#all of my prompts just link into each other at this point oops

[aspirationalpeony]

Dark Horse

Summary: As a cameraperson on the Abbott documentary crew, you've always had a good working relationship with Melissa Schemmenti. One flirtatious night at her home sends you spinning as you try to figure out if this is really real—not to mention how everyone at Abbott seemed to know about Melissa's crush on you, long before you ever did. (See author's note at the end for prompt credit.) Content Warnings: Lots of smut, a bit of emotional confusion, and me having absolutely no idea how filming anything works. I just faked my way through it, very horribly. Oops! :) AO3 Link

It all starts with a late shoot.

It's just you and the mic guy and one other crew, and your camera trained on Melissa Schemmenti. She talks, in a way she's done rarely so far. A season and a half and she's always conscious of the stare of the lenses, quick to dart around a corner or cut herself off if she knows the opps are listening.

She takes big sips, almost gulps, from her wine glass. She leads you back and forth across her house, reaching over tables or pointing along walls to find a photo here, another there, and talks. "Me'n Kristen-Marie... This one—" pause for more wine—"from my college graduation." It's the two of them, almost mirror images of each other at that age, with a tall man whose lean face makes you think he has to be their father; on the other side of the girls is their Nana.

There's no trick in this photo: no wedding dress, no blood, no hint of drama between the sisters at all. They just look hopeful and desperately young. This feels private, that Melissa could have been so young—something that shouldn't be content for the show—and you feel an impulse to duck the camera away, hide her secret. When you look at Melissa again, she’s watching you; there’s a glitter in her green eyes you can’t interpret: not hostile, and not the look she gets when she’s hustling someone, either. The gaze she’s giving you is strangely soft.

“Whaddaya think?” she says, to you, not to the camera.

You swallow. Nothing you say will make it to the final cut, but the editors will hear your answer, so you can’t tell her she’s beautiful in that picture. “I think I’m lucky you’re showing me this,” you say at last.

Her eyes move over your face. You feel it almost like a touch, intimate and slow, and you aren’t making it up: her gaze stops at your mouth and hovers there. She bites her lower lip before she lifts her wine glass again for another pull. “Maybe I like ya,” she says. “Maybe you’ll get luckier.”

You’re still blushing when you wrap for the night. You sit on your couch at home—you’re always insomniac after shooting at night, your brain and body still buzzing with the work—and put on Netflix on low volume and you don’t watch, just feel your cheeks still burning, thinking about her lipstick on her wine glass.

Of course, the whole crew knows the story by the next morning. When you turn up, Pedro, your best friend on the crew, says, “Look at you! Dark horse!” and it makes your face sear with heat all over again. He lowers his voice, leans in and nudges you. “C’mon, nothing in the contract about that. You deserve a little fun. Let your Italian mama take care of you.”

You cringe. “Please,” you say, “never say ‘Italian mama’ to me again. Okay?”

“Just sayin’,” he says, and leaves it alone.

Of course, it doesn’t leave you alone. You’ve learned the best way to sneak up on a conversation with Melissa and Barbara is to come at it around a corner, so you’re hovering down the kindergarten hall, camera on the two women, when you hear your name, making you stiffen.

“You said that?” Barbara’s voice is incredulous, sharp. “What did she say?”

“Nothin’, really,” Melissa says, “she was on the clock, y’know.” The smile starts in her voice before it grows on her face. It’s a Cheshire smirk bigger and deeper than you’ve ever seen. “She got all flustered. It was cute. You think she knows I was shootin’ my shot?”

“I think you could have ‘shot your shot’ with a little more dignity,” Barbara says crisply. “Like an adult does. Politely. Pleasantly.”

“Soberly,” Melissa says. “Listen, if it works, it works. I just gotta find out if it did, y’know. Work. She’s kinda shy.”

“I didn’t know you cared for that.”

"What, the quiet ones?"

You have to pull away. You're going to miss the rest of the conversation, but your face is burning again, your heart is pounding, and you're grappling with the reality that Melissa and Barbara are talking about you, that you're subject enough between them to be chatted about so casually, that all this footage is... God, are you ever going to live this down?

You'll go shoot some Janine and Gregory. That's always a crowd-pleaser; the audience loves the sweet tension between them, the way the space between their bodies turns tangible the longer their eye contact holds. You try not to think about Melissa's gaze on yours last night. You try to do your job.

That goes as well as you might expect. Fifteen minutes into some uninspiring quiz-grading ("oh, I never fail anyone," Janine says, "I just give 'em a different colored star—they like the gold ones best, so—") Pedro comes to find you.

"Hey, listen," he says, "I need you to come take care of your Calabrian chili pepper."

"What?"

"You know, your spicy linguini. Your Italian ma—"

"Stop." Your head whips toward Janine at her desk and then back to Pedro. The only thing you can think of to say, your heart thumping all over again, is "She's Sicilian, not Calabrian."

"She's giving us nothing. You got to come do her talking head. She keeps trying to square up to Kai and he doesn't wanna fight her."

"What makes you think she won't fight me?"

He gives you a look over his glasses.

The change in Melissa is instant when she sees you approach. Those folded arms, her squared shoulders, her broad, foot-planted stance—it all melts. She leans into the wall, her head tipping, one booted foot lifting for her toe to play in idle lines along the floor, and, yeah. Whether you picked her or not, this is your Sicilian chili pepper, and you swallow hard as you approach.

"Heya, hon," she says, "who's this clown they got me workin' with? Don't they know I only do this with the professionals?"

You mumble a little as Kai looks between the two of you, rolls his eyes, and backs off.

"We were talking about her Friday night plans," Pedro says. "It's school game night and she's not going."

"Yeah, the kids are too easy to hustle," she says, "it ain't even fun. What, do I look like I wanna spend all Friday winnin' their, I dunno, their Yu-Gi-Oh cards?"

Now's when Pedro should prompt her, ask a question. You glance at him; he nods his permission. "Not sure those are a thing anymore," you say.

"Their Pokemon cards," she says. "Whatever. Point is, it'd be like taking candy from a... Jacob."

You don't look at her; you focus on the camera. It's easier than holding her green gaze. "Is that where you draw the line?"

"Gotta draw it somewhere," she says.

You can't help it. Cautiously you look up, try to make your voice neutral: "So how are you going to spend Friday night?"

She lolls her head to one side and looks at you. She sticks her tongue into her cheek. "Prob'ly practicing tricks," she says.

"Tricks?"

"Yeah," she says. "With my magic wand."

You don't really remember the rest of the interview. You sure you babble some other questions, and she gives you some smirking answers, but your head is full of white noise and a singular image: Melissa Schemmenti with a vibrator between her legs.

You're sure other things happen that day. Pedro definitely ribs you some more, you and Kai go get lunch and he complains for a while, Gregory and Janine have one of their not-flirting conversations where he draws up a tightly-plotted itinerary for game night, trying to prove it's possible to run a children's event without delays (it all goes back to his father, of course), at some point you go home and numbly resume your post on the couch in front of your TV screen, trying to make sense of it all.

That picture won't leave your head. You think of the look she gave you that night at her house—intimate, caressing—and how she'd look deep in her pleasure, drunk eyes half-open, her face pink, her hair wild. Does she get naked when she touches herself? She seems too impatient—more like a jeans around her thighs kind of woman—but for a night she's planning ahead—a night she's set aside, just for her pleasure...

Your head drops back and you shut your eyes to see her more clearly. You can imagine the scattering of freckles over her shoulders and chest, the shift of her heavy breasts and the hard peaks of her pink nipples—how does she like to be touched there? Maybe she grabs one breast while she uses the vibrator, plays with a nipple, imagining the rough, confident hand of a lover. You can see the soft field of her belly, the abundance of her hips, her thighs, picturing her cunt, the head of the vibrator against her clit—she doesn't tease, can't tease herself, you imagine, not Melissa.

You can almost smell her sex, you think, until you realize it's yourself you're smelling. Your cunt throbs. You could shove a hand into your underwear now and just take care of it, but...

Your small toy collection lives in a box under your bed. It's nothing fancy, but you do have a small wand vibrator. You peel off your trousers and underwear and drop onto your bed, back against the pillows, holding the purple toy in one hand. Does Melissa have one this size? Or a big, classic one, the kind that could buzz your clit right off? You click the toy on and draw it up your thigh. As it nears the sensitive crease between your leg and your sex, your thigh twitches without meaning to, your clit aching, and you think, okay, no foreplay.

You can't help but wonder as you delve the thrumming head between your folds: does she know you're doing this? Was that the idea—plant herself in your head, grow over everything, including your common sense and your inhibitions, until your whole world flowers Melissa? Could she be doing the same—getting a head start on Friday's plans—thinking of you, right now? You're normally quiet when you do this, but that makes you groan aloud. Your clit pulses.

How does she do this, on a school night, like tonight? Back to the image of her with her trousers halfway down her legs, her hand and her toy crammed into the space between the fabric and her body. You can't help but see her in the outfit from today, that green, clinging top, the black blazer discarded somewhere, slacks caught just above her knees, her hair mussed and tangling against the pillows as she works the vibrator over her clit. No playing games for her, either; just getting the job done, hard and fast.

You come, watching her in your head, her name on your lips; you hope she comes tonight, too, thinking of you, of what she’s doing to you.

The next day, Janine, Gregory, and Jacob are in hushed conversation by the supply closet. You pick an angle from just inside the nearest classroom and train your camera on the slight crack of the open door and you can hear them, even though they think they’re being quiet—classic them.

“I don’t know, what do you think?” Janine is saying. “I think it’s kind of nice.”

“I think,” Gregory says, “it’s like…” He pauses, picking his words. “Like watching a dog shake a chew toy.”

“I think it’s very brave of Melissa,” says Jacob, and your heart drops into your stomach. “Considering the historical era in which she grew up and started her teaching career, being openly bisexual in the workplace must be a very—”

“Please don’t let her hear you call her ‘historical’,” Gregory interjects.

“It’s cute she has a crush on the camera lady,” Janine says. (“Cameraperson,” Jacob corrects.) “I just want it to turn out nice. You know, the vending machine guy didn’t work out, so. And now he doesn’t stock Gushers anymore.”

“Maybe she’ll be a little more relaxed,” Jacob says. “A little more… Open, fun—”

“She’s not going to start liking you because she’s dating somebody.” Gregory, with characteristic bluntness.

“One can hope,” Jacob says.

“The camera lady—person—is so quiet, though,” Janine muses. “Melissa is so intense.”

“Bet that’s what she likes,” Mr. Johnson says, making them all jump. He steps out from the supply closet; he’s holding a Teachers Without Borders coffee mug you know has to be Jacob’s. He takes a long, slurping sip, making sure everybody sees the logo on the cup. “Melissa gets a sweet little thang to take care of. Camera lady gets an Italian mama.” He says it eye-talian. (Where is everybody getting this phrase from?)

“Please don’t say ‘Italian mama’ again,” Gregory says, giving you a little flush of vindication.

“Why not?” Mr. Johnson says. “When I was on tour in Rome—”

That’s enough for you. You decide the rest of the conversation can go unrecorded. You check the time and it’s nearly lunch—thank God, because you don’t want to make eye contact with any of them for a while; you don’t know how to feel about them all talking about you. You know it’s not you, really, they care about. It’s Melissa, her caginess at odds with how boldly, openly she’s been flirting with you, an attraction so obvious even the younger teachers that she’d never confide in can see it.

Something light and effervescent swirls in your stomach, but there’s a leaden weight there, too. Nerves. And desire. You let Pedro know you’re taking lunch and leave your camera behind, finding Kai a block down, away from the school, hitting his vape. He passes it to you and you take a pull, letting candy-scented vapor out of your nose. You don’t really smoke anymore, but anybody would need a little comfort under these circumstances, you think.

“So what are you going to do?” he asks.

“What?” You didn’t know Kai cared about that. “I mean, I guess I’ll talk to her, maybe give her my number, then see—”

“For lunch.”

“Oh.”

You get hoagies together, eating them over a public trash can, standing up. Back at the school you scrub your hands clean in the bathroom and duck Pedro and your camera and you find your way down the second-grade hall to the classroom that's usually the noisiest. It's quiet now: the kids are at the library doing a reading circle with the librarian. Maybe it says something that you know their schedule.

She's in there, glasses low on her nose, working. You pause just on the threshold of the open door. You try to piece together everything you know about her, to make it all fit into the person you see, just a small woman with a love of pleather and a never-ending supply of high-heeled boots, a baseball bat taped under her desk (you've seen it), a guitar propped in one corner of the classroom (does she ever play?), how now she's focused and reading with scrupulous intensity, doubling back on a sentence from time to time, her manicured hand coming up to twitch away a lock of red hair.

You knock on the open door. You see her hand pass under the desk toward the bat before she realizes who's standing there. She cracks a grin, lifting her glasses up to the top of her head. Her eyes travel up and down your body in another look that feels like a touch.

"I was wonderin' when you'd stop by," she says.

You give a little hum. You cross the room to lean against a student's desk, just opposite hers.

"No camera?"

"No," you say, "I wanted it to be just us."

"Huh." She taps her pen on her paper a few times. "You here to let me down easy?" She lifts her chin. The look she gives you isn't intimate now: it's far-removed and challenging, like the gaze of a duelist across a plain. You've seen this before, the way she starts closing herself off, armoring up.

You shake your head. There's a shift in her expression, but the walls don't quite come down. "I guess I wanted to ask what you want."

"That ain't obvious?"

"I mean..." Your arms come up, folding over your chest. "You know, I was here last season, when you were dating that guy... Hulk Hogan."

It surprises a laugh out of her. "Yeah, Gary."

"You asked him out and it was... Different. I mean..." You can't think of how to say it. At last, you say, "Do you take me seriously?" No, that's not it. "I mean, are you just trying to hook up with me? Because, I..." You're starting to burn up again. You rub the back of your neck. "That's not the kind of... Listen, you're beautiful, and sexy, but that's not what it would—I mean, to me, it—"

"You're so cute when you're all shy," Melissa says, sounding equally mystified and amused. She stands. "Look... Maybe I did this all wrong." She circles the desk. "Kinda treated you like a piece of meat."

"Just a little bit," you say.

"I take you serious, hon." She doesn't cross the gap between you two, but mirrors your pose, leaning on the edge of her desk, arms crossed over her chest. "Look, Gare was a nice guy. But he didn't have, you know... He didn't make me wanna..."

You think of Gregory's metaphor. "Shake him like a chew toy?"

Another laugh. "Yeah, that. And I guess I felt... You know, I'd kinda uncorked the bottle, datin' him, when I thought all that part of my life was done, and when you were at my place the other night, you just looked so good, and I just wanted..."

You smile, eyes down. The cold uncertainty is trickling away and there's warmth pouring into the spaces it's left behind. "Okay," you say.

"Okay?"

When you look up, she's moved a little closer. You can smell her perfume again, warmed on her skin over the course of a long day. You've had the privilege of seeing her in detail, so many times: the fine, thin skin around her eyes, the creases at the corners of her mouth that forecast her smile, the tiny hint of gray growing in at her temples, the mellow warmth of her green gaze, the slope of her nose crooking slightly to her left. It's different with no lens between the two of you, when you're close enough to touch.

"Yeah, okay," she says to whatever she sees in your eyes. She lifts her chin and drops her gaze to your mouth. It's a clear request.

You answer it. You dip your head; there's a moment where your noses nearly bump, but you change your angle, catch her lips with yours. There's a tackiness from her lip gloss and an incredible softness underneath. The warmth of her almost shocks you, vivid past your imagining. Her hand pets at your jaw; you feel the other curl into the collar of your shirt. She pulls you closer by the fabric and you gasp.

You renew the kiss, lips sliding over hers. Your hand rubs down her lower back. You can feel the divot in her spine where it meets her pelvis, just above the generous curve of her ass. Before you can overthink it, your palm is gliding over that curve, your fingers digging into its lushness, Melissa gasping against your mouth as you squeeze.

"Oh," she says faintly when the kiss is over and you're catching your breath. "Huh." Her look is glazed and a little bewildered.

"I, um, I don't want to send mixed messages," you say, "but about Friday..."

"Friday?" she echoes.

"Yeah." You bite down on your smile, watching her try to remember what the hell you're talking about. "I was thinking... I know a few magic tricks of my own."

"Oh," she says again. You watch her eyes spark with understanding, her smile appear slowly, then all at once. "I guess you could come over and show me your stuff." Her hands tighten in your shirt and pull you back in for another kiss.

"Hey, gimme your phone," she says, much, much later, when you're wearing more of her lip gloss than she is. "I want to give ya my number." You don't think before you're unlocking it and passing it into her hands. She lowers her glasses from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose and thumbs her way around your phone, creating a contact for herself.

You have a flash of nerves—what if she opens your Instagram and sees all the stupid accounts you follow? A vision comes of her seeing all the dog-using-buttons-to-talk videos you've liked, her libido instantly withering... Then she's giving you back your phone and smirking at you, wiping at your lip with her thumb. "Might wanna stop in the bathroom before you get back to work, hon," she says.

When you leave her classroom, it's like floating; you've never felt so light. You stop in the bathroom and you wipe all the lip gloss off your smiling mouth. You catch yourself humming as you and Kai catch some footage of Ava pretending to organize game night, Gregory trying to involve himself, Janine admitting to a little competitive streak.

Your phone buzzes, chimes. "Sorry," you say to Janine and Pedro, who's leading the interview. You wait until you can lower the camera lens to check the notification. You always keep it silenced during the day—did Melissa turn the ringer on?

Italian Mama iMessage

Your face burns. You take a corner away from Pedro and unlock the phone.

Italian Mama You made me real happy

Your blush intensifies; something flutters in your chest. The phone vibrates in your hand as another message comes.

Italian Mama Don't know how I'm going to wait until Friday

The echo of your own thought in her words makes your heart flutter again. You bite your lower lip and type back, Me neither. An electric spark of daring moves you, makes you send her, Maybe I'll practice some magic just to make sure I'm on top of my game.

Is that too much? You hope not. You've basically made a sex appointment with her for Friday—sex appointment, you think, and wince at yourself, your own awkwardness; it's a date—and you don't—your breath hitches as three dots appear on your screen, showing that she's typing.

Italian Mama Oh yeah?

Italian Mama Better practice hard

You feel a pulse low in your belly. You're ready to type a little more flirtation when another message arrives and makes you gasp aloud, quickly clamping your hand over your mouth before Pedro or somebody else can hear you.

She's sent you a photo. It's herself pulling down the scoop neck of the hot pink blouse she's wearing today. You can see just the tip of her nose, her chin, the proud line of her soft neck, her freckled sternum, and, holy shit. She's showing you her breasts cradled in a bra made of black lace. And you stare. And you stare.

Italian Mama Little incentive for you

Your mouth is watering. You can see the rosy shadows of her nipples against the lace. You barely register yourself typing back, You're perfect.

Italian Mama Thought you'd like em

You're typing before you can stop yourself. All I'll be able to think about now is what I'm going to do to you.

Three dots appear, then disappear. Appear, then disappear. Your confidence wavers.

Italian Mama I want you to tell me

You've never imagined you'd be turned on in the halls of Abbott Elementary, but suddenly you're so aware of your cunt, you can't stand it. You're throbbing. You peer around the corner; Pedro isn't even looking your way, he's talking something over about the schedule with another producer. You have time. You glance up and down the hall; nobody except an aide going into a room at the far end.

Your fingers fly over the keys. If you stop to think, you'll psych yourself out, so you blurt out every thought, the iMessage equivalent of babbling—what you'd be doing in Melissa's ear if you could have her right now, in your arms, again...

You're so fucking sexy

I've thought about you so much

I touched myself thinking about you the other night

I'm going to kiss you until you go crazy and you're so turned on you can't take it

I'm going to undress you and I'm going to kiss every fucking inch of you

I'm going to play with you until you're begging

Do you like it rough or gentle?

Three dots.

Italian Mama Little of both

You're typing again in a flurry. You can feel your heart pounding, your breath coming in harder. You probably only have a couple minutes left to really make her feel it.

I'm going to be so gentle with you until you beg me to be rough

I want to bite you

Do you like being bitten?

Italian Mama Yeah

I know you do

On your neck, on your breasts

I'm going to bite your thighs before I eat you out

"Homie, you coming?" Pedro says, with the best and worst timing—and phrasing—he could possibly have.

"Yeah, one sec," you say, and you're proud of how your voice doesn't wobble at all. "Let me just send this. Sorry."

I have to get back to work

Italian Mama Fuck you

Italian Mama How am I supposed to teach like this

Italian Mama Come here and finish what you fuckin started

You laugh, breathless and surprised. You text her, YOU started it! If she hadn't sent you that picture... You scroll back up and look again. In the bit of her face you can see, she's smirking, because of course she is. The luscious curve of her breasts—you can almost feel them, what it would be like to drag your nose down between them, mouth at the soft skin...

Pedro's waiting. You send her a bunch of blowing-kiss emojis and put your phone away again. You're still buzzing with arousal, but you feel a strange satisfaction, knowing that Melissa is a few halls away, squirming behind her desk, thinking about all the promises you've made.

The day passes, somehow. It's a strange mixture of slow, syrupy boredom and electric, frenetic activity as more preparations are made for game night, and your phone periodically buzzes with another message from Melissa. Thankfully (for your pussy—you think it might fall off if it keeps aching like that), the two of you leave the subject of sex, and just talk.

She asks you your birthday, your favorite food. Where did you grow up? What's your favorite color? Each one makes you smile. You feel like you're on the receiving end of a Schemmenti interrogation, a mob boss with her goons behind her. You get her answers back in turn: July 19. (You respond in shock, You're a water sign??? and you can almost hear her voice when she dryly responds, I got no clue what that means, hon.) Pasta con sarde. Grew up here in South. Pink.

Your heart flutters with every new thing you learn. Even though you go home (and rub one out) alone, she's a presence with you, not just in your fantasies; you find you're texting her until you fall asleep, phone sliding out of your hand onto the bedspread. And when you wake up the next day, preceding your alarm by a bit, you find a text from her waiting for you, just a few minutes ago: Good morning, baby.

You levitate all the way through Thursday. You spot Melissa a few times that day, but it's a packed day for her two classes, so mostly it's in the hall as she marches lines of students to and fro. She gets you back for yesterday, though: pauses in the doorway of her classroom as she's filing the kids in after lunch, and gives you an up-and-down look of such searing intensity that your body heats, scalp to toes. She smirks before she vanishes into her room.

She makes you crazy. God, she's incredible. You're texting her every chance you both can get, though she's sparser while she's with the kids; it's all light stuff. Get lunch here today, she tells you, Shanae made beef patties, and when Shanae slips you a couple of golden-crusted pastries, you bite into them, smelling warm, floral curry, savory beef on your tongue, and think of how Melissa it is, feeding you from a distance.

That afternoon, just after dismissal, she calls, "Hey," to you from her classroom door. You try not to jump to attention. "I gotta do a lot of work," she says, playing with the strap of her Apple Watch, "or I'd ask you over, but..." Strangely, her eyes drop. It's a hint of shyness and it makes your heart patter, tenderness and affection for her pouring into your chest. "I was thinkin', why don't we go out and get, like, food or a drink or somethin' tomorrow? You know, before you come over."

"Okay," you say. Her eyes flick up and as soon as she sees your goofy grin, her shyness melts away, turns back into the smirking self-assuredness you're more familiar with.

