#(I wonder if that helped him become so well-known; people knew him as his characters;)

[flowerandblood]

The Gate of Salvation [1/3]

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, angst, anxiety, manipulation, doubts related to faith, chauvinism ]

[ description: During the conclave, a new pope is elected, but to everyone's surprise, he does not intend to show himself to the crowds waiting for him. His ideas terrify the cardinals, and one of them convinces his niece, who is studying marketing, to talk to the new head of the Catholic Church in his presence. Main theme: sexual tension & holy touch. ]

A mini-series created as a thank you and celebration of my 2'500 followers. I initially plan that it will have about 3 chapters.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The Song of Songs (Oneshot) Death and Ressurection (Oneshot)

Aemond as a Pope Edit Series Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

What happened after the conclave took everyone by surprise and caused complete chaos in the Catholic Church; she was one of the people who watched the live coverage from St Peter's Square.

She prayed in spirit that her uncle and her mother's brother, Cardinal Reene, would not become Pope.

Admittedly, it was thanks to him that she was living in Rome, and without his financial support she would not have been able to study, however, her uncle was a person who did nothing selflessly.

He recalculated to himself that if his niece wanted to study marketing at University then he would help her, reminding her at times that he would count on her help in the future, to create a good, sympathetic image of him.

She had the feeling that listening to him she was even losing her faith, which, despite her many internal disputes and doubts, was strong in her. She returned to the bosom of the church of her own free will when she was in high school after years of not attending Mass; she discovered that she felt attached to this tradition, as well as to God himself, whose presence she subconsciously felt all around her.

She knew that her uncle would certainly try to bribe other cardinals and she guessed what his pontificate would be like, so she begged God in her prayers not to allow such a man to become head of the church in his name, and heavens, as always, heard her prayers.

When she saw the white smoke on the screen she let out a loud breath, closing the textbook she had just been reading – she heard shouts and applause of joy coming from the television; the bells rang out, the solemn moment when the new pope comes out onto the balcony to greet his faithful was about to begin.

This went on for an astonishingly long time and she wondered if something had happened or if the votes had been miscounted, however, she heard the cheers of the crowd again as the doors opened. What stepped out was not a procession, but an ordinary priest in a black cassock; she recognised in him the secretary of the late Pope, who was certainly not a cardinal.

He seemed tense and frightened; he approached the microphone and said only two sentences.

"We have a Pope. The Holy Father, who has taken the name Pius XIII, asks you all to pray for him." He said in a trembling, uncertain voice, all pale, and then disappeared back behind the door – voices of disbelief and disappointment spread throughout the square, the gathered people, like her, were shocked.

However, all the internet portals published the name of the cardinal who had been elected; it turned out that the new pope was Cardinal Targaryen, a very little-known, withdrawn and shockingly young priest.

He was only two years older than her.

Journalists despaired that there were no official or unofficial photos of him, no statements from him, as if he had lived for years locked away in some monastery and never stepped into the light of day.

The world was confused and anxious – the young pope had not stepped out onto the balcony of St Peter's Basilica even once despite the crowds gathered in the square below chanting his name day and night.

She wondered if, in this way, he wanted to focus the world's attention even more on himself by standing in the absolute centre of it, and thought that if so, it was not a good beginning to his pontificate.

Two days later, her uncle paid her an unannounced visit at the flat he was renting to her, dressed so that no one would recognise him, just like the other cardinals still hounded by journalists and paparazzi.

"I need your help. The matter is very delicate." He said quickly, handing her his coat, which she hung on one of the hangers, looking at him over her shoulder in surprise.

"Me?" She asked with her eyes wide open, wondering what was going on there that required the help of someone from outside the Vatican.

"Pius XIII is a cripple. He lost his left eye as a child. He insists that if he is to show himself to a crowd, it should only be with his artificial eye, but not an ordinary one, one that resembles the real one, but a completely white one. He thinks this suits his attire and position better, but we think it will create additional confusion about him. Additionally, he wants to keep the Pope's public appearances to a complete minimum. He has fired all the Vatican marketing people with years of experience. This is some madness. Can I have a coffee?" He finally asked after his verbosity, sitting down in a chair at the living room table, placing his black wide-brimmed hat on the tabletop, sighing heavily.

She nodded, snapped out of her reverie and the shock of his words, pulling a mug and black coffee from her cupboard. Her uncle drank coffee made from three heaped teaspoons without milk, and although she didn't know how he could swallow something so disgusting and not have a heart attack in the process, she made it the way he liked it.

She swallowed loudly, pouring water into the kettle, putting it on the burner and turning the fire on under it, analysing everything he had told her.

"It sounds like he has a very low and a very high opinion of himself at the same time. How could I help here, uncle? I'm just a student." She said in dismay, shrugging her shoulders; her uncle nodded his head as if convinced that this would be her answer.

"You are young, you have a fresh outlook. He doesn't want to listen to us old people, he thinks we're out of step with the world and what it needs, whatever that means." He said with a sneer, looking out of the window, spreading himself comfortably in his chair with a creak of wood.

"I'd like you to try to talk to him, to understand what he means, what his vision is. Guide him to the idea that young people too want peace and predictability, not perpetual rebellion. I told him I could introduce you, that you are very talented and he agreed." He said finally and scratched the back of his neck – she heard the kettle whistle and turned off the fire under it, feeling that she had simply run out of words.

"− what? − I − oh God, uncle, I don't know − what if I make things worse and you lose in his eyes because of me? −" She muttered, feeling adrenaline start to bubble throughout her body; she poured hot water over the coffee in her mug, grabbed it and set it in front of him, then started walking back and forth across the room, panicking in some kind of way.

"This would just be a consultation − two young people want to change the image of the church to, let's say, a more welcoming one − this could be your big chance." He said, lifting the mug to his lips, taking a sip from it and murmuring contentedly, apparently finding that his coffee was exactly the way he liked it.

He persuaded her for so long that she finally agreed, but she regretted it as soon as he walked out.

She was inexperienced in discussions with this world, with such people, and was afraid she would make a mistake, do something against protocol and embarrass herself.

Her uncle sent her a message on the day of the meeting saying that she must dress modestly, preferably in white or black, her dress must end at least past her knees, her toes must not stick out of her shoes, her shoulders must be covered. Sharp, defiant make-up was not acceptable.

She was to address the Pope as Holy Father or Your Holiness, keep the proper distance, not sit with her legs crossed, not put her elbows on the armrests, not lean or crouch in front of him, approach him only if he wanted her to kiss his ring.

The amount of information she received overwhelmed her; she took a quick look in her wardrobe and found that her simple black dress with white embroidered collar and cuffs was the perfect length – it had no cleavage, it looked elegant, innocent and girly at the same time.

She decided to wear flesh-coloured tights with it and sleek black shoes, which she had previously polished. She styled her long dark hair in a braid around her head, keeping it in place with pins, short, unruly strands on the sides of her face.

She used only mattifying powder and mascara as her make-up, deciding that this was enough, around her neck a necklace with a small gold cross that she had been given once by her grandfather.

At the appointed hour, a black car pulled up in front of her townhouse; she got into the back seat and greeted the driver, who, however, did not answer her, driving off without a word.

After several minutes they were already in the Vatican itself; she looked through the car window at the crowds of people spilling out of St Peter's Square, saw a group of men and women holding cardboard sheets in their hands with the handwritten words:

Our Pope does not love us.

She lowered her gaze, silently contemplating all that was happening, and shuddered as they stopped in front of the gate – a Swiss Guard officer dressed in colourful historical attire with red, yellow and navy blue stripes stopped their car.

Her driver showed him his ID and the man nodded – the gate opened and they drove inside into a small courtyard that she saw for the first time in her life.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the figure of her uncle waiting for her in his full, opulent cardinal's robe, a cross on his chest of pure gold, adorned with rubies and diamonds.

He greeted her with a broad smile and joy, with a gesture of his hand inviting her inside – they ascended the baroque staircase to the corridor, the view of the interior of the entire complex took her breath away.

She was surrounded on all sides by paintings and sculptures by the great Italian masters of the Renaissance, Baroque and Classicism; she felt a solemn mood, though she did not know why, as if she had in fact entered the truest home of God himself on earth.

The guards as well as other men passing her looked at her intently – she thought with horror and shame that women, with the exception of nuns, were a rare visitor to this sanctuary and aroused curiosity mixed with distrust.

Here, what Eve did in paradise according to the Bible, because of whom sin possessed man, was never forgotten.

They climbed the stairs to the upper floor and then stood in front of a large white door, high up to the ceiling, with two men in the same colourful garments standing in front of them. Her uncle sighed heavily, as if stressed himself, and looked at her comfortingly.

"I'll do the talking, you keep quiet for now." He said lightly, surprising her completely – she had no time to reply as he nodded and one of the guards opened the door for him.

Her uncle moved ahead, so she moved behind him, entering a spacious, bright room with six windows overlooking St Peter's Square – to their right stood bookcases filled to the brim with books, and to their left a huge wooden desk.

Only after a moment did she notice someone standing by one of the windows; he was turned to them with his back, looking out at the crowds knowing they couldn't see him, a white cassock on his body, his short hair looking elegant and carefully styled, pulled back, almost white, glistening in the sunlight.

"Holy Father. As promised, I bring before you my niece, who I hope will allow us to come to an agreement." He said in a light, cheerful tone, as if addressing a friend, but they were answered by an uncomfortable silence.

She swallowed loudly when he finally turned to face them, her heart stopped for a moment when she saw how sharply shaped his face was – his cheeks and jaw were clearly outlined as if someone had carved them with a chisel, his mouth full, a pale scar running across the left side of his forehead to his cheek, his artificial eye completely white.

She felt that she was looking at him with her lips slightly parted and some sort of concern, so she lowered her gaze, reminding herself that she shouldn't do that.

"Hm." She heard him hum under his breath, as if he was thinking hard about something.

"Leave us alone, Cardinal." He said finally, turning his face towards the window again – she and her uncle looked at each other horrified, for this was not their plan.

She was only going to be an accessory, he was going to be the one doing all the talking.

"Your Holiness, I…"

"Get out."

Her uncle pressed his lips together and grunted, bowed his head and left, not even bestowing a glance on her despite the despair written on her face, leaving her to her fate.

She swallowed loudly as the door closed behind him and intertwined her hands in front of her, not knowing what to do, where to look, a cold sweat on her back.

"Do not be afraid, child. I know your uncle's nature. If I didn't let him bring you here he wouldn't let me alone." He began reluctantly, as if the very fact that he had to talk to her made him very tired; he moved with his hands entwined behind him ahead, walking along the windows, his profile illuminated by the sun.

She lowered her gaze, feeling a wave of shame surge through her, understanding that he knew perfectly well what her uncle wanted.

That it wasn't just about his image, but that he, as a cardinal, wanted his favour and the high position, money and comfort he could give him.

"What do you think of my decision not to show myself in public?" He asked finally; she raised her eyes at him, surprised, horrified that she had to answer. She swallowed loudly and licked her lips, dry of stress, thinking intensely about what she should say.

"Go on. You're supposed to know it, after all, it's an image issue." He growled and looked at her with an anger that sent a shiver through her; she stared at him in disbelief and fear trying to decide what kind of man he was.

She wasn't sure this was how a pope should behave.

"Driving here I saw people holding cardboard sheets saying: Our Pope does not love us. I felt sadness at the thought that many people feel rejected by your decision, Holy Father." She said at last, feeling that involuntarily her voice trembled and broke; she saw him tighten his lips, his nostrils moved nervously in accelerated breathing.

"Is love a perpetual vying for attention, standing in the centre? Is love only the deeds that can be shown, that anyone can see and name?" He asked frustrated, and she felt a squeeze in her throat, her lower lip quivered. She shook her head.

"People are afraid of what they do not know. You don't let them meet you, Holy Father." She whispered, and he snorted, turning back, going the other way, as if thinking over her words.

"So you think I should speak? Go out on the balcony and give them what they want?" He asked dryly. She let the air quietly out of her lungs, feeling her body tense all over – she had the feeling that she had adopted a defensive posture, as if ready for him to hit her.

"No. But I think it is necessary to find a way in which they can see you, Holy Father. To feel that you are in their lives physically as well. They need a guide, not another invisible God." She said finally and fell silent, lowering her gaze, feeling that her last sentence might have been too far-fetched.

She noticed with horror that he stopped hearing what she had said.

"You think I'm doing this out of vanity?" He asked in disbelief. She lifted her gaze to him, for some reason feeling that she was on the verge of crying.

"I don't know, Holy Father. I do not know you, nor do any of your faithful. We are sheeps who do not know where to go and where is their shepherd. Do you think we are too sinful? That we don't deserve to see you?" She asked finally in a trembling voice, his healthy eye fixed on her.

Our Pope does not love us.

She shuddered, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart as he moved towards her with a slow, lazy step, not taking his eyes off her, towering over her. She didn't know what she saw in his gaze, proud and cool; she felt heat in her lower abdomen as the pleasant scent of his masculine perfume filled her nostrils.

She thought he had approached her far too closely.

She froze and swallowed loudly as he lifted his hand; she thought for a moment in horror and disbelief that he would touch her breasts, however, he grasped her golden cross in his hand and turned it between his fingers, looking at it thoughtfully.

"I am not a hypocrite. There is no greater sinner in this world than me. I am vain. I am proud. I am cold. I am eternally, eternally thirsty." He murmured softly and looked into her eyes, her lips slightly parted in disbelief.

She felt panic begin to overtake her body as her insides throbbed wonderfully hard at his ambiguous, unsettling words.

Something about him she found disturbing, even though she was surrounded by whiteness and daylight it seemed to her that the room had gone dark.

She was only able to breathe and look at him, nothing more.

"Do you believe in God?" He asked, still playing with her necklace, however, he did so in such a way that once in a while his fingers rubbed against the material of her dress lying between her breasts, each time a wonderful shiver ran through her spine.

There was something evil, menacing, lewd in the way he asked the question, in the way he acted and the way he looked at her and she knew it, she was horrified by how strongly her body reacted to it.

"Yes." She whispered, as if she was admitting something she was ashamed of, something that was her secret.

He hummed again under his breath, as if accepting her words – his hand let go of her necklace and returned to the other, placed behind his back.

"I'm hiring you. You will be my image specialist. I expect you here tomorrow at 8am. That's all. You may go." He said indifferently, turning away as if nothing had happened; she sighed quietly, terrified, and nodded with a rapidly pounding heart.

"Holy Father." She mumbled, then turned and walked out.

Her uncle ran after her asking her what they were talking about and what had happened – he made the sign of the cross with some kind of relief on his face when she told him in horror that he had hired her.

"What did you say to him about me? I'm only in my second year of university, I don't have the right experience yet." She muttered in a trembling voice; her uncle sighed, correcting his glasses on his nose with his pointing finger.

"He doesn't care about your experience." He said amused, and she looked at him in disbelief.

It suddenly dawned on her what her uncle had been planning all along, and what she had gotten herself into because of her foolishness and naivety.

There is no greater sinner in this world than me.

I am eternally, eternally thirsty.

She felt a squeeze in her throat, tears filling her eyes again as she moved forward, covering her mouth with her hand, distraught, humiliated.

Her uncle didn't want her to be his worker.

Her uncle wanted her to be his lover.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla

[coolprettyleo]

we can't be friends (wait for your love) - luke hughes

luke hughes x reader

wc: 1.5k

tw: angst. fluff. arguing. breakup. no happy ending. not really proofread, got tired lol

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

your life had been going good, a little too good. you should have knew all too well that the daydream you had been in weren't going to last much longer.

luke hughes. the man who had stolen your heart and gave you the best memories a boyfriend could give a girl like you. for someone who's thought themselves to be the biggest hopeless romantic, meeting luke had been the light in your life.

you had met the younger hughes brother at a frat party. he had been running off a high after a good game and his normally reserved nature had cracked due to the adrenaline from the win, it gave him the confidence to flirt with you.

initially, you had thought he was going to be a casual hookup. you were taught the hookup culture early into your freshman year, when you thought the frat guy you slept with at your first ever party the night before was going to give you the time of day, once the cloths came on.

news flash you learnt something that day. men are sluts.

so when the star hockey player started flirting with you, you had thought it to be just another guy who wanted a hookup. you ultimately decided to live out your fourteen year old selves Wattpad dream and entertain the cute curly haired boy.

you were surprised when you opened instagram the morning after to find he had requested you and from there on out, the rest was history.

it didn't take long for you guys to become the golden couple of the university. you attended his games wearing his jersey, met each others friends and families, and most importantly fell in love with one another's nature.

everything was going perfect for the two of you, until the real world decided it wanted to slap you both across the face. hard.

luke's passion was and will always be hockey. you knew that when you met him and ultimately decided to jump into a relationship with him. you loved every part about him, including hockey; it's what made him, him.

the sport didn't come between the two of you until he moved over six hundred miles away to play it.

you knew it was coming, you've both talked about it but unfortunately talking about it and actually saying goodbye is two very different things.

you loved the curly haired boy but you were beginning to wonder if it was all even worth it anymore. it was clear long distance was not working in your favor.

it had been almost a year since he started with the devils. a year since it all went to shit. a year since this 'rough patch' as luke liked to call it started. surely a rough patch couldn't last this long?

long distance usually makes a couple or it breaks them. it seemed to be breaking the two of you.

you rarely got to see your boyfriend due to the fact he's glued to the team during the season, so it was up to you, to fly out and see him.

you hated flying. so almost every time, your stress levels shot through the roof causing the worst headache known to man kind to come across you. automatically putting you in a sour mood when landing.

flashback

"i don't understand why you're being like this, this whole thing is planned around the fact that the team wants to meet you!" luke said exaspertly as he helped her load her bags in his jeep. he talked about you so much that when jack opened his mouth about you coming to visit, the wags were quick to plan a get-together, and you had just said you weren't up for it.

"i'm sorry luke but I feel like crap. i dont want to put up a character and meet new people right now"

"then don't put up a character, be yourself. that's who I fell in lov-" he said as you rolled your eyes, wincing; seeing as it didn't help the slamming feeling in your head.

"I don't want to Luke!" you cut him off. luke took a deep breath and texted jack to let them know you guy's wouldn't be making it.

looking back at it now; it wasn't that serious. but that headache couldn't make you think straight. that had been the first fight between the two of you. you're pretty sure thats when all his friend deemed you to be the villain and told him he deserved better.

you began to believe that and you knew luke did too. you just wanted this story to die, you knew you'd be alright.

luke on the other hand was clinging to every inch of you he could get; while you clinged to your papers and pens; writing about your misery.

you loved to write so of course you were going to pour your emotions into these stories. hoping the book would understand better then Luke ever could.

you two were laying in his bed, cloths sprawled out across his bedroom floor.

you had landed in jersey last night, ready to pretend and be the picture luke painted of you.

the two of you had the best night, it had been a while since you last seen him and an even longer while since you last seen him and everything felt... right.

you should of known a storm was brewing.

you were leaning your head onto his bare chest, legs tangled between each other as you played with his curls, looking up at him. he was growing into being the most handsome man.

"im so happy your here" he said tracing down your arms.

"me too. I missed your face" you said as you leaned up and kissed his jaw as he blushed. moments like these made you want throw away all the doubts you had about the relationship.

"me too. i can't wait to wake up next to you everyday" he said as your blood ran cold. you were tired of tiptoeing and hiding around the fight you knew was to come.

he'd been wanting you to move to jersey since he moved, the only problem being, is that you didn't want to.

"what's wrong" he said as you moved away his heart falling too his stomach.

"remember how I told you I wanted to graduate first?" you said nervously. he knew you were going to graduate early and the excuse of school was soon going to expire.

"yeah, thats pretty soon. we need to start looking for a place, by the way-"

"luke-" you started, wanting to stop it before it got any further.

"I think it'll do good for jack and I to get space" he said jokingly as he kept rambling,

"I know you've always wanted to live in manhattan, we can get a place there, i can commute-"

"im not coming here after graduation" you said with watery eyes.

you were the villain, at least in this story.

you wanted to experience life. you were only twenty one and the idea of that part of your life ending before you even got to begin it made you want to spiral.

"im sorry?" he said looking at you like you just killed his childhood dog. he would wait for your love a million years, if thats what it took.

"luke- im sorry, but I want to experience things. i want to live this life and know every corner of it-"

"i don't understand. why can't we those things together?"

"im sorry" you said standing up, not really sure what to do anymore.

"are we breaking up" he said with a straight face. you knew he was holding back tears.

"for now, yes" she told him as he put his head down.

you weren't heartless, so you took a seat next to him as you wrapped an arm around him.

"hey, look at me luke. this isn't the end, I'll still always care about you, I want to see you succeed hughsey" you told him as he remebered the night he met you and you called him that.

___

future

luke had been doing amazing; breaking records in the NHL and living life like anyone his age should be. his life was going good.

he obviously missed you but he soon learned he was going to be alright, even though a part of him waiting for your love. your love to like him again.

the smarter part of him knew better, the story was over.

he got home from a game that had went amazing for him and set his stuff down as he opened instagram.

the very first picture being, one of you and your new boyfriend. he knew you moved on and moved to nyc. he's actually ran into you before, both of you acting like you didnt break each others heart into a million peices. acting like old friends.

the reason the picture made his heart drop was due to the fact you were holding up a ring as you looked into the eyes of another. another who wasn't Luke Hughes.

he couldn't do it. he tried, he really did. he wanted to see you succeed and live like you wanted, he just couldn't bare to see it without him in it.

he clicked on her profile as he hovered over the unfollow button. he oh so desperately wanted to pretend to be this daydream but he was reminded of the fact their story had ended. he hit the button and knew he'd be alright.

we can't be friends (wait for your love)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

this was inspired by an edit I saw on tiktok, and obviously the song too lol. I can't find the edit but like yeah!

[sepublic]

I think there’s a lot of implications to Evelyn that people ignore in favor of making her into their white everyman’s Manic Pixie Dream Girl instead of like, an actual character with motives who came to the human world for a reason.

There’s the very obvious implication that she made the archway in Gravesfield??? The one that uses Titan’s Blood to open a temporary portal each time? And there’s another archway located by her house; I dunno if Evelyn made it herself, or if she had parents who were just never shown because they’re not too important to the story.

Evelyn obviously would’ve been a child when she visited Gravesfield as well, because there’s no way the writers would have her romance with Caleb begin if only one of them was a minor. So that points to her being a kid prodigy, which is something you can see in her descendants Eda and Lilith (Yes, Lilith as well; She’s very skilled herself and even figured out Glyph combos, it’s just that she’s being compared to Eda constantly and let her inferiority complex downplay herself).

But how did Evelyn even get to the human realm in the first place if the other archway hadn’t been built? Did she just magically connect hers to a pre-existing human archway?

We know Eclipse Lake exists, it’s how Philip entered the Boiling Isles, and others in the Demon Realm knew of it. Plenty of witches speculated on how a permanent portal to and from the human realm worked; So interdimensional travel was already a field that wild witches in the Deadwardian Era were interested in.

Portals in this show are two-way, so Evelyn must’ve entered Eclipse Lake, emerged somewhere in what would be known in the present as the Connecticut area, and then wandered until she came across some humans… And alas, she came across some of the worst humans to ever exist, RIP.

She made Flapjack, and Palismen you create don’t awaken until you state your wish. If Flapjack resonated with Hunter for sharing Caleb’s wish, then he must’ve resonated with Caleb for sharing Evelyn’s wish; To decide her own future. Flapjack himself is introduced trying to leave and go places, despite people telling him to stay put.

Caleb is someone for whom that wish came in leaving his ‘home’ in Gravesfield, he’d already moved there from someplace else prior! When Evelyn is established to be someone skilled in interdimensional travel, is there not an obvious connection to be made between this and her shared dynamic in Caleb, and the Palisman who resonated with both?

Did Evelyn live with her parents? Was she by herself as a kid? When a teenage Eda runs to the human realm to escape her complicated relationship with her parents, is it the same as her ancestor? The Boiling Isles was never perfect (but the coven system was an objective downgrade), and Dana even mentioned it herself at one point. Its people are just as humans as humans, and so just as capable of being messy and flawed and even cruel. The Coven Heads were willing to fuse their realm with ours under the expectation they'd be treated like royalty for it.

Like Gus, did Evelyn find human detritus and become interested this way? Like Luz, did Evelyn hope she could escape her problems in one world by finding another? I wonder what magic Evelyn liked? Probably stuff to do with portals (Eda uses them in the first episode), teleportation, warping space, etc.

