#nick simper

[hartotarto]

Nicky Simper awwwwww <333 Oh yeah and Ritchie’s there too I guess

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

Written by Russ Ballard

[stoneoferech]

Deep Purple

[hammill-goes-fogwalking]

The heck. There's this silly little known 70s band called Warhorse which I discovered some days ago... now I found out Nick Simper was in there.

DEEP PURPLE E V E R Y W H E R E

[joeloverture]

beneath the window | j.m. drabble

pairing: jackson!joel x f!reader summary: you suck off joel by his workbench. warnings: 18+ mdni. smut/pwp. deepthroating. sucking cock. praise. ball worship. joel miller is affectionate. he's also ever so slightly subby while maintaining slight dominance. oh and implied age gap. throatpie. word count: 1579 a/n: i wrote this in an hour i'm so so so so sorry. the new photos ruined me it's probably bad. i'm horny. down horrendous. want to please him. etcetera. enjoy in lieu of being sad. he lives on in our hearts blah blah blah. @ovaryacted this is for u.

Anyone passing the window of Joel Miller’s workshop would be none the wiser to what you got up to beneath the window sill.

It’s a lazy, idle Sunday morning. Dust motes float through honey-colored shafts of light coming in through the muddled glass. There’s not a sound except for the scuff and scrape of sandpaper on Joel’s latest woodworking venture.

The door is closer to his bad ear, and your footsteps are muffled by a pair of fluffy socks you’d nicked off of Ellie. He doesn’t hear you, shows no sign of noticing you until you’re right next to him. His breath cinches as you press a soft kiss into the plane of his neck. One hand rubs at the knobs of his broad shoulders, the other trailing down his abdomen to preemptively flick the button on his jeans wide open.

“Whatcha doin’, honey?” he croons as soon as you’ve sunk to your knees. You let out a soft little noise as you kiss down his clothed abdomen. It tightens under your ministrations. The scraping at Joel’s desk stops as he reaches a hand down to cup your cheek. A calloused thumb brushes at your parted lips, luring a breath out of you.

“Nothing, Joel,” you say, an innocent glaze slicked over your wanting eyes.

“Mmm, don’t look like nothin’ to me.” His thumb tugs at the petal of your lower lip. You nudge the corner of your forehead into his pudge, feeling him. Breathing him in, that smell of pine burning in a hearth. His eyes shoot shut when your nose taps at the tip of his cock through his jeans. “Been missing me, sweetheart? ‘S that what this is? I ain’t been lovin’ on ya enough.”

“You love on me plenty, baby. Gotta let me love on you.” You bully the zipper down with a simper crooking at your lips.

His cock is already half-hard. He’s told you it’s pavlovian, whatever the hell that means. Something about how whenever you’re around, he can’t stop himself from needing you. From the heat between your thighs that feels like a startled sunburn, from the slick already leaking into the gusset of your panties, you suppose you’re pavlovian too. 

You spit hastily into your hand, giving him a quick pump before you circle your hot mouth around his head, flushed and wanting. Joel groans, hips giving a shallow jerk against his stool. You give him a chastising glare — he’s already had to put the seat back together three times after… incidents.

“Alright, alright,” he relents. His hands leave you altogether, returning to the clutter upon his desk. You hear a knife scritching at wood, the wet suckle of your mouth against his tip. His breaths are choppy as you suckle on him, tongue working at the vein below his cock. Your fist, as small as it is compared to his wide girth, tries its best to wrap around the base, now fully hard and solid. He lets out a jagged pant as you dip your head deeper, urging his cock further back in your throat. More saliva meshes between your mouth and his cock, and he gives a bit of a jerk between your tongue and the roof of your mouth.

A shaky breath tumbles out of him. “Shit,” he exhales as you hear a noise a little too similar to the prick of his carving knife against his thumb. He might be crafting, but you see the blister of his gaze on you, two hot coals searing through your skin. Looking through you, seeing your basest desires. 

“There ya go,” he rasps as you bob your head at him, swirling your tongue around where he stretches your lips wide open. You tug back, tongue slipping out to lave at the precum oozing from his slit. “So pretty,” Joel says, eyes only on you. 

You smile as you dip below the curve of his cock. You raise a slippery palm to his balls, already within arms reach on account of how low they hang. With a little squeeze, his hips cant up again, and you arch a brow at him. Joel groans, hand fumbling down to the back of your head. It’s too gentle to urge, but just stern enough to cradle you as your lips lock around one of his fuzzy balls. Your tongue swipes and spirals along the thin skin as your hand goes to join, toying with the other. You all but fondle him, working him over, under, and around; all of the ways you’ve gotten to know him in your relationship. You suck at his sack.

You shouldn’t be all too surprised to hear his strained whimper, but he does. His cock twitches from the lack of attention. You pout at him. “You’re so needy, Miller.”

“For you, darlin’? Hell, I’m lucky I ain’t already creamed in that tight little throat ‘a yours. Keep goin’.” You whine at the praise, a low keen in your throat as your thighs stitch together again. You give him an all but wanton look, diving back into his sack.

You suck and tweak and slurp at his balls, alternating between the two. He seems to forgo all attempts of woodworking as he has one hand wrapped with an ironclad grip around the ledge of his desk, and another, much gentler hand, wound against the back of your head.

You give an especially hard suck to the ball in your mouth, a rush trickling through you as you feel it tense up between your locked lips. “Fuck me, honey, ‘s so good. You’re so good.” His head dips forward, eyeing you as you tongue at him. You hold eye contact with him, absorbing that heaving in his chest, the jump of his Adam’s apple, the crook in his brows that you’ve kissed so many times before. His eyes are blown wide above you, breath torn in his lungs. 

You swish saliva in your mouth as you draw back and loosen a string of it along the bulk of his cock, all the way to his slit. He flinches, entire body drawn tight and loose at the same time. His nails dig into the back of your skull, nudging you forward. “Oh, goddamn. C’mon, honey, suck it. Know you wanna suck it f’ me.”

You only languidly pump him, smearing the saliva you’d just spread all over him. You flick your tongue over the tip, followed in close succession by your thumb. You tuck your head lower, determined to take him as close to the base as you can get it. You make room for him in your throat, nudging him deeper and deeper with each shattering breath he takes. His cock almost springs into the back of your throat, tapping at your gag reflex, cozying up beyond it. You gag, sputtering. Spit hangs out of your lips, drags along his length. His groan is debauched.

His voice is hoarse and roughened with desire as he says, “Pretty fuckin’ thing, gagging on my cock. So damn good at that.” You would smile around him if not for how much he stretches your mouth out.

You settle for bobbing your head faster, letting him barge against the back of your throat again, again, again. You choke and heave lightly against his cock, which serves to only quicken his breathing. From where you are on your knees, you can see the clamping of his abdomen. You pull back only to sink back down, taking him from his swollen, leaking head all the way to his base. You nestle your forehead against his stomach, a tiny little whine stumbling out of you. Your fist tightens around the part of him that can’t fit into your mouth.

Joel’s hips jerk. Ragged groans spill from his throat. His hips buck at every single swivel of your tongue against him, even more so at every grasp your throat takes around him. He whimpers. Your eyes burn and you aren’t sure why until a crystalline tear leaks over your waterline. Precum tickles down into your throat and you swallow it instinctively.

Joel makes a noise as if he’s been punched. His cock jerks in your throat, balls tighten under his base. His cock catches at the back of your throat. He gasps out, “Blowin’ me like it’s your fuckin’ job, goddammit, oh honey that’s, shit, baby, I’m coming, I’m comin’—”

His tip bumps the back of your throat. His moan is subdued and so, so breathy. Your navel sinks with heat as he breaks in your mouth, hands clambering against the desk, against your head, wherever he can find purchase as his cock spews cum down your throat. You whine, swallowing him down through his peak. His hips buck and jerk, thighs tightening and loosening. His body loosens, slumping against the desk. His gasps and the glucking of your throat is all you hear. 

“G-good girl. Thas’ a good girl for me,” he exhales. He pulls back, fully spent and heaving from pleasure.

“Mhm, you’re welcome,” you quip, smirking. 

His thumb reaches up to swipe a tear from your eye. He pats his thigh as he gets up, tucking himself into his jeans. He hisses from oversensitivity. “C’mon girl. I might be done, but I can smell that sloppy little slit from up here.”

He clears his desk in one swipe, and based on that dark glint in his eyes, you’ll be lucky if he lets you stop at two.

[blackynsupremacy]

GRILLZ!

pairing: nicholas a. chavez x black!fem!reader

summary: nicholas gots some serious drip and you love it for him.

contains: fluff, cute couple stuff, 18+ content mdni, swearing, mention of smut, biting, oral (f/m receiving), unprotected p in v, hitting it from the side, reverse cowgirl, missionary, aftercare, intimacy.

a/n: heyyy! i hope ya’ll enjoy this one. kisses to you all! - des. 🪷

want more? check out my masterlist.

taglist: @greengoblinswifey @hopefully-saturn @jkr820 @hoffmansgirl @austeenbootler @niteskysx @sabrinasopposite @thabiddie23 @hnch33rios @xoxoglittergossip @supaprettyg @motherismotheringggg @oscarisaackissmykitty @simply-lovley44 @elitesanjisimp @gxuxhdjdu @v3n1ce-bxtch @iamsebastiansstan @stargirl-mayaa @miguelspvssy @oliviaambs

• okay, so boom.

• we all know what community really put grillz on the map in american culture and others became inspired decades after.

• those others included you and your man, nicholas.

• one thing you loved about him was his smile.

• you don’t know how he achieved such perfect pearly whites, but every time he puts them on display, you just fall harder for him.

• you see why his fans simp for him the way they do. he’s hot when he’s brooding, but when he smiles it just hits different.

• you could just stare in complete awe when he bursts out in genuine laughter or he’d just throw you a smile your way because let’s face it.

• he adores you, he kisses the ground you walk on.

• he thinks your smile is contagious. he could be pissed off and if you give him a simper of reassurance, that frown is turned upside down.

• you’re always wearing fashion trends that related to your culture.

• that includes clothes, makeup, shoes, hair styles, and jewelry.

• you wanted to try something new that could add to your look.

• some grillz.

• the photos on pinterest had you instantly inspired.

