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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

Text

All In 10

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: who's a tired bitch?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Bucky drives you home. Just him. No Merv. You have your books and the pajamas but it feels like so much more.

His fingers tap on the shifter. You’re overly aware of his every move. You try to shrink yourself in the seat, feeling crowded with only him in the car. His hand slips and he reaches over to rest it on your thigh. He rubs you through your pants.

“You alright?” He asks in a grit.

“Yeah,” you squeak, fixating on his touch. “Fine.”

“You don’t gotta be so nervous. You know I like you,” his fingers continue to move, sending ripples through you, “not much you can do to change that either.”

You press yourself into the seat and flick your eyes up to the windshield. You recognise that house. Your thoughts rush over you and you grab his hand, squeezing it.

“Stop,” you say.

He hits the brake and you flutter your lashes, looking at him, “just drop me here. I can walk.”

“What? Doll? What’s wrong?”

“I... well... what if someone sees you?” You ask, “my mom, my sister... they’d wanna know why you were driving me home if I’m just working at the hotel, wouldn’t they?”

He considers you and tilts his head, “hm, you’re clever too, doll. Suppose they would.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not--”

You keep your hand on his but don’t try to move him. Nor does he pull away. Instead, he squeezes your leg and lets out a purr.

“I’ll make you a deal, doll, you give me a kiss and I’ll do what you say. You can go, enjoy your books, try on your jammies,” his blues eyes blaze at you, “and I’ll be patient. I’ll wait for you. Until tomorrow.” He makes a pained expression, “you know a man can only take so much when it comes to pretty women.”

You giggle, overwhelmed by his words. No one ever calls you pretty, only your mom. In fact, Roxie always said it was good you have a brain because your looks won’t get you very far, and she wasn’t proven wrong. Not until him.

“Okay, uh,” you gulp and look down at his hand, slowly peeling yours off of him, “I just...”

You touch the seat belt and follow it down to the buckle. You click the button and let it repel behind the seat. You swallow again, trying to wet your dry mouth. If it gets you home without any extra questions, you can give him a kiss. It wasn’t so bad earlier, was it. It made you feel... a lot.

You shift and lean towards him. His hand crawls up your leg to your hip as he urges you close, himself angling over the space between your seats. Your gaze meet his sapphire irises and you squeeze your eyelids shut. He’s so handsome you could melt. And he want a kiss. From you!

You press your lips to his. He growls and his other hand comes up to the back of your head, holding you there before you can pull away. His tongue glides along your lips and delves past them. Like earlier, he invades your mouth eagerly, drawing you into him as he groans. You grasp the front of his shirt and squeak.

The smell of his rich cologne seeps into your nose and his warmth swirls around you. You’re trapped by more than his strength; you’re completely swept up in his need. You’ve never felt anything like that. No one has ever wanted you as much as he has. Even if you’re scared, it’s nice to feel that.

He leaves you breathless as he parts his lips from yours, hovering just before you as his pants shallowly. His tongue pokes out and traces his lips. He purrs and his eyes threaten to swallow you up. He’s even more handsome up close; ever line is like a paint stroke in a masterpiece, every hair is placed perfectly, and his features are sculpted just so.

You blink and feel your chest crush. He's so much better than you; more attractive, richer, older, smarter... Your eyes gloss over just a little with the reminder and his hand slips down to your neck, his grip on your slackening. A divot forms between his brows in disappointment.

“What’s the matter, doll?” He rasps.

You shake your head and force a smile, “nothing,” you eke between taut cheeks, “I just... I don’t want to let you down.”

“Doll, you can’t do that,” he chuckles, “you gotta trust yourself. Trust me. I mean every word I say.” He exhales and looks you up and down, “I want you so bad...” His fingers curl into your neck and you feel him shake, “you...” He closes his eyes, his lips slightly open, and he pulls his hand off of you. He recoils and sits back in his seat. “You should go before I just gotta show ya.”

Is it a threat? It sounds like one. Your blood runs cold as he balls his hand to a fist. He puffs through his nostrils, eyes still closed as if he’s fighting himself. You reach back to grab the bag from behind the seat and pull it into your lap.

“Thank you, Bucky, for the drive home,” you say, “and for everything else. It’s all so nice.”

“Doll,” he dips his head down, “anything...” His fist tightens, “have a good night.”

“You too,” you chirp and pull on the door handle.

It doesn't open. Panic pricks in your chest as you search for the lock. You hear a pop and glance over as Bucky presses a button. The door unlocks and you nearly fall out of the car.

You right yourself and close the door gently with a sheepish look in his direction. He watches you, reaching to grip the steering wheel. You give a tiny wave and slowly turn away. There’s a giddiness in you. Even if you’re entirely out of your element and can’t quite believe any of it, you feel special. You’ve never really felt that. Just forgotten.

You start down the street. You don’t look back until you get to the corner and look back. Bucky sits still in the car, just where he stopped. You can’t see through the tinted windows. His headlights flash, a signal but for what, you’re not sure.

You turn and continue onto your mother’s street. You stop just at the threshold and look down at the bag in your hand. You don’t like to lie but you need one. You walk up to the front door and onto the small porch. You enter quietly, hoping maybe you won’t be heard. You’ve never struggled very much before going unnoticed.

Your sister lays on the couch in the breadth of the oscillation fan. It’s hot. The news said there’s a heat wave. You’re feeling it now. You almost feel bad that you’d been too busy to notice before. That you’d been in nice places where every detail, including the temperature, is perfect.

“Finally home,” Roxie sneers without looking over the back of the couch, “long shifts at the casino, huh?”

“Uh, yeah,” you do your best to keep the bag from crinkling. “Busy.”

“That’s what a job is. Try a night at the club. That shit is chaos.”

“Sure, uh, I can’t imagine,” you shuffle into the kitchen.

You expect to find your mom waiting for you but it’s empty. You go to your room and hide the bag on the other side of your dresser. You close your door and come back out. She’s there, in her robe with a bonnet on her head.

“Mom,” you croak, “hi, uh--”

“How was it? First day!” She chimes.

“Uh, yeah it...” your voice trails off as your jaw locks and you fear the truth spilling out. The day flows through your mind; the kissing, the books, the food, and more kissing. “...was a lot.”

“Oh, yes, well, a casino,” she chuckles, “that can’t be anything but hectic. So what do they got you doing? Dealer? That’s exciting.”

“No, er, no, just... cleaning,” you stammer.

“Right, yes, I forgot. You said before. I’m sure people make a mess there too,” she scrunches her nose, “so, what do you feel like for dinner? We’ve been waiting on you. Tacos? Spaghetti?”

“Oh, I’m not very hungry,” you say, “sorry, but I’ll help you cook.”

“You should eat, honey,” she insists.

“I now, it’s just...” you look up at the ceiling and think. You scour your mind for your brief recollection of the casino, “they have a buffet at work. Employees eat free and... I got carried away.”

“Ah, lucky. Wish my work had a buffet,” she trills, “guess I should just be thankful for the health insurance.”

“Mm, yeah,” you try to smile, “so, I can help cook--”

“No, no, you just had your first day. You just relax. I’ll leave a bit extra for you, just in case,” she squeezes your shoulder then caresses your arm gently, “I hope you know how proud I am of you.”

“Oh yeah,” Roxie blusters as she appears behind you, “because scrubbing toilets is so amazing.”

She shoulders past and your mom moves out of her path. You frown and your mom gives her a sardonic look, “hey, I’m proud of you too. I’ve told you that.”

“Why? I hand out flyers to desperate men looking for one-night stands?”

“Don’t say it like that,” your mom rebukes.

“Well, it’s the truth,” she snickers, “half the night, I don’t even hand out the things. I just hang out by the hot dog seller. He gives me free food.” Roxie looks at your archly, “see, not the only one with perks.”

“Mm, I like hot dogs,” you say, “um, I’m gonna... lay down.”

“Sure thing, honey, let me know if you need anything. Oh, chamomile? I could put the kettle on.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you assure her as you back up. “Promise I’m fine. I, er... tomorrow, I start in the afternoon so I’m gonna sleep in.”

“Oo, that will be nice. But be careful, if you’re working late, I’m sure there’ll be some unruly people hangin’ around,” her forehead lines with concern, “I’ll give you some extra money for a cab. I don’t want you on the bus that late.”

“Oh, alright,” you agree, just wanting to hide. You don’t like lying and with each word, it’s harder to hold yourself together. You don’t think you can do this. “Thanks.”

“Course, hon, whatever you need.”

You retreat to your room. You sit on the bed and stare at the wall. It’s not just today, but tomorrow, and the next day. How long until Bucky moves on to the next thing? You googled him, you’re not that naive. At least you don’t think you are.

It feels rotten. You don’t like not telling your mom the truth. You tell her everything. She’s the one person who listened to you. Well, until Bucky. You can feel his gaze just thinking of it. How intent he is on every word, how he focuses on your lips as they outline every syllable.

You’re an adult. It’s not a lie. It’s a secret. And you don’t have a lot of options. It’s about time you help out and Burger King isn’t calling you back to scrape grills.

No matter how many times you justify it, it still feels wrong. Even if the way Bucky looks at you makes you all wiggly inside, it’s still lying. Even if you really need the money, it doesn’t change what you’re doing. And you are doing it. You have to.

You don’t want to see another red notice in the mailbox, you don’t want to hear your mom crying through the wall. You want to be able to give her a day off, more than that. She’s taken care of you for so long, this is just what you need to do to take care of her.

That’s what you’ll keep telling yourself.

You get up and go to the dresser and take the bag from behind it. You slide out a book and lay down with it. That’s how you cope. You read, you go to a world that doesn’t exist, just until you’re forced back to reality.

You shiver at what awaits you at the end of the first chapter. You know what Bucky expects and you know he won’t forget. The thought of the pajamas, the little top and the tiny shorts...

Don’t think of it. Open the book. Things will be normal for just a little longer.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #all in #mcu #casino au #marvel #winter soldier #captain america #avengers

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dyns33 · 1 year ago

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Feeling rainy

Another Dream x female reader

“Honey, you look cloudy today. No, rainy."

"I confirm, he is very rainy at the moment."

"Matthew. Leave us."

"Right away, boss. But I'm sick of being wet all the time when I fly in the Dreaming, thank you very much."

It had taken a little time, but during their relationship, Y/N had acquired several certainties about Morpheus, especially about his mood.

The master of nightmares was not very good at expressing his feelings. Mainly because he didn't always know them himself. Partly because he was stupid and not very good with people.

His emotions were like a storm inside him. And therefore, a storm inside the Dreaming, especially when he was nervous, angry or sad.

Happy or neutral sentiments were preferable, with the sky remaining blue, the sun lighting up the whole realm, and the wind seeming to sing melodies.

Sometimes it was a little too hot, when he was in love and excited, but that was no big deal. Also, it never lasted very long.

Like the weather, Morpheus' mood was changing very quickly, and very easily.

And even though he was doing his best to hide his feelings behind a straight face, the Dreaming never left any doubt that something was bothering him.

"Is it because of last night ?" Y/N asked calmly.

"I don't wish to talk about it, love."

"Not even to please me ? I don't like it when you rain, especially because of me."

"... It's not because of you. I probably overreacted."

"Kind of like always, darling, but that doesn't mean your feelings aren't valid. Do you want a hug ?"

"... Maybe."

The tall, terrible prince of the stories certainly didn't like being seeing as weak, but when Dream was in Y/N's arms, he looked like a cat desperately trying not to purr with pleasure, totally at her mercy.

It wasn't a problem since they were alone, but dreams and nightmares guessed what was going on, as the clouds disappeared and a rainbow formed over their heads.

"She has to cuddle him all the time."

"Hush."

"Merv is right. I may be his more or less emotional raven, but he clearly needs her as an emotional human."

"Get out of my library."

All of this could have gone quite well, since Y/N had managed to decode the functioning of the Dreaming, and therefore of Dream, but sometimes he was visibly lost and upset by her emotions, not knowing how to help her, and beginning to feel them with her.

Which was not a good thing, for him, nor for his kingdom.

Y/N therefore asked for advice around her, knowing that it was useless to ask Morpheus directly. Morpheus never really answered questions. That being said, his subjects weren't necessarily better for it.

Lucienne, loyal intelligent Lucienne advised her to speak to the Lord, as communication was important, although she had to be careful how she wanted to express what she wanted to say, as the Lord could misunderstand things.

Merv and Matthew thought that they should say nothing and just cover him with kisses and compliments so that he would always be happy. Because everyone wanted him to be happy, and everyone loved rainbows.

The Corinthian had a different opinion.

"You have to do exactly like him." he declared with three huge smiles.

"What do you mean, like him ?"

"You want to help him by doing anything so that he doesn't get overwhelmed by emotions ? So don't show any emotion yourself. Keep them inside, act neutral, use a monotonous voice, express your love with ridiculously complicated little sentences, and it will be perfect."

Normally, it would have been strongly discouraged to listen to a nightmare. But despite their bickering, the Corinthian was arguably one of the creations that knew Morpheus best, so Y/N thought it wasn't a bad idea.

After all, Dream was a bit like a sponge. Absorbing all the dreamers' hopes, fears, desires, emotions, and though he was a separate being who felt distinctly, he couldn't completely cut himself off from the rest of the world.

So it seemed logical that he was sometimes troubled by others, and therefore by Y/N, with whom he spent the most time.

It didn't cost much to imitate him. It wasn't necessarily easy, but she could do it, for him, so it wouldn't be rainy or stormy too often.

So she trained in front of a mirror, doing her best to remain impassive as she thought about a joke, her deceased grandfather, an adorable kitten, her boss whom she wanted to strangle, and lots of things that never left her indifferent.

Part of her had thought Morpheus wouldn't notice. Another hoped he would see it, that he would be happy, and that she could smile to herself.

While they were watching her favorite movie together, a funny scene played out and she didn't react. Then another, and another, until Y/N felt that Dream's attention was no longer on the screen, but on her.

"My love, you seem distant."

"Not at all. I'm enjoying a pleasant evening, with you." she said with a neutral tone.

"... You didn't laugh. Would you like to see another movie ?"

"No, I like this movie. You weren't laughing either, do you want to change ?"

"I never laugh."

"Because you're too melancholic to find aything funny ?"

"... No. My laughter... I was informed that my laughter could be frightening."

Y/N then turned to him, and at that moment, she almost smiled, finding the revelation ridiculous and adorable, wanting to hear that laughter that her lover was so ashamed of, out of curiosity, but above all to reassure him.

Except that for that, she would have to show emotions, and make him feel emotions, and the goal was to remain as neutral as possible, so Y/N forced herself to remain neutral, looking at him straight in the eyes so that he knew that she was serious, while looking for the right wording.

"I'm sure your laugh is sweet." was the best thing that came to her, patting Morpheus' hand, before watching the movie again.

There were many other moments like this, at the New Inn, at the park, in the Dreaming, and Y/N really thought that everything was fine, that she was doing a good job. The weather seemed calm, with a few distant clouds, but no storms in sight.

Still, there was something in Morpheus' eyes when he looked at her. Curiosity mixed with fear. She didn't dare tell him about it, thinking it was nothing, and he didn't tell her either.

Until Matthew came to visit her as she was getting ready to go to sleep.

"I don't know if I should ask you to go to bed quickly, or advise you to stay awake."

"Why ? What's going on ? Morpheus is in trouble ?!"

"Uh... That depends. Is everything okay between you two ?"

"Yes, perfectly fine. Why ?" she asked, suddenly worried.

"I don't know. It's foggy at the moment. We've had a few rains, a few tornadoes, but Lucienne managed to calm it down. Except that... Hmm... I don't know if I should say it."

"Matthew."

"He thinks you don't love him anymore." sighed the raven, lowering his head.

The news hit Y/N straight to the heart. For a moment, she wondered how Dream could have come to such a conclusion. Then she remembered how Dream was, his difficulties in understanding people, emotions, and even if he himself didn't often show what he felt, he clearly needed others to show him.

For a month, Y/N thought to make him happy. For a month, Morpheus thought she wanted to leave him.

"... This is a terrible misunderstanding."

"Glad to hear that. Can you tell him, please ?"

Falling asleep when stressed might take a while, but Y/N needed to see Morpheus quickly, so she closed her eyes thinking hard about him, and she arrived on the balcony of his palace.

It was raining.

Obviously, Matthew had come to see her before Lucienne went to speak to her master.

Dream stood in the rain, motionless, watching his realm. He didn't move when she came close to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I love you, you know that ?" she asked shyly.

"I hope so."

"In wanting to please you, I made a mistake. Your mood changes so easily, you can be so fragile, so sensitive."

"I'm not fragile." he muttered, continuing to stare into the distance.

"You are, but that's neither an insult nor the question. I thought... The Corinthian told me that if I don't show my emotions, I won't upset you with them and that you I would be happy. I wanted to help, really. Since you know that I love you, I imagined that it wouldn't change anything. It would be inside, like for you. Sorry."

Finally, Dream turned to her, looking surprised and solemn. He stared at her for a long time, before taking a deep breath.

"I see. So you made several mistakes, indeed."

"Dream..."

"You listened to the Corinthian, a nightmare."

"I know."

"You thought it would be good for you to keep your emotions inside, like me. Knowing that my emotions are never really inside, but entirely outside, in the Dreaming, while you should keep your storms in your little heart."

"I get it, I..."

"And you believed that I would like you to deprive me of your smile. Of your laughter. That you hide your sadness from me, which I could erase with kisses. Your anger, which I could appease with poems. Your love, which I carry in my chest. All this to make me happy ?"

So Morpheus did something that Y/N hadn't imagined.

He laughed.

And like he said, his laugh was a little scary. Inhuman. A sound that mortals weren't supposed to hear, that no one was supposed to hear. But he was laughing, and he was smiling, and he came over to kiss her, and Y/N thought she liked that sound a lot.

"My love, your emotions, all your emotions, are my joy. Do not hide them from me."

"Okay. But promise me you'll tell me when it's rainy, and why."

"Very well."

"And I was right, your laugh is very sweet."

"Yeah, I guess love makes you blind and deaf."

"Matthew. Leave us."

"Yes, boss. Glad it's not raining anymore."

Indeed, the sun had returned as he spoke, a bright sun, and even if the weather could never be perfect, like their relationship, Y/N would do everything to make Morpheus as bright as possible.