With all this in mind, with Evelyn already being established as someone who can create portal devices, Philip’s tendency to plagiarize and take credit, his inability to make a second portal without using the first one as a base, and the portal itself being found right by Evelyn’s home and archway…

What if Evelyn made the portal, with Caleb’s help. It does change the context of these notes in Philip’s journal, if they’re transcribed from those of Evelyn, a wild witch who revered the Titan and her way of life.

Evelyn went through Eclipse Lake, traveled until she found Gravesfield; Evelyn posed as a human and trusted Caleb after seeing how he and Flapjack got along. Evelyn built a working archway and when Gravesfield suspected a witch in their presence —possibly due to her experiments— they went on a hunt for her.

Evelyn revealed her identity to Caleb and Philip, and brought the former to her world, possibly as a test run or to celebrate its completion, before bringing him back to Gravesfield. Evelyn and Caleb would meet in secret for their own safety, communicating via rebuses, as Caleb stayed in Gravesfield until Philip was old enough to take care of himself, and/or even changed his mind and went along!

But he didn’t, and if Philip tried to do something about the archway, Evelyn still had Eclipse Lake. She might’ve even made the Portal by this point and that’s how Philip has notes on it prior to reuniting with Caleb. So Caleb moved to her home (possibly after Evelyn showed up in his house using the Portal), and Philip eventually found the Eclipse Lake portal. But in those subsequent 5+ years, Evelyn used the Titan’s right eye to create a new portal, that would use a little bit of Titan’s Blood as a battery but not deplete it with each use.

Evelyn and Caleb programmed this portal to open in his childhood home where Caleb expected Philip to be, because he still hoped to have his brother with him and always had. Evelyn agreed to let this happen despite Philip clearly wanting her dead, even if he was not going to get Caleb implicated and killed to do so.

But Philip decided to cross that line, because at some point Evelyn and Caleb had a child, and knowing he was related to a mixed child pissed him off so bad. He pretended to be accepting, even as Evelyn and Caleb revealed a Portal and their plan to go back to him anyhow. Despite this, he attempted to murder Evelyn and/or Caleb anyway. Caleb died, and the Portal was damaged, but Evelyn chased off Philip. He eventually went back for Caleb’s body and stole it, and attempted to replicate the Portal that Evelyn and Caleb had showed off, believing he’d broken it beyond repair.

Evelyn decided she wanted nothing else to do with the human realm and buried the Portal; Maybe she left the option for anyone else who was still interested. Which gets me to another point, that maybe Evelyn made a grave mistake in accessing the human world, but let’s be real the onus is always on those who act in bad faith, not someone who acted in good faith and had that taken advantage of. But in the long, long run, even longer than 400 years, past the ending of the series…

Gus is not the first, but he might be more successful than Evelyn, and succeed where she failed. He’s a witch who was also fascinated in the human world, and now he’s cultivating a Human-Demon Realm Exchange Program, so both worlds can get to know each other, so people from both worlds can find new places. Because Evelyn’s portal was reclaimed by her ancestor, who did need it after all; And it led to Luz finding the isles, to Vee finding Gravesfield.

Luz and Vee were also taken advantage of to commit genocide, but Luz helped stop it. She helped right a great wrong in freeing the Collector and giving the Titan’s son a friend; Evelyn was a wild witch, so she would’ve respected the Titan, and did use his right eye to create the Portal. During that time, the Titan was also able to peer into both the human and demon realms, though he wouldn’t have had much reason to care about the human realm for a while.

(And if the Archivists ever return; There’s a Collector who could be very helpful in resolving that threat, who was freed thanks to the butterfly effect of Evelyn’s actions.)

So in the long run, perhaps centuries after the show ends? Maybe Evelyn did good after all. There’s a lot our worlds could learn from each other, and perhaps healing magic would’ve helped someone like Manny; If not him, others down the line. Plant magic could also be very helpful. The Collector was able to create a second Portal to establish more permanent contact through Caleb’s old home, as Evelyn intended. Not to mention the work of her descendants she had from meeting Caleb! And Gus is helping more Calebs and Evelyns find homes, just as Evelyn helped Caleb, Luz, and Vee.

[beatingheart-bride]

And so the twins gave their full attention, hanging on to every word as their great-grandfather narrated the classic tale of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys, and their battles against Captain Hook and his crew. For most of the story, neither twin made so much as a peep, too focused on both the harrowing tale and their great-grandparents' presence. In fact, they seemed almost hypnotized in a way, as they listened to August's words, and took in every colorful, expertly drawn illustration that populated the story's pages.

Once the story finally came to an end and Captain Hook was finally defeated, it was (surprisingly) Erika who was first to speak up.

From her place on August's lap, she peered up at him, appearing rather puzzled as she asked, "Why didn't Peter Pan want to grow up?"

She and her brother could hardly wait for their fifth birthday! Why would Peter Pan want to stop growing up, and never celebrate a birthday again? And why would've he chosen Neverland over having a loving family? Hadn't he had parents, aunts and uncles, and grandparents who'd adored him? Why would he give all of that up just to never grow up? Had he really thought it was worth it?

"I bet Peter Pan never gets birthday presents, or a birthday cake," Lon commented, sharing his sister's sentiment. It was so exciting to get older! Why would Peter Pan want to be a child forever?

@beatingheart-bride

Setting aside the book of fables, August knelt down and pondered his options: The children's little bedroom bookshelf was pleasantly packed with a number of fairy tales, fables, myths, legends, and other stories. Plenty were of the spookier variety, while others still were old favorites retold through the timeless power of animation. His brow furrowed as his eyes roved over the spines, and he stroked his chin in thought.

"Having a hard time choosing?" Josephine asked, leaning over her husband's shoulder to kiss his cheek, at which he smiled, saying, "Well, they want to hear something new, and I'd like to do just that...I suppose you could say that I'm just weighing my options."

"Well, there's certainly a lot to choose from," she replied with a chuckle, reaching over to pull out an illustrated treasury of Disney-told stories, all in beautiful red and gold, and look it over-it seemed quite promising, in all honesty, with its variety of classic princess tales, silly symphonies, and other original tales told by the company.

"Lady and the Tramp...Cinderella...The Little Mermaid..." Josephine murmured as she thumbed through the pages, before glancing at August, suggesting, "How about Peter Pan?"

"Perhaps," he murmured, though he made a face; seeing the amused look in his wife's eyes when she caught this expression, August explained, "I just don't think Peter's a particularly good role model for our grandchildren. He's a bully and a braggart and something of a brat. Not someone I'd like either of them to emulate."

"Are you saying you're sympathetic to pirates, Auggie?" she teased, at which he chuckled, "Not necessarily. But at least the Captain has some gentlemanly qualities for a man of the seas. He's still a scoundrel and a villain, of course, but he does seem to believe in good form, something that Peter does not."

"Well, let's see what the children think, hmm?" she suggested with a smile; despite having tried to put the pair to bed, Josephine had no problem with sitting down beside August at the foot of Erika's bed, with both children crowding around their grandparents to listen; Lon beside Josephine, her arm around him, while Erika sat on August's knee.

[dailyrothko]

Hi! I was wondering if you had any opinions on the play Red by John Logan? Really admire the Rothko work you do!

First of all, thank you.

Secondly, I think I maybe in a weird position to critique this. I have read almost everything written about Rothko that I know exists. All the books, all the articles I could find and all the interviews I can put my hands on where people who knew him talk. I actually have you guys to thank for this because until this blog got popular, I didn't know much about his life other than the basics. But, feeling some responsibility to my "Audience" and chosen subject, I tired to educate myself in this niche.

Because of this, one naturally forms a picture of the person in your head based on these collected impressions. I think most people don't really know much about him, at least until recently.

I am thankful that the play was an entrée into the art for a lot of people. Like the Rothko episode of Mad Men, many people are brought to awareness of the Rothko through these other mediums and I think that's really cool.

The thing though is that John Logan wrote the movie Gladiator, and you can tell. I see nothing bad about that kind of drama, it just doesn't jibe with my impression of Rothko, While Rothko was sensitive, upset at times, neurotic and opinionated, careful and studious, but he was not this bellowing pontificator that I feel is represented in the play. Again there's nothing wrong with making a drama of it, it's just something that I divorce from Rothko's actual character. I used to have a job reading movie scripts for an actor and you find a lot of common devices people use to make the drama effective, and I feel Red uses a lot of those to good effect. Every play or movie I have ever seen about an artist takes the task of making a largely internal process, external enough for the audience to become engrossed in.

Rothko was sensitive, well-spoken intellectual man. Many of his friends speak of his great tenderness and generosity towards them. The play seeks to pit him and his assistant as two poles of the art world, the new encroaching on the old. Again, fine as a dramatic device but Rothko painted alone, and he talked about painting to no one, ever. Anyone who knew Rothko says he never discussed his art. So any conversations in the play are entirely fantasy.

So, basically I think the play is entertaining and hopefully gets people interested in the art, but I wouldn't take it like a biography of Rothko! And that's really my main point, not to knock the play but to point out the differences between fact and fiction.

Here's some context:

"When I've seen my father portrayed, I've sort of winced, because it doesn't sound like him or come across like him. He was a very warm, humorous person, I remember him telling me silly stories as a child. - Kate Rothko

"As I see him, he was a very loving, essentially feeling man. He was loving and lovable. He liked to put on a rough show. I mean he liked to talk tough. He presented to me a softness. And I was full of my Oriental, religious view of things. I never attempted to talk to him about it because he didn't respond to it. I took it that it was his concern with the world which was from boyhood because of his parentage and finding the same ugliness and stupidity in the art world as in the world that made him so convinced that life wasn't worth living." -Wallace Putnam

Mark is often presented as off-putting; however, he really was quite warm, nurturing and could be very funny." - Regina Bogat

"(Rothko had) a genuine charitable impulse. It grew out of real sympathy. I don't think it was a put-on in any way, nor for self-aggrandizement...there are numbers of cases in which while he was alive he helped persons and always anonymously. He never wanted it known, nor did he ever talk about it." - Stanley Kunitz

*forgive typos, my brain does not see them until weeks after the fact

[ryker-writes]

Hello, so i apparently have a brain rot about twst characters being concerned about their siblings mental health due to their taste in men

The younger sibling of Vil while having both the looks and skills of their brother and father, also has a small amount of stage fright and loves video games, so they end up becoming a v-tuber and develop a small crush on an internet friend and moderator who irl is Idia Shroud, maybe after revealing that they got accept to nrc the two decide to meet up irl and while Idia is lagging due to the error messages in his brain, little schoenheit's small crush develops into a full infatuation, Vil is so so concerned

I love this idea. While normally I write requests in bullet point format, I hope you don't mind that I wrote this one differently. I'm sorry if you don't like it as much because of this, I just felt like writing like this does requests like this better than my usual bullet point style

Request rules and Masterlist

As a part of the Schoenheit family, it was only natural that you had developed the acting and modeling skills as well as the good looks. It's just something that had been engrained into your lifestyle at a young age. Your father had you and Vil acting together from a young age, and Vil would always help you with everything.

The main thing he always had to help you with was your stage fright. While he and your father never had any problem being on stage, you hated it. Having everyone's eyes on you and the pressure not to mess up was all too much for you.

Perhaps that was why you liked video games so much. Online, no one knew who you really were, and that gave you a sense of freedom. No one could actually see you, and it gave you a sense of freedom. They didn't stare at you, and you didn't have to see them staring at you. There was a screen between you and them at all times.

But that desire to perform and entertain was still strong within you. Maybe it was just part of being a Schoenheit. Thankfully, the internet is a wonderful place full of opportunities, and you were able to find a way to play the video games you loved so much while performing for others.

Being a v-tuber was so much more fun than you had imagined. It's the perfect way to entertain and build an audience while playing video games too. The perfect job for you.

You were even able to connect with others and make new friends too. One of these friends was a moderator by the screenname Gloomurai. You had fun talking to him both in and out of streaming for others.

He understood you so well! The two of you were able to bond about a lot of things, mainly your love for video games and how scary it was to be in front of other people. And eventually, you even found out that he's a student at Night Raven College, the school you're going to be attending.

After a little bit of convincing and deliberating, the two of you decided to meet. Not anywhere out in the public eye with lots of people of course. So the two of you picked an isolated corner of the school, and waited until evening to go meet up.

To say you were nervous was an understatement. Gloomurai was a close friend and even a small crush of yours. He was just so understanding and cool. Now you were going to meet him in person. So many things could go wrong.

But you were the one to get there first, and you waited patiently for Gloomurai to show up. As the minutes passed, your nerves only grew.

Until finally, a very pale figure rounded the corner. He was tall, but hunched over like he'd been sitting and playing video games for a long time before this. Perhaps the most noticeable thing about his appearance was the long blue flames of hair and the bright yellow eyes that only met yours for a second before quickly flickering away.

Idia Shroud; the most reclusive guy in school. He rarely ever left his room and was known for being an introvert and amazing with technology. The housewarden of Ignihyde...he was Gloomurai?????

He's amazing! Truly amazing. Of all the people he could've been, you're glad it was Idia.

Idia on the other hand was freaking out. His favorite streamer and crush...was Vil Schoenheit's little sibling??? He's broken. His brain cannot compute. Error error.

"You're Gloomurai, right?"

"I, uh, yeah. I guess."

It was...pretty awkward for the first few minutes of talking. Neither of you quite knew what to say at first, but eventually conversation would flow smoothly just like when you guys normally chat. It felt really nice to be able to talk to him in person actually, and you finally got to put a face to the moderator you developed a crush on.

So when you saw Vil again, you couldn't help but gush about your crush.

"He's so much better than I thought! I mean we talked for a while and got along very well. He's super cute too!"

"Are you sure you're talking about Idia Shroud? Cute definitely aren't the words I would use to describe him."

"Of course he's cute! I mean have you seen his hair and his eyes? He also has a really nice smile."

"I don't understand you. Are you sure you're okay mentally?"

"I've never been better."

[froggyfics]

The Deadliest Poisons Are The Sweetest - 3

You remember the little boy and his rabbit.

(09/15/23) Note: If you have read this chapter before this date, please note that I have combined chapters 1 and 2 together. This may seem confusing, but I have decided that as a creative approach, I would like the chapters to be longer. This used to be chapter 4, now it is chapter 3.

Y'all, let me know if you prefer fics with fewer, but longer chapters, or fics with lots, but shorter chapters.

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome! 

Word Count: 3,309

He plucks off a red carnation from a bush and places it into your hands. The flower is so beautiful that you cannot help but gawk at it. 

“My mother had these planted many years ago, before my birth,” Damian explains. “Do you know what red carnations symbolize?”

You timidly shake your head, embarrassed at your lack of flower symbolism knowledge. You wonder if all upper-class women already knew the answer to his question. If they were in the garden with the two of you, they would probably shout out the answer before it left Damian’s lips. 

“They symbolize deep love and affection,” he continues. “She planted them for my father.”

You squirm at his explanation, unsure of how to react. Should you feign innocence? It was a well-known, yet rarely spoken about secret within the realm that Prince Damian was born out of wedlock, but no one could fathom speaking about the matter in public. It would certainly be considered treasonous to do so. After all, even implying that the royal family was anything less than perfect was worthy of prison.

Damian laughs heartily at your reaction. “Please, I know what you must be thinking. I am well aware that I do not come from…the most honorable of circumstances.”

You cannot help but laugh in response. “That matters not,” you reply. “It is your character that I care about.”

He hums in response, and silence befalls you two. It is a much more comfortable silence than when you arrived in the capital. This time, you are alone with him instead of being surrounded by a throng of people. 

Well, technically. While your family and his become acquainted with one another indoors, you are walking next to Damian in the gardens, each with your respective chaperone trailing a few yards behind. You turn to see Alice viewing the extraordinary plants around her, some of which she had never seen before. Damian’s chaperone, a high-ranking general in R’as army, trails along indifferently.  

You turn back around and to your surprise, you find Damian observing you intensely. 

“There must be something on my face for you to look upon me like that,” you shyly utter.

Damian broods for a moment before responding. “I look at you in the hopes that you remember me.”

You smile fondly at the memory. “Of course, I remember. How could I forget the little prince and his rabbit?”

You remember nodding your head at your father, not entirely listening to his words. You were too entranced by your surroundings. Never had you ever seen walls so tall, bricks so sturdy, and rooms so ornate.

“King R’as and I fought alongside each other many years ago,” he explained. “You should forever be grateful towards him. In return for fighting loyally by his side, he granted me earldom.”

He grabbed your shoulder and proceeded to kneel to face you directly. “I must leave you with the servants to attend a meeting with the king. Be good, my child. Do not dishonor our family name.”

“Yes, Father!”

He smiled at you and kissed you on the forehead before handing you off the servant that stood on the side. 

“Let us find you something to eat,” the kind servant said. 

She escorted you to the bustling kitchen and sat you down on a small wooden stool. You were surprised at how many people were employed in the kitchen alone. The amount of kitchen staff here at the castle equated to how many people were employed in your family’s entire home and stables!

You were given a measly bowl of oats, but it still satisfied your rumbling stomach. The servant left you to your own devices to perform her own duties. Surely, there were more important tasks on her mind than to care for a child. However, that meant you were left unsupervised to explore the castle. 

There were an unnecessary number of rooms to explore. You were amazed at the grandeur of it all. The imagination you had as a child ran wild, conjuring up scenarios of how you would live leisurely at a place like this. There would never be a problem that could not be fixed within a snap of your fingers. Chores would never have to cross your mind. You would have everything you could ever desire and more.

One after another, you hurriedly explored each room, forgetting the promise you made to your father. Who cared about family honor when you there was so much to see? 

You were able to easily flit from room to room. Innumerable servants passed you by without a glance, hurriedly completing their tasks. No one cared to look after a whimsical child when they risked corporal punishment for not completing their daily chores. 

A skip, a hop, and a jump later, your heart suddenly clenched. Your feet skidded to a sudden stop and your ears perked up. There were the rumblings of an angry individual coming from just around the corner. 

How could anyone be angry living in a place like this, you naively thought. 

You steadily inched across the hall. The voice increased in volume the closer and closer you approached. 

“ – to be a king!” You overheard a snippet of the conversation as you pressed your ear to the wooden doorframe.

“I have had enough of this sniveling. What would your grandfather say if he saw you like this? He would surely be disappointed in not only you, but in me. I have obviously failed as a mother if you cannot keep it together over something so insignificant.”

You pulled your head away from the doorframe quickly. It did not sound like the sort of conversation that you should have eavesdropped on. You scurried away from the door and hid just in the nick of time around the corner when the door thumped open. Footsteps stomped away from the room until all that could be heard were tiny sniffles, almost undiscernible. 

Forget anger, how could anyone be sad living in a place like this?

Curiosity overtook your body, and you could not stop your feet from approaching the now open door. Peeking inside, you saw the silhouette of a young child on the edge of a bed, with their back towards you.

It was obvious from their trembling body that they were crying, but it was also equally obvious that they were attempting to quiet their own whimpers. Your mind battled itself – should you comfort this person, or should you walk away? 

The memory of your father from earlier that day pierced your mind suddenly. You cringed at the sudden realization that you disobeyed your father, and that he would be displeased with your current behavior. 

You slowly started to back away from the entrance of the room, but you never were one to have life go your way. The soles of your shoes scuffed against the stone floor and created an echo within the hallway.

A gasp was heard from the inside of the room, and you knew you were caught. You winced as you raised your head to meet the eyes of the person whose privacy you intruded on. 

Watery green eyes met your own. His cheeks were wet with his tears, and his nose was blushed red. His mouth trembled in an effort to contain his tears, but one trickled down before he could stop it. He angrily wiped his face with his sleeve before returning to face you.

“What is it that you want?” he sneered, embarrassed that someone else had seen him cry. 

Your mouth opened, but no words could escape. There was so much to be said in that moment, but in your foolishness, you chose silence. You remembered what your siblings would do to comfort you whenever you were scolded by your mother. They would stroke your hair, wipe your tears, rub your back, and whisper declarations of love into your ear, all while you wailed your misfortunes onto them. They listened and your heart had no choice to calm itself after their comforting presence. 

Words could not be conjured in your head, so instead, you inched further into the room. The green-eyed boy watched in irritation when you rounded the bed to sit next to him. He huffed and looked away from you, but remained on the bed. 

You remained mute for what seemed like an eternity before you spoke. “Do you want to talk –” 

“No, I do not,” he sharply interrupted. 

The sharpness of his tone made you tremble. It felt as if you had been scolded by your tutors or perhaps your parents. It shocked you to no end that someone as young as him could hold such authority within his voice.

Silence enveloped the room once again. All that could be heard was his slight sniffles before you huffed in annoyance. Your siblings made this look so easy, but comforting someone was looking to be quite difficult!

He did not wish to speak to you, so how else could you possibly comfort him?

The bed creaked as you stood slowly. You turned to face him and stood closely to him. Your proximity to him broke his attention and he finally gazed upon you once more. This time however, confusion marked his face rather than anger. His knees nearly touched your upper thighs.

Your arms were firmly at your side, but you soon raised them around his shoulders. They dropped behind him, and you pulled him in closer. His head now laid beneath your sternum.

It was certainly an awkward hug. The angle itself was odd, but what made it even odder was the fact that the young boy did not reciprocate. His arms stiffly remained on the bed, unmoving. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion – were you mistaken? Were others not as receptive to hugs as you were?

It grew more embarrassing for each second that passed. You began to feel extremely hot and realized that perhaps, this was a situation that you were simply unable to solve. Your hands were tightly bound to your wrists to secure the hug, but they began to slip as you moved to remove yourself from the boy.

That is, until his arms began to move as well. Slowly but surely, they snaked around your waist, and kept you attached to him. 

You grinned at your achievement. Yes, the hug was possibly the worst one you had ever received, but at least it was reciprocated. 

One hand remained on his back, but the other slowly slid up towards his head. He gulped when your fingers tangle in his hair, stroking his head ever so gently. His sniffles disappeared, and his breathing evened out. His grip around your waist grew tighter and he held you closer. 

He took a deep breath in and spoke much more softly. “My rabbit passed away this morning.”

You tsked in response. “I am terribly sorry. What was the name of your rabbit?”

He paused. “His name was Rabbit.”

You had to stifle the laugh that gurgled in your throat. His head shot upwards, and he frowned at you, but his eyes smiled. 

“A fitting name for – erm – a rabbit,” you responded.

“Yes, well, he was a rabbit, so it made sense.”

You hummed in response. “How did Rabbit pass away?”

He rubbed his head on your belly. “I…am not sure. He was fine this morning. And then by the afternoon, he was…” He trailed off, unable to continue. “You must think I am weak. I am to be king one day and here I am weeping over a rabbit,” he dryly laughed. 

You were silent for a moment. The future king? It did not cross your mind to think of who you were comforting. All that crossed your mind was that you saw someone who was in desperate need of affection. Your hands suddenly became clammy at the realization that you were not comforting a normal child. This was Prince Damian! 

You ripped yourself from his grip abruptly and stepped back. The little boy appeared bewildered at your sudden movements.

“Prince Damian,” you whispered. Your immediately bent your head and knees in respect, holding your dress out to the sides in a clumsy curtsy. “I sincerely apologize – I should not have –” You glanced at the open door in horror.  Despite your good intentions, this interaction was beyond inappropriate between a royal family member and a low-level aristocrat. 

Damian stood up, his hand outreached towards you. “Please, there is no need for –” 

You took a step towards the door. Your father’s stern warning rang once more in your head. “Once again, terribly sorry about Rabbit. Also, I should not have intruded on your Highness’ privacy.”

“No, there was no intrusion!” His arms stretched towards you, but you fluttered away out the open door and down the hallway. You could hear the pattering of footsteps behind you, but continued your fast pace. His footsteps eventually slowed to a stop.

Your mind flashed back to just how intimate the two of you were mere moments ago. Suddenly, it seemed impossible to run away. Your feet turned to bricks. It was wrong, so wrong, but his watery green eyes flashed in your vision, and you just had to properly say goodbye. It was impossible to leave the castle otherwise. 

The little prince had a despondent look on his face as he stared at his shoes glumly. His slumped posture revealed his melancholy. You could not in good conscience leave him so abruptly.  

Damian’s head whipped towards you when you squeaked out your name and your father’s. 

“Perhaps, I will come to the capital again to see you, your Highness. Though, I must return to my father now. He will be very displeased with me if he finds out how I have been misbehaving.”

