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thevampiremarie · 2 years ago

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Heartless

🔞 Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader 🔞

Fake marriage/marriage of convenience, smut in the next chapter (and the chapters after).

Reader is disabled/chronically ill (and so is the author)

You need health insurance. Ghost is sick of sharing living quarters with the rest of the 141. Soap, your childhood friend, thinks the two of you can fix each other’s problems.

Or, Ghost and you have to convince his command that you didn’t just meet each other and your marriage is totally, completely, 100% legit. Not for any, more practical reasons. And, of course, your married-couple accommodations only have one bed.

Chapter 1:

This will either be the stupidest decision you’ve ever made or the greatest stroke of brilliance you’ve ever had. And there is no in-between.

When Soap ducks his head into the coffee shop, you’re more than a little relieved to see him in one piece, plus or minus a few silvery scars scattered across his face and peeking out of his sleeves, the collar of his jacket.

And the dumbass aviators you bought him as a high school graduation present hang from the dip of his shirt. You know Soap thinks he looks badass, but the placement reminds you more of ‘Patagonia dad who likes hiking’ than it does ‘mysterious hardened special forces dude.’

He’s so built that he has to carefully pick his way between crowded tables, just so he doesn’t knock over someone’s drink or trip into a random stranger’s elbow.

You more or less tackle him into the biggest hug you can. “Soap! You’re not dead!” Ever since he joined his super-duper-top-secret whatever the fuck, you’ve gotten used to the communication dead zones in your years-long friendship. The silence never stops worrying you, though.

Johnny chuckles and practically lifts you off your feet. “Neither are you! Congratulations!” You know he’s relieved to see you as well by the way he ruffles your hair.

You fucking hate it when he does that, which is, of course, why it’s become a tradition every time you see him.

He pisses you off, you piss him off. “Twinning!”

The glare he tosses your way has all the menace of a kitten attacking a curtain. “Fuck does that mean? You know I can’t keep up with your American slang.” You’re a good friend who pre-ordered his ridiculous caramel latte with extra caramel, and Soap sits happily in front of it.

He learned that he enjoyed heart-stoppingly sweet drinks on accident - a case of mistaken identity where you unintentionally grabbed Soap’s macho Americano, and he drank half of your caramel latte in revenge. And here you are, years later, watching him slurp down a milk foam heart.

“Awww, too much for the brain cells you have left?” Teasing him as easy as breathing and a welcome distraction for the anxiety attack-inducing question you must ask.

The general coffee shop ambient noise swells in your ears. An espresso machine malfunctions, almost loud enough to make you jump, and you try to disguise it by sipping your iced tea. No caffeine; you’re nervous enough without it.

“I could have you arrested for that,” Soap quips. Please. As if you’d let him try. One call to his commanding officer about his pre-service shenanigans, and you’d have his ass court-martialed.

“Abuse of the power of the Armed Forces? Very ethical.” You raise an eyebrow and lace your voice with haughtiness, even flicking some hair over your shoulder.

Then you need to pass Johnny a few napkins to mop up the latte dripping from his nose out of laughter. “I’m glad to see you,” He tells you, and the sober, knowing look in his eyes makes your stomach drop out. He doesn’t miss a thing. He’d probably be dead or fired from his job if he did. “Though I know this isn’t a social call.”

Well. You’re in for it now. “Yeah, unfortunately, it isn’t.” The words taste like dust in your mouth, and the lemony-black tea barely washes it out. Just to give yourself something to do, you pop the plastic lid off and tip a couple of ice cubes into your mouth before chomping down.

“What’s going on?”

How do you summarize the horrifically, brutally stressful whirlwind of the last few weeks without inspiring the annoying, patronizing pity you’ve gotten from literally everyone else you’ve vented to? You’re not a victim to be coddled or a child to be given advice you’ve already thought of, tried, and failed at.

“I’m losing my health insurance at the end of the month” is what you decide on in the end.

He knows exactly what that means for you. For your future. Soap shakes his head ruefully. “God, I’m so sorry.”

You’ve been sick for a while, diagnosed the year after the two of you graduated high school. The kind of sick that is simply a freak accident of nature, causing your body to attack itself over and over until the day you’ll drop dead from complications. It wouldn’t take much; maybe a regular infection burning you alive with a fever your crippled immune system can’t stop, or a benign cut from a kitchen knife that will bleed and bleed until you’re halfway to the coroner’s office.

And then there’s your shitty, damaged, degenerated spine that keeps you in bed for weeks at a time with crippling, numbing pain.

Without health insurance, things won’t look good for your quality of life. And you like your quality of life to be decent. You’d settle for passable.

Really, it sounds worse than it is, and you try to console him. “It’s okay. It was eventually going to happen. I had hoped to have a little more time, though.” You remember the call from the insurance company like it just happened yesterday. You were loading dishes into the dishwasher and listening to Fleetwood Mac on the radio. And some poor customer service representative told you they were increasing your monthly payments beyond what they knew you could afford, so they’d have to drop you.

You watch him open his mouth as if to tell you that you should’ve said something sooner. But he’s been deployed for the past four months. He pauses and resets to something a little more helpful. “How can I help?” That’s something you have liked about Johnny a lot since you were kids. He cares more about what he can do.

Your anxiety permits your lungs to take one big, fortifying inhale. “Well…” Dragging it out will only make this worse, you know, but you really, really, really hate that it’s come to this. “This is fucking embarrassing.” You tried to find a way to pay the premiums; you really did. But you work forty hours a week already and trying to get more shifts, maybe find a new job, do this, do that, appeal, all of that has been futile and draining. “Will you marry me?”

He drops his half-empty cup on the table, forceful enough that some of the coffee spills out. “What?”

Soap’s partially-scandalized shock is not what you hoped for as a reaction. But you suppose you shouldn’t have expected anything better.

The worst part of this conversation is over. It can’t get more nerve-wracking. “Marry me. Like. Get legally married. I could get on military benefits, and my meds would be covered.” He doesn’t swing your way, but surely signing some paper and standing before a judge is, like, not the most terrifying thing Soap has ever done. “And- and I know there’s stuff in it for you, too, like a better apartment or whatever. I can cook. Better than you, that’s for sure.” One of your friends had to teach him how not to burn water.

He just sits there in silence. “Please,” You add on softly. Desperately. This is your last-ditch attempt, your Hail Mary.

At last, Soap’s shoulders slump, and you know, from that alone, that he’s gonna say no. Miracles are rarely performed for ordinary people. “I would if I could, but… I’m sort of already married,” He sighs, then winces, waiting for your inevitable unhappy outburst.

…

You blink a few times, brain furiously recalibrating everything you know. John got married, and he didn’t even invite you? Or tell you? You’re supposed to be his friend. That’s so rude, ouch. You would have even gotten him some expensive shit off his gift registry.

A fucking Keurig, for God’s sake. “What? Who?” You demand, more outraged that he would leave you out of his life than you are over him declining your proposal

Underneath that deep, sunburnt tan, you see Soap blush. “Jeremy from final year.”

You’d throw your empty cup at him, but he’d just duck. “I knew you were fucking him! I knew it! You tried to gaslight me and say you weren’t, but I saw the hickies on his neck!” There were only so many times Johnny ducked out of a math classroom covered in sweat, followed shortly by your classmate, before you put the pieces together.

Oh, but the rest of your friends called you a conspiracy theorist and told you to mind your business. Now, who’s laughing?

Soap holds his hands up in the universal ‘don’t shoot’ sign. “He needed health insurance. We’re married on paper. Haven’t seen him in a few years, but I know he’s doing alright.” Naturally, he’s already selflessly committed marriage fraud. You honestly should’ve seen that coming; that’s why you wanted to propose in the first place and figured you’d have a slim chance of success.

“Shit.” Now you’re back to square one. And it’s a shitty square, with walls that close in around you with every passing second.

The regret in his eyes overflows when he sees your slumped shoulders, how you’re picking at your cuticles hard enough to bleed. “‘M sorry. If I wasn’t locked down, you know that I’d do it for you in a heartbeat.” The worst part is that you know he’s being sincere, not just parroting empty platitudes.

Right. Well. That’s it, then.

You rub at your closed eyes, then at the stress wrinkle between your eyebrows. “Fuck. It’s fine, I know. I will… I’ll figure it out,” You sigh. Less than convincing, but it doesn’t need to be.

There are probably options you just haven’t thought of yet. Or maybe you can work something out with your doctor, where you only get your meds every other month. “I got it covered. Don’t worry about me.” You instantly see Soap rush to shake his head, to tell you that he’s always worried about you. You want to chastise him, tell him that he has plenty of things to be worried about in his own life. “Shush. It’s fine.” But you don’t have the heart to rake him over the coals for it now, so you settle for that.

You should go. You have things to do, things that include crying in your bed with the curtains drawn and urgently refreshing your email to see if anyone's gotten back to you. New jobs, aid organizations for low-income people, any further bad news.

Soap catches your wrist before you can say the appropriate goodbyes and rush out of the cafe. “Look- hold on- let me… let me ask my… friends.” He wrinkles his nose as he says it with an odd, stilted tone. Like ‘friends’ is a replacement for something he can’t say out loud in a civilian setting.

You can put the pieces together. “Is that what you’re calling your coworkers?”

“That’s classified, shut up.” His Scottish accent pops out there stronger than good malt whiskey. Hope is an easily-caught flame and far more difficult to extinguish. When you smile at him, you find it’s not entirely false. “Let me ask around, okay? They’re good guys. You might need to do the heavy lifting with your sparkling personality, but I can try.”

‘Sparkling personality’ is sort of ominous. ‘Don’t give them shit,’ is what he means to say. That’s fine, you’ve worked in customer service before. You can be on your best behavior.

You’re not exactly sure what kind of dude would be willing to marry a stranger, even if that is the kind of dude you want to marry.

But desperate times, desperate measures. “Thank you. Really. It would mean the world and… would probably save my life.” You didn’t mean to get as choked up at the end as you do. No one else has been willing to help you, though, and Soap’s answering hug feels like desperately needed hope reviving itself in your chest.

“I’ve got you. And I hope I can help in the end, even if it’s not what you originally had in mind.”

Soap runs through his team members in his mind as he waits for the gate guard to scan his ID, trying to recall who’s tied down and who isn’t.

Captain’s got a wife, he thinks, and he’s a wee bit too old for you anyway.

It takes a second for the starry-eyed guard to hand him back the card and lift the gate.

You picked a good time to call him up; not only is he in town, menacing the local army base, but so is the rest of the 141—a rarity.

Vargas would certainly charm you, but Soap trusts Alejandro with you about as far as he could throw him.

Out of all the idiots he went to school with, you’re the only idiot who stuck around through the early years of his service, and you pursued your friendship like a hound after a fox even when he couldn’t properly reciprocate.

So John feels some responsibility for looking out for you, as you’ve always looked out for him.

Garrick wouldn’t be a half-bad choice. Dependable, responsible. Friendly, so your sham marriage would at least be enjoyable.

His mind drifts to his own errant mostly-platonic husband as he parks the borrowed car in his numbered space. Jeremy. The last time they spoke was over three years ago? Maybe four. Jeremy had found himself a new boyfriend and called to let him know, asking if Soap wanted a legal divorce. He was moving to some godforsaken corner of America. Florida? Maybe. That place has got too many fuckin’ states for him to remember them all.

They worked it out - they’d stay married, and Jeremy would keep out of his way. No love lost.

Roach could do it for you in a pinch as well. A little quiet, but maybe you’d work out something like him and Jeremy. Staying out of each other’s way.

Soap dismisses Lieutenant Riley without a second thought. On his best day, Ghost is about as inviting and amenable as a particularly hungry great white shark. And even if God himself came down from Heaven and changed Ghost’s heart to be interested, Soap would worry about you.

A lot. Even more than he already does, since the day you sobbed in his arms after school when you were first diagnosed. Since that day he had to help you out of bed because you could neither walk nor miss any more class.

Does he trust Ghost enough to fight alongside him? To have his back when there’s a gun against his head? Absolutely. Does he think Ghost would treat one of his oldest friends properly, befitting of the funny, kind, vibrant person you are? Abso-fuckin’-lutely not.

So that puts Gaz and Roach in his top choices for you and Vargas as a last-tier resort.

Armed forces worldwide, in Scotland and America, are all about efficiency. Eliminating redundancy.

And if that’s the excuse Johnny uses to justify blindsiding his whole team at once, so he doesn’t need to have this conversation three damn times and hear three separate rejections? That’s between him and God.

He herds them like sheep, plucking the Captain from his office, Garrick and Alejandro from conditioning in the gym, disturbing Roach’s book. Ghost appears out of nowhere as if summoned by the disturbance and falls in behind Soap. Not a single damn sound, of course. While that’s useful on deployment, he still has to tamp down on the instinct to jump every time he sees a skull mask hovering out of the corner of his eye in everyday life.

No matter. The lieutenant will likely wander out when the subject matter is revealed. It would raise more red flags if he told Ghost off.

He barely gets Lt. Riley through the pool room door before Captain jumps him. “Sergeant. What’s the trouble?”

That’s fuckin’ rude. “Why’d you assume I’m in trouble?” He indignantly replies. Except… yeah, there was that time he borrowed a humvee he had no permission to touch, and Captain covered for him to Laswell. Shit. “Well, I’m not.” At least, not this time.

Soap opens his mouth to argue this because it’s hardly fair for Cpt. Price to point fingers only to be cut off. “What is it?” At least Price has the decency to file the sharp edges off of his voice this time.

Right. He almost feels guilty getting sidetracked over something so stupid when he’s gathered everyone here for an infinitely more important reason.

Where does he start? How the fuck does he proposition them without sounding absolutely mental? “I… Hear me out.” Instantly, Garrick shakes his head ‘no,’ and Cpt.’s face remains as unmoved as a brick wall. Definitely not how he should have opened. “Wouldn’t be asking if the situation wasn’t desperate.” Soap opens his hands in the vain hope that the gesture will make them listen, at minimum.

You loathed hospitals and doctor’s offices when you first got sick. Now, you see the inside of them so often that it hardly fazes you. Still, Johnny always went along when you asked. So you wouldn’t have to be alone.

The countless memories of holding your hand as some faceless nurse sticks an IV in your elbow is the motivation that steps on the gas. “I have this friend,’ He tells them.

“You have friends?” If Vargas weren’t separated from him by the pool table, he’d reach over and stick an elbow in his side. What is it, official ‘piss off Sgt. MacTavish’ day?

They get in a laugh at his expense. “Shut up, you reprobate.” He puts enough bite in his tone to cut through the ruckus with the keenness of a knife. “I have this friend. Since I was a lad. She’s a good girl, good person. She needs our help.”

Everyone knows what he means by ‘good person,’ and the mere mention of a civilian girl in distress softens Gaz’s scowl and Alejandro’s scorn.

Their Captain nods, now significantly more amenable to this conversation than he was at the beginning. “Help?” Progress is progress, and for the first time, Soap allows himself to think he might be able to persuade someone.

“Yeah, well… you know these fuckin’ Americans. They don’t give a damn if people die like dogs in the streets. She lost her health insurance, and she’s… She’s ill. She’ll be ill for the rest of her life.” That’s something Johnny will never understand about this side of the pond. The NHS was never good, but at least it exists. All that freedom and shit, for what?

“Sorry to hear that. Fucking shame,” Price murmurs.

“I was wondering if any of you might be interested in marrying her. For the fuckin’... benefits. I dunno know what exactly they are, but she mentioned new living quarters for her soldier.” He really ought to have looked this up beforehand and found some other things to sweeten the pot. “I’m already married. Had to turn the poor lass down, and I told her I’d at least ask you lot.”

Their captain gets up and off his ass like the stool’s on fire. “Alright. MacTavish, I’m leaving the room now. I’m going back to my office, and do not disturb me until you’re done,” He orders, mustache practically fuckin’ bristling with urgency. “I didn’t hear or see a thing.” With his parting words finished, Johnny watches the man book it out of the pool room in double time.

While he understands and appreciates the discretion, was that truly necessary? They’ve all done exponentially worse things than this.

His first choice makes a break for it, too. “Sorry, Soap,” Garrick declines. “I’m out. I’m sure she’s a delightful person, though being friends with you doesn’t speak highly of her life choices. But that’s a big ask, and I just don’t know her.” The sergeant taps him on the shoulder as he walks out in a silent show of support.

“‘Course.” With each man who leaves, his worry increases.

What voicemails will await him after he returns from the next mission? That things went horribly wrong, and you’ll be hospitalized for the rest of your life, or maybe even dead?

Whatever it is, there won’t be anything he can do by then. That’s the worst part.

“Yeah, can’t do it either, Sarge. I got a girl already.” Right. There goes Sanderson.

At least Alejandro has the decency to look genuinely sympathetic. “Let us know if there’s anything else we can do.”

Soap watches him leave and wonders if you’re still awake. It’s not late for him, but who knows? Maybe you keep normal hours now. “Yeah, I will.” You’d prefer to hear the bad news as soon as possible, but he would hate to wake you for it.

But he can’t ignore the ghoul haunting the corner any longer. “What are you still doing here, Lt.? I’ve gotta tell her I can’t help, and I don’t think you’d care to overhear that conversation.” His voice is a little sharper than is nice and proper, overflowing with prickly irritation like too much tea in a cracked cup. Of all the times for Ghost to not mind his fucking business…

“…what she look like?”

