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bluospirit · 4 years ago

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SCARY LOVE !! dream

chapter three : queries.

# SUMMARY : he asks her the question.

# WARNING : none

# PAIRING : dream!clay x fem!oc

# DISCLAIMER : also, i'd like to add, this is completely fictional and in no way do i believe dream himself would act like this in relationship, this is purely for entertainment. MDNI. enjoy my loves <3

masterlist / last chap / next chap

Clay was born Clay Davis, to two Australians who actually lived in Florida. He didn't have an accent, much to Monica’s dismay, but could do a kick-ass Steve Irwin impression. He studied computer science at the University of Pennsylvania but dropped out to work with apple.

He has a cat, Patches, cutest thing I've ever seen.

He loved Marvel movies over DC, thankfully.

The only meal he knew how to make was macaroni and four-cheese.

Monica, on the other hand, was pretty uninteresting.

"Oh, come on, you can't be that boring," he protested when she offered no facts about herself.

"Trust me, I am. Like, to put it in perspective, the worst thing I've ever done in my twenty years of living was cheat during an exam by writing two equations on the desk right before. And you know what?" She paused and groaned, burying her face in her palms. "I didn't even need them."

"Well shit," Clay gasped, "you're a badass." Monica ruefully bumped her shoulder into his.

That night, Clay learned a lot about Monica and concluded that she was, in fact, not boring at all.

Not only did he learn about her from what she said, but a lot from her action. Like the fact that she got cold easily.

Or that her favourite colour was scarlet (her phone case, nails, necklace, and bracelet were all scarlet).

Or that if you were funny enough, she'd laugh so hard that she sounded like a dying goose.

When they realized it was late and that they should go back to their cabins to get some rest, Clay felt sad. Monica was cool, and he wished he had met her earlier during camp, rather than the night before it ended.

"I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast," Clay called out when they parted way to their respective cabins. Monica offered a nod and waved goodbye.

Later, when Monica got into bed, she couldn't help but feel content. The emptiness in her heart hadn't made her ache so much that day. Plus, Clay was pretty cool.

Too bad you met him at the end of camp, she thought reluctantly. Not that it mattered. She went to school in Boston, and he was in Philadelphia. It was impossible for them to date anyway.

She blushed at the thought of them dating-she met the guy a few hours ago and she was already thinking of dating him! God, she felt like she was in high school again.

The next morning wasn't too bad. She was still sore from the hiking trip, but the burning in her legs wasn't that noticeable when she had to rush to help her kids pack before breakfast.

"Charles, please stop shoving your toothbrush into Cecelia's nose!" Monica shouted as she lugged four suitcases onto the steps of the cabin.

"And Richard, I swear if I see you throw another spit ball, I will tell your father!"

When all the kids were ready, they group headed down to breakfast single file, hands behind their backs with a bubble in her mouth. They were finally free once they arrived at the gazebo. Monica hated herself a little for straining her neck as she observed the people around her, looking out for a tall man with a magenta shirt on.

"Looking for someone?" a familiar voice behind her whispered. Monica jumped and almost dropped the bottle of orange juice she was carrying. She turned around, a smile playing on her lips as she stared at Clay. God, he was so much more attractive in the sunlight.

He was tall-well above six feet, and if she were to make a more precise guess, six feet three inches-and broad. He looked like a swimmer, but she wasn't sure. He had only mentioned playing intramural soccer last night. His hair was light blond, and his eyes were the most startling shade of green.

"Not really," Monica mumbled, but they both knew she was lying. She grabbed a Styrofoam cup and filled it up with hot water, grabbing a teabag.

"Tea instead of coffee?" Clay quipped.

"Absolutely. I despise coffee."

he gaped at her, looking mortally offended. "What? How the fuck can you hate coffee?"

"It's a black bitter broth of death."

"Or a black beautiful brew of life."

The corner of Monica's lip perked up as she continued to steep her tea bag into the cup.

