymore. Leave”

“How can you give up so easily on us.” You forced his hands away from his bag, he looked at you with a confused face. You poked him hard in his chest slowly provoking him, “I forgave you so many times after you treated me like trash. All the times you cheated and came home with women’s numbers falling out of your pockets. Many sleepless nights just to make sure that your knee would stop bothering you. I wake up every morning to make you your special breakfast so you can be game ready and yet I haven’t given up on you.”

“I’m just tired of arguing with you. All you do is complain about my lifestyle. If you can’t keep up then we shouldn’t be together. How can I keep consoling you after you get all jealous about me hanging out with fans or me taking pictures with my fans? It’s just toxic (Y/N).” He spat back, he didn’t seem angered. It was more of an annoyed look. 

“Because you only hang out with female fans, it’s fine and all but when they’re posting sexual pictures with you, it’s a different story. I scroll down my feed to see you with more women than see pictures of us together. It’s like I don’t exist”

“Whatever (Y/N) I need to get ready for the after-party.”

“What about us? How are we going to fix this?”

“There is no us!” He screamed, his voice echoed off the lockers. He placed his hands on his hips trying to compose himself. “It’s only you and Torio. And me, Torio and volleyball! There is no us, not anymore and that’s it!”

You took a step back, each word was like a dagger in your heart. He would often bring your son into the matter. Ever since your son was born you’ve always felt like you and Oikawa had grown apart. It was like you were forcing yourself to stay for Torio’s sake. There would be days where things were good, on those days you and Oikawa wouldn’t argue. However, when days like this occur he’d make you hurt, you’d always end up questioning your ability of loving. Deep down you felt like you guys were drifting apart but you didn’t want to admit it. It was too painful, Oikawa would have been left if it weren’t for Torio. He wanted his fans and the sports media to look at him as a family man.

“Why is it so hard to ask someone to love me!?” Your breaking point had finally come, you held your hands over your mouth to stop the loud sobs. It was hard to know that your husband and high school sweetheart didn’t want you. You gave up everything to support him with his dreams, family, friends, work, school, and even your fucking sanity and yet she still treats you this way. 

He stood there watching you beat yourself down, he didn’t do anything but place a hand on your shoulder. You shrugged it off, the last thing you wanted was for him to touch you. “Listen I loved you back in high school but now high school is over. You’re still basing this love off of that and I’m not here for it. All these insecurities you have are a bit annoying in my defense. Maybe this relationship would work if you grew the fuck up.”

“You can’t give up on us now. We need each other. Torio needs his dad. ” Lie, you needed him. Yes, Torio needed his dad but you needed your husband. It was crazy to think that you would go back to him but it was just your toxic ways. You never loved anyone but him, he was all that you had. Your life that you lived was based upon him. 

“Look, we can talk about this later if you want, but right now I have thousands of fans waiting for me to show my face. You can either suck it up and go out there with me or you can hit the back doors and go home.”

“Toru…”

“What do you want?” He groaned, he turned back around with an annoyed face. He was fed up with you and even the situation. You knew he wanted you gone, he was waiting for the minute you’d leave so he could go and party. 

Obviously an answer, he was too consumed with himself to even realize that. It was the reason why you came in here yelling at his teammates to leave, you wanted to ask him a question in private. The thought of getting your feelings hurt in front of everyone was not ideal.

“I just asked a simple question. Did you sleep with her?”

You looked up at him for the first him, your vision was blurry but you could see him well enough to see that stupid smirk.“What do you think?”