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vargaslovinghours · 7 months

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It's here! It's the big one-oh! Get ready for the 10th! (1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9)

Starting off with some Just Desserts stuff; it's not exactly against the rules to modify Pets with features they wouldn't naturally have - like a cat with wings - but it is side-eyed by other players

He might be projecting just a little bit lol

Obviously he'd support Joel wiping the floor with other Pets in the arena haha

Next one's a continuation, comic-style!

Since they've only got the one pet between them, they have to take turns directing Joel so he doesn't get confused on who to listen to haha, I'm sure it doesn't help that they have similar voices and Scriabin is constantly butting in. I think in this setting Edgar might be able to get away with pushing him around a little more haha ♪ He'll still pay for that later :)

FNF x Vargas! Quick, who wants to collab as I know Nothing about music composition lol - what might their voices/instrumentation sound like! I’ve always been a fan of strings for Edgar, piano for Scriabin personally :)

These were the two poses I had the absolute strongest mental images for, so they get the big pretties! Scriabin having a secondary feature to his Up animation (not just pointing a finger gun but also “shooting” it), only being visible when the note is held ah, I just love the animation in my mind’s eye lol

Two poses inspired by their bouncies! Edgar’s Down and Scriabin’s Right - I didn’t have them onhand for reference, but I’d definitely push them closer to the originals :D

I really like the idea of most of Edgar’s poses being smaller, more closed-in, and Scriabin’s being big and bombastic, but their Lefts are the opposite! Haha ♪

I've seen a good several songs that have a mid-level transformation which I find Very cool :D I suppose these could also be for different stages, but going from a whole Edgar to him missing an eye and actively bleeding and screaming and stumbling around to the music - I just think it's a neat concept lol

Scriabin's transformation would be with his wings of course!

More of the WOY idea! Scriabin's being so nice 😈♥

You know I had to draw Jake in this style, he's too cute not to, I had to! Fun proportions hehe

Two little balls of sunshine <3 This was the one where I really couldn't decide what art style I was most reminded of between Steven Universe and the rest haha

A rubber hose smooch! Cartoony mwah!

Don't be fooled Wander, kisses are temporary, bullying Edgar is forever

The topic drifted at one point to the idea of Scriabin and Edgar being able to turn their brain-sharing on and off which gave me a Two Yeses/One No idea

Started with them on equal footing - both of them can say no to oppose the other, and in order to link back up they have to both agree! And how that might look depending on who initiates hehe <3

I think it'd be good for them to have hard boundaries in place, not able to be coerced into giving up their privacy :)

As well as them being able to just tap in and Know again, Scriabin using it to be lazy and not try to communicate with his mouth haha

But even with those hard stops in place, how would sleep affect things! If he tried, could Scriabin break into Edgar's dreams? Even if he gave permission, would his subconscious allow that? :0 It's interesting!

Quick break for a scribbly concept of how I wanted my first Vargas Drabbles soft cover to look haha - I didn't end up using the red inlay but it's definitely an idea for next time 👀

Back to brain-sharing, but this time featuring a return to body-sharing! :00 I hadn't considered it until Zarla mentioned them physically phasing together and then became Very interested in exploring it, when isn’t Scriabin annoying tho lol. It’s because you love him, Edgar!

Falling back into old habits of emotionally degrading Edgar, but he has the power to kick you out now! Just try your smart mouth on him from out here, where it hurts less!

Get back in on good behaviour, or because he misses him too much ♥ I love his sweet face here I 💕💗💖❤️💞💝

How dare he be so inviting, Scriabin has to deal with a physical heart and you are trying to kill him, cruel mean Edgar (lol)

Inspired by the hug test haha ♪ Hug him!

This was supposed to be a sweet moment :( Scriabin can't help it, being vulnerable is icky haha

But when offered the opportunity, you take what you can get <3 They are so damn cute, gah

Hehe ♪ There needs to be Some level of awkwardness to it, it's still Vargas after all. Would it hurt? No, maybe more like an organ shifting back into its correct position :)

How's he supposed to help it when you make it so easy

They'd have to negotiate safe and opportune times to share minds if it required them to share a body! Scheduling when to be apart would probably be stressful, but so would being together haha

Edgar doesn't want to deal with this until he's more awake, and maybe not at all if he gets jealous hehe

And finally again, we've returned to the Two Yeses/One No idea - who gets to decide who's "No" counts once they're already enmeshed? :) Introducing the Lobster Trap ✨

“slrch” is such a gross sound effect haha

Really struggling with the concept of Scriabin’s autonomy! He quite literally exists outside of you now Edgar, you have to let him grow on his own!

Scriabin probably just wants out to do something Edgar morally objects to, enough to suffer his company while pissed. The idea of Scriabin having his own body and still having to take Edgar over to exert his own personhood again, ugh, it’s so fraught <3

The Lobster Trap has so many potential outcomes, even discounting one side over the other! Obviously I had to make as many as I could come up with lol; starting with Scriabin getting to decide when he hops in, and Edgar getting to decide if he lets him out - two yeses all around to show it As Intended, all going well :)

And here are Edgar's No options: his no overrides letting Scriabin out, but does nothing to deter Scriabin from coming in without his permission. I think this is one of the worst configurations for them haha ♪ It’s so easy for them to be cruel to each other!

Now the other way around! Scriabin has to get Edgar's permission to come in, so here's their Two Yeses :D Obviously he did it to annoy Edgar, he'll never get to read in peace haha. Not that he would even without this hehe

Edgar's No would shut Scriabin out, which I think would be good for them honestly; Edgar gets time to process things on his own without Scriabin manipulating him from the inside, and Scriabin gets to eat humble pie

Two Yeses again, though it was hard to imagine a situation where Scriabin would willingly hop out at Edgar's request - to make fun of him though? Yes ✨

And again, Edgar's No not overriding Scriabin's Yes - I think this would be really good for them! Edgar doesn't get to hold him against his will, and Scriabin doesn't get to burst in without his permission!

