#i might add more to this one too tbh i think the living room could use a rug and maybe the more permanent bedroom | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

raccoon-eyed-rebel · 2 months ago

Text

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.”

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we-keep-odd-hours · 2 days ago

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tagged back by @hex6rcist! Thank you!

under a cut since I also rambled.

1. How are you!? I hope your day is going well.

ehhhh. I'm working not a great job, but its from home and if everyone is going to be insufferable, every single second i get of downtime I'm going to be on tumblr to stay sane.

2. What are you currently working on? Any little projects of any kind you’re excited to share?

I have an original novel in the works, I'm in the brutal final stages of tying off the loose ends of the rough draft (while this advice is some that I struggle to accept, to all writers I'd like to share this: the only thing that a first draft has to be is done.), I have two on-going fics (an Aliens one that's posted anonymously but tbh you could probably find it easily) and one of Diamondback's origin story.

Her origin story is more or less done (posting new chapters as I edit) except for a few plot points I'll make my decision on as I get to them in editing. There's details from my next project, a full follow up to the movie, that I kind of want to include in an epilogue to her story, since they're scenes/plot threads tied on her character arc.

3. What have you been watching lately? I just finished Righteous Gemstones and I need a new show lol.

I'm halfway through my rewatch of Hannibal right now, and I SHOULD rewatch West World next so I can finally watch the last season, but I've been itching to rewatch X-Files for a year now....the only problem being that X-Files is nine seasons, a mini series, two seasons of Millennium (IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND), and one season of Lone Gunmen (ALSO IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND). I never technically finished Millennium either, because they [spoiler] and it made me so angry at Chris Carter that I rage quit.

4. (A Near Dark one because how can I not) what’s your favorite small detail in the movie that other people might overlook?

When they first walk into the bar, Jesse kind of surveys the layout, but Diamondback immediately looks over to her right--at the bartender and the waitress, she then smiles, holds onto Jesse's arm and sets her head on his shoulder--and looks over the waitress again. Between that and her grin when the woman walked over, that whole weird thing seemed like some continuation of whatever game they were playing when she kissed the hitchhiker, which....guys, get a room. Homer and Mae are right there.

There are others, but this is the first one that came to mind.

5. What blog should I follow right now?

I'm bad at this; most people I've followed on here for literal years, or else picked up along the way when we had the same media obsession of the day.

6. Best piece of advice you’ve ever received?

I said it above already, but THE FIRST DRAFT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE GOOD, IT JUST HAS TO BE DONE.

7. If you could add one fantastical element to the real world and have it be a commonly accepted and known about thing what would it be? (Ie make Santa real)

This is asking for trouble: I believed in fairies at an age that was much, much too old to do so. I think it would be fun, or at least interesting if the fair folk were commonly known to exist. Dangerous, unwise, but fun.

8. What’s the last book you didn’t just read, you DEVOURED?

In the Valley of Sun by Andy Davidson. It was nasty, infuriating, full of characters I didn't like for but occasionally felt bad for, and it's about a wandering killer turned vampire living in an old RV just outside of Waco, TX in the 1980s. Yeah, that's what I thought too.

It was a break-neck paced mystery, not exactly of ''who'' did it, but of what happened, how did they do it, and are they going to get caught?

9. What are you most passionate about?

Art, literature, zoology. The order of those items changes frequently.

10. What do you think is your best quality?

oh I hate this question. Passion, I guess? It's not easy to get interested in something, but when I am, I can learn fast, pick up on details, and make weird connections. I'm literal minded and frequently get over-detailed on things, but I can think on multiple tracks at once and have caught things that even our Risk department at work didn't notice because they disrupted something.

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wheelin-after-midnight · 24 days ago

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26.

Do you ever wonder what other people think of your survey answers?

I think it's cool if people read them and we have some interactions or conversations or whatever, but I also don't care that much if someone doesn't like me or my answers for whatever reason. It's really not that deep. I've never intentionally been mean or rude or purposefully tried to hurt anyone's feelings, so if they don't vibe with me and my blog they can not read it or unfollow.

Are there any survey-takers that you simply do not like because of their answers?

There are some that respond much differently than I would or have different views than I do, but happening upon differing viewpoints and personalities is part of life and definitely the nature of being on the internet. I've had no reason to go so far as to say I don't like someone because of how they respond to a survey. If it bothered me that much, that unfollow button works both ways.

Has anyone ever said anything in response to a survey question that offended you?

Not really. They just have a different experience or viewpoint than I do, and that's okay. I don't see a reason to get offended or come at someone directly unless they were personally attacking me or being really awful or hateful towards other groups of people or something.

Which of the following sounds more appealing at the present moment : a bag of chips, a handful of cookies, a slice of pie / cake, or some crackers? Any particular kind?

None. I’m not hungry.

How many pets have you had in your household at one time?

Two dogs and two Guinea pigs, so four.

Do you know anyone that works for a cable company?

Not anymore.

What was the last thing you heard / read / saw that made you want to face-palm?

Nippy being absolutely wild, lmfao.

Have you ever watched the show Raising Hope? If yes, what did you think of it?

I've heard of it. I don't think I've seen any of it? I don't really remember.

Name one person on Xanga that you would be interested to be friends with. Or, if you are uncomfortable doing so, is there even anyone on Xanga that you find interesting & that you think you could be friends with?

I never used Xanga, so I'm gonna answer this using Tumblr. I think it's interesting to read people's survey answers that come up in my feed, even if I might disagree. I just like seeing what other people think. There are some survey takers I feel like I probably have more in common with than others, but I would definitely hang out with @purplesurveys if I could. Robyn seems cool. :)

Is it cold enough to comfortably wear pants where you are, without getting too warm?

Yeah.

What do you / does your family pay for rent? Do you think that your home is worth that amount?

Nobody needs to know this.

Are your walls pretty sound-proof or is it easy to hear other people talking even if they’re several rooms away from you?

They're very thick and pretty sound-proof. The rare times I've fallen, nobody heard me yelling. Thank god I could eventually knock down my phone. There was a lady who used to live beside me, one time she fell, no one heard her yelling for days. She eventually got helped and went into care after that. I felt very bad though because I would have gotten her help sooner if I knew. I did that for her once before. You don't hear too many disturbances day to day in this building. It's how I know the neighbors are too much and probably disturbing other people besides me, if I can hear things clearly and loudly from my apartment, lmfao.

Have you ever had family portraits done? Is this something you are fond of doing, or do you dread it?

Not really. I don't care one way or the other, tbh.

When was the last time you had oatmeal, if ever? Do you use milk or water in it?

A couple weeks ago, I think? I make it with water and then add milk before I actually eat it.

Do you have anything on your bedroom door? Have you ever?

I live in a studio. No bedroom door. I'm sure I did when I was younger.