#The Sandman #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless fanfiction #morpheus #morpheus x reader #morpheus fanfiction

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eldritch-spouse · 3 months ago

Note

Does Mervin wear his cuntiest outfits when he's sent to kill people? Blood is kinda hard to get out of clothes so he might wear something casual, not all that valuable, maybe subpar to his taste, but he's also a pride demon so he might feel like he always gotta slay while slaying people's throats

Oh no.

He'd genuinely have a fit if something valuable got irreparable damage from one of his jobs.

Mervin wears something that can offer him agility and keep him light. Something that can get stained just fine. The clothing items he uses to blend into certain crowds are expendable to Merv.

He spends more time making sure any weapons and gadgets are intricate and beautiful rather than his clothing. The pride has to shine somewhere, and it's usually in method/weapons.

#Mervin oc

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spawksstuff · 6 months ago

Text

De on Merv Griffin Star Trek II Promotion

Transcript below.

Merv: Well you saw DeForest in this last scene that we saw appear uh not the docking the- what do you call it? The?

Leonard: I’m not going to help you.

Merv: Whatever they do with the ship in space to get it going.

Leonard: We’re taking it out of space dock.

Merv: Taking it out of space-that’s what you call it?

Leonard: Yes.

Merv: They were taking it out of the space-I thought there were technical words.

Leonard: Space dock is Bones McCoy.

Merv: Going to de-dock. De-dock the spaceship Yeah, yeah.

William: (unintelligible)

Merv: Well this is the young fella who portrays the outspoken ship’s surgeon Doctor Leonard Bones McCoy. Would you please greet DeForest Kelley.

DeForest: First off-

(unintelligible)

DeForest: Yeah. I want to tell you that I have nothing coming out other than Star Trek II except a 75-year-old turtle which just came out of hibernation.

William: Oh my word.

Merv: You wanna talk about it DeForest?

DeForest: Well her name is Myrtle

Merv: Myrtle the Turtle?

DeForest: Myrtle the Turtle which is a very original name of course.

Leonard: He or she?

DeForest: Myrtle’s a she. I gave you remember?

Leonard: Yes I remember.

Merv: And how do you know she’s 75? Where’d you peak around?

DeForest: Well a friend of ours gave us the turtle which was shown to a vet and the vet arrived at the age.

William: The rings around the shell.

DeForest: The rings around the shell and we’ve had the turtle 10 years and we felt it would be a good thing to have something in the house older than both of us.

Merv: Was the house in an uproar when she came out of hibernation?

DeForest: Just a terrible uproar. It upsets us each spring, it’s a terrible feeling-but I’m glad she’s out. But I must tell you something before I forget about it. I’m so scared, I never do talk shows you know.

Merv: Well we’re delighted you’re here

DeForest: I’m absolutely a wreck I must tell you

William: You don’t like a wreck Leonard-DeForest

Leonard: You look alright.

Merv: You look very relaxed and comfortable.

DeForest: Thank you.

Leonard: You’re handling it beautifully De.

DeForest: That’s what you always tell me.

Merv: You’ve not always been a good guy on film.

DeForest: No, no I haven’t.

Merv: You had your years of being the bad guy.

DeForest: Yes indeed. Yes, a great number of them.

Merv: Which is preferred DeForest?

DeForest: I don’t know. I spent about 10 years trying to get out of the heavy department. There were a group of us running around at the time, James Coburn, and a guy named Jack Elam, with the crazy eye, and there were about 5 of us that were running from show to show. And I got into this thing, I like them because they really are the most interesting roles I find actually.

Merv: More guts to ’em.

DeForest: But then like everything else, I wanted to get out of it. And I had just- I was finding my way out of it, slowly. I had done a film called “Raintree County” in which I got away-he was still a heavy, I kill Lee Marvin in the show.

Merv: That very seldom almost ever happens.

DeForest: But he was a good guy as far as I was concerned. I only kill one guy. But then Eddie Dmytryk put me in a role at Paramount called “Where Love Has Gone” and that was not a heavy. Then I went into Star Trek after that and I got into the Doctor McCoy thing.

Merv: And you’ve just been a lovely person ever since.

DeForest: Yes, I’ve just been darling.

Merv: What’s your most vicious moment on the screen do you feel DeForest?

Leonard: Insulting me.

DeForest: Yes, this is right here.

Leonard: All the time.

DeForest: My situation right here.

Leonard: This is terrible what I have to put up with him.

DeForest: I must tell you about some friends of yours that I do not know personally but on Star Trek one, I went to Australia and New Zealand to do some promo stuff for the film and on the way back I stopped in Hawaii for rest and relaxation. And while there, I was staying at the Kahala Hilton, if you’re familiar with it-

Merv: Very

DeForest: The units that are in the back of the hotel that lead right out to the beach the apartments-

Merv: Oh yeah right out on the-

DeForest: Yes.

Merv: Everyone always fights for those.

DeForest: And all we did was sleep we were so you know with the jetlag and the whole thing so I had been down to the pool a couple of times and found that it wasn’t too- hi Bob how are you? That it wasn’t-that’s Bob Sallin

Merv: We know.

DeForest: Yeah we saw him. You put the camera on him, handsome. We had, Carolyn had not been out of the unit hardly at all and I had wondered out. I went to the swimming pool and I found the usual thing, signing autographs and that sort of thing. And I thought well that’s no fun so, but I did see this beautiful coral reef running out to sea and I said, “Carolyn” I said “before we go back to California” I said “you gotta come out, at least walk out on this coral reef”. So we walked down these steps and there was the grass and then the beach. And as we got to the foot of the stairs this applause, tremendous applause, these people on the beach, started to applaud and I thought “My God it can’t” you know this is impossible.

Merv: Well your best performances-

DeForest: Carolyn said “just ignore it and keep walking”. I said “I can’t do that.” They just kept applauding and kept applauding. I said “I can’t do that” I said “I must go and speak to them, at least say hello.” So I walk out there, and here was Don Rickles and his wife.

Merv: Probably coming out of the coral.

DeForest: That’s right, out of the coral. Steve and Eydie.

Merv: Oh the whole gang.

DeForest: And Bob Newhart and his wife. I had never met them before. Come to find out they’re the biggest Trekkies in the world. They had seen the film the night before and they were thrilled with it. The only thing was they Eydie said that she was very unhappy about the theme, the music, and she missed the Star Trek theme. But I had to tell you that because I’ve seen them on your show so many times.

Merv: Oh I know. And I have also been there at the same time they have been at the Kahala.

DeForest: They go there every Christmas.

Merv: And the only fortunate one who is ever there is that dolphin who can swim underwater and get away from Don Rickles. Let’s show another-I can’t wait. I figure if I show enough of these clips I won’t have to pay to see the movie.

DeForest: We haven’t seen it.

Merv: Oh, well this is where Khan, or “Can” as the case may be. Richardo “Mat-ol-ban” Montalban has killed almost everybody but Captain Kirk. (Note: earlier Shatner was being interview alone, and at one point he pronounced "Wrath" as "Wroth" so Merv and Leonard had been teasing him about his pronunciation .)

DeForest: I see.

Merv: Oh you haven’t seen it?

DeForest: No I haven’t seen it.

Merv: Is there a doctor in the house?

DeForest: But I see what you’re talking about. Yes, you’ve got it here.

Merv: Another scene from Star Trek II. Watch.

When they come back from the clip William talks about Ricardo and then they go to a commercial so I ended it here. The interview continues with Bibi Besch coming out, but I have not been able to find that portion of it.

#deforest kelley #merv griffin #star trek ii: the wrath of khan #interview #poor de #all nervous #so nervous he forgot how long he'd Myrtle #somewhere between 15-19 years at this point #he's still adorable

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valeriianz · 1 year ago

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Parent Trap AU part 2! told from Robyn and Orpheus' perspective haha. (part 1!)

“Lemme see!”

“Quit shovin’!”

Robyn hovered above Orpheus, forcing the boy to crouch low so they could both poke their heads around the corner to spy on their dads.

Hob and Dream had been dancing around each other all week. Smiling and laughing and even touching each other with more and more frequency (a tap on the shoulder, a hand on the small of the back, even shoes brushing under the table). The twins’ masterful plan to make Hob and Dream fall in love again seemed to be going well… but just before anything earth-shattering happened, anything concrete, the two men seemed to remember themselves and backed away. To the utter bewilderment and anguish of the twins as they retreated back to the drawing board.

(Literally. It was a large crayola canvas that Orpheus had in his room to doodle on).

Robyn didn’t get it. It was so obvious Dream– the father he’d always known existed somewhere– still had feelings for his dad. It had been hard to tell, in those first couple days pretending to be Orpheus, but once he’d started earnestly asking Dream about Hob, forcing him to recall stories from the past and watching as he’d smile or laugh softly to himself, his gaze far away and misty, it became clear.

But then Dream would shake his head, clearing it, and change the subject.

Robyn and Orpheus had felt that connection between themselves instantly. That zap of recognition like, “Ah-ha! We were meant to find one another.” Why was it so difficult for Dream and Hob to see it?

Robyn huffed. Grown-ups.

After briefly parting for a couple days, Robyn found himself back at Orpheus and Dream’s luxurious home, under the pretence of one last stay to reacquaint themselves to the idea of shared custody or something along those lines, the boys didn’t really understand it, but what they did understand, was that their dad’s would be sleeping under the same roof. But only for a few days.

And after chasing Cori out of the house (good riddance, the pompous git. The boys made sure to give him hell), Robyn and Orpheus knew they had to utilise their time well, plotting their biggest scheme yet.

They, along with help from Dream’s butler, Mervyn, had set up this elaborate dinner that– oh no, Robyn and Orpheus wouldn’t be able to attend, leaving their parents to dine alone. Orpheus had set the scene: candlelight dinner, serving their dad’s favourite dishes, and (Merv’s idea, bless him for taking interest in the boy’s tomfoolery) soft jazz that would eventually transition into a very special song.

“You’ll see,” Mervyn had winked at the boys as he set up the playlist.

Robyn and Orpheus watched now, as their fathers sat down for dinner, perplexed at the absence of their sons (Dream looking exasperated and Hob scanning the room knowingly, biting down a smirk). The table was clearly only set for two people, and Robyn had done a fantastic job (in his opinion) of decorating with candles and flowers– he had studied that old photograph of their dad’s, copying the layout of the table they sat at there.

Mervyn came out and poured the wine, which is when Dream inquired where Robyn and Orpheus were.

“Afraid they couldn’t make it,” is all Mervyn said, as if the boys were very busy, tied up in meetings and paperwork and whatever else grown-ups did.

Hob propped an elbow on the table and let his head fall in the palm of his hand, shaking it slightly and fully smiling now, amused.

Robyn grinned too.

It took them a moment to finally start talking, but they fell into it, eventually. Discussing the boys at first, “little tricksters…” pranking Cori, stealing his glasses, setting the dog loose while they had wine and cheese on the terrace, and finally spooking his horse while he and Dream were out riding so the horse galloped wildly into the brush, knocking the ridiculous blond American off his saddle and into the mud.

Hob tried hiding his snickering behind his hand as Dream recanted these events to Hob, but Dream caught him with a woebegone sigh.

“It’s not funny, he sprained his wrist.”

Hob took a deep inhale, gathering himself.

“After all that wine and cheese, I hope he shit his pants, too.”

“Hob!” Dream snorted inelegantly, slapping a hand over his mouth, which only set Hob off again, laughing in earnest now.

The boys had to move away once they heard the squeaking of their own muffled laughter, both hands over their mouths, wheezing through their teeth.

“You’re just as bad as them,” Dream finally spoke after the giggles had worn off.

Hob shrugged noncommittally, mischievous grin still on as he took a long sip of his wine.

“You like it,” he said confidently, eyes sharp.

Dream said nothing, popping a forkful of beet and pear salad into his mouth.

After appetisers was dinner, then dessert. The time ticked away slowly and the boys eventually moved from their vantage point to the kitchen, asking Mervyn how it was going and the butler shooing them out with barely anything to go off of.

But it was going well, as far as the boys could tell. The conversation between Dream and Hob was flowing steadily, Dream giving out his smile more and Hob unable to take his eyes off of him. The grand finale was coming up and Robyn and Orpheus held their breaths as the jazz flittered out and in its place, a violin came up and both Dream and Hob seemed to seize up at the same time.

Orpheus was beginning to think this was a bad idea, especially as his father sat up ramrod straight, his fingers drumming on the table's surface. And Robyn’s dad looked…

Well, he looked– tortured, was a pretty close description. His lips had parted and he kept looking between Dream and his own hands, which he had begun wringing out in his lap.

“You’re just too good to be true…Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

A male’s voice crooned through the speakers, but Robyn and Orpheus paid it no mind as they silently watched their fathers.

Finally Dream met Hob’s gaze and held it. The boys held their breath, too. Wondering what was going to happen now.

“Do you think they know?” Hob asked quietly, so quiet that Robyn barely heard him speak.

“It’s our wedding song, of course they knew,” Dream sighed, casting his gaze up to the ceiling.

It was Hob’s turn to tap his fingers on the table, thinking, and making his mind up about something as he pushed his chair out and stood.

Orpheus took Robyn’s arm and shook it as Hob stepped up to Dream, dipping slightly and offering his hand.

“Dance with me?”

Dream stared at Hob’s hand, lips parted. Robyn felt himself shaking with the effort to remain calm.

Dream swallowed, Robyn could see from here.

“Do you think this is wise?” he asked in a whisper, eyes flicking up to Hob.

After a moment of tense silence, nothing but the song quietly playing, Hob took a long breath.

“It’s our song, we can’t not dance to it.”

And as if that was sound enough logic, Dream carefully took Hob’s hand, fingers elegantly curling around it, and allowed himself to be pulled up and led to a spacious spot away from the table.

Hob took the lead, using his hold on Dream’s hand to pull him close, the other hand circling his waist and causing Dream’s eyes to flutter shut as he willingly stepped closer, their bodies nearly touching, his own hand resting on Hob’s shoulder.

Robyn and Orpheus could barely watch now, from this angle. They scooted back out into the hallway to find another spot where they could see more clearly.

The only other option was from above, a loft directly above the dining room which was Dream’s study, a place Orpheus wasn’t allowed to be in by himself, but he figured this was a good enough excuse to break that rule.

Orpheus led the way, quiet tiptoeing turning into a full blown sprint up the stairs and around the corner, shushing themselves as they got to the door of his father's office and quietly pushed it open. The music was louder up here, closer to the speakers that hung from the ceiling, so they wouldn’t be able to hear their fathers if they spoke, but they could properly spy on them now without being seen or heard.

Robyn followed Orpheus’ lead and crouched down, crawling forward on his tummy and poking his head out through the railing and peeking below.

Dream and Hob were still swaying to the music, just as close and eyes open, gaze locked to each other. They had picked up momentum now that the song was more than halfway over, the second chorus coming in with trumpets and bringing the rhythm up to something more infectious, more daring as Hob’s grip around Dream’s waist circled around the small of his back, holding him tighter as he began to spin them around the room.

Dream’s long legs kept up as Hob visibly loosened up, leading them in an informal waltz. Robyn caught his dad’s wide, toothy smile every time he turned and he could see his face clearly. His eyes seemed to sparkle.

Orpheus nudged Robyn. “I’ve never seen my father smile like that.”

Robyn had noticed that Dream was smiling, too. But it was lips only, parting every now and then, like he was holding it back, biting his bottom lip afterwards to keep it at bay. But his eyes lit up in a way that was almost unrecognisable, focused solely on Hob.

Hob’s hand on Dream’s waist dropped, taking his other hand suddenly and taking a step back, turning Dream in his hold so his back was against Hob’s front, and spun him out, Dream following along with a surprised yelp and laughter that the boy’s heard from their vantage point.

When Hob pulled Dream back in, they were closer than before, chests flush together and noses bumping fleetingly.

The song was coming to an end, fading out as Hob and Dream slowed in their dancing to a standstill.

Orpheus gasps next to Robyn. “They’re gonna kiss.”

“Shh!” Robyn bumped his elbow to his brother’s side.

The boys held their breath as the song finally ended and another one started, instrumental jazz again. The men stood so Robyn and Orpheus could see both of them from the side, watching with bated breath as Hob brought up Dream’s left hand and kissed the knuckles, eyes glued to Dream’s.

Hob said something, his lips moving, unable to make out from here, but Robyn could see how Dream’s eyes widened as Hob dropped his hold on the other hand, moving his up to cup the side of Dream’s face.

Hob leaned in, agonisingly slow, eyes half-lidded.

And was met with Dream turning his face away, so not even the boys could see what expression he gave off.

Hob’s head dipped, defeat radiating off him, his forehead resting solemnly on Dream’s temple.

Robyn had to bite his tongue to hold back the groan of frustration that bubbled up in his throat. All Orpheus’ and his hard work!

Dream swallowed again, his jaw twitching, saying something, to which Hob shook his head, finally dropping his hands and ripping himself away.

“Hob, I’m sorry…” the words barely made it up to the twin’s ears, spoken by Dream, broken and thick.

Hob shook his head again, a painful, false smile plastered onto his face as he took another step back, then another, putting more and more distance between them.

“No…” Orpheus bemoaned, sitting up slightly. “What’s happening?”

Hob said something, quiet, before finally turning around and walking out of the room.

A long, heavy moment permeated the air, made doubly awkward as the music continued to play.

Dream stood, wrapping his arms around his middle.

And the boys simultaneously rolled onto their backs, staring blankly up to the ceiling.

So they missed the way Dream wiped a hand over his eyes, took a steadying inhale, and ran after Hob.

#dreamling #hob x dream #i had so much fun writing this one #i can't keep them away much longer hehe #also yes. Hob and Dream's wedding song is 'Can't Take My Eyes Off You'#by Engelbert Humperdinck #this is syrupy sweet and i regret nothing #my writing #dreamling parent trap au

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roguelov · 2 years ago

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All Yours

Summary: You and Morpheus were separated for a while to complete different tasks to help the Dreaming. Then, by luck, you run into each other. And quickly realize you can’t keep your hands off of each other. But, Morpheus soon learns something else about you, something you never showed until now - just how much you love making him yours.

Word Count: ~2.7k

Reader: Fem

Warnings: Teasing/flirting, heavily implied smut but no deeds (sub!Morpheus, possessive kink, light choking, dirty talk, very light exhibition)

Requested by a beautiful anon

MINOR DNI/ 18+ ONLY

In the labyrinthian hallway, its high vaulted ceilings stretched far into the heavens, and its handcrafted stone carvings were all markings of elegance. Twists and turns veered off left and right, and strangely - noted only with a keen eye - hidden passages curved downward or upward to unknown places. All of it mysterious, all of it enchanting. Yet, a figure darted through the halls ignoring all its wonders and secrets.