But really, it'll always be messy with them <3 Even in the best scenario, if Edgar's Yes overrides Scriabin's No of being forced inside - even if he couldn't hold him there, just the action of making him see from his point of view and all that entails... ♪

Little jailbird, just wants to fly away on clipped wings 💔

Now for something completely different lol. Scriabin wrote a resumé! I’m sure it’s full of accurate information to help him land a proper interview :)

Good, good, dates, prior experience, employers, skills, conquests-

Scriabin insists he's a sexpert but if there's a degree on his wall I haven't seen it

There is such a Massive difference between writing resumés and actually doing the work the resumé is required for, come on. I do love just how miffed Edgar looks tho haha

S: >:3c | E: Yeah alright point taken

Tiny spacefiller - he's so mad! He's gonna tell you all about it!

Oh hey wow Nny's still here, that's neat. Originally there was an Edgar next to him but only the main character turned out cute, rude

Quietly cutting potatoes <3 Domestic

I love Scriabin getting scared inside Edgar but him having to put on an outwardly placid face so he doesn't freak Nny out in turn haha. Nny's love language is knives

But that's where the nutrients are! Speaking of Ghost-

Teaching him how to flay skin, not necessarily strictly on potatoes hehe. I like the idea of Nny kinda spacing out when it comes to his favourite activities - yeah he hates touching people, but that takes a backseat to talking about murder and playing with knives

Obviously Edgar's a bit distracted himself lol. Nny just casually talking about what happens when you separate the flesh from the body and Edgar and Scriabin are over here discussing Just how gay this is haha

I went and reread one of my old drafts of One Way Mirror recently and ahh I’d forgotten how sassy they are with each other lol

I'm still crazy about them <3 They drive me absolutely mad 💕 I think it's funny too, since I started writing OWM while deeply fixated but didn't think much of the Flavour of my writing I didn't expect anything from rereading, but it does taste a bit like mainfic hehe ♪

I love when Scriabin argues how much he wants to "help" Edgar while controlling him up and down, Edgar's not about to take this sitting down if he can help it! Also emasculating insults my beloved ♥

Thinking again about Hunchback; not quite any of the already-established stuff (they're not playing the roles, nor are they separate and seen the movie! What!), about why Scriabin would side-eye Edgar so much during Out There. It's a good song for him :) And I love drawing him like this haha, proud and haughty angle <3

Edgar with slightly less floofy hair and the closed-line nose style from a few years ago lol ♪ I do like bridge/bottom of the nose style I've grown into, but it's still a fun style to return to every once in a while :)

And one last sneaky cheeky kiss for smooch practice before the very end! Just try and stop me! Why did Scriabin turn out so pretty tho ♥

So that's June through September, again-again! Well, almost - turns out I actually made too many sketches for my Blank Slate AU/fic - literally as many as are featured here! - so it needed its own post. So please look forward to that!

#💟#Doodles #Art #Sketchdump #Scriabin #Edgar #Jake #Nny #Blood #There's also some potential body horror and possible uncomfortable boundary-crossing so be warned #So the standard Vargas fare haha #Lots of crossovers this time! Practically crossover central in here! Lol #The FNF doodles were like 95% inspired by the absolutely Incredible Animation vs. Friday Night Funkin mod #Specifically Stickin' To It but honestly watch/listen to the whole thing it's actually incredible #I've seen some pretty amazing FNF mods but that one hits different for me it is So inspiring #I mean yeah I already love AvA lol but just ugh the amount of care and work that so obviously went into it <3 #The kind of passion is contagious! As evidenced by all the other crossovers as well lol #WOY passion <3 And yeah I'll count Just Desserts too why not haha #The biggest inspiration is still the original tho >:3c Nothing sparks images quite like The Source - of course haha #Conversation is a big aspect of that haha - all of those middle doodles of them mind sharing again were largely just from talking :D #And I mean - some leftover thoughts and feelings about You Can't Live Like This but when am I not lol #I want to see them being good to each other! I want to see them being cruel to each other!#Dynamic truly unmatched haha #I did actually write a temp resumé for Scriabin (as practice :P) but there's a lot of ambiguity left open lol #I do love them being domestic together #Some of these feel real disjointed 'cause if you read the last bit you know I had to cut a lot!#Well rather - separate them out into their own sketchdump lol I can do ~90 images but not double that I already had to make this three times #Which means I Think that I've gotten all formatting errors from attempt two but if I didn't? Just ignore those if you'd be so kind <3 #I could go back and fix them but hahahaha absolutely not you actually couldn't pay me #Lol tho ♪ Just happy to have another one done :)

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allthingsdarkanddirty · 1 year

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#heather m orgeron #give me books #one night standards #cover reveal

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vaya-writes · 8 months

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Plus Two

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

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

Mervin is visiting his mother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stasia.”

Obie snorts. “Should have guessed.”

You glance at Mervin. “Who’s that?”

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

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

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

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

“No?” You feign shock.

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

“And he takes Stasia.”

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

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

“She sounds like a piece of work.”

“She is.”

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

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

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

You wince.

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

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

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

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

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

Mervin grunts, turning his face back down.

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

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

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

“We did.”

“Without a lot of wealth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sneers. “You’re just bored.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A thigh sheath it is, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Naturally.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever.”

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

“So, do I clean up well enough?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

All too soon, you’re arriving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stasia has arrived.

---

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

Mervin is silent beside you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You give him a smile, “Your regular?”

“Fine. And something for yourself.”

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

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

The bartender takes your order, thankfully.

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

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

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

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

He shrugs. “You’ve been warned.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They huff, conceding to your point.

You nail it in anyway. “He can spend the whole gala with her if it pleases him. He’ll still do me the honour of taking me home afterwards.”

Stasia keeps Mervin for not one, but three dances, before he manages to escape her grip and find you. You pass his drink back to him, giving him an amused smile. “Having fun?”

He scowls.

You give your empty glass to a passing staff member before looking back up at Mervin. You’re pretty sure he’s never going to ask you to dance. Not directly. Not even if he wanted to (a surprising number of wallflowers stand testament to Pride’s inability to simply ask for a dance).

You take the initiative instead. “Dance with me?”

He looks almost grateful but doesn’t manage a response other than a mute nod.

He leads you to the floor, and you take his shoulder and hand. The weight of his own at your waist is pleasant. You don’t remember the last time you danced a waltz, but it’s easy enough to slip into, and Mervin leads well.