"So, I meant to ask you a question last night," he commented as they went through the food line. He loaded his plate with eggs and potatoes and way too much cheese if you ask her.

"Yeah? What's up?"

He mumbled an incoherent string of words, and Monica's brows furrowed. "I didn't catch that," she said.

Clay looked at her and took a deep breath. "I said, would you like to go out with me?"

She stopped suddenly and blinked at him, her mouth agape. She responded out of reflex. "I'm sorry, what?"

A faint blush stained Clay's tan cheeks. "You want to make me say it again, huh?"

he muttered. But louder, he began, "I said, would you like to go out with-"

"I heard what you said," Monica interrupted. It was her turn to blush. Caught off guard, she took a step back from him and looked around. No one was paying them any mind, which most likely meant no one had heard.

"Why are you asking me? You do know this is last day of camp? We're all going back home in," she paused to glance at her watch, "three hours."

"Wait, really?" Clay gasped, putting a sarcastic hand over his mouth.

"I was under the impression that we had two weeks left. Oh, how time has escaped me." Moni wished he'd go back to feeling embarrassed.

"Oh ha-ha, Mr. Sarcasm thinks he's funny."

"I mean, those sounds you made last night definitely confirmed that I am so ..."

"Seriously, Clay, what the hell are you thinking?"

"What? It's perfect."

"How so, smartass? 'Cause I go to MIT and last I checked, that's not U-Penn."

"Oh, so now Ms. I-Have-A-4.0 wants to remind us what a good school she goes to." He dodged her feeble slap and grinned. "Look, we're a two-hour drive from New York City, so we can head down there and have a nice day and then go our separate ways."

To be honest, that didn't sound like a bad idea. But Monica felt so defensive and opposed to the notion. Which didn't make sense since last night she was disappointed by the fact that she couldn't date him.

When she didn't respond right away, he added, "It's just a fun, friendly, let's-just-do-it kind of date."

"Do it?”

"I mean, not do it, do it, but y'know, do-it. Unless, of course, you want to do it, and in that case, I, as well as the secret stash I have in my wallet, would be more than happy to oblige."

Monica chose to ignore his suggestion. "We barely know each other. Why should we go out on a date?"

"I don't know if you were there last night but I feel like we know each other well enough. Besides," he continued as he caught her elbow and moved her aside as a line of kids ran past them in a game of tag, "this would be a perfect opportunity for us to get to know each other better."

"That's not what I mean!" She felt so flustered. So hot. Why was it so hot outside? She peeled off her windbreaker as she spoke.

"I mean that we don't know enough about each other to go on a date." She whispered the last word.

Despite the dark tint of her skin, the blush on her face was visible.

"Look," he said, manoeuvring them so they were forced to lock eyes. She almost closed her own like a petulant child but decided against it. "We go to the city. We have a good time. We part ways. We don't have to think about the future, or even spend a lot of money if that's what you're worried about. I just want to take you out."

"But why?"

"'Cause I think you're funny and pretty. And if that's not enough for you, I'll recite poetry like those many foreign men in your DM's. Roses are red, violets are blue, your beauty fares like the golden rays of the light, please say yes to me and you.”

Monica glared at him but she knew she was already defeated. She couldn't fight anymore-not with him, and especially not with herself. She knew that even if it wouldn't end in a happily ever after, she also wanted to go out with him, to give this-whatever this was-a shot.

"Fine. We'll go. But we'll meet at someplace 'cause I brought my car with me." Clay grinned and mutant bats flew rampant Monica's stomach, a feeling of joy coursing through her veins. He had the most beautiful dimples. "You're definitely not going to regret it."

"That immediately makes me think I am going to regret this," she snorted. He just winked and walked away. She calls out after him, "Just so you know, I'm not a cheap date. I might be in college, but I have standards. I cost at least a hundred an hour. More for extras"

"Hey!" a child shouted. "That's what my mom tells her boyfriends when they come over."