Damian nodded his head, a small smile etched onto his face. “Yes, perhaps. I look forward to that day, and hope that it comes sooner rather than later.”

“I keep the memory of that day near and dear to my heart.”

You flush at the thought of Damian remembering you from all those years ago. “Your Highness, I am not sure –”

“Damian,” he interrupts. “Call me Damian. Or Husband. You are to be my wife, so we should remove these formalities between us.”

“D – Damian.” His name rolls off your tongue like butter. “Husband.” You are unsure of what name you like more. “You sound so firm in your decision to marry me. I must know – why? Why me? I have no major titles. No social standing. As your mother pointed out at my arrival, I have no money.” Your hands move rapidly in the air to emphasize your confusion. The carnation Damian gave you dangerously teeters between your thumb and index finger.

Damian calls your name softly and grabs your shoulders, so that you face him. “Why does my desire for you come as a surprise?”

“Well, because of what I just said!” you sputter. “Money, status, titles! All of it!”

“Has it not crossed your mind that I do not need any of what you have mentioned? I am perfectly content with what I have been born with.”

“That still does not explain anything. When the royal messenger delivered us the news that you accepted my proposal, I sincerely thought it was a joke! A cruel joke, but a joke nonetheless.”

“T’is no joke! Out of all the maidens in the realm, I want to marry you. I chose you.”

Your mouth gapes open at his revelation. His disclosure sounded like one of those oral stories that your grandmother would tell you when you were younger. Those stories about the rich prince and the poor girl who fall in love and overcome all struggles. But those were merely fairytales, and this is reality. 

Damian rubs his face with hand in frustration before dropping it back down to his side. His gaze softens at your expression. “Look, I understand this situation was unexpected. Honestly, my decision surprised even myself.” He moves to grab your hands.

You gasp as his hands engulf yours. His fingers intertwine with your own, radiating so much warmth. His display of affection directly causes your heart to skip a beat. The carnation’s stem becomes crushed between your hand and his.

“The day we met…is one of the fondest memories of my childhood. I have never forgotten the kindness you showed me that day.” He rubs the top of your knuckles with his thumbs. “When talks of my marriage began to arise, it was expected that I would marry a princess. I was never opposed to the idea of marriage, but I amopposed to marrying a stranger.”

The green and yellow in his eyes are nearly replaced with all black. His teeth clench and his jaw tightens in anger. “So much of my life is controlled. But I refuse to let my grandfather and mother choose the person I will be spending the rest of my life with. I cannot do it. This is why your presence in the capital was immediately required. I did not wish to be persuaded otherwise.” He takes a deep breath in and loudly exhales. He relaxes his shoulders to allow the stress to leave his body. Genuine kindness emanates from his eyes and into your own. “And that is why when I heard you were interested, I jumped at the opportunity. I have never forgotten you. Why find another bride when I already have a fondness for you?”

“Oh, Damian.” Your heart soars at his proclamation. He stands before you in the body of a man, but you can see through the cracks. He is still the little boy who grieved deeply for his pet rabbit. He is still the little boy who deeply craved affection, but could not show he wanted it. He is still the little boy you ached for long after you left the capital as a child. It was a girlhood crush, but the remnants of that fire remain. Your hand grazes his cheek, and he nuzzles into it. It finds its way from his cheek to his ear, and then to the back of his head. His black hair tangles in your fingers and you find yourself transported back in time to when you first met him. His hair feels the same as it did all those years –

“Ahem!” Alice abruptly proclaims. Your hand quickly untangles from his hair at the sound of her disapproval. Although you are to be wed to him soon, Damian was not yet your husband. Physical affection could not be tolerated until then. 

She attempts to glare at you, but you could see her quivering lips. She does her absolute best to hide her smile until she cannot any longer. Her tense lips turn upwards into a smile, and you chuckle at her reaction. Damian’s guardian, the general, remains indifferent except for the tiniest sparkle in his eyes. 

You take a step backwards to place some distance away from Damian. Although you are no longer touching him, he looks at you so intimately that it feels like you are embracing one another. 

“I suppose we must keep our hands to ourselves,” you quip.

“I suppose so,” he muses. You two begin your walk through the garden again. This time though, there is heat between your bodies despite the distance. 

The red carnation Damian bestowed upon you remains in your hands. You twist and twist and twist the flower around. 

Deep love and affection. The symbolism behind the flower makes you blush. Your mind wanders off into a daydream. Your daydream is almost like a vision. You see yourself planting flowers for Damian within this very garden, just like his mother did for his father. The thought makes your heart bloom.

[afatallovesong]

Happy New Year you wonderful human! Pleeeease tell me you’re gracing us with more Calum goodness soon?! You’re my favourite writer. Loves

Ask and you shall receive... eventually! This has been a labour of love, I've been writing it on and off since November. Its one of my longest fics so far (I'm sorry) but I really think you'll like it! If there's any mistakes, mind ya business.

Happy birthday to the main man himself

At Your Convenience

A Calum Hood one shot

18+, Smut, NSFW

Word Count: 15,821

You’re fucking tired. It was actually starting to become painful just how tired you were. It hurt to keep your eyes open. It hurt to close them even for a second. They were so insanely dry from tiredness that they’d become sore. Each blink felt like repetitive razor sharp cuts. You’d have done just about anything for a cat nap instead of restocking the shelves. The sun glaring through the window as it started to set didn’t help. You were squinting and covering your line of sight as much as you could, but it still pierced through, targeting you especially, some evil vendetta against you. Its drying your corneas even faster, you really didn’t think it was possible. You manage a not-so-elegant yawn, barely covering the gaping black hole your mouth created. Only four more hours to go. Four more hours of this.

Its crisp and cold out. The early signs of winter were rolling into the city. The leaves were now lacking existence. Fallen branches scattering pavements, cracked under leather docs. Breaths were seen in the air as well as heard. Cheeks and noses were rosy with the bite of a harsh incoming wind. The sun was beginning to set just a little before 6pm. The darkness befalling the streets of California. Calum had often liked a walk at sunset. There was something oddly calming about it. Watching the world carry on as the day was meeting its end. It’s not that he’d even see much of the sun’s disappearance with all the buildings and lights and the busy billboards, but he’d known it was there. He’d known it was leaving him.

He liked walking home in the dark too. The city was so vastly different like that. The stores, the staff that changed over, the people you found wandering through. People were teaming and seemingly bustling with character, not all good, in some circumstances maybe even foul but certainly more outgoing than the daylight crowd. Some were tired and rushed off home from work. Often moving so fast he’d nearly been trampled down into the pavement twice. For the most part, the characters could only be described as friendly, interesting, and easy to watch going by. None could have captivated him quite as much as you though. He’d soon find that out. His friends and family would never describe him as particularly observant, this ought to prove them wrong.

He’d been across the street, a little over 10 feet away maybe when his eyes set upon your figure. It seemed as if the building encasing you hadn’t been there at all. Like you were just stood there on the street corner exposed to winter air as much as he was. The concrete cage above and around you, merely an afterthought. He’d spotted you with an impressively keen eye. He could pin point any detail about you from the style of your hair to the colour of each stripe on your shirt. He may even go as far as to say he’d memorised the order they appeared in. Light blue, dark blue, off white, and black, and repeat and repeat. You weren’t doing anything spectacular to catch his attention in the way that you did. He just knew that you had and now he was stuck watching you on a loop. Stood restocking shelves by the window, a couple of bags in each hand. Despite the averageness of it all, he’d felt the world stand still, calling him inside, calling him to you. The girl in the window.

He went completely unnoticed by you at first. He was thankful for that. You’d had a delivery that morning and spent most of the day painstakingly unboxing and replacing items running low around the store. You were at the last one, placing individual packets of chips on the shelf and the rack beside it. You decided to organise them into rainbow order, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. You had a little song about it, so you knew. You’d been foolish to assume you’d had the whole colour palette. You try to invent a flavour for indigo and violet to rectify that. You could send a strongly worded sales pitch to Lays. For now, though, you were stood atop a step ladder to reach the highest shelf. You weren’t exactly short, but the additional height did come in handy when you couldn’t find the energy to stretch higher than what was natural. Its only as the sun tucks itself away, do you finally brave peering out of the window again for some form of escape.

He catches your eye as you hover there, throwing the cardboard box, now empty, down on the ground behind you. In the space it took you to finish the task and turn back around, he’d crossed the street now looking at you from the corner. He hoped he didn’t look weird. He definitely looked weird. You don’t think much of the exchange at first. But as the seconds escalate you find yourself partaking in a little staring contest. You’d felt that burning sensation in your eyes again after a short while. Just as you go to blink it away, he’d gone. You half wondered if you’d hallucinated his appearance in the first place. Stranger things had happened after a long day after all. Whether real or not, you’d lost the contest. You knew that much. You took your loss and patted down your thighs in defeat. 

The door opened with a collection of high pitched tones from your butterfly wind chime above it. It’s just as alarming as it was when you’d first started working there. You thought you would have acclimatised by now but a mixture of tiredness and a slow moving day in store had you beat. So instead, you found yourself jumping out of your skin. You were lucky you didn’t fall. It might have been a more exciting day if you had. You may return to the idea if the day dragged out any longer.

You managed to get back on the ground safely. Your ladders were folded and slotted back against the window where you’d retrieved them from. Your cardboard box now back in your hands to flatten for the recycling bin out back. For now, you’d rest it near the ladders, but you may as well complete half the job while you’re at it to save you doing more than necessary later on. Judging by your exhaustion now, it would be the last thing on your agenda at 10pm. Plus you were never one to leave a customer unsupervised in store. You may have been tired, but you weren’t stupid. 

He stepped inside, warmth flooding around him, engulfing him in a large hug. It was a California summer amongst the shelves and aisles. At least that’s how pleasant it had felt. Now that he thought about it, that was a horrible way to describe somewhere that sold fresh food. It’d be a nightmare for food hygiene and longevity. He might have been a touch hasty in his earlier description. It was undeniably cosy though, that was a better fit for it. It was a pleasure to be shielded from the cold.

His eyes easily floated back to you now that he’d entered your space. That was probably just as creepy as it sounded. He didn’t have any sort of plan in mind for entering the store, he never usually did. He’d just made it inside and assumed that that would be enough but of course it wasn’t. It would never have satiated his need to meet you. But he couldn’t just stand in the doorway with his hands in his pockets watching you like some sort of weirdo. Which admittedly, was exactly what he was currently doing. Until he snapped out of it and shuffled himself down the next aisle. He had to approach you somehow though. He’d made it this far; he should follow through.

He could see you through the shelving. There were gaps between produce and items without height, quite similarly to bookshelves in a library. The more he looked the more he could make that comparison. Were these second hand shelves? The shop wasn’t as tiny as it looked from outside either. There were at least 5 short aisles which considering the location, was impressive. The old convenience store seemed no larger than a matchbox from out there. Now he’d stepped inside he’d argue it was more of a healthy apartment, or maybe a doctors waiting room. Yes, those really were the best locations he could think of.

He couldn’t help but notice how the light still caught you as he peered through the confectionary to the place where you stood. The light was illuminating your striped shirt and little blue waistcoat resting in coordination on top. It also bounced off the shiny, scribbled out name badge hooked into the left pocket. He wondered why you hadn’t gotten your name printed. Perhaps you were new here. He’d never seen you in here before. He’d like to think he’d remember you if he had. Not that he was the biggest or most loyal customer to ‘Convenience Corner,’ but he had made it inside once or twice before. It was mostly while drunk, just picking up extra supplies for a party or so but it was enough for him to know. No, he’s certain he’d not seen you before. He ought to find out your name before he forgets to.

“Can I help you?” He jumped at the sound of your voice. It was melodical and cheerful, sweeter than he’d expected. He’d not been prepared to feel even more intrigued by you so soon and in a situation like this no less. You’d caught him staring hadn’t you? He could never show his face in here again if you had. He’d have to leave immediately; God forbid pretend to buy something to make the interaction less awkward. That’s if that was even possible at this point. He wasn’t that sure that it was. His fight or flight had to kick in sooner or later. He looked up from the pack of pistachios his hands seemed to instinctively land on. “Sure, the freezer’s in the back.” He lifts his head to follow your voice with an eyebrow arched. He hadn’t asked for anything in the freezer section. You weren’t speaking to him at all. He’s not sure which was more embarrassing, the fact he was self-centred enough to believe he’d been caught or the fact he was now too aware that he hadn’t been. 

“Guess I’m buying the damn pistachios,” he muttered under his breath before grabbing one packet off the shelf, heading in the direction of check out. He was about to make it there too, before he changed his mind, turning back to grab another just to be safe. Surely it was weirder to buy one packet. Or was that just him? He made his way to the counter for good this time. It was adjacent to the entrance as one might expect, easy escape route if things went south. He hovered in place, occasionally stretching onto the tip of his toes and then back down again as he waited patiently for you or another employee to aid him. Though he hoped, deep down in his soul that it would be you.

During his wait he noticed the green chair behind the register. The chair clad in worn leather, looking about as old as the building itself, tucked away neatly. The next items he spotted were the locked cabinets with indication to liquor and tobacco from the warning labels and age restrictions printed on the doors. The little bronze bell atop the counter was next. Then it was the vintage green radio buzzing to the left of it, sputtering out some classical tune he’d never for the life of him be able to recognise. Then it was the cup of what he assumed was coffee, in a branded cardboard cup he also didn’t recognise.

The more he looked the more he found. The walls were patterned with blue and white vertical stripes. The floor shared the same colour scheme with checker tiles. Suddenly the blue uniform was making sense. The décor reminded him of the 80’s, bright, in your face and yet comforting and familiar. His favourite piece of décor in the whole store had to be the painted sign that read ‘please don’t fucking steal.’ He wondered if it worked much as a deterrent or if he was gullible. His second favourite was the collage of confiscated fake id’s with various graffiti vandalising the faces. He laughed at those harder than he thought he would. The Marlboro’s in rainbow order weren’t far behind.

It was cluttered and unorganised, certainly had an eclectic vibe, but he felt strangely at home in his surroundings. He’d liked that. He’d also liked that the price labels on everything were the same shade of green as the chair and radio, some kind of extreme case of colour coordination. Perhaps there was an ongoing discussion about replacing the walls and flooring. It seemed like the favoured shade in the establishment in its current state, was green. It would look pretty green. He really was dull today.

“Hey, sorry I took so long.” You had appeared behind the counter slightly out of breath, hair swept over one shoulder, slipping down your back in an untidy fashion. You were rubbing the back pockets of your blue jeans, looking from left to right and all around for something, he couldn’t quite fathom what. You’d moved so fast he barely registered your arrival there at all. Let alone be able to guess what you were doing there now. You’d startled him in the best way, rushing in to save him just as he feared he was losing grip on reality.

You’d smelt so sweet, next to the dust heavy, 80’s vibe of the shop floor. You had this fresh aroma of apples mixed with mint or something similar, and he liked it. He really liked it. He could have bottled that up. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you scrambled around. He watched you in awe like he’d never seen a retail worker before in his life. You’d seemed so colourful and lively against the drab old signs pinned behind you and it was absolutely mesmerising to him. What was a girl as bright as you doing in a place as drab as this?

Another customer entered with a gust of wind following shortly after. Trickling that breeze across the back of both your necks. Both your eyes floated over to the doorway and back simultaneously. A shiver had shot up his spine when your eyes had met his for the first time, well second actually. He quite enjoyed the feeling of your gaze on him. “Just those?” You asked sweetly. It took most of the energy you had left to lay it on thick for him.

You never enjoyed taking your tiredness out on customers. Not just because it was unprofessional but because you quite liked other humans. You liked them a lot. They were the sole reason you were employed, sure but you also just liked the experience of your fleeting moments with the rest of the human race. You didn’t need to know their life stories. You didn’t need to chit chat and ask about their day because it was simply polite to do so. Any conversation carried between you and the passers-by, the window shoppers, and the regulars, was a part of your day that you enjoyed and often craved. Somewhere, not so deep down, very clearly found instead, you hoped this new customer would allow you more than just a fleeting moment.

You eyed him with large, soft eyes. A genuine glimmer of happiness was lit within them. Despite the bags beneath them which made his heart ache for you, he thought you had the prettiest eyes he’d seen. So much so that it took him a while to return to you, remembering exactly where he was. Buying something. He watched you peering down to the items he’d handed over, fascinated by literally anything that you did as if it were his first day on earth. And for the love of God, how could someone so tired be so devastatingly beautiful?

“Uh, yeah, that’s it.” He really took over a minute to pause and then came out with that. Pathetic. He’d kick himself for his lack of conversational skills later. For now, he just glanced down to your name tag with curiosity but not enough guts to back it up. You caught him, addressing it immediately. It seemed you were paying just as much attention to him as he was to you. Funny he hadn’t noticed it, since he clearly saw everything else that you did.

“Printing error, would you believe it?” He shook his head, he’s not sure why. “You’d think I wouldn’t need one at all, owning the place.” He was quite impressed by that; he hadn’t shown it as well as he’d have liked to, but he was. He wouldn’t have guessed it. You started shuffling around, just like before. Your eyes dart beneath the counter, then above, to the side, even to the ground. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen some keys on a lanyard?” You eye him hopefully, anxiously gnawing on your bottom lip. Stay strong Calum. You rushed a hand through your hair as your panic set in. He had a feeling this wasn’t the first time you’d lost them.

Ever the hero, he glanced around to where you were stood before. He remembered your position exactly. He might have been a serial killer. He’d have to book himself a therapy session later that evening. These were early signs for sure. There kicked beneath the bottom shelf, a slither of silver caught his eye. Before you could clear the counter yourself, he’d already grabbed them, wrapping the sunflower printed material around his hand.

The smile you greeted him with was similar to that of a damsel who’d been delivered from distress. He knew he wasn’t worthy of such praise, but he so enjoyed the sight of it as it was presented to him. “Thank you.” You gestured a prayer as you said it, bringing the keys to your chest, your breasts squishing together significantly. He wished he hadn’t noticed that. “I swear that’s the 6th time I’ve done that.” You sink the key into the cash register, springing it to life, opening the drawer beneath it.

“Just today?” He dug at you, earning a blush, he felt blessed to have seen it let alone to be the one to cause it. “Well, that’s 2.75 then.” You said happily, hands flattening atop the wooden countertop as if you were smoothing out a piece of fabric. He hands money over the with a “keep the change” and a smile that flashed his perfect pearly whites. You placed the 5 he gave you in the cash register, eyeing him sceptically as did so. “See you around big spender.” His breath escaped him at the nickname, the possibility of seeing you again too. That was the most fun either of you had, had all day. 

-

“I should give you a job since you’re in here so often.” He doesn’t fight the smile that braces his face when he enters the place this time. “Then you’d have to finally tell me your name.” He knows he’s got you there. “On second thoughts, you’re my best customer and you’re so, so welcome here any time honestly.” You slam your magazine down on the counter for emphasis, resting your face in both your palms, elbows on the wood. “Oh yeah? Don’t get a lot of pistachio fiends?” He wanted to be embarrassed; he had no legs to stand on. He’d been coming in every Thursday for the past 5 weeks, buying a pack of pistachios each and every time. His car was just about overflowing with them at this point. The shells, bags, full pistachios he couldn’t quite toss and catch in his mouth in less than a minute. It was an addiction to most, you included. 

“What brings you in today?” You held your hand out to stop him answering you, only he never began to speak in the first place. He was proud to say he was used to you doing that. “Let me guess.” He flipped you off before responding light heartedly. “Maybe I’m just checking in to see how your name tag is coming along.” You thought for a moment before responding. “You know, it’s taking a whole lot longer than I thought, guess labels aren’t on trend right now.” The sarcasm was dripping. He nodded as he headed down the aisle, fighting heart palpitations as he went. He didn’t have to get the same thing. There was no reason to now. He wasn’t in a hurry. He wasn’t panicking only grabbing the first thing he found. Yet, he still grabbed a bag like clockwork as if it would ever be impressive to you.

“I never thought anyone liked pistachios.” He jumped about 3 feet as you appeared beside him. This was the closest you’d ever gotten to him. “Jesus fucking Christ.” You sniggered a laugh at his expense, thoroughly. “No, that’s not my name but it’s a good guess.” You patted him lightly on the shoulder. He felt like he’d been shocked by electricity. “As I was saying, scaredy cat, I thought it was just something adults lied about enjoying to seem more mature or something.” Every bone in his body had him wanting to agree with you. They tasted like dog shit, but he couldn’t resist them.

“Rude of you to give me another nickname without so much as a whiff to your own name.” He raises you. You didn’t think he had it in him. “Would it please you if I let you provide me with a nickname?” Its patronising as fuck but he’d already been glad to accept your offer regardless. “You sure you’re ready for that?” You shrugged it off, there was no way he’d think of one on the spot. He was so painfully awkward and flustered around you at all times, the tiny burst of wit he pushed out a few seconds ago was probably all he had left this week. You could let him do his worst with full confidence. Knowing he’d never conjure one good enough to knock you down.

“Stripe.” Your eyes widened to the point where he feared they might pop out of your skull. “Fucking Stripe?” You half yelled, repeating the word far too many times in disbelief. He was fully aware of how awful it was, really, he fucking knew. But your reaction made it all the more worth it. “I’ve never seen you in anything other than a stripey top and that blue fucking waistcoat, it was the best I could do.” If that was the best, you’d hate to see his worst. “I’m not mad, just disappointed.” You then rubbed his back so platonically he thought he might scream.

“But uh, they’re great yeah, yummy.” He shook his head at his own awkwardness. “Yeah, must be, you’re the only reason we replaced the stock you know.” You pointed at the tiny marking slammed on the shelf just below the item up for debate. An “out of stock” label was scrawled out messily in black marker. “Shit really?” There was that laugh again. He could record that and sell it as a cure for depression, it was the happiest sound he’d ever heard. You could cure all ailments with a laugh as cute and dorky as yours.

“Nope, but it did make you panic for a second huh?” You were facing him, arms behind your back, chest pushed out proudly as you smiled at your own mischievousness. You tended to do that a lot. You weren’t ever aware of the way your breasts pushed forwards like an offer he couldn’t refuse. But he had so hoped that he was right in assuming it was accidental. Although, if that was just how sexy you were even without trying, he could only melt at the thought of a real attempt. Pull yourself together man, you’re not 14, not every pair of tits has to destroy you. Even if yours were perfect. “Do I really come in here that much?” He's white knuckling his way through that question until you finally relax your shoulders, the tension also leaving his own.

“Yeah you do.” You said it with sympathy and a kindness as if that was the making of an intervention. “I could lie.” You offered. He thought about it. Then he thought about the way he could recognise every single note your wind charm had been able to make. The way he knew the floor creaked in the centre of every aisle but never the edges. How the lights only flickered above the freezer section and buzzed like a swarm of bees when they did. How there’s always an excess of toilet roll stacked the near the door because you’d accidentally ordered too much. How you’d tripped over it most days despite you being the only reason it was there. How you’d told him you’d done it only once, but he knew for a fact it was 5 times just in his presence because he laughed every single time. Yeah, he might come here a little too often.

“Would you please lie?” His face heated in several different shades of red, one after the other coordinating with your striped shirt of the day. A blush brown, red, and orange. You were yet to repeat an outfit. The horizontal stripe was the same, but the colour was not. That wasn’t really saying much in the grand scheme of things. He had only met you 5 times so far. But 5 different stripey tops was still arguably hard to come by. “You just really love your nuts.” You dragged out your s.’ He hit his head on the shelf before him with a thud. “That’s even worse.” He mumbles while continuing his downward trajectory into self-loathing. 

“Yeah, maybe you should go with your dignity still intact.” You nodded, brushing off laughter. “You’re right. Though I think that would require having any in the first place.” He made a lot of jokes at his own expense, more so than anyone else you’d ever met. You hoped he didn’t really feel like that about himself. “Yeah, no I was lying to make you feel better.” You nodded repeatedly. “Didn’t really try it before, now I did. I don’t really like it.” You shrugged. He smirked.

“So, same time tomorrow?” He did the same old thing with his feet, standing on his toes, slotting back down, his tell-tale sign that he was waiting for something. “Maybe.” He left it open for interpretation. You leaned in close, your face not far from his, like the counter had disappeared altogether. “Oh, a maybe huh, that’s how we’re playing this now?” You’re so close to him he can now identify the exact kind of mint you carried on your breath. It wasn’t peppermint like he’d assumed at first. It was spearmint. You were spearmint and spiced apple rolled into one. It should never have worked but on you, it was perfection. 