You want to ask him how you’re doing (you know you’re doing well, and he won’t be able to tell you honestly). You want to ask him how he’s doing (he’s clearly tired and frustrated, and likely won’t take kindly to your prying). You want to ask about Stasia (is she really his ex?). Instead, you dance wordlessly for the next few minutes.

He starts to relax towards the end of the dance, and on a whim, he lifts you during your next turn.

You inhale sharply, before letting out a laugh. He gives a begrudging smile back.

The exchange wheedles some words out of you. “You know, if I’d known the dances were going to be this simple, I might have asked to dance first.”

He raises his brow. “And go against your careful manipulations? How stupid.”

You grin. “Maybe. But I’d still consider it.”

He huffs. “There’ll be a few traditional dances after dinner. I doubt you’ll be able to keep up.”

“Speaking of dinner-” You’re glad you’d questioned Mervin on the drive here. Because of it, you can easily guess what will happen when the dining hall opens. “She’s going to be in my seat.”

He purses his lips. “We’ll get there first.”

You’d discussed the possibility but hadn’t made any explicit plans to deal with it.

“No.”

He cocks a brow. “No?”

“If I sit first, there’s no telling what she’ll do.”

“You have something better in mind?”

You give him a smile, this one less bubbly, and more genuine. “I think we should renegotiate your terms regarding public displays of affection.”

His face scrunches with displeasure. “You think you deserve to touch me without express permission?”

“No. Never,” you butter him up. “But I think she’d hate it if you allowed it.”

He chews his lip, appearing to consider.

You inch closer, intent on enjoying what’s left of your dance. “Don’t worry your pretty head so much, my prince.”

He blinks and opens his mouth to reply. Undoubtedly still wanting to know your solution. Then the rest of what you’d said catches up to him, and he shuts it. He straightens, chest puffing a little.

You try not to smirk. He’s cute sometimes.

The waltz finishes. You give him your last words before parting. “And please don’t push me off.”

Mervin almost stumbles as he understands your request. But before he can protest, the doors to the dining hall are opening, and dinner is due to start. You gesture for Mervin to lead the way.

After a beat he does, and you trail after him. He pauses several times, greeting aquaintances and stopping to chat. Numerous demons still mill about, not quite ready to take their seats.

It’s almost suspicious how Stasia doesn’t intercept you. You’d be worried if you weren’t almost certain of where she was.

Sure enough, when you reach your reserved table, Stasia is seated in your place. She smiles at you, in a way that’s just a little too condescending, but does not otherwise acknowledge you.

“You kept me waiting, sugar plumb.”

You pull out the chair for Mervin, inclining your head respectfully as he takes his seat. Then, without missing a beat, you follow him down, settling on his lap.

He stiffens, but Stasia's expression makes it worth it.

You cover his surprise with a sweet smile. “Sorry to keep him from you, Stasia. I just thought it might be rude if I danced with somebody else before him.”

She stares, face now blank.

After a beat, Mervin’s arm wraps around your side. His claws dig into you, giving away his discomfort. “At any rate, I’m back. Where did we leave off...”

Stasia resumes her chatter, and Mervin makes an effort to engage. The three of you aren’t alone; there are other pairs seated around the circular table, speaking amongst themselves, and occasionally interacting with Mervin and Stasia. You receive several glances, most of which are accompanied by amused grins. Stasia receives a handful of smirks too. You’re not sure who they favour, but at least you’re cause for humour. None of the pride demons are forward enough to ask Mervin why he apparently has two dates.

Nobody looks your way when entrees are brought out. Stasia gets your food. It smells delicious, and your stomach rumbles with envy.

Mervin frowns. “Did my brother not feed you enough?”

You pout up at him. “Humans typically eat three times a day.”

He stares down at you. It’s hard to tell, but you think he’s looking at your lips. Eventually he sighs, and passes you his spoon. “I don’t share with just anyone, pet.”

You beam up at him, placing a kiss on his cheek before he can react. “Thanks babe. You’re literally the best.”

A muscle in his leg twitches, and he has to work to hide his surprise. It almost has you smirking. The fingers digging harder into your side betray his growing tension. You wonder if he’s flustered at the compliment, or irritated at your relaxed demeanour. Perhaps he’s just been touched too much tonight.

There’s a glare fixed on you when you take a sip of the first course. It’s a particularly fragrant soup, served with bread. Unimaginative, but damn if it doesn’t taste amazing.

You lock eyes with Stasia, and smile. “It’s good, right?”

For a moment she doesn’t reply. But after a beat she sneers. “Bland, actually. The chef must have messed up my order.”

“Actually, the order was changed, Stasia,” Mervin interrupts. “We’re being served human safe variants of the menu.”

You blink at the new information. You didn’t realise Mervin had gone to such lengths to accommodate you. It leaves you feeling... nice.

Mervin notices your stare and scowls.

“Of course, Stasia is right. It’s terribly bland compared to the usual fare. But I doubt you could handle our food. Your stomach is far too weak. Pathetic, really.”

You smile at his disparagment. You’re honestly genuine when you praise him next: “You’re too kind, Mervin. I appreciate it.”

He turns his face away with a sneer, ignoring you as you finish the entrée.

You insist that Mervin eats the main course. You assume a greed demon would appreciate your excuses more – you wouldn’t dare take the food from his plate, he’s already been kind enough to you, it’s his meal, he should get to taste it, it’d be rude of you to even think of touching the food before he does – but they do the trick, and Mervin still looks a bit pleased at your fussing.

Dessert passes without incident, and you’re ready to stand and go for a wander. Mervin’s lap isn’t the most comfortable – not while he’s at a dining chair, at the least. The food is cleared and you’re about to get up when another demon at the table ropes Mervin into conversation.

You can’t help but fidget, not sure whether it’d be acceptable if you stood right now. You think you’re being discrete, shifting your weight just a little, but Mervin grabs your thigh and squeezes it, pointedly.

You blush and look down in apology, reigning in your wiggles and acting the picture of relaxed and demure once more.

Instead of releasing you, his hand creeps upwards, along your thigh.

You force yourself not to fidget again at the touch. It had to be unintentional. You hadn’t discussed anything like this ahead of time. Perhaps he didn’t realise how high his fingers were trailing.

You hazard a glance over your shoulder, desperate to see his expression, to gleam his mood.

He grabs your jaw instead, and turns your face forward, before leaning down to murmur at your ear. “Stay there, pet.”