Have you ever worked hard on something, only to have someone ruin it [whether literally or figuratively]?

Probably.

Does taking medication make you nervous? Is it something you avoid as much as possible?

I try not to take anything unless I absolutely need it in order to not die.

Do you ever learn new words [or even “remember” old words] that you become addicted to saying & repeat them in almost every sentence?

Not in every sentence. But sure.

Who do you know that suffers from bad dandruff, if anyone?

I can't think of anyone off the top of my head.

Do you think that after the age of 90 you should stop caring so much about what you intake & just eat / drink whatever you want because you might as well since you’d be on the verge of death anyhow?

I can't speak to what other people do in their lives and I definitely wouldn't judge what someone else chooses to do or how they feel in their final years. I really don't think I will live this long, but not giving a flying fuck is probably closer to how I would feel about things at that stage than not.

Are the bottoms of your feet dirty?

No.

What do you do with your gum after you are done chewing it?

Throw it in the trash.

Do you know someone that [unintentionally] types in caps a lot & then afterward apologizes for it? Do you watch what you are typing to ensure that you don’t make mistakes like that, or do you tend to stare down at the keyboard as you type?

I don't know anyone like that. I don't look at the keyboard that much when I type.

Are you at all interested in the lives of celebrities? Why do you think people care so much about the lives of people that they don’t even know?

A little bit, if I like the person and their work. Not to the point that it's invasive and obsessive and gross. They're still people who have a right to live their lives with some semblance of normalcy and privacy.

What is a site that you go to when you need a good laugh?

There aren't really any. I'll talk to babe or play with Nippy or watch something I find funny before I'll go to a website. Sometimes I laugh really hard scrolling through things on reddit, but I use the app, not the site.

#surveys #personal #text #questions #survey

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janitorsupplies · 6 months ago

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a gripe about the boys s4 finale + more

[big fat diabolical spoilers for the s4 finale]

tw: general the boys stuff,, Hughie's r*pe

after thinkin for a little while i'm not happy about the finale tbh !

and its not that i don't like it in the way that i don't like how it turned out, i think it leaves room for an excellent final season (i will wait 2 years for that, ong), i more so think that the characters in the episode acted,,, uncharacteristically?

acted not like themselves

acted out of character, yeahh

from what we've seen of sage this season (so glad she lived btw), i don't think she would just, y'know, stroll into Homelander's room, gloating like that i thought it had been established that she didn't fw Homelander anymore, especially now she's been fired, and she's smart enough to know how much of a loose cannon Homelander could be, and that if she says the wrong thing she just gets lasered (i was shitting myself hoping that wouldn't happen)

and also how tf did she even get in Vought tower?? wouldn't the other members stop her??

and then there's butcher's reaction to grace's death, like damn, i don't think Billy fucking butcher is just gonna say nothing when one of the few people he trusts gets killed right in front of him (BY HIS SON TOO??), like how is he not shouting mad??

and then he just up and kills Neuman like bruh did Hughie's talk to him mean fuckin nothing or something like, he brings up Lenny for gods sake and butcher just,, says nothing?? it's been established over the season that he's not listening to monkey at all now he knows he's not real and on that, where the fuck is Becca in his head?? what's she doing?? speak tf up, stop him

and Ryan,, Ryan wouldn't just shove his basically adoptive grandma out of anger like that, at least i don't think he would.

and this is a little difficult to explain but i don't think annie would react like that towards Hughie engaging with the carbon-copy shapeshifted Annie. like he did not know it was not her. how would he know?? i feel like Annie would've been understand of that at least, if not annoyed, but not enough to go off on him like he did something wrong

this also brings up the point of Hughie just being Kripke's punching bag for the whole damn show,, like i thought he had a character progression of becoming more brave, but nah he's just getting fucked from all directions and its written for comedy most of the time (pretty sure Kripke said that Hughie's rape scene was written for comedy,,, ha ha funny)

i'm getting distracted now, might add more to this later if i feel like it

but hey, a-train lives baby CANT STOP THE A TRAIN BABY

(EDIT) I JUST REMEMBERED THEY ENDED IT WITH NIRVANA?? FUCK YOU!!!1 FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! KIMIKO SPEAKING?? FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!! FUCK!!!

oh and yeah, kate really does ruin everything, huh.

another thing i forgot did they make kimiko worse while fighting the shifter?? i feel like she woulda easily been able to drop that mf right there, but nah she gets her neck snapped ggez

#the boys #theboys #billy butcher #homelander #starlight #CAN'T STOP THE A-TRAIN BABY #YEAHH #first time doing a proper post like this actually #now i must rot #waiting for season 5

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jeongyunhoed · 22 days ago

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As seen on my FF.net Also seen on my Ao3

Following the events of fifth year, a new adventure awaits for Norah Lee. Boys, exams, school events, common room parties, and old foes outside of Hogwarts. Even battling pensieve guardians was easier than this.

Main Pair: OC / Ominis Gaunt Genre: Adventure/Angst/Fluff (it's a little of everything, tbh)

KEEP IN MIND: Characters are aged up (even if the story's got them in sixth year) to make it more appropriate. Time period is leaning towards the modern day so in case you might find anachronisms in the dialogue or references, this is why. This may also be quite a lengthy fic too.

BE WARNED: Social anxiety, mentions of blood and injury, grief, drinking, kissing but nothing more than that, death (this is Hogwarts Legacy, after all)

P.P.S: Another lengthy chapter ahead. Given that it took me a month to update this, consider this chapter the last update for 2024. Expect the new chapters to come in 2025. Norah gets cuddled to sleep, Anne and Naru have a "moment" and people are opening presents.

P.P.P.S: I also know there's some talk here about buying and selling houses in the Wizarding World. It's a possible head canon that I can flesh out somewhere else in a post either on Tumblr or on Discord. That is all. Also, the earliest age for students in Mahoutokoro to start attending, I got it from one of the HP Wiki-pages, so yeah. There's a difference in info between the Mahoutokoro School Wiki and the HP Wiki pages.

Masterlist

Chapter 27

With some effort, Anne sat down on the couch in the living space of the Lee house that evening. The tension was thick after their conversation with Ominis and Norah and Naru hearing it all. Sebastian was sitting across from her, too stunned to speak yet he managed to fill his sister in on the details about why Norah had been behaving the way she was. None of them expected that things would take a turn for the worst. Friendships were now hanging in the air, only made worse by a heartbreak. Knowing how things had turned out, Anne wondered if it was still alright for them to stay.

The only sensible option was for them to leave and return to Feldcroft. Her, Sebastian, and Ominis. At least spare Norah the obligation of having to entertain them at this time.