You.

You, in your haste, mumbled to yourself and focused only on your given tasks. Your footsteps mixed with your incoherent mumbling bounced off the extravagant archways, echoing throughout. Only you and your chaotic thoughts. Your fingers danced in the air as you recounted your mental to-do checklist.

Morpheus - reluctantly, after your constant asking - agreed to your help in maintaining the Dreaming. You assigned yourself with menial, odd end jobs; simply anything to lessen Morpheus’s load. And frankly, you enjoyed it. You enjoyed helping him and those around, and also enjoyed the added bonus of him returning to you sooner. He was no longer exhausted, trying to sneak into your shared bedroom under the veil of night. Now, most of his time could be given to you.

Currently, you were on a hunt. A window had shattered in the library, spilling shards everywhere. An accident, truly. Dreamers were unpredictable and always enthralled by what the Dreaming could offer. A few things may be unfortunately damaged along the way. So, you were searching, somewhat frantically, for Merv to ask if he could lend you a broom.

“Merv said he would be …”

Your voice trailed off as you desperately tried to recall where the elusive pumpkin man was hiding. You groaned, taking another turn down the palace hall. Hopefully, or by pure luck, you could run into him.

Luck, instead, brought you someone else.

Morpheus, from out of a hidden passage, stepped out. Your muttering easily caught his ears in the empty hall. Turning his head, he saw your retreating figure. His heart immediately soared, like an infatuated child seeing their school crush. Only a few hours apart and he ached for you - craved you.

He walked - floated - towards you, drawn in by your infectious gravitational pull. His original task was forgotten.

Morpheus’s hand glided across your back, drawing your attention. You perked up, turning your head. Confusion, written so plainly on your face, melted away. The tension in your shoulders instantly dropped. You smiled, wide and beautiful, at him. Your eyes shone with an overflowing love. The world - for a brief moment, just as your eyes connected - was rosy and perfect.

Morpheus’s heart seized at the sight of you. He kissed your cheek. “How are you, my love?”

“I’m good - better now that you are here.”

He chuckled, softly.

Your smile widened. When Morpheus laughed, rarely does it happen, it was a chorus of angels: sweet, melodic, and uplifting. You reached over, cupping his cheek. He leaned into your touch. He turned his head, pressing his lips into the palm of your hand. Oh, how such a simple touch lit a fire inside of you.

You leaned towards him, kissing him passionately.

He hummed.

His lips, soft and rich, moved expertly against yours. It was a perfect meld. His hands cupped your face, bringing you closer. You smiled against his lips. Your hands snaked up, threading into his dark locks - which always called out to you to tug on them. He carefully backed you up against the wall, tucked between two columns out of sight.

You hummed as your back thumped into the hard surface.

His hands wandered down your body, to your waist. He pressed himself into you, trapping you against him. His lips slowly pulled away as you eagerly chased after him. He smiled lovingly. You returned the smile, unable to hide your happiness or love. He dipped his head, and began kissing down your neck.

You sighed deeply. Your hands, still entangled in his hair, tugged on the ends. He hummed, burying his face into your neck.

So long. It had been too long, he thought.

It had been.

You both had been busy these past days - weeks. He missed you, he missed you more than he could articulate.

You tugged his hair, repeating the simple act, but a little harder this second time. He groaned, and gripped your hips white knuckling them. Thrilled by his needy sounds, you bit back a giddy smile. You pulled on his hair once more, and pulled until his face was out from hiding in the crook of your neck. A low moan tumbled off his beautiful rosy lips. His endless sky blue eyes twinkled, excited.

Your heart skipped.

Your hands skimmed down his chest, and pushed him. You easily flipped Morpheus around. Now, his back was pressed up against the wall with you blocking his escape. Surprise passed over his features - a quick jump of his brows. You only smiled, one filled with devious plans.

Morpheus’s chest heaved. His breathing matched your own; or dare you say more erratic as anticipation flooded through his body. Your eyes landed on his parted lips. So enticing, so wondrous. Your gaze flickered back up. Morpheus’s skin buzzed. Your eyes were filled with an undeniable hunger. His heart fluttered in his chest, like a hummingbird needing to escape from its cage. Oh, but he wouldn’t want to. He was happily pinned down, happily pinned to the wall.

You dipped your head, just as he did only seconds ago. Your lips barely skimmed over his neck, a feathery touch. He didn’t fight or protest. He immediately gave himself over. His head fell to the side, giving you easier access.

You smiled against his skin. You started to pepper kiss over his neck, tantalizingly slow. A test.

A tease.

Morpheus sighed as his eyes fluttered closed.

Encouraged by his soft sounds and willingness, you started to be more demanding and suck at his marble crafted skin. The thrill of marking him, here and now, enticed you greatly. Your love bites were to be shown off for all of the Dreaming to see. He was yours, only you could do this to him.

Your teeth grazed over his skin and gently nipped at him.

He let out a breathy moan.

You smirked. You continued, littering his neck with your work - sucking, biting at his neck, and soothing any pains with your hypnotic tongue. You even worked your way to the other side of his neck; nothing would go untouched by you.

Morpheus’s breathing was becoming more and more labored, coming out in short bursts. His hands latched back onto your hips, needing to hold onto you. His fingers dug into you, definitely bruising you as you were bruising him. He drew you close, bucking his hips against yours. The tiny friction was electrical, dizzying.

Oh, how he loved this.

To be at your mercy.

To be yours.

You pulled away, much to Morpheus’s dismay. A predatory smile crossed over your lips. Morpheus’s typically perfect pale skin was now covered in blemishes, blemishes of your doing.

“Well, don’t you look pretty,” you whispered sultry.

Morpheus’s droopy eyes flickered open, glancing up at you. Never, never in all the time he knew you, did he expect this. You never said anything before. But, oh he loved this delicious surprise. You ran a finger over his bruised neck. A faint hum of pain coursed through him. Pain which morphed into pleasure. He shivered under your delicate touch.

“What’s the problem, my sweet king?” Your smirk grew. “Talk to me.”

Before he could speak, your hand flew down cupping his growing bulge.

His head dropped forward onto your shoulder. A whimper, an unbelievable needy whine, fell from his lips. He let out a shaky low breath.

How did you do this to him? How was he rendered into such a state?

Dream of the Endless, King of Nightmares, was at a mortal’s mercy. Every touch set a uncontrollable fire of want and need under his skin. He could feel himself burning from the inside out because of you. Your lips pulled out such carnal desires from him - desires not even his dear sibling could create. Your hands, your light nimble fingers, mapped out his body knowing how to make him sing, to make the world know who he belonged to.

You were his destruction and savior.

“Morpheus,” you purred. “Answer -“

Footsteps echoed.

You whipped away from Morpheus. You peered around the large column to see a shadow casted on the walls and slowly approached you. As the figure walked forward, the iconic round head and orange hue signified it was Mervyn - the person you wanted to find minutes ago before this exciting turn of events. You quickly glanced back at Morpheus. His glassy, dazed, eyes sharpened slightly at the sound. He tried to move - possibly to see who it was and to promptly remove himself from this somewhat embarrassing situation. Yet, you clamped a hand over his mouth, and kept him in place.

“Don’t.” You whispered, sternly.

He froze.

He obliged to your command. With one word, he was rooted in place.

You casually - or as nonchalant as possible - stepped out into view as Merv walked up. Morpheus was completely hidden behind the column, and you appeared to be leaning on it as if you stopped to have a rest. Your hand tucked around the column stayed on Morpheus’s mouth, not wishing to let go.

The pumpkin man cocked his head. “Uh, hey there, (Y/N). I didn’t see you there.”

“Hey, Merv,” you smiled, picture perfect. “You are actually the exact person I was looking for.”

Merv’s face scrunched together. “You were? Why?”

As you began to tell Merv the minor incident that occurred in the library, your hand slowly, inch by inch, crept down from Morpheus’s mouth to around his beautifully sculpted neck. Instantly, Morpheus craned his head back. Once again, he gave himself over. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky exhale.

Upon hearing him, you gently squeezed. A firm warning: not a single sound.

Morpheus bit the inside of his cheek and swallowed down his growing and apparent desperation.

Merv sighed, “Alright, I’ll go clean it up.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that. I would be more than happy to do so, I would just need a broom and a pan,” you cheerfully replied.

Morpheus’s heart sank. You would leave him? Leave him in such a desperate state? A faint, barely notable, whine hummed in the back of his throat.

But, you noticed.

You squeezed his neck - his second warning. His hands flew up and wrapped around your wrist. He needed to touch you, to find ground in his dizzying euphoric state. He carefully removed your hand from his neck, which you allowed - mostly curious as to what he was doing. He brought your hand to his lips, and peppered up your wrist with delicate kisses. It was his way of saying he needed you.

He needed you now.

The only sign you gave was a smile - a minuscule twitch of the corner of your lips.

“If you say so,” Merv huffed. “Less work for me the better. Here I can show you where I keep my stuff.”

“Actually, could you just drop it off in the library? There are a few other things I need to do, something small on my way to the library.”

Merv squinted his eyes as his lips puckered in thought, then he just nodded. “Okay.” He spun around, walking back where he came from. “And you and the boss better not make a mess because I am not cleaning that up.”

Morpheus flinched.

You, however, laughed. “Will do, Merv. Thanks.”

You slid back in front of Morpheus, like the serpent ready to tempt. Your eyes darkened. The air was knocked out of Morpheus’s lung. One look and he was ready to fall to his knees, to grant you your wish. You grabbed Morpheus’s face, drawing him close to you. “Let’s take this elsewhere, my sweet king.” Your lips brushed over his. “Before we upset Merv.”

A couple hours later, Morpheus strolled through the hallways of the winding castle. He was on his way to his studies, or specifically to the beach to work on his new dreams and nightmares. You, on the other hand, had left, making your way to the library to clean up the mess among completing a few other tasks on your list.

Your lips, the memory of it, still ghosted over his skin. It haunted him. His fingers traced over his neck, feeling the tenderness. He laughed once through his nose. You were devious.

“I don’t think I ever mentioned how much I loved seeing you like this.” You murmured, as you straddled him. Your fingers delicately traced over his bruised neck, and down his bare chest where new marks rose. “I did this.”

His chest rumbled as he chuckled. “Yes, you did, my love.”

You bent down, skimming your lips over his. “You’re all mine.”

His hands cupped your face, kissing you. Muttering against your lips, he said, “I am.”

Morpheus was so enwrapped with his memories, with your lingering touches, that he failed to notice Matthew soaring towards him.

“Hey, boss?”

Morpheus blinked, snapping himself out of those pleasant thoughts. He glanced up to see Matthew descend, landing on his shoulder. “Hello, Matthew,” Morpheus greeted.

Matthew had something to tell the King of Dreams, however his thoughts quickly vanished at the sight of Morpheus’s spotted bruised neck. Matthew snickered, “Did you have some fun, boss?”

Morpheus’s brows knitted together, only to smooth out as realization hit. A passive, almost annoyed, look was painted over his steely features. “We are adults here, Matthew.”

Matthew ignored the obvious irritated look Morpheus was giving him. “Sure, but we’re not animals - well, most of us aren’t. And she got you good, sir.” Matthew’s tone said it all, he was gleefully happy to poke at the Endless.

Morpheus rolled his eyes.

“Now, I understand why Merv was in a mood earlier. He was mumbling about the two of you.” Matthew chuckled. “Poor guy probably saw too much.”

Morpheus stayed silent, unwilling to indulge Matthew.

“Do you want some ice, sir? It might help.”

“I can assure you, Matthew, I am perfectly fine.”

Matthew hummed, “Uh-huh, I bet you are. Probably a lot better now.”

“And what are you implying?” Morpheus turned his head, eyeing the raven.

Matthew cocked his head, his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Imply it however you want, sir.”

Morpheus huffed, turning his head. “Do you not have something better to do?”

“I did.” Matthew settled, lowering himself onto Morpheus’s shoulder, content to take place here instead. “But, I can’t remember.”

“Of course,” Morpheus mumbled to himself.

Morpheus continued to stroll down the hall, with a chirper Matthew babbling on his shoulder. He could send the pesky raven elsewhere, but in all honesty he didn’t mind the jokes. All he could think of was hours ago.

“You’re all mine.”

He was yours, and he didn’t want anyone to think otherwise.

And speaking of the devil, you popped up around a corner carrying a broom and pan. You were trying to find Merv again, or find where to put his supplies. It was deja vu all over again. But, you had a sinking feeling Merv didn’t wish to be near you anytime soon.

Your embarrassment, on the other hand, was far and few. You would happily do it all over again.

Glancing around, your eyes landed on the pair. You smiled at them. Morpheus’s face instantly lit up, he returned the smile. A change which Matthew noted and chuckled to himself.

Morpheus ignored him like he had been.

Your eyes dropped, stealing a glance at his marked neck. Your smile widened and you shook your head. As you walked up to them, you said in a sly remark, “You have a little something on your neck, my king.”

“Do I?” Morpheus smiled, pleased to play along with your banter. “How odd.”

You chuckled.

Matthew glanced between the two of you, unable to believe he was witnessing any of this. “Should I leave you two?” He joked.

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, you don’t have to. I actually wanted to ask if either of you happen to know where Merv is or where I can put his stuff?”

“Down the hall. Two lefts then a right, second door on the right.” Morpheus answered.

You beamed. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, my love.”

You started to walk by. You looked to Morpheus then to Matthew, still comfortably perched on his shoulder. Your smile changed into a little smirk, “And Matthew be nice to him, he’s clearly hurt.”

#the sandman #Morpheus #dream of the endless #sandman morpheus #sandman dream #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x reader #dream x you #dream x fem!reader #fem!reader #smut

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tj-dragonblade · 1 year ago

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[FIC] On the Edge of a Waking Dream

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling (Hob x Dream) Rated: M Word Count: 3914 Tags: MonsterFucktoberBingo 2023, Dreamling Nation House of Horrors 2023, human Dream, ghost Hob, modern day setting, main character death, technically, is Hob a main character, the prompt is ghost so not DEAD-dead regardless, ghost character, ghost sex, sex toys, anal sex, suicidal ideation, unconventional happily-ever-after, these tags are a very mixed bag, angst in my lighthearted ghost story?, it's more likely than you think, brief appearance by Daniel Hall, brief appearance by Merv

Additional Warning: There is a conversation toward the end that dips into the subject of suicidal ideation. If you need to avoid it, it's the section that begins "Would that I could stay here forever, with you" - skip that whole section and you'll be good.

Notes: Title taken from I'll Be There, by Escape Club, 1991. This song has been on my Ficcable Songs list for more than two decades and finally I've done something with it. I'm…eugh. I think this would be better served as a longfic, but I'm. Not doing that. I'm happier with this now than I was with the initial draft, and that's good enough.

This covers Smoctober Day 9 prompt 'ghost', the Monsterfucktober square for 'ghost', and the Dreamling Nation House of Horrors prompt 'ghost'

Summary: Dream never believed in ghosts until his boyfriend became one

On AO3

~~~ Dream never believed in ghosts.

But then, his boyfriend became one.

Hob, his brash and boastful beautiful Hob, who'd talked of marriage once they were done with university, who'd laughed at the notion of dying and proudly declared he'd live forever. Hob, who had sworn to never leave him, had promised to be there for him always.

The universe had other ideas, unfortunately, but Hob was nothing if not adaptable.

~~~ Dream turned the key in the lock of their shared flat—just his flat, now, he supposed—numb and empty inside after the funeral. Debating the merits of crying in the shower vs going straight to bed (not their bed, not anymore) and crying himself to sleep, he pushed open the door.

The lights flicked on all by themselves.

All of the lights, in every room of the flat.

Which was disconcerting, but he was tired, and emotionally drained, and made a mental note to check with the property manager about the wiring just in case.

The electric teakettle clicked on when he entered the kitchen; convenient, as he had intended a cup of chamomile before trying to sleep, but he added the oddity to his mental note for tomorrow. Tea in hand, he leaned against the counter, gathering the static in his mind to keep from focusing with any clarity on the loss clawing his insides hollow.

When his laptop on the corner desk powered itself on, he nearly dropped his tea. With mounting apprehension he watched as the computer logged him in and…opened Spotify? Then the music started, an old song he knew well, and the apprehension turned to disbelief.

Don't be afraid, oh my love I'll be watching you from above And I'd give all the world tonight, To be with you

"This is absolutely my song," Hob had said once when it came on. "Guy loved his partner so much he refused to go when death came for him? That'd be me."

"I thought you planned to live forever?" Dream had teased, gently, and Hob had grinned.

"Well yeah, that is the plan. But if it turns out I can't, then…sticking around as a ghost, that's my contingency plan." His smile had turned warm, tender, and he'd brushed a knuckle down the side of Dream's face. "I've got to see you're getting on okay if I'm gone, haven't I?"

Because I'm on your side, And I still care I may have died, But I've gone nowhere Just think of me, And I'll be there

"Hob," Dream whispered, tears welling, something like hope sticking in his throat, and the lamp on the desk flickered. "Is that you?"

The lamp blinked out and back on, twice, and Dream let out a sob. 'Twice' had always been their non-verbal and discretionary code for affirmation, blinking or shoulder taps or hand squeezing, and the warm sense of relief that poured over Dream at this confirmation was overwhelming. "Hob…how is this possible? Am I losing my grip on reality?"

The wireless mouse moved, waggled side to side in a clear imitation of shaking one's head 'no'.

"How is this possible," Dream murmured again, turning over and over the idea that ghosts could be real, that Hob could be one. "You died; I buried you. How can you be here?"

The mouse moved in a slow deliberate arc, sketching the shape of a heart.

Oh, there's no need to cry Just think of me, And I'll be there

Dream's throat closed up and he let out a sound half-laugh, half-sob as the song soared into its final chorus.

The mouse scooted across the desk, nudged the box of tissues closer.

Hob had so often talked about taking care of him; Hob had promised to never leave him.