“What?”

And Riley’s got the audacity to repeat himself, slower, as if he’s stupid. “What does she look like? Got a picture?”

“Is this a joke?” Simon should stick to shitty quips about goldfish. At least those are tasteful.

The man doesn’t laugh, shake his head, or leave now that he’s successfully rattled Soap. He just stands there, as grave as always. Motherfucker. He means it. “Fuckin’… yeah, hold on,” Soap sighs as he fumbles for his phone.

He’s desperate because you’re desperate. He tells himself that, over and over, as he looks for a half-decent selfie. You’re a big girl, you knew what you were risking when you asked him for help.

Ghost takes his phone in his gloved hand. “Not bad,” He murmurs after a while. “I’ll do it. Marry her.”

A beat passes. Soap lets another one go.

Alright. The grace period is over and done with. “This is a really shitty, serious thing to mess around about. Genuinely. Don’t do that to her or me. This is about her health. Her life.” Johnny likes Lt. Riley. Really, he does. Even under all the freaky mask shit.

But this is mean-spirited. It would almost be out of character. It’s one thing to be careless if his sparring partner walks away with permanent nerve damage. This is fucking cruel if he doesn’t mean it.

Ghost can read minds now. “I mean it.” His chuckle makes Johnny fix his surprised expression into something more stern and imperceptible. “She’s desperate, isn’t she? I’ll do it.” When he walks closer, the changing light makes that skull on his face flash in and out of existence.

“Why?” If he can’t come up with a somewhat satisfactory answer… Soap’s fist can probably reach him fine from here.

And in a rather remarkable show of humanity, he watches Ghost pinch the bridge of his nose through his mask. “Think I like listening to you snore? Or fuckin’ Roach chattering on Discord at four in the morning?” Johnny never knew Ghost was such a little princess about that. Who would’ve thought?

The other man huffs a laugh. “Need my beauty sleep.”

“Yeah, you do, the mask’s not doin’ you any favors,” Soap retorts as if on autopilot. That’s only their longest-running tiff. You’ve got your work cut out for you to deal with that ugly mug, he thinks.

“You want me to help her or what?”

Right. Right. “Sorry.” He examines Ghost’s body language, searching for any hint of dishonesty. “If you so badly want out of the shared bunks, how come you haven’t found someone else yet? Or some other way?”

“You think girls are lining up outside my door proposing marriage? You can’t even find me off duty. Now I ain’t gotta find… some other way,” He says before leaning back against the wall, at ease now that his argument’s been made.

“Fair point.” Fair, but fucking dumb. “I’ll tell her. She’ll say yes, I know she will.” Jesus, does he wish he’d been able to persuade Garrick.

Soap considers exactly how much you should know about your intended before this shit goes down. On the one hand, it might be better for you not to know much, other than that he’s found someone relatively trustworthy and willing. On the other hand… interacting with Lt. Riley is something that should only be done after signing a covenant not to sue.

“Whatever you do, don’t hurt her. She’s been through enough already. And I meant it when I said she’s a good person. Too good for either of us.”

Nobody gets through secondary school untouched. Especially not at that prissy international school you met him at, filled with over-privileged rich kids and army brats scraping the bottom of the barrel. Like the two of you.

When you were fourteen, you picked him up by the scruff of his Scottish neck with a smile on your face, then hit the bastard who hit him first. Thick as thieves ever since.

“And if you can’t find it in you to be nice, just… promise you’ll leave her alone.” At least you’re more than capable of making Ghost’s life a living Hell if he fucks with you. He takes comfort in that and a healthy amount of glee at the possibility of watching that play out. He’s got a front-row seat, after all.

Riley shakes his head. “As long as she ain’t a burden, MacTavish, no need to fuss and cluck.”

For a moment, Soap almost pities him.

“Don’t hurt her. Promise me that, right now,” He stresses. Just in case. At least eliciting this agreement might remind Ghost in the future to stay his hand.

The other man sighs. “I won’t,” He says at last. And Soap can tell he means it.

“Get out. I’ll let her know.”

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chaos-in-deepspace · 6 months ago

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L&DS Xavier: Marker Magic | Drabble

I HIT THE POST BUTTON PREMATURELY. So anyway...comedy fic. With Xavie Baby? More likely than you think.

Pairing: Xavier x Reader Warning: None Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Xavier

The rule with dating Xavier is you had to accept that sometimes he was just going to fall asleep and forget about plans you made. You should’ve known when you heard the door to his apartment opening around the time you were waking that he wouldn’t make it. What he always did at night was confusing and he never bothered to tell you that information.

You could only sigh now as you looked at the man sprawled on his bed. In his defense, he did look adorable when he was asleep like this. You were thankful he had put your fingerprint on the lock on his door so you could come and go as you pleased…still….you were a bit spiteful. He could’ve at least sent a message to let you know he was out late and needed to reschedule.

You then got a devious idea, a smirk etching onto your face as you looked around. You walked to his kitchen, finding a marker that was lovingly placed there for making notes on a pad nearby. You took it, twirling it in your hand as you went back to Xavier’s room. You looked down at his sleeping, peaceful figure and decided to ruin the image.

He normally slept like a rock so you doubted this would wake him. You popped off the top of the marker and began working on your newest art piece. Lines were easily drawn on his smooth skin as you used your hand to adjust his face where you needed and cover as much as you could. His face twitched adorably and it reminded you of a sleeping bunny. You were almost satisfied when you felt something.

Xavier’s body rolled over, his arm reaching out to the warmest object nearby, you. You got dragged down to his chest, pressed against it as his grip locked you in. For a second you thought you had woken him up, but upon further inspection he was still asleep, the gentle snore was proof of that.

Still, you were fucked if you stayed here. He’d no doubt be annoyed with you drawing on him and would try to take revenge. You wiggled in his grasp, trying to push him away. After a bit of a struggle, you managed to toss yourself out of his arms and onto the floor. You fell with a loud grunt, the sound of your body hitting the ground was enough to finally wake up Xavier.

You saw his silvery blonde hair poke up and look around before he spotted you. He rubbed his eye and noticed how your legs were almost up in the air, knees hooked to the edge of the bed and your upper body lay on your back on the floor. You looked ridiculous right now…but he looked worse.

You couldn’t help but snicker, reaching for the phone in your pocket and snapping a photo. The flash stunned Xavier as he went to rub his eyes and let out a yawn. He called your name gently, “What are you doing down there?” he mumbled tiredly. He could see you laughing on the ground at something and his half-asleep brain registered it had to be his appearance.

In your laughing fit he was easily able to grab your phone and look at himself. The first thing he notices was the giant dick drawing on his cheek, and then the random little doodles and what he assumed was a butt over on his chin. How childish…and of course you’d be laughing on the ground due to it, almost in tears.

Xavier tried to wipe off the marker but noticed it didn’t even smudge. He saw it was still on the bed and looked it over. Both of you read the words at the same time.

Permanent.

Why this fucker had a permanent marker on his fridge was a question you’d ask till the end of time. All you knew was this man wouldn’t be able to go out in public for at least a few days until it rubbed off.

This time when he called your name it was no longer sweet. You cleared your throat, “Xavie baby, don’t do anything rash.” You tried reasoning but it appeared your pleading would get you nowhere.

You let out a blood-curdling scream when he grabbed you by the ankle, dragging you up as you struggled to get away. He got you on your back and pressed down on you with his hips, “I’m not doing anything rash. This is just…returning the favor.” He said, the marker approaching your face. Oh, you were fucked.

Next one will be posted today and it's the NSFW drabble bby, have fun!

#loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace #Xavier Love and Deepspace #Lnds #Lnds Xavier #lnds x reader #x reader #reader insert #xavier x reader #l&ds #l&ds xavier #l&ds xavier x reader #lads x reader #lads xavier #lads xavier x reader

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lya-dustin · 7 months ago

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Vengeance is Mine

For @maidmerrymint

Very loosely based on Pasión the telenovela by Televisa and will be a series

Technically oc but written as a reader's pov

Cw: death, drama, pirate au, manipulation, revenge

7/17/24: so i know i said this would be a series but idk its just not letting me continue it. Probably because Aemond is no Ricardo de Salamanca and I don't really like damsels in distress. If one of yall wants to finish or make something with it, feel free to ask.

He is not the boy he was four years ago.

Aemond had lost control of Vhagar, and she had eaten Lucerys Velaryon over Shipwreck Bay and began the bloodiest war since the Conquest. In the ensuing chaos Aegon was killed by Rhaenys at Rook’s Rest and Aemond banished from Westeros on the penalty of death.

It was only because of you that he was spared his life.

Vhagar had not survived long after Aemond the Kinslayer proved his mettle as mercenary and led him to be forced into joining a pirate’s crew to survive. Now he was the Valyrian, Captain of the Mother’s Sorrows.

His mother blames you for their misfortunes most of all.

Had you not existed Ormund Hightower wouldn’t have betrayed them, had you not existed he would have Vhagar and burn down her enemies to something lower than ash and Aegon would still be alive as King. You had no child from Lyonel Hightower even as his stepmother whelped bastard after bastard, mother claims you have poisoned your own womb to ensure Jacaerys became king.

Alicent’s anger had turned to madness from the grief, he had seen. Though he could not blame his mother for losing her sanity after seeing her father and son’s heads be paraded about the city with her in chains of gold behind them.

She was dying, Helaena had written days ago.

Winter Fever had swept into Westeros and just when it seemed to have died down, Mother had contracted it from her Septas in the motherhouse by the sea she has been locked in since Aegon’s reign fell before its six-moon mark.

Aemond knows it is a death sentence for him to see her, but he just needed to see her. just once more to say goodbye.

And he does, the Matron of the motherhouse smuggles him in as Osferthe, a dragonseed turned Septon, in case anyone catches a glimpse of his silvery hair.

“My son! my sweet boy, have you come to me at last?” His mother is drenched in sweat, skin flushed with fever and despite the ice in her bath, she is hot as dragon’s breath.

“Yes, mother, I have come to see you. You are on your fourth day and all will be well again,” he swallows back the grief of knowing she will not live to see the dusk turn to day outside of her window.

She is kept as a lady of her status; Rhaenyra had not been the tyrant he had been told she’d be after Luke took his eye. She is wary of them but has not handed them to the executioners or the confessors.

Helaena is happy with her husband who dotes on her three children as if they were his and has a daughter, little Daenaera, who their mother has gone as far as to call a bastard. Daeron, their brother, had wed Rhaena of Pentos after being knighted by Rhaenyra a king would have done. They had fared well, better than him in any case.

“My sweet boy, do not lie to me. I know it won’t be long before I join my mother and father and your sweet brother in the seven heavens.” She tries to reach out to touch him beyond the thin curtain of her bed, but she is too ill to even lift her bone thin arm. She had taken to fasting until he came home once and for all, it was why the illness had become fatal to her. “I want you to promise me something so I may rest easy, my love.”

“Anything you ask I will do, mother.” Against the Septa’s warnings he moves aside the curtain and takes her hands, not caring he would sicken and die as she will.

“I want you to ruin her. I want you to avenge us against her no matter how it is done. For me, for your brother.” She whispers her last request just as her body is wracked by a seizure.

“I promise you I will not rest until it is done.” Aemond the Kinslayer vows as his mother’s convulsions end the Queen in Chains.

His mother has yet to be buried in Kingslanding when the Gods show him revenge is what they need from him.

You had been beset by slavers when traveling from Kingslanding to Oldtown by ship because your husband didn’t want to be emasculated by your dragon nor was travelling by road a possibility. Amid the Daughters' War, Sharako Lohar had taken a gambit and paid for it with his life just as Lyonel did when his folly overrode all good sense.

Aemond did not give a shit about Westeros beyond Daeron Velaryon’s safety for Helaena’s sake, but he couldn’t get close to Rhaenyra unless he had a reason to be welcomed back. The Stepstones would have been a nice gift, but in you he had an even better thing to offer.

“Unhand me! I am Princess of Dragonstone and demand you return me to my mother!” you shout with as much authority a soaking wet girl shivering under a ratty woolen blanket can muster.

“Dear Aemee, is this how you thank your saviors?” he hasn’t called you that since he took your maidenhead the night his father died. Then he had loved you, and you were to be his wife and it wouldn’t even have mattered if there was a babe in your belly before your nuptials.

Now you were the widow of Lyonel Hightower as well as the Queen’s heir. Rhaenyra’s only legitimate child and only daughter. You were worth a kingdom, or in his case, a royal pardon.

And something far worse, the source of your mother’s ruin.

You are treated well, washed and dressed in the clothes found in a trunk stolen from your ship and given the Captain’s Cabin as ordered by Aemond.

Aemond who everyone believed dead three years past.

Aemond whom you had loved since the two of you were children.

Aemond who had murdered your little brother.

“I didn’t die with Vhagar that night, I was saved by pirates who put me to work like any other slave. I earned my freedom and my ship by proving my salt, as you Velaryons put it.” He is reserved in ways he was never with you, but he serves you watered down wine to settle the nerves you hide and even offers you food off his own plate, so you know it isn’t tainted.

“I am grateful to the Gods that they spared you, I feared Daemon had a hand in your murder, well, attempted murder.” You admit taking the mulled wine avoiding the staring he elicits in you.

He had changed, skin a golden tan, with the scruff of a fine beard on his chin and a hardness to him similar and yet unlike the one he had before this all happened.

“If he had, he would’ve succeeded, but alas it was my own overconfidence that did me in. You always said my arrogance knew no limits when you were cross with me.” Aemond joins you at his table, and stares at you to see how the last image of you compares to what he sees before him.

Last he saw you; you were a maid of six and ten begging your mother for his life. Dressed in mourning for your brother with your heart torn between the young man you loved and the fact he had killed Lucerys and been celebrated for it. But you had fallen to your knees and used the Courts favor for you to change her mind and banish him instead.

He was not allowed to see you after, not allowed to take anything save his weapons, some coin for lodgings and whatever Vhagar’s saddlebags had.

Alicent had been made to kiss your feet in thanks so he knew his mother’s life would be taken as well if he dared to rise against Rhaenyra.

The absolute loathing in the deposed queen’s face was something you could never forget.

You had not wanted that, but no one asks what you want anyways. If it pleased mother, she could disinherit you in favor of Jace and you would not be able to say anything about it.

“I am sorry for your loss, Aemond. I know how much you loved her.” You say knowing what had brought him to this side of the Narrow Sea.

“You know why I rescued you, don’t you.” He does not beat around the bush, and you nod knowing this was not done out of the goodness of his heart. He would buy himself safety to at least pay his respects to his mother or put an end to his exile.

“Mother would pay anything for us, the least she could do is allow you to say goodbye to your mother.” You know she would never end his exile; he had killed Luke in under a peace banner, but your life had to be worth something or else you know he would’ve let you die.

He nodded in agreement and the two of you supped in silence, you had not been fed since you were captured and almost forgot your manners to which he even smiled at the turn of events.

“Did you love him?” Aemond asks a question you had known would come. You could not simply forget a love that had been nurtured through a lifetime together, vows made in secret and a sense of belonging you could never find with anyone else.

“I prayed more often for the Stranger to take him than to change his heart.” You admit knowing he would not tell. “I would rather the throne went to Jace and his daughters than let his seed take root inside me.”

“I have to say widowhood suits you, Aemee.” He liked your candor going by the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I must enjoy it while I can, mother will be hounding me to remarry and keep those vultures from circling about me.” You may as well had professed your love to him given you had only been with two men your entire life. But the two of you had as much chance of being together in this life as the Wall crumbling to the ground.

“I could help you with that, once you gain me a pardon.”

You shouldn’t agree to this, but you do. What other choice do you have? Aemond killed your brother and become a cold-blooded pirate whose reputation preceded him. He could toss you overboard or sell you like the pirates sold Johanna Swan.

“Tell her grace I will not release her daughter unless my terms are agreed.” The Valyrian orders his quartermaster to deliver his terms, along with proof that you and the others rescued were unharmed. He could not dock in Westeros until he was assured no arrests would be made the second, he entered their waters. “Be sure that the men you take with you spread their stories, Cole.”

For your alleged safety he shares his bed with you. He claims his men could betray him to ruin you and, as the prince he was raised to be, he sleeps beside you with his sword between the two of you. Even here in his hideaway in Essos, you are not let out of his presence.

By the time the two of you arrived here rumors had flown that you had celebrated Lyonel’s death with Aemond these past nights, his doing of course.

It was said that Rhaenyra had grown paranoid, that she had Lady Misery’s spies keep watch on everything you did as well. His half-sister would hear of how you shared Aemond’s bed and hardly left his side and believe you are the whore she is.

Rhaenyra will force moon tea down your throat like Viserys is said to have done to her and only he would be able to comfort you over the loss of your mother’s trust.

It would be easy.

You have always loved him; he could tell you the truth about what happened that night and you’d be the Aemma who would believe the moon was made of cheese if he said so.

You would hate him after, but he saved your life making the two of you even, so he no longer owes you anything.

“What will you do if she refuses?” You ask, hiding your fears well, but not good enough for him to be fooled by it. You could never fool him, he knew you better than you knew yourself, he’d wager.