• when you flashed your silvery new dental accessory, nicholas was captivated.

• “fuck, can you get any hotter? you look amazing!” he was hyping you real good.

• he loves it when it matches with your outfits and other jewelry.

• and if you pair those grillz with that brown liner and clear gloss combo? he’s about to fold you like clothes.

• “y’know who else would look amazing with these? you would! you got the best teeth for it, nick.” you suggest, urging him to give this a try.

• at first he was unsure about it because he wasn’t certain of the ending result.

• “babe, are you sure? you’d think i’d look good with ‘em?” he’d inquire with a raised brow.

• “no, you wouldn’t look good. you’d look fine as hell! nick, you know that i got you. we’re gonna make sure we find what’s best for you.” you reassured again with a kiss to his cheek.

• nicholas was onboard!

• you contacted the jeweler that provided your grillz and set up an appointment for the following day.

• you and nicholas took your time for him to design “the one” that best fit his style.

• from the embellishments to the color, he wanted your feedback on everything, but what mattered to you was that he was happy because you’re still gonna fuck with it anyway.

• a few days after his grillz were created, you returned back to your jeweler, so that could be be fitted properly.

• he turned to you, flashing his teeth to reveal his new accessory.

• “so—how do i do look?” he’d ask, hoping that this long process had paid off. he really liked it the more he examined the grillz on his left canine.

• at the first glance of the shimmering jewel, you were sure you were going to faint.

• nicholas looked so damn good.

• you were speechless.

• you couldn’t help, but to take your phone out because you needed this moment to last longer the more you gawked.

• “smile big f’me, baby. c’monnn!” you urged him, batting your lashes and caressing his chiseled chin to which he bashfully grins. the apple of his cheeks were cherry red at your affection.

• you gotta get more storage in your phone for the amount of selfies and videos you took of you and nicholas sporting your grillz.

• nicholas is super responsible with them, you even gifted him with a monogrammed with his initials.

• he keeps them clean and pristine. he ain’t playing.

• if you happen to forget yours, he’s got you.

• there was just this new air of confidence that he had and it turned you on.

• and honey, if you were clingy to him before.

• you’re definitely stuck on him now and he’s eating it allll the way up.

• if you guys are laying on the couch and you’re just chilling on top of him, you could just be rambling and then—

• he peers at you with those sultry, brown eyes and flash that irresistible smile. you’d just stop and get so hypnotized.

• nicholas’ eye contact is just as lethal as his smile.

• “shit…what was i saying?” you’d inquire, feeling embarrassed that he had you so easily flustered.

• he’d chuckle causing you to absolutely fold.

• speaking of folding.

• he uses those grillz when it’s time to get down in the bedroom.

• he’s a lover, an eater, and now he’s a biter.

• best believe when it comes to your chest, he’ll pay extra attention to your nipples as he bites on them with his flashy canine.

• the sensation of the metal mixed with the suckling of tongue made the erected points of your nipple harder than before.

• he litters love bites all over you, nibbling everywhere he could reach.

• you love to see the glimmer of his grill when he uses his teeth to pull your panties down.

• nicholas lives for how the goosebumps on your skin of your inner thigh rises as he glides the metal to the path of your awaiting core.

• when using his mouth to pleasure you, he pays extra attention to your clit.

• he has different techniques for it. rubbing, sucking, and swirling his tongue around it in order for you to finish on his face.

• girl, pull on his hair a little harder because when he puts that bud in between his teeth where the grill is to nibble on it a bit, you will be absolutely spent as you ooze out all over his face.

• nicholas drank every single drop like water.

• that was his best head yet.

• when you’re go down on him, you get butterflies in your stomach as you gaze up at him through your lashes to see him grinning in satisfaction and caressing his fingers through your scalp. his grill on his display as he praises you for taking him so well into your mouth.

• “ah, look at you. fuck, if you keep looking at me like that m’gonna cum, angel.”

• and so he does, but he’s not done until he fully has his way with you.

• nicholas has an impressive stamina, he could go at it in many positions with you.

• during missionary, he’ll bury his face into the crevice between your neck and shoulder, sinking his teeth deep into the skin causing you to cry out as he repeatedly drills into the soft spot of your pussy.

• if he’s hitting it from the side, he’ll have one hand on your leg to raise it an angle as his jeweled teeth glide and bite along your jawline and earlobe, whispering the raunchiest of praises into your ear.

• bite marks from the gems are guaranteed to be all over your shoulders if you’re in reverse cowgirl, your back is up against his broad chest as you bounce yourself up and down against his length, his nails dig into the plush skin of your hips while his jolts in the direction of your clenching walls.

• when you two finish, he’s checking in to make sure you’re okay afterwards.

• “fuck, did i bite too hard? m’sorry, babe.” he’s such a sweetheart!

• you were honest that you were a bit sore, but you reassured nicholas that you loved it nonetheless!

• what’s pleasure without a little pain?

• nicholas is quite gentle during aftercare.

• he’ll run you both a bath, give you an oil massage, and foot rub before you’re both cuddling in bed.

• “just one more thing before you put em’ back in the case, boo. smile f’me one more time, pleaaaase?” you plea, rolling yourself on top of him before leaning closer to his face as your hands rested on his jaw.

• at the sight of your face and the sound of your voice, how could he not?

[softagenda]

paralysis (mhin)

mhin x reader(f)

aphrodisiac au / short fic (cw: mature, slightly gory)

series: sweet poison (scenario-based collection of character imagines)

originally posted on ao3

masterlist

Prologue

You’re an idiot for drinking that. An absolute idiot.

You’re spilled across the floor, head swimming, burning from the inside as though you’d swallowed a star. The velvet rug brushed soft and cloying against your prickling skin as you squirmed, your heart pounding in your ears and beating an insistent rhythm in your groin.

Cooing at you from the table, her cat’s eyes curled in satisfaction, Morgana asked, “Something the matter? You look positively feverish.” She twirled a curly black lock around her finger.

Bitch. 

Paintings of naked people - bathing in springs, dancing around a fire, having an orgy in front of a temple - swirled into one colorful blob as you turned on your side, fisting the rug. You attempted to pull yourself to where you remembered the door but stalled a couple inches in, weak as a newborn kitten and stifling a moan as your body rubbed on the carpet.

“Now, now, where’s the fire? Stay a while.” She rose from her chair and stood over you, her arms crossing under her full chest. “You’re clearly hot under the collar. The thought of you wandering the streets like this concerns me deeply.”

You glared up at her, using every ounce of willpower not to writhe on the floor like a worm on a hook. Your hand felt clumsily around your hip for the dagger. 

“I’ll take that,” she chirped, snatching the weapon from your belt and tossing it behind her. “Can’t have you nicking that lovely skin.” Her heel braced on the other side of you, straddling your back. Her hands tugged the shirt from your waist before dragging warm palms up your back, her nails scratching on the return journey.

You bit your lip to stifle a moan rocketing through your chest, as every nerve in your body vibrated with electric pleasure. Your hips pressed hard into the floor, growing ever desperate for friction even as you struggled to focus.

Morgana sunk her hand into your nape, drawing your hair back from your face. When she leaned down to brush her painted lips against your ear, goosebumps erupted down your neck. “We’ll start with the bandages, shall we?”

______ prologue end _________

“For fucks’ sake,” a voice sighed from the shadows. 

Bone popped as Morgana’s head whipped around toward the noise, then a thunk as something lodged itself in her back, accompanied by the slick, gristly sound of knife cleaving meat. A shriek erupted from her throat. 

She flung herself to the right, hand reaching over her collar. Face pale, sweat beading across her brow, Morgana turned to face the back wall. A dagger lodged in her left shoulder, the fabric around the blade soaking with blood.

A cloaked figure leaned against the window. Though most of their form was cast in darkness, the moonlight caught the edge of silver hair just beneath the hood, swaying with the night’s breeze.

You twisted on the floor, every brush of the luxurious carpet like rubbing and prickling like a cat’s tongue.

“How brazen,” Morgana attempted her usual simpering tone, though her bared teeth somewhat diminished the effect. “Entering through the window, unannounced, uninvited - like a thief.”

“You’ve got nothing I want, Mistress of the Night.” Red pupils glowed in the night. They fixed first on Morgana, then your curled form on the ground. “Seriously? You fell for that?”

Silver hair. Red pupils. A cutting tongue. 

Mhin. 

You closed your eyes. Fuck your life. 

“I spy a familiar face. You skulk around the Senobium gates, yes?” Morgana had crept closer to the wall, where a velvet tassel hung from the drapery. “Begging the mages to let you in like an injured dove.”

Mhin’s eyes narrowed. Then with a flick of their wrist, a silver flash shot through the air. 

Morgana lunged, but the braided rope fell limp into her grasp. She cursed, painted lips finally twisting into an honest snarl. Her gaze then flickered toward the door but returned to Mhin. “It would seem that I do have something you want. What are your intentions here, hunter?”

“Saving a fool from themself.” A dagger danced beneath the moonlight, twisted within Mhin’s nimble fingers. “Whether you get caught in the crossfire is up to you.”

You swallowed around a dry throat. Somehow you doubted Morgana would shrug her shoulders and drop the issue peaceably - especially with a dagger biting into one of said shoulders. Craning your neck, you looked and sure enough liquid flames began to bubble from her hand.

“As they say, in the company of fools…” she sneered, fire twisting and slithering around her skin as magic pooled in her palm. 

“Back off, witch.” Mhin glared coldly. The knife froze, the blade lifted and pointed in her direction. 

Stuck on the floor between them, you fought desperately against the oppressive lethargy in your body. The drug burned through your veins until you felt scorched from the inside out, shaky and delirious with fever. Each attempt to move felt as though you rested on the bottom of the sea, strapped by weights and slowly drowning. Your head felt pressed by cotton on all sides.

You wriggled like a worm toward the table, seeking cover. At least the effects - flushed skin, dazed eyes - could disguise your mortification. You had worked so hard to earn Mhin’s trust. To cross the cavernous distance they placed between themself and others. 

For them to see you in this state… 

“Surely you know there will be consequences to your interference tonight,” said Morgana, her attention focused on the dagger. “Let’s not pretend. This little fool must mean something to you.”