“Can’t bear to see me twice in one week Cal?” He thought he might combust as you shortened his name. It took every ounce of energy he had left not to melt at your feet. “I am getting too predictable, do need to keep it fresh. Can’t have you sitting there all day just expecting me to arrive.” He was proud of himself for keeping up. There may be hope for him yet. “Oh, but it’s such a crucial part of my existence.” Your hand slid across countertop, and he thought he imagined it even as his own lifted involuntarily, aiming to meet it.

“Very funny. So witty.” He was reduced to two word sentences and sarcasm, brilliant. “I know, I know, keep going, talk dirty to me.” You were definitely a dork; you both knew it. One of you found it endearing. Your hand touched his, he was almost certain it wasn’t an accident by now. His heart still didn’t believe him. “I will see you, eventually.” Your fingers pried his open, hands joining, fingers bumping knuckles, fumbling around in a beautiful whirl. He didn’t know when your relationship got to the point where you’d been able to touch like this. He also didn’t know what it meant. He just knew he enjoyed it, and you could touch him wherever you desired.

“Eventually?” You say it slowly, breathing it out to see if he’d like it. His eyes couldn’t avoid your glittery lip gloss any longer. It was all he’d thought about for the last 45 seconds since he’d noticed it. He wished he never noticed it. Now he can’t do anything but notice it. He also thought about the possibility of wearing it himself. Not because he wanted to go out and buy the same one but because he so desperate to feel your kiss, he wouldn’t mind the transfer. Those thoughts weren’t helping anyone.

“Mmhmm, sometime, somewhere.” Did his voice go up an octave? “Probably here.” You corrected him, thumb smoothing over his. “Definitely here.” He confirmed, he’d not taken a new breath since you’d touched him, and he might have started going purple because of it. “But sometime.” You poked with a smirk. “Exactly.” He said inching closer. As much as you liked it, you panicked. You released his hand in a flash and stepped back, legs knocking into the chair behind the counter. He’s gutted to lose your touch but chooses not to hold it against you. You must have had your reasons.

You pretended it didn’t make you want to yell out every curse word under the sun under the scrutiny of his stare. The way your chair dug into your calves was dire. You cut your flirtation short and hoped that masked it adequately enough. It didn’t. “Get out of my store.” You bossed him around with a smirk. He felt relieved by it. At least he hadn’t fucked anything up. You smiled away at him as he did as he was told. Holding it right until he’d disappeared, not only from the shop, but the view of the exterior too. You sank into your chair safely this time and let out a deep sigh. Was it hot in here or was it just you?

-

“I get off at 10.” You rush, bringing your hands back down to your sides. You didn’t smile, you didn’t wave, you didn’t breathe. You just blurted it out. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards but didn’t react more than that. “You do?” He isn’t really sure what to say, he never is. He wants to ask if you mean what he thinks you mean, and what he thinks you mean is that you’d like to see him when you finish. He’s not sure if he has the courage to do something about it. He still needed to work on communication, if you had taught him anything, it’s that his verbal skills were lacking.

“I get off at 10 and I think you should come hang out.” Your spare hand floated to your hip; you hoped it appeared as casual as you intended it to. But truth be told your grasp on it was nothing close to gentle. The silence growing between you was painful. “I’ll see you then.” He said, just as quietly, just as unsure.

“Fuck, you will?” You stepped in closer to him, absolutely relieved. He reached out to you; you’re attempting the same. “I uh, yeah.” This is the only time you’ve been tongue tied around him and you’re not enjoying a single second of it. “Now please leave before I have a meltdown over this.” He didn’t budge. He still wanted to touch you, hold your hand, your hip, your scissors that you were previously using to cut open packaging, anything he could. “Seriously oh my God.” You’re laughing but you need it, you wouldn’t think straight again until he left. “I’m gone, I’m going, I’ll see you at 10.” Fuck yeah you will.

-

“What can I help you with today?” You asked as softly as you always did. You leant right over the counter already cutting the distance. It was 10:02pm. There was no more wasting time. He started to lean in a little too. You wet your lip in anticipation. The way you often did when you saw him. Because you couldn’t keep it together for even a minute, needed that sensation across your lip to prevent you from finding another. Under the watchful gaze of those fucking browneyes, you’re helpless. “I actually panicked when you didn’t come in at 6 today.” Distracting yourself with conversation was something you’d always done; may it help you now.

“I didn’t think you’d miss me too much.” He was happy you did. He was selfishly ecstatic if he was being completely honest. “Well, I did.” He nodded at the information, letting it sink in. He also let it go straight to his head. It wasn’t his fault. When a girl like you says she misses you, you’re living the fucking dream as far as he was concerned. He leaned in, elbows nudging yours on the counter, a parallel to a couple of weeks back when you’d held hands in the very same spot for the first time.

It felt much more natural this time. Hands gravitating towards each other without a care in the world. Nothing but the brushing of fingertips against knuckles and blushes being hidden with large smiles. You supposed without the worry of any other customers entering the store, you could finally relax into this. You weren’t being unprofessional by seeing to your urges. It felt so incredibly good. You’d like it like this more often. Probably not in this exact location. You think you’d seen enough of the inside of this place for a lifetime.

“I can tell you what I’m not here for.” You nodded along intrigued. “Fucking pistachios.” You snorted a pretty hearty laugh. “I knew you didn’t like them.” You raised your voice accusingly. He was shaking his head in disagreement but the way he laughed wasn’t fooling you. “No one likes them that much I don’t care who you are.” You’re determined to receive his admittance. He’s gone beet red in the face, willing to pull his beanie down over it to save him further humiliation. That should have been enough for you, it wasn’t. You had to hear it.

He’s shaking your hands in his to grab your attention back and your heart is just bursting at the action. You wouldn’t mind holding his hands all day. “No, I do like them, I do, stop shaking your head, I do. Just yeah, not that much, I don’t know what I was doing.” He’s looking at your hands as a source of comfort, fiddling with them while he reflected on his past decisions regretfully. “Think I just really wanted to impress you, clearly did that. Shows I’m committed though right?” He lets one of your hands slip free. You lift it into the air and draw an invisible tick. “Oh yeah, honestly there’s nothing sexier than getting 2.75 from a hot stranger every week, ticking that right off my bucket list. And yes I like your level of commitment, I will consider it heavily in your application.”

His brows arch. “Hot stranger huh?” You’re not surprised he’d only listened to the part with the compliment; you’d be the same. “You’re kind of hot I guess.” It was your turn to blush, coyly looking anywhere but at him as if you’d save yourself that way. It didn’t stop him looking at you like you thought it might. He was still peering down at you, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks, your hair falling down into your face like curtains ready to close on him. He didn’t want to be closed out. He needed more access in fact. He just needed to be subtle about it as not to spook you, or him for that matter.

He was careful when he pulled his left hand from yours. It was so cautious and polite you didn’t even miss it when it was gone. He just reached forward, touching you elsewhere. Tucking his thumb beneath your chin, lifting your face so you’re back looking at him. He could look at you for hours. You’re like a piece of art that had come alive, and he needed to appreciate you for that. He was equally as pretty, his eyes big and beautiful, with a softness you wanted surrounding in. You wouldn’t ever get used to a stare like his.

You combed some of your hair behind your ears to give him a better look at you. You’re not sure why but you felt it was important for him to see you like this. With more vulnerability. He may have seen you every week, but your time was so fleeting. You’d been working a million miles a minute. Your head was often fuzzy. Not to mention your hair was a constant tangled mess. You rarely wore makeup either, sweat too much stocking shelves which you did pretty much every single Thursday, his day. It was absolutely crucial to you now, for him to see you and really seeyou.

Not you that wore the uniform. Not you that lived and breathed this shop or this job. Not you that made witty remarks about other customers because that was your only form of entertainment during a shift. You needed him to see you in a way that he couldn’t associate you with this place. You wanted him to like you separately. You had other interests. You had other clothes. You had a whole other personality. If you let him look at you like this, perhaps he just might find it.

“I might be wrong.” His voice had gone unintentionally gravely allowing his accent to shine through. “But I think you might like to kiss me.” He says it barely above a whisper, but you heard it in the deepest parts of you. You tried your best to remain composed as he’d read your mind exactly. All these weeks of flirting with no result, building and building tension with no real end game in sight. But now, finally, there was opportunity. “It’ll cost ya.” You whispered. He grinned back down at you affectionately; he hadn’t moved an inch yet. “I’ll tip you generously” he goes to say more but you’d already shot forward. Everything he could possibly have said was now well and truly out of the window, gone and completely forgotten. You had erased his mind and it felt wonderful.

“You’ve been on my mind for fucking weeks you know that.” He’s taken aback, from the kiss, your hand clutching his, your confession. He was flattered to say the least. “I watch the damn clock every day, even though I know you only come in on Thursdays.” You retreated your hands away from him and he’d have been offended by it if he weren’t still pining for your lips back on his. He could settle for hearing your truth first. He was a patient man when it came to you. “Why do you only come in on Thursdays?” He wonders if you were actually asking or not and then he realises it’s just a stepping stone in your monologue, so he kept it zipped and watched you with a bemused smile.

“I was scared, did I tell you I was scared? Thought I’d never see you again Calum, I mean fuck I was about to mark down pistachios to 1 cent if it would bring you back in here, what the fuck were you playing at?” He’d say he was shocked at the way you’d overreacted, but he’d been wracking his brain just as heavily. The entire day, he watched the time flying by, his leg tapping, his riffs never sounding right, his vocals never hitting the right note, his lyrics not carrying into verses with fluidity and synchronicity, every second he spent away from this God damn store was an additional second of insanity he couldn’t bear. 

“Promise I’ll never ditch you again.” You tugged him in close. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep Calum.” You breathed out grabbing hold of the collar on his fleece. “I would never do such a thing.” He tipped his head down at you, thumbs reaching out to stroke adoringly over your cheeks, your aggression dissolved as quickly as it came. “Shit, kissing you is like, I can’t even think of a word for it.” 

“That’s awfully romantic, wow Calum.” You said between kisses. “Shut up.” He bit back. “Trying to but you keep pulling your lips away.” You’re mumbling into his mouth. “Feels weird kissing here, like some other customer is gonna pop outta nowhere.” You rolled your eyes at the mention of it, biggest turn off of the century. “Would you like me to put the shutters down so you can feel safer hmm?” He smirked down at you. “That’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Swoon.

His hands squeezed where he now held your hips fondly. His eyes were shining, even in the dim light. His brows were furrowed with concern, you couldn’t be sure what for. There were so many things either of you could have been thinking at that moment. You were checking his deep eyes for signs of distress or regret, a hint of regret would certainly destroy you now you’d gotten to this stage, but you’d still wished to know if he was okay with all of this. “Are you okay?” You weren’t sure why you said it so quietly. If anyone were to break from a loud and startling voice, it would have been you more so than him. 

He nodded his head into the palm of your hand. You’re heart fluttered but you still wondered. “Promise me?” He nodded again but it wasn’t enough truth for you. “Need to hear it.” You nudged. “I’m more than fine.” It sounded calmer than either of you had expected. You were eyeing him with your lips tucked neatly between your teeth and he swore he’d lay down his life to feel you do that to him instead. “Gonna kiss you now.” You said it as if it was the first ever time. It was at least the third, maybe fourth or fifth but felt just as fresh. Somehow more important than the others. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t messy. It was planned and it was delicate, and it had mattered.

He leaned into your mouth; plush lips gently caressed yours. You knew he was more eager than he let on, felt it in the way he clutched at your belt loops like he himself was the one to hold up your jeans instead. “You don’t have to be so gentle.” You muttered through fluttered lashes. “Wanna treat you like you deserve.” You didn’t expect such a response, never being taken care of before. You were glad to receive it. “Kiss me sweetly later, I want the good stuff.” His lips didn’t miss the opportunity to send a smirk your way before he swooped in, arms wrapping around your middle, lips plummeting down onto yours. A moan teared from your throat sending his stomach churning and flipping with delight. 

It’s a tender kiss still, even if he weighed down heavy on your lips. His cushiony mouth took the fall. Your arms were thrown messily around his shoulders, finding a home there, your fingers combing the hair at the base of his neck. He gave you his tongue, offering it like a gift. He wrapped it in your lips, sliding between them, teasing your own tongue with it. There it is, your signature scent, apple and mint, a taste so distinctively yours. He tasted of tobacco and coca cola, and you hadn’t a single complaint about it. You’d happily keep that recipe locked in your mind to associate him with forever. He retracted his lips and you found yourself chasing him, rising onto the tips of your toes, nearly toppling the both of you over in the process. He grinned wide from ear to ear, and you just stood there with your eyes big, gawping at him like a goldfish.

“You might be the sweetest thing I ever tasted.” He tucked your hair behind your ear, caressing your heated cheek with a precise and carefully crafted technique. “Can’t really trust your tastebuds though.” He would never live down them pistachios. “I’m gonna make you forget all about that.” You knew he wasn’t really embarrassed about it, but if he really wanted to offer a mind altering experience, you wouldn’t dare decline. “Is that right?”

“There’s only one room in this entire building without security cameras you know.” It’s far too detailed to be a hint but you hope he took it like that anyway. “What would we need that for?” He pecked you over and over, your body squirmed in is grip. “I think you know what.” He did, he loved idea of it too, it was unique and adventurous and sure maybe there wasn’t much risk of getting caught but that didn’t make the location any less scandalous and out of the ordinary. Calum needed you somewhere private around yesterday. “Care to enlighten me?” He saw the cogs turning and ticking away in your pretty little head. He had a rough idea of where you’d take him, but it didn’t make it any less fun to ask. He needed to hear you say it. 

“How sexy is the idea of making out in the stockroom?” You just came out and said it. “How sturdy are the shelves?” You shoved him. “Shut up.” He snickered. “Keep that up and you’ll be banned for life Mr.” He leaned down to kiss that thought from your mind. “You know I can’t survive without this place, it’s just so- “ he paused purposefully, he knew exactly the words he needed but chose not to speak them, “convenient?” you finished for him, to which he nodded along happily. “Convenience corner where all your needs are at your convenience.” You cheerfully recited your slogan, it was adorable to him, nostalgic and cringey to you.

“What else in here is at my convenience?” He pushed the boat out a little. “What would you like?” You played along too, enjoying the way his blush didn’t end with his cheeks but fell down towards his neck as well. “To speak to the manager of this establishment.” You wanted to roll your eyes so badly, but he was just too charming to ridicule. “Think she’s a little busy right now, you’ll have to come back later.” You pulled him back down to kiss you and he relaxed into you within an instant. “Mm, I’d like to ask her something.” He kissed you again. “Oh yeah?” He took a little bit longer to respond that time, your tongue sinking into his mouth, making it pretty difficult for him. “Want her to check something in the back for you?” You encouraged. He nodded down at you eagerly. “Right this way sir.”

You grabbed onto the sleeve of his jacket, tugging his body close to you. He’s about to trip and fall right into your arms for the remainder of the evening but you had other plans. You were leading him elsewhere. In reality, you hadn’t even needed to touch him, he was like a lost puppy in unfamiliar surroundings, only latching onto the one figure he knew, he’d have followed you anywhere. He was whipped. He stumbled along in your path, you may have been short, but you were awfully fast. His vans scuffed across the tiles, squeaking as he walked. It was a step up from his docs but just as irritating. If you weren’t so set on becoming a cliché snogging in the back room, you’d curse him for it. Nevertheless, you lead him to the door just right of the freezer section, you weaved through a sharp right hand turn and kicked open the stockroom door. He wasn’t sure what to expect from it. He’d never really had the need for a job anywhere like this. He didn’t know the ins and outs of what a stockroom could provide. The answer being not a fat lot.

There’s towers of shelves in 3 aisles. Boxes both filled and emptied are spaced out throughout the room. Its colder back here than it was in the main section of the store. It made sense when storing products and trying to preserve them, but it was awfully uninviting. “So, this is kinda the break room too.” You let out. He felt nothing but sympathy for you. There was barely enough room for the 2 of you, let alone any other employees coming and going. He followed you through the aisles toward the back door. Hanging above was the inevitable gleaming green exit sign that glowed more than it should have, casting a faint green light over that portion of the room. His eyes then followed you, stepping on without him, gesturing to a green leather couch he was surprised he hadn’t clocked yet.

“You want a beer or something?” You awkwardly fiddle with a stray, loose strand on your jeans. He shook his head slowly, stepping closer to you. Your legs were already open to straddle the arm of the couch making it easy for him to find himself between them, leaning down to kiss your forehead. You let your arms encase his waist, pushing you face into the fleece he was adorning. Your hair smelt so nice he had to force himself not to take a deep inhale of its fragrance. It wasn’t the weirdest thought that had ever occurred to him in your presence but that just made it worse.

“You’re like a fuckin siren or something.” He blurted out. He expected the way you pulled back, biting your tongue as an attempt not to snigger at him for his comment. “You know what I mean.” He barely defended himself. He started to talk with his hands, and you huffed at the lack of his touch while he did it. “You drag me in here every week. You’re always on my mind. I literally don’t even know your name yet I’m falling over myself trying to be here. I’m back in here like clockwork.” You really ought to tell him, put him out of his misery once and for all. 

“It’s Y/n.” You said gently. You should have said more after he’d rambled on like that, but you were struggling on what you could say. You were far worse for expressing your feelings than he was and that was a great feat. “Y/n.” He repeated it a few times, testing it out, deciding he quite liked the sound of it in his mouth. “Yup, not a siren, just Y/n.” You giggled, like a schoolgirl you actually giggled. “Really stepping up our relationship here Cal, what’s next you want my last name too?”

He was already letting his hands cup your chin, deciding he’d been lacking your intoxicating lips for far too long. “I have a couple of ideas in mind stripe.” Before you could protest the foul nickname his lips were back against yours. They slot against your own so neatly you’d argue they were a piece to your puzzle, finally settling into place. You moaned against the tongue swiping across your bottom lip and his knees nearly buckled under the heat of it. “When you moan like that pretty girl,” he can only pull back for a second or two, “makes me weak.” You’re pushing him back; he stumbled about as gracefully as you could imagine in a moment like that, little to 0%. “I like you weak.” You toy with him, stepping towards him, sparking him to back his way up against a shelf. 

The wood creaked under the force of him. It dug deep into his spine, but you hadn’t given him a moment to complain before you tangled yourselves together again. “I think your nicknames are getting better.” You praised, looking up at him through your long, curled lashes. The sight had him thinking sinfully. You also took the time to admire him. His curls were messy, framing his face in every which way beneath the pressure of his woolly hat. You needed to see his hair without that god damn beanie on or you might explode. You tugged it off him slowly, grateful he didn’t object. He only squinted at you now that he was aware of just how wild his curls had actually become. They’d sprung out in every direction, you weren’t prepared for the volume, not that you’d even minded. “Fuck.” You sighed. He wished he knew what the context was behind that hot little expression of yours. “I love your hair.” Your eyes were so focused on it as you tangled your fingers briefly, catching a couple of curls accidentally. He let out a puff of air as you caught him like that. “Shit, sorry, couldn’t resist.” He shook the comment away, he knew he was in for it with you. 

“So, you’ve lured me back here, now what will you do?” You felt his eyes watching you expectantly, you tried to remain as calm as you could in responding but his gaze burning into you had you tripping over every word before they even threatened to come out. “Have my filthy way with you.” You were dripping with a false confidence; one you hoped he didn’t catch onto. He didn’t. He was heavily convinced you were the filthy minx he’d been dreaming about none stop since he first saw you across the road. Might as well live up to those expectations somehow.

His hands were no longer soft and sweet, barely caressing your frame. His fingers were digging into the flesh of your hips, scooting your body forward till you lined up just right with him, just enough to make him pant with those peachy plush lips. Your own fingertips were buried in the curls at the nape of his neck, and he urged you to tug them in his mind. The guttural moan that escaped him when you finally did it, had you dying to hear it again and again. “Jeez take me to dinner first.” You managed before he’s tucking your bottom lip between his own teeth. “I think you owe me more than one.” You continued in a sudden array of nerves he wasn’t quite used to you having. “Do you ever run out of things to say?” That was his polite and desperate way of asking you to shut the fuck up. You might have done it too. 

His hand slipped dangerously onto your throat, light pressure building when he introduced you to the idea of his hand sitting there, capturing you. “I could, but I’d rather not.” He had to smile proudly when you pouted up at him, nails digging into his shoulders when he blocked your airways, little gasps the only sound running from your delicious, fuchsia stained mouth. He leaned in close to your ear, lips brushing the lobe, your eyes were sent rolling back. He’d found one of your weaknesses and you’d only just begun. “Think you should try and stay quiet for a little while.” As much as you loathed being the quiet, obedient woman, if he asked you to jump off a bridge, you were certain you’d do it. 

His fingertips pulled back and you surged forwards, lips crashing into his own. You whined a breathless moan into his lips, and he still wasn’t happy with the amount of fuss you were making for him but if you rocked into him the way that you were for much longer, he’d be the one struggling with the silence. As if you were reading his mind, always one step ahead of the game. You were tugging at the green, oversized fleece you’d hoped he’d worn for you. 

It hurt to be away from his lips even if it were to rid himself of the many layers that concealed him away from you. “Come on now stripe, wanna see what’s under them.” You wanted to send a snarky comment his way, but you were so breathless at the vision of him stood there without a shirt on and in your fucking stock room no less. “Fucking hell.” Your hands were forgetting every instruction he’d given you. You had a childlike curiosity that needed fulfilment, you’d always wandered about his tattoos. Sometimes for days at a time. Not always at the most convenient of times either, you just couldn’t help yourself. When they graced the back of his hands like that it was only natural to consider how they’d look in situations like- well situations like this one.

“I’ll give you a tattoo tour later.” His forehead was fitted against yours, fingers combing through your hair as his lips ghosted over yours. You closed the gap momentarily, enjoying him before his other hand flushed across your stomach beneath your shirt. Your stomach flipped at the contact. His hands edged over the pudgy skin that was a source of anxiety for you, it always had been. You’d wondered how much he’d actually like you underneath those stripes. “Can I get this off you?” He was trying to connect with you, sensing your hesitation. “You don’t have to.” He promised. “Just really want to see you.” You appreciated his honesty and his kind encouragement. You lifted your top yourself, grateful you couldn’t see his face when it was pulled over your head revealing your upper half to him. The strong urge to suck in a breath hit you like a freight train.

He nearly growled at the sight of your breasts spilling over the cups of your bra. He’d always agreed with women when they said they hated the claustrophobic item of clothing. But seeing your boobs bunched up like that, toppling out of them, he thought he might like bras for the first time in his life. You avoided his gaze. Even going as far as to closing your eyes to avoid the scrutiny. It doesn’t come. His lips were on you so fast, he doesn’t even bother unclipping the thing. He yanked down the cups, bending down at the knees, stuffing your nipples into his mouth like a starved man. You choked out a cry when his teeth tugged at the hardening skin of your nipple. His hips bucked helplessly into yours while he continued his assault. Any fear you’d had was now out of sight and out of mind because the boy before you didn’t care if you were fat or thin, you were his pretty, witty, annoying girl and he wanted to love on every part of you that you’d let him get near which was honestly, all of you. 

“Jesus Calum, leave some for the rest of us.” His eyes opened, blinking a couple times as he pulled away, a trail of spit formed between you, connecting his lips to your breast. His cheeks flushed crimson, lips about the same shade, pupils blown out entirely. He was love drunk and as dazed as ever. He caught your eye like the very first time, an accidental staring contest forming from a glance he just could not stop taking. You’d been more than willing to participate this time around. 

“Best tits I’ve ever fucking tasted.” You stroked under his chin; he leaned into your palm as you offered him the much appreciated affection. “Anyone would think they’re the first.” Had he really gone that nuts? (Pardon the pun). “Weeks’ worth of pining make you go a little crazy?” He furrowed his brows at the mock hidden poorly in your question. “Wait, wait, wait, you knew?” He was dumfounded. “That you were buying pistachios left right and centre to keep coming back in here?” He nodded along like he was amazed you’d caught on. As if he had even a shred of subtlety. “Doesn’t take much genius.” You tapped your temple symbolically. “So, this whole time you let me buy you out of stock, and didn’t say a damn thing?” You gave him your brightest smile. “You’re so cute when you think you’re undetectable.” Your finger prodded his cheek and he huffed against it. 