You lay beside him, as the two of you used to do for so long. The sword removed by your own volition as he wormed his way back into your heart little by little. You have yet to give into your pining for him, but you will do it soon enough.

“I’d keep you until she gives in. I could never hurt you, silly girl.” He answered caressing your soft face with a calloused hand knowing you’d eat up his words like you always did.

You’d hate him after, even if he wed you and tied your claim to his when he usurps your mother, you would hate him for it.

But his mother would rest peacefully and that was all that mattered.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x niece #aemond targaryen x oc #pirate!aemond #hotd fanfiction

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that-foul-legacy-lover · 4 months ago

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So we have doll reader, but what about a doll Legacy?

You know those hyper-realistic marionettes at carnivals that have all their limbs attached to strings and you can move all of them? Imagine reader makes one of Legacy and just has the puppet chomp and claw at him all the time like a kitten-sized version of moth!

The jaws make little wooden clacks every time you try to make the puppet bite him and his claws make the same skittery noises when you drag it across the floor!

ohh my moon and stars you can teach him to puppeteer the mini him and have Foul Legacy inception

the puppet's little wooden teeth do very little damage, a miniscule chomping sensation on Legacy's claws, but he still lets out a gasp of mock horror, pretending to be in agony with yelps and whines. you laugh as he flops over, sticking his tongue and playing dead. deftly you poke his tongue and he squawks indignantly, licking your fingers as revenge. you sit the puppet squarely on his chest, tilting its head this way and that just as Legacy does. he grumbles and sulks a bit before he can't resist the urge to smile anymore and breaks out into a fanged grin. the puppet dances around happily, the strings shining with a thin, silvery sheen, tapping his face with its tiny claws. you can't quite mimic Foul Legacy's wonderful chirps and trills, but still, you try your best, and he chitters with sweet amusement at the noise

if not the sounds he makes, you've become an ace at copying his mannerisms in your little puppet, down to the way he walks and the way he naps in the sunlight. if Legacy falls asleep anywhere, there's a very high chance he'll wake up to the doll next to him in the exact same position, no matter how melted or puddle-like he might've been. in his sleepy haze Legacy shakes himself and sits up slightly, moseying his way over to the puppet. he flops down beside it, gently nudging the wooden thing closer until it's cozied up to his chest much like a cat, or how he would pull you closer on rainy days to keep you warm and safe. it smells like you, the puppet- like you and nice wood and paint- something you made with your own two hands to have Legacy close at all times

you arrive home to the same sight, at it seems that perhaps the puppet is smiling, too

#genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #foul legacy #foul legacy childe #genshin tartagalia #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #ohhh porcelain doll you and wooden puppet legacy #simulanka vibes you know #ALSO I DID THE NEW ARCHON QUESTS #i think they're pretty good i'm having a good time #i would like a foul legacy cameo please and thank you hehe #short scenario #other's stuff #good evening #chit chat #anon

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scary-monsters · 6 days ago

Text

▹NSFW (mdni) • 10.7k • diego brando/mountain tim ▹content: canon compliant (kinda), porn with feelings, size difference, hand jobs, blow jobs, anal fingering, anal sex, frottage, tim is such a gentleman but diego really just wants to get plowed ▹synopsis: after diego's rain-soaked brawl with johnny and gyro, tim finds him huddled protectively over silver bullet and offers a helping hand and a warm place to stay. [ read on ao3 instead ]

▹ preview:

“Do you mind my company?” The way Tim said it was so gentle, so completely genuine, almost as if the answer to that question were something he’d been searching his entire life for, and, in that moment, Diego essentially held his heart in his hands. It was up to him whether or not he’d crush it in his palms or delicately clutch it close to his own. Luckily for Tim, Diego felt partial to honesty in that moment, and the answer was easy. “Your company is simple, which is to say I enjoy it. I like uncomplicated people.” It doesn’t hurt that you’re nice to look at. Diego kept that thought to himself, but Tim’s warm smile unearthing a dimple on one of his cheeks was not making that any easier.

By the time Johnny and Gyro’s horse-mounted forms had shrunk into the horizon, veiled by a downpour that showed no signs of letting up anytime soon, Diego’s rage had reached its boiling point and shifted into something more like well-concealed panic. It wasn’t yet clear to him why his beloved mare Silver Bullet had uncharacteristically dropped to the ground, seemingly unable to continue racing through the storm, but her wellbeing was, as always, his top priority. Johnny and Gyro should consider themselves incredibly lucky, Diego thought, though there would be hell to pay as soon as he caught up with them again. Especially if they’d done considerable damage to his best friend.

“Easy, girl,” Diego cooed, sifting one gloved hand through her silvery mane as he dug in his pocket for a bag of sugar cubes with the other, “just relax.” She was intelligent enough to not be distracted by sweets, but this was more a gesture of concern than some useless attempt to make her forget whatever was wrong.

Silver Bullet snorted, blinking against the barrage of rainwater steadily rolling down her face. Diego could read her like a book; it was obvious she was still agitated by events in the recent past, but looking to him for guidance despite all of it. Unfortunately they were in a large field with essentially no available cover, and Diego wasn’t entirely sure how soon his horse would feel able to rise to her feet again. His clothes were starting to stick uncomfortably to his skin, sending shivers through his small frame at every rush of wind, but he was more concerned about her well-being rather than the likelihood of him catching some sort of cold.

Diego’s saddle panniers were lightly packed, as they had been for the duration of the race, so removing them from Silver’s back was an easy task and an obvious start. Thick leather skidded across the muddy grass with a wet sound that Diego tried to ignore; if his gear was ruined, his sponsors would send replacements without question. The same could be said for his attire, which was starting to soak through and make him wish he’d brought some sort of outfit for this kind of weather.

With gentle hands and rain-blurred vision, Diego studied the expanse of Silver’s front legs, trying to discern what exactly was wrong. As much as he prided himself on being able to read these creatures masterfully well, his partner was often too much of a fighter to let on when something was up, which was exactly why her collapsing like this was so concerning. However, as his fingers skimmed the area above her front left cannon bone, he could feel the muscles there twitch uncomfortably as she gave a squeal to signal pain. Though his rage bubbled up and his thoughts floated to just how exactly he was going to get revenge on those two bastards, he tried to center himself. It was likely just a sprain from overexertion, and that could be easily treated.

However, the rain wasn’t letting up, and that made this entire situation about ten times more difficult than it needed to be. On any given normal day in his life, if he or his horse were injured, he’d instantly have a team of people assisting both of them and ensuring they get the best medical attention that Britain had to offer, but out here was a different, and incredibly isolating, story. He’d known the stakes as soon as he’d signed up for the Steel Ball Run, knew the risks he’d be putting both himself and Silver Bullet through, and that had all been worth it, but –

“Y’alright?”

Diego’s head shot up and he immediately began trying to find the source for the yell he swore he’d just heard. Surely it hadn’t just been his imagination, conjuring up some heroic apparition during a moment of rare panic?

Sure enough, several feet north of him came what looked, at the very least, like someone on horseback; the presence of a hat initially made Diego assume he’d need to be ready to fight again, but the brim was much too small to belong to Gyro. The closer the figure got, the less he looked like anyone Diego had had any sort of brawl with, and while he would still approach any newcomer as a potential risk, he shrugged off the animalistic rage. For now.

“Everything okay?” The stranger repeated his concern once he was close enough for Diego to study the sheer size of his steed. A mustang, with a muted pinto coat and dark eyes that bore straight down into his as he remained huddled over his own mare.

“Fine,” Diego answered simply, though that very obviously was not the case. He didn’t know this man, wasn’t interested in having to deal with yet another person who could potentially only be seeking him out to steal what he’d rightfully earned. “We’re fine, you can move along.”

“Don’t look it.” The man stated plainly, a slight twang in his tone that told Diego he was obviously from the south, as if his western attire wasn’t already a dead giveaway. As he slid off his horse, Diego did a quick scan of him; he was tall, with broad shoulders and a strong jaw that jutted out slightly as he bent to observe Silver. Diego was a little too distracted by the frankly obscene clash of zebra and leopard print present in the man’s outfit to realize that he was uncharacteristically letting a stranger get close to his partner.

Distraction aside, Diego sprung to action as soon as the man’s gloved hand extended out to presumably touch his beloved, his own swinging with claws extended and a territorial growl in his tone when he demanded, “Do not touch her.”

He half expected the stranger to lash out, but instead he calmly retracted his previous action and nodded once to express understanding. Diego locked eyes with him, letting his dark eyebrows furrow in warning, but the man appeared unaffected. If anything, he read as tranquil even as rain pattered off the brim of his cowboy hat.

“Is she hurt?” He asked, to which Diego nodded and continued running a soothing hand across Silver’s lower leg. “Is it bad?” This time Diego shook his head.

“Overexertion.” It seemed as good and generic an answer as any, something much more simple than explaining what had actually occurred. “She needs a place to rest.”

Diego had intended to follow that up with asking whether or not there was a town nearby, or at the very least an inn willing to let him stay for the night. Instead, the man immediately jutted his thumb out, pointing it in a direction that was far off from where his foes had previously escaped to.

“I’ve got a place half a mile up that way, just for the night. It’s got shelter for horses.”

Diego opened his mouth to deny the man, then mentally ran through his other options. Of which, there were not many.

“Mountain Tim,” the man suddenly extended the hand he’d previously gestured with, and when Diego stared at him blankly he elaborated, “ Tim is fine. I figure you’d rather know my name if you’re gonna shack up with me for the night.”

Such a statement could be read as flirtatious, but his voice was so genuine and forthcoming that Diego could sense, though cautiously, that he meant well. Diego shook his hand, but did not offer his name in return.

“May I?” Tim pointed to Silver, raising an eyebrow. “I hate to see such a pretty mare laying in the mud like this.”

Flattering his beloved horse certainly was a wise tactic to get on his good side, but Diego’s inherent need to protect his best friend at all costs raised alarm bells in his head the closer and closer he got to Silver. It was only when his horse made a soft noise of what seemed to be reassurance that he opted to back off.

“If you hurt her, I will kill you.” Diego finally relented with an honest promise, folding his arms over his chest. Tim did that solemn little singular nod again, grasping the brim of his hat between his forefinger and thumb and tipping it briefly.

Frankly, it was impressive to watch as Tim carefully assisted Silver Bullet, the sheer weight of her body showing an effect in his facial expression as the two of them worked together to get her back to her feet. Silver had always been a well-mannered horse, Diego took pride in that, but she was also quite finicky about who she would allow to get close. She knew her worth, knew she was Diego’s prized possession, but the trust she was showing Tim was something he had rarely seen in her four years of life. Like some sort of inherent faith that this stranger was a good man, despite not knowing him for longer than a few minutes.

Once Silver was back on her feet, she wobbled slightly and Diego instinctively rushed to her side again, brushing his fingers across her shoulder and cooing hushed praises at her. She seemed stable enough, even able to take very slow steps with minimally visible pain.

“Think she can walk?” Tim’s questioning continued, but he was already digging through the bag hooked to his horse’s saddle and pulling out a lead.

Diego studied Silver’s mannerisms, reading nothing but confidence, even though she was weak and desperately did need to rest somewhere safe, and preferably dry. “She’ll manage, but I can’t ride her.”

“That’s alright,” Tim’s accent was strong as he hooked the lead to Silver’s bridle, “Ghost’s big enough for the two of us.”

“Ghost?” Diego repeated.

“Ghost Rider in the Sky.” The confidence and pride in Tim’s voice was almost palpable as he motioned to his mustang and grinned. “My partner here. Don’t let his size fool ya’, he’s sweet-tempered.”

Silver’s current state and temporary inability to hold him was the thing that sold him on the idea of riding atop another man’s horse. That, and the rain still pattering against his helmet, sending a shiver through his body as he remembered just how wet he was.

Really, Tim was right. Ghost didn’t protest even a little bit as Tim mounted him and then assisted Diego in following suit. They rode slowly, Silver following behind with a slight limp that Diego kept a close eye on for the entire trip. Thankfully the speed made it so he didn’t need to brace himself by doing something embarrassing like wrapping his arms around Tim’s waist, though it was likely his incredible trained ability to stay balanced on a horse that had something to do with that as well. Diego couldn’t help but also be impressed by Tim’s comfort on his steed; he was self-assured and poised, like some sort of mysterious cowboy you’d hear about in stories. It was intriguing to see something so quintessentially American, even if Diego wished it were under different circumstances.

Expansive field transitioned to tree-spotted brushland and then to forest which thankfully offered a much-needed respite from the rainstorm. Tim’s aforementioned cabin was nestled deep within the trees, private and quiet, though he said there were neighboring homes ‘out a ways’. A lean-to was attached to the left side of the small building, already home to troughs of water and feed and a blanketed space where Ghost had presumably been staying before he’d been brought out into the rain. Diego sighed to himself with relief when he realized that the space was plenty big enough for two horses; he’d have never forgiven himself if he’d made Silver spend a claustrophobic night with another animal she’d barely known. Hell, there was room enough for him too in the event that Tim’s company was abhorrent and he’d rather sleep outside next to his partner instead. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.

After the pair had slid off Ghost, Tim made quick work of guiding the horses into the lean-to, ensuring there was enough food and water for both of them. Only then did he gesture to the front of the cabin and brandish a key from his pocket. Diego eagerly followed, filing away his typical lack of trust and instead focusing on warmth.

And warmth, he got. There was already a fire flickering in the fireplace at the far end of the cabin, its flame weak but almost intoxicating to Diego’s rain-soaked body. Tim busied himself, effortlessly tossing another log into the pit and then crossing to a dresser adjacent to the cabin’s only bed. It was just one room, a simple rectangular interior with an no-nonsense layout. Sleeping quarters at one end, fireplace at the other. A simplistic kitchen with a wood-fire stove and a table for one sat in one corner as well, which Diego’s perceptive eyes noticed had a tin of coffee grounds sitting atop its wooden surface.

“Warm up,” Tim’s gruff voice, now untouched by the rush of rain, abruptly knocked Diego out of his fixed gaze; he was standing directly in front of him now, towering over him in a way that made Diego have to crane his neck to look up before dropping his stare to find a pile of clean clothes in the man’s hands. “I reckon you’ll swim in these but we don’t need you gettin’ sick.”

Mouth open, Diego took the garments in his hands and then snapped his jaw shut. As if needing permission to move, Tim stood there until Diego looked pointedly at him again, eventually raising his eyebrow.

“Right. Privacy.” Tim threw his hands up apologetically and Diego thought he may have caught a slight blush across his features. With large strides, he made his way back to the front door, resting his hand against the doorknob. “You get changed, I’ll go take care of your girl.”

“I stand by what I said before.” Diego insisted, hoping that Tim was smart enough to remember his previous warning.

“If I hurt her, you’ll kill me.” Tim repeated, nothing but politeness in his voice despite how drastic of a message it was. “Understood, but I hope you’ll find that you can trust me.”

With that, he left, gently shutting the door behind him and leaving Diego in quiet, warm solitude. It was likely that he had a change of clothes in his pack, but that was outside and slung over Silver Bullet and would require venturing out into the rain again. Tim’s spare clothes would do, just for the night.

Tim didn’t seem to have any ulterior motives, but Diego still made quick work of slipping out of his sweater and jodhpurs before he potentially returned and caught him bare. He set the soaked clothes down close to the fireplace, hoping the heat would dry them off quickly. His host for the evening had given him a cream-colored linen pullover shirt with a pointed lace-up collar which he chose to leave loose, considering the piece was already at least three sizes too big for him. The sleeves hung loose, though Diego rolled them up to the best of his ability. Accompanying the shirt were a pair of wool pants that were, again, far too large, and Diego opted to refrain from pulling them on and struggling to keep them on. The breeches he’d been wearing underneath his own pants had dried off enough that he felt comfortable settling for just that. Besides, the shirt was long enough that it hit him mid-thigh.

Heat coursed through his veins as he sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace, shaking out his hair and brushing still-damp pieces back from his face. Diego wasn’t the type to do something like this, to agree to stay with a random man on a random night in the middle of the most important race of his entire lifetime. There was something about Tim, however, and while he wasn’t entirely sure what that something was, Silver’s inherent respect for him was a good place to start. She was important enough that he could throw his ego out the window if it meant doing what was best for her, and it appeared that this was just that.

It was several minutes before Tim stepped through the door again, this time resting his gaudy hat and worn gloves against a rickety coat rack just next to the entryway. He tousled his sandy blonde hair before approaching the fireplace and warming his hands, eyeing Diego briefly with what looked like satisfaction.

“How is she?” Diego immediately inquired, keeping his tone serious. Sure, he trusted this man a little bit, but his demeanor was still ruled by anxiety.

“She’s fine, having some dinner right now.” Tim answered, slipping his boots off. “I made sure she’s got a warm place to sleep for the night, her and Ghost are getting along well.” He chuckled and it had a smooth honey-like cadence to it. “You don’t believe me, you’re free to go look. It’s still raining and you look awfully warm right now, though.”

Diego scoffed, the closest thing to laughter that he would offer Tim. “S’fine. My promise still stands, though.”

“‘Course,” Tim nodded, again agreeing to the warning as though it was nothing. He crossed the room towards the kitchen area and grasped the tin that had previously held Diego’s attention. “Coffee?”