You hadn’t really considered the possibility of Mervin being dominant before. It was always too much fun flustering him with compliments, or making fun of his stunted emotional responses. But you forget that for a moment, enjoying the firmness of his tone.

To your immense frustration, he doesn’t do anything more. Just stroking your thigh, claws tracing the slit upthe side of your dress. It’s almost impossible to keep from squirming, and you watch the crowd critically. You’d be mortified if a concubi wandered by just now.

There’s a cold touch at your wrist. The interruption frustrates you, before you notice Stasia leant forwards. The smile she gives you is unnerving. “Would you mind getting that drink for me now, pet?”

Mervin’s hand stills.

You manage a pleasant expression and a nod. “Of course. And anything for you, Mervin?”

He grimaces. “No. One is enough for me.”

Stasia gives you her order and you remove yourself from the table. With the distance, you’re almost grateful for the interruption. Mervin would be tempting fate, starting something with an audience so close. No doubt Stasia had noticed. You’re just lucky she’d been calm in her redirection.

Your second trip to the bar is a little more perilous. The number of stares you receive is doubled, and one demon has the gall to actually slap you on the ass as you pass.

A glance reveals his reddish hue, and you’d gamble he has wrathful origins. As such, you have no compunction about grabbing the hand that had touched you and twisting his fingers painfully out of place, dodging any further grabs from him.

“Bitch,” he accuses.

You roll your eyes, moving on before he can drag you into a fight, or inspire too much anger in you.

You’re breathless by the time you make it to the bar, and it’s an exercise in your evasive skills to make it back to your table without spilling either of the drinks.

Mervin and Stasia are gone. You’re irritated, but not surprised.

You catch a glance of them dancing in the thick of things. Mervin wasn’t wrong; the music upbeat and fast paced. You don’t know your ballroom music particularly well, but based on their movements, you assume it’s a quicktime dance of some sort. You sit at the table and take the opportunity to watch carefully. You’d love to be able to replicate it by the end of the night.

You’re so focused on analysing your date’s distant footwork that you miss your name being called.

You start at the touch on your shoulder.

Another wrath demon chuckles at you (did everyone bring one as their plus one?).

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

You blink. “Not at all.” Then blink again. “Have we met?”

The demon grins, revealing some of his chipped teeth. “Sure have. I probably went to all your shows when you were touring Wrath.”

You raise your brow. You’d never done any meet and greets. So when had-

“We met after your show at the Splatterfest.”

You wince at the memory. Some imps had tried to protest the inclusion of a human at the music festival, and dumped a bucket of blood over your band, ‘Carrie’ style. You’d kept performing and probably given every demon in the audience a boner (you were in Wrath, what did they expect?).

Even so, you grin. “You tried to give me your shirt afterwards. Sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

He holds out his hand. “Friends call me Bean.”

You try not to laugh at the name. “Nice to meet you, Bean.”

“I couldn’t help but notice you staring daggers at your date.”

You huff. “I was actually watching the dance. If I’d had any time to prepare for tonight, I’d have bothered to learn some of the dances.”

His face lightens. “I could teach you?”

“Do you know these dances?”

“Too well. My mum is from Pride.”

You’d already danced with Mervin. It might reflect poorly on him if his date looked too antisocial. So you shrug. “Sounds like fun.”

It is fun. You stumble a lot at first, tripping over your own feet in an effort to copy Bean’s step pattern, but he grips you by the elbows, keeping you upright even as he laughs at you. You have stamina, at least, and manage to keep up with the punishing pace. By the time the first dance ends, you’re covered in sweat and panting, but you have some of the footwork down.

Bean grins. “You’re not terrible.”

You crinkle your nose. “You’re sufficient too.”

Bean has his head cocked, listening to the opening of the next song. “Ah. This next one’s fun. It’s got a lot of lifts though.”

“That doesn’t bother me.”

His chipped grin reappears. “We take turns raising each other.”

Oh. You bite back a frown. “How much do you weigh?”

Bean isn’t that big. His horns and tail are on the small side, and he’s only an inch or so taller than you. Still, the number he tells you does not fill you with confidence.

He laughs at your expression. “Scared? Or just weak?”

You scowl. “Weak, unfortunately. May I?” You ask before touching him.

He lifts his arms enough for you to grab him by the waist. You brace yourself and lift.

His heels leave the ground.

He laughs at you again. “Cute. But mostly pathetic.”

You scowl harder. “Whatever. If you want to keep dancing, you’ll have to jump a little.”

His laughing quiets to a chuckle. He takes your hand and pulls you in to dance. “It’s alright. We’ll manage. This one is... well I’m not sure of the translation. It’s a genre unique to Perdition. I guess you could liken it to a quick waltz? There are several lifts in each of the refrains. Then towards the end we start spinning, taking turns with the elevations. It’s easier with the momentum, but you’ve gotta watch your surroundings too, or you’ll crash into another couple.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter. You’re not too worried about bumping into anyone. Your spatial awareness is decent enough. “I feel like this dance is just so everyone can flex at each other.”

Bean laughs again, though not at you this time. “No, you’re completely right. It's how this genre was started. It’s a competition of strength and stamina. It’s not actually that common in Pride, since it usually tends to lack finesse or grace.”

“Hmm,” you appreciate the history lesson.

You ease into this dance smoothly; despite the lifts it’s easier than the last. Bean is a good teacher, and he warns you ahead of any changes. You brace yourself for the first rise, and when your feet leave the ground by almost a foot, you can’t help but grin.

“Show off.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees.

His feet actually leave the ground when it’s your turn to lift. Bean springs up a few inches, turning the elevation into something closer to an assisted jump. Regardless of the terminology, you’re grateful for the assistance. It sets the tone for the rest of the dance, and you find yourself having a pleasant time.

Your dress flairs when you’re next lifted, and Bean gives you a grin. “Is that a knife, or are you happy to see me?”

You’re breathless, but manage to reply. “A knife, actually.”

He eyes your legs appreciatively. “Expecting trouble?”

“Most of my weapon belts would clash with this dress,” you joke.

“Nonsense. You’d look good with any weapon,” he argues.

You can’t help but smile. “You sure know how to lay on the charm.”

“Pfft, this is nothing. You should see me when I’m actually trying.”

