There's something dark and unnatural swirling around this place. Just the type of thing that draws things like Aaron in. He's feeling better than usual, all healed up and like his mind is his own once more. So breaking into the manor, looking for the wrongness in it, was a fairly simple task.
The revenant doesn't try to be quiet: after all, nothing can hurt him, and trying to kill him would be a waste of time. But fun for him. He's always so very bored.
He'll explore the house until he can find what's making the air taste like rot. And then... he doesn't know. Maybe he'll find something worth investigating, maybe he'll just be disappointed. Either way, he's not leaving until he's found the source.
No caretakers are left alive to stop the overgrowth crawling up the bricked walls of the manor. Sitting lonely, all decorations and buildings nearby reduced to rubble in elegant piles. It’s no feat to break into, a hole broken into the ballroom and framed by the Creeping Virginia and withering remains of spring blooms. Lining the pseudo entrance are piles of dead animals. Not taxidermic hunts, but rotting animals shredded in a frenzy. Blood thick and curdled around them, shedding off of the flooring.
The final inhabitant of the house sits alone, often unmoving. Marc has no need to leave anymore, not unless it compels him to. His best friend, the last thing to stay with him. It doesn’t let him leave today, stewing in the basement while the former lord sits still in a drawing room. Wallpaper peels away in small strips, mold covering the crowning of the door. It pushes him, prodding him like cattle to stand.
[ ENG TRANS] 200210 _lovelyvely_ran IG update : Minho’s autograph
"SHINee Minho... drank iced americano that I made... gave his signature.. he greeted when our eyes met.. now my life is thriving.. i love you... SHINee Minho's face smaller than a fist.."
I don’t really have a lot of rules for my rp blogs, but it’s always good to have them out in the open.
1. No discrimination of any kind, especially out of character. No warnings, I will block anyone who tries that shit.
2. No minors. No interacting with this blog in any form. Only 18 and up can interact, that’s it.
3. I do have work and school outside of Tumblr, so I can’t always respond. Please don’t just reblog the post to alert me. If I haven’t responded for more than three days, just send me a message in case Tumblr ate it. If I say I’m going on break, don’t keep pushing threads.
4. Fun! This is silly goofy here, and we need silly goofy times. Don’t take anything too seriously, just enjoy!
5. I will tag for gore, murder, dark themes etc. if there’s anything that needs to be tagged, please let me know.
Well I bet you’d thrive as an actor or a singer either way. How’s school for you? Do you pay attention in class?
“…No, not really. I don’t like it that much. Oliver’s so much better at it all. He’s been helping me with it all, so Father doesn’t get upset at my grades. He said that we would get records together soon. I only have a few, but he lets me borrow them.” Marc sits down on the ground, poking at a few blades of grass. It wasn’t fair Oliver got to leave so soon.
Oliver lays over Marc’s body on the couch, having chosen to stay after all of their friends had left the party. He’s too intoxicated to know who he’s laying on top of, distracted by his own thoughts and the feeling of a satin robe underneath his fingertips. Hair falling over his face, his cheeks are flushed a bright red, feeling all too warm even though he’s unbuttoned the first three buttons of his dress shirt.
“Marc is such a nice friend. He’s got such a… a nice face. Have you seen his hair? It’s all, uh— full of those curlers sometimes. It’s always soft. I love his smile and his… his um, his snark. He’s so perfect.” Oliver swoons, snuggling up closer to the actor with a content hum. “I love him. We’re gonna live by the sea. In a little cottage. It’s going to be perfect.”
His head moves to look up at Marc, staring up at him with glazed-over eyes and an expression that gives away the swell of love overwhelming his heart. “Don’t tell him I said that though. He’ll rub it in my face.”
Oliver gets comfortable once again, face hidden away in the crook of his neck. “I love that about him too. He never hesitates. I wish I could… I wish I could deserve him.”
Oh no. Tears. That’s not good.
None of them could ever hold their alcohol aside from Damien. In the calm of the after party, Marc’s changed into his favourite robe and lying on the couch alongside his partner. It was his managers idea to buy the manor and host a housewarming party with various actors and producers he’d never heard of. He didn’t plan to ever move in properly, but it was insisted that he stay for a little longer. Just until his next film came along.
As much as he denied it, his ego is easily flattered. Marc doesn’t mention that he is still underneath him, wrapping arms around him and pulling him further against his lap. “I heard all about it. He said he was going to buy it next year, once the filming is wrapped up. He loves you too.”
Brushing his hands through his hair, he starts shifting to carry him to bed when the crying starts. Fussing over him immediately, Marc starts kissing the top of his head and wrapping him in the softness of his robe. “Now now, you don’t need to cry. He doesn’t know how he ever got you. You’re so wonderful Oliver, he wishes he could make you happy forever. My love, I promise you’ve never had to earn him.”