“I didn’t know you wanted to pound me in the break room or anything, but I caught onto the crush pretty early on.” He was truly mortified. He may have gotten the girl, even had you whining for him tonight, but his pride was certainly damaged. “And you-“ he asked before he wondered if he even wanted to know the answer. “Was hooked day 4 when you tripped on your way in.” He leaned back, eyes closing, hands coming to cover his face, sadly leaving your body. You’re giggling before him, and it feels incredible to witness the joy of hearing it, but his embarrassment was a much stronger sensation. 

“It was very cute how you then proceeded to shuffle every step just in case you did it again, even if your damn docs left track marks across my floors.” He was sheepish about that part; he’d find a way to apologise for it at some stage. He’d clean it with a toothbrush if he had to. “This might be super unprofessional of me,” you said as if your entire relationship thus far had been anywhere near adhering to your code of conduct working here. “But the part apart pounding the in the breakroom-“ he was already cutting you off “yes fucking please.” His lips were on yours like they’d never left. Arms wrapped round you so tight you could scarcely breathe. Hadn’t even wanted to. 

“You know, I was hoping you weren’t all talk,” he beamed with pride, taking in the sight of your bite swollen lips and chest heaving with ragged breaths, his trail of saliva still glistening across your breasts. He placed a hand on either side of your hips, his head dropped to mouth hungrily at your neck while he’d fastened you in place, a sort of retaliation for your comment just before. Sure, you could talk but he could take action. He could mark a sweet and tender bruise into your collarbone to prove just how much he could back up those words.

“Been wanting to mark you up since we met,” he sighed deeply into the hollow of your throat, you can feel the air leaving your lungs, “what if I’d been wanting that just as bad?” You responded, he didn’t even mind that you did, he may not have been able to shut you up completely but the hint of whining and tiny noises just beneath each word was certainly a victory for him. He had been the only cause. “Oh yeah?” His words vibrates as he dragged his lips across your neck. “What else have you been wanting pretty girl?”

You leave him with nothing for a few seconds. Just weighing up the options in your head. There wasn’t much that you didn’t want him to do. You’d allow just about anything at this point. The lack of an answer was slowly destroying him. He could go ahead and try something he’d wanted but for him, sex wasn’t about that. He needed to tend to your needs. He needed to make you feel good. “Come on baby, don’t hold out on me now.” It’s impatient and desperate and it had you gripping onto him for dear life, a very clear image flashed into your mind of just what you’d wanted from him.

“Your fingers. I need your fingers.” He was already letting his hands slip down your bare tummy before sentence could dare meet its end. Just as quickly as those fingers began drifting, he was retreating. Hands fluttering in the opposite direction, much to your dismay. You barely pout before he’s focusing his gaze on you. He has half the mind to scold your battiness but he’s just so keen to give you what you need, he couldn’t deprive you, not when you looked so sweet. “Do me a favour real quick pretty girl,” you needed a second to recover from the pet name, “suck my finger real slow for me.” You needed several hundred to recover from that. “That’s it, good girl.” It’s extremely condescending and under any other circumstances, you’d be sure to give him a piece of your mind, but this wasn’t a casual scenario. The roles were well and truly reversed and you were throbbing from the realisation that he just might be as fucked up as you were in the bedroom. 

“Never been this quiet for me.” You hum sweetly around the second finger he’s pushing into your mouth. You do as you’re told initially, just sucking the digits plainly. Its only when you notice the jagged breaths he’s taking while watching you, that you decide to show off. Just sweet little licks, swirling your tongue around the tips of his rough fingers, admiring the salty taste of his skin across your tongue. When you take him to the knuckle you know he’s fighting all the restraint he has not to ram his fingers right down your throat. “I wish that was my dick so fucking bad.”

Although you don’t expect the blunt and brazen confession, you’re not at all alarmed at the content of it. You knew the tricks to captivate your audience. It was no secret that the two of you would never be anywhere close to each other’s first time but that hadn’t taken any of the excitement and uncertainty away that kept the air heavy with tension. You could never have anticipated just how successful your performance would be with him. “Gotta give me my fingers back now.” 

He makes no effort to retract them from the vice grip of your lips despite the contrasting command and his genuine eagerness to hurry this along. “Come on.” He’s grunting, tapping his feet with urgency. You released them with a wet pop that near echoes throughout the room. He’s sliding his now glistening fingers, back down between you both. He’d not noticed, too distracted by your tongue no doubt, you’d already made quick work of unbuttoning your jeans and pushing them down along with your underwear. All he had to do was slip a finger or two daringly over your pussy. A slow stroke through the soft, sweet heaven. It was so inviting, so pretty. He’d not needed to see it at all to know it was perfect. Not in the sense that it was the most attractive or most neat in terms of aesthetic but simply because it was yours, and he wouldn’t dare dream of a better haven than the little mountain peak between the valley of your thighs. 

You both let out a rushed sigh. He captured your lips as they invite him to meet. His fingers are met with a soft, supple, soaking welcome. “Baby.” He was about to lose his mind over the sweet wave of wetness that washed over the digits of his fingers as he barely pushes inside. “You’re so fucking wet.” He’s thanking and begging whatever deity above for more of the pleasure of your touch and the ability to make you feel as sticky and sweet as you do across his fingertips. He’d done something very right and wonderful to deserve you in this state and he couldn’t fathom what on earth it may have been, but he’d be sure to repeat it once he did. 

All for him, this was all for him. Oh, if only he knew. All his, you were never for anyone else. From the second he walked into your life you were his. He was hoping that too. You thought your eyes were telling him too much, showing him too easily the depths of your affection but they weren’t even close to letting that secret out. He had no idea how you’d wanted him until this moment. This wasn’t even the first occasion you’d been damp at the idea of him. This was just the only situation in which you’d actually be able to do something about it without carrying a backbreaking amount of guilt. He must know this is how it’s been for you.

His fingers don’t dive into you like you may have needed them too, and you did, really. They simply explored you. They were slow to enter but were keen to twist and turn and stretch. He was learning the gateway to your paradise. He was finding the secrets you had hidden. “Fuck.” You were sighing so sweetly for him at each given breath, he might just have figured you out. “Oh, that’s it.” His smile was hard to miss, hard not to mirror too. “Yeah.” You try with all your might to compose yourself, not fall to pieces from the brush of his thumb to your clit while his fingers flickered a beat to the soft and sweet space inside of you. “God yeah that’s it.” You rolled your hips, fucking yourself on his fingers. He’d barely twitched his wrist to aid you, hadn’t needed to. It was far too hypnotising to watch you take it for yourself. “So, fucking pretty baby.” He’s watching with a childlike curiosity, eyes wide, lips parted, brow’s quirking upward with inquisitiveness. “Finally shut you up.” He couldn’t resist the dig. You don’t resist the harsh shove you give his chest. Sending him backwards but never letting his fingers escape you. No, you needed to be filled, you would be filled. 

“Gonna get all bratty on me now?” You opened your eyes, a panic washed through them, and he spotted it because he’s not taken his own eyes away from your face from the moment he tucked his fingers inside your damp little pussy. “Not gonna punish you, don’t worry.” You weren’t really worried. It was more of a muscle memory. It was an instinctive reaction to the response you were used to receiving. Even if you hadn’t gotten anything it was nice to know it might have been something he was into, once again checking off an invisible tick list of activities you might enjoy together if you ever did this again and God you hoped you would do this again.

He stroked your hair then, the side of your cheek just after. Your eyes hadn’t opened for the last few minutes, maybe even longer. So difficult to keep them anywhere near open when he’s plunging his fingers inside you like that. It’s not precise, it’s not clean. You wouldn’t say it was particularly clumsy, but it was far from perfect, and yet, you had so enjoyed it. He filled you in a way that there was room for improvement but not enough to avoid the urge to clamp down on his fingers when he’d curled them inside you. He certainly had a handle on that little trick. “Shh, you’re getting so loud sweetheart.” His grin wasn’t seen but it was certainly heard. “Gonna keep it down for me?” You knew he wanted to hear you, couldn’t want anything more actually but the prospect of teasing you and having one over on you where he usually couldn’t, well that was far more tempting to toy with. You knew damn well no one was close enough to hear a peep from either of you even if you screamed and honestly, you just might have.

“Fuck Calum,” he picked up his pace, his lips ghosted over your neck as he reached a new depth inside you. Your pussy clenched on his fingers. Your own nails scraped into his shoulders, biting into his skin, slipping a hiss through his teeth. “Come on baby.” Your eyes fluttered open to catch the look of concentration on his face, his eyes met yours with a twinkle of knowing. He can feel that you’re about to cum. He just knew it. Without your confirmation he knew. Your eyes rolled back, your head too, dropping far enough that your hair dripped down your back like water. He caught the back of your neck to support you. As if he’d really thought of everything. Knew to rescue you from that deep dull ache you might have gotten if he hadn’t bothered. “You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?” His words had you squeezing him again, so hard he felt his pulse throbbing in his fingers, as well as your own beating deep in your cunt. “Come on sweetie don’t you wanna cum for me, know I’ve thought of little else.” It was like he’d been reborn the second you moaned his name. He was a different person here, he was remarkable. There was a burning passion within him that you’d only hoped he might have but seeing it in practice, confirming your fantasy of how good it could be, God that was enough. You were coming undone.

“So fucking pretty when you cum, you know that?” His fingers left you. You protested with a whimper and the rutting of desperate hips, but it was too late, his fingers were sinking between his lips. You were eyeing him like a tiger watching its prey as he tasted you, devouring your cum slicking his fingers. The noise of satisfaction and crude slurping is pornographic, and you simply can’t bear to be without his touch any longer. If he didn’t bury his stupid cock inside you, you’d never shut up ever again so long as you shall live. You’d make his every visit here his personal hell until he gave in and gave you what you needed. “You taste fucking delicious.” That tiny restraint you’d mustered in the past five seconds. Instantly disposed of. 

Your hands flew to the zipper of his jeans, slinking inside them, hands coming down to grope the bulge concealed by his underwear. His lips parted as you kissed him, curiously gathering your own taste wrapped around his tongue. His back slammed roughly against the shelf and his only retaliation was to bite down hard on your bottom lip, fingers pulling on your hair to make you back up and add some space between you. “Jesus Calum, I know you want me to shut my mouth but biting off my bottom lip won’t do it.” He was apologetic in his mind but only in his mind. “Couch.” Is all he said. You shook your head. “No?” He took a daring step towards you unhappy with your defiance. Just as he’d tamed you, you go and act out again. It would never be enough, you only needed more. You shook your head, holding a breath as he looked around the room for other possible locations. He was sure he’d fuck you on the floor if it came to it. He hoped it wouldn’t come to it. 

“I’ve never fucked standing up.” Is what you offered him, shoulders shrugging as you come out with it. He’s amused for sure. Not exactly the way he’d imagined his first time with you going but then again, he also didn’t imagine it being in the break room or this shop at all really. “Okay.” His calming smile settled the tension in the pits of your stomach. “Okay?” You asked him quietly. At first he thought you were just mimicking him in efforts to gain control but then he heard the way it wavered and pitched higher at the end. He broke his tough act and cupped your face in his hands. He adored the way you looked back at him, not a rain cloud or single storm in your sky. “Gonna need you to turn around for me.” He made no effort to let you move just yet, awaiting your willingness to comply before he set you free. He kissed you briefly before you did as he wanted without question, turning 180 degrees to face the shelves pressed to the wall. 

He took both of your wrists from behind. You allowed his grip to guide you, first assuming he’d be crossing them behind your back, a flurry of excitement tingling within you. But instead, you found he’d lifted them forwards, your hands slipping onto the shelf in front of you as he’d wanted, holding onto it instinctively, realising now that he’d been offering you stability instead. Your body burned even brighter than before. You’d be needing something to grip because he wasn’t going to take you lightly, you needed to hold onto something if you were going to cope with him. 

He knew you couldn’t possibly break. You’d proven to him already that you could handle it. You were so prepared to take him. Until you’d noticed the one little error of your ways. You’d not had the chance to see him, to wonder if your assumptions had been correct. You’d not known how big or how thick he was or how it’d curve and which direction it would curve in if it even curved at all. You may have felt your arousal trickling down your thighs. You may have been holding your breath and white knuckling the shelves before he even attempted to prick you but oh my. You were not even remotely prepared for the fullness. 

Calum’s hands rested heavy on your hips. You expected to feel the nudge of his hand grazing your backside as he touched himself in preparation to graze your cunt, but he does no such thing. He simply thrusted himself between the hot, wet mess of your lips and cunt with no attempt to enter you at all. He didn’t dare stop until he was satisfied with the coating of your dampness now slicking his cock ready to take you. He leaned forward, chest embracing your back. He flipped your hair over your shoulder, his chin resting in the now empty space he’d created on the other side. You felt a slight drag of stubble close to your neck before he’s uttering his instructions for you. “Take my cock in your hand.” You shuddered under the breath he fanned across your ear. “Come on baby, just for me.” He kissed your neck in encouragement. His arms wrapped around your middle. Your left hand released the shelf with a crack at the knuckle, finding a new home now between your legs. You leant down, back arching, ass pushing out, bumping him as you refrained from hunching to complete your task. 

You didn’t miss the way his hips bucked, and his cock jumped when your fingers found him. You didn’t miss how only your middle and ring finger could span the entirety of his thickness. You didn’t miss how one hand wasn’t nearly enough to capture his full length at once. And you certainly didn’t miss the amount of exposed skin going untouched when you glided your hand up and down him just to gather a better picture in your mind of what he might look like. You knew that in fact, it may take two. Two of your palms and even the addition of your lips at his tip to fully encase him. He was big. He was mouth-wateringly, cunt achingly big. You tugged him inside of you and braced the for the heat of the fever it brought upon your body. “Jesus fucking Christ.” A groan ripped from his throat.  

He expected to give you a moment. He expected you to need adjusting like those he’d had before. He expected you to cry that it was too much and all too soon and that you couldn’t possibly take him completely. He expected his ego to be boosted so high he wondered how we was ever nervous of being with you in the first place. It never came. You didn’t dare wait to accept the intrusion of his thick cock. You didn’t dare to linger and wonder if it would ever start to feel better than a stretch. You just pushed your hips back onto him, your ass flush against his pelvis, cock sheathing itself inside you as far as it could go and then some. And then some because you’re not just taking him whole, swallowing him up till he couldn’t reach any further. No, you’re wiggling your ass, skin recoiling and wobbling against him with the quickness of your movement. You’re taking his cock so deep he’s feeling claustrophobia from the way your cervix is blocking his path, walls closing in on him preventing him from travelling deeper. And it excited you to think about the delicious specks of pain his hot cock was pricking your insides with. 

It took every ounce of his strength not to flood you with his cum that very second. He could have done it. He wouldn’t have been embarrassed, not when it felt that good just to be inside you. Not when you really were made to engulf him in your flames. If he finished, who could blame him? To be hugged like that. To be warm and snug and held so tight. It would be cruel for anyone to tease a premature finish from a predicament like that.

“Baby, baby please.” Your voice was shaky, breathy, and so quiet. No wonder he hadn’t heard you over his own thoughts. How was it that you were the one stuttering when it was you that had felt so transcendent, not him? You had no fucking idea how well you took him. Even when he’d been standing there in bliss so long he’d forgotten he was supposed to be moving and enjoying you in the first place. It slipped right by you.

He kissed your neck, sucking sweet bruises beside those already scattered there previously. His hips pulled back, cock barely leaving you before surging back forwards. He pulled back further each time, pulling more of him away only to force it back in again with the echo of your wet cunt bouncing around the room. You gripped the shelves so hard you feared you may dent them, as he drove his cock into you. His hips pulsed into yours, balls slamming into you whenever his pelvis made contact. His one hand dug into the flesh of your waist, bunching your skin in his fingers, gripping so tight you worried he might pull the chunk clean off of you. Every now and then he bit down on your shoulder when you convulsed around him. “Keep squeezing me like that and I’m gonna fucking lose it.” You took it as an invitation to grip him again. He felt good because of you. You felt good because of him. Might as well enjoy it.

You threw your head back, resting it against his shoulder, exposing more of your throat to him as you started to fuck yourself onto his cock. He was losing it, not sure he ever had it to begin with actually, not around you. With every second passing by. Every time you made a fucking sound you drove him to madness. You were absolutely feral. You had all of the power. You met his every thrust. You angled him towards you, to your liking, even standing on the tips of your toes to feel him rub your sweet spot the way you’d needed. How was it that you’d ended up back in charge? Even when he’d been so convinced he’d gotten you where he wanted. Your pussy was so damn distracting, that’s how.

“Oh Calum.” He was revving himself up to regain control of you. His spare hand trapped your throat, his fingers and thumb adding little to no pressure around your neck just yet. “Please, God please fucking choke me.” His lips grunted heavily into your ear. Of course, you wanted it before he’d really thought about it. Always one step ahead of him even now. “This what you like?” He was beginning to constrict you, knowing full well you couldn’t communicate effectively now that he had but this time, he’d actually force you to. 

“Come on, tell me.” Despite the steadiness of his tone, his lower half was anything but steady. He was pounding into you. It was so hard for you to focus and feel the structure of your own body as well as the shelf before you rattling away violently. You were trembling at his thrusts. Your back arched involuntarily. You pushed back to meet his hips whenever you could, and he certainly didn’t let you slip away far enough to make it easier on you. You were so overwhelmed you couldn’t tell which way was up, down, left, or right. He’d fucked you completely dumb, no thoughts swirling around your pretty little head anymore and yet, he needed the conversation. Why would he dare to make your life easier now? 

“Tell me you like it; tell me you like my hand on your throat. Tell me how you like my cock fucking your pussy. Tell me this cunt is mine baby come on.” He was pushing you; he was forcing a response you’re too embarrassed to give and he was desperately hanging on the edge waiting to hear your confirmation. “Tell me baby!” He was the one crumbling to pieces now. His fingers loosened around your throat in an attempt to draw the words from it but it’s not his hand that was the problem. The problem was that you couldn’t dare speak because if you did, if you even attempted to produce a sound he’d know what you were doing. He’d know that you were so needy and gagging for it that you’d been cumming all over his cock just from the way he spoke to you. “I- love-.” You just couldn’t say it. You couldn’t catch your breath, you just moaned hard. “Fuck, did you just, did you just cum?” 

You were so embarrassed. You knew he wasn’t upset; how could he be? He’d made you finish not once but twice in one night; your first night together might he add. Your embarrassment was lying in the fact you weren’t even close to being finished with him. You needed more. You had to get more. You’d had a taste of his addictive drug and you were not going to relinquish it now. “Good fucking girl.” He rasped. “Fuck you’re so good, unbelievable, unreal.” He was a mess of praises and curses. He was mind blown at the response he received from you. He knew it was good, knew you were feeling good but if he’d known you’d fall for him like this, he’d have made a move a lot sooner.

“More Cal, I need more.” His eyes nearly bulged from his skull. “What’s fucking wrong with you?” You snorted out a laugh to his question. You wish you fucking knew. Your body was way out of your control now. “Just fucking me so good.” You knew he wasn’t buying it. “Please baby.” He scoffed at your level of greed. You’re not playing it up to make him cum, you’re doing it because you want to another orgasm for yourself. 

“You’re such a slut, you know that?” You did, you really did. “You’ve been holding out on me hmm, standing all sweet and precious behind that counter. Made me think that glitter lip gloss smile was sent from heaven above. You’re just another whore though aren’t you?” You were nodding furiously. “Been wanting this the whole tine haven’t you?” 

His hips were more erratic and aggressive now. He was fucking into you so hard it actually started to hurt him as well as you. It was so hard your feet didn’t stay in the same spot for long, his thrusts forcing your form forward each and every time no matter how much you fought to remain still. “Fuck fuck.” You weren’t sure who it came from. You were reduced to nothing. No words, nothing coherent anyway, I mean fuck, you couldn’t even breathe properly, couldn’t stand properly. You were getting fucked rougher than you ever could have imagined and your whole body ached in pain but just to feel him you stood there and took it. You took it all. 

“Cum already.” He half demanded half begged. He was on the cusp and would be damned if you didn’t finish before him even if it was your third time. “Or I finish without you.” A very empty threat. If he’d held it this long, he had the patience of a saint and he could wait a bit longer for it. His hips snapped into yours, cock so sharp inside you, spearing into you, ramming inside your cunt like it was the last thing he would ever do. He chased and chased the euphoric feeling, suddenly neglecting to check if you had found your own, so ready to take you for real, to give you all he had. “Fuck, where should I?” He tried to string the thought together before it was already too late. 

You wanted it inside, more than anything you want it inside you, flooding your pussy, filling you up so much you overflow. You couldn’t be so irresponsible. Not this time. “Pull out, cum on me, come anywhere on me.” He pressed sweet kisses atop your spine while his cock still rocked into you milking your tight cunt for all it was worth right up until he couldn’t bare it any more, cock slipping out, his hands gripping it, pulling on the wet flesh before he jerked off, his release dripping hot beads of cum to coat the roundness of your ass. He gasped and grunted as he emptied himself, forehead pushing into your spine, sweat sliding down it. His left hand clutched yours pulling it down from the shelf to interlock with his. Once his breath was less short he brought it to his lips for a sweet kiss so unlike your treatment a moment ago. 

The two of you stood there with your legs shaking and your breath ragged. “Jesus fucking Christ.” You broke the silence with a croaky voice, a surprise to neither of you with the amount of screaming you’d done. Calum sighed deeply, and you thought he might tell you to shut the fuck up, wouldn’t even blame him for it actually, but it never came. He instead pulled away from you, slinking down to his knees to grab your jeans and the panties crumpled inside them, sliding them back up your legs.

He used his discarded shirt to wipe the mess he’d made of your back, before tossing it to the ground, making a move to grab your striped top. He prodded your hips to get you to turn around, gasping at the blood trickling down your lower lip. “Oh sweetheart.” His thumb dipped to gather it away, lifting to show it to you briefly before suckling it into his mouth like some kind of vampire. You simply couldn’t avoid the way your lips whined at it. “Oh no, no way, you’re not getting turned on again, you’re banned.” He pecked your nose to lessen the threat before pulling your shirt over your head. He was hoping you might lift your arms to slip inside the material but not he wasn’t upset or surprised when he’d had to really commit to dressing you by himself. 

When your head poked back through the material, a pout was coating your lips. “No seriously, what’s wrong with you?” He tried to deadpan the question, but you knew he wasn’t the slightest bit concerned for you. He enjoyed your neediness, it had him unashamed of the throbbing sensation returning to his cock at the vision of you bloodstained lips. The lips you’d bitten cause his cock was too fucking much for you, he adored that thought.

“You’re pretty mean.” You commented with lack lustre intensity. “And you’re pretty.” He responded, he didn’t even cringe, neither did you, thankfully. He continued to dress you till there were none of your clothes left lying around. He guided you over to the sofa, letting you rest before he even  considered throwing his fleece back on. It wasn’t as if he was cold enough for it anyway, your comfort was more his concern right now. If that was the state of your lip, he can only imagine the damage to the rest of you. 

“Can we cuddle?” You didn’t really think about how possible that would be on the tatty couch you now sat upon. The one you’d gotten from a thrift store a couple months back, painstakingly dragging it through the fire exit singlehandedly. Once he’d gathered his belongings he sat beside you, the couch dipping where his body sank down. He grabbed you with ease, bringing you into him. You cuddled into his side, your head first on his shoulder before dropping lower with your fatigue. You were now resting somewhere across his chest, low enough for him to rest his head atop yours. He stroked over your back absentmindedly but soothingly enough to have your eyes closing in relaxation. He caught your head drifting, twitching as you stumbled into slumber, the peace of being in his arms just carrying you far away. 

“Hey pretty girl.” He nudged you lightly. “Don’t really think you wanna fall asleep right here.” He knew he wasn’t far behind you, but he had no intention of spending the night in that store room, even if the building was becoming his favourite place on earth. “What about upstairs?” You half yawn. “Upstairs?” He repeated it as a question. “Mmhmm.” You responded, as if it made it anymore clear to him. “A shred of context might be nice stripe.” You may have been exhausted but you were not about to let that nickname go unpunished. “Firstly, fuck off, secondly, when you fuck off, be sure to go through that door.” You weakly pointed at the door adjacent to the fire exit, again, something in this room he’d never have noticed unless it was pointed out to him. It must have been some kind of magic, surely he wasn’t ignorant enough not to spot that. “I live upstairs if you haven’t caught on yet, handsome.” He rolled his eyes playfully and you knew what was coming next when he started smirking before he even finished the sentence. “Well, isn’t that convenient?” 

