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littleredwolf · 2 years ago

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The Sleepover

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Words: 1,740

Summary: Bucky and Y/N have been dating for a while but he is yet to spend the night at her place. After breaking down barriers and allowing himself to drop his guard, Bucky soon decides it’s finally time to take the next step.

Warnings: Mentions of Bucky’s PTSD/recovery

A/N: This was inspired by the scene in TFATWS that shows Bucky waking up on his apartment floor. It’s such a visceral moment that sheds light on just how much trauma he carries with him, and I wanted to bring some lightness to that in the form of Y/N. Long story short, I just wanted our favourite super soldier to receive the comfort he so desperately needs and deserves.

Your heart skipped a beat as you heard the unmistakable roar of Bucky’s motorcycle pulling up outside, and you launched yourself off the couch to greet him. The two of you had been dating for a little over four months now but tonight was the first time he was staying over and you were practically vibrating with excitement.

You had met a year ago when you’d been paired together on a scouting mission in Bucharest, spending an intensive four weeks trailing a suspected arms dealer. After spending the better half of a month shacked up together in a dingy apartment, it was inevitable you'd open up to one another eventually. After months of skirting around your feelings and your friends encouraging you both to speak up, the two of you had eventually plucked up the courage to confess your feelings and the rest, as the saying goes, was history.

Bucky had been a true gentleman from the very beginning and had confessed early on that he'd wanted to take things slow - it had been a long time since he'd courted a woman and thanks to his coloured past he'd all but given up on the prospect of love, so the concept of a relationship was one he still sometimes struggled to get his head around.

You understood completely and had made every effort not to overwhelm him. You were fully aware of his trauma and the suffering he'd endured and endeavoured to provide him with a calm, safe space that allowed him to let his guard down in a way he was comfortable with.

Over the last few months he'd gotten much better with touch and now it was at a point where he practically craved it. Whether he was holding your hand, laying his head in your lap while you watched TV or wrapping his arms around you from behind while you were cooking dinner, Bucky loved touch and would always find an excuse to be near you or touching you in some way. You were more than happy to indulge his needs and fussed over him at every opportunity, joking that he was like an overgrown puppy when it came to affection.

You could have cried with how sweet he’d been when he’d kissed you for the first time - he was so careful as he’d tenderly pressed his lips to yours, as though expecting to break you, and in that moment it had dawned on you that he probably wasn’t used to being so gentle towards another human being.

It was so fulfilling witnessing this once broken man rebuilding and flourishing in his new life, and you felt truly honoured that he wanted you to be a part of it.

At the sound of a knock at the door your excitement grew to an almost immeasurable amount, and you took a moment to gather yourself before answering.

You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d gone to bed alone after spending an evening with Bucky, aching for him to be beside you, and although you understood and respected his reasons for not staying you couldn’t help the sting of loneliness that crawled in whenever he left at the end of an evening.

The sight of him standing in your doorway with an overnight bag slung over his shoulder was one you’d never dared to believe you’d witness, yet here he was, casually leaning against the doorframe as he waited for you to answer the door.

“Hey Buck,” you grinned, stepping forward to greet him with a kiss which he eagerly welcomed. Wrapping his arms around you, he guided you backwards into your apartment, dropping his bag and kicking the door to a close behind him. You were breathless when he pulled away, staring up at him in awe.

“Wow, that was…just, wow,” you marvelled, completely lost for words.

“I could hear your heartbeat so I thought I’d ease some of your nerves,” he smirked, and your cheeks reddened at his confession.

“Dammit Barnes, I told you not to use your super hearing on me. What if I was in the bathroom!?”

“You think I haven’t heard you pee before?” His laughter - one of your favourite sounds - echoed around the room as you shot him a horrified glare, and he quickly pulled you into his embrace to ease your embarrassment.

“I’m reconsidering this sleepover already,” you grumbled into his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist, breathing in his leathery scent. He chuckled and kissed the top of your head.

“Come on doll, why don't you show me where I’ll be sleeping.”

You immediately perked up at his words - which you suspected was his plan - and with a grin you grabbed his bag and led him to the bedroom to unpack.

–

The evening passed like any other - you cooked dinner, played some board games, and ended the night cuddled up on the couch with a movie - but instead of falling asleep in Bucky's arms like you usually did, you felt wide awake.

Bucky switched off the TV as you began to tidy away your empty glasses and snacks, and an awkward silence hovered over the room as you both pondered how to navigate the rest of the evening.

"So, sweetheart…what do you usually do at this point?" Bucky broke the silence as he came to lean against the counter beside you.

"Well, usually, once you've left I go to bed," you replied, realising that the suggestion of going to bed may be misinterpreted and quickly adding, "but we don't have to do that yet if you're not tired."

Bucky's hand came to rest on your arm and you looked up to find him smiling reassuringly.

"It's okay, doll. I'm happy to go to bed," he murmured, trailing his hand down to entwine his fingers with yours and leading you to your room.

You were already in your pyjamas so you slipped straight under the covers while Bucky walked round to the other side of the bed and began undressing down to his boxers. You couldn't resist a sneaky peek while his back was turned, and as soon as you gave in to your temptation you regretted it immediately - Bucky's chiselled body was truly a sight to behold and one you were sad to have to tear your eyes away from.

"Would you like me to strike a pose?" Your boyfriend's playful voice broke your train of thought and you snapped your eyes to his, finding him smirking at you with his hands on his hips.

You'd been caught red handed, and red faced! Your cheeks were blazing and you pulled the covers up to hide your face as Bucky crawled in next to you. The embarrassment quickly dissolved once he was laying next to you, your mind suddenly too preoccupied to care, and you turned to face him with a grin.

"You're here," you said gleefully, melting into his open arms.

"I'm here," he echoed, his smile mirroring yours.

With a tender kiss he pulled you closer, tucking you under his chin in a firm but gentle embrace, and soon you found the tendrils of slumber pulling you into the sleepy abyss.

–

A few hours later you were awoken by a cold breeze at your back, and you reached your hand out in the darkness, heart sinking when an empty bed greeted you.

Had Bucky left? Had he changed his mind about spending the night? Had you imagined the whole thing?

Your thoughts teetered on a downward spiral as you sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, but your insecurity quickly turned to confusion when you looked to your side and found that not only was Bucky missing from your bed, but his pillow was too.

Eyebrows knitting together, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and got up to try and solve the mystery, but you didn't get very far before your foot bumped into something solid.

Bucky.

The super soldier sat bolt upright at your touch, wide eyes staring straight ahead, and for a moment you feared he'd forgotten where he was altogether. He soon came to his senses, however, shaking off any remnants of sleep and looking up at you with a sheepish expression.

"I, uh…sometimes find it hard to sleep," he offered, fidgeting with the blanket he must have grabbed from the couch. "Sorry, I'm still kinda getting used to the idea of a comfortable bed."

He chuckled dryly and your chest tightened at his doleful expression - here was this brave, strong man who had been through hell, and he was apologising!?

That just would not do.

"Oh, Buck," you cooed, sinking to your knees in front of him and holding his face in your hands. "You don't need to apologise for anything."

His eyes met yours and you hoped he could see the love and sincerity in them. The guards he worked so hard to keep up slipped just a tiny bit, and he gave you a tearful smile as he rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. Kissing the top of his head, you turned and reached up to grab your pillow off the bed, setting it on the floor beside his before reaching back again for the covers.

"You don't have to do this, doll. You won't be comfortable," he protested once he realised you were intending to join him, but you simply waved a hand to quiet him.

"We're in this together now baby," you softly reassured, adjusting the blanket so it covered the both of you. "I'm right here with you every step of the way."

You kissed him deeply and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you down with him as he laid back on the hardwood floor. By no means was it comfortable and you knew in the morning your back would be aching, but none of that mattered while you were at Bucky's side.

He'd been fighting his demons for so long, and he'd likely be fighting them for a long time to come, but there was no way you were going to let him continue fighting them alone.

Tucked tightly into Bucky's side, your head on his chest and the sound of his heart beating in your ears, you fell back to sleep with surprising ease, and neither you, nor Bucky, woke again until morning.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fluff #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier x reader #tfatws bucky x reader #mcu fanfiction #james buchanan barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female character

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marketfreshfics · 8 months ago

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Like Rabbits | Garreth x f!MC

Header image: @newbienewness ✦ 4327 words ✦ NSFW content (MDNI), aged-up characters, unnamed female MC (no use of y/n), alcohol consumption, admission of feelings/slight proposition, masturbation, spanking, p in v, light dom/sub elements ✦ Plot? What plot? This was honest to god just an excuse to write about Garreth in a rabbit costume ✦ Read it below the cut or on AO3

Easter festivities were a rarity at Hogwarts, yet when an opportunity for revelry arose, the seventh-years seized it with unbridled enthusiasm.

For generations, a pact among students governed the hosting duties on such occasions. The house with the fewest points bore the responsibility (and, by consequence, the aftermath) of throwing the celebration. Slytherin, enduring a dismal streak, found themselves reluctantly poised to shoulder the burden once more, the third time not necessarily the charm. As the soon-to-be graduates gathered amidst their diminished house, they sampled the exotic hors d'oeuvres with subdued chatter, their ranks thin and their spirits somewhat subdued, shooing a curious first year who had risen from bed to visit the loo.

You couldn't help but notice the lacklustre effort put forth, evident in the half-hearted swirling of your drink and the telltale lines of boredom etched upon your brow. Natsai, however, who displayed a downright lackadaisical disinterest, was already poised to depart for the evening. "I do think the Slytherins should dedicate more focus to their house standings to avoid committing another crime such as this party."

A soft chuckle escaped your lips in response, prompting an eye-roll from Imelda as she fished a hair from her drink. "Blame Sallow, we’re still recovering from his little bridge stunt."

The memory evoked a ripple of amusement; the viaduct bridge, unimposing as ever one moment, became a terrifying tangle of devil’s snare that multiplied out of control, requiring several days' worth of Confringo to eradicate.

"I’ll let you know I’m still working through detention for that." Sebastian, the culprit in question, shot a wry grin as his classmates riled with snickers, much to his chagrin. "I was only practicing the Geminio charm for Ronen’s assignment! At his recommendation, mind you, I performed it outside on a plant! I swear, Professor Weasley was just trying to-"

"Did someone mention Weasley?"

Heads swivelled towards the echo of an announced arrival from the staircase, and before questions and curiosities could be posted, Garreth Weasley sauntered down the spiral steps wearing a riot of pink cotton with two lapin ears sprouting from his crown. The seventh-years all hollered and laughed at the sight, save for Leander, who appeared wholly unamused by his fellow Gryffindor’s getup. "The bloody hell, Garreth?"

"What?" He grinned at the tall redhead. "Surely we couldn't have a proper Easter festivity without a rabbit present? Where’s the fun in that?"

Leander's jab echoed into the rim of his goblet before he took a sip. "Is that what’s been stuffed under your bedframe for the past month? You look ridiculous."

Undeterred, Garreth opted instead to, well, air his abundance of comfort. "Yes, but I feel incredible. Quite breezy down here, innit?"

Spiked cider sputtered from Sebastian then, dribbling down his chin. "Are you wearing anything under that poacher’s pelt?"

"Isn’t my smile enough for you, Sallow?"

Yet, despite yourself, your curiosity persisted, occasionally wandering to the vicinity of his lap. Heat rose to your cheeks, unrelated to the effects of alcohol, as you observed the subtle jostle there. It was a wager, you thought, with a flush of embarrassment tinting your cheeks, that Garreth Weasley remained, by all accounts, an honest man.

"What even is this fabric?" Natsai protested, pinching the fold of fluff near her housemate’s bicep. "It appears to be rather flammable."

"Now that would provide ample entertainment for the evening." Ominis chimed in nearby, his attention still fixed on his wand-led readings, seemingly uninterested in the fraternization.

"One at a time, darlings." Garreth, the ever-enthusiastic lion, swung a wicker-weave basket to and fro, reminiscent of some fictional harbinger of joy. Nestled within the dried grass padding were several small bottles of firewhisky, a smattering of cauldron cakes, and various other treats from Honeydukes. "I knew the Slytherins were in desperate need of a Pepperup, so I've come to spread the merriment. Snakes enjoy chocolate frogs, don't they?"

"I thought snakes typically ate rabbits," Imelda quipped, raising an eyebrow.

Garreth didn't miss a beat in his response to her jest. "If I were none the wiser, Reyes, I'd wager you'd like to take a hop around my carrot—"

A muttered expletive signalled the departure of the quidditch captain, leaving behind a chorus of laughter.

You found yourself enthusiastically joining in, relishing the unexpected amusement of the evening. As the crowd dispersed, you approached Garreth to select a treat of your own.

"Happy Easter, beautiful." Garreth's voice dipped low, laced with a suggestive tone that he often employed in your company. "Care to take a seat on the Easter bunny's lap and tell me what you want to find in your basket tomorrow morning?"

"That's Santa Claus," you teased in return.

"My mistake."

The flirtations between Garreth and yourself had become somewhat of a tradition throughout your Hogwarts enrollment, though they never progressed beyond playful banter. Here and now, with alcohol’s nack for unbarring inhibitions, the thought of advancing motions with the cheeky Gryffindor didn’t seem like such an unreachable feat.

"You seem rather warm in that outfit," you observed, noting the slight sheen above his brow.

Garreth chuckled. "It's rather steamy in here, indeed. But not to worry, I can… ventilate if needed." Handing you a small package of honeycomb with a coy smirk, he added, "Here, I think you'll enjoy this one."

Before you could inquire further, Garreth was already moving through the lively crowd, intent on distributing more sweets and cheers. With a huff of amusement, you tore into the package of honeycomb, only to notice some writing on the pleat of the wrapper.

'Do you know what rabbits are known for? I think we could do it better. Tell me when you’re ready, and we can hop off for the night.'

The implications hit you like lightning.

Copious procreation.

Flammable or not, your gaze practically burned through the back of Garreth's fluffy pink ensemble as he disappeared into the throng of students.

---

While the evening bled into night, even with the bolstering presence of libations coursing through your veins, the mere idea of approaching Garreth at the night's end had your insides all tangled. Harmless flirtations aside, this was a full-on proposition. What if the request was meant for someone else?

Then again, he’d deliberately dedicated the honeycomb to you…

---

Somewhere between a refilled goblet and the honeycomb wrapper now tucked into your brazier like some love letter from a sweetheart posted overseas, your prior suspicions of Garreth’s costume being rather warm were confirmed. The redhead retracted an arm inside the suit, while the other unzipped the front to his navel, exposing his bare chest as he tied the sleeves around his hips.

At that moment, propriety yielded to fascination, and any pretense of restraint evaporated as you found yourself captivated by the contours of his soft yet sculpted physique. A twinge of envy stirred within you, brought on by the admiring glances of the two Hufflepuff witches directed his way from the sidelines.

Garreth leaned against the wall, a slight trickle of sweat central to his chest, freckles all flushed from alcohol and flirtations, and seeing the wizard looking entirely dishevelled in his buzzed state did something truly wonderful for your inhibitions. Downing the rest of your pep talk, you crossed the common room, approached him near the enchanted piano, and promptly cupped a hand to his ear.

"I’m ready to… hop off, for the night." You whispered, the heat carried with it curling into the shell of cartilage.

"Yeah?" Garreth’s grin settled into a keen sort of coy, and his gaze went all honed-in and confident, leaning into you with some additional insinuations in those glassy greens of his. "Sure you don’t want to linger a bit longer in this charming mildew?"

His stray dig was not lost on Sebastian, who promptly threw Garreth a pointed warning without threat behind it, bopping an ear of his fuzzy getup.

"Settle down, Sallow," Garreth chortled, relieving his cup of its contents before boldly taking your hand. “We know the snakes always host the most splendid of shindigs.”

A chorus of wolf-whistles heralded your departure, along with someone’s award-winning remark about calling Garreth ‘Thumper.’

Down the adjacent hallway you went, past another couple that was long since lip-locked, and the firewhisky fuzz in you sought the very same. At the end of the hallway that connected to the Slytherin dormitories, coincidentally located at the intersection of friendship and something more, you shoved Garreth against the wall and claimed that magical mouth of his with your own.