You’d laugh but there’s another series of spins coming up, and you have to brace yourself of them. The recapitulation begins, and you know the dance is nearing its end.

“Steady now,” Bean encourages, before raising you again.

You’re able to keep spinning. To avoid any collisions. To lift him the first few times. But your arms quickly tire, and Bean doesn’t do much more than bob his knees instead of completing any jumps. He still manages to send you upwards on each of your turns though, and you have to reign in your laughter.

Especially as you make eye contact with Mervin, dancing with Stasia beside you.

It jars you enough that your grin fades, and you remember to school your expression into something a little more dignified. Slightly less carefree.

The song ends and you and Bean nearly collapse against each other, panting and laughing once more, even if you’re feeling subdued.

You realise your face is only inches from his, at the same time he does.

He glances down at your lips. “Do you... want to take this elsewhere?”

Any other night and you’d take him up on the offer. But-

“I think that’d give my date a conniption.”

His smile shrinks. Bean pulls back. But he maintains that relaxed demeanour. “It’d serve him right for leaving you here alone.”

You shrug and give him an apologetic smile. “Another time?”

He sighs. Ruffles your hair.

You scowl and duck out of his grasp.

“Can you imagine his face though?”

You bite back your grin. “I can.”

Bean steps away. “Thanks for the dance, love.”

You wave him off. Take a breath to compose yourself. Then turn back to the gala.

---

It doesn’t take long for you to find your date. Not with the way he’s striding towards you, shoulders squared and a scowl on his face. He grabs you by the wrist and leads you out a nearby door, practically dragging you down some unpopulated corridors.

“Where’s Stasia?” You ask.

“I cut her off when she started trying to make me jealous of that shit-for-brains dance partner of yours.”

You’d only danced with Bean twice. Was Mervin really so bothered?

“Key word ‘trying’?” You ask, tentative this time.

He doesn’t reply, but it’s obvious he’s not happy.

You wince. Stasia’s meddling or not, this one was genuinely your fault. “I’m sorry, Mervin. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel that way.”

“I know,” he grumbles, before practically flinging you at a wall. “But you still need to deal with the consequences, human.”

Then his hand is on your jaw, holding you still as he crushes his lips against yours.

You freeze, more surprised than upset.

His other hand rests against the wall, caging you in. He doesn’t meet your eyes when he pulls back, still scowling. “How dare you ask a stranger to teach you to dance. You should have gone to me.”

You’re still processing the kiss. Part of you is indignant – you never thought he’d work up the nerve to kiss you first. The other part of you struggles to stay grounded. To listen to his complaint. “I’m sorry, I-”

He cuts you off with another kiss. Bites down hard on your lip this time. You think you taste blood.

“You should consider yourself lucky that I’m still willing to associate with you. That I’m willing to do this.”

Your head spins when he pushes your face sideways, gaining access to your throat. He kisses his way down your neck, across your shoulder. Not shy about using his teeth to punish you.

His other hand slips below your dress. He grips the hem of your underwear and your breath hitches. As much as you enjoy leading him along, you could get used to this. Mervin's display of dominance is doing things for you.

“I’m lowering my standards so much just to do this with you. So, you’d better hold fucking still.”

Your mouth waters at his words. You’re somehow both burning with tension and turning into putty under his hands. And you know just what to say to make things worse.

“Yes sir.”

He stiffens. “What was that?”

You have to bite back your grin, to force yourself to appear contrite. “Yes sir?”

“Fuck,” he mutters before grabbing you bodily and turning you around. Your hands splay against the wall, bracing yourself. Mervin presses between your shoulder blades, bending you over while his other hand drags your dress up.

The position sends nerves and excitement through you in equal measures. “Somebody could see.”

He ignores your half-hearted protest, dragging your underwear down and palming your ass. “You didn’t care if somebody saw you flirting with that meathead.”

Facing away, you can let your grin creep out. He sounds angry.

His knee spreads your legs and your heart speeds up. Then there’re fingers at your folds. You can practically hear his sneer when they come away wet.

“Pathetic. Is this really all it takes to get you going?”

“Mhm,” you hum agreement, throat tight. Coherency is starting to leave you when all you can focus on is the cold air against your nethers. You wish he would touch you again.

He scoffs. “You really are just a slut.”

You think you get wetter at the insult.

There’s the sound of a belt buckle, then a zipper. You can’t help but clench in anticipation.

But Mervin doesn’t touch you.

You try to look over your shoulder, to give Mervin your most I’m-pathetic-please-fuck-me stare, but he just pushes your face against the wall.

You let out a whimper and squirm. If he keeps drawing this out, somebody really could see you.

You push the thought down. As enticing as it is, things could quickly turn dangerous if a third party got involved.

“-you think I’ll do this with anyone? What makes you think you deserve me, huh?” he starts.

Honestly, you thought he’d start talking himself up sooner. He’d barely insulted you yet.

“-don’t deserve a single piece of pleasure until you earn it-”

You try rubbing your thighs together, but you only succeed on clamping around Mervin’s knee.

“-should be singing my praise, I shouldn’t have to touch you until you’ve begged for me-”

You let out a groan. If you were still facing him, you’d snog him just to make him stop talking. “Ughh, shut up and fuck me.”

He grips you by the hair, his voice raised in pitch, “The nerve of you, human, the utter disrespect-”

You cut him off with a whine, “Pleeease Mervin. I need you to fuck me.”

His breathing stutters.

“Please touch me, please, I can’t wait any more, pleasepleaseplease,” you squirm around his knee.

He grabs your ass again. Squeezes. “You’ve been so casual with my name tonight. I don’t think you deserve to use it.”

You want to groan again. You barely restrain yourself. “Please, sir, I bet you’ll feel so good, please, I need this so badly-”

His breathing is even more laboured, but he still manages to slap your ass.

“Needy.”

You flinch away, and end up grinding down against his knee – fuck. It’s not fair how good that feels. You decide that if he doesn’t fuck you soon, you’ll just have to rub off against his leg. Though you might leave a wet patch so noticable that concubi wouldn’t be the only ones turning heads.

You bite down on your lip. You just want to get dicked down. Picking your words is hard when you’re this horny.

“Needy,” you huff. “Yes. For you.” You grind against him. “Please help me, sir. Please fix it.”