Diego had to wonder if Tim was taking him seriously, if he really understood just how easily he could slit his throat and leave him bleeding in this cabin, or if he knew how powerful he was in general. Did Tim even know who he was? Who was Tim? Was that even really his name? Suddenly skepticism was scratching at Diego’s brain, making him want to ask a litany of questions but also say nothing at all.

“A cup would be nice.” Diego replied, eyes never leaving Tim as he watched him gather a pot, some water, the coffee tin, and a pair of mugs.

Silence filled the room as Tim brought the materials over to the fire and began boiling water. Regrettably, it wasn’t Blue Mountain No.1, which seemed to be a trend during this race, but Diego wasn’t too prideful to refuse a cup of coffee regardless. Tim made his own cup first, making a comment about how he didn’t want Diego to think he was poisoning him or anything. The thought hadn’t crossed Diego’s mind, but he appreciated the gesture anyway. Bold and smoky, it filled his stomach with a familiar comfort that reminded him of back home, of mornings where he’d relax over breakfast with a fresh cup and the daily newspaper. Combined with the muffled rattle of rain against the roof and the faint crackling of the fire in front of them, Diego had to admit he felt more at peace than he had in a while, especially during this race.

“That girl sure does love you.” Tim broke the silence from his spot on the wooden chair in front of the fire, leaning back with one hand resting behind his head and the other still grasping his half-full mug.

It took a moment for Diego to realize who Tim was referring to. Of course Silver loved him, he had raised her from the moment she was born, claimed her as his award winning steed just hours into her time on this planet despite everyone around him insisting that a mare could never hold a candle to a stallion, and that he was surely destined to bond with another more qualified horse.

“I would do anything for her,” Diego’s posture instantly improved when he said this, his head held high even from his spot still seated on the floor. And I will kill Gyro for hurting her like that, he kept that thought to himself.

“So many in this race treat their horses like tools.” Tim sighed, his expression downcast and his eyes reflecting the fire in front of them. “I appreciate someone who has respect for his steed. You’re a good man, Dio.”

The sound of his nickname made Diego panic for a moment; so Tim did know who he was. Not that he hadn’t said anything to contradict that, but it was odd that he hadn’t called him by his name until this very moment, while Diego was sitting so vulnerable in his presence.

“I suppose you’ll be asking for an autograph now.” Diego joked, finishing off the remainder of his coffee. Tim didn’t seem all that impressed by his company, definitely not to the degree that some fans would be, but he admitted privately that it would be quite funny to see the man suddenly turn into a rabid enthusiast.

“No, thank you.” Tim shook his head, shrugged one hefty shoulder. “I’ll admit I didn’t know you from Adam before this race, but it’s my job to keep tabs on participants, so I have basic knowledge of everyone.”

“Your job?” Diego’s eyebrow lifted.

“Correct. Secret stuff, but pay no mind. It’s partly to keep y’all safe and maintain the integrity of the race. So, really, helping you and your girl out today was just me doing my job, not a grand act of fanaticism.” Tim’s eyes met Diego’s and he smiled a little sheepishly. “Sorry to disappoint.”

It wasn’t disappointing. Frankly, it was refreshing to interact with someone who didn’t want to fuck or kill him. The fact that Tim didn’t have much of an opinion of him beyond him being ‘good’ was, oddly, a relief. Being a public figure was exhausting sometimes, the constant pressure of creating a perfect image and adhering to people’s idea of who he was? It was a lot.

Diego shrugged off the apology, waving a hand dismissively as if to say ‘it’s fine, this is nice’. That seemed good enough for Tim, who finished off his coffee and set the mug down gently on the floor. When he stretched his arms out above his head Diego could see the muscles flexing in his forearms and he tried to ignore how much he admired the sight. Tim looked tired, and Diego wondered if a heroic cowboy like him needed to turn in early for the night so he could rise with the sun.

“Don’t stay awake for my sake,” Diego offered, “I don’t sleep much.”

“I’m not,” Tim insisted, “but I gotta admit having company is nice.”

A statement that, generally, Diego would highly disagree with. Tim’s company was strangely nice, though. Maybe it was the lack of expectations, the comfortable quiet, or the simplistically good coffee. It wasn’t often that he found himself admitting he’d be willing to spend time with a stranger like this, especially when there was a race going on that he was quickly losing ground in. Silver was injured, he reminded himself, and relaxed.

“It’s not one of my skills,” Diego found himself confessing, “being ‘company’, I mean.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Tim huffed a laugh, and his breath ghosted across the chest hair peeking out of his open shirt collar. “Best company I’ve had in a while.”

“Clearly you don’t have company very often.” It was meant as a joke.

“I don’t.” When Tim confirmed this, his eyes were sad, his mouth drawn tight as he appeared to ponder the truth of that statement. Suddenly Diego felt a little guilty. “It gets real lonely out here.”

It was hard to know what to say to that. Diego usually spent his time alone, and he preferred that, so it was difficult to sympathize with something that clearly made Tim’s chest ache. A lonely cowboy with a heart of gold; he really was a stereotype.

“Surely you have a girl?” Diego inquired, opting for flattery, “You’re a cowboy, don’t American women love that sort of thing?”

Tim seemed to genuinely process the question, letting it rattle around in his head as he chewed at the inside of his cheek. Diego wondered if he had just opened up a can of worms that he would quickly regret, and yet again considered the possibility of sleeping next to Silver Bullet tonight.

“You ever been in love, Dio?” Tim asked, and Diego wondered how quickly he could dart for the door and make it outside without ruining Tim’s night.

“No.” Diego answered simply, without even mulling the thought over. It was a complicated question, and one he didn’t have the energy to commit to.

“Really? I figure a guy like you has his fair share of love.” Tim chuckled in that same rich, honey-sweet way he had earlier.

In a way, if you counted affairs and one-time lovers, but Tim seemed to be far too much of a bleeding heart romantic to consider that a genuine experience of ‘love’.

“I’m committed to my job. I find that the title of ‘Britain’s Star Jockey’ doesn’t come with much free time, certainly not enough for a relationship.”

Understanding flashed in Tim’s expression as he nodded, though the hum he emitted sounded a little disappointed. “Suppose that makes sense.” Warm light licked at his skin as he lifted a hand to stroke his jaw, the sheer size of his digits not lost on Diego. “You don’t get lonely?”

“Hardly.” Diego scoffed, then raised a finger as if to backtrack. He didn’t want Tim to think he was making fun of his predicament. “I mean, I don’t care for the company of most people. Copulation isn’t a difficult thing for me to find, if I choose it, but generally it stops at that, I don’t have time for much else.”

It didn’t really occur to him that his attempt at explaining had morphed into oversharing until he glanced at his host again and noticed the attentive way he was looking at him, almost inquisitive. Tim hadn’t asked about sex, he’d simply asked if Diego was in any sort of relationship, but what Tim didn’t realize was that he was talking to someone who was currently far too guarded for anything beyond carnal desires. Still, and embarrassingly so, Diego could feel himself blushing a little.

“Do you mind my company?”

The way Tim said it was so gentle, so completely genuine, almost as if the answer to that question were something he’d been searching his entire life for, and, in that moment, Diego essentially held his heart in his hands. It was up to him whether or not he’d crush it in his palms or delicately clutch it close to his own.

Luckily for Tim, Diego felt partial to honesty in that moment, and the answer was easy.

“Your company is simple, which is to say I enjoy it. I like uncomplicated people.”

It doesn’t hurt that you’re nice to look at. Diego kept that thought to himself, but Tim’s warm smile unearthing a dimple on one of his cheeks was not making that any easier.

“‘Uncomplicated,’ huh.” Tim laughed. “Not sure I’ve ever been called that before.”

“I find that horses are a good way to judge a person’s character without all the nonsense of getting to know them. Silver likes you, and that tells me enough.”

His companion said nothing to that, but Tim’s demeanor seemed at least a little more pleased. It was the silence that filled the room again that made Diego’s mind start to wander; always searching for a goal, no matter how outlandish, he wondered if he could convince Tim to let him touch him, even a little bit. The fact of the matter was, Tim was an incredibly attractive man with a softness about him that Diego couldn’t help but want to unfurl and explore. Had Tim been with a man before? If not, was he opposed to the idea?

Diego gradually scooted a little closer, which Tim didn’t seem to notice as his eyes were still fixed on the flames in front of them. The less distance that existed between them, the more Diego studied the shape of him, the way he sat in that chair with his legs spread confidently, the sheer strength of his shirt’s buttons keeping his large chest locked away from Diego’s eager eyes, the slight bulge in his pants that made him salivate. This was a dangerous game, but it was one he was increasingly willing to play.

“So, Tim.” Diego turned his body to fully face the man, pulling one knee up to his chin and resting his head there. “How should I repay you for your hospitality and kindness?”

“Oh, I don’t need any repayment.” Tim shook his head, clearly content enough with just sitting there in silence.

“Tim, you said you’re lonely,” Diego lowered his voice, reaching out to brush his fingertips across Tim’s ankle. “...let me help you.”

Physical contact seemed to ignite something in Tim that had previously laid dormant. His nostrils flared, but he didn’t kick Diego away after feeling his touch. Instead, he seemed breathless, waiting for him to do it again. Thankfully Diego’s words seemed to finally click.

“I suppose… company for the night… would be nice.” Polite and un-obscene, though Diego shouldn’t have expected anything else.

Diego couldn’t really recall the last time he’d been with a man, though he knew it’d been a while and that none of them had come close to the sheer size and apparent strength of Tim. These things alone raised goosebumps across his skin as he scooted even closer, tentatively resting his palms on both of Tim’s spread knees and lifting himself to lean forward over his lap. Tim gulped, his hands lying against the arms of the chair but twitching with a clear desire to touch, to feel. Diego could read it, so he grasped one of them and placed it against his own cheek, closing his eyes and sighing blissfully at the feeling of a heavy, calloused hand on his supple skin.

Tim held his face with a sort of gentleness he was not accustomed to, his thumb dragging across the space below his eye as he exhaled, like touching Diego was the one thing he required to continue breathing in that moment. Turning his head to kiss at Tim’s palm seemed to snap something in the man, and when Diego met his stare and slowly blinked he could hear a guttural groan barrel out from Tim’s throat.

“You sure are pretty,” Tim breathed reverently, slowly shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’d look even better on my back.” Diego nipped at Tim’s palm, lapping at the same spot immediately afterwards. “Or with your cock in my mouth. However you’d like me.”

Tim’s breath came out shaky and loud. “Oh, Dio, I can’t possibly choose.”

“Diego,” he corrected him, “call me Diego, all my lovers do.”

“Your ‘lover’,” Tim moaned, as if that was a magic word to make him instantly aroused.

Diego continued mouthing at Tim’s palm, exploring the surface of it and wondering if his cock would be as large as the rest of him. When he took Tim’s thumb between his lips he closed his eyes and imagined it; how he’d feel hitting the back of his throat, how he’d probably refrain from fucking into his mouth but how Diego would beg him to do it anyway. As he sucked at Tim’s thumb and coated it with his spit, the man just sat there staring at him in disbelief. With pride, and whether it was true or not, Diego thought to himself that he was probably the first person to make Tim feel this overcome with desire.

It was clear that Diego would need to get the ball rolling here, though he hoped that would only be temporary and that as soon as Tim was comfortable, he’d be fucking him into the floor and leaving him incapable of walking in the morning. Dominance wasn’t Diego’s forte, not in the bedroom at least. Behind closed doors he preferred being tossed around and submissive, unlike the persona he showed to the general public. Tim seemed like the perfect candidate for this, especially considering Diego’s fame meant nothing to him.

As much as he missed the lack of contact for a few seconds, Diego rose to his feet and instead moved to straddle Tim’s lap, eyeing him inquisitively until the man grasped him by the waist and effortlessly lifted him up. The moment Diego was settled in his lap, he could feel Tim straining against his pants, and that observation alone sent a rush of confidence through his veins.

“Another thing, if you’re going to be added to my list of lovers,” Diego whispered, his hands slowly and carefully unbuttoning the remainder of Tim’s shirt, “you have to promise to keep me a secret.”

“‘Course,” Tim muttered, his eyes unabashedly fixated on Diego’s lips, “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“A gentleman,” Diego observed, letting his palms rest against Tim’s chest, feeling his coarse hair brush against his skin as he pushed his shirt open even further, “I can’t have the tabloids knowing about this.”

“Understood.” Even though he was still clearly distracted by the fullness of Diego’s mouth, it was evident he was intent on keeping that promise.

When Diego finally kissed him, Tim went still as a statue for a moment, as if he were overwhelmed by the feeling, but when Diego palmed at his chest and grazed one of his nipples, Tim reciprocated with a sort of quiet ferocity that had Diego desperate for more. Tim’s hands dug into his waist, squeezing and holding him down tight against his lap as he parted his mouth and seized Diego’s bottom lip between his teeth. With a gasp, Diego ground down tighter against Tim and sucked his tongue into his mouth.

This was better than he could’ve expected, though if Diego were honest he wasn’t sure exactly what to expect when it came to Tim. Knowing him for only a few hours and receiving next to no information about him meant that this experience would be full of surprises, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“Have you been with a man before?” Diego asked breathlessly as soon as they parted, trying not to lose composure when Tim licked up the string of spit briefly connecting their lips.

“When I was younger,” Tim confirmed, without any other detail, “but not for a long time.”

Diego thought about asking if Tim was attracted to him, but the mass currently being pressed unapologetically upwards between his own thighs was all the answer he needed.

“I know how to make love, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Diego stifled a laugh. It wasn’t, but Tim’s sincerity was charming.

“Oh, I imagine you do, with a body like this,” Diego purred, trailing his fingertips down Tim’s sternum, his abdomen, and then finally resting at his belt’s large buckle. The sound of metal being unclasped pounded in his ears as he leaned closer to whisper against the shell of Tim’s. “I imagine you could do all sorts of things to me.”

His thick muttonchop brushed against Diego’s skin as Tim brought his face closer to his, breath hot and heavy and fanning across his neck as he muttered something so incomprehensible with lust that it made Diego smirk. It was encouraging to know that he hadn’t lost his touch, he was going to need to access every bit of his seductive skill if he wanted to properly handle what was slowly being revealed underneath Tim’s outfit.

Tim was the one who slipped his belt from out his belt loops, letting the thing clatter to the floor as Diego hooked his fingertips underneath robust denim and attempted, with not much success, to see more of him. Polite as ever, Tim mumbled an apology, as if Diego should be hurt by the fact that Tim’s pants were so incredibly tight, and then rested a palm against the jockey’s lower back to prevent him from toppling backwards as he lifted his hips and shimmied partway out of the confines of his jeans and breeches.

Diego wasn’t religious, but he couldn’t help feeling he should be thanking some sort of God as he looked down at Tim’s crotch, the sheer size and girth of him almost overwhelming. His throat felt empty as he gulped; he wasted no time in palming at Tim’s shaft, offering his entire length a single appreciative stroke before his thumb circled its head. When he looked back up, he found that Tim was still watching his mouth, an eager flush spread across his strong features that made Diego bite back another laugh.

Without a word, Diego locked half-lidded eyes with Tim as he allowed a thick trail of spit to leave his mouth and land exactly where they both wanted it, his hand distributing the moisture along warm, sensitive skin.

“My God,” Tim uttered, fighting not to throw his head back in bliss as Diego stroked his quickly hardening cock. His hand was still resting at the base of Diego’s back, but it was a shame there was a barrier of linen between their skin.

“This is nothing.” Diego’s thumb collected the pre sitting atop Tim’s glistening tip and distributed it as well. “Just wait till you feel how tight I am.” That was assuming he’d be able to take Tim.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Tim mumbled, a flicker of concern present in his eyes that Diego was determined to stomp out immediately.

“Oh, please,” Diego scoffed, making a show of pulling the borrowed shirt over his head, tossing it to the side, and arching his back. With both arms draped across Tim’s shoulders, he leaned closer to him and nudged his nose with his. “I’m not fragile, so you don’t need to treat me as such.”

“If I hurt you, your girl might kick me into next Sunday.” That was a joke, Diego could tell by the upturn at the corner of Tim’s mouth, but humor often came with a fraction of honesty.

“She wouldn’t. Even if that were true, I can assure you it would be worth it.” Diego cocked his head, gave Tim’s balls a gentle squeeze for emphasis. “For both of us”

“If you’re certain.” A pause; Tim studied Diego’s face with eyes that looked darker than they had just a minute ago. “Where should I fuck you, then?”

“Wherever your heart desires, Tim.” A clap of thunder sounded from outside in the distance, still not strong enough to break the focus between their gazes. “Quickly.”

It appeared that not much more persuasion was necessary.

Tim’s arm hooked around Diego’s waist, sturdy enough to hold him up as he got to his feet and stumbled a few steps forward. The Brit instinctively wrapped his legs around Tim’s middle, feeling tiny in his grasp as Tim, with his pants still down to his mid-thighs, shuffled carefully towards the bed. Admittedly, Diego had considered the possibility of riding Tim in that chair, of maybe being bent over the table or laid out on the floor and used until he couldn’t walk anymore. It should’ve come as no surprise that he’d choose the bed of all places, but Diego didn’t mind being delicately deposited against a mattress. In fact it was nice, especially when he propped himself up on his knees and was eye level with Tim’s erection.

