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daisybianca · 2 years

Text

pairing: lewis hamilton x femalereader

summary: netflix and chill turned quite... naughty

warnings: smut, language, teasing, female receiving sex

TONIGHT WAS DATE night.

Mostly due to the fact that you headed to Lewis' house to Netflix and chill.

Also, partly because you already knew it was going to be so much more than just a cozy night with you and your boyfriend enjoying each other's company.

Arriving there, he greeted you with an endearing smile. Coming in, you smell the scent of buttery popcorn.

“What are we watching today?”

“I’ve heard great things about this new movie, let’s check it out.”

You both proceed to watch the movie, snuggling up under the blanket.

It felt like pure bliss to you.

You had trouble focusing on the plot as his fingers intertwined with yours under the blankets. Lewis' warmth and gentle wafts of his cologne entranced you. As he concentrated on the movie you leaned in, pecking his cheek gently.

His eyes darted to meet yours.

“Come here.” Lewis grinned.

You got up and placed yourself between his legs, learning your back into his chest, you felt warm and secure. You felt so close, his heart beating on your back, breath brushing past your ears.

Slowly, you felt his hands move under your top, settling upon your breast.

You looked back to see his cheeky smile.

“Watch the movie.” Lewis teased.

He massaged your breasts, squeezing gently, pushing them together.

You were no longer aware of what was going on in the film, focusing on the sensations of his touch.

Slowly, your boyfriend played with your nipples, pinching and pulling. Moans you tried to hold back spilled from your lips as you twitched between him.

Before you realised, you felt a hardness against your back.

“I’m sorry, you’re too perfect.” Lewis admitted, “Are you sleepy? Let's go to bed, baby.”

You nodded in submission.

Closing the tv, he led you into his queen-sized bed. You laid down as he crawled on top of you. His face drew near as you closed your eyes. First starting at your lips, he sucked your bottom lip, then moves to your right ear. He nippled on the rim of your ear, sending electric tingles down your body. You moaned as he lift your top and latched to your nipples. Swirling and flicking his tongue on your nipple, your head felt like it was spinning.

“Wanna take it off for me?” Lewis suggests.

You complied and took off all your clothes as he did the same with his too.

“Your body is divine.” He whispers, making you feel embarrassed

Slowly, he came between your legs, spreading them. His fingers placed on your clit, he gently rubbed you. Circling your entrance, he inserted a finger, making you moan.

He bended his finger within you, making you twitch and pant even more.

“P-Please, Lewis, I-” You said out of breath. "Stop teasing already."

“Okay, baby.” Lewis replied. Positioning himself to your wetness, he pushed in you.

He stretched you till you are fully connected, finally as one, both of you sigh heavily. Slowly, he moved in and out. Faster and faster, the pace increased. Thrusting into your sweet place, he drew out moans you didn’t know you could make. Staring at him through half closed eyes, he towered over you and pummeled you repeatedly. “I’m gonna- ... I’m gonna cu-…”

You couldn’t finish your sentences as a indescribable sensation built up in your abdomen.

Lewis suddenly stopped his movements.

As if taking candy from a baby, you felt an overwhelming disappointment, begging to be relieved of this pent-up lust.

“Not yet, baby.”

His strong toned arms lifted and flipped you with ease.

Putting you in doggy position, he lift your ass and thrusted himself into you, driving your face into the soft bed and earning a long sigh from you. Picking up the pace, he went deeper and rougher each thrust.

You tightly grasp the bed sheets, knuckles turning white as your sanity starts slipping each second.

“Please… harder!” You whimper

“That's my girl.”

You felt a hand slap across the side of your ass making you gasp. Lewis proceeded to grab both your wrists, holding them tight behind you and lifting you off the bed. He continued slamming into you from behind.

You could no longer hear yourself, just the slapping sounds created as he pleasured you and the loud creaking of the bed being rocked.

“Baby, I’m gonna-” He muttered. There was no need to finish that sentence for you to realize what was about to happen

“Me too!” You manage to breathe out.

With aggressive force, he pushed you back onto you back, into missionary, and entered you with urgency. Rocking his hips faster than before, you pant for air as your eyes roll back. Muttering sweet nothings, you wrapped your arms around him, nails clawing, holding on for dear life.

You both hold your breath as your climax rolled out of you, like the wall of a dam breaking, your waters flww and crashed down.

“F-fuck."

He released a loud groan, a moan resonating deep within. Furrowing his brows, he gained control.

Slowly and gently, Lewis rided out your climax, dragging on the pleasure for both of you. Till finally, he stopped his movements. Staying in place, he stared gently in your eyes. He leaned down, softly placing his lips on your forehead.

“I’m so lucky.”

You moved aside as he collapsed next to you. You melt in his embrace, and both fell soundly asleep, without a care in the world.

●○•°•○●

requests are always open for my wags <3

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flanaganfilm · 1 year

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Hi Mike!

I am loving the LONG posts you’ve been making about your career and films. I wonder if there is any such one for ‘Ouija: Origin of Evil’?

‘Doctor Sleep’ was the first film of yours I had seen where I went “What else has this guy made?” And I was so surprised to learn Ouija was yours as well, it took me back to that college date! When I bought it on blu-ray and showed it to my friend, she saw Alice and Doris and went “It’s Shirley!”

Id love to know what your thoughts and feelings are on the film, 7 years later. Cheers!

Sure thing! This will be a fun one... I had such a great time making that movie.

Back in the spring of 2015, we were shooting Hush. Blumhouse was coproducing the movie with Intrepid Pictures. This was my second outing with Blumhouse after they came aboard Oculus at tiff in 2013, and they'd even hired me do a little uncredited consulting on another movie they'd made - a teen horror flick called Ouija. The first Ouija movie was... well... not great, but it made a lot of money. And I mean a LOT of money. A sequel was inevitable.

Jason Blum started calling me about the project while we were working on Hush. Initially I passed on it, I wasn't interested - I wasn't sure how to make a movie about a Ouija board interesting, and I didn't see myself as a sequel filmmaker. It just wasn't a movie for me.

If you know Jason at all, you know he is one of the most persistent and persuasive people in the business.

He wouldn't take "no" for an answer, and the phone kept ringing. The bar was low, he argued. The first movie performed very well, and because the franchise was just hung on a board game, there was kind of a blank canvas. "What movie do you want to make, buddy? Because I promise you'll wait your whole career for someone to make you this kind of offer again. You are a fool if you don't say yes."

He finally made me an offer that I couldn't refuse: I could approach the film from any viable creative direction I wanted, just as long as it connected somehow to the first movie and involved a Ouija board, and if I did that (and brought in the scares the kids wanted), I'd have a guaranteed worldwide theatrical release through Universal Pictures.

It's hard to understate how appealing that prospect was at the time. Oculus had been released theatrically but only performed moderately well. Before I Wake had been caught up in Relativity's bankruptcy, so the promised theatrical release never occurred (at this time, the movie was tied up in bankruptcy court without any release on the horizon), and Hush had been scooped up by Netflix, which meant it would never see the inside of a movie theater.

This offered me substantial creative freedom and a guaranteed wide theatrical release with the full weight of Universal Pictures behind it... I finally agreed.

How could I not?

The first film was a contemporary elimination horror film about a group of teenagers who awaken a scary little girl ghost with a stitched-up mouth. She kills them one by one. I wasn't really drawn to that, and I pitched Jason instead on a prequel that focused on a single mother in the late 1960s. To my astonishment, he agreed.

They had their conditions - it had to be PG-13, it had to directly connect to the first film, and I had to deliver the movie on their budget. And I had my conditions - I wanted my crew (including my producer Trevor Macy and my DP Michael Fimognari), I wanted my period setting, and I wanted the movie to look like it was made in the late sixties, down to the zooms, the film grain, and all the other aesthetic bells and whistles. This wouldn't look like a contemporary movie.

Again, to my astonishment, they agreed.

They had one more stipulation, this one from Universal Pictures - no one could smoke cigarettes. And not just that, there couldn't be evidence of smoking in the movie; not even ash trays.

"But this takes place in the sixties," I argued. The NO that came in was emphatic and resounding. There was to be no evidence of cigarettes in our 1960's, and this was non-negotiable. This was a priority for Universal Pictures, and they were far more interested in eliminating cigarettes from the eyes of their young viewers than they were interested in historical accuracy.

Frankly, they were right.

We all agreed on the terms, and to my own admitted surprise, I went off to write and direct Ouija 2.

There was an immediate skepticism in the press when the project was announced, and a fair amount of mocking online. I was determined to ignore it. I really thought this could be fun. I felt like I had been given a gift; I had a huge canvas and precious few rules, and a guaranteed theatrical audience.

I wasn't just going to make Ouija 2; I was going to make Ouija 2 as well as it could possibly be made.

Sitting to write the script was a unique process. The only thing I knew for certain was the very, very end. Our connection to the first movie was that we were telling the origin story of Doris Zander, the ghost from the first film.

She came with some backstory that we were married to: the first movie told us her mother Alice was a professional medium. When Doris had been possessed after using an Ouija board, her mother had sewn her mouth shut and killed her. And we knew her older sister, Lina, had spent the rest of her life in a mental institution (where she grew up to be Lin Shaye), and was absolutely not to be trusted.

So no matter what I did, we had to land there. Everything else was fair game.

I was very interested in the idea of a family who worked as mediums, but most interested in them if they were not authentic psychics. I'd researched a lot about fake mediumship, and the tricks that were used in those performative seances to separate willing marks from their money. What if that was the family's business? What if her mother was something of a con artist, and her kids were part of the act? And what if they ran afoul of a real haunting?

And further, what if it wasn't that they were con artists - what if they were good people, behind it all? What if they had experienced loss themselves, and had rationalized their behavior by saying they were offering people comfort? This was interesting to me. It was cool, it was fun, and I hadn't seen that movie before.

The story was a lot of fun to write. I really enjoyed the characters, I really enjoyed the world, and I kept thinking about the kinds of movies that I loved growing up. Yeah, this was a movie for a younger audience, but maybe they'd sit in that theater and have an experience that would stay with them, the way the movies of my youth had stayed with me.

I thought about those movies: Poltergeist, The Omen, The Changeling, Watcher in the Woods... and I thought about the theatrical experience of them. Their music (I particularly honed in on Jerry Goldsmith's score from Poltergeist), their aesthetics, even the little markers in the upper corner that signal the reel changes - "cigarette burns", as they're called in the business.

All of those things were ornaments of my earliest theatrical experiences, and I wanted to recreate that for the young viewers who might seek out Ouija 2.

One thing that set Ouija 2 apart right away was that we were going to shoot in Los Angeles. I'd lived in LA since 2003, but I had never actually filmed a movie here (and haven't ever again, sadly). This was a really exciting factor - I could spend the day in prep at Blumhouse, and then go home and sleep in my bed.

This was also great for my home life. Kate and I were engaged by then, and Blum was very happy with Hush, so she ended up playing a small role at the top of the movie. Having just spent the Spring living in a hotel in Fairhope Alabama and only working nights, it felt very novel that I'd get up in the morning and go to the office, and be home for dinner. We absolutely loved it.

Casting was also fun. Terry Taylor at Blumhouse did the casting, and for the first time in a long time I could be in the room when actors came in to audition. This was all in-person, because we were in LA. For Before I Wake, we'd had to run the whole thing through the lens of foreign sales value and over choppy, pixelated FaceTime meetings that did not give us much understanding of who we were casting. Compared to that, this process was a real delight.

For Lina, I really wanted to bring back Annalise Basso, the young actress from Oculus. She'd done a terrific job on that movie, and this was a great chance to work together again.

Henry Thomas signed on as Father Tom, and we hit it off immediately. I had been a fan of his since... well, forever I suppose, but I was really excited that he'd be in our movie.