For all the smart comments, the witty banter, the years of flirtations that stacked the deck and colored your cheeks, Garreth melted against you, a mess of vulnerability and desire. His body responded eagerly, exploring newfound territories with a hunger born of longing. Eventually, his body caught up to the priority of the situation, wrapping both arms around you with eager motions and traveling to all the locations he’d only dreamt of visiting before.

You were moving then—perhaps another student was evicting you from the open area, nudged aptly to ‘get a room’—but at one point or another, between lips, between moans, and those magical, heated renditions of your name, you found yourselves in a vacant dormitory.

"Who’s room is this?" You pondered breathlessly.

Garreth didn’t seem to give two shits as you all but crashed into the bedroom, nearly toppling an oil lamp, sending it teetering on its pegs as you collided with a bedpost. "Don’t know, don't care."

And that conversation promptly died in between your mouths, somewhere in the tangle of your tongues, as Garreth captured your wrists, holding them above your head as he trailed kisses along your throat. Plush, pink lips planted sweet kisses, while the scuff of end-of-day stubble bit friction in their wake.

"Garreth," You murmured with a shallow draw of breath. "You… you fancy me?"

"Oh, we’re well past fancying, love." His tone dipped back into devious territory, the same place where feelings like desire and longing and, goodness, arousal held court. “I’m onto the craving stages of our little tryst, myself. And right now… I need you.”

In response to his confession, your leg instinctively hitched over his hip, eliciting a low groan as he captured his bottom lip between teeth, a rewarding gesture that spoke volumes without a word.

His grip on your wrists was released, instead seeking the supple curve of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you toward the nearest bed. Settling you down with a sense of urgency, the mattress dipped with his company, and he enveloped you in his embrace, hungering for more of the kisses that fueled his wet dreams.

Garreth pulled back, settling on his knees above you, a pleased grin playing on his lips as he panted, as if suddenly realizing something, perhaps in response to the whisper of a zipper against his bare chest. "Why aren't you naked yet?"

You laughed, mischief set free as you met his gaze. "Excuse me? What about romance? Shouldn't you be wooing me or, I don’t know, engaging in some foreplay?"

The redhead chewed his lip, and it stretched with eagerness. “Of course. Where are my manners? Though I’m still taking all of your clothes off right now, I’ve waited long enough for my Easter present.”

"You don’t exactly give gifts for Easter."

There wasn’t much room left for protest, however, as Garreth all but tore your skirt from your waist, his expression telling of the countless times he’d imagined doing so, perhaps somewhere into his fist or while soaking in the shower. The billow of linen and cotton was discarded with such haste that you thought he’d taken some unspoken offence to the garment, but then his efforts were being spent on tugging your underwear down. A breath born from an expletive ensured you were plenty wet for the introduction.

Verdant irises were engulfed by pupils blown wide, as Garreth drank in the sight of your sex. "God… my imagination could never."

"Like what you see, do you?" You giggled nervously, knees bent and pressed together in honest reflex.

"You have no bloody idea how much I like what I see," he replied with a grin, his gaze tracing every contour of your exposed skin. "...what am I supposed to do now?" It was his turn for a nervous chuckle, palming whatever flesh he made contact with, his demeanour akin to that of a tourist in need of directions.

A soft moan rewarded his efforts. "Whatever you desire... I'm yours for the night, remember?"

And to seal the proverbial deal, you peeled the ruched top up and over your head, unhooked your brazier immediately after, and bit the web of your cheek as you expedited it to the floor, joining the rest of your clothing expenditures.

The honeycomb wrapper fluttered onto your stomach, and Garreth raised an amused brow. "A fond little souvenir, hmm?"

"It’s sentimental, shut up." You purred, quieting his jests with bare chests pressed, and he saw no room for further comment on the matter. Garreth was all mouth then, kissing from lips to chin to lobe as he tutted. "Before we truly make like rabbits and fornicate," He couldn’t help the huff that followed, hearing himself say such a big boy word, "there's something I want to do first."

"Tell me," you urged quietly, fingers tangled in fiery copper curls. "Tell me what you want to do to me..."

"Well, for starters..." He kissed a breadcrumb trail from your neck to your shoulder, "I want to hold you in my arms and get you off."

"Oh god," anticipation drenched your mound and arched your back. "Yes, Garreth, please…"

The sound of your voice sent shivers down his spine, confirming the suspicions he had harboured for months. Curated Gryffindor courage made his heart swell, and his hands trailed down to both hips, maneuvering you around until your back pressed against his chest, playing little and big spoons. Garreth's lips found their way to the curve of your ear, where teeth and lips took turns teasing your lobe. "Comfy?"

"Very much so," you mewled, surrendering to his magnetic presence, your bare back pressed against his chest while you lay on your side. Your hips instinctively moved in synchrony with his, firm against fluffy pink fabric slung low on his waist, and there it is—that stiffness underneath the plush that has your mouth watering and your groin humming. A snort erupted from you at the reminder of the rabbit costume, partially undressed, entirely inappropriate.

"What's that, sweetheart? Gonna share with the class?" He tsked then, and a mischievous grin adorned his face as he felt the delightful pressure of your hips against his own. "Might I… take a dip?"

"Yes," you breathed, already writhing, already wanting, even though his exploration had only just commenced. "Please, Garreth... please..."

And so Garreth learned a lot about himself then; your pleading revealed a new kink. He nuzzled your neck with a mischievous grin, his touch growing more daring as a hand dipped lower; as soon as his fingers gently caressed the carnal crux between your thighs, your neck arched a bit harshly, but that was just fine; you were too absorbed in thoughts of holy fuck, Garreth is rubbing my clit.

The prompt response surprised him, but your brash expression had an undeniable allure. A playful smile appeared on his face as he leaned in and whispered in your ear. "Merlin, this wet for me already? So generous..."

"Can’t believe I’m getting fingered by someone in a bunny costume.”

“Fingered by me in a bunny costume, thank you.” Garreth began sucking over your jugular to elicit a sweet little cry from your mouth, and with the flesh popping audibly, no doubt where a bruise would bloom, he whispered, "You're going to feel splendid around me, beautiful.”

"I want you, Garreth." Grinding your pelvis into both his palm and his dick certainly conveyed as much. It echoed the heat that built over months of minute gestures, sidelong glances, and jokes made at each other’s expense.

"I want you, too." His hand moved with purpose, with three fingers flat against your bud, dipping to explore your intimate depths while those tactful lips brushed the upward jut of your neck. An arm snaked under you and around your middle, palming a breast with a multitasking maneuver that made you squirm.

"Garreth," you whimpered as he caressed your wetness, throwing petrol on the fire within you. You found a rhythm that harmonized with the symphony he composed. "Yes, yes..."

"What is it, baby?" His thumb made love to that throb and swell of nerves, eyes closed in concentration as he leaned closer, exhalation hot on your shoulder.

"I want to come for you," you rasped, testifying that which sought to consume you. "Please… faster…"

Garreth's explorations intensified, and the sound of your slick arousal punctuated each movement. An almost accomplished smile curled his lips, relishing the subtle power he held over you. "Do my fingers feel good?" His voice danced all hushed and seductive, the grate of alcohol and lust on his throat.

You were lost in the whims of his touch, unfolding in his hands. As he quickened the pace of his fingers, your body arched along the river banks of abandon, edging closer to release. "I know something that would feel even better."

He possessed an innate knowledge of the words that would stoke the fire within you. "We’ll get there," he whispered, his breath hot on your racing pulse. "First… come for me."

"Yes," you whimpered, your voice trembling with the impending climax that welled within. His finger movements, an audacious symphony between soaked folds, carried you ever closer. "I'm… I'm… "

As your cries of pleasure came forth with volume, Garreth focused his efforts on your clitoral hood, applying firm pressure as opposed to frantic fingering, intent on prolonging the spasms. At the same time, your body practically sang his praises, and he offered the same in return. "Good girl. Now... are you ready for me?"

You panted, flipping over to face him with a breathless peppering of kisses, flush with gratitude. “Keep calling me a good girl like that, and I will be,” you breathed, gently biting his bottom lip.

He was quick on the draw, bless him. "Good girl.”

Eager motions resumed, bodies practically clinging together. "I want you inside me, Garreth." You squirmed underneath, anticipating his taking. “Let me be your good girl; take me from behind…”

Without hesitation, Garreth shifted you onto your stomach faster than his brain could sort sense of the idea. He grabbed you by the hips, repositioning you on the bed with precision, with his trademark combination of dominance and fondness. You stabilized on elbows, swaying your hips like the comely creature you were.

"Is this what my good girl wants?" he smirked, devouring the gradual parting of your legs, the invitation for him to claim what is rightfully his.

"Yes," you practically pleaded, thrumming to feel the weight of his hands upon your hips, to experience his penetration. "Please, baby... spank me."

He processed the request with his mouth slightly agape in surprise at your words. No one had ever made such a request to him before. "Are you asking me to spank my good girl?"

A coy nod over your shoulder and a bitten lip conveyed your consent. "Yes, please... I'll be good..."

"Say it properly.” The command was all supplicant and alluring, while ravenous hands sampled your inner thighs.

“Please, Garreth…” You whimpered, practically dripping. “Please, spank me.”

"That's better..."

A palm thunderclapped across your rear with unexpected force. Another followed in quick succession, harder than the first, and you cried a simpering symphony. Hips swayed and rutted, knees threatened to buckle, and your back arched as heat rooted deep. "More, please, baby..."

His breath hitched as he took in your heartfelt plea, spurred on by something that mingled and met with testosterone, compelling him to venture into unexplored realms, a captive yearning for sweet freedom. Garreth employed the enthralling control he had over you as he gripped your hips possessively, while his palm branded your buttocks.

"So good," you gasped, and each contact drew forth a garbled moan.

A mischievous smirk played across the lion’s face, as he darkened at the welting consequences of his actions. He prolonged the inevitable. "Oh, is that so?" His hand descended once more, his touch deliberate, unhurried.

"Yes, oh god..." You yearned for a proper fuck, to have your hips hammered, longed to stretch intimately around him. With your bottom lip caught between teeth, you glanced back at Garreth, exuding an eager and willing demeanour. "Baby, please..."

The taut heat of his cock nestled against your rear. Nimble fingers curled into your waist, drawing you closer, and then Garreth discovered the full extent of your arousal. "So wet for me..."

"Only for you, baby..." You pushed your hips back, feeling entirely too empty all of a sudden. "Garreth, I need you inside of me… please, take me... "

"Oh, I'm going to take you, all right."

And then, in a display of vulnerability, he guided you closer with hesitant hands seeking comfort on your thighs. With a shared breath, Garreth aligned himself, gathering warmth and wetness in kind on his cock, and announced his entry with an audible exhale.

Like a reflex, your back arched, writhing serpentine along his length as Garreth bottomed out. He provided experimental thrusts, gradually quickened the pace, and soon you were sucked into a beautiful pattern.

A primal moan parted lips in an unfiltered expression of longing as he delved deeper, as Garreth bucked from behind. Bending down, he pressed an enthusiastic kiss to your nape, grunting with the forceful motion of his fuck. With every thrust, his lips on your neck sent shivers down your spine, and with how desperate he was to hold you close, Garreth clutched you close and brought your torso upright, swaying in rhythm, your bodies making sense of one another’s.

"Oh, baby girl…" The wizard purred into your ear with a strong forearm clamped over your torso and a firm grasp tangled in your hair. He tugged at your strands as he increased his pace, the pricks of pulled nerves eliciting a gasp. His grip across your midsection anchored you to his chest, the tight hold leaving crescent marks of possession into the swell of a breast. A lovely, lewd sound escaped his throat as your hips began to meet his movements, the overwhelming pleasure consuming him entirely.

Your back pressed against his chest, and you contorted in all the right ways. With a head tilted back, your sights set on the heavens, surrendering to the moment. "Fuck me, baby. Hold me tight..."

"I’m not letting go," The words were all breath, the sound caught on the brimming heart stuck in his throat, as he leaned down to bite your neck. "You're... you're mine..."

Your hand instinctively snaked between your legs, choking your clit between index and middle digits. The intense sensation of Garreth's plumbing your depths brought you to the brink, surpassing your wildest expectations. "Oh god, Garreth, I'm... I'm coming...”

A shriek was stifled as you came hard and raw, your abdomen releasing pressure buildup as you rocked against Garreth’s cock like it was your saving grace, coaxing and prolonging your release as you disengaged from body and mind, almost going slack in his arms. The announcement, the tightness of your orgasm propelled him fuck to his full potential, chorused by your cries. He teetered on the brink, his equilibrium delicately balanced as he held onto your hip, thrusting deeper inside with each exhalation, his movements deliberate and steadfast.

The bed protested audibly as you rocked on your knees, punctuating your passionate connection. You coaxed him with a voice still raw and made all the more ragged from your climax. "Come, baby…"

Your words were the catalyst of his coming. Garreth buried his face into the back of your neck, breathing ragged and erratic as the boundless excitement that you built within him finally burst forth in a breathtaking culmination. He surrendered to an overwhelming release, spilling himself deep within.

Collapsing forward, he pressed you into the bed, his body weight a comforting presence upon you. You let out a sound of satisfaction as he settled on your back, your inner thighs slick with evidence of your shared release. An inward sigh of fulfillment escapes you while you tilt to plant a kiss on his cheek. "God, that was even better than the first."

"You’ve rendered me boneless, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as he buried his face in the crook of your shoulder. “I’m utterly spent.”

You couldn't help letting out a soft chuckle; your fingers naturally entwined with his as you both shifted onto your sides. When your eyes met, they reflected a sense of contentment and gratification. "Me too," you admitted, your voice soothing in the quiet aftermath. "Spent and drained..."

Garreth's hand tightened around yours, conveying tenderness. His lips curled into a gentle smile, a sparkle of admiration flickering in his gaze. Compelled by magnetism, you gravitated close, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss. "Stay," you murmured, longing to extend this moment of closeness.

The chuckle he responded with caught you off guard until you realized that you hadn’t the foggiest idea whose bed you just expressed your feelings in. "Ah, I see," you laughed, begrudgingly reaching for your clothes.

As you tugged each article of clothing on, Garreth adjusted the rabbit costume back into place, and you devolved into a fit of giggles. “Did you even take off that ridiculous get-up?”

“Listen, love,” Garreth smirked, claiming your chin with impish intent. “I just fucked the most beautiful woman in our year wearing this. I won't soon be criticizing its charm.”

You leaned closer to kiss him, as breathless as he made you feel. “Fair enough.”

#garreth weasley x reader #hogwarts legacy #garreth weasley smut #garreth weasley fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hl fanfic #garreth x mc #sebastian sallow #natsai onai #ominis gaunt #leander prewett

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anniebeemine · 2 months ago

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requests? say no more.

ok this is a little angsty so only if you're comfortable but maybe s2 spencer and reader have been dating for 3-4 months when the whole tobias thing happens. spencer starts pushing away reader and wont tell her anything. bc this is a new relationship she is very confused and insecure and confronts him asking if he wants to break up and he doesn't know bc on one hand he cares about her but on the other hand he is embarrassed and doesnt want her to deal with this so new in a relationship. happy ending PLEASE (for my soul)

as you can tell i have thought about this A LOT lmao

my heart hurts... (i haven't seen this arc in a while so I hope this is accurate enough)

warnings: discussions of addiction, happy-ish ending. I left it open ended but positive

You and Spencer had only been dating for a few months when everything started to unravel. At first, it had been perfect—those sweet, awkward moments when he was still trying to figure out how to be in a relationship, the way his eyes lit up when he saw you, the late-night talks that stretched into the early hours of the morning. But after a week away, everything changed.

You weren’t exactly sure what had happened. You didn't want to press, but his friends had warned you that it was bad. All you knew for sure was that Spencer had come back different. The spark in his eyes was dulled, and he barely looked at you anymore. There was no explanation, no details of the trauma he'd endured, just this cold distance that settled between you. You’d sit on the couch together, but it felt like you were miles apart. He was always tugging at his sleeve, fidgeting, avoiding eye contact. His hands used to brush against yours absentmindedly, and now they stayed firmly in his lap, clenched into fists.

He didn’t stay long during those visits either—every time he showed up, it felt like he was itching to leave. You’d ask him to stay for dinner or suggest going for a walk, and he’d make some excuse, slipping away before you could even finish your sentence. You tried to give him space, hoping it was just a phase, but the more space you gave him, the more it felt like he was pulling away entirely.