[ SKATES ] for sender and receiver to go ice skating.
the sweet boys? 👉👈
As stubborn as ever, Marc refused to admit he never learnt how to skate. Finding skates was already out of his families budget, so there was never a point in trying to teach him. Oliver likely had skiing holidays, one of his father’s favourite ways to antagonize his son’s friend. Painting him as snobby little rich boy who bought his way into university. Since moving into Oliver’s dorm, he hasn’t made a call home.
In front of the main building, the lake had frozen over into a thick sheet of ice. A handful of students rushed to make a profit, a tiny stall offering hot teas and skates at the edge of the makeshift rink. Despite his quiet insistence that he could pay for it, Oliver rented out both of their skates. The sun was already setting, leaving only them and the few students working on the booth outside. Carefully pulling himself up onto his feet, Marc stands with his legs spread apart and arms reaching out to grab anything to stay upright.
“Are you sure you’ve done this before?” Wrapping an arm around his waist, he lifts the performer to stand beside him. They’re already boarding on frostbite, cheeks bitten pink and noses glowing like the street lamp around them. Marc is wrapped up in a scarf woollen and coat, the same fashions he’s worn since high school. “I am fine, it’s just been a few years.” They’ve known each other since they were children, so his lie is worse than his balance. Slipping and sliding against the ice, he leans into Oliver as they move across the lake.
Facing away from the stall and hidden by the clock tower, Marc manages to slide his face against his partners chest. Warmer and richer furs lined his coat, softer and overwhelming with the scent of him. They’re in their very own corner of heaven, the moonlight unable to illuminate their sin. “I love you,” he whispers, breath freezing in the air.
“I love you too.” They kiss in the cold, lips freezing together.
[ DRESS ]: receiver is supposed to help sender into their costume but they end up taking it off instead.
the babies 👉👈
Their timing had been more than perfect, deciding to be a vampire and a thrall from one of the various novels Oliver had picked up. ‘Dracula’ had just been turned into a film, days before the production company Marc worked at had their Halloween party. Despite the films changes, Oliver had insisted on staying accurate to the book with his costume. His partner had gone to the costuming department, less than keen of being an ancient demon with the face of a rotten onion. A corset was tied tightly around his dress shirt, the fake fangs discarded so he can continue talking a mile a minute.
“..and then there’s Mr. Peterson, he’s the one looking like a polished boot. Do not mention the inaccuracies, he nearly shot Susan when she mentioned that Harker was the main character through the letters.” Starting to button up Oliver’s outfit, another wicked thought goes through his mind. It wasn’t a traditionally sexy outfit with three layers of clothing that better fit Oliver’s class than Marc’s. It’s because it’s him wearing it, slightly disheveled because they weren’t finished yet. “Wait, this isn’t the right coat. I’ll find you the actual overcoat. Can you just hold..just hold still?”
With the patience of saint, Oliver doesn’t question it as he steps back, still as a mannequin for his partner to dress up. “We’ll be late if we keep changing out my outfits. Sweetheart, I’m sure no one will..” Marc’s moved to his knees, hands now grasping the loops of his belt and starting to whine. “You’re too pretty Ollie, can I please?” Playing as dirty as possible, he pushes his mouth along the outside of his pants. Kissing and starting to drool so Oliver has to start undressing to save his clothes.
“Someone has to scream tonight, right?” He gleefully chimes, watching Oliver undress in front of him.
[ dressing room ] our muses have some fun in a dressing room together
they so would’ve done this before one of his shows 🤭
oops
It’s as if he sold his soul to the devil. Just a year out of university with a degree in fine arts and he had a permanent spot in the city’s theatre. In the summer, he would perform in whatever play they had for the season and sang for the rest of the year. Marcus even had a few spots on the radio if they were missing an act. Every show, he had a free ticket to give. He kept giving it to Oliver, making sure he could always watch the show. But he realizes, there’s an easier way to get him to the show; letting him in through the backstage and inviting him to his dressing room.
Two hours before the show, Marcus starts to get some ideas. Since a beautifully drunken night where’d they confessed and kissed, they’ve been together in secret. A quick bout of affection in their cars before entering an event, walking close enough together so their hands could brush against each other, nights in Marc’s apartment where no one could disturb them. As long as the room had no prying eyes, it was safe.
While he carefully removes the curlers from the back of his hair, he looks over his shoulder to see if he can see Oliver. Buried in a book, another one of those law books that he and Damien were always carrying. Marc’s father wanted him to go into law, but they didn’t speak anymore. Acting was more interesting than the legalese they understood.