The big revelation, though, was Lulu Wilson. We auditioned a lot of girls for Doris, and we used a particularly upsetting monologue as the audition piece - a 60 second speech about what happens when someone is strangled to death. Lulu's audition knocked me over, and we cast her immediately.

(Fun note: in the film itself, Lulu performs the monologue almost exactly as she did in her audition. And she did it so well, we never cut away. Don't know many 10 year-olds who can hold an entire monologue like that... in fact, I know a lot of 40 year-olds who can't. Lulu Wilson kicks ass.)

Production began in September 2015.

From the jump, this movie was FUN to make.

We were using an antique zoom lens package to achieve the look, and after spending much of prep obsessively watching The Changeling and The Exorcist for inspiration, we were really excited to do something fun. Every day was like a trip to an amusement park.

Michael Fimognari and I enjoy one of the vintage cars

One set, it was a family reunion. I had a lot of my crew from Oculus, Before I Wake and Hush, and a few familiar faces in the cast as well. It even reunited me with Dougie Jones, who had worked for one day in my debut feature Absentia, and agreed to let us bury him in gross demon makeup.

I really can't overstate how fun this was. The movie had more genre set pieces than most of my other work combined, which meant every day we were dealign with ghosts, ghouls, and some wild stunt work. Annalise and Lulu were just delightful, and spent their days pulling escalating pranks on the crew. I would find myself tagged with dozens of C47's (clothespins) whenever Basso was on set, and Lulu was doing all of her own stunts and making us laugh like hyenas.

I was also really enjoying Henry. Toward the end of the shoot, I told him I wanted to put him in everything I did. He laughed and said "whatever, sure man, sign me up." He's been in everything I've made since.

We didn't have a lot of money, but had a lot more money than I'd ever had before, and because Universal was committed to a theatrical release, they wanted the movie to work. I felt supported at every turn. Trevor handled the production the way we'd always done, and this was now our fourth collaboration - I knew I had a producer for life.

Blum was also a delightful collaborator, popping up frequently to check in but always just to see if there was something we needed. I felt an enormous amount of trust from Blumhouse, Hasbro, Platinum Dunes and Universal. That's a lot of cooks for one kitchen, and believe when I tell you it can easily go south... but it didn't. In this case, it just clicked.

We got to do a lot of fun things that had nothing to do with horror, too. There's a lovely little scene in the movie where Lina has her first kiss. We modeled the entire shot sequence after the best kiss in the history of movies: Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly's smooch in Rear Window.

We were even able to perfectly mimic a slower frame rate just as their lips meet, exactly as Hitchcock had done in that movie. If you look in the background, the Rear Window poster is hanging on her wall. We were always careful to cite our sources (and there were a lot of them).

My favorite scene of the whole movie was a dinner date between Elizabeth Reaser and Henry that we filmed at the Cicada Club in downtown LA. This was a restaurant that I loved, as once a month it transformed into a full-blown time machine, putting a brass band on the stage and functioning like a 20's-era speakeasy.

The scene where Alice and Father Tom spend an evening out together was among my favorites in the script. It was two adults who were clearly attracted to each other, and who acknowledge it, but recognize the reality of their situation. As we were filming, I remarked to Fimognari that - for a movie about a haunted Ouija board - we were really getting away with murder. This was lovely, sweet, subtle character development, and no one was stopping me. After what we'd gone through on Before I Wake, I had to pinch myself.

My favorite scene of the film

It was set in a restaurant in the late 1960s - almost everyone in that room would realistically be smoking. Universal had been clear that there was to be absolutely no suggestion that cigarettes even existed in this world. But for the restaurant, I had to haze up the air. It was the only time I was questioned creatively, as there was immediate pushback.

"It's a restaurant," I said. "What if there's a fire in the kitchen, an entree got burned and that's why it's smokey?"

No one bought that for even a second. But they let me go ahead anyway. Man, I love that scene. And later, when it was all said and done, Jason Blum shocked me by telling me it was his favorite as well.

We wrapped the movie just before Halloween, and off we went into post. The holidays came and went, and Kate and I got married in February 2016. There was gentle pressure in the cutting room to make the film as tight as possible, and keep things short, but as with everything else, the pressure was decidedly gentle.

The movie's test screenings were very positive. People were very engaged by the story of the family, and the only issue people took seemed to be with the ending. It was a real downer to get so attached to everyone, only to have to kill Doris so brutally. The ending was, to put it mildly, very depressing - Father Tom was dead, Alice was dead, Doris was dead (and her mouth stitched up to stop the demonic voices), and Lina was condemned to the asylum. It was exactly what was required of us, and what was dictated by the first movie. But it hurt people's feelings.

My original ending had Lina in the asylum, crafting a handmade Ouija board out of her own blood, and trying to contact her dead sister. She tries and tries, but there is no answer. It is just silence. And we leave her saying "are you there? Are you there?" over and over again, as tears fall down her face. Doris wouldn't answer - in fact, Doris wouldn't answer for decades, when the first movie finally caught up to us. It was a haunting and sad ending, and I kind of loved it.

But test audiences are a fickle thing, and so we came back to tweak the ending, as the studio wanted one last scare to send us out on - not an unreasonable position, though it was a cliched one. We shot the film's current ending, with Doris' ghost on the ceiling of the asylum. It's as rote and impersonal a horror movie ending as I can imagine, but... well, it was Ouija 2, for crying out loud.

The movie we'd made up until that point had no business being as much fun as it was.

I remember the phone call I got from Blum after the movie was done. Universal had decided that they wouldn't call the movie Ouija 2 after all, they were worried about the number 2 making it feel less interesting.

Instead, they'd taken a big swing: the movie would be called Ouija: Origin of Evil.

I laughed out loud. I thought he was kidding. When it became obvious that he wasn't, I filed a protest. "It's not very good," I said. "It's cheesy. And not to put too fine a point on it, but the movie depicts neither the origin of the Ouija board, or of - um - Evil."

"Buddy, the title tested well. That's the way the cookie crumbles. Trust us, if the studio says it's Origin of Evil, it's Origin of Evil."

With a big theatrical release comes a lot of pomp and circumstance. There was a huge premiere for Ouija: Origin of Evil that October, and whatever nerves I had about the critical reception to the movie proved to be short-lived. People really enjoyed it. The overwhelming sentiment was that a sequel to a movie like Ouija frankly had no business being this interesting.

For all the pomp and circumstance, I missed it all. I didn't get to go to a premiere or walk the red carpet, as I was already in Alabama shooting Gerald's Game. On opening weekend, I took the cast and crew to a local theater in Daphne Alabama to see Ouija: Origin of Evil on the big screen.

The projection in this little backwoods theater was NOT good. The lamp was too dim (a common cost-saving strategy in some theater chains), and it was out of focus. I ran up to complain to the manager.

"The movie's soft focus on purpose," he said. "That's what the filmmakers wanted."

"No, it really isn't," I said.

The movie ultimately was not the runaway hit that the first Ouija was. Not even close, in fact.

To everyone's surprise, the teenagers just... didn't really show up. The first movie had grossed 103 MILLION dollars worldwide, but our little prequel only managed to do about 80. It was considered a modest success, not a hit by any means, but no failure. In the end, Universal decided maybe there wasn't a franchise to be had here after all.

So in the end, I had single-handedly revitalized and destroyed the Ouija franchise.

But man, believe when I tell you I've got no regrets whatsoever. I had the time of my life making that movie. Sure, some people groan about the ending, but that was kind of our only job - those were the cards we knew we had to turn over. Did you see everything that led up to that, though??? Did you see what we got away with?!

Since this movie, I've worked with a lot of people again. True to my word, I've put Henry Thomas in every single thing I've made since. Elizabeth Reaser came back to play Shirley in The Haunting of Hill House, and little Lulu Wilson - who was so wonderful as Reaser's daughter Doris - played the younger version of Shirley on that show. Lulu is also in The Fall of the House of Usher (and if you look closely, her original Ouija board and planchette are in frame with her.)

Kate sported a fun blonde hairdo for her small role in Ouija: Origin of Evil, and it was a really fun stepping stone between Hush and Hill House for her as an actor. There's a fun deleted scene where she goes home and murders her father, played by the great Sam Anderson. I really dug that scene, and I wish it was in there. You can see it on the blu-ray and DVD though, because even in a world where Netflix is trying to erase such things, Universal Pictures actually takes care of their movies with proper physical media releases.

I haven't yet found the next project to do with my friends at Blumhouse, but it's not for lack of trying, and my dance card has been booked solid since we wrapped this movie. It was an important step for my career, and their support was amazing. I know that we'll work together again, as soon as the timing is right.

Also, get this...

Ouija: Origin of Evil is my most successful movie.

Ever. Of all of them.

It did 82 million worldwide. That's better than Doctor Sleep, which did 72 million. It's better than Oculus, which did 44 million. The rest were all dumped to Netflix.

So yeah, Ouija: Origin of Evil is my most successful movie. Ain't that a trip?

We weren't trying to change the world, or reinvent the genre. I was making the second entry in a PG-13 franchise about an evil board game, and dammit if I didn't get to do everything I set out to do. There's an exuberance to the camera movement, the staging, the set design, and the lighting. There's an unbridled joy in this movie, and I smile whenever I think about it.

Up until this point in my career, every movie I had was hard-fought. Oculus was a trial by fire whose distribution deal was detonated days before it premiered. Before I Wake was a brutal experience both creatively and logistically. Hush was a labor of love and determination against all odds. But this one... man, this one reminded me why I wanted to make movies in the first place.

Because it can be really, really fucking fun.

#ouija board #ouija #ouija origin of evil #blumhouse #behind the scenes

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greazyfloz · 2 years

Note

Trevor x Reader x Jamie

smut

Smut: 24. “Wanna join?” w/ Jamie Drysdale (ft. Trevor Zegras)

All For Both of You

Jamie and I were laying on the couch watching Netflix like we typically started doing after the random early weekday game nights. We weren’t cuddling so just Jamie having his arm resting behind me on the couch as we watched. As the movie went on though, Jamie pulled his arm away from the back of the couch and placed it on my thigh.

“I feel like we are wasting a perfectly good night watching movies, when we could be fucking literally anywhere in the apartment” Jamie says leaning in, I lean it as well to meet his lips.

“Trevor -” I say after pulling away.

“Won't be home for at least a couple more hours” Jamie says, beginning to lift my shirt up revealing my naked chest. He places his mouth on my nipple flicking his tongue before nibbling a little while cupping the other. I let out a breathy moan and Jamie pulls his mouth away from my chest to take his shirt off before connecting his lips back to mine.

Jamie and I are in a steamy shirtless makeout session as the front door that neither of us heard opens and closes. We continue making out until the sound of Trevor makes us pull away from each other: “Oh, fuck! Sorry! I mean my room is-” he says pointing to his room which was on the other side of where we were sitting on the couch. Trevor is trying so hard not to stare at my chest but almost can't help it.

“Wanna join?” I ask Trevor and you could almost see the hearts in his eyes appear as a smile and blush forms across his face

“Are you fucking with me?” he asks giggling, “Like you're serious?” he says looking at Jamie. Jamie just shrugs his shoulders as if to say, ‘why not’.

Trevor looks back at me, then to my chest then Jamie again, then makes his way over, taking his shirt and pants off on the way and sitting on the love seat beside the couch Jamie and I were on.

“Okay continue” he says, preparing himself, signaling us to carry on what we were doing before so he can watch. I stand sliding the rest of my clothes off and Jamie does the same while sitting down. I cradle myself on Jamie’s lap as I go back down and begin to makeout with Jamie again. Trevor beside us stands from the love seat stroking himself with one hand as he sits beside Jamie.

“Ride the wet pussy all over his thighs” Jamie whispers in my ear and I get up and position myself on Trevor’s thigh and grind my hips back and forth so my wetness was sliding back and forth on his thigh.

“MmmMmmMmM” I moan out, beginning to ride his thighs faster.