He was hefty in Diego’s palm as he held him, he couldn’t help admiring the way his balls hung heavily amidst a swath of thick hair that he desperately wanted to get a good whiff of. Tim walked around every single day with a piece like this tucked away in his pants and he wasn’t fucking people left and right? That, Diego thought, was a shame, but it made him feel even more grateful to be of the select few chosen to see it, to feel it.

While Diego unabashedly worshipped Tim with his hands, the man finally shrugged off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor carelessly. Now Diego didn’t know what to look at: his cock, his tits, or his biceps. Every single part of him was masculine and rugged, and yet the softness in his eyes was sincere, the way his hand gently carded through Diego’s hair was so tender, all of it betrayed the erotic images he was conjuring up in his mind.

“Think you can handle this?” Gruffness found its way back into Tim’s voice as he pushed his hips forward enough to brush his cock against Diego’s lips, and the Brit’s skin prickled with anticipation. Something about the way he said it made Diego want to claw at Tim’s skin and rip out whatever commanding beast he knew was nestled somewhere deep inside him.

“Watch me.”

Diego started slowly, as much as he wanted to immediately choke himself on Tim’s cock he also wanted to give the man a show he could enjoy. Staying on his hands and knees, he made sure to stick his ass out in a way that might welcome Tim to touch him, maintained eye contact with him as he pressed his lips to his tip and worked a series of open-mouthed kisses down the entire length of his shaft. As soon as he buried his nose in the patch of curly hair at its base, he took a deep breath, allowing Tim’s musk to fill his senses and send a shiver through his spine.

Tim appeared completely entranced, one of his arms hung awkwardly at his side as the other continued brushing a careful hand through Diego’s locks. Under other circumstances, he felt the action was pleasing enough that he could relax and fall asleep, but in this moment he wished Tim would pull it, fist his hair in it and force Diego down until he was breathlessly full of him.

Mouthing at Tim’s balls made the man snap his hips forward, a clear but wordless request for more. Maybe it wasn’t even intentional, but Diego didn’t intend on keeping him waiting any longer. His plush lips circled his tip, allowing his tongue to tease his frenulum before he gradually took more. Tim’s cock filled his mouth so deliciously even though he was struggling to take all of it, so he let his hand work the bit of him that he couldn’t manage. Yet.

Tim called him pretty again, and this time his voice was so thick with lust that Diego couldn’t sense even a little bit of innocence in the compliment. As a thank you, he bobbed his head in one smooth motion, his tongue flat against the underside of his length, sensing every single twitch and pulse that rushed through his velvety skin.

“That’s good,” Tim praised him, and Diego was pleased by the way he gathered a handful of his hair in his hand and assisted his movements.

Only when he hit the back of Diego’s throat and tears started to prickle at the corners of his eyes did he pull off with a soaked pop, gasping to find his breath. The hold on his hair was more apologetic now, but Diego quickly shook his head before Tim could utter some pointless apology.

“Don’t back down,” he begged, lapping at the moisture collecting at Tim’s tip, not wanting to waste any bit of it. “We’re just getting started.”

“Can I…” Tim paused, his other hand finally lifted and hovering near Diego’s back, “touch you?”

Diego’s answer to that was breathless. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

With his mouth full of cock again, Diego focused on easing more and more grunts from out of Tim. Just as he started to work his balls with his palm, he felt the man’s sizable hand knead his ass, grasping one of his cheeks and spreading it in a way that made Diego groan with pleasant surprise. Tim’s cock reacted to the vibration of it, leaking desperately into his throat and throbbing against his tongue.

“Again,” Diego pulled off just for a moment, just to utter that request, his breath ghosting across Tim’s pubes, “harder.”

Tim obeyed, giving Diego’s ass a firm spank that echoed through the quaint cabin, a needy whine emitting from the smaller man. Heat pooled in his groin as he could feel himself straining against his breeches now as well, the last layer of fabric keeping him from being fully vulnerable to Tim.

It may have been a blessing in disguise that he released Tim from his lips again just to focus on removing the final piece of clothing, seeing as he looked as if he were ready to blow at any second. An animalistic urgency was present in Tim’s face now as his own hand began pumping his shaft in the absence of Diego’s mouth, and the Brit gave him a sly smile as he watched him.

“Careful. I’m not nearly done with you.”

Tim was hanging off every word Diego said, watching every fluid movement as he chucked his breeches off to the side and allowed the man to observe every last bit of his body in all its glory now. Diego made a show of bringing his fingers to his mouth, slathering two digits in his spit before reaching back to prod at his asshole. He bit at his lip while he worked them, the feeling all too familiar and explored numerous times both with partners and in private.

“Two won’t be enough.” Tim uttered this warning with sincerity, slowly shaking his head as he watched Diego finger himself.

“You’re right,” Diego confirmed, grasping Tim’s wrist in his free hand, “perhaps yours would suffice.”

Before Tim could utter any potential disagreement, and Diego highly doubted he would’ve, the Brit eased two fingers that were significantly larger than his own into his mouth, coating calloused and dry skin in as much spit as he could manage. Diego let his eyes flutter closed as he imagined the digits against his tongue were taking the place of his own fingers, continually working his hole and preparing it for something so much girthier. It took everything in his power to not beg Tim to just fuck him already as he felt the man’s other hand delicately cup his chin, his voice low and treacly when he praised him with a simple ‘that’s it’. Two little words shouldn’t hold so much power over Diego, and yet he wanted to lock the sound away in his mind forever to access whenever he desperately needed to get off. By the time a third finger was resting against Diego’s tongue and spit was leaking out from between his pillowy lips, he felt almost breathless, his brain clouded with such intense arousal that he doubted he would even last ten seconds once Tim was inside him for real.

“Lie back,” Tim finally uttered, easing his fingers out from Diego’s mouth and not bothering to dry them as he finally began fully removing his bottoms. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Diego’s skin buzzed with desire as he watched Tim, now fully bare, climb atop the mattress and trap him between his built arms. Diego did as instructed, resting his head against the bed’s single flat pillow and laying down, but he pulled Tim down with him by the nape of his neck, breathing hot against his lips as he felt the fingers previously shoved in his mouth now teasing his asshole. They weren’t immediately pushed in, but Diego held Tim’s stare and kept his breath locked in his lungs as he waited, unable to hold back the pathetic little ‘please’ that escaped the confines of his throat.

Only when the first digit entered him second-knuckle deep did Diego allow himself to breathe, but his mouth was quickly captured by Tim’s in another kiss that felt far too passionate for two strangers in the middle of nowhere. It was difficult to keep from touching himself, even more so to gently smack Tim’s other hand away when he tried to stroke him.

“Don’t,” Diego stated softly, cupping Tim’s jaw in his hand and offering him a look of disappointment, “I’m too close.”

Tim obliged with a gentle apology, opting to instead keep kissing Diego and let his cock lay untouched and leaking against his abdomen. At this point, he was two fingers deep, toying with the tip of a third, and Diego took pride in how quickly and easily he was opening up for him. Kissing Tim was nice, but he was beginning to feel antsy about getting plowed into the bed, so when he broke away from him and bucked his hips up into the air he hoped Tim would get the hint.

“Ready for me?” Tim asked as sweetly as ever, and Diego had never nodded so quickly in his life. “Alright. You tell me if it hurts.”

“I hope it does,” Diego mused, allowing himself to be adjusted as Tim took his place between his legs.

Tim’s hands easily grasped both of Diego’s thighs as he closed the distance between the jockey’s bottom half and his torso and quietly made mention of how flexible he was. Diego smirked, assisting by holding his own legs in place and watching Tim through the gap in them. He allowed a deep moan to fill the room when he felt Tim’s thumb prod at his hole, saw the man spit on him and work the moisture against his entrance.

No warning was given, but the second Tim’s cock brushed against Diego’s hole he felt a shuddering gasp overtake his body. It was a little embarrassing just how badly he wanted this, but Tim only made the wanting worse when he cooed, “Easy. Breathe.”

Tragically Diego couldn’t take the entirety of him on the first go, but the stretch felt intoxicating as Tim’s cock entered him and filled him so deeply and fully. Diego’s body went stiff and he shut his eyes to ward off tears prickling at their corners. God, Tim was big. The biggest he’d ever had, Diego was sure of it, and what a shame he’d likely never be burdened like this ever again.

“Christ,” Tim groaned, and his voice was much closer than Diego anticipated, his breath hot against the Brit’s neck.

Diego’s eyes opened again and he brushed his hands through Tim’s hair, holding his forehead against his as the man’s hips slowly rocked against his own. “Keep going.” He urged him, letting one hand explore the muscular expanse of his back, his nails catching on his skin.

Tim eased further into him, little by little, until he was somehow sheathed entirely inside him and Diego swore he could feel him in his guts. The pair allowed themselves to adjust to the sheer bliss of it all, muffled rain once again the loudest thing in the room besides the hushed sounds leaking from their own mouths, their breath mingling in the miniscule space left between their bodies.

“Fuck me,” Diego finally whispered after a beat, not allowing himself to beg but keeping his voice stern. “Do not hold back.”

Tim grunted in understanding, bracing himself with one hand against the headboard and clapping the other against the underside of Diego’s left thigh. His hips pulled back, and then they snapped forward with so much strength that the bed smacked against the wall. Diego saw stars in his vision, his hands fisting in the sheets as a pleasured yelp left his mouth. Tim did it again, and again, and again, and the steady slap of his balls at Diego’s ass was ringing obscenely in his ears.

Diego’s cock twitched hopelessly against his groin and he fought to keep from touching it, knowing that it would spell the end and that it would be far more satisfying and sexy to cum untouched, only from the sheer brute strength of being fucked like this. He kept his eyes trained on Tim’s face, studying the way his brushed-back hair began falling against his sweaty forehead. Red washed over the man’s expression as he continued pounding into Diego, his chest heaving with every movement and his grip so strong on Diego’s thigh that his knuckles went pale white. It was a wonder how the bed hadn’t collapsed under his effort, but the way the headboard kept slamming against the wall left Diego wondering if there’d be any damage leftover. He’d surely have some marks in the morning.

After a particularly painful thrust, Diego cried out again and Tim held himself there, buried deep within his ass as he released his thigh in preference of brushing his bangs back from his face.

“Alright?” When he asked, Diego only kept from rolling his eyes because he didn’t have the strength for even that.

“Never better,” Diego teased.

Tim kissed him again for a moment; it was as if that were his favorite part of being with Diego, the way he kept finding excuses to do it. But Diego just wanted him to keep fucking him, so he worked to roll himself over so his backside was sticking in the air, wiggling it around to distract Tim from his mouth. No further encouragement needed, Tim lined himself up again, spreading Diego’s ass with both his palms and shoving himself back inside with little effort. This time Diego sunk his teeth into the pillow beneath him, grunting and growling as he was fucked harder and faster than he had been before. Now, when Tim wrapped one hand easily around his aching shaft, Diego didn’t fight him off, finding it was easier to keep himself from cumming when he wasn’t on his back looking up at such a gorgeous man. Diego’s brain was so foggy with arousal he forgot where he was for a moment, focusing entirely on how incredible it all felt. Only when Tim’s hand collided with one of his cheeks in another quick spank did Diego start to feel the threat of release again, his mouth hanging open, drool coating the thin pillowcase.

Suddenly, it all stopped, Tim was gasping and holding himself still and Diego wondered with brief disappointment if he’d somehow missed him spilling inside of him. He hadn’t, he realized, as soon as Tim muttered a rushed, “I’m close.”

Diego echoed the sentiment, returning to his previous position on his back and helping Tim ease out of him. He urged him closer, pulling him down by the nape of his neck as he curled a hand around Tim’s cock again and pressed it tight against his own. When he looked down at the pair of them, he noticed how much larger Tim was, how he overtook him so easily but allowed Diego to take the lead this time. Diego used both his hands to hold them together, telling Tim to fuck into his fist and praising him when he did so. His wrists moved in tandem, bringing both of them closer and closer to a mutual precipice that was bittersweet to think about. Diego didn’t want this to end, but he also wanted to watch Tim fall apart by his hand.

His own orgasm rocked through him so suddenly he almost wasn’t prepared; he went rigid as a guttural moan tore through his chest and he spilled out hot against his own chest. With cum-soaked hands he continued working both of them in his fists, and when Tim whispered a warning, Diego released him from the confines of his slick palms.

“In my mouth,” he begged thoughtlessly, slapping a hand against Tim’s back, “on my face.”

Tim nodded and rushed to his knees again, resting them on either side of Diego’s body and smacking his cock against Diego’s already outstretched tongue. It took little effort, only a few quick pumps of Tim’s hand for his climax to overtake him and send a shudder through his large body. His release hit Diego’s face in thick ropes, everywhere from his chin to his hairline coated in a gift he felt so deserving of. Tim kept stroking himself even as he stopped cumming, letting his cock rest against Diego’s tongue until the last waves of his orgasm left him. Diego teased him after, taking him between his lips and humming with satisfaction as he admired the way Tim looked, blissed out and exhausted with his full weight sitting atop the Brit’s chest.

“Tim,” Diego finally purred once the silence became a little too heavy, nuzzling against his softening cock, “you’re quite good at this.”

“You're…” Tim started, but he seemed overcome with emotions Diego hoped he wouldn’t offload onto him. Instead he shook his head slowly, wiping at the mess he’d left on Diego’s forehead, “my God.” It appeared he was speechless.

“I get that a lot.” Diego smirked, giving Tim’s thigh a little smack.

Once blood rushed back to the head between his shoulders, Tim carefully got off the bed and crouched down to dig a handkerchief out of his jeans. He sat on the edge of the bed, wiping gingerly at Diego’s face and then cleaning off the rest of their bodies. Enjoying the attention, Diego laid there, eating up the way Tim continued to study his body as if he were a work of art. Not for the first time that night, Diego pondered why Tim didn’t seem to have a partner of any kind. The way he got dressed again and busied himself to get Diego a cup of water, offered him yet another set of fresh clothes, and then asked if he needed anything else… the fantasy of becoming his trophy husband flashed through his mind briefly, humorously.

It was late, Diego could tell by the sleepiness pulling at his eyelids as he sat in that bed and sipped his water. Tim excused himself to check on the horses one more time, and when he returned he asked if Diego would prefer the fire staying lit overnight.

“I don’t mind it,” Diego shrugged, setting his empty cup on the nightstand.

Tim stood at the foot of the bed, looking like a lost puppy as he stared at Diego again.

“What?” Diego’s lip curled. “I hate to disappoint you, but I can’t do round two. I’m exhausted.”

“Oh, no,” Tim shook his head, holding both hands up in front of him, “I just… wondered if…” he chewed at his lip, blushed a little, “you’d be alright with sleeping next to me tonight.”

How sweet. Diego chuckled a little, finding it charming that Tim was so shy to ask such a thing after he’d just left him shivering and breathless under his touch.

“That’s fine, but,” Diego pointed towards the door, “I will be leaving in the morning. I rise with the sun, whether you’re awake or not.”

Tim nodded, smiling a little as Diego scooted to the side and patted the space next to him on the mattress. In no time at all he was curled up beside him, tentatively wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling Diego tight against his chest. It was a little intimate for Diego’s taste, but he allowed Tim to do it, allowed himself to live in the mental fantasy of being in a relationship with a rugged cowboy, just for tonight, as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

—

True to his word, Diego’s eyes opened as soon as his body could tell the sun was up. The fire in the fireplace was now dead, the rain that had lulled him to sleep last night was gone, and the bed was significantly emptier as well. Once his vision adjusted, a yawn wracked through his body as Diego sat up and scanned the room. Tim was nowhere to be seen.

A promise was a promise, and as much as Diego had enjoyed himself last night, he was keen on leaving as soon as possible. The clothes he’d left by the fire were now completely dry, as if he hadn’t gotten caught in any storm yesterday at all. He felt a little wobbly on his feet as he pulled his riding boots on, the fatigue of last night’s activities still having an effect on him and making him subtly wish he could relive it all over again. Maybe it was a good thing Tim wasn’t around; he’d hate to have to walk away from such an incredible lover.

The sky was empty and clear as Diego left the cabin, the sun peeking through the trees and setting the entire forest in a beautiful golden blaze. Diego took a deep breath, letting fresh air fill his lungs as he put on his gloves and made his way to the cabin’s lean-to. There, he saw Silver Bullet, who greeted him with a happy little whinny, Ghost, who largely ignored his presence in favor of breakfast, and finally, Tim, who was cleaning off the remainder of leftover mud on Silver’s coat.

“Mornin’!” He greeted Diego, his smile wide and toothy as he tipped his hat.

“Good morning.” Diego returned the greeting, appreciating the sight of Tim in this much brighter light. The way it illuminated his strong features and made his blonde hair glisten was quite nice, a memory he’d keep locked away with the rest of last night. “Is she ready to go?”

“Should be,” Tim ran a hand through Silver’s mane, scratching at her ear, “she’s standin’ just fine this morning, seems eager to get back out there.”

“Very good,” Diego declared, moving closer to stroke lovingly at Silver’s muzzle and press a kiss to her nose, “we’d best get going then.”

Disappointment seemed to pull at Tim’s features for a moment as he looked at Diego, but he was smiling regardless. He backed away, allowing Diego to mount his horse and guide her out of the lean-to. “Good girl,” Diego praised her, “we’ll take it easy today.”