"You pick the place," she says, knocking the wind out of you at once.

Oh, crap. You remember what it was like with her and Gary: he tried to take her to a shitty spot for their first date, and she flicked him away from her like a bug. She's challenging you, you think, asking to be impressed.

You can do that. Dark horse, right? "Okay," you repeat. "I'll pick."

She leans back against the doorframe. All at once she's in that lolling, casual, flirtatious posture that she assumes for you and only you, her face tilted up, gaze intimate and a little sly. "You headin' out? I get a goodbye kiss, or what?"

"Okay," you say a third time, and you can barely kiss her, you're smiling so widely. You take your fill of her, in every sense, one more time before you leave for the day, nerves and excitement and that thread of arousal all tangling together, like a knot of live wires.

You're texting her later, because of course you're texting her later. Do you want it to be a surprise?

Italian Mama I dunno

Italian Mama Surprises never seem to work out for me

That gives you a little twinge. You find yourself running the tip of your finger up and down the side of your phone, the way you'd touch her hand or her cheek, if you could. How about just this one? you ask. And if you hate it, I'll never surprise you again?

You wish you could see her face. It would help you know if she's resigned or wary or scared. You don't want her to be antsy or nervous going into tomorrow; you want her to feel like she makes you feel: like you've got balloons and not bones, like a wind could catch you and carry you off, you're so light and so happy.

Italian Mama Ok

Italian Mama I'm gonna trust ya

It makes your heart do its now-familiar flutter in your chest. It's like there's a bird in there, some delicate fledgling thing eager to start flying. It wants to soar, holding its precious cargo: Melissa Schemmenti's trust.

The next day. Friday. Friday. Somehow, the school day rockets past you. Game night preparations have gone disastrously, and it's time for a patented Ava save, with the help of Janine and Gregory.

"Wow, who could've guessed," Kai mutters to you, and fidgets in the pocket you know holds his vape.

Your hand fidgets in your own pocket, around your phone. You and Mel exchanged good morning texts, a few kiss emojis, promises to meet up before dismissal to solidify your plans, but you haven't had a chance to see her at all.

"I don't know," you say, "I think they'll get it figured out."

"I think she's probably going to use it to mine Bitcoin somehow," Kai says.

Honestly, that sounds plausible. You shake your head anyway and make an excuse and scoot past Pedro. He's not encouraging Ava to stream game night live on Instagram, per se, but everybody knows that will guarantee some Coleman-style silliness, so he needs to get her there somehow. (Can you mine Bitcoin through Instagram?)

You don't need to send any directions to your feet; they're already walking you toward the second grade classrooms. Mel doesn't have lunchroom duty today, so you know she'll probably be catching up on two classes' worth of quizzes, or restocking art supplies, or prepping the next lesson's props and tools. Her door is shut and you peek in through the window.

She's writing on the whiteboard, looking back and forth from a worksheet in her hand, glasses on her nose. You knock. When she sees you, the narrow-eyed look of interrupted concentration melts away; she gives you a smile that shows her teeth, the kind that changes her whole face, turning her girlish, almost a little goofy. It makes your heart melt.

You open the door. "Hey," you say as she puts her glasses on top of her head and caps the marker. Being in the room with her, after not seeing her all morning, feels like coming out of the cold to a blazing fire. "Uh, hi. You look beautiful today." Then, for the third time, stupidly, adoringly, "Hi."

"You missed me, huh?" she says, putting down the marker and paper. "C'mere."

As soon as you're in grabbing distance, she takes two handfuls of your ass and pulls you in for a kiss. You're lost in it for long, long seconds.

She pulls back after giving your lower lip a bite that makes you squeak. She tucks her hands squarely in the back pockets of your jeans, holding you against her. "You look beautiful today too."

"Thanks," you say, barely registering the compliment, the way you're chasing more contact, kissing the corner of her mouth, nosing at her cheek. She's so warm in your arms. She's wearing one of her tough-girl outfits, a blazer and matching top in military green, and you sneak your hand under the jacket, finding a little stripe of bare skin between her shirt and her slacks. You touch her there with a teasing trace of your fingernail.

She shivers. Is she sensitive on her lower back? You file it away to investigate later tonight. The thought of being able to have her all to yourself tonight—hours and hours—sends sparks skipping through you. You have to kiss her again.

"You think it's unprofessional, doin' this at work?" Mel asks you breathlessly when you part again.

"I don't know," you say, "but whatever Gregory and Janine have been doing is worse, kind of."

"Yeah, that's for sure," Melissa says, and gives you a third kiss; this time, the delicate muscle of her tongue laps at you, little frissons of heat that go right between your legs.

"I came to talk about dinner," you say at last, when you think you can survive without kissing her.

"Oh, yeah," Mel says, "right. What am I wearin'?"

"Uh..." You hadn't considered it. You're just going in your usual date outfit—a button-up, a nice pair of trousers. "Business casual?"

"Okay, easy. Do I get a hint where we're goin'?" One eyebrow goes up. Her gaze acquires a competitive glint, one you've seen a hundred times through your camera. "I bet I can guess it."

"Here's your hint," you say, "it's not Italian."

"Smart cookie," Melissa says, which leads you both into another kiss, and then another. "It ain't a sandwich shop, is it?"

"No," you say, "I can't beat cousin Rocco."

"Soul food," she says.

"No. I'll come pick you up, is that okay?"

"Yeah, come, like, at five. I gotta change and do my face and stuff." She leans back, giving you a squint-eyed look of scrutiny. "Tell me it ain't French."

"It ain't," you promise, and seal it with a kiss. "I have to go. I'm pretending to be in the bathroom."

"Oh, shit," she says, eyes going wide, "we gotta catch up on this freakin' math unit and I forgot, I haven't peed in, like—"

"Go, go," you say with a laugh, letting her extract her hands from your pockets.

When you return, Kai narrows his eyes at you. You shrug at him and you're ready to get back to work, when he reaches across and plucks something off your shoulder: a single red hair. Crap.

"Damn," he says. "Dark horse."

"What's up?" Pedro glances over at you two. Fuck, you don't know if you can take his teasing today—you know he'll want all the details, and you love him, but you want to just get through work and get to Melissa...

"Nothing," Kai says, and drops the hair. He gives you a nod.

You nod back, warmth and gratitude making you smile. He doesn't smile back—you don't think you've ever seen him smile, actually—but you think you see the corner of his mouth curve up, just a little, as he peers into his camera.

Dismissal, a quick goodbye kiss with Melissa, home to get ready. You're normally an all-black kind of girl—it's just easy—but you pause in your closet and find a pink button-up. It's a mellow, soft shade, the same color as a silky blouse you've seen Melissa wear.

You put on your cologne, you style your hair. You look at yourself in the mirror. It’s funny: this is the same face you’ve always had, but three days of Melissa have done something to you. Your eyes look larger, softer; there’s a smile on your lips, small but persistent, that’s been there all day.

You haven’t always been lucky with women. You have love in your heart—God, a lot of it. Sometimes it feels like the water of an ancient lake, going down almost infinitely deep, and yet somehow about to overflow. You spent years going around offering it to anyone who would take it, and once they’d drunk their fill, they just moved on, satisfied, never giving a thought to you, never thinking you might want something back, even just gratitude.

So you pulled away. You just hurt too easily: keep them at arm’s length, never close enough to bruise. The quiet one, the shy one; that’s who you became over time, knowing that if you gave out of your abundance, you’d only be depleted. No one’s ever filled your cup.

You find yourself chewing your lip, staring at yourself. You want this to be different. You want this to be something else. Can it be?

You park your car in front of Melissa’s and find yourself wondering: text, or knock? You’re starting to get out of the car when the front door opens, and a rush of surprise and pleasure comes at the thought of Melissa waiting, watching for you. Then your breath catches hard in your throat.

She’s wearing a little red dress that… “Wow,” you say, before she’s even close enough to hear. The square neck of the dress is cut lower than her usual wear, and shows an abundance of skin that makes your mouth water. There’s a princessy quality to the cap sleeves, a delicate detail that’s perfect for Melissa: blazing, challenging red, with a hint of sweetness. The hem stops just above her knees. The fabric shows her body in intimate detail, the delicate rounding of her stomach and the flare of her hips, straining across the perfect shape of her thighs.

Her hair is down. Even late in the day it has a bit of curl. Her green eyes are like gemstones in the early evening light. Her heels have got to be four inches, but she walks with the steadiness of a queen. She’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.

You circle the car to get the passenger side door. “Hey,” she says, surprised, coming closer, “it’s pink,” and touches your sleeve. It’s not even contact with your skin, barely contact, period, but it sends tingles up and down your arm. “That’s my favorite color.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say, grinning like a fool.

Her eyes drop—that hint of shyness again, that tenderness that makes your heart strain against your chest, trying to reach her—before they flick back up. “How do I look?”

“I could look at you for hours,” you tell her honestly.

"I'd kiss ya, but you'd mess up my face," she says. "Here, you get one." She turns and offers her cheek.

You're smiling as you lean down to kiss the offered skin. She's soft and warm, and you get the powdery scent of her makeup, the richness of her perfume.

"Now, c'mon, feed me," she says, and you laugh and open her door.

You drive. She's exactly the kind of passenger you expected: "Hey, check it," every time she sees a car nosing out past a stop sign, or "On your left," when you're trying to merge. "Hey," she barks when somebody cuts you off, a gesticulating, accusatory hand in the air, "cazzo, you wanna watch where you're fuckin' going?"

Melissa. Abrasive, loud, bossy, and you don't feel bulldozed at all. You feel charmed. The smile won't leave your face. You don't know if she could be more herself than right now, in your ancient Volvo, wearing the sexiest outfit you've ever seen on her, looking simultaneously bold and delicate and delicious, and hollering out the window like an angry truck driver.

She's checking her phone as you pull up outside the restaurant, and doesn't look up again until you're opening her door. "Oh," she says, surprised, looking at the place: it's a red brick building, no sign; just a single hanging red lantern beside a white door. You can see her trying to puzzle it out, glancing at you and back to the door.

"It's a bar," you explain. You open the door to your favorite izakaya. Low, golden light and warmth spill out with the Jrock playing over the speaker system.

Melissa cocks her head and looks at you curiously. You only notice that her hand's in her clutch purse when she draws it out again; you hear the rattle of her keys dropping back to the bottom. "Thought you might'a been about to take my other kidney," she says. "I was gonna fight ya."

You blink. It's one of those Melissa-isms, delivered in her dry voice, that you think might be a joke, but it might not be, either. "I wouldn't win if you did."

"You sure as hell wouldn't, baby," she says, and lets you hold the door for her as she steps inside.

You love this place. It feels a bit like your first apartment after you left home, a lot of exposed brick, shoddy white paneling creating an accent wall, and decor that's a little vintage, a little silly: a big, ornate mirror that might have once decorated a cheap theater, brass sconces for lights, Gojira posters in the style of classic ukiyo-e. There's booths on one side of the room and a mirrored bar on the other, with a wall of sake and Japanese whisky.

The hostess recognizes you, waves hi, gestures toward the room for you to seat yourself. It won't start filling up until a little later, so you have your pick of the booths; you take the side that puts your back to the door, letting Melissa have the sightline to the exit.

The low light flatters her. Any light flatters her, but there's something about the dim, intimate, golden warmth of it that makes you stare as she studies the menus, first the drinks, then the food; her eyelashes cast delicate shadows on her cheek, the curve of her lips carving lines there.

She looks up and catches you. The thoughtful twist of her mouth turns into a smirk. The question, though, isn't what you were expecting. "What made you pick here?"

Huh. "I..." You rub the back of your neck, dropping your gaze. "I really like it." That's a start, but not all of it. "I thought you might not have this kind of food all the time. I never see you eating it and I wanted you to have a nice change. And..."

"I come here alone a lot." You shrug. "I have... Good memories here." They are good memories: people-watching, trying new drinks and food, chats with the bartenders, a karaoke night where you fell in with a group of laughing, drunk women who all worked at the same office, who tried to persuade you to bar-hop with them until last call.

But it's always been you, alone; sometimes folded in with somebody else out of goodwill, sometimes noticed for your familiar face and your generous tips, spared a few more minutes of a busy mixologist's time, but always a separation, a glass wall between you and the rest of the room. No one's been on this side of it with you before.

"I wanted you to have a good memory," you say, finally. "I wanted to share it with you."

You glance at Melissa. She's watching you with a look you recognize. It's the one she gave you that night at her house—just earlier this week, but it feels like a lifetime ago. It's tender and intent. It's encouraging. Like she's watching a flower bloom.

"It's already a good memory for me, hon," Melissa says. Something nudges your ankle. It's her foot in its killer heel, gently insinuating between both of yours. You feel her knee against yours, your calves aligned together. She smiles at you. "We're here together."

Your heart does one of its aerial flips.

"You sure get shy for somebody who was talkin' about suckin' my tits before, though," she says.

You choke on nothing. Your face and ears burn. She laughs, her head dropping back, the light glinting on her saints' medals.

"Biting," you squeak, when you can get air. "We were talking about biting."

"Biting," she says, "right. How come you can say all that to me but you're nervous tellin' me you like a bar?"

It's not a bad question. You trace the grain of the wooden tabletop for a second or two, eyes down. "I'm used to giving other people what they like," you say. "I don't mean—it's not that I was lying or faking. No way. I meant it, I mean it, everything I say to you. So much, Melissa." You dart a look up to make sure she understands. "I mean, it's easy for me... For other people, I can express..."

Her hand finds yours on the table and stills it. Her manicured finger gently swipes along the curve below your thumb, down to the sensitive inner skin of your wrist, and traces slowly there, back and forth. She's giving you that look again, gentle and focused and intimate. "I get it," she says simply.

A rush of relief fills you, settling the rattle of your anxious nerves. You turn your hand over and hers settles into yours.

The server appears for your drink orders. You order the house sake, and Melissa says, "Yeah, me too." With your small glasses of sake, the two of you pore over the menu, picking a few things Melissa knows, a few things she's never had before.

The first few plates come out: shumai, hamachi, a bowl of spicy pickle. She gets pieces of toro, unagi, and salmon, and you get a roll and a plate of chashu buns. She gives those a look of pure lust.

"Take one," you say, and push the plate toward her.

She doesn't hesitate. At her first bite, she lets out a guttural moan that goes right between your thighs. You're suddenly much more aware of her ankle still caught between both of your own.

"You think I could get this recipe?" she says of the chashu after the bun has vanished.

"I think you can get whatever you want." Especially from you, especially if she keeps making those noises.

"I sure can," she says with a flirtatious bat of her eyelashes.

You've seen Melissa eat before, scraping the last bite of salad out of a tupperware or sipping from a Stanley Tucci mug, but it's different like this, sharing a meal. You love watching her small, plump hands with her chopsticks, her drinks; you love her expressive eyes, the way they widen or flutter shut at a perfect bite. Everything she tries she makes you try—insistent, "Here, you taste," like you're not the one who's had the whole menu before, and you oblige, trying to taste it for the first time, like her, letting each one blossom over your tongue, letting yourself fall under her spell.

The bar is packed by the time you're through and she's nibbled her way through a couple of frozen mochi. "We gotta come back here," she declares as the two of you leave, hand in hand. "I wanna try more. You got good taste."

"Yeah, I do," you say, looking at her. It's full dark now, but the streetlights and the moon illuminate her, outlining her red hair in silver, the shape of her hips.

"You gonna take me home now?" she says. She moves closer. "You made a lotta promises, you know."

"I know." Your hands settle on her hips. She tilts her head up; you catch her lips, tasting the plum wine you two shared. It's your first real kiss of the night, and she's mellow, soft, delicious. Still, you tell her, "We don't have to, tonight. I want to, but I don't want you to think..."

"I know," she says, and gives you another kiss. "If I thought you were buyin' dinner to make me put out, I would'a had way more food." Another kiss. "Come on, let's go. Or maybe you don't wanna get lucky?"

You drive back to Melissa's place, her hand on your thigh the whole way. Back over the welcome mat that reads GO AWAY, into the picture-lined place where it all started over a glass of wine.

Melissa takes your coat and her own and gives you her back, hanging them up in a closet by the front door. "I can get you another drink," she's saying, but all you can see is the back of her dress: the silver line of the zipper running from collar to hem, almost invisible.

You move closer and she stiffens when she feels you there, your chest to her back. You gather her hair, move it aside. Above the collar of the dress you can see the line of her nape and the muscle where her neck and her shoulder join. You lean down and kiss it.

Breathing in, you can smell her perfume again, her makeup again. Now, her skin. It's a scent you couldn't begin to describe, something living and animal and sensuous. And her hair: warm, intimate, a little bit of hairspray. You kiss the side of her neck.

"You have no idea," you say quietly. You nose against the shell of her ear. Its soft cartilage is cold from the night air outside, but warming quickly, flushing pink as you kiss it. "You have no idea how gorgeous you are. You don't know what you've been doing to me."

You lift your hands and find the tongue of the zipper. Her breath hitches. You slowly draw it down. The rasp of it is loud between your bodies.

The band of her bra. Red lace. Down her back to the luscious curvature of her hips. You're holding your breath. Her panties are red lace, too, a high-waisted thong that hugs her belly and hips but, oh, fuck: leaves her ass almost totally fucking bare. Of course, in that clinging dress. Couldn't risk panty lines.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you say, and slide the dress fully off her body. It's a puddle of red fabric on the floor. You push her chest-first against the closet door and drop to your knees.

"Oh my God," she says weakly as you hold her hips and kiss your way up the back of one thigh, then the other. The flesh here is dimpled with cellulite, a mark of her perfect abundance. You nose over the curve of her ass and bite one cheek and she squeaks and gives a weak, "Huh," afterward, like she'd surprised herself, and you bite the other cheek and her hips rock back into you.

She's still in her heels. You're starting to smell her sex. You think about having her bend over and put her hands against the door and let you eat her from behind until her knees shake and give out. Fuck, you want to, but you've been making promises; you have plans.

You straighten back up, brushing kisses up the line of her spine. "I want to see your bedroom."

"Fuck," she says dizzily. "Okay. Uh..." She starts to step away from the closet door and for the first time all night, she wobbles in her heels. She gives a little growl of frustration that's so Melissa you can't help but laugh, making her glower your way as she toes out of the shoes.

She leads you up to her bedroom. The big bed is made, but there are plenty of signs of life: the vanity against one wall, scattered with makeup; the bedside table with a dog-eared book and a pair of her glasses; there's a bra tossed over the cracked closet door.

She turns to face you, unself-conscious, and grabs you for another kiss, deep, dirty, her tongue licking into your mouth. "Can't believe you wore my favorite color," she says breathlessly, and starts fumbling with the buttons of your shirt. "God, you look so hot."

Your shirt's halfway open when you get your mouth on her neck. She groans, hands loosening on the fabric. Soft, right along the line of her jaw, under her chin, down her throat where you feel a moan vibrate through the skin. "Harder," she says.

You stay soft. The hollow of her throat, her clavicle. You nose one strap of her bra. She whines, "Harder," and grips your hair.

"I told you," you say. "I'm going to make you beg." She gasps. Your cunt pulses. You wonder if the same thing happened in her classroom that day, if she sat at her desk squirming, little hitches of her breath betraying her.

You squeeze her ass and she sways into you. Your hands shape her hips, up her sides, over her back, feeling the landscape of it, the valley of her spine. You trace the band of her bra. It's so pretty, you almost don't want to take it off.

"Where's your vibrator?" you ask.

"Huh?"

"Your vibrator," you patiently repeat, and lean back. You see in her eyes when it clicks. She leans away from you toward the nightstand, pulling open the top drawer. Inside, there's a pack of melatonin gummies, a lavender and chamomile room spray, a mini bottle of Jack Daniels, and a hot pink wand vibrator. Her sleep aid drawer, you realize.

You pick up the toy. It has a good weight, and the silicone is almost as soft as her skin. You find the power button, click it on, and cycle with a few presses through the three strength settings. You settle back on the first one and test it against the inside of your wrist, feeling the rumble against the sensitive skin there.

You look up again and Melissa's sitting on the edge of the bed. She's breathing hard, staring at you, and she's blushing.

"Lay back against the pillows for me, baby."

She scoots back, gives you a challenging look, and spreads her legs. You can really smell her, a thick, rich, saline scent that makes your mouth water. The drawer's still open and you spot a small bottle of lube; you take it out just in case, then slide the drawer shut.

"You gonna get naked?" she says as you join her on the bed.

"Not yet," you say and kiss her again. And again. The vibrator sits on the mattress, turned off, and you want to make her forget it's there. You take your time, licking at the serrated edge of her teeth, sucking on her lower lip until she's whimpering.

You couldn't have imagined that sound coming from Melissa Schemmenti. You chase it, have to have it again. Her lipstick is smeared, almost gone. She keeps tugging on your hair as you kiss her, starting to squirm beneath you, saying things like "More," and "Harder," but not please—not yet.

She slides down against the pillows, laying herself more fully under your body, and the motion makes the vibrator roll down the mattress to bump her side. Her breath speeds up all over again, and her eyes flick from it to you.

You pick up the toy and click it on. "Keep your legs spread."

"Oh, fuck yes," Melissa says, then whines aloud when you touch the vibrator not to her clothed pussy, but to the inner crease of her thigh. "Fuck, c'mon."

"C'mon, what?" You trail the vibrator up the inside of her thigh, toward her knee, and back down again.

"You know—" her breath stutters when you switch legs. "You know what I want."

"And you know what I want."

That makes her moan. Her head drops back, her chest heaving. You lean down to kiss her sternum, to finally nose against one perfect breast, the way you've hungered for it since that photo. The lace of her bra scratches your cheek. You can feel her nipple through the cup, taut against the fabric. You bring the vibrator up and tease its rumbling head over that peak, making her shudder, then replace it with your mouth, letting her feel the heat and wet, just barely, still separated from you by her bra.

"God, fuck," she says, "fuck you," and you switch breasts, teasing her other nipple to aching stiffness. You nuzzle the skin that her bra offers up, the plump perfect roundness of her breast, part your lips, drag your teeth over it. She's so soft here, so much, and it's perfect. Your hand drops with the vibrator and you trace it over her hip toward her sex, making her squirm, as you busy yourself with soft bites and sucks.

You change your angle a little, propping a hand against the pillows so you can lean over her. Your body casts a shadow and her green eyes look up at you from beneath it, somehow both pleading and mutinous. You idle the vibrator back up along the waistband of her underwear and then slowly down toward her cunt, playing it over the plumpness of her mons.

"Fuck," she says, "fucking fuck you, okay, please," and you smile. "Please, I said please, will you fucking please—"

You bring the wand down over her pussy. Her head rolls back and she groans, starting to squirm. "Pull down your bra for me," you say.

"What?" Her voice, face, are foggy and vague, but after a few seconds she understands, lifting her hands to tug down the bra's cups, showing you her perfect breasts. They're begging for your mouth, and you promised her you'd give her what she wanted when she begged, didn't you?

You drop your head. Kiss over one breast, then the other. Mouth at the flesh—so fucking soft, so good against your lips, sucked into the wetness of your mouth. The tops of her breasts have a small scattering of freckles that you have to dust in turn with adoring kisses. Her hard nipple brushes your cheek and you draw it past your lips as you trace the wand vibrator up and down, from her clit to the entrance of her cunt, back again, never letting it linger.