“you are so wet” Trevor moans out as he reaches up to cup my boobs.

“Sit on my face” I hear Jamie demand stroking his cock watching me ride his teammates thighs. Trevor and I get up and Jamie lays down. I cradle his face before sitting my entrance on his mouth. Trevor makes his way around the couch in front of me. As I lean down a little to enter trevor in my mouth I feel Jamie’s tongue exploring inside of my while one of his hands rub circles around my clit.

I moan onto Trevor’s cock and the vibration earns a moan escape Trevor’s mouth. I begin to bobble my head on Trevor’s cock as Jamie continues to explore. I sit up a little after a while pulling Trevor from my mouth and move from Jamie’s mouth. Jamie then puts me in doggy position so I could continue sucking Trevor while he lines himself up with my entrance.

The slaps my ass hard before pounding himself inside of me, making me release Trevor from my mouth.

“Oh Fuck! J-Jam!” I move out while continuing to stroke Trevor.

Jamie continues to thrust at a fast speed and I let Trevor take control of my throat. Trevor laced his fingers in my hair so he was able to forcefully enter in and out of my mouth at the same tempo as Jamie so my body was swaying hard back and forth between the two. I felt Trevor twitch inside of my mouth groaning out, I suck all the cum cleaning him up before releasing him.

“So hot Y/n” Trevor says as he pulls out of my mouth. Jamie then fills me up before pulling himself out of me. Trevor then reaches over to dap him up which Jamie returns. “Thanks man, you are all wild” Trevor says leaving the room. I turn to face Jamie.“You did not just dap him up” I say laughing “I don’t know, I wasn’t leaving him hangin” he says laughing

#jamie drysdale #trevor zegras #nhl writing #nhl smut #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagines #hockey smut

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vctrvn-ls · 1 year

Text

The Spider

Imagine cancelling plans because you and AJ are both scared of the spider in the bathroom and can’t go in to get ready.

It was an unusually sunny day in London.

It was the perfect weather for you to wear that lovely sundress you'd bought at your and Aj's trip to the country for one of his videos.

Today you were invited to a triple date with Kenny, Niko and their girlfriends who you were very good friends with, Marly and Sophie.

You were excited…more for the perfect-dress weather than the actual date, but nevertheless you still wanted you and AJ to get out of the house.

You laid out your dress on the bed, admiring it for a second before heading to the bathroom to start doing your makeup.

In the kitchen, AJ was busy eating watermelon while watching the news, as a joke...well kind of.

After moving in together you realized the apartment tv was just a normal tv. It just showed regular channels without being able to connect to Netflix, YouTube or whatever else.

Of course he ordered another one, there was no way he'd be able to live with BBC 1, BBC 2, BBC 3, BBC4 and however many other BBC's he had counted while flicking through the catalogue.

"So many BBC's." He told you "Oh look another one." He'd point to himself and laugh, earning and eye roll and a chuckle from you.

So, you were in the bathroom, focusing on your eyeliner. Squinting with your mouth open and tongue out in concentration.

Suddenly you saw something move with the corner of your eye. You finished the tail of your wings and blinked, before turning your head around and seeing the biggest long-legged...

Meanwhile AJ was fully hooked into the news reporter who was talking about a a big car crash that resulted in a car flying off a bridge in the suburbs.

"Holy shit." He furrowed his eyebrows, chewing. The descriptions of the scene were intense and very detailed. AJ was barely blinking from how fully into it he was.

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"

AJ slipped off his chair, landing right onto his butt, coughing and spitting out the watermelon seed he just inhaled.

You ran into the kitchen, one eye with makeup, the other completely bare.

"What the fuck?" AJ raised his eyebrows as he stood up.

"There's a spider in the bathroom."

"Why you yellin like that?" He huffed, putting his fork on the table.

"Why am I yel-" you cut your own words with a scoff "Go get it then." You pointed to the bedroom.

He rolled his eyes "I will go and get it." He grabbed his slipper and stomped to the bathroom.

You were so scared you didn't even want to go back until it was definitely dead.

You impatiently waited for AJ, chewing on a piece of watermelon that you stole off of his plate.

"FUUUUUCCKKKK!"

This time you were coughing up watermelon, while AJ speed bolted out of your room, shutting the door behind him.

"Did you get it?" You raised your eyebrows, leaning to panting AJ.

"What the hell do you think?"

"Yes?" You asked hopefully.

"NO! THAT THING IS MASSIVE!"

"Told you."

"You didn’t tell me!"

"Well go back and get it then genius!"

"YOU SAW IT FIRST!"

"You're the man!"

There was a small pause before the two of you cracked up, laughing at eachother.

"I-it's just like the meme," you wheezed.

"That's what I thought of too." AJ snorted.

"No but seriously go fucking get it, Aje." You cleared your throat, now being dead serious.

"There is no way I'm going back in."

"You have to."

"Says who?"

"Don't you love me?" You pouted.

"I do, but I'd rather live than get eaten by that thing. It's like twice my size!"

You chuckle "AJ."

"What?" He grins.

"I can't get ready if that thing is in there."

"Well there's nothing I can do about it."

"AJ go and kill it." You whine "Please."

"I'm sorry I literally can't. I swear I can’t. "

"You just gotta slap it." You begged.

"Then you go do it."

You shake your head. "You've filmed with things that were way worse." You pointed out.

"There's no way I'm going back there."

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" You pointed to your bare eye.

AJ shrugs.

You frown.

"...You know we could stay in and watch some Netflix." He said in a suggestive tone.

"Look at our tv."

"Well laptops exist you know."

You sigh.

"I can call Niko to come get it after they've had lunch."

You nod.

"So much for the perfect dress-weather."

#beta squad #youtube #aj shabeel #ajshabeeledit #ajshabeelbetasquad #niko omilana #chunkz #king kenny #sharky #betasquadedit

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huh-1260 · 3 days

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I found my angst, just had to switch Link. So now Twilight is getting torment with a AU idea.

Our Twilight was dead the entire time and is haunting the chain but he doesn't remember that he's dead. Twilight died around his thirties, and Hylia didn't use alive Twi, but dead Hero Shade Twi, who was grieving over his short cut life and having Illa to raise the kids by himself (I am a Midna x Link/Twi shipper but I understand the appeal of Illa x Twi/Link, and how more in likely this is to happen when Twilight settles down after a while searching for a way to visit Midna). Hylia hid the fact that Twi was dead for even himself because one: need reason to create Time Hero of Shade, two: give Wild a connection to keep him around, three: Get the Traveler to trust in other Hylians, Four: To get Four a reason to end up in Termina so the Fierce Deity mask is created along with Majora's mask (That is completely headcannon that Four made both of their prisons, this is not fact! Also pieces of the Twilight realm mirror is also there, which is also just headcannon) Five: Get Wars to acknowledge the Lokomo Spirits gift to him, so Twilight can move on along with some other ghost, and then they could grab living Twi.

But here's the thing, what Hylia didn't expect was the fact the Shadow injured Ghost Twi's little physical form for his ghostliness. Which leaves him fine, because he's dead, but it triggers every sealed memory of his future before Wars acknowledges the Lokomo spirits gift, the gift of sight to see the dead, so when the chain is in a inn, that's what happens is Twilight is remembering whether he likes it or not, and runs out of the inn flickering as a ghost and Hylia's gift of a physical shell so everyone else can see him. And when Twi runs out of the inn, he bumps into Warriors who was with Legend and didn't notice Twi. Which leaves Wars panicked about Twi dying (Lol, Twi is already dead) so Wars chases after Twi's ghost much to Legend's confusion.

When Twi is alone, he remembers and starts crying laying on the floor, crying and begging for forgiveness from his family and from Shade for dying so young. Also inserting another headcannon based off of a certain Netflix show (I think??It's been a while and that's probably not how this works) but for Twilight grieving he's looping if it makes sense. Repeating over and over the same thing and not stopping because he's angry and sad at his own death. (He thinks he's a failure)

And it just so happens that happens that when Wars found him, Twi called him by his first child's name. (I headcannon that Twi has two kids, he died before the second one was born. And it just so happens I gave him a daughter as a first born) At first Wars is confused, but uses it to get Twi back to the inn, and with Twi flicking in and out of existence for everyone else but Wind and Wars. Basically Twilight is not okay and neither is the chain once Twi calms down/Twi eventually explains. May turn this into a whole fic or reuse this idea for another fic.

#Angst #We're so back with the angst #twilight lu #Just realized all I need was to switch Links to throw in the blender #Rip Twi he died in the Blender of Angst #TIME PARADOX BABY WARS #lu warriors #linked universe #linked universe au #body horror #Ghost Twilight #Hahahaha Death headcannons go brrrrrr #WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?????#Guys can yall give Twi a hug? He needs some therapy too

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scifrey · 2 years

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Cling Fast: Prologue

Read below, or read the updated/edited version over on AO3.

by Loysark

The Sandman (Netflix with some sprinkling of comics canon and Gaimanverse)

Dreamling (Hob Gadling x Dream of the Endless | Morpheus)

Unfinished

PG-13 (for now)

Unbeta'd

Hob Gadling is a clingy bastard, and he's not ashamed to admit it. He clings to life. He clings to hope. He clings to his love of humanity. He clings to his Stranger. He also, unfortunately, has a habit of clinging to his name.

Which means, when the BBC is looking for a new pet history expert to appear in their educational docudrama series "Elizabethan Manor," they're overjoyed to find a professor of domestic history who, according to their meticulous research, is actually descended from the Master of the National Trust building they're filming in - Gadlen House.

Only Hob knows how right they are.

Picks up a few hours after the end of Episode 6.

Author's Note: I don't know what I'm doing. New to this fandom, new to this ship, and this is the first fanfic I've written in over a year. I am just coming back from a creative burnout so bad that I ended up leaving my literary agent. I haven't written anything that isn't loosely connected drabbles in literally years. So, I don't know what's going to happen with this fic. It may get written, it may fizzle. I have the idea plotted out, but I'm trying to approach it cautiously, with my eyes averted, in case it spooks and bolts.

That's why I'm posting this here instead of AO3, I guess. I want to see if it's something that resonates with people, and me, before I commit to posting it there.

"One hundred years, then?" Hob's Stranger asks, hours later, when Hob's talked himself hoarse and his business partner is flipping chairs onto tables to mop. Hob's marking has been jammed unceremoniously into his briefcase and completely forgotten, and there are three empty pint glasses at his elbow. The wine glass in front of his Stranger is still full.

"2089 or 2122?" Hob asks, through disappointment like broken glass on his tongue. Hob's stomach sinks when his Stranger rises from his chair.

Hob's Stranger seems to mull this over. "'89," he says at length. "I believe it is customary for friends to meet more frequently than a century."

"Then why wait even that long?" Hob asks, both startled and completely unsurprised with how desperate he sounds. "Or is that some sort of… of supernatural law? That the terms of our bargain have to be adhered to and we can't… I don't know," he confesses helplessly. "Renegotiate?"

Helpless.

Yes, that's how he feels.

Helpless and desperate for his Stranger to stay, to not abandon him again, to not leave Hob wondering if he may miss another meeting on a whim. If his Stranger was getting tired of playing with his little mortal toy and Hob would be left to eternity with no friend, no through-line, no continuity, no foundation—

Unavoidably detained, what does that even mean? Hob thinks viciously, brain spinning in circles between despair and hurt, elation and greed. Is it an excuse? Did he even want to—

His Stranger frowns, a fearsome, dark expression that Hob's never seen on the man's face before. Hob flinches when his Stranger makes an abrupt flicking motion at Hob's shoulders, as if shooing off a housefly. All at once Hob's breathing eases, the panic and surging loneliness retreating.

"What?" Hob asks weakly, when he realizes that… that somehow that single gesture from his Stranger has banished decades worth of crushing loneliness and anxiety. Hob had grown so used to bearing the ever-grinding worry that he'd forgotten what it felt like to be without it.