Since Solomon's death, his home there had now been hers and Sebastian's. Sebastian, whenever he was home, took it upon himself to learn how to repair things manually from the books he borrowed in the library or bought from one of the hamlets. Sebastian had at one point considered selling the house so he can buy what used to be Mary Portman's home in Aranshire. It was his childhood home after all. Now, after what he found out, that house came with a very large cellar.

Naru was sitting across from the twins, glancing at Anne, then at Sebastian, and then at what was happening in the third floor. Ominis was standing outside Norah's room, pleading to be let in so they could talk.

"I was going to tell you, Norah- I just wanted to wait for the right time, I know you're going through so much and I didn't want to add to it any further, please, let me in so we can talk about this," Ominis spoke from outside the room.

If they were quiet enough, they could hear Norah's faint sobs. Naru could only sigh.

"Norah, please, please let me in," Ominis asked again, his forehead resting on the door, nearly stumbling over when it opened. He sensed that Norah's eyes were now red, her cheeks tear-stained.

Ominis cleared his throat and walked in, choosing to close the door behind them. "Norah-"

"Look," She cut him off with a slight hiccup. "Please don't rub it in any more, Ominis. I understand completely, and I told you, didn't I? Whether or not I choose to love you, is for me to decide, not you."

Norah wiped her eyes. Ominis took a step closer, only for her to take a step back. "You've been through a lot, and I know you're breaking down more than that. I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry you had to find out that way, and for...what I think," He said.

"I know," She sighed. "I know. That's the worst part. But even knowing you and how you are, can't you just see any possibility?"

"I'm doing this to protect you," Ominis said.

"I can protect myself just fine," Norah argued.

"You deserve so much better than me. You don't know what my family is capable of-"

"I know what they're capable of, if Carrow and his family is of any indication, yours will not be any different," She pointed out with some frustration. "But what about you? Do you want something to happen between us? ...Are you that scared?"

The question made the blonde stop. He was scared. Scared to get into something that may hurt him more than living with his own family already did. With everything he had experienced in his life, from losing aunt Noctua, from cursing out that muggle as a child, from allowing Norah to get cursed by Sebastian, from nearly and slowly losing Anne, from nearly losing Sebastian in his quest to cure Anne and possibly turning him over to Azkaban, and now possibly losing Norah again. Did he want this to happen again?

"Yes," He swallowed hard. "I am scared. Very much scared of what might happen, both good and bad. Even if it's for me, even if I could be happy. Because I know something bad's going to happen next. I...love you, very much, but I don't think it can happen, and you deserve so much better. I want you to be happy, I don't think I can give you that. Being with me...will only cause you pain."

Norah stared at him, unsure of what to say. She was still very hurt, by everything, and this felt like the final nail in the coffin.

"You know," She managed to say with a sniffle. "I want you to be happy too. I-I could wait-"

"Don't," He cut her off. "Please don't. It's terribly unfair to you if you do that. I can't and won't let you bear that. Norah, please."

After a beat, Norah took a step forward. "Alright."

Ominis could feel his eyes welling up. The two of them didn't say anything anymore, and instead quietly sat down on the couch at the foot of her bed. They silently agreed that things would go back to normal once they return to Hogwarts. As hard as it was, it was the only way to keep their friendship intact, even if their hearts were broken.

By dinner time, Norah was unsurprised to know that her parents were suddenly out of town, having secretly taken the car to spend the rest of the holiday in their home in the Cotswolds. However, they had left a present for Norah in the study. They wouldn't be alone, that much she knew, as they might be spending time with their friends. Also unsurprisingly, this secret getaway was at the insistence of her mother.

Perhaps they were more comfortable with the muggles now, she thought.

Naru and Anne sat on both sides of the table next to Norah, who sat at one end, observing the way they decorated the tree along with other parts of the house. The pair, sensing the tension, along with Norah's puffy eyes and Ominis's crestfallen expression which had gotten even worse after their conversation, exchanged glances, silently trying to figure out how to liven up the mood for this holiday. But, for Anne, it was her way of trying to get to know Naru better after their conversation in Hogsmeade Station.

Naru suddenly cleared his throat and raised his glass of juice, making them do the same. "Well, this is a first for all of us," He stood up. "My first trip to the UK, first time meeting my cousin, my first time meeting Hogwarts students, my first time spending Christmas somewhere else. I'm sure it's the same for all of you. Cheers."

From all of them, only Anne was smiling as they took sips. "What's it like in Mahoutokoro. You're in House Toppuu, right?" She asked.

Naru nodded. "Yes. It has a really nice view. It's on a cliff overlooking the sea. That's where the Tengu practice so we get to watch how they do it. It's also the most relaxing common room in the school. We all tend to have difficulty studying because of the sound of the sea and the waves," He chuckled. "You'd see people falling asleep in the middle of an assignment."

"I'm curious," Sebastian spoke this time, also wanting to diffuse the tension. "How do you get sorted into your houses?"

Naru sat back down. "Well, before we are sorted, we were given time to think about what the houses mean and what it might mean for us to be sorted into any of them. It's kind of private too, not like what you tend to do at Hogwarts. We're given the whole day during our first day to think about the possibility of getting into one of the houses. When we're ready, we approach this long scroll in the hall and place our hand on it. The letters signifying our house will appear on the scroll, and that's how you get sorted."

The twins were fascinated. "Ours is just an enchanted hat that yells out the name of the house you're going to," Sebastian shrugged.

"It's different with every school," Naru replied. "But I have heard that discrimination by blood status among our kind is quite rampant here."

"It is, and I should know," Ominis suddenly said. If he could see, he would've been glancing at Norah. "Your cousin has been on the receiving end of that from one of our own housemates, unfortunately."

"Ah, right," Naru turned to Norah, as if reminded that they needed to start eating. She wasn't saying anything, rather, she was staring at her own plate and several small bowls of food that served as side-dishes to an all-Japanese menu for the night.

Sebastian, on the other hand, felt his blood boil at the thought of what Carrow had done to her during that particular duel in the hall. Anne looked disapprovingly when she remembered Ominis's retelling of the incident. When Norah didn't seem to provide any other insight, a slight nod from her at Naru's coaxing was their signal to start eating.

The sound of clinking utensils and chopsticks falling out of hands and off tables filled the entire house aside from the soft crackling of the fire in what little fireplace Norah's family had in this very industrial-looking estate. Sebastian, Ominis, and Anne clearly enjoyed eating something else for a change, while Naru seemed proud of himself for knowing his mother's - Norah's paternal aunt - recipes by heart. Even Naru's parents seemed like busy people, and so cooking was a skill he had to learn since he started attending Mahoutokoro as a day student at the young age of seven.

It was another difference, as Ominis, Anne, Sebastian, and Norah would learn when they pressed Naru some more about his school. Compared to Hogwarts, students in Mahoutokoro weren't required to board in the school, and so those who didn't were called day students. Naru prefered taking some time to travel before going to class, and when he made the house quidditch team, he would go on a little trip on his broom until he could start apparating and disapparating.