Monica definitely liked July 12th more than July 11th.

#dream smp smut #dream smut #dream x reader #dream x reader smut #dreamwastaken #dreamwastaken smut #dsmp #gaming #georgenotfound #mcyt smut

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bluospirit · 4 years ago

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nah bc spiderman nwh has me in all my feels

#spirits speaks #spiderman no way home

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bluospirit · 4 years ago

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SCARY LOVE !! dream

chapter two : seating arrangements.

# SUMMARY : monica meets stranger who's sitting in her spot.

# WARNING : death.

# PAIRING : dream!clay x fem!oc

masterlist / last chap / next chap

MONICA WAS BOTHERED. there was someone sitting in her spot.

after only three weeks at camp, monica was physically and mentally exhausted. she hadn’t known that when she signed up to take care of a bunch of kids, they would actually be childern.

she thought they’d be angsty, but less energetic, pre-teens who were going through a meta-phase and preferred space rather than attention.

instead, she got a handful of eight to ten year olds who not only were attention-hungry mongrels but also had more energy in seven seconds than she had in a whole damn day.

“what to? what to go?” she mumbled to herself, standing still at the other end of the dock. she rubbed her ear lobe and tilted her head to the side as she observed the figure sitting at her spot.

today was more than exhausting- today was excruciating, bordering on unbearable, in both the senses.

after taking the childern swimming and hiking todau- and then chasing a few stray kids who went ventured off the designated paths and areas- the responsibility of cleaning the gazebo post-dinner- had been thrust upon monica. to make the day significantly worse, she’d woken up with a plethora of concoling texts from well-intentioned friends, only serving to remind her of the anniversary today.

as if she could ever forget.

as if looking at the date itself wouldn’t remind her.

july 11th.

monica fucking hated july 11th.

since she’d opened her eyes at the ass crack of dawn, she’s been looking forward to sitting in her spot and just relaxing.

She had nothing to study today, so after her job was done for the day, she would just sit there, at her spot, the same spot she'd been sitting in all summer with no intruders, and bask in the moonlight as she read; a suitable distraction from whatever was going on in her mind.

But it seemed as though her plans were to be foiled by the stranger sitting at the other end of the dock. In her spot.

What if it's one of the kids? she wondered. She strained her neck forward and squinted in an attempt to make out the size of the silhouette. The moon provided inadequate lighting. That, paired with her poor vision, made it impossible to precisely decipher what she was staring at.

monica thus had one of two options. She could either turn back around and go to the campsite, where she would inevitably run into one of the other counselors who would coerce (i.e. force) her to go to the end-of-camp bonfire with the rest of the volunteers. Or she could approach this stranger sitting in her spot and console them until she could once again reclaim her spot in solitude.

There was an unspoken third option which was to push the stranger into the water as to avoid all this trouble, but that was rude, inappropriate, and if it was a child sitting there, against camp rules.

It was only after the unknown person at the other end of the dock emitted an audible sob that Victoria's empathy convinced her that the best course of action would be option two.

So, that's exactly what she did-even though she wanted to be alone, even though she wanted nothing more than to lie down with her eyes closed for just a minute, engrossed with the surrounding sounds of nature all around her-she sat right down next to this person. Because even if she needed the solitude, this person might have needed the comfort even more.

"Hi," she said to what now appeared to be a grown man. He was wearing a magenta shirt with the words counsellor printed on the front. She didn't recognize him, but that didn't surprise her. She only hung out with the members of her cabin.

The crying man flinched at the sudden sound of her voice. He swiped the tears away from his face and cleared his throat before turning to look at the girl who took a seat beside him.

"Hey," he said. Her features were hidden behind the shadows of the night. Still, she seemed familiar.

The pair sat in awkward silence for a prolonged moment, and she finally realized she was the one meant to instigate conversation since she was the intruder.

"I'm monica, but everyone calls me moni or em." She held her hand out and offered a small smile.