He shudders. The hand at your shoulders pushes harder, and you have no choice but to stick your ass out, curving your back as far as it will go, or topple over.

“Fine,” he says, and you could die from relief when you feel his erection against your ass. “But only because I feel sorry for you.”

He hilts himself in one rough movement and you moan, practically high at the sensation. There’s possibly a bit of drool escaping from your lips.

Mervin’s not unaffected himself, one hand braced against the wall, the other digging into your waist. The groan he levels at your ear is delightful, stretching on into a softly pitched rumble that’s almost like a purr.

Interesting. A disembodied part of yourself definitely notes that for later.

He doesn’t move.

You let out a whimper, trying to grind back against him. He swats you on the ass, tuting. “Ask nicely, pet.”

Having him speared inside you feels so good. But it’s not enough. You need him to move.

“Please,” you whisper, “please fucking fuck me, please-”

You’re rewarded with a single thrust. “Why should I?”

You groan; a whiney, needy sound. “You’re making it so hard to think right now- I can’t-” You want to bang your head against wall. “Nngh, Mervin-”

He takes pity on you. Or maybe you’ve convinced him. He’s probably barely pretending to be composed right now - you don’t care about the reasoning, you’re just relieved when he starts to fuck you. He’s fast, and rough, and the ridged texture of his cock serves as a pleasant reminder that he’s in no part human.

It doesn’t take long for him to come, practically crushing you against him when he does. One arm wraps around your throat, and the other around your waist; he bites down on your shoulder to keep from making too much noise. It hurts, but that only adds to the experience.

You close your eyes, panting, trying to savour the way his dick twitches inside of you. But as soon as he’s finished he straightens, practically shoving you away.

Your brain is hazy, and it takes you a few moments before you can stand, fixing your underwear, then your dress. You clamp your thighs together, to keep from dripping spend everywhere.

By the time you turn around, Mervin has composed himself – cock receeded back into his slit, clothing fixed. You feel incredibly raw in contrast.

He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

You open your mouth to reply, but your thoughts stall. Forming words is somehow harder.

His face goes blank as he takes in your details. Processes what’s wrong. The seconds that pass feel incredibly long, and you’re tense, wondering how he’s going to react. You know that biology literally compels him to be an ass, but you’re not sure how much derision you can take right now.

You can’t describe how grateful you are that he only shakes his head, and cages you in again. “Like I said before. This is only because I feel sorry for you.”

He slips his hand under your dress, back into your underwear. You’re slick; a mess of your own juices and his cum. There’s no resistance when he sinks two fingers inside of you. Hardly any friction when he rubs his thumb against your clit.

You shudder, grabbing his lapels and pressing your face against his shoulder. “Fuckkk,” the word is barely muffled.

His free hand cups your jaw, dragging your face upwards. “Don’t get makeup on my jacket, idiot.”

“S-sorry,” you reply, eyes glazed and mouth agape.

He doesn’t seem to process your apology, watching intently, instead, as you come apart on his fingers. You can barely stand, fighting the impulse to sieze and crumple, clinging to your date like he’s a lifeline.

“Go on then, pet,” he murmurs, pushing hard against a sensitive spot inside of you. “You can come.”

And you do. Head lolling back, whole body arching, gripping Mervin’s arm like a vice. You don’t care what kind of noises you’re making, but perhaps he does, because he covers your mouth with his own in another messy kiss.

His fingers don’t stop moving until you’re limp against the wall, almost turning into a puddle in his arms. Your head buzzes. You feel high.

Fuck, that was incredible.

Your eyes are closed. You’re listening to Mervin’s panting; almost as loud as your own, when he pulls you upright suddenly.

“Someone’s coming.”

Your eyes spring open.

“Come on,” he practically drags you away, down another corridor and into what appears to be a coat room.

You’re still breathless, and it takes you a moment to compose yourself. Mervin has his ear against the door, tense. It almost makes you laugh.

“If I’d known how much fun pity sex can be, I’d have doubled down on my efforts to be pathetic.”

Mervin scowls. “Clean yourself up. You look like a whore.”

You give him a coy smile. “Your whore, though.”

He turns away, masking his expression.

Still, you do the best you can to clean the fluids from your thighs, shamelessly using the sleeve of a stranger’s coat.

Mervin is examining you when you turn back. Wordlessly he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. “Your lipstick is everywhere.”

You smirk, taking in his own features. “It certainly is.” You wipe it from your face, wishing you had a mirror, but Mervin doesn’t say anything so you assume you got it all. Then you stand on tip toes, cleaning the lipstick from his own face. He stiffens, but allows the treatment.

Your eyes catch on a smear across his throat. You don’t even remember kissing him there. Feeling mischevious, you leave the mark. You consider it a parting gift. He’ll notice it later, you’re sure.

“Your hair is a rat’s nest.”

You’re sure he’s exaggerating, but you roll your eyes and attempt to fix it anyway. “You’re the one who was pulling on it.”

Soon enough you’re both presentable again, bracing yourselves before returning to the fray. Nobody has noticed your absence, you think.

You glance towards the dance floor. “So, are you going to teach me this next dance?”

He manages to keep his expression level as he considers.

“Not here. Having you trip and stumble in front of everyone is too painful to contemplate. You’re going to take private lessons with me. That way you won’t look like a fool next time.”

“Next time?” You ask.

He winces, unable to meet your eyes.

You want to make fun of him. You want to poke at him so badly. You barely restrain yourself.

“How generous of you, to invite me not once, but twice. I should be honoured.”

He relaxes minutely at your acceptance. Then crinkles his nose. “Obviously.”

“But this was simultaneously the most stressful and most boring event I’ve attended all year. You’re really going to have to make it worth my while.”

He grits his teeth. Tries his best to look calm. “Did you have something in mind, human?”

You can only grin. “I don’t know. I’ll be sure to think of an especially pitiful request.”