Norah enjoyed listening to someone else talk for a change. It took some weight off of her dealing with her own problems. She didn't want anyone else to focus too much on that, not when they were all learning so much from Naru. Even she was learning about her cousin, another blood relative she wasn't aware of until he made himself known.

By the time Anne suggested to take the pudding out, they had immediately charmed the sink to start washing the dishes, leaving them to take out more plates and cutlery for the dessert. "I know it's unorthodox, but hey, my parents aren't here, why don't we crack open one of their bottles of wine?" Norah suggested, a playful grin on her face as she went further into the kitchen and to their wine coolers.

"Sticky toffee pudding," Sebastian felt his mouth water at the sight of the warm treat while he set down the plates and forks. "I still can't believe Anne and Naru managed to make all of what we ate today," He said, settling himself back down on his seat.

"All the while you were wondering how to take a look at that Magpies poster upstairs," Ominis teased.

Just then, Norah came back out with two bottles of wine, Naru having helped her by bringing the glasses and setting them down. "Norah, what kind of-" Sebastian stopped upon seeing the way she stuck the wine bottle opener onto the cork. "So-" He was stunned into silence when Norah drank straight from the bottle, wrinkling her nose at the taste.

"This is not firewhisky, but it'll have to do-" Norah stared at the bottle before taking another drink. With a soft burp, she left the other bottle for them to open.

Ominis's expression turned into that of concern, as did Naru and Anne, who tried to pry off the bottle from her grip. "Won't your parents get mad that you're drinking their wine-" Anne tried to ask.

"They're not here right now, they don't really care as much as you think," Norah burped. "What they do care about, however, is how to keep up appearances. Appearances, that's what they care about..."

She reached for the kazoo next to the pile of presents. Norah bought it out of wanting to gift one to each of them including one for herself. She took another long drink before playing a little riff, sitting back down on the chair, playing a few more riffs that sounded a little like a 1950s blues number.

"Norah-chan," Naru began, his tone a little firm this time. "I wonder if you'll be able to understand me," He suddenly spoke in Japanese.

"What makes you think I don't?" Norah replied in fluent Japanese, making Ominis, Sebastian, and Anne gape. "You're not the only-" She hiccuped. "multi-lingual person in this room..."

Anne sighed and tried to get up. "Norah, I guess this is a sign that we- I mean, me, Ominis, and Sebastian, should go back to Feldcroft if things have gotten weird now-"

"And be perceived as an asshole for kicking you three out this time of year?" Norah stared at them. "It's not your fault, Anne, none of this is your fault. I know you tried, you really did, and I also think you kind of fancy Naru so I wouldn't dream of kicking you three out of my home."

She got to her feet before Sebastian or Ominis could get to her. "Bloody hell, Norah," Sebastian sighed.

"Yes, that's all you can say, can you? Almost everything and everyone you care about is still there for you," Norah pointed out, followed by another riff of the kazoo. "But I don't want to ruin the festive mood even more than I already have. Please, go, celebrate for me, I'll be in my room. If you want or need to go out...figure out how to use muggle money and the phone on your own..."

She trudged up the stairs, one hand holding the wine bottle, the other holding the kazoo. As soon as they heard her close the door, in a moment of sudden confidence, Ominis got up from his seat his wand leading him up the stairs and to her room, gently knocking on the door before slowly opening it.

As far as Ominis could tell, Norah was on the floor, back against the foot of her bed, feet splayed out. She was crying, even more so than what he heard from her before. This felt...deep, as if the floodgates had really opened and all she could do was cry. He was reminded by something his aunt Noctua taught him as a child.

When the world seems too painful to face, having someone you love with you can make it better.

He loved her, and he wanted her to be happy, but how could she be happy when everything around her seemed to fall apart? Was he really that scared?

Ominis sat down next to her. Feeling that confidence come over him, he suddenly pulled Norah into his arms, feeling her sobs even more as he held on to her tight. "No, Ominis please-"

"I'm not going anywhere," He said, shaking his head. Ominis closed his eyes, mentally questioning everything he thought and said earlier. "I love you..." He whispered, holding her close. Their moment in the Undercroft after the ball replaying in his head like a song on repeat. "and it's because I love you that I want to protect you...Even if it means I can't be the one who gives you what you want...I'm always here."

Norah looked up at him, tears continuously streaming down her cheeks. "I...love you too. And I wouldn't care what kind of family you come from. I can protect myself," She sniffled.

"I know," Ominis's hand moved to her cheek, wiping whatever tears he could feel. "I know, but there's more to this," His voice was now trembling. "If they learn about what you can do? They'll try and take it from you. They're too dangerous, and I won't let them take it from you."

He held her closer, embracing her tightly as if he didn't want to let go but he had to. Just when he had a chance at being completely happy, Ominis Gaunt knew it couldn't be. Being a Gaunt was a curse unto itself, and he would rather suffer than allow others, including Sebastian and Anne, to be affected. Especially Norah. Many already knew of his family as hateful, pureblood supremacists who loved and lived for torturing muggles and muggle-borns. Marvolo's would-be wife unsurprisingly shared their same beliefs.

If he really wanted to be done and over with everything he was going through, he could've asked Norah to do the ultimate thing and put an end to his family. But of course Norah wouldn't. She wasn't going to cast an Unforgivable unless there was nothing else left to do, but her ancient magic abilities permanently gave her a more powerful option.

They stayed that way the rest of the night, the two of them eventually falling asleep. Naru, who wondered what happened between them, quietly peeked inside. He could read both Ominis' and Norah's thoughts and nodded to himself. He was more relieved than anything that the night ended this way for the two of them.

Naru quietly closed the door and looked up at the clock, hearing Sebastian trudge up the stairs to go to his room, leaving Anne in the living area. It was nearly midnight, nearly Christmas. He went back down to the dining area, seeing how everything was now tidied up, thanks to the dishes that are washing themselves. To his surprise, there were already presents under the Christmas tree, and from the light rapping on the window, there were owls that were clutching packages on their talons.

"I'll get it," Anne suddenly said, carefully making her way to the window and opening it. "Oh, that looks like Garreth's owl," the tawny owl dropped the package inside before flying off. "...Leander's owl. Amit's owl too."

Naru looked surprised as the second owl dropped off a bigger package in front of them. "You can recognize these owls?" He asked.

"I sometimes hung around the Owlery when I was still studying," She winced a little, touching her side. "I'd see Garreth and Leander there sometimes, they're also Norah's friends, by the way. Sometimes I think they both like her with how Sebastian talks about them, even Ominis."

Naru chuckled. "I'm glad she is also liked. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you...like anyone?" He asked. "I think you're beautiful," He then muttered in Japanese.