"clay." He extended his too. They looked at each other with visible uncomfortable before turning back to face the lake.

Maybe this was a bad idea, she thought. Yet, there was no going back.

"So, clay," she began, swinging her legs over the edge. She was wearing her strap-on sandals. She was tall enough that when she swung her legs hard enough, the water would create a cool tickle as it licked at her toes.

"So, monica," he micked when she didn't continue.

"So, clay." She bit the inside of her cheeks. She didn't know what to do-or say. She wasn't very good at small talk. She liked to get down to brass tacks. "What are you doing here?"

It was a dumb (and somewhat accusatory) question, but it was all she could think of.

"If I said I was stargazing, would you believe me?"

"Uh, sure, if that's what you want." However, the glance she shot him was all too knowing. clay looked away and pursed his lips.

"This is weird-I mean I know I don't know you-maybe I just . . ." he paused a moment and took a deep breath before continuing in a soft tone. "Do you ever just, y'know, get really sad being here sometimes?" He scratched at a mustard stain on his shorts. The sullen feelings that had simmered inside monica all day became more prevalent, burning her heart. She swallowed the hurt down, and remained as nonchalant as possible.

"What do you mean?"

clay turned his body to face her, one leg folded in so the heel of his foot pressed into his inner thigh with the other leg hanging over the ledge. She mimicked his posture.

"I know I don't know you . . . it's weird to just . . . but I have to talk about it . . ." He stopped and took a deep breath, and monica waited patiently for him to choke the words out. "Do you know a kid named tommy?" She shook her head. "I mean, of course, you don't know him. You're clearly in green cabin. Well, tommy is a kid in my group, and a few days ago, his mother passed away."

His eyes became glassy. He looked like he was going to cry soon, and she made a silent prayer that he wouldn't. It was hard enough handling her own sadness, much less another person's.

God, I regret doing this. Everyone likes to be alone when they're sad. Why couldn't he just lie and say he's fine and shoo me away? she thought with an internal groan when he began to sniffle.

For a while, monica stayed quiet. She wanted to fill the silence, but she knew she needed to wait. She knew he had more to say. He simply couldn't find the words yet.

"I just don't know what to do," he finally exhaled. He refused to look at her and instead gazed out at the glimmering body of water. It was beautiful at night since the ugly brownish color of the lake was concealed under the dark sky. In the moonlight, the waves reflected a distorted portrait of the moon and stars. It appeared white and sparkled like diamonds as the small tides crashed against each other with a calming whoosh sound. "He's not eating right. He's not talking. He's not doing anything, but he's still doing everything, y'know? It's like he's a zombie.

"And what makes it worse is that he was supposed to go to her last week, but he didn't want to because he was having fun here. And I know-I know-he's blaming himself right now. But he shouldn't. He didn't know she was going to die. He couldn't know that. And he's seven, he's just a kid. He shouldn't have to deal with this. He shouldn't have to understand any of this.

"And his mom- God, his mom is amazing. And so nice. I met her when she dropped him off. And I just-I just don't know-how am I supposed to . . . I mean, tomorrow is the last day. I won't see him, won't be there to make sure he's doing what he needs to do. How am I going to make sure he's okay?"

"He's probably not going to be okay," monica declared in a blunt tone, not even hesitating in her response. She cursed herself when she noticed the appalled look on clay's face. "But that's okay," she reassured.

"What do you mean it's okay? Did you not just hear my fuckin' monologue just now?"

"I heard you!" she spoke over him. "What I mean is that, well," she paused and bit her lower lip, thinking a little. "It's okay for it to not be okay, y'know? That's life."

"He's seven," clay repeated, enunciating every letter as if she were inept. monica rolled her eyes, trying not to feel frustrated with a guy who clearly had never dealt with grief.