Eventually, the visits became shorter and shorter until they stopped happening altogether. Weeks went by without hearing from him, and your calls went straight to voicemail. You didn’t know how to navigate it. You knew Spencer had been through something terrible, but he wouldn’t let you in. And it hurt. It hurt in ways you hadn’t expected. You weren’t just confused—you were insecure. Was it you? Was it something you did? Did he want to break up?

The questions swirled in your mind until you couldn’t take it anymore. One night, you couldn’t sleep, your thoughts running wild. You sat there in the dark, staring at your phone, your heart aching. You missed him. You missed his voice, his touch, the way he would ramble about anything and everything because it made him feel more comfortable. And now, all you had was silence.

You needed answers. You needed to know where you stood before you drove yourself mad.

The next day, you found yourself outside his apartment, your heart pounding in your chest. You raised your hand to knock, but it hovered in the air, hesitation weighing you down. What if he didn’t want to see you? What if you were making everything worse by showing up like this?

But you pushed those thoughts aside and knocked.

It took a minute, but eventually, the door creaked open. Spencer stood there, looking just as tired and worn out as you’d imagined. His eyes flicked to you, surprise flashing across his face before he quickly tried to mask it.

"Y/N?" His voice was hoarse, almost like he hadn’t used it in a while.

“Spencer,” you said softly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Can I come in?”

He hesitated, then stepped aside, letting you enter. The apartment was dimly lit, with stacks of books and papers cluttering the space. You sat down on the couch, and he sat across from you, his eyes glued to the floor.

You didn’t know how to start, so you just blurted it out. “Spencer, what’s going on? You’ve been so distant, and I... I just need to know if you want to break up.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide with shock. “What? No, I—”

“Then what is it?” you interrupted, your voice shaking. “You won’t talk to me, you won’t tell me anything. You barely even look at me anymore. I feel like... like I don’t even know you right now.”

Spencer flinched, and you could see the guilt wash over his face. He rubbed his hands together, still tugging on his sleeve like it was some sort of comfort. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

“Then why?” you asked, your voice breaking. “Why are you pushing me away? If you care about me at all, please just tell me.”

Spencer stayed silent for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible. “I... I didn’t want you to deal with this.”

You frowned, confused. “Deal with what?”

He looked away again, his fingers trembling. “What happened... with... it... it changed me. I’m not... I’m not the same. I didn’t want you to have to see that or deal with it. I didn’t want to burden you with it when... when this relationship is still so new.”

Your heart clenched at his words, the weight of what he was saying finally sinking in. “Spencer... you’re not a burden. You’re never a burden.”

He shook his head, his voice laced with frustration. “You don’t understand. I’m embarrassed. I’m... ashamed. And I don’t want to drag you into that.”

You reached out and gently took his hand in yours, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “I don’t care what happened, Spencer. I care about you. I want to be here for you, no matter what. But you have to let me in. You can’t keep shutting me out.”

Spencer’s hand trembled slightly in yours, his eyes still distant, but there was a softness to his gaze now that hadn’t been there before. You could see the exhaustion, the pain he’d been carrying alone. He sat up straighter, a sigh escaping his lips as though he were gathering the courage to continue.

“I... I haven’t been honest with you,” he started, his voice rough with emotion. He looked down at his lap, his fingers still fidgeting. “I’ve been using.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. It felt like time slowed for a second, the weight of those words crashing into you like a tidal wave. You didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to go down this road—but when you looked into his eyes, you saw the truth there. His face may have been painted with shame and anger, but his eyes… they were pleading. Pleading for understanding, for help.

“Spencer…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You didn’t know what to say—part of you wanted to scream, to run, to escape the reality that was suddenly in front of you. But another part of you—the part that loved him deeply, that had spent countless nights by his side—knew you couldn’t abandon him now.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, trying and failing to keep the tears at bay. “I didn’t want to tell you,” he admitted, his voice shaking. “I thought... I thought I could handle it. That I could stop on my own.” He looked at your hand holding his, the tension in his body slowly easing. “I’m scared,” he admitted softly. “I’m scared that you’ll see the worst parts of me and... and you’ll leave.”

His words hit you hard. You could feel the vulnerability in every syllable, and your heart ached for him. You swallowed hard, your hand tightening around his as you whispered, “You don’t have to handle it alone. You don’t have to hide this from me.”

His breath hitched, and he turned his face away, wiping at his eyes quickly. He was still holding back, his guard up even as the cracks began to show. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t want you to know how weak I am.”

Your heart broke at the vulnerability in his voice. You squeezed his hand tighter, shaking your head. “I’m not going anywhere, Spencer. I’m here. And I’m not giving up on what's here.”

“Spencer, look at me,” you urged, your voice trembling with emotion. He hesitated for a moment before finally meeting your gaze, and what you saw nearly broke you. His face was twisted in pain, his eyes red-rimmed with tears. “You’re not weak,” you said softly. “You’ve been through hell, and you’re still standing. That’s not weakness.”

He shook his head violently. “No, you don’t understand.” His voice cracked, the dam he’d been holding back finally breaking. “I thought you’d leave me. I’ve been waiting for it. I’m a mess. I’m broken. I didn’t want to... drag you down with me.”

Your heart shattered at his words, at the depth of his self-loathing and fear. You could see now how much he had been struggling alone, how much he had kept bottled up inside, and it broke your heart that he thought he didn’t deserve help—or you.

Without a second thought, you pulled him into your arms, cradling him close. His body tensed for a moment before he melted into you, burying his face in your shoulder as his tears finally spilled over. He sobbed quietly, his hands gripping the back of your shirt as if afraid to let go.

“I’m not leaving,” you whispered fiercely, running your fingers through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this, okay? We’ll figure it out together.”

He cried harder, his body shaking with each sob, and you held him tighter, pressing your cheek against his. “I thought… I thought I’d lost you,” he choked out. “I didn’t know how to... how to tell you. I thought I’d ruined everything.”

“You haven’t ruined anything, Spencer,” you assured him, your own voice breaking now. “I love you. We’ll get through this. I’m here. I’m right here.”

For what felt like an eternity, the two of you stayed like that—wrapped up in each other, holding onto the pieces of what had felt so fragile only moments before. His sobs gradually quieted, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes still glistening with tears but filled with something else too—relief. Hope.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you reminded him gently, brushing a tear from his cheek. “I’m not leaving, and we’ll find help. We’ll get through this together.”

He nodded, his fingers brushing lightly over yours as he whispered, “Thank you.” His voice cracked, but there was sincerity there—real, raw emotion that made your heart ache for him even more.

“Always,” you whispered, pulling him close again, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. You knew this wouldn’t be easy—there would be hard days, long nights, moments of doubt. But as long as you had him and he had you, you were ready to face whatever came next.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reidx reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #fanfic

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jadedxhearts · 10 months ago

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𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐋𝐚𝐰 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 #𝟕

HC's for mutual masturbation/phone sex with Law.

Warnings: afab reader, smut, partially modern au

Originally posted on May 28th, 2023

This could go two different ways; one for a modern au and one that would work for that or canon.

The latter being that you and Law are in the same room, bored out of your minds. You finally come up with a game the two of you can play, and despite feeling uncertain at first, Law eventually agrees…

The game is that you both can please yourselves however you wish, but can’t touch each other. And Law can’t use his room to take advantage of this/cheat. Whoever gives into touching the other first is the loser, and has to endure a punishment.

So Law’s in his desk chair, you’re laid back against the pillows on the bed. Both of you have your legs spread wide, giving each other a clear view of what’s going on.

Law’s still got his jeans on, though, and you’re still wearing a very thin tank top, that hides nothing, really. You could start with pinching and pulling your own nipples, letting them become hard through the fabric. It’s a turn on to Law.

Law’s palming himself through his jeans, taking it slow so that he doesn’t have to be the first one to start actually masturbating. At first, you try holding out from touching your cunt, just to tease him more, but you feel yourself aching and pulsating, needing to be touched desperately.

You’ll slide two fingers around your folds, gathering up all the slick you can before licking it off your fingers and then plunging back in for more, only now you’re slowly guiding your fingers inside yourself. A little whimper escapes, and honestly seeing Law continue to not remove his jeans pisses you off. So you use your fingers to spread your pussy lips apart, making sure he can see everything.

Law grunts, and would eventually end up giving up. He quickly releases his cock, wasting no time in starting to pump himself. With each jerk of his wrist, and every small thrust of your fingers moving into you, his cock twitches and aches. He’d honestly not be sure if he can win this game.

But, you quickly have yourself moaning loudly, your other hand rubbing circles into your clit as you try so hard to bring yourself closer to orgasm, but it’s not easy. Your fingers can’t compare to Law’s, and you want nothing more than for him to shove his long tattooed fingers inside you.

Law’s quickly losing himself, too, but is pleased to see that you’re the one to lose the game, standing up hastily to sit in his lap, rubbing your pussy along his cock without inserting it into you, begging for him to fuck you. Then, your punishment begins…

The other scenario, now. The phone sex. Law’s a surgeon, meaning he has to work late nights sometimes. On a particularly long shift that has him staying at the hospital overnight, he gets about an hour long break to eat, take a nap, whatever. But he spends it talking to you on the phone, since you called out of desperation.

He’ll ask why you’re not sleeping, and at first you’ll try to excuse it as “I just can’t fall asleep”, but Law quickly catches onto what you’re doing when your breath randomly hitches, and you pause before speaking a lot.

“You’re touching yourself, aren’t you? That desperate for me, hm?” He’ll say, beginning to palm at his hardening cock, double checking to ensure he’s locked up in the room, so that nobody can interrupt.

You’ll whine in response, beginning to whine about how you were just too horny, and needed to hear his voice as the thing to get off to. Law chuckles on the other end of the phone, and asks if you’d like for him to masturbate with you. You say yes so quickly it’s pathetic.

So then you’re in bed, knuckles deep in your cunt but not feeling satisfied enough, even with Law’s voice. Law’s sitting alone, still, his jeans unzipped just enough for his cock to hang out, and he’s slowly stroking himself, enjoying listening to the way you struggle. But clearly, you’re in need of some sort of help, so he has a suggestion for you; “how about you go get that dildo I got you for punishing you? Clearly your fingers won’t suffice.”

So you scramble to the closet of your shared bedroom, staying on the phone with Law as he tells you exactly where to find it, and you quickly do. You return to the bed and lick up the piece of plastic, wetting it with your saliva. Law then instructs you to fuck your self with it, and change over to the facetime call so he can watch.

Now your phone is propped up on a pillow, and your legs are spread before it so that Law has a clear view. He praises you and guides you along. “Put it in now… just like that, shit. S-start slow.”

The pink fake cock is about halfway in you when Law gives you a “fuck it, just shove it in there.” And you oblige, shoving the rest of it inside you, holding onto the end of it to thrust it in and out of yourself.

Law’s praises grow more breathy, and he starts to sound desperate to cum. He watches as your cunt start creaming on the dildo through the screen, your moans like music to his ears as he gets pushed over the edge, cumming into his fist with a loud whine.

And after you’re finished spilling your juices onto the bed, Law tells you to clean up and be ready for when he gets home.

#trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x you #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader #law x reader smut #law x y/n #law x you

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ravenzeppeli · 6 months ago

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Trapped |Yandere Johnny x Reader Angst|

Warning: strong language, physical abuse, verbal abuse, threats, stalking, uncomfortable scenes discussed, yandere relationship. MA

"I told you not to talk to the likes of Diego Brando!" Snapped your boyfriend, Johnny Joestar, his turquoise eyes glaring daggers at you. "Remember when I told you to avoid him and every man that isn't Gyro or I?! Do you remember Y/N?!" The glare that he shot towards you was one filled with hate, no love resting behind his eyes.

Continung to berate you, he raised his voice, "Get the fuck over here now! Don't use me not being able to walk as an excuse to stay away from me!" His patience was running thin, entire body stiff to the core as you stared at him, terrified to move. "Are you fucking deaf!?"

You always stayed far away from him when he was angry, back pressed against the harshly cold hotel wall, body visibly shaking. His loud voice filled the small hotel room, causing fear to bubble up inside of you. You couldn't stand being yelled at by him.. why was he so jealous? Never would you dare to cheat on him. The conversation with Diego was nothing more than you asking him questions about his past. What was so terrible about that? A simple, harmless conversation?

You shook your head once, keeping your eyes on him as you kept your back firmly against the wall. Your legs were too scared to move; no, they wouldn't move because they knew that he was going to hurt you. Fuck Gyro, you know that he was the reason that Johnny knew about your little conversation. Your hunch was correct - when Johnny wasn't stalking you and watching your every move Gyro was, not giving you even a single second of privacy. If you knew that your freedom and privacy were going to be taken away then you would have stayed single.

Not even in the bathroom did you get privacy, forced to keep the door open as you do your private business. Closing doors were forbidden, Johnny felt as if he should be able to see all parts of you, including your most private parts. You despised him so much for that, always watching, wearing a little smirk on his face at your discomfort and humiliation.

"I am going to beat the shit out of you if you don't bring your fucking ass over here and stand in front of me! Get over here now!" He screamed, snatching his blue hat off of his head, revealing messy chestnut blonde hair. "We've been together five goddamn months, you know what does and doesn't get you beat!"

If Gyro were here, he would have already dragged you over to him, leaving once Johnny had his hands securely wrapped around your wrist, light beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he waited for Gyro to leave, only being able to hit and scream at you when he had you alone. He hid the truth, hitting you in places that were hidden beneath your clothes, giving you harsh glances when no one was looking to indicate that when he had you alone you were going to regret displeasing him. This relationship was pure hell, pure hell that you were forced to endure because you couldn't leave him. You've tried, him or Gyro always seemed to find you within hours.

You forced yourself to find the strength to move, slowly stalking over to him with no anticipation in your step. You saw the light beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his hands resting on his lap, balling into fists so tight that you could see the white of his knuckles. You stood directly in front of him, eyes wide with fear as he stared you down. The silence made you nervous, goose flesh forming on your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.

True fear wasn't a monster hiding in your closet with plans of scaring you, fear was a crazed man being so obsessed with you that he controlled and stalked every little part of your life, more then ready to attack when you stepped out of the perfect little line that he created for you to stay behind. Why wouldn't he just allow you to be yourself? You wanted to go out and feel the sun on your skin. You wanted to make friends and laugh with others. Ever since meeting Johnny, you're only allowed to do things while he is present, and he would rather have you locked away and hidden from the world. So badly, did you want to leave. You wanted to be free.

"If you're so scared of me, then why don't you listen to me?! Talking to Diego was unacceptable, and you know that! You are beautiful, Y/N, so beautiful that guys will want to steal you away from me!" He raised his hand behind you, placing two sharp smacks on your bottom, leaving a dark red handprint and a harsh string behind. You flinched but stayed in front of him, hands hanging limply by your side.

"You're stupid for what you've done, so stupid! You know better!" His contiuned, palm smacking away at your upper thighs, three harsh smacks going on each thigh. "Don't you know better?! Or do I have to bear your ass and beat you with a riding crop!?"

Tears filled your eyes, your body flinching at each painful smack, your clothes providing some protection, but you still felt every harsh blow. "I do know better, I'm sorry, Johnny! I promise that I won't do it again, I'll just stay by you at all times!" You begged him, knowing exactly what he wanted from you. So, in order to spare yourself a beating, you would beg. "Please don't use the riding crop on me, I'll be good! Please give me one more chance!" You resisted the urge to rub your stinging bottom and thighs, knowing that would only anger him.

"If you ever do this again, I promise that I'll put you in the hospital! Don't you ever fucking test me again, I am not a man that will tolerate you walking all over me! You are my girlfriend, my property and you will listen to me!" He wiped the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. "You almost got fucking killed, you know that? Do you want to be my wife or do you want to be buried six feet underground? Those are your only two choices."

"I want to be your wife. Nothing more and nothing else, I was put on this earth to be your wife," you told him, feeling as if you were reading lines off of a script. You made your tone sound believable, knowing that even though you didn't want him, you knew that you had to still be with him. You could learn to love him.. that's what you tell yourself so you can fall asleep at night, the thought of being with a crazy man that could snap and kill you at any time for any possible reason still on your mind, ticking away at your sanity.