"A waking nightmare," his Stranger says. "And a bold one, too, to cling to you so persistently in the face of its king's displeasure."

King.

Well.

Hob had always figured that his Stranger had to be some sort of nobility. It was in the way he dressed at the peak of fashion each century, the softness of his skin and hands, the cleanliness of his hair, the way he spoke and held himself as if he'd never been denied anything his entire life. And the giant ruby of course, which, Hob had noticed a few hours ago, was nowhere to be seen this time around.

But a King.

"My friend," Hob whispers, mindful of the staff closing the New Inn around them. He swallows hard enough that his throat clicks. "Forgive my boldness, but… what are you? Who are you?"

"It… it is not important," his Stranger hedges, hesitating for the first time since Hob's known him.

That's unusual.

That's a crack Hob can get his fingers into.

"It is, though," Hob says, rising to his own feet. He dares to reach out, to pinch the fabric of his Stranger's coat cuff between his fingers in an old-fashioned, petitioning plea. The way you would kiss a queen's hem, or a king's ring, Hob pinches the cuff and hopes his Stranger understands. "It is to me. You are important to me."

"Hob," his Stranger says, but it's not a rebuke or a dismissal. It sounds awed, and humbled. Mercury shimmers along his bottom lashes, mouth pulled tight, a display of emotion that Hob never thought to garner from his Stranger, and not one he's sure he knows how to read, just yet.

What has him so upset?

"When you didn't come, I waited," Hob whispers, daring to press closer, so the words are little more than a puff of air between them. "I waited hours. Days. I returned every day for weeks. Where were you?"

"Rest assured, I did not want to miss our appointment."

"Then why?" The Stranger hesitates again. "Please. Please, if you're really my friend, please don't…" Hob trails off, not sure what he's really trying to say here. Don't shut me out. Don't treat me like a servant who only needs to do as he's told. Don't run away from me all the time. "Please don't go without telling me how to reach you, at least. I couldn't bare it if you…"

Without his meaning it, Hob's grip on his Stranger's cuff slips, and his fingers brush the cool, smooth back of his Stranger's hand. The Stranger hisses as if he's been burned.

"Sorry, sorry," Hob says, jerking his hand away. "I'm—"

"That is the first kind touch I've had in…" his Stranger's eyes drop to where their hands meet. Slowly, he reaches out with one shaking finger to stroke it along Hob's knuckles.

Understanding and rage flash through Hob like a lightning strike. The little hints that his Stranger probably hadn't realized he was even dropping come together, all at once, into a horrible picture.

You can be hurt. Or captured.

Hob seizes his Stranger's hand in his own, enraged further when his Stranger gasps, cheeks flushing pink and lips parting in a soft 'oh' that might have sounded lewd if it wasn't so obviously overwhelmed.

"Who did this to you?" Hob growls, low and dangerous. "Where are they now? I'm going to kill them for—"

The Stranger jerks his head up so fast that one of the quicksilver tears shakes free and rolls down his gaunt cheek.

"Hob," his Stranger chokes, and Hob is sure he would have said more, maybe even leaned closer, except that Dennis at the bar shouts:

"Fuck's sake, Gadlen. Take your booty call upstairs. I wanna close!"

"Sorry!" Hob calls back, leaning to the side and modulating his volume so he doesn't shout in his Stranger's ear. "Sorry Dennis, right. We're going."

Hob tugs on his Stranger's hand, and is absurdly grateful when the man allows himself to be led toward the back of the bar. Hob snags his briefcase from the banquette as they pass, and heads straight for the door marked "Staff Only." He punches in the keycode and within a few quick moments, he's gently pulling his stranger over the threshold and into his flat.

"You live above the pub?" his Stranger asks, looking around with curiosity as Hob toes off his shoes and drops his briefcase by the door. The Stranger has neither released his hand, nor wiped the moisture from his own face. When Hob looks down to see if his Stranger has taken his boots off, Hob is startled to be met with a pair of bare, moon-pale and delicately arched bare feet.

Okay.

Well.

Hob knew he wasn't human.

Apparently that includes vanishing clothing at will. Which probably means making it, too. Which definitely explains why his Stranger has always been in the pits of fashion.

Absolutely 100% not a Vampire, Hob adds to his mental List Of Things I Know About The Stranger. It's a very short list.

"Live above it, own it, built it," Hob says, pulling his Stranger gently into the living room and toward the sofa. "When I heard they were going to tear down the White Horse, I did some financial juggling, dug up a few treasure caches, and bought it. The building, the land… I mean, really, the whole area. I own most of this side of the river, all the green bits at least. I couldn't stand the thought of losing all the parks and the trees and… I wanted to save the White Horse itself, but the… well, the restoration is tricky. Time-consuming and costly. Cheaper to knock it down and start over but…" he shrugs as he encourages his Stranger to sit. "I'm not into bulldozing the past because it's cost efficient. Is it okay if I let go of your hand?"

His Stranger looks down at their entwined fingers and blinks as if he hadn't realized he was still holding onto Hob. "My apologies," he says softly, and lets go.

"Don't apologize," Hob says, even as he retrieves his arm. Touch starved, his brain screams, adding it to the list of sins that his Stranger's… captors must have perpetrated. "I'm making tea. Do you drink tea?"

"I could… I could drink tea, yes," his Stranger ventures, as if he's unsure if he actually can.

"I'll be right back."

You can still be hurt. Or captured, his Stranger in his memory says again, and Hob waits until he's turned away and headed to the kitchen before he lets his face transform into a scowl.

Behind him on the sofa, the real-life Stranger makes a wounded little noise, as if he'd heard the memory.

As he fills and sets the kettle to boil, Hob tries to dissipate the frisson of tenseness hanging between them with nonsense.

"The National Trust is both amazing and a huge pain in my arse," he laughs, but it sounds strained even to him. "It's half the reason I'm a history professor now. I wanted to preserve the White Horse right, you know? I spent so much time in historical architecture lectures, buried up to my eyebrows in library books and research grants and… well, when it came time to establish this identity I thought, why not? Fudged up an undergrad degree in Medieval History, breezed into University of York for a Masters and spent it focussing on the lives of the common folk, you know, hearth and home kind of archeology. Wattle-and-daub construction, wooden nails and cooking fires, sellswords and home remedies, the beautiful mundanity of the everyday. And now here I am. Professor Bob Gadlen, with a PhD in my own bloody life."

The kettle whistles and Hob leaps to pull it off the hob when his Stranger flinches at the sound.

I'm going to stab them through the earhole, Hob snarls to himself. When he tells me who they are, I'm going to—

"Justice has already been delivered, Hob Gadling," his Stranger says softly, as Hob pours the water into a teapot. There's not a lot of modern conveniences that Hob eschews—humanity invented new and exciting things all the time for a reason, and that reason is usually that it's better—but he has never managed to get on board with tea bags. Looseleaf all the way. "And revenge has been, as they say, dished out."

Hob sets up a tray with two mugs, some biscuits, and the teapot under its hand-knitted cozy from the 50s. He's done this so often over the last few hundred years that muscle memory takes over, even as his brain stutters to a fizzy halt as he registers what his Stranger has said.

And what it means.

"Oh," Hob says, setting down the tea tray on his coffee table. He drops into his armchair beside the sofa with a thud. "Uh. Can you... Can you read my mind?"

"Only your daydreams," his Stranger confesses. "And only those on the surface of your thoughts. You dream of doing violence to people who, I assure you, are already dead."

"My daydreams. And my waking nightmares," Hob echoes, feeling like his brain is slogging through molasses. There's a… there's a confession in there, somewhere. A truth that his Stranger is trusting him with, if he could only work it out.

And then he remembers, suddenly, what he had been daydreaming about in 1789 when he'd caught sight of his Stranger's extremely shapely calves in his silk hose, and Dear Lord above. Hob has a sudden and humiliating urge to be swallowed up by the ground. A glance at his Stranger makes it very clear, by the smug little microexpression around his eyes, that his Stranger also remembers Hob's fantasies from that particular evening.

Hell.

"You're a King," Hob says slowly, pouring out a measure of tea for each of them to hide his blush.

"Yes."

Hob dollops milk into his own, and invites his Stranger to doctor his own to his liking with the sugar and milk he'd left on the tray. His Stranger only holds the mug between elegant pale hands, and simply inhales the steam instead.

"A King of… Dreams and Nightmares?" Hob ventures.

"Yes," his Stranger says.

"So you're a, a what… a god?" Hob asks, feeling both giddy and foolish to be saying it out loud. But then, he's been alive for six hundred and seventy-two years. That's a long time. He knows for certain that while his Stranger is not the Devil by his own admission, there are more things that walk the earth than are dreamt of in anyone's philosophies.

Hob scowls at himself for letting Shaxbeard's drivel cross his mind, and hides his pout in his mug.

"No," his Stranger says slowly. "And yes." He pauses.

Hob leans back, and lets his Stranger work through what he's trying to say. His Stranger sips his tea and seems to find it lacking, because he pauses to dump four cubes of sugar into it.

Sweet tooth, Hob files away, right under the entry on the list that says God.

"I am a being beyond gods," his Stranger goes on once he's tasted his tea again and found it satisfactory. "I am older. I am more powerful. I am… simply more. I have existed since the moment the first sentient being closed its eyes and sought its rest, and I will continue to exist until the final one slips away to the Sunless Lands in its sleep. And yet, the version of myself that you see before you was once worshiped as a god."

"That explains a lot," Hob says, redirecting the buzzing adrenaline from his lingering, now futile rage into sarcasm.

The Stranger blinks again, as if unused to being teased. Being a… whatever he is, he probably is.

"Endless," his Stranger corrects. "I am Dream of the Endless. I am…" he gestures in an elegant arc with his free hand. "Limitless. Everywhere. Unchanging and ever present. I am every Dream of every creature, across all of space and time. I am both master of all dreams, and I am the dreams themselves."

"Bit like a TARDIS," Hob says, trying to wrap his head around what his Stranger, Dream of the Endless, is saying.

Dream blinks, head tilting like a corvid, a far-away look in his pale eyes as if he's shuffling through a mental rolodex. His lips curl up into, what is for him, a very wide, expressive grin when he seems to hit on the right entry. His face brightens with mirth.

"Yes, Hob Gadling. I am indeed bigger on the inside."

Hob laughs, if maybe only to contain the slow creep of existential horror. He has some sort of cosmic entity sitting on his squashed, unhygienic sofa that he hasn't cleaned properly since the day he moved in thirty years ago. Yeah. Hob's totally fine.

What's the bigger leap of understanding, anyway? Illiterate peasant sellsword in 1389 to university professor who taught the last two years through Zoom in 2022, or normal boring human with a bit of an Immortality thing to God's teeth there is a celestial creature in my apartment, and he is my friend.

"But that is the… the whole of me," Dream goes on, seemingly amused by Hob's quiet panic. "And the facet that sits before you, this particular anthropomorphic personification, is the one born of a worship and naming on this world, several eras ago."

"Oookaaay…" Hob says slowly, not entirely sure what Dream is getting at.

"Humans create gods," Dream says, filching a biscuit and crunching on it delicately. "Not the other way around."

Even spilling crumbs across his black teeshirt like stardust looks deliberate and elegant when he does it. Hob shoves down a new daydream, as far as it will go. If Dream catches it, he doesn't let on.

"Didn't God create mankind and all the world in seven days, though?" Hob asks, dragging his treacherous brain back on topic.

"In one story," Dream allows. "And in others, Zeus sculpted humanity from clay, and sundered the pieces to create soulmates. In yet another, Skywoman fell through a hole she dug through the world, and landed upon the back of a turtle. There are as many origin stories as there are gods, and there are as many gods as there are humans to imagine them. This—" Deam gestures to himself, and only then seems to see the crumbs on his shirt. He whisks them away with a flick of his wrist. "This embodiment was thought into being by what you would call the Bronze age cultures of the Mediterranean. To them, I was the God of Sleep. I have other names, but the most appropriate and widely remembered in this day and age is Morpheus."