Anne blinked, all the while hoping he didn't see how her cheeks went hot at the question. "M-me? like anyone?"

Naru nodded. "Are you dating anyone?"

Anne chuckled and looked down for a moment. "N-no, no I'm not dating anyone. As you can see," She winced again. "It's kind of hard to date when you're in pain every now and then."

"I heard from your brother you were cursed by Victor Rookwood," Naru glanced at her while he closed the window after seeing no other owls coming in toward the house.

While Anne didn't want to continue bringing her situation up, Naru's curiosity felt different, felt similar to how Norah and Ominis treated her. "Yes, unfortunately. But that Rookwood's now dead, you have your cousin to thank for that after he confronted her outside Ollivander's last year."

Naru smiled, having understood. He looked up, almost freezing when he realized what was hanging on the chandelier above their heads. When Anne looked up to where he was looking, she too nearly froze. They were standing under some mistletoe.

Their eyes slowly met as they looked down, and Naru studied her expression as if silently asking for permission. At any moment, one of them could lean away or suddenly decide that it might not be the time. Yet, neither of them seemed to budge. As much as they kept gazing into each other's eyes, their hands seemed to find their way to each other as well, Naru gently holding Anne's hands as he slowly leaned in.

Their eyes were closing. Any moment now, one or both of them could lean away, yet no one was budging. Naru leaned in all the way and kissed her softly before pulling away, still holding her hands. "Merry Christmas," He murmured.

If he looked close enough, he could see a faint blush appear on Anne's pale cheeks. "Merry Christmas," She greeted him back.

Small smiles crept up on their faces.

---

Christmas day was no longer as tense as the day before. Norah opened her eyes, sensing how puffy it had gotten, followed by the headache that one would get when even the slightest bit hungover. But it took a second until she realized that she had been sleeping in Ominis's arms the whole night, on the carpeted floor. The blonde, who managed to pull away just a little while they slept, was still in a peaceful slumber facing her. His wand, the tip glowing red, was on the bedside table.

She felt somewhat better now, a big weight lifted from her shoulders. Rather, it seemed to be washed away by the amount of alcohol she drank and how much she cried the night before. By this time, Sebastian, Naru, and Anne might already be awake and having breakfast. If she didn't try to get drunk and break down into a sobbing mess, she would've tried to enjoy the holiday a lot more.

As Norah thought about it, she studied Ominis' peaceful expression. She replayed the things he told her last night. She slowly sat up and got out of bed, the blonde opening his eyes at the sudden shift of weight on the mattress.

"N-Norah?" He said softly, reaching for his wand.

"Yes?"

"Good morning," He said.

"Good morning."

Ominis sat up, briefly smoothing his now slightly tousled hair. "Did you sleep well?" He certainly slept like a baby, he thought.

"I-I did" She said. "Merry Christmas, Ominis."

The greeting reminded him of why he was in Norah's home. "Right. Merry Christmas, Norah," He got up and out of bed.

Unsure of what else to say, the two of them left the room, suddenly hearing the familiar tinkering of dishes that didn't just mean breakfast, but also how Sebastian, Anne, and Naru were already celebrating. Norah turned to Ominis. "You had better change in your yukata. I think my father left one in your room, or Naru did," She said.

"Oh, oh right, I will then. I'll see you downstairs." Ominis nodded, making his way to the staircase while she went back inside her room to change.

This time to change also gave her the time to wash up and perhaps depuff her eyes. Looking around, Norah figured it was time to incorporate more of the magical world that she was now a part of, to this space she had in the muggle world.

Norah stepped out a little later, hearing the ruckus grow louder as Anne, Sebastian, and Naru were already dressed in their yukatas, Anne looking especially radiant with the vibrant colors of orange and light blue flowers against white. Naru and Sebastian seemed to match with their navy blue ones while Ominis wore a muted green. Norah stopped in front of the mirror, her hair already up in the bun she had gotten good at doing. She wore her emerald green yukata tied with a pink flowery obi. Her mother had chosen this specifically for her, apparently coming from a family seamstress in Japan. She figured Naru might recognize it.

As she emerged in the dining room, she was greeted by Naru and Anne handing her a familiar pint of butterbeer. Apparently, Sebastian and Naru went to the Leaky Cauldron to buy a keg while she was getting ready.

"Merry Christmas, Norah" Anne smiled.

She wasn't going to be sad today. Not today. "Merry Christmas, Anne!" She said cheerily, clinking her pint with hers. "Merry Christmas, everyone!"

"Someone's in a good mood," Sebastian grinned. He glanced at Ominis, who was taking a careful sip of butterbeer. "These are really comfortable, by the way."

"It should be," Naru pointed out with a laugh. "Breakfast is ready, and perhaps we can start opening presents after."

"I think we should have a picture to commemorate this holiday," Anne suggested, glancing at Naru, whose expression softened as their eyes met. "It would be nice."

Norah brought over her phone. "It's not enchanted, but I could have this printed and give one to each of you," She said, arm already outstretched to take their picture. Sebastian pulled Ominis in time for her to tap the button a few times. She looked at the photos, seeing all of them, including Ominis, were smiling.

"Brilliant" Anne was beaming when Norah showed them the photos she took, the four of them suddenly stopping to stare as Norah took out a small white device from the kitchen counter and with a few taps of her phone, a small photograph came out one after the other.

"Another Christmas memory," Norah said, handing one to each of them. "Sometimes I nearly forget what it's like to live like a muggle now that I've been going to Hogwarts...But then it's like...muscle memory, I guess. I'd always know how to do things like these, and still do things with magic too..."

Naru smiled as he looked at the photo he was holding. He took out his wand and after a moment, tapped Norah's phone and photo printer. "I think that should do it. Now it's enchanted."

That made Norah think. Maybe their fireplace could become connected to the floo network. Or at the very least, have a floo flame installed in the garage. She wondered how that could happen. She did think it was time to incorporate more of the magical world into the space she called home after all. She was sure her parents would have an easier time visiting if there was.

The five of them gathered around the table to eat, tucking into the leftovers from the night before, with Anne and Naru taking it upon themselves to reheat everything while Sebastian took care of everything else, including how to properly wear the yukatas the three of them were now sporting. This also included telling Ominis off for breaking Norah's heart, in the quietest way possible while also wondering how Norah must be in a good mood now after everything that happened before.

"Can I suggest next time, we spend a few days in Feldcroft?" Sebastian suddenly spoke. "If you're coming back to Scotland in the summer, you're more than welcome to join us, Naru."

"That's very kind of you to offer, I think I can do it," Naru agreed, glancing at Norah. "As long as you don't mind our other cousin comes along too. Katsuko, she's a Tozawa like Norah."

This time Norah was confused again. "Tozawa? First you say I'm an Inugami, and now you're telling me Tozawa?" She raised a brow in between bites.