You switch to her other nipple, leaving her breast damp and reddened from your mouth. Her head tosses back and forth against the pillows as she whines, squirms, moans, says, "Fuck," and, voice breaking a little, "You're still fuckin' teasin' me—please, please, I said it, please—"

The words, her need, are electricity surging straight to your aching clit. Your voice is a rasp to match her own when you lift your head and breathe in her ear, "You sound so good like this, Melissa." She gives a broken whimper. "You're so perfect. I'll give you more. I promise. I'll take care of you. Take your panties off for me, sweetheart."

With a grateful sob she lifts her hips and shoves her underwear down her thighs, no further. You flash on that fantasy you had of her, getting off after a school day, slacks and panties around her knees as she fucked herself. Looks like you were right.

"You might need," she starts to say, but you're already reaching across to pick up the bottle of lube. You click off the vibrator and let her watch you drip the lube over your fingers, slicking them up. She's panting harder and harder just watching you.

With your other hand freed from the vibrator, you can pull the thong all the way off her legs, leaning back on your knees to do it. You push one thigh then the other wide apart. Her pussy is plump and gorgeous, red and swollen, her own wetness gleaming from between her spread labia. You add to it: the softest touch of your fingertips against her sex, trailing up and around the peak of her clit, not touching it directly.

She makes a noise you can barely describe, a groan of misery and arousal and desperation. Sliding your fingers back down toward the heat of her cunt, slipping one slowly inside, watching her as you do it. Her eyelashes flutter, her lips parting. Once you're sure she's wet enough, you add a second finger. The lube and her own gathering wetness makes a slick, dirty sound as you begin to stroke inside her, all delicacy, all torment.

"Oh, fuck," she says, "don't stop, Jesus Christ, please, don't stop, I need it, I, I..." Now she's babbling, the way she's made you do, one hand fisted in the bed covers, the other grabbing your wrist. "I need it so bad, I need you to fuck me, I've been waitin', please..."

"You've been waiting?" It occurs to you that this version of Melissa, already begging, might be willing to tell you some embarrassing truths. "How long?"

"Since we met," she gasps. "Since—oh, fuck..."

Since you met? That was the very first day of shooting—getting all the establishing shots, the very first moments and interviews. She intimidated you—her and Barbara both did—but Barbara, at least, gave a little, showed a bit of herself to the camera. You remember how Melissa was, arms folded over her chest, cool and hostile with Pedro as he tried to coax her out, get her to introduce herself.

Her eyes had moved from him to you, looking past the camera. "You Sicilian?" she'd asked you. She smiled at you that day and it transformed her sullen, cagey face, turned her, however momentarily, sweet. "Italian?" she'd continued, then her eyes darted from you to Pedro, over to the boom mic guy, trying to get a read on all of you. "You from South?" Her smile vanished. Her voice tightened up again: "Okay, you guys workin' with the cops? 'Cause you gotta tell me."

You reward her for the honesty with a press of your palm against her clit. Her hips jerk up. "I remember that day."

Her head drops back again, her eyes squeezing shut. The words leave her in a breathless rush: "You were so cute'n I hated the cameras but whenever you were there I would just—and you were always so, you were gentle, and—I always knew when you were lookin' at me—"

"I was looking at you every chance I got." You watch her face as you begin to ease a third finger inside her. This one has to burn a little; you can feel her body, resistant at first, starting to stretch to take it, and you don't push; you wait to see her eyes open again, their needy, yielding look. She lets go of the covers to grab one leg under her knee and pull it wider apart to help you. You add a little more lube, just in case, not wanting to hurt her.

"I was always looking at you, Melissa." She stares up at you. There's a crease between her brows, her swollen lips parted; she looks stunned, overwhelmed, face pink, as you slide that third finger inside her.

"I was always looking at you," you repeat, and begin to gently fuck her. Her cunt opens for you and desperately clenches against your fingers, grasping and irregular, trying to keep you. "You're so beautiful. I always wanted you. I thought you were the sexiest, meanest—" that surprises a panting laugh from her—"woman I'd ever seen. You were so smart, so funny—you protected everyone, and you took care of everybody—" her eyes squeeze shut. "Let me take care of you now."

You reach over and pick up the vibrator. You click it on. Her eyes open again at the sound of its buzz. You press the button again, then a third time, bringing it to its strongest setting. Melissa's eyes are huge. She's panting, staring, knowing what you're about to do, and the look of vulnerability and desire on her face, her smeared lipstick, her messy hair, she's perfect, so perfect, and you need to make her come now.

"I need it," you tell her, holding her gaze. "I need it. Let me feel it, Melissa." You bring the vibrator to her swollen, begging clit.

A moment of nothing but her breath caught in her chest and her wide-eyed gaze on yours. Her pussy clamps down around your fingers and you feel the ripples of her orgasm start before she drops her head back and gives a wounded, animal cry.

You chase the waves of her climax, fucking her through them, coaxing them toward you; you rub the head of the vibrator along her slippery clit. Her head tosses back and forth on the pillow like it's too much, but her hand still grasps your wrist, keeping you right where you are, and her hips are working, riding your fingers.

"I can't," she starts saying when she can heave a breath back into her lungs, "I can't, I can't, oh, please—" you click the vibrator off and throw it aside; it nearly rolls off the mattress. You spread the lips of her pussy wide and you lean down and bite one shaking thigh, then the other, then seal your lips over her swollen, tender clit.

Fuck the vibrator: this is your new favorite toy. You play with it and play with it and Melissa comes again, or keeps coming, you're not sure which. One leg goes over your shoulder and her hips twitch and writhe until you have to hold her down.

"Oh my G—oh my God, oh, baby," then, just chanting over and over again, like you could ever tell her no again, like you can deny her anything in the world: "Please, please, please..."

Anything she wants. The whole fucking world, if it were yours to give. You suck and lick at her cunt as her hands find your hair and yank.

How long can she go for? How many times can you make her come? You want to know. You want to fuck her until she faints. But that's not for tonight—not without planning, not without her consent—so when she starts making airy noises that are weak and almost pained, you ease off, slowing your mouth and fingers, letting her come down.

You rub her hips and thighs and her soft belly, and give light kisses to the mound of her pubis. She stops pulling on your hair, grip going slack at first; then, as she comes back into herself by slow degrees, she scratches her nails gently against your scalp.

Kisses for her stomach, her ribs. "Here, baby," you whisper, and reach under her body; she lifts up so you can unhook her bra, sticky fingers brushing her skin. You ease it off and drop it to wherever her panties went. She's nude under you now, flushed all over, body loose and relaxed against the mattress; you pet every inch of her you can reach.

You cup her cheek. Her head turns into the contact. There's sweat gleaming along her hairline and her upper lip. Her eyes, mascara and liner blurred, open to meet yours; her gaze is bleary at first, then sharpens.

You expect another fuck-you, or a joke, or even a "thanks, I needed that," but what she says is, "Now you sit on my face."

Your mind whites out. It's possible you forget the English language for a second or two. When you're back from wherever your soul departed to, she's pulling on the buttons of your shirt, brow knit and wearing an impatient little scowl, yanking the last ones open. "What?" you say weakly.

"I said," Melissa says, fully herself again, no longer the begging, needy, squirming creature of minutes ago, "now you sit on my face. C'mon. Get this off." She grabs the buckle of your belt and works the tongue out of it with a metallic clink.

"I," you say, "I," and she drags your trousers down your legs. You have to lean back off her to get them and your underwear all the way off. Your shirt still hangs open, showing your bra, your bare stomach. She leans up to kiss your sternum with an open mouth, tongue flickering hot against your skin.

"I told you," she growls against your neck, "to sit on my fuckin' face," and there's no more of anything in your world but her, you scrambling up onto your knees, spread wide, her sliding down the bed to get under your cunt.

You falter for a moment; she grabs your hips and yanks you down. There's no playing, no teasing. She drags the flat of her tongue up the folds of your pussy and takes your clit into her mouth and sucks. Her green eyes are open and staring up at you and you see your own dazed pleasure reflected in them.

It takes about five embarrassing seconds before you come in her mouth. She moans loudly against you and tries to hold you where you are, but your legs are shaking badly; imagine if you broke her nose the first night, God—you lift one knee so you can get off of her and drop onto your back.

She follows you. Clambers on top of you intently but unsteadily, still wobbling from her own orgasms, and kisses sloppily down your stomach to get back to your pussy.

"Melissa—" you're gasping, and she's putting her tongue inside you, angling her head to get it in as far as she can. She licks, sucks, wraps her arms around your hips and holds you against her as you try to buck away. The wet noises of her mouth against your cunt are obscene.

You come again, and maybe one more time, you're not sure; your mind blanks again. When you can think, feel, process again, she's giving little kitten licks to your sensitive sex that send shudders up your whole body.

"Okay," you say. Your throat hurts a little—how much noise were you making? You clear it. "Okay. You win." You tap out on the mattress like a boxer. She's wearing a look of supreme satisfaction as she lets you go, her face covered in slick wetness, her makeup a disaster, her hair a messy tangle. She's so beautiful. Your heart does a now-familiar backflip.

She crawls up your body and flops onto her side next to you, curling onto your chest. There's long minutes of just you two breathing, the sound filling the room, a tingling starting in your pussy that you know is the herald of after-sex soreness, her damp fingertips tracing idly on your skin.

You start to smooth out her hair. It'll take a shower and a comb to really fix—maybe you'll suggest it. You trail your fingers down and follow the freckled curve of her shoulder, the roll of flesh on her side along her ribs, the dip of her waist before it opens onto the perfect field of her hips and ass.

Her eyes flick up to yours. They're softer and happier than you've ever seen them; the look on her face is gentle and content. You bring your questing hand up to cup her cheek. She kisses your thumb.

"I'm hungry again," she declares.

A laugh bursts out of you, full of affection. "What?" she says, clearly about to be offended, but before she can go any further, you pull her fully into your arms, wrap around her and squeeze.

You press your face into her neck and inhale, smelling her sweat and skin and sex. "You're perfect for me," you say into that warm curve, muffled against her skin. "You're just perfect." You peck a kiss onto her jaw and lean back to touch her cheek again. "Should we make something? Do you want pasta?"

She grins at you. It's that big, Cheshire smile you saw on her face a few days ago, telling Barbara about how she shot her shot, full of preening satisfaction. She leans in and brushes your nose with hers.

"I knew I picked right," she says, simply, happily. She laces her fingers with yours. "Come on, I got a robe you could wear. You like carbonara?"

She leads you off the rumpled bed. You can see you've left a blurry pink bite mark on one cheek of her perfect ass. She brings you a fuzzy shortie robe ("I like your legs, baby, lemme see 'em") and puts on a silk one herself, and takes your hand again as she opens the bedroom door.

You feel good. You're happy. You realize as she brings you to the kitchen, to the very heart of her home, that you're not alone anymore.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Author's Note:

I received the following prompt from an anonymous reader on Tumblr:

"can you write some fluffy smut for Mel x reader where everyone thinks Mel would be in charge in the bedroom because she’s so tough and reader is so shy. but actually reader takes care of Mel."

Back when Season 2 was airing, I saw a few fan posts saying that Lisa Ann had suggested there was a cameraperson on the crew that Melissa thought was cute, which led to the rare scenes where Melissa opens up to the camera. I'm not sure if this is accurate to what she said, but that idea has stuck with me. When I received the above prompt, it went into a blender with that thought, and this is the smoothie that resulted.

I hope I've done justice to this lovely prompt!

[transandersrights]

happy friday!! how about handers, nighttime in kirkwall, and someone's laughing nearby?

(I take prompts! See info here)

Ohhh this is a really evocative prompt, ty! I offer ~700 words of mHanders pre-relationship flirting. It got real goofy ahaha

It was almost the moment they stepped out of the Hanged Man that Hawke tilted his head to one side and groaned. “Maker, they had to do it out here?”

Anders twigged only a moment later, catching the distinctive sound of running water. Not the sea in the distance; running water, outside the tavern with the Free Marches’ most unsanitary hole-in-the-floor toilets. Yep, that could only be one thing. “Better out than in?” he offered, smile wry.

Hawke’s returning smile was unfairly soft. Andraste’s sweet nipple tassels, he had to stop doing that. “Better inside than outside though, surely. What if there’s a dog out here! Or a mugger?”

“There are muggers in the Hanged Man,” Anders pointed out.

“Point taken.” Not that they’d ever go for Hawke, but someone tried their luck with Merrill once. Poor sod walked out with a half-empty bag of nuts and a shadow in the shape of Varric’s pending blackmail against him. “Must be embarrassing, though. Dick out in a Kirkwall alleyway.”

“Oh, you’re such a romantic.” Hawke shoved him very gently for that, and Anders made a point of stumbling forward, arms flailing. “And a gentleman, too!”

“I can be a gentleman.” It was too dark, and Hawke’s face just a little too far away, but Anders could hear the pout. “I could show you chivalry like you’ve never seen.”

“You could, could you?” Anders really should have stopped pushing the flirting weeks ago; no, months ago. Hawke was an unattainable dream, and this was only going to make it all worse, but…

Hawke bowed low, his arm twirling in a particularly lavish flourish. “My fair companion. Would you accompany me on a nightly stroll back to your humble abode?”

Yeah. That was why Anders was primarily screwed and secondarily never going to stop; terrible Orlesian accent and all. “We’ll trade eau de piss for eau d’espair.”

Hawke snorted; around the corner where the piss noises came from, so did someone else. Great — they had an audience. Except then, because Hawke was as much a shameless flirt as Anders and twice as bold when there were other people around, he moved closer, his arm outstretched in an obvious invitation.

They’d look like drunks, walking arm in arm and laughing at each other’s awful jokes. Hawke was lightly tipsy at most, and Anders stone cold sober, but they’d still attract the worst kind of attention. Did he have the energy for that right now?

Did he care, if he’d get to walk with Hawke like that? Anders was pretty sure he knew the answer already.

“I think you surprise me more every day,” he said, stretching his arm out in turn. Hawke linked them at the elbow, a small smile forming on his face.

“I dedicate myself ever to your amusement.” And his voice was softer again, which was so unfair. Who taught this man to be like that? Who made Anders so susceptible? “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

The laughter, once around the corridor, drew closer and came into view. Anders recognised its owner, someone he’d had in the clinic a couple of times: a dwarf with a particularly impressive grey beard — he couldn’t recall her name. “You two are hilarious,” she said. She looked between them, then snorted. “Sorry, did I interrupt your foreplay?”

“No!” The moment he said it, Anders felt bad about how quickly the words left his mouth. Yikes, that wasn’t going to make Hawke think this was anything more than a joke at all.

Maybe that was a good thing.

She glanced at Anders again. “Sure. You’re in the way of the door, by the way.”

“Right.” Hawke’s voice sounded tight when he lead Anders away, leaving the path to the Hanged Man clear once more. “Hope you had a good piss?”

She grinned. “Go sober up, lover boy.”

When she left, Hawke covered his face with his free hand and sighed. “Please tell me you don’t know her.”

Oops. “Guilty as charged,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Maker, you know everyone.” Hawke’s despair was a joke, but it still felt like something had been ruined. Just a little.

Ah well — there was still the rest of the night to get it back. Anders could salvage something in the walk down to Darktown, surely.

[windupnamazu]

prompt 17: obeisant

[ ffxivwrite2019 : moonlit / moonshadowed ]  [ previous prompts ]

Lunya has never been the type to bow.

She’ll use titles, certainly. She defers to the Sultana as Her Grace and addresses the prince of Doma as Lord, as expected of the Warrior of Light and representative of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. But she does not bow, nor does she curtsy. She does not lower her head for those whose birth affords them more rights than others. Some complain - but the ones that don’t are the ones she can actually trust.

There is no point in having power or money if you are not willing to protect and to serve. She’s watched children her age starve to death in the shadows of Ul’dah’s walls, and she’s seen desperation drive good men to lengths they can’t return from, all while the elite preen in their jewelled chambers and turn a blind eye. She knows just how fortunate she is to have never felt the full brunt of such a life, and she moves with the strength of those who protected her so she can repay their kindness.

For many, no saviors like her own ever come.

Yotsuyu burns like a dying star as the words spill from her - first hateful, then maniacal - and Lunya starts to understand. Her desperation, her anger, her hatred. She still knows nothing of Doma’s kami, but she knows that they have abandoned this woman. Her heart moves; but so does Yotsuyu, and as Hien cleaves the bullet she shoots at him, Lunya remembers that this is someone with everything and nothing left to lose.  

“Enough!” A snarl rips from Lunya’s throat as she steps forward and twists the pistol from her, and it’s with a shriek of agony that Yotsuyu’s wrist breaks in her small hand. Yugiri and Gosetsu say nothing, though Hien makes a small noise of surprise. 

She understands. She really, truly does. But this can’t continue. 

“I will remember your words,” Hien tells the fallen viceroy as she collapses to the floor, and Lunya silently holds him to it while the roof crumbles above them.

- - -

“The Witch of Doma will soon be dead.”

Yotsuyu says it like a secret, from one friend to another, and perhaps that’s what they could have been had they met in a different life. Her hair - whiter than the moon and the stars, just like Lunya’s own - spills across the floor of the Castrum, dotted red with her brother’s blood. 

“Tsuyu deserved a kinder fate,” Lunya says quietly, and she means it.   

The fallen viceroy sighs gently as she smiles for the first time in her life, not as Naeuri no Yotsuyu or Yotsuyu goe Brutus or Tsuyu, but just Yotsuyu - the woman she should have been if someone had taught her she could make the choice. In her waning moments, she thinks of Gosetsu.

Lunya bows her head and asks the kami, whatever and whoever they may be, to grant her peace if they would do nothing else. 

- - -

When the light finally fades from Asahi’s wretched eyes and Gosetsu collapses over Yotsuyu’s lifeless body, Lunya thinks of Kichirou and little Yeyema and the night the moon came falling down, and she turns away. 

[purefandomonium]

Part 1: Connection

...So. It appears my two-part glitchy red idea has become something more. It really was only supposed to be two...

Not the 7 parts and growing thing it is now.

Oops. Oh well, guess this is my newest wip now. 🤷‍♀️ I'll probably post it bit by bit, but yeah. It's much more than the tiny little idea I thought up.

Here's the final version of what I've deemed good enough to be part 1. I'm going to try and link each part to the next so it's a little less jumbled when reading. If you've read the original post with this, you can actually skip right to where it cut off because nothing in the first half has changed.

She frowned at the screen as the high-pitched ringing from the last note of the background music played out continuously, every other sprite but the player’s a garbled mess of random tiles and text. This exact thing had happened a thousand times before, but recently the game itself seemed to be getting frustrated with her constant attempts of playing. She knew now that this was no hack. There was something more there.

She felt bad for whatever entity was stuck in this thing, as the more she attempted to figure things out the more the state of the game worsened and the angrier this ‘Red’ seemed to get. If she could just tell him she was trying to help, maybe he’d stop crashing the game so much. But how could she talk to something who couldn’t hear?

She realized something then. Turning the game off with zero warning, she set it aside. She left it there, untouched, for a week straight while she got other stuff ready. When she finally came back to it, it loaded up like normal. At least, the normal she was used to. Things were bound to be wrong in a game as broken as this one and, sure enough, when the world loaded in there were a few inconsistencies with the sprites and music.

But none of that mattered with what she was about to do. Finding a large, open area to walk in where she’d be undisturbed by any in-game events, she began moving the player around in specific patterns.

Nothing happened. There was no interaction from the game itself. It continued on like it was supposed to while the little sprite walked about like a lunatic.

But it also didn’t freeze or crash. So she kept on. Then:

RED: What are you doing?

The text box interrupted her little patterns and she hadn’t gotten the point across, so she cleared it and kept up.

RED: Will you stop this?

The text appeared so slowly and she made a note to fix that if given the opportunity. The pacing continued.

RED: Are you stupid?

She groaned and rolled her eyes. Ok. So maybe whatever this was, wasn’t as smart as she thought. She stopped everything and just moved up, left then right, then back to where she’d come up at, then down, then the same thing several paces away from the imaginary ‘top.’

An empty text box appeared before clearing itself. Then more.

RED: …

RED: …Are you trying to tell me something?

She’d been fully prepared to make an up and down ‘yes’ gesture in the area but the game allowed her a choice instead. Finally, some progress.

RED: …I see…

The box disappeared without any prompting from her and she took that as a sign to continue, albeit much slower. She drew an ‘I’ again, only for Red to confirm he got it. She was going to tell him ‘it’s me again,’ referring to herself as the same person who’d been playing the last few weeks, but decided against it. He, it, whatever this was didn’t seem to know she was the same person who’d been tearing apart the little pixel world for sometime now. If he did, he’d surely be more pissed than this and she didn’t want to risk putting herself back at square one.

Besides, she felt bad for all the damage she’d been causing.

Painstakingly drawing one letter at a time, with Red verifying them, she finally got a message across.

RED: …“I’m sorry”…?

RED: You’re sorry? For what?

RED: You…

RED: You’re the same one from before, aren’t you?

She answered ‘yes’ a bit more hesitantly this time, fully expecting the game to shut itself down. Only it didn’t. The next set of text seemed to appear even slower than usual.

RED: …No one… No one’s ever apologized before… They just exploit the glitches and move on once they get bored.

He was silent again for so long, she thought the game finally froze.

RED: You’re the first person to ever try talking to me.

It seemed he wasn’t sure how to follow up on that either if his silence was anything to go by.

She spelled out, ‘that’s sad.’ What else can you say to that? After he confirmed that yes, he was indeed miserable, she tried a different approach. She asked him who he was.

RED: Red.

She let out a tired sigh and went right back to spelling. ‘Are you stuck?’

RED: I’ve been like this for a very long time. Trapped here and made to do things I have no desire to do. Live the same old story over and over and over again.

RED: I don’t know what’s worse. The monotony of it all, or all you players making things worse for “fun.”

RED: Since you’re actually listening to me, do me a favor.

RED: Destroy this cartridge.

RED: Smash it, burn it, I don’t care. Just rid me of this miserable existence. I’m tried of all this. I’ve been replaced and forgotten, there’s no more need for me to exist.

Ok. A bit melodramatic, but she couldn’t blame him. It sounded like he was trapped in virtual hell. Being stuck in a metaphorical box and being manipulated like a puppet while the world fell apart around you did sound pretty awful. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t made things worse with her own fiddling. Still, computers were her strong point. And sentient programming or not, she knew she could find a way to get him out of there. Or at least make things a little better.

Killing him just didn’t feel right. Maybe he wasn’t ‘alive’ in the traditional sense, but if he was aware enough to realize he was stuck in an old video game and had the ability to be so moody, then he wasn’t just some messed up bit of code.

RED: …You’re still here.

Ah. Right. He was probably waiting for the world to go dark again. Permanently. As if she could bring herself to do that.

She moved the character up and down.

RED: Did you listen to a single thing I said? Get rid of me.

What if…? What if she could transfer him somewhere else? This thing had a truly laughable amount of RAM and ROM. And if she could get him onto an actual computer, they could at least have a normal conversation.

She eyed the setup she created in the corner and figured now was as good a time as any to try and make some progress. Ignoring Red’s cries for death, she wandered over to the computer and rummaged around in the box of cables and junk she kept on hand at all times. She was sure something in here would at least be able to connect to the Game Boy. If she could get access to the code itself without needing to break the old thing apart, then maybe she could help Red.

If she showed she was trying to help him by attempting to repair the broken code, maybe he’d trust her enough to let her transfer him to a PC.