[lukabitch]

Wesker x male reader x Leon Kennedy

This is my self indulgent fic for my birthday. These are my comfort characters rn.

Cw: Nsfw, praise kink, choking, thigh high socks, Leon being a sweet boy, Wesker being rough, sub bottom reader.

You were relaxing in your cabin having a nice lovely day. It was your birthday and since you’ve been doing so well in trials the Entity gave you a little break. Some people were nice enough to give you gifts even some killers too!

Leon walked in looking a bit disheveled. He just got back from a trial and he was holding a present. “Hey I’ve got you something.” He looked even more happy then you did. It made you more curious as to what it was.

You open the small box carefully only to be left a little shocked. It was a pair of black thigh high socks. He watched your face darken a bit. “Do you like it?” You were struggling to find the words with one question on your mind.

“Should I try them on?” Leon shrugs his shoulders with a small smile. Good thing you were wearing shorts right? You slipped the first one on slowly giving him a bit of a show doing the same with the other. “Well what do you think? I feel pretty cute.”

He lets out a laugh. “You are really cute in those.” His hand caressed your face in a very loving way. “Why thank you officer.” You couldn’t help but be cheeky. Leon pressed his soft lips against yours. He tasted like cherry chapstick.

His tongue slipped into your mouth causing you to let out a squeak. Heat and pleasure rushed through your body. Your mind was so foggy you didn’t even notice that you’re grinding against him. You both pulled away panting like dogs. “Wow I wasn’t expecting that.” His forehead was pressed against yours.

A sudden knock at the door fallowed by it being open sent the two into a panic. “(Y/n) I have a present-“ Wesker stopped in his tracks looking at the both of you. “Well it looks like I’m right on time.” The door was slammed shut as he shrugged off his heavy leather trench coat. Heat was coursing through your body the situation becoming more apparent.

Two really hot guys are horny for you. It’s hard to tell if you’re lucky or not. Leon was quick to maneuver behind you, pulling you against his chest. Your heart was practically jumping out of your chest. The look of Wesker’s gaze as he walked up to you.

He sat between your legs with a choker in hand. The cold leather of the choker felt weird against your neck. “If I’d known that I had two naughty boys I would have brought an extra.” He looked at the both of you with a smirk. You could feel Leon’s boner pressing against the small of your back.

You let your mind fog out and take complete advantage of the situation. “But I’ve been a good boy.” The whine left you with a big grin on your face. The two men laugh one more gentle then the other.

“It is his birthday Wesker I think he deserve a reward.” Leon practically purred out right next to your ear. Wesker’s signature smirk was on his face as he reached down and palmed you through your shorts. A whimper left your throat you couldn’t look him in the eyes like this. Leon though wouldn’t let you look away.

“What if I make you cum doing just this? I wonder how long that would take.” You squirmed and whined at the thought. This was going to be slow torture for you. “Please just take it out and touch it please!” Just a few seconds in and you were begging for him to stop teasing.

Leon certainly wasn’t making things easier. He was kissing your neck and grinding against you. You were gasping for air your chest feeling so heavy. The feeling of something slimy crawling up your chest made you shiver. It was the Uroboros you knew the feeling all too well.

One of them slithered up and started rubbing your nipple. “Look at that pre cum is already leaking out.” A simple glance at your shorts show a wet patch. Weaker found it adorable how easy it was to get you like this.

A wet tongue slid across your neck making you moan out. “I’m close please more please!” You started thrusting up into his palm. They could tell how desperate you were for a release.

I few more rough touches sent you over the edge. Every squirm and moan you made only served to make the other two men more desperate. Wesker couldn’t wait any longer and ripped your shorts open.

The cold air wasted no time making itself known to you. Even then it didn’t cool the heat that was radiating off your body. The Uroboros retracted with his gloved fingers now a few inches from your face. You took the hint and started sucking on his fingers.

“Aw such a good boy for us. Isn’t he Wesker?” Leon’s voice sounds so sweet in your ear. The gloved fingers were removed from your mouth but you tried putting them back. “He’s so eager too!” A light hearted laugh came from the man behind you.

Needless to say this was going to be a really fun night.

[howlyourmelancholy]

Like A Virgin

summary: she was a virgin. and he wasn't. sirius have a reputation. oh, merlin, did he had a reputation.

pairing: young!sirius x ofc (Emalia)

warnings: loss of virginity. fingering. oral (fem receiving). heavy making-out. unprotected sex. multiple orgasms.

words: 7.8k

a/n: emalia is my own original character. please keep in mind that these characters are portrayed at sixteen years old, the age of consent in my country. this got away from me and ended up a bit longer than intended. i hope you enjoy!

It was just past midday when the rumble of a motorcycle disturbed the peace of the day. It was an out-of-the-ordinary sound for the neighbourhood, one that enticed people to open their doors or peek through windows to investigate with judgmental stares. Emalia smiled to herself, knowing precisely who it was that had come visiting, and made her way downstairs.

Sirius Black.

He knocked, and she opened the door without hesitation. With a single brow lofted and arms crossed against her chest, she leaned against the door frame, preventing him from entering. Emalia peered up at him with a patient and playful gleam in her soft blue eyes.

"Hey, Ema." He had a voice like melted chocolate, all smooth, deep, and delectable, even when he wasn't intending it to be. His charisma was effortless and magnetic. But if she wasn't mistaken, he sounded a little bit sheepish, almost as though he was apologetic for not having called ahead. It hadn't bothered her. His presence was unexpected, but not unwelcome.

"Get this: James and Lily are on a date." She nodded, indicating she had already known. There wasn't much she and Lily didn't share given that they were best friends, and it was to be expected that the redhead had told her about their upcoming date. "And Peter and Remus are busy with 'family affairs', whatever that means."

She cracked a smile but didn't say anything. She just continued smiling sweetly and patiently up at him, still not making a move to allow him inside. He either didn't notice or didn't care because he went on.

"I am bored out of my skull at home, and I figured you were free and that I'd come around. So, can I come in?"

There it was, the reason for his out-of-the-blue visit—he was bored.

This wasn't surprising to hear. Sirius was a social creature; he liked being around others and was only alone when it suited him. It hadn't even bothered her that he would assume she was free and come over unannounced. After what happened last year, when her mother passed away and she struggled to come to terms with it, she and Sirius had grown closer.

He had become a constant presence in her life, where once he had just been Remus' friend. But he had been there, impulsive and reckless, when she pushed everyone away. He helped drive away her sorrows with his silly jokes and ridiculous behaviour, and he was there to comfort her when it became too much to handle. She'd lost count of how many times he had held her as she cried.

"Of course you can, Sirius. I just wanted to see how long you'd wait to ask," she said with a laugh. The sound was light and carefree, unlike anything she had done a year ago. She stepped aside to make room for him to pass, and she closed the door when he had done so. Her father, Alberic, wasn't home, but he knew Sirius well enough that she didn't think he would be bothered by the visit.

"I was just getting ready, actually. Lily and I are going to a high tea after their date." Emalia made certain the door was locked before turning back to him and motioning for him to follow her.

"So, a tea party." Sirius joked as he followed her upstairs. She could hear the smile in his voice and imagined the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he teased her.

"No. It's a high tea. You know what that is, Sirius."

"A fancy tea party then." He went on as he took a seat at the end of her bed. Emalia was seated in front of a vanity; it was matte black with a large mirror and looked out of place in her bedroom. He wondered, just for a moment, if it had belonged to her mother. "Besides, you look pretty much ready to me."

"I need to finish my hair, then put on my heels, and I haven't decided what perfume to wear, so I'm not really. You'll just have to sit and watch, won't you?"

He laughed at her playful banter and watched her reflection in the mirror. Her expression was serious as she pulled a brush through her raven-black hair without too much difficulty. Every now and then, he saw the corner of her mouth twist in discomfort as she worked a knot loose.

After a few minutes, maybe five or so, he started counting the strokes, and when he reached thirty, he chuckled. It was a deep sound, reverberating from the middle of his chest. Emalia stopped and was staring towards the mirror, brush still held in hand, brows drawn together in confusion.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just that I've watched you brush your hair about thirty times now. I think you're done, Ema."

He saw the worried expression soften in the mirror and cracked a small smile.

"I'll only be a few more minutes, then I'll give you some attention, Pads."

"You know, I'm pretty sure I could run my fingers through your hair and it wouldn't get tangled; you've brushed it that much."

It was this comment that made her thoughts pause as she looked over her shoulder at him. If it had been any other woman, he would have thought the look she gave him was purposely seductive, but not Ema; no, she wasn't that kind of person. But maybe he was mistaken because the way she was smiling at him made him swallow hard.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you're flirting with me, Mister Black. Maybe even trying to seduce me." Her tone was soft, like a whisper, as she gave him a playful wink. It wasn't unusual for them to poke fun at each other; the occasional flirty comment or sarcastic remark that might have led to hurt feelings if they hadn't been so close. Emalia wasn't a flirt like him, though he knew she had had boyfriends in the past.

But knowing that didn't stop his thoughts from racing to a hundred different scenarios.

"And if I was?" He replied with a sudden seriousness in his deep voice.

Emalia didn't need to see him to hear the challenge in his words. Her face flushed a soft pink, and she quickly looked away, but he saw it in the mirror's reflection.

"Is it working?"

She didn't answer; she couldn't find her voice to do so.

Sure, she had thought about him that way; she had fantasised about how his hands would feel on her body, touching her and pleasuring her, his fingers wrapped in the heat of her core. She had even touched herself on more than one occasion, imagining it was him. His name was often a heaven's prayer on her lips as pleasure swept through her body, leaving her breathless and wanting more. But those thoughts had been buried deep down, hidden alongside the ones about Remus.

He was her friend; they all were—as thick as thieves, James would always say. Emalia had never been willing to risk their incredible friendship for anything. Not love, not sex, not anything. But she would have been lying if she said she wasn't tempted.

With a gentle sigh, she placed the brush down and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. She laughed softly and shook her head. He was teasing her again. He always did this.

"You are a dork, Sirius." The words came out halfheartedly as she stood and took a step towards the wardrobe. But he caught her by the wrist before she had taken even two steps and pulled her back towards him.

Surprised by this, she stumbled around, only to have him catch her.

It all happened so fast.

One moment she was standing, and the next she was practically straddling his lap. Her hands were on his shoulders now, clutching at him for balance, a knee resting on the mattress beside his thigh. His hands had settled on the swell of her hips, firm, warm, and strong. And then, without warning, he shifted, pulled her down onto the mattress, and held her there.

Emalia made a startled squeak but otherwise didn't resist him. She was too surprised by his bold behaviour to protest. And, if she were to be honest with herself, she had fantasised about situations exactly like this a few too many times before. She had imagined how his body would feel nestled between her thighs, what he would do when she was naked beneath him, and how he would kiss her, touch her, and love her.

One of his arms was around the small of her back, the other propping him up on an elbow. She was staring up at him with wide eyes, her lips slightly parted, and her fingertips digging into his shoulders as he hovered over her like some falling shadow.

Sirius was between her legs, making her skirt ride up her thighs, and he was breathing deeply, evenly, and calmly. His breath was washing over her mouth and nose like sickly sweet rum—it made her head swim.

"Is it working?" He repeated the question, his voice dropping an octave so that a shiver ran down her spine. Emalia still couldn't find her voice to answer him; she couldn't stop her heart from going into overdrive or the moisture pooling at her core.

His denim trousers rubbed against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs as she shifted beneath him. The ends of his long, inky black hair tickled her cheeks as he stared down at her. She could feel him staring at her, watching her, waiting for an answer.

Her tongue slipped out from behind her teeth to slowly lick her lips. He watched this with a smirk and enjoyed when she chewed nervously on her lower lip. Her chest was rising and falling, brushing against his each time, and her ebony hair was sprawled around her on the bed like the night sky.

"That depends." Emalia finally answered, her voice barely a whisper.

She couldn't deny her feelings. She wanted this—she wanted him.

Sirius leaned closer, pressing more firmly against her, stroking his nose softly against hers.

"Hrm?"

"Are you going to kiss me or not?"

He didn't answer, not verbally.

Instead, he kissed her, as was requested of him. His lips touched hers gently at first, soft and warm, moving slowly and testing the waters, but when she released the breath she had been holding and kissed him back, it was game on.

Sirius deepened the kiss, chasing her taste. Vanilla. He could taste it on her lips. Her lip gloss tasted like vanilla and sweet almonds. It was a delicious combination, and he found that he couldn't get enough of it.

He had plenty of experience in these situations and was deep in his element, so he took the lead without question. He parted his lips and swept his tongue against her plump lower lip, requesting permission. This made her head swim and made her moan softly into the kiss. Emalia parted her lips, then his tongue delved into her mouth without hesitation. He tasted like cigarette smoke and danger, pure rebellion, drowning her senses in him.

She moaned again, louder this time. Emalia shifted beneath him to wrap an arm around the back of his neck and pull him closer. His fingers trailed fire across her back as he pulled his arm from beneath her and spread it along her ribs. Sirius pushed against her, rolling his hips against hers, his arousal evident, straining against his jeans.

His mouth was making her delirious, and her head was swimming with pleasure because of it. Sirius was like fire, scorching her skin with his touch and searing her mind with his gentleness. And she was like putty in his hands—inexperienced, innocent, and all too willing to learn.

His hand trailed up her body, from her hip to her ribs, before settling over a breast that was just a little bit too big to fit in his palm. He could feel her nipple through her clothes, hardening as he ran his thumb against it. It was begging to be freed, begging to be sucked.

Emalia said his name in a quiet plea when the kiss was broken for a much-needed breath. He kissed her from her chin to her neck, stopping to suck here and there, leaving little red marks in his wake. She was writhing beneath him, pushing her hips against his, pushing her breast into his hand.

She still had an arm around his neck, and now the other had a fistful of his hair. Her fingers were buried deep in his thick locks, and she tugged on them roughly, making him growl as she dragged his mouth back to hers. Emalia was breathing heavier now, faster and harder, and her knickers were wet with excitement as their tongues touched and twirled together.

Sirius drew her lip between his teeth, biting it gently, and gave her breast a firm squeeze before moving his hand down her body. He enjoyed the way she writhed beneath him, how she kissed him with urgency, and how she moaned his name each time he did something new.

His hand reached her thigh, which was now curled against his hip. And then it drifted back up, beneath her skirt this time. Her skin was soft and warm to the touch and prickled with goosebumps. His fingers found the band of her knickers, curled around the cotton fabric, and tugged them down.

It was then that Emalia made a noise. The sound was somewhere between protest and panic. Her hand left his hair and found his beneath her skirt. Small fingers encircled his wrist and held tightly to halt his explorations. He could have kept going—he knew that, she knew that, but he was as still as stone.

She was panting and staring up with lust-filled eyes that were wide with uncertainty once again. The last virgin of their group—even Peter had finally gotten some now that he was dating that pretty Ravenclaw girl he was so keen on. This thought made him smile. She was so eager but so unsure.

"We should go out first. To dinner or something."

Her words were like a sledgehammer shattering a panel of glass—sudden and unexpected. Sirius was struck silent for a moment before the corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk. So she wanted to be wooed first. He could do that.

He kissed her without warning. Hard, slowly, thoroughly, just because he could. It made her moan and made her toes curl.

"Yeah, let's do that."

"Sirius."

"Emalia."

The warning in her tone had him grinning from ear to ear—not that she could see it, but she could certainly hear it in the sound of his laugh. Emalia shuffled along with an arm outstretched, feeling the way while he crowded behind her, his chest brushing against her back as he kept her eyes hidden behind his hands.

"I’m serious," she warned him again, this time trying to escape him. He'd blindfolded her the moment they arrived, his large hands covering her eyes, intent on not letting her ruin the surprise. Sirius hadn't told her when he would take her on a date, where he'd take her, or any other details.

And then one night he sent her a message, instructing her to dress nice and be ready by seven. Normally, she would have resisted his dominance and rebelled against his authority. But this time it made butterflies fill her stomach, making her nervous and excited, so that she had to squeeze her thighs shut to fight the ache between them.

He’d dressed nice—casual but nice. Dark denim jeans and big black combat boots. He had a leather jacket over a simple white tee and rings on at least half a dozen of his fingers. Emalia hadn't been able to hide the way her eyes moved up and down his body, taking in every detail of him, or the flush that had crept into her face when he caught her staring.

He had been equally transfixed when she opened the door. Her long ebony hair hung in loose curls down her shoulders, falling over a black blouse that was tucked into a red floral skirt, but his gaze remained on her feet. Six-inch heels, studded and strappy, towering, impossible to walk in, or so he thought.

Escaping him proved to be impossible. Sirius wrapped an arm around her waist—a tight band of muscles—as he lifted her, making her shriek in surprise. "No, you’re Ema. I’m Sirius." He chortled in response, and she could hear the tease in his words and feel the laughter vibrating through his chest and against her back. "Now behave; we’re almost there."

She was laughing in spite of how he carried her as though she weighed nothing, unhindered by the way she wriggled in his grasp. "Put me down, you buffoon!"

He didn't, not until they reached the entrance. He held onto her as her heels sank into the snow, keeping a hand on her hip and her back pressed against his chest.

He watched her face as she stared in awe at the winter wonderland before them. The ice rink had been decorated with wreaths of twinkling lights and fresh snow, and the ice was beautifully illuminated by those very same lights along with the moonlight glow. There were a couple of booths selling snow cones, hot chocolate, and other treats. There was a distinct chill in the air.

Emalia looked at him over her shoulder with a sweet smile on her lips. The lights reflected in her soft blue eyes in a way that stole the breath from his lungs. "Sirius, this is so lovely."

He frowned. "But?"

"I can’t skate very well," she admitted quietly, not wanting to ruin his surprise. "Or at all, actually."

He grinned in response, his shoulders dropping as the tension bled out of them, and suddenly he could breathe again. Sirius narrowed his eyes playfully. "It’s alright, angel. I’ll show you." His arm snaked around her waist again, his palm pressing firmly against her stomach, fingers splayed possessively, the warmth of his palm penetrating straight to her core as he pulled her tight against him. "Besides, it gives me a reason to hold you like this."

"Oh, you need an excuse for that, hrm?"

"A reason. You give me plenty of those," he mused with a hum, his mouth ghosting over hers, swallowing the little gasp of surprise. She tasted like vanilla again, her soft pink lips parting under the dominance of his. Her eyes, his eyes, drifted shut. Her tongue slipped past her own lips to lick his lower one, softly and shyly, asking for or giving permission; he couldn't figure out which because his head was swimming.

It was only the shriek of someone falling on the ice that pulled them from the moment and reminded her that they were standing somewhere very public. Sirius noticed that her eyes were glossy when they opened, but she smiled at him sweetly and innocently, as though she had no idea what effect she had on him. Emalia tangled her fingers with his, enjoying the warmth of them wrapped around hers, which were cold as ice.

Sirius had always run hot like a furnace, the heat of him seemingly clinging to the air, chasing away the cold. She noticed that his fingers were calloused, just a little bit, probably from years of holding a bat and beating bludgers away from his teammates.

He didn’t object as she tugged him to the booth where they could rent their skates. He enjoyed the way she acted so bossy, calm, and confident while making small talk with the man attending the booth. Sirius laughed when she got her skates, a size seven, and Emalia retaliated by smacking the back of her hand against his chest.

Her shoe size shouldn’t have been surprising, and really, it wasn’t. It amused him that she wore such a small size in comparison to his ten and a half. Sirius was taller than her, which was an understatement, to say the least. If Emalia hadn’t been wearing those heels, he’d have been a foot taller than her, maybe more.

She was small, delicate, and fucking smart-mouthed.

Emalia watched how Sirius laced his skates, his fingers plucking at the laces with practised movements, no doubt from how often he’d had to lace up those combat boots. She followed his movements, pulling them tight around her ankles, making sure they were supported and that she wasn’t about to end up with a broken bone. And then she was following him to the rink, leaving behind her heels beside his boots, the sight of them drawing a chuckle from him that had her shooting him a warning glare.

Sirius marvelled at how she could walk in the skates with utter confidence, perched on them like a ballerina, until she stepped onto the ice. Then she was the polar opposite. Emaila stumbled and shivered from both the cold and nervousness, her expression one of tight-lipped concentration. She clutched at the railing, her arms shaking as she managed to catch herself when she slipped.

She didn’t talk to him. Didn’t even look at him. Instead, she was staring at her feet as she edged her way around the rink once, twice, and a third time.

Sirius was the complete opposite.

He moved with confidence and a natural swagger. The wind whipped at his hair as he whizzed past her, weaving in and out of the crowd, somehow avoiding colliding with them even though his attention was entirely on her. At times, he wasn’t even watching where he was going. After a while, he grew tired of watching.

Sirius skated towards her quickly, turning his skates at the last minute and finishing with a hockey stop, covering her legs in a spray of ice flakes. "You dog!" Emalia shouted with a glare, which only made the young man grin.

"What?" he barked out with a laugh, watching as she brushed the ice from her skirt, almost falling while doing so. "I needed to get your attention somehow. You seem pretty intent on that railing; should I be jealous?"

Emalia sneered at him. "That’s because someone took me to an ice skating rink. And as I recall, I've already told you I don't know how to skate."

"Here, let me show you," Sirius said, holding out a hand.

"I’m quite happy right here," she replied indignantly.

"Don’t you trust me?"

"Not on your life!"

That wasn’t entirely true. Emalia did trust him. She trusted that he would hold her close, that his hands would wander her body, and that his lips would steal the breath from her lungs. She trusted that he would tease her and keep her safe, but she didn’t trust him not to let her fall and be covered in snow and ice shavings as a joke.

Sirius drifted closer, not taking no for an answer. He caged her between his arms, his chest pressing firmly into her back, forcing her against the railing to prevent an escape. The warmth of him was immediate; it made her head spin and made her dizzy. She found herself leaning into him to chase away the cold.

He pried her small fingers from the railing one at a time, laughing against her shoulder, his warm breath wafting against her neck, making her shiver and squeeze her thighs together. She swatted at his hands, huffed out warnings and threats between laughs, and pushed against the rail and into his chest to create space for an escape. It was only as she moved to turn, stumbling as a skate slipped out from beneath her, that she gave up the fight.

Sirius caught her around the waist, an arm around the small of her back, the opposite hand grabbing her hip. He was laughing, and so was she, as he hauled her back to her feet. "Trust me, angel. I won’t let you fall."

She made a sound that was unladylike, indignant, and very unbelieving. Emalia held his forearms tightly, her manicured nails digging in, so he felt the pressure through the sleeves of his jacket. Sirius just grinned through it.

"Don’t look down," he instructed, his tone gentle as he moved slowly backward with just a little bit of momentum. "Watch me, Ema, and keep your back straight. If you tilt forward, your balance will be off." Sirius held her forearms firmly, staying about a foot away to avoid their skates coming together.

He towed her along slowly, encouraging her to match his stride and move with the opposite foot each time he moved. He praised her when she got it right, earning himself a coy little smile and her cheeks flushing a pretty pale pink. And when she stumbled, he caught her, soothing her and telling her it was alright.

They were both silent for a while. Emalia concentrated on her footwork, her hold on him tightening a few times when she stumbled before finding a rhythm that worked for her.

"You know," she said softly, still staring down at her feet while struggling to keep her balance. Sirius captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face up. For a moment, she stared at him with pretty doe eyes, curious, nervous, and wanting. She licked her lips. "I don’t think I ever thanked you."

His brow furrowed. "For what?"

And he generally couldn’t think of what she might be thanking him for. He thought it was plain as day that he was enjoying himself on this date. Emalia was pleasant company—polite and sweet, undeniably sassy and smart-mouthed, which he found amusing.

It wasn't that he'd never considered dating her. She was an attractive young woman and had had her fair share of boyfriends and would-be suitors. But Sirius had made it a general rule to steer clear of his friends', the important ones anyway.

"I don't know," she laughed, her gaze wavering from his for a second before returning. The smile on her mouth was sweet but sad, and it plucked at the strings of his heart. He hadn’t seen that smile in a while, not since her mother had passed away and she’d tried to put on a brave face for the world. He hated it as much now as he did then.

"For everything you do. I don’t think I ever thanked you, Sirius. You stuck around even after I said those terrible things. Even when I pushed all of you away. Everything was so heavy, and you shouldered so much for me, and I don’t remember saying thank you. Or apologising."