Naru laughed at her confusion, but even Anne, Ominis, and Sebastian had gotten confused. "Uncle Makoto's real family name is Tozawa. He changed it to Lee upon migrating here out of shame as he's the only squib in the entire Inugami clan," He explained, trying to put the story out as gently as he could in case they had returned. "But his last name is actually Tozawa. Norah and I are second cousins because our grandmothers are sisters."

"Oh, so like second cousins? And Katsuko, she's my first cousin?" Norah pieced it together, and Naru replied with a hum. "Got it."

"She actually wanted to come along when she found out I was coming here," Naru explained. "You two actually look a bit similar."

The comparison somehow made Sebastian's and Ominis' ears perk up. "Oh, well, if she ever comes here, hopefully we wouldn't get mistaken for each other," Norah chuckled. "And because my dad probably has no plans to change his name back to Tozawa, you're all stuck with my last name being Lee...Not that he knows that I know about this now..."

"The more the merrier!" Anne smiled. She glanced at Sebastian, having remembered something. "It's going to be their last summer break while studying at Hogwarts, and we've got to talking, and we've agreed that we might put up Solomon's house for sale and move back to Aranshire or to someplace closer."

"You two? Leaving Feldcroft?" Norah raised a brow.

"Yeah," Sebastian nodded. "When our parents died, we had to move to Feldcroft for Solomon. Now that he's um," He paused for a moment. "Well, you know, passed away, we thought we'd move back to Aranshire, which is where we lived when we were children. I think you're familiar with the house too. Mary Portman?"

Memories of fighting spiders in the cellar came rushing back. "If you need help clearing the cellar out, let us know," Norah suggested. "It's more of a cavern than a cellar, if you ask me."

"Oh right..." Sebastian stared at her. "Pest control, was it?"

"Mhmm. Might want to plant an army of venomous tentaculas and chomping cabbages to keep those spiders out," Norah suggested.

---

They gathered around the Christmas tree after several toasts and some pudding, each of them opening their presents. Much to their surprise, Garreth sent each of them knitted Christmas jumpers, likely out of the insistence of his mother. Leander, on the other hand, sent a packet of honking daffodil seeds for Norah, a book about Alchemy for Sebastian, a dirigible plum start for Anne, and a Tempest in a Bottle for Ominis. As for Amit, he sent over constellation posters to each of them, perhaps those that reminded him of them. Henry and Natty also sent them their respective presents, such as copies of the adventure novels she told them about once before and jars of assorted jams made by Henry's mother and sister.

In Sebastian's case, he had some help from Adele about what to get Norah and Anne. Ominis, on the other hand, relied on Anne's help. Ominis had given Norah a new pair of dragonhide gloves, while Sebastian gave her a journal for her to write her research down on the swirling ball of pain and emotion in the caverns.

"So you don't leave your journal entries scattered all over like Isidora," He teased.

But Norah handed Naru a wrapped box with a gold ribbon. "Merry Christmas, cousin," She grinned.

Naru's eyes lit up as he tore open the gift, opening the box to reveal a sneakoscope, immediately using it on everyone. With Anne and Sebastian, Norah gave each of them duelling gloves with their initials embroidered on them, and for Ominis, she gave him a pair of green-tinted spectacles and what he realized was the button on her sweater.

"I'm having way too much fun with this," Naru said, still looking around into the sneakoscope. He brought out a small wrapped gift to her as well. "Before I left, I thought you needed to have something from home. It's nothing much."

She looked down at the present, wrapped in a blue fabric and tied together with a shiny floral ribbon. Slowly untying the ribbon, the fabric spread out, revealing a dark green kimono jacket with gold and silver embroidery. Looking closely, the gold and silver designs were actually of a chrysanthemum, a koto or Japanese zither, and surprisingly, an axe. The fabric felt incredibly soft to the touch.

"Wow," Norah mouthed, holding it up for most of them to see, but even Ominis' wand sensed the details. "Are you sure this is for me?"

"Yeah, the chrysanthemum, the koto, and the axe are of the three Inugami family heirlooms," Naru explained wisely. "Each grandchild or great-grandchild has this made for them by the family seamstress. I can't tell you how many times my grandma's told us that growing up."

They were all fascinated. It also had the gears in Sebastian's head turning. From how Naru was dressed, how he carried himself, and what he brought for Norah, was making him think about her family's reputation back in Japan. How Norah's father behaved like someone who was exiled for being a squib. It was making him think.

Ominis, on the other hand, was starting to think the same thing, with the jacket seemingly becoming yet another clue. But there would be time to wonder about that later. As Anne and Naru seemed to be making glances at each other, Norah thought it was another chance to take a photo. She took out her phone to take candid shots of each of them, especially of the pair. It was definitely not the day to be sad, she told herself. Not when the people she cared about were celebrating with her.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy angst #hogwarts legacy fluff #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #norah henry adele caleb #natsai onai #garreth weasley #leander prewett #amit thakkar #poppy sweeting

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leeknowsnot · 1 year ago

Text

rental romance (i.n x reader)

genre: fluff, retro setting: 80s warnings: none tbh, ok maybe a short mention of early pregnancy but it's not that major. it's not even relevant to the story lol

Series: Retro Series

hii!! this will be the first ever imagine that i'm posting for this blog. it will also be the first to the ot8 retro series that i'll be making so i hope you enjoy!!

note: idrk if i should add this as note but f/n stands for your friend's name ^^

links: chan minho changbin hyunjin han felix seungmin

The school bell rang, eliciting a cheer from almost every student, including you. It was the last day before summer vacation, and no one could wish for more than the last minute to end. As your professor waved her hand goodbye, wishing everyone a happy vacation with an amused smile on her face, you stretched out your arms and legs.

You could swear you heard some pop, but you could never blame your body for not feeling stiff after sitting through five hours of unnecessary lecture about accidental summer pregnancy and foolish teenage adventures during summer. You knew it was just the faculty keeping out for you and the others—considering how someone had “accidents” during the school’s overnight camping trip a few months ago; they didn’t want a replay of that.

You felt a tap on your shoulder, your friend’s grin beaming too close to your face once you turned your head. “Got any plans for summer?” she asked.

You pursed your lips, jutting it in a manner that you always do whenever you think and shrug at her, “I don’t know. I’ll probably rent some VHS and catch up on some movies I haven’t seen ever since my brother broke the VCR. Dad got us a new one after his promotion last week.”

You weren’t exactly the most adventurous person, but you weren’t anti-social either. You just preferred being alone most of the time with your movies, curled in a blanket in the living room, hogging the television set and feasting your eyes on some half-blurry movie that you have managed to get your hands on, keeping the entertainment all to yourself. Though sometimes, you’d end up engrossing the others at home with your endless list of movies to watch. Your choices were always what’s “in”; The Breakfast Club, Fright Night, Ghostbusters—you didn’t mind whatever genre it was. Except for one. Romance.