"That's what I thought.. only I can love you. Only I can make you happy and give you what you need," Johnny said, raising his hand to caress your cheek, his face instantly softening once you said the words that he wanted to hear. "Now that we are happy again, come lay on the bed. I am tired, it's time we go to bed."

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insipid-drivel · 4 months ago

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Honestly I wish abled people took more advantage of accessibility and mobility assisting stuff.

Not just because we need more attention paid toward the world of mobility aids and accessibility in general (we do, but still), but also because a lot of able-bodied people unconsciously put themselves through more discomfort and suppress more pain than they may actually realize they're feeling and wind up going undiagnosed too long.

Like, we live in a world where getting exercise and spending good quality time in Third Spaces and other forms of staying active, socially engaged, and healthy just isn't an easy thing anymore, and most jobs force us into painful and ultimately chronically-painful positions like sitting and typing for most of the day. I just have a hard time believing that there aren't that many silent endurers of chronic pain that, due to being able to still move and carry on without assistance, most people push to the back of their mind and endure in silence.

A shower chair makes a world of difference just for regular bathing. You're resting your legs, able to recline a bit, still clean yourself as well as any other bath or shower, but still give your body more time to unwind and relax. The heat from the kinds of baths and showers most of us like is really good for most overworked and sore muscles, so having the opportunity to rest while bathing and spending a while under genuinely-therapeutic water therapy could actually be a great help to people that don't even know they'd benefit from it.

Walkers and canes that double as seats are great for if you're on your feet for long hours, especially outdoors in hot weather. Even if you're just going to Pride or hanging out at a con of some kind, a walker can be a great way to take more frequent breaks to let any tension from standing and walking for long hours unwind, and reduce the amount of strain in general you're putting on your body, so you can enjoy your time at con longer. A lot of lower back spasms and aches are actually the product of overworked thighs, hamstrings, and even irritated sciatic nerves.

No-rinse sponge bath cloths used by nurses in hospitals, hospice, and palliative specialties are great ways to keep yourself clean if you deal with executive dysfunction and realize you forgot to shower or put on deodorant and can smell yourself. They're as discreet as keeping a pack of wet wipes in a bag or purse, and are designed to require no water to rinse with after using them to still clean your skin. They work great even just as face cleaning wipes you can keep on your night stand for if you forget to wash your face and don't want to get out of bed.

Sometimes a wheelchair is actually psychologically comforting and can allow you to relax enough to go into spaces that usually make you uncomfortable (especially in ERs; I've seen A LOT of people in a lot of pain or general misery that would have a better time in a wheelchair than if they kept making themselves walk, and all you have to do is ask for a wheelchair in an ER to get one in most places), even if you're completely ambulatory. If you deal with feeling anxiety in particular spaces or become overwhelmed easily by too much stimulation, wheelchairs can allow a friend or loved one to take over the walking part for you, and a wheelchair itself forms a literal metal-framed square of Personal Space Just For You. In a wheelchair, you can cover yourself with a blanket, and they even make weighted lap-blankets for wheelchair users to provide comfort for anxious users and help them sleep when they want to nap. Nobody expects you to make eye-contact in a wheelchair, either, and so people who deal with severe issues with feeling forced to make eye-contact with strangers as they're trying to pass by have the excuse of "I need to see where I'm wheeling to" to keep their eyes down.

This isn't to say that physically abled people need to use these things in order to be allies; just that they're objects considered restricted to disabled people only, and so demand for them remains low, advances in their technology is slower in coming, and there are a lot of people in the world that walk around just fine and don't fully realize that the reason they have insomnia or struggle to focus sometimes is that they're suppressing pain they've been dealing with that certain mobility aids can reveal by relieving.

#rambles #delete later #mobility aid

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samiiy20 · 2 years ago

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♡ 𝑳𝒆𝒆 𝑭𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒙 ♡

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐿𝑒𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑥 𝑥 𝑓𝑒𝑚! 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑒: 𝑆𝑚𝑢𝑡 𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 𝟷.3𝑘 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑏𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑢𝑛𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑥, 𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑒𝑥, 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒: 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑐𝘩 𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑤𝘩𝑜 𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑙 𝑏𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑛.

masterlist II tag list

This content NOT is for minors!!!

This is merely entertainment, this does not represent any real person.

It is forbidden to copy or translate my work.

English NO is my first language.

"accept your defeat" you demanded from Felix fighting to have control of the game "it's my turn".

"but I want to continue playing"

Finally with control in your hands you started a new game letting your boyfriend do a little drama for losing.

"You set the rules, don't blame me" he rolled over in bed hugging your bare legs and you gave him a slight blow to his hands when he wanted to caress your skin "don't even try"

The game had started and you wanted to focus on winning, you didn't feel like making dinner that night and with your boyfriend gone you had a chance.

Your eyes were focused on the screen and you hadn't even seen your boyfriend get behind you until his arms went around you and he settled his head on your shoulder. Before you could claim him for being distracted he interrupted you.

" I'm not doing anything, just keep playing. " You sighed trying to ignore the warmth of his chest against your back and his breath tickling his neck. I was doing it on purpose and you knew it but that didn't take away from the goal you had in mind.

It was a bit silly to decide from a game, they could only order food at home but they liked to spend time together in bed talking about anything or just hugging each other, the game was just an excuse to hang out.

You were on the last lap of the race when the boy's hands became present under the sweatshirt you had stolen from his drawer. His fingers traced lines on your abdomen causing your skin to crawl but you bit your lip without taking your concentration off the screen.

"Felix… "

"Yes?" His innocent voice made you crash and lose one of the two lives you had left. You sighed, suppressing the thoughts that invaded you when you heard the same tone he used when he was under you asking you not to stop.

His hands didn't help when they finally moved up to your breasts, massaging them over the top of your bra. Your mind was divided into winning the game but at the same time being able to feel his tongue circling your neck.

You were more than halfway through the game, it was your last round and you knew you would win but the idea of losing didn't seem so bad anymore. No, that was what he wanted, for you to lose and he was getting it.

You tried to close your legs hiding the moisture that was beginning to stain your panties but Felix's legs hugged your extremities leaving you as you were.

You tried to convince yourself that everything was fine when you finally saw the finish line, but one of his hands went to the dark stain that adorned your underwear and you heard him laugh. You had to endure, just a little more. A little more was what you needed to lose when his fingers moved touching your clit causing you to close your eyes.

To hell with dinner and the game, now you just wanted to enjoy the caresses that Felix offered you.

"You lost," he mocked when you leaned your head on one of his shoulders, but he didn't stop moving his hand in circles over the thin fabric that began to bother you.

"shut up and Kiss me" You took it and brought his lips closer to yours, losing yourself in their softness.

His mouth moved slowly trying to make you lose all patience but when you slipped out of the grip of his legs and turned to remove his shirt you noticed a faint reddish color on his cheeks, but it didn't stop you when you sat on his lap.

You began a series of kisses on his neck, letting you hear slight moans that came out of his mouth as you felt his member get hard under you. You couldn't help but move your hips trying to ease the pain that was accumulating in your legs but first you wanted to take care of Felix.

Your kisses went down his abdomen to the edge of the pants that you quickly slid freeing its dripping length, you looked at him without waiting for an answer and tried to suppress a sigh when you noticed how his teeth caught her lips and his chest rose and went down unevenly.

"What happened to the courage, baby?" You said, making fun of having provoked you.

Felix was the most versatile person you could meet, at first his angel face could fool anyone and he would seduce you with his sweet voice, but he could also be possessive and demanding when he wanted, but you knew that he preferred that you will take the initiative.

It was a bad idea to think that he would remain silent and the color in his skin would only stand out more, but instead I take your hair smiling bringing your face closer to the end of it.

"here it is" You were turned on by the boy's mood swings so you just opened your mouth running your tongue through the precum that had accumulated cleaning his skin. You took support on his thighs and let his hands guide your movements while your mouth took over his member.

Felix wasn't embarrassed that you knew he was enjoying it, so he let out all sorts of curses and long sighs as you felt his cock twitch in your mouth, but you couldn't ignore your pussy's begging for service either.

A few more movements and Felix was already taking your head so that you hit bottom in him, your muffled moans in your throat caused him to release his arousal and allow you to swallow his hot liquid trying not to spill anything.

"mm… you look so pretty like that" he took your face to allow himself to see you catch your breath and since there was still a little trace of him on your lips "who can imagine that you're such a bitch?"

"and you so annoying" you separated only to finish undressing in front of him and get on his legs again rubbing his member on your clitoris, his mouth stuck to your breasts licking and biting your nipples making you arch your back.

Felix stopped for a moment moaning louder than before because of the stimulation below and you were already starting to get desperate, but you wanted to hear how he asked for you.

"Stop moving like that," he moaned, grabbing your hips but you could still make small movements that made his grip stronger.

"Ask me what you really want"

"Fuck me"

You smiled, getting up a little to slowly go down on his member and share a pleasant sigh, the noises of your hips colliding were not long in being heard, you had pushed him to lie down while you rode him moving so that his length touched you where you wanted.

"Does it feel good, baby?" He nodded caressing your thighs while his eyes connected and the movements increased.

Your legs were starting to burn but in your belly there was a pain that you needed to release and you didn't stop when you felt your insides tighten around your boyfriend. His hands had taken your breasts and kneaded them holding your nipples between his fingers making you moan his name.

"Shit, I'm going to cum" he said, squeezing your breasts more than necessary. You smiled seeing how ruined he looked below you with his messy hair and his lips swollen from his teeth.

"do it, let me feel you inside baby"

You were also on the edge but you held on just a bit to wait for him, you ground his member under you causing your whole body to tremble and you noticed how a white liquid spilled down your legs as it mixed with your juices.

The last moves only caused both of them to swear and you ended up spilling on his chest as they took a break. His heart was pounding and his eyes remained closed while he held your waist and caressed your back, but suddenly you heard how his stomach made a sound demanding food.

"You ruined the moment" they both laughed and you got up to the bathroom to clean yourself.

"Then who will make dinner?" he asked when he finished cleaning himself and went back to bed. You took your phone and searched for something while you sat next to it to look at it.

"Do you think you can last another round while the food arrives?" He laughed grabbing your waist and pressing his chest to your back as he indicated what to order as they prepared to continue.

#felix stray kids #lee felix #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #felix x y/n #kpop imagines #skz felix #felix fanfic #skz smut #stray kids imagines #felix smut

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tropes-and-tales · 2 years ago

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A Bit of Color

December 26: Quilt/Scrooge - Sunny versus Grumpy (Ray Merrimen x F!reader)

(From the winter prompts found here)

CW: Angst; Ray is a rude boi; mention of suicide

Word Count: 1828

AN: Requested by the lovely @bport76!

Ray would have never chosen you for his crew, but Bosco brought you in when they lost their intel person. He’s dubious at first—you’re preternaturally chipper, so cheerful and sweet that Ray’s teeth ache after he has to deal with you.

But Bosco has a good handle on their needs, and you’re an absolute ace at tech. You can hack anything: any computer, any phone system. You can find blueprints and hack a security camera, all with that saccharine attitude that grates against him.

It’s like a Hallmark movie fucked a Care Bear and created you. You dress in bright colors, usually dresses where the skirt flares out as you skip around the fucking chop shop. You hum pop songs as you work. You bake for the guys, cupcakes with rainbow frosting and chocolate chip cookies. You fuss over the guys too, take on a mother hen role that frays Ray’s nerves.

Hell, you even smell sweet, the scent of vanilla and lavender lingering even long after you leave.

Ray would get rid of you in a heartbeat, but you’re too damned good. He knows he could look for someone with half of your skills and never find them.

So he puts up with you. For your stellar hacking skills, he endures your colorful/sweet/manic pixie bullshit with a clenched jaw and a grumble.

-----

You’re also one of those crafty women, always knitting or sewing or painting something. More than once, Ray and the guys have come back from a heist just to find you sitting there and waiting for them, a piece of knitwork in your lap.

You’re also one of those generous types, which means when the holidays roll around, you become extra insufferable.

You bake. You make candy. You can your own jams, jellies, salsas. You make chili and cornbread, feed the guys when they are working late one night. Ray grunts when you hand him a bowl, and he calculates how much harder he’ll have to work out the next day to burn off all the fucking calories—

You give them gifts. Handmade gifts.

For Lavoux, it’s sweaters that you knit. Three sweaters, matching, for him, his wife, and his daughter.

For Bosco, it’s an elaborately wrapped box of homemade fudges. Chocolate, peanut butter, rocky road, orange cream.

“You’re trying to make me fat,” Bosco says as he pulls you in for a hug, pulls you off your feet. “I love ya, girl.”

For Mack, it’s a beer stein that you apparently made yourself, glazed yourself, and fired in a nearby community kiln. Because why the fuck not, Ray figures. He wonders if you mined the clay yourself too, just to be extra fucking irritating.

For Ray? Of course you have a gift for Ray.

It’s a quilt. At least it’s not super colorful, like Rainbow Brite puked on it—it’s shades of grey and blue in small rectangles stitched together.

“It’s a variation of the Big Fences pattern,” you tell him, as if he knows what the hell that means, and he misses the shy smile on your face.

“I don’t really need a quilt.” He refolds it, then tries to hand it back to you.

You frown, your eyebrows knit together. “But…it’s a gift.”

“It’s L.A. I never will need a quilt.”

You seem to misunderstand him because your face splits into a bright grin. “Oh, but I used lightweight batting! It’s not too heavy, so it’s actually perfect for L.A. weather—”

“No.” He pushes the quilt back at you, frowns until you take it. “I don’t need this.”

Ray never has been very tactful, and no one would ever accuse him of being soft, but the way your face crumples as you take the quilt and clutch it to your chest, the way your eyes fill with tears but how to try to play it off, give a shaky laugh and say “sure, sorry Ray, of course”…

He’s never felt like more of a monster in his life.

And then you leave, come up with a flimsy excuse of how you need to be somewhere else.

Even if he didn’t feel like the world’s biggest asshole, the guys cut him zero fucking slack.

“That’s cold,” Lavoux tells him. “Ice cold, man.”

“Like watching someone kill a kitten,” Mack agrees.

Bosco glares at Ray, crosses his arms. “This shit takes time, Merrimen. All this crafty homemade shit? It’s hours of her life, and that quilt was easily the most time-intensive of all of our gifts.”

“I didn’t ask for a gift.” Ray crosses his own arms, matches Bosco’s energy.

“And she didn’t ask for a fucking Scrooge. You don’t want the quilt? You tell her ‘thank you so much, this is great,’ and then you take it home and tuck it away somewhere. Fuck, Ray. You lose all your home training in prison?”

“She’d never even know if you threw it away,” Mack adds. “You coulda just taken it and tossed it, and she’d be none the wiser.”

“Being rude like that is bad karma. Bad juju,” says Lavoux.

“No such thing,” Ray says, and his tone makes it clear that the discussion is over.

-----

Ray doesn’t believe in karma or juju, and nothing overtly bad happens. Still, he has to admit the vibe in the crew has changed.

You’re not the same. Maybe Mack was right, maybe what Ray did to you was like killing a kitten. You still joke around with the guys, but the minute—the absolute second—Ray shows up, you shut down.

You still dress in your colorful dresses, but somehow it’s sadder when your outfits are paired with a slight frown and a sad silence. You don’t hum anymore. No singing along to bright pop songs under your breath as you hack into banking mainframes.

You don’t bake for them anymore either, and that’s what pushes the guys to near mutiny.

“You need to fix this shit,” Bosco mutters to him one night. “I haven’t had one of her peanut butter brownies in weeks.”

“So go to a fucking bakery.”

“I said fix it.” He pushes the words out through gritted teeth. “You’re the one that broke her. You’re the one that’s gonna fix her.”

-----

How can Ray fix it with you?

He has no way into your world view. His life has never been colorful. He grew up in a military family, went straight into the military himself. MARSOC, then his discharge, then his life of crime.

Never any color. Just the dun and greys of the military, of prison. Never any music or sweetness and Ray doesn’t see what he’s missing in all of that.

He does the best he can. He asks himself what he would want, and then he does the exact opposite, which is why he finds himself on your doorstep, a fistful of colorful flowers from the grocery store clutched in his fist.

-----

You’ve always been reasonably assured around Ray, but in your kitchen, you stumble. You offer him tea, then shake your head at yourself, mutter stupid to yourself.

“I have…a beer. If you want it.”

“Sure. Sounds good.”

