#I've been a little wasted away for the past year but I've started working out again since since got adhd meds and damn

[neverendingford]

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[tomssexdoll]

can you do where reader and Tom were best friends and Tom was secretly crushing on her at school like 2003-2005 but then Tom had to leave the school because he got famous and had to go to tour and stuff and school was pretty hard for him but in 2009 he sees reader somewhere like in a restaurant and they talk about old times and then they go to reader’s house and then it ends with smut

i love this idea sm

Gone too long

PAIRINGS: Tom 2009 x Female reader CONTENT: FLUFF + SMUT SYPNOSIS: Y/N and Tom were best friends in years ago, Tom had to leave in 2005 when his career started to peak, leaving Y/N all alone. She didn't know at the time but he had the biggest crush on her and leaving her was one of the worst things that could happen. Later in 2009 he still thinks about her everyday, and then one day sees her in a resturant, eating alone. A/N: ee WARNINGS: dom!tom, sub!reader, p in v (missionary and riding), nipple play, teasing, squirting

When I was around 13, I met this guy named Tom, he was instantly my best friend and we hung out for days on end, every time we'd see each other we'd always work to one specific corner store and order the same thing every time.

But in 2005, his music career started to rise and he got more attention. I'd always helped him and the band with getting gigs at small bars or house parties but they never really became super famous.

He had to leave and I was devistated, 2 years of friendship wasted. Little did he know I had the fattest crush on him.

As the years went by I watched as his career progressed, him turning into a handsome young man. One day I decided to go eat out alone, not let my thoughts get the best of me.

I picked a cute little resturant, a family owned business that had recently opened, everyone I know was saying how good this place was, even celebrities were going.

I opened the swinging doors, greeted by a waiter and being sat at a 50s themed booth. I skimmed over the menu, looking at all the delicious options, things from chicken burgers to beef burgers to nuggets to fries to milkshakes.

I chose a strawberry milkshake and a beef burger with a side of fries, I hadn't eaten breakfast earlier so I was super hungry. I looked around the place, noticing how all the customers looked so happy, couples sharing milkshakes, families bonding and eating.

Then, I saw a guy sitting alone, black braids with a black bandana, I decided to ignore him but I couldn't shake the feeling off that he was staring at me. I decided to look again and my eyes widened, a familiar face, the face I've loved for years.

I realized it was Tom and he had realized it was me, I saw him stand up with his food and rush over to me, sitting down in the booth, we were both speechless, surprised to be seeing each other after so long.

"Hey Y/N..it's been a while" he smiled softly, I nodded, not being able to form words, super shocked that he was actually in front of me after so long. "So..how are you?" he chuckled, munching on his fries.

"Fuck..uh..." I snapped out of my trance, "i'm fine..I have a really cool job and I haven't been able to stop thinking about you..I watched all your interviews in hopes you'd maybe talk about me" I confessed, my cheeks flushing red, turning my head to look away from him.

"I mean, I couldn't stop thinking about you too, I'd try distract myself but you always clouded my thoughts" he chuckled, reaching his hand out and grabbing mine, causing me to snap my head back to him.

"I'm glad I could see you again, you've grown so much" he smirked "you're very beautiful" he teased, sending a little wink. I giggled, "you're very handsome yourself Tom, I love the braids"

For the next 3 hours we talked about old times, what we used to get up to and what we've been doing for the past 4 years. The resturant was near closing, we didn't even notice that we had been chatting for so long, we just had so much to catch up on and so much chemistry, the conversation never went awkward.

"Hey folks, the resturant is closing now, can we ask if you can pay your Bill and leave? We're so sorry" the waiter came up to us, "oh of course!" I smiled, going up to the counter to pay for my meal, "no no, let me pay liebe" I chuckled "liebe? You haven't called me that since 2004, who do you think you are" I said playfully, a smug grin appearing on his face as he payed for my meal.

"Thanks for that Tom" I leaned in, kissing his cheek sweetly and holding onto his hand, our fingers interlocking. I had walked to the resturant since it was so close to my house, Tom of course drived, his black sports car waiting outside.

"You wanna go back to mine? I really did miss you, I don't want our little date to get cut short" he frowned, looking down at me, "of course I want to" I smiled, pulling him with me to his car.

He opened the door for me, "why thank you" I smirked and got into the passanger seat, buckling myself up. He came to the side and got into the drivers seat, starting the car.

He sneakily slid a hand on my thigh as he started to drive. I rolled the window down, the cool breeze hitting my skin, sending goosebumps all over my arms.

I looked at the empty streets, admiring the yellowy glow of the street lights. As we arrived to his house he guided me in, bringing me to the lounge room. I sat on the couch as he dissapeared to the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of champagne for me and him, 2 glasses in his other hand.

He sat down next to me, pouring us a glass. We continued to talk for another hour, sipping at our drinks. Eventually we got tipsy, tension starting to fill the room. I had taken my jacket off, my boobs nearly buldging out of my tank top.

I noticed the way he just stared at my cleavage, a tent forming in his pants. "Tom" I called out, "oh..sorry" he chuckled, scratching his neck nervously.

I smirked and climbed onto his lap, smashing his lips into mine. His hands immediately flew to my hips, holding them tightly, deepening the kiss.

"Mm.." I moaned into the kiss, Tom slipping his tongue into my mouth and bucking his hips up, grinding against me softly. Our tongues fought for dominance, getting heated quickly.

He picked me up, holding me by my ass and walking towards his room, our lips still glued together. He pulled away for a moment, throwing me onto the bed and crawling to me, smashing his lips into mine again, grabbing my hands and pinning them above my head.

"Tom!" I gasped, his kisses trailing down to my neck, sucking roughly and leaving marks everywhere, basically claiming me as his. "Fuck.." he groaned, pushing his erection onto my stomach.

He let go of my hands, tugging at my shirt and pulling it off, along with my bra, revealing my perky breasts, nipples hard. "Ohh my god.." his breath hitched, leaning down and latching onto one of my nipples, sucking harshly.

I whined, "oh fuck! mm Tom!" arching my back, his cock pressing into me harder. He started to take his shirt off, along with his pants and boxers, leaving him completely nude all while kissing and sucking on my nipples.

He eventually let go, dragging my skirt off and rubbing my clit over my panties softly, my hips bucking up "ohh..someones excited" he smirked, peeling them off and throwing them to the side.

I whined, growing impatient, he detected this and smirked, aligning himself at my entrance, slowly pushing in. "Oh fuck!" I cried out, holding onto his biceps as he stretched me out slowly, making sure it didn't hurt.

After bottoming himself out he started to thrust slowly, trying to get me adjusted to his size. "Fuck..Tom you're so big.." I groaned, scratching at his back, he chuckled and started to thrust faster.

Eventually he started to pound into me, hitting my g spot repeatedly, "fuck.." he grunted, leaning down and starting sucking on my nipples again, swirling his tongue around my sensitive buds, little moans escaping my mouth.

I whimpered, his cock slamming into me cruely, stabbing at my g spot desperatly, his cock throbbing in my tight wetness. He grabbed my hips tightly, grazing his teeth over my nipples.

I felt tension build up in my stomach, twisting into a tight knot. He threw his head back, mouth slightly agape, cock twitching in me.

He groaned, feeling his balls tighten as he neared his orgasm. He could feel me clenching around his cock, causing him to lose control, "I'm gonna cum! Fuck!" he groaned, ejaculating and spurting his hot cum into me pussy, filling it to the brim.

I moaned at the sensation of my pussy being filled, my orgasm crashing down, juices spilling all over his cock. "Holy fuck.." I panted, Tom fell down onto the bed next to me, catching his breath.

Before I knew it I was on his cock again, he grabbed me by my waist and easily picked me up, slamming me back down onto his length, making me ride him.

"Oh fuck!" I whined, he grabbed my hips and started to help me move up and down on his cock, "you're so fucking hot.." he growled, slapping my ass harshly.

I yelped and rode faster, his tip hitting all the right spots, "that's right baby, ride my cock like the little slut you are.." he grinned, reaching out and fondling my bouncing breasts, rubbing his thumb over my nipple.

"Ohh fuck!" I whined, bouncing up and down on his cock, chasing another orgasm, my cunt dripping with juices. I threw my head back, the pleasure taking over my body, no thoughts being processed in my head.

He started to thrust up into me, meeting my movements. Hands squeezing my breasts roughly, "taking my cock so well..such a good girl" he praised, I felt my climax building again.

I was drunk on his cock, it was like drugs to me, addicting. He smirked, smacking my ass again, balls slapping onto my ass, hips slamming into mine roughly.

"Cum on this cock again, now" he commanded, I cried out and dug my nails into his shoulders, legs twitching as I came again, a clear stream of liquid spilling onto his abdomen.

"Holy shit!" I whined, collapsing onto his chest as he came deep in me again, fucking the cum into my pussy so it wouldn't spill out. He layed onto the bed, pulling me with him, pulling out slowly and cleaning me up.

"I missed you so much baby..you've been gone for too long.." he looked deeply into my eyes, brushing stray hairs away from my face and kissing me softly.

"I'm so happy I can be in your arms again" I smiled, kissing him back gently.

tags: @itsmealaiah @itsangelll @kaulitzsbabyy @ballhair @bkaulitzlover @estxkios @charliesgoodboy @tomsonlyslut @ge-billsgf

[thelunarsystemwrites]

Lunar's mental health. An update.

TW: bad mental health, EDs, depression, s/h, personal stuff, suicidal thoughts, anxiety, vent, self hate, heavy topics.

Sorry I haven't been posting!!

An update on me.

...Hi, you might know me as Lunar, or, TheLunarSystemWrites! I'm just an artist on here, trying to do things I like.... right?

Well, unfortunately, real life doesn't really... care. It doesn't care if I have friends to talk to, art to make, things I like to do.

I've been exhausted, physically and mentally. I've been busy working a lot in our home. (Painting, building, packing, inside work, cooking, etc) and it's always stressful... we're starting to get a little tight on money.

I've spent majority of my time in my bed. I don't wanna face my family members, so I've hidden away. It's hard to get up every day, and try to find the will to take care of myself.

I also recently relapsed with Bulimia, a disorder that, essentially means I throw up whatever I eat. I've been purging since September 16th, 2022. But I had awhile where I only purged once a day or none, but I'm back at it with full force. So my body doesn't have any energy left. I've also now lost my periods do to it.

I don't sleep well. It's much easier to stay up all night than waste my only free time sleeping. So I have no energy from sleeping well unless I sleep a whole day away, which makes me groggy.

Self harm is also something bothering me too, I'm too tired to do it and yet I keep doing it. Wasting precious spoons on it, I literally can't be clean for a whole year this year, that dream is dead. But, I am a few days clean as I type!

Suicidal and intrusive thoughts have been.... pesky. But I can't just leave my friends, plus I have prizes to make.

But, I'm unmotivated. I can't seem to write or draw anything. All my art is looking... regressed, to me. Everything is repetitive.

I've hated myself now more than ever in my life, I'm in a pretty bad place and I hate how self aware I am.

SPEAKING of regression! I have like, regression block. My brain isn't working with me, isn't regressing unless Involuntary. So my main coping mechanism is.... out of order.

I've been angry at the world, really pissy and moody. Tired, hungry, sad, then happy but not much. Numbness is a huge factor, I'm feeling depressed.

Not to mention, there's drama everywhere I look. This creator gets bullied, that one turns out to be disgusting. People get doxxed over opinions... it's constantly anxiety that I'll be wrongly accused, ridiculed, or abandoned. It's terrifying that people will go at each other's throats. It's exhausting to deal with it and be dragged into drama with problematic people.

Every day has been the same for me for the past 3 years. I'm tired, bored, understimulation controls me.

My friends are my lifeline right now.

I feel uncomfortable in my own body all the time, unsatisfied with my art, everything is essentially falling apart in my life.

Depression, anxiety... not a good mix to wake up disoriented and anxious, then gave zero spoons throughout the day. I'm not in a good home situation right now.

So... I kinda just... haven't been posting, role-playing, answering DMs, answering asks, etc...

I'm burnt out.

I feel like I'm a walking corpse.

Useless even.

I don't feel like myself anymore, I barely have the energy to talk to friends, every little bad things sets me back. I just can't bring myself to really engage much anymore.

So... sorry. I'm sorry, if I wasted your time. Or if this isn't like what you wanted to hear. I'm just not okay anymore, April was the last good month I had this year. APRIL.

I just wanted to update you all, there's a lot of other stuff I didn't share because it's nit important. I swear I'll get to the prizes eventually, I just ain't up to it right now. Might not be for awhile, apologies in advance!!

Hope you guys can understand, I might or might not be back to doing art, who knows. But I'll definitely get things done before that if I ever stopped. It just doesn't bring me joy, I used to hope I'd make an AU people cares about, and I've barely achieved that ^^"

Hope you're all well!! Stay safe, take care!! Remember to hydrate and to try eating if you can, you're spectacular!!!

Daily clicks!! ^^

Previous pinned post.

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 32

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 31 🟣 Part 33

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August, Sherlock, Charles, Melot and Napoleon

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: ongoing vampire shenanigans, Melot's ongoing identity crisis, purple (or at the very least lavender) prose, angst, mentions of: child marriage, cheating, (internalized) homophobia, religious trauma, abuse, SA. Mentions of grey sweatpants, inappropriate anger at the inventor of jeans, Awkward Virgin trope, blood, biting, bruising, praise kink, the untimely demise of a shirt, awkward groping, (awkward everything), handjob, blowjob, premature-ish ejaculation, wasting water by taking a shower that later proves to have been absolutely fucking useless, Frotting/rubbing/dry humping (not sure what to call this, tbh. A butt-job?), rimming (eating ass, analingus, pick your fave), light D/s dynamic, light brat behavior, hair pulling, more praise (possibly slight feminisation? Depending on how youd define that?), masturbation, deepthroating, throatfucking, oral creampie, cumswapping/cumkissing, elements of subspace + subdrop, aftercare.

Word count: 14.004 (Yes. 14k. You read that correctly.)

A/N: Well, well, well, what here we have? It started with this sweet ask from @geralts-yenn, and... what can I say? Things got out of hand? (Understatement.)

It quickly became clear to me that there was a lot more to unpack than I had originally counted on, and then the boys turned out to be... well, dirty little whores. So...

I considered making this a bonus-chapter because this is written from Melot's POV, but since it slots into the timeline, I decided against that. I will, however be changing the tense and POV (from past tense to present, and from 2nd person to 1st person POV) from here on out, because over time I've simply come to prefer writing that way. I'll also be writing more chapters from the boys' perspectives—I'm working on one from Leon's POV that isn't too far off in the future (storyline-wise... actual real-life time-wise, one can never know.)

Also: I'm literally begging everyone to come into my comments (or DMs, or asks) to talk about these boys because... Well, I just love them so much. I already did, but it's literally so much worse now, lol.

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @mis-lil-red

@sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld @proud-aroace-beastie

@plaidcat4815 @wa-ni @lovemusicpart2 @lizzystuffsthings @manysecrets2020

@sarcasmoverlordxo @mysweetlittledesire

I’m afraid to open my eyes, knowing that if I do, I’ll be staring right back into the reflection of my own soul.

There’s no hiding from him—not that I want to. At least, I think I don’t.

I sit still, counting the seconds as they tick away on the clock in the living room. I’m the only one who can hear it from anywhere in the house—anywhere on the property, even. If I try hard enough, that is.

The sound has been my anchor for centuries. Sometimes, it feels more familiar to me than the beating of my own heart. Unsurprisingly, I might add. How could it not be, when everything about me exists for the sole purpose of looking outward.

Oftentimes, my visions have prevented me from gaining a more intimate knowledge of myself, and they continue to do so to this day. It’s been this way throughout my entire existence.

Fourteen hundred years. Fourteen centuries.

My senses are honed to perfection. Beyond it, even—although many would argue the impossibility of the proposition, but it’s exactly what a millennium and a half will do to you.

I know that better than anyone. How could anyone know better? For all we know, I might very well be the oldest vampire on the planet.

The scoff I attempt to choke back finds its way to freedom as a nigh imperceptible faltering in my otherwise steady breathing.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he whispers softly. I feel his fingertips creep closer to mine before they actually do, yet I am startled by the sensation of him touching me.

I resist the urge to pull my hand back, just as I’ve been resisting the urge to flee the room and never return. A part of me, I am most unwilling to admit, even wants to attack.

He wouldn’t stand a chance.

He’d be dead before he even realized I’d moved.

Oh, to become something you’ve been taught to fear—and to think this is hardly my first battle of the sort. I’d give up the hope that they ever get easier, if I hadn’t known for a fact they don’t for the longest time.

‘You like boys.’

These words have haunted my dreams for the past two days. Left me alone for nary a second since the moment they fell freely and innocently from Mike’s beautiful lips.

Spoken with no ill intent, they wrapped themselves around every inch of every branch of my consciousness, constricting it more and more with every last breath I took, their truth so immediately undeniable that I was forced to admit to it.

And that means there is no way back for me now.

When Mike told me that I’d have time for an identity crisis later, I don’t think he realized just how right he was, and I can’t blame him for his ignorance. I don’t doubt for a second that it was completely unintentional.

As much as he hates it when we say it, he is just a baby, born into a fairly secular household in the sixties, but more importantly; involved in all kinds of generally more accepting subcultures from a relatively young age…

He’s had his struggles, of course. But as strange as it is to say, because one has to admit they were significant, they are irrelevant at this current time.

On the other side, we have… well, me.

Forced into a political marriage at fourteen in early medieval Cornwall, to a girl even younger than I was, our wedding night consisting of nothing but a tear-filled pact made between two terrified children under the cover of darkness, to forego the consummation of our marriage.

Instilled in me, a fierce loyalty and the staunch belief that a man lay with no one but his own wife, and a wife with no other person than her husband, I devoted myself to her as best I could, given our circumstances.

That there was no love between us mattered not, for we had been united before God.

Not unlike today, however, inappropriately crude and explicit conversations with my peers had made me far more knowledgeable on the subject of reproduction than I otherwise would have been, given my lacking experience.

For years, I slept by her side, riddled with guilt over our failure to fulfil our marital duties toward one another, praying every waking minute for the ability to be a better husband.

I shed my tears over her betrayal in private as I prepared to welcome a child into my life—a child I knew couldn’t possibly be mine.

Every day of my life, I am grateful for the existence of specialized historical trauma psychologists: They were of indescribable and immeasurable value when I was struggling to unite the unpleasant aspects of my upbringing and ‘early’ non-human life—the first thousand years, give or take—with the modern world I somehow found myself in rather more suddenly than I had ever expected.

The past certainly has a way of sneaking up on you, but I wouldn’t dream of underestimating the present in that particular respect.

Alas, as helpful as my therapists have been, their efforts feel wasted in this moment, because Mike dragged me onto a new road of self-discovery that appears to contain several unexpected challenges.

Challenges I am afraid of.

Challenges I am ashamed of.