For a moment, the calm malevolence oozing from Mhin’s expression disappeared, replaced by a look of flustered surprise. “Mean something? That wimp?” They scoffed, feet shuffling in agitation. “As if. Who would - for that - “

Mhin’s mouth paused, in the middle of what would undoubtedly be an insult. Their eyes fell on you, sweeping over your shivering body, lingering on the curve of your back as you tried to push yourself onto your elbows. They stopped on your face - and the heat prickling across your skin seemed to thicken even more at the humiliating thought of what you must look like there, writhing like a worm.

To your shock, Mhin blushed. Their body twisted abruptly, face angling away as a hand shot up as though to shield them from the sight of you. “You - the fuck are you looking at like that - “

Light flared in the room, heat exploding into the air. Capitalizing on their distraction, Morgana threw a whip of molten flame across the room, arcing across the distance between them. Mhin dropped below the strike into a crouch before darting forward in a flash of black and silver. 

Morgana jumped back and sliced the whip down once more - this time, not at Mhin but at you. 

Over your shoulder, you watched the whip serpentine through the air, the spiked end twisting toward you like the mouth of a fanged snake. You tried to push yourself over even as your elbows gave out and your arms trembled. Tucking your head, you braced for the pain when a shadow fell over you.

That searing cut of pain never came. Instead, you heard a short grunt and a muffled curse.

Mhin stood between the two of you, shielding your body. Their arm was braced outward, the flaming whip caught and coiled around their leather vambrace. You’d noticed that very first day that, despite their slender frame, Mhin had the strength of a goliath. They held firm against Morgana’s near frantic yanks on the whip, not budging a single inch.

“Guards!” She shouted, abandoning dignity, a flicker of fear in her eyes as Mhin twisted their arm and started pulling her toward them, wrapping the whip around their fist. Unflinching as the fire licked flesh, burning across their skin. “Guards!”

Mhin yanked the whip hard, pulling her forward and off her feet. The dagger swung upward and cut the cord in a shower of ashen sparks, freeing their right fist, which then shot forward with the force of a battering ram into Morgana’s cheek. 

Her body propelled through the air and slammed into the door. Beads and silk curtains ripped from their rods and draped down on top of her. She writhed under the fabric, her movements panicked and clumsy, not unlike a cat trapped beneath a sheet.

“Hey. Pay attention.”

Mhin crouched at your side. One arm wrapped around your waist as the other dragged your arm over their shoulders, heaving you off the ground. You gasped as the world spun in a swirl of melted colors around you, buckling against them as your knees struggled to support your weight. 

“Fuck.” They paused, propping you against their chest, breath puffing into your ear. Shivers raced down your spine. “Can’t even stand? Could you be more of a hindrance right now?”

Shamefaced, you bit your lip and muttered, “Sorry. Thanks for coming.”

Mhin’s body stiffened. They cleared their throat. “...nevermind. Just - grab on tight.”

You stumbled together toward the back of the room. The balcony door remained open to the night, a breeze carrying the noise of the street in from below. When they reached the railing, Mhin glanced over their shoulder and gritted their teeth. “Change of plans.”

“What?” You questioned dazedly, trying to follow their gaze, when Mhin dropped lower and drew you onto their back. Hands curled around your thighs with iron strength and hoisted you up. 

“Incoming. Don’t let go.” 

Don’t let - you choked back a yelp as Mhin stepped lithely onto the railing and jumped. Three yards of dead air sped below you before their boots caught the rooftop with an impact that shook your heart against your rib cage. Hands scrabbling at the front of their shirt, you tucked your face into the thick, navy cloak. 

Mhin darted across the skyline, leaping across a street and onto the bedraggled rooftop of an apartment building nearby. They paused, leaned perilously over the edge, before hiking upward toward the eave of a window. 

“Ah!” You gasped as your body’s tugged roughly off their back and braced on the window sill. “Mhin - “

A finger pressed against your lips. Mhin shot you a warning look before digging into a leather pouch strapped to their belt. They withdrew a small bottle, luminescent blue liquid sloshing inside. “Drink this,” they whispered. 

When you reached for the bottle, Mhin jerked it back and huffed. “Still haven’t learned your lesson?” At your confused look, they grumbled, “not even going to ask what’s inside? How do you know this isn’t poison? Maybe I’m finally getting rid of you, now that an opportunity and a convenient patsy have arrived.” 

You stared back at them, exhausted, feeling as though your brain could be seeping through your ears. “Because it’s you.”

Gray eyes widened in shock before their head jerked to the side, hiding their expression beneath a hasty veil of white hair. But you could see a glimpse of their ear. The pale skin around the top and shell had flushed pink. “That’s… naive. Foolishly so.”

You summoned a wobbly smile and added wryly, “anyway, if you were going to kill me, you would’ve let Morgana finish the job and saved yourself the trouble of coming at all. Why waste the energy?”

“Finally, a sign of intelligence,” they grumbled, before pressing the bottle against your palm and leaving to peer over the side of the roof again.

Hands trembling, you tried to bring the bottle to your mouth without spilling. The tremors seemed to grow worse even as you sagged into the window frame, all the energy and fight leaching from your body. Gods but you felt so hot. 

Footsteps thundered on the cobblestone street. Men shouted orders at each other, their words difficult to parse but easily understood. You were being pursued by Morgana’s private security. 

Hastening, you managed to bring the bottle to chest height, heavily leaning your arm there as the muscles gave out. You had to hurry and drink. You couldn’t slow them down anymore, not after the pathetic scene you’d made that night. Tears of frustration pooled at the corners of your eyes, further blurring your surroundings. 

“They’re sending a group toward the nearby watchtower. We need to get to safer ground.” Mhin returned. Their eyes caught sight of the trembling bottle. Their jaw dropped. “Why haven’t you - “

You gritted your teeth and tried again, managing to get the lip of the potion to tap against your chin. The effort had you closing your eyes, tears spilling down your cheeks. Everything felt like too much. Heat burned out of you, drenching you in sweat. Invisible stones bore down on your limbs. And even as your body burned with lust, your heart ached in fear and regret that Mhin would lose respect for you because of this, that the tentative partnership you’d worked so hard for had been ripped away from one mistake - one stupid blunder - 

A warm hand wrapped around the desperate grip you had on the bottle. Another tugged you into a firm chest - the cold, pleated cotton shirt soothing against your inflamed skin. Their fingers curled under as Mhin brought the potion to your mouth.

Wisps of moonlight hair brushed across your nose and brow. Dove gray eyes looked back - the ever-present caution and threat they had born for so long softening from within the shadows of the cloak. 

You stared up into their face, lost within the fog, all of a sudden feeling strangely content. Three sluggish swallows later, and the bottle emptied. 

Tired to your bones, you sagged against them, cheek pressed to their chest, blinking sleepily. Mhin’s grip on your jaw eased. Their thumb lingered, drifting almost as though to stroke your face. 

“Look at you,” they sighed, holding still for a quiet moment. You focused on breathing, their familiar scent of steel and linen filling your lungs. Their next words whispered against the top of your head. “Next time… call me before you jump into some harebrained scheme alone.”

___________________________________________________

a/n: I hope that I have correctly codified mhin as a tsundere....

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Taken: Refusal

It’s past 8pm and you’re walking to your car, one of the last people in the office to leave again. He smiles darkly as he hears the click of your heels against the asphalt, coming towards him. He’s leaning against the wall, covered by the shadow of the parking garage, waiting for you. Your attention is on your purse as you dig through it, looking for your keys. You don’t stand a chance when he surges out of his hiding spot towards you. He grabs you by the throat and pulls your back against his front and shoves a syringe into your arm with his free hand. You’re out cold before you even have time to react.

He catches your body easily, carrying you to your car. He slides your prone body into the trunk, closes the lid, gets into the front seat, and drives away.

Thirty minutes later, he pulls into the garage of a house at the edge of town, miles away from anything and anyone else. He pulls you out of the trunk and carries you into the house, down the stairs, into the basement. There, he gets to work.

The basement room is well-lit and set up almost like a bedroom. A beautiful king-sized bed sits in the middle of the room with a dark wooden dresser against the wall, and a second door leading to a well-decorated bathroom. The only thing out of place is the large St. Andrew’s cross opposite the bed. He hums slightly as he works, feeling giddy with excitement at finally having you here. He‘s not in a rush, he’d injected you with enough sedative to keep you unconscious for several hours, giving him plenty of time to do what he needs to.

The first thing he does is cut away your clothes. He takes care not to accidentally nick you with the knife and smooths his hands across your body gently, almost reverently. He sighs a little, you aren’t going to be happy when you wake up, but soon, he’ll show you how good it is here. And you’ll be so happy with him.

He ties your naked body to the cross, your arms and legs spread eagle and affixed to the wood with rope. He wraps an extra piece of rope around your waist to keep you in place so you won’t be able to move when you wake up.

He runs his fingers up your thigh, watching as goosebumps erupt in his wake. Your skin is so soft. His fingers keep going upwards, going to between your legs as he parts your folds with his fingers. He slides his finger over your clit, rubbing gently at first, then with more pressure. Your breathing hitches and your body twitches slightly as the pleasure permeates into your unconscious mind. He smiles, rubbing faster and harder against your clit. He slides a second finger against your slit, feeling the moisture starting to gather. You’re so responsive and you’re not even awake yet. He pulls his fingers away, not wanting to have too much fun quite yet. You make a small, simpering noise, almost like you want him to keep going.

He steps away for a second, grabbing a ball gag from his pile of toys. He pulls your hair back gently, opens your mouth, and clips the gag into place. You look so pretty, all tied up and gagged. He grabs a small remote-controlled bullet vibrator next, along with a harness fitted specially for it. He slides the vibrator against you, positioning it directly on your hard little clit and latches the harness around you, keeping the vibrator flush against you. He clicks the remote, and watches as the vibrator starts to buzz at its lowest setting against your clit.

Your body reacts immediately. Your cheeks flush, your breathing deepens, and your legs start to tremble. He runs his fingers against your slit, finding you dripping wet and your pretty pussy clenching. He collects some of your slick on his fingers and brings it to his mouth, savoring the taste of your pussy. He takes a few steps back, sitting down on the bed as he waits.