#vaya writes #oh my god this was something #this was so so so fun to write and then horrifying to edit #can you believe editing the smut took me #checks watch #like half an hour #but editing the dance scenes took me like a day and a half #can you tell that i know more about one than the other #fuckkk never again writing a dance scene #anyway #monsterfucking #monster boyfriend #standard tag despite them not actually dating #this is a prequel to movie night in case somebody was wondering #monster romance

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bumblebiboop · 8 months

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acquired a few new poscas.

drew lucy, steve, & hux to test them out :)

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sexynetra · 3 months

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Rise and shine motherfuckers… it’s Dawn <3

#drag race #rpdr #rupauls drag race #drag race fan art #drag race 16 #rpdr 16 #RuPaul’s drag race 16 #my art #dawn #up until Dawn #do I only draw in the middle of the night? yes :)#anyways I barely used reference for standard face proportions this time I’m very proud #also this doesn’t look like Dawn but it doesn’t NOT look like Dawn #note the me hating you do hair and being bad at clean lines #I still haven’t found any brushes I’m in love with so lmk if you have recs #anyways I’m kinda proud of this one but we’ll see if I feel the same in the AM #also I know I forgot to clean up the eyeliner it’s 2 am and I’m sleepy

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honeylikewords · 1 year

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together. (jack russell)

jack and his wife celebrate the gathering of friends and family. (pregnancy arc!)

(warnings: food, mentions of meat, mentions of the very real likelihood of pregnancy :>, jack being surprisingly flirty and physically affectionate at a family gathering. just a really short fluff piece! word count: 2.2k)

(for context, the idea for this fic is that Jack owns a cabin in the woods and has invited his monster friends and family out for a feast!)

Jack prods a large rack of ribs with a thermometer, expertly needling the meat between the bones and checking the temperature in one swift motion. Noting the number flashing on the small screen, he turns a knob down on the grill and shuts the lid over the meat, trapping the heat and smoke within. As he turns around, he beams at his wife, hands in the front pockets of his bright green apron emblazoned with the words “SMOKIN’ HOT GRILLMASTER” in flaming font.

“Should be ready in, eh, twenty minutes?”

“Oh, good, then we’re on schedule.”

His wife reaches past his hands into one of the pockets and pulls out a printed sheet that had been folded into a tiny square so many times that the paper had gone soft, then flicks it open. Scanning down the list of main courses, she eyes the side dishes, baked goods and desserts, each listed with an appropriate prep time and step taken. Scheduling had been a pain, but it was a necessary task; trying to coordinate feeding this many people in a timely manner was no small feat.

Inside the cabin, a timer goes off, and Jack perks his ears, head tilting slightly in the direction the sound came from. His nose lifts and he inhales, a smile spreading across his face, and he puts his hands on his wife’s hips, swaying her playfully.

“I cannot believe how good that stuffing smells, cielito,” he grins, squeezing her hips for emphasis. “You’re such a good cook. The best, probably, in the entire world.”

“Hope it tastes half as good as it smells,” she shrugs, trying to humble herself in the face of Jack’s effusive glee, but he merely giggles and presses his nose to hers, shaking his head.

“It’s going to be perfect; it already is! I can smell it!”

He’s been bright-eyed and bushy-tailed all day, for some reason, all-too-happy to fetch things for her and run kitchen errands and clean up the myriad dishes left in the wake of their work. He’s been hovering as well, even as the guests began trickling through the trees and bushes; Jack would sense them coming, whether by smell, sight, or sound and watch excitedly for their arrival, then tug her away from whatever she was doing to greet them, insisting on both of them being side by side.

The number of hands, paws, tentacles and claws she’d shaken today as Jack animatedly introduced her to his friends, new, old, and in-between, was a blur, and as the cabin’s grounds began to fill with familiar and unfamiliar faces, Jack’s elation only grew. Now, with his hand pulling softly at the small of her back and the guests milling freely across the land the cabin sits on, he guides her, beaming, back into the kitchen to pull out the three trays of stuffing from the oven.

They sit, cooling, on the counter as Jack opens the lid on a massive pot of mashed potatoes and gives it an experimental swirl with a spoon, lifting some out and blowing on it before offering it to his wife; he holds the spoon gingerly to her lips and smiles that crooked, nose-wrinkling smile when she goes in for the bite.

“That was cute,” he remarks.

“What was?,” she mumbles around a mouthful of potatoes; she’s a little unhappy with the flavor and going to melt in another knob of butter and snip in a few more chives.

As she goes to grab the chives and kitchen scissors, Jack leans back against the counter and plucks a nugget of stuffing from the tray, still steaming, and pops it in his mouth, cleaning his fingers with his tongue. She should scold him for eating too-hot food, or eating with his fingers, or something else, but she gets distracted by the sight (his tongue’s dexterity is quite noticeable and he’s smiling a bit too wryly for it to have been an accident), and has to blink away the fog left by it.

“Your face,” Jack clarifies, still chewing. “You made this little “ah” face. ‘S very cute.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re just very, very cute,” he continues.

He pushes off the counter and comes to close the gap between them, pressing his chest to her back as she cuts the chives over the pot with the scissors and tosses in a stray lump of butter left behind by some other recipe. His hands gravitate low, to the softest part of her tummy, and he rubs a slow circle there, fingers knitting into the strings of her apron.

“You’re in such a mood today,” she teases, stirring the potatoes. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” he says as he pushes his nose into the shell of her ear, kissing the lobe and squeezing her in his arms. His hands stay on her belly, and she reaches down to pat him, then pinches the back of his wrist playfully.

“Well, as much as I love it, Puppy, you’re about to get burned on the stove--”

Instead of pulling off, Jack tugs her back from the cooktop and into his arms, burrowing his face into her shoulder and holding her still, fingers splayed over her tummy. She lets her arms rest atop his and leans back, sighing; it does, admittedly, feel very nice for the two of them to take a break from the hubbub and just enjoy each other, even if they haven’t been apart for more than a few minutes at a time.

“I’m just happy,” he mumbles. His lips brush against her neck and his words tickle her skin, making her shiver and squirm happily in his arms, which only pushes him to double down on the tightness of his embrace.

“I’m glad,” she responds, but he shakes his head, nestling deeper still.

“You don’t understand,” he continues. “You’re… we’re… I’m just so, I mean-- es eufórico, es maravilloso! Es… I just…”

His voice fades and he holds her flush against himself; outside, she can hear a game of touch football between the other monsters resolving into a dogpile, but the sound is a diminished half-note compared to the present, forward reality of Jack’s breathing against her skin, his hair brushing against hers, his arms corded around her waist.

He draws in a breath and continues.