Hob had, apparently, refused to go when Death came for him. "You were always a man of your word," Dream murmured, sniffling through a smile, and the light in the kitchen flickered happily.

~~~ Living with a ghost was surprisingly easy to adjust to, once he accepted the reality of it. He always had someone to talk to, and they quickly discovered that the notes app on his phone, or his computer, was a viable conduit for Hob to talk back when he felt like it. Dream's earbuds were always charged, his music library always managed to pull up exactly the right song for his mood, he never had to worry about whether he'd left the lights or the stove on and, annoyingly, his phone and computer always turned off at exactly the hour Hob had insisted on for a decent sleep schedule. But in all honesty, healthier sleep habits were a fair price to pay for having Hob back in some form when Dream had thought him lost.

Hob looked after him, made sure he kept living and thriving, and Dream threw himself into researching ghosts and spirits and how to attune oneself to them. Herbs and alignments and meditative practices, Dream tried them all and little by little, the more he learned, the more he began to feel the physical presence of Hob in their flat. A breath, a scent, a diffuse sense of warmth and calm, an overall impression that this was home and Hob was here.

~~~ "What was it like, dying?" he asked one day, during a lull in his research. He minimized the webpage and brought up the notes app. "If you don't mind talking about it, that is." He trusted Hob to tell him otherwise; communicating and respecting boundaries had always been easy between them. The cursor started moving a couple seconds later.

It would be impossible to discuss the subject without a common frame of reference.

Dream burst out laughing at that, the terrible hiccuping bray that Hob had adored, and a little old-school smiley emote appeared on the screen. But before Dream could draw breath to quote the next line back to Hob (You mean I have to die to discuss your insights on death??), the cursor was moving again.

Kidding. Not much to tell. Was a lady there, kind face, beautiful wings. Held out her hand, and I knew if I took it I'd never see you again. So I refused.

"And you were permitted to just…say no?"

Lady gave me a sad smile, said I couldn't go back; told her I couldn't go forward, either, not if it meant leaving you. When I promised I would never.

Dream could feel his eyes welling up and blinked, swallowed the lump in his throat.

She let me stay in between. Not perfect, but I don't have to leave. Can't leave you.

"I love you," Dream said, voice wavering. "I love you, Hob, I miss you but I'm so glad I still have you—" A little sob escaped, his eyes spilling over.

Death cannot stop true love, Hob typed then, in swooping pink script on the screen, and Dream could only smile through his tears as he answered.

"All it can do is delay it for a little while."

~~~ Dream kept seeking knowledge and Hob kept developing proficiency in being a ghost, more practice in interacting with the world and making himself known; soon enough Dream could genuinely feel Hob there, physically—a wisp of air against his skin, the phantom brush of lips to his temple, a full-body shiver of warmth when drifting off to sleep. He'd feel Hob like an embrace from behind while fixing his breakfast, while practicing his cello, while showering. Sometimes he would touch himself under the spray, stroke it to hardness and feel, unmistakably, the wispy grip of Hob's hand over his, the faint nudge of a phantom prick against his arse, an invisible mouth laving kisses to the back of his neck.

"You can manipulate any electronics, right?" he asked one evening, and when the lamp on his bedside table dimmed and brightened twice in the affirmative, he undressed and brought out the vibrator he had purchased the day before, knelt over on the bed, pressed the toy into his slick and opened body. "Then please, Hob—be with me, like this, have me, I still want—"

The toy jumped to life with a buzz and Dream gasped, shifted, rocked his hips as Hob cycled through every power setting and vibration pattern until he found the combination that made Dream shiver and squirm and grasp helplessly at the bedsheets, surrounded by the not-quite-there feeling of Hob draped over him, fingers twined with his, lips soft at the back of his neck as he surrendered to the onslaught of sensation.

He drifted off to sleep afterward with a soft smile on his face, the feel of Hob's arms around him and Hob murmuring "G'night, dove, I'll keep you safe" in his ear.

When he woke, the whisper of revelation was stirring at the back of his mind but it didn't click until he heard a soft "Good morning, beautiful" in Hob's dear voice and sat bolt upright, duly stunned.

"Hob! You can talk!?"

Nothing, for an instant, and then, still soft: "Dream? Can you…you can hear me now?"

"Yes!" he cried, overjoyed, and let the tears stream down his face as he heard Hob's happy laughter surrounding him, disembodied but bright and brilliant, for the first time in months.

~~~ Together they continued their studies, carefully experimenting with ways to thin the veil between worlds safely and securely. Hob's physical presence got stronger, more tangible as the days passed. His touch was never cold like so many sources claimed; it was warm, like lifting one's face to the morning sun in the first days of Spring, like the comfort of snuggling into the blankets on a winter evening.

Nothing about his Hob could ever be cold.

All his studies indicated that a ghost attaining visibility took time, and strength of will from the spirit, and 'openness' on the part of the living—which Dream had interpreted as willingness to believe that one might see a ghost. He did believe, wholeheartedly, knew without a doubt that Hob was still here with him and would eventually be ghost enough to manifest visibly.

It happened one night when Dream was drifting between awake and asleep; there, in that liminal state, he caught a glimpse of Hob for just an instant. It stole his breath, the sight of Hob before him again after all this time; Hob smiled at him, blindingly beautiful, and then he faded out and Dream woke, eyes wet, his own smile soft on his face.

"Hob?" he called, barely more than a murmur, and immediately the warm comfort of Hob's arms around him took hold.

"'M here," came Hob's disembodied voice, close to his ear. "Did you see me there, in between?"

"Yes," Dream breathed, emotion swelling within him. "You were. So beautiful. How I've missed the sight of you, Hob—" He turned, wanting to burrow into the warmth of Hob beside him, knowing there was nothing really there enough to accommodate his want.

"Sweet talker," Hob said, and then there were soft insubstantial lips touching his and Dream sighed into the phantom kiss, arching, reaching. Invisible fingertips traced his jaw, touched his throat, trailed down and brushed a nipple and Dream let a needy sound spill from him.

"Hob," he pleaded, keyed up, wanting, and felt more than heard the way Hob hummed in reply. And then the suggestion of a leg was pushed between his, urging him over onto his back and hands were stroking feather-light down his sides, a ghostly mouth moving beneath his ear. Dream whimpered, kicked free of the bedclothes, hooked his thumbs in his pajama bottoms and wriggled fluidly to get them down and off, laid back and spread his limbs and gave himself over to the slow sensual stoking of his pleasure.

Hob took his time as much by design as necessity, needing focus and intent to manage physical touch but also clearly delighting in the leisurely build of driving Dream higher and higher. He was skilled at it, also, had Dream trembling and moaning long before his ghostly tongue touched Dream's prick. It was hard, leaking, and Dream rocked into the wispy sensation of Hob's mouth around him, Hob's hands caressing the insides of his thighs, Hob's fingertips tracing intimately along the creases of his body.

Hob's touch was exquisite, erotic, and Dream was certain that with hours to enjoy it he would surely reach climax, but neither of them had that sort of patience just now. "Get the vibe, sweetheart," Hob said at last, and Dream scrambled to comply, retrieving it from the bedside drawer. "Open yourself up for me, need to watch you come undone—"

Breathless, Dream lubed the toy and pushed it in, bore down and gripped it tightly in anticipation, knees raised, waiting for Hob—

The toy turned on and Dream's head lashed back as sudden pleasure poured through him. "There you are," he vaguely heard Hob murmur, "my darling beautiful Dream—"

One day, Dream vowed, shaking as Hob cycled the toy into the perfect pulsing intensity that made him writhe and wail, one day, he would come from Hob's ghostly touch alone.

~~~ They met in waking dreams again, and again, each meeting strengthening their connection, anchoring them securely to one another across the veil. "Oh, my love, my precious dove," Hob murmured, when they managed to hold onto one another for more than a second, and then Hob's mouth was pressed against his, opening, warm—

He woke to the feel of Hob kissing him still, only less substantial, but as he opened his eyes, he caught a soft glimmer of Hob's face above him, hazy, barely there, and his heart skipped a beat.

"I can see you," he murmured against phantom lips, not daring to blink, breath held—but Hob drew back in surprise, in excitement, and his faint image flickered out. Dream sighed and let his eyes fall closed once more. "We'll keep trying. Come kiss me again?"

~~~ "Would that I could stay here forever, with you," Dream lamented, drifting on the edge of waking up, curled into Hob's embrace.

He felt the way that Hob went still and tense.

"You seem the most real here," he explained, "and I am. So tired, of not being able to properly touch you. Except here."

"I'm getting better at being substantial out there," Hob said, a very careful edge in his voice. "Be patient, dove, we'll get there."

"Or I could simply sleep forever, and never be without you again."

"You aren't without me now. I'm not going anywhere, Dream. You have me. Forever. What you're talking about is—" Hob stopped abruptly, unwilling to voice the thought.

"I know." Dream couldn't bring himself to look Hob in the eye, mumbled into the familiar comfort of Hob's hairy chest instead. "I wonder, sometimes, if…it might be worth it."

Hob vanished, and it was a sharp enough jolt that Dream woke completely.

Every light in the flat was flickering madly as Dream stumbled ouf of the bedroom; the smoke and CO detectors were screeching their alarm, his laptop sounding some kind of alert and the air conditioning unit in the window powering off and on repeatedly.

"Hob!" Dream tried to raise his voice above the din. "Hob, stop!"

The teakettle started up a sustained whistle and then Spotify kicked in with some metal band he couldn't immediately name, thrashing guitars and guttural screaming vocals, and Dream had to cover his ears. "Hob! HOB!"

It was another full minute of this cacophony, and then abruptly everything stopped. Plunged back into grey morning dimness and silence, Dream took a steadying breath, two.

"…Hob?" His voice, when it came, was small and tentative.

The kitchen light flickered sullenly, twice.

"Hob. I don't…I'm not—" He floundered; the words weren't coming.

"C'mere." He felt the swoop of Hob rushing past him, and followed him back to the bedroom. "C'mere," Hob repeated, from the bed, and Dream crawled up to sit against the headboard. The faint sense of Hob's arm settled around his shoulders and Dream felt the inevitable tears welling up.

"Sorry for throwing a tantrum," Hob's voice said, low and soft with sincerity. "It's just. You scared me. What you said." Dream felt lips brush his hair, holding there in a desperate approximation of a kiss.

"I know." Dream blinked, and the tears spilled over. "I don't mean it, but…"

"But it's crossed your mind."

Dream wiped his eyes. "Yes."

"I stayed to see you live your life, not to take it away from you." Hob's voice was shaky now, as if he was also crying—could ghosts cry?—and Dream could feel Hob's other arm across his chest, Hob holding him close, clinging to him. "Dream—I love you, I love you so much. And you have everything ahead of you. Please, please don't start thinking you're better off giving it all up. We don't even know if you'd wind up same as me—"

Dream closed his eyes, breathed slow and even. It was not that he wished, particularly, to die; it was simply that he wished to be with Hob more than he wanted anything else.

Except, perhaps, to not bring Hob pain or distress.

"I…am an amateur, at these occult studies," Dream said at last, eyes still closed. "It will take a lifetime of research and learning to ensure that I can share in your afterlife, that I will not leave you behind. I will need to live a very long life, to be. Certain."

"…Yes," came Hob's voice, steadier now but still with a trembling edge of wariness underneath. "Yes. You will."

"And I will need your help. To research, but also to remind me to eat, to buy groceries, to go to bed on time."

"Of course. You'll have it, anything and everything I can do to help. Promise me you won't give up."

"Hob," Dream breathed, because he had opened his eyes, and Hob was glimmering faintly there beside him—visible, if only just. "Hob—"

"Promise," Hob interrupted, lifting his head to look Dream in the eye, and Dream could see the exact second when he realized Dream was not looking through him, but at him.

"I will live to be ninety, I promise," he said, a little bit breathless, a little wrung out, very much elated. "Hob, I can see you—"

The smile on Hob's face, the way he glowed with joy, pushed every other thought from Dream's head, and when Hob leaned in for an ecstatic-if-still-a-touch-watery kiss, Dream's heart soared at how easily they connected.

~~~ Hob's visual manifestation in the waking world grew more and more frequent as the days went on, steadier, more solid in appearance. Strong emotion, they confirmed, was an excellent catalyst and soon enough he could maintain a weak-but-persistent shade, always a bit more distinct from the corner of Dream's eye than straight on. The more he practiced the better he got, at being both visually and tangibly solid, holding his presence, managing touch. Dream never minded that he always remained a bit transparent; he was there, still here, still with Dream, to whom he had promised forever.

~~~ "Still mine?" Hob asked many years later, float-lying half on top of him in bed, idly combing through the emerging greys of his hair, and Dream smiled.

"I can't imagine ever being anyone else's," he breathed, lifting a hand to touch Hob's face. He still had to be careful, to focus; it was all too easy for his hand to go right through Hob which was disconcerting for them both. But he was very good at it by now, and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind Hob's ear tenderly. "I don't want to be anyone else's."

"You don't have to be," Hob promised, drifting up to look down into his eyes. "I'm here, I'm yours, forever, as long as you'll have me."