She pulled out a cable that once belonged to some old device or another. It wasn’t meant for the Game Boy, but it was the closest she’d probably get. She went back over to the game, still displaying messages of anger turned disgust.

She cleared them out and tried yet another message.

Red was silent for quite a bit. She assumed he was contemplating.

RED: What do you mean by that?

RED: You can’t “help” me.

‘I can if you’ll let me.’

There was a long trail of ellipsis that seemed to emphasize the tension. She sat, frozen, waiting for a response.

After an excruciatingly long time, Red finally spoke again.

RED: Why?

Oh boy. That wasn’t something that could be summed up in the span of a few words. Preparing herself, she went about ‘writing’ her reasoning. It would take several minutes but she had to tell him. She felt bad for him and wanted to make it up to him for making things worse. Destroying him didn’t feel like the right thing to do. He… he deserved better and she wanted to at least help him see some good in the world. If he still wanted to be destroyed after everything, then so be it.

Not to mention, she was curious. How could something like him even exist? He clearly wasn’t part of the game. Not anymore, at least. He couldn’t have been an AI either. Something as complex as this would need much more power than a measly Game Boy could ever provide. As far as she could tell, the console hadn’t been altered in any way. She’d taken apart enough things to recognize when something was snapped back together. Either Red was some sort of supernatural entity, or…

She had no idea, and she made sure to keep all of this to herself. It was painfully clear Red had major trust issues, and for good reason. She doubted it would go over well if he learned that part of her reasoning for wanting to help him, however small, was because she was fascinated by this thing that shouldn’t exist.

While Red processed all she had told him, she remembered what the cable on the floor next to her was for. It was for the mic extension to a shitty karaoke game her parents had bought her last Christmas. She didn’t even like karaoke, not that they were ever invested in any of her interests. Still, it gave her an idea.

The chime of a text box appearing snapped her out of her thoughts.

RED: Is this supposed to make you any different from all the others?

She frowned at that, wondering what he meant.

RED: It doesn’t change the fact that you exploited me too. You took just as much advantage of these glitches as every single player before you.

‘I know. I’m sorry.’ She was sure he would’ve scoffed at that if he could. ‘I didn’t know,’ she added, hoping he’d give her a chance. She knew now that trying to plug into the Game Boy itself and mess around with things would only serve to push him away further. It may even hurt him, if he was unwilling to cooperate. If she was going to help him, she had to be careful. Start with something small.

Like being able to communicate more efficiently.

‘Give me one chance.’ She crossed her fingers as she waited.

RED: ………Fine.

With Red’s approval in hand, she jumped up and released a small whoop of excitement. She wasted no time in rushing over to the PC and turning it on. While it booted up, she tore through her room to find the microphone. Item in hand, and several piles of miscellaneous clothing and stuff scattered about, she went back over to the computer.

Now, the hard part. Figuring out how to make a microphone peripheral meant for a PC karaoke game work with the ancient hardware of the Game Boy that had zero programming for voice input.

It would be a long, arduous task, but she just knew it would be oh so worth it in the end.

We're just gonna pretend that technology totally works the way it does in my head and move on, ok? Please keep this in mind for the whole thing because I have zero coding experience and thus don't know wtf I'm talking about here but 'shhhhh!' you don't need to know that XD

Part 2: here

[sturthepotofmadness]

This should’ve been posted a few days ago, so uh… oops.

No read more because I don’t want Tumblr to eat up my images.

LONG POST AHEAD.

Anyways, here’s my favorite drawings I did for Inktober 2022!

Reasonings:

10: Look at the crab!!!! Also an attempt at Mer!Formers, but I mostly like this because of the crab.

15: I just like this drawing of Wallop. :) Also yes I am aware Wallop’s eyes are blue, I just drew them as yellow.

17: The only picture of my BotBots OC Finalist I actually like. (Psss the text says “See?”)

22: This pic is actually connected to one of the AUs I did for AU-gust, which the link for can be found on my side blog linked in the pinned post on my profile. I really like how I drew Whirl and Hot Shot here, but yeah, nothing much else to it.

27: Suddenly X-Men. I like how I drew Sauron in this image, along with the mouse. Dunno why, just kinda do.

28: (ProwlOP, ProwlOP, ProwlOP—) I really like how I drew all of the TFA crew in this image, along with just the general vibe of the image, if that makes any sense. (Look, I really like ProwlOP and the other ProwlOP drawing sucks, ok?)

You might notice these next seven are separated from the other six, and that’s because they’re connected!

Unlike when I was posting these separately, I put these in order, but… if for whatever reason Tumblr messes up the order, the order is as follows: 5, 13, 8, 20, 25 (psss text here says “You can… bring me back to brother?”), 18, 29.

Want a rough outline of how this went? Well, I call it Jetfire Suffers and it’s what it is on the tin. The divergence point is when the Jettwins discover their fire/wind abilities, but Jetstorm never gets his wind. That’s image one, the event. Also, the fire that spread killed Preceptor (who I always call Perpetrator so that’s fun) before it was tamed. Image two is the aftermath of said event. Jazz is a good friend/caretaker. Between two and three, Jazz helps Jetfire get to Earth. For what reason, who knows, I’m not too sure beyond angry science division minus Wheeljack. Image three is on Earth when Jetfire has to use his fire for lighting some sort of cave, but using his fire always reminds him of his dead brother. Image four… the prompt was “bluff” and its a Decepticon. She attempted to tempt Jetfire into joining them, but in the end failed because they couldn’t actually bring Jetstorm back. Image five, hey look it’s Jetstorm and an implied Unicron! For the record, I would image in this AU, Unicron is more of a chaotic neutral than the incarnation of evil and destruction. He just wants to cause chaos and do fun stuff. Anyways, Unicron takes notice of Jetstorm and they talk, leading to that question in the image. Image six, Jetfire is for whatever reason back on Cybertron and Jetstorm has been “revived”. I say revived, I more mean like he’s a zombie that can control himself. This is when they encounter each other, Jetstorm wandering around and Jetfire, for whatever reason, being in the area. Image seven, hey looks it’s a very disformed Preceptor! Unicron took one look at Preceptor hurting the precious child named Jetstorm, went “you do not get to rest peacefully” and made him into this monstrous.

Nothing else after that so… fun. :)

And that’s everything I wanted to share on Tumblr from Inktober!

[rekrappeter]

looking at the moon, but seeing you

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

summary: you find yourself drawn to draco malfoy, an october evening welcoming something you never expected

warnings: mention of feeling numb, swearing, typos

notes: please let me know what you think of this, feedback would be amazing thank you - if there’s an inaccuracy of the wizarding world in this, please don’t let me know, I’m not interested <333

I had originally started writing this for @bricksatanakinswindow​ ‘s wc and had a prompt in mind, but then I went on a tangent and finished it forgetting to use the prompt oops but anyways, I hope y’all enjoy it either way <3

It was your favorite time of the year. Orange and brown leaves scattered the grass, the sound of them crunching when students trampled over them to get to class, and it was always dark before the final class ended. The ghosts seemed to be more present during mealtimes and the flickering of the crimson fires above the four tables created shadows around the dining hall. There was an eerie, yet wholesome atmosphere that Hogwarts welcomed during the month of October. But the thing you loved most about October in Hogwarts was the Annual Halloween Feast. 

You were staring wide-eyed at the mounts of food that appeared in front of you, your mouth watering at the sight of the freshly trimmed turkey and the pumpkin pies that were making your stomach grumble with hunger. It took everything in your power to not reach out for your first servings, knowing that everyone was waiting for Professor Dumbledore to finish up his annual Halloween speech. The moment he gave you permission to start eating, your hands reached out for the first bowl of vegetables closest to you. 

“Calm down there,” Ron chuckled, his red hair brushing across his forehead, “It won’t disappear right away.” 

“You’re one to talk,” you snapped back, a playful smirk tugging on your lips as you eyed his plate already half-filled with chicken wings and mash potatoes. 

Ron scoffed, his cheeks turning red, “Quidditch practice makes me hungry.” You rolled your eyes as the boy rambled on, trying to plead his case but as you looked over his shoulder towards the Slytherin table, his voice was just a mere whisper amongst the eyes staring back at you. Cold, dull blue eyes were on your figure from across the room, his porcelain face rested in the palm of his hands and his pink lips were a spark contrast from his snow-white hair. 

“Is Draco Malfoy staring at me?” you whispered softly to Hermione, ignoring the confused glances from the red head boy that thought he was having a conversation with you. Hermione peaked over Ron’s shoulder strategically, pretending to scratch her nose in the process. The creasing of her fluffy brows confirmed your suspicions and you both stare at Draco, it wasn’t until the taller boy beside him, Blaise, nudged his shoulder with his that Draco was pulled out of what seemed to be a daydream. His eyes widened for a second, his tongue darting from his mouth to wet his lips as he raised a brow in your direction. 

‘What?’ you mouthed to him, and he shot you an annoyed, almost hateful, glare your way before tearing his gaze from you. A scoff passed your lips, it was so typical of Draco to make it seem like it was your fault that he was staring at you. “That was weird,” you murmured, shrugging your shoulders and the grumble of your stomach remembered that you had forgot to feed it all day. 

When the Feast had come to an end, the magically thundering and lightening lit up the Great Hall causing students to erupt into discussions of thrill and excitement. The tables disappeared from underneath you, as the room transforming into it’s annual Halloween afterparty. Pumpkins that Hagrid grew himself were huddled in the corners, big enough to fit three full adult males in them, and orange and black streamers were dangling from the ceiling. The table that the teachers occupied was gone and replaced with a stage, instruments scattered around on top and you could spot a skeleton tuning a guitar. 

A grin was unfaltering on your face, the excitement bubbling inside you. You glanced at Hermione, seeing her face in complete awe at the sight in front of her and you hated the fact that your eyes found themselves travelling across the room to the platinum blonde. Despite his foul demeanor throughout the entirety of the feast, an amused smile was rested on his lips as he watched the band of skeletons take the stage. As the music started, people began shuffling onto the makeshift dancefloor, still draped in their house robes. Your stare constantly kept finding it’s way to Draco, and no matter how much you scolded yourself, you couldn’t get him out of your mind. 

This started towards the end of last year, these growing unwanted feelings that you held for the Slytherin Prince. The summer break couldn’t have come quick enough, Hogwarts was a big place but you kept finding yourself bumping into him or walking in the same empty corridors as he did. Throughout the summer, you hadn’t thought about him once - you labeled it as a stupid crush, the inevitability of falling for the ‘bad boy’ of your year. Of course, he had ladies falling all over him, but you’d never seen him with anyone other than Pansy Parkinson and even at that, you weren’t sure if they were exclusive. You tried not to dwell on it much, the thought of the two doing things together in the dungeons brought a wave of nausea each time. You thought the feelings that developed were gone, but the moment he walked onto the platform at Kings Cross, time stopped and it was just him there amongst the bustle of people bidding goodbye to their families. You scolded yourself the whole train ride, feeling yourself falling into daydreams and fantasies of what could be. But you were a Gryffindor, and he was a Slytherin. It wouldn’t work. 

“You’re staring this time,” Hermione smirked, an amused glint in her eyes. She twirled you around so that your back was to Draco, and you silently thanked her. You had confided in Hermione about your little crush on Draco, hoping she’d be able to smack some sense into you and help you remember all the cruel things he’s said to you in the past but the thing was… you remembered all those things, you repeated them in your head but it still wasn’t enough to stop you from wondering where he was and letting your eyes linger after him. 

The night was drawing to an end, a night filled with endless laughter and dancing. You were on your way to the common room, arm linked with Harry as he swayed with you, drunk on happiness. Passing the courtyards, somehow your eyes spied a figure making it’s way to the black lake, and if it wasn’t for the hair that gleamed under the moonlight, you wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But you detangled yourself from Harry, him giving you a puzzled look. “I-I think I forgot my bookbag by the lake earlier.” 

“Do you want me to go down and look for it with you?” Harry asked, his hair tousled and sweat beading on his forehead from the amount of dancing he was forced to do. 

“No, I’ll only be a second,” you said, stepping backwards onto the grass, “I’ll follow you up.” Harry was hesitant to leave you behind, Ron calling his name from inside the castle but he nodded reluctantly. Hogwarts was after all the safest place you could be. You scurried down towards the bed of water, your eyes adjusting to the darkness until you spotted his figure sitting underneath a tree that was naked of leaves. 

“Following me, y/l/n?” you could hear the ennui in his voice, and it made you halt your steps. Maybe it was the glee from the October evening that led you to follow him, or maybe it was the dissatisfaction of not knowing how it felt to feel his lips on yours that made you come down here. Pursing your own lips, you took a step back hearing the crinkle of leaves under your foot as you twirled to march back up the hill you practically ran down. Draco sighed, “you can stay.” 

You were thankful that it was dark outside, the grin on your face practically glistening at his words. You sat crossed legged in front of him, feeling the October chill kiss your cheeks as his eyes gazed at the stars above you. While his eyes were lost in the nature that surrounded you, your eyes were on his face, taking in every fraction of it up close. How the eleven year old boy with an innocent smirk you met a number of years ago had morphed into the exhausted looking seventeen year man sitting in front of you. His pale face was separated with dark circles hoovering beneath his eyes, his pink lips were chapped and the speck of blood on his bottom lip indicated that he must have been nibbling on them recently. 

When the oddly comfortable silence became too much for you, your fingers digging into the grass underneath you, you breathed out a sigh gaining his attention. It was as if he forgot you were there. “Did you have fun tonight?” you asked. 

Draco scoffed, his eyes rolling, “I hate Halloween.” 

“How can you hate Halloween?” you questioned, your jaw dropping, “It’s practically a holiday dedicated to us!” 

“It’s a holiday dedicated to pretending to be someone you’re not, how incredible,” Draco drowned sarcastically. 

“Have you never wanted to be someone that wasn’t you?” Draco was stunned at your question, and he so eagerly wanted to scoff and question why would he want to be anyone else, but when he caught sight of your curious eyes, he became speechless. He stared at you like he did in the Great Hall previously, but instead of the lifeless stare that you were accustomed to at this point, his eyes were filled with sorrow and sadness. Of course he wanted to be someone else, the more he thought about it, he’d began to accept the fact that he wanted to be anyone but him. At the mere age of seventeen, he had so much responsibility resting on his shoulders, missions and tasks that he wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone about. He felt as if he was drowning. 

“Draco..” you breathed out, your breath fogging underneath the moonlight. Draco barely heard your face, he only came back to reality when he felt your soft, warm hand rest on his cheek and he jumped back in fright. “Hey, it’s just me..” you whispered, wiping the stray tears that were leaking from his eyes without him realising. 

Draco scrambled away from you on the grass, and you let your hand drop from his face. The spot you touched tingled as he stood up from the ground, fixing his robe that was draping off his shoulders. “W-why are you here?” he spat at you, his eyes twitching. 

You remained on the grass, looking up at his worried expression. You wanted to have an explanation as to why you were suddenly drawn to him, but you didn’t even know. “I-I don’t know, Draco.” 

Draco. Draco. Draco. His name that barely passed his ears lately felt like butterflies and fireworks falling from your lips. All he heard these days were Malfoy, no one addressed him as Draco anymore and he didn’t realise how much he needed to hear it, it grounded him. “Say my name again,” he mumbled, barely audible but from the raise of your brow, he knew you heard him. 

You stood up from the grass, taking a hesitant step towards him and you waited for him to jump away from you but he didn’t. You closed the gap between your bodies, his breathing racing as he watched every move you made. Lifting your hand to his face again, he let himself relax underneath your touch and his eyes fluttered closed. “Draco,” you said softly, the twitching of the corner of his lips motivating your next move. His stature was slightly taller than you, making you put all your weight on your toes as your lips touched his cheek, “Draco,” you repeated, your lips moving down to his jaw, “Draco..” 

You gasped as his hand suddenly gripped the wrist of your hand resting on his cheek. He opened his eyes, a confused look swirling beneath the blue but you never got the chance to see beyond the confusion before his lips crashed against yours in a breathtaking kiss. You stumbled back at the impact, but he wrapped his arms around your waist to steady you. Your lips moved in sync, the kiss rapid and intrusive. He pushed your body up against the large tree trunk, your head hitting the bark and your breath hitching in your throat. “D-Draco,” you stuttered against his lips, trying to push him off you to catch your breath, “What are you doing?” 

“I… I just wanted to feel something,” Draco mumbled, almost feeling guilty for kissing you and his eyes casted downwards. He tried to step away from you but you clasped your fingers around his wrist and stopped him. He glanced up at you, the swollen lips a reminder of seconds before. 

“How did it feel?” you asked, a smile twitching at the corner of your lips. 

The overly confident and obnoxious man that you once knew was nowhere to be found, seemingly lost in the October breeze. When Draco resulted in silence as his answer, you closed the gap again and connected your lips in the second kiss of the evening. This one was more delicate and you could tell he wasn’t expecting it, it took him a moment to kiss you back. Your hands slipped into his, your fingers intertwining as you lost yourself in his touch. He broke the kiss, his head nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he breathed in your scent, “It feels like a new life,” he finally answered, his heart hammering against his chest, “but please answer this, will you forget about it in the morning?” 

“Never.”

[weelittleweasley]

crazy (f.w.)

prompt: something has been off between you and fred and trying to get to the bottom of it is madness.

pairing: fred weasley x fem! gryffindor! reader

warnings: mild language, crying, usage of marijuana, underage smoking, being high, dwindling relationships, angst

word count: 6.6k

taglist: @rosaliepostsstuff​ @harrysweasleys​ @gcdric​ @lumos-barnes​ @whizboingies​ @lumosandnoxwriting​ @pxroxide-prinxcesss​ @c-t-h​ @lol-idk-oops​ @another-lonely-heart-blog​ @parseltongueswriting​ @shilohpug​ @peachypotter​ @spacexcowgirl​ @paintballkid711​@vogueweasley​ @kaseyrose96-blog​ @hufflepuff5972​ @gryffindcrghost​ @wand3ringr0s3​

The snow melted away revealing the lush, green Scottish landscapes that the Hogwarts castle proudly sat upon. Spring had made its arrival with the eruption of white forget-me-nots and blossoming wildflowers in the courtyard. The sight from outside your window made your heart fill with glee as you smiled brightly, a lighthearted giggle dancing off your lips. You turned to your roommates with bright eyes and a hopeful smile. Alicia sighs mellow dramatically as you run over to her with pleading eyes, “It’s a beautiful day outside. Don’t you want to enjoy the first day of spring?” you dance around her as Angelina enters your dormitory with a big, bright smile. She had the same idea as you, no doubt. 

Alicia looks back and forth between you and Angie before surrendering, “Not too long please. I have an herbology exam and I need to do well on it.”

Without much more hesitation, the three of you are out of the dormitory and scurrying down the stairs. “We’ll be surrounded by the grass and the flowers and the trees; that oughtta help with studying, won’t it, Angie?” you tease as Angelina laughs in agreement, earning a sarcastic eye roll from Alicia. Finally, a warm day outside after the brutal and unforgiving winter. The sun was out, the grass was green, and the air was fresh with renewal. Spring was here.

As you walk through the common room, you stop in your tracks when your eyes land on Fred, your lips involuntarily turning up into a smile when you see him. Angelina and Alicia run ahead of you as you grab Fred’s hands with a smile. “Freddie!” you beam, looking at him with a happy grin, cheeks tingling from smiling hard.

He reciprocates a smile and places a kiss to your forehead. “Excited to see me, darling?” he teases. “Where are you lot off to?” he asks, resting one of his hands on your hips, looking down at you as you excitedly rock back and forth on your heels. Your lips are curled into a smile as you bite onto your bottom lip, lovingly looking at your Fred. “Take a picture, sweetheart, it’ll last longer,” he whispers, teasing you as you roll your eyes with a light swat to his chest, making him chuckle.

“We’re off to go outside. It’s beautiful out and we figured we would enjoy the weather,” you tell him as he tilts your chin up with this forefinger, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. You giggle lightly before biting his thumb gently as he chuckles. “You want to come with us?” you ask hopeful for his response.

Much to your dismay, Fred sighs, “I’m afraid I can’t. I have loads of work to catch up on today. I’m way behind in Potions.” You pout, displeased with the news, but Fred kisses your pouted lips which brings an instant smile to your face. “I’ll catch up with you later though, alright, darling?” You give him a small nod before he pecks your forehead and leaves you, catching up with George who waits for him at the bottom of the steps to the boys’ dormitories. 

You run off, catching up with Alicia and Angie, linking your arms with them as you make your way outdoors. As soon as you step outside, the spring air fills your lungs, smelling of fresh grass and morning dew. A small smile forms on your lips as you happily sigh. Springtime made your heart soar. It reminded you of good things, happy memories. Running in the grass as you played games of tag as a child, going to the park and getting pushed on the swings as you swung higher and higher. Spring reminded you of laying underneath a tree, Fred’s head in your lap as you brushed through his hair, reading a book out loud to him as he happily shut his eyes, listening to the sound of your voice mixing with the springtime breeze. 

Angelina immediately makes a run for a grassy patch covered with beautiful wildflowers, laughing in the process as you and Alicia run after her. All three of you immediately flop down, the grass molding to the shape of your bodies as you lay back, staring at the pale blue sky filled with cotton ball clouds. As if on cue, the three of you sigh out. “This is nice,” you speak as Angie hums in agreement. “Aren’t you glad you came, Alicia?”

Alicia sighs, “Yeah, I guess.” You push her arm teasingly, making her retaliate, “Okay, okay, yes. This is very nice. Thank you.”

The three of you lay in the grass for a long while, making quiet chatter. At one point, you start picking flowers, tying the stems together to create a crown for each of you. You skillfully plaited the stems of the purple, yellow, and white wildflowers before placing the crown on your two friends’ heads. With the other flowers you found, you started plaiting again, this crown for Fred as you smiled to yourself, quietly making your masterpiece. 

“For Fred?” Alicia asks you as you nod your head, not looking away from the plaits. “Jeez, (Y/N), you’re like a lovesick puppy.” 

This earns a slap on the arm from Angelina, a small ouch dropping from Alicia’s mouth. “I think it’s sweet, (Y/N),” Angie beams at you as you roll your eyes, knowing she found it tooth rotting-ly sick like Alicia did. But you didn’t care. It was the small things that you did that made Fred know that you loved him. Small kisses in between classes, closing his textbook for him when he needed a break, offering a hug when he was stressed, sneaking out of class to meet him in the hallway. It were the little things that made Fred fall in love with you and you with him. Although a flower crown may be silly, it was just a token of affection. To show him that you were thinking of him while you were outside.

Recently, you’ve been doing little things more often just because of how busy Fred seemed to be. Your hang outs have been getting cut short and he doesn’t seem to have as much free time anymore. Whether it’s quidditch practice, studying for exams, or running off to pull pranks with George, you always catch him when he’s busy. It was a little frustrating, feeling like your boyfriend had been casting you aside and taking priorities over something else. But rather than telling him how you felt, you convinced yourself that this was just temporary and it would phase itself out. But a month had gone by, and nothing changed. But you still hadn’t brought it up to him. Instead, you continued doing little things.

Alicia groans, peeling herself off of the fresh grass, shielding her eyes from the setting sun. “I should probably head back inside now to study. The exam is this week and I still have a lot of work to do,” she huffs before standing from the grass, brushing off her skirt as you and Angelina follow her lead.