—

You slowly come into consciousness, feeling your body clench as something is pressed up against your pussy. Something that feels so good. But before you can fully appreciate it, alarm bells are going off in your head. What happened? Where are you? The last thing you remember was going to your car, and then…

You start, remembering the man, being grabbed, the sting of the syringe. Your eyes fly open and you take in several things at once. You’re naked, you’re tied to a cross, you’re gagged, and you’re so close to cumming.

You wail into the gag but the sound is muffled and desperate. Your eyes dart around the room, blinking against the light.

“Welcome back, darling.”

Your eyes shoot to the man. You don’t understand. But before you can think, you see the man click a remote and the vibrating on your clit intensifies. Suddenly all you can think of is the pleasure that’s shooting through your body. You arch your back as much as you can and you scream into the gag as you cum hard. You shake in the ropes slightly as you come down from your high, trembling as the aftershocks hit you and the vibrator is still going strong. Your hips thrust, trying to dislodge the vibrator that’s slowly pushing you towards overstimulation. You wail desperately against the gag. He smiles as he clicks the remote one more time and the vibrations stop.

You’re breathing heavily as you hang from the cross, your body going slack. You whimper into the gag softly.

“That went even better than I’d planned,” he said, clearly proud of himself. He’s deranged, you think to yourself. What the fuck is happening?

“Here I was thinking you’d get nicely started with that bullet vibrator, I didn’t think you’d cum like that right when you woke up. You, my dear, are deliciously responsive.”

He walked towards you, brushing his fingers against your cheek. You shook him off, moving your head has much as you could.

“Tsk tsk don’t be like that.”

“LET ME GO!” You screamed through the gag. It sounded more like “EE ME OO.” But he seemed to get the point.

“Now now let me talk first. You’ll want to hear me out. I know exactly who you are and what I’m doing. I took you and I am keeping you and the sooner you accept that, the better it will all be.” You shake your head in confusion.

“You see, I know your type, the pretty girl with not much in your life. You have a mediocre job, very few friends, no boyfriend, hardly any family. No one will miss you. No one will look for you.” As he speaks, his fingers begin to trail up and down your torso. He circles your breasts, gently rubbing your stomach before coming to a stop right above your pelvis.

Real fear strikes you in that moment. He’s right. No one would come for you. You don’t even know if anyone would file a missing person’s report. Maybe your boss when you don’t show up for work but realistically, they’d just hire someone else to replace you in a few weeks. You’re shaking as you stare back at him.

“Now, lucky for you, I think you’re perfect for me. Exactly what I’m looking for in a pretty little pet. All it’s gonna take is a little training.”

Your eyes widen and you scream objections into the gag. He looks annoyed now, and the hand that was rubbing gentle circles against your hip suddenly tightened into a bruising grip. He came in close, close enough for you to see the flecks of color in his eyes.

“You were doing so well, don’t make me punish you already.”

You scream even more, wailing, hoping that maybe someone will hear you and come to help. His bruising grip on your hip loosens for a second and suddenly, he slaps you across the face.

You start in pain but mostly in shock and fear. The slap scared you more than it hurt you. Tears welled up in your eyes and you stared back at him desperately.

“Now are you going to be a good girl?” His voice was low and dark, underpined with something that you couldn’t decipher.

You shake your head, fear overriding your sense of self-preservation as you buck and thrash on the cross as if it’ll help you get free.

“Fine, if you won’t be good, I’ll show you what happens to bad girls.”

You struggle harder, desperately trying to get free. He leaves your line of sight and eventually, you tire and start to sag in your ropes. You hear a click, and suddenly, the vibrator against your clit, the one you’d all but forgotten about in your fear, roars to life. It vibrates furiously against your clit, at an intensity so much higher than before and you feel your pussy clench as you screams at the stimulation. Your previous orgasm seemed so long ago but the violent stimulation quickly overwhelms you.

You whine and shake as you feel yourself rushing to another orgasm.

“Aw honey are you going to cum again? You filthy little whore cumming for your kidnapper while you’re tied up.”

You feel your orgasm coming, the feeling cresting inside of you, when suddenly, the vibrator clicks off.

“No, cumming is for good girls and you were bad.”

You moan into the gag, staring at him with tears in your eyes. Your hips gyrate, trying to find the stimulation to push yourself over the edge but your orgasm is fading quickly.

“You don’t deserve to cum. No, you deserve to be punished.” The dark promise in his voice made your heart pound with fear, but your pussy clenched in response.

He walked up to your body, looking down at your puffy little clit, straining against the vibrator attached to you. He ran his fingers gently over your button, chuckling as you bucked and groaned.

“You’re soaking wet. The perfect little whore for me.” He growled into your ear and kissed the side of your neck softly before sinking his teeth in, feeling you flinch and grow taut as he gently lapped at the sting he’d inflicted. His fingers danced along your slit, running around your lips and clit but never entering you, despite how badly you wanted him to.

“I think this bad little girl needs to think about her mistakes.” He says and he pulls away. He walks a few steps away and you wail against the gag.

“NO PLEASE, DON’T LEAVE ME LIKE THIS!” It comes out garbled but he seems to understand. “You need to learn your lesson, darling.”

He smiles then he leaves. You lean against the cross, feeling drained and defeated but all of a sudden, the vibrator comes to life again. You shriek and thrash, feeling the pleasure in your clit spread as you rush toward an orgasm. But like before, right as you were about to cum, the vibrator stops. You scream desperately, moaning, begging incoherently behind the gag. As the orgasm ebbs away, the vibrator starts again.

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Past the Wit of Man (or, Bottom's Dream)

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: M Word Count: 3657 Tags: comedy, attempted comedy, comedy devolving into feels, identity reveal, sex worker Hob Gadling, advancing my Men In Lingerie agenda, long-haired Hob Gadling agenda, stretching timelines like taffy, Desire and Dream get along AU, but Desire is not actively in this, Dead Boy Detectives comic spoilers mentioned, miscommunication, Dream of the Endless finally uses his words, happy ending

Notes: Kudos props and huge thanks to everyone in the Mr Sadman discord who creatively interpreted a snippet I posted of something else and launched the whole idea of Hob working for a supernatural escort service; this would not exist without y'all and your beautiful brainstorming. ❤️

This fills the August monthly @dreamlingbingo prompt Identity Reveal, replacing square A2 (creature: Veela) on my bingo card

Summary: Hob is nicely settled in a new career and a new identity and does not expect to see his Stranger until 2089. The universe, apparently, has other ideas.

On AO3

~ "Your client is Dream of the Endless. He is extremely ancient and extremely powerful, an underpinning concept of the universe. Absolutely terrible about loosening up and letting himself relax."

"Don't think I'd be much good at relaxing if I was an underpinning concept of the universe either," Hob jokes, opening the profile that the Agency rep has just airdropped to his phone and thumbing through it.

The rep, a foppish vampire with curly white hair and impeccable fashion sense, arches one elegant eyebrow at him. "Apparently his most recent girlfriend dumped him quite harshly and his sibling has arranged this booking on his behalf; he's—and I am quoting here—'absolutely incompetent at managing his own happiness'."

"He knows he's been booked though, right? I'm not gonna catch the fallout because no one told him what kind of appointment this is?" It's only happened once, a prank played on a shy ace nixie by her well-meaning but ill-informed friends; all the same, Hob does not care to repeat the experience—particularly with someone potentially more dangerous.

"He is very much aware and in agreement, yes. We promised him our top companion." The rep dimples at Hob, a smile of saccharine sincerity that shows only the barest hint of fang. "And that's you, sweet Nick."

"And that's me," Hob agrees matter-of-factly, frowning at his phone, then turning it to show his guest. "No photo?"

The rep glances at the screen and makes a commiserative noise. "Oh, yes. Unfortunate, that. Cameras have a very hard time with this fellow, something to do with his general relationship to reality." His tone takes on a simpering air of great melodrama. "We were forced to use an artist's rendition instead! Tragic, really; it doesn't do him justice."

"Huh," Hob says, turning his phone back and studying the cartoony hand-drawn image. Guy looks like he's got some sort of steampunk insect for a head, dark and bolt-laden and bug-eyed, with a trunk that's strongly reminiscent of a disembodied spine. "Dream of the Endless, you said? Looks more like a bloody nightmare."

The rep gives an exaggerated roll of his shoulders, as if shrugging off his delivery duty now that it's done, and turns to leave. "Well whatever the case, an Endless is far above the average client, darling. Give him your best."

"'Course." Hob grins. "That's why you brought the assignment to me, after all."

"Just so." The Agency rep gives a lazy wave in parting and Hob closes the door, still scrolling through the profile as he makes his way to the kitchen.

"Dozens of titles and names", he murmurs, glancing through the list of them. "King of Dreams and Nightmares, alright. Contains the entire collective unconscious of every living being in. Every…universe…?" He shakes his head. "Has never taken a vacation ever. Bested Lucifer Morningstar and oversaw the reassignment of Hell—okay, wow. Billions of years old." He whistles, a long sound of awed disbelief. "Maybe I throw in a free massage for this guy; sounds like he could use it."

He shakes his head again, pockets his phone, carries on with getting breakfast together.

Bug-headed workaholic foundational concept of the universe. Won't be the weirdest client he's ever serviced.

~

It's been ten years since his stranger showed up late for their meeting and smiled so openly and named him friend. That had been their longest meeting yet, lasting all afternoon and on into the evening and it wasn't until the Inn had started closing up for the night that they wound down. His stranger had spoken briefly of the missed appointment in 1989, making clear that something at least mildly traumatic had kept him away and also that he did not wish to elaborate, and Hob had let it go. There was so much to tell of his own century past, his friend remarking with interest on a great many of his stories, and it was enough. His stranger, his friend, had come back, and they'd had a lovely long meeting. Perhaps in 2089 he would be comfortable sharing more of his own story, but even if not, Hob didn't mind. He was confident once more in the friendship he'd declared back in 1889 and willing to coax it out bit by bit, meeting by meeting. He had all the time in the world, after all.

Within a year of that meeting he'd wrapped up his teaching career, arranged for ownership of the New Inn to transfer to a 'relative' in the States who'd keep it running the next few decades, and started searching for a new career for his next identity.