“Probably for the best,” Tim agreed, folding his hefty arms over his chest and sighing. He simply watched the pair of them for a moment, looking as if he’d really like to scoop Diego up and take him back inside for some alone time. “You take care of her, Dio. And yourself.”

“I always do.” Diego tipped his helmet in the same manner Tim had. “I’ll be winning this race, after all.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it,” Tim laughed, loud and hearty, but lifted a hand as if to apologize, “but I can’t be biased.”

“You’ll see.” With a flick of his wrists, Diego snapped the reins in his hands and gave Tim one last smirk before turning his attention to the horizon ahead of him.

He didn’t look back, couldn’t bear to do it when he knew he’d be leaving such an incredible man in the dust. There were bigger things to focus on, but maybe he’d see Tim down the line somewhere else in different circumstances. Maybe in the future they’d be able to find each other on a whim and share another night of passion. It was a lofty thought, but one that admittedly filled him with more motivation.

Later that day, while unpacking his things at a rest spot, Diego had mostly allowed his mind to drift elsewhere beyond Tim and his exceptional body. Silver Bullet was feeling much better, though they hadn’t covered nearly as much ground as he’d have hoped. As he dug around for the coffee he’d typically keep on hand, he realized with dismay that he’d forgotten to buy a fresh tin after he’d run out at the last checkpoint. And yet, somehow, there was another container nestled at the bottom of his saddle pannier. When Diego fished it out he quickly recognized it as the one Tim had used last night.

Attached to the tin was a note with messy handwriting that read: Take some for the road. Thanks for the company. Let’s meet again someday.

Diego rolled it around in his hands, allowing a blush to overtake his face. From next to him, Silver snorted a little with understanding, and Diego gave her shoulder a playful little smack.

“Enough.” He’d been good to both of them, an absolute saint, and as Diego prepared a cup of coffee, he hoped he’d have the pleasure of doing it next to Tim again someday.

#steel ball run #diego brando #mountain tim #jjba #jjba fanfic #sbr #my writing #diego #i will say i generally DON'T host full fics here bc tumblr loves to fuck up my formatting #so it's probably best to read on ao3 but hopefully nothing screws up in this post if you'd rather read it here!

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sunflowerabyss · 1 year ago

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Crescent Resurgence

Pairings: Older!Remus Lupin x Reader

Bitten by Remus Lupin after an attempt to comfort him many years ago, you are left to navigate the challenges of lycanthropy alone. The resurgence of Voldemort brings you back together in the Order of the Phoenix, forcing Remus to seek redemption after all those years.

Warning: Angst. Slight comfort?

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The night hung heavy with the weight of secrets and regrets as the moon cast its silvery glow over Grimmauld Place. For fifteen years, Y/N had lived in the shadows, mastering the art of solitude and survival. The scars, both physical and emotional, bore witness to a life shaped by the bite of a werewolf, and the absence of the one who had inflicted the wound.

The transformation was always a dance with pain, but that fateful night, a month after the tragic events that had torn apart their world, it became a brutal confrontation with the demons that lingered within Remus Lupin. Y/N, in her panther form, had watched over him, determined to be the support he so desperately needed. Yet, the trauma of loss had rendered him careless and hostile. In a moment of unbridled aggression, he bit her, causing her panther form to shift back into a vulnerable human.

Acceptance of death had washed over Y/N as she slipped into unconsciousness that night, only to awaken the next morning in a haze of agony. Survival instincts kicked in, and she learned to navigate the torment of lycanthropy on her own, crafting a modified Wolfsbane potion that not only eased the pain but hastened the healing process.

The rage within her burned like an eternal flame, fueled not only by the pain of the bite but by Remus's inexplicable disappearance. He was a ghost, a memory, and for years, Y/N wrestled with the love that refused to fade and the fury that refused to be silenced.

The Order of the Phoenix, in its desperate search for allies, found Y/N. Moody tracked her down, relentless in his pursuit of warriors. Driven by a desire for revenge for the friends she had lost, Y/N agreed to join the cause. The journey led her back to Grimmauld Place 12, a place steeped in memories both bitter and sweet.

Sirius Black, alive and well, greeted her with open arms. The warmth of his embrace contrasted sharply with the chill that swept through her when she saw him – Remus Lupin. More scars adorned his tired face, his hair graying, and a visible weariness etched into his being. He was a reflection of the years they had spent apart, the years of silence that screamed louder than words.

The meeting began, a gathering of familiar faces and strangers bound by a common enemy. Harry Potter, the spitting image of his parents, entered the room, and Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the echoes of a past that seemed simultaneously distant and achingly close.

As the meeting concluded, Y/N made a swift exit, her heart pounding with a mix of emotions. The night air offered a temporary reprieve, but Remus followed her outside. The tension between them crackled like electricity as words, long unspoken, spilled into the air.

"You left without a word," Y/N accused, her voice steady but laden with years of hurt.

Remus, a shadow of his former self, nodded solemnly. "I couldn't face you. I couldn't face what I had done to you."

The confrontation escalated, a whirlwind of accusations and admissions. Remus, burdened by guilt, conceded to the pain he had caused. Y/N, refusing to be swayed by words alone, stood her ground, her heart torn between love and resentment.

"I will never forgive myself for the pain I've caused you," Remus confessed, his eyes reflecting the depth of his remorse.

A heavy silence hung between them before Y/N, her voice edged with sorrow, admitted, "I loved you. I never wanted to be apart."

The admission hung in the air, a fragile bridge between past wounds and uncertain futures. Remus, understanding the gravity of his sins, asked the question that loomed over them both. "Do you still love me?"

The answer, honest and raw, escaped Y/N's lips: "I don't know."

A nod passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the fractures that time had failed to heal. Remus bid her goodnight, his figure disappearing into the shadows of Grimmauld Place.

_______________________________________________________

Weeks passed since that night and Y/N found herself standing alone in the courtyard of Grimmauld Place, a burdensome storm of emotions raging within her. The confrontation with Remus reverberated through her mind, and the weight of uncertainty pressed heavily on her chest. Sirius emerged from the dimly lit entrance, concern etched on his face as he approached her.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and empathetic. "I know that seeing Remus again is difficult. He's been through a lot, and so have you."

She looked at Sirius, gratitude flickering in her eyes. "It's just… it's been so long, and I thought I had moved on, but seeing him again brought back everything."

Sirius placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to have it all figured out right now. Give yourself time."

Feeling a mix of gratitude and sadness, Y/N nodded. She retreated to a quiet corner of the courtyard, taking deep breaths to steady her racing heart. The night air was cool, but the turmoil within her was hotter than any flame. It was a blend of love, resentment, and the jagged edges of memories that had never quite faded.

As she stood there lost in thought, Remus emerged from the shadows, his footsteps hesitant. He approached her, his eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions. Y/N steeled herself, preparing for another round of the emotional storm that seemed to follow him.

"I… I know I hurt you," Remus began, his voice filled with regret. "I can't change the past, but I want to make things right. If that means staying away, I'll do it. I just… I can't bear to see you in pain because of me."

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes a mixture of sadness and determination. "Remus, you don't get to decide what's right for me anymore. I've spent years learning to live with the consequences of your actions, and I've become stronger despite it all."

He sighed, a heavy acknowledgment of the truth in her words. "I never meant to leave you alone, to make you bear this burden on your own."

"And yet you did," Y/N replied, her voice firm. "You left without a word, and I had to learn to survive without you."

Remus ran a hand through his graying hair, a gesture of frustration and remorse. "I understand if you can't forgive me. I don't deserve it."

The air was thick with tension as Y/N considered his words. "Forgiveness is a process, Remus. It's not something that happens overnight. I need time to figure out what this means for both of us."

He nodded, a silent acceptance of the reality they faced. "I just want you to know that I never stopped caring about you."

Y/N looked away, a mixture of sadness and longing in her eyes. "Caring is not enough, Remus. I needed you to be there for me, and you weren't."

The conversation lingered, suspended in the night air like the unspoken words between them. Eventually, Y/N turned away, her resolve unwavering. "I need some time alone. Don't follow me."

Remus watched her retreating figure, a heavy heart filled with remorse. The courtyard remained silent, shadows playing on the stone walls, as both Y/N and Remus grappled with the ghosts of their shared past.

Days turned into nights, and Y/N navigated the war-torn world with a heart heavy with conflicting emotions. The Order of the Phoenix, bound by a common purpose, continued their fight against Voldemort's forces.

One day, as she stood by the fireplace at Grimmauld Place, watching the flickering flames dance, Remus approached her. The lines on his face spoke of battles fought, both internal and external.

"Y/N," he said quietly, his gaze searching hers. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said. I understand that I can't change the past, but I want to be there for you now. If you'll let me."

The room fell silent as Y/N considered his words. She saw sincerity in his eyes, a glimmer of the Remus she had once known. The wounds of the past still lingered, but perhaps, in the midst of the war, there was room for healing and reconciliation.

#remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x y/n #older!remus lupin #older!remus lupin x reader

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sweetsilveryrevenge · 1 year ago

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wearing my kitty cat gloves outside because mrrrp:3 miauuu ^•.•^ meowwwwww and FUCK normies. FUCK EM. hate those bland fuckers. I will punch you with these on. meow bitch.

#text #sweet silvery revenge

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sciatu · 6 months ago

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Sulla brezza marina che dalla spiaggia sale fino a questi monti dove la terra si spacca per la sete, su questo vento leggero che prende forza attraversando le chiome argentate degli antichi ulivi e le oscure fronde dei dolci gelsi, su questo sospiro d’amore infinito che il mare dona alla terra, su quest’amore si adagia l’anima mia e con questo amore s’invola, inseguendo ricordi e ballate, rivedendo le anime disperse tra gli antichi terrazzamenti, tornando alle case addossate sul monte come gregge che vuole difendersi dal caldo. Resto qui, ad osservare il tempo fermarsi, in quel vuoto che la felicità crea quando ti nasce dentro e tutto cancella, tutto giustifica definendolo provvisorio, sentendolo fragile ed eterno. Divento la fatica dei tanti che si vendica ed in poco trova tutto il necessario per essere, al di la delle vetrine scintillanti, dei paradisi mercenari. Scrivo solo per non dimenticarmi, per saziarmi domani ancora ed ancora rivivere la serenità di adesso.

On the sea breeze that rises from the beach to these mountains where the earth dry splits for its thirst, on this light wind that gains strength crossing the silvery foliage of the ancient olive trees and the dark fronds of the sweet mulberry trees, on this sigh of infinite love that the sea gives to the land, on this love my soul rests and with this love it takes flight, chasing memories and ballads, seeing again the souls dispersed among the ancient terraces, returning to the houses nestled against the mountain like a flock that wants to defend itself from the heat. I stay here, observing time stop, in that void that happiness creates when it is born inside you and erases everything, justifies everything by defining it as temporary, feeling it as fragile and eternal. I become the fatigue of many who takes revenge and quickly I find everything is necessary to be, beyond the glittering shop windows and the mercenary paradises. I write only for don't forget myself, to satiate myself again tomorrow and relive the serenity of now.

#Sciatu #Sicilia #Nebrodi #Messina #poetry

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acatalystrising · 2 years ago

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SOOOO I have been on a ROLL with Moth to a Flame, and in a sudden burst of inspiration, I have chapter five already finished! Now we’re getting to the twisty turny fun of this story, but I’m only getting started. This one has much more angst then the previous chapters, so buckle up, buttercups…we’re in for a ride.

This chapter is rated MA for cannon violence, mentions of past trauma, and abuse.

Here is a link to chapter six!

Moth to a Flame Chapter Five

It had been many years since Boba Fett had awoken to a nexu’s distinct call, but waking up to a woman curled against him? Much longer.

In fact, he couldn’t recall if he ever stuck around long enough for any of his flings from his younger years to wake up the morning after. He’d been…different back then. Cold, selfish, and calloused. Uninterested in anything beyond an empty night of carnal pleasure.

Much had changed since those days - he had changed. Perhaps Fennec had been right - there was a chance he’d grown softer. But the years of a hardened life of bounty hunting would do that to anyone - especially to one who almost became sarlacc food.

He hadn’t intended to fall for anyone. Especially not now, heading a gotra, when he was arguably as busy as he’d ever been. Hadn’t ever thought he wanted or needed trivial things as romance. But you had ensnared him - smile as bright as the suns themselves, warming something in his heart that had been cold for so long. And he hadn’t been able to shake you from his mind, try as he had.

A weight of shame settled in his throat as you shifted with a soft groan, plush lips parted ever so slightly, blissfully asleep. But he noted with growing interest that you instinctively shifted closer, nestling yourself against his chest. You were so soft, small, and warm - the exact opposite of him; a man with more blood on his hands then you would hopefully ever know. And yet you trusted him enough that you invited him into your home, into your bed…such intimacies were foreign to him.

Your life couldn’t be more different than his - spending your days caring for others, for the animals so many ignored. It was so…sweet. Another thing he’d never expected his future self to admire in anyone, instead of scorn.

Yet he knew you had your traumas. Pain that had shaped you. There was a certain strength to you, hiding under that warm smile - a strength that only hardship and trials forged.

You shifted again, turning on your stomach so you were resting on his chest, chin tucked against his neck. He tentatively rested a hand on your shoulders and you mumbled something unintelligible, snuggling even closer. He couldn’t stop the small smile from curling his lips, equally unable to stop himself from carding his fingers through your hair. You mumbled again, slowly waking, and his smile broadened. Stars, you were so…perfect. His fingers brushed your hair away from your neck, and the moment it bared your skin, his smile waned, hand freezing in place.

Two long, silvery white scars ran diagonally across the back of your neck.

They were old, a testament to something that happened years ago - but it did not stop a nearly possessive rage from filling his chest. He’d been in his prior profession for many years. Long enough to know the marks of a collar when he saw them. Slavery? Empire? Something else?

Who, or what, would dare to harm someone as kind as you? He took a shuddering breath, willing himself to remain calm, even as his hunter’s mind already was calculating. Wondering who had hurt you. If they were still alive so he could exact his revenge. Because he would, without hesitation.

You only knew him as Daimyo, but Boba knew what he was truly capable of. And for the first time ever in his years, that scared him.

“Boba?” Your voice was thick with sleep, and he blinked, resuming his hand’s gentle caress through your hair as you shifted, blinking, sleepy gaze falling on him.

“I’m here, little one,” he fought to keep his tone soft, gentle. Pushed down the indignant rage he felt at your past pain.

There was nothing he could do to make the past hurt less. But perhaps he could do something, in his own way, to ease the pain of the present.

“Mm, you stayed,” you rested a hand on his chest, fingers brushing over his shirt in a gentle soothing motion. “Didn’t…didn’t wanna inconvenience you.”

Stars above, how could you ever inconvenience him? He chuckled, gathering you into his arms and pulling you closer. Your eyes widened a bit, but you stayed relaxed, leaning into him with a smile.

“You never could. This okay?” He watched your face for any signs of discomfort, relief flooding in his chest when you nodded.

He didn’t know what happened. Didn’t want to treat you any different. But he decided to keep his discovery a secret for now. At least until the time was right, if ever, to broach the subject.

“Mhm. You’re so…warm,” you closed your eyes again, that smile still gracing your lips, as too clung to him tighter. “Haven’t cuddled with anyone in so long.”

“Never have, so I’m not one to judge.”

The words left his lips before he had a chance to ponder them, and they made you start, eyeing him with renewed interest, as well as concern.

“Maker, Boba, I hope I didn’t…” you moved to get up, face flushing an adorable shade of red as you quickly became more awake. “I just…”

“Easy, sweet girl,” he guided you back against his chest, gently twining one of his legs with yours. “First time for everything.”

He didn’t miss the renewed blush that worked its way from your cheeks to your ears, and kept a mental note of that for later. It was interesting how…

“It’s okay, I really haven’t either…” you dipped your head, hiding your face against his neck. “Not like this, anyway. Thank you…for staying. It…means a lot.”

Your voice had grown softer, body language shrinking, as if you were trying to make yourself smaller. That simply wouldn’t do.

“Don’t hide that pretty face, mesh’la,” his fingers found your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. “No shame in it. We’ll just learn together, hmm?”

“O…okay,” you nodded, still blushing furiously, so soft and warm against him, it nearly drove him mad. “I…I’d like that.”

Stars, Boba wanted to kiss you. Kiss you senseless until you forgot about your insecurities and fears, your sole focus on him. He wanted to take you apart piece by blissful piece, make you feel good, feel safe…

Damn, he was in deep.

Before he had a chance to respond, a series of shrill yowls broke the silence, loud and demanding.

“Oh kriff. The loth cats…ughhhhh…” you groaned, face scrunching up in an adorable frown. “I don’t wanna get up…”

“Me neither, princess. But there are others depending on us.” Boba shifted, pressing a kiss to your forehead before releasing you from his hold, and as you sat up with a groan, he already missed your warmth.

Kriff. For the first time ever, in all the things he’d done and experiences he’d had - Boba Fett had never once been a sap. But, he wagered he’d have to listen to his own advice.

There was a first time for everything.

You hadn’t ever expected your life to amount to this.

You, taking a well-earned break after your breakfast rounds, a cup of steaming kaff in your hand…and the Daimyo of Tatooine in your kitchen.