"I said I heard you, but that doesn't change the fact that what happened is not okay and there's nothing you can do about it." She took a deep breath before she said her next sentence. "My mother died of ovarian cancer when I was ten, and I'm still not okay. But...that's okay."

clay stared at monica for a bit. Before, when she sat beside him, her body facing the lake, he hadn't noticed how pretty she was. But now, with her body directed at him, he could make out her features. She had brown tawny skin, curly hair, and electric green eyes. Light freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, and he had to squint to see them. Granted, it was somewhat inappropriate to be realizing all this given her sudden revelation, but he couldn't help it.

"I'm sorry about-"

"Don't say it!" She slapped her hand over his mouth. A lot harder than necessary if the grimace on his face was any indication. "Don't say it," she repeated, softer.

Then they sat there, facing one another but looking at anything but each other.

"She died on this day, actually," Victoria whispered. For some reason, she found it easier to talk about this with someone she didn't know than with the people who knew and cared. "That's why I came out here. To wallow." Alone, she almost added but didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"Wallow."

"Yeah, what tommy's doing. Wallowing. Mourning. Whatever you want to call it."

"And there's nothing I can do for you-I mean tommy?"

monica thought about his question and folded her arms over her chest. Since her mother had died, people had presented her this offer hundreds of times and without hesitation, monica always declined. But now, she didn't know.

Could someone help her through this? According to her childhood therapist, yes. But based on monica's experience, no.

For her, it was much easier to keep the feelings and thoughts buried inside. To let the emotions consume her, burn her from within until it finally subsided, and then she would be fine once more.

For her, the more she manifested the existence of this sadness, the more real it became, and the more it hurt. Like now, she could feel the pain prickling her every nerve, and it took a concerted effort to ignore it and act normal.

"I don't think there's anything you can do. I mean, it's up to the person, right? We have to find something to fill the void. That's why we have this camp for the kids. To fill their hearts with good memories and friends so that they can take these memories, this love, and support, and use it to make it hurt a little less." When she finished, monica balked. "God, I sound sappy."

clay laughed, and she did too.

"Only a little sappy, but it's pretty perceptive." She nodded, feeling somewhat proud by his admission.

And then, for the next three hours, they started talking about anything and everything and monica realized that maybe this was what she needed today.

#dream smp smut #dream smut #dream x reader #dream x reader smut #dreamwastaken #dreamwastaken smut #dsmp #gaming #georgenotfound #mcyt smut #skateboarding #spotify #dream

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bluospirit · 4 years ago

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I just read your first chapter of Scary love and OMG it was amazing!! I can't wait to see what's next :))

AHHHH thank you sm im literally geeking at all the support ☹️☹️

#losttonneverland #ask

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bluospirit · 4 years ago

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SCARY LOVE !! dream

chapter one : prologue.

# SUMMARY : he cheats on her. she lies and decides whether to stay together or leave and start over

# WARNING : angst.

# PAIRING : dream!clay x fem!oc

masterlist / next chap

SHE CAN'T LOOK at him.

No matter how many times she commands her eyes to glance at his face, she focuses only on his sweater. her fist clutches the fork in an iron grip, nails biting into the skin of her palm.

"I guess," she begins slowly, but the rest of her words catch in her throat. she shifts her eyes around before honing in on her untouched plate.

she pauses for a moment, takes a deep breath, and attempt to speak again. "I guess I should have expected this."

Lies, her mind hisses. You never expected this. You trusted him.

The light jazz music continues to play in the background. The sounds of the fireplace are loud, the flames licking and crackling against the kindled wood. she wishes her favourite song wasn't playing on the stereo, she would never be able to enjoy Frank Sinatra in the same way.

she wish the lights weren't dim and that the candles didn't emit a scent of mint and vanilla, suffocating her under this false notion of romance and comfort.

she wish that she hadn't spent all day struggling to make both her favourite meal and that he didn't serve it with the fine china her parents bought for him as an engagement gift.