He stumbled quite by accident into the broader supernatural world after being stalked by two dead teenagers helping that de Rais creep who wanted to steal his immortality. It all turned out fine in the end but opened Hob's eyes to exactly how much the supernatural had integrated into the modern world around him. And once old Hettie clued him in to the existence of a certain Service Agency catering to supernatural clients, his next career path was all but decided. What was he going to do, not seize the opportunity for fantastical sexual exploration when presented with it? Life was for living! Werewolves, vampires, sirens and fae and merfolk, the occasional ghost and even an extra-terrestrial or two; scales, feathers, tentacles, knots—Hob's shown them all a good time and earned a stellar reputation among the Agency's clientele. He doesn't plan to do it forever, but he enjoys exploring new avenues and stretching his limits and 'Nick Bottom' is the perfect persona to let him do so.

And now sweet high-priced in-demand Nick has been booked to rebound-fuck an uptight concept in humanoid form who looks like something straight out of a nightmare.

Hob can't wait to completely take this guy apart one orgasm at a time until he's a boneless puddle of satiation and send him home afterwards a brand new man.

Concept. Entity. Whatever.

~

The booking is scheduled for the following day and when the time comes, Hob is fresh and clean and set up in the Agency's most lavish suite. He's let his hair grow the last few years, sports a proper Hozier-like mane at this point, is wearing it down for this appointment. His beard is several weeks old, trimmed to artfully-scruffy perfection and well-groomed. He's lounging on the bed in a short open silk robe and a pair of lace panties that hug his hips and leave most of both arse cheeks exposed, a popular outfit in his repertoire sure to please the classiest of clients with the most discerning taste. Both pieces are a matching vibrant cobalt blue that complements his skin tone beautifully. He's wondering what fucking a concept is like, idly massaging his dick now and then to keep it primed, when finally there's a peculiar displacement of air and then a figure in dark robes with a weird spine-trunked bug-eyed head is standing in the middle of the suite. He's taller than Hob and inhumanly rail-thin; the robes plunge deep from the neckline, displaying milk-white skin without a hint of chest hair and clavicles that beg to be nibbled on. He's in profile, angled slightly away, and Hob has the distinct sense that this is a deliberate pose meant to make an impression, to instill awe and possibly fear in him.

So Dream of the Endless has a flair for drama, got it.

"Hello," Hob greets in his best breathless-and-sultry tone, rising from the bed to approach his client. He layers in a suitable amount of awe, pitching his voice toward 'smitten' with a subtle ring of sincerity to support it. "Oh, wow. You must be Dream of the Endless; I'm so delighted to get to meet you! I'll be taking care of you today; you can call me Nick."

The guy, the concept, Dream of the Endless, he goes stock-still as Hob speaks, and it's like the air in the room pauses with him. He turns, slowly, until Hob is face to face with his…oh, possibly that's a mask, then; the bug-eyed lenses are somewhat translucent in the light though Hob still can't see beneath them.

"There has been some mistake." The voice is deep and distorted through the helmet-mask, bone-rattling in an almost-pleasant way and, somehow, somewhat…familiar? "I was meant to be meeting with 'Nick Bottom'." The quotes around the name are audible.

"That's me!" Hob says, raking a hand back through his hair and shaking it to settle around his shoulders attractively, flashing his most charming smile. "At your service, love, whatever you need. I'm here to make sure you have a very good time, and—"

"Hob Gadling."

That draws him up short. He's currently Robyn Gadrin for tax-paying purposes in the outside world, but the Agency wouldn't give out his current identity let alone his true name, so how—

Hob's brain is babbling insistently about the note of familiarity in that voice and he finally lights on why as Dream of the Endless reaches up to remove his helmet.

Hob finds himself staring at the slightly-more-than-human-but-still-very-familiar face of his Stranger, his centennial touchstone, his friend.

Everything about his reality tips a little bit sideways, dominoes crashing one after the other in his brain until all that's left is that awful ringing alarm tone that features in emergency broadcast alerts on American telly.

Between them, the silence stretches awkwardly, until finally Hob breaks it, the first thing that comes to his tongue spilling out while his poor brain is still rebooting.

"Six-hundred some-odd bloody years, and this is how I learn your name?!"

~

It is five minutes later. Hob is sitting on the side of the plush bed in his short silk robe and lace panties, clutching a bottled water and seriously considering availing himself of the bar in the next room because his emotions are all over the place. His Stranger—Dream of the Endless, apparently—is seated next to him. His eyes are not the blue that Hob is used to, are fully black with actual stars winking in and out of them; it's gorgeous but uncanny. He's currently not looking at Hob, has got the weird bug-spine helmet gripped tightly in both hands. Which are still so pretty, Hob can't help noticing, his fingers longer and more spindly than normal, splayed wide around the curve of the helm, nails painted black. Or maybe not painted, maybe they just are black.

Pretty, regardless.

Not a helpful thought at this juncture.

It's not like he'd thought his Stranger was actually human, obviously, and okay yes the possibility of meeting up with him via this particular career choice had crossed his mind once or twice, might've featured in a private fantasy or two; but also he'd never seriously imagined it because it felt so entirely implausible that his prim and lofty Stranger would ever engage in something so mundane. So casual.

Apparently, Hob was wrong about that.

He's not sure how to feel about it, either.

The smooth inhumanly-pale chest on display in the plunging vee of those artfully-draped robes is also not helping anything.

His Stranger—Dream— moves slightly, glances at him with those starry eyes, flexes those pretty fingers on the helmet. "I will. Arrange. For another. To take your place, Hob, you need not—"

"Now hold on a minute," Hob interrupts, sudden direction presenting itself for his floundering emotions to flow. "What do you mean, 'arrange for another'? What's wrong with me?"

Dream, his name is Dream of the Endless, Dream looks perplexed. "Our. History—"

"Oh yes, our illustrious storied history wherein we have met all of seven times before now and, may I remind you, you took offense to my suggestion that we might be friends until you'd had time to digest it properly, yes."

"Eight."

"Eight?"

"I visited your dream, before undertaking a daunting journey from my realm to another. We shared wine. You gave a most thoughtful toast."

"I. Okay." He remembers that dream, yes; he remembers the wine that followed him out of it, and now with the knowledge that his Stranger is apparently King of all dreams and nightmares suddenly it all makes brand new sense. But he will process that later. "Eight. Still not a factor in my ability to do my job."

Mostly. It is his Stranger, after all, and it's not like he hasn't ever wanted—

"Sex would be. Awkward," Dream insists, and Hob loses it, never mind he'd half-thought the same thing until a second ago; Dream saying it makes him refute the assertion with everything he's got.

"You dare," he says, setting aside his water.

Dream boggles at him, cosmic eyes wide, mouth slightly parted.

"You. DARE. To disdain my professional services just because we know each other?!"

"Hob— "

"No. No, your booking was very clear that you were to have the very best, and that. Is. Me. So you will not be re-booking with another companion on the grounds that our acquaintance makes it 'awkward'; if you mean to partake of the services you've hired you will partake of them with me."

"My sibling."

"What."

"My sibling hired your services. Did they know—" He's half talking to himself and Hob sighs, forcefully pulling the conversation back on track.

"Yes, right; your sibling booked you and here you are. Did you want to get laid today?"

"You need not be so crude about it."

"Forgive me. Of course. Did you come here hoping to have a sensual skillful sexual experience with a stranger intent on your pleasure with no judgments or expectations placed upon you in return?" He makes a valiant effort to rein in his sarcasm. "Because I can still provide that. Minus the bit where we're not strangers."

Dream looks positively miserable, a sodden wet cat of a man in sex-appeal robes hunched on the edge of the decadently-plush bed, and there is certainly an understandable element of embarrassment to the situation but Dream is taking it so seriously. Hob is not surprised, exactly, but christ—he's more than willing to follow through never mind any feelings he may or may not want to admit to, and Dream is the one who'd agreed to the booking in the first place. You'd think he could handle this hiccup with a little more grace.

"It was my intent to. Do, as you say," Dream says at last, and Hob sighs.

"Is that still what you want, then? I promise I'll take good care of you." He's actually really warming up to the idea, not that he was cold to it to begin with. It's his Stranger after all. He's been willing to say yes for centuries. "They really did book you the best, and I would love to show you how well-earned my reputation is—"

"Hob—" Dream sounds pained, gives an artfully-dramatic shake of his head. "My wants are. Manageable. If no one else is available. I cannot simply engage with you so frivolously—"

Hob leaps up from the bed, stalks a frustrated few steps away and whirls back, spreads his arms. "Am I not appealing to you, Dream of the Endless?" He tosses his head, shakes his hair back, gestures at the blue silk and lace that he knows looks absolutely spectacular on him. "Would you like me to change clothes? I have a dozen more ensembles I'd be happy to put on if you'd rather peel me out of one of those. Would the Prince of Stories prefer roleplay? Golden-age pirate, biker bad boy, Mr. Darcy or Elizabeth, cowboy, librarian, Starfleet officer—I'll dress however you like." He's fired up, he's…it feels like anger but it's more like alarm; he is absolutely not about to let a colleague fuck HIS Stranger if Dream's looking to unwind. Not with all the thoughts he's entertained the last couple centuries, not when Dream is looking so entirely miserable about the whole experience. Hob wiggles his bare toes in the plush carpet, forcing a deep breath; he is jealous and possessive and protective all at once and has no idea how to safely navigate this storm to get Dream what he wants without pissing him off.

"Your…clothing becomes you greatly, Hob." He's sneaking a glance as he says it, like he's not allowed to look but can't help it. "Your clothing is not at issue."

"Then what is?" Hob rakes a hand back through his hair, frustration fizzling, careening toward concern. "If you're truly that put off by me, I'll let it go. But you're here, for sex, which you did say you wanted; this is my job and I'm good at it and you clearly need—" Someone to take care of you, he'd nearly said, and while Dream has been giving him so much leeway in this conversation he thinks that might be one straw too much for this particular camel's back.

Nice to know he appreciates Hob's hairy chest and his dick in blue lace, though.

Dream levels him with a look that almost puts him right back to 1889, and Hob has half a second to start panicking before Dream closes his eyes, draws himself up, sets his bloody weird helmet on the bedside table with a soft leathery clunk. When he opens his eyes again, they are resolute, resigned, the eyes of a man headed for the gallows despite the stars winking hopelessly in their depths.