"Morpheus," replies flatly.

"Yes," the creature on the sofa says, preening. "I desire that you call me that, Hob Gadling."

"Not Dream of the Endless?"

"Dream of the Endless is… Dream belongs to all sentient beings, of all kinds, on every planet and plane of existence. That creature has as many names, and faces, and physical embodiments as there are species to sleep. But here, the man who sits before you, whose form and face you know—"

Thank god he said 'know' and not 'desire', Hob thinks frantically.

"--this is Morpheus."

"The God of Sleep," Hob repeats, because is bears repeating.

"And you built me a temple."

"I… what?" Morpheus flicks a look around the room. "The New Inn? No, I built it for you so you could find me." Hob clocks what he just said. Then he thinks about the libations, the singing on karaoke night, the offerings and toasts, the way everyone totters away to pass out after last call. "Fuck me, I built the god of sleep a temple."

"If that unsettles you, you may alternately call me The Prince of Stories. The Shaper of Forms. The King of Nightmares. The Sandman. The—"

"Okay, okay!" Hob laughs. "I ask for one name and I get a hundred. Careful what you wish for, eh?" Hob scratches his fingers through his stubble and heaves a sigh as Morpheus helps himself to another biscuit, munching peevishly. "So if I'm understanding this right, Dream is… is like a diamond. And Morpheus is just one facet. And there are hundreds of facets of you."

"Millions of millions," Morpheus agrees.

"And it's Morpheus I have my agreement with? And my… friendship?"

"Yes, Hob Gadling," Morpheus says fondly. "Though I can assure you that the whole of all I am considers you a friend, not just this facet."

Something in his posture that changes then, something that relaxes a little. Relief, that's what it is. Did he think Hob would be scared of him?

Overwhelmed, maybe. Confused, a little. Intrigued, definitely. Attracted to? Hob's mind shies away from that one. But scared? Never. Except for when he was worried he may have condemned his soul to Hell, Hob has never been frightened of Morpheus. And even that fear was of purgatory itself, not of the man-shaped thing that may end up dragging him there.

"Then it's Morpheus I'd like to… see more of," Hob decides on, tripping over confessing something maybe a little bit too intense for just now, and sidestepping it as politically as possible. "More than once a century. If that's okay."

"Why?"

Hob blanches. "Are you not allowed to? Or… or do you not want to?" Hob asks, wondering if he's completely misunderstood the point of Morpheus' confession.

"I did not say I was opposed to it," Morpheus says gently. "I simply wonder why my company is that which you would… choose."

Hob wonders, in turn, who it was that made Morpheus feel like his company was a burden, as he clearly thinks it is. He carefully does not daydream of doing them any violence. He wants to, though.

"Listen, I…" Hob says, and stops to lick his lips, wet his throat with tea, and choose his words carefully. "Before I explain, I want to make it clear that I don't regret, or rue, or am bitter about this… this gift you've given me."

"My sister gave you," Morpheus corrects him gently.

"Sister?" Hob asks, derailed. "It wasn't you who… made me like this?"

"You and I have but an agreement to meet every hundred years. No more, no less," Morpheus explains. "My sister is the one who granted your request to never die, and traded a boon with our father to ensure you that you and I could keep our appointments."

"Uh. And who is this sister of yours I need to thank, then?" Hob asks.

"The woman who accompanied me at the White Horse that first night, do you recall her?" Hob nods. "She is Death."

"Death," Hob warbles, heart kicking in his chest. "Oh. Okay. Yeah. Makes sense. Death. I called her stupid to her face."

"She thought it charming."

"Fuck. And… your father?"

"Time."

"Time," Hob squeaks. The mug in his hand trembles and Hob sets it down before he sloshes on himself.

Morpheus frowns. "My sister did not think that the terms of the agreement between you and I would be fair if you continued to age, but did not die."

"No, no, makes sense," Hob says, heaving in a breath and trying not to freak out at the idea that Death and Time know who he is, and granted him his greatest wish simply because he was a loudmouth braggart in the right pub, on the right night.

"But you were speaking of the terms of our friendship," Morpheus prompts him.

It's a kindness, and Morpheus must know it, to be distracted from the existential crisis that is creeping up on Hob. Maybe Morpheus can see the waking nightmare hovering behind him, who knows.

"Yes, as I was saying, I don't regret being, uh, like this," Hob starts again, pointing at his own heart. "But it gets… well, it's hard. Maybe you know what I mean, being you know, Endless. Maybe you don't notice the passage of time, or maybe mortal lives are so fleeting that you don't care—"

"I care. And I notice."

Hob swallows hard again, and plows on, because if he stops to unpack the utter misery with which Morpheus just said that, he thinks he's going to have to get up right now, race out into the early morning dawn, and dig up whoever did this to his friend and kill them all over again.

"Right. Okay. Yes, you care, so you understand that… you have to let go. Do you know what I mean? You have to walk away. You have to… let things, let people, slip through your fingers. It doesn't matter how tightly you hang on to someone or something, change is inevitable. Time… ah, your father… has its… his way with us all. Except me. And you."

Morpheus watches him carefully, intensely, and Hob can't read what that expression means, hasn't seen it before. But if it was on a human, he'd call it intense and focussed affection.

"And I love life. I love humanity. I love the weird shit we come up with, and the ways we change, and grow, and at the same time stay exactly the same. I love people. I love love. But it can be…" he spreads his arms wide, clutching at the empty air, wishing he was better at putting thoughts into poetry. Then maybe he could explain himself better to the Prince of Stories.

Oh, so that's why that bitchy little twink Shaxbeard—no, focus, Gadling. Not right now.

Morpheus smirks at Hob's line of thought, but otherwise doesn't interrupt.

"The point of what I'm saying is that…" Hob takes a deep breath and plunges in. "You're my anchor. And you pull me through the years, and I follow along the tow line and… no, no, that sounds like you're dragging me down." Hob scrubs a hand through his hair, the beer and the adrenaline and the late hour catching up with him. He feels giddy and tongue-tied and stupid. "Maybe, you're a kite, then? And our meetings is the string, and when it's wound around my wrist, when I know what direction my life is being pulled by you and the wind, then it… it's full. It's taught. It's exciting. But when that string was… was slack… when you didn't come, when I thought I'd driven you away, I… I couldn't… there was no direction, and there was no point, and I—" Hob laughs flatly, false. "I had to build myself a fan, I guess. An Inn to fill the sail of the kite, and just hope that my breeze would come back and—"

And he doesn't talk about the years in the middle. The years between when he bought the White Horse, and before he threw himself into his schooling. The years when the misery of being forced to shut down the one place he needed more than air and food and water, because it tied him to his Stranger, the years when the White Horse continued to deteriorate and there was nothing he could do, except maybe sleep until 2089 and hope. The years when he put anything and everything down his throat, into his veins, up his nose just so that he didn't have to feel it, the wretched passage of time, the despair, the isolation and loneliness, the—

Morpheus' hand on his knee brings Hob back to himself. He huffs and wipes the moisture away from the corner of his eyes.

"What I'm saying is… I lost who I am, without you," he says slowly, covering that moon-pale hand with his own sun-browned and sword-calloused one. "And I'm not saying that you have to spend time with me. But I thought I ruined everything. And learning that instead you were captured and suffering, and I had no way of knowing and no way of helping, that's just so much worse. I need you, Morpheus. And more than that, I like you. These last few decades were awful without you, and I… I don't want to force you to spend time with me to keep me sane, that's not what I'm saying. I don't want to drown you in order to keep my own head above water."

Mixing metaphors again, Gadling. Get to the point.

"I guess what I'm saying is that I want to spend time with you. More than once a century. I want to be your friend, and I want to know when you're hurt, or in trouble. I want to be there for you, the way that you're there for me. I want to be the solution to your loneliness, the kind that only people like you and me know. The people who go on, and on, and on, when everything around you is always changing or withering away. Because you are the solution to mine. You're…" Hob decides that six hundred and seventy-two is too old to speak in euphemisms. "You're all that I get to keep. So, please. Can I keep you?"

"I too find that I thrive when I am seen," Morpheus says, summing up Hob's rambling with eloquence and sincerity. "And I am more than satisfied with your explanation. I find that I… share your sentiments. So yes, I shall give you a way to contact me, and a way to know if I am in distress. And I will be happy to meet with you more often."

"Once a week too much?" Hob asks, sniffling with pent up emotion and swift relief. "God's bones, I sound like such a clingy bastard. I guess I am. I won't be ashamed of it."

"If that is the case, then I find I am one as well. Will every Tuesday evening be acceptable?"

Hob didn't teach Tuesday afternoons, but Morpheous probably already knew that. "More than."

"Excellent. It is done."

Hob huffs out a weak laugh, flopping back into his chair and feeling like he's just gone a hundred rounds with a heavyweight champ. Or sold his soul to Morpheus all over again. Morpheus releases his hand and pours them both more tea, though when Hob takes a drink, he finds it's become a sweet, cool wine, the kind he'd once had in Greece, centuries ago.

After they sip for a few moments, Hob screws up his courage, and asks, "And was it Morpheus who was… 'unavoidably detained'," Hob says, putting the finger-quotes around the phrase.

Morpheus goes silent for long enough that Hob worries again that he's offended his friend again.

"We don't have to talk about it," Hob assures him. He reaches out his hand for Morpheus, offering support and understanding, just as his friend had offered it to Hob. He is relieved and flattered when Morpheus takes it again, without a moment's doubt.

"I… do not think I could bring myself to speak of this again, if I were not to unburden myself now. You have confessed so much this evening, and I feel I must honor your truth with my own, no matter how… infuriatingly painful and humiliating the confession may be. I was, as you surmised, captured."

"How can someone capture a… a concept?" Hob asks softly. "A literal, actual force of nature?"

"How indeed," Morpheus says, rueful and bitter. "While most magic is insubstantial nonsense," Morpheus begins slowly. He lifts his free hand and spreads his fingers wide, and on his palm a whirlwind of golden sand swirls into the shape of a small glass cage, with a tiny, prone man trapped inside. Hob's heart clenches when he realizes what he's looking at. "There are some immutable laws of existence that can be harnessed and twisted to entrap even one such as I. But it was not Dream of the Endless that Rodrick Burgess sought to enslave, nor even Morpheus the God of Sleep, but Death her very self…"

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wonkastarshine · 1 year

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I’ve been thinking a lot about CATCF today. 18 years has passed since it was released. I was four years old when my mom rented a copy of it for me and my sisters. It was an instant moment of connection and love at first watch. Now, I’m graduating college next month and I still can’t believe just how much I love this film. I was obsessed in middle school probably to a fault. On its 10th anniversary, I watched the film ten times 🥵 it was an all consuming obsession and one that did cost me time and friends.

I put my love away for the film as I went into high school. I gained other interests and got into other movie series. I graduated high school and went to college. COVID hits. In all the chaos and confusion, I felt a pull to watch what used to be my favorite movie. I was very scared to go back. What if I didn’t like it? What if I only liked the movie because I had such a crush on Wonka? I pushed play on Netflix and just from the first forty seconds… I was home. The factory is a second home to me. A place of creativity, freedom and expression. I’m no longer afraid to tell people this is my favorite movie. At school, people have been asking me all week what my thoughts on the Wonka prequel are (that’s for another post). My friends watch the movie with me every year on my birthday. We have a “Wonka Wall” in our apartment where there is a picture of everybody who has visited our place and put on the Wonka glasses that I own. It’s glorious and liberating to be free in your interests. True friends will never judge your passions, only fuel it.