You reach into your fridge and hand him the bottle gingerly, then perch yourself in the chair opposite of him.

Ray takes a drink, looks around. He thought your house would have been nothing but bright colors, but it looks…mostly normal. A few pops of color here and there: paintings on the walls, knick-knacks on the shelves. But nothing outrageous.

You only stare at him solemnly, a subtle tension in your features.

“I came by to say I’m sorry. About the quilt.”

“I guess it was pretty stupid. A quilt in Los Angeles.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “I’m just an asshole.”

If there’s one other thing Ray likes about you, aside from your skills as a hacker, it’s your honesty. You never lie to them.

When he calls himself an asshole, you nod at him in agreement.

“I’d like it back,” he continues. “The quilt. If you’d be willing.”

“I don’t know.” You turn and look out the window into your backyard. “You don’t have to take it just to be nice.”

“I’m not nice. I want it. I’ll use it.” A beat. “I don’t have anything homemade in my apartment. It’ll make it nicer.”

You turn back to face him. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

You smile, and it’s the same shy one you had when you first handed him his gift. “Okay then. I’ll go get it.”

You stand up and leave the kitchen, disappear into some deeper part of the house, but Ray stands up too. He takes his beer into your living room and studies the framed photos on the shelf there. You and friends. You and a dog. A little girl that he guesses is you, with an older man in the full dress uniform of the military.

You come into the living room with the quilt neatly folded in your arms, and you see Ray studying your pictures.

“This your dad?” Ray asks, pointing at the man in the uniform.

“…yes.”

“Marines?”

“Yes.” A beat. “He died when I was young.”

“Sorry. Which campaign?”

Another beat, longer. “He…he committed suicide.”

“Ah, shit. Sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Still…” He looks at the picture again, sees you as a little girl with a wide grin, eyes squeezed shut.

He clears his throat, offers you a bit of himself. “You know, my old man was military. Fought in Iraq, came back different. So I get it, a little. I understand what it’s like to grow up like that.”

Though he doesn’t point out the difference: Ray followed down that same military path, allowed himself to be molded into a killing machine with MARSOC. You split off in an entirely different direction, filled your life with color and light and sweetness.

You nod in acknowledgement, then hand him the quilt. “Here you go.”

He takes it and waits for you to look him in the eye until he gives you the smallest of smiles. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

“It’ll be the nicest thing at my place.”

You get a sly tilt to your lips, a smirk more than a smile. “Not much competition though, right?”

“Oh, that’s how you’re gonna be then? You’re gonna knock my decorating skills?” he jokes back.

“Your decorating skills probably aren’t that bad. It’s easy to match black and grey,” you say with the same teasing grin.

“Well, there’s some blue in this.” He holds up the folded quilt, runs a finger along the neat stitching. “A good start.”

“It doesn’t hurt to have a little color in your life, Ray.”

He guesses not. And more than any color, he has insight into who you are. An inroad into what formed you, what made you the person you are. Better than any color is intel, and Ray has some valuable intel now.

#ray merrimen #ray merrimen x reader #ray merrimen imagine #den of thieves #tropes-and-tales #winter prompts 2022

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freesia-writes · 2 years ago

Note

Hello lovely. I know you mentioned this on someone else's post, but I do like the idea with Gregor. Reader is a heavy person and self-conscious of being carried, picked up, or sitting on his lap, but of course he wants to do these things and help them feel better about it. Would you be willing to grace us with such a story?

Well gosh, how could I resist that? Since I’ve been trundling in circles on the Howzer fic, let’s indulge in another lovely little date with Gregor… I’m just going to make this a continuation of the last one (read it here)!

These are getting longer! LOL. Word count: 2,775 Content Warnings: None Just a sexy GIF to start it off with a reminder of his prowess. ;)

You were thrilled when Gregor asked you out again; he had sounded enthusiastic about it at the end of your first date but you had been let down before… Ghosted, turned down, given a variety of excuses. Sometimes the world was not kind. But today it seemed that fortune was smiling upon you, as you found yourself getting ready for another adventure with the ex-commando who was making a new life for himself after enduring enough trauma for a lifetime.

It’s an uncharacteristically cloudy day on the island, and while it’s still relatively warm, the sea breeze has a distinct chill to it -- a stark contrast to the balmy usual. You don’t want to admit it, but you feel slightly relieved at the opportunity to bundle up a bit. Your warm clothes have been stuffed in the back of your closet for ages, and the weather is a welcome excuse to wrap your favorite soft sweater around you. You fuss in the mirror for a moment, but not nearly as long as usual -- Gregor’s unabashed delight with life had been disarming in a way, and you feel less worried at the thought of letting him see more of the real you.

A knock at the door nearly gives you a heart attack, even though you’ve been eagerly awaiting it all day, and you rush to open it as quickly as you can. There he is, tall and bright, a radiant beam of joy on a cloudy day, wearing the simple blacks of an off-duty soldier. He’s insisted that today be a surprise for you, and you struggle to be okay with that… It’s always nicer to feel prepared. But somehow his mere presence puts you at ease, and you open your arms sheepishly, inviting a hug, which he immediately and happily accepts, enveloping you in a boisterous squeeze.

“Hard to believe this day will only get better from here!” Gregor declares cheerfully, releasing you with as much enthusiasm as he grabbed you with. “Are you ready for a little adventure?”

“I feel wildly ill-prepared, but if I look acceptable, I’m ready to go!” You didn’t necessarily mean acceptable as in good enough, but as in wearing the right items for whatever he had planned. Although the insecurity began to creep in at the thought of your appearance overall…

“You look as beautiful as the twisted light of the sun shining over the Void on Abafar,” he says conspiratorially, piquing one of those sharp eyebrows to add a dramatic flourish.

“I don’t know what any of that is, but sunlight is usually good right?” you admit, laughing in a bit of relief.

“Yes, good good, all good!” he replies in a singsong voice. “Now, if you will join me, my lady?” He offers an arm, which you take with a smile, and he escorts you from your doorstep down to the winding paths that lead throughout the village. He keeps the conversation light, asking about recent events, commenting on the unusual cloudy weather, and gleefully pointing out random things he sees. You’re enamored with his apparent zest for life and find yourself swept along with his ability to delight in things that most others would overlook as mundane.

Your walk takes you to the edge of the village, to a bus stop precisely, and you give him a quizzical look as he grins back at you. Holding up two tickets, he heads for the nearest “bus”, which could barely be called that, as it’s the tiniest commercial vehicle you’ve ever laid eyes on. It looks more like a slightly shrunken van, with an aisle down the middle and bench seats that could hold maybe 8 people comfortably. But there are a great deal more than that gathered outside, and as everyone files on ahead of you, the rising sense of anxiety takes center stage. The two of you climb up the small stairs, laying eyes on the single remaining seat -- the end of the bench at the very front. One seat… for both of you.

Always the gentleman, Gregor beckons for you to take the seat, opting to stand next to you with his hand on the back of the headrest. The bus doors close and the driver starts the engine, peering in the rear view mirror. People are piled up in every nook and cranny; the concept of one person per seat is nonexistent, and no one seems to have an issue with it. So you try to relax and “do as the locals do”.

“Everyone has to be seated,” the driver calls out sternly, staring pointedly at Gregor.

“Ah! Umm, okay! Well… let’s see here, then…” he blusters, looking around for any option. You try to squeeze closer to the man you’re sharing the seat with, but it’s barely big enough for the two of you. Neither of you is petite in size, something you’ve been self-conscious about for ages. You rise to your feet next to Gregor.

“It’s okay! We can take the next bus, perhaps?” you suggest optimistically.

“Not with the way I’ve got things timed out, I’m afraid,” Gregor says with a frown, pausing for a moment before his face lights up, “Aha! But I’ve got just the solution, and I do hope you won’t think me too forward for it…” He plops onto the seat you were just in, patting his lap with a proud grin. “I mean, it’s strictly out of necessity, you see!” he says brightly, perceiving your sudden discomfort and making every attempt to reassure you that he’s not a pervert.

“Oh, no, I mean, it’s okay… It’s just…” you babble, frantically trying to find any kind of reasonable explanation other than the truth.

“Go ahead, lady! We need to get rolling. I don’t care where everyone is, as long as everyone’s sitting!” the driver calls, tapping his hand on the steering wheel impatiently.

The pressure only makes it worse, and you finally speak up in a panicked whisper, leaning close to Gregor’s ear “I think I’m too heavy for that.”

A thoroughly bewildered expression washes over his face before being quickly followed by understanding and compassion, the progression of which warms your heart despite the thoroughly anxiety-inducing situation. But his words go a step further, as he gently but firmly assures the driver that he can wait a kriffing minute.

“I was a clone commando of the Grand Army of the Republic. I assure you, I have been smashed and wrestled and crushed by every combination of human, droid, and alien. You, my dear, are nothing more than an absolute delight, if you feel comfortable. If you don’t, we can find something else to do, no problem! But I was rather looking forward to holding you tight -- these roads can be quite bumpy, you know!”

His ability to be so incredibly earnest and yet somehow keep it light and pressure-free invites relief to crash over you like a wave from the sea. You still don’t believe him fully, but his enthusiasm and entreaty is impossible to resist. Tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder, you lower yourself slowly to sit on his lap, legs dangling off the side into the aisle, and he wraps his arm around your back for support. The other hand is tenderly laid on your knees, and with a giggle and a grin, he looks at you as though you’ve made him the happiest man alive.

“Lovely! Ready when you are, driver!” he chirps, and the disgruntled little man puts the van in gear, rolling down the dirt road along the mountain ridge. Gregor gives your knee a reassuring pat, leaning in close to chat more privately, “I’m no poet when it comes to stuff like this, but I do hope you’ll believe me… You have nothing to worry about.”

His apparent honesty and genuine joy allow you to relax more fully, and you wrap both arms around his neck, leaning against his sturdy chest as the van tips and turns around the precarious curves of the road. Gregor moves his hand from your knees to your waist, holding you gently yet firmly against him. He’s solid as a rock, and you thank the Maker for the opportunity to feel his muscular build pressed against your side. His demeanor doesn’t match the traditional “war hero” type, but you’re reminded (and grateful) that he is as strong as he is kind.

The road weaves its way into a valley, where a more lush landscape rises below the stark, rocky mountains above, and the bus comes to a shuddering halt. You could have sat there forever on his lap, listening to his stories and finding other ways to occupy the time, but everyone is unceremoniously shooed off the vehicle as quickly as possible. As the passengers scatter to their various destinations (of which there are not many, as this part of the island was much less inhabited), you look to Gregor for guidance. Taking your hand with a warm smile, sending a shooting burst of tingles up your spine, he points to the forest.

“I’ve found a pretty little spot for you,” he said, “That I think you’ll particularly enjoy at sunset… Although the clouds may have foiled my plan a bit for today!” He shrugs, the smile never leaving his face, and the two of you set off, hand in hand. The forest seems to lead toward an edge of the island, sitting slightly above sea level, and as the foliage grows more dense and tiny creeks appear more frequently, your pace is slowed by the extra caution needed to avoid breaking an ankle or falling into mud. The first time you trip is easy to recover from, with a light laugh and self-effacing comment, but the second and third times begin to be more embarrassing. Finally, when you plant your right foot squarely in some deep mud, you feel some of the delight wearing off.

“I’m sorry,” you admit, feeling the self-judgment rising within, “I’m not usually such a mess.”

“Well, forgive me in advance then,” Gregor reassures, giving a roguish wink, “Because I am often a mess.” Without another word, he gently pulls your foot free from the mud, then, while still bending over, scoops you into his arms and rises to stand straight. Your complete and utter shock holds back the waterfall of self-conscious fears and hesitations, and before your brain has time to catch up, he’s continuing down the path, arms under your knees and back, carrying you as effortlessly as you could imagine.

“Oh!” he says suddenly, letting out a nervous giggle as he stops walking but keeps you in his arms, “I’m sorry! Is this uncomfortable for you?” The concern on his face is heart-melting, and the clear lack of any physical struggle on his part has thoroughly assuaged your fears.

“No…” you say softly, lifting the arm closest to him to wrap it around his shoulders, allowing you to rest your head against the top of his chest. “I mean, it should be… But it’s not?”

“Should be?” he asks, “Ah, I don’t know all the nuances with this sort of thing; I shouldn’t even ask! Am I just making it worse?” he says bashfully. His thorough cluelessness and genuine desire to care for you as best he can provokes a level of vulnerability you didn’t think yourself capable of, at least not on a second date.

“Look… I’m self-conscious about my weight,” you say, picking your head up to look at him fully, “And I know people come in all shapes and sizes, but you always see the cheesy romance flicks on the holo featuring all these tiny little women who are carried off into the sunset by big strong men. I never see someone that looks like me, much less someone that looks like me who is also being thrown around like she weighs nothing. It’s all silly, I know… but it’s just been part of my life for a long time.”

Gregor stays silent for a moment, his usual enthusiasm curbed a bit by his understanding of the depth of the situation. It’s clear that he’s searching for the right words to say, and you wonder if you were too honest. Finally, he speaks, “I wish I had the perfect words to say, but may I just point out that I am, in fact, carrying you into the sunset, and having a delightful time doing so? And I hope you are as well?”

You smile, feeling a blush rise on your cheeks. This is not the conversation you had anticipated having tonight, but the unconditional optimism and affection from him is incredibly meaningful and disarming. Taking a deep breath, you settle the qualms, choosing to accept his words and actions. “It’s been an unexpectedly fun adventure so far,” you admit, and his gleeful giggle as he continues walking makes your heart soar.

A few minutes later, the trees give way to a small clearing on the side of a cliff, overlooking the curve of the island where it meets the sunset. The thick layer of clouds fights the golden rays of the sun with an oppressively bluish-gray haze, creating a beautiful contrast of warm and cool. Gregor gently puts you down on the grassy ground, pointing to a picnic basket and blanket that has been set out in the clearing. Your face lights up as you see a fastidiously-laid assortment of snacks, drinks, and some particularly indulgent-looking treats, and you look back to him in awe.

“I thought we could do without the judgmental waiter this time,” he admits, with a little waggle of the eyebrows.

“It’s amazing!” you laugh, tentatively finding a seat on the blanket. Gregor tucks in next to you, folding his legs to the side so he can lean a little closer to you. The conversation drifts to lighter topics once again as you watch the sun surrender to the horizon and the clouds take over in dreary gloom. It feels as though you’ve known him your whole life, which is an odd thing to say for someone you’ve met twice, but his attitude of nonjudgmental openness and unstoppable optimism is inviting in a way you’ve never experienced.

Finishing the last bit of drink in your glass, you set it in the basket off to the side, glancing up at his sharp profile as he considers the darkening sky. The hint of a smile permanently curves the corner of his lips, disappearing only when replaced by a stern, reflective, or indignant expression. You reach a hand up to his cheek, giving it a gentle caress that breaks him out of his quiet reverie. His face brightens, turning to you in eager connection, and he raises an eyebrow at the sudden intensity in your eyes as you return your hand to your lap.

“Thank you,” you say, voice quiet with emotion.

“Of course! It wasn’t quite the sunset I’d imagined, but the best view is right here anyway,” he says with a chuckle at his own cheesy quip.

“Ha, well this is lovely too… But I meant to thank you for… I don’t know… making me feel…” you falter, looking down and searching for words that don’t sound so pathetic, but realizing that’s your own judgmental self-criticism coming through. Taking one more deep breath, you return your gaze to his eyes with a smile and a defeated shrug.

The right words seem to be eluding both of you today, but he is unbothered by the fact, instead opting to reach down and give your hand a squeeze while speaking. “I enjoy every minute with you,” he says simply, nodding to emphasize his admission. “Now… what was that you said earlier about wanting to be thrown around?”

You burst into laughter, giving his chest a playful slap, though it sends a tingle through your insides that you can’t deny. “You’re ridiculous,” you say, grinning irresistibly, and he joins you with that endearing giggle of his own.

“Let’s head back before it gets too cold,” he suggests, “And this time, I’ll fight for two seats on the bus.”

“Ehh… It’s not the worst thing if we end up with only one…” you say, now raising your eyebrow at him and earning not only a little chuckle but also a delighted little “ooh!” from him.