"I do not wish to be intimate with you. When you view it as simply a job. I. Would like—but not. If it is a transaction. If I am merely a client."

Oh. Oh.

Oh shit, really?

Impossible.

Really?

"You want. You want it to mean something?" Hob is embarassed at how small his voice comes out.

Dream closes his eyes, something like shame written all over his beautiful otherworldly-pale face. "I had thought. At our fifth meeting. That perhaps there was the possibility of. Attraction, between us." He opens his night-sky eyes again, meets Hob's resolutely. "Had we not been interrupted…" He shakes his head. "I pondered the idea until next we met, anticipating the possibility of. Seeing, where we might have come to. But you named what was between us friendship, you named me lonely; I perceived your words as mockery and acted accordingly. I spent the next century with a surplus of time to wander my own thoughts. They turned to you, Hob Gadling, with regularity. As I expressed when last we met, I regret leaving our previous meeting so abruptly, so harshly. Your friendship is of great value to me. I am content to let it remain friendship, in the interest of keeping it. But I am unwilling to engage with you, who named me 'friend', as I would a lover when I have yet to fully bury the wish. That you might have been my lover in truth."

Hob is desperately trying to keep from bluescreening again and while he's focused on that, his mouth runs along without him. "You never even gave me a name, but you wanted us to be lovers?"

"I am. Aware, of how foolish my wishes—"

"No, oh no. Dream. Love." He absolutely cannot let him think that. "All you ever had to do was ask."

Dream looks at him, starry eyes full of misery with the faintest spark of hope underneath, glimmering with unshed tears. "I. Could not—"

"That was then. Water under the bridge. What about now."

Dream shivers, his more-than-human face wary and pleading and resigned all at once and the last of the fight drains out of Hob. He approaches gently, until he is directly in front of Dream on the edge of the bed again; he half straddles Dream's lap with one foot still on the floor and a bare knee sunk on the mattress beside him, threads both hands into Dream's hair behind his lovely ears, tips his pale face up.

"Ask me now. Please."

Dream's hand settles above his bent knee, a gentle, tentative touch; his eyelashes flutter, and the sound that leaves him steals Hob's breath. That hand travels softly around to grip the back of Hob's thigh, slides hesitantly higher, and then it's Hob making the helpless noise as Dream's fingertips card beautifully through his leg hair, run up beneath the short robe. Dream's spindly black-nailed hand caresses up over his exposed arse cheek, squeezes, and all the while Dream's beguiling uncanny eyes are fixed on him, wet and wondering, full of blossoming hope.

"Hob Gadling." His voice is hushed, almost reverent. "I should like to have you, as my lover. If you are amenable." His face is tipped up, so close between Hob's hands, and Hob.

Hob's shaking. He's actually trembling, pent up, a little scared; daring, as he leans down and his hair falls around them both, hoping—

He brushes his lips to Dream's.

He kisses his Stranger, his friend, his touchstone.

And Dream of the Endless, who is all of those things, kisses him back.

It's nothing like he might have imagined, and ten times as wonderful, and over before he realizes he's ended it.

"Do you mean it." His voice is breathless, the words spoken directly against Dream's mouth. It's a stupid question, in light of the entire conversation gone before and the hand still on his arse, but he can't help asking. This entire turn of events is just too good to be true.

"Yes."

But true it is, apparently, and Hob's heart soars.

"Then. Dream of the Endless. My Stranger. My friend." He presses soft kisses to those plush pink lips between each moniker, dizzy that he's allowed. "Let me add another title to the list, darling. Take me to bed; the suite is ours 'til tomorrow. Let me learn how you would have me. Let me show you how I would treat you. And let me, at long last, name you mine."

= Started: 8/21/24 Drafted: 8/27/24 Posted: 8/30/24

If you're looking for a spicier take on this concept, @delta-pavonis has you covered: Dossier 54392 - please, give it a read, it's delicious.

(and here, have a post-script-y epilogue-exchange of sorts that did not quite fit:)

= "You chose to name yourself Nick Bottom?"

"What better name for a callboy to the supernatural than the bloke who got unwittingly embroiled in a fae lovers' spat and ultimately survived the entire encounter unscathed? Feels pretty relevant to me. Empowering, a bit?"

"Nick Bottom was less 'empowered' than simply lucky, perhaps."

"Perhaps. I'll not turn my nose up at good luck, either. But a name like Bottom in this business is also too good a pun to pass up, and I figure old Shaxberd would approve."

"I believe he would, indeed."

"The irony being that fully half of my clients want me to top them, heh."

"I do not wish to speak of your clients while you are in bed with me."

"Got better uses for my mouth, have you?"

"Other sounds I would prefer to hear from it, yes."

"Fair enough. Why don't you tell me what you want, Mr. Sandman, and see if I can make your dreams come true."

"Must you be so cliché?"

"You love my clich—mmph—"

"Stop. Talking."

"Yes love."

(Dream will tell him about commissioning A Midsummer Night's Dream at some other time 💖)

= Nick Bottom's lines from A Midsummer Night's Dream that lent themselves to the title: I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was and also The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream

[diceriadelluntore]

Storia Di Musica #352 - Deep Purple, Burn, 1974

Tra i dischi che compiono 50 anni quest'anno, la scelta della domenica dell'Immacolata scalderà il cuore degli amanti dell'hard rock. Fu questo disco la seconda rinascita di una formazione che come poche altre ha segnato l'immaginario musicale, sia per la storia lunga e travagliata, ma soprattutto per la musica, dirompente e davvero una delle poche che ha, quasi da sola, designato un genere. ma andiamo con ordine.

I Deep Purple nel 1972 sono tra le band più famose del mondo, e vengono da una serie di dischi capolavoro incredibile: In Rock (1970), Fireball (1971), e nell'anno magico del '72, Machine Head e quello che è probabilmente uno dei dischi più famosi della storia del rock, Made In Japan. Erano all'epoca alla seconda formazione, quando nel 1970 il cantante Ian Gillian e il bassista Roger Glover subentrano a Rod Evans e Nick Simper e si associano a Jon Lord alle tastiere, Ian Paice alla batteria e alla chitarra di Ritchie Blackmore. Eppure nel momento di massima popolarità, Gillian, attratto dalle sirene di una carriera solista, si chiama fuori, e così fa Glover. Non se ne vanno subito, perchè per motivi contrattuali devono pubblicare un nuovo disco, tra l'altro il primo per la propria casa discografica Purple (che sarà distribuito poi dalla Harvest). È uno stillicidio: si acuiscono i dissidi interni, soprattutto tra Gillian e Blackmore, e il disco che ne viene fuori, Who Do You Think We Are?, esce nel 1973 tra polemiche infinite, e mostra un gruppo stanco e dilaniato che firma solo un brano all'altezza della fama, Woman From Tokyo.

C'è però un lato positivo: quelli che restano hanno tutto il tempo di decidere i sostituti. La scelta è all'inizio su un giovane e pirotecnico bassista, che fa faville con i Trapeze, si chiama Glenn Hughes. Ed è quasi deciso che il posto di Gillian verrà preso da Paul Rodgers in uscita dei Free. Tuttavia Rodgers glissa, fondando i Bad Company, e la band fa un unico provino, dopo un annunio sul Melody Maker, ad un ragazzo di 21 anni, sconosciuto, David Coverdale. Come dirà Paice nelle interviste future, il repertorio che il ragazzo presentò era scarsissimo, ma aveva un che in quella voce dai tratti molto soul e calda, quindi completamente diversa dalla potenza acuta di quella di Gillian, che era l'obiettivo che la band voleva.

Nascono, o meglio, rinascono così i Deep Purple, Mark III (che fa presagire, come nomenclatura, le ulteriori future formazioni), che nel 1974 pubblicano un 33 giri che riporta dove merita la band. Burn esce il 15 Febbraio 1974 e ha nel pezzo di attacco il segnale che la classe è tornata: Burn è uno dei loro brani classici, uno dei riff degni della leggenda dei Deep Purple, che diventerà il brano di apertura di tutti i concerti dei successivi due anni. Vibrante, con la chitarra di Blackmore a giganteggiare, è uno dei brani degli anni '70. Ma è l'intero disco che ammalia: Hughes è fine musicista e compositore, e solo per problemi contrattuali non è citato nei crediti delle canzoni della prima edizione (problema che verrà "risolto" nella edizioni successive, dove nei crediti delle canzoni comprare il suo nome), il suono seppur rimane potente acquista delle inflessioni soul, più blues, e canzoni come Might Just Take Your Life, Lay Down, Stay Down e You Fool No One sono magistrali esempi di quell'hard rock che furono loro, e pochi altri, a costruire a fine anni '60. Il disco è pieno di cavalcate strumentali, non solo di Blackmore alla chitarra (come dimenticare l'assolo alle tastiere di Lord in Burn!), di intrecci vocali e melodici e va ricordato, tra gli altri, quello strepitoso hard blues che è Mistreated, canzone che Blackmore aveva nel cassetto da anni, ma che solo con la voce di Coverdale, che all'esordio fa una figura da veterano, riesce a sviluppare appieno.

La copertina, iconica, ritrae il volto dei musicisti come candele accese, sul retro le stesse candele sono quasi del tutto consumate e sullo sfondo ci sono i veri volti dei musicisti: è opera di Fin Costello. Il disco arriverà in cima alle classifiche di 13 paesi, e il successivo tour avrà grande successo.

La Mark III durerà un altro disco, Stormbringer, dove sono ancora più accentuati il lato funk e soul della nuova formazione, e che regala alcuni brani fortunati (Lady Double Dealer o la stupenda Soldier Of Fortune, che esalta il timbro di Coverdale). Poi nel 1975 Blackmore se ne va a fondare i Rainbow, e la band arriva alla Mark IV con Tommy Bolin, proveniente dagli Zephyr e Bill Bruford: Come Taste The Band è un disco particolare, dove si esalta anche Hughes che duetta spesso con Coverdale e c'è un accenno marcato al funk rock.

La band si scioglie nel 1977, non senza polemica, ma l'affetto dei fan continuerà a lungo, tanto che la leggendaria Mark II, con di nuovo Blackmore e Gillian, si riunì nel 1984 con un album tanto dimenticato quanto bello: Perfect Strangers. E non finirà qui, tra litigi, reunion e un nome significativo e potente come pochi della Storia del rock. Proprio come la loro musica.