As mentioned before: for the second time in my fourteen hundred years, I have become something I was taught to fear, and despite my convictions that I had overcome my prejudices, that I had moved past this darkness of fear and hatred, it seems to be the case that nothing could be further from the truth.

A shocking revelation. Truly.

I find no solace in the fact that I was never taught to hate, though it is true. One is almost never directly taught to hate, for the simple reason that it is far easier to teach fear than hatred.

But fear breeds hatred.

I learned to fear the sin, which led me to hate the sinner, and there is no excuse for that.

This, I have always known.

Over time—more time than I care to admit—my hatred disappeared, and I took pride in that, for I had shown growth, and an ability to learn and adapt.

I had evolved.

How upsetting it is, then, to be forced to come to the realization that somewhere along the line, I seem to have come to the conclusion that to cease fearing for others’ condemnation would suffice in terms of accepting them.

In other words: If they want to go to hell, let them!

And now that it’s me, I find that I suffer still from that very same fear of a god I have long since stopped believing in.

The line between truly knowing that something isn’t sinful, and simply not caring when others sin, is remarkably thin.

And I am standing right on top of it.

“It wouldn’t help,” Mike whispers, just as my desire to ask him what I want surges, threatening to wash me away.

Two lonely tears escape my still closed eyes, allowing me to focus on their path down my cheeks as they fight the resistance my skin provides.

I thank them silently.

“Why not?” There is no point in trying to keep the defeat from shining through in my voice.

“Because you want it all,” he replies. I expect to hear pity in his voice, and its absence surprises me nearly as much as his answer. No matter how much I want to ask him, my voice refuses to lend me its cooperation.

Not that it matters. After all, Mike knows.

“There is no ‘one desire’, Melot,” he continues, making me shiver as he drags a single finger down the back of my hand. “In the past thirty seconds alone, you’ve cycled through ‘fight, flight, freeze’ more times than I can count. You want to jump me—either to kiss me or kill me. You want to run, hide, talk, think, cry, scream, punch something—not me, please. You want answers, and to desperately not need answers because you want there to not be a question that needs answering to begin with.”

“I never wanted to kill you,” I mumble, the characteristic heat of embarrassment creeping up to my cheeks in a staggering tempo.

Mike chuckles. I’m not proud of what the sound does to me, but good Lord it feels amazing. “That’s the thing, Melmel,” he muses quietly, “the fact that I felt it, means it was a genuine desire. Granted, it didn’t last long, but it was there. And I get it.”

“I was never going—” More tears tread in their predecessors’ footsteps, their heat blending in nicely with the scorching glow of embarrassment that plagues my skin.

“I know,” he reassures me. “You have a whole rational brain I don’t have access to—that’s Marshall’s territory, not mine. My point is: you can’t ‘sorta’ want something. Okay, you can, in the sense that there’s a scale to how much you want something—a range from ‘want’ to ‘need’—but there’s no such thing as a half-desire. A desire is a desire.”

I wince at the implication of his words as guilt washes over me like a tidal wave, while Mike continues: “Your tiny little—but genuine—want to brutally murder me was immediately overshadowed by a very strong need for me to be… not dead.”

“Was there anything useful in the entire list?” I’m surprised by my ability to squeeze out an entire sentence, if I’m being honest.

Mike chuckles again, and my whole body feels like it’s made of carbonated liquid. “The desire to call your therapist is probably a good one,”—he pauses for a moment, letting out a cheeky chuckle—“and I would selfishly vote in favor of any of the many more eh… carnal ones.”

I scoff. He speaks in jest, at least partially, and I refuse to dignify his nonsense with a response, so I move on. “Which is the most, eh… potent?”

“That’s a great way to phrase it, yeah,” Mike confirms. “And it’s definitely your overwhelming—and permanent, by the way—desire to be held by someone.”

I finally open my eyes, staring at Mike wide-eyed in nothing short of pure horror. How disappointing that the floor doesn’t melt away from under me right this second to spare me the mortification…

“Get your priorities straight, Melmel,” Mike admonishes me, a sweet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You should be way more embarrassed about wanting to kill me than wanting to snuggle up to someone.” He scooches closer to me, quickly adjusting the mountain of pillows as he moves, and puts an arm around my shoulders. “Especially since we share that particular need.”

We sit in silence for a while, Mikey’s head on my shoulder, his arm around me. It triggers my visions, which isn’t at all surprising. In them, I feel none of the shame and guilt I do now—or did, moments ago—which is very reassuring, but as much as I would like to luxuriate in that feeling after my meltdown, Mikey’s much stronger reaction forces me to let them pass, acknowledged but without much further investigation.

He struggles to keep his fingers still, and I am facing similar difficulties in strangling whatever sound I feel I can’t afford to make freely.

“What do you need from me?” I practically have to force the words out of my mouth. “In this… courtship?”

Mike laughs. “As far as definitions go, that’s fair, but do you know a twenty-first-century word?”

“To describe you?” I elbow him in the ribs and roll my eyes. “I know several, and I doubt you’d be happy with any of them.”

“Jerk,” he huffs.

“That was one of them, yes.” I struggle not to laugh when Mike pouts and nudges me, failing miserably, and before I know it, I’m on my back with him hovering over me. My gaze is pulled towards his lips through no fault of my own. In my fourteen hundred years, I have never known anyone who scowls as adorably as Mikey does, and every corner of my thoughts occupied by the sight of his bottom lip sticking out slightly.

Completely involuntarily, my eyes follow the contours of that lip, and my mind gravitates towards images of us. Together.

I—

I bite back the moan that threatens to escape, and fight to regain control of my teeth. “We should talk first,” I manage, my words punctuated by labored breaths.

Mike nods, dropping onto his side next to me and propping himself up on one elbow. “It’s really simple,” he says plainly. Clearly, the past thirty seconds have been less taxing on his self-restraint than they were on mine… “We can take this as slowly as you need, obviously. But I need you to know the difference between what you’re ready for now, and what you know you’ll be ready for in the future.”

I nod. That’s the easy part of the equation.

Unfortunately, Mike may be a clown at times, but he wasn’t born yesterday. “And I need you to stick with the now-boundaries.”

I nod again, much less sure of myself this time, but I promise him to give it my very best effort.

“Of course, I’ll help. If necessary,” he continues. “But I refuse to rely on my gift to guard your limits. I need to know you feel comfortable, and safe, and confident enough to communicate your needs, okay?”

His concern for my safety and wellbeing is almost enough to bring me to tears all over again. If I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that time does, in fact, not heal all wounds, and although I have come a long way, I cannot deny the lasting—possibly permanent—damage inflicted upon me by the coldest, darkest days of my past.

The times without love.

The times when I had no one but myself to care about me.

I sob my agreement to his terms, rather than say it. The sound of my breaking voice draws his brows together in a pitiful frown.

He bites his lower lip as he contemplates his next words, and I struggle to keep my head clear as his lips once again draw my attention away from the conversation, while the sorrow in his expression has me teetering on the edge of panic.

His expression hardens as he breathes in deeply before looking at me very directly. His eyes are cold, and my heart rate quickens at the sight.

“And,” he says softly but with unmistakable determination, “I’m not doing this behind closed doors.” He looks down, fidgeting with the duvet covers as he continues: “I’m not saying you have to come out to the entire world tomorrow—or explicitly to anyone at all, unless you want to, of course—”

“I wouldn’t even know what to come out as,” I admit almost reluctantly. At this point, I haven’t even begun to think about labels and definitions and whatnot.

“I mean… If we’re going to be dating, then one label that definitely applies is ‘the guy who’s dating Mikey’,” he says matter-of-factly. I have to admit he has a point. “I’m kinda big on PDA—I promise I won’t suck your face off in public, but hugs, or a kiss here and there… Like, I’m not going to let some guy who can’t even hold my hand at the movies, dick me down when we get home.”

He laughs at my expression, and I can’t blame him. I, myself, imagine it to be quite the sight; wide-eyed, mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land while my entire vocabulary seems to have vacated the premises…

“I’m sorry,” he snickers, “I didn’t mean to scare you. My point is: If you can’t love me in public, you don’t get to love me in private, that’s all.”

“Mikey…” I hesitate, attempting at the same time to swallow away the lump in my throat. It doesn’t work. “I promise—swear, even—that I will try, but I might need some time.”

“Progress, not perfection, Melmel,” Mike says as he leans forward to rest his forehead against mine for a moment. “I just want you to make an effort, okay?”

I nod furiously. Of course, I never truly expected him to toss me aside because I can’t adjust to all of this in a matter of days, but it’s a relief, nonetheless.

Now that my fears have been taken away, more visions come to me. The doom scenarios are entirely of my own making—I learned to tell the difference several centuries ago, but I can’t say that that knowledge has been in any way facilitative to my ability to disregard them.

However, I cannot deny that it is comforting that the majority of them are overwhelmingly positive, setting my body alight with a warm, soothing glow.

It makes me calm.

Happy.

It also makes me…

“For someone who’s struggling to come to terms with all of this,”—Mike’s voice is strained, the sound of it more of a moan than regular speech—“you are incredibly horny.”

My lips tremble as his hand cups the side of my face, his thumb gently trailing over my cheekbone.

I have to swallow before I can even speak. “I’m coming off a fourteen-hundred-year dry spell, Mikey.”

Mike’s eyes go wide with shock, perhaps even terror. “Fourt— w-what?” He looks adorable, his mouth slightly open, brows drawn together in disbelief. “Two days ago… That wasn’t your first kiss, right?”

I chuckle, but not from the heart. “It was certainly the first one I was a willing participant in,” I admit bitterly. The realization bites, digging its filthy, razor-sharp claws deep into my soul. “Not that the collection of instances of the other sort is by any means impressive.”

“Every last one of those is one too many, Melot,” Mike sighs.

I can’t stand to see the pity in his eyes, so I close mine again, focusing on his scent instead.

Every member of my coven—past or present—has an odor so unique to their person that I would happily wager that I’d be able to identify them from a mile away.

With everyone else, smell certainly serves as quite the handy tool when it comes to ascertaining their intentions—hostility, for instance, reveals itself quite readily by means of a distinct and exceptionally foul sour note—or their species—vampires in this day and age always smell faintly of blood and garlic, and however cliché one might deem it, werewolves reek perpetually of wet dog.

And then there’s my own family, blood and garlic aside.

I may have known Sherlock the longest, but I know Charles the best, which is why I can say with absolute confidence that I’d recognize the dark, brooding combination of leather and smoke in my sleep. It’s luxurious and alluring, its complex sophistication undeniable, but at the same time, it’s cold, distant and uninviting. It used to be different, but what little remains of the welcoming seduction of the past, is now dull and faded.

Sherlock, on the other hand—although every bit as strong and refined—smells warm, approachable and comforting, with a very pronounced overtone of sweet vanilla—which Mike, should I ever decide to discuss this particular subject with him, would probably find very typical and likely even funny. At some point in my life, I developed the strange habit of sitting outside Sherlock’s bedroom door when I miss him, just so his scent can comfort me—he has a way of showing up whenever I do.

August and Leon share the dark, bold and spicy edge to their scents. They’re matched for sensual promiscuity, but Leon leans further into the direction of exotic rebelliousness and playful deviance. August smells… calmer. More grounded.

Marshall smells remarkably similar to Sherlock, in a way. Only he trades the sweetness for something crisper and fresher, reminiscent of pine and fresh herbs. It feels almost strangely grounded and familiar, with a quiet strength and weight to it that borders on intimidating.

And then there’s Mike. It should surprise no one that he’s the odd one out, and although I wouldn’t describe the scent as that of bubblegum and jellybeans, I wouldn’t necessarily not describe it as such. It’s a rather untidy fragrance, that has an energetic flamboyance to its almost cacophonous complexity. Touches of woods and herbs ground the otherwise discordant bouquet of lush, tropical fruits and crisp, fresh citrus, combined with a selection of floral aromas that expresses something of a delicate… femininity. It’s youthful, vibrant, playful and mischievous, and more importantly, it’s the best damned thing I’ve ever had the pleasure to smell.

 Unthinkingly, I pull Mike closer, the tip of my nose tracing a gentle path up the side of his neck as I inhale deeply, savoring not only the scent, but also his warmth, pulse, and the feeling of his skin against mine as it transitions from the smoothness down by his shoulder to the scratchy stubble of the five o’ clock shadow on his jaw I’m embarrassed to admit I find quite attractive.

My senses are so thoroughly occupied with the attempt to soak up every crumb of these new, delightful experiences that I completely forget to care even the slightest bit about the quiet moan that slips past my lips.

Mike whines impatiently in reply, and when he suddenly moves, I struggle to keep up with the innumerable sensations that wash over me in rapid succession.

His breath on my ear, the delectable feeling of his weight on top of me, the tangling of our legs, his hand at the back of my neck, and its long, slender fingers traveling over my scalp… But much more pressing—and more annoying, I might add—is my acute and absolutely insufferable awareness of the suddenly too thick, coarse and rigid denim of my jeans as it moves over my skin in all the wrong ways while we adjust our position on the bed.

Not to mention that these godforsaken trousers, which fit me perfectly and comfortably less than half an hour ago, suddenly seem too tight—an experience that wouldn’t be unique to my person in the least, if Mike wasn’t very likely completely unbothered by such atrocities sensations due to the fact that he is wearing sweatpants.

Sweatpants which, much to my dismay, contribute to my own discomfort far more than I care to admit.

That is not to say Mike is unaffected by this situation. In fact, the evidence heavily favors the contrary, and the fact that I can feel his pulse… there, in combination with the thought that that means he can probably feel mine in approximately the same location, keeps distracting me from mentally drafting the letter of complaint I wish I had sent to Levi Strauss & Co. back in the 1870s.

I have never wanted out of a pair of trousers—or any other type of garment, for that matter—this badly in my entire existence. And for all the wrong reasons, too, for crying out loud!

A displeased whimper hits my ear, and by the time it dawns on me that I was the one who made it because Mikey suddenly disappeared, an unidentifiable pile of dark grey fabric lands on my stomach.

The person who put it there is standing next to the bed, towering over me with his arms folded across his chest. It would have been intimidating, if not for the hint of a smile that peeks through the stern mask on his face.

Mike points to the bathroom. “They’re sweatpants,” he says impatiently, “go put them on. Now. Please.”

My brain cycles through countless motives and explanations, but I’m so hopelessly behind on processing the events of the past minute, that it comes up completely empty.

I must look at least half as confused as I feel, because Mike can no longer fight back his smile. “Hey, normally I’d tell you to just take the jeans off, but I don’t want us to get ahead of ourselves,” he chuckles. “If this is what it takes to keep you from violently longing to invent time travel so you can smack Jacob W. Davis and Levi Strauss over the head with a comically large wooden mallet, then…”

He makes a series of vague, impatient gestures at me, the sweatpants and in the general direction of the bathroom, all accompanied by an equally impatient and exquisitely adorable whine.

When I laugh, after deciding against telling him how cute he looks, Mike frowns, and his eyes narrow. “Mel, please,” he whines, “I really, really, really want to kiss you.”

Nervous as that makes me, I can’t deny that it’s exactly what I want too, and despite my legs feeling exceptionally uncooperative, I manage to make it to the bathroom in one piece.

I lean my shoulders against the wall, steadying myself as I attempt to regain control over myself, my chest heaving with every new breath.

The cold of the tile creeps through the fabric of my shirt with ease, grounding me.

Soothing me.

My thoughts, which are normally fairly organized, are a mess—an un-unravelable heap of pure chaos.

It’s anarchy!

Mike somehow manages to match the energy of an eight-week-old puppy attempting to herd sheep, with the exact same, very predictable and equally—if not more so—undesirable result.

And I’m the sheep.

I clamp my teeth down on my bottom lip with force until I taste blood, but the visions keep coming.

My fingers—are they mine? If they were, one would assume I would know how to get them to fucking work, correct? When I put these jeans on this morning, this wasn’t the world’s most challenging button, so why won’t it open, for God’s sake?

I swear under my breath, screwing my eyes shut as if to squeeze the last bit of focus out of my brain that way. I must, however, come to the unfortunate conclusion that I am not a tube of toothpaste.

“You’re impossible.” Mike’s voice is hoarse, his chest moves rapidly in time with his equally erratic breathing, and his long fingers close effortlessly around my wrists with punishing force. “Get these hands out of the damn way and let me help you with that.”

Apparently, his wish is my command. Or perhaps, his command is my command. Either way, my hands are out of his way in a flash.

Barely a second later, the button and zipper of this treacherous denim contraption are no longer an obstacle, and I struggle to breathe as Mike leans his forehead against mine, dipping his fingertips tentatively into the now-loosened waistband of my trousers.

He holds me firmly in place as he steps closer, grinding his hips into mine. Out of reflex, I bite down on my lip again, piercing my skin, which lures a soft whine from my throat.

Before I can do anything, Mike passes his tongue over the wound before sucking my bottom lip into his mouth, and I seem to have suddenly forgotten how to breathe altogether.

“Now,” Mike says—‘growls’ would be a more apt description, perhaps, “take these off, put the sweatpants on—or don’t. Strip completely bare-ass naked for all I care, but get in my damn bed, please.”

 Hearing my own desperate need echoed in his voice makes my heart stutter—the cruel cold or Mikey’s sudden absence makes me restless.

I rid myself of my jeans as quickly as I can, and as I exchange them for the much more comfortable sweatpants, I can’t resist the urge to squeeze my throbbing erection through the fabric, desperately attempting to fight the thought of how much I need that hand to be his instead of mine.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Mikey snarls, his voice close to my ear and the scorching heat of his body comforting me once again. “I should drag you to bed by your balls, you little tease. Why are you out here wanting all these things, when we can be doing them in there?”

I want to say something, but even if my voice were cooperating, my vocabulary certainly wouldn’t be. In the end, nothing but a pathetic whine escapes me, making Mike chuckle.

He hooks two fingers in the waistband of the sweatpants, no doubt with the intention to tug me along towards the bed, but one catches behind the band of my underwear as well, putting more of me on display than I anticipated. I know Mike well enough to expect him to take a peek—and the urgency with which he does so immediately—and I find myself thoroughly enjoying the look of utter desperation and pure carnal need on his face as he fails to fight off a crooked smile, dragging his tongue along his upper lip.

I struggle to identify the feeling that washes over me, wringing out my insides as Mike’s playful smile widens, his gaze still locked on my groin. There is a strange sense of pride to it. At the same time, waves of anticipation struggle for power against nervousness.

The longer I look at his face, the stronger the anticipation becomes. He’s cute, with his mischievous smile, fangs out as he fights off the ragged corners of the desires he knows would likely push me a tad too far at this time.

But Mike can think of six things either simultaneously or in awe-inspiringly quick succession.

“Why does it happen? The fangs?” he asks quietly, amusement poorly concealed in his tone.