So I sit here in bed and ponder on a full 18 years of this movie in existence. It’s reputation is still split. A love it or hate it kinda flick. But the love for it grows every day. Seldom is a movie of this size and success considered a cult classic, but sometimes I feel like CATCF is reaching there. As cinema gets less and less creative, I think people are realizing we took this movie for granted. The production design, costumes, practical effects, the music, the atmosphere… it’s just so uniquely Burton that I can’t help but smile like a lunatic when I watch this movie. It’s just so great. I know this film isn’t a masterpiece by any means, but it’s just the movie I needed when I was 4 and whenever I was down and lonely in my life.

Depp’s Wonka is an acting masterclass and it was heartbreaking to 9 year old me when I discovered he wasn’t real, but played by an actor. He seemed so vividly alive to me as child. He existed out there somewhere to 4 year old me. If I searched hard enough to find him… but he was just truly inside my soul. I also grew up with an overbearing and abusive father. I envied the fact that Wonka could just run away and become whatever he wanted. I wanted to escape to the factory the way Wonka did. The man isn’t real, but the lessons I’ve learned have been. Never let the past dictate the present. Never let the limitations of the world limit your creativity. Never let other people’s judgment get you down. Also ✨dress stylishly✨

Anyways this has gone on too long lol and I’ll probably regret this post in the morning. But I’m just full of love right now for this film and I’m so grateful every day that my mom went to Blockbuster and chose this film to take home.

Happy birthday Charlie and the Chocolate Factory🍫

#oversharing on the internet 101 lol #make a wish catcf!#johnny depp #willy wonka #charlie and the chocolate factory #catcf 2005 #tim burton #abbie’s thoughts

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 year

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𓅨 Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Chapter Forty-Four

Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Y/N Burgess is the granddaughter of Alex and Paul, and after having spent so many summers at their manor and always wondering why she was forbidden from entering the basement, she descends the steps into the world of the Order. She broke out the being that had been trapped in that glass cage, but what does he want with her now that he is free?

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material (Unprotected Sex is a Major No No), Morpheus is in Baby Fever (And Wastes Zero Time Fixing That), Baby Making in Progress (IF THIS IS TRIGGERING LEAVE), Breeding Kink (Not Exactly Sure How it Goes?), King of Teasing and Domination Morpheus.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Female!GranddaughterReader, based on Netflix’s ‘The Sandman’, Reader now has long-ish hair for plot reasons (Just so Morpheus can tug on it later).

Word Count: ~4.1k

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“I believe I can help you with that.”

Morpheus’s words were still playing on repeat in your mind long after they had left his lips, lips which were currently devouring the skin on your inner thighs. You were sprawled out on the desk in your library, on your back, with desk supplies scattered around on the floor around you. Your jeans were somewhere down there too, having been pulled from your legs and tossed into the oblivion without a second thought. One would have thought that you would have been berating the Endless for making such a mess of your library, but no, those thoughts didn’t even have a chance to appear the moment Morpheus loomed over you. Hunger had burned in his eyes and had made shivers go down your spine. Your shirt was quick to be bunched up near your bra and that’s when he started feasting. Morpheus had just about devoured every uncovered centimeter of your skin on his way to your thighs.

“I believe I can help you with that.”

Your thighs quivered beneath his mouth yet again and you let out a shaky breath, your fingers pressing harder into the desk.The hungry kisses against your inner thighs drifted upwards and Morpheus’s hands skimmed along your torso, teasing the band of your underwear with his fingertips. Your hips bucked up against his touch, also pressing up against his mouth. Morpheus’s grasp pushed your hips back down as he curled his fingers into your underwear. Your entire body slid slightly from the force at which he dragged them down your thighs and then off your body. You gasped and gripped the edge of the table with your fingers as your eyes connected with lust filled silver blue ones. The look he was giving you made white hot streaks of pleasure burst in your cunt and in seconds you were dripping.

“I should like to pick you apart piece by piece until you are but a exquisite mess beneath my fingers, incapable of thinking of anything but me.” Morpheus’s voice came out in that low even tone of his, but the passion in which he felt was clear in his eyes. No bond was needed. “But I shall wait not a second more because those seconds feel an eternity without you.” The breath was stolen from your chest leaving you seeing stars. He was the star. Your star. The gravity of his words captured your entire being and for a few moments you lay frozen as he quickly got his own jeans down just enough to free himself.

Morpheus slipped his hands up your abdomen and tugged your body against his chest. Your bodies pressed together as you clutched his shoulders, and in milliseconds you could feel his cock sliding through your damp curls before slipping all too easily into your pulsating cunt. You gasped at the ease in which he slid into your cunt and Morpheus was quick to devour the throaty sound with his mouth. Your sounds were muffled as lips quickly overtook yours, and with a flick off his tongue across your lower lip, your lips parted with a zing of pleasure and sensitivity. You shuddered in Morpheus’s arms, sliding one of your hands from his shoulder to his neck, and then into the hair at his nape. Your nails sunk into his scalp when he stole a deeper kiss from you and tangled his tongue with yours.

Your thighs spread wider as Morpheus sank into your body again, his cock going deep into your cunt and hitting a spot that made your knees twitch against his waist. You felt like you couldn’t breath for a few moments, he was going so deep. But that euphoric feeling of being filled outweighed the discomfort of being breathless so you hiked a leg up around his waist and clutched him closer. Mouths breaking apart, your eyes flickered open to stare into his as your faces remained infinitely close. Morpheus had stars in his eyes and they sparkled and shone for you.

Flurries of sensations were erupting in your belly, spreading warmth that boiled to fire, and then ecstasy. Leaning your head back while strong hands gripped your waist, a soft whine swept passed your lips when fingers pushed up your ribs to your bra and then proceeded to dig into the underwire. Metal was being ripped from your body, your shirt in the process, and before you knew it Morpheus had you entirely naked on the desk. You were pressed flat on your back and let out cry of pleasure when hip crashed against yours, driving right into the spot that made you see even more stars.

Your back arched in time to meet a hungry mouth that very quickly stole across your breasts with the fervor of a starving man. Then you twisted beneath Morpheus’s tongue, moaning as your own movement only heightened the feeling of his cock sliding against your pulsating walls. Your nails sank into his jacket filled with stars from the blazing fire that rippled within your body, you thought you might claw your way through it. Your eye lashes fluttered when the surge of pleasure warped and twisted to form a pressure within your throbbing cunt.

“Morpheus,” His name fell from your lips in a desperate plea, your legs starting to tremble shake from where they were wrapped around him. His lips carved a path up to your neck, burning, searing, even, as Morpheus softly chucked and proceeded to thrust harder. You let out a pathetic mewl, your breaths tumbling out of your mouth in ragged gasps. Silver blue eyes, tinged with a devilish glint, locked with yours in a fathomless abyss that seemed to draw everything into its grasp.

“Is this what you wish for, my dream?” His words danced across your lips in a teasing breeze. You whimpered yet again, sinking your nails further into his skin and wondering how he could thrust against the right spot within your body every single time. “To carry my child? To be a mother? To be their mother?”

Your entire body quivered at his words and the muscles in your lower body clenched in answer. Morpheus smirked at your reaction and reached up to grasp your chin.

“Answer me,” He demanded softly. His words made a flush of fire burn across your skin and you twitched and whimpered against him. Your lips automatically parted in answer but nothing came out. Logic had faded, bleeding into pleasure and bliss. “Answer me,” He repeated, his hold on your chin tightening. You struggled to get the word out of your mouth, but was finally able to do it.

“Yes,” You choked out in a strained whisper, clinging tightly to him while writhing against his strong hold. His strokes turned torturous and your back arched once more from the building ecstasy. Morpheus drew your chin close to his face, your lips only separated by a hairbreadth. You stared wide eyed at him, he was relentless both with his words and body.

“Yes what, my dream,” He prompted you again. A hot searing bolt of pleasure struck through you and you nearly felt like crying from the sensations.

“Yes, I wish to carry your child,” You gasped out, feeling like the room was staring to spin. You just barely made out the pleased look on his face before he uttered his next command.

“Then come for me,” You splintered into a thousand shards of pleasure and came apart in his arms. Your grip on him went slack and Morpheus’s only tightened. In a haze of dizzying lust and pleasure, you struggled to respond to the kiss that was pressed against your lips. It mattered not the amount of feasts he helped him to, Morpheus would forever be starved for you, and you him. Any and all restraint left Morpheus, filling your body with heat that enveloped your body like a warm blanket. That warm sensation made your cunt throb and belly flutter with butterflies. While your body tingled and surged with an unknown energy, Morpheus’s lips migrated from your lips to your neck where he pressed his face and started murmuring in a language you didn’t understand. While you couldn’t understand what he was saying your ears did appreciate hearing the beautiful sounding words.

“What language is that?” You whispered out in question, your trembling fingers rising to brush against the soft locks at the nape of his neck.

“Sumerian,” Morpheus answered against your neck, his voice deep and intense. Sumerian, was that not the first recorded language in human history? Your thoughts on the beautiful language were fleeting. You could feel your combined releases slowly slipping down your thighs and cooling. Heat was quick to return to your cheeks and you moved your hands from his neck to grasp the desk. Did he really just take you on your desk? You could have sworn Morpheus’s lips twitched against your neck. You let out a huff and rolled your eyes.

“I will have you wherever I please, should you be so willing.” Morpheus drew out against your skin, his lips leaving a trail of fire as he ran them up to your jaw. Every inch of your skin begged for that kiss of intoxicating inferno, even after it had just received that very demand. Your eyes connected and yet another shiver went up your spine from the dark look of hunger, craving, in them. “And you were not opposed.” Your lips quivered.

“That’s because I am very easily distracted by you,” You softly retorted, your hip curving as his hand brushed against your side. From his touch bloomed intimate whispers of adoration and paradise. Your blood started to hum in your veins and lips pressed against your fluttering pulse, seeking out that hum of energy. A faint moan passed through your lips from Morpheus’s gentle nips against your pulse. Then your body decided that it wanted him, again. You whimpered, still feeling quite raw from your rabid love making only moments ago. Another smirk and you were reaching up to tug on his hair. “You are not fucking me on my desk again, Morpheus, my back aches and my body feels raw.”

“Such crude language, my dream, surely, you can phrase the activity of making a child more eloquent than that.” Morpheus questioned, his hand coming up to take your chin. Why did he have to look so pretty when smug? Why did the sound of him talking about making a child turn you on so? Why did he have to look so pretty period. He raised an eyebrow and you faintly scowled at him.

“I’ve told you to stay out of my head,” You griped at him. “How many times must I tell—“ He was teleporting your bodies mid sentence. You found yourself stretched out on the soft mattress of your bed. Morpheus was once again hovering over you, only this time he was, at the very least, naked. A moan of appreciation slipped from your lips at the silken sheets cradling your throbbing body. Like clouds gently caressing your skin in warm greeting.

“Is this preferable, my dream?” Morpheus questioned gently, leaning down to brush his lips across your breasts in a more reserved manner, like he held great reverence for them. Where he had once ravaged he now adored and lavished with gentle perfection. He nipped at your breast and you squirmed beneath him, your palms coming up to press against his shoulders.

“Morpheus,” You breathed out, your left hand sliding over his shoulder and up his neck to his hair. “You are going to wear me ragged.” You raspily complained. His lips pressed a stinging trail of kisses up to just below your ear. You shuddered once more beneath him. He felt it and smirked into your neck, knowing just how quick he could unravel you into a willing mess of a woman.

“I intend to follow through with my words, Y/N,” He drew out, his body pressing against yours. Your body in a hypersensitive state, you could feel every little dip and rise, curve and plane Morpheus held. That alone made your mind spin in a tizzy and breathed to life renewed hunger. Your back arched and your chest pushed against his at the erection you could feel against your aching cunt. “Did I not say I would give you a child?”