You didn’t exactly hate romance, but you didn’t like it either. For you, watching Romance movies was... well, it was weird, and you’d rather not risk it and save yourself from the cringe.

Taking your bag from your seat, you both headed out of the classroom, the chattering of other students livening the ever-so crowded hallway. Since today was the last day of the school year, it was denser than ever.

F/N grimaced at you, one of her eyebrows raising. “Didn’t you tell me you didn’t like the lady owner at the store?”

Your nose crinkled, unsure if it was because of the mixed smell of perfume and summer sweat from the other students in the hallway or at the owner of the VHS store you always talked—no, scratch that—complained to your friend about. You decided it was the latter.

“I don’t have any choice F/N, that’s literally the only video rental store in town,” you said.

“You’re right”, she gave you an expression of defeat. “You might as well date that old woman this summer, since you’ll be frequenting her shop.”

“Ew, no. I’m not into older women,” you give her a shove on the shoulder, and she lets out a laugh.

You both were cut off from your conversation when you heard a familiar honk by the street across the school entrance. F/N’s face fell, “Well, I guess I gotta go. Dad’s having his relatives visit tonight and we’re going to eat out at that same diner at the next town.”

It was now your turn to return the favor and tease her back. “Hope you get flirted by that waiter again!”

She let out a frustrated huff at you and rolled her eyes, to which you responded with a laugh. You heard another honk.

“Ugh, fine I’m coming!” you heard her groan as she walked away from you and into her father’s car, waving one last time at you before they sped off—an inaudible sound of him scolding her for leaving the school grounds late, retreating as the car soon joined the sea of cars in the distance.

⊹　　˖　　　　 ̟　　　⊹　　　˙

The distance from your school to the video rental shop wasn’t exactly far so you arrived only a couple of minutes later, on foot.

As the usual bell from the small entrance door jingled at your entrance, the familiar smell of the store welcomed you. It was always a mixture of wet wood, dry cardboard, vinyl tapes, and the lady owner’s disturbingly fragrant perfume. However, her perfume wasn’t what trickled your nostrils, but a different perfume. It was musky, a bit fresh, you thought. Either way, it was different from what you were used to.

When you turned into a corner and towards the counter, you expected to see the old woman rubbing on the back of some vinyl disc, as what she would always do each time you visit for a rental. But it was a different person behind the long wooden table this time.

It was a guy, dressed in a white collared shirt that was tucked in his jeans, and a—what even is that.

‘Is that a floral beach shirt on top?’ you laugh to yourself. You tried so hard not to chortle at his untimely choice of fashion while manning a store, but a snort escaped between your lips and caught his attention.

He raises his eyebrows at you and smiles, “Welcome! Anything I can assist you with? We have some new arrivals from this morning’s delivery.”

You could swear his eyes disappeared momentarily when he beamed at you. You cleared your throat, landing your eyes everywhere but him at embarrassment over the possibility that he could have caught you staring at him and silently ridiculing him for wearing a beach shirt outside of the beach.

“I uh... I was just wondering where the owner was since I haven’t really seen you before,” you said, trying to talk your way out of being caught red-handed.

“Oh, she’s not here. I’m the new store employee, it’s my first shift!” And he bought it with a smile. Well, he technically didn’t see you anyway since he was too busy updating the shop list, but you felt it was necessary to play safe anyway.

You nodded your head, your mouth slightly agape as you silently mouthed a quiet hum. “I see...”

At least I don’t have to deal with her cranky attitude anymore, you thought.

He walked out from the back of the counter and towards you, his whole stature finally revealing itself as the counter was tall enough to cover below his chest. At the end of the lace that hung on his neck was an employee identification card and sure enough, he is an employee at the store, seeing that the logo was plastered beside his picture—in which you thought that the logo was unnecessarily huge.

Yang Jeong In, it read.

From up close, you thought that he was cute. Well, compared to those brutes and try-hards at your school anyway. He was slightly taller than you are too, and the whiffs of his perfume reached your nostrils more than it did earlier.

“The new movie tapes are in that shelf over there,” he pointed with his thumb.

You blinked, remembering the cassette that was inside your bag—the idea of possibly making a bad impression on the new employee not lost at the back of your brain. “Actually,” you paused, fishing your bag for the cassette tape. “I’m also here to return a movie I borrowed a couple of weeks ago.”

You hand him the copy of The Outsiders that you had been meaning to return since two weeks ago. He returned to the back of the counter again, his face disappearing as he bowed his head down at whatever logbook he was writing in from earlier, leaving you to stare at a couple of his hair strands poking out from the prim wax finish that looked like it had been rushed upon application.

“It’s uh... It’s past due,” you can hear him scratch his head. “For about almost a month now.”

You let out a sheepish laugh, tapping on the strap of your bag. “Yeah, about that... I wanted to return it as soon as I finished it, but school was...” you trailed off. Yeah, not a very valid reason.

You heard him tap the counter from behind twice before he poked his head out at you with a smile. “Okay, I’ll just fill this in,” he said before his face disappeared behind the counter again.

You decided it was best not to question him anymore and took a walk around the store, running your fingers around some movie tapes and musing inside your head about what and what you have not yet watched. You stopped at a shelf where the employee said they had new arrivals. There were various titles that weren’t familiar indeed and you had the worst indecisive trait, so you lingered on your spot, staring at the multiple movies.

“I recommend giving Gregory’s Girl a watch,” the new employee from behind you suddenly spoke.

You jumped in surprise at his sudden presence, both hands clutched at your chest. It was now his turn to snort in amusement. You were too focused on eyeing the movies that you didn’t notice him leaving the counter and walking up behind you.

“I’m not a fan of romance,” you blinked, recovering yourself from the untimely fright that he had given you. He tilted his head slightly, both eyebrows raised.

“It’s both a combination of romance and comedy. It’s good,” he nods. “I’ve watched it for about five times myself.”

You stood there, eyes switching from him to the paper cassette box stacked neatly amongst the other movies. You were contemplating whether to take Child’s Play or Gregory’s Girl, but you wanted a change of pace from your usual action and horror movies, so you thought that maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if you took his recommendation into consideration.

“Fine, I’ll borrow that,” you finally gave up and he flashed another smile. Does he ever not smile? You think to yourself. Though, you didn’t exactly mind. It was cute refreshing to see rather than a certain woman in her late 50s, unleashing her bitterness over life at her own customers.

He then took the tape and wrote something on his logbook before handing you the cassette in a plastic bag and stamping on your rental booklet that they use to keep track of each person’s rental history.

You thanked him, slightly bowing your head before heading out of the door.

It was your first time renting a romance movie. You thought to yourself, I’ll just watch the first few minutes then I’ll just rewatch Beetlejuice.