You can see this going quite well.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

APPARENTLY I NEED MORE REQUESTS FOR GREGOR DATES, as I can see this being a whole adorable series. ;)

#tbb gregor #gregor fic #gregor fanfic #captain gregor #gregor #captain gregor x reader #gregor x you #gregor x reader

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pleasurebuttonwrites · 2 years ago

Text

the privateer & me

Chapter 1 sturmhond x ofc | 2.3k | rating: teen Masterlist

Saskia Zimová is part of the crew aboard the Volkvolny. At the annual captain's party, she gets some face time with Captain Sturmhond.

author's note: this is set prior to the events of shadow & bone. first of 6 chapters. content: alcohol use

~~~

I had been part of the crew for the better part of a year. I had joined just after the last annual captain’s party, and endured the many stories about all that I had missed. Needless to say I was pretty excited to attend tonight.

The annual captain’s party wasn’t as lavish I expected. Sure, the captain himself was dressed in elegance, looking like some kind of nobility. But for the rest of us, we didn’t have any fine clothes. For one, there were no other occasions for it — more likely it would get ruined just being on the ship, or stuffed into our packs in the small space allowed us in our quarters. And for two, none of us had the extra cash to purchase something just for the night. And if we did we wouldn’t waste it on that.

The captain’s quarters — where he held the party — were beautiful. A gorgeous fireplace, surrounded by bookshelves filled with books with leather covers and glittering spines, polished tables and chairs with plush cushions set up for various games, a large seating area with couches and chairs, a long dining table filled with delicacies — which I had been in the galley helping to make all day — and wines and liquor and ale.

When I showed up — after fixing and re-fixing my hair half a dozen times — the party was already in full swing. A few of the crew had brought their instruments and were performing a hearty jig and people were gathered around them dancing. I went straight to the buffet and loaded up a plate. The scent of the food had been tantalizing me all day and we’d had express orders not to sample anything.

I was making the rounds, trying to decide where I wanted to settle for awhile, wolfing down the food, when he came up to me.

“Miss Zimová, welcome,” Captain Sturmhond said. “How are you finding the evening so far?”

He held his hand out to me in greeting. I had to pull my fingers from my mouth and wipe them quickly on my pants before placing my hand in his. I was cursing myself for not grabbing a napkin. To his credit, he didn’t appear to mind.

I chewed quickly and swallowed around the lump of food, which was a pity because I was hoping to savor it. I had to clear my throat before answering. “It’s lovely, Captain. I’m very grateful for your generosity.”

“I’m happy to hear that you find it satisfactory. Please enjoy yourself.”

It wasn’t the first time I’d spoken to him, but it was the first conversation — however brief — that wasn’t about my duties on the ship.

After clearing my plate, I found an open spot at a card table. I played several happy rounds, winning some, losing some, but having fun the whole time. I hadn’t realized Mac was so funny, he was always so grumpy while going about his duties. Marnie promised to show me how to shuffle and spread cards like that. But after a couple of hours, everyone seemed to be well into their cups. What had been funny turned into incomprehensible nonsense. Conversation, connection, severed by glassy eyes and sullen silence. Arguments over the game flared up and no reason or sense could put them out. I excused myself and walked a lap around the room. The dance floor no longer resembled dancing, there were only fools stumbling over each other. The other tables similarly had red faced revelers, swaying unsteadily to some rhythm in their hearts. The crowd had thinned considerably. I had heard that some come for the good food — only made once a year — and wine, and to have their minute of face time with the captain, then leave.

After hearing about the festivities for so long I didn’t want to just leave. After all, what was I going to do? Just go back to my bunk? I spent every night there. Instead, I ignored the people and took a special interest in the room itself. The captain had a special collection of figurines I found rather intriguing. But the man himself was across the room, deep in conversation, and without him to ask about them, there was nothing more to gain from staring at them.

I left the books for last, my true interest. I resolved that if I should not find his taste compatible with mine, I should leave. I was surprised by what I found. I had assumed they would all be tedious novels about man’s love affair with the sea. Instead, there were books about adventure, mysteries, and even romance. It was one of these that I selected from the shelves. A book by a beloved author of mine that I hadn’t had the occasion to pick up from a shop.

There were still some attendees in conversation in the seating area, others were half-asleep and some were lip-locked. I found a seat unattended on one of the couches. I cracked the book and lifted the pages to my nose. It smelled fresh and comforting and full of possibilities.

After a while I had the couch to myself and I laid across it, my preferred position for reading. I was somewhat aware of people leaving, indeed Marnie came over to say good night, as did others I knew from the galley. But I was not aware of time passing.

I turned to the last page, sad that the story was ending, but with my heart full from the events. After I had finished I shut the book and held it to my chest. I wasn’t ready to return to life, wanting to grasp at the ever-dissolving tendrils of the story world instead.

“What did you think?”

His voice pulled me firmly into the real world. I startled and looked over to find Captain Sturmhond seated in one of the arm chairs near the couch. He was facing me and I had the sense that he’d been there for some time.

I sat up quickly. “Forgive me. I-”

I was suddenly aware of the quiet. With a small sense of foreboding, I cast a glance around the room to find it completely empty.

I stood up. “I’m very sorry, Captain. I didn’t realize how late it was.”

I made to go but he said, “Sit.”

I did as I was told. He didn’t seem angry, but my heart was beating fast. I had done something I wasn’t supposed to, I felt that acutely.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

My mind was completely blank and I struggled in my panic to remember what he had asked me.

A smile played on his lips as he said, “What did you think of the book?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry-”

“Miss Zimová, if you apologize to me again, I shall have to make sure there is something for you to be sorry about.”

My breath caught, but something about the mischief in his eyes told me he wasn’t serious.

“S-” I began again and had to bite my lip to stop myself. I think he chuckled.

I cleared my throat and started again. “I found it surprising.”

He leaned forward at that. “How so?”

“Well,” I said thinking, “I was sure Valerie would choose Avery.”

He seemed to find that delightful. “Is that who you would choose?”

I tried to hide my shock. It seemed like such a personal question. I didn’t mind, exactly. I just wasn’t expecting it. “If I felt the way that Valerie had, yes, absolutely.”

“Even though Barnaby could give her the life she deserved?”

“But she didn’t love Barnaby! Not like that. She loved Avery, still loved Avery even as she married Barnaby.”

“But she would’ve had to live a very different life than she expected with Avery. I am sure she would have been miserable.”

“No, she’ll be miserable with Barnaby. Who cares about what kind of life you’ll have if you love someone as passionately as she loved Avery, and as Avery loved her!”

He watched me in silence and I came back to myself, suddenly aware of where I was and who I was talking to. I blushed, and hoped that the light from the fire wouldn’t be enough to show it.

“I’m s-” I almost said it again, but caught myself, swallowing my words. “I should be off to bed, now,” is what I said instead.

He nodded.

“Thank you for allowing me to read your book. I most enjoyed it.” I extended it back to him but he made no move to take it.

“Keep it,” he said. “Since you appreciated it so much.”

“No, I couldn’t,” I tried to protest, but he wasn’t having it.

“In fact,” he said, “since you’ve finished that one, I have another I think you’ll like.”

He got up and went to his bookcase. He seemed to know exactly where the book in question was because he went right to it. He brought it back to me and I recognized the author. I had no idea she’d written another book. It must have been very new.

“Thank you! I’ll take good care of it, and return it to you soon.”

There was an amused twinkle in his eye as he said, “I’m sure you will. I will bid you good night.”

He took my hand, and this time he pressed a kiss against my knuckles. He moved toward his private chambers but paused to say, “Please, have another apricot puff before you go. I believe we have one left.”

He slipped into his chambers, and I was thankful to be alone to lose my composure over the fact that I had been eating an apricot puff when he greeted me several hours earlier.

—

I didn’t go directly to my bunk. I didn’t think I could sit in the small space with the big thoughts I was having. I found a quiet place on the deck — there were still revelers out, singing and drinking from their own lesser quality stock of liquor and ale — but I was able to find a spot apart from them. I licked the last bit of jam off my finger tips and leaned on the railing.

The stars overhead were like bright jewels. The wispy clouds in the sky looked like pieces of a veil, and the cosmos were coyly trying to cover themselves so that when revealed, the majesty was all that much greater. Even with that beauty, I couldn’t stop picturing Captain Sturmhond’s eyes. The gold flecks in his hazel eyes, and the way they lit up during our conversation. I would rather be staring into them right now.

The sea was relatively calm tonight. Just a slight breeze and steady rocking waves. We were the only ones out here for miles around, but somehow, in the night it didn’t feel as lonely as in the day. The darkness was like a soft blanket that hid how large the world was. At night, this ship was the whole world and we were the only ones in it. When put like that, it seemed totally possible that the captain could want my company. I knew that when the sun rose and the world was once more out there, that possibility would seem so far away. The captain probably preferred someone as devastatingly beautiful as he was. Someone refined, someone feminine. But right here, right now, I could pretend. I could easily slip into a story world where tonight wasn’t some aberration, a result of a once in a year camaraderie with the crew.

I clutched the book he had lent me tighter in my arms. Before I left, I had returned the other book he had given me. I just couldn’t keep it. It didn’t feel right. Besides, where would I put it? I already had to keep my book collection thinned down to only my favorites. No. Better that it stayed on his shelves where it belonged.

I stayed out on deck until the chill made me long for my blankets. I wasn’t actually tired, but I thought I’d be more comfortable dreaming in my bunk.

I found my way inside quietly, trying not to disturb the three other occupants. A quick listen to their snores told me I hadn’t needed to be so careful. The more they drank, the louder they were, and I could tell they had drank considerably that night. I climbed into my bunk and sat on something hard. I retrieved it from underneath me and could tell right away it was a book. But why was it in my bed? I sparked the lantern next to me and dialed it bright enough so that I could see. I didn’t want to let myself believe it but it was indeed the captain’s book. Had he really noticed that I put it back?

I thumbed through the pages to smell it once more, and something caught my eye. I turned to the first page. There was some writing scrawled in black ink.

Miss Zimová, I don’t think I fully expressed my opinion of this book. I, too, believe Valerie would have been better off with Avery. However I was not surprised when she chose Barnaby. Such things happen all the time. - Sturmhond P.S. Next time I give you a gift, I expect you to accept it.

I stared at it in disbelief. I must have read the damn thing seventy times. It crossed my mind — more than once — that I might have already been dreaming. But when I woke in the morning, the book was still in my hands and there were two words on my mind: Next time.

#sturmhond #nikolai lanstov #shadow & bone #sturmhond fic #nikolai lantsov fic #shadow & bone fic #shadow & bone spoilers

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beyondedenton · 8 months ago

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What is Fair || Maximus + Sophia + Henry || December, 2020

Continuation from [x]

Maximus: "I believe," he hesitated, "she has found a more satisfying party favor, one she intends to be a permanent fixture in the foreseeable future." This was not the worst his mistress could scheme. Unforgettable nights of horror based on little more than jealousy and spite were once commonplace. Scarred in memory rather than skin by her will. "Perhaps find some excuse to retire for the evening."

Sophia: Sophia’s lips drew into a thin line and she looked back out into the darkness. She didn’t know what would be worse, to stay here and endure the sight or to leave and be left with her imagination of the horrors.

“Catch fucking 22,” she muttered to herself.

Maximus: "Your well-being is my only concern, m'lady. Please, allow your decision to be a selfish one."

Sophia: Selfish she could do. It was in her bones given what she was. But she would fight it. She always did.

She just closed her eyes, crossing her arms as if to fight off a chill. “I care about your well-being too.”

Maximus: "I understand, and it means the world to me that you care. Truly. Knowing lingers when you're gone."

Sophia: “And if there was something- anything I could do to stop it… and I had left…”

Maximus: "That's," his eyes dropped to his feet, then hers, "a dangerous way of thinking, the possibilities. They'll swallow you whole if you let them."

Sophia: She gave a slight smile at that and looked back at him. “Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to get lost in it.”

Maximus: "If you might take anything away from my experiences, Sophia, let it be knowing when to wake up."

Sophia: Sophia set her jaw. “I am awake, Maximus. I just hate what comes with it.”

Maximus: "I agree," he said softly. "If it's any consolation, you've made the hours outside of daydreaming tolerable."

Sophia: “It’s a little bit of one, I guess,” she replied. Tolerable. That was what it had to be, didn’t it? Not happy, not peaceful— tolerable.

She glanced back at the party within. How much longer did she have before they’d be missed?

Maximus: Tolerable was the softest word of choice. Some days, when given several hours to himself, able to spend in Sophia's company, it was much more. It was indeed peaceful, truly happy. But these were blips. Tolerable was the umbrella. Sophia pulled him from the daydreams that had maintained his sanity for over a lifetime of torment.

In their last spare moment, Maximus took her hands and kissed them. These hands, sometimes stained in blood, were pure and precious.

"I love you." A whisper too low to carry. It was time to move. The scratch of an invisible fingernail over the back of his neck signaled the hour.

Sophia: “I love you.” Sophia reached forward, hooking her arms around his neck in a quick embrace. They were safe, in the shadows.

But it wouldn’t last.

“I’ll take the back way out,” she said softly, pulling back and pivoting with grace despite her heels. She couldn’t think too much about it, leaving. She’d stop again. And they didn’t have time for that.

Perching on the railing, she tucked her purse strap across her shoulder. The wind tugged at her hair, and loosened it from its pins. She looked back at him one more time. “Take care of yourself.”

Maximus: Graceful as always, and as she would always be in his eyes. Not a blunt instrument to be used against him. They would not win against this love.

A bow as a final farewell, Maximus turned, ready to face the potentials of the next room. Of Henry Buchanan, willing or unwitting accomplice for a second time. He would not assume his behavior, regardless of their last encounter. He expected brutality. Better or worse without Sophia's presence, he would soon know.

Henry: He was lounging on one of the sofas at the far end of the room. A human woman was draped along his lap while a vampiress perching on the arm of the sofa drank from her wrist.

The flicker of red caught in his eyes as Maximus returned to the fold.

Maximus: Just as expected, as Maximus had warned. Berger had made arrangements. A party should always carry favors. Given her servant's previous performance and the assumed still-present company, the crossroads demon was just delighted to make her announcement. This time, her hand was held towards Henry Buchanan.

The same words, like a repeated song. "For the next hour, you belong to Henry Buchanan. You will address him as his lordship. You will obey him as my word, as scripture. Do you understand?"

This was worse than Vlad Teppes. To hope otherwise would be foolish. Maximus was fairly certain their recent history was of little consequence. He needed to return to daydreaming.

Gently, Maximus bowed his head. "Yes, m'lady."

Henry: Henry pressed his tongue to the back of his front teeth as the instructions were given.

A woman like Berger did nothing without thought. He imagined his little show of taking control of the demon at the last party made her think he’d be an easy pawn in her games.

Henry Buchanan only ever played his own games.

Or so he told himself.

“A generous offer, Ms. Berger,” he called. The donor in his lap slid off of him into the waiting arms of another vampiress that had sank to his side, and he stood.

Maximus: Maximus would not be so assuming as to begin undressing without permission or command. The only tell Henry would find being the gentle swallow with his approach. That was what he had wanted before, was it not? He had to wonder. As much as he wanted to daydream, nonsensical thoughts would not come.

Henry: Henry circled the demon a moment, enjoying the eyes that were on him even among the clamor of the party.

“Miss me?” he breathed as he came to stand in front of Maximus.

Maximus: Eyes remained forward, refusing to fall in Henry Buchanan's presence. Not any night before, and not tonight. How could he, when he knew the intimate details of his strained expression, and the soft skin of his throat beneath his fingers?

"Always a pleasure to be in your company, m'lord."