He was back in his armor, though you now knew exactly how muscular he was underneath it, as you’d suspected - a fact that would trigger another blush if you thought about it for too long.

He leaned against your counter, gloved hands resting on the smooth stone surface, looking almost too casual for someone of his reputation.

“I don’t want to keep you. I’m sure you have a lot to do.” You regarded him with a raised brow, finding something altogether fond in his gaze. “Normally I do. It’s just been a slow season.”

He nodded, clearly thinking, gaze almost lazily sweeping your kitchen. Probably a skill picked up from bounty hunting, you surmised, wondering what exactly could be so interesting in your small, humble home. His eyes drifted back to you and stopped, locking you in his gaze, the corner of his lip curling in a grin that was almost sinful.

“Perhaps you’d want to spend more time with the rancor? See how he’s doing?” His shrug was nearly boyish - quite ridiculous looking, really, for someone dressed head to toe in beskar. But his gaze never once left yours. “Sure he’d love the company.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, and you swallowed hard. He really, really liked you. Him. Boba Fett. Liked you. For some reason, this emboldened you…urging you on in this little game you two had found yourselves playing.

“Oh, just the rancor?” You dared to prop your hands on your hips, shooting him a wink. “Or do you just not want to take your hands off me?”

Boba smirked, pushing himself up from his reclined position, something dark flitting through his gaze. Maker, did he just growl? His approach was quick and near silent despite his broad, armored frame, yet another reminder of exactly who it was you were dealing with. You blinked, heart hammering loudly in your chest, as he stood behind you and leaned down until his face was next to yours.

“You’ve no idea what these hands want to do.” His breath washed over the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Careful, little one. Before you bite off more than you can chew.”

Oh kriffing gods. Maker above.

Every damn curse your poor brain could conjure. You were in trouble. So much so, and you could already feel the heat pooling between your legs, assuredly soaking your underwear. Perhaps he was right…maybe you didn’t know what you were fully getting into, with a man like him.

But contrary to popular belief, you weren’t just a sweet, nice person - all bark, no bite. And he’d learn it, too, if he hadn’t guessed it already.

“I think,” you shifted in your seat to better face him, nearly losing your resolve when you saw the look of absolute hunger in his dark eyes. You swallowed and took a breath before continuing. “I’ll survive. How about this, I need to take care of some of the sick ones before I’ll be free, but I’d love to stop by later if that’s okay?”

Stop by. Stop by?

Sheesh, here you were, taking about visiting the kriffing palace like it was a daily house call. Anxiety wormed in you stomach as Boba regarded you with a smirk, capturing your chin in his gloved fingers and holding your gaze to his.

“You’re always welcome,” he turned to retrieve his helmet, shooting you one last smirk before donning it with practiced ease. When he spoke again, his deep voice was rough, rumbling through the vocorder like the thunder of a promising storm. “See you soon, little one.”

The suns were still high in the sky when you walked to the barn, a bucket of feed in one hand and a lead rope in the other. Hopefully your sick bantha was finally well enough to go out to pasture, making that one less thing you had to worry about.

You stifled a yawn as you entered, the familiar smell of hay, sunbaked sand, and the herbs you dried filling the air. The bantha lowed, the deep call making you smile as you saw her horned head peek over the massive stall you’d built for these occasions.

“Hey girl,” you placed the bucket down beside her stall as you looked her over before entering. “Feeling better?”

The bantha called again, shaking her head from side to side, horns rattling against the walls. You sighed, taking the lead rope in both hands, eyeing her with a small frown.

“I know, you want out. Work with me, and you’ll be there quicker.” You pointed a finger at her, pointedly lowering your voice to get the point across. “No bolting, understood?”

The bantha only lowed again, except this time, she shook her horns with a snort, banging the walls with a sharp cry. Unease twisted in your gut and your frown deepened.

“What’s wrong, girl?” You stepped forward, knowing the creature well enough to know something was amiss. “Something scaring you? It’s okay, everything’s alright.”

“I wouldn’t say that if I were you.”

A feminine voice broke the silence, and a pair of hands wrapped around you before you had a chance to react, pulling you away from the stall and onto the ground.

“Stay down, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Kriffing hell, get off me!” You twisted against your attacker, managing to land a punch somewhere before your arms were twisted behind your back. Something slipped around your wrists with a mechanical click, and you finally screamed, lashing out with your legs.

The bantha shrieked behind you, and you heard the walls of the stall rattling as she tried to break free. Maker, was she trying to help? You were not going to go down easy. Whoever was attacking you would soon learn that. You’d been through too much to be killed by some mugger.

You rolled around with a grunt and grabbed the lead rope with your bound hands, readying yourself to spin into a swinging strike…

Until you recognized the person standing behind you, a vibroblade in her hand.

“Kali?” Confusion flooded you in waves, and you stepped back, giving yourself more distance. “What the hell? Is this some kind of joke?”

The woman only smiled sadly, something altogether cold in her normally warm gaze.

“I’m afraid not.” She stepped forward and you narrowed your eyes, gripping the lead rope tighter, grateful for the heavy iron hook dangling at the end. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. “What can I say…”

Something stuck the back of your head so suddenly, you didn’t even register the moment your body hit the ground. But damn, you felt the pain - cascading down your shoulder, aching in your spine…

Kali smirked with a dismissive shrug. “I tried to warn you.”

No. No, no, no…

Panic, true panic set in as another person stepped into your fading line of sight.

Not him. Anyone but him.

“You…” you groaned, spitting out a mixture of blood and saliva, glaring despite the dread that seized your heart with terrifying finality. “You’re…dead. You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Some of us don’t like staying dead,” the man in the clean pressed Imperial uniform merely chuckled, a thin, dry sound. “I’d think you of all people should know this…consorting with bounty hunter scum.”

“Go to hell…” you tried to stand, tried to fight, but he merely raised a blaster at your head with a smirk.

“Oh, you’ll be wishing you were there, soon.”

The muzzle flashed, and the man’s icy gaze flared red - the last thing you saw before your world faded to black.

“I’m sure she’s fine, boss.” Fennec’s voice was steady as ever as she strode by his side. “Maybe she just needed a night in.”

Boba merely grunted, taking the now familiar path to the veterinarian’s office. He was admittedly worried. He hadn’t heard a thing from you since the morning, and he did his best to push his fears down.

Had he scared you? Gone too far with the teasing? Accidentally triggered you? Maker knew what hell you’d been through…

“Just wanna know she’s safe.” He turned down the following road, your humble clinic appearing around the bend.

But all the lights were out.

A cold chill rippled down his spine, and he instinctually lifted his rifle, Fennec echoing the action. They slowly approached, looking for any sign of a threat, but nothing appeared out of place. That wasn’t always a good sign. He dropped his rangefinder and ran a thermal scan, looking for any sign you were inside…

But aside for the much smaller heat signatures of the animals, the house was empty.

Boba Fett wasn’t accustomed to panic.

He was the hunter, the one who made other people panic. He’d prided himself in his cool, calculated demeanor that had aided in earning his reputation. But this…this was new.

And this was one of the reasons why he’d never let himself fall for anyone. Every single person he’d even shown a shred of kindness too had suffered terrible ends. And the last thing he wanted was for that to happen to you, too.

“Check the barn.” He knew Fennec would follow, always watching his back, even as he nearly ran to the next building with bated breath.

Please be inside. Please be safe.

But even in the dark, he saw the barn’s double doors had been left ajar, the female bantha peering out at them with a lonely groan that nearly resembled a whimper. And he already knew, judging by his scanner, that there weren’t any other life forms inside.

“We’ll find her.” Fennec stoped beside him, but even her voice had dropped, twisted with unease.

“You’re right.” Boba lifted his rangefinder with a snap, gloved fingers nearly shaking as a rage filled his chest - a rage he hadn’t felt in a long time…since the day he’d lost the only other person he’d truly loved. He took a deep breath, willing himself to calm, to remain in control.

To think like the hunter he once had been, and as fate dictated, would be again.

“I will.”

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human-psyche · 1 year ago

Text

INCARNADINE.

" nobody told her eternity was never once selfless... "

title: incarnadine

characters: jimin x reader, some taehyung x reader

genre: victorian era, romance, dark, sire bonds, vampire!jimin, mature content

about: y/n had everything. wealthy parents, a big house, a loving fiance, dresses, servants, jewelries, socialite parties, anything she could ask for; all she needed was to name it, and she'd have it. she was known as the most beautiful girl in her town. but, just like that, she loses everything in one single night, including herself, and she falls into the arms of a sweet nightmare disguised like a dream: park jimin, a vampire who offers her the only poison she craves: revenge…at the price of being sired to him.

a/n: chapter one will be up soon, share if you like. also follow me for more bts stories and content, and feedback is much welcome.

. . .

The door to the room creaks, allowing a shadow to filter through candlelight. A figure enters the luxurious, aristocratic chamber, his steps firm and steady.

"You..." Y/n recognizes him instantly as he advances and the moon casts its silvery shine upon his beautifully deadened features, his pale skin and sea like, glassy eyes setting on her heavily; she greets his presence by scrambling back, no longer envisioning him as an angel of deliverance. He is no such thing, she notes internally, because if he was...she wouldn't be alive anymore...

"Hello, miss L/n."

"Do not come near me." she gets off the bed and walks around it, letting it be their barrier. "You...What am I?"

"Quite not human, though neither are you like me. Not yet..."

"What have you done to me?!"

"Your emotions are out of control right now. You need to calm down." he provides her with an answer she didn't ask for, placing a glass on the nightstand.

Y/n's nose flares一 it's blood. It is as if she makes the connection on instinct before she can even spot the red, crystal like liquid inside it, her senses suddenly oversensitive.

"No, no...What is happening to me一 What is going on with me?!" she trembles, feeling agitated.

"You're in transition."

His words travel the room to her like a ripple in the ocean, causing Y/n's thoughts to go numb.

"No, no, no..."

"Shh..."

His whisper is abruptly to her ear, arms around her. It takes her a few seconds to comprehend that he moved in the blink of the eye.

Jimin doesn't need to quiz who this "Taehyung" was because he touches the engagement ring on her finger.

Y/n backs off, returning to her anger.

"Stay away from me."

"Don't you want to know who started the fire?"

"I said stay away from me!"

The first object she can get her hands on from the nightstand, a candle holder, flys through the air torwards him, but the vampire catches it swiftly and tossess it to the floor. She goes to the vanity next, a perfume bottle hitting the closet as it misses him, then a comb, a hand mirror.

Jimin gets fed up with her rage and appears in front of her一 pinning her down to the bed with his hand on her throat.

She bounces slightly from the movement, her breath uneven; she watches him, like a deer cornered by a wolf, defiant yet delicate.

"Do not test me, L/n Y/n," he states, calling her by her full name. It elicits wonder, on how he came to know who she is. Perhaps he heard about the fire, the town must've been up in an uproar...

"You were unconscious for two days. The transition lasts for three days…this is your last night. By the time the full moon reaches the highest point, you either turn or you die. The choice is yours. If you drink that blood…I will give you something you will thank me for: revenge."

CHAPTER 1 |

#bts jimin #park jimin #jimin x reader #jimin x y/n #bts #bts taehyung #kim taehyung #bts v #x reader #vampire #dark fantasy #victorian era #victorian fashion #angst #drama #hate to love #supernatural #action #mystery

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el-michoacano · 2 years ago

Text

only the dead know

Takes place during Plan and Execution, and it's mostly canon compliant!

Ship: Lalo x Nacho

Rating: T, primarily for gore

Partially inspired by a gorgeous art post by @chomchomcherrybomb that was inspired by @sn4ilbitez and @rwsucculent. Hope it's okay to tag you guys!

READ ON AO3

Nacho-- Or this thing that looked like Nacho-- was riddled with bullet holes. Moonlight filtered through them, dappling Lalo's chest and the concrete walls of the sewer in silvery light. Lalo had been seeing it for quite some time, but getting used to such a thing didn't seem possible. It was small, only as tall as Nacho had been, and it was shrinking all the time, ashen skin drawing tight around its bones as it rotted. Some of those bones were exposed, bleached white from the desert sun. The radius and ulna were visible in its right forearm, and though Lalo couldn't see it from this angle, three vertebrae were exposed at the back of its neck, where a coyote had gotten it. Its left eye was missing, and much of the eye socket was visible, too. It was grisly, and Lalo looked away.

It was late, but he hadn't been sleeping. He had never been much of a sleeper, and here lately, the insomnia had gotten even worse. He had loved it once, had found it useful, even, but it was getting old.

Not that sleep was a refuge. The thing that looked like Nacho was in his dreams, too.

Betrayal could do that to a person, Lalo supposed. It haunted you, having someone you trusted turn on you like that. He should have seen it coming, but he'd been blinded by something he still firmly refused to name.

He missed the way things had been before. He missed his bed. He missed his hacienda. He missed Cecilio and Miguel and all the others, even Ciro. He missed Yolanda most of all.

And Nacho-- He missed Nacho, too. It was something unforgivable.

Was this rotting creature truly what had become of Nacho? Was it a ghost? A hallucination? Was it simply the result of regret and too little sleep?

Whatever it was, it said, "This is your fault."

Lalo ignored it, his binoculars held to his face as he scoped out Lavandería Brillante. He'd been here two days already, watching Fring and his men come and go and come again. Paciencia, he told himself. His time would come. His revenge would come.

"He's gonna kill you," the thing that looked like Nacho said. It was at Lalo's side, down on one knee, close enough that Lalo could smell the rot on it. The odor lingered sickly-sweet under the familiar scent of Nacho's cologne. It made Lalo's heart clench in his chest.

He spared a quick glance in the thing's direction, asking, trying and failing to keep his tone light, "Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Both." It was looking at Lalo with its single eye, its head tipped to one side. The other eye had been taken out by a bullet, as far as Lalo knew. A flower grew from the grisly wound, a desert bluebell, incongruously alive amongst so much dead flesh and rotten blood. "When you're dead, you get to know everything."

Turning his gaze back out of the storm drain and across the street, Lalo asked, "And you're using this to, what, warn me? You wanna protect me, Nachito?"

It didn't seem to have an answer for that, and instead, it said, "I tried to keep them from killing everyone else. I wanted it to just be you."

"Que amable," Lalo drawled.

"I'm glad they didn't get you," the thing that looked like Nacho said, and a shiver of something that was far too much like longing to be comfortable raced down Lalo's spine. It felt hot and sharp, like a million tiny needles, like Nacho's name was being tattooed onto him, deep and inescapable. "It would have been quick. It's gonna be quick this way, too, but at least you'll suffer a little. It's still better than you deserve," it added, almost as if it was a mere afterthought.

Lalo hummed to himself, but it did nothing to block out the thing's voice. It was soft, but there was a gurgling sound beneath it. Tío Hector had held the gun himself, the rumors had said. How he had managed to lodge a bullet perfectly in the hollow of Nacho's throat was unknowable. A miracle, maybe. Was there a word for a bad miracle? Bad luck on Nacho's part. Mala suerte. At least he'd been dead when it happened.

"I know you think about me," the thing said.

It wasn't wrong. Lalo thought about Nacho often. He thought about avenging his staff, about getting even for what had been done to his staff and to Tío Hector, about being the one who had gotten to put Nacho down like the dog he was.

"I know you miss me," it said, its voice soft. How could someone so treacherous have such a gentle voice?

That wasn't wrong, either. But it was a secret, held tight to Lalo's chest, where no one would ever find it. How could this thing possibly know about it? It would have taken a switchblade and a pair of pliers to dig it out of him.

"You dream about me." It stepped closer. "You call out for me in your sleep." It reached for Lalo, and when it touched the back of his neck, at the same spot where its own vertebrae were exposed, he shuddered. Its fingertips were so cold they burned. Lalo would have done anything to have Nacho touch him like this when he was alive, and it felt traitorous now. This wasn't the Nacho he wanted. But, he thought, it was better than no Nacho at all. "You pray for my soul when you think God isn't listening."

Lalo's chest hurt. He'd hoped he'd never have to hear that voice again, and to hear it this way, half-dead and full of dirt and blood and regret... He sighed, his hands white-knuckled around the binoculars. He wasn't even looking through them anymore, though he did his best to keep his gaze trained on the guard who was trying to look casual in front of Lavandería Brillante. Neither the guard nor Lalo himself were handling their tasks very well.

The thing that looked like Nacho-- No, it was him, wasn't it? It was full of bullet holes and coated in old blood, but it was him.

Was this a punishment? Was this Nacho being cursed to roam the earth due to his betrayal? Was this him returning willingly to seek revenge?

Nacho hadn't even gotten a proper burial; He'd been left to rot in the desert, his bones picked clean by vultures and bleached by the sun. He deserved better. He was a traitor, yes, but he had been young and full of promise. It was a tragedy, though Lalo couldn't say it was unexpected after what had happened.

"You miss me," Nacho said again. He was watching Lalo now with his single eye. It was the same deep, warm brown that Lalo remembered, but it was clouded over. It got worse every time Lalo saw him. "Even after what I tried to do to you, you miss me every damn day."

Lalo missed him every damn second, but he didn't say so. Nacho would know anyway, wouldn't he, if death had really given him all the answers?