"You were grieving, angel. You've got a free pass to be a little bitchy," he said, his hand moving to her hair and stroked it. He let the silken strands run through his fingers, marvelling over how, as he predicted, he could run them through her hair without it getting tangled. He smiled at her, gentle and reassuring. "Besides, that’s what friends are for, right? Staying around when things go to hell."

His words warmed her heart and plunged a knife into it at the same time.

Emalia was grateful to have him as a dear friend. She was so completely appreciative of everything he had done for her, how he had helped her and her family. He’d been so kind to her mother while she was confined to the hospital, lifting her spirits and making her laugh every time the doctors had bad news. But in that moment, she didn’t want a friend; she wanted more.

She was the one who moved first.

Her hands moved to his shoulders, and her lips melded against his, plump and warm, clumsy and desperate. The sound of their skates clacking together erupted between them as he hauled her closer to deepen the kiss.

His fingers burrowed deep in her hair, his cold nose gliding against hers as he tilted her head back, giving himself better access to her parting lips. The other hand held her hip, fingers pressing in firmly, feeling her curves. They were warm, spreading fire through her blood as it rushed through her veins, igniting an ache that spread from her belly and down into her hips.

The world had fallen away until it was just the two of them, clinging together like star-crossed lovers. They drifted gently on the ice, carried by his confident skill. Sirius felt her tremble against him, leaning desperately into his kiss. Her hands glided up his body, burrowing into the thicket of tresses at the back of his neck, drawing him in deeper, and he was lost in her—the smell of her shampoo, the taste of her chapstick—utterly and hopelessly lost.

He pressed his palm into the small of her back, bringing her flush against him, the other clutching at the back of her head to control their kiss. His teeth nipped at her lower lip and sucked it between his lips, and she couldn’t help but whimper.

It was that sound that brought the night careening back to reality.

Sirius pulled away, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. He kept her close, kept his hand in her hair, and kept his lips brushing against her. Their eyes half-opened and met. His hand stroked down her back, feeling her shivering, hearing her whimper, and feeling her lips open against his mouth for another needy kiss that he happily obliged in giving her.

"Sirius." Her voice was shaking, barely a whisper above the conversations around them. He felt her words rather than heard them. He bit back a groan when she bit his lip. "Take me home."

The two of them arrived on the porch of her family’s estate in record time. Her back slammed against the mahogany door as he pinned her to it, the force enough to make the hinges rattle. Emalia gasped into his mouth, caught off guard as a whisper of pain shot up her spine, only to be forgotten a second later when his hands splayed possessively at her hips.

She buried her fingers in his hair, taking a fistful to hold his mouth to hers, making him growl as his scalp was tinged with a pleasurable sort of pain. Sirius felt her nails scraping at his shirt, clawing their way down his chest before curling around his belt. With his hand hooked under the bend of her knee, he hitched her leg over the curve of his hip, allowing himself to paint his body firmly against hers.

His hips trudged against hers, strong, dominant, and rough; his cock was already hard and straining in his jeans, and she couldn’t help but use the hold of his belt to pull him closer. Emalia kissed him desperately and deliriously, her lips parting to welcome his tongue into the warmth of her mouth as he started to work his hands beneath her skirt.

Her legs turned to jelly when he took her arse in his hands, squeezing it as he ground his hips against hers so that she could feel his erection through the layers of their clothes. And then she was pushing his hands away so that she could turn towards the door.

Sirius did not stop as she fumbled with the doorknob.

"You taste so sweet," he said, his voice gravelly with lust. Sirius’ lips were warm as he kissed her neck, leaving little wisps of fire licking at her skin as he sank his pearly whites into the junction of her shoulder just hard enough to elicit a little gasp.

"Inside," she managed to gasp out, her voice trembling, "we need to get inside." Sirius silenced her with a kiss, their teeth knocking awkwardly together because of the angle, but neither minded. Emalia arched her back instinctively to allow their lips better contact, desperate to taste more of him, her arse pressing hard against his aching cock.

His hands found their way beneath her blouse, palms rough and like molten lava against her skin. He was pleasantly surprised to discover her bra unclasped at the front. He made quick work of it, her breasts freed to his wandering hands. Sirius cupped the weight of them in his palms, enjoying their soft warmth and the way her nipples hardened into peaks when he rolled them between his fingers.

It was a miracle Emalia got the door opened before they started stripping. Together, they tumbled inside—a tangle of limbs, heavy breaths, and hot kisses. It was followed by fumbling up the stairs when the kissing didn’t stop, and then they were naked on her bed and the nervousness was bleeding back into her veins.

Emalia watched him undress and, for a moment, was utterly terrified of how badly this was going to hurt. Especially with how... big he was.

And it all came racing back to her.

She was a virgin.

And he wasn’t.

Sirius had a reputation. Oh, Merlin, did he have a reputation.

Emalia had heard their schoolmates whispering about him in the back of the library. The girls talked about the delicious stretch of his fingers when he was fingering them. Or the wickedness of his mouth and how they could taste themselves on his tongue after he had gone down on them.

And it was those same girls who talked about his size—how he was above average with an impressive girth that sometimes made it uncomfortable for a few days after being with him.

She had heard the rumours; some nights he was soft and sweet, gently rocking his hips until his lover climaxed with a soft moan. Other nights, he was wild and untamed, rutting into them from behind until they couldn’t think straight.

And knowing all of this made her incredibly nervous. It made her heart stammer in her chest so hard that it might break through her breastbone, but it did not make her stop him when he started to move down her body.

"Is this okay?" Sirius whispered against her neck, his breath balmy against her sweat-slicked skin. His stormy eyes had closed, and his lips skimmed over her racing pulse and to the hollow of her throat. He took her hips into his hands, his fingertips biting into her skin just a little too much as he waited for her answer. She could feel his cock pressing against her thigh, feel how hard and big he was, and shuddered with anticipation. 

Emalia whimpered in response and nodded in approval. Sirius was magnetic, and she found she could not deny him. He was fire—chaotic and beautiful—and she was a moth to his flame.

Sirius nipped at her racing pulse, making her gasp out loud. He immediately laved his tongue over the hickey to take the sting from it. The delicious combination of pleasure and pain had her mind blurry with lust and her core clenching.

She felt so vulnerable, like he was going to eat her alive.

And she wanted desperately to satisfy his hunger.

Sirius took his time, as though he had all night for the young woman beneath him. He took one of her hardened nipples into his warm, wet mouth and sucked on it, swirling his tongue around it.

"Sirius," she whined his name when he switched breasts, this time taking her nipple between his teeth and tugging on it just enough to entice her to arch her back from the mattress.

He chuckled when she whined again. "Patience, baby." He hummed while kissing a trail of fire down her belly. He took the time to admire the rise and fall of her chest as her breath came faster, how she moved restlessly beneath his mouth, and how her pussy glistened with obvious arousal.

Sirius placed a kiss against her hips and then on the inside of her thigh, so close and yet still so far from her core, making her breath hitch. He kissed and nibbled until she was writhing beneath his mouth, trying desperately to get him where she wanted.

And then he smeared his tongue against her pussy, tasting the sweet nectar of her essence and letting it slide down the back of his throat like a fine wine. Her body quivered beneath him, and his name escaped her in a breathless moan.

Sirius couldn’t explain what it was—either inexperience or curiosity—but virgins were so quick to get wet. They tasted different on his tongue—innocent and sweet. And she was no exception. 

Her nerves cracked and popped like lightning as his tongue circled her clit, making her hips buck up. He could feel her heart racing beneath his palms; her nipples hard beneath the touch of his fingers as he caressed them down her body, memorising the feel of her skin until he found her wet heat.

She made this sound—a little gasp of pleasure—that sent arousal rocketing through his veins and straight to his cock when he pushed a finger into her tight pussy. His fingers were thicker than hers, larger and longer, reaching deep and rubbing against all of her nerves.

Emalia grabbed a fistful of his hair to hold his mouth against her when her hips bucked, pushing her pussy against his mouth when he began moving his finger. The stubble on his jaw scratched beautifully at the inside of her thighs as they tightened around his head, trapping him there when he added a second finger, stretching her more.

She came without warning, her walls clamping tight around him and her hips rising from the mattress as the world shattered into sweet oblivion. Sirius kept his lips encircled around her clit, sucking and fingering her through the climax as crystal shards of pleasure shot through her entire being. It felt like a bolt of white-hot lightning had scored her soul and set her world ablaze.

Emalia had touched herself before. She was no stranger to pleasure; she had kissed young men other than Sirius and gotten handsy with them. She’d had cum countless times with her fingers or the toys in her nightstand. But this was like nothing else.

Sirius was the son of the devil, with the face of an angel.

Her walls continued to flutter as she came back to earth with her head swimming and her thighs trembling. He withdrew his fingers to lick them clean. Sirius climbed the length of her body slowly, his lips leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses from her clit, up her belly, and between the valley of her breasts until she was tasting herself on his tongue.

She stroked his dark locks as he positioned himself between her thighs, their tongues twisting and twirling together in a delicious dance of dominance. He won, of course, and she lost gleefully. Sirius groaned against her lips as he rubbed his cock along her slick folds, her arousal lubricating him as the tip nudged her sensitive clit.

"Sirius," she moaned softly, her eyes pleading for more.

"Are you sure?"

"Please."

He did not need to be told twice. He bent his head to kiss her, his lips gliding over hers and swallowing the little gasp she made when he entered her. He moved slowly, trying to give her time to adjust to the stretch, but even so, her fingers tightened around the muscles of his shoulders when he buried himself completely, leaving little crescent moons in their wake.

The sound she made was strangled, her body tensing beneath his as she tried to will herself to relax. Pain blossomed through her core and radiated through her hips. Her eyes were scrunched shut, tears dancing on her lashline, but she didn’t tell him to stop.

Sirius knew that it was uncomfortable for her. He was not a small man, and he knew that he was above average. Emalia was so slick with arousal that if she hadn’t been a virgin, it might not have been so demanding to accommodate him.

His mouth skimmed over her chin, her cheeks, and her forehead, leaving a trail of sweet kisses behind. "Doing okay?" He asked, his voice straining as he held himself perfectly still. Emalia peeled her eyes open to stare into his stormy gaze, her breath shaking as it escaped.

"Yeah," she said in a whisper, her voice trembling.

"Try to relax," he encouraged, "it will feel good."

Sirius groaned when she loosened her grip on his shoulders, her nails leaving a sting in his heated skin. She made a sound in response, an apologetic whimper, "S - sorry!" The pitch of her voice rose as he slowly withdrew, her lips trembling against his, her expression somewhere between wanting him to devour her and wanting him to stop.

"S’okay, angel," he said, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at her. Sirius teased his lips against hers, plunged his tongue into her mouth, and devoured her moans. He pulled out until the crown of his cock was nestled in her snug walls, and then sank back in.

He kept a slow rhythm, stretching her and giving her plenty of time. And then it happened. Emalia wound her legs around his waist to pull him in deeper while she clawed at the sheets, grasping fistfuls of the Egyptian cotton while tossing her head back and arching her back. Fresh waves of arousal washed over his cock.

She moved with him, her hips rising to welcome the piston of his, her movements delicate and desperate—in contrast to his. Sirius moved with control, dominating her with each thrust and fucking her into the mattress until she was clawing at his back and moaning in his ear. He was a little bit rough, holding her so tight that her skin was sure to bruise in the shape of his fingers, his teeth nipping at her lips until they were slightly swollen, devouring every sound that was torn from her throat.

"Sirius!" She screeched his name, her voice high-pitched and strained, when he adjusted his position to thrust deeper, hauling her legs higher on his hips. The tip of his cock crashed into a spot that sent her suddenly skyrocketing.

"Oh."

There was nothing that could have prevented the smug smirk that found its way onto his lips or the surge of pride that welled in his chest. If she had seen it, she might have smacked him. He thrust again, deeper and harder, to hear her scream again. He moved his mouth to her ear, his breath hot, his teeth tugging on her earlobe.

"That’s it, isn’t it? The spot."

Her thighs were quivering as she arched off the mattress, her head thrown back, and her lips parted in a silent scream. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Sirius fucked her at a merciless pace, his cock catching on every mind-maddening spot along the way, crashing into her repeatedly, but it was the rough pad of his thumb swiping over the fantastic bundle of nerves that made her pussy spasm around him. Emalia screamed as her world was struck by lightning again, set on fire, shattered, and changed.

The sound of the headboard against the wall was a constant thump, thump, thump. Some part of him thought he should feel bad for being rough, especially given that this was her first time. He should have held her and loved her softly, as a gentleman would have. But he could tell from the way her pussy was squeezing him, how she was grabbing at his back to pull him closer, and how she trembled and shuddered beneath him that she was enjoying this.

"That’s it." He growled against her ear, sending shivers down her spine. He rubbed harder at her sensitive clit, fingers slick in her arousal, gliding, circling, rubbing. "Cum for me, baby."

"I-I-" She stuttered and stopped. Her mind was screaming that the pleasure would kill her, break her, and ruin her. She would have said it if her throat wasn’t constricted with breathless gasps and moans, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, because it felt so fucking amazing.

"You can," he replied, knowing what she was going to say, once again not accepting no for an answer. "Cum for me, angel, I wanna feel you cum on my cock."

The third orgasm came from nowhere, ripped through her without warning, and crashed into the second. Emalia couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see straight, and couldn’t think through the haze he invoked. She clung to him as the storm swept her away; her nails dug so deeply into his skin that Sirius was certain to be bleeding.

She came undone beneath him, shuddering, panting, and moaning, her hips bucking into his as he fucked her with deep strokes. Her walls clamped so tightly around him that he groaned against her ear. His name spilled from her lips like a prayer to heaven, over and over again, like it was the only thing she could remember.

Sirius buried his face against her neck, biting and sucking, leaving behind hickeys that were sure to embarrass her later. His thrusts became wilder and less controlled as he chased his own release. He fisted the pillow beneath her head, grunting against her neck as his abdomen tightened, white dots decorating his vision. He kept going, moving on primal desire, until something snapped. His mind went blank and fogged as his body shuddered, his nerves cracking like they’d turned into life wires.

He reached his high and tumbled over the edge while kissing her, his fingers curling into fists around duck feather pillows, his knuckles white under the pressure. With a final thrust and a deep groan, he buried himself in her, his hips nestling tightly against hers. Ivory ribbons decorated her walls and filled her, and his tongue wrestled with hers.

Sirius waited until his vision cleared and her nails had lessened their hold before pulling out, leaving her feeling empty, sore, and satisfied. He fell onto his side, thankful for the cool sheets against his heated skin. With an arm wrangled around her waist, he dragged her against him, making her squeak and stare wide-eyed at him.

His fingers were buried in her hair again, dragging her mouth to his so he could kiss her with the fire of a thousand suns. Emalia couldn’t explain what it invoked; she couldn’t have imagined this moment.

They lay in a tangle of limbs, one of his arms around her, strong, pinning her to the wall of his chest, the other buried in her hair and refusing to release her lips. She cradled his face with one hand, nails of the opposite hand pressing into his chest. Their lips were inseparable.

It was comfortable.

And she wanted more.

[bunglegaydogs]

Episode 61 BSD spoilers ofc xoxo

I know a lot of people are upset at Fyodor's death this episode, but can we all just remember that this was probably one of the better options that could have happened of all the options?

I always knew that Fyodor would die - it was just a definite thing I had in my head. He couldn't stay alive like Fitzgerald, that's not the way his character is. He's too much of a danger to everyone else when he's alive. I thought this was a pretty great ending to his life, it's not perfect but it is? I don't know. Something about burning in the flames and succumbing to them in the vehicle you were supposed to escape in after being fooled by a cheap party trick.

For all the people saying "But Fyodor's the smartest character in BSD! How could he be fooled by Chuuya just pretending to be a vampire?"

May I remind you of the fact that Fukuchi fooled Ranpo? You know, the one who's known for never being wrong and solving things like this constantly? Because even when Mushitarou used his ability, the same ability that has hidden thousands and thousands of esteemed criminals with deplorable crimes to their name, and not one person has been able to find them, Ranpo was still able to solve it with only a few clues.

Yet due to his unwavering trust and faith in Fukuzawa, that led to him being completely oblivious to Fukuchi being Kamui. He didn't think that he'd need to look beneath the surface level, because Fukuzawa trusts him so much. He never thought that he'd need to look any further.

The same goes for Fyodor and Chuuya.

Fyodor isn't the smartest character in the series, nor is he meant to be! He's simply just one of the smartest. He can still be outwitted by the rest. Not everyone can win everything every single time. Eventually, no matter how good you are at chess, someone else will beat you.

Anyways lol.

We don't even know how Fyodor got Chuuya to Meursault, or how he had proof that he'd turned him into a vampire. Of course, it will all be revealed soon, but disregarding that for a second.

Chuuya has broken into Meursault after Fyodor tells him to, mowing down all the guards and killing them all and saving Fyodor's ass from getting shot or being thrown back into jail. It all adds up in Fyodor's head so far. Chuuya says nothing, only growls, hisses, and screams. Typical vampire. (Other than his weird yowl LMAOOO)

Nothing is fishy to Fyodor yet. Chuuya is helping him and doing as he says. Then, they both get almost drowned by Dazai. Again, this is all pointing to the fact that he is not on Dazai's side if Dazai is actively putting him in his plans to kill Fyodor too.

Fyodor assumes that their bond is shallow and fragile, easily breakable if he presses down hard enough and severs the knot, which is what hes trying to do. He teases Dazai because, in his head, it's a one-sided relationship in SKK.

Fyodor doesn't understand human emotions well. He sees people as pawns and is not afraid to use them to get what he wants. But he is different from Dazai in the way he thinks about them. He dislikes humans; he thinks they're sinful and boring and a waste of his time, whereas Dazai thinks humans are fascinating and complicated and wonderful. Fyodor does not see the appeal. Which is what separates him from Dazai. Fyodor uses the people around him until he has no use for them anymore, tossing them aside. He has no regard for their feelings, and anyone he associates with he automatically tries to see what he can get from them and what he can do with them. Dazai does not. Dazai uses people as a means to help the Agency, or to save someone else, or to get information on how to not let the fucking world end, and the character development is wild.

Dazai used to be much more like Fyodor than he is now. He was cold, ruthless, and heartless back then. Whilst Dazai still sees no point in living and wishes to die, and he sees no point in anything, he has still grown more compassionate and a lot more self-aware and he has become capable of more emotion and wanting to save people thanks to Oda. Yes, he still doesn't really care about much, but he genuinely does care about those closest to him and saving and protecting them.

That is why Fyodor couldn't understand - he didn't know just how much trust Soukoku had between each other. He underestimated the bond between them. How much they rely on each other, and always have, for seven years. He thought he had Chuuya under his thumb this entire time, but Chuuya had bested him and tricked him.

This also just goes to show Chuuya's intelligence that a lot of people seem to forget. This type of shit will come easy to Chuuya - he's a Mafia executive for a reason, God damn it. He can lie, he can manipulate, he can be sly and cunning and discreet and careful. He's not a fool, he knows how dire this situation is. And so of course he's going to put his all into a completely fool-proof performance. He literally fooled us, and we're the ones shouting at Dostoevsky for underestimating Soukoku's bond.

But see? This is precisely why this was a suitable "death" for him. (I'm only saying "death" in quotes because you never fucking know with this series.)

Burned in the flames of hellfire as he perishes with the thought that he was completely beaten.

I made a post a while ago about how Fyodor's downfall was going to be how he thought he was too untouchable, how everything is simply but a trial for him and how he is the messenger of God, forcing his will onto other people and just spreading what is God's plan to wipe the world of sinners. How cocky he gets in his own way about his intelligence. How he underestimates, undermines and belittles the people around him because he genuinely thinks that they're worth nothing more than a pebble on the ground to him. He has no empathy or compassion that we've seen so far. He tricked Sigma and stabbed him with absolutely no remorse despite them being in the DOA together. Nikolai was happy to see him out of prison, and he pretty much just blanked him and went straight to the topic at hand, despite apparently having all the time in the world to kill (not really he needed the antidote not to die tbf lol). His downfall was the very thing that sets him apart from the others and typically gives him the upper hand - lack of regret, compassion or empathy or remorse. He was prepared to (and did!) kill children. He lobotomized two people. He manipulates everyone.

I really don't think that Fyodor's story is over at all, but I do think he's actually dead. Maybe not though. As I said, you never fucking know with this series.

Anyways. My point in this post was the fact that whilst we're all upset about his death (well, not all?), it was suitable. You can't complain about BSD not having the balls to kill off any characters, and then when it does, complain that a character has died. Or that "Well, it should have been somebody in the Agency." And what logic would that bring to the table? What would an Agency member dying accomplish? Atsushi is the protagonist, so he's off the table. Things would be very fucked up if Yosano died because then none of them could survive the shit they get themselves into. We don't know enough of Kunikida's history for him to go, plus he's the next leader of the ADA, plus his story is not finished, plus it wouldn't give us anything but grief if he was to die. If Ranpo died, that would also be a big no no, because it would only possibly send Fukuzawa into some sort of corruption arc, and it would crumble the foundations of the Agency, considering he and Fukuzawa are the two founders and he was the first member, and the Agency was made for him. Kenji, I don't see any point in killing our guy off. Leave him alone <3 Kyouka, maybe. She seems, I guess, slightly reasonable. Give Atsushi something more to fight for. Give him reasons to go feral, give him something to be absolutely fucking distraught about. But after that... then what? What would her death bring but grievances to Atsushi? Tanizaki, also no point in killing him off. They'd lose a valuable ability that could get them out of so much shit, Asagiri wouldn't kill him off like that, especially when we hardly know anything about him.

And for people saying "Dazai should have died instead."

That would be really fucking unreasonable - we still have far too many unanswered questions and loose ends. Atsushi would lose his mentor and obviously not handle it well. What about Akutagawa? Kunikida? Chuuya?

Dazai is such an integral part of BSD and an integral part of Atsushi's life - my one hope whilst waiting for the newest episode was that Asagiri wouldn't kill Dazai because there was no logical reasoning behind it. Yes, it would cause some great angst, but if he died, it would have actually just been the turning point for this conflict to get worse. Fyodor would have escaped, and then what? The world would have been wiped, because I guarantee you even if that wasn't Fukuchi's plan, it sure as hell was Fyodor's and he gets what he wants. If Dazai had actually genuinely died, what happens to Chuuya who has to look at his partner's lifeless body in front of him and is like "I did that." If he was a vampire through this and came back when Aya pulled the sword out, imagine what the fuck would have happened when he saw what he'd done. We all remember him going absolutely fucking feral and off the rails in Beast, and he hadn't even killed him there. Chuuya comes to, looks at the gun in his hand, looks at the dead partner of 7 years in front of him bleeding out. My safest bet is that he'd use corruption. But, Dazai is dead. He can't nullify it. Fyodor is escaping on the helicopter. Sigma is still in that room unconscious. Nikolai is doing God knows what he can teleport and shit. Chuuya unleashes corruption, destroys himself and the building, and Fyodor is far away and so is Nikolai, and Sigma is caught in this wreck. That's three important characters all killed in one swoop, whilst the "bad guy" escapes and is free to enact his plan without them hindering it.

?!

I'd rather not see that ending of BSD I can't lie to you <3 (However, I do want an angsty SKK scene of Chuuya going batshit insane at realising what he's done whilst he's been controlled and used as a puppet which is fucking awful for him... maybe I would like to see a little snippet of what this world would be like. Anyways.)

Sorry this got SO off-topic.

MY POINT BEING FYODOR'S DEATH WAS ALWAYS GOING TO HAPPEN.

TL;DR: Fyodor's death was always going to happen. It was inevitable.

He's been likened to Jesus so much throughout this series. He's a messenger of God and God puts him through so much suffering, and so many trials, and he sees it all as a simple test that he'll be sure to overcome. He's so blinded by his faith and his Jesus Complex that he can't see where he goes wrong or where he has failed because he's so sure that he can win and doesn't understand human emotions and underestimates everyone around him therefore leading to his demise and being fooled by Soukoku, who he doesn't understand the bond between because he doesn't look beneath the surface of anything intwined with complex emotions.

An angsty outlook would be that Fyodor may be scared of emotions because he doesn't feel them, and therefore takes the approach of "what you don't know can hurt you" and he's afraid of what he doesn't know, much like Dazai. But hey that's just my brain wanting to be scratched and itched the right way and making all my favourite characters tragic.