My laughter rings involuntarily, the sound bouncing off the tiles, echoing in my own mind as it once again struggles to keep up with everything that’s happening. “You’ve clearly never lived in a large coven,” I chuckle. “One so powerful that hiding your nature—and teeth—becomes completely unnecessary. Our natural instinct is to have them out. Even after centuries, one must have his wits about him in order to control them, and I don’t know about yours, but mine are halfway to Argentina by now.”

Mike’s grin widens as he takes a step back, finally guiding me back to his bedroom.

When the back of my legs meet the edge of the bed, his eyes darken. “I really want to do some dirty things to you, Melmel,” he whispers. The high-pitched whine that meets my ear must be mine, and unthinkingly I chase the pathetic sound away with a scornful chuckle which, most unfortunately, is followed by a sharp gasp as Mike pulls me closer by my hips until my body is flush against his. “Will you let me?”

The art of speech eludes me still, so I nod.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Mike says as he gently places a hand on either side of my face.

To be overcome with desire does not mean what I thought it did until now in the slightest. As soon as Mike’s lips touch mine, true desperate need comes crashing down on me, drowning out everything else.

His mouth is soft, but firm. His hands gentle as they move from my face, down my chest and stomach, to the sides of my hips, until they reach the back of my thighs. He picks me up effortlessly, of course, wrapping my legs around him before laying me down in the middle of the mattress.

Our moans effortlessly overshadow everything else that attempts to occupy my thoughts, only leaving room to experience pleasure. It’s all-consuming.

Powerful.

Cathartic, even.

Mike’s tongue licks gently at the seam of my lips, which part as if by magic to grant him entrance.

His enthusiasm is infectious, and I greedily reciprocate until…

“Fuck!” Mike pulls back, still laughing when he sticks out his tongue. It’s bleeding. “I forgot you have spare teeth.”

“I’m sorry.” I can’t bear to look at him as guilt washes over me, drowning out all the wonderful feelings from before.

“Don’t be,” he says softly, giving me a reassuring peck on the tip of my nose. “You can poke as many holes in me as you want, this just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

He presses his lips to mine again, this time with significantly more restraint—to start with, that is. Every time he rolls his hips, grinding them into mine, he loses a bit of that control.

I could say the same does not apply to me, but it would be such a blatant lie that it would be laughable at best.

When he bites my lip, he is careful not to break the skin, but the force is still enough to bruise me.

Whatever mark he leaves on me, with very few exceptions, will be gone before we’re even done here. Why does that strike me as such a tragedy?

The last remnants of Mikey’s gentle touch have disappeared now, as his fingertips dig into my shoulders, my hips, my thighs, with brutal force. It would certainly be enough to cause serious harm to someone less sturdy than either of us…

“God, I haven’t done this with another vampire in years,” Mike groans. The sound, deep, dark and dripping with lust, vibrates throughout my entire body.

I know he’s been with nymphs, shifters—were- or otherwise—and demons, and I don’t doubt that there have been many more rendezvous with many more species I haven’t the faintest clue about, but that knowledge proves to be of surprisingly little impact on this moment. “Tell me if I’m too rough with you, Mel. Please.”

Not at all, I wish to scream. I’ll take everything he’s willing to give me and more. So much more.

But I can’t seem to find my voice. Instead, I slide my hands into his shirt on a whim, dragging my nails down his back, reveling in the sense of pride and sensuality I feel as he arches to my… well, ‘touch’ would be quite the understatement, I suppose.

“Guess not, then,” he says with a devious grin as he grabs the hem of the t-shirt I just decided to ignore and pulls it over his head.

I’ve seen him without a shirt, of course. Goodness, I’ve seen him damn near naked on several occasions, but this time…

As he sits there, straddling my thighs, towering over me, my eyes wander down, taking in his broad shoulders, chest and abs. He’s lean, toned, but I wouldn’t describe him as particularly muscular. His pale skin is smooth all the way down to his navel, where my attention is captured by the thin line of dark hair that leads… down.

My hands make their way up his thighs until they rest on his hips, and without realizing, I speak. “You are so beautiful.”

I realize my error instantly, an overpowering sense of confusion surging through me as I watch Mike’s face light up.

“Yeah?” he asks excitedly as I continue my attempt to grasp why he sounds so pleased. My confusion must be apparent, because Mike laughs sweetly. “It’s okay, baby, you can call me beautiful all day, every day. Can I see if you’re pretty too?”

It clicks as soon as the word ‘pretty’ leaves his mouth, and I am suddenly overcome with the fear that he won’t see me that way while Mike fusses with the top button of my shirt.

He groans out of frustration. “Do you have any emotional attachment to this thing?” he growls almost aggressively as he grabs me by the collar of my shirt. I shake my head, once again unable to speak. “Good.”

The fabric tears almost too easily, and several buttons—four, to be exact—find their way onto the floor.

A long, desperate whine meets my ear as Mike rakes his fingers over my chest, down to my stomach, where he traces the faint line of hair with a single finger, all the way down to the waistband of my trousers, while I dig my fingers into his hips with more force than I intended. It makes Mike’s cock twitch, causing it to bump against my thumb, which lures a sharp gasp from me.

Mike reacts to it and the expression that has appeared on my face in the meantime without my knowledge, and certainly without my consent.

“Okay,” he taunts, “my pretty boy wants to play in the big leagues then?”

Despite my nerves, I find myself nodding in reply to his question, attempting once again to swallow the tightness in my throat away.

Mike kisses me, softly but enthusiastically—and most importantly: repeatedly—as he lies down next to me. Heat rises to my cheeks as he flashes me that goofy smile of his.

I was always under the impression that I found that smile particularly annoying. I guess I was wrong.

The one hand that is still on his hip relentlessly attempts to capture my attention, begging me to acknowledge its proximity to the part of Mike that currently has my imagination spinning completely out of control, but I can’t allow myself to comply with its demands just yet. Lord knows I’ll be swiftly rid of any ability to speak, which would be… unfortunate, to say the least.

Not that that particular ability isn’t greatly impaired to begin with, but we needn’t tempt fate further, I would say.

“I’ll be happy to tell you anything you want to know, Melot,” Mike whispers softly as he moves closer to me. It’s the strange fish-on-dry-land-esque performance attached to it that makes me laugh—and much louder than I had intended, too. In fact, I had no intention to laugh at all…

I snap my mouth shut and look away. Surely, my cheeks must be so red they are in fact aglow right now, mustn’t they?

Mike groans loudly, which twists the uncomfortable knot in my stomach, greatly worsening the unwelcome tightness I was already feeling.

To say I am in no way prepared for his words, would be an understatement.

“Mel, dude, Melmel, babe, Melly, my good sir,” he sighs, “where were you when they sent out the memo that this”—he gestures wildly at the both of us—“all of this, like… sex, is supposed to be fun?”

“Well, I—” Just hearing him describe what we’re doing as ‘sex’ brings forward a host of emotions I can either not identify or desperately wish I couldn’t, and it certainly helps my nerves in no imaginable way.

“Like, babygirl, I get it,” he continues, as I try to prevent having to invent a new shade of red to describe the color my cheeks will turn after this one, “you’re nervous. You’ve never done this. You’ve been told not to do this, with… well, pretty much anyone but definitely not another dude—which I’m sure will come back to bite you in that sweet little butt of yours, and we’ll deal with that fall-out together. But if we’re doing this, I need you to lighten up, okay?”

“But�� How?” In my entire existence, I have never struggled to speak two simple words the way I did just now.

“For starters, there are two people here who I’m going to need you to not take too seriously,” he says matter-of-factly. “The first one is me, which is already true for… most scenarios outside of this one, I’d say. And the second one is you. You’re allowed to laugh, okay?”

The way he nips at the tip of my nose makes it impossible not to laugh. “Good boy,” Mike muses as I struggle to figure out why it feels so good to hear him say those words.

Without thinking about it, mostly for fear of discouraging myself, I wrap my free arm around him, pulling him tightly against me as I kiss him.

The added pressure of my arm against the small of his back is not enough to satisfy my need, so I boldly and unthinkingly lower my hand until it cups half of Mike’s backside.

Despite my lacking intentions to lose control of myself like this, I find myself feverishly grasping him, pulling him even closer as I dig my fingers into the flesh of his rear.

It’s surprisingly soft, yet surprisingly firm, and I find myself surprisingly eager to explore it further—the whole situation would best be described as, well… surprising, really, and Mike’s ardent whimpering tells me that he is not at all inclined to put an end to my endeavors.

Due to my sudden preoccupation with Mikey’s lovely behind, I am almost robbed of awareness of the fantastic experience of Mike, gently but greedily sliding his hands into my pants as he gently sucks my bottom lip into his mouth.

My grip around his waist slacks as he pulls his face back, still holding my lip firmly between his teeth, and he cocks an eyebrow at me, giving me the courage to mimic his movements.

For a moment, I am surprised to find that Mike is not wearing underwear, and then I remember who I’m in bed with. I’m not saying I should have expected this, but to pretend it’s in any way uncharacteristic, would be a lie.

His skin is smooth and warm, and the salacious moan he lets out catches in his throat, where it morphs into a gasp as my lips seek out his neck.

The urge to bite is strong, and I already know he wouldn’t mind, so…

“Fuck, Mel,” he moans sweetly as I bite down, effortlessly piercing his skin again and again, until his neck and shoulders are littered with marks.

Mike reaches behind his back, grabbing my wrist in order to drag my hand away from his ass, and towards the front of his sweatpants, where his erection strains against the fabric.

He presses my palm against the sizeable bulge while he begs me to bite him again, and I find myself more than happy to oblige.

A chuckle rolls off my tongue as soon as my teeth connect with his skin, and I softly squeeze his twitching cock, which draws the sweetest whimpers from Mike’s gorgeous lips.

“Mel, please,” he whispers, barely managing to squeeze the words out in between soft swearing and labored breaths as he puts his hand over mine and slowly slides it down his hip, into the front of his sweatpants. “I… I need you to…”

 My voice is barely more than a breath as I stammer my concerns about my nerves, lack of experience and the fact that I haven’t a clue what to do.

“Doesn’t matter,” Mikey whispers in reply, “just touch me. Please.”

 Heat rises to my cheeks again as I desperately attempt to resist the urge to pull my hand back and flee the room. “I-I really don’t know what… how…”

Mike lets out a whine that is a mix between impatience and complete and utter frustration. “What do you mean you don’t know? You have one of these, what do you do with that one?”

Lying to him now would probably not be in my best interest, so I ignore the ever-increasing temperature of my face when I tell him: “I, eh… I don’t really, ehh…”

“Mas-tur-bate,” Mike says with a smile. “Jack off. Jerk off. Beat your meat. Tickle your pickle. Flog your log. I can come up with dozens of these, but I think you got the point. But, like… ever?”

I shrug, fighting the resistance of Mike’s hand against my shoulder as I try to hide my face from him. “Not never, but…”

 “We can stop, if you want?” Mike says carefully, even though we both know that’s the very last thing I desire right now. “Or take a little step back?”

I shake my head surprisingly decisively. “I want to try,” I whisper. “I want to make you feel good.”

Mike leans closer to me, bringing his lips up to my ear. “Try again,” he says, the amusement in his voice clear as day, because once again he knows as well as I do that I’m not voicing my true desire.

In truth, I’m burning with violent need, and I am utterly bewildered that it’s even possible to feel nervous enough to overshadow that feeling. Yet here we are…

A low growl escapes me completely involuntarily. “I want to hear you moan and feel you squirm in my arms,” I snarl with more vigor than I originally intended. “And I want it to be because of me.”

His sweet moan, right in my ear, makes me tingle all over, and I barely manage to choke back a whimper of my own.

“Mel, please,” Mikey pleads with me again, “stop overthinking and just grab my d—”

He’s forced to end his sentence with a strangled, high-pitched noise that makes me chuckle as I wrap my fingers around his length.

He presses his forehead against mine as I cup the side of his face with my free hand, trailing my thumb lightly over his cheekbone.

The softest whimper stumbles past his slightly parted lips, and I gladly give in to the urge to touch them as well, savoring the feeling of Mikey’s hot breath against my fingertip.

When his tongue darts out, I take my own lip between my teeth, biting down as he sensually sucks my thumb into his mouth. I admire his confidence as he stares straight into my eyes—into my soul—as he does so.

Slowly, he rolls his hips, thrusting carefully into my hand.

His jaw tightens, and every sound he makes, escapes from behind gritted teeth—the way he’s grinding them almost makes more noise than he does, which I have to admit I find quite bothersome.

“Why are you holding back?” I ask quietly, as I attempt to silence the part of my mind that tells me I must be doing something wrong.

“Because I still can,” he admits reluctantly.

So I am doing s—

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” he says, smiling devilishly as he shimmies out of his sweatpants a bit further. “But truth be told, it’s missing something, eh…”

I patiently wait for him to continue, listening to the whiny noises he makes in protest as I don’t do him the courtesy of pausing the apparently good-but-missing-something handjob I was giving him. Mike is adorable when he gets flustered, and I am more than happy to be responsible for the rosy color on his cheeks.

“Fine,” he grumbles, giving in to his desires at last. “Top drawer of the nightstand. There’s a bottle, you really can’t miss it.”

I venture to retrieve the bottle. It’s… A chuckle escapes without warning as I read the label. “Mikey, why do you own cotton candy flavored lubricant?”

“Because it doesn’t come in jelly bean flavor,” Mike says casually before bringing my attention back to the—pardon me—task at hand. “Don’t be stingy with the stuff, I like it wet.”

Rather than simply not being quite sure what to do—or how much lubricant is an appropriate amount, since I’ve never used anything like it before—I am suddenly overcome with anxiety over the fact that I am now forced to look what I’m doing.

Slowly, I lower my gaze, taking in all of Mike’s body I can along the way. I barely notice how my fangs pierce my lip again when I bite down as my eyes reach their destination.

Mike snatches the bottle from my hand and kindly helps me out by pouring some of the liquid in my hand. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I bring my hand to my mouth, quickly dipping my tongue in the small pool of fluid in my palm.

Unsurprisingly, it’s extremely sweet.

Mike spends this time glaring at me, impatiently squirming and making his displeasure known through a series of whimpers, not stopping until I wrap my hand around his cock again.

As soon as I do, a serene smile spreads across his face, and he sighs while I proceed to coat his member with the slippery substance on my hand.

“Better?” I ask him.

He nods, resting his forehead against mine again. “Fuck yes.”

Apparently, the only thing Mike thinks will stop him from becoming excessively loud now, is crushing his mouth to mine and kissing me like his life depends on it.

His hips move erratically as he thrusts almost frantically into my hand while moans, grunts and desperate whimpers stumble from his mouth into mine.

After some time, I feel his hand close around mine, guiding my grip and the rhythm of my strokes while the fingers of his other hand dig into my back nearly hard enough to draw blood.

He swears, softly at first, but becoming louder as he loses more and more of his restraint.

Even with a vision providing me with advance knowledge of what is going to happen—which is technically so predictable that I should have been able to come up with it myself—I am unprepared for the moment his orgasm arrives.

In hindsight, aiming might have been a good idea, but I honestly couldn’t think of a better place for his release than my stomach.

“Sorry for the mess,” Mike pants against my lips. I can feel the lazy smile on his face in the way his mouth moves against my skin. “Can I help you clean that up?”

The implication in the devilish question sends a jolt of electricity down my spine, and before I can answer, Mike has pressed his lips to my neck, marking the beginning of a slow, teasing descent downward with a playful bite.

As he moves down my body, he turns me onto my back, leaving me helplessly mesmerized by the sight of this gorgeous man making his way down my chest, licking and sucking at my skin every chance he gets.

The feeling is absolutely unmatched by anything I have ever felt before in my life, and I can’t hold back any of the sounds that well up in my throat of their own volition.

The enthusiasm with which Mike licks his own semen off my abdomen is almost awe inspiring, and I watch him closely, barely aware of the fact that my mouth hangs open, which I’m sure must make me look like a complete and utter fool.

When he finishes his task, he shoots a glance up at me in which lies a burning question, and without thinking, I nod in reply.

Eager hands drag down my trousers and pants until my cock springs free, and for a moment, panic takes hold of me. With some effort, I remember the look on Mike’s face when he was ‘accidentally’—if one chooses to believe it was an accident, which I can’t bring myself to do—presented with an opportunity to look at my erection.

The image manages to calm me down fairly effectively.

My reaction when Mike carefully drags the tip of his tongue along the full length of my cock is admittedly quite embarrassing, but I try not to dwell on that thought, electing instead to enjoy the incredible new sensations brought to me by Mike’s mouth.

“So sensitive,” he muses quietly, trailing a teasing finger lightly down the same trajectory as his tongue. “And so pretty.”

I barely manage to resist the urge to cry out in frustration as Mike abandons my member and instead kisses my stomach, hips and thighs, putting his lips absolutely everywhere but where I so desperately want them.

His hands tease me: playful, eager fingers travel up and down my sides with the lightest touch, threatening to drive me completely beside myself with lustful yearning.

“Please!” The word barely makes it out, my voice so strangled I momentarily wonder if Mike even understood me—his devious chuckle confirming that he did.

In the pit of my stomach, pressure simmers. A pressure I probably should have familiarized myself with a lot more over the past fourteen centuries, but it’s recognizable enough as is.

There is no doubt in my mind that Mikey would succeed in bringing me to orgasm without laying another finger—or any other part of his body—directly on my cock.

Shame heats up my cheeks once again as I am forced to admit that, quite frankly, I’m about to burst.

And it is precisely this moment in which Mike decides that the best course of action is to swallow my whole length down to the root.

It's the hideously arrogant raising of that miserable eyebrow of his that ends up dragging me over the edge, and without any warning, I spill my seed into his mouth.

If dying of embarrassment was a possibility, I would have done it dozens, if not hundreds of times over the course of my existence, but none of those instances could hold a candle to what I’m feeling in this moment.

I could positively die of shame.

Mike, however, seems to be completely unfazed by the circumstances. It’s typical, of course, but it’s also infuriating.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, smoothing a hand over my hair. “Don’t feel bad. Come on…”

The next moment, he’s next to the bed, holding out a hand.

“Shower time, Melmel,” he muses happily.

I follow him in silence. Even as he strips me of the pants I put back on before making my way over to the bathroom, or when he ushers me into the shower stall, or when he sweetly and gently caresses me all over to rinse off the remnants of our relations, I remain quiet.

Until we are back in the room, and Mike dives under the covers, leaving me standing there…

“I… Mike, I think I should g—”

“Yeah, that is, like, so not happening,” Mike says, rushing towards me with alarming speed. “You are staying, and that’s an order. Besides, we’re just getting to my favorite part.”

“Didn’t we just do your favorite part?” I ask, my voice thick with bewilderment.

“Ask our girl,” Mike chuckles. “I’m a little cuddle monster.”

He takes both of my hands in his and gently attempts to pull me along. “Back to bed, now.”

I can’t seem to move, other than the involuntary shiver that travels through my body when Mike suddenly appears behind me, pressing his smiling lips to my neck and grabbing my behind. “Are you going to listen to me, or do I have to spank my pretty boy?”