Henry: Henry tucked his hands behind his back and cocked his head to the side, studying the demon. “We both know I’m not a lord. Don’t we, Ms. Berger?” Henry looked from Maximus back the double doors of the balcony he had come from.

Sophia was nowhere to be seen now.

“Thank you for the gift,” he called back to her. The main parlor was too crowded, he felt, for someone as undecided as he was in that moment for how the night would go. “Perhaps somewhere quieter, Townsend?”

Maximus: Henry's response caught both demons off guard. Only one gave a visible response. Gray eyes quickly glancing at Henry directly, eyes forward again.

Berger's smile matched her fluttery laugh.

"You stand as your employer's will. You are much deserving of reward. Please, enjoy the fruits of your labors." She, meanwhile, would turn her attention back to the darling young thing in a silk mermaid dress.

Maximus bowed to his new master, waiting for Henry to lead elsewhere.

Henry: It would be to a smaller parlor that Henry led them to, not far from the location of another in appearance.

He snapped his fingers at a young pair of vampiress wrapped in an embrace by the fire, and they scattered to leave them quite alone.

“I don’t do well with condescension,” Henry replied evenly, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He made no offer to the demon.

Maximus: Maximus stood to the side of the door, remaining silent as Henry sought the comfort of whiskey.

It had been a statement, not a command, not a question, so he saw no benefit in response. His gaze fixed forward, waiting for one or the other.

Henry: Henry took a burning sip and turned back to Townsend. “Sophia up and left, I take it?”

Maximus: A question he would have to answer. A slow breath was taken, first.

"I imagine for a proper hunt, m'lord." His voice remained cool.

Henry: “Hardly.” Another sip, and he took a few steps towards the demon. “And what you do you call this, then?” He pointed between the two of them.

Maximus: "I believe this to be a token of friendship, by my mistress to your family, Master Henry."

Henry: Henry’s lips curled in a smile. “You can speak plainly. It’s not just that.” He was master here. Berger’s words. He stood directly in front of him then. “What’s she got up her sleeve?”

Maximus: "If you wish for me to speak plainly, please know this: I am yours to command, but I am still duly tethered." His eyes remained forward, just shy of Henry's direct contact. No master would look him in the eyes unless to make a point, and those ocean eyes seemed determined for just that.

Henry: He watched him, hands behind his back. “I just get the leash, you mean. Until midnight and we all turn to pumpkins.”

Maximus: Interesting response, considering the source. A little more poetic than expected. He was tempted to speak again, but rather, he bowed his head. Henry had it exactly right.

Henry: Henry would take the bowed head as a small win. He turned away and set about a turn of the room. He’s given permission for the demon to speak. Let him. If he dared.

Maximus: Henry had presented questions, and the demon, his temporary demon, had answered. Now silence filled their private space. Warm and palpable, fixed only by the gently crackling fire and gentle ticking of the ornate mantel clock.

This, Maximus could do, as he was certain Henry knew. Standing perfect, shoulders wide and tight, eyes forward, admiring the fire. Would he not be presented at all, tonight? If not, surely Henry intended something worse.

Henry: Henry stopped at the fire and turned to face Maximus again. “Too talkative one minute and silent the next. It’s like you’re determined to spite me.” Of course he would be. “Tell me. How do you want this to go?”

Maximus: To be considered talkative was truly the insult. At what point had he offended, he wondered. His association with Sophia, or was it their last back-and-forth that warranted him the wagging tongue?

"Without violence," he said gently.

Henry: Henry very nearly scoffed. Sophia wasn’t here, and it hadn’t stopped them the first time the demon had been offered, so it warranted very little by way of a show.

“Or what, you gonna choke me out?”

Maximus: It seemed Henry still held a grudge. Their last meeting had done little to mollify, unfortunately. He should have expected such.

"I cannot harm the one holding the leash."

Henry: Vampire and violence were synonymous, weren’t they? Henry stood again, moving towards Townsend. “Until time is up, of course.”

Maximus: "Not often am I granted permission to defend myself," the demon answered coolly.

Henry: Henry smirked. “Bet you had fun doing it, too. Don’t tell me it didn’t feel good.” Another step, just out of arms reach, and he produced a cigarette pack, lit one.

Maximus: He'd felt several things in that moment years ago. Irritation, relief, satisfaction, even a trace of pride. For himself, and for Sophia's resolve. He'd felt pity for the man in his clutch. Curiosity as well. He wanted to know how Henry had felt.

Slowly, Maximus raised his hand to his collar, loosened his tie, pulled aside the fine fabric to expose his throat and shoulder. The lone freckle on his clavicle like a beacon.

Henry: Henry watched him for the better part of a minute as he smoked, pale eyes roaming along the expanse of the demon’s throat. He swallowed the thirst that swelled at the sight.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Maximus: "You didn't present me with one," he countered.

Henry: “I would have thought you’d have caught what was implied.”

Maximus: "Implications don't move my tongue."

Henry: “Clearly.” He was going to make him rephrase, wasn’t he? If he wanted an answer. So he would. Slowly. “How did it feel? All that strength and no way to use it. Then suddenly.” He lunged forward in a blur to stand right in front of the demon, clapped his hands one. “Bam. Opportunity.”

Maximus: There was power in the rephrasing. Regardless of potential violence won upon the next forty-five minutes, his small victory would be savored.

It seemed to have spurred a different intimidation tactic. He breathed slowly, eyes remaining forward.

"I am forced to do many things I am not proud of. Your mouth concerned me, as did your intent."

Henry: “And what was my intent?”

Maximus: Though answering a question with a question would have been nostalgic, Henry's status had become elevated.

"Domination."

Henry: Henry considered the answer, shrugged. “What can I say? I was in a mood.”

Maximus: "Does your mood move you towards my throat now, m'lord?"

Henry: Henry’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Do you want it to?”

Maximus: He could only lie and skirt so much. "No. Your manner of foreplay is rather verbal."

Henry: He laughed, and it was hollow. “Is it?”

Maximus: Gray eyes met blue, staring deeply and patiently, despite previous statements. He would rather this torment be over and done with. It was Henry's unpredictability that was slowly knotting his stomach. At least Vlad Teppes' intentions had been clear.

Henry: He watched Townsend for the better part of a minute. Then, without much warning either way, he leaned forward and produced a pen. A flourish of ink and a room number on a bit of stationary by the sofa.

“I tire of whatever that woman has up here sleeve.” At least not without his own power play in the mix. “You’ll find me there. I know well enough you’ve free time after these things.” Sophia positively reeked of him, after all. And it wasn’t from brushes at parties like this one.

“Good night, Townsend. Do what you like until our time is up.”

And with that, he made to make his own exit.

Maximus: The demon remained still. Eyes returned forward at nothing while Henry wrote. His hand was almost reluctant to move from his collar, having expected this to be some method of trickery in letting his guard down. The Henry from the gala and this Henry were the same, but confusing. This change of pace was surreal.

It was only a minute into the silence did Maximus finally move to fix his clothes. He then to examined the note. If he stared long enough, he might decipher the meaning behind the scribble.

And then he remembered to breathe. Deep loose breaths disallowed on duty.

What did this mean? Why would Henry offer something like this? The choice was his own, and he found himself more curious than concerned.

The bit of paper was folded and tucked away. He would remain in privacy until the appointed time. In a way, giving Henry a head start in his departure. Why he gave him this, and why he was prepared to lie, he couldn't explain to himself, but the truth would spill from his lips before the final goodbye.

And Maximus would find himself standing in front of the jotted room number an hour before sunrise.

Henry: Henry set his glass down on the bedside table. He hadn’t expected Townsend to come, or rather, he’d expected the chance that he wouldn’t would be greater than the chance he would. He’d discarded his dinner jacket when he got in, and he answered the door now in white shirt and black slacks.

“Look at you showing up,” he said. He smiled a crooked smile and stepped to the side. “Come in, Mr. Townsend.”

Maximus: The man Henry regarded as David Townsend stood tall. This, despite the significant loss of color to his cheeks. Already pale skin now faded and bloodless, calling attention to blush lips and gray eyes. The demon scanned what he could of the room from his position, reluctant to take the next step forward.

"What is it you want, Henry?"

Henry: “Just to talk.” He looked past Townsend to ensure they were alone. “Without your mistress.”

Maximus: She would not know of this evening. Too far from her imagination that her servant would stand in this doorway. Whatever Henry intended would be their secret. Perhaps, if not for Sophia.

He would step through the door. What was one more mistake in eternity.

Henry: The door closed behind him, and Henry moved to lounge on the sofa in front of the fire place. It was a modest suite, older in its styling, but to his taste.

“Sit. Stand. For Christ’s sake I just couldn’t stand being treated like a pawn in someone else’s game.”

He wasn’t sure what had prompted the invitation. Loneliness, perhaps. Or the ongoing feeling that he and Townsend had unfinished business.

“Contrary to our first meeting, I much prefer someone who can talk back in my company.”

Maximus: This must be a dream. Gone too deep in his own imagination. He was probably still standing in the parlor of Berger's home, awaiting further instructions. Lost in his thoughts still as -

He remembered again to breathe, sharply inhaling through his nose. A small noise to cut his silence.

"The last guest," he struggled for her name. Not normally an issue. "Danica Cutler, Berger's new favorite, satisfied her intention."

Henry: Henry pointed to his own face. “Hence the paleness,” he said. “We’re all fucking animals, didn’t you know?”

Why he said that, he didn’t know.

“Sophia know you’re here?”

Maximus: Coming from Henry, he caught a scoff in his throat. Swallowed down with a sotto voce apology. Never would he have imagined seeking Henry's forgiveness, which confirmed, this wasn't a dream. He was very much awake.

Exhausted and finished, his shoulders began to relax. The shake of his head was short and subtle.

Henry: Henry steepled his fingertips, feet propped on the coffee table. “You gonna sit or what?”

Maximus: "I would rather know how you intend to use me."

Henry: Henry dropped his feet and leaned forward. “I could have bitten you already if I wanted to. During my hour, remember?”

He shrugged and sat back. “Leave. If you want.”

Maximus: "Kindness to purchase my time and trust?" He was not so easily bought. Not for a lifetime, but for five minutes more, perhaps. Another two steps forward, hesitating not from Henry's hospitality, but the sting like sharp needles ascending in a cascade through his spine. He had not yet fully healed. Standing there, just feet away from Henry, he was reluctant to remove all guard. To discard his coat and reveal his change of clothes. Proof of the damage Danica had caused.

Henry: “If you want to think of it that way.” Henry shrugged. “But it’s like I said. I’m not playing anyone else’s game.”

Henry let out a breath. “And you aren’t either, going off of your arrival tonight.”

Maximus: Another painful swallow. This was an opportunity. Perhaps not the one Henry intended, but one he might utilize.

"I wish to understand you."

Henry: He bit back a laugh, lounging further back against the sofa. “Why?”

Maximus: Maximus came to stand beside the sofa. His version of at ease in the form of resting fingertips on the leather surface.

"Why not?"

Henry: “Could think of a few reasons.” One of which was petite, blonde, and pretty. “I fear you’ll be disappointed, Mr. Townsend.”

Maximus: "That you're corruptible, angry, desperate to prove yourself, jealous, beyond redemption? Where might I be disappointed?"

Henry: Henry’s lips twitched. “Pick one.”

Maximus: "Disappointment requires a higher standard than what I've been given."

Henry: Henry considered the statement, then simply shrugged.

Maximus: Maximus stared at nothing in particular for a time. "Do you wish to be understood, or remain an enigma?"

Henry: “But you already seem to know me so well.”

Maximus: "That is, if it is true or not."

Henry: “And you suspect it isn’t.”

Maximus: If he were frank with himself, he was simply too tired for this conversation. Curious, but tired. His wit had diminished with blood loss. And since he could not sleep, existing within the event horizon of Henry Buchanan had been an idea. A good idea? No, but it was an idea.

"I suspect nothing. I harbor curiosity."

Rather than wait for another bout of silence, he continued, asking, "What makes you think you were Berger's pawn?"

Henry: “I didn’t say I was. Just that she thought she could use me as such.” He didn’t miss a beat, looking down at his hand a moment. Many people thought that, and there had been a time when he had been at that mercy. He was not vulnerable anymore. “I don’t envy you there,” he added. “She’s a right foul bitch, that one. Bit like—“ He paused. Composed himself. “Like someone I used to know.”

Maximus: "Treated, yes."

Weathered gray eyes studied the vampire again. There was something there. Like a vague figure behind frost glass. He knew that figure; the details lost behind ambiguity.

"May I ask you something? Something... meaningless to anyone but myself?"

Henry: He looked back at the demon. Curiosity killed the cat. But satisfaction… “Yes.”

Maximus: "That night, at the gala..." The act of asking is where Maximus lost his will. The words buried in his throat, shut in by closed lips.

Henry: Henry turned and sat down on the bed. He watched him. He felt a mixture of a thrill as seeming to have the upper hand with Maximus’s silence and something else he couldn’t place. Something not soft. But not hard, either.

“Go on, then,” he prodded. His voice wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t exactly gentle either.

Maximus: "It means nothing, to know, how you felt. With your teeth in my neck the entire time. Means nothing to anyone but me." Henry could feel whatever he wanted. It was a price to pay for answers, when he doubted he would ever have an opportunity again.

Henry: He blinked and thinly managed to hide the shock. “You… do yourself a disservice,” he said. He was starting to feel that pushing more buttons than he had would result in the demon having enough, turning, and leaving.

And perhaps he wasn’t ready just yet. To be alone.

And the question had stumped him. Hard, if he was being honest with himself. Why had he reacted as he had? “Your taste, for one thing.”

He slinked closer, watching Maximus. “Why do you want to know?”

Maximus: As Henry rose to his feet, Maximus felt an instinctual pull to back himself in a corner. Like a child. As his father had felt. As Mays had felt. As Shore, and every other predator.

And yet, in contradiction, he didn't feel he was alone in his vulnerability. He realized, standing his ground, fighting the urge to lower his chin more than the inch it had, that this wasn't the first time he'd felt this way with Henry. That night, years ago now, answering questions with questions, he'd felt the same.

"Many reasons have been given to me since before I died. Why people... do things to me. I want to know... yours."

Henry: Henry stopped in his path a few steps from Maximus. “I wouldn’t say it was personal. There was plenty at play, wasn’t there?” He shrugged. Perhaps it was jealousy. Jealousy that… she had still found friendship with Maximus at an intimacy that set his teeth on edge— Emotional, not physical. That—

“Status, power, vanity… pushing various buttons.” He shrugged. “As I said. Nothing personal. Not until…” he was saying too much, and he hated it. The words died there, and he looked away into the fireplace.

Maximus: Maximus was aware of his effect on people. Whether darkened by their deeds, or those kind enough for sympathy. There was something about his demeanor that made people want to involve themselves. Press upon their intentions to elicit a reaction. That quiet, patient nature also made him a confidant. Henry was not-so-living proof, as Maximus had seen time and again.

He didn't mind. Freely offered information was a weapon. But at times, it was another pebble on his shoulder, weighing his body into mud.

"Not until she tended to me," Maximus assumed to finish.

Henry: Do you love her? He remembered Townsend asking him. Henry ran a hand along his well-groomed beard and looked back at the demon.

He’d rather him simply think he was irredeemable, that he really was as awful as his worst deeds— a cardboard cutout of the melodrama’s villain.

It was safer.

“We all have soft spots,” he finally managed. “I never handled them well. Soft spots make you weak, and irrational. But damn if they aren’t still there. No matter how inhuman you become…”

Henry watched Maximus as he spoke. “Vlad told me how you helped her track down the slayer last year, you know.” He didn’t know why he said it, perhaps to indicate that he was well aware she was one of Townsend’s soft spots, too.

Maximus: "It's a simple spell. I could teach you."

Maximus wasn't the only one with an innate ability to evoke reactions. There was something about Henry. Perhaps the reason he had come to this hotel in secret. He wanted something from the vampire, and he had yet to articulate what. The answer for the gala was barely satisfactory. He didn’t know which was worse, personal, or impersonal.

"Soft spots are our humanity. Without it, we're... little more than beasts. These soft spots. Their stronger than... vanity, or illusions of power. Every... pain inflicted, I would have inflicted again."

Henry: Henry arched a brow. “I wasn’t talking about the spell. But… thank you.” He wasn’t talking about the offer with his thanks, either. It was all subtext, all something Townsend would have to read between the lines for.

“Humanity.” He scoffed. He had spent decades trying to forget his human years, and yet Townsend was claiming it worth preserving. “So, you deem it worth keeping, obviously.”