“That could take months, years even!” You gasped out, unable to stop yourself from bucking your hips up against his. Being worn ragged didn’t seem like a bad idea when he was pressed up against your body like this. Certainly not when his cock brushed up against your pleasure swollen folds. Teasing. Taunting. Torturing. God, he was making your cunt throb unbearably.

“I believe humans have a phrase regarding many practices?” Morpheus smirked before leaning down and capturing your mouth with his once more. You were stunned to hear those words from his lips for a few moments. Practice makes perfect. Bloody hell did he just insinuate that by you fucking a lot, you’d make a perfect child? Those thoughts went out the window as Morpheus’s tongue dragged yours into a lip lock of cosmic proportions. Electrifying heat flooded to your veins, beckoning for more in its wake. The next time lips feverishly passed over yours, you nipped. The rumble that came from Morpheus’s chest made your cunt twitch and your thighs squeeze together. Then blazing mercury eyes caught yours. A thrill of excitant burst in your chest. “Is that how you wish to have me, my dream?”

“I’ll have you however you should design to give,” You answered breathlessly, your fingers pressing down into his skin and pushing their way up his neck. Morpheus’ nose brushed against yours as he rested his forehead against your own, you breathed each others exhales. That alone was enough to get you high on ecstasy. “I should never like to think I am within my rights to demand anything but what is natural to retain one’s dignity.” In response to your whispered answer, Morpheus reached to take your face in hand. Those millimeters disappeared, his lips branding yours once more in eternal passion that was destined to burn Endlessly.

With cool skin pressing against your face and lips searing against yours in ravenous hunger, your fingers intwined in obsidian hair. You let your lips prowl against his, tugging at them just to swallow the bewitching masculine groans Morpheus made. All but ripping your lips from Morpheus’, you pressed them against the corner of his mouth and started working to place hungry kisses of your own across his jaw. The enviable task of exploring Morpheus’ star sculpted skin was yours to devour and indulge in. While you were pressing kiss after kiss against unblemished skin, he was running his hand down your side and calling forth trembles of delight. But that touch didn’t linger, no, it tip toed its way across your hip to your small thatch of curls, and then slipped further down through your silken folds to devilishly brush against your clit. The sharp burst of pleasure caused your fingers to dig into his hair while you raggedly gasped against into his neck.

“My queen thinks she is worthy to carry my child?” Morpheus aired out his question with an authority that went straight to your cunt and caused your body to press up against his once more. “Does she think she is able to carry a child of the Endless? Does she think she is strong enough to do so?” His taunt echoed in your ear and you whined in response, doing all that you could to grind your aching and dripping cunt into his teasing fingers. He held your cunt firm and fast, not allowing any movement or twist of pleasure. You made a sound of frustration in the back of your throat, dissatisfied that he was so damn close, but refusing to give what you so desperately wanted. Silver eyes blazed into yours. “Do you think you can carry such a task, my dream?”

“Yes, Morpheus, yes,” You strained out in a plead, your eyelashes fluttering as you looked up at him with helpless devotion. He looked as if to be contemplating your bolden desire and wish, teasing the thought to simply drag out the agony of waiting for his answer. “Have I not proven that I will not break so easily?” His lips ghosted your inflamed cheek as soft chuckles tortured you further.

“Your mind perhaps, but maybe not your body,” Morpheus spoke in rapture. “I think I should like to find out.” You didn’t have time to contemplate what he meant by that because he chose to push his fingers into your body. You jerked against him, a fresh cry poised on your tongue. Morpheus nipped at the tender flesh beneath your jaw. “Will you crumble so easily beneath me? Given in to your own desires rather than surrender to the exquisite act of creating life? Or shall you listen to what I ask of you?” His words made your body twist in defeat beneath his, whisper soft moans slipping from your parted lips. “Y/N, I expect an answer.”

“I’ll listen,” You breathlessly returned, agreeable to anything that would satisfy the hungering ache for intimacy and togetherness. You would do anything to be able to share something as precious as a child with Morpheus. A pleased look entered his eyes mixed with a twinkle of smugness.

“We shall see, my dream,” Morpheus spoke, driving his fingers further into your cunt and pressing them into your walls, stroking with a near unbearable sensation. You wiggled and writhed beneath him, your teeth sinking down into your lower lip to stifle the sounds emerging from your mouth. “Don’t,” At his growled command you immediately released your lip, eyes widening at Morpheus’ tone. “You dare seek to ruin such heavenly lips from your king?” His words went straight to your cunt and you were squeezing your thighs around his hand with a whimper.

“Morpheus,” You gasped out, feeling a bolt of pleasure erupting within your body.

“My king,” Morpheus darkly corrected, his eyes darkening with the energy of a black hole. Consuming and endless. His fingers thrust into your cunt once more and your back arched, pushing your breasts into his chest. It was excruciating.

“My king,” The words couldn’t tumble from your mouth fast enough as you tried your best not to claw at his scalp. “Please, I need to—“

“You will not,” Morpheus cut you off. “You shall only come when I see fit and that will only happen when I am within you.” You nearly started sobbing with frustration. How could he be so cruel to make you feel such extraordinary pleasure… but not allow you the release of tension? One of your hands ended up on his back, nails sinking into flesh to carve abundant marks of red. It was taking every bit of self control you had to abide by the rule he had set for you and the proof was running down your cheeks. His thumb then pressed down against your clit and you nearly lost it. A withered shriek passed through your lips all the while your thighs shook like they had never before. Morpheus finally decided to be merciful. “Do you think you have earned to have me within you? To have the relief you beg for?”

“Please,my king,” You rasped out, trembling and quivering against his lethally beautiful body. “Please…” Fingers withdrew from your cunt, gliding up over your mound once more to reveal just how worked up you were. You didn’t know to call his withdrawal relief or agony. What you did know was that your chest heaved against his and your body felt as if it was in withdrawal from his beautiful and lithe fingers. “My king, please, don’t leave me like this.”

“Like what, my dream?” Morpheus called out, bringing his hand up to cup your chin. “A muse stretched out beneath me, twisted up with pleasure and begging for more?” Morpheus’ other hand ran down your side and over the curve of your arse, then he jerked your hip up so your cunt was pressed right against his cock. You gasped, body momentarily experiencing an explosion of intense fire that prickled at your limbs. Morpheus gripped your chin harder, making sure you were looking him in the eyes. His silver gaze was hypnotic. “I command your body in this sacred moment, my queen, and I shall have you how I so choose.”

Shuddering in delight, you were rendered just about speechless when his cock filled your cunt in a languid and teasing thrust. Your lips parting, Morpheus was quick to lean down and lock his mouth to yours. It was a long and open mouthed kiss that pushed and pulled until you felt devoured. You were very quickly back to dragging your nails down his back and through his hair, clinging tight against the rhythmic thrusts that pushed your body back towards that brink of ecstasy. You clawed after the mind shattering high that Morpheus was taunting your body with. If you had to beg your way to it, you would. Your lips broke apart and he was immediately ravishing your neck, sucking at the skin and nipping hard enough to leave marks.

Your hips rose to meet his on the next thrust and you both groaned from the ensuing consequence of your action. From skin meeting skin came an explosive stirring of passion that ripped its way through your bodies like an electricity arc. You choked, but Morpheus growled, tightening his grip on your thigh to the point of bruising. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all. Not in the sense that he didn’t like you chasing after more from him, but the fact that he was in control and you had sought more from what he was giving. No, he did not like that at all. His hands gripped your body hard and controlling, drawing your attention to his less than happy state.

“What did I tell you, my queen,” Morpheus’ words whispered across your lips from where he held your face so close to his. They were eerily calm compared to what you were feeling from your bond. Now his thrusts were punishing as he held your body perfectly still against his. “I command this body,” He spoke darkly, pulling your hip up to maintain that punishing pace. You head dropped back as you strained and wheezed for air. “And yet you still wish for more?” You scratched your nails down his back, feeling a fresh set of tears biting at the edges of your eyelashes. “Is this how much you desire my child? To go against the orders of your king? ”

“Please,” You softly begged, trying to writhe against his steel grip. “I cannot take it much longer, I beg of you!” The fire within your body was a raging inferno that blazed in untamed desire and need. You would combust if you didn’t have your release, if you didn’t have him! “My king, my love, please,” Your voice was now a rasping whisper against his torturous ministrations. Morpheus’ mouth seemed to be everywhere, biting and lavishing your neck with determination of control. “I want to give you life.” You panted out, pulling his head until his forehead was inline with yours. “I wish to give you a child, I wish to give you everything I can.”

Silver blue eyes blazed mercury and you finally heard those precious words you had been begging for.

“Then come with me, my queen.” Morpheus demanded, his lips brushing against your trembling ones. Every muscle in your body went rigid at his soft demand and the influx of pleasure that imploded sent you reeling beneath his body. White hot ecstasy shimmered in your veins and stars glimmered in your eyes. Passion and desire burst from where you were joined and through the carnal urges, you were momentarily blinded by a surge of power. You floated for a few seconds, feeling that you had melted beneath Morpheus. Then air was flooding into your lung and you were wheezing and almost coughing. You were harshly breathing in a daze as arms collected your trembling body. Cradled in an embrace that vibrated ever so softly with a hum of unfamiliar energy, you barely cracked your eyes open to see that you were resting on Morpheus, a change from your usual. He stroked your face with reverence. “You already have, my dream,” He spoke while caressing your face. “Sleep, I should like to hold you this night.”

Date Published: 1/9/23

Last Edit: 8/24/23

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#dream the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus #sandman x reader #dream the endless #dream of the endless #the sandman #lord morpheus #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless x reader

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sweatandwoe · 2 years

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The Primo brainrot is absolutely unreal. He has such little content or even photos. Peepaw deserves his time to shine :/

He absolutely does, let's give him a lil love, have some Primo x GN!reader fluff, I made the reader also older in this for some sweet 'been together for 30 years at least' vibes

The flowers are beautiful. Red roses, black barlows, bloody lupines and velvet petunias are all arranged together. You are quite certain when you woke this morning the vase they were in had been filled with dying irises but there is not even a slightly

Your husband sits on the couch, wearing his pajamas with his robe over top. But instead of slippers, his runners are still on and he hides his face behind a newspaper, though you can see him glancing just over it to look at you. Trying to gauge your reaction you guess, when his gaze jolts back down to the paper when he realizes he's been caught.

"These look lovely." You finally say, taking a rose in hand, holding the stem delicately between your index and middle finger. Breathing in the scent before you ensure it's back in its place. You turn to see your husband, who has now lowered his newspaper, black-painted lips smirking. His paints are messy today, most likely he had been in a rush when he saw the dead flowers. Not that there was much to do today; this church held no mass on Sundays.

"I planted those barlows just for you." He admits after a moment, "They were putting up quite a fight."

"I'm glad you won the battle. They're beautiful." You take your own careful steps, despite being younger, you were no spring chicken yourself. Your back was already aching from helping him weed the garden yesterday. Not to mention the rituals and spells at mass that he had needed your help with. Still, you lean down to kiss the top of his head before you join him on the couch. "Any ideas for today?"

The old man hums, before lowering his newspaper. "It's supposed to rain later so I won't water the garden tonight. After that, my day is pretty free." Primo smiles, a glint in his mismatched gaze. "Maybe we can stay in all day, darling? Watch some movies. I can order food off of this app." He takes a moment, brow furrowing while he tries to remember. "Obber Eats?"

"Uber. But I like obber better." A kiss to his cheek, while he chuckles and lets you gather close to him. Though there was no Prime Mover ceremony to connect you, Primo had done his own ritual to bind you both and so his presence so close helps relieve the ache in your spine until it's practically gone. "What movie?"

He shuffles slightly in his seat, and when you glance at him he's smiling, while trying to make his wrinkled eyes appear big, jutting out his lower lip. "The Omen series?"

You roll your eyes, but move to grab the remote, trying not to laugh at his puppy dog eyes. "I'll see if it's on Netflix."