I’m not proud of the way his words bring my cock back to life, but I can’t bring myself to be embarrassed about it, either, even when Mike chuckles devilishly in my ear.

“Was it ‘pretty boy’ or ‘spank’ that’s making this happen?” he asks as he gently palms my stiffening cock.

“Both,” I admit surprisingly willingly. “And ‘my’ might have had something to do with it as well.”

“Do you want to go another round?” Mike asks carefully, no doubt to attempt to hide the heady edge to his voice, as if his growing desire isn’t literally poking me in the back right now.

“I thought you wanted to cuddle,” I whisper, gritting my teeth so as not to moan loudly as my erection pushes more and more firmly against Mike’s hand. Thank God, he’s keeping it still, otherwise I would be completely lost.

 “I do,” he whines. “But look what you did to me!” He grinds his cock against my ass. It feels heavenly, as does the feeling of Mike’s breath on my neck as he chuckles when my cock twitches against his palm.

This time, I allow him to push me towards the bed again, and when we reach it, I don’t protest when he bends me over—at first.

Panic briefly washes over me as I think about what he might do to me, but I trust him. I know he would never attempt anything beyond my boundaries, so I relax again, leaning into his touch as his fingers close around my length again.

He strokes me in time with the movement of his hips against my ass as he thrusts slowly between my cheeks, pushing his cock down with his other hand.

When Mike disappears, I whine at the loss, and I try to right myself to see where he’s gone, but his hand, firmly pressing down on the small of my back, stops me. The drawer of the bedside table opens and closes, and the top of a bottle clicks. Moments later, Mikey’s hand, now slick with lubricant, closes around my cock again.

His other hand—now also quite sticky—hooks around my thigh, pulling me back a few steps to give him more space to work with, and I moan in delight as I feel my ass hit his hips again.

Mike gently shushes me, squeezing my ass in a strangely reassuring way when the feeling of his hands running down between my cheeks has me worried for a second. “Don’t worry,” he says calmly. “Just wanted a little less friction.”

I must admit, it feels even better this way. For him, too, if the higher speed of his thrusts and increasing volume of his moans are any indication.

When Mike plants a firm kiss on my spine, between my shoulder blades, I can’t fight back a loud moan as I relish the feeling of his weight on top of me. At the same time, I am terribly disappointed when he stops moving his hips.

“I want to try something, okay?” Mike says. His hand stops moving too, and much to my displeasure, it disappears altogether barely a second later. The only redeeming aspect to this unwelcome behavior, is the trail of sloppy, wet kisses Mike leaves down my back.

I resist the urge to swat him in the head when he sinks his teeth into my rear, and I heal the wound immediately in protest.

Mike, in all his silly, playful Mike-ness, retaliates by making another mark, which I treat in the same manner.

We go back and forth like that for a minute, until Mike growls in frustration. “You’re so fucking lucky you’re cute, Melmel.”

I can hear the pout in his voice, and a grin appears on my face as I spread my legs for Mike without thinking when he moves to grab my cock again, this time by reaching between my legs.

His arm hooks around my hips, holding me in place, and I barely get a second to wonder why.

Mike was more than right to hold me down, because when the tip of his warm, wet tongue touches the tight ring of muscle—

“Mike!” I hiss angrily while I squirm against his solid grasp. That… place has been an exit only for fourteen hundred years, and if he thinks—

A soft kiss on my bottom eases my surging anger. “Put down the pitchfork,” Mike muses, “I just want to touch you. Well… eat you. Give it an honest chance, please? If you don’t like it, you don’t like it, but I think you should try it.”

Mike certainly has a way of inciting one’s curiosity… I take a deep breath before nodding decisively, accompanying the gesture—which Mike can’t see—with an affirmative hum.

Mike continues to stroke me while his tongue gently laps at my puckered hole.

When Mike made his plea, I never pictured a scenario in which I would enjoy this, but to my shame, I must admit that the sensation is quite pleasant. Perhaps a bit more than ‘quite’.

Alright, it feels nothing short of absolutely heavenly! That doesn’t mean I am quite ready to admit that, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, Mike seems to get plenty of confirmation from the way my hips involuntarily move in time with his tongue, rather than his hand.

In fact, after a while, he abandons stroking my cock altogether, using both hands to spread my ass cheeks so he can gain better access to my hole.

I occupy my own hands by pressing a pillow firmly against my face, while crying a continues stream of moans and the occasional expletive into it, and when Mike tentatively passes a fingertip over the tight ring of muscle, I find myself begging him to continue.

“Is this something you want now, or something you know you’ll want in the future?” His tone lets me know there is only one answer he will accept, and it’s not the one I think I want it to be now.

I desperately cry out into the pillow, wanting to voice my protest but finding no words, and I turn onto my back rather dramatically while Mike skillfully dodges my legs.

He remains where he is, raising himself up on his knees so he can lay his head on my hip. The sweet smile on his face as he looks up at me annoys me greatly, and I put the pillow over my face again and scream, before glaring down at him as I prop myself up on my elbows.

“If you’re not going to do to me what you know I think I want you to do to me but don’t yet, then at the very least do to me what we both know I’m incredibly amenable to you doing to me,” I growl.

Mike chuckles. “That almost sounds like you’re asking me to blow you,” he teases.

On a whim, I sit up. With the fingers of one hand twisted into his curls, I pull his head off my thigh.

Mike’s swallows audibly, his eyes wide as he stares up at me. My jaw tightens as he bites his lip, and I cock an eyebrow at him, silently asking my question.

He responds by nodding furiously, and when I attempt to pull my hand back, he grabs my wrist.

With unwavering enthusiasm, he pours some more lubricant on me before getting to work, coating my whole length using both of his hands.

It feels divine, and without thinking I ball my hands into fists to prevent myself from swearing.

Mike lets out a long, sweet moan, leaning into my touch as I unintentionally pull his hair, the noise making me all the more disinclined to relax my grip.

He looks up at me, that godforsaken eyebrow taunting me, and the rest of his face guilty of the exact same thing. He’s clearly testing my patience—and to my surprise, I find that I quite like that.

Stil, no matter how much I enjoy his defiance, my annoyance is real and intense enough to be a leading factor in my behavior.

“You know what I want,” I groan, putting pressure on the back of Mikey’s head, urging his mouth closer to its desired location.

His eyes narrow, and his lips pull into an insufferable smirk as he continues to work my length with both hands, and I attempt to keep my composure while the urge to smack that grin off his face surges to previously undiscovered heights.

 Mike’s reaction has me staring at him in shock, his yearnful moan dying down as soon as he sees my face, and his expression morphing into something completely different that has his ears and cheeks turning red in a staggering tempo. It’s…

“So sweet,” I mutter as I loosen my grip on his hair and run my fingers over his scalp in circles. “Be good for me, my love. Let me feel that beautiful mouth.”

When he looks up at me again after pressing a sweet, brief kiss to the underside of my tip, the color on his cheeks has deepened.

I am unsure of the reasons behind the effect it has on me, and right now, I could frankly not care even a hair less.

He’s still challenging me, but the shy approach makes it endearing rather than infuriating. I can’t even convince myself fully that he’s putting on an act: He’s never been particularly good at hiding his true feelings.

Before we started this—all of it, from the very first kiss onward—I never would have imagined that I’d see myself in control of any of this. I pictured myself, completely at the mercy of Mike and his fickle whims. No vision I had could have prepared me for this.

For this sense of agency, and of… dominance.

For the overwhelming sense of pride, and the much more intense yearning for this sweet, eager boy between my knees than I had ever imagined possible.

“Sweet, precious Mikey,” I sigh as he delivers the smallest lick to the tip of my cock. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I watch him squirm beneath me. My best guess is that I’m not the only one who enjoys being called sweet things.

Where I find the words, and how on Earth I suddenly manage to not only use my voice but also seem to accurately remember fourteen centuries worth of English—though it would be remiss not to acknowledge that I never really caught on to the last two centuries or so—is beyond me, but the fact of the matter is that I do.

Words of encouragement flow freely from my lips as I gently nudge Mike’s head forward. “Wrap those pretty lips around me, sweetheart. I know you want to,” I say softly. “I’ll be so proud of you.” Mike whines, staring up at me with big, innocent eyes. “Be a good boy for me, Mikey. You’d make me so happy.”

Strangely, though the only thing missing from my words are the ones that would make this an outright plea, I don’t feel like I’m begging whatsoever, nor do I feel like I’m somehow pressuring Mike into doing something he doesn’t want to do.

Due to my lacking experience, I should be lacking every shred of confidence I feel, shouldn’t I? I shouldn’t feel so at peace with this, I—

My doubts die a swift, magnificent death the second Mike wraps his lips around my throbbing erection, and I soon find myself completely bewitched by the sight of him as he works more of my length into his mouth.

He’s dropped one hand into his own lap, and the other soon moves to my thigh, where his fingers dig into my flesh every time he goes down. With every stroke, he takes me deeper, until I’m fully seated in his mouth.

When his throat tightens around me briefly, it startles me, and I involuntarily move my hips, forcing Mike to withdraw, sputtering and struggling to breathe.

I, in turn, gasp for air when he spits on my cock. There’s something wildly erotic to it, and to the thin thread of saliva that runs from my tip to the center of his bottom lip.

“Keep going, beautiful,” I gasp. In no way am I too proud to admit that I’m positively aching to feel his lips around me again. “You’re doing so well. You’re such a good boy.”

Mike whimpers, briefly moving the hand with which he’s pleasuring himself quicker, before leaning forward again.

Emboldened by his enthusiasm, I put light pressure on the back of his head and gently thrust my hips forward.

His eyes open wide, and he moans desperately. The vibration created by the sound feels heavenly around my cock, and I push my hips forward again, luring another moan from Mike’s throat.

“Do you… like that?” I ask hesitantly. Surely, it’s better to be safe than sorry in these situations?

Mike hums a vigorous confirmation, his brows drawing together in a deep frown when I ask him—superfluously, apparently—if he wants me to stop.

On instinct, I move closer to the edge of the bed, tightening my grip on Mike’s hair as I thrust forward again—and again… and again.

Soon, there are tears in Mikey’s eyes, and instead of being overwhelmed by guilt, I simply can’t stop thinking about how beautiful he looks—and how incredibly impressed I am with his achievements.

Now, I am hardly under the impression that I have a particularly intimidating manhood where size is concerned, but I would happily place myself somewhat above average without adding any inches for vanity, and on top of that, I’m hardly being as gentle with Mike as I probably should be, thus, I consider my amazement justified.

Mike announces his approaching climax through a series of delectable moans and an increase in the pace at which he sucks me off, his movements stopping exactly when I’m teetering on the edge of orgasm myself.

He pulls back, until the tip of my cock rests on his tongue, and with a few strokes, he seals the deal.

I bite down on my lip while I watch as several thick ropes of my release coat his tongue, the visual so wildly arousing that I briefly worry I will never find anything else even remotely enticing ever again.

“Show me.” I mouth the words, unable to find my voice, as I trail my thumb lightly along Mike’s bottom lip. Audible or not, my words seem to light a devious little fire under him, and after heeding my request, he promptly raises himself up, supporting himself with his hands on my thighs.

My breath catches in my throat, and I swallow hard as Mike leans forward, pressing his lips to mine with vigor.

I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to be disgusted with myself and my behavior later, but right now I want nothing more than to taste myself on Mike’s tongue—I get slightly more than I bargained for when I open my mouth and feel my thick salty seed flow from Mike’s mouth into mine.

At first, I can’t bring myself to swallow, resisting the urge to spit until an idea takes root in my brain.

I can see the apology on Mike’s lips, but before he speaks, I put him on his back on the mattress, taking a moment to rake my eyes over his chest and abs.

Without wasting any time, I lick the evidence of his orgasm off his stomach, and straddle his hips, bringing my nose to his.

There’s no need for further provocation: Mike opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue so I can deliver on my silent promise.

This should feel disgusting. By pretty much any standard, but most of all mine—or rather; the ones that have been pounded into me over the years, either figuratively or, if I was particularly unfortunate, literally.

Instead, a serenity that borders on a sense of heavenly bliss washes over me while Mike and I go back and forth spitting a combination of our semen and saliva into each other’s mouths…

I—

Mike chuckles and falls back to the mattress, taking a moment to catch his breath before pulling me down on top of him. “If I came in while you were trying to watch a movie and I randomly spit a fat load of cum in your mouth, you probably wouldn’t appreciate that,” he says. His words seem so out of place that at first, I struggle to wrap my head around them, until I realize I must have looked… I couldn’t tell you how I looked, exactly, but my face must have expressed my thoughts in a way that prompted Mikey to launch into an explanation. “Welcome to your first ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’-moment. It won’t be the last.”

“That doesn’t dispute the accusation that it was, in fact, disgusting. At all,” I mutter against the skin of his neck, hiding my scorching—and therefore probably beet-red—face from him.

Mike sits up again, wrapping his arms around my waist as he does, pulling me even closer. “Melmel… Sex is kinda disgusting. And embarrassing.” He punctuates his words with small kisses to my shoulder and neck. “And sticky, and sweaty, and messy.”

“You might want to put a positive spin on this,” I grumble. “Soon.”

“The point is,” he replies, pulling my head off his shoulder and holding it in both hands so that I’m forced to look at him. “When you’re with the right people, none of that matters.”

One look into his eyes, and I know…

“Well, I’m glad I’m with the right people then,” I murmur, leaning in for another kiss.

When Mike breaks away, he suggests we take another shower, and I’m hardly inclined to decline the offer. He wasn’t exactly lying about ‘sticky’ and ‘sweaty’ in his list of less-than-ideal side effects to sexual relations.

This time, Mike is the one that goes strangely quiet while we clean ourselves—and, both notably and regrettably, not each other—up.

“Mikey?” I ask carefully. “What’s wrong?”

My heart breaks when Mike drops to the floor, suddenly sobbing uncontrollably, crawling back into the corner and sitting there with his arms locked around his knees, vigorously shaking his head in reply to my question.

“Mike,” I say sternly as my attempts to pluck him off the floor fail miserably. I do, however, manage to pull him off the wall just far enough that I can sit down behind him, and when I lock my legs around him, he knows he won’t be going anywhere, so he gives in to my touch. “You will talk to me.”

When he moves again, I let him, both knowing that he might be a fool, but not such a big one that he expects to be able to run from me, and knowing—vision-wise—he won’t try. He simply wants to turn the shower head our way because he’s cold.

He sits down in my lap, and I wrap my arms tightly around him, waiting patiently until he feels ready to speak about what’s going on with him.

Another deep, shaky breath, and he starts talking: “This just took a turn… And you’re so new to all of this, I never thought… I should have… But I couldn’t have known, so… And everything was going well, and it was all good, and I was teasing you and so stoked to be showing you all these new, wonderful things and… And then things got turned around, somehow… and suddenly you were… you… And I… I…”

I let him cry for a while, just holding him, tucking him tightly against my chest as I smooth my hands over his back and sides, repeating the phrase ‘shh, it’s okay’ more times than I care to admit because I simply can’t come up with anything else.

After a while, his breathing steadies, and the sobbing comes to an end. “I’m sorry,” he says, clearing his throat. “Not in a ‘I have something to apologize for’ kind of way, but more like… ‘I feel bad for dumping this on you all of a sudden’ kind of way.”

“That’s alright,” I reply truthfully. “All I want is to take care of you and to make you feel better.”

Mike laughs through the last of his tears. “That’s great,” he says, “because you’re going to have to.”

“Just tell me how,” I say. “And, if at all possible, try to explain why?”

“Right,” Mike says on a slightly embarrassed chuckle. “First off, I shouldn’t have let this happen. Like…” He throws his head back and lets out a frustrated cry. “Okay. During that blowjob just now—I don’t blame you if you didn’t even notice, but…”

“I remember suddenly feeling far more… in charge?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Mike nods almost enthusiastically. “I really wouldn’t have blamed you—you looked pretty overstimulated—but, damn, I’m glad you noticed. Eh, long story short, you ended up Domming me—dominating, I mean, like… the kinky kind. And you were really good at it, too! So no worries about that, okay? But I should have stopped you, because I know I’m quick to slip into subspace—I’ll explain that later—and it was stupid… well, a little naïve, I guess, of me to think it wouldn’t happen, and…” He takes a moment to catch his breath, and I rub his back while he does.

“A little longer,” I say calmly when he tries to continue his story. My visions are exceptionally helpful in this type of situation, and I don’t want Mike to start hyperventilating.

“Thanks,” he says sincerely after a few more deep breaths. “The… I just… I freaked out because I need someone to take care of me—you, to be specific—but I should be the one taking care of you after your first time… Things just got a little messy.”

“Is there any reason we can’t be taking care of each other?” I ask, taking a moment to think about my own needs at this time. The very first one is for Mikey to feel better. “I think that, after this shower, I would like to watch a movie in bed, and stay very, very close to you.”

“Yeah,” Mike sighs happily. “That works for me.”

When we finish our shower, I dry myself off quickly, only to find Mike still standing next to me, soaking wet, when I’m done. He hesitantly holds his towel out to me.

“Please take care of me,” he mumbles, his voice small and soft. He’s avoiding eye contact, biting his lip and constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I never want you to be afraid to ask me that, Mike,” I say slowly, enunciating every word carefully as I take the towel from him.

There’s something wonderful about this. I dry every part of Mike’s gorgeous body with extreme care. When I first resist the urge to press my lips to his skin, Mike laughs.

“You can still kiss me, Melot,” he muses. “Actually, I’d really like it if you did.”

At that moment, things finally connect in my head. “You need to feel loved.”

“Yeah,” Mike says, nodding slowly. “Put bluntly, I need to know you see me as more than the piece of meat you throatfucked back there.”

Before I can respond, he continues: “I know you don’t see me that way! I mean, maybe you did when you—”

“I was mostly very impressed with your skills,” I admit reluctantly. It’s my turn to blush once again. At least we’re both suffering that terrible affliction this time.

“Thanks,” he says with a smile. “Decades of practice.”

“I think you have put in more hours than most people your age,” I joke before nipping at the tip of his nose.

Mike glares at me. “Well, apparently I have put in more hours than some people your age, so…”

“Hey!” I stick my tongue out at him. “Stop bullying me, or I will—”

“Whatever you say next,” Mike interjects quickly, “never threaten to skip aftercare. Just… little PSA, I guess.”

“Oh, I was simply going to suggest we put on an episode of Downton Abbey and I point out all the historical inaccuracies,” I say plainly.

Mike shudders. “That would actually be worse…”

Mere seconds after we finally get settled in bed, there’s a knock on the door—of course, a few seconds after that, there’s an actual knock on the door. One that isn’t a figment of my… Well, I suppose both ‘figment’ and ‘imagination’ would be inaccurate.

Still, Mike and I look at each other, neither of us in any way inclined to actually see whose unfortunate timing we’re dealing with.

“Melot, can I see you for a second?” It’s Marshall.