"Forever," Dream echoed, smiling with the joy of it, and drew Hob down for a delicate heartfelt kiss.

~~~ "Sorry, kid, ain't got no vacancies."

Daniel's shoulders slumped, disappointed. The White Horse building was perfectly situated for getting to campus and he'd been told there was always at least one flat open, but apparently he was given incorrect information.

"Unless…" The guy in the property office tilted his head back, scratched under his scruffy chin, cigar caught between his teeth. "I mean, there is the haunted unit, 'salways empty…"

Daniel perked up. "Haunted unit?" He'd been drawn to the unusual all his life, fascinated by the paranormal, intrigued by the macabre. If this was true—

"Yeah." The guy slanted a look at him. "Last tenant—last tenant who stayed more'n a couple'a weeks, at least—was this old guy, lived there for decades. Him'n his boyfriend, they moved in when they were young but then the boyfriend died, an' the other guy just stayed the rest of his life, alone. Was a hundred n' five when he finally passed, and that was back in '89. Flat's been empty ever since. Folk'll move in, but it don't take long 'til they're backin' out on the lease. Lights won't work right, electronics're unpredictable, weird moanin' and screamin' noises in the walls, some even talk about apparitions they can't ever see straight-on but're always in the corner of the eye, in the shadows. Me, I don' believe'n none of it, never seen nor heard anything'f the sort, but regardless I can't keep anybody in there—"

"I'll take it," Daniel interrupted, excitement bubbling up in his stomach. A haunted flat? Could he be any luckier? "That is—if I may?"

"Look, kid, you wanna give it a shot? Go for it. Come on in, I'll draw up the paperwork. 'F you stay, I'll give ya a super steep discount—any rent comin' in's better'n none, heh!" He turned and stumped back into his office, still cackling and muttering; Daniel followed, mind racing.

If there was a ghost, a real ghost, it was probaby the boyfriend, who'd maybe been there all along and now didn't want anyone living in his and his lover's space. And Daniel was no true medium, but he'd grown up learning all kinds of 'alternative science' stuff from his mom's friends, so maybe he'd have a decent chance of communicating with the ghost, helping it find peace and move on.

He was half right. It was the boyfriend, but it was also the old man. Whose ghost was that of his younger self—and yes, Daniel was able to talk to them. Also, they had absolutely no intention of moving on. They were lovely, actually, had no problem with Daniel living there once they got to know him, willingly worked out a sort of 'roommate agreement' with him. Merv down in the property office made good on his promise of cheap rent, and Daniel's ghosts were always making sure the flat was in order, bills tracked and paid, cupboards stocked and groceries delivered, homework reminders set where he needed them and homework assistance given when asked. It was like…like having two dads, when he'd grown up without, and Daniel was hard-pressed to imagine how his life could possibly be better.

(He could do without the occasional auditory glimpse into their love life, but…well. Most of the time they were very good about not leaking across the veil in intimate moments, and ultimately who was he to begrudge them their eternal happiness?)

=== Started: 10/9/23 Drafted: 10/10/23 Additional Drafting: 10/27/23 Posted: 10/28/23

I have not read any of Daniel's canon material; my apologies if his voice sounds terribly wrong. Cookies for anyone who recognizes the movie quotes Hob used ❤️

#Sandman #TJs Fics #MonsterFucktoberBingo #DNHouseOfHorrors #Smoctober #Dreamling #Dream of the Endless #Hob Gadling #wip: ghostfic

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inaviolentnature · 10 months ago

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9 people to get to know better, thank you for tagging me merv @comicsguy :)

list 3 ships you like: ooh, i've been revisiting rhack after playing borderlands 3, steddie is a ship i'm always reading (and writing) for, and scollace is a new ship for me

first ship ever: johnlock.... and stucky

last song you heard: prove you wrong by prong

favourite childhood book: i loved "are you there god? it's me margaret" by judy blume, and as a teenager it was "weetzie bat" by francesca lia block

currently reading: listening to the young mungo audio book by douglas stewart

currently watching: rewatching mtv daria, beavis and butt-head, and jessica jones

currently consuming: just drank some strawberry milk

currently craving: some water, i'm so parched but too lazy to get up and get some

no obligation tags: @allmoshnobrain @fairytalesreality @faggotfungus @handholdingisabigdeal @smilingwithfangs @alonetogether @lesbian-hannibal @snowangeldotmp3 @wastrelwoods

#thank you for tagging me!!!#tag game

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

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All In 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: Happy weekend.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The car comes to a stop. It takes you a minute to notice as you reel yourself back to reality. You blink through the tinted window as Merv turns the music down; a song about glory days or something.

“Here we are,” he announces and cranes to look back at you, “have fun, miss.”

“Have fun...” you whisper to yourself in confusion, “what? Where do I go?”

He laughs, not mockingly, and he points through the window, “well, you’ll want to go into that restaurant and give them Mr. Barnes’ name. They’ll sort you out, I’m sure.”

“Oh,” your brows draw together. A restaurant. What?

You undo your seatbelt hesitantly and peer out through the glass again. This is strange. You’ve only had a few interviews and most of them were in cramped backrooms or closets. You pull the handle and let yourself out, thanking Merv before you step up on the curb.

You shut the car door and hook your bag over your shoulder. You stare up at the restaurant’s marquee. It’s a bistro of some sort. Upscale by your measure, thought you have little experience beyond chain joints and fast food. The white facade with its tall windows is intimidating as you approach the entrance.

As you step inside, you’re all but assured that you don’t belong. A woman greets you with a pearly smile, her hair in a wispy bun, as she sports a flowery white dress. You look back and forth as she cradles a tablet in one arm.

“Do you have a reservation?” She asks.

You look down at yourself. That’s a generous assumption. You don’t know how she’s not telling you to leave.

“Erm, I... I think I’m looking for someone,” you say, “Mr. Barnes?”

“Barnes, yes, party for two,” she taps the screen, “he’s waiting. Won’t you follow me?”

She spins on her heels and strolls away. She’s tall and gorgeous, just like the woman at the casino. You peer around and find no less finery and beauty among the staff and diners. The table are all white and polished and the walls are hung with abstract paintings of heaping fruit and bright cocktails. You’ve never seen brunch done so extravagantly.

You nearly trip as you look ahead just before you reach the stairs. The hostess climbs ahead of you. You envy her modelesque figure. How is she stuck here? She’s breathtaking. She could be in magazines.

More importantly, where are you going?

Several flights and you emerge into the open air. You've never been on a rooftop. You’ve seen things like these in movies. There’s a bar center to the space and tables beneath umbrellas set all about. There is only one diner despite the sunshine. It is strangely desolate for such a warm scene.

You’re led to the only occupied table. Mr. Barnes stands as you near. He wears a pair of teal slacks and a patterned shirt with an open collar. Casual but just as refined as before. It hardly seems like job interview.

“Doll,” he greets you with a kiss on the cheek to your surprise. You don’t comment on it, it might just be his way. “You made it.”

“I...” you check your watch, “it was before noon when I got to the casino.”

“That’s on me,” he insists as he pulls out the chair for you, “I got restless. Changed my mind. Please.”

He gestures to the seat and you accept stiffly, moving your bag into your lap as he tucks the chair in under you. He resumes his seat and looks up at the woman patiently standing to the side, “Melody,” he says, “she’ll have a vodka cran, give me my usual. Thanks.”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes,” she replies eagerly.

“Oh, and the lunch menu,” he returns.

She clacks off in her heels as you squirm and clutch your purse. You peer around the rooftop and finally at Bucky. You give a sheepish smile.

“This is a nice place.”

“Sure is,” he sits back carelessly. There is no tension in him but your wound tight as a spring.

“Never been anywhere like this...” your eyes drift over and you stare at the city skyline.

“Made sure we weren’t near the edge, doll,” he assures, “I remember you’re not a fan.” He rests a hand on the table, rubbing his index and thumb. “And I wanted to have this time alone so my pal did me a favour and cleared the roof.”

“Oh, wow.”

“He owns this place,” he shrugs. “Never got into the restaurant business. It’s fickle.”

You nod, not knowing what to say. He knows about these things. Obviously, a lot. You’ve never even worked a full-time week of work.

“How’s your sister?” He asks, “I assume you got home safe.”

“Yes, er, thank you, again, for doing all that,” you bite your lip and his blue eyes catch the gesture as his eyebrow tweaks. “I’m really sorry she did that.”

“Doll, you’re real sweet apologising for her,” he inclines his head slightly, “but you gotta worry about yourself, don’t ya? That’s why you’re here.”

The hostess, Melody, reappears and sets down two glasses. Yours is bright red with a lime on the rim and his is dark, no ice. She lays down a menu in front of each of you and straightens her posture.

“I have to get back to the door but Hailee will be up to help you shortly. Our specials today are a goat cheese and beet salad or a brown sugar salmon with seasonal veggies.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says as he taps the menu.

Melody leaves you again and you bend your neck to read the menu. You look for a price beneath the dishes and find none. That can’t be good.

“I’m not very hungry,” you sit up straight.

“Doll, don’t worry about it. It’s on me,” he circles his hand around his glass, “why don’t you try your drink? Make sure it’s up to snuff.” He sits forward and lifts his own, “cheers.”

Your hand slips up the condensating glass before you get a grasp on it. You raise it and clink it against his. You bring it to your lips slowly as he does the same, mirroring you as he watches you intently. You gulp and set down the glass as your cheeks strain.

“You don’t like it?” He wonders.

“No, I... well, I don’t drink much,” you take the cloth napkin and dab your lips.

“Ah, if that’s too tart, you can have a look at the cocktails. Some of them are so sweet, you wouldn’t know the difference.”

“I’m okay,” you assure him, “so...” you swallow and force out your breath, “about the job--”

“Damn, doll, I’m so all over the place lately, I didn’t even tell you how good you look.”

“I...” your eyes widen but you quickly wipe away your shock, “that’s nice. I mean, thank you.” Your voice shakes as you struggle to comprehend the compliment. What do you say? “You too.”

He smirks, “yeah, you think so?”

“What?” Your voice cracks.

“You think I look good?” He combs his fingers through his long hair. Oh god.

“Yes,” you answer cautiously, “I like your shirt.”

“You’re adorable,” he snickers and shakes his head, leaning forward once more, bending his arms against the table.

“Uh...” you peek down at the table and back to him. You can’t even blame the sun that you’re about to melt. The umbrella blocks out the bright beacon though a glare comes over the edge. “Bucky, sir, Mr. Barnes,” you shuffle through his titles, “the job. What would that be?”

His brows rise and he brings a hand up to drag over his mouth and beard, his fingers brushing along the trim of his jaw.

“The job,” he repeats as he narrows his eyes, “ah,” he lowers his head and presses a fingertip to the menu, “let’s order before we get into all that.”

You look over the menu again then raise your chin, “I appreciate it, but it’s too much, Bucky. I wouldn’t want to... waste your money.”

“It’s my money,” he looks at you, “so I’ll decide how I waste it.”

“Oh,” your cheeks set alight, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he tilts his head again, “you’re just that type of girl. You don’t know what it is to be treated so allow me to show you.”

You’re confused. This is the oddest encounter you’ve ever had. You almost feel like it’s a joke. You’re this poor helpless girl and he’s flaunting how rich and powerful he is. Is there even a job?

“I’d feel worse if you didn’t eat, so doll, don’t step on my toes.”

You chew your cheek and look down again. That’s it. You’ll have the cucumber sandwich. That’s not too much. It can’t be.

The waitress arrives, a different woman but just as stunning. She introduces herself as Hailee. Bucky prompts you to order first before he gives his own. As she leaves, you rock slightly in your chair, stilling yourself before you can look weird.

“So... I could clean or... I could learn something--”

“Let me stop your there, doll,” he puts a large hand up, his palm rough and lined. “It’s my turn to apologise. I... haven’t been honest with you.”

Your heart drops and you can’t help the glimmer in your vision. No. You’re going to have to go home and tell your mother you failed again. That you wasted her time and gas. You close your eyes and frown.

“Doll, doll,” he says and you hear his chair scrape. You open your eyes as he pulls his chair around to sit closer to you, “hey, let me finish here.”

You look him in the eye. Big mistake. You could drown in the blueness. He smirks and rubs your arm.

“I’m not... it’s not a job I have to offer you,” he says deliberately, his other hand fluttering on your knee, “I would call it an arrangement. Mutually beneficial.”

You stare at him. You’re entire being is on fire. You don’t understand what he’s saying, more so, you can barely think with him touching you.

“But... I need a job,” you sniffle.

He scoffs, not unkindly, “you’ll have money. I know you got a family, your sister, maybe your parents? Economy’s tough, I know it.”

“Money? For what?”

He squeezes your knee and sits up, draping his arm over the back of your chair as he leans even closer, “for your company. For yourself.”

“What?” Your voice piques sharply. “I don’t...”

“Look, let’s take it slow here, alright? Today is the taster. We spend some time together, see how we vibe, and go from there. Now I know you went to a whole lot of trouble to get so nice and pretty for me today,” he coaxes, “and I’m not gonna waste your time so you won’t go home empty handed. One thousand.”

“Thousand?” You breathe.

“Just for lunch,” he says, “I’d pay a lot more so I’m open to bartering.”

“That’s... a lot...” you mutter.

“Nothing’s too much for a girl like you,” his fingers dance along your shoulder.

“I... I...” you heave each word.

“Now don’t you freak out,” he’s on the edge of laughing, “doll, I mean it. Just lunch. You and me. Nothing...” he pulls away from you and puts his hands up, “untoward.”

He stands and moves his chair back across from you. He sits and pushes his shoulders wide, “I mean it. Let’s get to know each other. I want to know all about you, doll.”

“Me?” You gulp.

“You,” he points over the table, “you must like music. You went to that concert, didn’t ya?”

You nod and curl your shoulders.

“What kinda music you like?”

“Oh, I... old stuff, I guess. Destiny’s Child?” You give a sheepish cringe.

“Old school,” he remarks, “I like it. Spice girls too?”

“Yeah,” you clamp your lips together.

“I’m not teasing ya. I can’t lie and say I never turned the radio up when I heard them,” he chuckles, “no judgment. That goes for you too, alright? When you find out how much I like ABBA, you can’t giggle.”

Your cheeks dimple as you try not to smile. It’s hard to imagine him listening to Dancing Queen. You push your shoulders higher and look away.

“Don’t laugh,” he chides.

“I didn’t,” you turn back to him.

“Yeah, you’re too nice, that’s why,” he purrs, “you gotta tell me your fave ABBA song.”

You shrug and he squints cynically, “everyone has one. Come on. Fernando?” You shake your head at his guess. “Waterloo?” Again, no. “Mamma Mia?” Nope. “Take a Chance on Me?” No. “Alright, I surrender, tell me.”

“Gimme, Gimme, Gimme,” you eke out.

“Hm, not what I would guess but interesting,” he muses as his eyes wander from your face and back up, “but I at least knew you had taste.”

He winks and you let out a giggle. Whether your nervous or something else, you can’t untangle all your emotions from one another. Yet you do feel a little better, a little lighter. It’s an unexpected situation but not as bad as you foresaw.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #mcu #marvel #casino au #winter soldier #avengers #captain america #all in

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parkerslatte · 2 years ago

Text

Songbird || SIX

Eddie Roundtree x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.8k

Part Summary: Billy comes back from rehab and Y/N and Eddie end up lonely at a party.

previous chapter / next chapter

Series Mastlist

Main Masterlist

•••

TRACK SIX;

SLEEPING WITH A FRIEND

…

Y/N L/N: When Billy went to rehab and the tour was cancelled, everyone else came home. And tensions were high.

EDDIE ROUNDTREE: Y/N still wasn’t speaking to me, she wasn’t really speaking to anyone.

Y/N L/N: Around the time they came back, I was constantly at meetings with Teddy, I barely saw them in the first couple weeks.

…

“Was that one good?” Y/N asked.

Teddy chuckled, “The one before was perfect.”

Y/N smiled, “I just want it to be perfect.”

“And it already is,” Teddy says, “Want to have a listen?”

Y/N sat next to Teddy as she listened to her song back. Everything felt so surreal to her, she felt like she would wake up at any second and she had imagined all of it.

“It sounds great!” Y/N says, excitement coursing through her veins.

Teddy smiled at the girl’s excitement, knowing how much this meant to her.

“If everything goes well, you might be hearing it on the radio soon.” Teddy commented.

“Shut up!” Y/N says.

“No, I’m serious.” Teddy says.

…

TEDDY PRICE (1982, Merv Griffin Show): I’d never produced anyone like Y/N. She was always so easy going and easy to work with, she knew what she wanted and we worked with that. Her music had a unique sound, whenever a Y/N L/N song comes on the radio, you know it’s a Y/N L/N song.

…

As Y/N got home she was elated and nothing could put a damper on her mood. As soon as she stepped into the kitchen everyone could tell that Y/N had had a good day.

“How did the recording with Teddy go?” Graham asked.

“Fucking amazing!” Y/N exclaimed.

Soon enough, everyone went off to do their own thing but Karen approached Y/N wth a bottle of wine in her hand.

“We need to celebrate and catch up.” Karen says.

Y/N grinned

***

“I don’t know how I lived without you on tour,” Karen says, “I needed a break from the boys.”

Y/N laughed, taking a swig of the wine, “I don’t know how you did it either.”

“How’s Camila been?” Karen asked suddenly.

Y/N sighed, “She’s been okay, I know that everything has affected her but she’s not letting it show, all her focus has been on Julia.”

“She’s the sweetest kid I’ve ever seen.” Karen says.

“I know!” Y/N says, “When I have kids eventually, I definitely want a kid as cute as Julia or I don’t want a kid at all.”

Karen laughed, “Kids aren’t on by bucket list but I get what you mean.”

Music played softly throughout Y/N and Karen’s bedroom as they fell into silence, the bottle of wine being passed between the two. Ever since Camila gave birth to Julia, her focus had shifted to her daughter causing her to spend less time with Y/N. Of course Y/N still hung around with Camila and Julia, in fact Y/N could barely stay away. However, right now, Y/N was glad to spend some time with Karen.

The only issue was the days she would spend all day in the studio and come home late and Camila and Julia were asleep or when Y/N wasn’t doing anything, Camila was busy taking care of Julia. The two hadn’t had a chance to sit down and relax and talk about whatever like they used to.

As Karen took another sip of the wine, Eddie appeared in the doorway. Neither Y/N nor Karen noticed him at first as the two continued to laugh about something Karen had said.

“Y/N, can we talk?” Eddie asked, standing in the doorway.

Y/N sat up from her position and stared directly at Eddie, her smile faltering. Karen looked between the two of them and excused herself, not wanting to be caught in the tension, taking the wine with her.

Y/N sighed, “Eddie, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Yes there is,” Eddie says, stepping into the room and closing the door, “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks.”

“I have not, I’ve been at work, recording.” Y/N says.

“And the days you aren’t? You spend most of your time with Camila and Julia or with Warren, Karen and Graham, you haven’t spoken to me since I got back.”

“Maybe I just don’t want to, has that crossed your mind?” Y/N questioned.

“Why?” Eddie asked, desperate for an answer.

“You know exactly why Eddie, I know that Camila has forgiven you and everyone else but I saw the way she was when we came back home, she was a mess Eddie,” Y/N says, “And the reason I am so angry with you specifically is because you lied to me when I asked if anything was going on outright and you love Camila and you still let her go through that pain. You don’t even like Billy! There was no reason for you to protect him.”

Eddie remained silent, he didn’t say anything.

“If you don’t have anything else to say Eddie, then please leave.” Y/N says.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Eddie apologises, stepping over to her and sitting down next to her, “I really am, I fucked up and I know I did. I should have told you, I should have told Camila and I regret not doing that.” Eddie paused, “To be honest I just miss talking to you, I miss listening to your songs and stupid lyrics when you can’t figure out the next line. I miss you Y/N and I want us to be okay again.”

Y/N turned to look at Eddie, she missed him as well but the anger she had was a stronger emotion.

“Please,” Eddie pleaded, looking deep into Y/N’s eyes, “I can’t stand it that you’re not talking to me.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, she had never seen Eddie look so desperate, “I will forgive you on one condition, never lie to me again.”