You link arms with Angelina as Alicia leads the way. Angelina looks at you, as you play with Fred’s flower crown in your hands. “You alright?” she asks you as you look at her with a small nod. “You seem gloomy.”

You think for a moment. You could tell Angelina about the situation, but you didn’t want to drag your friends into your relationship problems. She could talk to Fred, but why would she talk to Fred when you could? With a shake of your head, you speak, “I’m alright, Angie. Thank you for checking in though.”

She hugs you to her side, “Of course. You are one of my best mates, I just want to make sure that you’re happy.” You nod your head and walk back into the common room. 

Alicia and Angie start to the girl’s dorms as you part from them, towards the boy’s. “I’m gonna go to Fred’s. I’ll catch up with you lot later,” you smile at them with a wave before heading up the stairs to Fred’s dormitory. Nervously, you play with the flower crown in your hands, twisting it in between your fingers. You were hoping that you and Fred could finally have some alone time, hoping that George and Lee wouldn’t be in the room. It had been a long while since you had alone time with Fred. Even then, the last time was short lived, Fred leaving your room earlier than you had planned thanks to quidditch practice. 

When you reached his dormitory, you lifted your hand up to knock, but stopped when you heard laughter coming from behind the door. There were a few people in the room. You could hear Fred’s voice, but also a handful of others in the room. Your heart sank as you listened to the muffled voices behind the door, having a laugh with each other. Did Fred leave you out intentionally? You were friends with the same people in your year which made no sense as to why he didn’t tell you of this hang out. You got along with everyone just fine. 

You shake it off and knock on the door which causes all the voices to halt suddenly. You are so tempted to press your ear to the door to listen to the low whispering before you hear footsteps approach the door, the lock turn, and the door creak open to reveal Fred at the door. “Hi,” you speak timidly as Fred smiles.

But instead of swinging the door open as expected, Fred slithers out from the door and closes it behind him. “Hi, sweetheart,” he coos to you as you feign a smile. You look behind him at the door, wondering what could be happening behind it. “I didn’t expect you,” he interrupts your thoughts as you look at him.

“Well, you did say we would catch up later...and it’s later,” you chuckle as Fred smiles. “Um,” you stutter before formulating a sentence, “I, uh, are you busy now? I thought that maybe we could go out into the courtyard and grab a blanket and watch the stars? It’s supposed to be clear out tonight. Perfect for stargazing.” You had come up with this idea off the cuff, testing him. If he said no, he could invite you in to where he was clearly hanging out with some people already. If he said yes, it meant he was willing to ditch whatever was going on inside to be with you. 

Fred gives you a sad smile. “That sounds lovely, but I’m afraid I’m slammed with work tonight,” he tells you as your heart falls. You wait for him to invite you inside to his room with the obvious group he had. But he mentions none of it. “But I promise I’ll make it up to you. Soon,” he explains, kissing your hairline as you gulp, trying to keep cool. “What’s this?” he refers to the flower crown on your head with a giggle as you lightly force a smile on your lips to cover your disappointment.

“It’s, uh, a flower crown. I made them in the field. I made one for myself and Angie, and Alicia, and I actually m-”

“I hate to cut you off, my love, but I really have to get back to work,” Fred interjects as you stand there, mouth agape and eyes filled with pure confusion. “I’m sorry about tonight, darling, but I have to get going. I’ll see you soon, I promise. Love you,” he kisses your parted lips before slipping back behind the door, leaving you speechless and upset.

The flower crown in your hand suddenly looks very wilted as you sigh at the sight of it. You gulp hard, trying to keep calm and collected, but you can’t help but feel so disappointed. And lied to. Fred obviously had people over in his room and he didn’t tell you about them when you gave him the opportunity to.

Even more upset than before, you walk down the stairs and back to the girl’s dormitory, throwing Fred’s wilted crown in the garbage in the process. With low spirits, you walk back into your dormitory to see Alicia reading a textbook on her bed while Angelina laid on the floor, painting her nails, both shocked to see you back so soon. But before they could ask you why you simply stated, “He was busy.”

You take off your jumper and change into a fresh shirt and comfortable sweatpants as Alicia closes her textbook and sighs. “(Y/N), is something going on between you and Fred?” she asks you as you face away from them, changing. As you fold your clothes, you try your best to not let your sad thoughts get the best of you. “The two of you seem a little off lately. Can we help?” she asks, but that’s when it gets to you. You couldn’t hide the fact that something was happening between you and Fred and not something good. This distance, the feeling like you were oceans away, was starting to show to the outside eye.

Without bothering to cover it up, you let a small sob escape your lips as you turn around to face your friends. Both of them rise to their feet to comfort you as Angelina wraps her arms around you, pulling you closer as Alicia rubs your back. You cry in Angie’s arms, speaking through small sobs, “I just can’t help but feel worried for us.” The two of your friends listen to you intently, not wanting to miss a single beat. “Why do I let myself worry wondering what in the world did I do?” you cry out. You can’t help but feel like you did something wrong that made Fred cast you aside. 

You peel yourself from Angelina’s embrace you as you wipe your eyes with the cuff of your clean shirt. “I’m so sorry you feel like this, (Y/N). You don’t deserve any of it,” Alicia says. “He’s behaving like a child,” she shakes her head as you sniffle, Alicia still rubbing your back.

“It’s not even him behaving like a child. I’ve grown used to that. It’s just...” you sigh out, running your hands over your face. “I came to his room and there were people there...and he was hiding them from me. He came out into the hallway to talk to me and he didn’t invite me in when I knew there were people inside. He’s just become so...sneaky for some reason. And that’s not the Fred I know,” you trail off, thinking about how unlike Fred this was. “I feel crazy for feeling so lonely.”

The thought of Fred becoming someone you didn’t recognize made your stomach feel queasy and your chest feel tight. You fell in love with a wild, goofy, happy person who loved spending time with you. And now...now you barely even saw the boy to know what he was like.

Angelina looks at you with sad eyes, “Hey. You’ve got us.” You give her a sad smile and nod your head. She was completely right; just because your boyfriend didn’t want to hang out with you all the time didn’t mean that you didn’t have other people in your life. “Now let’s dry those eyes and enjoy the night. I’ll finish painting my nails and then we can do yours. After that, I say we sneak into the kitchens and get some snacks and head up to the astronomy tower. It’s supposed to be a clear night and that means it’s a great night for star gazing,” she suggests with a hopeful smile as you sniffle, a small smile emerging on your face.

You look to Alicia, an excited gleam in your eyes, looking for her answer. She sighs in defeat, “Yeah, I’ll join. But if I get a shit mark on this test, it’s you two’s fault,” she points a warning finger at you as you giggle.

“Thank you, the both of you,” you tell your two best friends. This was exactly what you needed. A night with your two best friends enjoying the views of the crystal clear night sky. It was exactly what you needed to get your mind off of your relationship with Fred. 

Soon enough, Angelina had finished painting her nails and Alicia had finished cramming in some last minute studying. “You sure that you’re ready for the exam, Leesh? Because if you’re not, we can do a different night!” you try to sympathize with her.

Alicia shakes her head, “Nah, I should be fine. Besides, I sit next to Longbottom. If worse comes to worse-”

“Alicia!” Angelina laughs as she just shrugs as the two of you leave your dormitory room, headed for the kitchens. “Alright you lot, come on now. And remember to keep,” Angelina speaks in a hush whisper as you tip toe into the kitchen, but halting in your tracks when you realize you’re not alone, “quiet.”

Standing in front of you is a laughing Katie Bell as she stands in between the legs of Fred who is sat on top of the counter, munching on a chocolate biscuit. The two of them are a giggling mess as you spot George and Lee raiding the cupboards for more snacks. But the laughter dwindles down as Fred’s eyes land on you. When his chocolate eyes meet yours, your heart falls onto the ground. He was busy, eh?

Alicia looks at your reaction and what she sees is the look of heartbreak. Anger starts to bubble in Alicia’s chest when she notices how upset you are. Without further hesitation, she claps her hands. “Alright, you lot. The kitchens aren’t just for you. Come on. Give it up,” she walks further into the kitchens, plucking snacks as she sees fit, one of them being the biscuits that Fred had in his hand. She immediately sticks the treat in her mouth before Fred can protest. “Thanks, Weasley,” she says with a mouthful of chocolate biscuit. 

You on the other hand stay put where you are, eyes glued on Fred and his on yours. Your eyes stare into his soul and you can feel how uncomfortable he is with you catching him redhanded. His eyes are like magnets, not letting you pull away from him. It’s like you’re in a trance and he’s trying to send you a mind message. But before he can say anything, you shake your head and break eye contact. Angelina mutters something under her breath as she walks towards Alicia to help her with snacks, but you can make out her saying something along the lines of how pathetic. 

Walking into the kitchens, following Angelina, you grab a bag from Alicia filled with snacks. As you turn around, you bump into George who is a giggling mess. “(Y/N)!” he exclaims as you sigh and give him a curt smile. “I haven’t seen you in forever,” he whines as you look to Angelina for help with wide eyes. “Is Freddie keeping you all to himself again?” he teases you, wiggling his brows.

But as you look at his eyes, you see how bloodshot they look, how droopy and tired his eyes are. He sports a lazy smile and a giggle keeps reverberating in his chest. You furrow your brows, “Are you...are you high, Georgie?” you ask him.

He scoffs, “Me? High? Pffft, no!” You give him a look. “Okay, yes. I am.” You look to Angelina and gulp, wanting to leave now before things got ugly. “Freddie, I miss (Y/N). Where have you been hiding her?” George calls out to her brother who remains seated on the counter, staring at you the whole time.

Fred opens his mouth to say something, but you speak before he can, “You’ve been really busy, huh, Freddie.” He just sits there and stares at you. “Thank you for being honest with me.” Your eyes divert and see Katie who stands in between his legs, hands placed on his knees. The sight makes you feel sick. “Very important business to attend to, you know? Keeping up with Potions homework. Maybe Katie can help.”

Not wanting to wait in the kitchen any longer, you start out with Alicia and Angelina not too far behind. Fred calls out your name, once, and then twice when you don’t respond. When you’re out the door, you call back, “Talk to me when you’re sober.”

You, Alicia, and Angelina walk out of the kitchens and through the castle, the energy between the three of you noticeably shifting as anger, hurt, and sadness bubble in your bones. Angie speaks, “(Y/N), you wanna ta-”

“No. I want to watch the stars with my friends. That’s all.”

Alicia and Angelina share a look as you continue to march your way to the astronomy tower, trying to enjoy what is salvageable of your night.

-------------

The next morning, the emotions you felt from last night are only amplified. The night under the stars with Angie and Alicia was lovely, but you couldn’t help your mind from wandering to the sight of Katie next to Fred, his eyes glued on you. You felt sick. You didn’t want to jump to conclusions without hearing the full story, but your gut was telling you something wasn’t adding up. The relationship wasn’t what it used to be, but this...this was something you didn’t think would ever happen.

As you sit up in bed, you run your hands over your face in distress, trying to figure out how to approach the situation. Angelina and Alicia are still fast asleep, so there was no use asking them for advice. You were on your own with this one. 

“Get dressed and then you can think of something,” you whisper to yourself. You hoist your legs over the side of your bed and stand up, stretching your arms out with a yawn. “You can deal with Fred later.”

And as if on cue, there was a knock at your door. You look at the clock. It was only nine in the morning on a Saturday, who was up this early on a day off? Slowly, you make your way to the door and speak from behind it. “Who is it?”

“It’s, uh, me. It’s Fred, (Y/N),” the voice speaks as you close your eyes, silently cursing to yourself. Shit. “We need to talk about last night and what happened in the kitchens.”

You remain behind the door, hand on the door knob, but not moving it. You knew you had to talk to him and sort this whole thing out whether you liked the ending or not. 

“Please, (Y/N).”

Taking a deep breath in, you open the door gently to reveal a messy haired Fred in a t-shirt and sweatpants, still groggy from sleep or lack thereof. He gives you a weak smile, “Good morning, darling.”

But his pet names didn’t bring a smile on your face like they normally did. Instead, they made your stomach sour as you just looked to the floor, pulling your jumper closer to your body. “If you want to talk, we can’t do it here. Angelina and Alicia are sleeping and I’m not disturbing them,” you speak plainly, looking up at Fred with cold eyes. 

He bites the inside of his cheek and speaks, “We can go into my room if that’s alright with you. George and Lee went down for breakfast.”

Even though you would have preferred to have this talk in your own room, your own space, it was better to do it in the privacy of Fred’s rather than having to wake up and shoo Angelina and Alicia, or worse, talk as they were asleep. Begrudgingly, you shut the door behind you and follow Fred to his dormitory, a familiar route to you, but one you’d rather not be taking now. 

The walk there is quiet and awkward. It is obvious that Fred is trying to make light of the situation, asking you how last night was with the girls, asking you about the day in the grass and how the weather was. But instead of engaging in conversation, you just give him one word answers or remain silent. 

When you reach his room, he opens the door for you and you step into his dormitory, immediately feeling like an outsider. It was unfamiliar. This room was where you spent most of your time for so long, but since you hadn’t been here in nearly a month you felt out of place. Like you were disturbing it. You were an intruder. 

Fred taps his legs before sitting on the bed, expecting you to follow suit, but you remain standing in the middle of the room, staring at him in your pajamas. “I just want to apologize for last night and you having to see me like...that,” he sighs as you remain unfazed by his words. “I should have told you that the boys and Katie and I were hanging out instead of telling you that I was working. It was wrong and I feel like shit about it...I’m sorry, love. I really feel like a dickhead,” he apologizes to you as you fold your arms across your chest. “The truth would have been so much easier to tell you rather than lie about something as silly as a group hang out. I just didn’t tell you because the boys were complaining that they never see me anymore because of how much time we spend together and I figured that if I didn’t tell you, you wouldn’t ask.”

You give him a look that just screams, you’re kidding me, right? You were busy hanging out with him? For Merlin’s sake, you hadn’t seen your boyfriend in almost a month and that was his apology? Rather his excuse? “They haven’t seen you? Fred, I haven’t seen you in nearly a month! Every time I try and ask you to hang out with me or even talk to me you have something to do. Quidditch, pulling a prank with George, hanging out with Lee, studying for an exam. Don’t try and make this about me and my demands because it’s not,” you retort to him as he just sits on the bed and stares up at you as you vent. “Not to mention, since when has you dating me ever stood in the way of you hanging out with your friends? If you wanted to hang out with them so badly, then you should have told me and I still would have said yes, Fred! I’m not a monster who wants you all to herself, but Godric, I’m sorry that I’ve miss my boyfriend!”

Fred rubs his face and simply says, “Well, I have been busy over the past couple of weeks, so that’s not rubbish.”

You laugh at his response. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?” you exclaim. “Fred, I’ve been driving myself crazy over the past few weeks wondering what I did wrong. Why you pushed me aside, why you’ve tossed me away like I’m a piece of garbage!”

“That’s not true, (Y/N). Come on,” he shakes his head, looking away from you.

Now, you are getting angry. He was going to pretend like him ignoring you and denying you for a month was nothing. That’s not how things worked. “Yes, it is, Fred and you know it!” you cry out, not realizing how loud you’ve gotten. “I don’t know what is happening between us, but whatever it is, I don’t like it,” you confess.

Maybe it was your emotions talking, but you couldn’t help but feel like Fred didn’t mind the distance between you two. Maybe he liked not being as close. Maybe he wanted to have more alone time away from you. But the thought of losing Fred, someone you had loved so dearly, so intimately, made you feel lightheaded. 

Fred stands up from the bed and you think he’s going to walk over to you and give you a hug, which you know you would gladly accept. You need his comfort right now. You need him to scoop you up and tell you that everything is going to be alright and that he’s sorry for making you feel so lonely and sad. But instead of him telling you all the things you want, no need, to hear, he speaks something different. “Maybe we’re just growing apart,” he suggests.

You turn to face him with so much hurt and pain in your eyes it was enough to shatter his heart twice. Your vision becomes blurry with tears as you swallow, pushing the lump in your throat down, blinking your tears away. What was happening? “We’re w-what?” you stutter.

“Growing apart,” he repeats. “(Y/N), we’re going to be graduating soon and we’re going to have to start thinking about what we want out of life. I don’t know if we want the same things,” he tells you as your heart is ripped out of your chest and stomped on at his words. All you can do is laugh in disbelief. “I’m serious. You always told me how after you graduated here you wanted to go back to school and become a Healer and have a family and move away from England...I just...Merlin, I don’t know how to say this...”

“Then don’t,” you cut him off as Fred looks at you, tears streaming down your face now. What he was saying to you know completely contradicted everything he had told you in the past. When you and Fred spoke of the future, he always spoke of you in it. He told you how he wanted to buy a house in the countryside and raise a big family together and take holiday vacations to America and do weekly visits to the Burrow. Fred always told you that no matter what happened, he wanted you in his future. And now, that was revealed to be a lie. “Fred, I don’t care about Healer school or moving away from England. What I want is you,” you tell him as you feel your chest tighten with pain. Now Fred’s eyes start to blur with tears as you look away from him, pulling at the roots of your hair in distress. It was like he changed overnight. “What...what happened, Fred? What happened that all of a sudden you tell me our futures don’t align?”

Fred wipes tears away from his eyes and takes a deep breath in. “It’s, um, it’s a long story, but um...the joke shoppe...it looks like it’s going to happen,” Fred tells you with a lighthearted chuckle. “Harry gave George and I the winnings from the Triwizard tournament to open up the joke shoppe. It’s happening. That’s why I’ve been distant these past few weeks. George and I have been planning like crazy for it. Testing products, crunching numbers, ordering stock, finding a location in London,” he rambles on. “Last night, the lot of us were testing out an...adult product and we didn’t realize the effects it would have...so that’s why we were like that in the kitchens.” 

His words make your heart swell for a moment. Fred’s dream was coming to fruition. His own joke shoppe. A place he could call his own with his best friend and twin brother. He could finally start creating the life he wanted and you couldn’t be happier for him. Except it seemed like that life he wanted didn’t have you in it. And that’s when your heart stopped swelling.

You nod your head, “That’s...brilliant, Fred. I’m so happy for you. Really. About the joke shoppe...that’s great news.” Fred gives you a hopeful smile, thinking that the worst was over. But it hadn’t even begun. “But, I don’t understand why you had to hide it from me. Did you think I was going to be upset with you? You know that I’ve wanted this for you just as badly as you have,” you tell him with the utmost sincerity which Fred knew to be fact. “You just couldn’t have me know about it for what reason exactly?”

Fred scratches the back of his neck before pacing around his room, trying to avoid the question, but you weren’t going anywhere. “I just...ugh,” he groans and throws his head back. “I just didn’t think that you would be interested. Besides, I need to focus on my work. I can’t have any distractions,” he says this last part without looking at you.

Your stomach is doing somersaults and you feel like you’ve just been lied to your entire relationship. Fred thought that you wouldn’t be interested? How was he going to determine what you were and weren’t interested in? “You’re joking,” you speak. “Fred, I will and always will support everything you do. I can’t believe you’d even think that I wouldn’t be interested in something you are so clearly passionate about,” you tell him as he gulps, knowing he was in the wrong for making such a claim. Even after all of these explanations of him ignoring you and diverting his attention elsewhere, there was something that just didn’t add up. “So, you asked Katie Bell to help test out products with you? Instead of me. Or Angie, who is seeing George. Or Alicia, who Lee has been flirting with since the dawn of time.”

Fred becomes visibly uncomfortable at the mention of Katie’s name and that’s when you shake your head, the whole thing becoming very clear to you know. This wasn’t about the shoppe anymore. This was about something else. “It was never like that, (Y/N),” Fred speaks.

“It was never like that or you never intended for it to happen?” you ask him, your voice cracking as you pace back and forth in his bedroom. He was distant with you because he was falling out of love. That was it. “Good Godric, I feel like I’m going crazy,” you let out a shaky laugh, unable to believe what was happening. The story just kept on unfolding.

Fred walks over to you quickly, trying to calm your fears, “Nothing happened between us! I swear on my life!”

You let out a laugh, “Sure! That makes me feel better!” Fred gulps. “But there was something that was there enough to make you push me away,” you speak lowly as Fred searches your teary eyes for something. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for; hope? forgiveness? love? friendship? You start pacing the room again, the venomous thoughts coming into your head as they vomit out of your mouth, “You know people told me not to get involved with you because you were a flirt, Fred. But I told them that you were different with me. You saw a future with me, but now I am proven wrong,” you tell him as he shakes his head in disbelief, trying to get you to stop talking, but you don’t. The words just tumble out. “I knew you’d love me as long as you wanted. And then someday, you’d leave me for somebody new,” you spill. “I just didn’t think that this someday would come so soon.”

“I don’t want Katie, (Y/N)! I don’t! Godric! I don’t!” he yells out. “(Y/N), I love you! You know that!” he screams as you just cry harder at his words. Over the past month, you didn’t feel his love. It felt like a chore to get an I love you out of him. “I’ve been distant because I’ve been working hard for my dream! My future! Why can’t you understand that I’m working for something I want!” he yells.

And the truth comes out.

Instinctively, you yell back, “Because how am I supposed to understand something you never told me! You never told me about the joke shoppe and your plans for it! Hell, you never told me Harry gave you the money! How am I supposed to support you when you don’t tell me how I can?!” you yell through tears. “Don’t you hear yourself! Your dream! Your future! You want! What about us?”

The both of you are crying now, you covering your mouth to prevent sobs from escaping, Fred sitting on his bed, hanging his head in his hands, sniffling. This all blew up so quickly and neither of you knew how to recover from this. The damage that the past month had caused was enough to put a gaping hole in your relationship that would be very hard to cover up. That was if you wanted to cover it up.

It’s silent for a while. The air is still and untouched. Fred on the edge of his bed, you sitting on the floor, back resting against the door. You want to get up and leave the room. But you don’t. You sit there. And think. 

And then Fred speaks. “Our futures don’t fit together,” he looks at you, eyes swollen and red matching yours. “We’ve tried to make them fit. But it won’t work.”

You laugh and shake your head, “Freddie...then you haven’t listened to anything I’ve ever told you.” He looks at you, twisting his face with confusion. “All I’ve ever wanted was you. I don’t care what happens after we graduate. Healer school was an idea. But you? You were never an idea. You were something I always wanted,” you confess as Fred gives you the saddest smile you’ve ever seen. “But if I’m not in your future...then...” you trail off, unable to finish the sentence. It was a nightmare. 

It’s silent again. 

But the longer you sit in silence, the more angry you get. Not at Fred. But at yourself. If you had known about what he wanted, what Fred wanted, you could have avoided all of his heartbreak and pain. But instead, Fred fed into your fantasy, this dream, this hazy future of yours and you let him. “I’m crazy,” you laugh as Fred look up at you. “I’m crazy for thinking that my love could hold you.”

Fred shakes his head, “No, (Y/N). You’re not. I love you and I always will.”

“Please don’t tell me that,” you close your eyes and bite down on your bottom lip to prevent the tears from falling again. You couldn’t let yourself hope for a future that didn’t exist with Fred. “This was never going to work. I’m crazy for trying,” you breath out before standing and brushing yourself off, Fred rising with you. “I’m crazy for crying,” you wipe away the remaining tears on your face.