Even though I’m wearing pants, I scramble to find the nearest pair of sweatpants and put them on—after Mike gives it a quick inspection. Quick thinking on his part, I must admit.

When I open the door, I open it wide enough to speak to Marshall, but not so wide that he can look into the room.

It makes him chuckle. “I’ve seen him in much worse states than simply naked,” he muses, but doesn’t otherwise protest the minimal state of ajar-ness of the door. “August and I thought you could use this.” He holds out a tray. One side is loaded with snacks—cheese, fruit, crackers… the lack of jellybeans might disappoint Mike—while the other side holds two bottles of water, glasses, and a pitcher of strawberry lemonade—Mike’s favorite. “Keep him warm and hydrated. And see if he wants to eat something. He’ll say he’s not hungry, but… Take care of him, okay?”

“I will,” I promise as I let go of the door to take the tray from Marshall. As soon as I do, someone—must be Mike—yanks the door open. He narrowly misses me as he practically jumps into Marshall’s arms.

“Thank you,” Mike mutters as Marshall hugs him tight to his chest, indeed  not caring that Mike is still very much completely nude. “I love you.”

“I know,” Marshall replies with a somber smile. “I love you too. Always have, always will. Go be with your… boyfriend?”

“Official status TBD,” Mike chuckles as he releases Marshall from his grasp. “But at the very least I think we can say we’re hooking up.”

“Well, whatever the case, take care of each other. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He disappears before either of us can say another word, so we take the food inside and close the door behind us again, making sure to lock it as well.

“What happened between you two?” I ask carefully as we get comfortable under the covers.

Mike shrugs. “Nothing happened. It’s like… We’re as close as we’ve always been, just in a different way. We could never be in a monogamous relationship with each other, that would be weird, for some reason, but with Sweetcheeks in the mix, some old stuff has been coming back, and we’re figuring that out. Not in a very proactive way, I have to admit.” He picks a cube of cheese off the plate.

“So I might have to share you with another person, then?” I ask, jokingly poking at his ribs. The thought should devastate me. Shred my insides like a swarm of angry wasps is wreaking havoc on them.

Instead, I feel completely calm.

“I’m a bottomless pit of love,” Mike says with his mouth already full—yet he stuffs three more cubes of cheese and a few slices of cured sausage in there.

“You know, there’s fruits and vegetables on this plate, right?” I say when he swallows the obscene amount of food—which I’m sure he considered ‘a bite’.

“Fine, you have discovered the limits of my affection,” he jokes. “Hey!”

The first grape I chuck at his face bounces off his forehead, and I catch it before it hits the plate again. On the second try, Mike catches it in his mouth.

The third lands directly in his lap—I can’t seem to come to an agreement with myself as to whether or not that happened on purpose, but I happily put the situation to good use by retrieving the rogue fruit with my mouth, not neglecting to press a teasing kiss to Mikey’s soft cock.

“No,” he warns me, drawing out the ‘o’ as he shakes his head. “I mean… Yes! But no.”

For a moment—one of the kind that sets your soul alight and seems to last forever—we just smile at each other as we stare into each other’s eyes.

In my entire existence, I have never felt as safe as I do now.

Or as loved.

Or as at home.

Or as at peace.

“You were right,” I whisper after a while, as I let go of my fears, and my doubts, and my past.

Just for now.

And for him.

Only for him.

“I’m entirely unsurprised,” he chuckles. “But, eh… what about?”

I swallow hard before looking him right in the eye.

“I like boys.”

[geddy-leesbian]

SERRENNEDY POKEMON CROSSOVER AU FOR SERRENNEDY WEEK!!

As you can see above, this is very angsty. Leon and Luis both have a lot of trauma and Baggage. Luis almost has a panic attack and does some trauma dumping.

While there's no explicit smut on screen, there's a moment that gets kinda steamy and a fade to black/implied sex scene.

(oh and personally I feel very awkward swapping things out with pokemon terminology, like using "Arceus" instead of "God" so there is normal swearing here)

“Dr. Serra Navarro?”

“Well, yes, that is me, but typically I prefer Professor Serra,” His eyes wander all over Leon. “Though for someone as pretty as you, I prefer just Luis. Is there something I can help you with?”

Leon was afraid that he was going to go all the way to Alola only to find out it was all a complete waste because Professor Serra actually was just a professor unfortunate enough to share a name with a Team Rocket scientist. But that outcome is already ruled out. Either this guy is the lead he's been seeking for years, or he's an innocent professor that Leon will ask out on a date.

Due to excitement over finally finding a new lead, this trip was hastily put together, and Leon didn't realize how young Dr. Serr– Luis was. Once he confirmed that Luis was from Johto, he didn't go any deeper. He did see a couple pictures, but didn't pay much attention, and assumed the youthfulness was because they were older pictures. His assumption was very wrong. Luis is about his age and way too good-looking. The length of his grayish pink hair is braided, and the loose bangs are fluffy. His tinted glasses are a little too big for his face, but in a cute way. He's taller than Leon. And his outfit is fucking stupid. Shirtless under a lab coat. So stupid. It's hot.

A date with him will make this trip more than worth it.

“I just have some questions for you.”

“About? Are you a parent, or..? I don't think I've seen you around before, but I don't usually get anyone else dropping in on me like this…”

Shit. Leon really should have thought of a cover story beforehand. But in addition to not thoroughly researching Luis enough, he was also too high on the excitement of finally finding something after years of searching to bother thinking through what he'd say.

“Just heard about you, found your past interesting. From Johto originally, was wondering how it affected you. If you had any run-ins with Team Rocket.”

And it looks like Leon will not be going on a date with a handsome professor tonight. This is the guy. He recovers quickly, but for a split second, the phrase ‘Team Rocket’ invokes some panic in his expression.

“No. I was fortunate enough to never have encountered them.”

“You know anything about Mew?”

“Yes, of course? What kind of a professor would I be if I didn't? Mythical pokemon from deep in jungles in South America. Believed to be the ancestor of all pokemon.”

“What about Mewtwo?”

“I've heard the rumors, yes. A clone of Mew that was heavily genetically modified. But I believe that those are just that, rumors. There is no real substance to the claims.”

“Cinnabar Island. That's where you worked when Team Rocket captured and imprisoned Mew. You cruelly experimented on Mew. You helped create Mewtwo.”

“Who in the hell do you think you are, showing up at my doorstep to accuse me of such insane things?!”

“International Police!” Luis starts to shut the door, but Leon blocks the door with his foot. While he wasn't wearing his full uniform, he did bring his badge and takes it out to flash to Luis. He sees some purple fur coming up behind Luis. Must be an espeon, coming to protect its trainer. “Put that in its pokeball and open the door. Now.”

“I will do no such thing! I'm not proud of what I did back then, but I've done my best to leave it all behind, build a new life for myself. I will not allow you, or anyone else, to rip all of that away from me.”

“Not proud of what you did back then? So you admit it?”

“It doesn't matter. Arrest me if you really want, but it won't be anything more than a waste of time for the both of us. I'll maybe spend a night or two in jail, then be let go without charges being filed because I have a good reputation here and you have no evidence. If you try to tell anyone I confessed to involvement with Team Rocket, they won't believe you. You'll ruin your own reputation.”

“I do have evidence! Documents connecting you to the Mew experiments and the creation of Mewtwo.”

Luis actually starts laughing.

“You don't know as much as you think you do then. You find my name on a scrap of paper in the crumbling ruins of a lab, and think you know my life story! So arrogant! Yes, I did work at the Cinnabar lab, but I did not contribute to the creation of Mewtwo. I did not experiment on Mew. I have never had the privilege to even see the legendary Mew in the flesh. Mewtwo had already been created and Mew had already escaped before I was even hired. I can prove that your supposed timeline of my work history is impossible in court, so good luck getting a conviction!”

Leon moves his foot and lets Luis shut the door, and slinks away from his house with his tail between his legs.

…

Leon checks into a motel. He turns the TV on, but he can't focus on it. His mind can't stop wandering back to the conversation, analyzing every word. He fucked up.

“I'm not proud of what I did back then.”

He really fucked up. That could have been a very good angle. Tell Luis that this is his chance to atone and right his wrongs by telling Leon everything he knows about Team Rocket. Maybe even offer some kind of immunity deal if he still seemed hesitant.

But he had to get hot headed and fuck it all up. His first lead in years, and he blew it.

Not ready to admit defeat quite yet, he decides to give himself a day to cool his head off, before trying again. At least Alola offers plenty of distractions. He's not one for most of the tourist trap shit, but distracts himself with hikes through some scenic, and more importantly, rugged terrains. Pushing his body always helps him get his mind together. It's isolated enough that he can let all of his pokemon out too.

Something else Alola offers is a brutal sun. Leon didn't think to buy any sunscreen, and has a bad burn across his face by the end of the day. He's been through far worse, the pain is nothing to him, but he is annoyed at himself for being so stupid. His pokemon were quite happy with the exercise and exploration though, and his head feels clearer, so overall it was a pretty successful day.

…

A knock at Luis's door again. Rattled by yesterday, the knocking gives him a spike of anxiety. Still, he gets up to answer it, in case it's a student or parent that needs something.

He looks through the peephole and sees the same pretty International Police agent that came by yesterday. Luis really doesn't want to open the door. But he's worried it'll be worse if he doesn't and the man busts the door down. Besides, Espeon seems at ease with the situation, not alarmed and protective like she was yesterday. So he opens the door a bit, keeping the chain lock secure in case he tries to get in. (He would certainly be able to break the chain, but at least it would buy Luis a few extra seconds to try to think of a desperate plan.)

“Hello, officer! What are you here to threaten me with today?” Not wanting the agent to know how shaken he is, he turns up the sarcasm in an attempt to mask any nervousness. “Going to accuse me of experimenting on Arceus?

“No. No accusations today. Sorry, about yesterday. Wasn't polite to you. Can I try to make up for it, buy you dinner?”

“You can't seriously believe I'm going to just walk right into whatever kind of trap this is?”

“It's not a trap. Just feel bad about yesterday, I swear. I'm Leon, by the way. Think I forgot to mention it before.”

Luis goes to shut the door, but Espeon seems determined that Leon should be heard out, and telekinetically lifts the chain and nudges the door open. Leon smiles, and it cuts right through Luis's fear.

“I don't like you, and I don't trust you. But…” The prettiest man that Luis has ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on is trying to buy him dinner. (The angry red sunburn on his face does make him the tiniest bit less pretty, but he's still incredibly pretty.) Whether it's a date or something else, turning him down goes against everything Luis believes in. “I suppose I'm willing to put that aside for a free meal.”

“Look, you have every right to feel that way. But I really regret yesterday, I swear. It's just this subject… My parents were Team Rocket. Died on a mission,” Leon hates talking about this. With anyone. Back in his pokemon trainer days, before deciding to join the International Police, he'd had some time in the limelight. First as a rising star gym challenger, then as a champion. He always sidestepped questions when interviewers started asking about family. He especially hates talking about it to a member of Team Rocket. But this is the price he pays for fucking up yesterday. If he wants Luis to trust him and give him what he came for, he needs to give something himself. “Never knew details until I started investigating some stuff related to Team Rocket, found out they died on one of the expeditions looking for Mew. So this whole topic just gets me hot headed and dumb and I say things I don't mean and regret.”

“Well, it sounds like you shouldn't be an International Police agent then, if you can't separate your own personal issues from the job.”

“Yeah, maybe I shouldn't be…” Leon says, because what else is there to say? Luis isn't wrong. “C'mon, dinner. Walked past a restaurant on the way here, you know if it's any good?”

“Yes, we can eat there. By the way, are you aware that your face is extremely sunburned? I have stuff I could put on to help it.”

“Food first. Maybe after.”

“Suit yourself. I'm going to change, I'll be out in a minute.”

Luis ditches the lab coat and comes out with a top on, something that disappoints Leon more than it should. At least it's just a vest that shows off a decent amount of his chest. His hair is down today, and it somehow makes him look even better.

Leon regretted the way he approached Luis yesterday, but initially it wasn't because of guilt. Even if it wasn't Mewtwo, there was something Luis was involved in. He only denied experimenting on Mew and creating Mewtwo, he admitted he was a member of Team Rocket. Luis deserved the harsh treatment, he had only regretted it because Luis could be useful to him. But he does feel a small twinge of guilt for demanding he put his espeon in its pokeball when it follows Luis out the door and he sees that it has a service pokemon vest on. Maybe Luis would have felt safe and opened the door if he could keep Espeon out.

“I can walk there fine,” Luis says, noticing Leon looking at the harness. “I have an injury from a long time ago that flares up from time to time, but Espeon can sense when I'm going to have problems with it, gives me warning, and helps me not fall on my face when it does act up and I struggle keeping my balance. But it is fine most days.”

They sit across from each other, Espeon laying under the table by Luis's feet. Leon has to keep reminding himself that this is not a date. This is an attempt to get Luis to move past yesterday's harsh treatment so Leon can have a second chance at interrogating him. Despite his attempts to not ogle Luis, Leon can't help himself, and notices something very interesting. Scars. The biggest one is on his chest, and another on his cheek.

Being in a public place seems to put Luis at ease. Somewhat, he's at least smiling and looking more relaxed. As it probably should. Leon is dying to grill Luis about the “injury from a long time ago” and the scars he's noticed since sitting down. But this isn't the time or place.

“So… Small talk time?” God. This is actually a fucking date. “How long you been a cop? And why are you still poking around with Team Rocket? They're not a problem anymore. Disbanded twice, no activity in years. One would think the International Police might have some, ah, you know, actual problems to deal with, eh?”

“Been one for a few years. There's not a lot of resources being used up for it anymore, but it still matters to me personally,” There's actually no resources spent on it. Leon isn't here on official International Police business. The Team Rocket hunt is just vigilante shit Leon does on his own time. “Just because they've stopped doesn't mean they shouldn't be brought to justice for the past. Their leader slipped away, it just doesn't sit right with me. I'm trying to nail as many members who slipped away as possible,” Luis's smile disappears. “As far as justice goes, I'm mostly concerned about the big fish. Leader, executives. Finding small fish is just a good way to get leads on the big ones.”

“So if I understand, you help the small fish, they help you? They tell you everything they know about the big fish, and in exchange you don't come down hard on them?” Leon smiles and nods. It'll probably take longer than it should have because he'll need to build some trust after freaking the fuck out their first conversation, but Luis will play the game and give him what he came for. Luis's smile comes back. “Well, interesting… How have your investigations been going?”

“I've made some good leads,” That's a complete lie. Finding Luis's name in the ruins of Cinnabar Island is literally the only lead he's had in years. But telling Luis that will make him feel empowered. “William's out there somewhere, just a matter of time until I find him. Or until he gets tired of licking his wounds in secret and re-emerges on his own, something I'm hoping to at least make harder for him by picking off people he'll need to organize.”

…

“Do you want to come in?” Is Luis trying to have sex with him right now? They did just go on a date, after all. Why doesn't Leon want to say no? “So I can help you with your sunburn.”

Shit. Leon needs to get his mind out of the gutter.

Leon sits on Luis's couch, and Luis drags a stool over by the couch to sit on while he gently rubs ointment across his face with his (gloved) hands. Their faces are so close together. Leon has to stop looking at his face, because he wants to lean forward and kiss Luis. So he looks down. At Luis's neck. A fatal mistake. Before his brain can even process what his body's doing, he's pulling Luis forward, off the stool and onto Leon's knee. His teeth are sinking into Luis's neck.

As soon as he realizes what he's done, he hopes that Luis is going to ask him what the hell he's doing and get up off of him, because he's not sure he'll be able to control himself if Luis is into this too.

Of course Leon isn't that lucky. Luis moans at the first bite. He moans again and grinds down on Leon's knee with the second bite. The third bite has him yanking off the ointment covered rubber gloves and just tossing them on the floor, so he can start exploring Leon's body with his hands.

“I wish I could make some quip about buying me dinner first, but you quite literally did just buy me dinner, so… And really, I would be happy with this even if you hadn't,” Leon just keeps biting as Luis rambles. Now there's a hand in his hair, that clenches around or tugs at it with every bite. There's another hand working the button on his vest, and Leon is quite impressed by his finesse. With one hand and without even looking, Luis quickly has all of them unbuttoned. Though it doesn't get him to the bareskin he's desperately trying to get to, Leon also has a button down undershirt on. Luis doesn't bother unbuttoning all of them, just a couple so he can reach the bareskin of Leon's chest. “Someone as pretty as you doesn't need to buy me dinner, they can just do whatever they'd like to me. You're a cop, you have handcuffs? I'm into that.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Leon pushes him off his lap and gets up, then picks Luis up bridal style. Partially because he wants to give Luis a subtle reminder that he isn't just some small-time cop. He is, in fact, a very well trained special agent in peak physical condition. But mostly because there's a very specific place he wants to carry Luis to. He wasn't lying about someone like Leon being able to do whatever; he readily accepts being picked up, wrapping his arms around Leon's neck. “Where's your bedroom?”

…

“I didn't know I was working for Team Rocket initially. They had things very well compartmentalized. I was hired by a shell company. They had a contract with Devon Corp, so it really seemed like a completely legitimate company.”

In the afterglow, Luis finally starts speaking about his past. Leon briefly wonders if this makes him a whore. He isn't getting money for having sex with Luis, but he is getting information. Something even more valuable to him. The entire reason he's here.

But intent matters, right? Leon didn't start biting his neck because he wanted information. He didn't suck his dick because he wanted information. He didn't put him in handcuffs and sit on his face because he wanted information. He did all of it just because he wanted to. Just because Luis is hot enough that Leon temporarily forgot that he hated him. He was fully prepared to just go back to his motel room after, without any additional info from Luis, and just keep building the trust. So while he's not a whore, he definitely is a slut. Whatever. He's making more progress in his investigation than he has in years, it's fine.

“I was in a research team focused on mega evolution, specifically artificial mega evolution,” Luis continues. “Devon had recently perfected an artificial pokemon line, Beldum. They wanted us to find a way to make Metagross mega evolve. It was no easy task… But we did it. We tinkered around, created an artificial mega stone that metagross would respond to. We researched further, tweaking things to modify metagross's mega form, until we felt it was powerful enough. I was informed that Devon was extremely pleased with the work, and given a promotion, to be the head researcher on a new project my company started…”

“Guessing that's when you started at the Cinnabar lab?”

Luis says nothing, just stares down blankly, frozen. Leon reaches for a pokeball on the nightstand, and lets his sylveon out. It knows exactly what to do, approaching Luis to wrap its ribbon feelers around his arm. Leon hadn't ever wanted a sylveon. He had wanted his eevee to evolve into an espeon, actually. He thought the psychic abilities would be useful in his line of work. But it evolving into a sylveon instead has been a happy accident. Its calming abilities can be surprisingly useful.