While facing the mirror, he starts to pull the few underclothes from under his robes off. Shifting and squirming in his seat as he starts to kick off his boxers and quickly pull off his undershirt. “Darling, eyes up please,” he says with a sing song tone, turning to face him with the robe still closed. “Could you help me get changed? I have to hold my curls in place.” Acting with absolute innocence, he pops the last roller out of place and keeps both of his hands behind his head.
Watching Oliver walk over without any idea is enough to send sparks up his spine, the few years together still makes everything feel brand new. A kiss is like their very first, when he can’t get enough. Humming as he holds his hair in place, he watches as his partner slips his fingers underneath the tied fabric to part the robe. “You’re going to have a whole team of people by the end of the year, the whole state is in love with you. Honestly-,” The illusion drops, leaving Marc naked in front of him. “Is something wrong? I haven’t pulled out a curl have I?”
Lightly swatting his chest, his lover goes from paper white to blood red. “You’re going on stage in a few hours, I am not letting you go up there after..” With the rest of his thoughts feeling too revolutionary in a semi public space, Oliver tries covering his partner back up. Marcus refuses, throwing the robe onto the vanity.
“So? It doesn’t always have to be me getting fucked. And if you’re that worried about me ruining my suit, you could help me get cleaned up. What about my..” Tapping his throat and winking, he happily drops to his knees to wait.
“You’re singing tonight. Marc, sweetheart, I will do whatever you want after the show.”
“But isn’t it exciting? Think about it. I have to put my demeanour back together, perform for everyone while you get to know what you did to me. We’ve never done it in here before, think about how you’ll claim it and me. How I’ll always be yours, that we belong together.” Stretching towards Oliver, both hands reach to grasp both of his shoulders to try and convince him. Clambering into his lap while offering the best puppy eyes money could buy. “Oh my sunshine, please? If we do it now, then I won’t be ruined during the show.” Hopefully, the puppy-esque demeanour can win him over.
Like always, his partner is gentle when he touches him. Putting both hands atop his chest, skin completely unmarked. After years on a slightly meager diet, Marc was finally well fed. A slight, wiry and skeleton frame became soft, built with purpose and plush skin. Marcus moves impatiently, rocking his hips against his partners thigh until Oliver pins his hips down. For his “nerd”, he was strong enough to carry both Marc and Damien after drunken nights out. “I can’t say no to you, but you’re not bossing me around this time.” Pulling him onto the couch, the actor is forced to sit still while the removal of clothes is slow. Folding everything up on the side table, locking the door and laying the robe back on the chair.
“You know we can’t do this without any of the..stuff.” Prudish as he was, Oliver keeps on the lower half of his clothes while he searches for anything he can use to make this easier. “Bottom drawer, underneath the magazines. I do keep myself prepared. For you of course.” Rolling his eyes, the small canister of oil is found amidst the prop papers. Moving slowly while Marc somehow sits still, leg bouncing against the couch as his impatience never ends.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Marc? Marc? Opening act couldn’t make it tonight, half the band got the flu. You’ll have to go on, are you good to go in twenty?” Nothing is ever that good. Grimacing as he turns to the door, coughing to fix his voice. “Give me thirty! I’ve got to get myself ready!”
Footsteps fade out into the hallway to finally leave them alone. “Well, we’ve just got to do it a little quicker then.” Laying down on the couch, Marc pushes his legs open and starts patting his thigh. “Pretty please? Sunshine..I can’t go on stage like this.”
Anyone else would’ve cursed him out, made him get dressed and shove him in the bathroom to take care of himself. It’s Oliver, whose soft hands grasp both of his thighs so he can kneel between them. Letting his partners pleads persuade him into pleasing him, well practiced fingers slowly move from the soft pudge of his thighs and press against the ring of muscle. “I did say I was going to do my own thing this time. You don’t have to worry about a thing, just relax. You’re mine, aren’t you?”
An indignant cry to get him moving becomes a weak moan, cold oil dripping down his thighs. His lovers voice feels distant as his breath warms his skin, two slicked fingers push to remind Marc exactly where he is: at his mercy. Someone so sweet and unassuming outside of the bedroom that every night with him was a little shock to his system. Oliver, his sunshine could be anything but gentle? What a dream come true. Slowly pushing both into him as he looms above the flustered actor.
“Can’t believe we’re doing this,” he pants, shifting closer to the edge to push himself further on Oliver’s fingers. “Glad I’m more interesting than those books..” While he was completely content with the idea of a quickie before the performance, his partner always took time to make him happy. A secondary way to hear him debase his voice and fall into line.