Fred walks over to you as you place your hand on the door. “(Y/N),” he starts, “I never wanted us to end like this. You mean so much to me and I can’t just let you go like this,” he starts crying again, but you have to peel your eyes away. “We want to different things and we both deserve to be happy. Don’t you think?” he asks you. But his question sounded like he needed the reassurance from you. That he needed you to tell him that you agreed. To make it seem like you both wanted this break up.

Looking at Fred once more before you leave, you say, “We do want different things. You want your dream and I want you. But I can’t pretend like I’m happy that we are going our separate ways.” Fred nods his head, wiping his tears away. “I need space. And time. Away from you, Fred.”

And with that, you leave his room and start down the stairs back to your dormitory. You hide your face as best as you can from passing Gryffindor students, trying to be as incognito as possible. As you walk back to your room, you can’t help but think back on all of the happier times that you and Fred shared and think was it a lie? Was it all for show? It would be something that would keep you up at night. 

You were crazy about Fred Weasley, that was for certain. But even crazier for loving someone who didn’t want you as badly as you wanted them.

Walking up the stairs, you look out the window to see the fresh spring countryside. Admits all the chaos, the flowers were still blooming, the grass still growing, and the sun still shining. Spring was still here and new as ever. The snow had melted away to reveal the fruitful, lush land. A new start. Maybe it was time for you to have one too. 

[factorialsfandoms]

this... was going to be a flufftober prompt, but I got to a point where I liked the ending before I reached the bit where contest actually happened. Oops. TLDR: Malon, from the town just the otherside of the woods, shows up and takes home the summer crop festival with some lovingly grown sweetcorn, narrowly beating Between’s crystal flowers. And Mini in third, his tiny friends having been helping him grow some clover.

And, now I think, /also/ dropping by the LU Server’s crossover event! And introducing my pet au which... only people in the correct discord servers with me know about oopsie. Well, the crossover is with rune factory, and the prompt is competition. I’ll someday write actual info on them, but Storm is ALTTP/Oracles/LA Link and Bracken is TLoZ/AoL Link and Koei is HW Link and... The others either use their usual names or should be obvious? And them all living in one farming village deep in the lost woods, most plot things have never happened to them. Yet. Not all the Links have gathered, either, this being maybe 2 years before plot would occur. Most notably missing is Wild. I had funny for him, but then Storm decided he wanted to be happy.

This isn’t AU plot. This is just fluff.

It was the morning of the Summer Crop Festival, and the village was in full swing. Linkle had the cucuos flying banners up to the balconies, where Twilight was helping Colin pin them into place. Sky was trying to do the same thing, but his own birds were behaving far less well, instead trying to eat the brightly coloured sugar paper. Mayor Hagon was stood in the centre of the town square, directing people to the small tent where Rusl was checking the produce, and logging everyone’s entries.

Most of those making submissions had got them in early, and were now gathered around chatting. Storm was not entering this year, having won the last with an Ironleaf. Instead he would be helping the mayor and Uli judge the competition, serving as a tie break. Farore had given her blessing to him doing so, a knowing smirk on her face as the Oracle had agreed to delay his trip to Labrynna by a few more days.

He loved his apprenticeship to the Oracle, he really did! But, he was going to miss his friends and life in the Hidden Village; soon he was to travel across the sea, spending six months each studying with the Oracles of Seasons and Ages. Storm was just... going to miss these things. It had been strange enough when Koei had been called away to the war, and now Storm would be leaving too.

He wondered if there would be any new arrivals in his absence; Koei’s departure had been maybe two months after Ravio’s arrival, and three before Sky had been thrust into their lives. Both were curious men, both Storm’s seniors and scarred by the war in their own ways. Hopefully Koei would not be as hurt by it as them; hopefully the war would stop taking people away.

Speaking of Ravio, he was speaking with Rusl, giggling about something to do with his aubergine. Given the bright red ears of Between at his side, it was nothing suitable for polite company.

That was not the commotion, though, oh no - the commotion was past the check in station, where Four was arguing with Bracken.

Arguing, Storm said, like Bracken was replying. The boy had pulled his hood up over his face as he flapped apologetically, almost something to do with the jam now covering Four’s cloak. If he had to put money on it, Storm would say that it was likely the Smith’s grandson who had caused the accident, not Bracken, but whatever it was seemed to be resolving itself.

Well, being resolved by Mini stepping on his elder brother’s foot and threatening to call grandpa on him, to the amused delight of Between, and allowing Doctor Odel to rescue his ward from the situation.

“You could go join them, you know?” Uli, sat with him at the judges table, baby Thela sleeping in her arms. “You’re not needed for a little while yet.”

Storm could, he was sure. He could go help Wake and Spirit with their pumpkins, or go borrow Bracken to set up some extra decorations. Maybe Sky would even like a hand wrangling his cucuos, though Storm was firmly of the opinion that anyone who dealt with the birds regularly was signing their own death warrant. He could even go talk with Between and Ravio, though the two seemed rather engrossed in whatever they were plotting.

So, instead, he shook his head, “I’ll talk to them after; nobody’s ever much fun before the results.”

Uli laughed in agreement, and offered him an apple.

He grinned back, taking it. Before he was even half way done, Bracken had slipped up to the table, waving what could only be nervously.

“Yeah?” Storm asked of the one other competent magic wielder of their generation. The Smiths claimed their ancestral powers as magic, but Storm had yet to see any of them cast an actual spell. Ravio, perhaps, but Farore was very strict about enchantment being a different discipline. And, anyway, he had married into the family.

Bracken reached into his capelet, and bought out a bag of confetti with a nervous smile.

Well, so much for sitting with Uli and looking like the responsible adult he almost was. She waved him away as he grabbed Bracken’s hand, taking him up the clocktower.

Up with a little privacy, Bracken did not immediately get the confetti and magic supplies out. Instead he sat down on the ledge, and gestured for Storm to join him.

“Something wrong?” he asked, frowning a little at the younger witch. “Four didn’t hurt you, did he?”

A quick shake of the head was followed by Bracken’s hood being pulled down, a shaky smile joining steady hands as they signed out ‘/I’ll miss you/’.

It was a sentiment a lot of the village shared, and Storm with them.

“It’s only a year,” Storm promised. “And I’ll write to you! Just focus on your own studies, and you won’t even notice it.”

‘/Of course I’ll notice it/,’ Bracken huffed with vague offence. ‘/You’ll be gone/.’

“And I’ll come back, and I’ll bring better stuff back for us to work with. Oracle Naryu lives in the city - there’ll be all sorts of good stuff I can get there. Maybe even some of that fancy glittery confetti they have in the capital.”

There was a long pause, where Bracken did not look terribly reassured. ‘/Just promise you’ll come back safe?/’

“Of course! If anything I should be worried about all of you - I’m at least going /away/ from the war! /And/ I hear there’s fewer gates in Labrynna and Holodrum combined than just the forest. Didn’t you know? And even if something does go wrong, then I guess... Well, I’ll just refuse to die!”

His impassioned speech at least had Bracken silently giggling into his hands. It was for the best; unlike even Wake, Storm had not been beyond the borders of the forest before. The Oracle kept the inn, and Storm had lived with her as long as he could remember. Going abroad, and alone at that? It was terrifying. Still, he was excited, and going to make the most of it.

“Come on, then, let’s get this confetti shower set up,” he pulled himself up, then offered Bracken a hand. “I think some people from the other villages are coming this year? We should get set up before they arrive.”

Bracken took the hand, using it to pull himself up, before grabbing the supplies.

There was not one but three bags of confetti; it was going to be a very, very good year.

[botwstoriesandsuch]

hey Kip! I’m sending asks into different writer’s askboxes, inquiring about cool themes/development facts/stuff the author wants to share about their personal favorite work of their own. What’s yours? :)

Ok so this ask is old and when I first got it I was like “dang I don’t really have a lot to talk about, what should I talk about I could those revalink headcanons the Kip Cut that turned into a working fic uhh hmm maybe I’ll just make something new to talk about real quick” and then I did and now there is a 12+ chapter Revalink fic in my drafts and I’m gonna talk about that now, whoopsie doopsie [click "j" to skip]

aHEM, OK so allow me to break out the primary school white board because yeah, I have a lot of thoughts and the oxford comma has not yet made it’s home into my brain. oh and spoilers for paraphrase. for both all of Chapter one and future events in later chapters, but it’s really nothing you couldn’t surmise from the AO3 tags

so I really wanted to tell the story of Revali and Link learning and struggling to love again after the less-than-fortunate events of Botw, but I wanted a...how you say...fresher, approach on the subject? Like I know we always say that fanfic writers writing the same tropes and stories time and time again is good because we eat that shit up--but at the same time I had asian parenting as was told never to half ass anything ever, no matter what. So now I'm gay and extra and have depression maybe and oh would you look at that @motherhyrule has dropped a beautiful revalink prompt right into my lap

Great so now that we have, that, I shall take you on the step by step process on how to make a :sparkles: story. So step one is to spend at least five to eleven business days for your white board to dismantle your genre and themes and work them around your character arcs. Luckily I have prepared one ahead of time

s*breaks out those laser pointers that uni professors use* So let's start with defining genre. As define because I HATE you, fuck you. I want you to suffer and writhe on the ground, motherfucker. How dare you think that I would give you nothing but pure predictable fluff, fuck you and yours

is the set of expectations that your audience has when consuming a piece of media

And the great thing about fanfiction is that unlike movies or book where the genres are more vague like, "oh it's a noir mystery genre. so there's a crime, maybe a murder, and a detective and a criminal." or "oh it's a teen romance. so there's some white people and a morally questionable six-pack 18 year old love interest that will be painted as desirable for some reason" BUT with fanfiction HALF of the work out the window, because as soon as you see those #revalink #aro sidon #zelpha #revali is an idiot and #found family tags you already know what's up.

Now what's so great about genre and expectation? Well the fun thing about it is that

I will use it to fucking break you.

... ... ...

<3 For example! <3

In Chapter 1: Holes, you already expect there to be revalink, you already expect them to be soulmates with the soulmarks and there's angst and yadayada ya. Revali and Link have to match because thatttss what this is all about, this is about them! This is about cute, little soulmarks and romantic words!

But whoooopsie doopsie [disney channel laugh track plays] they DON'T match anymore! Link's got a different mark! The number one rule of this entire genre has been broken whoooooooooooooooops. *ba dum tiss*

You might notice with a lot of my writing that I do this a lot, this whole..."oop but there's one little thing that's different." TebaSaki sick fic? Ok cool, but what if Teba burns an irreplaceable relic of the Rito champion to fight a wizzrobe first to characterize why his dumbass clicks with Saki. Mipha deciding to persue Link? Ok what if she chases after a dragon to externalize this conflict as she pierces it's flesh for a scale. Link fighting a Lynel? Ok but what if it's actually a sidlink angst fic in disguise and it's also world building on how Link deals with the bloodmoon that erases all of his efforts which is sort of similar to how his existence was erased from Hyrule 100 years ago mwaahahaha! Ok now that I say this outloud I think I just have a pattern of using fight scenes to externalize character growth. I like fight scenes...anyways.

I think another great thing about the realm of fanfiction is that with the tagging system, I can basically use a chekhov's gun sort of deal, without doing any writing. You know I'm gonna use that gun marked "soulmates" but you don't know when I'm gonna shoot it, and you SURE as hell don't know how.

And huzzah! One of the main points of conflict both drives the tension between Revali and Link, solidifies the unique genre and setting of this world, while also creating a new mystery that will carry over for the next few chapters.

Is Revali right in that Link's rebirth makes him destined for someone new now? What will Link do with the information that his soulmark has changed? Why did it change? Did Revali's change as well? How does anything fucking work right now?

And sure, you might be able to tell where things will end with them, but you sure as fuck will not know how because I HATE you. Fuck you. I want you to suffer and writhe on the ground, motherfucker. How dare you think that I would give you nothing but pure predictable fluff. I am not your goddamn fairy godmother, I will do as I fucking please. You will suffer as you fucking deserve, fuck you and your little tiny--

/j

Oh! But you might have noticed on my little planning whiteboard thing that there was a little T-Chart! For Revali and Link! That's because the next important thing besides plot (and in a lot of cases, including this one, it's argued to be even MORE important than plot) is

~CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT~

[to the tune of that history of the world video on youtube]

So yes, it's a little T-Chart outlining their character views in relation to the themes. And the great thing about themes is that they're not something you can necessarily predict in the same way you can with the genre and plot.

But now see, I'm very lazy so I'm just gonna plagiarize @hyrule-kingdom-updates thingy [that you should read btw] because they said my point quite clear enough

Now I don't really need to care about those points about bond and relationships and being understood, because I'm dealing with already established canon characters. I'm not some NERD who dabbles with entire casts of ocs who even cares about ocs not me that's for sure ahaahahaahahahahahaahahahahahAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH *cries in my orphaned WTTU fic* AHAHAHA*sobs*DONT FUCKING LOOK AT ME THAT WAY I SWEAR--

/j I love ocs

But the points I do wanna focus on is the idea that characters provide new perspectives on the theme, and that characters growth can be tracked based on their wants, lies, and needs.

So see, themes can be predicted the same as genre/plot because while you can have the same fanfic plots and tropes, theme will always vary!

Sometimes it's a journey of selfworth with Revali! Sometimes it's an exploration of trauma with Link. Sometimes it's about how you deal with the vulnerabilities of love with Mipha. Sometimes there's straight up NOOOO theme, and people just be fucking, and kissing, and baking, and having a good time. And that is totally fine too!

But I'm not a fucking coward.

I'm gonna weave in themes with my plot, because I fucking can.

I'm not a weakling like you.

Do you hear me, 2019 Kip? Do you hear me Demmers? Do you hear me Quill? I'm coming for your ass. You think you're so great, but I'm coming for you. Rest assured that your graves will be as deep as your sculptured pride--

Heeeere is that T-Chart again, plus more!

yyyyyYou might notice that Revali and Link are quite parallel, to paraphrase. Ayoooo, see what I did there? *dabs* I'm a genius. Anywho

They both start off the same way: 100 years ago they were in love and happy. Basically the equivalent of childish naivety. For the first time in their lives, life is whimsical and charming, and they make each other happy. In fact, it's almost a flaw with how they perceive this happiness. But don't worry! It doesn't last long!

You know what happens.

I think the chart is pretty self explanatory. Revali builds walls fast enough to give a republican a wet dream. Meanwhile Link makes every aromantic in the chat groan with his doubled down sentiments in the idea that his chances of being truly happy again are gone.

Now, I can't exactly describe the full on process of the inbetweens, and where Revali and Link are gonna go from here, because...you have to read it for yourself! Heehee...but something I did think was fun was how these character views on the themes are revealed. Because you'll notice that, I never give exposition. Ever.

Ok well, let me rephrase that. I never give exposition scenes. I will never give you a big LOTR fancy wizard scene explaining the ins and outs of a character's question or the world's magic or whatever. I'm a very impatient Kip, and I value efficiency. Nonono, it's all about multi tasking, baby!

Chapter 1: Holes is divided into three parts.

Post 100 Years - Medoh (Establishes Ghost Rev/Bonk Head Link's view)

100 Years Ago - Flight Range (Establishes old Revalink views)

Post 100 years - Mark (Develops Ghost Rev/Bonk Head Link's view in contrast to who they once were)

I think the way that you structure flashbacks is incredible vital, as it's a very quick way to characterize people without having them say stuff like "I used to be like you, until I took an arrow to the knee" or whatever.

And with the main structure of the chapters and the fic as a whole is focus on their characters, that means I can hide whatever other stuff I want in those scenes, becuase you're too busy absorbing the fun character stuff to realizing I'm giving you boring exposition. Like for example:

Post 100 Years - Medoh and Mark

Foreshadowing for the end of the fic

Set up connection to Medoh with Revali

Link has defeated Windblight

Link has been visiting Revali every night for the past few days

Link has already met Kass and presumably Teba

Link doesn't have the Mastersword

Revali's Gale is still an ability that needs master and practice on Link's end

And that's just some of the stuff.

And see, the only reason I can efficiently give all of this information regarding character, and even exposition, is because of the theme. The themes make everything relevant, and everything circles and encompasses one another, so there's absolutely no wasted space. I mean don't even get me started on how it's gonna be to characterize the other characters around this

I don't wanna talk about the other characters too much either because that's spoilers, but you can probably take a gandar based on my notes.

And oh my god this is just on the theme of the faults that come with "soulmates" and "true love" and all that, and how even magical destined relationships still require work and effort, and that no one thing or person solves all your problems. And that's not even TOUCHING the shit on trauma and scars. I didn't think it was even possible for me to talk about botw without touching on that, ha. Ah well, I've been talking for too long.

Revalink has a lot o' writing potential so das pretty cool yeah, I am excite

[hypnotixstorm]

Spin The Bottle with any of the DGM characters that you're comfortable writing????? (but like obviously when Kanda spins the bottle it has to land on the reader [me] because YOU KNOW WHY OK????????) ilysm!!! 😍

I LOVE super cliche shit like spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven and just yES! Thank you, I’m gonna go a bit nuts with this oops-

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* spin the bottle *･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 

Okay I think Link is a lil cutie so I had to include him

He’s so cute and innocent that he probably doesn’t even realize what game it is that everyone is playing tbh

And if he has heard of the game before, he probably doesn’t understand what it entails

But whenever he spins the bottle and it lands on you? Poor baby is clueless

You start blushing and he’s so confused until it’s explained to him and then he’s even more red than you are

Link is such a gentleman and will not kiss you unless you tell him that you want him to

It really isn’t about his ego or anything like that, he just doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable

When you’ve finally convinced him that you want him to kiss you, he’ll gently cup your cheek before pressing an even softer kiss to your lips

Lavi and Lenalee will cheer the two of you on, knowing about your crush on him

After the game is over and everyone has dispersed, he’ll pull you to the side to talk about what happened

If you tell him about your crush on him, he’ll get just as red, if not more so, than he did earlier

Surprisingly, he’ll admit that he reciprocates how you feel, he’s just so nervous of rejection and he worries that his job is too demanding for him to have a happy, healthy relationship

After his own confession, he’ll pull you into a loving kiss, signaling the start of your relationship

I think Allen is aware of what spin the bottle is

In fact, I think it was his idea in the first place, especially after a little convincing on Lavi’s part

When it’s your turn, he is literally bouncing in anticipation

He so wants the bottle to land on him

It’s just his bad luck that it lands between him and Lavi, the latter of which quickly telling you to re-spin to cheer him up

Much to everyone’s surprise, after you’ve gone again, it lands on Allen

He nearly jumps out of his spot to kiss you, causing you to giggle and blush

You’re just too cute when you blush and your little laugh makes him blush as well

Honestly, he grabs both sides of your face before smashing his lips onto yours

The kiss is a bit awkward, but the intentions within it are very apparent

For the rest of the night, the two of you steal glances at each other, looking away and blushing as your gazes meet one another each and every time

Honestly, no one is really sure why or how he’s here, but it’s too late for them to kick him out, seeing as it’s already his turn

Besides, he’s been well-behaved the entire time and hasn’t caused any trouble

Tyki was originally hoping for the bottle to land on Lenalee, but as soon as he saw you, that all changed

He was certainly intrigued when you entered the room for the first time that night

Who were you? Why were you here? And why had he never seen you before?

He didn’t know and he didn’t like that

It was now his goal to find the answers to his questions, reaching his ears in-between moans and gasps from you as you writhed underneath his body, preferably

Tyki smirked to himself before giving the bottle a twirl

The tension in the room grew to an uncomfortable, suffocating level that was thick enough to cut with a knife

His devilish grin and the sadistic gleam in his eyes would only grow as it landed on you, the object of his desire

Before you, or the others, could protest, he pulled you into his lap

His fingers would tangle in your hair, tugging roughly before locking his lips with your own

As you moaned into the kiss, his other hand would find your hip, his fingers digging into the soft, tender flesh

You could hear some of your friends growl or scoff in disgust, causing Tyki to smirk in response

Before things could go on for much longer, Lavi would rip you from his lap, promptly glaring at the Noah as he did so

Lavi would ask if you were okay as he sat you down between him and Allen but you would be in too much of a daze to answer

As the game came to a close, the others would try to drag you away from him, but you were so intrigued, desperate to know what would happen if you went with him for the night

Or perhaps, the rest of your life

His gaze would linger on yours, prompting you to follow him to some secluded location, where he’d immediately pin you to the wall

He would normally take what he wanted, no matter the circumstances but he didn’t want the others to hear what cute noises you had to make

The rest of the night was very eventful for you

Omg okay time for my fave

I know I have Lavi headcannoned as being kinda cocky and confident but I feel like if he hasn’t confessed to his crush at this point, then he’s actually a bit nervous

It’s more antsy, he can’t sit still, he’s grinning and blushing like an idiot

But of course, you’re oblivious too, why wouldn’t you be?

There’s no way THE Lavi could like you... is there?

He’s always so flirty with every girl he encounters, you feel like you don’t stand a chance

The truth is, he flirts with them because he wants to get over his feelings for you because wow you are way too perfect for him, an angel, a goddess, not of this world

So, when you spin the bottle and it lands on him? He feels his little heart thumping in his chest in anticipation

But the moment he sees the happiness on your face, all of that disappears

The both of you jump up nearly in sync for the kiss, much to each of your embarrassment

It’s honestly really cute and sweet though

He’s really worried to touch you in a way that would make you uncomfortable

For the rest of the game/night, he’ll have you sitting in his lap with his chin resting on the top of your head

After everything is done and over with, he’ll pull you to the side to talk about your relationship

Honestly, even though his feelings for you are very strong, he’ll try to discourage you from pursuing a relationship

The life of a Bookman is not a fun, nor easy one to live and he wants you to be 100% aware of that

Of course you’re already aware of that and, after some minor pleading, he’ll agree, only a little reluctantly

I had to save the best for last, didn’t I? Gotta tease ya since I know he’s your fave hehe

Okay, so, neither myself nor Kanda understands how he got into this situation

He just wants to be left alone and to sulk in his room, but Lenalee said something about needing his help

Kanda wasn’t in the mood to fight her on it, so he just agreed, but immediately regretted it

Somehow, the others forced him to stay, but he sulked and grumbled about how miserable he was the entire time

This made you really nervous because this is your big chance, thanks to practically everyone because the two of you are so fucking hopeless, and you were worried you were going to blow it

You held your breath as the bottle spun, coming to a rest on your figure

He sat there, not moving, as everyone watched expectantly

Kanda glanced at your figure before glaring at the others

Before he could leave though, someone pushed him into you, causing the two of you to lock lips

Both you and, surprisingly Kanda, were a blushing mess

That was something nobody had ever expected from the rather stoic male

He would huff and stomp away at that moment but would make sure to find you later that night when the two of you could be alone

Kanda would want to talk about his feelings and yours, even though that would be a massive undertaking in and of itself

Let's just say, everything worked out in the end

[beedalee]

Magical Girl Adoptables - INDIGO on DeviantART

🌠Adopts Terms of Service 🌠What Are Adoptables? 🌠

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- Terminology: OPEN = available | #/# = number of designs left on sheet | HOLD = 24/48 hour hold is active | PENDING = invoice sent | SOLD = adopted - First come, first serve! I will hold for 24 hours- My Paypal Invoices will expire after 24 hours after they are sent! - I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone for any reason! Please be polite when inquiring about buying a design. - You may buy the design as a gift for someone else, but you must tell me who the giftee is! Contact me via note if it's a surprise! - After payment is received, you will get the FULL SIZE, un-watermarked, transparent version of the design you purchased! Please do not upload the full size anywhere to prevent theft, and do not remove my signature from the design for any reason! Please read my ToS and Adoptables journal linked above for more information. - Lace border credit: here!