“Yes, it was,” Luis answers. He's still wincing at the memories, but Sylveon's soothing aura is preventing him from having a full-blown panic attack and shutting down. “All I was told beforehand was that it was another project related to artificial mega stones. This was when the Alola research about mega evolution being cruel on the pokemon was starting to come out, so in my naivete I assumed we'd be modifying natural mega stones in ways that would make it easier on the pokemon. I knew something was deeply wrong when I was led downstairs. Armed guards. There was a whole maze of hallways and locked gates. As I said yesterday, Mewtwo was already created by this point. It had also escaped once and only narrowly recaptured, so there was much stronger security. I was never alone, there were always at least two armed guards with me at all times. It wasn't just to keep Mewtwo from getting out, it was also to keep me in. I knew it was wrong, it made my stomach churn, but I did the work. I did what was asked of me. We made two artificial mega stones tailored to Mewtwo. Two different stones, two different forms with different strengths.”

Despite Sylveon's feelers, and now Espeon's face rubbing against his other arm, Luis breaks down sobbing.

“You're okay. You're safe,” Leon whispers. Sylveon moves away from Luis's lap, laying down at the end of the bed, so that Leon can wrap his arms around him. As helpful as soothing pokemon like Sylveon can be, sometimes people just need human touch. Leon wants to press for more information right away, but he's not going to repeat yesterday's mistake. He has to go slow, he can't risk pushing Luis away and making him shut down before he's gotten all the information he can out of him. “You don't have to tell me the rest right now. Take all the time you need, okay, sweetheart?”

Jesus Christ. He just had sex with a member of Team Rocket, and now he's calling him sweetheart. At least he's making progress.

Luis just clings to Leon and sobs for a few minutes, before finally speaking again.

“I didn't want to, Leon. I didn't want to. I didn't have a choice. They were forcing me to, they would hurt me if I didn't, and I couldn't get help. Not from gym leaders. Everyone knows that William was the Viridian gym leader, but it went so much deeper than anyone knew. The lab was right by the Cinnabar gym, Wesker was the gym leader and heavily involved in all of the Team Rocket science research. Alexia, Saffron's leader at the time, was quite involved too and came to the lab regularly. The ones who weren't involved were getting paid off to look the other way. The police were paid off too,” Leon entwines one of his hands with Luis's and squeezes it, presses chaste kisses onto his neck, trying to encourage him to keep talking. This is a goldmine. He's long suspected there was a lot of corruption in Kanto and some intentional incompetence during the initial Team Rocket investigations, but could never get anything solid. And the fact that there were other gym leaders directly involved is actually news to him. “It was so screwed up what we were doing, I lost sleep over it, I barely ate because I had no appetite. Until one day…”

A loud, choked sob.

“Mewtwo got out again. All the new precautions weren't enough. It attacked all of us, we deserved it… It was a lab, there were scalpels, lots of glass to break, so many sharp objects that it lifted with its mind to hurl at us. That's how I got all my scars. The worst wound was in my back. It almost killed me, if it had pushed the bone saw in even just a little bit deeper, I would have died. I only survived because… It wasn't luck, it didn't make a mistake, it chose not to wound me fatally, because… Because I think it got in my head, it didn't say anything but it made eye contact with me, and saw that I wasn't a willing participant in its torture. The room after, blood… So much… I was the only one spared, it killed all the others.”

Luis untangles himself from Leon and lays down, closing his eyes. Seems like that's all the information he's getting tonight. Which he isn't upset about, it's a lot, far more than he was expecting. He'd like to know more about Mewtwo, where it ended up after this, and of course he needs more details about Wesker and Alexia.

“Stay?” Luis asks quietly, when Leon starts getting dressed. “Please?”

“Yeah,” Leon does still reach for his pants, but doesn't put them on, just fishes out his notepad so he can write everything down while it's still fresh. “Okay, I'll stay.”

It's dangerous. Leon is so close to liking this guy. Something he needs to not do, because Luis very much has the potential to be dangerous. The main reason Leon had been so hot headed and harsh to him initially is because he thought he got away with everything. He thought that Luis was a monster, and, instead of paying for his crimes, just walked away completely unscathed. Just moved to a new region, was completely accepted, became a pokemon professor, a pillar of the community. A role model.

But that's been shattered. While it may not have been in the traditional route, Luis has paid for his crimes. Is paying for them. Leon is cynical enough that he might have believed everything was just bullshit to manipulate him under other circumstances, but there's enough that it's undeniable. There's more than just faded scars that could have been the result of anything, he has an actual service pokemon. Years later, his injuries are still problematic enough for him to need that assistance. And clearly, he is genuinely traumatized. No one is that good at acting, Team Rocket is truly a trigger for him.

The issue is that Leon doesn't know why it's a trigger. Even injured and traumatized, Luis could be dangerous. The best case scenario is that he's been completely with Leon, and truly hates what he did. The worst case scenario is that he doesn't feel any guilt for his actions, and his near death experience was the only source of the trauma, without any emotional side to it.. Even injured and traumatized, Luis has the potential to be very dangerous.

“Hey, Luis?” Leon whispers after he's done jotting down notes about what Luis said, hoping he's not already asleep. His eyes flutter open. “Is it fine if I let my growlithe out? Usually sleep with it.”

“Go ahead. Just don't leave me. I don't want to wake up alone.”

He should leave. Luis is dangerous. Luis is Team Rocket. And Leon might already be a little bit in love with him, and needs to get the fuck away from him before he falls in even deeper.

But he doesn't. Instead he lets Growlithe out, turns off the lamp on the nightstand, and spoons Luis. He falls asleep with his arms wrapped around him, face buried in his fluffy hair. Espeon sleeps on the floor in its own little bed, while Growlithe and Sylveon lay down by their feet.

[o2studies]

༻`` 1 June — Saturday 56/60

🧡 academia >> / (planning to study a lot of Russian as I've finished this year of school now)

🧡 physical health >> I walked a good bit today, there was a kind of fun day at a park and so I went there with a friend and it was SO MUCH FUN!

🧡 self care >> Sleeping in that little bit extra this morning

I went with K today on a single ride 6 or 7 times and it was amazing! So so much fun, we were screaming our heads off (it the one in the middle picture) and enjoying the music and the slightly sick feeling of being spun round at 100mph. It also felt really freeing to just scream and really funny whenever I'd say 'wee' in a childish tone whenever we'd start spinning in the seats again. We went to her house afterwards, had food, watched Emperor's New Groove (1 & 2) and had way too much fun texting out friend from each other's phones. It was an amazing start into summer.

More updates about this last week:

My exams went quite well I think. There is a couple I might have to retake next year but we'll see whenever I get the grades (I'm praying to God they're all A's or at least high B's). I'm quite happy with how they went tho and mostly proud of the revision I've done for them (I have really died down the revision in the last week and was so tired—physically and mentally— of it all)

I've been falling into some depression-related habits on this past week, sleeping in way too late and constantly, not taking care of myself, being really tired in the evenings and just wasting away the afternoons on my phone & isolating. I am already better and I know I'm working to keep being better. I'm really proud of myself for how quickly I'm bouncing back from that

I wrote some more in my journal recently and started writing out some goals for this year's summer! I would like to write at least some of them out on a post here soon and properly reflect on the list.

My parents had a conversation with my the other day about how I'm allowed to get a part-time summer job this year! I'm really excited, it would be good for me in many ways plus it'll keep me slightly more busy in these next 3 months which is good

I also got my driving licence!! Woo!!

I'm talking with my friends more often and really bonding with them too. We're getting a lot more comfortable around each other too (and the friendly flirting sessions we sometimes have are just so fun XD). We are going to make a good few plans for meeting up over the summer.

After the last exam I talked to another friend, A, while waiting for our buses and I forget how much I love having them as a friend. It was really nice to hear more about them and how she's been doing and her plans for the summer. I'm hoping to meet them sometime next week after their Birthday.

This might be it for now.. If I can remember anything else major that's happened I'll make another post to add to this.

Good night/morning everyone :)

[survivalist-anon]

Log 1: The first encounter

It's been a year since my falling out with my boyfriend. What was supposed to be a trip back home to collect my gear has now ended up becoming a whole move back to Pine Hills....talk about going back to square one...

It's another lovely, foggy day in Chehalem Ridge. Hoping to bag at least deer for the next few weeks of meat rations. Honestly, I'm starting to become grateful for grandpa incessively bringing on his hunting trips, this move has done an absolute number on my bank account. Beef here is starting to get expensive ever since that garbage Wonder Mart bought out the local stuff. Well, times have changed. I've always liked the taste of venison anyway.

Things here have been even more worrisome over the past few years too.....farm animals being slaughtered left, right and center....those clowns from the National Guard Tillamook base have been hounding the town for answers on some sightings of "big, metal men". An absolute mess.

What has been giving me a biting gnash on the back of my mind is how poor ol' Grandpa passed away. Well....the fact he died on a hunting trip isn't what's surprising, it's the fact he was killed so brutally that even his buddies believed that no way a bear could have done it. Robbie (our local mortician, ex-butcher and currently the one braincell helping at City Hall) said that "no bear could just tear up a man like a chainsaw can"....the closed casket funeral was already a disaster.

Call it depression, call it suicide, but I going to the very place he died ...I need to know what happened. Yeah, naive on top of the cliche is definitely going to be on my tombstone. It's been 4 months since his death, will I find anything? Fuck no of course not...but hey, it's productive.

As I'm looking at the river bank, I'm not surprised to see what a shoty job local PD did in clean up the place....there's pieces of his old camouflage jacket. He didn't believe in the modern stuff, so he just used an old jacket he had back in when we enlisted in Vietnam. I glanced over the scene, trying to pieces together what the hell could it have been. Walking around, I'm not too surprised how much of a waste of time this was....at least the scenery was perfect...

At least, it was.

I suddenly realized that the birds has just stopped singing, all I can hear was the sound of my heartbeat. But there was something new, a heavy smell of metal and industrial chemicals? I know theres an illegal logging company around here but no one back at City Hall has been able to fight them for years. That's when I heard movement.

This is when I begin to regret not investing in a hunting rifle, but bow and arrow to the eyeball works just fine. I draw and scan for whatever that smell was coming from ....all I saw something big and metal....but for something to be that big....it was no man.

It was in the thicket of the treeline, glowing...angry eyes, it had spikes just absolutely everywhere, it's dark black body was interrupted but glimmers of bronze or gold....at it was coming right at me.

I couldn't move, I just stood there trying not to shake the fucking arrows out of my quiver, I don't even know what I was even doing from that point on.

It just stomped twords me, it knew I wouldn't be able to do much to it.

But like hell I wouldn't.

I locked up, and shot right it it's eye. Going straight in! It's head leaned back at the arrow sunk through......then...it chuckled....that sickening laughter you give when you know you're about to win...it looked straight back at me, still chuckling....now with my arrow sticking out it's face like a complete moron.

Looks like I'm going to get see grandpa. Hell I would probably get to tell him I found his buddy too.

"... aren't you... just adorable........thank you for your.... little gift", snapping the arrow yet keeping its other half in his eyesocket...."a most cherished gift.....from a weaklings like girl like you...just...like that old bastard....". He was now 10 feet away from me.

He pointed to a set of faded dents in his chest, three shots that only chipped the paint.

Grandpa's last shots

"....at least he went out fighting."...I stepped back and fucking tripped on the rocky bank...great I made it earlier for him.

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks, glanced at the trail behind me and growled.

That's when I heard the familiar click of a trigger pull, than the loudest gun shot I have ever felt! Closing my eyes, it was like a small rocket had been set off just feet away from me.

All I could hear was a loud ringing in my ears, I felt something warm and wet cover half of my body. Shaking, I slowly opened my eyes, and saw gore.... just where.... sprayed on me, on the rocks .....I looked up....half of that monster was there.....I couldn't take it anymore....and i blacked out.

I woke up in the hospital back home, Nurse Amila (town doctor at this point since the last guy quit) said I was found soaking wet near a sheep farm several miles off the course of Chelhalem Ridge. I told her everything I could remember but of course she told me to just rest so I can collect myself a little later. I was in shock, but I had to tell her. The look on her is what worried me, she.... wasn't surprised.

She did tell me that who ever it was that brought me to safe place, left me in good hands .....a gift?

Nurse Amila points to the hospital nightstand, it didn't look like any of the native tribal artifacts I've studied for....it looked.... Nordic? It was a huge candid tooth.

"Looks like a bear tooth, guess someone finally sees you're worth a look, right Lorey?", she chuckled.

"....I....think it's a wolf tooth", I feel like I'm going insane, first the absolute horror movie scene I've just experienced and now...possibly .... giant unextinct......dire wolves?

What the shit is going on......

End of log 1.

@kit-williams

[destiel-the-one-and-only]

Drunken Confessions

Only when Dean is under the influence, is he brave enough to tell Cas how he truly feels.

Dean came home from the bar wasted once again. This had become normal for him. Go out hunting in the early mornings with Sam, hit the bar after, stay for hours, and come home to Castiel. Cas paid no mind to Dean's drunken antics, knowing there was nothing he could really do to help him. Dean had been like this since he and Castiel met, drowning his pain, regret, and fear in whiskey. Cas took it upon himself to heal Dean's liver when it was looking too rough, the one thing he could do to aid Dean.

Cas and Dean had grown close over the years. Sure, Dean was mean to Cas, and sure Cas really fucked Dean over at times, but they were always there for each other, regardless of what happened in their past. Some would even express that Dean was closer to Cas than he was to Sam. Dean couldn't see that, everything he did, he did for Sam. At least, that was what he told himself.

Dean entered the bunker's kitchen, where Cas was waiting with a piece of pie. This became Cas's routine. Watch Dean leave in the morning, hoping he will make it back, do research on whatever Sam and Dean threw at him, clean the bunker, and then wait in the kitchen with pie for Dean to come home. Cas had feelings for him, feelings he couldn't understand. He believed the humans called it love, but Castiel couldn't call it that. He didn't have the capacity for love, angels weren't made for it, or so he thought.

Cas watched, with observant eyes, as Dean ate his pie. He had cuts all over his face and was holding his arm like it was in pain. "Let me heal those, Dean," Cas had said. Dean only nodded as he shoved another bite into his mouth. Cas walked over and held his hand over Dean's forehead. As the cool glow of Cas's grace healed Dean, he couldn't help but look at his angel looking over him. "Thanks, man." Dean had replied but wanted to say more.

Dean bit his tongue, knowing he couldn't say what he truly felt. He and Cas had been best friends for years, and on top of that, they were work partners. Dean was afraid to mess those up, with his stupid human feelings. He knew Cas wouldn't understand.

As Cas turned to head off to his room, Dean grabbed him by the wrist, making him stop suddenly. "Please, don't go," Dean asked in the softest tone Cas had ever heard from him. Cas obliged, pouring him and Dean some whiskey and sitting across from him at the small table. Their ankles touched and it made Dean jump back a little bit. They sat in silence, only observing the other. Cas wanted to speak and ask Dean what was going on, but he couldn't. He couldn't find his words, and even if he could, he wouldn't be able to look at Dean and say them.

Cas was saved from this predicament when Dean started to speak, lowly and slurred. "We've known each other a long time now Cas. We've been through a lot together. Closing the gates of hell, you losing your grace, beating the apocalypse, and the only person I've managed to save and keep around through all that was you. You're the only one that hasn't seen me as a killer, or an asshole.

I've lost so many people, Cas. So many people that I don't even remember the people I've saved. I've been a mess for as long as I can remember, and I always seem to push people away. Everyone except you. I don't know why you've stayed, or how you even manage to deal with me and Sam, but Cas, I can not lose you too."

Cas had no words. He could only look at Dean with those eyes that pulled Dean in Cas's direction in the first place. The worried, loving eyes Cas looked at him with almost every night. "What are you trying to say, Dean?"

"God dammit man, I'm trying to tell you that I'm in love with you. I have been for a long time, and I couldn't figure out how to tell you, because well, I was scared. Scared you wouldn't accept it, scared I would lose you the way I lost everyone else, scared that I would scare you away with my feelings."

Cas didn't have anything to say, he only lunged across the table and gave Dean a kiss he had been waiting to give him for the past 5 years. Their arms embraced each other and Dean felt all of his fear and stress melt away onto Cas's lips.

It was a new feeling for Dean, to kiss a man, but he didn't hate it. The stubble on Cas's face scratched Dean's chin, almost hurting it, but the slight pain was not noticeable to the lump in Dean's throat as Cas broke the kiss.

"I've loved you since before you knew who I was, Dean. I not only accept your feelings, I return them."

[wizardofrozz]

Ghosts of Kamino

CT-2697 "Sawbones", Alpha-23 "Fang", mention of CT-9181 "Aiden", CT-6116 "Kix", CT-7007 "Jax", and CT-2525 "Quarter"

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: past violence, past medical procedures, angst, mention of war

A/N: I've been taken over by OC brainrot and needed to get this angst about Sawbones out of my system. There isn't any in depth detail about what happened to Saw on Kamino (that can be found here xx if you're interested) but this fic is a little on the heavy side.

Fang and Aiden are also two of my clone OCs while Jax and Quarter belong to @hetalianskywalker ❤️

Dividers were made by me 🖤

White. It's all there is to see in every direction for miles. Sawbones spent so many years walking these halls, feeling so small in comparison. Little '97 following in formation with his brothers as they went about their day-to-day. Now, Sawbones walks through the halls of Kamino: empty, pristine, cold. If only that was how he felt inside but the long-necks made sure that wouldn't be the case.

Saw is scheduled for a training class to update his medical license but he has a few hours to kill; the last thing he wants to do on Kamino. Moving on autopilot, he doesn't even realize where he's going until he stops in front of a familiar door. The only reason he recognizes it is because of the deep gash in the door frame. Saw smiles to himself, remembering when one of the other batches that shared a space with them first got to practice with long weapons. The memory turns sour just as quickly when he remembers what followed. 

Saw lets the door slide open, pointedly not looking at the door frame as he steps inside. Most of the cadet classes are still in session, meaning the pods stretching toward the ceiling should be empty. He still remembers where their five pods are and comes to a stop in front of the tower they called home for so long. Tilting his head back he recites their numbers as his eyes follow the pods from floor to ceiling. 

7007

2525

6116

2697

9181

The echo of soft, uncontrollable laughter fills his mind and Saw closes his eyes. Aiden's laugh used to drive the other cadets nuts but what he wouldn't give to hear his little brother laugh like that again. Or to hear Kix and Jax plotting to get into trouble. Quarter's unimpressed look when they did get in trouble. Maker, he misses his brothers. 

Letting his eyes drift open, Saw repositions his helmet on his hip and tries to fight off the inevitable. While this room holds good memories, bad memories aren't far behind. It's the paradox that is Sawbones. 

Aiden's laughter lingers here just like Saw's agonizing screams. His batch aren't the only ones scarred by his pain and a part of him is glad he hasn't come across the other batches they shared this space with. The other cadets who woke up to his hoarse sobs and his brothers' desperate attempts at soothing him. Saw didn't know what it was like when he was stuck in the medbay for days on end but he can imagine the rest of his batch weren't the most pleasant to be around. 