Primo perks up completely, drawing an arm around you, and letting you flick through the TV. His cheek eventually comes to rest on the top of your head, pulling you further into a cuddling position.

A nice lazy, rainy day was made even more perfect with him by your side. And would be a good memory for when he no longer was.

#primo emeritus #primo #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus i x reader #primo x reader #ghost band #mdni #a lil angst at the end #sweaty asks

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catb-fics · 8 months

Text

Red Part 4

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: no actual smut in this part but more sneakiness and Y/N’s dirty thoughts. Van is a very naughty boy 😏

Story Masterlist Main Masterlist

You'd never considered yourself a cheater before. You didn't think that you'd even be capable of it. Even though you'd never actually experienced the bitter heartbreak of betrayal personally, the notion of taking someone's trust and abusing it in such a way just seemed so heartless that you never would have dreamed that you could be a perpetrator. Yet here you were, just over a week after the kitchen incident, trying in vain to avoid Van like the plague and enduring restless nights where you'd wake up wracked with guilt as remnants of some sleazy dream that definitely didn't feature your loving boyfriend lingered in your head.

And to make matters worse, Van carried on as if everything was completely normal. He'd smile sweetly at you when you passed him in the hallway at Larry's, offering you cups of tea on your visits like you were just two old friends. Of course Larry was delighted that the acrimony between the two of you seemed to have ceased, but he was also completely oblivious to the strange kind of tension that descended whenever you and Van shared the same space. On the surface no one would ever know that anything untoward had occurred, but you could feel it. The quickening of your pulse as Van brushed past you just that little bit too close, the tiny spark of electricity that seemed to emanate from his fingertips as they connected with yours as he passed you a steaming hot mug of tea. But Van never uttered a word, and the hungry looks you'd been on the receiving end of until now were conspicuous by their absence.

"You and Van seem to be getting on so much better at the moment," Larry comments the following Sunday afternoon when you're sitting lazily flicking through Netflix series. "I don't know what happened last week, but..."

"Nothing happened!" You blurt out, instantly regretting it when Larry turns to you, narrowing his eyes.

You freeze, your heart lurching, dropping your head as you pretend to pick at an imaginary piece of fluff on your t-shirt to avoid looking at Larry.

"I... errr.... I mean it was nothing really," you backtrack. "We just chatted... came to an agreement that it was silly to argue over everything. Not when we have to see each other all the time. He still does my head in though..."

"Van! Were your ears burning? We were just talking about ya!"

Your head whips up in an instant just in time to see Van sauntering into the living room clutching a mug of tea in one hand and his acoustic guitar in the other.

"Oh... ya were, were ya? Hope it was all good!" He fixes you with a smug look, tipping his head and firing off a cheeky wink, earning a stony glare from you which you quickly turn into a forced smile as you feel Larry's elbow in your side, gently nudging you.

"Yeah, yeah it was actually. I was just saying how nice it was that you and Y/N were getting on so well now. It's just like old times again, eh?"

Van stops in front of the opposite sofa facing you, smile wide with just a hint of slyness that Larry's sure not to notice, meant just for you. Then he flops down on to it, his eyes never leaving yours as he speaks.

"Well... Y/N couldn't stay mad at me for long could ya Y/N? Not when I'm so nice to ya! Best buddies now, eh?"

You let out a kind of half huff-half snort, stiffening as you try to battle against the vitriol which is clawing it's way up your throat, an automatic reaction to Van, that, as you're beginning to realise, is a defence mechanism. Your subconscious mind trying to keep him at arms length, battling against the constant desire that fires in your loins every time he's in the vicinity.

You watch him now as he settles into the chair, leaning forward to place his mug on the nearby coffee table before laying his guitar across his lap, cradling it gently, his fingers curling around the frets.

Fuck... what is it about his hands? They're so big compared to Larry's and his fingers are so long and supple... graceful as they start to pluck idly at the strings. Precise and controlled... skilled hands. A twinge of desire warms between your legs and you shift where you sit, forcing your eyes back to the menu on the TV screen which Larry's started scrolling through again absentmindedly.

"What d'ya wanna watch then love?"

"Hmm... you choose... I really don't know..."

But you do know. Truth be told you don't want to watch the TV at all. You'd rather watch Van, eyes fluttered shut as he begins to softly sing, caught in his own little world, the late afternoon sunlight spilling in through the partially closed curtains and hitting the angles of his handsome face in a way that makes him look other-worldly. You'd rather look on longingly as his slender fingers brush the strings, remembering the sensation of them sliding against your heat, making you lose control. You imagine them sinking deep inside you, pumping in and out at an agonisingly slow pace until you're begging for more...

"Are ya even listening to a word I'm saying?"

Larry's voice suddenly snaps you out of your reverie and you shift again, uncomfortable as you realise exactly how lost in your sordid thoughts you were.

"Look... I don't mind what we watch. Honestly, you pick. I'm really not that fussed."

Larry chuckles. "I knew you weren't listening, you were daydreaming again weren't ya?"

"I... I was just..." you stutter, cheeks warming as Van's eyes flick open, meeting yours for a fraction of a second, a small grin hidden as he turns his head downwards, focussing on the fretboard.

"Head in the clouds as usual," Larry grins, shaking his head as you turn to look at him, going to protest but then thinking better of it, not wanting to draw even more attention to the fact that your thoughts were lingering where they shouldn't be.

"Anyway," Larry announces, your momentary lapse in focus of no real concern to him. "Like I was just saying, we need to finish off planning this Halloween party we're holding next weekend. Did you speak to your friend about DJing yet?"

You nod enthusiastically, relieved to have something else to occupy your mind, starting to tell Larry about the arrangements you've made, completely zoning out of Van's presence until Larry draws him into the conversation by asking him if he's bringing a guest.

"Yeah, as it happens I am. Remember that girl from the party at ours a few weeks back? Turns out that Y/N didn't quite manage to scare her off after all. She bumped into Benji last week in town and asked for my number."

Van's words set off an avalanche of jealousy inside you which you have no business feeling. A roiling sickly feeling in the pit of your belly as you consider this might well be the reason for his lack of attention.

"She got a name?" Larry wants to know.

And you just can't help yourself.

"As if he'd remember! Just another faceless conquest, eh Van? Another notch on the bedpost?"

Silence falls on the room as both boys turn to look at you, Larry's face scrunched in surprise, Van's knowing smirk just irritating you further.

"I do remember actually... she's called Sophie. And she's a very nice girl."

"Well... if she is then she's not your type then!" You scoff, immediately feeling your cheeks warming as you realise that you've indirectly tarred yourself with the same brush.

And that's just the thing. You're not a nice girl. Not any more. Much as you try to fool yourself, you're anything but.

"Christs sake Y/N, just leave it okay?" Larry grumbles, shaking his head and rising to his feet. "Well I think it's great Van, I'm looking forward to properly meeting her. I didn't get chance to talk to her properly before. Right... I'm going to put the kettle on. Who wants another cuppa?"

Van agrees whilst you decline, mumbling something about having lots to do, deliberately not looking at Van as you stand up, turning towards the open living room door, stepping forward to follow in Larry's wake.

"Y/N... wait!"

Van's voice comes urgently, a low whispered hiss intended for your ears and not Larry's. You ignore him, eyes fixed firmly ahead, moving purposefully forward. You can hear movement behind you, the soft twang of the guitar strings as Van moves it off his lap and sets it aside, simultaneously getting to his feet. Your pulse quickens at the sound of his heavy footfall as he moves towards you, his long strides bringing him quickly closer. Close enough for him to reach out and touch you, his fingers from one hand firmly curling around the crook of your arm, bringing you to a standstill.

You go to wrench your arm away, feeling Van's grip tighten so you whirl around instead, a combination of panic and excitement welling in your chest as you come to face him and see the determined look in his eyes.

"What do you want?" You mutter sternly, taking a step backwards as his grip loosens on you.

"You know what I want!"

He advances on you, matching you step for step until you feel the living room wall at your back, turning your head quickly towards the open doorway right next to you, hearing the steady rising sound of the kettle heating up and the clinking of mugs.

And Van doesn't stop coming, invading your personal space like he always does, bodies so close they're almost touching, one palm flat on the wall next to your head as he leans in.

"It's not happening Van... so why don't you just fuck off and go and see bloody Sophie if she's so wonderful!"

Van just grins. "I knew it. You're jealous aren't ya?"

"No, of course not!"

You scowl at him, flattening yourself against the wall even further, ears straining for any tell-tale sound that might precede Larry's arrival. All you can hear is muted clattering as he moves around the kitchen, the faint sounds of him humming a song to himself in that slightly off-key way of his. He sounds happy, oblivious, completely unsuspecting that his girlfriend's being pressed up against the wall just one room away by his treacherous best friend.

"You are... just admit it. There's no point in lying to me. It's written all over your face. You hate the thought of me with other girls and you always have done."

"You're so full of yourself!" You snap. "What makes you think I give a shit about who you're fucking? Just because of a stupid moment of weakness last week? It didn't mean anything. I've been trying to forget about it to be honest."

He leans even closer, his face now just inches away.

"Oh really? You mean you've not thought about it since? Not imagined what would've happened if Larry didn't come back when he did?"

Your heart's beating so hard you wonder whether Van can hear it. He can surely hear how your breathing has deepened. The way it catches in your your throat as his free hand curls around your hips as he pushes his own against yours and slowly starts to grind against you.

"What the hell d'ya think you're doing?" You gasp, but you don't stop him. You just stare right back into his ocean eyes, trying to resist the urge to grab hold of the collar of his shirt and pull him even closer, lock your lips on to his as you melt under his touch again.

"You have no idea what you do to me, do you? How d'ya think I feel having to listen to Larry fucking you night after night? Thinking how it should be me? Thinking how much better I could make you feel? I want you Y/N... I always have done."

Your heart skips a beat at his words.

He moves his head to the side so he can whisper directly into the shell of your ear, the feel of his warm breath on your skin causing goosebumps to break out all over.

"I know you feel the same, don't deny it. I know right now you're trying so hard to resist me, but all you really want is for me to pin you up against this wall and fuck you slow and deep. I can make you feel so good... you just have to say the word."

"Van... please..."

Your words come out like a broken murmur and you're not sure whether you're pleading with him to stop or begging for him to take you there and then. You screw your eyes shut tight, trying to clear your mind, trying to think of anything else but the feel of his warm body against yours and his whispered words in your ear, the way your whole body throbs for him like a slow, steady heartbeat.

"Fancy a game of FIFA Van? Still wanna get my own back on you for that trouncing you gave me last night!"

Larry's voice booms out from the corridor just a second before Van pushes back from the wall, leaving you taut and breathless, trying desperately to gain your composure.

"Oh... Y/N... you're still here..."

Larry appears around the doorway holding two mugs of tea, looking mildly surprised to see you and you falter for a second, your mind scrambled until you remember you'd announced that you had a million and one things to do.

"Yeah... I'm just going though... you guys carry on."

Larry grins, turning towards Van who's looking his usual relaxed self, smiling serenely and reaching out for the mug from his friend. You marvel again at how easily he appears to switch from dirty-talking, unscrupulous traitor to amiable, dependable best friend. But then it strikes you that you've actually done a stellar job yourself of quickly morphing back into the good little girlfriend, smiling sweetly at your boyfriend whilst illicit thoughts dance through your head of being ravished up against the living room wall.

"C'mon then!" Larry urges Van, reaching for the PlayStation controller from the arm of the sofa and holding it aloft. "Unless you're worried I'm gonna thrash ya!"

"Never mate!" Van replies, eyes flicking to you as he delivers his next line. "Reckon I've already won..."

You wrench your eyes away from him, spinning quickly around and rushing out of the room.

#red #catfish and the bottlemen #van mccann #van mccann x reader #fanfic #vanfic

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