“I won’t, I promise you that.” Eddie says, quickly.

There was a moment of silence before Y/N gave Eddie a small smile, “I forgive you, but you better hold up your side of the promise Roundtree.”

All Eddie did in response was pull Y/N forward and wrapped his arms around her, both of them falling back onto the bed, a comfortable silence between them.

***

A few weeks later, Billy was set to return home and Y/N didn’t know how to feel about it, all she knew was that she needed to remain civil. As Y/N sat at the kitchen table, a book open in front of her while she ate her breakfast in a peaceful silence.

Footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, interrupting Y/N from her book. Looking up she made eye contact with Billy. She didn’t smile.

“Y/N,” Billy says in a greeting, “How are you?”

“I’m good.” Y/N answered, closing her book.

“Congratulations on the recording by the way,” Billy says, avoiding eye contact, “Graham told me about it

“Thank you.” Y/N says.

Billy gave Y/N a tight lipped smile before walking away, leaving her on her own once again.

…

EDDIE ROUNDTREE: The label dropped up a week after the tour was cancelled.

WARREN ROJAS: They made us pay back our advance and everything.

GRAHAM DUNNE: I kept us practising as much as I could and got a job at a bodyshop.

WARREN ROJAS: Yeah, I was working down at Malibu Harbor cleaning boats, which I loved, and, uh, and doing a lot of mushrooms, which I also loved,

EDDIE ROUNDTREE: Basically we were back where we started, worse even.

INTERVIEWER: Are you still upset about it?

EDDIE ROUNDTREE: Me? Nah. I mean holding onto that shit will be the death of you. But he really fucked us over.

Y/N L/N: With everyone out of the house working, I had a lot more space and time to work on my own music. The living room was empty almost all the time so I designated that room my writing room. [laughs] I’m not sure everyone appreciated all the balls of paper thrown everywhere though.

…

“Who the fuck do you think you are man?” Eddie spat.

Y/N rubbed her brow, looking around the group. Billy standing up in front of the band saying that he was done, Eddie was pissed off, meanwhile Karen, Graham and Warren all tried to diffuse the situation. Y/N watched from the sidelines, not wanting to be involved but somehow the argument started while she was in the middle of writing.

“Look, everybody just calm down, okay?” Graham says.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I can’t be the only one who’s pissed here.” Eddie says.

“I don’t know what else you want me to say, you guys don’t even need me. You have the songs, you got the fan base. I mean, I’m sure if you just-”

“Billy!” Eddie shouted, “If you’re going, go.”

Billy paused for a moment before nodding and walking out of the room, leaving everyone in silence.

“So now what do we do?” Warren asked.

…

KAREN SIRKO: I mean bands fall apart, that’s rock’n’roll. I just…thought this one was different.

…

Everyone dispersed one by one, leaving just Y/N and Eddie in the room.

“Hey,” Y/N says, catching the attention of Eddie, “Everything will work out.”

Eddie looked at Y/N and the look on her face made him believe it.

***

Sighing, Y/N dropped down in a seat next to Warren, immediately ordering another drink.

“Back so soon?” Warren questioned.

“He was so unbelievably sexist it should have been a joke,” Y/N says, taking a large swig of her drink, “First he wouldn’t stop talking about himself leaving me standing there with a fake smile plastered across my face, then when I finally managed to talk about myself and what I do he stated that women are not cut out to be in the music industry and that I should just become a housewife. Fucking dickhead,” Finishing off her drink and immediately ordering another Y/N sighed, “Where are all the good men around here?

“You’re sitting next to one.” Warren says, leaning closer to Y/N.

Y/N chuckled, placing a kiss on his cheek, “Sorry, Warren but the answer is still no.”

“Ah, worth a shot.” Warren says, leaning back in his seat.

“What about him over there?” Warren questioned.

Y/N followed his gaze, “Nah, you can just tell that he’s boring, I mean he’s standing there like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He looks like my old math teacher.”

“You are picky,” Warren joked, “Remember if you just wanna get laid, I’m right here.”

“Keep dreaming,” Y/N says, her eyes scanning over the crowd once again, “He looks nice.”

Warren followed her gaze, “Him? Really? I thought you had standards.”

Y/N scoffed, “I do have standards and he’s quite attractive.

Y/N and Warren continued to watch the man from afar. Just as Y/N stood to go and talk to him his hand raised to his nose as he began to pick it.

“Maybe not,” Y/N says, sitting back down, “Why are men so gross?”

Looking around once more Warren scanned over the crowd, “By the pool? The guy and the girl.”

“They both look too into each other to give me the time of day.” Y/N says.

Taking another sip from her drink, Y/N noticed a girl standing not too far away, eyes set on Warren. Once she notices that Y/N had seen her, she averted her gaze.

“There’s a girl staring at you,” Y/N says.

“Where?” Warren asked, looking around.

Y/N hit his arm, “Don’t make it too obvious.”

“Okay, but where?” Warren questioned.

“Turn around and you can’t miss her, she’s making serious heart eyes at you.” Y/N remarked.

“Wish me luck.” Warren says, standing to his feet.

“You’re the one who doesn’t need luck in this situation.” Y/N says.

Warren blew her a kiss before walking over to the girl. The girl made eye contact with Y/N for a brief moment and Y/N sent the girl a wink before turning away.

Y/N sat alone at the bar from across the room she could see Karen and Graham talking, Graham with a lovestruck expression on his face, causing Y/N to chuckle to herself. She could see Eddie standing not too far away with a girl.

As Y/N looked at Eddie, he looked up making eye contact with her, he sent her a smile, completely ignoring what the girl was saying to him. This caused the girl to scoff and turn around to look at what had caught Eddie’s attention. Once the girl noticed Y/N she scoffed before walking away from Eddie.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh when she walked away, mainly because of the confused expression on his face as he walked up to Y/N.

“You might want to go after her,” Y/N commented, “Some girls don’t like it when you smile at other girls from across the room.”

“It’s fine, it wasn’t going anywhere anyways.” Eddie says, sitting next to Y/N.

“That makes two of us.” Y/N says, “Every guy I’ve spoken to has been sexist, completely self obsessed or just a dickhead. I’m only looking for sex but I want to at least have some pleasure and none of the guys here are willing to give it.”

“You’ll find someone.” Eddie says.

“You want a drink?”

Many drinks later Y/N and Eddie sat together in a more concealed area of the party, both quite drunk. Eddie’s arm was wrapped around Y/N’s waist as he held her against him.

“You’ll hear my voice on the radio soon.” Y/N says, her head resting on Eddie’s chest.

“I better,” Eddie says, “I want to hear your voice everywhere I go.”

“Won’t you find that annoying?” Y/N questioned, “I get tired of hearing my own voice sometimes.”

“I could never get tired of your voice, it’s just so…nice,” Eddie says, “I bet your ex-boyfriend was a lucky person.”

Y/N snorted, “Ex-boyfriend? Never had one.”

“You’ve never been in a relationship?” Eddie questioned, his words slurred.

“No,” Y/N laughed, “No man is worth my time in a relationship, all they care about is themselves. Besides, no man has ever wanted to be in a relationship with me.”

“I find it hard to believe that no one has ever wanted to be in a relationship with you.” Eddie says, having a sip of his drink.

“Why?” Y/N asked, looking up at Eddie.

“Because you're beautiful, who wouldn’t want to be with you?” Eddie says, brushing a strand of hair out Y/N’s face.

Y/N smiled lazily, “Beautiful is a strong word.”

“No, I mean it.” Eddie says, his hand resting on her jaw.

“Well you’re not too bad yourself Eddie.” Y/N mumbled.

Eddie’s hand continued to caress Y/N’s face as he slowly inched his face closer to hers, his breath fanning her face. Y/N gripped onto the front of Eddie’s shirt, her eyes falling to his lips, Eddie watched her movements closely. Pulling him closer by his shirt, Y/N captured Eddie’s lips with her own, acting on an impulse.

The grip Eddie had on Y/N’s waist tightened as he pulled her body to his. His other hand tangled in her hair. Y/N’s body was on fire, she couldn’t tell if it was because of the kiss or the alcohol in her system.

Pulling away, Y/N mumbled something to Eddie, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know.” Eddie says breathlessly.

Y/N pulled Eddie back to her, kissing him passionately. Throwing her leg over his lap, she straddled him, while wrapping her arms around his neck. Eddie gripped her hips tightly, as Y/N began to move her hips on top of him. Everything in Y/N’s brain was telling her to stop but her body was doing the complete opposite. She was desperate.

Their kiss was hungry and desperate, they kissed like the other would disappear at any second. Slowly, Eddie’s hand’s roamed under Y/N’s shirt, touching her bare skin. The touch set her skin on fire, goosebumps formed in his touch’s wake. Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, messing it up.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this.” Eddie mumbled against her lips.

“I know.”

Y/N moved her hips once again, causing Eddie to let out a quiet moan. Y/N smirked against his lips.

“Let’s find a room.”

…

Y/N L/N: [smiles]

EDDIE ROUNDTREE: [smiles]

________________

#eddie roundtree #eddie roundtree x reader #eddie loving x reader #eddie loving #daisy jones and the six x reader #daisy jones and the six #josh whitehouse

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thewandererh · 7 months ago

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💜💙❤️finally designing some jashlings for myself…after a full year of knowing chonny…

⚠️TW // GOREY CONCEPTS, BLOOD, NOOSE/RED ROPE IMAGERY, DESCRIPTIONS OF AGONY

i have pages of designs for the three that i doodled in my school sketchbook, and honestly i can’t pick one so i’m using ✨all of them✨. switching em out yknow?? maybe i accidentally created a bunch of aus instead of characters(??) because they all have loops that happen in different ways, or maybe they *are* the same but in different loops—the chonny paradox. anyways uhm some fellas to mention: nerd mind, merve (<3), deltarune soul, roe, toy-style soul, tadc mind (half an accident), a rabid heart, simon mind, an awesome enby soul…heart with heart-eye glasses but then disruptivevoid reblogged someone’s cute render of the same idea— (honestly, lmao)

the gangs all here !!

but anyways I want to show off one design of soul in particular that has become an extremely fast favorite between me and my fellow rain-jash friend Sluggx!! it’s kinda gorey so i don’t know how to censor it :[, but the image is small so scroll past if the warnings above irk you. but uh. say hi to Dyadracide—a word i coined that means “to kill the duo”

me and my friend sluggx are going FERAL for him,,

ft roe and corona 🔱👑☀️

had the idea of designing a buttload of minds a bit ago, then recently this week i decided the same for soul. doodled him at school, then showed him to my friend via whiteboardfox :]. i draw Dyadra semi different now than there, but all his design is the same. rope neck that coils up inside his body when not in use, oversized pointy teeth (went monochromatik style with human teeth originally but nah), frizzly uhkempt hair, and a trident through his head. he’s always bleeding from the roof of his mouth, whether the trident is retracted into his skull or not. i love him so much😭💛. he has a full body and even a cute little gut but that’s kept for later for now. consider this a teaser of my inner workings :monk_devious:

ive been drawing him *SOOo* muchhh aaugha…can’t wait to show you when i can :]. building a batch of art for a tumblr post that i’ll dump later today maybe. get ready for some fun and gore galore~ (its not too gorey, just the trident-through-head-hes-always-choking-on-his-own-blood concept in full force. yummy ideas have to be explored huhu)

and off i go to have a late brunch. i always write these when i have something else to do lmao. *bites into omelette*

#chonny jash #chonny jash soul #cj soul #chonny jash mind #cj mind #chonny’s charming chaos compendium #baby’s first jashling designs #jashlings #late heart mind soul designs #heart mind soul #ccccycles #ccccycles dyadracide #ccccycles roe #ccccycles corona #chonnys charming chaos compendium #cj hms #wordwandering #hyperfixationhullabalooing #artists on tumblr

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eldritch-spouse · 1 year ago

Note

I don’t know if you’ve done the nitty gritty world building but I’m still curious about it:

Where do the triplets live? Do they have their own places in the common rings? Have they got property on the surface, or in other rings? Do they crash with Katia on occasion, or even live with her still?

Feel free to expand this to any other notable demons if you want!

(Sorry I’m always simping for those three. They’re just so tasty)

The triplets have a shared apartment in the "Common Rings" section of Hell, where they were essentially raised. That being said, they spend most of their time on the surface. Especially Ludwig, who will just crash anywhere he can, sometimes on his car.

How can they afford to do this? You know how Lud can take advantage of "rifts"*? So can the others, and so they're constantly inexpensively moving from one place to the other.

It's not unlikely for one of them to rent something temporarily in the surface, or to stay at a hotel/motel for a short span of time. They're usually always moving in the surface however.

Katia has her own place, the poor woman deserves it after dealing with these three hooligans for decades. The three tried to get her back to Sloth so she could be more comfortable and relatively safer, they had to push some, but they succeeded. Katia worries about the distance however. They absolutely still spend lots of time with her, or invite her to the apartment (after Mervin bullies the other two into helping making the place look spotless), it's not as if they don't have contact.

*(you might want to surf waaay back to recall what these are, but think of them as errors in the fabric of reality, this ability to not only see and interact with them connected to the triplets supposedly only visual disability. These are portals between certain locations, and while Ludwig is the most adept at using them to quickly move around, Merv and Obie can do so as well. In fact, it was a rift just like this that landed Ludwig in the Null.)

#Obie oc #Mervin oc #Ludwig oc #vaya-mernda

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deancasbigbang · 1 year ago

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Title: The Things We Leave behind

Author: Briston

Artist: Merv (fruitmixtape)

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Dean/Cas

Length: 52000

Warnings: minor character death, discussion of historical child abuse, substance use disorder.

Tags: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Divorce Arc, Bad Parent John Winchester, Alcohol Abuse, Rehab, Discussion of Cheating, Alcoholic Dean Winchester, Recovering Alcoholic Dean Winchester

Posting Date: October 31, 2023

Summary: Cas has been getting progressively worried about Dean’s drinking for a while but mentioning it only causes tension in their marriage. The sudden death of Dean’s father brings everything to the breaking point. After a particularly bad fight, his husband seeks solace in whiskey and flirty women in the aftermath. When Cas finds out, he decides he’s had his fill, packs his bags, and leaves. Sam lives in California and has built a career as a well respected addictions counselor. When Cas calls to tell him that Dean is missing on a bender and their marriage is likely over, he drops everything to come to Kansas to find his brother. Dean clearly needs help. Sam convinces him to go with him to California and go through a rehab program. Dean only agrees because Cas refuses to have anything to do with him unless he stops drinking permanently. If he can't, their marriage is finished. Along the way, Sam and Dean discover that their father left them with more than just painful memories of a traumatic childhood. Their half-brother Adam might be exactly who they need to help pull all the fractured pieces together. Cas is giving Dean one last chance to turn things around. Nothing is easy, but maybe it’s still worth fighting for.

Excerpt: “You know the only difference that would have made was that you would be as miserable as he was.” Cas grabbed both of their toothbrushes and toothpaste from the ensuite bathroom, tossing Dean’s his way. “I could’ve tried harder to get him to quit, go to rehab or something.” The toiletries went in the bag with some deodorant, a flannel, and some denim. He shot Cas a dirty look when he heard him huff in exasperation. “How many times did you ask him to quit? Remember when Sam flew in for an intervention? He’s a professional addictions counselor and the only thing that happened was that Sam flew home with a black eye and a refusal to ever come back.” “That’s just because they’re too much alike and can’t stop themselves from fighting.” Dean was starting to raise his voice. Cas wasn’t having any of it. “No,” he knew he sounded snarky as shit but was so very tired of having the same argument about John Winchester’s parenting skills. “It’s because your father is a narcissistic asshole with undiagnosed mental health issues that he self-medicates with whiskey.” Dean walked around the bed to where Cas was and grabbed his arm. The grip wasn’t rough but it wasn’t gentle either. His green eyes were anguished and pleading. “Don’t say that, he could be dying right now.” Somewhere deep down Cas knew he should be feeling guilty about just how little empathy he had for John right then. He’d feel more compassion for a complete stranger than he did for the man who had hurt Dean again and again, both as a child and as an adult. He felt a small flash of resentment at having to defend Dean from his own negative thinking. “It was always going to be this way with him, Dean. Every counselor you’ve ever had has told you the same thing for years. You are not responsible for fixing him. Don’t kill yourself trying to be accepted by someone who doesn’t even deserve you.”

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2023 #fic preview #2023 promo #deancas #destiel

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vaya-writes · 1 year ago

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Plus Two

So this is more than a bit indulgent, and I don't know how well it would be received, and I totally had to create some new characters just to make this scenario work but!!! If you're looking for something to read here is a reader insert fic of you attending a gala with the worlds (@eldritch-spouse's) most emotionally constipated demon (don't worry it's by design). You scheme against said demon's entitled and rude ex to make her look bad in front of everyone, attend a gala with Mervin, and then fuck nasty with him in a semi public place afterwards. Enjoy <3

M demon x F reader. 8500 words. Context required? Not really. Just that he's like that on purpose. Divider by firefly-graphics.

Mervin is visiting his mother.

It’s... frustrating, to say the least.

You’re sitting in the kitchen, watching Obie cook. He wanted you as a taste tester, but honestly, you’re not very helpful. Many of the small tweaks he’s making to his dishes go above your head.

Katia is asleep upstairs. Ludwig is elsewhere. It makes you wonder why the pride demon is pacing around the kitchen, obviously getting in his brother’s way. You get the sense he’s waiting for somebody to ask what’s wrong.

Thankfully, Obie picks up on the mood. “So, why the stick?”

Mervin stops, drawn from his thoughts. “What?”

“The stick up your ass. Who put it there?”

Mervin scowls and resumes his pacing. Then lets out a huff and joins you at the table. He crosses his arms. Mutters under his breath. You think you catch the name he says.

“Stasia.”

Obie snorts. “Should have guessed.”

You glance at Mervin. “Who’s that?”

He grits his teeth. “Not your business, human.”

You shrug, but Obie turns with a smirk. “His girlfriend.”

“Not my girlfriend, corkscrew.” He’s just as scathing towards his brother.

Obie turns back to the stove. “You might not guess it, but my dearest brother doesn’t have many friends.”

“No?” You feign shock.

Obie grins. “No. But he does have one. Kind of. Stasia. So, whenever Merv is pressured into attending some event or gala, or whatever they do over in Pride, he has to take a date or risk looking like a dolt.”

“And he takes Stasia.”

“And he takes Stasia. Well, he invites her. And she says yes. And then, always the night before, she says no. And then sometimes she says yes again. It’s hard to keep track. Regardless, Merv always works himself into a tizzy when she says she won’t attend, and then shows up anyway.”

You glance at Mervin. He’s fuming at the explanation but doesn’t dispute any of it.

“She sounds like a piece of work.”

“She is.”

You turn to Mervin, who looks more miserable than usual. “So, what do you usually do?”

He rests his head on the table and doesn’t reply.

“Sometimes he cancels. Can’t do that too often though, or risk looking like a recluse. One time he found another date.” Obie frowns. “Somehow. But then Stasia showed up and embarrassed the fuck out of her.”

You wince.

“He usually goes alone. Sometimes Stasia swoops in like nothing is wrong and they’re meant to be together. Other times she doesn’t show, and my dearest brother is left to roam the event by himself.”

“Why do we even have these parties,” Mervin mutters.

“Here, here,” you can’t help but agree. “Even working at them was boring.”

Mervin turns his face towards you, raises his brow. “You’ve been to a gala before? I refuse to believe it.”

Your nose crinkles. “I did security for a few. They were human events, mind you.”

Mervin grunts, turning his face back down.

You kind of pity him. The demon doesn’t even bother sitting up straight – the event must weigh heavily on him. “So, are these parties exclusive?”

He shrugs. “This one’s for mid-ranked Pride. The especially wealthy demons. Might be some others there as plus ones.”

You raise your brow. “I thought you lot grew up in the common rings.”

“We did.”

“Without a lot of wealth.”

Mervin curls his lip at the perceived dig, and sits up. “They started inviting me after they recognised my exceptional skills. I’ve worked for many influential demons in Pride, thank you very much, and as such have a very robust income.”