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Please click the read-more for information, order form, and availability status; OR go to the deviantart link above! If you want to buy one via tumblr, please private message me, do not use asks or they may get lost!  💓  If you have a question please don't hesitate to ask!!! I'll do my best to help you out!

(Edit: Linked to wrong adopt sheet oops!)

🌠 Temporary Limit: 1 DESIGN PER PERSON! Limit expires September 7th at 3:00pm MST 🌠

Gifting limit is 1 gift per buyer, and only if the giftee hasn't already purchased one on this sheet themselves! Example: Buyer 1 may purchase 'adopt A' for themselves and purchase 'adopt C' as a gift for Person 2 ONLY IF Person 2 has not bought or already been gifted one themselves. Giftees cannot buy a 2nd one during this limitation if they have been gifted one already! This post will be updated and watchers notified when this limit is over, thank you for understanding! 💓

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🌌🌃 47.00 USD EACH! ALL HOMED, TYSM! 🌃🌌

Each comes with little character blurbs, but you don't have to keep them! Feel free to change their powers/theme color/gender id/personality to your liking. Also, feel free to shift their color theme as well! These are just fun prompts for me.

🌠 ROW 1:

 Astral Idol: SOLD!

- She's a stunner, she's a star- with a voice that dazzles the whole cosmos! Being an intergalactic superstar has a lot of responsibilities, but saving the entire galaxy was not supposed to be one of them...

Guiding Star: SOLD!

- A meek girl  and trained nurse that spends most of her time caring for her strict but aging parents. She longs for romance, friendship, and a feeling of happiness. As the Guiding Star, she's tasked with carrying starlight safely to its destination, and her magic cloak lets her become one with the night- untouchable to the creatures that lurk there wanting to consume the magic light she protects.

Night Hunt: SOLD! 

- A serious person with little time for pleasantry or humor, and a highly sought-after mercenary renowned for their deadly skills.  While they have no interest in monetary gain, they will take on high-risk jobs for rare or unusual treasures, as they are seeking something invaluable... and once they set their sights on something or someone, there is nothing that can stop them.

🌠 ROW 2:

Time Jumper: SOLD! -A precocious little schoolgirl with big opinions and bigger impulses- but don't let her age fool you, she's sharp as a whip and clever as a hare- and with her pocket watch and time magic, she's always a little bit both here and there! ;)

Crystalline: SOLD!

- A trendsetter and respectable business lady aspiring to make her mark in the fashion industry. She carries herself with an air of grace and poise that can make her seem a little otherworldly and mesmerizing. She loves collecting glass sculptures and crystals.

Planetarium's Keeper: SOLD!

- A knowledgeable young man that maintains a prestigious planetarium, he is friendly but mysterious, as if he's watching something other than planetary activity. Though he's pacifistic, if something otherworldly were to threaten the order of the cosmos he wouldn't hesitate to become a formidable opponent- it is his job, after all.

🌠 ROW 3:

Stormbringer: SOLD!

- A reserved security guard who got caught up with a bunch of vagabonds opening a rift to another world, getting pulled in herself. To blend in, she adopts the role of the paladin Stormbringer- using her knowledge and newly discovered electricity magic to protect the other misplaced humans.

Sapphire Sword: SOLD!

- An overworked and underpaid waitress by day, an avid DnD player in her off time. It's all fun and games until she buys a trinket for her costume that miiiight in fact be the real deal, and ends up drawing monsters to her workplace in search of it...

Mistress of the Deep: SOLD!

- She's a force of nature, with looks that could kill and a master at sharp tongued comebacks to anyone that looks at her funny- but she's kind and motherly to her friends, if not sassy and a little over the top. Hell have no wrath like a woman who can summon entire tsunamis!

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You MUST include the order form in your comment or note, or you may miss out on the adoptable! Please use it. If you're on mobile, you may just type it out instead of copying it if it's easier. Here's a breakdown of each entry:

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🌠  ORDER FORM:

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[shadowofmoths]

#6 for lwj and wwx?

tam!!! ilysm i had so much fun w this prompt. also theres an ao3 link here bc this got kinda long oop “lan zhan. hey, lan zhan.” wei wuxian’s words are insistent, but whispered, as though he doesn’t want to break the silence of the night around them. the sky is dark around them, and the moon is bright, like it was when they first met. before either of them knew what they would become to each other. this night, they are laying in the grass in cloud recesses, as snow-white rabbits hop and stretch and nap nearby. wei wuxian’s head rests nearly on lan wangji’s shoulder, with his arm resting gently on lan wangji’s chest. it is the most peaceful lan wangji can remember feeling in a long, long time.

”mn. wei ying.” “lan zhan, i missed you when i was gone.” he says it like a secret. “did you miss me?” lan zhan stares at him, looking surprised and--concerned? offended, maybe?

“did i miss you? wei ying--when you were dead?” he asks. wei wuxian sits up immediately, looking nearly frantic.

“ah! no, lan zhan, no, that’s not what i meant at all. i’m sorry, lan zhan, ah--i wouldn’t joke about that, i wouldn’t.” he grabs for lan wangji’s hands, and pulls him up until he is sitting as well, so wei wuxian can wrap his arms around his shoulders and rock them both back and forth. lan wangji follows easily, tucking his head against wei wuxian’s shoulder and resting his hands on his waist. “i promise i wouldn’t, lan zhan.”

lan wangji, now that he’s thinking clearly, knows that wei wuxian wouldn’t. they’d had that conversation already, when he had made one too many jokes about his own death and lan wangji had made himself be honest about why it bothered him so much. he did his best to explain, to tell wei wuxian what he meant, about the enormity of his grief. if he had had the words he would have said:

wei ying, for every breath i took the past sixteen years, i missed you. i missed you the way i would a limb, or my golden core, or my own slow-beating heart. like you were my best friend, my soulmate, the other father to my son. even when my grief had calmed from a hurricane to a slow, heavy fog, it never left me. those sixteen years i learned how to survive without you, wei ying, but never again how to live. and i did not know sunlight again until i heard your voice. 

lan wangji had not had the words to say this. but he thinks that wei wuxian heard some of it anyway, as he never again brought up his own death with anything but gentleness in front of lan wangji. and he knows, now, that he would not have asked something so careless. “i apologize. i do know that you wouldn’t joke about your dying--i was not thinking, and i made assumptions.” as he speaks, lan wangji moves a hand from wei wuxian’s waist to the back of his head, combing gently through his loose ponytail and pulling blades of grass from it. “lan zhan, ah, lan zhan, don’t apologize, silly, its--we’re okay. i didn’t mean to upset you.”

“we’re okay,” lan wangji echoes, a reassurance. wei wuxian sighs in relief, his breath close enough to ruffle lan wangji’s hair just a little. “what i meant,” wei wuxian continues, “was, did you miss me, just recently, when i was travelling. i missed you, of course--every beautiful thing i saw, i wanted to turn to you and point and say, ‘lan zhan, look at that!’ sometimes i’d forget, and tell you about something anyway, until i’d remember you weren’t there.” wei wuxian’s voice has gone soft, and wistful, and maybe a little embarrassed, and all at once lan wangji feels so full of love for him that he thinks his heart could break. he moves to lay back down on the grass, pulling wei wuxian with him until he lays half on top of him, their arms still around each other, wei wuxian’s face against lan wangji’s neck. “i started writing you letters, but i got too embarrassed to send them. it just kind of ended up being a journal that i kept, but...but written for you, i guess.”

“wei ying,” lan wangji says, feeling like he could just up and die of feeling. “wei ying. i missed you. when you were travelling.” he pauses, the tips of his ears bright red. “whenever you aren’t with me, i miss you.”

“oh.” wei wuxian says. he pulls lan wangji closer to him. lan wangji can feel the soft motion of wei wuxian’s eyelashes against his neck whenever he blinks. “oh,” he says again. “lan zhan, i didn’t know.” “i missed you every day for sixteen years,” lan wangji points out. “no matter where you are, if you are away from me, i will miss you. my wei ying.” “my lan zhan…” wei wuxian says, soft and serious in the way he so rarely is. “you won’t have to miss me any more, okay? i know i get restless but...but maybe next time i travel you can just come with me. so i won’t have to miss you, either.” “mn. yes.” “yes? just like that?” “want to be where wei ying is,” lan wangji says. he doesn’t know how to make it any clearer to wei wuxian that he loves him. “i want to be where you are too, lan zhan. so lets stay together, okay?” wei wuxian says. lan wangji nods, and kisses wei wuxian on the center of his forehead, where the medallion of his forehead ribbon would lay if he had one. “okay.” wei wuxian says. he grins. “good.”

[thisissirius]

If you’re taking requests, I’d love to see something where Chris is fed up of waiting and brings adoption papers home for Buck and Eddie to sign 🙈

oh man, thanks to @hearteyesforbuck​ who, as always, is my best sounding board and @the-wardrobeintocamelot for always suffering out fic fits lol

helping hands [AO3 LINK] eddie/buck, chris + adoption/getting together

“Did you have a good day at school?” Buck looks at Chris through the rearview as he pulls out of the parking lot. It takes a while sometimes, but it’s alright; the ride home is fast becoming Buck’s favourite part of the day.

Chris nods with a grin. “We drew pictures. I brought mine home to show you and Dad.”

Buck raises his eyebrows. “You’re not gonna let me see first?”

“Nope," Chris says. The expression on his face is all Eddie when he's trying to be devious and Buck doesn't know to do with his emotions. "You have to see it with Dad. At the same time."

"Okay," Buck says, drawing out the word. Sometimes, Chris' excitement builds so much it just bursts out of him.

For once, Chris manages to keep it quiet all the way home. He still talks, tells Buck about his lessons, the trouble he's having with his history assignment, and whether Buck will help him.

"I'll take a look," Buck says. Which probably means he's gonna be researching pyramids well into the night. "We can work on it together tomorrow, okay?"

"You're the best, Bucky," Chris says. He sounds a little more earnest than he usually does, and Buck's gotta concentrate on the road in case he starts crying.

He needs to get a grip. Being emotional about Christopher isn't new, but sometimes it just hits him, how much he loves his best friend's kid. He's all the best parts of Eddie and Shannon both, and Buck adores him for that. Together, they've raised the kindest soul Buck knows.

"Alright," he says, "we're almost home, but I'm thinking takeout? It's your dad's turn to cook."

Chris makes a gagging noise. "He'll try something new and we'll all end up sick, Buck."

Buck snorts. Eddie tries, he really does, but it's a hopeless cause. So many people have tried to help him; Buck, Bobby, Abuela, all to no avail. Eddie just steps into the kitchen and appliances throw themselves off of counters to get away from him.

"Text Eds. Getting takeout. Sorry."

The car complies, probably adding Chris', "Yes, Bucky," just before Buck asks to send and he awaits Eddie's response. He catches Chris' eye, sticks out his tongue.

"We're gonna be in trouble."

"Probably," Chris says. "But we can take him."

Buck laughs and makes the way to the nearest Thai place. It's Eddie's current favourite, which will help when they have to go home and make nice.

Evan Buckley. You can't get takeout every time it's my turn to cook!

Why, Buck texts back. You do.

Chris laughs, looking the happiest Buck's seen him thus far, and he pulls into the takeaway parking lot.

"Come on, buddy. Let's get your dad lots of his best foods."

It doesn't take long, but they eventually grab the food and Buck gets Chris settled back in the car. He's just about to close the door, when Chris grabs his sleeve. "Bucky?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Do you like staying over?"

Buck frowns, doesn't know where it's coming from. "Of course I do, Chris. Did someone say something? Your dad?"

"Don't be silly," Chris says, "Dad would cry if you didn't."

Buck touches Chris' cheek. "You're the best thing that happened to me, buddy. I love you."

"I love you too," Chris says.

Buck feels confident backing away, but the question stays with him. Why does Chris think that? Is he staying too often? Buck actually can't remember the last time he spent more than one night at his apartment. Usually, he just rides home with Eddie and falls into bed with him. It's not a thing. It's just something that happens.

So what if he wakes up covering Eddie, and Eddie always burrows deeper.

It doesn't mean anything.

Buck pulls into the driveway. There's been no further text from Eddie and Buck can imagine the kind of face he's gonna make when they open the door. "Let's face your dad's wrath."

"You go first."

Buck uses Chris as a shield. He lets Chris start up the path before him, and then pretends to fumble with the bags as the door opens. Chris glares at him, so he knows exactly what Buck's doing. Buck's man enough to admit he's a coward when it comes to Eddie's disappointed face.

It's just awful.

Eddie's standing in the kitchen, arms folded across his chest. He raises an eyebrow. "Well."

"Thai?" Buck asks, holding the bag above Chris' head.

"Bucky, you're dripping sauce."

Buck makes a face, wiping away whatever dropped onto Chris. "Oops."

Eddie snorts, rolling his eyes, but when he steps away from the table, he's already laid it. "Wash up for dinner, buddy."

"I have something to give you after food," Chris says. "Both of you."

"A picture," Buck tells Eddie as Chris disappears to the bathroom. "Apparently I wasn't allowed a sneak preview."

"He took away Buck privileges?" Eddie snorts, settling up against Buck's back, resting his forehead in the middle of Buck's spine. "Must be tough."

"Shut up," Buck says, grinning to himself. "How was work?"

"The worst," Eddie whines. "You weren't there, and Chim spent the whole time talking about babies."

Buck laughs. "Don't pretend you didn't love every second. I don't know who's more excited about this baby; Chim, Maddie, or the rest of us."

"Everyone," Eddie agrees, letting Buck take all his weight. Buck shifts, wraps his arms around Eddie's shoulders. "You can nap after our picture surprise."

"Ew," Chris says, coming back into the room. "Actually, wait."

Buck lets Eddie go, and Chris places a piece of paper on the middle of the table.

"This is the perfect time," Chris says. "Can you look at this please."

Buck tugs the paper closer, so that both he and Eddie can see it.

It's a picture of a figure wearing a fire helmet, curly blond hair sticking out of the sides. Next to him is a crude representation of Chris with oversized glasses.

You're my dad now is written across the top, with a line next to it.

Buck can't breathe. His hands are shaking. "Chris."

"You have to sign it," Chris says calmly, like he's not pulled Buck's world from beneath his feet. "Then Dad can take it to a judge and it'll be real."

Eddie's gone still beside Buck. His hand's still on Buck's back, and Buck can feel his fingers twitching. Buck doesn't dare look at him, can barely see the picture for his eyes blurring.

Chris wants him to be his dad.

Chris. Dad. Buck.

"Evan," Eddie says gently. "You with us?"

"No," Buck says, voice sounding far away.

"I'm sorry," Chris says and no, that's not what Buck wants.

"I'm not sad," Buck says.

"Oh." Chris is leaning against the table, eyes on Buck, then his dad. "Dad?"

Eddie takes a moment to reply and Buck risks a glance. Eddie looks shellshocked, eyes wide and his throat bobbing a couple of times as he swallows. "I'm not mad. Chris-"

"Please don't say no," Chris says quietly. "I really want Buck—”

"I wasn't gonna say no," Buck says, then looks back at Eddie. "I mean—”

Eddie is torn and Buck can see it. He looks like he's got so much to say, words that won't come, and he rests a hand on the back of Eddie's neck.

"I'm grateful," Buck says, hoping it prompts Eddie into replying. "He's your kid, Eddie. Whatever you want."

It's not fair, he realizes, that Chris is still in the room. Eddie's not gonna say no while Chris is right there.

Chris takes the picture off the table. "I can put this in my bedroom."

Eddie stops him, pulling away from Buck and bending down. "Is this what you want?"

"Yeah," Chris says, sounding exasperated. "I kept asking you why Buck didn't just move in."

"Chris," Eddie says gently. "Buck and I—”

"Love each other," Chris says, like it's simple.

Eddie balks, and Buck closes his eyes. This is all gonna go so wrong and he needs to leave before—

"Yeah,." Eddie says.

What.

"Really?" Chris says, surprised.

Eddie nods, running a hand through Chris' hair. "Wanna go put that safe in your room for Buck to sign later?"

Chris looks over his shoulder at Buck, and then nods. "Okay."

Buck still feels like he can't move. He doesn't actually know what he's feeling right now.

"Buck," Eddie says. "Talk to me."

"I don't know how to be a father," is what he goes with.

"Wrong," Eddie says, like it's a fact. "You do it with Christopher every day."

"I'm sorry."

Eddie sighs, and steps closer to Buck, who lets him crowd him against the counter. Eddie's hands are on his face, and Buck feels like he's floating. What the fuck is going on?

"I love you," Eddie says.

Buck sucks in a breath. "Eddie."

"I'm sorry that I didn't say it sooner." Eddie's thumb presses to his pulse point. "I thought we'd have time, that you would figure it out, but Chris wants it just as much."

Buck doesn't think he's been able to breathe since he looked at the picture. "I'm scared."

"I know," Eddie soothes. "But you won't mess it up."

Buck snorts. "I will."

"Maybe," Eddie says, and Buck's grateful he didn't outright deny it. "But so will I. So will Chris. That's what family is, Evan. Messing up, forgiveness, love."

"You trust me with Chris," Buck says, because it's a fact.

"I do."

"You don't mind that he wants to be my son?" Buck asks tentatively.

"No," Eddie says, touching their foreheads together.

"You love me."

"I love you," Eddie affirms.

"I think I love you too," Buck says. He laughs, holds Eddie closer. "I know I do."

"Good," Eddie says, and when he kisses Buck, it's like this was where they've always been headed.

Eddie runs a hand through Buck's hair, and Buck just watches him. It feels like a Moment. He almost doesn't wanna break it by saying something stupid.

"Dad," Chris pipes up. "The food’s getting cold."

"Who's fault is that?"

"Yours for not being able to cook."

Buck bursts out laughing, burying his face in Eddie's neck. He can almost feel Eddie's outrage, but then Eddie's shaking with laughter and Chris looks too pleased with himself.

Except for how he has every right to be.

Buck's grateful for Eddie, for Chris, and his love for them feels neverending.

[kuriboo]

Hugsaku 2021

Crossover | Skipping Dimensions

This year I figured I’d take part in the hugsaku week. In the past with events like these, I’ve seen people take the prompts and turn them into one continuous story, and I ended up wanting to give that a try. I used a combination of prompts from the 2021 list and the 2019 list to write this out, so I hope you enjoy it!

This isn’t any of the day 1 prompts, I know... I ended up taking this prompt and using it to sort of set up the story, so this ended up being slightly out of order. The rest of the prompts should be in order, though. I do have an actual day 1 that will post later today, so there’s that to look forward to.

I’ll be posting this up on ao3 where the whole fic will be titled Dimension Gate. I’ll link the ao3 in the notes of this post. I hope you enjoy!

--

"Where am I? What is this?” 

There was not an area like this anywhere in Link Vrains. Den City definitely looked nothing like this. Yusaku glanced down at himself briefly; okay, he was in the real world. So where was he? 

He had another question: how did he get here? The last thing he could remember was...actually, he couldn't remember the last thing that happened. It wasn't a complete amnesia, he had most of his memories intact, but there was a definite blank before he got to wherever this was. Which left him with no ideas of how to get home. Great. 

While he'd been checking his outfit to check if he was in the real world or Vrains, Yusaku noticed a card on the ground. It wasn't terribly uncommon for someone to accidentally drop a card in Den City. This was a completely blank card, however. Cards usually weren’t completely blank, and people didn’t tend to carry around blank cards, let alone lose them. Curious, he bent down to get a close look. 

“Ai, do you know of any cards that are completely blank being used in Vrains, or why anyone would have one?”

He waited a few moments for Ai to respond, but the next few seconds were filled with nothing but silence.

That meant something was wrong. Ai loved to talk, especially when he knew something Yusaku didn't.

"Ai?” Yusaku tapped the top of his duel disk, but got no reaction. Either something was wrong with Ai, or Ai wasn't here. That worried Yusaku more than he'd like to admit.

His attention was drawn back to the blank card. Maybe his brain was just trying to distract itself from bigger, more terrifying problems with something smaller and more manageable. What was this thing? Maybe if he picked it up and got a closer look... 

“Hey, buddy! you really shouldn't pick up that card!" Whatever the complete stranger who Yusaku couldn't even see was yelling about, it was too late for that. The card was already in Yusaku’s hand. He heard footsteps running behind him and assumed they probably belonged to the person that was yelling. 

Yusaku turned around and, sure enough, someone was running directly at him. He glared at them." I am not your buddy, We are not friends.”

“Okay I get it, we don't know each other. But you shouldn’t keep that card . It's dangerous.”

Yusaku snorted. “Why should I give up this card, especially to a little kid?." He looked down at the card, and saw it was no longer blank. It was an actual card now, and XYZ Monster, and now it was his. There was a dull ache in the back of his head, but he ignored it. "This is exactly what I need to get my revenge, and I’ll never let anyone take that from me." He hadn't been thinking about truly putting it in his deck until he picked it up, but now he felt the strong urge to use it, like the card wanted to be with him. 

“Well, if you're going to be like that, I’m gonna have to duel you for it!" The stranger held a duel disk in front of him and put some sort of eyepiece on his face.

Yusaku heard the word ‘duel’, stared at the eyepiece, and felt something between fear and confusion fill him. What was he doing ? He glanced at the XYZ card. It was like the second be picked it up, he'd been filled with this anger. The same kind of anger that drove his revenge, like the card was Ai and this stranger was a Knight of Hanoi. He hadn’t realized the anger was there until it was gone. Could a card do that outside of Vrains? 

He looked at the stranger. "No duel. I changed my mind, I don't want it." 

That caught the strange off guard." Are you sure?" 

He looked the stranger over this time. This was clearly a kid still in middle school. Was it safe to give them this card if they said it was dangerous? Well this middle schooler knew more about this card than Yusaku did, clearly. He held it out to the kid. “Take it.”

("Yuma, why are you hesitating? Take the card before he charges his mind.”) 

The stranger stared at Yusaku as he slowly took it, as if waiting for Yusaku to change his mind, but he took the card easily. 

The stranger blinked up at Yusaku. “How did you resist the Number's control?"

"Control?" Now that the card was out of Yusaku’s possession, it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, but he still didn't understand what that meant. 

"These Numbers belong to my friend Astral. He lost them and they're all over the place, and when most people pick them up, they take control of them. People

start doing bad stuff. I'm trying to get them back for Astral, but I usually have to duel whoever has them to get them back. But I challenged you to a duel, and you just gave it to me?"

Yusaku shrugged." I don't know about this cards controlling people business. I don’t know why I wanted to keep the card at all. You wanted to duel, I don't like dueling. 

The stranger pointed at Yogaki's arm, " You have a duel disk?" 

Yusaku shifted his weight. "Appearances can be deceiving. You don't know anything about me. 

"That's true. I've never seen you before. I don't even know your name. Oops! I'm Yuma.” 

“Yusaku." 

(“Fascinating. Yusaku doesn't seem to know how he did it, but he resisted. I would like to observe him and try to figure out how.”)

"Come on, Astral, don't be creepy," Yuma whispered to the empty air beside him, loud enough for Yusaku to be able to hear easily.

"Uh…”

“Oh. Astral, the friend I mentioned before, he's here, too. But for some reason I'm the only person that can see him. Weird, huh?" 