"I know," Nacho said, as if reading Lalo's mind. Could the dead do that? Lalo's hands shook around the binoculars, and he released them, letting them clatter to the floor and supporting himself against the lip of the storm drain. The concrete was rough under his palms, and he used the feeling of it to ground himself. There was an especially sharp bit digging into the underside of his ring finger on his left hand. It felt like a wish that would forever go unfulfilled; It stung like betrayal. He could feel blood dripping down his hand, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing the ghost away. It did no good. He'd been seeing that decomposing face behind his eyelids since he'd heard the news of Nacho's death.

Softly, his voice almost lost to the sound of a car rumbling by, Nacho asked, "Who're you trying to fool?"

Lalo said, "Myself." It wasn't working.

#this is my first time writing for this fandom and i'm at once thrilled and terrified #lacho #lalo salamanca #nacho varga #better call saul #ignacio varga #breaking bad #my bcs

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gingersnaaps · 4 years ago

Text

tetraphobia

maybe seijoh's revenge doesn't always have to be on the court. maybe seijoh's revenge can come in the form of fucking kageyama's sweet little girlfriend.

wc: 3.3k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, noncon, gangbang, mindbreak, victim blaming/guilt, forced infidelity, hints of sadism, anal, double penetration, deepthroat, cunnilingus, sorta overstim? idk this is very nasty, fem!reader with inner genitals, timeskip!characters

a/n: this is for @somecravings' gangbang collab! this work features the seijoh four.

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

“I wonder where Tobio-chan found himself such a cute girlfriend.”

The words freeze you in your tracks.

A tall, well-built, man leans against the wall of the hotel hallway, the cramped space making him loom large in front of you. You think he’s a stranger at first - but a closer look at the waves of his chestnut hair, his molten hazel eyes - and memories of the pictures Tobio had shown you flood back into your mind.

Oikawa Tooru, he’d told you. Teammates at Kitagawa Daiichi, and then rivals at Karasuno and Aoba Johsai. I took away his last chance to make it to nationals in high school. Now he’s on Argentina’s national team. Looked up to him a lot, but we had a… strained relationship.

His eyes flicker back to the faded yearbook photos, an unmistakable note of bitterness in his voice.

The very same Oikawa Tooru from his pictures stands in the hallway leading to your hotel room, arms crossed and eyes glittering with amusement.

Almost as if he’d been waiting there for you.

“He’s out celebrating his win, isn’t he?” he says, cocking his head to one side. “Along with the rest of his team.”

He steps closer, walking towards you until he’s mere feet away. You can see where the hem of his blue jersey peeks out from beneath his jacket, the white of his teeth glinting as he grins. Up close, he’s even more intimidating, and you suppress the sudden surge of discomfort that crawls beneath your skin.

Your eyes flit back and forth, eyebrows creasing in confusion. “Is there something you need?”

“Yes,” he says, his hand reaching out to stroke gently along your cheek. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor, sweetheart.”

Panic seizes you when his cold, calloused, fingertips brush lightly along your skin, your heart thudding as discomfort rips through your body. You don’t know what his intentions are, but his words scare you. There’s nothing genuine about his tone, nothing kind, and years of too-close encounters with men have left you wary and alert. His touch is invasive, contemptuous, mocking, and you jerk away from his hand in an attempt to backpedal-

Warm hands clamp down around your shoulders in an iron grip. Your heart sinks as you realize you’ve got nowhere to go, dread seeping into every vein in your body.

“I’m a little late. Sorry.”

The voice at your ear is a low rasp, his tone nonchalant, but you can hear the message that undercuts it as clear as day: you’re not going anywhere.

“Don’t worry about it, Iwa,” Oikawa says, fingers curling around your chin, tilting your face up forcefully until you’re staring directly into his eyes. “You got here just in time to help me out. She looked like she was about to run away for a while there. Can you imagine?”

The man behind you - Iwaizumi Hajime, you recall - chuckles. “Wouldn’t get very far.”

Your blood runs cold at the implication of his words. Your stomach churns, an awful, nauseous feeling that makes you feel sick, shoulders tensing as you struggle against Iwaizumi’s hold.

“Hey,” he warns quietly. “Don’t make this harder on yourself.”

His words almost make you want to laugh; he says them like he’s trying to help you, like he genuinely cares about your well-being. You remember the late-night talks you and Kageyama would have, the ones where he’d describe his days spent in middle school, secluded and walled off from the other players on his team. There was always one name he spoke with a particular reverence: Iwaizumi Hajime. Tough. Strong. Kind. A good man, he’d emphasized. I’m glad he was there during those years.

Well, this certainly was a reality check, wasn't it?

He removes his hands from your shoulders and wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you pressed close to his side, as if a reminder of you how powerless you are in this position. “Come on, baby,” he says. “Let’s go.”

“It’d be rude to keep Makki and Mattsun waiting any longer."

Oikawa slides his fingers into yours until the two of you are holding hands, humming happily as Iwaizumi escorts you down the hall towards your own hotel room. It takes every last ounce of self-control to stop yourself from crying and screaming on the spot, to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over, to save yourself the embarrassment of breaking down pathetically as these people - these assholes - watch.

You get the feeling that they’re not going to leave you alone out of pity.

They escort you to your hotel room, passing by rows and rows of rooms that blur as your vision tunnels. Their presence is suffocating; Oikawa’s fingers brush against your wrist, rubbing tender circles into your skin, and you can feel Iwaizumi's warm breath on the crown of your head.

Oikawa grabs the key card from your purse, sliding it into the scanner, and pushes the door open when it lights up green.

Your heart stills with fear as they drag you inside, flicking the light switch open until the room glows softly.

There’s two more people sitting in the bed.

A tall, lanky man waves in acknowledgement, nudging his companion in the side as his eyes flicker appraisingly over you.

The other man looks up, tossing his phone aside, blowing aside a stray strand of strawberry-pink hair.

“Hmm. I hate to say this, but Oikawa was right,” he says, a wry grin on his face. “What a pretty girl.”

You feel so vulnerable with four pairs of eyes roaming over every inch of your body, your mind running rampant with fear and anticipation as they admire and scrutinize. And you’d be right to be scared, because there’s so much they can’t wait to do, so much of you they’ve been dying to explore, so many of their little fantasies that they’ve been waiting for the right girl to help them act out.

You’ll help them out, won’t you?

Without warning, there’s a pair of hands on your waist insistently pushing you downwards, applying steady pressure until your legs collapse and you’re forced to your knees.

“So impatient, Iwa.” Oikawa clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “You won’t even let her get settled in?”

There‘s a huff of annoyance above you. “The more you talk, the less I’m going to enjoy this.”

“Alright, alright.”

Oikawa slides a hand onto the back of your neck, the other moving to grip your hair. His touch is gentle, fingers stroking along your pulse point, but you know it won’t last if you misbehave. You have no illusions about the kind of person he is, not when his hands maneuver your mouth and throat into nothing more than a warm fleshlight for his friend.

Iwaizumi palms himself in front of your face, hands skimming over the bulge in his jeans as he groans in pleasure, and pulls out his half hard cock, veins throbbing and flushed with arousal. Cupping your face in his hand, he fits the tip to your soft lips and tilts your chin upwards to meet his piercing, lust-filled eyes, his gaze swirling with want.

“Open up for me like a good girl, okay?” he growls.

You can’t help the way your cunt pulses at his tone, an intoxicating rush of fear and desire that leaves your mind hazy and mouth dropping open. He doesn’t waste the opportunity, pushing his cock into your warm, wet, mouth, a moan falling from his lips as he thrusts his hips forwards. You retch at the intrusion, instinctively jerking your head backwards, but Oikawa’s grip on your neck tightens as he holds you in place. He crouches down, lips finding your ear as Iwaizumi starts sliding in and out of your mouth.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “If you take it like you’re supposed to, he won’t last too long.”

At those words, his hands push your head forward, impaling your throat on his cock, holding you down as you choke and drool and retch. Your eyes redden as silvery tears drip through your lashes, panic rising, vision turning to static, the pain in your lungs growing unbearable as Oikawa’s smile turns razor sharp. “Atta girl,” he encourages softly, his thumb wiping away one of the tears running down your cheek. “I think he’s gonna cum soon if you keep this up.”

If you keep this up. As if you have a choice.

Iwaizumi’s thrusts grow more erratic, fucking you rougher and faster as he slams in and out of your throat. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath. “Such a good fucking girl for me. Got such a - such a perfect little mouth, taking me so well,” he says, breath catching.

Just like Oikawa had predicted, he doesn’t last much longer after that, hips stuttering when he spills down your waiting throat. He tastes warm and slightly salty, the last few drops of his cum dripping down your chin as he presses a thumb to your lips and wipes away the drool collecting at the corner.

There’s a horrible, sinking, feeling settling inside you as he grabs the collar of your shirt and hoists you up with him onto the bed, your limbs going limp as you let him press an open-mouthed kiss to your trembling lips, his tongue slipping inside of your slack mouth.

You feel used.

Up close to Iwaizumi, you can see the flush of arousal coloring his bronzed cheeks, the sheen of sweat on his forehead, all the physical evidence of just how good you made him feel, and your stomach churns.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel fingers softly stroking at your clit, light, teasing strokes back and forth that leave you whimpering. A twinge of arousal pulses in your cunt as you hear words murmured against your inner thigh.

“Didn’t even try to fight back, did you?” There’s a gentle laugh from the pink-haired man beneath you, soft and terrifying, and the light brushes turn into more insistent circles. “It’s almost like you wanted it.”

Iwaizumi’s tongue curls deeper into your mouth as he deepens the kiss, leaving you gasping for breath.

“I had no idea you’d turn out to be such a slut,” he hums, mouth latching onto your thigh. “Although I’m really not complaining.”

“C’mon, Makki, don’t be so mean to her,” Iwaizumi chuckles, his teeth scraping roughly against your lips.

“I’m only telling the truth.”

The fingers circling your pussy creep upwards, grabbing onto your hips and pushing you down against the mattress. “Keep those legs spread nice and open for me, okay?” Makki says, voice sweet and cloying.

When the flat of his tongue brushes against your clit, his breath huffing warm on your folds, your thighs twitch involuntarily. It’s as if he’s made it his mission to eat you out as slow and light as possible, his kitten-licks and teasing strokes sliding along your folds and circling around your sweet spots without ever truly giving you the satisfaction that your cunt craves.

And he can tell you’re starting to break.

As Iwaizumi’s mouth moves down to suck at your neck, lips brushing along the erratic heartbeat of your pulse point, your hips jerk upwards against Makki’s waiting mouth as a moan slips out from between your lips.

He sucks at your aching clit, the steady, constant pressure making you writhe in his grasp. “Cute little cunt wants more, doesn’t i?” he coos.

You don’t dare say a word, face flushed with embarrassment as you bite your inner cheek in embarrassment. Makki’s right.

He’s right, and you hate that he’s right, hate how good he’s making you feel with every long, languid, lick, with every brush of his lips that leaves your walls throbbing in search of more.

A hand picks up your limp wrist, guiding your fingers until they wrap around something warm and hard, something incredibly thick and so, so, long -

You freeze as you realize it’s a cock.

“Mattsun’s blessed, isn’t he?” Makki laughs from between your thighs. “Maybe now you’ll understand that I’m really trying to do you a favor. We want these sheets stained with cum, not blood.”

You swallow nervously. That monster cock, so big you can barely fit your hand around it, is going inside you.

You’re paralyzed with dread, not even bothering to fight back as he maneuvers your palm up and down along his length, wrapping his much larger hand around yours as he uses your fist to help jerk him off.

All the revulsion in the world can’t stop the slow, mounting, wave of pressure building inside your core, growing stronger as Makki sucks with more force against your clit. Crooked fingers push inside your slick, needy, hole, his nimble digits searching and prodding, the pads of his fingertips rubbing insistently at your g-spot.

“See?” he murmurs. “‘m making you feel so good. You’re gonna be nice and ready when I’m done with you.”

You want to scream. You feel like a whore for enjoying anything at all; bile and guilt rising in your throat as white-hot arousal throbs in your cunt.

You’re strung out along the edge when you feel another mouth descending on your body, a tongue flicking out to tease at your nipple. You see a flash of chestnut brown hair as Oikawa looks up at you, a smirk curving at the corners of his mouth, almost as if he knows exactly what he’s doing, knows where your limits are and how to push right past them.

It’s too much for you to handle, too much for you to take. Three mouths ravage your body, tongues flicking out to lick at your neck and suck at your nipples and drag along your clit, silky and sensual against your soft skin, all while your slack hand pumps steadily along the shaft of a huge cock.

When an orgasm rips through your body, it’s like something stolen, something taken from you, and as your hips buck and thrash wildly, an emptiness settles in your stomach after you’re all fucked out from their ministrations.

What’s wrong with you?

At this point, you don’t feel like much more than a sex doll for the four men, all spread out and useless as you lay your head in Iwaizumi’s lap. He strokes gently at your hair, brushing a stray strand out of your face.

You barely even react as Mattsun manhandles you up, large hands positioning your hips until the head of his fully hard cock sits at your entrance, sliding just the tip into your loosened, clenching, hole.

“Ready?” he asks, his half-lidded eyes glinting with amusement.

He doesn’t really care about your answer.

“One… two… three.”

He forces you down on his cock, pushing your hips further and further down as you squirm and struggle and moan from the stretch. Your mind goes foggy as you feel the drag of his cock against the front of your walls, burying itself so deep in your cunt you can almost feel it in your stomach.

Mattsun likes it when his dick makes girls feel good, of course, when he fucks them better than their boyfriends, when he makes them cream and gush after barely moving.

He likes it better when he makes girls go stupid.

As he looks down at you, a warm rush of arousal twists in his gut. Your eyelids flutter in pleasure, mouth open and panting, small hands fisting at his shirt as you moan softly. It’s just too big for you to take, isn’t it? You can't handle being used like a pretty fuckdoll, or eaten out until you cream, or to be impaled on a cock so nice and big you can barely think straight. A string of drool falls from the corner of your mouth, but he doesn’t bother cleaning it up. You look better ruined, he thinks.

You’re dragged out of your fucked-out daze when a voice crawls into your ear, taunting and cruel, and a warm dick presses and slides along your ass.

“Bet Kageyama’s never tried this before,” Oikawa says.

A spurt of terror grips you as you hear the thinly-veiled anticipation in his voice, his fingers trembling with excitement as they grope at your ass.

He holds back a laugh at the way you freeze, shuddering in a mixture of fear and pleasure as Mattsun rolls his hips up and thrusts his cock even deeper. He knows he guessed right, judging from your cute little reaction, a high-pitched, pathetic whimper dropping from your lips as brushes his cock against your hole.

He hopes it hurts.

When he presses in, it’s a slow, aching, stretch that leaves you feeling raw and split wide open. Unlike the dull pain from Mattsun’s cock, this one is a searing, brutal, torment, a stinging intrusion in your tight hole that forces a choked gasp from your lungs.

“Wish your boyfriend could see us right now,” he breathes, pressing a gentle kiss to the crook of your neck. “Feels so good squeezing my cock, so fucking nice and tight.”

Tobio.

Panic races along your veins. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, breasts bouncing slightly as your breaths come shallow and rapid.

“I can’t imagine how he’d feel - seeing his perfect little angel getting stuffed so full in both her precious holes.”

The tightness in your chest bursts as tears stream down your face, cries and moans coming out thick and stuffy as you sob. You know he’s right. It didn’t matter that it was forced, that you said you didn’t want it - you already came once, didn’t you? And judging by the tense pleasure pulsing at your clit, you were due for another sooner or later.

Oikawa laughs. “It’d be awful if he came back right now, wouldn’t it? Just in time to watch his precious little girlfriend getting raped by his former senpai.”

Mattsun snickers, bring a hand up to swipe at your clit. “Look,” he says softly, tilting your head until you lock eyes with Makki.

He’s fisting his cock rapidly, a hungry, predatory, expression on his face, tongue darting out to lick at his lips as he lets out a pleasured groan.

It’s better than almost any of his gross little fantasies. He’s not sure his favorite porn videos will ever be able to compare to the sight of you being fucked stupid and split in two by his friends, two cocks sliding in and out of your tired holes as you cry.

You squeeze your eyes shut as the first waves of the orgasm begin to roll over you. Mattsun’s deft, long, fingers toy with your clit, stroking you insistently through the wild jerking of your hips as he feels your walls fluttering and creaming around the base of his dick. The pleasure is intense, unbearable, almost impossible to hold back, even as disgust crawls beneath your skin at the feeling of being stretched wide open.

Maybe they were right.

All those times you’d thought about what you’d do if this happened, every single night when you’d lie awake and tell yourself, i’ll fight back. i’ll resist. i’ll make them regret ever forcing me -

They were all lies.

Oikawa feels a sick sense of satisfaction as he watches the turmoil in your expression. He can tell by the slump of your shoulders, the bitterness in your gaze, the way you turn over to your side and curl up into a fetal position - they broke you, turned you into a mindless, slutty, fuckdoll, showed you who you really were.

Kageyama can have you back now. He’ll come into this hotel room, horrified at the sight of you passed out and naked, and call the police. Maybe he’ll help wash you up, bring you a cup of tea as you sob and insist that it wasn’t your fault. Maybe he’ll even believe you, despite the way you’ve stained the sheets.

But things won’t ever really be the same for you.

They made sure of it.

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