Most of all, she wish she wasn't sitting here, celebrating her fourth Valentine's day with the person who is to be her future husband, having her heart stutter and shatter with every passing second.

"Babe," her partner whispers. his voice cracks as if he is about to cry, and she feels robbed. Those tears should be hers.

Not her boyfriend's. Never her boyfriends.

At this moment, she can do nothing but think. That's what she does best when she's upset or stressed or mad or angry. she thinks.

So, under the circumstance, she begins to think about heartbreak.

she had always found the notion of heartbreak to be obnoxious, dramatic, and overstated. her past relationships never left her wrecked or damaged, only mildly upset. A few bitter, lonely tears here or there, but that was the extent of it.

For the most part, the separations were constructive for future relationships. The retrospect she gained allowed her to reflect on what went wrong, and subsequently, learn from the mistakes.

But now, as she sits here, refusing to meet his devastated expression, eyes glassy with tears streaming down his cheeks, she understands.

she understands the motives behind alcoholism and substance abuse: the desire to flee from one's thoughts and misery. The unrelenting obsession to subdue the pain carved into flesh and bones.

she understands the appeal of reckless sex with unnamed strangers-a means to validate beauty, love, and security in an attempt to try and piece back a shattered soul.

When he opened his mouth again, his breath hitches and she cut him off.

"Don't, Clay." she didn't realize she's shaking until she hears the clatter of her fork against the porcelain plate. she releases the utensil and balls her hands against her thigh.

"I never meant to hurt-" he begin, and then he stop, and she stare at him.

she stares at the face she wake up to every morning. The lips she kisses when she gets in and out of bed. The eyes she gazes into when she is distracted. The nose that cradles her neck when she makes love. The cheeks that press against her own when she hug. The chin that resets on her head or should when he watch her cook or work.

she stares at him, and it hurts so much. As if every breathing is being punched out of her. As if every beat of her heart is being pierced with an unnamed object.

Betrayal, she concludes. That must be the object tearing her heart into pieces, inflicting her to this acute agony.

"Don't you say it?" The words are torn out of her in a low growl. The overdue tears continue to hide, but the rage and betrayal turning in her stomach slowly seep through the surface of her calm demeanour. "Don't you dare say it?"

The venomous tone in her words is like a dull knife carving through him, leaving painful chills and shivers in its wake. he wants to beg for forgiveness, to make his partner shout or scream or hit him. he wants to elicit some reaction, mild or dramatic-just something. Something to hold onto, to fight against, to fight for, but she's the epitome of nonchalance as she takes a sip of wine and looks at him with tortured eyes.

And for some reason, he can't help but hate her for it.

"It was a mistake. You have to believe me."

she doesn't.

he continues to gaze at her partner, at the person he truly loves. she has finally lifted her eyes and is looking at him, but she isn't seeing him, and it hurts him.

"moni, will you please say something?"

his words are barely audible, but she hears the rage as if she's just screeched at the top of her lungs. her hands are no longer shaking, but she feels broken-numb and lifeless.

"What do you want me to say?"

The question is somewhat rhetorical since there is already a plethora of questions floating in her head.

Why did you do it?

Why did you tell me?

How long ago was it?

Do you love her?

Do you love me?

"Anything. Ask me anything— say anything."

That's not what she wants to hear. Then again, she doesn't know what she wants to hear-what could quench the visceral anguish that's burning her alive.

Grabbing her silverware again, she digs into her lasagna. she chews for a long time, in the way she knows he hates. It is somewhat cathartic to rebel against him, even if it's in such a small way, and a semblance of satisfaction washes through her and helps keep her profuse emotions at bay.

she needs to keep up this façade. she can't break in front of him. she won't let him win.

Finally, she speak.

"was she at least a good fuck?"

#lmk what you think!#dream smp smut #dream smut #dream x reader #dream x reader smut #dreamwastaken #dreamwastaken smut #dsmp #gaming #georgenotfound #mcyt smut #angst #new story

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