Yeah, you’ll do that.

⊹　　˖　　　　 ̟　　　⊹　　　˙

You have never been so wrong in your entire life. Here you are now, standing in front of the same counter, in the same shop the next day, with the same new employee. And he was trying his best not to give you the widest, smug grin while he took Gregory’s Girl from your hands.

You rolled your eyes at him, “Okay fine, it was surprisingly good.”

He gives you an exaggerated expression, “Surprisingly good? It’s great! It’s one of the best romcom movies I’ve ever seen. Well, after The Breakfast Club.”

You held up a hand, “Wait, you like The Breakfast Club too?”

“Of course, who doesn’t? And Fright Night.”

“No way,” you rested your chin on top of the small table at the middle of the store while he placed the tape you rented back at the shelf. These were practically your favorites. “Don’t tell me you like Ghostbusters too.”

He faced you, both eyebrows raised at you. “I love Ghostbusters! It’s an icon.”

You gave him an amused expression, a smile on your face. Back at home and at school, you didn’t really have anyone else to share your enthusiasm over movies with. Not even your friend, since she had more interest in sports stuff.

Then, he started humming a familiar tune. “If there’s something strange, In your neighborhood.” Your ears perked at that.

“Oh my God,” you gasped. His head was bopping at the mutual tune that both of you had in your heads.

“Who you gonna call?” he continued before finally turning to you.

You laughed as you shook your head and your hand. “No way I’m singing with you.”

He tilted his head again at you, an expecting expression on his lips. Eventually, you gave up.

“GHOSTBUSTERS!” you both exclaim at the same time and laugh at the unison.

You held your stomach from laughing too much. “Ohh, this is so much better than having that sulky old lady around!”

You were laughing so much that you hadn’t realized you were the only left laughing. Until you did. When you recollected yourself, you saw him looking at you with wide eyes, hand covering his mouth.

Oops, I think I thought out loud, you grimaced.

“I... I mean—”

“HAHAHAHAHA!!” He slowly burst out laughing. You were momentarily confused as to why he laughed at your sudden self-snitching, but he eventually spoke. “So I wasn’t the only one who thought that too? That the store owner was really sulky.”

Suddenly, you were back on the same page as him again. “Exactly my point!! It’s like she’s got a grudge on the world or something.”

⊹　　˖　　　　 ̟　　　⊹　　　˙

From that day on, you started coming a lot to the store. Well, not that you weren’t a frequent customer before, but the new guy made it more tolerable. You shared a lot of interests, had almost the same opinion on everything. Basically, you both were like fire and oil. You’ve become friends over the whole duration of your summer vacation. However, there was one problem.

“Come on, Jeongin! This is the umpteenth romance movie you’ve recommended me, and it always gets sappier every time!” You grumbled with a contorted expression as you swiveled comfortably on his chair by the counter.

He gave you a small laugh, eyes leaving yours. “No, they're not.”

“Yes, they do!”

“Nope.”

“Yes.”

“Nopee.”

“Yes, they do. Oh my God!”

Again, Jeong In laughed at your expression and ruffled your hair. You saw his smile disappear and saw him avert his eyes away whenever your gazes meet but you tried not to read into that too much. He retracted back his hand awkwardly from your head and wiped it on his jeans.

‘Weird idiot...’ You muttered inside your head.

You both shared the silence for a while, and he had his back turned to you, but you could see his hands fumble with whatever they touch. “Jeongin, you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Of course I am,” he replied immediately. Too immediate in fact.

You blinked. Was he offended at what I said earlier?

“Hey...” You muttered, “I didn’t... I didn’t really mean what I said earlier. They’re not entirely sappy. I just... You know I’m not a really big fan of romance so—”

“Y/N,” he cut you off mid-sentence, a deep inhale following.

“Yeah?”

“I have... something to say to you,” his voice got weaker at the end, as if he suddenly had second thoughts of saying it midway, but you still heard it anyway.

Your blinked. “Is there... something wrong?”

It took him a short while, but he finally spoke again, his back still on you. “I love that you get cold when it’s 71 degrees out.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Huh...?”

“I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich,” he continued, finally facing you this time, a serious expression on his face. “I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you’re looking at me like I’m nuts.”

You blinked, crinkling your nose indeed but you knew where he was coming from. “Wait,” you chuckled. “Isn’t this Harry’s dialogue from When Harry met Sally?”

“I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night.”

You gave him an acknowledging nod, “I’ll give it to you, you really memorized the whole dialogue word per word.”

As you gave him an amused smile, Jeong In stared at you for a short while before sighing and closing his eyes. “No, Y/N. This isn’t just me... reciting the movie dialogue out of nowhere.”

He cautiously held your shoulder, his eyes boring themselves in your own hues. “I...” He looks down momentarily before his eyes are on yours again. “Look, I really like you, okay? Like, like you. These past weeks, I... I uh...”

You were holding your breath. You were looking at him like a deer caught in headlights. Yet why did you look so beautiful in his eyes still? He sighed, hands releasing your shoulder as he hung his head a bit low. Jeong In shook his head. “It’s not supposed to be like this, I’m sorry. We’ve been friends for quite a while now and I...” He grumbled exasperatedly.

“God why is it so hard to say. I even practiced at the mirror this morning,” he whispered in the last part.

Though hesitant, you encouraged him to continue. In your sight, he was so cute right now. Was it your rationality speaking? No. You’ve always found Jeong In cute but you were too in denial to admit it. And now he was here, acting like a child, botching his own confession.

Jeong In took a deep breath before finally looking you in the eyes again. “I like you, Y/N. You’re my friend, my best friend, my soulmate. And I’ve realized that during the days we’ve spent here in the store. It... may not be the best place to write our love story on but...”

He looked away for a short while before holding your hand in his. “Will you write a sappy—the sappiest love story with me in this shabby old video rental store and be my girlfriend?”

You almost laughed out loud but suppressed it with a snicker and nodded. “Yes. I’ll be your girlfriend.”

You could see Jeong In almost turn from a smile into a crying happy face but then saw it turn into a horror expression. You furrowed your eyebrows. Well, that was three expressions in 10 seconds.

You were about to joke about it, until you finally heard the reason as to why his expression changed so fast.

“I am not paying you to flirt with a customer, Mr. Yang Jeong In,” the lady owner’s voice grimly rang from behind you.

Oh, shit.

i hope you like it!! i'm sorry if it still sounds a bit meh rn, it's been a long while since i wrote x reader fics like... it's literally been more than 10 years

anw, lmk if you want to be added to the taglist (or visit my pinned messages!)

#in x reader #stray kids #skz #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz fluff #skz fanfic #stray kids fluff #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #jeongin #yang jeongin #jeong in x reader #retro #yang jeongin x reader #yang jeongin imagines #stray kids x reader

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