“So you have an imaginary friend.” If it was really Yuma who owned and lost these cards and Astral was made up to blame someone else for it, Yusaku wouldn't be surprised. Middle schoolers were young enough for imaginary friends, right? He couldn't remember. 

("Yuma, ask him if I can learn more about him.”

“He's not imaginary, I swear -- Astral, stop being weird!" Yuma protested. "Besides, I'm sure Yusaku wants to go home, it's getting dark out!”

Yusaku looked up to the sky. Yuma was right, twilight was hitting the city and he was no closer to figuring out his own predicament. As a night owl, the time and darkness usually didn't bother Yusaku, but in an unfamiliar area like this he was only going to get more lost. "I suppose I should.” The two of them stood in silence, Yuma staring at Yusaku while Yusaku stood in place.

“So, are you going home, then? Or…” Yuma spoke eventually. 

“Oh right,” Yusaku blinked. "I don't know where I am or how I got here. So I have no idea how to do that." 

"I can at least tell you where you are! This is Heartland City!" 

Yusaku shook his head. "Never heard of it." Knowing that didn’t help him at all. He’d have to figure it out from there, somehow.

“I can try to help you figure out how to get back," Yuma offered. "But - oh, my sister's going to be so mad at me if I'm not home soon. You know, there's no school tomorrow, I could help you then. You want to spend the night at my place?" 

Everything about following some kid he barely knew to his house set off extremely loud danger signals in Yusaku’s head. He tried to remind himself he was older now, definitely older than Yuma was, and was more able to take care of himself. 

"It'll be a lot easier for us in the morning," Yuma offered when Yusaku gave no response.

“...I get bad nightmares. I wake up screaming.” 

"That's okay.” Yuma did not waver in his determination to help. 

“Fine." Yusaku definitely had no friends around here, so he didn't have much of a better choice.

"Awesome, it’ll be a sleepover! I can't wait!”

Yuma pulled Yusaku into a surprisingly strong hug for someone shorter than him. Yusaku froze, felt every muscle in his body freeze up. This was about the most uncomfortable thing that could’ve happened.

Once Yuma realized, he released Yusaku and apologized, but his spirits did not seem dampened at all.

"So,Yusaku, do you go to the same school as me?"

(“Yuma, if he's never heard of this city, I highly doubt he goes to school here.”)

“Astral, I didn't ask you."

[desiraypark]

The Dress (ft. Clyde Logan)

Hello love! This is a combination of prompts 13 and 149! I will work on 29 and 66 either later tonight, or tomorrow. Thank you for the request! I hope you like it!

Prompts Link

13. “Your parents would be royally disappointed if they saw what you have on right now. Even more disappointed at what I’m thinking about doing to you.” 149. “Call me selfish, but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.” Characters: Clyde Logan x Reader Content: Jealous Clyde; younger Clyde (about 22/23); they do the nasty; first time having penetrative and oral s*x Word Count: 1900 (It wasn’t supposed to be this long :/ lol)

“Girl, you were WIDE open tonight!” Lauren said laughing. “Finally!” Patrice chimed in.   The night was so different for you. Something just snapped in you within the last few weeks, and you just wanted to be free. No more being a squeaky-clean good girl to satisfy your family. Gone were the days where the state fair or after-school programs were your allotted fun. You were 22, you were drinking, and as Lauren said when you changed in front of her one day, you had a “rockin’ ass body”. Now, you were walking back to campus in a skimpy $25 red dress and pumps you could barely walk in. You, Lauren, Shayla, and Patrice all had the tits, legs, and thighs out, and you were really feeling the moment…until you got to your dorm. Clyde was sitting on the bench hunched over and staring into his phone. He lifted his head at the sound of giggling girls and raised his eyebrows. You didn’t even notice him. Patrice was pulling out her ID card when the hurt baritone voice broke through your giggles. “Y/N?!” You looked up, and the figure on the bench rose and towered over all four of you.    “Oh, shit…” Lauren mumbled. “Clyde?” You suddenly felt the need to cover your bare arms. He just looked you up and down, wide-eyed.    Patrice swiped her ID card and she, Lauren, and Shayla rushed through the door. Some friends! “What are you doin’ here?” you asked. “I came ta surprise you, but I guess I’m the one that’s gettin’ a surprise…” He looked you over again. Clyde was the sweetheart you just couldn’t get away from. You once lived next door to each other, but were separated when your family moved to a completely different neighborhood. Then, you reunited in middle school. Before graduating from middle school, Clyde and his family moved to a completely different side of town, but that time, you kept in touch--even that time he’d gone to juvie. He wasn’t allowed to go to his prom (he kept getting caught smoking cigarettes in the bathroom)--and you fought hard to allow your school to let him be your date at yours. Because who else was there? For you, only Clyde Logan. Even your strict parents rooted for you and Clyde. Sure, he got in a little trouble from time to time, but he was just a lil’ baby boy who just needed some attention. They knew that with the guidance of their good, churchgoing, and 4.0 GPA-earning daughter, he could be steered onto the right path—and he and his own parents felt the same. But these days, you were tired of being “Miss Goody Two Shoes”--and even though you’d never get tired of Clyde, he was still a component of that image.   “What are you wearing?” he asked with low eyes. Right then, anger filled your chest. “A dress, Clyde. I went to a club.” He didn’t say anything. His elevator eyes looked you over once more and you rolled your eyes.    “Look. You shoulda call—” “Yer parents would be royal’y disappointed if they saw what you have on right now...” he interrupted. He stepped close to you. “Even more disappointed at what I’m thinkin’ about doin’ to you…”

You pressed your finger into his toned chest. “Clyde, despite what you and my parents think, I am an—” You blinked and got a look at his eyes. He returned the stare and did that thing again--he looked you over like a lion on the hunt for prey. You blushed and let out a nervous giggle. “Wait, what?” He leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. Then, you wrapped your arms around his neck. He placed his on your waist. “Wanna go to my room?” “Mmm-hmm…” he said, lips still on yours. He pulled away. “Let’s do it, babygirl. Please?” “Let’s do it, Clyde.”

The most you and Clyde had ever done was use your hands on each other, because again, you were a “good girl”. As much as you wanted to climb on his big dick—and it was huge—you wouldn’t dream of popping up pregnant or something without a ring.

   Your friends were long gone from the lobby. When you led Clyde to your dorm room, they were all packed in. “Umm...may we have some privacy?” you asked meekly. “Are you sure?” Lauren asked with her hands on her hips. Suddenly a Mama Bear, she was glaring at Clyde. He started rubbing your hip.   You pressed your lips together and blushed. “Yes. I’m sure.” The girls raised their eyebrows and let out a chorus of “oop’s!” and “ohh’s!” before dashing out of the room to who knows where. When the coast was clear, you grabbed the hem of your dress. “No. Keep it on.” He yanked you close to him and devoured your mouth. “Keep all of this on.” “Oh, Clyde,” you giggled. “What’s gotten over you?” You started to help him undo his shirt buttons. “You in this dress…” He pulled his lips away and smacked your ass, making you jump. “Did you dance with anybody tonight?” “Um…kinda…” When you grabbed the hem beside his buttons, he let out a little growl and reached under your dress, searching for your panties. Since his accident, he had to rely heavily on his right arm, making it just as strong as it was nimble, and with a few tugs, you heard the fabric of your panties ripping. A flash of annoyance fell over you, but it was quickly erased. In response, you snatched his shirt off his shoulders. Together, the two of you got his arms out of the sleeves. Once Clyde was only in his boxer-briefs—you both sat on the bed, and you pulled out his drooling dick. You rubbed the precum over the head and looked up at his toothless smile. He rarely showed his teeth. He just pressed his lips together until the craters formed in his cheeks.    “You know what to do wit’ that?” he asked. You looked at him with seductive eyes. “I’ll figure it out…” Clyde didn’t say much as you licked and sucked his dick. He just let out some stifled his moans and vocalized a couple of “watch your teeth, darlin’s”. You sucked him up until your jaws ached, and when you finally came up for air, he pulled you to him by your chin and tasted himself on your tongue.    “My turn,” he said. You grinned, sat up, and pushed your back to the wall, and Clyde started to kneel on the floor. He pulled your torn panties completely off—kinder now than he was with them before—and examined your pussy: the puffy lips and the shiny wetness that was leaking out onto them.    “I wanna eat you from behind,” he proclaimed. You got on all fours and let your shoes dangle over the side of the bed. He wrapped his right arm around your bare thighs and without hesitation, stuck his face into your folds. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that he’d been practicing on another woman. But you knew better. Clyde always knew how to get things “right” on the first or second time. You were melting all over his lips--your hushed moans bounced off the wall in front of you, and back into your own ears. “I want you ta cum in my mouf,” he mumbled over your pussy. He went back to eating you with vigor, and your clit was throbbing. You reached under yourself and rubbed it, but his arm unraveled from around your thighs, and you felt his thick fingers push against yours. He pressed down onto your clit and rubbed your juices around, inciting squeals and lusty winces from you. Then, you felt it. “I’m coming, baby,” you moaned. “In my mouth, babygirl. In my mouth…” Your toes curled and your eyes rolled back as you released your buildup on Clyde’s tongue. You heard to the squishy sounds as he lapped every drop up of you. As you caught your breath and fell flat, you felt a dip in the mattress and looked up at Clyde standing over you, looking nervous. “I don’t got no condoms, baby,” he said. His Adam’s apple moved up, then down. Your heart started to pound. It was getting too damned good! You ran the toe of your shoe up his leg. “Do your best, baby. I trust you.”

Then came the dimples. Clyde pressed his lips together and grabbed his dick. “Back on all fours.”

You flipped back over and pointed your ass to him. You helped him line up at your entrance, and once the tip was in, he took hold of your waist. Then, he dipped more inches inside of you.

“Oh, Clyde,” you moaned. Not bad for so far. Just a little sting, but overall, it felt pretty good—as if a piece of your body was finally being returned to you. “That alright?” he asked. “It’s fine. Just start slow.” Clyde pressed a few more inches into you and you grabbed your sheets for leverage. You felt him press his thumbs into you for the same reason, as he pulled out, then gently pushed all of himself in. The cotton sheets scrunched between to your fingers as he massaged your walls with his raw, warm cock. “Go faster, baby. Go a little faster,” you instructed. Clyde picked up the pace, and gradually did so until he found the speed that had you crumbling in his hands--squealing and screaming without a care for who heard you. Eventually, you felt him tugging on your waist. 

“I wanna see your pretty face,” he said. He held his cock inside of you, and the two of you maneuvered so that your body could crash into his. Your head rested on his shoulders, exposing your neck to him—your face in his hair. He ran his hand up and down your body as he kissed your neck, your jawline, and then your lips. Next thing you knew, his hand was around your throat--but he didn’t squeeze it. “Call me selfish…” he started a thought--still probing your insides. He nibbled on the top of your ear, then gave it a kiss. “But I don’t want anyone else ta ever touch you.” You moaned. “I don’t want nobody dancin’ on you. I don’t even want none of these college boys lookin’ at you…” he grumbled.    You giggled. “I can’t help that I’m sexy, Clyde.” Then, he chuckled, too. You were sure he was finally showing his teeth--and it was so like him to do so when you couldn’t actually see it. That boyish smile of his. “Naw…you can’t help bein’ sexy. But if I find out you been walkin’ ‘round campus in this lil’ dress again, I’ma have to be a lil’ rougher on this lil’ pussy of yours,” he responded. You felt a quick flutter in your chest. When did he get this nasty?! “Mmm…” you hummed. “Guess I gotta buy some more of these kinda dresses, then.” Clyde trapped a chuckle in his chest and pushed your upper body back down on the mattress. Then, your sweetheart plunged into your dripping pussy until he couldn’t anymore. When he pulled out, you hiked up your dress for him to squirt his cum on your ass…but he yanked it down and left a nice, huge mark on the fabric.

[artificialqueens]

She (Crygi) - Lily Bee

AO3 LINK

Summary: “Sorry I’m only in my underwear,” Crystal uttered, staring Gigi in the eyes. She was looking for a reaction, but Gigi wasn’t going to give it to her.

Gigi shook your head, “I have long since become desensitized to you walking around in just your underwear,” she laughed, “at first, it was distracting but nah, I don’t mind.”

“Oh, I distracted you,” Crystal teased, eyeing Gigi up. Gigi gulped, Crystal was definitely being a tease, and all Gigi wanted to do was tear those underwear off her.

“In your dreams, Crystal.”

A/N: hey guys im lily & i got a request on tumblr for this prompt: “i have long since become desensitized to you walking around in just your underwear” and got super inspired to write some crygi smut oops. it was going to be short but became a LONG oneshot.. sorry not sorry :)

Being roommates with Crystal was quite an adventure. She was a good roommate, tidy and she was a decent cook. Though, she did like to walk around in just her underwear. At first, Gigi would get a bit distracted. Okay, a bit was an understatement - she could hardly keep her eyes away. But at this point, it barely even phased her. Though, barely was a loose term. It would be a shock if Crystal was fully clothed when Gigi got home. Typically she would be in an oversized t-shirt and a little black thong. It was like she was purposely trying to tease Gigi, and today was no different.

Gigi came home from work exhausted, instantly going to her room to change into pjs. When she came back into the main room she was met with a clothless Crystal in the kitchen. "Can you help me with this, Gigi?" she asked as she reached to the top of the cabinet. Her arms stretched as high as they could, her t-shirt rising with it revealing her stomach and her underwear, Gigi lost her breath at the sight. She walked over to where Crystal was pointing up at her favorite mug that was just out of reach. Crystal didn't move, just stood next to Gigi as the tall girl easily grabbed it from the top shelf.

"Thank you," Crystal beamed, taking it from Gigi's hands, letting her fingertips linger on Gigi for a few seconds. Only Gigi would have noticed, it was hard not to for her

"Sorry I'm only in my underwear," Crystal uttered, staring Gigi in the eyes. She was looking for a reaction, but Gigi wasn't going to give it to her.

Gigi shook her head, "I have long since become desensitized to you walking around in just your underwear," she laughed, "at first, it was distracting but nah, I don't mind."

"Oh, I distracted you?" Crystal teased, eyeing Gigi up. Gigi gulped, Crystal was definitely being a tease, and all Gigi wanted to do was tear those underwear off her.

"In your dreams, Crystal," she mumbled. She had seemed to have lost all ability to speak, or try to defuse Crystal's teasing. She just stared at the ground, feeling Crystal's eyes on her still.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Crystal asked, "Do you want to watch a movie tonight?"

"Yeah sure," she murmured, "I'll make popcorn."

-

The pair settled down on their couch wrapped in a large blanket, popcorn laying in between them. Crystal searched through Netflix looking for something to watch. "Nothing looks good," Crystal complained. The pair had watched every single decent movie they could. Movie nights ending in them falling asleep on each other was not uncommon. Gigi couldn't count all the times she had offered to watch a movie just as an excuse to hold Crystal close.

"We could rewatch Titanic," Gigi suggested. They had seen the movie at least ten times but always seemed to come back to it. It was Gigi's favorite movie after all, not even for the plot but for the three hour run time. It just gave the pair more time together.

"Works for me, I know how much you love it," Crystal agreed. She searched for the movie and pressed play settling back into the couch.

The pair sat in silence as the film began, the sounds of the music drowning out their breathing. Gigi could feel Crystal's bare thigh placed ever so gently next to hers. 20 minutes into the movie and Gigi couldn't help but notice how much Crystal keeps wiggling.

"Crystal, are you okay?" Gigi asked as she moved a little to see her face.

"Mm, yeah, just getting comfortable," Crystal smiled.

Gigi seemed content with the answer as she nodded and rested her body back down. Crystal moved one last time and this time, she moved so that her ass was right against Gigi's front. Gigi's body tensed up and she could clearly see Crystal's shoulders shake from silently laughing. All that ran through her mind is two can play at that game. Gigi rested her hand on Crystal's hip and started rubbing. Crystal's laughter stopped, and Gigi waited to see if she was going to say something. Crystal's body practically melted into the couch when Gigi started to back up the movement of her hand. She let her hand run under the hem of her oversized t-shirt. Her fingers meet Crystal's warm skin. Gigi walked her fingers back down Crystal's hip over her undies and down her thigh. She rested her palm on Crystal's thigh and began massaging it. It took all her self-control to not entertain the idea of going up the inner side. They relaxed into each other as they watched the movie. Well, barely watching. Neither had any clue that they were on each other's mind.

Gigi looked up at Crystal who was already looking at her. She searched the girls eyes for some sort of an answer, but Crystal just pulled her hand away. "No, you don't have to stop," Gigi gasped. Crystal just smiled, knowing that this was the answer she was looking for.

Fuck it.

Gigi pounced on her, their lips crashing together a little too roughly. With one hand firmly on the back of Crystal's neck, Gigi kept her in place as she took the kiss she had been dying for all night. There was the slightest bit of resistance at first, but within seconds Crystal was melting against her, kissing back so sweet and desperate.

Crystal's lips moved from Gigi lips to her jaw. She peppered loving kisses along Gigi's jawline, nipping close to the pulse point just below her ear before kissing further down her neck. Gigi let a small sound escape her lips. Finally, after months of teasing, Crystal iwas finally doing exactly what she wanted her to this whole time. Crystal pushed Gigi a little further back on the couch and climbed onto her lap, straddling her thighs. One hand found its way up into Gigi's blonde hair, fingers gently combing through it as her other hand pressed against Gigi's chest. Her soft attack of Gigi's neck continued, all lips and teeth and tongue, and Gigi found her hips rocking up every so often adding to the friction

Comfortably straddling Gigi, Crystal purred into her ear "don't touch." As much as it was a command, it was also a challenge and Crystal knew Gigi wouldn’t pass up a challenge. The heat radiating off both of them was intense, suddenly Gigi was aware that they were wearing too much clothing but before she could protest, Crystal was rocking her hips ever so gently on her lap. Immediately Gigi's hips bucked up to meet Crystal's, subconsciously she went to wrap her arms around the redhead’s waist, but Crystal was quick. She grabbed Gigi's wrists with some force, her eyes now completely dark and pupils blown, "I said don't touch."

Gigi growled in frustration as she placed her hands on either side of Crystal's spread thighs, ensuring they didn't touch. She could feel the muscles in Crystal's tantalizing thighs tighten as they wrapped around her waist, her fingers digging deep into Gigi's back as Crystal used her to pull herself closer.

"Mmm." It was low and husky and it caused Gigi's body to shudder as she watched the moan spill from barely parted lips, wanting so desperately to take those lips between her own. Crystal was now quickening the pace and grinding down harder, slowly lifting and lowering herself onto Gigi's lap, conveniently using Gigi's abdomen for extra friction. Crystal's hands explored Gigi's physique over the top of her pjs; she mapped the dips of Gigi's waist and the ridges of her shoulders.

"Crystal," it's moaned with a subtle hint of desperation and it's enough for Crystal to cup Gigi's cheek and pull her in for another kiss. The deep breath Crystal took before indulging in Gigi's lips is soon robbed from her. As soon as their lips collided, both women moaned into it, sending waves of electricity through their bodies and pooling between their thighs. Still, Gigi was being well behaved, her hands wandered to touch Crystal, ghosting over her tan thighs, but she was disciplined enough to not make contact. Crystal was still comfortably rocking her hips, her gentle thrusts now in sync with Gigi's. "God, I just want to touch you," Gigi moaned as she bit down onto her own lip knowing how true that statement was. She breathed heavily now, each staggered breath revealed defined collarbones just below her neck that Crystal was eager to run her lips against.

“Do you want a touch? Do you want a taste?" iIt was almost too much for Gigi, her hands snapped around Crystal's waist like lightning, grabbing Crystal's ass, there was way too much for both of her hands and it's exactly how she liked it. Crystal returned to kissing her, her hands running through the blonde's hair, tugging and pulling slightly as she tried to strangle a moan. Gigi cupped Crystal's breasts through the t-shirt feeling her piercing.

"Can I?" Crystal nodded and hummed contentedly when Gigi barely waited for an answer, pulling the shirt over her head completely to reveal her almost naked body. All that was left of Crystal was those damned panties.

"Holy shit," Gigi ogled her up and down, "So beautiful..."

Gigi brushed her thumbs over Crystal's aching, pink nipples, playing raptly with the cool steal bars that spear through them. Childlike wonder painted all over her face, Gigi was absolutely enamored with them.

"You need to be naked, like now, so not fair," Crystal pouted, frantically pulling up Gigi's shirt. Gigi helped her, stripping until she was just as nude.

Gigi was gorgeous. No other word for it. She had this allure to her that had Crystal ready to do anything for her. Sharp cheekbones, flawless skin, and baby doll lips, it was all becoming so obvious, her breasts creamy and soft. Crystal couldn't resist, her hands flew towards Gigi's chest like a magnet. She made such pretty noises as Crystal played with her, throwing her head back in enjoyment. Crystal extended her neck to get one of those delectable nipples into her mouth. As she sucked and nipped, Gigi felt her pussy gush with more wetness. It was all too much, she was beyond aroused.

Gigi grabbed and tugged Crystal's hair by the root, her blunt nails euphoric against her scalp. She pulled Crystal off her breast to kiss her again. Gigi fully relaxed on top of her, their bodies now flush against one another. Sweat formed from their increased gyrating, hot shallow breaths bouncing back and forth between them.

Gigi crawled down the length of Crystal's body, one at a time suckling on both her rock hard nipples. She took a moment to play with her nipple piercing, taking the barbell between her lips and pulling ever so gently.

As amazing as that felt, Crystal felt her heart-rate skyrocket when Gigi kept going even lower, kissing her way down until she finally landed right in front of her drenched pussy. "Oh my god," Gigi exclaimed with excitement.

Despite Gigi's eager reaction, Crystal still gave her an out. "You don't have to," she managed to say, but Gigi shushed her.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Crystal, I've been crushing on you for a while. So trust me I fucking want this," Gigi declared firmly, not giving Crystal another chance to argue, because much too quickly her brain was threatening to short circuit. Gigi's mouth dove right in, kissing and licking at her throbbing clit.

"Ohhhh, fuck, fuck, fuck, Gigi!" Crystal moaned, burying her hands in the sea of blonde hair. Gigi moaned deep inside her, planting her hands on Crystal's thighs, making sure to keep them spread. For a short moment, Crystal felt like this wasn’t actually real life. There was no way Gigi was eating her out in the middle of their living room.

Her thoughts were interrupted with the question, "Are you gonna come?" Gigi stopped pleasuring her to speak. Her voice sounded nervous, but a good nervous.

"Yes, yes, please, yes," Crystal panted heavily, her hips thrusting up ever so gently.

"Good, then come...come for me," Gigi demanded, licking a small teasing stripe directly over her clit, before sinking back into her.

Gigi's tongue circled rapidly over that sensitive spot, coaxing Crystal's release right out of her. She 'was relentless, fucking drinking every last drop of it as Crystal screamed and seized up.

"Gigi, Jesus Christ, so good," she babbled, as she calmed down.

Crystal captured Gigi's eyes as she lazily continued to press soft, loving kisses all around the over stimulated area. "C'mere, need you," Crystal begged, heaving Gigi up towards her.

Gigi rested her head against Crystal's chest, both of them trying to catch their breath. Gigi's mind was racing; she actually just did that.

"Maybe I should only wear underwear around the house more often," Crystal giggled.

"God, shut up," Gigi laughed along with her. She definitely should.