His throat feels tight, ash sitting on his tongue as his thoughts drift to the medical suite nearby. The room he spent long days and even longer nights wasting away in. So much of it is muddled in his head; oxygen masks, sickly gray skin covering long, cold fingers. And pain. Don't forget the pain. 

The back of Saw's neck stings and he quickly covers it, trying to rub away the feeling. It doesn't work, not really, and he almost expects to turn around to find a long-neck standing over him, empty syringe in their hand. 

There's no one there. Just the ghosts that haunt him even when he's lightyears away. They just seem more corporeal on Kamino, the home of Saw's worst nightmares.

The air feels too still without young voices echoing through the room and it starts to feel suffocating. The ringing in his ears sends a chill down his spine and he quickly turns to leave just as the door shoots open. 

Saw stumbles back a step. Relief floods his system seconds later when a familiar set of armor stands in the doorway, blue paint less pristine than the last time he saw it. The Alpha lifts his helmet off, shaking a few stray curls out of his face, and even years later, Fang looks the same as when Saw was a kid. 

There are a few more wrinkles around his eyes but at the end of the day, this is still his big brother. He's nearly as tall as Fang now but he still feels small even if he doesn't have to look up anymore. But there's the ghost of a smile on the Alpha's face, chasing some of the storm clouds away from Saw's mind. The same way Fang's presence did for so many years. 

"Thought I'd find ya here," Fang says, although he doesn't step into the room. His eyes drift around the space, looking up toward the ceiling before eventually lingering on Saw's face, and Fang's smile grows the slightest bit. 

"Been a long time since I've been in here," Saw notes, looking over his shoulder toward the tower of bunks. Not long enough if he's honest. 

"Surprised you wanted to see it again," Fang mumbles, crossing his arms, helmet dangling from one hand. 

"I didn't," Saw whispers, staring up at his old bunk. "I never wanted to come back here. Even in a body bag." 

"Why did you?" 

That made Saw pause, twisting back around to look at his older brother, the man who kept him as safe as he could and raised him along with the rest of his batch to be the men they are today. Why did he come back here?

The memory of Aiden and Jax's uncontrollable laughter comes back to him and the corner of Saw's mouth twitches. The smile isn't happy per se, more...forlorn. 

"Miss 'em. All of 'em. Can't even remember the last time I saw Kix without a blue hue." The words start spilling out and in the back of his mind, he curses Fang's uncanny ability to get him to spill his guts. "Guess I wanted to remember a time we were all together." 

"I know," Fang says, his voice soft just like when Saw was a kid, scared out of his mind. It's a comfort he's missed too. 

"Miss you too," Saw admits, dropping his eyes to the floor. 

A hand gently grabs the left side of his breastplate and Saw doesn't fight it when he's pulled through the threshold.

The hallways are bright, too bright, compared to the barracks, and Saw automatically squints. Fang throws an arm around his shoulders, a harder maneuver than the last time Fang did it years ago, and it brings a smile to Saw's face. 

"Come on, I know someone else who'd like to see your ugly ass." 

The insult shocks a laugh out of Saw and without thinking, he wraps his arm around Fang's waist, letting the older clone drag him down the hall. 

"You look just like me," Saw retorts, fighting off another laugh.

"My hair's better." 

Saw laughs again, his body bowing forward slightly but he catches the grin in Fang's face. 

The ghosts of his past still linger, waiting to drag Saw back to the brink of despair. That'll never change but that doesn't mean he's stranded alone. His brothers, younger and older, will always pull him back. They've done it his entire life and he knows they'll do it for the rest of their lives. 

And Saw loves them all a little more every time.

taglist:

@a-single-tulip @wings-and-beskar @anxiouspineapple99 @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit

@moonlightwarriorqueen @msmeredithrose @starrylothcat @starqueensthings @multi-fan-dom-madness

@trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @hetalianskywalker @sev-on-kamino @dickarchivist

@bankseys-rat @dukeoftheblackstar

[fantasy-mixtapes]

Fig Faeth Junior Year Playlist: Side A

It's no surprise that Fig Faeth's playlist is the one that I actually listen to the most. It's just a very good vibe and I love her. Took extra time to Song descriptions and thoughts down below. Spoilers for Episodes 1-10.

Genres included: Pop-punk, Punk, Alternative

1. hair out, Stand Atlantic

Am I fuckin' up my life? I'm just tryna make improvements Slowly givin' up the fight But I gotta cover up the bruise That I get from all the Expectations give me vertigo Wasting away to the pressure The pressure, The pressure, oh

This song is such an earworm, scratching a specific itch in my brain. Love the fact that both Kristen and Fig (the failing girlies) start with a Stand Atlantic song, and it works with the way that Fig is coming at this season. From the jump, she is one of the most visibly and audibly burnt out, specifically from the pressure of the "sophomore album" that was supposed to come out months ago. This song is definitely about the pressures of a songwriter as well as the pressures of life in general so it fits sooooo perfectly. Especially with the "I can already here people hating the song" outro *chefs kiss*

2. Who The Hell Am I?, NOBRO

God, I'm tired of being like this I can change, but in a minute Always looking for the back door, on the run Always at the party, never quite having fun Play with fire, and you're gonna get burned I'm on fire, and you know it hurts I was always on the outside looking in Maybe it's me 'cause I never wanna fit in

Fig's class struggles, her conversation with Mazey, I can't take it. I feel like we've all been there. I really love how the narrative with her has progressed, like last season was deconstructing her need to mold herself into other people (or into an idealized version of herself) now she's trying to figure out who she is at her core without all the disguises.

3. 7 Years Bad Luck, Glasseater

Something strange seems to be plaguing me Everything I touch falls apart I've lost it all, losing all my luck Suffering 7 years bad luck

I don't particularly love this song, a little too unintentionally underproduced, but it deserves a spot on this playlist. I feel like I would be Fig in the curse situation. It took me a literal year to deal with debilitating stomach problems, and I, too, waited until my friends noticed to actually do something about it. Either way, can't wait to learn more about the weird Galier Pride curse, love the representation for my stomach problem girlies

4. Where the Heart Is, Sweet Pill

Get this My mind's been in a million places but my body hasn't moved an inch And I feel like I'm missing out again Ignoring my plans Wondering how they went Feeling bad about it If I could just take a chance I wouldn't feel so bad To see past myself I wouldn't feel so bad

This is Fig's final decision to try Paladin after doing so well with Warlock. She knows the priorities in her gut don't match with what anyone else says, but she's discovering her loyalty. She's figuring out her actual drive... following her heart <3

5. Impostor Syndrome, Sidney Gish

Unfortunately, I am My own dog, my own fur companion My own old lady on a forum Who types in glittery decorum Unfortunately, I take Myself out walking every day and I had my legs to the feet and I give my head to the leash

Making Fantasy High playlists is like making a ven diagram of which dog-themed songs are Tracker-coded and which are Fig-coded. This one, to me at least, is Fig-coded. (yes, I do have a tracker playlist, and yes, every song in it is dog/wolf specific, BUT THEY'RE GOOD OK). We love our Oath/Pact of the German Shepard.

6. You Owe Me Nothing In Return, Alanis Morissette

I'll give you countless amounts of outright Acceptance if you want it I will give you encouragement to chose The path you want if you need it You can speak of anger and doubts Your fears and freak outs And I'll hold it

So I know that we're gearing up for Fig's Warlock/Paladin agreement post "mooner yulenear," but this is my interpretation of what it's going to look like. She cares about her friends, and she would do anything for them! And though I know this song came out in 2002, Alanis Morissette is a 90's icon and perfect for the grungy riot grrrl vibe I see for her

[dollsonmain]

Ok, so...

Manager started a notebook and told us to write down what we need to order in the notebook, so I've been doing that.

I add things as I become aware of it being needed.

Today I wrote in something I'd asked for repeatedly (pork BBQ rib patties/McRibs, basically, which I suspect she only saw "BBQ pork" and stopped reading and that's why we have so many tubs of bbq pulled pork in the freezer....) and she was like "Make sure you tell me what you need by Mondays because the order goes in on Tuesday.

I was like "Ok..."

She can just order all that stuff on the next Tuesday... Next... Next week... Does she want me to not write things down UNTIL Monday???? Or write them as the week goes by and I become aware they're needed like I had been??????? Like wh...... The latter is more efficient?

I had asked for that repeatedly? There are 2 left (2 rib patties in a huge box in the freezer.......) and they won't sell by the time Monday rolls around again either way but... I did ask previously for that product.

Like, we stood there and had a conversation about them. We had lots of sub rolls expiring soon, and she had previously said she didn't want to order more rib patties because they weren't selling, so I suggested we put the rib patties into the sub rolls [because we normally slap them on burger buns and they look ridiculous because the bun covers about half the patty in the center and they really should be on sub rolls] and then heat them up and put them in the hot case, because people like to buy them out of the hot case and then be done with them. And she was like "Oh well they kind of took off..." and I was like "That's because I've been putting them in the hot case." They really do sell out of there, but not out of the cold case, and the same goes for the buffalo chicken with pepperjack. No one wants that cold, but when they're warm, people snatch them up.

I........

This week we have one tub of chicken salad that is brand new, I opened it yesterday, it expires today, and I was expected to make tons of little chicken salad sandwiches out of it, but if I do that then I have to throw it all away tomorrow and that seems a waste of bread, which we're always out of. Not that it's the right bread. It's "white wheat" bread which is just bread made with whole wheat flour that's been ground down finely.

She bought some burger buns at a store to make sandwiches with today and they all expire today.

I just.......

How has no one noticed this was happening??????? Like, NO one thought to check expiration dates?????? The past FOUR YEARS?

I'm so confused.

Me checking expiration dates has definitely opened her eyes to some issues, though. She's rearranging sections of the store, now, implementing pseudo-plan-o-grams in places that it's easy to do that like the automotive stuff and paper goods, things that don't move fast, to make reordering things easier, etc. but she's not THERE, yet, and the inventory is still all wrong.

I also saw her drawing a diagram for the Monster energy drinks so she's certainly looking at things a little differently, lately.

I'm still not sure if I can say to her "I know how to set up and manage a micro-warehouse because I have one in my basement. If you set me loose, I can get this all sorted, but everyone has to be on board and maintain the system for it to work and save you lots of trouble and money over time." because she is head strong and it would cost some money, AND she's just Manager. Everything has to pass by Owner, too, and he's not seeming too flexible.

And also that's not my job, my job is "cashier". I'm already doing way more than my job. I get paid $12/hr. That's nothing compared to the amount and variety of work I do. But the kind of person that I am, if given this Thing that needs fixed, omg let me fix it, just like how I've been pulling out fixtures that haven't been moved in ages and cleaning under and behind them and now she has the other employees doing stuff like that later in the day, too.

I am definitely shaking things up in there, and still not sure whether it's a good thing or a bad thing. It's good for the store, certainly, in general. It's bad for the bottom line in the moment because they're suddenly having to liquidate expired stuff left and right because I go find it when I'm bored (all the more reason to not let me get bored, I guess), and that's showing Manager and Owner how inefficient the inventory and ordering is. I'm sure it's frustrating af for the both of them to have someone come in and be like "Wow, all of this is wrong."

[vladdyissues]

Fun (scary) fact: Amity park's citizens will die of cancer, furthermore, at 'young' age (30-50's years) because ectoplasmic pollution (small particles or ectoplasm itself) in the air or in items ghost had possessed is a radiation. Human somatical cells mutate faster than they should. It also affects on their reproduction: the number of born-mutants will increase, problems with fertility as well. (Of course, halfas are immune, they don't care about poor people (Vlad got ecto acne before he developed this immune))

It could be an alternative subject for Danny's bioproject (s1 ep3). Ah, Sam, your little ghost boy could scared your classmates to death but you suggest to research gorilla's behaviour.

(I've just realised 80% asks for you was mine: ghost king au with pompous pep marriage, DP as anime?, omega/malewife Vlad, soulmates, contact infection au and etc. (but not Vlad's bites-detectors) I guess I talk too much :( )

That's very plausible! Maybe the worst thing about it is that it takes 10 years for all the cancer signs to show up, then another 10-15 years to figure out what's causing it. If the Fentons haven't moved out of Amity Park by then, they'll have to when angry mobs start showing up on their doorstep. Maybe things get bad enough that the GIW gets involved. The federal government comes under fire for allowing private citizens to pollute an entire town, intentionally or not, and Jack and Maddie are faced with the difficult choice of ending up working for the GIW (why let all that good research go to waste?) or going to jail for a long, long time.

And then Vlad steps in, perhaps after 20 years of living in recluse following the events of Phantom Planet. He's barely aged. He offers to help the Fentons out of their jam and redeem himself in the eyes of the world by developing a cure for the ecto-cancer he's been working on* (a derivative of the cure for ecto-acne that he received during the events of Masters of All Time), for which he needs their help.

The cure works, and the Fentons are allowed to continue their research under the supervision of Vlad Masters/Plasmius, who went from most hated man in the world to its beloved hero... and of course Danny is disgusted with this turn of events. (But at the same time he's also kind of glad to see Vlad again. The old fruit loop seems to have calmed down a lot in the past 20 years, and he did help his parents out of a terrible mess, basically restoring the Fenton family name... Maybe it's time to forgive and forget.)

* I like to think that after Vlad got out of the hospital in the early 80s, he stole the ghost portal plans from Jack, perhaps trying to find out exactly what was causing these strange new abilities he had. In the process, he ended up rebuilding the portal and correcting for all the flaws—such as leaking ecto-contaminants. (Maybe that was his role when working with Jack and Maddie: always better at improving upon ideas rather than coming up with new ones.)

Sorry, anon, I seem to have gotten carried away. LOL 80% of these asks may be yours, but I don't mind! They're fun and I really enjoy answering them, so no need to apologize :)

[zaceouiswriting]

Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.29

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: None

"The father of a friend of mine, a tall, stocky man with a long beard and curious eyes, always told us that if we saw someone in need, we should do everything we could to help. He is an army veteran, but after his discharge, he struggled with numerous problems, including regular panic attacks, and was unable to leave his home for years. But even in his darkest times, he found ways to be happy and fulfilled. He started painting, learned instruments, and even homeschooled my friend for the first few years. Although he has very bad days and can get quite aggressive, none of this is his fault. And it doesn't make him weak, don't you agree?"

"Yes," I whisper, just then realizing that my breathing was back to normal and that my fear and paranoia seemed to have disappeared. I don't know what calms me so effectively; maybe it's her gentle smile. It could be her hand still gently stroking my hair, or her soft voice. It could also be all of the above. When it's finally sunken in after a few minutes, I am shocked because no one since him has accomplished the same thing.

But I feel completely exhausted. Two panic attacks in a matter of hours—how could I not be at the limit of my physical capabilities? While she still smiles at me, I press myself harder against the wall behind me, brace myself with one of my hands, and stand up to my full height, instantly dwarfing her.

“You’re quite tall,” she muses in her honey-sweet voice, yet it doesn't sound fake.

"You should see that one friend of mine, Brandon; he's a giant. Next to him, I look like a child!" I tell her, chuckling, still a little out of breath.

When I look at her again, I find a satisfied sparkle in her eyes, as if to say that her work is done. A comfortable silence spreads between us as she looks at me with concern but confidence.

“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be in class?” I break the silence, wanting to at least pretend that I’m interested in having a conversation.

But she smiles teasingly. "You mean the same class you should be in now?" she counters rather smugly. I couldn't help but smile at her speed and chuckle again at her comeback. But she quickly calms down again, and her lips fall into a soft smile. "Professor Palladium asked me to find you. But I didn't think you would be on the wrong side of the building."

I stop abruptly. Did I hear her correctly? The wrong side of the building? "What do you mean?" I finally ask her, gobsmacked.

She points to a door and smiles brightly. "None of these doors are numbered. You literally walked past the classroom doors; they're right next to the cafeteria."

I can only look at her, confused, not understanding what she could mean. So I look at the crumpled piece of paper in my hand and then at one of the doors she just pointed to. But I quickly realize my mistake. A moment later, blood rushes to my head. "I'm not really good with directions," I inform her sheepishly. "I get lost pretty easily."

Not even waiting a moment, she links our arms. "Well then, let me be your guide!"

There was nothing I could have done about it; it all happened too quickly. Additionally, she is also quite pushy because she starts talking straight away and doesn't even let me interrupt her. But it's nice not to have to waste energy on entertainment I don't have. Halfway back, however, she falls silent.

"Why are you so nice to me?" My question must have surprised her because she suddenly stopped. She hangs her head, and the cheerful mood has disappeared.

The silence lasts for a while until she turns slightly towards me. "You're just not what others describe you as. I've always been able to see a person's motives. Yours were never bad. All I could sense from you was sadness, disappointment, and pain."

Even though I don't believe her claim, she's still right. Since his death, I haven't felt truly happy for a single moment of my life. It's almost as if it was stolen from me. However, I accept her statement and say nothing else, hoping that the rest of our journey will be spent in silence.

We soon reach the cafeteria, where she shows me a hallway I must've simply missed as I've searched all the others. As I walk down this hallway, every room has either a door that I can at least partially see through or full-on windows in the wall.

Something is going on in all the rooms, from language learning to mathematics; in others, alchemy is practiced. But mostly magic is used. Even the woman responsible for me being thrown into a dungeon teaches in one. Just looking at her sends a shiver down my spine. Luckily, the girl next to me didn't notice anything.

Luckily, we come to a room where she finally knocks. When I hear the professor's voice, my tense shoulders relax a little, just enough for the girl to sense my movement and give me a reassuring smile. I can only thank her in my thoughts as she opens the door.

When I see Professor Palladium, he has a mischievous smile on his lips. "Ah, you found the wandering fairy," he comments, his voice dripping with playfulness. "Should I give you a compass that will always show you the way to your next lesson?"

Although I think he's just playfully joking about my tardiness, I smile shyly and nod. "That would be helpful, Professor."

His stern exterior turns into a small smile. He shakes his head and lowers it slightly. But even so, he reaches out his hand and slides a stone onto it with the other. As he concentrates on this, he suddenly speaks in a language I cannot decipher, surely ancient Elvish again. Unfortunately, I have never been good with languages; I'm content speaking the common tongue, Fairish, and a bit of modern Elvish.

But his voice is so soft and the words so melodic that it's hard not to listen. But to my amazement, he soon holds a compass in his hand, beautifully decorated with engravings, and the middle part, where the two needles are, even has a picture of a place. "Is this the blueprint of the building?"

Without answering my question, Professor Palladium turns away, but not without winking at me and putting his finger to his lips. Upon closer inspection, I can see every nook and cranny, and strangely enough, the entire inner building, not what is visible from the outside, as if this compass could form a picture by tracing the magic around it.

"Would you mind finding a place to sit?" The professor's stern voice rings in my ears again. A little embarrassed, I raise my head, apologize to him, and look around.