ANYWAYS goddamn this was so long-winded to just say that.

I hope everyone has a lovely day/night <3

[mendellyill]

I wonder if part of barretts insane risk taking is actually a form suicidal ideation? He puts his life at risk for minimal things on a regular basis and doesn't seem to care much for his own personal safety until after you've befriended him. I think it's interesting that barrett only becomes concerned with his personal safety (when he gets his power) until after you're well into the main story and have traveled with him for a while.

Like barrett clearly never really processed ervins death (which sounds like it was really fucked up and traumatic) and has simply been putting himself in ridiculous and dangerous situations since. His closest friends are his colleagues at constellation and he doesn't seem to be all that comfortable sharing with them. He's been in constellation longer than any of them and I don't think any of them knew Ervin, so at this point he's the only person he knows in his regular circle besides maybe his grandmother and Aja that knew his husband. Asking barrett about Ervin prompts a "barrett disliked that" which I feel indicates that barrett is absolutely avoiding his grief. He's also implied to have been pretty checked out for most of the time the other member of constellation have known him. Sarah actually comments in the beginning that the artifacts were the first thing that barrett ever really seemed interested in which is such a heartbreaking throwaway line.

It seems like such a huge step then for barrett to be willing to be hesitant about getting his powers. It's the first time you see him put himself first and show concern for his own well being. That's character growth! I was so surprised by his development and healing it was so well written. And then he gets a little nod that while his Ervin is gone there are other ervins who are being loved and cherished and living full lives and that it's OK for him to do that. That he can have fun and enjoy the ride.

I think it's such a good way of showing how quiet grief can be and what it can do to people. It's also such a good exploration of how community can help heal grief. I just really like barretts story in general.

[coraniaid]

Do we see anybody that we knew as a human turned into a vampire after The Harsh Light of Day? Do we see how the others react to that?

(I know we see Sandy from Doppelgangland as a vampire later, but that's not what I have in mind: I'm talking about characters that Buffy or the rest of the Scooby Gang actually knew as people.)

I've complained about this before at least a couple of times (although Tumblr's search feature wants me to believe otherwise), but the way the gang react to finding out that Harmony is a vampire in that episode just feels iike such an abrupt tonal shift. And I'm wondering whether it marks a genuine change in how the show deals with newly sired vampires completely, or if it's just the last time the issue ever comes up.

Yes, Buffy's vampire lore isn't particularly well-developed, but prior to this point the show had been pretty consistent. You don't 'become' a vampire, there is no true continuity of self. You die, and a vampire with your memories takes over your corpse. Yes, that vampire's personality is often based on yours -- even if the show isn't explicit about it until Season 3, that's obvious from the first time we see Jesse become a vampire in The Harvest and continue his obsession with Cordelia, and it's the only reason that can explain why Giles keeps telling people that various vampires were hardened killers even "before" becoming vampires, which he does as early as Season 1's Never Kill A Boy On The First Date -- but the show maintains a clear distinction between the vampire's victim and the newly risen vampire. You do not become a vampire. You are not them, however similar they are to you in appearance and behaviour and desires. You are dead.

So we have Giles talking to Xander about Jesse in Season 1's The Harvest:

"Listen to me. Jesse is dead! You have to remember that when you see him, you're not looking at your friend. You're looking at the thing that killed him."

And Buffy talking to Ford in Season 2's Lie To Me about his plan to "become immortal":

"That's not how it works. You die, and a demon sets up shop in your old house, and it walks, and it talks, and it remembers your life, but it's not you."

Even in Season 3's Doppelgangland [which has the gang treating Willow's vampire alter ago very oddly at the end] everyone's reaction to seeing Willow as a vampire is still to be shocked and saddened and speak about Willow in the past tense.

Here's Angel breaking the bad news:

"Something's happened ... Willow's dead."

And earlier, Buffy blaming herself for her friend's death:

"I-it's [my fault]. She must have gone out and gotten attacked [...] And now my best friend is..."

Or Willow when she walks in on them mourning:

"Jeez, who died?"

As late as the Season 4 opener The Freshman we have Buffy's reaction to finding out what happened to her new friend Eddie:

"I was worried that something had happened to you ... and of course it has, 'cause you're a vampire.  I'm sorry."

Not explicitly saying that Eddie's dead, sure, but certainly acknowledging that something bad happened to him (and completely consistent with the take on vampires that goes all the way back to the beginning of Season 1).

Then we get to The Harsh Light Of Day, just a couple of episodes later, and the collective reaction to finding out that Harmony is a vampire -- Harmony, who Buffy's known for years and the others have known for longer, who it's at least strongly implied was killed during the battle against the Mayor in Graduation Day, meaning that unlike Eddie or Theresa or Jesse or whoever else Harmony's death actually is Buffy's fault, at least a little bit -- and how does Buffy react?

She laughs.

"Harmony's a vampire? She must be dying without a reflection."

And I know none of the gang like Harmony -- I know Harmony was very hard to like -- but isn't this just remarkably callous? Harmony isn't "dying" -- she died months ago, helping them all fight against the Mayor's Ascension. She didn't decide to "become" a vampire on some fickle whim. She died saving the world. The Gang could at least pretend to be sad about that for five seconds.

[lyrakeaton]

Chronicling The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess - The Final Entry

Gosh, what a game huh?

I'm not even sure where I want to begin with this. The Final Entry. I have so much to say. So much I've been thinking about throughout this wonderful little game. Where do I even start?

Well, I suppose I'll start off by saying that I had a very wonderful time with this game. It's my first time playing a game with the secondary intent to analyze and write down my thoughts here on my blog. It's been a delight to do so, and I'm looking forward to analyzing other games in this manner going forward.

As for my thoughts on Twilight Princess: I think it's an excellent game, with a lot of heart and a commendable focus on story and emotional connections. This game has dealt me a few sour blows that stick out like an ugly blemish on an otherwise spotless surface. But those blemishes in turn give contrast to just how competent the rest of the game really was.

In fact, that's what I would love to call this game more than anything else. Competent. It was made by people who knew what they were doing, and were fucking excellent at doing it. It shows how much heart the people involved put into this title, despite how under cooked and rushed it felt at a few moments.

One of my favorite moments in the ending part of this game, which is also one of the clearest signs of how this game was developed, is what you see above.

Your allies come in to save you from a sticky situation. It's a lovely moment, showing the care and respect that these characters have fostered for you, after all the time you've spent working together for this common goal.

And yet, it also shows off how much this game wanted to do, but couldn't. What it tried to say, and what it left unsaid.

Because these people just show up. You don't tell them when or where you're going, and neither do they show up later to help you. They show up for this scripted event where they get to save you from a menial threat, so that they can show their appreciation for Link always having their backs. It leaves me wanting a bit more, and wondering what potentially was planned before or after.

And these moments aren't rare. There are many moments, that become more frequent as the game progresses, where it feels like the developers had more to say or do, but didn't have the time to implement it.

And I think no point shows this better than the presence of Ganondorf, and Midna's true form.

Ganondorf is name dropped once in the story, but isn't elaborated upon. Later, he shows up in this weird, incorporeal form, which Zant interprets as a god. This spectre then combines into Zant(?) to take over him as a sort of puppet. As such, Zant is kind of just thrown aside so that the player can have their badass final boss against Ganondorf. I was honestly a bit disappointed.

But not necessarily because it was yet another Ganondorf ending. But because there was so much more room to explore Zant and his relationship with Ganondorf, that I really wanted to see.

I think another sign of this was Midna's true form. Her true form was first shown in a cutscene, right before the second to last dungeon of the game. Before this, we have never even heard of Midna being anything but the imp we've known since the start of the game. And it makes me wonder a lot about what the developers wanted for Midna. Did they always intend for her to be this humanoid form? Or is their vision of Midna actually the imp we spend the whole game connecting with?

I ask this because Midna's imp form appears later in Hyrule Warriors alongside her true form, which makes me wonder if the devs couldn't decide which form they liked more. It's a bit of a weird moment for me because I love imp Midna a lot, but never got to see or interact with her true form self until after the journey was over.

What's more, Midna then destroys the Mirror of Twilight. This moment made no sense to me at all. I couldn't justify it, or understand how Midna would justify it. Why would she do this? Zelda just made a small speech about how their worlds are two sides of the same coin. Midna then says that as long as the Mirror exists, they may meet again, only to say "see you later" before destroying the mirror.

I understand this was likely thought of from the start, as Midna establishes that Zant could only fragment the mirror due to his incomplete power. But Midna, having regained her true power, is the only one capable of utterly destroying it. What I really wish though, is for the game to have explored why she feels the need to do this, because I think it would serve the game better if it were spelled out. It's a genuinely sad moment! I'll never get to see Midna again! Why is the credits continuing with the triumphant music!

It hurts, man. But it does make sense, after I thought about it. Because the mirror was what allowed the Twili to escape into the Light World and cause havoc, so, by destroying the mirror, that connection is severed, forever. No more evil forces invading each others worlds, causing problems.

Which makes Midna's words all the more tear-jerking. 'Cause she won't see us later. She'll never get to see us again. But she doesn't have the heart to say goodbye. So she says she'll "see us later."

I'm not sure how to feel. I think I feel sad, and a smidgen disappointed. I mean, all this time, we've been fighting to help Midna restore peace to her realm, and to prevent Ganondorf/Zant from wreaking havoc on the Light World. And then, only for Midna to get the reward she deserves so much, and yet she doesn't get what she seems to actually want, which is to stay with Link. She cries, knowing she'll never see him again.

I think that right there shows the beauty and magic of this game. No other Zelda game has grabbed a hold of me with its story, its characters quite like this. I felt emotionally invested throughout, and I truly wanted to make good for this world, and to help Midna. It even feels selfish to say that I wish she could have stayed an imp and gone on more adventures with Link. But I think narratively, it is not only perfect this way, but it also couldn't end any other way.

Because not all stories should end completely happy. I think it does a bigger service to showcase how meaningful these emotional connections truly are by taking something from us in this way, than it does if everything ended like a story book.

It hurts, because we care.

This is the best outcome, where everyone can be happy, with the clear exception of Midna's and Links relationship to each other. That meant something, which is made all the more clear because of them never getting to see each other.

In closing...

More than anything, I wish this game had a bit more time to fill in the empty rows before and after some of its more significant beats. But still, I am so grateful that what is here was fantastic from beginning to end. And I'm glad that regardless of what was lost before the print to disc, what was left was something forming a beautiful and complete whole. A whole that I love with my whole heart. Wholeheartedly.

Thank you Shiggy Miyamiggy for this wonderful game. Please don't shy away from this kind of narrative and emotional focus when making future Zelda titles. I want to cry when it's all over, they way Twilight Princess made me. What you've got here is truly special, and I'm so very glad I got to experience it.

[variousqueerthings]

OKAY ten episodes into due south and we've got some new takeaways + some doubling downs

just had the christmas episode which means "just had the episode where fraser hallucinates his dad" and I am. very sure. that this show will never come to this conclusion, but mr benton fraser, your dad was not a good dad, and "wishing you'd spent more time with him so you could learn more" was never your fault and also... all this hero-worship for a man you didn't know, because he made it so you didn't know him, you may have had an icon/figure/image you wanted to emulate, but you didn't have a dad

also im perhaps doing fraser sr. a disservice, but I really do wonder about how long he knew about the dam. this was his area after all. but i think it's comforting to fraser jr to think his dad was only briefly hooked and then did the right thing immediately, but going by the hunter idk... also darnit benton fraser get that man down from the pedestal, you're doing yourself an injury craning your neck to look up all the time, when he's not worth it! (but also big big fan of this as a major blindspot he has, characterwise)

also in the christmas episode some rare rare ray backstory, and his father was abusive, so we're really getting guy A: absent father whom he wishes desperately to still be the perfect son for and live up to the Ideal of (benton) and guy B: abusive father who taught him to duck and to never hit kids (cos they don't learn anything from it), which is a very clear background for his cynicism and sense that people don't improve that we meet him with

TO GO BACK SOME EPISODES:

Pizzas and promises: fraser in ray's clothes (ray is now keeping them in a shrine in his closet)

I have said this before (somewhere to someone) and I will say it again: I like to read asexuality and aromanticism into characters, I enjoy it, I especially enjoy finding ways it can work with established canon (say, a character who does have relationships, ok so how does this work, etc) but. BUT. Benton Fraser. there's no reach?? that's just an aromantic asexual man there. to the point that it's a recurring joke that this beautiful beautiful man does not wish to flirt (or doesn't understand it's happening), does not want someone undressing in front of him (sexually, he clearly doesn't mind ray taking a shower), does not even consider himself as a sexually attractive person and is continuously surprised whenever someone else does, etc. have been informed that paul gross at one point said he doesn't think he's a virgin, which ofc opens up all kinds of new doors to think about (idk if this is ever established in the show, so we'll see, because it obvs changes the direction of thought depending on if yes or no)

but yeah, fraser literally holding a hand over his eyes because he's so disturbed by the car saleswoman undressing and then saying something like: "oh... dear. an accident..." before running out (hand still over his eyes...) -- also in that episode we have one of several "ray saves fraser in a desperate last-ditch way and fraser seems to think it's all premeditated and ray is a little frustrated" which plays very well into hc's about ray wanting fraser to Pls Stop Constantly Putting Yourself In Bodily Harms Way!!!!

Chinatown: ofc he speaks chinese. this is also such a Community Episode, continuing the idea that fraser is becoming this big name around the [insert chicago area] known for helping people (+ i bet he'd get free meals in chinatown for the rest of his life). also ray's face when he ordered at the restaurant was perfect -- just when fraser couldn't get more larger-than-life...

chicago holiday prt 1+2: ok well, obvs it's all about the bdsm club - fascinating that it's not something that makes fraser more uncomfortable than just every day life, which tbh, tracks as an aroace (in this case especially the ace part of it), because everything is sexual all the time, leather isn't distinctively sexual. "punish me I've been bad" made me fucking cackle though. y'all want fraser to be a dom so badly. that man is not a dom. at best he could do some praise kink, but that's all he's got in him - the fact that there are two police raids on this place. and like. it's not just queer people in there necessarily, but it definitely has several queer people. and the police chief calls them perverts. it's very much the overlap between kinkphobia and queerphobia (which, ultimately, is almost the same thing, in that queers are considered kinky, and kink is considered queer). so i'd say it's probably the worst look we've seen for the local police force so far BUT it does fit with the overarching setting that is: ---- systemic, casual injustice and bigotry ---- full of real-world people ---- also a little bit of a fairytale (fraser's pov of the world) ---- plays into explorations of ray who has one foot in the "real" world (which is unjust and cruel and harsh and he's just trying to survive in it without getting into too much trouble, he's just "doing his job") and one foot in fraser's world (the belief that everyone is fundamentally worthy of respect and decency, because everyone is a person, and that this respect will be paid back). he's not a perfect person, as is often shown, and this isn't his finest hour. I like that both fraser and the barkeeper AND the femmedom all call him on it in one way or another ---- am i remembering right, I believe this was also the episode where ray said he didn't even think fraser was a proper cop, because of fraser's ethos, which is very funny because... he isn't. my man is fired, he is not legally a cop anywhere, because he was too good a person for the job. he's an Embodiment. an Ideal. of Something (Justice, Decency, The Wild, idk), but he is not a cop my man. he got arrested in the raid too! in fact if it wasn't for ray imprinting on him, he'd have been in so much trouble several times! - also I mean. I said it, but if everyone wants fraser to be a dom, then people think ray's a bit subby, but going by their dynamic, ray is fraser's daddy. buys him nice stuff, makes sure he eats, socialises (with him), chastises him for putting himself in danger... anyway, obvs @gjdraws and I have ahem... discussed this

a cop and a mountie and a baby: shockingly this wasn't as gay as I thought it'd be. there's a bit of stuff when they're around the park, but actually the main takeaway of this episode is that this woman had heard of fraser's reputation and staked her baby on it, wild. fraser my guy. you're already a legend

There's a lot of I've forgotten to say/wrote to GJ in much ramblier paragraphs but The Gist

MISC: - the leather jacket fraser wears... inherited? bought in canada? it's such a distinct third Fit to his mountie clothes - fraser has some unhinged parenting takes, but who can blame him because his dad sucked!!!!! (okok, I'm over it... no I'm not) - ray... I didn't get into just how many moments there are of ray being in love with fraser, idk they just keep coming. every episode, it's like a tidal wave. think a notable one was end of "chicago holiday" where he brings fraser something to wear so they can go out together, just cos. but he does things for him "just cos" all the damn time! - elaine! third? bestie? i think she deserves to leave the police station and join them on cases! I wish to know more about her. that time she profiled someone and it was just fraser in drag (and ray recognised fraser in drag) - frannie! unconvinced by the way they wrote her in "pizzas and promises," thought she was fun in the first section, but i think the writing let down her character during the part where ray nearly drowns (OH YEAH THAT WAS GAY TOO MY GOODNESS) because like, why wouldn't she be more worried? think there were more dynamic, less "she's just shallow/ditzy" ways of writing that - the "jai ne said quoi" ongoing bit was very cute. also very gay. just. all of it is

[ecargmura]

Bucchigiri?! Episode 12 Review + Final Thoughts - The Final Showdown Between The Genies

I’m not sure if Bucchigiri’s ending is either good or bad. It’s not bad because everything ends happily, but it’s not good because there are still a lot of unanswered questions despite the rather joyful ending.

The battle between Ichiya and Senya was actually really good in terms of animation. I feel like MAPPA was going all out with the sakuga for the finale, but Ichiya’s reasons for wanting to fight Senya felt a little asinine. He contracted a disease and wanted Senya to kill him before it could kill him. Ichiya, why didn’t you say this before you died? Maybe you didn’t have to fight to the death for this; maybe Senya could’ve found a way to cure you? All this sudden lore about these genies feels shoehorned in because for a story that revolved around these two genies, so little is known about them. Even towards the end of the story, the stuff about the war, why they became genies and how their story and the Honki people legend becoming a thing in Arajin’s hometown never gets explored and I feel like it’s a waste; all of this could’ve been explored earlier, but no, we had to focus on the fighting and Arajin.

I can’t believe it took 12 episodes for Arajin to get an awesome fight sequence that doesn’t revolve around him punching someone really hard once. That’s crazy. While it’s nice that he finally wants to help Matakara, his word choices make it seem like he’s not doing it out of true concern and he’s just doing it because he had no other choice. The fact that what pulls him out of his funk towards the middle of the fight, the part where he thinks he’s dying, is the the power to lose his virginity with a chibi Mahoro fairy. That seems a little stupid because he did call out Matakara for projecting onto him, but not once has anyone called him out for doing the same thing with Mahoro. Also, his concern for Senya doesn’t seem too genuine to me as he did spent the entirety of the show not wanting him around and tolerating him at best and suddenly, he misses him. I feel like I’m side-eyeing the writers hard for this.

I do wonder what the deal with the black shadow thing is because it did take over Ichiya, causing Matakara to be the sudden final boss of the story. While it is stated that it’s Matakara’s fears of being alone, it does feel like a cop out moment. Like, when could you do this? How is this possible? The fact that Ichiya seems to be okay after this ordeal to makes this thing feel like it’s not worth it in the end.

The side characters’ antics were interesting. Arajin’s mom was hilarious as always as she believes Arajin is sleeping over at a friend’s house and becoming a man; while the context of her words means intercourse, the actual meaning is different in the context of the current situation. The part with Mahoro trying to wake her brother up was funny because she chained Kenichiro to his hospital bed. Girl, was that necessary? The Zabu and Komao parts were sweet because they were looking for Matakara even though Zabu was injured and cannot move well, so Komao spent most of his time being his horse. The other Siguma Squad members felt like they were just there because they needed to be; by the way, Jabashiri’s first name is Nagare, so why is Hagure calling him Ryu-chan? The part with Arajin’s homeroom teacher stealing Jasmine was funny; we all knew Jasmine was a cat. It sucks that she essentially became a stray afterwards. Also, I called Mitsukuni being alive! I knew he was alive from the moment his dead body and funeral weren’t shown on-screen. Utsumi won’t kill off characters at all unless it’s Banana Fish. Look at Senya; he came back!

The little epilogue was cute, but a little irritating on Arajin’s part because he’s still simping over Mahoro who’s still not giving him a millisecond of her time. Good. The fact that he wanted to mimic Marito in hopes of winning her heart is also sort of weird because Mahoro would actually despise him if he did that. While Matakara didn’t get punishment for his actions, at least he, Zabu and Komao became friends again. The part where Minato Kai and Siguma go to the Tomoshibi restaurant and Arajin’s mom becomes a Marito fangirl was funny; the fact that Mahoro got jealous was even more hilarious; she officially hates the Tomoshibi family now.

Overall, I find the finale a bit flat? Like there were good stuff and Arajin did show some growth, but the epilogue sort of backtracks it with his thing with Mahoro but at least he isn’t avoiding Matakara anymore. I wanted more lore on the genies and for the other characters too, honestly. It’s not bad, but it’s not good either.

FINAL THOUGHTS

With how much I enjoyed Utsumi’s other works, I did tune in to Bucchigiri, hoping for the same excitement I felt watching her previous works, but even Utsumi has her off days. Bucchigiri is that off day. Out of all of her works so far, I can honestly say that this is her weakest work so far. I’m actually amazed because the combination of Hiroko Utsumi, the director of known shows like Free!, Banana Fish and SK8 The Infinity and Taku Kishimoto, the screenwriter of the Fruits Basket remake, Haikyuu, Blue Lock and Millionaire Detective, should result in something good, right? WRONG! A positive and a positive actually came out as a negative for once. The math you learned in school had been a lie all along.

Bucchigiri is a work where the other characters shine more than the protagonist Arajin. Arajin starts off a bit interesting but as the weeks pass by, the more insufferable he becomes without any redeeming qualities until the finale. Imagine writing a story where the protagonist only experiences bad qualities and only grows at the end. What kind of story is that? The side characters certainly shined more than Arajin, but that’s just my bias. It sucks that some of them have to be one-dimensional in order for Arajin to shine, but Arajin doesn’t really deserve it. I feel like this show would’ve been better had Matakara or Marito been the protagonists.

It’s a unique spin on the delinquent story as it’s mixed with genies, giving it a more supernatural flair. Unfortunately, the genie aspect is underutilized as the story likes to focus on the fights more. The fights aren’t bad—they’re good, but if you’re going for a story about genies, maybe try to use them and not be plot device for the inactive protagonist or as a sudden surprise villain. With Ichiya, we don’t even know how he got to be with Akutaro and why they haven’t fused. In fact, the genie lore itself was heavily undermined because I don’t know anything about these genies. They had a past together but where did they live? Why was there a war? How did they become genies? I still need my answers!

The music was surprisingly good. The opening and ending songs were really addicting and it sucks that they had to be used for an anime like this. The animation was amazing, courtesy of MAPPA. Despite MAPPA being overworked, they did a great job producing quality sakuga scenes for the fight scenes.

The voice acting was really good too. Utsumi knows how to cast quality voice actors. I love that she likes to use a mix of lesser known names with veterans. The only role I knew of Genki Okawa before Bucchigiri was from Yugioh Zexal, where he voiced Mizael. Despite Arajin not being a great character, Okawa did a great job voicing him. Matakara’s voice actor Yusuke Hoshino is a relatively new face, but he did a great job voicing Matakara from the cute and sweet side to the colder side. Masafumi Kobatake has been a name I’ve been seeing recently as he was in Frieren as Dunste and here as Senya. He was hilarious. I love the gap in his deep voice with his higher pitched gremlin voice for the chibi form. The side characters are all known names mixed with rather new faces, but they all did a great job. My favorites were Nozomu Sasaki as Marito and Chihiro Suzuki as Akutaro. They both did a great job doing the crazy sides of these two characters.

In all honesty, I wanted to like this show. Maybe if I wasn’t an anime reviewer, I would’ve had higher praises for this show, but as an anime reviewer, I can’t help but to be critical. It’s not a bad thing to be critical—to me, that is. I feel like I’m at the point in my life where I need to be more expressive and be more honest about my likes and dislikes. I dislike this anime. There, I said it. I just feel like it wasn’t the delinquent, hand-to-hand combat show I was expecting. I don’t recommend this show, honestly. If you want to watch a better Utsumi show, you’re better off watching SK8. I’ll be here watching Wind Breaker for my seasonal dosage of delinquent anime now. What are your thoughts on this anime as a whole?