Squeezing his eyes shut, the dirty sin of their love creeps into his mind. They were never supposed to be like this, perverting the space around them with hot hands and bodies ever so close. They’d have to accept it, enjoy the buried desires in such secluded places and walk out as friends. Burning shame becomes pleasure, holding back anything louder that would reveal the sin in his performance. Tiny groans, short as they leave in steady pace fill the room. With no sense of time, Marc can only hope Oliver is kind enough to keep his word and get him on stage before they’re heard by a stagehand.
“Eyes open darling, you don’t want to miss the show.” Retracting his fingers from a trembling Marc, he stills just to watch him. Burning feverishly, rosy red from his cheeks down to his chest while he clenches around nothing. Oliver’s palm presses against his lovers heart, both of them unmarked by the cruelty of time. When his lovers eyes blink open, tears in the corners of them. Marc couldn’t help himself from crying during sex, the beautiful agony of his image being destroyed and loving Oliver so much he could almost give it all up. Just a few years, make enough and get the fame. Retire early and live out their ‘bachelor’ lives. Coaxing his lover to respond, the bottle is tipped to drip the cold oil along the length of Marc’s cock. Enough to make him shudder, whining as he squirms to end the sensation. Forever willing to torture him, Oliver barely wraps his fingers around his cock. Spreading the oil along him to watch him shudder and buck his hips like a wild animal.
“You’re only getting this now because there’s twenty minutes until the show, not because you’re begging so poorly.” Marc’s quips and any hint of sarcasm have been saved for when they’re truly alone, muffling the frustrated cries with the back of his hand. Finally, finally he feels Oliver’s cock slowly pushing into him, the stretch he’s finally gotten used to after two years of learning exactly how they can be together.
Still moving slowly as he pushes into Marc, both of his hands grasping his chest to pull him closer. “You’re not going to get off lightly tonight. I can’t wait to have you to myself.” With the continuous frustration beneath him, Oliver’s hips twitch into him with the eternal patience he holds. Hands atop his chest leaving marks in the shape of his glorious piano playing fingers. Built to take him apart. Moving slowly, watching as Marc’s face contort as his cock slowly enters him.
“Sunshine please! I need you, come on..I’m really close..” he beg, clawing at both of Oliver’s shoulders and pulling him up just to move him faster. Panting louder than necessary to coax him closer, finally getting what he wants. Marcus always got what he wanted. His partners hands drag down his chest to reveal blushing palms imprinted into it. Drawing it out until the early hours of the morning would be heaven on earth, but time rules over them.
If he was so determined to have him now, then Oliver couldn’t deny him. Never. Their hips connect without warning, before he pulls back and starts a backbreaking pace. Quick, risky, and fun; just as requested. Marc is ever surprised by the change in his sweethearts demeanour, shock leaving him unable to struggle against the harsh snap of their hips together. Thinking for two, Oliver’s hand wraps around his cock to move at the same speed of his hips and constantly fighting the tense muscles of his partners body.
Fifteen minutes since their initial warning and Marc dimly thinks if he’s bitten off more than he could chew. Stuck in a falsetto chorus of “uh, ah”’s, he cums over his partners hand hard, biting his tongue when the urge to scream hits him. Then, nothing. Surrounded by the weightlessness of his orgasm, he only registers two things. Oliver pulling out from him and a tongue across his stomach. Weakly shivering at the sensation, he leans to see if anything else needs cleaning up.
“You..you haven’t cum yet, it’s alright, you could’ve..”
“If I started cleaning you after that, you wouldn’t be leaving this dressing room for another hour.” Hands gently redressing him, he finds himself sat upright on the couch while his clothes are perfected and he’s made stage-ready. Immediately running the ironed seam of his pants by kneeling, tapping Oliver’s thighs and winking.
“People love my mouth, so why don’t you indulge a little extra? Please? Pretty please?” As convincing as he is, Marc knows he can always win over his partner just by looking. It had been that way for years. Marc makes a scheme and Oliver would always go along one way or another. Earning a pat on the head and the meticulous fixing of his hair, he’s given permission.
Wrapping his lips around his cock, Marc hums the opening note to the show. Despite his far fetched ideas, he knows he can’t be so reckless. One wrong note and he’ll be moving in between the alley way and a friendly raccoon. Dragging his tongue along the underside of his cock, watching Oliver with the same excitement from when he gets to hold his hand. Sucking along the tip and moaning as loudly as he can. Feeling a hand grip the back of his head, he greedily pushes his lips up to the base of Oliver’s cock. Sinking up and down until he feels his partner trying to pull away entirely. Cum hits the back of the throat, swallowing until his partner steps away.
“Are you alright? Darling, we’ve..” panting, he gently lifts Marc back up from his knees. Holding him close to his chest and swaying in the afterglow. They would have to be separated again, but soon they’ll be together forever. They have the rest of their lives together.