Discomfort is clearly visible on everyone's faces. Honestly? It hurts a lot. I always hoped that the day I would come here, they would treat me as an equal to everyone else, like all my ancestors. But instead, I only experience endless disrespect. Only now I don't feel any of the anger, just disappointment.

Not wanting to make anyone uncomfortable, I choose a seat at the back, but as I walk past the others, all I sense is the distrust of the fairies. Some will one day be guardian fairies, and others are just normal fairies, but no one looks at me with trust.

I slump down onto the seat, or at least I try to. Instead of sitting on the chair, I fall through the air and land on the floor with a loud thud. Immediately, giggles echo through the room, and with just one glance around me, I know who the culprit is. Her evil eyes are all I need to see. But it only becomes more obvious when she starts grinning at me, lifting her perfectly painted nails, and resting her head in the palm of her hand.

Muttering under my breath, I tell her this isn't kindergarten, but I don't honor her with another glance. Instead, I let my magic flow. I've never tried this magic before, but this is as good a time as any, right?

I imagine several stone pillars rising out of the ground just below my bottom so that I can sit on them with my legs stretched out. These are followed by more pillars growing up my sides and reaching the middle of my torso, and finally, tall pillars behind me that will straighten up my back. Not long after, these imaginary pillars appear, slowly rising from the ground.

In an instant, my stone throne is up. Sitting upon it, like the king I hope I will become someday, I cross my right leg over my left, put both arms on the armrests, but raise my right arm, clench my hand into a fist, and lean my head against it. With a broad smile, I glance sideways at Stella and wink at her, only to look back at Professor Palladium, whose face looks neutral, but I can still see a secret grin.

"Now that that's cleared up, I'd like for you to introduce yourself to the class, as there is a lot of misinformation circulating about you."

All eyes are on me; most of them are worried, except for Bloom and a girl who looks familiar but who I can't place.

“(Y/N), there’s nothing more to say,” I spat out like poison. "I will have nothing to do with most of you after the disgusting, disgraceful, and downright unacceptable way in which you treated me and assumed things like ignorant laundresses."

“Who do you think you are?” I hear Stella’s voice from my left front.

When I finally turn to face her, I grin maliciously. "Wouldn't you like to know?" I look her up and down, but suddenly I twist my face into a pitying one. "Are you in love already? How sad."

Stella immediately blushes, maybe from embarrassment or anger. I don't know. But I feel her magic getting out of control. I raise an eyebrow questioningly but get no answer. Instead, feather-light footsteps echo through the room, followed by a hand slamming on Stella's desk.

"(Y/N), I can understand your anger about the situation; how you were treated was beneath your dignity, but please don't make it worse."

"Worse?" I shout, standing up from my stone throne. "None of these spoiled little princesses can ever understand what I have been through—the suffering every man has to endure because they are blind to the world around them! And yet they make assumptions and punish someone without any good reason." My words are heavy, and many girls around me look stunned as if nobody has ever talked to them like this.

“Please, (Y/N), calm down.“

"No!" I bellow again. "Should I just sweep this all under the rug? I have never received an apology, not from the teachers or the students, for their assumptions. Until that day comes, I will not treat any of them like people, only like the scum that they are!"

After that, the whole room is silent. The professor sighs heavily but nods his head. I can only hope he truly understands me and isn't just pretending. At least he has never treated me like the others; he probably knows my true identity from the beginning. After all, it is impossible to lie to a high elf.

[Masterlist]

[luverofralts]

Arkhelios Adventures

"I'm so glad you could make it, Lauren. It feels like it's been forever since I've seen you."

The youngest Durant sibling smiled at her sister. "College has been intense. I mean, I'm still in my first year, but with exams coming up, everyone is going a little crazy."

"That's how I remember it. I thought Nathan was going to burn down the student union building one exam period. I mean, he didn't even end up writing the exam, but he still went crazy with the rest of us."

"I'm so glad you met Trent," Lauren replied, looking over her shoulder in case Nathan suddenly showed up. She wouldn't put it past him. "Nathan creeps me out. There's something not right about him."

Cindra laughed, despite her sister's worry.

"Nathan likes people to think he's dangerous and scary, but he's a sweetheart deep down. Very deep down. Don't worry about him. He's harmless."

Lauren gave her sister a skeptical look but didn't push the subject. Let Cindra have her creepy crush. Lauren wouldn't be caught dead anywhere near Nathan Helios.

Everard and Luci tossed a baseball back and forth to warm up. They were about to start the official Siew family games and baseball was the first event. Luci was naturally athletic and had no doubts of her ability to lead her team to victory. Her little brother on the other hand....

At least Everard was trying to practice. Etienne was about to go swimming in the pool, and Fiolett was working on a drawing she refused to abandon. Who knew what Rien was up to? Luci had learned long ago not to count on her twin sister to do anything with her. If she had to guess, Rien was probably off talking with Adam about weird ghost sightings or something crazy like that. Ever since Theo had been sent away to school, Rien had been speaking to Adam an awful lot. Luci would normally assume that this meant that her sister had a crush on Theo's boyfriend, but this was Rien they were talking about. She was probably just telling him that he was being haunted by spirits.

"Rien? Honey, I thought you were playing baseball with your brother and sister? Did they finish playing already?"

Adrian approached his daughter reluctantly. It was obvious that Rien had no intention of playing with her siblings or being social. At least this time, she wasn't alone. Adrian had nearly tripped over Travis Maricourt scribbling furiously in a book by the hot tub, completely disengaged with the barbecue.

"I'm sorry, Dad, but I'm needed elsewhere," Rien replied cryptically. "Baseball seemed like a waste of time, considering how little of it is left."

"Uh...huh. Well, where are you needed? I can help you and then you can go play with the other kids here. I saw Travis Maricourt writing over by the hot tub, maybe you two could play alone together."

"Thanks for the offer, but it's not me who needs to socialize. You need to talk to people at the party," Rien insisted. "Hang around Queen Maura to help her. You'll know what to do when the time comes. I have my own role to play. Have you seen Princess Georgiana?"

"Are you going to play with Her Highness, or continue your cryptic riddles with her?" Adrian asked wearily, already knowing the answer. "Please don't say anything that would scare the princess. She's younger than you and scares easily."

"I'll play nicely, Daddy. I promise."

Adrian tried not to wither at the glare his daughter was giving him. Of course, she'd inherited Roman's patented stare, the same as Theo. Whenever the kids were angry, it was like being surrounded by little Roman clones. Thank god that most of them seemed incapable of scowling like their father, aside from Theo.

"Rien, you know that I love you very much," Adrian tried. "Go play with the princess and have fun. Maybe you and I could play cards with your siblings later. That would be fun, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, Daddy. That sounds like fun."

The tone of her voice very clearly conveyed that playing cards would be the worst thing that could happen to her, despite her ominous words. Adrian bit his cheek to keep from groaning or reprimanding his daughter for lying. There wasn't a parenting book out there that could help him parent Adrienne.

"I'll see you soon," Rien declared suddenly, wrapping her arms around her baffled father. "Remember, hang around the queen. There's a collection of heirloom swords in the second bedroom upstairs. Do you remember how to use them?"

"Yes, I remember how to use many weapons. I studied all of that in military school. How the hell do you know about a collection of swords? Have you been playing with them? You're too young to-"

Rien let go of her father and gave him a sad look. Her eyes didn't look like she was twelve. They held secrets and sorrows well beyond her years in a way that Adrian would never understand. He'd never met Roman's grandparents, but Roman often mentioned how similar Rien sometimes looked to his grandmother. Whoever she looked like, there were times that Adrian stared at his daughter and didn't recognize who stared back.

"Remember, the queen needs you," Rien said again, skipping off to find Georgiana. As usual, Adrian made a mental note of this behaviour to address with Roman and despite his skeptical nature, went in search of Queen Maura.

"I heard there was a barbecue here, but I don't smell anything cooking. Don't tell me that I missed Dad's famous burgers."

"Oliver! You made it! I thought you had exams to study for." Claudia ran to embrace her little brother, excited that he'd actually kept his promise and came to the family gathering.

"Yeah, well, we're not all monarchs wealthy beyond imagining," Oliver laughed. "I'm a poor college student. An offer of free food doesn't come along very often."

"Oh, you're impossible!" Claudia teased, tickling her brother like they were still children. "A poor college student whose tuition is covered by his very rich sister, along with a generous fund for personal expenses."

"Well, I still eat a fair amount of ramen regardless. I won't let your money take away from the college experience."

"Well, maybe I'll withdraw my tuition support next semester if that's how you feel," Claudia laughed. "Then you won't have to fake the 'authentic' experience."

"Ah, who can say what's authentic?" Oliver replied, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Maybe I'll accept your charity for a few more years after all."

This was a dance Claudia and Oliver performed seamlessly over the years. She'd offer whatever Oliver could possibly need in life and he'd playfully decline, only to accept it moments later. He'd been too young to understand his sister's change in rank when she took the throne, but he'd never been jealous of her. She was the queen and he was free to live as he chose. Claudia had frequently offered her brother a royal title and estate of his own, but Oliver had turned her down every time. Apparently, the monarchy was a "Claudia and Dad" project, while the "Oliver, Travis, and Mom" project was perfectly content away from the throne.

"Speaking of charity, where are the hamburgers I was promised? I'm wasting away here."

Claudia rolled her eyes.

"Blame Dad. He was supposed to be here to barbecue after work, but I guess he got busy. You know how obsessive he is about grilling things. God forbid someone other than him gets to touch the grill so we can eat."

"Well, where's Uncle Travis? I've seen Dad let him grill before and I'm starving. Let's just start grilling and apologize later. He can't be mad when we've waited this long."

Ewan Traver watched as his uncle, Ewan Goldman, arrived in a shower of sparkling light just in front of the front entrance of the cottage. It was a relief to see him, especially since Ewan's own son, Oliver, was currently leading a rebellion among the family to replace his father with anyone else who knew how to use a grill. The family was currently split between honouring the original plan and replacing Ewan with his reluctant brother, Travis.

"Uncle Ewan! Finally! Everyone's been going feral waiting for food. You're late."

"Uncle Ewan?"

Ewan Goldman made no attempts to respond to his nephew. Instead, he stared at the ground, unable to meet the younger Ewan's eyes. A shiver ran down Ewan Traver's spine. Something was wrong here. Dangerously wrong. This intuition was confirmed when dark, glossy wings emerged from his uncle's back, wrapping around a body that had gone from looking normal and healthy to a sickly hue that radiated an unnatural cold that Ewan could feel from several feet away. When his uncle spoke, it wasn't his usual cheerful voice, but one that sounded hollow and deadly.

“I’m not here to join in the festivities. Unfortunately, I’m here for work. I’m so sorry.”

[sophisticatedyet]

if anyone's having a bad day, let me run you through what just happened to me. (content warning for rotten food.)

so, it's 1pm and I'm experiencing a wave of work-related procrastination that's enabling me to get chores done around the house, like empty the food waste bin in the kitchen into the bigger bin outside.

because it's been about a week since I last took the bins out, the food at the bottom has been in there long enough to rot causing the compostable bag its in to also start decomposing. no biggie, it happens: I grab another compostable bag, tip the bin on its head to avoid touching the icky rotting food, chuck a couple of very old bananas from the fruit bowl on the top, tie it off, and throw it in the outside food bin. great job me!

a little while later, I go to reassemble the kitchen bin and the lid's... not... there? it's not anywhere in the kitchen? the answer to the mystery where this lid has gone immediately presents itself to me, but I reject it and do another look, until I can't deny the obvious, and go check the outside bin.

to set the scene: it's a really nice, sunny day today. it feels like the first proper day of spring we've had all year. wildlife abounds: there are butterflies feeding on the cherry blossoms, the fish in the pond have come out for the first time since autumn. the bin is made of brown plastic that's warmed nicely in the afternoon rays. there's a little cloud of flies buzzing around me as I approach.

I open the bin and there, straining against the bags, is a corner of the lid.

there's nothing for it at this point, I'm not buying a whole new food bin because of my stupidity, so I rip open the first bag, BUT remember how I cleverly double-bagged the waste to avoid having to touch icky food? oh-hoho. I hate myself.

but fine. whatever. I rip open the next layer, like I'm playing the world's worst game of pass the parcel. this layer has been marinating in bin juices long enough to revert to a texture that's difficult to describe, but it's how I imagine an organ feels to the touch: slippery and wet and hot. at least it falls apart quite easily (along with my mental state).

I grab what I can of the lid and try to pull it out, but it only slides a few centimetres before jamming to a halt on the three rotting bananas that I added to the pile at the last moment. I try to wiggle them out the way but they aren't budging so I pinch one between my thumb and index finger. It's old enough that the skin slides away immediately, and my fingers sink into the meat of the banana. THIS is an easier texture to describe: it feels like warm snot. (I am reflexively crying at this point.) still, now that the skin it out the way, I can force the lid through the mucus. i have to repeat this process two more times before finally, the lid is free. (there's something on my finger, and I genuinely don't know if it's a grain of rice or a maggot.)

the saga's not entirely done, though, because the refuse collectors in my area don't take your food waste if it's not bagged, and I now have a bin full of scraps of plastic and a heap of rotten food. I use some egg shells to scoop up what i can and throw them into the gaping hole at the top of the bag and then it's I'm done.

obviously, I immediately run inside and start scrubbing my hands. something weird is happening, though: there are these spot of brown-and-yellow that just. won't. come. off. it's literally like I've super-glued rotting food to my hands?????

...I turn to look at the table.

...at the superglue I had been using thirty minutes earlier to fix a clasp on a broken box.

i am beyond tears at this point: the whole situation has gone past through horrifying into an absurdity so profound I must be dreaming.

I eventually scratch off the super-glued rotten food from my fingers (I don't know how long it takes me because I have detached myself from reality) and then wash my hands another hundred times before finally sitting back down at my computer because it's 2pm and a work day. I read half an email, before I'm interrupted by a strange noise that sounds like a gentle trickle of water. I turn around and my cat is in her litter box, butt positioned just on the edge, pissing directly onto the floor.

[stellaris-archivum]

a vampire x vampire hunter au with my valorant oc because my brain is rotting over this idea for the longest time

notes:

self insert, original female character

hunter! oc x vampire! chamber

amihan is 32 years old, vincent (chamber) is about a century old

not beta read

a tentative idea, but it could be changed later on. it's 1am, im tired, but i really want to write this down because it has been CONSUMING ME

possible (very briefly mentioned) vampire hunter lore here that will be explored if i do write it down as a series

amihan can be y/n?????

"A pleasant surprise, good to see you made it in time, chèrie." An impish grin greeted her upon her arrival, his gelled, swept-back hair glistened in the moonlight. "I have been waiting for you."

There's the grin she always loathed, the smooth, suavely voice that she always grinded her gears. For the countless encounters they've had, it almost became a routine. For the hunter and solar sorcerer Amihan Mendoza to find one of the most powerful vampires in Quebec in this specific spot is no lucky chance—their connection was of uncanny circumstances. Fighting through patterns, through repetition, they just found themselves within the vicinity of one another; every other night without fail. Amihan stood within the trees, leaves, tree bark and stems underneath her feet. She scoffed, "You know I wouldn't miss the chance to finally killing you, Vincent."

"Vincent? Please, no need for such formalities." His sharp fangs poked out just enough for her to see as he grinned, standing tall atop a red maple tree. Amihan has always found it odd—no, weird to see the vampire in such a... convoluted type of clothing. It is the 21st century, people wore casual clothing and not, well, whatever Victorian era corpse he stole his outfit from. A lot of the vampires that she had hunted and killed lately were dressed within the century in order to blend in with the crowd but for some reason, Vincent the Vampire simply refused to get with the times. She couldn't really say if it was worse or not, but she absolutely disliked the fact that it actually suited him. Like actually looked good on him. For a vampire as old as he was, Amihan could never imagine anything else in his person other than expensive garments and frilly shirts. "Mon chou, it is rude to stare."

"I'll stare whenever I damn want and however long," she spat, folding her arms unamused. "And how do you want this to start, hm? I believe it's about time you make the first move."

"Dear god, mon chasseur," he snorted, "I am your prey! Do you truly expect that I will make the first move? I may be a savage, yes, but I am also a gentleman. Ladies' first."

"A gentleman or a coward?" Her sharp eyes stared up at him with the same old scowl. Was it growing deeper with the distaste she had for him? Maybe, but she was definitely curious to see if she could get him to move first. "I don't see why you shouldn't make the first move—this is a one-time offer, buddy. I reckon don't waste it."

"Is that a taunt? How cute."

"I'm just saying that if you don't move through your entire character then maybe you're not a true gentleman after all." The hunter shrugs rather dismissively. "Ladies' first, sure. But don't you think it's quite rude to have the woman do all the work? I believe for the 5 months I've hunted your elusive ass, I have done most of the initiating. It's about damn time you do so now, don't you think?" Amihan kept her dull, brown eyes on him. She wanted him to get annoyed, slighted. Out of all the vampires he had hunted, he seems to be the most elusive, most intelligent, and the most eerily humane. Upon observation during their past encounters, this vampire seems to be the only one who was thinking rationally. It wouldn't be too bad to try and take that away from him, right? Startle, confuse, overcome—that was the way to go. Would she win against him this time?

The vampire seemed to think about what she had said though, and he seemed to be a little conflicted. She definitely got him there where she wanted him. There was a stir in his mind, he couldn't care less who initiates and who doesn't; he was just trying to survive! Well, there were a lot of similar individuals in a similar situation as he, but they weren't as fortunate as he was (he did think they were imbeciles for being caught and killed like that and like before, that was not his problem). His only concern was to survive, nothing more, but for the past 5 months he did find the hunter's unrelenting resolve as something that was fascinating. As he was quite the annoying vampire to hunt and as well as the most rational, most hunters have died in the belief that he was like his feral brethren—moving solely to quench their thirst for life. Other hunters had escaped, other hunters found him difficult to contain and had given up trying.

But not Amihan.

Every other day without fail? It was only something Amihan could do. The way that she was the only one to have ever figured out his routine and had been continually meeting him here in this exact same spot, it had caught his attention and interest. His curiosity could only grow and eat him in sorry frustration as she would most likely kill him if he ever came close. What would her blood taste like, how would his skin glide to the shape of her nape? Just the mere thought of it made his mouth water but he was immediately dragged away by her voice, taunting, telling him to come closer...

"Come on," Amihan said in boredom, "Move."

For a second, his rationality slipped at the most crucial moment, finding himself right in front of her, nose touching, breaths mingling—the wind howled coldly through the trees and forests of Quebec as the space between them became occupied in a matter of seconds. His eyes were locked in one spot on her body. The nape—his mouth started to water again, his teeth felt itchy, painfully trying and wanting to sink into her flesh, slowly consumed by the thought of it.

Bite. Drink, drink, drink, drink, drink—

The hunter's victorious grin was such an eerie sight that was immediately forgotten by the sudden, overwhelming pain that flared up his body.

"Dimwit," she said, grinning from ear to ear. "I've finally caught you."