Maximus: It was an impersonal offer adjacent to their conversation. A window of escape, should Henry take it. An olive branch.

"What is the point of living without it? You and I... will live forever. What is the meaning behind it? Coins and respect from those we'll never equal in age? For how long? A few decades? Centuries? Until they're bored."

Henry: His eyes flashed at that. “I’m building something. Me. Not just for Vlad.”

That had hit a nerve. He could see his sire Veronica, pretty petite and blonde. He could see how she cast him aside when she was done…

Henry turned about-face and took off in a near blur before stopping at the decanter of whiskey on the bedside table.

“Do you drink, Mr. Townsend?”

Maximus: Henry's tone almost seemed to reverberate with inflection. His own imagination, surely. That bit of fear, like a string in his stomach, Henry could tug with his fingertip. Not always, but sometimes.

But also, he wondered, if he had not heard something... youthful.

"Bourbon," he acquiesced. "Please."

Henry: He calmed down as he poured the two glasses. He paused before turning to offer out the glass.

As for his part, he had to fight to keep from downing the burning liquid in one go.

Maximus: The offer was a simple yet effective method to get Maximus to move from the safety of his distance. Deeper into the room. Deeper into this conversation and into Henry's hands. This wasn't some grand manipulation. He didn't have to come. This was a bed they'd both made.

"Thank you," he said, taking his glass in both hands.

Henry: Henry drained half of the glass, gulped it down. He found himself unable to decide what to do next, so he turned and topped the glass off again.

He’d pay for it the next day.

“When was the last time someone offered you whiskey?”

Maximus: Maximus stared into the drink as he considered telling the truth. There was no harm and no shame in the telling of it. It was simply private.

"Weeks ago." His voice barely carried.

Henry: “Oh?” Why had he expected it to be longer?

Maximus: "You wish for me to elaborate?"

Henry: He sat down on the sofa that ran along the sitting area. “If you want.”

Maximus: If you want. Everything felt like a game with this man.

"A friend. Unlike, and not unlike Miss Sophia."

Henry: “So you do this a lot. Sneak out…”

Maximus: "And how will you use this to your advantage?"

Henry: He arched a brow. “My advantage?”

Maximus: "You say you're no one's pawn, but is that what you intend of me?"

Henry: He shrugged and sat back. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Maximus: "You wouldn't be telling my mistress anything she doesn't already know."

Henry: “I didn’t say anything about her,” he pointed out.

Maximus: After a sip, his glass was placed upon the table.

"That's not terribly original, Henry."

Henry: “What isn’t?”

Maximus: "Using me."

Henry: Henry crossed one leg over the other. “What would you prefer then?”

Maximus: "I would prefer we... not be enemies."

Henry: Henry’s lips twitched. “And what would that look like, David?”

Maximus: "What does this moment look like?"

Henry: Henry smiled, flashing teeth. “That’s not very original.”

Maximus: "Asking you questions?"

Henry: Giving him a taste of his own medicine. Henry just shrugged and settled into comfortable recline on the sofa and watched the demon.

Maximus: Could very well be our love language, he mused. His glass was returned to his lips.

"Thank you, for tonight. No matter your intention, or the outcome."

Henry: Henry arched a brow. For one reason or another, that hadn’t been expected. Civility had been foreign to them up until now. “You’re welcome.”

Maximus: He couldn't say what compelled him to move, other than the obvious nature of his profession, embedded in his very soul. Must have been one of the last hotels left in the entire city to use a wood fireplace. As so much of history, he would mourn its passing.

His hand outstretched, soft words in Italian, he swiped his hand from left to right. The three logs crackling within the hearth replicated, stacked over the original.

Rather than assume, he would venture to ask, "Do you appreciate music, Henry?"

Henry: Henry’s eyes trailed after Maximus, ever a predator, even at rest. He arched a brow at the question. It was unexpected, in some regards.

“I do.” His silence spoke the next question. why?

Maximus: Multiple times tonight, taking Henry by surprise, and he was oblivious to all. His own doing.

"I thought you would say no."

Henry: A huff of a laugh left him in an exhale, and he rested his hands behind his head. “Yeah? Why?”

Maximus: "It's a coin toss." He glanced at the vampire. "It's not entirely personal. I don't like comparing you to monsters, but you've lent yourself to the stereotype. They either hate it, or love it."

Henry: “Do they?” He considered the assessment. It wasn’t far off, surprisingly. He had just never considered it. “How old are you?”

Maximus: There was no need for his age to be a secret. There was nothing to gain or lose from the knowledge.

"I was born in autumn, 1870."

Henry: “Huh. Interesting.” He looked to the fire as it sparked to life. “We’re five years apart.”

Maximus: "Would it insult you to know older, or younger?"

Henry: He smiled. “Hardly. I’m older.”

Maximus: For what felt like the first time in their relationship, Maximus' smile was earnest, lacking the veil of professionalism. A soft, delicate warmth reached his eyes, and slowly faded as his gaze returned to the fire.

"A little Henry, ruling the nursery when I was born."

Henry: “Nurseries weren’t exactly where I was…” He grit his teeth at the thought, and he stood up to refill his glass of whiskey in one fell swoop.

“Always American, I assume?” He asked.

Maximus: By now, Henry was being studied. Gray eyes following his every move. His expression remained gentle.

"My mother was from Grosseto. She met my father in New York, when he was visiting family. Italians weren't looked upon favorably, at the time. If anyone asked, she was French." The Louisiana drawl filled in the unexplained, or so he assumed it would.

Henry: Henry let the bite of the whiskey pull him back to the present. “You don’t sound like you’re from New York…”

Maximus: "I should hope not." There, some humor for the vampire.

Henry: He bit back a a laugh and covered with a prompt drain of his glass. “It is kind of a shit hole isn’t it?”

Maximus: "It has its charms. None of which being accent."

Henry: Henry sucked in on his cheeks and nodded. “And how do you feel about the Brits?” Not that he had identified as one for years.

Maximus: Maximus' smile was gentle and fleeting. "Been blessed to know a few... to have given me fond memories."

Henry: He’d count himself out of that list. “I see.” The liquor started to swim with the blood he’d consumed earlier. An echo of warmth was in his porcelain cheeks.

Maximus: "A specific area to question. Is that for a reason?" His gentle expression remained as he looked at the vampire.

Henry: Henry shrugged. “Thought it would be obvious.”

Maximus: "Are you walking a scenic route towards a personal question?"

Henry: “What sort of personal question do you have in mind?”

Maximus: "I'm supposed to have the answer to a question you haven't asked?"

Henry: He shrugged. “Humor me. Read my mind…” Henry bit back a dry laugh and wiggled his fingers through the air, lounged back on the sofa.

Maximus: "I... " His mouth slowly shut. He couldn't even say that. In fear of breaking his spell.

Henry: He turned his head and looked back at the demon. “Hm?”

Maximus: "You... will ask me something or not."

Henry: He let out a huff of a laugh, dry, a sort of ease in his chest. “By all accounts, you should hate me. What made you come?”

Maximus: A question which seemed to relax his shoulders. A great soothing ease from his throat to his stomach.

"You're familiar."

Henry: “How so?”

Maximus: "Your damage. Your bite. Your presence." The obvious and the poetic.

Henry: He smirked. “More comfortable than comfort, huh?”

Maximus: "Misery is familiar, isn't it?"

Henry: “So it would seem.”

Maximus: "You asked for me, just to see if I would?"

Henry: “I was curious… and I thought I would see what you were like without an audience.”

Maximus: The next question should have, could have been of Henry's assessment. Instead, the demon softly sighed.

"I have to go."

Henry: That simply wouldn’t do.

He flickered from the couch to stand in front of Townsend, a flame in his own right in the firelight— ethereal and just as hard to pinpoint in any physical with the speed.

“Tell me. Man to man. What you want from me. Familiarity.” He waved the thought away like a gnat. “In your heart of hearts, why did you come?” What did he want? “You could have refused. Yet here you are.”

Maximus: By now his speed no longer startled him. No more lowering his chin. No urge to back himself against the wall. Exhausted, but half an hour was enough time to acclimate to the vampire.

"I told you," he said, soft as silk, "I had a question. I'm curious about you. I want to understand you. I think we can be more than foul with each other. We have enough villains fixed on using us. I've given you every answer."

Henry: The corner of his eye twitched, the intensity of the moment snapping taught on his features. He could all but feel Townsend’s heat, could taste it when he breathed.

“You have,” he conceded, and his voice was softer. Like the wind was out of his sails.

Maximus: "What is it you want from me, Henry?" A hint of insistence in his voice, because despite their conversations, he felt as though he was grasping at smoke. He had the shape of him, but nothing so important as the nuance. He had said he was curious, but surely there was something else.

Henry: Grasping at smoke, indeed. Henry reached forward, grabbing the demon by the lapel of his coat.

Not violent, exactly. But not gentle either.

He leaned closer still.

“Your attention,” he hissed. “Your focus. Whatever wildness is wrapped up neatly in those fucking manners…” Like the night they had met. The night he had fought back.

Maximus: His violence was, just as he thought before, poetry. At that very moment, clothes gripped in his fist, he reminded him of sculpture.

You want me. Of all people, all things, you want me. You fool. You mistake.

Henry would be denied his gaze. Eyes closed as he took a breath. Just a moment to consider this affront on his life. The ramifications of his actions.

The demon leaned forward by an inch, opened his eyes.

"Earn it."

Henry: Henry smirked in satisfaction when he found his gaze. Earned it? As far as he was concerned, he already had.

The trick was keeping it.

He inclined his head to the left. “What’s your price?”

Maximus: He too wondered what price he could possibly bargain for. His chest rose high, allowing Henry's hand to press deeper. The question repeated as a chant. He was just... exhausted. Tired of this night. Tired of his mistress. Tired of being used. Tomorrow would be the same. And the next day. And the next day. This was his sentence. This man another method of torture.

"I have enough monsters in my life, Henry. Would you be so kind... and show me something else?"

Henry: Henry was a monster too. That was the truth of it all. Perhaps a different kind, with the rot and stink of a London street thug for roots instead of status and silver spoons, but a monster nonetheless.

He felt a pang in his chest at the thought, at some far flung grief he thought he had cut out.

“Sit down,” he breathed, releasing Townsend and nodding to the sofa in front of the fire.

Maximus: He didn't have to. He could leave at any time. Hadn't felt the magnetic pull of a demonic circle trapping him in this hotel room. He had no reason to obey, other than harmful curiosity.

And so he crossed the room, taking a seat with his elbow on the arm of the couch.

Henry: Henry kept his gaze on the wall directly behind where the demon had stood until he sat down.

“Is that what she gives you? Something less monstrous?” He watched him, prowled a step closer. But the menace was gone, and he didn’t bother specifying who he was referring to.

Maximus: "She reminds me of someone," he confessed. His eyes remained on the dwindling fire, but what he saw was a memory. A kind, gentle face. Soft eyes hidden behind bend gold spectacles. His reason for being eternal damnation.

"Someone that did a monstrous thing, but... it's not her nature any more than it was his."

Henry: Henry sucked in on his cheeks, taking another step forward. Another.

Finally, he sat at the other end of the couch, one long leg crossed over the other.

“Opens up all sorts of moral questions, that statement.” Henry situated himself a bit more comfortably. “Monster. The definition varies, you know.”

Maximus: Henry's voice pulled him from New Orleans and back to the hotel room. Funny, he couldn't remember seeing the vampire sit.

"I believe, given what I am, that I would be rather an expert."

Henry: He actually laughed at that, but it didn’t have the bitterness to it. This was the closest he’d ever been to a real conversation with the demon. At the very least the closest he’d been to letting a wall fall.

Even if it hadn’t yet. Not completely.

“Are you? And what’s your definition, then?”

Maximus: Maximus took a deep breath as he considered. He knew in his heart of hearts but had never articulated.

"What someone desires to do... when left to their own devices, determines a monster. I can tell you every vulgar act forced upon me when left in a room with other demons. I am given no mercy. I can tell you, when I am left alone with her, the thought never crosses her mind."

Henry: “It wouldn’t, would it?” Bitterness leaked in. Receded. He had known that soft touch, and hadn’t had a clue what to do with it.

Henry let out a breath. He cut his eyes back to Townsend, a quick glance more than anything.

“And you… what monstrous acts have you committed? To claim such expertise on the matter but never walk in their shoes? Doesn’t really add up.”

Maximus: Henry was given his full attention. Somewhere complex between humor and enlightenment in his eyes.

"Do you understand what I am? Why I am under Ruth Berger?"

Henry: “Besides the obvious…? You’re a demon. What’s your game?” He smirked, moved his hand in a cross through the air like a priest. “Tell me your sins. All that jazz.”

Maximus: His eyes closed to the cross. He felt nothing, fortunately. Not from a vampire. Not from Henry.

"If you've heard the myth of crossroads, then you know the deal I made. I broke the deal. I ended my life. My monstrous act. I am a servant. I am at the mercy of the unmerciful. This is my expertise, because this is my Hell."

Henry: Henry used the excuse of closed eyes to watch Townsend. He didn’t pity him. But he did find some measure of… something. He made no movement to comfort. Not in the softer way Sophia would.

“Berger’s a manipulative bitch,” Henry muttered. “I know her type. Only the names change…”

Maximus: "I would much rather her ilk," the demon said, softly. There was suddenly a faraway look in his eyes. A little disassociation. "It's the ones she offers me to as punishment... "

Henry: “Like me?”

Maximus: "You made an impression."

Henry: “I did, did I?” That wasn’t a surprise, but interesting way to phrase it. “On who?”

Maximus: "Who else?" The demon blinked, sucked in a breath as though for the first time.

"You're not the worst or I wouldn't be here."

Henry: “‘Not the worst’.” That wasn’t something he heard a lot. He shrugged. “I guess there’s something to be said for the potency of vampire venom.”

Maximus: "You think I'm inclined to you because of your bite?"

Henry: “I don’t know. Humans can be. It’s how we keep the ones around that are particularly… desirable.” He shrugged. “That said, human or not— it’s not unpleasant. Makes an impact.”

Maximus: The demon gently scoffed. He wondered how Henry had interpreted this conversation. Something seemed lost in translation. What's worse, he felt a desire to confess things to Henry. Things he hadn't shared with anyone. A beast like Henry could accept the horrors when he would be reluctant to give them to those he dearly cared for.

"The impression you left on my mistress makes her believe you'll behave the same as those that skin me alive or use my body any way they see fit, until returning me at midnight. Twelve is her lucky number. And I... I don't know why I'm still here if only to lay my confessions on you."

Henry: “Your mistress isn’t as good at reading people as she likes to think. It wasn’t personal, you know. That first night.”

He flicked a bit of lint off his pants and chuckled darkly.

“I’m not a priest, much as I might look it.”

Maximus: "You made it personal when you did it twice."

The demon softly smiled. To himself, of course. He was having trouble looking at the vampire now, embarrassed by his honesty.

"Forgive me. Churches give me a rash."

Henry: “You have a point, I guess.” He was a jealous being, at the heart of it all. But as obvious as that might be, he wouldn’t admit to it. Ever.

“I suppose they would, wouldn’t they?” Ironic. They didn’t do it to him. “Go on then…”

Maximus: He could go on, tell him every last detail of torture at the hand of other demons, witches, but shook his head. He shouldn't have said anything to begin with. Shouldn't have joined Henry on the couch. Shouldn't have come here at all.

"Does it please you to hear?"

Henry: Henry considered the question. Did it please him?

His life was a patchwork of evil, violence for the sake of violence… but did it please him?

No. Not precisely. It was a necessity he had learned to enjoy.

“Not… exactly.” Was that one expected, he wondered?

Maximus: Henry would find his guest staring. Gray eyes gently confused. A subtle wrinkle in his brow. No, not the response he expected. What he had expected would have had him leaving with a scoff, affirmed to his behavior.

Must have been a lie. A pseudo demon cleverly playing his role.

To say he must leave yet again would be redundant. After a few blinks, he forced himself to his feet. Henry was determined to keep his presence. He was better prepared, this time, to stand his ground.

And would continue in silence as he straightened his clothes, preparing to leave.

Henry: For the first time in a long time, Henry felt… clumsy. It made him lurch, for a moment, and what could only be described as a light of innocent surprise crossed his cruel features as Townsend stood.

He had thought he was offering an olive branch, however twisted. As if not taking humor from another’s pain was enough.

“You’re off then?” He managed, attempting to compose himself.

Maximus: Attention, focus, and wildness. Those were Henry's words. In return, he had asked for something left of monstrous.

His obedience and ounce of kindness would be rewarded. A gift Maximus assumed the vampire would appreciate. It was only a guess. Assumptions based on nothing more than body language.

"Stand up."

Only to kiss his cheek and depart.

#aspecialprovidence #sophiamcclintock #henrybuchanan #maximusfairchild #discord rp #closed #what is fair

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