[aesopesbaby]

recuesting anything for trevor since im a bit terrible at writing

⤷. Trevor ( @edgywithaheart) Headcanons

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: I didn't really know what to write,,,so this is just some random thoughts I have for him! ^^

Trevor expresses himself alot by using his hair. When he talks, his hair does hand movements to exaggerate the story.

Trevor enjoys classic rock music, sometimes he can be heard humming to a tune while his hair mimics playing an air guitar.

He doesn't bother much for his hair. It's always in knots and tangles,,,, This boy has never seen a comb in his life,,,

We all know Trevor loves pulling pranks on others, but he also enjoys telling elaborate, exaggerated stories. Some are true, some are completely fabricated,,, You'll never know which is which when he shoots you his signature grin at the end, leaving you to guess.

Trevor doesn't sleep, he'd much rather spend his time watching others for his amusement.

He tends to sit criss-cross applesauce!!!

Trevor never turns down a good challenge. If someone dares him to do something, especially if it's ridiculous or extremely dangerous, he'll glady accept ─ Just to show off.

A sigh left Casimir's lips as he tilted his head to the side, glancing over at the sharp black hair, inches away from nicking his face.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" The butler spoke calmly, the dark inky tendril that is protruding from his back is wrapped tightly around the hair, squeezing it harshly as he waits for an answer. "Well?"

Trevor stares at him, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as he lets out a simpering laugh. "Nothing much man. Just..you know, testing out a theory." The vampire shrugs mindlessly, still staring him down.

Casimir returns a laugh of his own, albeit curtly while his smile never leaves his features. "I'd assume you got your answer then?"

Silence washes over the two of them, neither willing to let up. Trevor puts both his hands up in mock defeat as his hair returns back to normal, allowing Casimir's tendril to unravel it.

"Yup, I'll catch ya later."

Trevor has a silent ongoing feud with Casimir ( @boiling-potato OC) ,,,,

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

Oh my god Russ wrote I did it for love by Night Ranger? I love that song. Went down a rabbit hole of looking up the songs he wrote.

HE DID, it is a very good song! i read that they were kind of upset about it at first because they wanted to do their own songs and they were kind of forced to do that because of the whole "you need a ballad or else" thing, but later on they were glad they did it

[aurorawest]

Reading update

Arthur and Teddy Are Coming Out by Ryan Love - 3/5 stars

The Fate of Stars by SD Simper - DNF at pg 32

A Gathering Storm by Joanna Chambers - 4.75/5 stars

I kept getting the Madame Leota room from Haunted Mansion stuck in my head as I was reading this (not a bad thing!). This book has a surprisingly low rating on the Storygraph, and I'm not going to torture myself by looking at the reviews, but I'm assuming it's because of the power discrepancy between Ward and Nick. Clearly it didn't bother me as I really enjoyed the book!

Dionysus in Wisconsin by EH Lupton - 4.75/5 stars

At some point I might get tired of Mid-Century Modern romances, but not this day. This book was super fun, with an interesting world and lovely characters. And a Midwest setting! I've spent a lot of time in Madison, Wisconsin, where this book is set, so I got the added bonus of knowing most of the places pretty well. There was even a shoutout to an obscure piece of Madison history, the Lost City in the Arb. I have to get the second book in the series now!boy

Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan - 3.25/5 stars

I gave this book an extra quarter of a star for being written in 2003, when it would have been genuinely pretty groundbreaking. Reading it in 2024, it's very twee and pretty cringey (the queer utopia town would have been a magical fantasy in 2003, not so much now in a lot of places). When Levithan credited Francesca Lia Block's Weetzie Bat books in the acknowledgements, I though, ah. No wonder. Hated those as a teen.

All that said, there's some genuinely lovely writing in this book, and it has its place in the queer canon.

The Greywacke by Nick Davidson - 5/5 stars

Super interesting nonfiction about the discipline of geology and how the early geologic epochs were figured out. Also gave me an idea for a historical romance about gay Victorian geologists.

Home Grown Talent by Joanna Chambers & Sally Malcolm - 5/5 stars

I think I loved this one more than the first in the series. The social media scandal was perfect, in that it was exactly as absurd as every social media scandal is, and thus hilarious, but also chilling in how even something so stupid can ruin people's lives.

The First Bright Thing by JR Dawson - DNF at pg 1

Prince of the Sorrows by Kellen Graves - DNF at pg 30

Reuben's Hot & Cold by M Arbon - 3/5 stars

Slight Foxing Around the Edges by Melissa Polk - DNF at pg 132

Restored by Joanna Chambers - 5/5 stars

Balefire by Jordan L Hawk - 4.75/5 stars

A Rulebook for Restless Rogues by Jess Everlee - 4/5 stars

The Mars House by Natasha Pulley - 5/5 stars

See my brain vomit about this book here. If you've been around here for any amount of time you know all Natasha Pulley's books make me feral. Absolutely no exception here. I cannot believe her first UK publisher dropped her over this book. Idiots! It's wonderful just like everything she's ever written.

In the Case of Heartbreak by Courtney Kaye - DNF at pg 181

The Piano Tuner by Daniel Mason - DNF at pg 21

The Charm Offensive by Alison Cochrun - 5/5 stars (reread)

Just as good as the first time I read it!

Exhalation by Ted Chiang - 4.5/5 stars

The Foxhole Court by Nora Sakavic - DNF at pg 84

Crisped + Sere by TJ Klune - 4.75/5 stars

It actually kind of makes me mad that this series isn't Klune's most famous work, because it's real good. At this point it seems kind of unlikely he's going to continue it, but man, I'd love another book.

These Silent Stars by Chani Lynn Feener - DNF at pg 68

Trailer Park Trickster by David R Slayton - 5/5 stars

See below.

Deadbeat Druid by David R Slayton - David R Slayton - 5/5 star

I LOVE this series. Love love love love. Absolute must read. If you're a fan of KD Edwards's The Tarot Sequence, this series is right up your alley. It seems like there will be more after this initial trilogy, and there's also a spinoff book coming soon which I'm super excited for. Read them!!

[lichfucker]

10 ppl I'd like to know better - tagged by @benchofindigo !! ty 🥰

last song: stop draggin' my heart around by stevie nicks and tom petty

favorite color: purple and grey

last book: devil house by john darnielle. finished it months ago and haven't read anything since, BUT! I'm gonna be starting my reread of as I lay dying by william faulkner soon

last movie: uhhh well it was supposed to be secretary w jack but we ran into technical difficulties so I think that means the last movie I watched was challengers? I watched the fall and challengers on xmas lmao

last tv show: the traitors

sweet/spicy/savory: SWEET

last thing I searched for online: "simpering" definition. sometimes you just need to look up words you already know to be certain you're using them correctly, y'know?

current obsession: still black sails. someday something will usurp it but I cannot possibly imagine what or when

looking forward to: hanging out w wiz my friend wiz on tuesday!!!!

ten is a lot of people to tag so let's just go with @etoilesombre @boasamishipper @puckgoodfaggot @tallahasseemp3 @domesticatedanimals no pressure! do this if u wanna

[rockandrollpicsandthings]

Deep Purple Mk I, London, 1968

Ritchie Blackmore, Ian Paice, Rod Evans, Jon Lord and Nick Simper

[jerzwriter]

Predictable

In the just in the nick of time category! For week 4 of @lilyoffandoms Writer Appreciation Week, here is a little AU for my paired writer, @trappedinfanfiction, featuring her OTP Ethan x Celia and my OTP Tobias x Casey. I hope you enjoy it, Tif!

Book: Open Heart (Book 3 Timeline)

Pairings: Ethan Ramsey x Celia Moore Tobias Carrick x Casey MacTavish

Rating: Teen

Words: 2250

Summary: Celia and Casey have become good friends and believe a double date is in order! Unfortunately, their boyfriends are ex-best friends and rivals. Watch as the night unfold. Will it go better than expected, or be a disaster?

A/N: Participating in @choicesseptemberchallenge2023 Day 9 Date Night.

The condo was quiet. Entirely too quiet for them getting ready for a Saturday night out, but it wasn’t just any night, and Celia knew Ethan was miffed. Putting the final touches on her makeup, she bit her cheek to stop herself from laughing at his pouting. She knew he wasn’t happy, but the huffing and grumbling under his breath as he changed his tie for the fifth time was a bit... dramatic... to say the least.

Clearing her throat to get his attention, she was disappointed when the scowl remained on his face. Even the incredibly low-cut black silk dress she picked for the evening wasn’t cheering him up.

“Do you need some help picking out a tie? I can help.”

“I am capable of picking out a tie,” he stated flatly. “But... thank you.”

“You do seem to be struggling,” she teased as he collapsed into an easy chair with a sigh.

“Is it too late to say we have a fatal condition that will miraculously disappear in the next 24 hours.”

“Interesting...” Celia sang as she playfully sat on his lap. “Because it wasn’t all that long ago when I did have a mystery illness, and we weren’t sure I had another 24 hours left.  But, thanks to Tobias, I’m here... sitting on your lap... in this incredibly hot dress that you have not had the decency to acknowledge!”

His stony façade crumbled as his eyes traced her body, happily landing on her decolletage, just inches from the pleasant grin tugging at his lips.

“You make an excellent point,” he surrendered, his hands roaming over her curves. “But it was a team effort. We can hardly credit Tobias with saving you.”

“Oh? Would you like to redo the night and exclude him... just to see how things turn out?”

Ethan’s silence was all the answer she needed, and she rose to her feet with a triumphant grin.

“That’s all the more reason for us to stay in... I’m sure Tobias, of all people, would understand that I’d rather do... other things...”

“Nice try,” she laughed. “But we’re meeting Casey and Tobias at Menton in thirty minutes, like it or not.”

“Well, you know my answer to that.”

“Ethan. Casey is a good friend, and it’s ridiculous to think we can’t have dinner with our boyfriends, especially when they were once best friends themselves.”

“Were being the operative word.”

“Is asking you to be polite for one evening too much?”

“It’s not,” he sighed.  “You’re right.”