You appease him with a gentle smile. “I don’t doubt you deserve to be there, Mervin. I was just curious as to how it came about.”

He lifts his chin. “Good. I suppose even a human can recognise talent such as mine.”

“How would everyone react if you brought a human as your date?”

He grimaces, “you mean to imply I should bring you?”

“I mean to offer my company if you don’t want to turn up alone. I could even help you get some petty catharsis over Stasia, if you’d like.”

He looks at you, more sharply. But considers. “I don’t know. You’d be a bit of a novelty, I imagine.”

You feign indignance. “I’m famous, you know.”

He doesn’t look impressed. “Infamous. Topside. Nobody in Perdition knows who you are.”

“Ah, yes, precisely why I’m hiding at your mum’s house.”

His expression sours for a moment. But the longer he considers, the lighter it becomes. “It might be interesting. Taking a human to a gala,” he mutters to himself, “if a little demeaning.”

“Not too demeaning, I hope. I’ll be there to make you look good. Being polite to Stasia, using lovely manners, mindlessly rambling about how amazing you are to anyone I pass. Easy.”

He has to try to keep the scowl on his face, but you can tell he’s seriously considering the offer.

“You’re vastly underestimating the danger of this evening.”

He’s right. But you can’t help but straighten. Rise to the challenge. “And you’re underestimating my ability to turn on the charm.” You give him a sweet little smile. “Besides, you’ll be there to protect me.”

He sneers. “You’re just bored.”

“I'm having a pleasant afternoon with Obie.” You lower your chin. “But, yes, I haven’t left the house for days. It’d be incredibly charitable of you to take me as your plus one.” You blast him with another pretty smile and lighten your tone. “It’s a shame your date had a last-minute emergency and had to cancel, but I’m so very fortunate you were generous enough to bring me along. A truly serendipitous turn of events.”

He keeps his face blank as he mulls over your excuse. Weighs the pros and cons. Before, ultimately, shrugging. “Let’s see how you clean up, first. I doubt your clothes will be of high enough calibre.”

He plays it cool, but you know you’ve won.

Mervin is right, and you don’t bother disputing it. You have a bag of stage clothes that are marginally prettier than your casual wear, but none of them are formal. Some of your accessories might be of use – the lingerie, or perhaps the stockings – and you have multiple pairs of sandals and boots. But what you wear will ultimately be decided by your escort.

“You don’t have anything black tie. These might pass as black tie optional,” he mutters to himself, rifling through your clothes in a way that would probably offend most women. “We should head to Pride. I’ve a place you can dress at. Your makeup supplies are passable, but I’m going to have to take you shopping for a decent dress.”

You don’t complain. It’s been a while since anyone bought you nice clothes. You wave goodbye to Obie as Mervin whisks you away. And before long you’re in another ring entirely.

You hadn’t been to Pride yet. You’d worked in multiple rings, sure, but standards in this one tended to sit a little higher than you could provide. It’s affluent, with the streets laid out in a way that demonic urban planners no doubt agonised over. Mervin leads you straight to a commerce district, dragging you by the wrist in and out of boutiques and dress shops.

He barks orders at imps and attendants, listing off dress styles and materials. Very few meet his standards, though several he does make you try on. You almost get a headache listening to store owners bragging about their stock; the quality of their goods. Even if hearing other demons sound so similar to Mervin makes you want to laugh at first.

“What are you wearing tonight,” you ask him.

He pulls out his phone and shows you a photo. The suit is high end, in his usual colours. You’re not surprised.

He listens to your input over the dresses, for which you’re grateful. You choose the colour you think will match Mervin’s outfit best; a purple so dark it appears black.

Then finally, you’re heading back to his place, three new dresses in tow. You’re not sure how you managed to pick not one but three (three!) gala dresses in the space of one afternoon, but Mervin had insisted on purchasing them all, some excuse about their iffy quality and you needing alternative options.

Once at his place, you let him fuss over the dresses and dig through your accessories again, while you look at your other equipment. A glance at Mervin reveals he’s still in his casual wear, sai crossed over his back. “So, is this an open carry event, or..?”

His gaze cuts to you, where you’re looking over your weapon holsters. His lip curls. “No. It’s not.”

A thigh sheath it is, then.

“You really think that’s going to help you here? You should let me worry about safety. I doubt you’ll be able to take care of yourself.”

You give the demon a too bright smile. “I don't go anywhere without my family jewels. Have you picked a dress yet?”

Conversation successfully redirected, Mervin ushes you to his bathroom, pushing you the dress of his choosing. It’s certainly elegant, with slits up the thighs, a cinched waist, and most the skin above your cleavage on display. The fabric is silky, and feels nice against your skin.

When you step out to show him the fit, Mervin is silent. You wait for him to voice an opinion.

The dress looks good. You look good. You know it.

Mervin only scoffs. “I need to get ready. I assume you can finish dressing without any hand holding.” He turns for his room, almost slamming the door behind him.

You assume his weird behaviour has something to do with his prideful nature. He hadn’t disparaged your appearance, so it probably passes.

You spend the next half hour applying the finishing touches. Braiding your hair into an updo. Masterfully applying makeup. Pulling on a garter belt and stockings and choosing which of your knives to holster. You’re lacing up your sandals when Mervin emerges from his room again, dressed in a suit.

He pushes a box towards you. “Put it on. I don’t want people thinking my plus-one looks plain.”

It’s a jewellery box. Inside lies an intricate necklace of silver, dotted with indigo gems. A discrete glance reveals they match the rings Mervin wears.

You can’t hold back your smile. Regardless of meaning, the gesture is sweet. “Thank you, Mervin. It’s beautiful. You have good taste.”

“Naturally.”

You struggle with the necklace until Mervin ‘tsks’ and steps behind you to help with the clasp.

“You’re a sweetheart,” you grin up at him.

He shakes his head, before looking away quickly. “And you’re useless. Honestly. Who can’t put on a simple necklace?”

You pick up on the deflection. It’s almost cute. You decide to needle at him some more. “Me, apparently. Thank you for helping. I’m sure this would take ages without you.”

He looks down his nose at you. Perhaps you overdid it.

“Whatever.”

Finally you two stand, dressed and ready to go. Looking down at yourself and back at Mervin leaves you satisfied: you match.

“So, do I clean up well enough?”

He looks you over. “You won’t be winning best dressed.”

You raise your brows. He was the one who chose the outfit.

But something almost akin to a smile crosses his face. “But I guess, you’re only human.”

Mervin hires a driver to take you to the gala. You’re honestly impressed, having never ridden in the back of a stretch limo before. You quiz Mervin on the way there, asking after etiquette, who to chat up, who to avoid. How much dancing is expected. What is the schedule for the evening. Everything you should know to avoid making any faux passes. Because while you’d visited high society before – in various service industries – you'd never participated in it. It’s daunting. Exciting. Terrifying.

You make plans for the evening. Scheming; laying contingencies. Because while this night is supposed to be social, you know you’re honestly just here to show up Mervin’s ‘friend’. He paints the picture of a conniving demoness. One who dominated in certain social circles. One who will be dismissive and icy towards you, and increasingly aggressive the longer you stick around.

Mervin dictates how you’re to behave. How you’re to react to her insults. You interject here and there, swapping ideas until you have a seamless blend or characteristics to take into the night. A fleshed out character you’ll be playing before the surrounding audience.

All too soon, you’re arriving.

Mervin opens your door. It had been pre-negotiated, and he’d fussed about it (if anyone deserved the door opened for them, it was him, he should be served all night, he was only doing this because it was polite, because he needed to look like a gentleman). You brace yourself before stepping into the light.

In the moment before you straighten there’s enough time for trepidation to rush through you. You remember how exhausting it can be, meeting new people. Playing pretend.

But then you’re giving Mervin a starry eyed smile, and linking arms. It’s too late to back out.

You’ve settled on a bubbly personality. Too demure and you risk fading into the background. Too assertive and it leaves you open to social mistakes. You’ll go with friendly. Lively. Sweet. Not quite arm-candy, not quite Mervin’s equal.

It’ll be tiring, but you might manage to have some fun. Pry a dance or two out of Mervin. Or try some expensive wine. Somehow Mervin hasn't yet learned how you’d caught his brothers’ eyes (an incident involving too much alcohol, and a bar fight), so you haven't been forbidden from indulging. Yet.

Mervin doesn’t let you wander. You mingle in the foyer, where most of the crowd lingers. Shaking hands, trading introductions, smiling. There’re a few surprised exclamations at your appearance - “A human! Where in Perdition did you find her, Mervin?” - and a few too many pinches and gropes. But you bear it all with a smile, playful indignance, and charming redirection.

You’re just settling into your role when Mervin stiffens, almost imperceptivity.

“There you are, sugar plum. I’ve been looking for you all night.”

Stasia has arrived.

---

Stasia is an envy demon, graced with a classic sort of beauty that would do well on Earth. She has a wide and elegant set of horns, curling back from her temples, and her long tail swishes with confidence behind her as she crosses the room. She’s wearing a floor length evening gown in a bright scarlet, and a lipstick that matches.

Mervin is silent beside you.

You slide into action, another starry eyed, bubbly smile fixed onto your face. “Oh wow, you look gorgeous. You must be Stasia, I’ve heard so much about you.”

Her arms had been open, clearly about to embrace the demon by your side, but you intercept, shaking one of her hands with enthusiasm.

You crinkle your brow and look up at the demoness with concern. “Your schedule cleared then? That’s such a relief. Mervin was worried when you had to cancel on him so suddenly.”

Several sets of eyes land on you. Stasia narrows her own at you, but you’ve already outed her as a flake to the crowd. Somebody nearby laughs.

She pulls her hand from yours. “Mervin, who is this?”

Your companion relaxes. “Stasia, this is an acquaintance of mine,” he tells her your name. “Pet, this is Stasia.” No honorific, you notice. You imagine anyone looking on also notices.

You beam up at the envy demon, “Mervin was generous enough to bring me as his plus-one. I’ve been stuck at home for weeks, it was really too kind of him. I should thank you too, Stasia. You’ve indirectly brought me here.”

The smile frozen on her face slips, just a little.

You’re kept from formulating any further praise – or jabs – when the host announces the doors open. The crowd dissipates, making their way towards what appears to be a genuine ballroom.

Stasia walks lockstep with Mervin, almost shouldering you aside. You’d be offended if you weren’t expecting the treatment. Instead, you trail shyly after them, a step behind Mervin’s other side.

Stasia is already chattering to your date, linking her arm through his.

“You two should catch up! I’ll get drinks while you do.” You lean up to kiss Mervin on the cheek.

Even though you’d discussed and planned PDA with him (that part of the drive had been like pulling nails), he still stiffens at the gesture, blanching a little.

You give him a smile, “Your regular?”

“Fine. And something for yourself.”

You don’t catch the glare Stasia sends you, but others do.

You hasten towards the bar. Nobody stops you, but you suspect it might get harder to navigate the crowd as the night goes on and the guests get more inebriated. Even now you’re subject to stares, and the occasional frown.

The bartender takes your order, thankfully.

You’re watching as it’s made when a demon you don’t recognise sidles up beside you.

“Watch yourself, girl. Last time somebody got between Stasia and her prey it wasn’t pretty.”

You take in the demon (purple hue and the pronged horns) with a glance, before choosing a sympathetic expression. “I appreciate the concern, sir. I can’t help but feel for her, though. Scheduling conflicts are such a pain. Imagine making time for an event, only to find you’re no longer invited.”

The demon watches you critically. You don’t mind. You’ll either come off as naive or conniving, and both are acceptable.

He shrugs. “You’ve been warned.”

“Again,” you say, taking your drinks from the bartender, “thank you.”

Mervin is wearing a strained smile when you return, locked in a conversation with Stasia and two other demons.

He accepts his drink with a nod, and when the conversation next lulls, he introduces you to his companions.

The night continues like this, with Mervin introducing you around, and Stasia growing tense each time he stops to draw attention to you.

She positively writhes if the conversation so much as turns your way, stink eyeing anyone who deigns to ask you where you’re from, what you’re doing in Perdition, what you do for a living.

Over and over you repeat yourself. You’ve been indoors for weeks. You were feeling stir crazy. Mervin was so generous to show you around. Mervin was charitable. Mervin was kind. Stasia was too; you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her actions.

Until she’s red in the face, and not in a pleasant way. You decide to back off, before she erupts like a tea kettle.

The music has since started, and more and more demons are flocking to the dance floor. You look wistfully after them. “It’s a shame I don’t know any of the dances in Pride. Why don’t you two take the first? I could watch and learn.”

The demoness jumps on the opportunity, though conveniently ignoring you. “Come on, Mervin. It’s been months since we danced together. You remember that one time on Earth-” you don’t catch the rest of her reminiscing as she leads Mervin away.

One of the demons you’d been standing with gives you a sympathetic coo. “You’ve been neglected all night, little bird. Why don’t you dance with me?”

You give them an amicable smile. The excuse falls smoothly from your lips. “I’d love to, but I think it’d be rude to my date if I gave my first dance to somebody else. Maybe later?”

The demon tuts. “Why should you be polite to him when he’s having a good time with his ex over there?”

You manage to keep your face relaxed. Obie had called Stasia Mervin’s girlfriend. Had there been some truth to the jest? Still, you manage to shrug, looking towards the dancing pair. They’re locked in a stuffy waltz of some sort.

“Does he look like he’s having a good time?”

The demon blinks, before following your gaze. True to your implications, Mervin is tense. His smile is strained. He looks slightly bored, or even resentful at the way Stasia chatters.

They huff, conceding to your point.

You nail it in anyway. “He can spend the whole gala with her if it pleases him. He’ll still do me the honour of taking me home afterwards.”

Stasia keeps Mervin for not one, but three dances, before he manages to escape her grip and find you. You pass his drink back to him, giving him an amused smile. “Having fun?”

He scowls.

You give your empty glass to a passing staff member before looking back up at Mervin. You’re pretty sure he’s never going to ask you to dance. Not directly. Not even if he wanted to (a surprising number of wallflowers stand testament to Pride’s inability to simply ask for a dance).

You take the initiative instead. “Dance with me?”

He looks almost grateful but doesn’t manage a response other than a mute nod.

He leads you to the floor, and you take his shoulder and hand. The weight of his own at your waist is pleasant. You don’t remember the last time you danced a waltz, but it’s easy enough to slip into, and Mervin leads well.

You want to ask him how you’re doing (you know you’re doing well, and he won’t be able to tell you honestly). You want to ask him how he’s doing (he’s clearly tired and frustrated, and likely won’t take kindly to your prying). You want to ask about Stasia (is she really his ex?). Instead, you dance wordlessly for the next few minutes.

He starts to relax towards the end of the dance, and on a whim, he lifts you during your next turn.

You inhale sharply, before letting out a laugh. He gives a begrudging smile back.

The exchange wheedles some words out of you. “You know, if I’d known the dances were going to be this simple, I might have asked to dance first.”

He raises his brow. “And go against your careful manipulations? How stupid.”

You grin. “Maybe. But I’d still consider it.”

He huffs. “There’ll be a few traditional dances after dinner. I doubt you’ll be able to keep up.”

“Speaking of dinner-” You’re glad you’d questioned Mervin on the drive here. Because of it, you can easily guess what will happen when the dining hall opens. “She’s going to be in my seat.”

He purses his lips. “We’ll get there first.”

You’d discussed the possibility but hadn’t made any explicit plans to deal with it.

“No.”

He cocks a brow. “No?”

“If I sit first, there’s no telling what she’ll do.”

“You have something better in mind?”

You give him a smile, this one less bubbly, and more genuine. “I think we should renegotiate your terms regarding public displays of affection.”

His face scrunches with displeasure. “You think you deserve to touch me without express permission?”

“No. Never,” you butter him up. “But I think she’d hate it if you allowed it.”

He chews his lip, appearing to consider.

You inch closer, intent on enjoying what’s left of your dance. “Don’t worry your pretty head so much, my prince.”

He blinks and opens his mouth to reply. Undoubtedly still wanting to know your solution. Then the rest of what you’d said catches up to him, and he shuts it. He straightens, chest puffing a little.

You try not to smirk. He’s cute sometimes.

The waltz finishes. You give him your last words before parting. “And please don’t push me off.”

Mervin almost stumbles as he understands your request. But before he can protest, the doors to the dining hall are opening, and dinner is due to start. You gesture for Mervin to lead the way.

After a beat he does, and you trail after him. He pauses several times, greeting aquaintances and stopping to chat. Numerous demons still mill about, not quite ready to take their seats.

It’s almost suspicious how Stasia doesn’t intercept you. You’d be worried if you weren’t almost certain of where she was.

Sure enough, when you reach your reserved table, Stasia is seated in your place. She smiles at you, in a way that’s just a little too condescending, but does not otherwise acknowledge you.

“You kept me waiting, sugar plumb.”

You pull out the chair for Mervin, inclining your head respectfully as he takes his seat. Then, without missing a beat, you follow him down, settling on his lap.

He stiffens, but Stasia's expression makes it worth it.

You cover his surprise with a sweet smile. “Sorry to keep him from you, Stasia. I just thought it might be rude if I danced with somebody else before him.”

She stares, face now blank.

After a beat, Mervin’s arm wraps around your side. His claws dig into you, giving away his discomfort. “At any rate, I’m back. Where did we leave off...”

Stasia resumes her chatter, and Mervin makes an effort to engage. The three of you aren’t alone; there are other pairs seated around the circular table, speaking amongst themselves, and occasionally interacting with Mervin and Stasia. You receive several glances, most of which are accompanied by amused grins. Stasia receives a handful of smirks too. You’re not sure who they favour, but at least you’re cause for humour. None of the pride demons are forward enough to ask Mervin why he apparently has two dates.

Nobody looks your way when entrees are brought out. Stasia gets your food. It smells delicious, and your stomach rumbles with envy.

Mervin frowns. “Did my brother not feed you enough?”

You pout up at him. “Humans typically eat three times a day.”

He stares down at you. It’s hard to tell, but you think he’s looking at your lips. Eventually he sighs, and passes you his spoon. “I don’t share with just anyone, pet.”

You beam up at him, placing a kiss on his cheek before he can react. “Thanks babe. You’re literally the best.”

A muscle in his leg twitches, and he has to work to hide his surprise. It almost has you smirking. The fingers digging harder into your side betray his growing tension. You wonder if he’s flustered at the compliment, or irritated at your relaxed demeanour. Perhaps he’s just been touched too much tonight.

There’s a glare fixed on you when you take a sip of the first course. It’s a particularly fragrant soup, served with bread. Unimaginative, but damn if it doesn’t taste amazing.

You lock eyes with Stasia, and smile. “It’s good, right?”

For a moment she doesn’t reply. But after a beat she sneers. “Bland, actually. The chef must have messed up my order.”

“Actually, the order was changed, Stasia,” Mervin interrupts. “We’re being served human safe variants of the menu.”

You blink at the new information. You didn’t realise Mervin had gone to such lengths to accommodate you. It leaves you feeling... nice.

Mervin notices your stare and scowls.

“Of course, Stasia is right. It’s terribly bland compared to the usual fare. But I doubt you could handle our food. Your stomach is far too weak. Pathetic, really.”

You smile at his disparagment. You’re honestly genuine when you praise him next: “You’re too kind, Mervin. I appreciate it.”

He turns his face away with a sneer, ignoring you as you finish the entrée.

You insist that Mervin eats the main course. You assume a greed demon would appreciate your excuses more – you wouldn’t dare take the food from his plate, he’s already been kind enough to you, it’s his meal, he should get to taste it, it’d be rude of you to even think of touching the food before he does – but they do the trick, and Mervin still looks a bit pleased at your fussing.