“I get to have a whole family. You, and me, and…”

Jack’s wide, fever-warm hand is splayed against her belly, and she looks down at it as he traces one finger over the bump of the knot in her apron ties, which rests above her navel. He presses in softly; not enough to feel pushed on, but a light, tender application of pressure that reassures her of his intent, and of his warmth.

She turns in his hold, placing her fingertips on his slightly stubbled chin, and the touch guides his head up to meet her gaze. His eyes glow half-hazel in the golden light of the kitchen, and they flicker over her face searchingly, hoping for something from her. She grants him a smile, one that crinkles her eyes and makes him instinctively smile back as his hand twitches; when she kisses him, his hand strokes against her like a kiss to her tummy, too.

They can let some of this food sit a few minutes longer.

Jack stands on one of the picnic tables in the clearing, puts his middle finger and thumb to his lips, and lets out an almighty wolf whistle that rips through the trees. Dozens of heads snap to attention and Jack waves his arms over his head, summoning the clutter of monsters towards the tables laden with food (and some laden with things a human might not consider edible, but that many of the guests were sure to appreciate).

As they begin to trickle in-- away from activities like rag-tag sports, card games, and gaggling near screens playing the national parades-- Jack remains on the table, bending down briefly to lift a full champagne flute up and tap its lip with a fork. The tinkling chime rings over the crowd and, once again, his friends focus their attention on him, now encircling the table he is atop.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” he begins, smiling in that broad, effervescent way he does when addressing a group.

She watches him from the other end of the table, seated at the head with an empty chair beside her reserved for him. In the setting light of the sun, the greys in Jack’s hair shine gold and what remains of the brown comes to life with fiery red hues, the beams tracing against his cheekbones and jaw and drawing soft shadows. His slightly more full upper lip curls over his crooked tooth as he casts her a quick glance and widens his smile, somehow, further still.

He’s shed his apron and put back on his fineries for the night: a dark green pair of trousers and his second-favorite black button-up, the sleeves rolled into place and the collar opened. His leather shoes reflect sparks of the sunset back across the table as he shifts his posture, weight coming to rest on his back foot. He knows how to captivate attention, somehow: it comes naturally to him, a sort of inherent magnetism that is uniquely Jack’s.

When he addresses them, he fixes his eyes on various members of the crowd, shifting attention to organically and individually speak to an entire group; she wonders how he ever manages to become shy when he’s this beguiling.

“I am overjoyed to be here, today, with all of you,” Jack continues, his glass held delicately as he turns to look at the breadth of his party. “Not only with those of you who are like me, but especially those of you who are different, each and all of us siblings to one another in this world.”

The crowd rumbles in agreement-- somewhere, she can hear Ted’s instantly recognizable grunting-- and Jack nods, extending his glass out to gesture at the people before him.

In the mass she can see others she knows to be wolves, a pair of minotaurs, ghouls and a few members of the undead; pointed ears give away some of the docile vampires, whereas other loved ones defy singular description as any one creature, more aptly seen as amalgams or chimeras. She sees the bright eyes of night-stalkers and the sloped shoulders of mountain-apes, and each face, though distinct, seems lit with a unifying ardor: they are home, among one another.

“On days like these, it is good to remember that none of us, no matter how unusual our circumstances, are alone: that through our trials, we find one another, and that we are here to love each other, even when the world seeks to convince us that we are unwanted. But, together, we are wanted,” Jack states.

“Together, we are loved.”

He raises his glass high and grins. When he moves his hand, his wedding band burns bright in the last rays of the day.

“Together, we become family! Salud!”

He tips back the shimmering drink and others in the throng follow suit, cheering and drawing in sips of their beverages in celebration. Now finished with his address, Jack finally descends from the table and makes his way through the crowd, tossing his arm around friends’ shoulders or patting their faces, waving and laughing at his beloved family.

She loves to see him like this-- surrounded by those he loves, Jack becomes even more himself, fit to burst with all the joy he seeks to share-- and as he approaches, he turns his gaze to her, again, and her love multiplies.

He looks at her like she, herself, hangs the stars and the moon in the sky each night, like she’s every present that has ever been under the tree, as if she’s come home from a thousand years apart. Jack’s illuminating, radiant happiness is utterly compelling, and impossible to resist in its infectiousness; she finds herself beaming back in equal measure as he finally is able to pass through the crowd to near her.

Jack comes to sit by her side and places excited kiss after kiss against the side of her face, peppering them along her cheekbones and the tip of her nose as she shrinks into his shoulder. He tuts something about not being shy and tries to coax her out, but she obstinately hides herself in the warm haven of his neck and shoulder, both abashed at the idea of being so amorous in front of his family and divinely desirous of the closeness and comfort she has achieved in his hold. There’s a faint chill in the air as the night descends, and he’s blissfully warm; why would she ever leave?

“Alright then,” he teases, pinching her side and tugging her chair as close as possible to his own to throw his arm around her shoulder, “We’ll eat like this. I’ll get the fork and put it into that little cavern for you. Hm?”

“Works for me, Puppy,” she replies.

“But, amorcita, please,” he implores, “If you don’t come out, who is Alan going to tell that awful story about the time he got trapped in a castle well for a week?”

Someone halfway down the table yells at Jack that it’s “hardly an awful story” and that it was “only a few days”, but the feeling of Jack’s shoulders bouncing with his laughter and the sound of it rippling through her ears is enough to make her want to pull free and see his elated face herself.

Today was about their family, after all, she reminded herself, and she’d like to look at the father of her child.

links to previous fics in this series:

cubs.

familia.

penumbra.

bedrest.

thank you for reading! this was a short one but i wanted to get it out in time for the Dread Holiday; it was all written in ~3 hours, in one night, so if you see any errors... well, that’s why!

anyway, comments and replies are always appreciated, and give me immense motivation to continue these stories! feel free to let me know what you thought and what you’d like to see next!

#werewolf by night #wwbn #wbn #marvel #jack russell #jack russell x reader #not adding the misspelled tags this time Just To See #anyway i hope you guys like it!! this one is Very short compared to my usual standards but i had to write it in one sitting because #ive been siiiiiick and i wanted to get it out before the BLASTED DAY so. here it is!!!#yes im posting this at 3 am yes ill reblog multiple times tomorrow it is what it is!!!!

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