“I know I am,” she simpered. “You know when most people say ‘my better half,’ it’s just a term of endearment, but in our case, I very much am your better half. The sooner you accept that, the better.”

Ethan barked out a laugh. “Then we’re in luck. Because I’ve already accepted it.  Now let’s go, but we’re not staying a minute past 9:30... agreed?”

“Agreed. Just be a good boy, Ethan, and I’ll reward you later.”

“In that case, we don’t stay a minute past 9:00.”

In a townhome across town...

A manicured hand crept out from the billowy covers and blindly reached at the nightstand in search of her blaring phone. Casey’s attention was very much on other things, but they had ignored the first three alarms; they couldn’t do it again.

Undeterred, Tobias remained in place, placing a trail of hot kisses from her belly up toward her chin, stopping to linger on some of his favorite spotsalong the way.

“Tobias,” she giggled, attempting to wiggle out from under him. “Tobias! We have to go. Our reservation is in 30 minutes, and we’re still naked.”

With a heaving breath, he collapsed on her in defeat. “I happen to like us naked.  Can we please just cancel? I’m telling you, Ramsey won’t give a damn if we do.”

“Agreed,” she said, turning on the light. “In fact, you’d probably make his night. But I’d be disappointed, and so would Celia. So I ask you, do you want to disappoint two beautiful women but make Ethan’s dreams come true?”

He rolled over with a grumble. “When you put it that way...”

“Tobias, Celia is one of my best friends. It’s not like we’ll ask for it often, but once in a while, you and Ethan will need to put up with each other.”  

“Why?”

Casey flipped around, her coquettish gaze saying more than words could express.

“Because I’m asking you to.”

“Fine,” he smirked. “But outside of this apartment, no one is to know how goddamned whipped you have me. OK?”

“Yeah,” she cackled. “Too late for that, Carrick. Why don’t you go pick out what heels I’ll wear tonight?  This way, you have something nice to focus on during the meal?”

“Yeah,” his eyes lit up. “Can I pick out the undies, too?”

“Undies?” she winked.  “You were expecting me to wear undies?”

“Never mind,” he replied gleefully. “But stop talking like that, or we will be staying home!”

“Go get dressed, Dr. Carrick. I’ve given you your appetizer, and if you behave at dinner, I assure you desert will be spectacular.”

Tobias shook his head as he reached the bedroom door, turning back to Casey with a smile.  

“You know, sometimes I still can’t believe I’ve met you.”

“Yeah, yeah...” she teased. “You can thank your lucky stars when the sunsets. Now go get dressed!”

Forty Five minutes later...

Ethan was tapping his foot in annoyance as Celia perused the menu.  Tobias and Casey were already fifteen minutes late, and Ethan was inquiring how long they had to give them before they left when the guilty parties appeared.  Holding hands as they moved through the crowd, the smiles on their faces left little question about what Tobias was whispering in her ear. Ethan rolled his eyes just as Celia glanced in his direction.

“Ethan!” she scolded.  

“I don’t know what she sees in him.  Maybe we should introduce her to my friend Arutur. We’d be saving her a lifetime of grief.”

“Arthur?” Celia grimaced. “The guy in the opera box next to yours?”

“Yes.”

“The one who forages and organizes his cupboards for fun?”

“Yes. He’s a grown-up.”

“He’s a bore! And even if Casey wasn’t happy with Tobias, you need to stick with your day job because you do not have a future in matchmaking.”

Tobias stuck close to Casey as they neared the table.

“God, he looks as miserable as ever,” he groaned.

“Tobias, Ethan’s not that bad.”

“Yeah, he is. Look at him. I think his face would crack if he attempted a sincere smile.”

“Tobias, weren’t you besties at one point? How bad can he be?”

“That was a long time ago. He was a lot more fun back then.”

“Maybe he just needs you to help bring that fun side out again.”

“I’m sure that’s the last thing he wants.”

“I didn’t say want; I said need. Now, just be your jovial self.  And if dinner becomes difficult, just focus on dessert, OK?”

“I’ve been focusing on nothing but. Remember, we’re out of here by 9:00.”

After quick greetings, Ethan summonsed the waiter over to place their drink orders.

“How difficult was it to get him here,” Celia whispered to Casey.

“On a scale of 1-10.  I’d say a 9.  What about you?”

“At least a 15.  But, we’re here,” Celia smiled. 

Tobias and the women agreed on a bottle of wine to share, and then Ethan placed an order for Macallan 18, Sherry Cask.   

“Damn,” Tobias chuckled. “Still drinking that?

“Never stopped.”

“Wait, you drank that during med school?” Celia marveled. “That’s an awfully hefty price tag for a struggling med school student.”

“Some things are worth sacrificing for, dear.”

“So I’ve heard,” Celia winked. “Did you share that bill with him back then, Tobias?”

“Me? Oh, hell no! I drank nothing but cheap stuff back then.”

“Really?” Casey gasped. “But you had a champagne budget.”

“He didn’t want everyone to know that,” Ethan stepped in.

“Nope,” Tobias agreed.  “So I just took the risk of drinking nothing but Boone’s Berry Creek.”

“Did that protect your secret?” Celia asked.

“Unfortunately not.  The Carrick name was just too known at Hopkins, so... I gave up.”

“I’m sure your liver was thankful,” Casey smiled as a look of almost sympathy crossed Ethan’s face.

“Back then, we were both trying to pretend we were something we weren’t. We both had something to prove, even if they were different things.”

“Yeah, and we both failed miserably,” Tobias half smiled.  

“But at least you became friends,” Casey said.  “That’s something.”

“It was,” Ethan replied, taking a sip of his newly arrived drink. “Until we weren’t.”  

“It was a... complicated time,” Tobias offered, as an uncomfortable atmosphere settled on their table.

Celia and Casey kept chatting to keep the mood light, but even they began to wonder if 9:00 might be pushing it. Relief washed over them as the first course arrived, but Tobias’s eyes went wide.  

“Ethan, don’t look up, but is that Richard Barder?”

“Richard Barder?” Ethan blurted as his head circled the room.  “Where?”

“I said don’t look up!” Tobias admonished.

“Now, how the hell am I supposed to know if it’s him if I don’t look up!”

Suppressing smiles, Celia and Casey’s eyes met across the table.

“I think it’s him,” Ethan stated.

“Oh, that’s him,” Tobias agreed. “Goddamn, I haven’t seen him since his wedding.”

Ethan snorted in amusement.  “Which one?” he scoffed.

“The second, I believe. How many is he up to now?”  

“To the best of my knowledge, he’s on spouse number four.”  

“Jesus,” Tobias laughed. “I guess if, at first, you don’t succeed....”

“Amazing,” Celia declared. “Someone in your Hopkins class getting married? I thought that was forbidden?”

“Apparently, Richard is making up for all of those from their class who refuse,” Casey laughed.

“Trust me. You two wouldn’t want to marry either of us if we were Richard,” Tobias insisted.

“Well, it seems like four other people would disagree with that,” Celia teased.

“In fairness, three of those four probably no longer agree with that statement,” Casey surmised.

“There’s a lid for every pot out there,” Ethan shrugged. “But as bright as you two are, you’d never agree to marry the likes of Richard.”

“Aww, Ethan,” Casey grinned. “Are you saying I’m smart for picking Tobias?”

“I said no such thing!” He snapped. “I would deny it in a court of law.”

Celia rolled her eyes. “With three witnesses? Good luck with that!”

Tobias hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation at the table, instead focusing on Richard holding court at the bar.  “You know, enough avoiding him. Let’s go say hello.  Can’t hurt to get the scoop on what happened with marriage three and four.”

“I’m not interested in idle gossip.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Tobias shot back. “I’m going to go say hi, and when I come back, don’t you dare ask me what he said because I won’t tell you.”

Ethan sat perfectly still, but it was clear to see an internal battle waging inside.  As Tobias stood up, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Fine! I’ll go.”

“I knew you would,” Tobias smirked.

“Will you two be OK?” Ethan asked.

“Yes,” Celia mocked. “Somehow, we’ll manage to survive without the two of yo.  Go ahead and get your gossip, my dear.”

The two women sipped their wine as they watched the men walk to the bar, animatedly chatting as if they hadn’t spent the last decade avoiding each other.

“So,” Celia simpered.  “What time did Tobias tell you that you had to be out of here?”

“Nine.  And you?”

“Nine,” Celia laughed. “God, they are two sides of the same coin, aren’t they?”

“Twenty dollars says we’ll be heading home much later than nine.  In fact, we’ll probably be the ones begging to go.”

“Didn’t you hear Ethan?” Celia joked. “We’re smart. Why would I take that bet?”

“They’re too predictable,” Casey laughed.

“Yeah, but they’re cute.”

“Hey!” Casey said, playfully shoving her friend’s shoulder.  “Eyes off of my boyfriend.”

“Pfft!” Celia waved.  “Feel free to look at mine.  Just look, of course.”

Hours later...

Casey’s head was nuzzled on Tobias’s shoulder.  “Tobias,” she yawned. “I really think we should head home.”

“I agree,” Celia nodded. “It’s way past my bedtime.

“It’s not even midnight,” Ethan scowled.

“I know, but we have that... thing... to do in the morning.”

“In the morning?” Ethan questioned. 

“Ethan,” Casey rolled her eyes. “Morning is in like fifteen minutes.  She wants to do you in the morning.  Can’t you take the hint?”

“I’m sure you have things to do, too,” Celia winked.

“Yes,” Tobias grinned. “Me.  I’m things.  She has to do me.”

Ethan ran a hand down the front of hi face.  “You two are a match made in heaven.”

“I don’t know If heaven will take credit for this,” Celia laughed.

“I suppose we should get going,” Tobias agreed.

“Yes,” Ethan nodded.  “But we should do this again sometime soon.”

“You know, Casey & I have tickets for the Sox game next Tuesday.  Luxury box! You’re both welcome to join us.”

“Count us in!” Ethan insisted.

The two men gabbed non-stop as they waited for their taxis. 

“We knew this would happen,” Casey whispered.

“Sure did.  You know what this means, don’t you?”

“That eventually we’re going to be telling them we’d rather spend the night alone with them?”

“Absolutely,” Casey grinned.  “They’re just too predictable.”

~~

Thanks for reading!

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

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