Dessert passes without incident, and you’re ready to stand and go for a wander. Mervin’s lap isn’t the most comfortable – not while he’s at a dining chair, at the least. The food is cleared and you’re about to get up when another demon at the table ropes Mervin into conversation.

You can’t help but fidget, not sure whether it’d be acceptable if you stood right now. You think you’re being discrete, shifting your weight just a little, but Mervin grabs your thigh and squeezes it, pointedly.

You blush and look down in apology, reigning in your wiggles and acting the picture of relaxed and demure once more.

Instead of releasing you, his hand creeps upwards, along your thigh.

You force yourself not to fidget again at the touch. It had to be unintentional. You hadn’t discussed anything like this ahead of time. Perhaps he didn’t realise how high his fingers were trailing.

You hazard a glance over your shoulder, desperate to see his expression, to gleam his mood.

He grabs your jaw instead, and turns your face forward, before leaning down to murmur at your ear. “Stay there, pet.”

You hadn’t really considered the possibility of Mervin being dominant before. It was always too much fun flustering him with compliments, or making fun of his stunted emotional responses. But you forget that for a moment, enjoying the firmness of his tone.

To your immense frustration, he doesn’t do anything more. Just stroking your thigh, claws tracing the slit upthe side of your dress. It’s almost impossible to keep from squirming, and you watch the crowd critically. You’d be mortified if a concubi wandered by just now.

There’s a cold touch at your wrist. The interruption frustrates you, before you notice Stasia leant forwards. The smile she gives you is unnerving. “Would you mind getting that drink for me now, pet?”

Mervin’s hand stills.

You manage a pleasant expression and a nod. “Of course. And anything for you, Mervin?”

He grimaces. “No. One is enough for me.”

Stasia gives you her order and you remove yourself from the table. With the distance, you’re almost grateful for the interruption. Mervin would be tempting fate, starting something with an audience so close. No doubt Stasia had noticed. You’re just lucky she’d been calm in her redirection.

Your second trip to the bar is a little more perilous. The number of stares you receive is doubled, and one demon has the gall to actually slap you on the ass as you pass.

A glance reveals his reddish hue, and you’d gamble he has wrathful origins. As such, you have no compunction about grabbing the hand that had touched you and twisting his fingers painfully out of place, dodging any further grabs from him.

“Bitch,” he accuses.

You roll your eyes, moving on before he can drag you into a fight, or inspire too much anger in you.

You’re breathless by the time you make it to the bar, and it’s an exercise in your evasive skills to make it back to your table without spilling either of the drinks.

Mervin and Stasia are gone. You’re irritated, but not surprised.

You catch a glance of them dancing in the thick of things. Mervin wasn’t wrong; the music upbeat and fast paced. You don’t know your ballroom music particularly well, but based on their movements, you assume it’s a quicktime dance of some sort. You sit at the table and take the opportunity to watch carefully. You’d love to be able to replicate it by the end of the night.

You’re so focused on analysing your date’s distant footwork that you miss your name being called.

You start at the touch on your shoulder.

Another wrath demon chuckles at you (did everyone bring one as their plus one?).

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

You blink. “Not at all.” Then blink again. “Have we met?”

The demon grins, revealing some of his chipped teeth. “Sure have. I probably went to all your shows when you were touring Wrath.”

You raise your brow. You’d never done any meet and greets. So when had-

“We met after your show at the Splatterfest.”

You wince at the memory. Some imps had tried to protest the inclusion of a human at the music festival, and dumped a bucket of blood over your band, ‘Carrie’ style. You’d kept performing and probably given every demon in the audience a boner (you were in Wrath, what did they expect?).

Even so, you grin. “You tried to give me your shirt afterwards. Sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

He holds out his hand. “Friends call me Bean.”

You try not to laugh at the name. “Nice to meet you, Bean.”

“I couldn’t help but notice you staring daggers at your date.”

You huff. “I was actually watching the dance. If I’d had any time to prepare for tonight, I’d have bothered to learn some of the dances.”

His face lightens. “I could teach you?”

“Do you know these dances?”

“Too well. My mum is from Pride.”

You’d already danced with Mervin. It might reflect poorly on him if his date looked too antisocial. So you shrug. “Sounds like fun.”

It is fun. You stumble a lot at first, tripping over your own feet in an effort to copy Bean’s step pattern, but he grips you by the elbows, keeping you upright even as he laughs at you. You have stamina, at least, and manage to keep up with the punishing pace. By the time the first dance ends, you’re covered in sweat and panting, but you have some of the footwork down.

Bean grins. “You’re not terrible.”

You crinkle your nose. “You’re sufficient too.”

Bean has his head cocked, listening to the opening of the next song. “Ah. This next one’s fun. It’s got a lot of lifts though.”

“That doesn’t bother me.”

His chipped grin reappears. “We take turns raising each other.”

Oh. You bite back a frown. “How much do you weigh?”

Bean isn’t that big. His horns and tail are on the small side, and he’s only an inch or so taller than you. Still, the number he tells you does not fill you with confidence.

He laughs at your expression. “Scared? Or just weak?”

You scowl. “Weak, unfortunately. May I?” You ask before touching him.

He lifts his arms enough for you to grab him by the waist. You brace yourself and lift.

His heels leave the ground.

He laughs at you again. “Cute. But mostly pathetic.”

You scowl harder. “Whatever. If you want to keep dancing, you’ll have to jump a little.”

His laughing quiets to a chuckle. He takes your hand and pulls you in to dance. “It’s alright. We’ll manage. This one is... well I’m not sure of the translation. It’s a genre unique to Perdition. I guess you could liken it to a quick waltz? There are several lifts in each of the refrains. Then towards the end we start spinning, taking turns with the elevations. It’s easier with the momentum, but you’ve gotta watch your surroundings too, or you’ll crash into another couple.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter. You’re not too worried about bumping into anyone. Your spatial awareness is decent enough. “I feel like this dance is just so everyone can flex at each other.”

Bean laughs again, though not at you this time. “No, you’re completely right. It's how this genre was started. It’s a competition of strength and stamina. It’s not actually that common in Pride, since it usually tends to lack finesse or grace.”

“Hmm,” you appreciate the history lesson.

You ease into this dance smoothly; despite the lifts it’s easier than the last. Bean is a good teacher, and he warns you ahead of any changes. You brace yourself for the first rise, and when your feet leave the ground by almost a foot, you can’t help but grin.

“Show off.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees.

His feet actually leave the ground when it’s your turn to lift. Bean springs up a few inches, turning the elevation into something closer to an assisted jump. Regardless of the terminology, you’re grateful for the assistance. It sets the tone for the rest of the dance, and you find yourself having a pleasant time.

Your dress flairs when you’re next lifted, and Bean gives you a grin. “Is that a knife, or are you happy to see me?”

You’re breathless, but manage to reply. “A knife, actually.”

He eyes your legs appreciatively. “Expecting trouble?”

“Most of my weapon belts would clash with this dress,” you joke.

“Nonsense. You’d look good with any weapon,” he argues.

You can’t help but smile. “You sure know how to lay on the charm.”

“Pfft, this is nothing. You should see me when I’m actually trying.”

You’d laugh but there’s another series of spins coming up, and you have to brace yourself of them. The recapitulation begins, and you know the dance is nearing its end.

“Steady now,” Bean encourages, before raising you again.

You’re able to keep spinning. To avoid any collisions. To lift him the first few times. But your arms quickly tire, and Bean doesn’t do much more than bob his knees instead of completing any jumps. He still manages to send you upwards on each of your turns though, and you have to reign in your laughter.

Especially as you make eye contact with Mervin, dancing with Stasia beside you.

It jars you enough that your grin fades, and you remember to school your expression into something a little more dignified. Slightly less carefree.

The song ends and you and Bean nearly collapse against each other, panting and laughing once more, even if you’re feeling subdued.

You realise your face is only inches from his, at the same time he does.

He glances down at your lips. “Do you... want to take this elsewhere?”

Any other night and you’d take him up on the offer. But-

“I think that’d give my date a conniption.”

His smile shrinks. Bean pulls back. But he maintains that relaxed demeanour. “It’d serve him right for leaving you here alone.”

You shrug and give him an apologetic smile. “Another time?”

He sighs. Ruffles your hair.

You scowl and duck out of his grasp.

“Can you imagine his face though?”

You bite back your grin. “I can.”

Bean steps away. “Thanks for the dance, love.”

You wave him off. Take a breath to compose yourself. Then turn back to the gala.

---

It doesn’t take long for you to find your date. Not with the way he’s striding towards you, shoulders squared and a scowl on his face. He grabs you by the wrist and leads you out a nearby door, practically dragging you down some unpopulated corridors.

“Where’s Stasia?” You ask.

“I cut her off when she started trying to make me jealous of that shit-for-brains dance partner of yours.”

You’d only danced with Bean twice. Was Mervin really so bothered?

“Key word ‘trying’?” You ask, tentative this time.

He doesn’t reply, but it’s obvious he’s not happy.

You wince. Stasia’s meddling or not, this one was genuinely your fault. “I’m sorry, Mervin. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel that way.”

“I know,” he grumbles, before practically flinging you at a wall. “But you still need to deal with the consequences, human.”

Then his hand is on your jaw, holding you still as he crushes his lips against yours.

You freeze, more surprised than upset.

His other hand rests against the wall, caging you in. He doesn’t meet your eyes when he pulls back, still scowling. “How dare you ask a stranger to teach you to dance. You should have gone to me.”

You’re still processing the kiss. Part of you is indignant – you never thought he’d work up the nerve to kiss you first. The other part of you struggles to stay grounded. To listen to his complaint. “I’m sorry, I-”

He cuts you off with another kiss. Bites down hard on your lip this time. You think you taste blood.

“You should consider yourself lucky that I’m still willing to associate with you. That I’m willing to do this.”

Your head spins when he pushes your face sideways, gaining access to your throat. He kisses his way down your neck, across your shoulder. Not shy about using his teeth to punish you.

His other hand slips below your dress. He grips the hem of your underwear and your breath hitches. As much as you enjoy leading him along, you could get used to this. Mervin's display of dominance is doing things for you.

“I’m lowering my standards so much just to do this with you. So, you’d better hold fucking still.”

Your mouth waters at his words. You’re somehow both burning with tension and turning into putty under his hands. And you know just what to say to make things worse.

“Yes sir.”

He stiffens. “What was that?”

You have to bite back your grin, to force yourself to appear contrite. “Yes sir?”

“Fuck,” he mutters before grabbing you bodily and turning you around. Your hands splay against the wall, bracing yourself. Mervin presses between your shoulder blades, bending you over while his other hand drags your dress up.

The position sends nerves and excitement through you in equal measures. “Somebody could see.”

He ignores your half-hearted protest, dragging your underwear down and palming your ass. “You didn’t care if somebody saw you flirting with that meathead.”

Facing away, you can let your grin creep out. He sounds angry.

His knee spreads your legs and your heart speeds up. Then there’re fingers at your folds. You can practically hear his sneer when they come away wet.

“Pathetic. Is this really all it takes to get you going?”

“Mhm,” you hum agreement, throat tight. Coherency is starting to leave you when all you can focus on is the cold air against your nethers. You wish he would touch you again.

He scoffs. “You really are just a slut.”

You think you get wetter at the insult.

There’s the sound of a belt buckle, then a zipper. You can’t help but clench in anticipation.

But Mervin doesn’t touch you.

You try to look over your shoulder, to give Mervin your most I’m-pathetic-please-fuck-me stare, but he just pushes your face against the wall.

You let out a whimper and squirm. If he keeps drawing this out, somebody really could see you.

You push the thought down. As enticing as it is, things could quickly turn dangerous if a third party got involved.

“-you think I’ll do this with anyone? What makes you think you deserve me, huh?” he starts.

Honestly, you thought he’d start talking himself up sooner. He’d barely insulted you yet.

“-don’t deserve a single piece of pleasure until you earn it-”

You try rubbing your thighs together, but you only succeed on clamping around Mervin’s knee.

“-should be singing my praise, I shouldn’t have to touch you until you’ve begged for me-”

You let out a groan. If you were still facing him, you’d snog him just to make him stop talking. “Ughh, shut up and fuck me.”

He grips you by the hair, his voice raised in pitch, “The nerve of you, human, the utter disrespect-”

You cut him off with a whine, “Pleeease Mervin. I need you to fuck me.”

His breathing stutters.

“Please touch me, please, I can’t wait any more, pleasepleaseplease,” you squirm around his knee.

He grabs your ass again. Squeezes. “You’ve been so casual with my name tonight. I don’t think you deserve to use it.”

You want to groan again. You barely restrain yourself. “Please, sir, I bet you’ll feel so good, please, I need this so badly-”

His breathing is even more laboured, but he still manages to slap your ass.

“Needy.”

You flinch away, and end up grinding down against his knee – fuck. It’s not fair how good that feels. You decide that if he doesn’t fuck you soon, you’ll just have to rub off against his leg. Though you might leave a wet patch so noticable that concubi wouldn’t be the only ones turning heads.

You bite down on your lip. You just want to get dicked down. Picking your words is hard when you’re this horny.

“Needy,” you huff. “Yes. For you.” You grind against him. “Please help me, sir. Please fix it.”

He shudders. The hand at your shoulders pushes harder, and you have no choice but to stick your ass out, curving your back as far as it will go, or topple over.

“Fine,” he says, and you could die from relief when you feel his erection against your ass. “But only because I feel sorry for you.”

He hilts himself in one rough movement and you moan, practically high at the sensation. There’s possibly a bit of drool escaping from your lips.

Mervin’s not unaffected himself, one hand braced against the wall, the other digging into your waist. The groan he levels at your ear is delightful, stretching on into a softly pitched rumble that’s almost like a purr.

Interesting. A disembodied part of yourself definitely notes that for later.

He doesn’t move.

You let out a whimper, trying to grind back against him. He swats you on the ass, tuting. “Ask nicely, pet.”

Having him speared inside you feels so good. But it’s not enough. You need him to move.

“Please,” you whisper, “please fucking fuck me, please-”

You’re rewarded with a single thrust. “Why should I?”

You groan; a whiney, needy sound. “You’re making it so hard to think right now- I can’t-” You want to bang your head against wall. “Nngh, Mervin-”

He takes pity on you. Or maybe you’ve convinced him. He’s probably barely pretending to be composed right now - you don’t care about the reasoning, you’re just relieved when he starts to fuck you. He’s fast, and rough, and the ridged texture of his cock serves as a pleasant reminder that he’s in no part human.

It doesn’t take long for him to come, practically crushing you against him when he does. One arm wraps around your throat, and the other around your waist; he bites down on your shoulder to keep from making too much noise. It hurts, but that only adds to the experience.

You close your eyes, panting, trying to savour the way his dick twitches inside of you. But as soon as he’s finished he straightens, practically shoving you away.

Your brain is hazy, and it takes you a few moments before you can stand, fixing your underwear, then your dress. You clamp your thighs together, to keep from dripping spend everywhere.

By the time you turn around, Mervin has composed himself – cock receeded back into his slit, clothing fixed. You feel incredibly raw in contrast.

He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

You open your mouth to reply, but your thoughts stall. Forming words is somehow harder.

His face goes blank as he takes in your details. Processes what’s wrong. The seconds that pass feel incredibly long, and you’re tense, wondering how he’s going to react. You know that biology literally compels him to be an ass, but you’re not sure how much derision you can take right now.

You can’t describe how grateful you are that he only shakes his head, and cages you in again. “Like I said before. This is only because I feel sorry for you.”

He slips his hand under your dress, back into your underwear. You’re slick; a mess of your own juices and his cum. There’s no resistance when he sinks two fingers inside of you. Hardly any friction when he rubs his thumb against your clit.

You shudder, grabbing his lapels and pressing your face against his shoulder. “Fuckkk,” the word is barely muffled.

His free hand cups your jaw, dragging your face upwards. “Don’t get makeup on my jacket, idiot.”

“S-sorry,” you reply, eyes glazed and mouth agape.

He doesn’t seem to process your apology, watching intently, instead, as you come apart on his fingers. You can barely stand, fighting the impulse to sieze and crumple, clinging to your date like he’s a lifeline.

“Go on then, pet,” he murmurs, pushing hard against a sensitive spot inside of you. “You can come.”

And you do. Head lolling back, whole body arching, gripping Mervin’s arm like a vice. You don’t care what kind of noises you’re making, but perhaps he does, because he covers your mouth with his own in another messy kiss.

His fingers don’t stop moving until you’re limp against the wall, almost turning into a puddle in his arms. Your head buzzes. You feel high.

Fuck, that was incredible.

Your eyes are closed. You’re listening to Mervin’s panting; almost as loud as your own, when he pulls you upright suddenly.

“Someone’s coming.”

Your eyes spring open.

“Come on,” he practically drags you away, down another corridor and into what appears to be a coat room.

You’re still breathless, and it takes you a moment to compose yourself. Mervin has his ear against the door, tense. It almost makes you laugh.

“If I’d known how much fun pity sex can be, I’d have doubled down on my efforts to be pathetic.”

Mervin scowls. “Clean yourself up. You look like a whore.”

You give him a coy smile. “Your whore, though.”

He turns away, masking his expression.

Still, you do the best you can to clean the fluids from your thighs, shamelessly using the sleeve of a stranger’s coat.

Mervin is examining you when you turn back. Wordlessly he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. “Your lipstick is everywhere.”

You smirk, taking in his own features. “It certainly is.” You wipe it from your face, wishing you had a mirror, but Mervin doesn’t say anything so you assume you got it all. Then you stand on tip toes, cleaning the lipstick from his own face. He stiffens, but allows the treatment.

Your eyes catch on a smear across his throat. You don’t even remember kissing him there. Feeling mischevious, you leave the mark. You consider it a parting gift. He’ll notice it later, you’re sure.

“Your hair is a rat’s nest.”

You’re sure he’s exaggerating, but you roll your eyes and attempt to fix it anyway. “You’re the one who was pulling on it.”

Soon enough you’re both presentable again, bracing yourselves before returning to the fray. Nobody has noticed your absence, you think.

You glance towards the dance floor. “So, are you going to teach me this next dance?”

He manages to keep his expression level as he considers.

“Not here. Having you trip and stumble in front of everyone is too painful to contemplate. You’re going to take private lessons with me. That way you won’t look like a fool next time.”

“Next time?” You ask.

He winces, unable to meet your eyes.

You want to make fun of him. You want to poke at him so badly. You barely restrain yourself.

“How generous of you, to invite me not once, but twice. I should be honoured.”

He relaxes minutely at your acceptance. Then crinkles his nose. “Obviously.”

“But this was simultaneously the most stressful and most boring event I’ve attended all year. You’re really going to have to make it worth my while.”

He grits his teeth. Tries his best to look calm. “Did you have something in mind, human?”

You can only grin. “I don’t know. I’ll be sure to think of an especially pitiful request.”

#vaya writes #oh my god this was something #this was so so so fun to write and then horrifying to edit #can you believe editing the smut took me #checks watch #like half an hour #but editing the dance scenes took me like a day and a half #can you tell that i know more about one than the other #fuckkk never again writing a dance scene #anyway #monsterfucking #monster boyfriend #standard tag despite them not actually dating #this is a prequel to movie night in case somebody was wondering #monster romance

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